Hello Dears! My Name Is Mahmoud Hilles, I Am Asking You To Support My Campaign To Help Me Achieve My

Something something violence has always been the primary love language for Waynes, something something.

It breaks me that Bruce loves Jason so deeply, and Jason is so completely unaware of it. He comes to the conclusion that love is religion. You have to see to believe.

I’m just thinking about Jason watching evidence of how wrecked Bruce is after his death. He stalks Batman, always, tracks down every movement and breath. He waits for the perfect moment to shoot.

Your father only dies once, after all.

That moment, mysteriously, doesn’t come.

Jason’s never been scared of Bruce. Fear, to him, is darkness and cold and a bleach white face laughing at him. Fear of Bruce not being there at all. That’s fear.

I need a scene where Jason, — Red Hood, — watches Batman pin down a mugger.

He doesn’t know what that man says. Something about getting on him for not being there when Wayne’s boy got killed.

He’s never been scared of Bruce.

But when he punches that man, over and over and over, when his throat makes those horrible sounds of gasping effort, animal and feral, he’s afraid. Afraid Bruce won’t stop.

He’s about to jump in when another, smaller pair of feet runs up to the scene and Jesus Christ that’s a kid — A kid wearing Jason’s old uniform. Wrapping his arms around Batman’s and clinging.

The man on the ground is motionless. If he didn’t blink, Jason wouldn’t know there was a face anymore.

But that’s not the worst part.

The worst part is Bruce crying. Gasping, punched out noises, his hands drenched with red, squeezing the kid so close to him.

“My baby. Oh my baby.”

📌Hello, I am Samiha and I have a daughter named Almas 🫂And now I live in hell and the devastating war in Gaza🍉. We also live after my house was bombed in a small tent that does not protect us from the winter. I hope everyone shares the post 💔 or donates. Thank you all.💌 https://gofund.me/f13e5bbd

Please have mercy and show your humanity. Raise awareness for these people in need.

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Should I give the reader a love interest? Or make the story revolve solely around the readers journey, disregarding romance. If I should, should I make the love interest Desiree? Or another oc/character?🤔🤔

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"To change for you..."

⋆°• ☁︎ - Things the Blue Lock boys do after picking it up from you Feat. Michael Kaiser, Isagi Yoichi, Nagi Seishiro, Shidou Ryusei, and Rin Itoshi

AN: I have the freaking cutest idea for a Wakasuki fanfic but nobody knows him and it's so sad...

Michael Kaiser ⋆°• ☁︎ - Listening to certain songs that he knows you like when he’s traveling

He never realized that he would have missed you this much when he was traveling. For the few months that he was still back in Germany with you, the thoughts of traveling had crossed his mind many times, and with a scoff and the thoughts that he used to do it alone all the time pushed the ideas to the back of his brain, well until now; Now when he was sitting on the Bastard München bus on the way to the PXG stadium for their next match, the long, almost 14-hour, bus ride they had, and every second since he had been on that bus, he missed you. Not that he would ever admit that to anybody, including you. So what better way than to either A. attempt to text you, But that sounded desperate, or B. do something that reminded him of you. And with his limited options, he scrolled his phone to find something that could bring him back to the thought of you, even if you weren’t there with him. To which that’s when he found it. A couple of weeks ago you had stolen his phone, saying that you were just looking at the weather, but rather, you knew he had a Spotify account and only listened to the songs he wanted to, so you put together a playlist for him of some songs you think he should listen to, including some of your favorites. He couldn’t help but give a little smile when he saw the playlist cover being a picture of the two of you at one of his previous games, and within no time he pressed the play button and started to listen through the songs, thoughts of you running through his head matching up with every song lyric.

Isagi Yoichi ⋆°• ☁︎ - Using more creative insults on the field after you used them against him

It all started a couple weeks after you had started dating and you got into a little spat about where to go for dinner, him trying to be nice and let you decide and you being indecisive and pushing it back on him. All going relatively nicely until you turned around and said:

“You decide, you wet noodle! I can’t pick.”

And he stood there for a second, a little surprised. A wet noodle? That wasn’t something you heard every day. So he let out a slight chuckled and picked a place he knew you would like and the two of you went there for dinner that night. The same thing with a couple other insults had happened a few times, being called a multitude of other things, and even hearing you’d snide comments sometimes about how you hoped that a person that cut you off in traffic ‘stepped into a puddle with only socks on.’

Now with these thoughts inside his head, and Barou running his mouth he could only turn towards him and give a dirty glare before pulling this out of his pocket:

“I hope you’re sleeves slide down while you’re washing your hands.”

Before turning back around and heading anywhere else in the building where he wasn’t. To which the rest of the people standing there could only look surprised, the same guy who called Barou much worse, just wished a minor inconvenience on him? What was happening?

Nagi Seishiro ⋆°• ☁︎ - Showing a little more effort rather than just in scoring goals

Reo could only look confused at the white-haired man as he was actually trying on some of the new training regiments given to them by Chris Prince. Even when he looked over to the coach, he looked a little shocked. It wasn’t that Nagi didn’t try, it’s that he had never tried this hard before. He did everything just enough for it to be acceptable and then move on with his life, well that was until he saw how hard you worked for things. He never understood why people worked hard until you had come home with a good grade on your test, the same test he had watched you work for hours and hours trying to study the material and cram into your head before you had to take it. The way that you smiled and were so excited that the work you did paid off gave him this spark of inspiration that he needed to see what it was like to train hard and then have that achievement pay off in the end. So when he went back to practice, he tried harder than he ever did before, even earning a couple comments asking if he was okay, or if he was dying and trying a little harder was his dying wish. All of which he responded a simple ‘no’ to before walking off to get water or work on something else. The only person who could actually figure out the truth was Reo, who had asked him if it had something to do with you. He just shrugged and nodded.

“They came home all happy one time because they studied hard and got a good grade and I wanted to know what that felt like… They clung onto me for a whole 15 minutes after… and I liked it so maybe If I do good I can do that to them..”

Reo could only laugh a little as he watched Nagi walk away. He would definitely have to send you a thank you card, Chris Prince’s signature in there as well as he had tried to ask Nagi the same question and it totally backfired.

Shidou Ryusei ⋆°• ☁︎ - Trying to settle arguments with words instead of his foot

The famous fighter, Shidou Ryusei, was actually trying to have a conversation. Nobody ever thought there would be a day. Well, except for one person, you. The same person who had told him off a multitude of times that he can’t just hurt people whenever he was pissed off at them, and there were much better ways to go about it. Even after days of him trying to get you to see his side of it, and you already, after hearing his explanation a few weeks ago, deeming it not the best way to settle things. So here he was now, putting his ego aside to make sure that Loki or Ego didn’t have to call you for the 4th time this week to try to get him to behave and attempt to try to not kick Rin square in the face after he stole a goal from him. Even Loki was surprised when Shidou was about to raise his foot, just to stop himself, mutter something, and then turn to Rin, attempting to try and talk it out. The first thought in everybody's mind, was this even Shidou? After Rin had walked away from him Loki came jogging over to him and trying to make sure he was okay.

“Ya’ I’m fine, jus’ the pretty thing back home ya’ always have to call told me to get my shit together, so I’m tryin’ talk it out with lower lashes.”

Loki looked surprised, I mean he knew from talking to you before that you were close with Shidou, but little did he know that you basically had the man wrapped around you’re finger. They’ve been trying to get him to talk something out for the entire time he was in Blue Lock, but he leaves for a few days and comes back a whole new person? The staff would be sending you thank you cards, as well as a small gift instead of having to pay the hospital bills from anybody else Shidou would’ve sent.

Rin Itoshi ⋆°• ☁︎ - Trying to be a little nicer to others

The world must have stopped turning and we were all gonna die. That was the only thing Isagi could think after he heard Rin actually complimenting somebody. Was it a backhanded compliment? Absolutely, but did he still say something nice to Nanase, yes. Isagi could only stare in shock as he walked over to him next, ready to be degraded or ignored for anything he did, until Rin stopped, cursing under his breath.

“You’re a shitty person, but at least you can score a decent goal..”

The world stopped, he was sure of it. There was no way the Rin Itoshi, had just come up to him and told him he could score a decent goal. So when he stood there a little confused Rin couldn’t help but curse a little more.

“This isn’t because I like you. It’s because I like my partner. Got it?”

And with that he headed off again, going who knows where.

Thought he didn’t learn the fully story until much later on when Shidou had been talking about it Charles and he had overheard. Apparently, Rin’s partner had been pretty upset when they realized that he was pretty mean overall, and wanted him to at least attempt being nicer, so the next time he saw somebody he knew he at least tried to give them a compliment, just attempting to make his partner a little less upset with him.

Isagi knew that it was just a little thing, but lord, he was sure that if Rin would go around complimenting other people, if you asked for the world to burn, he would set it on fire just so you wouldn’t be upset.

Being the bane of sukunas existence as you're his girlfriend because you act like a perverted old man around him... he kinda digs it tho, its mildly hilarious and he doesn't dislike the unhinged attention (he tries to be so lowkey about it)

Every once in a while, you'll caress his behind or fondle his big boobily man breasts, the same way he does to you. he was only stunned at first - now he is completely unphased by your sneaky little hands.

he texts you, asking you what you want for dinner, and he's not surprised when the answer is "i want you oiled up and naked in bed by the time i get home". then he just replies with "making pasta"

Big obnoxious smacking noises when you kiss him all over, and sukuna just lets you be, he'll be sitting on the couch turning the tv on and here you come, smooching his cheek. sometimes, its the top of his head, other times, its his forehead or neck. if you do it too much though, you'll get covered with his bite marks in return.

when sukuna gets up to go to the toilet, you ask him if you can hold his peepee while he takes a piss, bc you saw a funny tiktok talking about it... he gives you a silent judgmental stare as he closes the door on your face. but behind it, he lets out the tiniest snort and shakes his head bc the idea of it is so ridiculous.

one time when you go outdoor camping with him you genuinely accidentally stumble close to sukuna who is taking a leak in the forest bush area and he catches you staring from behind as he's buttoning himself back up. and then he's chasing you down while you're screaming that it was an accident and that you only heard him peeing and didn't actually see anything. (not that you don't know what it looks like, anyway.)

when he's sweaty after a workout or some physical exertion, you'll definitely be approaching him deviously, talking about some "covered in flavour" type of bullshit... he'll push your face away and head into the shower but his ears are flushed with red.

just... sukuna who will let u mack on him endlessly bc he secretly doesn't hate the doting 🥹🥹🥹 and if you're not being obnoxiously lewd or affectionate?? thats when he knows something's up...

and obviously, every now and then you'll say something that makes him know that you're not just lusting over his body.

during a walk back home on a summer afternoon, you point upwards while holding his hand and looking up.

"sukuna, look. you're in the sky."

he reluctantly looks up, expecting some sort of dick shaped cloud or something like that. but there are no clouds in sight.

"what is there to look at?" he asks, quizzically.

"the colour, silly. when the sun's still setting, the sky always gets like this, around the same time everyday. the pretty pinkish colour, like your hair."

he turns silent and observes the sky for a minute. you call him silly, as if it's an everyday thing that you compare a person with the literal sky.

"it's my favourite time of the day..." you mumble, just barely audible to his ears. and something about the way you stand there, and speak so softly, makes you look so pretty to him. "i'll always think of you when the sun is setting."

"oh- but i think of you everyday regardless, i suppose."

he already knows that. he already knows you love him. why does he feel so flushed right now?

"alright, i get it. enough. let's continue home," he urges you, holding your hand tighter. you follow him down the street, like a puppy.

life couldn't feel more at peace right now, with your fingers interlocked with his, listening to you hum your favourite song on the way home, the street now covered with the orange light of the sunset.

"any ideas for dinner?" he asks, a few minutes after some silence.

"mmm..."

oh, he regrets asking the question now, fully knowing what's coming.

"i want your tatas in my mouth, please."

"tatas?" sukuna's asks with furrowed brows.

after bursting into laughter at the way he said it, you attempt to think up an actual food you want for dinner.

"...just for tonight." sukuna mutters.

"huh?"

"don't ask me again, i might change my mind."

"wait- really?"

let's just say, your mouth had a taste of heaven for the first time that night.

Who Needs Heaven? : The Drop-In

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason meets his daughters

warnings: it’s not specific if the kids are bio or adopted — this probably doesn’t make sense on multiple fronts but i DON’T CARE

see for: the vibes

His body jolts like he’s snapping out of sleep. The first thing he processes is loud conversations echoing, the sound of young girls talking over each other. He surveys over a book in his hands that he’s never heard of, though it’s opened more than halfway through and considerably worn. He drops the book to the side, coming to a stand and scanning over the environment. 

He looks around the adorned living room, taking in details rapidly. He doesn’t recognize the house he’s in but he can tell it’s somewhere he definitely does not belong. The room is filled with books on shelves and picture frames are littered in every free spot in between. The lights are warm and the furniture is colorful with pillows and blankets strewn all over. It’s a stark contrast to the refined stoic Manor he’s so used to; there’s a distinct feeling of homeliness and warmth that seeps through the walls.

He creeps into the front entryway to the house as quietly as he can, peering up the staircase to the landing above for any signs of familiarity or danger. From his right, a girl comes darting into the space, running face first into Jason. He immediately reaches out to steady her but she shows no sign of disruption. She makes a point of holding the wrapped popsicle in her hand away, keeping it safe. She blinks up at him before taking off past him, calling out, “Sorry, dad!”

Dad?

“Anna, I swear to God—” Another girl of similar age runs past, paying him no mind.

He gapes after her, thoroughly confused. Where the hell is he?

“Daddy?” He turns around and looks down to a younger girl who looks about six at most. She stares up at him with wide eyes and freckled cheeks. “Are you okay?”  

He can’t think.

This isn’t…this can’t be real. It can’t be. This is a dream. He got knocked out. He’s hallucinating. He’s dying.

He tries to keep his breath steady as this little girl peers up at him with curious eyes. “Daddy?”

He opens his mouth, struggling to find words, let alone get them out. “Where…where’s your mom?” He can barely make out his own voice.

“She’s in your room,” she tells him, looking up the stairs. 

He treds up the stairs slowly, the chatter downstairs barely getting any quieter. The second floor seems deserted in terms of the presence of children. If, if this were real (or more likely, a dream) you’ll be here somewhere. There’s no scenario where he’d ever imagine a life in a big house with a big family without you—subconsciously or otherwise. 

Several doors line the wide hallway, most of them open. He peers in the room closest to the top of the staircase, finding a heartily decorated bedroom with two twin beds. Polaroids and movie posters litter the walls and clothes are strewn across on top of the bed covers and in a few small piles on the floor. An orange lava lamp illuminates the room from a desk, shining off the glossy cover of magazines. Above, sports medals dangle off the wall against a white board, a scribbled on game of hangman midway through. A full-length mirror covered in stickers along the edges reflects a bookshelf across the room, dozens of books stuffed on each shelf. He blinks vacantly, pulling back from the doorway and continuing on.

