#no beta i die like a woman

[rustyzebra]

She Has Me Whipped

NSFW! NO MINORS PLEASE

AN: Howdy y'all, This was heavily inspired by this one picture of Paget. Please be gentle. I haven't written in a while.

Also posted on AO3

TW: Slight spanking, slight degradation, praise

Summary: You helped Emily move her things after coming back from London. You wanted to borrow a sweater but ended up finding something you probably shouldn't have.

"Hey, thanks for coming over and helping me move," Emily says while carrying boxes through the door of her new apartment. You follow her shortly after. "No worries, Em, I'm just happy you're back. Emily has recently returned from London to take over for Hotch. You missed her dearly these past years that she's been abroad.

You made the long-distance "relationship" work, though you both never made it official. Now that she's back, it may end up happening eventually. 

"Where do you want this tote, Em?" Finally, bringing in the last of her things. She glances over to see the box you were holding before answering. "That one can go in the bedroom." Nodding, you walked off. You looked around her new bedroom after placing the box on the floor. The movers moved the bed and big furniture early this morning; she's lucky she doesn't have to sleep on the floor. You chuckled, thinking to yourself. 

You walk into the living room to see Emily on her phone. Looking up, she flashes you a smile. "How about we order something to eat before unpacking the essentials?” "Sure! I'm starving." Sitting on the lone couch while you waited for Emily to place the order. Emily walked over to the sofa and plopped herself beside you.

"I missed you so much, Em." You said while leaning your head to rest on her shoulder. Emily leaned down and placed a kiss on the crown of your head. "I missed you too, sweet girl." She mumbled into your hair. Both of you stayed cuddled up together until a knock at the door broke your little trance. 

Emily begrudgingly got up off the couch to grab the food. After joining you back on the sofa, she handed you the takeout container and plastic cutlery from the bag. "Sorry, I haven't unpacked any plates or cutlery yet," “Don’t be sorry, Em, you just moved.” You said as you finally brought some food to your mouth. You were looking to see Emily shovelling the Chinese food into her mouth. You chuckled. "Hey, slow down, or you're going to choke." Emily swallowed down the food and let out a laugh as well. "Sorry, all this manual labour is making me hungry."

Finished eating, you stand up from the couch and stretch; Emily takes the opportunity to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close. “Yeah, I missed this.” Emily said in your ear before letting you go seconds later and giving you a light tap on your butt to get you moving.”Hey, watch yourself, Prentiss.” You replied with a smirk as you followed her into the kitchen. “Come on; we got a kitchen to fill.” You started working on the cutlery and kitchen essentials, stocking cupboards and shelves, and making this place feel like home. The hours tick by and most rooms have been furnished. The rest can wait for tomorrow. 

After a long day's work, Emily returned to the couch; the tv in front had finally been set up, so you both could unwind with a movie. “Em, can I borrow a sweater? I’m freezing.” Emily smiled and nodded while she looked for a movie you’d both settle on watching. “They should be in the blue tote you brought in earlier.” You walk back into the bedroom and kneel by the tote. You opened it up to see piles of clothes and other miscellaneous things. Digging around, your hand hits a long, thin object near the bottom of the tote. Curious, you pulled it out to find yourself holding a riding crop. Your face flushed a deep red while studying the whip in your hand. Why would Emily need something like this? You through to yourself. She doesn’t have a horse. Then it hit you. You quickly shoved it back where it was and grabbed the first sweater you saw—quickly throwing it on and leaving the room in a hurry. 

You joined Emily on the couch, trying to hide your flushed face as best as possible. “I wondered what took you so long; I thought you got lost in there,” Emily replied, placing a hand on your thigh. “Sorry, I couldn’t decide which one I wanted.” At times, you were a terrible liar. Emily didn’t continue to push; she just put on the movie and pulled you closer to her. You tried to focus on the film, but your mind wandered to the riding crop. Images of Emily holding it suggestively flashed in your mind. You knew Emily was moderately kinky but never imagined something like this. 

Did she go to some BDSM clubs while in London? Was she seeing another woman while there? Questions popped up in your mind left and right that you missed Emily's quizzical look she shot at you. "Are you ok?" Concern crosses her features. Not hearing her, you stare off into space until you feel Emily grab your chin to move your face to look at her. "Hey, anyone in there?" Emily asked before lightly flicking your nose. Snapping out of your stupor, your eyes finally meet Emily. "Huh? Sorry, Em. I'm fine." "Are you sure? You've been off since you went to get one of my sweaters."

At times like this, you hate profilers. You've finally had enough of beating around the bush. "I uh… I found something else in that tote. Something I probably shouldn't have uh seen." 

You turn your face away, a flush climbing up your neck.

Emily stops to think about what could have embarrassed you so much in the tote; then, it hits her. A wide smirk plastered itself on her face, eyebrow-raising in amusement. "What did you say you found, sweetheart?" You mumble too quietly for her to hear. "Speak up, sweet girl."

"I found a riding crop." You look down while picking at your nails. 

"From when I was an equestrian, silly girl." Emily let out a belly laugh. "Did you think it was for something else?" The blood drained from your face; it turns out you were the one with the dirty mind. Emily leaned close to your ear to whisper. "Did you want it to be for something else?" Nipping just below your earlobe. A hitched breath left your throat, nodding meekly. 

"I don't know what you want if you don't tell me, darling." Emily purred against the nape of your neck, biting at your pulse point. "I-I thought it was for the Ah! For the bedroom." 

"I could make that happen if you'd like." Emily stared into your lust-blown eyes. "Please, Em."

Emily dragged you into the bedroom. Clothes were flinging off. You are pushed onto the bed when the only thing left on you is your bra and panties. Emily walked over to the tote and brought out the item that had successfully distracted you all night. “Before we start, are you sure you want this?” Emily asked softly. “Yes, Emily.” “You remember our safeword?” Nodding your head before replying. “The traffic light system to check in, Red or the word Peach to stop.”

“That’s my good girl.” Emily coos before getting back into character.

“What is it about this that got you so excited?” Emily asked as she dragged her fingers across the smooth leather. She walked over to you and joined you on the bed. “Was my sweet girl having naughty thoughts?” You nodded as Emily purred in your ear. She brought the crop and ran it across your clothed chest; a hum slipped past your lips. She pushed your bra up using the crop handle, allowing your breasts to slip out. Emily moaned at the sight of the new jewellery on your nipples. 

“Well, now, when did you get these?” Emily’s sultry voice made its way to your ears. The cool leather of the crop stroked along your erect nipples, rubbing against the little balls of metal on either side of them. “Ah! W-While you were in London.” Emily hummed, a smirk gracing her features. Leaning closer, she grabs one of your nipples, rolling it between her fingers; how you liked it. You let out a muffled moan. 

“They are a lot more sensitive than I remember.” Emily muses to herself. The sensation of her nimble fingers hitting against the bar in your nipple was driving you crazy; you go to move Emily’s hand, the feeling becoming too much for you. You felt the smack on the crop against your thigh, a louder moan leaving your body after impact. “Did I say you could touch? Naughty girl. Do I have to tie up your hands like last time?” You shook your head, whimpering. 

You felt the leather of the crop run along your body, making its way to sit under your chin, raising it to make you look her in the eyes. “Use your words, Slut.” Emily sneered while looking down at you. “No, Emily, I’ll be good. Please.” Moaning again as the crop continues back down your body. “Good girl.” Bringing the crop between your legs, gently tapping on your inner thighs. “Open for me, princess.” Your legs fall open, putting yourself on full display for her. “Look at you, all wet from a naughty little misunderstanding.” Emily ran the crop across the wet patch on your panties. 

“Please, Em.” Emily hummed as she continued to circle the crop along your cunt. “Please, what? What did I say about using your words?” Emily lightly swatted your pussy, the sting mixing with pleasure, effectively ripping a moan from your body. “Please, Em. Stop teasing. I need you to touch me.” “I am touching you,” Emily replies. “With your hands, please, Em. Please just fuck me.”

Emily smirks down at you. “All you had to do was ask, sweetheart.” Lifting your hips to help Emily pull down your panties, watching her toss them behind her. “Look at you, I haven’t even touched you properly, and you’re already making a mess of the sheets.” She trails her hands up your inner thigh painstakingly slow; you go to grab her hand out of habit. Realising you royally fucked up. “Since you don’t know how to keep your hands to yourself, here.” Emily hands you the crop. “Hold this up in both your hands. If it drops even an inch, you won’t get to cum for a week. Do I make myself clear?” Emily's stern voice sends a throb right to your folds. “Yes, Ma’am.” Your voice is coming out shaky. Holding the crop up was easy until you felt Emily’s finger dip into your slick, sufficiently coating her fingers before circling your clit. Your hand waver at the pleasure. “Look at my obedient girl, trying so hard to hold that up, huh?” Emily asked as she flicked your clit with her thumb. “Ah! Yes.” Your hands are starting to shake. 

Emily slips two fingers into your cunt, pumping with vigour. “Emily, please, more.” You begged. “God, beg again.” Emily smiled while slowing her pace. “Please, use your tongue. Fuck me harder, please.” “You’re so sexy when you beg.” Emily pulls her fingers out and pops them into her mouth. “Since you asked so nicely.” She leans down and swipes her tongue up your cunt, swirling it around your clit. You don’t know how you’re still holding up the crop, but you are damn sure going to try your best to keep holding it.

Emily’s nose bumps against your clit as she proceeds to eat you out like a woman that's been starved. Moans ripping from your body left and right. “Emily, please, I’m so close.” Your voice is shaking as the coil in your lower abdomen starts to tighten. Your arms subconsciously drop a bit. Emily looks up at you, pulling away only enough to swat your thigh. “Arms. Up. Now.” Your arms immediately shot up. “That’s my sweet girl, always so good for me,” Emily mumbles against your clit. Moaning as Emily continues to fuck you with her tongue. 

“Emily, I’m so close, please. Please don’t stop.” Your speech turned into incoherent babbling once Emily inserted her fingers back in. Her mouth focused on your clit, lightly pulling it between her teeth. “That’s it, sweetheart, let go. Cum for me.” 

Back arching off the mattress, you miss the clunk of the crop falling to the floor. Your arms grip the sheets as Emily helps you recover from your orgasm. You fall limp on the mattress once you’re back to reality. Emily sits up, mouth and chin glistening with your slick. You open your eyes once you realise your hands are empty. “Emily, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to drop it.” “You gulp once you see her pick it up off the floor and sit down on the edge of the bed. “You’ll be sorry, alright. Lay on my lap; I’ll have to retrain you. This is going to be a long night.” 

Your ass was very sore at the end of the night; Emily’s aftercare has been and will always be immaculate. Rubbing cream into your skin after cleaning you up and pulling you close to her after crawling back into bed. 

“I missed this.” You mumble as you nuzzle against Emily’s neck. “Me too, sweet girl,” Emily replies after placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Get some rest; you’ll need it.” Emily chuckles softly.

Yes, you definitely missed this.     

#emily prentiss #criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss smut #i love this woman so much #no beta we die like prentiss

[blurglesmurfklaine]

omg I need to hear your thoughts on teachers!Javey because that makes my brain go BRRRRRRR

OKAY OKAY OKAY SO. I can already tell this is going to be long winded so. apologies.

To understand why Teachers!Javey has a grip on my two brain cells like a dog has on his chew toy, we must first understand the types of students they are.

---

Jack Kelly is never really the stereotypical "good" student. He's a ward of the state, probably has some sort of undiagnosed learning disability that all his teachers attributed to him being a poor student with lousy attendance. Reading and writing is difficult for him from an early age, and he's okay with math until they introduce fucking word problems--what is that about? Why are they putting reading in math?

Every teacher from first to fifth grade he has can see that when Jack speaks to his peers, he's intelligent. He's a natural born leader and trend setter amongst the students. It's such a shame he's wasting his potential. It's such a shame that he never finishes his exams on time, and chooses to waste time doodling in the margins instead. It's such a shame he's only ever at school half the time, the other half out and about doing God knows what.

It's such a shame that every single teacher he had for the first eleven years of his life just assumed his failure was a deliberate choice.

But he finds solace in arts and craft time in elementary, and then is delighted to find out he can have art class every single day, for an entire period in middle school.

Teachers get meaner in middle school. Jack's smart mouth gets smarter--or dumber, according to his seventh grade History teacher, who loudly announces that Jack has the lowest grade out of everyone in his class. Jack stops showing up to History after that, but manages to scrape by with a C by convincing this girl, Katherine, to do his work for him, and he'll finish her art project she needs to get her Fine Arts credit.

(They date for a while and ofc decide they're better off as friends)

He meets Miss Medda his freshman year of high school, because the counselors screwed up his schedule and put him in Theatre instead of Art for his elective class. He needs remedial English Language Arts and Reading classes, both of which are during the only Art classes his stupid school offers. But Miss Medda is kind, treats him with respect, and after Jack accidentally leaves his sketchbook behind, offers to let him do backdrops for her plays instead of having to act in them.

Jack really can't afford to make time for this kind of long-term project--he's got to walk his little brothers (who aren't... legally his brothers, but... it's easier to just call them his brothers) home from their school, and then helps them with their homework best he can because he's not going to let them struggle the way he does and Tony is starting to get in fights, which is really, really stressing Charlie out and--

Miss Medda offers to let them stay in the theatre while the younger kids work on their schoolwork and Jack on his paintings.

It's an excuse to stay away from the Refuge an hour longer. It's an offer Jack can't refuse.

It's Miss Medda who first suggests to Jack he might be dyslexic. Jack's never even heard that word before, but it sparks a light of hope in him. He's not stupid. He's just--wired differently.

A diagnosis is not easy to come by. Jack has no legal guardians who can request testing from the school on his behalf, and Mr. Snyder sure as hell isn't going to shell out the money to do it third party. Miss Medda says she's doing it to streamline the testing, but when Snyder calls him in to say she's requested to foster him, Race, and Charlie, it takes every ounce of Jack's willpower not to cry right then and there.

School was never easy for Jack, and it still isn't, but it's amazing how much easier it becomes when he's got something that resembles a home. A soft bed, with clean sheets. A diagnosis. A family.

College is a possibility. It becomes a reality when Medda helps him submit his application to NYU.

Even though he's an art major, he's got to take basics. A computer that can read his assignments to him helps get him through with flying colors.

Medda assures him he doesn't have to do this for her. He's not. He's doing it for the fourteen year old Jack who needed a teacher like Miss Medda--and now, one like him.

---

David Jacobs is the stereotypical "good" student. Math, Science, History--it all comes incredibly easy to him from a young age. But especially Reading and Writing.

He finishes assignments early for the sole purpose of having more free time in class that he uses to read. Six years in a row, he's the top reader in his entire district, even beating out kids in high school starting from the seventh grade.

Students adore him, teachers love him, and his parents are proud as they could be.

Most kids are impressed. Some think he's doing it to show off, but he does it because there's nothing else he'd rather be doing. No amount of parties or dances can measure up to the way the ending to Of Mice and Men broke his heart, or the way Jodi Picoult's Leaving Time put it back together.

He loves analyzing the worlds he's being sucked into, highlighting passages that make him feel a certain type of way, and analyzing them to understand what makes them so powerful. He loves the power authors give their readers--to escape this world, to find meaning in theirs.

When he gets accepted to Colombia, it just makes sense for him to be an English major.

And he loves every second of it.

He loves writing papers and sticking to the most outlandish interpretations of Kafka, joining the campus newspaper club--even all the terrible peer reviews he has to do. He adores it all.

And then he graduates.

Magna Cum Laude, of course.

And David's not really sure what to do.

And a few months of crashing on friends' couches until he can get something published turns into a year turns into eighteen months turns into "Don't sweat it, you'll find something," and "Hey, I know a guy at The World who'd love to have you write columns," and if one more person tells him about the twelve publishers who rejected Harry Potter, he is going to pop a vein.

And then he's working for a Tax Attorney's office as a secretary and he hates every stupid minute of it, but it pays the bills for about a year before the office downsizes due to an actual fucking pandemic and decides he's the first to go.

He crashes with Sarah until quarantine is over. Then he spends another year working odds-and-ends jobs to help her with rent because he is not a freeloader with an English degree, for fuck's sake.

Sarah sends him a listing for a teaching position at a district in Brooklyn. Alternative Certification paid for by the campus. Eleventh Grade English.

It's a steady income, and he has an entire year to get his teaching certificate.

David applies for the position, not expecting to even really be considered, but in this teacher shortage--all the school is looking for, really, is a warm body.

David accepts the job.

He's always been good at school.

---

There's a weird, lanky looking guy who comes into Jack's class unannounced, accompanied by the academic dean, who informs Jack (with absolutely no heads up) that Mr. Jacobs is their newest English teacher and needs three more hours of live Observations before he's allowed to begin his classes.

Jack is less than thrilled at being observed for the last half of the day, but Mr. Jacobs smiles awkwardly and waves and that’s the end of that. Jack is instantly endeared by this guy who is way in over his head.

The academic Dean leaves, and Mr. Jacobs retrieves a binder and notebook from his messenger bag. As Jack resumes his lesson, the newest teacher takes fastidious notes throughout.

Jack has to actively try not to smile when one of his students goes to Mr. Jacobs for help with a guided practice warm up sketch. Mr. Jacobs seems surprised, but easily answers the questions best he can.

At least this new guy seems to care.

---

At the end of the day, David gathers his things into his bag and heads towards Mr. Kelly, extending his hand. “Thanks so much for this, Mr. Kelly. I really appreciate it.”

“Call me Jack.” He takes David’s hand.

“David.”

“Nice to meet you, Davey.” David’s stomach does a funny little flip at the nickname. It rolls off of Jack’s tongue so casually, so easily, that David doesn’t even feel the need to correct him. “If ya have any other questions, lemme know.”

David digs a pen out of his front pocket and extends it to Jack. “No questions, but could I get your signature on my observations sheet?”

“‘Course.”

The pen passes between their hands and with it, a bolt of electricity David wonders if he’s imagining, but hopes he isn’t.

He is not ogling the muscles of Jack’s hands as they sign the papers, and he’s definitely not noticing the way Jack’s smock hugs his waist where it’s tied behind his back, or the way his rolled up sleeves seem to broaden his shoulders.

