#martha is coming back to us and you and i both know it's the right thing even though i know you're a fucking mess too but also pls go'
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actually you know whose reaction I'd be really curious about, potentially coming across fourteen in the shops? Francine!
#francine jones#martha jones#the doctor#dw#doctor who#the (second?) last time they saw each other she nodded to him#and i tend to interpret that as a mix of 'thank you for talking me down' 'hey we survived hell together' and 'thank goodness#martha is coming back to us and you and i both know it's the right thing even though i know you're a fucking mess too but also pls go'#not in the sense that martha was trapped with ten but that ten maybe Could have convinced her to stay potentially#or even just that francine was afraid that ten might do so/martha could possibly choose ten over them#also just that in some ways the jones fam saw the doctor and the master being An Terrifying Other Species moreso than most#there's that relief when martha comes back like they weren't sure she'd be walking back inside#so they dont end it on Bad terms technically#but also potentially... sees fourteen and it's a trigger? sees fourteen and is afraid for martha?#sees fourteen and assumes the end of the world is coming back? sees fourteen and is just... oh... hoped id never see you again#sees fourteen and it's an awkward british 'how have things been? good. you? yeah good. got a garden now. oh that's nice'#(was francine there when martha was on that joint call -- she was wasnt she?#i cannot remember if there's any Looks between them there that indicate how she feels about ten at that point)#anyway i think francine should've been in martha's final scene i think francine was the most important part of martha's life#that symbolised the ways that ten had affected that life#and seeing how francine potentially felt after end of time would have been such a strong indicator of how that story ended there#the tenth doctor#the fourteenth doctor#doctor who spoilers#dw spoilers
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Feel the Heat - Grid x F Driver! Reader
Plot: All the moments that Y/N has just absolutely lost her shit.
Warnings: Lots of swearing, mentions of sexism (undertones) which I do not condone at all, its just for the plot and what i see some celebrities are burdened with in the limelight.
Credit to martha-dobie for the GIF
Moment 1:
"So Y/N how do you feel about the 10 second time penalty?" Martin asks you in the post race interview. You were now starting P20 in the race tomorrow and it wasn't even your fault.
"Yeah superb the FIA did a really good job determining who was at fault!" you grit out with a strained smile on your face.
"Oh really? Because your team seem to be arguing against the decision as we speak, they've been very vocal about it"
"Yeah it was sarcastic of course I'm not happy, any other driver who did that would have been let off... but I don't? My team have clips of Hamilton, Ricciardo, Leclerc, Stroll, Gasly and Norris all doing it and getting away with it. So why not me?" you ask before storming off. You didn't want to do media anymore and your PR manager could tell.
"Y/N we are trying to get that penalty lifted so that you start P4 tomorrow. I don't know what else to say, the team are trying" she says rubbing your shoulders, but the scowl on your face says otherwise.
"It's not fucking right though Cathy!" you exclaim kicking the side of the Red Bull hospitality wall.
"I know, i know. And they are working on it!" she exclaims trying to calm you down.
"They wont change their decision now though, the other teams will get pissed that they've gone back on their word..." you seethe.
"Fucks sake" you scream.
"I'm going" you grunt out, before storming through the AlphaTauri garage and grab your bag that you'd brought to the track. Everyone could see how hacked off you were, even once you put the sunglasses on and your team cap to cover the look currently on your face.
"Y/N are you okay?" Yuki your team mate asks, as he too exists the paddock behind you. You tried to ignore him, not wanting to turn round and snap at one of the most genuine and sweetest people here.
"Okay, you don't want to talk and that's fine, but please let me drive. Angry Y/N is scary driving" he advises, trying to beeline ahead of you so that he could get to the drivers door before you.
"Sorry Yuki, yeah you should drive" you manage to get out slowing down your own pace so that the poor male didn't have to run so he was ahead of you.
Aftermath:
You proceeded to not have the time penalty knocked, and you started the race in P20, however you managed to climb all the way up to P5 in a victorious come back race.
Your team were celebrating the come back and you were beyond happy in the interviews.
Moment 2:
"Y/N over here! Can you sign this?" another voice shouts at you, you were in the airport and your manager said that he would be there for you and your girlfriend when you got off the plane with security.
However no-one was there to collect you apart from fans who somehow worked out what flight you were on.
Slowly more and more people were flooding around you both and your girlfriend. Your girlfriend was a smaller streamer and therefore wasn't used to the Paparazzi.
"Guys can we back up a little, just to keep us all safe" you tried being nice to get the fans to back up a little further to make sure your girlfriend was safe.
However, as you went round with the sharpie, more and more people were pushing and you were so out of it from the pushing and pulling, the cameras in your face and things being thrusted at you that the tight grip that was once on your forearm was gone.
"Emma?" you shouted your girlfriends name, now noticing you couldn't see her.
"Emma!" you shouted in an angrier tone, people still not backing up and giving you space.
"Right, I've tried to be nice, everyone please leave. NOW!" you say sternly, and for the first time not only the fans but airport staff notice the commotion and security help you out of the circled crowd around you.
You immediately went to twitter.
'Please, if you are a fan and you see a celebrity in a public space with no security... DONT bring attention to them and DONT mob them. That was the scariest moment of my life in Heathrow Airport just now. Have some fucking respect for your idols'
You shut your phone off, your face still angry most definitely being caught by the paps. They also caught as you ran up to your girlfriend pulling her into a hug, checking over her making sure she's okay, before your hands travel up to her cheek and pull her into a kiss.
"I'm so sorry baby" you apologize as soft tears start to fall down her face.
Aftermath:
Your girlfriend had ended up breaking up with you the week after the race, the pressure of everything getting to her. You cried to Charles and Pierre for an entire weekend as your 3 year long relationship had just come to a close because of your fans not having respect for personal space and boundaries.
You were fuming and had written many tweets and Instagram story's explaining why you guys broke up and how utterly heartbroken you were, however you wanted Emma to be happy and that this is what was for the best.
For months, you were cold and off with any media duties and PR had to tell every interviewer not to bring the breakup up in the questions or they'd cut the interview.
Moment 3:
"Well, Lando... you've been here for six years now and you still haven't got your first win yet... do you feel like your going to be the next Nico Hulkenberg or Kevin Magnussen?" An interviewer asks looking down at his notepad.
"Erm" Lando says unsurely looking down.
"What the actual fuck" you spit, looking at the interviewer that asked him.
"Y/N you have input on this matter?"
"Go fuck yourself. Get yourself in a F1 car and see if you can even fucking start it. Lando has worked hard for what he has achieved so far, in and no hate to Mclaren, but a midfield car. How dare you sit there and ask him that question. Kevin and Nico have also worked hard for where they are, even just being in F1 is a phenomenal achievement considering there are only 20 seats in the world. So to answer your question, no Lando is Lando Norris and that's fucking iconic enough as it is, with or without a win. Have a good fucking rest of the panel" you rant, before standing up with so much force that your seat goes crashing back, a bang sounding throughout the room making the interviewer flinch.
Aftermath:
Everyone actually sat there for a minute reviewing how you'd just stormed out of media duties and slammed the interviewer six feet under.
"So Y/N no longer will be participating into todays panel. So Martin i believe you had a question for Lewis?" the director advised but the rest of the vibes for the interview weren't there as everyone agreed with your previous statements.
Moment 4:
"Y/N are you okay?" your race engineer asks.
"FUCK! FUCKS SAKE. WHAT A PRICK" you screech.
"Copy that. But are you okay?" they asks once again.
"No I'm not fucking okay. Tell Leclerc when i see him, I'm going to shove his wheel so far into his mouth " *cut off*
"Did you guys just fucking mute me?" you scream, but after not hearing anything you jump out the car handing the wheel to one of the pit teams that had come out to collect your battered car.
You kicked at the gravel, yelling at one of the crew asking if they saw how Leclerc had literally gone into you and used you as his crash barrier, yet he was still able to the continue the race pitting for minor wing damage.
Aftermath:
You had yelled at Charles after the race, who completely admitted to you that he was at fault and he was sorry to be the cause of your DNF. He went on to say in the interviews that he was sorry to you that he'd caused such a collision.
Moment 5:
"WOMEN SHOULDNT BE IN MOTORSPORT" you hear from the stand behind you as your signing a little boys hat that he had offered you asking for a picture and a signature.
However, something metallic not only hit you but hit the little boy that was stood to your left. He immediately raised his hand to his head, holding the bit that the can had hit before bursting into tears.
In a moment of shock you spin round looking for the men that had thrown the empty beer cans at you through the fencing.
"Oiii you two get the fuck down here now!" you point at the two laughing gents, who still at being called out.
"Don't ever pull shit like that again or I'll get you permanently banned from every sporting event you could possibly attend" you say looking up at them. They looked at you in shock.
"Oh, I'm sorry if its not the consequences of your actions ..." you laugh.
"But ..."
"No, you hurt a little boy! And me... So I'll be letting bar staff know to no longer serve you" you say before turning away and talking to security.
They ended up finding the little boy and his father. You came up to them with a gift bag each and upgraded paddock passes. They hugged you thanking you for the opportunity and saying it was too much.
You made sure the little boy was okay, carrying him on your hip touring him through the paddock, introducing him and his dad to the other drivers and then showing him around the garage. You let him sit in your car while you took a picture of him and his dad. A mechanic then took a picture of the three of you.
Aftermath:
The media went crazy seeing you stick up for the little boy and his day around the paddock with you. People knew you were sweet despite how short tempered you could be and these interactions proved it.
The little boy and his father ended up actually becoming closer friends of yours and would often be seen in the paddock or when they had general tickets people would wave as they recognized them.
Taglist:
@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz
#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1 x you#formula 1#formula one#formula one fanfiction#charles leclerc#charles lecrelc x reader#kimi raikkonen#max verstappen#lewis hamilton#lando norris#oscar piastri#sebastian vettel#lance stroll#fernando alonso#carlos sainz#daniel ricciardo#yuki tsunoda#zhou guanyu#sergio perez#george russell#kevin magnussen
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little aphrodite
sex on fire chapter nine
the amount i had to write jean-marc in this chapter makes me nauseous. anywho. these two heal my soul and make me weep. please enjoy a little look back at the ceo's experience of paris.
pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader
summary: we're going back to paris. this time, through joel's eyes.
warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, alcohol consumption, ostentatious flaunting of wealth (eat the rich i say), sugardaddy!joel, softdom!joel, oral (f and m receiving), daddy kink, praise kink, cursing, angst & pining, and...well. the ceo falls in love.
word count: 7.5k
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He wasn’t even sure you’d say yes when he asked. Thought you’d find it a bit much, flying halfway across the world just for one lousy meeting. He had what he’d say when you turned him down in mind, already: Sure, yeah, no problem. No, I just thought – Yeah. ‘s alright. I’ll bring you back som’ as a souvenir.
But you didn’t.
Oh, yeah? you’d said. Your face seemed to light – humored, impressed even. It made Joel feel braver. Reassured. You’ve a habit of doing that to him.
Mhm, he replied, chewing on the sub you’d ordered him after his conference call. He can’t remember what he promised Human Resources he’d have done within the hour. You walked in as he was saying it, and – well. Two days, he said, swallowing, Saturday Sunday.
And are you gonna make me take minutes while you meet with this Jean-Marc? You wiggled your fingers as you said it, letting the name drip through your lips in some kind of dreamy song. I don’t make the flight back unless they’re typed up by the time we leave? That the catch?
No catch. You don’t even gotta come to the meetin’.
I don’t have to –? Wow, Miller. You’re spoiling me, no? You kicked your leg, one knee hooked over the other. Your skirt shrinking up your thigh.
You were sat in the chair on the right, opposite his desk. You always sit in that one – and Joel’s still trying to figure out why. The working theory so far is that it’s at a good angle to watch the city below, and at the same time, see exactly who comes and goes in and out of the office during lunch.
But there has to be more to it, he thinks. He suspects. Martha’s desk is, like, five feet from yours. She spends her lunches in the conference room with Deb, shaking salads doused in balsamic vinegar and sharing cross-floor gossip. They invite you every day, and almost every day, you turn them down in favor of his shuttered office, the muted swish of cars on the street, the mock gasps and clutch of invisible pearls when you share that same fifth-floor gossip with him over the desk.
You’d been talking while he’d been thinking about the damn chair. He hadn’t heard a word of it. Huh? he asked, and you rolled your eyes.
Ain’t never listenin’, you muttered, peeling the damp paper back from your own sub.
Say it again, Joel said. Was just making a mental note to book dinner for us over there.
You scoffed, licking mayo from the corner of your lips. Why you making mental notes for anything? That’s what you pay me for.
And you were right – it is what he pays you for. Pays you to be his shadow, his right-hand man, his eyes and his ears and his entire brain, some days.
But lately – he doesn’t know. It’s different.
Truth be told, he has no idea what’s gotten into him. Looking at you the way he is. You’ve fucked around twice, now, and both times have been…nothing short of fucking amazing. Both times, Joel’s thought he might come within the first two minutes. Pushing inside your velvet walls, watching the way you roll forward, hearing the lewd moans pour across your lips.
He’s always thought you were attractive. It’s pretty fucking hard to ignore. Physically, sure – the look of your body, the way you know how to dress it. And the prettiest, softest face he’s ever seen. You can win him over in any discussion without a word, just by fluttering your eyelashes at him.
But you’re more than that. He thinks of you both as friends, maybe something more. Something deeper. It’s in the glances you steal, the silent lines tossed between one another. The way you read one another like an open book. Sometimes, he wonders if you actually can read his mind.
You’re intelligent, you’re funny, and you’re a hard fucking worker. Always on time, always seemingly juggling thirty things at once, and never letting him down. Nothing is too much, it seems; everything just is as it is. And he likes that about you. Simple. No baggage.
The morning of the flight, you send him a voice note telling him you’re downstairs. “And I ain’t lugging two cases up to the top floor only to bring ‘em back down when we’re leaving, Mr. CEO.”
He’s striding past Martha for the elevator before he’s even done listening to the message.
“Uh-uh!” she chirps, dashing over to slip between the brass doors behind him.
Joel sighs under his breath.
“I know better than to rely on you to remember all this stuff,” she says, holding up a file he’d asked her to put together for the trip.
She’s right not to – he’d probably leave that file in the car, or put it down somewhere and walk off without it. You’re the only one who can be trusted with it – with anything. You’re good at your job. And yet, he resents the fact that Martha’s about to lump you with even a fraction of responsibility for the next four days.
So when the Rolls pulls off and Martha is nothing but a pin-sized silhouette through the back window, still waving from the sidewalk, he pinches the folder in two fingers and tosses it to his left hip. Out of your grasp. You smile, eyes rolling, and pop your earbuds in. Joel breathes a laugh, eyes dipping again to skim read some contract on his phone. His hand is locked around your thigh. He likes that you just let him do it now.
Likes a lot of things about you. Likes that you put your music on shuffle, and then skip eleven tracks until you find one you actually want to listen to. Likes that your fingers twirl around the light chain of your necklace – the way they do anytime you’re nervous – and when he asks if you’re alright, you bareface lie to him and squeak, Yep.
Likes the glow the morning sun casts on you when you emerge from the car on the tarmac, pooling in the dimples on your cheeks, bright gold. The way you tug on the loose cotton of your sweatpants, bashful. Shy. And he likes that, when he follows you up the steps to the plane cabin, your awestruck expression lasts all of five seconds before that quick wit kicks straight back in.
“Feelin’ pretty guilty about all the air pollution,” you tell him, and Joel silently says his fifth thankful prayer this morning that he thought to ask you and not Martha.
He watches you settle into a seat by the window, watches you crane your neck to survey the view from the tiny circle of thick glass. He thinks about what he’d do if you were alone right now, if there weren’t crew slowly filing into the jet behind him.
He floats the idea. Tells you about the bedroom up back, tells you it’s cozy. You read between the lines just like he wants you to. And when the plane’s in the air, you follow after him.
You fall into bed together the same way you do when you arrive at the hotel. A tangle of limbs, of sweat and stuffy plane air. He sleeps the soundest he has in months – years, maybe. Pushed off by the sound of your breathing, the dip in the mattress by his side. The warmth which radiates from your body, the soft brush of your hand against his.
He puts it down to the travelling – the eight-hour flight, the plushy super king waiting on the other side. He puts it down to the way the world feels different, this side of the Atlantic. The privacy he feels come over the two of you, like sneaking into the next room: your voices muffled through the wall, your movements reduced to vague shadows beneath the door.
He watches you through sleepy eyes as you prance around the suite in the morning, twirling in and out of the bathroom while you get ready for the day. He wonders if this is what you’re like every day – if you spend your Monday mornings beaming like a little kid, toothbrush hanging lopsided from the corner of your mouth, white bubbles lining your gums. He wonders why he’s wondering. Why a part of him wants to see that version of you, too.
This version – now following his lead down Avenue Montaigne, doe-eyed and wonderstruck – is over all too soon. He’s dragged from her, from you, before he’s ready to leave.
His phone vibrates in his pocket right as he’s leading you out of some ridiculously overpriced jewelers – an irritating reminder of his meeting in an hour’s time.
“Fuck,” he whispers, holding you steady as you spin around to glimpse at the baroque building. “Hey, pretty girl,” he squeezes your hand, “I got some bad news.”
Your bottom lip pouts, eyes gleaming. It’s enough, he thinks, to convince him to stick around. If you asked him to, he’d text Jean-Marc right now and tell him to fuck off. But you tell him to go, tell him you’ll meet him back at the hotel once he’s done and you’re tired. With a teasing smirk and a tiny wave, you see him off down the cobbled street. He watches from the back window as you set off again, heading towards another iron-gated store.
Denis pulls up alongside the towering hotel, totters around the car to meet Joel as he stretches out of the Maybach. The square-jawed man stands with his hands linked, and nods enthusiastically when Joel thanks him.
“The shopping – I will take it back to the hotel,” he assures his boss, a wide smile on his lips.
He’s a good guy, Denis. He’s chauffeured Joel to five of these meetings over as many years – he knows the drill by now. Knows it’ll be a couple hours and a few whiskeys before he gets another call to pick him up.
His nodding doubles, more obedient when Joel asks him to make sure he listens for your call. “You mind stayin’ nearby that part of town?” he asks. “Just so – when she’s done, y’know…”
“Not at all,” Denis says, flapping two palms to the ground. Swatting away Joel’s concern, his worrying, his missing you.
He replies, a little absentmindedly, passing by the head of gray hair with a distant smile. “Thanks, Denis. See you later.”
Five meetings, five trips over here to be pestered by some obnoxious little man in an obnoxious little robe and obnoxious little loafers, and still, Joel never knows what to expect. He strides beneath the golden archway entrance into a domed lobby, every surface spotless and shining; marble counter in the center with a symmetrically-suited clerk sat behind.
She stands and smiles politely to Joel as he approaches, recognizing him with a flutter of her eyelashes. He feels the absence of your arm on his, an ache at his elbow.
“Monsieur,” she croons, pale fingers reaching for the telephone. She whispers something softly into the receiver and then nods, folding her painted lips together as she places the handset back into its cradle. With a floating hand aimed at the elevator behind her, she says, sultry and dreamlike, “He is ready for you.”
Joel fights an eyeroll with every fiber of his being. He wanders round the circular desk, bunches his shoulders into the tight elevator, and jams his thumb into the button marked P.
The doors shudder open when he reaches the top floor. He steps out slowly, waiting for the Frenchman to pounce on him like some kind of wild cat. Wouldn’t put it past him, Joel thinks. As he’s scanning the room, counting the six bouquets dotted around, there’s a single clap from behind the veiled curtains. A silhouette out on the terrace.
Jean-Marc swings between the sheer white, calling out to the lonely figure in his entryway. “If it isn’t my favorite American,” he sings, taking Joel by the arms and squeezing roughly. “How lovely to see you again, Joelie. Please, come.”
The sunlight blinds Joel when he steps out into it, peering over the city skyline under low brows. Jean-Marc is already sat at the top of a thin, glass table, pouring golden whiskey into a square glass and scooping two bulky ice cubes in. The nectar swirls around when the glass is held out to Joel, the ice tittering as he accepts it.
The table, a rocky terrain of pain au chocolat and brioche, pools of citrus spreads and dishes of butter. Joel keeps his hands to himself as Jean-Marc slaps jam onto a croissant, bronze flakes fluttering all over the table as he attempts to regale Joel with some investment into a casino.
“Riccardo says it is too much; I told him to go to hell. We will double the cost of the place, I know it, Joel. We have the eye for things like these, men like you and I, hm?”
Men like you and I, Joel thinks, lips tilting. He balances the glass on his thigh, watches the ice cubes turn over themselves. He thinks of you, thinks of the man you see him as. Thinks how tall he stands against the man Jean-Marc must see sat opposite him right now.
Thinks how rotten, and ugly, and how small the latter is. How easily you and your words could crumble him. All show, all sitting on perfect terraces with pretentious dickbags disguised as friends, drinking pissy whiskey with a plastered smile on his lips.
How comical it all is – the sound of yapping across the tabletop, These idiots would pay millions for manure if you painted it golden, the sprawling sheets of green-leafed plants, the headache-inducing flowers, the buckled loafers and the signet ring catching the sun.
How much he misses the weight of you on his hips, forearms flat on his chest, ear against his heart. The sound of your laughter lilting in his ear. The rosy smell of your skin and the feel of your eyelashes, featherlight on his cheek. He feels the distance between the two of you like elastic strung apart, stretching thinner and thinner, weaker and frailer, ready to snap into two halves at any moment.
“Anyways,” Jean-Marc says, lifting the wine bottle shakily. It clinks brashly against the lip of his glass, a painful scrape. Joel wonders if he’s already halfway to hammered. “Tell me how you’ve been, Joelie.”
Joel tells him he’s been fine. Business is fine. Money is fine. Company’s doing fine. Everything’s fucking fine. Easiest answer to avoid further questioning, to satiate Jean-Marc’s constant thirst for news, or intel, or just plain gossip.
He slips up, though. Makes the one colossal mistake he spent all morning hoping and praying and drilling directly into his brain that he wouldn’t.
Jean-Marc asks how his flight was, sticking the damp end of a cigarette to his bottom lip.
Joel says, “Good, yeah. We got here, maybe, ten o’clock last night.”
And Jean-Marc’s eyebrows arch. His hands freeze, match held against the striker strip. “We?” he asks, white stick flapping between his teeth.
“Uh,” Joel shifts in his seat. Your gentle wave, the corners of your lips, the toss of hair over your shoulder. It’s as though Jean-Marc can see his thoughts played on a reel before him, the haste with which Joel attempts to wipe you from his own mind. “Yeah,” he clears his throat, “Jerry ‘n Lisa. Len and Pol.”
The Frenchman’s eyes narrow, a grin pulling on his pink lips. “We,” he says again, whipping the match roughly against the strip. Speaking into cupped hands, a cloud of white billowing from his leathery fingers, he murmurs, “Joel brought company with him to Paris, yes? Who is the lucky tourist? Une petite amie?”
Joel’s tongue dabs at the sickly wash of whiskey on his lips. He thinks to grab the fucker by the throat, throttle him until the idea of you rattles from his skull, spilling back into Joel’s safe hands where you belong.
He almost fucking lies. Almost says it’s just Martha, or Drew, or his fucking mother. But Jean-Marc is like a rat, scurrying along after a source of water. He’ll find it in the end. They always do.
He breathes your name, reluctant to let it go. Jean-Marc cocks his head, leans in, a swirling snake of silky smoke lifting from the cigarette between his fingers. Joel repeats it, voice louder, but flatter. Breaks it into too many syllables. Lets his host hear every bite of annoyance.
“She’s my assistant,” he says, and Jean-Marc claps again.
“Your assistant! How wonderful. And where is she today? She is not…” his fingers circle the air, disturbing the trail of smoke, “…assisting you?”
“Gave her the afternoon off.” Joel lifts his glass to his lips. The geometric shape amplifies his voice, bass like the growl of a bear. “Busy couple days. She deserves some downtime.”
He hates the sound of your name as it peels from Jean-Marc’s tongue. Like a hangnail, the residue a gorge of bloody, torn skin. Your name is Joel’s favorite sound, he realizes now, and the way this little asshole keeps butchering it boils an anger so hot and so quick under his skin that he’s not sure he can hold it at bay.
It’s not as if he owns you or your name – far from it. He has no desire to be anything more than a placeholder: somewhere for you to slot your hand, rest your head, curl your body against. Still, he feels a direct protectiveness over you right now. An impulse to stand in front of Jean-Marc’s tiny figure, arms wide, stopping him from picturing you or learning about you or meeting you.
Which is, of course, exactly what the little fucker suggests.
A wet pff sound as he rids his mouth of bitter smoke, and he offers to host breakfast in the morning.
“No, no, we, uh –” Joel’s hands are up, like pleading with the man, whiskey kissing the lip of its glass, “– you don’t have to – Look, Jean-Marc, I’m sure you’re busy enough with all –”
“Nonsense!” Jean-Marc waves a hand. Ash sprinkles down the cuff of his robe. “It would be my pleasure. Shall we say, ten?”
Joel grumbles, eye following the flight of a bird in the distance. What are you doing right now? Are you back in the suite, trying on the outfit you picked out together? Are you still wandering down the streets, drinking up the lavish city like a perfect little cocktail of bliss and wonder?
And what the fuck does he have to do to excuse himself, to come find you, to wrap his arms around you and never let you leave his side again?
He feels idiotic. Juvenile. Like a stupid little teenager, pining for his junior year girlfriend. The feelings all sharp and brittle, prodding his heart roughly anytime he thinks too hard on them.
