─────── WARNINGS | none (reader has long hair/long enough to have to tie it up), female nickname used (princess), one suggestive joke
THE AFTERNOON SKY turned into pretty shades of pink and gold, sunlight casting down on where your class was perched on top of a hill.
Class 3-E—the class for losers and hopeless people, kids with no future, or so the teens on the main campus liked to call it. Failures. Violent people. Students with bad grades and even worse behavior, in their eyes.
What their false egos didn’t let them see was that those same so-called losers were both students and assassins. In Class 3-E, every teacher and student lived two roles. Two lives. Two opportunities.
You were trained to be talented at more than just academic subjects like physics and math, or passing exams. You were also trained to be fast, strong, tactical—and most importantly, able to kill your teacher.
And today was one of those days where you trained to get one step closer to becoming an assassin.
P.E.
Not your least favorite subject, but not your most favorite either. Still, training with Karasuma-sensei always made it more interesting. Not only was watching him fight a sight to behold, but it was also fun going up against your classmates.
If only your hair wasn’t sticking to your face like glue.
You didn’t have a hair tie. No banana clip. Nothing.
You huffed, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand, annoyed at how your damp hair clung to your cheeks like ivy on stone. The late afternoon sun made everything glow—except you, apparently. You felt more like a soggy mop than a trained assassin in the making.
“Looking a little rough there, [Name],” a voice drawled from behind you.
You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. That smug, smooth tone could belong to no one else but Karma Akabane.
“I’m fine,” you muttered, fingers still trying—and failing—to push your hair out of your eyes.
Karma walked up beside you with a lazy grin, the sun catching in his crimson hair and making it look like it was on fire. Typical. He was barely sweating, despite going just as hard during training.
“Sure you are,” he said, reaching toward his wrist before pulling out something small.
“Come here.”
His fingers combed through your hair, and you blinked.
Was Akabane Karma… tying your hair up for you?
You did a double take.
Yep. Still Karma.
Just a lot stranger than usual.
Feeling his fingertips brush lightly against your scalp, your eyes fluttered closed before you could stop yourself. He gathered your hair, carefully combing through it with his fingers, then quickly wrapped a black hair tie around it.
You narrowed your eyes, but couldn’t stop the small smile from tugging at your lips. You took the hair tie from his outstretched fingers, the tips of his knuckles brushing yours for only a split second.
He pulled out a few loose strands to frame your face before shoving his hands back into his pockets.
“There. Better, right?”
You nodded, lifting your head to look at him. He was grinning—but not in that usual arrogant Akabane Karma way.It was genuine.
“Thanks.”
“Careful, princess. People might think you’re falling for me.”
And there he was—back to being an asshole.Well, at least he did a good job tying your hair up.
“You look hot like this. I should tie you up more.”
You sputtered, snapping your head toward him with wide eyes.
“KARMA-KUN, THAT IS VERY INAPPROPRIATE!”
“You’re the one having dirty thoughts, teach.”
Koro-sensei turned a shade of rose, cheeks flushing before letting out an embarrassed scream and zooming away at Mach 20—making your hair messy all over again.
Note- it's finally here, sorry it took so long. My dominant hand was bruised a few days ago and still healing. This is DARK CONTENT so please scroll if uncomfortable. If this gets enough attraction I may continue with these
TROPE MASTERLIST HERE
They worked so closely with your father. Strictly professional, they would have you believe. So why are they eyeing you so keenly?
Coriolanus Snow. A name you heard often from your father’s lips. He spoke of him in passing; an apprentice turned intern gamemaker. Their relationship was strictly professional yet your father seems to speak fondly of him; describing him as pleasant company with impeccable manners. An ambitious man, your father claimed more than once and true to his words. Coriolanus seems to gain more power by the day.
Despite the few years Coriolanus had getting quite comfortable with your father – for reasons you don’t know. You haven’t gotten the chance to meet the enigma of a man till some formal event. Your father brought you to his side and introduced you. At first, it all seemed like nothing. There was a brief moment where Coriolanus swiftly eyed you up and down before he politely greeted you.
“Finally a face to the name” he remarks, the corner of his mouth turning upward. As your father nudges you to entertain the other guests, you obey, turning around just in time to see Coriolanus watching you leave. Still, nothing was assumed from such a hasty interaction if it weren’t for Coriolanus agreeing to your father’s invitation to come to a family dinner.
His wife, Livia attended with him. Awkwardly you took the seat across from him, Coriolanus surprisingly strikes up a conversation. Asking of your future, your career, any plans. And you being the polite little thing your father raised you to be, answer each question. And you try not to let it unsettle you when his eyes linger even as he lifts his cup to drink. His wife speaks with him but it’s painfully obvious he isn’t listening to a word she said.
You are ever fascinating to Coriolanus and all the more frustrating. He chose his wife, someone he despised just so he would never be under the manipulation of emotion again. And there you are. The daughter of a man he didn’t really consider a friend, merely a political tool to aid his rise into power. You are a weakness, one he ought to destroy. Or perhaps better yet; one to control.
When your father isn’t around, Coriolanus, ever the opportunist will always grasp the chance to approach. You are just perfect aren’t you? Polite, well-spoken, and now, seated at the piano, playing so eloquently. He rests his hand on top of the polished surface as he once again strikes up a conversation. Unable to resist getting so close to you, tilting your face up so you must look at him with his finger under your chin. “Keep these little talks between us” he tells you. And you, raised to be the polite little lady, obey.
Even when he has you engaging in such acts. You utter not a word to your father. Your voice hitches when his fingers teasingly trail down between your legs, resting on your underwear. Tugging the fabric down to your midthigh as he presses you to some corner in the many halls of your opulent mansion as he fingers you. He coaxes you as you reach your high. Shushing you when your whines get a little too loud, surely you don’t want your father to find out do you?
Coriolanus is willing to keep this as long as he can. He will convince himself it’s merely just a little passionate entanglement he allowed himself to get in. No matter how many times he has you underneath him or bent over his desk. Your father doesn’t question your little visits. For Coriolanus out of the kindness of his heart tells your father he has taken you under his wing, aid you with your career choices. And if your father grows suspicious – well Coriolanus has always had plans to be rid of him. And as for his wife, she has been quite of an inconvenience too. Kill two birds with one stone, he supposes.
Tony Stark
Yes, your dad was friends with The Tony Stark. Well they weren’t exactly friends; acquaintances was the better term. Still, they spent a great deal of time together, often going out for drinks or working on a new business project. You had heard plenty about Tony, not just from your father but the media aka the tabloids had something new to say about him. It didn’t take long before you finally met him and just like you; Tony heard a great deal from your dad.
Tony invites your dad to formal events, but strangely insists on him bringing the whole family along. Other times are spent enjoying the sun, where you’re invited to his enormous mansion and his massive pool. You pretend not to notice Tony’s miserable attempt to hide that he’s ogling you. Even behind his sunglasses as you dry yourself off. All while he pretends to hear your father talking to him about some business matter.
Before, Tony used to turn down many of your dad’s invitations. Such as family dinner, a casual game of pool with a few drinks on the side. One can’t imagine the busy life he has. But quite recently, Tony begins coming over. Surely you can’t be the reason. Of all the girls in the world for Tony Stark to have the hots for…it had to be you.
Tony always lingered behind. Pretending as if he cared about whatever you talked about – how is college, matter of fact, how is life treating you. He loved making you laugh, teasing how you must be quite the heartbreaker. Missing the brief annoyance on his face whenever your dad interrupted. Tony offers to help with anything. Anything, he reassures. Just come to him, he’ll let his secretary know to send you right in with no questions.
It would have happened sooner. If not today, then some other day. In truth, it was just a matter of time, just one moment with you where Tony can’t help himself. It isn’t to say Tony doesn’t feel guilty, he does. You have so much ahead of you; smart and beautiful. Supposed to be with a well off boy your age, yet here he is. His mouth on yours, tongue moving against yours. You taste so sweet, your perfume lingering in the air. And Tony knows he wouldn’t be able to stop, even if he wanted.
But is it really all that bad when the sun comes up the next day and there you are only wearing his buttoned shirt. Leaving your legs bare for him to see. Nothing washes his guilt away than you on your knees. Hand gripping your hair as you suck his cock, your head bobbing up and down. “You look so fucking hot right now, you know that?’ Tony groans with a half chuckle escaping him. And when he cums in your mouth, watching you swallow every drop. Oh god, he is ready to go at it again.
The two of you settle into something neither you and Tony know what to call it. Girlfriend, fuck buddies, sugar baby? No one knows. Tony does love spoiling you. Dinner at five-star restaurants, designer clothes, and luxury vacations where you tell your dad that you’re traveling with a few friends. And of course you both fuck, a lot. Either in the back of some limo or riding him while he pretends to be at ‘work’.
Tony knows to be careful. The last thing he wants is the media broadcasting your scandalous little relationship, which would be an awful way for your dad to find out. But the more Tony thinks about it, would it really? To be fair you can’t just tell a good old friend hey I am fucking your daughter. Yes he would lose your father’s trust and any business deals, but he would have you. And if you were to lose your home and source of income at such a cost, Tony would open his door. Come right in.
Joel Miller
Joel was a good friend of your dad’s. Apparently, according to him, Joel and his brother once helped on the side of the road when his truck broke down, and they have been on good terms ever since. Your dad invites him over often. Joel being a carpenter and all, usually helped with repairs around the house. You pretend not to notice as you sit nearby the way he grunts as he lifts the heavy stuff or the sound of his boots moving around.
You recall the first time you met him. He was carrying something into the garage when you greeted him. Joel looked at you for a moment, taking in your pretty dress before awkwardly looking away and gruffed his name. Sometimes he and your dad would sit together, drinking a bottle of beer. Talking about whatever men usually talked about. They had similar jobs, which made it easy for them to get along. Every now and then you’d peek over, only to find Joel looking back. Your eyes would lock for a brief moment before he glances down at the beer in his hand.
Other times you’d find him in the kitchen with a mug of coffee in hand. The moment you walk in, the air is filled with awkward tension, one you could cut with a knife. He would avoid your gaze almost entirely even as he spoke to you. You assumed he didn’t like you, for reasons you couldn't place. Unaware that Joel was very much attracted to you, doing everything he can to not bend you over this goddamn table.
He just wishes you would leave him alone. Why must you hover while he fixes your dad’s truck? Don’t you know how easily he can peek at your panties down there. You were off limits. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that. Every time your dad offers for him to come inside, Joel wants to say no and go his merry way. Every little thing you did, excuse his French, made him so fucking hard. The way you call him Mr. Miller drives him crazy. That when you started calling him Joel now and then. He sometimes wishes you would go back to calling him Mister or even sir.
Then there was Sarah. When Joel mentioned her, your dad immediately offered for you to babysit. Insisting it would be no trouble at all. Despite every rational thought telling him not to, Joel grudgingly agrees. Lamenting his decision the second it left his lips. Having you in his home was the last thing he wanted. He was supposed to be pushing you away dammit, not bring you closer.
Joel was a far more jealous man he would ever admit. It frustrated him how pretty you looked. Who are you dressing up so nicely for, hmm? The pink gloss on your lips, the way you had a habit of pouting those said lips. Joel just wants to – god he wants to. And your goddamn perfume, always lingering in the air even long before you leave. Your dad would joke that all the boys fight among themselves over you. Joel can’t even bring himself to entertain the joke, his knuckles tightening.
Joel has a habit of interrupting your ‘dates’. Some guy would offer to walk you home and there Joel was, offering you a ride instead. He didn’t deserve you – Joel knows that all too well. You should be with someone younger, more gentle. Not him. He was just protecting you. The world was rough, filled with disgusting vile men who only wanted one thing. Never mind the way he can’t stop his eyes from drifting to your bare legs in the passenger seat. And he was seething. The way he saw that guy getting all friendly with you. And here you are eyeing him, trying to seem innocent, seem small but you are far from a doe.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me these last few weeks?” And when you dare to act confused, he pulls the truck to a stop. Before you know it, his hand grabs the back of your neck, his mouth crashing against yours. Joel orders you to the driver’s back side and you see no room to deny him. It's quite late by the time you come home, your dad is already asleep. Suppose you’re grateful as Joel’s cum drips down your legs. This isn’t the last time you’re sure of it.
Haytham Kenway
You noticed Haytham quite a while ago. Your father didn’t mention him much. All you knew was that he was an associate of your father’s; he didn’t show up often and from what you gathered, a very busy man. You had no idea what Haytham actually does and to be truthful you haven't got the slightest clue to what your father did either. Your father was a business man of sorts, that is all you were ever told.
Curiosity got the better of you so you sneaked off one afternoon to see what they discussed. Haytham always stood tall, his hands clasped behind his back. As he was discussing matters with your father, he suddenly stops and eyes the corner where you were hiding, making you jump. “Seems we have a little spy among us,” he remarks. Your father demanded you show yourself; introducing you to Haytham properly not without a small lecture, of course. Haytham simply nodded in acknowledgement and you returned the gesture, embarrassed.
During his visits to your father, Haytham would conventionally stumble upon you. Haytham is well aware of his attraction to you; not exactly the best predicament to find himself in. He notices your beauty as any man would, but something else lures him in. He quite enjoys your conversations. Clever thing aren’t you? A shame your father keeps you hidden behind these walls.