“I noticed you have pictures detailing the steps on each of your assignment packets,” David says, redirecting his train of thought towards something work-appropriate.

“Reading ain’t so easy for all kids.”

Jack says it like it’s the simplest explanation in the world, with a shrug and an inherent understanding of this demographic that David lacks.

He hands the pen back to David, along with the paperwork, now donning his signature is messy script letters.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. I’m down the hall.” David has never been particularly boy crazy, but even he is not immune to the charms of Jack’s radiant smile. “If you ever need anything, Davey.”

It’s an offer for mentorship, not a marriage proposal. And still, color rises to David’s cheeks, despite his best efforts to remain cool.

“I’ll uh, see you around.” The words come out high and strangled in his throat, eliciting the widening of Jack’s already knee-weakening, cocky, shit eating grin, but David still hopes there’s truth to them.

It’s clear he has a lot to learn from Jack.

---

Jack pops in to Davey’s room once during his own lunch, and is delighted to find out Pulitzer High’s newest addition has the same period off.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Davey is smart as a whip, he’s passionate, he’s organized (which comes in handy on a Teacher Work Day. Davey spends some time helping Jack organize supplies, and Jack hangs up art and decorations he’d made for Davey’s room).

He finds out that teaching wasn’t always in the plan for Davey, it was just something he sort of fell into. And still, Jack can see the effort he puts into his lesson plans, the quick way he’s learning the ropes and never makes the same mistake twice.

Jack knows teachers who’ve been doing this for years, and don’t have the dedication to self-improvement that Davey has.

And not that Jack is into the habit of checking out his coworkers, but Davey sure as hell ain’t ugly.

He's got a smile that makes you feel like a winner, if you've earned one from him, and he's surprisingly strong (as Jack found out on the aforementioned Teacher Work Day, his mind sputtering and stalling like a dying car when he saw Davey haul out three huge boxes of art supplies from his closet).

Lunch together becomes a regular thing. Which means Davey has words to say about Jack's typical lunch--or lack thereof. One day, Davey unceremoniously presents Jack with a Tupperware of latkes.

“Eat,” he orders.

Jack side eyes him. “I got lunch right here.”

“Cup-O-Noodles is not a meal.”

“Lunch doesn't have to be a meal.”

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Oh, so you've never heard yourself speak?"

"Shut up and take the damn potatoes."

They're heavenly and damn delicious.

In return, Jack brings him a tub of spaghetti the next week.

"Eat," he mimics. Davey gives him a withering glance and Jack clarifies. "It's my ma's recipe. You won't regret it."

"Ah, so you can be a functioning adult," Davey teases. "You just choose not to."

Because Jack's got exactly two brain cells, and both of them are focused on Davey taking an uncharacteristically messy bite of the meal Jack's prepared for them, he says, offhandedly, "I choose to, for you."

Davey nearly coughs up his spaghetti, but doesn't mention it again.

Other than that, things at Pulitzer High are great. Quiet, even. Easy.

And then they get The Memo.

---

“I honestly don’t see what’s so bad about becoming a charter school.”

“Davey,” Jack hisses. Even though Jack seems upset, it doesn't stop the warmth in his stomach at hearing the nickname. “Davey, Davey, Davey. Charter schools get public funding, but they get to decide which kids stay and which kids go. Those signs that say 100% passing rates of standardized testing? It’s because they kick out anyone who can’t meet it. Including kids with LDs and 504 plans. It ain’t right.”

“Shit, I didn't know that. That's fuckin' awful."

"On top of that, you don't have to be certified to be hired."

"I'm not certified," Davey points out.

"Yeah, but you enrolled in one of them ACPs--so you will be. Charter schools don't require the year grace period because they don't require certification. Look, I'm not saying that every teacher in this country is perfect, or hell, even at this school. But it takes a lot of effort to get certified--even if it's not a perfect system--and I don't think it's something we should bypass. If Pulitzer goes Charter, Admin determines your hours, not the board. And kids with lower income households and undiagnosed LDs are gonna bear the brunt of these so-called higher standards. They'll fall right through the cracks, and ain't nothing we can do about it."

A tense silence falls between them, and Davey isn't quite sure how to respond. He doesn't disagree with anything Jack's said, now that he's informed, but he's at a loss regardless.

"I... Sorry, this sorta shit just gets me all worked up. I feel so... so stupidly helpless."

"No, no," Davey says quickly, reaching across the table to clasp Jack's hand in his. It comes automatically, before his brain has the good sense to cross it. Jack looks down at their twined hands, lips parted in what Davey thinks (hopes) might be a breathless gasp. "I get it."

Clearing his throat, he tears his hands away and tucks them beneath the table. He faces away, training his gaze to the creepy portrait of their school's namesake that's hung in the Teacher's Lounge and--

Shit.

Davey has an idea.

A big, stupid, risky idea.

A big, stupid, risky idea that might just be big and stupid and risky enough to impress Jack Kelly, who almost prides himself on being all those things.

"You know about Joseph Pulitzer?" Davey finally asks.

“Yeah, wasn’t he some big time publisher or something?”

“He was. He also tried raising newspaper prices for kids who made a living selling them.”

“Sounds like a real sweetie. Taking advantage of a buncha kids like that.”

“I mean, they did fight back. Gotta give them that credit.”

“They fought back? Against a giant like Pulitzer? How’d they manage that?”

“Well.” Davey turns to meet Jack’s gaze. “They went on strike.”

#javey #javid #jack kelly #david jacobs #newsies 2017 #newsies #I have…. more thoughts #livesies #so there might be a part two to this???? #or I might turn it in to a full out fic lmao lmk what y’all think #bc this is just kinda *waves vaguely* there #no beta we die like men #also sorry ive never written javey before so dont be mean pls #i havent written anything except klaine in like. ten years lasdjfhdjfsd PLS BE KIND I AM A SIMPLE WOMAN-ADJACENT PERSON

[skatehepburn]

The Case for Karlach x Jaheira

Jaheira historically has a thing for lil sweeties with a heart of gold who are brave despite their fear

Canonical mutual admiration! And I'm Gay About It!

Karlach's imminent death is a pretty good equalizer on the age gap thing lbr

They're both kind of above the fray of the game in a way that makes me want to smash their faces (among other things) together

I just think it would be neat!!!

#karlach x jaheira #literally no one is arguing with me i'm just trying to justify this fic for myself #none of my usual fic friends have played bg3 so i might have to no beta we die like men with this one #one thing about me if there's a mean older woman in canon i will crawl across broken glass for her #karlach is the gillian greenwood of baldur's gate in this essay i will #is it brain worms or an illithid parasite who can say #i'm going feral does anyone want anything

[cavernfullofexistentialdread]

My thoughts on FIVE

LONG POST AHEAD

I found it promising, I’ll tell you that much. I do have to acknowledge my bias towards to this piece of art. It’s WONDERFUL that a musical like SIX has sparked so much creativity and is even getting a parody!! WE’VE MADE IT INTO THE HALL OF FAME QUEENDOM!!

ALSO FUCKING JAIME??? STARKID FANS RISE UP!!

I’m was giving this thing the benefit of the doubt. I was sort of confused when I first learned about it, and I had this gut feeling that I’d hate it. I honestly thought it was kind of weird that we’re using this to make a parody of… TRUMP of all people??? Like these women are still ALIVE to my knowledge.

My only wish is that they acknowledge and give their opinion on this musical in some way because say it with me now; THEIR STILL ALIVE AND HAVE THE RIGHT TO AN OPINION ON HOW THEIR VIEWED!

However I have not seen it yet and I am excited to see what my favorite musical has inspired! …Is what I’d be saying if I hadn’t read some reviews. It seems the general consensus is that while it is funny it’s not as innovative in its humor as it could be. And it may not have done what it wanted

As this TheaterMania review states

“A musical send-up of the women in Trump’s orbit, Five: The Parody Musical, would seem to be just what the doctor ordered as we face the prospect of yet another Trump administration. So why wasn’t I laughing?“

I thought this article was being a little harsh on this musical, until I read THIS.

“The few genuinely funny moments in Five spring entirely from Jen Wineman’s adequate production — her choreography is both simplistic and sloppily executed, which is funny in its own way — and the ingenuity of the actors.”

I was surprised by this, the advertising leaned heavily into the humor of it all. The fact that it was a parody—“LOOK OUT SIX!” And “MAKE AMERICA LAUGH AGAIN!” made me excited to see how they’d creatively dunk on Trump. Like how SIX had done with Henry VIII

Then I remembered what else this article had said in regards to the humor

“The jokes generally hit three points: Donald Trump is orange, he has a small penis, and he likes getting peed on. This is territory that our overpopulated heard of late-night hosts have already stomped to death — without asking audiences to fork over the price of an off-Broadway ticket.””

And I was getting suspicious, so I looked at some more reviews. This article spends a lot of time dogging on FIVE and I was still trying to hold out hope.

This review from StageandCinema is a lot more kind! I was excited to find out what went RIGHT! About this musical!

“Five is much more sexual and crude in its descriptions of being fucked by Donald Trump. Hearing about his small prick and his sexual escapades (especially from pornstar Stormy), I struggled to immediately delete such images from my mind’s eye. The thought of Donald in any sexual act turned my stomach, which may have kept me from laughing. Perhaps nausea and comedy cancel each other out?”

OH… UHM…

Of course in the end they do have the same acknowledgment at the end of SIX, “Just because we were fucked by Donald Trump doesn’t mean we need to fuck each other over.” (A direct quote from the end of the paragraph containing the previous quote)

Through this article I also found out that this is actually a jukebox parody! (Which is when you parody existing songs in order to use it in the plot of a musical story telling medium). Which honestly was a welcome surprise. They’re not ashamed that is a BLATANT parody.

Okay! Let’s see what else we can find!

“It did seem like a clever idea, for at least five seconds”

WOW okay…

This article then goes on to discuss some political and legal matters that has come up surrounding the Sex worker that Trump is going against in court. He IS the first president with a criminal record (he went to court for sexual abuse, and also was impeached)

The article puts it perfectly

“Given such news of late, it’s increasingly difficult for me to appreciate, or even tolerate, a trivial show like “Five.” The creative team hasn’t read the room.”

This isn’t a fuck you to Trump supporters, this isn’t seriously discussing Trump’s effect on these women in ANY sort of fashion, this isn’t even ABOUT discussing Trump’s political status. It’s about parodying SIX and making fun of these women. The main selling point is “WHAT IF SIX BUT TRUMP!?”

“But even those who still view political humor as political armor will be disappointed, because “Five” seems little interested in Trump’s treatment of women, much less his threat to American democracy; instead, its main target is “Six.”  As political commentary, “Five” is near witless, tasteless, and toothless. But even just as a parody of “Six,” it’s too on the nose. If some theatergoers will find “Five” entertaining, I suspect it’ll largely be because its talented six-member cast makes the most of the moments in the show that add up to a stealth, second-rate “Forbidden Broadway.”

This review is BRUTAL it points out the flaws it see’s in FIVE with wit full words. This article was my turning point. It made me genuinely start to be dissatisfied with a show I HAVEN’T EVEN SEEN YET.

““Five” is not an exercise in female empowerment; the women in Trump’s lives are most often mocked.  Nor is it a takedown of a would-be tyrant; zingers against Trump rarely get more sophisticated than commenting on the size of his penis or calling him the orange bitch or orange troll.”

This is an insult to the very FABRIC of my opinions. THIS WAS A PARODY OF SIX. OF SIX. INCLUDE STUFF FROM SIX. JUST BECAUSE YOU HAVE THE MORAL DOES NOT MEAN YOU TAUGHT IT. TRUMP IS NOT A GOOD PERSON.

THIS IS A PARODY OF SIX. BE CREATIVE WITH YOUR INSULTS! IF YOU’RE MAKING A PARODY ABOUT TRUMP THAT HAS TO DO WITH THE SUFFARAGE OF WOMEN AND WHAT WE DO WITH TRAGEDY; FUCKING SHOW IT!

This is so obviously anti-Trump. But it does’t FEEL that way. It feels against these women as well. Which is strange, considering it’s supposed to be like SIX.

Don’t get me wrong I fucking HATE TRUMP CAN’T WAIT FOR HIS ACTIONS TO CATCH UP TO HIM. But HOLY SHIT this is NOT where I thought this musical was going!

I plan on looking more into this musical, but these are my thoughts for now. I was initially a hater, turned skeptic, turned confused and insulted.

Look—I don’t WANT to be so hateful about something I haven’t seen. But if THIS is what reviews are saying (and there’s barely any of them) then WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WITH IT???

I WANT THESE ACTRESSES TO HAVE AMAZING CAREERS! But if THIS is the show their put on, a show that is INSULTING women… then what???

#Youtube #FIVE #FIVE a parody musical #FIVE musical #jaime lyn beatty #jaime starkid #Starkid Jaime #Anyae Anasia #Gabriella Joy Rodrigue #Gabi Garcia #Hannah Bonnet #Jasmine Rice Labeija #SIX #six musical #six the musical #I wouldn’t call this a “review” #Just my thoughts #RANTY RANT RANT #TLDR; Wow okay… WHAT. I was skeptical at first but this is… it’s infuriating as a woman appreciator a six fan and a trump hater. #I understand if you find this show funny #not everyone’s humor is the same #But I just wanted… more #Especially from an off broadway production #We obviously can’t hold it to HIGH standards #But we can hold it to higher standards #NO BETA WE DIE LIKE DEAD COUSINS

[bysaber]

weeping dragon

pairing: neuvillette x fem!reader

summary: neuvillette thinks he isn’t deserving of your love.

content: cliche !!!, reader trapped in his house bc of rain, lil antsy but happy ending

wc: 800

a/n: mm hii!! first fic here! I hope you enjoy it I kind of wrote it in twenty minutes and I’m just publishing it without beta reading bc (we die like men) I’m just too in love with neuv and I want to share it with the world lolol

Neuvillette couldn’t bring himself to even think about making a move.

He kept many secrets, and every time he faced your bright smile he would remember it was not his place to disturb your peace. After all, how could a young woman like you endure the dangerous claws of a dragon?

You had stopped by his house to discuss the latest trial and his emotions got the best of him, causing a rain to start pouring.

A storm was approaching; lighting was seen through the window and low thunders could be heard. Neuvillette plagued himself under his breath, hoping there would be a day where he could better control his feelings.

“Here,” he said as he handed you the cup of tea. You watched the lighting curiously, “I do not think the storm will pass for a few hours. You should stay. For the night, I mean.”

You took the cup of tea and averted your eyes from the window to Neuvillette’s face. You studied him with caution, as if it was the first time you ever saw the man — even though you worked together for many months.

“Are you okay?” you asked, ignoring completely his offer.

The words got stuck in his throat and, for a few seconds, he really thought he wouldn’t answer. The man sipped on his tea, his mind racing while trying to figure out why you would ask that all of the sudden. “May I ask why are you asking me such a question?”

It was a small gesture, but he saw it all the same; the way you flexed your hand. There was something you wanted to grab?

Something you wanted to hold?

“They say… It rains when the Hydro Dragon weeps. Yeah, that's what they say,” you murmured and once again looked out the window. To the storm. “The Hydro Dragon. That would be you, right?”

Neuvillette almost choked on his tea, every part of his body malfunctioning and leaving him with only one thing for sure: in his entire existence, this was the first time he was left completely and utterly speechless.

Your warm and comforting eyes turned to him, and you grabbed his cup of tea to put it alongside yours on the coffee table. “Neuvillette,” you spoke his name as if it was a piece of poetry you were yet to learn — eager to do so, “Talk to me.”

And then— your hands, so small and fragile if compared to his, touched him. Your fingers traced his, and you embraced his hand between yours. He could feel the warmth of your skin contrasting against his cold one, pulling him closer, closer, closer.

“When did you figure it out?” was the first thing he said, scared it may be recent. If so, there still is time for you to run, for you to escape. To turn your back and never see him again. It’s probably the best for you, he knows, but this little selfish part in him can’t stand the thought of seeing you gone.

“A month ago or so, it doesn't matter,” you’re quick to cut the subject. “I didn't mention it because I knew you didn't want me to. I’m just worried, that's all.”

Worried.

She is worried.

The realization clicks in Neuvillette’s mind, for the first time in so long acknowledging that maybe, just maybe, he was too, deserving of someone’s concern and care.

“You are saying it does not matter,” he repeats as if to confirm what he just heard.

I pushed you because I cared about you. I pushed you because you made me feel good and comfortable. I pushed you because I thought my true self would frighten you.

Yet, you’re here. And you’re telling me it doesn’t matter.

“It doesn’t. Never did,” you frown. “I just wanna know, no— I need to know why it is raining, Neuvillette. Why would you weep? I’m here with you, talk to me.”

Without giving it a second thought, Neuvillette’s right hand finds your lower back and in a split second you're pressed against his chest, the tightest hug you have ever been given. He’s much taller than you, and you can feel perfectly as he inhales your scent and hugs you tightly.

“Neuv—”

“I thought I had to restrain myself from you. I thought I was no good,” he finally speaks his mind, distancing himself enough for you to see his face; the weeping Dragon. Oh, the melancholy in his eyes.

The eyes of someone who almost lost something precious.

“Neuvillette,” you whispered. “There’s nothing better for me than you.”

And it was true; so you pulled on his hair just enough to have him connecting your lips, a sigh of relief escaping him as if there was nothing in this world he had anticipated more.

