Description: Y/N has been secretly dating Randy for nearly a year, hiding their relationship because of their sixteen-year age gap. But when he surprises her with a birthday trip to Florida, a weekend of love, adventure, and stolen moments becomes the beginning of something neither of them wants to hide anymore.
You meet Randy Orton for the first time at a coffee shop in St. Louis. It’s not because you’re a wrestling fan or because he’s famous. You just accidentally spill your entire iced coffee on his black T-shirt.
“Oh my God!” you gasp, grabbing napkins from the counter. “I’m so sorry!”
He looks down at the stain, then at your shocked face, and laughs. His laugh is deep and warm, and it surprises you.
“Well,” he says, taking the napkins from your hands, “at least it wasn’t hot.”
You blink. You know that voice. Your eyes widen. “No way.”
His smile grows.
“There it is.”
“You’re Randy Orton.”
“Guilty.”
You think he’ll be intimidating. You figure he’ll leave after a few minutes. But instead, he sits with you for an hour, talking about movies, dogs, and how he tries not to notice the age difference. He tells you he’s thirty-seven. You say you’re twenty.
For a moment, things feel different between you. It’s not a bad thing. You both just realize how young you are. He keeps glancing at you, obviously trying not to dwell on it.
Nothing happens for weeks, then months.
You text each other. You meet for lunch. You become friends. Randy keeps his distance, even though it’s clear he wants to be closer. He tells himself it’s for the best. You’re younger, he’s older, and people would talk. They always do. But one evening, six months after you first met, you sit together on the tailgate of his truck, watching the sunset.
“You know,” you say casually, “you’re the only person who seems bothered by our age difference.”
Randy sighs. “I’m thirty-seven.”
“And?”
“And you’re twenty.”
You shrug. “Yeah.”
“That’s a sixteen-year gap.”
“I can do math.” He groans, and you grin. “I’m an adult, Randy.”
“I know.”
“So stop acting like I’m going to wake up tomorrow and decide I hate old men.”
His eyes narrow. “Old?”
You laugh. “Oh my God, your eye twitched.”
“It did not.”
“It absolutely did.”
Before he can say anything, you lean over and kiss him. It’s meant to be quick, just to see how he feels. But Randy freezes. Then he cups your face and kisses you back, like he’s been waiting for months. He really has.
You keep it a secret. It’s not because you’re ashamed, but Randy still worries about what the age gap means. You get it. He’s famous, and people online can be harsh. Honestly, you like having him to yourself. Private movie nights, sneaking into restaurants through back doors, and late-night drives with his hand on your thigh.
The world doesn’t need to know. Not yet.
Until your twenty-first birthday. Or rather, the weekend before it.
You wake up to Randy standing beside your bed. “Pack a bag.”
You squint. “It’s six in the morning.”
“Pack.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
You throw a pillow at him. He catches it effortlessly. “We’re going to Florida.”
Your eyes snap open. “…What?”
Three hours later, you’re on a plane.
“You planned this?”
Randy smirks. “Maybe.”
“You’ve had this planned for a while, haven’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Still maybe.” You hit his arm. He laughs.
The first day is spent at Universal Studios. You insist on taking selfies. Randy complains.
“You have like forty already.”
“Forty-three.”
“That’s worse.”
“It’s adorable that you know.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
He sighs. “No.”
You drag him onto roller coasters. You make him wear matching Harry Potter scarves. You nearly cry laughing when he reluctantly poses with a giant Minion.
“I look ridiculous.”
“You look cute.”
“I am literally covered in tattoos.”
“And cute.”
“Stop saying cute.”
You snap another photo. “No.”
That evening, Randy brings you to the marina. A sleek private yacht waits at the dock.
You stop walking. “…Randy.”
“What?”
“You rented a yacht?”
“It’s your birthday.”
“Normal people buy cake.”
“There’s cake on the yacht.”
You stare at him. “I hate how smooth you are.”
He grins. “Lie.”
The sun goes down over the water. The sun sets over the water. You eat dinner on the deck, your shoes left somewhere behind. You’re curled up next to Randy with your head on his shoulder. For once, he’s relaxed. No hats, no hiding, no checking to see who’s watching. Just the two of you. You scroll through your phone, looking at hundreds of pictures—him laughing, you kissing his cheek, his arm around your waist. Your heart feels full.
“I’m ready.”
He looks down. “For what?”
You hold up your phone. “Us.”
Randy’s expression changes instantly. His smile fades. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“People are gonna talk.”
"I know," you say.
“They’re gonna talk a lot.”
“I know.”
“You don’t deserve that.”
You sit up. “Randy.” He meets your eyes. “I’m not hiding because I’m ashamed.” His face softens. “I’m hiding because you were scared.”
He sighs. “Fair. But I’m not scared.” You smile. “And I don’t think you should be either.”
You pick the photos yourself. The two of you are in front of the Universal globe. A candid of him kissing your forehead. A sunset picture on the yacht.
Randy stares at the upload screen. “Last chance to back out.”
You snort. “Post it.”
“You say that so confidently.”
“I do everything confidently.”
“You absolutely do not.”
“I once cried because I burned grilled cheese.”
“You cried confidently.”
You laugh so hard that you almost drop your phone. Randy shakes his head. Then he posts it. Caption: Finally stopped hiding my favourite person. Happy early birthday, sweetheart ❤️
You stare. Your heart skips. “You called me your favourite person.”
“You noticed that?”
“Shut up.”
The internet blows up with reactions. Some people are happy. Some are shocked. Some are…less kind.
“She’s way too young.”
“What does a twenty-year-old have in common with him?”
“This is weird.”
You expected it, mostly. But seeing thousands of opinions about your relationship still hurts. Until Randy walks into the room looking guilty. “I’m sorry.”
You blink.“For what?”
“This.” He gestures vaguely toward the internet. “The comments.”
You set your phone down. “Randy.”
“I didn’t want you dealing with this.”
You stand, walk over and take his face in your hands. “You’ve spent our whole relationship protecting me.” He looks down. “And now?” You smile. “Now it’s my turn.”
The next day, you post your own photos. Just the happy ones. You and him laughing. The yacht. Universal. His ridiculous Minion picture.
Caption:
Yes, there’s an age gap. No, I don’t care.
I’m twenty-one tomorrow. He’s thirty-seven.
He’s kind, annoyingly protective, and makes me laugh every single day.
If people have opinions, that’s okay.
I get to live my life anyway ❤️
The response surprises everyone, especially Randy. Because while some people keep criticising, most don’t. Most see how happy you are. How happy he is. And for the first time since meeting you, Randy stops apologising for loving you.
On your actual birthday, just after midnight, he wraps his arms around you on the balcony of your hotel room. “Happy birthday.”
You smile. “Thank you.”
“No regrets?”
You look back inside at your phones buzzing nonstop, at the pictures, at the life that’s suddenly public. Then you look at him—the man who spent a year trying not to fall in love with you, and failed completely. “Not a single one.”
Randy smiles and kisses you under the Florida night sky. No more hiding. No more secrets. Now, you’re finally his.
On the other side of town, Jey had barely brought his motorcycle to a stop outside Gionna’s apartment when his phone vibrated inside the mount near the handlebars. He pulled off one glove and checked the screen.
Gionna: Babe got called into work, my phone ain’t working rn so I’m texting through my watch.
Jey looked up at her building, then back down at the message.
Jey: u say that when I literally just pulled in.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Gionna: love u baby!
Jey stared at the words for a few seconds, disappointment settling across his face before he typed his response.
Jey: love u too.
He sent it and rested both hands against the handlebars. Gionna had mentioned dessert. He had skipped most of dinner, listened to Jon complain about patrol, and crossed half of Gotham because she said she wanted to tell him about work. Now she was gone before he even reached the door.
Jey considered going upstairs anyway. Gionna had given him a key months ago. He could leave the flowers and the bottle of wine inside, take a piece of cobbler if she had already made it, and wait for her to return. She might only be gone an hour.
Before he could remove his helmet from the rear compartment, the Robin signal burst across the motorcycle display.
A red symbol filled the screen, followed by Ryan’s face when Jey accepted the connection.
“Jon needs help at Anoa’i Industries,” Ryan said. “Unauthorized access and we have a civilian still inside.”
Jey glanced at Gionna’s building again. “What happened?”
“Someone accessed a restricted file from Joe’s office. Demi Bennett’s employee badge is active on the executive floor.”
“Who is Demi Bennett?”
“Receptionist. Twenty eight. No criminal history. No security clearance beyond the lobby and executive offices.”
“Could be her.”
“She stayed late to finish reports. Her activity was normal until six minutes ago.”
Jey secured his helmet beneath his chin. “Where’s Jon?”
“Already heading toward the tower.”
“Of course he is.”
“He was nearby.”
“He always nearby when Anoa’i Industries gets involved.”
Ryan ignored that. “Security has not responded. Their internal network is being redirected through a false maintenance loop.”
“So somebody inside knows the system.”
“That would be my guess.”
Jey started the motorcycle. The engine rolled through the parking lot as he pulled away from the curb, leaving the flowers and wine secured inside the rear compartment. He merged into traffic and accelerated toward downtown, weaving between cars while Ryan transferred the building schematics to his display.
“Which entrance?”
“Parking structure on the west side. I disabled the lower cameras for ninety seconds.”
“Jon remembered I was with Gionna?”
“He knows you were supposed to be.”
“Meaning he called you instead of me.”
“He called you twice.”
Jey checked the missed notifications and found both beneath Gionna’s messages. “Phone was in the mount.”
“You were busy pouting.”
“I was not pouting.”
“You drove across Gotham for peach cobbler and got canceled on.”
“That ain’t why I went over there.”
Ryan gave him a look through the display.
Jey leaned forward over the motorcycle. “Maybe part of why.”
The tower appeared ahead, rising above the surrounding buildings with the Anoa’i name illuminated near the highest floors. Police had not arrived, and the entrance remained open as employees continued leaving through the revolving doors. Nobody on the street appeared aware that anything was wrong inside.
Jey entered the parking structure and followed the descending ramp toward the private levels. The Robin signal guided him toward a service corridor near the freight elevators. He parked beside an electrical room and opened the storage compartment built into the motorcycle.