Haytham finds it quietly amusing how easily you’re startled. And he won’t deny how enticing it is to hear ‘Mr. Kenway’ fall from your lips. Haytham tries not to stare whenever you pass by or in the rare instances, being in the same room as your father. Still, every so often, he takes a peek at you from the corner of his eye, offering a small, secret smile.
Haytham is the ever gentleman with you. Most can tell the two of you are close, or at the very least that the grandmaster is fond of you. But even if one suspects something more, they can never accuse him outright. Not even your father suspects him. Haytham offers to escort you for your safety, always ready to lend you his hand whenever you step down from a carriage or a horse.
And if he happens to catch you sneaking out, wondering somewhere you are not meant to. He'll simply offer to bring you back and promise to keep it between the two of you. A time Haytham has gifted you a book of an author he heard you mention in passing or a necklace he knows would catch your eye. And when you gush over it, Haytham tries not to smile too smugly to himself.
Haytham is greatly respected by your father and by society, he must not be so terrible of a man to end with and you trust him don’t you? Even in the state you find yourself in. It started simple, conversations traded back and forth and before you know it, his mouth is on yours. Your face is cupped by his hands and when you pull away, a quiet moment settles between you. His thumbs brushing against your bottom lip before he leans in to kiss you once more. His hands drift to the fabric of your dress, tugging it down just enough for your shoulder to be bare as he presses a soft kiss against the skin. And so, the night slips away just with the two of you.
He is an expert in pretending nothing ever happens. Haytham is surprisingly a bit of a jealous man. Your father is ever relentless in his attempts to find you a suitor and they either break it off or avoid you entirely due to a little threat talk from Haytham. The only obstacle that remains is your father and what pure luck it was that he too was becoming a problem for the Templars. A mission Haytham is more than willing to take. He shall be there to comfort poor you as you weep over your father. Claiming you have no one left. But Haytham only shushes you “You have me darling, I am right here”.
Summary: One reckless night leads to the biggest and most unexpected change in your life. How will this affect your current life and how you and the charming stranger you met only once will manage to handle the bringing of a new life to this world together is a challenge yet to be discovered. Will you be able to make the right choices while battling your own demons? Who knows, all you must be worried about now is that your period is late...
Description: Modern AU | Firefighter Baby Daddy!Ace
WARNINGS: english is not my first language, explicit language, NSFW, 18+ only, contains explicit sexual themes and content, use of alcohol, slow burn, conflicted feelings, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, jealousy, suggestive themes, previous toxic relationships, mention of depression, mention/description of pregnancy, strangers to co-parents to lovers, mentions of a lot of anxiety, mentions of cheating, mentions of mental trauma, social anxiety (+ more warnings will be added if needed to)
Additional tags: Reader is super awkward and has social anxiety and low-self esteem but this changes (I don't want to spoil), Ace is emotional invalid when it comes to love, but this also changes (no spoilers)
WORD COUNT: 8,3K
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NOTE: Thank you all for your patience. Thank you also for all the love you showed when I put out chapter one.
I know that this chapter is short, but it’s mainly focused of Reader, but next one will be longer.
Thank you for reading my stories and being patient with me, more yapping in the end note - enjoy ♡
It has been two days since you found out that you are pregnant and you haven’t told anybody yet. Not even your best friend Boa. You have tried everything in your power in the past two days to ignore everyone and everything in desperate attempts to collect and make up your mind.
You know what the best solution for this “little” accident is, but you aren’t a hundred percent sure that you want to do this. At least not alone.
Walking back and forth around your apartment you try to calm yourself down. In an hour you are going for a brunch with Boa and Marguerite, and you are planning to tell them about the little problem you have.
On top of this mess, you are also in an internal battle with yourself. Should you find your baby daddy? If you are going to abort it, should you let him know? He has the right to know, but… what if he turns out to be pro-lifer? Not like he will stop you from aborting it if you decide to go with this option, but what happens if you find him, tell him and he wants you to keep it? Or worse – what if you decide to keep it and he doesn’t want it? Are you ready for the single mom life? Will you manage as a single mother?
All these questions have been stuck to your mind on repeat in the past two days and if you don’t speak with someone soon you are going to lose it. That is why you need to share the “exciting” news with your friends and hear their opinion on the matter. They should think more clearly than you are therefore they might give you the answers you are looking for.
And if they don’t, tomorrow you have your weekly session with your therapist Nico Robin, she must provide the best advice you will need. You hope.
Dressed up in a pair of dark flare jeans with tight button up white shirt, you put on some jewelleries before taking one last look at yourself before heading to leave your place. Putting on a pair of red kitten high-heels and reaching out for the matching red handbag you lock your place and make your way to the brunch spot Boa has reserved.
To ease up your very calm nerves, the universe, of course it is on your side, decides to stick you up in the traffic jam. Reaching for your phone you send a quick message to your group chat that you would be late a few minutes and that they should go in without you and you will meet them there.
Thankfully the parking spots next to the restaurant are free and at least for this your nerves are speared.
Taking a deep breath in, you stop the car and look yourself up in the rare mirror. “Why?” The question comes out with a sigh, and it is towards yourself and the universe. Why you ended up pregnant after the only night you let yourself be wild and spontaneous in years? This must be some very sick joke life is throwing at you.
Grabbing your bag, you leave the car and lock it, making your way inside.
You have been to this place before. It is a well know brunch spot for the upper-class people around the city. The type of place where you pay ridiculous price for an avocado toast and poached eggs, but neither you nor your friends complain about it. After all, you all work hard and make quite a lot of money to effort nice things in life.
Walking in further into the restaurant where the indoor garden is, you see your friends sitting and chitchatting around one of the nicely put round tables. The place is very cozy and nice, with big windows walls surrounding it, the sun shining outside lighting up the place. This beautiful, picturesque place is surrounded by different types of flowers and marble statues in between the corners, giving it nicer touch.
Your kitten heels clicking on the marble floor catches your friends' attention as you get close to them, and Marguerite squeaks with excitement once she sees you. She has been oversea for two months now and she has missed you and Boa a lot. Pushing her chair, she gets up on her feet and welcomes you in a strong hug. “I’ve missed you so much.” Her voice comes up muffled as she is rocking you from side to side in her strong grip.
Marguerite is probably your second-best friend after Boa. She knows about you as much as Boa does, but still Boa has been the one who has been there for you since day one. Marguerite has come around your college years. Her bright uplifting personality has made you and Boa getting her into your inner circle and since then you three have become inseparable.
Dressed in a leopard halterneck top and long white tailored pants with a black belt around her waist, Maggie, as you two call her for short, is a beautiful tall slender woman with a lighter skin, brown eyes and short cut on bob style blond hair.
“I’ve missed you, too Maggie.” You tell her pulling away. Before taking your seat around the table, you hug Boa for hello. “I’m sorry, girls. The traffic was awful.” Finally sitting down, you grab the menu in front of you and scanned it with your eyes. Even though you are familiar with it, nothing seems appealing to your stomach.
The morning sickness has kicked in a week ago, which has been the wakeup call of you finally noticing that you have been late and you have missed your period. The past month you have been so busy with work that when you finally noticed that you are late, you blamed it on stress, and oh boy… how wrong have you been.
“Don’t worry we waited for you, but we ordered drinks, so you better don’t mind enjoying some nice and cold margaritas.” Maggie shakes her body in a little dance move as a big smile spreads across her face.
You wish you could enjoy one, but you can’t. Not while being pregnant, but your friends don’t know this… yet. “Oh, I would love to girls, but I’m driving so I won’t be able to.” Technically you are not lying, you are in fact driving after the brunch is done.
“What? You’re with your car? I thought you took an uber?” Boa raises one of her eyebrows at you. “Why did you come with the car?”
You need to think fast, because you can’t tell them the real reason of why you have taken your car instead of an uber. It isn’t because you are a fan of driving in your big city and traffic jams, but because after the brunch you have made an appointment with an obstetrician to check on the fetus and exactly how far along are you. But you can’t tell them that, yet.
Thankfully the waiter comes to serves your drinks, which saves you a bit more time to think of an excuse of why you are with your own car. “Have you ladies decided what would you like to eat?” The waiter politely smiles at you.
Both Boa and Marguerite tells him their orders and hand back the menus and now it is only you left to order. Scanning the menu one more time you choose the thing that seems the least likely to cause any nauseous or at least if it does you hope it will be just the feeling of it, and you wouldn’t need to run to the toilet to puke.
“Also, could you please take this away?” You hand him one of the glasses filled up with the alcohol cocktail. “My friends didn’t know that I’m driving, so I must give it back to you. I’ll take water instead.” He just nods with a polite smile and walks away.
“So… where are you going afterwards?” Boa doesn’t waste any second to shoot her question at you.
Shrugging with one shoulder, trying to hide your internal panic you clear your voice before answering her. “I have a doctor appointment.”
“What? Are you okay?” Placing her hand gently on top of yours, Marguerite’s big brown eyes shoot you a worried look.
“I’m fine, don’t worry.” Placing your other hand on top of hers, you give her a gentle squeeze. “It’s just a regular check-up.”
Again, you are not lying. You are just saving some details, is what you are saying to yourself, easing your guilt a bit. You don’t like lying to your friends and you hope they won’t ask any more questions related to this.
“Oh, okay. Regular check-ups are important. I just got scared that it’s something serious.” Taking her hand away she puts it on her chest where her heart is and relax, hearing that you are fine and nothing is wrong with you.
The conversation starts to flow naturally again, with mostly Boa and Marguerite talking about their recent trips and gossips in your life. Your food has come as well, but you barely touch it. Too nervous of what it is coming next, your stomach is on a tight knot.
How do you tell your friends that you are knocked up? ‘Hey, girls. Sorry for interrupting. By the way, I’m pregnant and also, I have no idea where or how to find the guy who knocked me up, but hey Boa please tell me again about the mind-blowing sex you had with this rich old money boy you met in Paris?’ Yes, this is definitely not how you bring this up.
This doesn’t go unnoticed by your friends at all. Yes, in the past few years you have gotten quieter than what you used to be, but today something is really bothering you. You barely indulge in the conversations; your food is untouched and all you do is drinking water and looking like you are about to throw up any second now.
“Okay, missy.” Boa has had enough. Clicking with her fingers in front of your face to get your attention you turn to her. “Speak up.”
“What?” You look at her with a bit of fear and surprise. “What’s wrong?”
“Something with you obviously.” Boa chuckles, crossing her arms across her chest, leaning on the back of the chair, her eyes pierced on you.
Seeing how stiff you get, Marguerite steps in. “Boa.” She shushes her with a deadly glance. “She is obviously not feeling good today.” Looking now at you she gives you a sympathetic smile. “What’s wrong (Y/N)?”
Your eyes are shifting from side to side between your friends. How do you tell them?
Taking a deep shaky breath in, you bite the insides of your cheeks before slowly gaining the courage to speak up. “Um… you remember the guy I told you I slept with like a month ago?”
“The firefighter with the magic dick?” Boa chuckles mocking, referring to the time when you described him and his dick as the most magical thing that has happened to you in years.
Marguerite hushes Boa one more time, as your best friend has no shame about what comes from her mouth nor where she is when it comes.
“Yes, that one.” You close your eyes and your whole face squeezes from embarrassment when the memories of what you have done starts playing in the back of your mind.
“What about him? Did he find you? Oh my, are you two seeing each other?” Maggie excitedly throws questions at you as her whole face lights up.
“No, nothing like this.” You shake your head, looking down at the plate in front of you to avoid your friends' curious gazes, but the sight of the food is making you nauseous.
“If she was seeing him, she would have been excited, don’t you think Maggie?” Rolling her eyes at the blonde, Boa then looks back at you. “What about him?”
The cold harsh tone in her voice is not helping, but you need to get this out of your chest and with your friend’s patience being far away from a big one, you need to do it now. “Well… you girls remember how I told you that recently I’m not feeling good right? It has something to do with that night I spent with him…”
A loud gasp comes from Marguerite as she covers her mouth with her hands. “No way! Did he give you some disease? Chlamydia? Or worse HIV? Are you going to be okay?” Her eyes are full of terror.
“I’m honestly not surprised. I’ve told you that he didn’t give me the look of a decent man.” Boa comments with a knowing and a bit judging click of her tongue.
“You never said that.” Turning your head at her, you give your friend an angry look, the tone of your voice sharp and harsh, matching hers. “And he was very decent, Boa. Even for only a one-night stand, he has treated me way better than most of the men in my life ever did.” This is enough of a painful realisation for you and last thing you need is your best friend judging you.
Silence takes over your table. None of you saying anything before you finally spilled it out. “I’m pregnant.” The words come out so quietly that none of your friends manage to hear it nor processed it.
“Say that again?” Boa leans closer and so does Maggie.
“I said that I’m pregnant…” You say once again with trembling voice.
Both of your friends are in shock and frozen on their seats. This is the last things they have been expecting to hear from you. You don’t dare to look at any of them. You are fully aware of the judgment they might have written all over their face or worse – they are pitying you, and you want none of it.
Marguerite is the first one to break the silence this time. “Do you plan to keep it?” Her voice is gentle, zero judgment can be heard in it, but there is quite lot of empathy in it.
Before you can even take a breath to answer, Boa jumps in quickly. “Of course, not. She must be mad crazy if she decides to keep the little parasite.”
