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c-e-d-dreamer · 2 days

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You're the Kind of Reckless that Should Send Me Running

A/N: you know, sometimes, self-care is... (checks notes) making a sex bargain with a fae to get out of a marriage contract. It just be like that! But happy Day Three of @nestaarcheronweek lovelies! Hope everyone enjoys some smutty Nessian. As a warning, this is toe-ing the line with dubious consent since it is a fae bargain, so please read with care!

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A bottle of your finest alcohol and your most prized possession.

That's what the woman in the market had told Nesta to bring in offering. Whispered words shared between the brick building of the butcher and the wooden stalls bedecked in green leaves and pastel colored petals, the first sign of spring. The woman's own stall had been tucked closer to the alleyway between buildings, half cast in shadow. What little light did break through bounced off the gemstones of amulets, carved into the grooves of runes in animal bone.

Only desperate people spoke with the woman who always kept the hood of her cloak up to shroud her face.

And desperate Nesta was.

She listened to everything the woman said, carefully tucked away the instructions, the tips the woman offered for the best results. And when the woman had finished speaking, Nesta placed a single silver piece into her palm and slipped back into the crowds of the bustling market without looking back. She kept her head down, tried her best to look inconspicuous lest word get back where she didn’t want it to.

But Nesta caught Clare’s eye across the market square, her friend offering the barest hint of a nod. It was Clare that told Nesta about this woman, about the information she offered, about the outcomes that information promised. According to Clare, it was how Morrigan had done it just last week.

So, that day in the market, Nesta seeked out the woman, and now, here she walks.

She steps over roots and brambles, her soft steps doing nothing to quiet the crunch beneath her feet. With each step, she winces at the way the sound echoes in the wood around her. She glances around, between the barks of the trees that stretch out and above her, but there’s no sign of anyone else but her. It doesn’t stop the hairs on the back of her neck from standing on edge.

A twig snaps somewhere behind her, and Nesta freezes, nearly dropping the bottle of whiskey she’d stolen from her father’s reserves. She clutches it a little tighter to her chest, afraid to even breathe while she waits for another sound, waits for someone to appear. But the only sound that answers Nesta is the rustle of the wind through the branches and leaves, the distant sound of an owl hooting.

Breathing out slowly, Nesta continues trekking forward. She dares to look back over her shoulder, but there’s nothing but more trees and the streaks of silver from the moon breaking through the canopy above. She shakes her head, reminding herself of exactly why she’s here, why she’s doing this.

She just has to find the clearing. That’s what the woman in the market said, that deep into the woods to the north of the village, the trees would part into a clearing. A ring where the trees dare not grow, where the roots stretch to form an altar. Where a fae waits for humans brave enough to make a bargain.

If only she could find it.

Nesta doesn’t know how far she’s walked, but she feels as though she’s been walking half the night. She can’t help but wonder if it was all a lie, a trick. If there is no clearing and no fae who can help her. It would be just her luck.

With a huff, she decides to call it, decides she’ll make the painstaking trek back to her family’s manor house. She spins on her heel only to find herself standing in the center of a clearing that wasn’t there previously.

Fae magic.

“And what do we have here?”

The voice is deep, rough, practically a low rumble where it skates across Nesta’s skin. She swallows hard, raising her chin, before she turns to face that voice. The man is leaning casually against the trunk of one of the trees lining the clearing, arms crossed over his chest and head tilted as he watches her.

A male, really. A fae male unmistakably from his appearance.

He’s large, bigger than even the butcher back in the village, standing a header taller than Nesta with wide shoulders and a wide chest. Wings stretch behind his back and loom over his shoulders like haunting shadows. Dark curls tumble down to his shoulders, framing a pair of eyes that look almost cat-like, that seem to glint green and gold even beneath the silver of the moonlight. The sleeves of his tunic are pushed up to his elbows, showing off swirls of ink along his skin that Nesta swears shift as though a mimic of the magic she’s sure runs through the fae’s veins.

There’s a rough sort of beauty to his face, to the cut of his cheeks and his jaw. As though they’re carved by the very wind she’s sure he must ride with those large wings of his. His nose doesn’t sit quite straight, a slash slicing through his right eyebrow, but it only seems to add to his features. He’s handsome in a way that Nesta knows she’ll never find in her village, in a way that can only be fae. In a way that Nesta has to swallow hard before finding her voice again.

“Are you the fae that helps women escape their marriage contracts?” Nesta asks, refusing to allow her voice to waver, for her nerves to show.

The fae pushes off the tree, stalking closer to her. “So what if I am?”

Nesta thrusts her arms forward before the fae can get too close. “I brought these in offering.”

The fae tilts his head again, his gaze raking over Nesta from head to toe. Those cat-like eyes rover over her frame slowly, goosebumps erupting across Nesta’s skin as if it’s fingers trailing a blazing path. When his attention returns to her face, there’s something different in his expression. A fire burning amongst the greens and golds of his hazel eyes, the left side of his lips tilting up in a smirk. He reaches forward, the large span of his hands on full display as his fingers curl around the neck of the whiskey bottle.

“You have good taste,” the fae comments, examining the whiskey.

“I stole it from my father.”

“And the dress? Did you steal that from him too?”

Nesta snorts at the implication. “No. It was a gift from my mother, right before she passed.”

The fae hums, but he doesn’t say anything more. He begins to circle her, like a predator sizing up its prey, but Nesta refuses to be cowed. She stands perfectly still, straightening her spine against his scrutiny, raising her chin that little bit higher in defiance.

“Is it sufficient? To your liking?”

“Why the dress? Why not your hair?” the fae asks, twirling a strand of Nesta’s hair around his finger. He tugs it toward his face, inhaling deeply. “It’s oh so beautiful. Like burnished gold. Even beneath the moonlight.”

“If that is what it will take, then you can have it.”

The fae chuckles, the sound low and seeming to resonate from deep within his chest. “You must really dislike your betrothed.”

“You would too if you met him,” Nesta grumbles, not even bothering to swallow down her eye roll.

Tomas Mandray.

That was who her father saw fit to marry her off to. Nesta’s hated her father ever since he selfishly sat idly by when her mother fell ill, deciding that the life saving medicine she would need was not worth the steep cost. His recklessness since her death has only gotten worse, shady business deals and gambling habits digging the Archerons into a deeper hole.

Despite the confidence her father exudes around the other high society members of their village, Nesta knows it’s nothing more than a facade. She knows their family is one wrong deal away from losing everything. Knows there’s a desperation thrumming just beneath her father’s skin. It’s what led to him agreeing to the first man who came forward for her hand, without a thought for the type of man he is.

“Is that so?” the fae asks, finishing his circle and stopping in front of her again.

“It’s the worst kept secret in the village,” Nesta explains, unsure what compels her to tell this fae the truth. Perhaps there’s something in his face, in his presence, that has her wanting to trust him. “Everyone knows that Lord Mandray raises his hand to his wife, that his sons just stand by while it happens.”

“You think he’d lay a hand on you?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Real anger flashes across the fae’s face, hazel eyes practically blazing and his lips curling back in a snarl. His fists clench at his sides, muscles in his arms flexing with the motion. The rage isn’t directed at her, but that doesn’t stop Nesta’s heart from thundering between her ribs. She knows the stories of the fae, knows of their strength. This male could tear her apart with ease if he wanted to.

It’s a ferity and display of power that should terrify her, that should have her spinning on her heel and running straight back to the village, but instead she continues to meet this fae’s gaze.

The fae’s expression softens, almost curious, as his gaze sweeps over her anew. It’s unnerving, as though he can see beneath her skin and down to her very bone. As though she’s splayed open for his examination all the way to her soul. Whatever he sees, whatever he finds, it has him stepping closer still. Close enough that Nesta has to tilt her head back to hold eye contact. Close enough she can feel the heat that seems to radiate off him. Close enough that every inhale has her chest a hair's breadth away from his.

“You never told me your name,” the fae says, warm breath skating across Nesta’s cheeks.

“I don’t know yours,” Nesta fires back, raising her chin even higher in challenge.

That cocksure smirk tugs its way across the fae’s face again. “It’s Cassian.”

“Nesta. Nesta Archeron.”

“Nesta,” Cassian repeats, as though tasting her name, testing the weight of it on his tongue. A shiver threatens to skitter up Nesta’s spine, but she’s quick to swallow it down. “Should we make a bargain, Nesta?”

“You’ll do it, then? You’ll end my marriage contract?”

“Happily.”

“For my hair?”

“I’ll accept the dress, but that’s just an offering, sweetheart,” Cassian explains, holding up the dress and whiskey bottle in emphasis before tossing both away. “We still need to make a proper bargain.”

“Alright…” Nesta begins slowly, wading through her memory, through the lessons from her mother. She knows wording is important, knows that she needs to be careful about the phrasing of this bargain. “You ensure that my marriage contract to Tomas Mandray is void, that I’ll never marry Tomas Mandray, that I’ll never marry anyone in the Mandray household nor anyone that I do not choose for myself. And in exchange…”

“And in exchange, you’ll become my wife.”

“What.”

Cassian grins fully down at her, one of his hands reaching up between them to curl that strand of her hair around his fingers again. “You can’t marry anyone else if you’re already married to me.”

Nesta blinks a few times, trying to wrap her mind around it all, but Cassian's hand shifts, the backs of his fingers dragging down her temple, her cheek. The touch is distracting. She supposes it makes sense. How can she marry someone else if she is already wed. Clare never specified exactly what Morrigan had to do to break her own marriage contract to the eldest Vanserra. Perhaps, this is how it works.

But alarm bells still ring in the back of Nesta’s mind, whispering of caution. It’s too vague, gray area so expansive that it feels too risky to simply agree.

“And what does that entail? Being your wife?”

Cassian chuckles again, Nesta practically able to feel it where their chests are nearly pressed together. “You were about to be wed, and you don’t know about wifely duties?”

Nesta’s temper flares red hot, and she glares up at him. “I know what’s expected of a wife.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“What does being a wife mean for a fae? What does a fae expect of me?”

“You can do whatever you want as my wife, Nes,” Cassian offers, palm fully cradling her jaw.

“Don’t call me that. And stop that,” Nesta snaps, knocking his hand away. “You’re trying to trick me.”

“Trick you? I’m hurt, sweetheart. I thought you wanted this bargain?”

“I do.”

Panic swells in Nesta’s chest, churning her stomach. What if he changes his mind? Goes back on the bargain? Anything she wants as his wife. It’s not specific, definitely not even close to what Nesta was taught when it comes to fae bargains, but it only hurts him really. Anything she wants. And what she wants is to live the rest of her life far away from the Mandrays and any of the other aggravating villagers who either look down their noses or leer at her.

“Alright,” Nesta finally breathes, sending a silent prayer to the Mother that she doesn’t live to regret this.

“Alright?” Cassian repeats back, bringing both his hands to Nesta’s jaw this time, tilting her head up. “So it’s a bargain then?”

Nesta swallows hard, her heart skipping a beat when Cassian’s thumb drags across her bottom lip. “It’s a bargain.”

Cassian’s mouth crashes against hers at the same moment a burning sensation cascades along her spine and between her shoulder blades. It has Nesta gasping against Cassian’s lips, but he merely uses the reaction to deepen the kiss, to press his tongue into her mouth. His arm drops to curl around her waist, hauling her closer still until she’s pressed flush against his body. She can feel every line of hard muscle beneath his shirt, feel the strength in his grip around her.

He tears his mouth away, but he doesn’t go far, latching his lips against her neck. His mouth is hot against her skin, her entire body roaring to life and reacting to his touch. She tilts her head, a quiet groan tumbling past her lips, when Cassian’s teeth find her pulse point, tongue soothing over the brief sting.

When Cassian pulls away, Nesta’s whole body sways forward, practically chasing his mouth and his kiss. Slowly, her eyes flutter open, finding Cassian’s own gaze already firmly on her face. There’s a fire in his hazel eyes, lips kiss bitten and pink. His grip on her hip holds her steady, fingers of his other hand burying themselves in the strands of her hair.

“What do you say, wife?” Cassian asks, voice low and deep. He drags his nose along her jaw until he can press his lips to her ear. “Should we consummate our bargain?”

Just his voice has heat pooling low in Nesta’s gut. Has her thighs clenching and her toes beginning to curl in her shoes. And when he presses a kiss to that spot behind her ear, a shudder ricochets down her spine. She clutches at Cassian’s shirt to hold herself steady, daring to arc against him.

“Yes.”

Nesta’s world tilts, and then her back is cushioned by grass and moss. She barely has time to register the change before Cassian’s lips are back on hers. He settles atop her, hips cradled within the bracket of her thighs. Nesta finally buries her fingers in the dark curls of his hair, threading the strands between her fingers and tugging hard until Cassian is groaning into her mouth, his hips pressing down against her. She can feel exactly what she’s doing to him, the hardline of his arousal digging into her hip.

She slides one of her hands down his chest, feeling the heat of him even through the fabric between them, feeling his heartbeat just beneath the surface. She traces down and down, but before her fingertips can even brush the waistband of Cassian’s pants, her hand is yanked away. Cassian’s fae instincts are too quick, grip curling around Nesta’s wrists and pinning her hand above her head and into the dirt.

“Don’t you know, sweetheart, that a good husband always ensures his wife is taken care of first?”

Cassian pulls back enough that he’s able to settle comfortably on his haunches. Nesta feels overly exposed, splayed out in the grass beneath him. His gaze roves over her form with a hunger that has her heart rate spiking, has heat flooding through her veins until it settles in her core. Her chest heaves with each deep inhale as painstakingly slow, Cassian unties the laces down the front of her dress.

Her nerve endings are already on high alert, and the slow drag of fabric over her breasts as her dress is pulled open has a moan bubbling up and out of her throat. Her nipples are already pebbled when the cool air hits them, and the heat of Cassian’s hand as he palms them is a welcome reprieve.

Cassian leans back down, his mouth closing over one of her breasts. His tongue laves over her nipple, teeth nipping and tugging at the bud. He pulls back with a quiet pop, switching to her other breath, and Nesta bucks up against him, desperate for friction. Desperate for more.

“Cass… Cassian,” Nesta begs quietly, moaning when he drags the flat of his tongue over her breast again.

Nesta doesn’t even hear Cassian’s laugh this time, merely feels the vibrations against her skin, but he gets the message. He kisses a blazing path down her sternum, down her stomach. His hands find the hem of her skirts, pushing them up her thighs and her hips until her whole dress is nothing more than a bunch of fabric around her waist.

He keeps sliding down until he’s settled on his stomach in the grass, wings spread wide and tall above them both. For a moment, Nesta is transfixed on the way the moonlight ripples through the membrane, the patterns of the veins and scars, but her focus is brought solely back to the fae between her legs when Cassian’s fingers hook in the waistband of her undergarments, sliding them slowly down her legs.

Her breath hitches in her throat as he settles her thighs over his shoulders, at the feral look on his face. Those cat-like eyes of his are almost completely swallowed by his blown out pupils, and his grin shows off the sharp tips of his canines. With his dark hair falling along his temples and cheeks, he truly looks like a wild man, like a beast ready to pounce and feast on its prey. Nesta tosses her head back with a whimper as he lowers his face down, already anticipating his warm breath across her cunt, his tongue, but it never comes. Instead, Cassian’s lips find home along her inner thigh, a teasing display of what’s to come.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Cassian’s low voice rasps, lips never straying from her skin. “I want to see the look on your face when you fall apart on my tongue.”

Nesta tips her chin back down, meeting Cassian’s gaze fully again. His teeth sink into her inner thigh, sucking a bruise onto the skin. Whether it’s a reward or a punishment for her behavior, Nesta isn’t sure. A glint sparks through his hazel eyes, and it’s Nesta’s only warning before he buries himself completely between her thighs.

The first slide of his tongue over her cunt has Nesta’s thighs squeezing out of instinct, but Cassian’s fingers curl against the flesh, holding her open and exactly how he wants her. The flat of his tongue drags over her until he reaches her clit, tracing tantalizing circles over the bud that have Nesta bucking against his hold. It’s clearly the reaction he was hoping for, and the vibrations of his answering groan only add to the sensations threatening to send Nesta spiraling, send her unraveling, almost embarrassingly quickly.

And all the while, Cassian keeps his eyes on her face, pinning her in place, while he works his magic. Whether it’s his fae magic or just the magic of this male, Nesta doesn’t know. Nor does she particularly care as long as he doesnt stop. Her hands scrabble desperately for something to grasp onto, dirt digging under her nails and moans tumbling past her lips unbidden as Cassian presses his tongue into her. It curls and flicks at her walls like he’s determined to collect every last drop of her arousal, like a male parched and starved.

When Cassian finally pulls back, the sight is obscene. His hair is disheveled, lips and chin glistening beneath the light of the moon. He doesn’t even bother wiping his mouth, merely licking his lips with another low groan.

“I knew you’d make the prettiest sounds,” Cassian tells her, suddenly sinking two fingers into her cunt. “Now, come on, wife. Scream my name for the whole wood to hear.”

The pace Cassian sets is punishing, his fingers fucking into her hard and deep, thick in a way her own fingers have never been. Nesta feels like she’s on fire, her entire focus pinpointed on the fingers driving into her, the stretch of them, the way they drag along the walls of her cunt. She rocks her hips up against his hand, chasing the flames, the friction, the familiar feeling coiling tighter and tighter.

“Gods, look at you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sight. Flushed such a pretty pink and taking my fingers so well.”

Nesta keens at the words, her hand snapping down to curl around Cassian’s wrist. Not to stop him, but to keep him there. He squeezes in a third finger beside the first two, curling them until Nesta is practically arching up off the ground. Her throat already feels hoarse from her moans, from the shouts of Cassian’s name.

“That’s my good girl. I can feel the way you’re squeezing my fingers. I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock.”

“Cass. Cassian. Please. Gods, please.”

Cassian groans, dropping his face to her neck, teeth dragging along the skin, across her collarbones, his fingers never stopping. “Fuck. You beg so pretty too.”

Cassian’s thumb finds her clit, working it in tandem with the three fingers still thrusting into her. Nesta’s toes curl, her thighs practically shaking. She can feel herself standing on that edge, on that precipice. Cassian shifts his face down, lips closing around her breast again, and Nesta goes tumbling head first. She clenches down hard around Cassian’s fingers, half aware of the shout torn from her throat as her release barrels through her.

Cassian continues to move his fingers, dragging out her orgasm. But soon, the aftershocks subside, the stimulation teetering toward painful. Her whole body shudders with a whimper, but Cassian slips his fingers free. He makes a big show of pushing them between his lips, groaning around the taste of her. It has Nesta reaching for his wrist again, this time, bringing his hand to her own mouth. She sucks on his fingers, curling her tongue between the digits.

“Mother, save me,” Cassian mutters, watching her with hooded eyes.

He pulls his fingers free, but he’s quick to replace them with his own mouth, kissing Nesta deeply. Nesta moans into the kiss, burying her hands back in Cassian’s hair and tugging hard. His tongue curls around her own, his hips aligning and rocking down against hers. It’s a reminder of what’s still hers for the taking, the brush of fabric against her sending sparks ricocheting anew.

She reaches for the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric up and up, determined to take it off. But his wings. Her fingers falter as she realizes she’s not sure how to get it off around the wings. She pulls back from the kiss to try and get a better look, but Cassian is having none of that, drawing her right back in. She huffs against his lips, tugging at his shirt in emphasis, and when Cassian is the one to finally pull back again, his hazel eyes are alight with amusement.

He reaches behind his back, the snap of buttons almost as loud as their heaving breaths in the quiet wood. Fisting the fabric, Cassian tugs the shirt away with ease, leaving Nesta with the perfect view of the wide expanse of golden skin, of the muscles carved into it, of the dark hair dusted across his chest and down his stomach like an alluring path leading down and down.

Nesta traces the lines of tattoos painted across his skin with the tip of her fingers, traces them all the way down his chest and further still, daring to dig her nails in against his stomach. Cassian hisses at the sting, but the look in his eyes tells her that he really likes it. It makes her feel bolder, braver. She dares to reach down, palming the hard line still trapped in his pants.

With a groan, Cassian drops his head against her collarbones. She continues her ministrations, curling her fingers as best she can and moving her hand up and down. Even through the fabric of his pants, Nesta can feel the way he twitches, can feel the weight of him. The size. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised, what with Cassian being fae and not an ordinary man, but it still has heat sparking along her spine, has her mouth running dry just as surely as her thighs clench together.

She pushes at the waistband of his pants until they slide off his hips, down his thighs. Cassian finishes the job, kicking off the fabric. His cock bobs free between his strong thighs, the head already glistening with his own arousal. Nesta goes to wrap her hand around it, but her fingertips barely graze before Cassian is pinning her wrists again. He’s able to hold both her wrists in the grip of just one of his hands, using his free hand to find home beneath her chin and raise her face to his.

For a moment, Cassian merely stares at her, eyes roving over her face as though he’s trying to memorize it. Warmth flares through his hazel eyes, and Nesta swears she can feel an answering spark between her ribs, can feel it grow and tether like a golden thread there. He leans down and connects their lips, the kiss surprisingly soft. Nesta tries to deepen it, tries to free her hands so she can pull him close again, but Cassian keeps the kiss a gentle slide of lips.

“Cassian,” Nesta huffs frustratedly, hooking her legs around his waist and digging her heels into the small of his back, trying to encourage him where she wants.

“So needy, my wife,” Cassian teases, gripping his cock and dragging the head along her cunt, through the wetness that’s pooled there. “Do you want my cock, Nes? Want me to fill you up and fuck you good?”

“Isn’t that what a good husband does?”

Cassian’s whole body shudders with a groan, his wings flaring wide. “Perhaps a good wife should beg for it.”

“Please,” Nesta whispers, capturing Cassian’s bottom lip between her teeth and bucking her hips up against him. “Please fuck me.”

“Good girl.”

Cassian grasps at her hips, tugging her close and tilting them up. He presses his own hips forward until the tip slides inside her, thrusting shallowly. Just the first few inches stretches Nesta in a way she’s never felt before, in a way she fears she could become addicted to. He pulls his hips back just to sink back in further, the drag along Nesta’s walls leaving her moaning.

When their hips are finally pressed flushed together, Cassian still, nosing along her neck and her jaw. Nesta feels so incredibly full, her every nerve ending on fire in the most delicious way. She clenches down around him, her cunt seeming to draw him that much deeper, and Cassian’s groan echoes her own.

“Gods, you’re so tight,” Cassian murmurs into her neck, lips dragging against her skin. “But you take me so well.”

“Cassian, please,” Nesta begs again, trying to shift her hips against his hold.

Whether the begging does the trick or Cassian merely takes pity on her, Nesta doesn’t care. All she can focus on is the way Cassian pulls his hips back only to snap them back forward. Again and again he drives his hips forward, each hard thrust sending lightning licking through Nesta’s veins. With her hands now free, she curls them around Cassian’s back, practically clawing at his skin as she rocks her hips up to meet him thrust for thrust, as she chases the unparalleled feeling of him filling her over and over.

She dares to trace her fingers toward his shoulder blades. Dares to trace the spindly bone of a wing. Cassian lets out a near animalistic growl, hips digging against her own as his movements stutter.

“If you keep that up, this will be over much too soon,” Cassian warns through clenched teeth. He sits back on his haunches, splaying Nesta’s legs across his thighs.

“Sensitive?” Nesta asks. “What does it feel like?”

Cassian’s thumb presses down on Nesta’s clit, Nesta keening at the sensation and pressure. “Like that.”

Cassian works his hips back up to a brutal pace, moving his thumb in tandem with every hard thrust. It doesn’t take long before Nesta finds herself on the edge of that precipice again, before she goes tumbling over with little to no warning. Her back arches up off the ground, cunt clenching hard around Cassian’s cock. Cassian continues to snap his hips, working her through her orgasm, until he shudders and stills above her, warmth flooding Nesta’s core as surely as the fire blazing through her veins.

Cassian shifts back, pulling his softening cock free and drawing a quiet whimper from Nesta’s lips. She still feels like she’s burning, still feels desperate to dive back into the flames and the feeling sparked by this fae male. And though there’s still the lingering fullness from Cassian’s own release, her cunt still spasms with the aftershocks of her orgasm, still clenches around nothing.

She pushes herself up into a seated position, moving before Cassian can get too far. She all but clambers into his lap, steadying herself on his shoulders until she can settle comfortably. Cassian’s hands find her waist, an almost awestruck expression on his face as he peers up at her. But there’s embers in that hazel gaze too, still flickering as one of those hands glides up her spine, as his fingers curl into the long strands of Nesta’s hair that have fallen free from her updo.

“You know,” Nesta begins, reaching down until she can fist his cock, stroking it teasingly. “There’s this rumor. That fae males can recover more quickly than a man.”

“Is that so?” Cassian teases, but Nesta can already feel the way he’s started to harden again from her ministrations.

Nesta tightens her grip, quickens her pace, until Cassian is groaning and bucking his hips up against her, until his cock is standing at full attention again. She shifts forward on her knees, lining Cassian’s cock up with her cunt and sinking down on it. She moans at the fullness taking over her again, the rightness of being pressed together like this. She feels key-up, the overstimulation too much and yet everything that she needs.

She starts to rock her hips, gasping at the drag and friction, chasing the heat already climbing dangerously high. With one hand still buried in her hair, Cassian draws her mouth back to his, groaning against her lips as he kisses her. He plants his feet on the ground, snapping his hips up to meet hers.

“Gods, you’re fucking gorgeous,” Cassian murmurs against her, hands sliding down to palm at her ass and guide her movements. “Riding my cock like a good fucking girl.”

Nesta shudders at his words, clenching down hard. She picks up the pace of her hips, chasing another release. She starts to feel the burn in her thighs, can feel the stickiness of their own arousal, of both their releases dripping and smeared across the skin there. She’s half aware of her hoarse moans ringing in her ears, of the wet sounds of sex and slapping skin echoing in the woods around them. But all that matters is the slide of Cassian’s cock, the pressure building between her thighs.

She reaches a hand down, fingers slipping through the wetness there and against her clit, but Cassian is too quick. His own fingers curl around her wrist and pull her hand away. Nesta whines high in the back of her throat, tugging against his grip, but it’s no use.

“I don’t appreciate anyone touching what’s mine,” Cassian warns, squeezing her wrist that little bit tighter.

“And am I yours?” Nesta asks, sinking down fully and swiveling her hips to get the friction she was looking for.

“Always. And I’m yours.”

“Good.”

With her free hand not captured in Cassian’s hold, Nesta reaches over his shoulder. She slides her fingertips across his leathery wings, trying to mimic the way her hips move with the shapes she traces. She dares to scrape her nails against his wings, remembering how he’d responded before. With a roar, Cassian all but crushes her to him, his cock twitching deep within her. It’s enough to send Nesta crashing through an orgasm right there with him, spots dancing in her vision as she shakes with the force of it.

Nesta’s entire body feels wrung out and sated, embers banked but still keeping her deliciously warm. It takes her a moment too long to realize she’s slumped forward against Cassian, their chests pressed together and her head dropped to his shoulder. She knows that she needs to move. She knows that, now that their bargain is complete, she needs to return to the village. But trying to will her muscles to work feels like an impossible feat.

She decides to give it under her still heaving breaths even out, until her still thundering heart quiets to a soft beat. Cassian’s touch is surprisingly gentle where his fingertips trace shapes and lines up and down her spine, but soon his hands are gripping her properly. He shifts until they’re both sprawled across the soft, mossy floor of the wood, wings curling almost protectively around her. Warmth seeps into Nesta’s skin every place they’re pressed together, relaxing her all the way down to the bone.

There’s a safety wrapped up in his embrace, and Nesta allows her eyes to flutter shut, allows it to lull her under. She thinks back to Cassian’s words, his declaration that she’s his and he’s hers. And for a moment, just this moment longer, she almost allows herself to believe it.

~ * * * ~

Nesta quietly thanks the seller, carefully placing the folded fabric in the basket hanging from the crook of her arm. She slides her fingers against the pretty pink of it, the color reminding her of Elain. She’s sure that her younger sister will create something beautiful with it.

As she steps out of the small shop in the village square, Nesta can already feel eyes on her. They’re practically scorching holes through her shoulder blades, but she refuses to turn and look. The staring has been the trend the past two days, ever since that night, especially with the men in the village. Perhaps she should have found a way to work keeping the village’s disdain at bay into her bargain.

Sighing softly to herself, Nesta keeps her head held high, her shoulders back, as she follows the winding road back toward her family’s home. She keeps her grip on her basket tight, wills her breathing to come steady and slow, even as her every nerve ending feels on high alert, her heart beginning to skip between her ribs.

A hand grips hard around Nesta’s bicep, yanking her into the gap between two buildings. She barely has time to let out a shout of surprise before another hand is closing over her mouth. Her back slams against wood, nails biting into the skin of her arm, her cheek. The basket slips from her fingers, items skittering across the ground, as she comes face to face with a pair of brown eyes, ruddy cheeks, and lips pulled back in a sneer.

“Did you think you could get away with embarrassing me?” Tomas spits, leaning in until he’s right in Nesta’s face.

Nesta uses her free hand to pry Tomas’s fingers off her face. “Leave me alone. There’s no longer a contract between us or our families.”

“You think I don’t know how you did that? That the whole village doesn’t know? A lowly whore just like Morrigan.”

“Fuck you.”

“It seems you’ve dirtied your mouth as much as your body. Don’t worry. I’m more than happy to use both to remind you of your place.”

Panic flares through Nesta’s chest as Tomas uses his body weight to pin her in place, his hand reaching for her skirts. A low growl echoes in the space around them, Tomas’s entire body going rigid at the sound. They both look toward the other end of the alleyway, a large figure looming there. Even with the shadows, the silhouette of wings is unmistakable.

“A fae?” Tomas whispers, true fear leaving his voice trembling. “In the village? During the day?”

“Get your hands off her,” Cassian warns, voice low and threatening.

“This isn’t any of your business,” Tomas calls out, all fake bravado Nesta is sure.

Cassian prowls forward, each step slow but measured. “I won’t ask again.”

Tomas’s eyes dart between Cassian and Nesta, and Nesta watches the way his throat bobs with a hard swallow. Of all the things Tomas may be, one of them is clearly not stupid. He releases his hold on Nesta, stumbling back a few steps. His eyes never leave Cassian, a true prey caught in a predator’s trap, as he backs away.

Cassian’s smile is all ferity and teeth. In the blink of an eye, he closes the distance, hand snapping out and curling around Tomas’s throat, holding him in place. “Did you think I was just going to let you go?”

“This isn’t any of your business,” Tomas repeats, but even he sounds unsure at his own words.

“I don’t appreciate anyone touching what’s mine.”

Cassian doesn’t give Tomas the time to say anything else. His hand tightens around Tomas’s throat, lifting him up off his feet and slamming him against the wall opposite of Nesta. Tomas sputters and chokes around Cassian’s hold, his feet kicking out helplessly as he claws at Cassian’s forearm.

“What do you say, Nes? Should we break his fingers for committing such an offense?”

Nesta swallows to find her voice again. “Why stop at his fingers?”

Nesta can’t see Cassian’s face with the way he’s holding Tomas, but she can imagine the gleam in his hazel eyes. It’s clear from the way Tomas’s face completely blanches. Cassian’s wings flare out wide behind his back, keeping him balanced as he strikes. The crunch of breaking bone is drowned out by Tomas’s blood curdling scream. Cassian works with an almost terrifying ease and efficiency, as though he’s tearing mere parchment and not body parts.

Tomas crumbles to the ground with a soft groan when Cassian finally steps back. The fae crouches down, but Nesta can’t hear what he whispers to Tomas. He reaches his hands out and wipes them against Tomas’s shirt, cleaning the man’s blood off using the fabric. When he’s finished, Cassian straightens and turns back to Nesta, carefully retrieving her dropped basket and items and holding it out toward her. Slowly, she takes it from him, stepping over Tomas’s body and back into the village market and sun.

“You’re a hard woman to find, Nesta,” Cassian starts, stepping out of the alleyway behind her.

“I didn’t realize you were searching,” Nesta comments idly.

She pauses, hesitates, in the now empty town square before squaring her shoulders and continuing the trek back to her family home. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised when Cassian falls into step beside her, unbothered about the villagers who clearly scattered due to his presence.

“What did you expect? Most wives don’t sneak away from their husbands in the middle of the night.”

“I thought that was how it was done.”

Cassian’s chuckle is just as warm in the light of day. “You humans have very odd traditions then.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at his teasing words. “Not that, you big bat. I meant your bargains. Do you track down every woman you make your wife to end their marriage contract?”

Cassian’s fingers curl around Nesta’s wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle as he tugs her to a stop. With a quiet huff, Nesta turns to face him properly. It seems almost strange to see him under the bright light of the sun, without the rays of the moon casting silver shadows across his face, his wings.

He’s still as ruggedly beautiful as Nesta remembers him.

With the curls of his hair scraped away from his face and secured in a bun, the hard line of his jaw is on full display. His hazel eyes seem to burn as golden as the high noon sun, and with the light stretching through them, Nesta realizes there’s a reddish hue to those powerful wings stretched behind his back.

“I only have one wife, sweetheart.”

Nesta blinks a few times, sure that she misheard, trying to wrap her mind around his words. “What do you mean?”

“What other meaning is there?” Cassian drawls, reaching for a stray strand of her hair and twirling it around his finger, a gesture reminiscent of their night together. “The only wife I have is you.”

“So you tricked me with your bargain.”

“Tricked you? I distinctly remember you agreeing. Remember the way you begged for–”

“Stop.”

Nesta takes a firm step back, Cassian’s hand dropping away from between them and back to his side. He tilts his head as he watches her, but Nesta squeezes her eyes shut. He’s too distracting. His presence, the warmth that radiates off his frame, his eyes and the kaleidoscope of emotions swimming amongst the golds and greens. She needs to think.

“Nesta,” Cassian begins, his voice soft and low.

“I said stop.”

Even his voice is distracting, the timbre and drawl of it skating across Nesta skin, wrapping around her limbs like a warm embrace. It seems to rumble from deep within his chest, and Nesta knows exactly what that chest feels like pressed against her own. She knows exactly how his lips feel dragging across her skin, against her lips, against–

“Why?” Nesta asks, her eyes flashing open again. “Why would you make that your end of the bargain then?”

“Because from the moment I saw you in that wood, I knew there would never be another for me.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“I was ready to drop to my knees before you bargain or not,” Cassian continues, stepping back into her space. This time, he wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her flush to him until Nesta has to tilt her chin up to keep eye contact. “Now, I know I said you could do whatever you wished as my wife, and that is still true, but you can’t tell me you wish to stay in this sorry village. Come home, wife.”

Warmth pools through Nesta’s chest, tugging just below her ribs, at her heart, but that voice in the back of her mind still scrambles and screams. “And how do I know I’m not escaping one cruel man just to run into the arms of another?”

The question pulls a growl from Cassian’s throat. “I would never dare to lay a hand on you unless you asked. And anyone who does dare will have my wrath to answer to, just like that sorry excuse of a man in the village square.”

Before she can think twice about it, before that voice can talk her out of it, Nesta presses up onto her toes, crashing her mouth against Cassian’s. He responds instantly, his lips dragging and sliding with her own, his arms and wings wrapping around her. There’s a comfort, a safety, a contentment here in his embrace, and that warmth in Nesta’s chest puts down roots, unfurls and blooms. It settles all the way down to the very marrow of her bones, to her soul.

When she finally pulls back from the kiss, she steps back from Cassian completely before he can drag her back under. She clears her throat and resettles the basket on her arm, turning on her heel and continuing toward her destination. Only when the familiar worn wood of the door comes into view does she finally stop again, turning over her shoulder.

“Stay out here.”

She doesn’t wait for Cassian’s response before she steps inside her family’s home, the scent of fresh bread greeting her. She spies her father asleep in the rickety chair he favors in front of the fire. Typical. With an annoyed huff, Nesta sets down her basket, heading in the direction of the bedrooms.

“Nesta? Is that you? You were in the market longer than I thought. I was starting to get worried.”

Nesta ignores her sister, continuing down the hall and through the bedroom door. She digs a bag out from beneath the bed, laying it open and turning toward the wardrobe. She makes quick work pulling out all her favorite dresses and folding them into some semblance of order.

“Nesta? Is everything–what are you doing?”

Nesta only glances toward Elain now standing in the doorway, Feyre standing just behind her and peering over the middle Archeron’s shoulder. Instead, Nesta returns to the task at hand, grabbing her most beloved books and adding them to the bag as well. Her attention dances briefly toward the old desk in the corner, but she presumes even a fae would have parchment and pen for her to write.

“Don’t ask questions,” Nesta finally says, closing the bag. “But I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” Feyre echoes, stepping back enough that Nesta can walk back out of the bedroom.

“Yes. Now that there is no longer a marriage contract with the Mandrays, there’s no…” Nesta sighs, pausing in front of their home's front door and turning back toward her sisters, but there’s nothing but understanding on Elain and Feyre’s faces. “I’ll write once I’m settled. I swear it.”

With a final nod, Nesta pulls open the door, stepping back into the sun. As if she already inherently knows where to look, her eyes find Cassian where he’s leaning casually against the trunk of a tree. It’s reminiscent of the first time she saw the fae, only this time, his expression seems to soften as he takes her in. Nesta refuses to admit to the way her heart stutters at the smile on his face.

“Is that–”

“Don’t ask questions,” Nesta cuts Elain off. “Just know that this is what I want, that I’ll be happy. Don’t let father ever try to convince either of you that you don’t deserve that too.” She starts down the path away from their house before another thought occurs to her. “And perhaps stay out of the woods. Especially at night.”