The suit waited inside.
Jey removed his jacket and pulled the armored layers over his clothes, fastening each section while Ryan monitored the building from the cave. The mask settled across his eyes and temples. Green lenses activated for a second, scanning the corridor before retracting.
“Robin online,” Ryan said.
“Sound excited.”
“I would be more excited if you stopped leaving crumbs inside the suit compartment.”
“That was one time.”
“There is still powdered sugar in the hinge.”
“Voodoo doughnut. Worth it.”
A hook fired toward the maintenance ledge above the elevator shaft. Jey secured the line, climbed, and slipped through the narrow access panel before the cameras returned. He landed on top of the freight car and opened the ceiling hatch.
“Batman?” he asked.
“Executive roof.”
“Of course.”
Jon preferred entering from above. Jey preferred entering wherever did not require launching himself between buildings, though he would never admit that to his brother.
The elevator carried him upward. Ryan fed him updates through the earpiece.
“Demi’s badge moved from reception to Joe’s office four minutes ago. No movement since.”
“Any other badges?”
“Dominik Mysterio’s credentials accessed Research and Development thirty seconds before the breach.”
Jey paused. “Dom?”
“You know him?”
“Met him twice. Joe’s little science project.”
“He is not currently inside the building.”
“Then somebody cloned his badge.”
“Or he left something behind.”
The elevator slowed near the sixty eighth floor.
Jey forced the hatch open and climbed into the corridor. Research and Development occupied most of the level, separated by reinforced glass and security doors. Several monitors continued running inside abandoned laboratories. A green line moved across one display, forming a question mark before disappearing.
“Ryan.”
“I saw it.”
“That normal?”
“Not unless Joe recently hired somebody with dramatic hobbies.”
A door released farther down the hall.
Jey drew his staff and approached. The floor beyond the threshold was covered with printed pages. Financial reports, laboratory schematics, personnel records, and photographs had been arranged into a winding path leading toward the central lab.
Each page contained a green question mark.
“Jon needs to see this,” Jey said.
“He already has company.”
Ryan transferred Batman’s camera feed to the corner of Jey’s display.
Jon stood inside Joe’s office several floors above, cape spread across the carpet behind him as he faced Demi Bennett. She held an envelope in one hand and a photograph in the other. Her entire body remained pressed against the desk as she stared at Batman.
Jey watched for a second. “She look terrified.”
“Because your brother entered through a window.”
“Did he break it?”
“No.”
“Progress.”
Batman reached toward the photograph.
Demi pulled it against her chest.
Jon stopped.
Even through the feed, Jey could tell Jon was already running out of patience.
“Tell him not to scare her,” Jey said.
“I told him before he went in.”
“Tell him again.”
Ryan changed channels. “Batman, step away from the civilian.”
Jon glanced toward the camera built into his cowl.
“I’m not near her.”
“You are six feet three dressed like a nightmare in her employer’s office.”
“She has evidence.”
“She has a panic response.”
Jey continued toward the laboratory while listening to them argue. The paper trail ended at a steel table. A small device sat in the center, its screen displaying a single line of text.
WHAT BELONGS TO YOU, BUT EVERYONE ELSE USES IT MORE?
Jey stared at the message.
“Ryan, I got a riddle.”
“A name.”
“What?”
“The answer is your name.”
Jey looked at the screen.
The device unlocked.
A file opened automatically.
DEMI BENNETT
Her employment record appeared beside photographs taken from inside Anoa’i Industries. Demi at her desk. Demi carrying coffee into Joe’s office. Demi eating alone inside the staff lounge. Demi leaving the tower after dark.
Jey’s expression changed.
“Somebody’s been watching her.”
Ryan stopped responding for a moment as she searched the file.
“There are more folders,” she said. “Joe. Dominik. Jonathan. Joshua.”
Jey selected his own name.
Photographs filled the screen.
Jey entering Fatu Manor.
Jey leaving Gionna’s apartment.
Jey riding his motorcycle without the Robin suit.
One image showed him kissing Gionna outside a restaurant.
Another showed Gionna entering Arkham.
The latest photograph had been taken less than an hour ago.
Jey outside her apartment.
Flowers in his hand.
He looked over his shoulder as if the photographer might still be somewhere behind him.
“Ryan.”
“I’m tracing the upload.”
“Gionna’s in here.”
“I see it.”
Jey opened her folder.
Most of the files were encrypted, but one document remained visible.
DADDIO, GIONNA
ARKHAM ASYLUM
RESTRICTED PATIENT ASSIGNMENT
Jey read the first line and stopped.
Patient: Seth Rollins.
The staff lowered in his hand.
Ryan did not say anything.
Jey read the name again, waiting for it to become somebody else.
Seth fucking Rollins.
The man Jon and Jey had spent nearly two years hunting.
The man who destroyed Cody Runnels.
The man who turned half of Gotham into a stage for his games.
Gionna had been assigned to him.
Gionna had told Jey she had a new patient.
Gionna had just been called into work.
His attention shifted toward the time stamp on the file.
The assignment had begun three months ago.
—
Demi looked at Batman with so much fear that tears gathered in her eyes. She remained backed against Joe’s desk with the envelope pressed against her chest, unable to understand how the night had gone from finishing quarterly reports to speaking with a stranger on the phone and finding Batman standing inside the office with her. Up close, he looked nothing like the blurry images on television.
He was enormous. Layers of black armor covered him from his shoulders to his boots, sections joined together by seams and clasps that made the entire suit appear constructed for function rather than appearance. The cape fell behind him across Joe’s carpet, and the cowl concealed enough of his face that Demi had nowhere comfortable to look.
Jon noticed the tears immediately.
He had dealt with frightened civilians before. Usually there were police nearby, paramedics, somebody capable of stepping between Batman and a person who had just survived whatever nightmare Gotham had thrown at them. Tonight there was only him, and Ryan had already warned him twice that standing there dressed like this was making everything worse.
“I didn’t steal anything,” Demi said.
“I know.”
“I didn’t go into any restricted areas.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
Jon glanced toward the photograph she held against herself. “Someone accessed Anoa’i Industries files using credentials connected to this floor.”
“That wasn’t me.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I believe you.”
Demi stared at him. Another tear escaped before she wiped it away with the heel of her palm. “Then stop looking at me like I did something.”
Jon realized he had not changed his posture since entering the office. He remained planted between Demi and the doorway, shoulders squared, cape spread behind him, every part of the suit designed to intimidate people who wanted him dead. Demi Bennett was a receptionist who had stayed late to finish her boss’s reports. None of those design choices were helping.
Ryan entered his earpiece. “Jonathan.”
He ignored her.
“I know you heard me.”
Jon reached toward the cowl and disabled the white lenses.
Demi blinked when his actual eyes became visible.
“Better,” Ryan murmured.
Jon lowered his hands where Demi could see them and moved away from the desk. “I’m not here for you.”
“Then who are you here for?”
“That’s what I’m trying to determine.”
Demi looked toward the office doorway. “Can I leave?”
Jon considered the question.
Ryan answered before he could. “Yes.”
Jon touched his earpiece. “I wasn’t asking you.”
“You were taking too long.”
Demi stared at him. “Are you talking to someone?”
Jon looked back at her. “Yes.”
“Police?”
“No.”
“Another Batman?”
Ryan laughed through the communication line.
Jon closed his eyes for a second. “No.”
Demi swallowed and finally lowered the envelope from her chest. “I found this inside Mr. Anoa’i’s report binder. I didn’t put it there.”
Jon nodded toward it. “May I?”
She hesitated before handing it over.
He accepted the envelope carefully and removed the visitor badge. GIONNA DADDIO appeared beneath an identification photograph. Jon recognized the name immediately. Joshua had spoken about Liv enough over the years that Jon knew her legal name, her profession, where she worked, and far more information about her favorite restaurants than he had ever wanted.
His attention shifted toward the access designation.
Research and Development.
Jon turned the badge over and found the handwritten number.
“Did you call this?”
Demi looked embarrassed. “Yes.”
“What happened?”
“A woman answered.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she wondered when someone would find it.”
“Anything else?”
“I asked why her badge was in Mr. Anoa’i’s office. She asked if I was alone.”
Jon looked toward the doorway.
Demi continued, “I said yes. Then she asked if Joe was there.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That he went home.”
“What happened after that?”
“She told me I should probably do the same.”
Jon looked at the badge again. “Did she give you her name?”
“No.”
“Did you recognize her?”
“I don’t know anyone named Gionna.”
Jon turned toward the window. His cowl scanned the surrounding rooftops while Ryan checked the number Demi had called.
“Burner,” Ryan said. “Activated two weeks ago. No subscriber information.”
“Location?”
“Moving.”
Jon frowned. “Moving where?”
“North.”
Demi watched him. “What is happening?”
Jon returned his attention to her. “You’re leaving.”
“I still have my laptop.”
“Take it.”
“My coat is at reception.”
“Take that too.”
“Am I allowed to come back tomorrow?”
“No.”
Demi stared at him. “I work here.”
“Call in sick.”
“I can’t call in sick because Batman told me to.”
“Tell Anoa’i you have food poisoning.”
Her expression changed from frightened to confused. “You want me to lie to my boss?”
“Yes.”
Ryan interrupted. “Maybe don’t encourage civilians to commit workplace fraud.”
“It’s one sick day.”
“Jonathan.”
Demi wiped beneath her eyes. “Whoever you’re talking to sounds exhausted.”
Ryan immediately said, “I like her.”
Jon ignored both women. “Where is your car?”
“Employee garage.”
“Which level?”
“Four.”
“You’re not going there alone.”
Demi looked toward him, alarm returning. “You’re coming with me?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Ryan laughed again.
Jon stared at Demi.
She seemed to realize she had said it aloud. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I just meant you’re very…”
Demi looked him up and down.
Jon waited.
“Batman.”
Ryan made a strangled sound inside his earpiece.
Jon turned away before Demi could see his reaction beneath the exposed portion of the cowl. “Security will escort you.”
“They haven’t answered anything all night.”
“They will now.”