When he looks back to Jean-Marc – the cigarette tearing closer and closer to his fingers, an expectant smile on his lips – he concedes.
“Ten is fine,” he says, and suddenly, the sky casts over.
You’re on the terrace when he finally returns to the hotel room. Head aching from the alcohol and forced conversation, he drags himself over to you.
The sight of you, hair lifting in the breeze, the sweet smell and soft touch under his hands feels like the pouring of honey on a raw throat, like cool water lapping at his waist on a scorching day. And he needs more, and he feels the saliva pool beneath his tongue, and you’re touching him and talking to him and all he can think about is replacing his saliva with you – with every drop of you that you’ll lend him.
You follow his every request – parting your legs, making room for him between them, opening yourself to him like coming home after work, like sinking deep into your shared bed, like pushing your salt-slicked fingers on his tongue and chanting taste me taste me love me need me.
Petals opening, shards of orange separating. His cock throbs in his pants when he feels the circle of your hips against his jaw, the taste of sweet, sweet nectar spilling from your center. His clothes still smell of the smoke from Jean-Marc’s weedy lips; the sweat on his skin borne from three hours sat in the sun, dehydrated by whiskey, discussing money and gold and then money again.
He doesn’t want to fuck you here, like this. As that puny, pompous prick he’s felt like since the second he wandered through the Frenchman’s hotel doors. He can’t. You deserve him clean, new. You deserve the Joel you think he is – yours. Affected by your touch alone, moved by the gleam in your eye. You deserve him, Joel decides, on your terms.
And that same night, stood in the same spot, dregs of sunlight replaced by molten moonlight, staring at the dazzling Eiffel Tower against the deep blue sky – that same night, when he turns and clocks the silhouette of your body just feet from him, he realizes that this is it.
He’s sure he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on, standing in the dim light, your fingers playing with the bust of the silk robe draped over your body. The jewelry on your neck catching the light like his own private attraction, his own little spectacle. Just for him.
He forgets any other version of himself. Shakes them off like seawater flying from his body as he emerges from the ocean. Venus stood before him; hair lifting in the light, palm over her breast. And he doesn’t notice the departure of those old versions; doesn’t feel the way they tear from his skin. His eyes are glued on you, only you, everything around the two of you reducing to dark matter. There is only his awestruck gaze pointed to your radiant form, as though the scene sits alive in the eye of Botticelli or Michelangelo.
Baby, he whispers, and you move forward, dragging him with you under a wave of lust and rebirth.
He stirs the next morning to the feeling of a weight shifting across his body, two divots in the mattress either side of his waist. Something nuzzling, warm and featherlight, into the nook below his earlobe. Wet kisses trailing down his neck.
There’s no weight of you in the crook of his arm anymore. He’s scooping thin air. He lifts it, and his palm meets the baggy cotton of his own T-shirt, draped over your body, draped over him.
A laugh brushes between his lips. “Mornin’, darlin’,” he croaks, voice still low and broken.
“Hi,” you whisper back, voice like silk and sugar and tufts of lustrous clouds.
He opens his eyes and you’re hovering over him. Tip of your nose circling his, hips light as air across his own.
You look so fucking cute, he thinks. He’d take what he had last night – you, dripping in black lace and bound by satin straps – every night for the rest of his life, if he could. If you’d grant him it. But, this. This.
You – in Joel’s clothes and nothing else. You – the curl of your hair now a lazy wave, the smoky afterthought of your half-removed makeup. The smell of sex still lingering on your skin, the taste of Joel still home on your tongue. Each part of you laced with a part of him.
You – holding yourself up over him, less than an inch apart, and all Joel thinks to do is wrap his arms around your back and let you drop onto his body; his strong, solid body, which accepts the weight of you with only so much as a tiny grunt over his lips when you fall on top of him.
You giggle. He swears he feels butterflies in his stomach. He prays you don’t feel them, fluttering purposefully against your ribcage.
“You’re an idiot,” you mumble into his collarbone, words curled by the smile on your lips. You suck a mark into the hot skin, teeth and flesh and sel et sucre, and then push off from his chest, nudging his thighs wider with your knee.
Your tongue drags a wet trail down his chest, from solid sternum to suppler stomach, following the thickening of hair the lower you move. You leave wet kisses along the crests of his hipbones, the gentle slope of skin leading you to the wide base of his cock, already stiff.
Joel’s breath hitches when your tongue sweeps across it. Your eyes lift and lock with his, fingers taking a heavy hold of him. He smiles, tongue sitting patiently behind his teeth.
“Go on, angel,” he nods, “put that pretty little mouth on daddy.”
You obey instantly, as hungry for it as he is, your tongue swiping from the base of him up, curling around as you reach the head. Swollen, gleaming, slit dripping with slick precome that you lick with just the tip of your tongue and send a roll of pleasure across every nerve in Joel’s body.
He falls back, hands searching for the back of your skull as your lips sink further down down down, tightening around the smooth skin, stopping only when they meet the tuft of hair decorating his dick. His tip pushes against the back of your throat. His head begins to spin.
His back arches, hands anchored on your head, holding you steady as you bob up and down. His shoulders push heavy into the mattress, tummy sucks in until the points of his ribcage mold through his skin. And, oh – you’re so soft with it, so wet and so warm and so good with your tongue, kitten licks over his tip, wet fist wrapped tight around the width of him.
You lift your hand and meet his halfway up his stomach, fingers intertwining, Joel’s knuckles instantly whitening.
“Doin’ so good, baby,” he groans, gasping when your throat constricts around him again.
You gag, choking with a wet grunt, but you never pull away. A quick pause, a heavy breath from your nostrils, and your movements resume.
“’s alright,” Joel coos, fingers rubbing against the back of your hand, “you got it. Atta-girl, fuck.”
His hips begin to lift, slowly jerking up into your mouth. He looks down, loosens the grip you have on his hand only to run his thumb delicately across your cheek, dabbing lightly at the tears in the corner of your eye.
You suck hard around him, cheeks hollowing, tongue flattening to his underside to let him fuck your mouth – a rhythm of sopping sounds and heartbeat hums from your throat. He’s close. He’s so fucking close.
“Just like that,” he tells you, and you blink up at him. Moans muffled by the mouthful of cock, saliva and sex slipping from your swollen lips. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come. You’re such a good girl – you want daddy to give it to you?”
Mhm, you mumble into the warmth of his cock, the vibration of your throat on the eager skin enough to send Joel over the fucking edge. He throws his head back, lifts his hips up to you, and fills your mouth at the same rate he fills the room with the sound of his orgasm.
You take every last drop. You’re so good for him. Once he stills, once the screaming in his ears subsides, once the room slowly desaturates back to normal, a faded, blurry normal – he sits up and hooks his hands under your arms, pulling you up into him.
You collapse against his chest for the second time this morning, giggling and licking the last of his come from your mouth. Joel guides your jaw towards his, lips meeting in the middle, and licks the salty aftertaste from your tongue.
He rolls you both over, your thighs sitting safe on his hips.
“I know,” you sigh, head rolling against the curve of his arm beneath, “I know. You don’t gotta tell me.”
“Tell you what, angel?” he asks, one eyebrow lifting.
“Best head you ever had. I know.”
He scoffs, lips finding the hinge of your jaw. You giggle into his ear, a sound softer than birds cooing at the break of dawn, sweeter than the first bite of ripe fruit – the sharp taste bursting across his tongue and coating his teeth in sugar, numbed by the holy coaxing of feathered doves.
“You’re good with it, I’ll give you that,” he murmurs, and the giggle erupts into a laugh which fuels him enough to follow your roll out of bed, tear his shirt from your shoulders, and slip into the shower behind you, kneeling before you when you turn to look.
Joel’s second encounter with Jean-Marc in as many days, goes about as well as the first.
He balls his fists as he introduces the pair of you, watches like a caged and bound animal as Jean-Marc’s eyes loop all around your face, your shoulders, the pull of your dress around your waist.
He knows he’s being quiet. The glances you keep stealing at him tell him you know it, too. He wishes there was something he could say, something his lips might be able to carve into a neat little sentence. Tongue sanding the jagged edges of what he’d really like to say into a joke, a quip to ease the tension you so obviously feel.
But he can’t. His tongue isn’t blunt, isn’t defensive. It’s sharp like the kiss of venom, protective and aggressive. He knows he’d do better to hold it tight between his teeth.
The best he finds himself able to do is keep a heavy hand on your thigh, let you wrap your fingers around his own, squeeze you in place of whispering in your ear.
You hold your own, up against Jean-Marc. He knew you would. He learned less than a week into working with you, not to underestimate you. Your quick tongue, the million and one observations hidden behind the flash of a frown. He knows you can read Jean-Marc – probably better than he can, having known the guy ten years.
It doesn’t make it feel any safer, though. Luring you into a lion’s den. He knows you’ll make it out alive, but he can’t stand the thought of the claw marks in your skin.
That feeling washes over him again – that urge scored so deep into his bones that it hits marrow, to put himself between you and anything which might come to harm you. He swallows it down with the acidic sting of orange juice – slots it somewhere safe in his chest until he can assess whatever the fuck it is. Whatever the fuck it means.
His hand tightens around your leg when Jean-Marc mutters something to his assistant. Joel decides against asking you what it means, for fear he’ll tear the Frenchman limb from limb, strips of satin robe strung across the paved patio.
The assistant – tall, thin, looming over you like impending doom on legs – offers to show you the view of the city. And as Jean-Marc settles into your empty chair, the image of that torn satin robe shunts closer towards reality.
“I wonder if you might indulge me,” Jean-Marc slithers, pinching thin air with one hand and resting the other on the back of Joel’s chair.
“I wonder,” Joel mutters, finger tapping angrily on the table.
“She is a wonderful character. Beautiful, and very smart, I can see. I would be crazy not to ask, you must understand, Joel –”
He can’t help himself. He bites before Jean-Marc lays the trap. His head shakes. “She’s – she’s –”
And suddenly there isn’t a single word in the English dictionary worthy of describing you. Not a single combination of letters, of sounds, of syllables and phonetics that would do you justice.
He settles for, “I wouldn’t be anywhere without her.” It feels fucking redundant. It is fucking redundant.
Jean-Marc nods. “And you know that I see the value in things, hm?”
Joel dead-eyes his opponent, gaze narrowing. “What are you sayin’, Jean-Marc?”
“Well,” he shrugs, gesturing to the shadow pointing out the Eiffel Tower, “Paul is fantastic. Dedicated, hardworking. But it is a lot, for one person. I am sure you can understand, being that you have two assistants yourself.”
“And you wanna take one of ‘em out from under me?”
Jean-Marc chuckles, shaking his head. Tutting. Teeth grinding. He senses the bitter tone, hears the distortion of words squeezing through gritted teeth. “Not at all, my dear Joelie, not at all.”
Placating. It pisses Joel off more.
“I simply would like to raise the question of: would she like to be…taken?”
“Taken?”
“Hired. By me.”
The smug grin which pulls over taut lips incites Joel with a desire to punch the luminous veneers from their gummy holders. His fist balls again, nails digging harshly into his palm. He swallows roughly.
“She seems…she seems happy enough where she is to me.” He glances over, catches your eye for a fleeting second before Paul’s ghostly hand perches on your shoulder and turns your attention away again. Resigned, he adds, “You would have to ask her. I ain’t speakin’ for her.”
Jean-Marc’s leer only grows. “Ask her,” he repeats, nodding. “That is an idea.” He pushes out of his chair with a squeal of wood across stone, calling to the party, “Why don’t we take a drive? There is so much of the city I would love to show you – both of you, of course.”
Before he knows it, Joel’s on his feet, too, panic hammering through every muscle in his body. He tosses some half-assed excuse to the breeze; a half-truth, a desperate attempt to pull you away from the beady eyes and sharp claws of Jean-Marc and his assistant, and back over to his side. He takes your arm and scatters, pulling you past four, five, six bursting bouquets, your heels clicking along the polished floor, your head spinning.
He can feel the blood thrashing through his veins as the elevator arrives back in the lobby. Can see the shadow of Paul the assistant still over your shoulder, the place his hand sat like charcoal on white linen. He feels red hot, anger mixed with panic mixed with a word he hasn’t let slip just yet. He covers it by answering your questions shakily, diverting the ones about the conversation on the terrace.
And then you’re back in the safety of Denis’s car. You’re back to being on your own, together. No third set of eyes watching your every move, studying you like you’re some doll to be observed, or worse. You’re touching him again, holding his arm, caressing his cheek. His breathing eases, his body relaxes into the backseat of the Maybach.
You tell him you’d like to see the Louvre. So Joel takes you to see the Louvre.
Joel Miller has never been in love.
He’s said it, sure. Said it plenty to Avery.
G’night, love you.
I’m so proud of you, sweet; I love you so much.
Thanks for makin’ dinner, babe, I love you.
It began to take the form of breath, passing over his tongue with as much ease and instinct as his lungs would push out air. She looked at him a certain way – he’d say he loved her. They’d talk about the future – he’d tell her he loved her. They fought, over his working hours or the interest rates at different banks or whose family to spend Christmas with – and he’d remind her he loved her.
He meant every single one. He did, truly, love her. He loved her auburn hair, the way it’d sweep over her shoulders like a wave of fire. He loved the way she would pause to take thirty photos of the sky at sunset. He loved how homely she was, how simple and warm she could be. Her recipe books lining the shelves in her kitchen. Her pajamas folded neatly at the foot of her bed, waiting for her at the end of the day.
He loved her enough to spend four years with her, a life split nearly down the middle. Never seeping into one another. His side of the bed, and hers. His items in the fridge, and hers. His fucking bathrobe, and hers.
But right now, standing in a jam-packed room, maneuvering awkwardly around museum guides and backpacked tourists, avoiding the knee-height glass barriers and dodging fucking selfie sticks – Joel knows: he has never been in love.
Not until the moment he turns from some headless bust to search the room – the dark marble walls and great, carved arches; the white Parisian sky illuminating everything in a pale glow. Not until he catches a glimpse of you amongst the sea of bodies – stood before the Venus de Milo, staring up in wonder at Aphrodite like she’s the first thing in the world you’ve ever truly seen. The gentle lean of her body, the low sling of marble fabric around her waist, the soft dimple of her navel.
The way your eyes scan every detail of her form – every fold draped over her thigh, ever chisel mark and chip in her torso. The round swell of her breasts and the wavelike swirl of her hair. Barely blinking, afraid to lose sight of her for even a second.
Joel’s never been in love. Not until this very moment.
He only turned to make some quip about…well, now he can’t fucking remember, can he? Something irrelevant. Something so mundane, so meaningless, so dull that he wishes he could take back every word he ever said to you and use the breath more wisely – use the time spent making stupid jokes and work orders, just to look at you. Watch you, like he is right now. Every other thought, every worry and concern drop weightlessly from his mind, with such ease that he doesn’t feel the loss.
Your fixed stare up at the statue’s set face, the slow pacing of your heels, ankles crossing over one another as you pivot around her. And the look of wonder on your face – as if Joel instantly recognizes eight-year-old you, thumbing through the pages of the first art book she was ever gifted, copying the curled hair and round shoulders of the marble goddess in a pencil sketch.
Haloed by the towering windows behind you, arms crossed over your chest. Lips melting from a content smile to agape, and then pinning back in a smile again.
And suddenly – he can’t remember the flame of hair over his ex’s shoulder. Doesn’t remember a single meal she ever cooked for him. In the blink of an eye, he realizes he doesn’t want a life neatly split anywhere.
He realizes that his life, the way he wants it, was always meant to be meshed with yours. Intertwined so tightly that there is no his and hers. Last night at dinner, you couldn’t decide between the bœuf bourguignon and the confit de canard, so Joel ordered both – as well as what he wanted – and the two of you picked at three separate meals. Holding out forkfuls to feed one another, comparing and judging them like professional chefs on a fucking cooking show.
Back at the hotel, you fell asleep in his arms. Your head nestled under his chin; your arms curved around his shoulders. In the center of the bed, laying at an angle. When he got up this morning, the robe he threw around himself smelled like your perfume. The terrycloth on your shoulders, tinged with the weak scent of whiskey.
None of it – not the relationship you had before any of this happened, not the strolling over one boundary to the next, not the blurring of lines between colleague, and friend, and lover – has been neat. None of it has made any sense. And maybe that’s why he fucking trusts it so much.
Joel spent the first two weeks after you fooled around in his office swearing he wasn’t that guy. Staring himself down in the mirror with a balled fist, a pointed finger that said, You don’t sleep with your fucking assistant, you idiot.
And now, standing opposite you in a crowded room and only seeing you – he knows. He finally gets it.
He loves you. He – no, fuck.
He doesn’t just love you.
He’s on his knees, dagger through his heart –
blood spilling all over the pristine floor –
pathetic and adolescent in its nature –
butterflies tearing through his stomach as destructive as a hurricane –
in love with you.
He thinks to say it. To wander over and kiss your shoulder, hook his chin into your collarbone like he did in the Dolce and Gabbana store, and whisper, Hey. I love you. Did you know that?
But he knows that’d be fucking insane. Knows you’d probably unstick yourself from him and back up, tripping in your step. Paris ruined.
He knows he’d probably get so far as curving around your back and then bottle it, anyway. The words would die in his throat. You’d just lean back into him, none the wiser. You’d still make his heart pound.
Pound the way it does when you reach for his wrist and drag him off into the next room, and the next, and the next. And with every piece of art your eyes fall upon, another fragment of your soul is revealed to Joel. The depth of da Vinci, the color of Bruyère. The scale of Veronese and the beauty of Canova.
And with every part revealed, a desire blooms in him to learn the next part. Understand you; know you better than he knows himself. See you, the way he’s seeing you right now.
He takes his ex’s lead, when you’re stood in front of the Mona Lisa. All those fucking sunset photos, like she was afraid to forget what it looked like. The thought becomes urgent, pushing past every other meaningless word in his head.
He taps you on the shoulder, says your name lightly. When you turn, he’s already holding the phone up, watching your delayed motions through the screen. Please don’t let me forget this. Don’t let me forget you, like this.
“Smile,” he says, and you do.
“You’re cheesy,” you tell him, wandering off from the painting.
He’s still staring at the photo. At your dimpled cheeks, your red lips. Staring at your eyes, seeing a new glint in them that wasn’t there before. Like eight-year-old you smiling back at him, trusting him, knowing him.
Joel breathes, “She’s beautiful,” taking your waist in a steady arm to guide you out of the room.
You misunderstand him. He knows it. He doesn’t correct you.
She’s beautiful – the Mona Lisa. But she only became beautiful the second you laid eyes on her. The second she handed you a piece of your soul, the transaction laid bare for Joel to witness. A bucket list item ticked, or simply your childhood self, stood before one of her own seven wonders.
Everything is only beautiful after it comes into contact with you.
There’s a change in you, the morning that you leave. Something low-lying, melancholy and blue. Joel feels it under your skin, in the grip you keep on his hand the entire car ride from the hotel to the airport.
“You good?” he asks, walking up the steps of the jet, shelled around you. Safe, with him, safe with him.
You nod, but you’re watching the Maybach roll off, rounding the corner back to the airport. The same way you watch the city disappear beneath the clouds as the plane takes off.
The same way you glance over to him, your glossy eyes twinkling, pearly tears swimming across your waterline. Joel gets it. Figures he feels much the same.
He leads you slowly back through to the dark cabin bedroom, where you peel the shirt and sweats from your body. He watches from the bed, arm outstretched and inviting you to burrow into his side, curl around his body, loop your legs through his. His own little Aphrodite, the curves and the dimples and all the beauty to go with her.
He sinks his shoulder to let you nuzzle into him, let your slow-closing eyes follow his movements like rocking you back and forth to sleep. You link your arm through his, locking your bodies tight together. Joel slows his typing down, moves gentler, so you can fall asleep without being nudged too much by his arm.
You mumble something into the sleeve of his tee. He pauses. Looks down at your already closed eyes, your parted lips.
“What’d you say, baby?”
You take a deep, slow breath. Already sleeping, he thinks. And then, in the sigh that escapes from your mouth, you whisper to him.
“Please don’t ever leave.”
#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#ceo!joel miller#ceo!joel#sugardaddy!joel miller#the last of us#the last of us fic#tlou#pedro pascal#joel miller smut#sex on fire
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Now I’m thinking of Alpha Martha scooping in like “is anybody going to love and cherish that omega” and not waiting for an answer. She uses every Wayne gala to flaunt her Omega and later, pup in Carmine’s face. The only reason she hasn’t killed him yet is that seeing his rage and sad plans to get Thomas back is amusing and if it ever comes down to that Thomas deserves the honors.
Gosh, I’m starting to fall in love with that concept. Just imagine stern browed, lethally beautiful Captain Martha Kane, infamously known for her service in the military.
She reeks of bloodied snow, and sweet pomegranate with a note of petrichor. Of gunpowder, grainy and dark and rich, and of something so alluringly nameless Thomas can’t shake off.
The rumors about her hawk like gaze aren’t just rainwater.
Her look is made of storms and winter and Thomas shivers when he sees her for the first time, walking aimlessly around Gotham’s museum. His mother’s museum.
Carmine’s now, legally.
She stops just besides him, — she’s tiny, for an alpha, and he’s big for an omega, and for a moment, Thomas feels vindicated. So they had anomalies, too. Good. They earned it.
“Beautiful.”
She’s referring to the exhibit they’re admiring together. She has to be. Thomas stays quiet.
“What’s your opinion about it? I’ve visited her hundreds of times and I just can’t understand it. Not correctly, I think.”
He scoffs, but otherwise, the silence continues to expand.
Of course no Alpha understands The Good Omega.
Right above them, exposed almost proudly, imprisoned behind a thin layer of glass with rose gold framing, with delicate ivory marbled in, The Good Omega displays an omega women kneeling by her alpha.
It’s not intricate, or complex in composition. It translates well, and it’s just detailed enough.
Her mouth is sewn shut.
It’s a blood painting.
“She used to be an artist, I believe, “ Martha continues, with just the barest twitch of discomfort in her face, but she doesn’t allow her attention to shift. “I thought maybe you’d have a better perspective about it.”
“I’m not allowed to speak to you. As you well know.”
She pauses for a bit. “I apologize. You have no collar on. Your alpha didn’t pick one yet?”
He hums. “He can collar me when I’m in the ground.”
Oddly enough, that answer satisfies her. Pomegranate blossoms on his tongue.
“It’s freedom,” he continues, not really caring about customs. He already defies them daily. “It means freedom.”
Martha listens, but she huffs, half confused, half incredulous. “That doesn’t look like freedom to me. “
“That’s because you’re used to it,” He grits, turning his own gaze on her. He’s been told he smells horrible when he’s angry. He hopes this tiny, beautiful alpha chokes on it.
“Suffering is the only freedom omegas have. It forces you to look, to awknolege. There’s no exits The freedom of existing, that’s all we got.” He scoffs, not even noticing she’s clingy to every little sound.
“ Enjoy it while you can. Its going in the junkyard next week.”
“The junkyard?” She echoes, almost offended by the idea, but the casual insult. “Who’d throw away something like this, omega? It’s too valuable. “
Omega.
Thomas wants to purr and he rages, almost.
His smile is nasty, and full of teeth, and he’s grown to love how alphas cringe at the sight of it. Not this one, thought. This little beast stares at it like it’s living art.
“The same people you fight for. Thank you for your service, alpha.”
Thomas turns, not bothering to bow, excuse himself, or make a respectful exit. One good thing about being a rich omega is that he follows no rules his alpha doesn’t specify.
Nowhere did Carmine say he wasn’t allowed to ditch gorgeous alphas.
—
“You’re back rather early, Madame,” Alfred greets her with a kiss on one of her brow, soft as anything, his like tea, blueberry and dark chocolate scent hugging her deeply.
He takes a whiff of her, frowns, both in intrigue and concern. “…Why do you smell like unhappy omega?”
“Alfred,” She says, “I want to retire. Would you be a darling and contact my lawyer?”
“Oh, thank heavens. Anything else?”
Martha’s gaze bleeds blue, her thighs buzzing with the sneer of Thomas’ anger still, “Can you ask him if I can legally kidnap a taken omega?”
#IDK HOW THIS TURNED INTO A FULL FICLET BUT ENJOY ^^^^#dc comics#writing#pennywaynes#thomas wayne#martha wayne#alfred pennyworth#a/b/o dynamics#batman#dc#my writing#text#text post#gilded sparrows au
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A Little Sun part 6 Dieter!Bravo x f!Reader
rating: 18+
words: 8.4k
pairings: Dieter x f!Reader
tags: pregnancy, details of body changing with pregnancy, insecurity, mention of family death, mutual pining, idiots in love, soft dieter, fluff, lurve, angst, miscommunication trope, female masturbation, male masturbation, dirty talk (thoughts).
summary: You move in with Dieter after the fight with your mom and things get... complicated.
a/n: Y'all this thing has turned into such a fuckin' beast. Remember when I wanted it to be a one shot? Anyway, we're nearing the end with these two idiots in love but I think this one ends pretty damn sweet.
Also I think I'm in love with Dieter Bravo?
SERIES MASTERLIST
REBLOGS, COMMENTS, ENGAGEMENT ARE WHAT KEEP US FIC WRITERS GOING. PLEASE REMEMBER THAT IF YOU ENJOYED THIS.
Dieter doesn't even let you step fully into his home before he's got you in his arms, wrapping you in his warm embrace. Your suitcases clatter to the floor as you cling to him, burying your face in his neck and fighting back tears.
"You can stay as long as you want," Dieter promises you as one hand cups the back of your head. "Stay forever."
You give a watery chuckle into his shoulder, not quite ready to let go of him. You only break apart when the smell of European cigarettes wafts into the room.
