#second youngest of the elites..

[a-blessed-beginning]

"I can't tell you that.. But i can tell you this. Keep an eye on Goggles, and keep a closer eye on Colle... Goggles will make it through, but Colle.. might not. And a lot happens in the next four or so months..." *They’re being vague again..*

*He froze.*

...what happens to Colle... *He demanded, sounding scared. Scared for the future. Scared for what's to come.*

I hate how vague you are; tell me what happens to my brother...!

[smokesandsonatas]

among the twst cast, who do you think will be the best in-laws? just asking out of curiosity, cuz i personally think that trappola fam will be chill, also i imagine them doting on their grandbabies, or like crying at your wedding day xd

- I go crazy when I receive asks like this, djsjhs. I included everyone and how I think their actions will be justified as to whether their families will be good or 'bad' in-laws.

Reader is termed as "wife" and as a normal human. -

Right off the bat, let’s start with Riddle. You and Riddle’s mother will never get along. She and her son have much to discuss anyway, and we know how Riddle even mentioned that the Queen of Hearts has a lovely relationship his parents could learn from. If Mrs. Rosehearts is strict with her own child, imagine how much more she’d be with you! She probably has a list of acceptable spouses for Riddle, so just imagine her shock when he brings you home—shock that quickly turns to rage when she realizes you’re magicless. She will be a horrible mother-in-law. Mr. Rosehearts, however, will most likely be courteous about your relationship with his son. In fact, I can see him helping you and Riddle move somewhere away from their house in the Queendom of Roses. He’ll probably attend your wedding, but Mrs. Rosehearts? Probably not. It will take a long time before Mrs. Rosehearts can accept you wholeheartedly, and when she does, tears will be shed.

The Diamond family is harder to gauge. Mr. and Mrs. Diamond would likely respect your relationship enough to make sure you’re comfortable. Cater’s sisters, on the other hand, might urge you to become their new doll—though not as extreme as they did with him. Overall, they will accept you as part of their family. And if Cater doesn’t want to attend family reunions, they’ll accept that, though they can’t help but feel a little hurt and neglected. Maybe they’ll even start to reflect on how they’ve treated their son.

The Clover family are lovely people! When Trey introduces you to his parents, they’ll erupt into cheers, baking you pastries and a personalized cake tailored to your tastes. They won’t care if you’re magicless; as long as you make their son happy, that’s all that matters. Mr. and Mrs. Clover will even offer you and Trey the chance to manage their bakery. It’ll be up to you both whether to accept. Overall, they’ll be great in-laws, and they might even make wonderful grandparents.

Deuce’s mom, Dylla, is such a girlboss! As a mother-in-law, she’ll be the cool type, letting you hang out with her at car races, driving trucks, or doing anything outdoorsy. She might even suggest that you, she, and Deuce get matching small tattoos. She’s very chill and will always welcome you with open arms. You’ll have no trouble getting along with Deuce’s mom—sometimes, Deuce even wonders if his mom loves you more than him.

Ace’s family will welcome you with open arms—and with a bunch of pranks! Mr. Trappola is a normal human, so he won’t hold your magicless status against you. Ace’s older brother, however, will endlessly tease him with some good old brotherly banter. Mr. and Mrs. Trappola will probably shed tears on your wedding day, making it a fun, sentimental, and most of all, enjoyable occasion.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The Kingscholars are royalty, so let’s be realistic: they’ll most likely not approve of Leona, their youngest son and second prince, marrying a normal human, especially a magicless one. They probably have plans to arrange a marriage with a fellow beastman from another noble or elite family, and your relationship could cause a scandal. But if Leona insists, then a wedding will happen. It will take a lot of convincing for the Kingscholars to accept you, especially since Mr. Kingscholar is ill. Falena will most likely be the first to accept you, either out of love for his brother or perhaps because he sees you as a key to fixing his strained relationship with Leona. Cheka, on the other hand, will love you! In fact, he might prefer your company over his lioness mother’s, though he won’t admit it.

Grandma Bucchi will shed tears of joy when Ruggie brings you home and introduces you as his lover. She’ll feel relieved that Ruggie has found someone who’ll take care of him—a lifelong companion, since she’s not as strong as she used to be. Prepare for a deep heart-to-heart with Grandma Bucchi, who will also show you pictures of baby Ruggie! She may even drop hints that she wants a grandchild from the two of you. Yes, she takes care of the other beast children in the neighborhood, but it wouldn’t hurt to give her a mini Ruggie.

The Howl family will accept you wholeheartedly. They believe that wolf beastmen like them have only one soulmate, and if Jack has found that in you, who are they to oppose? They’re not overly bearing, but they might occasionally ask whether you and Jack plan to have little Howl children. Jack’s siblings will adore you!

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The Ashengrotto family will welcome you! Azul is their baby, so whoever Azul loves, it’s guaranteed that they’ll accept you too. It probably won’t matter if you’re a human or magicless. Azul has a way with words and will have nothing but praises for you in front of his family. Mrs. Ashengrotto might sulk a little if Azul chooses to live on land and start a family with you there rather than in the sea, but the compromise is that you’ll build a house near the seaside. Mr. Ashengrotto will likely insist on having both a sea and land wedding, though Azul probably planned on that anyway. They won’t be toxic as in-laws and will likely dote on you, but they’ll definitely want to take care of any little Ashengrotto babies you have. Sometimes, you might wonder if they’re a bit too attached to their grandchildren…

The Leech family will also welcome you. If you decide to marry one of the Leech sons—or both of them (polygamy isn’t unheard of in the sea; hey, different customs)—they’ll make sure you feel at ease. Mr. Leech, who reminds you so much of Floyd, might ask if you know self-defense. When you say no, he’ll laugh and assure you that his sons will protect you anyway. He finds it amusing that Floyd calls you Shrimpy, though there’s a certain air of intimidation when he speaks... Mrs. Leech, who reminds you of Jade, is beautiful and speaks just like her other son. She’ll ask you questions like, “My dear, how can you protect yourself when you are magicless?” with a smile on her face. At one party dedicated to your arrival into the Leech family, you saw firsthand how Mr. Leech made everyone sign...something. When you asked the twins about it, they dismissed your concerns and assured you not to worry. They’ll be cool in-laws, but they won’t disclose any personal business with you—only with their sons. No matter how much you ask about their family business, because you want to help, you’ll get nowhere (it's for your safety, they say). The Leech family will dote on you, but there’s always an underlying sense that you’ve been inducted into something much larger and deeper than just a family of merfolk eels. Sometimes they have unexpected visits to your house in land, and you had a feeling that Mrs. Leech might dote on you only so she can spend time with her Leech grandbabies...

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The Al-Asims are so supportive of Kalim! There’s a certain sense of relief that you’re not associated with anything in their world, because they might worry that whoever is with Kalim, one of the richest men on earth, would take advantage of his kindness. But you don’t. Mr. Al-Asim will provide anything you ask for and will probably give you and Kalim a bunch of mansions, cars, and luxuries everywhere. Though they likely have a list of potential spouses for Kalim, the Al-Asims are glad he chose you. However, they’d be delighted if Kalim produces an heir one day. If Kalim chooses to be monogamous, they’ll accept it.

The Viper family will be glad to welcome you. Although they belong to the servant class under the Al-Asims, they won’t force you to serve them too. You think Jamil might have something to do with this… Anyway, they really like you, and they see how genuinely you admire their son—a mere servant in their eyes, but so much more to you.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Mr. Schoenheit will adore you! Because Vil is his precious, beautiful child, that love will extend to you too. He’s a different man as Eric Venue on set and as Vil’s dad in personal life. He’s quite strict, or so you’ve heard from the actual staff on a movie he’s co-producing, but the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. The Schoenheits are hardworking, perfectionist people—not in a bad way, of course. When news breaks that you and Vil are expecting a child, either Eric Venue or Vil will put out a statement asking for your privacy to be respected. Overall, Eric will be a good in-law and a great grandfather. Imagine how cool it is to have a famous celebrity as an in-law and imagine being surrounded by a literal DILF and the most beautiful man in Twisted Wonderland. Damn. It’s a guarantee your child will be as beautiful as their father. Sometimes, though, Vil gets a little pouty when you stare at his father for a little too long…

You know the feeling of a family getting together for the first time in years despite their busy schedules to enjoy days full of celebration? That’s how Rook introduced you to his family. It is lively! The Hunt family likes you! The first thing they ask you and Rook is how the family planning is going. They’re quite a big family with six children, so they expect the same for you and Rook. Mr. and Mrs. Hunt are adoring in-laws, but when you ask about their family business, they’ll merrily dodge the questions, much like Rook does, telling you not to worry. When Rook leaves for long periods of time due to work, he’ll vehemently update you every hour. In the meantime, you and Mrs. Hunt, along with Rook’s sisters-in-law—the wives of his brothers—will go on pampering girls’ days! They’ll make sure you never feel lonely or left out, even when Rook’s away.

The Felmier family threw a celebration in your name when Epel introduced you. Grandma Marja cried, seeing how much her grandson has grown. Mr. and Mrs. Felmier hugged you tightly and thanked you for being with their lovely son, and you swore you felt a tear trickle down your cheek too. They will be loving in-laws, with a tight-knit family that supports each other. Once news breaks that you and Epel are expecting a child, another celebration will be held to welcome the new apple of their eye. They’ll likely insist on a traditional apple-themed baby shower, and they’ll spoil you and Epel with home-cooked meals, ensuring you’re both well cared for.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The Shrouds, especially Mrs. Shroud, will be ecstatic once Idia introduces you to them. Mr. Shroud, while less outwardly emotional, will be overjoyed in his own way. Over time, you’ll notice just how much he and Idia resemble each other. It won’t matter if you’re not as tech-savvy as they are; Idia already has S.T.Y.X.’s management covered. Mr. and Mrs. Shroud will show their affection in small but meaningful ways, or surprising you with thoughtful gifts—your own helmet. If any negative comments about you and Idia pop up online, they’ll be blocked faster than you can blink. Kidding—mostly. They’ll likely expect a little Shroud or two in the next few years, and they’ll gently remind you of this as they’re getting older and eager for grandchildren. Despite their eccentricities, they’ll make you feel like a cherished member of their family, though you’ll need to adjust to their unique ways of showing love and the way of their work, ergo taking care of S.T.Y.X and their various shady businesses.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The Draconias, especially Grandmother Maleficia, will formally welcome you into the family. However, the atmosphere might feel a bit too formal for your liking. A relationship with Malleus is one thing, but marriage is a whole different story. The Senate will likely oppose the union, with Grandmother Maleficia caught between keeping her beloved grandson happy and appeasing the increasingly vocal pressures from the Senate and close-minded fae who cannot accept a human—especially a magicless human—as their future queen. The weight of these expectations will hang over your relationship, adding tension to an otherwise loving bond. The prospect of Malleus Draconia marrying a human would be met with significant resistance within the Briar Valley. The fae population, steeped in centuries of tradition and wary of outsiders, would likely view such a union as a potential threat to their way of life. Some might even call for extreme measures, such as political unrest or, in the worst-case scenario, a war to prevent the marriage from taking place. However, Malleus will stand by you, determined to weather the storm together. Over time, and with Malleus’s formidable power and influence, even the most skeptical fae could be convinced that this union could bring about a new era of understanding and unity between their worlds. As for Grandmother Maleficia, though she may seem distant at first, she’ll eventually warm up to you, especially when she sees how happy you make Malleus. And should the two of you have children (the Draconias badly needed predecessors), she’ll be the first to dote on her great-grandchildren as long as she is alive, ensuring they’re raised with both love and the proud traditions of the Draconia family.

The Zigvolt family is not new to interspecies relationships, with Mama Zigvolt being a fae and Papa Zigvolt a normal human dentist. She will support you! Her fiery nature as a fae will come in handy, while Papa Zigvolt's kindness will help balance out her energy. Overall, they will be happy for you and Sebek. Grandfather Baur, on the other hand, might accept you more easily than you thought—he is not a close-minded fae anymore. He is at a point of contentment, so whoever Sebek or any of his grandchildren chooses, he will be eager to accept them. Also, he might—or might not—visit you every afternoon (he's just concerned, not excited... he says as he hands you a crocheted baby comforter) once he hears you're expecting a mini Sebek Zigvolt.

Silver’s relationship with his father, Lilia, is central to his life, so naturally, Lilia’s opinion of you will weigh heavily on him. Fortunately, Lilia err Mr. Vanrouge is likely to be one of the most supportive and understanding in-laws you could ask for. His playful and easygoing nature means he’ll probably tease you a bit, but it’s all in good fun. Lilia will genuinely be happy for Silver, and he’ll go out of his way to make you feel welcome in their home. Expect to be roped into all sorts of whimsical activities—like trying out new (and sometimes questionable) recipes, or being part of his elaborate pranks. Lilia will also be very protective of both you and Silver, always looking out for your well-being. And if you have another baby addition to the Vanrouge family, Lillia will be the happiest Fae alive.

Lilia Vanrouge is an ancient and enigmatic Fae, while appearing child-like he possesses a kind heart and incredible wisdom. While traditional in-law doesn't apply to him (seeing as he is the in-law himself), he does need someone who can stand beside him as a parental figure, particularly for Silver and by extent Malleus. Lilia’s “family” may be unconventional, but his close bonds with Silver, Sebek, and Malleus make them feel like one. He’ll cherish every moment with you, appreciating the little things that come with mortal life, and your companionship will be a light in his long existence. Your role isn’t just as a partner to Lilia, but as someone who can guide and protect Silver alongside him, offering the same wisdom, kindness, and love that Lilia has given. If you and Lilia have children, they will grow up surrounded by love, knowledge, and a deep sense of wonder, with Lilia ensuring they never lose their sense of playfulness and joy. Should it end like that then Lilia can say that he has lived it all, and he can go on to the stars wholeheartedly. He lived his life surrounded with the people he loves, finding contentment at the end of his days.

[zhelin-thames]

Death’s Gentle Touch

@demonic0angel thank you for letting me write this.

Ps. This is not a dead silent ship but a dead on main ship. I am way too much of a dead tired, dead on main and dead serious fan🫣, so..... Srry😇

Danny hadn’t planned on staying in Gotham for long. The city was overwhelming, a swirling mess of emotions, crime, and shadows that never seemed to sleep. But something about it called to him—a faint pull in the back of his mind, like the restless murmur of ghosts who hadn’t yet crossed his path.

And then he started noticing them.

The kids.

Each one had a presence that whispered of death’s touch. Not full-on ghostly, but close. Too close. It tugged at Danny’s core, a strange mix of familiarity and concern. The first was a quiet boy, barely seven, with hollow eyes and a haunted expression. Danny found him huddled in the shadows of Crime Alley, shivering and alone.

It wasn’t even a conscious decision. He couldn’t leave the kid there.

And so, the warehouse became home.

The old building wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but Danny had poured what little ecto-energy he could spare into reinforcing it, patching up leaks, and making it livable. Inside, it was surprisingly cozy. Rugs covered the cold floor, mismatched furniture filled the space, and shelves lined with books and trinkets added a sense of warmth.

Within weeks, Danny’s little family had grown.

Five kids now called the warehouse home, each one with a story that left Danny seething with quiet rage. Abusive parents, neglectful guardians, and the harsh streets of Gotham had taken their toll on each of them. Danny couldn’t fix the past, but he could offer them something better: safety, warmth, and the promise that they’d never be alone again.

One of the kids, Sam, was from one of Gotham’s elite families. He’d run away after his parents’ cruelty pushed him too far. When Danny had found him, Sam had been too weak to argue.

It was Cassandra Cain who stumbled upon them.

She’d been tracking a lead on a missing child—the wealthy parents had finally reported Sam missing after weeks, though their concern had seemed more for appearances than genuine worry. Her trail led her to the refurbished warehouse.

Cass slipped inside silently, her every movement a shadow. What she saw stopped her in her tracks.

Danny was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a tattered storybook in his hands. The five kids were gathered around him, leaning against him or huddled close, their faces rapt with attention. Danny’s voice was soft, animated, bringing the story to life.

“...and the brave knight faced the dragon, not with a sword, but with kindness.” Danny smiled, looking down at the youngest child, a girl clutching his arm. “Because sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is try to understand someone else.”

Cass didn’t move for a moment.

The scene was so achingly peaceful, so pure, that it seemed impossible in a city like Gotham. She could feel the protective energy radiating from Danny, the way the kids seemed to trust him implicitly. It wasn’t just a man taking care of children. He was their anchor, their safe harbor.

Still, she stepped forward.

Danny looked up, his glowing green eyes meeting hers. For a second, Cass tensed, ready for a fight. But Danny’s expression softened, and he raised a hand in a calming gesture.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “You must be one of the Bats.”

Cass tilted her head, curious but cautious. “Who... are you?”

“I’m Danny,” he replied simply, closing the book. “And these are my kids.”

Her gaze flickered to the children. Sam had tensed at her presence, but Danny placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“They’re safe here,” Danny continued, his voice calm but firm. “I promise. I know you’re probably here for him.” He nodded toward Sam. “But he ran for a reason. And I’m not about to let anyone hurt him again.”

Cass reported back to Bruce and the others. The revelation sparked an intense debate in the Batcave.

“He’s just a kid himself!” Damian snapped, glaring at the screen showing Danny’s image. “What gives him the right to take in strays like this?”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Tim muttered, earning a scowl from Damian.

Bruce, arms crossed, studied the footage Cass had captured. Danny’s protective aura was undeniable, as was the bond he’d formed with the children. “We need to know more about him,” Bruce said. “His intentions, his background, his... abilities.”

Jason leaned against the wall, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re just mad someone’s beating you at the whole ‘adopting strays’ thing, B.”

Alfred cleared his throat. “Master Jason, perhaps we should focus on how best to ensure the children’s well-being.”

When the Bats finally confronted Danny in the warehouse, they were met with calm defiance. Danny stood his ground, the kids huddled behind him.

“I get it,” he said, arms crossed. “You’re the big, bad vigilantes of Gotham. But these kids? They’re not just cases or numbers. They’re people. And they deserve better than what the system gave them.”

Bruce stepped forward. “We’re not here to take them from you. But this isn’t sustainable. You’re their age. How do you plan to provide for them long-term?”

Danny hesitated, then sighed. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

Jason, watching the exchange, stepped closer. “What’s your deal, Danny? You’re not just some random guy.”

Danny met his gaze, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Jason smirked. “Try me.”

The Bats weren’t ones to leave mysteries unsolved, and Danny wasn’t about to spill his life story to a group of masked vigilantes without some trust first. It took weeks of cautious interactions and reluctant cooperation for things to come to light.

It was Jason who finally got Danny to open up.

One night, after dropping off a bag of supplies Bruce had insisted the kids needed, Jason stayed behind. He found Danny on the roof of the warehouse, leaning against the railing as he stared at the Gotham skyline. The night air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of the city.

“So,” Jason began, hopping onto the ledge beside him. “You’re not just some ordinary kid with a big heart. What’s your story?”

Danny let out a long sigh. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

For a moment, Danny said nothing. Then he raised his hand, letting a soft green glow surround it. “You ever hear of Amity Park?”

Jason frowned. “The town with all those ghost rumors? Thought it was a bunch of tabloid nonsense.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not,” Danny said, his voice quieter now. “I grew up there. My parents were... ghost hunters. They built a portal to another dimension—the Infinite Realms. Something went wrong, and I ended up... connected to it. Half-ghost, half-human.”

Jason blinked, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. “Half-ghost? Like, you died?”

“Sort of.” Danny’s tone was light, but his eyes reflected the weight of the experience. “It’s complicated. I didn’t plan to stick around Gotham, but then I started noticing these kids—how close they were to death, how much they’d suffered. I couldn’t just leave them.”

Jason studied him for a moment, then nodded. “You’re a weird guy, Danny. But I get it.”

Danny smirked. “Thanks, I think.”

Each child Danny had taken in had their own struggles, their own pain that had led them to him.

Sam: The son of a wealthy Gotham family, Sam had been raised in luxury but at a terrible cost. His parents cared more about appearances than his well-being, and the pressure to be perfect had been crushing. When Danny found him, Sam had been wandering the streets, bruised and desperate for escape.

Mia: A street-smart girl with a sharp tongue, Mia had grown up in foster care, bouncing between homes that never cared for her. She’d survived on her own for months before Danny found her, stealing food to survive.

Leo: Barely six, Leo had been abandoned in Crime Alley. He didn’t speak much, but he clung to Danny like a lifeline.

Ella: A bright-eyed girl with an affinity for art, Ella had been living in a condemned building with her older brother, who’d died protecting her. Danny found her crying over his body, her face pale and haunted.

Max: A quiet, thoughtful boy who had a near-death experience after falling into Gotham River. His brush with death had left him sensitive to the supernatural, and he’d been drawn to Danny almost instinctively.

Danny had given them all a second chance, teaching them to trust again. The warehouse became their safe haven, a place where they could heal.

Despite their initial skepticism, the Bats couldn’t deny that Danny was doing good. Bruce offered resources to help with the kids, on the condition that Danny let them monitor the situation.

“I’m not looking to turn this into a charity case,” Danny had said. “I just want what’s best for them.”

“And that’s what we’re offering,” Bruce replied evenly. “Whether you like it or not, we’re invested now.”

Danny found himself working with the Bats more often, whether it was coordinating efforts to help other at-risk kids or teaming up with them during ghost-related incidents.

Cass became a frequent visitor, quietly helping with the children and bonding with Danny over their shared love of storytelling. Tim couldn’t resist asking questions about ghost tech and the Infinite Realms, while Damian begrudgingly admitted that Danny wasn’t as useless as he’d assumed.

Jason, however, became Danny’s closest ally. The two shared a mutual understanding, both having faced death and come back changed.

Years passed, and the warehouse evolved. The children grew, some eventually striking out on their own while others stayed close. Danny became a pillar of the community, the once-abandoned warehouse now a thriving community center.

Jason remained a constant presence in Danny’s life. Their friendship deepened, and somewhere along the way, it turned into something more.

The wedding was a quiet affair, held in the Infinite Realms. The guests were a mix of humans and ghosts, an unusual but fitting reflection of Danny and Jason’s lives.

Sam, Mia, Leo, Ella, and Max—now young adults—stood by Danny’s side, their smiles bright and proud. The Bats, dressed in uncharacteristically formal attire, watched with a mix of fondness and exasperation as Jason said his vows.

“I didn’t think I’d get a second chance at a family,” Jason said, his voice steady but soft. “But with you, Danny, I found something I didn’t even know I was looking for.”

Danny smiled, his eyes glowing faintly. “And I found a home—in Gotham, in these kids, and in you. You’re stuck with me now, Jason.”

As they exchanged rings, the Infinite Realms shimmered around them, a quiet acknowledgment of the bond they’d forged.

