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starrylothcat · 11 months

Note

Prompt request for our sweet boy Echo (or our lovely Captain Rex) ..."I'll do anything you want me to do to you, but you have to say it out loud." 🫠

Oh, Captain

🔥Captain Rex x Fem!Reader One-Shot

Summary: No plot. Just smut. Rex shows you just how much he loves you.

Warnings: NSFW. 18+. Minors DNI. Established relationship, consensual PiV sex, cunnilingus. No super detailed description of reader. 2000-ish words.

Author’s Note: Sorry this took so long, dear anon. I had to debate super hard whether to do Rex or Echo, haha. But Rex is my original husband so this is what happened (aka writing yet another self-indulgent smut fic)

Thanks for 100 follows, the Star Wars/Clone Wars/Bad Batch fandom has been such a joy to write for and be part of! Drop me a line, let me know what you think. 😘

This one’s for all the Rex simps 💅

You and Rex rarely had time alone.

He was a busy man, as was expected being the Captain of one of the most successful battalions in the war. But he always made time for you, even if it was just a quick kiss in a dark corner or a sweet word in your ear as you passed one another in a busy hallway.

But tonight was different, you had the time. Rex was given a few days of shore leave, and neither of you wanted to waste a single moment.

Your mind was spinning as Rex pressed his muscled body into yours, sinking you both into the motel bed. Caging you between his arms, he deepened an already loving and passionate kiss.

Rex rolled his still clothed hips against you, his hardening desire rutting deliciously against your already wet core. Your pants and top were already thrown somewhere in the room, leaving you only in your panties. His armor was stacked by the bed, discarded a long while ago.

The feeling of his stiff cock rubbing on you pulled a deep moan from your mouth as pleasure shot up both your spines. “Rex…please.” You begged, wanting to feel more of him as you gently ran your fingers through his buzzed hair. He trailed kisses from the side of your swollen lips, down your jaw, until he was nibbling on a sensitive spot on your neck. The deep ache you had for him intensified, wanting him to fill you up and never let you go.

“Please what…?” He hummed. One of Rex’s hands was now teasing your breast, gently squeezing and kneading as he continued to rut against you, while his other arm held his weight over you.

You whined at his words, his teeth grazing across your collarbone, his stubble against your exposed skin making you shudder.

“What do you want, mesh’la?” You let out another whine as he began to roll your nipple between his fingers, your mind turning to mush.

“I’ll do anything you want me to do to you. But you have to say it out loud.”

His seductive words shot pure arousal to your core, surprised at his alluring order. You threw him a playful look as he lifted his head from your neck. “Is that right, Captain?” You purred, willing to indulge in him.

“Yes,” he mumbled as he switched his hand to your other breast, delivering it the same attention. “Tell me what you want…” His eyes flicked up to yours, his hand still rolling your pert nipple between his fingers, your mind in a haze. Rex was ready to please you, worship you. You were his everything and he wanted to make sure you knew it.

“I want - I want you…” you panted as you tugged at his blacks. “I want these off.”

Rex let out a low chuckle as he lifted himself off you. “Yes, ma’am.” Rex quickly stripped himself of his blacks, leaving him completely naked. You ogled his tanned body, even though you have seen him naked many times before. His chest was peppered with scars, ones that you have memorized twice over, remnants of close calls on the front lines. His cock ready and willling, swollen with craving. You swallowed, wanting nothing more than him inside you, to feel his passion.

Rex climbed back on top of you, but stopped halfway, hovering over your lower half.

“Now what?” He husked, starting to really enjoy the game he had started, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Tell your Captain what to do.”

Rex’s pupils were blown with lust, ready to please you in any way you wanted. You licked your lips, thinking for just a moment, though rational thoughts were long gone in your head. “Touch me.” Your voice a hoarse whisper, your body burning with desire.

“You’ll have to be more specific…” Rex lowered his head between your legs, his warm breath fanning over your still clothed pussy. Rex knew what you wanted, but you needed to say it.

“Touch you where? With what?” His fingers ghosted up your thighs as he pressed light kisses to the inside of your legs.

Rex wanted nothing more than to rip those panties off and feast on your arousal, but he was a patient man. He wanted to hear how much you wanted him. He needed to hear it.

You shifted your hips, wanting him to get on with it already, though you secretly loved his teasing. “Rex…” His name a long sigh from your lips as he gently dragged a thumb over your clothed lips, giving you some of the friction you so desperately wanted.

You bucked against him, hungry for more of his touch as he lazily rubbed his thumb against you.

“I want you to say it, mesh’la.” There was desperation laced in his voice, his own body on fire with anticipation as he awaited your response.

You couldn’t help but smirk, watching how he was trying to hold himself together. You propped yourself up on your elbows, fully looking at him now. He was poised, ready to do whatever you wished of him.

“I want your handsome face between my legs, and I want you to make me cum with just your tongue...” You voice was an octave lower, husky with desire, loving the way his eyes darkened at your demand. “Is that clear enough for you, Captain?”

“Your wish is my command, ma’am.” Rex rumbled, grinning as he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your legs and tossing over his shoulder. You watched as he brought his mouth between your legs, his hands gently but firmly holding your thighs in place. “Just like this?”

Rex pressed his mouth to your pussy, delicately probing his tongue at your entrance, slowly licking up and down your lips.

You threw your head back against the pillow, falling back down fully onto the bed, feeling his tongue work magic between your legs.

“Y-yes, Rex, just like that…!”

He couldn’t help but groan at how wet you already were for him as he began his meal, licking at a steady pace, setting your entire body ablaze.

You gripped the sheets, gasping out a loud curse as your legs shook at his ministrations. “Rex, ahh, please…” Your head lolled against the pillow, your eyes screwed shut in bliss as he licked and sucked at a perfect pace, your entire body feeling like it was boneless.

Your moans spurred him on, his own cock desperate for attention, but not until you were fully satisfied.

Rex increased his pace, his tongue now working at your clit, circling and sucking as your body twitched and shuddered in response, getting closer to release. One of his hands slipped from your thigh and moved to your lower abdomen, keeping you in place as your body trembled more vehemently, your cries and whines becoming louder, feeling your orgasm build with every roll of his tongue. “D-don’t stop…”

“I wouldn’t dream of it...” He purred against you, knowing you were close, needing to hear his name call from your lips as you did so.

He loved you, more than he could ever express in words. You complete him in every sense. Obviously there was more to your relationship than sex, but he longed for these few and far between moments in which he could truly show you just how much he cherished you.

You let out a choked sob of his name, your hands flying to grip the sides of his platinum head as pleasure ripped through your body. Your orgasm washed over you as he continued to lap and hold his tongue against you. He almost came himself at the sounds coming from deep in your chest and the feeling of your body convulsing under his hands and tongue.

Your hands fell from his head, your body beginning to relax as your intense orgasm subsided. Rex lifted his head, gazing at your limp body on the bed, your eyes fluttering open to meet his.

“How was that?” He murmured, wiping your slick off his chin. “A-Amazing, as always.” You couldn’t help but smile as your chest heaved, trying to regain your senses.

Rex felt pride swell in his chest, seeing how blissed out you were from just his mouth, the look of love in your hooded eyes as you came to from your pleasure.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” Rex muttered as he climbed back on top of you, pressing his throbbing cock against your pussy, gently grinding down, eliciting a groan from both of you.

“Now...” His lips brushed against yours, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. “…what do you want me to do?”

His forehead dropped to yours, stopping himself from slipping into you. “I want you to fuck me until we both can’t think straight.”

That’s all he needed to hear, his body shuddering as he pushed inside your soaked entrance, not wanting you to wait any longer.

He let out a shaky sigh, his eyes meeting yours as he bottomed out, beginning a slow, deliberate pace. “I love you.” Your breathy whisper in his ear melted him as you wrapped your legs around his waist, your fingernails digging in to his defined back muscles. Rex rocked in to you, deeper with every thrust, his movements languid as you savored the sensation of him filling you up.

“I…love you, too.” He responded as his lips caught yours, only you and your devotion existing as he continued his leisurely pace. “Rex…” you groaned against his lips, “I want to ride you.” His honeyed eyes gleamed, and before you could say another word he flipped you both, finding yourself on top of him. “Like I said, love,”he huffed, a slight grin on his face as he ran his hands up your belly to your breasts, giving them each a gratifying squeeze. “I’ll do anything you want.”

You smirked as you pressed your hands down on his chest, beginning to move your body, unhurriedly at first, as he did to you.

Now it was your turn to see him beneath you, watching every twitch and hearing every moan that left his lips as you rode him. You relished seeing him like this, fully relaxed, fully undone.

You loved looking into his captivating eyes that held so much emotion, feeling his powerful shoulders that held too many burdens, hearing his quiet impassioned confessions only meant for your ears. You wished you could run away from it all, be like this forever.

Rex’s hands moved to grip your ass, enjoying the plush handfuls of your flesh against his palms and the view of your body bouncing above him. Maker, he loved you. You were everything he needed. Soft, loving, understanding. You gave him another reason to fight, to ensure a peaceful Galaxy where he could spend the rest of his life with you in moments just like this.

“You feel so amazing…I love you…so much…” he slurred, his hands traveling up from gripping your ass to caressing up and down your back, feeling your warm pussy working his length deliciously. His mind now turning to mush at all the sensations.

You leaned down and brought your lips to his, tasting him deeply. Your tongue explored his mouth as you swallowed eachother’s moans, bouncing faster on top of him, stoking the flame that was growing in both your bellies.

Rex’s hands solidly clutched your waist, careful not to leave any marks as his hips drove up to meet yours. He always felt bad when he left a bruise or accidental hickey, being the gallant man that he was, but you secretly loved it when he did.

Your head was buried in his neck, your body slick with sweat as you climbed your peaks. Rex’s groans were getting louder, taking the form of your name, letting you know he was getting close. You were close too, your thighs quivering with exertions, your hands gripping the sheets around his head, each thrust up into you sending electric shockwaves up and down your body.

“I want you to cum for me Rex, please…” You rasped against his neck, needing to feel his release deep inside you.

“I’m close-so close…” Rex panted out, not able to hold back after hearing your words, feeling your soft walls flutter around his cock as your were reaching your own climax.

Rex’s thrusts became erratic as he let out a gutteral groan of your name, spilling himself deep inside you.

You followed, your own orgasm exploding over you as you chanted his name, both of you drunk with lust and pleasure, your movements slowing as you came down from your highs.

Your thighs now officially jelly, you gave a few last, slow thrusts as the pleasure wore off, leaning down to catch his lips.

Rex wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you down flush on top of him as your body melted into him.

You blinked tears away from the intensity, from the pure adoration Rex had for you. He rubbed his hands up and down your back, nuzzling his face into yours as your bodies relaxed. You slid out of him, rolling off and cuddling to his side, basking in the afterglow.

“Are you still taking orders from me, Captain?” You whispered as you laid your head across his chest. “Of course.” He chuckled as he tightened his embrace around you.

“Always be mine.” You uttered as you sat up to gaze at him, his eyes holding only the utmost reverence and adoration for you. “Only if you promise the same.” Rex kissed you, loving and tender, knowing you had his heart, and that he had yours.

You could feel a slight electric tingle in your body, feeling Rex’s hands begin to wander and gently squeeze at your curves. You giggled as Rex maneuvered over you, kissing all over your cheeks and down your neck.

“Now, I think it’s time for you to return the favor… …if that’s okay with you…” His voice gravelly, the playful gleam back in his eyes. You nipped at his jaw, your burning need re-igniting, excited to give him the same total attention he had just given you.

“Yes, sir. Anything for my Captain.”

@wanderer-six 👀

#rex is kind of cheeky in this 👀#captain rex x reader #captain rex x you #captain rex #the clone wars fanfiction #the clone wars #tcw #rex x reader #rex x you #Star Wars fanfiction #captain rex x female!reader #captain rex x femreader #starrycatwrites #the bad batch #captain rex smut

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fluentmoviequoter · 4 months

Text

Undo It

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: You get abducted on your way home and won't talk to anyone after you're saved. Deacon vows to undo all the damage done to you.

Warnings: angst, descriptions of injury/threats/torture, SWAT!reader is abducted and held hostage, Deacon gets very protective, fluff.

Word Count: 5.2k+ words

A/N: One scene in this is inspired by Criminal Minds episode "Riding the Lightning" (1x14). I also don't know how to play poker, so I kinda rushed through that. This is completely self-indulgent; the idea came to my mind while watching season 3 of SWAT and I had to write it. Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! :)

Picture from Pinterest

“Two more women have been reported missing from central Los Angeles. The Los Angeles Police Department has not yet commented on whether the recent missing persons reports – of which there have been sixteen in as many days – are connected.”

Deacon mutes the television as Hicks enters.

“They’re all over us,” Hicks mutters. “But that’s not why I’m here. We got an anonymous tip from one of Luca’s neighbours. There’s a drug buy going down around the corner from his house. You up for it?”

“Who called in the tip? Same guy as last week?” Luca interjects.

“Probably.”

“We’re in. Worst-case scenario, it’s another false alarm,” Hondo says.

“That’s the worst-case scenario?” you repeat. “What’s your idea of a good case scenario, walking into the middle of a drug buy?”

“My arrest record is lookin’ a little thin. Let’s roll,” Hondo teases, patting your shoulder as he walks by.

You roll your eyes, smiling at Deacon as you fall in line behind him. Deacon puts himself on your team for the breach, and you find yourself tucked behind him as he enters a bedroom.

“L.A.P.D., on the ground!” he yells.

You follow him in, placing handcuffs on the two men inside. Hondo and Tan clear the other side of the house while Chris and Street enter from the back. No other suspects are inside, but there is a bathroom filled with drugs.

“Looks like you forgot to flush,” Hondo taunts as he raises a small plastic bag.

Once back in Black Betty, you remove your helmet and lean against Deacon’s side. You keep your head up, and the touch isn’t visible to Tan or Chris across from you, but Deacon welcomes it.

“Need a ride home?” Deacon asks as he offers a hand while you exit Black Betty.

“No, I’m going to walk. I could use the air. Thank you though,” you reply.

“It’s getting late,” Deacon argues.

“I’ll be okay, I promise, Deac.”

Deacon watches you go and considers following you to ensure you get home safe, yet when you promise to call Chris when you get home, he decides he’ll text you later to confirm everything is alright.

✯✯✯✯✯

The last block separating you from your house seems darker than usual. Speeding up, you reach for your back pocket to pull your phone out. None of your team members would mind staying on the phone until you get home, but your mind immediately goes to Deacon. He’d not only answer but probably be in his car before you finished telling him you were concerned or uneasy. Once your phone is in your hand, you watch as someone steps out of the shadows.

“Evening,” you mutter, nodding once as you step to the side.

“It’s a good one now,” he responds. “I’m Matt.”

You ignore him, but when his hand wraps around your arm, you turn quickly, throwing a punch against his jaw.

“Oh, I told you she’d put up a fight,” a second voice says before two hands land on you from behind.

“Night, night,” Matt says, holding his face as a cloth is pressed to your face.

You fight until everything goes dark, and as your head drops, you see your phone on the sidewalk. You know that Deacon will save you… or die trying.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey, Chris,” Deacon says as he answers the phone.

Chris says your name, sounding out of breath, before continuing, “Have you heard from her?”

“No. I offered to drive her home, but she wanted to walk. Why?”

“She didn’t call like she said she would. She always calls. And now she’s not answering my calls.”

Deacon takes a deep breath, rubbing his jaw as he attempts to deduce where you could be.

“Something’s wrong,” Chris adds.

“I know, I know. Call the team; I’ll drive by her house and meet you there. Hey, Chris,” he waits for her to hum to finish, “we’ll find her.”

Deacon is at your house faster than usual, slowing as he drives past your driveway. A small light is evident on the sidewalk, the only evidence of life in a strip without a streetlight. He parks, jumping out to run across the road and pick it up.

“No,” he whispers, looking at your phone.

What makes finding your phone abandoned on the side of the road worse, he thinks, is that his contact is open. You tried to call him, and based on the new crack across the screen, you needed help. You needed Deacon, and he wasn’t here.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Find anything?” Chris asks when Deacon walks in.

“Her phone,” Deacon answers, laying your phone on the table. “It was unlocked, lying on the sidewalk less than a block from her house.”

“The light-less dead zone?” Luca guesses.

Deacon nods, his jaw tightening as he confirms. He should have insisted on driving you home or been on the phone talking to you the whole time.

“I should’ve just gone with her,” Chris mutters.

“Don’t do that,” Street says, “we had no way of knowing something would happen. Any one of us could be blamed for this, but that won’t help us find her.”

Hondo nods but doesn’t say anything before Hicks rushes in.

“I didn’t see it until now,” he mumbles, opening the computer. “I don’t know how we missed it.”

20-David watches as he navigates to the missing persons' page, a collection of women gathered at the top. Hicks opens the most recent reports, and Chris exhales a sharp sigh.

“They are connected,” she says.

“Yeah,” Hicks answers. “Somehow, we missed the physical appearance connection. Our guys were so interested in the victimology that they probably never even looked at the pictures.”

“They look just like her,” Luca whispers. “It’s uncanny.”

“Do we have any ideas? Suspects? Leads?” Hondo asks. Hicks shakes his head, and Hondo slaps an open palm onto the table. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

“I know that Hondo, but without an idea as to who, what, or why, we don’t have anything to go on. LA county is big, we can’t just start searching aimlessly.”