Nesta continues down the path and across the grass until she reaches Cassian, wordlessly holding out her bag. She swears it’s purposeful, the way his fingers skate across her skin as he takes it, and yet goosebumps erupt up her arm either way. She waits for Cassian to begin leading the way back between the trees and deeper into the woods, but instead the fae takes the time to secure her bag over his shoulder until it rests between his wings.

“Oh, we’ll be flying,” Cassian explains, answering her unasked question.

“Flying?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll like it.”

Before Nesta can say anything else, Cassian scoops her up and into his arms, holding her close to his chest. Nesta is quick to wrap her own arms tightly around his neck, squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation of the rush, of the wind, but it never comes. When she opens her eyes again, she finds Cassian watching her. Waiting for her permission.

“Well? Take me home, husband.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies

#NestaWeek2024 #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #my fic

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outromoony · 22 hours

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Forgive me, Peter (is it something I did?)

Marauders microfic from Peter's POV | 2.2k words

ao3 link here

James was Peter's whole world when they were young.

The moment they met, Peter knew James was different from any other kid he'd ever met. He was kind, and didn't make fun of Peter because he didn't know how to play certain games or was in bad shape for sports. James was always so kind to him, so patient. They will spend hours and hours playing by themselves in James's garden because the other kids didn't want to play with Peter, but James said he preferred to play with him anyway.

They lived very close to each other; in fact, they were technically neighbors. Peter only took a six-minute walk from his house to James's, and they will see each other every day. James would show him everything he knew about Quidditch and discuss his favorite teams, and in return, Peter would teach him how to play chess and vent about his older siblings at home. And James will listen, he will always listen; and for the first time in his life, Peter felt like his voice deserved to be heard, that his opinions and feelings mattered to someone other than just himself and his own shadow.

That was, until they got on that train.

The Hogwarts Express was everyone's dream. Peter could remember his brother and sister talking about it nonstop when they came back from Hogwarts for their first break. Peter was excited about it, but it also made him anxious. When he received his letter, he couldn’t actually believe it at first. He knew he had magic since he was nine, but still, his aunts and brother loved to point out that it was weak, that even if he wasn't a squib, his magic would never be strong enough to even do anything relevant with it. Peter could not avoid feeling as if there had been a mistake, as if he didn't belong there. But just three feet away from him, there was James, smiling at him reassuringly and fondly as he awkwardly walked towards the train.

James had always been his anchor, the one and only person who could keep him grounded when he felt too low about himself. James would assure him he was wonderful, and that being his best friend was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

And James might have been Peter's anchor, but perhaps Peter had always been James's shackles.

The moment James met Sirius Black, Peter knew his relationship with James was never meant to last.

They were still friends, of course. James never wanted Peter to leave his side, and tried to get him into conversations. But Peter knew since the beginning of their Hogwarts journey, that Sirius was everything James wanted Peter to be, even if he never said it out loud.

Sirius was loud, that was the word that described him the best. He was loud, and so, so alive. And for Peter, who had always felt a little bit dead inside, that was like looking directly at the sun and getting a little blinded by its light. He tried, he really bloody tried, but he couldn't change who he was, how he felt, how he acted. No attempt was enough to get James to talk or look at him the way he did with Sirius Black.

When he was sorted into Gryffindor, he was so surprised that he tripped on his way to the Gryffindor table. Everyone clapped, and amidst all the loud noise, he could hear Sirius whistling and James shouting his name. Peter smiled nervously and sat between James and Remus. James gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, and Remus just gave him a quiet nod. Peter didn't even look at Sirius when he called his name.

Peter Pettigrew had never been brave. He never felt like it, and his family reminded him every day how much of a coward he was. Since he could remember, he had always been afraid of making friends, and his parents needed to talk to the other kids for him to be able to have someone to play with. His siblings needed to force him to do new things like flying a broom, and his aunts scolded him when he refused to try new food. When he became friends with James, he became that force he needed to start opening up a little. James never forced anything into him, always respected his boundaries and tried showing him the light of life. He succeeded, of course, James always did; but when Sirius came into his life, that light started to banish little by little, wound by wound.

He knew from the beginning of his life that he would never be anyone's first choice. He knew it and accepted it. At least, he thought he did. His parents will always choose any of his siblings, just never him. His siblings will always choose each other, and James... oh, James. He really thought, for a period of time, that he was James's first choice, but now he realized that would never be the case, not while Sirius Black was still breathing.

He even tried getting close to Remus. The boy was quiet and liked reading. Peter initially thought that perhaps he was reserved with everyone, not just with Peter. But, fast enough, he realized that wasn't the case. Sirius, somehow, had broken that shield Remus always carried with him, cracked his mask, and got him into his most vulnerable human form. Remus loved Sirius, he loved him in a way Peter quite never understood, but again, he really never understood what was so special about Sirius Black that was leaving him completely alone, what was so special about him that he could just take everyone and everything away from him, even James.

He never intended to hurt him, to hurt any of them. Even after seven years of feeling like he was just something less than a sidekick for his friends, he still was something to them, at least he wasn't alone, at least James hadn't given up on him after everything. He never intended to do any harm, but Peter had always been weak, manipulable. The Dark Lord gave him what he had been craving his entire life, an opportunity to be someone, to do something important, to be someone's choice.

So he did it, he started working as a spy for the dark side. At first, it was alright— great, even. Voldemort chose him as one of his most loyal followers, he even sat next to him in the meetings with the rest of the Death Eaters. He felt like he was important, like he had done something right for the first time in his life, and for the look in Voldemort's eyes when he looked at him, he had.

The first time it actually hit him was when the news of the McKinnons reached his ears.

He had never been close to Marlene, not like Remus or James were, but he knew her; he knew her more than any of the people that had died in the war. He knew that her laugh was the loudest out of everyone in the Gryffindor tower, he knew she loved playing Quidditch just as much as James did, and that she loved reading some weird muggle books, which she would later recommend to Remus. He knew she loved music, especially rock, and she and Sirius would annoy everyone in the common room by singing and shouting lyrics left and right from their favorite rock bands. He may not have actually known her that well, but he saw her breathing and living for so many years, and because of him, she was dead.

He tried swallowing the feeling of guilt, tried pretending as if nothing had happened, and continued doing what the Dark Lord asked him to. That was the first time Peter actually realized how badly he had fucked up, and he was now trapped. He couldn’t back off now, but still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was always meant to end up like this.

When the prophecy came, Peter was the first person Voldemort asked for information.

He wanted every possible location of the Potters, their schedules, any piece of information that could help him get to them. And for the first time since he had joined the Death Eaters, he lied to the Dark Lord.

That was probably the bravest thing Peter Pettigrew ever did in all his pathetic and miserable life. He lied, he lied about everything he knew, about every piece of information he had. He lied as much as he could, until he couldn’t anymore.

James and Lily now knew about the prophecy, and Dumbledore had sent them into hiding. Those were the exact same words he told Voldemort when he asked again about the whereabouts of the Potters, but when the Dark Lord asked about the type of magic they were using to hide, Peter couldn't even think of a good enough lie, so he told the truth.

He knew that if the Potters or Sirius were suddenly found dead, it would be his fault, but none of that happened. Voldemort didn't know who the secret keeper was, Peter had had enough decency to keep that piece of information to himself, but he knew that the first suspect would be Sirius Black, James's best friend and Harry's godfather.

Sirius apparently had the same thoughts, because one night after a meeting, after everyone was already gone, Sirius asked him to be the new secret keeper.

He apparently had already told James and Lily about it, and both of them agreed. Sirius was the most obvious option, and nobody will ever suspect him.

"Is it because I look weak?" Peter wanted to ask him desperately. "Because I look incapable?" But he didn't say it out loud, because maybe he was; maybe he was weak and incapable and a coward, and maybe he'd always been.

After he became secret keeper, Voldemor knew. Peter wasn't sure how he knew it, but he did. Maybe he could read his mind, or maybe he'd never been really good at pretending, but in that moment, when Voldemort asked him the location of the Potters, Peter knew it was over.

Because he was a coward, after all.

He could have begged for James's life, just like Snape did for Lily's. Perhaps, that would have been the last decent thing he could have done for him. But deep inside, Peter knew that it was in vain. Snape never knew Lily the way he knew James, or even Lily herself. They both loved so hard, so intensely, so deeply, and they were so brave, something Peter never had been. They loved so much, and Harry was just the person they loved the most in the world. They wouldn't let their child die without a fight, and then Voldemort would kill them all three.

The moment it happened, Peter felt it in his bones, in every cell of his body, in every beat of his heart.

James was dead.

Peter never thought it was possible to feel absence so deeply in your soul you felt like your own shadow had been torn away from you. He felt it all, but at the same time he felt nothing at all—not when the Dark Lord was gone, and he had lost everything.

Sirius Black gave him a new reason to run: he was going to kill him, he had promised. With every single step he took, he could feel Sirius's breath on his neck like a sharp knife threatening to cut him open, and he deserved it; he knew he did.

But he didn't want to die.

So he ran and ran, until his lungs were full of memories, and regrets, and fear—oh, so much fear. He was terrified of dying.

It was just a matter of time until Sirius found him, he knew he didn't have much time. He had promised to kill him, and if he knew something about Sirius Black, was that he was always true to his threats.

So he did the only thing that crossed his mind—the only thing that gave him an actual shot to survive. He hid among the Muggles, even though he knew Sirius would find him anywhere, and when he inevitably did, Peter was ready.

He caused an explosion that killed probably hundreds of muggles; he wasn't sure, but he didn't care that much. Sirius was there in the explosion, but he didn't die; Peter's plan had never been to kill him.

He held his breath, and without thinking too much, because if he did, he might never be able to do it, he cut one of his fingers. The pain was terrible, the blood was everywhere, but when he transformed into his rat form once again, the pain was already gone, so was Peter.

And he ran once again—he ran away from the life he used to have, the life he would never have again. He ran from his guilt, from his bad decisions, and from every time he betrayed himself.

He ran and never looked back; that was the one thing he always did the best.

He was a coward, after all.

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wordsaresimple-imnot · 2 days

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Green Dress - Bill Guarnere x F!Reader

Summary: Easy Company hits the town for a much needed night of fun and relaxation in Paris. Reader, who's always in regular military wear and very tomboy, decides to dress up for the night and receives varying reactions from the boys.

Warnings: 18+ content, cursing, oral (f receiving), 1st person female POV (no use of y/n), I think that's it.

A/N: I have the biggest respect for the real life heroes of WWII (and all other wars, past & current), this work & all other works is based on the actor(s) and character(s) portrayed in the Band of Brothers series.

A/N pt2: This is my first time writing any type of explicit sexual scene, let me know what y'all think. As usual likes, comments, and reblogs give me love. Enjoy!!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I look at myself in the mirror and can't decide if I like what I see or should call the whole night off and stay in bed. I've styled my hair in a simple design, flowy but still away from my face. Light make-up highlights my eyes, cheeks and lips; just enough to make everything pop without being over the top. My hands run down my dress, picking away invisible lint. It's a deep, gorgeous green that almost shimmers in the light, falling just above my knee in a way that would cause outrage back home but is just this side of acceptable in Paris.

Ah, screw it. Let's have some fun. With a final twirl, I flash myself a smile and excite my hotel room to meet the guys downstairs. I stop briefly at the top of the stairs and look at the group waiting for me. We've been through a lot together; Toccoa, Sobel, jumping (literally) into Normandy, countless battles won and lost, losing fellow brother's, etc. Never once did they make me feel alienated or less than, each providing different facets of friendship and overall making a family.

In a weird way I was nervous to have them see me so feminine and semi dolled up. I've never wore anything other than the standard OD uniforms and was always down for "boy activities" in the down times. I was constantly referred to as "one of the boys" and never really cared until this moment. I was worried my effort would be turned into a joke. Just once I'd like them to see me as an actual woman. Well, at least one of them to anyways.

Just as I started my decent towards them, Luz catches sight of me and gives a loud whistle before beginning to clap. This catches the others attention and pretty soon the lobby is filled with whistles and claps until I reach the bottom of the stairs. I give them all an embarrassed smile, fully aware that my face is burning a deep red and I'm fighting the urge to run back upstairs and hide.

"Lookin' good kid!" Toye comes up and gives me a small kiss on my cheek, smiling as he motions for me to twirl around. I do a small spin, setting off the whistles and claps again.

"Oh, stop you hound dogs." I laugh lightly, waving my hands at them to quiet down.

"You knew a lady was underneath all those clothes and dirt." Luz shoots me a cheeky smile, grabbing my hand and giving it a kiss. I flip him off once he releases my hand, making him laugh. "There she is!"

"Alright let's get out of here, I'm dying for a drink." I start to make my way through the group to the exit. This causes a small, playful scuffle to erupt as some of the guys move towards me to grab my hand and be my escort. In the end Liebgott wins, shooting everyone a smile and me a wink. As we all spill out into the streets in search of the bar, my eyes briefly connect with Bill and I'm left wondering what's caused the frown on his face.

Two hours later, I'm on my fourth beer and loving the buzz I'm feeling. I've just finished another turn around the dance floor, being passed between Tab, Luz, Bull, and even Martin joined for a few beats. Needing to catch my breathe, I settle on a barstool and wait for my water to arrive. Before my water can get there, a few shadows come up to my side. Expecting it to be some of my group, I spin around with a wide smile and am met with three strangers faces.

"Oh, sorry. I thought you were part of my Company." I give a small laugh, slightly embarrassed. The one closest to me just smiles and shakes his head slightly.

"No need to apologize ma'dam, if you'll have us we'd like to keep you company though." His English was nearly perfect, made sweeter by his French accent. What's the harm in a little flirting?

With a soft smile, I extend my hand out to them and give my name. They each take turns telling me theirs and giving my hand a kiss afterwards. While definitely being more flirty than I imagined they'd be, they were pleasant enough to talk to and even made me laugh a few times. When a new song started to play Pierre, the first one to speak to me, asks if I'd like to dance and I agree.

We are halfway through the song, having a really good time, when someone taps Pierre's shoulder. To my shock and confusion, there was Bill. He looks like he is holding himself back from killing Pierre, for what reason I have no clue.

"Mind if I cut in." It was a statement, flat out. No room for but's or giving a raincheck. I see Pierre is ready to go toe to toe with Bill, but that is a fight he'd never win and I don't want the night to turn sour.

I pat Pierre's shoulder and tell him it was alright and I've had a lovely time. He looks skeptical at Bill, but gave me a perfect smile mirroring my sentiments and gave my hand a final kiss as he walks back to his friends. Without wasting anytime, Bill grabs the hand that was just kissed and tugs me flush against him.

It takes a few seconds to get into a comfortable rhythm after that awkward start, whatever the hell that was, but we manage and are soon swaying between the other dancing partners. I was torn between reveling in the feeling of the heat of his hand on my waist and the skin to skin contact of our hands, and how confused and frustrated I am with how he acted.

"I don't know why you did that. Pierre was a nice guy." I speak low enough so the words stay just between us and can't float out to the Easy boys that seem to be watching us with barely concealed interest. They must have witnessed the exchange too.

Bill scoffs and his hand squeezes my waist for a half second. "Pierre. What kinda name is that for a man. Fucking French." I shoot him a small glare.

"Don't be rude. He was a gentleman." Bill rolls his eyes at me then spins me out then back in.

"Gentleman my ass. He was only interested in getting to know you because you're looking like a lady."

His words turn my body into stone and I frown up at him. "Looking like... Fuck you." I rip my hand out his and push him slightly, it doesn't do more than make him shuffle his feet but it's definitely got his attention.

"What the hell is your problem?" His jaw is set and his eyes are burning daggers at me.

"My problem? I don't have a problem. What's your problem? I'm not some dumb little girl that doesn't know what men are like. I know he was flirting with me, hoping for me to go off with him. He wasn't going to get anything, but guess what...I liked the attention! I liked having someone notice that I'm a woman and reminding me that I can be desirable. I'm not just looking like a lady, I am a damn lady you asshole." With a final shove, I turn on my heel and leave the bar before him or anyone else can try and stop me.

I'm halfway down the street, heading to the hotel, when I hear someone jogging behind me. I decide to ignore them and pray it's someone wanting to get someplace fast and not actually coming to talk to me or convince me to come back. Sadly, my prayers are not answered as a hand grabs hold of my elbow spins me around. I'm once again face to face with Bill.

"I don't want to talk to you anymore." I growl out, trying to yank my arm back to no avail.

"You don't gotta talk, just listen. I need to set some things straight." He's using his stern, Sergeant voice, and normally that'd have me blushing but I'm too angry for it to have it's usual effect on me right now.

"No thanks, I've heard enough for the evening." I make another attempt to pull my arm out, but he just pulls me closer and wraps his arms around me arms and waist, pining me against him. All I can do is glare.

Bill scans the sidewalk and road quickly, slightly nodding to himself as he makes some internal decision and lifts me off the ground, walking us a little ways into an alley to our right. We are far enough in that no one can stumble upon us easily but we can still get some of the street light so it's not pitch black.

"What the hell Bill? Have you become a psycho killer?" I push a little away from him, but that only presses me against the alley wall. He uses this to his advantage by taking a step forward, caging me between him and the wall. My brain short circuits a little at being so close to him.

"You're wrong." When he doesn't immediately continue, I raise an eyebrow hoping to encourage him to elaborate. After a few more seconds he continues. "We know you're a lady. The whole damn battalion knows you're a lady. Wearing OD's doesn't hide the shape of your ass when you bend over to help with the car engines or the outline of your breasts when you take your jacket off to cool down. All you have to do is glance around and you'll see the boys drooling all over themselves staring at you." His hand lands on my hip and squeezes. Hard.

I have to take a few deep breathes to steady myself before formulating a response. "If that's true, then what was the big deal about those guys flirting with me tonight?"

"Because they don't know what everyone in the battalion knows. You're my girl. It's one thing to have the boys dance with you or give you compliments, they'd never cross that line or I'd kill 'em. Those French twats wanted to cross that line." I barely registered anything after his declaration: my girl. His girl.

"You're girl?" My words come out in a whisper. Bill's face finally starts to soften and an easy smile starts to spread across his face.

"You really are oblivious. It's the worst kept secret in Easy Company. You drive me fucking crazy, sweetheart. Gorgeous, funny, sweet, and just the right mixture of feminine and tomboy. Everything I've ever dreamed of. And you're wrapped up like a damn present in this dress and I've been dying to get it open all night." By the time he's done speaking his mouth is a hairs breathe away from mine, eyes searching mine for any sign of rejection.

All words have left me so I decide to respond with action and close the distance between us. What starts out as gentle and timid, quickly transforms to rough and frenzied. Bill gives my bottom lip a bite, causing me to gasp and allowing him access into my mouth. I don't bother putting up a fight, I'm putty in his arms and give him full dominance. The hand not squeezing my hip so hard I know there will be some type of bruise, grasps the back of my neck and angles my head to the side to give him better access.

My hands have made their way up his chest, to his shoulders, and finally still with one in his hair and the other at the back of his neck. When the need for air becomes to much for me, I turn my head slightly to the side and break the kiss. Bill's breathing just as heavily as I am, but doesn't stop his assault. He moves my head again and starts trailing kisses up and down my neck, alternating between nips and licks based on my reactions. When he hits a particular sweet spot, I can feel him grin before biting there again hard enough to leave a mark.

"Fuck." I moan out, scratching the back of his neck. "That's gonna be hard to hide." With a final kiss on the new mark, Bill lifts his head to meet my eyes. His eyes are dark with lust and he can't stop smiling.

"That's the point, sweetheart." I roll my eyes at him, but smile back.

"If you get to mark me, I think it's only fair I get to mark you."

"Baby, you can do whatever you want to me. I'm yours." His voice is so deep, it makes my legs shake and I'm instantly happy I have that wall to hold me.

"I think you owe me an apology for what you said to me at the bar before I decide what I wanna do you with you." I mean more as a joke, but he seems to really be thinking about. Before I can reassure him that I'm not upset anymore, he gives me a kiss that has me seeing stars.

Before it leads to another make-out session, Bill breaks away from my mouth, trails kisses down the other side of my neck and then suddenly drops to his knees in front of me.

"What are you doing?" The situation wasn't bad enough to do this.

"I'm apologizing." Bill's eyes are so dark they could pass for solid black and his voice is deep and sensual. My response is cut short as I feel his hands run up my legs, going under my dress and grasp my thighs. With a smirk, he slowly finishes his trek to my underwear and starts pulling them down.

"Bill." I don't know if I say his name to make him stop or because I'm praising him. Either way, I have nothing to follow it up with. He keeps his eyes on me as I shift my feet helping him get my underwear completely off, noticing that he stuffs them in his pocket.

"Just lean back and enjoy baby. Be a good girl and hold this for me." He pushes my dress up to my waist, waiting for me to take hold of it. Good girl, Jesus.

"Sir, yes, sir." I take note of the tightening of his jaw and how his eyes somehow become even darker. There's something to explore later.

Bill grabs hold of my thigh and drapes it over his shoulder, trailing soft kisses on the inside. As he gets closer to my center, he bites and sucks a mark just for us to know about. A small moan escapes and my unoccupied hand lands in his hair. Before the sting has completely faded from his bite, I'm taken over by the sensation of his tongue gliding through my folds.

The only sounds to be heard is our combined groans, my heavy breathing, and his tongue working me like a man starved. His hand not holding my thigh in a death grip, maneuvers around to spread me more open for him and I nearly pass out when he sucks on my clit. I yank on his hair which only seems to spur him on as he starts starts alternating between licking and sucking.

The only words I seem to be able to say is his name and fuck. As my approach to my orgasm comes closer, I'm able to mumble out that I'm close. Bill tabs my thigh to make me look down at him and I nearly cum at the sight.

"Let go, sweetheart. That's an order. Cum. Now." His words, combined with the determined look on his face and a final hard suck on my clit has me falling over the edge chanting his name over and over again.

Bill doesn't let up as my orgasm washes over me, licking and drinking up my release until I start to whimper at the overstimulation. Slowly he places my thigh back on the ground, gently stroking my legs, and tugs my dress back down to cover me again. My hands grip his shoulders as he stands back up and I take in the sight of him. Hair completely wrecked from my fingers, face red from his efforts, breathing heavy and looking like he might drop to knee's to do it all over again.

I grab his jacket and pull him flush against me, kissing him with all the strength I have. He returns the kiss with as much force and pulls my thigh up around his hip, making our hips meet. I moan into the kiss at the feeling of his erection so close to my center and roll my hips to grind against him.

"If you don't stop that, we won't make it back to the hotel." Bill growls between kisses.

"Then you better get us there quickly." I give his lip a quick bite, before a laugh slips out at how fast he starts pulling by the hand back to the sidewalk and towards the hotel.

I think I'll wear this dress more often.

#bill guarnere #bill guarnere x reader #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #hbo war #hbo band of brothers #band of brothers x reader

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emilybahu · 12 hours

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I love 9-1-1 so much!

I have fallen in love with tv shows before, watching episodes religiously as they aired weekly. 9-1-1 has been different for me though, it’s become more like an obsession. In some ways that’s bad, it’s consuming my mind a lot of times and it’s distracting me from other things I need to get done. However, really getting into the fandom of this show has also been wonderful for me, it’s made me so happy, actually getting involved with other fans and talking to people the last couple months has been so fun! You all are amazing, funny, talented people and I’m truly grateful that I’ve been able to interact with you!

Now, I’ve heard about some toxicity within the fandom, Buddie and BuckTommy shippers turning against each other and fighting about what’s best for the characters. (Which btw, isn’t really up to us anyway)

I personally haven’t seen a lot of that, who knows, maybe I’m just ignoring it because I don’t want to see it. Either way I always try to keep a very open and and neutral stance when it comes to shipping. I let myself enjoy the stories, the edits, the fan art, and the speculation. However, I also try to stay grounded in the reality of what’s happening in the movie/book/tv show.

When it comes to 9-1-1 right now, between Buddie and BuckTommy I’m not picking sides. I like both ships the same, and I don’t think that’s gonna change any time soon. I really, really enjoy both ships! (Plus the fan fiction for both are amazing, so I’m LIVING)

Buddie is part of the reason that I started watching in the first place, Buck and Eddie are my favorite characters. I love them both to death, and regardless of their relationship status they have something special, no one can deny that! Their friendship is beautiful and deep, they do truly love each other, they’re family, they will always be there for each other whether or not they end up in a romantic relationship. I’m honestly just happy to see them together in any capacity. And yes, I will happy, overjoyed even, if they decide to make Buddie cannon, but I’ll also be happy if their relationship remains as it is.

As far as Buck and Tommy go I was surprised when the kiss happened, but OH MY GOD… I was totally there for it! I’m actually really happy with this storyline so far, (even if the second hand embarrassment nearly killed me during the first date)I think that they’ll be great together, I really can’t wait to see them getting to know each other more! Wherever this goes, I’m here for it! I’m excited to see Buck explore his bisexuality with Tommy, and learn about himself through this relationship. I’m also excited to learn more about Tommy! And if they don’t end up being very long term, I really hope that they stay friends.

I’m really enjoying being into a ship that’s canon for once, it makes me really happy. I don’t think there’s ever been a ship (apart from these ones) that I’ve been into that have even had a remote chance of becoming cannon (Stucky… my first love!)

Anyway, I digress, the writers and the actors KNOW these characters, we know that if something felt off it the story, they’d want to do right by the characters. We know for a fact how much Oliver and Ryan love Buck and Eddie, and if it feels right and true to them Buddie will happen. If it doesn’t feel right to put them in a romantic relationship, to me, it’s fine because regardless we have these two men with an absolutely beautiful and meaningful friendship, and I’m always here for that!

All of this to say, all this fighting about “who’s right for who” isn’t doing anyone any good. I mean we’re all in this fandom because we love this show RIGHT!? Being on platforms like this is meant to bring us TOGETHER!

SO WHY THE HELL ARE SOME OF US TRYING TO RIP EACH OTHER APART BECAUSE WE HAVE DIFFERENT OPINIONS ON A DAMN SHIP!?

Everyone is entitled to their own opinions after all… so yeah, share your opinion, just don’t be rude about it. Putting someone down because they disagree with you doesn’t make you right… it just makes you mean. It scares people away, maybe makes them feel like they’re not safe in this community. I’ve seen it a couple times too, with myself and others, being afraid to make a post because of the possibility of hate.

In my experience you’re meant to feel safe in a fandom, in a community because you’re sharing your love for something with others who love it just as much as you do! We should love each other like we love these characters!

To conclude, all I need is for our boys to be happy, that’s really all we should care about here anyway. It shouldn’t necessarily matter who’s dating who, as long as they’re HAPPY! I’m really just along for the ride, I’m here for whatever they decide to do with Buddie and/or BuckTommy in the future. Buck and Eddie are my loves, and we barely know Tommy, but I’m starting to like him already, as long as they’re happy, I am too!

Thank you for reading my TedTalk…

Sorry if it doesn’t sound completely coherent, stringing words together isn’t always my strong suit…🫠

#911 abc #9-1-1 #buddie #bucktommy #tevan #eddie diaz #evan buckley #tommy kinard #time to rant #buck and eddie #I really love this show

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samarecharm · 16 days

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i love makoto so much but fanon does her so much better (the good parts of the fandom) because in the game her character is so lack luster. they butchered her confidant it is so borning and not even about her. they made her a cop. A COP. they pushed this "canon waifu" role onto her (before sumire came along and did it Even Worse). and it SUCKS because SHE IS SO MUCH MORE!!! SHE IS SO MUCH BETTER!!!! SHE COULD'VE BEEN SO MUCH BETTER!!! the way i feel about canon makoto is the same way i feel about the canon ryuji events post komoshida where he's horribly mistreated and used purely as comic relief: i ignore them <3 my game now <3 never happened <3 my ocs <3

You are so right. I generally apply this to all characters in p5 bc the game does such a shit job of staying consistent with character arcs and personalities. Theres a desperate need to throw in perverse jokes at the expense of female characters and a need to show that the police (as a whole) are reliable people who are not influenced by things like money and power; only the BAD cops do that. Not to mention this obvious fatphobia and homophobia but i feel likes thats a given.

But back to Makoto. Shes a victim of bad writing just like everyone else. Ryuji during the kamoshida arc was fighting with self loathing and genuine anxiety, and aside from the like. One comment on Panthers outfit in the metaverse, hes more than well behaved. All of that is shelved as soon as Kamoshida is gone and replaced with him being weird comic relief (and the focus of alot of sexual jokes that were nonexistent in the beginning of the game). Anns arc about self love and empowerment is completely dropped as soon as the nasty bad guy is put away (so that its good to be weird about her w the Good Guys). Makoto loses her a chunk of her personality to be the mature waifu which is INSANE to me bc shes like. Not okay or normal at all 😭😭😭 she THINKS shes responsible and so does everyone else on her team, but its an act! She doesnt know shit! And she doesnt know that she doesnt know shit bc shes respectful and adults dont care about anything as long as u respect them!

Its very telling that for literally every single thief (and goro), you can see the exact moment the writers gave up on adding anything of worth to their characters outside of the social links. Its like they didnt know what to even do w the characters at their disposal after their main arcs were complete. No mention of friends hanging out without you, no mention of having group hangouts. Everyone is treated as a core, important member of the friend group DURING their arc, but outside of it, they are acquaintances at best. Theres nothing in the game that convinces you that these guys are legitimately friends who care for each other and do Friend Things. And i describe it like that bc there IS a game that treats them all as friends, and its strikers! Strikers/Scramble genuinely feels like the game p5 wanted to be; a road trip w your team where they stay up at night talking to each other and hanging out and doing things together that dont necessarily include you, the player. Its refreshing and lovely but it sucks that u get that kind of attention to detail in a ‘spinoff’ title

#chattin #i hesitate to use spinoff bc its a pretty big game #and theres an amazing plot with wonderful characterization #and their handling of jails and jail owners is LEAGUES better than the bs they tried to make up w palace users #and all the thieves feel like family. and not in the annoying fandom way; like #were family in the same way a family is forged and tended to. i love you. no one is left behind. no one is made to feel inferior another #its really good and honestly if u want more interactions between everyone i really recommend a playthrough #but yeah #p5 sucks #i love it but i love the version of it i made in my head LMAO #maybe p5r did a better job w the dialogue and some questionable scenes #(i wouldnt know. i didnt play it lol)#so maybe thats what people need to be using as a point of reference #but i only plyed p5 so this is what i have; a group of people who show up for meetings and then go about their life #and that kinda sucks. why make this wholly unique experience in which these teens can only relate to each other #make them bonded over their shared experience w this unbelievable world #and then not only make them NOT interact; but have the end be ‘okay by akira.’ and leave it at that #they just. didnt know what to do w anyone #they needed their girls to be waifubait and the boys to be an afterthought #they needed a buffet of older woman for pathetic men to fuck through their self insert #and they needed a story convoluted enough to keep people stuck trying to figure it out themselves #its bad. its so bad. its so fucking bad. but i have to be here. WE have to be here.#bc who else is going to take these characters out of hell and treat them right ??!!!

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 6 months

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Despite Danny's best efforts, no matter how much time past, Amity Park refused to see Phantom as a hero.

Sure, there were pockets of support, particularly among teens, but most of the town blames Phantom for the property damage, saying if he didn't fight the ghosts then it wouldn't be so bad, to that time he got mind controlled by Freakshow and "attacked" the mayor. It wears him down. It wears Tucker and Sam down. Jazz can only try to support them all.

Then one day, a member of the Justice League visits. Someone minor, and kinda a jerk... maybe a Wonder Twin? Zan? Whatever. They don't investigate; they don't look deeper. They listen to the town folks and declare the ghost hunters, Red Huntress and the Fentons, to be the official heroes of the town.

Worse? Danny Phantom is officially considered a villain to the Justice League. Tuck hacks into the Watchtower and confirms that they have a file (a heavily inaccurate file) about how to defeat Phantom.

Danny doesn't think he can do this anymore.

A few weeks later, a young villain escapes into Amity and demands (begs) that Danny help them escape from the hero after them. No idea who, I can't find a lot of info on teen villains in DC, so let's fudge some ages and make it Kyd Wyckyd from the Teen Titans cartoon. Danny agrees, because to hell with the Justice Losers, and they defeat the hero, becoming friends in the process. Kyd confesses that they became a villain after being ostracized bc of how they look, and they've been trying to avoid villain organizations because HIVE was abusive, but it's really hard to be a villain alone bc of all the heroes.

Sam gets an idea. Tucker agrees with the idea. Jazz is just happy they'll end up making friends.

The next day, the Teen Villain Alliance is formed, ready to assist with any teenage illegal shenanigans their allies might get into.

Some notes:

It's created to be a healthier option for teen "villains" to connect with others and support each other.

It's more important that this is for Teens rather than Villains. They're tired of adult villains taking advantage of them. The TVA would rather ally with a teen vigilante than with an adult villain.

Again, no idea who the teen villains are, but Klarion is definitely here. He leaves the Light for the chaos of the TVA. Maybe Ember is there too?

Timeline wise, this is around when Tim is still Robin, but Damien has arrived at Wayne Manor.

This is because, when it comes time to try to infiltrate the TVA, they'll have a convenient child-assassin who has none of the monitors of a teen hero that Phantom immediately picks up on.

Damien, who at this point has been abandoned by his mother, dismissed and scolded by his father, and has had no success at carving his own place in the family, jumps at the chance. He is then surrounded by peers who don't insult him or try to change his behavior (too much; jazz is trying to help him find healthier methods of expressing himself). He... might not want to continue being a spy.

Danny, Sam, Tuck, and Jazz are the founding members.

Danny reinvents himself as the High Prince of the Infinite, Prince Phantom Dark. He got kingship from fighting Pariah Dark, but since he's still alive, he's only a prince. He steals the last name Dark as an intimidation tatic against those in the know; only Danny would have the balls to claim family with Pariah.

Sam works as a powerless villain, but she might no be powerless? Either way, Danny gives her a bunch of repurposed Fenton tech, and she buys the rest with her parents credit card. She does NOT care if that's traced back to the Mansons. She would choose something goth, maybe something spider related or even bat?

I love Pharaoh Tucker, so I think he should get magic powers? Since pharaohs of old were considered the balance between the real and the divine. He's still a tech guy, now he's a tech and magic guy.

Jazz isn't really a villain, more of a team mom who's planning on using everyone's psyche's as her thesis paper. You know what, that's her callsign, she's Psyche. Sometimes she flirts with Nightwing.

#dc x dp #villain!everlasting trio #dcxdp #villain danny phantom #teen villain alliance #c: danny fenton #c: sam manson #c: tucker foley #c: jazz fenton #c: kyd wyckyd #c: klarion the witch boy #c: batfamily #c: damien wayne #they don't have an agenda like most villain team ups #they're there to support each other commit crimes and play pranks on the justice losers #dp x dc #dp crossover #dc crossover

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strawbeerossi · 7 months

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Baby Fever

Pairing: Wife!Reader x Husband!Spencer

Description: After seeing Henry and Spencer interact after the little boy wears an adorable Halloween costume, you know what you want from your husband more than anything else

Content/Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy and wanting to be pregnant, kissing, unprotective sex, penetrative sex, creampie, some cute banter.

Word Count: 2K

Kinktober Day Ten: Breeding

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

It was currently Halloween, the team getting back from the case just a few short hours ago. You and Spencer had plans to go get something for dinner and then make your way home for a night filled with spooky movies and a bowl filled with candy that neither of you needed. Everyone was currently wrapping up what little bit that needed to be done when JJ was coming back into the bullpen, a wide smile on her face. “Attention everybody. As I’m sure most of you were aware, Henry was a little nervous about going trick or treating this year.” She’d clasped her hands together with a smile as the team was looking between each other in curiosity. “But he’s decided to go anyway.” She’d finished, David smiling. “Great. What changed his mind?”

“The BAU did. I told him that he should go out on Halloween and try to figure out which monsters are real and which ones are not.” She mused. “So he wants to be a profiler.” Derek smiled, hands in his pockets while JJ put her hand up. “Ah. He wants to be his favorite profiler.” She corrected while everyone was glancing at the open door of the bullpen when Penelope was bringing in a mini Spencer.

Henry’s costume idea was precious, you had to admit it. The whole idea of him being a profiler would be fun for him, however being a little Spencer?! You never thought you needed to see it this badly until you did. “Woah! Yeah! Oh wow, You look great, Henry!” Spencer was shooting up from his spot with a wide smile from excitement, the way his eyes had a little sparkle in them was enough to make you start to wonder.

Sure, you’d talked about children with your husband before, the both of you wanting a sweet little family in a sweet little suburb. However you never really put too much thought into it before now. Seeing Spencer excitedly kneel down to clip his nametag to Henry’s shirt and watching him get teary eyed in his admiration for his god son, this was all you needed to know that you were for sure ready for the next step.

After seeing the little boy off, the team was wrapping up their activities before everyone was making their way out of the building, leaving you and Spencer to go pick up something for dinner then you two decided on going home. Upon making it, you were in the kitchen of your shared apartment while putting the takeout meals on plates, Spencer trying to find some sort of Halloween movie to put on for your little tradition of festivities to begin.

“Hey, Spencer.” You break the silence while carrying the plates to place them on the coffee table perched in front of the couch with other numerous treats. “I was thinking.. We wanted to wait a couple years for kids and.. We have been married for three years, child free.” You brought it up the only way you know how. “I guess what I’m saying is, I think we should start trying! I mean, you and Henry were so sweet today and it really got me thinking about more. What we don’t have yet.”