And as they stepped into their future together, hand in hand, they knew they’d face whatever came next—together, as a family.

Over the years, Danny and Jason’s “kids” grew into remarkable young adults, each finding their own path while staying connected to the family they had built together.

Sam: The Voice for Justice

Sam’s upbringing in Gotham’s elite circles gave him unique insight into the city’s upper class. As an adult, he used that knowledge to challenge the corruption ingrained in Gotham’s wealthy families.

By day, Sam became a successful lawyer, taking on cases for those who couldn’t afford proper representation. By night, he used his connections to help Danny and Jason uncover and dismantle illegal operations hidden behind Gotham’s polished facade.

Despite his serious demeanor, Sam never forgot the kindness Danny showed him. He often visited the community center to mentor at-risk kids, giving them the guidance he wished he’d had.

Mia: The Protector

Mia’s sharp tongue and street smarts made her a natural fighter. She trained with Cass and Damian, honing her skills until she became a formidable vigilante known as Specterblade.

Unlike most of Gotham’s protectors, Mia embraced her ghostly side. Danny taught her how to channel ectoplasmic energy, giving her an edge in combat. She patrolled the streets with a ferocity that even Damian respected, targeting human traffickers and abusers with relentless determination.

Though she worked in the shadows, Mia also took an active role at the community center, running self-defense classes for women and teens.

Leo: The Guardian of the Realms

Leo’s quiet nature hid a deep connection to the Infinite Realms. Over time, his near-death experience evolved into a unique ability to sense disturbances between dimensions.

Danny noticed this early on and trained Leo to become a Realmwalker, a protector of the delicate balance between the mortal world and the Infinite Realms. Leo embraced the role, splitting his time between Gotham and the ghostly dimension.

He became a key figure in handling supernatural threats that even the Justice League struggled with. Though he was often away, Leo remained fiercely loyal to his family, returning whenever they needed him.

Ella: The Healer

Ella’s love for art evolved into a passion for design and restoration. She studied architecture and urban planning, eventually becoming a key figure in revitalizing Gotham’s neglected neighborhoods.

Her ghostly sensitivity gave her a unique perspective on spaces and their emotional resonance, which she used to create safe, welcoming environments. The community center was her first major project, and she expanded its reach with satellite locations across the city.

Ella’s gentle spirit made her a comforting presence in the family, and she often acted as the mediator when tensions ran high.

Max: The Tech Genius

Max’s brush with death left him fascinated by technology and its potential to change lives. He became a brilliant engineer, blending ghost tech and human innovation to create devices that pushed the boundaries of possibility.

Working alongside Tim, Max developed tools to help Gotham’s vigilantes fight crime more efficiently. He also created gadgets to help people with disabilities, inspired by the struggles he witnessed during his time on the streets.

Max was the quiet brain behind many of the family’s operations, preferring to let his work speak for itself.

Despite their busy lives, the kids never forgot their roots. They visited the warehouse-turned-community center regularly, helping Danny and Jason with new initiatives and staying connected to the city that had once failed them.

Family dinners were a chaotic but cherished tradition, with everyone gathering around the table to share stories, tease each other, and reaffirm their bond.

In their own ways, each of Danny and Jason’s kids carried on their legacy of hope, proving that even in a city as dark as Gotham, second chances could bloom into something extraordinary.

I might make this a series and show each kids journey. Hope you guys liked it.

[themology]

harry castillo x curator!reader ��a million dollar man”

masterlist

introduction — something real

You weren’t supposed to be there.

Not really.

You had been invited, yes—but not by name, not through clout, not through any recognition of your own work apparently. It had been passed along through a colleague you barely even talk to, a senior curator with too many busy events and not enough evenings to spare, who’d sighed and muttered, “Go in my place if you want. It’s just another collectors’ circle jerk.”

And she said it like she wasn’t handing you a rare key to the highest gates of New York’s elite art underworld.

It was an invitation by mere convenience, not design. But still—an invitation.

You told yourself it didn’t matter how you got in, only that you were there. Because this was your year. You could feel it clawing toward you from the dark. You were done being the assistant. The temp. The second voice in the panel, the fourth name in the press release.

You were curating your first major exhibition in the spring—“Myths of the Body”, a sharp, interdisciplinary show on femininity, intimacy, and resistance in contemporary art. It was small, yes, and it didn’t have institutional backing, but at least it was yours. And you needed funders. Partners. Names to put on the poster.

Names that sat in rooms like this one.

So, ultimately, you went. Nervous but polished.

In your sleekest black wool coat, your grandmother’s gold earrings, a minimalist wine red dress that hugged your form without apologizing for it.

Your hair was still damp from the rain when you stepped into the building, you forgot to bring a damn umbrella, too optimistic that the weather may be on your side, obviously it wasn’t; your heels took you in front of the building—a narrow, windowless space in Tribeca, hidden behind an industrial facade like a secret someone rich wanted to keep.

No signage.

No red carpet.

Just a clean black door and a buzzer you had to press like a gamble.

Inside, it was warm and dim, the kind of curated hush that comes not from silence, but from money. From restraint. From discipline. From the knowledge that no one here needed to prove anything.

You stepped into the space like it might bite you.

The gallery was breathtaking in its simplicity—concrete floors that had been polished until they glowed, massive floating canvases, large-scale kinetic sculptures suspended mid-air as if the very laws of gravity were negotiable.

Everything smelled of soft wood, citrus perfume, and candle wax. The crowd was older, dressed in neutrals and subtle silk.

Minimalist jewelry.

Intentional eye contact.

The elite.

You were the youngest person in the room by at least what… decade?

You lingered near a brass tray of drinks, accepted a glass of something expensive and white, and reminded yourself: You belong here. Even if your heart felt like it was trying to crawl out of your chest. Even if the hem of your coat was still damp from the damned rain.

You weren’t famous, yet. You didn’t have patrons. But you were hungry for more. And maybe that counted for something.

You moved slowly, letting your gaze travel from piece to piece, noting curatorial choices, labeling fonts, lighting angles.

You weren’t networking yet—you were strategizing. Watching. Picking out who looked like money, who looked like taste, and who looked like both.

You had just stepped toward a large abstract installation—glass and steel layered like vertebrae—when your attention snagged on someone standing alone, you barely even looked, but the presence felt so heavy you scratched the itch to look.

He didn’t look at you.

Not at first.

He was standing with his back to you, hands behind him, spine straight but relaxed. He was older.

Not old, but seasoned, his presence rooted and gravitational, like someone who knew how to bend a room around himself without saying a single word. He wore a dark coat over a navy turtleneck, tailored charcoal trousers, and heavy black shoes.

Understated, expensive, unbothered.

You didn’t recognize him.

You studied the line of his profile. The almost delicious salt at his temples. The rough edges of stubble and mustache softening a very handsome face.

He tilted his head slightly at the sculpture in front of him, as if he were listening to it speak.

“You don’t like it,” you said, before you could stop yourself.

He turned.

It was the kind of turn that felt deliberate. Like he was offering you something. And when his eyes found yours, you forgot your name for a second.

His gaze was dark, amused. Sharp. He looked at you the way some men looked at paintings they couldn’t quite understand—but desperately wanted to.

“I never said that,” he replied.

His voice was deep. Smooth. A little raspy, but warm—like fire catching slow in the distance.

“You didn’t have to.” You lifted your glass toward the piece. “Its as if your entire body was disappointed.”

That made him laugh—low, rich, unforced. It settled in your stomach, hot and unwelcome, and just— fuck…

“You’re an artist?”

“No,” you said. “A… curator.”

He looked you over, not in a way that made you feel small, but in a way that made you feel seen. As if he were picking apart layers—ambition, edge, nervousness beneath the eyeliner.

“Curating where?”

“The Carnegie Project.” You tried to keep your voice even. “I’m guest-curating a spring show.”

“Ah,” he said softly. “The idealists.”

Your mouth tilted. “And you’re not one?”

“Perhaps something else entirely.”

You didn’t know what that meant. But you were intrigued, in spite of yourself.

He stepped closer, just enough to disrupt the safe little bubble you’d created. Close enough for you to catch his scent—smoke, something leathery and green.

Deliberate.

Expensive.

He looked down at your glass. “Nervous?”

You blinked. “Why would I be?”

He smiled. It was lazy. Knowing. “Because you’re new here. You’re watching everyone else watch you. And you haven’t decided whether you’re supposed to shrink yourself or expand.”

You looked away, the truth of it searing.

“You’re observant.”

“I’m invested,” he said simply.

“In what?”

“In art,” he said. “And people who are trying to make something of it.”

You glanced back up. “And you? What do you make?”

“Trouble,” he said with a glint in his eye. Then: “And opportunity.”

He slipped his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a black business card—no phone number, no email. Just a name embossed in gold:

Harry Castillo

Castillo Atelier

The moment you read the name, your brain clicked.

Oh.

You didn’t show it. Not yet. But heat began to rise in your chest.

You’d heard of him. Of course. You’d even studied some of his more controversial acquisitions, he was a collector, a curator, a CEO of something fluid and powerful and very well-funded. A man who could make or unmake reputations in the industry with a single acquisition.

People hated him for it. Others adored him. He had the kind of presence you’d think would merely be a myth.

And he’d just handed you his card.

“If you’re ever curious,” he said softly, voice like a velvet drawl. “Or if you get tired of theory and want to play with something real.”

Then—just like that—he turned and walked away.

No goodbye.

No follow-up.

Just vanished, like a man who never questioned whether he’d be remembered.

Of course he will be.

You looked down at the card in your hand.

Your glass was trembling slightly.

next chapter

notes…

and there’s that for the introduction of a million dollar man, i’m genuinely being serious when i say the last time i wrote a fanfic was back in 2022-2023ish so my writing mighhttttt be rusty, consistent chapters will be released soon, promise!

please comment down if you wished to be tagged and notified on future chapters <3

themology, 2025.

[eatmyheartoutjpg]

Part 1.

POSER ;; You’re a Viltrumite who gets sent to Earth to investigate Nolan's absence and end up having some time off.

04.06.25 Masterlist

You were sent to Earth the moment Nolan went dark. The official report claimed he abandoned his post. You didn’t believe it for a second.

Nolan was many things—distant, silent, stern—but disloyal? Never. He worked like a dog, tirelessly and without question. If he truly defected, something serious must’ve happened. That’s what brought you here—to investigate, observe, and confirm whether the whispers of betrayal held any truth. And if they did… eliminate the root.

Your mission played through your mind lazily as you broke through the atmosphere, the planet’s gravity wrapping around you like a blanket. It was laughable, really—soft and barely noticeable compared to your last assignment. That planet had gravity thick enough to crush bones, and it made every step a chore. You still did your job, of course. Your partner on that mission was another Vilturmite, one you detested—which only fueled you to stay longer just to piss them off.

You weren’t just any Viltrumite. You were the youngest general in the Emperor’s inner circle—a tight ring of the most elite, loyal, and ruthless generals Thragg could count on. That circle hadn’t changed in centuries… until you came along. You climbed fast, carving your place with intelligence and speed rather than sheer strength. While you couldn’t match the others in raw power, your intelligence and agility made you irreplaceable.

Unlike Nolan, who was stationed long-term to conquer and rule, you were deployed as a reconnaissance agent. You didn’t hold territories. You traveled. Observed. Reported. And, when necessary, massacred.

You never stayed anywhere for long. Constant movement, constant new sights. It suited you.

But Thragg’s fury over Nolan was unusual. Unsettling, even. You’d never seen him lose composure, not like that. The trial of a potential traitor was unheard of. Nolan had barely crossed your path in all these years and you could count your conversations with him on one hand. But now, Thragg was trusting you to track down what corrupted him, to see if Earth had done something to him or if something deeper had infected the Empire. If you found a trace of rot, your orders were clear: wipe it all out.

He trusted you. Said you were “eager,” that you never asked questions. He didn’t care if your motivation was bloodlust or curiosity—as long as you got the job done.

And so, here you were. Slowing your descent as the vast ocean glistened below. The sun scorched the beach where humans gathered, running about like fragile animals in the sand.

They looked off to you. Familiar, but weak. Like Viltrumites stripped of density and mass. Visually, they resembled your kind—but the similarities ended there. You hovered silently, tilting your head as you observed them.

It wasn’t much. You were warned this civilization was primitive, caveman-tier. That might’ve been overselling it. Still, the architecture was rather charming. Colorful. Diverse. You could at least give them points for that. More visual range than Viltrum’s endless white.

Then your attention snapped sideways.

A sphere. Floating next to you.

Pitch black. Metallic. A massive red lens blinking in the center, watching you. It hovered at your level, unmoving, steady. Clearly a drone.

You blinked slowly, curiously. Then, in an instant, you were nose-to-lens, both hands cradling it as if inspecting some strange new lifeform.

You studied the camera like a child peering into a dog’s eyes. You huffed a breath onto the lens, watched it fog over, and wiped it with your palm. It was a mocking gesture,  playful tease, if you will. 

Your ears twitched, picking up the faintest hums—barely audible, but there nonetheless. More of those little black spheres were floating in your peripheral now, quietly watching from a distance. You turned your head slightly, catching three.. no, five of them. All hovering silently, lens-eyes trained on you.

You blinked once, slowly.

Cute.

The thought made you smile faintly—an involuntary reaction. These little machines reminded you of insects pretending to be predators. Harmless, curious, and oddly charming.

You looked back down at the one still clutched in your hands. You gave it a small shake, tilting your head like a bird before holding it at eye level again, your gaze piercing and unblinking.

In the depths of the GDA control center, panic was blooming.

“They’re a Viltrumite, sir,” an agent said, her voice filled with unease. The scan results glowed on the screen before her—an undeniable match.

Cecil’s jaw clenched, pressure spiking in his temples as his fists curled instinctively.

“Are they here to finish the job? God damn it!” he snapped, voice sharp and cutting. “Who’s available? Who’s nearby?!”

Even he knew there was almost no one. Invincible was still healing after getting the beat down of several lifetimes by his own father only two weeks prior. 

“Sir! W-We don’t think we can handle this threat—” Another piped up, voice laced in fear.

“You think I don’t know that? Get me someone, anyone—now!” Cecil strained his throat. They can’t cower if Earth is threatened again, after the latest shitshow, they couldn’t even remotely control another large scale assault.

Before another command could be issued, a voice echoed throughout the control room—calm, casual, and completely unexpected.

“I’m assuming you can hear me… or, worst case, read lips,” you said, your voice now coming through every speaker in the room.

Cecil froze mid-step, eyes locking on the main screen, everyone else following in suit. Silence filled the room.

“I think we speak the same language…” You trailed off, mumbling absently to yourself before refocusing. “Anyway, I’m just here to visit. Don’t see me as a threat.” You waved harmlessly at the lens.

Your face filled the entire display wall—floor to ceiling. So close, they could see the micro-expressions in your eyes, the subtle twitch in your brow, the slight purse of your lips between words. You looked young—too young to be this calm while holding the world hostage with your mere presence.

But age meant nothing when it came to Viltrumites.

You could’ve been centuries old already, and still look barely twenty. And yet… There was something different. You didn’t speak like Nolan. Your tone was light, informal, bordering on distracted. You spoke quickly, offhandedly, like your mind never stayed in one place for long. Like a kid with too much energy and too little patience.

“Don’t waste your resources on me,” you added, as if offering advice. “It’s not necessary.”

It almost sounded sincere. Almost.

How ridiculous. A Viltrumite—concerned for human lives? The same species that nearly razed the Earth to nothing?

Cecil’s fingers began tapping a pattern against his upper arm—an old rhythm to keep himself grounded, focused. He didn’t respond. Not yet.

He just stared at your face on the screen, eyes narrowed, mind racing.

“Their pupils and heart rate are steady. No indication of lying, sir.” 

You sat atop a mountain, the wind cutting sharply against your skin like tiny blades that never cut. It was quiet up here. Just you and the breeze.

You liked that. The solitude. The purity of untouched terrain.

Back on Viltrum, they had long erased such things. No mountains, no deep valleys. Just an endless city—clean, sterile, leveled to perfection. It made for efficient living… but it was so boring. 

Your legs dangled over the edge, kicking lightly in the air. You weren’t in a rush. Never were. That wasn’t how you worked.

You preferred your own process. First the overview—fly over, scan, observe. No rush, no panic. Then you’d dig deeper. Like peeling away layers of a fruit. Nolan wouldn’t be easy to track—Earth was cluttered and full of cracks to hide in. His presence could be anywhere, like a cornered hare hiding in a burrow before the wolf could bite.

Still, what truly began to gnaw at you wasn’t the task. It was the constant surveillance.

Those same, familiar spherical black-eyed cameras were always floating somewhere nearby. Always watching. Always humming softly, trying to pretend they weren’t there. You’d let it go for now. It wasn’t like they could learn anything new from watching you. You weren’t hiding anything. You never had.

The silence broke.

“Let’s have a civil conversation.”

You tilted your head, then leaned back on your palms, spine arched slightly as you glanced behind you. A drone floated nearby, inching closer with cautious movements, as if it feared you’d swat it down like a fly.

So that’s what they were going with now.

You smiled.

“So it can speak,” you said, amused, your gaze locking with the lens like it was a person. “I’m guessing you’re speaking from afar, aren’t you? Not feeling brave enough to say it in person?”

There was a beat.

“We’re wary of your origins,” the voice replied through the drone’s speaker. Calm. Controlled. Unwilling to give anything away.

You narrowed your eyes, “Didn’t answer my question, but I’ll take that as a yes.”

You stretched your arms above your head, letting out a soft hum as your joints cracked, then settled again. Relaxed. At ease.

“I’ll hear you out,” you said at last. “You did what I asked—keep to yourself. An eye for an eye, right? I think that’s the phrase.” 

Your tone was light, conversational. Like two old friends catching up on a cold mountaintop. 

“Pitch your speech,” you said with a wave of your hand, like you were introducing a play you weren’t all that interested in. Your posture was relaxed, but your eyes were sharp—watchful. You’d sat through enough debriefs and endless deliberations to know when someone was stalling and when they were about to snap.

Council meetings back on Viltrum taught you that. There was a rule that if you were a general and you happened to be on the planet when one was called, you had to attend. Orders. All missions paused, duties shelved. The only exception? A direct override from someone higher up. Which—thankfully—happened to you once during a six-month-long meeting. You were pulled out by Thragg after just a month to scout a new planet. The others weren’t so lucky.

“What is your reason for coming to Earth?” the voice asked flatly. “Your Viltrumite is already gone.”

So it was true.

Nolan had left. Fully abandoned his post without even reporting back.

You exhaled through your nose, borderline annoyed. Of course he did. You could already picture Thragg’s reaction. That bellowing roar shaking the throne room walls, spitting out Nolan’s name like it burned his mouth. “WHAT!? That bastard—!” Ugh. You weren’t in the mood for that. Maybe you could push the job of delivering the news onto someone else. Kregg, maybe. He was due for a bit of suffering.

“Well,” you said, shrugging, “I’m not here to conquer Earth, if that’s your concern” That part was true. “And no one else will come unless I ask them to.”

Your words were casual, but they carried weight. You weren’t trying to be threatening. You didn’t have to. Anyone who understood Viltrumites knew even the weakest of you could raze civilizations. And you? You weren’t anywhere close to the weakest.

A pause. Then the voice spoke again.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

Ah.

They were using your own words. How funny.

You smirked faintly, head cocked to the side.

“I’m here to observe,” you mused, voice light, almost amused. “Like you are to me at this very moment.”

You let the words hang in the air for a beat, eyes still fixed on the drone, your reflection faint in its lens.

“I’m just observing without interfering. Unless, of course, you force my hand.”

You gave a nonchalant shrug, the kind that made it impossible to tell whether it was a warning or just idle chatter.

“But you’re rather civil. I appreciate that fact.”

A/N ;; Guys please, i have so many ideas for this, but my writers block remains

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Coach Burrow

Pairing: Dad!Joe Burrow x Nurse!WifeReader

Description: Joe gets offered his favorite job yet!

Warnings: Fluffy, but suggestive towards the end ;)

Word Count: 2.4k

Main Masterlist

┊┊❁ཻུ۪۪♡ ͎. ｡˚ °

Life after the NFL wasn’t that much different for Joe Burrow. The 4x SuperBowl MVP was practically handed an elite coaching position the second he announced his retirement. So yea, not much is different from when he started all those years ago.

“MOM, where’s dad? We need him ASAP! MOM!” Your 6th grade son, Leo shouted running into the house.

Ok some things are different.

“HEY NO RUNNING IN THE HOUSE! Take your shoes off please.” Rolling your eyes at the boy and his friend as they removed their muddy cleats then continued their rampage. You’d spent the entire afternoon cleaning the house and doing the laundry so when you left for your 13 hour shift tonight you wouldn’t have to worry about your kids not having anything to wear or your husband having to focus on anything but work and your 4 kids. So you were not letting some 11 year olds mess it up.

 That's when you realized it was only 4:30, “hey!”

The two middle schoolers stop just before entering the backyard and turn to face you in the kitchen. 

“Aren‘t you two supposed to be at practice? Why’d you take the bus?” You ask.

“Our coach was fired!” Chris, Leo’s partner in crime exclaims with a smile.

“Okay, that doesn’t answer the running in my house or the smile on your faces.” Your forehead creases looking at the overly giddy kids.

“We want dad to take his place.” Well that makes sense. 

“Ok what makes you think he has time to coach both your team and Ohio State’s?” Joe’s job is flexible, but not that flexible.

“Easy, he goes to work from 9 to 4 and comes home at the same time practice is. So if he was our coach he could change our practice time from 4:30 to 5. BOOM he has time.” They say will full confidence in their plan.

If only he’d put that much effort into his math homework. But you give them credit for putting it together in such a short notice.

You chuckle and wave them off to pitch their idea to your husband of 15 years.

The boys find your husband outside “playing” around with his new grill. 

“Dad!” The man turns around confused at his youngest son’s voice.

“Leo, what are you doing home? Chris does your mom know you’re not at practice?” He pulls the lid down on the grill and gives his best ‘dad glare.’

“We came to get you! We need a new coach! And we want it to be you.” They plead.

Joe smirks and crosses his built arms. “Oh yea? Give me one good reason why I should be your coach?”

The boys look at each other a bit panicked, so they discuss it in a little huddle that makes Joe smile. 

When they break, Joe puts back on his serious facade. 

“Ok dad here’s our offer, if you agree to be our coach, I’ll get all A’s this year.” 

The dad’s brows raise in a surprised and impressed way.  

Truth is, Joe knew all about their coach’s departure. Over a week ago, the school sent an email to him personally asking if he could fill the position temporarily or even permanently. He said he’d have to check with his family before making any decisions. 

Yesterday they decided to inform him that a number of other dads/ supporters had already applied so there’d be a formal try out today at 5. 