He continues on down the right side of the hallway, passing up a bathroom and a closet before peering into the next room. It also has two beds, but it’s filled with remnants of young children. A small table with a tea set laid out on top sits in the middle of the room with various princess dresses draped across the short chairs. Pink bed sheets and butterfly-filled curtains joined by toy cars lined against the wall and strings of pink starry lights hanging from the ceiling. Both beds have stuffed animals arranged in thoughtful piles. It takes Jason a moment to notice the tattered, worn elephant with the green polka dot tie on the bed with the Cinderella comforter. Pickles. It was his when he was a kid. It’s placed delicately at the top of the pile, like he’s the king of the crop. A grand dollhouse sticks out against one of the walls, the dolls all lying asleep in their makeshift beds. Fluffy bubblegum and fuschia rugs scatter the floor just enough that you could jump across the room without ever touching the hardwood.

He turns to the last room, a door directly across that’s just cracked open. He can hear light music coming from inside and the almost inaudible shuffle of movement. He pushes the door open cautiously and takes in the sight of a woman, back to the door, folding laundry on the bed. He doesn’t even need to see your whole figure to know that it’s you.

“Sweetheart?” He sounds like he’s out of breath. 

“Yeah?” You turn around with your same kind eyes and gentle disposition. You look older, not much older but your face is more mature. You even hold yourself a little differently. You quickly notice the way he scans you with a look of bewilderment on his face and jump into concern. “What’s wrong?” You drop the shirt that you’re folding on the bed, approaching him with soft steps. Everything feels fuzzy.

“This—this is…” His voice seems far away, this body feels further. “This isn’t real…”

“What? Jay, what are you talking about?” You’re so genuinely concerned about him it makes his heart hurt and does nothing to help clear his head.

His breathing starts to stutter and his eyes can’t pick something to focus on. Everything is telling him that this is a false sense of security, he’s not safe, you’re not safe, everything’s wrong—

“Woah, hey, hey. It’s okay.” You take his face in your hands the way you know tends to ground him. “Catch me up.”

He tries to focus on the sliding clasp of the necklace around your neck. “I…I think this is…” He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up only to wake up in a few seconds and find that it was all pretend. Instead, he’ll settle for, “...This hasn’t happened…”

You frown at that, tilting your head. “What do you mean?”

He breathes out heavy, “I think I’m dreaming.” 

“What are you dreaming of?” You walk along this train of thought with him, though he has no idea why you would entertain it. This really must be pretend.

“The future…this is…is this the future?” He’s whispering, he’s not even sure if he’s asking you or himself or maybe even God. 

You’re quiet for a minute before you speak again. “Oh,” you say contemplatively, not nearly as alarmed as you should be. You should probably be calling him crazy, right? “This is—you told me about this. Yeah, it had something to do with that clock guy—”

He blinks a few times, “The Clock King?” That does sound…familiar. Was he—he was with Bruce wasn’t he? Or maybe Dick. Both?

You nod, “Yeah, yeah. You said you ‘time traveled’ for a minute...but that was in, like…”

He fills in the blank with the year as he remembers it and your eyes go wide. “Well, this would be a bit of a surprise then.”

“We have kids?”

You laugh, brushing his hair back gently, “Yes. Yes, we definitely do. Five girls.”

“Five?” He breathes.

“Yeah. Wasn’t the plan but…” you shrug easily, “Here we are.” 

He barely stops his next question from coming out of his mouth and replaces it. “Is this something I should be hearing?”

“What?” You tilt your head for a second before realization flashes across your face. “Oh, you don’t end up remembering any of this.” You shrug, mouth scrunched up to the side, “So why not?”

He does really want to hear about them. “Please.” He whispers faintly. 

You nod reposefully, “Okay, well…” you pause, eyes on the ceiling. “Oh, wait.” You dart over to the bookshelf against the wall and pull a book from the second shelf from the top, a large pink photo album.

You shuffle back, guiding him to the bed and sitting thigh to thigh with him and placing the album on your laps. You flip it open to the first page, which displays an array of photos of who must be his daughter.

“This is Mia—Miriam—she’s the oldest. She’s thirteen now, she’s very smart and a sort of a perfectionist. Really a perfectionist.” A couple of her baby pictures were taken in your apartment and it makes his heart absolutely melt to see you as he left you, holding a baby—his baby—with a glowing smile on your face. There’s another photo of her, kindergarten aged, dressed up as Spoiler for halloween. One shows her on a bike with shimmery handlebar streams, Jason holding her steady as she learns. He’s wearing the brightest smile he’s ever seen on his own face.

“Then there’s the twins,” you continue, flipping to the next page. You laugh when his breath hitches at that. “I know. It’s not as scary as it sounds. Well, not now that they’re older. Ryan and Anna.” You point to them as you say their names, and he recognizes them quickly as the two girls that had run past the stairs. The twins look identical, the only discernible difference found in that Ryan is grinning in every picture with a glint in her eyes and Anna nearly always has a stoic look on her face. 

“Ryan is her father’s daughter. She thinks she’s very clever and even more funny, and she is but don’t tell her that, it goes straight to her head.”

There’s a picture that has to be a couple of years old by now of the two of them dressed in what looks like brand new soccer gear. Another depicts one of them chasing Tim with a firework sparkler at dusk. He sees one of Ryan covered in dirt and tiny cuts, smiling big, helmet crooked on her head.

“Anna’s a happy kid, she is. Don’t let her attitude trick you—she just likes to keep her feelings to herself.” Anna’s pictures remind him of Damian in some ways. The very intentional lack of a smile but the happiness still seeps through anyways. One of her pictures has her cuddling with two rottweiler puppies in classic Damian style. Another one shows her a bit older, on Jason’s shoulders, surveying the land.  

You turn to the next page, “And Laine, uh, Elaine,” you smile, “She’s a bit eccentric. She lives in her own world but she’ll bring you into it with her. She likes magic and glitter and offbeat things.” Laine’s pictures leave a particular warmth in his heart. She has the absolute widest smile and the brightest eyes he’s ever seen. One photo shows her having a picnic with several stuffed animals, another has her drawing a rainbow with sidewalk chalk. One picture towards the bottom of the page grabs his eye, one of Laine happily braiding Cass’ short hair at what appears to be the Manor.

“And then the little one is Aurora—Rory,” You turn to a page full of pictures of the wide-eyed girl, who has the sweetest baby face. He can tell from the pictures alone that she has your personality. You point to a picture of her giggling with bubbles all in her hair as you explain, “She’s still small but she has a big heart and a very sensitive soul already.” Jason’s practically staring a hole in the picture of Rory as a newborn in the hospital, held delicately by Bruce.

You play with the hair at the nape of his neck as he processes quietly, letting him take his time.

“They’re happy?” He asks in a whisper.

“We’re happy.” You say affirmingly. He looks you in the eyes and you see a specific vulnerability in his that you haven’t seen in a long time. “You are a good dad, Jay.”

He’s still surprised that you can read him like a book, even though at this point you’d have been together for at least fifteen-some years. His eyes burn and he’s not sure he can keep it together. But you dig the knife in all the same, “They love you. A lot. We couldn’t live without you.”

You flip through until you find a page later in the book, plopping it back open fully. The first picture he takes note of shows him outside with picked flowers scattered in his hair wherever they’ll stay put, Laine and Rory trying to straighten them out. Another is of Anna hesitantly feeding a horse an apple, Jason crouched next to her, reassuring her. On the other page, Rory is mid-air being thrown into an absolutely massive leaf pile, glee adorning her face. He turns the page to find one of the girls with a red hoodie pulled over her head and a makeshift mask made from a red plastic plate with holes cut out for the eyes. One has Mia resting against his back, passed out, as he helps Ryan tie off a friendship bracelet on her wrist.

This isn’t—he doesn’t deserve this. This can’t be true, this is more than a happy ending and he’d never even expected you to love him this long, let alone give him the world and then some. He stares at the page for a while, trying to burn every detail into his head. 

You tear your gaze away from his face to glance at the clock on the side table, muttering, “Oh shit. Hang on.”

His eyes follow you as you stand from the bed and walk across the room to the door, cracking it open a few inches before shouting out, “Bed!”

There’s a brief delay before a clamor starts towards them, all five girls thumping up the stairs.  

You turn back to him, heedfully, “You can stay in here if you want. They’re a little…a lot.” You say tentatively. Well, if there’s anything he’s accustomed to it’s big families with bigger personalities.

Jason lingers behind you as you enter the hallway, looking like a little kid in an unfamiliar place. Whatever conversations were going on downstairs have simply moved location, no urgency present whatsoever to continue on with the progression of the night. You’re trying to verbally corral them towards their respective bedrooms, but it’s a tough job with two clear headed parents on a good day.

He stands frozen in the midst of the clutter of them as they rattle off to you and to each other. He’s scared to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing. He doesn’t want to upset or alarm them. But because he is their father, they don’t need him to do anything strange to realize that he’s being strange.

Ryan squints up at him, “What’s wrong with you?”

The question grabs Laine’s attention and she looks to you with wide eyes, “What’s wrong with Dad?”

You shake your head, “Nothing’s—”

“He’s not having a stroke already, is he?” Anna faints, no alarm in her words. Mia thumps the back of her head for that with no returning acknowledgement given by Anna.

Ryan is looking at him like she’s sizing him up. Something you did not get a chance to tell him about Ryan is that she can smell blood in the water like a shark. So it’s not surprising to you that she picks up on Jason’s disoriented state.

“Father?” She calls out sweetly.

You sigh, “Ryan—”

“No, it’s okay. I want to ask dad specifically.” She turns him away from you with a smile. She doesn’t know what’s going on and she doesn’t need to. She’s an opportunist like that. “Could I have the last popsicle?”

Anna cuts in harshly, “You better n—”

“Hey Annie, few notes for ya,” Ryan says with widened eyes and a pointed finger, “One, you shouldn’t interrupt your father, it’s disrespectful,” Anna’s face contorts at that, and she’s about to bite back but she’s cut off quickly by Ryan’s dedication to dishing out her hypocritical sermon. “Two, you shouldn’t interrupt me because it’s potentially the single greatest sin you’ll ever—”

Alright, you gave her a chance to turn it around, she’s done now. “No, you’re all going to bed now and if you’re lucky that popsicle is still there when you get home from school tomorrow.” You tell Ryan with a pointed look. She gives you a half-hearted glare, absolutely nothing compared to her real one. 

“Mom, you said—” Mia throws her hands up as she recounts a promise that you may or may not have given her, it’s anyone’s guess. 

Then Anna starts up, “That’s not fair, I called—”

Rory pipes up from behind you. “We’re supposed to read our story first.”

You inhale sharply, turning to face her, “Oh—” you crouch down to her level, holding her waist. “How about I read it tonight, Rory?”

She frowns, “Daddy always reads it.”

Ryan taps on Jason’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “Dad, listen,” she says lowly, like she’s trying to get him in on the deal of the century. “Anna doesn’t deserve it, she’s rooting for you to stroke out—”

You frown at Rory with repentance, “I know sweetheart, but—”

Laine looks quite contemplative as she announces, “It’s unholy to break tradition.”

You scrunch up your face and swivel your head to her, “What?”

This declaration does enough to break Ryan away from her scheme. She turns to her and says flatly, “You haven’t said anything that makes sense in like two weeks.” 

Jason’s mind is going a mile a minute, trying to process the fifteen things that are going on all at once and take in the fact that these are his children. His daughters and they’re so loud and opinionated and bold and he loves it. He thinks this is the closest he’ll ever get to heaven. Hell, he’d take this over heaven a million times over.

“Mom. Mom!” Mia urges, “Can you help me?”

Your head stutters between your daughters, “I—yeah. Rory, just—”

“I can do it.” He says quietly.

“Yeah?” You look up at him, hopefully, genuinely delighted that he wants to jump into this mess without the twelve years of prep that you’re dependent on. 

“Yeah.” He nods, determined and you and Rory smile up at him. Mia all but yanks you up from the floor, pulling you to her room and you can just barely make out Ryan’s hushed murmur of, “I’m getting the popsicle…”

Rory takes Jason’s hand, drowning her own in his. She leads him to the pink bedroom with all the toys, and climbs onto the unicorn bed, shoving all but a few of the stuffed animals onto the floor. Elaine follows close behind and does the same with her own bed, though the only one she keeps is Pickles.

He stands next to the bed a bit awkwardly as she pulls a book off the table next to her, the length of the book easily taking up half her arms. It takes her looking up at him expectantly for him to get the hint, shuffling to squeeze in next to her on the small bed. 

She hands him the book and he regards it with a smile. Little Women. He pauses as he starts to open it, “Where, um…where did we leave off?”

She looks at him funny, smiling like he’s messing with her. She flips the book open a little more than halfway through and stops on chapter fifteen. She presses her pointer finger down to the start of the chapter with a thump. “Right here.”

Jason takes a steadying breath and begins reading in the same soft voice he reads to you in, and it seems to appease both girls. He’s not processing what he’s saying as he sits there with his littlest daughter tucked into his side and hanging on to every last word. He can feel her breathing in and out softly and it all feels so surreal now. 

““I don't think you'll blame me, for I only sold what was my own." As she spoke, Jo took off her bonnet, and a general outcry arose, for all her abundant hair was cut short.” Rory giggles as Laine gasps, and Jason can feel the rhythm of his heart fluttering in a new way. 

He reads to the end of the chapter and returns the book to its place on the side table, and reluctantly pulls away from Rory, standing up again. He tucks her nicely, if not inexperienced, into the sheets and kisses her forehead. She immediately holds out her toy bear, silently requesting the same treatment for him. Jason kisses the bear too, happily. He does the same for Laine, taking particular note of the way she hugs Pickles to her chest tightly. 

He starts towards the door, but is quickly put to a halt. “Wait,” Laine calls out. He turns back to her wide-eyed, terrified he did something wrong. “The lights,” she says, looking up to the ceiling at the dangling stars. Oh, right. She watches him skeptically as he innocently looks around for the switch, and Rory tilts her head at him, not sure what he’s playing at. 

“It’s right there,” Rory points with a mildly sullen look to where the mechanism dangles near the outlet. Jason quickly flicks the lights on, the soft orange-pink glow of stars illuminating against the walls. Rory’s pleased enough and adjusts to get more comfortable in her bed. 

Laine however, hisses out a, “Hey,” gesturing him towards her. He sidesteps the tea table and comes around to her side of the room, kneeling down by her bed attentively. She glances over at Rory before asking in a hushed voice, “Are you an alien?” 

That, he wasn’t expecting. “...What?” 

She shakes her head reassuringly, “It’s okay, I won’t tell. But um…I would like my dad back eventually please. If that’s okay.”  

His breath stutters and he forces out an, “O—okay.”

She holds out her pinky and it takes him a second to register what she’s asking. He wordlessly pinky promises her and she smiles big, pleased with the agreement.

He stands again, feeling light headed as he heads for the door. 

“Goodnight, Daddy,” Rory murmurs against the pillow, watching him leave.

His gaze flickers back and forth from them to make sure they like having the door closed, Rory watches him bemusedly and Laine nods at him slyly with a twinkle in her eyes. “Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight,” He exhales, not as loud as he meant to. He clicks the door shut softly and there’s a warmth in his chest that he could get addicted to.

He wanders down the hall towards the sound of your voice, passing Anna and Ryan climbing under their covers and murmuring something to each other, half eaten popsicle in the ladders hand. He passes the staircase, peering his head into the next room over. His eyes immediately land on you and Mia stood in front of an armoire, shuffling through clothes having an exchange of considerative words.