He tapped the control on his gauntlet. Somewhere inside the tower, the corrupted security network began surrendering sections to Ryan as she forced her way through the false maintenance loop.
Demi moved around Joe’s desk and stopped near her report binder. She looked at the pages she had spent hours completing before closing it.
“Mr. Anoa’i is going to blame me.”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know him.”
Jon looked at her. “I know Joe.”
Demi studied him more carefully.
Jon immediately regretted the wording.
“You know Mr. Anoa’i?”
“Gotham knows Mr. Anoa’i.”
“That isn’t what you said.”
Jon did not answer.
Demi’s fear had not disappeared, but curiosity had begun competing with it. She examined the exposed portion of his face, then the armor, then his height.
Jon turned toward the window before she could study him any longer.
“Your escort is coming.”
Footsteps approached from the corridor. Two security officers appeared near the doorway, both looking confused about why their radios had suddenly begun functioning again. They stopped when they saw Batman inside Joe Anoa’i’s office.
Demi grabbed her bag and coat from reception. Before leaving, she looked back.
“Batman?”
Jon turned.
She held the photograph she had found inside the binder. “Do you need this?”
“Yes.”
Demi crossed the room and handed it to him. This time her fingers did not retreat immediately when they came near his glove.
“Dominik is nice,” she said. “Whatever you think he did, he’s nice.”
Jon examined the image of Dominik standing inside the laboratory.
“Nice people can still make dangerous choices.”
Demi looked at him for another moment. “So can scared people.”
Jon lifted his eyes.
Something about the way she said it made him wonder whether she was talking about Dominik or herself.
Demi joined the security officers and disappeared into the corridor.
Jon waited until Ryan confirmed the elevator had begun descending before he examined the photograph again.
“Robin found something,” Ryan said.
Jon turned toward the window. “What?”
Ryan sent the files to his cowl.
Several photographs appeared across his vision.
Demi.
Dominik.
Joe.
Jon.
Joshua.
Then Gionna.
Jon stopped when Seth Rollins’s name appeared beneath her Arkham assignment.
“Does Jey know?”
“He knows now.”
Jon immediately opened his brother’s channel.
No answer.
“Robin.”
Nothing.
Ryan tried from the cave. “Jey, respond.”
The connection remained unanswered.
Jon looked across Gotham toward the distant Arkham towers.
“Where is he?”
Ryan checked the tracker.
The marker representing Robin had left Anoa’i Industries.
It was moving north.
Fast.
Directly toward Arkham.
—
Gionna walked down the corridor with three guards surrounding her, each man keeping one hand near the restraints clipped to his belt as they passed through Arkham’s restricted wing. The concrete walls were lined with reinforced doors, each marked by a metal plate and a narrow observation window. Most of the inmates housed there had lost privileges months ago. No visitors. No recreation. No contact beyond evaluations and legal meetings. Seth Rollins had earned restrictions most people did not know existed.
They stopped outside a door labeled ROLLINS, S.
Gionna adjusted the folder against her chest. “I got it from here, boys.”
One of the guards looked at her badge, then toward the observation window. “We’ll be right outside.”
“I know.”
She pressed her badge against the scanner. The lock released, and Gionna entered before the door sealed behind her.
Seth sat strapped to a chair bolted to the floor. Leather restraints crossed his wrists, ankles, chest, and waist. Arkham had removed anything he could tear apart or sharpen. His hair had grown past his shoulders during confinement, streaks of faded green still visible near the ends. Without tailored suits, painted skin, and the spectacle Gotham associated with the Joker, he looked almost ordinary.
Almost.
Gionna took the chair across from him and placed the folder on the table between them. “You tried hurting yourself today, Seth. Why is that?”
Seth looked at her for several seconds before smiling. “Why should I speak to the beautiful doctor?”
“Because I was called in and had to cancel an arrangement I had.”
His smile widened.
Gionna opened the folder and reviewed the incident report. “You tore the metal strip from your meal tray and pressed it against your wrist. The guard stopped you before you broke skin.”
“Efficient staff.”
“You knew they were watching.”
“I always know when I’m being watched.”
“Then this was not an attempt to end your life.”
Seth leaned as far forward as the restraints allowed. “Maybe I wanted to see who would come running.”
Gionna met his stare. “You could have requested a session.”
“And miss the entrance?”
“You disrupted an entire wing.”
“I inspired urgency.”
“You manipulated staff into calling me after hours.”
“You came.”
“I am your clinician.”
“You were somewhere else.”
Gionna turned a page. “We are discussing your behavior.”
“We are discussing your evening.”
“No. We are not.”
Seth settled against the chair. The metal restraints shifted against the frame. “Dinner?”
Gionna did not answer.
“A movie?”
She continued reading.
“Anniversary?”
Her eyes remained on the report.
Seth watched her carefully. “No ring.”
“That is not relevant.”
“Not an anniversary, then.”
“Seth.”
“Did he have flowers?”
Gionna closed the folder. “You injured yourself to pull me away from my personal life, and now you are attempting to turn the session toward that personal life. It will not work.”
“You canceled on him.”
“I rescheduled.”
“You did not answer my question.”
“You are not entitled to one.”
“Was he already there?”
Gionna kept her expression controlled, though the question struck closer than she wanted it to. Seth noticed.
His smile returned.
“He was.”
“You are making assumptions.”
“You checked your watch three times since entering.”
“I am tracking the session.”
“You checked it before we began.”
Gionna folded her hands over the folder. “Why did you want me here?”
“Maybe I missed you.”
“That answer will go into the report.”
“Make sure you spell it correctly.”
“I always do.”
Seth examined her for another moment. “He must be patient.”
Gionna did not respond.
“Or used to being disappointed.”
Her fingers tightened over the edge of the folder, though she refused to give him anything more.
Seth continued. “Men notice patterns. Canceled dinners. Missed calls. Work emergencies. Eventually they stop asking what happened and start deciding what happened.”
“Joshua trusts me.”
The name left her before she could stop it.
Seth became still.
Gionna immediately knew she had made a mistake.
He repeated it with interest. “Joshua.”
“We are done discussing him.”
“Joshua what?”
“You already know I will not answer.”
“Then why tell me the name?”
“I did not tell you anything beyond what you already overheard.”
“I overhear very little in here.”
“You remember everything.”
“Only what matters.”
Gionna reopened the folder and forced the session back toward the report. “You have shown a pattern of staging incidents whenever your access becomes limited. Last week you refused meals. Two weeks ago you dismantled your bed frame. Tonight you threatened injury. What outcome are you attempting to produce?”
Seth ignored the question.
“Joshua,” he said again.
Gionna looked at him.
“Does he know where you are?”
“He knows I am at work.”
“Does he know who you are with?”
“Patient confidentiality prevents me from discussing assignments.”
“That was not the question.”
“He respects my work.”
“Does he?”
Gionna shifted the folder closer. “We are returning to your behavior.”
“He waits outside your apartment with flowers, and you sit in Arkham asking why I wanted your attention.”
Her expression changed before she could stop it.
Seth noticed that too.
“How would you know that?”
He smiled.
Gionna rose from her chair.
The door opened before she could reach for the call button.
Commissioner Gordon entered first with two tactical officers behind him. Batman followed, filling the doorway in black armor. Robin came beside him, staff secured across his back, crimson and green sections visible beneath the dark plating of his suit.
Gionna stared at them.
Her attention went to Robin.
His mask covered the upper part of his face, yet something about the way he stood unsettled her. His shoulders were rigid. His hands remained near his sides. He looked at Seth first, then at her, and for one awful second she felt as though she had been recognized.
Seth noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Commissioner Gordon held up a transfer order. “Rollins is being moved to isolation.”
Gionna looked toward him. “Why?”
“Security breach connected to an outside network.”
“I was not informed.”
“You are being informed now.”
Seth tilted his head. “The hole?”
Gordon signaled the guards.
Two officers entered and began releasing the chair from its floor mount while leaving every restraint in place. A transport frame rolled in behind them.
Gionna stepped aside. “He is under active evaluation.”
Batman looked at her. “The session is over.”
She stared back at him. “You do not decide that.”
“Tonight I do.”
Robin moved closer to the table. He did not look at Gionna again, which somehow felt worse.
Seth turned toward him as the guards secured the chair to the transport frame.
“Robin.”
Jey said nothing.
“You came all this way.”
Batman stepped between them.
Seth laughed. “Protective.”
Gordon ordered the guards forward. They pushed the transport chair into the corridor while Batman and Robin followed on either side. Gionna remained inside the room, holding the folder against herself as the procession moved away.
Seth twisted his head toward Robin before the guards forced him forward.
“Tell Joshua I am sorry about the flowers.”
Robin stopped.
Batman grabbed his arm before he could move.
Gionna looked from Seth to Robin, then back again.
The corridor doors closed between them.
Inside the restricted wing, Jey pulled his arm from Jon’s grip.
I know people are so pissed about this new iteration of the bloodline but i have to be honest and say as someone who wasn’t watching during most of their story the first time, I’m thoroughly entertained. Like i get it y’all got bloodline fatigue but Im having a BLAST!
tyriq knows your body better than he knows any playbook, and he’s tired of you hiding behind your silence. your best friend is done playing games; he wants the honesty only your body seems brave enough to give him, and he’s not stopping until you finally admit that he’s the only one you’ve ever wanted.
tyriq withers x blackfem!reader
CONTENT WARNINGS: MDNI • explicit sexual content, vulgar language + dirty talk, pet names (baby, mama, pretty girl) possessive language, fingering (in the bath), oral sex (f receiving), spitting, marking/hickeys, unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, praise/degradation, jealousy, best friends to lovers, size difference, breeding kink if u squint, kinda.
WORD COUNT: 3.5K
A/N: hiiii so this is the first fic ive written in years and i lowkey forgot how fun this is hehe. i’m already working on my next tyriq fic too, i have so many ideas for that fine ass man #whew. but lmk what u think pls! feedback is loved n vry appreciated, thank u for reading <3
The bath water’s almost lukewarm when you hear the beeping from the keypad on your front door.
You’re all too familiar with the sounds. The chirp after the code is entered, the door pushing open, the thump of his duffel hitting the floor. A familiar shiver runs down your spine as you listen to the familiar sound of his footsteps walking towards you.