You swipe at your damp eyes while Dieter turns to greet the tiny woman with a shock of white curls. She wears an oversized green t-shirt and loose khaki pants. She shuffles from place to place in her oversized moccasins.
"You remember Magda, right?"
"I think we've met a few times," you say extending your hand. The old woman gives you a look before shuffling over and placing her hand on your belly. You're in too much shock to pull back.
"A healthy boy," she tells you through a thick Eastern European accent. You and Dieter exchange looks of surprise.
"Uh yeah," you peer down at her shriveled frame, "How did you know that it was a boy?"
"I can tell."
She says it with a sage nod and then with that revelation she shuffles off to the kitchen, the feather duster still firmly lodged under her bony arm.
"She's the best," Dieter says says fondly before turning back to you with a look of expectancy. "Lemme show you where you're staying."
He takes both of your suitcase handles and jerks head to the left indicating you should follow.
You follow him out into his garden beside the pool. A place that you've never really visited much before. Most of your business has been conducted inside in his kitchen or in his office. You've heard about his guest house, how he had so many decorators come in over the years.
When you enter into it now, you're surprised at just how normal it seems. You were waiting for whips and chains and other strange memorabilia to line the walls. But instead it looks like something out of a Martha Stewart magazine. Crisp White's and Blue wainscotting. Overstuffed chairs and couches surround the coffee table from the photo he sent you. It's strangely tasteful.
It doesn't suit him at all.
Dieter must notice your surprise because he smirks before he rolls your suitcases towards the kitchen bar.
"Remember that Danish woman I dated for a couple months right after you started working for me?"
"Yeah, Lyda something.'
"Right. She wanted to start a career as an interior designer. I let her run the show in this place. Not really my taste."
"Not really mine either," You admit looking around the space. "It is beautifully done but I prefer the place we stayed in Ireland, like, that aesthetic. Old wood and big windows."
"I like that too," Dieter agrees. He sees you yawn and immediately feels guilty for keeping You up after such an emotional day.
"I'm going to have Petra whip you up something for dinner."
Petra is Dieter's chef who stocks his fridge with high end
"Dieter you don't-"
"You gotta take care of you and little Bravo remember?"
Dieter feels something in his chest bloom when instead of rolling your eyes you smile at him, nodding.
"Thanks Dieter."
You wake up the next morning in the plush duvet with your arms stretched above your head before rolling an absent hand down your swollen belly.
"Morning little boy," you whisper to the tiny being there beneath your fingertips. You give a groan as you gently roll yourself off the bed sliding into your slippers and pulling on your robe. Despite your devastation of what happened with your mother, waking up in this beautiful space on this gorgeously sunny day has you feeling hopeful.
This feeling is dampened slightly when you glance at your phone, looking to the calendar and seeing a date in the coming week starred. A date you have been dreading for months. Your birthday. The first one of yours since your father passed. Without your mom around this seems especially painful to consider. You close your phone, not wanting to think about it.
You spot a tall figure out the window and feel your cheeks flush. Something has shifted since Ireland. Something that terrifies you. The whisper of feelings that you're having a hard time repressing when you think of how he supports you.
But you push it from your mind. Your worlds don't match up. You’re serious, you take life seriously, you want to dedicate yourself to science. Dieter wants to fuck and party and grab life by the balls.
Plus he's with Mia and she makes him happy.
Dieter saunters across the backyard, narrowly missing the pool as he heads to the guest house. He's wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants under tattered robe, his eyes hidden behind his sunshades. He's carrying a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a smoothie in the other.
"Dieter it’s ten in the morning," you say as you open the sliding door to greet him.
"I'm still on Ireland time," he says giving you a waggle of his brows before setting the pale
pink smoothie down on the kitchen counter. "Breakfast when you're ready for it."
He sees you eyeing the smoothie warily and gives a deep rumbling chuckle.
"Petra made this one so you're safe. You like strawberries right?"
You take a tentative sip, before giving a soft moan of approval and drinking down the rest.
He rocks back on his heels a moment and despite the dark of his glasses, you can feel his gaze lingering on you.
"So... What're you up to today, Bravo?"
"You mean you don't know?"
"I'm officially no longer part of team Bravo remember?" You remind him with a sad chuckle as you place the empty glass back on the counter. "Diane cut my access to work emails and calendars."
"Shit that's right, I forgot." He looks at you with such a guilty expression. "I'm sorry."
"S'okay. I'm looking at this like a real non working vacation," you tell him honestly pointing out the window. "I figure you have a pool, there's a chef, a housekeeper, I brought books, what more could I ask for?"
"Plus you have a recreation staff," Dieter grins, taking you by the hand and twirling you gently towards him. "Dance lessons by the pool, movie nights, anything the customer wants."
"Hmmm an end to global warming?"
"Sorry that's only with the premium package."
You let out a loud laugh as Dieter joins you, spinning you into a hug. His mouth is only inches from yours and when the two of you realize this your mutual laughter ebbs.
Dieter wants nothing more than to press his mouth to yours, to taste you, to fuck you here in his home. But he knows it's not what you want. You don't want that from Dieter. You want somewhere safe to stay and he'll provide that to you.
Besides there is someone who does want his affection, his touch: Mia.
You swallow, your body poised and mouth slowly tilting towards Dieter before he seems to realize himself. He slowly extricates his arms from around you before reaching into his robe pocket, clearing his throat.
"Here's the key," Dieter tells you, holding it out to you. You take it, looking at the tiny Jameson keychain on it. The one that matches the one Dieter got you in Ireland that you wear on your own keychain. You smile at the sight of it before looking puzzled.
"A key?"
"For the guest house."
"I don't need to lock it," you chide even as you take it from him and toss it into your purse. "It's just you and me here right?"
"Yeah," Dieter hides the broad of his grin behind his whiskey glass. "Just you and me."
For the next several days Dieter tries to give you as much space as possible. He brings you a smoothie every morning citing that Magda is too busy. In the evenings he texts you to invite you over to the big house for dinner. Sometimes you join him, sometimes you’re just too tired.
You always go back to the guest house feeling a little bit down. You didn’t realize you missed sleeping in the same house, how Ireland made it almost feel like living together. Dieter’s place is so large it’s like you’re in separate neighborhoods.
Dinners are starting to be hard as well. Knowing you’ll be leaving to go back to the empty guest room. It’s a luxury, that’s for certain with its tall ceilings and plush bed. But it feels quiet without Dieter’s music or loud laughter.
And so you can admit to yourself that every morning he comes by with the pink smoothie and a big grin, your heart leaps a little bit. Like now, seeing him rushing over more frenzied than usual. He smiles, pushing the drink into your hand hurriedly.
“Here. Drink fast, I finished the nursery and want you to come look.”
“When did you have time to do the nursery?” You ask amazed as you follow him to the main house, smoothie almost drained by the time you reach his place.
“I’ve been in touch with this guy Diora from Albania over email since Ireland. He’s all the rage, super hard to get but he was really excited about trying his hand at a nursery. He just finished Criss Angel’s man cave and James Franco’s bedroom.”
Dieter sweeps a hand to the middle of your back, guiding you down the hall. When he opens the door with a flourish it takes everything in you not to gasp in horror. Your hand still rises to your mouth, though when you step into the room.
It looks like a sex dungeon.
Black and white striped walls, a beautifully ornate crib painted a ghastly red.
"Contrasting colors are good for baby’s retinas," Dieter says confidently. "I read it somewhere."
It takes you a few moments of staring at everything before you can speak.
"You have whips hung on the walls."
"Those are vintage skipping ropes," Dieter tells you aghast at your misunderstanding. You turn slowly, taking everything in. Finally you shake your head slowly.
"Dieter, this is totally inappropriate for a nursery," you say. "What baby would be happy here?"
Dieter takes a moment to glance around the space, his previous elation dimming with every word from you.
"This is what Diora suggested. He's the hottest designer right now."
"Of millionaire bachelor pads," you say as you look at a particularly ugly piece of metal hanging from the ceiling. "Not for a baby’s room."
"I'm not gonna have some tacky nursery with stuffed bears and shit,” Dieter defends. “I can't do it. Anyone who comes over and sees that'll think I've lost my edge."
The thought of being a father is immensely appealing to Dieter. The thought of being a loser Dad is not.
“Mia said it was cool,” Dieter shoots out. “I sent her photos.”
Mia is also in her early twenties, you want to snap. But you hold your tongue, trying to see the upsides to this nursery. Unfortunately you can see none. Everything is a safety hazard.
Dieter paces around the room, suddenly sour at the whole thing. He thought you’d be excited to see where the baby will be. Instead you’ve come in with your judgments and frowning face.
"Please let me... Dieter let me help you with this," you almost beg. "I just.... I know he's not mine but I can't stand the thought of him being in this... Baby prison."
I know he's not mine.
This hurts Dieter to hear it. He knows that you face no interest in being in this baby's life or his the week after you've given birth. But he can admit he's fooled himself with you being here.
But this? This is a project the two of you can work on. A potential to have more reason to have you in the house, not in that fucking guest house. He can only think of so many reasons to knock on your door apart from smoothies.
"Okay, sure."
“Okay,” you say looking relieved. “How about a pale blue or green? Then we can get a nice crib and some rugs and gauzy curtains.”
“That’s so boring.”
“And safe,” you emphasize. “You have to think of his safety, Dieter.”
Dieter pouts slightly in thought, trying to see the nursery through your eyes. He has to concede that perhaps this is a bit much for a newborn.
"Actually, you know what would look really beautiful on this far wall here?" You muse, looking at the space. "That painting you bought me for my birthday."
You think of the artwork hanging in your bedroom. The one of the woman looking out over the ocean, her hair whipping in the sea air. It’s the one thing you didn’t bring from home that you regret. There was something about that painting that made you feel relaxed.
"I didn't buy you that," Dieter says with a furrowed brow.
Your stomach sinks at this admission from Dieter and you wish you could take back everything. The intimacy of the moment, the vulnerability. He never even fucking bought the thing himself. Diane probably did and here you are pouring your heart out about it.
"Oh, uh-Or Diane or whoever-"
"I painted it for you."
All the animosity that had been brewing behind your sternum drains from you. A smile blooms immediately, your body tingling as you roll onto your side to fully face him.
"You did?"
"Yeah," Dieter is smirking at you from the shadows. "I love painting. You think I'd buy you a fucking painting?"
“I think I just assumed that you got Diane or whoever to ship it to me."
"Maybe if you were someone else," Dieter muses, his gaze wandering around the nursery. "Someone who doesn't do everything for me." He falls silent a moment. "You really thought I bought it?"
"Yeah."
"Didn't you think it was weird that the girl in the painting was you?"
Now you're stunned and it must show on your face because Dieter is chuckling softly now.
"You've had it hanging up your room for how long? Did you even look at it?"
"Of course I did, I do," you say in a rush, feeling embarrassed. You look at it every night you’re in your bedroom. "I just ... I never thought..."
"What?"
"I never thought you saw me."
Dieter blinks back at you, his dark eyes searching your face.
"I just mean you never even said thank you before this whole baby thing," you explain. "I've worked for you for a while and you kinda just expected I'd be at your beck and call all hours of the day and night, even on my days off."
"I'm sorry," Dieter whispers. "That was shitty of me."
"Why do you do it?
“I went through so many assistants I just assumed you wouldn’t be sticking around long.” Dieter looks ashamed as he says it out loud. “But then the longer you stayed the more I depended on you. I think… After a while I think it just felt weird to not message you.”
You both lapse into a thoughtful silence.
“You’ll manage just fine without me when I leave,” you tell him, needing him to know. “And if you’re ever feeling really lost and like you just need to talk to someone, you can always call me. Not as an employee, but as a friend.”
“Really? We’re friends?”
“Yeah,” you nod, heart hammering. “Friends.”
Dieter wakes up hard every morning for the next two weeks. He doesn't try to; he actively tries to think of other things before he goes to sleep. He watches documentaries, he reads art books, he meditates. He tries to push you from his thoughts so he can wake up normal.
But he always wakes up aching with the head of his cock weeping, flickering remnants of his dreams still floating around his subconscious. And those dreams are always of you.
Today he wakes up with the memory of his dream still lingering. You on your knees, his cock in your mouth and your eyes heavy lidded. As he shifts in bed Dieter realizes his boxers are sticky with previous release. A fucking nocturnal emission? How old is he?
And what's worse is that he's still fucking hard. Throbbing, actually He groans low in his throat and tries to ignore it.
You're here at his home. You're practically living with him. You're only a few steps from his back door. You're so close and yet so frustratingly far from him. He misses being in the same home as you, like the rental in Ireland. He misses the feeling of coming home after a long day on set and seeing your sweet face on the couch.
He wants that again.
Dieter rolls onto his belly to try and squash his current erection against the mattress. But that doesn't help, it just gives a delicious friction. He shifts again experimentally, groaning at the shiver that travels from the base of his spine to the tip. In his sleepy arousal he imagines that it's not the mattress but you that he's fucking.
"You like that?" Dieter murmurs, eyes closed as he rocks against his bed. "Like feeling me like that, baby?"
He pushes his hips into the bed, starting to rut when the pleasure increases.
You're so big, Dieter.
And suddenly he's thrusting against it, picturing your body writhing under him.
Need it, Dieter. Fuck me harder.
"Yes," Dieter groans into his pillow, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress. He thrusts furiously into the soft fabric of the bed, hips bouncing up and down on the mattress.
Need your big cock, daddy, your dream self moans. Need it deep.
"Fuck yes, baby. Take Daddy's cock. Take it and-"
His phone chirrups loudly on the table next to him, breaking him from the immersive fantasy.
A name and photo flash up on the screen.
Mia.
Immediately he feels guilty. Here he is humping his mattress to thoughts of you as his gorgeous, talented, funny, sexy girlfriend is calling.
He breathes rapidly through his nose, slowing his grinding movements. He rolls over in the bed, reaching for the phone.
"Hey babe," Dieter says, panting as he answers. He flips onto his back, willing his cock to go down.
"You okay? You sound like you've been exercising and I know that can't be true."
Dieter barks a laugh at that. He's about to reply when he hears a splash outside his window. Mia starts chatting in his ear but he's completely taken with the view outside his window.
You're in a bikini, gliding through the clear water of his pool. Dieter feels his mouth run dry at the sight, especially when you roll over onto your back, your belly protruding from the water like a beacon. Your hair dances around your head, your eyes closed, face tilted towards the sun. You have the sweetest little smile on your face.
You're so fucking beautiful.
"Dee? You there?"
"Huh? Yeah, sorry babe what?"
"I wanted to know how you're getting on? I've been staying off socials for the last little bit of the shoot trying to stay focused. I finally saw the photos from the airport. How is the poor thing holding up?"
"Stressed, but better."
"She must be happy to be at home away from all that madness."
Dieter feels his stomach clench. He knows he has to be honest with Mia, she's his girlfriend, she deserves to know. And yet he hesitates because he knows how it sounds.
"She's staying in my guest house, actually," Dieter offers in what he hopes is a nonchalant voice.
The warmth from Mia's voice is immediately gone.
"Pardon me?"
"She's, uh, in my guest house for the time being," Dieter adds, closing his eyes and bracing himself.
Mia shuffles on the other end before her voice reaches out to him confused.
"I thought you wanted a relationship with me, Dieter. Otherwise why did your agent go to so much trouble to confirm it? To do a splashy roll-out?"
"I do want it."
"But you have the employee you got pregnant living with you?"
"Not with me. In the guest house."
"This is weird, Dee."
He hears the concern in her voice and he feels his stomach drop. He doesn't want to lose Mia.
"Her mom kicked her out," Dieter explains quickly. "What was I supposed to do?"
"Pay for a hotel?"
The answer is so clear, so obvious. Why didn't he offer a hotel? He has the money. Why had it been so important for him to have you here?
Because then he could see you every day.
The answer is immediate but he won't admit it. Not now.
"The paps have been relentless," Dieter says finally. "They'll camp out outside of wherever I put her up. Not like here where I know she's safe away from the public eye."
"But-"
"She's not like us, Mia," Dieter insists. "She doesn't want fame and all that shit. She's just a regular person who's pregnant and alone. Her mom kicked her out, she's got no one else."
He can almost hear Mia softening over the phone.
"It's just hard, Dee," she says finally. "Especially when I haven't seen you in weeks."
Dieter feels a flutter of panic at how sad she sounds. He wants to make it up to her and has a great idea of how.
"Prague!"
Dieter bursts out with this, wincing when he hears how loud he is.
"Sorry, what?"
"What do you think about Prague?" Dieter corrects himself, rubbing nervously at his beard. "You're flying to LA next week for our magazine spread, right?"
"Yeah."
"And you've always wanted to go to Prague, right?"
"Yes."
"So let's do it. After the shoot let's get away from everyone and everything for a few weeks just us two."
"You'd really want to do that?"
"Of course."
He hears Mia weighing the choice on the other end of the line. He holds his breath until he can almost hear her smile.
"Okay Dee, let's do it."
“Amazing,” Dieter says grinning. “I’ll get Diane to send you the details. See you next week.”
He hangs up quickly, undressing and pulling on his swim trunks.
You’re floating on your back, sunglasses on your face, your body most submerged in the cool water. You hear the sound of a door opening and crack one eye open to see Dieter approaching.
Dieter never uses his pool. He got the house on a whim and didn’t even notice it had a pool until he officially moved in. But right now seeing your tits overflowing out of your bikini cups has him so utterly thankful to his former self.
He shrugs off his robe, sliding into the chilly water with an exaggerated brrrr. He swims over to you, sunglasses perched on the end of his nose.
“Looked so refreshing I had to join.”
“It’s so nice,” you sigh, your arms and legs out as you soak up the sun and enjoy the lack of strain on your lower back. “I never want to get out.”
Dieter paddles near you for a moment, wanting to remember this moment before he recalls his conversation with Mia.
“Well you’ll have the place to yourself the next couple of weeks.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, Mia and I are going to Prague like you suggested.”
“That’s so great," you say with a tightness in your voice. “When do you leave?”
“Next Thursday.”
Next Thursday.
Dieter stars to drone on about how Mia has all these restaurants and museums she wants to go to but all you can think of is that you’ll be alone on your birthday. The first one since your father passed. No mother to turn to. Nothing. You’ll be completely alone.
A sudden flutter begins in your abdomen and you give an absent smile, hand slowly sliding over your stomach.
Well, not completely alone.
From where you stand in your guest house kitchen you can see into the main house. Specifically into the dining room. At night when the landscape is dark and the lights are on inside you can see it very clearly.
Like tonight.
You can see him pacing inside the house, his tall frame gesticulating wildly. He's obviously going over some lines. He asked you to have dinner and run through them but you’d texted back some feeble excuse.
The truth is you need to separate yourself as much as possible from Dieter because you’re convinced that what you’re starting to feel can’t be explained away by hormones. This desire to be with him.
But he’s leaving with Mia in a few short days on some whirlwind romantic escape. You even showed him the best way to pack his fucking suitcase! The sight of a box of condoms at the bottom of it hidden by the toiletries bag made your throat tighten.
Despite this your eyes sail over to Dieter’s house again, watching him make a note on his script before running through the lines. He looks so sexy when he does it, totally lost in the moment. It reminds you of the character he played in Ireland.
Fuck, that insatiable need is coursing through your body again. The hormones kicking into overdrive as you feel your thighs press together at the memory of Dieter and that regency costume. He looked so good in it. You can almost hear his husky voice in your ear.
It's okay if you want it, baby. Lemme give it to you.
You throw yourself into your plush bed, your hands sliding down under your panties and working frantically against your straining clit.
Uh huh. Just like that. Gotta come on my fingers before you get this cock.
You throw your head back, thighs squeezing as you rut against your fingers. This phantom Dieter plays in your mind, his husky voice full of dark, delicious promise.
Gonna fuck such pretty sounds out of you.
"Dieter," you groan, unable to help yourself. It's pathetic how quickly and easily your orgasm overtakes you. It leaves you shuddering and whimpering, rutting into your fingers and then finally collapsing back as you stare at the ceiling.
What the fuck are you doing?
Despite everything Dieter is still your boss in some ways. He’s still the man paying you to have a child. Yes, he’s sort of a friend, but at the end of the day he still holds some authority over you.
You wish that last thought didn’t turn you on so much.
You’re still groaning when you hear the light tap of knuckles on glass and you jerk up in your bed, face flushed.
You wipe your damp hand on the sheets before slowly stumbling out of the bedroom. Dieter is standing there at the glass door, giving you a stiff wave. You move quickly, tugging the door open. The sound of cicadas and LA night traffic punctuate the formerly peaceful space.
“Is everything okay?”
“I’m really sorry to come over here so late but Magda just told me when she was cleaning this place this afternoon she saw a roach.”
“What?”
Immediately you’re moving towards him, glancing behind you in disgust. Your eyes sweep the floor and counters for any trace. Strange, you haven’t noticed anything and this place is kept perfectly clean.
“Yeah,” Dieter nods, looking tense. “So I gotta get this place fumigated ASAP.”
“Of course.”
“But the fumes are bad for the baby so you’ll have to move your stuff into the main house until it’s finished.”
“For how long do you think?”
“Dunno,” Dieter shrugs, motioning to the room airily. “I was gonna call a guy in the morning to get some quotes. Might be a couple weeks before they can get someone out here.”
A couple weeks? Dieter has enough money to have the place fumigated tonight if he really wanted to. You gaze up at Dieter about to say as such when you see the searching nature of his eyes and suddenly the shoe drops.
There’s no roach.
You note the tense way he rubs his fingers together, the way his brows rise and eyes go owlish the longer you stare at him.
“I’m terrified of roaches,” you finally tell him as you start to throw your stuff into your suitcases. “Can I move my stuff in tonight?”
“Would be the safest,” Dieter nods exaggeratedly helping you to pack. It takes no time at all before he’s helping you carry the suitcases across the yard and into his home.
The guest room is just as nice as the guest house with tall ceilings but slightly less homey. Dieter prefers marble floors and gold accents. Things he was taught as a child meant rich. The bed is lovely, but minimalist. You are however very impressed with the large bathtub and even bigger rain forest shower. You put your suitcases to the side, feeling Dieter watch you from the doorway.
“It’s still early you wanna watch a doc or something?”
You bite back the delighted smile that threatens to bleed over your features before you turn to face him.
“Sure.”
“Okay, you got your passport, the tickets are on your phone, your bags are packed,” the young man’s reedy voice lists off things from his checklist as the three of you stand in the kitchen the following week. Dieter is sitting on one of the stools dressed nicely and looking nervously from the paper to you, completely ignoring Rupert.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go.”
“Dieter.”
“What if you go into labor?”
“Almost three months early?” you force a laugh from where you stand by the fridge. “Then we have bigger issues than you not being here. Now c’mon. Mia’ll be here any second.”
Today is the photo spread for the movie Mia and Dieter starred in. It’ll run late so the lovebirds have decided on spending the night in a fancy hotel before shuttling off to Prague the next day. Dieter is always nervous about trips away but he realizes this is especially daunting since he’ll have no PA with him.
Diane has sent him someone new over during the week. A young man with bloodshot eyes and a nervous countenance named Robert or Roger. Dieter can’t remember. All he knows is that the kid does his job decently but he isn’t you.
But he promised himself that he would plan this trip for he and Mia. He researched the restaurants and hotels with her and booked it all. He got them the best seats in the plane and the nicest suite in the hotel.
But all he can think is that he’s going to be away from you for two weeks. Away from his son nestled safely in your body.
“I made a new tape for him,” Dieter says, suddenly snapping. He reaches into his pocket and slides the tape towards you. “Make sure he listens.”
“Yes, yes,” you say rolling your eyes.
The doorbell rings and Rupert immediately goes to answer it leaving you and Dieter alone. He watches you peering into the fridge trying to find something to satisfy your current craving of salty vanilla pudding.
“I don’t want to leave you.”
His voice is a quiet hum. Your mouth tries to form the words but all you can think of is Dieters warm eyes, his hands caressing your belly, the sweet timbre of his voice when he reads to you when you can’t sleep.
“I’m going to be okay,” you promise him softly as you glance over to him. “Now go say hello to your girlfriend.”
Dieter nods resolutely before bolting around the corner to see Mia. You hear his excited greeting and you try not to feel upset. Instead you dig around in the cupboard for something salty. You hear your name being called and you turn to see Dieter and Mia entering the room.
Mia’s eyes go round with shock at seeing you waddle towards her. You give a bright smile, despite the pang that goes through you at the sight of them hand-in-hand.
"Oh wow," Mia says when you waddle into the room holding a bag of chips.
"Weird right?"
"A little," she laughs. You join in, knowing how strange this entire scenario is. You feel like a baby hippo meanwhile Mia looks like she just stepped off the runway.
“So nice to see you,” she says, giving you an awkward hug as she avoids the bump. “I brought a little something for the baby,” she hands a wrapped gift to Dieter, “and one for you.”
Dieter unwraps the package, bringing out a first edition copy of Winnie the Pooh. Your eyes widen at the sight. That must have cost her a fortune.
“Thanks babe,” Dieter says warmly, kissing her. You look away, unwilling to watch and unwrap your gift from Mia which turns out to be a delicate crystal flower vase. Arguably one of the most useless things on the planet since you hate flowers. Dieter knows this and you think you catch a curl of amusement in his face.
“You didn’t have to do this,” you falter.
“I know,” she says sweetly. “I just saw it and thought of you.”
“It’s beautiful,” you say, careful not to exchange amused looks with Dieter across the room. You shoot a soft smile at Mia. “Thank you so much. I’ll go pop it in my room so it doesn’t get broken. Magda tends to be a little chaotic when she cleans.”