#wbysaber #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #fontaine #neuvillette x you #neuvilette #neuvilette x reader #fanfic #oneshot #drabble #imagine

[httpsserene]

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟰: 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗲𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗼 / 𝗺𝗮𝘅 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗺𝘂𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you can't remember the last time you've gotten to spend more than three days at a time with both of your boyfriends. you understand how demanding their job is but, you just can't remember the last time they really exhausted you...pleasurably. and then winter break comes around , and they have all the time they need to make you lose your mind. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻��: 18+ only. explicit. overstimulation. light dom/sub. quickies. cunnilingus. vaginal fingering. vaginal sex. unsafe sex. safewords. creampie. come eating. squirting. hand job. masturbation. dacryphilia. mention of taking explicit photos. praise kink. aftercare. set after the 2023 season. no beta we die like carlos’ fuel system. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 6.5k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: daniel ricciardo/max verstappen x black!fem!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: take me away • daniel caesar

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: set post 2023 season. mm, i luv me some danny caesar–i got to see him live this year 😛 i was originally gonna pick a classic country song in true american fashion to show some patriotism for the austin gp—as a black woman, i can attest that we love our country bangers—but take me away just fit perfectly. and daniel is definitely taking yall somewhere this upload���max and reader are just along for the ride 💀. i tried to write sub!max, i think it came across well, and ahead of time i sincerely apologize to the maxiel truthers…i think i may have slayed. i will not be paying for your therapy < 3 🙂 (and if you think i changed the summary, stfu no i didn’t 😌) enjoy y'all !!!!

do you want to be added to my general taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me an ask!

cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss

to see what kinktober uploads have already been completed or to see what's coming next check my f1 kinktober masterlist ! for all of my works see my general masterlist!

this past racing season was long; daniel knows that well; he went from being the third driver at red bull, to having a seat at alphatauri, to breaking his wrist–and still managed to recover to drive in the last five races. max can also account for how lengthy this season was; he dominated every race illustrated by his 10 consecutive wins, won his team the constructor’s championship 16 races in, won his third world driver’s championship the following week through a sprint race, and still had to stick around for five more races. but, daniel and max both know who has the best firsthand account of how prolonged and draining the formula one 2023 season was.

you.

daniel knows that you’re they’re biggest supporter; you’re a sweetheart. and while you haven’t vocalized your displeasure for the twenty-three races this year–he can feel your dejection. at the start of the season, everything was seen through rose-colored glasses; max was winning, the three of you were having champagne-drenched celebrations in hotel rooms–so filthy the poor staff probably had to incinerate the sheets. you were satisfied; and daniel was with you whenever red bull didn’t want to parade him around at a grand prix. but as the months progressed and as daniel got a seat, the demanding nature of formula one was observable. the longer season had stolen them from you–they were flying from country to country, the gaps between races only long enough to only have them home for two or three days at a time, before they had to fly out and adjust to a new time zone. leaving your two boyfriends unable to make a mess of you as often as you all crave in doing so. phone sex is hot–but it can lose its luster over almost nine months. they’ve been neglecting you–even though every time either one of them suggests that notion, you disagree vehemently– but, it’s the truth.

they pride themselves on the fact that they used to make you beg for them to stop drawing orgasms out of you...but recently your sex life has consisted of dry-humping like horny teenagers, frantic pussy-eating and cock-sucking, and quickies in the shower. so, max and daniel formulated a plan.

after abu-dhabi, the three of you returned home to max’s monaco flat and fell into bed. you’re comfortably laying completely on top of daniel, front to front, and your head is tucked under his chin, turned to the side to face max, who’s settled on his side facing the two of you, arm draped over your back, with his hand squeezing at your waist randomly as he talks to daniel. you’re fighting sleep and losing; eyelids fluttering closed every now and then against your will, breath slowing as you edge closer and closer to sleep. you're floating on the brink of unconsciousness until you're dragged away at the soft sounds of daniel and max rousing you.

“there ya’ go, honey,” murmurs daniel, his voice rumbling in his chest underneath you, “we got somethin’ to ask you, before we let ya sleep, sweet girl.”

max’s hand shifts to rub at the length of your back, and you clear the sleepy haze from your mind enough to nod your head and hum softly in question, “m’kay.”

daniel gently pulls your head from his neck with his tattooed hand on your nape, making sure your pretty eyes, foggy with sleep, make eye contact, “how do ya’ feel about spending december in australia, hmm? a sunny christmas–on the ricciardo ranch; you, me, max and our families–ain’t that perfect, honey?”

max smiles softly at your pout–you’re never one to appreciate having your sleep interrupted–before adding on to daniel’s question, “jimmy and sassy can stay with the sitter; i already spoke to her a few days ago. she’d be thrilled to have them, so you don’t have to worry about where’d they stay. i don’t think i can get pet passports in three days nor do i want to see how two bengal cats act on a private jet for twenty hours.”

a few seconds pass, max and daniel searching your face for any hint to a possible answer. you blink a few times, before you murmur faintly, “‘m okay with it…can i go to sleep now?”

max laughs tenderly, guiding your head back into daniel’s neck before he scoots closer and rests his own head on the australian’s shoulder, “yeah, mijn schatje. sleep well.”

daniel wraps the arm pinned under max around him, pulling him closer to drop a kiss on his forehead. his other hand falls on your back over the dutchman’s, caressing it softly. he holds the two of you as tight as he possibly can, the big grin on his face only seen by the ceiling. he has his whole world in his arms right now, but come christmas time, his whole universe–his family–will be under the same roof back home in australia.

the next three days are filled with an absurd amount of packing. max and daniel have five suitcases between the two of them—you have five for yourself; it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. the night before your flight, they watch you pace around the bedroom making sure there’s nothing important you’re forgetting. jimmy and sassy had been dropped off at the sitter’s, and max and daniel had already moved all the luggage to the entryway for the early flight. the two drivers had stopped trying to convince you to join them in the bed and cuddled together, knowing it’s best to let you work out your anxieties now so you don’t overthink on the flight.

as you start combing through the closet again, max whispers to daniel, “we could fuck the nerves out her right now, danny.”

daniel smacks max’s hip, smirking when he whines quietly, “no, maxy. she has to sit for an almost twenty hour flight, we can’t make that any more difficult for her.” the dutchman huffs, unhappy with the answer even though he knows it's the logical course of action.

dan continues, “remember: as soon as we get to the ranch and settle in—we'll be alone for a week before my parents come ‘n join us. we’ll have plenty of time to take her apart and put her back together.”

daniel was wrong. after y’all landed in perth, and made the drive out to the countryside—it was apparent that the three of you weren’t the only ones at the ranch. his parents had come early to make sure the ranch was prepped and fully stocked for your vacation, and prepared a home cooked dinner to welcome you in. dan can’t help his big smile from becoming a permanent fixture on his face as he watches his mom and dad fawn over you and max. grace pulls you into the house, instructing the men to bring the luggage inside while she gets to fixing you a plate heaping with barbecue. joe affectionately calls max ‘son’ with a tight hug, congratulating him on his third championship before they all make their way into the house.

the original plan is put on the back burner as daniel watches you and max bloom under the loving attention from his parents. the days passed quickly, all of them spent horsing around the farm; horseback riding, dirt biking, atv riding, making a trip out to the beach, eating good food, and sleeping well. dan sees max’s pale skin pinkening and your melanated complexion glowing with warmth from the caress of the australian sun. your afternoon naps are taken underneath the warm rays, stretching out in any slice of sun you can catch, bathing in it like a cat. max and dan do as many things as they can shirtless attempting to get their tan in as quick as possible—dan tans gracefully, max, on the other hand, burns like a lobster first before his tan becomes apparent.

they fucked you on the second day after your arrival, but not exactly how they were hoping too. it’s still a relatively short affair—for their standards, at least. while it quieted the need within you, it didn’t completely satisfy the urge for any of you. daniel had to coax you into biting a pillow to muffle your squeals, and have max nearly choke on his tattooed fingers to quiet his whining—dan himself clenched his jaw so tightly to prevent his own moans from escaping that he’s surprised he didn’t crack a tooth. he loves his parents, but he’s genuinely going to snap if he doesn’t get to ruin you and max without worrying if they could hear how he makes you and max beg for him.

on the fifth day, you wear your first sundress to lunch and max pulls daniel in the kitchen to muffle a scream into his chest. 

“dan, baby—i love your parents,” max starts, his eye twitching, “you know i do! but, i can’t go another day without hearing her scream for me—for us.”

they’re only men. very desperate men. and you had the nerve to parade yourself in this flowy, yellow, strapless sundress at a meal they have to suffer through. they can’t even tear it off of you after, because dan’s parents have a chance of overhearing. but, what forces the australian to kindly kick his parents out of the house, is how you fail to stop yourself from drooling over them playing around in the pool—struggling to continue speaking with his mom as you sit on the pool’s ledge. 

before dinner, dan showers by himself first, changing into fresh clothes. he then ushers you and max into the shower, ‘to rinse off the chlorine and sweat from the day,’ he says. but, he could care less about that. as soon as he hears the shower start, he practically sprints to the kitchen to see his mom and dad put the finishing touches on the burgers they fixed up.

daniel skids to a stop in the doorway, leaning against it in faux-relaxedness, and says, “howdy.” it’s silent for a minute; his dad stares at him blankly, and his mom eventually breaks and speaks plainly, “what is it, danny?”

daniel gasps in mock-disbelief, “why d’ya always think i want something from you? i can’t just be greeting my wonderful, loving, and understanding parents?”

grace stares at him, not fooled, “are you just saying ‘hi’?”

daniel stutters aimlessly looking to his dad for help, but joe just shrugs at him in a ‘you did this to yourself, son’ manner. 

“maybe! well, no, actually…” daniel sulks, slinking into the kitchen, and resting against the counter next to his mom.

his mom hums knowingly, and gestures at him to start speaking.

“uh, so, you know i love having y’all around, right, and uh, it’s nice y’know—i mean, i don’t see ya’ as often as i want to, but uh—don’t get me wrong, you’re my parents, but uhm—“

joe sighs, “daniel, cut to the chase, please.”

daniel groans, before he leans his head back to look at the ceiling, “fine. look—we just expected to at least have one week to ourselves when we got here. not that y’all being here to surprise us is bad! you know that. but, uhm…we just made plans, i guess. a-and we kind of can’t do it, because, well…”

grace washes her hands as daniel continues to ramble through an unnecessary apologetic explanation. she turns the water off, drying her hands on a towel, and turns to her husband, pointing at daniel while rolling her eyes teasingly, before she cuts her son off, “daniel, we can leave tonight.”

daniel stops, head dropping to look at his mom in shock, “what?”

“we can leave tonight, if that’s what you’re trying to ask. your father and i don’t mind,” grace smiles gently, “we weren’t supposed to stay for this long anyways, we were just trying to get the ranch prepared for y’all, and you know how enamored we are with your girl and boy; we overstayed our welcome. we can go and come back a week before christmas with the rest of the family, danny.”

daniel perks up, “you guys don’t have to leave for that long, i don’t wanna kick you out—“

“daniel, please,” joe scoffs, walking over to clap daniel on the back, “you’re not kicking us out. we’ll be back on the seventeenth, alright. hopefully, that gives y’all enough time to work out your frustrations. we really don’t want to overhear or see anything—“

daniel pales, “okAY, thank you, yes—please don’t comeback until as late as y’all want, jesus christ. wait—did you hear the other night?! ohmygod…they’re going to kill me.”

joe and grace laugh, “no, we didn’t hear anything, danny. we just figured from how they were following you around in the morning—max couldn’t even look us in the eye, son.”

daniel groans, embarrassed, “don’t tell them anything about this okay? they’ll break up with me if they know i asked you to leave so i could have sex with them.”

his parents' laughter only gets louder, but they agree eventually after they indulge in teasing their son a little more.

dinner is pleasant; you and max remain unaware of the ricciardo’s intervention, enjoying the well-cooked meal and lighthearted conversation. when everyone’s stomach is full and the conversation quiets, grace and joe break the news that they unfortunately have to return to perth. you and max sadden, trying to convince daniel’s parents to stay a little longer—max’s eyes fail to hide his eagerness at their announcement, even though his voice manages to be completely sincere. daniel watches as his parents formulate a fake excuse about their departute before he gently reminds you two, “they’ll be back for christmas, babes. you’ll see them again.”

the two of you calm at daniel’s statement, and walk his parents out to the car, exchanging hugs and kisses before they drive off back to the city. daniel leads you two back into the house after you’ve watched his parents disappear down the road, and the shift in energy as soon as the door locks is missed by you.

you mindlessly amble back to the dining table, stacking the emptied plates and glasses and wandering into the kitchen to clean them. as soon as you turn the sink faucet on, a strong body pushes against your back, and presses you against the edge of the counter as their hand reaches around you to shut the water off. you turn around to tell-off whichever boyfriend did that, but before you can get any words out, you’re pulled into a filthy kiss.

your shocked gasp is muffled by max’s lips, and you half-heartedly attempt to pull away, but the dutchman chases your lips, not allowing you to stop. you give in with a sigh, allowing max to continue kissing you. he buries one hand in your hair, tilting your head to the side for a better angle, and licks at the seam of your lips. you squirm against him, not quite giving into the coaxing of his tongue, and max hums softly before he tugs at your bottom lip. you turn your head to the side, panting softly to suck in a few desperate breaths before max pulls you back and invades the opening of your lips. you squeal at the feeling of his tongue laving against yours, the lewd wet sounds of your mouths have your thighs pressing together. max brings his other arm to grasp around your waist, and pulls you against him, groaning into your mouth at the smallest amount of friction that movement provided. you feel lightheaded, your knees weakening, but max firmly holds you up, not letting you slip from his grasp. your hands come up to wrap around him, one feeling up his chest before resting around his neck, and the other hand digging into the meat of his back in search of stability. he hums at the ache of your nails and drops both of his hands to cup the back of your thighs right under your ass. he lifts you onto the counter, spreading your legs and shoving his body between them, while still managing to not break the kiss. at the show of strength you arch your back, whining highly, pushing your chest against his—he’s so strong. he eagerly starts tugging the sundress up your legs, making to expose your panties before he’s interrupted by a sudden heavy hand on the back of his neck.

max jerks away from you (you can finally catch your breath), his chest heaving, and his own whine fills the air at the weight of daniel’s hand.

“now, darlin’,” daniel addresses max with a smirk, “this wasn’t part of our plan, was it? you forget the script, maxy?”

max blushes a pretty pink, and murmurs, “no, daniel—sorry, danny.” dan hums at the apology, pressing a kiss to max’s warm cheek.

“w-what plan?” you timidly ask, still sitting on the counter, legs spread obscenely, dress skewed messily, and lips swelling from max’s ambition.

daniel chuckles, eyes shining at you hungrily, “mmm. how ‘bout we make our way to the bedroom and ‘ll show ya, sweetheart?”

you’re spread eagle in the middle of the bed, completely naked, with daniel fully dressed in between your legs sucking marks and pressing kisses on your thighs, max stripped down to his boxer-briefs on his side next to you, doing the same to your neck and chest. you’re squirming viciously just from the feeling of his beard scraping against your inner thighs, squeals ripping from your throat when he leaves a hickey or bites at the meat of your thigh. the australian’s pupils are blown wide, as he watches you try and muffle your cries behind your hand—if this is how you’re responding to the two of them thoroughly refreshing their claim on you, he’s thrilled to see how you’ll lose your mind as the night goes on. pulling his head away, daniel presses his thumb into one of the bruises he left and your back arches deeply–you choke on your squeal, thighs slamming shut around his hand.

“none of that now, sweetheart,” dan instructs firmly, “‘s just me, you, and max, honey. no need to quiet those sweet sounds of yours, alright?”

you nod wildly, stumbling over your agreement, “y-yeah, danny. ‘ll be- i’ll be loud for you guys.”

max moans at your words from where his lips were tugging at your nipple, pulling away to raise himself back to your lips, thirstily tasting your desperation from its source. dan allows max to bruise up your mouth, and leave his own beard burn around your lips, as he undresses himself down to his briefs. 

“max…max, maxy, babe,” daniel softly calls a few times, failing to get the impatient man’s attention, “max, look at me.” the switch from dan’s soft tone to a deeper, base filled sound has max snapping away to look at daniel, panting roughly.

“be good f’me and give yourself a hand, darlin’,” dan commands, and max sighs lovingly at the endearment, “you can manage that right, maxy? while i get our sweet girl ready to take you, hm?”

max whimpers, “yes, danny,” and shifts to sit upright, pulling his underwear off and wrapping his large hand around himself. dan purrs, “good boy. her sweet cunt’s already drippin’ for us, maxy. won't take me long to stretch ‘er open for you.” you keen, humiliated at the way dan speaks about you like you’re not in the room with them. daniel tugs your legs open again, hiding his laughter in the plush meat of your thigh, but you can feel the smirk against your skin. 

embarrassed, you whine hushedly, hands fisting into the sheets by your side, “mean.”

daniel hums uncaringly at your remark, “mean? don’t worry, honey–when i finish with you, you’ll think ‘m mean for a very different reason.” he doesn’t give you a chance to ponder his words, and a firm drag of his tongue across your cunt destroys any chance for your thought processes. this time around, your moans are clear, echoing around the room. the press of daniel’s tongue is unforgiving and working intently at your clit. your thighs clamp around his head, not allowing the australian to escape even though he can feel your hips bucking away, trying to escape the consistent stimulation on one of your most sensitive spots. when one of your hands flies down to tug at his curls, he relents his assault and switches to prodding his tongue against your opening. he moans depravedly against your entrance, the noise vibrating through you, causing your shriek to pierce the air. he eats you out like a man starved; savagely shoving his tongue deeper inside you, curling against your walls, nose bumping against your clit, mouth moving like he’s truly trying to eat you alive. he ignores the ache of his jaw, the tightness of his briefs, how his beard scratches your skin; and he smoothly slips a finger into you, beginning thoroughly stretch you out.

it’s absolutely obscene-sounding. daniel works his way up to three fingers, and any previous qualms he had about you being too quiet are resolved. your whines are constant at the insistent invasion of daniel’s curling digits, and based on the way your legs are trembling, he can tell you're nearing the precipice. what’s even more erotic, is the way your cries harmonize with max’s own grunts of pleasure; the dutchman’s hips buck into the frantic pace of his hands and danny wouldn’t be surprised if max comes before he even gets inside you. daniel sits back on his heels, his fingers still digging deeper inside you, forcefully pressing against your g-spot. with his left hand, daniel knocks max’s hand away, ignoring the responding yowl of displeasure, and fists max’s cock on his own, “doin’ a little too much, maxy. our desperate girl deserves to come first, anyways—lemme set the pace for you, darlin’.” max suffers under danny’s ministrations; the extreme shift down in tempo, the constant attention on the head of his cock, a finger pressing at his slit or the vein along his underside alternatingly. you, on the other hand, are being pushed closer and closer to your orgasm. daniel’s thumb joins, rubbing quick circles of your clit–and you scream out, pleasure overriding you. when your moans start to blend into breathy little ah-ah-ah’s, he slips his fingers free from the tight clasp of your cunt, and releases his hold on max’s cock.

you sob achingly, begging daniel to make you cum, dismayed cries of, “no! danny, why’d you stop, please, make me cum,” falling from your lips as max mewls next to you, his own hands trying to force danny’s back around him. daniel shushes you, and motions for max to come closer. max flies forward happily, his whines cutting off at daniel’s attention. he man-handles max into hovering over you in missionary, his cock resting against your fluttering cunt, waiting for permission. your cries quiet, and your heart races with anticipation for max to bury himself in you. danny’s left hand grips at max’s corresponding hip, and his right hand slips in the narrow space between you two, and he presses the flushed arousal in you. and the australian cannot stop running his mouth.