The boys walked into the house at 4:30 and all he’d been waiting for was his son’s approval.

“You know what bud, I’ll gladly take you up on that offer.” He says shaking his mini-me’s hand. The shake quickly turns into him being ‘dragged’ into the house.

“We gotta go! You need to be there right now.” Joe just shakes his head and grabs his keys.

“I see you didn’t take much convincing.” You give him a knowing look as he walks around the kitchen counter to where you’re seated.

He chuckles, “I may have had some insider knowledge of the situation. But here’s the kicker, he agreed to make all A’s if I tried out.” Your husband smiles widely knowing how hard you’ve been trying to get the 11 year old to take his schooling seriously.

You scrunch your face as he pecks both cheeks before placing a much deeper kiss to your lips that you can’t help but reciprocate. 

“Mom… dad that’s gross, we need to go it’s 4:45!” Leo whines causing you to separate from his father.

“Yea go kick butt Shiesty!” You wink as he’s pulled out of the house laughing.

━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━

When the boys get to the field they are surprised by the sight of your 14 year old twins, Malia and Miles, standing by the fence.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite firstborns, what are you doing here?” Joe asked giving them side hugs, the only acts of affection they’ve allowed him to show outside the house.

“I wanted to get burgers, but was dragged here by her.” Miles dead tones.

Malia rolls her eyes. “I came to fill out your application for coach so you’re welcome, please come up with an adequate ‘daughter’s appreciation day’ present to thank me.” She smiles, Joe snorts at teenager.

“Are you sure you’re my daughter because that was all your mother? Thank you for helping out Lia and Miles…” The young boy shrugs. “Exactly. You guys plan on staying until we’re done or do I need to call mom?”

“We’ll stay, I wanna see the looks on the other dads’ faces when they see you.” Miles replies rubbing his hands together.

“I guess I’m staying too.” Malia shrugs.

“Ok then.” 

The tryouts had barely already started by the time Joe finally got to the field and just as Miles anticipated, the reactions were priceless.

“Mr. Evans, he’s here!” Leo yells running onto the field. His wild presence causes everyone look in his direction. 

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“The kid’s dad is Joe Burrow?!”

“I don’t know if I should be honored or scared.”

“We should all just leave now, he has 4 rings.”

Leo’s teacher, Mr. Evans shakes the former quarterback’s hand and welcomes him onto the field. 

“Mr. Burrow, it’s good to see you again.”

“Please call me Joe, it’s nice to be able to come out.” He says.

“Of course Joe, you’re right on time too. Would you like to introduce yourself to everyone?”

Joe nodded, “yea of course.” Then turned towards his competitors. “Hey guys I’m Joe, Leo’s dad. I guess I kind of played for a bit, but that’s all behind me now.” He chuckles.

“If played for a bit means leading the best team in LSU history to an undefeated championship then going from ‘the underdog’ of the NFL to a future hall of famer with 4 SuperBowl rings? Than the rest of us haven’t even heard of the game.” Will, Chris’ dad scoffed. Joe patted his long time friend on the back then joined him in line.

“Ok so first we’re going to test your football knowledge then see how well you coach other kids, not your own.” Evans claps his hands and they get to work.

By the end of the first round, half of the applicants have been dismissed and unsurprisingly Joe leads the pack going into the second round. 

“You know this isn’t fair right?” Will says in between rounds.

Joe sighs, “you do realize Leo and Chris practically tracked mud through the house just to get me here right?” Then smirks as the other guy rolls his eyes.

“Hey what if we made it fair?” 

Will looks at him intrigued, “I’m listening.”

“Split the job, we already know it’s going to come down to us. So what do you say, partners?” Joe suggests.

“Damn Burrow,” Will instantly agrees. “I don’t know how you stay so humble.” He laughs.

Joe just points to his fan club on the bleachers. “Chris is your oldest, so you don’t even know the degree of humility teenagers will teach you but my wife helps also helps with that.” 

When the men line back up for the rest of try outs, all of the other guys had already left.

Then Mr. Evans walks up to them. “So, I think it’s pretty clear who’s going to get the position.”

“Actually, we’ve decided to split it.” Will leads, the teacher looks to Joe confused.

“Yup, it would actually work out better if both of us share responsibility. There’s a lot of benefits to having two coaches, plus we’re doing it for free.” 

Mr. Evans couldn’t argue against the offer so he just shook their hands.

“Alright Coach Burrow and Coach Williams. Welcome to the Wildcats.”

❀。• *₊ meanwhile at the house °。 ❀°。

“Mommy, I need help...” 

You had just finished putting on your scrubs before your 6 year old started crying bloody murder. “What is it my love?” 

Walking into her My Little Pony room you scanned every crevice for threats, but only landed on the young girl sitting on her floor with a notebook.

“I don’t know how to do this.” 

You melted at the cute pout on her face as she pointed to her math book. “Jazzy, babygirl. Are the fractions giving you a hard time?” She nodded her head, you checked your watch (5:15) and decided to join her on the floor.

“Ok I have some spare time to help you on a few, but when daddy gets home I have to go work okay pretty girl?” She happily nodded and scooched herself into your lap. 

For the next 20 minutes you simply watched and fiddled with your daughter’s dark curls as she studied her math. It became very clear within seconds that she just wanted to be with her mother as she didn’t ask any questions about the material. 

Being a charge nurse meant your hours were more unpredictable, especially at your hospital. Most nurses worked 12 hour shifts but you were currently understaffed so you took it upon yourself to be a leader and help your team. You usually worked 3 overnight shifts a week, so you could be there when the kids get home from school. Even though you were home more often than not, there are times when your babies need you, so if one of them wanted more time with you there was no way you were going to reject them of that opportunity.

While you and your youngest were cuddled up on the ground in your own little world, Joe and his fan club arrived right on time for dinner. 

“I’m starving, why couldn’t we stop for burgers?” Miles groaned throwing his backpack onto the couch.

Joe picked up the bag and put it back in his son’s hands. “Because even though she didn’t have to, your mother cooked before her shift. So you’re going to take your stuff upstairs and get washed up for dinner.” He gave him a pointed look and dismissed the teenager.

“Wow, I can’t wait to deal with that.” Joe shook his head and led his friend to the kitchen.

“You have no idea. I love my kids, but the older they get the more of me I see in them. It would cool when all he wanted to do was throw the football around, but now the stubbornness gene is really coming to bite me in the ass.” He snorted while warming up their dinner.

“How’s he doing with that, has he made varsity yet?” Will asks as the kids make their way downstairs.

“He’s good for a sophomore but not there yet. If he put more of his time into practice instead of chasing cheerleaders he could be better.” He responds just as the boy rounds the corner.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game dad. I got Becky Jackson’s number in third period, nothing’s stopping me now.” He smiles taking his place at the table.

“What happened to Marissa? I thought she was nice.” Joe chuckles as his wife joins the crew. 

“You know how he is babe.” You give him a quick kiss wrapping your arms around him.

“Yea mom, he’s for the streets.” 

“I am not for the streets! At least I have a date.”

You shake your head and slowly make your rounds. You quickly greet Will, grab your work and dinner bags, kiss the kids and walk with Joe to the front door. 

“You’re really going to leave me in this chaos.” He sighs his hands still holding yours.

“I heard my teacher was for the streets.”

“What’s for the streets?”

You smirk against his chest, “oh I think you got this Shiesty, this is nothing compared to your O Line in those early years.”

His hands quickly drop your hands and find your waist. “Ok alright I see how you want this to go.” His voice low against your ear.

“What, I’m simply saying your risks for injury are dramatically lower.” Your arms go around his neck as he backs you into the corner out of your children’s vision, then a hand on your waist moves to grip the meat of your ass. You bite your lip as a low moan muffles against his chest.

“You think you’re funny. If it was just us right now, I’d show your ass what being funny gets you. But when you get back, you’re all mine mama.” He groans nipping your ear then pressing a hungry kiss to your lips. You moan into his soft yet bruising lips, pulling him in further. 

“Oh god, Jazmine close your eyes.” 

You both sigh as the giggles from your permanent cockblockers acknowledge their existence to you. 

“I’m sending them to my parents tomorrow.” 

“Do that and we might end up adding to the population.” You chuckle pulling away from your husband, who raises his brows at your comment. 

“Don’t tempt me, you know exactly how I like you.” He playfully slaps your behind. “Kids, say goodnight to mom!”

You shake your head at him while being engulfed in hugs. “I love you, I’ll see you when you get home from school.”

“Bye momma..” The chorus sings.

They return to the table and you turn back to a smirking Joe. “See you tomorrow beautiful.” You blush hugging him once more before opening the door.

“Goodnight Coach Burrow, can’t wait practice with you tomorrow.” You wink as his eyes cerulean eyes darken then shut the door.

“Fuck, who said 5 kids was too many.”

━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━

A/N: Looks like a bitch came back to life! My trip was nice but not writing for so long killed me. Can’t wait to see how much gets posted in the next week

Xoxo Babe

Likes, comments and reblogs are welcomed and treasured ♡

[yuu-extended-yuuniverse]

Pokémon AU! (Yuu & Riddle)

Trainer looking at Grim: What kind of Pokémon is THAT???

Grim, offended: I'm not a Pokémon! I'm a TRAINER. Just you wait! I'll be the greatest Elite Four Champion ever! Myahahahaha!

Yuu: Does that make me the Pokémon in this relationship?

~*~

Riddle Rosehearts was the youngest trainer to ever become a gym leader in Twisted Wonderland, and remains one of the most ruthless.

Gym leader Riddle specializes in primarily fire type Pokémon! Which is why so many new challengers who come prepared with a full team of Water-types are so caught off guard when Riddle's partner Pokémon, Roserade, comes out! Who finishes them off with her signature move "Off With Your Head!"

Losers are enlisted to paint the hedge maze roses of the Heartslabyul gym to appear like Poké balls.

More headcanons and enlarged photos below:

Riddle

Heartslabyul is the first gym most new trainers encounter

It is situated in the same city as the trainer school, where Riddle enjoys tutoring on his days off

His partner Pokémon, Roserade, was gifted to him by a childhood friend (Trey) back when it was still a weak little Budew

Mrs. Rosehearts belongs to the ranks of Nurse Joys and originally wanted Riddle to study medicine. To everyone's shock, obedient young Rosehearts went on to become a formidable trainer and eventually declared, much to his mother's chagrin, his intention to become a gym leader and help new trainers

Riddle is still the youngest gym leader, at 18 years old

Despite his harsh exterior, many trainers still attribute much of their success to Leader Rosehearts' insistence on practicing the basics.

If you are strong and fortunate enough to ever challenge Riddle again, his fully trained 6 team includes Roserade, Ninetails, Flareon, Rapidash, Galarian Rapidash, and Shaymin.

When pressed, Riddle refuses to answer where he met a member of the elusive Shaymin Pokémon.

Riddle can often be found racing or playing polo at the Equestrian club, riding either of his Rapidashs.

Despite all the good he does, Riddle can often be too much of a stickler to the rules and unable to see outside-the-box

He first meets Yuu when he is kicking Ace and Deuce, two new trainers, out of his gym for trying to cheat their way through his hedge maze puzzle and disparaging the idea of going to trainer school, refusing to let them challenge him and effectively ending their dreams of challenging the elite four.

It is only after Yuu challenges him for Ace and Deuce's right to re-enter the gym, and uses both lessons Riddle preaches and unusual outside-the-box thinking to defeat him, that Riddle reconsiders his black and white view of the world.

He gives Ace and Deuce a second chance, on the expectation that they first go to trainer school for a week, and asks if Yuu would consider sharing their unique battling style with the students at the school (despite these techniques not being taught in any books)

In the end, all three, Ace, Deuce, and Yuu, earn their Heartslabyul badges, and Riddle wishes them luck at the next gym.

Yuu

No one quite knows where this trainer came from.

All anyone knows is that they showed up out of nowhere with a talking feline Pokémon no Pokédex recognizes, named Grim.

For whatever reason, Team STYX keeps trying to capture Grim for some nefarious purpose.

But despite Yuu's unimposing figure and having just recently started their journey, they are actually a very formidable trainer and have managed to battle off every one of Team STYX's attempts.

Yuu meets Ace and Deuce while the two of them are being kicked out of Heartslabyul gym and a fast friendship is formed.

Ace declares that they are all rivals now, but they still travel together from city to city.

To Ace and Deuce's horror, Yuu seems to enjoy sleeping over in abandoned and haunted houses on their journey

Ghost Pokémon seem to particularly like Yuu

Yuu sometimes runs into an interesting person during their travels, a man they have nicknamed Tsunotaro

Tsunotaro seems to always show up whenever Team STYX is getting up to no good, and helps Yuu battle them off and clear out various Team STYX bases of operation throughout Twisted Wonderland.

Ace and Deuce have never met this mysterious Tsunotaro, but if they did they would be shocked to discover that he is actually Malleus Draconia, Twisted Wonderland's infamous and terrifying Elite Four Champion

But to Yuu he's just Tsunotaro, a weird but nice guy who seems to think fighting off a crime syndicate together counts as a date

[cravetive]

𝔸 𝔽ℝ𝕀𝔼ℕ𝔻 𝕆𝔽 𝔸 𝔽ℝ𝕀𝔼ℕ𝔻 | ℂℍ. 𝟙

| 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐧𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫.

|𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞/𝐚𝐮: 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬,𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭,𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐮, 𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭.

| 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐗 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

| 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.6k

| 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐬 & 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, foul language ( 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 ), 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬), 𝐬𝐞𝐱 ( 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬).

| 𝐀/𝐍: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫! 𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 does 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲.

𝐂𝐡.𝟐

_

resentment.

bitter indignation of having been treated unfairly.

you had carried that heavy feeling for some time now, weighing you down with each step that you took. you wished you could pinpoint the reason, to have one target to focus on but there had been many things that caused you to clasp onto this feeling, it had become so familiar, you dared to call it a friend.

its warm embrace consuming you when you lay empty at night.

in your darkest hours.

Being raised in an almost picture-perfect home prevented you from completely grasping how you had ended up with the stirring feeling.

 you had been given all that you had ever asked for, your parent's wealth had guaranteed you a life of luxury and pampering that anyone would die for. you had been sent to the best schools, had surrounded yourself with the elites, you had been born into a world that had been hand-made perfectly for you, so was it truly unfair?

yes

besides the fact that you never had to truly worry about anything in life, you had been instilled with morals, morals that your father had soon thrown to the wind the second a business offer was laid on his table that he just had to bite.

 success was not enough for a man like your father, he always starved for more.

so much so that once the Jeon family, one of the wealthiest and most influential families in Korea offered a 98 billion won investment into his company in exchange for the marriage of their heirs, there was no fucking way he was going to refuse.

regardless of the sacrifices his own daughter would have to make for him.

marriage was sacred, this had been instilled in you since the early age of 5, your parents had fallen in love at the sweet age of 18, and ever since they had been inseparable. even after 25 years of marriage they still managed to swoon for one another. They had built a successful company together with blood, sweat, and tears. the dedication and loyalty they had for their business only enforced their ties.

"If you are to marry someone, do it for love"

they would say, funny how that quickly changed the moment money was placed on the line.

it was painful for you to admit that all the glory had gotten to their heads.

they had prepared a wedding in less than a week, forcing you into a marriage with a man you had only met the day you said your rehearsed vows.

Jeon Jungkook

Jungkook was one of the youngest and wealthiest eligible bachelors in Korea, the news of your marriage had shaken society to its core, no one had expected such a thing, he was known for his partying and luxurious life and you were barely known at all, as you always ensured to keep a low profile. magazines and blogs had gushed over your dress and the venue, the celebrities and other elites who had attended, and the expensive wines and food that had been provided. all things that had been chosen for you.

and yet you prevailed, in the sickest way you had convinced yourself that it would all work out for the best, your father would have not set you up for failure, you were the apple of his eye.

 arranged marriages were not uncommon in your circle, many of them had turned out just fine. eventually, you could fall for him, eventually, you could really love him, like a real marriage.

the thought now caused a vile taste in your mouth.

you had been so foolish, so naive to believe such things but given the circumstances, it was the only thing you could hold onto. hopeful thoughts.

the hope that had been snatched from you the moment you had learned the truth behind this entire ordeal.

you see unbeknown to your father, the money that had been used to trade his daughter had come from the illegal sale of firearms to the biggest mafia leaders and gangs in Korea, all the success the Jeon family had obtained had come from a long lineage of fraudulent businesses and crime and your father's company had just become the next victim.

they had used your marriage to strengthen their venomous root within the company, using it to launder their blood money.

98 billion drops of blood at that.

which meant that if they fell, your family fell with them and even though you carried great indignation towards the people who you had once called your parents, you could not imagine bringing them such pain.

therefore, divorce was not an option.

fear had forced you into a loveless marriage, had you harboring secrets for the family that would bring your own down in the blink of an eye.

"Mrs. Jeon"

a delicate whisper flowed into the air, snapping you back into the room in which you sat.

"mhm," you blinked, your eyes falling back onto the woman standing before you holding a catalog for you to view.

"I apologize ma'am" her voice shaking slightly, "I asked if you would like to view the new line of furniture coming out this season" she offered "for the remodelation of your home".

you stared blankly at the photographs before you and took a deep breath, your mind vacant.

"send some options to my assistant and then we will choose from them" you instructed.

the woman nodded and bowed deeply before removing herself from the room.

this was what you had to become. you had integrated yourself smoothly into the role of a stay-at-home wife as requested by your father-in-law who had made it clear that working was not a woman's duty and that you should allow your husband to provide for you.

all the dreams you once had of becoming a successful businesswoman had been replaced by brunches with other wives from high society and charity events. there was no room for your aspirations here and neither was there for any protest.

it made you want to claw at your eyes.

"Myung" you called for your assistant, and she quickly appeared before you. her small frame contrasting against your grand office, her shaky hands pressed tightly against the tablet on her hands and if you looked closely you could swear she was on the verge of an anxiety attack.

"yes Mrs. Jeon"

you cringed at the name that she uttered, wanting to remove yourself as much as possible from that family.

"Myung, please call me Y/N"

you corrected, causing her cheeks to grow brightly red at her mistake. She bowed quickly, her eyes wide open.

"Y-yes Mrs. J - Y/N"

"do I have any other meetings for today?" you inquired.

her eyes quickly scanned the tablet in her hands, the schedule reflecting off her thick glasses.

" uhm, you were free for the rest of the evening but Mr. Jeon actually called and requested to have dinner with you tonight" she announced nervously.

"oh" your lips parted "he's back from his travels, is he?" she shook her head rapidly, biting on her bottom lip, a bad habit you learned she had each time she grew nervous, which was often.

you leaned back onto your chair and pondered for a moment. spending time with your husband was always planned, always scheduled. much like a business meeting, there were many formalities taken at the time.

hell, you didn't even share the same bed.

in the year you have been married, the man had not touched you once.

it could be that he found solace in the arms of other women, many of whom smiled each time they passed you at events as if fucking your husband was some kind of bragging right, or maybe it was the iciness you radiated any time he was anywhere near you.

regardless of the reason, nothing had changed since the day you said I do.

it was visible to you from the first day you entered your shared home that this would not be a marriage that would offer you comfort or warmth.

once the housekeeper had shown you to your room and found no evidence that your husband had even graced his presence there you had concluded that you were doomed to the coldness of an empty relationship.

you scoffed rather loudly, turning your chair to face Myung once more.

"Who does he think he is" You bit "am I a dog that he summons whenever he feels like it?"

she stood still, thoughts bubbling in her mind.

you held out your finger before she could speak "Do not answer that".

you inhaled deeply before reaching for your Birkin bag and standing up firmly.

"call the driver and tell him to take me home"

"but Mrs. Je - Y/N"

Myung protested as you walked toward the doors of your office

"Mr. Jeon will be upset" she concluded.

there it was, that reminder that all those who stood beside you ultimately were under the Jeon payroll, and although they showed the utmost respect towards you, their loyalty remained elsewhere.

you snapped your head towards her and placed the shades you carried in your hands over your eyes in a swift movement, your red lips pulling into a smirk.

it had been a long time coming, your rebellion that was. you had been obedient for far too long, running at their Becking call like some kind of pet. the title of a trophy wife made you sick but that was what you were all along.

smile pretty for the camera Y/N, laugh Y/N, walk Y/N, bow Y/N, be respectful Y/N, don't be too loud Y/N, shrink yourself Y/N.

"then let him"

you had been silent for too long, cowarding at each of their words, in fear they would hurt your family.

but you were your father's daughter and you were starving

for revenge. 

-

𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝! 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞! 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤/𝐝𝐦 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

© 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[yellowjestertfs]

Agents of Change

My submission to @occamstfs 2000 follower viral writing contest. A million congrats to @occamstfs for the achievement, and a million more thanks for the help in editing this story.

Not quite my usual story but pretty happy with how it turned out. Also make sure to check out the other amazing authors participating in this contest as well.

As an elite member of the Secret Service, Whitman was prepared for an endless number of threats. He could disarm an attacker in seconds, spot gunmen from a hundred feet away, even disable a bomb with one foot while blindfolded upside down. What he wasn’t prepared for was pretty boys.

"Sir,” Brella, the youngest and only woman in his detail, said, her voice raised slightly in alarm as she pointed out the five men heading toward them in the hall.

“I see them,” Whitman said, placing a hand on his taser and standing up to his full five ten of hight in an attempt to look intimidating. The men were not outright threatening; dressed in too small suits, they could easily be young aides or politicians, if not for the fact that they looked wrong.

Well, that is not exactly true; what really set Whitman off was the fact that they looked perfect—too perfect, like supermodels mixed with superheroes. It wasn’t that Washington didn't have its fair share of handsome fellas. Rather to the contrary, Whitman had known plenty of young senators or lobbyists who used their good looks as an advantage in their careers. None, however, looked like these men. 

They strode forward purposefully down the hallway, feet landing and lifting with perfect synchronicity.

Each of them was tall and broad, with strong muscular legs that bulged against their suit pants, although not quite as much as the bulges in their crotches. Their waists were trim and tight, tapering out to wide shoulders and strong arms. And then there were their faces. 

Though each differed in hairstyle and facial features, they all possessed the same quality to their face. Something about the cut of the jaw or the glint of the eyes made them undeniably linked. Beauty to the point of uncanny.

“Excuse me, sirs. This is a restricted zone; I am going to have to ask you to turn around.” Whitman called out, though the men were still at least 70 feet away. 

The horde of men continued to stride forward, though the one in the lead responded. In a polite but slightly monotone voice, “We are allowed to be here; we have a meeting with the president.” He said face, adopting a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Whitman tightened his hand on his taser. He knew for a fact these pretty boys didn't have any such meeting scheduled. He found it strange and troubling that that excuse had gotten them this far. Confusing and deeply suspicious. “The president is busy right now. You really should stop walking and tell me how you got in here.” The men kept walking forward, now only thirty feet from Whitman, and his team, posed outside the president’s office. 