You turn, about to go down the hallway to the bedroom when you feel something like tension in the room. You don't know why you pause but you do.
"I thought you were staying in the guest house?" She asks you but her eyes are scanning Dieter’s face.
“She was,” Dieter explains, hoping his cheeks aren’t red. “But there were roaches.”
Mia’s face scrunches. “Roaches?”
“Yeah,” you finally fumble, rubbing absently at your stomach. "The guest house needed to be fumigated and that’s not safe for the baby. That’s the only reason I’m in the guest room. I’ll be out in the guest house as soon as the fumigation is over."
Mia nods, but you don't miss the lingering look there in her light eyes.
With Dieter in Prague for the next few weeks you have a lot of free time to yourself. The only problem is you have no one to spend it with. You can't be seen in public now without a bodyguard save for your short walks through Dieter's Calabasas neighborhood. Phone calls with your mom are no longer an option. So you spend most of your time scrolling through social media, watching movies and swimming.
Dieter has always been annoying but he's the kind of annoying that brings you comfort now. Without his loud presence in the house you start to feel lonely. A strange feeling you've never really experienced due to your busy lifestyle.
It makes you long for the sound of Dieter's record player in the art room. Makes you long for his brash laughter during a funny commercial. Makes you long for the way your voices worked against one another when practicing lines, the sound of him muttering to himself when he reads something that interests him in the paper, the way he rasps your name when he’s just woken up.
All the sounds of Dieter that you realize have come to be their own comforting symphony to you.
But he’s with Mia and that's how it should be. They're on the same level. And you know that these feelings are from your hormones. This warmth will fade the second this child is taken from you and is likely contributing to this lonely feeling that arises with you each empty morning.
He’s only been gone four days but those days seem to stretch into eternity. Your mind is usually so full and your schedule packed. But you’re almost annoyingly free right now. Dieter has made only one request of you and that is to update the app every day at least once. He says it makes him feel less guilty about leaving, even though you're the one who encouraged it.
So you do.
29 weeks
Cravings
SALT
Vanilla
pie filling
chips
peanuts
Missing
the ability to see my feet
Baby is size of butternut squash
The only thing that tethers you to Dieter are the sporadic text messages he sends you. Where you once found his constant need to stay in touch annoying, now you crave his random messages, re-reading them with a smile.
[1:44pm] D: I hate not speaking Czech. I feel like everyone is making fun of me and I have no proof.
[1:44pm]: You're being paranoid.
[1:44pm] D: I'm not!!!
[1:46pm] D: Okay maybe a little. Mia and I did an edible.
[1:46pm]: Dieter!
[1:46pm] D: Diane said no hard drugs! Edibles are natural.
You roll your eyes.
[1:47pm]: Whatever. Hope you're having fun.
You wish you could see his face when you recall Mia's instagram. You forgot you follow her. The second you click on her story you wish you hadn't. It's her and Dieter in a gorgeous spot in Prague chatting with the caption: Czech us Out! @BravoitsDieter
Your loneliness hits you on the fifth day quite acutely. And instead of turning to television or swimming you lay on your back in bed and stare up into the ceiling before your fingers fumble for your phone and you type hurriedly.
[6:08am]: I think he has your hair.
[6:12am] D: Huh? What?? Why?
[6:12am]: They say if the mother has lots of heartburn then the kid will have lots of hair. Right now I feel like my heart has been dropped in acid.
[6:13am] D: No way. I thought babies were always bald.
[6:13am]: Not always. I wasn't. Were you?
[6:13am] D: Dunno. Never saw baby photos of myself.
[6:14am]: Why not?
[6:14am] D: My mom cared about stuff like that. When she died my dad just put everything in the attic and tried to forget.
You didn't know that about Dieter. You've heard snatches of information from other staff that Dieters dad is a low life, but to not save photos of your kid? That seems cruel.
[6:14am]: I'm sorry.
[6:15am] D: NP.
[6:15am] D: Mia is taking me to a museum so I gtg ttyl
You frown at the phone.
"What a bitch," you murmur before stopping yourself. You think about how your baby can probably hear sounds outside the womb now and you feel guilty.
"No, actually, she's not a bitch. She's really lovely and she's so good for your dad."
Your hands drift over your belly slowly, subconsciously as you speak and soon your eyes follow suit.
"Strange to think you're just in there all snuggly," you tell your belly with amusement. You gasp when you think you can feel a slight flutter within you abdomen.
"Is that you?" You wonder aloud. "Can you hear me?"
The fluttering continues and you feel something in you shift. Your heart squeezes pleasantly. He rarely moves around for just you. It seems he's most active when Dieter is nearby.
"You're really in there," you laugh to yourself. "And you can hear me."
The lonely feelings begin to dissipate. You're not alone - you have your son to keep you company. You talk to him through the day. You make jokes about bubble having Dieters hair. You talk to Bubble about the book you read on the porch. When you watch a documentary you narrate for the baby.
You update the app with a cheerful photo of you making a heart over the bellybutton with your fingers. You think Dieter will get a kick out of it.
When you go to bed you put the headphones over your belly and hit play on the walkman.
"This is a new one from your Dad," you tell your belly wryly as you position the foam on either side of your bump. "So I apologize now if it's fucking annoying."
With a serene smile you go to sleep with his muffled voice against your skin. And when you wake up on the sixth day you feel good. It's not until you look at the calendar that you're reminded of Friday's date.
Your birthday.
The first one without your father. It makes your stomach drop.
As if all of California has gotten the memo the day is grey and drizzly. You spend most of the day napping and eating whatever Petra has put together. But by mid afternoon you’re feeling restless. You try walking around the block, but the weather drives you back inside. You try to distract yourself but nothing seems to work.
Petra and Magda have gone home for the day. It’s just you and bubble and right now it feels like it’s just you. You decide to order a pizza for dinner, and as you wait for your Hawaiian Delight to arrive you can’t help but reach out to the one person you wish was here.
[5:48pm]: How is Prague?
[5:50pm] D: Boring.
[5:50pm]: Only you would say Prague is boring, Dieter.
[5:51pm] D: In the airport now. Gonna go to Germany for a couple days. Mia really wants to see Cologne Cathedral and apparently they’re doing some once-in-a-decade tour event thing. I dunno. How’s the bubble?
[5:51pm]: Still here.
You don’t know why you’re both still calling him Bubble. The tabloids have made it impossible not to be aware that you’re pregnant after all. But there’s something sweet about referring to him as your little Bubble.
[5:52pm] D: airport is so fucking noisy and I'm so tired. found coffee though.
[5:52pm]: Make sure not to drink too much. You won’t sleep on the plane.
[5:52pm] D: U didn’t update the app today.
[5:53pm]: Sorry, been distracted.
[5:53pm] D:???
[5:53pm] D: How come?
You have no desire to get into this over text. Besides it’s not Dieters problem, it’s yours. And it’s not a problem it’s just. . . life.
[5:55pm]: Doesn’t matter. Here, this will have to do.
You attach a picture of your hand over your swollen bump and send it over.
You’re surprised when you see Dieter calling.
“Hello?”
“Why are you distracted?”
“Dieter don’t you have better things to do than call me about this?” You say rolling your eyes, but still delighted to be hearing his raspy voice. “Aren’t you in the airport?”
“Yeah.”
“Isn’t Mia with you?”
“She went to get another magazine for the flight. You gonna tell me what’s going on? Is it the Bubble?”
“No,” you say grunting as you lean back against the sofa.
“Then what is it?”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine!”
“Cmon,” Dieter cajoles. “You know I’m just gonna keep calling and texting until you tell me.”
“Its pregnancy brain,” you throw out, hoping this will satiate him.
“Liar. Your voice always does that clipped thing when you lie.”
You can’t help but feel a small smile cross your features. You hear the distant boarding call for his flight and you decide you might as well tell him. It’s not like he doesn’t already know that your dead is dead.
“It’s just… It’s my birthday. The first one since my dad died and ...."
You trail off. You hear silence on the other end of the phone and then a soft fuck.
“Dieter?”
“I thought it was next month,” Dieter is murmuring and you can hear him tapping on the phone. “Fucking calendar. Fuck. I thought it was next month same day. That’s what I have it as. Fuck. This is why I don’t program my own fucking electronics. Fuck.”
“Nope. Today,” you clarify, amused at how frazzled he sounds. “But it’s not your problem. It’s just this is my first birthday without my Dad and, my Mom isn’t talking to me and I realized I’ve worked so hard so long I have no real friends and…. It’s just…”
You break off when you feel tears starting.
“Anyway, not your problem,” you say forcing your voice up an octave. “I’m only telling you because you asked. I hope you and Mia enjoy your trip! I can’t wait to see photos.”
“Hey, wait-“
“I gotta go,” you say, brushing the stray tears that have escaped. “Pizza guy is here. Bye!”
You hang up the phone and then place it on silent. You don’t want to talk with him anymore. You don’t want to talk with anyone. You just spoke to Dieter but that doesn't stop you from missing him. It gets to the point where you pull up old interview footage with him on YouTube just so you can hear his voice and see his smile.
When the pizza arrives you pay the guy delivering it, but then you just shove the box in the fridge. You take a shower, letting the tears mingle with the steamy droplets before pulling on a new nightdress. You grab the walkman and headphones, about to put them on when you pad t the kitchen for a glass of water.
You walk back, about to retire to your guest room, walking past Dieter’s bedroom. You’ve rarely ever been inside it and never when he isn’t at home. But something about today compels you into it, something make you push open the door and walk to his bed.
The room is recently cleaned by Petra, the bed freshly made, the floors sparkling, his clothing put away. The fireplace is off but you switch it on, noticing his tattered green robe freshly washed and hanging on the back of the bedroom door. You don’t even think about it, you just pull it on over your sleep dress and stumble into his bed.
Dieter’s bed is so comfy, even better than the one in his guest house and room. You curl under the sheets, burying your face in his pillow. It smells like his expensive shampoo and the cologne he sometimes wears. It brings tears to your eyes.
You wish he was here.
You turn onto your back, tummy swollen and resting heavily. It makes you long for Dieter in all aspects. Not just to fuck, but to spend time with. He's so different from anyone you know. He doesn't follow rules or social norms. But when you're with him you feel calm and not judged. It makes you feel like you can let go.
"Your daddy really is wonderful," you murmur to your belly, stroking it. "You might hear bad stuff but you need to know what a good heart he has. He's so generous and funny and he loves so deeply. You're not even here yet and he's so in love with you."
You look at the walkman resting beside you, and instead of putting it around your abdomen something inspires you to put the headphones on yourself. You’ve never listened to the message before but tonight you do.
You slip the cheap foam over your ears, rewinding the tape and smiling when his voice sounds out over the tape.
“Hey little Bravo, this is your dad speaking. I just found out you’re gonna be a boy. Woah. My son. Uh, I need you to know that you are so special and that when you’re born we’re gonna have so much fun. I’ve already made a list of places we’re gonna go. And-“
It goes on like this for several minutes with Dieter excitedly detailing all his future plans for he and his son. You hang onto every word, enraptured with the life he has in store for his son. You imagine a future with Dieter holding a baby with his same wild hair. And in this future you see him reach for a woman, but she isn’t you. It’s Mia, and she looks so happy with them. The perfect family.
Dieter’s voice draws you back in.
“You need to know that your Mom loves you just as much as me. I watch her patting you and whispering to you all the time. She told me last week that you were the size of a head of cauliflower. Then she started humming a song about her cauliflower son.”
You laugh out loud at the memory of you swimming a few weeks ago humming a tune about a cauliflower son. You didn’t even realize Dieter was paying attention. You turn your attention back to the recording.
“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so so much. I’m so excited to meet you.”
You stop the tape, rewinding it.
“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so much.”
You sniffle, rewinding the tape again.
“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so much.”
Again.
“I love you so much.”
Again and again you rewind to hear that section. And as you finally drift off into sleep it’s to the gentle sound of the man you desire whispering how much he loves you.
Dieter arrives at home late, toeing off his sneakers as he yawns, scratching his belly before heading for his bedroom. The suitcase is left at the front door, tomorrow’s problem. He’s exhausted from the flight and he needs to get some sleep before he talks to you tomorrow morning.
He opens the door to his room, preparing to throw himself into bed when he notices the fireplace is on. He pauses, seeing you in your bed lying on your side sleepily soundly. A small smile curls onto his lips when he sees the bright yellow walkman in your hand, fingers loosely around it. What strikes him is that you're wearing the headphones; you don't have them around your belly.
Dieter is quiet, looking down at your peaceful sleeping face illuminated by your bedside table. One of your hands is splayed over your belly protectively and this makes him smile. He gently pulls the earphones from off your head, sliding the walkman from your grip and placing both on his nightstand.
He figures he’ll sleep in the guest room tonight, musing that you’re playing musical beds tonight.
You murmur something sleepily, something be doesn't catch. He takes a minute longer to look at you and then his face hovers over yours. He kisses you softly, an innocent press of his lips to yours.
"G'night baby mama."
You shift partly awake, arms reaching out to wrap around his neck. He grins, allowing himself to get pulled into the bed next to you. You’re so warm. You don't say anything; you just snuggle up against him, face nuzzling against his neck.
"Go back to sleep, baby," Dieter tells your sleepy frame. "Just turning the light off."
He presses a ginger kiss to your temple before his free hand clicks the light next to the bed.
"Okay, love you, g'night," you murmur, still mostly dozing.
Dieter is silent, unmoving as your words rattle around in his head. He waits until you're snoring before he finally replies.
"I love you too."
TAGLIST: @getitoutofmymindwrites @manuymesut @whirlwindrider29 @mostardentlypascal @lu62 @missladym1981 @heareball @sptbear @drewharrisonwriter @lizzie-cakes @daddy-dins-girl @moel-jiller @tammythr @guelyury @lilyevanstan1325 @lu62 @sptbear @staywildflowahchild @whirlwindrider29 @pedropascalsbbg @cherrycosmos392
#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo fic#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo#dieter x reader#dieter bravo fanfic#dieter bravo smut#pedro pascal fanfiction#fanfic#fanfiction#smut#series#a little sun
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be still, my foolish heart
authors note: this is probably a little silly but. us too much girlies (gn) have to stick together <3
summary: all your life you've felt like too much. joel never seems to notice.
warnings: reader's love language is physical touch and they like to talk and they prefer fuzzy blankets but nothing else specific is mentioned
You’ve been told you’re too much.
It’s a particular feeling, when those words land–especially from someone you love.
Your head gets a little foggy, mind spins a bit. The wheels begin to turn in your brain, modify your behavior. A wall comes down, cuts you off just a little more from whoever stands in front of you. Lists of things you can no longer do–lest you push this person further away–form.
Rejection. Rejection of some fundamental piece of you.
But, now, you’ve carved out a spot for yourself in Jackson all on your own. And, you’ve kept it that way. No friends, no family, barely an acquaintance–well and truly alone.
By yourself, no one can tell you you’re too touchy, they can’t say you’re dumb, can’t begin to speak the words too much.
It’s better that way. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.
If, sometimes, late at night when you’re alone in bed, loneliness curls around your spine like a second skin, that’s nobody’s business but your own.
It's all fine, your life, until the day you meet Joel Miller.
He steps into your store on a particularly good day–which is the first problem.
Watching what you do, what you say, is always harder when you’re excited.
You know of him which is to say you know his name. He walks around Jackson like a ghost too afraid to step fully on the Earth.
You can’t say you blame him.
You also can’t blame yourself for the crush you’d harbored for him.
“Welcome in.” You smile. “Can I help you with anything?”
Joel shakes his head, tight smile on his face.
You nod. “If you change your mind–”
“Actually–” He interrupts you and you can see the moment he kicks himself for it.
Your smile doesn’t fade, all too aware of how it feels to intrude on someone else’s words.
“You were saying?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know what I’m looking for here.”
“Maybe I can help you figure it out.”
“Ellie–my daughter–she…she wants a blanket–for her birthday, but…” He trails off.
“But?” You prod, trying not to be pushy.
“I’m not exactly Martha Stewart.”
You quirk a brow. “Did she sow?”
Joel tilts his head. “You know, I can’t remember.”
The both of you laugh, and a little thrill runs through you that you had made the stoic Joel Miller laugh.
“I can show you what I have right now. Something might catch your eye.”
He perks up. “You actually have some?”
“Oh, yeah.” You nod. “Got some new ones in the other day.”
You step out from behind the counter, just stopping yourself from running your fingers down his arm as you watch around him.
You hope he didn’t catch the movement.
Your fingers want to thread through his, pull him along behind you, but they don’t.
“These are the quilts,” you gesture to one stack, “and these are the fuzzy ones.” You add, almost under your breath, “My personal favorite.”
“Yeah?”
You nod. “The quilts have always felt a little scratchy. The seams…” You shake your head. “Oh! They’re also harder to tuck yourself into–with how stiff they are.”
“That makes sense.”
You turn towards him, eyes alight. “You might like a fuzzy one, too!” You reach out, hand landing on his belly and fingers lightly scratching–an absent-minded expression of affection. “The winter and everything, if it hurts your joints or your aches, having something extra could be nice, you know. Oh! We also have heated throws.”
Joel’s eyes flick downward, glance at your fingers. You pull them away like you’ve been burned.
“Sorry,” you murmur. “I’m sorry.”
“S’okay.” He nods, and you almost believe him. “You were sayin’ about heated throws?”
You shake your head. “I should really let you decide for yourself.” You start to step away, go back to the counter and your quiet little life, when Joel’s fingers curl around your wrist.
You feel like a fool–at the first sign of friendship, you'd burst, a jack in the box barely closed.
“Darlin’,” Joel shakes his head, chuckles lightly. “I like listening to you talk. I like your touch.”
“You did?”
“I’ve seen you around, you know.”
Dumbstruck–for once in your life–all you can say is, “You have?”
He nods. “Always seemed like talking to you, being close to you, would be like being near the sun. You seemed warm,” he murmurs. “I could use some of that.”
Because you have to hear it–you’ve always had to have it spelled out–you ask, “Are you saying…what it sounds like you’re saying?”
Joel grins. “I’m saying I like you.” His tongue peeks out, licks his lips, and he looks you in the eye. “I want to spend more time with you. That somethin’ you’d be interested in?”
You want to bite him, suddenly, and the thought makes you smile. “I’d be very interested in that,” you hum.
“Yeah?” Joel smiles, something like shock on his features.
You cross the room, throw your arms around his neck and squeeze. “Yeah.”
Joel Miller had seen what most would call too much, and he had simply wanted more.
That feeling–and the feeling of his arms wrapping around your waist–heals something in you that was broken long ago.
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How about nightwing and Wayne reader just had a baby and Bruce and Damien go to meet them for the first the first time ? thank you!
A/N: aaahhh so adorable!
‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿
“She definitely has your eyes babe” you said gentle touching the face of your newborn daughter. She looked up at you with her bright blue eyes, just like her father. She had his eyes, and hair, honestly she was his copy.
“Yea but that smile is completely yours. Beautiful just like her mother” he said touching her cheek trying to get a smirk from the babe. It worked caused a gum filled grin to spread across her face “see! Look at that! Ugh, you did an amazing job love” he compliments you
“You know it was both of us” you try and give him credit
“Hey hey, you carried her and basically made her. It was a 10-90 job. Either way, you just keeping bringing blessings into my life” he kissed the top of your head. “First you and now her. Life just cousins get any better”
“Im Just so happy she’s finally here” you sigh as you snuggle into Dick’s side
Well here you were. Baby girl in your arms with your fiancé at your side. Your fiancé who so happens to be a super hero and the former sidekick of Batman himself. You also so happened to be Batman’s daughter.
Now this didn’t happen in the best way. You were dating for about 3 1/2 years by now. You even shared an apartment together. However the dreaded late period was no where in sight. One positive test and a sobbing Dick was more than enough proof. The problem was telling your father. Hs was very strict on finding the right one, marrying and being stable in every way before being a child I got he world.
Even though this was a two person matter, Dick wanted to tell him and take full responsibility and heat for it. Bruce was in fact not very happy with the circumstances, but Dick Grayson.
His side kick, friend, his son, his family. Someone he knew you could rely on, be safe with, and know that you were in good hands. So the day you both told him he responded with:
“Y/N, this is another life you’re both bringing into this world. You’re both fully aware of your actions and what has to be done now. I won’t force you into keeping it, the choice is yours. However, keeping this life means they are now the center of everything. Are you truly ready for that? The tears, the sick days, school, happy moments, angry moments? All of it?” He asks seriously yet cautiously
“Every moment Bruce. And she won’t be alone. I swear to you I love them both so much, I just want to give them whatever it is to keep them safe and happy” dick said confidently.
With that said Bruce stood up and congratulated you both. He brought you into a tight but gentle hug. Of course he’d also be there every moment, he just couldn’t believe it. About a month or so later dick had asked you to marry him. He would have asked with or without the pregnancy. But he wanted to show you that he was here 100000%.
*knock knock*
Looking up from your arms you see Bruce pop his head in.
“Dad! Come in! You’re just in time she’s awake!” You beam as your father opens to the door to make room for the flower he had brought for you. Behind him were Alfred and Damian. He set the flowers down and kissed your head. He looked down at the baby in your arms
“She beautiful you two. She looks a lot like Dick” he said smiling down at the newborn
“Dad, this is Martha” you say carefully handing the bundle. He cradled her in his arms and thats when he caught on
“Martha? Y/N…you didnt-“
“We did Bruce. You’ve done so much and you know how much you mean to us so we honored her with your mothers name” Dick explains wrapping his arm around your shoulder. Sitting down in a chair and observed the baby. She now carried something on his mother and he couldn’t hold back the tears.
Bruce Wayne was a very tough man. Brought to tears by a baby who was yet to even speak. You knew he’d be an amazing grandfather. After some more chatter Alfred also took a turn to hold Martha.
“She does have something about her that remind me of Martha sir. However, her Beaty seems to come from you Miss Y/N.” He comments. Martha definitely liked Alfred, she looked at him and broke into a big gummy smile.
You had then noticed Damian who was in the far corner looking out of the window
“Damian, do you want to hold her?” Dick asked picking her up from Alfred
“Why would I want to hold something that has your DNA?” He asked crossing his arms
“Because shes also your niece” he answered “and once you hold her, you won’t need anymore answers” he rolled his eyes and opened his arms for the small package
“Support her head” dick reminded him. With a scowl he looked down at his niece and raised a brow. Martha simple yawned and stretched her small limbs out of the blanket. A small tiny sigh leaving her mouth. Damian felt strange….he felt protective ? It was weird. He could feel his face gearing up even in the cool hospital air.
He walks over to you and hands her over. He gave you a quick hug and said
“Shes cute. Congrats” and stuffed his hands into his pockets and made his way outside the door.
“Well, it looks like Martha is winning everyone Hearst today” he said kissing her head. This time you both shared a yawn signaling for Dick to go into dad and husband mode.
“Alright we’ll i think it’s time for both of my girls to get their naps of the day in” he said picking up Martha and placing her in the bassinet “thank you guys again for stopping by”
“Of course, we’ll be in touch. If you need an escort home just let me know” Bruce said saying his goodbyes to you both
“We will dad” you wave with heavy eyelids “and tell Damian he can come by our place later to see her again”
“Will do”
“Alright sexy mama, It’s time for you to get some rest” dick said helping you adjust to the hospital bed for well deserved rest
“Thank you dick, you’re so diligent without me even saying anything” you yawn again as you’re tucked under the blankets
“Well you’re my wife and the mother of my beautiful baby. What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t treat you like a queen?” He asked kissing your head “no more questions. Shut those pretty eyes of yours and get some rest. I’ll watch our little princess”
No more Words were needed as you fell asleep. Dick took his seat near the bassinet and watched as both of your form rose and fell in your peaceful slumber. He just couldn’t stop smiling. The perfect woman and the perfect daughter. He may be a hero, but before that he is Dick Grayson. Husband and father.
~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~
~Kitty 🐈⬛
#nightwing x reader#dick grayson x wayne daughter#dick grayson x Wayne reader#bruce wayne#batman#dick grayson#dc comics#nightwing#bruce wayne x reader#dick grayson x reader#batman fanfiction#batman x fem!reader#batman x daughter reader#bruce wayne x daughter!reader
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Anime only watchers and people who aren't caught up with the Manga, BEWARE... Cuz I'm about to discuss Spy X Family Mission 96... You have been warned...! 👌
[SPOILERS AHEAD FROM THIS POINT ON]
OMG!! THIS CHAPTER WAS BOTH SO GOOD & SO HILARIOUS!! 😆
This chapter is probably gonna be a new favorite of mine, especially because of that absolutely unexpected thing that happened right before the end of the chapter...!! 😵 So let's talk about it, shall we? 😉
Mission 96 starts back where we basically left of...
...to see who will get to dance with Damian!!💃
To figure this out, Ewen and Emile come up with some challenges to see who is worthy to dance with their Boss Man!! 😆
The first challenge has to do with endurance so the young ladies have to stand on one leg and clap to the until only remain... And since Twilight's there to help Anya win at cost, of course he has a way cheat!!:
But then, THIS HAPPENS...!!:
ANYA ABSOLUTE NUT! 👏🤣👏🤣👏🤣👏🤣
Also... What Twilight said about his arm after Anya's silly antics was ABSOLUTELY HILARIOUS TOO!! 😂😂😂
Moving on to the second challenge, the girls must do an obstacle course and who ever are the five fastest will advance to the third and final round!! 👏 A lot of the girls are struggling, but Anya is off to a great start!!
