His son's children
When Alfred looked into the security video of the front gates, he froze for a moment. Taking in the image of the two children there. One was a tall, red haired girl with a teal headband, confident but with a look of wary in her eyes. Behind the girl was a younger boy, black haired and wearing a NASA shirt, appearing to be reluctant like what they were doing was a bad idea. Alfred's stomach dropped just a little when he saw the boy and his familiar features.
A second later worry flitted accross his face, but still, because of protocol, he asked them for their reason for this surprise visit. No one expected any visitors this late, and Alfred knew if he looked over his shoulder, he would find one of the children snooping, trying to find out who their visitor could be.
Yet when he heard the girls request to see him, not Bruce Wayne, but him, Alfred Pennyworth, his stomach dropped even more. Knowing now for sure that he hadn't seen wrong with the boy's features. He buzzed them in, while his mind remembered old cherished memories of two you black haired toddlers playing together, growing up together until that one day. When he chose to stay and his significant other chose to leave. Sometimes, he wondered if Bruce still remembered the one that could have been a brother to him if things had gone different.
He doesn't regret his decision, but when he looked at the two worn-out children, no his own grandchildren, before him he mourned the fact that he had let his own son become astranged from him and Bruce. Having believed it to be the best with what Bruce had started to get up to.
But maybe it wasn't to late to make amends he thought as the young girl, clearly of the same vibes as Richard, like someone who had grown up to fast and taking on responsibilities that shouldn't be theirs, tried to explain that they won't call him grandpa if it made him uncomfortable and that they would only need a place to stay for a couple of days before they could move on.
Alfred's heart broke for them as he listened to the girls, Jasmine's hurried explanation.
During her explanation, he studied them more closely. Marveling at how much the boy, Daniel, looked like him when he had been younger. But also noticing the clear signs of injury he was trying to hide. He suppressed a huff, years of taking care of his reckless charges and other grandchildren, and their wounds had made him an expert in spotting these things. But it also gave him a sickening feeling. The injuries Daniel tried to hide did not appear like your average kind of injuries.
They were going to stay, Alfred would make sure of it and he would also let Bruce know of his findings. There was clearly more to his grandchildren sudden appearance than Jasmin was willing to explain.
Whatever endangered his grandchildren from his own estranged son. He would ensure that nothing would hurt them ever again.
His granddaughter did not need to list reasons to convince him to let them stay for a couple of days. And his grandson did not need to look this cautious and wary of him like someone was going to attack him any second.
Alfred was going to give them a home if his son couldn't. And if Bruce had a problem with it, he could take it up with his children. Clearly, if he looked over his shoulder at the noisy little ones, all of his other grandchildren could see that these two before him needed a home to stay.
Besides from the looks of it, they would fit right in with this family.
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Storm’s End
Usually, he can manage just fine when the season comes. Every season, he fights this. And every season, it gets harder and harder to ignore.
Until he cannot wait any longer and you are perfect, just as you are.
Neuvillette/Female Reader, in which Neuvillette is a dragon, determined to breed. Explicit sexual content; breeding kink. MDNI.
Story also on AO3; link only accessible for registered users.
Usually, he can manage just fine when the season comes. Bury himself in work, keep busy, limit his interaction with you until it passes and he is no longer blinded by pure, needy lust. You are disappointed, nerves frayed, but nonetheless, understanding.
He doesn’t want to hurt you, or force you into a decision all because of his instincts. Instincts that override all basic logic.
Neuvillette is fighting them as you wish him a good morning. He can smell the difference in your hormones, your body undergoing your own cycle, priming itself. Very rarely were you in sync with him.
He swallows.
You’re perfect right now. He could take you, here in the kitchen, and have you filled to the brim before the pot of coffee has even finished—
“Neuvi?”
You blink up at him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Concern lines your brow for the briefest of seconds.
“Let me help,” you plea. “Please, Neuvillette, I’m your partner…”
“You do not know what you ask of me, mon cœur.”
“Then tell me. Prepare me. How is it any different than what we’ve done before?”
That fire, that fight, in you isn’t helping anything. Certainly not the strain of his members against his pants. The knowledge that you are ripe, absolutely divine and essentially guaranteed to bloom only compounds matters more and he grips the top of his cane tighter, gloves squeaking slightly.
Every season, he fights this. And every season, it gets harder and harder to ignore.
“I cannot stop once I give in,” he says at last. “Not until…”
You step up to him and whisper teasingly against his lips.
“Then breed me, Neuvillette.”
The last of his self-control snaps as your breath carries every reminder, changed by your hormones.
You are pinned to the kitchen wall in an instant, skirt hiked and panties pushed aside, his forked tongue tasting every inch of your mouth. His teeth graze your lips and he tastes tiny drops of blood as your moan catches against his tongue. His fingers delve, finding you not only wet but eager. He pulls away just enough to take in your swollen lips, flushed face, half-lidded eyes.
Beautiful. And he intends to make you even more so.
He holds your gaze, under no impression he is composed any longer; your eyes flicker to his lips and you wiggle against him, creating friction that sends a delicious shiver up his spine. Neuvillette presses you against the wall further.
“There’s no going back,” he says with what little control he can muster. “You won’t be leaving his house until your womb is full or the season ends. The former is far more probable.”
It’s your turn for your breath to catch and you swallow audibly.
“Then at least take me in bed, first?” you ask.
The bedroom isn’t far. In the haze of your musk, Neuvillette manages to swiftly throw you onto the bed, unfasten his belt, and return his mouth to yours with unprecedented speed. His tips nudge you, one aligned at your clit and the other at your entrance. Neuvillette cannot help the growl that escapes him as he pushes into you to the hilt.
His strokes are deep and your walls clench, already demanding seed from him; he hasn’t even begun properly and you would see both of you undone in mere seconds.
That won’t stop him. Not in this state.
You buck against him, meeting stroke for stroke but far too eager to keep a solid pace.
“Both, please, Neuvi. I can take it,” you whine. “Want to take it.”
You never have before. His heart quickens and his cocks throb at the prospect. He feels pre-cum drip from his exposed tip.
He obliges you without hesitation, withdrawing entirely and slowly parting you with both members. You are tight, perhaps too tight, and he fights the urge to bury himself immediately.
And then, all is lost.
He can feel nothing but the warm velvet of your walls. The room fills with your delicious moans and cries and the wet sounds of your coupling, the slap of skin on skin as he lifts your legs and pounds into you. He has perfect access at this angle. As your orgasm rips a silent scream from you, Neuvillette shoots deep inside, pumping into you as you ride out the first and then a second peak.
Neuvillette doesn’t leave you and instead helps turn you both onto your sides, facing one another. You roll your hips, still eager, but your movement is languid and fatigued, your eyes glazed over with satisfaction and exhaustion.
A good session, but not successful.
Not yet.
The mere thought makes him twitch inside you again. But first, he must let you rest. It was a delicate balance now between caring for you and seeing to it that his seed took. And it will. It is only a matter of when, for he is nothing if not dedicated.
“Sleep for now, mon cœur,” he whispers. “We are far from finished.”
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