Mia’s room is very neat and put together, everything is placed with much more intention than in the other girls rooms. Her room has more mellow colors too, largely white with soft shades of pastels throughout. There’s a desk with organized notebooks and multiple vases of flowers, with bundles of yarn placed nicely in a basket in the corner. A tall bookshelf is filled with fifty-some books with a violin case leaning up against it. Nail polishes rest beside a jewelry box on the side table next to her bed. She also has picture frames across the walls, some containing photos of flora, others of the family, and a few of what appears to be her own sketches.

“—worried it’s too showy, you know?”

You hum, “I don’t think so, I mean, not for picture day.” 

Mia turns to Jason, shirt held up against her body. “What do you think?”

He takes a second to bounce back from the surprise of being asked the question, “I, uh…I like it.”

You smile at him as Mia faces you again, “Okay, so this with that flowy lilac skirt?”

“The lilac…yeah, that would be cute.”

She nods pleased, draping the shirt over the back of the armchair in the corner.

You and Jason head out of the room, closing the door on your way out so she can change into her pajamas. 

“Goodnight!” she calls out through the crack in the door. You and Jason return it in sync, clicking the door closed. You hold his hand as you walk past the twins' open door, giving them the same sentiment with Jason’s own following quickly after. They call it out back, louder than necessary, and you close your bedroom door behind the two of you.

You rest against the door and he leans his head back against the wall next to you, glancing over at you. “I won’t remember any of this?” He seems dejected at the idea, not happy to have been handed the world and then having it swiped from his memory immediately after.

You consider it for a second, shaking your head, “I don’t think so.”

He’s quiet for a bit, thinking. “Do you have a marker?”

“A marker?” You look around casually, “Uh, yeah.” You unclip a sharpie from the mini calendar pinned against the wall, tossing it to him. You watch curiously as he holds his forearm out in front of him, popping the lid off with his mouth.

The light in the room starts to dim dramatically until his vision is completely dark. The pull of gravity on his body feels wrong and a pang of fire shoots against the side of his head.   

“Hood.” He hears in the darkness, “Hood.” The commanding voice startles him awake once again. “Are you alright?” 

He blinks up at Batman blearily, feeling like he’s just gotten hit over the head with a chair. “What…what—”

“The Clock King. He threw some sort of device at you. It knocked you out for a few minutes. Are you alright?”

He feels dizzy. “Uh…yeah.”

He cranes his head to glance over at where the Clock King is hunched over on the ground, handcuffed, inspecting the cartridge of his device closely. “Damn it, I knew it wasn’t right. Meant to knock him into the past.” He tells Nightwing like it’s some common mistake they can bond over. 

Nightwing moues at him “I don’t care?”

Knock him into the—did he go to the future? He can’t get his thoughts in order, let alone summon memories from the future. Frankly, it doesn’t matter that much to him right now—he’s sore and wants to just fall asleep next to you. 

He sits up slowly, grimacing as the pain in his head sharpens for a moment. Batman clasps his hand on his shoulder, holding him steady. “Can you stand?”

Hood grunts and pushes himself up, anchoring his weight against the ground. “Fuck. I’m going home.”

Batman says nothing to protest, instead joining Nightwing and pulling The Clock King up from the ground. Jason stumbles away towards his bike, thankful that he’s only a couple miles away from your apartment. Jesus, the future? You’re not going to believe that shit.

He climbs onto the bike with a groan, pushing up his sleeves as he prepares to start the bike. He doesn’t notice it until he revs it, but when he looks down at his left arm, he sees scribbled on his arm in sharpie:

WE’RE HAPPY

❤️ REBLOGGING = SUPPORTING ❤️

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 — 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈

♡ — FIND PART ONE HERE . . .

♡ — SUMMARY: After what happened to you & your son, Satoru couldn’t stop drinking . . .

♡ — CONTENT: fem! reader, canonverse, violence & blood, reader celebrates Christmas, mentions of food, Gojo not eating, heavy drinking, & wanting to die. Mention of Gojo’s son & the reader struggling with their disabilities.

♡ — WC: 5.4K

♡ — A/N: thank you @sircatchungus for the idea!

There was so much blood.

It stained the walls of your home. It covered the little markings on the archway of your kitchen where you and Satoru marked the growth of your little boy.

No amount of scrubbing could ever get rid of it.

It soaked into the hardwood floors, the floors that had formerly only known the soft pitter-patter of tiny feet running along it as your little boy would run across it, arms out as he eagerly ran to his father whenever he stepped through the doors after a long mission.

The curses attacked at night, fifteen days before Christmas.

Your baby boy waddled towards the Christmas tree with a blue ornament in his hand, carefully placing it on one of the lower green branches — as high as he could reach.

Despite the holiday classics gently playing in the background, and the sweet smile across your son’s face — he was missing a tooth or two, but even so — you couldn’t manage to crack a grin. Not even a fake one.

Satoru promised that he would return home on Christmas Eve. But, for you, it wasn’t good enough.

He knew that your little family often put more effort into the days following up to Christmas almost even more so than Christmas Day itself.

On that important day, you opened presents. But, on the days leading up to it, you put up the Christmas decorations. Watched cringy Hallmark movies and drank hot chocolate. Went ice skating. Baked cookies. Visited your family. Wrapped gifts for his students.

And he would miss all of it.

“Mommy?” Your baby boy looked up at you with eyes brighter than the lights twinkling on the Christmas tree. “When dad come home?”

You didn’t respond immediately. You didn’t want him to cry when you told him that his dad couldn’t watch How The Grinch Stole Christmas with him this year.

He was used to Satoru disappearing at random times for unknown periods, but Satoru never missed the important stuff. Birthdays. Events. Holidays.

He never missed it until now.

“Hey,” you leaned down, placing your hands on your knees as you looked at your son. “Wanna get ready for bed? Let’s go pick out a book!”

“Okay!” He squealed, making his way for the stairs as you followed closely behind.

But, on your way to the stairs, you noticed something lying on the floor in your foyer.

“Sweetheart, what did mommy say about leaving your toys on the floor?”

Approaching the item, you started to pick it up, and it unraveled.

It wasn’t a toy at all.

It was a finger. A cursed object.

“Mommy?” Your baby boy called out, standing on the stairs. “Let’s read, Mommy.”

The curses emerged from the darkness of your dining room, drawn in by the cursed object.

The sight of the horrifically disfigured monsters brought your son to tears. He ran for you instantly, screaming for you. It only made the curses move faster. They went straight for your loud, crying son first.

There was so much blood.

—

“I never thought you’d fall in love in general,” Kento Nanami sipped on his glass of water as he chatted with Satoru. “But to fall in love with someone who isn’t a sorcerer is risky.”

“How so?” Satoru shrugged, leaning back on Kento’s living room couch as he sighed in utter relaxation.

“Does she know about curses? About how powerful you really are?”

“Of course she does,” Satoru smiled at the other sorcerer. “I’m gonna marry her, ya know. She knows everything.”

“You could also get in trouble for that,” Kento rolled his eyes at his friend’s idiotic behavior.

“No, I won’t. She’s just like you.” Satoru smirked a bit, thinking about how strong his future wife really was. “She can see curses, and she can kill them too, but she decided not to become a sorcerer. She hates the system, and wants me to leave it as well, just like you did before you came back.”

“I see,” Kento sat down on the couch next to the white-haired man. “So she’s one of us, kind of.”

“Yeah,” Satoru smiled fondly. “My girl doesn’t mess around.”

—

There was so much blood.

Nearby neighbors heard screaming and called the police.

Sirens blared through the neighborhood as a police car and ambulance arrived at your home. When they stepped into your house, blood coated the bottom of their heavy black shoes. They were certain that you and your son were dead.

No one could survive having lost that much blood.

Not a normal human, at least.

But you and your son weren’t exactly ordinary, and despite being unconscious, your chests were rising and falling. Faintly, as it certainly wasn’t a fate that would last, but it was enough for the emergency services to rush you and your baby boy to the hospital.

The skilled surgeons spent hours operating on your bodies — fixing what they could.

To ordinary investigators, it seemed as if a woman and her son were attacked by an intruder, and survived.

But, to the sorcerer society who picked up the presence of cursed energy in your home, they knew what really happened.

That you fought two first-grade curses and one second-grade curse.

It was a brutal fight, but you killed them.

Even so, when you awakened from your coma, doctors and the sorcerer society elders staring down at you as you lay helplessly in your hospital bed, you were forever changed.

—

No one told Satoru Gojo the truth.

Only the surgeons, first responders, and the elders knew the real fate of Satoru’s family, and the elders didn’t allow the surgeons and first responders to contact the father and husband of the two victims.

Instead, they told him that his family was dead. That it was Sukuna’s fault. They took advantage of the situation and fed him a pack of lies, all so they could convince humanity’s strongest sorcerer to allow them to execute Yuji Itadori.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he spiraled.

He went on a killing spree. He moved to a new town and nearly drank himself to death every single day.

And, little did he know, his little family had moved to the same town as well.

—

SEVEN YEARS LATER…

Your ten-year-old son walked down the streets of his small, cozy town. The brown and crisp fall leaves crunched underneath his shoes as he made his way down the sidewalk, and headed to your coffee shop after school.

His thumb was tucked underneath the strap of his backpack.

As he walked, staring at the ground so the setting sun didn’t shine in his eyes, he couldn’t help but frown.

School was rough today.

His class went on a field trip, and he had to witness his classmates bring their fathers along with them to the planetarium.

It broke his heart. He barely remembered his father.

He could faintly remember a man — a tall man who used to pick him up and play with him, but he couldn’t remember his face.

And, after the day you and he got attacked — although he couldn’t truly recall the event — you both never returned to your old home, where all of your pictures were.

All of your memories.

All he knew was that he wanted a dad. And he wanted to remember the man who once filled the role and figure out what happened to him.

What was he like? What did he look like? Did he have the same head of hair? Your son felt like he might have, but he wasn’t sure.

What did he do for a living? How old was he? Did he ever love his son? What happened to him?

God, his heart ached. He wanted answers, and he couldn’t get them. Not from you. Not from anyone.

He couldn’t help but wonder if his dad would have even liked him.

Perhaps, it was better if he didn’t have one, as he couldn’t play sports like most dads wanted their sons to do.

The great incident had left him with a bad leg, and he walked with a limp that often exhausted him.

He was even tired now, despite the incredibly short distance between the school and local shops.

He should have used his forearm crutch today. The field trip took more energy out of him than he expected.

And, the fact that he refused to let you leave the coffee shop, pick him up from school, and return to the coffee shop certainly didn’t help.

A tear rolled down his cheek. Even if he did have a father around, what father would want him around?

He already felt like a burden, although you never treated him as such. He just couldn’t help it.

He didn’t bother wiping away his tears, even as they clouded his vision of the leaves coating the sidewalk.

As he walked past the local bar, a tall man gently bumped into him.

“Excuse me,” your son mumbled politely.

The man reeked of alcohol.

“Sorry,” the man slurred out, walking around the boy as he made his way down the street.

Your son never looked up.

And Satoru never looked down.

When your son arrived at your cozy coffee shop, greeting the familiar regulars as he made his way to the counter, you smiled at the sight of your sweet boy.

He sat down at one of the barstools, slinging his backpack onto the counter as he pulled out his math notebook.

“Hi mom,” he greeted.

“Hi sweetheart,” you made him a cup of water and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he said. “My homework’s on decimals. Joshua tried to eat a bug during lunch today during the field trip. It was awesome.”

“Nasty,” you playfully wrinkled your nose, which made your boy grin. “Did you have fun? I’m sorry I couldn’t go.”

“Yeah,” taking a much-needed sip of water, your son pulled out his wooden pencil and started working on his math problems. “And it’s okay.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise. We’ll do something really special for your birthday.”

The boy simply nodded.

Folding your arms across your chest, you couldn’t help but wonder if your lack of attendance was better.

Not only could you not afford to close the coffee shop during business hours — your only other employees were busy with college classes — but you didn’t want to scare any of your son’s classmates.

After all, the great incident took a toll on you as well.

You lost your left eye and had a deep scar running vertically down your face. Most kids thought that it was cool, claiming that you resembled a pirate with your black eye patch. But you didn’t want to risk the chance of anyone finding it scary.

You had your fair share of other scars as well, and one missing finger.

But, none of your physical injuries could compare to your mental ones, as you also suffered from amnesia.

When you awakened from your coma all those years ago, you couldn’t remember what had happened.

Or anyone.

Or anything.

A couple of old people forced you away from the home you couldn’t remember and the loved ones you couldn’t cherish, and into a new life in a new town.

The horrific head injury you suffered while trying to protect your baby boy wiped away your past until you were nothing but a blank slate. But, after a year of being around him and constantly seeing his face, you started to remember your son.

Years later, he was all that you could remember.

Everything else was fuzzy. You remembered people, but you couldn’t remember their faces. You remembered love, but not who you shared it with.

You remembered how to do things — such as make delicious coffee, of course — but not who taught you.

But, even so, you thought that it was odd for a group of old people to rip your old life away from you.

They said it was for your safety, so the person who attacked you and your son wouldn’t find you again, but, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was anyone out there who missed you.

Who loved you.

Who you might have forgotten.

And, technically, you knew the answer to that question. After all, your son had to have a father, but who was he? Where did he go? What did he look like?

Perhaps, you’d never know.

—

The very next day, on his way to the coffee shop after school, your son bumped into the drunk man again.

“Excuse me,” he said.

“Sorry,” the man slurred.

Several moments later, as your son passed the entrance of the local bar, the bartender opened the door, and shouted, “hey!”

The drunk man never turned around, as he didn’t hear the bartender shouting for him. Your son stopped walking, looking up at the bartender.

“Poor guy forgot his wallet,” the bartender frowned, clenching the leather pouch in his right hand. “Guess I’ll hold on to it. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

Your son flickered his eyes between the bartender and the drunken man making his way down the sidewalk.

The bartender couldn’t leave the bar unattended, even for a second, but your son figured that the man might have needed his wallet before tomorrow.

“I can give it to him, sir,” your son smiled kindly, holding out his hand.

“Thanks,” the bartender handed the wallet to the boy but stood at the bar entrance as long as he could to make sure the kid actually returned the wallet to the stranger.

An unofficial challenge between the drunken man and the limping boy was underway; a challenge to see whether or not your son could catch up to him.

But, as the man staggered around, headed nowhere in particular but in the general direction of his home, your son caught up.

He reached up and tapped the tall man’s arm.

“Excuse me,” he said politely. “You dropped your wallet, sir.”

“Hm?” Satoru stopped walking, his hands in his pocket as he looked down. He made eye contact with the young boy who held his wallet up at him.

—

— ONE YEAR AGO —

Three gentle knocks were heard throughout Satoru’s home. It was a Sunday, and the bar was closed. Even so, the depressed man had enough alcohol at home to make it through the day, but he wasn’t nearly as drunk as he wanted to be. It just wasn’t enough.

When someone knocked on his door, he knew immediately that it was Kento Nanami. No one else visited him. No one else knew where he was.

Satoru opened the front door, leaning against it as he glared at the man with bloodshot eyes.

“Hey, Satoru,” Kento greeted softly. “Happy birthday.”

Satoru stepped away from the door. The other man walked inside.

Kento stepped into Satoru’s living room, which was unpleasantly cold, and he turned around to face his old classmate, who took a swig of his beer, loosely gripping the bottle.

“I won’t stay long,” Kento said. “I just wanted to bring you a gift.”

“What?” Satoru blinked at him.

Silently, Kento handed him a bag.