Boa has never been a fan of children. She has made the choice that she wants to be child free from a very young age and made sure this would never happen to her. Your friend view kids as nothing more but little demons who are running and destroying the peace of the adults around. You will never catch her in a place where children are allowed. This is how much she cannot stand them.
“Boa, I didn’t ask you and don’t call it a parasite, because it’s not.” Marguerite scolds her across the table. She has always been a gentle soul and a big empath, and having her here right now is one of the biggest blessings in life you can get.
Reaching out with her arm, she places it on your shoulder, which gives you a bit of a strength to speak up. “I’m… I’m not entirely sure.”
“The fuck you mean you’re not entirely sure?” Boa raises her sharp dark brows up as she places her hands loudly enough on the table, causing the people sitting at the tables close to you throwing some glances at your direction. “What you want to keep some random man sperm and grow it? You want to be a single mother? Is this what you’re not entirely sure about?”
“Boa, watch your tone and language.” Maggie hisses at her with anger.
“I’m not watching shit.” Boa spats back. “If she is actually crazy enough and not go for an abortion, I’ll not stand by and watch her waste her life and potential away.” She says, finger pointing at you.
“How is being a mother a waste of life, when in fact they are the ones bringing one?” The blonde sitting opposite of her argues. “And for God’s sake, let her speak.” Maggie then turns her attention to you. “Don’t listen to her. Tell us what you plan to do and we-” She gives Boa one more deadly look. “We will listen and be there for you, no matter what your decision is.”
A makeshift of a laughter comes from Boa, but she decides to not say anything as she needs to calm down and hear you first. Maybe you may come back to your senses.
“Thank you, Maggie.” You nod and give her a small tight-lipped smile. “I’m not sure if I want to keep it or not, but I know that the most logical thing to do in this situation is to abort it, so I’m planning to go with it.” Glancing at Boa, you can still feel the judgement written on her face. “That is why I have an appointment with an obstetrician today. She will run some test, see how far along I am, and if my calculations are correct, I must be around five weeks pregnant. From there I must decide what to do next, which I think I’ve already had my mind set on.”
“Look whatever you’ll decide, we got your back.” Maggie takes your hand in hers and gives it a squeeze.
Glancing at Boa once again, all she does is a slight nod. Hearing that you plan to get rid of it, gives her some hope that you are not crazy enough to actually keep it.
A small smile appears on your face. “Thank you.” You quietly tell them.
Taking her hand away from yours, Marguerite uncomfortably shifts her body on the chair, not knowing what the best way is to word her next question, but she must ask. Saying your name softly to get your attention she sighs. “What about the guy?”
You know what Maggie means by that. You have been asking yourself the same question.
“What about him? He doesn’t need to know shit nor if he does, he has any saying in what she will do. Her body her choice.” Boa jumps in again.
“Of course, Boa. I agree with you that it’s her body and her choice, but he has the right to know.” Maggie tries to explain, aware that Boa will not agree with her.
“Well, none of this would have happened if he knew how to pull out in the first place.” Boa chuckles with a roll of her eyes.
As much as Marguerite doesn’t like how Boa words her comment, she does say something that catches her attention. “Ignoring how bitchy Boa is today-” This remark makes Boa gasps, but your friend ignores her. “Didn’t you say, you two used a condom? I know that they are not a hundred percent safe, but still. Do you think he has also realised that it broke mid act or…?”
Shaking your head, you shrug. “I’m not sure nor will I know.”
“I understand.” Marguerite gives you a small understanding smile. “But still, do you plan to find and tell him?”
“I thought about it, and I know I should, but I’m also afraid.” Reaching with your hand you grab the glass of water in front of you and take a sip of it. “I’m also not sure how to find him. I have a vague memory his name, but if I do see him, I will immediately recognise him, but that is all.”
“Boa, do you know by any chance in which fire station these guys worked at?” Marguerite doubts that Boa will remember but it is worth the shot.
Shaking her head, Boa sighs. “I didn’t even bother to ask because I would have never guessed that we would need it.”
“What if you go around and ask for him? He will be working in one of them.” Maggie awkwardly shrugs.
“Even if I do this, they will not give me a personal information like this one so easily if the reason is not good enough.” Leaning on the back of the chair you lift your hands in the air as frustration towards yourself and the guy starts to build. “On top of it, do you know that there are a hundred and six fire stations in the city? Hundred and six! When I looked it up, I thought to myself – ‘Well, they shouldn’t be more than what thirty?’. But no, of course not, there must be hundred and six.”
None of your friends say anything as they can see how stressful this whole situation is for you.
“Maggie, do you have any friends that work as firefighters or know some who does?” Boa, for a first time since she has heard the news, asks calmly.
“No, I don’t think so.” The blonde woman responds. “I’m trying to think of someone, but no one comes up in my mind.”
With a nod, Boa turns to you and takes your hand in hers. “Hey.” She says more encouraging. “We’ll find him, even if we must go to all hundred and six fire stations, he won’t be impossible to find.”
Looking at her, a smile is placed across her beautiful face. A smile that says – ‘Don’t worry we got your back.’, which makes you relax, because despite what the mess is you are into, your friends always got your back.
Keeping your head low as you walk in into the clinic makes you even more nauseous, but thankfully you still haven’t had the need to throw up. Making your way to the information desk, you wait on the queue as there are two people in front of you.
You have turned down Boa and Maggie’s suggestion to come with you. This is something you want to do by yourself. Something about this first visit feels extremely personal for you, and you want to keep it that way – you, the doctor and … your baby.
Your baby – it sounds so strange. Since you have found out about its existence, you even avoid thinking of it as a baby let alone call it one. You are not one of those who believes that this is a human yet, but now standing here in front of the clinic reception the reality of it is slowly settling in you.
Something has started to grow in you. Something you have always wanted, but not under these circumstances. Despite how wild you used to be, how career oriented you are, you have always wanted to have your own family, but you wanted to do it the right way; you meet the love of your life, you then become a couple for a few years, get engaged, get married, have your honeymoon and then you make the baby. Not make the baby and then the other things to follow, or worse - they never following.
Lost in your thoughts you haven’t released that you are standing in the middle of the information desk with eyes fixed on the floor and head hanged low, until the woman behind the desk calls for your attention. “Miss, is everything okay?”
Snapping out of your thoughts, you shake your head to come to your senses and take a step closer to the desk. “Yes, I’m sorry.” You murmured, your voice trembling from all the stress. “Hello, I have an appointment with Doctor Belladonna.”
With a short nod of her head, the woman at the desk asks for your name and personal number and you quickly pull out your id card, not wanting to speak up as you can’t find your voice. She takes the id card from you and types in all the information she needs. Giving it back to you she tells you where to go and wait for the nurse there to call you.
Walking to the elevator you press the button to the third floor. The doors close and after just a few seconds open again. Stepping out of the elevator you take a left turn and start walking down the hallway. The walls are painted in a light green colour; chairs are placed next to each door of every doctor's room and there are a few people sitting around and waiting for their appointments.
You find where Doctor Belladonna room is, and you take a seat in one of the empty chairs. There is one woman before you with a small but prominent pregnancy belly showing and a little boy, who seems no older than four years old, who she tries to make stay still, so it must be her son. The little boy obviously doesn’t want to sit around and wait for his mother, but he has no choice.
Your leg is bouncing on the ground as your stress level is starting to grow with every passing seconds. Maybe you should have let Boa and Maggie come with you.
A little pocking on your hand makes you look to the side, and you see the little boy looking at you with curiosity. “Why is your leg shaking so much?” Kids. They have no sense of privacy therefore being honest and straightforward is one of their many charms.
His mother gasps and apologise to you as she scolds the boy, but he protests. “But mommy, her leg is super shaky. Maybe she is cold.” This melts your heart. Kids are so pure, they have no idea what stress or worry are, so of course this boy pure little heart thinks that you are just cold.
The mother looks at you with apologetic look. “I’m so sorry.” She tells you, but you give her a small smile and wave with your hand.
“It’s fine. He doesn’t bother me at all.” Looking at the boy you smile at him.
“Are you cold?” He asks once again.
Shaking your head you give him a bigger smile. “No, I’m not. But thank you for checking on me.”
“Then why is your leg shaking?” His voice full of curiosity as he points with his little finger at your bouncy leg.
“I’m just nervous.” You tell him.
“Why?” You can’t help but giggle at his adorable face. Kids are always full of questions.
“Because I’ve never been to such doctor before and I’m a little afraid, that’s why my leg is bouncing so much.” You explain to him, and his face immediately lights up.
“Oh, I understand now.” He claps with his hands. “It’s like when I go to the bad doctor, the one with the big needles and every time before mommy and daddy drive me there my tummy hurts, and I want to poop.” Seeing him and the way he shakes his little head and grabbing his stomach from the memory of the ‘bad’ doctor a soft light laughter escapes your lips. “Are you also having a baby in your tummy like my mommy?” His big Bambi-like eyes fill with excitement as he gently places his hand on your stomach, making your heart skips a beat.
Seeing what her child has done and where his little hand is placed, his mother pulls him away. “Michael, what have I told you about touching people without permission?”
“That it’s bad and I should always ask.” The little boy voice fills with guilt. “I’m sorry for touching your belly without permission.” He tells you; a sad pout placed on his adorable little face.
“It’s alright, Michael. That is your name, right?” The small boy nods eagerly. Giving him your hand for a shake, he takes it, and you tell him yours.
He repeats your name and shoots another question. “Do you have more babies?”
You shake your head. “No, just this one.” With a smile you run your hand gently over the bottom of your stomach but freezes the moment you realise what you are doing. Since you have found out that you are pregnant you never smile at the thought of it, nor run your hands over your stomach so lovingly.
“I was my mommy’s first baby, and now we are going to have a second baby. I hope he is a boy because I want a brother. What is your baby?” The little boy next to you eagerly asks, his face blooming with excitement.
Still shocked by what you have done, you swallow hard before answering the little kid next to you. “I don’t know.” You really don’t know. Does it even matter? Boy or a girl, you will probably never know. This pregnancy won’t be it anyway. As your best friend has said – you must be mad crazy if you decide to keep it.
The door of Doctor Belladonna’s room opens and a young short woman step from it, dressed in a light blue nurse uniform. She tells the woman sitting next to you that she will be let in in about two minutes and then she turns to you. “(Y/N), right?” You just nod to her question. “Perfect. I need you to come with me to run some blood test that should be done by the time you meet with Doctor Belladonna, so please may you follow me so we can get them done.”
Getting up from the chair you follow behind her, but not before telling the little boy and his mother goodbye, as you are not sure if they will be here once you come back.
The nurse is very gentle with you. You don’t feel any pain or discomfort as she runs the test. She also takes your measurements and weight as she needs to fill quite lot of information about you and your medical record to make Doctor Belladonna works faster and easier.
“Okay, we are done here. You can go back and when your time comes, I’ll call for you.” She smiles at you and then disappears, leaving you alone.
Making your way back you bump into someone you wish you would have. Kalifa. An old classmate of you and Boa, which you two could not stand. She has always been a mean girl, especially towards you. Why of all places you happen to meet her here?
“Wow, (Y/N). What a strange coincidence. What are you doing here?” She runs her eyes up and down your body, scanning it for any flaws.
“Kalifa.” You fake a smile. “Yes, what a coincidence. What are yo-” Finally looking her up and down, your eyes land on the ultrasound pics she is holding in her hands. Well, guess you aren’t the only one knocked up. By the looks of it she is still quite early, as the belly is not visible at all and her body is still toned up and nice. “Congratulations.” You nod at her, now more politely.
“Thank you.” She says with a cocky smile as she tosses her long blond hair to the side. “It’s so hard being in the fifth month you know.”
Your eyes widen and you blink in disbelief. Fifth month? And she is as skinny and toned as she has always been? God does have favourite after all.
“What about you?” She raises one of her thin eyebrows up. Next thing she does is mentioning your ex’s name and your blood runs cold. “Didn’t know you two are still together, I swear I heard you two broke up. Guess, babies do fix some relationships.”
“We’re not together.” You harshly reply. “Nor am I pregnant. I’m here with a friend of mine. She should be out soon.” Kalifa is one if the last people you will let making fun of you, especially after all the things you have been through.
“Whatever. My husband is waiting for me.” Raising her hand up, she shows you a big diamond rock placed on her index finger with a beautiful weeding band under it. “What can I say, some of us are lucky, aren’t we?” She gives you one last mocking smile, and walks pass you, her high heels clicking on the floor.
Frozen in the middle of the hallway the doctor’s door open and the nurse from earlier calls out your name. “You can come in.” She says and gets back inside.
Swallowing hard you just nod. Seeing Kalifa might be for good. A reminder that you don’t want this. A reminder that things should be happening a certain way. In a way that you have always wanted it.
Stepping into the doctor’s room, she meets you with a warm smile. Doctor Belladonna is said to be one of the best obstetricians in the city, known for taken an exceptional care of her patients and aways deliver healthy babies. You won’t be needing her for that long, but you still want to be taken care of in the best way possible.
She stands up to meet and greet you, as she stretches her hand for you in a handshake. She is a bit taller than you, dark haired and with quite sharp and prominent cheekbones. Big round and pink glasses are placed on top of her head.
“Please take a seat.” She says and gestures with her hand towards the bed attached to ultrasound machine. You nod and take a seat at the edge of it.