Spencer had turned his attention towards you, a soft smile on his face as he let you initiate conversation. However as soon as you were mentioning kids, it was like his eyes lit up, body shooting up straighter. “You really wanna start trying? I’ve been wanting to since the day we got married but I know we agreed to wait.” He laughed a bit while offering a wide smile. “I’d love to have a baby with you, honey. More than anything else.”

His excitement filled you with relief, a smile matching his as you were letting your arms wrap around his shoulders. “Let's do it then! I mean, we are both financially stable and we are secure together. Let's bring a little Reid into the world.” You gushed. You were both cut off by the sound of Spencer’s stomach rumbling though, making the both of you giggle. “Maybe after dinner.” He teased, pressing a few soft kisses against your lips.

You didn’t think you’ve ever gone through dinner so quickly in your life, the both of you doing good to clean up your dishes before Spencer was already attacking you in his embrace in the kitchen, the both of you sharing kisses while standing in place. “Bed please.” You murmured while smiling as he obliged, grabbing your hand with a smile as he quickly led you off to your shared bedroom.

There was without a missed beat, Spencer was easily lifting you in his arms before pressing his lips against yours, one that radiated pure love and care, his hands resting under your thighs as you were carried to the king size bed. Once on your back, you were bringing your hands to cup his cheeks while you were both lying in bed, tangled in one another’s embrace. “I love you so much.” His words were like sweet honey.

“I love you so much.” The both of you parted briefly, Spencer moving to rest his hands on your hips, fingertips slipping slowly up your blouse as he was gently pushing it up your frame. His lips were pressing the sweetest of kisses against your warm skin, the both of you working together as you tugged the garment over your head.

His onslaught of pressing kisses against your skin trailing to your chest, his hands reaching behind you to remove your bra with the utmost care. His tongue was licking over your hardened nipple, a soft breath falling from your lips as you let your hands tangle in his hair.

Spencer liked to take his time with you, hardly ever having days where he needed to get it over and done with. He preferred to savor the moment, to enjoy the intimacy that came with the act. As his lips were wrapping around the nub, he was taking his time to suck and flick his tongue, satisfied with the noises leaving your lips. After moving to switch breasts, his free hand was sliding down your stomach. You could feel all the heat rush between your legs as you knew exactly what was coming next. His hand had slipped past your pants and the waistband of your panties, hand cupping your wet pussy as he slowly lifted his head from your chest. “My pretty girl.” He whispered, your hands gently pulling him down to connect your lips while his hand was cupping your clothed cunt, feeling the heat of your arousal.

He loved having this effect on you, the way that he could satisfy you and get you revved up by the smallest of touches. His eidetic memory worked out really well in that case, he memorized every curve and dip of your body, every touch that made you crave him more.

His fingertip was teasing your slit, spreading around the slick before finding your clit. You knew that he wanted to take his time and play the long game but if you were honest, you were so desperate.

“Please, Spencer..” You breathed while watching as he offered a soft smile. “You really wanna skip the foreplay?” He’d asked. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t bummed, wanting nothing more than to taste you, to drink up every ounce of sweetness that you had to offer him.

“As much as I love when you take your time and cherish me, I just need you now.” If you were honest, you were just excited for the aspect to feel that familiar closeness. Spencer didn’t argue in the slightest, hand gently moving from your panties before he was sitting up slightly to tug your pants and underwear down in one swift movement, a smile on his face as he was stripping you bare for him. No matter how many times he’s seen you, it was like he’d never seen you before. His cheeks were red as he brought his hands to gently rub your hips.

After a few moments of his eyes taking in the beauty in front of him, he was moving to stand so he could get himself undressed, getting himself naked while clumsily nearly falling on the bed when it came to his pants and boxers. It was silly, like you two were teenagers who finally had an opening to fool around without someone there to stop you both.

His hands were gently taking a hold of your hips, tugging you down to the edge of the bed as he offered a smile. You both had been safe enough before, always having some sort of contraception at the ready. After your body had a bad reaction to the birth control you were on, he’d offered to wear condoms, not wanting to opt for a vasectomy due to his want for children. They could be reversed but he didn’t want to get one just to reverse it later.

“Ready?”

“Let’s make a baby.”

Those words sent blood straight to Spencer’s cock. The idea of you being pregnant with your shared child, a symbol of your love and affection for each other, was a lot to take in. It was like his animalistic urges had started to break through the cracks. Licking the palm of his hand, the male was pumping his throbbing shaft to prepare himself before positioning himself at your leaking hole.

Leaning down to press his lips to yours, it wasn’t long until his cock was disappearing inside of your soaked cunt, the both of you moaning against one another’s lips. Your hands came up to hold tight to his shoulders, pulling from the kiss slowly as you let your head fall back against the bed below you.

Spencer’s hips rocked slowly at first, relishing in your little gasps and whines from the painfully slow pace. “You look so beautiful, always take me so well.” He breathed, hands rubbing your hips, just wanting to touch you more than he already was. The idea of your stomach swollen with his baby was just too much to bear, making his hips snap a little rougher against yours, which managed to catch you by surprise but you gripped his upper arms with a loud moan, head tilting back as the tip of his cock was hitting the spongey button deep inside of you.

“You’re gonna look so sexy with my child inside of you. Gonna show the whole world that you are mine, that you are devoted to me.” The words were enough to elicit a moan besides his thrusts. As you could feel the familiar knot tightening in your stomach, you were gently tugging your husband down to have your chests pressed flush against one anothers. Now you weren’t usually the type to dirty talk but judging by how Spencer seemed to be turned on so much more when it comes to thinking of you being pregnant.

“Fuck, fill me with your cum.” You panted, the words making his cock twitch inside of you as he was letting out an animalistic groan. “Want me to fill you up? Gonna get my pretty girl pregnant.” His tone was huskier now, a sign he was definitely just as close as you were.

Your pussy was convulsing around his thick cock, your head falling back as your mouth was agape. “I’m gonna cum.” You blubbered out, a whine leaving your lips as you could feel his thumb making contact with your throbbing, desperate clit. “Cum for me, baby. Want you to make a mess.” He breathed, giving a few more thrusts before both of you had managed to hit your peaks, the ropes of cum decorating your inner walls while Spencer’s body was collapsing on top of you. It wasn’t enough to crush you, one arm holding him up.

“I’m just gonna.. Stay here for a minute..” He panted while you laughed breathlessly, your fingers gently threading through his hair as you closed your eyes.

“You know, it’s actually very rare to become pregnant from the first time having sex.” He began as he was pushing himself up slightly, his hair stuck to his sticky forehead. “I know.. You know, I feel like you’re gonna have to fuck me again.” You breathed, giggling at his reaction.

“We should’ve tried for a baby sooner.”

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gay-dorito-dust · 7 days

Note

I wanna kiss HSR men on the forehead and tell them I’m proud of them. May I request some HCs of their reaction?

Aventurine practically melts the moment your hands held his face with a warm tenderness as your thumbs softly caressed his cheeks, causing him to close his eyes and eagerly lean into your touch.

He could feel every ounce of love you had towards him in such a simple touch that he wondered how that could even be possible.

How easy you made it seem to be able to convey all your thoughts and feelings in something small like a touch of a hand, a brush of shoulders, or even a nudging of a foot; something that shouldn’t convey as much heavy emotions but did whenever you were the one performing those small gestures.

Not to mention that most of those small but impactful gestures were directed towards him made Aventurine wonder whatever could he -out of everyone else- have possibly done to even remotely deserving of any of it.

‘I’m proud of you Kakavasha.’ You said as you lifted a hand to push away his bangs and press a loving kiss to his forehead, making him whimper and press further against your lips, silently begging you for more. ‘I’m so proud of you.’ You add as you pressed another kiss to his forehead.

Such simple words and a peck to his forehead shouldn’t have so much effect over Aventurine but it did as his eyes shot open the moment he felt you pull away, looking at you with his pretty eyes with something you’ve never seen before as he muttered under his breath.

‘What was that?’ You then asked as Aventurine sighs, leaning back against the bed. ‘I said I wanted more…please can I have more.’

‘You can have as many as your heart desires.’ You tell him, pressing a third and a fourth kiss to his forehead as he allows himself to properly relax under your seemingly magical touch, letting kiss away his thoughts until only you remained.

Argenti would smile sweetly as he watched you push his bangs back to reveal his forehead, feeling your warm breath fan across his skin as your lips closed the distance between you as you pressed a tender kiss to his forehead.

‘I’m so proud of you Aregenti.’ You whispered but the cherry haired knight hear you clear as day.

‘Whatever for my beloved rose.’ He’d replied as he kept you close, wishing for nothing more than to commit this tender moment to his memory ever more.

You shrug. ‘Am I not allowed to say that I’m proud of you in general rather than say it after you’ve done something spectacular? Don’t that seem a little redundant?’ You asked as Argenti chuckled, bringing his face close and nudging his nose gently against your own.

‘It does indeed.’ He agrees before posing a question of his own. ‘But wouldn’t the words loose their meaning after a while if we were to say how proud we are of each other after everything?’

‘No.’ You answered without hesitation as you looked into his pretty eyes that you loved to see first thing in the mornings you’ve shared together thus far. ‘Not if they come from your lips they don’t. I don’t think I could ever grow tired if you were to tell me how proud of me you were.’ You admit and Argenti made a face.

‘Do I not do that enough already?’ He asks genuinely curious as you smile, kissing his cheek.

‘You do but at least let me return the favour now and then. I want to praise my beautiful knight more often than not.’ You murmured against his skin.

Argenti hums as he kisses your forehead. ‘You already do so just by smiling lovingly at me. I don’t need words of praise to fall from your lips when your actions speak far louder but if that’s what you wish, then it shall be granted my beloved rose.’

Sunday

His wings would flutter when you kiss his forehead after a long day of preventing The Family from collapsing in on itself.

‘I’m so proud of you.’ You uttered into his ear, making him gasp as his wings would instinctively twitch at the sound of your voice due to their hyper sensitivity.

Then he would regain composure and smile graciously at you. ‘Thank you my beloved. It is truly a relief knowing that I’m doing right by you to earn your love and your praise, I shall not waste them.’

Sunday lives and breaths on your praises as though they were the only things giving him life. So whenever you do give him praise for anything, Sunday feels more and more validated into continuing whatever he was doing in hopes of earning more in the future.

You had a powerful, powerful man who had an innate need to prove himself to you in order to gain your trust, love and respect and won’t stop until he had it in droves.

All this was within him and locked behind a calm, cool and levelheaded facade.

He may not look like he was heavily affected by your actions and sweet words on the outside but internally his need to keep you happy and proud of him outweighed everything else as the happier you were, the less likely you were to attempt to leave him later on.

Boothill

He impatiently waits for the days where you bless his face with kisses and whatnot.

It’s his ultimate weakness and you knew that face very well whenever you watched as his cheeks went all flushed, making this shark teethed man looked about as harmless as a puppy dog, when in actuality he was anything but harmless.

‘I’m so proud of you.’

You had this man weak in the knees from that alone, but the fact that you went out of your way to press a kiss to his forehead oh so sweetly had him practically kneeling before you in worship.

‘Whatever for darling?’ He’d ask.

‘Just for being genuine yourself.’ You would response, kissing his forehead a second time and pulling back to watch as he smiled dopily.

‘If me just being myself is enough to earn me some forehead kisses and sweet praises from someone as sweet as you, then count me in sweetheart.’ He would then say as he practically melted he felt your hands as they held his face still as you kissed his forehead for a third time.

Boothill thrived off of your affection.

It was his personal drug that he could never get enough of.

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drefear · 9 months

Text

Daddy Issues

Best Friend’s Dad!Miguel x Reader

TW: smut, p in v, roughness, dirty talking, fingering, some fluff, some angst, teasing.

might make a part 2, we’ll see.

Nothing beat the way it felt to dance, nothing made you feel as alive. This was evident in the way you leaped across the stage and spun into a pirouette. You smiled and panted a bit and continued your routine, jumping into an arabesque as if you were in flight and completely weightless.

The applause filled the auditorium and you felt the out-of-beat rise and fall of your chest as you begged for air silently. You saw your father stand up with tears in his eyes and your best friend as well, who came to watch you for support. You’d finally gotten the lead in the show your dance school was doing, The Nutcracker , and being Clara was like walking on air. You ballet-ran off the stage and waited for the curtains to close, signaling the end of the show. You’d done it, and with perfect timing as you were about to graduate college and no longer have your dance team anymore, since you would officially reach the age limit in the fall of next year and auditions were in the winter. Your heart pounded as you saw Gabriella from the wings, happily waiting for you to come out and take your final bow, and then it was time. You milked the hell out of your curtain call, waving and smiling like a total idiot, but it was worth it. Everything had paid off to finally be at this moment.

But… they were gone? You searched for your father and Gabriella’s faces, but they weren’t in the seats they’d just been in. Did they leave? Maybe went to get the car before everyone rushed to the exits? You felt a little tinge of hurt in your heart, but you would try to understand. They came to watch and that’s all that mattered.

Feeling a tap on your shoulder as you masked your confusion on the stage, you turned to see the two missing familiars holding two large bouquets of flowers. You eyes welled with tears and you hugged them tight, crying happily as they wrapped their arms around you. The moment was perfect.

Well. Almost. There was only one person missing, one person who you already knew wouldn’t make it.

Gabriella’s dad, Miguel. He’d been one of your biggest fans since you and Gabriella became friends in middle school, about the time you began to blossom into the woman you were today. The two of you were inseparable from the moment you’d met, and soon, both of your families were just as close.

You’d been through everything together. Puberty, getting your periods, your parents divorce and your mom leaving, Gabriella’s mother passing away, everything. You two had even decided once you graduated high school, to go to college together and share an apartment.

Which is exactly what you did, and now you both were graduating. Gabriella was finishing her undergraduate for medical school, and you’d gone on to major in the arts, so you could become a professional choreographer. No one could get in between the two of you.

Except her father, you thought for a brief second before shaking the thought from your head.

No! That’s bad, very bad! You chastised yourself for your subconscious wishes.

Gabi’s dad was so nerdy as you grew up, doting on her mom every waking moment. You’d even gone as far as to call him a simp once, to which Gabi laughed about it for days. Your mom and dad barely got along at all through your childhood, so it was no wonder how much her parents loved each other was foreign to you, but things changed when you two became juniors in high school.

You’d had your first kiss, and Gabi begged for details in her room. The two of you sat up and talked about this boy you’d kissed all night, but she was definitely way more excited than you were. It just wasn’t what you’d expected, shoving his tongue into your mouth instantly and basically just pushing your head into his passenger window as you somewhat wanted to get away from him.

Plus, he wasn’t even that cute.

But Gabi hadn’t experienced anything around boys yet, and so you indulged her and made it seem way more romantic and nice than it was. Batting your eyes, you made smoochy sounds as she smacked you with a pillow and you both giggled.

“Girls, lights out.” You heard Gabi’s mom say and you furrowed your brows a bit at Gabi, who just rolled her eyes in response. You waited to hear the footsteps fade before you asked her what that was about.

“My mom and dad have been seeing this counselor. Something about the spark needing to be reignited, so now they go into the guest bedroom every Saturday to have sex.” She made a disgusted face and your eyes widened.

“They plan it?”

“I guess? It’s been every weekend now for like three weeks, and I’m going insane! Let’s sneak out and see a movie or something before my brain dies.” She moved towards her window and waved me over, but you glanced at her bedroom door.

“Wait, I gotta get my shoes from downstairs, I’ll meet you in the backyard.” You spoke and she gave you a thumbs up, before tucking out of her window.

You tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room when you heard it.

“Miguel- right there!” It was hushed, but you heard it clearly. Not being able to resist, you peeked into the kitchen where you’d heard the sounds and your mind was never the same. “What if the girls come down-”

“Shh, we’ll hear them, now focus on me, cariño.” He had his head tucked into her neck as his pants were pulled below his ass, showing his toned bottom as he fucked up into her. Legs wrapped around his waist, he was so much larger than her. How did you just notice this?

Your eyes fluttered downwards to where the two of their bodies met and you gasped. He was huge. Could dick even be that big? He was beyond anything you’d seen in the health textbooks or on twitter.

You stumbled backwards and immediately knocked over the lamp on the table, the house then suddenly becoming quiet. It was as if there was no air inside of your lungs anymore, freezing in place until you saw the swinging kitchen door begin to move, running faster than you ever have for your shoes and bolting back up the stairs. You jumped as you tried to get your shoes on as fast as possible and sat on the window ledge as you heard someone coming into Gabi’s room as you were about to climb down the gutter into her backyard. Looking up, your eyes met his.

His face was sweating lightly and his eyes were blown with lust, watching you like a predator. You glanced down where you’d seen what you should never have, and his pants were pulled up now, but the bulge was still prominent and hard. You gulped and practically fell out the window backwards as you collapsed onto Gabi, who was waiting for you.

“Go!” You whispered harshly and dragged her hand, “Your dad is right behind me and he saw me!”

“Shit, how?” Gabi asked and your mouth went dry, the scene replaying in your mind like a broken record that kept skipping to the same place.

“You don’t want to know.” You hushed and ran to her fence as the lights from the back door flashed on and you two were met with the large shadow of Mr. O’Hara.

“What are you two doing?” His voice was like a death sentence to the both of you, who were sitting in the grass now. You scrambled to get up and your hands were shaking. Nothing was processing in your head. Why were you so sweaty?

“We were just gonna jump on the trampoline, dad.” Gabi lied and you just nodded, eyes avoiding his as he walked closer and folded his arms. You looked at his hands, and you thought back to where they’d just been, rubbing Mrs. O’Hara’s clit. Your eyes flashed back down to the grass.

Your name broke you from your haze, Mr. O’Hara’s voice making your knees tremble a bit. “You don’t look well, maybe I should call your dad and have him come get you.” he spoke and moved to touch your forehead, checking for a temperature. You flinched and moved backwards.

“You know what, you’re right. I’ll walk home I think. See you tomorrow, Gabi.” You rambled and a hand caught your wrist.

“You can’t walk home now, it’s dark out. I’ll just call your dad-”

“He’s working late, can’t come out. I’ll just walk home!” You tried again, begging for whatever higher power could hear you to just let you die.

“No, I’ll drive you then.” He said and your fate was sealed.

You just quietly nodded as Gabi looked at you with a bad feeling showing in her emotions. You two were in so much trouble.

Sitting in the car, your knee bounced with anxiety.

‘Please don’t talk to me, please don’t talk to me, please don’t-’

“So, where were you two actually planning on going?” SHIT.

“Uh. Just to see a movie.” You mumbled, staring out the window.

“And why sneak out? You both know that we’d happily drive you, even give you some money for snacks.” His tone made your skin crawl, now recognizing it as the moaning and grunting you’d heard prior.

You cleared your voice and tried to not look guilty. “We, uh, didn’t want to… bother you guys.” You hoped he wouldn’t even hear you, would just let it all go.

“It’s never a bother, especially when it’s about your and Gabi’s safety.” He spoke and pulled up to a red light. The silence was drowning you, but it was better than answering his questions.

“Gabi said you two were busy tonight, so we thought it’d be better if we just snuck out.” You shifted your legs in the passenger seat, begging the world to strike you with lightning.

“Ah. So Gabi figured it out.” He said and the light turned green again. “Gabi’s mother and I have been married a long time, and sometimes we need to do things to keep-”

“The flame alive, yeah I know. Can we please not talk about this, Mr. O’Hara?” You begged, and your eyes met once more, making you blush wildly. You couldn’t help but remember the way he looked as he thrusted into his wife. You turned away fast so he hopefully wouldn’t see your red cheeks. “Gabi and I will never sneak out again, I promise, just please stop talking about this!” You covered your ears a bit. That’s when he put it together.

“Oh.” he just said and continued to drive, hands white knuckling the steering wheel. “I’m… sorry you saw that.” His tone was hesitant, like he wasn’t even sure what the words he was saying meant.

“Cool, yep, see ya tomorrow Mr. O’Hara!” You chirped and practically jumped out of his moving car as he pulled to a stop outside of your house, no cars in the driveway and no lights on. You ran to the front door and burst inside, locking it behind you and panting.

That night, you’d had your very first orgasm thinking about him fucking you like that and nothing was ever the same.

A year later, and Mrs. O’Hara was diagnosed with terminal breast cancer and had only a few months to live. She pulled through to around a year and you felt your heart break the moment she was gone. Your mother had abandoned your father and you a little into your freshman year of high school, so you’d leaned on Mrs. O'Hara, like she was your own mother, learned her ways and how to be a good cook, and she taught you many things about life that you’d eventually need.

Gabriella and Mr. O’Hara were both devastated, and you could understand why. Nothing was the same for them. After the funeral, you, the O’Hara’s, and your father had a meal together, and that would be a weekly dinner from then on. Most of the time, she would cook for everyone when you all would hang out together, especially after your mom disappeared, but now with her gone, you picked up on cooking duties. It wasn’t as amazing as hers, but it fed you all and it was similar, so you kept up with it every week.

Flash forward to tonight, graduation looming over you like a rain cloud on a summer day. All of your grades were final, your dance team was about to disburse, and you’d be a woman of the world soon. Oh how the times had changed, and tonight was your official family dinner. Instead of cooking at home, your father insisted on you all going out to eat and your and Gabriella’s favorite restaurant.

And so here you were, sitting with that too tight bun still bobbypined and an easy-to-throw-on dress you’d yanked out of your closet in a rush to wear home after your performance. Gabriella held your hand as she chatted about what her and her new boyfriend were going to do after graduation, how he was going to med school with her and she wanted to get an apartment with him. You nodded, excited for her. You weren’t surprised, as she’d mentioned them moving in together multiple times recently, which would mean you'd be looking for a studio apartment soon. That was fine by you, since she’d still be in school and you were about to begin your own career.

The Latin food filled your senses as you enjoyed the food and light conversation. Gabriella spoke with her boyfriend to her other side and your father laughed with a glass of bourbon in his hand. You felt a hand on your shoulder from above and saw that looming figure you saw in your late night fantasies.

“Dad!” Gabi perked up and stood to hug her father, making you also stand to give him a polite peck on the cheek. As you leaned up to do just that, the corners of your lips brushed and your body froze, the feeling soft and… addicting. You snapped out of it almost as fast as you felt it and blinked a few times quickly to look like nothing happened, not meeting his eyes as you sat once more.

When you looked back to where he was hugging your father and shaking Gabis boyfriends hand, your eyes met and he was staring a bit. He sat next to you and you straightened up in your dress. This was new…

You’d done well at hiding your crush on him in the years, you thought. The first few months after you saw him and his wife have sex, you couldn’t look either of Gabi’s parents in the eye, but you’d gotten over it once you lost your virginity. ‘So that’s what it’s like’ you thought once you were done and the boy you were with was in the bathroom.

Dinner was served relatively quickly as you all ordered and drank. Your father had another bourbon neat, and Miguel had a Manhattan, as Gabi and her boyfriend each had a few vodka sodas, and you just slipped on your little tequila drink. It was a special for that week or something and had some sort of juice that made it look blueish purple.

Once you all had a drink in your each, you’d all begun laughing and chatting louder and as the night went one, you’d had a few more. The live band started and you swayed a bit at the music. When you turned your head, Miguel was looking at you already with his arm behind your chair. You blushed a bit, warm from the liquor in your veins as he chuckled.

“Drunk? I thought you could handle more than that.”

“No no, I don’t… I don’t like to drink too much, so I’m already pushing it.” You smiled and glanced at your dad, who just nodded in agreement.

“My little girl did not get the drinking gene.” He added and sipped the bourbon he had. Gabi laughed and spoke up.

“Should’ve seen her in Miami on Spring Break! She was so drunk, she was dragging strangers to dance with her-“

“Gabi!” You chimed in and glanced at your father and Miguel, the men laughing at your embarrassment.

“You’re a great dancer, even drunk!” She added and her boyfriend smiled at the memory as well. “How about we dance?” He nodded and pulled her hand to dance to the live music, enjoying the soft singing of the Hispanic music. You glanced at the dance floor and saw all couples, where Gabi now stood with her loving boyfriend.

“Go, find a partner!” You dad added and you shook your head. “Come on! A professional dancer who won’t dance alone?” He teased and you smiled again, just ignoring the comment.

“Here, I’ll dance with you.” Miguel stood and reached for your hand. You froze once more for that moment and nodded. “That way, you can still dance and not be alone.” He smiled wider and pulled you up, walking with you to the dance floor. You stood in front of him and heard the next song begin. Preciosa by Marc Anthony began and the beat made you move your hips gently, as he held your hands and followed your movements.

“They didn’t teach Latin dancing to you, did they?” He asked, a playful tone in his voice. You looked up with a small ‘no’ and he chuckled, moving you in close to his chest and putting one leg in between yours. “Follow my lead, and loosen your hips. No ballet here, amor.” The roll of his tongue on the ‘r’ made your hips stutter in their movement. You’d never been so nervous to dance. He held one hand up and placed the other hand around your waist, swiveling you and twirling you both as he moved with precision and ease across the dance floor. You felt the eyes of everyone around you, but you couldn’t care. This was a moment you knew you’d waited your whole life for, and this was probably as close as you’d get to being with Miguel, so you’d ignore everyone and enjoy it while it lasted. A smile tugged at your features and you let him lead you. He even lifted you at one point like you were nothing but a piece of paper, a feather.

When that song ended, Vivir Mi Vida played and the tempo became faster, making you both continue with hast and creating a bit of sweat on both of you. He took control of the dance and spun you around the dance floor, making sure no one got in either of your ways as you laughed with glee.

The night moved in a blur as you and Miguel moved like a couple who’d been together for years, two who moved as one. A slow song played and the strum of the guitar moved your bodies close, making you lean back and forth intimately against each other. The song ended and you both realized there was very few people left in what once was a bustling restaurant, and when you turned back to your table, your father was handing the bill to the waiter. Miguel stopped and walked back.

“I told you I was taking care of it tonight.” He caught your dad’s wrist and took the check, replacing your father’s credit card with his, and giving it back to the poor confused server. They hurried away as your dad shook his head.

“Couldn’t let me have that, O’Hara? You and Gabi came to support my little girl, and you even swept her onto the dance floor and made her smile. Least I can do is buy ya dinner.” He laughed and Miguel smiled.

“Not a chance. She’s been a wonderful friend to Gabriella for years, and she’s like my own mija. Let me treat you all and celebrate her.”

The words echoed in your mind and broke down your wonderful night.

His mija? As in… his own daughter?

You cursed yourself silently and painting a fake smile onto your lips as you all got up to leave once he took back his card. Gabriella was speaking to you and rambling about the apartment her and her boyfriend were looking at tomorrow, but all you could hear was the white noise of your own thoughts crippling your ability to think.

You tossed and turned all night after hearing Miguel say those words and you pushed down the feelings you’d pretended were not there for years, as they threatened to roll over your being and blow through your eyes without grace. How could you let yourself think anything like that again?

A few weeks later and you sat with Gabi in her backyard, tanning in the chairs by her pool as you both heard a low “I’m home,” from inside. The back door swung open and you saw Mr. O’Hara standing there. He was silent for a moment before getting a bit irritated. “What the hell are you two wearing?” He barked, angered.

Gabi shrunk back. “Dad, what are you talking about? They’re just bikinis!” She tried to call him down, but he seemed to get even worse.

“Just- those aren’t even bikinis, those- that’s less than underwear, you both might as well be wearing nothing!” He yelled in upset, like a lion roaring in pain.

“Maybe I should just go.” You mumbled and his eyes snapped to you. Uh oh…

“Not a chance. Yours is worse than hers! You look naked!” He stepped towards you and instinctively you took a step back, behind the lawn chair.

“M-Mr O’Hara, no one can see us. We’re in your backyard.” You spoke carefully, trying to make it better. “So no one even saw us, right? We'll change.” You nodded, obediently as you grabbed Gabi’s hand and slipped back into the house, hearing him grumble to himself as you passed him.

“I’ve never seen him talk to us like that.” Gabi spoke, putting on a t-shirt. She sighed and pulled her hair up. “Not even when I had that hickey sophomore year!”

“Maybe he just had a rough day and that was the last straw?” You hadn’t changed yet, staring at yourself in the bikini in the mirror. It really wasn’t terrible, maybe a bit more of a cheeky back than a full one, the straps of your bikini fairly thin. Just a regular red triangle bikini. Maybe you’d just gained weight? You huffed, “my bag is downstairs with my clothes, I’m gonna go grab it.”

“Do you wanna just borrow a shirt?”

“I mean, maybe. Anything baggy, so he doesn’t freak out again?” You asked and glanced at her hamper of clean clothes.

“Yeah, grab whatever.” She waved you off and you reached in, grabbing a large t-shirt and a pair of soccer shorts. “I’m gonna go start making some dinner, come down when you’re done changing to help.” She spoke and walked out of the room. You sighed and pushed your hair behind your ears, sitting on her bed and holding the discarded bikini. Was he really upset? Well, maybe he was since he saw you as his own daughter. You begrudgingly got up and walked down the hall, passing by his office and spotting him.

“Come in here.” His tone was sharp, almost nerve wracking. You followed the voice and saw him with his arms folded over his chest, an irritated glare in his eyes. “I’m disappointed in both of you for thinking something like that is appropriate to wear.”

“Mr. O’Hara, we weren’t out in public, and no one else was around!” You answered, regretting your decision to stand up for yourself, as you notice the look in his eyes and realize you’re just digging your own grave.

“So you two weren’t taking a snapchat in those outfits? No videos or TikToks?” He asked, making you bite your tongue and avoid laughing at hearing him say that stuff.

“Maybe one tiktok…” You trail off and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But, we didn’t post it, and I can delete it.” You justified and he nodded, concern still etched into his beautiful face. You take out your phone and as you begin to delete the video, his eyes narrow.

“...are those my clothes?” His head cocked to the side like a confused dog and you looked down, just as curious to see what he was talking about.

“No, they were in Gabi’s clean clothes.”

“Well, that’s my t-shirt from high school and those are my workout shorts.” His words made you quiet, forgetting about deleting the video. You blushed a bit and immediately starting searching for your bag, making a bee-line for the living room. “Oh my god, I’ll go change, I’m so sorry.” You rambled some flustered apologies before he could say anything else and ran off to the bathroom with the bag on your shoulder. Locking the door, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Could today get any worse? You leaned your head against the wall and kept your eyes shut, then took your clothing off once more to change into the clothes that actually belonged to you.

Tugging your skirt down to a suitable length incase Mr. O’Hara decided to berate your fashion choices once more, you glanced at something on the floor. It was another shirt of his, this time obvious by how large this one was, and the smell.

It was definitely something he’d just worked out in, having a particular musk to it, and the smell of his aftershave and body wash. It was him to a tee, and something in your body lit on fire just from the scent.

Without a second thought, you stuffed the shirt in your bag and exited the bathroom.

That night was filled with stifled moans and bitten knuckles as you quieted yourself while using your vibrator. His shirt stayed stationed in the hand you were biting down on, smelling his scent while you touched yourself until you were seeing stars and having trouble remembering your own name.

You hid that shirt the next day, stuffing it behind your pillows for safe keeping.

A day later, Miguel and Gabi had come over to watch some sport together. You’d never really been interested in sports unless Gabi was playing, but you enjoyed the company, so you often cooked for them all while they enjoyed the show. You mixed the guacamole as you heard someone walk into the kitchen behind you.

“Smells great.” Miguel spoke as he opened the fridge.

“Homemade chips, for the guac.” You nodded, still somewhat keeping it short with him after the prior day’s events.

“You can’t still be mad, right?” He asked and you turned to him fully, pausing the work on the mashed avocado and staring at him. He was holding two beers.

“I was never mad, but I still don’t get it.” You shrugged, “it just didn’t really seem like a big deal.”

“Really?” He seemed to get a little upset at that, placing the beers down and leaning on the kitchen island. “Because I think it was a huge deal. You’re barely an adult, you can’t be dressed like-”

“Like what? A woman? It was a bikini, it’s not like I was standing on the corner!”

“Watch how you talk to me.” He got cold and serious and your temper was flaring up.

“Why should I? You’re not my dad or my boyfriend, so you don’t get to tell me how to dress.” You shot back and he was quiet for a second. This prompted you to continue your winning streak. “And I don’t think you get to tell me what’s appropriate in front of people.”

“What are you talking about?” He hissed, taking a small step closer to you. “You don’t remember? When I caught you fucking on your kitchen counter? Cause I remember. Vividly.” You jabbed back and his eyes widened, the anger on your face apparent. Without another word, you stomped out of the kitchen and up the stairs to your bedroom, slamming the door and sitting on your bed.

You shouldn’t have brought that up, you knew you shouldn’t have, but you couldn’t help it. Who was he to tell you what you could and couldn’t do? He was just your friend’s dad, he had no right to yell at you about how you dressed or what you did. It wasn’t his place.

“Honey?” Your dad said from outside your door and you got up, opening it for him. “Miguel told me that he upset you, so I told him that he and Gabi should go home for the night so I could talk to my little girl.” Your dad always called you ‘his little girl,’ no matter how old you got. Tears started welling in your eyes, and you didn't know why, but you started crying into your father’s chest. He hugged you in a tight embrace as you continued to let out the tears you didn’t know you were holding in.

Some time went on and after about a week, you’d gone to Gabi's childhood home to hang out and watch a movie while Miguel was out. It was perfect. You didn’t have to see him and you could have some one-on-one time with Gabi.

Until she fell asleep halfway through the movie. You sighed, getting up and getting a glass of water. The week had been stressful. Every free second you had, you were touching yourself to Miguel’s shirt, tracing your clit, biting your lip to avoid making sounds. Even just the memory of his smell made your knees wobble a bit and you held onto the fridge handle a bit tighter while getting the water. The front door opening signaled you that he was now home. Time to leave as fast as possible, you thought to yourself, and placed the full cup of water in the sink.

Before you could walk out of the kitchen, Miguel was in the doorway staring down at you. “I just got off the phone with your father.” His voice was monotone, which wasn’t abnormal.

“You can tell him I’ll be home soon.”

“Well, he had a few questions for me. About you.” He spoke and something was off about how he was speaking. Was he… taunting you?

You finally met his eyes and you were right, something was off.

“He said the cleaning lady found a man’s shirt in your bedroom.” Your heart dropped. No no no no!

“Oh.” Was all you could muster up as he watched your reaction. “He asked if you and Gabi had any new boys around, any new friends. He said you randomly started crying the other day and he was worried you might be going through some sort of relationship that he’s unaware of. So?” He asked and you just clenched your jaw.

“Mr. O’Hara, that is none of your-”

“Say my name,” he demanded.

“What?” You questioned, taking a step backwards.

“Say my name. You want me to treat you like an adult? Say my name.”

“Fine. Miguel, that is none of your business.” You barked at him, a smirk forming on his lips.

“I think it is my business, though. Since it’s my shirt.” He announced and your eyes swelled to the size of dinner plates. How did he-

“It was just so strange, how one of my shirts went missing, one I had been wearing the day I yelled at you about that bikini, and then suddenly your dad finds a shirt that matches the one I’m missing. Weird coincidence, hmm?” he folded his arms and you felt your body running cold. How could you steal from a genius and think he wouldn’t realize? “So let me get the facts in order. You watched me have sex in my kitchen, you stole my dirty clothing, and you pranced around my house in a skimpy bikini.” He spoke in a lower voice, as if he was just thinking out loud, and you noticed the look in his eyes was becoming hungry.

“Y-Yes ok I did that, I’m sorry. Don’t tell anyone it was yours!” You begged and he chuckled at you, looking to the side.

“I’m not telling anyone anything, but I have a question.” He paused and brought his thumb to his lip, as if thinking about something he was trying to word correctly. “What were you doing with my shirt?”

Your blood ran cold, the sound of your heart beating in your ears too loud to even think. He… wanted you to say it. Heat began to rise up your neck and cover your cheeks and ears with a tint of red.

“C’mon, say it.” His lips twitched to a smirk and you squeezed your legs together at the view you had of him. Dress shirt slightly unbuttoned, belt around those slim hips, slacks tight in all the right places from how muscular his thighs were.

Embarrassment filled your head as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, and as you lifted them up his body, red rubies claimed your sight like they owned you.

“I-I… thought about you.”

“Be specific, amorcita, what about me?” He moved forward and tilted your chin up to keep eye contact with him as you spoke.

You gulped and closed your eyes, too humiliated to say what you were about to while seeing his face. “I thought of you and I having sex… touching me and stuff.”

“Eyes on me, mi corazon.” You opened your eyes and he was bent down to where he could kiss you. His breath smelled like mint. “Tell me more.”

“I imagined you on top of me, b-behind me… kissing me.” You trailed off as his lips ghosted over yours, then smiling and crashing together like a crescendo of a symphony. His hands gripped the sides of your body, picking you up and placing you on the countertop.

“You thought of me touching you here?” His hand trailed down your torso towards the front of your jean shorts, tracing where your pussy sat, hot and waiting. Your breath hitched as you nodded, and he smirked again. He liked the effect he had on you, it was obvious.

“Words, mi amor.”

“Yes, Miguel, please.” You spoke, your words shaky as he laughed at your shyness. “Where was that attitude from before? All that sass?” He whispered against your ear as he unzipped your jean shorts, pulling down the material to expose you more to him. His fingers rubbed against the lacy fabric of your panties, and you lost your mind for a minute, panting a bit just from the slight contact. “You’re that sensitive? Just from a little touching?” He purred and yanked your panties off as well, your naked core against the chill of the air sending a shiver up your spine. “Where’d all that shit you were talking from the other day go?”