“that’s ‘t, baby–nice n’ easy for ya’–mmm–he’s splitting you open isn’t he–yeah, soak ‘im, babe, get him nice and wet–no, sweetheart, don’t run from it–yeahhh just like that, you take ‘t so well–”

your own orgasm suprises you, otherwise you would’ve at least made an attempt to tell the two men. max hasn’t even gotten halfway inside you and you’re cumming; back-arching, toes-curling, hands rushing forward to scratch down max’s back, eyes screwed shut, and walls clamping tightly around him. max is whining above you, flinching away from the hot grasp of your inner walls, but daniel won’t let him pull out.

“danny, danny! please–oh–i-i-i’m gonna–not gonna last–‘m gonna cum, if i stay inside her,” max admits, sobbing embarrasingly.

daniel laughs softly from behind max, and shifts so his front is pressed to the dutchman’s back. max shivers at the sound, the hair on the back of his neck rising. “aww, you can’t handle it, darling? don’t worry, i’ve changed my plans for you, anyways,” daniel smugly whispers into max’s ear. dan brings both of his hands to the younger’s waist, and forces him deeper inside of you, ignoring the way max cries sensitively and keeps pushing him forward until he bottoms out. you and max let out twin squeals from the white-hot flash of pleasure; you struggle to adjust to his size as quickly as daniel forced him in–you pulsate around him, it’s like you’re still trying to drag him further in and push him out at the same time. daniel presses a kiss to max’s shoulder blade and praises him, “see, maxy? i knew you could do it—such a good boy f’me.”

max’s eyes roll back, and he can’t fight it–he cums, loudly. his limbs weaken and his body collapses over yours, head falling into your neck, and his lewd moans vibrate through your raw skin. the younger’s body covers you completely, and your knees come up to cradle max’s hips, encouraging him to thrust through the aftershocks. daniel leans back, continuing to bathe the two of you with praise as he lets you guys shudder through the come down. a couple minutes pass before your legs relax and max’s moans die down to breathy hums, as both of your chests heave as you try to regulate your breathing. 

“feelin’ good, my loves?” daniel questions tenderly.

you’re the first to respond, a sated smile sent the australians way, “so good, danny.” max sighs out a breathy “yeah,” muffled into your chest. daniel brightens, “alrighty–maxy, fuck her properly now, and make her cum again.” the dutchman grunts in disbelief, “what? no, i-i can’t, i just came–”

dan cuts max off, “you can’t or, you won’t?” max’s breath stutters at the sudden dominance in daniel’s tone, sitting up to turn his head to look at the older man incredulously. the smile on dan’s face is gone, his expression suddenly firm and unyielding–max can only drop his gaze away from daniel’s eyes, avoiding the piercing gaze.

“max, look at me,” the australian states unflinchingly, and the younger man’s eyes fly to meet his at the command.

“what’s your color, darlin’?”

with his tongue flicking out to wet his lips nervously, max mutely whispers, “green.” daniel’s piercing gaze drops to you and he repeats the question, “sweetheart, what’s your color?”

you squirm under his intense attention—max’s hips stuttering at the stimulation, and your bruised brown thighs squeeze at his waist until he stops—but the slight flare of pleasure that races up your spine decides your answer, “green, danny.”

a smirk spreads across daniel’s lips, “see, you can, maxy,” the younger blushes deeply at his teasing croon, “now, be a sweet prince for me, and fuck our sweetheart, hm?” and with a pinch to max’s hip, he sinks in you deeply with an oversensitive sigh, before he pulls out and sets a slow rhythm to allow you both a little more time to recover. the drag of his cock is coaxing soft shuddery breaths out of your lips, and sharp over-sensitive whines from max. his hands are trembling from where they’re grip flexes on your waist, veins popping with the strength of his grasp, sure to leave a mark on your darker skin. dan’s hands halt the gentle roll of his hips, before the man leads him at a quicker pace. max throws his head back onto daniel’s shoulder, overwhelmed at the feeling of your tight, soaking wet cunt, and cries out “too much—ngh—i-it’s too much!�� but aside from all of his whines, he’s getting hard again. unlike max, the sensitivity from your orgasm had faded quickly—if anything, it’s doubling the amount of pleasure you’re feeling. desperate for more, you plant your feet on the bed and start rolling your hips to meet max halfway; moaning yearningly at the change in position.

the younger man frantically tries to force your hips back down, the friction added from you meeting his thrusts is too great. “heyheyhey—none of that, prince,” daniel quickly tugs max’s hands away from your waist, one hand firmly holding them against the younger’s chest, “remember, we made a promise to give her so many orgasms to make up for how mean we’ve been to her. you don’t want to break that promise; right, darling?” max tries to hide his face in dan’s shoulder, but it’s too late—he starts sobbing. daniel watches how the tears rain down max’s cheeks, and how his face crumples so prettily—is it weird that making his usually unbothered boyfriend cry, turns him on?

max sniffles, “n-no, danny. -ll do it, i-i wanna make her cum.” not wanting to disappoint you any further, he starts quickening his strokes on his own, eventually outpacing the rhythm daniel set for him. it dawns on max quickly; he’s not going to last, again. he makes the mistake of looking at the blissed out expression on your face, the knot in his tummy tightening as he watches how your mouth falls open in a moan, wet and inviting. he drops his eyes away, but they fall on where the two of you are connected; the sight causes him to choke on his breath. his own thrusts have forced his cum out of you, frothing at your entrance, smeared all over your labia and staining your inner thighs. if he could eat you out and fuck you at the same time—he’d be doing it. max urgently asks daniel, “d-danny, ‘m gonna cum—please, can i cum?” ignoring max, dan’s hand lets go of max’s, and falls to let his middle and ring finger rub vigorously at your clit. your body jackknifes, a scream leaving your lips at the sudden addition, you choke out a warning, “g’na cum! pleasepleaseplease—” and when daniel’s thumb sneaks down to press gently at where you're wrapped snugly around max, almost like he’s trying to slip in alongside his cock—white flashes behind your eyes and you’re cumming hard. 

daniel hums, satisfied, “now, you can cum, maxy.” the younger had already started coming the second he started speaking. it’s erotic—how the two of yours’ orgasm feeds off of each other. every clench of your cunt has you squeezing tightly around max, causing him to thrust in you deeper, which in turn has you pulsating around him tightly, and the cycle continues. max rides out the two of your orgasms viciously this time around, his hips slamming into you, forcing himself as deep as possible wanting to empty every last dreg of his cum within you. you can only whimper brokenly, not making an effort to calm his grinds, wanting to savor anything you can get before he pulls out of you. with max’s last pump of his hips in you, daniel slowly guides him out of you. the two of you hiss, extremely over sensitive from the two times you’ve cum, so daniel tries to make the affair as smooth as he possibly can. with a squelching pop, max is freed from the tight grasp of your cunt, and dan leads him to lie down next to you on the bed.

you’re still floating, not a single thought in your head, a deep sense of satisfaction coating your mind, but you can vaguely hear daniel checking on max, making sure he didn’t push him too far. you hum quietly under your breath, almost like a purr, eyes shut blissfully as you allow yourself to relax in your afterglow. you faintly register daniel slipping in between your legs, his broad shoulders pressed against the underside of your thighs. you feel his left hand gently press at the raw skin of your thigh, and you fuzzily manage to move it over for him, thinking that he’s trying to clean you up. 

daniel can only stare. the pink skin of your hole has turned to a deeper red, with how max bullied your cunt. his mouth falls open, entranced, at the sight of your bruised pussy winking at him, struggling to close, and he moans softly as the pulsing of your cunt starts pushing max’s cum out of you. the creamy, frothy, white fluid slowly sliding out of you and down your ass. his tongue wets his lips—he wants a taste. dan drops the towel he was holding in his right hand, and brings the now empty hand up to spread your lips with a ‘v’ of his fingers. his eyes flick up to your face, and once he sees that you're still floating, he takes a gentle pass over your entrance with two fingers, collecting yours and max’s combined release. he sucks the mess clean, and a groan rumbles through his chest. fuck—he needs more. daniel quickly finds himself breathing softly over your cunt for the second time tonight, and he can feel how your thighs already start shaking at the exhales of his breath against you. he laps his tongue once in a broad stripe over you, and moans depravedly—and then, he pretty much forced to eat you out; why let this go to waste. 

the minute his tongue slips inside you, your thighs slam shut around his head, trying to halt his overeager movements. daniel doesn’t care, he’d happily suffocate in your cunt if it meant he got to eat max’s cum out of you for the last time. when he slips two of his fingers in to coax more of the cum max fucked deep in you out, your hand flies down and tugs at his curls. daniel pulls his mouth away, growling sharply at the pain from the grip of your hand, but he steadfastly dives back in—he’s going to swallow every last drop you’ll give him. “hngh—too much, –anny, can’t take it—my tummy feels weird—it hurts!” daniel’s hips starting grinding against the bed, and he’s made aware of how painfully hard he’s gotten throughout the night; he hasn’t cum once. daniel moans against your cunt, panting against you, “ya got one more f’me right, sweetheart? yeah, ya do—just let me taste you, yeah?” daniel tunes out your cries again, and brushes his nose against your clit as he laves his tongue over you picking up every drop of cum the two of you have spilled on your swollen cunt. his fingers start to curl upwards as he pulls them out, dragging wetness out from the depths of your walls, and you squeal, any pleads that you planned to say have been suddenly erased from your throat at the sudden pain-pleasure that bursts behind your eyes. your core tightens, and you seize against the bed cumming for the third time this night at daniel’s insistence. this is the most intense orgasm all night, and it feels never ending; all of your senses feel like they’re burning hot, nerves tingling from your scalp to your curled toes. what you’ve failed to recognize is that you're gushing all over daniel’s face. he practically gets waterboarded from where he was pressed against your cunt, but once he realizes that he’s made you squirt, he happily starts drinking down each spray of your fluid, uncaring of how his beard is drenched with your release, and how it puddles underneath your ass. 

he swallows you down to the very last drop, plump lips massaging your labia sweetly. he backs off your pussy, switching to your thighs to collect any wetness he missed out on. when your hand tugs at his curls again, pulling him away when the beard burn gets too much, daniel rises to his knees over you. he tugs his cock out of his briefs, the tip flushed the deepest red he’s ever seen it, and it throbs hotly in his grasp. he uses the hand soaked with your squirt to roughly rub himself off, tattooed thigh spasming, and it takes less than ten pumps of his hand before he’s cumming. with every spray of his hot cum that lands against your swollen cunt, your hips jerk—even that feels too much.

when daniel finishes, he moans at the picture he painted on you—would you let him take a picture if he asked? but his fantasy is disrupted when you squirm up the bed, your hand falling to cup protectively over your cunt, thighs tightening around your hand, and you murmur repeatedly, “no more, no more.” max coos quietly from where he’s laying, still just as fucked out as you, but he tries to soothe your cries. he sweetly pulls you into his chest when tears slip out of your eyes, petting at you clumsily, not quite yet having regained complete control of his limbs. “did so good, schatje. daniel did just like he promised—i-if, if you let him clean you up, we can cuddle and go straight to bed, ok? be good, j-just a little longer.”

you sob messily into max’s embrace, but after a few minutes with max and daniel both reassuring you that they’ve finished pulling orgasms out of you, and comfortingly massaging the already setting soreness of your muscles—your cries die down to sniffles, and you slowly spread your legs open for danny. daniel stares at the mess he created this time around, but dismisses the urge to lick it off you; his only goal right now is to properly clean you up, and make sure you go to sleep feeling satisfied and worn-out. as gently as possible, he takes turns wiping both your thighs and cunt, and max’s thighs and cock, switching when either of you says it’s too much. it takes longer than it usually does, but it doesn’t upset daniel as long as it means the two of you are comfortable. 

“okay, okay,” daniel soothes sweetly, “i’m done. you both did so good for me tonight.”

max blushes at the praise, and with a voice as airy as silk, you whisper, “you ‘ere good too, danny—made me feel r’lly good, thank you.” daniel smiles, his heart warming at your sweet words, “thank you, honey. you’re always so sweet to me.”

“now, let’s move this party to the bathroom so both of you can pee, and take a bath before we sleep, i’ll get some snacks for you to eat too,” daniel orders softly, “i took a lot from the two of you tonight—so let me make sure i put you back together, okay?

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© httpsserene 2023

#daniel ricciardo #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x female reader #max verstappen x black!reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen smut #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x female reader #daniel ricciardo x black!reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo x max verstappen #maxiel #f1 x reader #f1 x black!reader #f1 x female reader #f1 smut #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x black!reader #formula 1 x female reader #serene's chapters. #⋆⭒˚｡⋆. series special: formula 1 #♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: dr. #♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: mv. #httpss :// kinktober 23

[allysunny]

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

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #bale!bruce wayne #bale!batman x reader #bale!batman #bale!bruce wayne x reader #the dark knight #the dark knight trilogy #nolanverse #the dark knight fanfiction #the dark knight fanfic #nolanverse fanfiction #bruce wayne fanfiction #batman fanfiction #batman x fem!reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader

[yawnderu]

Simon ''Ghost'' Riley - Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Prompt List

Sex Pollen - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader:

After being hit by the experimental drug, Ghost can't get enough of your body.

You make it hard to be a Ghost - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader:

You write him poetry; Ghost rejects it every single time with a heavy heart until his walls start to crumble down.

Longing - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader:

The simple ways Ghost shows you how much he cares with his actions while you both yearn for each other's love.

Together - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader:

Ghost finds strength with your love in a near-death experience together.

Cold - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader - PART I

You come back to base a changed and scarred soldier after being held captive for a year, Ghost is desperate to help bring you back to be the woman he loved.

I'll meet you here — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Simon finds peace for the first time after retirement.

Character Study - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley

In-depth character analysis on Simon ''Ghost'' Riley based on the comic, campaigns, and voice lines from multi-player.

Idyllic - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader - Part I

content: fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, your honor, they love each other.

Tainted - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

Ghost became judge, jury and executioner.

CW: paranoia, gore, anxiety?

Salvatore - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

You join Simon for a late-night smoke, bad dad jokes ensue.

Lovely — Dad!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Mom!Reader

No one knows how much violence it took to be this gentle.

Afraid - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

content: angst with a happy ending, mentions of death and injuries, hurt/comfort.

Monster | Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

Based on the violent sexual fantasies Simon ''Ghost'' Riley experiences after being tortured by Roba.

CW: noncon, darkfic, mind break, forced deepthroat, forced penetration, face slapping, tit slapping, rough sex, give in.

Perfect Life — Dad!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Mom!Reader

The first night home with the baby.

Adoration — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Content: fluff, pregnant!reader, horrible dad jokes.

Living Dead Man - Zombie!Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

What is a husband but a man with a rotting body you can barely recognize?

CW: body horror, gore, tongue kiss with a dead man(?), is she wrong? morally, angst with a happy ending.

Beacon — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Cozy day in the life of a soldier and his pregnant wife.

Birthday Boy — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

content: mutual pining, idiots in love, fluff.

Mine - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

Synopsis: knowing he couldn't provide you with the life you wanted, Simon breaks things off with you. Two years later, you come back to base with a baby that isn't his.

Content: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mutual pining, established relationships, breeding, erotic lactation, romantic love making, praising. No beta we die like Roach.

Lorelei — Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader | Part I Part II | Part III

Synopsis: Aware of the way his lifestyle doesn't align with your dream life and unwilling to quit his life as a soldier, Simon breaks things off with you. It isn't until a year later that he sees you again, a tiny carbon copy of him held in your arms.

Believer - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

In which Simon believes he's truly undeserving of love, moved only by your stubbornness.

K-9 — Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader | Chapter I

Simon Riley and his pathetic efforts to get close to the new medic will earn him a scar or two

or

Simon Riley is in love with an uninterested, tired medic.

#simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost x you #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost #cod mw2 #cod mwii #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley fluff

[nincompoopydoo]

Hey! Can you please write something for Aaron Hotchner with the prompt ‘I never saw such a woman, she would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.’ ?

YOU ARE IN LOVE

PAIRING: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader WORD COUNT: 800+ SUMMARY: Hotch is in love and you’re trying to figure out who. Little did you know… A/N: can u tell i love writing confessions ;-; and peek the ts reference! anyway hotch has my whole heart. thanks for the request! note: paragraphs in italics is a flashback. WARNINGS: swearing. reader being kinda clueless. mentions of a gun. no beta we die like men. PROMPT: “I never saw such a woman. She would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.” [from this prompt list] MASTERLIST

“I know that look, Hotch,” you hint with a natural inquisitive tone, “You are in love.”

This was normal for the two of you – an unlikely friendship with a shared need for coffee to survive late-night paperwork, rudimentary for a budding friendship of otherwise Quantico strangers. You crossed paths from your work with the CNU on the floor below and first backed the BAU a year ago with a hostage negotiation. You were new to the job but rose quickly up the ranks. Ever since, you kept seeing each other everywhere.

11 pm. Coffee. You’d always meet.