“First responders,” Deacon says, his eyes and his focus on the screen. “They all work as first responders. Firefighter, EMT, 911 operator. Every one of them. Where were they taken from?”

“Uh, within a mile of their homes,” Street reads. “Six of the six-seventeen, now, visited the Los Angeles county court to inquire about getting restraining orders.”

“Against?” Deacon asks.

Street clicks through the reports before looking up at Deacon. “Asher Nolan.”

“All six against the same guy,” Hondo begins, clicking his tongue, “that’s a lead.”

“I’ll get a warrant,” Hicks says, turning toward his office.

Deacon watches as your picture is added to their list. He knows the team only has 24 hours to find a real lead, or they risk never seeing you again.

“Don’t, Deacon,” Hondo says lowly, standing beside Deacon. “It’s not our fault, not your fault."

“I offered to drive her home, tried to insist, but she promised she would be safe.”

“You didn’t know, Deac, you couldn’t have helped her.”

“I could have!” Deacon drops his voice, looking away from your picture to admit, “She tried to call me. When I found her phone, my contact was open. If she had pressed it, or if I had called sooner, she might have been okay.”

“She will be.”

“She better.”

Deacon walks out, unable to look at your smiling face any longer. Hicks comes back quickly with a warrant, and Deacon tries to detach himself from the case. He can’t, not when it’s you.

✯✯✯✯✯

The clock in the room reads 11:58 p.m. It’s only been four hours since you left S.W.A.T. HQ, though it seems a distant memory. The door opens, and you are still against the bed you’re chained to.

“You know, I miss when you would talk to me,” Matt says, laying his hand across your throat. “What happened? I know you help people, so help yourself.”

He laughs at his dumb act, amused by the fact that he knows why you fell silent. Your skin burns against his touch, and the cough you want to release feels trapped in your throat. Faint bruises are barely visible in the bright light, but you know that the marks they’ve left are deeper than any bruises that may appear. Assuming you survive, of course.

“Since you’re giving me to cold shoulder,” Matt adds, dragging his hand across your collarbone to rest on your shoulder, “maybe I should return the favor.”

His other hand raises, covered in an oven mitt, as he reaches into a cooler and removes a large chunk of dry ice. You pull your lower lip between your teeth, determined not to scream. The ice meets the bare skin of your shoulder, though you’re unsure when he moved your sleeve. Alternating between burning and freezing, stabbing pain, you fight to remain conscious.

“Functional lessons,” the second man muses as he walks in. “I like it.”

An alarm goes off, and Matt and the man whose name you’ve yet to learn walk out. The ice is left against the skin of your upper arm, melting too slowly against you and the bed.

“I almost forgot,” Matt’s voice echoes before something pricks your arm and everything goes dark as the pain finally fades.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Cameras,” Street points out. “They know we’re here.”

“Then let’s show ‘em why,” Hondo says. “Chris, Tan, Luca, go right. Deacon, Street, you’re with me.”

When Deacon feels Street touch his shoulder, he lays his hand on Hondo’s. He wants to get in and get you out as quickly as possible. Many things could happen, too many variables, but Deacon is prepared to risk his life to save yours.

“Gun,” Hondo calls, pushing back against Deacon as they enter a hallway.

“Took you long enough. When my buddy said LAPD was incompetent, I didn’t realise I’d be able to get so much done before you found me,” Matt calls.

“Let’s talk about this,” Hondo yells. “There’s a chance to walk away from this.”

“You mean like Abby?” a second voice joins.

“24-David,” Chris’s voice crackles through the radio, “We got eyes on one.”

“30-David, we have eyes on one east of the front door,” David replies.

“Abby didn’t walk away, though,” Matt says before laughing.

“Neither did Chelsea, or Bailey.”

“Or that pretty little officer. They saved everyone except themselves.”

Deacon closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to stay calm when they bring you up.

“See, that’s where you messed up,” Hondo announces. “You took one of us. Surrender and maybe the DA will work with you, find the other girls and get a reduced sentence.”

“Or, what? Go down in a blaze of fire? Better than ice.”

Hondo peeks around the corner, aiming his weapon. “Last chance, Asher. Put the gun down.”

“Asher? Oh, you mean my boss. He said not to do that.”

Matt raises his gun, and Hondo takes the chance to fire. He rushes out while Deacon covers him.

“Where is she?” Hondo demands as he presses a hand to Matt’s wound, kicking his gun away.

“Frozen by now.”

Matt’s eyes close, and Hondo gestures toward the other hallway as he radios that one of the suspects is down. Deacon nods, leading Street into the hallway.

“Clear,” Deacon says, exiting a bedroom.

“Closet only,” Street informs, opening a door on the other side.

Deacon opens the last door and lowers his gun to his side before he rushes into the room. Street turns in the doorway, covering him.

“24-David, the second suspect is down. It’s not Asher,” Chris radios.

Street turns into the room, joining Deacon by the bed.

“Is that-“

“Dry ice,” Deacon finishes as he knocks it onto the floor.

He removes his glove to find your pulse, elevated but steady. Your skin is colder than it should be, and you don’t respond to Deacon’s prodding or whispered pleads.

“C’mon, come back to us,” Deacon tries again.

“Ambulances are here,” Street says.

You jerk harshly, and Deacon rolls onto the bed, raising you into a fireman’s carry before navigating through the hallways. He feels you continue moving against him, but all he can do is get you help and pray.

“We’ve got her,” the EMT says, helping to lower you onto the gurney. “Hit the sirens.”

“I’m coming with,” Deacon says, climbing into the ambulance.

Hicks appears at the door. “Go. She needs you, Deacon. Keep us updated.”

“Narcan?” one EMT suggests.

“No, at least not yet.” The ambulance lurches into motion as they strap an oxygen mask over your face. “Brain, I think, not drugs.”

They glance toward Deacon, who says, “I’m a trained medic, I get it. Just do your jobs, please.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon paces the waiting room for nearly an hour before sitting in a chair and letting his head hang toward his knees.

“Sergeant Kay?” a nurse asks.

Deacon’s head snaps up as he stands.

“The doctor is in her room now. Wants to talk to you.”

Deacon is silent as he walks down the hallways to reach your room. When he enters, seeing you hooked up to several machines and your arm wrapped tightly, his breath catches.

“I’m David Kay – Deacon,” he introduces, shaking the doctor’s hand.

“She owes you her life, Sergeant Kay. Much longer and the frostbite would have been incredibly severe.”

“And the tests?”

The doctor sighs, looking over at you before answering. “Yes, we ran several tests. MRI, CAT scan, and a few others. Her brain isn’t responding like it should.”

“Will she regain consciousness?” Deacon interrupts, his focus aimed at final answers.

“As far as I can tell, yes, sir, she will. When I say not responding like it should, I suppose I should reword. Her brain is responding, there’s no sign of a lack of oxygen or direct brain damage, but she may never recover fully, and will likely never be the same as the woman she was before. Her brain waves aren’t behaving like a woman of her age and health should be.”

“Thank you.”

Deacon shakes his hand and moves to the corner of your room, typing a short text to Hicks: Get down here when you can. This will be easier in person.

He knows it sounds like you’re dying, but the idea of never having the real you back seems just as dire.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your eyes blink open slowly against the harsh fluorescent lights. A man is standing above you, and you jerk backwards, pulling against the chain on your hand and the unseen weight holding you down. Prepared to defend yourself, you move to the edge of the bed and let the adrenaline numb your pain while fueling your fight.

“Doc, take a step back for me, please,” Deacon says calmly.

When you hear Deacon’s voice, your guard drops slightly, and your shoulders lose some tension as you locate Deacon. You watch Deacon while the doctor stops beside him, whispering something on his way out.

“She’s not herself, just try to give her space and time. Like I said, this may be temporary, or it may be her new normal,” the doctor reminds Deacon, unheard by you.

The hand that you pulled away from the doctor moves jerkily toward Deacon, and he glances down at your hand and the IV you ripped out. He turns and waves to a female nurse. He stands by your bed, and you watch him, tensing as the nurse touches you to insert a new IV.

“Do you want to be alone?” Deacon asks when the nurse exits.

You don’t speak or nod, but your hand moves closer to Deacon. He smiles, taking it as a yes, before sitting in the chair beside your bed. Deacon knows the doctors’ concern but would do anything to hear your voice again.

When a doctor walks by, you lean harshly against the rail on your bed, and Deacon realises you are uncomfortable around men. Although, for some unexpected reason, you seem fine with him. Deacon stands and closes the blinds on your window, and when it feels like he is the only other person in the world, you fall asleep. Deacon is concerned that you’ll be nervous around him, too, when you wake. Later, when you do wake, your eyes find him, and your body stays relaxed, proof that your relationship with Deacon was not impacted by whatever those monsters did to you.

He looks down at his phone to read a message from Hondo: We got a warrant and a location for Asher. You in?

Deacon apologises as he tells you he has to go. “The team is going after him, and I want to be there. I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

You don’t respond, but Deacon taps the edge of your bed as he leaves, only inches from your fingers. While he��s gone, you don’t sleep. The night passes, and by mid-day, when you’ve gone a whole day, 24 hours, without sleep, the nurses give you a dose of melatonin to help you relax. You drift off, falling asleep against your will, and your mind goes to Deacon.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon is still gone when you wake, but there’s a computer sitting in the chair he previously occupied. You pull it onto the bed, catching the SD card that slides off the top. After you insert the chip and see only one video on it, you start it after looking out the door.

It’s the men who took you, Matt and the other one, standing over you, threatening you before growing bold enough to carry out some of their threats. When they start touching your throat and talking about your voice, you slam the computer closed and rip the memory card out.

Standing from the bed, you pull the IV cart with you to the cabinet. Your tattered clothes are still in the patient's belongings bag, but someone also brought your backpack from S.W.A.T. HQ. You look out the door again before changing and stay close to the heart rate monitor and IV cart. Once dressed and ready, you duck beside the door, waiting for a large enough group to walk by. When one appears, you rip your IV and pulse-ox off, falling into step behind them. You walk out unnoticed and set out without a real destination in mind. Sticking to the shadows, you find yourself in a familiar neighbourhood.

✯✯✯✯✯

When your heart rate plummets, the machine beeps, and several nurses abandon their stations to run into your room. They check the bathroom and the far side of the bed before finding your commander’s phone number.

“Hicks,” he answers.

“Commander Hicks, she’s gone.”

Hicks hangs up on the nurse but walks into the room less than ten minutes later. He looks through everything, noticing that your bag is gone and your IV was ripped out intentionally. Hoping to find something before your team comes back, Hicks opens the computer on your bed. While Hicks is searching, Deacon walks in with a small bag of your favourite snacks and a book to pass the time.

“Calm down, Deac, we’re gonna get answers,” Hicks begins.

“Where is she?” Deacon demands.

“I don’t know. The nurses called as soon as her heart rate stopped tracking, so she can’t be more than thirty minutes ahead of us.”

“I’m going to find her.”

“Deacon, stay with me. We’ll call in the team and-“

“I can’t; I think I need to be alone for now.”

Deacon leaves, setting the bag in his passenger seat and wishing it were you instead. He’s lost you twice in the last few days, and once he finds you, he will do everything in his power to keep you close forever.

Walking into his house, Deacon slows when he sees a pair of shoes under the rose bush in his front yard. He pulls his gun and demands the person come out slowly.

You slide toward him with your hands up and your eyes on him rather than his gun. When he sees your face, he holsters his gun quickly and squats to your level.

“Can I touch you?” he asks quietly.

You give your first answer since waking in the hospital: you nod.

Deacon helps you stand, keeping an arm around you as he leads you inside.

“Help yourself to anything, okay?” he offers as he closes the door. “You can shower, take clothes, whatever you need to be comfortable.”

You pull away from Deacon and disappear down his hallway. He hears the water turn on in his shower and pulls his phone out, his finger hovering over Hicks’ number before deciding to find out why you left the way you did.

When you reemerge, with wet hair and dressed in Deacon’s clothes, you join him in the kitchen and stand closer to him than he expected. He sets two cups before you: a mug of your favourite tea and a glass of ice water.

“Are you hungry?” Deacon asks. You shake your head, and Deacon adds, “Hey, you’re in charge right now. Whatever you want, whatever you say, goes.”

You pick up one of the glasses and look toward the couch. Deacon chuckles as he picks up the other, placing a hand on your back and leading you to the couch. Once you sit, you keep your free hand in your lap as you drink. Deacon wants to take your hand, hold it, and tell you how sorry he is, but you aren’t ready, as far as he can tell.

Suddenly, though, you turn toward him, and he recognizes the look in your eyes, shaking his head and chuckling before he begins talking. His voice has always been soothing to you, his presence like a safe house. You fall asleep to the sound of his voice, and your head falls onto his shoulder.

Deacon remains perfectly still throughout the evening as the sun sets, unwilling to disturb you, even at the cost of his comfort. His phone begins ringing in the kitchen, and he moves out from under you to answer. You wake when you feel his absence, looking around until you find him.

“Hey, Commander,” Deacon greets. “Yeah, I know… I’m worried, yeah.”

You stand and walk away silently. Deacon watches you, staring down the empty hallway as he says goodbye to Hicks.

Entering his bedroom, you find your backpack and pull the memory card out. You reappear with the small envelope containing it, and Deacon waits until you nod, wringing your fingers together, to take it. He finds his computer and inserts the card; his headphones are plugged in, and he decides to use them, unsure of what’s on the card.

Waiting, you stand beside the couch, holding your hands together. You can’t hear the video, but Deacon's facial expressions tell you which part he’s watching.

“Where’d all that fight go, huh?” Matt asks, pushing against your throat until you nearly lose consciousness.

You can’t fight back, and they’re enjoying it too much.

“You said one word and then nothing. What am I supposed to think? Maybe you don’t want to talk. Maybe you shouldn’t. That’s why we told the others. And we made sure they believed it before… well, you know.”

“They didn’t even scream,” the other man adds. “Silence is beautiful on women.”

“What if,” Matt begins, drawing a large blade from a case beside the bed. “We made sure you couldn’t talk again? Cops have to be able to use the radio, so at the least, we’ll know you can’t call for help.”

The blade lays against your throat, and your eyes close, silent but physically preparing to fight.

Deacon’s eyes slide to yours before returning to the screen briefly to close the computer. He moves to sit on the arm of the couch before you and looks up at you with big brown eyes. You want to talk to him so badly, but you can’t. Deacon raises his hands, and you don’t hesitate to lay yours in his. He rubs circles on the backs of your hands, your callouses and warmth melting together.

“Everything they said was wrong,” Deacon begins.

Deacon notices that you lean in toward him with each word he says. He stands slowly, concerned that his size or the proximity will overwhelm you, but you keep your hands in his and follow his eyes as he stands. With the new angle, Deacon can see the bruises forming around your neck, from your collarbone up to your jawline. Deacon’s hands raise to rest on your shoulders, bringing your hands along in his. His thumbs rest gently above your collarbone.

“What they said, what they did, was terrible.” And Deacon plans to undo every word and touch, even if it takes forever.

You lean into Deacon’s touch, trusting him with most of your weight as his phone rings again. He moves an arm around your shoulders, leaning back against the couch as he answers.

“Hicks. I only have a minute. She’s here, at my house. She’s safe… Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on her… See you then.”

“Thank you,” you whisper against Deacon’s chest, your voice rough after not using it.

His eyes widen as he wraps his other arm around you. “It’s no problem,” he promises.

You point to the bedroom, and Deacon nods before releasing you. He watches you walk away, and the echo of your voice wraps around him like a warm blanket.

✯✯✯✯✯

When Deacon rises for work the following morning, he has a message from Hicks inviting him to stay home with you if he needs or wants to. Walking into the kitchen, you’re standing in your own clothes with your backpack at your feet.

“Can I go with you?” you ask, voice barely audible.

Deacon doesn’t have the heart to tell you no, so he takes you back to work. As he walks to the car, he texts the team a quick heads-up that they may need to be quieter around you because you’ve been through a lot, and slow behaviour seems to be the key to making you comfortable. He hopes your new unease around men doesn’t extend to the other men who saved your life.

The team tries to follow Deacon’s advice, but when you hear an obnoxious yell from a beat cop, you tuck behind Deacon and grab his fingers. 20-David knew you had feelings for Deacon but seeing him be your safe space like this is a whole new element for them to witness.

✯✯✯✯✯

You, Deacon, and Hondo are watching Hicks interview Asher Nolan. They can’t tie him to any of the abductions, but he seems to know too much about some of the other women who were taken. Hicks is getting nowhere and is ready to walk out.

“I’ll go in,” you tell Hondo. “But only if you come with me,” you add quietly, looking at Deacon.

“She only goes in if I go too,” Deacon adds protectively, looking at Hondo.

As you walk in, Asher’s eyes find you.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he croons.

“Don’t look at her,” Deacon snaps.

Asher’s eyes move to Deacon long enough to ask, “Do you ever smile?”

“No.”

“Well, you should be with someone who smiles, sweetheart. Come closer and I’ll show you how nice my smile is,” he tells you.

“Tell us where the other women are,” Deacon demands.

“Oh, that kind of information needs to be earned, don’t you think? I have an idea, though, we play poker. You win, and I tell you what you want to know.”

“And if I win?”