They had to jump over a hurdle (which Anya fell on her face afterward, but still kept going 😂), get through a trap zone (which Anya ripped her dress and stuck for a bit LOOKING LIKE THIS...!!):
THIS FACE OF ANYA'S KILLED ME!! 🤣🤣🤣
The final part of the obstacle course was the Inchworm Crawl, AND ANYA GOT THIRD PLACE, so she's still in this!! 👏😆
The third and final challenge was a quiz about Damian, and Twilight thought that he had it in the bag, but...:
Twilight you silly, silly man...! 😌
Anyway, since this is quiz, of course Anya is gonna use her mind reading abilities to get the right answers...!! Though she almost slips up when she answers a question that probably only Damian, Emile and Ewen know, she makes up for it by missing some questions...!! Anya and one of the other little girls only needed one answer to win, and the question was: Who does Damian love the most?
At first I thought the answer was gonna be Anya, but I'm pretty sure that Ewen and Emile still have no clue that Damian likes her...! 😅 So everyone guessed, but Anya knew what the answer was...:
MY HEART...!! 💗🥹💗
And so, Anya was victorious and got to dance with Damian!! 🎉
HELL, HENDERSON AND MARTHA EVEN GOT TO DANCE WITH EACH OTHER!! 💗😍💗 (This chapter is GOATED for that as well...!!! 👏😆)
Besides that, though Damian and Anya were having some trouble dancing with each other at first, they started to get hang of if it!! 😁 And then...:
EXCUSE ME, WHAT!?!?
Luckily, Damian didn't believe her, but THIS BOMBSHELL may have some ramifications if Damian just casually mentions this to either Melinda, Donovan or someone else dangerous in the future...!! 😱 I am confident that Damian if does eventually believe what Anya told him, he would most definitely keep her secret, but if he doesn't realize it soon, who knows what could happen...!! 😥
And that was Mission 96...
...A FREAKING AMAZING CHAPTER...!!! 👏👏👏
I still can't believe Anya told Damian the truth, though he doesn't believe her yet, it is very possible that he will in future...!! 😊
And to all those that those that thought that Damian would be the first one to know that Anya can read minds, I tip my hat to you guys...!! 👏😄 (Also the damianya shippers are EATING GREAT!! 👏😆👏😆👏😆)
Anyway, I think that's all I wanna say, especially since I know that I'd be here while spouting out theory after theory about what is to come (and wonder if this is gonna lead into Mission 100...!! 🤔) So until next time; take care, be safe out there and be kind to one another...!! 💗 LATERS!! 👋😄
#spy x family#sxf#spyxfamily#Mission 96#spy x family manga#sxf manga#spyxfamily manga#spy x family spoilers#sxf spoilers#spyxfamily spoilers#manga spoilers#anya forger#loid forger#damian desmond#becky blackbell#ewen egeburg#emile elman#henry henderson#martha marriott#I CAN'T BELIEVE WHAT ANYA SAID TO DAMIAN!! 😵#WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR THE FUTURE!?!? 😱
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thing is.
the doctor in series 3 is a lot more complex people give him credit for.
when he gets mad at martha at the end of 'smith and jones' it's not because he's offended at her flirting, annoyed at her insinuations, 'how dare she'. no. he's mad because she sussed him out, right down to the blue suit.
in 'smith and jones' the doctor has a clean slate, he has reinvented himself. and this version has no baggage.
this doctor hasn't got a brown suit it's blue, this doctor is flirtaious, romantic, even does the 'honourable' thing of making sure she knows the kiss he will give her means nothing. she won't get attatched that way when he sacrifices himself to draw out the plasmavore.
but this doctor is also a bit callous, he's excited by the thrill and danger, dimissing very real distress from people around him in favour for the facts. he only pulls himself back upon his conversation with martha.
in fact, it's no coincidence the kiss happens after martha commemorates the dead, her old mentor.
the problem is however, martha is too clever, too observant, too confident to completely be won over by this entirely. when he tells her he is the doctor, just the doctor, at first she refuses to call him by this. he has to earn it. sonic screwdriver? lol, got an electric spanner too? she asks if he has help because surely he didn't come to this hospital because he thought something was wrong on his own?
that's why he says stuff like this. he's like why are you poking holes in the illusion. i'm *this* person now, don't take me back to my reality.
but he's not quite done. they both could have died on the moon but she saves his life so, he gets another chance. incomes the reinvented doctor part two. [you can argue the doctor always knew they would make it because martha told him she saw him in a moment that had happened for her but not yet for him.]
so part 2 commences but he's turning it all the way up because he wants her as his companion.
so he's smooth talking her, but even then she's still not letting him get one over on her. "not pompous at all." so better turn it up some more, and he time travels, a 'cheap trick' to impress her more.
until his newly formed version of himself gets a hole poked in once again after martha inadvertantly makes him remember rose. and he clams up, decides it will only be one trip in a pretty aloof, defensive and abrupt way. shuts down any path that could lead to something more, testing to see if she can do the same - "i only go for humans" - she can and away we go. he's racing about the tardis back to semi-normal and they are off.
it's why he's so having mood swings all throughout 'the shakespeare code,' flip flopping between annoyance and dismissal at her questions, she's ruining how it was supposed to go in his head. she wasn't supposed to ask *this* many questions, she was just supposed to be impressed. but she went and reminded me of rose so this can't work now, it's gonna be one trip. but then flipping back to this need to impress and to just fall back into step to how they were, running around and having an adventure. how he's supposed to be.
and he decides i don't want this to end. im extending the trip. but yet again martha pokes another hole - his home. but the doctor holds onto the pretense for as long as he can. he doesn't just say "we can't go to my home and please don't ask me why because it's painful." he just lies. and this pretense now takes on a new form, because it directly references rose with choosing new earth. see, he starts by reminiscing on gallifrey when he describes it to her then chooses someone else to reminisce on. rose. all with little regard to how martha would feel about being used in this way. but unfortunately for the doctor, this takes a dramatic change for the worse as taking martha here directly leads to her abduction.
now, despite martha's olive branch after the death of the face of boe, the doctor still doesn't tell her the truth. until she sits down, and really hones in on his lies and the people of new new york began to sing for the dead. and the doctor looks at martha, the human, listening to the humans commeorate the dead. and tells her the truth. that he lied because he liked it. because he could pretend. pretend that his reality was not true. he was not the last timelord.
intriguingly enough, by the time we get to the lazarus experiment, the doctor seems determined to play out how the story was supposed to go. yet again disregarding martha's feelings. find a new companion. travel for a bit, then bring her home safe and sound. and not one year later. no ties, a nice thanks then goodbye. no heartbreak, no tears. but he comes back. because he doesn't want it to end yet, offers her another trip. and here goes martha again. telling him he needs to be clear in what he wants right now. he's not someone who can just breeze in and out of her life without a second thought. is she his companion or is she a passenger?
and the pretense is over. mostly anyway, and the doctor is at his mlst vulnerable due to the circumstances of '42' and by its end, it's like a refreshed smith and jones.
but now he doesn't feel the need to lie, he's not fully there yet. but he's more comfortable, he doesn't need to pretend.
perhaps too comfortable.
#doctor who#martha jones#tenth doctor#10th doctor#tenmartha#smith and jones#the shakespeare code#meta#the lazarus experiment#42#human nature#the family of blood#blink#utopia#the sound of drums#last of the timelords
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Little Duck
Pairing/s:Pedro Pascal x actress!reader, Sarah Paulson x platonic!reader
Summary: The pair, Sarah Paulson and Pedro Pascal were asked about their close relationship with the rising star Y/N L/N
Date: October 2012
Warnings: y/n isn't here but is mentioned (not a warning but it needed to be stated), other than that no warnings.
A/n: hi this is the first point for this series, they are still friends here completely platonic, just had to build up the series before you know. Also, feel free to ask questions about the series and hopefully, you guys like this.
“ Hello everyone, we are here at the special red carpet event where dozens of artists from all over the country are coming together to enjoy such a great cause,” the female interviewer greeted the audience.
“ And it is with great honour, that I present to you our first pair on the red carpet, the one and only Sarah Paulson and Pedro Pascal.”
The camera zooms in on the pair before it follows them to the area where they were about to be interviewed.
Smiling to the camera the pair positioned themselves on the right of the interviewer and shook her hand.
“ Thank you both for talking with us, a while ago I said I’m gonna go and talk with the first pair that walks down that carpet before escaping and chugging down whatever’s in the drinks section,” The interviewer said that resulting in small laughs from the pair.
“ So uhm, what does it feel like to be the first ones to walk on this very special event tonight?” She then proceeded to ask them as the pair looked at each other.
“It’s pretty cool yeah like it’s an honour for us to start off this event as it has been highly anticipated in the past year,” Sarah softly said as she nudges Pedro to speak.
“Yeah it just makes us feel better than everybody else,” he casually states as the interviewer bursts out laughing.
“ Why did you both sign up for this, was it the attraction of last year’s special event or did you just get invited?” She asks
“For me, it was a little bit of both, but I mean-actually I wasn’t even supposed to be here Y/N was, but she got sick last minute so she called me and asked me to take her place,” Sarah nods towards the camera as she explained their situation.
“ Oh! That’s unfortunate,” the interviewer said as Pedro perked up and nodded.
“Yes, really unfortunate but we were kind of expecting that she would get sick after all those activities she’s done the past week, so she hasn’t really got time to rest.” Pedro then told the interviewer who looked like she was about to ask the reason for her sickness.
“And while we are on the topic of the Y/N L/N, I’m gonna take the chance to ask you what is your guys’ relationship with her, since you've been seen with her throughout the year, like when did it start? What made you guys add her to your little friend group?” She prodded as she looked at the pair.
The two burst out laughing as the past events filled their mind.
“ Yes, uhm we- rather I kind of adopted y/n back when we got cast together in the movie “Martha Marcy May Marlene", and at some point, we began to grow close and our bond really shook both our worlds.” Sarah shared their history with a large smile before pointing to Pedro who was standing there with a smile of his own.
“But this guy, only met her last January at my new year’s eve party but was seen with her too many times than I have been seen with her since last year,” she stated as a matter of fact as Pedro giggled at the memory.
Shocked the interviewer looked back and forth before composing themselves.
“Are you serious Pedro? I cannot believe that what you’re telling me is true. So, you just met y/n a few months back yet you two looked as if you’ve known each other for years. What can you tell me about this? Any story you can tell us?” The interviewer directed to Pedro who was seen shrugging with a fond look on his face.
“ Yes, uhm I- I mean y/n isn’t a hard person to know 'cause she’s like an open book and a very conversational person so you know as soon as we were introduced we just clicked and that lead to whatever you guys are seeing floating around now.”
“ Yeah, they clicked so much that they even hang out without me. IMAGINE THAT I, who introduced them to each other, was being left out. I sense a betrayal going on.” Sarah teased Pedro who started laughing as he rested his hands on her shoulders before kneeling down and begging for her forgiveness.
The interviewer laughed with them before asking a couple more questions about their future and current projects.
“So that is all for tonight, once again thank you Sarah and Pedro for your time and we’re hoping to see you guys soon and hopefully with y/n.” The interviewer closed up the interview.
“Ah yes thank you too, and we agree on the part that y/n needs to be here on our next red carpet.” Sarah pointed to the camera.
“ So little duck eat up and drink up, you are missing on a lot of fun, get well soon!!” Pedro screamed to the mic as the video slowly faded to black.
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x y/n#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fluff#pedro pascal imagine#pedro pascal x female reader#pedro pascal x actress!reader#sarah paulson#sarah paulson x platonic!reader
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Can Anybody See Me? Part 10
Hey...you know how I said I had another fic I was working on that I planned on putting up the first part for today? Yeah...that didn’t work out. It needed a lot of heavy editing and because this got finished today with only minor edits, you get this instead.
Also...I realized that until this part...I never mentioned the name of the musical they’re doing. Ooops!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9
*
To say Steve was nervous as hell would be an understatement. He had been in drama less than a month and now he was standing on the stage watching people mill around. And there was a lot of people. People who were taking measurements for costumes. Makeup and wigs people. Apparently kids from orchestra and band were going to be playing the music in the ‘pit’. Then there were people working on sets and up in the rafters checking the lights.
He had been to couple of plays on Broadway when he was younger. Of course he had. But he never knew how much went into making it look like magic when he was sitting in the audience.
A girl came up to him and squeezed his elbow.
“You’re Steve Harrington, right?” she asked.
Steve nodded, tongue tied from the sheer panic running through his body.
“I’m Janice Montgomery,” she said gently. “You’re friends with Gareth and them?”
Steve nodded again. “You must be the badass chick of the Hellfire Club.”
Janice grinned. “Oh good, you have heard of me.”
“A middle schooler I babysit for’s younger sister looves D&D so I try to talk you up as much as possible to piss her brother off,” he explained with a grin.
She laughed out loud. “Thanks. But I understand that this is your first time doing a play?”
“Acting in front of other people full stop,” Steve said, nodding.
Her eyes went wide and she tilted her head forward. “Please tell me you at least did the school play in elementary about the benefits of healthy eating.”
Steve scratched his face nervously. “Uh...that would be a no.”
“Fuck.”
Steve hung his head. “I really shouldn’t be here.”
She shoved his arm. “Miss Lucy isn’t the type of teacher to play favorites. Thomson isn’t a large role with a lot of blocking. Mostly standing in front of everyone else reading and being annoyed.”
Steve laughed. “I could do that, yeah.”
“See? You’ll do fine. You’ll dance for the major numbers, and then that heart-wrenching scene at the end.”
“Yeah, I auditioned with that scene, because it has both the singing and the acting in it.”
“Wow,” Janice said. “That’s impressive.”
Steve blushed. “Another middle schooler I babysit is in the drama club and asked him for pointers.”
“Well at least you know how to strategize,” she said. “Marty and I will help walk you through it. If have any questions come to either of us, okay?”
He nodded. “Thanks for this.”
The spot light lit them up and they both squealed from the sudden brightness.
Janice held up her hand over her eyes and screamed, “Eddie!”
Steve heard him cackle before the brightness was severely toned down. And then Eddie dropped down in front of them, landing deftly on the stage.
“Mr Munson!” Miss Lucy called out. “I appreciate your grace as much as the next person, but one day you will break straight through this old stage and the school will not replace it.”
“Harsh, Miss Lucy!” he called back.
She chuckled darkly and went back to her notes.
“That was cool,” Steve murmured.
Eddie grinned. “She is right about the stage though. I don’t think they’ve redone it since it was put in god knows how long ago.”
Steve smiled.
Janice raised an eyebrow and then cleared her throat.
Eddie turned to her. “Congrats on getting Abby, Miss Montgomery.”
“I just can’t believe Tammy Thompson got Martha Jefferson,” Janice complained.
“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of hearing her,” Steve said.
“You’ll hear her a lot,” Eddie said. “She has a song in the second act.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m sure it’ll be great.”
Eddie and Janice just stared at him.
“Or not...”
They burst out laughing.
“Hey, guys!” Marty said jogging up to them.
Everyone returned greetings of their own.
“So...I found out how Tammy got the part...” he said with a grimace.
“Oh no...” Eddie said. “This can’t be good.”
“Her mom is a seamstress and has offered to make all the costumes for free as well rent the wigs for a low price.”
Janice stamped her foot angrily. “With an offer like that I’m surprised she didn’t gun for my role.”
Steve looked between them confused. “I don’t understand.”
“Have you not seen 1776?” Marty asked.
Eddie and Janice turned to him and stared at him as though he had grown an extra head.
“Um...” Steve stammered, “well...I’ve been meaning to and I just haven’t got around to it, yet.” He scratched his cheek nervously.
“You mean to tell us,” Eddie said slowly, “that not only did you try out for a play you haven’t seen, you managed to get a fairly major roll for said play?”
Steve nodded, blushing a deep red.
“That’s it!” Marty cried. “You coming over to my house and we are watching it!”
Steve frowned. “How are we going to do that? I didn’t know they put plays on VHS.”
Marty clapped his shoulder. “You are in luck my friend because they did movie several years ago.”
“I guess...” Steve said shyly. “I’ll come over on one condition.”
Janice and Marty exchanged a knowing glance.
“What would that be?” Janice asked innocently.
“If Eddie comes too?” Steve bit the bottom of his lip and looked up at Eddie through his eyelashes.
Eddie blinked. “As long as it not on a Hellfire night, I’m down.”
Steve smiled softly.
“Is tonight good?” Marty asked.
Janice shook her head. “I work tonight.”
Steve shifted back and forth on his feet. “We could do it tomorrow at my place. My parents aren’t home and I have a big screen TV.”
“Sold!” Marty said.
“Yeah, man,” Eddie said rocking back on his heels. “That sounds cool.”
“I’ll bring the tape, Marty will provide drinks and Eddie the popcorn,” Janice said.
Steve looked uncomfortable. “You don’t have bring anything I’m sure I’ve plenty of stuff.”
Eddie wagged his finger at him. “Ah, ah, ah, Harrington. That’s not how movie nights work. Host merely hosts. Everyone else provides.”
Steve blushed. “Yeah, okay. Then you guys can explain the Tammy Thompson drama.”
Marty clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “It’s is sooo good.”
Steve just laughed.
“All right everyone!” Miss Lucy said. “It’s time for the read through. Mr Kincade, Mr Munson if you wouldn’t mind helping set up chairs?”
Marty and Eddie nodded. They gathered up as much seating as they could find. Those that didn’t have any lines sat in the audience around Miss Lucy, Mrs Lawson the dance teacher, and Mr Dent the choir teacher.
Steve pulled out his script and waited for his first line.
Eddie sat in the audience and Marty flopped down next to him.
“You’ve got it bad,” he said, nudging Eddie with his elbow. “He know about your proclivities toward members of your own sex?”
Eddie winced. “Tommy called me a fag often enough, but no. I don’t think he knows.”
Marty patted him on the shoulder. “You probably should tell him.”
*
Everyone showed up at Steve’s house around seven. Marty having picked Eddie and Janice up.
“I got some candy anyway,” Steve said as he led the way to the front room.
Marty and Eddie just shook their heads.
Janice rolled her eyes but they wisely said nothing. They all got set up and sprawled out on the couches.
Steve hit play and lost himself in the music. He laughed at the funny bits swooned when he supposed to, and got teary eyed at “Mamma, Look Sharp.”
“You clearly enjoyed that,” Marty said.
“It was good,” Steve said. “Not very historically accurate, though, right?”
Eddie grinned. “Nope. Barely even close. But it’s fun and over the top.”
“It certainly is that,” Steve chuckled.
“Okay,” Janice said rubbing her hands together manically. “Who’s hotter: Thomas Jefferson or Lyman Hall?”
Eddie tapped his finger on his lips. “Jefferson. Love the lighter hair and tall.”
Marty crowed. “Red heads are hot, but gotta give it to my man, Lyman Hall. When he slams Georgia’s vote to yay...mhmmm...that’s some good shit.”
Steve frowned. “You’re both wrong.” All heads turned to him in shock. “Charles Thomson and not just because that’s who I’m playing.”
“You think Thomson is better looking than Hall?” Marty asked, dismayed. “You can’t mean that.”
Steve shrugged. “Hall’s good looking, sure. Soft spoken, too. But there is just something about how the actor portrayed Thomson that just brought this strength that Hall didn’t have.”
Steve blushed. “Plus Jefferson is married and I don’t look at taken people. No matter how hot they are.”
Eddie leaned forward and put his fingers to his lips. “Steve, I need to you to be honest with us. We aren’t going to judge or flip out but...do you like like boys?”
Steve blinked. “I never really thought about it. I thought it was normal to talk about how attractive other dudes are. Me and Tommy did it all the time.”
Marty and Eddie shared a concerned glance.
Janice shook her head. ‘That’s not something straight boys do.”
“Then why were you asking us about who was more attractive?”
“Because we deemed you safe,” Marty said as if it was the simplest thing in the world, instead of the massive bomb it should have been. “I’m bisexual. I like both.”
“And I’m gay,” Eddie said bluntly, resting his elbows on his knees.
Steve blinked. “Oh. I’m not sure what I am, then.”
Janice put her hand his shoulder. “Hey, you don’t have to figure it out right away, Steve. I didn’t mean to make question your identity.”
“Just don’t freak out, man,” Marty said. “I don’t think I’m equipped to deal with water works.”
Steve cocked his head. “I mean, I guess. But there’s no reason to freak out about it. Yeah, I’ve used fag and queer as insults and that’s not good. Obviously. But finding out I like boys? Not as earth shattering as I thought it would be.”
“And you don’t mind us being queer?” Eddie asked.
Steve frowned. “No. And I understand your concern. But no. Of course not.”
Eddie nodded and then sat back.
“So you thought Tammy would want to be Abigail instead of Martha?” Steve asked Janice. “Because it’s the bigger role?”
Janice flopped back against the cushions. “Exactly. Abby has more lines, more songs, more stage time in general.”
Steve let out a chuckle. “Then you don’t know Tammy.”
Marty and Eddie leaned in.
“Oh, do tell,” Marty pleaded.
“She would want the ‘pretty’ role,” Steve said. “Especially if she’s basing her idea of the roles on this movie. Virginia who played Abby is gorgeous, but in an understated, has had six kids and worked her whole life kind of way.”
“But Blythe Danner is just straight up hot,” Marty said.
Steve snapped his fingers. “Exactly. Tammy is just vain enough to want the Martha role even though it’s smaller...”
“Because she’s prettier than me?” Janice asked incredulously.
Steve laughed. “I didn’t say that. I said that Tammy thought that.”
“Mine!” Janice said throwing her arms around Steve possessively.
Eddie’s stomach rolled. He looked away so he didn’t see Steve blush and shift uncomfortably under her affection. But Marty did.
“Hey, quit hogging the guy,” he teased. “There’s enough Steve for everyone.”
Eddie looked back to see Steve gently push her off of him. “I’ve got a lot people who already have claimed that title, you’re gonna hafta stand in line.”
Janice and Marty looked at each other in confusion.
Eddie pursed his lips. “It’s the kids, right?”
Steve nodded, but Marty and Janice’s looks of confusion didn’t clear.
“Stevie here babysits,” Eddie said grinning from ear to ear.
Steve laughed. “At least that’s what I call it so people don’t freak out. So until Eddie took me under his wing, most of my friends were thirteen year olds.”
“I take in lost sheep,” Eddie said. “Never took in a senior before. Or a former popular kid, it’s been quite the eye opener.”
Steve blushed and ducked his head. “I’ve never been more grateful to see a person in my life then when I looked up and saw you that day in Mr Vinke’s class.”
Eddie shoved his hair in front of his face and looked away, this time for a more pleasant reason then before.
Marty and Janice looked over Steve’s head and grinned.
Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21
Tag List: @shrimply-a-menace @strangersteddierthings @throwbackthrowaway @novelnovella @cursedfoxteeth @babyblender @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steve-the-hairrington @winterbuckwild @spectrum-spectre @matchingbatbites @garden-of-gay @anaibis @thing-a-ling @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @artiststarme @sundead @nelotegreitic @gregre369 @butterflysandpeppermint @thedragonsaunt @kodaik97 @messrs-weasley @scarletzgo @deadlydodos @renaissan-vvitch @evix-syne666 @emly03 @justforthedead89 @ashwinmeird @huniibee @phantypurple @stevesbipanic @shucks-yuckyuck @awkwardgravity1 @bookbinderbitch @reportinglivefromsoda @chasinggeese @be-the-spark-bitch @jinxjinn @kohlraedirectioner @cr0w-culture @xjessicafaithx @whimsicalwitchm @jaywhohasthegay @dangdirtydemons @lovelyscot @howincrediblysapphicofyou @the-redthread
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Lavender Haze
✰ Midnights Masterlist
✰ Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Y/n
✰ Word Count: 3 K
✰ Warning: Toxic family and sexism (reader's parents), drinking, fluff, smutty themes, protective!Jake
✰ A/n: This was only supposed to be a blurb, but here we are 3000 words later... I don't know what a blurb is apparently. Also, I do not have a taglist, follow my library and turn on notifications for updates!
✰ Library
Staring at the ceiling with you
Oh, you don't ever say too much
And you don't really read into
My melancholia
…
“You still with me darlin’?”
The question pulls you from your daydream, and you glance back at Jake. His hand gives you a gentle squeeze when he sees the tense smile you force yourself to make, and shifts closer to you automatically. Slightly moving back farther into the settee and pulling your body closer to him, as his arm settles behind your back.
“I just hate coming here, they’re overbearing.”
As you mutter the words, your eyes flitter around the room taking in the spectacle that is your parents. The decor of your parents' house was always rich and elegant, though the added dried lavender was a new addition. Your mother had claimed that given it was spring, lavender could be the theme of the party. Resulting in not only dried lavender everywhere but hints of purple decor, lining the walls. There had been so much lavender added to the house, the smell was overbearing, and mixed with the purple décor, together they were both giving you a migraine.
You were used to the incessant loop of people coming in and out of your house, throughout your childhood a weekly was the usual occurrence.
Though now seeing so many unfamiliar faces, you quietly wondered what your parents must have done to run off those that you grew up with. The current array of your parent’s friends were snobby elites that clearly had too much money, and each of them was as annoying as the next. The constant string of questions and judgmental looks, while they rotate you through the groups like a stab of meat, was something you became accustomed to at a young age. But as you’ve gotten old it only seems to have worsened, and socially acceptable boundaries didn't exist when it came to questions about your life.
It was no easy task being the only daughter of Texas socialites; privacy had become a foreign topic and you could no longer do right in your parent’s eyes. Having left the state quite abruptly, when you decided to follow Jake to California and finish your degree online, was only the tip of your ever-growing list of disappointments. The long list ranged from the fact that you weren't married yet, to how you hadn't given them a grandchild, and so forth.
Coming home hadn’t even been your choice, but Jake was coming home to Austin to visit his family and the decision had been made. You loved Jake’s family and the decision to see them after 9 months was easy.