He isn’t sure how the topic of being in love came about, but he suspects you had a hunch for quite some time. For a moment, Hotch’s heart drops at your words but quickly catches the curiosity in your tone, and the general ignorance to the fact that your prying means a lot more to him than you realised.

You really haven’t got a clue.

Hotch feels a beckoning of warmth flaring in his cheeks, spurring a sheepish smile and a passing light chuckle. His gaze trails the rising steam billowing from his black coffee and disappearing into the expanse of his office.

He shifts his eyes to you, casually hunched in your seat, legs stretched out, and your coat hung at the back of the chair. You’re watching him with a curious look.

“In love is a bit of a stretch.”  

That’s a lie. He’s very much in love with you.

Your smile curves into a sly smirk. You know he’s lying.

“So, you don’t deny it?”

“Are you interrogating me?”

You scoff, shifting in your seat to cross your arms. “Look, be thankful I’m not using hostage negotiation tactics on you right now. Answer the question, Hotch.”

Hotch laughs, and it leaves him with a small smile. He shakes his head, gaze falling to his mug once more. “I don’t deny it.”

You simply hum. “I won’t pry, but I believe it’s customary to tell me how you met and what she’s like.”

Hotch raises a brow, and you reflect his expression – it’s a challenge. He’ll never make it out of Quantico if he doesn’t tell you.

With a heavy sigh, he ultimately gives in. 

“We first met on the field. She assisted us on a case…”

“Agent Hotchner!”

He spins around to see you trudging across the road while strapping on your tactical vest. You introduced yourself with a polite smile through squinted eyes under the glaring sun and shook his hand. Firmly.

You’re CNU – hostage negotiator. A fresh face.

“We appreciate you coming on short notice,” Hotch says curtly, though the smile that tugs his mouth betrays his usually serious demeanour.

“Well, anything for our upstairs neighbours.” You beam up at him, and Hotch prays that his suddenly flushed cheeks are hidden under the shade of the nearby trees.

You make a final adjustment to your vest with a light huff and unclasp the holster that secured your gun, withdraw it and extend your firearm to Hotch in a heartbeat. It’s a silent request and an act of trust.

Hotch hesitantly took the gun from your grasp. “You sure about this?”

You pressed your lips in a thin line. You were terrified. “Yeah... Unsub isn’t gonna talk with a gun in his face.”

Another smile his way. “Just cover me while I’m in there.”

Your words resonate with a heaviness that strikes directly at his heart. There’s a clear passion for your job despite your horrified disposition. It isn’t noticeable, but he sees it. He respects that about you.

Hotch just nods assuringly, “Always.”

“– Alright, pause. She’s highly intelligent, an excellent communicator, fears nothing, and I’m assuming incredibly hot...” You stop yourself and laugh to yourself, expression gleaming with amusement. “I never saw such a woman. She would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.”

You don’t mean to, but he can see you trying to ‘crack the case’: the identity mysterious woman. He knows you’ll uncover the truth eventually. Despite harbouring a confession for months, Hotch understands there may never be a right time. It needs to be now.

So, he allows you to piece it together.

“She certainly is.”

You’re not listening anymore, brows shooting up like you just had a revelation. “Wait, you mentioned she’s a negotiator?”

“Yeah, she’s from the floor below.”

Your brows furrow with confusion.

“The floor below?! But there’s only Annie, who’s very much happily married, and–”

A beat. Realisation settles upon your face, and Hotch’s heart leaps.

Oh.

OH.

You blink at him, dumbfounded.

It’s you.

“...You’re in love with me?”

Your words are barely audible and careful, bearing their fragile weight and gravity. There’s a crease between your brows, eyes gleaming with expectancy. 

He has never been so sure.

“Yeah, I think I am.”

A beat. He says it so plainly that it assures any doubts you had before. Your breath hitches.

Hotch is in love with you.

Instantly, your face splits into a bashful smile as you reach for his hand, a gentle touch to your palm, fingers intertwined with your own.

“I think I’m in love with you too.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds #valentines day #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you #hotch

[tteokdoroki]

OCTOBER 1ST. VENOM 

"eyes. lungs. pancreas. so many snacks, so little time."

♱ — katsuki bakugou + monsterfucking.

♱ — synopsis; katsuki’s been a bad fiancé recently, he tries to tell himself that it’s all in his head ( literally ) and when his neglectful behaviour nearly ruins your engagement dinner — he has no choice but to make it up to you, with the help of a little symbiotic friend.

♱ — length; 5K

♱ — warnings; please read for your own safety! mdni, smut 18+, heavy smut, characters aged up to 20s, mentions of eating people, monsterfucking, dry humping, tentacles, overstimulation, pussy jobs, public sex, clothed sex, oral sex ( f!receiving ), pegging ( m!receiving ), fem!reader, venom!bakugou. not beta read !

♱ — notes; waaa!! hello everyone, welcome back to kinktober!! im so happy to be participating again, i hope you all enjoy whats in store for this year. starting with this baddie !! - m.list ₊ kinktober m.list ₊ taglist 𓆩♡𓆪

“just eat her…katsuki…” 

“no, you can fuck right off.” 

“why not? she is unpleasant…katsuki…its not like we like her anyways…” 

for the first time that night, katsuki indulges the mangled voice in his head— listening to the symbiotic alien that sludges through his voice and his body. venom is right. he hates his mother in law, soon to be mother in law, but the practicalities of it all aren’t what matter. red eyes drift to the devil’s incarnation of a woman, traditional yet rude and deserving of a beat down— katsuki thinks. if he could just take a bite, crunch down on the woman’s skull and swallow her whole, all of his problems would be solved.

“goodness, bakugou,” the woman leers with a nasty curl of her sweaty upper lip. “i’m paying for the wedding not for you to be dressed like a complete slob— you look awful, and at my only daughter’s engagement party!” she drones on and if venom were to murder this woman right now, she really would deserve it. 

“see? you are a loser, bakugou.”

he wasn’t dressed that bad, sure, it wasn’t the burgundy blazer and pressed white shirt you’d told him to pick up from the dry cleaners on the way home from work but— it was smart casual, a nice pair of jeans and a smart jacket. you liked that. that’s all that mattered.

bowing his head slightly, bakugou wordlessly apologises before fishing himself out another glass of mercilessly alcohol free fruit punch. “‘m sorry ma’am—“ 

he cuts himself off when your name flitters from between your mother’s lips— the syllables that usually sound so pretty when strung together now ugly tainted by the evil woman. “she deserves so much better than you,” she doesn’t ease up on reminding bakugou of how lucky he is to have bagged you. to love you. “better than a wannabe journalist on a motor cycle.” 

“die… pewny crazy woman—“

bakugou feels the familiar crawl of the venom symbiote across his skin— sharp-edges, dangerous claws reaching out for the wicked woman to snag her head off when he controls himself, controls his little friend and forces his stare back to the catered pile of desserts. 

“venom,” katsuki is barely hanging onto his sanity, voice tainted with exhaustion. it’s like having a child constantly on your back, begging for things that aren’t acceptable for adults. he wonders how he’s been able to put up with this, how you’re able to put up with him. since becoming one with the alien life form— katsuki bakugou has been nothing but neglectful of you…turning his back on you during nights full of romance because he’s scared venom will hurt you, he’s missed cake and wine and menu tasting for the wedding because venom craved a little something meatier and sometimes even more human than whatever you’d been excited to try for your big day. katsuki forgets calls, doesn’t reply to texts— cycles into the night to take care of his little problem when he should be looking after you.

katsuki’s been insufferable; meaner than usual, flakier than he should be and he knows that he’s hurting you— not loving you properly like he should. blaming venom alone  would be the easy way out. yet you stayed, you kept that ring on your finger and put on your best smile, because for some reason you still found it in your too big of a heart to love katsuki even when he didn’t deserve it.

still away with his thoughts, blonde is absent to notice venom popping out— a creepy, sticky black head, to greet a curious child after some of the sweets at this swanky engagement party. “want to play hide and seek? the mouth is a good place to start.” venom’s attempt at a coo is far from comforting, rows of razor sharp teeth covered in alien slobber only frightening the little one more.

“fuck off venom, cut yer crap out or i’ll—“ bakugou waves a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose only to be pulled from his revere by a whimpering child ( now identified as your five year old nephew who still hates his guts ). “oh shit—“

“would you mind not cursing in front of my kid?” your brother hastily appears from absolutely fucking nowhere. shindou is far from impressed, hates bakugou’s guts as does the rest of your family and if he had his way, the blonde wouldn’t have a leg to stand on at the alter with you. “yanno, you might wanna behave yourself tonight? it’s important to my ma, to my sister so if you could—“ 

there’s a burning rage that flickers through bakugou’s veins only heightened by the alien that makes a host out of his body, and it only makes it harder to fight off the urge for manslaughter. “we should eat him too…katsuki…he is getting on my nerves. i am sure he will taste like chicken.” the alien growls from the deep corners of his mind. 

“they do not taste like chicken you stupid fuckin’ lug.” bakugou grunts back. 

and to the outside world, the shitty excuse for a man is talking to himself— getting shindou’s back right up. “what did you just call me?”

“stay outta this, man. s’between me and the dumb fuckin’ alien voice in my head.” 

insane. katsuki bakugou’s little alien friend makes him look absolutely insane. 

and before he can get his ass beat by your brother— you swoop in, slightly flushed from flickering between guests of friends and family all night, there’s smile lines in your makeup, you’re tired in the eyes and you’re still the most beautiful person in the room to bakugou. his heart races when you’re close enough for him to smell your perfume, putting a safe distance between your fiancé and your brother.

you’re angry with him, bakugou can tell by the heat in your gaze when you get shindou far enough from the dessert table— he can feel it in the way it burns against his skin in broad  waves, see it in how you twist on your heel so fast your dress, pretty and off-white like a bride on her wedding day, rides up enough to catch a glimpse of your thighs. it’s shameful to admit, but seeing you so full of rage turns him ( and venom ) on.

“what the hell is going on with you, katsuki?” you bark at him, hands on his chest enough to make the blood rush to his cock, swelling in the pants he’d just managed to throw on for tonight’s event. 

“n-nothin’ sweetheart, ‘m just—“ fuck her katsuki. she’s angry, venom goads. she is pretty when she’s angry. we should fuck her. the blonde shakes his head, trying to rid himself of vulgar thoughts— clearing his mind, focusing on you and how your chest heaves, with annoyance, tucked away in that tight fitting dress that hugs you in all the right places,  as you look up at your fiancé expectantly. fuck. “the only one that’ll be fuckin’er is me, you dumb fuck alien.” 

it’s embarrassing, whatever’s gotten into your fiancé— because tonight was supposed to be special, the one night before your wedding that you could trust him to behave and not make that familiar prickling warmth coil in your core at his vulgar words. your eyes widen in shock and you push again at katsuki’s chest with furrowed brows. 

“kats, please—“ 

shindou squeezes down on your nephew’s ears, hoping it’ll block out whatever filth spills from your lover’s mouth. “that’s my sister! you dipshit, get a grip—“ 

“fuck him too, katsuki…” 

“yo—“ you turn around again, spitting venom ( no pun intended ) at your brother too as you grasp at bakugou’s wrist to pull him from the banquet room you’d booked for tonight’s celebrations. “go check on ma, please? i’ll deal with him.” 

and you exactly that, nagging the man’s ear off as you tug him to the bathroom— tears glittering as pretty as your engagement ring in your eyes under the artificial light. you’re nearly broken at this point, months of being treated so differently, akin to trash possibly, by the man you love most being unleashed on him and the symbiote that sits comfortably in his frame unbeknownst to you. 

“i’m sick of this kats,” you might as well be screaming at this point, your whiny and emotional voice is loud and noisy to the alien. it echoes through the cubical you’ve locked yourselves in and it cranks up the annoyance within venom— and you barely notice katsuki trying to keep him down. “i’ve been good to you all these years, haven’t i? i’ve loved you well enough for you to know that i deserve better than you but i just can’t—!” 

the final straw is when you bang your fist against the cubical wall, the noise rattling the symbiote inside your lover, forcing ink black tendrils to take over his host body and a scream to tear in the base of your throat as katsuki transforms into something you don’t even recognise.

the man towering over you now is built in a suit of sticky, obsidian black— white, and cloudy slits peer into yours in a way that sends shivers down your spine and has your thumping heart leaping into your throat. this isn’t your man, this isn’t your katsuki. horror seeps through your body, takes residence in your veins as the monster grasps at you with claws and tentacles instead of your fiancé’s slightly calloused hands. it dwarfs you more in comparison to bakugou, it makes you scared looking at what it’s made of him as thick slime slides up and down your pretty, blemished skin in ripples. 

“don’t scream.” the rasp you’d come so accustomed to, the one that makes your breath hitch every time he speaks, the one that fills you with butterflies despite the roots of fear wrapping around your heart. it’s him, your katsuki. the tendrils of black have peels back from his pretty face, his ruby gem

eyes send a flicker of comfort through your soul. 

but then he’s gone again and the dark mask takes over— screaming at you at a pitch close to making your ears bleed, and you’re scared again, close to screaming too. it, pools like an oil slick over your mouth, suffocating you like a bird on the surface of oil laden water…but you like it, even as if claws ironically gently at the insides of your mouth. 

“but we like it when she is screaming. katsuki. we are dirty minded.” the creature addresses you, some kind of twisted affection reflecting in the white of its eye.

“venom, i swear to fuck—“

it’s… katsuki’s… venom’s tongue, long and pink darts out to smooth over your face though you quiver, body toppling over with liquid dread. it’s warm, wet and shouldn’t send a spark of lust down your spine making you let out a muffled whimper of confused arousal. 

“mouth…breasts…cunt…so many snacks…so little time.” venom pins you against the wall, pouring over you and invading every inch of your shaky frame— smothering you as it slips under your dainty little dress while you squirm about in it’s hold.

eventually, the ink black peels away from your mouth, only when your muted screams die down. “t-this? katsuki? this is what’s gotten into you?” he’s relieved to see that you’re still filled with anger as you gulp in fresh air between ripping him a new one, he’s completely aware of your growing arousal too. “a parasite! you’ve let a fucking parasite take over your body and ruin our engagement night and now—“ 

venom, is offended, however. “—i  am not a parasite!” he growls. “i am venom, and you are mine.” 

“ours…fuck, i mean mine.” katsuki comments, but he doubts you can hear him through the layers of teeth venom wears while arguing with the symbiote itself. it’s a back and forth, but even during that your fiancé can practically smell how your cunt drools into your barely-there panties— from fear or desire, he can’t care to tell. you’re so wet, and between dealing with venom and not seeing you during wedding prep, the blonde can’t remember the last time he fucked you good and proper. 

it’s been ages, and you look too fucking good tonight.

“we should just take her…katsuki. flood her insides with seed. she is asking for it, like a hunk of meat waiting to be devoured….” 

you squirm against venom’s web like hold, “don’t talk about me like i’m not here you piece of shit! give me back katsuki—!” 

“her pulse has quickened. she is hungry for us.” the voice of venom roars from inside his head, equally as desperate for you as katsuki is. katsuki, in combination with the symbiote, surges forward to kiss you with greedy lips and to press his saliva covered and syrupy  tongue into the heat of your mouth so he can  silence you. it’s big, hefty as it fills you up until there’s drool pooling out and sitting on the corner of your pretty lips. “i like her. more.” 

and then you moan, it sounds like a symphony as your mouth swells with the thickness of the slimy tongue exploring your throat and rolling over your tongue. “we’ve been neglecting’ you, hah, sweetheart?” bakugou, your fiancé, groans against your spit slicked lips— smiling at the way you choke from his tongue retreating from choking you down your oesophagus. “wanna take care of ya, been letting you work yer ass off f’this weddin’,” venom’s strawberry tongue slithers out again like a snake seeking out its pray, leaving a sloppy trace over your neck as if to taste the salt that shimmers like crystals on your skin. 

“i’m getting hungry as well, katsuki.” 

they’re both starving for you, depraved of a meal that is your cunt with your panties tucked between swollen folds. “i-if you think…that you can make it up to me.” your speak hoarsely, throat still raw as you pant and catch your breath, “k-katsuki if you think i can forgive you…”

“let us fuck you, baby. i just— we just wanna feel you. c’mon sweetheart, you trust me yeah? y’missed me so much i know,” all three of you feel it, the way your pussy throbs against venom’s beefy and wet thigh from where he’d shoved it snug between the pair of your own. 

“d-did… i did. m-miss you, oh fuck!” you stutter out as thick digits belonging to your fiancé— thickened even more by venom, brush against your hip, dip beneath your skirt and panties to glide up and down your pussy. bakugou teases your entrance, scissoring two fingers inside of your warmth while you ooze into the seat of his palm and grind against him with wanton. “fuck me. both of you, p-please kats,” you beg, riding his fingers until they’re pulled out of you, coated in juices.

your body admits it before your brain does— that you’ve missed him, he can tell from how your chest naturally arches into the eager hunting path of katsuki’s mouth. your flavour reads sweetness, like salted caramel due to the sweat on your skin— his, venom’s tongue runs a course down your body, the sweetheart neckline of your dress rough on his taste buds before he drools between the swell of your pretty tits. he leaves trails of saliva every inch of you possible.

a patch is licked down the front of your dress— katsuki barely fighting off sharp teeth desperate to tear through the front of it so he can kiss the softness of your tummy. instead, hands large enough to crush a skull stick to the dips and fat at your waist, the doughy-ness of your darling thighs he’s missed so much. 

the black veil of venom peels back as katsuki’s head dips under your flimsy skirt— and he practically moans, huskily at that, upon seeing the crotch of your underwear darker by your ever growing wetness. “must’a really missed me, sweetheart,” a wildfire of lust sweeps over katsuki’s ruby red eyes and he coos deviently, nose nudging against your pulsing clit before venom’s tongue happily comes into play this game of sinful chess. he moves just a touch, mouth pulling wide to split at the sides much like a snake unhinging it’s jaw, and latches onto the entire length of your silken slit. his tongue greedily pokes at your hole from over the soaked material— sucking until your juices stream against his taste buds. you’re like a drug, ecstasy— sending waves of dopamine over katsuki’s brain.

burning desire trickles into bakugou’s bloodstream at an alarming rate, bursting through his veins and shaking about in his lungs at every little whimper that bubbles wetly on your messy lips— these soon turn to gasps, straining for air as if you’re drowning when your fiancé peels back your wet layer of clothing, nearly tearing completely through it with a life threatening talon belonging to venom, so he can expose your hot cunt to the cool air of the bathroom. he laughs, breathless and giddy against your mound before dragging his tongue along it— kitten licking your addictive little core just to see you twitch and writhe against the wall venom has you pinned to. 

you’re heaven on earth for a greedy, predatory creature like venom.

but you’re the universe to a regular man like katsuki bakugou. 

your cute little clit is his next stop, pointed teeth only just latching onto the pleasure bud before your fiancé rolls it between the two sets until your nose scrunches adorably and your eyes shoot back into your skull. “i think the little human likes this.” venom’s deep voice inches down your spine, hits deep in your core just with its vibrations— and even he is amused with how wet, you’ve become. gushing like a fruitful stream, pouring liquid gold straight into katsuki’s awaiting mouth, down his chin and painting his cheeks until they shine like treasure. 

there’s an uneven rise and fall to your chest as you’re fucked by two entities— you can barely breathe between them both, the shapes on your clit and the stickiness of venom catching your juices before they have a chance to run down your thighs. bakugou is lovesick, and so are you— big bambi eyes staring down into his own so earnestly, imploringly. the blonde pushes his tongue past the entrance to your fluttering hole, watching as your stare trembles before flickering to between your legs where you stretch over the fat pink appendage. it’s so big, that it might as well be a fucking cock. 