“Bret and Berry let us in.” The man said, invoking the name of the secret service agents who watched the door to the hallway. Hearing the names jogged something in Whitman’s head—a fact right in front of him he had somehow missed. He heard his second in command Santiago let out a gasp behind him as he reached a similar conclusion. Two of the men flanking the leader bore a striking resemblance to the agents, only with faces more handsome and bodies more muscular. It was as if those agents had been remade in the image of conventional beauty standard, smooth and unnaturally symmetrical. In addition Bret now had a short beard that suited his dark eyes. While Berry’s hair had been combed and bleached into a thick blond swoop, which complemented his square face, and each man had gained at least fifty pounds of muscle and half a foot in height. 

“Stop right there,” Whitman yelled, losing any semblance of politeness. By now, the men were only ten feet away. Whitman removed his taser from his holster and pointed it at the man in the lead. Behind him, his agents did the same. 

“I assure you we mean no harm. Put down your weapons.” The man in the lead said, his voice intelligent and charismatic but with a hint of something alien in his words. He took another step, and Whitman fired. 

Small metal wires sprung out, latching onto the suit of the man in the lead. The taser in his hand bucked as it sent wave after wave of electricity into the man's body. When he was in the army Whitman had been tased as part of his training. They were the worst five seconds of his life as his every cell was violently electrocuted and he convulsed on the floor. The man in the lead didn't break a stride, seeming more annoyed by the hole the gun left in his suit than the electricity. Whitman watched as Brella and Cameron fired their taser into two of the other men who had similarly lack of response. 

Santiago, seeing the ineffectualness of the weapon, brought out his gun and pointed it at the leader. Whitman always preached avoiding lethal harm as often as possible; but the rapid escalation of the situation surely called for it. In a blur, the man in the lead rushed forward. Whitman could only feel the air kicked up by him as he rushed past and grabbed Santiago’s wrist with one hand, shoved it and the gun upwards towards the ceiling. Cameron reached for his own gun, but Bret and Berry rushed forward to stop him while another man grabbed Brella from behind and put a hand over her mouth. Whitman found himself backing up, physically blocking the door to the Oval Office with his body as his agents were incapacitated before him. 

These men moved faster than humanly possible and were far stronger as well, but Whitman was not defenseless. The last unoccupied man lunged for him, but Whitman managed to sidestep right at the last second, causing the man to lose his balance. Whitman took advantage of this and grabbed him in a headlock, pulling his gun out, and placing it to the man's temple.

Brella screamed something, but the sound was muffled by the hand over her mouth. Santiago’s arm was still in the grasp of the man in the lead, but oddly enough he seemed not to be struggling, instead staring straight ahead at the ceiling with a glazed look. Even more strangely, Cameron now faced away from Whitman, locked in the tight embrace with the man who resembled Berry. Whitman’s eyes went wide as he realized the two were kissing. He was even more startled to realize that Bret was unbuttoning Cameron's white button-down shirt from behind, running his hands over Cameron's now bare lower back.

Whitman couldn’t understand what was happening. His brain, grounded so long in the mundane, couldn’t process the unexplainable happening occurring before his eyes. Santiago's wrist and hand were jerking. No, not jerking, shifting, growing larger, bone pushed outwards as skin tightened, veins slowly rose to the surface. His fingernails straightened into perfect uniform cuticles, and his knuckles became rough and bony and distinctly masculine. His once slender wrist thickened, while his forearm muscles swelled, pushing against the skin with newfound strength as more veins and dark brown hair sprang to the surface like rivers and trees. 

Whitman watched dumbly as the changes quickly grew past Santiago's elbow, onto his upper arm, which grew muscular and brawny, and eventually up to his shoulder, which widened and rounded with new muscle. 

Cameron, from his own embrace, let out low guttural noises of pleasure. He shifted, revealing the side of his face. It looked almost as if Cameron now had a birthmark around his lips. The skin had the skin was slightly darker and completely unblemished. The change spread from around his lips in all directions like a flame in a field. As it went, it changed not just his skin but the landscape of his face, tightening his jaw, nose growing slightly, cheeks becoming high and prominent, and all the while leaving numerous small light brown hairs on his chin and cheeks to form perfectly groomed stubble. His brows became thicker, forehead lost its wrinkles, eyes narrowed and turned a deep shade of green the color of rusty copper. 

As this happened, Bret managed to remove Cameron's suit jacket and shirt from his body. He wrapped his arms around Cameron's torso, rubbing his hands over Cameron's slight belly and hairy chest. Everywhere Bret touched changed rapidly, stomach giving way to tight abs with cut obliques. Bret placed his hands over both Cameron's nipples, and under his hands, pecs grew in for him to cup. His back also shifted as the changes spread, muscles tightening and skin became just as hairless and poreless as on his face. Cameron began to gyrate his hips back into Bret's groin as his moans became louder.

All of this happened in a matter of seconds. Brella was unaffected at least, as she continued to struggle against her attacker. “Stop whatever you're doing or he gets it.” Whitman barked, tightening his headlock on the man he had subdued and jamming his gun further into the man's head.

The one who had grabbed Santiago, the leader, turned to face Whitman. He dropped Santiago's wrist, which instantly fell to his side, slack. The alien changes had spread over his chest, down his torso, and into his other arm. Whitman watched as the changes crept up his neck, thickening as it grew a more prominent Adam's apple. Despite being free, Santiago stood there limply, gun clattering to the floor next to him. The leader took a step towards Whitman. The two men locked eyes. For a moment, he felt an understanding between him and the leader. This man was a killer bee, with drones at his command and yet also supremely dangerous in his own right. Whitman was a bear though, he would do anything to protect his charge, and he had a taste for honey.

The leader raised his hands in surrender, and Whitman smiled coldly. Then he felt a hand wrap around his bare ankle underneath his pant leg. Instant sensations overwhelmed him. Shock, lust, horror—his hormones became an unstable cocktail as sensations wracked his body. From the location of the touch, he felt a deep biting cold; the places where his captor’s fingers touched were suddenly plunged into an Antarctic snowbank. Whitman kicked his leg, breaking his captive’s grip on his leg, but the cold feeling remained. He tried to fire his gun, but his hands began to shake so violently that it dropped from his grip. He looked up and saw the leader had closed the distance to him in a second so that their faces were now inches away. Whitman thought he was going to kiss him as Barry had to Cameron. But instead, the leader whispered in Whitman's ear, so close that Whitman could smell the mint on his breath and feel the hot air on his cheek. “Stop fighting. Enjoy it. Soon we will be one.”

Whitman tried to say something, but only a croak came out. He fell to his knees, then fully to the floor as the burning cold spot on his ankle pulsed rhythmically. Whitman could only watch as the leader and the man who should have been his  captive walked over to Whitman's agents. The changes had fully spread across Santiago's face, giving him a handsome look somehow that shared the uncanny similarity to his attackers. Through his clothes, Whitman couldn’t tell how far the changes had reached on Santiago's lower body, but judging by the large bulge pushing out his pants in the front and the even larger butt pushing out from the back, they were spreading rapidly.

Cameron seemed even further along. His entire body and face were completely changed. He had become a brute of a man, with a tall hulking frame on trunks for legs, a creature of power. His face looked the same way; it shared the other's beauty but had a more square, simple cast to it that made him look halfway between a prince and a caveman. He no longer stared blankly at his head but sneered intimidatingly. He and the leader approached Brella, tying a rope around her arms and legs and putting a gag into her mouth. She looked desperately to Whitman or Santiago for help, but both were just as powerless as she was.

Whitman watched as Santiago’s foot expanded, toes growing and curling in his now too-small shoes. As the last part of his body changed, Santiago looked up from his trance and light returned to his eyes. Whitman tried to signal for him to grab the fallen gun, but instead, Santiago moved to stand by the leader's side. Now a group of seven, numbers bolstered by two of his own, the men walked past a helpless Whitman and into the door to the Oval Office that Whitman had failed in his mission to guard.

The changes spread down Whitman’s ankle into his foot and up to his knee. He found with alarm that he was unable to move those parts of his body, like they had been calcified in stone. With his arms he crawled forward gaining a view into the office. His discarded gun lay a few feet before him. He tried to crawl some more but found the activity becoming more and more taxing.

Inside the office, chaos had erupted. The four secret service agents Whitman had assigned to stay inside the office had heard the commotion outside and were ready with guns drawn. Even so, they were not fast enough. Four of the men, including Santiago, raced blindingly fast toward the men and incapacitated them in seconds; their touch began the changes on those agents that Whitman was currently experiencing. 

The Secretary of Agriculture, Packson Jackson, a little man who the president had been meeting with, tried to stop the intruders, physically placing his body in front of the president. Cameron stepped forward and lifted the man into the air with one hand as effortlessly as if he were a toy. Jackson flailed in Cameron’s grasp, feet kicking harmlessly into the air. Cameron brought his hand up to hover just above Jackson’s face. The meek man shied away, closing his eyes tight in anticipation. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off as Cameron from above spit down into his mouth, then shoved his thumb between the secretary’s lips. Jackson looked horrified for a second, then a glazed appearance came over his eyes, and he began sucking furiously on the finger as his face started to transform from the inside out. 

Whitman struggled forward. The changes had spread up one leg into his hips and down the other. In the wake of the changes, Whitman's sturdy thigh had become a cut cascade of muscle, thick and hairy and made for pushing mountains instead of walking briskly down White House hallways. His hips spasmed uncontrollably as round mounds emerged to form a tight shelf on his butt, the movement forcing his dick into the ground repeatedly. His penis felt strange, growing erect, then warm, then pricked with hundreds of pleasurable tingles as his dick and balls swelled larger. The haze of sensations creating an overwhelming fogging on his brain became twinged by acute and powerful horniness. 

The president, watching his secret service taken out so easily, raised his hand in defeat. He addressed the leader of the group, who leaned against the doorframe casually.

“I surrender.” He said in his signature southern drawl, giving a disarming smile. “Whatever your grudge is, it's with me, not these people.” He gestured to the secret service agents in various phases of transformation. “Release them and you can kill me, I won’t fight.”

“Kill you?” The leader asked from the doorframe. His voice was deep and hypnotic, with that same twinge of distance from before as if he were detached from the events happening around him. He rushed forward in a blur so that he was only inches away from the president. To Whitman's relief, his hands stayed by his side. “I’m afraid you misunderstand, Mr. President, we are here to give you a gift.”

With herculean effort, Whitman stretched out his arm far enough for his fingers to brush against the handle of the fallen gun. By now the changes had overtaken his other leg and moved onto his torso, which slimed into sleek abs. His head was on fire, every neuron on full tilt; he could barely keep up with the events happening in front of him, and in the back of his mind, he felt something—a new presence knocking on his proverbial mental door.

The president looked down at the Secretary convulsing on the floor in front of him. Already the changes had elongated Packson body significantly and beefed up his slender frame with significant muscle. “I don’t want your gift.” He glanced at Whitman, struggling on the floor for a gun, and knew he needed to buy time. “Let's talk about what you want—money, power, favors. I can do all three if you release these innocent men.”

The leader seemed willing to take the bait. “I sometimes forget how petty and simple men can be.” He said it in a thoughtful retrospective manner, looking the president up and down from his head-higher of vantage. “We are not apes to be so easily swayed from our course by the carnal; we are oneness, brotherhood, fraternity, true revelation. You will soon understand”

Whitman's flailing hand seized the gun. The changes had reached his chest, which now hovered several inches off the ground on pillowy muscular pecs. His shoulders locked up as the changes reached them. As he took aim with the gun the changes continued down his arm, leaving a round bicep/tricep combo and locking his elbow in place. 

Something about the way the leader spoke, about the lofty collective tone. It felt dangerous, otherworldly, and distinctly familiar. The intruder in the back of his mind spoke similarly; it urged him to put down the gun and to join it in its mission of conversion, of domination. 

Whitman blocked it out. He felt the changes spread up his neck, up his jaw, and over his mouth, removing any power he might have had to make a sound. He felt a strange prickle on his face as a thick, well-groomed beard grew in. An exhalation from his straightening nose tickled his new mustache hair. As the changes passed his eyes, he could feel them start to physically alter his brain, making him more malleable and honing him for whatever purpose these changes, this being, meant for him.

Even stranger he felt a connection start to emerge in his consciousness to the other affected men in the room. He could feel their thoughts, their emotions, and their misgivings. 

The leader stepped forward to grab the president's bare flesh. The president flinched back. Whitman could feel the leader's thoughts through the new bond and knew he intended to grab with the right hand and lunge with his whole body. Whitman's wrist and palm were no longer his, fully transformed; it didn't matter. He still had his fingers and just enough of himself left to pull the trigger. 

The leader, or rather the entity inside the leader, felt Whitman's actions as he did them. He was fast, but the bullet was faster. In the split second the entity inside the leader made itself physical to infect the president with his touch Whitman shot. The bullet sailed right into its eldritch form, just between the leader's body and the president, and out the other side. 

The entity led out an ungodly, inhuman, nail on a chalkboard screech, and then it was gone. All around the destroyed office, men woke up as if from a dream, eyes fluttering rapidly and looking around at the carnage they had only passengers to. Cameron looked down at his gargantuan body with shock, while Jackson groaned and picked himself off the floor unsteadily, his body now a foot taller and 100 pounds heavier.

 From the hallway, Brella moaned through her gag. Santiago suddenly himself again, although now with a model's face and a bodybuilder frame, went to untie her sheepishly. Whitman lay on the floor, profoundly exhausted and overwhelmed. 

“Can I shake your hand?” A voice said from above him. Whitman looked up to see the president smiling down at him. That managed to rouse him, and he slowly got to his feet. Every part of his body, save the very tip of his middle fingers, had been transformed. His tailored suit now looked pathetically small on his thick muscular frame, and his face felt wider, more masculine, his jaw jutting outward strongly as if he could chew rocks like gum. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, of his body becoming this new foreign perfect thing. Whitman didn't know how he was going to even start explaining this to his husband or stepkids. 

Now however, he had other concerns. The president stuck out his hand for Whitman to shake, and god damn it if Whitman didn't deserve it. He clasped the other man's hand, meaty fingers, and palm enveloping the leader’s, and shook vigorously with the strength afforded by his new beefy arm. 

The president gave a brief look of shock, and Whitman feared he didn't yet know his own strength. Then he felt something strange. The president's grip tightened, and his fingers started to move in the handshake; no, they started to grow, his hand becoming just as meaty and masculine as Whitman now was. 

The president dropped the handshake and raised his hand to his face, admiring the now smooth tan hand, powerful and devoid of any wrinkles. Both men waited for the changes to spread down his wrist or for the president's eyes to glaze over, but nothing happened. 

“I am so sorry, Mr. President. I will submit myself to quarantine immediately.”

“Oh, hush.” The president said, waving his new hand dismissively. He flexed it appreciatively, admiring the strength and lack of wrinkles “I think this could help me quite a bit in New Hampshire.” He unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt and rolled it up to reveal his forearm. “Do the rest of me, then I will get you in touch with the generals.”

[selanaris]

Lurks in Shadows

DP x DC Fic : (Pt1) Part 2 (Pt3) (Pt4)

TW: blood, cult summonings, sacrifices, missing peoples cases, canon character deaths & undeaths

Thirty Minutes to Midnight - Bristol Gotham - Batcave

Tim Drake stared at his newest murder board… One case. A piece missing, but what was it? He needed to restate the facts. Two high-end business owners went missing last week; they were out on lunch and never returned. Male and female respectively, new fashion business, based in North Gotham. Their lunch was downtown after an interview with the Gotham Gazette for their newest line of summer clothes. No camera evidence, no witnesses, and no struggle. The last sighting was them making a right turn on a public street, then nothing. They checked the camera where they should have been seen, but there was nothing there either.

Red chewed on his pen before the subtle steps of a little bird approached him. “Drake. Are you done staring at the investigation boards? You have taken all five of them and are wasting our resources.” The youngest, Robin stated while moving in front of Tim to look at the facts. “Wait… are you stealing my case? I have already told father that I have it under control.”

Tim placed the pen down and looked at Damian. “Your case? This is my case. Two missing elites are a pretty big thing. I have all the facts and just need the final piece… Hey!” Tim stood up to yell as Damian started to pin up his files on the board.

“Silence, Drake. If you noticed, I have the rest of the clues.” Robin spat while pinning up ten more missing persons. All done in the last month. The connection was there. Mostly middle to upper class, but at least one deviation with a missing teacher. Nothing connects the victims on gender, jobs, ideals, or class. But there was one fact. Everyone was going missing in North Gotham.

Tim stared at the board before Damian interrupted his thoughts to point at a picture. “Who is this?” Damian asked, with his thumb jammed to an image of a GCPD officer.

“Officer Thomas Kirk. He is the newest addition to the police force, the one specifically tasked with this case. I am supposed to be meeting him tonight for information he may have… Although I doubt it.” Tim paused to end it there, but Damian rolled his hand to urge Tim to continue. “Kirk went to investigate the next day, but his partner bailed on him last second so he went alone. He went MIA for 22 hours before calling into work in the middle of his shift the next day and said that he was sick. He returned to work two days later, demanding to talk to the commissioner, but that request did not go through. Of course, our Oracle found the request and arranged a meet-up for us…”

Damian nodded while looking, “This may be bigger than we think if we account for the number of homeless that go missing… how many of them end up on this web…” Damian stared at the board and then at the patrol map behind the case. This was an old map that held all the general districts they patrolled. Damian's eyes started to widen. “Here.”

“What? The Village?”

“Why do we not patrol this area? We patrol around, but no one ever enters it.”

“Well… There hasn’t been a crime there in almost 30 years… Lucky them, I guess?”

“No, I will patrol this area tonight while you have your rendezvous.”

Tim rolled his eyes and grabbed his mask on his way out. “Don’t get sacrificed,” he told his brother while he started up his cycle and left the cave.

Tim made his way to a chosen location in downtown Gotham at midnight. Somewhere, no one will check. Batburger. Honestly, Kirk chose the location for the meetup. This cop was strange, new to the force, from a rich family, and transferred to the only neighborhood with zero crime. For someone with a cushioned lifestyle, why bother putting himself in danger? It made no sense to the robin that forced his way into Batman’s life.

Robin parked his cycle in the alley behind Batburger at 11:40 PM. Batburger was always a good place for their colony. They never asked questions about vigilantes getting a burger, and they were open until two in the morning. It was a win-win business with how well they tipped the employees. Or in this case, an employee, singular.

The vigilante walked up to the register where a teen a little younger than himself stood. He wore a poorly fitted Batman costume that had the cowl leaning off the back of it. “Welcome to Batburger. How would you like your vengeance today?” The kid said in a sarcastic tone.

“I didn’t know they let teens work this late. Don’t you have school in the morning?” Red said with a smile to the kid’s obvious capitalistic suffering.

“I didn’t know they let teens fight crime. Don’t they have adults to do that?” The kid snapped back. Tim immediately decided he liked this kid. “So do you want food to not so I can go back to my phone.” He was very honest and made Tim chuckle.

“Ok, ok. Fair enough. I just need two Batburger meals, vengeance-sized. One with a fountain drink and another with a Daytime Lemonade. Make the Burgers Condiment King style.” He ordered the standard orders. The kid opened his mouth to ask a question, but Tim knew what it was and spoke before he could, “Don’t Jokerize the fries.”

The kid stared at him and sighed, “You know what, fair. That will be $26.56.”

“What?! It’s $19.48 at the Batburger in Crime Alley?” Red spoke up while pulling cash out of his bandolier.

“You’re not in Crime Alley, are you? This is Downtown, we need to keep up repair costs with every attack. I would take Crime Alley robberies over collateral damage any day.”

The vigilante chuckled and handed the kid $100. “Keep the change,” he said while grabbing his lemonade and empty cup. He turned around to pick a corner booth away from the counter. Then, he proceeded to wait.

Soon enough, the kid dropped off the two trays of food and mumbled, “Don’t destroy the store,” and he shuffled his feet to the counter.

Tim took his tray of food and looked up at the ringing of a bell. The target in question walks into the fast food joint. The man had buzzed blonde hair, a blue button-up, and a black jacket. A cop version of Constantine, if he was honest. Tom Kirk looked in all directions, briefly keeping a longer eye on the cashier before making his way to Tim. The entire time Tom was walking, the employee looked to be resisting the urge to vomit all over the counter. Tim was starting to second-guess eating the food if the employee was sick. Kirk sat down in the booth and pulled out his badge from his jacket, probably proof of ID. Tim grabbed the badge to pretend to confirm it, he already knew this was him. He looked back at the front to see Danny leaving through the back and a napkin note on the register that said, ‘ON BREAK! IF YOU NEED ME, DON’T!’

Red Robin smiled and looked back to Tom, who was already going through his tray of food. He looked at his empty cup and glanced at the fountain drinks on the other side of the lobby. He just set the cup down before grabbing a fry and smelling it. The cop finally placed it into his mouth when Tim decided to speak. “So, why meet here instead of the rooftops like every other police contact?”

The cop picks up a napkin to wipe nothing off of his mouth in a manner that Tim immediately identifies as him spitting out his food. He crumpled up the napkin and placed it to the side. “They are always watching the sky. They know about the bats and the birds, so they always watch up. But when they do, they never look down.”

“And who is this ‘they’ you speak of?” Tim asks while finishing off his meal, he did take note that the cop stopped eating and is only poking at his food.

Kirk hesitated and looked around again before sighing, “The kid’s gonna be mad, but he isn’t the adult here. The ‘they’ in this situation is the Geo Populus Cult. They function in North Gotham. Their purpose is to summon evil magic entities and destroy Gotham. My brother,” he said ‘brother’ with deep sarcasm, “doesn’t want you involved. I think you need to get involved soon. Or at least your little Justice Friends I know you have.” Kirk said and pulled out his phone to check it. He seemed dissatisfied with it and placed it face down. “The kid went investigating on his own, I told him not to this morning, but before I went to work, he was already gone. They switched bases after we discovered their previous base, and he wanted to find their new one by being bait.”

Tim’s eyes widened at the thought that not only was this cop and his alleged kid brother out there investigating a cult connected to missing people, but then his brother decided to be a vigilante and look for the new base himself as bait. “Why are you doing this? The moment you saw the magic, you should have passed it on to us, or at least the Commissioner.”

“I have to solve this. Simon won’t stop until he solves it, and… We have to… I have to lay this to rest. I… I have an obsession to clear the corruption in GCPD. Yeah, I know it’s dumb to try to change things from the inside, but I thought I could do what Commissioner Gorden does. And the kid is obsessed with clearing out this cult and any other dark magic from Gotham. I’m worried about him.” Tom sighed and pushed his tray away from him. His burger had holes all over the top from where he anxiously pulled at the bread. “He recently got this new book a week ago, and while looking into a case unrelated to the cult a few hours ago, they showed up and stole it from him. They will probably try another summoning tonight. So I want the bats and birds to help me out tonight. I find my brother, we clear another base, and you get to investigate the murdered victims.”