“Miguel,” You beg and place a hand on his shoulder.

“Gotta open you up first, Princessa.” His words were low and rumbled in your body as he gave you pet names.

A finger slipped into you without issue, and your back arched into his chest as he massaged your thigh with the other hand. A moan erupted in your throat and he quickly took the hand on your thigh to cover your mouth. “Shhh, we can’t have Gabi finding us like this, right?” You nodded and practically saw your eyes cross as he pushed in another finger, beginning to feel full with just the two digits. He worked them back and forth in you as he placed soft kisses against your throat. Your whole body jolted, like an electric current was rolling throughout your body.

His fingers began to curl against that spongy spot that had you rolling your eyes back, letting out more muffled sounds against his other hand, his eyes hooded and watching you through his thick lashes. Like a predator, he moved them faster and you felt yourself about to teeter over the edge. His thumb brushed against your clit and you were sent into a full earth-shattering orgasm, gripping his shoulder for stability as he let you ride his fingers through it.

“Preciosa…” he mumbled and unzippered the dress pants, pulling himself out and watching your face change from blissed out to fearful. “Don’t worry, I’ll go slow…” he whispered and lined himself up. Pulling you to the edge of the counter, he pushed the tip into you and you closed your eyes, feeling the stretch of his size already. He moved slowly as you adjusted and once he was fully in, you hissed a bit. You both were completely breathless, like two wild beasts waiting to see who would make the first deadly move. “Look at me while I fuck you good, I want to see that pretty face while I’m inside you.” Keeping eye contact, he moved his thumb back on your clit, making you shake a bit and let out pretty little sounds again. He started to move at this, feeling so good and overwhelmingly full. It was as if you’d been speared onto something, he was impaling himself into you and you loved every second. You began to thrust back against him and he practically lost it then and there, watching you frantically chase your own high making him almost feral. He yanked you off of the counter top, flipping you over and pushing you down flat against it. Shoving himself back inside of you, he began a relentless pace, bruising your cervix over and over. As you got louder, he pulled your hair back to make you arch against his chest.

“Yeah? You like how I ruin you?” He taunted, slamming into you from behind and causing the sound of skin slapping skin to echo across the room. “This pussy is mine.” He growled and gave your clit a gentle slap, making you practically scream out.

“M-Miguel…!” You were panting from how he’d made you so breathless, so overwhelmed by him.

“Be quiet, or do you want Gabi to know you’re a slut for me? That you love when I fuck you better than anyone ever could.” He went on and you nodded along. He was right. He’d ruined you for any other man. You’d never be able to fuck anyone else without comparing them to him.

“That’s right, amorcita, moan for me.” He egged you on as he bottomed out once more, making your legs shake. He lifted one of your knees to lean on the counter beside you and pounded into you from a new, deeper angle, giving you chills. That was it, that new spot he’d found made you come around him instantly, muscles tightening from the orgasm. You felt someone warm fill you, and realized he had finished as well. Grabbing your face harshly, he pulled your face sideways to give you a rough kiss as he kept himself inside of you for a few more moments.

You gasped for air as you felt him slip out of you, his seed dripping down your leg a bit and making you hyper aware of what just happened. You both stood, half dressed and heaving in silence. Your eyes found his, and everything hit you all at once. Grabbing your underwear and jean shorts off of the ground, you rushed out of the kitchen and began getting dressed as you walked.

“Wait-” He called out and yelled your name, but you were fast and he was still tucking himself back into his pants. As you reached the door, there was a knock and you buttoned your shorts as you swung open the door.

A nicely dressed woman, beautiful and tall, stood there holding a jacket. The two of you stared at each other for a second before she looked past you and smiled.

“Ah, Miguel! I realized you left your jacket in my car.” She spoke, then looked down at you. “Is this your daughter?”

Tears built up in your eyes and you looked back at Miguel, shocked.

“You were on a date?” Your words could’ve been poisonous with how you spoke to him, because they stung him terribly. His mouth was parted, still in shock.

You’d had enough. Your body pushed past the woman’s and you ran down the street to your home, only a few blocks away. It wasn’t your apartment, but your dad should be home and you could just tell him you didn’t want to talk about it. He never pushed you.

Knocking on the door, he opened it and immediately was afraid.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to stay here tonight, ok?” You spoke and he nodded, hugging your crying frame. Tonight had been too much to think about, and as he walked you in, you finally felt the exhaustion hit you. You trudged off to your bed and fell asleep.

Part 2

#miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel smut #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #Miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader

4K notes · View notes

ichorai · 5 months

Text

weave ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; there was a rose in his hand, you realized. white, just like the one he gave to you when he first met your parents. but it wasn’t for you, since he had yet to hand it over— you figured it was for lucy gray. you would’ve thought it was sweet of him, if only you hadn’t been aware of his motivations to gain her trust. still, you’d be a hypocrite if you criticized him for it. you’d also brought something for your tribute.

words ; 6.8k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, action

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence/injury, lucky flickerman is a close family friend of reader's, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; there will be a fourth part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

It was humiliating, how nervous he was. Reaping day. The Plinth prize was just a whisper away—he could nearly taste it: phantom traces of rich chocolate and edible gold on his dry tongue.

The day before the exams, you’d pulled him into the library for one last study session. You whispered that you would botch one of your papers for him—he certainly needed the Plinth prize more than you. And though he knew that you’d be far more deserving of it (your grades were near impeccable, and impossible for him to try and compete with), he also knew that his pride wouldn’t ever recover from such a blow.

Because how could he face you after that? Knowing that he was… inferior?

And so he told you not to squander your own achievements for him—that he’d figure something out. You spared him a hesitant look, before turning back to your books.

Now that the exams were over and done with, Coriolanus briefly wondered if you went ahead and botched it anyway. An irrational sort of anger flared within his chest. Did you think you were better than him? That he was your charity case?

But all those terrible thoughts—the nastiness sweltering in his chest for days after the exams—dissolved almost immediately after seeing you.

You met him in front of the academy, your dress a lovely shade of crimson, angular at your shoulders but tapering down into flowing ripples below your waist. Like fire, almost. You were glowing, he was sure of it, with the way the sun illuminated only the best of your features—the slope of your nose, the curling of your lips, the glimmer in your eyes.

“Coriolanus,” you greeted with faux formality, tilting your head to the side. He was wearing his dress shirt again—the very one you watched Tigris mend and sew and tinker many, many times. Pinned to his waistcoat was another red rose, matching the shade of your own attire.

He mirrored you, sweeping into a low bow and brandishing another rose out of seemingly nowhere. “For you, darling. Grandma’am said she could spare it—special occasion and all.”

“Oh, don’t call me that,” you said, rolling your eyes at the ridiculous pet name. It was what your parents called each other when they thought nobody was around to hear it—it made you feel old. “And tell Grandma’am thank you. It’s beautiful.”

He smiled, stepping forward to slot the rose behind your ear. “Ready for your Plinth prize?” he asked, fingers lingering by your face, thumb stroking down your jaw.

You sucked in a breath. “I don’t think it’s going to be what either of us expect.”

There was a brief pause. Coriolanus’ eyes narrowed. Had you botched your exams for him?

With a pointed glance to the academy halls, you nudged him forward. “Come on. Everyone’s already inside. Clemmie keeps asking for you.”

The two of you made your way in, weaving between red-uniformed academy students (the ones who weren’t at the very top) and professors. Behind another set of double doors were where all the top-ranking students were mingling. Sipping on bubbling glasses of colorful drinks, picking off delicate foods from ceramic plates.

While Snow was stolen away from you by a few other classmate acquaintances, Sejanus was the first to greet you, shaking your hand enthusiastically. His palms were sweating. You didn’t quite mind. “Congratulations on finishing exams, Y/N. I know how hard you’ve been studying.”

You flashed him a genuine smile. “Congrats to you, too. I’m surprised you’re here at all, actually. I know how you feel about the reaping.”

His expression faltered. “Ma made me come. Moral support for my friends, and all.”

Ma. The word sounded foreign and heavy on the tongue. Unfamiliar… but rather inviting. Homely, in a way. Despite your initial silence, you managed to recover just fine. In a lowered voice, you whispered to him, “Well, my mother thinks it’s a rather dreadful affair. A waste of potential talent, sending children to their deaths, she says. I can’t help but agree with her. Father thinks it’s necessary, though.”

Sejanus pursed his lips. No doubt questioning the necessity of watching the people he knew from his childhood in the district getting brutally murdered. It looked like he was going to say something else, but before he could, Arachne’s high-pitched voice cut through the two of you. You grimaced, catching Coriolanus’ eyes as he stood right behind her. Judging by his mildly annoyed countenance, he wasn’t having a very good time chatting to her, either.

“Spill it, Sejanus,” she demanded in a prissy tone. “Who won the prize?”

The dark curls on Sejanus’ head shook as he silently scoffed. “Oh, no, I’m not going to ruin my father’s big day. No one here actually likes him but they do love his money… you know what that’s like, don’t you, Arachne?”

Her nose wrinkled in part-contempt, part-disgust. “Funny,” she deadpanned.

Coriolanus stepped around her so he could curl an arm over your waist. “We all know who’s going to win it, anyway.” His grip squeezed over the smooth fabric of your dress.

Arachne rolled her eyes and marched away, off to find someone else to bother.

Left with just the two of you, Sejanus dipped his head and muttered, “Look, I know you guys have had high hopes for this but… there’s no prize. Not anymore.”

There was a terse pause. Your head reared back incredulously, searching Sejanus’ expression for any signs of fibbing. Then you looked to Coriolanus, eyes wide.

“What?” he asked, words sharp, looking almost offended.

“I’m so sorry—”

Before Sejanus could finish his sentence, loud trumpets echoed throughout the hall and all the students began making their way to the plush velvet seats laid out in front of the podium. Coriolanus’ hand slipped away from you, balling into a tight, pale fist. You sat down first, Sejanus going on your right, Coriolanus to your left. Clemensia was on his other side, flashing you an attractive smile. You couldn’t find it in you to smile back.

If there was no prize, what were they going to dole out instead? A free holiday, all expenses paid? A new television? A pair of fuzzy socks?

Your rather prickly thoughts were interrupted when a woman stepped up behind the podium. She was dressed in lavish plum robes, intricate beige patterns weaving through the threads. From afar, it looked like there was flesh stitched onto the fabric. Her hair was greyed and a calculated sort of haphazard. One of her eyes was beady and blue, the other dark and large, almost eclipsing any of the white bits.

She tapped the microphone once, earning herself a buzz of feedback, and tittered with unnerving laughter. Volumnia Gaul was what she introduced herself as. Her voice was low and gravelly. When she went on to say that she was the head gamemaker, your and Coriolanus' heads both snapped to Sejanus, but his gaze was fixed onto the ground, face grim.

After a bit more faddering about the future, Dr. Gaul introduced the creator of the games and dean of the academy—Casca Highbottom. He sauntered forward from somewhere within the seats, mind very clearly addled with a drug of some sorts. Morphling, you’d wager.

“I can’t believe they still allow him to speak in public,” Clemensia said to Coriolanus amusedly. He didn’t spare her a response.

He dragged on his little speech, as if he took pleasure in dangling the golden carrot in front of the donkey. Your hands twitched in an antsy fashion, and you neatly folded them over your lap.

“My own twenty-four top prospects. All waiting to hear the results of your hard studying in this prestigious institution, eager to know who’s won that Plinth prize, no doubt. And a golden future, with it.” He catered forward with a slurred laugh. “However… I’m here to tell you all that there’s been a change this year.”

Murmurs rippled throughout the crowd. Coriolanus’ chin lifted higher, back straightening.

“One last assignment to prove your worth,” Highbottom continued on. He began to pace back and forth, reminiscent to that of a caged tiger. “The esteemed citizens of the Capitol simply aren’t watching anymore. And if the games are to continue at all, there must be an audience, no?”

More murmuring. Your eyes narrowed. Twenty-four top students… twenty-four tributes…

Oh, no.

You sucked in a quiet, barely noticeable inhale with the realization. It was enough for Coriolanus’ eyes to land on you, but you were staring at Sejanus, as if trying to get him to hear your thoughts.

Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me we won’t have to play a hand in such a barbaric game.

“Head gamemaker Dr. Gaul has stepped in to… incentivize patriotic values with her own unique flair, starting with you. The Plinth prize will no longer be determined by who has the best grades.”

For a moment, Highbottom’s gaze drifted over to you. Somewhere behind you, you could hear Arachne’s affronted, “Excuse me?”

You weren’t quite sure why she was upset. It’s not like she had a chance with the prize if it were grade-based.

“Instead, it will be decided by who is the best mentor in the hunger games.”

Your jaw clenched. Clemensia appeared bewildered. Coriolanus looked shaken. Sejanus was visibly distraught.

“As the reaping begins, I will allocate each one of the top twenty-four Capitol students a district tribute. A figure behind the scenes—one who must persuade them to perform for the cameras.”

This was met by a barrage of questions and protests from the students. Highbottom waved most of them away.

“Your role is to turn these children into spectacles. Not survivors… victory in the games is only one of the considerations. Your entire future rests on this last project.”

It was a terrible thing to imagine. Two dozen district lives in exchange for a bit of cruel entertainment for the Capitol. You were never fond of it, but you kept quiet on the matter because you had the luxury of turning your head away. Turning the television off and straying away from such brutalities.

But now that you were being forced to look—no, more than that—you were being forced to pull strings, it was altogether a nauseating thought.

“Oh, and I must warn you… anyone caught cheating to give their tributes an unfair advantage…” Highbottom’s spectacled eyes swept over the lot of students. “Well, they’d just have no future at all.”

More trumpets rang throughout the hall.

The Dean clapped his hands together. “Here we go! Let the reaping ceremony begin!”

Two large screens hanging over the podium lit up for the first district—a tall boy on the left, a sallow-faced girl on the right. Dean Highbottom began to list off student names as mentors.

To none of your surprise, Sejanus got the male tribute from district two. Coriolanus shot him a thinly-veiled, wry smile over your shoulder. “You got the pick of the litter.”

Sejanus refused to meet his gaze. “You forget… I’m part of the litter.”

On the names rattled—districts three, four, five, six, and seven all passing by in a blur.

Juno Phipps was called out for district eight’s male tribute. She sat somewhere behind you, and you could hear her puff a sigh of disappointment.

Then your name came straight after.

Your head snapped from Highbottom to the screen, eyes widening.

Wovey, her name was. She was a small little thing—you could see her frail, skeletal figure even through a grainy screen from afar. The striped dress she wore was patchy and frayed, darkened with soot and dirt. How old was she? She was probably one of the youngest tributes yet—you’d guess that she was barely thirteen, maybe even twelve. Something in your stomach jolted. Momentarily, you’d forgotten that this little girl was meant to be your school project.

District eight. The textiles sector. You blinked at the screen and shifted uncomfortably in your expensive-tailored dress—a dress that very likely came from the very same district.

Highbottom called out names for the next district. Clemensia was pleased with her large, burly tribute from the eleventh district. Coriolanus was yet to be mentioned. You glanced over at him, before reaching out to take his hand. He didn’t look at you, but squeezed your palm in what you read to be silent gratitude.

And finally—with only one tribute left, Highbottom coughed out what sounded to be a laugh. “The runt girl from district twelve… she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

The grip he had on your hand tightened until it was bordering on painful. You said nothing about it. Highbottom had always been a grouchy man, but he seemed to have a fixation on making Coriolanus’ life as tormentable as possible.

Lucy Gray Baird.

You watched the screen in fascination when a woman sauntered out from the ranks. Her hair was dark and curly, unruly in a way that suited her perfectly. Upon further scrutiny, you noticed small wildflowers woven through the strands, limp with time. She wore makeup, which wasn’t something you often saw in tributes. A deep blue eyeshadow and slightly-smudged rouge on her cheeks and lips. But what really caught your attention, however, was the dress she was wearing. It was a startling contrast to her name—with its bright, colorful ruffles on her skirt, the front of her corset bearing lovely details of flowers and vines.

She was beautiful.

“What is that dress?” sneered Arachne, in an obvious attempt to rile Coriolanus up. “Is she some sort of clown?”

But suddenly, Lucy Gray stepped out of her path towards the stage and grabbed a girl to her right. Or, more accurately, the girl’s collar. She promptly dropped something down her dress and hurried off. Screams erupted from the screen as the girl writhed with terror, screaming for someone to, “Get it out! Get it out!”

Coriolanus stood abruptly, letting your hand go. You hadn’t noticed just how much feeling you’d lost in your arm, and gingerly shook it back to life.

The grainy screen showed a small snake skitter out of the bottom of her dress.

When Lucy Gray finally made it up on the stage, she was harshly struck across the face by district twelve’s mayor. The blow made her head crack to the side and she went tumbling down. You frowned, but couldn’t take your eyes away.

It took two peacekeepers to haul the furious mayor away. You mutely realized that the girl was the mayor’s daughter.

Lucy Gray laid there, face aching.

And then—singing. A small voice from within the crowd. Five seconds later, another joined. And another, and another. Even through the screen, when Lucy Gray tilted her bruised face up and struggled back onto her feet, you could see the pain in her eyes. Was that her family singing for her?

The woman made her way to the microphone. She began to sing with a quivering lip. Her voice was soft and smooth, silken to your ears.

“She’s singing?” Arachne commented in a pinched tone. “Is she out of her mind?”

“Shut up, Arachne,” you turned to snap at her. She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, but didn’t say anything else, to your relief.

Coriolanus watched the screen with unsettled eyes. A million thoughts rushed through his mind at once. Most unpleasant, many rageful, some curious.

And to bring her singing to a sudden halt, Lucy Gray screamed into the microphone.

“YOU CAN KISS MY ASS!”

The students burst into laughter, incredulous gasps, and scandalized murmurs. Coriolanus glanced around. He met your eyes, and you gave him half an amused smile. His tribute knew how to put on a show, that was for sure.

He smiled back, and turned to the screen once more.

Lucy Gray lowered herself into a deep bow for the audience. District and Capitol alike.

What an intriguing girl, you thought.

“She’s mentally ill,” Arachne buzzed.

It took every bit of your willpower not to turn around and strike her across the face. But you thought back to the furious mayor, and of the little girl you were supposed to mentor, and kept your hands folded neatly over your lap.

You found yourself at the Snow penthouse that night. There was nothing to study, not anymore, so you lounged on a rickety chair and watched Tigris sew together pieces of blue fabric. She wanted to make you a dress, and though you had more than enough of your own, you couldn’t ever say no to her. Being around her took your mind off of the games, even for just a few minutes.

Coriolanus, however, was pacing back and forth in front of the two of you. Muttering angrily under his breath, nose twitching with disdain.

“He’s sabotaging us. That girl’s never going to win the games,” he hissed, plucking the rose off of his waistcoat and tugging at its petals. They fluttered down to the floor. “You saw her, didn’t you? She’s underfed. Unstable.”

Pot, meet kettle.

You pursed your lips. “Highbottom said you’re meant to make a performance out of them. It isn’t just about winning.”

“Everything is about winning!” he asserted, carding a frustrated hand through his flaxen tresses. “If not the games, then the crowd. And Lucy Gray won’t survive a minute inside that arena.”

You sighed. Little Wovey didn’t seem too likely to survive, either. She wasn’t a fighter by any means. Maybe she was a fast runner?

“So that means we have to make every second before then count.” Coriolanus reached out to cup your face, and you leaned into his touch, kissing his palm. Tigris shot the two of you a side glance and smiled to herself.

“What’re you planning?” you asked.

“I’ll make her sing again,” he said, sounding so sure of himself.

This made Tigris’ brows cinch together. “I wouldn’t sing a note for you if I was her. I wouldn’t do anything at all… not unless I knew I could trust you.”

Coriolanus regarded his cousin with a cynical stare. “She’s district, Tigris. She knows we hate her and she wants us dead. How am I supposed to get her to trust me?”

“We?” you echoed, shaking your head. “I don’t hate her. I don’t even know her. Do you?”

“I—”

You lifted up a hand, effectively cutting him off. “Do you know her, Coriolanus?”

His jaw set with a click. You had your answer.

“How can you hate someone you don’t know? Look, you don’t have to like her. Just convince her that you do.” You crossed your arms, thinking of the little girl you were meant to mentor. It was going to be hard to like her, anyway, knowing that she was going to die soon. You wouldn’t let yourself get attached.

Tigris nodded emphatically. She paused her needlework and looked up at her cousin. “Imagine it was your name they pulled, and you were ripped from your home. I’d just want to know if somebody still cared about me out here. Don’t discount her just because she’s district, Coryo. You might have more in common with her than you think.”

Coriolanus plucked the last rose petal from the stem. You watched him with soft eyes, before drawing yourself up to your feet.

“I think it’s time I head home. My family’s got dinner with the Flickermans tomorrow.” You placed a limp hand on his jaw and kissed his cheek, then drifted down to kiss his shoulder. He smelled distinctly of roses—a fresh sort of musk.

Just as you were about to pull away, he rested his hands on your forearms, rooting you to the same spot. “We should greet them at the station. Show them that they can trust us.”

You searched his face for genuinity. It wasn’t an entirely terrible idea.

“You sure?” you asked. It wasn’t a secret just how uncomfortable Coriolanus was around district folk.

“Yeah. We can… get ahead of the other students. You’re way more approachable than me, anyway. Maybe they’ll like you more,” Snow offered. A part of you wondered what he’d do if you said no.

The thought of meeting your assigned tribute made your stomach do somersaults. Finally, you nodded. “Okay. I’ll meet you at the station, then?”

Snow smiled in a charming manner. He dipped forward to slant his lips over yours, and you melted into his touch, almost forgetting that Tigris was there—until she made a noise of disgust and told the two of you, “Eugh! Do that somewhere else, please!”

Coriolanus was there before you, sticking out like a sore thumb in his academy red against the cold, rusted metals of the train cars. You wore a dark coat over your uniform, trying to look a little more discreet.

“Are they here yet?” you asked, steps quickening to him. He took your hand and squeezed.

“Anytime now.”

The two of you stood shoulder-to-shoulder as you waited, exchanging light conversation. There was a rose in his hand, you realized. White, just like the one he gave to you when he first met your parents. But it wasn’t for you, since he had yet to hand it over— you figured it was for Lucy Gray. You would’ve thought it was sweet of him, if only you hadn’t been aware of his motivations to gain her trust. Still, you’d be a hypocrite if you criticized him for it. You’d also brought something for your tribute.

A juice box. Grape. Still cold, beading with condensation.

You wondered if they had juice boxes out in district eight.

Another train rolled to a grueling halt to the track on your left. The cars were due for a good scrubbing, you thought. They were absurdly filthy—you weren’t even sure what its original color was meant to be.

Peacekeepers stepped up, disregarding the two of you, and began yanking the doors open. There were disgruntled noises coming from inside, and a few minutes later, the grey soldiers were pulling out the tributes.

You searched through the small crowd frantically. The boy from 11th—Reaper, you recalled his name was—caught your eye and just about snarled. You tried your best to ignore him.

When you found the little girl, little Wovey, you slipped away from Coriolanus and stepped forward. In your peripheral vision, you spotted him moving towards Lucy Gray.

Wovey was staring at a particularly uninteresting spot on the ground. She had her skinny arms wound around her midriff as if she was cold, despite the warm temperature that morning. When your shadow fell over her, her large, tearful eyes slid up to meet yours.

“Hello, Wovey,” you whispered in what you hoped was a welcoming, not-at-all-intimidating voice. You told her your name, making sure to enunciate the syllables slowly, so she’d have no problem repeating it back. She didn’t, but perhaps she would later. “I’m your mentor.”

“Mender?” Her voice quaked.

“Mentor. I’ll be helping you in the arena, during the game. Here, I have something for you.” You reached inside your coat, eyeing the peacekeepers warily. Either they didn’t notice, or they were just pretending not to. You wondered how many of them knew your father. “Do you guys have juice boxes back where you live?”

You held out the cold little box for her to take. She blinked at it warily.

“It’s grape,” you said.

She reached out and took it from you. You offered her a gentle smile, and she mirrored you with a shy grin.

“Can I share it?” she croaked. Wovey looked back at the male tribute from the same district—Bobbin. Were they friends?

“Of course, sweetheart,” you said warmly.

Sweetheart? Where’d that come from?

The peacekeepers began rounding up the tributes, shoving them in the direction of a truck. You dipped your head at one of the grey soldiers as he took Wovey’s arm.

“Be gentle with her,” you told the peacekeeper. He met you with a stoic expression, but nodded once, before urging Wovey onward.

It was hard to tear your eyes away from her, but you forced yourself to do so, bounding towards Coriolanus and—

“Lucy Gray,” you greeted, just before saying your own name as you moved to stand beside Snow. Her dress looked even brighter in person, even if it was caked in filth. “I hope Coriolanus hasn’t scared you off yet.”

“Who’s this?” she asked, her dark eyes flitting from Snow to you. “Another mentor?”

“Mmh. Not yours though. I’m dedicated to the little girl from district eight,” you replied.

There was something in her eyes that softened.

“You’ll take care of her?” she asked.

You exchanged an uncertain glance with Coriolanus. “I’ll try my best to. Just like my boyfriend here for you.”

“Boyfriend, huh? Y’all make an attractive couple, that’s for sure.” Lucy Gray smiled, wide and genuine. It faded instantaneously once she spotted a peacekeeper approaching. She plucked the rose from Coriolanus’ unsuspecting hands. “Well… good luck with that.”

The soldier grabbed her by the arm and shoved her into the direction of the car.

Coriolanus stepped forward. “Wait, no—I, hey, I’d like to escort my tribute—”

They all ignored him. You pursed your lips, before following behind two of the soldiers, peeking around the bend. The truck’s doors were wide open for you to slip into. Snow met your eyes when you beckoned him over.

“We can sneak in,” you whispered. “When they’re not looking.”

“Are you insane? We don’t know where they’re going!” he responded in a lowered voice, taking your arm, not unsimilar to how the peacekeepers grabbed the tributes. “I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

“They won’t hurt me,” you told him. It didn’t dawn on you that Coriolanus was referring to the district tributes, not the peacekeepers. Quick and chaste, you pressed a kiss to his lips. “You coming?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He blew out a frustrated breath, before letting you go and giving you the green light by motioning for you to get a move on. Nerves peaking with adrenaline, you glanced around again, satisfied that no peacekeepers were looking, and rushed into the truck. You felt Coriolanus’ chest brush against your back as he hurried in after you.

You hid in the shadows of the trucks’ slants just as the peacekeepers slammed it shut. A victorious smile stretched your lips thin. You made it.

Oh, your father was going to murder you. Snow first, maybe, and then you. Your mother would probably find the situation all too funny. Though, as you found all the tributes’ eyes locked on you and Coriolanus, you realized that it probably wasn’t funny at all, not in the slightest.

“Hello,” you said in an awfully wavering voice. Coriolanus echoed your sentiment, looking as if he’d seen a ghost.

“What’s the matter, pretty boy?” Reaper asked him with a scowl. “You in the wrong cage?”

“No,” he responded with a minute shrug. “This cage is delightful.”

The truck practically swayed as Reaper stormed closer to him. You instinctively grabbed his forearm, pulling him back. But clearly not quick enough, seeing as Reaper grabbed the lapels of Snow’s academy uniform, shoving him up against the wall with a loud thud. Coriolanus let out an oomf with the impact, blinking sudden white stars out of his vision.

“I’ll kill you right now!” Reaper hissed.

“He’ll do it, too,” warned Dill. The girl from his same district. “Reaper killed a peacekeeper back in eleven.”

“I say we kill them both!” another tribute from somewhere behind sneered.

“I’m in. Nothing left to lose now.”

You stood frozen, afraid that one wrong move would send Reaper into a frenzy. Instead, you spoke calm and clear, “We’re here to help.” Your eyes found Lucy Gray’s, then traveled over to Wovey, squeezed in the corner. “We want to help you.”

Crossing her arms, Lucy Gray said, “Y’all got family back home? They’ll kill them if you hurt a hair on their pretty Capitol heads. Then you. ‘Sides… the blonde one’s my mentor. I might need him.”

One of the tributes from district four curled her lip in contempt. “How come you get one?”

“You all get one!” Snow told her, which earned him another enraged shove by Reaper.

She guffawed—Coral, yes, that was her name—with incredulity. “What, and we’re just supposed to believe you?”

“Why else would we get in here with you?” you said, exasperated. “We don’t even know where they’re taking you guys.”

Coral cocked a brow so high it nearly disappeared behind her choppy bangs. “Whose mentor are you?”

You limply waved your fingers at Wovey. “District eight’s girl.”

“So how come Skinny and Rainbow get special treatment? Why aren’t my mentors here?” Coral leaned down towards Lucy Gray in a taunting fashion, barely glancing over at Wovey.

Lucy Gray smiled, all toothy. “They just got inspired, I guess.”

A moment later, a loud rumbling came from outside the truck. Had they already arrived? There was a whir, and the whole truck began to tilt downward. The doors swung open and shocked gasps echoed throughout the metal cavern.

Reaper relinquished his grip on Snow to grab hold of Dill, and you launched yourself at Coriolanus, trying your best to grapple onto the grooves in the walls so you wouldn’t slip. Lucy Gray yelled as her foot slipped and she went toppling down—

You grabbed her hand, grunting with the combined weight of two people. Coriolanus’ grip on the wall slipped, and he bumped into you, causing your fingers to fumble.

The three of you went rolling down, out of the truck, back into the blinding sunlight. Your shoulder hit the ground hard, another sharp rock digging painfully into your back. That’d definitely bruise later. Disoriented, you dragged yourself up from the ground, frowning at the stinging sensation in your legs. Coriolanus was next to you the next second, grabbing at your face and arms, asking if you were alright. You nodded a few times, before pushing him away to see if the tributes were okay.

All of them were dizzy and aching, but other than that—seemed just fine. Or, as fine as they could be, given the circumstances.

Only then did you look around your surroundings. Metal fencing, dirt pen, discarded tires—Capitol citizens watching with wide, curious eyes. You caught sight of the Capitol Zoo’s insignia on an ice cream stand just past the fencing.

“Ugh,” Coriolanus muttered, pale blonde hair properly tousled over his forehead. “What are all these people doing, staring at us? Don’t they have anything better to do? Don’t they have jobs? The children should be in school. It’s no wonder this country is in shambles.”

“The kids are on summer break, Coryo,” you deadpanned, shirking off your dark coat to give it a good dusting.

Then, a familiar voice made your head snap towards the crowd.

Cameras. Mustache. Coin flip.

“We’ll just give them a chance to stand up and catch their breath—I do have to admit I’m jealous of that big entrance! I’m Lucretius “Lucky” Flickerman, a man who needs no introduction.”

Oh, he certainly didn’t. He and your mother were tight-knit buddies when they went to school together, making the Flickermans good family friends. This was beyond embarrassing.

“Guess where I am today, folks! That’s right, the Capitol Zoo, where this year’s tributes will be held here, on display behind these bars for your viewing pleasure! That’s right, all twenty-four of them—” That was when he turned to point, and his eyes landed on you and Coriolanus. His words faltered. “What in Panem—is that academy rouge I see?”

You stiffly waved at the camera. Absent-mindedly, you passed a hand over your head to fix your hair.

“Hey, Mr. Flickerman,” you called out with a grimace.

Lucky’s eyes bugged out of his head. He exclaimed your name in part-confusion, part-shock. “Hey, what’re you doing in there, kiddo? Who’s that dashing young man with you? We’re live!” He jutted a thumb back at the camera, its lens facing straight at you.

You spared him a stiff smile, eye twitching. Oh, your father was going to pop a blood vessel, you were sure.

“Uhm… well, uh—” The words caught in your throat and you lowered your voice so only Coriolanus could hear you. You had to ignore Lucky’s constant calls for your attention. “What do we do?”

His blue eyes, even paler in the bright sunlight, roamed over the onlookers. “We do what Highbottom told us to do,” he said, rolling his shoulders. He nudged you in the direction of Wovey, and began setting off for Lucy Gray. “We put on a show.”

You watched as the two, mentor and tribute, made their way to the fencing. As if there was a flip of a switch inside him, Coriolanus began to charm the onlookers and children, showing off his pearly whites, introducing himself and his rambunctious tribute. The children were enamoured with Lucy Gray, it seemed, judging by the way they bubbled over with questions about the snake, her colorful dress, her singing.

Lucky was having the time of his life interviewing them. If not for the current situation at hand—that being you trapped in a zoo enclosure—you would’ve laughed at his earnest excitement. Being a weatherman, a reporter, and an amateur-magician was apparently growing far too monotonous for someone with as large a personality as Lucretius Flickerman.

After much deliberation and cheek-biting, you turned and made your way toward Wovey, who was sitting down next to Bobbin on a tree stump. You noted the purple juice box, now crumpled and empty, discarded on the ground between them.

“Hey, guys,” you said, lowering down to one knee to speak to Wovey. “Do you want to go introduce yourself, sweetheart? Win over the Capitol citizens’ hearts?”

The young girl screwed up her face. Whether it was from shyness or distaste, you weren’t quite sure. Perhaps both.

“I’ll be there with you. I promise,” you told her, holding your palm out for her to take.

Tentative, Wovey slipped off of the stump and clutched onto your hand. The two of you approached the barriers, with her nearly hiding behind you, clutching onto your coat.

Lucy Gray told the growing audience about her Covey family, a group of traveling musicians, and how she wasn’t actually from district twelve. Snow watched her with a somewhat proud, victorious expression.

Lucky noticed you approaching, beckoning for the cameras to follow him as he made his way over to you.

Quickly, he covered the top of the mic to lean forward and whisper, “Is the academy aware of what you’re doing?”

“No. Nobody told us not to, though.”

Lucky regarded you knowingly. “And does your father know about this little escapade of yours?”

“No,” you replied, frown-smiling.

“Ooh. Good luck with that.” He spared you an amused wince. Then, he uncovered the microphone and gave the cameras another brilliant smile, introducing you with a flourish of his hands. “I’m here with a close personal friend of mine, Y/N L/N. And here we have their tribute, yes? Who might you be, young lady?”

You tried your best to encourage Wovey out of her shyness, going so far as to pat her shoulder and to gently push back the thin strands of hair falling in front of her face. She croaked out her name and her district, and Lucky asked her another myriad of overwhelming questions.

Whilst the crowd around the ever-charming Lucy Gray was watching her with curiosity and awe, the audience you were gathering looked upon Wovey with pity and something mildly akin to empathy.

There were perks to getting the youngest tribute, maybe.

She was telling them about how she liked to climb trees back in district eight. Yes, that’d be useful in the games.

You looked over to see Coriolanus observing you with your tribute. He gave you a nod, perhaps a second too late. The man found himself wondering if he could somehow garner the crowd’s sympathy using Lucy Gray, too. How’d you manage to do that?

Before he could spare another thought on the matter, there was a dim buzzing coming from across the enclosure. A door opened, and four peacekeepers marched in.

“Looks like you’re going to get whisked away, kiddo,” Lucky told you, nodding behind. “Tell your mother I said hello. And make sure to take a nice, long shower before dinner tonight. Don’t want the smell of zoo hovering over my steak.”

You rolled your eyes as Lucky chuckled at his own quips, then looked down at Wovey with a far softer expression.

“I’ll be back. I’ll come back with more for you. Just hold on for me, okay?”

The frail girl nodded. She didn’t seem to want to let go of you, even when the peacekeepers began to semi-forcefully lead you away, out of the enclosure. Coriolanus wasn’t far behind, being manhandled far more aggressively than you were.

The soldiers shoved you out the door and shut it with a heavy click of a lock, before marching off to the sides.

Coriolanus reached out for you, hands resting on your elbows. “How was it?”

“Could’ve gone worse.” You studied his features. There was a faint trace of dirt smudged across his jaw—no doubt acquired somewhere in the truck or when everyone came tumbling out.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment longer, until you shook your head and broke into a smile, accompanied by a breathy laugh.

“Lucky called you a dashing young man.”

“He’s ridiculous,” he scoffed, and tugged you along to start walking. “Do you think either of us have a chance? At winning?”

The smile melted off your expression, and you grew somber once more. “Well… anything can happen in the arena. We just need to be smart about it. Neither of our tributes are fighters.”

Coriolanus stared off into the distance, brows cinched, heavy with thought.

“They’ll need to be,” he said. “Surviving isn’t enough. Not in these games.”

Your lips parted, wondering what in Panem he could mean by that. Did he really expect Lucy Gray to become a killer overnight? Or was he planning for her to do something else? He didn’t seem to notice your perturbed disposition, and kissed the side of your head.

Just as Coriolanus walked you to your doorstep, you gripped his hands, and your tone suddenly became very serious.

“I just wanted to tell you—before Highbottom announced the mentoring change, I was sure one of us would win the Plinth prize. And, well, I was going to give you the money if it came to me because I definitely wouldn’t need it. But now, since there’s a good chance neither of us are getting it…”

Snow’s features twisted with evident dismay.

You squeezed his hands with yours. “I can get my parents to pay your university tuition, if neither of us get that Plinth prize. Please, Coryo, don’t take this as charity. Take it because I care about you. I don’t want you to get caught up in… winning these games. Whatever you’re planning for Lucy Gray… I can’t see it being anything she’d be willing to do.”

It might’ve been a trick of light, but you could’ve sworn you saw an irksome glint flash across his eyes. He bitterly came to the conclusion that you probably did botch one of your exams for him—not that that mattered now. Besides, it was you offering money, not him begging for it. The placating thought made it easier for his features to slip into a reassuring, easy softness.