The visit was supposed to be 2 weeks with his family only, though your plans were quickly demolished when your mother called and heard Jake playing with his nieces. Your plan to play it off as they came to California for a visit would have worked if your mother didn’t have to put her nose in other people’s business.
Though like the wonderful woman she is, she called Jake’s mother almost instantly and found out the truth. You were in no way upset with Liz, she was the sweetest woman that you had ever met, and you hadn’t exactly mentioned that you were avoiding your family. While the Seresin family knew that your family didn't always get along, the drama that accompanied your family name, wasn't something that you wanted to bring them into.
Though the slip-up landed you here, back on your parent’s estate and drinking your sorrows away. The “herbalist” Lavender Champagne was one that your mother learned about in a Martha Stewart cookbook, though she had told everyone that Martha had given it to her personally. Typical behavior from the woman; she’s always been a compulsive liar.
The lavender stems were anything but calming, and more so a frufru additive to the imported drink, subsequently it had helped the 4-hour dinner party move faster. You were on your third glass, while Jake had switched to scotch after dinner and the small buzz was a welcomed distraction.
The home you and Jake found on the highly uncomfortable settee, which was more for show than anything, had been your safe haven. The both of you settled it after you had done one set of rounds and had stayed in it since. Though the luxury fades away as you see your mother heading through the crowd, with a group of women and making a b-line for you and Jake.
“Sweetie, you might want to slip away before the crows can sink their claws into you.”
The group of older women had no sense of personal space when it came to Jake, the constant pawing and flirting was an event that you would only let Jake deal with once tonight. Jake's gaze moves to where your staring and instantly sucks in a harsh breath. He sits the both of you upright, before placing a kiss on your cheek and moving to leave.
“Signal if you need me darlin’.”
“And how should I do that?” the teasing tone in your voice, makes him smile. Glad to see that even with the events of the night, you can still be your chipper, sarcastic self.
“I mean, you could just start yelling mayday like a lunatic, but a subtle ‘excuse me I need a refill’ should suffice.”
The wink that Jake gives you, before slipping past your mother barely avoiding her clutch, has you giggling. Though you’re quick to cover it up when your mother glares at you and takes a seat next to you, motioning the group of ladies to do the same.
…
All they keep asking me
Is if I'm gonna be your bride
The only kinda girl they see
Is a one-night or a wife
…
“Y/n, it’s so good to see you. Your mother always has so much to say about you.”
You can’t quite remember the lady's name, the rotation of women your mother kept was highly overwhelming and quite petty. Though you can only nod to the woman, as another interrupts and asks about you and Jake.
The hand your mother had settled on your back tenses slightly, as she jabs one of her nails into your lower back and you fight to hide your wince. Her own voice takes over the question for you, leaving you to glance around the room. You catch sight of Jake over by the liquor cabinet, surrounded by your father’s friends from the country club.
The well-tailored slacks and blazer had had your mouth watering from the moment you saw them on him. The heat of your gaze must alert him to your staring, as his emerald, green eyes flash to you and a teasing smirk crosses his lips. The cheeky wink he gives you has you looking away quickly and you can’t help but blush knowing that you’ve been caught.
“– isn’t that right Y/n?”
Your attention is quickly back on the group when you hear your mother state your name. A small hum falls from your lips, in hopes that your mother will, willingly repeat what she said.
“You and Jake.” Her harsh tone is followed by another jab to your spine, and you slightly grit your teeth in pain and annoyance.
“Yes, Jake and I are going on our five-year anniversary.”
Your smile is genuine when it crosses your face, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by the surrounding group. You and Jake met when you were only 15 and started dating right after high school. He was the best thing that ever happened to you, and you were thankful that your relationship had stayed so strong through the years.
The topic of marriage had come up many times, though you had expressed that you wanted to finish school before you tied the knot. Knowing that your mother would want a “perfect” wedding that was a grand event; was an added stress that you couldn't have right now alongside your studies.
“And yet there’s no ring?” The statement more so, than a question comes from your Aunt Fran and the harsh tease is hard to miss when the ladies around you silently whisper.
“We’re very happy, with our current status.” The sweet smile you give is anything but, “Unlike some of you, I’m not actively looking for a husband with a formidable amount of money for me to spend.”
This time you can’t hide your wince when your mother jabs at your back, and the once slightly painful action, now has your back bowing away from her hand. If the ladies notice your reaction, no one says anything and the harsh glare from your mother has you tipping the rest of your champagne back.
“I’d be careful darling. You’re almost 25, and well, he’s bound to get bored with you.”
You give your aunt a tight smile, holding your tongue as you glance at the clock on the overhead wall. The comment wasn't one you hadn't heard before, but the delivery of it seemed to get blunter each time she said it. The ticking of the hands is a welcomed sight, as the big hand slowly moves toward the twelve and brings you that much closer to your escape.
…
They're bringing up my history
But you weren't even listening
…
The topic of conversation quickly drifted to the current Texas politics and gossip from around town, while you quietly zoned out and enjoy the growing buzz that the champagne fills you with. The ladies’ voices drown together and their high-pitched laughter only adds to your growing migraine. The hand that had been resting in your lap comes to rub your head, and rakes through your hair to push the strands from your face.
Jake had been watching you since the moment he left you, not trusting your mother and what she could bring up. He’d noticed each wince you had tried to hold in; over the years he had become a custom to your actions and could always tell when your mother was behind said actions.
“So, Jake is y/n behaving for you? She’s never been good at listening; I can imagine she only gotten worse with the move.”
Jake had been used to your parents constantly harping on you and putting you down, though it was never easy. Jake had seen you through all of your teenage years, and he knew for a fact that you had never questioned your parents. You had always been the kind sweet girl, that worried about good grades and making sure she never disappointed anyone.
Well, up until you decided to go to university and move to California with Jake. Those two decisions had been the cataclysmic event that pushed the snowball off the hill, leading it into a never-ending roll. Each little problem that your parents found only added to the issues. It had become a compilation of why you were a disappointment and reasons to hate you.
The slight glare that Jake gives your father, has him starting in on another topic without Jake’s reply. Though the new topic had been just as bad, if not worse.
“I’m sure you do agree though, that her going to school is unacceptable. A lady’s place is in the home, taking care of things.”
He follows the statement up with a wink, and Jake is slightly stunned by the comment. The whites of his knuckles now visible, with the tightening grasp he has on the scotch glass. Jake would be afraid of breaking it, though it might be a nice distraction. Given the fact that his anger was only growing and the chances of punching your father were only growing.
“Excuses me.”
“I said –”
“No, I know what you said. I just can’t believe how much of a pretentious sexist asshole you are. Y/n is doing exceptional in school, and I am extremely proud of her.” The slight step that Jake takes closer to your father, is hard to miss and though you couldn’t hear what they were saying, you knew enough, that it wasn’t good.
“Also, whatever she decides to do with her life, is her decision, not yours. So, I suggest you back the fuck off.”
…
Surreal
I'm damned if I do give a damn what people say
No deal
The 1950s shit they want from me
…
As Jake steps away from your father, you give your mother and the ladies surrounding you a look before getting up and making your way toward him.
“You won't be young forever darling. Why I'd be worried already, how do you know he doesn’t have someone on the side?”
The statement is made towards your back as you pass your aunt Fran, it causes you to stiffen slightly. You knew that Jake would never cheat on you, you both loved each other immensely, but that didn't make hearing their bitter comments any easier. It was something you got quite good at, letting each of their comments roll off your back. Though it seemed to work against you, with comments only getting worse after every party when they couldn't get the desired reaction from you.
Jake had made it to your side, just as your mother and aunt started laughing causing the ladies around them to giggle to your demise. His warm hand wraps around your forearm and pulls you into his chest, placing a delicate kiss on your brow before pulling back. His green eyes silently watch you in question, though you can only shake your head in reply. The sooner you left this monstrous house the better.
You may have grown into a strong, brilliant young lady, but being back in this position felt like your parents still had control over you. It felt like you were still that little girl that worked herself to death, just to please those around her.
“Sweetheart let's go home.”
The words are muttered into your ear, as the warmth of Jake’s breath cascades over you and relaxes you slightly. You nod in return, turning your head so your forehead can rest against his own before placing a gentle kiss on his lips.
A silent thank you.
You leave the crowd in a blur, only consumed in the comfort Jake brings you. Neither of you tell your parents goodbye, and you silently hope that it will upset them enough that you wouldn’t be invited back.
The cool fresh air of the night calms you as you step outside the house, and Jake's arms slip around your waist as he places delicate kisses along your neck. His chin settles on your neck, while is hands tighten around it, almost as if he was afraid, you would slip away.
“You know how proud I am of you right?”
You hum slightly, just enjoying the feeling of being in his arms. The buzz from the champagne fades away, and in its place is Jake.
“You amaze me every day sweetheart, and no matter what anyone says, I will always love you.” The loving statement makes you nuzzle back into Jake and place a kiss on his cheek. Though the seriousness of the moment fades, as Jake teasingly bites along the passage of your neck. You tilt your head to the side and let him have full access to the passage, as small moans emit from your lips.
You turn in Jake’s hold, going to wrap your arms around his neck, and place a slow kiss on his lips. The heat radiates between the two of you and has a steady yearning coming from your core. Both of your lips move in sync, slotting perfectly together with no care for the surrounding world.
Jake's hands grasp at your hips, as the material of your dress rises slightly up your thighs and creates the perfect space for Jake to slot his thigh between your own. The tug on your hips causes your core to brush harshly against the material of Jake's slacks. The jolt sent through your body, has you grasping onto Jake’s hair even tighter and pulling at it.
You only pull back when you have to gasp for a breath, though Jake doesn’t hesitate and goes to work on your jawline. The tip back of your head gives him even more access and your eyes barely opening to see the night sky, as a needy moan tumbles from your lips. Your mind lays in a haze of need and want for Jake, more than willing to have him take you on your parent's front lawn.
You pant slightly as Jake places one last kiss on your lips, before pulling away and resting his forehead against yours, causing your noses barely brush each other. The green of his eyes shines bright in comparison to the house lamps, and you wonder how you got so lucky.
“I love you.”
Jake had never been shy about expressing his love for you and the three words, even after all these years, still made you feel like you were floating on a cloud. The wide smile that breaks out across your lips only stays for a second, as you press a sweet giddy kiss once again against his lips.
“I love you.”
Your smile mirrors one another other, though it's quickly displaced as Jake's hands that had settled on your hips start to tickle you. Laughter erupts from your chest, as you break out of his hold and run. Your heels fall from your feet, landing in the drive, as your dress flares out behind you.
Jake's own laughing seems to be closing in on you and causes you to speed up, while your own laughs grow louder and interrupt the still night. Your mind is abuzz and clouded with a warm haze, that can only be attributed to Jake and as you glance back once more over your shoulder, his hands grasp onto you and spin you around.
Your lips find a home against each other, and you decide then that the haze Jake fills your mind with, is one you wanted to live in forever.
#gingy x midnights#jake seresin#jake seresin x you#jake hangman seresin#jake seresin fluff#jake hangman seresin x you#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin drabble#jake seresin angst#top gun hangman#top gun: maverick#top gun#top gun maverick#top gun one shot#top gun fic#tgm#Spotify
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Batfam Crime Family Breakdown
I made a Crime Family au for a OC fic I'm writing, but the dynamics were too interesting to pass up diving into.
So, I present to you the Mask Family! #1 Crime monopoly in Gotham. Descriptions for Alfred, Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian are under the cut!
Bruce - AKA Black Mask. Head of the Crime family, and basically king of Gotham. After his parents were killed when he was a young boy and was handed a multi-million dollar company at the age of 9, he had focused on a sense of control. He sees Gotham/Gothamites like they can’t help it, and simply don’t know any better. He will know better for them. Other people might have similar backgrounds or share his feelings on the idea of protecting the city from itself, bu no one has the resources he does, nor the determination to do something.
He created the alias of the Black Mask and infiltrated every underground and back alley system until he runs them all. Bruce Wayne and Black Mask basically are the monopoly of night and day in Gotham. You can’t go anywhere without seeing their influence. He’s brutal when it comes to insubordination or even the hint of mutiny. Truly thinks he’s doing the right thing to keep crime as low as possible. Think’s he is doing what he can to protect his family and his city. He’s softened over the years due to his family, and because he’s grown his network where he never has to get his hands dirty unless he wants to. Loves his kids dearly though is tough on them when it comes to the family business.
“Mr. Wayne! Could you give us a comment on the recent movements of the Black Mask? Does it pain you to share your city with such a ruthless man?”
Bruce Wayne gives a smile, that tight, pained one he gives whenever reports ask about the Crime Lord. The media eats it up. No matter what he says, they read into his expression and think it must be heartbreaking for him to know not even he could touch the King of Gotham.
Alfred - AKA Agent Alpha. Like canon, he follows Bruce down the path he takes. In the first couple years of Bruce’s building of the Mask, he voiced his concerns about Bruce’s methods. However, having been trained in special ops himself, he understood that while some situations required a skilled hand, others required a boot to the neck. He adapted and became the guiding hand Bruce needed, and is still Bruce’s number one confidant and ally.
“Black Mask? Black Mask!” the comm had crackled dead in Alfred ear. He huffs and pushes himself up out of the chair. That boy was going to get himself killed in this mission of his. Drug dealers and gang members- What would Martha and Thomas think if they could see the two of them now?
Alfred does not let himself linger long on the thought as he grabs the keys and his own version of the Mask. No matter his hesitance at the start, he knew that there was no stopping Bruce now that he has his mind to it. He would save this city or die trying. He grabs his shotgun off the wall.
Dick - (24) AKA Blue Mask. First to come into the Mask family. His story here is the same for the most part. Some mob tried to take control of the circus- since it's traveling it's not technically in Black Mask’s territory. They are wrong <3. Feeling responsible for not having enough control to prevent the Grayson murders, Bruce Wayne fosters and adopts Dick Grasyon. However, Bruce in this iteration is more open with sharing his secret with Dick as he sees himself in the young boy. He invites Dick to join his crusade to help the city, and let’s Dick be the one to pull the trigger against the men who killed his family. It’s cathartic for the both of them, and a very cementing bonding experience. Dick is Bruce’s shadow for most of his young life, seeing Bruce in his most brutal/hands on years. At some point, Dick “graduates” to having a Mask of his own, and is now Blue Mask.
Dick stays in Gotham in this au. Dick is the eldest of the Mask family and loves his growing family dearly. He learned quickly about the lengths one should go to to protect the ones they love. To him, all of his siblings are the same age as when they entered the house. They are his babies and he will murder for them. He is Bruce’s number one informant.
“There you go, little wing! Hold it just like that and keep your shoulders back. When you feel ready, pull the trigger.” His hands give an encouraging squeeze to his brother's shoulders before taking a step back. He watches as Jason takes a breath and pulls the trigger. He catches him with a laugh when the kickback jolts his small frame. “Good job! That looked like a headshot to me, you're a natural!” Jason looked up at him with shining eyes, and Dick looked back with all the pride in the world. “Let’s show Bruce.”
Jason - (19) AKA Red Mask. Bruce found him on the streets when he was young- Yes, he was stealing from THE Black Mask and yes, Jason fought with a tire iron and claws to get away from him at the start. Jason thought Black Mask would make an example out of him, show that even kids weren’t an exception in Gotham. But Bruce took one look at the small, malnourished but resilient boy and fell in love with him. Jason, to Bruce, represents all the kids that he was too late to save. But he could save Jason. Bruce brought him home and exposed his secret immediately, as if Jason was already his son. The reasons Jason stayed were years behind them now, and he’s proven himself time and time again to be Bruce’s perfect foot soldier. He trained under Dick and Bruce and was rewarded with the title and role of a Mask much younger than Dick.
Jason and Bruce had a big fight when he was 16 (probably having to do with who would be inheriting the Black Mask role in the future) in which Jason ran away. Knowing all of Black Masks tricks, he’s able to stay under the radar for a little bit less than a year. It breaks Bruce’s heart and infuriates him. He misses his son and is spiraling at the lack of control and is forced to conclude that he’s going to have to punish Jason if/when he finds him. Which he does, but more on that later. At the present day, Bruce and Jason still butt heads in Jason’s attempt to prove that he can be a leader if Bruce just lets him. Bruce is content in keeping the boys in the roles they have for as long as he can. There are many debates on which Mask was the most intimidating, but everyone can agree that you never want Red Mask to be sent after you.
“I’ll take the lower Eastside-”
“Good idea.” Black Mask cuts him off, “Blue, you’re with Red tonight.”
“What?” Jason snaps, “No way, I can do it by myself.” Black Mask gives him a look that Jason can decipher even through the unchanging skull mask. This wasn’t the night to start a debate. Jason clicks his teeth, “Fine.” Black Mask gives him a pat on the head as he passes and a burning of embarrassment and fulfillment comes from the approval. He slaps away Blue’s hand when he tries to copy the movement, to which Dick whines with disappointment.
Tim - (17) AKA Yellow Mask. When Gotham sees a heavy crack down for a few months, it’s a near complete cut off from the rest of the world. It shows what Black Mask could do, which scares a lot of people. But not Tim Drake. Tim Drake sees the opportunity for what it is. Unlike the rest of the world, who haven't a clue about the why, 10 year old Tim Drake marches up to Wayne Manor and asks to speak to Black Mask himself. Tim, the child, had known about the Mask family identity for a full year. And now Tim, the child, was offering to help Black Mask, the Crime Lord. Because Tim Drake knew where Jason was. Tim had known the entire time (a fact that Tim does not share.)
(He also doesn’t share the photos. The maps. The red string. He takes his time and eases the family into his presence, and then, into his hobbies.) Tim inserts himself into the Mask Family, brings Jason back, and simply stays. Jason and he have some tension because of this. Tim is happy staying in the shadows of the operation because it gives him a purpose behind all his odd interests and gives him challenges to grow from. He kinda gets the Mask title against his will but secretly is over the moon about it. He wants to be useful. He becomes Wayne Enterprises Co-CEO, and is Bruce’s eyes and ears.
“That's Debbie. She’s the head accountant on the Relay case, 5th floor.” Bruce nods to Tim’s words and Tim pretends not to preen at the knowledge that someone was listening to him. Bruce gives a hum and an ever-so-slight gesture to a man across the room with his glass of scotch. “Oh, Walter. He’s been skimming funds off his department budget for 5 months now. 14th floor.” Bruce raises an eyebrow and looks at him. “He’ll get cocky soon. See the watch? He bought it this week. That's nothing compared to what his internet history suggests.”
Damian - (12) AKA Green Mask. There’s not much to change here. Damian came into Bruce’s life at 8, already trained to kill. Something of a gift from the al Gul’s. Damian is just as brutal as Bruce was in his early years, but Bruce focuses on helping Damian be a child again. All Bruce wants is to be close with his son, much to Damian’s early protests. Bruce is terrible about spoiling Damian and letting him get away with things because Damian is the baby of the family. Because of this, Damian is Bruce’s trigger. Especially for the jobs that have to be done swiftly and quietly.
Damian realizes that there is more to learn then ways to kill, and learns from Dick about the ways of manipulation, how to present oneself to get what you want. With this, Damian often acts younger than he is to appear innocent and lovable. He tried to kill each one of Bruce’s kids at least once when he first came into the house, but after several impressive retaliations, Damian has seen their strength and recognizes how much he can learn from them. The caring nicknames and affectionate hugs were things that he pretends to only tolerate, but he becomes insufferable if he doesn’t receive affection from them.
“But Father, you promised!” Damian stamps his foot, letting the echo of the cave give the action more grandiose than it actually felt. Bruce responds to his childish outbursts more than his calculative reasoning.
Bruce sighs, kneeling down and cupping Damian’s face with gentle hands, “Yes, I know, Dami. But that was before you handcuffed Tim to the stairway railing for three hours.”
Damian crosses his arms and sets a pout to his lips, “He could have gotten out of them if he wanted to,” He mumbles.
“That is not the point and you know that, darling.”
________________________
Bonus:
Damian texting at 1am after not receiving a single pat on the head from his brothers all day: inshallah you will wake in the depths of nightmares most vile
Dick a millisecond later: bb bat wdym?? :(
#i hope this is fun for yall#its fun for me#crime family au#batfam#batman#bruce wayne#alfred pennyworth#dick grayson#richard grayson#jason todd#tim drake#damian wayne#damian al ghul#the batman#good older brother dick grayson#they really do love each other theyre just. a lil fucked up#gun mention tw#nightwing#red hood#red robin#robin#batman and robin#batman au#crime family batfam#crime lord bruce wayne#migth reblog later with how my OC fits into it#idk#in the works#wip#mask family
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state-of-the-art
sex on fire chapter two
*chants* ceo joel ceo joel ceo joel
part 2 to you shook me all night long!!! massive credit to @whore-4-pedro again for the concept this is SO much fun. work trip coming soon babies!!! masterlist here, ao3 here 💓
pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader
summary: joel’s had a rough week at work. you figure you know the perfect way to relieve some of his tension
warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) more teasing and touching, oral (m receiving), getting handsy in public + fingering, unprotected semi-public piv sex, creampie, daddy kink, softdom!joel, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), cursing, workplace relationship
word count: 6.6k
series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist
The stretch is too much; he’s all the way in down to his knuckles, curling and then uncurling his fingers deep inside you. Your hips are slowly circling by instinct, rutting against his hand as it fucks you, sending fluttery waves of pleasure all over your body.
You ball up your fist, nails digging half-moons into the skin of your palm, attempting to fight the tidal wave fast approaching as Joel’s fingers snap harder into you, a third beckoning your orgasm nearer and nearer.
You’re there – right where he wants you, almost throwing your head back with the feeling he’s giving you. And then you make the mistake of looking at him, catching that ever so Joel smile when, shielded from the others by his hand, he breathes, “There’s my girl.”
The black mug. Not the one with the gold handle – that’s one of Martha’s. She doesn’t use it much – at least not as much as the one with her granddaughter’s face printed on it – but she once left you with a stack of paperwork to shred all by yourself just ‘cause you made yourself a tea in it.
No. Just plain black all over. No words, no pictures. Plain. Black.
Few spoonsful of coffee into the filter, hard granules sprinkling over the white paper. Close the lid, flick the switch, and then wait for it to brew. Once it’s done, fill the mug almost to the top – until the coffee kisses the bottom of that one chip in the ceramic. No sugar. No sweetener. No nothing.
Just plain black.
“Thanks, darlin’.” Joel takes the mug carefully from your hands as you wander over, then you perch yourself by his side on Martha’s desk. He takes a sip and nods like usual, confirming what you already know.
You make a damn good cup of coffee.
“You’re worth, what, a few hundred million? You can’t buy a better coffee machine?”
“’s wrong with that one?” he asks, mug on his bottom lip.
“Works like it’s from the eighties or something.”
Martha clears her throat behind you both. “I am gonna give you five seconds to explain what you mean by that.”
“I mean…it’s not exactly state-of-the-art, is it?”
Joel’s jaw drops dramatically. His head wobbles like it’s about to implode, hearing what you just said. “You hear that, Martha? We ain’t state-of-the-art anymore, you ‘n me. We’re older ‘n that coffee machine, you know.”
Martha’s shaking her head, clicking away at her computer.
Joel nudges your arm with a soft chuckle and you sigh, turning away to watch the four men in his office; stood an awkward distance apart, small talking, pacing, adjusting their suits. One of them is messing with some trinket on Joel’s bookshelf.
“You think they’re nervous?” you ask, and he laughs from behind you.
“I reckon they’ve a lot to be nervous about.”
“Was it that bad? On Monday?”
Joel had spent the better part of four hours locked in that conference room, right after you two – you know. He was late for lunch by the time he was ushering them out, collars loose, jackets slung over arms. It was probably a good thing you’d tired him out a little beforehand, or he’d have been way more unforgiving than he was.
Three departments in Joel’s company have gone over budget. It isn’t a huge deal. He has the money. Just, he wants the right people in charge of it, and right now…he clearly doesn’t have that. Honestly, you hate to admit it, but it makes sense. You’re kinda on Joel’s side.
He’d given them to the end of the week to come up with action plans, figure out how to undo the mess. This is the end of the week. This is supposed to be the big reveal.
Joel runs a hand through his hair, palm hooking around the back of his neck.
“Wasn’t great,” he mutters.
You knew that much. You’d asked what he wanted to eat as he passed your desk en route back to his office, and he’d waved his hand and told you to order whatever you wanted with his card. When his door closed, you glanced over to Martha, who shrugged, and went back to playing solitaire.
You figured he wasn’t down for more sex. He didn’t reappear until five o’clock, when he walked you down to the street, carrying your jacket for you, and helped you into your cab.
The elevator dings and the brass doors separate, revealing a figure behind.
George Mackley. Short. Stout. Obnoxiously bright red tie. Head of marketing.
He waddles in a hurry toward the three of you, nodding curtly to Joel as he passes. His shaking hand fumbles around the handle of the office door, which he pulls on instead of pushing, and gives an awkward chuckle before rushing inside.
“Fuckin’…finally,” Joel grunts, passing you his mug and standing up.
“Should I order my own lunch again?” you ask, looking up at the man stretching his arms out before you. Like he’s about to go in and punch sense into them all.
You’d probably love him to do that. It’d make for some great sex afterward.
“I’ll be takin’ a lunch break,” he replies, tapping your knee, “whether we’re done or not. Be out at one.”
You nod, and he stalks off to his office. His mug’s still warm in your lap. You’re still staring when he enters the room, watching how all five men immediately file into the couches across from his desk just at the sight of him. Watching how Joel’s lean figure sits back against his desk, his ankles crossed. His arms folded at his chest. His broad shoulders beneath that tight white shirt.