Looking around the room while she looks at your test results, your anxiety is starting to peek up. There are many posters of pregnant women or mothers with big smiles holding their babies, which only makes the situation for you worse.
Your leg starts once again to bounce, and you grab a strand of your hair in attempt to distract yourself.
Taking a seat on the small chair with wheels attached on the bottom of it, Doctor Belladonna moves closer to you as she crosses one leg over the other and looks at you with a smile still placed on her face. Her eyes shift between you and then the papers with the results in her hands she finally speaks up.
“Well, (Y/N), one thing I can confirm is that you are pregnant.”
This much you know. After all, three pregnancy tests with two lines could mean nothing else but a baby, right? A small part of you wished it wasn’t the case, that they were all wrong, but they weren’t. Everything is correct. You are pregnant.
“By the looks of the blood test, you are healthy, but we still going to check you up with the ultrasound to see if everything with the little one is as well.” She gets up from the chair and turns around to prepare whatever she needs from the machine. “If you may unbutton your pants and lay down.”
Letting go of your hair, with shaking hands you unbutton the top of your pants and slightly roll them down.
With her peripheral vision, doctor Belladonna notices your nervousness. She turns around and comes closer to you as she holds a bottle in her hand. “Are you comfortable?” All you do is nod. “Okay. Now relax. Ultrasound is harmless, neither you nor the embryo will fill anything.” She explains as she puts on some gloves and takes the bottle she has been holding and opening it. Squeezing it gently a transparent liquid comes from it. “You might feel a little bit of a chill from the gel, but it will pass in a few seconds.”
She applies the gel on the bottom of your belly and gently spread it around before turning on the ultrasound and runs it where the gel is. As much as you want to avoid looking at it, you can’t help it, and your eyes are glued to the screen.
A contented hum comes from the doctor, and she points with her finger at the screen. “You see, there is the embryo.” She looks back at you and smile.
It is barely visible. It is just a tiny little dot on the dark screen, barely the size of a lentil, but you spot it.
Doctor Belladonna is talking to you, but you are not really listening. You are lost in your thoughts and not present at all in the room.
This whole thing terrifies you. The more the doctor next to you talks the more the reality of it all hits you. Your heart is beating fast, and your mouth runs dry. A bit of cold sweat runs down your forehead.
Eyes still fixed on the screen in front of your face; you can’t move your eyes from the screen and the little dot on it.
“I can hear a bit of a cardiac pulse.” Doctor Belladonna announces. “Do you hear it as well?”
Slowly moving your eyes from the screen, you look at the doctor for just a second and then back. Swallowing hard you ask her. “Wait, it has a heart already?”
A light laughter comes from the woman next to you. “No, it’s a bit too early for the embryo to have a heart, but it’s developing. If you focus and listen you will hear a slight cardiac pulse, which means you’re already six weeks pregnant.” She calmly explains. “Now listen.”
It is a strange feeling to explain what you felt the moment you hear the sound of the pulse coming from the little dot on the screen. Part of you can listen to it for hours, another part screams at you to come to your senses. This isn’t right. You are not supposed to love or fall for this.
Pulling the ultrasound away, Doctor Belladonna gives you a few napkins to wipe out the gel from your belly. Once you get all of it away, you button up your jeans and sit up on the bed.
“There you go.” Doctor Belladonna says as he hands you a picture of the ultrasound. With trembling fingers, you take it and look at it.
The little dot is there. Barely visible, but the doctor has marked it so you can spot it easier. In the corner of the ultrasound picture is written the date of today, how big the dot is and which week it is.
Doctor Belladonna can’t ignore your shaken presence anymore and she calls out your name until she gets your attention. “I can’t pretend that I don’t see how shaken and stressed you are.” Her dark brown eyes are full of sympathy. “As a doctor and part of your first exam, I must ask you if you are with an abusive partner or one who might cause you trouble during the pregnancy?”
Shaking your head you inhale deeply. “No, nothing like this.” It is worse than this, but how you tell someone you just have met that you got knocked up by a stranger whom you have no idea if you will be able to find. “I’m just not sure if I want to keep it. That’s all.”
Doctor Belladonna nods understandingly. “It’s entirely your choice. If we proceed with abortion, I just advise you to do it as soon as possible due the fact that you’re six weeks pregnant, for your safety I recommend you doing it by latest week nine.”
Looking at her, you bite the insides of your cheeks. “Do you perform the procedure yourself?”
“Yes, I do.” She softly smiles.
Hearing that you are considering ending your pregnancy, Doctor Belladonna explains to you how the procedure goes and why she has advised you to do it by week nine so it can be medically done and not by a surgery. She informs you about the aftermath of the procedure and how long it will take for you to recover.
Despite all this she proscribes you some pills and vitamins you should take until you make up your mind, in case you want to keep it. You two also agree to speak a week, when you will have a clear answer about what decision you have taken.
By the time your appointment with her is done, you feel a bit calmer. It is nice to know that it is all up to you whenever or not you will keep the Dot or not. You have made your mind that for now on you will be calling it – the Dot. Calling it a baby feels too scary and calling it an embryo just doesn’t sits right with you. Giving it its small size Dot feels like the perfect name to refer to it.
Your therapist is quite surprised by the news she hears. Of all the things she has expected to hear today from you, given your tired face, eyes filled with worry and body language screaming anxiety, the last thing she has thought of is the news that you are pregnant.
“When did you find out?” Nico Robin asks.
“Three or four days ago. Something like this.” You shrug, wrapping your arms around you, trying to protect yourself from the world around you.
“Have you checked with a doctor?”
You nod. “I’m six weeks pregnant.”
“I assume it’s from the guy you slept with not long ago?” You nod again to her question. “Do you plan to keep it?”
That is when you cannot hold it anymore and the tears you have been holding for so long starts pouring down your face like a waterfall. “I don’t know.” You say in between sobs. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I should get rid of it, because-” Chocking on a sob you press the palms of your hands to your forehead, the tips of your fingers pulling the roots of your hair. “I-I know t-that this is the r-right choice and thing to do-” Another sob tears apart from your chest. “B-but… I-I’m not sure I-I want this.”
Seeing your current state, Nico Robin puts aside her diary and gets up from her comfortable chair. She sits down next to you on the sofa and wraps her arms around your figure. “It’s fine to feel this way.” She softly says, running her hands up and down your back, trying to calm you dawn a bit. “I can’t imagine how scared you are right now, but I can promise you that your fears and reaction are valid and normal, and I’m proud of you, and how you have managed to handle all of it until now.” She pulls away from you and takes your hands in hers. “Please, focus on me right now and take deep breaths.”
Robin starts to count from one to ten and lets you know when to inhale and exhale. You are not sure how long you have been doing it, but soon your heartbeat returns to normal, and your tears start to dry.
“When you feel ready to speak, I’m here and I’m listening.” She gives you some space as she sits back on her chair and patiently waits for you.
“I don’t know how to find him.” Is all you say.
“Don’t you remember where he lives?” Robin knows all about your night spent with the nice and charming firefighter you met. She knows how you ran away in the morning and never bothered to get any of his contacts.
“I don’t.” Looking down at your hands, you grab a strand of your hair and start twisting your fingers around the edge of it. “I ran away and stopped running after four or more streets. I don’t even remember from which street I took the taxi home.”
The more you remember from that morning the more ashamed and embarrassed you feel. How could you be so stupid that you didn’t even bother to look around where you were? Given the fact how bit the city is, you will probably spend at least two weeks passing by every street for a chance to meet him.
“I was considering going to every fire station, but they are hundred and six!” You throw your hands in the air in disbelief. “Hundred and six fire stations? Can you believe it? I mean, are there that many fire accidents that happen in this city to need hundred and six fire stations?”
Running your hand through your hair, you shake your head and sigh. “To be honest, I don’t know if I should tell him.” Looking down, you place your hand on your stomach. “Especially if I decide to end the pregnancy.”
You can’t help but think of the sound of the pulse of your little Dot. Its little heart is not even developed yet but knowing that soon it will be not just a pulse, but a real heart, makes you want to cry.
“If you were me…” Your voice is a bit raw and quiet. “Would you have found and tell him?” Glancing with teary eyes at your therapist, you hope she will have the answers you are looking for.
A deep sigh escapes her chest. She doesn’t know what to tell you, because at the end you are the one who should make the choice. Morally speaking – the right thing to do is to find the guy and let him know that he might be a father, whenever you decide to keep the baby or not. If you have been a hundred percent sure that you will get rid of it, she does not see it as a very bad thing if you never find and tell him, but that is where one of the biggest problem lays in this situation - that you don’t know what you want.
“Please, Robin.” You and she have been on a first name basis for a long time now. “I beg you, answer me as yourself, not as my therapist.”
It is easier said than done what you are asking of her. Nodding, Nico Robin takes a deep breath. “I would find and tell him, if I want to keep it and if I am doubting it. I would only not tell him if I was a hundred percent sure that I don’t want the baby.”
You listen to her and think for a bit. She has a point. But telling him might be risky. “What if I tell him and he doesn’t want me to abort it? Or worse I decide to keep it, and he doesn’t want to even acknowledge it? What if I fail at being a single mother?”
All the questions and fears you have are valid. Crossing one leg over the other, Robin adjusts the frames of her tin glasses before answering some of your worries. “First of all, no one can say anything regardless your choices especially when it comes to your body and mental health.” The tone of her voice is serious, making sure you understand that no one can make you do something you don’t want to do. “Regarding your worries if he doesn’t want to acknowledge the child and leave you as a single mother, I’m confident enough to say that I think you will be an amazing mother with or without a man next to you. There are many mothers out there that have raised their children alone and they have done it perfectly, so there is no doubt that you can do it, too.”
You cannot believe that someone like your therapist, Nico Robin, see so much potential in someone like you. “You really think that if I have to raise a child of my own, I will manage it?”
A gentle smile spread across her beautiful face. “I’m positive that you will.”
Nodding slowly, you swallow hard. “I know this might sound strange, but do you have any friend working in a fire station department to help me find him?”
Taking her glasses off, Robin slightly tilts her head up a bit, thinking if she might have any friends or acquaintances working in the fire department of the city. Humming she slowly nods her head. “I think I might have a friend who might help. His name is Franky, he owns a mechanic shop, and if I remember correctly, he made some deal with some of the fire stations in the city to do monthly check-ups on their trucks.” Looking at you, she sees a bit of hope sparkling in your eyes. “Do you remember his name at least?”
Pressing the pads of your finger on your temple, you try your best to remember his name. It is short and it is not very common, but you have heard it before on other guys as well. “It was something with A…” Getting some of the memories from the night you met the charming man, you try your best to remember. Your eyes shoot open when the memory of you two playing poker pops out. “Ace. His name is Ace.”
“Are you a hundred percent sure that this is his name?” Robin raises one of her eyebrows at you.
Nodding eagerly, a big smile grows on your face. “Yes, I’m sure. Because we played poker together and every time, I had an Ace of Space I would make fun of him.”
“Okay. That is nice that at least we have his name. If you could also remember what he looks like I can tell Franky, and he can ask around for him.”
You describe the guy and Robin writes it down. She makes the phone call while you are still there and lucky you, she has remembered correctly that her friend has been involved with some of the fire stations in town. Robin is professional enough to not say why she is asking for such a favour of her friend, but he promises her that he will ask around and let her now.
Now all you must do is wait and see if you will be lucky enough to find your baby daddy this easily.
END NOTE: I hope you liked this chapter and plan to stick for more. I have so much fun writing this story and I can’t wait to put out more of it for you to read ♡
I know that this was only Reader focused, but in the next chapter you are getting quite lot of Ace so be patient ♡
Also I want to say - I’m all about women making their own choices with their bodies!!! I am a big women rights supporter and having the choice to keep the baby or not for me is entirely up to the woman carrying the baby!!!
All feedback is welcomed by me ♡ I appreciate every like, comment, reblog and message from you ♡ Thank you ♡
sum. an argument with the most irritating assassin in london leads to far more than you expect... 18+ FIC; MDNI
pairing jacob frye x secretary!reader
w.c. 2.4k
content warnings. 18+ mdni, fem!reader, porn with the barest whiff of plot, pre-established working relationship, boss/employee dynamic, dirty talk but make it 1800s, oral f. receiving, fingering, allusions to penetrative sex, pain kink m. receiving, Jacob Frye is a mouthy bitch, inappropriate use of desks, sex as a substitute for arguing, weird ass pov that's a mix of two povs, i wrote all of this shit and didn't actually have him put it in-
author's notes. soooooooo. after sitting on this for like. what 4 months? i finally decided to post this. i hereby christen this blog as Fucking Horny. the most love and adoration to @sun-snatcher for putting up with this entire au, proof reading this and being the reason i have spent 4 months in AC hell <3 ty wishie have fun with val kilmer <3
In the reel and sting from being slapped, Jacob Frye realises two things in quick succession. First, that your anger extended to his sister too, as you’d taken off the welcome-to-the-Rooks ring Evie had gifted you all that time ago.
Second, he was hard.
The third realisation, more delayed than the other two, was that you were so angry you had started shaking, and that he found you even more attractive than twenty minutes ago when you had first started yelling at him. The what and why of the scenario had slipped his mind. Because of you.