“I get to smell her hair,” Asher answers, staring at you.

“No deal.”

You know you need the evidence. Finding the other women is the key to getting a conviction.

“Okay,” you say.

Looking over at Deacon, you hope your look conveys your thoughts: ‘Please win.’

You look at Deacon’s hand, hiding your smile when he tucks a card behind another to disguise his winning hand. The moment Asher shows his cards, asking you to come to his side, you let your lips raise slightly.

“Oh, looks like I missed a card,” Deacon deadpans, revealing his royal straight flush, all spades.

Asher slaps the table, his handcuffs creating a sharp echo. Deacon stands, and you follow, standing behind him.

“Mulholland Drive, by the dam,” Asher admits. As Deacon approaches the door, he says, “I’ll find a better place for you; the best for the last.”

Deacon tries to lunge for Asher, but you step between them and push Deacon out of the interview room.

“Thank you. For winning and keeping him away from me,” you whisper, your hands still pressed against Deacon’s chest.

“I’ll always protect you.”

Hicks steps out, asking to speak to Deacon, and you nod before walking the other way. Deacon meant it, and you know he will do anything to protect you.

✯✯✯✯✯

You enter the locker room, surprised to find it empty. Sitting on the bench before your locker, you drop your head into your hands. The quiet is nice but also allows your thoughts and memories to run rampant. One thought of Deacon silences the dangerous and painful thoughts, and you will your mind to remember what it was like to be held by him.

Deacon finds you waiting alone in the locker room and moves silently to join you. He sits beside you, and you turn toward him, taking his hand and tracing his fingers.

Your touch is magnetic, and Deacon never wants to let you go.

“I- I know you watched the video, but I want to talk about it. If that’s okay,” you begin, looking at Deacon’s hand.

“Of course.”

“They told me to stop talking, not to scream, and I listened. I’m sure they were lying, but they made me believe that last girl, Melissa, was still alive, so I thought – hoped – that if I listened, they’d let her live. Focus all of their time and energy on me, you know. Then they started touching my neck and pressuring me to talk. When I didn’t they started hurting me, choking me and laying knives across my neck before leaving.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know Hicks was at the hospital and found the computer, and I don’t know if they recorded it, but they threatened to pull my vocal cords out and put the knife in my mouth. Talking just- it felt like I was betraying her, I guess, even after I knew they were in custody.”

Deacon moves to his knees in front of you, keeping your hand in his as his other hand raises to cup your jaw. He ducks his head and kisses your neck, wiping away the memories of their touch with each gentle movement. When he reaches your jaw, you lower your chin and meet his lips, kissing him.

He knows this is real, not just something to distract you. He doesn’t, however, know that you know that, too. You have loved Deacon for a long time, and…

“Thinking of you kept me alive. You kept me alive, Deacon. I’ve been in love with you for years and being away from you made me realize just how much. I never want to be away from you again,” you confess, holding his hand and heart.

Deacon knows you will be uncomfortable around men for a while, but never around him. He vows to continue his mission of undoing their words and actions, but he will love every version of you along the way.

“They found Melissa, she’s still alive,” Hicks announces in the doorway.

As the door closes, Deacon kisses you again. You saved Melissa, he saved you, and now he knows it.

#david deacon kay x reader #david kay x reader #deacon kay x reader #david deacon kay #deacon kay #swat cbs #fem!reader

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spinningwebsandtales · 1 year

Text

Lollipop

Nicholas D. Wolfwood X FemReader

Rating: T+

Warnings: Suggestive themes, arguing, and mild threats

Word Count: 3.1k

(A/N:) I am on the bandwagon y’all! I watched Trigun years ago and enjoyed the series thoroughly so I was skeptical about Trigun Stampede until I gave it a shot and now I am obsessed. Especially over this doofus right here although Vash holds a special place in my heart. So I had this idea and it’s mainly just a self indulgence thing that won’t leave me alone until I write it! So to all my fellow Nicholas fangirls this one is for y’all! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

How you met Nicholas D. Wolfwood was a complete blur in your mind. While you no longer had a place to call home, you found yourself wondering the barren planet trying to find someplace you could live. Most towns didn’t like strangers, so it didn’t surprise you when you were ran out of several towns. People looked out for themselves and their own and you couldn’t blame them. If you had a home yourself, you knew you’d feel the same. But the next town seemed more welcoming as you were able to find a room and a place to grab a bite to eat. That’s when the trouble started, as a lone traveling female there was shady characters at every corner ready to take advantage of you. You could hold your own against them and even carried a weapon for protection you kept hidden in your boot underneath your pants leg. It was then while you were enjoying your dinner a few men jumped you, pinning you against the chair. Their lecherous gazes made you squirm and before you could even reach for the concealed weapon another man stepped in. He wasn’t the biggest man you’d seen, but he still had muscles hidden under the suit. His sunglasses pressed up on his nose hid his eyes from view while his black locks seemed like they hadn’t been trimmed in awhile. The five o’clock shadow dusting his chin gave him a handsome roguish air and despite your situation you swallowed at the attractiveness of the stranger.

“That’s no way to treat someone, especially a lady,” he spoke tossing the cigarette from his lips to the floor, stomping it out with his shoe.

“Mind you’re own business priest,” one snarled while nastily grinning at the newcomer.

The stranger seemed thoughtful for a moment before sighing, “I’m not really a priest. I’m more of an undertaker and I’ll show you just how good I am at my job if you continue to refuse to unhand your victim.”

“Teach him a lesson,” the leader of the men nodded towards the dark suited man.

You watched, speechless and a little curious. Not many people stood up for others, especially when it came to you. You had always had rotten luck, even as a child and here you were hitting the jackpot for once in your life. The leader of the men held onto you tightly while the other two surrounded your would be hero. You almost yelled for him to leave and save himself, but before you could utter a word the two thugs were on the ground, unconscious leaving the remaining one to gape in awe. The stranger dusted his hands, stepping over one of the fallen men.

“Now that I’ve proven myself a little, care to unhand her now?”

You were suddenly released while the last man standing fled, screaming like he’d been lit on fire. The stranger, that had put his neck on the line, fixed his ruffled suit coat, before he came towards you. You took a wary step from him, thankful for what he just did for you but you couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy as he was still a stranger to you. His lips quirked into a pleased smirk seeing your reaction before he held out a sheet of paper towards you.

“My fee,” he said waiting for you to take the offered paper.

“Fee,” you asked incredulously taking the paper from him. 30,000 double dollars smacked you right in the face, you suddenly felt faint. “What’s this for?!”

“Rescuing you of course,” he replied like it was the most obvious thing.

“I didn’t ask you to!”

“Think of it as a kindness out of my giving heart. I also gave you a big discount,” he reached into his suit pocket for a cigarette. He placed it between his lips before lighting it.

“Yeah giving heart. By giving if you mean giving out bills then I could definitely agree. I don’t have this kind of money! I barely had enough to get something to eat!”

He tsk’d, “Such a shame.”

You watched him walk away, trails of cigarette smoke the only thing lingering around. The other patrons watched the exchange between you two cautiously. All you could do was shrug before sitting down and finishing the rest of your meal.

You paid with what little money you had left before leaving the restaurant. You had to find where the next town is and how far as you knew you couldn’t stay now. Not with that so called undertaker causing a stir only to charge you and abandon you to whatever fate that those criminals were cooking up in vengeance. What you didn’t expect was to see the same man that had the gall to stand up towards your attackers and to say you owed him money leaning against the building you had rented a room in. He looked up at the sound of your footsteps, his dark eyes crinkling in delight.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite gal,” he greeted warmly like he hadn’t wiped his hands clean of you not twenty minutes ago.

“Since when,” you asked a ting of annoyance in your voice.

“Since I found out you rented out the last room,” he replied cheerfully. “Think you can help your hero out here?”

“I thought I owed you money, you creep,” you snarled.

“That’s water under the bridge,” he waved his hand. “I helped you, you help me. That’s what we’re put on this dust ball for isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily.”

He glared, “Look, if you share your room with me, I’ll forget about your debt to me.”

“I shouldn’t have a debt in the first place,” you argued.

“My lifestyle isn’t free y’know? I promise I won’t do anything untoward towards you,” he patted the tightly bound cross shape luggage as a vow.

You sighed not wanting this argument to continue any longer. Maybe if you helped him out this once you’d never have to see him again. “Fine. But if you do I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

“Fair enough.”

Night fell over the rough town quickly and you found yourself sitting stiffly on the bed as the night creatures yowled across the darkened desert. Your weird dark stranger seemed to be quite at ease as he leaned back on the tattered couch snoring up a storm. While you wanted to sleep, you worried about him doing something once your guard was down, also his snoring was making it impossible. The thought of smothering him with a dust covered pillow was becoming more tempting by the second. You had walked so far and in such harsh conditions, your body was screaming to get some much needed rest. His snoring seemed to be calming down some and your eyelids were winning the battle against staying awake. You finally succumbed falling into a deep slumber.

A hand patted your cheek.

“C’mon wake up. It’s time for check out,” a chipper voice pulled you from the darkness.

“Wha?”

“Good morning beautiful!” Your stranger was in your face causing you to stumble backwards only to fall off the bed. “Do you know you drool in your sleep? It’s kinda cute.”

“Oww,” you groaned. “What time is it? And why were you watching me sleep?!”

He chuckled, “Time to leave and you’re adorable. Less mean when you’re sleeping.”

“Like you’re such a saint.” You stretched, popping your spine. “You can go now, my debt is paid as ludicrous as it was.”

“Nah,” he replied. “I think we need to stick together a little longer. I heard you asking about the next town and I’m actually heading that way myself. Why not go together?”

“Because I am really beginning to hate your guts,” you rolled your eyes. But you couldn’t help but think how much safer it would be if you traveled with him. You began to ponder if it would be worth the headache. The want of companionship won out and you agreed. Now you were walking right behind the man watching the cross sway against his back.

“Nicholas,” he spoke out of the blue.

“What,” you asked.

“The name is Nicholas D. Wolfwood.”

“(Y/N). (L/N). I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you but it really wasn’t,” you grinned wickedly.

“So mean,” he turned away knowing you’d stay right with him.

A couple days passed and you found yourself warming up to the undertaker known as Nicholas. When he wasn’t teasing the daylights out of you, he was actually fun to be around. While you knew you would probably pay for it later he shared his water and what little food he had. He knew a lot about the desert and he shared information with you during the trek and around the campfire. It wasn’t every night you both got to share in the warmth of an open flame, it was only if Nicholas deemed it safe enough. He wanted to keep you both hidden from bandits or cut throats who would kill you both in your sleep and take everything from your corpses. You shivered violently at the thought of being snuck up on. The nights that you both couldn’t afford a fire he would curl up against you, sharing each other’s body heat to fight the cold of the night. One night you punched him in the nose when he got too touchy feely. Nicholas no longer tried groping you.

“Y’know for a priest you sure aren’t very angelic or pure,” you said one evening while watching him across the fire.

“Not a priest,” he spoke ripping at the meat in his hand. “Undertaker.”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes. “I just figured people of your kind would be pure.”

“Nah,” Nicholas shook his head. “This place steals purity as it steals moisture from the ground. I’m sure you’re not as pure as you’re trying to lead on.”

You scoffed, turning from the flames to hide your blush. “I’m as pure as they come, thank you.”

He chuckled hiding his movements by the crackling flames. You looked up, startling at the closeness of him. His face leaned into yours before taking your chin in his calloused fingers.

“Want me to sully you before the world does,” a mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes. You refused to answer, blushing beet red before decking him in the cheek. Laying sprawled out on the sand while holding his throbbing cheek, Nicholas laughed like a madman.

“I was joking,” he continued to laugh. “Ow.”

“Your demeanor said otherwise,” you argued. “I’m going to sleep. Don’t touch me or I’ll do worse than punch you.”

He set up still rubbing where you punched him. “I knew you were packing a weapon.”

You ignored him for a moment until curiosity won out. “How?”

“Your gait is different on your right leg. It was either blisters on your feet or a weapon tucked in your boot that catches on your pants leg.” He moved back to the other side of the fire so you would relax a little more. “You never complain about your feet hurting so it had to be a weapon.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” you snorted turning away from him again.

“Not just another pretty face,” he chuckled darkly. “Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch and I promise not to do anything to you.”

“Better not Nicholas or I’ll show you what I’m packing in this boot.”

“Knife,” he simply said and you stiffened.

“Shut up,” then you went to sleep.

Weeks later and you were beginning to wonder if the town you both were walking to even existed. The desert was becoming harder to bear, especially after you both ran out of water a couple days ago. Food wasn’t too hard to come by, as long as you didn’t mind eating bugs raw or the rare lizard every now and again. Sometimes you would come across a plant that carried a little water. Nicholas always let you have the most of it and it made you feel a little guilty. He would console you that he was used to living this way. It wasn’t until the next day you were beginning to go crazy from lack of water. Nicholas seemed unperturbed as he hummed to himself kicking at the sand every now and again, like a childish dance. Your mouth felt like sand and you prayed that you would arrive to your destination soon. Nicholas turned around to check on you, a lollipop clenched between his teeth instead of the ever present cigarette. He waved at you, crossing his eyes. You wanted to punch him again for enjoying himself while you were miserable. It made you wonder if he treated other people like he did you, cause he seemed to really enjoy getting under your skin. But you wanted a sucker too and you wouldn’t get candy with a salty attitude. His throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed. Your mouth moistened a little as you tried to drool in want. You shook your head refusing to beg him for one stupid lollipop. A little green monster kept it’s place in the back of your mind, when Nicholas popped the treat from his mouth licking his lips. You whimpered at the sight of saliva glistening in the sun. Desperation was making you weak at the thought of any kind of moisture. But you wouldn’t stoop so low as asking for the sucker his perverted mouth was lavishing.

“Nicholas,” you cringed at your voice.

“Hmmm,” he looked back trying to hide his look of pleasure. He had been teasing you on purpose just waiting for you to break.

“Would you happen to have another lollipop,” you tried to ask disinterested.

“Sorry sweetheart,” he smiled wickedly waving the treat back and forth. “This is my last one.”

“Oh,” you said in disappointment. “That’s okay, I didn’t want one that bad in the first place.”

He sat the cross shaped package down sliding down the dune that you were standing at the foot of. “Don’t be shy now. You can have mine.”

“No,” you shouted quickly before clearing your throat. “No thank you that’s yours. I can wait until we make it to the town.”

“That could be days,” he replied. “Think you can hold out?”

“I’m sure,” the unsurety in your voice made him crook an eyebrow.

“Want a lick? Say ah,” he shoved the pink lollipop in your face.

“I’m good,” you dodged.

“Don’t be shy now,” he cackled. “It’s just my saliva. Your mouth has to be soooo dry.”

“No it’s not,” you screeched when he poked you in the side. He slid the sugary treat into your mouth. You clamped your lips around it, cheeks blood red before moaning at the little bit of moisture seeping into your dry mouth. He watched you close your eyes in bliss while the sucker moved around in your mouth, the stick turning circles.

“Better,” he asked leaning closer causing you to shrink back a little.

Your flustered face betraying you, “A little.”

“Good,” he said reaching back into his suit pocket. You thought he was going for another cigarette to replace the sucker only for him to pull out another one. He unwrapped the blue treat sticking it in his mouth.

“You said you didn’t have another one!”

He smirked, “I thought you really wanted mine. That’s what you asked for.”

“I did not! I specifically asked if you had another one,” you grabbed his collar.

“I heard you say you wanted mine by the look in your eyes not your voice,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“That doesn’t even make any sense!”

Nicholas grabbed your wrists pulling you closer into his firm body. Wrapping one arm around your waist as his one hand kept both of your wrists in a strong grip.

“Maybe I wanted to give you an excuse to stop dodging me,” he purred. “Now that we shared an indirect kiss maybe you’ll let me take a shot at a real one.”

“Not going to happen,” you trembled trying to yank from his grasp.

He leaned down, nose brushing against yours before removing both of the suckers from your mouths. The sun relentlessly beating down but completely forgotten as you drowned in his gaze. You couldn’t focus on the fact that your lips were chapped and your mouth still dry. All you could see was a man that had irked you but cared for you in his own way. You hadn’t known him long but he had been more genuine than anyone you had ever met. He brushed the hair from your eyes before slotting his lips against yours. While chapped, there was still a softness to his mouth and he tasted like strawberries and blueberries from the suckers he had indulged in. Nicholas moaned at the sugary taste still lingering on your tongue as he explored your mouth. You shivered as he petted your tongue searching out what little taste you had left. Seconds later he parted from you, panting from the lack of air in his lungs. Your lips already swelling a little from his diligent lips that left no part of your lips unexplored. You melted against him, leaning your head against the bare part of his chest, where he kept his shirt buttons unbuttoned.

“Lollipop,” he cooed.

“Hmm,” you grunted still unable to form words just yet.

“I think I’ll call you lollipop from now on,” he grinned.

You opened your mouth to protest the ridiculous pet name, to which he silenced with another kiss. While he still got on your nerves you couldn’t deny there was something about Nicholas D. Wolfwood that was beginning to grow on you.

“Do you have any friends,” you asked when he let you go again.

“Yeah I have several.”

“How do they deal with you?”

“I can grow on a person,” he grinned.

“Like a fungus? Mold? Canker sores?”

“You can be really mean (Y/N),” Nicholas pouted. “See if I give you anymore treats.”