“h-ho’fuck…h’my god…ka’suki…s’too much. too fucking much!” the words feel like cotton in your mouth, slurred over venom’s tentacles and while the world spins on it’s axis around you, you cream around the base of the scorching, spit dripping limb in venom’s mouth as it wriggles inside you— tip writing sinful praises against your gooey walls, languidly stroking your insides and pressing up against pleasure spots that are new to both you and katsuki. big hands grasp at the meat of your ass— the tips of piercing nails marring your skin and spreading you nice and wide, pulling you onto your lover’s face so that you’re practically suffocating him with have no escape for you either, making your hips canter down to meet the thrust of his tongue in and out of you, barely parting from your honeyed sex.

a scream rumbles in the base of your throat as venom’s lengthy, girthy tongue twists against your lush inner-walls, churning up your guts. the symbiote using your partner as a host is quick to think— shoving his slime deep into your mouth again to tame your sacchariferous griping and grousing, the inestimable melody laying flat against the saliva pooling on your own tongue. “quiet sweetheart, can’t make you cum if yer too loud,” bakugou breathes, his voice laden with lust and amusement from watching you ride his tongue like it’s a plump, pretty and veiny dick. “y’gunna cum baby, fuck yes…gush f’me just like that, oh yeah…” 

“for us, katsuki.” the beast inside his head reminds your fiancé, his mask coating bakugou’s face once more— easing you into fright once again, one that makes you quiver just right on him, nearly pushing yourself over the edge.

it’s disgustingly delightful how the pink appendage has a mind of its own, acting like your own personal dildo, fucking you good like one and it’s not long before your body succumbs to the mounting pleasure— the taste of an orgasm like honey oozing across your tongue while happy chemicals dance across your brain, accompanied by white noise as you finally get to cum. you’re spiralling, the tip of venom’s…katsuki’s… fuck it. you don’t even care anymore, the tongue brushes against your g-spot hard causing you to clamp down, suffocating your fiancé,  and your jaw to goes slack. 

you gush as much as water falls, humping pathetically at your fiancé’s face until your entire body is limp and strands of the symbiote have to keep you up and away from katsuki’s eager mouth ( he’s still hungry, happy to clean you up ) where your legs can’t. 

venom slowly retreats from your throat too, but your brain doesn’t have time to catch up when he does, for bakugou’s lips replace the heat that your own mouth has lost— pulling you into a frenzied, spit swapping kiss. “‘m not done with ya yet sweetheart,” he laments, lips grazing yours, licking into your open mouth so you get a taste of yourself too. your body bows into katsuki’s, you feel it before you see it, hear it too— the clink of a metal belt, the sticky tap against your stimulated mound from underneath your panties…fiancé’s iron hot cockhead twitching forward and poised to push through your awaiting salacious folds. “venom wants ya so badly, wants me t’make it up to ya…paint yer pretty cunt with my cum.”

the alien matter has crawled back from surrounding your lover’s hips, sitting just beneath his weighty balls, heavy with seed all for you. it’s obvious how painfully hard he is, standing at full mast and the sight makes your mouth water, pupils dilate and a hunger settle in your chest for katsuki, one you haven’t felt for a while. he’d been neglectful, dealing with this venom shit alone when you could’ve been beside him—guiding him through, though you supposed that didn’t matter anymore…seeing as they were both willing to make it up to you now.  “our cum. we are going to ruin her…katsuki.” the symbiote growls, making his presence known to you both in the heated, sex scented bathroom stall. “i am going to ruin you.” 

underneath his hair, matted to his forehead by perspiration, katsuki’s brows furrow in confusion. “what the fuck are you on about—?” his question falls away into an airy exhale, twisted with a sharp clap against his ass, like skin on skin. “f-fuck…oh fuck….d-damn parasite’s f-fuckin’ m-my ass…” your fiancé’s head drops to the junction between your neck and shoulder, pointed teeth latching onto your saltine skin as venom twists his ink black tendrils into a shape made to ruin katsuki from behind— thrusting sharp into his puckered hole. 

“i am not a parasite!” the symbiote snarls, pulling back to pump into your lover again, this time with no mercy on bakugou’s ill prepped and fluttering hole—pressing right up against the blonde’s prostate. the force only has his own hips cantering forward, his cock, wrapped in pretty blue veins bullying it’s way through your swollen pussy lips— dragging back and forth against your overstimulated clit.

the whole ordeal is slimy, hot and steamy— katsuki pressed against you with no room for anything else aside from lust and the doubled down sound of skin clapping against each other. him grinding his shaft into your sweet cunt while venom pounds away at his warm, tight ass. when the symbiote pulls back, bakugou peels his seedy dick from between your selfish folds— clinging onto him by viscid ropes of evidence from your last orgasm while his cockhead smears fat globs of white against your mound. 

“my fuckin’ god,” you can feel every twitch of his length between your messy thighs, every throb as venom pushes deeper into katsuki— subsequently pushing his tip against abused and sensitive entrance. “m’baby’s got the prettiest pussy… can’t believe ‘m marryin this fuckin’ pussy… oh god.” he whines, drooling over your shoulder because he can’t keep quiet without pacifying himself on you, bakugou’s venom covered hand descends between your bodies to tap his mushroomed milky tip against your pleasure button a few times, smirking as your body jolts and the oil slick arms of venom spread your pussy lips further apart to watch more of the action ( your throbbing cunt and the pearls of arousal that leak from it ). “can’t believe she’s all fuckin’ ours, hah parasite?”

“no one can have her. only you and i.” he says in response, and your tummy flutters when bakugou repeats it back to you— the possession both he and the alien have over you doing nothing to stop the ticking time bomb of your orgasm building up in your lower tummy again.

to see your future husband with flushed cheeks and vacant eyes as he’s being fucked raw ( by an alien or not ) only serves to turn you on further, pussy drooling and juices slinging between both of your thighs with the back and forth of your humping, sticky noises accompanying your in tune breathless moans that follow one another’s with ‘O’ shaped mouths and end in sloppy kisses. 

with your gasped pleas and katsuki’s gruff mewls echoing throughout the bathroom— venom picks up the pace— rocking his dick shaped appendage harder and faster into your fiancé’s ribbed insides, forcing your bodies against each other in a passionate miry dance of nasty, filthy sex. the walls of the bathroom stall creak on their hinges from the force behind venom’s thrusts, jamming hard against katsuki’s prostate which in turn has your rubbing down on his fat dick, faster and faster until all you can hear is the pap, pap, pap of your sexes working with one another. 

“want it inside, need you inside! f-fuck yes!” you garble, almost pornogroahically, katsuki’s convulsing creamy cock driving you up the wall insane. “please.” 

bakugou presses his forehead to your own , body bouncing forward against yours from the power behind venom’s aggressive pace inside of him while your pebbled nipples brush against each other. “can’t,” he whines with nearly teary ruby eyes, the crystalline droplets already gathered in his lash line like yours. “been gone from the party too long, g’nna cum soon anyways. s-shit!” though you whimper with faux disappointment, you’re not far from release either— the feverishness to either of your movements dragging you by the ankles to another high after all the abuse to your sensitive sex. you find yourself throwing hips down to meet katsuki’s rapid thrusts. his hands fumble for one of your meaty thighs to hook it over his slender, slime covered waist while you grasp at his taut ass to spread him wider, allowing venom to reach deeper spots inside of him. 

katsuki shifts, changing the angle of his venom controlled thrusts so that his glistening cockhead breaches your entrance only just— making your eyes roll back for the millionth time that night, your nails sinking into his peachy ass. “‘m right there kats, oh—! right there…” you warn him through gritted teeth. 

he tilts head up, tongue licking over the sweat on your Cupid’s bow. “yer cummin’… g’nna cum f’us baby?” you nod rapidly in response, barely standing on the crumbling edge of your orgasm. between that and the alien parasite tearing his ass in two, jammed up on his prostate— dancing in the back of his mind and commanding him to cum… katsuki can’t seem to hold of either. “let go f’me baby, lemme feel it. give it all fuckin’ to me. to us.” 

“cum katsuki.” 

your body follow’s bakugou’s lead, and he, venoms. “ohh fuck, uhhh shit! ‘m fucking cumming— yeah, yeah. oh yeah…” your fiancé beefs needy and loud, his first spirts of thick white seed barely hitting your cunt before you let out a large wave and gush so hard your release makes a crude slap when ir hits the ground. your panties are soaked through and blood rushes through your ears— all your senses numb to the world except for katsuki using your shaking body to ride out the rest of his high, pouring his release into your soiled panties and against your slit. 

you see new colours, new galaxies and universes— everything hitting you so hard you barley have time to comprehend that you’ve just fucked an alien that’s using your fiancé as a host. it still doesn’t register within you as katsuki puts venom away, pulling out from underneath your skirt before he fixes your panties warm with cum snug against you again.

“‘m gonna take ya back to the party sweetheart, we’ll have to talk about this later.” bakugou coos, though you’re both wobbly on your feet as you come down. 

it’s so cute that all you can do is nod, seemingly appeased with your fiancé compared to how furious you had been before venom helped fuck you good. 

if katsuki had known using the alien as a sex toy would get him out of trouble with you and back into your good books— he would have done it much earlier. 

“i will not eat any of the humans here tonight… as long as we are able to ravage your tiny human again…katsuki.” the symbiote promises when bakugou hangs back a few seconds as you slip back into the party— hoping that your sins go unnoticed. 

and even if you squint while watching you join your family and friends for the rest of the night, you would notice all of them— the way you stagger on your legs and the shiny marks from venom’s slime decorating them too, leaving a sweet smile on bakugou’s face. 

“oh buddy, as long as yer a fuckin’ parasite in my body, we can ravage her like that any day, for the rest of my life.” katsuki boasts proudly.

“for the last time. i am not a parasite!”

#𓆩♱𓆪. 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑'𝟐𝟐 #bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugou fanfic #bakugou fic #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki smut #tteokdoroki #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha smut #bnha smut #bnha x reader #bakugou thirst #bakugo smut #bakugo x reader #bakugou scenario #tw: tentacles #tw: pegging #tw: monster fucking #tw: flashing

[pavitrsgirl]

i have so many requests its not even funny (it's like 10 im just dramatic). i have to have dnd on my phone cuz of how many notifs i get but this is a positive reaction becuz im so happy im getting attention on here.... <33 these are all jus my own ideas and opinions ofc on how i'd think it would go ,, characters probably ooc. no beta we die like uncle aaron

first 'i love you' miles morales, gwen stacy, pavitr prabhakar

miles morales

screaming outside caught miles's attention, his eyes darting from the movie playing on the television, to you, and then back out to the window.

you appeared blissfully unaware of the mess currently going on outside the safety of your house, curled up on him, blanket covering the both of you, you looked extremely comfortable.

so comfortable miles really had to think about whether staying here or fulfilling his duties as spiderman.

god, he really hates himself right now.

making up some poor excuse in the moment, he pulled up his phone, pretending to read from it with the most exaggerated groan, "baby, i'm so sorry but i gotta go. my ma just texted me saying to get home right now."

"what'd you do now, mi?"

"nothing! at least, i don' think i did anything."

snorting in amusement, you nodded, having to force yourself to pull away from him, throwing the blanket carelessly on the couch.

you walked him to the door, hand in hand despite it being a short distance anyway, a quick goodbye kiss being shared between the two of you.

"i'll call you, love you."

his hand turning the handle to the front door stopped as the realization of what he just said hit him.

the panic that rose on miles's face was hilarious, even more so as he tried masking it with a grin, his eyes searching yours anxiously for any reaction.

biting down your own building grin, you let out a small giggle.

"i love you, too! now go! your mom is gonna kill you."

gwen stacy

you weren't sure what to think of the situation that had just presented itself in front of you.

maybe you shouldn't have been in gwen's room without her, should've waited outside in the living room for her to come home there, but when captain stacey told you it was okay to wait there, you took his word for it.

oh, you regretted it.

"(name), i-" gwen paused, the grip on the mask in her hand tightening as she averted her gaze from yours, "i wanted to tell you. really, i did! sooner or later, i just- i couldn't and..."

she inhaled deeply, now just refusing to meet your eyes all together, afraid of seeing the hurt and betrayal in them, not wanting to see you leave the room, break up with her...

"gwen..."

she didn't look up.

you weren't upset, you weren't mad. maybe a little hurt she didn't tell you, didn't trust you with the secret, but you could understand why. you were just really shocked that you had just found out your girlfriend was spider woman.

"gwen?"

"i'm sorry."

you sighed and walked towards the window where she stood next to, her temptations to just escape and do this later or really, if it were up to her, never.

taking your hand in hers, you squeezed it lightly, her eyes guiding up to yours, "we don't have to talk about it right now, it's okay. gwen stacy or spiderwoman, i love you."

"you love me?" she smiled, her fingers interlocking with yours.

"really hard not to."

"i love you too."

pavitr prabhakar

"oh, pav, you shouldn't have.."

"oh, (name), but i should have!"

handing you the colorful flowers, neither you or pavitr could contain the ever growing smiles on your faces. you admiring the bouquet, him admiring you.

"you're too sweet." you sighed, finger trailing one of the petals lightly in appreciation, astonished at the beauty of the flowers you knew he carefully picked out himself.

"only the best for you."

turning up to look at him, you couldn't help but blush at the look of adoration and love in his eyes and oh my gosh, you swear one day he's gonna actually kill you.

little did you know, pavitr had the same exact thoughts, both of you sharing that look.

"stop looking at me like that!"

"like what?"

"like you love me or something,"

"i do love you."

"what?" you spluttered, your cheeks burning further as you raised the bouqet to somehow conceal your cheeks as they grew more and more red, pavitr laughing at your reaction. "i love you! you already knew that!"

"yeah but it's- it's different hearing it!" "i love you too!"

#across the spiderverse #spiderman #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #pavitr prabhakar x reader #indian spiderman x reader #pavitr x reader #miles morales x reader #miles x reader #kid archanid x reader #gwen stacy x reader #spider man x reader #spider gwen x reader #spidergwen x reader #pavitrsgirl

[spacebarbarianweird]

Little Bundle of Darkness

Synopsis: Astarion becomes a father.

Tags: fluff, comfort, dadstarion, dhampirs, pregnancy

Alethaine's age: newborn

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Thanks @lobster-risotto for beta-reading!

Astarion wants to leave the house, just to distract himself a bit. Just to take a break.

A cry of pain pierces the air. 

The vampire starts moving objects in the room mindlessly. He hates dissociating but at this moment he misses this feeling of not being present in the moment.

It's been years since he felt so useless, so doomed. And so scared.

Another cry, louder than the previous one, and Astarion clenches his fists as if being ready to attack an invisible enemy. 

He and Tiriel have been through a lot. He has seen her in blood and pain many times - his fierce warrior-wife who wields a two-handed axe with the same elegance he uses daggers is unstoppable and unbreakable.

But this… this is different. 

"I - I can't!", he hears Tiriel. "It hurts!"

Whatever she wants to say next, drowns in yet another cry.

Astarion casts a glance outside. The sun is still shining so he is locked inside the house. Helpless and useless while Tiriel is suffering in agonizing pain only with a midwife to be by her side.

...He had no idea it was possible. He is an undead. Undead men don't impregnate mortal women. Besides, it had been twenty years since they met. If it had been possible to conceive a child, it would have happened a long time ago.

But – 

One day her blood just tasted different. And Tiriel was so tired she couldn’t lift her weapon on their back home from the wilderness. She was claiming everything was all right and he had to drag her to the town’s healer.

She came back much sooner than he expected, and he immediately sensed something was utterly wrong. Tiriel sat in front of him in the chair, eyes firmly fixed on her hands.

"My sweet, what did he say?" Astarion asked. By this moment he started feeling a wave of his own panic. Tiriel is mortal. She is a warrior, yes, but she isn’t immune to curses and, after all, death. And besides he had never seen her like that.

"Astarion, tell me one thing. Have you heard about children born from vampires?"

"Yes, I have. Dhampirs. It’s like being a vampire without downsides,"he got so carried away that he basically gave a lecture to Tiriel, and then stumbled. "Why do you ask?"

And then she put her hand on her belly.

“He told me I am pregnant.”

… The next months were intense. Sometimes everything was good. They could even sit and talk about the future – sure, the child was going to be an elf with just a bit of human ancestry on Tiriel’s side. 

But more often than that they both were scared. Tiriel had insane mood swings and she would burst into tears after some innocent mockery from him. He had nightmares and panic attacks. Everything he thought had gone for good returned the instant he’d learned about pregnancy. 