Firstly, again, you slapped him, and secondly because you, pretty little secretary slash accountant you, were standing before him frazzled, shaking, panting in anger. He, for all his bowing and kowtowing and calling himself a gentleman, could not pull his mind from the gutter. Thus, the problem in his trousers. Definitely not from the sensation of you hitting him. Of course not.
It's been silent for too long. He’s staring, cupping the side of his face you attacked with the opposite hand. Anger slowly cools into anxiety because good Lord above, you just slapped your employer - though Jacob certainly deserved a good beating for every single point that you’ve argued against him.
The over recruiting, the betting and boozing, not to mention how expensive it's becoming to outfit all his damn Rooks to fight. Knives and guns and does he know how much they're spending on green dye for those stupid coats per month?
He’s silent, still staring, and then.
“God, you’re irritating, aren’t you?”
He watches your hackles rise back up in disbelief, anger igniting across your face, about to let loose a what does that even mean; then surges forward to grab your face in both hands and kiss you.
You freeze, but Jacob doesn’t even have time to wonder if he’s misstepped before you’re clawing at him. Hands grab at hips and napes, your hand cards through his hair and knocks his cap to the floor, while he gets to revel in the fact that he’s finally scored a point in one of your many bouts.
But this is not a lovers kiss, and he does not kid himself into thinking it is.
The tangle of the two of you is not passionless, far from it. There are the telltale sighs of you losing yourself, instances in the infinity you seem to kiss him where a touch seems soft, a moan seems loving, but in the moments you part, you transform.
You snarl, you bite his lip. Soft touch becomes bruising, a tender hand becomes a yank to his hair. You kiss him like you want to rip the tongue from his mouth.
He’s kind of in love with it.
You don’t let him get more than an inch ahead of you in this great (perceived) race to put the other in their place. Giving as good as you get, you think, especially with how warm the room’s become, both your neck and his starting to heat with sweat.
He’s pressed against the far wall and your hand just barely brushes his crotch as it roams down his abdomen. To be honest, you were mostly trying to reach behind him to pay him back for swatting at your backside earlier in the bout, but a win is a win. Especially when that win is Jacob Frye moaning, hard and hot in your hand through his trousers.
He breaks the kiss; his head tilts back, jugular exposed, panting hard as you grope him brazenly. You lean up to capture the pulse point in your mouth, but your prey is barely between your jaws for a second before you feel the vibration of his laugh in your teeth.
Your head snaps up to see something in his eyes you don’t expect. You daren’t name it.
“What?” It comes out as a snarl.
He laughs through his nose.
“Never knew you were this much of a fighter ‘s’all.”
Jacob’s voice is something much worse than lustful, even though you’re palming him, and he’s been skillfully undoing the buttons on your blouse without your notice. Similarly, he takes advantage of your slowed state, slowly tipping the scales back in his favour through walking you both backwards until you’re forced to perch on the edge of your desk.
Ever the distractor, he dips to the junction of your neck, breath hot on your pulse before you can even retort.
“You’d be a wonder in the ring darling.”
He kisses upwards to your cheek, tilting you slowly backwards, closer and closer to his goal.
“What do you say, eh? Get a few rounds in?”
Oh, he’s proud of himself for that one. You can see it in his smirk, the way it lifts to show teeth. The taunt, unfortunately, is your undoing. Definitely not his smile. But in the back of your mind, you don’t truly care about losing, not now. Not while Jacob is warm and alive above you, lips bitten and swollen, pupils blown wide, more dishevelled than you’ve ever seen. You’ve become prey now, and it's exhilarating.
You pull him to you by his shirt collar and Jacob can do nothing but laugh. You’re lifted into his arms easily, deposited on the desk, and for a moment his grip around your waist loosens.
A crash comes from behind, you cry out, whipping your head around so fast he has to move out of the way or be hit by your hair. The idiot has swept his hand across the tabletop, sending ledgers, papers, pens and your oil lamp crashing to the ground.
“Frye, what–”
You’re shocked out of your daze, and he is at least good enough to at kick some of the broken glass out of the way, closer to the door.
“We needed more room!” He says, almost insulted that you’re upset at his actions.
“But the lamp–”
“Write it off as a business expense.” He shrugs, then kisses you again. You bite his lip in response, his head rears back and he rolls his eyes. “Alright, I’ll buy you a new one.”
Jacob lays you across the table, after you’re plied with kisses enough to let him, stepping between your legs to hike your skirts up.
“Buy you whatever you want,” he grunts as clothed knee burrows between plush thighs. “You deserve it.”
“I do? I have- ah, there - I have been wanting to get some new things for the office.” You're trying hard to stay grounded, but he notices the way your voice pitches up at the pressure of him against you. He moves his leg so his thigh grinds against your core and you growl.
“Just for the office? Nothing pretty for the best secretary in all of London?”
The friction you’re finally able to gain from rocking against him sends your head spinning at the compliment, but you cling on to that still-seething core of anger, letting it smolder.
“Oh, ‘the best secretary’ is it? Just a moment ago I was a - what was it again? She-devil?”
He laughs at your mocking, then sucks his next portion of air through his teeth as your hand touches the bare skin of his waist under an untucked shirt, nails raking across flesh, and the kisses pressed to his jawline.
“Well, it’s hardly incorrect, now is it? Wild thing, you are.”
At that, his coat is pushed from his arms and he can’t help but laugh again at your muttered I’ll show you wild, Frye. Another jibe gets him pulled in by his waistband to push your heat against his. A third gets him smacked again, this time for attempting to uncouple the front of your corset at the same time.
His cock throbs this time, and he curses your proximity. Watches as your eyes glimmer in cruel amusement as you feel the reaction against you, how your face twists to mock him.
Thank his lucky star you’re on his side. You look beautiful when you’re wicked.
“What’s this? Are you… excited about getting hit?” You breathe the words as if reciting a spell. Despite their reverence, your voice drips with condescension. He sputters in response, and you grab a handful of his hair, bringing him close. He can't meet your eyes, and you delight at the genuine blush dusting his face.
“I think I’ve just figured out why you want me in that boxing ring so badly, Jacob Frye.”
For the first time possibly ever, you see Jacob positively bashful.
“You uh… you may not be too shy off the mark there, darling.”
You grin at his confession, rocking your hips with his. He hisses, then laughs.
“Alright, I deserved that. However may I rectify this… grave misconduct of mine?” He smiles, oh so coy and you roll your eyes in response, pulling back by a hair.
It's the first time in minutes your speech hasn’t been interrupted with kisses or insults. Jacob watches the gears turn in your head, when that wicked little smile quirks the corner of your lip again. The hand in his hair relaxes from gripping to pushing, down, down, down ‘til he’s propped himself on one knee and worked your undergarments out of the way, grinning like a madman all the way down.
If this is but a literal taste of what's to come, Jacob will savour every second between your thighs.
You don’t move your hand from his head, meaning he’s pushed to the perfect position to see the whole of you. Gazing up, Jacob realises sharply that you may be the most frighteningly beautiful woman he’s ever met. You are coolly determined to keep your head despite your blouse hanging half off you, corset uncoupled and your skirts 'round your hips. It’s so bloody attractive that he doesn’t even care he’s at your mercy at this moment. Through dark lashes, he regards you with admiration.
“Well? I’m waiting for my apology, Frye.” You goad, and he uses that as his cue to tear your underwear from your hips. You shriek, but all insults die on your tongue as his licks a long stripe up the seam of you.
You laugh almost in shock, leading horse to water. He starts as he means to go on, with fervorous, long strokes. Jacob has the courtesy to not detach his mouth from suckling at your bud to comment on the exceptionally enthusiastic responses he’s drawing from you while you take your pleasure from his ministrations.
He adds a finger, crooked and attempting to undo you, and he hums as your eyes flutter shut with a call of his name. A second causes your thighs to shutter his head, but he pushes them back open with naught but a smile, leaning back to drink you in.
“C’mon, love, keep 'em open for me.” It’s murmured, but heard regardless.
“Did no one teach you not to talk when your mouth’s full, Frye?” It’s meant to come out as threatening. Instead its breathless and wanting, with Jacob laughing as you force his mouth back to work with a heel between his shoulder blades. He offers a kiss to the junction of crotch and thigh, then to your clit, taking it gently between his teeth. You lounge back, spellbound enough to forget your anger for a time. Marvellous how a problem disappears when it’s smoothed over like this.
He goes and ruins it all by talking again. Initially it’s all mumbles you can barely hear over your own voice, something you’re only the slightest bit embarrassed about.
“Fuckin’ beautiful.” You keen at the praise, but in the absence of more you shuffle yourself back up onto your forearms. Looking down at him through your haze, you realise that Jacob has been muttering affections to your cunt this entire time, clearly not listening to your earlier admonishment.
“Are you insane?” You scoff.
He catches your eye and grins as he nips at the inside of your thigh, the action making you shudder as he rests his cheek against your skin. He looks, in this moment, so innocent, as if he hasn’t got two fingers hilted deep inside your heat; like he’s not the most infuriating man in all of London.
“Just getting introductions sorted out, love,” Jacob says, eyes not moving from where his fingers disappear inside you, and there must be something wrong with you, because there’s a hiccup in your heartbeat instead of a retort that there wouldn't be any repeat meetings.
He presses an almost tender kiss to the top of your slit, and you can’t help but chase the view of him, pushing upwards so you’re resting your weight on your palms.
“Gotta loosen her up, yeah? You have to treat a lady right, after all.”
His breath is hot against your skin, and when he’s not holding your thighs apart his spare hand is put to work palming himself, committing every part of you to memory.
His muttering continues between kisses and licks, praising everything from your taste to the noises of your cunt, conversing with it.
He looks insane. It’s unnervingly attractive.
You scold him, swat at his head when he bites gently a second time on your clit, but let your head fall back when a particularly artful crook of his fingers send your hips bucking into the free hand soothing them.
It’s soon after that Jacob sends you over the edge for the first time, and on the spot he realises he is obsessed with it. How you bend forward and gasp his name with none of the typical shock or irritation; just a pure cry of pleasure. Pleasure he wrought. Mouth open with a wide smile, like you're about to burst out laughing.
He’s trying to temper how proud of himself he is, when your shuddering ceases long enough for you to yank him upwards to kiss him.
It’s still messy and full of teeth, but Jacob seems to have fucked some of the anger out of you, at least for the moment. He's almost content to pull back and leave you like this, more than happy to have seen this side of you, debauched and far removed from the prim and proper your ladyship he saw day-to-day.
And then your hands fumble at his belt, unable to concentrate for fear of loosing his lips against yours.
Well, in for a penny, eh?
He pushes you back - a little roughly, not on purpose - to look you in the eye. His trousers are by his knees, cock in hand, and yet he stops.
“You’re sure?”
You nod in affirmation, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. Jacob shakes his head.
“I need to hear you say it, love. Can’t keep going otherwise.” You give him a look, then realise he's not teasing.
The stillness brings the reality of what you're about to do into focus. You’re on a knife edge, here. Sure, what’s a bit of anger-fuelled kissing between co-workers, but this? This is a step above.
You bridge the distance, kiss him, slower than before. It feels like nothing and everything. It feels like words your brain isn’t even prepared to think. Your nose slots easily beside his as you pull away. You don't want to think about how perfectly you align with him without even trying, how easily you tune to each other's frequencies, how natural it is to soften and open for him.
A tilt of your head, another kiss to the corner of his mouth, as you watch his knife-smile grow.
: ̗̀➛Teenage—a time for romance! Korosensei's more than eager to support the sparks of love amongst his students. Or Korosensei's observation log for his students' romance
: ̗̀➛rewatched assasination classroom and I just had to write a bit for them. Hahahahhah
Karma Akabane (Island arc)
The moment Korosensei smells the whiff of romance in the air, he's quick to chase after it, eager to meddle in the business and tend to it to ensure it blooms properlv.
Smelling the scent of a budding romance between you and Karma, he quickly devises a plan that ensures you'll both be ensnared with each other by the end of the day.
The only problem is the current stage of relationship Karma and you were in-mutual hatred born out of your clashing personalities. This singular problem had made any hope of romance almost impossible to occur.
Korosensei thinks it's a shame, especially when you synchronize too well with Karma in both combat and shrewdness. The chemistry was there, the foundation laid out, and the only thing stopping love from blooming was that stubborn mindset that refused to listen to what vour heart said.
Though at first glance, it would seem that hatred existed between the two students of his. In closer inspection, tell tale signs of hidden admiration could be spotted, an unspoken need to be by each other's side despite the public display of dissonance vou pretended to have with him.
He's so obvious in the way that if he was placed in a room full of people he knew, you'd always be the one he'd greet first. Obvious in the way that whenever a crisis happens he'd always first look for you. Obvious in the way that he's always the first to notice whenever you act strange-and especially obvious in the stolen glances he takes whenever he thinks no one is looking, betraying his true feelings that he himself was not sure of.
Korosensei found Karma troublesome. The gold eyed student insisted on disliking the other's attitude, stating repeatedly how they don't mix at all -all the while ignoring the several instances that proved he did see you as someone more than just someone to hate. What a problem geniuses were.
Sitting beside your bed ridden figure, his hands trembled involuntarily. His eyes dart from you to his surroundings, it had been the first time since his classmates were faced with such danger.