“I appreciate the offer, I really do,” Snow said, cradling your face as if you were a fragile piece of china. Yet his touch felt bruising all the same. “But you shouldn’t worry. I don’t think Lucy Gray is going to win. Not on her own, at least. So I’m going to help her—and Highbottom is going to regret ever trying to make an enemy of me.”

He dipped forward, brushed a whisper of a kiss along your cheek, and swiped his thumb over your bottom lip.

And then he was gone.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow x you #hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus snow drabbles #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #young!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow angst

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mypoisonedvine · 1 year

Note

Hi hi! I’m sure you’re being flooded, but I’d love a little something about younger (20 or older though!) reader babysitting for dad! Steve. Smutty if you feel so inclined. Can be single or not, dealer’s choice!

I went wayyyy overboard with this, oops, but it was so sexy omfg

word count: 2k

warnings: huge age gap (45+ vs 20), unprotected sex, breeding kink, oral m receiving, sliiiightly mean dom steve, size kink, stomach bulge kink, daddy kink

You'd been crushing on Mr. Harrington for years, actually... even before the divorce.

It wasn't just that he was good-looking, although that was obviously part of it. It was the way he acted with you, it made you feel all girly and little and dumb; it was the way he played with his kids which made your uterus sob in envy; it was the way he wore reflective shades to the pool and you had to wonder if he was looking at you and seeing how much you'd grown.

For the longest, much to your dismay, nothing happened between you. You'd been trying to make conversation after he came back each night to finish your babysitting shift, but it never really worked. Nothing worked, actually, not even the skimpy outfits or the strategic bending over or the casual touches to his arm or knee.

Nothing worked until last night.

It started mostly normal, except that he was obviously in a worse mood than usual. You asked how his date went; he dodged the question. You pressed again, and he shook his head as he sat down on the couch, running his hands over his hair.

"It's starting to feel futile," he explained, speaking quietly knowing his kids were asleep down the hall.

"What is?"

"All of it," he breathed. "Dating, work, all of it."

You sat next to him, pulling your knees up on the sofa and tilting your head sympathetically. "Tell me about it," you offered.

Amazingly, he did. He told you about how each woman he went out with was worse than the last, and he didn't trust any of them with his kids. That made your heart skip; I'm his babysitter, he trusts me with his kids.

He told you about how rough the divorce had been, and then the custody arrangements. Apparently he was still dealing with that even though Mrs. Harrington had moved out probably almost two years ago now.

He told you about how hard his job was, how the hours killed him, how he could barely find time to spend with his family because he was putting out everyone else's fires at the office.

"That all sounds really stressful, Mr. Harrington," you cooed when he finished his rant. "You need to relax."

He chuckled a little. "Easier said than done."

"Maybe I can help you."

He raised an eyebrow in confusion, but his eyes went wide as he watched you get on your knees on the ground.

"Let me help you relax, Mr. Harrington," you pleaded, running your hands over his legs gently as they stayed slightly spread on the couch.

"Oh, uh— I— sweetie, we can't—"

You reached up to his belt, and even if his words were hesitant, he lifted his hips slightly to make it easier for you to unbuckle it.

"Are you— fuck— are you really—? Baby..."

It made your hips wiggle against the carpet hearing him talk like that. You got his fly open next, and started to rub his cock through his boxers underneath. His eyes followed your every move in disbelief.

He was just starting to get hard when you took him out, but he was already so big... your mouth was watering. You couldn't wait any longer: you looked up at him for just a second before you leaned forward and took his fat head into your mouth.

Groaning and tilting his head back, his hands found purchase in your hair instantly.

"Fuuuck," he breathed, "you're... you're so bad, sweetie, you know you shouldn't... oh my god."

You bobbed your head eagerly, feeling him swell and harden against your tongue until your mouth was stretched to its limit by his size. You hummed around him joyfully, revelling in the softly salty taste on your tongue. Stroking with your hand what your lips couldn't reach, you took a break after a few minutes to look up at him for approval.

"Where'd a sweet girl like you learn how to do that?" he asked with a long sigh. "Fuck, keep sucking... look up at me, baby."

You did as you were told, and he adjusted his hips slightly so it was easier for you to keep eye contact with him while you suckled at his throbbing head.

"Good," he praised, stroking your cheek as you worked. "Such pretty eyes... and that pretty mouth too, god. Take it deeper, sweetie, you can choke a little."

His hand helped push you down until his dick hit the end of your throat, and you gagged helplessly. He moaned loudest at that, eyes falling shut for a moment.

"Too big for your little mouth, huh?" he noticed. "Poor baby. Choke on me again."

You did as he said and noticed his hips rocking up to push his cock even deeper and gag you even harder. Tears welled in your eyes but he purred in satisfaction.

"Mm, good job," he praised, "you're so good for me, sweetie."

Needing a break for your throat, you pulled back and stroked him slowly as you made conversation. "How long has it been since somebody sucked your cock, Mr. Harrington?" you asked sweetly.

"Fuck, I don't even know— years? Before Allie was born, probably. She didn't... she never did it, really," he mumbled, and you tried not to bite your lip. Of course his bitch ex-wife never did this to him, he was probably so starved for affection for ages.

"That's such a shame," you pouted, "it tastes so good. I'd never be able to stop tasting you, Mr. Harrington."

"Then don't stop," he encouraged, pushing your head down again. You got back into the pattern, only taking breaks to lathe the shaft in long licks from base to tip; he seemed to like those a lot.

Sometimes you felt his cock throb and you hoped it meant he would come soon: you couldn't wait. You went on for a while longer, though, and started to get desperate for it. When his heavy breathing made you pretty sure he was close, you broke the pattern one more time to encourage him. "I want you to come in my mouth," you informed him. "M'gonna swallow it, sir, I promise."

"No, fuck no," he interrupted, surprising you. "No, I want that pussy. Fuck, I need your pussy, get up here."

You climbed onto the couch eagerly, straddling his lap as he started to pull your skirt up right away. He snapped your panties off like it was nothing, instantly groaning at the sight of your mound beneath; you felt so exposed in the best way, you worried you were going to drip right down onto his khakis with him looking at you like that.

"Fuck, sweetie, you're so gorgeous," he sighed, "such a gorgeous little pussy. C'mere..."

He held your thighs, petting them as he guided you down to his cock. He stopped looking at it once he was just barely pushing inside, instead starting to watch your face as you sank down onto his length with a moan. "Fuck!" you whimpered. "Fuck, too big, you're too—"

"Shh, shh," he soothed, "gotta be quiet, baby, the kids are asleep."

Your gut burned from how stupidly hot that was, and you bit your lip to try to keep it down. His cock reached the end of you and you jolted, trying to move back up, but he shook his head and kept guiding you down.

"No, sweetie, you need to take all of me," he scolded gently. "You're gonna take all of me, fuck, so good..."

Finally, somehow, he managed to get it all inside until your thighs were flush with his. You were shaking, it was so deep you were shaking; there was a slight bulge in your tummy where his cock filled you. "Mr. Harrington, it's too deep..."

He growled, actually growled, and held your hips tightly. "No, baby, it's just the right amount. You're taking me so good... all of my cock is in you, sweetie, you're doing so fucking good. Now just ride me."

Shaking and whimpering, you started to rock your hips on top of his; he sighed and watched you, looking wrecked in the best way.

"Yeah, fuck," he encouraged, "fuck, you know how long it's been since I had pussy like this? Tight, wet, young pussy like yours? You feel so fucking good..."

"You too," you moaned, "you feel so good, Mr. Harrington..."

He smirked a bit. "I think we're on a first name basis by now... but I want you to keep calling me that anyways. It's so fucking cute."

Pulling you a little closer, he whispered right by your ear.

"Maybe," he suggested, "you could even call me daddy."

"Oh, daddy," you pounced on the opportunity immediately, and he groaned in satisfaction. "Daddy, it feels really really good..."

"Yeah? Well then why don't you cream for me, huh? Let that cute little pussy come on my cock—"

You didn't even let him finish. You'd been worked up since he got here and it hit you all at once. He watched you proudly, thin laughter ringing in your ears.

"God, you're so sensitive," he groaned, "it's gonna take me a while, baby, I'm not as young as you... takes me all night sometimes."

You shuddered; "I don't have anywhere to be..."

"Yeah you do," he corrected, starting to guide your hips as your motions faltered from the exhaustion of coming. "Your parents are probably worried about you, sweetie. They don't know what a slut you are, do they?"

You shook your head. "N-no, daddy..."

"Fuck," he breathed, "you're so cute... show daddy your tits, sweetie— lift up your shirt for me and show me your tits."

He was more than capable of doing it himself, but he preferred to watch you roll up your tank top and let him see your tits, hardened from being so turned on by all this. You'd stopped wearing a bra around him months ago, and it was all worth it as he reached up and palmed one of your breasts.

"Mm," he hummed, "you've got great tits, baby— you show them off too much, though."

He slid his hand across your chest to touch the other gently. "I only did that for you, Mr. Harrington," you promised, "I just wanted your attention... wanted you to see how grown up I am..."

He smirked. "You got my fucking attention, sweetie."

With renewed energy, you started to take control again, riding him in earnest. "Really?" you confirmed hopefully. "Did you think about me, daddy? Did you ever jerk off and think about my tits?"

He delayed his answer by hissing a little, looking down at where your pussy slid up and down on him before tilting his head back again. "Yes," he admitted, "yeah, I thought about you. I would've done it a lot more if I knew you wanted me to."

"Of course I wanted you to," you giggled, "I have such a big crush on you, Mr. Harrington, I have for so long..."

"A crush, huh?" he laughed.

You nodded eagerly, whining when he held onto you tighter and started to thrust up into you off the couch.

"You know I'm more than twice your age, right?" he reminded you with a purr, and you nodded. "You know I'm older than your dad, right?"

Your head was spinning, but you nodded again.

"And you know I could get you pregnant... right?"

You moaned, head falling back, and he laughed.

"I knew it," he gloated, "I knew that was what you wanted— knew you needed some babies fucked into you, sweet girl. Daddy's gonna knock you up, s'that what you want?"

"Yes, yes!" you sobbed.

You weren't moving at all now, you were limp and useless as he thrust up into you hard and fast, making you cry and moan so loudly he had to cover your mouth. "I'll come, fuck, nice and deep," he promised, "and give you a baby, yeah? Get you so full and pregnant, just how you want it."

You were begging him for it, but it was all muffled into nonsense under his hand as he fucked up into you rough and fast. It ended with a groan, his head falling back and his body going limp under you as he came. You collapsed onto him, both of you sinking into the couch as you caught your breath.

His hands rested on your thighs still, sometimes petting them or moving up to your waist; you shyly hid your face in the crook of his neck, hardly believing that this really happened— and terrified you would wake up and realize it was all a wonderful dream. "Think I'm gonna need you to babysit for me again tomorrow night," he broke the silence suddenly. "I'll pay double for the short notice."

"I'll do it for free," you replied.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #dad!steve harrington

13K notes · View notes

solar-wing · 5 months

Text

⚣ Five & One 💪🏻

⚣💪🏻 A/N → This is a re-post and, once again, it was inspired by this post by @gone-batty-fics. I'm leaving the full NSFW version up here since it's not that much, so no need for an extra link. I hope you guys enjoy reading this around a second time and sorry if any of you have been missing it. This was my most popular post on my previous account and I'm sad I gotta start it over, but oh well. WARNINGS: Breathplay/Choking, Implied Size Kink, Jealous and Possessive Behavior, Rough Anal, Violence, etc.

⚣💪🏻 Summary → Five times people thought you needed rescuing from your boyfriend, Jason Todd. And the one time, someone needed rescuing from you.

⚣💪🏻 Words → 7.8k

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

Also, vote in my Omegaverse/Yandere poll here!

⚣ ENJOY 💪🏻

Okay, you got it.

Your boyfriend was a very intimidating and scary guy when he wanted to be. But, that didn’t mean people had to keep asking you if you needed saving like you were some damsel in distress. You weren’t even a damsel! You were a damsmen. Damsman? A Damson?

Oh, forget it. Point still stands, people needed to stop treating you like you needed rescuing. You were fine! Besides, when he wasn’t out hunting criminals, Jason was literally the least threatening person in the world. It was you bitches should be worried about! And if bitches didn’t believe you, bitches could just find out on their own.

Bitch.

The first time wasn’t bad. You considered it actually sweet and could see how under the circumstances someone was not aware of the dynamic between you and the vigilante.

It was a sunny day in Gotham for once. Everyone was out, enjoying the sunshine while having barbecues in the parks, strolling down the street in sunhats and sandals, and going swimming at the local pools. You were no different, seeing the usual moody and depressing atmosphere absent from the sky and deciding immediately to take advantage of it and drag your boyfriend Jason out, making the whole day a date between you two.

You and Jason decided on simple outfits since the sun was out and the temperatures were warmer than usual. You decided on a regular button-up, leaving the top three buttons down to show some skin, which your boyfriend both loved and hated since he could ogle your chest with no shame, but anyone else could do the same. You paired it with some boat shoes and simple shorts that did an excellent job hugging your ‘boo-twah,’ a nickname Jason gave your ass for its large-hand-friendly size, as he liked to say.

“Instead of like boo-tee, it’s boo-TWAH. It’s just out there.” He explained one morning when you had spent the night at his place. Jason, sitting and ogling at his boyfriend in his well-fitted yoga pants and sleeveless hoodie while you made breakfast.

“You are such a nerd.” You laughed at him.

“Well, this nerd scored big,” He responded before landing a heavy smack on your behind, which you chastised him for since he made you almost fling the eggs you were scrambling out of the pan.

Back to the sunny day, Jason dressed simply too but was more relaxed than you. He went for a comfortable pair of joggers, one of his nicer gym shoes, and a tank top covered by a sleeveless hoodie since he got hot easily.

A few months after you and Jason got together, he told you about his double life and his family’s. It explained why when he would spend the night at your house a few times, you’d play doctor while wondering where he was getting all these bruises and wounds. As you and Jason grew closer and began to explore your ‘interest’ in each other’s bodies, you’d find he was actually shy about his body even though the man was built like a tank.

It wasn’t necessarily his body he was ashamed of. It was his scars he actually didn’t like. All things he saw as painful reminders of his more than rough past, especially the bigger ones he had received from Joker. You were patient with him and reminded him at every possible chance that his scars were nothing to be ashamed of. Instead, they were to be celebrated and seen as trophies. Reminders that in the face of everything thrown at him, he came out on top stronger than ever.

Over time, Jason became more confident and comfortable in his body. He bought more shirts, tank tops, and shorts that showed his arms, chest, and legs. Even going as far as cutting the sleeves off some of his hoodies since you owned many pairs, and he loved how they looked on you. He’d prefer to wear yours, but since you were much smaller than him, he’d end up stretching or ripping them. Now, you were no dainty stick or anything like that. You had some meat on your bones and were taller than the average guy. But again, Jason is built like a tank and very much dwarfed you in size.

You weren’t complaining.

He also loved the benefit of the sleeveless hoodies as they made him look more intimidating, which helped whenever he noticed other guys and girls at the gym ogling you a little too long for his liking. He didn’t care who it was, Jason would always look out for and protect you.

Yet, others seemed to see it differently as you walked down the street in Gotham, going in and out of the various stores. You were both sipping on some slushies while chatting about whatever, Jason holding your shopping bags in one hand. You tried to snatch the bags from him multiple times since you didn’t want to feel like Jason was your butler or servant. Besides, you worked out too. Look at your arms! You could carry Jason if you wanted to.

Okay, yes, you knew that was a lie but you were allowed to dream. You’d get there…someday.

“Jason, give me my bag. I can carry it myself!” You said, trying to reach for the bag again.

“Sorry, Bugs, you know the rules. You’re not allowed to carry anything in my presence. Well, except my love for you. That’s heavy enough as it is.” Jason said with a cheeky smile.

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend’s corny behavior and another one of his nicknames for you. You’d made the mistake of bringing Jason around your best friend during a study session for one of your classes. He revealed your childhood obsession with Looney Tunes and how many times when you reacted to a situation, you were a carbon copy of Bugs Bunny with his sarcasm and behavior.

“Get away from me dude,” You said, putting distance between yourself and the brick wall of a man.

“Ah, get back here.”

Jason grabbed you by your waist and pulled you to his side, nuzzling his face into your neck while tickling your sides.

“Jason, stop!” You shouted in laughter, trying to push him away.

“Never! You are now my hostage.” He joked back with you.

You stood there for a few more seconds wrestling with each other on the sidewalk. Someone should really scold you two for acting so cutesy and loving out and public like that. WE GET IT! You’re in love! Stop rubbing it in our faces.

When you broke apart, you found yourselves outside a bookstore. You saw Jason’s eyes light up even if his face didn’t show it. He turned towards you, giving you his best puppy-dog eyes and pout.

“Oh, get in there you dork. But, don’t max out your dad’s credit card!” You said, successfully pushing him off you.

He leaned down to plant a kiss on your lips before shooting into the store like the Flash. “No promises!” He yelled over his shoulder.

While he was in the store living out his childhood fantasy, you decided to let your ankles rest since you had been on them for a few hours. Jason offered to carry you at one point, and though it was tempting, you declined.

You sat on a nearby bench while scrolling on your phone for a bit. Your head shot up when you spotted someone approaching you from the street. It was two girls, both who looked to be in their late 20s to early 30s, carrying concerned looks on their faces.

“Hi!” You spoke with a smile, waving to the women walking up to you.

“Hey, are you okay?” One of them asked when they got to you.

Now, you had a confused expression on yours.

“I’m sorry?” You responded with a puzzled eyebrow raised.

“We were across the street when we saw that guy grabbing you. We can walk with you to the police station if he’s harassing you.” The other woman said.

‘Were these chicks on crack?’ You thought.

“Um, I think there’s been some confusion–” You started but was interrupted by the door swinging open, an excited Jason springing out of the store.

“BABE! THEY’VE GOT A MINT-CONDITIONED PRIDE & PREJUDICE! Can I get it?! Please!!!” Jason shouted while running up to you and grabbing you by your arms.

You could barely keep off the amused smile on your face while looking around your boyfriend’s shoulder to see the two girls looking shocked and embarrassed by your giant for a boyfriend, begging you for a book like a kid.

Jason turned around as well, seeing the two women staring at you two while he just pulled you closer to his body, wrapping his arms around you.

“Who are your friends, Bugs?”

“Just some nice girls being friendly,” You answered before using your hand to turn Jason’s head back toward you. “Don’t you already have three copies at home, Jason? Why do you need another?”

“Okay, but those are all old copies and are falling apart. This one is BRAND NEW! Never been opened. Please!!!”

You could only sigh at his antics before turning back to the girls, “I’m fine, ladies. But, thank you for asking.”

They both nodded with embarrassment before walking off down the street, Jason watching them with a confused expression before looking down at you.

“What was that about?”

“Don’t worry about it.

This one also wasn’t so bad, but it was still annoying.

Your parents were out of town for a month for their anniversary, so you invited Jason over. When he got there and saw how your cupboards and fridge were damn near empty, he was upset at you for not telling him you had no food and your parents for not supplying you with anything.

Truth be told, they literally just forgot to go before they left. Jason always wondered where you got your forgetfulness from. Now, he knew.

So, he dragged you to your local wholesale store once again with his adoptive father’s credit card to stock and load your cabinets so you wouldn’t go hungry. Well, really so, Jason wouldn’t go hungry since he would be spending a lot of time at your place now. Again, the man was like a mountain, so of course, he ate like one.

You had been in the store for about 15 minutes, and already your cart was damn near half-full.

“Jay, don’t you think this is enough? We don’t have to get a bunch of stuff today.” You voiced, eyeing the growing basket with concern.

“Bugs, you can’t stay in your house for a month and not have any food. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you go hungry?” He responded while grabbing four boxes of your favorite cereal brands off the shelf and placing them neatly in the basket.

If it’s one thing that shocked you to learn about Jason was that he was very clean and organized with anything. You expected that trait more out of his brothers like Tim or Damian. But in truth, Tim was more of an organized chaos type of guy, and Damian was very simplistic, so he didn’t really need to organize much, except for his drawings and paintings, which he sometimes left scattered all over his desk.

Dick was a mess that couldn’t be saved. God bless the soul that ended up with that man.

But Jason was the cleanest out of all of them. The man could barely go two days without scrubbing down or re-organizing something. Again, you weren’t complaining. Every time he came over, he’d clean your room without you even asking.

“Okay, but my parents did leave me money to order out. Plus, I don’t want Bruce thinking I’m using you for money, or anything like that, especially since you keep taking his credit card.” You pointed out to which your boyfriend scoffed in response.

“Please, as much as that man has put me through, maxing out his credit card is the last thing he’s worried about me doing. And don’t worry, he and the rest of the family love you. Honestly, if it wasn’t for you dating me and the fact that you have great parents, I wouldn’t be surprised if the old man didn’t try to adopt you, which, if I haven’t mentioned this already, I don’t recommend.” He finished while heading further down the breakfast food aisle and grabbing boxes of Pop-Tarts.

“Fourth time.” You stated. Jason does not hold back regarding his tense relationship with his adoptive parent.

That was something you’d also been watching him work on.

When Jason met your parents and saw the relationship between your father and you, it opened up an emotional wound he wasn’t prepared for. And though he still had some resentment toward the Billionaire Playboy, aka the Dark Knight, for not sending Joker to the seventh ring of hell after his death, it didn’t mean he didn’t still care for and love the man. He just had mental blocks he needed to work through, and you’d be there to support him.

Jason was about to give you one of his dorky responses until he realized he forgot the credit card in your car.

“Shoot, I forgot the card in the car. Where’re your keys?” He asked.

You handed them to him, and he gave you a quick kiss and a slap on the ass with a warning to not put anything back before rushing towards the entrance/exit of the store. Rolling your eyes, you moved down the aisle scoffing at his warning. Of course, he knew you were going to try and put some of the items back. Just like you knew him better than himself sometimes, it was the same for him with you. He could predict your next move before it popped into your head which you found very cute but extremely annoying at times.

While you stood there for a few moments scrolling on your phone out of boredom, you heard a voice speak up behind you.

“Excuse me.”

You turned around to see two guys around your age standing behind you. You figured they were trying to get to something behind you, so you moved yourself and your cart out of the way.

“Oh, my bad. Here ya go.”

“No, no! Not that. We were just wondering if you needed help getting your car or getting away from that guy. We saw him drag you in here.”

You barely held back the eye roll that was itching in your skull. Yes, Jason did somewhat have to drag you into the store since you insisted that you didn’t need to go grocery shopping. But, what happened to common sense? If Jason truly was holding you hostage or had bad intentions for you, why in the world would he bring you to a grocery store out of all places?!

Seriously, what were they thinking? That he was going to stick a Fruit-Loops box over your head and torture you with your most hated juice flavor?

A small sigh escaped your mouth before you responded to the boys, “Okay, this is not what it looks like. That guy is my boyfriend, and we’re just grocery shopping. I promise I’m fine.” You assured the guys.

“Are you sure? He isn’t forcing you to say any of this, right? I know that guy’s intimidating, but we can call security or the police to help you.”

Before you could respond, you both heard the sounds of quick footsteps approaching from around the corner. You turned to see him holding a plate with two large slices of pepperoni pizza and a large orange soda.

“Babe, I got you two slices of pizza and your favorite soda from the food court. I know you haven’t eaten today, so I figured you could snack on this, and then we can get you some chicken tenders and fries from your favorite restaurant after we leave here.” He offered while handing you the plate, looking at you with the most adoring gaze.

This boy really did have your whole heart. You could only wonder what you did to deserve someone like him.

When Jason took note of the two other guys standing by you looking dumbfounded, his arm instantly found its way around your waist, pulling you into his side while eyeing the two boys suspiciously and on guard. Anyone that wasn’t your parents, best friend, or his family, Jason saw as a potential threat. Even his family sometimes was included in that list a few times, and living in Gotham, you could never be too careful.

And any excuse for Jason to show you as his to anyone else watching was always an appreciated opportunity.

“Can I help you, fellas?” Jason said, a stern tone in his voice while eyeing the two down with every menacing look he could muster in his eyes.

You’ve never seen two guys who looked like they wanted to shit their pants so bad and run in the opposite direction. They started stuttering out a response before you took pity on them.

“They’re fine, Jay. They were just trying to grab some cereal behind me. I was just moving out of their way.” You threw a look toward the boys, who looked at you confused before they caught on to what you were trying to say.

“Y-Yeah m-man. Just ... um gra-grabbing some Frosted flakes.” One of the dudes said, pointing his fingers toward the boxes right behind you.

Jason eyed that finger with malice before he felt your fingers turning his face toward you.

“Hey, stop it. I’m good. Now, are you going to let them get their cereal and let me eat my pizza before it gets cold?”

A small smile crossed his face while he backed you both up moving the cart as well. You ruffled his hair watching the two boys grab a box and run down the aisle with their tails between their legs. He let out his usual whine, using his other arm to fix his hair.

“Shut up, you big baby. You promised me chicken tenders and fries, so get a move on before I get a food attitude.”

Jason smirked at your words before the hand around your waist moved to your butt, palming and squeezing your cheeks under the ‘hoochie’ shorts you were wearing.

“I know something better that’ll fill you up and take care of that attitude for you.” He whispered in your ear before giving a nip.

At least you weren’t in front of the salads when this was happening.

This wasn’t bad. It was actually funny, and you got a friend out of it.

You and Jason were at the gym, getting a workout in. You decided you both liked going in the afternoon when it was less busy. It was leg and glutes day for you (per usual) while Jason was working chest and shoulders.

Two of your favorite body parts on him, including his arms, but that’s not important.

Now, you both agreed when you went to the gym that you would do your workouts separately but your warm-ups and cardio together. So, at some point, Jason was on the Smith machine doing a shoulder bench press while you were on another bench doing Bulgarian split squats.

Of course, the gym was a place where people met each other all the time. And, in many of those meetings and interactions, people would find others attractive and want to date or hook up with them. You were no exception to these rules. You were approached many times by both girls and guys, but you always politely declined. Well, you tried at least before Jason walked over and made it clear who you were with.

It was no secret to anyone that Jason did not only get easily jealous at the thought of you giving your attention and time away to someone who was not him, but he was also the living definition of anger issues. Match that with his very selfish and possessive attitude towards you, and you had a man ready and WILLING to do just about anything to anyone who dared lay a finger on you in the wrong way.

So, whenever someone deemed themselves stupid brave enough to approach you and flirt a little or leave a teasing touch to one of your arms, you’d try to give them a warning but it was always too late. They’d quickly find a towering shadow looming over them and turned to see a less than pleased Jason staring down at them with his bulging arms crossed over his chest. These being one of the few moments Jason gladly showed off his scars because they communicated his message quickly and effectively.

Back. The. Fuck. Off.

That was usually enough to get them to do just that. Most of the time, at least.

There always ended up being at least one guy or girl who wouldn’t take no for an answer. This time, it was a guy who kept finding himself next to you during your sets. Jason was watching you from afar with hooded and irritated eyes as he also noticed your gym shadow moving around with you.

The guy decided to play smart and keep his hands off you since he could tell your brute of a boyfriend was watching his every move. The only reason he didn’t do anything was because he knew if he did, the guy could claim Jason as the aggressor, and since this was your favorite gym because your college’s gym was always crowded, he didn’t want to risk you getting in trouble and banned.

So, when Jason went to the bathroom, the creep took advantage of the moment and offered to ‘spot’ you on your set of squats with the smith machine, which you were sure was just an excuse for him to get behind you so he could ogle your ass and ‘accidentally’ grind his dirty crotch into it.

Luckily, a girl working out nearby noticed your uncomfortable stance when the man came over to ‘help’ you while you were setting up and immediately stopped her workout to shoo him away.

“Dude, he’s clearly not interested. So either go and finish your workout or pack up and get out!”

He tried to get defensive and argue with her, but when she revealed her boyfriend was one of the owners and threatened to have him kicked out and banned, he finally backed off. He made sure to point out how you weren’t even all the hot anyway to mask his hurt pride while you threw an appreciative look toward her.

When he left and Jason returned from the bathroom, the girl unleashed her rage on him as well.

“And you too! I’ve seen you harassing and stalking him all over the gym. I’ll kick your ass out too and have you banned if you don’t leave him alone.” She scolded the dark-haired man.

Jason looked confused while you just laughed before grabbing his arm and pulling him to you, “Nah, don’t worry about him. This one’s good.” You said, reaching up to ruffle his hair, even though you had to stretch a little bit.

Jason pouted down at you in childish anger, “I told you don’t do that! Do you know how long it takes to get this in the right floppy position?” He whined while trying to fix his hair.

She looked back and forth between you two before realization dawned upon her.

“Boyfriend who’s a menace to everyone but is a total baby when around you?”

You gasped, “Girl, how’d you know?”

“Mine’s the exact same.”

“Oh, we’re gonna be great friends.” You declared.

Okay, this time, it was lowkey your fault, but still. People should be able to tell the difference between an actual cry for help and a joke.

Jason decided to take you to one of his favorite cafes in Gotham since you were in desperate need of a study break. You picked up some classes over the summer, so the schedule was much more tightly packed since they had to speed up a four-month course into two with the semester being divided into two sections.

Jason was sitting on one of the lounge chairs reading while you were sipping on some apple juice and reading a fanfic story on your phone. Whether or not it was smut was not important and nobody would be able to tell by the look on your face. At least until you read over one particular part that had you gasping out loud which managed to catch your boyfriend’s attention.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You quickly said, liking the fic quickly and closing the browser, knowing Jason was not going to drop it.

“Uh uh, Bugs. What were you looking at?” He asked, setting his book on the table and moving over to your side of the table.

“Nothing Jay! I promise it was nothing.”

“Oh really? So you wouldn’t mind if I looked at your phone then?”

You felt your cheeks heat up while Jason took notice of your tense stance, peering at you and your phone while slowly leaning toward you from his crouched stance.

“Let me see your phone.”

“No.”

“Give me your phone.”

“I said no.”

“Bugs,” Jason said, now mocking a stern look on his face, “Give. Me. Your. Phone.”

He held out his hand for emphasis, and you felt your fingers reflexively tighten around your smart device. You stared back at him with your own dour expression, “No. Means. No.”

You both stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before he suddenly grabbed at your phone, attempting to snatch it from your hand. It became a tug-of-war over the device while you both consciously tried not to be too much of a disturbance to the other patrons of the cafe.

This is where it accidentally was your fault.

“Help! Assault! Violence! Thief!”

You thought you were shouting it quietly, but there was a reason your family always told you to quiet down when you thought you were speaking at a normal volume. You got it from your mother really. Strong voices and all…

“Dude, fucking back off!”

You both heard the deep voice shout before you watched a guy tackle Jason to the ground, feeling hands coming to your side.

“Oh my god, are you okay?!” This random brunette said while checking you over to make sure you weren’t hurt.

You were FINE. However, you were worried as hell now. Not for Jason at all, cause… Well, ya know.

You were scared for the other guy that had tackled Jason. Your boyfriend did NOT do well with physical touch, considering how long it took him to get comfortable with just cuddling with you. Let alone sudden physical touch? And the man is used to fighting criminals at night and having to be on guard 24/7 if he feels something suddenly grab or touch him? Yeah, you were hoping this didn’t end in a trip to the precinct like last time.

Don’t ask.

“I’m fine. But, I do suggest you quickly get your friend off my boyfriend before he has to go to the hospital.” You assured the girl while warning her at the same time.

She looked at you confused, “Boyfriend? Wait, huh? We thought that guy was attacking you and trying to steal your phone. And don’t worry, my boyfriend’s a professional kickboxer. He can handle him.”

‘Yeah. Mine has anger issues and was trained by Batman and can re-load two guns in under twenty seconds with his arms tied behind his back.’

“AH!”

You both turned your heads to see Jason holding the other guy in a chokehold while looking up at you.

“Aww, man! He spilled my coffee over my book.” Jason whined, “Babe, can you get me another one, please?”

“Yes, Jason. Can you do me a favor and let him go before you break his neck?”

Jason rolled his eyes before releasing the guy, who went into a coughing fit on the ground as he caught his breath.

When he sat back at the table as the girl went to help her boyfriend off the floor after giving you both weird looks, he set your phone on the surface, eyeing you with a quizzical look.

“What?” You asked after he stared at you for a few more minutes.

“Really? Yandere?”

Your heart jumped in your chest, and you were ready to bolt for the door.

“So, all those times you swore you weren’t trying to make me jealous just to get a reaction outta me, were you actually just trying to get me to tie you up and lock you in my room?” He said with a dark look in his eyes and a cheeky smirk on his lips.

HOT BOY DOWN! I REPEAT, HOT BOY DOWN!

Now, this was just ridiculous. Of course, it made sense, but you were thoroughly pissed off when it happened.

You and Jason had returned to his apartment after having dinner with his family at Wayne Manor. Bruce decided he wanted to have at least one family dinner a month, and since you were considered an honorary Wayne and everyone loved you, of course, you were invited. Jason, on the other hand, was still hesitant.

Even though he was working on his relationship with Bruce and trying to move past his mental scars, his family still brought up some sensitive subjects for him. Typically, they made his insecurities flare up a lot more. You were Jason’s safe space. So, he wasn’t really keen on mixing the things that made him question himself and the person who made him feel the most loved and secure together.

You didn’t push, still wanting to go at his pace and let him bring you around more when he was ready. The day of the dinner, you figured he either had a change of heart or somebody had talked to Jason and convinced him to bring you along, and you had a great time. Jason was a bit quiet throughout the evening, but you could see a small part of him was happy at seeing how you integrated well into his family dynamic. He took great pleasure in how you humbled Dick a few times as well.

But, something was off, but you couldn’t tell what it was. You knew Jason was usually the quieter one out of the rest of his siblings. When you were around, he showed more of his goofiness and playful side. You barely saw that at all tonight. You knew he was watching you as you made conversation with Bruce, argued back and forth with Damian, repeatedly told Tim he needed to get more sleep, snapped photos with Steph, joked with Duke, and even learned a little sign language from Cass.

He watched as you offered to help Alfred with the dishes, who respectfully declined, but did make his appreciation known to you and the others, especially Tim.

“I offer to help you sometimes, Alfred!” Tim shouted while chasing after the butler offering his help.

Usually, Jason would laugh at any moment that came at the expense of Tim’s sanity.

None of that happened.

So, when you got back to his place, you asked him what was wrong. He remained silent as he just looked at you, but you could see there was a storm behind his eyes. When you came up to rub his arm and hug him, his hands shot up to your neck, wrapping around it firmly but not tight to where you couldn’t breathe.

Your hands grabbed his wrists as he maneuvered you against the wall that connected the living room to the kitchen. He placed his lips roughly on yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth while never loosening his hold on your neck.

“Mine. Not theirs, mine.” He muttered against your lips before quickly taking his hands off your neck, ripping your clothes off while ridding himself of his.

In less than two minutes, Jason had you pressed back against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist, and his long and girthy member tucked deep inside your ass, fucking you with hard and menacing thrusts. His large and rough hands were back around your neck, now squeezing around your neck as you moaned breathlessly against him.

Jason took immense pride in your sounds of satisfaction and whining, increasing his already brutal pace in your guts while slowly stealing more of your breath away. Jason’s hard breaths pounded against your face as he stared at your now sweaty and ragged body, limping weakly against him. You placed your arms on his shoulder but were careful to avoid his neck, knowing that along with some other areas on his body were off-limits unless specified otherwise.

This was the dynamic between you two always. Anyone could see how Jason was wrapped around your finger in public and even in private whenever you two were just lounging around and relaxing. In these moments, you were fully under Jason’s authority. You lay completely at his mercy while he dominated your body and controlled where, when, and how you got pleasured.

The who rarely came into question as though your boyfriend had considered it a few times, you didn’t see a day likely where Jason’s jealousy and possessiveness would let him allow someone else to see you in this manner. No, you were for his eyes only.

And the why, well that was simple. Jason had needs, you had needs. And, no one was better suited to fulfill those needs than your boyfriend. Though with him, anything could spark those needs at any given time. Whether the dark-haired boy was just feeling horny and wanted some ass. You decided to wear a tempting outfit, and he decided he was going to right then and there he would have you, whether in the house, in the car, or in public, it didn’t matter. If he felt you were being a little too friendly with someone else, he’d be happy to remind you about who you belonged to. The why was simple; if Jason wanted you, he would have you. No ifs, and’s, or but’s about it.

“J-Jason... nngh p-please-” You begged, feeling yourself nearing the edge as your dick was crushed between Jason and your hot and sweaty abdomens.

“Say my name again,” He ordered, feeling how he flexed his dick inside you while still pounding your sore hole.

His name fell from your lips in a needy moan as you felt his fingers pressing against your windpipes. You could feel how the wall behind you became slick from your sweat as your body jutted up and down against it with Jason’s increasingly erratic thrusts.

He grunted in approval of your increasingly loud whines as you both approached your climaxes. Jason fully squeezed your neck at this point as he punched your insides with his cock. Your own member was feeling the pressures as well as it repeatedly smashed against Jason’s abs before you reached your end, screaming out in blissful agony.

Jason came to his finish with his own groan as you felt him bury himself with his cum deep inside you. You let out soft little whines feeling his appendage throb against your walls. Even though you knew he didn’t like hands around his neck, he didn’t object to you rubbing a hand down his nape. He gave you a warning glance at first, but when he felt your soft hands rubbing up and down his skin, he visibly relaxed, placing a kiss on your cheek.