Tyriq’s 6’5 frame fills your bathroom doorway, grey sweats low on his hips with a tight Nike Dri-Fit hugging his muscled body, a sheen of sweat on his smooth skin. He leans against the frame with his arms crossed and you watch his greenish grey do a slow scan of your body. From your brown eyes looking up at him to your lips adorned with the glossy, açaí and mango scented balm, over your supple breasts to where your body is a distorted shadow under the water. His mouth quirks, the muscle in his jaw tensing with restraint he’s convinced himself he had.
“I see somebody got started without me,” he says. His voice is rough, gravelly from practice. Your favorite sound.
“Just taking a bath, Tyriq,” you tell him.
He pushes off the doorframe and sits on the closed toilet lid, man spreading, his knees almost touching the side of the tub. When he’s comfortable he leans forward, pushes his sleeves over his elbows, and his hand enters your bath water. His fingers—those long, perfect fingers, trail up your shin. “How was practice?” you ask him, attempting to divert your attention.
"Whole practice was progression drills mostly. Coach was on my ass acting like I don’t know how to make the right reads. His hand glides over your knee, up the meat of your thigh, the water magnifying the friction of his thumb against your skin. "Nigga thinks Ion know exactly how to handle what's mine. Like I'ma miss the best part of my day."
His fingers trace the crease of your thigh, skating over the soft skin of your inner thigh before they slide home. He finds the wet heat waiting for him and parts your folds like he’s got the route memorized; thumb slowly circling that little peak of nerves until you’re arching off the bottom of the tub.
“Tyriq…” But you aren’t stopping him. You never do.
“Relax,” he murmurs. “Talk to me. What you get up to today?”
How does he expect you to form words when he’s touching you like this? Your brain shorts out and your body does the opposite; softening, opening up for him like it’s instinct. He feels it and his smile goes all types of satisfied, a slow curve against your wet skin.
“Mhm, cat got your tongue already. Guess I’ll talk then.” Tyriq leans in and softly kisses your damp shoulder, then bites down hard enough to make you tense and soothes the spot with his warm tongue. “I missed you today. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about this.”
He doesn’t give you a second to brace yourself before he shoves two fingers deep inside your pussy, the sudden, deliciously full feeling making you reach out to grab the edge of the tub, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't even need to ask if it feels good because already knows, and he’s still grinning like it too.
“Missed how you feel right here,” he murmurs, crooking his fingers to hit that spot. Your hips jerk. “Missed this shit so bad. Always so wet for me. Fucking dripping’ in the goddamn bath.”
He sets a rhythm, a hard, deep curl of his fingers, while his thumb grinds into your clit. His other hand comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your bottom lip.
Your hips are chasing the feeling of Tyriq’s thumb worshipping your clit. His fingers work you slow and deep, every curl of his fingers dragging like he's savoring it. His other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb stroking your bottom lip like he wants to feel the sounds you’re making. “Look at me, pretty girl. Wanna see you while I'm inside you."
You part your lips like a Pavlovian response and his thumb enters your mouth, a moan escaping you as you feel it press down on your tongue. You taste salt and him, sucking immediately like your body already knows what to do with him.
Three fingers stretch you open now, so slow you feel every vein on his fingers. Your hips have a mind of their own; steady rolling up towards his hand as you make soft, needy sounds around his thumb. He watches your face the whole time, the little overwhelmed crease you get between your eyebrows, how your lashes flutter in pleasure.
"You hear yourself?" He sounds like he can’t believe he gets to have this. Tyriq’s forehead drops to yours with a groan, his breath dancing against your skin. "This pussy so loud for me tonight, mama. So honest, singing for me. Tell me what you need, baby. I got you.” He works you through the tremble, through the ache, until your thighs are soaked and shaking and you're biting down on him just to stay tethered. He’s controlling your climax, holding you right on the edge, watching, waiting, wanting to hear you say it.
He pulls his fingers from you, slick and shining, then slips his thumb from your lips. The air feels cooler without his hands on you. He stands up then, his tall frame towering over you as water drips from his wrist onto the bathmat.
“Five minutes,” he says, his voice almost strained. “I need you out this tub in five minutes. Don’t make me wait longer.”
He leaves, sucking his fingers before he even opens the door. The water all of a sudden feels suddenly unfairly cold.
Three minutes later you’re walking into your bedroom, towel barely knotted around your body.
He’s on the edge of your bed in his boxers, hands resting on his knees, looking like he counted every second he waited for you. Your bed’s still a mess from the night before; sheets kicked to the foot, pillows half on the floor, still smelling like the both of y’all.
His head lifts the second your feet hit the floorboards, his eyes fixed on the drop of water rolling from your collarbone down between your breasts.
“’Bout time.”
Then he stands up, moving towards you in two steps and the distance between you both is gone. Your towel doesn't last a few seconds before it’s pushed down, puddled at your feet before his mouth claims yours.
He doesn't ask. He just takes, and you let him. The kiss isn't sweet; it’s hungry, searching; his tongue sliding past your lips like he's been starving for it. There’s the faint taste of those strawberry-watermelon mints he always has and the smell of his skin, and you’re suddenly lightheaded from how much he’s taking. His hand cups the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wants it. You nip his bottom lip and he groans into your mouth; a guttural sound that vibrates through his chest into yours. His hips grind forward, the hard line of his dick a strong, heavy pressure against your stomach.
“Missed this mouth,” he grunts against your lips, sounding half mad with it. “Missed the way you taste. The sounds you make when I got you like this…fuck, I missed all of you, baby.”
He doesn’t break the kiss until you fall back into the mess of last night’s sheets. He follows you down, knees forcing yours apart, his hands sliding up your sides like he’s finally allowed to touch what’s his. His warm lips make their way down your chest, tongue swirling around the barbell through your peaked nipple until you’re arching off the bed, hands cradling his head. You try to say his name, but he hushes you, his eyes dark and fixed on the wet heat between your legs. He pushes your thighs open with a gentleness that feels like a lie, his gaze heavy and focused. He hovers there, his breath fanning over your teased skin before he leans in and licks you open. A slow, needy drag of his tongue from your entrance to your clit that feels like he's trying to taste every secret you've ever kept from him.
He pushes your hips back down with one hand when you buck, firm and flat on your stomach. "Be still." His voice vibrates against your skin. He eats you slow, tongue dragging through your slick, then pulls back just far enough to spit on you. You hear him groan at the sight of his saliva dripping down your slit and your whole body clenches around nothing. Then he laps it up, tongue working your clit in tight, maddening circles, and the sounds coming out of you are embarrassingly loud, raw, nothing you can control. Your thighs are shaking and he doesn't stop, his own sounds telling you he’s already holding on by a thread too.
"God,” you gasp out.
“What you callin’ out to God for? He didn’t make you this wet. I did.” He smirks, his thumb catching a stray drop of spit on his lip before he goes back to work. He fucks you with his fingers, pressing against your spot with insistent knocks while his tongue flicks your clit relentlessly; it’s so wet you can feel it dripping down your ass. He hums against you again; a low, arrogant sound that means he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Tyriq’s fingers curl harder inside you to find the ceiling of your pussy, and you’re pretty sure you’re about to come apart right there.
When he comes up for air, you’re a writhing mess beneath him. Your legs won’t stop shaking, your chest is heaving, your inner thighs are slick with a mess of his spit and your own juices as your pussy throbs. Tyriq crawls up your body, mouth leaving a wet, burning trail over your skin until he’s hovering, all 205 pounds of warm, solid muscle covering you. His fist is wrapped around the thick length of himself, dragging through your slick folds, catching on your clit with a soft pressure before the head of his leaking dick taps against your clit. Once. Twice. Just a heavy, wet knock at the door, his jaw tight as he listens to the broken sound you make in response.
He holds it there, a heavy promise that has your pulse thumping against him. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the way your eyes blow out when he touches you. Then he drags it down, slow and wet through your folds before pulling back to do it again.
“Tyriq… stop.” You’re whining but don’t mean it, and you both know it.
“Stop?” He taps the head against you again, a hot, heavy promise that has your pulse thumping against him. “You sure about that?”
"No, please. You know what I want."
"I don't know shit." He grinds against you, a deep, heavy smear of his dick against your clit that makes your thighs clamp around his waist. He lets out a rough, shaky laugh against your neck. "Talk to me. Lemme hear it, pretty girl."
"Please."
"Please what?" His voice is firmer as he sinks his tip inside you, pushing in just enough to stretch the skin, to let you feel how massive he is, then he drags all the way back out. He’s shaking too, his breath coming in jagged hitches. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."
"Put it in."
"Put what in?"
"Your dick, Tyriq. I need you inside me,” you whisper, the honesty of it stinging more than the ache between your legs. “Fucking me. Now.”
He makes a sound like he’s been gutted then pushes in slow, the wet slide of him opening you up inch by perfect inch. Your body takes him the way it always has, like some part of you was carved just to fit him. His forehead hits your shoulder, breath coming hot and broken. "Fuucck. Every time, it’s like the first time. Every damn time.”
His fingers splay over your ribs, thumb brushing your nipple as he starts those long, rhythmic strokes that make your vision blur. He grips your hip, holding on like he’s the one about to drown and a whimper leaves his mouth, shifting into grunts when he pushes deeper. "Pussy feels so fuckin’ good," he breathes in your ear. "So damn good, baby. Just like home.“
"Tell me I feel good too." His hips roll into you, deep slow strokes, the drag of him pulling a moan from somewhere low in your chest. "Tell me." Your nails dig into his back and he latches onto your neck, hips snapping harder now, your bedframe knocking into the wall now. "Say it, baby."
“You feel so good… nnmph, you’re so b-big, Riq.” The confession is pathetic, words that barely make it out whispered into the hollow of his shoulder as he bottoms out again. You’re struggling to keep up, your voice failing you every time his pelvis grinds against yours.