For once, Karma Akabane had been scared witless by something. It was odd; while he did occasionally feel wary or cautious, scared was not a word in his vocabulary-at least it wasn't until now.
Though he'd rather die than admit it, he was forced to admit that you were more than just someone he enjoyed pissing off. More than just the classmate he claimed you were to him. You were a step close to death-the fact had struck fear in Karma's heart and had forced him to acknowledge the part of him that tried so hard to push his blossoming feelings aside.
Even if he knew he should be relaxed and knew firsthand that the threat had already been erased and the poison laced in your drinks were nothing serious, still, he can't keep his heart calm knowing you're still suffering from the poison. As long as you remained this way, there was still a chance for something bad to happen, and Karma feared that. Even if it was illogical, even if it was unlikely, he couldn't help but be irrational at the moment.
"How do you feel, you feeling alright?" Karma asks, despite knowing that your unconscious figure wouldn't be able to answer.
"Hey, don't tell me you're dying from just this. Oi." He nudged your face with a finger, poking your cheek in an attempt to calm down his thrumming heart.
A part of him hoped for a reply, a snarky retort, a threat-anything. He wanted you to say something to calm down his heart that just refused to listen no matter how logically sound his assurances were.
Fortunately for him, you had answered his calls and erased every doubt that echoed inside his head.
You grumble, opening your eyes to meet his with a glare. "Ha? As if I'd die from something like this." You click your tongue at the unwelcome sight, just the worst thing to see when you're ill.
Karma flinches, snapped out of his quickly worsening thoughts. He's quick to shift his focus on you, his eyes lingering on your face that glowered at him despite your now frail disposition. He blinks once, twice, befuddled by your sudden retort.
A laugh leaves Karma's lips, you always did find a way to surprise him. "What the-so you were still conscious this whole time?"
"I couldn't sleep when there was a certain someone eager to bug this sick patient."
Karma only grinned in response, now seeming a lot more relaxed now that he's heard your voice for the first time in a while but it wasn't long until he stiffened up once more.
"...You better get healed fast, [name]." He says, his tone sounding softer than the usual.
The sudden change had caught you by surprise, you almost got a whiplash from how surprisingly fragile he seemed. Not only that, he also surprised you with the look on his face that seemed almost begging. With his jaw clenched and his brows knitted, he looked the worst you've seen him yet.
You were speechless, confused to say the least due to the turn of events. You've always believed you hated Karma and so he did in turn as well-but when faced in such a situation where worry was shown without any mask to hide it, you freeze up. And just for this moment only, your glare softened into a gentle stare.
"I will, don't worry so much."
You smiled softly-the first of its kind you've ever made in front of him.
"But only if you stop bugging me, that is."
Hiroto Maehara (Itona building a tank arc)
With Maehara, Korosensei finds himself struggling a lot more than he thought he would with building up the romantic sparks between vou and Maehara.
Though Korosensei was indeed meddlesome, he was times the more meddlesome between yoh two. Truth be told, the teacher didn't expect it either, but the one step forward and two steps back advancement you had going on had run his patience thin and caused him to take matters into his own hands.
Despite Maehara's good looks and Korosensei's creative date plans, he could never seem to catch you-a slippery one, the person Maehara's in love with is. I wonder if things will really progress at this rate? Was what the tentacled monster always wondered.
While Korosensei's advice and flawless setups did work like a charm in charming you at times, Maehara always found a way to reduce his hard earned affection points with his more perverse side. And while it infuriated Korosensei, he also didn't have the right to get mad when he himself had the same perverse side so he could only hope for the best to happen.
It's a struggle. Sometimes Maehara's on your good side and sometimes he's not, it's unsure how things will end up but so long as Maehara continues to have feelings for you, Korosensei's more than happy to be the wingman in this awkward situationship.
It was the worst case scenario.
When the tank that was planned to be used on, well, something was discovered by its supposed targets before the mini tank could come to fruition and bear the desired results, they were officially busted. Their dreams and hopes of peeking through the girls undergarments was now far out their reach.
Maehara dies a little on the inside when he sees you among the group of girls who had caught them in the act. Oh, he was definitely screwed.
Your soft eyes that gradually sharpened into a glare had stabbed Maehara directly in the heart. With your brows knitted together and your lips curving to a disappointed frown, you looked as though you were staring at someone lower than dirt.
"[N-name]?" He called weakly, color swiftly draining from his skin.
In response to his call, you only took a step back and tugged your skirt lower, hugging your body as you seemed to have completely lost every bit of fondness you had for him before.
"Please don't come anywhere near me, I feel unsafe."
Your words were the final nail in the coffin. Following your display of disgust, was him collapsing to the floor. He stretches his hand out towards you, hoping to reach you only to fail as you walked away from the classroom just as quickly as you entered.
"W-wait [name]... I can explain!"
...and there goes his desperate attempts to get close to you. He clenches his heart, K.O.'d already by just one sentence. He's completely lost all color, turning pale white from the sheer horror of now being ranked lower than a roach in your view.
His classmates had looked down at him with a mix of pity and amusement. Pity because they knew full well how deep in love Maehara was with you and amusement for the situation he got himself in.
"Serves you right," Takaoka remarks with a snort. "That's what you get for being a disgusting perv." She huffs, shaking his head before heading to her seat to allow him time to recover from the brutal cut off.
"I was just..." He grits his teeth, punching the floor with frustration. He wouldn't deny that it was mostly his fault for indulging in such things, but facing the consequences of his actions had proved to be harder than he thought.
Nakamura snickers, barely holding it in as she feigns to be unbothered by Maehara's current predicament.
"Hmph, maybe next time you'll think before doing something like this again." She jeers. "Ahah, you're definitely screwed. [Name] doesn't take perverts well. Say bye bye to your previous privileges, you'll most likely never get to experience it again after all. Good luck trying to woo her this time, Maehara."
She waves him farewell, following Takaoka to her seat to continue the conversation they left off earlier. Though, of course, not before poking fun at him a few more times in the typical Nakamura fashion.
Maehara sighs, dreading the thought. How would he bring himself in your good graces this time? He could only hope Korosensei would be able to help him this time around.
Yuuma Isogai (Valentines arc)
Now with Isogai, setting you up with him was easy. You got along well and he was a perfect gentleman, it didn't take much for you to start falling the same way Isogai had.
The problem with Isogai and you however, was the lack of moves made. Though it's clear that the both of you liked each other, neither had the time to think of romance as they placed their focus in academics and family.
Korosensei admires his maturity, he understands the reasoning and he appreciates the way both of you had your priorities straight. But still, Korosensei thinks it's a waste of youth to only focus on studies and work. Being a teen is rare, and if one spent all of it focusing on the future and taking care of others, then time would pass by and before even realizing it, you've run out of time to enjoy the things you should've had during such delicate years. Korosensei's well aware that teenage years in particular were important in a person's growth, oftentimes, what you did during middle school would paint who you'd be in the near future and so, Korosensei wanted to ensure that he spent this year's indulging in things normal teens often got caught up in.
Korosensei treads carefully when it comes to lighting the sparks of romance between you and Isogai. If he came off too strong, then it'd only push you away from the other, but if he came off too weak then nothing was bound to happen. He treads a delicate balance of both, ensuring that Isogai grows more in touch with his romantic feelings while also not pressuring him to confess right away. He wanted his students to take their time. Even if he longed for drama between the class, he didn't want it to happen against the will of his students
After school, being the last of the students to head home due to certain duties, Isogai and you walked down the stairs with Korosensei waving you farewell just a few steps away.
The silence blanketed the two students softly, a cozy atmosphere being set. No words were exchanged, only the sounds of your shoes hitting the rocky stairs.
The silence continued until Isogai noticed the lack of footsteps. He halts his steps, a curious look in his eyes when he turns and finds you standing still. Tilting his head, he turns around to approach you, confused about your sudden pause. His eyes darts to yours, and when he sees that you seemed to be staring at something else, he follows the direction of your gaze, his brows stitched together until he sees the landscape.
His eyes widened, his breath stolen by the sight.
"The view here is pretty." You comment, finally breaking the delicate silence that once blanketed the both of you.
He nods, finding himself appreciating the landscape with you. Has the mountain always looked this pretty? He hums, holding the sling of his bag tightly. Shifting his focus from the sky to you, he'd planned to convince you to head home already before it grew dark but without realizing it, he found himself stunned speechless.
Maybe it was the sun that seemed to have cast its graces upon you, maybe it was the awe struck look in your eyes, maybe it was the spirit of valentines, maybe it was his own eyes playing tricks on him, but at that moment, you looked truly beautiful. From the sun kissed skin to your parted lips, from your freely flowing hair to your eyes that sparkled with wonder, you were nothing but mesmerizing in that moment. At that moment, Isogai couldn't bring himself to break the silence, nor break the attraction that sparked as he watched your side profile from beside you.
'Ethereal' was the only word he could describe a beauty like you in this very second.
You're not sure when, but after you managed to move on from the breathtaking landscape, your eyes naturally darted towards him. Seeing his eyes that were already set on you, you flinched—but nevertheless, didn't look away.
Seconds passed, time ticked by and still you remained frozen from where you stood. Your heart raced, begging you to make a move—get swept up by the moment and do something irrational—it begged you. Following the currents of your heart, you swallowed your pride and forsaken rationality.
"Isogai, I—"
"nuhuhuhu, things are getting interesting"
You flinch, your eyes swiftly searching for the oddity that hid beneath layers of nature. Catching sight of a familiar yellow monster, your eyes sharpen into a glare—your prior commitment to confessing all but forgotten once you found out you weren't alone at that moment.
"Ah! Korosensei, you were spying on us?" You asked, pushing Isogai aside to approach the flustered teacher of yours.
"What?! How did you—" he pauses, his expression shifting to that of a panicked one. "Don't tell me, did I say it out loud?!"
"You sure did, you peeping tom."
Your glare was nothing short of welcoming, and just like second nature, you took out a knife specifically made for your teacher and began attacking him with successive slashes.
Isogai, befuddled by the swift course of events, stood still from where he stood, unsure whether he should stop you or leave you be.
A bead of sweat dropped, an exasperated smile tugging up his lips whilst he breaths out a sigh.
Calming down after a moment to himself, the smile drops on his face and only then did he feel how hard his heart was thumping. He looks down and with slow movements, held a hand to his chest, feeling it ramming against his ribcage.
Just earlier, you were definitely about to...
The thought of it alone caused his cheeks to redden, palms turning sweaty the more he thought about what could've happened had a certain nosy teacher kept himself well hidden.
'crap.'
He squeezes his chest, finally realizing the fluttering that always happened inside his stomach whenever you were around.
I recently just got back into my AC fixation and saw your recent AC post, and I loved it. I was bouncing back between two ideas and decided to go with this one (maybe I'll request the other eventually, lol).
Well, I was recently replaying AC Brotherhood and got to the first Cristina mission where Ezio just embarrasses himself trying to flirt. Well, that's where I got my idea. What if he's trying to show off to a fellow assassin, but every time he does something embarrassing, he happens to him in front of her. Like missing a ledge and falling into the canal or running into the wall. The classics. Luckily for him, she's just as into him as he is.
Also wanted to say a big thank you for the content because it's more dead than my grandma in this tag.
❤️❤️❤️
EYES THAT NEVER LOOK
𝔄/𝔑: 2PAC BACK 2PAC BACK, THAT'S ALL THESE SCREAMING THAT 2PAC BACK (its me im back and posted twice in a week, holy im the goat) Also my first oneshot so go easy on me bro 🥀💔
𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤'𝔰: Ezio x Gn!Reader
𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: none except the fact I suck at fics yo
He’d been trying to get your attention for months now, showing off all of his best tricks in a fight and doing his best in everything he could just to get you to look at him with those pretty eyes of yours. It was fruitless, to him at least, whatever he tried, whatever trick he pulled from his sleeve would have you looking away from him. Was he really that undesirable to you?
He never knew that those eyes he was trying so desperately to look into were stealing glances from him whenever they could. You knew that many people loved Ezio, I mean he’s probably fucked most of the cities population, but you still couldn’t keep your eyes off of him.
Which takes you to now, on top of building looking into the night. He had invited you to come stargazing with him, I mean who wouldn’t want to look at the stars? Especially with their big time crush! But it was night, so it was cold, really cold. Italy had a way with its weather, but it seems that none of that was affecting either of you. You couldn’t look him in the eyes, and he needed you to (well more like wanted but whatever.) And that’s when it hit him, it was just the two of you, even if you wanted to look away at whatever was possibly more interesting than him you would eventually come back and look at him. And guess what was at the ground beneath you two, A wagon full of hay…
Then he snaps his neck towards you “Bella! Want to see a trick?” He asks with the biggest grin you’ve ever seen him wear.
You look at him wondering what his mischievous mind has in store “A trick? Don’t you do enough of those on the daily?” You say with sarcasm dripping from your words.
Then he stands up quickly and starts walking towards the edge, before you can even say anything to get him to stop he’s already jumped, into the presumable ground.
You run towards the edge thinking the worse has happened, Ezio, Italy’s finest assassin, gone because we wanted to show you a stupid trick. But then you hear laughter, His laughter, the one that makes those stupid butterflies in your stomach flutter like crazy.
Looking down you see him in a wagon full of hay looking ever so divine, like it was just natural for him to be like this, so carefree and without worry.
“Ezio! You idiot! Do you even know what you just did to me?” You say trying to sound stern, but he can hear the laugh your trying to hold back.
“Well? What did you think, pretty good if you ask me” Ezio says as he climbs out of the wagon, brushing off the hay and fixing his cape.
You think for a minute before responding back with your own remark “If you were trying to get my heart racing you succeeded, but for the love of god, never do that again…” you say the last part a little more quietly then the first, I mean jeez who says that to Ezio? He’s gonna do it regardless!
He climbs back up onto the building and looks at you with those eyes that just scream of trouble “How about next time you jump… into my arms that is”
“You really can’t resist can you, Ezio?” You say shaking your head with a casual smile, you know, the ones that made his heart feel like it was gonna explode, casual, yeah real casual.
Then he looks at you, really looks at you. You can feel his eyes burning into yours “I mean it, allow me to rephrase myself bella, please, my arms call your name yet I do not know if you can hear them, my heart beats for you and you only…” and he just seems so vulnerable, so soft at the moment I mean did you really have the heart to say no?
And then he see’s them, those eyes, the one he silently begged to see for more than 3 seconds looking straight into his, “Ezio, I have no greater wish then to be with you, I wish I had the confidence to say this before but… I love you”
And then he starts to feel the heat in his cheeks, you never thought anyone would be able to fluster the great Ezio but here you stand, doing just that.
Summary: Desmond’s daughter finally gets to meet her father, but not in the way she expected too.
~
The Animus’s chair cradled her, cold and uncomfortable, and somewhere in the humming darkness of the machine, her father’s memories were waiting for her. She had stopped feeling the persistent ache in her lower back and the hollow gnawing behind her ribs hours ago. She had been days without solid meals. Only nutrition bars, IV drips, and occasionally water. She had stopped feeling the IV in her arm long ago. She felt only the pull of her ancestral history, and the irresistible drag of Desmond Miles's DNA singing in her cells.
Shaun Hastings's voice crackled through the speakers, distant as the young woman tried to fight to stay in the animus.
“Your vitals are spiking. We need to pull you out."
She obviously couldn’t answer. But her grandfather stood behind Shaun and his monitor, William’s silhouette was a rigid column of shadow against the blue glow of the screens. But William said nothing, yet she could feel his silence pressing against her soul, heavy with expectation. William had imported that silence from her father’s childhood, she thought. It was the same silence that had driven Desmond to run, to hide, to hate the assassin brotherhood that William had created, before finally, fatally, embracing it.
She was currently viewing the finale memories of her father. She was stuck in 2012, in the Grand Temple watching her father die to save a world that hadn't yet known her name. She was watching him for the thousandth time—watching his fingers tremble above the glowing pedestal, and watched the solar flares tearing across the sky, in the memories not her own but borrowed, inherited, stolen.
"(Y/n)!" William miles, her grandfathers voice called to her.
"Focus on the combat sequences. We need his muscle memory, not the melodrama. Your father didn't sacrifice himself so you could just stand around and do nothing."
“My father sacrificed himself because you never gave him a choice”, she thought but could not say.
But as of lately the bleeding effect had begun to grow. She could feel Altair's impatience, Ezio's recklessness, and Connor's internal anger merging into her bloodstream like morphine. But mostly, she felt Desmond, her father. She'd been inside the animus for almost three weeks straight, emerging only when Rebecca or Shaun physically disconnected the feeds, or when her mother's small hands—thin, and trembling, that had once held Desmond's face—pried her fingers from the armrests.
"Please," Her mother had whispered the previous night, her eyes swimming with the grief that never seemed to fade. She was watching the animus destroy her only child, just as it had done to the father of her child.
"You're fading away, my love. You're not eating. You're not here anymore." Her mother would plead.
But she’d always come back to reality hollowed out, her mind crowded with ghosts, her body a forgotten husk.
"Again," her grandfather, William Miles, commanded.
"William," Rebecca started, her voice carrying that particular pitch of technological concern. "Her dopamine levels are—"
"She's stronger than the others. She has his blood." He’d say.
Yes, (Y/n) thought, as she was getting ready to enter the animus. So do you. He was your own flesh and blood too, and yet he was never enough for you.
"Subject is entering the memory corridor," Rebecca Crane reported nervously, as her fingers danced across the interface.
"(Y/n), if you see the shimmer—if the edges start to dissolve—you pull out. Do you understand? The bleeding effect is—"
"I know what it is."
She knew better than anyone.
She had caught herself, yesterday, reaching for a hidden blade that wasn’t there, muscle memory ghosting through her fingers like smoke. She had looked at a concrete wall and calculated climbs that no human could make. She was drowning in her father’s skills, his deaths, his emotions, and she was starving for just one glimpse of the man who had held her mother’s stomach months before the world had almost ended, but was saved by that same man.
So she closed her eyes.
The animus stabilized, and her world faded away once again as she was swallowed whole.
~
One moment the young woman was watching Desmond argue with Juno, the holographic of the ancient god flickering across the temple walls.
The next, the stone turned to mist, the colors inverted.
She stood in a space that wasn't space, a cathedral of code and light where geometry disobeyed physics. This wasn't a memory. This was the buffer, the space between, the digital graveyard where—Something was off, she immediately noticed. Her senses had began to dull, she felt isolated and alone.
Instead of memory 16, she had found herself dragged into the grey.
The Grey did not exist in the computer data. It was not New York, Italy, Syria, or the frozen Colonies. It was the space between memories, the digital afterlife where consciousness frayed and reformatted, where the dead could dream they were still alive. (Y/n) had glimpsed it before—fractured moments where Ezio Auditore’s Rome dissolved into static, where Connor’s frontier became code—but she had never stepped into it fully. The Assassins had warned her. The grey was where minds broke. Subject 16 had painted his suicide there in digital blood.
But today was different.
Today, there was a shape in that grey void.
He stood with his back to her, dressed in the iconic white and red hoodie she knew from photographs, from the archives, from her mother’s tearful stories. The hoodie she'd seen her mother wear to bed when she was lonely, the large one that looked like a dress on her mother.
(Y/n)’s breath caught.
"Dad?"
The figure turned to face her.
She had prepared for this. She had rehearsed it in bathroom mirrors as a little girl, in the dark hours before dawn, practicing faceless reunions that always made her feel worse than better. But nothing prepared her for the specificity of him: the crooked tilt of his nose, the scar across his lip, the worry lines between his eyebrows that matched her own, the way his hands hung open at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with his gentleness and affection.
He was standing maybe twenty feet away, exactly as she'd seen him in the memories—dark hair, dark eyes, the scar on his lip that matched Altair’s. She'd seen her mother trace that scar a thousand times as they looked at photographs of him.
"My calculations put you at about eighteen, going on nineteen," he said calculated, yet softly, "You have her eyes, but my nose. But you're not supposed to be here yet. It’s too soon."
His voice stopped her heart.
She walked forward slowly at first, her assassin training warring with the raw, infant need of a child who had never been held by her father. But than she moved. It wasn’t trained Assassin speed, wasn’t the fluid economy of motion that Altair’s genetics had forced into her muscles—it was clumsy, human, desperate.
Desmond Miles smiled, and it was the saddest thing she'd ever seen. "Hey, kiddo."
She slammed into him with enough force to stagger them both, and his arms came around her, real and solid and impossible. She sobbed into his shoulder, her fingers clawing at the fabric of his shirt.
"You left. You left us. You left me."
"I know, (y/n). I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His arms came around her, strong and certain, rocking her like the child she'd never been allowed to be.
"You should have never—" She pulled back, anger blazing through the grief.
"I know, baby. I know." His voice cracked. He cradled the back of her head.
"You don’t get to call me that."
But she held him tighter, her nails digging into the fabric of his sweater, terrified he would pixelate and dissolve.
"I needed you. Mom needed you. And you chose them. You chose the world. How could you just leave us? She tells me stories, you know. Mom. She tells me how excited you were. How you talked to her stomach. How you promised you'd teach me everything. And then you had to go and touch that stupid thing….and you—"
Desmond pulled back just enough to look at her, and she saw it then—the weight he carried even here, in in this digitalized afterlife. The cosmic horror of having touched Juno’s device, of burning from the inside out to save a planet that would never know his name. The fact that he had sacrificed his chance at a happy life, to marry the woman of his dreams, and the chance to raise his little girl.
"There was no other option," he said. Not defensive—resigned, "The solar flare would have scourged the Earth. Your mother was nine months pregnant. I had seventeen minutes to decide."
"You decided wrong."
"I decided for you, for the both of you." He touched her face, his thumb brushing away tears that shouldn’t exist in a server space.
"When I touched that pedestal, (y/n), I wasn’t thinking about the Assassins. I wasn’t thinking about humanity. I was thinking about the kid I’d never meet, and how I needed the world to still be spinning when she took her first breath."
"That’s not fair." She pulled away, angry now, the familiar Miles temper flaring hot in her chest—the same temper that followed through the blood of her ancestors had made Connor short tempered, and Ezio arrogant.
"I burned so you wouldn't have to. So your mother wouldn't have to. The solar flare would've wiped everything—every hospital, every crib, every possibility of you. I looked at the world, (y/n), and I looked at you, still growing inside your mother, and there was no choice. Not really. Any good father would have made the same decision. It was not one I took lightly."
"You made us love a ghost. Mom can’t say your name without crying. And him—"
She gestured wildly at the nothingness, knowing he could see through her eyes into the lab beyond.
"Granddad is trying to turn me into you. He’s pulling the same shit he pulled on you. He thinks if he pushes me hard enough, I’ll be the weapon you were. But I’m breaking, because I am not you dad."
His hand came up to cup her face, thumb brushing away tears that shouldn't exist in a digital space.
"He thinks I’m a hard drive," she spat.
"All of the assassins do. ‘(Y/n) has the closest DNA match to Desmond. (Y/n) can handle the bleeding. (Y/n) won’t lose her mind like Subject 16.’ But I don’t want to be your legacy. I don’t want to know how to kill with my bare hands. I just wanted..." Her voice broke, "I just wanted to know about my father, the one who I never got to know."
He embraced her in his arms again, knowing to let her have her moment to speak, and to be heard for once. The grey continued shifted around them, forming shapes—possibilities. A kitchen that smelled of coffee, with two parents and a little child eating breakfast. A park bench, that her parents sat and watching her play. The hospital room where he might have held her as a newborn.
"Grandfather says it. The others say it. 'Desmond Miles, the Sacrifice. The saviour of the Assassins.' But I didn’t need a saviour, I needed you! I needed my father, not a legend! Do you know what it's like? Growing up with a ghost? Mom crying on my birthday every year because you weren't there? I hate you for being a hero. I hate that you saved the world and took away my chance of having a dad!"
Desmond didn't flinch. He stood there with his daughter raging in his arms, accepting her rage like penance, and when she ran out of breath, when her accusations dissolved into hiccupping sobs, he opened his arms again.
"I would have been terrible at bedtime stories," he said lightheartedly.
"I can't sing. I have absolutely no rhythm." He smiled.
Despite herself, she laughed—a broken, ugly sound.
"By the way, mom said you danced like a drunk giraffe."
"See? She remembers the important things."
(Y/n) had her ear pressed against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, steady and what should have been impossible.
"I’ve been watching," he whispered, "Not always. It’s hard, holding on. But I’ve seen you grow up from in here. The first time you climbed a building and felt the wind. The first time you lied to your grandfather about your training hours so you could read a book instead." He chuckled, sad and soft, "You’re terrible at following orders. Thank God."
"I'm not okay, Dad. I'm broken. They're using me like they used you. Grandfather pushes and pushes, and I let him because it's the only way I get to see you, but I'm disappearing. I'm losing myself in your memories. I can't sleep without seeing through your eyes. I'm not strong like they think. I'm just... lost."
Desmond's large hand settled on her shoulders, taking a step back to look at her—a gesture of paternalism.
"I know," he whispered. "I’ aware. In the spaces between the data, in the bleed. I see you fading, and it kills me all over again. Yet I can't interfere. The Grey is... it's a one-way mirror most days. But you're special, you are my daughter after all. Your DNA, the convergence of your mother's ancestors resilience and my... well, my ancestors stubbornness. It lets you see me. Lets you be here. But you're killing yourself to do it."
She looked up at him, seeing the lines of strain around his eyes that weren't in the photos of him and her mother.
"I don't care. I don't care if I burn out. I just need to see my dad."
"No you don’t. You only need yourself and your mother." He gripped her shoulders, firm now, the tone of a father drawing a line.
"Listen to me. I died in that Temple so you could live. Not live in that damn animus. Not just to exist as a data entry in an Animus log. I want you to live. Clumsy dancing and bad singing, and all the messy, beautiful things I never got to do."
"You don't get to tell me what to do," she said weakly. "You aren’t here with us."
"You're right. I’m not. And that's a wound that won't heal for any of us. But I am here now, in this moment, and I'm telling you: back off. Eat something. Sleep in your own dreams. Your grandfather is a hard man and he loves you, but he's wrong about this. You're not a tool to recover lost assets. You're my child, and you are magnificent, and the world is going to need you whole—not as a shadow of my memories, but as yourself."
"How long do we have?" She panicked as she watched the pigments of the grey start to stir around them.
"Minutes. Maybe less. The animus is destabilizing—you’re not supposed to be here, not like this. You’re killing yourself to reach me, (Y/n). Your body is shutting down."