The quiet and sweet moment though was abruptly ruined by the sound of Jason’s front door being kicked in and heavy boots rushing into his apartment.

“GOTHAM P.D.!” You heard the intruders shout.

Of all the fucking things…

Well, when the cops came around and found you and your naked boyfriend against the wall, and his hands around your neck, you had to admit it didn’t look good.

You had to quickly explain to the officers it wasn’t what it looked like and that everything was consensual. Against the orders of the cops, Jason did not move one inch off the wall, keeping your body covered with his. He’d sooner dip himself in another Lazarus Pit than let these arrogant blue caps have even the smallest peek at you.

So, with a little charm and finesse, you convinced the cops to walk out and let you and him get dressed. Jason couldn’t decide what he was more upset about.

The fact that his door was off its hinges, or that one of his neighbors called the cops on him thinking Jason had been abusing you, or that your private moment was intruded upon and some pervy cops basically saw you naked.

Yeah, he was going to be extra brutal on patrol tonight.

After a call was made to Commonionser Gordon at Jason’s request, the cops dropped everything and left you two alone when Gordon made it clear this was a bogus call. “Jason? Abusing Y/N? That boy is the biggest simp this city’s ever seen. Whoever called that in was obviously misinformed.”

Even if it was true, Jason didn’t appreciate being called a simp. He didn’t deny it, though.

You could barely hold back your laughs to which your boyfriend responded with a harsh smack to your very sore ass. It was a wonder how you were even standing on your legs as they still felt like jelly.

“I’m sorry, but I just can’t see him in that manner.”

“No way, he’s way too sweet and innocent to be like that.”

“Dude, have you met your own boyfriend?”

These were all things said to Jason when he would complain to them about how he was tired of everyone thinking he was a threat to you and not seeing the truth. If anything, you were more of a threat to Jason and honestly, should be placed on a national security watch list for some of the things that have come out of your mouth.

The only one who really knew and understood what Jason was talking about was your best friend, who was the first one to warn Jason. The boy didn’t believe him either at first and ended up finding out the hard way.

Well, it looked like Jason’s brothers were also about to find out as they had come to your school’s campus looking for him. You were happy to see the Wayne siblings, as some time had passed since the last dinner. For some reason, seeing how easily you interacted with his brothers drove up Jason’s jealousy to a new level. As soon as they showed up, Jason placed you on his lap, and you could feel his prominent bulge throbbing under you. You knew immediately you were in for it when you both got home.

When you got up to go to the bathroom, Jason was going to follow you, intending to give you a little preview of what to expect in the stalls, but was stopped by Dick, who said they had something important they needed to talk to him about.

Before that could happen, a new presence appeared at your table, and your best friend visibly and audibly groaned at who it was.

“Hi there.” Jason heard a sickly sweet voice say, turning to see another boy he’d heard of.

“Xavion.” Jason heard your best friend mutter under his breath.

He knew that name. He’d heard you curse it and mutter it in irritation and anger plenty of times. He purposefully went out of his way to piss you off and pick with you on multiple occasions. He also thought that because his dads were rich and gave him everything he wanted, he was entitled to anything and everything, including other people’s significant others.

No one knew what started the rivalry between you two, but they knew it got cemented when he had sex with your first college boyfriend while you guys were dating and then went on to sleep with any guy you had the slightest attraction to.

So, Jason would be no different when he placed himself a little too close for the dark-haired boy’s liking, trying to maneuver himself away.

“I’ve seen you around on campus before. Are you a student here?”

“Xavion, don’t you have someone else to harass and stalk?” Your best friend commented with an irritated eye roll.

The boy in question only threw a dirty glance at your comrade before turning back to your boyfriend, taking considerable delight in looking him up and down, “Damn, aren’t you a big boy. You’re Y/N’s boyfriend, right? Gotten bored yet?”

Everyone tensed at that, watching how Xavion only got bolder in his flirting, “I’d understand if you did. Y/N’s just not that interesting, and honestly, a little ran through. I’d be happy to show you other options though,” He voiced with a suggestive tone.

Dick, Tim, and Damian watched with slightly nervous eyes as the promiscuous boy moved his hand that was caressing Jason’s arm and placed it around his neck, waiting for the ball to drop as the second Wayne kid's hands began to twitch on the table.

Before anyone could move to stop it, they saw Xavion get literally yanked off of Jason and onto the ground. Your boyfriend and his siblings along with your best friend who began to cheer your name watched as you dragged the slut onto the ground by the back of his shirt and proceeded to WHALE on him.

No one had noticed you coming back from the bathroom, too busy watching Xavion rub his hands all over your boyfriend. When you got closer and saw what was happening, you immediately saw red and picked up your pace, only to dash into a mad sprint when you saw his hand touch Jason’s neck.

Jason after breaking out of his stunned trance immediately ran over to pull you off the screaming boy who was crying for help. Dick and Tim ran over to pull Xavion out of your grasp, just barely managing to save him from what would have been a devastating kick from your boot to his face.

“Touch my boyfriend again and see what happens bitch!” You shouted out at the boy. Luckily, you were in a secluded part of campus, so no one had seen the fight. But, when Xavion had gotten off the ground looking thoroughly fucked up, he tried to run up on you, seeing Jason holding you back and thinking he had an open shot.

Little did he or Jason expect, you used your smaller stature to slip out of Jason’s hold and rushed the boy before kicking your leg up and landing that hit that was taken from you earlier. You took sick satisfaction hearing and feeling the crunch under your foot as it connected with his nose.

Dick, Tim, and Damian watched in complete shock seeing you beat the shit out of this boy. Now, they could really see why you and Jason were such a good match for each other.

When Jason got you back in his arms, he made sure to hold on a little tighter to you so you couldn’t slip away again. Dick and Tim had to help the sobbing boy cradling his broken nose, saying they would take him to the emergency room.

Jason pulled you both back towards the table, sitting you down on his lap as he held your hands down. He could not help how hard he was under you and didn’t care to hide it. Watching that display had him a different level of horny and he frankly couldn’t wait to take you home.

After a few moments passed and you settled down, everyone looked up to the sound of a throat clearing.

“Todd, I don’t know if I ever told you this before,” Damian started, looking at you both with his usual judgemental stare, “...Good job.” He said with a nod toward you.

You were both surprised, Jason especially, as neither of you had ever heard the youngest Robin give out a compliment.

“If you screw this up somehow, which I have little doubt that you’ll find a way, I will not hesitate to end you.”

There was the Damian you both knew.

“I second that motion,” Your best friend added to which you just laughed.

“Shut it, gremlin.” Jason retorted before squeezing you against his body.

“Don’t worry, Damian. I don’t think Jason will do anything to screw this up. Besides, if he does do something stupid, he’ll have me to worry about.” You said, a mischievous twinkle in your eye.

You heard Jason growl lowly against you before grinding you into his lap, letting you feel his hardness poking you through your shorts. You popped his arm to which he responded with a pinch on your ass, your best friend watching in disgusted amusement.

“You two make me sick.”

“Back at you, ugly.” You responded.

Damian turned his head, looking in the direction where Dick and Tim took Xavion to an ER room, “I despise harlots.”

“OH! Speaking of which, thank you, Damian, for reminding me.” You said before leaning over Jason to grab your bag and pull out your laptop.

“What are you doing?” Your boyfriend asked.

“Insurance. I knew the day would come when that hoe went too far. So just in case he decides to go to the university about this little spat, I’m emailing a detailed description of how everything went down, along with photos and evidence of his affairs with various teachers and staff. To them, it will look like Xavion attacked me out of retaliation because he thought I would snitch on him about his sexual misconduct. Now, tell me, babe, did you feel physically violated?” You asked while making various edits to your already drafted email.

“Huh?” Jason replied confused.

“Just say yes.” Your best friend told him with a smirk.

“Um, yes? I think…”

“Perfect! Putting that down for the record, so, if that slut decides to try to get me in trouble, I can show I had completely justifiable reasons to hand him his ass on a concrete platter.” You stated a little too cheerily to be considered not disturbing.

Your best friend was not surprised by this at all, while Damian and Jason looked at you like you had two heads.

“Isn’t the expression ‘silver platter?’” Damian pointed out.

“Yeah, but I dragged his ass up and down on concrete, so it’s a concrete platter today.”

You looked up to see the two Robins staring at you.

“What? Bitches fucked around, so bitches found out. Don’t blame me.” You said while continuing to type.

“I fucking love you,” Jason said while biting at your ear lobe, making you laugh.

Damian could only scoff as he watched you two.

“And people swear Todd’s the threat.”

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

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eilidh-eternal · 2 months

Text

You don't like silence

Part of the Metanoia series | Part 1 | Masterlist |

The house is silent, but inside your head a brumous storm swirls, wispy tendrils of fog curling around delicate gray matter.

Your routine—watching Johnny walk Isobel to school, going to work and coming home, just in time to glimpse Johnny leaving to retrieve her—has changed.

You still watch from the window, mug bleeding warmth into cold, stiff joints from between your palms. Peer around the curtains every morning as the pair amble down the pavement together.

A new month brings a steady influx of meetings and end of quarter reporting, projected sales and last minute production tweaks, but your days are no busier than normal. Rarely miss a lunch break. Leave no later than three each afternoon.

Dinner, if you have any, is ready by five.

Even so, restlessness lingers in the midnight moons hanging beneath your eyes, darkens the air around you with somnolent clouds, and you list in the torpid deluge that rains down.

Sleep evades you altogether most nights, and you’ve made a game of picking out patterns in the knockdown. Faces, animals; nebulous, nameless things.

Some nights, when the faces of strangers, burned into your retinas, find their way into the patterns of textured drywall, you listen.

Isobels room must be on the other side of yours, beds sharing a wall. On the nights you manage to make it upstairs, you can hear them both. Isobel’s slow and measured pronunciations. The lilt of Johnny’s voice, filling in the blanks where she pauses on a word she doesn’t yet know.

They’ve finished all of her animal books, which means the imitated roars of big cats and bleats of farmyard animals have morphed into exaggerated accents. Sing-song rhymes about the importance of kindness, accepting differences, and other life lessons told through colorful illustrations and whimsical narratives.

Every now and then, if you’re lucky, she falls asleep within a few pages, and you can pretend that the low, pillowy rumble of Johnny reading is just for you. A gentle coaxing made of velvety words, swaddling your mind, heavy with exhaustion, and cradling it to his chest against the maelstrom you’re spiraling in.

Sometimes she stirs, woken hours later in the placid, milky hours before dawn, just as your eyes begin to droop. Tiny feet patter across the hardwood like rain, muffled in uneven intervals by what must be a rug or runner in the hall, on her way to Johnny’s room or the washroom maybe.

You wonder if it’s full of frilly, feminine things, her room. Pinks and purples, dolls and plushies. Does she have princesses or ballerinas on her bedding? Do posters and drawings line her walls or does floral, pasted wallpaper?

She likes Mulan, you remember. A warrior. Fighter. Soldier. Like Johnny.

Probably not so frilly, then.

Perhaps they could make a fighter out of you. Press you into the mold of their little family–strengthened by loss and galvanized with love–and breathe life into clay limbs. Carve a soldier from the malleable earth. Shape you into something useful.

Now, most of your nights are spent huddled in the living room, listening to the droning of the television. Throw blankets suck you down into the sofa like quicksand and each breath draws them tighter and tighter around you, filling pockets of air with crushed velvet and fleece. Tonight, you let them swallow you whole. Sink willingly into a latibule of plaid and warm cashmere.

The cold and quiet of your empty home isn’t so bad when you can hear Johnny moving about on the other side of the wall. Isn’t so unbearable when the warm timbre of his voice chases away the numbing fog that muddles your head.

There are nights that he calls you, like he knows. Knows that you're drowning in the silence.

He does that now, after he puts Isobel to bed for the night. Calls to ask about your week. Casts a lifeline into the churning ocean between you, procellous waves lofting you on spuming peaks, and calls your name from the battered, broken shore.

A lighthouse calling to a ship, lost in the mist on a perilous sea.

Last Thursday he asked about the cookies you made with Isobel. Asked if you would be willing to share the recipe with him–teach him–so that he could make them with her for a school event coming up in the spring.

The tenderness with which he speaks of her is a balmy breeze for your gelid heart. Soothes the burn of ice floes in your veins. Melts weeks of tension from aching muscles.

Now, his voice is somber, pensive, as it filters through the lack of insulation between you. “Friday. No, ah havnae told ‘er yet. Jus’ got the call.” He pauses, and you think you hear a muffled sigh. He sounds tired, too, accent thicker than honeyed whiskey rolling off his tongue, dropping consonants in favor of deep, throaty vowels. “Aye, ah ken. She’ll be happy tae see ye though.”

He’s on the phone, talking about Isobel. They must have family visiting soon, or a family friend if Isobel knows them well enough to be excited.

You wonder what the MacTavish family is like, if they’re a rowdy bunch. If they’re a large, extended family. Johnny seems like the kind of man who comes from a close knit community, one where you grow up down the street from your cousins and spend summers terrorizing small towns together.

“I’ll talk tae ‘er in the mornin’. Ah- No.” There’s a pause again, and even with layers of sheetrock separating you, you can feel the weight of his silence. “No, Mam. She’s… ah worry. Leavin’ ‘er like this. Piss poor timin’.”

He’s leaving? Without Isobel?

It’s muffled through the wall, and you feel like you can’t have heard that correctly. He mentioned the army, but you had thought, with a child at home, that his work wouldn't be the sort that requires travel.

Ice floes turn to glaciers in your chest, frozen spikes threatening to pierce brittle, fragile muscle, and the clouds swirling overhead descend upon you.

Lost in the mist, and he’s leaving.

He’s leaving, and he’s taking the sun with him.

“Ye cannae keep it from the lassie forever, John. Ye havnae even told 'er what ye do?”

Christ, this woman…

“She knows ‘bout the army,” he defends. “Cannae say much more.”

Fenella MacTavish clucks her disapproval. “Ye’re heids full of mince.” Dishes clatter and a cupboard closes a bit too forcefully on the other end of the line.

Johnny runs a hand through the disheveled strands of his hair, overdue for a trim, well outside of regulation length. “Mam—”

“Dinnae ‘Mam’ me,” she cuts in. “John Alexander MacTavish, ye tell that lass what she’s gettin’ herself intae—or I will.”

“Mam,” he tries again, voice pitched low, “Not yet. Cannae send ‘er off, naw like I do wi’ Bell. It’s safe enough here.” You’re safe with him here. “Dinnae like knowin’ she’s alone—Christ, I can hardly stand tae have the wall between us when I ken she’s hurtin’—but there isnae anythin’ I can do that’s naw already been done. Kate’s made sure of that.”

Fenella huffs and he can’t quite make out the garbled muttering on his end, but he has a fair idea of what his mother is blathering about beneath her breath. “Kirsten—have ye gone tae see 'er?” she finally asks, mercifully shifting the conversation out of your direction. “Has Isobel?”

“No,” he admits, and guilt twists in barbed coils through his chest.

He’s been meaning to, to drive up for the weekend and take her to visit her mothers grave, now that she’s older. Stay with her gran and look through the old albums. She's only ever seen the few photos they have at home, hanging in the hall near the kitchen.

Sometimes she asks about her. If she liked the things she likes. The way rain freezes on the tall grasses and tree branches in the winter, making glass gardens of trellises and window boxes. Extra whipped cream and blueberries for her pancakes.

If she would have walked with them to school in the mornings. Take her to the park down the block in the summer. Hiking in the fall, looking for wisps darting about beneath the fallen abscission.

Isobel is so much like her mother there are days Johnny swears it’s her refusing to eat the dinner he’s made. That it’s her complaining about cold weather and overcast skies in the heart of winter, bemoaning how long they have until spring revives the land. Swears it’s her voice that wakes him in the middle of the night. Her ghost, standing in the dimly lit doorway of his bedroom, a blanket pulled ‘round her shoulders and a teddy dangling from her hand.

“I’ll take ‘er, then.” Johnny can hear the grief that tempers his mothers voice, turning anguish to steely resolve. “I’ll come by tomorrow evening, let ‘er have a few hours with ye at home before ye say yer goodbyes.”

“Thank ye, Mam,” he says on a strained exhale, lungs rattling with fragments of his own grief. It slices into old wounds until pockets of air become sanguineous aquifers, bubbling up in his throat and leaving a sour, metallic taste on his tongue.

“I meant what I said earlier,” she reminds him. “Ye tell yer lass. Dinnae leave ‘er in the dark like ye did Kirsten.”

The line goes silent and Johnny sinks back into the old corduroy sofa, pushed up against the wall beside a shelf overflowing with picture books in the living room, and a ragged sigh unfurls from his chest.

The television across from him is dark, turned off when he took Isobel upstairs for bed, but he can hear an old rerun of Taskmaster playing softly behind him.

He listens, every night, for you. For the sound of your fridge, opening and closing. The soft ‘clink’ of porcelain against granite. The oven timer or the microwave.

He prefers the former. Knows, after these last few weeks, that you cook when you’re in a good mood. Usually go to bed soon after. The sound of the microwave precedes long, muted evenings and little sound from your side of the wall. He won’t hear the stairs creak beneath your sluggish feet until the wee hours of the morning. If at all.

He listens in the mornings, too, while he makes Isobel’s breakfast. Makes sure he can hear you doing the same. Smiles to himself when he glimpses movement in the window beside your door, a miniscule swaying of the curtain, and he holds Isobel’s hand a little tighter as they navigate lingering ice patches on the pavement.

The phone call with his mother, making arrangements for Isobel, masked the sound of your movements earlier, and his fingers twitch against his leather phone case.

When your side of the wall is quiet, he knows a storm is brewing; that you’re sitting in the eye of it, waiting for the walls to close in around you.

He doesn’t know if you’ve eaten tonight. Can’t hear anything beyond the muffled television and occasional creak of the sofa beneath your shifting weight.

So he calls.

One… two… three… four… “Hi, Johnny.” Soft and breathy. Like the air the words are spoken on has borrowed from the softness of your lips as it spills into the receiver.

This is the way you sound when you’re tired, he’s learned, all soft and rounded syllables. Too exhausted, even for your own nervous habits. You don’t have the bandwidth to explain every little thing like you normally would; don’t bother with rationalizing your actions aloud.

“Hi, bonnie. What’s cookin’?” It’s cheesy as hell, but it earns a huff of a laugh from you and it tempers the jagged edge of his worry—a knife, lodged between his ribs.

“I, uh… I had leftovers. Takeaway, from a work thing.” He’s never seen you with takeaway. Always canvas bags full of groceries and the occasional frozen box dinner.

How empty is your fridge? When was the last time you went to the grocer?

“Didnae take ye for the ‘easy’ type. Ye always make me work for it.”

“Work for it?” He can picture the pinch of your brows. The way your lips quirk to the side when you’re confused.

“Aye, got me makin’ puppy eyes an’ beggin’ for yer scraps.” You laugh again, more of a scoff, but it eases some of his worry all the same.

“When have I ever made you beg, Johnny?” He’s been begging any higher power that will listen to see you smile again, and he’d give anything to see the smirk he knows is dancing at the corner of your mouth right now.

“Could do it tomorrow,” he blurts before he can think better of it. “Come over. Show me that recipe again.”

Don’t make him tell you he’s leaving over the phone.

“I thought… you said the charity event is at the end of March, right?”

“Aye, but I think I’ll need a few lessons ‘fore my bakin’s fit for auction.”

He needs to know—needs to see—that you’re well before he goes.

“And you want to start tomorrow?”

“Why not?” He’d have you baking in his kitchen now if it weren’t for the late hour.

There’s a stretch of silence, interrupted only by the faint crackling of static and the sound of your breathing. “Do you have flour? Sugar? Anything to bake with?” you ask, and he answers with a proud ‘yes’. “Okay… okay. I can come over after work tomorrow.”

“I’ll ‘ave Bell home early then. She’ll want tae help.” Your amused sigh echoes across the line, followed by the faint rustling of fabric and then the soft pattering of stocking-clad feet over hardwood, fourth and fifth step creaking softly as you climb the stairs. “Off tae bed?”

Another sigh–on the tail-end of a yawn, he realizes. “Yeah. Well, trying. Don’t get a lot of sleep these days,” you admit, and though he’s successfully abated the storm of your thoughts, he wishes he could disperse it entirely.

Be the shelter you seek, at the very least.

He’d nestle you in the warmth of his bed, tucked close and sleeping soundly in the cage of his arms. Anchor you to him with a leg hooked between yours, whispering adulation against the howling, taunting winds.

He would make himself a rock to let your tempestuous thoughts batter and besiege. Weathered and whittled down to pebbles on a beach, he’d roll in the undertow alongside you. And when he is but sand on the ocean floor, still, he would drift and settle wherever the storm of you takes him.

“I used tae read for my sister when we were weans. She’d wake, spooked from a dream, and come tae my room in the middle of the night.”

“You have a sister?” A door clicks closed and blankets whisper over sheets as you settle in for the night. “What’s she like?”

“A lot like our Mam. Headstrong. Stubborn.”

“Are you the oldest?” You sound further away. Muffled. Like you’ve got the blankets pulled up to your nose and the phone beside you on the pillow.

“I am,” he lilts.

“She gets it from you, then,” you murmur, and his chest tightens.

“She got a fair number of things from me, I’d wager.”

He continues on, speaking just above a low, gravelly whisper. Reminiscing his early years and the trouble the two of them got up to. Thick as thieves and wild as the kellas cats roaming the highlands.

Your interjections dwindle, turn to soft hums and slow, even breaths. Sleeping.

He listens for a few more minutes to the soft, sweet sounds you make, little chuffs and sleepy hums, the susurrations of shifting sheets and nightclothes, and he whispers into the darkness, “Goodnight, sweet girl.”

Work passes you by in a blur, meeting after meeting chipping away at the hours and minutes ticking by on the analog clock perched on your desk.

The drive home is uneventful and it feels as though you’ve passed through a wormhole somewhere along the way. Can’t quite remember making the turn into your neighborhood from the main road.

Normally, Johnny would be leaving to retrieve Isobel from school right now, but as you gather your things and step out of the car you hear your name being called from several houses down.

Braids bounce and red wellies squeak as Isobel darts ahead of Johnny, weaving around patches of ice to get to you, and you step up onto the pavement just in time to keep her from running into the road.

She barrels into you, wrapping her arms around your leg and smooshing her face against your slacks. “Ye’re back!” she squeals, fingers curling into the fabric.

She’s leaving.

Your hand settles atop her head, soft wisps of curls tickling the pads of your fingers where they’ve escaped their plaits. “Where did I go?” you ask, and she tips her head back to look up at you.

“Bubby said ye were busy with work. Sometimes he gets busy too, and I have to stay with my gran.”

They’re both leaving.

Johnny’s caught up with her, lingering a few steps away near the walkway leading to your door. When you look to where he stands, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, windbreaker bunched up around his forearms where a tattoo peeks out, the corners of his eyes glimmer.

A smile curves the corners of his mouth, and it’s an odd mixture of grief and happiness that flickers there in the crook of his lips and set of his brow, sloped upwards and creased in the middle. His hair is longer than you remember, scruffy sides and tufts of mohawk curling at the ends, loose strands tousled around his face.

Wind blows at your back and a single tear tracks down the sharp plane of his cheek, disappearing in the dark shadow of stubble that lines his jaw.

“I have been busy with work,” you confirm, peering down at Isobel once more. “But I didn’t leave.”

You’re staying, and they’re leaving.

The wind picks up and she presses closer, shielding herself from the cold behind your frame. “Let’s get ye inside and put yer book bag away. Then we can catch up over cookies an’ milk,” Johnny says as he closes the distance between you.

“Cookies?!” Her excitement carries on the wind, and his smile sharpens, bright and hopeful, but the whetted edge of sorrow undercuts the warmth.

“Aye, but we’ll have to make ‘em ourselves.” He brushes a stray lock from her eyes, fingers brushing against yours where his hand settles beside it on her crown, and dread blooms low in your stomach where warmth should.

She ducks away from you both, bolting towards their front stoop, and you’re left with both of your hands hovering in the air, his half curled over yours, staring after her.

You pull away first, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I just need to sort this–” You gesture to the tote full of binders and your laptop. “–and I'll be right over.”

He fishes his keys from his pocket and takes a step back, towards Isobel. “We’ll be waitin’,” he says with a wink, and turns to take her inside.

There's flour in your hair and matching handprints on your slacks, and neither Johnny nor Isobel have fared much better. You’re all a mess, and the cookies you’ve made are tantamount to your disheveled state–lumpy, dry masses of something more closely resembling a biscuit.

“Dunno what ah did wrong,” Johnny muses, breaking one in half and inspecting the crumbly texture.

You sit beside him at the kitchen table, watching Isobel dunk half a cookie into a glass of milk. “It’s the butter and flour. The ratio is imbalanced–not enough fat.” She doesn’t seem to mind, stuffing the entire piece in her mouth and readying the next, fingers covered in crumbs that fall in her milk.

Johnny shifts beside you, sliding out of his chair and taking a bite out of his cookie as he moves towards the fridge. “Still tastes good,” he says around a mouthful and pours two more glasses, placing one down in front of you when he returns. “But I’ll need another demonstration when I’m back, I think.”

You take a cookie from the plate in the middle of the table, breaking off a chunk to dunk in your milk, and ignore the mirrored sensation in your chest. You knew this was coming. You know he’s leaving.

“When you’re back? From where?” you probe. No need to dance around the subject.

He shifts again, uncharacteristically nervous, and speaks softly. “Have to leave for a little while, for work,” he explains. Your cookie turns pliant between your fingers and you bite off the softened corner, chewing slowly while you listen. “Willnae know where they’re sendin’ me to until the briefin’.”

“When are you leaving?” You stare down at the crumbs swirling in your glass.

“Tomorrow morning.”

The foreknowledge of his impending departure doesn’t make the break any cleaner. The fracturing feeling in your chest widens into fissures and chasms, jagged edges crumbling, tumbling down into the festering darkness.

When you lift your gaze you find that he’s been watching you–studying you–and his hand has crept across the table, close enough you can feel the warmth of him. “How long?” It comes out wobbly. Unsteady.

You’re drifting out to sea again.

“Few weeks. Maybe a month.” Your chest feels like it’s caving in.

There’s a knock at the door. A canary in a coal mine, warning come too late.

“Gran!” Isobel’s chair nearly topples as she pushes back from the table, racing from the kitchen to the front door.

Johnny’s hand covers yours, long, callused fingers curling around your clenched fist and squeezing. “I’ll be back before ye know it,” he murmurs, smoothing a strand of hair away from your face and tracing the curve of your jaw as he stands.

He only goes as far as the kitchen doorway. Your heart’s already somewhere in the North Sea.

“Hi, Mam.” He’s greeted by an older female voice and pulled into a hug by a woman a whole head shorter than him. Isobel hovers nearby, bouncing excitedly from foot to foot, and tugs at the older woman’s–her grandmother’s–cable knit sweater.

“Gran, come meet our friend!” she says, and tugs again until she lets go of Johnny.

You stand from the table on wobbly legs, fighting to balance your listing emotions and put on a warm smile as Johnny’s mother slides past him into the kitchen.

The resemblance between the three of them is uncanny. Johnny shares his mothers dark coloring, rich hair and warm skinned, and they all have the same eyes–steely hues of grey-blue, spiraling outwards from inky pupils like storm cells.

“So, this is the lassie next door ye willnae stop glaverin’ on about?” she asks no one in particular as she openly appraises you.

“Mam–” Johnny begins, a simmering warning, but she holds up a hand to silence him.

They carry themselves in a similar manner, in the set of their shoulders and broad stance. She may not stand as tall as he does but she’s no less imposing, and it’s an effort not to squirm under her scrutiny.

Seconds feel like hours as she looks you up and down, cataloging the flour on your pants and in your hair, glancing to her left where Johnny stands in a state of equal disarray, and a knowing look flickers like lightning in her storm cloud eyes.

“It’s good tae finally put a face wi’ a name,” she says, smiling, and pulls you into a hug, too. “Call me Fenella, or Fen, whichever ye like.”

You return the gesture hesitantly, looking over her shoulder to Johnny for guidance and finding none. He simply smiles back at you from where he leans against the doorway, something unreadable in his expression lingering beneath it.

“It’s nice to meet you too… I- I’d love to stay, but should probably be heading home. I have an early morning and wouldn’t want to intrude on your visit,” you say by way of excuse.

“Ah’m naw stayin’ long, dear,” she explains, finally pulling away. Isobel returns to her side, pressing her shoulder to her thigh, and Fenella’s hand settles on the crown of her head. “Here tae take the wean for a stay wi’ her gran.”

“Is yer bag ready, leannan? D’ya have all yer books for school?” Johnny asks from where he stands, hands having found their way into his pockets again. His shoulders droop, broad frame deflating before your eyes. Leaving her behind, even with his mother, takes a toll on him.

Isobel leans around her gran to say, “I’ave all my books. And Mr. Ghost.”

“Goan an’ get yer things then, Bell,” Fenella ushers her out of the kitchen, climbing the stairs behind her to her room.

You watch until they disappear above the half open staircase, but Johnny has been watching you. Watching you navigate the shoal of your emotions, razor sharp rock scraping against a flimsy hull.

“C’mere, lass,” he entreats, one arm outstretched towards you, and your feet move of their own accord, carrying you forward until his hand settles on your shoulder, momentarily moored in the eddy of a tide pool. “Didnae mean to tell ye in the middle of… this.” He gestures above him to the sound of footsteps overhead. “Only got the call yesterday.”

With your hands folded at your front, you stare down at them, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. “It’s okay. I understand—”

“No, lass, it isnae okay,” he interrupts, hand gliding up your shoulder, your neck, and coming to rest on your cheek. He lifts your gaze back up to his and he’s wearing that nameless emotion, staring down at you with a pained expression.

This hurts him as much as it hurts you.

“The job I do, it isnae always… predictable. Dinnae get much warning when I’m called in for assignments. I should have warned ye…” his thumb traces soothing arcs over your cheek, but it does nothing for the gaping hole in your chest. “I’m sorry… I should have—”

“It’s okay, Johnny. Really.” The lie feels like rubbing salt into a wound, burns the back of your throat like you’re speaking around a lump made of sandpaper, and your voice comes out scratchy and raw.

His hand lingers on your cheek, eyes darting from yours to your nose, lips, cheeks, brow. Memorizing.

“Let me walk ye home?” You nod, unsure if you can speak around the cordolium lodged in your throat, and his hand moves from your cheek to your waist, guiding you through the razor rock and churning tide to the front door.

His arm remains firmly around you, fingers digging into your softness as he escorts you across the meager expanse of your lawn.

There’s an SUV, still running, parked in front of both houses and left to keep warm while Isobel gathers her things. She and Fenella step out into the brisk evening air just as you and Johnny reach the top of your stairs, and Isobel waves to you as they descend. Your arm feels leaden as you lift your hand into the air, waving back to her.

“She‘ll miss ye. Talks about ye all the time,” Johnny says beside you, unwilling to let you go just yet. “I’ll be missin’ ye too,” he admits, and you thought you’d found the bottom of the pit in your stomach. Thought you were already lying at the bottom of it.

You were wrong.

The well of your affection for them feels bottomless. The floor crumbles, residual tremors of the quaking in your chest, and you’re falling, falling, falling…Even with his arm around your waist.

You fell in love with the man in front of you. Fell in love with the darling little girl climbing into her grandmother's car. You’re already in love with Fenella and her dedication to her family.

You’ve been falling this whole time, no safety net in sight.

“I- …” Your voice cracks, and you try again. “I’ll miss you, too. Both of you.”

You’re falling, and they’re leaving.

There’s little warning, just a tug of your blouse, before you’re being folded into his arms. A wide palm cradles your head to his chest, fingers threading through your hair, and he presses his cheek to your crown.

“Won’t be able to use my phone a lot, but I’ll call when I can.” He murmurs his promise into your hair. “If… if I’m not here an’ somethin’ happens… I gave my Mum yer number. Saved hers in yer phone when I gave ye mine.” He pauses. Sucks in a shuddering breath before he continues. “Whatever it is, she’ll help.”

You nod your understanding and he pulls back just enough to see your face, guides your head to look up at him and says, “Promise me. Promise that ye’ll go to her if ye need anythin’,” with a desperation you’ve never heard from him.

So you make another promise. Let your eyes flutter closed as he presses his forehead to yours and ghosts his lips across the chilled skin of your brow.

And then he leaves.

Isobel is sorted, buckled into her car seat and saying her goodbye’s to Johnny, and Fenella MacTavish stands beside the driver’s side door, watching.

She’s said this goodbye a hundred times. Sent him off to god knows where to fight a war she’s never heard of. It never gets easier.

Isobel’s door closes, and her son turns to her with pain in his eyes. “I hate leaving ‘er.”

“Which one?” she intones, and Johnny leans his hip against the B pillar.

“Both of them. The three of ye.”

“Then make sure ye come back tae ‘er–tae all of us,” she advises, and pulls him into one last hug. “I cannae bury another child.”

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

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jaeyunverse · 4 days

Text

the fake dating pact

pairing(s): park sunghoon x fem!reader

genre(s): fluff, suggestive, fake dating, enemies to lovers, rich kid au, cruise au

wc: 1.6k

warning(s): profanity, making out, implications to sex (no smut)

inspired by: dil dhadakne do

summary: in which ridiculous circumstances lead to a fake dating contract pact being struck between park sunghoon and you.

note: i’m ngl i thought i’d reposted this fic but i’m not able to find it so here we go LOL the sunghoon brainrot’s been hitting real hard lately

masterlist

There was a slight chance Sunghoon and you had crossed the boundaries you’d set when you first drew up your fake dating contract.

Okay, agreement would be a more accurate word choice since the document wasn’t legally binding, but the two of you took its contents very seriously. Together, you’d come up with a few mutually acceptable ground rules:

no kissing unless absolutely necessary

non-sexual acts of intimacy are acceptable in order to maintain the facade

keep arguments to a minimum no matter how insufferable the other person is being

no bed-sharing under any circumstances

no falling for park sunghoon even though he is the epitome of sexiness

The last condition was total bullshit, but you didn’t have it in you to make him get rid of it. Your mom had already done an excellent job at pissing you off; the last thing you wanted to do was get into it with Sunghoon.

One may wonder what caused the two of you to make this pact. Simply put, both your families desperately wanted to set you up with people you had no interest in dating.

(Not that you wanted to seek a romantic relationship with Sunghoon either, but we’ll get into that later.)

Lee Saerom had organised a cruise across the Mediterranean Sea on the occasion of her parents’ 30th wedding anniversary. Normally, your family wouldn’t have come within 10 feet of the Park family, but you were both good friends of the Lees and neither of you wanted to give the other the satisfaction of avoiding the trip.

Now that all the powerful and influential families of Seoul were gathered in the same place for a celebration spanning over a few weeks, your parents thought it would be a good idea to find you an ideal suitor who would help their company expand.

Word spread that you were seeing Lee Heeseung, the younger son of the Lees and heir apparent to their empire. The rumour was entirely false, but you had to admit it was a genius move on your parents’ part. Not only did it become harder for Heeseung and you to deny the allegations, but it made the Lees consider a future with your family’s business.

As if you weren’t in a shitload of mess already, the entire thing had somehow turned into a competition with the Parks beginning their own efforts to set Sunghoon up with Ning Yizhou.

The minor problem was that Heeseung and Yizhou were in love with each other, and neither of them had the courage to tell everyone the truth. They were both too afraid of disappointing their parents and bringing disgrace to their families.

You supposed it was a good thing Sunghoon and you had no such qualms. So, before things could escalate any further, the four of you got together and decided to put an end to this idiocy.

On the third night of the cruise, Sunghoon and you announced your relationship. Holding his hand and giving him lovey-dovey eyes felt ridiculous, but you would rather stomach fake dating him than see a wedge form between Heeseung and Yizhou.

Needless to say, everyone was shocked.

Yizhou even pretended to faint while Heeseung started sobbing hysterically. You couldn’t believe he actually pulled out a tear stick and applied it to the underside of his eyes when no one was looking. You wondered if he’d purchased it for this specific reason when you’d explored Turkey earlier that day.

Overall, it was a pretty convincing act.

The Lees and Nings were furious, but you weren’t particularly worried. In fact, you didn’t even care. Your parents had it coming their way the moment they dragged you into their scheming and plotting.

It took a few days for everyone to calm down and for the festivities to resume, but things pretty much went back to normal. Sunghoon and you both got tongue-lashings from your families, but they didn’t make you two break up.

Your reputations were already in the gutter; forcing you to end your relationship after all that had conspired would have been the cherry on top of your disaster of a cake.

The pre-decided course of action was to fake date Sunghoon till the cruise ended. Once you returned to your daily lives and enough time had passed, you would cook up a reason to break up.

It didn’t take long for your original plan to go to shit. As it turned out, spending a week pretending to love the bane of your existence had proved to be quite the opportunity to really get to know him.

Ever since you were a kid, you’d heard your parents say a lot of terrible things about the Parks. You’d been instructed to stay far away from Sunghoon. An impressionable and susceptible child such as yourself had obeyed every order they gave you.

You’d literally been hard-wired to despise and assume the worst of Sunghoon.

The wall of hatred you’d built between the two of you began coming down brick by brick once you learnt the kind of man he was. He was honourable and good and down-to-earth.

Of course, he was a dickhead to you for the same reason you were a bitch to him, but the asshole side of him was more endearing than annoying now.

His snarky replies no longer seemed to bite, and there was always an underlying film of adoration accompanying them.