As Satoru hesitantly grabbed the gift, Kento grabbed the beer bottle.

Satoru slowly pulled out a heavy-framed photograph. A tear slipped down his cheek as his heart snapped into pieces.

“When someone passes away or goes missing, there are people who create photos and art to show what the person might currently look like using age progression.” Kento pushed up on his glasses. “I contacted one of them. Your wife looks the same, pretty much, but . . . that’s your boy. He would have been around nine years old, and that’s what he would have looked like.”

Hot tears fell from Satoru’s eyes and splattered onto the glass.

It was really you and your son — what you would have looked like if you were still alive.

His beautiful, dead family.

“Thank you,” Satoru mumbled. His hands were starting to tremble.

Kento wrapped his arms around the other man, hugging him tightly. He had to use all of his strength to not cry as well. “You’re welcome.”

—

“Sir?” Your son tilted his head a bit in utter confusion, as the drunken man hadn’t yet taken his wallet back. “Do you need some help? Getting home and stuff?”

Suddenly, Satoru kneeled.

Maybe it was just a coincidence.

Maybe he simply had too much to drink.

Maybe he was imagining things.

Because what Satoru thought — what he wanted to think — was that he was staring into his child’s eyes. That he was looking right at his baby boy, who he missed so much.

But that wasn’t possible. He was told that his family was murdered. He saw the blood.

“Thank . . . you,” Satoru slowly took the wallet back. “You . . .”

Satoru closed his eyes, and opened them again, fluttering his eyelashes as he tried to shake off what he thought was yet another vision.

Therapists told him that it was a response to grief — seeing his deceased wife and son when they weren’t there. And the alcohol running through his veins didn’t help either, as it distorted his vision a bit.

But . . . maybe, just maybe . . .

“You have’a name?” Satoru slurred out, his drunken words laced with hope.

“Noa,” your son smiled softly. “What’s yours?”

Satoru’s heart ached as his spirit was crushed once again.

His boy’s name was Ren.

The hallucinations must’ve started to return once more. Slowly, Gojo rose to his feet, putting his wallet in his back pocket.

Without another word, the man slowly started to walk off, nearly tripping over his own feet as he did so.

“Mister? I don’t think it’s safe for you to walk home by yourself, you could get hit by a car or something.”

Satoru didn’t respond.

“Let me help,” the preteen limped over, grabbed Satoru’s arm, and slung it around his shoulder as best as he could. Truth be told, he didn’t help much despite his best efforts, but at the very least, he would be able to rest knowing that the stranger was safely at home.

By now, Satoru was convinced that maybe he was with a real person, perhaps an actual kid, and he was simply imagining that the young boy had his hair, nose, and eyes.

Together, Satoru and Noa walked up the steps belonging to the drunk man’s homey brownstone, and after stumbling around with the keys, Satoru managed to get the front door open, and Noa helped the man collapse on his couch.

Suddenly, his phone started ringing. Noa had five missed text messages from you.

“Mom’s gonna kill me,” Noa thought.

After all, he wasn’t responding to your messages, he was inside a drunk stranger’s home due to his overly kind heart, and he wasn’t at the coffee shop like he was supposed to be at this hour.

Not to mention; the great incident had resulted in you becoming even more protective over your boy, if that was possible.

“Hello?” Noa answered nervously.

“Noa? Are you alright? Where the hell are you?”

“I’m okay, mom,” your son said. “I was helping out a . . . friend, I’m sorry.”

“Get to the coffee shop. Now.”

“Yes ma’am.”

After hanging up, Noa faced the slumped-over stranger.

“I’m gonna go now, my mom’s waiting for me,” Noa announced awkwardly. “Do you have somebody around to watch you?”

“You look like a . . . like my son.”

“Okay,” the young boy shifted his feet on the hardwood floor. He truly didn’t know how to respond to the poor man. He must’ve been spouting drunken nonsense. “Well, have a good night, sir. Be safe.”

Noa turned around, coming face to face with a beautiful brown, brick fireplace. But what caught his attention was the photos hanging above it.

There weren’t many — only about four framed photos.

The first one he saw was a picture of a baby. It startled Noa, as the kid did look just like him. It wasn’t surprising, as Noa resembled the drunken stranger, but he had seen other people with white hair before.

“Maybe he’s my cousin’s neighbor’s dog’s mother-in-law’s brother’s uncle,” Noa childishly thought, giggling aloud at his own joke.

Then, he looked at the next picture.

It had that same kid — but it also had you. His mother.

The next picture was just of you and the stranger.

Then, finally, he looked at the last photo. It was an age-progressed picture.

It was you. It was him. But, at the same time, it wasn’t. He didn’t quite understand it — any of it — but it was creepy. And the child didn’t know what to do.

Noa turned to face the stranger, but he was fast asleep on the couch.

The young boy pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of the photos, and left as quickly as he could.

—

Satoru awoke the next morning with a pounding headache.

What snapped him out of his sleep was the sound of his front door opening and closing. He didn’t bother raising his head to see who it was, as he already knew the answer.

“If you’re just going to leave your front door unlocked,” Kento called out from the foyer, stepping into Satoru’s home and shutting the door behind him. “Then I shouldn’t have gone through the trouble of having a key made.”

“What are you doing here?” Satoru croaked. “It’s only . . . it’s only — uh, Saturday.”

“No,” Kento stepped into the living room and glared down at the man. “It’s Sunday.”

Satoru frowned. If it was Sunday, then the bar was closed.

Not only that, but he went to the bar on Friday. He must have spent Saturday on the couch, doing absolutely nothing except making an occasional trip to the bathroom.

And Kento could tell. He looked horrible.

No human being was made to endure such self-inflicted mistreatment, no matter how powerful.

Kento had a key to the man’s home for emergencies, but eventually, he started to visit him every Sunday to help him out in any way that he could.

“Come on,” Kento sighed, “get up. You need to get out of the house and go somewhere that isn’t the bar.”

“No,” Gojo mumbled weakly.

“Gojo,” kneeling, Kento tried to look at his friend’s face, but Satoru’s eyes wouldn’t meet his. “Gojo, listen to me. You’re going to die if you keep going down this path. Maybe not soon, but eventually. When was the last time you had food and water?”

Satoru shrugged.

Kento raised to his feet. Walking away, he headed to the kitchen — which was incredibly nice for a man who didn’t cook — and opened the refrigerator.

It was empty. Of course.

“Alright,” Kento said to himself, walking back into the living room. “I’m dragging him to the grocery store.”

—

It was incredibly difficult, but Kento helped his friend get cleaned up and dressed and managed to get him outside. Satoru hated every minute of it. He felt nauseous. All he wanted to do was sleep and drink, or drink and sleep.

As the two men walked into the grocery store, Kento grabbed a cart and instantly started grabbing a variety of ingredients to put together at least a week’s worth of nutritious meals for Satoru.

He’d cook it and store it away in Satoru’s fridge and freezer, and all the man would have to do was heat it in the microwave.

After making his way through the produce section, Kento headed towards the cases of water, and Satoru sluggishly walked down random aisles to find a jar of pasta sauce that the other man asked him to go get.

He had to do some things on his own.

—

“I’m thinking we should go with asparagus instead of broccoli,” you scanned your eyes over the fresh, green vegetables, before smiling down at Noa.

“Asparagus is fine, but can you put cheese on it? Pleaseee?”

“You know what, as long as you’re eating them, I don’t care what I have to put on them,” grabbing the asparagus, you tossed them into your cart as your son clenched his fists in celebration.

You ruffled his head of white hair with your four-fingered hand.

“Stop it, mom. We’re in public,” he frowned playfully.

“Fine, fine,” you started to push your cart forward and reached over to grab a pack of tomatoes. “Go pick out your cereal. Gonna switch it up this week, or get Lucky Charms again?”

“Lucky Charms, always,” your son grinned as he started to limp away. Today, he had to wear his forearm clutch.

Helping that stranger a few days ago took a lot of energy out of him.

He didn’t speak of what happened a few days ago, either.

After all, who would he tell?

You wouldn’t have the answers — or, rather, you wouldn’t remember the answers.

He had planned on returning to the drunk man’s home to ask him the questions running rampantly through his mind.

But Noa wasn’t stupid.

He knew exactly what the pictures meant.

But he didn’t want to give himself any hope, just in case he was wrong somehow, and the drunk man wasn’t his father.

A forty-pack case of water bottles was what you needed, as you and your boy chugged water constantly. But, a careless worker had shoved the cases incredibly far away, and you couldn’t reach it and pull it onto the lower shelf of your cart. You’d have to lift it, and you simply weren’t strong enough.

The nicely dressed blonde-haired man standing further along down the aisle was.

He was rather tall and buff, standing by his cart as he scrolled on his phone, simply waiting for you — the lady in front of him, whose face he couldn't see — to move so he could grab his own case of water, grab his miserably sober friend, and take him back home.

“Excuse me,” you called out softly. “Can you help me? I can’t get this case of water.”

“Sure,” he said, shoving his phone in his pocket and he walked forward, reached down, and pulled the case of water on your cart.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

As the man was about to say “you’re welcome,” he finally looked at you.

His skin paled instantly as if he was staring at a ghost.

And he was certain that he was.

He stood there — staring at you, his throat drying to a crisp.

“I don’t know why the employees always shove the water back there,” you attempted to make small chatter, glancing away from the stranger, as you assumed he was staring at you oddly due to your eye patch, and the scar running along your face right beneath it.

“I . . .” the man couldn’t find the right words to say.

Suddenly, your son made his way down the aisle, putting his box of cereal in the cart.

“Mom, did you know they make Lucky Charms with just the marshmallows now?”

The man’s eyes flickered down to your son, and his eyes widened.

“This isn’t . . . possible,” he mumbled.

Both you and your son were still alive, and yet, you didn’t seem as shocked to see him as he was to see you.

Didn’t you remember him? He was your husband’s best man at your wedding. He babysat your little boy quite often. He cried when he heard that you and your son were killed.

And yet, you only gave him a stranger-friendly smile.

“I-”

“Y/N?”

Kento was interrupted by Satoru, who had suddenly walked down the aisle.

He dropped the jar of pasta sauce on the ground.

It shattered.

“Renny?” A tear slipped down his cheek.

He wasn’t hallucinating — he was sober enough right now to know that.

Your eyes darted back and forth between the two unfamiliar men. After all, you knew well that you suffered from amnesia, your doctors had told you, and considering the man with the white hair called you and your son by your old names — the elders made you change them — you figured that they must have been old friends of yours.

But the white-haired man bore a resemblance to your son as well.

“Hi,” you smiled awkwardly, flickering your eyes between the two men. “You two must know me. I, um, I suffer from amnesia, so I don’t really . . .”

“Remember us,” Kento finished your sentence for you.

He thought that he was going to pass out.

“Well,” he gulped, pressing a hand against his head, closing his eyes as he spoke. This was insane. “I’m . . . I’m Kento Nanami. I was an old friend of yours. And this is Satoru Gojo, he is . . . he was . . .”

Kento glanced back at Satoru. The poor man hadn’t moved an inch. He only stared at you with the saddest eyes, an occasional tear slipping from them.

“I was waiting to die,” Satoru spoke — his words struggling to come out as he did so. “I was waiting to die so I could see you two again, and you don’t . . . remember me.”

The tears were falling even faster now. It was a blessing and a curse at the same time, one that he couldn’t bear. He wanted to laugh and sob. He wanted to hold you, but he was afraid to move. His hands started to shake, but the rest of his body was still frozen.

For years, he dreamt of reuniting with you and your boy again, perhaps in the afterlife. Or, sometimes he’d dream about you coming back to life like a silly child. But a fate as cruel as you being alive, but suffering with amnesia was like a direct punishment from a god and a devil at the same time.

Gojo wanted to fucking die.

He wanted his life to end right now, even glancing up at the ceiling of the grocery store, hoping one of the gods above would grant him his silent wish.

“You don’t remember me,” Gojo repeated. None of it seemed real. “You’re alive, but you don’t remember me.”

By now, other nosey shoppers were strolling by, listening to the conversation, but pretending that they were simply searching the shelves for drinks.

Your eyes darted in Kento’s direction, and he knew that face.

It was the same face you gave him when he and Satoru returned home two days late from a mission. It was the face you gave him when you came home one day and discovered that he accidentally let your baby boy stay up past his bedtime.

That face meant that you wanted answers.

“I don’t know any better way to say this,” Kento frowned. “That’s your husband. And the father of your child.”

Noa — or, rather, Ren — limped forward.

“I knew it,” he whispered happily, approaching the crying man as a tear slipped down his own cheek as well. “I was right.”

Ren looked up at his father with the happiest grin of relief.

And, god, your son grew. He was only three when Satoru had last seen him, and now, he was staring down at his beautiful boy, who was turning eleven soon.

Your son hugged Satoru with the arm that wasn’t holding on to his singular forearm clutch.

“Finally,” your boy said, holding on to his dad as tightly as he could.

He couldn’t remember him, but he didn’t care. He was simply happy to have a father.

Satoru didn’t hesitate to hug his son back.

“God, Renny . . .” the man cried, as his heart ached terribly. “It’s really you, it’s my baby boy.”

Running a hand through his son’s white hair, Satoru pulled away from the hug, only so he could look his boy in the eyes, and see him.

“You’re all grown up now, aren’t you?” A sad chuckle fell from Satoru’s lips.

He only looked away from his son when he felt another pair of arms wrap around him.

It was you — you were hugging him.

Satoru closed his eyes in relief, his tears soaking the front of his shirt, and dripping onto the heads of his family.

You hugged him lovingly, although you couldn’t remember loving him.

Your husband — the father of your child — was nothing more than a stranger to you, but he needed this hug. You could tell how badly he missed you. How badly he wanted to hold you.

As Satoru held onto his wife and son, none of you truly understood what had happened seven years ago.

But Satoru was determined to find out.

And, in the meantime, you’d try your hardest to recover your sweet memories of him, just as you once recovered the memories of your son.

Perhaps, you’d start by making new memories as well.

♡ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓

♡ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤? 𝐈’𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!

🏷: @sad-darksoul @sircatchungus @gojossocks @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @star-toruu @yobabymama @s7armin @minmin-minnie @jexx233 @asiaa2prettyy @roninishere @dreamsarenicer @starzcoffeelvr @delghoul @buttercupmuffins @dijaicar @tuliptoot @sweet-yzabelle @creative1writings @lympha @malikazz243 @bforbiblio @galagarts @enesitamor @luffysfav @chilichopsticks @misscellaneousisme @1plwushie @blackjou @gfmima @dazedflvr @safiest58ravenclaw @dyna-mights

in your hands | jason todd

Summary: Jason thinks he's too big to be loved. You show him that that's impossible.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings/tags: bathing together, sad jason, brief dissociation, i hc jason to have body dysmorphia and i wanted to explore that, non sexual nudity, washing your partner, bruce angst, hopeful ending.

A/N: as always, if you like this fic, tell me through comments and reblogs :)

the divider

Tonight, Jason comes home far away.

You clock it as soon as he walks in. He’s moving on autopilot: boots by the door, helmet on the shelf, gear in the closet. He washes his hands, hangs up his jacket, and then he stands at the doorway. And waits. 

You’re never quite sure what he’s waiting for. But you know that he’ll stay stuck in his head if you don’t step in. 

“Hey, baby,” you say, cupping his cheeks. “Hey. You wanna eat or clean up first?”