“How shall I go on,” you scoffed walking off. Nicholas scampered after you picking up his cross. He slid on the sand before getting back to your side. He took your hand kissing the back of it before you both started back on your journey not knowing what would happen next. You couldn’t help but look forward to the unknown as you walked hand in hand with your annoying undertaker, that destiny brought to you.

#Nicholas D Wolfwood X Reader #Nicholas D Wolfwood / Reader #Nicholas Wolfwood X Reader #Nicholas Wolfwood / Reader #Nicholas D Wolfwood #Nicholas Wolfwood #Trigun #Trigun Stampede #Not My Gif #My Writing

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winchesterandpie · 2 years

Text

Lovin' Feelin'

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x wife!reader

Word Count: 1573

Warnings: highly self-indulgent, really nothing that I can think of. Just fluff and messing with Hangman

A/N: I had this idea bouncing around in my head and then I saw @katiemcrae made a post asking for a fic with this song. As evidenced by this post, that was the last push I needed to make it happen. I'm debating doing a second part, so let me know if that's something y'all would be interested in. I had so much fun writing this! Thank you all again for the support on my other Rooster fics! Enjoy!

Lovin' Feelin' Masterpost

“You up for a bet, Rooster?”

Rooster looked up at Hangman from his set up at the pool table. “What did you have in mind?”

“Twenty bucks says you can’t get a girl’s number by the end of the night,” Hangman started, taking note of the other man nodding along and continued with a smirk. “without serenading her from the piano.”

Rooster bit back a grin, trying to keep Hangman from realizing something wasn’t as he expected. He looked over at the bar, under the pretense of surveying the bar, but really he was looking for you, his wife.

He had forgotten until this bet came up that Hangman didn’t know you were married. Hangman didn’t even know you knew each other. Nor did the rest of the group of pilots, for that matter. Bradley preferred to keep you to himself, so he kept his wedding ring on a chain around his neck. You, in a sweet gesture, had gotten a matching set of delicate chains when he said he felt guilty for not wearing his ring.

But that wasn’t the point. The point was that Hangman was smugly unaware that Rooster had this bet in the bag.

“Without the piano?” he repeated indignantly.

“C’mon, Rooster, bet’s a bet.”

“I don’t know, it just… just doesn’t seem fair,” Rooster took a sip of his drink before continuing, watching you laugh at something Penny said to you, “to you, I mean.”

“You’ve got your eye on someone already?” Hangman laughed, following Rooster’s gaze to you. “ Good pick, I haven’t seen her around here before. How are you going to know the right moment to talk to her?”

“She’s lost that lovin’ feelin’.” Rooster was grinning, looking forward to your reaction.

“She’s lo-- No she hasn’t.” It took Hangman half a second to put together Rooster’s face, his claim, and the stories Maverick had told them all about his time in Top Gun.

“Yes, she has,” he said, enjoying this even more as he clapped a hand on Hangman’s shoulder.

“No, she has not lost that loving--”

“Hangman, she’s lost it.” With a last, teasing nod, Rooster started moving off.

“Rooster, come on.” He was already gone and Hangman sighed in resignation. “I hate it when she does that.”

Hangman didn’t know where Rooster found the microphone and he wasn’t about to ask. They approached, and Rooster tapped you on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, miss?”

You turned, and nearly grinned when you saw your husband. The only thing that stopped you was the devilish glint in his eye. When you saw Hangman, you realized something was going on and were happy to take part in messing with him.

Hangman interposed himself between the two of you quickly, which confused you a little.

“Hey, hey, hey” he said to Rooster, waving him back like an out-of-line child before turning to you. “I’m sorry about him. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this.” He turned back to Rooster, and you saw Penny grin from the corner of your eye as she handed someone their drink.

You didn’t miss the tap to Hangman’s shoulder and the way both men bent low. The microphone came from nowhere, and you heard rather than saw Maverick choke on his drink beside you.

“You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips,” Bradley sang, not breaking eye contact as he straightened, pointing at you.

“And there’s no tenderness like before in your fingertips.” You were surprised when Hangman took over a line, both of them snapping with the beat as they leaned backward and forward.

“You’re trying hard not to show it.” Bradley sang again. The other naval aviators started to gather, chuckling quietly before joining in on the next line.

“But baby,” everyone was joining in as Bradley serenaded you, “baby, I know it. You’ve lost that lovin’ feelin’, whoa that lovin’ feelin’.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you at how much your husband was playing into the song.

“You’ve lost that lovin’ feelin’, now it’s gone, gone, gone, whoa-oh.

Other aviators picked up the “bum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba dum dum dum” of the bass line as you gestured for him to take the barstool next to you that Maverick conveniently vacated.

“Baby, baby, I get down on my knees for you,” someone else sang as they all moved away.

Maverick lingered, just long enough to say, “You sound a lot better than I did, kid.” He moved further down the bar, shaking his head good-naturedly at the pair of you. He, of course, had met you soon after he and Bradley reconciled.

“So what am I missing?” you asked Bradley, who was already beaming at you.

“Hangman bet me twenty bucks I couldn’t get someone’s phone number. I figured that would buy us a couple of ice cream dates.” He took your hand, lifting it to his lips.

“I like how you think, Bradshaw.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you. You were quick on your feet, not giving me away, Bradshaw.” Bradley’s smile softened as he said your name, and you were reminded how good a decision it was to marry him.

“So, am I buying drinks?”

“For the show, they’re on me,” Penny said, sliding you two drinks.

“Ooh, Pen, you’re my favorite person.” You flashed her a wink as Bradley raised his eyebrows at you in playful shock.

“And what am I, chopped liver?”

You laughed, leaning closer to him and reaching for his hand. He crossed his arms, hiding his hands from your grasp petulantly.

“You’re my husband, so it would be unfair to include you in the general ranking of people.” He let you take his hand this time.

“I suppose that’s fair,” he allowed with a shrug. You basked in the warmth of his smile. Even after all your time together, he still could melt you with a single glance. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Can I borrow a pen?”

“What do you need one of those for, sweets?” Bradley looked genuinely confused, but he still reached over to the jar of them that Penny kept by the register.

“Well, I gotta give you my number, don’t I?”

“You’re right, I still have to get Hangman’s money.”

You hummed affirmatively as you uncapped the pen and turned his hand over. “It almost feels like stealing, but honestly I just want to see how long we can go before he figures it out.”

“I want to see how far we can take it.”

You finished writing your number, even though you knew good and well it was saved in his memory and in his phone already.

“As long as you don’t drive the poor man’s finances into the ground.”

“Anything for my little lady.”

“Great, now go get me my twenty bucks.”

“Your twenty bucks?” He egged you on, “I was the one doing the serenading.”

“That’s true,” you pretended to ponder for a moment, “but I’m the one who no longer has a ride home.”

“What do you mean? I’m your ride.”

“Exactly. If you still drive me home, they’ll figure it out that much faster.”

“Screw them, then. I only need Hangman to believe it long enough for me to cash in this bet.”

“I've got a better idea,” Maverick interjected, not even pretending he hadn’t been listening to some of your conversation. “You duck out now, Rooster goes and talks to Hangman then he calls it a night. They’ll probably stay for a while yet tonight.”

“You are a genius, Mav.”

“So I’ll see you out there?” You turned back to Bradley and downed the rest of your drink.

“I’ll be right behind you,” he promised as you shoved his shoulder lightly.

You leaned over from your seat to kiss his cheek before getting up and heading for the door. Bradley couldn’t help the soft smile that overtook his face as he watched you leave. He got up and walked somewhat reluctantly over to Hangman and the rest of his friends.

“Ooh, you’ve got it bad for her,” Phoenix teased as he came closer.

He didn’t deny it. He did, however, hold up his hand triumphantly to show off the number you had scrawled across his skin.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Hangman didn’t seem too put out by Rooster winning the bet. “Rooster’s got game after all.”

“Yeah, yeah, get it all out.”

“Nah, I’ll save it for my best man speech when you get married. I expect full credit for the start of your relationship.” The Texan pilot grinned, holding out a folded twenty dollar bill out.

Rooster laughed at that, imagining Hangman’s face when he finally found out. He knew, of course, that he could only reveal it once, and he wasn’t going to give it up just yet.

“Alright, I’ll at least give you credit for the backup vocals,” he bargained.

“We’ll work out the details when you get there. So, who am I setting up next?” Hangman turned his attention to the broader group. “Coyote? Fanboy?”

Bradley stayed a little longer, teasingly speculating about how to get dates for the others. He made his excuses, hoping he didn’t sound suspicious, then retreated quickly to the Bronco where you sat waiting.

“They don’t suspect a thing,” he whispered conspiratorially to you. He pressed a playful kiss to your lips, then another to your forehead.

“We’re going to have so much fun with this.”

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster #top gun #top gun maverick

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 2 years

Text

Too Much

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, f!reader

Word Count: 1832

TW: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Breakdown, Feeling Overwhelmed

Note: Thanks to the anon who requested this ask. Hangman might be slightly OOC but this is very self-indulgent given the week I've had 😅

Top Gun Masterlist

Standing at the kitchen sink, you stare blankly straight ahead. This week has been one disaster after another. First, your most reliable teammate at work quit without notice leaving you scrambling to complete not only your work but theirs as well. Next, the washing machine broke, and it was going to be almost a week before someone could come take a look at it. Then today when you came out of the grocery store, you noticed a huge dent in your car door that hadn’t been there when you went in, and no one had left a note.

And on top of all of that, Jake was being sent on another mission in a few days, leaving you home alone to worry that he might never come back. Just the thought of his impending trip was causing you to have nightmares which then left you too shaken up to fall back asleep. This resulted in you only getting a few hours of sleep for the past three or four nights. It was just too much for you to handle all at once.

You hear the front door open, and you quickly wipe away the tears that were forming in the corners of your eyes. Jake has enough on his plate at the moment, he doesn’t need to worry about you too. Especially not over such trivial things. He needs to keep all of his focus on the upcoming mission.

So, as he walks into the kitchen with a sigh and throws his jacket on the table, you turn and give him a small smile. “Hi, honey. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, those idiots just keep screwing up the mission training. No one besides me has been able to complete the practice run without being shot down and if they don’t shape up, they’re gonna get us all killed.”

You go rigid at the thought, and you bite your lip to try and keep the tears from welling up again. Jake doesn’t seem to notice as he comes over, wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head on your shoulder. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” you say curtly. “I’m almost ready to stick dinner in the oven but it won’t be ready for another hour. I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Jake says distractedly as he stares down at your hand. “What happened here?” He gently twists your wrist so he can see the gauze you had wrapped tightly around your palm.

You pull out of his grasp and try to downplay it as much as possible. “Oh, it’s nothing. I wasn’t paying attention and I cut it while I was chopping the vegetables. But it’s fine.” You didn’t mention the half of a roll of paper towels you went through trying to stop the bleeding or that you had already changed the dressing once. It was just another thing that Jake didn’t need to worry about.

Jake continues to stare at you suspiciously, but he nods as he changes the subject. “So, they want me to leave on Monday instead of Tuesday. They think it’ll be better to give us an extra day onsite to make sure everything’s in order.”

You slowly release a long breath. “Okay. I’ll try and see if I can change those reservations we had to Sunday night instead.” Turning back to tonight’s dinner preparations, you ask, “Do you think the rest of your team will be ready by then if you said they still haven’t completed the run?”

“They better be. Twister still hesitates before taking a shot and Chopper won’t take any risks while flying. He’ll only do by-the-book maneuvers and it makes him just too damn predictable. I keep telling that idiot he’s going to get shot out of the sky immediately if he doesn’t cut that shit out, but he doesn’t listen.”

You chuckle softly, “And I’m sure you were nice and polite about it when you told him.”

Jake grins, “I may or may not have thrown around some choice words and called him a few names, but I think I got my point across.”

As you open your mouth to reply, you pick up a glass off the counter to move it. Unfortunately, because of the thick layer of gauze wrapped around your hand, the glass slips from your grasp and crashes to the floor, shattering instantly.

Jake glances down at it and casually shrugs. “Oops. Oh well. Let me go get you the broom.”

While it seems as if he doesn’t care about the mess, you stare down at the broken glass spread across the floor as if it had been a Fabergé egg or a priceless heirloom. You know it was just a cheap glass from the supermarket, but it is the final straw. Tears start to leak down your face as you stifle a sob.

Jake, who is just about to leave the kitchen to get the broom, turns back to look at you in confusion. “Babe, it’s okay. It was a $3 glass. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I don’t care that it wasn’t expensive! It’s just one more thing going wrong! Why does everything always have to go wrong?” you cry, struggling to keep some sort of composure.

The confusion in Jake’s face deepens. “What are you talking about? What else has been going wrong?”

But instead of answering him, you turn back to the food you were preparing, still trying to hold back your tears. “Nothing. Just…. nothing.”

You can hear Jake crunching over the glass as he approaches you and rests his hands on your shoulders. “Hey. Talk to me.” Yet you just shake your head.

With a sigh, he takes your hand and begins to pull you out of the kitchen, but you resist. “Jake, if I don’t put this in the oven now, we won’t be eating dinner until after nine o’clock.”

“So? We can eat at midnight for all I care. Right now, this is more important.”

Reluctantly, you allow him to lead you over to the couch and pull you down so you are settled on top of his chest, your head resting on his shoulder. As you snuggle back deeper into him, you feel his lips gently brushing across the back of your neck and across your shoulders. “Now, what’s wrong?”

You start to brush him off again, but everything has been building up so much that as soon as you open your mouth it all just comes tumbling out. “Everything’s been going so wrong this week! First work, then the washing machine, then my car, now my hand and the glass! And through everything all I can think about is that you’re about to leave again!”

A sob interrupts your rant, but Jake just holds you tighter as he silently waits for you to continue. “And I’m so tired. I try to sleep but every time I close my eyes, I just see your plane going down. I know you’ve been in risky situations before, but this is so much more dangerous than those. You said they’re predicting you’ll have to get into some real dogfighting. No one’s managed a confirmed take down in almost thirty years. If you get into a fight….” You trail off, unable to actually say the words out loud.

Jake places a long kiss on the back of your neck. “Baby, you know me. I’ve got this.”

“But…. What if you don’t? Don’t get me wrong, I know you are an amazing pilot, and you can out-fly pretty much anyone but all it takes is one small thing to go wrong. I just…. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

You feel his nose nuzzle gently right behind your ear. “You’re right. It’s gonna be really dangerous and I can’t promise you without a doubt that I’ll make it back. But what I can promise is that you’ll never be out of my mind, and I’ll fight with everything I have to make it back to you. I hope that’s enough.”

He twists you around slightly, so you are now looking directly at him. “But baby, why didn’t you tell me any of this? If something was bothering you, I need to know.”

“Because you’re literally about to go risk your life in just a few days and you need to focus. My stupid little problems in no way compare to that.”

“Your problems aren’t stupid. And yeah, I need to focus, but part of that comes from knowing you’re okay. You do so much for me every single day to make my life easier while making yours harder. I mean, like tonight. You’ve been having a terrible week yet here you are making sure I have dinner when I come home. While I appreciate that, this relationship isn’t supposed to be one sided. It’s not always you give and I take. I know I can be a little self-centered or selfish with other people-”

“A little?” you snort teasingly between tears.

Jake nudges you playfully. “-but I don’t want to be that with you. So, if you’re having a rough time and need me to pick up some of the slack, just say the word.”

You search his face for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like right now, what can I do to make you feel better?”

“Can we just sit here together for a bit?” you ask.

Jake smiles and presses a kiss to your temple. “If that’s what my baby wants, that’s what my baby gets.” He pulls you back against his chest once again and you bury your face into his neck. The two of you just lay wrapped in each other’s arms, safe and relaxed. And soon, with the beat of his heart against your back and the soft brush of his breath on your cheek, you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

You are awakened by the smell of something burning. Opening your eyes, you instantly notice the layer of smoke that has filled the room. Glancing over toward the kitchen, you see Jake standing there holding the blackened, charred remains of the dish you had prepared earlier. Cursing under his breath, he attempts to close the oven door with his foot, but he almost topples over instead.

You giggle at his antics and his head shoots up to see that you are awake. Grinning sheepishly, he holds out the pan. “Dinner’s ready.”

You climb off the couch and walk over to him, noticing all the glass has been swept up. You close the oven door with a smirk before glancing down at the ruined dish then back up to him. “So, this is you picking up the slack, huh?”

Jake shrugs. “Hey, I tried! But why don’t we just agree now that the nights you don’t feel like making dinner, I’ll just stop and pick something up on the way home.”

You smile as you lean in for a kiss. “Sounds like a plan.”