He loves it. You can tell by the way his grip tightens on your hip, fingers bruising your skin. “You struggling, baby?” He mutters, his voice steady as he speeds up, the wet slide of his dick inside you getting louder, slicker. He’s not being gentle anymore. He’s fucking you with a focused, heavy intent that makes your thighs shake and your toes curl into the mattress. His hand slides from your ribs to cup your jaw, thumb tracing your bottom lip. "Tell me how good."
You try to answer, you really do, but he’s so deep that every time you open your mouth, all that comes out is a broken, needy little sound. It’s crazy how fucked out he has you, but you’re addicted to the feeling. The way he’s splitting you wide; that thick, relentless slide of him filling every bit of you, makes it impossible to think. You’re just a mess of heat and friction, your body trying to swallow him whole while your brain tries to remember how to breathe.
Finally, you manage a sentence without stutters. "Please keep fucking me, Tyriq. I need you.” Your nails dig into the muscles in his back and he cusses, his right hand shoving a pillow you didn’t see him grab under your hips to change the angle; all while staying inside you, the both of you making sounds of ecstasy. His hips snap harder as his big hand finds your jaw, tilting your face up, thumb tracing your bottom lip.
Tyriq kisses you gently at first, swallowing your whimpers and cries. Then his tongue passionately invades your mouth while his hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your aching pearl again. His pressure is perfect; tight, firm circles that make your whole body tense up like a bowstring.
“You feel me?” he whispers with a strained voice, his lips against your jaw. “Feel how deep I’m in this shit? You take it so well, mama. Makin’ me never wanna pull out.”
He catches your mouth again, his tongue sliding deep as his thumb spins your clit into a frenzy. You’re close, so fucking close, and he knows it. He can feel your pussy fluttering and squelching around him, gripping him like a vice, telling him all the things you’re too overwhelmed to say. You wanna tell him how good it is, that you love him, that he’s the only one who could ever have you open like this, but all you manage is his name over and over, and he eats every sound right out your mouth, fucking you like he’ll never get another chance.
"You still thinkin' about that nigga?" His voice is thick with a jealousy he usually keeps under lock and key. You barely catch it, brain fuzzy, body strung out and so close to shattering it’s bordering on pain. "Whoever it is you be on FaceTime with or whatever at night." You can’t even find your breath, let alone an answer. Your brain is just a blur of his name and the way his dick feels like it’s rearranging you. Another whimper from him and pleasured cry from you as his tip kisses your cervix, the pressure so deliciously brutal it makes your eyes water. The wet slide of him is the only thing that’s real, as if he didn't just ask you something that matters.
His hand tightens on your hip, fingers digging in with enough strength to bruise you. He groans against your lips, the sound desperate, broken. "'Cause I’m right here. I don't think about nobody else when I'm in you like this. When I’m stretchin’ you the fuck out, claimin’ my spot deep in this perfect pussy.“
He speeds up with a frantic urgency, the pretense that control he’s so good at gone out the window. You feel his lips on your neck again, sucking hard enough to leave something behind, teeth scraping over your sensitive skin, and that does it.
Your whole body jumps like he hit a live wire, rewarding him using your pussy with a vicious tightening and gush of warm liquid, making him look down to marvel at the mess he earned.
But he’s not done and you know he’s not.
His hand slides down the side of your leg, fingers digging into the soft meat of your thigh then around to your ass, spreading so you feel everything he has for you. Your breath leaves you in a choked sound and your knees slip against the sheets, muscles clenching around him like you’re trying to hold him there.
His other hand glides over your ribs to hold you steady while he takes his time. Long, measured thrusts that start almost torturously lazy and feel anything but, every one fully bottoming out, his heavy balls slapping wetly against your pussy. The sound feels pornographic; wet, hot, driving you delirious. Your own arousal sticks on your inner thighs, his length sliding through it every time he pulls back.
“Tell me the truth. When you’re alone and you’re touchin’ yourself, who’s the one in your head?” The world stops. It’s just the two of you, the smell of sex and the weight of six years of secrets. You’re boneless now, pussy clenching around him in a way that tells him everything before you even open your mouth.
"Riq…" Your voice comes out cracked, thin.
"Answer me." He’s fucking you like he has nowhere else to be, like he’s got all night to pull you apart, dick driving into you with a rhythm that knocks the breath from your lungs. Your body’s singing for him, for this. His thumb circles your clit, tighter, faster, his teeth tugging your skin, and you’re right there again; every nerve lit up, nothing in your head but his name and the way he’s moving inside you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. “I wanna know. Please, baby,” he whispers.
"It’s you." you gasp, the words raw like they’ve been stuck in your chest for years. Saying them feels like stepping off a ledge. "It’s always you, Tyriq, please,” you beg. He looks enthralled, half-crazed with it, pupils blown to dark green orbs of desperate need.
He stills. Buried to the hilt, both of you sounding like you ran a marathon, him pulsing inside you like your words went straight through him. His eyes search yours like he's looking for the catch, like he can't believe you actually said it. As if you just handed him a piece of himself he didn't know was missing. Then he exhales shakily and says, "There she go. There's my girl."
Tyriq kisses you hard, tongue pushing past your lips like he’s claiming something that was never anybody else’s. The first thrust back in motion knocks a sound outta you that gets swallowed straight into his mouth. If you felt like he was holding back before, all that held back energy’s exploding right now, his seed flowing warm and deep inside you as his his breath saws in and out through his teeth. The way this man always manages to unload an entire daycare inside you makes you feel grateful; both for him and the IUD he’s clearly at war with.
Always making sure he gets the last word, he’s still going like he’s trying to etch himself into the inside of you. Your mattress squeaks helpless under y’all and his hand grabs your jaw again with a firm pressure bordering on rough, but his thumb strokes your cheekbone to soothe you even as he pounds into you, drawing a second orgasm from you and a satisfied, soft smile from him.
"I know," he breathes against your lips, words breaking around a groan as your pussy spasms around him. His thrusts are punishingly good, punching blissed out noises from your throat.
His hand leaves your ass to hold your hand now, a sweeter, steady grip on your now laced fingers. “I know, pretty girl. It’s you for me too.”
Ahh, I'm so sick of the fake wrestling fans. Pushing that Jey fell off mess again after everyone just lost their mind about him in KOTR. Everybody needs to stfu at this point.
In WHAT world? Roman said don't touch him, there have been NO INTERFERENCE in Roman's matches. I'm almost to the point where I need someone to get jumped since people keep making up things about it happening even though it hasn't.
STOMP SOME PEOPLE OUT SINCE EVERYONE WANTS IT SO BAD
Nobody ever talks about how badly they squashed the usos, and especially jey’s, momentum, so I feel crazy for thinking it. I just don’t get why they use him as a catchphrase merchant now and don’t at least give him a proper storyline. All these losses aren’t leading to anything either.
Between the hate from certain content creators, which poisoned the well when it came to his original push, and the way they've smoothed out all his edges, Jey's gonna have to do something drastic to really claw his way back up.
Jimmy, it's only a matter of finally pulling the trigger and sticking with it. Jimmy needs a real feud to sink his teeth into.
I wish this Bloodline run was more about doing what Roman originally said, which was giving them something more important to do than tag teaming and being used as sidekicks for other people. BUT, Baldy is determined to make them look bad. And judging by the tags, a lot of people end up falling for it.
Wanna preface this by saying that I am a LA Knight fan. Most of the the time I'm on his ass in a healthy fandom kind of way. That being said,
Whenever I see people push so hard for LA to be a world champ but then turn around and say Jey, Trick, or someone else can't due to "in-ring" I get so confused. LA has consistently been botching and his moveset is not revolutionary. So....why is it such a big push for him and not the other two? I'll wait...
Author's note: Jey's mad, but he's not immune to charm. 😌
"What did I tell you? Huh? You never listen to me and that's why we're into it right now!"
Jey's yelling, and while you'd think that would rattle her. It doesn't. He's not actually gonna do anything besides what he's doing now. Which is pacing back and forth, clapping, and raving about what she did to set him off.
"I said don't walk around backstage like that! Got your body showing for all the guys to stare at. LA's eyes almost fell out his damn head the way he was glued to yo ass!"
She's worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, trying her best not to giggle at his possessiveness. It's not funny, but it is funny. Because she knows she sort of...did it on purpose. Sue her, it's hot to watch Jey get pissed off. Alright? A little excitement never hurt anybody. Keeps his heart rate up.
"I'm sorry, baby. But it's the middle of summer. What'd you want me to do? Get heatstroke trying to be modest?" She tilts her head, batting her big Bambi eyes at him.
Jey sighs, running his hand over his hair and beard. She knows he's weak to the eyes. But no, he can't budge. He won't fall for it this time. "No, you know what? Not good enough. There are ways to stay cool without having your ass and tits out. Don't do it again, Baby. I'm not playing."
She hops down from the travel crate she's sitting on, wrapping her arms around his waist and poking out her bottom lip. "I'm sorry, Daddy. Forgive me..." She stands on her toes, kissing Jey on the lips. Just a little peck.
He resists the urge to melt, holding her by the chin and playfully gritting his words out. "Yeah right...You do it again and see what happens, girl. Ain't nobody playing with you." They both know he won't do anything. Just all talk.
"Mmhm...Whatever you say, Big Daddy." She gives him another kiss, internally cackling at how whipped he is. And you know what? He lets out a laugh too, lifting her into wrapping her legs around his waist.
"All that 'yes Daddy' talk. You know what comes next, right? Gonna have to give you something later to make up for spiking my blood pressure like that." He winks, nipping at her neck while she laughs.
It’s actually hilarious how Jey hasn’t said anything to us in WEEKS, but yet he’s still always trending. My boy got hella motion! I haven’t seen Cody’s name pop up on my tl in a while 💀 Main Event ish
The fact that the fandom is joking about a fan calling Jey dangerous and making a joke about it 😂
He's the talk of the tl no matter what. Even when he's not engaging with social media.
But uh, Big Jim? Can Jey have his phone back? We do miss his posts.
Plot: Gotham is rotting from the inside. Batman, Robin, and the sister who keeps them alive are pulled into a nightmare of fractured identities, buried experiments, and people returning as something worse than before. As Catwoman rises, Harley awakens, and Gotham’s monsters multiply, love becomes leverage and family becomes the easiest weakness to exploit. By the end, nobody is asking who will save the city. Only who will survive what it turns them into.