The change is instant. As soon as you touch him, Jason is there. You’ve never mentioned it to him. It frightens you too much to explore, knowing that you’re his tether. You don’t want to think about what that means, having the power to anchor a man who used to be dead.

He looks at you, meets your gaze head-on.

“Did I disappear?” he whispers.

“Little bit. It’s okay.”

You keep stroking his cheeks, avoiding his shaving cuts and the freshly split lip. There’s a bruise around his eye and on his temple. 

“Wanna wash up,” he finally says, but his hands cling to your waist. 

You pet the back of his neck. “Want me to go with you?” 

“Please?” He glances at the kitchen. “But if you’re in the middle ‘f something, then—”

“No, Jay. C’mon.”

You take him by the hand and lead him to the bathroom. Jason undresses while you draw a bath. Soon the bathroom starts to fog up with steam. You pour in some Epsom salts for his muscle aches—you know he should soak more than he does. 

You turn off the faucet. Jason is in his boxers, staring at himself in the mirror. He picks at his autopsy scar, presses the puckered white flesh until it turns red. 

“Jay,” you say gently. “C’mere, honey.”

His hands drop to his sides. Jason goes to the bath, pulls off his underwear, and sinks into the water. It’s a generously-sized tub. Jason had gotten his old tub replaced for a larger one after you’d mentioned that you liked baths. Soon enough, you’d introduced him to the wonders of hot baths for his sore muscles. 

Even with its size, Jason still has to bend his knees slightly to fit. He pushes himself up easily. A little water sloshes over and dampens the edge of your shirt. Jason curses.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. 

“It’s okay, honey. You want me to come in?”

He nods. You pull off your shirt, then your pants and underwear. Jason folds in on himself to make room, but you stop him.

“I’ll just sit between your legs, Jay. No problem.”

You step into the bath. Jason holds your wrist so you can sit down without slipping. He stares at his hand on your arm after you’ve sat. 

You reach over for a washcloth and pour a lightly-scented soap. You lather it up first, then rub it over his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. Jason is perfectly still. 

“Can you lean over, baby? So I can get your back.”

Jason obediently leans over. You smile at him as he holds himself up with his core. You know Jason’s not just strong, that he’s agile too. He’s very good at wielding his body.

You wash his back. This close, you can see the contours of his muscles, how broad he is. 

When you’re done, you wring the soap out of the cloth and cup water in your palms to rinse the suds off of his skin. You catch his gaze in the mirror across the tub. Jason turns his head.

“God, look at me. How are you not afraid every time I come stompin’ around?”

You stop pouring water and rest your hands on Jason’s biceps. “What do you mean?”

He scoffs. “I’m like a huge, fuckin’... monster. Too big, too loud. I’m—” He swallows, bows his head. “How can you look at me?”

“Jay, honey. You’re not a monster.”

“Bruce thinks so,” he whispers, and straightens. “He can barely look at me. Every time he does, ‘s like he doesn’t even recognize me.”

His hand quietly swishes through the water to claw at his autopsy scar. 

“This is all I am. Just violence. ‘M too big for anything else.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull his head into your chest. Jason hugs you back. His shoulders begin to shake. 

“You’re more than your body,” you say. “You’re more than what the Pit made you. What you were.”

He shakes and cries into your neck. “I was small. People loved me when I was small.”

You pick up his head. Jason’s eyes are thick with tears. You lean in and kiss his Cupid’s bow.

“I love you.” You brush away his tears with your lips. “I love you so much, Jay. That’ll never change.”

“Too big for it,” he rasps.

You shake your head. “No, Jaybird. You’re never too big to be loved.”

“I’m s-scary.”

You kiss his temple, rub between his shoulder blades. Jason clings tighter.

“You don’t scare me. You never have.”

He pulls you closer, so you’re chest-to-chest. You straddle his stomach with your legs and hug Jason as tightly as you can. 

“I was good when I was small,” he says. “I don’t–I don’t know how to be good anymore. I wanna be good, I do. I don’t want Bruce to think I’m bad. I’m still good.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “Oh, Jay. Baby. You are good. You came back to make a change. You’ve always been good. You’ve got a good heart. Nothing’s going to change that. Bruce is stubborn and stuck in his head. But you’ll always be his son. And you’ll always have people who love you.”

“What if I’m not worth it?” he whispers. “What if I’m too lost?”

“Then I’ll go out and find you. And we’ll come home together,” you say. “You’ll always find your way back home.”

He smells like soap and Epsom salts. You kiss his autopsy scar. Jason shakes more. 

“Let me wash your hair, baby,” you say.

He nods, tears on his lashes. You wet his hair and pour shampoo. You rest your lips on his cheek as you lather the shampoo, detangling tiny knots with your fingers. Jason bends at the waist so you can rinse off the soap with the faucet.

You tap his hip and Jason sits up. He slips his arms around you again and tucks his chin into your neck.

“Don’t let go,” he says, suddenly desperate. “Don’t–don’t let me go.”

“I won’t, Jay. I’m right here.”

This is beyond utterly horrifying.

Every single government in the world who didn't demand a permanent ceasefire nearly 10 months ago or with whom didn't state that Israhell must be sanctioned for their consecutive war crimes and crimes against humanity (and we know who you all are) -you have blood on your hands (and we also know you know this and most definitely don't care but the tide will not always be in your favour).

10 months... I repeat nearly 10 months have gone by and no one sitting in comfy chairs in offices with affluence and power have stopped this brutal mass acceleration of ethnic cleansing being done by a top ten military power in the world that is fully funded and backed by the United States government.

Palestinians have been and continue to be slaughtered EVERYWHERE in Gaza. In their homes, at schools, at places of worship, at any place of refuge -refugee camps... and so many still haven't even turned their way to see just how despicable it is because of the continuous dehumanization of Palestinian people.

And yet we are still supposed to believe this is about Hamas? This is about fighting terrorists? What exactly would it be called to bombard a civilian population who is trapped, is being starved and bombed to death, is being targeted with new war technology, and is being told ANY resistance to that is real terrorism...

You have zero humanity if you haven't seen what has been happening to Palestinians and haven't demanded Israel be sanctioned and brought to international courts for war crimes and genocide.

I will never forgive nor forget the world/any person turning their backs on Palestinian people.

TT AU PART 13

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Part 6 is here. Part 7 is here. Part 8 is here. Part 9 is here. Part 10 is here. Part 11 is here. Part 12 is here. Time Traveller au masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

"I cant do this."

He rolls his eyes. "Not with that attitude." He runs a hand through his hair before nodding at you to follow him. You both enter the dance studio that his grandfather built for his wife inside the house because he loved her and well, he had the money.

"Silas, no one can learn ballet in a month." You state again and he lets out an exhale while Cadbury is bringing in about a dozen of ballet flats. "Even if your grandmother were to try and teach me, I still wont be good enough to perform in front of the queen-"

"Your voice is shrill and piercing and thoroughly unpleasant."

You blink at him before scowling. "A simple "shut up" would suffice, you know."

Silas glances at you. "What is this really about? Are you pretending to have low self esteem so I could offer you sympathy?"

"Excuse me?" Your tone sharpened. "Not that I like to remind anyone of the favours I do, but maybe you have forgotten that I literally saved your social image and status from being tarnished yesterday? Or did you forget about our Nikkah?"

Silas suddenly leaned down, bringing his face close to yours. You backed away, and he tilted his head slightly. "And I'm eternally grateful for that, missus, but the Nikkah saved your image too. Must I remind you that I converted to Islam too?"

"Because it benefitted you, not me." You spat out, only to inhale sharply as he gripped your chin firmly.

"As is the stipend I've been paying you, yet you fail to write a single article on the murders."

He pouted, feigning hurt. "Besides, are you saying I am not a real Muslim? That I have malicious intentions? Doesnt that go against your teachings- what is it? Not to judge someone?"

"I dont need to judge when its all so apparent-"

"Ah, good to see the love birds again!" Sarah's voice made you two pull away from each other. She clasped her hands as she made her way towards you two.

"Nana." Silas greeted her and kissed her cheeks. "Thank God you're here. My sweetheart is so concerned over this performance, even though I've assured her many times that she will be learning from the best. There's just no way she would mess this up!"

Sarah laughed heartily. "Stop buttering me up! And she is right to be concerned. Anyone would be nervous to perform in front of an audience, especially the queen!"

Silas wrapped one arm each around your and Sarah's shoulders, pulling you two close to him. "I only see a queen and a princess here. There's no need to be nervous. Just have fun!"

Just have fun? What kind of bullshit motivation is that-

Sarah smiled and nodded. "He's right, Y/n. As long as you're having fun, you're going to be just fine darling!"

-

Colin never thought he'd have to resort to day drinking.

And yet here he is, adding whatever he could grab his hands on and fill the flask with and mixing it in his coffee.

I need this. He reasoned with himself. Its not that much, just small doses to keep me sane when Y/n comes.

And then you do, in your Sherlock Holmes disguise, cheerfully greeting him before going to Will's office to work on the murder story.

He takes another sip of his coffee as he tries to process... well, everything.

Why was I attracted to you? Why am I still attracted to you even though I acted as a witness to your wedding with that rich bastard-

Another sip. He scowled before adding some more liquour, then he sipped it. Better.

Whats the best way to get over a crush? Crush? Is that what you were? An infatuation, a passing by fancy? So, how do I get over-

Wait. He set his mug down. You know that he and the boys all know that your marriage to Silas is a sham. You never really hid the fact but now they had all witnessed that it was just a rushed, possibly contractual marriage that Silas wants to save his ass.

So the marriage is bound to end. He doesnt have to get over you. No, not really. If anything, I should be spending more time with you. Yes. Yes! This way, when you and Silas end things, Colin will be right there to comfort you and support you! He needs to be the first man there after you dump Silas, lest anyone else gets ideas and wants to marry you as well.

Colin got up and managed to make his way to his boss's office without bumping into anyone. He's going to ask to work on the murder story and then you two will spend time-

"No. Keep working on the asylum story. We have enough people on the murder case." His boss dismissed him.

Colin slumped in his desk as he looked at the coffee mug. Eh, what the hell? He took another sip and another solution popped in his head.

If he cant help you with the murder story, then perhaps you can help him with the asylum story!

-

Silas handed you the invite.

"How did you get it so fast?" You asked, examining the small paper with elegant writing. It was the invite to the Gentleman's club, the one Henry owns. You'd asked Silas to get you an invite to what was an exclusive, members only club (when you tried entering the club, the men at the front laughed you out.)

Silas looked at you unamused, with his arms crossed over his chest. "Must I remind you who I am?"

A pompous ass?

"Of course not, my duke." You said mockingly, before raising a brow at him. "I suppose it would make sense for you to get easy access to shady places like this. You might be their popular customer."

"Oh darling, I'm popular everywhere." Silas shot back before dismissing you with his hand. "You can go now."

"What? You arent going to ask me why I'm going there?" You asked him. "Maybe you dont care that I am going there, but arent you worried about Mrs Fitzgerald or Duchess Y/n being in a place like that?"

Silas shrugged nonchalantly. "No." He leaned back in his chair. "I trust you not to screw up or entangle yourself in scandals. But even if you do end up in trouble, I will stand by you."

"You will?" You couldn’t hide the disbelief in your tone.

He nodded. "Of course. Look, I know we are in this... unconventional relationship and it appears that I couldnt care less about your existence, but you still carry my surname next to yours. And I wont allow anyone to disrespect what or who is associated with me. So, rest assured-" He leans forward, resting his arms on the mahogany desk and clasped his hands. "you have my support in all your endeavours, Mrs Silas."

A small smile formed on your lips. Maybe he's not so bad.

"Thank you, Silas- oh, can you drop me off there?" You knew he was going to leave in the carriage soon.

"No, I dont want my beautiful, pure bred stallions to go through those dirty streets. You can walk."

Jerk.

You stomped out of his study, not noticing the butler going in after you with the dessert you'd made for yourself last night.

"And what's this?" Silas asked him as he took a bite of the decadent, gooey chocolatey dessert.

"Uh, the duchess called it "brown-ies", but I've never heard of it before." Cadburry watched Silas ate it and sighed dreamily. "Do you like it, sir?"

"No." Silas pushed the empty plate towards him. "But I'd rather not have grandmother eat her cooking and say something. Bring me the leftovers."

"Y/n- oh, are you going somewhere?" Sarah asked just as you were about to leave.

"Yes, um- I'm going to meet my friends." Its not like you could tell her that you worked in the paper disguised as a man.

"Male friends?" She asked.

"Yes. My old flatmates." You watched her smile falter. "What?"

"Nothing, dearie. Enjoy your time with them! I hope you'll join us for dinner." You nodded and left while Sarah looked for her grandson.

"Where's Silas? I must speak to him this instant." She asked the maid, who informed her that the duke had went to play tennis just moments ago.

"Tennis?"

The maid nodded. "Yes. With his uncles."

Sarah was a little surprised to hear that. Not the tennis part, no. Silas is extremely well at any sport he plays, but she knows her sons arent ones who are good at athletics, let alone at a sport as strenuous as tennis.

An idea popped in her head.

-

You stood outside the Gentleman's club, watching people go in. Smoothing your hands over your black velvet dress, you made your way to the door.

After handing them your invitation, they let you inside and you saw a waiter handing everyone masquerade masks from a silver tray. Perhaps it was the theme for the club tonight, or maybe the club just gave masks to everyone to conceal their identities.

You were given a black and gold mask that covered the upper half of your face. As you adjusted the mask over your face, you heard a familiar voice.

"I need to see her. Now." You looked over your shoulder and saw Benjamin harshly whisper to one of the waiters. "She told me to come and I'm late as it is. Dont make her wait any longer!" You turned your head away as the waiter lead Benjamin into the club, all while Benjamin yanked a mask off the tray and pulled it over his head.

What is Benny doing here?

You quickly followed him inside, lest you lost sight of him, which you did as soon as you stepped into the main hall and were immediately stunned to your place at the sight.

Loud jazz music played by a band live, smell of smoke and alcohol filled the air and people. There were so many people, despite the club being "exclusive". And as your eyes scanned them, trying to spot familiar faces, your heart dropped at the realisation of what they were doing.

This was... an adult club. That kind of adult club, the one where there are absolutely no limitations on who is doing what with whom, all drunk on pleasure and drugs of course, no inhibitions. You spotted men with men, women with men, and more than one person pleasing another man.

Thats why this is an exclusive club, why they gave everyone masks. Because if word got out that a someone was here doing.... something that was generally a taboo and even punishable by both God and the law, well it would put them in huge trouble. People came here to let loose, to give in to their darkest desires.

What the hell is Benny doing here?

Averting your eyes, you looked for Benjamin and spotted him from afar, going into a room.

Oh God, please dont let it be a- please dont let sweet Benny be a depraved creep.

You waited for him to come out and after about 20 minutes, the door finally opened.

Benny walked out first, adjusting his mask again and then leaving. You're about to follow him, perhaps even confront him for being here when someone else walks out of the room as well.

A tall woman wearing a bright red, backless dress and a golden mask concealing her identity. But what really stood out were two things- first, her fiery red-orange hair that was styled into voluminous Hollywood waves. And second was her figure, her athletic built, or more specifically her broad shoulders and muscled arms.

Everything about this woman screamed important. And if it werent for her looks that demanded attention, then it was certainly her aura. People parted the way when she walked past them, all looking at her as if she was their saviour, an angel or divinity among men, which is ironic considering where you were.

You jumped as you felt an arm snake around your waist.

"What the hell?!" You looked at the culprit, who turned out to be a blonde woman drunk off her head.

"Oh dont be like that! Come on, love, let me show you a good time-" She tried to touch you again but you backed away before she could.

"No, thank you." You dismissed her, going back to looking at the red head.

"Prude." The blonde muttered before following your gaze. "Oh so thats what you're into? Well, put me in a red wig and we can play like that!"

"No, thanks." You huffed, eyes still trained on the woman in red.

The blonde scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, its not like you'd be able to sleep with the club owner."

"She's the club owner? I thought Mr Blackwood owned this place."

"He does, but Lady Scarlett there runs this place, from entertainment to management. She does it all!"

Lady Scarlett? Fitting name.

Pushing away the blonde one more time, you looked for Lady Scarlett, except you lost sight of her now. You scanned the entire ballroom, but she was nowhere in sight.

"Shit." You mumbled, turning around only to stumble back as you came face-to-face with her, or well... face-to-chest. She towered over you.

Her bright red lips smiled knowingly at you. "Looking for me?" She asked in a sultry voice, stalking towards you until you were backed up against the wall.

"N-no-" You yelped as she suddenly grabbed both of your wrists in one hand and pinned them above your head.

You stared at her wide eyed as she leaned down, hovering inches away from your face and thats when it hit you-

Lady Scarlett is a man.

Of course! The muscled arms, the manly built, and now on close inspection, you saw the clean shave under the makeup too.

"Y-you're a man." You stated in disbelief, hoping to catch her or him, off guard. What even is he? A drag queen? A trans? You dont know if they existed in victorian era.

Scarlett tilted her head. "So? Are you the only one who is allowed to cross dress as the other gender?"

What? No, no way she knows-

She leaned in closer, whispering in your ear. "Did I catch you off guard, Mr Holmes?"

She knows!

"How- how did you-"

She smirked. "I know everyone that is associated with Mr Blackwood." She brought a hand up to your face, and you noticed a golden ring on her ring finger. She cupped your face. "And I know for a fact Henry wouldnt like his latest infatuation snooping around in a place like this. So..." She leaned into you again, staring into your eyes. "Leave."

You didnt have to be told twice. Lady Scarlett, that cross dresser creeped you out, even more so when she already knew you.

Stumbling out of the club, you removed your mask, dropping it to the ground. The fresh night air filled your lungs and cleared out the smokey air from the club. It was quiet outside, considering it was way past midnight and everyone was home now.

And I have to walk all the way home. You huffed, rubbing your arms. Because my husband would rather I get hypothermia than let his precious ponies walk through these streets.

You turn around, walking away from the club to see if there was a carriage available at this time, when you hear a shrill scream from the alleyway you're walking past.

And there it is- a woman lying in a puddle of her own blood as huge, dark figure slashed her face over and over again. The moonlight hit the woman's face- a blonde woman-

-the blonde from the club.

Frozen in your place, the figure stood up and looked at you, not at all looking startled at being caught mutiliating someone. It was definitely a man, huge stature, and he stared at you, the dark night concealing his identity. He slowly bent down to pick something up, a top hat, dusting it off before placing it on his head.

And then he tipped his hat at you.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck-

It wasnt until he took a step towards you that you finally broke out of your trance and ran. You ran and ran, not even risking a look back, not realising where you were running off to until you burst through their door, out of breath and paler than white paint.

"Y/n?" Colin rushed towards you, the Shepherd and Liam rushing into the living room as Colin helped you inside. "What happened? What's wrong?" He feared, as did all the boys, that Silas had done something to you.

"I- I- I-" You shake your head, the image of the dark figure running through your mind, the hat, the long cloak, the knife- it finally pieced together.

"I think I saw Jack the Ripper."

-

You sat at the police station with Colin. After explaining everything, he'd convinced you to report the murder.

The detective lead you inside the interrogation room, motioning for you to sit down as you began giving your statement.

"And who did you think the murderer was?"

"Jack the Ripper." Your answer made him roll his eyes. "And who might that be, miss?"

"I dont know." The investigator shook his head exasperated. "Of course you dont." He muttered, then sighed.

"So, what were you doing at this club?"

"Me?" You didnt pause for long. "I was invited there. My- my husband wanted me to attend on his behalf."

"Your husband-" he paused, reading your surname on the paper. "Fitzgerald? Wait, you're Mrs Silas Fitzgerald?" You nodded, making him sigh. "Guess it makes sense for you to be there..."

Whats that supposed to mean?

"Did you see anyone familiar there?"

"No." You answered curtly, before adding another detail. "Everyone was wearing masks. Couldnt recognise anyone even if I wanted to."

What? I'm not gonna rat out Benjamin and make him the prime suspect without gathering all the facts before.

It's definitely not because I have a soft spot for him since he reminds me of Qasim so much. Nope.

The door suddenly swung open and in walked what you assumed was the detectives superior since the man got up.

"Is this the witness for club murder?" The higher up asked him.

"Yes sir, she was just giving her statement-"

"No need. Dismiss the witness and the case. It's been handled." He told the detective who only nodded.

"Handled by who? You can't just dismiss the case!" You exclaimed getting up. But before he could reply, someone walked in from behind him.

"You can go now, Smith. I'll see Miss Y/n gets home safely." Henry patted the higher ups shoulder who left with the detective.

"What are you doing, Henry?" You crossed your arms.

"I could ask you the same." He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms as well.

"I'm reporting a murder that happened outside your club! I saw him-"

"Saw who? Jack the Ripper?" He scoffed. "You think you saw him, but all you really saw was a dark shadow."

You shake your head. "I did see him-!"

"And how do you know that he's Jack the Ripper?" He pushed himself off the door frame, walking closer to you. "How do you know that he's the Ripper when no one knows who the man is?!"

You pursed your lips. You could argue that the victim profile and post mortem show a matching pattern but you doubt Henry is going to listen to reason.

"Even so, you should still let me give my statement. Why are you adamant on me not giving one? A woman was murdered for God's sake!" You try to walk past him, but he grabs your arm and yanks you back, making your chest collide with his.

"She was my employee. She worked for the club. And you-" his face hardened. "-you are insulting her death by making it a public frenzy. By stating that some sick nobody, someone who was nicknamed by the papers just to strike fear in people's hearts, killed her. I will not let you use her death so that your paper could make a quick buck! Jack the Ripper is a nobody!"

-

"Why do you think Blackwood's trying to cover up the murder?" Colin asked you as you two made your way towards your next destination.

"I dont know." You huffed. "Maybe he knows who the murderer is? Maybe he's protecting his business? Surely, if people were to hear that a serial killer made an appearance near his club, he'd lose clients."

"Or maybe he's the killer." You stopped and looked at him. Colin looked at you knowingly. "It would make sense for him to be Jack the Ripper, or at least the man who murdered that woman. It is very suspicious of him to probably bribing the coppers to drop the case."

You shake your head. "Its too obvious."

He rolled his eyes. "What? So Henry cant be the murderer because its “too obvious?” People make mistakes-"

"Not Henry." You cut him off. "He's too smart, calculating. There's got to be another reason for him to be sweeping this all under the carpet."

Colin shakes his head in disbelief, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looked ahead. "We're here."

You followed his gaze and saw the building. The sign on the gate read-

"Aveline's Asylum"

"Really? Right now?" You asked Colin, who just smiled cheekily.

"It'll take your mind off things. Just take a break and help me on this assignment and we can go back to speculating what Blackwood's motives are." He raised his brows. "Plus, I think you'll enjoy this one."

You followed him inside the asylum, walking through the lush green gardens and seeing the pristine white building ahead, you wondered how this would help Colin's "exposing horrendous hospital environments and patient care" article when all of this reall just screamed "rehab for the rich".

"Shouldnt we go to an asylum that is in much worse conditions than this? Possibly next to a workhouse?" You asked him, but Colin just smiled. "Why did you choose this place, Colin?”

"You'll see." He says before whispering to you. "Remember your script. And... action!”

While pretending to be insane (which was easy because all you had to say was that you don’t think being a mom or stay-at-home wife is your life’s purpose), you saw a familiar figure there. And he saw you too.

“Y/n? Colin?” Benjamin looked surprised. “What are you two doing here?”

“Working on an article.” Colin replied, glancing at the way you’d gotten quiet, staring at Benjamin.

“Oh. Right, the horrible healthcare environment. But why this place? Its practically one of the finest asylums, housing mostly the wealthy of London.”

Colin nodded. “I know! But I have a hunch about this place-”

“What are you doing here?” You cut him off.

“Me? Oh, I’m here to give haircuts.” Ben chuckled nervously. “Its not a noble cause, but the wealthy unwell patients do pay a lot.”

“Mmhm, where’s your hair kit?” You remember distinctly that Ben was very particular about using his own scissors, so he often carried his own.

Ben looked caught off-guard by your question, but he quickly recovered. “The nurses provided me with their own. Cant carry scissors around an asylum now, can I?”

How convenient.

Colin continued to make small talk with Ben, while you studied him. Even if you didn’t tell anyone that you saw Ben at the club the night of the murder, doesn’t mean that you didn’t suspect him. For all you know, appearances can be deceiving and this sweet man may just be the infamous Jack the Ripper.

Blonde haired, the kindest eyes, the sweetest smile, a golden retriever in human form- could Benjamin really have killed all those women so brutally? Then again, Ted Bundy was also known for his good looks and superficial charm.

Am I really comparing Benny to Ted Bundy? God, I hope I’m wrong.

“I should go now. See you at home?” Ben asked you, hopeful.

“Maybe.” You shrugged, Ben’s smile faltering at your answer. He then raised his hand to shake Colin’s and thats when you noticed a distinctly familiar golden ring on his hand.

The same one you’d seen on Lady Scarlett’s hand.

And just like that, everything fell into place.

-

By the time you’d reached home, you’d pieced out the story. Ben being at the exclusive club and being discrete about it, seen in a room with Lady Scarlett, both wearing the same rings-

He’s in a relationship with her. Or him.

Thats why Ben was at that club! Homosexuality or anything else that isn’t heterosexuality was simply not accepted in Victorian England, and was possibly punishable by law! Just look at Oscar Wilde! Ben is dating Scarlett, keeping it discrete, he never committed any murders because he’s not Jack the Ripper. He’s just not straight!

Oh, I’m so glad you’re not the Ripper, Benny. I knew you weren’t capable of committing such heinous crimes.

As for why he was at the asylum, maybe he’s telling the truth. He did come to give the rich patients a haircut because he needs the money to maintain Scarlett’s lifestyle or maybe be rich enough to whisk her/him away from the club.

Benny is such a gentleman.

Now that Benny is no longer a suspect, that leaves Henry to be the main suspect. Maybe he’s not the one killed the woman, maybe he hired someone? Or maybe Henry’s not the killer either, its just too- obvious.

“Why do you think Henry stopped me from reporting the murder?” You asked Silas as you whisked the eggs before adding them to the pan. Silas had entered the kitchen the moment he heard you were cooking, though he did shoot you a weird look for making scrambled eggs at 11 pm. With you running around London all day, you hadn’t found time to eat until now, and you were just looking for a quick meal really.

“He probably doesn’t want you scaring off his customers. If word gets out that a murderer, or as you claim- “The Ripper” was seen near the club, then people wont be frequenting the place. Or perhaps he’s protecting the murderer?” Silas suggests, swallowing as the smell of butter wafts through the kitchen.

You add cubes of cold butter in, then look at him. “What? You don’t believe that I saw the Ripper?”

“I believe that if you really saw the Ripper, then you wouldn’t still be alive. He had the time and the opportunity to get rid of you.Why else would the notorious killer would let a witness get away?” Silas crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the kitchen counter near the stove.

“Maybe because he targets prostitutes? All of his previous victims match that profile.”

“Like he could tell a difference-”

“Are you saying I look like a prostitute?” You dished out the eggs. “No, you’re saying that. I’m saying that the man you saw kill that woman was just an amateur who was caught offguard by you, otherwise he would’ve attacked you too.” Silas states before grabbing the plate of buttery scrambled eggs on toast from your hands.

“Hey! Thats mine-” “My kitchen, my eggs.” He smirked before walking off. “You can make yourself more, I need to feed my dogs first.”

You glared at him until he left the kitchen, not knowing whether he really was going to feed it to the dogs or it was just a lie disguised as an insult so that he could eat it himself.

It was the latter. Always.

-

The next day, after you’d taken another ballet lesson from Sarah, you were about to go out to investigate the club again but Sarah had other plans for you.

“Y/n, I need you to stay at home today.”

“Oh, is everything alright?” You ask. She never made you stay home before. “Are we having company?”

“No. I think that you should play some sports to keep yourself fit. As a ballerina, it is important to keep both the mind and the body sound, and what better way to achieve that than by playing in the sun!” She lead you outside towards the tennis court, hidden by the huge bushes for privacy from outsiders.

“Tennis?” You ask her, and she confirms it. “Yes. Do you know how to play?”

Do I know how to- if I wasn’t so obsessed with history and sciences (and my mom scared that me wearing a skirt would attract predators), I had plans on playing professionally. Qasim and I used to play tennis at the club he’d won a membership in. We were both very competitive but he was just always a little better than me. He always knew my moves, he read me like an open book.

I was second only to Qasim though. Everyone else? They ate dust.

“Yes, I do.” You smiled at her. “Who am I playing with?”

“Me.” Silas spoke from behind you, dressed in all-white tennis wear. He looked at Sarah unamused. “Nana, I thought you said you had a worthy opponent for me.”

You shot him a glare, but Sarah came to your defense. “Now, now. You don’t know how capable your wife is. And I’m willing to bet that she’d make you run out of breath, Silas.”

You smiled cheekily as Silas scoffed. “We’ll see.” Sarah places a hand on your back. “Why don’t you go get changed, dear? I had the maids prepare an outfit for you.” When you left, Sarah looked at Silas. “Now Silas, I know you play exceptionally well but you must remember that this match is more of a way to spend time with your wife. Not a way to show off. So, be a gentleman, hm?”

You huffed as you returned to the tennis court. What the hell is this? Silas gets to wear a shirt and pants and I have to wear a full length dress with a corset and a hat?!

Mom would probably have let me gone pro if this was the official tennis wear for women.

Sarah sat on the side lines and watched you two play. Silas let you serve first and after a couple of back-and-forth, you won the first point. And then the next. And the next.

“Ah, you’re doing fantastic, Y/n!” Sarah cheered before standing up when the butler informed her that a guest has come to see her. “I’ll be back! You two keep playing!”

As Sarah left, you couldn’t help but tease Silas. What? He still makes you sleep on the floor! “So, how does it feel to lose to a girl?”

“I wouldn’t know.” And with that, Silas threw the ball in the air and served.

The ball shot past your head, just centimetres away from hitting you.

“What the hell? I wasn’t ready-”

“Lame excuses dont work on me.” He pulled out another ball and bounced it. “Are you ready now, duchess?”

You scowled at him before getting in position. “I’m ready, jerk.”

You lost two of the three matches. The first match you almost won was because Sarah was there and Silas was going easy on you, but when Sarah left, Silas regained all those points by serving topspin and slice serves. By the second match, you were finally able to return his fast serves, but now Silas used his speed and your lack of because of your heavy dress and made you run around all over the court trying to return his fast shots. By the third match, you were all out of breath but not out of determination. So, Silas decided that now would be the time to use your body as target practise and he hit the ball over your legs and arms, only stopping when one shot hit you in the head and made you fall on the ground.