“Hold on, wait a minute. Murdered? There are two confirmed missing to this case, and ten possibly missing to the same group.” Tim interrupted while sitting up straight.

“Try 36 missing people in the last two years, all killed.” He said with a haunted look in his eyes.

“36! How do you know they were all killed?” He started to get more suspicious and moved his hands to his lap, closer to his utility belt.

“Because they captured me, my brother saved me, and we both escaped. That is how we know where their old base was.”

They took a moment of silence, staring at each other, waiting for the next move. The respite was broken when Tom’s phone rang with the default tone. He picked up the phone quickly, “Where are you?!... WHAT DO YOU MEAN, GHOST KING?!”

[seekingxanadu]

I have mentioned this before but it bears repeating. Reverse Robin AUs don't work with kids between Damian as eldest and Dick as youngest. Bruce only took in others AFTER the success of raising and partnering with Dick. And there is no way Damian "im the true son" Wayne inspires Bruce to take in other children or if Bruce does try to adopt others, Damian "blood son" Wayne either reacts negatively or just walks out. First child Damian has nothing to humble him. No Dick "circus freak" Grayson to show the Wayne-alghul progeny that his elitism has no place in vigilantism and you don't need generations of wealth and power to BE a superior superhero. It is one of the reasons I simply cannot enjoy Reverse Robin AUs but I certainly do understand the need for that among Batfam stans.

It is just another way of projecting that Jason and Tim have it better with Dick not being the eldest AS IF any of their troubles in canon is any fault of Dick's. But it certainly lets them create a scenario where Bruce apparently loves their favs more because Dick is absent. Meanwhile in canon, Jason's experience as Wayne son is as an only child as Dick has already been thrown out of wayne manor by Bruce himself. Any use of Dick to pressure or push or compare Jason is squarely Bruce's fault, not Dick's.

I wonder if Reverse Robin AUs are just another excuse to show that Bruce cares for a fellow white (Jason) and/or fellow rich white kid MORE than he cares for circus orphan Dick without a local community to claim.

Frankly, as far as I'm concerned Reverse Robins AUs actually reinforce exactly how important The Teen Titans (& later The Titans) are to Dick. They are Dick's true family - they care for Dick Grayson first and what he brings to the table as Robin and Nightwing comes second.

[twistedheartsclub]

You Belong to Me Dark Male X Female Reader PT1

⚠️ Warnings: abduction, non-consensual touching, psychological manipulation, obsessive behavior, forced confinement, power imbalance, threats, emotional distress. Yandere themes. Read with caution.

The city bent for Xander Moreau.

Every street in Manhattan, every glass tower, every trembling executive in a boardroom—he owned them all, whether they realized it or not. At thirty-one, Xander was more than just a billionaire. He was the billionaire. The man whispered about behind closed doors. The shadow behind mergers. The threat behind power shifts.

He ran Moreau International—a vast empire rooted in luxury real estate, private military contracts, elite tech, pharmaceuticals, and now artificial intelligence. If it was powerful, he owned it. If it made money, he had touched it first.

He sat in a black custom Bentley, long legs spread wide in tailored Italian trousers, his expression unreadable as Arlo, his second-in-command and lifelong friend, reviewed the day’s agenda.

“Meeting with the Minister of Defense at ten. Fly to Milan for the Blackwell merger after lunch. Your mother called—again. You ignored it—again.”

Xander smirked, sharp and fleeting.

“I’ll call her tonight.”

He always called her.

Despite the ruthless image he fed the world, there were three people who held true power over him: his mother, Isadora Moreau, and his two sisters, Vera and Luna. The women of the Moreau family were dangerous in their own right—smart, elegant, and terrifying when crossed. His mother had raised them alone after his father’s death, building her own real estate empire before handing it to Xander at twenty-five. She taught him everything: how to manipulate, how to win, how to never trust softness.

But she was also the only person he ever let kiss his cheek.

Vera, the older sister, was a force—sharper than him, some said. A venture capitalist known for destroying old-money legacies with a single smile.

Luna, the youngest, was the opposite. Sweet, quiet, and beloved. A psychology grad student who sent him articles about emotional trauma and why he needed therapy. She was the only person who could say the word heart without being interrupted.

He loved them both. Fiercely. Possessively.

God help the man who ever touched them wrong.

But love, as far as Xander Moreau was concerned, was a dangerous indulgence. It was why he hadn’t touched it. Why he slept with models, dancers, politicians’ wives—then left without a second glance. No one made him feel.

No one... yet.

He stepped out of the car into the private elevator of Moreau Tower, fifty-eight floors of black glass and steel. Cameras tracked his movement. Employees stood straighter as he passed. No one dared speak unless spoken to.

God. King. Monster.

He didn’t care what they called him.

He hadn’t known craving until he saw her.

And when he did... the world would begin to unravel.

The penthouse was bathed in golden light, the skyline of Manhattan glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows like a kingdom waiting for its king to speak.

Xander Moreau didn’t speak.

He was seated at the head of the table, elbow resting against the dark marble as he nursed a glass of red wine, legs crossed, suit jacket gone, sleeves rolled to the elbows. His watch gleamed. So did the scar on his knuckle—the one he’d earned the first time someone tried to steal from his mother.

Across the table, Isadora Moreau arched a manicured brow as she cut into her steak.

“I saw your face on another tabloid today. Something about a scandal with the Senator’s daughter. Again.”

“It wasn’t a scandal,” he said smoothly. “She begged. I declined.”

Vera let out a sharp laugh, swirling her wine. “You really are insufferable.”

“Only to people who bore me.”

“And yet you’re still single,” Vera shot back. “Makes a woman wonder what you're really looking for, brother.”

“Something none of your overpriced friends can offer,” he replied, smirking.

Their mother didn’t laugh. She never did when it came to him.

“You’re thirty-one, Xander. You have everything but the one thing that will secure the family name.” Her eyes pinned him like a sword to the chest. “An heir.”

He didn’t flinch, but the weight of it settled in his chest like iron.

Luna, seated to his right, reached over to pat his hand gently. Always the buffer. The soft one.

“Maybe he just hasn’t met someone who doesn’t want him for his money or power.”

He looked at her. Really looked.

That was the thing, wasn’t it?

No one had ever touched him without knowing exactly who he was—and wanting something because of it. They wanted the billionaire. The empire. The status. They didn’t want him.

If someone ever did? God help them.

Vera poured another glass and muttered under her breath, “What would he even do with a soft, delicate woman? Scare her into a coma?”

He smiled darkly.

“Who says I want a soft woman?” he said, voice low. “Maybe I want someone untouched. Untouched by lies. By my world. Someone who blushes when I look at her... someone who trembles when I say her name.”

A long silence followed. Even Isadora blinked.

Luna tilted her head. “You mean someone pure?”

His wine glass tapped the marble. Once. Deliberate.

“I mean someone mine.”

The room stilled.

And in that moment, something in Xander’s mind shifted. As if speaking the words had cracked open a long-sealed door inside him. He didn’t want a woman to date. He wanted something... else.

Something innocent.

Fragile.

Perfect.

Something he could ruin—slowly.

His gaze drifted toward the skyline.

He didn’t know it yet, but fate had already laid her in his path.

The scent of cinnamon and espresso filled the cramped apartment, dancing with the sound of an old record player spinning something soft and jazzy. The kitchen light flickered overhead, and the front window was cracked just enough to let in the noisy breath of the city.

Y/N stood barefoot on a stool, balancing a chipped mug in one hand and a stack of mismatched bowls in the other as she tried to reach the top shelf.

“Y/N!” a voice called from the bedroom. “If you fall and break your neck, I’m not cleaning it up!”

“Love you too, Dahlia!” Y/N shouted back, grinning as she finally shoved the bowls into place and climbed down with a thud.

The apartment was a mess. Not dirty—just lived in. Full of secondhand furniture, scuffed floorboards, plants in cracked terracotta pots, and string lights that stayed up year-round because they made everything feel like a celebration.

She shared it with two roommates—Dahlia, a punky film student with red streaks in her hair and a voice like a crow, and Imani, a part-time nurse who left Post-it notes with affirmations on the fridge like You are enough and Don’t forget to drink water, lovebug.

Y/N loved it here.

Loved her little world, even if it was chaotic and loud and the rent was barely covered each month.

She worked mornings at Briar & Bean, a small indie coffee shop tucked between a record store and a bookstore downtown. The pay was trash, but the regulars were kind, and her boss let her take home leftover pastries at the end of her shift. She always gave the chocolate croissants to the old man who played chess in the park.

In the evenings, she went to school—working toward her degree in early childhood education. She dreamed of running her own daycare one day. One with murals on the walls and cozy reading corners and soft lullabies playing through the speakers.

It wasn’t glamorous.

But it was hers.

She didn’t wear designer labels. Her phone screen was cracked. She did her own nails. She wore little sundresses with cardigans and clutched her beat-up canvas tote like it was a purse. She cried at commercials, sang while doing the dishes, and always carried an extra snack “just in case someone’s hungry.”

People called her soft.

Y/N called it having a heart.

And she had so much love to give, even if she didn’t always know where to put it.

Some nights, lying in bed staring up at the ceiling, she'd wonder what it would be like to be seen—really seen. Not as the sweet girl who always says thank you. Not as the friend who always listens. But as something more.

Someone valuable.

Someone wanted.

But that was just a silly thought. No man she’d ever met had looked at her that way.

And she would never dream that someone like him—a man with a black soul and gold in his veins—would ever look at her at all.

It was a rare day off for Xander Moreau, and even rarer still that he let himself be dragged to the mall like a glorified chauffeur. But his mother had insisted. She wanted a new bracelet. Vera was eyeing another luxury timepiece. Luna just liked walking through the bookstores and candle shops.

He followed a few paces behind them, tall and commanding in a black turtleneck and wool coat, dark eyes hidden behind expensive sunglasses. His sisters flanked their mother like bodyguards dressed in couture, while he—despite his fame, fortune, and the barely-leashed power in every step—looked effortlessly untouchable.

Until she hit him.

Literally.

A soft body collided with his chest, hard enough to make her stumble backward. His hands shot out instantly, catching her before she could hit the floor. Her palms flattened against his chest, her head tilted up—eyes wide, mouth parted in a little gasp.

And for a split second, time slowed.

She was… real. Not perfectly polished like the women he knew. Not painted in high fashion or trained to flatter. She had wild, frizzy curls escaping from a messy half-updo, a bit of lip gloss that caught the light, and mascara smudged just barely under her eyes like she’d rubbed them without thinking.

She wore a cardigan over a floral dress that didn’t match her bag. Her shoes were scuffed. Her nails were chipped.

And her skin was soft under his hands.

“I—I’m so sorry!” she gasped, cheeks flushed as she scrambled to straighten herself. “Thank you.”

She didn’t meet his eyes for long.

She didn’t recognize him.

Didn’t freeze. Didn’t flirt. Didn’t bat her lashes or ask for a photo.

She smoothed her dress awkwardly, brushing off invisible dust, and then turned to the girl next to her—tugging her arm with a whispered, “Come on, I told you I needed to pee like twenty minutes ago.”

And just like that—she was gone.

Not a second glance. Not a name. Not a clue.

Xander stood still in the middle of the marble floor, heart thunderous and mouth dry, like someone had reached into his chest and crushed it—then set it on fire.

“She didn’t even blink,” Vera said from behind, her tone amused. “That’s a first.”

Luna stepped beside him, her voice gentle. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer.

He was still staring down the corridor where she’d disappeared.

Unaware that something feral had just stirred awake inside him.

She didn’t know who he was.

But she would.

He’d make sure of it.

“You literally slammed into his chest. Like—bam. Body first. Then blushed like a cartoon character.”

Y/N groaned as she unlocked the door to their apartment, her canvas tote slipping off her shoulder. “I said sorry. He caught me. It’s not that deep, Dahlia.”

“Oh, it’s deep,” Dahlia teased, kicking the door shut behind them. “Like his voice. His scent. Did you not see that man? That was not normal human hot. That was like, ‘I have a yacht and a dead ex-wife’ kind of hot.”

Y/N laughed, cheeks still warm. “He just looked rich. Very… black turtleneck and brooding.”

“Exactly. That’s the uniform of a tortured billionaire in disguise.”

They both snorted as they made their way into the kitchen, where Imani was already chopping garlic, her curls tied back in a scarf.

“Hey babes,” Imani sang. “Good timing. Help me stir this, Y/N. Dahlia, set the table, and don’t complain about the forks.”

“Guess who literally ran into a man today?” Dahlia announced dramatically, grabbing plates. “And not just any man. Like, a god-tier, fashion-week, untouchable daddy kind of man. Caught her like some tragic heroine in a BBC romance.”

“Please stop,” Y/N muttered, laughing as she grabbed the wooden spoon and stirred the simmering pasta sauce. “It wasn’t that serious.”

Imani raised a brow, leaning her hip against the counter. “Was he hot?”

“He was… tall,” Y/N said carefully. “Kind of intense. But I barely looked at him, honestly. I just wanted to run to the bathroom before I embarrassed myself even more.”

“She thanked him and ran,” Dahlia snickered. “Didn’t even notice the woman standing nearby wearing Chanel sunglasses indoors.”

Imani gasped. “You think he was famous?”

“Rich, for sure,” Y/N replied, shrugging as she grabbed a pinch of salt and threw it in the sauce. “But honestly, I was more worried about the fact that my makeup was melting and I probably had sweat patches.”

Dahlia flopped onto the couch dramatically. “If I ran into a man like that, I would have faked an ankle injury and demanded he carry me to Tiffany’s.”

“I would’ve asked for his skincare routine,” Imani added.

Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling fondly. “You guys are ridiculous.”

But deep down, she couldn’t help but think about it.

About how firm his hands had been. The way he caught her like it was nothing. The way he looked at her—not like a man annoyed by clumsiness, but like someone... shocked.

Still, she pushed the thought aside.

Whoever he was, he was gone.

And she had laundry to fold, papers to write, and bills to pay.

Real life didn’t have room for black-turtleneck strangers.

The smell of fresh coffee and baked cinnamon filled the air at Briar & Bean, the morning crowd still lingering over their laptops and croissants. It was warm here. Peaceful. The kind of place people came to breathe.

Xander Moreau didn’t breathe.

He sat in the corner booth, cloaked in black. Black coat. Black gloves. Black sunglasses that hid the storm in his gaze. He was alone, but his presence made the air heavier. More than one customer had looked at him twice before glancing away nervously.

He didn’t care.

He wasn’t here for them.

He was here for her.

She floated between tables with a soft, natural grace, apron tied loose at the waist, hair wild and haloed in frizz. There was a smear of something sweet on her cheek. She didn’t know. She didn’t care. That made him want her more.

He watched her laugh with a mother and toddler. Pat the shoulder of an elderly man. She crouched to wipe up spilled cocoa like it was the most important task in the world.

He had never met anyone like her.

And that terrified him.

Flashback, Two Weeks Earlier “Her name is Y/N, and you had Arlo run a background check. Are you hearing yourself?” Vera rolled her eyes and sipped her wine. “You bumped into some pretty girl at the mall, and now you’re tracking her job, her school, her apartment—”

“She’s not some girl,” Xander said darkly. “She’s the first person in years who didn’t want anything from me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know enough.” His voice was like a blade. “She’s kind. She works two jobs. She volunteers on Saturdays. She’s majoring in childhood education.”

“She’s twenty-one.”

“I don’t care.”

Vera raised her hands. “Okay, fine. Be a creep. But if Mom finds out, I’m not lying for you.”

“She won’t,” Luna murmured from the corner. Her eyes were soft, not judgmental. “He’s not a creep. He’s in love.”

Xander stared into the fireplace.

It wasn’t love.

Not yet.

But it would be.

Present Day The bell above the door jingled. She turned, notebook in hand, smile warm.

“Hi there—sorry for the wait! Can I get you anything?”

She didn’t recognize him. Not even a flicker.

He removed his sunglasses slowly.

Their eyes met.

Still… nothing.

“Coffee,” he said smoothly. “Whatever you recommend.”

Her smile didn’t falter. “I always go for the cinnamon vanilla latte if I’m in the mood for something sweet. The Ethiopian roast is great if you like it bold and bitter.”

He studied her, every detail. Her voice. Her eyes. The freckles that dotted her cheekbones.

“I’ll take sweet,” he said finally, voice a shade too low.

She scribbled it down, oblivious to how his gaze traced the shape of her mouth. “One cinnamon vanilla latte, coming right up. Let me know if you want anything else.”

She turned.

Walked away.

Just like that.

And still didn’t know.

Xander sat back in his chair, hands folded, lips twitching in something that might’ve been a smile.

Sweet. She didn’t know it yet, but she’d just given him her weakness.

And now that he had it, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Xander Moreau came back the next morning.

And the morning after that.

And the one after that, too.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to notice.

Not because he was loud or flashy—but because he wasn’t. He never rushed. Never demanded. Never acted like the world owed him something the way some men did when they stepped into her café in $3,000 suits.

He simply… sat.

Always in the same corner booth. Always watching the door until she arrived.

She didn’t know he was already awake before dawn, adjusting his schedule just to sit there for an hour in silence while pretending to read the news on his phone. She didn’t know he’d timed her bus route, memorized her walk, or that Arlo had delivered a neatly organized file of every social media post she’d ever made.

Instead, she just called him “Mr. Cinnamon Latte.”

“Back again?” she teased as she set his usual on the table, her smile warm. “You know you’re allowed to try other drinks, right?”

He looked up at her, soft and casual, hiding everything dark that lived in his chest.

“Can’t fix what’s not broken,” he said with a slight shrug. “I guess I’m a creature of habit.”

She laughed, wiping her hands on her apron. “You and me both.”

That was the first lie.

There would be more.

They talked—slowly, carefully, like two strangers becoming friends over neutral ground. He gave her a name: Alex. No last name, no profession. When she asked what he did for work, he gave her a sheepish grin and said something about “logistics” and “numbers.”

Technically, it wasn’t a lie.

He left out the part where he owned a fleet of private jets and could tank the housing market with a signature.

Instead, he asked about her.

Her life.

Her dreams.

Pretending like he hadn’t already memorized them from the file in his safe.

And she… she gave it freely. Because no one had ever really asked.

“I want to open a daycare one day,” she said once, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Somewhere safe. Colorful. You know? A place that feels like home.”

He’d leaned in a little, his eyes locked on hers, lowering his voice just slightly.

“You’d be good at that.”

She blushed, startled by the sincerity.

And he watched her soften.

Watched her trust.

Days turned into weeks.

The others in the café started recognizing him too—Dahlia once passed by while dropping off lunch and whispered “hot customer’s back” under her breath.

Y/N had laughed, brushing it off. “He’s just nice.”

And he was. Alex was kind, attentive, never made her uncomfortable. Always asked how school was going. Listened when she complained about her professors. Remembered which nights she had evening classes and which days she had therapy appointments.

He made her feel seen.

Not watched.

That was her mistake.

One Friday evening, the sky painted soft strokes of amber and violet, she found him waiting again. This time, he wasn’t seated—he was standing outside the café, hands in his coat pockets.

“You’re off now, right?” he asked when she stepped out, surprised.

“Yeah,” she said cautiously. “Did you need something?”

He smiled—that smile. Warm. Safe. Not the kind of smile that destroyed people. The kind that made you feel like you were the only one in the world worth looking at.

“I was wondering if maybe... you’d like to get coffee with me. Somewhere else, this time.”

She blinked. “Like… a date?”

“If you want it to be,” he said gently. “No pressure.”

She hesitated. She wasn’t used to being asked out so respectfully. And she definitely wasn’t used to it coming from men who looked like they belonged in a magazine spread.

“I don’t know,” she said softly, glancing down. “I’ve got a lot going on, and I’m not sure I’m really—”

“I understand,” he said. “Truly. But… I like talking to you. And I’d like to do that somewhere you don’t have to wipe down tables afterward.”

She laughed despite herself.

Then looked up.

And that smile again—so patient, so kind. Like he’d wait forever.

She wasn’t ready.

But he didn’t push.

And that’s what made her say it.

“…Okay. One coffee.”

His smile widened, just a fraction.

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Pick me up? Like… at home?”

He chuckled. “Right. Sorry. That was a bit forward. Why don’t we meet somewhere public? Wherever you feel safe.”

Her heart fluttered.

He made her feel safe.

And that would be the second mistake.

Back at Moreau Tower that night...

Arlo crossed his arms as Xander stared out over the city skyline, swirling scotch in a crystal glass.

“She said yes?” Arlo asked, brow raised.

Xander’s voice was calm. Too calm. “She said yes.”

“She still doesn’t know who you are.”

“She doesn’t need to. Not yet.”

Arlo exhaled. “Man, this thing is getting deeper than you think.”

Xander smiled slowly, dark eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

“No,” he murmured. “It’s exactly where I want it.”

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, one hand on her hip, the other gripping a tube of lipstick like a weapon.

“I feel ridiculous,” she muttered.

“Baby girl, you look hot,” Dahlia said from the bed, upside down with her legs in the air. “Like librarian who’s about to change someone’s life.”

“I don’t want to change anyone’s life,” Y/N said, trying to smooth the frizz from her curls for the fourth time. “I just want to go to dinner, make conversation, and not trip over my own feet.”

Imani poked her head in from the hallway, holding a pair of gold earrings. “Then don’t wear the heels from hell. Wear the chunky ones.”

Y/N sighed, setting down the lipstick. “Do you think it’s weird?”

Imani blinked. “What? That a hot man with sad eyes and a cinnamon latte addiction asked you on a date?”

“No,” Y/N said quickly. “Well, yes. I mean—he just showed up one day. I barely know anything about him. And I’ve had, like, one normal relationship and that guy cried every time I was late to text him back.”

Dahlia rolled off the bed. “Okay. But this guy hasn’t love-bombed you, hasn’t negged you, hasn’t asked you for pictures of your feet—”

“Dahlia.”

“What? I’m just saying. He’s been respectful. Slow. He makes you laugh.”

“He listens,” Imani added, gently putting the earrings on her. “You light up when you talk about him. And you’re allowed to have one good thing.”

Y/N swallowed.

It was true.

Alex made her feel… seen. Not in a flashy way. Not like he was obsessed. But in a steady, attentive, intentional way. He remembered little things. Gave space when she hesitated. He was—kind.

And in a world that demanded so much from her… kindness felt like magic.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Just dinner.”

Meanwhile…

Xander Moreau adjusted the collar of his charcoal gray dress shirt, staring at his reflection in the mirror of his penthouse bedroom. His tie lay discarded. No suit tonight. He wanted to look relaxed. Casual. Harmless.