And Tiriel… Well, the thing is women die at childbirth even if the child is mortal. Even if before the woman has challenged the gods.

Cries from upstairs are unbearable to hear. Astarion wants to be there with Tiriel and, at the same time, he wants to be miles away. And it’s all his fault. 

If she dies, it will be his fault.

Fuck it.

Astarion goes up and with a bit of hesitation pushes the door. The smell of familiar blood makes his head spin.

“Go away, idiot! I told you not to come here!” the midwife curses. “There is too much blood!”

“No, please!” Tiriel begs, reaching out for him, “Don’t go!”

Astarion kneels beside her and squeezes her hand. “I am not going anywhere, my sweet.”

What if something is wrong? What if the child is some monster, not even resembling a sentient being? What if…

And suddenly Tiriel goes silent.

A squeal, full of fury and distress, pierces the room.

“Well, this one looks like a healthy girl”, the midwife places the baby in Tiriel's arms. 

The tiny Elven baby with long pointy ears stops crying, feeling her mother’s skin against hers.

Astarion stares at the child in shock.

“Didn’t really take after me, did you?” Tiriel adjusts herself a bit in the bed. “My lovely beautiful girl”, she presses a kiss against the baby’s forehead, “Look at her ears, they are like yours!”

Astarion can’t take his eye off them. His child. His and Tiriel’s. His daughter. Not a monster – just a baby. 

The long pointy ears twitch, and Tiriel starts caressing them.

“Tiriel… My love…”, he finally manages to speak again, “Her ears are very sensitive, don’t touch them too much”.

“Oh, I am sorry”, Tiriel stops. “But they are so cute!”

“They are.”

Astarion can’t decipher what exactly he feels. All these months the child was just an idea, something he couldn’t feel attachment to. But now that the baby is born, the realization that nothing will be the same hits him. That his life has just changed forever.

And this is good. The worst thing that was happening to him all the centuries of enslavement was the understanding that nothing would ever change. Nothing would get better or worse because everything would stay the same. And now, it’s something new. Something natural. Something he thought was available only for normal people, not someone so twisted and ruined like him.

Tiriel touches his arm softly.

“Hold her.”

“What?! No! I am not…”

“It’s your child, Astarion”

Astarion stands up and recoils. “Tiriel, I will hurt her! Look at her, she is small! I will… I will do something to her!”

It seems like his voice scares the newborn and she starts crying again. 

“Sit with me”, Tiriel asks. “Please”

Astarion hesitates but obliges. Before he says anything, the little bundle is already placed in his pale arms.

He freezes. The girl cries even louder demanding to be returned to her mother. Astarion touches her forehead with his fingers – the skin feels delicate like silk”

“Ai armiel telere maenen hir, salen damia”, he whispers in Elven.

And the girl stops crying. She looks at him with her dark eyes and suddenly smiles. The newborn stretches her tiny arms as if trying to reach out for his face. 

And Astarion bursts into tears. Sobbing, he cradles the baby in his arms, hearing the fast heartbeat within her delicate rib cage. 

It’s his daughter. His treasure. The reward for everything he’s been through. The sign that he has been doing the right things all these years.

Tiriel puts her chin on his shoulder and wraps her hands around his waist.

“Thank you, my love”, Astarion says to her. “This is a gift.”

They sit like that for what feels like an eternity. Finally, Tiriel breaks the silence.

“She needs a name.”

Astarion studies the girl’s face as if looking for a hint. Then, the name comes to his mind, though he doesn't know where he could have heard it.

“Alethaine. My love, can we call her Alethaine?”

Tiriel nods. “It’s not like I have any other suggestions. I was scared to death the whole time. It’s beautiful. Let’s call her that”.

It’s already night when the midwife leaves the house. Astarion helps Tiriel to get to the bed with clean sheets and then brings her sleeping Alethaine.

Astarion watches how Tiriel pulls the collar of her shirt freeing swollen breasts and then places the girl that way so her mouth in front of the nipple. The girl makes sucking movements and her ears twitch simultaneously.

Tiriel starts humming – and Astarion recognizes a human lullaby he’s heard from Tiriel maybe only once or twice. 

He carefully puts his head on Tiriel’s lap so he can see both his wife and daughter.

“How are you feeling?” he finally asks.

“Tired. Happy. And you?”

Astarion chuckles. “You pushed a whole Elven baby out of your body and wonder how I am feeling?”

“Actually, yes”

“I feel … alive.”

Tiriel reaches to his silver curls and strokes the hair with her free hand.

“Thank you for giving her to me”, she whispers.

Ai armiel telere maenen hir, salen damia (Elven) - you hold my heart forever, my child

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 #astarion romance #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #alethaine ancunin #astarion being a dad #dadstarion #astarion fluff #astarion x you #spacebarbarian fics #astarion ancunin #astarion baldurs gate #astarion brainrot #astarion fanfic #pregnancy #giving birth #tiriel of the sunset mountains #tiriel the barbarian #astarion x tiriel #oc tav: tiriel

[slow-motionlovepotion]

𝒌𝒆𝒑𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 | 𝒋.𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈:  boston era! joel miller x f!reader

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 2.6k

𝒂/𝒏: i woke up at 5am this morning and smashed this out rather than working on any of my other numerous wips ~ no beta (or edit), we die like men - minors do not interact.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 18+ ~ sex work, mutual masturbation, unprotected sex (wrap it kids), slightly coercive behaviour, dirty talk (joel miller has a filthy mouth), creampie, mentions of drug dealing & murder (joel is a drug dealing murderer but that's canon so it shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone), possessive!joel, kinda mean joel, joel is a tease, degrading language (whore, multiple times), idk i think that's everything

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: pleasure has a price and Joel is willing to pay whatever it takes to have you

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐 ⇢

Joel often heard talk from the other smugglers, of pretty girls that’d sink to their knees for a few ration cards or a couple of pills. He pretends not to, but he listens, acting like he couldn’t care less about their sordid activities. 

“What about you Miller? You don’t fancy a visit to one of our girls?” Some ratty 20-something asks one day. Joel just rolled his eyes.

“You really think I’d pay for some whore you’ve all had your dicks in?” His disgust is false, an act. In truth, he’s no better than them, couldn’t care less how many guys a woman has fucked before him. 

Besides he’s got Tess. 

Except now he doesn’t. Doesn’t have a warm body to sink into, to fuck his stress out on. She’d cut him off, rightfully so, when she implied she wanted more and he continued to offer her exactly the same. 

So when a comment is made in passing one night: “You hear Danny’s girls got into the whoring business?” His ears perk up. 

He knows Danny, knew Danny, before Danny was resting not entirely in peace. If you were to ever leave the QZ and see a guy who looks an awful lot like Danny but, say, had mushrooms for eyes, no you didn’t. 

Tess had been the one to deliver the bad news to you while Joel had stood uncomfortably in the hallway, listening to your broken sobs through the door. 

Maybe that’s why Joel finds himself knocking at your door, long after curfew, just returned from a run where he’d listened to those arseholes describe in great detail how they’d be paying you a visit, all while Joel kept his back to them, hiding the hardness in his jeans as he’d pictured what he’d do to you himself. He really was no better than them. 

“Joel Miller. To what do I owe this pleasure?” You smile but it’s tight and it doesn’t reach your eyes 

“Can I come in?” He asks like this is normal behaviour but that’s the Joel you know, always direct and to the point no matter how rude it comes across. Gritting your teeth you step back, allowing him into your apartment. 

“Nice place” he surveys your home, bathed in a soft pinkish light from the lamp next to your bed, a book discarded on the messy sheets. 

“What do you want Joel?” You try phrasing your question differently to get him to get to the point. You’re tired, it’s been a long day and Joel is not easy company. 

“I heard you’ve become a bit of an entrepreneur, started your own business” He raises a questioning eyebrow at you and you want to slink back to the shadows at his confrontation but you don’t, you stand firm, refusing to buckle under his stare. 

You’d expected word to travel faster, you’d started working about a month after Danny’s untimely demise, all of a sudden fending for yourself, no longer benefiting from the additional earnings afforded the smugglers. You’d tried to keep away from that business, only taking clients that you knew had no connection with the likes of Danny’s friends and Joel Miller but maybe you hadn’t been as careful as you’d thought. 

“Do you have a problem with that?” You challenge. It’s awfully rich of him, coming into your home and giving you his opinion on your job, like his line of work is any better. He’s nothing but a glorified drug dealer and a murderer. 

“Of course not. Why’d you think I’m here?" His tone is serious, this is not a social call, it’s business, your business. 

“I thought you were with Tess?” You ask, more so to give yourself time to actually take in what he’s saying, not because you have any issues providing your services to men of an entangled nature. 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to ask questions” he shoots back

“I don’t, usually. Just looking out for myself, last thing I want is Tess comin’ around here thinking I fucked her man” 

Joel sighs, he’s not her man. Though he’s not surprised you would think that, people thought that before they started fucking and apparently still think that even after they’ve stopped. 

“You ain’t gotta worry about that darlin’” 

“Payment upfront” you concede and Joel nods, pulling a stack of ration cards out of his pocket. 

“What’ll this get me?” He places his payment on your kitchen table and you eye the stack, easily enough ration cards to keep you living comfortably for months. 

“Whatever you want” you say, you’ve done this for much less. But had you not been enticed by the thick wad of cards, you might’ve reconsidered that offer considering everything you know about Joel.

He thinks it over, dropping heavily into the corner of your sofa, one foot on the floor, the other muddying the already stained fabric. 

“C'mere” he commands and when you’re close enough he points to the other end of the sofa “Facin’ me” 

You sit, bringing your knees up to your chest, your t-shirt does nothing to cover your modesty but your shins are blocking the view Joel really wants. 

“Spread those legs darlin’, show me what I’m payin for” he tilts his head expectantly. 

You spread your knees, keeping one leg bent and dropping the other to the floor, your new position almost a mirror of Joel’s. You know he wants more, reaching down you pull the scrap of lace to the side, exposing yourself to his gaze. 

He lets out a groan at the sight of you, cunt glistening despite the fact he’s not even touched you yet. 

“Pretty girl” he breathes. His eyes flick to his offering on the table “Whatever I want?” He confirms and you nod “Ah-ah, words darlin’. I wanna hear you” 

“Yes Joel, whatever you want” his hand flexes on his thigh and you can see the growing hardness in his jeans. 

“Take it off” his command gives you some idea of how this is going to go, he’s going to tell you what to do, and you’re going to do it. 

Your hands find the waistband of your underwear and you lift your hips, slipping them down your legs and when you reach your ankles Joel holds his hand out, smirking when you drop the fabric into his waiting hand. 

“And the rest darlin’” You pull your t-shirt over your head, revealing yourself to be bare underneath. The t-shirt drops to the floor with a quiet thud as you lean back, returning to your position, legs spread and on show for him.

Your fingers automatically slide between your legs, spreading your wetness up to your clit, circling the bundle gently. Joel doesn’t take his eyes off you, hands quickly working at his belt and jeans, freeing his length with a relieved sigh. 

Thick fingers wrap around his even thicker cock and it’s like your own personal fantasy, Joel Miller thrusting into his fist, just for you.

You increase the pressure on your clit but keep your pace slow, teasing. It’s a dangerous game to play, acting without instruction but while Joel is watching you with heavy eyes and he’s not telling you to stop, you continue, dipping your fingers into your cunt, bringing them up to show him the wetness coating your fingers. 

He doesn’t stop you when you return your fingers to your clit, doesn’t stop you when you pick up the pace or when your breathing starts getting harder. 

In fact he puts on his own show, spitting into his palm and picking up his own pace, twisting his hand over the head, his free hand tracing abstract patterns over his thigh. 

You could get off like this, you’re going to get off like this, legs tensing and core tightening. A gasp gets caught in your throat as your orgasm builds, almost there, and then it’s gone. 

A growl rumbles in Joel’s chest when his hand grabs your ankle and you’re pulled flat on your back. He’s hovering over you, hand pinning both of yours above your head, your thighs hooked over his. 

“Not gonna come on your fingers” he pants by way of explanation, pushing the tip of his cock between your soaked folds, catching your clit and nudging at the entrance to your cunt. “Gonna come on my cock” 

Joel buries himself to the hilt inside you with a sharp thrust, the stretch is so satisfying it sends a shudder up your spine that has your back arching and your hips tilting down into his, desperate to feel the ache that comes with being too full.

“Look at that, got my entire cock buried in you and you still want more” Joel taunts you, his arm slipping under the arch in your back as he withdraws and pushes back in again. 

“Joel” you gasp as he fucks into you, pulling you down to meet his thrusts. His pace is unrelenting, thick cock dragging against your walls, the slight curve catching just right on that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake and your head go foggy. 

“Say it again darlin’” it comes out as a snarl but there’s a hint of a plea in there. 

“Fuck Joel, oh yes just like that” you push yourself further into him, his arm tightening to keep you there. 

Your shoulders burn and your fingers are going numb with the restricting grip of Joel’s hand around your wrists. It’s intimate, too intimate, Joel’s breath hot on your face and his entire body flush against yours. Joel must think so too because he pulls out, hand around your waist flipping you over so your face is pushed into the cushions and your hips are raised. Before you can even catch your breath he’s forcing himself back into you.

“Fuck, so tight. Especially for a whore” you don’t expect your cunt to clench at that and Joel definitely doesn’t expect it either. He lets out a shocked laugh “You like that? Being called a whore?” He pulls out and slides back in, the action and his question pulling a sinful moan from you. 

His pace from this angle isn’t so unrelenting but it’s harder and deeper, his hips and thighs flush against yours as he bottoms out, pulling out so you can just feel him resting at your entrance, so you feel the stretch of every thrust, over and over and over again. 

“Such a whore, letting anyone fuck this cunt for a couple ration cards” his hand grabs your hair, tugging so your back is pressed to his chest and his arm wraps around your waist, thumb flicking over your sensitive nipple. The hand in your hair pulls, turning you to face towards the table and his payment “My whore now. Those cards should be plenty enough that you don’t need to do this with anyone else” 

Like this, his cock nudges that spot inside you again and this time you cry out, ragged moans falling from your lips with every snap of his hips. And his words, god his words, wash over you like a too hot shower burning your skin. 

“All mine, just for me. Not gonna let anyone else touch you” You don’t realise that’s a question until you feel a sharp smack to your rear. “Tell me you’re not gonna let anyone else touch you”

“Not gonna” you shake your head as you speak “only you” 

“Tha’s my girl” he murmurs and oh you like that, the idea of being Joel’s girl, being the one he spends his nights buried inside. 

“Yes, your girl, just for you” His mouth is on your neck and he bites down as you speak, sucking bruises onto your skin. 

If it was anyone else you’d tell them to stop, no one wants a whore marked by another man but he owns you now so you let him. Hand reaching up to grab his hair, keeping his mouth on you, giving him permission. 

His free hand works its way between your legs, flicking your clit with practised fingers and you’re suddenly right on the edge, release within reach, you just need a little bit more. As if Joel can sense exactly what you need his mouth breaks from your neck and his lips find your ear 

“Is my whore gonna come for me?” He teases, pulling a frantic litany of ‘yes’ and ‘please’ from you. “C’mon then” 

The waves that had been steadily building crash over you, shaking violently as your cunt tightens and flutters around his cock, pulling him in deeper. Light bursts behind your eyes and your hands claw at his arm keeping you upright, nails biting into his skin. You don’t hear the scream you let out but you feel it burning in your chest and your throat. Your ears are ringing, muffling the sound of Joel talking you through it. 

When you finally return to yourself Joel is still thrusting into you, your head resting heavily on his shoulder behind you.

“Gonna come in this cunt, fill you up” that snaps you back to reality 

“No. Joel you can’t- can’t do that” you panic slightly, wanting to push him away but he’s too strong, grip too tight.

And really, if you’re being entirely honest, you don’t actually want to push him away, you want to take what he gives you but it’s unrealistic and you can’t let yourself want that. 

“Yeah I can, you’re mine now. Or have you forgotten already?” You shake your head, no you haven’t forgotten but no he still can’t come inside you “don’t worry’ll get you the mornin’ after pill” 

His words are slurred and his thrusts are losing rhythm and you realise he’s holding back, waiting for you to say yes. His arm around you squeezes in warning and you can feel him tense behind you. This is it, the ultimate trust exercise and it’s now or never. Your hand entangles with his around your waist and you nod. 

“Fuck, yeah. Want it, wanna feel you fill me” His fingers tighten under yours and he picks up speed, fucking into you sloppily and panting against your temple. 

With a final thrust and a groan you can feel in your own chest Joel spills into you, holding himself so deep it’s painful, ‘Property of Joel Miller’ branded on your walls with every drop of his release. 

“So good, so fuckin’ good f’me” he breathes hot into your ear, hips twitching as he comes down from his high. He doesn’t let you go straight away, naked frame held tight against his fully clothed one. You untangle your hand from his when your legs start to ache, knees protesting as they dig into the well worn sofa, slumping forward when Joel finally releases you. 

Your body is exhausted, eyes heavy and stinging with the effort of keeping them open. Joel’s up and redressed before you even think about reaching for your t-shirt, uncaring as you lay naked on your sofa, marked body on display for him. 

Joel’s calloused fingers trace the blossoming bruises that litter your neck and shoulders, his touch surprisingly tender. His hands find yours and help you up so you’re sitting, holding your t-shirt out to slip into, the marks on your neck are visible above the neckline of your shirt and a dark sense of pride washes over him.

“I meant what I said, enough cards there to keep you comfortable for a while, don’t wanna hear you’ve been whoring yourself out again” His confession takes you by surprise, you honestly hadn’t thought he meant it, men say all sorts of things in the throes of passion, you’d know.

The realisation sends a shiver down your spine, you’re his girl now and you don't mind that one bit, the kept woman of Joel Miller.

𝐉𝐎���𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #joel miller one shot #kept woman | j miller #love potions writing #love potion writes #han writes

[writers-potion]

How do I accurately include diversity, and not make it look like I’m just putting it in there for the sake of it?

Writing Diverse Characters - Things to Remember

Honestly, there's no definitive answer to this.