“Are you okay?” He asked, barely suppressing the glee in his voice. He held out a hand to help you up, but you swatted it away and got up on your own.

“Finish the game.” You growled and he raised his hands in surrender before returning to his side of the court. For the rest of the third match, he missed all the shots you served and let you win. And he did it so openly, not even being courteous enough to hide his intentions.

Sarah watched you return inside the house, looking all sweaty and angry as you stomped unto your room. Silas trailed in behind, a satisfied grin on his face and Sarah shook her head at him disappointedly. “What did you do, Silas?”

“Nothing. I even let her win the last round, but she’s still angry.” Sarah looked at him admonishingly, making him sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll go talk to her. The things I do for you, Nana.”

“The things you do for love, Silas.” She corrected him.

Sure. Silas rolled his eyes mentally. I “love” Y/n.

Silas entered the bedroom and saw you had showered and changed into new clothes. “Going somewhere? Perhaps to get some handkerchiefs to wipe all the sweat and tears?” He watched you glare at him through the mirror and he chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, I’m sorry. I’m just teasing. But seriously, where are you going? I could give you a ride.”

“I’m going to an asylum with Colin.” You huff, packing some things in your small purse. Silas nodded. “Good idea to get yourself finally checked-” He dodged the hairbrush you threw at his head, chuckling. “Now now, duchess. It isn’t exactly speaking much for your mental health for you to be chucking things at your dear husband.”

Ignoring his antics, you slipped on your shoes, walking out of the room. He trailed behind you. “Dont be mad. I’m just playing around. Come on, I’ll drop you off at Saint Peters asylum. Its on my way to work.”

“I’m not going to Saint Peters. I’m going to Aveline’s.” You stated, ready to walk off but he grabbed your arm.

“What?” You looked at his shocked face. “What?” You repeated his question. Why did he suddenly look so pale.

“Where are you going?” He asked, his grip tightening when you tried to move. “Which asylum?”

“Aveline’s.” You frowned, grabbing his hand and removing it from your arm. Silas expression paled further.

“Why?”

You shrugged. “Colin wants to do an article on horrible asylum conditions and treatment of patients-”

“Dont.” Silas ordered more than he suggested. “That place- don’t go there.”

“And why not?” You looked at him skeptically. “Colin wants to do a piece on the place-”

“Pick another asylum. I can get you access to any other.” Silas ignored your question, averting his eyes. “You will not go there, and you will not write a piece on that asylum.”

You grabbed his arm to make him look at you. “What are you hiding, Silas?”

Silas stared at you before yanking his arm out of your grasp. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Just- do as I say.” He raised finger, wagging it at your warningly. “I’m telling you- you will not go there again, Y/n. And if I find out that you or Colin or anyone else tried to write about that place, I will shut down that paper and make sure none of them find a job ever.”

You watched Silas leave you there standing dumbfounded.

Did he really just threaten me?

This bitch.

-

Silas watched you leave from the window. He knows you wont listen to him, knows that its inevitable to try to stop you from going to Aveline, so he already sent someone to bribe the staff to not let you on the asylum premises. He’s not worried about who you’re meeting or where you’re going, just as long as its not Aveline.

No. He closed his eyes, painful memories flashing through his mind. You cant know. You cant know.

He sat down on his chair, trying to think of ways to divert your attention from the asylum. You’re as stubborn as a mule, you wont listen to him. So he has to create distractions for you.

Jack the Ripper!

Of course, the murder case!

“Cadburry!” He called his butler. “Arrange me an invite for the Gentleman’s club. Now.”

You were sitting in the boys apartment, Benjamin playing with your hair out of habit, braiding it, unbraiding it, then braiding it again. Colin sat confused. “Why cant we go to the asylum today?”

“I’m not in the mood to see depressing white halls today. Besides, I have an errand to run.” You lean your head further back for Benny.

“And what that might be?” Colin was intrigued.

“Girly errand. You wont understand.” You dismiss him. “But we’ll go to Aveline’s again, thats for sure.” You felt Benny tug your hair at that statement.

“Ow! Benny!” You glare at him. Ben shakes out of his daze, apologising profusely. “Sorry, sorry! I was just lost in my thoughts.”

A coy smile formed on your lips. Lost in thought? Oh, I know exactly what kind of thoughts you’re having, Benny.

Colin stood up with a sigh. “Alright then. I’ll go to office and start writing down a draft.” You nodded as he left you alone with Ben.

Once you heard the door click, you immediately turned around. “Hey, Benny.”

He gave you a gentle smile. “Hey, Y/n.”

“So…” you wiggled your brows at him. “What’s going on with you?”

“Hmm… nothing much really. I got a new customer who wanted a toupee. Apparently word got around that I’m a very skilled barber, no matter how much hair one has or lack of, I can make it work!”

“Yes, thats lovely Benny, but-” you cleared your throat. “I meant, whats going on with you, personally. You look happier, livelier these days.”

He shrugged, offering you another sweet smile. “I guess that’s just the effect you have on people around you.”

Ugh! Stop being so charming, Benny!

“Thanks, Benny. But… I don’t know, I feel like there’s something different about you.” You tried another approach. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I wont ever judge you or anything.”

Though he was smiling, you saw something flicker in his eyes. Doubt? Fear?

“What do you mean, Y/n?” He asked, his voice stable as usual.

Your eyes studied him.

“Did you meet someone new?”

There it is! That flicker in his eyes. His face didn’t let anything away but his eyes, you saw it.

“Yes.” Finally, we’re getting somewhere. “I met you.”

Stupid Benny. Annoying Benny.

Sighing, you realise that maybe he’s just not ready to come out yet. And that I shouldn’t take it personally because I am close with him and he could tell me anything, just like Qasim would. It would be unfair to force Ben to tell you about Lady Scarlett before he’s ready.

“Thanks, Benny.” You said, hiding your disappointment. “I have to go now. Have to go… run that errand.”

“Oh, need me to come?” He got up with you. You shake your head. “No, I’ll manage on my own.”

Why would I tell you when you wont tell me about your love?

-

You were now standing outside the club again. You had initially returned to the back alley to investigate the crime scene again but it had been scrubbed clean and Henry had somehow managed to get a permit to start construction to expand the club further.

He was erasing the crime scene. Henry was trying to hide something.

Speak of the devil, you saw Henry exit the club and get in his carriage. Once you were sure he’d left, you made your way towards the club entrance, still having the invite from last time, only for the guards to stop you.

“I’m sorry but Mr Blackwood has forbidden you from entering the club, Miss Y/n.” One guard said, holding a hand up to halt you.

“Mrs Fitzgerald.” You corrected him, hoping to use the name to get by. “I am the duchess of Westminster!”

“Forgives us, Miss Y/n, but Mr Blackwood specifically instructed us to not let you in and he also instructed us not to address you by anything but Miss Y/n or- um…” The other guard trailed off, making you narrow your eyes at him.

“Or?” You sneered at him to continue.

“Or… future-Mrs Blackwood.” He mumbled but you heard him loud and clear.

I’m going to kill him.

“Listen here and listen clear!” Your voice took a threatening tone, though you’re sure it would look comical to an outsider seeing a woman of your stature trying to intimidate men who were towering over you with their buff physiques.

“I am going to only be addressed as MRS FITZGERALD and you will let me in this club right now or I will have my husband, the duke of Westminster, shut this place down before your twat boss would dare to associate his name with me again!” You yelled with your nostrils flared. “Now, you will march in and inform Lady Scarlett that I’m here to see her. And if she says no, tell her I know about the rings!”

The guards shared a look, probably trying to communicate telepathically whether to let you in or not.

Fortunately for you, your huffing and puffing seemed to work and one of them walked in before returning moments later.

“Please wait for a short while Lady Scarlett entertains some guests.”

After about 20 long minutes, during which you were sure Henry would turn up and have you carried off the premises, the guards finally lead you inside.

“This way, future Mrs Blackwood.” You shot him a glare but didn’t say anything since you were inside the club anyways. They lead you up the stairs towards the room that you had seen Ben go into the last time you were here.

The door opened and you saw a large bed on one side, silk sheets and plush cushions adorning it, and a huge vanity in the other corner, full of makeup and expensive jewels, all arranged in an orderly manner. Then there was a table next to the vanity on which sat a variety of beautiful red haired wigs.

“They’re made from real hair.” A voice said from behind you. You turned to see Lady Scarlett, wearing a maroon robe and a black mask covering her identity. Her trademark red hair, still styled as beautifully as the first time you saw it and that bright red lipstick on her lips. “Benjamin was sweet enough to get them for me.”

She walked past you and sat down on a couch next to the window that opened to the balcony outside, and then she lit up a cigarette, holding it in a vintage cigarette holder.

Not that I would ever condone a nasty habit such as smoking, but she looked absolutely badass in that moment.

“What do you want, Mrs Blackwood?” Scarlett let out a huge exhale of smoke.

“Fitzgerald. I know about the rings.” You state, watching her take another drag.

“What rings?” She asked, feigning innocence.

“The golden rings.” You narrow your eyes. “I saw it on your hand that night and I saw it on Benjamin’s hand as well. I know whats going on, and I’m here to talk about that.” Taking a deep breath, you blurted out your suspicions.

“I know you and Benjamin are in a relationship.”

She looked up at you expectedly, not at all alarmed at being caught. Then again, why would she be caught off guard? Considering the line of business she’s in, she probably has practiced her poker face.

“Is that so, Mrs Blackwood?” Scarlett’s lip’s curled up. “So what?”

So what?

“Look, I mean no harm, but I- I care about Benjamin a lot. He’s like family to me, and I know its not my place but I am very protective of him and I just… I’m just here to make sure that this is not some sort of game for you. I don’t want you playing with his feelings, so if you’re not serious about him then I suggest you end things with him now before it gets too messy.”

Scarlett looked at you before chuckling. “As you wish, Mrs Blackwood.” He stood up with a click of his tongue. “Now, is that all or do you have any more shocking news to pass on to me, Mrs Blackwood? I suggest you do it now because you wont be stepping a foot in this club again.”

“Its Mrs Fitzgerald. And I don’t plan on returning to this depraved scum either.”

“Depraved scum, huh?” Scarlett tilted her head slightly in a mocking manner. “Since you insist on calling yourself Mrs Fitzgerald so proudly, let me show you something as well.” He opened the door and lead you towards the top of the stairwell, from where you could see everyone and everything down below on the dance floor.

She nodded her head to the far right corner and your heart dropped for a second. Is that-

“Mr Fitzgerald seems to be enjoying himself. Though not all that much.” Scarlett said as your eyes remained focused on Silas who was sitting on a chair, looking uninterested by the different women who surrounded him. “Maybe he likes boys. I’ll send some his way-” You rushed out of the club, not able to hear another word or see Silas for another moment longer.

-

Its been a couple of days since you went to the club. Of course, when you arrived home and waited for Silas to return, who upon your questioning about his whereabouts claimed he was meeting a businessman.

He lied.

You tried to distract yourself by taking more ballet lessons from Sarah, but still your attention lingered on him.

Why was he there?

You then tried to divert your mind towards work, and then here you are, sitting on your desk with a blank paper, ready to be filled with words.

Why was he there?

Dropping your pen because you knew you weren’t going to be able to get anything done until you processed your feelings about this.

What feelings? Certainly not jealousy because I am far more mature than this. Its just-

I thought he had standards. Taste. Sure I might not be fine wine, but I’m certainly better than those skank-

Nope. I am a woman. I will not be bringing other women down because of a man.

But Silas… how dare he? Yes, how dare he?! I am not jealous, I am insulted! How dare he act like he’s a polished aristocrat and I’m just ditzy, poorer than a church mouse, a NOBODY, when he goes around prancing his repute and himself in the utter gutters of London?

Maybe he’s just hypersexual. Yes, he’s a depraved, disgusting individual and I married him. Great. So the first man I married, had a NIKKAH with, turned out to be lying, cheating, piece of-

Why did he lie?

Its not like he expects me to sleep with him. If he did, why would he still make me sleep on the floor?

Baldwin would’ve never made me sleep on the floor, always covered me with his cloak because he knew how much the cold bothered me.

And he’s always so rude to me! He beat me at tennis, quite literally!

Salauddin always lost to me in chess. And he let me rub my wins in his face too!

Not to mention, how uncaring he is to my feelings!

Ibrahim always put my happiness above everything. He chose to wait for me, until I was safe- felt safe.

And of all of them, I ended up marrying Silas.

How dare he?

Pushing yourself back into your desk, you began writing down furiously. Fuck Silas, fuck Henry, and fuck Lady Scarlett! I WILL go back to Aveline Asylum, I WILL expose the the Ripper and- if I have time, maybe find Benny a better significant other!

“Woah there- what are you writing?” Colin came up behind you, frowning at the title he read.

“The Ripper strikes again! Murder outside the exclusive club for the wealthy freaks!” Colin looked at you. “Have you gone bonkers?”

“Yes.” You snapped. “You cant talk me out of it, so why don’t you go and get us access into Aveline asylum again. Discreetly, this time.”

By the time everyone was going home, you had finished your article and dropped it on the editor’s desk just as he was about to leave.

“Read this. Trust me, its worth it.” You look over your shoulder. “And I have a witness ready to go public- Mrs Fitzgerald.” Of course, the editor wouldn’t ever figure out that you are Mrs Fitzgerald, not Mr Holmes.

-

However, you were a little surprised to see that he hadn’t published your article in the paper the next morning. Storming to work, you quickly made your way towards the editor’s office, barging in without knocking.

“Hello there, love.” He smiled cheekily. Instead of your editor, Henry Blackwood sat in his chair, his legs propped up on the desk. “I was waiting for you.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“What? You can barge into my business, but I can’t swing by yours?” He asked, feigning hurt.

“No. Now leave.”

“Well then its a good thing that this is also my business now.” Henry grinned, removing his feet from the desk and replacing them with his arms, resting his head in his hand as he stared at your fuming self.

“What?”

“Oh love, you’re looking at your new boss. I just bought the paper this morning.” He winked, standing up and making his way to you. “See, I told you not to come by the club again, I told you to drop the Ripper case, and you didn’t listen either time. So, I’ve come here to tame you. Personally. Seems like you need my undivided attention, kitten-”

“I did drop the Ripper case. I didn’t give my statement to the police!” You exclaimed.

He tutted, wagging his finger at you. “No, but you did write an article. You’re lucky I was here before it got published.”

You frowned. “How- how did you know about the article? I wrote it yesterday, I gave it to the editor at the last moment-”

“I have eyes everywhere, Y/n.” He smirked, leaning down to whisper. “Especially on you, naughty kitten.”

Henry chuckled as he looked at your flushed face, mistaking your anger for bashfulness. He walked out of the door but not before passing another comment to tick you off.

“Nice moustache. Or shall I say… whiskers, kitten?”

-

For the next 3 days, you didn’t leave the house. You didn’t even leave your room. It seemed like all your previous pettiness-driven motivation had run out and dropped you into the well of depression. And here you wallowed in your sadness, taking Silas’s bed even when he was away and looking like a pitiful lump of sadness under the covers.

“What is wrong with you?” Silas asked, exasperated as he sat down on the bed to tie his shoes. “How long will this go on? You have missed your ballet classes and you are worrying grandmother.”

