#i might've finished reading a fic
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You ever have the urge to smooch a cryptid
#not skeleton stuff#rambles#i might've finished reading a fic#and i need demonic robo jester cryptid men in my life now#where do i sign up. plz#where do i sign up to get myself a tall dark mysterious not human boyfriend#plz god let me have this one thing
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i have a (very important 😏🐱🐶) compilation to make (excerpts from baby, you're a haunted house by spit-kitten (simon/anthony)):
ch 1:
After all, not everybody had the benefit of Simon's distinguished glare. Anthony smarted at the memory of standing before Nigel Berbrooke this summer and singularly failing to intimidate him. Nigel Berbrooke. He had as good as given up on reprimanding Eloise for anything ever since the day that he had stormed into her room with newly-bruised knees and demanded that she refrain from leaving piles of books lying around in hallways, and she had simply laughed and told him to stop looking like a scalded cat and start looking where he was going. And there was that night in Oxford - he could not remember the beginning of the quarrel, or who it had been with - just recalled looking up at somebody, stung, and a voice full of derision saying, 'God, Bridgerton, spare me the big eyes: you look like a kicked bitch. Can you fetch? Beg? Roll over?'
ch 2:
Not that the strikes themselves were anything like wholehearted: Simon was mostly feinting at his head, giving him the lightest of taps to the shoulder, to the flank – spending more of his energy on laughing at Anthony than earnestly attempting to blacken his eye. Anthony himself was more interested in trying to step on his opponent’s feet than avoiding his strikes. Eventually recklessness earned its just desert, and his efforts brought him close enough to let Simon catch him by the shoulder. And then to squeeze, firmly enough that it had Anthony gasping out a laugh of surprise and trying to squirm away from the pressure of a thumb against his collar bone. Simon, damn him, just grinned and held on; gave him a shake, like he was shaking a boisterous puppy by its scruff.
ch 5:
The difficulty came in keeping his affection, his pathetic lap-dog affection, in check.
He had let it flourish unexamined for so many years now that he found he could no longer remember where the line should be drawn between permissible familiarity and what lay beyond; between teasing camaraderie and – well, there was no way round it – and coquetry.
The delight he took in Simon's company made it all too easy to forget. He was too eager to please, to amuse, to rouse his friend from the fits of guarded melancholy to which he was still prey, and he was too swept along by the pleasure he gained from any success in that arena to heed his own words or to look ahead to where they might be leading him, and then without any warning he would find himself stranded. Breaking off in the middle of the story he was telling, hoping to make Simon laugh. Suddenly remembering that the last time he had recounted it, he had been lying boneless and aglow in Siena's bed, his head pillowed on her thigh, hoping to make her laugh. Hoping to make her love him.
The only real, sustained privacy he was afforded was when George was changing his bandages, and he would spend the entire time with his face heated, sunk in confusion, poring over his conduct so far that day and probing it for slips. On more than one occasion, Simon had remarked on his flush on his return, his 'What do you two do in there?' not sounding entirely like a joke. Well, better that he should believe Anthony was letting every one of his footmen fuck him senseless than that he should suspect the truth.
And that was really, truly the only privacy. Anthony no longer had to worry about retiring to his dark and chilly bedroom: he simply was not doing so. When the first evening since that long, strange night of the shooting had begun to draw to a strained close, he had been so obviously unwilling to part – had sat up so long in front of the fire, talking of nothing – that Simon had finally tired of his slow blinks and stifled yawns, and said, more gentle than Anthony was used to hearing him, 'You need to lie down, Bridgerton, before you fall down. Come, can you bear to spend another night curled up on a sofa like the world's heaviest kitten?'
Anthony had said, less indignant than he was used to hearing himself, that he could bear anything Simon could, and bear it better, or words to a similar effect.
'How fortunate,' his host had replied in tones of grim amusement, guiding him to his less-than-luxurious bed for the night, 'that I am a man with more than one couch. I will take this one, and we shall see whose back gives out first.' And Anthony had concentrated all the parts of his mind that had not already fallen asleep on feeling entirely normal as he watched Simon walk away to the other side of the room – not devastated at all.
He had been so exhausted that first evening that it had been easy, completely natural, to fall asleep there with the soft sound of Simon's breathing in the air. It had become – more difficult over the past couple of days. His mind had been less obligingly empty, the nights less obligingly dreamless and every morning when he woke, sleep-dazed, to see Simon sitting across from him, it had been harder and harder to remember why he was all the way over there, already dressed and attending to his post, and why it was imperative that Anthony should not reach out for him and kiss him good morning.
And it was beginning to do terrible things to his back, but he rather felt he deserved them.
--
His host cut an impressive figure in his boots and long coat, with shining raindrops caught in his hair. Far more suited to a backdrop suddenly grown wild and romantic than Anthony himself, who must already be well on his way to looking as bedraggled as the cat from the poem, after she had slipped into the fish-pond and drowned.
--
Don't, he thought, numbly, don't. But Simon continued, his voice heavy, soaked in scorn.
'I have cheering news for you: unmarried, no heir, beginning to be notorious – in his eyes, you have already failed. Every day that you linger here, tempting fate, you are failing him further. How would he react if he saw you so unmanned by such a hopeless attachment?’ – Anthony stopped breathing – ‘Lapdog to an opera singer, for God's sake. The cast-off plaything of somebody who spurns, who does not even see you. Do you think it would make him proud?'
The pounding of Anthony's pulse was almost too much to let him hear this last. Simon did not even know what he had hit on, could not know the true resonance of his words – He was caught between wanting to lunge at him, and being rooted to the spot, pale and speechless. Here it was, the kind of scene he had been running from all week – must have been fearing for years, without ever truly understanding why. Here was a glimpse of the ridicule, the disgust that awaited him if his mask of indifferent friendship were ever to slip and reveal the detestable truth.
If at any point this past week he had been unsure for a moment that he loved Simon, then he knew it now. He knew it with more certainty than he had known anything in his life, because if he had not loved him then this would not feel quite so much like some vital thread had been pulled out of him, and he was going to shake apart at the seams.
He grasped for the instinctive fury that would have flared up so easily only a week ago; he tried to let it rise and carry him forward, tried to form a fist. But he could not approach. He could not get closer; he could not make himself touch Simon. People will talk, he thought, with a kind of dull horror. Oh, God.
All of his famous temper, all of his precious disdain; it had all abandoned him completely, draining out and leaving him pathetically sick and shaky. He felt only an abject self-loathing, so thick his throat hurt with it.
And he was going to feel like this, he realised, feel a portion of this utter worthlessness, every time he looked at Simon – for the rest of his life.
'You bastard,' he said, voice horribly soft, and did the only thing he could think of. He turned and left.
ch 8:
'How are your ribs?' he asked, fixing the patient with a stern look. He really would leave Anthony alone if there was the slightest hint of pain, no matter how difficult that might be.
Anthony seemed entirely unintimidated; he simply laughed and gave a pleased stretch, pressing into the hand in his hair in the manner of a cat. A self-satisfied but particularly winsome cat. 'Now, what could that question possibly signify?' he said, with a side-long glance and a spirited grin. 'Desperate to fuck me again, by any chance? Do you have a surgeon waiting in the wings to come and clear me for duty – or shall we throw caution to the wind and simply get on with it?’
As Anthony's ideas went, that one did not sound so bad. Simon couldn't very well not grind the wretch's face gently into the pillows for his impertinence, not when he already had a convenient hand in his hair, but he did not make much of a job of it; he was too eager to kiss away his captive’s laughing protestations and turn to other, even more satisfying methods of making him writhe against the sheets.
He was starting to have a notion – appearing before him like a vision, a miracle – of what might come after you had everything you wanted. Perhaps you had it again, and again, and again.
--
The thought of being able to reach over and take Anthony's hand while he was trying to eat his breakfast, of capturing his wrist, leaning down to steal the food from his fork and getting kicked at for his trouble - of doing, in fact, what he always had done, and yet having it be so entirely different; it was absurdly pleasing. Of being able to regard him openly when he was all early morning energy, as he washed and dressed and sat obediently for his shave; of watching as the weight of Simon's gaze made his cheeks hot under George's brisk fingers, the air in the room going tight.
#i will be done with this fic soon#(that's a lie - i will never be done)#but i have finished my second read of it :3 AND commented#skjfngkfjgn#and i might've been rerereading ch 3 or something skjfngkfjg ANYWAY#s/a#fic recs#quote#untracked bton#i will shhh now#but consider this your fic rec and that if you haven't already you should read this fic#cat!anthony#i don't have a lapdog!anthony tag#i'm not even sure if i really have a cat!anthony tag#goddd i love it when anthony goes into full pining mode. pathetic self-pity. self-wallowing. self-loathing. he has it alllll#if i missed any cat/kitten/dog/puppy mentions - i'm terribly sorry#but the post is editable#if i should find anything on my third read of it or something haha
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tutoring sessions
Dan Heng x fem!reader
genre - smut
summary - your tutor (and friend) gets a little hot under the collar after you tease him, and things escalate a little (by a little I mean a lot).
cw!: nsfw (sexual themes), friends to (implied) partners, oral (dan heng receiving), praise, virgin!reader, virgin!dan heng, all characters 18+, kinda subby dan heng (he's also very vocal hehe), voyeurism kinda, reader is referred to as 'good/pretty girl' but that's really it for gendered language, implied that dan heng's still v thirsty for reader once the fic ends 👀
note - this is my first smut fic so I'm sorry if this is badly written 😭😭 dan heng might be a little ooc but I'll just roll w it... I was working on a fluff version of this but I accidentally posted the draft and I couldn't un-post it so I'm crying rn it was so long too-
and as always, thank you for reading :)
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
"And today's topic..." the raven-haired man flips to a page in the calculus textbook that he's holding, "is mathematical induction."
"That sounds super hard!" you sigh playfully. "Can we please do something else?"
"Sum and product identities?"
"No!"
"How about-" he flips further, "-sigma notation?"
"Also sounds super hard."
"But it isn't."
"You say that everytime!"
"We do have to start somewhere, though," he remarks with a small smile.
For a split second, you remember where this whole thing actually started. Ah yes, your room, six months ago... when your parents hired him and you came downstairs to find a complete stranger your age sitting at the dinner table. You remember being confused about what classes you shared with him - he did seem familiar in a way, so you just assumed that you had some shared classes. Back then, he was very quiet, very low-profile, and look at him now! Talkative, compassionate, cheeky (only sometimes), kind... if you really excelled in English class, then you might've called him a bloomed flower or something else of the sort. He looks so different now, though - you don't know if it's the chill of the night air that's trickling through the open window by your desk, or the soft, mellow glow of the fairy lights strung up around your room, or if it's just your stupidly big crush on him... it's probably the latter, now that you think about it.
"Well, I don't want to start anything." You lean back in your chair and close your eyes, relishing in the way that you can practically feel his mock-disappointed gaze on you.
"I guess we'll end the sessions here then," he sighs. You weren't sure if he was kidding or not - something about his tone hinted that he wasn't, so, not really thinking it through, you spring back forward to the table and cup your face in your hands with your elbows on your desk. You look up at him in desperation.
"There's no need to do that," you pout, "I just don't feel like doing anything, you know?"
"Come on, let's just finish at least one lesson today," Dan Heng urges, leaning in a little as he does. He smiles encouragingly and pats your back, but you're still not planning on giving in to the agony of work.
"Why do we have to do that, though?" you whine, now folding your arms on your desk and laying your head down on them. It's now his turn to lean back in his chair.
"Okay, so what are you lacking in right now?" he asks, running a hand through his hair to get some wild strands out of his eyes. "Why don't you want to do anything today?" You hate yourself for the fact that you felt your face redden at his action.
"Lack motivation, probably," you bury your face in your arms now, trying to hide the prominent blush on your cheeks.
You hear him hum - a low, pleasant sound. "Motivation..."
As you hear seconds tick by on the clock across the room, your heartbeat calms down and just as you're sure that the redness covering your face and the tips of your ears has faded-
"Just be a good girl and if we get through at least one topic tonight, you'll get a reward. Is that good enough motivation for you?"
You tremble at his voice. It's persuasive and smooth and deep and makes something deep inside of your stomach flutter - was he messing with you? Did he know about you having a crush on him and was teasing you?
You tilt your head to look at him and instantly regret it. He's leaning in so much that you can feel small breaths of air escaping him as he breathes, his eyes trained on yours.
Then he leans back again and smiles, still keeping eye contact, while you, wide-eyed, bewildered, gawk at him.
"Just kidding." The audacity to say that! After you thought that he was flirting and actually took it seriously! Oh, you just had to get revenge.
"No, no, I'll do it," you raise your brows in defiance, a cheeky smile dancing on your lips. "I'll be a good girl."
This does him in. Now he's the blubbering fool, mouth opening and closing like a fish's, trying to process what you said. The fact that you could make Dan Heng, the least expressive person you've ever met, turn into a tomato from just a simple sentence was extremely satisfying.
"You don't have to," he stammers. In a few quick movements he's back at the table, arms folded in his lap. You notice that they're not relaxed, no, his hands are balled up into white-knuckled fists - should you really keep on teasing?
Immediately, you decide that yes, you should.
"But I want to."
For a split second you think that you heard something, maybe a faint meow from a stray cat or a little creak of the walls, but then you realize that the sound came from a much closer origin. Dan Heng, at this point, is tense all over - you can see his jaw clench and his fists growing tighter, nails probably leaving small white crescents in his skin. He's doubled over, too, like he has a stomachache. At this, you immediately feel regret, and all the seductiveness and sass from your voice vanishes in an instant, replaced with concern.
"You okay?"
"Yes," he says, still avoiding eye contact, "Yes, I'm good- can I just go to the bathroom for a sec?"
"Are you..?" You trail off, scared to finish your sentence at the possible implications. He swallows thickly and stands up, trying his best to cover his problem with his shirt, and just as he's about to exit your room-
"You can stay, if you want to..."
He slowly turns his head around, totally stunned at your words.
"I mean," you babble nervously, "my parents are still home, and there's a chance that they'll see your- um, friend, and..."
Before you can internally slap yourself for letting your mouth run like a river, he swivels around fully and his hand leaves the doorknob.
"You're sure?" he whispers.
"Only if you are," you reply, looking directly into his eyes, and Dan Heng awkwardly trudges back over to sit beside you on your bed, a blush dusting his face.
"I don't really know how to start," he admits, "I've never really... you know."
"Me neither," you reply with a nervous chuckle, trying to make light of the situation. "I mean, if you're up to it, I guess we can start with, um, kissing, or something..."
As if on cue, he leans towards you, cupping your cheek in his hand, and your eyes close as your lips touch.
It's your first kiss, too, so you don't really have anything to go off of, but this kiss makes your knees weak and you press your hands against his broad chest, seeking stability. He wraps his other hand around your waist at this action and as the kiss deepens, his lips travel down your jaw and to your neck, eventually coming to rest on your collarbone, where he plants another kiss and leans further into your touch.
You, meanwhile, reach for the tent in his sweatpants and start to rub it though the fabric, eliciting a whine from the larger man. He bucks up into your palm, desperate for more friction, and raises his lips to the shell of your ear, whimpering and quietly gasping in overwhelming pleasure. His large hands finally settle on your waist and his fingers dig into your skin as you continue your ministrations and smile into his shoulder.
"Please," he begs softly, "need to feel you 'round me."
He didn't need to tell you twice as you immediately get the hint and drop down to your knees in front of him. You hook a finger over the band of his sweatpants, tugging at it while looking up at Dan Heng with pleading, wide eyes.
He mutters an expletive when he lifts his hips up, cheeks reddening every second that passes, and as the clothes pool around his ankles, you can see the outline of his thick cock through the material of his boxers.
You decide to tease him (again, and you will never get tired of it because his reactions are way too cute to stop) and glide your fingers over the bulge, at which he squirms, but doesn't dare to take his eyes off of yours.
His hips rise again, and another article of clothing is shed, but this time his lower half is completely naked, so you finally get to see what he's been packing in there.
It's gorgeous compared to the ones that you've seen online. It's standing at attention, slightly twitching whenever your hot breath meets the tip. Dan Heng sees your eyes widen and swallows nervously as you subconsciously lick your lips.
"Is it not...?" he trails off, eyebrows furrowed.
You shake your head, still mesmerized. "No, no, it's very pretty."
He whines when you lean closer to it, eventually bringing it to rest against your cheek. You look up at the man as your hand wraps around its base and you hum at how warm it is.
"You ready?" you ask. You're rubbing your thighs together at this point - his half-lidded eyes, red, swollen lips parted in a sigh, and cheeks dusted with pink elicit a reaction from you like no erotic content ever could.
"Yes- yes, (y/n), please, need you so much, please," he gasps desperately, hands reaching to his sides and grabbing the blanket underneath him. You fulfill his request with a light kiss to the red tip of his now-leaking cock (at which a whimper escapes his lips and he almost bucks up) and take it into your mouth.
His long fingers weave through your hair at the back of your head in an attempt to feel more of you - you then moan, sending delicious vibrations to his cock which throbs in appreciation.
"You're s'warm," Dan Heng hisses through his teeth above you, tears about to fall from his watery eyes, "so, so tight, fuck! Such a good girl f'me, yeah-"
You take more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as his tip hits the back of your throat. Your gag reflex activates and your throat constricts - the raven-haired man above you nearly chokes at the feeling while you drag your lips off of his cock.
"'M sorry," you whisper as you slowly stroke it, feeling it pulse in your soft hands.
"Don't be, that was - ah - felt so good," he pants. "You okay, though?"
"Yeah, 'm all right... can we continue, though?"
"Please."
You stop stroking it and attempt to fit it all in once more, sharp gasps coming from the man above you. You almost reach the base, but his tip prods against the back of your throat so you have no choice but to suck it, bobbing your head up and down on his cock. Rogue specks of your saliva land on it just to pool on your lips as they hungrily come back down his shaft.
He's arching his back from the pleasure, applying a little pressure to your head to guide it in a steady rhythm. His hips start bucking up faster and faster as he gets close to his orgasm - he's shaking his head, screwing shut his eyes as deep, throaty groans are ripped from his chest.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck... doin' so well, pretty girl - ah! - makin' me feel s'good, yeah? 'M gonna cum, baby, just keep - fuck - suckin' me off like that like a good girl, please, fuck, please-"
Eventually he can't take it anymore. His hips are now wildly thrusting up into your mouth, lower abs flexing at the movements, he's panting, drooling, and crying all at the same time - it's so overwhelming and it feels so amazing that he cums with a single, broken moan.
Dan Heng's chest is heaving up and down as he comes down from his high, soothing hand petting your head gently. You attempt to stand, but fail as you topple back onto the ground, laughing.
"Cock so good you can't stand back up?" he teases jokingly, and lends you his hand so he can pull you back up onto the bed.
"Hah, you wish," you smirk back and giggle again. "So, what are we then? Are we still friends, or have we been demoted to student and tutor again?"
His eyes narrow and cloud with lust as an idea pops into his head - you swallow nervously when you meet his darkened gaze. He grabs your wrist and pushes you back, his other hand now greedily kneading your thigh.
"We'll see after I repay you."
#dan heng#dan heng hsr#hsr x you#hsr fanfic#honkai#honkai star rail#dan heng smut#hsr smut#star rail smut#dan heng x reader#dan heng x you#dan heng x y/n#hsr#i really only started to simp for him once his il form came out 🫣#like pls marry me id do anything
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heyyy hope ur well <3 i looooove ur writing so much it’s amazing! i had a request for bruce if that’s ok 24 & 2 + a book i was reading gave me an idea lol so could the reader be in an unhealthy abusive toxic relationship and falls for bruce who treats her soooo well and loves her soooo much unlike who she is currently with (she could have a reason why she can’t leave her partner maybe she’s so scared) and bruce is there for her always protecting her looking out for her worrying about her spoiling her he he genuinely is in love with her and you can add all ur magic to it and all ur awesome ideas. anyway if it’s not something u think fit ur writing or u don’t have enough time don’t worry it’s totally ok :))))) <3 <3 have a great day xx
For the Better
“You light up even the darkest of days” + “Please don’t leave me” + Kiss on the lips x Bale!Bruce Wayne
Pairing: Bale!Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader
Words: 22.1k words
Warnings: Abusive & toxic relationship, domestic violence, gaslighting, lying, manipulation, I'm talking really, really unhealthy relationship, angst, bruises and some blood, fluff, angst with happy ending, kissing, I literally don't know how else to tag this, but please read the warnings because this is a very fucked up relationship.
A/N: Hey everyone! This is the last entry for my 200 Followers Event. I want to thank everyone who participated and all those who showed their support. That means the world to me.
Now, oh my god. This is my magnum opus, I believe. It took me a whole week to write this. This fic is the apple of my eye, my baby, my sin, my soul, I would die for this. I think it's my best work so far. I have worked my ass off for this, I really have, and I have no words to convey just how special and dear this fic is to me.
I would also like to apologise if there are any inconsistencies - I started writing it last Monday and finished it Saturday, so it's been nearly a week and I might've forgotten small details as the days went on. I tried to proofread it!
I really hope you guys will enjoy it and cherish it as much as I did. <3
To Bruce, you were the most gorgeous woman in the entire world.
Your eyes could rival even the brightest star in the sky, the sun did not hold a candle to how radiant your smile was, and no flower could compare to your beautiful. You were simply gorgeous, inside, and out.
Unfortunately, you weren’t his.
Bruce had met you during a charity event. Some wealthy couple was raising funds for the Gotham Police Department (even though Bruce did not believe half of them deserved such charity), and he had of course been invited. The couple in question could not care less about philanthropy – they were merely trying to appear that way. That’s Gotham, for you.
You’d been waitressing during the event, carrying trays of hors-d'œuvre and champagne, smiling politely at guests and trying to do your job the best you could. You’d walked by him twice, and although you weren’t really paying attention to the guests (you were far more preoccupied with not tripping and making a scene), he couldn’t take his eyes off you.
He was so mesmerised, that he found himself searching for you whenever he wasn’t talking to anyone else. Sometimes when you returned to the kitchen, he saw you talking to your coworkers, smiling, and giggling about.
After a few hours of being bored to death by patrons with faux smiles and untrue compliments, he was ready to call it a night and return to the loneliness of his mansion – and that’s when you caught his attention.
Or rather, everyone’s attention.
You’d bumped into someone’s shoulder (it was actually someone’s shoulder who had bumped into you) and spilled the tray of appetisers on top of an old man who wasn’t pleased with the situation. The man, who he recognised as Charles Carnegie – a crooked businessman famous for his dabbles with illegal gambling and corruption – yelled at you, insulting you with every name in the book. The man was just about to raise his hand, no doubt to strike you across your face, when Bruce intervened, rushing between the two of you and gripping the man’s arm.
Charles looked up in confusion and his turbulent eyes widened in recognition.
“Mr. Wayne!” he exclaimed, voice dripping with anger, “Let go of me this instant. Did you not see what happen? This foolish girl was not paying attention and spilled her tray all over me. I do not know how such incompetent staff can be hired. Someone ought to teach this insubordinate brat a lesson!”
Bruce’s hold on the man’s arm only tightened. How dare he speak to you like that? You were standing behind him, head hung low and muttering a string of apologies that were barely audible.
“Mr. Carnegie, if anyone here deserves to be taught a lesson, it is you.” He said, eyes narrowing. “Your inebriation and inability to watch where you’re going is not this woman’s fault. If you cannot behave at a public function, perhaps you shouldn’t think of attending. This server is not at fault, and you will apologize to her.”
The older man scoffed and tried stepping away from Bruce’s grip but failing.
“How dare you! Mr. Wayne, this – this – this harlot bumped into me! My suit is ruined, and she has insulted my dignity. Let go of me this instant, Mr. Wayne, or else – “
“Or else what?” Bruce asked, his voice dropping to a whisper, audible only to the man standing in front of him. “We are currently surrounded by the police our hosts were so kind to fundraise for. The entire Gotham Police Department is here, and while I know that most of them are corrupt scum like you, I am also familiar with the ones who would be more than overjoyed to throw you into jail for illegal gambling, embezzlement of funds and propositioning. I can ruin you with nothing short of three sentences, and you can bet that should you not apologize to the young woman standing behind me, I will.”
The colour drained from Charles’s face, and he stuttered, trying to come up with a decent response. It was no secret that the Carnegies were a powerful family. But the Waynes were almost royalty, and everyone in Gotham would rather swallow their whole fist than get into their bad graces. Especially Bruce Wayne’s. Surely, a man who showed up to every social function with not only a new car but a gorgeous new woman on his arm, wasn’t afraid to pull a few strings to get what he wanted – even if that meant ruining someone’s life.
“I – I – Mr. Wayne, how dare you – “
“Apologize to the young lady, or I will personally make sure all your belongings are gone by the time this godforsaken party is over. You’ll be sleeping on the floor before you can threaten me or anyone else again.”
Charles stuttered a few more times, before gulping and nodding. Bruce released his arm, and the man was quick to hold his wrist, twisting it a few times. Who would’ve known the Wayne orphan had such a death grip?
He looked up and Bruce moved out of his way to partially reveal you, yet still close enough to protect you should Charles decide to hurt you further.
“I – I am…” he stumbled over his words, shaking his head. “My apologies, Miss. My behaviour was… It was unacceptable. I am sorry for my lack of attention, and for bumping into you. I hope you can accept my most sincere apologies.” The words sounded scared – not necessarily genuine but scared – and they almost made Bruce smirk.
“It’s alright,” you muttered, eyes still fixated on the floor. “Don’t worry about it.”
Bruce wrinkled his nose at how meek you sounded and looked around himself. The situation had turned rather awkward – people were staring in his direction and murmuring to themselves. So, he did the only thing plausible.
“Ladies and gentlemen, why are we standing here, when the caviar has just been served?” he exclaimed loudly, plastering on his most charming Bruce Wayne smile, which had the guests immediately react, answering with soft chuckles of their own. “Our lovely police force should be honoured the right way – but that doesn’t mean they should get all the good food for themselves!”
The crowd that had formed around you three quickly dissipated, and so did Bruce’s smile when he finally got a good look at you. You were down on your knees, picking up your tray and trying to pick up some of the appetisers to clean up your mess a bit.
“Hey,” he chided softly to get your attention. “Hey, please, look at me.”
When you didn’t, he kneeled down next to you.
That’s when he saw you. Truly saw you.
Your face was puffy, eyes red and wet with tears that you’d tried your best to wipe away. You looked nervous and miserable, and all Bruce wanted to do was bring you close and make you feel better.
“Sir, I – he was right,” you mumbled, shaking your head, trying your best to clean up the floor with nothing but your bare hands and the napkin you carried on your arm. “I bumped into him. You shouldn’t have gone through all that trouble.”
“I saw him,” Bruce replied softly. “He bumped into you. And even if he hadn’t, it did not mean he had the right to hit you. I was not going to let him do it.”
You nodded and sighed, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your arm.
“I caused you all that trouble. I’m really sorry. Shit, I feel terrible. I ruined that man’s suit and made such a mess… Nathan would mock me to hell and back if he saw me like this…” this caused the dam to break, and you wept loudly. Bruce did not really know what to do. What did one do whenever a woman was crying? He’d had a few one-night-stands in which the women cried once they realised he wanted nothing more to do with them, but they usually left by themselves, claiming he was a “heartless jerk”, and that was the rest of it.
He took the napkin from your hands and offered you a reassuring smile.
“If it makes you feel better that man deserved it. Charles Carnegie is a well-known corrupt and needed a reality check. If I could, I would’ve probably done that on purpose.”
This earned a soft chuckle from you, and you stood up, Bruce following right after.
“I’m going to call someone to take care of this.” You said, to which Bruce nodded.
“I’ll come with you.”
“There’s really no need for that, it’s okay – “
“Nonsense. That old jerk might try to follow you and threaten you again. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
You nodded, and quickly made your way towards the kitchen, where you asked for someone’s help. They were quick to reply, and within a few minutes, the whole place was spotless, and no one could tell anything had happened if they looked at the floor.
As soon as it was done, you turned to Bruce and offered him a small smile.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Wayne. What you did back there was very kind. I don’t even know how I could ever repay you.”
Bruce lifted a hand and shook his head.
“There’s no need to repay me. I’m just happy I could help.”
You nodded sheepishly, and extended your hand, telling him your name.
“It’s very nice to meet you.”
Bruce shook it and his hold may have lingered on yours for a tad longer than what would have been acceptable, before tasting your name on his lips.
“It’s a lovely name. I’m Bruce. Wayne.”
“Yes – I gathered. Everyone knows you,” you chuckled.
“Sometimes I wish they didn’t.” He confided.
“I’m not sure that’s for the best. Being invisible has its downsides, I’m afraid.”
You gave him his number, and the two began to talk rather quickly, even going as far as deciding to gather for ice-cream about two weeks after your initial meeting. He texted you, saying he knew of a fantastic ice-cream parlour next to his company’s building, and invited you. You’d agreed almost instantly, replying with a bunch of emojis – and that’s how you found yourself next to Bruce Wayne, eating ice-cream. You’d gotten a lemon flavoured scoop, while Bruce went for mint.
“I was surprised you wanted to meet up!” You said, beaming up at him once you had paid for your sweet treat. Or rather, after Bruce had paid for it. He insisted, telling you he couldn’t possibly let a lady pay. You made him promise he’d let you pay next time, to which he replied, “We’ll see”.
“Really?” He replied. “Why is that?”
“Well, you’re Bruce Wayne. Don’t you have like, I don’t know, a bazillion cars to drive, and a bunch of models to date, and lots of money to spend? Why’d you invite me to ice-cream?”
“I’m spending my money on ice-cream,” he gave you a cheeky smirk.
“That’s not what I meant.” You chuckled and ate a spoonful of the treat in your hand.
“To be honest, my day was going terribly. I needed some fresh air, and you seemed like good company.” He was being as honest as he could. His day at Wayne Enterprises was going terribly, with a bunch of investors trying to go behind his back and steal some of his money. It had been a hassle, but thankfully all had been taken care of. He needed something to distract him from the stress.
“Oh, tell me about it,” you groaned, rolling your eyes. “The restaurant today was hellish. It was as if Satan had spawned a hundred different little devil women to make my day worse.” You told him about all the “Karens” that had bothered you, insisting you’d gotten their order wrong, when they were simply too drunk to function (even though it was around midday), complaining about how weird their food tasted, or even going as far as telling you they did not like the decoration. It made your blood boil, but a girl needed to pay her bills, so you sucked it up.
Bruce chuckled at your descriptions of the acts you’d like to perform to those women – none of them very family friendly – and found it rather cute when you decided to deal with your frustrations by scooping a large spoonful of your lemon flavoured ice-cream. You moaned in delight once the soft food melted on your tongue and smiled.
“Nathan would just freak out if he tried these,” you said, “He’s a sucker for good ice-cream.”
Bruce’s brow quirked quizzically. Nathan? The name sounded oddly familiar coming from your lips, but he couldn’t quite tell why. You seemed to notice his expression because you were quick to continue.
“My boyfriend. I’ve mentioned him before, remember? I think I mentioned at the party too.” You hummed and ate another spoonful of ice-cream, groaning once again. “This is good. Really good. Wow.”
“Ah. Yes, your boyfriend.” Bruce nodded. He couldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed. Sure, he’d only known you for two weeks, and you had told him about Nathan early on (he simply decided to ignore that) but he’d be lying if he said the thought of more than just a friendship hadn’t crossed his mind. It was only natural, and he considered himself to be an efficient man, who went for what he wanted – well, almost. Batman had made that a tad impossible, but Bruce was still figuring it out.
“Mhm!” You exclaimed excitedly. “Nathan and I have been dating for a few years. We’re actually close to four!” You quickly told him how you and Nathan had met, something you surprisingly had not done before. You’d been accompanying a friend of yours to the ER after someone had spilled a pan of burning hot oil on top of her. The Emergency Room Doctor, Nathan Smith, had taken care of her very quickly, but it was on you he had his eyes during the entire appointment. After the both of you had thanked him, and your friend had a bandaged arm, he’d stopped you in your tracks and politely asked if you would give him your number. You couldn’t lie to yourself – he was handsome, with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes, and a kind smile, and you swore he could’ve been a model if he wanted to. So, you had said yes.
“And the rest was history,” you finished. “We’ve been together ever since.”
Bruce hummed and busied himself with taking another spoonful of mint ice cream to his lips. “I see,” he hummed. “Well, I hope everything goes well with your relationship. He sounds nice.”
“He really is. I love him.” There were stars in your eyes, and while part of Bruce scowled, unhappy with this man he had never met before, another wanted to smile, because you did seem like a lovely girl, and he did want to see you happy.
After that day, you and Bruce became close friends.
He got to know you. You worked a job at a two Michelin star restaurant, waiting tables. That’s how you’d heard of the charity gala gig – word spread around that a rich couple was looking to hire some servers, and you’d applied in the hopes of making a few extra bucks.
He learned that you were a very resilient person, not at all like the way you’d appeared that day at the gala. You’d told him you were simply having a terrible day, with a few costumers yelling in your face during your regular shift. Charles Carnegie doing the same thing at night was the straw that broke the camel’s back and seemed to break you.
He got to know all your hobbies, and the things you liked to do for fun. Learned all your favourite books, the movies you liked to watch when you were down, the snacks you liked to munch on whenever your day went sour. He learned what made you tick, and the things that inspired you. You told him about your family – the relatives you loved, those you were close with, and the ones that simply did not deserve to be in your life anymore.
Every time you disclosed some piece of information about your life, Bruce drank it all up. He wanted to know you, all of you. He listened whenever you complained to him about work, whenever you texted him with any sort of happy news, or when you called him late at night because you felt lonely. It had been so long since Bruce had someone to call his friend, and he loved every bit of it. He knew he wasn’t the first person you came to whenever you wanted to talk. Part of him wished he was your first choice, but he saw the look in your eyes whenever you mentioned Nathan.
And speaking of, he even got to meet said Nathan.
A few weeks after your second meeting, the one where you’d gone out for ice-cream, Bruce decided to surprise you by having a meal at the restaurant you worked at. He asked for a table, and specifically asked for you as his server. The owner was clearly surprised; not only did he not expect Bruce Wayne of all people to have dinner at his restaurant, but he also wasn't expecting him to ask for a specific server. Especially one that seemed as insignificant as you. Bruce assured him it was vital that he had you as his server, and the man quickly relented, happy to tend to the billionaire’s every need.
“Hi, welcome to La Lune d'Argent. My name is – “ Before you could continue, you looked up and a grin spread across your face. “Bruce! What are you doing here?”
“Having dinner. What does it look like?” He replied with a smile.
“You could've told me you were coming! I’d have gotten you the best table.”
“This one is just fine, I promise. And letting you know in advance would sort of ruin the purpose of a surprise, don't you think?”
“You wanted to surprise me?” Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you shook your head, trying to get rid of it. Not only did you have a boyfriend, but you were also at your workplace and needed to remain professional. “Thank you. That’s very nice.”
Bruce smiled once again, before opening the menu in front of him and eyeing it.
“What do you recommend?” He asked.
“Well, the Seared Scallops with Truffle Risotto are our specialty. The Lobster Thermidor is also really good, and so are the Stuffed Shrimp with Crabmeat. But if you’re not in the mood for fish, then I recommend the Chateaubriand and the Filet Mignon. The Tournedos Rossini is a costumer favourite, but I’ve tried it and don’t think it’s all that.”
Bruce nodded, before going over the wine section.
“And the wine?”
“It depends. If you pick any of the fish dishes, then you should go with the Chardonnay or the Prosecco. If you go for the meat, then you should most likely enjoy a glass of Cabernet or Merlot. There’s plenty more, but I’m I wouldn’t be of any help with those. I’m terrible when it comes to wine.” You recited, the words spilling naturally from your lips – you’d done this a thousand times.
“That’s okay. Well then, how about I have the Foie Gras Terrine and the Truffle Risotto Croquettes as appetisers, and for the main dish, I’d like the Chateaubriand if possible. I’d also like a side of salad. As for the wine, I trust the owner’s good judgment. Cabernet it is.” He waited until you were done writing everything down and handed you the menu.
“Anything else?” You asked, taking it, and tucking it under your arm.
“Is your company too much to ask for?” He offered you a smile.
“Some of us have to actually work, Mr. Wayne,” you joked and stuck your tongue out playfully, “I’ll have your appetisers here in a minute.”
Dinner went well. The food was stellar (there was after all a reason the restaurant had two Michelin stars), the wine lived up to the expectations, and your company – or rather, the small moments you managed to spare him – warmed his heart. You offered him small quips about your work, told him about the usual costumers that sat on their usual tables and had their usual meals, gossiped about those you didn't like. It felt nice, to have a good time at work. You didn't completely hate your job, no, and some days were definitely fun thanks to your coworkers or any sort of shenanigans that happened during your shifts, but it could get boring and lonely and upsetting. Bruce being there was a nice change, and a welcome one.
“When does your shift end?” He asked, after he’d eaten a nice slice of cheesecake for dessert.
“In about half an hour, I believe. I have an early night today.”
“I’ll wait for you then.”
“Oh, you really don’t have to, Bruce – “
“Nonsense. Do you have a ride home?”
“I’ll just take the train.”
“I'll give you a ride then.”
“Bruce, that’s seriously not necessary – “
You were interrupted by the voice of your boss, calling out your name in an accusatory tone. “Do I pay you to sit around and talk to costumers?”
You sighed and nodded towards Bruce.
“Thank you. A ride home would be nice.”
He waited until you were done, paid for his meal and left you a nice tip, and then waited outside. You took a few minutes, but soon enough you were walking towards him, wrapped around in a comfortable looking jacket.
“You ready to go?” you asked before a voice called out.
“Babe?”
You turned around, and your eyes widened before softening at the sight before them. “Nate!” You smiled, making your way to him, and hugging him tightly. Nate hugged you back just as tight, but his eyes did not leave the tall man that had been by your side.
“Who is this?” He asked, discontent clear in his voice.
“Oh!” You turned to face Bruce, arm linked with Nathan’s. “This is Bruce! I told you about him, remember? He’s my friend.”
“You did tell me about your friend. You did not mention your friend was the Bruce Wayne.”
“Well, that’s because he’s not the Bruce Wayne to me. He’s just Bruce.” You smiled, and Nathan didn't seem too pleased once Bruce extended his hand.
“Bruce Wayne.” He spoke. Nathan shook his hand, steel-like eyes taking the taller man in, his expensive clothes and pulled-together appearance.
“Nathan Smith. So, you’re my girl’s friend, is that right?” He asked, pulling you closer by the waist. It wasn't hard to miss the jealous look in his face, and Bruce decided to ease the guy’s mind a bit, not wanting to get into any trouble. And not wanting to get you into any trouble.
“Yes, that’s right. I’ve heard a lot about you, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Yeah? That’s funny because she’s barely said a word about you.” Nathan replied, offering Bruce a tight-lipped smile, and turning to you. “I came here to surprise you. Heard you were getting an early night, wanted to give you a lift home. Maybe we can make up for lost time? I miss you.” It did not take an idiot to see what the hell he was getting at, and it made your duck your head slightly, clearly embarrassed.
“That’s very kind of you, thank you. I loved the surprise.” You faced Bruce once again and offered him an apologetic smile. “Nate will take me home, if that’s fine by you.”
“Fine by him? What's this got to do with him?” Your boyfriend asked, chuckling dryly, and giving you a not so amused look.
“Bruce had offered to take me home. It was kind of him, so I said yes.”
“Yes, yes, very kind.” Nathan turned to Bruce too. “As you can see, your help is no longer needed. I’ll be taking my girlfriend home now.” He said the words with a sneer, happy to claim you as his.
“Yes, well. Thank you for taking care of her.”
“Oh, I do.”
You looked awkwardly in between both men and cleared your throat moving away from your boyfriend to envelop Bruce in a hug.
“Thank you for the surprise. It was really nice. And thanks for the offer too. The ride back home one. I’ll see you some other day?”
“Absolutely,” He replied and turned to leave.
As he walked away, he could hear Nathan’s voice and how accusatory it sounded.
“Surprise? What was that all about? Why was that guy visiting you at work?”
“He’s a friend, Nate. He just wanted to stop by.”
“Oh yeah? And what business does he have just stopping by? He’s not your boyfriend. I am.”
“He’s just a friend, Nate. I promise. Let's just go home, please? I miss you.”
Bruce was inside his car before he could properly make out whatever Nathan had replied to you, but he could tell it was nothing good.
The next time Bruce saw you, you were sitting by yourself at a coffee shop, having an iced drink and reading a book. He thought about approaching you but decided against it. You looked peaceful, and he didn't want to upset you should you not want to see him after the whole ordeal with your boyfriend went down.
But he was pleasantly surprised when he heard your voice call his name, and your hand beckoning him to come closer.
“Hey! I had no idea you came to this place. Wanna sit next to me?” You asked, moving your bag out of the chair in front of you, making space for him,
“Sometimes, on my lunch break. I take it today is your day off?”
“Mhm! Got today all to myself. I was supposed to spend it with Nathan, but we kind of fought so I decided to get some fresh air myself. You know, just to clear my head.” You said the words “kind of fought” as if they meant nothing, as if fighting with your boyfriend was a daily occurrence. He didn't like that.
“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?” Bruce sat down in front of you, placing his own coffee on the table.
“Nah, not really. That’s just who Nate is. He gets upset sometimes, and I have to put some space in between us. No big deal. What about you? What are you up to?”
“Well, like I mentioned, this was supposed to be my lunch break, but I took the afternoon off. Alfred – my butler – is supposed to come pick me up later. It’s the anniversary of my parents’ marriage. I want to visit their graves.”
Your eyes softened and you placed a hand on top of his. Your palm felt warm on top of his, and Bruce immediately turned his hand so he could slot his fingers in between yours.
“I’m sorry.” Was all you said. After all, what more could you? Everyone knew Bruce Wayne’s story, but you did not want to seem presumptuous and assume you knew all about him. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”
“Me too,” Bruce replied quietly, his voice thick with emotion, the way it usually was whenever he mentioned his parents. He didn't speak about them to many people, but let his facade slip completely for those he did trust enough.
“Is it okay if I come with?” You asked, and immediately regretted it. Why would you ask such a thing? Why would he even allow you to attend such a private thing with him? It was dumb, really. Before you could take your words back though, he replied, eyebrow quirked.
“Really?”
You shrugged sheepishly.
“Sure. It sounds tough, and I don’t want you to suffer all by yourself. You tend to do that.”
It was true. Bruce often hid his feelings, his emotions, shielding them from everyone. It hadn’t been that long since you two had started talking – maybe one or two months – but you could already tell he was very selective with the people he trusted. And how could he not be? You wanted to be someone he could trust, though. Wanted to be someone he could rely on, help him shoulder all his burdens.
Bruce thought it over for a bit. It would be nice to have some company. Visiting his parents’ grave was a very personal and intimate thing, yes, but he considered you a friend, and he’d be lying if he said he didn't want your company. He was sure both his father and his mother would've liked you, would've enjoyed your sense of humour and appreciated his kindness. So why not?
“I would appreciate that,” he said, and you smiled. “Won't it be a problem with Nathan?”
“Don't worry about him. He’s not the boss of me, and I'm not doing anything wrong.”
That’s how you found yourself, standing in front of the graves of Thomas and Martha Wayne, the beautiful Wayne Manor just ahead.
“I’m sure they loved each other very much,” you said, eyes not leaving the carved stones in front of you.
“They did.” Bruce agreed with a nod. “My father would bring my mother flowers nearly every day. She used to joke about having her own private flower shop thanks to him. He never stopped though. He’d bring her different flowers according to her mood. That’s just how he was. Always looking out for her. He could tell whenever she was sad, or happy, or worried.”
“What an amazing husband,” you smiled, picturing the late Thomas Wayne reading his wife and choosing flowers accordingly.
“And my mother was just as amazing as him. She could tell when he had had a bad day at the hospital. I never could – she used to tell me she could sense it in the first few steps he took whenever he arrived home. Whenever he felt down, she’d help Alfred make his favourite meal. He didn't have to ask, she simply did it out of the goodness of her heart, and all her love for him.”
“It must've been incredible to be surrounded by such love. You were very lucky, Bruce. And I'm sure your parents loved you just as much as they loved each other, if not even more.”
You smiled up at him and he offered you a small smile in return. You were right. He had been lucky to have experienced such love and affection at a young age. It made him realise the kind of relationship he wanted to be with and taught him the kind of partner he should be.
He was just about to speak when your phone started chiming.
“Sorry – forgot to mute it,” you mumbled, turning the sound off. It didn't do anything to quiet it down though, since it just kept vibrating in your pocket. You huffed and turned it on, brows furrowing in confusion, and then relaxing.
“It’s Nate,” you said, not looking up from the screen, “He’s apologising for our fight. Says he was in a very bad emotional state. Poor thing… He’s very self-conscious, you know. Keeps telling me he’s too lucky to have me, that I could have anyone in the world, but I settled for him. He always thinks he’s not good enough for me, that I'll leave him for someone else” You chuckled dryly, before continuing, “He couldn't be farther from the truth, though. I’m the lucky one.” You looked up and Bruce and pointed to the phone in your hand. “I should probably go. Nate wants to apologise in person, and I should probably talk to him.”
Bruce nodded and pointed to the limo standing near the street.
“Alfred will take you home.”
“Thanks.” You smiled up and him and moved forward to hug him. Bruce softened immediately. You slotted perfectly against him, and he felt like a piece of a puzzle that had just found its matching half. Unfortunately, you pulled away, taking all the warmth with you.
“I’ll see you some other time,” you said, walking away.
Once you were out of his view, he turned to his parents.
Perhaps someday he’d be able to love you like they loved each other.
Bruce was working when he received a text from you. It had been a few days since you’d visited his parents’ grave with him, and you hadn't spoken face-to-face since. You’d been texting non-stop though, telling each other about your day, sending pictures of your respective meals, or just sharing funny anecdotes or pictures you saw online that reminded you of each other. Bruce clicked on the notification with your name.
Look at this!
[1 file attached]
Clicking on the picture, he could see your radiant face, partially hidden by a huge bouquet of roses. They did nothing to steal the shine from you though, and Bruce cringed at how they paled in comparison to your beauty. He was quick to shoot back a reply,
They look pretty. Secret admirer?
You were even quicker to reply.
They’re from Nate, as an apology! Isn't he the sweetest? He’s been spoiling me rotten. I don't think I deserve it.
Bruce’s stomach twisted at the mention of your boyfriend. His fingers flew across the screen as he typed.
You deserve that, and much more.
You replied with a smiley face, and that was the end of your conversation for the day.
It was hard to get back to work after that, his thoughts plagued with you. Your nice smile, your kind words, the way you fit perfectly against the shape of his body and how tightly you’d hugged him back on the Manor grounds. He knew it was wrong to want you - you were dating someone else, and it’s not like you knew each other for a long time, but he couldn't help it.
Bruce took a deep breath, and gulped down an entire glass of water, before chastising himself and focusing on whatever task he had left to complete.
It didn't work, and Lucius found him staring at the screen of his phone for a good five minutes, before deciding his boss probably deserved a break from his somewhat incessant teasing.
After that, you met up with Bruce a few more times.
You’d meet up sometimes for lunch or a late afternoon snack, and you’d even had breakfast together once. You chalk it up to friendly outings, and so does Bruce (although he’s sadder than you to admit that). Unfortunately, these meetings were not filled with chatter about your lives, motivations, and dreams for the future. Instead, you worried your pretty little head off thinking about Nathan, who didn’t text you for hours, seemingly pushing away from you, only to give you mixed signals the next day and apologising for his behaviour. Bruce could see how draining it was, could see how you always glanced at your phone whenever the two of you were together, and how you seemed to walk on eggshells whenever Nathan called you.
Things would get harder for the two of you at night – Bruce was out patrolling the city as Batman, something he had not and would never tell you – and you sometimes you got lonely. Bruce simply told you he was busy, and you in good faith, believed him. After all, he was a busy man, running a busy company, leading a busy life. You were lucky enough he managed to spend some time with you during the week.
Bruce had become your closest friend. You loved hanging out with him. It was like he got you. He was a great listener, always providing you with great insight whenever you asked for it, or simply being a shoulder to cry on if you wanted to. He would give you solid advice, support you on (nearly) every decision and all of your hobbies, encouraging you to seek out new experiences and the things you’ve always wanted to do but were never brave enough to.
One day, the two of you were meeting up for coffee. You had your legs tucked under yourself, grabbing a warm mug with both of your hands. You loved this café; loved the ambient, the fluffy pillows and couches, the vast choice of drinks. It was your own special little corner, and you were happy to bring Bruce along.
You two were in a middle of a conversation about your favourite books, before your phone buzzed. You decided to ignore it, but it just buzzed again. And again. And again. A bunch of texts messages started coming through, and as you picked up your phone, it started ringing.
“It’s Nate,” you mumbled, accepting the call, and mouthing a small “sorry” to Bruce, who nodded.
“Hey honey,” you said. Bruce could make out your boyfriend’s voice from the other side of the line, and he could tell he wasn’t pleased.
“Where the hell are you!?” he heard Nathan say, and you involuntarily flinched in your seat, frowning.
“I’m at a café. I told you this, didn’t I?” you asked.
“Yeah, well, Ricky just texted me saying he saw you sitting with some other guy. What the fuck is going on?”
“Another guy?” you mumbled, “Nate, I’m with Bruce. We’re out for coffee, that’s all.”
Bruce heard Nathan scoff, and his fists curled on his lap. He was just glad you couldn’t see it.
“Ah, of course. Fucking Bruce. It’s always him, isn’t it?”
This seemed to get you riled up.
“I asked you if you wanted to come with me, and you told me no. You said you had better things to do and hated this place,” you shook your head, brows furrowing in anger. “So, I invited a friend. I’m allowed to have other friends, you know.”
“Yeah, sure. And it had to be a guy? You had to invite a guy out for coffee? Just the two of you?”
You curled into yourself and away from Bruce, lowering your voice.
“Nate, if you cancel on me, I’m going to invite other people. It’s just Bruce.”
“That guy’s trying to get into your fucking pants, and you know it, and you keep encouraging him. How does that make me feel, huh? Knowing you’re out there with some other douche who wants to jump your bones?” Bruce wanted nothing more than to seek out the asshole you were dating and beating him to a pulp. How he even dared to speak to you like that was beyond him, but he decided to say nothing. At least not yet.
“Nate, I don’t like it when you talk to me like this. He’s just a friend, I told you, you have no reason to be jealous – “
“Yeah sure. Don’t bother coming home.”
And he hung up.
Bruce eyed you, the way your pretty eyes welled up with tears and how you quickly wiped them away, throwing your phone and belongings to the purse sitting next to you.
“I – I’m sorry, Bruce, I – I need to go. I have to sort this out with him.” You mumbled, standing up. Bruce, however, was quicker, and stood in front of you, blocking your path.
He furrowed his brows and spoke in a low voice as not to startle you.
“He shouldn’t talk to you like this.”
“He’s right. I know he is – I know he’s got low-self-esteem issues, he’s just worried is all. He’s afraid to lose me, I know he is.” You said these words like a mantra, and Bruce wondered just how long you’d been repeating them to yourself. It made his heart ache. He reached out to wipe your tears, but you took a step back, shaking your head.
“I’m sorry for cutting our meeting short, Bruce,” you mumbled. “I’ll see you later.”
And you were out of his sight.
“Hang out?” Bruce asked, balancing his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he shaved.
“Yeah!” he could hear your excited voice on the other side, and it made him smile. “It’ll be just me and Nate and some more friends. I know how you are with strangers, so you don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but I thought it’d be nice if you were out of your house for once. You spend all those nights working, you’ve gotta learn to have fun!”
It was partially true. He did spend all these nights working. Just not a very conventional job. In fact, he’d been spending the last few weeks looking into Nathan Smith. His past, his present, and making assumptions on his future. He had all eyes on this douche.
“Bruce? Are you there?” you called, “Look, I’m sorry. I know you’re not a fan of other people – “
“I’ll be there.” He said curtly, blade gliding against his smooth skin. “Just text me the details and I’ll meet you there.”
“Really?” you let out a squeal of excitement and Bruce nearly cut himself with the sound. He realised then just how much he wanted you to be like that all the time. Happy. Excited.
“Really.”
“Okay – okay! I’ll let you know where and when! I can’t wait to see you again! I have to go now though, my shift’s about to start. See you soon, yes?” You hung up and Bruce chuckled to himself. He couldn’t wait to see you either. He wasn’t, although, very eager to see Nathan. But for your sake, he’d be on his best behaviour.
You met a few days after the phone call, at a local bar.
It was bustling with people and energy. Loud music was being played on speakers, the whole place smelled of cheap beer, and the people’s noise was deafening. Still, he overlooked all of that just for the sheer pleasure of hanging out with you.
“Bruce!” You called out, getting up from your spot near the counter and hurrying to meet him halfway. You hugged him tightly and he once again felt like you were meant to be in his arms forever. When you pulled away, he smiled. “You made it!” You were wearing an off-the-shoulder top and a pair of shorts decorated with small lace at the bottom. But Bruce couldn’t care less about what you were wearing – you always looked radiant.
“Of course I did.”
“Here, come meet my friends!”
You dragged him to a small group of people and introduced him to everyone. He was expecting more and was glad to find it was only you plus 4 others. Nathan was still on his way, you told him.
All of you kept light conversation for a while. Bruce did not really try to keep up with your friends’ conversations. One of them kept rubbing herself all up against him, giggling and obviously trying to get herself into his good graces. She was clearly only interested in his money, and Bruce had to excuse himself a few times just to get away.
After a few minutes, your head turned and you smiled, standing up to greet someone.
Nate.
“Hey honey!” You smiled, lifting your head to kiss him on the lips. Nathan quickly scanned the table, and once his eyes fell on Bruce, he scowled, one hand coming down to grip your waist, and the other to give you a light squeeze on your ass cheek (which made Bruce cringe and want to punch this jerk to next Sunday).
“Hello. Didn’t know we’d be having so much company,” the doctor sneered, eyes lingering on the Wayne billionaire.
“Well, if you don’t like me meeting up with friends on my own, I thought we could all meet up. Isn’t it a nice solution?” you smiled, but Nate didn’t seem to care about it. How dare he, Bruce thought. If you were his, he would never overlook your smile. Never. But she’s not yours, a tiny voice whispered inside his head.
Nate then turned to you, eyeing you up and down. His eyes lingered on your exposed collarbone and shoulders, and on the shorts that adorned your pretty legs. He sneered.
“And what the fuck is this?” he asked with a scoff.
“Hm?”
“What the fuck are you wearing?”
“Oh! These are new!” you spun in your place, showing off your outfit. “Do you like them? I thought the lace details were super cute – “
“So you’re wearing this out?” Nate crossed his arms, visibly upset. “Seriously? Don’t you think it’s a bit too revealing?”
It wasn’t, really. The top, even if it was off-the-shoulder, did not expose your cleavage too shockingly. The shorts weren’t too short either, covering just the right amount of skin. And even if the clothes were too short (which they weren’t), Bruce thought Nathan should just mind his fucking business.
“You think so?” your smile was quickly replaced by a pout, and you looked down at your clothes self-consciously.
“Yes, I fucking think so. I don’t understand why you feel the need to dress like that, show that much skin. People might get the wrong idea.”
“What wrong idea? Nate, they’re just clothes. There’s nothing wrong with them.”
The atmosphere had become tense. Your friends were all giving each other knowing looks but kept to themselves. Bruce didn’t have the heart to simply stand there and watch though. He put an arm in between you and Nathan and spoke calmly.
“Look, I think she should be allowed to wear whatever she wants. It’s not like she’s naked – “
“Stay the hell out of this, rich guy. I couldn’t care less what you think, this is not your relationship, and she is my girlfriend.”
Bruce looked at you, but you seemed to be avoiding his gaze, eyes fixated on Nathan.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think they were that revealing when I tried them on. I just liked how they looked on me.”
“Yeah, well, I’m fucking embarrassed to be seen with you when you dress like that. Dressed like a common whore.”
That was enough for Bruce. He stepped forward, ready to send his fist flying across this jerk’s face, but your smaller hand wrapped itself around his arm.
“Bruce, please,” you pleaded, looking up at him with wide eyes. “It’s okay. He’s right. I am showing too much skin. I should dress more modestly.”
“He’s being a jerk,” Bruce muttered, eyes urging you to let him go. “I’m not letting him speak to you like that.”
“Please.” You sounded so meek, so small. It tugged at Bruce’s heartstrings, and he immediately lowered his arm. He’d do anything for you, really.
“Fine.”
“Yeah, that’s better.” Nathan scoffed, before grabbing you by the arm and pulling you close. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
Without sparing him a second glance, you were out of the bar.
“I’m telling you, Alfred, that guy is the worst. I don’t understand how she’s still with him, he treats her like shit,” Bruce muttered to himself as he paced back and forth in his bedroom.
“Master Wayne, although I admire your compassion, I cannot help but wonder if you are sticking your nose in someone else’s business.” Alfred replied. He’d been watching Bruce walk holes into the floor, and although he wanted to help, the older man knew there was really nothing he could do.
“I know. I know I am but – she deserves better. She does, she deserves someone who’ll treat her right, who won’t talk to her that way, who will respect her and adore her – “
“Someone like you, I presume.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
Bruce sighed and sat on his bed, defeated.
“Master Wayne, have you considered telling this girl the feelings you’re harbouring for her?” Alfred asked, moving closer to the bed.
“I can’t. She loves him Alfred, she… she loves him.” He muttered again.
The butler gave Bruce a sympathetic smile, before walking away.
You loved Nathan. You didn’t love him.
So why did it all feel so terribly wrong?
You walked inside Wayne Manor for the first time a few weeks later.
It was raining – pouring, even – and you’d desperately knocked on its big doors. Alfred opened them for you, and recognised you instantly, having stolen glances at Bruce’s phone whenever he looked at pictures of you.
“Hi – Hi, I’m sorry for the intrusion,” you quickly introduced yourself, tears running down your face. “Is – is Bruce here?”
Alfred gently guided you to the living room, where he told you to wait. You stood there awkwardly, picking at your fingers, and looking around, taking in the beauty of Bruce’s family home.
When Alfred returned, he brought with him a few towels, and Bruce Wayne himself. The latter was just about to leave for patrol, but upon hearing from Alfred that you were standing on his doorway, drenched from head to toe and crying, he decided to ditch his nightly duties.
“Hey,” he said, hurrying towards you. It was all it took – you collapsed in his arms, tears running down your face. Bruce held you tightly and you cried, burrowing your face in his chest. Alfred simply placed the towels on top of one of the couches, and took his leave, silently going upstairs to get a robe for you. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Once you managed to stop crying, you looked up at him and sniffled, shaking your head.
“I’m so sorry – you’re all wet because of me now,” you told him.
Bruce shook his head and moved to hand you a towel.
“It’s okay. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
You sighed and used the towel to dry your hair, wrapping the other one around your shoulders.
“It… it was Nathan.”
Bruce looked at you, eyes narrowing.
“What did he do?”
“Nothing! I mean – we just fought, that’s all. But it was a really nasty fight.” You said and burst into tears again. “He – he kept saying all I did was walk around and cheat on him! He said I didn’t truly love him, that I was selfish and only thought of myself. It – it’s not true! I love him Bruce, I really do!” You buried your face on your hands, and Bruce moved to sit by your side.
Bruce held you tightly in his arms, hand stroking your back and your head. You melted in his hold, breath evening out and tears eventually subsiding.
"I just... I don't know what to do, Bruce..." You mumbled against his chest. "I really do love him, but he said all of those mean things..."
Bruce's lips pressed into a thin line as he navigated the best way to go about this conversation.
"Nathan..." He mumbled, hands running through your hair. "Does he speak to you like this a lot?"
You sniffled, stilling in his arms.
"We fight... Lately we've been fighting a lot, but... I know he loves me... He doesn't mean it. He's been under so much stress, things at the hospital are getting chaotic and I've been stressing him out..."
Bruce shook his head, his hold unconsciously tightening around you. So he took his stress out on you? Jerk.
"That's not okay. He can't speak to you like this, he doesn't have the right to." Bruce pulled away to look you in the eyes and you sniffled as his big hands wiped your tears.
"He doesn't mean any harm, you know... He's under a lot of pressure from his superiors..."
He sighed once again, and then watched from the corner of his eyes as Alfred carried in his hand a tray of warm drinks and a fluffy robe.
"Look," he said, tilting your chin to meet his gaze. "How about you change into something more comfortable, and we'll talk about it over a drink?"
You smiled and nodded, getting up and thanking Alfred, grabbing the robe so you could go change.
Once you came back, you told Bruce you did not want to talk about such sad topics any further, and simply wanted to distract yourself. Bruce was happy to oblige.
You settled in the couch side by side with a blanket covering your laps. He let you pick a movie, and you sat side by side, poking fun at whatever it was that was playing on the TV, sipping on warm beverages, and talking.
“So you’re telling me you don’t know how to make a cup of tea?” You asked, leaning back to look at Bruce with a serious expression.
“Look, I was a failure and I decided it was better not to learn instead of having Alfred annoy me about it. He’s very serious about his tea. You should hear him yell at me.”
You chuckled and involuntarily placed your legs over Bruce’s lap under the blankets. He was quick to lay his hands on top of them, drawing patterns absentmindedly.
“You’re impossible,” you chuckled.
“Oh, so you’re all high and mighty and capable of cooking anything and everything?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Even if I wasn't very good, I'm sure I'd be able to cook more than you. I had to, you know. Living on my own and all,” you shrugged, “Some people don’t have butlers doing everything for them.”
Bruce hummed. You were right. It was one of the things he admired the most about you. How unafraid you were to tell him exactly what you think, and how resilient you were, how strong-willed and stubborn. Bruce was sure he’d never met a woman as strong as you in his entire life.
“Alright, pay up.” You extended your hand.
Now you were sitting a few inches apart, a Monopoly board on the couch in front of you.
“You’re cheating,” he huffed, counting his bills.
“No, you’re simply not very good. Aren't you like, supposed to be a god at this or something? This is your whole life.” You popped a popcorn inside your mouth and smiled.
“Usually, lives aren't dictated by the throw of a dice,” he said, handing you two bills. “You're ruining me here. I’m gonna go bankrupt.”
“Then learn how to play better.” You shrugged and rolled your dice again, moving your piece accordingly. Bruce smiled. He could get used to this, spending time with you, cuddled up in his couch. That's where you were meant to be, next to him, in his arms, in his blankets. You were meant to be in his home, brightening up the place with something as small as a smile, in his life, brightening his whole existence with just a tilt of your head. It was at this moment that Bruce realised that his feelings for you ran way deeper than just a simple friendship. After all, friends didn't wish to spend eternity together. Friends didn't want to lick the popcorn salt off each other’s lips, friends didn't want to hold each other close and whisper sweet nothings in their ear.
As the night went on, so did the activities. When you were done with board games, you switched to card games (getting your ass kicked by Bruce, who was far too good at Poker for your own liking). You changed movies about three times, simply not satisfied with the choices you’d picked earlier – not that Bruce minded. You’d made a game out of changing movies every time the characters gave you second hand embarrassment and had plenty of fun yelling at the protagonists who slipped and stuttered and acted like bozos.
“Oh, come on,” you cringed, body twitching involuntarily. “Why is she singing Fight Song on top of a table? Do directors think this is how people behave?”
“You stood on top of my couch and yelled. I think that’s close to what’s happening on the TV,” The man next to you eyed you with amusement as you scoffed and pointed an accusatory finger at him.
“That’s different, I won Monopoly,” you said nonchalantly, “Everyone knows you’re entitled to do whatever you want once you win Monopoly.” You grabbed a pillow and threw it in his direction, but you should've known better, because Bruce simply picked it mid-air and raised it in front of his head, to hit you back. However, at the sudden movement, your eyes widened, and you quickly flinched away from him, panic spreading all over your face.
Bruce let go of the pillow, heart breaking at the sight before him. What the fuck had just happened? Did you flinch away from him?
“I – “ You seemed to notice his worry and were quick to shake your head, laughing weakly. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you okay?” He asked, torn between reaching out and staying in place. He didn't want to scare you even more than he already had.
“Yes! Yes, I am. I’m sorry, I wasn't expecting you to do that. Was just trying to get away from the pillow.”
“You scrambled away from me.”
“Well, yes, you were going to hit me with a pillow, weren't you, Bruce?”
“I would never hurt you. You know that,” he whispered, and you looked away, still trying to pretend everything was fine.
“Well, I didn't want a pillow on my face. Alright? It’s nothing, I promise.”
He wasn't convinced in the least, and Bruce knew what it usually meant. His mind went back to Nathan, to the way he had treated you at the bar, to his behaviour towards you whenever you and Bruce were out for ice-cream or coffee. The gears were turning in his head, and you took notice of that, moving forward and holding his hands.
“Hey,” you smiled, although it didn't reach your eyes, “It’s fine. I promise. Everything is okay.”
He didn't believe it. Didn't buy it. But he had to earn your trust if he wanted to do something about it, and scaring you away wasn't an option.
He attempted to smile back, and nodded, muttering a small “Alright.”
You settled back next to him, and he could feel the way your body had tensed up as soon as your arms had brushed together. He needed to calm you down. So, he spoke.
About his life, about his childhood. He told you about all the times his father would let him tag along whenever he went to work at the hospital, how fascinated he was with his occupation. Saving lives. How great was that. He told you how much his father’s work had inspired him. He explained to you the intricate games he’d play in his gardens, pretending to be a detective who was investigating every sort of crimes. He wanted to save lives, just like his father did.
“You do, you know,” you mumbled, looking up from under his chin to get a good look at his beautiful face. “Even if you’re not a doctor, you still save lives. You make people’s lives better. All your philanthropy and charity are helping Gotham. You’re not doing this in vain.”
He smiled. If only you knew how much his charity and philanthropy extended.
You replied with stories of your own. The things you liked to do while growing up, the games you’d make up in your room, thinking of faraway lands with castles and elves and fantasies. You’d be a police officer one day, and a pirate the next. You told him about your childhood home, your high school, your college major. You showed him pictures of your roommates and the fun activities you did together.
It was an exchange. You’d tell him about yourself, and he would open up to you in return. The TV was still on, and both of you were looking at it, but none was paying attention. Your conversation was much more important.
Bruce told you about his childhood, how lonely he would feel sometimes. He told you sometimes he would isolate himself, the grief of having lost his parents far too much to bear. It made your heart ache and you found yourself leaning closer, wishing to take all of his pain away.
"You don't have to suffer all on your own now, though," you said, looking up to meet his chocolate brown eyes. "I'm here now. You can count on me to help you with whatever. You can trust me, Bruce." Your hand was suddenly on his cheek, palm hot and caring, and Bruce instantly leaned into it, sure that this was where he was meant to be – in your arms, staring into your eyes, baring his soul open. The air crackled in between you – it was as if the world had shifted and finally landed in place. It felt right. Everything felt right, and your eyes briefly drifted towards his lips.
He was just about to say something when a few loud knocks could be heard on the door. Your head whipped around in panic, the sound clearly startling you (something Bruce kept in mind).
"Alfred, could you please get that?" He asked, arm wrapping itself around you in an unconsciously protective move. You relaxed in his hold just as quickly as you’d stiffened, and his heart leaped. Did you feel safe with him?
The door slid open, revealing behind it a massive bouquet of red roses. The roses moved and Bruce quickly spotted the figure who was holding them.
"Nate?" You whispered, untangling yourself from Bruce's hold and taking tentative steps towards the door. Shit.
"Babe – hey," Nathan replied, sighing with relief once he spotted you. "I'm so sorry, I – I'm such an idiot. I'm the worst."
You eyed him sceptically, something like doubt shining in your eyes.
"I shouldn't have said any of those things. The hospital has been so busy, my bosses have been giving me shit every day, and I took it out on you. I'm so sorry, will you please forgive me?"
You hugged your arms, shielding yourself. You looked back at Bruce, who was watching the situation, lips a thin line and eyes cloudy.
"I didn't like the way you spoke to me... You really hurt, Nate, did you mean all of those things?"
"No! No – fuck no, I didn't. I was an idiot. I am an idiot. Please, let me make it up to you. I don't deserve you, but if you forgive me, I'll spend the rest of my days trying to prove to you I am worthy of your love. I'm so sorry. I'll be better. I promise. Babe, you make me better."
Bruce wasn't fazed by this speech. He didn't buy a single word of what Nathan had just told you, and once again, he would not keep it to himself. This man was manipulating you, preying on your emotions and your love for him, probably even going as far as laying his hands on you, and you deserved better.
"Perhaps you should've thought of those things before you treated her like shit." He said coldly, standing up and walking towards you. You turned away from him, which had Bruce's heart clench. Why were you turning from him?
But he didn't need to give it much more thought – you were already falling for Nathan's narrative.
"You – " Nathan's grip tightened. Bruce saw the way it tightened and saw your eyes land on his fist as well. This caused him to loosen it, and give a small, dry chuckle. "Bruce. Thank you so much for taking care of her. Truly. I'm so thankful you took care of my girl when she wasn't feeling well."
You raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yes, babe, really. He's your friend, and I'm willing to get along with your friends. I'd do anything for you, you know it. Don't you?" He stuck out his hands, presenting to you the bouquet of roses in one hand, and a box of chocolates in the other. It was only now that Bruce (and apparently, you as well) realised that both items, as well as the person who was carrying them, were dripping wet.
"You came all the way out here in the rain to apologise?" You asked, stepping out towards the man standing outside the door.
"Yes. Of course. I would do this and more for you, baby. You know that, don't you? I'll do anything for you. You drive me nuts, that's it. That's all! It's only because I love you so much that I act like this. Please give me another chance. I won't waste it. I know you deserve better than me, you could literally get any guy out there, but fuck... Please, just let me prove to you that you make me a better man." He looked desperate, panicked, blue eyes widening with fear.
It was useless. You were completely entranced by the manipulative bullshit this guy was spewing.
“Do you promise not to yell at me again?” You asked, taking another step towards him, fingers softly touching the rose petals.
“Yes. I do. I’ll never do it again – I promise babe. I’ll be better. I am better whenever I am with you. I know I overreacted, but it’s only because I love you. You make me crazy – I am crazy, for you.”
You looked up at him, something unsure in your eyes. You glanced back at Bruce, who furrowed his eyebrows and softly shook his head “no”. It wasn't a command or an order, simply some advice. This jerk didn't deserve you. You turned back to look at Nathan and took the roses he was holding from him.
“These are really pretty,” you mumbled, inhaling their scent.
“Not as pretty as you. So, what do you say? Will you forgive me? Please? Just give me another chance.”
You seemed to ponder it, quietly analysing the roses before you. Then, a bigger smile spread across your face, and you nodded, moving towards Nathan to wrap your arms around his neck. He sighed in relief and hugged you back, burrowing his face in your hair. When his gaze caught Bruce’s, his eyes hardened. If looks could kill, Bruce would be dead and gone. Perhaps it’s a good thing he wasn't scared of this jerk.
You let go of your boyfriend and turned to Bruce, holding the bouquet tightly in your hands.
“Thank you for your kindness, Bruce.”
“Are you sure about this – “
“But this is my relationship. We’re friends, aren’t we? I need you to trust me here, okay? It’s fine. Nathan’s apologised. Everything is okay now,” you smiled, and Bruce swore he could see something breaking behind your eyes.
“He doesn’t deserve you, he yelled and – “
“Look, I said I was sorry, alright, rich boy?” Nate interrupted, spitting the words. “Mind your own business. This is my relationship, alright? I appreciate that you were here for my girl, but your help is no longer needed.”
Then, he turned, taking you away with him.
The last thing Bruce saw before Nathan’s car was out of you, was you leaning over the console to press a sweet kiss on his cheek.
He didn't like this one bit. And he was not going to rest until he was sure you were away from this guy.
He didn't see you for a while after that.
At least not directly.
During his patrols, he would stop by your apartment and watch for any signs of either you or him. But either you were extremely shy, or Nathan was very careful about not letting anyone peek into their lives, and usually closed the blinds. Bruce was sure it was the latter. He could no longer peek inside – Lucius had destroyed the system that had allowed him to spy on every citizen in Gotham, after all – and was stuck texting you and trying to pry information from you.
The only thing you told him was that everything was fine. Nathan was a gentleman, taking you out for dinner and showering you in gifts, telling you he loved you. According to you, things couldn't be better.
Your texting patterns would be sporadic. Some days, he’d spend all day chatting with you, sending pictures and things that had reminded him of you, making plans to meet up and grab a bite. Others, you’d ignore him all day, giving him one-worded replies once or twice.
“Alfred, I just don’t know what to do,” he confessed once. “I’m pretty sure the bastard might be hitting her or something. The way she acts, the way he acts? Yelling at her, fighting, and then showering her with gifts and affection? It doesn't sit right with me.”
“Have you thought about reporting it to the police, sir?”
“I don’t have enough evidence,” he grumbled. “She flinched once, and they fight. That doesn't necessarily mean he’s abusive towards her. Besides, what if anyone investigates it, does not notice anything wrong, and he gets angrier? What if he takes it out on her?” Bruce placed his hands on his face and laid his arms on his knees. It was a tricky situation. If he wasn't abusive but was still a scumbag, he doubted you’d ever leave him. If he did hurt you in any physical way, he might be risking your own safety in case he reported anything.
Suddenly, his phone chimed, and he was pulled from his thoughts as your ringtone played. He picked up on the first ring.
“Hello?”
You were breathing heavily but did not say anything. Bruce was starting to worry.
“Hello? Is everything okay?”
“Yes – yes, it is,” you quickly said, and your voice held a foreign emotion to it, something Bruce couldn't quite place. “I’m sorry, I know it’s short notice, but do you want to grab something to eat? I was supposed to meet a friend, but she cancelled on me.”
Bruce looked up towards Alfred, who nodded in acknowledgement.
“Yes, sure. Of course, I'll meet you. Did you have any place in mind?”
“There’s this sandwich place near Gotham Mall, perhaps we could go there? I’ve been meaning to try it out for a while, but… Well, it’s just never been a right time. I’ll text you the address if you want to.” Something was up with your voice. You didn't usually sound so unconfident, at least not with him.
“I’d appreciate that. I’ll meet you there in 20. That okay?”
“Yeah, that’s perfect. Thank you, Bruce.” There was a small tilt to your voice that Bruce paired up with a smile, and then you hung up.
20? He’d be there in 10.
Bruce was already sitting down by a window, wearing a casual dark blue polo when you walked in. It was impossible to miss him – you found him the most handsome man in the world, with his beautifully carved jawline and his kind eyes.
What were you even saying? You have a boyfriend. Control yourself. If he knew you were even having these thoughts…
Instinctively, you wrapped your jacket tighter around you.
Once Bruce spotted you, he stood up to meet you halfway. You hugged him briefly, tensing under his touch, which he simply chalked up to awkwardness after that night. Had you felt the same he had? Was that why you were acting so strange?
“Thank you for meeting me,” you sighed, sitting down. “My friend cancelled last minute; I didn’t know who else to call. I hope you don’t feel like a last resort or anything – you were actually the first person I thought about.”
Bruce nodded. A waitress came over and asked you both if you would like to see the menu. You looked over at the options and a small smile was pulled from your lips. Once Bruce had picked a Caprese sandwich, you asked for a Pesto Chicken one, and a lemonade. The waitress smiled at you both (well, she smiled at Bruce), grabbed your menus (making it a show of bending over to show off her cleavage) and walked away.
Bruce, however, didn’t seem to notice, seeing as his eyes were on you.
“Is everything okay?”
You looked away, before meeting his gaze. And you smiled. It was gentle, and soft, and fake. Bruce knew, because he plastered on the same smile whenever he had to attend galas full of people whose only interest were his last name and his bank account.
“Yeah! I’m just tired, I think. Haven’t been sleeping well.”
Bruce’s gaze landed on your figure. You were leaning on your right arm, staring absentmindedly at the counter. You were wearing a pretty denim jacket, and a simple purple shirt underneath, as well as a pair of jeans. It wasn’t a very flashy outfit, and yet he thought you looked gorgeous.
“Aren’t you going to take that off?” he asked, nodding towards the jacket you were wearing.
“Hm?” You turned to him and blinked repeatedly. “Oh – no. No need, I’m kind of chilly. How have you been?”
Rather good at deflecting attention, you were. He decided to play along for the time being.
“I’ve been good. Work has been hectic, but what else could you expect when you’re running a company,” he sighed. “I’ve been worried about you, though. You’ve been ignoring me for a few days – are you sure you’re doing okay?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Work has been hectic as well. The restaurant is going through a few renovations, and we know have more tables to wait. It’s been a hard adjustment, but I’m doing my best.”
“I’m sure you are,” he smiled.
After that, conversation flowed easily, as it usually did between you two. Your sandwiches arrived and you tried each other’s comparing tastes and flavours, trying to prove to each other that your choice was superior. You told him about your new patrons at your job, an old couple who left you extremely big tips and called you “darling” every time you walked by. In return, he told you about this big investor who was interested in a fundraising project to combat poverty in Gotham.
It was as nice as always, and when the bill came, he reached for it without batting an eye.
“Hey – Mr, let me. You can’t just pay for everything.” You chided, reaching out to grab the bill from his hands.
“No, that’s out of the question,” he replied, as casually as asking about the weather. “You don’t have to pay for anything when you’re with me.”
“Bruce,” you whined half-jokingly, still trying to fetch the piece of paper from him. He lifted it over his head, and you huffed, leaning back once again. “You can’t pay for everything every time we’re out.”
“Why not?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I’m allowed to spoil you. Aren’t I?”
The word spoil had you turn your head, heat creeping up to your cheeks.
“I don’t deserve to be spoiled.”
“Sure you do. If anyone deserves to be spoiled, it’s you.”
You looked into his eyes for a few moments, unable to form any words. Every time you were with him, you felt your heart warm. You felt like everything was right. It was easy to talk with Bruce. To Bruce. You felt like you could tell him just about anything.
Not anything.
“How about we go for a walk?” Bruce asked. You nodded and moved to get up.
But as you did so, the left sleeve of your jacket got stuck on your table. You pulled away, causing your whole arm to be exposed to him, a large bruise running along it. Your eyes widened and you panicked, forcefully pulling your jacket from the chair, and wrapping it around yourself again.
You heard Bruce call out your name, but you were far too focused on picking up your things and running out of the establishment, Bruce right behind you.
“Hey! Hey! Come black, please! Don’t go!” He wanted to scream, to yell, to reach out to you and hold you tight, but he knew doing any of those things could scare you off. He could lose you forever, and he was not going to let his anger at Nathan cloud his judgement.
You didn’t want to run, though. You crossed the street and stopped right in front of a park bench, tears streaming down your face. Once Bruce caught up with you, he maintained his distance, but remained close enough should you want to come closer. He called your name. Softly. As if it was some sort of prayer, a mantra. It felt nice coming from his lips. He sounded kind. Unlike…
“Who did that to you?” he asked, exasperation in his voice. There was no point dancing around the subject.
“No one. I tripped, and I fell, and I – “
“Please, don’t give me that crap.” His words were harsh, but his voice was soft, and everything was so confusing, all you could do was sit down on the bench in front of you and cry.
“I fell, Bruce. I’m so clumsy, I fell during one of my shifts at the restaurant and that’s all, I promise you.”
Bruce sat down next to you. A few inches, but still, next to you. His mind was running hot with anger. That bastard had done it, he’d actually touched you and hurt you, and Bruce was going to do everything in his power to make sure he never saw the light of the sun again. You raised your head and looked at Bruce. You thought he’d be looking at you with disgust, but there was none in his gaze. Only kindness, only softness.
“It was an accident…” you mumbled, and he had to move closer in order to make out the words you were saying. “It was my fault. I provoked him…”
There it was.
Not his fault. You’d provoked him.
Bruce did his best to school his features. He needed to be calm, he needed to look collected and cool. If he acted out and showed just how angry he was, he might scare you off, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn’t want you to associate him to Nathan, to the monster who’d hurt you.
“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.
“It, it was my fault…” you sobbed. “He came home from work, and he was so tired… He’d had a really rough day, and all he wanted was to come home to a nice warm dinner, but, but… I was so tired, Bruce, I was so tired, so I didn’t cook – not even for myself! And when he came home, he started shouting and telling me I wasn’t good for anything, that he couldn’t even count on me to make him dinner.” You hid your face in your hands and sobbed louder. “So – so I told him to cook his own dinner, and I know I shouldn’t, because he was so tired! And – and he got mad, and… He... he...”
“Can I come any closer?” you furrowed your brows. Why was Bruce asking that? Why was he being so sweet with you? Especially after you’d just told him you were a terrible girlfriend, being as selfish as to not cook for your boyfriend after a tiring day. But the only thing in his eyes was gentleness. And he was being so sweet with you. Did you even deserve such a treatment?
You nodded your head yes, and he slowly moved closer, hand picking up yours.
“You need to report him to the police.”
Your eyes widened, and you began to shake your head while he spoke.
“He hurt you. This is domestic violence, it’s abuse. You need to report him – “
“No. No, no, no – “
“He can’t keep hurting you like this. All the yelling, all the fights, he’s taking advantage of you, and you don’t deserve any of that. Honey, he’s hurting you – “~
“No, no, no, no, no, no – “
“He’s abusing you.”
“He’s not – he loves me, it was an accident – “
“It wasn’t an accident; he’s hurt you before – “
“He hasn’t!” you exclaimed, shaking your head, “He has not hurt me!”
“Not physically, maybe, but he treats you like shit, which also counts as abuse. Listen to me, please,” he moved closer and slowly lifted his hands to cup your face. He did it slowly, giving you plenty of time to adjust, react, move away from him, do anything to show your discomfort. You did not, so he held your face in a way that showed just how afraid he was that you would break.
“You deserve better. This scumbag is hurting you. Let me help you.”
You looked into his eyes, and the whole thing felt foreign to you. Being held so gently, being talked to so calmly, being regarded as something close to precious, to dear. Wasn’t this how relationships were supposed to go? Wasn’t Nathan supposed to be just like this?
“I love him…” you whispered, attempting to look away. Bruce did not let you. He kept his gaze focused on you. “I can’t leave him Bruce, I… He was so sorry… You should’ve seen him; he was so broken… He regretted it so much.”
"He looked broken because he's trying to fool you." Bruce let go of your face and held your hands in his, hoping to convey everything he meant just by this touch. "I can't stand and watch as he hurts you like this. Please let me do something. Let me help. I'll get him fired. I'll get him arrested. This can't go on; he can't keep hurting you – "
"I love him!" You sobbed, shaking your head. "I do, and he loves me, and he did not mean it! It was an accident! You can't do anything; you can't take him from me! Please, if you care about me in any way, don't do anything. We'll sort it out. I promise you it won't happen again, honest."
Bruce was torn. Torn between storming out of there and beating that asshole boyfriend of yours into a pulp and staying there comforting you. He wanted to do both so badly. He couldn't just stand aside and do nothing, but he also did not want to lose you forever. He could still do it, of course. Hurt Nathan, the same way he'd hurt you. But then he was most definitely sure he'd lose you forever. And would that be worth it? It would. He'd lose you, but you'd be safe. And wasn't that what mattered the most in the end?
"Please, Bruce... Trust me..." You whispered, looking deep into his eyes, trying to find some sort of sign in there that would show you he was still on your side, by your side. Your friends were against you, so was your family. Nathan was right. They were all terrible, they hated you and did not want you to be happy.
With all those people gone, you needed to know you still had Bruce. That despite everyone leaving, he was still yours.
He's not yours though, a little voice said inside your head. You tried to drown it. Who Bruce belongs to is none of your business. And it’s not like he even belongs to someone, he is his own person. Not some property to be handed around carelessly.
You’d never handle him carelessly though. You’d love him. And he’d love you, the way you’re meant to be loved. No. This was wrong. You were not supposed to have these thoughts. You had Nathan. And you loved him.
Did you, though? What had Nathan done for you as of late? Hit you and berate you and fight you and yell at you. Was that even how relationships went?
Sure. That's how passionate relationships went. And you knew Nathan was passionate about you. That’s why he got angry so often, because your love drove him nuts. Loving you drove him nuts. He adored you so much, you made him lose rationality. And wasn't that romantic?
Bruises aren't romantic. Taking care of someone is romantic. Holding them while they cry. Cheering them up with ice-cream and Monopoly, and surprising them at work. What a wonderful boyfriend Bruce would be.
No. Stop it. Those thoughts are wrong.
You looked at Bruce, standing in front of you, regarding you with so much care and worry. How you wished you could just melt in his arms forever. Sometimes you liked to relive how nice it felt to rest in his hold. How natural. You wished you could hug him again and never let go.
It was frightening, really, the way your feelings for Bruce were growing. He’d been just a friend at first, someone you could trust, someone you could spend time with and have fun. But now, he was so much more than that, and you feared the lines between friendship, and something more had begun to blur.
“I’d treat you so much better,” he suddenly blurted, drawing circles on your hand with his thumbs. “You deserve better than him. Please let me do better. Let me show you how you deserve to be loved.”
Tears found their ways to your eyes, and you shook your head, slowly.
You couldn't. No, you couldn't, possibly.
“I’m sorry…” you started, trying to choke back a sob.
“Please. You deserve to be treated with respect. With kindness, with love. Nathan isn't doing any of these things, he’s disrespecting you by laying his hands on you and hurting you all the time.” His face was mere inches away from yours now. Why was he so close? You could smell his cologne, see every speck of light in his eyes, listen to the breath he let out as his lips parted.
It wouldn't hurt to get closer. His lips must taste nice.
It would be wrong. So wrong.
You like him, don't you? And he treats you nice and likes you so much.
You love Nathan. You’d been with him for years now and loved him. He was good for you. He loved you, he provided for you. He paid most of the rent every month and 1bought most of the groceries. Your salary as a waitress could not compare to his, the one of a prestigious doctor. You couldn't leave him. It would ruin you.
Bruce has way more money than him. He would help you get back on your feet.
Quickly, you scrambled to your feet, getting away from him. This was wrong. Extremely wrong. You were dating Nathan. And that was the end of it.
“I'm sorry, Bruce,” you said, sounding more confident than you felt. “I'm in love with Nathan. Please trust me on this. I know what I'm doing.”
“I can’t just stand by and watch as he hurts you.” Bruce's voice held something to it you couldn't quite place. It felt like sorrow, like grief. You hated it. It made your stomach churn.
“He won’t hurt me anymore! He loves me!”
“Are you saying that because you believe it, or because you're trying to?”
The question took you by surprise.
“I…” you stuttered, shaking your hand. “I… I believe it.”
Did you?
“If you care about me Bruce, please let me be. My relationship is none of your concern.”
“What? Please – “
“Please mind your business, Bruce.” You mumbled, pulling your jacket tighter around you, and sighing. “Thank you for the sandwich. I’ll see you around.”
You spun on your heel and walked away, leaving behind a very broken-hearted Bruce Wayne.
You were constantly on Bruce’s mind. You plagued his thoughts 24/7 – your face, your eyes, your smile, your laugh. Again and again, from the moment he woke up, to the second he closed his eyes and fell asleep. You haunted his dreams too. Cried, lovely face covered in black and purple bruises, blood dripping down your mouth. These nightmares usually ended with a blood-curdling scream from you, and Bruce waking up in cold sweats.
It wasn't pleasant. Not at all.
And the worst part was, he had no idea what to do.
“If I report him, he might hurt her even further.”
“Yes, but that was when you had no evidence. You’ve told me she told you he hit her, things are different now, she confessed he was acting abusive towards her.” Alfred said, preparing a cup of tea. Bruce had foregone coffee for a while. Ever since you made it so difficult for him to sleep, Alfred had been trying different methods of getting his boss to sleep.
“Maybe I should have a little run-in with him. Or rather, the Batman should.” Bruce muttered, running a hand through his already messy hair.
“And what good would that make, Master Wayne?”
“I’d tell him to stay away from her. Shake him up a bit. Beat him up. Teach him a lesson.”
“I thought this wasn't about revenge,” the old butler settled a cup of tea in front of Bruce and sat next to him with a sigh. “Master Wayne, may I speak freely?”
“Of course.”
“Gotham has just begun to see Batman as a symbol of hope. You don't want to scare its people by beating up a doctor. Granted, he’s a despicable man who dares hit his partner, but a doctor, nonetheless. It would be foolish to destroy everything you’ve worked so hard to build so far.”
“Then what am I supposed to do, Alfred? How am I supposed to save her if I'm not Batman?”
“That is curious, because I don’t remember hearing the Miss say she liked spending time with the Batman. She did not cling to his arms and cried and told him her darkest secrets. She did not invite him for lunches and afternoon snacks and walks because she liked his company.” He mused. “She did all of that with Bruce Wayne. Perhaps you don't need a mask this time, Master Wayne. Perhaps, this time, being you is enough.”
Bruce thought the words over in his head. Alfred was right – something that happened abnormally often. You had never needed him as Batman. Just Bruce was enough.
“There’s also the fact that your family has left you a rather comfortable fortune, and more prestige that you could ever ask for. I’m sure Bruce Wayne would suffice.”
Bruce chuckled humourlessly, sipping from his cup of tea.
“She won’t open up to me, though. I mean, she will. She told me he was hurting her, that he’d pushed her. But she refused to let me help and said that I couldn't tell a soul. How am I supposed to get her to trust me?”
Alfred hummed.
“Perhaps you should invite her over again. Tell her you would like to talk. Or, you know, go to the police like a regular person and end the nightmare she is undoubtedly living.”
“I’ve done some research, Alfred,” Bruce sighed, “Dr. Nathan Smith is well liked in his community. Volunteers, donates to charity, the whole ordeal. If she tells the police, it was an accident and she fell, they’re likely to believe her. We need something more concrete.”
Alfred hummed once more. He could see where Bruce was coming from. On one hand, it was endearing. He’d never cared so much about someone and was clearly smitten by you. On the other, he was afraid the man would make a move far too late.
“And your plan, Master Wayne, is?”
Bruce dropped his head on the kitchen table. The white marble felt cold against his skin, and he relished in the comfort it provided.
“I don’t know, Alfred. I don’t know.”
“I thought I told you to stop hanging out with her?”
Bruce would recognise that voice anywhere.
As soon as it reached his ears, his fists clenched involuntarily. It seemed to him it was second nature to be angry around that piece of shit.
“Nate, she’s my oldest friend… I miss her terribly; it’s been ages since we've hung out.”
You were walking a few steps ahead of him, arm linked with Nathan’s. Well, rather, Nathan was gripping your arm, and you were simply being pulled along. Harshly.
“Ah, I see. So you’d rather hang out with her than me.” Nathan scoffed and shook his head, and you turned to face him. Bruce could see the heartbreak in your eyes.
“No! That’s not true!”
“She hates me. She doesn’t think we’re good together and wants to break us apart. And you want to hang out with her. Just tell me you want to break up and leave me the fuck alone!”
Nathan shoved you away from him, before shaking his head and walking faster down the road. Your teared up and ran after him. “Nate!” you yelled. “Nate! Please!” Once you reached him, you held onto his hands tightly, trying to get him to stop. He did not. “Please, Nate, I’m sorry! I won’t bring her up again, I promise!”
Nathan kept walking, not even sparing you a glance.
“I promise Nate, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry, please, forgive me!”
No one seemed to give two damns about the two of you. After all, people were selfish and did not care enough about the world around them. Only Bruce’s gaze was on you.
Nathan finally stopped, and sighed, looking at the floor.
“If you want to be her friend, and don’t love me anymore, I get it. That’s okay. You can move out, get your stuff – “
“No! No, I don’t want to be her friend, Nate, I don’t,” you pleaded, holding both his hands and shaking your head vigorously. Bruce felt like a creep, staring at you like that, staring into your private life like that, but what else could he do? “I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again. I promise. I love you. Okay?” You placed yourself on the tip of your toes to reach his face and kissed his lips gently. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, please, I love you, please forgive me…”
Bruce swore he could see the glint of victory in Nathan’s eyes, and it made his insides churn.
“You promise?”
“I do! I promise! I love you so much, Nate, I won’t talk about her ever again. I love you and only you. You’re the love of my life!” You reached up to kiss him again, and Nathan responded, albeit unexcitedly. It was enough for you though, and you linked your hand with his. “I love you, Nate. So much. You’re the only person I need.”
The blonde man hummed, and you pulled him along. You tried your best to keep him close to you, but he wasn’t responding. That’s when Bruce decided he needed to intervene.
It was only when Bruce said your name a second time, louder, that you turned around, eyes widening with surprise.
“Bruce!” He could tell you weren’t expecting to see him here. He could also tell you were scared. Not of him, of course, but of the man at your side, by the way your whole body tensed, and your eyes drifted from him to Bruce.
“Ah. Bruce.” Nathan spit, looking at him with a fake expression of politeness. Bruce could tell his smile wasn’t real and noticed how his hold tightened on you. “What a coincidence. Have you perhaps been following us?” He laughed dryly. It was a poor attempt at a joke, and an even poorer attempt of figuring out if you’d listened to his whole conversation with you.
“Ah, no. I was just on my way home.”
“What were you up to?” you asked, voice relaxed as it often was when you were around him.
“Well, I'm celebrating the establishment of a new children's school in my family's name. It's a very important cause, and I’m throwing a party later this week. Alfred and I were shopping together.” Bruce replied.
“You? Shopping?” There was a happy tilt to your voice. Bruce only wished you would always sound like that.
“Well, I wasn’t alone. Baby steps.” He chuckled.
“And who is this Alfred?” Nathan interjected. “Some servant of yours?”
Bruce frowned. He did not like the way your boyfriend referred to the man who was the closest thing he had to a family. Still, he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of anger.
“Alfred is my butler. He has been with my family for many years, and I consider him part of it. He is not a servant, and it shocks me that someone surely so well-read as you would refer to someone with such a degrading term.” Bruce raised his eyebrow, and he could swear he saw Nathan shrink a bit. It made you smile. It made Bruce feel good.
“My apologies, Bruce.” Nathan responded, offering a tight-lipped smile. He did not like losing, and that’s all he felt himself doing when he was around Bruce Wayne. Losing his temper, losing his control, losing his upper hand. It was something he detested greatly. He needed to get away from there. And quick.
“Honey, we need to go. Don’t want to steal too much of Bruce’s time, do we?”
“It’s not a problem, really,” Bruce retorted, ignoring your boyfriend, and turning to you instead. That’s when he noticed what you were wearing. Another jacket – a big one, oversized, a turtleneck and a pair of jeans. Gone were your shorts and flowy tops, you were now covered from head to toe. Why? To conceal what, exactly? And now that he got a good look at your face, was the hell was going on with your lip? It seemed split. “There’s nothing else in my list. Say, do you have any plans for next Friday? I would love if you two stopped by. It’s for a good cause, and perhaps you’ll have fun?”
He had to get you there. He had to get you alone with him, safe, away from Nathan.
“A party? At Wayne Manor?” Nathan asked.
“Yes. Will you be there?”
You looked up at your boyfriend, hope in your eyes.
Nathan noticed your excitement and blew air through his nose – the closest you’d get to a chuckle.
“Of course. We would love to go.”
“Really?” You beamed. That was not the answer you were expecting from him. Nathan hated Bruce – you knew this. Did this mean he was trying? Trying to befriend your friends? For your sake?
“Of course.” Nathan bent down to kiss your forehead, earning a genuine smile from you. “If you’d like to.”
“I would!”
It was small, the notion of a happy relationship, the notion that you were happy. But Bruce saw right through it. None of it was real. He was just playing a part.
“We should get going. It was nice seeing you, Bruce.”
“Oh – okay!” you yelped when Nathan turned you around and pulled you along with him. “It was nice seeing you, Bruce! I’ll see you Friday!”
And just like that, you were gone.
But Bruce wasn’t one to give up. Something felt off. Something smelled fishy. Nathan had been too kind, too nice, too allowing. Was it all a façade? He knew Nathan would never allow you to go to a party, especially one hosted by him. Something was definitely up. His feet moved, and before he could realise it, he was following the two figures in front of him to a dark alley. He heard voices and walked deeper.
That’s how he found you, pressed up against the wall, Nathan’s hand cruelly pressed against the hollow of your throat.
“Why the fuck are you still talking to him?” Nathan grumbled, tightening the hold he had on your throat. His knuckles turned white. “Huh!? You say you love me and then go around and fuck that rich motherfucker? Is that it, yeah?”
“N-No!” you sobbed, struggling to breath. Tears streamed down your face, hands clutching his. “Nate, please. You’re hurting me.” Your words were interrupted by coughs, and just before your vision could go completely black, you saw Nathan get dragged around and thrown on the floor. As soon as your vision (and your air) returned, you saw Bruce do to Nathan what he’d done to you.
“How dare you lay your disgusting hands on her,” he bellowed, and you somehow recognised that voice. It felt familiar. Bruce turned to you, and shook his head, arm still against Nathan’s neck. “Are you okay?” You nodded silently, wiping your tears, and taking a few steps back.
Bruce was surprised no one else had interrupted the two of you, but then again, this was Gotham. It didn’t matter if Batman was ridding crime for good, people would still look the other way, far too accustomed to violence to even bother.
“Are you seriously going to let him do this?” Nathan scowled, fighting against Bruce’s iron grip – it was no use. Somehow, this rich dumb playboy was stronger than he looked.
“I… I…” You looked in between the two men, still wiping your tears away. Part of you wanted Bruce to teach him a lesson. The other wanted him to let go of your boyfriend.
“Fuck – do something! Are you going to let this brute hurt me like this!?”
“Keep your filthy mouth shut,” Bruce whispered, before turning to face you completely. “What do you want me to do?”
This surprised you. You had a choice? You could decide?
“If you want to, I’ll beat him to a pulp myself. We’ll take him to the police. I’ll protect you. I promise I will. I can take care of you. You will never have to look him in the eye again.” Bruce’s eyes were filled with longing, and you found yourself walking towards him.
Wouldn’t that be nice? Nathan could go to jail. He’d leave you alone forever. No more fighting, no more hitting you, no more hurting you. You’d be free.
“Tell him to let go!” Now, Nathan’s face was turning a nasty shade of purple, and his lovely blue eyes were wide with fear. “Tell him! Are you going to let him do this to me? I love you!”
Bruce said your name softly. “Don’t listen to him. He’s done nothing but lie to you over and over again. You can end this nightmare right now.”
“Please! I’ll be better! I promise” Nathan coughed, the lack of air getting to him. “I was just jealous! You know me, I – I get like this! I thought you were going to leave me for him! I can’t compete with Bruce Wayne.”
“Shut up.” Bruce shook his head. “All you’ve been doing is hurting her. Abusing her. Do you seriously think I’m letting you go unscathed?”
It was scary, to be honest, seeing Bruce like this. You’d never seen him this angry, and he somehow reminded you of Nathan. Granted, the anger wasn’t directed towards you, but it still made you feel uneasy and unsafe, and all you wanted him was to go back to the sweet and kind Bruce who stole spoonfulls of your ice-cream and cheated at Monopoly when you weren’t looking.
“Bruce?” you whispered, frozen in place.
“Yeah?”
“Let go.”
“What?”
“Please let go.”
He looked at you and noticed the fear in your eyes. Something inside him broke and he wanted to punish himself for making you feel like that. Were you afraid of him? His hold on Nathan’s neck loosened, and the latter took this as an opportunity to get away and walk towards you. Nathan embraced you tightly, burrowing his face in your hair and crying loudly.
“I’m so sorry… I hate myself for the way I’ve been treating you… You deserve so much better than me, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness… I’m just a mess who seems to ruin everything… Please forgive me for being so possessive, I just – I just never feel like I’m worthy of you.” Nathan’s lies spilled from his lips, and the very same lips found their way to yours, kissing you softly as he held your face in his hands.
You seemed unresponsive, though, eyes fixed on Bruce. Was this how he always behaved? Had you simply not seen it before? Would he act this way towards you?
“I’m sorry…” his voice somehow got through to you. “I just… I couldn’t just stand by and watch as he hurt you…”
It was true, you gathered. He’d said it before. He’d always put himself between you and Nathan whenever you two fought. He’d never allowed Nathan to mistreat you in front of him, always protecting you – or trying to – no matter what.
Still, it had been horrifying to see those eyes who regarded you with such kindness, look at someone else with nothing but rage. To hear that lovely voice that always cheered you up sound so hateful. It wasn’t your Bruce. It simply wasn’t.
Your arms wrapped themselves around Nathan’s torso, almost as if mechanically. You had to do it. It’s what you did. Nathan yelled and fought and hurt. And then he’d apologize and take you back. It made you feel sick and nauseous and empty inside. But you knew no one else you love you like he did. No one would love you as passionately as Nathan did. And you didn’t want to be all alone.
“Let’s go home, okay, baby?” he asked, one hand caressing your cheek, the other rubbing circles on your hip affectionately. “We can cuddle and watch a movie. Anything you like. How does that sound?”
“Don’t,” Bruce pleaded, eyebrows furrowing. Were you seriously still going home with him? After all that had happened?
You did not break eye contact. You knew you shouldn’t go back home with Nate. At least a part of you did. A part of you knew this was wrong. Knew that you deserved better, knew that Nate was abusive and did not deserve you. But that part had long been defeated, and all that was left were small voices in your head that yelled “No one else is going to love you like this” repeatedly.
And you always let them win.
“Let’s go,” you mumbled.
Nathan wrapped his arm around your waist, kissed your forehead, and Bruce watched as you two left the alley.
You did not text him anymore.
And on Friday, none of you appeared at the Manor for the party.
It was close to 2 in the morning when Bruce was stirred awake by the sounds of knocking on his front door.
He’d fallen asleep on the couch, exhausted from exploring a few new gadgets and functions Lucius had implemented on his suit. Patrol had been rough on him, the new holographic projection system taking a while to get used to, but well worth it in the end. It would spare him a handful of bruises and stress.
Alfred had retired for the night long ago, so it was just Bruce, a copy of a book you’d mentioned in passing once and he decided to read, and a fire cackling in the fireplace.
He got up, groggily rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and made his way towards the door. Far too tired to be careful (really, who the hell would be knocking at his door at 2 in the morning? And it’s not like he could blink the sleep away in a matter of seconds. He had enough training for that) Bruce opened the door, coming face to face with a hunched figure.
“This better be good for you to be knocking on my god damned door at 2 in the morning –“
That’s when the figure in front of him shifted. It was no longer a mere figure. It was you.
You were hunched over, looking down, head covering your whole face, and Bruce could make out faint sobbing. He called your name once, twice, three times, softly. All you could do was shake your head. hands tightly clutched in front of you.
“Come on, let’s go inside.”
Bruce stepped aside so you could walk in. He would not touch you without your permission, without not knowing what had happened. You stepped inside, shaking all over. The clothes on your body were comprised of a flimsy pyjama set, a long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of pants. Your feet were bare save for the fluffy bunny slippers on them. You looked cold – had you left in a hurry?
“Hey, can we sit on the couch?” Bruce asked, fluffing up some pillows. You nodded and followed him, sitting down, head still hung low. Would you even look at him?
“Do you want something to drink?” He kneeled next to you but did not try to look into your eyes. He wanted to be on the same level as you, make you feel safe, but also give you the space and freedom to move away from him should you want that. He’d never want to smother you. You nodded your head softly, and Bruce was quick to move to the kitchen. He knew your favourite by heart, and within a few minutes, had it prepared and on top of the coffee table in front of you. “There it is,” he mumbled, sitting back again. He'd wait for you to take the first step.
And when you did, all the air left his lungs.
You looked up, hair clinging to your sweaty forehead, silent tears streaming down your face. Most of the lights were off, the fire being the only thing illuminating your features. Your delicate lips, your nose, your beautiful eyes, and the black and purple bruise surrounding one of them. The look Bruce gave you, whatever it was, just made you sob uncontrollably once again. He didn’t know if whether to touch you, come closer or back off, but you answered that question yourself when you wrapped your arms around him, sobbing loudly.
“I’m sorry…” you sobbed, holding onto him tightly. Bruce reciprocated the hug, spreading his legs so you could move comfortably in between them. He adjusted you in his lap and kissed your forehead, just holding you tightly.
“No, none of that,” he shushed you, rocking both your bodies back and forth. “You don’t have to apologize. Never.”
“It wasn’t my fault… it wasn’t Bruce, you have to believe me…”
“I do. I believe you. It’s not your fault.”
He wanted to know what the hell that jerk had done to you. But he knew he couldn’t – you might close yourself off even more and refuse to talk if he pressed further.
So, he made sure you were comfortable. Bruce picked you up and moved to the couch, covering both of your bodies with a blanket, and pulling you closer. You took the hint immediately, snuggling up as close as possible to him, face pressed against his neck. You were hiding from him, but it felt nice to be in his arms.
The two of you stayed like that for a while. Bruce turned on the TV and allowed you to pick a channel (“Mhm” for yes and “Hm-hm” for no) until you were watching some silly rom-com that got you chuckling occasionally. Bruce was stroking your arms gently, bending down to press kisses against your forehead whenever he felt you might need them. He wasn’t paying any attention to the movie in front of him, instead coming up with a plan to throw that idiot in jail.
After you’d finished your drink, you gathered the courage to shift in his lap and completely face him. The bruise covering your eye was on full display, and Bruce could now make out the dried blood on your lip.
“He… he hurt me, Bruce…” you mumbled, reaching for his hand. Bruce squeezed yours tightly, a silent reminder that he was there and listening, and that you weren’t alone. “I’m so scared… He pushed me and kept hitting me, and I was begging him to stop but he wouldn’t… I didn’t know what else to do, so I just waited for him to fall asleep and ran… I had to – I had to wait. He wanted to sleep next to me. He kept apologizing and promising he’d be better, so I told him it was okay, and I went to bed with him…” Bruce wiped away your tears, nodding along. Outside, he was the picture of compassion and sympathy. Inside, a fire was burning, and he had to control every bone in his body not to get into his car and drive to your (hopefully ex by now) boyfriend’s house.
“You’re so brave,” he muttered, running his hand through your hair to soothe you. “I can’t believe how hard that must’ve been. But you’re so brave, and I’m so proud of you.”
“I thought he could change,” you started to sob, shaking your head. “He – he said he would. He said that he loved me a lot and he’d only hit me because he was jealous and afraid I would leave him. All because I told him I regretted not going to your party that Friday… I’m so sorry, Bruce.”
“No apologies needed. You’re not the one to blame here, okay? It’s him, and him alone.” His hands reached up to wipe your tears, and you flinched, the pressure of his fingers on your bruise sending painful memories through your head. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Let’s take care of this, shall we?”
And he did.
Bruce took you to the master bathroom and sat you on top of the counter while he fetched his first-aid kit and a few ointments and creams. Your hands never left him as he worked – on his shirt, on his shoulders, on his hands. He cleaned the bruise with some water and pressed an ice pack against it to reduce the swelling. He told you a few anecdotes that had happened at Wayne Enterprises – angry costumers who tried to scam him, spilled coffees, and other amusing situations – to keep you grounded. His voice was like a lifeline to you.
After the swelling was taken care of, he softly applied ointment around your eye, being careful as to not put too much pressure on the pads of his fingers. He smeared some of it on the tip of your nose, earning a smile from you, before moving on to your lip and taking care of it too. Once all was done, he took a step back.
“Don’t look at me like that…” you mumbled, looking away.
“How?”
“Like that. Like I’m pitiable.”
“Hm.” Bruce tilted his head, pretending to think your statement over, “No. Not pitiable – that’s not who I’m looking at.”
You met his gaze again.
“I’m looking at the bravest woman I have probably ever known.” He crouched in front of you to stay at your eye level. Your hands did not leave his. “I’m looking at a remarkable woman, one with a big heart and a courageous spirit. You’ve endured all of this, and you’re still standing.”
“I’m a coward, Bruce,” you shook your head. “I let him to this to me. I let him break me. He’s right – who would ever love me after him? Who will ever love me like him? Maybe this was a mistake – I shouldn’t have left me. He’s the only one who will love me as I am.”
Bruce was quick to refute you.
“He’s wrong. I hope you know just how wrong he is. Nathan has spent all this time hurting you, lying to you.”
“He hasn’t – I’m broken, I’m damaged goods – who will ever want me?”
“You’re not damaged goods. You hear me? You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. You’re so kind and brave. What you endured is beyond me, and I know I will never understand it, but please believe me when I say that you’re not broken. You’re not damaged. And Nathan is not right. He’s lied to you.”
You looked at him and searched his eyes for any sign of falsehood, of deceit. All you found was kindness. And a warmer emotion you couldn’t pinpoint yet but wanted to figure out.
“You light up even the darkest of days,” Bruce mumbled, moving closer to you. His hand moved to cup your face and you instinctively pressed against it. You’d never felt safer than whenever you were in Bruce’s arms. “And I will do everything in my power to protect you. To keep you safe. The truth is…” He looked at the floor for a few seconds, before meeting your eyes again. “I love you.” You sucked in a breath. “I have, for a while. And I know that’s not what you want to hear right now, nor what you need to hear. And I’m not saying this to force you to be with me, especially after I took care of you. What I’m trying to say is, I don’t expect compensation. I don’t. I’m just saying this because – because I want you to know Nathan is wrong. You’re not damaged goods. And I love you. So much. Ever since I met you, my life has been happier, brighter. For years I’ve had a hole inside of me. Something empty, something that would eat me up from the inside. But then you came along. And you filled that void. And Nathan is so, so wrong, because how could someone not love you? How could someone not love you? How could he try and make you believe you’re not worthy of love, when that’s all you deserve?”
Tears were now streaming down both of your faces. Bruce had never been this vulnerable before, and to his surprise, it didn’t hurt nor scare him. It felt right, to trust you like this, to open up.
“You don’t need to say it back. Please don’t feel forced to say it back. I just wanted you to know that you’re worthy of love, and that I’ll be here to help you. Always. Even if all you feel towards me is friendship. I’ll protect you forever, I promise. He will never touch you again. No one will.”
When you did not reply, Bruce’s stomach fell. Had he screwed up? Had this been a terrible occasion to let you know of his feelings? It wasn’t ideal, no, but he had to tell you. Fuck. He had screwed up, didn’t he? And now he would lose you forever –
You interrupted his thoughts, hands on his jaw, pulling him closer. You blinked slowly – once, twice.
“I love you too,” you whispered, afraid that should you say it any louder, the fantasy might break. “I think I have for a while too. But I was so scared, Bruce… I have nothing to offer – I work a shitty job, and Nathan was paying for everything. My bills, my groceries, my clothes. I was so afraid of leaving. And then whenever I was with you, all I felt… Was happiness.” You chuckled through the tears. “You made me feel so happy, Bruce. And so safe. I always feel safe with you. But I was so scared… I’m so sorry…”
“No – shh. You don’t have to say you’re sorry,” Bruce shook his head, turning to place a kiss on your palm. “You’re so brave. Have I said this already? You’re so brave. I’m so sorry for everything you had to endure. I’m so sorry I didn’t do anything earlier. Shit, I’m an idiot. I should’ve reported him to the police as soon as I realised he was hurting you, but I was too scared he’d turn their heads and you’d get the short end of the stick.”
You smiled, something warm blooming in your chest. Bruce really did care for you, didn’t he?
“My plan was to report him, but I didn’t know if you’d lie to the police in order to cover everything up. I was afraid you would, and he would hurt you further. I’m sorry.”
You repeated his words back to him.
“You don’t have to be sorry. You always stood up for me whenever Nathan was around. You never let him talk to me the way he did whenever you were there. I just wish I hadn’t been so blind… I wish I’d trusted you the first time you told me he was no good… It’s just – we’d been together for so long, and I was so afraid to leave him. Nathan was all I knew. I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to be unloved.”
“You’re not.” Bruce shook his head again. “Not unloved. I love you. You’re worthy of love, and happiness, and kindness, and good things.”
You nodded at him, a single tear running down your cheek. This one, however, was a tear of happiness. Your eyes flickered to his lips, and Bruce whispered.
“Can I kiss you?”
You chuckled.
Bruce raised an eyebrow.
“Is this funny?” he asked with a smile.
“You’re always asking for my permission. If you can touch me, if you can hold me.”
“I would never do anything you were uncomfortable with. Anything you didn’t want.”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Please kiss me,” you mumbled, and no other words were needed, as Bruce closed the space between the two of you and kissed you on the lips.
It was the softest kiss you’d ever had in your entire life. There was no roughness, no edge, no anger, or rage – all the things Nathan kissed you with. Bruce, however, kissed you with love. His lips moved in tandem with yours, brushing and caressing and telling a story of tenderness and warmth. It felt nice. It felt perfect. It felt like you had been made to kiss him. You pulled him up by his shirt, and he did so, placing his hands on either side of the marble to trap you. Your legs spread instinctively to accommodate him, and his hands brushed against your cheeks and hair, fingers shyly exploring, afraid to break the moment he’d been waiting for for so long. It was only a shame it had to be in these circumstances.
When breathing became more important than kissing, you pulled away and Bruce pulled you against his chest. You breathed him in, the smell of cologne and bodywash and something so inherently Bruce calming you down almost instantly.
“Please don’t leave me,” You whispered, gripping his shirt as if it was the only thing keeping you alive right now. And maybe it was. You needed him.
“I wouldn’t even dream of it,” he whispered back, kissing your forehead. “And I’ll fix this. We will fix this.”
“What if he comes after me? He’s a very respected doctor, Bruce, I – I don’t want him to hurt you or anything.”
This caused Bruce to chuckle and pull you back to look at your face. Even with a terrible bruise covering your features, you were the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on. Your courage and kindness only added to that charm. What a lucky guy he was.
“I don’t usually brag about my status, but I happen to be Bruce Wayne. I’ll take care of him. I promise. You won’t have to worry about anything.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. He won’t be able to hurt you anymore.”
You smiled. Bruce loved your smile.
“Do you want to get some sleep?” he asked, caressing the side of your cheek that wasn’t bruised. “I can sleep in one of the guest rooms. My bed is quite comfortable, you can stay there. Unless you want to stay somewhere else? I won’t force you to stay here.”
You shook your head.
“Here is fine. Although…”
“Yes? I’ll do anything.”
A blush crept up on your features.
“I… I don’t want to be alone tonight. I can’t.”
Bruce nodded.
“Do you want me to stay with you?”
“Please.”
Bruce gave you a soft look, a quiet question, asking for your permission. You answered it by lifting your arms and allowing him to pick you up and carry you to his bedroom. He laid you down on his bed, and you sighed at how comfortable it was. He smiled. You looked content as you adjusted, getting under the covers.
“Are you going to join me or just stare at me like that?”
“I’m just happy you’re here. Safe, with me,” he said. “I’m sorry the circumstances were… not the best.”
“I’m here now, though, aren’t I? And so are you.”
“I am. I’m not going anywhere.”
Bruce moved and laid down next to you, pulling the covers over himself. “Can I?” he asked. You nodded, and he wrapped an arm around you, bringing you close to his chest. Your bodies fit perfectly together, like two pieces of a puzzle that had come together at last. You entwined your legs with his and rested your head on his chest while his arms snaked around you, protecting you even in your sleep. The beat of his heart soothed you and lulled you to slumber in an instant.
Before you lost conscience, you felt Bruce’s lips move against your head, and made out a soft “I love you”.
It was the best you’d ever slept.
It was hard adjusting to live after that, but Bruce was there for you every step of the way.
You finally filed a report against Nathan. It was tough, and you cried and doubted yourself when you gave your statement, but with Bruce by your side, you felt like you could do it. He reminded you of how brave you really were, and how much you could accomplish – with him or without him. But you liked his company anyway.
Thanks to Bruce’s resources, an investigation was conducted. You’d kept records of nearly every time the two of you fought in your diary, and even photographed every bruise he’d given you. He did not know of this, of course. You did it whenever he was asleep, a small voice in your head telling you it’d be useful to bring him down.
Apparently that little voice had been right, and your pictures were essential for the investigation.
Your friends testified in your favour, and you had cried when they’d hugged you after, congratulating you on your bravery, and lamenting what you’d gone through. You’d missed them so much.
All seemed like it was going in the right direction.
Your old apartment had been cleared, and although you’d gotten a place of your own (Bruce told you he did not want you to feel like you had to move in with him simply because he was helping you out and you two were in the beginning of a relationship), you found yourself spending more time at Bruce’s manor than your own house, and you quickly sold it in order to move in with him.
Everything was going perfectly.
You felt happy – more than ever – going about your daily job, meeting with friends for coffee and lunch and walks on the park without being berated or yelled at. Bruce supported you on every endeavour you went on, encouraging you to spend time with your friends and go out with them, instead of keeping you home all to himself like Nathan did.
In fact, Bruce was the perfect boyfriend. He’d bring you breakfast in bed sometimes, offer you rides to your job, bring you flowers when he could tell you’d had a hard day, and even when he had to cancel date nights or other plans you two had made because of some last minute emergency at Wayne Enterprises, he made it up to you later, with lots of love and reassurance, perhaps a bouquet of flowers and a ticket to whatever event you’d been interested in.
Bruce reminded you of what love felt like. True love. He never raised his voice at you, opting to voice out his concerns in a calming manner. He never made you feel like you weren’t worthy of him – quite the contrary. Every single day, he thanked you for choosing him, letting you know just how lucky he was to have you in his life.
Alfred liked you too – very much. He adopted you as his family rather quickly, teaching you how to make your favourite drinks (even better than you used to do them), and spending time with you whenever Bruce wasn’t home, and you felt particularly lonely. He liked having you around. In his opinion, “Master Wayne was in need of a woman’s touch in his house and his life”. You couldn’t agree more and loved him immensely.
There was only one time you crossed paths with Nathan after you’d left him that night.
The Gotham Police had gathered enough information and evidence to build a case against him, and you’d been called to testify. You weren’t sure you wanted to do it – you were still scared of whatever he could do to you.
That day, Bruce sat you down on his lap, kissed your forehead and promised Nathan wouldn’t even be able to touch you, and that he and your friends would be there.
It was all the reassurance you needed, and although you choked back a sob once or twice once your gaze met his, your testimony was clear and strong, and it was enough for the trial to be wrapped up in around two days (and perhaps Bruce had pulled a few strings to get it over it so quickly, but you didn’t need to know that, now did you?)
As he was being handcuffed, Nathan turned to you, face twisted in agony.
“Babe – “ he yelled, doing his best to free himself from the police officers’ grips. “I’m so sorry – tell them this is just a misunderstanding! Tell them! I love you so much, fuck, don’t let them do this to me!”
When it was obvious you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of an answer, he furrowed his eyebrows.
“You slut! You stupid bitch! I bet you’re fucking him, aren’t you? You’re fucking the rich bastard, aren’t you? I knew it! You’re a slut – you’re disgusting! No one will ever love you as I loved you, you’re a slut now, and you’ll be a slut fore – “
Bruce’s fist collided with Nathan’s face, promptly shutting him the fuck up. He adjusted his cuffs and his blazer and offered you a doe-eyed look.
“I didn’t do anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Officers, I’ll be sure to guarantee you all a very nice Christmas bonus if you keep this little incident in between us.”
The excited nods from the officers around him were enough of an answer for him to walk away unscathed. That, and your giggles.
“Couldn’t stand hearing him go on and on about you like that,” he’d muttered to you lately as you cuddled up together on the couch and watched a movie.
That was the last you saw and heard of Nathan. You’d heard Bruce tell Alfred that he was going to be locked up for eternity one day, and while it was suspicious (surely it wouldn’t warrant him a life sentence, would it?), the thought of Bruce using his influence to put your abusive ex-boyfriend behind bars forever made you smile.
Right now, you were sitting on top of a plaid picnic blanket in the gardens of Wayne Manor. On your right hand was a book, on your left hand the chocolate brown curls of your boyfriend, whose head was resting on top of your lap.
You had never felt so at peace with yourself.
Your physical scars had faded, bruises had healed, leaving your soft skin as it once was, but you were sure the emotional ones would remain. Luckily, you had the best boyfriend in the world to aid you in every step of the way.
His voice pulled you from your thoughts.
“You’re beautiful,” he mumbled, eyes closed. This was one of his favourite things to do – lay on your lap after a hard week and relax under the sun. It was one of your favourites as well. You got to spend time with the person you loved the most and remind yourself that even though your life was so dark once, it could get better. It was getting better.
“You’re not so bad yourself, handsome.”
“Not so bad?”
“Fine. You’re the most handsome man I have ever seen in my entire life.”
“Hmm. That’s a lot of responsibility.” He raised an eyebrow.
“I think you’ll manage.”
Bruce chuckled and lifted his head up ever so slightly. You rolled your eyes with a smile. How needy. Bending down, you met him halfway, kissing him tenderly. His tongue swept over your lower lip, and you sighed contentedly before he pulled away and closed his eyes.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Bruce. So much.”
Yes.
Everything was going to be better.
A/N: And that's it! Oh my god what a rollercoaster hahaha! I hope you guys enjoyed this! I understand all abusive relationships are different - a lot of this came from my own experience.
I also hope the ending, the little epilogue wasn't too rushed! I wanted it to be a nice conclusion, not dwelling too much on the past, but rather focusing on the hope of the future.
Alright, this is all! I think I'll take a break from Bruce fics for a while, hahaha. Once again, I really do hope you all enjoyed this.
Have a wonderful day ahead! <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#bruce wayne fanfiction#bruce wayne x fem!reader
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you take what i give | g!p jiu x fem!reader
this fic is a bit longer... but it's very worth it if you can tell by the warnings ;)
warning / smut, hints of sexting? (turns right into fucking), size kink
“Hi baby,”
“What are you up to right now?”
You text Minji back and forth, switching between doing chores and texting her back. It's been a busy week for Minji, promotions and preparing for the music shows made her schedule insanely busy. Due to this, you weren't expecting her to see your message right away,
Read 6:30 PM.
Soon after reading your message, she replied back,
“Just work, I'm in the practice room so nothing really interesting.”
She's cold and serious, too serious for your liking. You aren't used to this kind of Minji, normally she'd at least be more enthusiastic than this. Maybe she's frustrated, upset, or annoyed but either way, you didn't want to push her any further. She'll probably talk about it when she's home.
You decided to settle for a simple response back,
“Ah okay, well if you need anything I'm always here.”
It gave her the chance to talk about her frustrations or if she didn't want to say anything, she'll know she has your support.
You set your phone back on the bed, focusing on finishing the chores before she got home. If she came home to a clean apartment then maybe it'd lighten her mood more. You planned on checking your phone later on, Minji might've needed some space and alone time anyway.
Just before you were going to leave the room, your phone chimed twice,
“Thank you, Y/N...”
She's still cold but sounding a bit needy?
“I do need something though.” She must be wanting to rant about whatever happened today, so you weren't too worried about it.
“Yeah? What is it?” You texted, waiting to see that she read your message fairly quick.
Minji doesn't say anything for a few minutes. She's online but no chat indicator shows that she was typing. It's fine, she could be having a hard time voicing her thoughts, but she's still silent. It didn't bother you though, you know you shouldn't be too persistent so you thought about leaving your phone a second time until she texted back,
“I need you.”
Following her text, she sent a dick picture. Well, not fully her dick since she was clothed. The tip of her cock poked out beneath her sweatpants, her hand rested on the inner part of her thigh, you could only think that she touched herself to get her hard enough.
You immediately felt arousal pool between your thighs, the rush of wetness having you shift in your seat. Your mind raced as you imagined her back pressed against the wall, facing the mirror while she had a growing boner in front of her.
It made you even more curious on what she had to be thinking about.
Did you want to know though? Could you even survive if she told you every thought she had at work?
She'll probably talk about it when she's home.
You thought that it couldn't get worse from here, the direct message alone made you wet – but in a span of a few seconds, you were quickly proven wrong once her new message read,
“I'm coming home, I need to be inside you.”
--
Minji pinned your hands above your head, making you unable to move your arms as you squirmed underneath her. You didn't want it to stop, you didn't want to push her away, but the way she slid her length against your folds made your head spin.
She kissed the (already) forming marks on your neck, you whimpered at the pressure she put on your two most sensitive spots. Minji knew you too well, she knows how to make you happy and she knows how to fuck you right.
“I missed you,” she said, the tip of her cock pushing into your entrance slightly. Your walls pulsed hard, needing to be fucked and stretched out.
She was well aware of how much her size turned you on.
She'd catch you staring at her arms flexing every time she worked out, muscles feeling hard when you touched her. She noticed how flustered you got every time she had to look down to talk to you, and of course, she made sure to take advantage of the size of her dick. Minji didn't need words to prove her point, your actions spoke for yourself.
“Please just do something,” you beg, your hips almost snapping up to push yourself deeper.
She stops to meet your eyes as if she's weighing out her options – either wanting to see your face when she slides inside you or tease you until you’re crying out for her.
“Do you think I can fit inside of you again?” She teases, her cock pushing in a bit more deeper. “Can your tight hole stretch out just a bit more?”
“I don't think I can...”
Minji chuckles lowly at that, muttering something you couldn't make out. She knows you can't take it but your obedience to her contradicts that. If you can't take what Minji gives, she'll make you take it.
“You can,” she says, grabbing your hips to slide herself inside you, “I'll make it fit.”
A broken moan slips out of you, feeling her fill you up entirely. The pain and pleasure felt all too overwhelming. Every time she fucked you, fucking you like a toy, you never seemed to adjust to her size.
She loved how tight you were for her, Minji wouldn't want it any other way.
“I was thinking about how you feel around me,” she explains herself from earlier, “I almost cummed on spot when I thought about your pretty tongue sucking me off.”
Fuck.
Was she serious?
“I'm- Minji... please,” you choke out, meeting her thrust as you grinded yourself up her shaft, “I'll make it all real.”
“Such a good girl aren't you,” praising you in a tone that made it seem like she wasn't questioning her statement, you are her good girl. You didn't notice it though until after the fact, your mind could barely even work out any thoughts and you carelessly spoke out for more.
Minji takes every noise you make in her ear as a sign to quicken her pace, every moan, every whimper, every whisper of her name. She tries to stay sane and in control, she is the one on top of you. But, every thought she had from earlier controls a part of her, something that puts her in a trance.
Your wet cunt coated her length lovingly, it drives Minji crazy to think about how she'll make you clean her up,
Take it.
Suck me off.
She starts losing herself a little, every thrust pushing her sensitivity to the peak. Minji doesn't care about stopping, she isn't going to stop anytime soon as she continues to think out loud, “Good girls deserve my cock in them,”
“You're the only one who deserves it and takes it.”
You take what Minji gives.
#okay lowkey edged and left a cliffhanger#🫠🫠🫠 sorry#dreamcatcher scenarios#dreamcatcher imagines#dreamcatcher x reader#dreamcatcher smut#dreamcatcher#jiu scenarios#jiu imagines#jiu x reader#jiu smut#wlw#wlw smut#kpop smut
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Headmaster!Severus Snape x F!Reader
Headmaster
Word Count: 2.1k
Includes: Spit as Lube, Hair Pulling, Desk Sex, Oral (M), Riding.
On Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49138675
On Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/348717760-𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫-𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐬-𝐒𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐞-𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭
Not my bot but it helped inspire this fic!
C.ai Bot: https://beta.character.ai/chat?char=YH2uNinywjmIoi_8I-8SZoRbZ1k2_LhQ1qg7qUL8Cv4
You reach the office door and knock, you hear a deep voice say "enter" from the other side of the door and slowly push it open, your hands folded behind your back as you fiddle with them anxiously.
Snape's dark eyes flick up from his mound of papers to you.
"What do you want?" He speaks in a sharp and cutting tone.
"I was wondering if I could borrow a restricted book, sir." You state quickly.
His eyes scan you up and down before he sighs and speaks again.
"Which and why."
You inform him which restricted book—it's one for potions so you hope he would understand since he was the old potions master.
"Okay..." He looks back at his paper. "And why do you need it, Ms. [Last Name]?"
"I've been studying potions a lot more recently, I think I want to pursue a career in it when I graduate this year, sir."
He nods, "And why do you need a restricted book? There are other potion books above the 8th year curriculum that are not restricted."
"I know, sir, but I have already read all of those books."
Snape's eyes narrow, clearly skeptical of your answer.
"All of them?" He chuckles dryly, "There are well over 100 books on potions that you 8th years have access to for this exact reason and you're telling me you have already read all them?" He looks you up and down again.
You nod, "Yes, sir. That is exactly what I'm saying." You look nervous but your words don't lie—you have read all of them.
He glares at you, "Fine, but... you may only use the book in my presence, report back here once you retrieve it." He snaps.
Quickly you flee the room and run to the library, once there you inform the librarian about the books approval—they already knew you were asking, plus they might've smuggled it for you if Snape said no—they hand you the book with a smile. You take the book then walk back to the Headmaster's office with the book clutched against your chest closely.
Snape's eyes look up at you when you return, he motions to a small black leather couch a few feet from his desk. You walk over to it and sit down, a small coffee table was before it and you place the book down before opening it. Opening your bag you pull out a notepad, reading the first page you feel eyes on you but you don't dare to look his way—well—until he spoke.
"You seem prepared." Snape says.
You nod, not daring to say a word to him.
Your work session continues for the next hour—you have never been this determined to work on something before, plus... you want to impress someone nearby.
"Ms. [Last Name" Your eyes dart to the voice, "Come here." Headmaster Snape said.
You stand from your spot on the couch and walk over, "Yes, sir?"
"What is the real reason you needed the restricted book?" He asks, his tone now more curious then aggressive.
"I told you the reason earlier, Headmaster..."
He sighs and nods, "Are you done studying?"
"I was going to read maybe.. two-three more pages?"
"Then do it. I want you to do something for me afterwards." Snape states.
Around 10 minutes pass and you walk back towards him, "What do you need, sir?"
"Organize this." He points to a stack of papers. "I'm not asking."
You look confused but do as told, organizing the papers you read a few—"by accident"—and you spot a newspaper... it was an article based off of a spell? That's odd... you quickly scan the paper—"Laetus" the spell is called. You continue to read the paper and see it's an arousal spell.
"What are you reading." Snape's tone is demanding.
"J-Just one of the newspapers..."
"Well hurry up and finish those." He rolls his eyes and goes back to his work.
Around 10 minutes later you finish the work and then walk back over to Snape's desk.
"Which newspaper did you read." His tone is still a sharp as before.
"There was one about a new spell... L.. Laetus?"
In that moment you feel your wand buzz from your sheath. You quickly look down at it and see.. you cast the spell.
You look back over to Headmaster Snape, his cheeks now have faded from the usual pale color to a deep red, his eyes instead of narrow now open in shock and hazy, his tense lips now slightly parted.
"You idiot!" He shouts but covers his lip with the back of his hand—muffling a whimper.
"Oh my- sir, I'm so sorry!" You say panicked, rushing over by his side—he grabs the collar of your shirt and attempts to glare at you.
"What were you thinking saying that spell aloud while holding your damn wand!" He shouts.
"I-I wasn't-"
"Clearly." He interrupts, he then groans. "Fix the problem you made, what's the reversal."
You quickly scramble to get the newspaper again, when you have the paper your face drops.
"What is it? What is the reversal?" He snaps.
You tense.
"There is none... well- there is but..."
"Well what is it!" Snape exclaims.
"Sex."
His face falls flat, his anger almost vanishing into pure shock.
"Excuse me?"
"That is what the reversal is, headmaster.." You mumble.
He stares at you in shock. You open your mouth to say something when he speaks again.
"So fix your mistake."
You are now the one in shock, your jaw drops slack and your eyes widen.
"What?"
"You're in your 8th year meaning, you're around 19? About to move on into adulthood, you should know to own up to your responsibilities."
"Responsibility? This was a mistake!"
"Then let me rephrase this, consequence." He smirks.
He can't mean..
"Well..." He grunts and stands, walking over to your and cupping your chin, your smaller frame forced to look at his larger one.
"Get to work."
He means it...
You sink to your knees before the man, your eyes looking up at him as you place your hands on his belt—You feel his pants twitch—quickly undoing the buckle, undoing the fly, then sliding his pants and boxers down in one fluid motion.
"Good, now suck."
Your eyes widen at his cock, it's at least 7 whole inches, the pink-tan mushroom head is leaking with pre and even if this is a consequence of your action you have absolutely zero regrets, perhaps casting that spell was on purpose.
You give his cock an experimental stroke, earning a low groan from your headmaster. You smirk and stroke him again, he pulls the back of your hair so you're looking up at him again.
"I said suck, not toy." He glares down at you, the smirk vanishing off your face.
Your hand strokes him once more before you touch your tongue to his tip, you then take in the first inch of his cock. You look up at him, his free hand on his face as he tilts his head back, that only encourages you. You move your mouth further down his dick, three inches now in lodged in your mouth.
"Ah... fuck. Good girl." He murmurs under his breath.
You moan around his cock, your knees aching as you scoot closer to him to take in more of his cock, sliding him into your mouth he hits the back of your throat—but that's only half his cock. He softly moans, the hand in your hair tightening as he pushes his cock further down your mouth, now sliding into your throat. By now 5 inches are in your throat, your hand moves from his hip to the base of his cock, toying and playing with his balls as he fucks your throat at a harsh but pleasureful pace.
Your head continues to bob on his cock—it hits the back of your esophagus each time, you're sure his head will leave a mark when he's done slamming.
"Take it." He says before his load shoots down your throat.
You swallow it, choking on his lengthy cock in the process. He then slides out of your mouth, his cock parting your lips ever so slightly, Snape moves his hand from your scalp and places it on your chin—still smirking.
"I still feel the effects of the spell, Ms. [Last Name]." His eyes dart to his chair before he sits on it, he then pats his lap—his cock bouncing at the vibration.
You stand from your spot on the floor, your knees throbbing from the tiled floor. You wobble over to him, taking your spot on his lap—straddling him.
"Your panties, strip." He demands.
You go to remove your shirt first when he smacks away your hands.
"Panties."
You move awkwardly, your head by his ear as you lift your thighs, sliding off your panties and tossing them to the floor before the chair—Snape makes quick work of your position, grabbing your hips and lining you with his cock.
"W-Wait.. shouldn't we use prepare?"
"You sucked my cock, it's lubed."
"It'll hurt!" You whine.
"Then it's a fitting punishment." He smirks, tightening his grip on your hips then he slams into you—his entire 7 inches now inside of your tight cunt.
You moan ecstatically, even with the burn of the impact it felt phenomenal. He waits a few seconds before thrusting up his hips, your own meet his rocks—now grinding against him as you ride him.
He sways his hips in the chair, the movement stretching your pussy wider than the original insertion already was.
"You're doing so well." Severus says quietly.
This only makes you grow wetter, you lift your hips and slam back down—a loud moan was drawn from both of you.
Suddenly you feel his hips stop moving, you look at him to see him smirking—your bottom lip pouts and you go to speak when he does.
"Your consequence..." He moans, your movements on his cock not stopping. "Is that you have to do all the work until I cum."
"And what about me?"
He chuckles, "That's the punishment, dear." He smirks then smacks your rear as you continue to move up and down.
You whimper but do as told, your thighs aching along with your knees—but you can't stop yourself, you're greedy and you want to use your headmasters cock as a dildo—and that is just what you are doing.
You move your thighs and hips, slamming your cunt—impaling—it on his cock, your movements becoming sloppy and uncoordinated as you continue. Severus tightens his grip on your hips once more, stabilizing you as you continue to rock on him.
"Please... I need to cum, sir!" You beg, your movements not stopping for a second.
"I'm almost there." He smirks, completely disregarding your satisfaction.
You whine and continue to move on his cock, your own release throbbing—needing to be let out. But it can't. You feel his hips buck as a sign he's close—quickly you bounce on his cock faster, you feel his 7 inch throb and pulse within you—finally, he releases inside you with a loud moan.
"[First Name]!" He shouts, his grip remaining firm on your hips.
"P-Please..." You stutter out, your own release building more and more, you're almost over the edge. When suddenly you feel his hands on your rear, he lifts you up then slams you on the staff desk, now pounding into you—the feeling is surreal. Severus slams into you until your cum squirts out, painting his cock with the fluid.
Headmaster Snape slowly slides out of your now stretched cunt, you whine at the loss of his cock. He slides his hands under your back and lifts you once again, he then gently places you on the seat he was previously in.
"Are you alright?" Severus asks, his hand cupping your cheek.
You nod and he pecks your forehead, he then walks over to a shelf behind the chair when he returns he hands you a small glass vial—you can tell from the bottles shape and the potions color it's an energy potion. You smile and take the potion in one gulp, your legs stop aching and your pants return back to regular breaths.
"Thank you." You smile and then stand from the chair, grabbing your panties and sliding them back on.
You then see Severus smirking.
"Something up?"
A brief silence passes before he speaks.
"What if I told you I knew a reversal spell?"
You smirk right back.
"I would've liked it all the same."
#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry#severus snape#severus x reader#severus x y/n#severus snape x reader
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ɢᴜɪᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ ⨟ ᴋᴇɴꜱʜɪ ᴛᴀᴋᴀʜᴀꜱʜɪ x ꜰᴛᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ᴄᴀɢᴇ ⨟ 18+
DID I SAY SATURDAY..... NAH NAH I SAID SUNDAY FS........ neways, hope you're reading, kenshi's arms anon. thank you for the idea. seriously. this has all ive ever been able to think about since then. i think you're more suited for writing then i am. might've gone overboard, just maybe. enjoy ;)
shout out to britney spears tho. saved my fuckin ass. couldnt focus, couldnt write anything. played baby one more time for like 3 hours. finished the fic. done.
there could be a part two..... hm?
cw: NSFW, ftm reader, afab, he/him pronouns used, threesome, implied first time (with both), implied previous relationship w/ johnny before meeting kenshi, body worship, oral (bottom receiving ((YOU)), fingering, slight praise, porn with absolutely no plot, teasing, voyeurism?? within a private space, proofread
wc: 3620
MINORS DNI
It was straight to the point. All Johnny needed to hear was that you consented, and he had set the scene. He was eager. Too eager. But damn, he'd be lying if he says he wasn't nervous. Which is odd! A man like him? Nervous? He's been through scenarios like this, threesomes, foursomes, orgies, damn, he's had it all. Yet, you and Kenshi... it's different. So different. The way you two spark butterflies within his stomach simply by being there, it's a different kind of love than anything he's felt before. It's so pure, intentional, passionate, and soft. Just thinking of either of you has his cheeks red.
Now, Johnny lurks behind you and Kenshi. You sit across from the swordsman, hands planted on your knees. As close as Kenshi wanted you to be, he refused to have you in his lap. He wanted to give Johnny ample room to include himself, even if the man had insisted on just watching. Both of you knew from the start he wouldn't. He can't even keep still now. In front of you, Kenshi seems calm, a light blush tints his cheeks. It is his first, and as such, he is nervous.
"Come on," Johnny groans, leaning over Kenshi's shoulder and place his hands on the man's arms. Kenshi furrows his eyebrows at this, leaning towards you ever so slightly. Yet, he did not give in to Johnny's urgency. Kenshi was going to go by his own pace regardless, for your sake and his. Johnny could be patient. "Pleeeeaaaase..." Johnny whines once more, trying to move Kenshi's hands for him.
Yet, Kenshi is still. He does not move his hands. He does not swat Johnny away. He can feel Johnny's excitement, he can almost hear Johnny begging and pleading at the very edge of his mind. However, he is more concerned about you. "Are you ready?" Kenshi prompts, his tone even.
You hesitate- only for a second. It is not a wild idea, nor is it wildly lewd. "Yes," At your consent, Johnny lets out a sigh of relief, and Kenshi seems to relax.
"Alright, Ken-Doll," Johnny leans in closer to Kenshi's ear, a smirk lingering in his voice. He wrapped his hands around Kenshi's forearms, the swordsman relenting and letting Johnny guide his arms. Johnny's hands snake up to Kenshi's wrist, as he leans forwards and urges the man to get closer to you. "Just..." Johnny's voice is already breathy, as he places Kenshi's hands on your waist. "Like this." Somehow, it was surprising that Johnny didn't start... higher.
Kenshi scoffed, tilting his head towards Johnny. "Really?" While his hands were comfortable, even Kenshi had been expecting something more scandalous from Johnny. His tone was sarcastic, causing you to laugh a little.
"Hey! Where else am I supposed to start?" Johnny pouted, squeezing Kenshi's wrists. Kenshi sighs, and lets the actor have his moment. "Alright, alright, I'll get to the damn point." Johnny speaks as if he wasn't just begging you two to start, shaking his head. His eyes meet yours, asking the same question Kenshi had before. You nod, and lean into Kenshi's hands. With this, Johnny leads Kenshi's hands up under your shirt, just under your breasts. Not quite there. He's got a sly smile on his face, as if he's in it to tease you. Johnny understands just what your body needs, and while he's confident in Kenshi's ability to make you writhe in pleasure. However, Kenshi wasn't so... intimate with your body like Johnny was. Not that he couldn't be.
Kenshi's fingers trace over your ribs, his touch gentle, almost as if he was afraid to hurt you. Your body shudders at the touch, a pleasant feeling sparking from his hands. Johnny smiles at this, his hands lingering on Kenshi's wrists, trailing down to his forearms, and finally letting go. Johnny gave Kenshi a quick peck on the cheek, before finally retreating to the chair he had pulled up next to the bed. His arousal was already clear, it seems the mention of something like this was enough to get him hard. Yet, he was being patient. Or trying to be, anyways. Johnny kept his hands clasped together, as if to prevent himself from touching himself. In fact, his knuckles were turning white.
Before you could comment, Kenshi brought his thumbs up to your sternum, lightly cupping your breasts. Your breath hitched, just slightly, as he slowly massaged them. He was uncannily attentive, his fingers tracing underneath your nipple. He seemed to enjoy how you waited for him, to take advantage of this opportunity. "Yeah, there you go," Johnny instructed, his impatience finally taking place in his voice. "He likes that, y'know?" Johnny was studying you, looking for any more signs of pleasure. His leg bounced, almost growing irritable. "Don't keep him waiting."
You could see Kenshi smirk, leaning in closer to you. He kept you on edge, caressing your boobs, but not quite touching your nipples. The teasing was almost getting to you. And Johnny, too. "Really, now?" Kenshi's voice was full of mischief, tilting his head back to look at you. "So... If I were to..." Finally, he ran his thumb over your left bud, causing you to bite your lip. Only once.
"C'mon, darlin'... if not for me, for him," Johnny pleaded, leaning forward in his chair. "What, do I have to show you exactly how to do it?" He unclasped his hands, making a motion as if he were to get up.
Kenshi tilted his head towards Johnny once more, raising an eyebrow. "If you don't mind," He insisted, still keeping his hands underneath your breasts. He could do this by himself, by the end of the night he would've had your whole body memorized. But he couldn't turn down Johnny's request.
Johnny groans and get up out of his seat, once more placing his hands on Kenshi's wrists. He wastes no time properly placing Kenshi's hands on your breasts. "Squeeze," He instructs, watching as you arch your back into Kenshi's touch. And when Kenshi does squeeze, hands gripping into the soft flesh, you can't help but let out a small 'mn,' in response. He treated your body as if you were fragile, yet his touch was full of lust. Johnny then guiding Kenshi's right hand back down to your stomach. "All yours." Johnny now hovered over you two, as if he were afraid Kenshi would spend the entire time just teasing you.
Kenshi finally relents, letting his right hand run down your stomach. It's erotic, his touch sensual. He's slow, as to map out your body. Johnny stayed close now, pressing his erection against the bed, through his pants. He was searching for any sort of release, just being able to watch Kenshi was excruciating. "Having fun, Cage?" Kenshi mocked, running his thumb over your nipple once more.
"Dammit, Kenshi," Johnny grunted, grinding against the sheets. "Y'know... you don't have to be so goddamn-"
"Slow?" Kenshi spoke for Johnny, his right hand finding the band of your boxers underneath your sweats. Johnny's breath hitches, as if this was the release he was seeking. Yet, Kenshi simply traces along your waist, the line leading further to your core. "What, am I not allowed to enjoy our darling's body...?" Now, he was just teasing Johnny. "Is this not what you wanted?"
"No! No... I, uhm," Johnny backs off, his face flush. "Shit," He was almost afraid that this moment would end. You pushed yourself closer to Kenshi, in attempt to make sure it didn't. You were eager, and perhaps Kenshi would understand that. "He wants it- just- I- Ugh..." Johnny stumbled over his words, watching as you push yourself further into Kenshi's touch.
"Really, is this what you want, my dear?" Kenshi smiles all too innocently, addressing you once more. His fingers stay placed firmly in the band of your boxers, his left hand finally leaving your breast. You whimper at the loss of touch, somehow the absence of it turned you on more. "I need to hear you say it."
You bite your lip, making eye contact with Johnny once more. He nods enthusiastically- neither of you can take it. "Yea..." You whisper, your voice breathy. "Please." You plead.
"Then," Kenshi nods, tugging at your sweatpants now. "I won't keep you waiting." You do not hesitate. You shuffle your legs out from underneath your body, so he can pull your sweats off. And he does. Johnny lets out a sigh, leaning back against the bed.
"Thighs," Johnny points, making direct eye contact with you once more. "His thighs are the most sensitive." He instructs, happy to finally continue. Kenshi follows, near immediately.
"Like this?" Kenshi's right hand runs down your inner thigh, taking his time. He traces each stretchmark, reveling in the warmth. In response, you let out a sweet moan, closing your eyes and enjoying the moment.
"Yeaaah..." Johnny smirks, his hand finally meeting his own erection. He let out a soft moan at the temporary bliss, watching how you squirmed, pushing your legs into Kenshi's touch. "His collarbone, too... he likes it there."
Kenshi followed, once more. He leaned in, closing the distance between your bodies. His lips find your neck first, not out of clumsiness, no, simply to put you on edge. You groan, craning your neck to the side to allow him more access. He does not play into this, however. He trails his teeth lightly down your neck, and finds your collarbone. He kisses you once more, only rewarding you after you let out a soft sigh. He bites, this time, and your hands find his shoulders.
"Awh, you've made him all red," Johnny points out, finally freeing himself of his pants. "Just like that, Ken-Doll." His hand snakes down into his own boxers, caressing his tip gently. His eyes burn into you, intent on following your own pleasure.
Kenshi's hand creeps closer and closer to your pussy. Yet shies away at the last minute. You whimper once more, feeling his breath against your skin. Goosebumps riddle your body, as you search for some sort of entrance, pressing your body further into him. You lean your head into his shoulder, letting out a shaky breath. Kenshi pulls away and places his left hand on your head, toying with your hair. He turns his head over to Johnny and grins at him.
Johnny just stares back, furrowing his brows and pouting once more. Somehow, you getting all of Kenshi's attention... and Kenshi getting all of you... He closes his eyes and rubs away the thought, teasing himself. "Give him what he wants," He demands, inching closer to you and Kenshi. And when Kenshi doesn't follow his direct order, he finally joins you two on the bed.
You raise your head, looking at Johnny through messy hair. There's a darker look in his eyes, not jealousy... maybe jealousy. He takes his spot behind Kenshi and leans over the man's shoulder, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. At the same time, not only does Kenshi's hand creep closer to your boxers once more, Johnny's hands find their way into Kenshi's pants. In tandem, the three of you moan. Johnny's pressed himself against Kenshi's back, grinding like a dog. Kenshi tilts his head back, moaning right into Johnny's ear. The sudden stimulation brings Kenshi's hands into your boxers, too. Ignoring all hesitation and teasing before. His hand enters through the leg, however his left hand grabs onto the waistband and pulls near immediately.
Johnny smiles at the chaos he's created, the stimulation he so urgently wanted- needed. His eyes land on your exposed bottom half, your pussy slick. Waiting. Kenshi's hand firmly gripping your thigh now, bucking his hips into Johnny's hand. "Now that's better, right?" Johnny taunts, glad to finally get this party started. Kenshi nods, slightly. Almost embarrassed to enjoy this. Johnny chuckles, leaning back closer to you. He picks up the speed of his ministrations, leaving Kenshi to bite his lip and suppress his pleasure. "And what about you, sweetheart?" His eyes glide now your frame, from your face, to your clothed torso, to your entrance.
You lowered your head, feeling your face and ears heat up. You couldn't speak, watching Kenshi enjoy the feeling of Johnny's hands, the swordsman's fingers digging into the soft warm flesh of your thigh still. Your words caught in your throat, you inch slightly closer to the two. Johnny closes the distance between you and him, placing another soft kiss on your lips. Only a peck, as he nudged Kenshi with his shoulder. "Don't forget about him, hm?" To see Johnny take such a dominant, teasing role was almost a dream come true. Yet, still uncanny.
Kenshi returns his focus to you, holding back more soft noises and reaching both hands out to you, holding you by your waist. His grip was firm, letting out a sigh. He was withholding his own pleasure, now intent on getting you off. Johnny chuckles, simply holding Kenshi's dick in his hand now. He let the swordsman take control of his own pleasure. Kenshi's touch was more erratic now, trailing back up your sides. Sometimes, he'd go slow, and sometimes he'd go quicker, as if he was ready for this interaction to reach its climax. Regardless, he seemed adamant on making sure you enjoyed his touch as much as he enjoyed exploring your body. As you watch Kenshi's hands make their way underneath your shirt once more, a lightbulb goes off in Johnny's head.
"Hey, Kenshi, Stop," Johnny starts, his hands retreating from Kenshi's dick. At this, the swordsman relaxes. However, despite how hard Kenshi had tried to hide it, the sudden absence of Johnny's touch clearly made him want more. "You'll love this." He gets off the bed, and grabs you by your waist. You squeak, as he turns you to the side, with your legs now dangling off the bed. Out of Kenshi's hands. Johnny does not explain further, simply directing Kenshi to sit behind you. Kenshi hesitates, but does so, regardless.
"What is your game, Cage?" Kenshi asks, taking his place behind you. His hands still firmly planted on your hips. Johnny grins, but doesn't respond. He simply finds Kenshi's right hand once more, and guides it up over your shirt, to your neck.
"Don't choke him, just," Johnny bites his lip, proud of his unspoken idea. "Just feel, I guess..." With that, he finally snakes down, placing his hands on your knees. Kenshi wraps his hand around your neck gently, just as Johnny instructed. He rests his chin on your shoulder, as if to watch Johnny. The actor looks up at you, now on his knees. His hands slowly make their way up to the insides of your thighs, parting them as you let out a low sigh. You hear Kenshi's breath hitch, Johnny's idea finally clicking in his head.
"Cage, you dog," Kenshi remarks, adjusting his position slight, pulling his pants down. Just enough for you to feel the heat spring from his boxers.
Johnny ignores Kenshi's comment, and looks up at you, with pleading eyes. "May I?" His tone is scandalous, his smirk ever-present. You nod once more, and Johnny goes in. His plan in full swing, now. You can't escape. His hands keep your thighs apart, and before you can realize the actor's marvelous plan, warmth hits your core. Johnny's tongue enters within your folds, staying still for a couple minutes as if to taste you. You whimper at this, arching your back and grinding into Johnny's tongue. Kenshi was enjoying the vibrations of your sweet sounds against his palm, placing a quick kiss on your shoulder. Johnny wasted no time, lapping at your pussy as if he had been hungry. With each moan, sigh, and stutter that escapes your lips, Kenshi rewards you with a another kiss. From your shoulder, to the crook of your neck, to your jaw.
Johnny moans into you, digging his nails into your thighs. He keeps you still, as you relish in his tongue, arching your back and exposing more of your neck for Kenshi to feel. For once, Kenshi thought, Johnny's idea wasn't half bad. He enjoyed this more than he liked to admit. He heard you, alright. Whining for Johnny, begging for more. His tongue flicks across your clit, producing a louder, stifled moan from you. After that, his tongue curls back inside you, searching for more. You are almost too caught up within the pleasure to notice that Kenshi's left hand follows down your body, hovering just above your pussy. It is only when you feel a digit enter you that you realize what Kenshi is doing. You yelp once more, pushing your back into Kenshi.
Kenshi laughs at your helplessness, trapped between both men. His thumb pays special attention to your clit, providing a sensitive tingling burning through your body. "Good boy," He whispered against the shell of your ear, his voice gruff. "Letting me explore you... I'm not done, you understand?" You can feel Johnny laugh against you, as Kenshi begins to fuck you with his fingers. His pace is slow, out... in... out... as opposed to Johnny's quick and desperate pace with his tongue. Kenshi keeps his right hand on your neck, still, reveling in the feeling of your pleasure and whimpering and whining and crying. His thumb continues to rub gentle circles on your clit, as Johnny's hands begin to roam your thighs. This only makes you moan more.
"Joh- fffuuhhh- ahn," Your words slur together, the differing paces in pleasure providing a pool of electricity welling up within you. You do not know who's name to cry, "Kensh---" As you are cut off by another wave of pleasure, as Kenshi toys with your clit, now swollen. Was Johnny's idea even needed? Kenshi seemed to have already mapped out your body in his heads, and yet, against Johnny's tongue, he almost knew your folds more.
Johnny pulls away momentarily, looking up at you. He licks his lips, letting out a satisfying sigh as you whimper from the loss of contact. "You taste so good, sweetheart," His eyes fall to Kenshi's finger, as the swordsman works another digit into your entrance. Johnny watches, content with what he's started. "All red, and needy..." Johnny enjoys the warmth of your thighs now, leaning his head to the left as he watches Kenshi's tattooed hands slowly unravel you. "How does that feel, hm? You like it?"
You can only nod, finding all sorts of lewd noises slipping from your mouth. Kenshi fingers you slowly, still. As if to the rhythm of your heartbeat. His breath hot against your neck, his left hand squeezing ever so slightly. Yet, he does not restrict your breathing. He seeks out to feel more of your sounds, groaning and begging for him to pick up the pace. He doesn't give in, however. He does this to remember your walls, every ripple, the texture, and just how wet you are. Kenshi must admit, this is more pleasurable than Johnny's hand down his pants.
Meanwhile, Johnny simply rubs your thigh, tracing every single stretch mark with his thumb. You jerk into Kenshi's fingers, grinding out once more. That soft, dull pressure builds just below your stomach, an electetricfying feeling shot up your spine. Your moans loose all coherency, begging inaudibly for more. Neither man acts on your pleas, driving you closer to your climax, slowly.
"Yeah, yeah... just like that," Johnny hums, finding it oddly comfortable to just watch. He made no move to pleasure himself, nor did Kenshi. "Go ahead, baby." He urges, as you grind up into Kenshi's fingers more. Kenshi does not budge on his pace, still. However, his thumb speeds up ever so slightly.
"This is what you want, no?" Kenshi teases, kissing the crook of your neck once more. You only whine in response, desperately nodding your head. Your body craves release more so than your mind, seeking to feel the weight release, snap, and spill out onto Kenshi's hand. With each thrust of his fingers, your legs shake, your thighs threaten to close. Yet Johnny stops them.
"Nuh uh, not happenin', sweetheart," Johnny uses both of his hands to push open your legs, wider. "I gotta see ya." With this, you let out another lengthy whine, before biting your lip. Somehow, this grants Kenshi better access. His fingers pick up the pace ever so slightly, your mind teeters on the brink of ecstasy. His fingers only reach slightly deeper, closer to your core.
Your eyes roll back, leaning your head against Kenshi's and making direct eye contact with Johnny. Not a moment later does that coil snap, cumming all over Kenshi's fingers. Your body twitches into his hand, each wave pushing more and more of your much needed release out of you. Johnny chuckles once more, Kenshi listens almost too intently to your moans. Somehow, still begging for more.
Slowly, Kenshi's fingers leave you, the last waves of pleasure exiting your body through moans. You slowly come down from your high, as Johnny pushes himself up from his position on the floor. Kenshi praises you once more, inaudible as the afterglow washes over you.
#⁺◟sentooo#mortal kombat 1 x reader#mortal kombat x reader#mk x reader#mk1 x reader#mortal kombat x male reader#mortal kombat 1 x male reader#mortal kombat x ftm reader#mortal kombat 1 x ftm reader#johnny cage x reader#johnny cage x male reader#johnny cage x ftm reader#kenshi takahashi x reader#kenshi takahashi x male reader#kenshi takahashi x ftm reader#johnny cage x reader x kenshi takahashi#johnny cage x male reader x kenshi takahashi#johnny cage x ftm reader x kenshi takahashi
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Fuck It Friday!!
Tagged by @tizniz @thekristen999 both of whom shared fics I cannot wait to read!! (And probably cry through 😁) 🩵💜
I have three more kiss prompts I'm working on, but since I already posted two and another whole fic this week, I'm trying to pace myself lol. We're all back in our shooting era (I never left 😅) so I'm hoping to get Eddie's second oh moment finished soon. I wrote this last night half asleep. Does it make sense? You tell me:
Loving Buck grew over time, like a vine in his chest, curling around his ribs and beneath his sternum to cradle his heart.
The flowers bloomed before he even knew the vine was there.
And now that he knows, now that he wants to feel the softness of the petals every time Buck's shoulder brushes his own, or admire the bright blooms every time Buck smiles- now that he knows he loves Buck, he can't.
When he first met Buck, there might've been something there. Not exactly attraction, but… curiosity? Something about Buck made Eddie want to be close to him. And then they could've died together and Buck stepped into that ambulance with him without a second thought. Eddie was struggling to find help for Christopher, and too afraid to ask for it, but Buck brought him Carla without feeling like he had to ask.
Then Shannon came back, and the vine that had been in his chest since they were kids came back to life and bloomed into bright yellow flowers he wanted to nurture and protect forever.
Forever doesn't last long.
So much happened in such a short time after that. The bombing, a tsunami, Chris' nightmares, Eddie's bruises. And a lawsuit that kept Buck separated from them.
Maybe that's when the vine first started growing, trying to reach out of his chest in hopes of pulling Buck back. They had just lost Shannon, and the only other person Eddie wanted- needed- cut himself off.
When they finally mended fences, the vine started growing again, and bloomed with blue flowers as bright as Buck's eyes even as they were splashed with blood.
The shocked look on Buck's face flashes through Eddie's mind and he snaps his book shut as a reflex.
Hen looks over at him from where she's sprawled across the other armchair. “What's wrong?” she asks. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
Eddie glances around to see Buck and Chim both looking his way now.
Fuck.
Absolutely no pressure tagging: @13shadesofanni @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @loveyouanyway
@daffi-990 @wikiangela @exhuastedpigeon @actuallyitsellie
@spagheddiediaz @theotherbuckley @wildlife4life @hippolotamus
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@idealuk @lin27 @misshiss727 @jshadow01
@smallandalmosthonest @weareallstoriesintheend11 @orangeboxfox92 and anyone else who wants to share!! 🩷🥰
#911#evan buckley#eddie diaz#buddie#911 abc#fanfic#9-1-1#my writing#buddie wip#911 wip#title: oh what a way to die#i cannot be blamed#guilty as sin? is Eddie's song#fuck it friday
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i was hoping to stream this afternoon but i woke with my shoulders hurting so bad that i have absolutely zero capacity for anything. to the point where i experienced my first autistic rumbles in the supermarket 🥸 but i have adhd meds now so maybe we can try tomorrow.
zita's suspected i'm on the spectrum for a little while now, but i've always been on the fence about it. there's a lot i don't relate to. but most of that is bc i have so much learned behaviour, and i mask really well. when i try to break down how i think for autism diagnostic quizzes, my gut reactions DO fit the bill, but they are so so so buried under 30 years of life experience that feels like it comes naturally.
but i am an introvert. an extreme introvert. even while living alone with my best friend, who i get on perfectly with and feel zero need to mask around, i still need to excuse myself and be left alone in my room from 10pm at LEAST.
so i only really unmask when i'm dead alone. even though i dont feel like i'm putting up any kind of front around of zita, i still do, automatically. the only time i see myself completely bare is when i'm alone and it's silent and there is absolutely nothing challenging my comfort.
sooooo hoooooo boy waking up in pain, with zero capacity to even finish a thought, still empty of ADHD medication because of the fuckin manufacturing shortage (thankfully today's trip into town was to finally pick some up! but that wasn't until noon), i got to see a side of myself i don't know if i've ever actually seen before? maybe as a kid but i can't remember specifically that far back?
i've been short tempered and overwhelmed and exposed to sensory nightmares whilst home alone before, but it's usually so quick bc i'm at HOME and i can adjust the situation and i never think much of it. i felt like a bluescreen at that supermarket today, popping in for less than 10 things across 3 aisles.
it was so busy. there were so many people. i felt dread just to walk through it, so aware of my own body and the space i had to inhabit. but par for the course so far. what was less par for the course was having to stop and look at my list every 3 steps, unable to put together a course of action in my head: chicken is on the far left, so we grab that first and get broccoli on our way to the soup aisle. but the broccoli is right there. do i grab that first, go get the chicken, but then double back from where i just came? i might get myself some bananas too, how do i fit that into my path—
i had to keep stopping and looking at my list because every item i thought of made me forget the previous one i just looked at. eventually got fed up with myself and went to the closest thing and started there, regardless of whether i'd have to double back or not. that's what trips me when i take these quizzes n shit. i can get over the hump and do the task in the end, so that must mean i'm totally allistic! no autism here.
i remember thinking "jesus christ this is bad" when i was on my way to get zita's soup (if you've read this far, thank you and kisses to you, pls send some loving vibes to zita by reading her fic i just reblogged, bc she's got a cold and is miserable today) so i was kinda aware i was having a bad sensory day. as expected: there were a lot of people there, and i was in pain. but i just short circuited looking at soup. zita gave me the brand name and soup type of 3 cans she wanted. and i went to the aisle i've been to a thousand times, found the brand, and just stared. it was all stew. all chunky brothy things with bits in. not a single creamy soup in sight, so, the soup must be somewhere else.
i came to that conclusion immediately but i couldn't. process it? or like, what to do with that information. the soup is somewhere else. OR IS IT? keep looking at this shelf to make sure, your eyes are tired, you might've missed it. there's like 20 different cans of campbells here, just keep reading them left to right until soup appears. still no soup? read them again, you might've missed it. maybe campbell's is out of soup? read every other brand here until you Don't see soup, then you can walk away and try somewhere else. but if you don't see any soup, read it again because you might've missed it.
thankfully it took all of 30 fuckin seconds for a store employee who was shelving next to me to see my glazed fuckin stare and ask if i needed a hand with anything. and i stammered through some "haha my silly eyes today!! haha thanks! sorry, thank you!" as she happily pointed like 3 metres down the aisle for me, while my internal monologue immediately raged like "wtf why would they put the soup that far away but also barely far away at all, what's the point, bad design 😡"
got soup. check list: packet of gravy. zita told me the gravy was in the same section as the soup. it was not. i walked up and down that aisle five times and there was no gravy. i just. i had completely forgotten how to problem solve. it was the strangest, most frustrating experience. like i was looking at an empty word document in my brain, with a little flashing cursor and everything, so i knew it hadn't frozen over. it was just empty.
i even had the thought "just walk up and down the aisles until you find gravy; you have to do this all the time" and even had ideas of which aisles to start with. but my brain said no. we're not going to walk around aimlessly, even if we have a neat little structure and path to follow. we were told (by myself, too) this would be a quick in out trip, pluck the known items off the shelf and beeline straight for the checkout. so meandering down aisles was for some reason non negotiable. i wasn't in a rush. i had nothing to do today. i barely even felt a rush to get out of there, as busy as it was. it just wasn't an option.
so rather than start solving that problem i just jumped to the next thing on the list. strepsils. text to ask what kind she wants, have a whine about my broken brain, ask if she knows where the gravy is. remember when i pass the hair brushes that i broke my hairbrush this morning and need a new one!! oh and i've been wanting new hairclips too. look at me picking a new hairbrush and poking through the hairclips for one that i know will feel comfortable against my scalp, i'm not autistic because i can change my plans and make decisions on the fly.
oops didn't mean for this post to be an entire play by play of my thoughts through this extremely bland grocery shop. i cannot believe how long i stood there choosing soup. the line at the self checkout was so long and i felt the dread kick up again. barely/silently whispered "oh god" to myself when i realised the line, but repeated it about 20 times to feel the tap of my tongue against the roof of my mouth before i realised i was doing it. stop that, don't mutter to yourself. but i'm standing still in a line and there's nothing left to (ineffectually) problem solve, so the second i stop i notice a weird little slice in the plastic around the trolley handle that i can't stop flicking my thumbnail against.
OK. we need to stim. heard, chef. just click your piercing ffs. your mouth might look weird when you do it but at least everyone can see you're just clicking your teeth against your piercing, rather than talking to yourself or damaging public property.
something made a noise, can't even remember if it was a child or a trolley or what, some loud sharp single high pitched screech a few metres away, and i jolted so hard i thought i felt like i was going to throw up. finally think, fucking hell i'm autistic today. my back hurts. which is making my head hurt. i want to go home and take my vyvanse.
#ghost scribbles#autism#extremely long unimportant recount of my day#but it was quite cathartic to write#feeling very vulnerable and tired now ufgh
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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐥𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧
Fanfiction: The Relics of Hogwarts (CLICK THE LINK BEFORE READING THIS)
Draco malfoy x Y/N Riddle (f!reader)
A/N: First chapter of the fanfic! It took me a whole week to write this, and a whole week to create the plot of the story. This chapter sets the tone for what is to come - more draco and the reader's interactions will happen in the following chapters. I am beyond excited to be posting this, I hope you guys enjoy it - I really had the best time writing it (it helps me deal with reality which I very much thank). Also, two things before you go and read it: one, my mother tongue is not English, once again, so forgive me for any mistake or wrong word that I might've used; two, every paragraph or conversation that is written in italic is a flashback (I think it was clear but just to be hella clear). That's everything for me to say... also you don't know the amount of research I've had to do in order to be precise on every description, family line, Hogwarts system... it's crazy the number of tabs I've opened during the creation of all of it. Last thing, I have never done this before but if you'd like to be on the taglist for each time I post a new chapter, put it in the comments or write me an inbox and I'll gladly do it! I'm going to try to do my best and post a chapter every week - two would be ideal. I tend to write pretty long chapters so it takes me a lot of time to finish them. I'm going to stop writing, this is becoming addictive. Love you, this fic is for all of you out there.
W/C: 4.3K
masterlist here
Summer was about to come to an end. It was pouring rain in the Scottish mountain range; a wild, twisted, ravaging storm that left a lifeless valley at its steps. Someone was rushing through the vast hallways, crackling footsteps as he was approaching the stone gargoyle. He whispered in a low, hoarse voice: “Cockroach clusters”. A stoned spiraled staircase revealed itself behind the statue, he marched them upstairs.
At the top, a wooden door was slightly opened revealing at its gap a dim light and an overwhelming heat. Under this particular weather, there was a need of a fireplace.
The professor stepped in the headmaster’s office.
“Severus,” Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of the Wizarding School, Hogwarts, greeted the man, “what can I do for you in this, rather hectic evening?”
“I –” he stopped, having been interrupted by a loud thunder, “have some news from You Know Who.”
Dumbledore froze for a moment. “Ah!” he uttered, heading towards his centered desk, and sitting down. “Tell me what you know.”
“You Know Who’s daughter is supposedly coming to Hogwarts this year.”
“How is that possible?” Dumbledore seemed confused.
“He has gotten back in contact with her, after seventeen years,” Snape said in a monotone voice of his range. “I have been told to keep an eye on her.”
The storm was heavily attacking the gleaming windows.
���This is no coincidence - I suppose you know that, Severus.”
“I… assumed.”
“Voldemort has something in mind – something that involves the school – or Potter.”
“The child has always been in his sight, why would it be that now he is looking to get to him by sending his abandoned daughter off to school while she has a cursed bloodline herself, it seems a little…odd… from my perspective, Professor.”
“You’re right, Severus - but we need to be en garde.” Dumbledore was looking all around his desk seeming to try to dismantle this new information. “Does the girl know why she’s coming?”
“It seems like she does.”
“U-huh,” he replied. “Well, the link between Draco’s commended mission to kill me and the arrival of Voldemort’s daughter is evident; he’s trying to gain some presence within the school.”
“And,” he continued, “the girl and Draco have known each other merely from birth, they’ve grown up together as siblings, haven’t they, Severus?”
“I wouldn’t use the word siblings, Professor – as far as I know, they roughly consider each other cousins.”
“Right, right, cousins…”
“Professor,” uttered Snape.
“Huh?”
“What should I do?”
“Well,” Dumbledore got up and walked towards the animal that was gripping a stand cage. It was an elegant phoenix; he had crimson feathers covering his entire body and a long golden tail resembling that of a peacock. His name was Fawkes. Dumbledore caressed the animal as he continued, “you have no choice – she will have to attend this year at Hogwarts. In fact, she will directly be put into Slytherin, that way your task will be eased.”
“If I may, I don’t think she would’ve been sorted into any other house, giving her lineage, Professor.”
“Right, descendant of Salazar Slytherin, right…” Dumbledore didn’t seem to be there, his thoughts spiraling up, trying to find the connecting factor.
“I see you… pensive” said Snape in return.
Dumbledore moved from the bird to the East of the room and stood next to the recollection of memories bottled up in glass jars.
“We both know, Severus, that Voldemort doesn’t hold any sort of affection towards his daughter; he’s incapable of it.” He frenetically moved to the West of the room. “That girl has been raised by Druella Black, mother of the living Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy. The girl has never had any contact with her father, nor her mother for that matter.”
“If I may ask… what happened to the mother?”
“Well, no one knows what happened to her; no one even knows who she is. Voldemort hasn’t had any known-of partner in his life.”
“Right,” replied Snape. “Although the girl has, so it seems, a tight relation with the Diggory family.”
“The Diggorys… Cedric Diggory? The boy that Voldemort killed during the Triwizard Tournament?” inquired Dumbledore.
“Indeed. She’s presumably close to his father, Amos Diggory, who works in the Ministry of Magic.” completed Snape.
“How?”
“I don’t know, but she will come to the school as his niece, omitting her last name Riddle.”
“A façade.” Dumbledore had a lost look.
“Yes.”
“There’s a lot of things that we can’t grasp, Severus. You will keep an eye on her, I will deal with the rest.”
“As you wish.”
Snape turned around, swinging his cape as he moved to the door.
“Severus,” Dumbledore called him, before he could walk away, “Hogwarts is, once again, being threatened. This time, it might be the last time”. He looked at his hand, a black dark magic had scattered through most of it.
Snape understood his words but didn’t reply.
A black figure made his way down the enchanted staircase.
ྀ࿔
The hallways were full of students. Bustling chatter about summertime and vacations was spreading around the walls of the entrance hall. First years were arriving in canoes through the Great Lake that surrounded Hogwarts while upper years were progressively making an entrance, after getting off the Hogwarts Express.
She noticed the attunes of most students. Black robes seemed to be the official uniform, with varying colors on the hood, sleeves and the edge of the front depending on the student who was wearing it. At the front of it, there was a patch in accordance with the colors of the robe – she assumed it was the house patch of the student. She particularly laid her eyes on the green one, the one who seemed to have a snake in the middle. She knew that Father had attended the school – and even if she was mostly ignorant about the school system and supposed houses, she knew her father had been a green-robed student.
Snape started to climb up the Grand Stairs, she followed him. Various students and professors were hectically going up and down the stairs, making her have to pay attention to not brush shoulders with any of them. Snape was not looking back at her, swinging from side to side as if he knew seconds ahead who was going to go up or down.
Her mind wondered back to the reason why she was there; to the mission Father had commended her to do. She had heard about Wizarding Schools, Hogwarts in particular, since nearly her birth. However, Druella never wanted her to get mingled with academic wizards and witches, fearing for her life as a Riddle. That last name did not follow any welcoming reception in the Wizarding World. But after Father’s come back, things have changed all around.
She couldn’t help but travel back to the moment it all started.
“F-father?” she called him, pitch black consuming the entire room of the Malfoy Manor.
She could hear him moving. Hollow wooden floorboards slowly crackling at his steps. She could also hear his snake hissing - that’s how she knew he was standing in front of her.
“Child,” he finally said with a whispery, throaty voice, “I missed you.”
She felt two arms making their way to her ribs while slowly tangling behind her on what seemed to be a hug. She didn’t move, shivering of horror.
“My daughter.” She felt the air of his voice in her ear, making her swift breathing be noticed.
She understood that he knew she was afraid.
His arms were no longer wrapping her, and she felt how he was circling her by the crackling wood yet again.
“How have the Blacks been treating you?”
She gasped.
“Fair enough…Father.”
He seemed to have moved to the other side of the room.
“And the Malfoys? The young boy, Draco, is he nice to you?”
She tried to relax her breathing.
“He is - they all have always treated me as one of their own.”
“But you’re not one of them, are you?”. He moved closer to her again, as she felt his snake sliding next to her foot.
“I-I guess I’m not.” She could’ve sworn she saw a monster in front of her. She closed her eyes tightly.
“Your stay with them might’ve been enjoyable, but I’m afraid you must leave.”
Something in her stopped when she heard those words.
“Where?” she inquired.
“To the Diggorys.”
“I don’t know who they are.”
He was standing in front of her. She could sense it.
“They are nice people that will take you under their roof – now, I need you to befriend them, become one of them. You will need to take on their last name.”
She didn’t say a word and let him continue.
“I need some things that lay within the walls of Hogwarts; some things that someone wants to steal.”
“Harry Potter,” she whispered, not being able to contain herself.
“Do not mention his name!” he raised his voice, and she could feel his face almost touching hers.
She nearly started sobbing.
“You don’t get to say his name in front of me, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He leaned back some inches from her. “Some objects that are in the castle belong to me. I hid them so they would be safe - but it has come to my attention that they might be in danger.”
She kept listening.
“When the time comes, I will need you to go to Hogwarts as a Diggory and bring those objects back to me. You will be fully awarded for the act,” he paused, “and gain your place by my side.”
She heavily breathed when she heard that. After all those years, her father was offering her a chance to make him proud, to honor her last name, to have a family.
“What are these objects?”
“You’ll must bring me the cup of Helga Hufflepuff, the diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw, the locket of Salazar Slytherin and the sword of Godric Gryffindor. All of them make the Relics of Hogwarts.”
“Now,” he continued, “you will leave to the Diggorys tomorrow morning. I will be back to tell you when you will attend Hogwarts.” He paused. “I’m afraid I must leave you now, dear girl.”
“Father?” She needed to ask.
“Yes?”
“Who is my mother?” she asked away. She figured that now that he needed her, he couldn’t hurt her for asking.
The seconds that lasted the silence lingered in her like a death sentence.
“Your mother ran away as she had the chance. I would be tarnishing your name by speaking of her.”
She knew that wasn’t the truth; she sensed it in his voice.
“Did you love her?”
He breathed heavily; he was getting tired of this conversation. He swiftly approached her once again.
“Love does not exist. Don’t let them bewitch your mind.”
And just like that, he vanished through dark smoke.
ྀ࿔
“Hogwarts. What a pathetic excuse for a school,” Draco snapped. “I’d pitch myself off the Astronomy Tower if I had to continue for another two years.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pansy Parkinson, close friend of Draco, replied.
“Let’s just say, I don’t think you’ll see me wasting my time in Charms class next year.”
Draco, Pansy and Blaise were sitting down in a wagon of the Hogwarts Express. Draco knew it was his last time returning to Hogwarts. He also knew his biggest stress this year was not going to be about returning good grades home or beating Potter in the Quidditch finals. The Dark Lord had commended him a very important mission, and now that his father was facing sentence in Azkaban, he had to bear with the responsibility of the family’s loyalty towards the Dark plan.
Blaise blurted out a small chuckle to Draco’s words.
“Amused, Blaise?” the blonde boy replied. “We’ll see just who’s laughing in the end.”
Draco heard a noise coming from the rack above their seats and saw his bag having slightly been moved. Someone was eavesdropping on the conversation through an invisibility spell, and he bet on bloody Potter. He didn’t talk much after knowing the conversation was not confidential. In what twisted pathetic adventure was Potter trying to be the hero on this time? His blood was boiling by just having to pretend not knowing he was there. That tosser that everyone always praised – he wouldn’t last two days in his position. After all, life was not about heroic acts, corny speeches, and lucky fate – some people had been given a family name to respect, an expectation to be met. He thought, once again, about the mission that had been commended to him by the Dark Lord; how his wand would have to end the life of the greatest wizard alive; how he would go onto History as the man who assassinated Albus Dumbledore. He realized his hands were sweaty and his heartbeat higher than normal. He tried to keep his composure in front of everyone in the wagon and fixed his gaze on the rich green Scottish fields – clouds welcoming him to a thunderstorm.
ྀ࿔
“Ah! Y/N Diggory! Come in, come in…” Dumbledore greeted the girl in his office.
“Thank you,” she replied, following Snape. She didn’t take too much time to have a look at the curious, but glamorous place.
“Do you fancy my office? I must admit I am really fond of collecting peculiar objects,” he approached a table where all sorts of outlandish things were scattered. She noticed the blackness of his hand when he grabbed one of the objects, “I don’t always know what they do but I find them really unique as room decoration, don’t you think?”
“I’m sure being the headmaster has its advantages when it comes to decorating.”
“Oh, being the headmaster has plenty of advantages, Miss. Diggory,” he replied in a whispery tone.
“Now, you, as a new Hogwarts student, have also a lot of advantages;” he continued, “First of all, you are skipping from year one to year six, so you won’t have to bear first years’ Potions on how to make a cure for boils or first year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts on how to cast an Expelliermus.”
You simply nodded.
“Then, Professor Snape has told me that you’ve already passed through the Sorting Hat and you have been assigned to Slytherin, is that correct, Severus?”
“It is.”
It was not correct. She hadn’t gone through any house assignation, but she understood that Dumbledore didn’t know about it, and that Snape had probably settled her in Slytherin for a reason – therefore, she didn’t question it.
“Wonderful. An ambitious, clever girl, I see”.
She smirked at him. She bet he was not by any means a Slytherin himself.
“Lastly, I assume you have all this year’s textbooks, ingredients, plants, constellation maps, perhaps? Oh! I assume you have a pet by now! And a wand…”
She looked at Snape, knowing that she hadn’t bought any of those things herself. Except for the wand that she got at Ollivanders when she was eleven, after Druella had told her she would get a private tutor to teach her magic.
“She has,” Snape simply replied, without giving her any look back.
“Then everything seems to be settled. How are you feeling, Miss. Diggory?” Dumbledore deeply stared at her. This time, she felt like he really wanted to know the answer.
“Really honored to join the school, Sir.”
“My door is always open for any visits. Never underestimate the magic of being listened, Miss. Diggory.”
She nodded and followed Snape downstairs, thinking she was probably never going to step into that office again.
Snape and Y/N arrived at the dungeons of the school, where the Slytherin dormitories could be found. Snape turned around to talk to Y/N.
“All of your things are in your dorm, number 3, all the schedule and times are also in your dorm, the password to the common room is pure-blood… don’t want you sneaking after ten p.m. or you could get… into trouble.” His intimidating black eyes were on hers. He turned around with a swing of his cape.
“Oh,” He turned towards her again, “supper starts at six.”
She was alone in the castle for the first time. She uttered the password on a low voice and a bare stretch of stone wall opened, leading her to a corridor. Once she walked through it, only lightened by torches hang up on the stone walls, she arrived at the common room. It was a high ceiling, ample room; dark green shades flickering from the multiple windows. Low backed black and dark green button-tufted, leather sofas were placed all around the room; skulls on top of tables; and dark wood cupboards. Tapestries of numerous medieval figures decorated the walls. Y/N noticed the highlighted portrait of an old man that she recognized to be Salazar Slytherin, founder of the Slytherin house and one of the four founders of Hogwarts. She knew this because she was a distant relative of his, through her father of course. She noticed she was alone and headed directly to her dorm.
Her dorm was a five-bed room with one bathroom. She recognized her bag next to one of the beds. On the side table, she found a pile of textbooks; she started leafing through some of the books: Advanced Potion-Making, A Guide To Advanced Transfiguration, Flesh-Eating Trees Of The World… Her eyes wondered to the parchment at the right where her schedule and attending courses were shown. She started to read through the different school norms and times when she felt something brushing her leg. She startled at the contact when she saw a small black kitten going under her bed. She kneeled and grabbed it, putting it on the bed. The kitten had big emerald eyes that were looking into hers, as if it had some sort of human spirit inside.
“You must be my pet, huh?” She grabbed it again and looked to confirm the sex. “A Miss… Should give you a name, shouldn’t I?” She laid down on her bed caressing the kitten on her chest, thinking of a name for her. She realized that it was the first time she let herself sink down and relax since her arrival. A lot of thoughts were constantly crossing her mind telling her to focus on everything, to plan everything, to think about everything – it was exhausting. Exhausting… she came up with something.
“Your name is Exhonia. What do you think?” she asked the kitten as if she was going to reply. The kitten was scratching her jumper.
“Okay Exhonia, don’t get too ahead on yourself.” She grabbed the rather turbulent cat and placed it next to her on the bed.
The only time she had ever dealt with a cat was a the Diggory’s house, near Ottery St Catchpole. Cedric’s pet had been a brown and white cat, a rather upset one she might add, especially when Cedric was not around anymore. She had gone to the Diggory’s a month after the boy’s death when Father had asked her to.
“What can I do for you, dear?” a middle-aged man, short and plump opened the door of the cottage.
“My name is Y/N, Sir – is this the Diggory’s house?”
“Yes, yes… what is it that you want?” he wouldn’t entirely open the front door, as if he didn’t trust the world outside.
“I came to talk to you. I was really close to Cedric.”
The man seemed to freeze.
“And I was hoping to come and meet you since you would’ve been my father-in-law”.
And that is how she managed to spend a year living under the roof of the Diggorys. Amos Diggory fully believed her when she told him the story of how she was supposed to marry Cedric once he would end the Triwizard Tournament; how they had wanted to wait until the end of it to tell his parents. She told him, through a little bit of sobbing, how her parents had dropped dead on a car accident, being herself a muggle-born, and that the only family she had left was the Diggorys – even if she had never met them before. Amos and his wife found in her a beam of light; the spirit of Cedric in a beautiful fifteen-year-old girl. They never questioned the story, nor her intentions and adopted her as a Diggory that had always belonged in the family. It was not until one year later that Y/N shared with them her dream of attending Hogwarts, as Father had contacted her back and told her it was time she fulfilled her mission. They accepted with little objection, happy that they could spoil a girl as they once did to Cedric. Y/N, as a sign of gratitude, asked them if she could inherit their last name, to which they happily agreed. She became Y/N Diggory, niece of Mr. and Mrs. Diggory, as she told them it would be more appropriate taking into consideration that no one knew about her planned marriage with Cedric. Even if Y/N didn’t really want to get mingled in the Diggorys life, she knew they were living in delusion, desperately looking to fill the void of their son’s death – which Y/N, in a way, managed to do. They were in need of a miracle, she offered them the fairiest of fairy tales… who cared if it was all a script of lies at the end of the day?
Her thoughts came back to the present moment when she heard a bell chiming the hour. Six, so she counted. She decided to go down for supper, still curious that no students had yet come to the common room.
She walked up the stairs and dived through the hallways, meeting no one on the way. When she started to hear some familiar voice she recognized as to Dumbledore’s, she followed it, understanding she was somehow late to some sort of first day speech. But in the middle of her wanderings, an old-wrinkled man with a cat yelled at her.
“And what do you think you’re doing lurking in the hallways?” He firmly grabbed her by the arm.
“I was looking for the Great H- let go of me!” she replied, trying to get rid of his grip.
“The headmaster will hear about your wanderings, young lady!” He dragged her towards the doors of the Great Hall. Both doors slammed open when he pushed them with his bare hand. Dumbledore’s speech was immediately interrupted. Hundreds of eyes turned towards the old man’ and Y/N’s direction.
“Headmaster, sorry to provoke such an entrance but I found this girl wandering around the castle, missing the opening ceremony” he gave her away to everyone in the room. He pushed her forward so everyone could see who he was screaming about.
She stood at the beginning of the corridor between the students’ tables. She looked ahead, Dumbledore standing up in a podium, several professors sitting down behind him and, of course, a few inches away from her, long tables filled with students of different ages, different houses, staring at her like she was the most bizarre specimen. She decided to say something.
“Sir, I-“
“There’s no need, Miss. Diggory,” after her last name had been dropped, all students started to look at each other, mumbles starting to form, “you can join your table with the other Slytherin students.”
She didn’t reply, hearing how the room had become a cloud of voices at this point.
“Thank you Argus for the help. But, Miss. Diggory was just lost, being this her first day at Hogwarts.” The voices intensified. “Now, while it is always very joyful to welcome new students, I must ask you to stop the chatter.” Students seemed to listen to him, and seconds later there was little to no sound.
Y/N sat down on the first free seat at the Slytherin table, still feeling like half of the students’ gazes were settled on her. Once Dumbledore had proceeded with his speech, she discretely took a look on the people that surrounded her. Four large tables divided the Great Hall, one for each house. Her gaze wondered through the Gryffindor table, looking for a certain scared-boy. She of course knew about the prophecy, as well as she knew the history between him and her father. She had thought about eventually meeting Harry Potter but never really figured how she would react to his presence. Should she hate him, pity him, fear him? The boy was her age – which didn’t leave a lot of room for fear. But she was still curious to see how they would react to one another, even if the boy was unaware of who her father was, as well as everyone. She guessed she would eventually meet the chosen one during class.
Her eyes turned back to Dumbledore, who was finishing talking, when someone pulled their arm towards her.
“They are calling you from there,” a dark-haired boy told her, while pointing to the other side of the long table.
She switched her focus to look for the person who was calling her. A blonde boy tilted his head down to meet her gaze. He playfully tilted his eyebrows while a smirk made its way to his face. She smiled at him while slowly shaking her head. It was no other than the heir of the Malfoys himself. He stared deep into her eyes a little longer, then shifted his gaze back to some Professor that had started talking. She looked at him a little longer, letting herself feel for no more than five seconds the accelerated heartbeat that she was still unfamiliar with. She eventually switched her gaze back to the Professor too. The Slytherin heir was back at Hogwarts, and this time, she had the Prince of Slytherin by her side.
part two
#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy x y/n#draco malfoy x y/n riddle#draco malfoy fanfiction#draco malfoy smut#draco malfoy fluff#harry potter imagine#harry potter fanfiction#hogwarts imagine#hogwarts fanfiction#slytherin fanfiction#slytherin imagine
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SXF Novelization Fave Parts and some Analysis because I love Analyzing (Overthinking) Mission 1
I finally got my Spy x Family Family Portrait Novel and immediately finished reading it in one day, so without further ado, here are my fave parts, lines, dialogues from the first mission which is centered around Anya and Damian and this chapter just gives me diabetes 😭 (I've been shipping Damianya, yes but all this time it was like an innocent ship and it's not like making me feel butterflies since of course they're just children, but here in the novel, I actually got butterflies in my stomach, they're just so cute and precious here ❤️)
MISSION 1- THE EDEN ACADEMY NATURE CAMPING
-Yor thinking she needs to teach Anya a lot of survival things about camping because she's worried if she can handle the woods (Yor is such a great mom, worrying for Anya's safety always and I think this just shows her experience regarding the wilderness revealing that her hometown might've been near the woods and she did experiencing hunting for food when she was young)
-Loid hoping that the trip could bring Anya and Damian closer (Be careful what you wish you for Loid 😂)
"Wonderful! That's my girl. You can do it, Anya," Loid said.
I just love it when Loid calls Anya his girl, for she will always and forever be his little girl.
-Loid and Yor sort of having a gentle argument on who should get Bond's milk 😂
Loid: I'll get you some milk Bond
Yor: No, let me do that for you.
Loid: No, I can do it, just sit there and relax
Yor: You're the one who should relax
They ended up getting the milk together. These two idiots. 😭❤️
They remind of that, you hang up first, no you hang up first couple exchanges when they're on the phone. These two are so good in this married couple thing without even trying.
And then stabbed me in angst in the next paragraph.
Ever since escaping from the facility, Anya had bounce between orphanages and foster homes. But now she'd finally found someplace worth treasuring, and if she could bring about world peace, then they'd all be able to keep happily living here together.
She clearly doesn't know about Twilight's plan to leave them after achieving his mission. I wonder how she would react to that. I've written a fanfic about it so if you can check it out if you're interested😊. Sorry for the shameless fic plug.
But I hope that after the success of Strix, Loid would stay with them. Could he really leave them? Can he really do that? He can't even let Anya go during the first week they've been together and he has the choice to just ditch her, choose another child and it was the practical and safe thing for a spy for him to do when Edgar knew about his location. But he saved her and took her in despite his reservations about endangering her and all. Now could he let this little girl go after all this time?
-Anya reading Damian's mind and seeing his thoughts about him drowning when he, Emile and Ewen went camping with Mr. Green, made fun of him and even acted out his lines when he thought that he was really drowning in that shallow lake (She loves trolling Damian that she forgot that doing that could give her off as a telepath😂)
"Lovey-dovey couples are nice, but there's something extra special about bickering, will-they-won't-they romances."
I gotta agree with Becky on this one. Bickering makes any romance stories a thousand times more investing and entertaining to read. That's why academic rivals to lovers is an s-tier trope for me.
-Becky partnering Anya with Damian to fetch some water. Becky is also a fan of forced proximity trope, I see.
-Anya's telepathy elicited a sensation on Damian and it said that it wasn't the first time. I really bet that Damian would be the first to know about Anya's mind ability.
-Anya being confused about her left and right hand 😂 (I mean kids her age really do get confused about that, I don't blame her)
-Damian being gentle in his way of speaking whenever he sees Anya distressed or in tears. I'll never get tired of Damian being soft to Anya, he's really a sweet kid.
"Hey, keep it together!" commanded Damian as Anya started to sob again. He grabbed her arm and squeezed it tightly, pulling her close to speak in her ear (because the rain is loud). "I saw a small cave a ways back. Let's head there."
I don't know why but this scene, because of the way it was written, gave me butterflies.
-Anya calling for her Papa to save her when she was so scared. Loid said that Yor was the one that makes Anya feels safe, but she wasn't the only one whom Anya considers to be her safe place. He was also his baby's safe place and she trusts that Papa will always be there to save her.
-My favorite moment: Damian holding her hand and comforting her so she won't be scared, even though he, himself, is terrified too. Ugh, if that wasn't love, I don't what is. And when Anya gripped his hand back to comfort him too, he stopped shaking and Anya thought that his hand was warm. Awww, so preciouss❤️😭
-Anya letting herself to get the blame and willing to be punished but Damian not letting Anya to get the blame for them being lost in the forest. These two are like mini Yor and Loid haha, just young, energetic and extroverted versions of the two 🤣
-Anya being ashamed to face her Papa, because she thought her Operation to get close to Damian failed (since after that incident Damian went back to his mean self again but of course she didn't know Damian's crush on her just get massively deeper after that) but Loid wasn't even worried about that at all, nor did her ask her about Damian when she came home. When he had noticed she was sad, he immediately asked if she didn't have fun at their camping event. And when Anya said that she did, he smiled and said that he was glad that she did, because it's his daughter's happiness that's important to him (Because if she's happy then it would be good for my mission, I can imagine Loid telling this to himself when he just genuinely wanted her to be happy and enjoy her time at school since he never had the chance to do that as a kid)
-Yor and Loid preparing food together for Anya's return. Loid telling Anya that the food was safe to consume when she saw her face that is prepared to face death because he helped Yor to prepare. It was peak father-daughter moment 😂 But he let Yor cooked her specialty dish Southern Stew all by herself since she's the one who can make it the best ❤️
I wonder if Anya told him about her and Damian getting lost in the forest and Damian held her hand to comfort her. I wanna see Loid's reaction to that 😂
So that's it for Mission 1. Up next would be the chapter that got me laughing the most, Mission 2, Yuri babysitting Anya
#spy x family#spy x family manga#loid forger#spy x family anime#twilight#sxf anime#sxf manga#yor forger#anya forger#twiyor#sxf novel#sxf family portrait#sxf novel mission 1#sxf analysis#forger family#spy family#damianya#damian desmond#becky blackbell
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to you, my lover.
in which, shinonome akito surprises his favourite writer.
contents. shinonome akito x gn!reader, just fluff really, <- might've ruined it with an attempt of crack, unproofread and messy bc i can't think properly anymore
a/n. this was supposed to be my birthday fic, i didn't finish it in time and was considering deleting but nah not today
You're tired. Really tired.
It's not a complaint, being permitted to stay out late to celebrate your birthday, now returning on a long yet peaceful and empty train ride. With the occasional rattling, it was silent, with the exception of your tired breathing and the rustle of your clothes every time you shuffled around a bit.
And your boyfriend.
Arms crossed and back leaned against his seat, his eyes remain shut, resting a bit after such a long day. Fatigue pays a visit to you as well, a yawn claws out of your throat, earning an immediate reaction from Akito.
Arm snaking behind your head, he pulls you in by the shoulder, making sure you rest comfortably against his. You snuggle against him, the scent of his cologne makes you crave more of him and his touch. The jacket that was once resting on his lap is thrown over you, and carefully he adjusts it, without moving his shoulder.
"Tired?"
You nod, resting your eyes a bit.
"If you're able to stay awake, I want to give you my gift."
"Excuse me?" As if you weren't ever exhausted in the first place you sit up, staring at him with confusion. "Akito, you bought me pretty much every book on my 'to be read'. Not to mention the promise rings too." Your glance at the silver wrapping around your finger, amber and saffron imbedded into it. "I told you so many times I didn't need anything, let alone something that would've costed so much."
Akito shrugs casually. "There's no such thing as 'too much' when it comes to you."
"And there's a thing called being financially irresponsible..."
"I'm managing my money carefully, I swear." He pledges with breathless laughter. "I assure you it wasn't expensive, I promise. I'm going to give you the world when I go professional, anyways." He fishes for something out of his bag, something small and wrapped with colourful paper.
"This feels like a book." You comment instantly, it's easy to identify when you've received so many for your birthday.
Akito shrugs again in response. "Check it, then."
You oblige to his words, unwrapping the package in a manner that didn't make a mess on the train. Your guess was correct, it is a book. Only this time with an unrecognisable title and author— it didn't have either. It was white, with nothing else.
"Who's the author?"
Another shrug, and you decide not to bother asking anymore questions. You turn to the first page.
Table of contents. This time you recognise the titles.
Because they belong to none other than you.
"You printed it out all of this?" You've re-read your writing constantly, whether it be proof-reading or trying to figure out how to elevate your prose. But when it's in your hands in the form of a book instead of the words you type up on your laptop, it feels surreal, maybe even a bit wrong. It's everything you've sent and shown him, whether it be fan fiction, attempts at poetry, extracts of screenplays, or snippets from future novels you plan on publishing.
"'Course I did. You love books, I love you and your writing." Akito says it all the time, always being the first person to read your works, sending a plethora of text messages about his thoughts on them.
You inspect the contents of the book, and as he said it's all your work. But, pale highlighter adorns the pages, black ink decorating in between lines, hearts and even more words committed to paper.
The imagery here is gorgeous here. I love these words especially ->
Although I can't and don't, I feel like I can relate to this character, the way you express their internal thoughts and actions makes me feel like I've become them
Why is he so adorable?? The dialogue is so sweetly comforting.
I think this one's my favourite. It was super cute. Short and simple but enough to make me smile all day.
You turn to another story, this one with a darker premise.
SHE DESERVES BETTER !!
This hurts so much ╥﹏╥ Internal monologue is a 11/10 (as always)
Uh oh...
PLEASE HAVE MERCY
SCREW YOU SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE A HAPPY ENDING
This one's my new favourite. Thanks for making me cry
(my tear stains) Small arrows point towards (formerly) wet patches on the page, the evidence left there shocks you.
"You actually cried? And annotated your tears?" Not once, but multiple times, on each work that connoted anything sad.
"Love, your writing, just like you, makes me feel a lot. It's not often I cry, you know." He leans in to kiss you on the cheek. "Hope my annotations did it some justice."
Each comment makes you smile irresistibly, whether it was a serious paragraph breaking down and analysing specific moments or 'someone cooked here.' being scrawled. No details were missed by him, ones that you assumed were too subtle and therefore unnecessary because no one in your comments noticed them.
"You noticed all of this? None of my friends or readers did."
"Of course I did. I've read everything over and over again and love you too much to miss any of those details."
"And every note at the end is synonymous for 'new favourite'." It's not a complaint, it's quite adorable really, watching him struggle to make up his mind. "You even compiled your favourite quotes at the end? You think my stuff is quoteworthy?"
"How could I not? Heck, I don't think an anthology is enough. I need it tattooed somewhere on me." A gasp severs his words. "I know exactly what I'm going to do on my eighteenth birthday."
"Don't. Think about it." But the prospect of him loving your prose enough to permanently etch it into your skin makes you smile. "But seriously. This is beautiful, thank you." You're not sure why it feels so different, despite Akito always texting you these sorts of comments. Perhaps it was it's physical manifestation that had evoked so much emotion.
"I remember, when I first opened up to you."
And so do you. It was certainly awkward, with a plentiful amount of tears and uncertainty. But in the end you found yourself comprehending Akito and his character more, which was worth any sort of unpleasantries.
"You ended up analysing every song I covered or wrote. And you still do. I kept those notebooks with me, and read them whenever I felt worried. It's you. You're the reason why I can listen to recordings of myself without wanting to hide. Took me a while, but without you I wouldn't've achieved it."
You peer up at him, as he gazes at the train's roof, reminiscing those memories. You had contemplated for so long, wondering whether that act would've truly done anything, whilst worrying about embarrassing yourself. Now, being able to admire the peaceful expression he wore, you can easily say you have no regrets.
"I wanted to do the same for you. I didn't like how you weren't able to see the perfection your writing held." Akito's hand reaches for yours. "I know what it's like. To hate your own art because of what other people say and growing fearful of another's opinion, or how subjectivity doesn't seem to be in your favor. It's suffocating, that's why you mean the whole world to me for freeing me of that insecurity." He bites his lip, a method he relies on to quell any strong emotion.
He's spot on. The words of others are equally as capable of hurting as they are uplifting. It's common advice to not heed any mind to others, but when it comes to writing it always felt necessary to you. No matter how well you wrote to satisfy yourself, it didn't mean anything if no one else liked it; it meant no sales, meaning no money, which only meant that writing was an invalid career for the future unless it pleased others.
Even if it weren't a professional pursuit, it doesn't feel like something one can establish its value, at least, not without the validation of others.
"You were the lens I needed to see the beauty in myself. And I want to be the one you need."
You smile, planting a kiss on his lips. "Think you already are."
Akito sighs with a grin, "Then, I can die happy now."
A playful, gentle, slap hits his shoulder. "Quit being so overdramatic."
"What? Would've been a waste if the best author in the entirety of human history didn't get to see how amazing them and their writing were."
"Now you're just hyperbolising everything."
He pokes you in the cheek. "I see you smiling."
"Because of how ridiculous you are." You thank the train for being empty tonight, otherwise you wouldn't have the freedom of quarreling. "You're an idiot. Sometimes."
"And I still think having one of your quotes tattooed onto me would be a good idea."
Akito's persistent, even when it came to things that appeared to be mere jokes. "That's so random—? No you're not getting any of my writing tattooed onto you."
"Fine, but left pec or right pec?"
"Oh my god." Though you scold him, the rest dissolves into breathless laughter, as he pulls you in for a hug.
He scatters kisses all over your face, as you savour the warmth of his body. "Happy birthday, love."
taglist (send ask to be added) : @yuzurins, @pokkomi, @chigirizzz
© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate
#bye my writing game has been so off recently ngl#(at least on tumblr :>)#shinonome akito#pjsekai#shinonome akito x reader#pjsk#prsk#pjsk x reader#akito shinonome#proseka#vbs#prosekai x reader#fluff#colorful stage#akito shinonome x reader
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Tickletober Day 2: Accidental
A/N: HELLO TUMBLR TK COMMUNITY!! This is my first fic I'm posting on here, with tickletober giving me the motivation I needed to do so!! I've always been lurking in the community ever since I joined it, but I finally thought that it was time to put myself out there! I'm currently OBSESSED with ATSV, so I did a thing with Hobie and Miles bc I love how they interact in the movie! Anyways, I won't bore you with a super long authors note that most people probably won't read, so I hope you enjoy the fic!
Tw: swearing, mention of blood/bleeding out, tickles
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Hobie slumped onto the couch of his living room, clutching his waist in pain. He had been sent out on a mission, and had got beaten up.. pretty badly to say the least. Despite the insistence that he was fine and 'I've survived worse, I'll be alright', it didn't stop Miles Morales from checking in on him to examine and.. try to heal his wounds.
"Mate.. I'm fine, really." Hobie said, wincing as Miles examined the wound.
"Hobie, you're literally bleeding out." Miles replied, a hint of sass in his voice. Hobie just shrugged, surprising Miles with how nonchalant he was, but he did inhale sharply between his teeth as Miles wrapped up the wound in gauze. Hobie let out a shaky sigh, turning his head away from Miles. Hobie didn't like it when his friends took care of him like this, feeling like he could take care of himself due to being the oldest in the group. He felt it was childish of him to ask his younger friends for help, when he knew that they had to deal with the same, if not worse, pain.
Hobie's body flashed a few colours, the colour around his waist being relatively normal so Miles could see and tend to the wound better. The rest of his body was a muted gray, small bits of a blood red colour appearing on his body like paint splatters whenever Hobie would wince from the pain, the colours eventually fizzling back out into the gray. To anyone who didn't know Hobie, it was an oddly pretty spectacle (despite it being at Hobie's expense), but to those closest to him, it was relatively normal, so it didn't distract Miles from the task at hand; which was making sure Hobie didn't bleed out and die.
After the bulk of the treatment was finished, Hobie melted into his couch, feeling a bit more relaxed after the more painful part of the process was dealt with. Now, Miles was just examining his torso, making sure there were no other major wounds. The feeling was relatively calming, feeling like a sort of massage. Miles' fingers were quick to examine Hobie's torso, now examining his ribs to see if any of the bones had cracked. What Miles didn't expect was the sharp intake of breath that came from the punk, the spot that Miles touched flashing to a more neon shade of yellow for a brief moment before returning back to normal.
"O-oh, sorry- did I hurt you..?" Miles asked, a bit of shame in his tone. Miles looked at Hobie with a worried expression, afraid he might've caused more damage.
The usually cool and collected Hobie stammered for a moment before shaking his head, making up an excuse from the top of his head. "Nah, you're fine mate. Just wasn't really expecting it 's all." Hobie replied, that yellow colour on his ribs returning as if it was disagreeing with what Hobie said.
Miles noticed the flash of yellow, not exactly knowing what it meant. He knew that if Hobie's body was blue, it meant he was sad, pink meant platonic love (his body would be a brighter red if he was around someone he loved romantically), and many, many other different colours and meanings that Miles had memorized due to knowing Hobie for a good while. This yellow was new, something that Miles had never seen before. Miles thought he might've been reading to much into this, so he just gave Hobie a small hum in response and continued his examination.
Hobie's body stiffened slightly as Miles went back to examining his ribs, feeling an unbearably ticklish feeling every single time Miles' fingers would lightly press against the bones, checking for any painful reaction. The yellow colour only being on Hobie's ribs definitely eluded to.. something, Miles wasn't sure, but the colour made Miles somewhat worried. Miles withdrew his hands, a small frown on his face as he looked at his friend with concern.
"Hobie, if it hurts you need to tell me. I don't wanna make it worse." Miles fretted, his tone being concerned and a bit scared for his friend. Hobie felt a little bad that his stifled ticklish reactions made Miles worried, but.. it was still extremely embarrassing to him, so Hobie shook his head, dismissing Miles' worries.
"I'm fine. Don't worry 'bout it. You worry to much bruv." Hobie chuckled, his teeth clicking against his tongue piercing out of slight nervousness. Miles raised an eyebrow, inching his hand closer to Hobie's ribs, but not touching them just yet. Hobie's reaction immediately became apparent, the punk flinching away from Miles' hand, and the yellow colour on his body spreading slightly. Miles was confused. If it didn't hurt, what was the issue? Miles thought of himself in Hobie's situation for a moment, being injured and having a friend of his checking for injuries. He thought of somebody's hand pressing against his ribs, slightly pressing against the bone to see if they were hurt. Miles' eyes immediately widened at the realization, a small smirk appearing on his face.
"Oi, what're you bein' all smug about?" Hobie questioned, his body stiffening slightly as he pointed an accusing finger at Miles. Hobie figured that Miles had found out why he was reacting in the way that he did, and as a result of this, a small bit of red crept up onto his face, and the yellow along his ribs spread and became a bit brighter.
Miles couldn't stop himself from giggling, finding the situation incredibly amusing. "Oh, it's nothing.." Miles quickly darted a hand to Hobie's ribs before pulling it away just as fast, grinning as Hobie's body jumped away from it and an essence of a screech escaped his lips.
"Y-you wouldn't do.. that to me! I'm injured man, you'll kill me!" Hobie argued, narrowing his eyes as he found it a bit harder to keep his cool.
"Relax! I'll be gentle!" Miles said, his giggles getting louder as his hand made contact with Hobie's torso. Miles smirked at the way Hobie's body tensed up, and the slightest hint of a squeak made it's way past Hobie's closed lips. Miles slowly, and I mean slowly dragged his fingers along Hobie's ribs, the punk inhaling sharply as a result.
"Miles! Fuck- stop that!" Hobie yelped, the tiniest giggle slipping through his gritted teeth. Hobie's pleas were only met with a huge grin from Miles, who immediately capitalized off of that small giggle by pressing his fingers against Hobie's ribs and vibrating his fingers rapidly. In Miles' eyes, this was gentle, as he knew Hobie had a hell of a lot of resistance when it came to touch. Wether it be pain, or in this case, tickles.
"MAHAHAHAILES-! STAHAHAHAHAHAP- NAHAHAHAHAHAHA FAHAHAHAHACK-!" Hobie screeched, his attempt to squeal out a plea immediately replaced with more bouts of loud laughter when Miles decided it would be a good idea to use a small amount of his venom power to shock Hobie, the unbearably ticklish feeling traveling across Hobie's entire torso. Miles giggled and let up, allowing Hobie to actually breath. Miles snuck an extra pinch to his ribs, grinning at the small yelp that came out of the punk.
"Alright, I'm done. Don't want you getting hurt.. more than you already are.. you good?" Miles asked, Hobie responding with a shaky thumbs up. "Y-yeah.. 'm fine mate.. holy shihihit." Hobie chuckled, the tingly feeling from the venom still present. Throughout the entire ordeal, Hobie's body changed colour completely, going from gray with those hints of yellow (which Miles was now suspecting ment Hobie was embarrassed about something), to a full blown pink, with occasional flashes of the familiar yellow colour here and there.
Miles chuckled and stood up, going to the kitchen to get Hobie some water. Miles quickly returned, offering the water to Hobie, who drank it so fast you'd be convinced there was nothing in the cup in the first place.
"Thanks Miles.. you know, for tendin' to my injuries and whatever. 'S nice of you." Hobie said, sighing as he let out one final giggle. Miles smiled, loving the fact that he left a positive impact on Hobie's well-being. "Well, I feel like it's kind of.. in my nature to care about the people I love, so you're welcome." Miles replied, his smile growing a bit wider.
"Hey, you wanna watch a movie?" Miles suddenly asked, looking at Hobie.
"Sure, what're you thinkin' of?"
And so Hobie and Miles lazily draped their bodies over Hobie's semi-comfortable couch, watching a movie on some probably illegal website. Hobie couldn't shake the small smile that was on his face, the knowing that Miles, and all of his friends for that matter, would be there for him making him feel all warm inside. Miles caught a quick glimpse of Hobie, seeing that the pink colour on Hobie's body got a bit brighter.
And personally, Miles wouldn't have it any other way.
#atsv tickle#atsv tickling#sfw tickle fic#sfw tickle community#tickletober 2023#lee!hobie#ler!miles#tickle fluff#across the spiderverse tickle#across the spiderverse tickles#love them they're so hakdjsozhsks
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INTERLUDE | are we still friends?
'it's nice to have a friend' fic masterlist + playlist | previous chapter
PAIRING: jamie tartt x fem!reader
WORD COUNT: 3.2k
SUMMARY: after months of ghosting, reader finally gets to talk to jamie again at the end of her second year.
WARNINGS: language
A/N: so we're going back in time to when reader's in uni and early in jamie's man city career :) hope u all enjoy! (also i know frats aren't a thing in the uk but i didn't find that out till after i published the prologue rip) i'd also suggest listening to 'are we still friends?' by tyler the creator for this chapter too just for the vibes — also!! thank you so much for 200 followers it's insane so many of you enjoy my fics :))
Age 19
"And that's it for this semester! Congrats everyone!" Your professor greets the room as the last person finishes their presentation. The room cheers, — albeit weakly given that most of the students there were coming down from their finals week caffeine addiction, — and everyone soon starts filing out.
You pass by your professor on the way out with Liv and hand her the trinket that the two of you planned on giving out to all of the professors you've had this semester. Some out of gratitude, some to make them feel guilty for the low marks they've given. This certain professor, a lady in her mid-40s who has been in the STEM area of research for years, had designated the two of you her favorites.
"Thank you so much, ladies. It was such a pleasure having the two of you in my class." You both give her a warm smile before heading into the hall.
When you make it outside of the building, Liv lets out a cathartic scream of relief. "It's finally done!" You laugh at your friend's reaction. You were glad too, but not enough to yell in public.
As you headed back to your student hall, you pulled out your phone. It had become routine to message Jamie every time you were heading back to Manchester, which you were the next week when your parents picked you up.
Hey Jamie! How've you been? How's Man City? Saw the match with Cardiff, you did great.
You press send before adding on, If you're still here, maybe you want to meet up before you go back? I'm heading back to Manchester next week too if you want to meet up then instead.
You send that too and type out I miss you, but after glancing at the rest of your unread messages, you delete it and sigh in defeat.
You don't even know why you're still trying. You haven't spoken to Jamie in months. No, it's almost been a year. The last time you did was when you went home for the summer holiday after your first year of uni, but even then, Jamie seemed distant and cold. He left the lunch early too after he got a call from his manager, much to your dismay. Even before that, his messages to you were getting less and less frequent till he finally stopped replying a few months into your second year.
Maybe it stung more knowing it was around the time you left that you realized how really felt about him. It wasn't just platonic love anymore; you might've actually been in love with your best friend then. But those feelings have since disappeared, at the same rate that Jamie disappeared from your life.
So now you were in a pub, supposedly celebrating the end of your second year in uni, but you couldn't stop staring at your phone, waiting for a reply. You've been re-reading your message to him and staring at that delivered in the corner until you finally broke out of the trance thanks to one of your friends calling out to you.
"Oi! You're not even tipsy. Are you playing or not?" Tina asks and you shut your phone before shifting your focus to the conversation. Right, you're playing Never Have I Ever.
"Shit, sorry," you apologize before lifting your hand. "I am now. What's the last one?"
"It was never have I ever slept with a footballer," Liv explains quickly, but the entire group had this knowing look on their faces that told you everything they thought of you.
Maybe it was fueled by the anger directed at said footballer or the fact that you knew they all thought you were a prude for not having hooked up with anyone the whole time in uni, — as far as they knew, — but you give them a knowing look that caused everyone's expressions to shift.
"No fucking way, you have?" Sam asks and you take a shot as confirmation.
"Technically yes," you explain but decide to hide which player it was. Because if they knew it was one of the up-and-comings of the Premier League, you'd never hear the end of it. Plus, one of them was bound to snitch to a newspaper for sure. "Back when I was 17 and before I left for uni, I slept with someone who ended up getting scouted." You neglect to mention that someone was your best friend, who agreed to be your first time because you were sure you'd make a bad decision the moment you stepped foot in a uni.
If they knew where you were from, they would've figured it out instantly. But you didn't have a Mancunian accent and none of them had ever bothered to ask where you were from over these two years — except Liv, who was no longer paying attention to the whole game and just scrolling on her phone, — so you were basically in the clear.
They moved on from your grand revelation quickly and continued with the game. At the end of it, you were probably the most sober out of all of them, so you ordered a Cosmopolitan. Maybe alcohol led to bad decisions, but at least it kept you off your phone.
You continued to talk with your friends till Tina gasped. You all turn to her to ask what happened when she exclaims, pretty loudly, "Looks like all of us have a chance at checking 'hooking up with a footballer' off our lists tonight." She giggles before leaning back into her seat.
You join the rest of them to look at what Tina had just seen and realize that not one, but two teams' worth of players had just walked into the pub. From Cardiff City and... Man City.
You already feel your heartbeat quickening and your eyes instantly start looking for Jamie in the crowd. The thoughts of 'he has to be here,' and 'he can't be here,' battle it out in your head, but when your eyes finally land on your former best friend, you don't know if the butterflies in your stomach are a good thing or not.
"Well, fuck it." You hear one of the girls you're with say as she downs another shot and gets up from the table. Some of the others join her in the group, but you're still frozen from nerves. Best way to heat up? More cocktails.
You watch with the other girls from a distance as the braver ones take their chances with the footballers on the other side of the bar. But for most of it, you can't take your eyes off Jamie.
He looks really different, like bad different. He's loud and boisterous, but not in the way he was before. You watch how he talks to his teammates and you can almost see how his overconfidence masks the level of insecurity he has with much older players. Or maybe you're overthinking it. You haven't seen him in a while.
When your friends get back to the table along with some new drinks and stories, you try and listen intently. But you really couldn't stop looking behind them.
You don't think Jamie's felt your eyes on him, so you weren't worried he'd turn and see you staring. But if he did, you wondered how he'd react. Would he go wide-eyed and stare back or just look away as if he didn't just spot his best friend of a decade at a pub? You were about to find out.
After downing one of the drinks in front of you, — you weren't even sure if you were the one who ordered that one, to be honest — you excuse yourself from the table. When they saw where you were walking over to, they decided to start cheering. It did help your nerves, even though you were approaching them for different reasons.
"Jamie!" You get his attention and the moment his eyes land on yours, shock fills his face. You almost scoff at that. He goes to the place where you're studying and assumes that he wouldn't run into you?
You didn't even plan out what you were going to say, so instead you sarcastically greet, "Nice to see you here. In Cardiff. Where I go to uni."
Jamie doesn't say anything and just continues to stare at you. His cocky facade almost slips too, till one of the other Man City players rests his arms on Jamie's shoulders and he suddenly tenses. You've seen him before, probably in one of those tabloid articles, judging from his overall demeanor. He seemed like the type to get into those scandals.
"Ah fuck, I thought we got rid of you lot already. Don't you have enough drinks from your friends over there?" George, you finally remembered his name, states and you're taken aback. He must've seen you coming from that direction.
"No, I'm not here for that." You answer bluntly before turning back to Jamie, starting to get annoyed. "Are you seriously not going to say anything?"
The Jamie you knew would be the first to defend you, even if it was just over someone knocking into you in the halls or stealing your pens. But it wasn't that you were after, honestly. You just wanted him to say something, anything at all.
"You know her, Tartt?" George scoffs and looks at Jamie. When Jamie continues to stay silent and just looks down at his feet, he chuckles and nudges the younger footballer. "A past hook-up, huh? Judging by your reaction. No need to be embarrassed, Jamie," he glances back at you and tries to whisper, "She's quite fit. Well, by your standards."
You roll your eyes, the anger starting to bubble. Now, Jamie had to say something right? But seeing no reaction, you correct him yourself. "Look, I'm not one of his bitter exes. I'm his..." You actually don't how to end that sentence.
George takes advantage of your pause and by now, some of the footballers around them had turned their attention to the scene. "Look woman, I don't care who you are to him, but take. the. fucking. hint."
You still don't remove your eyes from him. "Jamie," you whisper, almost pleading at that point.
Jamie looks up and seeing the multiple eyes on him at the moment, he finally speaks up, "You want an autograph or something? We're trying to enjoy our night, so I'll sign a napkin for you and you can be on your way."
The coldness in his response causes you to stumble and you take a step back. What did he just say to you? You try and search his face for any sign of remorse or guilt. Something that says, 'Please don't hate me, I didn’t mean it.' Nothing.
The sounds of the other footballers laughing don’t help either; it only contributes to the rising feeling of heat and embarrassment in you. You can feel the tears starting to form. There's no reason for you to break down in front of all of them, so you answer quickly, "Right. No need. Sorry for disturbing your night."
You turn around quickly, but not without hearing George ask Jamie who you were. For a second, you almost thought he'd give him the truth.
"Dunno, probably some fan I met before." That breaks the dam and the first few tears drop to your cheeks. A crying girl isn't an irregular sight at a bar, but you really didn't feel like staying in the same place as Jamie anymore.
You approach the table to grab your things when you notice that most of your friends had already scattered across the pub. The only one left there was Liv, — who was the designated driver for tonight despite your university being a 5-minute walk away — who notices your tear-stained face and is quick to rush over to you. "What's wrong? What happened?"
You shake your head. "Don't worry. I just want to head back." Liv hadn't even known you for two years, but she knew that you weren't one to talk about your feelings. Instead, she nodded and offered to help you out of the pub, but you shook your head once again. You had a relatively high limit and partner it with what just happened with Jamie, you were practically sober. You grabbed your clutch and coat before rushing out of the place, furiously wiping the teams from your face.
Fuck Jamie Tartt. Fuck those Man City losers. Fuck everyone involved in turning your best friend into whoever that was. The boy you once knew was gone. Fully and completely gone. You had to accept that.
But even then, you thought you'd hear the door open behind you. You thought it would be Jamie. You thought he'd chase after you. You thought he'd pull you into a hug. You thought he'd apologize for what he did and for everything. You thought he'd cradle your face as he did so. You thought he'd plant a tender kiss on your lips as an apology too. You thought he'd re-enter your life as if nothing had changed.
But he did none of that.
And you went home alone.
—
"(Y/N)? It's Liv, again!" You hear from the other side of your door, but make no attempt to move from your position in your bed. It was just too comfortable, perfect for wallowing in when you've officially ended the longest friendship you've ever had. Liv continues, "I'm heading home soon, but I asked Donna if she could keep bringing food for you to your door till you head home."
You were touched by the gesture but knew you weren't going to touch any of those bags till late at night when the hall was completely deserted. Till then, you'd be sleeping. Your parents had delayed picking you up till the last day and you've never been more glad about that.
"See you next semester! Love you!" were Liv's parting words and once you heard her footsteps recede, you fell back to sleep.
In all honestly, you've lost track of time at that point. Yeah, it was pathetic sitting in your room as if you were mourning the death of a loved one, but it's not like anyone cared. Well, Liv did, which is why she started bringing you food when she realized you weren't leaving your room, but she was heading home to London. Your parents had no idea what happened and you intended to keep it that way. The rest of your friends were off with their own lives, not even giving you a second thought. Jamie sure as hell didn't care what happened to you. He made that clear.
So for the rest of your time left in the hall, you just stayed in your room. Like a hermit. Jamie would've found it funny, you thought once, till it caused you to burst into tears once again. The more you tried to forget Jamie, the more you thought of him, which was the worst loop you could be in.
He's even in your dreams. One of them felt so real because you were in your exact position in reality when your phone rang. You saw his name as the caller, but 'dream you' just pressed decline. Even deleted the missed call notification. Good for her.
Then, you wake up to a missed call and a text from your mom. On route to Cardiff! Can't wait to see you, sweetie.
Ah, fuck. Had that much time really passed? You jumped out of your bed and start fixing up. Technically, you had 3 and a half hours to do so, but counting showering, cleaning up your suitcases from your dusty closet, and shoving almost a years worth of items into said suitcases, then you were in a bind and never prayed for traffic more in your life.
And from the sheer fear of your parents giving you a sermon in front of the entire building, you almost forgot about your former state of wallowing in self-pity. Then you were faced with taking down the decorations on your wall.
There was a mix of everything from school banners, even flyers, and pictures you'd taken with your friends and parents. You started with those first until the only ones left were the ones related to Jamie. You had pictures with him from multiple stages of your life. There was one from the first football match of his you ever attended and one from your graduation, too.
You had kept the note he made you when you were 16 and you joined your first individual debate tournament. ‘Fucking smash it!’ was scrawled in his handwriting on a post-it note, which you've hung on your wall since your first year of uni.
Even the rings he used to buy you for your birthday till his mom told him to find something new. You slowly pulled them from your desk drawer and realized there were only four. One missing. They were old anyway. You end up shrugging it off and placing them into your suitcase.
When you started inserting the rest of the items into an envelope, you continue to look at that picture with Jamie from when you were seven. Suddenly overcome by an emotion — rage, pity, nostalgia, you're not really sure, — you crumple it with your two hands and hold it like that for a few seconds.
You finally let go and see the two distorted faces, you're suddenly overcome by feelings of guilt. 7-year-old Jamie didn't do anything wrong; what was the point of taking your frustrations on a picture of him? Maybe you can throw darts at a printed photo of the current Jamie when you get home instead.
You flatten the picture as best you can before putting it back into the pile in the envelope. You finish packing your desk and place all the items into one of your suitcases. You look around the room, satisfied. Sure, your sheets weren't made yet, but you were going to leave the place anyway and you needed to shower. It was 40 minutes till your parents would knock on your door, — as seen in the picture they sent of the GPS — so it was more than enough for you to get ready.
Time passed by quickly and soon, your dad was helping bring your bags down to the car while your mom talked about how much weight you've lost while you were away, like they always did.
"Oh! Jamie, he had a game against Cardiff last week, right?" Your dad remembers as he starts the car. You almost freeze at the name, but turn to look out the window to avoid your parents catching whatever expression you had on your face. You were too tired to mask it properly.
"Yes, he was amazing!" Your mom exclaimed before asking. "Georgie said she told him to meet up with you here. Did he?"
"No," you answered quickly. You never lied to your parents, which is probably why they accepted your response so easily. You don't look back at them and continue to look at the passing trees. "Must've been busy."
A/N: yeah... and there you go! here's what happened that night in the pub and hopefully it makes me much more clear why reader still holds something against jamie! we're going back to the present day timeline for the next one so stay tuned!
TAGLIST: @moonflowersandsparkles @faith-alons26 @rexorangecouny @aiyaiy @thegirlthatwantedtowrite @giggling-sewer-ginger @katdahlali @higherthanheroes @guccilongboard @alipap3 @rockchickrebel @ellietartt @shineforever19 @skewedcherries @jamietarttdodo @meg-ro @deepdarkvelvet @taytaylala12 @scaramou @rae4725 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo (couldn't tag you for some reason?)
#jamie tartt#jamie tartt x reader#jamie tartt reader#ted lasso#jamie tartt fanfiction#jamie tartt imagine#jamie tartt fic#ted lasso fanfic#jamie tartt fanfic#jamie tartt angst#jamie tartt x f!reader#jamie tartt x female reader#it's nice to have a friend series
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your fav mello/near fics??? thank yeww (also love your drawings!)
oohh this reminds me i should pick up my ff.net archival reclist project up again...
it is of note that it's been a looooong while since i've combed the archives and there's a couple of common tropes i don't usually read due to personal taste, so i'm sure there's a lot of good fic i'm unaware of and/or forgetting about! this has totally renewed my interest in making a comprehensive personal reclist >:) perhaps i'll come back and edit this post every now and then.
i owe comments to nearly everyone mentioned here i am SO sorry. it's a lost skill that i am working on developing again. at the very least i've got everyone in one place so i can go down the list this year. i encourage everyone reading from this reclist to leave a comment too!
i wrote "off the top of my head" but this got VERY long so under the readmore it goes
obligatory classics
• the famous @tierfal 's sidetracked (2010) and full of surprises (2009). rated e and m respectively. these are like the allegorical little black dress in the wardrobe of the platonic ideal of the mellonear oneshot. seem to be pretty well known across the ship fandom
• stripped (2009) by blueberryash/@tka-trashfire on tumblr. explicit. i haven't read this in a while but i remember it capturing the delicate gossamer tension of the ship in a way that was sooo bittersweet and nostalgic.
• to speak of rules and privilege (2008) also by blueberryash/@tka-trashfire, gen, a manifesto on tenderness, soooooooooo soft, changed the game, near being afraid of thunderstorms was immediately adopted into personal canon. big time influence for the way i write near and mello's pre-canon relationship re: big brother, little brother.
• an understanding (2008) by blueberryash/@tka-trashfire, rated T, short and sweet, razor sharp prose, the aesthetics of the little piece live rent free in my head.
• dual(2011) by ramasi, @ramasi here i believe. rated m. historians say this might be one of the first examples of mellonear choking kink ever recorded,
•scarification (2012) by gacrux11 on fanfiction.net, rated m, big time dead dove do not eat. sorry this one leans early 2010s era grimdark melodrama but i love it sjkdfkjfd. not enough dead dove fics about the boys if u ask me.
• salt in the wound (2007)
•tempus fugit (2007), and
• white out (2006) by vaudevillain king on fanfiction. net. a beloved rare find. all of them are rather grimdark edgy products of their era, but some of the best the era had to offer. they make me so nostalgic for my teenagehood on fanfiction.net. i get the impression these might've been written even before death note was finished?
• birthday smut (2009) by kleine_aster on livejournal. explicit. this one is SO funny to me because it is both really, really good, very in character, but unfortunately it suffers from almost satirical misogyny that afflicted fujoshis back in the day. near literally is like oh that bitch... like. he would not fucking think that but i can edit quickly in my brain as i read. bisexual mello rights! otherwise really sexy imo. i might be writing something that's kind of in conversation with this fic.
RARE finds
(please tell me if you enjoy any of these, i want to feel like an explorer that's brought back treasures from far away lands)
contemporary favorites:
• you've heard about it before and you will hear about it again: the archer ensnared (2023) by jabbernatty, rated e. a jessaerys obligatory syllabus read, the fic that made me go fulltime yaoi disease. i owe so much to jabbernatty they are my white whale my friend my enemy the writer i've psychically imprinted on from the beginning. honestly too scared to even leave a comment given the jessarys archer ensnared lore. may one day may contact and pray i don't come across as insane
• postmortem (2023) by the_hemlock true gen, a favorite of ALL time. it's only tangentially mn really, it is 99% about near trying to piece together the mystery of lawlight post-canon, but the characterization and prose are some of if not the best i've ever come across. reads like it could be a piece of canon material. if you only read one fic on this list i'd pick postmortem.
• it's friday i'm in love by neallo/@neallo rated m. possibly my all time fave in the neallo cinematic universe. something about the after-hours longing and the standing in the kitchen by the refrigerator lights, as the poets say. i love when stories feel like you're cutting out a window to peer into a larger universe that is just out of reach. perfectly captures what it is like to have a maddening crush
• i want to hold you (hostage)(2023) by neallo/@neallo rated e. thee defining fic of this current modern mellonear era. manages to walk the line of kinky/sexy/sweet/fluffy all at once. plot twist of the century in the last chapter. near is properly as bananas insane as mello is in this fic, which is the marker of a good mellonear dynamic. really everything by morgan neallo is a safe bet for a great read
• there's nothing i want but you (2023) by neallo/@neallo rated t. wammy's era mellonear obsessiveness that is soooo teenagery and yet a portent of just how codependent they might one day get. cute and ominous.
• armageddon/kill game (2024) by bolide/@bolide-archive came out of nowhere a couple of months ago and ascended to the top of the game like a dark horse. rated m, chess au. one of my favorite interior mello narrations and one of the most similar to my own interpretation. such naturally talented prose. i rotate lines from this in my head all the time. still in progress but i have faith that it will be completed :')
• how to burn down the sacred loom (2023) by dornishviper/@vriskarlmarx a contemporary CLASSIC. the less you know going in the better. beautiful prose, beautiful structure. they don't make fic like this anymore
• the house always wins (2023) by mer_curia/@vivi-scera. screaming with my mouth closed. holds a special place in my heart given that it is my posting that convinced vi to give the ship a try, and i was rewarded with a fic that is so catered to my tastes i honestly had to read it through my fingers. SO good, the manifesto on wammyscest, so rather controversial. heed the warnings.
• moonlight (2023) by tsukinousagi/@quicktimeeventfull rated t. an austere, cold little glimpse into a vampire au. it's giving let the right one in. so melancholic. one of the saddest near examinations out there.
•proximity tells (2018) by abysmallypresent, rated m. truly lives up to death note's second-by-second minutia while managing to keep up the tension the entire time. great characterization.
•silhouettes (2015) by bad blood/eroticcodependence,
@wxmmyshouse on tumblr. unrated, post-canon compliant. made me CRY! elegantly short and simple, bittersweet and so so wistful.
•arsonist's lullabye (2023) by tzviaariella/@tzviaariella. rated t. this one has a heart-wrenching air of realism to it that exists outside the chaotic universe of death note, one of those examinations of picking up the pieces after the titans have all gone away. very bittersweet.
honorary mentions
• let's die somewhere prettier (2020) by firesafinething also one of my absolute favorites, unfortunately it is discontinued and it is likely it will never be completed. sad! the premise seemed SO promising. in my mind i file it right next to postmortem mentioned above. the exploration of the tragedy of 27 year old near we could have had in a better timeline. one day i will leave a comment so good maybe it will bring back the fic from the land of the dead
• august underground by me & @firebuggg rated e, in progress. >:) (shamless self promo)
#death note#meronia#mello dn#near dn#mihael keehl#nate river#mello#near#fic recs#this took so long to compile dfkgjfdjkgfdjk
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Last Line Tag Game
Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many you like).
I got tagged by @arialerendeair and had to think for a bit because I just recently shared something and haven't written anything new beside my Big Bang fic. Today I found a sketch I still haven't properly cleaned and worked over despite liking it a lot, so I'll show you that
I cut out the background and made it look worse than before I guess, but I had to adjust the head sizes so that meant either redrawing/finishing it or cutting and erasing the paper coloured bg. because my photos suck. Digitalising traditional art is a pain :(
Anyway
I think I haven't shared this before but as I might have mentioned before my memory is terrible so uuuugh. I might've? I really don't know. Anyway, I want them to be happy so I drew this some time ago :)
I'm sick with Covid and can't think very well so I'm not tagging anyone, please just. show me your stuff. you've got WIPs? I wanna see/read them. Do it. Yes you
#I'm sick i hate it#but I love these two#I have to somehow manage to draw I have withdrawal symptoms#dreamling#the sandman fanart#hob gadling#dream of the endless#sketches#teejaystumbles
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