He has that way about him. Commanding, confident. Strong. It’s probably what convinced you to fold, if you’re honest. Sure, he’s kind, and he’s a good boss, all things considered. He’s funny. But he’s cool. It takes a lot to shake Joel.
This meeting? It’s not shaking him. He’s barely even giving these guys enough attention to sit up straight. He’s so damn breezy, so laidback that when he pushes off of his desk and stands up, you give a small gasp.
You lift his mug, drinking from the same spot his lips touched only minutes ago.
“Thought you hated black coffee,” Martha murmurs.
“Stress sipping,” you reply. “Fucking hell…”
Joel’s erratic. Waving his arms, pacing around the room. You swear the men cower as he approaches; shoulders hunched and heads low until he’s past them.
He looks…Yeah. Fuck it. He looks a little shaken.
Martha tuts. “Shouldn’t be idiots with his money.”
“He has money, though,” you offer. “Like, this ain’t that big a deal, is it? He can afford to go over budget sometimes.”
“Joel doesn’t like anyone messin’ with what’s his,” she tells you. “Doesn’t like other hands on his toys. It’s not the overspending he’s pissed about. It’s the crossin’ the line.”
Your eyebrow cocks. She can’t see your expression, and good thing, because it’d probably give you away. Doesn’t like other hands on his toys.
A flash of movement from Joel’s office drags your eyes from the dregs of his coffee back to the transparent wall between you. He’s whipping the shades closed one by one, putting a barrier between his office and the outside world.
It can’t mean anything good, right? It doesn’t look like they’re about to sit in a circle and braid each other’s hair. Sure as hell aren’t about to see Joel’s good side.
“I gotta go in,” you declare, lifting off of Martha’s desk like you’ve taken flight.
She calls your name, almost tired of your antics. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…”
But you’re already scooping up a notepad, slipping it under your arm and fishing a pen from your desk. Already walking over to the office door, hearing the dangerous hum of Joel’s voice through the wood.
Your knuckles rap three times. You don’t wait to be called inside. Just push the handle down and slip in.
He’s stood against the frame of one of the windows, hands in his pockets. When you materialize from behind the door, his face relaxes. Brows loosen, jaw slackens. Lips almost tug into a smile.
“Sorry I’m late.” You sidle over to his desk and sit down in his chair, biting on your bottom lip, casting an unsure glance around the room.
Five pale faces turned to you. George Mackley looks like he’s about to weep.
Joel thanks you and then steps forward. “So, Ken, we were at last month’s sales.”
“Uh, yeah…” Ken draws his gaze from you when Joel moves in front of the desk. As he waltzes by, he spins slowly, giving you a look as he passes.
Kill me, he mouths, rolling his eyes. You smile, looking down at your blank notebook. You’re not here to take the fucking minutes. You know that, Joel knows that. You’re only here so he has something to keep him from losing it. Something to sit and look pretty, and calm him down.
Also: you kinda want the gossip. What the fuck did these guys do with all of Joel’s money, right?
Almost two hours in, a dozen games of tic-tac-toe against yourself, and one very crude drawing of Monday morning’s activities, Joel startles you by slamming a file down onto his glass coffee table.
“And you think that’s a solution?” he spits, voice laced with fury.
“Joel, you gotta see it from my side. I’m managing thirty people down there, it’s–”
“’n I’m managing five idiots from up here. Mackley,” he turns to the face as red as the tie below it, “you got anythin’ else for me?”
George Mackley shakes his head. His hair’s unkempt; it was gelled flat to his head when he arrived, but his hands have been through it more times than Joel’s lapped the office.
“Alright. Y’know what,” Joel seethes, backing up and motioning for them to stand, “everyone out. Meeting’s over. Go.”
“Joel–” A tall man with blue eyes stands up.
“If you ain’t about to offer me somethin’ that can fuckin’ fix this mess, then shut your mouth and get out of my office. All of you.”
The men sheepishly collect their briefcases, their documents, themselves, and stand, filing out of the door one by one. You rise from Joel’s chair, taking your notepad between your fingers, and slowly wander around the desk.
He’s standing with his head in his hands, shoulders swelling with his breathing. Does he want you to leave, too? You don’t want to rile him more; certainly don’t want to be the first face his angry self sees. But you want to make sure he’s okay. Want to check on him.
Plus, he’s kind of hot when he’s pissed.
You’re tottering toward the door when Joel drops his hands from his face, notices you, and says, plain as the coffee in his mug, “Not you.”
You turn back, pushing the door closed behind you.
“Didn’t mean to yell.”
You don’t reply. Your hand lifts to find the lock blindly behind your hip, and you click it. Now there’s nobody, no one to disturb you both. No one to walk in, no one to see.
You approach him.
He’s still talking: “Didn’t want you to have to hear all that. I spoil your morning?”
Your head shakes and you mutely take his hands, leading him around to his chair and pushing him back into it.
“Baby, what–”
You part his legs with your own, his fingers still interlocked with yours. Then you think he gets it. Understands where you’re going.
You sink to your knees between his thighs.
“They were bein’ idiots,” you say, fingers undoing his belt. “’n you didn’t spoil my mornin’. You gave me a little bit of excitement.”
Joel’s breath shudders as he watches you tug his belt through the loops of his pants and drop it to the floor. Still, he laughs, and asks, “Is that so?”
“N– Oh, fuck. Not like that. Like–” You pause, breathing out a sigh.
Yeah, okay. Like that, if you want. I’m down if you are.
His pants are open, lying loose on his hips. The waistband of his boxers visible. You hook two fingers over it and peel it down a fraction, following Joel’s happy trail as it grows thicker and darker, when he puts a hand over yours and breathes your name.
“Relax,” you mutter back, nudging his hand off of yours. “Just let me take care of you.”
His head falls against the back of his chair and his shoulders sink into the leather. You pull on the elastic and take hold of the base of his cock, already stiff, slipping it out from beneath the black cotton.
Joel’s knees fall slack when you take a hold of him. Two hands, because he’s so fucking big. Your fists pump him a few times, feeling him harden in your grasp, warm skin rock solid in your hands. You lean forward on your knees, thick bead of saliva falling from your lips onto his head, dribbling down his smooth shaft.
Joel’s watching through hooded lids. Caressing your hair, petting you. Your fingers collect your spit and drag it up and down him, and you swear he almost fucking whines.
Almost isn’t enough. You want to really hear him. So you slacken your jaw, part your lips, and slide them down, tongue flat against the underside of his length as he fills your mouth. Joel’s fist tightens, pulls harshly on your hair for just a second, until he’s breathing out again in relief, body relaxing to the feel of your wet tongue around his hard cock.
“Don’t need to – do this, babygirl.”
“Mhm,” you mumble around him.
“Fuck…” he whispers.
Your elbows are hooked over his thighs, holding yourself up in place between his legs. He tastes salty; skin warm, smooth. Your tongue flickers over his head, collecting precum, and Joel groans.
You pull off of him and lick your lips.
“What you gonna do?” you ask, fingers squeezing and dragging saliva and Joel’s arousal up and down. “About the budget stuff?”
His chest is heaving, hips lifting out of the seat almost like he’s trying to put himself back where he belongs. “What…can I do?” he asks through desperate pants. “Can’t – fuck – can’t drum sense into ‘em.”
You wrap your puffy lips around his tip, kissing it, tongue playing with him again. Swirling around, gathering him on your tastebuds. “Why don’t you cut ‘em loose, then?”
Your head dips again, lips sucking around his shaft, tongue still darting around his swollen head.
He can barely fucking answer. His eyes close over and, with a groan either side of the sentence, he replies, “’s not that easy, baby. Fuck. Keep doin’ that.”
You loosen your lips enough to let your reply pass them. Your voice is muffled, thick. “Sounds easy to me.”
“Shut up,” he grunts. “Keep fuckin’ – usin’ your tongue.”
You obey, running your tongue up and down his length and coming to rest to pay more attention to his tip.
“Yeah, just like that. Good girl.”
You hollow your cheeks and let your lips trickle up and down for a bit before releasing him with a pop. Joel’s writhing underneath you, leaning almost horizontal in his chair.
“Gonna cum, daddy?”
He nods, eyes still screwed shut. “Yeah, pretty girl. You want it down your throat again?”
“Mhm.”
“Fuck – dirty girl.”
It’s all the encouragement you need. You widen your jaw, taking him in your mouth in full, until he’s choking you down to what feels like the bottom of your fucking neck. You fuck him with your throat, bobbing up and down, his fist in your hair pushing and pulling even though you don’t need him to. Your mouth meets the skin at the base of his cock over and over, dark hair brushing against your glossy lips.
Joel’s moaning each time, when his cock kisses the back of your throat, when you involuntarily choke around him, when your tongue drags along his length as he pulls you up and down. And soon his breathing loses rhythm, hips tense, and you know he’s there.
He cums, hard, at the back of your mouth. Warm release spilling out over your tongue, neatly running down your throat as you wait for him to still. His cock throbs with each shot of cum, swelling and jerking between your lips. When Joel sinks back into his chair again, you slip him out of your mouth and back under his boxershorts.
Your head lulls to the side, resting on his big thigh as you swallow him with a smile on your lips. His grip on your hair loosens, turns instead back to soft stroking, chest still panting as he comes back down. You watch him through glazed eyes; his shoulders rising and falling, breaths passing his lips like waves at the beach.
He’s twirling your hair gently around his finger, looking down at you like you’re made of twinkling gold dust.
Eventually, Joel takes a deep breath and sits up straight, beckoning you to do the same. He tucks his shirt back in, redoes his pants, then leans forward and hooks both hands under your arms, pulling you up to him.
You giggle as he lifts you onto his lap, straddling him with your knees either side of his waist. Your elbows rest on his shoulders, hands linking at the back of his neck.
His jaw turns upward, and you lower yours, your lips meeting in a soft embrace. You laugh against him, letting his tongue slip into your mouth, pushing yours into his.
“Better?” you ask once you part.
“Better, darlin’. Thank you.”
He kisses you again, a little more rushed, little less tender. Then his hands squeeze your ass and you squeal into his mouth, jumping up off of him.
You pass him his belt and lift the empty coffee mug off of his desk. “Refill?”
“Yeah. Sure. Thanks,” he says, slipping the leather through his belt loops. His shoulders are lifted, tummy sucked in as he feeds it through. He almost looks cute.
You smile and then turn on your heels, wiping the corners of your mouth as you emerge from the office.
—————
“Is he comin’, or what?”
“Huh?”
Martha jerks her head in the direction of Joel’s office. She’s stood at your desk, hands on her hips, bag over her shoulder.
“He’s…Yeah, he said he would be. Let me go check.”
You close over the budget report file you’d been reading through and shimmy out from behind your desk, trying to amble as casually as possible over to the shuttered blinds.
You turn the handle, poking your head around the door.
He’s stood at his desk, raking a hand through his hair, top button of his shirt undone. Tie sitting loose around his collar. He spots you and gives an apologetic smile.
You comin’? you mouth.
Joel points to his phone. Some panicked voice fills the silence between you both.
“…so I gave the two of ‘em a tellin’; they shouldn’t make any more purchase orders without my permission. Without your permission, Joel, I mean…And about last month’s sales, too…”
You step over to his desk, slow, suspicious. Mischief on your mind.
“Sorry, baby,” he whispers, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.
You cock your head, brows furrowing. You’d been looking forward to lunch with Joel all day; something to take his mind off the meeting this morning.
Martha had called his favorite restaurant, they’d told her they had no space, she’d mentioned it was for Mr. Miller, and a table had magically opened up. Then you’d encouraged her to ask Deb, knowing she’d inevitably ask James, her admin assistant, and, before you knew it, your small lunch was a party of five.
Worked for you. You and Joel would probably be too caught up in each other’s company to notice the rest.
Except, the way things are looking, Joel isn’t getting off this call anytime soon. Soon meaning within the next thirty seconds, given the reservation is in ten minutes.
You’re growing desperate. Running out of time, knowing if you don’t do something to shut this guy the fuck up, your little daydream of sitting side by side with Joel, so close you can feel the heat off of him, feel his chest vibrate when he talks, maybe even feel his hand trailing up your thigh…won’t come true.
“What if you just…” Your fingers walk along Joel’s desktop, heading for his phone. “…lost…connection…?”
He doesn’t say a word, but the smirk that forms across his lips grants you all the permission you need. Your fingers clutch the receiver, lifting it barely an inch, then drop it back into its cradle. The panicked voice cuts.
“Oops.” You shrug, straightening up in front of Joel.
“Oops,” he repeats, wrapping his strong arms around your shoulders and pulling you into him again. You lift your jaw to kiss him only quickly, before you’re pushing yourself off of his chest and dragging him away from his desk.
“Sorry, Ken!” you call as Joel yanks the door open, the pair of you laughing like schoolkids.
You meet the others outside the building, huddled together at the bottom of the concrete steps. Deb puts her cigarette out on top of a trashcan when you both approach.
“Well, we thought you weren’t comin’,” she utters to Joel.
He lifts his eyebrows in response, hands slipping into his pockets, and glances around the group. “We goin’?”
“Waiting for your driver, Mr. CEO.” Martha winks.
“Aha,” Joel replies, face unmoving, “funny.”
“It’s, like, two blocks, we can walk,” you say, setting off down the street. Joel’s quick to follow, strolling at your side, but there’s a chorus of groans from the rest of your party. “Come on!” you yell over your shoulder.
“We’re supposed to be dining with the head of the fuckin’ company!” Martha cries, and Deb cackles.
“I gotta live like the rest of y’all sometimes,” Joel shrugs, walking backward, “keeps my feet rooted, doesn’t it?”
“I hate you,” you mutter, and he knocks into your shoulder with his own.
The Courtyard is bright, modern, and…beige. It’s only Joel’s favorite because it was a buddy of his from grad school who opened it, but you’re the only person he’s entrusted with that information. It’s decent food – they do a great chicken risotto – and it is always busy, so Drew must be doing alright with it.
You walk under a fake ivy plant covering the entrance, past twinkling fairy lights and to a rustic wooden reception area. Some hyper server comes bounding over and introduces himself as Jake, before Martha gives the name of the reservation and he batters it into a keyboard.
“Lopez?” you ask Martha, screwing your face up.
“Yeah. Comma Jennifer. I like to make it exciting.”
“If you wanted exciting, go for Beyoncé, or something. Lopez?”
“You really think Beyoncé is gonna come eat here?”
“You really think Jennifer Lopez is?”
She bats you away, turning her attention to Deb, who finds the JLo joke hilarious. When Jake springs off, beckoning you all to follow him, Joel leans in close to you.
“She used to use Pamela Anderson. Glad she’s evolved a little.”
You snort and follow Jake toward the same table Joel always sits at: the very back of the restaurant, quieter, separated by screens of more fake greenery. Windows looking out over the busy streets. Bare lightbulbs hanging from unnecessarily long wires over the tables.
Joel pulls your chair out for you and slots in beside you, on your right. Martha, Deb, and James – who hasn’t said or done much more than chortle at anything Joel’s said – sit opposite. Jake borderline frisbees the menus at you guys and tells you to give him a shout when you’re ready to order.
You turn to Joel who shakes his head, hand cupping his chin.
The five of you scan down the menus – at least, you, Joel and Martha pretend to. You’ve been coming here regularly enough for long enough that you know what you’ll inevitably end up ordering. James is asking Deb if the steak might fill him up too much before his squash practice later on tonight when you feel a familiar heat on your leg, and look past your menu to see Joel’s hand curving around your thigh.
You hold back a smile, pretending to be really into the laminated sheet in your hands. So long as he keeps it PG, and James keeps rabbiting on about squash being good for your hand-eye co-ordination, this is fine. This is…enjoyable.
This is exactly what you fucking wanted, when you organized lunch.
But when Jake returns to collect the menus under his arm then scurries back off, and Martha and Deb start discussing some TV show they’re both hooked on, Joel’s hand begins to rake higher. Taking the hem of your skirt with it. You suck in a deep breath, pretending to watch the two women and trying your best to listen to the words they’re saying, but he’s getting dangerously close to your–
“You ever try squash, Joel?”
“Huh?” Joel’s hand halts instantly. You exhale.
James is sitting forward, elbows on the table, nodding with a perfectly innocent smile on his face. “Squash. Yeah. I play every Friday evening, straight after work. It’s fantastic for shakin’ off that week-long stress, y’know? Not that workin’ here is a stress, but sometimes it can build up, sometimes you just need something to…” He balls his fists and jerks them, gritting his teeth.
You choke on a laugh and play it off as a cough.
Joel shifts a little in his seat, his palm still clamped around the top of your thigh. “Never played squash. More of a golfing guy.”
“That what you’re gonna do this weekend? Burn off all that stress you’ve had with a round of golf?” you ask Joel, lips almost trembling with the effort it’s taking you not to burst out laughing.
“Not what I had in mind, naw,” he almost spits back.
“Well, if you ever wanna try it, you know who to call. Squash, I mean. I mean – sorry, I don’t mean call squash. I mean call me. To try squash. You won’t find a better stress reliever.”
“Thanks, James,” Joel mutters, fingers fumbling with the cutlery on the table in front of him.
You could fucking burst. No better stress reliever than squash, right Joel? Nothing like it. Not even the one sitting next to you, her thigh under your grasp. Nope.
You’re thankful when Martha calls your name and averts your attention.
“You have got to watch it. I reckon she’d really love it, right?”
Deb nods eagerly.
“What’s that?” you ask.
They both start chirping away, describing the plot of some mystery thriller. It’s hard to keep up, what with them both speaking over one another, deciding which parts are safe to tell you and No, we can’t tell her that, that’s a spoiler, which actors are in it and how many episodes it took for them to really get into it.
Not to mention Joel’s hand, which has resumed its climb up your leg.
“There are three seasons,” Martha says, finger drawing shapes on her placemat, “and do not go lookin’ online for anything, because at the end of season two, there’s a massive death, and…”
Your thighs are bare again, skirt rolled up and held at the top of your legs by Joel’s wrist. He’s squeezing as he goes, massaging, driving you fucking insane as he adds more and more pressure. Still, your legs part for him the higher he goes.
“W-what– where can I watch it?” you ask, your eyes closing over as Joel’s fingers loosen their grip.
Deb says something, but it’s muffled. Drowned out by the ringing in your ears. Joel’s right hand sits under his chin, elbow propped on the table as if he’s musing over the weather or considering what to do with his weekend.
His left moves swiftly over to run along the elastic of your panties. Sift his thumb down below them. Fingers drop to cup you over the lace fabric. Suddenly, you’re sitting upright, your arms propping on the table, then falling to your lap, then one elbow up, then both down again.
What the fuck– how the fuck do you make this look casual? Being touched by your boss at lunch, with three colleagues sat opposite you?
Joel seems to be enjoying watching you squirm. You hear him breathe a laugh into his hand, and then his fingers begin to travel even further south, moving your panties to the side to sift through your folds.
Which are, regrettably, fucking soaked.
“Hm,” you hear Joel hum, and you can’t look at him. Knowing he’s found exactly what he was looking for. Knowing he’s achieved exactly what he set out to do.
You sit stunned, staying completely still for fear you might draw attention from your company. But then he’s dipping a finger in, pushing deep inside you, and your jaw falls loose, a silent moan escaping in the form of a sigh.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Martha addresses you and Joel, “as requested, flights organized. You leave for Paris next Friday morning, fly home Monday afternoon.”
“Yep,” you reply, shuddering slightly. “Sounds good.”
You’re not fucking listening to a word she’s saying.
“Thanks, Martha,” Joel says, as casual as if he were telling her the time. Almost bored.
You drop your hand and it clamps around Joel’s wrist; you’re sure you’re scratching him, but you don’t care. Not only does he deserve it, but it’s all you can do to stop yourself from screaming out when he inserts a second finger.
The stretch is too much; he’s all the way in down to his knuckles, curling and then uncurling his fingers deep inside you. Your hips are slowly circling by instinct, rutting against his hand as it fucks you, sending fluttery waves of pleasure all over your body.
You ball up your fist, nails digging half-moons into the skin of your palm, attempting to fight the tidal wave fast approaching as Joel’s fingers snap harder into you, a third beckoning your orgasm nearer and nearer.
You’re there – right where he wants you, almost throwing your head back with the feeling he’s giving you. And then you make the mistake of looking at him, catching that ever so Joel smile when, shielded from the others by his hand, he breathes, “There’s my girl.”
It’s the last push. The last fucking shove.
Your walls clamp around his fist, your entire body screams, a scream that forcibly dies out in your throat as you lean forward and –
You slam your fist down on the tabletop, the sudden jolt of cutlery and glass making the three opposite you jump.
“Are you– what’s wrong?” Martha asks, leaning closer.
“Cr– fuck– cramp,” you mumble, eyes screwed shut, hand still gripping Joel’s wrist. He slowly drags his soaked fingers out of your tight cunt, casually maneuvering his arm back where it belongs whilst the table’s attention is still on your head and shoulders.
“Cramp?”
“My – fucking – leg. I’ll be – right back.” You’re almost hyperventilating as you shakily stand, shoving your chair back with your legs only for it to be caught by the hand Joel had inside you seconds before.
You waddle off to the front of the restaurant, nearly breaking out into a run when you reach the hallway leading to the restrooms. The door to the ladies room bursts open and you throw yourself against a sink, gripping onto the ceramic, chest heaving, shoulders hunched. Your cunt is still throbbing, waves of your orgasm slowly losing power and retreating.
You wave your hand under the faucet and cold water automatically flows, filling your cupped hands, cooling your blood, cooling your skin when you dab it onto your cheeks. You sigh with relief, leaning against the sink, catching pathetic glimpses of yourself in the mirror.
And then, the door pushes open. And his silhouette sneaks inside. He leans back against the wall, hands in his pockets. Face with a smirk you want to slap off of him.
“How’s the cramp?”
“Are you fucking–” You flick your hands toward him, splashing him with water as he throws an arm up to dodge it, laughing. That fucking laugh.
He wanders around you, looking your shaking body up and down, and comes to a halt with his chest against your back. His chin leans into your shoulder, and you look at each other in the mirror.
It takes everything in you to fight the smile growing on your lips, but when Joel mirrors it, you can’t help it.
“Fucker,” you whisper, and he kisses your shoulder. You lean back into him, ass pressing against him, feeling something you already suspected would be there.
“Feel what you did to me?” he asks, voice muffled into the cotton of your shirt.
“Mhm,” you reply, and you drop your hand to take the outline of him through his pants.
“You wanna fix it for me?”
Your head rolls back against his shoulder, smutty grin melting across your face. “Yeah, daddy.”
“Good girl,” he tells you, lips dragging across your neck, hands at his belt.
Your fingers clutch your skirt, still hiked halfway up your thighs, and pull it further. Joel’s hands replace yours on your hips and he shoves his pants apart, lining his bulge up with your core. Then his palm is at the bottom of your back, pushing you forward into position. Your knuckles whiten around the ceramic sink.
“Fuck,” you whisper when you feel his tip at your entrance. You’re already soaked through, no need for him to take his time. Not that you have time, anyway, with three coworkers out front waiting for the two of you.
Joel thrusts forward, entering you in one go, filling you up so fast you nearly double over. He keeps a tight grip on your hips, dragging you up and down the top of his cock a few times before slamming all the way into you again, eliciting a cry from your lips.
“Quiet, babygirl,” he says, low, dangerous. “Just gettin’ you warmed up.”
“Your hand wasn’t enough of a warmup?” you throw over your shoulder, and he takes your arms and pulls you flush against him.
“You gonna run that pretty mouth the entire time we’re in here, or you gonna let me fuck you?” he breathes around the shell of your ear.
“Both.”
You bite back a whimper when his hips buck into you painfully. A telling: don’t start.
Joel establishes a pace quick enough, both of you aware you can’t take too long in here. His grunts match the rate his body snaps against yours, your panting matches the rate you bounce up and down on him.
You’re watching the sight reflected in the mirror: Joel hooked around your shoulder, lips against your ear, whispering praises and filth, and you, leaning back against him, rutting on his hard cock with a thick smile on your lips.
“Daddy…” you whine, and Joel’s vice grip tightens even more.
“Good girl,” he pants, “so fuckin’ good for me.”
It’s not long before that heat is swirling around your core again, sparks of lightning jolting through the whirlwind of pleasure Joel’s hips create between yours. You take a hold of his arms for stability as you begin to feel your orgasm crest the horizon, knowing by the sounds he’s making in your ear that Joel isn’t far off, either.
“Cum in me,” you whimper, watching for his reaction in the mirror.
He pulls a face that’s almost…defeated. Groans like you’ve given him an impossible problem to solve.
You plead with your eyes. “Cum – in – me.”
It’s like you’re pressing on the weakest part of a porcelain vase; daring it to break. Daring it to fall apart. Joel knows he shouldn’t, knows it’s more sensible not to. But the way you look, body against his, whining and whimpering and fucking smiling right back at him – the way you feel, so warm and wet, squeezing him so tight he’s surprised he’s even lasted this long…
He can’t fucking help himself.
He moans and his hands clamp on your waist, forcing you forward as he ruts into you once, twice, three times before he’s twitching deep inside, warm seed spilling out and coating your walls. Your release floods over you, then, too, your head falling forward as your legs give for a few seconds, Joel’s grip the only thing keeping you upright.
Stars in your eyes, you pull the strength to lift your head and look at your reflection; Joel behind you, face to the ceiling as he slowly stills between your legs.
Your cunt throbs, and you move your hips back and forth gently, drawing a noise from Joel that you wish you could never stop hearing.