Like the man she thought he was.

Alex.

He’d created a version of himself just for her—someone gentle, curious, self-effacing. A man who worked “with numbers,” who laughed off his poor texting habits with a shrug and admitted to being a little “old-school.” He’d let her believe she was leading the pace.

In reality, he’d already made her routine part of his.

What time she left her apartment. Which train car she rode. How often she stayed up late doing homework. What brand of lotion she used—he’d bought it, kept it by his bed.

She was everywhere now.

He couldn’t breathe without thinking of her.

And tonight, he would have her—properly. He wouldn’t touch her. Not yet. But this dinner would mark something permanent. A shift. A line that once crossed, she wouldn’t even realize she’d stepped over.

He picked up his keys.

Let the game begin.

Later That Night — The Date

They met at a small candlelit restaurant tucked into a quiet street downtown. She had suggested it—not too expensive, cozy, with warm-toned lighting and clinking wine glasses in the background.

Xander had been there, of course. Months ago. Bought it. Quietly replaced the chef with a Michelin-trained one. Staff knew not to acknowledge him.

But to her, it was just a nice place.

“Hey,” she said softly as she approached the table, her voice sweet with nerves.

And God—he nearly lost it.

She wore a red dress that hit just below the knee. Soft, fluttery sleeves. Modest neckline, but the curve of her waist was enough to make his jaw clench. Her lips were glossy. Her curls framed her face like wild vines.

“Hi,” he said, standing. “You look…”

Ruinable.

“…beautiful.”

She flushed. “Thank you. You look really nice, too.”

They sat. Talked. He let her lead, only giving just enough to seem mysterious but honest. She told him about school, about the kid at the café who gave her a flower that week. He chuckled and asked thoughtful questions, eyes locked on her every time she spoke.

He didn’t look at his phone once.

Didn’t glance away.

Didn’t blink when she reached across the table for her water and her dress slid just enough to expose the inside of her thigh.

He just smiled.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he said quietly, “that you talk about your life like it’s a movie you’re directing?”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You’re so full of little details. Small things that most people miss.” He tilted his head. “It’s rare.”

She looked down, bashful. “I guess I just like remembering things. Makes life feel… fuller.”

He memorized that, too.

After dinner, he insisted on walking her home. She declined politely, but he said, “No pressure. Just until the end of the block.”

She agreed.

He matched her pace. Never reached for her hand. Never pressed.

Not yet.

When they reached the corner where she normally turned toward the bus stop, she looked up at him. Soft. Curious.

“I had a really nice time,” she said.

“I did too,” he murmured.

Silence lingered.

Then she smiled. “Goodnight, Alex.”

He watched her walk away. Head down. Hands in the pockets of her coat.

And he stayed standing there long after she was gone.

Smiling.

She had no idea she’d just walked into a gilded cage.

And the door had already shut behind her.

Rain tapped lightly against the windows of the penthouse as Xander Moreau poured himself a whiskey—neat, as always. He was at his private study desk, flipping through documents on his tablet, while the scent of old books and clean leather filled the room.

Across from him, Vera lounged barefoot on the velvet couch, scrolling through her phone like she was bored to death.

“She likes small spaces,” she said casually.

Xander didn’t look up. “What?”

“Your girl. Y/N.” Vera smirked. “All her tagged photos are in cozy cafés, libraries, thrift stores. She’s not the mansion type—yet.”

“I’m aware.”

“You can’t just shove her into your world, Xander. She’ll combust.”

“I’m not shoving,” he muttered, fingers still swiping through property reports. “I’m easing her in.”

“By lying about your name? Your job? Your entire identity?”

He didn’t answer.

Vera set her phone down and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Look, I get it. She’s cute. She’s soft. She makes you feel something other than homicidal rage.”

His brow ticked.

“But if you’re really planning on keeping her—” she gave him a look, “—you’re going to have to let her see the real you. Not all at once. But soon.”

The elevator chimed.

Luna stepped in, holding a box of pastries and wearing a yellow coat soaked from the rain. She stopped mid-step, eyes flicking between her siblings.

“Why do I feel like I just walked into a villain’s planning session?”

“Because you did,” Vera said.

Xander ignored both of them, eyes narrowing on the corner of his screen where a blueprint of one of their modern estates blinked. Clean lines. Soft interiors. Nothing too intimidating.

Luna plopped onto the couch and opened the pastry box, already pulling apart a croissant. “You know, if you really want her to meet us without freaking out, there’s a perfect excuse coming up.”

He looked up finally.

“She’s not ready to meet the family.”

“She doesn’t have to know she’s meeting the family,” Luna said, mouth full. “We’ll throw a birthday party.”

Vera blinked. “Your birthday’s in October.”

“I didn’t say mine,” Luna smirked. “We’ll say it’s for me. But it’ll be in the glasshouse estate—you know, the one that looks like a Pinterest board? All clean and normal. No butlers or gold statues or whatever intimidating nonsense you put in your usual homes.”

Xander raised a brow.

Luna sat straighter. “We’ll make it seem casual. A few friends. Music. Cake. I’ll stage the whole thing so it looks sweet and unthreatening. And Mom’s in Barcelona until next week, so there’s no risk of her terrifying the poor girl.”

Vera crossed her legs, considering. “Actually… it’s not a terrible idea. Fake birthday party. She thinks she’s meeting your friends, not your inner circle. No pressure. Just charm her. Let her see that you have a soul.”

“I do have a soul.”

Luna snorted.

Xander leaned back in his chair, silent for a long moment.

A birthday party.

Casual. Warm. Staged down to the last throw pillow.

A carefully crafted illusion of normal.

She’d say yes. He knew she would. And once she stepped into his world—even just a little—she’d never fully step back out.

“All right,” he said finally. “Do it.”

It was warm that evening.

Late spring had come early, and the city was humming with life—music spilling from open windows, couples wandering arm-in-arm, the scent of street food in the air. Y/N stood on the steps outside the art museum, hugging her light sweater around her as she waited.

Second date.

Her second date.

Ever.

She still couldn’t believe she’d agreed. But Dahlia and Imani had practically shoved her out the door.

“You’re finally out of the nest,” Imani had cooed dramatically, helping her braid her hair.

“We raised you,” Dahlia added, fake-crying. “Now fly, baby girl. Fly.”

Y/N had blushed the whole time, but secretly… it felt nice.

To be noticed. Chosen. Wanted.

Alex had texted her two days after their first dinner—sweet, simple messages. Not clingy. Just… present. He made her feel important without drowning her in attention.

And now he was walking up the museum steps, in dark slacks and a button-up with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. He looked relaxed. Confident. Like this was easy for him.

But when he saw her—he stopped.

And his breath caught.

“You always look like spring,” he murmured when he reached her.

Y/N laughed, shy. “That’s a new one.”

He offered his arm. She took it.

The museum was perfect—quiet, intimate, full of warm light and soft footfalls. He didn’t rush her. He asked about her favorite colors, the art she liked, what kind of kid she was growing up. He laughed when she told him about her glitter phase and listened as if her every memory mattered.

“I can see it,” he said. “You, in a pink sparkly tutu, bossing the other kids around.”

“I wasn’t bossy,” she gasped.

“You were absolutely bossy.”

She hit his arm gently, and he smiled like her touch lit him up from the inside.

Afterward, they got ice cream and sat on a bench near a fountain, people-watching as the sun dipped below the skyline.

She thought the night was winding down.

It wasn’t.

He glanced over, voice soft.

“Hey… can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

He looked almost uncertain. Nervous. It was such a rare crack in his usual charm that she instantly straightened.

“My sister’s having a birthday thing this weekend,” he said, voice light, “just a small get-together. Backyard vibe. Nothing formal.”

Y/N blinked. “Oh—like a party?”

“Sort of. More like cake, music, a few people. Some of her friends from school. My other sister and a couple coworkers might be there. Nothing crazy.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know…”

Alex smiled, warm and unthreatening.

“You don’t have to stay long. I just thought… it might be nice for you to meet a little bit of my world. No pressure.”

He made it sound so innocent.

So easy.

Y/N looked at the ground, nervously kicking her sandal against the pavement.

She wasn’t great with parties. Especially ones where she didn’t know anyone. But something in his voice—his eyes—made it feel okay.

Safe.

Like he wouldn’t let anything bad happen.

“…Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll come.”

His smile was slow. Beautiful.

And if it looked just a little too satisfied… she didn’t notice.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek—so soft, so fleeting she almost wondered if she imagined it.

“I’ll send the details,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

Back at the apartment…

“She’s going to a party,” Dahlia said to Imani with mock horror. “Next thing you know she’ll be asking for dating advice.”

“I’m proud of her,” Imani grinned, watching Y/N kick off her shoes with a dreamy expression on her face. “This is what growth looks like.”

Y/N just smiled, floating to the kitchen, too full of butterflies to argue.

But miles away, Xander stood by the windows of the modern glasshouse estate—watching the lights being tested, the music speakers being installed, the cake mock-up delivered.

“Everything’s ready?” he asked quietly into the phone.

“Yes, sir,” Arlo said. “She won’t suspect a thing.”

Xander stared out at the sky.

She said yes.

She was coming.

And she would never know she was stepping into the most carefully crafted trap of her life.

“Hold still, I swear to God—”

“I am still,” Y/N giggled, squirming as Dahlia tried for the third time to wrap a thick curl around the barrel of the iron. “You’re pulling my ear off.”

“Beauty is pain,” Dahlia muttered, concentrating. “Now hush, before I burn your forehead and we have to cancel this entire fantasy.”

Across the room, Imani was gently wrapping a small box in cream-colored paper, her tongue between her teeth. She glanced up with a soft smile. “You sure about the gift?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. I mean… I don’t know her, but it felt right. It’s her birthday. I wanted to bring something.”

Imani peeked at the card Y/N had written and smiled wider.

Inside the box was a leather-bound journal—the kind with thick cream pages and a soft clasp to keep it shut. Y/N had seen it at a bookstore weeks ago and bought it “just in case.” She liked how it felt in her hands. Like it was waiting to be filled with something important. She added a brand-new pen and a note that read:

"I don’t know you yet, but I hope this helps you remember the beautiful parts of your life. Happy Birthday." —Y/N

She had no idea that the girl she was writing to didn’t even exist.

“Okay,” Dahlia stepped back, hands on her hips. “Turn around.”

Y/N spun slowly in her floral dress. It hugged her waist and fluttered just past her knees. Pale blue, soft sleeves, delicate buttons. Her curls had been coaxed into gentle waves and pinned halfway up with little golden clips. Her skin glowed.

And the scent of her favorite perfume—Bombshell by Victoria’s Secret—drifted like honey in the room. It was the one she wore when she wanted to feel confident. When she needed to remember she wasn’t just the quiet girl behind the counter.

Dahlia whistled. “You’re hot.”

Imani beamed. “Like spring in Paris. Or a fairytale picnic.”

Y/N blushed. “You guys are too much.”

They weren’t. Not really.

Because even if she couldn’t see it, she was radiant. Soft lips, hopeful eyes, perfume kissed at the base of her throat. Her heart beat a little too fast, her palms just a little too warm—but it wasn’t fear.

It was hope.

“I still can’t believe I said yes,” she mumbled, grabbing her small gift bag and checking it for the third time.

“Because you like him,” Imani teased. “He’s tall, sweet, and his eyes are sin.”

“And his voice,” Dahlia added. “I’d let him ruin my credit score.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing. “He’s just… nice. He listens. He makes me feel like I matter.”

The girls grew quiet.

Imani leaned in and kissed her cheek. “That’s because you do matter. Now go knock 'em dead, baby.”

Y/N exhaled, held the bag close to her chest, and smiled.

She had never met a man like Alex before. So kind. So warm. So careful with her. And now he wanted her to meet his family.

That meant something, didn’t it?

It had to.

Outside, a sleek black car waited at the curb.

She didn’t notice the driver watching her through the rearview mirror.

Didn’t notice the way the air shifted once the door closed behind her.

She thought she was heading to a party.

She was heading into a world that would never let her go.

The car rolled to a slow stop in front of what Y/N assumed was the wrong house.

She blinked.

No—estate was the better word.

Glass walls reflected the late-afternoon sun, soft lights twinkled from the hedges, and vines coiled up wooden pillars like a fairytale painting. Everything was clean, minimalist, and breathtaking—yet warm. Like someone had curated it to feel just right.

“Are you sure this is the place?” she asked the driver, clutching the little gift bag in her lap.

He smiled in the mirror. “Yes, miss. He’s expecting you.”

Her stomach fluttered.

As she stepped out, the soft sound of music and laughter drifted into the air. A few guests stood near the entryway holding sparkling drinks and chatting casually. No one looked intimidating or too polished. Just... normal. Like this was something they did every weekend.

She walked toward the door slowly, heart pounding, trying not to panic.

Then it opened.

And there he was.

Alex.

Dark slacks. Open collar. Sleeves rolled, hands in his pockets. His hair was a little messier than usual, like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. He looked—unreal.

His smile lit up when he saw her. It was real. Soft.

“Hi,” he said, stepping forward. “You made it.”

“I did,” she breathed, still staring up at the house. “This place is... wow.”

He chuckled. “It’s my sister’s favorite of our properties. She insisted on having it here.”

“Our?” she blinked.

His smile didn’t falter. “We have a few. Family thing.”

Before she could respond, he leaned in.

And kissed her cheek.

It wasn’t planned. He didn’t mean to. But the second he saw her standing there—looking like some delicate thing spun from sunlight and nervous laughter—he couldn’t help it.

Her skin was soft. Warm. She smelled like vanilla and something expensive.

His lips lingered just half a second too long.

Y/N went still.

He pulled back, clearing his throat. “Sorry. That was probably—too much.”

“No!” she blurted, cheeks flaming. “No, it’s okay. I mean—it was nice. You’re nice. It’s—everything is beautiful.”

She looked around again, wide-eyed. “It’s like a dream.”

Behind the entryway, hidden just out of view, Vera and Luna stood sipping champagne like they were judging a fashion show.

“Oh my God,” Vera whispered with a grin. “Did he just kiss her cheek?”

Luna giggled. “He’s so gone.”

“I haven’t seen him that soft since the nanny dropped him on his head at four.”

“He did get quieter after that.”

Back at the door, Xander gently took Y/N’s gift bag, fingers brushing hers. “Can I put this with the others?”

She nodded. “It’s not much. Just... a little something. I didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”

He glanced inside. Saw the journal. The pen. The handwritten note.

And he nearly forgot how to breathe.

Thoughtful. Gentle. Pure.

She didn’t even know she was trying to impress someone who didn’t exist.

“Luna’s going to love it,” he said softly. “Come on—I’ll introduce you.”

Inside, the glasshouse was glowing.

Fairy lights draped along the ceiling. Candles flickered beside platters of fruit, soft cheeses, and tiny cakes. A record player spun low jazz in the corner. Guests mingled—handpicked, paid or trusted. No risk. No cameras. No press.

It was a fantasy.

One she was meant to step into and never leave.

As Xander led her through the room, people smiled and nodded politely. He kept her close, hand on her lower back, gentle, never possessive. Not yet. But every time someone glanced too long at her—he felt it.

Felt the burn in his chest.

Felt the urge to pull her closer.

She belonged here.

She just didn’t know it yet.

Y/N clutched the edges of her sweater as Alex—no, Alex, she reminded herself—led her through the glowing interior of the glasshouse estate.

It was… beyond. Warm light bounced off the glass walls, candles flickered from floating shelves, and music curled around them like smoke. The space was filled with laughter, gentle conversation, the occasional pop of champagne.

Not intimidating.

Just beautiful.

Like stepping into a curated Pinterest board where nothing was out of place—not even the people.

She tried not to feel small. She wasn’t used to homes where the walls glowed.

“Here we are,” Alex murmured, stopping in front of two women who immediately looked too perfect to be real.

One was tall, statuesque, with sharp cheekbones and a gold dress that fit like it was poured onto her skin. Her nails were wine red, and her hair was pinned in a sleek knot that made Y/N feel like a misplaced cupcake in comparison.

The other was shorter, softer. Freckles across her cheeks, her dark hair in long, dreamy waves. She had a pastel drink in one hand and a champagne flute in the other.

“This is Luna,” Alex said gently. “And that’s Vera. My sisters.”

Y/N stiffened. Sisters?

They both turned in sync, smiling like something rehearsed.

Luna stepped forward first, practically glowing. “You’re Y/N! Oh my gosh, he said you were pretty but he didn’t say you were this pretty.”

Y/N flushed hard. “Oh—thank you. You look amazing too.”

“I love your dress,” Vera said smoothly, sipping her wine. “Very sweet. Very you.”

“You’ve only just met me,” Y/N laughed nervously.

Vera’s eyes glittered. “True. But I’m very good at reading people.”

Y/N couldn’t help it—she liked them. Luna was charming and bubbly, and Vera was intimidating but elegant. Together they felt like characters out of a book. Beautiful, a little too polished… but kind.

And they didn’t treat her like an outsider.

“I brought a gift,” Y/N said, holding out the bag to Luna. “I didn’t know what to bring exactly, so I hope it’s okay.”

Luna peeked inside and gasped. “Oh my God, is this a journal? It’s gorgeous. And a pen?” She pulled out the note and read it quickly before pressing a hand to her heart. “You’re gonna make me cry. Seriously.”

Vera smiled behind her glass. “She’s a giver. We like her.”

Alex touched Y/N’s back lightly. “Told you they’d love you.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered.

This was going better than she imagined.

She felt… welcome.

Wanted.

Across the room…

Xander Moreau—the real Xander—stood near the open bar, sipping something dark and expensive, watching her.

His Y/N.

She didn’t know what she was doing to him.

The way she looked around the room with awe, like she was afraid to touch anything. The way she smiled when Luna hugged her, all soft and unsure. The way her lashes fluttered when she complimented Vera’s earrings.

She didn’t belong in this world.

But she fit like a puzzle piece in his palm.

Perfect.

“Stop staring like a serial killer,” Vera whispered, appearing at his side with a smirk. “You’re going to scare her.”

“I’m not staring.”

“You are,” she said dryly. “With the intensity of a starving wolf.”

“She’s happy,” he murmured, eyes still on Y/N as she accepted a drink from Luna. “She doesn’t feel out of place.”

“She feels safe,” Vera corrected. “You built her a lie, and now she thinks it’s home.”

Xander said nothing.

Because she was right.

The home. The people. The soft candlelight and laughter. The downplayed wealth. The perfect music and pastel drinks. It had all been designed—for her.

And she walked into it like it had always been waiting for her.

“She’s kind,” he said under his breath. “She brought a gift.”

“A journal,” Vera confirmed. “Luna nearly burst into tears.”

Xander’s jaw tightened. He didn’t deserve her. Not even close. But he couldn’t give her up. Wouldn’t.

Vera took a sip of her wine. “You going to tell her who you really are?”

“Eventually.”

“You think she’ll forgive the lie?”

“She won’t get the chance not to.”

Vera blinked.

Xander finally looked at his sister. His voice was low. Cold beneath the charm.

“She won’t be leaving.”

Back at the center of the room, Y/N let herself relax as Luna tugged her toward the cake table, chatting about music and favorite childhood movies.

She didn’t know that every person in that house had been hand-picked to surround her.

She didn’t know that Alex wasn’t Alex.

She didn’t know she was already being kept.

And all around her, the glass walls gleamed.

Beautiful.

Unbreakable.

The guests had drifted away.

Laughter and music had faded into silence, the flicker of candles now soft and sleepy as the glasshouse dimmed to a golden glow. It was late—but comfortably so—and the energy had melted into something warm and quiet.

Just the four of them remained.

Y/N, curled up on the floor beside the coffee table, her legs tucked beneath her and her wine glass balanced carefully in her hands.

Luna, cross-legged on the plush rug, leaning toward her like they’d known each other for years.

Vera, lounging on the couch, draped in a throw blanket like royalty off-duty.

And “Alex”, sitting closest to Y/N in the wide armchair, one arm over the backrest, his knee brushing hers now and then—always just enough to make her pulse skip.

A half-empty bottle of wine sat between them, with mismatched glasses and snack plates scattered nearby.

It was one of those moments that didn’t feel like real life.

Soft laughter. Shared glances. Familiarity.

They were asking her questions like she belonged.

“So your favorite movie is a toss-up between Pride & Prejudice and Spirited Away?” Luna grinned, twirling her glass. “You’re a romantic and an emotional wreck.”

“Guilty,” Y/N laughed. “I just like slow-burn stuff. And Studio Ghibli makes me cry in the best way.”

“You ever cry over spreadsheets?” Vera asked lazily. “Because Alex does.”

Y/N glanced up at him in surprise, and he gave Vera a look—the kind that said don’t push it.

She only raised her glass in response.

Y/N smiled, sweet and genuine. “I can’t picture him crying.”

“Oh, he doesn’t shed actual tears,” Luna clarified. “He just gets this look like he’s plotting to destroy the universe.”

“That sounds about right,” Y/N giggled, then sipped her wine. “You guys have such a good vibe. It’s nice to see siblings actually like each other.”

“Vibe?” Vera snorted. “I keep him alive. That’s the vibe.”

“Barely,” Luna added.

Y/N shook her head, her smile soft. “It must be nice, though. Having family this close. I only have my mom. We talk a lot, but it’s just us.”

Alex’s eyes flicked toward her.

She felt it.

His attention. The heat of it. Like a hand wrapped around her spine.

Luna leaned in again. “Okay, okay—let me ask something serious.”

“Oh no.”

“What’s your age?”

Y/N blinked. “I’m twenty-one.”

Vera raised a perfectly shaped brow. “Still a baby.”

“I’m not a baby,” Y/N laughed. “You can’t say that until I know how old you are.”

Vera stretched. “Twenty-four.”

Y/N looked at Luna.

“Same,” she said with a grin. “We’re twins. He’s the old man.”

Y/N turned to Alex. “Wait—how old are you?”

There was a beat too long before he answered.

“Twenty-six,” he said smoothly.

Luna opened her mouth to say something, then stopped.

Vera let out a sound that was almost a snort, but caught it with a well-timed sip of wine.

Y/N laughed, oblivious. “You don’t look it! I would’ve guessed older. Like… twenty-eight? You have that serious thing going on.”

“I get that a lot,” he murmured.

He didn’t look at his sisters, but they could feel the heat rolling off him.

Twenty-six.

A soft lie, but a necessary one. She wasn’t ready for the truth.

Not yet.

She was still curled up beside him, flushed from wine and laughter, cheeks pink, lashes fluttering when she blinked at him.

Still safe in her little illusion.

“Anyway,” Y/N said, stifling a yawn, “I probably shouldn’t drink anymore or I’ll fall asleep right here.”