Chapter One
dedicated to my beautiful friends @spiicii , @4yourheartonly and my discord who saved me from suicide. ❤️
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October 3, 2027
Fatu Manor
Ryan served Jon and Jey dinner, setting plates of stuffed chicken, bacon green beans, and side salad across the long dining table before taking her own seat.
Jey looked at the lettuce beside his chicken and stared at Ryan as if she had personally betrayed him. “Ryan, we had side salad yesterday.”
Ryan unfolded her napkin and placed it across her lap. “Blame Jon. He said you guys needed to eat healthier.”
Jey turned toward his brother. Jon had already started cutting into the chicken without acknowledging the accusation. His black dress shirt remained buttoned at the wrists, although the collar was open after another afternoon spent pretending he enjoyed board meetings at Anoa’i Industries.
“You told her that?” Jey asked.
Jon ate a piece of chicken. “You complained about your suit feeling tight.”
“My suit got messed up in the dryer.”
“Your suit is bulletproof.”
“Exactly. Bulletproof material shrinks.”
Ryan looked between them. “That is not how tactical fabric works.”
Jey pointed his fork at her. “You weren’t there.”
“I designed the suit.”
“That don’t mean you know what happened to it.”
Ryan took a bite from her salad while Jon looked down at his plate, though the movement near his mouth gave away the laugh he was attempting to hide. Jey noticed and leaned across the table.
“You laughing, but your cape still got a hole in it from Tuesday.”
“That was a knife.”
“That was a fence.”
“The knife came before the fence.”
Ryan lifted her eyes toward Jon. “You told me it happened during a warehouse raid.”
“It did.”
“You failed to mention the fence.”
“It wasn’t relevant.”
“It became relevant when I found part of it embedded in the cape.”
Jey sat back with a pleased expression, chewing on a green bean while Jon resumed eating. Fatu Manor contained enough rooms for an entire family, yet most evenings ended with the three of them gathered at the same table, arguing over food, injuries, or whichever piece of equipment Jey had broken that week.
The mansion had belonged to their father before them, and to their grandfather before that. Jon had renovated nearly every section after taking control of Fatu Industries, but the dining room remained mostly unchanged.
Dark wood covered the walls. Family portraits watched from gilded frames. A chandelier hung above the table, restored after Jey had once thrown a training staff through it during an argument with Jon.
Ryan still refused to let him forget the repair bill.
Jey cut into the stuffed chicken and took a large bite. “This is good.”
Ryan gave him an unimpressed look. “I know.”
“The salad still unnecessary.”
“Eat it.”
He moved one piece of lettuce beneath the chicken as if hiding it might count.
Jon reached for his water. “Patrol starts at ten.”
Jey looked at the clock mounted near the doorway. “Liv wants me to come by tonight.”
Ryan paused with her fork near her plate. Jon continued drinking, but his attention shifted toward his brother.
“You didn’t mention that,” Jon said.
“I’m mentioning it now.”
“We received information about a weapons shipment moving through Coventry.”
“You received information. I received a text from my girlfriend asking why she has seen me four times this month.”
Jon set the glass down. “Gotham doesn’t arrange crime around your relationship.”
“Liv don’t arrange her life around Gotham either.”
Ryan looked at Jey. “Go see her.”
Jon turned toward Ryan. “We need him.”
“You always need him.”
“There could be thirty men inside that warehouse.”
“Then call Gordon.”
“Gordon cannot enter without a warrant.”
Ryan cut another piece of chicken. “You have smoke pellets, armored vehicles, surveillance drones, and a personality disorder. You’ll manage.”
Jey dropped his fork against the plate and pointed at her. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”
“I’m the only person here who remembers you have a life outside that cave.”
Jon looked toward his brother. “How long will you be gone?”
Jey shrugged. “Couple hours. She has some announcement about work. Said she got assigned a new patient.”
Ryan watched the brief shift in Jon’s expression. It passed before Jey noticed, though Ryan had spent too many years studying both brothers to miss anything. Jon knew nearly every major physician, prosecutor, detective, and criminal housed inside Gotham’s institutions. He knew where Liv worked. He knew Arkham had recently resumed private sessions for inmates held in its restricted wing.
“Who?” Jon asked.
“She can’t tell me.”
“Did she say which wing?”
Jey stopped chewing. “Why would I ask that?”
“Because Arkham houses people who have tried to kill us.”
“She thinks I work in acquisitions.”
Ryan took a drink. “Which remains the worst cover story either of you has created.”
Jey gestured toward Jon. “His idea.”
Jon ignored him. “Ask her which wing.”
“I’m not interrogating my girlfriend over dinner.”
“You should know whether she’s working with anyone dangerous.”
“She works at Arkham. Everybody there is dangerous.”
Ryan placed her utensils down. “Jonathan.”
Jon looked at her.
“Leave it alone.”
He returned to his meal, although his focus had already moved elsewhere. Ryan recognized the pattern. Jon would finish dinner, excuse himself, disappear into the study, and access Arkham’s personnel records before patrol. He would tell himself it concerned security. He would insist he was protecting Jey. By midnight, he would know the name of Liv’s patient, the room where their sessions occurred, and the exact route guards used to escort the inmate through the restricted corridor.
Jey reached for his phone when it vibrated beside his plate. His expression changed as he read the message, irritation giving way to something gentler that only appeared when Liv contacted him.
Ryan noticed the small smile. “She waiting?”
“Yeah. She made dessert.”
Jon looked at the untouched salad on Jey’s plate. “You haven’t finished dinner.”
Jey stood and grabbed the stuffed chicken with his hand.
Ryan stared at him. “Joshua.”
“I’m taking it.”
“Use a container.”
“No time.”
“You have time to avoid getting grease on a suit that costs more than my car.”
Jey leaned over, kissed Ryan’s temple, then reached for another piece of chicken before she slapped his wrist away. He grinned, grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, and headed toward the doorway.
Jon called after him. “Nine thirty.”
Jey kept walking. “Ten thirty.”
“Ten.”
“Eleven.”
“Joshua.”
Jey turned around near the entrance, walking backward with the chicken still in his hand. “You said Gotham don’t arrange crime around my relationship. Maybe Gotham needs to learn patience.”
He disappeared into the corridor before Jon could answer.
Ryan resumed eating.
Jon watched the doorway. “He’s going to be late.”
“Yes.”
“He’ll ignore his comm.”
“Probably.”
“He has responsibilities.”
“He has a girlfriend.”
Jon looked at Ryan. “You always take his side.”
“I take the side that keeps both of you from becoming impossible.”
Jon leaned back in his chair. “You think I’m impossible?”
Ryan examined him across the table. The bruising near his temple remained hidden beneath his hair, though she had treated it that morning. A healing cut ran beneath his collar. He had slept for three hours, attended two company meetings, approved a construction bid, and spent the afternoon reviewing police reports from districts that no longer trusted their own officers.
“I think Batman is impossible,” she said. “Jonathan still has occasional potential.”
Jon looked down at the remaining food on his plate. “That almost sounded kind.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
His phone vibrated.
The screen displayed a notification from the private network beneath the manor. Ryan could not read the entire message from where she sat, but she saw the Arkham insignia before Jon turned the device over.
He pushed his chair back.
Ryan continued eating. “Going somewhere?”
“The study.”
“Of course.”
“I have work.”
“You have curiosity.”
Jon buttoned his jacket. “Same thing.”
Ryan watched him leave the dining room, then looked toward Jey’s abandoned salad. She pulled the plate closer, removed the chicken he had attempted to hide over it, and found three untouched pieces of lettuce beneath.
Upstairs, Jey was already leaving through the front entrance, unaware that Gionna sat inside her apartment with two bowls of peach cobbler on the coffee table and a sealed Arkham file resting across her knees.
The name printed across the tab read:
ROLLINS, SETH.
—
Meanwhile, Demi worked overtime trying to finish Joe’s reports. She sighed as she continued to type, correcting percentages, matching expenditure figures, and sorting every department summary into the exact order he preferred. Most of the executive floor had emptied two hours ago.
The cleaning crew had already passed through once, leaving the reception area smelling of lemon polish and carpet powder, yet Demi remained at her desk with her cardigan wrapped around her shoulders and a vending machine coffee growing colder beside the keyboard.
The door to Joe’s office opened. He emerged with his suit jacket draped over one arm and his phone in the other, reading something as he crossed the reception area. He passed her desk before stopping and looking back.
“Bennett, you still here?”
Demi kept typing. “You requested the quarterlies and needed them for tomorrow’s meeting.”
“It’s fine, Bennett. Go home and sleep.”
“It’s okay. I’m almost done.”
Joe adjusted the jacket over his arm. “Go home. Go home to your boyfriend and cook him some dinner.”
Without waiting for a response, Joe continued toward the elevators. Demi watched his reflection move across the polished doors before they opened and took him from the floor.
She sighed.
Boyfriend.
Joe had worked beside her for nearly two years and still knew nothing about her beyond the name printed on the plaque at the front of her desk. He had decided she had a boyfriend because women like her apparently went home to men who expected meals waiting for them. Maybe he imagined a quiet apartment somewhere outside Gotham, a man sitting at the table, and Demi arriving with groceries tucked against her hip. He probably imagined her apologizing for staying late.
Demi had nobody waiting for her.
Her apartment held three houseplants, a refrigerator filled with condiments, and a cat that belonged to the woman downstairs but visited whenever the fire escape window remained open. The closest thing she had to a boyfriend was the delivery driver who remembered she liked extra garlic sauce.
She turned back to the screen and completed the final paragraph of the quarterly summary. Joe had told her to leave, but tomorrow morning he would enter his office, ask where the reports were, and look surprised when she reminded him he had dismissed her before they were finished. Demi knew how the pattern worked. Joe expected every request completed regardless of whatever he said afterward.
Twenty minutes later, she attached the document to an email, printed two copies, and placed them inside the leather binder on his desk. She straightened the pens beside his blotter, gathered three empty espresso cups, and carried them to the small kitchen near the conference room.
The executive level looked different after business hours. During the day, assistants hurried between offices while board members spoke into phones and security officers escorted visitors toward private meeting rooms. At night, the marble corridors seemed far larger than necessary. Portraits of former Anoa’i executives lined the walls, every man dressed in black with the same commanding posture. Joe’s portrait would join them eventually. Demi wondered whether anyone would remember the receptionists who had answered their calls, organized their meetings, and fixed the mistakes hidden behind every public success.
She rinsed the cups, returned them to the cabinet, and switched off the kitchen light. Her bag waited beside her desk. Demi slipped her laptop inside, wrapped a scarf around her neck, and reached beneath the counter for her coat.
A movement near Joe’s office stopped her.
His door stood open.
Demi remembered closing it after leaving the reports inside.
She remained beside the desk, studying the dark doorway. Security performed rounds every thirty minutes, but the nearest officer had passed through before Joe left. Nobody should have been upstairs.
“Hello?”
No response came.
Demi considered calling the lobby. Then she imagined security arriving to discover a vent had moved or a stack of folders had fallen. They already treated her as though she overreacted whenever a visitor raised his temper. She did not need another reason for them to dismiss her.
She placed her bag back beneath the desk and walked toward the office.
“Mr. Anoa’i?”
Joe’s office overlooked Gotham through windows stretching from the floor to the ceiling. The city spread beneath the tower in clusters of buildings, traffic moving through the streets far below. Nothing appeared disturbed. His desk remained arranged exactly as she had left it. The report binder rested in the center.
Demi entered and reached for the light switch.
Something struck the window behind her.
She spun around.
A black shape landed against the glass before vanishing upward.
Demi pressed a hand against her chest and stared at the empty window. The tower rose more than seventy stories. Birds did not fly this high at night, and whatever she had seen was far too large to be one.
She approached the glass.
Far beneath her, Gotham continued without interruption. Cars crawled along wet streets. Steam rose from grates. A police helicopter crossed between buildings several blocks away, its searchlight passing across rooftops before moving on.
Demi leaned closer.
A figure stood on the neighboring tower.
Black cape. Pointed cowl. Broad shoulders outlined against the city.
Batman.
Her fingers touched the glass before she realized she had moved. Every television report made him seem unreal, more rumor than man. Grainy recordings captured only pieces of him. A cape disappearing into an alley. A shape moving across a roof. Criminals tied beneath streetlights. Standing across from him, even with hundreds of feet between them, erased every doubt.
Batman turned his head toward Anoa’i Industries.
Toward her.
Demi stepped away from the window.
The figure launched from the building.
His cape spread as he crossed the space between the towers. Demi stumbled backward, knocking into Joe’s desk as Batman descended toward the roof above her. A cable fired upward, pulling him from view moments before he could collide with the glass.
Her hand landed on the report binder. The pages shifted beneath her palm.
A photograph slid from between them and fell onto the floor.
Demi bent to retrieve it.
The image had not been there when she assembled the binder.
It showed the interior of an Anoa’i Industries laboratory. Several metal containers stood behind a reinforced wall, each marked with warning symbols and identification numbers. A man in a green work jacket faced away from the camera, his attention fixed on a computer terminal.
Demi recognized him.
Dominik Mysterio worked in Research and Development on the sixty eighth floor. He rarely spoke to her beyond requesting access cards or asking whether Joe had returned from meetings. He always looked as though he had slept in his clothes, with his hair hanging near his eyes and ink covering his hands.
Words had been written across the bottom of the photograph in green marker.
ASK HIM WHAT HE FOUND.
Demi stared at the message.
She checked the binder again. The quarterly reports remained inside, but an envelope now rested beneath the final divider. Her name had been written across the front.
DEMI BENNETT
Her first instinct was to place everything back and pretend she had seen nothing. Joe’s company handled government contracts, experimental technology, and private defense projects. Employees signed documents acknowledging they could be terminated for accessing restricted information. Demi had never cared enough to risk her job.
Yet somebody had entered Joe’s office after he left.
Somebody knew her name.
Somebody had placed the photograph where she would find it.
Demi opened the envelope.
Inside was a visitor badge dated three months earlier and registered to a woman named Gionna Daddio. The badge granted temporary access to Research and Development, despite Demi having no record of processing it.
A phone number had been written on the back.
Demi returned to her desk, took out her phone, and stared at the digits. Calling would be idiotic. Whatever was happening belonged to security, Joe, and people earning enough money to deal with corporate espionage.
She entered the number anyway.
It rang twice.
A woman answered.
“Hello?”
Demi looked toward Joe’s open office and lowered herself into her chair.
“My name is Demi Bennett. I found your badge at Anoa’i Industries.”
The woman on the other end paused.
Then she laughed.
“Oh,” she said. “I’ve been wondering when somebody would find that.”
—
Ryan typed another string of configurations into the suit program, watching the armor model rotate across the central monitor while several smaller screens displayed impact resistance, heat distribution, mobility range, and the updated cape deployment system. She had named the project Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious Suit No. 1, mostly because Jon hated saying it and refused to acknowledge the title whenever she mentioned it. That alone made the name worth keeping.
She smiled as she adjusted the gauntlet settings, increasing flexibility around the wrists without sacrificing protection. Jon had complained that the previous design restricted his grip during longer fights, though he had phrased it as a technical flaw rather than admitting his hands hurt after patrol. Ryan had noticed anyway. She always did.
A bowl of chocolate chunk cookies sat beside the keyboard, tucked between a diagnostic tablet and a tray of miniature armor fasteners. She reached for one, already deciding she had earned it after spending nearly two hours correcting the mistakes Jon had created by overriding the suit’s safety limits.
The phone rang before her fingers reached the bowl.
Ryan looked at the screen and rolled her eyes when Jon’s name appeared. He had been gone less than forty minutes. Usually, that was enough time for him to ignore three warnings, damage something expensive, and call her only after the problem became impossible to hide.
She answered and returned her attention to the rotating suit model. “What, Jon?”
“Why am I on patrol, checking my emails, and seeing that you are at risk of losing your scholarship?”
Ryan’s hand stopped over the keyboard.
She stared at the monitor for a moment before continuing to type. “Why are you checking your emails during patrol?”
“That is not the question.”
“It should be. You are supposed to be watching Gotham, not reading university notices while standing on somebody’s roof.”
“I received a message from the financial aid office.”
“That message was addressed to me.”
“It was sent to the foundation account.”
Ryan deleted a configuration, entered it again, and pretended the conversation had not begun. “Then the university sent it to the wrong place.”
“They sent it to the organization funding your scholarship.”
“The Fatu Foundation is not funding my scholarship.”
“Apparently, it is supposed to.”
Ryan leaned back in her chair and looked toward the ceiling of the cave. “Jonathan.”
“Ryan.”
She hated when he used her name that way, as though returning it to her gave him authority over the conversation. “It is being handled.”
“How?”
“I submitted an appeal.”
“When?”
“Last week.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“Because it has nothing to do with you.”
Jon did not respond immediately. Ryan could hear Gotham through the connection, traffic several stories beneath him and a police siren moving somewhere in the distance. She pictured him perched on the edge of a building in the suit she had spent months building, cape gathered behind him, glaring at an email as if the financial aid office had personally declared war.
“It has everything to do with me,” he said.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“You work for me.”
“I work with you.”
“You live here.”
“Because you converted half the manor into a medical station and refuse to hire anyone else.”
“You are family.”
Ryan pressed her lips together and opened another diagnostic window. “That still doesn’t make my tuition your business.”
“How much?”
“I am not discussing this while you are outside dressed like a giant bat.”
“How much, Ryan?”
She considered hanging up. Jon would call again. If she blocked him, he would contact the cave directly. If she disabled that line, he would send Jey. She could already imagine Joshua arriving with a container of dessert from Liv’s apartment, asking questions he pretended were casual while reporting every answer to his brother.
“Eight thousand four hundred,” she said.
Jon did not react for several seconds. “For the semester?”
“For the remaining year.”
“Why are you losing the scholarship?”
“My grades fell beneath the requirement.”
His response came too quickly. “Your grades don’t fall.”
“They did.”
“What happened?”
Ryan reached for a cookie and broke it into two pieces. “I missed assignments.”
“Why?”
“Because somebody fractured two ribs in January.”
“That was not my fault.”
“You jumped through a skylight.”
“There were hostages.”
“You landed on a piano.”
“It was between me and the floor.”
“You could have used the grappling line.”
“It jammed.”
“Because you ignored the service alert.”
Jon exhaled through his nose. “That explains January. What about the rest?”
Ryan ate half the cookie and focused on the armor model, though the numbers blurred together as she read them. The truth had been sitting inside her student portal for weeks. Missing submissions. Late work. Two incomplete courses. Professors who had offered extensions until their patience reached its limit. She had kept telling herself she would fix everything after the next patrol, the next injury, the next emergency at the manor.
There was always another emergency.
“I got behind,” she said.
“You should have told me.”
“You had Joker. Then Two Face. Then Jey got stabbed. Then the cave flooded because someone decided the drainage system could wait until spring.”
“That was Jey.”
“It was your decision.”
“He agreed with me.”
“Jey agrees with whichever person promises him food.”
Jon moved somewhere on the other end of the call. The connection shifted as wind moved across his microphone, then settled once he entered a more protected area.
“You’re not losing it,” he said.
“You cannot solve every problem by throwing money at it.”
“I’m not throwing money at anything. The foundation already has an education program.”
“I don’t qualify.”
“You do now.”
Ryan closed her eyes. “That is exactly what I mean.”
“You keep this operation running. You treat injuries nobody else can know about. You manage the manor, the equipment, the accounts, the security systems, and whatever disaster Jey creates before breakfast. You should not be worried about tuition.”
“I chose to help.”
“And I’m choosing to help you.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to owe you.”
The words left her before she could reconsider them.
Jon became quiet again. Ryan looked toward the central monitor, where his location marker remained fixed over Gotham’s financial district. A second marker moved several blocks away, tracking Jey’s motorcycle as he traveled toward Liv’s apartment instead of joining patrol.
“You don’t owe me,” Jon said.
Ryan rubbed her forehead. “Everybody who takes money from people like you owes something.”