Taglist: @valoraxx, @m3laniehearts, @autumnleaves1991-blog, @rule107, @vintageleather, @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak, @slutforadambanks, @reneki, @ynbutbetter, @sugarcoated-lame, @imagineadream, @sadpetalsstuff

#sfw repost #fic #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #hangman #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #hangman seresin x reader #f!reader #glen powell #angst #hurt/comfort #hurt and comfort #hurt & comfort #fluff #breakdown tw

603 notes · View notes

hyuckbeam · 1 year

Text

always been yours

seasons will continue to change, but the moments you spend below the peach tree will remain cherished in your heart.

pairing | childhood neighbor!chenle x reader

genre | fluff, angst, kind of slice of life??

warnings + notes | afab!reader, usage of pet names (sweetheart, dear, sweetie)

wc | 3.0k words

a/n | this is purely self indulgent i love chenle so much,, i just churned this out like it was nothing- ;0; anyways, just thought i’d release this hell of a brainrot for all the little suns out there someone please talk to me about him before i get swept away by hyuck 😭 likes, rbs, and feedback are always appreciated <3 thank you for reading :>

it was around the end of winter when your mother asked you to place some fruit in a basket and find a matching ribbon to decorate it with. apparently you were visiting your new neighbors who had just moved in a few days ago, and this was how welcome greetings were normally done. you didn’t really care much at the time for someone who was only seven years of age. that piece of information was out of the boundaries of your brain comprehension at the time — the only thing you knew was your neighbors probably loved fruits a lot considering you’re personally delivering an entire basket’s worth of it.

“come along now, y/n. let’s get you dressed to meet the neighbors, hm?” your mother calls for you softly, urging you to look your best to make a good impression on your new neighbors. you didn’t really get why it was important to look presentable, but your mother said it was necessary, and so you obliged without any questions asked.

“can i wear the pretty beanie, please?” you requested, pointing at the white knitted beanie as your mother sectioned your hair into pigtails and secured them highly with a few elastics.

“alright, sweetie. it’ll keep you warm for the weather outside anyways.” she responded, much to your delight. at least you had a reason to wear your cute little beanie today — your mother wouldn’t usually let you do so since you never really got outside the house much to actually make use of the cozy hat.

sure enough, she twists around the last band to keep your hair in tact. “and that should do it! go get ready downstairs then we’ll go to their house, okay?”

“okay, okay!!” you exclaimed, making sure to grab your beanie before heading downstairs like your mother had instructed. it didn’t take long for her to follow along with your father, and before you knew it, you were already outside walking to meet your new neighbors with a gift in tow.

slowly, your parents knock on the door, and a woman who seems to be around the age of your mother appears from behind. “hello! we just came to welcome you and your family into the neighborhood.” you hear your father explain, which earns a lot of praises and words of gratitude from the unknown woman. she takes a small peek at you, a warm smile sent towards your direction. “i actually have a son around her age. i’m sure they’ll make good friends as well!”

a new friend? well, you certainly weren’t expecting that out of this short trip, but it couldn’t hurt to be more social, right? “i wanna meet him!” you tug at your mother’s sleeve, beaming at her.

“darling, he’s out by the backyard. why don’t you go look for him, and i’ll make sure to bring you both some snacks?” the woman tells you, her voice filled with nothing but kindness. “my name is mrs. zhong, but you can call me auntie, okay?”

“okay, auntie!” you giggle out happily. she was certainly nicer than you had put her out to be. plus, who could deny free snacks? she had you sold on the idea ever since.

mrs. zhong quickly gave you the directions to get to their backyard. it was one simple turn on the right corner, surely that was easy enough for you to understand, so you started to make your way out.

there, you find a boy—with hair as black as the night sky—planting a small sapling by the corner of their lot. from what you could assume, he was probably a year older than you. a few strands of his hair stick to his forehead but he doesn’t really seem to care. he was mesmerizing to seven year old you, and you couldn’t place a finger on why that was.

he quickly approaches you before you could observe him further from a distance, a radiant smile overtaking his features. he was kind of blinding in your eyes. kind of like the sun that shines in the sky. “hi! mom said i might make a friend today! would that be you? my name is chenle!”

this might have been the first time you met the boy, but you think he’s someone you’re going to be spending a lot of time with in the future. “it’s nice to meet you,” you greet, fixing your beanie in place. “my name is y/n!”

“well then, y/n, wanna help me plant the tree my dad bought? he told me it’s a peach tree!”

“hm? oh, okay!” you agreed in an instant, not really knowing what took over you. had you always been this eager to plant a tree? you didn’t really know.

however, just as this day marked the day you planted the tree, it also signified the start of your friendship with the young boy.

a long time has passed since then. seven years to be exact, yet your relationship with chenle has not changed one bit. what has changed, though, was the size of the peach tree you had planted all those years ago. it had grown to be healthy and leafy, providing just the right amount of shade when the summer heat starts creeping up.

today was like any other, chenle calling you over to meet him at his backyard in ten minutes after classes ended for the day. it had become a silent routine that ensued between the two of you since that fateful day of meeting each other. the both of you were practically two peas in the same pod. there was nothing that stood a chance in the way of your friendship.

as you reach home, you quickly place your school bag on the couch in your living room and look for your mother to inform her that you will be spending the afternoon at chenle’s.

that was when you caught wind of your parents conversation by the kitchen. they hadn’t noticed you just yet, so you remained quiet by the corner. there, you overheard discussions about having to relocate to another city because your father had been offered a higher paying position at the company he worked for, but that had come at the cost of having to switch headquarter buildings. it just so happened the new building your father was now assigned to was miles away from where you currently lived. it seems they’ve been talking about this for quite a while, already having plans on where to live.

a flurry of emotions bubbled up your chest. of course you were glad your father managed to receive a promotion for the betterment of the entire family, but what about the life you’ve come to love here in this bustling neighborhood? were you going to have to throw all that away? all those memories you’ve made over the years? what about chenle?

right, chenle. you were supposed to meet your friend soon, yet you didn’t want to disturb the ongoing conversation your parents had, and so you simply ran to his house despite not getting permission like you always had. perhaps it was alright. chenle’s mother would probably inform your parents later anyways.

his parents let you in their home without much question as they were used to your frequent visits. some polite greetings were shared between you and the zhongs before you searched for their son at his usual spot.

in their backyard, you find him watering the peach tree you grew together, treating the large tree with utmost care in hopes not a single leaf would wilt. as if sensing your presence, he turns around, flashing the bubbly grin that always greeted your arrival. you were going to miss little moments like this. you were going to miss him.

how you were going to break the news to him? was he going to feel just as heartbroken that you were leaving? should you just tell him and ruin his perfectly fine day? perhaps you shouldn’t have come over in such a hurry when you didn’t even have a plan on what you ought to do. he probably caught on from the sulk of your shoulders, the grin that lit his face up now forming a sullen frown.

“come on, tell me what’s wrong.” though you hated the idea of leaving him, you knew what needed to be done. he ought to know about it. you didn’t want him to be surprised if ever you were to suddenly vanish into thin air.

“i- i might be leaving.” you choke out, already feeling the salty tears wanting to slip away.

“you mean on a trip? why would you be crying about that?” he hums softly, brushing away strands of your hair that have shrouded your face.

“no, it’s not like that.” your voice barely a whisper, “i’m actually leaving soon. leaving the neighborhood.”

in lieu of any violent reactions like you were anticipating, he only reacted with a smile but his eyes held this expression you couldn’t comprehend. “you should take care, okay? you better not forget about me.”

you were completely unaware that his smile was merely an act to cover up his pain. one of you was already hurting as a result of this information, he couldn’t bare his emotions out to you right now — you needed someone to keep you grounded.

instead, he chose to comfort you through the warmth of a hug — hoping the action would convey the feelings he couldn’t show. it fate would allow it, he wished you’d return to him one day.

a day turned into months into years, and soon, you haven’t seen chenle for a total of thirty-six months. three whole years of losing physical contact with the boy who you called your home. you had exchanged phone numbers before you left, but the messages and calls had gone less frequent the more you two were buried in your own lives.

there were times you’d wonder about his life with your absence. is he holding up well? has he gone to make new friends? has he… forgotten you already? because you, sure as day, haven’t lost all your past recollections of him.

your parents had announced that you’d be returning back to that neighborhood since your father had been reassigned back whilst keeping his new position — only fueling your queries further. would he be happy to see you after so long? wouldn’t it be awkward if he didn’t recall your name?

the thoughts swirled your mind, adding to the complexity of your friendship — if there was still an ounce of it after being left to rubble away for a couple of years. still, you knew you wanted to see him again. and perhaps, he did too.

peachy boy ✨:

hey, is this still your number, y/n?

i heard you were coming back and just wanted to meet up again… for old times sake?

i’m sure you know where to find me when you do ;)

you quickly come up with a reply in agreement, cheeks flushing from the notion of seeing him again. realizing he was probably thinking about you at the same moment that you were thinking of him caused your heart to skip a beat. so he does remember you. that puts your mind at ease.

it doesn’t take long for your family to move back into the neighborhood, seeing they were as thrilled as you were to return to the familiar area.

oh, how the tides have shifted, you laugh to yourself at the thought. chenle used you be the new kid in the block, and yet, here you were in the same position years later. either way, you were simply delighted to be back, waves of nostalgia hitting you from every corner since your parents were able to buy the same house you used to live in.

you really felt at home here, but there was still one part of the equation missing. him.

you recalled he had sent you a message the other day and you could finally visit him. you’d been anticipating this moment for months, ever since your parents first brought up the idea of returning to the neighborhood.

quickly, you bring your small purse before informing your mother you were to head to chenle’s. she utters back a reply stating you should take care and greet your auntie and uncle properly when you see them. the entire exchange felt reminiscent to your younger days, making you chuckle a little at the similarities.

you make your way over to the house beside yours, ringing on the doorbell and hearing the familiar chime that resonates in the air. “sweetheart, look at how much you’ve grown!” mrs. zhong answers the door per usual, completely enamored by being able to see you again.

“thank you, auntie! i’m glad to see you’ve been doing well too.” you giggle out in reply, finding her words endearing.

“of course.” she responds, giving you a short-lived hug. oh, how you missed her too. “now, i shouldn’t be keeping you for too long. someone’s been waiting for you all day.”

this causes heat to creep up the apples of your cheeks, “oh dear. i’ll go see him now if that’s alright?”

“go ahead. i’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

after a soft ‘thank you’, you walk towards the door to their backyard, and under the familiar cool shade of the peach tree that grows in backyard of chenle’s house is where you find the boy who seems to be anticipating your arrival by the way he immediately shoots you a grin. his hair is now dyed a coral pink, quite resembling the fruits of the tree that looms over him. it’s no longer the raven locks you once knew, but the color definitely suited his bright image. “hey, you’re late by five minutes.”

despite all the things that’s changed over the years, it was just like you never left.

“what’s a measly five minutes going to do to you?” you muse sweetly, taking the empty spot beside him as you always do. the grass was prickly under the fruit tree, but you suppose his company always made it feel like nothing, even back then.

“i’ll have you know, the wait was agonizing.” his words fall out of his tongue like honey as he eyes your figure, resting his head on his shoulder once you’ve settled down under the shade. it’s a habit of his that you’ve gotten used to from when you were kids, naturally resting your head atop his.

“i missed you.” he softly breathes out once the air went quiet, the faint sound of the cool breeze being the only thing heard.

those three words raise a soft smile on your lips. he’s never failed to remind you of how much you’re loved. “i know. you always do.”

“today feels different though.” this has you sitting up straight to meet his eyes, not expecting him to say something by the lines of that. “what do you mean?”

“it’s almost as if i don’t want to walk you back home later, in fact, i’m dreading for when i have to.” the way he said those words were solemn in nature. was this how he regularly felt all those years ago? you could see where the complaint was coming from. after all, he’d have to leave his house just to bring you back home when he was already here in the first place.

“oh, if you’re tired, you don’t need to take me home later. i’m much older now, and i can take care of myself, don’t sweat it-“ you reply earnestly, worried for his well-being.

“no- um, that’s not what i meant.” this was the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter out his words. he freely spoke his mind at any given opportunity, never feeling the need to hesitate in what he had to say. “i wish i didn’t have to since parting with you would have been inevitable. i don’t want that.”

a pair of warm hands now rest on your shoulders, prompting you to look him in the eye. you see him properly for the first time today, speckles of sunlight peeking from the leaves of the tree dot his face gently like minuscule freckles. the chenle you knew in the past had grown up bearing the same feelings you did — just as if you had both been in the same wavelength this entire time, silently holding onto each other as the feelings blossomed like the pale-colored flowers that brought life to the peach tree you both sat underneath.

chenle was surprisingly composed for someone who had just confessed to a ten-year crush (you needn’t know that). yet, for him, the fact that he had finally laid himself bare in your company was sufficient enough, even if you were to reject him in this moment.

you, on the other hand, truly didn’t know how to respond to something so heartfelt. your own heart couldn’t even control itself, wanting to break free from the shackles of your chest. and so there you stayed, frozen in place.

“sorry, today probably wasn’t the right day, huh?” his words were still gentle and warm like a fluffy blanket, even if slight disappointment was hidden behind it. it’s true, he already felt fulfilled from being able to go through with his confession, but he’d be lying to himself if he said it didn’t hurt. “i probably should have waited till you and your family settled in first but i… i couldn’t help it.”

“no. today was the perfect day for you to tell me.” you breathe out, cheeks puffing due to the smile you were unable to contain. “i’ll tell my mother i’m staying over tonight. you’ll have me, right?”

“of course.” his eyes crease, forming little whiskers on his skin. a traits of his that you’ve noticed over the years and adored because it meant he was genuinely happy. “i’m all yours. always have been.”

taglist | @haeravlgs, @liyaliar, @1-800-call-ria, @winwonies

#—hyuckbeam #chenle #chenle fluff #chenle angst #nct #nct fluff #nct angst #nct dream #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct x reader #fluff #angst

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ficsilike-reblogged · 2 years

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Mine First – Mine Last

A/N: Well. This is definitely one of the more self indulgent things I’ve ever written. Thank you to a few of my mutuals who let me rage about this in their dms for far too long. I’ll probably write another thing for Battinson soon, a little more light-hearted than this.

Pairing: SoftDark!Bruce Wayne/F!Reader

Rating: 18+/M for DARK THEMES including dub-con, stalking, obsessive and possessive behavior, gaslighting, isolation, canon typical violence, and my attempt at smut

Warnings: Again, dub-con/dubious consent, smut, reader being oblivious, and unhealthy relationships-PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU! YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION

Word Count: 9k

Summary: The four times you walked away from Bruce and the one time he wouldn’t let you go.

"Mine first – mine last – mine even in the grave!" - Louisa May Alcott, A Long Fatal Love Chase

Or read on Ao3 here!

You could vividly remember the first time you met Bruce. You were in a pressed black dress and holding your father’s hand as he spoke with a man who softly introduced himself as Alfred Pennyworth. You hardly remembered much else of that day. You remembered the shining black coffins and the strange smell of the lilies that seemed to permeate every corner of the strange room. And you remembered Bruce.

You could scarcely remember if it was a funeral home or something else, possibly some rented out ballroom at Gotham’s finest hotel. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that there was a sad boy, around your age, sitting alone near the pair of coffins at the front.

You let go of your father’s hand as he continued to talk to Alfred and slipped through the slow-moving group of adults and stood in front of him. “Hi,” you murmured. Your voice was soft and low and the patent leather of your shoes just as shiny as the shellacked surface of the coffins. You realized you were maybe a couple years younger than him and tried to smile despite missing one of your front teeth.

Bruce didn’t respond but you sat next to him anyway on the overstuffed chair.

“This is for you.” And then you handed him a single sprig of a purple-blue flower with tiny, soft petals. It smelled much better than the lilies. And, you tapped your nose with a small smile. You hoped it made him smile but he only quietly took the flower, his blue eyes flittering up to yours for only a moment.

You listened to dozens of people say sorry to Bruce, say that his parents were in a better place, all sorts of other niceties that you’d heard hundreds and hundreds of times from faceless people. And Bruce looked at you every time they walked away, almost as if expecting you to say the same. But you didn’t. You simply sat next to him without saying anything as the funeral started and all the noise fell to a dull roar in your ears. When it was over and almost everyone filtered out after murmuring another condolence to him, or whispering about him behind their hands as they looked in his direction, you were still there.

And Bruce still held that little sprig of hyacinth in his hand, his knuckles white around the now-crumpled green stem.

“C’mon, buttercup,” your father said as he stepped up to you, Alfred at his side. “Time to go.”

“Thank you for-” Alfred started.

But your father waved him off. “No thanks necessary. It was the least I could do.” And then he reached out and gently squeezed Bruce’s shoulder before holding out his hand for you to take again.

You looked at Bruce as you slipped off the seat, and watched as he looked at you, still clutching the flower. “Bye, Mister Wayne.”

And then you were gone.

But you would not be far for long. Alfred, apparently, had seen how at ease Bruce seemed to be in your presence at the funeral and had set up a ‘play date’ for his ward once a week with agreement from your parents. They had been happy to have you make a friend, seeing a little boy who needed a friend, too. They stood beside Alfred and advocated for him to have primary custody of the young billionaire in Gotham’s darkened courtrooms and ignored every photog who had tried to snap a picture of the strange dynamic that seemed to sprout overnight.

You grew up together, the years slowly trickling by with Bruce letting you bring him hyacinths from your family garden and placing another brunch of the delicate flowers at his parents’ grave when he didn’t bring any when he came to the Wayne family mausoleum at the top of your family’s hill. You didn’t mind how quiet he was—you were quiet, too, content to just sit with your head in his lap with a book, or letting him tap the beat of another Nirvana song out on your arm as you tried to study.

Bruce was your friend. Your only friend when you really thought about it. Despite so desperately wanting to be liked, wherever you went in Gotham, people whispered. You had been given a cruel and almost-creative nickname in your primary school years. Princess Death. Sure, it made sense with your family owning the only cemetery in Gotham and all the funeral parlors within city limits, but it still had people recoiling as if you carried some unseen affliction that was easily given from one person to the next.