“You’re welcome to,” Luna offered sweetly. “We have like five guest rooms.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t—”

“I’ll drive you,” Alex cut in gently, his eyes never leaving hers. “I want to.”

Y/N’s smile flickered. She nodded.

And Vera, from her corner, watched the way his fingers grazed Y/N’s back as she stood up. The way his jaw clenched. The way his eyes never left her even when she wasn’t looking.

She waited until they were gone before looking at Luna.

“You saw that, right?”

Luna nodded. “He didn’t mean to kiss her cheek earlier either.”

“He’s slipping.”

“Or falling.”

Vera raised her glass. “Same difference.”

The car ride home was quiet.

Not awkward—just... gentle.

Y/N sat in the passenger seat, her hands folded in her lap, her head leaning against the window as the city passed in soft, golden streaks. She could still feel the warmth of the wine in her chest, the weight of laughter on her skin, the faint buzz of something good blooming in her belly.

She smiled to herself.

Tonight had been... perfect.

Next to her, Xander—Alex, in her mind—kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly between them. Not touching. But close.

He could still feel the ghost of her laugh on his neck. The softness of her voice when she’d spoken to his sisters. The sweetness in the way she’d offered Luna a gift like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She wasn’t just inside his world now.

She was under his skin.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” he said finally, voice low.

She turned to him, eyes soft. “Thank you for inviting me. I almost didn’t say yes.”

He looked over, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Sometimes I get in my own head. I overthink everything. But tonight... it felt like I was allowed to just exist. You made it feel that way.”

That nearly undid him.

“You deserve to feel that way all the time,” he murmured.

She looked down, shy. “I don’t always.”

He wanted to stop the car. To take her hand. To tell her he’d make sure she always did. That no one would ever hurt her or doubt her or overlook her again. That he would keep her wrapped in silk and safety and silence. Forever.

But he only said, “You will. With me.”

Her breath caught.

They didn’t speak the rest of the drive.

When they reached her apartment building, he put the car in park but didn’t turn off the engine.

“I’ll walk you up,” he said softly.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

She didn’t argue.

They climbed the stairs slowly. The night air was cool and the silence between them was soft, not sharp. Y/N felt her nerves starting to rise again—not because she was afraid, but because she wasn’t.

She didn’t feel like she needed to hide around him.

He made her feel… wanted.

They reached her door.

Her fingers curled around her keys as she turned to face him, suddenly aware of how close he was.

“Thank you for tonight,” she said. “Your sisters were amazing.”

“They liked you. A lot.”

“Even Vera?” she teased.

He chuckled, the sound low and intimate. “Especially Vera.”

Y/N smiled.

And then the air shifted.

His eyes dropped to her lips.

He leaned in—slowly, like he was giving her time to turn away. She didn’t.

Maybe it was the wine.

Maybe it was the soft ache in her chest that had been growing since the first time she saw him smile.

Maybe it was the thrill of stepping outside her comfort zone and not regretting it.

But when his lips brushed hers, she didn’t pull away.

The kiss was soft.

Gentle.

But barely.

He had to fight every instinct not to take more—deepen it, claim her—but he didn’t.

He kept it sweet. Tender. Lips parted just enough to breathe her in. Just enough to taste the warmth of her perfume, the wine on her tongue, the softness she didn’t know was addictive.

Her hand touched his chest—hesitant but not afraid.

When she pulled back, breathless, she looked up at him with a quiet sort of wonder.

“Goodnight, Alex,” she whispered.

And she stepped inside.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Xander stood frozen.

His lips still tingled.

His hands were fists at his sides.

He had kissed her—truly kissed her—and she had let him.

Trusted him.

Welcomed him.

And it had nearly broken him.

He walked down the steps slowly. Got into the car in silence.

The engine hummed to life.

But his world had already shifted.

He had tasted her.

And now there was no going back.

The shower steamed gently behind her, the scent of her floral shampoo and vanilla body wash clinging to her skin as Y/N wrapped herself in a towel and padded into her room.

Sunlight streamed through the curtains.

Her lips were still pink from scrubbing them, but she swore she could still feel his mouth on hers.

It hadn’t been some wild, movie-style kiss. It had been soft. Careful.

But something about it lingered. Made her chest flutter. Made her fingers tremble as she dried her hair.

She pulled on her favorite oversized sleep shirt and loose pajama pants, cheeks already warm as she thought about seeing Alex again.

Her friends were going to explode.

The apartment smelled like pancakes and butter.

Y/N emerged from her room with damp hair and a sleepy smile to find Dahlia at the stove in a giant hoodie and slippers, humming to herself as she flipped pancakes with aggressive flair.

“Morning, starshine,” she said without looking. “Your boy text you yet?”

Imani, sitting at the table sipping tea, raised her brows with a knowing grin. “You’ve got a glow. That’s a post-date glow if I’ve ever seen one.”

Y/N giggled, sliding into the chair beside her. “It was so nice. I can’t even explain it. Everything felt... perfect.”

“Spill,” Dahlia demanded, plating pancakes and sliding into a seat across from them. “All the details. Start from the top.”

Y/N grinned and tucked her knees to her chest.

“Okay. So first of all... his house—no, his family’s house—was insane. But like, not rich-people-trying-too-hard insane. It was warm. Glass walls, fairy lights, candles everywhere. I felt like I was walking into a dream.”

“And the people?” Imani asked, leaning forward.

“His sisters? Adore them,” Y/N said, eyes bright. “Luna is so sweet. She gave me like three compliments in five minutes and made me feel like we were already best friends. Vera’s... intense? But she was surprisingly kind. A little intimidating, but I got the feeling that’s just how she is with everyone.”

“Did you feel out of place?” Dahlia asked gently.

“Honestly?” Y/N shook her head. “I thought I would. But Alex stayed by my side the whole time. He kept checking in without being clingy. It was like he wanted me to feel comfortable.”

“And?” Imani said, sensing something.

Y/N ducked her head, her voice softening. “And... he kissed me.”

Silence.

Then:

“AWHHHHH!” Dahlia shrieked, smacking the table. “I KNEW IT.”

Imani clapped. “Did you kiss back?!”

“Yes!” Y/N squealed. “It was just—so gentle. Like... like he was asking for permission.”

Dahlia pretended to fan herself. “This man is dangerous.”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, hiding her face in her hands. “I’m in trouble.”

Imani laughed softly, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. “No, honey. You’re just falling.”

And maybe she was.

Just a little.

But it felt like flying.

Meanwhile...

At the top floor of Moreau Tower, the view of Manhattan stretched wide and glittering—but Xander wasn’t looking at it.

He sat behind his desk, tailored suit immaculate, but his gaze unfocused. His hands were still. His jaw tight.

Arlo stood across from him, holding a file.

“You haven’t heard a word I said, have you?” Arlo asked.

Xander didn’t blink.

“I kissed her.”

Arlo lowered the folder slowly. “I take it she didn’t slap you?”

“She smiled.”

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling like it could explain the fire crawling up his throat.

“I meant to be soft. But even that—even that—felt like I was stealing something sacred.”

Arlo said nothing.

“She let me walk her to the door,” Xander continued. “She was glowing. Happy. She thinks she’s safe.”

“You did say you were going to go slow.”

“I’m trying.” His voice darkened. “But I can’t stop thinking about her. Her mouth. Her hands. Her voice when she said my name.”

“You mean Alex.”

Xander’s jaw clenched.

“Soon,” he said, more to himself than anyone. “Soon, I’ll tell her. But not yet.”

Arlo raised a brow. “And when you do?”

“She won’t run.”

Xander stood, walking toward the window.

“She won’t want to.”

He imagined her reflection there beside him, barefoot in one of his shirts, sleepy from his bed, safe in his arms. And the city could fall to ashes if it meant keeping her that way.

Two weeks. Four dates. Dozens of texts. Three long phone calls that stretched past midnight.

Y/N was falling—and fast.

But it was different this time. It wasn’t chaotic or demanding. Alex never pushed. He seemed to sense when she was tired, when she needed silence, when she was overwhelmed by her course load or stressed about tips being low that week.

Still, juggling work, school, and now him—even if he was the sweetest part of her day—wasn’t easy.

“I’m just tired,” she said one night on the phone, flopped face-first into her pillow after a twelve-hour shift.

His voice on the other end was warm and low. “Get some rest. I’ll text you in the morning, but don’t feel pressured to reply, okay?”

“You’re too nice,” she mumbled.

“I just want to take care of you.”

And he meant it.

Not in the way she understood, of course.

Not yet.

Meanwhile…

Xander sat in a dim-lit dining room, one hand resting on a crystal glass of bourbon, the other absentmindedly tracing the rim. A fire crackled softly across the room, casting golden light over the dinner table, set for three.

Vera was halfway through a steak, scrolling on her phone.

Isadora Moreau, his mother, sat at the head of the table—perfect posture, pearls at her throat, not a hair out of place. She hadn’t touched her food.

She was watching him.

Xander had barely spoken since he arrived. He was physically present, yes—but his mind was somewhere else.

No—with someone else.

“You’re distracted,” Isadora said, her voice smooth and casual. Dangerous.

Xander blinked. Looked up. “Excuse me?”

She dabbed her lips with her napkin, then set it down precisely. “Something’s changed.”

Vera snorted. “It’s not subtle.”

Xander leaned back, swirling his glass. “You’re both imagining things.”

“No,” Isadora said, slow and deliberate. “You’ve been late to meetings. You’ve declined two investor dinners. You haven’t flown out to Berlin to close the Arbren deal—something you’ve been planning for six months.”

He said nothing.

“I don’t mind that you’re distracted,” she continued, her tone softening just slightly. “I mind not knowing why.”

Vera arched a brow. “Should we tell her, or let him?”

Xander shot her a look.

Isadora folded her hands. “So there is something.”

“Someone,” Vera corrected, smiling into her glass. “She’s sweet. Completely out of place in this world. And he’s already obsessed.”

“Careful,” Xander warned, voice low.

“I’m not judging,” Vera said, unbothered. “It’s... refreshing, honestly. You’ve been a cold bastard for years. Now you smile at your phone like a teenager.”

Isadora’s expression remained unreadable. “Does she know who you are?”

Xander exhaled. “Not yet.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“That’s intentional.”

A long pause.

Then: “Does she matter?”

Vera watched her brother carefully.

He didn’t answer right away.

But the silence said enough.

“She’s changing you,” Isadora murmured, not cruel—curious. “I wonder if she’ll survive it.”

Xander looked up, eyes dark.

“She won’t have to. She’ll be mine.”

It was a Saturday afternoon wrapped in sun—cloudless skies, birdsong floating through the breeze, and the city finally quiet enough to feel soft.

Y/N stood by her apartment window, tugging gently at the hem of her floral dress, her stomach flipping with nerves and anticipation.

Alex—as she still knew him—had texted that morning:

I want to see you. Come spend the day with me.

There was something about his voice in messages. Gentle, sure. He never said too much—but just enough to make her feel wanted. Like saying no would be missing out on something beautiful.

A knock sounded at her door.

Her heart leapt.

She opened it—and there he was.

Tailored slacks. A soft cream sweater. Hair a little tousled from the wind. He smiled, eyes lighting up the second he saw her.

But it wasn’t the clothes or the charm that made her breath catch.

It was the flowers.

A bouquet of pale yellow roses, tied with a silk ribbon. Her favorite.

And in his other hand—a small velvet box.

“Hi,” he said, voice low. “You look like spring again.”

She laughed shyly, accepting the flowers. “You remembered?”

“I remember everything.”

He stepped closer and opened the little box.

Inside, nestled on a bed of ivory satin, was a necklace—a thin gold chain with a single tiny charm shaped like a crescent moon. Elegant. Understated. But meaningful.

Her breath caught. “Alex… you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he said simply. “Turn around?”

Blushing, she nodded and turned her back to him. Her hair was pinned loosely, and he gently moved the strands aside, his fingers grazing the nape of her neck.

His touch was reverent.

Almost too gentle.

The clasp clicked softly, and the charm fell against her collarbone, cool and perfect.

She turned to face him, eyes shining. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s yours,” he murmured.

They spent the afternoon at a tucked-away botanical garden just outside the city. He had arranged for it to be quiet—almost empty. Private.

The winding paths were shaded by archways of blooming wisteria, and Y/N held his hand without thinking as they walked, laughing about childhood pets and their worst high school outfits. She told him how she’d once had a hamster named Cinnamon Roll who escaped and lived in the walls for three days.

He told her about how Luna once forged a permission slip for a fake school field trip just to sneak out to a Lana Del Rey concert.

She felt like she could talk to him forever.

And when they sat on a bench beneath a curtain of roses, her hand still in his, he shifted slightly to face her.

“Y/N,” he said softly, “I’ve been thinking…”

Her heart fluttered. “Yeah?”

“I want you to be mine.”

Her breath hitched.

“I know you’re busy,” he said, voice quiet and sure. “And I know this is still new. But I think about you all the time. I want to call you my girlfriend. Not just someone I’m seeing. Someone I have.”

She stared at him—stunned by the calm certainty in his tone.

He wasn’t pressuring her.

He was offering her something.

A place.

A name.

A belonging.

And she—young, tired, overwhelmed, but so full of hope—smiled.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’d love that.”

He leaned forward and kissed her—soft and sure.

But this time, when his hand cupped her jaw, when his thumb brushed the hinge of her throat just below the gold chain he gave her…

It felt like ownership.

The second Y/N walked through the apartment door, arms full of flowers and that little telltale smile tugging at her lips, Dahlia shrieked.

“Oh my God.”

Imani poked her head out from the bathroom. “She has the look again!”

“I don’t have a look,” Y/N said, blushing as she tried to hide the bouquet behind her.

“You so have a look,” Dahlia said, snatching the roses and inhaling them dramatically. “Oh, he’s dangerous.”

Imani leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. “Well? Spill. What happened? You two elope in a flower field?”

“No,” Y/N giggled, slipping out of her shoes. “But… it was perfect. He took me to this little garden. There were wisteria tunnels and roses and fountains and—”

“Stop. I’m going to cry.”

“Wait, wait,” Dahlia interrupted, eyeing her suspiciously. “What’s around your neck?”

Y/N smiled, slow and dreamy, fingers lifting the delicate charm that rested on her collarbone. “He gave it to me.”

Imani squealed. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not! He brought me flowers, and this necklace, and—” she paused, heart skipping, “he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

The room fell silent for a moment.

And then:

“AHHHHHHHH!”

“Baby girl got cuffed!”

“Our baby’s growing up!”

Y/N laughed so hard she fell onto the couch, the necklace catching the light like it had always belonged there.

They swarmed her, hugging her, teasing her. Dahlia took the flowers and shoved them in a vase with dramatic flair, while Imani took a picture of the necklace to “make it her next lockscreen.”

“He’s so thoughtful,” Y/N whispered, tracing the charm.

And she meant it.

She had never felt so seen. So safe. So... wanted.

Meanwhile…

Xander sat in the penthouse living room.

No music. No lights. Just the glow of the skyline painting shadows across the floor.

Her yes echoed in his skull like a sacred mantra.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

He could still feel the warmth of her skin under his fingers when he’d fastened the necklace. The exact softness of her voice when she said she’d be his. The look in her eyes when she smiled like she had no idea what she’d just given away.

She thought she was agreeing to something simple.

A boyfriend.

A title.

She didn’t understand what it meant to say yes to a man like him.

To a man who didn’t let go.

He reached into the inner drawer of his desk and pulled out a small leather notebook—the one he used only for her. In it, he wrote the date. The time. A single word.

She said yes.

And under it, he drew a tiny crescent moon.

The same shape as the charm now pressed against her pulse.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, her smile still burned into his memory.

Now he could begin.

Three months passed like a dream.

A soft, golden blur of love notes, sleepy mornings, whispered laughter, and stolen kisses. Y/N had never felt more cherished.

Alex was good to her.

He brought her lunch during long shifts. Left handwritten notes tucked into her textbooks. Sometimes, he’d pick her up just to drive in silence with her hand in his. He never pressured. Never raised his voice. Never even let her carry groceries if he could help it.

He helped her study when she was tired. He’d learned how she liked her tea—extra honey, no lemon. On rainy days, he’d sit with her on the floor of her apartment while her friends laughed in the kitchen, and he never flinched when Dahlia made suggestive jokes or Imani asked too many questions.

He was present. Gentle. Real.

And when he left town for "business" that weekend—he kissed her forehead and promised he’d be back before Monday.

“Miss me, baby,” he’d whispered.

And she had.

But nothing could’ve prepared her for what would come next.

Sunday Afternoon

Y/N was curled on the couch in leggings and a sweatshirt, sipping tea and reading over her notes when the apartment door swung open with a bang.

Dahlia stood frozen in the doorway.

Her eyes were wide. Her face pale. Her hand clutched a rolled-up magazine so tightly the paper was crumpled.

“Y/N.”

Y/N looked up. “Hey, you okay?”

Dahlia didn’t speak. She just walked slowly across the room and dropped the magazine into Y/N’s lap.

Confused, Y/N looked down.

It was a glossy cover—LUXE Magazine, one of those obnoxiously high-fashion publications filled with stories about people who lived in glass towers and vacationed on islands no one could pronounce.

And there, on the front cover, was him.

Alex.

Only it wasn’t.

The headline screamed:

“XANDER MOREAU UNVEILS GLOBAL MERGER AT GALA WITH STUNNING SUPERMODEL ON HIS ARM”

The picture was recent.

Very recent.

He was in a black tuxedo, hand placed casually on the hip of a tall, breathtaking blonde with piercing eyes and a body carved by gods.

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

“What... what is this?”

Dahlia sat beside her, voice shaking. “Y/N. That’s not Alex. That’s Xander Moreau.”

Y/N stared at the page like it couldn’t possibly be real.

But it was. The face was identical. The jawline. The hands. The eyes.

The man who had kissed her like she was made of light.

Who had held her when she cried over a bad exam.

Who helped her paint her bedroom one lazy Saturday afternoon.

“Xander...” she whispered.

“He’s not a finance guy, Y/N,” Dahlia continued, her voice full of pity. “He’s one of the richest men in the country. He owns—like—media empires. Corporations. Skyscrapers. That girl in the photo is a model. A real one. She’s been on billboards in Paris.”

Y/N’s hands trembled. The magazine slipped from her lap.

He lied.

Everything—everything—flooded her at once. The moments he brushed off personal questions. The way he never let her Google him. The reason he never took her to his "office." The way strangers sometimes stared a little too long when they walked together.

The necklace at her throat felt suddenly tight.

He hadn’t just kept secrets.

He had crafted an entire identity.

Her chest ached. Her mouth was dry.

And the worst part?

She still wanted him to call. To explain. To lie again.

To make it okay.

That night, the apartment had never felt quieter.

The magazine sat on the coffee table like a ghost—mocking, glossy, damning.

Y/N sat on the couch in silence, legs pulled to her chest, eyes red. Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through endless search results.

Xander Moreau.

Not Alex. Not the man who kissed her forehead and made her tea.

He was on the cover of Forbes. Financial Times. Vogue. She found footage of him in suits at summits, shaking hands with world leaders. In gala photos with actresses, diplomats, heiresses. Never her.

And his sisters?

Vera Moreau. CEO of a luxury wellness empire.

Luna Moreau. Fashion consultant, former model, charity darling.

They weren’t sweet, everyday girls who lived in cozy homes and gave warm hugs.

They were Moreaus.

Just like him.

“It doesn’t make sense,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Dahlia sat beside her, holding her hand. “He created a whole fake identity, Y/N. He lied.”

“But why?” Her voice broke. “Why me?”

Imani looked up from her laptop. “We found photos of him with that model from last week’s gala. They were all over Paris. He’s not just rich, Y/N. He’s power. He could’ve had anyone.”

Y/N’s lips trembled. “Then why did he pretend to be someone... normal? Why hide?”

Imani hesitated. “That’s what’s scariest.”

The Next Morning

She didn’t sleep. Not really.

Her phone had buzzed around midnight:

Are you okay? I’m back in town. I missed you. Sweetheart? Please call me.

She didn’t answer.

Not until sunrise.

We need to talk. Can we meet today?

He replied instantly.

I’ll come get you.

No. Public place. The park near the café. 2pm.

A long pause.

Then:

Okay. I’ll be there.

2:03 PM – The Park

The wind tugged at her dress as she stood beside the iron fence, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She hadn’t worn makeup—didn’t have the energy. Her curls were tied up messily, and she wore sunglasses to hide the puffiness around her eyes.

When she saw him walking toward her, her stomach twisted.

He looked the same.

Tailored coat, dark slacks. Calm, polished, powerful.

But now she could see it.

The way the world tilted around him. The way people glanced, did double-takes. The aura of someone untouchable.

Xander Moreau.

And she had kissed him like he was just a man.

He smiled when he saw her—relieved. Hands slightly raised as if to embrace her.

She stepped back.

“No,” she said sharply.

He froze, arms mid-reach.

“Y/N—”

“Don’t,” she choked, voice trembling.

She shoved the rolled-up magazine into his chest.

It hit harder than she meant. But he caught it easily.

His jaw tightened.

“I wanted to tell you.”

She shook her head, pulling her arms around herself. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie. I—” He stopped. Swallowed. “I protected you. I needed you to see me without the noise. Without the name.”

She stared at him, and the tears she’d fought so hard to hide began to fall.

“So you tricked me into trusting you?”

“No.” His voice broke for the first time. “I wanted something real. With you. And I couldn’t have that as Xander Moreau.”

“You could’ve told me. Any time. Any date. Any moment, and I would’ve understood. But you let me fall in love with someone who doesn’t exist.”

The words slipped out before she could take them back.

His expression shattered for a second. “You love me?”

She covered her face with her hands, sobbing quietly. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“Y/N,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m still me. Everything we shared—it wasn’t fake. It was the most real thing I’ve ever had.”

“But you chose to lie. Every day.”

His hand twitched at his side. “I was afraid. Of losing you. Of scaring you away. And now I’ve done exactly that.”

She wiped her cheeks, breath trembling. “I need time.”

He stepped back. Just once. Like it hurt.

“I’ll give you anything you need,” he whispered. “But I’m not walking away.”

She turned and left before she broke completely.

Behind her, Xander stood perfectly still.

Magazine still in hand.

Her tears still wet on his coat.

And a promise already forming in his mind:

You won’t run from me, sweetheart. Not for long.

Continue HERE

[deliciousangelfestival]

His Silly Princess | Bucky (Oneshot)

Character: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader

Words Count: 1,671

Summary: A modern royal love story. A naive princess who wants to get away from an arranged marriage. She never knew that her guard had loved her since the beginning. 

Main Masterlist || support me: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Zylovia is a country where monarchy still exists. It’s a developed country located near Western Europe. 

It’s a prosperous country, and the number of unemployed is also the lowest. Tourists love coming here for the casino, race car, and music festival. 

But this country has one outdated rule. It didn’t apply to the citizens. Only for the royal family. 

“If the female royal member marries a commoner, she will lose her status."

You learned that rule when you were 12 years old as the youngest siblings and Princess Zylovia. You didn't put a deep thought into it. 

But now, when you are almost 30 years old, and your older siblings are already married, you think this is good for you.

Because you realize you’re not fit to do the duty as a princess. 

Your oldest brother has prepared since he was a kid to be the king. When he reaches the age of 40, he will be crowned as the king. Your second brother will be the second commander in the military. 

While you have a job as a painting conservator at the museum, your duty as a princess is to welcome the official foreign guest at the castle. You learned some languages, but you’re not allowed to give any opinion on politics.

You don’t hate being a royal, but sometimes you feel like living in a golden cage. 

And finally, you had enough because, on your recent birthday, your parents talked to you about marriage. 

The king and queen don’t want to be separated from their youngest daughter, but they hint that they wish for her future husband from the royal circle. In other words: arranged marriage. 

You clenched your jaw while smiling at your parents. If the man from the royal circle is a real gentleman, you wouldn’t mind. 

But the problem is, please pardon the harsh language; none of the men from the royal family are your type. 

Your type of man must have a stable job, look good in suits, and have a nice body. 

That’s why, for a couple of days, you’ve made a list of potential future husbands. After you write it, you realize most of the men are from the knights. Perhaps because you always went to meet your second brother at the military training ground, so you know some people. 

Steve Rogers

[Friendly, not married, nerd, loves to paint like me]

Ari Levinson 

[Funny, beautiful hair, handsome]

‘Knock, knock!’ Suddenly, someone knocked on your door.

“Come in.”

You didn’t have to turn around to see who it was. You have known him for years, and your ears are familiar with the sound of his footsteps. 

The person who walked into your room has been your exclusive bodyguard for years - James Barnes, but you always call him Bucky his nickname. 

Bucky is a commoner and an elite soldier. If there’s a shooting competition, he will be in the top three. Your second brother always hates him. 

He has received many medals of honors, but he rejects a knight title from your father. You don’t understand why he declined the offer. If he received it, he could enter politics, and he doesn’t have to follow her around anymore. 

He’s tall, handsome, with perfect blue eyes and has fine muscles on his body. Bucky also has a primarily female fanbase when he wears the military uniform and rides a horse at the independence ceremony. 

He became a celebrity overnight.

But you have never seen or heard any rumor about him with a woman. 

“Your highness, in two hours you are going to attend the tennis tournament.” 

You dropped the pen and dropped your head to the table. “Urgh. Do I have to?”

Bucky chuckled when he saw you unwilling to go. One thing you hate about your duty is to be the guest at the tennis game. You prefer to watch the race car, but it's reserved for your brother's. 

Even though you didn’t want to go, you still dragged your feet to the dressing room to grab your coat. 

When you were searching for the right outfit, you suddenly remembered. “Oh no!” You didn’t hide the potential list that you just wrote. You wish you could dig your own grave and disappear. 

And you were right; Bucky saw your writing. He furrowed his eyebrows while he read your paper. “What’s this? Potential man for marriage?”

You stand beside him; you don’t know why you feel scared. This is the first time you have seen him like this. 

His slender, pointed fingers scratched the two names with his nails. There’s a big X on your paper. 

“Don’t marry any of those men.”

“Why?”

A small smile appeared on his lips, along with a soft voice, “Steve hasn’t moved on from his last girlfriend, and Ari, he loves to drink alcohol. I know you hate the smell of alcohol.”

You felt disappointed; you crumpled the paper and threw it into the trash.

“Marriage? Why all of a sudden?” There's an annoyed tone in his voice.

You rubbed your head and muttered, “I need to get married sooner, or my parents will arrange marriage for me, their friend's kid. And you know the truth, I had enough of being a princess.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “But, why them?”

“What?”

He clenched his fist; Bucky stared at her with an annoyed expression. “Why didn't you put me on the list?”

“....”

You waved your hand. “It doesn’t matter, as long as I got married.”

“So, would you like to marry me?”

Are you having hallucinations? Did Bucky just propose to you?

Bucky got on his knees. “Let’s get married.”

You still haven’t come to your senses. Bucky started talking again. “Think about it. Both of us have known each other for a long time. We’ve known each other's likes and dislikes. We’ve been through many things together.”

He’s right. He’s the safest choice if you want to marry someone. You shrugged your shoulders and accepted his hand. “Alright.”

Bucky's beautiful smile appeared on his face. Before he shook your hand, he felt you slightly pull his hand. When you saw him smile, your heart raced. “But, if in the end, we don’t like each other, please wait after three years, then we could get a divorce.”

Bucky chuckled; his attractiveness is not just in his physical appearance but also in his ability to manage his emotions gracefully and restraintfully. He leaned closer to you, and his hands gently grabbed your chin. 

As his calloused hand touched your skin, a subtle warmth spread on your cheeks. You could feel you're blushing. “Silly girl, it will never happen.”

#######

[Bucky P.O.V]

Then he rests your arms on his. “Then you have the excuse to skip the tournament.”

“Hmm?”

“We should inform this first to His Majesty and Her Majesty.”

“Oh, right.” You nodded, then looked straight into his blue eyes again. “This soon?”

********

When both of you walk through the hallway to meet the King and Queen, Bucky tries his best to calm down. He almost lost his common sense when he saw you write another man's name, and there’s a word of ‘potential husband.’

He looks at you and thinks ‘his silly princesses didn’t realize his feelings for her.’ 

Didn’t she know he declined the offer to be a knight so he could be her guard?

If he became a knight, he would work with her second brother. That’s the last thing he wants to do. 

“So, Bucky, don’t worry about money. When I resign as a princess, the kingdom will give us money.”

Bucky chuckled, seeing his sweet princess worried about their future, “That’s so sweet of you. But you don’t need to worry about that.” He gently patted her arms. He wants to tell you that he owns the famous casino in this kingdom and 5-star hotel chains in a few countries.

When both of you are married, Bucky will ensure you don’t have to work anymore. He is pretty sure that her parents will give their blessings even though he’s a commoner (and he’s super rich). The royal family has outdated rules, but because of it, he could marry you. 

Both of you arrived at the king's office room. The guards bowed their heads to greet you. Then you said, “Princesses Y/N and her guard. Wait… and her future husband, James Barnes wants to meet the king.”

The guards and the butler who opened the door lost their composure. They should have known from your body language walking here together hand in hand when usually Bucky always stands behind you. 

This news is shocking compared to the crown prince, who got caught partying too hard and the second prince, who had a messy love life before he got married. 

It seems like your father, the King, hears your voice. Before the castle butler tells him, you hear the gentle voice, “Come in.”

########

[2 years later]

<Former Princess of Zylovia Y/N, blessed with male twins>

It's the biggest headline in the country after you gave birth. You feel overwhelmed; you can't believe that you're parents now. 

The King and Queen hold your oldest son, while Bucky has the youngest son in his arms. 

Bucky's eyes are full of love, looking both at his sons. He was almost scared to death since you gave birth one month early. But the doctor assured both of you this is normal since you're pregnant with twins. 

Even though you're not a princess, you're still surrounded by your family. 

And Bucky still treats you like a princess. You almost lost your mind when he told you his business, which turned into your parents, and your brothers already know it, too. 

You want to knock your head; you didn't even know Bucky's business helped increase the country's GDP. 

Everyone said Bucky was the lucky guy to marry the former princess, but they were wrong. It's you who is lucky to marry him.

-End-

Join Taglist? ❤️❤️❤️

@magnificentsaladllama, @esotericgalaxy, @xcaptain-winterx, @buckysteveloki-me, @cherrybubblebullet, @bagoffeelings, @darkofimagination, @starsofcloud @shamrockqueen, @shinytreefire, @thezombieprostitute, @mrvlxgrl , @lassie-bird , @cookingdancingchick , @ordelixx , @scott-loki-barnes

[sarshles-cheescake-li]

MOD translations, continued: Pt 1: The opening page Pt 2: The protagonists' character sheets (you're here!)

For the character sheets, all characters have a stats page, in order from top to bottom: attack, life/HP, magic/MP, defence, charisma, secret skills/abilities (might translate better to stealth/deception?)

Don't mind the horrendous image quality, these are screenshots I'm taking from youtube.

Jojo (she’s not JOJO [1]), the “punch [2]”-powerful priest who conquered her town

Talent: natural-born battle prowess All her healing skills come with a “reversal of damage” effect [3], and her close-quarters attacks during enemy encounters come with “burn of holy light.”

Ultimate move: Holy light’s beating [4] She first releases a wave of healing light, and, after recovering her allies’ HP for one second, the wave of light becomes “explosive holy light” which deals damage to the enemy equivalent to the amount which it healed by.

The daughter of the landlord of the mahjong shop [5]. She grew up with Charles since they were children, and despite her sweet and lovable appearance, beat all of the town’s rowdy children into submission, earning her the title of “the master of holy light fists.” As the town’s youngest priest, whether it be healing wounds or mediating conflicts, Jojo always uses both kindness and might to perfectly meet the townspeople’s needs. After she was chosen to engage in further training in the central church, she became a priest who wields all-encompassing holy light in her left hand, and brutal punches of pure F = ma [6] in her right hand. She always says the most vicious lines with the kindest smiles: “If you still won’t listen, then I’ll have to use my fists to “cure” you.” Thanks to her excellent capabilities and straight-forward personality, she is loved all throughout the church, and automatically became the heart of the “protect Jojo, the best of the whole world” alliance. Until, one day, after learning that Charles was about to go on a journey to slay the dragon by himself, she decided to go escort this half-*ssed adventurer who can’t be trusted to be by himself…

[1] The “not Jojo” thing is probably referencing Jojo’s bizarre adventure?

[2] Another Chinese pun playing on the “all” in “all-powerful” being pronounced the same as “fist,” as in the one you use for punching.

[3] As in she damages the enemy while healing allies.

[4] Could also be “Holy light: critical hit” or something similar, but I think beating is way funnier, and 暴击 is an ambiguous term, anyway.

[5] Not a “shop” as in where you buy Mahjong, 麻将馆 is literally just a place you go to to play Mahjong, though it also is technically a business. No, I have no idea what their business model is supposed to be. Apparently it translates better to “Mahjong school, ” but in my opinion, that makes even less sense than calling it a shop.

[6] A video game term which technically just translates to “physical damage/attack,” but 物理攻击 (literally “physics attack”) has a very particular connotation on the Chinese internet, and this is the best I could translate it.

Lucas, the genius sorcerer [1] who likes to sit in the sun

Talent: eternal memory After he learns a spell [2], his proficiency in it automatically rises until max proficiency; observe and gain insight on any normal enemy’s skills and patterns; automatically identify one weakness of any one enemy.

Ultimate move: ray of frost [3] Release a ring of frigid cold ice, freezing the enemy; after the enemy defrosts, it triggers the secondary stage of “frozen explosion” and deals damage. At the same time, he can use summoning magic according to the enemy’s weakness [4].

A genius sorcerer who demonstrated incredible magical talent from a young age, able to recite all spells recorded within the library, and who was seen as a once-in-a-century prodigy by the elite magical academy of the east. Lucas has a cold personality and is awkward with words, spending most of his time alone, studying ancient magical tomes, basking under the sun with the school’s stray cats to fill up on vitamin D, or sleeping — this is a day in the calm and ordinary life of the genius himself. One day, while Lucas was sitting in the corner of the library reading, a wrinkly flyer flew onto his face: The dragon-slaying plan! Saving the world! Bread and board provided! — Charles “The dragon slaying plan?” Usually, Lucas doesn’t have any interests for these childish adventures, but the strange energy signatures left on the flyer piqued his interest. He looked out of the window, and the sunlight shone on his face in just the right way, as if it were urging him to make a decision…

[1] Technically translates to "magician" but, like I said in the previous post, sorcerer sounds less like he's pulling Qiao Lings out of a hat.

[2] Technically “after he learns magic,” but I think spell makes more sense and is more likely to be what it’s supposed to mean? I don’t know man, I don’t hang in the Chinese TTRPG sphere.

[3] No, not that ray of frost — although I certainly thought it was, at first.

[4] I have no idea what this sentence is supposed to say. What is the 实战 (real battle) doing in there? Why is the 召唤 after 魔法? I’m so confused.

Charles, the chosen one who shines like the sun [1]

Talent: The chosen one’s luck While fighting, all attacks have a chance to trigger “lucky critical” (damage doubles, and applies a random buff)

Ultimate move: A toss by the god of dice A killing move [2] derived from “guaranteed win.” Gathering all the luck and courage of the blessed land [3], he creates an unstoppable blade of courageous adventurers.

Originally a boy running a mahjong shop in the easter continent, his parents went missing under mysterious circumstances when he was young, only leaving behind a 【sword of the lucky one [4]】 and a bunch of unpaid rent. Since his youth, he’s bore the incredible skill of 【guaranteed win】, referred to by others as 【a toss by the god of dice】. Although his life is difficult, he’s always had a smile on his face: “Life is like playing Mahjong, both winning and losing are only a matter of luck, what’s important is enjoying it!” One day, while Charles was cleaning 【sword of the lucky one】, he activated a switch in the storage room, and a diary fell out, containing the legend of the chosen one and the words his father entrusted to him: when you see this, it means that you’ve inherited the power of the lucky one. Go find the den of the evil dragon described in legend, the world needs you to save it… “Save the world? But I haven’t even finished doing the accounting for the mahjong shop!” Even though he was still an outsider to this conflict, considering the world’s waiting for him to save it, just like that, the adventurer Charles took up 【sword of the lucky one】 and began his adventures.

[Note for Cheng Xiaoshi’s section: I cannot emphasize enough how uproarious the 欧皇/lucky one thing is, in my opinion. It’s such a meme, good gods.

[1] Technically "Burns hot like the sun," as in passionate/driven, but I think "bright" works a bit better in terms of vibe.

[2] Not literally killing but like, the vibe of a killing move.

[3] Learned a new chengyu today, haha! 天灵地杰 is definitely a rarer one, and this was the best I could do. It isn’t referring to any one specific blessed or holy land, but more of just “the fortunes of the world” kind of vibe.

[4] I’ve seen this translated as “European emperor,” but 欧皇 is a Chinese slang term meaning someone who’s extremely lucky, especially in gacha games, or other games of a similar nature. If I did a 10-pull and got five top-level characters, for example, I would be an 欧皇.

[kelpietheshifter]

2000𝓢 𝓖𝓲𝓻𝓵 𝓖𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓹 𝓛𝓲𝓯𝓮

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶

Abt me ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

At just 15, Ketzianna Dacosta, better known as Coasta or Ketzi, has already made a massive impact as the youngest and arguably the hottest member of The Bimbo Dolls. With her striking purple hair and a voice that’s as powerful as it is mesmerizing, Ketzi has quickly become the face of the group, captivating fans with her undeniable star power. Her killer looks and vocal talent make her a force to be reckoned with, and it’s clear this rising star is poised to go down in history as one of the most iconic figures in the music industry.

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆: Ketzianna Dacosta <33

˚୨୧⋆ 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: Ketzi

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑨𝒈𝒆: 15 years old <33 (16 in 4 months)

˚୨୧⋆𝑯𝒐𝒃𝒃𝒊𝒆𝒔: Singing, Baking, Cooking, Dance, Reading, Music, Styling

˚୨୧⋆𝑵𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚: American

˚୨୧⋆𝑳𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔: English, Spanish, Kawishana, Patois

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑵𝒆𝒕 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉: 8 Million Dollars

˚୨୧⋆𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫: Leader Singer, Teen Idol, Youngest in the group, Amazing voice

Relationships (Meet the Group) ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"Who doesn't love Jaja?" - "Jennifer Allen"

Jennifer Allen, the 21-year-old sensation from Wilcox County, Alabama, is taking the spotlight by storm with her signature bright blonde hair, bold pink eyeshadow, and iconic cowgirl hats. Known for her Southern charm and vibrant energy, she’s formed a sister-like bond with Ketzi within the first year of their group’s formation. When she’s not dazzling fans, Jennifer is often seen rubbing shoulders with fellow blonde icons like Paris Hilton and Britney Spears, solidifying her status among Hollywood’s elite. This rising star is just getting started, and the world can’t wait to see what she does next!

"Why choose between cute and sexy when you can be both?" - Ki Ji-Hye

Ki Ji-Hye, who debuted at just 13 as part of Vivid Queens, made a bold move when she left to join Bimbo Dolls and reinvented herself as "Baby." Now 18, she’s become a fan favorite for her irresistible mix of sweetness and undeniable confidence. As the second youngest member of the group, Baby shares a special bond with Ketzi, and together, they’re a dynamic duo known for their playful antics and captivating charm. Always ready to have fun, they’ve quickly earned a reputation for shaking things up in the industry.

"Keep obsessing over my exes, but you're nothing more than a tabloid footnote." - Kailani Robinson

At 23, K.R. (Kailani Robinson) stands as one of the older "it girls" of Bimbo Dolls, holding the title of the second eldest member of the group. Known for her overconfident, unapologetically bold persona, K.R. has earned a reputation as both a fierce gold digger and a "bad girl" of the industry. She’s not shy about using her wealth to spoil her fellow Bimbo Dolls especially, Ketzi, the baby of the group, with extravagant gifts. But it’s her on-again, off-again relationship with Usher that continues to fuel tabloid headlines, leaving fans guessing if their love affair is for real or just another headline stunt.

"No matter what the media says I do love my girls." - Veondre Richardson

At 28, Veondre Richardson is the eldest member of Bimbo Dolls, and her age often sets her apart from the rest of the group. While her younger counterparts are known for their provocative music and bold public personas, Veondre’s sound tends to be more toned down, with less of the edgy flair that defines the group. Fans have noticed her absence from many group outings, with the younger members often spotted without her, raising questions about whether she’s simply too mature to keep up with the fast-paced lifestyle of her fellow Bimbo Dolls. In a sea of youth and rebellion, Veondre often seems like the outlier, struggling to find her place in a group that's built on controversy and wild energy. There are also rumors swirling about a secret relationship with rap icon Eminem, though neither have confirmed it

𝑮𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒑 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆: 𝓑𝓲𝓶𝓫𝓸 𝓓𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓼

𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔: 30 𝓜𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓸𝓷

Discography:

Introducing The Bimbo Dolls: This is each girls main song in the first album

Fuck with me- Jaja

Take your shirt off - Baby (Same lyrics but matches the album more)

Blah Blah Blah - Ketzi

Bark like you want - K.R.

Naughty Girl - Veondre Richardson

Fun facts:

We have a reality tv show called the bimbo dolls (2005-2016)

[macabrecabra]

Did art fight and saw so many pokemon OCs...and realized for how much I LOVE pokemon, never had any of my own really...so I made some. Then I wrote a story. Then I built a whole worldsetting.

So enjoy the "End of the Line" pokemon setting that is now born... starting with my favorite trio of ghost pokemon! The Silph bros are known more publicly in connection to the powerful Silph Corporation, but also operate a powerful black market mafia under the table.

More under the tab if you are interested in my character ramblings!

GEN SILPH (Gengar) He is all about image. In the public eye, he is a well liked, always smiling, corporate prodigy and the face of Silph Co. Well respected and always known for handling PR and all the social trappings of an elite status well. Behind closed doors though, he is also running an extensive mafia operation with his fingers on the pulse of Saffron-Lavender City. He may seem nice and upbeat, but when he is ticked, he can show a very cold, very calculative, and very sadistic side as he is not above getting his hands dirty if people are messing up on the perfect persona he controls. Not a pokemon to cross as he will smile and shake your hand while having a gun behind his back. There are very few whom he trusts, as he is known to let his paranoia sometimes get the best of him when it feels like the control he's carefully built into an empire seems threatened even a little bit. Every move is calculated. Every chaos a delicate pull of the strings. Just remember to always trust in Silph Co for your every need!

Design Note: All the Silph bros wear suits because they are classy, but each has a design. For Gen, I was all corporate. Sleek cut, formfitting, Dark colors, and of course, classy tie. The kind of guy without a hair out of place. Also glasses felt fitting for someone that probably has to squint at computers...also makes him look more smart. GHAST SILPH (Ghastly)

The youngest brother of the Silph brothers, Ghast is a bit goofy and doesn't really tend to take things too seriously, but also never one to disappoint his older brothers whom he adores. He really wants to live up to expectations and has since stepped up to being the main leader of the mafia, second only to Gen, but really he just does what Gen says and doesn't ask questions. He really just wants to make his brothers proud, and feels the pressure to live up to Hauts' legacy.

Ghast can come off as dismissive towards others at times, but it comes from his desire to appear just as strong as his brothers when it comes to the dealings of the world. They are super besties with their personal gang of "bad brats" as he calls them, sometimes to the point of trying to step in and keep them out of trouble.

Should be note that Ghast is transgender. What their deadname is, no one knows. They don't much care for being misgendered as there has, and always has been, three Silph brothers, and don't you forget it!

Design Note: I felt that Ghast was the flashy type with bright eyesore suits and sort of a lounge lizard, impractical sort of suit, hence no pockets to be found. The single button suit felt more like going to a party than corporate, which fit Ghast more in my head. Also had to give Ghast unruly hair to mimic the gas around Ghastly.... Ghast's wears a hat to try and control it.

HAUTS SILPH (Haunter) (Alsos one of the main characters of the story!)

There was no doubt that Hauts was how made the Nightshade Mafia a force to be reckoned with. He was smart like his older brother, but also wasn't afraid to be reckless and unrelenting when it came to his goals. He was the muscle that could get any job done, one way or another. Known as a wildcard, laid-back, unpredictable, yet suave, Hauts was a criminal prince and was an important part of keeping the Nightshade Mafia running well....most of the time. His recklessness and disregard for Gen's orders often put him at odds with his brothers.

Hauts felt it more a difference of opinion, but nothing too crazy as at the end of the day, he cared very deeply about his brothers and everything he did would never put everything in danger. Gen didn't see it that way and shot his brother with intent to murder and remove something that was starting to make him paranoid about his control of things.

By all accounts, Hauts should be dead, face blasted open and body dumped in the woods, but he was found by a local pikachu from a nearby village and managed to find his health again. He's hung up his old life though, not interested in revenge, not interested in going back into that world. His guns are hung up to live a peaceful life as a bartender in Veridian Village, at least, until life comes knocking and he might have to pick up his old life again... Design notes: He is very much looking to copy the style of a 1920's ganster, hence the older style to his suit and wears an open jacket to match his more laid-back attitude. Also was one to always make sure you knew he was armed when in company. His hat was fun as it is clear it is blown off and there history and sentiment to it. He's had that torn up hat a long time and is intent on keeping it that way.