“Baby,” he lulls, looking down to watch as your dripping cunt rocks back and forth, taking him all and then letting him go again.
It’s a minute or so before you both return to reality. Bodies still connected, Joel places a steady kiss to your cheek. You lean into him, turning to place your lips against his. You’re both hot, sweaty, it’s probably pretty noticeable you just fucked.
And you don’t care.
Joel slips out of you and backs up, letting you fix yourself in the mirror as he stuffs himself back into his pants.
“You think you can walk back to the office?” he asks, smirking.
“Call Rand,” you reply, and his head tips back in a laugh.
He nods toward the door and the pair of you slip out discreetly, you first to check the coast is clear, and Joel right behind. You walk along the hallway, heels clicking, like you’ve just come across each other right outside the restrooms.
“Hey, Joel,” a voice says from behind you both as you wander past the bar.
“Drew,” Joel replies, and shakes the hand of a tall blonde guy in all black. His t-shirt’s so tight you can make out his pecs underneath it.
“How’s it goin’? You been in long?”
“Just waitin’ for our food,” Joel says, “it’s probably out by now.” He glances over at you and your legs clench subconsciously. He introduces you then, says, “My assistant. Best assistant I could ask for,” and your lungs close up.
Drew shakes your hand and then turns back to Joel. “Don’t go without catchin’ me, ain’t lettin’ you pay a thing. How’s business?”
Joel nods. “Good, good. We’re, uh, we’re heading out to Europe next week, so.”
“Jean-Marc?”
“Yep.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah. Place is lookin’ good, same as always.” Joel glances around, pointing randomly to the light fixture above your heads.
Drew does that thing men do when trapped in a dry conversation: folds his arms, looks to the floor, and nods some more. Waiting for Joel to say —
“Alright, well. Great seein’ you again. Thanks for lunch.”
He puts an arm around your back and guides you off back to the table.
“Nice meetin’ you.” You smile at Drew as you pass and he returns it, turning back to the bar.
Once you’re out of earshot, you look over to Joel.
“Something going on there?”
“Huh?”
You scoff. “You two couldn’t wait to be away from each other. Why’d you always come here if it’s so awkward?”
“Well, if I see ‘im, I get free food.”
You slap his arm as he pulls your chair back out for you.
“Feelin’ better?” Deb asks, pushing French fries around her plate.
You nod, pulling your seat in beside Joel, who’s still laughing at himself. As you settle, you feel the warmth he left behind spill out of you a little, pooling in your underwear. And Joel seems to notice, whether from some sexual sixth sense he has when it comes to you, or just the way you awkwardly shift in your seat. He hands you a smug smirk, nudging you with his elbow.
You narrow your eyes at him and turn back to Martha.
“So, you were saying you fixed the flights for Paris?”
----------
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Another Bad Day
Based on a prompt given by @mysticcrownshipper. I'm sorry it took so long but I hope you like it! Please leave your thoughts in the comments!
~*~*~*~
Steve was content. He didn’t want to jinx himself but he was pretty happy. He had his friends, he was dating Eddie, and his brother was back in his life with his super cool boyfriend too. What wasn’t he to like about that?
It was just another evening at the Harrington house and he was relaxing on one end of the couch while Phil and Dio were at the other end. They were cuddling and playing footsie together like Steve would've been with Eddie had he invited him over. But subjecting Eddie to the mustachioed protectiveness of his older brother sounded less like a relaxing movie night and more like inviting a lamb into a lion’s den. Guaranteed homicide.
He didn’t know how Dio convinced him and Phil to watch Halloween again but they were both terrified at the events happening on-screen, jumping at every scary moment. Steve was not a fan of scary movies, especially having lived through a horror series himself. As such, he was gripping a pillow tight and squeezing his eyes shut through every jumpscare. No way was he getting another heart attack, no thank you.
At a particularly scary scene that he could sense even with his eyes squeezed tight, Steve jumped and let out a scream of shock. To his further surprise and horror, he heard a gasp come from the hallway behind him. This only prompted him to scream more and plunge his head underneath his blanket as if that would protect him from whatever dangerous home invader was creeping behind him.
“Son of a biscuit,” he heard Phil curse as he stumbled to turn on the lights. With a few more grunts and bumps, the lights flickered on and Steve slowly poked his head out of the safety of the blanket.
When the lights came on however, he saw something much more frightening than any home invader or murderer. Instead, he saw their parents. Martha Harrington was literally clutching her pearls as she stood glaring at them all in distaste and Richard Harrington was fuming behind her where he held their luggage. Poor Dio paused the movie and stood in the center of the living room looking the most out of place as he’d ever been.
“Steven, I see you continue to disappoint us. Not only are you lounging around like a child but you’re also keeping distasteful company.” Martha scowled at him with her eyes narrowed in disgust.
He shrunk at her words and looked away. His parents always knew how to bring him down and ruin his night. It was disappointing but oddly comforting in its continuity.
“See your guests out and make sure they don’t come back. You’re enough of a disappointment as it is, we don’t need them further tarnishing your reputation. And ours,” His dad sneered at him.
“You fucking dick! You don’t get to talk to him like that. You and mom haven’t been home in ten goddamn months and you think you have the right to tell Steve who he can and can’t hang out with? Fuck you.” Phil hissed at them both, his face red with fury and his mustache twitching with barely contained rage.
Richard’s face reddened to match and he shoved an accusing finger right in Phil’s face. “You shouldn’t even be here! We washed our hands of you years ago and yet you still come around to harass us. How pathetic are you?”
Phil flinched back but quickly regained his composure. “Oh, you think I’m pathetic? You’re the one that kicked me out for ‘being a bad influence on Steve’ when I joined the police force. Now you’re screwing your secretary and dragging mom all around the country for supposed business trips. Who’s really the pathetic one, Dick?”
Richard raised his hand to swing at Phil but his wrist was grabbed by a silently fuming Dio. “Don’t touch him or I will sever every one of your fingers and feed them to you. Back away.”
“Who the hell even are you? What are you doing in my house?” Steve’s dad turned his anger to Dio instead but he was only met with an unimpressed look in response.
“Trying to watch a fucking movie, Dick.”
Steve’s mom spoke up then and moved a hand to Richard’s shoulder to hold him back. “Phil, you are no longer my son or a part of this family. That means that you can’t come into our house and you can’t associate with Steven.”
“Fuck you, Martha! You want to accuse us of being disappointments and bad sons and whatever the fuck else you say but it’s really you two that are the disappointments. You’re bad fucking parents and I hope you rot in hell.” With that, Phil grabs his jacket and storms outside. It’s all too reminiscent of the first time he left, years prior, when it was followed by a loatheful silence between the brothers. It left Steve feeling unmoored, frazzled in a way he couldn’t remember ever feeling.
There’s silence in the living room for a moment where his parents, Dio, and Steve stand around looking at each other before Richard sighs and glares at him.
“Look what you’ve done, Steven. Your mother and I are exhausted after our trip and we had to come home to this ludicracy. Ridiculous.”
“Yeah alright. Steve, come with me. You can stay with us for a while instead of staying here with these assholes. Go pack a bag and we’ll get going,” Dio told him, softly pushing at his shoulder.
“Excuse me-” His mother tried to protest.
“You’re excused. Go ahead, Steve.”
~*~*~*~
Steve spends the night at Phil’s and Dio’s, sleeping in the guest room and ignoring the woeful glances Phil sent to him. He had no interest in rehashing anything with his brother and a strong urge to ignore everything that had happened in order to move on.
When an acceptable hour in the morning came, Steve got himself dressed and left the house. He was off of work that day but his plans of sleeping in were thwarted. He couldn’t believe that his parents had come home after so long without any notice or that they’d obliterated Phil right in front of him again like the first time hadn’t been enough. Most of all though, he was surprised that Phil and Dio had stuck up for him. No one had ever defended him from his parents before and Steve really didn’t know how to handle that.
He continued about his day as if his parents’ return hadn’t shaken him to his core. He returned a few tapes to Family Video, hit the grocery store to pick up some snacks, and went to Melvald’s to get his migraine prescription. Steve ignored how every loud noise made him flinch and how every person in his peripheral vision appeared to be his dad seeking him out for revenge.
Eventually, he decided to stop pretending to be a functioning member of society and to seek out the comfort of his friends instead. He went from the Melvald’s parking lot directly to the Wheeler’s basement where nearly everyone was already congregated.
“Oh-ho-ho Steve, nice of you to join us. We’ve been calling your house all day, dude. Where have you been?” Eddie asked him haughtily as soon as he came in.
“I was running some errands. Here’s some snacks for you guys,” Steve said, dumping all of the chips and candy out on the coffee table. He plopped himself to the floor at the foot of one of the arm chairs and watched his friends attack the offerings like a kettle of vultures.
“Thank god you’re rich, Steve. We were starving,” Lucas told him and patted his knee.
“You mean thank god for his rich parents. They probably gave him an allowance and he wasted it on food. Loser move, Steve,” Mike sneered at him.
"Hey, Steve isn't a loser! He just doesn't apply himself," Dustin weakly defended.
Steve just looked at them all as they laughed at him trying to do a nice thing. Nothing he ever did was enough for anyone. He would always be a disappointment to his parents, a burden for his brother, and a loser to the group of friends that meant everything to him. What was the point in even trying anymore?
He didn’t realize it but sometime during his thought process, his breaths had become labored. His chest was tight and his face was turning red from lack of air.
“Steve? Steve, are you having a panic attack? Everything is okay, you just have to breathe,” Eddie spoke to him gently before turning to the kids. “Look what you guys did! You should know not to talk about his parents, dipshits! Call Officer Callahan or Hopper, shit, call Robin. Just do something other than gawking at him!”
Steve couldn’t breathe. The panic was clawing at his throat and it felt like he was back in the lake being dragged into Hell by the demon tentacles. Then not only was he obsessing over his parents in town and what the Party thought of him but he was also agonizing over the phantom pain in his sides and the suffocating pain around his neck.
“Steve, stop clawing at your neck, that’ll make it worse. Calm down, wherever your mind went, you’re not there. You’re with me, Eddie, in the Wheeler’s basement. Don’t you smell the stank of dirty socks and Mike? Come back to me.”
“That’s uncalled for-”
“Wheeler, shut the hell up before I make you. Stevie, you’re okay.”
Steve doesn’t know how long he was in his state of panic stuck in his head but he started coming out of it when he heard his brother’s frazzled voice.
“Steve?! Steve, where are you? Where is he, where’s my brother?” He could literally hear the emotions in his voice and picked his head up a little bit to look for him.
“Steve! Hey, it-it’s Phil. I don’t know why you’re panicking but if any of these bitchasses did anything, I will arrest them and give them a juvenile record. Just say the word, little bro. You’re okay,” he comforted in the only way he knew how (threatening children).
With enough of his… unconventional words of comfort, Steve was able to pull himself from the throes of panic and slump ungracefully into his arms. Everyone present fell back on their haunches and let out a sigh of relief. Eddie pulled one of Steve’s hands onto his own lap whether to offer his own comfort or be comforted from the no-doubt horrific sight of Steve choking on air.
They’d have to talk about what triggered him to have a panic attack eventually, probably after Phil lectured them and Robin got off of work to rip them a new one once she heard what happened. But they would discuss it and how ungrateful the kids had been to have snacks delivered at their feet precisely when they wanted them. But for now, Steve would hold hands with Eddie and lay his head against his brother’s chest in the longest, yet least awkward, hug they’d ever had.
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#Dio hears about this later and glares at the kids for weeks#He and Phil conspire with El for her to use her powers for pranks against the kids#Robin does in fact scream at them and kidnaps Steve for a sleepover to recover#stranger things#steddie#fanfic#steve harrington#eddie munson#lucas sinclair#mike wheeler#Dio is Phil's boyfriend based on Pedro Pascal as Dio (brought to you by mysticcrownshipper)#Phil and Steve have bi brother solidarity (because of pyrohonk)
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Bloody Love...
Chapter: V-Familiarity-
♠︎Pairing: yandere!king!jungkookxoc(coronis)
♠︎Genre: angst, smut, yandere, gore, dark romance, horror, creepy (dark fantasy).
♠︎Summary: "you happen to be in a world where wrong is right and right is wrong."
♠︎Word count: 4.6k+
♠︎Warning: murder, stalking, pussy eating (gxg)
♠︎Note: lemme know if you wanna be added to the permanent or specific taglist!
♠︎Masterpost
♠︎Serieslist
Midnight. The time when the silence washes over the village. It is said that after midnight, the souls of the guards that died run around and protect the realm. This village was just a tiny part of that. There were numerous villages in this realm. But what made this village the worse was that the castle was closer to there.
Coronis found it silly. She loved the darkness of the night. The hauntingness of it was thrilling for her. The mist surrounding her vision gave her another satisfaction. She loved how calm and quiet it would get and there was no one hurdling her way.
Sometimes, she found everything extra silly. Things around her were unrealistic. The baseless hatred among mankind was exceptionally gruesome. It was like an everyday activity to pierce a knife through someone's heart.
At least at night, everyone was tired and shut in their shacks, leaving a speck of stability around. There was no one fighting, no one was drowning themselves in alcohol near the slouchy path. There were no deafening herds of horses or blood-curdling screams for mercy.
At night, it was all calm and collected. Yet it felt like some hawk eyes were piercing through her brain.
Coronis was with her father, coming back from the meadows on the other side of the woods. The only light reflecting was from the lantern they both held and the foggy moonlight.
The trees were blurring behind the thick haze. The path back to the village was horrendous and soaked. The mud was grossing Coronis out. The howls of the Owls were unsettling.
Amidst all the silent chaos, she could hear a crow cawing in the distance. That made her heart thump against her chest. The creepy horror was seeping into her bones as time passed.
After her brief engagement with Nori, when she returned back home, Martha told her about the work that she had to do with Draco. And they left for the meadows the next moment.
Her aunt had passed away after suffering from a bacterial infection. Though they had not visited her lately, she was still important to the family. And the wealth she had left behind was even more critical to take care of. Not because they were greedy for money but the fact that Cousin Griffin had left for the South for King's work. The property was needed to be saved from the predators who were too eager to get their hands on anything that could buy them a quick inebriation. This wealth belonged to Griffin, rightfully. And they needed to protect it for him.
Onyx had also returned the same day. He looked paler and thinner almost as if he was not fed enough. On asking, he just shrugged and said “I am just thankful to be here, alive.” which practically did not satisfy anyone's worries. Even Circe looked sympathetic to her older brother.
It was not surprising.
“We should have stayed there for a night,” Draco sighed as he stopped. It was a frigid night but his forehead was covered in sweat. He wiped and looked back at Coronis who was walking behind with a jute carrier on her shoulder, filled with emotional possessions.
Coronis stopped next to her father and dropped the sack on the ground. Her breath was huffing. “I think so. But it would have been much more perilous to bring it all with us without getting stabbed… So I think it is better now than tomorrow.”
Draco nodded, agreeing with her. “We should rest here before proceeding with this path. I feel my legs falling off.” He took out a little sheet for his daughter to sit on. They both sat down and sipped some water and munched on some bread that Coronis packed with them.
They both sat there in silence, hearing animals howl and growl in the space. But one echoing cawing was making her eye twitch... Again and again. Deep down, she could feel the frightening feeling crawling up her spine. Something was coming her way.
“Coronis…” The father sighed.
“Yes, Father,” She looked at him, who looked tired. His eyes were shrinking into his skull. The dark circles were reaching far below his cheekbones. The wrinkles looked deeper and the skin looked rough, dead of any moisture. Her heart squeezed inside her chest. He looked like a dead man walking around.
It was the first time she noticed him up so closely.
“I don't know what happened to Martha… I'm scared for her,” he let out another sigh. “We have been together for so long. I was only eighteen and she was sixteen. Since then, we have never separated our paths. We knew how things were ruling over here. None of our parents were nice to us. It was bad, really bad. When both of our parents passed away, we cried tears of happiness. We knew in this world, only we both could be nice to each other and give all the love we could… It was never enough. I never gave her enough love. I was always on foot, going around, surviving and trying to bring some food home. It was all worth it though. Whenever I came back home, she would let out a sigh of relief and look at me, head to toe, to see if I was wounded or not. Whenever she would find even a tiny little scratch, she would cry and treat it with full care.”
Draco was looking up at the dull sky, eyes holding all the stars, that the sky couldn't hold, for his wife who was waiting back at home for her two gems to come back, safe and sound. He continued, “For her whole life, she just focused on keeping us safe. You know when she was pregnant with you, she would stitch these little gowns and bows for you… I always used to ask how she was so sure that it was going to be a girl. You know what she would say?” she shook her head and he chuckled, “she would say with a blushy face that she is sure about a baby girl because she feels less stressed as if the baby in her belly was taking half of her worries. She started to Iive happier and would talk to her swell all the time about everything.” his eyes filled with tears at the far memory. “Then you were born. So calm and collected. As if you were an old lady trapped in an infant's body. You would not cry but sit there, looking tiny and pretty and just look at your mother. You brought her happiness no one ever did. Not me, not Onyx, not Circe. For some reason, you were all she ever wanted to have with me. Not that she didn't love the other two… you were just a part of her that she couldn't keep her mind away from. Someone special you could say.”
Coronis didn't know how to say anything. Her senses were filled with emotions that she couldn't quite put a finger on. She was aware of her family, and how much they were different from others. They never fought. When she saw others beating their wives to death, her father kissed his wife's pain away and told her how much he loved her and that everything will be alright.
“Seeing her so tense reminds me of days when we used to live with the fear of your grandparents attacking us. But only worse.” He said. “I hope she feels better soon.” Draco stood up, cleaning his clothes. “Stay here, I'll be back in a second.” he gestured his pinky finger and jogged deeper into the woods.
Coronis sighed and stood up herself and started folding the sheet and packing the stuff back. Soon, she heard the fluttering of a bird closer and then right above her. She looked up and saw a distressed crow above her. She gasped and tried to fling it away. “Coro! No! What happened?!” she hissed. The crow clawed her hair and turned her head in one direction. She opened her eyes and her jaw dropped. A scream bubbled in her throat but never escaped.
There stood a man much closer yet still far away. She could tell who he was. This time, his face was covered but his chest was bare… Drenched in blood. The sweat started trickling down her face, and the crow sat on her shoulder. Her chest rose up and down, trying to take in enough oxygen to at least make her stay awake and not faint. He looked like a monster standing there between the thick mist around him. The lantern in his hand made him look bloodthirsty. Though, he looked like he had just drunk up a whole human. This made her think about her father in an instant. Was he okay? Who's blood is on his chest?
She looked around and saw about five more pairs of eyes looking directly into her soul. The panic started to bubble up. She rubbed her eyes to see him clearer but the moment she opened her eyes, he was gone, as if he was never there. But she knew he was. She knew he was there to see her and would follow her along.
“Coronis,” she flinched violently and turned around. A sigh of relief escaped her seeing her father alive in front of her eyes. “What happened? Why are you looking like you are about to pass out.” He held her against his chest and patted her head. Coro flew and sat on Draco’s shoulder.
Coronis took a deep breath and closed her eyes, listening to her father's panicked heartbeat that slowly calmed her. “I got scared.”
“Of what?” he carefully asked.
“Just that you took some time to come back,” she whispered and hugged her father tighter.
Draco kissed her head, “I'm back, okay? C’mon, let's go before it is even later. And why is Coro here?”
“Nothing, he just flew and came to us.”
…
The father and daughter knocked at their house’s door. Not even a breath later, Martha opened it with a huge smile and welcomed them in.
“Ah, I was getting worried about you two,” Martha said. “I couldn't even close my eyes.”
Draco smiled and hugged her tightly and pecked her lips. “We took a break in the forest. It was a long walk… I can feel my feet falling off.”
Martha chucked, “Hm, I knew it. So, I have prepared some warm water for you to soak your feet in.” She quickly bought two buckets with her and placed them in front of two chairs. “Here, sit.”
Coronis let out a sigh as her cold and tired feet touched the warm water. The burden of the day washed out and her brain started to shut down. She had no more energy to think or process the night. It had taken a heavy toll on her mental and physical health.
The image of his blood-blanketed chest spiraled in her mind, making her shiver. In the deepest of the forests, he was following her with silent steps. She did not see him again after that. But this time she realized how much he was prowling her without her knowledge and it was enough to make her awake in alertness.
“I would say we should make Circe sleep in your room from now on,” Coronis spoke in a low voice. “I don't feel comfortable sleeping with her anymore… I'm getting older and,” she cleared her throat, “I have my own needs to take care of.”
As awkward as she made it sound, Martha understood why she said that. However, Draco felt concerned. Seeing that their daughter is now an adult and so ready to get married. He didn't voice his thoughts but kept them in his mind.
“Of course, sweetheart… We understand,” Martha said. “Would you like to have something before going to sleep?”
How lucky could she feel thinking about the chances of Circe sleeping with her parents the night he gifted that awful locket?
…
The morning was silently chaotic. The whispers, people running around, gasps. Coronis sighed, knowing exclusively well what was happening.
“What was the number?” she asked as she stepped out of her slot and paddled towards the kitchenette.
“Two hundred sixty-seven,” Onyx reminded. “But in my opinion… You should start another set of counting.”
She stopped and turned around to look at her brother with a confused look. “Why?”
“Hmm… Maybe a new tendency of assassinating the lord's men has begun. If you want to, see it for yourself… I would not propose it though but it would be three if we count the one who captured Circe. It's not a sight to see…” he saw her running outside and shook his head. He knew it was something Coronis didn't need to see. It was horrible yet not surprising.
Coronis regretted it in an instant. She shouldn't have left her shack. The scene was horrible. Gut-wrenching. One of the men was hung on the hook, his chest ripped apart, his eyes ripped out– leaving a bloody trail on his cheeks. For so long, she had only seen people with large gashes, naked, hung on the hook. In the worst scenario, a headless body with their heads hung around. It always looked like an easy way to go. Breathing life was torturous. But death came with just a few gashes and a quick snap of a sword. Later the body was mutilated but the death couldn't feel anything.
This… This was horrendous. The nails of the man were covered in fresh blood which was still not dried yet and his arms had scratches. He looked like he went through hell before he died. Unlike others, he played with hell himself.
Was it the worst anyone could do? No.
The switches in her mind snapped and lurked back in time. Last night. He was standing there covered in blood, eyes looking shallower and colder. Was he there to kill this man? What was the purpose of him to be there at all?
Something in Coronis’s mind knocked that he was behind this unfortunate. Even though any man of the Lord did not deserve any mercy, considering this man has undoubtedly beheaded many. But the cruelty he has been through shone through his limp body.
It's all his deed.
The neigh of the horse made her flinch and look in its direction. A big blunder. His piercing gaze was looking deep into hers. He had two more men on his side. One of them seemed like he was talking to him, telling him about stuff. He patted his back and nodded.
“Coronis, come back inside,” Onyx called her back, seeing how she was almost hyperventilating. She didn't even feel it. “I warned you. But my mistake is telling you to see it yourself. Now, calm down, okay? It’s alright. Everything is okay. I’m here. You don’t need to worry.”
Brothers, if good, are the biggest blessings. Coronis always felt protected and easy whenever Onyx was around. She remembered when they were little, he would always be around her. Whenever they went to the market, he would hold her hand and never let it go. And when the patrolmen and guards passed by, he would cover her eyes and hug her, whispering that everything is okay and that he would never let anyone touch any hair of hers let alone her body. He was like a human shield for her and still is.
“I’m fine, I just… I feel tired,” she whispered against his chest as he hugged her.
Onyx rested his palm on her forehead, “Coronis, you are burning. You must have caught a fever after travelling for so long. Go into your room… I'll come to you in a moment.”
Coronis followed his command like a little puppy. She slipped into her blanket and lay down, closing her eyes. She tried to shut down her brain before the anxiety rushed in. But it failed terribly.
Things have taken a big turn. It was only going downhill and she was dragging others with her, too. She didn't know why that guard was hung over there but she was worried about her family and Nori.
“There, there, little girl,” Onyx came in with a bowl full of soup and some bread. “You eat this first. I'm right here. I don't have to go to work today.”
“Where is mom?” she asked.
“She had some errands to run. She is at the market. Won't be long,” he said as he dipped a piece of bread in soup and fed her. “What happened? And don't even think of lying… I can see right through you.” He waited for her to finish and speak.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Coronis. Nothing is not the answer I want,” he said authoritatively.
Coronis sighed and tears pricked in her eyes. The burden was whacking against her chest, trying to escape and scream freely. She had no clue about how to stop all of this mess and save everyone she loved. It did not seem like a good idea to bare her feelings in front of her brother who had just returned from only he knows what misery.
“Everything is falling apart. When I think that I might be getting better or that everyone around me is getting better, it all goes down and crushes into dust. All the hopes and expectations fall apart and hurt. I'm bringing down everyone along with me,” she cried. “I feel like this is going to end very badly.” She looked into his eyes. “I do not want to lose any one of you.”
Onyx sadly chuckled and threaded his fingers through her hair. “It is going to end badly one way or another… So why not keep us aside for once and think about what makes you happy?” He smiled and hugged her. “We all are built to go away at one point. So just enjoy what makes you happy for these moments and see what happens…”
Maybe for once, she needed to break the ties.
…
A light hand caressing Coronis's head and a cold handkerchief on her forehead woke her up. Her eyes slowly blinked, trying to focus.
“Ah, did I wake you up?” a soft familiar voice spoke.
“Nori?” Coronis whispered.
“Hmm, yeah?” she asked.
Coronis looked at her and saw her sitting beside her, looking pretty as always in her black gown. She was stroking her hair, making her head feel better. “What are you doing here?”
“I met Martha in the market. She said she was going to be late as her work was still stuck… