#kay writes

This week, you go to the Manor a little sooner than expected. 

You hadn’t spent long at his gravesite in a while, not since you graduated anyway. But as you approach the on-site cemetery, you notice the remnants of what used to be a bigger pile of dirt, along with an excavator. The spot above Jason’s burial site is also disturbed, no longer covered in grass, his headstone dirty. 

You frown. This was unusual. Bruce regularly had cleaners come through not only for Jason’s headstone, but also for his late parents, Thomas and Martha. Still, the job looked recent, and whatever Bruce paid the workers to do, they didn’t bother cleaning up after themselves. 

You ring the manor’s doorbell, which is opened shortly by Alfred, who happens to have a look of worry on his face before realizing you’re back.

“Ah, [Name], what a surprise,” he smiles, sounding a bit tired. “Come in, come in.”

“Hey, [Name],” Bruce’s new mentee, Tim, waves as you pass by the study he’s in, working on his computer. You’d met the kid a handful of times at this point, as he occasionally joined during your catch-up dinners with Bruce. It was nice for Bruce to have someone to look after again; Tim was pretty smart, so he was no doubt a solid contender for the whole company protege thing that Jason told you about before. 

“Hey, kiddo,” you smile, walking past the room. You made a mental note to catch up with him after you’re done speaking with Bruce. 

Speaking of Bruce.. “Hey Alf, where’s Bruce?” You inquire. 

Alfred shakes his head. “Master Bruce has had.. Quite a night. I sent him off to bed, but if there is a matter you would like to bring up, I would love to help however I can.” 

You and Alfred approach the family room, where he places down a plate of cookies and tea for you. “I baked a fresh batch the other night. Please help yourself.” 

“Thanks,” you take a bite, savoring the best chocolate chip cookie you’ve ever had. “But yeah, I was visiting Jason and noticed there was some uhh.. Construction? What’s that about?” 

Alfred frowns the moment you say Jason’s name. “Ah, yes.. Master Bruce had difficulty digging out the memorial vase, so we had to call in the gardeners to use the excavator.” 

“Oh..” you say, unsure. “Well, whatever it was seemed excessive– the hole was way bigger than the total area of the vase. Plus, they left a mess.” 

“I will see to it that Master Jason’s headstone and gravesite are cleaned, Miss [Name],” Alfred confirms, unwavering as usual. 

“No, Al, I got it,” you assured him. “You get some rest. You look tired. Is everything okay?” 

“I assure you, I am just fine, Miss [Name],” the butler says with a gentle smile. 

He’s lying. 

But who were you to confront Alfred? You always knew that this family had its secrets. Still, you had the growing impression that the truth was slowly unraveling.

That would have to be for another day. Plus, you still had to ask the man if he had any of that batch left over for you to take home.

As you head out with your package and cleaning supplies for the tombstone, you come up to Tim in the room and knock on the door.

“Yeah, come in!” he calls out, focused on whatever he’s working on. 

“A paper?” you ask, leaning against his desk, littered with empty cans of Red Bull and Celsius that you glare at, disappointed. 

“Yeah, some research,” Tim replies. “Bruce told Alfred I can get homework done before we head to HQ for internship stuff.”

“Yeah, speaking of that,” you look outside briefly to see if Alfred’s around. “Everything okay? Al doesn’t look good.”

“Yeah,” Tim sighs, knowing what you’re talking about. “Bruce.. I don’t know exactly what happened, but Alfred says he was sad about Jason last night. I don’t blame him.”

“Me neither,” you say sympathetically. “I’ve been the same way, too. Thought I saw him.” 

Tim perks up. “Where at? Out of curiosity.” 

You stare at him. “At the flea market by the West End. I heard people have hallucinations when they miss someone they’re grieving, so that makes sense, I guess.” 

 “Yeah.. hallucinations.” Tim leans back, frowning at you empathetically. “[Name], I’m really, really sorry. That must be hard to deal with.” 

You shrug. “It is what it is. I’ll be okay.”

“Well, if you ever need to talk, I’m here,” Tim smiles.

“Nah, don’t worry about me,” you place a hand on his shoulder. “You keep doing good work. And tell Bruce I say hi when he's up!"

“See ya [Name],” Tim says as you hug him goodbye. “I’ll see you on Friday for dinner!”

You take the food and cleaning supplies Alfred provided and clean up Jason’s headstone with love. Today, you pay your respects by leaving one of Alfred’s cookies behind before you head back to campus. 

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Weeks pass, and you find yourself in the thick of midterms again. From managing pre-midterm events to tutoring panicking students and juggling your own exams, sleep hasn’t exactly been a priority. Your friends would probably be worried about you if they all weren’t doing the same thing, being that they’re all academic weapons in their own respective fields. 

Philosophy was a class in particular where you were kind of worried about the final. Well, not worried, but you wanted your bases covered. Tonight, as you’ve done for the last handful of exams, you were with Jess at one of the campus libraries. 

“I gotta run now,” Jess says after you guys wrap up your session. “I told Rory I’d swing by today.”

“Oh, nice, tell her I say hi!” You smile at the mention of your friend’s girlfriend. “I think I’m gonna stick around a little longer, I still have a poli sci project and a paper for English to wrap up.” 

“Don’t stick around here too long, [Name],” Jess says once he’s fully packed up. “I don’t want another incident to happen to you.” 

“Please, Jess, I’m on campus!” you wave off. 

“Still, I wouldn’t want Rory staying out late on campus, even if she’s at fricken’ Yale. We’re in Gotham at the end of the day,” Jess says seriously. “Plus, we can’t guarantee your knight in shining armor’s gonna pull up again.” 

You roll your eyes. “I doubt I’m gonna see him again, I think he has bigger fish to fry than me getting mugged. But thanks for the concern, I appreciate it. I’ll text the group chat once I’m home to ease your conscience.” 

With that, Jess leaves, and you stay longer than you’re supposed to. Again. 

It’s 10:37 now, objectively not that late. And again, you’re on campus. But Jess’s words stick with you. 

You pack your things up quickly, wearing your headphones, but turning off the noise-cancelling feature, and keep your music off. Your keys are clutched in your hand. You remember the night you were robbed, contemplating how on earth you were going to get into your dorm, if you even lived. You remember your trembling hands, the tears, the blood—the gun. 

You’re brought back to the present when you hear a step behind you. 

Again, it’s not that late, but campus is more or less dead right now, considering everyone’s got studying to do. Seeing no one, hearing the step, and your thoughts at present weren’t exactly the best combination. 

You listen carefully for the steps to get closer. Then you decide to punch them, quickly turning with your eyes closed.

A sharp pain meets your knuckles as you open your eyes to see they’ve come to contact with an armored chest covered with the red bat symbol. Your stomach drops even further than you thought as you look up at the red helmet, closer than you’ve seen before. 

“You good?” his robotic voice breaks the silence, looking down at you, your fist still to his chest as you’re frozen in shock.

“Oh my god, Red Hood, I’m so sorry, shit-” you’re stumbling over your own words as you move away from him, inspecting him as if he got any damage getting struck by you. 

“I meant you,”  he says, gesturing toward your hand. “Hitting Kevlar with your bare fist doesn’t feel great. I’d know.”

You look at your left knuckles, and it turns out he’s right. You got a little cut and the beginnings of a nasty bruise. “Oh,” you say, simply at a loss for words.

“Here,” he nudges his head towards the nearest bench next to a street lamp, as he walks over. You follow, not really knowing what to expect. He motions for you to sit down, and you do just that, as he sits with you, inspecting your hand in the light. Red Hood reaches into one of the many pockets on his cargo pants and pulls out a small bottle of sanitizer and a band-aid. 

“What?” he asks, noticing your dumbfounded look as he squirts some sanitizer into your hand. 

“Nothing, I just...” you’re trying to figure out what to say to him, wincing as the sanitizer meets your wound. “A little starstruck is all. Everyone’s been talking about you.”

He chuckles, studying your face. “Yeah, I read your paper.”

Your eyes widen, and you can’t help but feel a little embarrassed. “You did?”

Red Hood nods as he takes your hand and applies the band-aid to your knuckles. “You’re a good writer. It’s nice to see press about me that isn’t completely negative.”

“I’d imagine it’s rare if you’re known to kill,” you say, rubbing over the edges of your band-aid. “But you do good around here. We need more of that in Gotham, however it comes.”

He tilts his head contemplatively. “‘Preciate it” 

A silence falls between you as you’re trying to figure out what to say.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, curious. “I imagine you’re not exactly enrolled here as a student.”

He shrugs. “I visit the library when it’s dead. And by dead, I mean closed. Turns out they extended the hours this week.”

“Yeah, it’s midterms,” you explain, your adrenaline long gone enough for you to remember the impending doom of upcoming exams, eliciting a groan. “Not excited for that.” 

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” he replies, a hint of a smile in his voice. “From your article, you sound smart. What are you in school for?”

“Law,” you reply, turning to him. “Pre-law, anyway. Got years of school left after undergrad. But it’s worth it, I think.” 

He nods slowly, arms crossed, relaxed in the bench next to you. “That’s good.” 

“What about you, Mr. Hood?” you ask, an amusing tone in your voice as you mention the nickname. “What do you do when you’re not taking down crime lords?” 

“Well,” he takes a moment to think. “I break into college libraries to read. And I shoot robbers when they try to rob cute girls from time to time.” 

You sit up at the realization, frankly ignoring the adjective. “So it was you.” 

He nods. “Saw it from afar while on the way to another job. Thought you could use the help.” 

“Thanks,” you say, heavy with gratitude and relief. “I honestly thought I was gonna die.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Red Hood says, with a little too much certainty. “Trust me.”

You knew, however exaggerated that response may have been, the vigilante meant it with sincerity. So you say, “Okay.”

“Plus, I’m not too worried about you,” he admits. “Shooting the gun at him after nearly getting killed yourself, punching me with no armor, no nothing? Pretty gutsy in my book.” 

You laugh, feeling less embarrassed about punching the guy who saved your life a few weeks ago. “Well, I appreciate you looking out. And I’m glad we got to meet.” 

Considering no one’s really around, and your dorm’s around the corner, Red Hood walks you to the building. 

“Thanks for the talk,” you smile up at him. “I’m glad we met. And don’t be a stranger, no need to follow me around anymore. Just let me know if you want to chat again.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but sure,” an immature tone finds its way through the monotonous voice mod. “See ya around, [Name].”

As you make your way to your dorm upstairs, you question how he knows your name for a moment before relalizing he got it from the article, which had a picture of you next to your name. Probably. 

You make it to the top and turn to wave goodbye, but by the time you look down, he’s gone. 

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“You what?”

Your friend Penelope from high school was visiting from out of town. She’s also a college sophomore, a premed student at Yale. You two decided to meet up at a cafe near your high school you two used to frequent. 

“Yep, I got mugged, the guy saved me, and I guess we’re friends,” you say, like it meant nothing.

“Yeah, friends,” Penelope says, chuckling. 

“Oh stop,” you roll your eyes. “It’s not like that. Plus, bloodthirsty isn’t exactly my type.”

“Really,” she says flatly, not believing you for a second. “I mean, you’re gonna be a lawyer. You’re going to meet worse eventually.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” you say contemplatively.

“I know what happened to Jay was messed up, and I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through it,” she reaches across the table, holding your hand. “But I think this might be good for you, however unconventional it may be. Plus, he saved you. That’s gotta count for something.”

You sigh. “You’re right as always, Pen. If I even see him again, I’ll let you know.”

“Yes, girl,” Pen exclaims. “I’m knee deep in all my pre-reqs. I need tea.”

You spend the rest of the afternoon with your friend and eventually end up back at your dorm. As you place your things down, you notice a small 3 by 4 card on the coffee table in your living room.

As you pick it up, you read a phone number and some words that say, “Call me anytime. - RH”

This is going to be interesting.

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I just wanna say thanks again for all the love for Everywhere! I know the numbers aren't crazy or anything, but I appreciate every lil note, like, reblog, kudos, etc.

School's been crazy, and I'm studying for a pretty big test, but I love writing on my breaks, so I will be making some progress here, just not as quickly :3 In the meantime, I made a playlist for the fic, with songs that capture the vibe of Jay and reader falling in love, reader's grief and growth, and even foreshadowing for new plot points!!

Take care, everyone, and I'll see y'all very soon ♡

-

taglist ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

a yawn escapes you just as matt turns around from the space in his closet. you smile softly. "morning, baby."

he walks over to your side of the mattress fastening his suit jacket. the sun hits his features just right, illuminating the perfectly intricate curves and angles of his face. his eyes glow a bright green-yellow, the crinkle of his smile briefly blocking their depth. "g'morning, pretty girl. how'd you sleep?"

the only response you can muster is a soft 'mmm' of contentment, letting him know: i slept well. he smiles, caressing your cheek like you'd break under his touch if he used too much force. your life with matt is nothing short of amazing, but mornings spent together take the cake. the softness of rustling in the sheets together, limbs tangled throughout the night; the warmth from matt's chest as he lays against your back, the pure comfort of resting your tired body against his. it truly is domestic heaven.

matt returns a 'mmm' in approval of your good sleep, kissing your forehead and lingering. you breathe deeply, taking in his scent that intoxicates you, wakes you up more than coffee ever could. it's musky, woody. not too strong for his heightened senses, but just enough to drive you mad. a hand moves onto his thigh, caressing and kneading the same way he does to you after a long day's work.

the ghost of matt's lips leave your skin feeling empty and cool as he sits back up, looking almost apologetic.

"today's the court meeting. wish i could stay here with you." he continues to gaze at you with a sorry expression, giving away the verity of his words. you take his hand and press a kiss to his palm.

" 's okay, honey. want them to see how good my husband is."

he laughs, still not used to the term. husband. it rings in his ears, only intensifying his insatiable need to be around you as much as possible.

"only wanna make you proud, sweetheart."

"you always do," you utter with the smile that never really left, because that's what matt does to you. his infectious spirit seeps into every fibre, imprinting himself, damning you to a lifetime of his wondrous company.

his expression turns serious all of a sudden, eyebrows fixed like he’s been taken off guard by something worrisome. he stares at you. his gaze is so intense it almost tricks you into thinking he is truly seeing you. the muscles of his thighs go taught, his hand stilling on your hip. his mouth opens once, twice before speaking.

"you know," he clears this throat. "i'm not one to admit to fear, but...i am nervous. about today." he looks away, now also fearing your judgment. he tries to hide his shame, but the way his hand twitches ever so slightly, like his body is wired to brace for disaster, gives it all away. you know him too well.

"hey," you sit up, all tiredness leaving your body. your hand takes his. "it's okay to be nervous, matt. you're human just like the rest of us."

as you speak, his fingers find solace in fiddling with your wedding ring. "i always had a vision for the person i wanted to marry when the time came. you gave me that and then some, matt. you're a damn good lawyer with a good heart. every time you step foot in the courtroom, you prove that to be true a hundred times over."

his gaze is back on you, staring just hard as before but differently, longingly. he heard the way your heart beat steady, the way it kept a stable rhythm. of course you were telling the truth, you had no reason to lie about this. and yet, the voice in the back of his mind taints his judgement as it so often does. he thanks God he's the only one with super hearing, his heart beating twice as fast as yours.

he fails to articulate how your sentiment made him feel, so he grabs your chin and kisses you instead. his tongue swiping on your lip at first contact, hungry for a taste of you. aching to savor every drop of your sweet, poisonous words. it didn't matter to him that you had just woken up, that the heat of your breath might've turned anyone else away. matt would take you in every state, every form. he pulls you onto his lap, grabbing at the flesh of your ass. molding, kneading, squishing. he can't get enough of you. tugging on the curls at the nape of his neck, he groans.

"fuck--" he hovers just above your lips. "i really should get going, honey. 'm sorry." he kisses one last time, making it count. with a final tap on your behind, he pulls away and gently scoots you back into bed. matt grabs his cane from its spot against the wall, exhaling as if purging the anxiety from his core. you tap on the mattress, signaling his attention.

Arthur revolved around you like he were a planet and you were the sun, never straying too far from your orbit. As you reached the halfway point of your pregnancy, his trips to town and involvement in jobs waned. You didn't mind. It was nice having him so close. You'd spent most of your time together. You would sit and mend clothes while he'd polish a saddle, or clean his boots. Talking about everything and nothing. His increasing openness about his own life was endearing. You could tell he yearned for this chance to settle, even if he'd never openly admit it.

The secrecy of your relationship, or lack thereof, came to a head one evening as the camp sat down to dinner. You and Arthur were sat together as usual when Mrs. Grimshaw came up. Nonchalant as ever and without ever looking at either of you, openly asked if we needed help moving your things into Arthur's tent.

"After all, there is no reason for you to keep all this up. Every single one of us can see what's goin' on. You're expecting and you're both the biggest fools to think we haven't noticed!" Grimshaw declared.

The camp fell into an awkward hush. Forks and spoons stilled. Conversations trailed off. Eyes fell on you and Arthur.

Arthur didn't move much himself, his jaw tightened at first, then loosened. You'd know this would come eventually… but not like this. You just stare at Arthur beside you, mind blank. He clears his throat, eyes blinking as his tries to find words. Then a chuckle pulls at your lips. Arthur's eyes glint towards you, silently asking what on earth is your problem.

You just smile.

"Well… there you have it I guess."

It's like a huge breath was expelled at once as camp accepts what had just happened. Forks scrape against bowls again, and people laugh and shout their congratulations. That was that…

 ***

Now with the news out it was like Arthur and you could breathe a little easier. Your reluctance to share the news increasingly seemed silly as you settled into a new, more open, routine.

Mornings were your favorite as you'd often wake to Arthur's hands wrapped about your stomach. He had never been a morning person. Sure, he had woken up with the sun but that never meant he enjoyed it. He had confessed he had gotten in the habit of purposefully trying to wake earlier—just to have an extra hour to himself and the baby.

Some mornings you would wake and catch him silently relishing in it all. Others, he would be whispering to the life inside you. Telling old stories and jokes. Sharing hopes and dreams. You often thought your heart could not take seeing this rugged outlaw being so sweet to an unborn child. How on earth would you handle it when he would be holding it in his arms?

And then early one morning, you caught more of one of his stories. The unchanged soft rise and fall of your breathing convinced him you were still asleep, so on he went. His voice low and gravelly with morning roughness, but still gentle as a breeze.

"…your brother, Isaac," he murmured. "Born long before you'll be. He was a good boy… quiet." There was a heavy pause—highlighting a rare and deep sadness that tinged his tone.

"He and his mama were gone by the time he was four," Arthur continued quietly, thumb stroking carefully over your stomach. "You don't have to worry though. I'm gonna do better this time… I promise."

Your heart sank to the furthest pit of your being. Arthur had never told you this. Then again how could he? He is always one to keep anything close to the chest, let alone the loss of a child. Knowing him, and your current condition, it would be the last thing he would tell you of his own accord.

"Isaac?" you say, your voice no more than a sleep-filled whisper.

Arthur froze. The second he heard your voice—soft, sleepy, but awake—his breath caught like a man caught stealing. Slowly, he turned his head towards you. His face was unreadable, then it softened into something apologetic.

"Isaac...," he finally started, the name feeling foreign on his tongue, "was my son." A pause heavier than a gunshot lingered between you, then Arthur exhaled. He did not look away from you. He could not. He owed you the truth.

He began slowly, "Eliza. She was a girl I'd met. A waitress. It wasn't anything serious, at least it wasn't supposed to be. She got pregnant and had Isaac." Arthur swallowed hard. You couldn't help but just stare at him, eyebrows knit in concern and care. You weren't angry… just sad.

"What happened to them?" you asked cautiously.

The question just hung in the air for a moment, before Arthur carefully cleared his throat. Emotion weighing heavy on him, he let his eyes fall down to the soft fabric of the quilt that enveloped you both. When he finally met your gaze again, his eyes contained a sorrow unlike any other.

"They were killed, both of 'em. Some men raided their place. Robbed them and killed them over a measly $10.00." A muscle twitched in his cheek, and he reached up to swipe his hand across his face. That quick gesture he used to wipe tiredness or quiet tears. As his hand thumped back onto the quilt, you gingerly reached out to hold it. Rubbing tiny circles onto the sun-kissed back.

"I wanted to tell you a million times. I's just ashamed. Not of Isaac… never of him. I'm ashamed I wasn't there to protect them."

At this you sat up, the best you could anyway, and held his hand proper. With your left hand you reached to run it through his hair. Arthur leaned into your touch, eyes falling shut as the comfort of your hand in his hair grounded him.

He cleared his throat again, "The raid happened over a decade ago. I tried to visit every few months. I only knew when I'd finally went back and saw the graves. I shoulda been there more." There was a bitter edge to his tone. You could feel it was entirely directed at himself. You settled with the idea that this was long before you. It felt cruel, but you internally heaved a sigh of relief, but the feeling of your heart threatening to crumble persisted. You shifted you hand to rub his shoulder and leaned forward to let your forehead meet his.

"I am so sorry, my love."

You could feel Arthur's breath stagger. Trying to hold back mountains of long-kept emotions. He turned your hand in his and pulled it up to his lips, placing a delicate kiss. You then both shifted, so you could lay together in that soft quiet of the morning. Just barely illuminated by the timid golden hues of sunlight starting to pierce through the tent canvas. He lays his head on your shoulder, curling into you. His eyes closing in relief of having this secret laid bare. You never say anything further about it—silently agreeing it would stay that way. You both drift back into a light sleep, overwhelmed by the revelations of the morning.

Your eyes quickly snap awake as you feel a quick movement from within. Then another. A tiny jolt at the walls of your stomach. Arthur felt it as his eyes flick open. Then it came again. A soft gentle kick. Arthur did not move. Just stared wide eyed at your torso. Then his hand lifted and pressed flat against your stomach where the baby had just kicked. Nothing happened for a moment, but then that flutter hit again. A feeling so unique you could not even begin to describe it if you tried.

You giggle with wonder, "Abigail said he should start to move around this time." You flick your eyes from Arthur to your stomach. He's looking at you with a raised eyebrow and his head slightly cocked.

"What?" you ask, totally clueless.

He shakes his head, smiling and grumbles, "You said 'he'."

Now it was your turn to cock your head, but in an effort to actually recollect what you'd said, "I didn't even realize…"

Arthur shrugs and a smirk begins tugging at the corner of his mouth.

His eyes scrunch for a second as he thinks, then asks, "You want a boy?"

You smile a little, noticing the glassy look in Arthur's eyes. You reach to take his hand, pulling it up, and placing a kiss on the back of it.

"It doesn't matter to me, one way or the other. It's ours. That's all that matters." You settle Arthur's hand back down and pat it, a grumble in your stomach tearing all your focus away.

"What I do want… is breakfast," you say, shifting to get up.

Arthur lets out a huff of defeat at having to leave your shared bubble. He pushes himself up and tumbles from the cot with all the grace a man of his stature can muster. He offers you his arm, steady support as you rise. You both get dressed as usual. Arthur helping to reach the laces at your back, leaning over to get your boots, and carefully filling in for the movements that are getting increasingly difficult for you to do. You grab breakfast together, eating silently before Arthur shuffles to do chores and scope jobs, while you settle in to continue nesting.

 ***

The days continued on. Shifting into weeks. Then to months. Before you knew it you were far enough along that the baby was expected nearly at any minute. You waddled along, feet swollen, back screaming with every wrong lean. Despite all the fears you'd been carrying, and all the extremely detailed conversations with Abigail, you could not wait for labor to start.

Grimshaw had finally put her foot down—restricting chores, citing 'I won't have you dropping a baby right in the middle of my camp!' It was tough, but you knew it was her way of looking out for you. Arthur was as antsy as you had ever seen him. You were sure his anxiety was worse than yours. He noticed every ache and wince. He seemed like he'd go out of his mind seeing you in such a state without much means of helping. He would steal the good pillows from Dutch's tent, bring cool cloths to soothe your neck, and massage your back nearly every chance he could.

On a particularly rough evening, you had settled on your cot. You sat nestled in-between Arthur's legs. Your back to him as his hands worked out the coiled knots lacing your spine. His hands working slowly, big palms pressing exactly where they were needed.

"Mmm," you moan out, almost a purr at the release of tension about your body. The relief allowing you so doze slightly, the memories of the last few months flittering through your mind. Arthur's hands shifted from your back to grab your shoulders. He slowly eased you to rest against his chest. He chin landing softly against the top of your head. You couldn't help but let a little laugh escape your lips.

"Look at us… If someone would've told me nine months ago I would be seeing this soft, domesticated, version of us I'd laugh in their faces," you say. You pause for a moment.

"I love it though…" you inhale deeply, "and I love you."

Arthur presses a kiss into your hair, his lip lingering, then reaching around to peck your temple. His stubble tickling at you ear in that way that made you shiver.

"I love ya too," he murmured, voice thick with emotion.

"Now don't get weepy on me Morgan. That's my job," you warn playfully.

Arthur snorts. Like, actually snorts. A sound so unusual from him that even he seemed surprised.

"Me? Weepy? Nah" he grumbles, no real bite to it, just warmth and a hint of mock offense. His arms tighten around you, pulling you firmly against him.

Then a thought crosses your mind. Fleeting, but real. You had gotten rather blunt in the later months of your pregnancy. So, you spoke the questions without a second thought. Even though maybe you shouldn't have…

"Can I marry you?"

Your question hung in the air, simple and direct yet heavy. Arthur didn't say anything right away. His breath paused for a moment, like he'd been hit softly in the chest. The weight of what you had just asked quickly settled and panic started to creep in. You sat up to turn to look at Arthur. Words started tumbling from you like a waterfall.

"I mean…" you scrunch your eyes closed in embarrassment, "I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that… No, actually I do. I just— I wanna marry you. To share your name and everything, but not in the big fancy need a ring and a dress with flowers and all that insanity way. I—ugh!" you just give up and throw your hands up to cover your face.

Arthur, again, didn't do anything a first, but you soon felt his hands tug at yours. Pulling them from your face and forcing you to look at him.

"If that's what you want, you are more than welcome to have it," he says softly. A smile tugs at his lips. His grip still firm on your hands, he lifts them up to hold them in front of you both.

"I hereby declare you… Mrs. Morgan." Arthur said, sitting up straight and making his voice as distinguished as he could muster. It made you burst into laughter… and then joyful, hormonal, tears.

Arthur couldn't help but erupt into a hearty laugh himself, enveloping you again in his arms as you both laughed.

 ***

It wasn't long after the two of you simply declared yourself married that the baby made its triumphant arrival. You had woken with a start. A flash of dull pain streaking through your lower abdomen and back. Like a cramp from your monthly but much worse. You tried to shake it off at first, but when it kept coming you couldn't ignore it. Especially when the warm dampness of your waters came, spreading from beneath you onto the cot.

It was time.

And Arthur was still sound asleep…

You called for him, voice uneasy and tinged with flashes of pain. Luckily he stirred almost instantly at the sound of your voice. You groaned for him to get Grimshaw, Abigail, anyone at all, but he was already out the tent.

The ladies rushed in. Grimshaw immediately taking the situation in her control, giving orders like a seasoned general. She only acknowledged Arthur once. He had followed the ladies in and was floating near the tent flap. Wringing his hands so hard you'd think they'd fall right off.

"I am sorry Mr. Morgan but this is a battle you'll have to sit. Go on out with the rest of the men and let us women do the work."

That was the last you'd seen of him until the baby made its appearance.

You labored all day, from the early morning hours til dusk. It felt like it would never end, the heat, the pushing, the tears… and then it came. A small, high-pitched cry. That perfect, furious wail of a newborn taking their first breath. Then Grimshaw's voice came like a haze as she placed the babe on your chest.

"You have a baby girl."

Grimshaw continued working with that calm precision—no wasted motion, no unnecessary touch as she checked the baby. Wiping the tiny thing down, ensuring steady breaths, fingers and toes curling as they needed to. Then focus shifted on you as Grimshaw turned to deliver the afterbirth. But none of it mattered to you. You had your baby girl and all the rolling, wiping, and hands all over you did not matter one bit. You were so absorbed you barely heard Abigail ask if you were ready to call Arthur.

Honestly, for those last few minutes you had forgotten about Arthur entirely. Thinking of him now, you saw every which way he appeared in the little person in your arms. Without taking your eyes off her, you nodded, and off Abigail went.

With a quick flash of evening light, Arthur came into the tent. One look at him and tears flooded your eyes. And him? Well he looked like utter hell. He stepped forward slowly, just staring, like a man floating in a dream. He stopped at the edge of the cot and carefully sank to his knees next to you. His large frame suddenly appearing small in the grandeur of the moment. You shifted slightly so he could see her better.

"Meet our daughter," your voice trembled as you spoke. You use your free hand to reach for him, placing it on his face that was laced with a day's worth of stubble. And he smiled. Leaning forward to kiss you. Several quick pecks turned into a deep lingering kiss. You parted only to marvel at the tiny bundle in your arms. Arthur's calloused hand reached up to rub the little sprouts of chestnut hair on her head.

"I love you so much," he whispered.

What began as an unexpected consequence had tumbled into something you had both unexpectedly needed.

A/N: This is probably the last chapter! I toiled over this and wanted to get it out sooner but alas... I hope you enjoy it! I wanted to leave things a little more open-ended so your own imagination can run wild. If I have time, I have an idea for a pure smut bonus chapter, but I am about to embark on knitting the PHM fox cardigan so that'll take up most of my time. Thank you for all the love you have shown this!!

i’m sure at this point we’ve all heard of the album of the year (aka olivia rodrigo’s new album), yes? well i was hoping to post a collection of flashfics based on each of the songs, and i wanted to try and experiment and see if i can try writing different ships inspired by the different songs. i currently have some i am fairly confident i will end up writing to, but of course they may be subject to change. for any blank spaces here i’d especially love to hear what you think i could try challenging myself with 🙏🏻

drop dead — (originally when the single dropped i don’t know why but i thought of zoinis for this but honestly i’m open to any suggestions)

stupid song — hoffrat

honeybee — abrat (simply because they canonically have affectionate nicknames for each other)

maggots for brains — starcummins

u + me = <3 — abhiman

my way — ishman (i want a shubman-related ship for this one but i cannot decide who the possessive bf should be and which other boy he’s telling to back off)

purple —

the cure —

begged — patrat (sorry i know i have written a bunch of angst fics of similar themes already with them BUT THEY’RE TOO GOOD FOR THIS)

what’s wrong with me — harlyssa (i want a toxic codependent relationship for this khikhi)

less —

expectations — (this one can be more character-centric than just one specific ship i suppose)

cigarette smoke —