Your characters are people with clear goals, desires and a role to play in the plot. As long as they aren't just sitting there with little else but their race/gender/disability, etc. as their ONLY personality trait, at least you're on the right path.

As for representing a diverse character realistically, here are some things you can consider to get started.

Do's

RESEARCH. There are plenty of blogs/YT vids/websites that exist to help you! Meet people!

Get beta readers.

It doesn't have to be explicit. Racial identities become quite clear early on through the setting, name, and initial description(hair, eye/skin color, body shape, etc) without having to drum it into the readers each time. Gender diversity can be conveyed through the use of certain pronouns without awkward declarations.

Character first, diversity second. Please don't intentionally create a diverse character and then think about how you can push them into the cast. Have a working character, who happens to belong to a particular group.

Read works that have represented a group well. There are plenty of non-fiction works, movies and documentaries that capture the lives of people around the world with a good eye.

Use the correct terms/language

Include different types of diversity

Don'ts

Race/gender/diability is NOT a personality trait. Please. Telling me that you have a Korean girl tells me next to nothing about the character herself.

Using sterotypes. Now, it's all right if your character has a few sterotypical traits, but definitely not if sterotypes are the only thing they have.

Diversity is not a "shock factor". Suddenly revealing that a character is actually gay and has been in the closet all this time as a refresher so that it draws readers' attention? Not a good idea.

One diverse character does all. This can often be seen in female characters of slightly dated works where one woman will play the role of supportive mother, sister, femme fetale and sexy Barbie at the same time. Don't write a diverse character who basically does everything a diverse character can possibly be. All that it proves is that the writer is lazy.

Things I personally hate seeing:

Weird pronunciation of languages. As a Korean person, I always get turned off by works (mostly badly written fanfics, yes, I read those...) that try to transfer Korean dialogue directly onto the page without even checking for the correct way to spell them out. A similar example would be pinyin for Mandarin. Please, this makes the character sound stupid throughout...

Character sticking out almost painfully. If your character isn't from the region but have lived in it for a long time, what reason do they have not to blend in?

Relying on variety shows/dramas as reference. Media representation of diverse characters that are meant for entertainment is not the best source for authentic research. I die every time someone lists a number of Korean rom-coms they've watched for "research". IT DOES NOT COUNT.

As a last note, remember that there's no limit to the kind of characters a writer can writer. Accept that our job as writers is to step into other people's heads, not seeing things from one (our) perspective - and it is not going to be easy.

Hope this helps :)

#writers block #writing #writers and poets #creative writing #writers on tumblr #helping writers #let's write #creative writers #poets and writers #resources for writers #writerscommunity #writeblr #short story #fiction #writing practice #writing prompt #writing inspiration #writing advice #on writing #writing tips #writing community #writer #writers of tumblr #writers community #writers life #writer things #writing problems #writing process #writing questions

[red-write-hand]

"You're killing people?" "No, I'm killing boys." || thomas shelby x assassin!reader

pairing -> thomas shelby x assasssin!fem!reader

word count -> 2.5k (this took me two weeks)

warnings -> i was watching jennifer's body while i was writing the beginning and i think it accidentally started to seep into my writing, bisexuality??, hella tension, maybe some ooc tommy???, assassin stuff, a lot of dirty thoughts (i mean a lot)

notes -> yeah jennifer's body was a reeeally big influence of this. i had a good idea but this could have died, sorry yall!! also no beta read, we die like peaky fookin' blinders

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE LITERALLY SO HELPFUL Y'ALL HAVE NO IDEA

——————————————-

An assassin is defined as someone who is paid to kill someone. In this business, you need to pay a handsome price to kill someone as important as Thomas Shelby. It wouldn’t be easy but no one saw a beautiful woman as someone who could kill you, but then again, that was usually the same people who called her sweetheart when passing her in the street. The very same people who would never be able to harass another woman after her. Y/n cut down any man that would hinder her fellow woman. Women too, if she viewed them as a threat. She was completely innocuous. She looked like every washerwoman in Birmingham. No one ever thought she was the one who was slowly taking out Peaky Blinders one by one. 

No one saw her go in and no one saw her leave. It was easy for her. Men were becoming easier and easier for her to manipulate. Really, this is truly why she was bisexual. Women were truly better but sometimes she would find that one man who saw her. Saw her for what she was. A soldier who didn't know how to stop what she was doing. She had gotten so good at it that every time that she wanted to stop, another high paying aristocrat or politician would waltz in and give her a stack of cash to do away with their competition and she knew that her rent was due so just had to keep going. She was also supporting her family, all the family she had left after the war. She had grown up with brothers and most had gone to war and come back changed. There was nothing she could do about it. She just had to keep her head held up high and persevere, and persevere she did. She began to get very good at petty crimes, and more importantly getting away with them. Another thing she got good at was blending into the background. Become a nobody. Someone that people could easily see through. An excellent cover for an assassin.

There was another part of her that wanted recognition. Y/N wanted that fame and fortune. Nothing that she could have. Women had to work twice as hard in this world. Especially in the business of murder. Then again, those feminist rallies kept yelling about fucking over the patriarchy, why not instead, poison the patriarchy? Slowly? Maybe in the night? Maybe a little murder could do the feminist cause some good. She seemed to know every woman in this tiny town. She really didn’t but it was quite fun to see the men worry that all the pretty women they felt up would disappear. No one knew she existed and everyone knew her name. She barely knew how everyone knew her name. Maybe she did have a bit of that fame and fortune business. She just hoped that it would lead to women feeling a little safer to walk the streets, knowing that they had a silent protector who was not against a little homicide in the name of female comradery. It always feels a little warmer when you know you have a friend protecting you with a knife in the back of her skirt. It was never outright said but it was only men that saw through her. Women knew she was there. This is why she never took jobs that meant hurting or killing women. If it was a husband, she would leave the money for the widow. She was not going to be an asshole about it. No matter what, she would make sure that no woman would go without help. 

She had no qualms about killing men. As much as she loved men, especially tall, dark, and handsome men, they can be a real pain to deal with sometimes. She tried to stay civil but really, how can straight women deal with them all the time? How do they not realize that the best part about married men are their wives?! And god, did the Shelby boys have the best pick of the women! God the women that hung around the Shelby betting shop were proper fit. Or maybe that’s just what drunk men said about them. 

Tonight was special. It would be the death date of Thomas Shelby. The people who had paid her to poison him and make it look like a suicide. The only thing was that he was at a gala. 

Great. 

Using some of her extra earnings and her pay from doing laundry, she bought herself a tight fitting dress and some sparkling jewelry. She stood in front of her mirror and surveyed her body. She wasn’t well endowed at all, really she was the most average looking woman in the country, but not tonight. Tonight she would be the prettiest girl in the room. Tonight she would kill two birds with one stone. She would wreck Thomas Shelby’s public image and she would actually kill the devil. Her. She would be the one to kill the Devil of Small Heath. Oh what joy it would be to sit back and watch the Peaky Blinders scuttle around like sewer rats after their god and king died. They would never know who killed him, well, they would think they knew. She would make it look like a suicide but really, that was easy to stage. She would cry along with everyone else and wipe her tears with the cash she would receive after this job was done.

Stepping out of the car, making sure her dress wasn’t flashing anyone, she made her way up the stairs to the Shelby charity gala. Her dress was short and her faux fur shawl was draped around her shoulders precisely so that she would get all the right looks. She had studied men for too long without knowing what they looked for. Sauntering onto the floor, looking for the guest of honor, her trained ears could pick up the hushed chatter. Everyone here thought she was a prostitute. Figures. A woman dresses the way she wants and people call her a whore. Maybe it's for the better. It would ruin his reputation even more. Be here and be seen talking with a woman who people gossiped was a prostitute? Perfection. She hadn’t even planned this bit.

Finding him was the easy part. Talking was harder. He was surrounded by donors and grifters trying to weedle their way into his pocket. He just hadn’t noticed her yet. She perched herself on the edge of a stool at the bar and ordered what she usually liked to drink on the job. A daiquiri. Easy and plain. Continuing to accentuate her inconsequentiality. She wrapped her crimson covered lips around the rim slowly, watching him circle the room and finally alighting his eyes on her. She turned on her bedroom eyes and ripped more of her drink as she crossed her legs. She was trying to go for ‘come over and see if I’ll take a chance on you’ but really, it was more like ‘come over here and I’ll ruin you before you can finish whatever drink you order to look more casual’. This had worked plenty of times before so she was fairly sure it would work on him. At his core, Thomas Shelby was still a man. A man with a cock. A cock that needed a lot more than a regular man, or so Lizzie Stark told her. She loved Lizzie. Whenever Thomas was done with her, Y/N would always offer her a place to stay and open arms for her to settle in. Stroking through her hair was somehow calming to both of them at the same time.

The room seemed to heat up as he got closer. It really was a toss up if he would guess what she was really here for. Tensing up, she could feel him behind her. Shifting her hair so that it cascaded down her shoulder wasn’t a huge issue but it did wonders for her confidence. Her breath got shallower but gathering all of her courage, her foot spun her barstool to face the looming figure of Thomas Shelby.

“What are you ‘ere for, eh?” The head Shelby took a drag from his cigarette. Giving Y/n a once over, he chuckled. She obviously wasn’t a prostitute but really, he wanted to see what her game was. He was not about to impede a fellow business person while they are trying to do business. She tried to compose herself, tried to keep herself from falling into the endless pools that were his eyes. Endless pools that would ultimately drag her down and bring her to ruin before she could drive her knife into his chest and put an end to the whole ordeal. She could do it right now. She could see the blood seep out of him and see that look of pain that she so dearly needed to see from him. That look of pain that would be payment for all the harm he and his family had caused. She pondered whether or not she should actually fuck him here and now or fake wanting to and kill him just to get it over with. All this nasty business, gross man blood getting on this amazing dress. 

“Here on business Mr. Shelby. Lizzie Stark gives her regards.” She would apologize to Lizzie later. Dear, dear Lizzie. Hopefully she would forgive Y/n for this later. She swung her legs around and walked closer to him, dragging a single hand down his chest. The easiest part of her job was having sex. She constantly thought about herself as a female protagonist written by a man made the process a little easier. Molding herself to the wants of the man. 

She just wanted to hide away from the world but right now she was on the clock. Laying the charm on heavy and batting her eyelashes. His heart was beating faster and faster. This was getting easier and easier. Now she was divided. It was taking too long. The longer it took, the more attached she got. This is one target she didn't want to get attached to.

“Just because you look fuckin’ gorgeous, doesn’t mean you can just-” She gently plucked the cigarette from his pink lips and took a drag herself. Under her other hand, his pulse raced faster. She beamed at him. This time, she was actually feeling some semblance of happiness. Taking a small step forward, she got as close as she could so the smoke, ebbing and flowing from the smoldering edge of the cigarette, would be the barrier between them. She felt a strong hand at her waist, the hand away from the crowd, so the interaction would still look inconspicuous. 

The cigarette hung her from her dark painted lips. They stood an inch away from each other. Each one wanted the other to move first. In his mind, he dreamed of slick thighs, breathy moans, painted breasts, fucked-out expressions, and those perfect gummy walls hugging his cock so well as she screamed in pleasure. In her mind, she dreamed of a perfectly executed mission…and nothing else. Definitely not his perfect jaw and how strong his hands felt at her waist. Definitely the way he was looking at her. Well, at least that meant she was doing what she did best correctly, but still…there was some part of her that had that morbid curiosity. Lizzie had told her what Tommy was like. Rough but loving. Rough enough to satiate himself but since he had taken all this effort to bring you here, he would not snap you in half. Maybe she could do that for one night. That would make a good story. ‘I spent the night with Thomas Shelby and survived’. Definitely something Lizzie would find funny.

Her mind just kept going back and forth in the span of a minute. Does she give in to her curiosity and see what the Devil of Small Heath would do to her or does she put on even more of a show just to ruin his reputation and then pull him outside to finish him off quietly. ‘Pun very much not intended.’ Truly, this was the worst situation to be punny. 

To try to keep her mind on the man in front of her, her eyes just kept alighting on his sturdy looking chest. There was something strangely mysterious about what lay under that perfectly pressed tux. Just to be able to slowly pull every layer off of him was tantalizing. Maybe she might. 

All of this took place in two minutes. They had gotten impossibly closer. His hands had started to slide down, slowly and even slower as she played with the edge of his tie. Oh how much fun it would be to pull him by his impeccable tie, just for him to land on top of her. This could be very fun.

His thoughts were undressing her, meticulously feeling every curve and every fold, kneading anywhere he could elicit a reaction, kissing, biting, anything she wanted. Feeling her under him. Hearing all those pretty noises as he devoured her completely. He knew that all she wanted to do was destroy his reputation but really? What’s so bad about having a little bit of fun? No one could comment because no one messed with the King. 

No one.

They were forcibly shoved together at the hip. His grip was harsh and she was grinning. Sliding the cigarette behind her ear, she gently, temptingly, tantalizingly brushed her plump lips against the edge of his jaw, leaving trace amounts of her lipstick and perfume with it. Giving him one more flash of her sultry eyes and ghosting her hand against his face, ever so delicately holding his jaw, she grabbed her clutch and escaped expertly from his grasp. But not slipping her number into his jacket pocket so he knew where to find her. This was a different kind of mission now. A longer game. A game where she would move up the ranks. Infiltrating the Shelby operation at every level. Finding out their secrets. Knowing what shouldn't be known. She’d make a pretty pound for what she would know. 

Of course, there was that added bonus. Now she had her snares in the most powerful man in Birmingham. Now she could manipulate him as she liked. She would make him fall for her completely. Make him promise her the world. Make him believe that she was what she told him. See her as she wanted him to see her. Control his judgment if someone decided to try to sow seeds of doubt into her darling. Making sure that when she was finally ready to stick the gilded knife in his back, that he would smile and tell her that he loved her one last time. Till next time Mr. Shelby, until next time.

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thank you for reading (and if you reblogged/commented, double thanks) !!

@birminghamshelbyboys @pinguwrites @forgottenpeakywriter @hanawrites404 @runnning-outof-time @no-fooking-fighting @no-1peakyfan @hllywdwhre @floralcyanide @cilldistilled @stridingseer @darlingsfandom @mrkdvidal1989 @lunavelha @aphroditeslover11 @henrywintersdearestgirl @thatwitchybitch420 @classicsandfantasy @marilynmonroefanfics @ninja-potato-shelby-solomons @scorpinelle @chellyrps @maxwell-demon @atrwriting @cassius-casim @your-nanas-house @sherwoodknights @munstysmind

#thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x imagine #peaky blinders #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinder imagine #cillian murphy #cillian muphy #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian x reader #cillian x y/n #cillian #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinder headcanon

[shiorilizzy]

how about Yandere Wriothesley with an insecure female reader that is willing to be with him EVEN suggesting they should have a Baby so he would not leave her (basically obedient Reader

Thank you for asking, I actually love this concept. Sorry if this my headcanons go astray from your request.

Warning: Yandere theme, absolute no beta @@ because my head is full of thoughts but no words come out, Wrio x Clo may not like this one.

Couple: Yandere!Wriothesley x Female!Reader

In my opinion, Wriothesley is also insecure and has trust issues.

He is afraid that someone will take his precious lady. The sight of you getting bored of him and walking away with others is his worst nightmare.

But you are so well-behaved. Even when Wriothesley dragged you down and literally locked you up in his room, your eyes still looked at him so lovingly like he was your whole world.

Having you is like a miracle to him that he thanks Archon every day. It feels like his missing piece.

(You may be every yandere’s dream)

You are his lovely kitty, his treasure, his only exception, his sanity, his obsession, his comfort.

He loves the way you just accept every dark corner of him without hesitation. The more you look at him, the more he wants to spoil and drown you with his love.

Meanwhile, you always think that you are not enough for him. You are scared that someday, Wriothesley will find a smarter, prettier, and maybe from high society, suitable for Wriothesley’s titles.

So you try your best to be a good girl to him, obey everything he says. You know he likes it.

Both of you are insecure, but you have a way of comforting each other so days fly by peacefully.

Until Clorinde comes to the Fortress one day.

You hear Wriothesley’s chuckles and a female voice, so you take a peek inside.

You see a beautiful woman is having tea with him. You realize her. Clorinde is utterly famous in Fontaine. 

The sound of them, smiling and talking, ringing inside your head and tearing your heart. 

You’re drowning in jealousy but you do not dare to jump in and ask.

Later that night, you shyly ask for a baby. 

Wriothesley was surprised at first, but then he noticed your desperate face.

He knew something was wrong. He patiently hugged you and asked.

“Of course darling, anything you want. But can you tell me the reason for this sudden request? Tell me what’s on your cute mind?”

After a while of “interrogating”, he finally understood the situation.

While you blabbing about how you will be more obedient, begging to stay, Wriothesley's mind was on cloud nine.

Oh my Archon, you must be an angel for his gray life. How could he have such a perfect darling like you?

He was so happy that you were willing to do anything just to be with him.

You accept the risk, the responsibility just to be with him, just for the chance that he would not leave you. You trusted him wholeheartedly and only him. What could he ask more? 

 No one has ever needed him like this before. Your jealous, your insecure, your begging made him feel so loved. 

Wriothesley laughed as he hugged you tightly. He looks like the happiest man in the world.

“Silly, if I want to leave you, I can just take the child and push you out.”

“I want to have kids just because I love you. They will not affect my decision of keeping you.”

He told you that Clorinde was just a colleague. He had no feelings for her.

He planted kisses on your face, showing how happy he was and how much he loved you.

“My dear silly kitten, how could I look at others when I have you already? How could I live without you now?”

“You want it or not, I will never let you go, even till the day I die. I will drag you with me. Even the next life and the next next life. You’re bound with me. You cannot escape from me.”

“Besides, I am the one afraid about you running away…”

He soon lit up your mood with his sassy humor. 

Having a loyal lover makes this kinda twisted love completely normal.

Bonus:

After a few days, Clorinde and Navia were invited to a tea party in the Fortress. Clorinde looked at you, sat on Wriothesley’s lap, from top to toe:

“I think I know where all of the factory’s profit goes.”

#genshin impact #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley headcanons #genshin x reader #wriothesley x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere wriothesley