Perhaps, he’d grown to care for you just as you had for him.

You certainly hoped that was the case, since regularly making out with someone who couldn’t be bothered with you wasn’t exactly your dream.

To this day, you had no idea how you’d ended up grabbing the collar of his shirt and crashing your mouth against his.

Maybe it was because he kept reminding you that you’d lost a bet to him and you wanted to shut him up, or maybe it was because he hadn’t bothered to button up his shirt and his abs were on full display, the ocean wind ruffling his messy hair.

Nonetheless, something seemed to snap in him when you made the move. He responded to your kiss immediately and pinned you against a wall. Thankfully, it was almost midnight and there was no one to witness your less than decent makeout session on the deck.

The next ten minutes consisted of his hands travelling under your loose shirt, fingers grazing the cold skin of your abdomen. Soon, your shirt was discarded, and your legs were wrapped around his waist.

Sunghoon hadn’t bothered stopping even when you ran out of breath. Instead, he’d taken the opportunity to leave bruises on your jaw and neck. The warm feeling of his tongue soothing the spots where he’d nipped at your skin with his teeth had caused you to experience a burning need for desire that went further than the second base.

The amount of reaction he’d gotten out of you was embarrassing. Never had you been unraveled by anyone so effortlessly. He had to muffle the whimpers that slipped past your lips as a result of his ministrations.

If it weren’t for the fact that you were making out in the open and were at the risk of being walked in on, things would have escalated. By the time you parted, Sunghoon’s lips were swollen, his face was flushed and he was breathing hard.

His eyes were hooded and dark, and he was gazing at you with an intensity that made you shiver.

Taking that as your cue to leave, you pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek, fetched your shirt from the ground and hurried away.

You didn’t even know why you thought things would go back to normal the next day.

One look at him, and your legs turned to jelly. You happily obliged when he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and whisked you away from everyone else.

Soon enough, you’d breached almost all the conditions in your fake dating pact.

You spent most of your nights together—be it hooking up, lying in the comfort of each other’s arms or just talking till slumber claimed you. Never in your life had you imagined being at ease around Sunghoon.

Everything else faded away when you were with him. He made you feel yourself. He made you feel whole.

“Hey,” you murmured while you were both swimming in the pool one night, the stars shining brightly in the sky. His eyes were closed and his neck was tilted up, the back of his head resting on the decking behind. “Can I ask you something?”

Sunghoon hummed and opened his eyes, turning his attention to you. “Yeah.”

“I know we have a plan,” you continued, doing your best to ignore the droplets clinging to his skin, “and I know that we’re supposed to stop pretending after this cruise ends tomorrow, but have you ever thought about making this—” you pointed at him, and then at yourself— “real.”

He laughed softly and shook his head in amusement. Your brows furrowed in confusion. “I’m not joking—”

“Every single day,” he interrupted you. Wading his way through the water to close the distance between your bodies, he repeated, “I have thought about making you mine every goddamn day.”

He cupped your cheeks and rested his forehead against yours. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you, Y/N,” he whispered.

Taking a shuddering breath, you closed your eyes and felt him press his lips to yours.

The kiss was slow and passionate, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. It expressed what couldn’t be said using words, and you realised just how much you’d grown to admire and care for this man.

It physically pained you to consider the possibility of a life without him.

“Sunghoon,” you mumbled against his mouth. “I would say I love you too but I don’t wanna breach the contract.”

He chuckled and ran his tongue along your bottom lip, even going as far as to suck on it. “I thought you broke the last rule days ago.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across your face. You opened your lids and shifted to get a better look at his expression.

Sunghoon’s eyes were shining with happiness, and you thought you could gaze into them forever. You thought you could witness the grin on his face and hear his honeyed laugh without ever getting tired. You thought you could stand ground against anything life threw at you if you had him by your side.

You knew you could love him and be loved by him for as long as your soul wandered through the worlds.

“I love you too.”

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allysunny · 4 months

Note

Pls pls pls friends to lovers with an ass load of pining!!! I love the trope where literally everyone but her can see that he’s in love with her and they’re basically dating without the title. She’s in love with him too but a little more guarded/scared. They have fun traditions like a book club, and Bruce gives her the princess treatment. Pls pls pls, I’d literally love you forever if you wrote this

Obliviously in Love | Bale!Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Words: 15k words

Warnings: Friends to lovers, pining, two idiots in love but way too blind to see it, Alfred being a very sassy butler (I love Michael Cane sm), possibly OOC Bruce (I've never written for him before), some angst, love confessions, Christmas! and mistletoe, eventual romance of course! Not beta, we die like Harvey Dent.

A/N: Hey everyone!!! Sorry for the delay, but as I told you, uni was kicking my ass. I'm back now, and hopefully I'll be able to write a lot!

So, this is my first Bale!Bruce request, and I'm so excited, but at the same time I'm super, super nervous because I've never written for this man in my entire life? I love this trilogy so bad and even rewatched all the movies as I was doing this, because I wanted to make sure I got him right. Sure, he's a vigilante and a billionaire and a supposed playboy, but he's also just a man, and I sort of wanted to explore that.

There's so many layers to this man, it is insane. If there's anything OOC about him, please do let me know. I swear to god I tried my best, and I hope you like the finished result.

This is my longest word so far - I'm so sorry! It was supposed to be kinda short and sweet but I just ran with it! I don't know if it was for the better or worst, but I hope you guys like it nevertheless. Again, I'm sorry if it's somewhat OOC, I tried to get everyone's personalities just right. I'm scared of not doing these movies justice. I also took some liberties with this - Bruce and Rachel don't have feelings for each other, Bruce often goes to charity galas, etc. Small things.

Also, it's set somewhat in between Batman Begins and The Dark Knight!

Anyways, enjoy!

Bruce Wayne was a lonely man.

Not that he minded, really.

Ever since he was a child, he knew most people were after him and his family for the money. Family friends cashing in favours done ages ago, things as small as having once lent his father an umbrella, women pretending to befriend his mother to accompany her whenever she went shopping, kids at school getting closer to him only to get a peek at the famed Wayne Manor and all the wonders it hid inside.

He'd rather be alone than have such leeches around him, surrounding him like vultures, waiting for an opening.

Kids who'd mocked him would apologise profusely days later, having learned about his family, offering their friendship. Once Bruce made it clear he had no intentions of inviting anyone to his place (he was just shy, really), they'd take back their so called “friendship”.

He was better off without such people.

They were few, the people he could trust. And even those he called his “friends”, he didn't trust completely. His childhood best friend, Rachel, had grown up and busied herself at the DA’s office. She reached out to him after he’d returned after all those years in training, but she was a busy woman, and Bruce had found a new passion himself – patrolling the streets of Gotham dressed up as a bat. They would talk often, but it simply wasn’t the same. They were still friends of course – childhood could link two people – but he’d changed, and so had she. No matter how well they got along, they were changed people.

So, he was back to square one, with no people to truly confide in.

There was, after all, a reason only Alfred knew of his secret identity.

No, Bruce Wayne wasn't a stranger to loneliness.

He preferred the peace and quiet of his home office to the loud ambiences of the parties thrown by pretentious people who wanted to pass by as charitable, and found that sometimes, being by himself was a better option.

Bruce Wayne could count with his hands how many “friends” he had, and how many were simply greedy bloodsuckers trying to get to his fortune.

All but you, though.

Never you.

Bruce met you a few years ago, at the bakery you used to work at.

He wasn't a regular - hell, he didn't usually eat at places like those. Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, dined at the best restaurants - a truth universally acknowledged.

But after being stuck in traffic for about thirty minutes (he'd sent Alfred on a makeshift vacation, having miraculously been able to convince the old man to take some time for himself), he decided to exit the cab and go for a stroll.

It'd been a stressing day, with about a hundred reports coming in for him to sign at Wayne Enterprises, the prototypes for his new motorcycle had proved to be a failure, and he was simply exhausted. A walk would do him good, clear his head.

That's when he walked by the bakery, noticing the colourfully decorated cupcakes and pastries on the shelves. The pastel-coloured frostings seemed far too pretty to eat, and curiosity got the best of him, compelling him to go inside and purchase one.

That's when he first saw you.

You took a while to take his order, quickly informing him you were working all by yourself. One of your coworkers was in labour, the other on vacation. You were baking, cleaning and waitressing on your own.

Bruce was surprised, to say the least. You were taking over each station, keeping calm even under pressure and tending to each task diligently.

When asked who baked the frosted treats, you smiled and told him you baked those yourself. Apparently, it was your first time exposing them, the owner of the bakery finally giving you some leeway to try your own cakes and sweets.

“No one's tried them yet, though,” you said, sheepishly. “People don’t really want to try anything new. They’re scared my food is going to suck. I keep telling myself they’re just scared of change, you know. To keep my spirits high.”

“I hear that,” Bruce replied. If he knew anything about people, it was that they were all terrified of the unknown. “It’s Gotham – what can you do? You bump into lunatics every other day. I’ll have the one on the shop window, the one with the pink frosting.”

Your eyes sparkled then, and Bruce swore he’d do anything to see them shine again and again.

“Really?” you asked, a hopeful smile playing in your lips.

“Absolutely. It looks good.”

You gave him an enthusiastic nod and went to retrieve the cupcake, placing it on top of a small place along with a fork. He paid for the treat along with a cup of coffee and sat down on a nearby table.

Unlocking his phone, he found a few messages from Alfred, asking him if he hadn't burnt down the Manor yet. Sure, maybe he couldn't cook nor clean nor take care of himself that well, but that didn't warrant a fire brigade to go check up on him, now did it?

Burned to the ground, he texted back in a joking manner. All that's left are the red slippers I gave to you last Christmas. Hadn't you lost them? It's a miracle.

Alfred replied just as quickly.

Should've let them burn too. Hideous things.

Bruce chuckled, assuring his trusted butler all was well, and locking his phone once again.

If he looked from the corner of his eye, he could see you, nervously chewing on your lip while you looked at his plate expectantly.

Right, he thought. The cupcake.

Bruce tasted the coffee first, deciding it was far better than whatever he was drinking at his office, and slowly cut the cupcake with his fork (because why would he use his hands). HIs eyes widened once he finally bit into it.

It was good, really good. It tasted like strawberries - not that artificial strawberry flavoured crap he was sure was in most of the food out there - actual strawberries.

The frosting was sugary, but not too much that it became nauseous, and the mix of flavours melted in his mouth.

You’d approached him, breath hitched as you awaited his verdict.

“So?” You asked, after a while, giving him an apologetic smile. “How is it?”

“It’s good.”

“Really?” You graced him with the brightest of smiles, holding onto your little notepad. “You think so?”

“I know so.” Way to go, Bruce. Not corny at all. You’re the man.

Pulling the chair next to him, you sighed in relief and sat down.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me. I was so scared no one was gonna like them.”

“The people of Gotham are idiots if they don’t want to try these.” He took another bite of his cupcake and your smile only got bigger.

“Well, you said it. It’s Gotham. Even something as simple as a different coffee order will get their panties in a twist. Look at how everyone reacted to that Bat guy. He takes out a few criminals and cleans the streets, and suddenly he’s the bad guy?” you inquire.

“Bat guy?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you know! Bat guy! They’re calling him the Batman. You’ve probably seen him on TV. Black cape, black cowl, black, well, clothes?”

“Ah,” he nodded, “The Batman, yes. I might have heard of him.” Might have. “What’s his deal anyway? I think the police are calling the guy a criminal.”

You scoffed, placing a strand of hair behind your ear. “A criminal? The guy’s doing a better job than most cops. I think they’re just jealous. And pissed that someone’s not up for briberies.”

Bruce nodded, before turning to his cupcake. You thought what Batman did was right. He brimmed with pride.

“I don’t know – he sounds like your typical Arkham resident to me. Dressed like a bat, running around with a black cape?” It was practically wired into his brain by now, the way he attempted to detach his Bruce Wayne persona from his Batman one. Even if he’d just met you, even if you seemed genuine, he couldn’t help but keep up the façade. “They should probably lock him up.”

“That’s nonsense!” you exclaimed. “He’s the only one willing to do something right for this city. The only one who’s not being compensated by turning a blind eye to criminals like half of the GCPD are. The streets are safer with him around.”

So, he made you feel safe.

Well, not him – Batman did.

Bottom line was, he made you feel safe.

And wasn’t that the reason for all of this? To make Gotham a better place? To clean the streets, to give people some hope in amidst all the chaos and darkness? Wasn’t that his goal – to give Gotham citizens their city back to them, and allow them to live unruled by fear?

“Anyway - I’m sorry, here I am, sitting next to you while you probably want to eat by yourself. Gosh, I’m so sorry. Taking care of the shop by myself makes me feel a tad lonely.” You gave him another apologetic smile (although this one did not reach your eyes), and got up, hurrying behind the counter.

For a few moments, Bruce sat in silence, eating his cupcake, and sipping from his coffee. Good stuff – nothing like the ones Alfred prepared for him, but still good.

When he glanced back up, he watched as you quickly washed some dishes, brow furrowed in concentration. He took you all in, the way you carefully rinsed every dish, ensuring it was stable on the tray nearby before moving onto the next one. Once or twice, you looked up, observing the city through the windows. He saw you sigh softly and get back to work.

To say he was intrigued was an understatement. A big one.

It wasn’t only that you were strikingly beautiful – that helped too, quite a lot – but there was something more to you that Bruce couldn’t really pinpoint and wanted to get to know more of. He was tired of fake people. Of all the fake smiles and fake laughter and fake parties and having to pretend he was someone he simply wasn’t. It was all for the greater good, sure, but hiding behind a mask was draining. No one knew that better than Bruce Wayne.

Before he realised it, he’d stood up, placing his plate and cup on top of the counter. The soft “clack” of it made you turn around and your eyes widened slightly.

“Oh – “ you mumbled. “It’s okay, I usually just do that.”

“Lifting a cup and a plate won’t kill me, I assure you.”

You chuckled and took the dishes, turning to the sink.

“You’re not at all like what people say.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not like they describe you,” you said with a small shrug. A strand of hair fell from behind your ear and Bruce’s hand twitched slightly, perhaps wishing to tuck it back himself.

“So you know who I am?” he asked, a curious smile forming in his lips. He wasn’t expecting to be completely ignorant of him – hell, it’s impossible to be unaware of his existence when you live in Gotham.

“I have a television and friends who love gossip magazines. It’s preposterous to think of a person who hasn’t come across your face, considering it’s slapped in nearly every tabloid ever.” You chuckled, soaking his plate. “And there was the matter of your credit card – I thought American Express was a myth.”

Bruce remained silent, which prompted you to go on.

“Everyone says you’re an arrogant jerk – “ The words come out of your mouth before you can process them, and he chuckles mentally, finding the way you stumbled over your words quite amusing. “I mean, that’s what they say – I’m not saying that you’re one, I just – I’m just repeating what’s been told to me. Anyway, yeah. You don’t seem like that at all.”

“And what makes you say that? We’ve spoken for all but five minutes,” he cocked an eyebrow, eagerly awaiting your answer.

You think for a while, gripping the towel at your hands and shrug again.

“I don’t know.” You turn to him. “Call it intuition, but I just felt like you were being genuine. I mean, you don’t have a bazillion models hanging off your arms – and it looked like you walked all the way here. No fancy sports car like the ones in the magazines either.” Another shrug. “You just seemed like a random guy when you walked in. No fancy titles whatsoever.”

Just a random guy.

Sometimes it felt like such a thing was unattainable for Bruce.

In front of the cameras, he had to be spoiled, rich, reckless playboy Bruce who bought hotels on a whim, hung around with hot models and spent his money on useless luxuries such as cars and yachts. When no one was watching, he had the weight of Gotham in his shoulders as Batman, sacrificing his mind and body every night just to make sure his people were safe.

It was impossible for Bruce to be just a random guy, no matter how much he wanted to.

But the way you said it – like you truly believed it – made him think twice about it.

You weren’t grovelling at his feet. Nor were you pretending not to know him as many others had done, in order to appear mysterious and different, and therefore catch his attention. No, you were just being you – or what he hoped was you. You knew who he was, admitted to seeing his face and knowing of his affairs, but that didn’t stop you from treating him like a normal person.

Just a random guy.

“Or maybe I’m just biased because you liked my cupcakes.” There it was again, that lovely smile of yours.

And you were funny too.

“I’ll admit, that was my tactic all along.” Bruce allowed a hint of playfulness to tint his voice, and your smile widened at that.

“Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Wayne.”

“Please, just Bruce.”

“Alright then. Your secret is safe with me, Bruce.” You smiled and went back to cleaning the counter. (You half expected him to leave without saying a word – why’d a billionaire entertain your company for more than a few minutes? – and were surprised when he stayed.)

“I’m sorry if I’m crossing a line here, but,” he started, “Would you like to join me for lunch one of these days?”

You eyed him curiously and cocked your head to the side, giving him a cheeky smile.

“Me? Really?”

“Exactly you.”

“Why? I don’t exactly belong with your people, Bruce – whoever they might be.”

“I was actually just hoping I’d get some free cupcakes.”

At this, you snorted out loud, covering your mouth with your hand. The other clients in the bakery looked at you with a slightly disgusted face, and it only made you laugh louder.

Once you stopped giggling (and after having wiped some tears from your eyes), you nodded and turned to him.

“Alright, fine. Lunch sounds great. Although – I’m sure you’re followed everywhere. And I don’t really want to be the latest gossip magazine cover.” You crossed your arms. Bruce nodded in understanding. After all, he knew how troublesome the media could be, especially when they were looking for any crumbs that might get them any insight into someone’s life.

(Un)fortunately for him, they couldn’t see past the playboy persona.

“I’ll take care of that – don’t worry.” Was his honest response. “Let’s say it’s easy for me to… become invisible.”

You leaned against the counter, smile ever so present.

“And how are you going to do that? Gonna wear a cap and sunglasses? A wig? Do we get to wear disguises? Maybe you could wear a mask!” Funny.

“I’ll just leave the American Express at home. Do you think that new Pizza place everyone’s been talking about accepts hundreds?” Bruce joked.

Your snort resonated through the bakery again, and the couple that had glanced at you earlier left, shaking their heads and muttering something about “decorum”.

The rest was history.

You and Bruce had become inseparable from that day onward.

Turns out that around you, he could be just a random guy, like he always wanted.

He started going to your bakery more and more, and convinced your boss to let you experiment with your cupcakes however you wanted.

“How the hell did you manage that?” you asked him, mouth open in wonder. “She told me I had full control of the menu! Two weeks ago, she said she didn’t want to try my sweets!”

“I’m very persuasive,” he replied, biting into a banana flavoured muffin – one of your more recent experiments. “It’s a bit chunky. Kind of bland, doesn’t melt on your mouth like the others do.”

“Yeah, I think I went overboard with the flour…” you mumble, writing something down on your notepad. “Anyways, how persuasive can you be? This woman has drunk the same cup of coffee for like, 40 years. She hates change.”

“Let’s just say I worked my regular Wayne charm.”

At that, you rolled your eyes and hit him with your towel but couldn’t hide the smile that graced your lips.

He’d stop by every day after work, eager to try out your new recipes and have a nice chat. It was freeing to have someone he could call his friend, with whom he could have conversations that weren’t about his job, his money, or his other affairs. It felt nice to be able to share things with you, things he couldn’t find it in himself to share with other people.

It took him a while, but he eventually told you things about himself. Slowly.

He told you about his parents, how much he looked up to his father and how he adored his mother. He told you about his childhood, playing in the gardens of his Manor or watching his father fiddle with the stethoscope, hoping one day he could make a difference just like him. He told you how sometimes he would just watch his mother apply makeup in her face, marvelling at how beautiful she looked. Other women of the high society always looked like they had this world and the next worth of makeup on their faces, but his mother was able to enhance all her natural features with a simple eye pencil or some lipstick.

“Makeup shouldn’t be used to turn yourself into something new,” she’d once told him, applying some sort of clear powder on her face. “Just to complement the beauty you already have.”

He found it easy to relate to that. Not the makeup, necessarily, but the whole “turning into a new person”. Batman was no different than him, nor was he someone different. He just brought out Bruce’s biggest desires, to keep Gotham safe.

In return, you told him about your childhood. About your first years in school, your friends and family. You told him about your passions, your wishes. How you wanted to travel the world and read as many books as possible. How you liked to laze around some Saturdays but couldn’t stay home and just had to get up and leave in others.

Bruce found the duality in you quite entrancing.

Some days, you’d be running around the Manor, goofing around with Alfred, and whipping up new recipes with him, the both of you jamming to old jazz that played on the radio – Alfred had been teaching you swing, and you enjoyed spinning around the room with him as lively tunes played.

(In fact, Bruce had walked in on you and him dancing a few times, and couldn’t help but lean against the doorway, watching and you laughed loudly and tried not to fall whenever his butler spun you around.)

It also went without saying that Alfred was over the moon now that his master no longer seemed to be alone. You might only be one person, but the Manor came alive whenever you were in it, and he relished in knowing Bruce finally had someone he could trust besides himself.

At first, Bruce thought of you as a friend. Someone he could confide in, someone to have a good time with and relax. But as weeks turned to months, he found himself developing stronger feelings. It wasn’t about “having fun” and relaxing anymore, it was now about seeing you, making sure you were alright, listening to your every thought and feelings.

He thought it was normal, though. After all, aren’t friends supposed to care for each other and be eager to spend time together? After all, it had been a while since he had friends. At least ones that spoke to him on the regular, that were there for him. This whole thing was new to him. So, he kept these feelings hidden, convinced they were nothing but the norm, enjoying whatever silly activities you engaged in.

You two had, after all, your own little rituals.

You loved reading – always had, and believed to continue doing so until you were dead and buried. And despite not having a lot of time to do so, Bruce did too. So, it wasn’t long before you two created your own little book club along with Alfred.

You would prepare a batch of cookies, Alfred would make some tea, and Bruce would wait by the fireplace in the living room, since there was really nothing he could contribute with but his insight on the books you were reading.

“So, what’d you think?” he asked, taking a sip from his tea, and placing the mug on the coffee table by his feet.

“I think it was terrible.” You replied.

Bruce nearly spat the drink in his mouth.

“Excuse me?!”

“I said what I said – it was a terrible book.”

“I think you’re the first person ever to call The Great Gatsby a ‘terrible book’.” He raised an eyebrow and looked at Alfred, who was intent on hearing whatever you were going to say next. He too was quite curious, but he had an inkling he knew where you were going with this.

You just shrugged your shoulders and brought your legs to your chair, sitting on top of them. You felt at home in Wayne Manor. Bruce had told you to make yourself comfortable after the third time you visited, and you wasted no time in doing so.

“Jay Gatsby is one pretentious motherfucker,” you say.

“Language!” Alfred tutted.

“Sorry – I meant; Jay Gatsby is one pretentious douchebag.” You bowed your head towards Alfred and the butler nodded in acknowledgment.

“Wait – why?”

“Are you kidding me?” All you could do was scoff. “Gatsby is an obsessive narcissist, an egocentric pathological liar who cares about no one else other than himself, and much probably, a psychopath.”

Bruce was perplexed. Very much so.

“I – I – well. I see.”

“And the way he objectifies Daisy throughout the whole book – he doesn’t even love her! He loves the idea of her. He’s a jerk.”

Bruce couldn’t even interrupt you, because you were on a spree, gesticulating with your arms and talking fast.

“But let’s be honest here, it’s not like she loves him either.”

“She doesn’t?”

“Of course not! She’s a shallow, materialistic, spoiled brat and I can’t stand her!” You finished your little speech by taking a bite out of a cookie and crossing your arms.

“Huh. Right.” Bruce said, grabbing his copy of the book. “Well, I thought it was a great book. And I don’t think Gatsby is any of the things you said.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really. I think he is a misunderstood soul.”

You scoffed. Again.

“He’s a misunderstood ass – “

“Language – “

“He is Alfred!”

“Yes, but you aren’t, and I would like to keep this household clean, for dear Master and Missus Wayne’s sake.” He replied casually, giving you that look you’d learn to interpret as “do not test me you silly little baker, for I am British and have the high ground”, and to which you just stuck your tongue out.

Bruce ignored the both of you and continued.

“And, well, I think he truly did love Daisy.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No, no, and here’s why, he did everything for her.”

“Name one thing.”

“Well, he waited five whole years for her. I think that’s rather romantic. He went great lengths to impress Daisy and win her love. The parties, the money, his whole persona – it wasn’t him, but he did it all for Daisy.” Bruce explained calmly. Alfred looked at him with raised eyebrows and just sipped from his teacup quietly.

“Bruce, the whole thing was a circus.” You reached in front of you to grab another cookie and took a bite out of it, missing the way your friend’s gaze dropped to your lips and then returned to your eyes in just a millisecond. “He was just showing off.”

“Perhaps,” Bruce said, “But perhaps he was just trying to be someone worthy of her. I’m sure love can make people do crazy things.” He wasn’t one to talk. It’s not like he knew what “love” was. He’d crushed on Rachel as kids, but that’s all it was, a silly childhood crush.

Perhaps the love he had for his city could count. He did do crazy things for it. Dressing up as a bat was an example.

You nodded your head a few times, pondering his answer.

“Maybe, yeah. But I don’t think so. If he loved her, he should’ve just said it. There was no need for all the show.”

Alfred raised his eyebrows once again. A very you-ish reply. He was enjoying this immensely.

Bruce replayed her words in his head. He should’ve said it. Surely, it wasn’t that easy. Jay Gatsby wasn’t your average man. He was a mystery. He had secrets and things he needed to hide. It wasn’t as easy as just walking up to Daisy and telling her “I love you”. It wasn’t that simple. “You think so?” he asked.

“Well, yeah! Absolutely – I mean, why complicate things?” you replied. “He should’ve just dropped the luxuries, the parties, he should’ve just stopped with all of the eccentric millionaire thing, looked her in the eyes and say, ‘I love you’. Simple.”

"Absolutely! I mean, why complicate things? Just look someone in the eyes and say, ‘I love you.’ Simple.”

“Simple, huh?”

You nodded, taking another sip from your tea – you drank it sickeningly sweet, with lots of honey, while he preferred one or two spoons of sugar.

“Yeah. Simple. No need for the fancy parties, and mysterious acts. Just be genuine.”

“That’s an interesting perspective,” he mumbled. “But sometimes people have reasons for not saying what’s in their hearts. Sometimes they must hide their feelings.” It was true. You didn’t know he was Batman – you couldn’t. He needed to keep you safe. All you knew was that he worked a lot, plenty of times exhausting himself and arriving home super late. It was for the best.

Alfred hummed thoughtfully, which earned him a curious look from the both of you.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Please, do continue,” he said, gesturing for you to go on.

You gave him a weird look but simply turned to face Bruce once again.

“Reasons? Like what?”

Bruce couldn’t look you in the eye now. He shrugged and got suddenly very interested by the coffee table by his feet.

“Fear, maybe. Fear of what might happen if they open up. Fear of losing someone precious.”

You hummed, “Well, in my book, it’s always better to be honest and take the risk. Life’s too short for illusions. If Gatsby had just said it, maybe things would’ve been different. Who knows? But I still think he was one pompous son of a bitch.” You leaned back in your chair with a smug grin and finished the rest of your tea.

Alfred just excused himself and made his way towards the kitchen.

You certainly did bring some life into this once empty house.

You were lazing around in a Sunday afternoon, mindlessly scrolling your phone as a rerun of a show you liked played on TV. Even after a few years, it could still get some laughs out of you, and you’d look at the screen and smile.

All of a sudden, the couch dipped next to you.

Bruce had jumped over it, and landed next to you, sitting down comfortably, as if parkouring around Wayne Manor was something he did on the regular.

“Shit! Holy – Bruce!” You nearly jumped out of your seat, clutching your chest. Sometimes you wondered if Bruce wasn’t some sort of ninja. Being able to hide himself and be so silent wasn’t normal, and at times, to be frank, a little bit creepy.

He acted as if nothing was wrong and turned to you.

“Friday night, charity gala, you and me,” he said, matter-of-factly, as if he’d simply asked you what the weather was like outside.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, the Carringtons are throwing a big party this Friday. It’s supposed to be this big fundraiser. The profits will go for new police facilities. As if those corrupt idiots needed them…” He sighed. “And clearly, Bruce Wayne must attend. And, as expected, he has to bring someone.”

You whined and threw your head back in frustration. You’d been to a couple of galas with Bruce. Most of them were dreadfully boring, filled with fake people whose only purpose there was to flaunt their money and pretend to care about whatever topics seemed most controversial. You hated them. The fake smiles, the gross men leering on you, the women shamelessly throwing themselves at Bruce (not that you minded. After all, you two were just friends. It just made you uncomfortable that they were so forward about his advances. Clearly, he wasn’t alone. He had you. Could they not see it? But of course, you two were just friends. Which meant you weren’t jealous. You just felt sorry for them, and extremely uncomfortable whenever they looked at, spoke to, or touched him. Duh.)

“I can’t go.”

Bruce grimaced.

“Why?”

“I’m busy. Sorry Bruce, I have plans.” What a liar.

Your friend smirked and nudged his head towards the kitchen.

“Alfred checked your schedule – you’re free for the next two weeks.”

Your jaw dropped and you looked back at the kitchen, where Alfred innocently prepared a few sandwiches.

“Damn him! I swear that man must’ve been a British spy!” you muttered, shaking your head.

“So, are you coming with me?” Bruce pressed on.

“I can’t – I have to return some videotapes.” You replied smugly.

Bruce gave you a dry laugh and threw a pillow in your direction, which you failed to dodge.

“Very funny. I’m serious – I can’t go by myself. Look, I know what this is going to sound like, but the Carringtons are only doing this to show off. They don’t care about the police; they want to show Gotham just how rich their grandfather’s money has made them. They’ve been around for years and never once donated – why now?”

“Just because you have to go, doesn’t mean that I have!” you too threw a pillow at him, but as always, his reflexes were on point, and he managed to catch it mid-air.

“Look, you’d be doing me a huge favour.”

“I have literally nothing to wear.”

Bruce gave you a blank stare – that excuse did not stick anymore, not after he’d bought you a different dress for each party he had taken you to (“Think of it as a thank you gift”, he said).

“Just take a model. Or an actress. Or some other celebrity. You know me Bruce, I don’t belong with those people. They’re not my crowd.” You grabbed another pillow and prepared to throw it at him.

“I can’t stand another night of pretending to spend my free time buying hotels and yachts.” Bruce said your name softly and you let your guard down, lowering your arm. “It’s not me, and you know it.” You looked into those chocolate brown eyes that seemed to have soften – those eyes of his always made you melt, and you often found yourself saying yes to his every whim.

You pondered your choices.

He could take a model or an actress. The headlines would love speculating who the hell was Bruce Wayne messing around with this time. He’d have to pretend to be someone he was not for a whole evening – though you didn’t know why; only that, for some reason, he had a reputation to upkeep – and the next morning you’d wake up and seethe as you watched the shots paparazzi got of your best friend and some random floozy slobbering on top of him.

Or, you could go with him. It’d be a pain in the ass to pretend to like all of those people and to interact with those phony idiots who thought money was worth anything and would try their best to snake their ways in Bruce’s close circle. But you’d spend a nice evening with your friend, wear a pretty dress, drink some expensive champagne and be able to laugh at everyone else with him. There were worse fates than that, you were sure.

“Fine,” you sighed, “I’ll come with you.”

Bruce did a small “yes” gesture with his arm, and then grabbed a nearby pillow. “Now, where were we?”

“Oh – OH don’t you dare, Bruce Wayne!” You lifted your arm once again, but before you could throw the pillow in his direction, he’d grabbed your arm and pulled you to him. You fell on top of his body, hands on either side of his head as they bore the weight of your body. Your face was inches away from his, and all you could do was stare into those brown eyes that had you so weak.

You blinked repeatedly, before quickly getting up. Your cheeks were flaring up and you grabbed your phone, standing up from the couch.

Bruce, on his end, was speechless. He watched as you stood up, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“I – I should go. I need to… yeah, I gotta – I gotta do something. I’ll see you later.” You mumbled, and within seconds, you were out the door.

When you were gone, Alfred left the kitchen and walked towards the couch where Bruce was sitting, still silently staring at the wall.

“Is everything alright, Master Wayne?” he asked, although he didn’t really need an answer. He knew exactly what was going on with him. After all, he’d raised this boy like his own son for years.

“Yes,” Bruce cleared his throat, nodding. “Yes, yes, I am. Everything’s fine. How about those sandwiches you were making?” He tried changing the topic, but it was too late.

As Alfred walked back to the kitchen, he couldn’t help but think that he should probably schedule an optometrist appointment for his master. After all, one can’t help but be concerned when such a smart, capable man was so blind to matters of the heart. Almost as blind as a bat, one could say. He’d keep this joke for later. Bruce would hate it. Even better.

Funnily enough, Alfred wasn’t the only one who thought Bruce was blind to his feelings.

In fact, it seemed like everyone could see how smitten the Wayne billionaire was with you.

When you two went out, he would look at you with this sparkle in his eyes, looking at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

You walked into the party, arm linked with his, and it was as if the whole world stopped to look at you two.

Everyone knew about your existence – it wasn’t the first time you accompanied Bruce to parties – Bruce Wayne and his close friend. Friend. Yeah, sure. If the glances he stole were any indication, the Wayne heir was nothing but completely enamoured with you. In fact, it was incredible how much he’d changed. His whole attitude changed when he was accompanied by you. No longer was he the reckless billionaire who drank too much and humiliated himself, but the elegant man who liked to engage in conversations (as long as the topics were interesting) and had a heart of gold.

Yes, everyone seemed to spot the change in demeanour whenever you two were together.

“Bruce!” A voice could be heard from the distance, and Rachel Dawes made her way towards the both of you. She smiled and spoke your name once she noticed you were the one accompanying her childhood friend, before hugging you. “Oh, it’s so nice to see you here!”

You hugged her back and gave her a genuine smile. You’d met Rachel before more than a few times – she was a lovely young woman with a great sense of justice, and you were sure she was going to do great things for Gotham’s wellbeing. You also enjoyed her company greatly, since she had once told you all of the embarrassing stories about Bruce’s childhood. “I had no idea you were going to be here!”

“Yeah, well,” she looked around and smiled, seemingly looking for someone. “I was just as surprised as you were.”

Then, a very familiar face emerged from the crowd, calling out “Rachel!” and walking to her side.

“There you were – you left so abruptly; I thought something was wrong.” The man said, before turning to look at you and Bruce. You took him in. Dirty blond hair and a familiar cleft chin. You furrowed your eyebrows, before it finally clicked in.

“You’re Harvey Dent – I’ve seen you on TV before,” you said, and he smiled in acknowledgement.

“That would be me, yes.” He put forward his hand, and you shook it, introducing yourself.

Harvey then turned to look at Bruce, extending his hand to him.

“And you must be Bruce Wayne. Rachel talks about you a lot.”

Bruce shook it and nodded.

“Hopefully she hasn’t disclosed everything about me, otherwise I’d be ruined.”

The two men chuckled, and you took that opportunity to look at Rachel. You looked from her to Harvey, opened your mouth and wiggled your eyebrows, earning a laugh from her. Rachel moved to your side as Bruce and Harvey spoke about Gotham and took your arm.

“Well, well, Miss Dawes. Is there anything you’d like to tell us?” you asked in a hushed tone, still wiggling your eyebrows up and down. “How’d you meet?”

“At work. Harvey is running for district attorney. One thing led to another, and…” she trailed off, and you nudged her torso with your arm.

“And now you’re shagging future attorney Harvey Dent. Look at you go!”

Rachel covered her mouth with her hands and supressed a scoff.

“You’re unbelievable, and I never want to hear those words coming from your mouth ever! It’s just a casual thing, we’ve only gone on a few dates. Besides, you’re the one attending a charity gala with Gotham’s most eligible bachelor. I think every woman in this room has you on a death list.”

“Pftt,” you waved your hand dismissively, “You know we’re just friends. Nothing for those women to be jealous about.”

“Ah, I see. You’re just friends.” Rachel nodded, feigning seriousness in her voice.

“Yes, we are. Stop with that face!”

“What face?”

“That face you always do,” you motioned towards her face, nearly pouting. “We are! And that’s the end of the discussion! I don’t even know why we’re talking about my non-existent relationship with Bruce when you’re probably going to be First Lady someday – this is huge.”

Rachel swatted you with her purse and returned to Harvey’s side before giving you a cheeky smile – it felt nice to have a girl friend you could talk to in these scenarios. Usually, it was just you and Bruce, which, however pleasant, wasn’t the same thing as having a girl in there. You were happy to catch her off work – Rachel seemed like a different person at the office. While there, she maintained a strong and serious attitude, you were happy to see her when she had no work business to worry about and could simply be a girl with you.

“Well, I’m afraid I’ve wasted too much of your time, Mr. Wayne,” Harvey said, shaking Bruce’s hand again. “It was a pleasure to meet Rachel’s oldest friend.” He then turned to you, “And a pleasure to meet you too, Miss.” “Likewise,” you replied.

Bruce nodded.

“Of course. I’ll be sure to send you a nice bottle of Chardonnay when you’re elected district attorney,” he said in his best careless billionaire voice, and nodded at Rachel before the two walked away. “Who would’ve thought,” he muttered to you, beckoning a butler who was carrying a tray of champagne glasses close to him.

“Well, I think they’re lovely together,” you smiled and grabbed a glass, smiling once the liquid hit your lips. Champagne was always welcome.

“Well, you think everyone looks lovely together. You’re a sap.” You laugh at Bruce’s comment and hold onto his arm. He brings you close, absentmindedly, and the two of you walk around the party, occasionally being stopped by the average donor.