Bruce never recoiled. Bruce didn’t make hushed jokes that you smelled like embalming fluid. Bruce was always kind and sweet and your best friend.

It had been a quiet, happy decade with him at your side.

He had been the one person you had asked to attend your mother’s funeral just after your sixteenth birthday. She had been trying to be a good person—she was always too good—and tried to keep another woman from getting mugged. It didn’t work and she was dead before she hit the wet pavement of the dark alley.

Bruce had been the one to hold your hand when your father was accepting condolences. You knew he knew how it felt and you felt awful for crying as much as you did. He had lost both parents and you still had your doting father. But Bruce didn’t mention it and quietly wiped your tears and kissed your forehead in the shadows of the funeral home. Yes. Bruce was your friend no matter how much time passed.

Soon, you were eighteen and finishing school, spending the warmer months helping your father take care of the sprawling cemetery up on the hill—your family’s legacy. You had told him all about it when he asked. Told him about how your family had history in Gotham almost as long as the Waynes. It was just one of the many things Bruce had found out about you.

“We never really tried to move beyond our…station, I suppose you can call it. And why should we, right?” It almost sounded like mirth as you hid your small smile behind your oversized chai latte. Almost. “After all, we’ll never run out of business.”

You smiled at Bruce’s quiet laugh.

“You’re still taking online classes, right? At Gotham U?” You asked.

Bruce gave a quick nod and pulled a single blueberry from the little bowl Alfred had brought just a few moments ago. “Have you heard anything back from the places you applied?”

Your teacup jostled as you set it down on the saucer with an unladylike ‘clink.’ “Oh, I forgot to tell you! I finally heard back from Central City University—all the others wouldn’t give me the time of day, you know. But they said they got an email from me, stating that I turned down their acceptance. I was on the phone for, like, an hour explaining that I definitely did not send that email and I really wanted to attend.” You pushed out a sigh. “Can you believe that? That someone would pretend to be me just to mess up my life? I’ve changed my password on everything.” It had been a trying week, on top of your last few weeks of high school filled with finals and the like, trying to figure out where to go to undergrad and finding out that someone had deliberately sabotaged something so important to you. Whoever it was hadn’t touched your bank details or locked you out of any of your other accounts. They had only sent the emails to the universities who had said you were accepted into their programs. You watched Bruce lick the remnants of a burst berry from his fingers and quickly looked away as your stomach punched its way to your throat. It was not the first time you realized your best friend was beautiful and you doubted it would be the last but you wished it was just…a little easier to handle. Bruce, obviously, had no interest of that kind in you. You were friends. And friends do not wonder what it would be like to kiss each other.

No, they do not.

“I figured I should get out of Gotham while I still can,” you murmured.

“You want to leave?” It was only the slight uptick on the last syllable that let you know Bruce didn’t particularly agree.

The next sip of your chai left a bit of foam on your upper lip and your heart hiccupped as Bruce’s eyes darted to your mouth as you licked it away. “I’m sure you feel it, too, Bruce. This city eats people alive. It always has and it always will. You and I know that fact better than most. Our families made this city, for better or for worse. And we are expected to carry on with their legacies. I’m going to be the next person to make sure that the cemetery is cared for and everyone is buried with respect. I just…wanted a bit of adventure before that shackle is looped around my ankle, you know? Before I get devoured.”

Bruce didn’t answer and you didn’t pry.

“But,” you started with a smile before you stole one of his berries, “I’ll be back for winter break, thanksgiving, spring break, too, and I’ll have three months to bother you during the summer if you aren’t too busy.”

“You never bother me.”

You could only smile at that. He was still your Bruce.

The rest of the late Spring faded into Summer and you spent it in the shadows of Wayne Tower, trying to press as many of Bruce’s soft smiles and murmured conversations into your mind as possible before the inevitable came. It had been a surprise to see Bruce appear at the airport but your father gave you a knowing wink and stepped away to speak to Alfred and give you a bit of privacy. (The same could not be said for the handful of people with long range lenses skulking from the other side of the ticketing area.)

You grabbed Bruce’s hand and hauled him behind a pillar, smiling at him when you saw his shoulders drop the slightest bit from around his ears.

“You came.”

“I did.”

Tears pricked at your eyes at the sight of his soft smile, the only he only gave to you. “You’re making this hard, you know. It’s supposed to be…it’s supposed to be a fun, exciting time for me and all I can think about is who is going to scream the lyrics to all our songs with me all the way in Central City? Who is going to make sure you eat enough or actually get up in time to go to your online classes? I just…”

Bruce’s warm hands gently reached out and grabbed your hands and laced his fingers with yours. “It isn’t too late. You can stay.”

The rueful smile—the one reserved for when he had to go to a function and smile for the cameras—let you know he was joking. You had all of them memorized. “I promise. I promise I’ll be back. You’ll probably be my first stop whenever I come home and you’ll be so sick of seeing me.”

He squeezed your hands and used your tangle of limbs to pull you a little closer. The movement made your heart leap; you could smell his cologne. It was the one you bought him for Christmas, earthy and warm and expensive—you had been so proud of yourself for picking it out without Alfred’s help. There was just the hint of stubble starting to line his jaw—that damn jawline that haunted your dreams.

“I could never be sick of you.”

The tears came then and you used them as a bit of courage to press a quick kiss to his cheek. And when his breath stuttered against your skin, you internally cursed. You’d gone too far, hadn’t you? “I’ll be back. I promise.” You gave his hands another squeeze and stepped away, leaving him in the shadows of the pillar, away from the still-snapping cameras, to let your father walk you to the security line.

“Call me when you land, okay?” Your father asked, pulling you back to the present.

“Of course, dad.”

He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead with a small smile. “Knock ‘em dead, buttercup.”

You took one step, then two, three, four, and you could have sworn you heard Bruce murmur, “come back to me.” But when you turned to look at him again, he was already walking to Alfred’s side, his back to you.

It must have been your imagination.

You kept your promise. Every chance you had, you came back to Gotham. When you weren’t on the hill with your father, you were at the tower with Bruce. And you knew it was your imagination, your deeply-rooted feelings still rearing their head at every opportunity, but you thought Bruce held you a little tighter each time he drew you into his arms on the pristine couch for movie night, or when he held tightly to your hand whenever he made his once-in-a-blue-moon appearance at some charitable gala for five minutes before he dragged you back to the shadows of the tower. You even snuck out of your house to watch him race in his hand-built car against people who didn’t recognize him. Win or lose, you always bought him the candy you shared at children to split on the drive back into the city. You kept in touch—writing letters back and forth from your dorm in Central City and the tower. Your roommates tirelessly questioned who always made you smile like that whenever you received another letter filled with his tilted handwriting.

But you had graduated, packed up your expensive piece of paper, and then hung it on the wall in your office across the hall from your father’s. You were happy to settle in, starting to earn your keep in your family’s long-standing business.

And it was almost like you hadn’t left at all. Bruce was still your closest, dearest friend and you still prided yourself on the smiles you coaxed from the soft-spoken man. Your feelings hadn’t changed—and you were sure Bruce’s hadn’t either; you were still just a friend. But that would have to be enough. Right? Having one friend in this city had to be enough because you definitely didn’t have any outside of it, either. The supposed best friends you had made in Central City during undergrad had seemingly dropped off the face of the planet. Your texts and phone calls went unanswered…for the most part. If they were answered, everything was short and bordering on agitated, like they were hurrying to get you off the other end of the line. You had quickly been reminded of your mostly-lonely adolescence and the ache it brought behind your ribs.

But…you still had Bruce. Yeah, you still had Bruce.

Bruce had been the first one you called after you spotted someone who looked like they were trying to dress like a bat running over the roof of the building just across from your father’s home. Bruce had been the person you asked for at the police station when you had been loaded up with the rest of the witnesses to give your statement after a band of men in clown masks had decided to rob a bank right before closing.

The man now known as The Batman had saved you. He had shielded you, tackled you to the ground—cushioning the back of your head with his hand as you rolled onto the marble floor—as the first shots rang out. When the dust cleared and the night sky was filled with the red and blue lights of the coming police cars, he was still standing. But you had seen the blood starting to pool from under his armor.

“Hey. Hey, are you okay?” You asked, approaching him slowly, like you would a feral cat. But he needed to be thanked, didn’t he? Who was taking care of him?

The man just turned to you, eyes blanketed in shadow before he all but disappeared.

But you had wanted Bruce when the cop, a kind man named Jim Gordon, asked if anyone could pick you up.

Alfred arrived a few moments later and ushered you into the back of the car, tucking a warm blanket around your shoulders as he apologized for Bruce’s absence. “He’ll be back at the Tower soon. He is on his way.” That had almost been enough for you. You might have been able to get out unscathed (arguably), but again you asked yourself; who was taking care of the man who saved you?

Batman came to your rescue again when a man who called himself The Joker decided it would be “fun” (his words, definitely not yours) to see what would happen if he took an entire hospital hostage. You weren’t even supposed to be there, but one of your “planners” had called out that day and you stepped in to help a family plan for the inevitable as they waited in the hospice wing. You weren’t entirely sure what happened because yet another man with a clown mask bashed you over the head with a defibrillator. But you woke up to a bleeding Batman standing over you, snapping the arm of a man who reached for you. It had been the steady drip-drip-drip of his blood falling onto you that had woken you.

Why did he bleed so much for a city that would only crave more?

After the hospital incident, you simply decided to not go out. Everything could be done online nowadays anyway and you wouldn’t contribute to the Batman’s scars anymore.

The stories still trickled in, over the morning and evening news, over the whispered conversations you heard from bored funeral attendees, from exchanges between your maintenance people and your client advisors. Again and again, The Batman was trying to die for a city who reviled him.

You caught your own glimpses of him every handful of days. On the train ride home. Outside the grocery store. Perched on the entry arches to the cemetery. Again and again, until he would bleed back into the shadows. Maybe he was making sure you weren’t hurt again or maybe you were just…equal parts lucky and unlucky to be in his line of sight time and time again. Whenever you felt the prickle of someone’s eyes on you, you told yourself he was just making sure his previous actions hadn’t been for naught and that you were safe.

It hurt you, like a dull knife between your ribs. Why would a man try to save a city that refused to see its own rot? Was he lonely, like you? Trying to find his place by carving it out with his fists and gadgets? Who was taking care of him? That was the question you asked yourself over and over again. Your therapist had said that you were projecting your own loneliness onto others, that you needed to learn how to stop thinking that everyone else had similar experiences. But why else would someone do…that?

Your thoughts always drifted to your mother. Your mother who tried to do the right thing, who tried to help, and was killed for it. Like some sacrificial lamb. And now this man was trying to do what was right, wasn’t he? He had armor and gadgets but he was still a lamb.

Your phone chirped and you pulled it out from your little handbag, seeing Alfred’s name above the newest text.

Come to the tower. Please.

You glanced at the clock in your office and saw it was well past when you were supposed to leave anyway. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

You opted for a taxi instead of the short walk to the subway station and murmured the address, earning an extra glance from the driver in the rearview mirror. You looked back at your phone, now feeling a bit of anxiety twist your stomach. Alfred rarely texted you. He was one more for phone calls. Something was wrong—there had to be something wrong for Alfred to text you. You urged your driver to go faster but were waved off.

“You’ll get to your boyfriend, lady, there’s nothing I can do about these red lights.”

But eventually you did arrive and punched in the access code you knew by heart for decades to have the elevator take you straight to the penthouse. “Alfred?” You called out as soon as the doors opened. “Alfred?” You walked further into the lavish penthouse and noticed all but a hallway light was on above the main room and you took the stairs two at a time and hurried down the hall. A muffled conversation soon hit your ears and made you pause just outside Bruce’s door.

“…cannot allow you to do this any longer.”

“This is my choice, Alfred. Mine. I have to-”

“You are going to get yourself killed.”

And that was enough for you. You pushed the door open without knocking, ready to see Bruce and Alfred arguing and possibly nursing a bruised rib from a crash; you knew Bruce was still racing. You were not ready to see Bruce decked in black with paint around his eyes.

“Bruce?”

There was the distinct bat cowl on the bed beside him.

“You?” Was all you could say, the single syllable cracking in your throat.

“Why are you here?” Bruce asked, his voice low.

“If I could not make you see reason, I hoped she could.” Alfred said, his voice a soft murmur in the ringing in your ears.

What was happening. What was happening. What was happening.

Bruce rounded to look at you and your heart leapt into your throat.

“Tell me. Tell me what the fuck you were doing.”

Bruce took a step toward you, and then another, and another until he was looming in front of you, blotting out the light of the room to bleed out behind him like some broken halo. “Some of this…some of this was for you.”

“For me?” You parroted, feeling like something invisible was strangling you. You hardly noticed Alfred slipping out of the room. “How could any of this be for me? Why would I want you bleeding and hurt?”

“You wanted to leave this city, leave me, and I just wanted to make it better-”

“You are going to get yourself killed, Bruce! Why would I want that?”

“This city can change. It just needs help-”

“It won’t change! You and I have seen it, over and over again, that it doesn’t get change—not for the better.” Tears started to blur your vision as you looked at him, the black swimming into the golden light. “I can’t watch you do this. I won’t.”

“What are you saying?” His voice was still soft but you heard the unmistakable edge to it that you rarely heard. And it never had been directed toward you.

Something cold rippled down your spine but you squared your shoulders and tried to blink away your tears. “I’ve never been able to tell you no and have you listen. So, I’m not going to tell you no or tell you to stop. But I won’t tell you anything. I’m done. I’m out.”

“Out…” Now it was Bruce’s time to repeat.

“I am not going to watch you kill yourself, Bruce. I can’t do it.” You turned on your heel, intent on leaving with your head held high but your hip slammed into Bruce’s desk and spilled a stack of photos against the herringbone floors. You hastily bent to gather them up but stilled as you noticed they were all of you. You exiting the grocery store. You alone on the subway. You standing outside to meet with a client. You. You. You. Your lip curled and you nearly crushed the photos in your hand as you turned back to Bruce, pushing the stack against his chest. “Stop following me.”

“I-”

“Stop, Bruce. Just…stop.”

His hand reached up and covered yours on his chest, your face peeking out from between his fingers on the glossy pictures. “I can’t.”

And now the tears couldn’t be stopped. Of course he couldn’t stop. Bruce never abandoned anything once he put his mind to it. He wouldn’t stop trying to save this damn city. You hissed out a breath as the tears fell and you pulled your hand out from under his, feeling the bat across his chest scrape your palm.

“Goodbye, Bruce.”

You stared down at your laundry and tried to rationalize what you were seeing.

You knew—you knew—that you’d gone through a certain number of panties in the previous week. And now, as you finished folding your laundry, you were missing two pairs. Two. And, because luck wasn’t on your side, they had been two of your favorites. Little cotton things with soft lace around the edges.

Your eyes drifted over to the small bouquet of gardenias on the counter and then back at your depleted pile of panties. Did the same person…?

“The dryer ate them. It eats your socks all the time,” you muttered to yourself as grabbed them and tossed them unceremoniously into the top drawer of your dresser.

It had been a long eighteen months. The Joker had finally been arrested and sent to Arkham but the Riddler took his place soon after and the flood had devastated the city. Of course, your family’s profits had never been higher but it was wrong on about eight million different levels to find anything to celebrate while the city tried to recover. The waters receded and the sea walls had been rebuilt and reinforced.

But the city hadn’t changed, not really.

The only thing that had changed was Batman’s reputation in the public eye. He had become a symbol of hope for the city. When ‘his’ signal hit the perpetually cloud-filled sky, people felt safer. That was what you heard, anyway. You just felt fear. But you shouldn’t, right? He wasn’t yours to worry about. But Bruce’s constant near-death experiences weren’t the only things plaguing your mind.

Six months ago, you started to receive small bundles of gardenias on the welcome mat outside your apartment. Once a week, like clockwork, they would show up. Tied in a black strip of silk. Sometimes there were notes attached, ranging from the innocuous you looked beautiful today to the borderline depraved I could see that pretty little strip of lace you wore—did you wear it for me? But thankfully, the notes were seldom.

The almost-welcomed prickle of acknowledgment you had felt when Bruce watched over you as the Batman had stopped and been replaced by something cold and left you hurrying out off the street with every chance you had. You added another deadbolt to your door.

Someone was watching you. You knew it.

Your father walked with you down to the police station after he caught you tearing up at your desk, tired and scared and suspicious of everyone around you. The person who took your report actually chuckled.

“You’re scared of a few flowers? Don’t ya know ya live in Gotham?”

Your father, bless him, nearly leapt over the desk at him but you talked him down and let him walk you back home.

“It is just flowers, isn’t it?” You asked yourself time and time again. “Just flowers.”

That’s what you told yourself, anyway. It could be worse. It could always be worse. That was why you started bringing the gardenias into your apartment after receiving them. They were just flowers. And you refused to be scared anymore.

You finished your laundry with a sigh, trying to push away any lingering thoughts of your missing underwear. Tonight was the annual Spring Charity Gala and this year’s beneficiary was the organization for the orphans and widows left behind after the flood, and a new friend of yours, a bubbly psychiatrist named Harleen, had sent over a dress for you to wear.