“People like me?”
“Billionaires with foundations, private jets, and underground caves.”
“I only have one cave.”
“That isn’t helping.”
Jon’s answer came with restrained irritation. “I am not buying your loyalty.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
Ryan looked around the cave. Jon’s previous suit stood inside its repair frame. Jey’s staff rested across the workbench. Medical supplies occupied the cabinets behind her, sorted by injury type because neither brother could go one week without needing something. She had built a life inside Fatu Manor without realizing how dependent that life had become on two men who never asked whether they were asking too much.
“I’m afraid I’ll wake up one day and realize I never finished anything that belonged to me,” she said.
Jon did not interrupt.
“I was supposed to finish my degree last year. Then Batman needed a medic. Robin needed a suit technician. Fatu Manor needed somebody to make sure you both remembered food existed. Every time I tried to catch up, something happened, and I kept saying I would deal with school later.”
Ryan looked at the cookie in her hand and placed it back inside the bowl.
“Later keeps moving.”
Jon remained on the line. When he answered, his words came without the commanding edge he used when he expected obedience.
“Finish the suit tomorrow.”
Ryan looked at the unfinished design. “You need it.”
“I have the current one.”
“The shoulder plate is failing.”
“It can last one more patrol.”
“You said that before the warehouse.”
“And you told me I never listen.”
“You don’t.”
“I’m listening now.”
Ryan glanced at his marker again. It had started moving across the rooftop, heading toward the eastern district where a police alert had appeared several minutes earlier.
“Go deal with your weapons shipment,” she said.
“Send me the appeal.”
“No.”
“Ryan.”
“I said no.”
“Then I’ll contact the school.”
“You will do no such thing.”
“I will if you keep pretending this is handled.”
She pushed away from the desk. “Jonathan Fatu, if you call my university and introduce yourself as Batman, I will replace every armored panel in that suit with cardboard.”
“I was going to call as Jonathan.”
“That might be worse.”
“I’ll pay the balance anonymously.”
“I will find out.”
“You always do.”
“Yes, and then I’ll make your cape pink.”
Jon paused. “You wouldn’t.”
Ryan looked at the cape configuration on her screen and changed its display color to bright pink.
A notification appeared inside his helmet system seconds later.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“My cape display is pink.”
“It suits you.”
“Change it back.”
“Pay attention to patrol.”
“Ryan.”
She ended the call.
The cave felt calmer without him arguing through the speakers. Ryan stared at the pink cape on the monitor, then reached for her cookie and took a bite. Her phone rang again almost immediately.
She declined the call.
A message appeared instead.
Send me the appeal or I send Jey.
Ryan looked toward the map. Jey’s motorcycle marker had stopped outside Liv’s apartment.
She typed back.
He is on a date. Leave him alone.
Jon responded within seconds.
Then send the appeal.
Ryan stared at the message, irritated by his persistence and even more irritated by the part of herself that wanted to accept his help. She opened her university portal, downloaded the appeal documents, and hovered over the attachment icon.
A security alert appeared across the central monitor before she could decide.
Unauthorized access had been detected inside Anoa’i Industries.
Ryan set her phone aside and expanded the building schematic. The breach originated from the executive floor, near Joe’s office. One employee badge remained active after business hours.
BENNETT, DEMI.
Ryan reached for Jon’s communication line.
“Batman,” she said when he answered. “Your scholarship lecture is postponed. Somebody just accessed a restricted file inside Anoa’i Industries, and there’s still a receptionist in the building.”
may this love NEVER find me (but that dick definitely can 😝)
even though you lost the bet, well…both of you lost. it was no use. you two had realized that you just couldn’t get along, and honestly, that was okay. with your daughter starting kindergarten this year, you’d both managed to make things work the best you could, and things had been steady. but you’d also found another guy who you thought was worth putting the time into.
you’d learned a few things about him that you actually liked. no kids, teaches at your daughter’s school, and he’s also a football coach at his old college.
in fact, that’s how you two met. at registration, he’d been really kind to you and your little girl. when you left her supply list and your wristlet behind the previous day, he was nice enough to drop everything off. if you weren’t in such a rush bcs of her nagging ass father wanting to pick her up for the night, he probably wouldn’t even be standing here knocking on your door.
“oh, hey! what, what are you doing here?” you say, sticking your head out of the door and letting it close until it reaches the heel of your foot.
“well, you left your wallet, and i found your address on your driver’s license,” he says with a little smile. “and also, this.”
he holds everything out to you, and you take it, still staring at him like you’re trying to figure out why the hell he’s standing on your porch this early in the morning. your unwelcoming yet startled look must’ve made him feel awkward because he immediately started explaining himself.
“i was in the middle of cooking breakfast if you wanted to come and sit—“ he cuts you off.
“i have to head to scrimmage, but if you promise to keep it hot for me, i’ll be back.”
you didn’t miss the innuendo or the little smirk on his face. “oh, is that right?”
“mhm.” he nods.
you’re still trying to come up with something smart to say when he leans in and gives your forehead a gentle peck before leaving.
when he returned, however, you didn’t realize it was getting close to your daughter’s drop off time. especially when it was only 10 AM and you’d sent her a message at 8, but she never responded. you figured she was still asleep until a notification from her finally arrived while you were laughing and sipping on your mimosa.
looking down at the message, you suddenly choked before jumping up from the barstool and peeking through the blinds.
“…is everything okay?” he asked, already starting to stand, the barstool screeching softly against the floor.
“you gotta go…now!”
•••
after a very awkward first impression with your daughter’s father, he still liked you. you liked him too. but after that run in with jey, you decided inviting him over wasn’t the best idea when jey could just pop up whenever he felt like it. so you convinced him to spend a night out of town with you instead.
a nice rooftop bar, maybe catch a movie, go to a comedy show…just anything to get away from jey.
you thought you’d won.
that was until jey had you in a chokehold in the hallway of the hotel.
it wasn’t easy tracking you down, you know.
yes, it was.
you used the same login and password for every app, and you loved that damn hotel. the same hotel where you and jey had bomb ass drunk sex in the bathtub.
“i’m…i’m trying to be cool, but damn.” he started on a rant. same shit, different day. you’re out with somebody else. you’re a horrible mom for being hours away from her to be with another man.
“you just keep pushing and pushing me closer to losing my last bit of patience. why?” he reiterates, tapping the side of your head. “because you can’t get it through your thick ass skull that you belong to me. and only me. you’re mine!”
“i’m yours?” you repeat, blinking slowly.
jey’s jaw clenched.
so naturally, you decided to make it worse. you opened your mouth wide and gave him a slow, exaggerated yawn right in his face.
and now… you’re right next door to your own room.
you were in jey’s room with your head tilted back against the wall, your fingers tangled in his hair. hoisted up in his arms while he feasted on you.
you’d told your new guy you were just running out to grab something from the car, but he could probably hear you and you could hear him too. you heard the faint shuffle of movement from the room next door, low voices you couldn’t quite make out. and to jey’s displeasure, you were biting down on your lip to keep from making another sound.
“don’t do that.”
“he can…he can hear us!” you gasped.
jey ignored you.
with a shaky inhale you moan out his name. “jeyyy,” the tremor in your voice is like music to his ears. “he…he’s…oh f—”
“mm-hmm.”
your body betrayed you as his grip shifted to keep you steady when you started squirming, pulling you down harder against his mouth. you couldn’t help the way your body instinctively chased the high, hips grinding against the tip of his nose and tongue.
instead, he’d prolong it. he moves you to the edge of the bed, raising your ass up, and all he could do was moan and hum against your pussy. savoring every bit of you as he tensed his tongue and licked over your clit again and again.
he licked higher, your fists twisted into the rich sheets, silk bunching beneath your fingers as he buried his face into your ass, giving both holes much needed attention. saliva trails down from your asshole to your core. he gathered up your slick with two fingers, curling and twisting them inside of you with a cruel, slow pace. impatiently, you began fucking yourself against his fingers, crying out when another wave of pleasure washed over you.
now with both hands pinned behind you, he found the angle that made you lose yourself entirely. one sharp breath, two high pitched squeals then another as he drilled into your pussy. your fingers clawed desperately for his wrist, nails digging into his skin. he hissed, not bcs it hurt but bcs you were reaching for him. “pretty girl,” he rasped. “look at you, mama…do it again. hurt me, baby.”
your fingers curled harder around him, a strangled gasp leaving your throat. he knew exactly what he’d found, and the pleased sound in his throat nearly made you cum.
“so perfect, y’know that?” he breathed, smacking your ass. “pretty pussy and an even prettier face when you cumming for me. he can’t make you feel like this, can he?”
“noooo!” you moaned.
you couldn’t control the loud, uninhibited cries tearing from your throat. they ricocheted off the walls, completely shattering the quiet luxury of the hotel room.
his eyes flicked toward the door, then back to you. “you want him to hear you?”
you shook your head. you were too fucked out to even fathom a snarky response.
“that’s what i thought.” he fucks you through it, driving his dick in and out, harder, faster, deeper until your legs gave out beneath him.
exhaustion was written all over your flushed face. you barely had the energy to stand, let alone speak. but he wasn’t done nor did he give a fuck if you wanted more or not. there wasn’t a hint of sympathy on his face. he wore a deadpan expression even as he helped you onto the bed and guided you onto your side. the position left you startlingly sensitive, “it’s so…deep…you’re digging-”
he only had one thing on his mind as his hips stuttered, burying himself deep inside you.
fuck his baby mama. fuck his girl. take what’s his. and most importantly, mark his territory.
even when you’re laid up with somebody else, you can still feel him. you’re full of him.
that’s exactly what he does as you knock on the hotel room next door, you shove him while fixing your clothes with one hand. “move.”
“just trying to make sure you make it in there safely.”
“don’t.”
“oh and don’t take a shower either,” he says with a laugh, disappearing back into his room.
your bedroom door opens.
“sorry,” you say with a laugh, shifting your weight to conceal the limp that absolutely would give you away. “i ran into an old friend.”
he steps aside, immediately pulling you into an embrace. “it’s all good,” he chuckles. “heads up; i think we got some freaky ass neighbors.”