After eating some entrees and mingling with the guests, soft music started to play and ring throughout the room. You looked up, pleasantly surprised, and tugged at Bruce’s arm.

“Come on,”

You didn’t have to tell him twice – he was growing tired of pretending to share the same interests as these vile people. He wanted a respite from keeping the charade up, so he gladly took your hand and led you to the middle of what had become the dancefloor. You two weren’t the only ones in there, a couple more pairs having decided to dance.

Bruce gently held your waist and pulled you close to him, his other hand coming to lift yours.

“Thank you,” he spoke, ignoring the way everyone’s eyes glued onto the two of you.

“I could see you were about to actually punch that man right in the face,” you chuckled, looking at the person in question. He was a middle-aged man who could probably stand to lose a few pounds for the sake of his health, who was trying to talk Bruce into introducing him a couple of models. You just had to come to the rescue, because Bruce actually looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. Thankfully, he was a good actor and simply promised the man he would surely hook him up with the woman of his dreams.

“I think it goes without saying I’m not introducing jack shit to him. I’m pretty sure he’s assaulted his female employers. I should have someone investigate it.”

“My, my. Bruce Wayne, ever the White Knight.” You smiled, and you could swear that for some minutes, the entire world faded away as the soft melodies of Camille Saint-Saëns filled the air.

He snorted at that but did not say anything.

The two of you kept dancing. You found looking into his eyes extremely hard, so you avoided his gaze, looking straight ahead at behind his shoulder continuously.

“I still haven’t told you how beautiful you look tonight,” Bruce finally broke the silence between you two, and you returned his gaze. He’d bought you a floor-length black John Galliano gown with delicate lace trim and a bias cut, and you had actually screamed into your pillow once you saw it – it was far too pretty.

“Thank you,” you reply, brushing some invisible dust from his shoulders. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Bruce lowered his voice and looked you in the eyes, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“I mean it. You do look stunning.”

The two of you stopped dancing for a few moments, and you were unable to look away from his almost magnetic gaze. Time seemed to stand still, and you gripped his shoulder tighter, to make sure you were real, and he was real, and this whole ordeal was real.

He was just about to speak again, when you were interrupted by a loud, shrill voice.

“Mr. Wayne! Oh, what a pleasure to have you here!”

You quickly pulled away from him as Catherine Carrington, a woman in her mid-40s with long, blonde hair approached the both of you and placed two loud kisses on either side of his cheeks. You looked away, trying to figure out how to properly breathe again, and fanned yourself with your hands.

Harrold Carrington, Catherine’s husband walked to her side and shook Bruce’s hand, far too interested in talking to you. You stifled a laugh – whoever was in charge of his wig had tone a terrible job, because it was clear as day his hairline was receding, and the hair he had on was fake.

“Ah, you must be the mysterious friend everyone has been talking about. We’ve seen you around a few times, haven’t we Miss? But I don’t think we’ve properly met – I’m Harrold Carrington. And may I say, you look splendid this evening.”

None of the Carringtons seemed interested in their spouses. Catherine was fawning over Bruce, and Harrold’s eyes lingered far too long on your exposed collarbone and cleavage. So much so, that you turned from him uncomfortably. Bruce was quick to notice your discomfort, and pulled you next to him once again, wrapping a protective arm around your waist.

“I’d appreciate it if you could keep your eyes on the lady’s face, as opposed to her chest, Mr. Carrington,” he said with a smile that you could only identify as fake, and that smug voice he used when he was feeling particularly cocky.

All of the colour drained from Harrold’s face, and he stuttered, trying to form a coherent sentence – which he failed miserably. “I – I, well – I wasn’t – I would never! I – I was just –“

Bruce faced Catherine once again and gave her another fake smile.

“Lovely party Mrs. Carrington. Very nice of you to raise money for the Gotham Police Department. Very charitable, indeed. And the champagne is just splendid. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I heard someone was eating caviar, and it’s not a real party without it, now is it?”

Effortlessly, he brought you away from the couple.

Once you were out of sight, he looked at you with a worried expression.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah – he was just creepy. Shit, I hate galas.”

“Tell me about it,” Bruce sighed, before shaking his head. “How long have we been here for?”

“About two hours.”

“How about we ditch at three? I think it’d be a crime to abandon this party now. Especially when you look this dazzling.”

He was giving you that look once again, the one you couldn’t quite decipher, and you felt butterflies in your stomach.

Bruce, on the other hand, was freaking out. You looked lovely, even more so than usual. He’d been dancing with you, and all was perfect, and then that hag Catherine had to go and ruin everything.

Was it too much to ask for a quiet dance with his friend?

Friend.

The word tasted wrong in his mouth.

No, you weren’t his friend. At least not anymore.

He thought about your dance moments earlier. How you’d held onto him, far too shy to look him in the eye, lips slightly parted and eyes sparkly. He thought of how easily you leaned into his touch and how he liked having you by his side.

He thought of how much he enjoyed spending time with you, how much he laughed in your presence, how free he felt when he was with you. He could be himself, something that he felt he couldn’t be anywhere else. You were his safe haven. You were everything.

It was that night Bruce Wayne realised he was in love with you.

One time the both of you went out to do some Christmas shopping.

(“In November?” Bruce had asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Christmas sales have already started! And I bet everyone’s going to start super soon, so we need to get to it!” Was your reply. Bruce could only sigh and agree, like he always did when it came to you.)

Besides, it was the first Christmas you’d be able to spend together after 2 years of friendship. The last two had Bruce way too busy with his company (at least that’s what he told you. In reality, he had been tracking down a few criminals who’d been wreaking havoc days before.

The main point was: after two years of being friends, you would finally get to spend Christmas together. It’s not that you’d suffered those Christmases without him; you had friends and family. But you wanted to spend the holidays with who you now considered to be your closest friend.

Bruce, however, wanted to spend Christmas with the woman he was in love with. He hadn’t found the courage to tell you – not yet. He was afraid of ruining things, of hurting you. So he kept silent, relishing in the friendship the both of you had.

Approaching the mall, you had a small list in your hand, filled with names of everyone you wanted to buy a gift for. He had around five people in mind, so he did not need all those preparations.

Once you were in the crowded mall, Bruce would hold you close to him, shielding you from everyone who might bump into you. His hand would respectfully be in the small of your back, and if he needed you to get out of someone’s way (people who refused to look up from their phones were the worst), he would slide it to your waist and gently pull you towards him.

You’d stopped at a beauty store, wanting to buy a new skin care package for your closest friend at work – heavens knew how badly you needed her to keep you sane – so you’d asked Bruce for his opinion on a myriad of perfumes.

“See, I like this one, but I think the smell is a bit too strong,” you mumbled, squeezing some of the hand lotion’s sample on your hand and applying it there. “Here,” you reached your hand to him, and nearly all the air was sucked out of your lungs when Bruce carefully reached for it, holding your pulse in his and bringing it to his face. His lips nearly brushed against your skin as he took the smell of the lotion in, and at least a dozen of women who were shopping nearby swooned.

Bruce let go of your hand just as gently and you blinked a few times, trying to wake up from your little trance.

“It is a bit strong, yeah. You mentioned she’s got a sensitive nose, so maybe something less floral?”

You were quick to nod and walk away, afraid he’d notice the way your cheeks heat up and your pupils dilated.

Once you turned away from him, focusing on the other hand lotions, he sighed, still feeling a buzzing sensation in his hand. It was as if he could still feel your skin against his, and he had to shake his head to return to the task at hand. Control yourself.

At a clothing store, you held up different sweatshirts next to him, asking for his opinion on a gift to your father. He gave you his earnest opinion, and insisted on carrying all your bags once you were done.

“Bruce – come on, I can carry them. I’m not a baby,” you’d told him, sighing in exasperation.

“Just allow me. You’re still picking up things left and right, it’s better if I carry these for you.”

You two checked out a jewellery shop – you’d been saving up to buy your mom a pair of earrings, and while you busied yourself looking through rows and rows of pairs, looking for the one you had your eyes on, Bruce quickly excused himself, and turned to a shop helper.

Approaching the counter, he placed the delicate pair of pearl earrings next to the cashier, glancing around just to make sure you weren’t paying attention to him.

“Would you like these to be gift wrapped?” The cashier asked.

“Yes please.”

Bruce continued glancing around. You too were speaking to a shop helper, pointing to the delicate pair of gold earrings you wanted to get.

“A gift for a special someone?” The cashier asked once again with a polite smile. Bruce wasn’t dumb. If he were anyone else, this would be a regular, standard question asked by shop clerks to keep a friendly conversation going. But he’s not just anyone else. He’d noticed the way the woman had glanced him up and down with a wishful expression and could bet all his money that if he were to reveal more than necessary, then she would turn to any gossip magazine as soon as he was out the door and spill whatever nonsense she thought it was going on.

He gave her a curt nod, paid for the earrings (now neatly placed inside of a box and wrapped with a pretty red ribbon), and returned to your side, hiding the box inside his jacket’s pocket.

“Did you find them?” he asked once he got to your side, and if it were anyone else, you would’ve jumped, but by now you were used to Bruce. You seemed to lean into his side and smiled, looking at the pair of hoops the shop helper brought to the counter.

“Yeah – she’s gonna love them! I was super scared they’d be sold out Bruce, I’ve been working my ass off to get these. I’m so proud of myself,” your smile was contagious, and Bruce found himself bringing you closer to him by the waist and giving you one of his super rare smiles. Once again, every woman within a five-mile radio sighed, basically eating him up with their eyes. It was no secret Bruce Wayne was a handsome man – not to mention Gotham’s most eligible bachelor – but to see him act so affectionate in public was a completely different thing, and it was clear more than woman had gotten jealous just looking at you.

(Their boyfriends were not happy with the way said women ogled Bruce up and down.)

“I’m proud of you too.” Bruce replied. It was true. You were a hardworking woman, and he beamed with pride at your accomplishments.

Of course he didn’t tell you he bribed the store to keep the earrings stored until you came along to buy them – he wasn’t about to let someone snatch the thing you’d been working so hard to get – but it didn’t matter. You’d earned it.

You grinned at him and reluctantly broke free from his hold.

“I’m gonna go pay for these, meet me outside?”

He nodded and walked outside of the store, hand coming to pat the box inside of his pocket. They’d look incredible with his mother’s pearl necklace, that’s for sure.

He carried your things to the limo, and upon arriving to the Manor, he distracted you with promises of hot chocolate and marshmallows, before handing Alfred the little white box and telling him to keep it a secret. The rest of the evening was spent with the two of you discussing presents, drinking your hot chocolate, and watching some Christmas movies as the wood in the fireplaced cracked piece by piece, enveloping you both in a cozy warmth.

Later that month, the two of you were sitting at an expensive café, having a few treats, and talking about your Christmas shopping. Although the place was very fancy and its prices had shocked you, so had the quality of their food.

“This is garbage,” you said, eyeing the cupcake on your plate. “Holy shit, who baked these? It feels like I’m chewing on a brick!”

“Yours are much better, yes,” Bruce agreed, taking his own cupcake, and looking at it carefully. “And that’s this awful taste?”

“I think she added lemon juice, but it doesn’t work in this recipe, not at all. You’ll see, it’ll basically nullify the sweetness of it, and the whole thing is just gonna taste like one sour cupcake. Gosh, people pay their rent’s worth of money for these?”

Bruce could listen to you talk for hours on end. The way your eyes lit up when you found a topic you were interested in, and how genuinely passionate you were about your hobbies. Your genuineness was something he praised and found himself looking for more and more. In fact, one of the reasons he’d taken you to this specific café was because he knew the cupcakes sucked – he’d eaten there before. He just wanted to hear you talk about them.

An old woman approached your table, wearing a Santa Claus had on top of her head, and a few Christmas related pins on her waitress apron.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” she asked with a smile.

“Oh, no thank you, we’re fine.” You replied, returning it «.

“I see. Well, I’d just like to say, it’s a real gift to see such precious young love.” The woman gestured at the both of you, and your cheeks flared up. “This city can be so dark and gloomy sometimes; it warms my heart to know that love still prevails on top of all. You two are such a lovely couple.”

“We’re –“ you coughed, trying to clear your throat. “We’re not – we’re not a couple.”

“Oh!”

“Yeah, we’re just – we’re just friends!” you were quick to correct her and refused to meet Bruce in the eye.

Oh, right. Bruce. He was staring at the old woman, completely lost in thought. This woman thought you two were a couple. Did you look like it? And why had you shut her down so quickly? Did you hate the idea that much? Would it be so terrible if the two of you were to date?

“Oh, I am so sorry then, my apologies!” the waitress was quick to apologise. “It’s just – you two look rather lovely together. I’m sorry for the intrusion.” She walked away and you covered your cheeks with your hands, trying to mask the sudden blush that had overcome you.

Bruce, on his end, was still staring at where the woman had been. Did you two look like a couple that much? He wouldn’t mind it. No, not really, he wouldn’t mind being a couple with you. He could finally drop that stupid playboy persona, be one step closer to his real self. He could protect you and always keep you safe and closer to him. He wondered what it would be like to wake up to you every morning and be greeted with that dazzling smile of yours. Would you ask him for five more minutes in bed? Act all grumpy until you had your morning coffee? Would you drag him out of his bedroom to start the day and be productive?

“Shall we go?” you interrupted his thoughts, placing your now empty mug on top of your plate. “It’s gonna get dark soon, and I wanted to see the Christmas lights.” Your voice was lower, still tinted with some nervousness. Bruce snapped out of it and nodded, walking towards the counter to pay the bill.

While he was gone, you made your way to the bathroom and splashed some water on your face, to wake yourself up and hopefully cool down.

Once you were ready, you walked out of the café, strolling the streets of Gotham.

Sometimes it surprised you how pretty your city could be. Sure, there was chaos and corruption, and most of the times it was a fucking shithole, but it was still home, and the tall buildings and bright lights could still take your breath away.

You and Bruce walked side by side. You were still far too nervous to look at him, so you kept your distance. Bruce, respectful as ever, remained by your side, refusing to touch you until you gave him permission. As you were looking at the prettily decorated shop windows and houses, he could see the way your body shivered and trembled.

That’s what you got for refusing to bring a jacket because, “your outfit looked far too pretty to be hidden behind a coat”.

“Cold?” he asked.

“N-no. Not at all. I’m fine. I told you; these tights are really warm.” Your voice was trembling, and your teeth were close to chattering. A part of Bruce wanted to see you fight for your case just a bit longer, while the other just longed to envelop you in his arms and keep the cold away.

“Oh, really? Because I’m pretty sure the tips of your fingers are turning blue.” He said with a smug expression.

“No, I’m fine.” You replied, nodding eagerly. “I told you; I wouldn’t be cold. I’m not.”

Bruce just nodded and kept walking by your side.

After a few minutes, it was far too obvious you were freezing. Your body was trembling, your teeth were chattering, and he was sure he could see your lips becoming a dark shade of purple.

Wordlessly, Bruce began to remove his jacket.

“What are you doing?” you asked, turning to him in confusion.

“Preventing you from catching pneumonia,” he replied, handing it to you.

“N-no, T-that’s not n-necessary, Bruce. I’m fine. I’m n-not cold. I’m f-fine! See? Just p-peachy.”

Bruce had faced criminals and villains and corrupt cops, and they’d all lied to him at one point or another. None was as bad as you.

He gave you one of his “I told you so” looks, and you nearly pouted, spreading your arms as he helped you put the jacket on. Almost instantly, you felt warmth spread through your body and sighed in relief. Bruce also removed his scarf, and carefully wrapped around your neck, hands lingering on your face for longer than necessary when he brushed a few strands away from it.

“Better?” he murmured.

You looked at him through your lashes. He was close. Very close. So close, that you could hear your heartbeat hammering on your chest. You gave him a soft “mhm” and he returned to your side, keeping a respectful distance from you.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked him. It made you feel terrible – it was freezing in Gotham, and you’d taken his only sources of comfort.

“I’m fine – believe me. I’d much rather have you not freezing on me.” He replied.

“Are you sure? It’s very cold.”

“I promise.”

You nodded and continued your silent stroll.

Suddenly, while crossing the street, some careless motorbike showed up out of nowhere. You shrieked in surprise, and froze in your place, closing your eyes in fear. A pair of strong arms pulled you away, and you collided with a strong figure. Bruce was holding you close, cursing the driver under his breath. Once you looked up to you look at him, he turned to you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking all over your face to make sure you were unharmed.

“Yeah – just – that dickhead –“

“I know. It’s like you can’t trust anyone with a license these days.” He muttered. It hurt to part from you. It was like you were made to stand next to him, body slotting perfectly with his. Reluctantly, he pulled away from you, giving you space, but was surprised when you held onto his arm, like you usually do.

You looked at him, silently asking for permission, which he granted. You scooted closer to him, and he smiled.

The two of you continued walking through the streets of Gotham, making comments on the architecture, the lighting, the people. There were small stalls selling all sorts of trinkets and goods, a sort of small Christmas market, and you smiled as you saw kids running around with balloons or cups of hot chocolate. It was dark and gloomy, but once again, Gotham could be so very beautiful.

“A pretty flower for a pretty lady?” An old vendor asked, extending a pretty rose in your direction.

“Oh, no thank you – “ you mumbled, shaking your head, but Bruce was quicker.

“Thank you.” He nodded, taking the flower in his hands. He handed the man a bill (and surely a big one at that, because the man’s eyes widened, and he stared at it for quite a while before thanking Bruce profusely.)

Bruce turned to you and handed you the flower.

You weren’t sure if it was from his jacket, or if your whole body had simply decided to set itself on fire. You took the flower and brought it up to your nose, the intoxicating smell of it filling your senses.

“Thank you,” you said, still looking at it. No one had ever bought you flowers.

“A pretty flower for a pretty lady,” he repeated the old man’s words, and continued walking with you by his side, but not without hearing the old man say something about how “beautiful it was to see love bringing people together”. You didn’t seem to have heard it, but Bruce did, and he smiled.

It was Christmas Eve, and you were in Wayne Manor, having dinner with Bruce and Alfred (whom he begged to take a seat at the table with the two of you). There was wine and plenty of food, and the three of you had a great time, sharing funny stories and anecdotes and just enjoying each other’s companies.

You had promised your family to visit them the day after and were dead set on spending the Eve with Bruce.

After dinner, you sat near the fireplace, talking about books, movies, and whatever silly topic that came to mind. You, with your legs comfortably spread on the couch, Alfred on the big chair, and Bruce on the floor, by your feet. To him, that was the closest he had to spending Christmas with his family, and wondered if his parents would’ve enjoyed your company. Of course they’d have, he thought, you’re perfect.

After the three of you had played a few games (Alfred had won at charades, his Batman impression making you laugh for five minutes straight), you stood up announcing that, since it was almost midnight, you wanted everyone to open their gifts. It was more about you giving yours away than opening them, really – you were quite proud of the gifts you’d bought and wanted Bruce’s and Alfred’s reactions as soon as possible.

“Alright, alright, alright, me first! Here – Alfred, these are for you!” You handed him about five different packages, and he looked at you with a fond expression in his eyes.

“You didn’t have to, Miss.”

“Well, but I did. I need to spoil my swing partner, don’t I?”

He smiled at your antics and slowly opened the packages, one by one. Inside, there were a few woollen sweaters with matching-coloured ties.

“They’re really warm, you know. And it’s real wool – the quality of these is amazing! And you can even wear them without the ties, for a more casual look. What do you think? Do you like them?” you asked eagerly, hoping to get the response you wanted.

“I do, Miss. Thank you. These are lovely.”

You beamed and hugged him tightly. “Promise? There’s a receipt somewhere if you don’t like them – but I just thought they looked so cool and they were so pretty and the fabric is so soft, and – “

“Yes, Miss. I promise. Thank you. These are splendid.”

“Well, since we’re spoiling Alfred, I don’t really want to get left out.” Bruce joked, before reaching for an envelope sitting on top of the Christmas tree (decorated by the both of you on the first of December, thank you very much.) He handed his butler the envelope and sat back, awaiting his reply.

“So, you’ve finally decided to get rid of me.” Alfred said, looking at the contents of the envelope intently.

“Don’t be so dramatic, it’s just a few weeks.” Bruce replied smugly. “If anyone deserves a vacation in this house, it’s you.”

When Alfred didn’t reply, Bruce raised an eyebrow, worry starting to pool in his stomach.

“Alfred? Is everything okay?”

Alfred sighed and shook the envelope in his head.

“A ticket to the Maldives, Master Wayne? You’ve outdone yourself this time.”

Bruce grinned, nodding. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I do indeed, but, if I may express a tiny complaint…”

“Of course, Alfred. You can always speak your mind.”

“You’re a bit of a cheapskate, Master Wayne.”

You burst out laughing, nodding along with Alfred.

“A cheapskate. I see. And why is that?”

“After all I’ve done for you, three weeks of vacation seems a bit stingy, don’t you think?” Although he was saying this, he had a smile playing in his lips. Clearly none of it was serious.

“It’s not like I can function without you Alfred. Can’t have you enjoying too much time off, now, can we? You might remember just how fantastic life is outside this place and never return. You’ll be here forever. You’ve changed my diapers when I was born, and you’ll change them when I’m old and gray.”

“I knew I should’ve never accepted Thomas Wayne’s job offer back then.” He muttered. But he then turned to Bruce and gave him an earnest smile. “Thank you, sir. This is very thoughtful of you.”

After that, it was his turn to give you your presents. He gave Bruce a (very expensive) bottle of wine, that he expressed “wanted it to be opened on a very special occasion” with a wink – which made Bruce clear his throat and change the subject. You received a burgundy scarf he’d brought from his latest trip to England, from a shop you’ve expressed your admiration for a few times.

“Holy – oh my god! This is incredible, I mean, look at it!” You hugged him tightly and wrapped the scarf around your neck, not caring that it was far too warm inside the Manor for you to require a scarf.

“Well, now, it seems to be getting rather late for me,” he announced, standing up.

“Oh? You don’t wanna stay here until midnight?”

Alfred shook his head.

“I’m afraid not, Miss. I’m quite tired. I’ll be retiring for the night.”

“Alright, Alfred. Goodnight.” Bruce said with a curt nod.

“Goodnight, sir. Goodnight, Miss.”

You’d turned away to investigate your scarf once again, you missed the look Alfred gave his master, which made him sigh and look at you fondly.

“Alright – now it’s my turn! I need to go get your gift, just wait in here!” You were quick to stand up and disappear into the hallway. You’d been gone for a few minutes, so Bruce went after you, wondering if everything was alright. He bumped into you near the grand staircase at the entrance, and you jumped.

“Christ – you need to stop scaring me like that!” you reprimanded him.

Bruce chuckled, and you shook your head.

“Anyway,” you mumbled, presenting him with a small black box. “This is for you. I know it’s not nearly as fancy as the ones you already have but – well, it’s Christmas and it’s the thought that counts, is it not?” There was a certain nervousness in your voice, Bruce could feel it.

He gently took the box from you, and opened it, revealing a fancy looking black Hugo Boss watch. His fingers trailed the screen and the expensive leather strap.

“I know you have a ton of those, but I thought, hey, this one’s special, this one’s from me!” Before you could keep on with your nervous ramblings, Bruce brought you close, hugging you tightly. You smiled against his chest and wrapped your hands around his torso. This was nice. This was comfortable and familiar and nice.

“Thank you,” he whispered into your hair, and you almost melted at the cadence of his voice.

“You’re welcome.” You replied.

When you two pulled away, something caught his eye. Looking up, he realised the both of you were standing right underneath a few branches of mistletoe. You followed his eyes and blushed furiously, your whole body heating up.

Bruce said your name and you turned to look at him, feeling as light as a feather.

“Look, I – there’s something I would like to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Bruce thought of all you’d been through together. Laughter, tears, giggles, and scowls. You’d had great times, reading books, walking around, spending time together, and bad times, when he blew you off, choosing Gotham city at night over you. He thought of all he told you, all he trusted you with.

“I just wanted to say that I really enjoy spending time with you,” he began.

“I enjoy spending time with you too.” You inched closer to him, hands still on his chest.

“You’re amazing, and I’m so glad to have you in my life. You see through my charade. I can be myself when I’m around you.”

He thought back on the charity gala, on you wearing that lovely black dress, dancing with him. He thought of holding your hand and pulling you close to him to keep you safe. He thought of your sparkly eyes and delicate lips, and how much he could stare into the former and how badly he wanted to kiss the later.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me. I guess what I’m trying to say is…”

He thought about how badly he wanted to always be with you. How much he’d love to wake up next to you, feel your skin against his, be able to shout from the rooftops that you’re his and his alone. He thought about dropping to one knee and seeing you walking down an aisle wearing the prettiest of white dresses. He saw a lifetime with you, side by side.

“What I’m trying to say is…”

He thought about Batman.

How he’d have to cancel date after date after date, prioritising the black suit over your relationship. He thought of you getting worried sick when he got home late, frowning as you looked at his scars and bruises. He could see it vividly, how you’d cry and beg him not to leave you, to choose you over the city for once in his life, and how he’d leave you to cry all of your tears as he put the cowl on.

“Is…”

“Is…?” You pressed further, eyes dropping to his lips.

He saw argument after argument, saw you screaming at him, accusing him of not loving you. He saw nights spent in the couch, because you were far too angry to let him in your bed. He saw your sad eyes welling up with tears in the middle of romantic dates after he’d told you he had to go because the bat signal was shining in the night sky. He thought about someone finding his identity and going after you first and foremost. He saw you tied up in some random chair, mouth gagged and tears running down your streak as some criminal tortured you to get to him.

He saw your lifeless body inside a coffin, skin devoid of colour, eyes closed, to never open again, and how he’d spend the rest of his life hating both himself and his mask.

He thought about Bruce Wayne, and Batman.

And he realised you couldn’t possibly love both.

“Is… You’re a great friend. Thank you.” He squeezed your arms in a comforting manner and walked away, leaving you wide eyed and speechless under the mistletoe.

Later, he’d gift you the first edition of your favourite classic novel and wish you goodnight with a polite nod of his head, going up to his bedroom.

Before he went to sleep, he locked the pearl earrings and his mother’s necklace inside his drawer.

Things were awkward between you two. Your friendship with Bruce was still there, but he was sort of distant. Your weekly book club meetings still happened, and he still dropped by your café to drink coffee and try new cupcake recipes, but everything seemed to have changed after Christmas Eve.

So, you tried to move on with your life.

A few weeks after Christmas, your bakery started to work with a new supplier, and you quickly befriended the delivery guy, Tom. While you started to look forward to his visits more and more, it still did not feel the same as when you were with Bruce, and you felt guilty for hanging out with him.

One day, Bruce came in for his regular cup of coffee and a cupcake and found you smiling and giggling at a guy at the counter. His first reaction was to punch the guy to next Sunday, but thankfully he calmed down and approached you with a polite smile on his face.

“Hey there,” he greeted you, not sparing Tom a single glance.

“Oh! Hey Bruce – this is Tom. He’s the delivery guy from the new supplier.” Tom’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he realised the Bruce Wayne was standing in front of him and tried his best to shake his hand nonchalantly.

“I’ll be right with you,” you told him, and continued your conversation with Tom.

Fucking Tom. Who even was this guy?

And why were you smiling so much? What the fuck did he have that Bruce didn’t?

Most likely, it was what Bruce didn’t have that make a difference – a mask, a secret identity, a promise made to Gotham.

After you were done chatting with the delivery guy, you placed a cupcake and a cup of coffee in front of Bruce, but instead of sitting down with him, you returned to the counter and resumed your conversation.

Bruce cursed himself mentally.

On Christmas day, after you’d left, Alfred had asked what happened.

Bruce told him everything. How he couldn’t be with you because of Batman, how he couldn’t risk your safety and life, how he pushed you away.

Alfred lectured him, telling his master that his mask was going to be the end of him, but Bruce refused to listen and went to the batcave to busy himself and get his mind off you.

As he looked at you now, radiant and smiling at someone else, he realised that he might’ve made a big, big mistake.

It wasn’t long until you two started dating. It was casual, nothing too serious, but Bruce still seethed on the inside. He found himself staring at you for longer, hands lingering on yours whenever he touched you, and his heart ached more and more whenever he saw you with Tom.

You seemed so happy with him.

Seemed.

Because the truth was, you weren’t doing as well as Bruce thought you were. Tom was a nice man, yeah, but there was something off about the whole thing. He was good looking, yes, and very kind. He listened to you and made you, his priority. He was a dream. But there was just one problem, he wasn’t Bruce.

When you two went out, you often found yourself wishing it was Bruce’s arms wrapped around you. When you two went shopping and you decided to go try on a few hand lotions, Tom simply bent over to sniff your hand, and you were brought back to that time last November when Bruce held you with such gentleness, you nearly melted.

Tom always reminded you to bring a jacket, and you did so diligently, unconsciously put off by the idea of wearing his. He’d once given it to you, and it just wasn’t the same. He didn’t wrap it around you securely, he didn’t brush the hair away from your face, he didn’t look at you the way Bruce did. He was an amazing guy, and you liked him.

But that was it.

Still, you kept your relationship going, hoping your feelings would change.

After all, it’s not like you had ever felt anything for Bruce, right?

He was just a good friend.

You enjoyed spending time with him, sure, but that was it.

So, you looked forward to every time the two of you hung out. And your heartbeat quickened every time he was near. You couldn’t get your eyes off him. You easily got angry or upset whenever other women looked at him, and even more so when he entertained their advances. You longed to have him hold you in your arms.

But that was all normal, right? It just meant you were great friends.

You mind goes back to Christmas Eve, and the way he hugged you. Standing under that mistletoe, there was nothing you wanted more than to kiss him. You remember looking at him and wishing so bad that he would lean down and press his lips against yours. Just friends don’t kiss.

And that’s what you were to him – just a friend. He’d say that himself.

So why were you so heartbroken?

Looking at an empty coffee mug, it suddenly hit you like a train.

You were in love with Bruce Wayne.

And he didn’t love you back.

So there was no need to feel guilty over going out with Tom, right? Even if you didn’t particularly want to kiss him and didn’t want his hands around you when you two went out. Even if you were reluctant to introduce you as “your boyfriend” and had more than once ditched him to stay home and rethink your life decisions.

Even if when the two of you went out on dates, you barely paid any attention to him, focusing on the times you’d sat down with Bruce over a drink and just laughed your asses off and spoke until the crack of dawn.

Even if you didn’t really love Tom.

Yeah. No need at all.

On a lovely April afternoon, you were helping Bruce do some spring cleaning. You were both wearing some casual, old clothes, and helping Alfred to make sure the Manor ended up spotless.

You were currently in charge of the spacious living room, carefully placing picture frames on top of the coffee table so you could clean the fireplace. You looked at the framed memories. Pictures of Bruce as a child, or with his parents. There was one with a young Bruce standing on his father’s shoulders, and another one of him hugging Alfred.

You smiled to yourself. What a cute kid, he was. He seemed so happy.

There were pictures of him with Rachel, knees scraped and clothes dirty from the mud, and some with you. Your gaze lingered on those.

There was one framed selfie with the two of you, faces full of flour and whipped cream. You’d been teaching him how to bake, but the whole ordeal ended up in a small food fight – which he’d won. You chuckled at the memories of trying to teach Mr. “I’m far too rich to cook because I have people to do it for me” how to measure cups of flour, and break eggs. You’d held onto his arms and guided him to make sure he got the measurements just right.

Something inside of you flared up the memory.

The other picture in your hand had been taken at the Carrington gala.

You were wearing your pretty (and extremely expensive) black dress and were smiling at the camera. You were leaning into Bruce’s touch, who was holding you close by the waist. Instead of looking at the camera, he was instead looking at you.

Somehow, tears had clouded your vision.

How you had loved dancing with him. Being held by him as if you were the only person in the world he cared about. Your fingers traced his figure in the picture, and a tear fell down your cheek, falling on top of the glass.

“Hey, are you done with the fireplace?” You jumped at the voice behind you, and dropped the frame, which fell on the floor and broke into a million little pieces.

“Shit!” you mumbled, quick to crouch and try to pick up each glass shard. Bruce was quicker though, and made his way towards you, pulling you away from the soiled floor.

“No, get away from this, you might get hurt. I’ll call Alfred and – “ he looked at you and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Tears were streaming down your face, and you couldn’t look away from the mess you had made. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you choked back a sob. “I’m so sorry – I broke it.”

“No, no. It’s okay, we’ll just get a new frame.” Bruce assured you, hands resting on your shoulders.

“No – fuck – it’s not okay! None of this is okay!” You cried, and he pulled you against his chest, running his fingers through your hair.

“It’s just a frame. We’ll get a new one. And we’ll clean the floor.”

You cried in his arms for a while, until your sobs subsided into quiet sniffs. Bruce didn’t really know what to do, so he stood there, holding you tight. He’d never let you go.

After a while, you broke the silence.

“I – “ sniff, “ – I broke up with Tom,” you mumbled.

Bruce’s expression was one of surprise. Really? Why would you though? You two seemed happy.

“I… I don’t really think I liked him…” you continued; voice muffled by his chest. “I think I was dating him simply because I wanted to forget you…”

What?

He looked at you, but you refused to face him, face pressing harder against his chest.

“I’m such an idiot, Bruce… Everything was fine, and then I went and fell for you… And now our friendship is going to be ruined, and I broke your picture frame…”

Bruce held you tighter. You fell for him?

“I’m sorry, Bruce… I’m so sorry – I promise I’ll fix this. I – I’ll stop loving you and we can go back to being friends, and – “

Bruce used his thumb to lift your face up and looked straight into your eyes. There was nowhere to run. You were trapped, and so was he.

“You love me?” he asked, voice as soft as you’d ever heard it.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say those words out loud, so you opted for nodding.

“But – Tom –“

“Tom was a distraction,” you sniffled, “And I feel terrible about it. But I didn’t really like him. I just wanted to forget about you.”

“You love me,” Bruce repeated, using the same thumb to rub circles on the skin of your cheek. His gaze fell on your lips.

He had two choices. He could let you go once again. He could walk away from you, tell you he didn’t love you back. He could watch as you eventually moved on with your life (this time for real) and protect you from having to choose between Bruce Wayne and Batman.

He could give up the love of his life forever.

Or he could kiss you. He could tell you how he felt. He could trust you with that darker side of him, and you two could figure it out along the way. He could take it easy. He could bare his heart and finally tell you how you felt.

Two sides of him fought against each other, but ultimately, one was stronger.

He bent down and took your lips in his, sliding his hands up to your face to cradle it.

You were surprised to say the least, but pleasantly so. You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him back with vigour, tears of happiness falling down your cheeks. How you’d wanted this. And now, it was finally happening.

When you two parted for air, Bruce refused to let you go, standing mere inches away from you. His nose nuzzled yours, and he whispered a quiet, “I love you.”

You don’t know wat surprised you more. That he’d say it, or that you said it back.

“I love you too,” you smiled, pressing yourself against him and kissing him once again.

Bruce wrapped his arms around you, attempting to convey all his feelings for you in a simple kiss. All the longing, the love, the desire, the friendship. Everything he couldn’t find the words to say, he poured into that kiss. And you smiled, accepting all his confessions, all his words.

“Well, it was about time, don’t you two think?” Alfred said from across the room.

You jumped and just stared at him, embarrassment overtaking you.

“Yes, I’m talking about you two. Do you know how bothersome it was to see you moping around and sulking because you hadn’t kissed her on Christmas Eve, sir?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“I – You wanted to kiss me on Christmas Eve?” you turned to Bruce and gave him a soft smile.

“I did. I really did. I’m so sorry I didn’t.” he replied, before looking at Alfred. “Could you please leave us alone now? I don’t really recall paying you to mind my business.”

“You don’t pay me enough not to, sir.” The butler replied with a cheeky grin and that “I have the high ground, for I am British and old and wise” smug look of his. “I am glad to see the both of you are finally getting along. If you need me, I’ll be cleaning the Manor, since no one in this house does it.”

You laughed and faced Bruce once again, cupping his cheek.

“I thought you didn’t even like me. I mean, on Christmas…”

“I’m sorry about Christmas. I really did want to kiss you, it’s just… There are things about me – things you don’t know. And I’m afraid of telling you because I don’t want you to get hurt.” He replied, hand coming up to touch yours.

“You can tell me anything Bruce, you know it. Right?”

He nodded, and hugged you close one more time.

“I do. And I love you. I really mean it.”

Bruce could hear the smile in your voice when you replied.

“I love you too.”

For once in his life, Bruce Wayne did not feel completely alone. On the next room, he had his trusted butler, who had raised him as his own and acted like a parental figure all these years. And in his arms, he had you. The love of his life, the woman he loved the most in the world.

Holding you close to him, he knew he could trust you, no matter what. He knew you’d accept him, because if anyone would, it was you. And he would cherish that forever.

Later that night, a small white box was taken out of a locked drawer and placed inside of his pocket.

Bruce led you to the same spot you’d been on Christmas Eve, handed you the small box, and after carefully placing the necklace around your neck, finally kissed you.

There was no way he was ever letting go of you.

A/N: And that's it! I hope I was able to do both this trilogy and this request justice, I was really worried about it. I wrote most of it in one sitting, you have no idea, I just kept on writing and writing and writing and when I realised it, it'd gotten kinda long and out of hand.

I also hope this Tom character wasn't useless? I mean, he sorta was, he was just a plot device, but I hope he didn't feel rushed or whatever.

Anyways, I hope you guys liked it! I really do!

Have an amazing day, everyone! <3

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