“Consider it a thank you for helping me get that couch up the stairs! I found it in that boutique you mentioned and I knew you needed it.”

She hadn’t been in Gotham long, having grown up in Brooklyn, but she really seemed to shine when she was here and rising through the ranks in Arkham. She was going to change the world, you knew it. And it had been so good to have another friend, and she hadn’t been swayed by any of the whispers Gothamites still made about you. So, having Harleen was all you could ask for, really. She had been the first one to make you laugh when the news once again reported on who the Batman arrested. “I’d love to ask him so many questions,” she had said with a wink. “They don’t make ‘em like that in Brooklyn.”

No. They certainly did not. You hadn’t talked to Bruce since your last night in the Tower. When the flowers started arriving and you started having the suspicion that someone was following you, you briefly thought of asking him of looking into it after the police had laughed at you. But that would have been cruel to ask, wouldn’t it? He couldn’t be in your life. Not like that. And he was surely busier than ever. He had finally taken a seat on the board of Wayne Enterprises and was starting to really find his footing in the business his family had built (at least that is what you had gleaned from a few gossip rags you had peeked at while in line at the grocery store). Too many times you had caught yourself with your thumb hovering over his name in your phone, wanting to hear his voice after a rough day or wanting to share something funny that happened at work. Too many times you had to stop yourself from picking up his favorite food at the grocery store because you knew it was unhealthy and Alfred would never stock it at the tower. You thought of him too much to really be rid of him. You thought of him too much.

You, however, didn’t have time to wallow tonight and checked the time and saw that you had just over an hour to get ready for the gala. Perfect. You started with the lacy underwear that you always relied on when you didn’t want panty lines, and then did your make up makeup; just a subtle shine on your eyelids and a muted lip. Pearl studs were quickly slotted through your ear lobes as you turned to your bed to see the dress Harleen bought for you laid out across your bed. It was a marvel of structured duchesse satin and corset detailing on the bodice. It was probably the most beautiful dress you ever owned.

You reached for it before glancing at your window. The curtains were not completely closed, and never would be because of the wonky curtain rod bolted to the wall, but you were on the twelfth floor—you doubted anyone would be able to see into your room without a telescope. Most of the buildings on the other side of the park were smaller than yours—aside from Wayne Tower and you doubted Bruce would have a telescope or have the want and desire to look at you. You were fine. Whomever was leaving you flowers couldn’t possibly know which window was yours from outside and, again, the only building that could have seen into yours was Wayne Tower.

The zipper was smooth as you closed it, the dress hugging you in all the right places. You let yourself smile and twirl in front of the mirror like you were a girl again, playing dress up in your mother’s glamourous gowns.

With a few spritzes of perfume and your feet tucked into your favorite heels, you were out the door and on your way.

The gala was in full swing by the time you arrived. You said hellos to a few people your father played golf with on every third Sunday—he was unable to make it for the night as he was dealing with the last minute demands the Crowne family had made for their matriarch’s funeral—but kept your eyes peeled in search of Harleen.

There was a string octet on the stage that would soon be filled with the city’s upper echelon, telling everyone in attendance to donate, to go wild with the silent auction, to take advantage of the good champagne and good music. But you hardly cared about any of that. You’d heard it every year for most of your life. It was all just a low buzz at the back of your mind anyway. You perused the stocked tables for the auction but stopped quickly as you recognized one of the lots. It was a smaller terracotta cast of Rodin’s The Kiss. It had been one of the few smaller versions he had created before making the true statue—and you only knew that because you had nearly shattered it when you were fourteen and running with Bruce through the Tower to escape Dory and her wrath because you had spilt grape juice all over a rug.

Donated by Wayne, Bruce

You let your finger trail over his name on the placard beneath the cast and then quickly scribbled your name and your probably overly high bet before turning back to the crowd. “Harleen!” You said with a smile as you spotted her ash blonde hair through the crowd.

You stepped closer and watched as her smile died as she looked at you. “If you didn’t like the dress I picked out, you could have told me.”

You looked down at the dress with a frown and your heart in your throat. “I…this was the dress that-”

She didn’t give you time to explain. Didn’t let you say that this was the dress that had been delivered from the boutique. There was never any other dress. Had the shop made a mistake? But Harleen didn’t care; she drained the rest of her flute of champagne and walked away from you with a less than discreet, “waste of time.”

And just like that, you were back in primary school. Alone and friendless on the playground while everyone else whispered around you. You felt your lip curl as stupid tears stung at your eyes. They started to spill as you heard someone murmur to their dance partner, “pitiful.”

You pressed the back of your hand to your mouth and darted (as quickly as you could without drawing even more attention) to one of the darkened hallways of the building.

“Stop it.” You fanned at your face in a desperate attempt to save your make up. “Stop it.”

A murmur of your name had your head snapping up.

“Bruce? What’re you doing here?” Your voice sounded more than a little pathetic as he emerged from the shadows like some sort of dark angel, dressed in a surely-designer tuxedo.

Before he answered, Bruce reached into his jacket and pulled a handkerchief from inside and handed it to you. It was made from the same material as your dress, almost like the universe was handing you a consolation prize for the ruined night: you matched. “I have to make a speech.”

Before you could stop yourself, you took the strip of fabric and gently dabbed at your eyes. “You hate making speeches. You hate talking to people.” You sniffled. “But I didn’t think you were the handkerchief type.”

“Alfred insisted,” he said, moving to lean against the wall beside you.

That made you laugh, a broken sound at the back of your throat. “When’s your speech?”

“In a couple of minutes.” He paused and you could feel the weight of his stare on you, like a finger tracing down each vertebra. “Will you stay?”

You finally looked at him and a new wave of tears burned at the back of your eyes. God, you missed him. You missed him so fucking much. “Yeah. Yeah, of course I’ll stay.”

Bruce smiled then, in that dark hallway, and reached out for you, long fingers tangling with yours before he hauled you close, wrapping his strong arms around you. Neither of you spoke. You simply held him and let him hold you, until you heard someone whisper his name, stating he was next up for the speeches.

“Save a dance for me,” he said, reaching up to hold your face in his scarred hand. It wasn’t a question or an offer, but you hardly cared.

“Really? I’ve been trying to get you to dance with me for over a decade at these stupid parties. Do you remember when Alfred spent that summer try to teach us the proper way to waltz?”

Bruce’s quiet laughter was your answer.

You remembered that summer fondly. You were sure your hands had been clammy the entire time and you had bruised Bruce’s poor toes with how many times you stepped on them, but it was a good memory.

“Go. Make your speech and get these assholes to let go of their money.”

“A dance,” he prodded, his blue eyes heavy as they rest on your face. “Can you wait for me? Or are you going to disappear again?”

Something twisted in your chest at the jab—of course, you probably deserved it. “You’ll have your dance, Bruce. I’m not leaving.”

That seemed to be enough for him and he stepped back, his hands sliding down your arms before dropping to his sides as something whispered at the back of your mind that something wasn’t the same—but that was because you had left, wasn’t it? You weren’t there to see Bruce step into the public eye again. You weren’t there to see how he handled himself now. You weren’t there.

He was gone in a few strides and you followed him out a handful of moments later, tucking yourself in the back of the ballroom to watch Bruce speak. Even with the distance, he found you. His blue eyes didn’t leave you as he spoke softly into the microphone, pledging to double all the money raised tonight, “for the betterment of this city we all love.”

Something didn’t let you move, or even fidget, under his gaze. He had pinned you from across the room. Bruce was looking at you like…like you were the only one there. You smiled and clapped as he finished along with the rest of the crowd as the music started again and the dance floor was occupied once more while others flocked to the auction tables.

People called after him, congratulating him on the speech, asking him questions, asking for a moment of his time—but his eyes still never left yours as he pushed through the crowd. And then, just as he reached you, his hand took yours and you were tugged to his side again. You knew, almost intrinsically, that you wouldn’t stop at the dance floor. There were too many whispers, and they grew louder when those around you recognized your face. Again, Bruce tugged you into the shadowed hall and the music (and the whispers) were muted as the door swung shut behind you.

“Good choice,” you murmured with a small smile. “No one will see me step on your toes.”

“You’ll let me lead this time, right?”

“Bruce, that was one time.” You felt heat rise over your chest at the embarrassing memory.

He didn’t say anything but curled his free hand over your hip as you set yours over his shoulder. And yes, you let him lead. It was clumsy—more so on your part than Bruce’s—but you saw him smile as you apologized the fourth time for kicking his shoe. He made you laugh as he spun you under his arm as the music flourished on the other side of the door. And, as the song ended, he pulled you close and your heart tried to strangle you as it shot into your throat when his lips brushed against your forehead.

“I miss you,” you whispered, pulling your hands away from his to press against his chest. “I…I miss you so much.” Bruce was quiet as you looked at him but you needed to say this—even if it was selfish and a mess of stream of consciousness. But Bruce was here and he was smiling at you again. “I just…I didn’t want to watch you try to get yourself killed night after night. You were…are my best friend. I didn’t want to lose you, too.”

“Is that what I am to you?” Your eyebrows knitted together at his question and you felt his hands tug a little tighter at your hips. “Your friend?”

“B-best friend,” you answered.

“Best friend,” he repeated, his face nearing yours. His breath skittered across your cheek, smelling of spearmint and sending a shiver down your spine. “Is that it?”

“Bruce? I…I don’t understand. I know I pushed you away and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry and I’ll always be sorry but you have to understand-”

Bruce’s lips brushed against yours and you felt yourself freeze—just for a moment—before you were reciprocating, pressing your mouth firmly against his in a silent celebration and resignation.

You could never leave him, could you?

His hands moved slowly, making their way up to grasp at your face, tilting your chin just a fraction, his fingers pressing into your skin like a firebrand. With a sigh, your lips parted, letting him press his tongue into your mouth.

Bruce was everywhere everywhere everywhere as his mouth started to move against yours.

His hands were on your face, around your neck, trailing between your breasts, and circling your hips. You hardly noticed you were moving until your back hit the cold wall and you gasped against his lips but Bruce was relentless. A broken sort of moan escaped you as Bruce shoved himself against you and you felt the heat of him through his expensive tuxedo and how hard he was. Everywhere everywhere everywhere.

Your hands raised to tangle in his dark hair, just wanting to touch him, needing to touch him and know that he was there. With you.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” He asked, his lips sliding across your cheek and down to the thrumming pulse in your throat.

“I am. Yours.” It was so easy to say. It was something you had been for years, and something you always wanted to be. His.

Bruce crushed his mouth against yours again, his hand move to palm your breast through your dress, tearing a moan from between your slick lips. You hardly remembered the time between Bruce pinning you to the wall and him moving you, pulling you further down the hall and a dimly lit staircase toward the underground parking lot where his car was parked. The car ride was filled with stuttered breaths and trailing fingers—slipping between the slit on your dress to rub and press against your clit over the scrap of lace you had called underwear until you were writhing in your seat with stars flashing behind your eyes. You shivered as his long fingers dipped—finally—beneath the lace to gather your slick and he raised his hand to his mouth and licked it away as he easily turned a corner—not even looking at you as he hummed. When you tried to reciprocate, fingers flittering over the straining zipper of his slacks, Bruce grabbed at your hand and pressed a hard kiss to your palm.

“Bruce,” you nearly whined. You wanted to know what he tasted like. Wanted to make him writhe and groan like he had done to you. Wanted to know what it was like-

“Later.”

The ride on the elevator was also a blur of hard, hot touches and opened mouthed kisses that left your lungs burning. You stumbled once, then twice after the doors opened with a familiar chime and Bruce all but hauled you through the familiar rooms and hallways of the penthouse and into his bedroom.

Bruce’s bed was soft as he pushed you onto your back, and he watched you bounce with a growing smile.

“Beautiful,” he said, just as soft as ever, before crawling over you and claiming your mouth again. Shoes and clothes were removed in a flurry and Bruce’s skin was so warm but you had to stop yourself from trying to wipe the scars away as they brushed against your palms. He was here; wasn’t that enough? He wanted you.

Bruce turned just slightly, curling a hand beneath your leg and pulling it up to sponge wet kisses against your calf, down to your knee, and then around to your inner thigh. The first broad lick of his tongue against your folds had you keening but Bruce’s grip tightened, his hand pinning you against the rumpled blankets of his bed. He pulled you apart easily, had you wailing into the cooled air of his room within a few stretched moments. But he wasn’t done. And neither were you.

Your limbs felt boneless as you reached for him, once again weaving your fingers into his hair as he sloppily licked at you again, and pulled him up, letting the taste of yourself invade your senses as he licked into your mouth again.

Everywhere everywhere everywhere.

His fingers found the crux in your thighs and he rubbed vicious circles against your clit that had you keening and writhing beneath him, your shaking hands sliding down his slick back. But then he was moving again, taking himself in his hand and moving forward. The first thrust pushed the breath from your lungs.

Full. You were so full.

And then he was moving, moving and stuffing you full over and over again, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the tops of your breasts, your neck, your cheeks, and swallowing your moans over and over again as he moved to grasp at your hips, lifting you just enough to drive into you with an efficient drag and pull.

“B-Bruce-” Was all you could say, chanting his name like some sacred, debauched prayer. You had never felt so good, even the tightening coil in your lower stomach felt like heaven.

“Give me another,” he said, pressing the words against your sweat-slick skin. “Let me feel you.” But Bruce never waited for something—and he wanted to feel you cum around his cock. Without missing a beat, his fingers moved down between your breasts, across your stomach, to coil around your clit. The pressure alone had your toes curling and your head pushing back against the overstuffed pillows with a choked sob.

“Br-Bruce!” Is all the warning you gave before you came, shaking in his grip.

But Bruce wasn’t finished, wasn’t finished with you until you were crying and writhing in his grip, trying to pull him closer, trying to push him away from the overstimulation. But then you came again and you felt him smile against your throat as he gave one last thrust and warmth pooled and you felt it slip out and puddle beneath your legs.

Bruce was smiling against your mouth as he kissed you again.

More words were hushed and murmured between unhurried kisses as he cleaned you up with a wet wash cloth and then let you scamper off to his bathroom for a quick refresh. When you emerged, you saw him surrounded by the rumpled, dark blankets and sheets looking at you as the yellow city lights filtered in through the rain-slicked window.

“I hadn’t realized it started raining,” you whispered as you let Bruce tug you back into bed.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, hauling you close after pulling the blankets up around you both, effectively tucking you in.

You turned on the pillow to look at him and reached out to trace a finger down between his brows to the tip of his nose and watched his long lashes flutter against his cheeks. “I am, truly, sorry, Bruce. I should have-”

“You’re here now.” His eyes opened and pinned you, again. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.” Bruce grabbed your hand and tangled your fingers together next to his face on the pillow.

“I-”

His grip tightened for just a moment. “Stay.”

You had to get up early tomorrow morning to deal with a high profile funeral and then have lunch with your father and a thousand other small things but… “Okay. I can stay the night.”

“Stay.”

You spoke about nothing and everything in the whispered tones you remembered from your childhood unplanned sleepovers and late night study sessions. You whispered until your eyelids were too heavy to keep open and you fell asleep with Bruce holding your hand.

And he was still holding it when you woke the next morning, hearing your phone chirp from inside your discarded handbag near the foot of the bed.

You quietly redressed as Bruce continued to sleep, you knew he had always been a deep sleeper, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before scouring the messy floor for your shoes. You found one atop the chair near the door and the other nearly hidden beneath something that looked like a cape. You pulled the piece of cloth up and reached for your shoe, only to stop as you recognized what the cape was hiding.

It was a telescope.

Alarm bells were chiming at the back of your mind as you pulled the cloth away entirely and let out a long breath as you stared at the eyepiece. From the angle it was tilted, you already know what Bruce had been looking at.

You knew that if you bent down to look through, it would be pointed straight at your window. But you needed to know. Needed it. And so you bent and looked; you could see straight into your bedroom, could see your pillow-covered bed. You stood straight with your heart in your throat. You remembered the photos you found. You remembered seeing Batman everywhere you went. You remembered it. All of it. And now you knew it wasn’t him just making sure you were okay and safe. It was more than that. It always had been. Morbid curiosity and dread pulled at you as you crept to the tall dresser near the far wall and you carefully pulled open the first drawer and you bit back a whimper.

You had just wanted your friend back. You had wanted the man you had loved since you were a child.

And, for a night, you had them both.

But it seemed that he wasn’t the man you knew anymore.

In the drawer, beside a careful stack of photos of you, were your missing lace panties. With a shaking hand you picked up one of the photos—it was of you and Harleen at lunch. You were smiling as Harleen told a story, gesticulating wildly with a fork. You had been happy.

Harleen’s face had been scratched out and you flipped the photo over to see a familiar boutique’s name scrawled across it in Bruce’s undeniable handwriting. You pulled out more pictures. Pictures of you at work. Pictures of you back at uni in Central City. Your friends names were on each of the photos, their faces crossed out, just as Harleen’s had been.

And further still was a list of your log-ins and passwords.

Over and over and over again, you saw the same word: mine.

Mine.

Tears blurred your vision as you quietly shut the drawer.

No. Bruce wasn’t the man you thought he was. Maybe he never had been.

You picked up your shoes and snuck out without more than a watery smile sent in Alfred’s direction when he gave you a surprised, “good morning, miss!” You couldn’t speak after seeing the gardenias set in a little vase near the window.

Your thumb jammed against the elevator call button and you slipped inside, turning around to watch the doors close. You barely caught a glimpse of Bruce standing in the shadows before the gilded doors shut.

Bruce had been patient. Over two decades of patience and ruined plans.

The world had taken enough from him, didn’t he deserve something, someone of his own? All he wanted was you.

You, who made him smile.

You, in his bed.

You, who knew him on his darkest days.

You, on his lips.

You, who tasted as sweet as you looked.

You.

He wanted you.

But you had to make everything so difficult. Didn’t you see that he was all you needed? Didn’t you see how much he loved you? And he knew you loved him, too. He knew you had that Rodin statue in your room. He knew you never told your father about your discoveries and still smiled when he asked when you were going to “finally let that boy make an honest woman out of you?”

You had changed your number and moved apartments—not that it was hard to get ahold of this new information. This was still Gotham, after all.

Things had changed. Now Bruce knew what you tasted like. What you looked like when he brought you pleasure. What you liked and needed. He needed you—and Bruce knew you needed him. You always have and you always will. Just like him. And now he was going to show you.

The small bouquet of gardenias in his hand filled the hallway with their soft sweetness as he stood outside your doorway and knocked. They covered the scent of the chloroform-soaked rag in his coat pocket.

If you had been smart and looked through the peephole, Bruce knew you wouldn’t have opened the door. But you didn’t and he watched your eyes grow wide as you looked at him. See? Didn’t you see that you needed him to keep you safe?

“Hello, my love.”

A/N: Please let me know what you think! Thank you for reading!

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #batman x reader #battinson x reader #the batman #bruce wayne

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ravenpuff88 · 9 months

Text

The Stars in Your Eyes

Amit Thakkar x Female!MC

Warnings: Excessive nerdy astronomy talk, MC being a bit insecure, small existential crisis (definitely not inspired by personal experience😅), ultra fluffiness

Word Count: 1831

Synopsis: While spending time stargazing, the pair find themselves not just admiring the stars. (You might even call them star-crossed lovers…hehe I know it's cheesy af)

Essentially an adorable love confession between two friends. (I didn’t have a specific time in mind for when this takes place, but for reference let’s just say it’s been at least around a year since the events of the game)

Author’s Note: This is my very first attempt at writing fanfiction so any and all feedback is greatly appreciated! I’ll admit that this is a little self-indulgent as I myself love looking at and talking about Astronomy and have developed quite a soft spot for our boy Amit. Though I hope even the non-star lovers can still enjoy this! :)

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“And that one there is Sirius.”

“The dog?” Squinting her eyes and adjusting her telescope, she tried to make out the constellation Amit had pointed at. As much as she enjoyed gazing at and observing the various stars and astronomical objects in the sky, she internally chuckled at her lack of skill when it came to effectively using a telescope.

“A little to the left… here, let me…” Amit gently placed his hand over hers as he guided her to the correct spot. Adjusting it one more time, she sees the unmistakable bright collection of stars. Smiling, she looks over to Amit who’s still staring up at the night sky.

Tonight had fortunately been a particularly clear one, allowing her to soak in the image of her moonlit friend. She admired the small smile on his lips and the way his eyes longingly gazed up at the sky, the stars twinkling reflection in them. Despite the late-night chill, she felt her face grow warm when he turned back to look at her. Quickly averting her eyes back to the telescope, she feigned being in the process of looking for another constellation.

“Thank you by the way,” she whispers, not quite having the courage to meet his eyes just yet. “For agreeing to meet me tonight. You’ve been a tremendous help, and not just in Astronomy, but in all my classes.”

The corners of his mouth turn up. “You are most welcome. It is a pleasure to be able to help you.” He watches as she gazes at him from the corner of her eyes, her face still against the telescope.

“I only wish I could offer you more help of my own. You’re one of my closest friends and have done so much to help me without so much as asking for anything in return.” A small sigh leaves her lips as she pulls away from the telescope to finally face him.

Amit turns his head slightly in confusion as she gives him a half-hearted smile. “And you are one of my closest friends,” he states. “I truly do not mind going out of my way to help you. Especially after all you’ve done for me and everyone else for that matter,” he chuckles, reminiscing on the year she had arrived and when they first met.

She too smiles at the memory. “I suppose I mean I wish I could provide more academic assistance to you as you so often do to me,” she murmurs.

“Need I remind you who is still currently the Crossed Wands Champion? You often forget that I am not nearly as gifted as you when it comes to dueling.” Taking a step towards her, he makes sure her eyes meet his as he smiles at her. “You’re the first and only person I ever ask to help with my Defense Against the Dark Arts assignments for a reason. And not just because you’re my closest friend in that class.”

Sheepishly bowing her head a little, she does her best to continue looking into his deep brown eyes. “Well… thank you.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. Trust me, you are an amazing witch with and without my help,” Amit said as he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

The two exchanged a soft smile as both pairs of eyes slowly drifted back up to the twinkling sky. Neither spoke for a while, the only noise being the occasional cricket chirp or the distant sound of a broom flying by. The lack of conversation isn’t uncomfortable though as both are content just being in the other’s presence.

She’s the first to break the silence, however. “There are… so many stars,” she chuckles. “Not to point out the obvious or anything, but it’s crazy when you really think about how… insignificant we are in the grand scheme of the universe.” Amit hums in acknowledgment as the two continue staring at the endless void that sparkles above them.

“I mean… the universe already is unfathomably vast and coupled with the fact that it’s constantly expanding…” she takes a breath, shaking her head. “It's just unimaginable. We’re essentially a tiny speck, no even less than that, floating along through the infinite cosmos.”

A beat of silence passed through them and Amit took the moment to turn his gaze toward her. She was still craning her neck to look up, seemingly bewitched by the thousands of lights glittering in the sky. Her mouth was slightly open and her eyes slightly glossy. She might have been standing right next to him, but the far-off look in her eyes told Amit her mind was miles away. His own eyes softened at the sight before him.

The light reflected from the moon bathed her in a light blue hue, highlighting her beautiful hair, her slightly creased forehead, and rather adorable eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Amit then felt his eyes wander down to her lips. When she wasn’t speaking they formed a small yet sad smile. She suddenly stopped to look at him.

Amit felt his face heat up as he briefly looked away, slightly embarrassed at being caught staring at her. When he looked back she was looking expectantly up at him, as if waiting for a response.

“Oh, I am terribly sorry, did you say something?” A faint blush dusted his cheeks as he internally cursed himself for not paying attention to what she was saying.

“No worries,” she giggled, amused by his shy and apologetic nature. “I was just saying, do you ever feel… overwhelmed by the thought of everything? Of how meaningless it sometimes feels to even be here?” She looked back up. “I mean it’s utterly breathtaking don’t get me wrong. I love that I’m able to admire such beauty from right here but sometimes I think… if we’re so immensely small it’s honestly frightening to think about the impact of our very existence and how at the end of the day…” she paused, taking a deep breath. “Does it even matter? What’s the point of it all?”

She risks another glance at Amit and is met with his eyes staring intriguingly at her own. The corners of his mouth twitch slightly as he processes what she had just said. Conversations such as this one were reminders to him of one of the many reasons he cherished her and their interactions together. Perhaps something as deep as the questions she had asked him would be alarming to some, and while he wasn’t exactly expecting those words, Amit lives for moments like these. Times where he knows he’s not alone in his endless questioning of any and all things. And that she’s comfortable enough with him to have the courage to ask.

“I won’t pretend like I know the answer any more than you do,” he says softly, taking a step toward her. “But I will say this: whether or not our purpose-our very reason for existence has any significance beyond that of simply living a fulfilling life… I believe that, at the very least, there is something to be said about the impact we all make on ourselves and others.”

Amit takes another step closer to her, the pair’s eyes locked onto the other as the space between them nearly disappears. “While I hardly believe in luck, I do think that each one of us is lucky to be alive and here today. I think I am incredibly lucky to be where I am and at this very specific time since if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t know all the people I know now. I…” Taking her hand, Amit gently places his forehead against hers as he closes his eyes for a moment, savoring how close the two are.

“I wouldn’t know you.” Opening his eyes, he’s met with her incredibly bright ones. “I wouldn’t know what it’s like to see you every day. To hear your laughter echo across the halls. I wouldn’t know the warm fuzzy feeling I get whenever you ask me for help. How easy and intellectually stimulating our conversations are.” Seeing her eyes practically sparkle before him, Amit lifts his other hand and softly cups her cheek, relishing in the tiny gasp that slips past her lips.

“I wouldn’t know how beautiful your eyes are, how they shine brighter than any star.” Amit feels himself swimming in those gorgeous eyes. He’s drowning and has no intention of ever coming up for air. At last, his gaze drifts from her stunning eyes down to her lips once more. Looking back up, he searches her face for any signs of discomfort. “May I…” he whispers, hesitating slightly. “May I kiss you?”

Still utterly entranced by his words and the way he gazes down at her, it takes her a second to process his request. But only another moment passes before she nods her head. “Please…”

A small relieved sigh leaves Amit’s mouth as he slowly leans his head down to hers. He stops just short of her lips, feeling her breath against his face as he looks at her one more time, wordlessly asking permission just once more.

She smiles softly at his consideration and takes the opportunity to move forward herself to gently press her lips against his. Though slightly awkward at first, the kiss is delicate as the two begin to move their lips in unison.

As a steady rhythm is built, Amit gradually moves his hand from her cheek to the back of her neck, lightly pushing her further into him. With his other hand still connected with hers, he moves to lovingly intertwine their fingers while she finds purchase in lightly gripping the front of his robes.

He feels a soft groan leave his mouth when he feels the delicate trace of her tongue against his bottom lip. But before he can indulge any further, he feels her pull away for a breath, much to his dismay.

“Wow,” she gasped. She took in Amit’s flushed face and imagined she was in a similar state. As the two caught their breaths they locked eyes once more, smiling at each other before erupting into a fit of giggles.

“I love you,” She breathed in between laughs. Though when Amit suddenly went silent she feared she had just scared him off. “I…I mean…” she stuttered.

“Do you mean it?” he asked softly.

She chanced looking at him again, searching for anything in his eyes telling her she should deny it. But she was met with nothing but two deep pools of exquisite brown eyes. His eyes. The ones that seemed to look into her very soul. The ones that even now, were filled with nothing but sincerity.

“Yes.”

His eyes practically lit up at her confession. Placing his hands on her hips he effectively lifted her and spun her around, cherishing in her laughter echoing through the night. Setting her back down he moved both of his hands to her face.

“I love you too, my little star.”

#hogwarts legacy #amit thakkar #amit thakkar x reader #amit thakkar x mc #fluff #friends to lovers #hogwarts legacy fic #first fic

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mybuckynotyours · 2 years

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Don't Wake The Dragon

Pairing: Mafia!Dom!Ari Levinson x Female!Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Teasing, blowjob, unprotected sex, nipple play, orgasm denial, hint of creampie.

A/N: I've fallen for Ari and I cannot get back up. Another self indulgent fic 🙃. If you enjoy this, please leave a comment and reblog! Thank you ❤

Ari was feral, to the point that he could snap someone’s neck right in the moment. Instead, he decided to drive off and go back to you. He’ll find clarity, like he always whenever he’s with you.

He found you in the kitchen sitting on the large plush sofa, comfortably reading a book. To your surprise, you were not expecting him to be back home so soon.

Your face broke into a wide grin as your eyes met his. “Hey baby.”

Ari didn’t say anything, he just propped down on the sofa next to you, his arms open as your body dove right into him, embracing him.

In return his strong arms wrapped around you and leaned in to press his lips against your forehead. His eyes closed as he welcomed your sweet, honeyed scent all over him. He loved to smell your hair, especially after a tough day at work. It got him to relax a little. You always managed to make him feel secure.

His eyes snapped open as he heard your silent giggling.

“Are you laughing at me?” He asked bemused. “I should warn you, I’m in no laughing mood, sugar.” He warned, raising a suggestive brow at you.

“Awh, what would you have me do then Ari?” You replied back playfully, holding one of his bearded cheek into your palm, lightly stroking with your thumb.

“Take off your panties and I’ll tell you.” He said to you lowly, before taking your lips between his to leave a bruising kiss, feeling his beard tickling your upper lip. Oh so he’s in that kind of mood…

You broke the kiss to do as you were told. In your playful way, your hands disappeared under your skirt, and with your fingers you pulled down your panties, swinging slightly your hips in the process before you stepped out of them.

Ari was transfixed, his eyes never left your body with a glint in his eyes, ready to devour you.

“Good girl, now I want you to unzip my pants and take out my cock, sugar. I want you to give it a few strokes and wet it real nice before you come sit on my lap. You’re going to do all the work today sugar. I want you to ride me till I come inside you. Wanna feel you stretching around me sugar. Take off your tank top too, I want to see those beautiful tits of yours.”

“Ari…” You gasped out softly, your legs closing together, a tingle of pleasurable desire coursing through you. You were almost a mess already with just the filth that has come out of his mouth. The heat between your core mingled with your wetness, you almost lost your balance.

You kneeled and crawled a little before him, till you were standing between his long, thick thighs. Your fingertips slid up sensually from his ankles, up to his knees till they stopped up in front the zipper of his pants. Teasingly, you brushed one of your hands over his clothed length, eliciting a low groan from Ari, feeling his body tense up.

“I told you. Do not play games with me today.” He warned once again a bit sterner, his eyes growing darker, locking with yours.

You glanced back apologetically, as best as you could and without saying another word, you unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and pushed down his trousers to his ankles. Next came down his black boxer briefs. His cock bulged out and your mouth immediately hung open.

You continued to do as you were instructed, your palm moving slowly in motion up and down along his long length. Then, you took him in your mouth with a moan, your tongue tracing along the veins of his shaft. Drool was forming in the corners of your mouth, the deeper you went, till you pulled your head briefly to circle his sensitive head with the tip of your tongue.

“Fuck me, sugar. Come on.” Ari told you panting for breath, eyes half lidded.

You pulled your mouth away with a pop and placed a soft kiss on the tip, before stretching your legs up in a standing position.

Ari took hold of the base of his shaft, waiting for you. You placed your hands onto his chest, bending your knees and spreading your legs to sink down on his cock. You both moaned loudly as he penetrated you. You sunk down slowly, feeling every stretch of your pussy around him. “Fuck.” You sighed as your eyes fluttered closed as he was fully buried into you.

Your head dropped onto his shoulder and your hands wrapped around his neck. Ari helped you a little by holding you by the base of your ass.

“Go on, ride me.” He encouraged you and placed a soft kiss to your neck. “Don’t forget to take off your tank top, sugar.” He reminded you again.

You had forgotten about the tank top because you were desperate to feel him, to stuff yourself with his cock, feeling so full already.

With shaky breath and soft whimpering, you started to move, picking up a steady pace as you rode him. It wasn’t too fast nor too slow, just right – long, deep strokes, your pussy clamping around him with each one. Your eyebrows furrowed, feeling wave after wave of pure ecstasy.

“Oh god, Ari…I love you.” You choked out as your rhythm increased, sinking yourself deeper into him, riding him just had told you.

Ari grunted and to your surprise he ripped your tank top to shreds. “You didn’t follow through.” He said through gritted teeth, digging his fingers into your ass cheeks now fully in control of your pace.

“Sorry…’m sorry!” You cried out as his hips pushed up to meet your thrusts. Now he was the one fucking up into you deeper and deeper. He didn’t allow you to move, he just started to use your pussy hole mercilessly.

Your breasts bounced up with each thrust, before taking a nipple between his teeth to lick and bite causing you to yelp and arch your back a little.

“I’m close…”

“No.” He roared at you and stopped abruptly.

Your eyes widened as he halted his movement inside you, causing you to wince in protest.

“You didn’t follow through so now you do not get to come. I had warned you.” He spoke with a baritone voice, picking up the pace once again, pushing you down on him.

Your orgasm was building up rapidly, you could barely hold on, so you trembled lightly as he kept moving within you. Fuckfuckfuck

Ari was now amusing himself by teasing your other nipple, pinching and twisting with his thumb as he went back to fucking you even harder than he was before.

You cried out again, his name falling out of your lips like a litany, in hopes that he will let you come undone, but you knew that he would not change his mind too soon. You bit on your lip, tasting your own blood on your tongue, suppressing your climax. Your insides were threatening to explode at any given moment, the more you two moved.

“Look at you, stuffed with my dick inside you, so fucking helpless. That’s what you get.” He growled, giving a few more strokes before reaching his peak, emptying himself inside you.

You felt his hot come reach up, deep inside your cervix as he came so hard. You could still feel how stiff he was, he could possibly keep going till and deny you further, to which you silently prayed he wouldn’t.

Thankfully, he didn’t move but stayed still inside you, catching his breath as his broad chest was heaving. Some of his come was dripping out from the corner of your pussy, feeling it trickle down your thigh. You stayed still as best as you could, because if you moved just an inch, you’ll break.

A knowing smirk formed across Ari’s features as continued to hold you tightly against him.

“Shall I continue to fuck you and deny you your pleasure for the day, sugar? Or are you going to do as you’re told?”

#chris evans #chris evans fan fiction #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 2 years

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Too Much

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, f!reader

Word Count: 1832

TW: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Breakdown, Feeling Overwhelmed

Note: Hangman might be slightly OOC but this is very self-indulgent given the week I've had 😅 Thank you to @skvatnavle for looking this over for me!

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