"I don’t care."
"You should." He held her firmly, forcing her to meet his eyes—brown, tired, yet so alive.
"Listen to me. You’re special. Not because of my DNA, not because of William’s training. Juno has showed me things, especially when I was dying. A pattern. You’re part of something bigger than the Brotherhood, bigger than the Templars. You’re going to have a choice to make someday, just like I did, and I need you strong enough to survive it."
"Stop talking in prophecies," she begged, but she leaned into his him one last time.
"I knew," he said, "when your mother felt ready to tell me she was pregnant. And as I was standing in the Grand Temple, waiting to die, all I could think was how extraordinary you would be. But I don’t want you to be extraordinary if it means you end up here, in the grey, at twenty-five."
He stepped back, and the Grey began to brighten, to destabilize.
"I have to go. The connection is destabilizing your hippocampus."
"Wait!" She grasped onto her father’s sweater even harder.
"No, not yet. Please. I have so many questions. About your favorite color. About whether you liked coffee or tea. About if you would have been proud of me—"
"Green," he said quickly, smiling through the tears she only now realized he was shedding.
"Coffee, black. And my sweet baby girl..."
He pulled her close, kissed the crown of her head, his arms wrapped tightly around her in a big bear hug.
“I've been proud of you since before you were born. I knew, the moment your mother told me she was pregnant, that you were going to change everything. The Assassins think they understand the Isu, the precursors, the calculations. But they don't see what I see. You're the convergence, (Y/n). The future we fought for. Watch out for your mother. I know she's stronger than she looks, but she needs you whole. And when the time comes—when the real dangers fall upon humanity, not this bickering between Assassins and Templars—you'll know what to do."
"I love you," she choked out, "I'm not ready. I just got here. I'm not ready to say goodbye."
"Then don't." He was fading now, becoming translucent, light through stained glass.
"Just say 'see you later.' Because we will meet again, (Y/n). My calculations... the patterns in the Grey... they're converging toward something. You'll find me. Or I'll find you. But you have to live long enough to get there. Promise me."
"I—"
"Promise me."
"I promise," she whispered.
He smiled gently, and it was time for her to go.
"There's my girl."
He kissed her forehead. It felt like sunlight.
"Watch out for your mother," he said, "She’s stronger than she looks, but she’s been thinking of me for the last eighteen years. Tell her... tell her I’m sorry I missed the small things. The first word. The first steps. The first heartbreak. Tell her I love her so much. I love the both of you, and I’ll be here waiting, and watching over you both."
"Dad please don’t go," (Y/n) whispered. She was a child again, small and begging.
"Please. I’m not ready."
"You’re never ready," Desmond said, "That’s how you know you’re still alive."
The world began to fray at the edges, pixels dissolving into light.
"Don’t let your grandfather ruin you," her father said, his voice distorting.
"There’s more to life than being an Assassin. Run, if you have to. Be happy. Be fre—"
And just like that, her father was gone. The grey faded into complete darkness as she felt her consciousness slipping away.
~
"She's coding!" Shaun yelled.
"Get her out!" Her grandfather demanded.
"(Y/n)!" Rebecca's hands were on her face, shaking her gently. "Look at me! Focus!"
She woke with a startle. And reality crashed back in like a tidal wave. (Y/n), her body seizing as the Animus disgorged her consciousness back into her physical body. Her chest burned. Her eyes were still streaming tears. Around her, alarms screamed —vital signs flatlining, brain activity spiking, the machinery shrieking in electronic panic.
She then proceeded vomited over the side of the chair, she looked thin and yellow… she looked terrible, her body rejecting the animus from digital infinity to fragile flesh. The lab was spinning—white walls, fluorescent lights, the angry beep of monitors telling her what she already knew: her heart was arrhythmia, her blood pressure catastrophic, her mind skating on the edge of something irreversible.
She could hear her grandfather still barking orders, ordering them to reboot the sequence, to get her back under, to salvage the data.
"What the hell happened in there?" William’s voice, booming, authoritarian. He was at her side within seconds.
"The system crashed. We lost the feed. (Y/n), what did you see?"
Not caring what was being said, her fingers found the animus’s headset. Before the others could stop her, she ripped it free, taking some of her hair with it. The pain grounded her, anchored her to the present.
"(Y/n), stop!" Rebecca tried to grab for her IV line.
"Don’t touch me," she warned as she ripped it out.
"Sit down," Shaun yelled, already moving from his computer screen.
"You’ve been in eight hours straight. You’re going into shock—"
Without thinking, (Y/n) launched herself from the chair. Her legs buckled, atrophied muscles betraying her, but she caught herself on the lab table. Her vision only doubled. She saw her father’s hands. She saw Altair’s hands. She knew the bleeding effect was happening to her—but adrenaline flooded her wasted muscles. She scrambled up, and ran.
The bunker corridors blurred as she ran past startled technicians, past tactical maps of Abstergo facilities, past the history that had devoured her father and sought to devour her. She ran until she hit the outer door, until cold night air slapped her face, until she collapsed in the grass of the safehouse courtyard, gasping, sobbing, alive.
Behind her, she heard the argument erupting.
"You are pushing her too far, William! Just like you did with Desmond!" Her mother's voice, fierce and fractured.
"She's the closest match! We need those memories!" William had argued back.
"She's your granddaughter!" Her mouther shouted back.
(Y/n) simply curled into herself, pressing her face against the cool earth. She could still feel him. In the tremor of her hands, in the rhythm of her heart, in the genetic poetry that made her who she was. He was there, watching, waiting in the spaces between. Her hands were shaking with hurt and rage. She had felt him. She had heard his laugh—ragged, imperfect, real. And she knew, with the certainty of the bleeding effect crawling behind her eyes, that she would climb back into that machine. She would bleed herself dry, tear her psyche apart synapse by synapse if it meant one more minute in the Grey with the father who had died to save her future.
The door behind her opened. Boots on snow. She expected William’s angry reprimands, expected to be dragged back to the chair and sedated.
Instead, a soft, warm coat settled around her shoulders.
Her mother sat down in the dirty snow beside her, heedless of the wet, and pulled (Y/n)’s head onto her shoulder.
"He told me to watch out for you," (y/n) whispered.
Her mother’s breath caught, a shuddering inhale that (y/n) felt in her own ribs.
"He was always worried about other people. Never about himself." Her spoke quietly.
"He said he was sorry. For missing things."
"He’d be the perfect dad. He’d be much better of a parent than me." Her mother’s voice broke, but her arms were steel. "And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let them put you in that chair. I’m sorry I let William make you into your father’s replacement."
(Y/n) looked up at the sky, at the grey clouds that threatened snow. The same grey. She could feel it calling her, digital and divine.
"I have to go back," she said.
"I know," her mother replied sadly, she sounded so tired.
"But not tonight. Tonight, you eat. Tonight, you sleep."
Her daughter knew that come tomorrow, she would go back into the animus again. Shivering in the snow with her mother’s arms embracing her tightly into a hug, leaving tears in (y/n)’s hair, she held onto the warmth of her fathers embrace, and the promise that some goodbyes were never truly final.
Somewhere in the space between the animus’s space, Desmond Miles was waiting. (Y/n) Miles, his daughter, his legacy, his impossible future, closed her eyes and for once allowed her mother to hold her in the cold, the only perinatal love she’s known.
She pressed her forehead into her mother’s chest, and whispered to herself, "See you soon Dad."
Above her, the universes stars formed in their ancient patterns, indifferent and eternal. But somewhere in the Grey, in the digital space between heartbeat and memory, Desmond Miles smiled—and waited for his child to return.
~
{ A/N: This took foreverrrrr so I’m sososoooo sorry y’all, my new medications are killing me lowkey. }
Pairing: Connor Kenway (Ratonhnhaké:ton)
Notes: N/A
Pronouns: they/them
Warnings: ehh I don't know how to put it without it being a spoiler
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“You know… hair holds memories.”
The knife paused mid-motion.
In the mirror, Connor slowly lowered the blade from his temple, dark eyes shifting toward the reflection behind him. You stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with your arms crossed and lips pursed.
“Are you going to stop me?” Connor scoffed quietly, turning back to the mirror as he resumed cutting.
You shook your head and stepped inside, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath your feet. Coming to stand behind him, you rested a gentle hand against his back.
“Of course not,” you said. “But… I thought cutting your hair in your tribe was sacred.”
“It is,” Connor replied evenly. “But cutting one’s hair can also mark trauma. Or a new beginning. Sometimes both.”
You watched the last dark tufts drift to the floor, your expression softening.
“Connor—”
“It is my right,” he interrupted, turning to face you. “For my people—”
“And I need you to be safe,” you cut in, your voice firmer now. “Ratonhnhaké:ton…”
You carefully took the knife from his hand before he could protest, setting it aside on the small table. Stepping closer, you rose slightly on your toes and cupped his face in your hands, letting out a quiet breath.
“The last thing I need is for your anger to get the better of you,” you whispered. “I understand why you want revenge. I understand why you want Charles Lee to answer for what he’s done. But I need you to be careful.”
Your thumbs brushed lightly along his jaw.
“You’ve built something here. A community. A home. You’ve given so many people a place to belong.”
Connor’s hands lifted slowly, resting over yours. He leaned into your touch, lowering his forehead to rest against yours.
“I know,” he murmured. “And I will come home.”
“You better,” you replied softly. “Or I’ll drag you out of hell myself.”
The corner of his mouth lifted before he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“You reckless woman,” he said with a quiet chuckle.
“And so are you,” you scoffed, turning away from him.
Later, you stood beside Achilles Davenport in the doorway, watching Connor’s figure disappear down the path. His hood was pulled low, his silhouette fading into the growing dark beyond the homestead.
“You have not told him,” Achilles said after a moment.
You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you turned and stepped back inside the house.
“I didn't want to distract him,” you finally said.
Achilles followed slowly, leaning heavier on his cane.
“But he deserved to know,” he replied.
You stopped and offered him your arm, helping guide him further inside.
“He already carries enough on his shoulders,” you said quietly. “He doesn’t need more weight from me.”
“Yes, but he still deserved to know,” Achilles argued, hobbling into the foyer after you. “My dear, you carry a child. His child. That is no small thing to hide, especially from someone you love. Much less the father.”
“Achilles,” you warned softly.
He stopped, leaning heavier against his cane, studying you with tired but insistent eyes.
“If there is one piece of advice you take from me,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Let it be this.”
You hesitated.
“Tell him.”
“He's already left,” you protested. “There's no point now.”
“Then ride,” Achilles replied firmly.
You stared at him.
“You're still early in the pregnancy. The child will be fine,” he assured you. “Connor is fast, yes, but he has not gone far enough to be unreachable. He will hear your cry and he will return to you.”
His gaze sharpened despite the lines of age across his face.
“Go,” he urged. “The boy is stubborn. If he learns you kept this from him, he will never forgive himself for leaving.”
You swallowed, your hands tightening at your sides.
“Make haste.”
With that, Achilles watched from the doorstep of the fleeing horse, carrying one side of a coin to the other.
With that, Achilles remained in the doorway, watching as the horse thundered down the path. Hooves struck the earth in frantic rhythm as you disappeared into the dark.
One side of the coin chased the other.
“Make haste indeed, my dear,” Achilles murmured to the empty road.
“Fly.”
—
“Connor!” you shouted, digging your heels into the horse’s sides. “Connor!”
Night swallowed the road. Trees blurred past like grasping shadows as the forest twisted beneath your steed’s hooves. You trusted the animal to guide you where your eyes could not.
“Connor!” The name tore from your throat again, carried into the trees. Somewhere ahead rode Connor, unaware.
You prayed he would hear you. Prayed he would turn back.
Then the horse shrieked, rearing onto its hind legs. Your heart jumped.
A massive shape lunged from the darkness.
Claws flashed. Jaws snapped. A bear barreled toward you and the horse.
“Easy! Easy—!” you cried, gripping the reins. The animal bucked, twisting wildly as the predator struck again.
From the shadows, a blur moved with impossible speed. An arrow buried itself deep in the bear’s shoulder. It bellowed, staggering. A second arrow struck the neck. The beast swiped wildly, but retreat became inevitable.
Connor emerged from the treeline, bow already drawn. Another arrow flew, striking square in the chest. The bear roared one last time before crashing into the underbrush, disappearing into the darkness.
Silence fell.
Your horse’s frantic breaths pounded in your ears.
Connor stepped forward, lowering his bow. Moonlight caught the edge of his hood as his gaze swept over you and the trembling horse.
“Are you hurt?” he asked. His voice calm but commanding, anchoring you in the quiet aftermath.
Only then did your breath return.
“Connor…” Your voice broke on his name.
He frowned, a crease forming between his brows. “You should not ride alone this late. The forest is dangerous at night.”
Your hands trembled as you slid from the saddle.
“You left,” you said weakly.
“Yes,” he replied slowly. “You knew that.”
You stepped closer.
“I had to tell you something.”
Connor’s eyes softened as he studied your face, noticing the fear that clung to you, not fear of the bear. Something else.
“What is wrong?” he asked quietly.
The forest held its breath around you.
“I…” Your voice caught. Hands moved instinctively to your stomach.
Connor followed the motion. His eyes widened. Realization dawned slowly across his face.