“I’m just sleepy, okay?” You mumbled from under the sheets. “Its not like sleeping on the cold, hard floor is helping me.”

“And it seems like sleeping in my bed hasn’t helped either.” He raised a brow. “Its been 3 days already. This has gone long enough. Now you can either tell me what is wrong or I will have Cadbury drag you out and hose you down in the gardens.”

You shoved the covers down to glare at him. Asshole. You don’t doubt that he would have his butler hose you down.

“I miss… I miss my brother.” You mumbled as you averted your eyes. “Qasim would fix everything for me. He always had a solution, always. And I- I need him right now. To guide me, to handle things for me.”

“So… why don’t you ask for his help?” Silas asked, fixing his tie.

You stared at his back before looking down at your lap. “We’re not on speaking terms… I’m mad at him.”

Silas rolled his eyes. “Well he’s your family, isn’t he? I’m sure you can still talk to him.”

“Cant.” You muttered gloomily, making Silas’s annoyance trigger off.

“And why the bloody hell not?” He turned to glare at you. “You cant get out of my bed! You cant attend work! You cant take your classes! You cant tell me what’s bothering you! And you cant talk to your own brother! Why!? Why?! WHY?!”

You flinched at his harsh town before tears filled your eyes.

“Because… he’s dead.”

Your statement rung in Silas’s ears like a daunting bell. Dead. Dead. Dead.

God, did he feel like shit now.

You threw the covers off you, getting out of bed as you fixed his sheets.

“Sorry for hogging your bed.” You sniffled, using your sleeve to wipe your tears as you walked past him, only for Silas to catch your wrist. With a gentle tug, he had you sitting back down on the bed.

“I’m sorry.” He said, sincerely. “I was just… frustrated due to things at work. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Its fine, whatever. You’re right, I’ll go to work and classes-” He tightened his grip on your wrist when you tried to leave.

“No.” He tilted your chin towards him. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong. I may not be your brother, but I am your husband.”

You stared at him conflicted. Did he really mean it?

He answered your silent question with a gentle squeeze of your hand. “I will fix your problems, Y/n.” He offered a smile. “Your duke is at your service.”

-

After you told Silas your work situation with Henry and how he’s stopping you from writing anything about Jack the Ripper, how you cant get anything done with his shadow looming over you and monitoring everything you do, Silas explained that solution to it was all simple.

“I will buy the paper from Henry.” He stated nonchalantly, as if he was talking about buying eggs not a newspaper company.

“I dont think he will give you the company. He wont put it up for sale-”

“Everything is for sale, Y/n. You just need to find the right price.” He stood up, assuring you he will buy the company. “I’ll get the company, if you promise to put on a great show. You focus on the ballet classes. After all, the show is only a week from now.”

The following seven days were filled with you doing ballet for hours and hours, all with one motivation.

Not to let Silas down.

Because if I let him down, if I embarrass him, then he wont get the paper from Henry. And I wont be able to find Jack the Ripper or help Colin with the asylum! And Silas will lose trust in me and wont let me have my space at the Westminster palace or wherever so that I can work on my time machine-

Time machine! You face palmed. I’ve been so busy with the murders and shitty men that I forgot to build my machine! My way home!

No, after the show, I’m- I’m demanding- I’m moving out. I don’t care if I get the paper or not, I need to build my machine.

“Oh Y/n, what are you doing in the storage- honey, are you alright? You look like you’re about to pass out! Cadbury! Hurry and open the windows!” Sarah guided you out of the dusty store to sit down, fanning you with her hands. “Oh dear, do you hate confined spaces like Silas too?”

You took deep breaths as fresh air flooded in through the windows, furrowing your brows. “What?”

“Nothing dear, I just thought you felt suffocated in closed spaces, like Silas!” She explained. “He cant stay in a room with closed windows for too long, you know.”

Now that she mentions it, she’s right. You don’t remember Silas being in a room without at least a window open, even as winter rolled around. Hell, he still opens the balcony windows in the bedroom as soon as he wakes up, but you thought that was because he hated your guts and wanted to give you an early wake up call by letting the cold air slap your face and rattle your bones.

“Why does he hate confined spaces?” You ask, letting her loosen your corset.

Sarah looked a little hesitant to tell you, but then relented when you asked her again. “He never told me the reason, but I figured it was the night when his mother passed away. Silas… he was just a young boy, he was hiding in his closet. He liked to scare his mother when she came to check on him, and so he often hid in the closet to give her a fright. He saw his mother get murdered while he was in the closet.” She looked down sadly. “Unfortunately, the killer’s identity was hidden by the dark night. Silas wasn’t able to identify who killed his mother, and I suppose he’s blamed himself a little for that incident.”

Damn. Thats… dark. And sad.

Maybe I can excuse Silas for being rude to me at times. Maybe. Just a tad.

The night of the ballet show rolled around quicker than you’d expected. And despite all the hours of practice and Sarah’s countless assurances that you’d be amazing, you knew the reality.

Your performance was barely passable.

From a young age, you were able to critique yourself very well. As Qasim said- “Only you know yourself the best!” And you knew right now, as you stood backstage, peeking through the curtains at the audience and spotting the queen and her family, you were utterly, truly set up for failure.

NO ONE CAN LEARN BALLET IN 2 MONTHS! AT LEAST NOT ENOUGH TO IMPRESS THE QUEEN!

Your stomach churned, you felt bile rise up your throat, your legs wobbled as you backed away from the curtain, stumbling away, right into Silas’s arms.

“Silas- Silas, I cant do this! I can’t! I can’t!” You cried out and Silas tightened his grip on your arms.

“Okay.”

Okay?

“What?”

“Okay. You cant do it.” He squeezes your shoulders. “I guess I’ll just tell everyone to go home. I’ll apologise to the queen and make up an excuse as to why she wont be seeing a performance by my wife tonight. But hey, she’s family. She’ll understand, right?”

You stared at him in confusion. Silas ran a hand through his fingers. “As for all the journalist who came here to write about you, and all the influential people I’ve invited over because this was your formal introduction into high society, I guess I’ll just have to make something up. But you-“ he gave you a warm smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “-you don’t worry your pretty little head over this. Its okay, I… well, if I’m being honest, I never really expected you to perform.”

“What?”

He shrugged. “I knew you’d back out at the last second. Oh well, what can we do. Now-” he rubbed his chin in thought. “Should I tell the guests that you’ve broken your leg? Or perhaps you cant perform because you’re with child? If we go with the first excuse, people may call you a ditz, maybe unprofessional. And they might come to check on you. But if we go with the second excuse, people will talk about- well, it has been only a month into our marriage-”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Is he… did he set you up?

“You expected me to not perform?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No, Y/n. I expected you to fail to deliver what I require of you. I expected you to perform in front of an audience, and that was all I asked. I didn’t ask you to become a prima donna, I just wanted you to be good enough. Which you are in my opinion. But your doubt in yourself right now is only because you clearly haven’t spent enough time practising because you were too busy running around town, going to clubs and asylums and chasing after a murderer when all of your attention should’ve been on becoming a competent wife!” Silas fumed, tightening his grip on your shoulders. “I asked you again and again to focus on the ballet lessons, and you ignored my advice repeatedly and for what? Because you wanted to prove yourself? Because you wanted to play detective and solve murders? When you cant even do a simple job as putting on a show? And I knew- I knew you would abandon me like this, so you know what, Y/n? While I keep my end of the bargain, while I invited Henry tonight to talk him into selling the paper to me, you continue to let me down. So go on stage or don’t, I really don’t give a shit now. I can’t take your word ever again.”

Silas stormed off, leaving you shell shocked backstage. You sat down on the steps, trying to control your breathing. How could he- how can he say all that to you?

Does he not understand the pressure you’re under? Does he not understand how hard all of this is for you?

You really thought that after you told him about Qasim, after he assured he that he would help you out, that he would fix your problems-

I thought he understood. I thought he had my back.

You let out a shaky exhale, rubbing your chest to ease your ache. Why is it so hard to breathe all of a second?

Tonight, you didn’t invite Colin or Benny or any of the boys, and it only hit you now how truly lonely you were. There’s no Colin. No Benny. No friends. No family. No Qasim. No… Silas.

“Ma’am? Ma’am, are you alright?” Cadbury looked alarmed as he spotted you looking shell shocked, struggling to breathe.

“I… I cant-” You couldn’t speak, and the butler quickly took your nervous, trembling form in and sprung into action.

“Here, duchess- ma’am, drink this.” He brought you a cup of tea. “It’ll calm the nerves, ma’am. Drink it.”

You let the bitter, warm liquid slide down your throat without a second thought.

“You’ll be alright now, ma’am. You’ll be all… right.” The butler assured you kindly, helping you stand up. In just a matter of seconds, your anxiety had melted away and was replaced with… unbridled confidence.

“What did I just drink?” The words slipped out as you felt your heart beat faster. Your eyes snapped towards Cadbury. “What did you give me?” The words came out quickly.

“Nothing special. Its just tea to calm you.” He said, ushering you up the steps towards the stage curtains. “Are you ready now, ma’am?”

Your eyes zeroed in on the white particles on his collar. Like powder.

“Is that snow?” If you weren’t so hyper focused on his collar, it would concern you how fast you were talking. “Is it snowing outside already?”

Cadbury looked down on his collar and suppressed a smile. “Yes, duchess. You could say that. Now- please return your attention to your performance. We are all rooting for you.”

“Not Silas.” You snapped again, your eyes looking at the dark curtains as you take your position. “Not that twat.”

Cadbury’s brows shot up in shock. “Ma’am-”

“I’ll show that twat.” And then the curtains opened.

-

Silas sat down in his seat with a satisfied sigh. Everything is going according to plan. You’re nervous and he just chewed you out so the stage will now be empty because you’ve ran off to cry a river, the royal family will once again be embarrassed as they happily welcomed Silas and his Muslim wife into the family (by making them the duke and duchess) and with all the journalists he invited, the news will now spread like wildfire that Silas rejected a princess, Queen Victoria’s daughter to marry an embarrasment.

The princess was one upped by a fool. A commoner. A failed ballerina.

Did Silas feel bad for you? Just a little, because he didnt like the way you looked at him, hoping for support, maybe even motivation, only for him to break your heart. Broken hearts can be mended, but broken reputations? Nope.

Besides, he’s sure that when he buys the company from Henry and give it to you, you’ll forget all about it! Everything will work out just as he’d planned-

What the hell?

The curtain opened and instead of being met with an empty stage like he’d planned, there you stood in your white tutu skirt, face completely devoid of any expression.

What are you doing?

The pianist began playing a tune he didn’t recognise. Sarah did tell him that of the three songs you had chosen, there was one she hadn’t heard ever before. You’d worked with the pianist to get the tune right, and at that time, he was impressed at how much work you were putting into this.

As the music played, you began dancing. From what his grandmother had told him, he was expecting soft, gentle, shy dance.

And yet you were doing anything but that. Your movements were strong, powerful, determined. You were nothing like the woman whose hope he’d crushed just moments ago. You were all alone on that big stage, but you practically leaped from one side of the stage to the other, your legs faster than lightening.

By no means did you look like a mess, or that you didn’t know what your were doing. Your eyes were wide open, as if hyper aware of your surroundings and your audience. From beside him, Silas could hear his grandmother whispering the choreography.

“En pointe. En pointe. En pointe.” You were now dancing on the tip of your toes, and Silas could only imagine how painful, if not destructive this could be to your feet.

“Tendu. Chaine turn. Chaine turn. Pique manege.” Now, you were moving across the stage while making turns.

And finally, the big ending. “Pirouette. Pirouette. Keep spotting, Y/n. Pirouette.” Silas knew about the pirouettes. He watched you spin around your own axis, in a fixed position on a ground, your body moving first, your head later, your eyes focused on a spot in the dark so that you don’t lose your balance. You turned- 1,2,3, he lost count because you were turning too fast.

“34- was that 34 turns, Silas?”

Thirty four? Thirty four pirouettes?!

The performance ended with fouetté turns, which according to Sarah were about 28 and you exited the stage dancing en pointe, on the tip of your toes.

The ballet hall erupted in applause and cheers, and Silas stood up with everyone else to give a standing ovation to a now empty stage.

What the hell just happened?

-

Its hot. Its hot. I’m burning up!

As soon as you were off stage, of which you have no memory of your performance, you almost fell to the ground if it weren’t for strong arms catching you. And the moment your eyes caught sight of the broad shoulders, you instantly pushed yourself away, throwing yourself against the wall to support yourself.

“Careful there, love.” Henry grinned, clapping his hands in mocking manner. “That was quite the performance you gave, kitten. I’m very impressed.”

“What are you doing here?” You spat out, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. He tilted his head, amused at the sight of your flushed cheeks. “Silas invited me. He wanted to discuss business. I wonder if the little kitten went to her owner for help because she couldn’t scratch me with her tiny paws?”

“Owner?” You heaved a shaky breath. His smirk widened. “What else would you name it? He bought you to be his wife, because you know and I know that there isn’t and there never will be love between you two. He’s just using you. So drop the charade and come to me-” Henry caught your wrist before you could slap him, and while he may have stopped your physical assault, he wasn’t able to stop your verbal one.

“What would you know about love? You’re here, pursuing a married woman who has insulted you from the very first moment. Those skanks at your disgusting club have more self esteem than you do right now. You’re fucking pathetic and I’d rather eat a cactus and shit it out before I marry an entitled, emasculated prick like you. Fuck off!” You shoved him away and stormed out of there, unaware of just how much Henry wanted to wring your neck (just for a moment) and how a certain someone had overheard this little spat.

And he smiled proudly.

Good job, Y/n. He thought to himself.

-

“Fuck!” You screamed as you burst through the doors and landed out in the gardens, falling to the snowy ground, letting the ice cool your burning temperature.

How the hell am I burning up when its literally snowing?!

You grabbed a fistful of snow and threw it to your face, trying to cool down your body temperature. When that didnt work, you dove face first into the ground, before flipping on your back, letting the snow engulf your body from all sides. Your ballerina costume was thin and sheer as it could be, finally allowing the cold to creep into your skin and slowly into your bones.

Now that the adrenaline rush and whatever the hell was in that tea wore off, your body immediately went into fatigue and became aware of all the aches in your body, especially the pain in your feet. You tried to move, but your muscles didn’t budge. They were tired out, strained beyond their limits.

The cold suddenly became too unbearable and your teeth rattled. You tried to lift your head, tried to yell for help but it was like your mind had suddenly went autopilot and decided to shut down to let your body recover from its fatigue.

“No…” You whispered, as tears slipped out of your eyes. Everyone was inside, the party was loud, no one would even hear you scream for help even if you tried, no one would come to your aid. The realisation that you would freeze to death had you panicking, but alas, your brain refused to cooperate with you.

You heard the sound of footsteps and a glimmer of hope rose in you. Turning your head to the side took the last bit of energy, and your brain put you out of your misery when you saw the daunting shadowy figure that imprinted itself in your mind from the night of the murder.

The cloak, the top hat, a golden ring on his hand and the shiny glint of the knife.

The Ripper is here.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream before you blacked out.

So??? Thoughts??? Also nobody @ me for not putting a "keep reading" button because I had to edit 12k words TWICE on mobile, I have pulled an all nighters for yall. I have to go to clinic in loke 2 hours.

Yall better send comment and send ask.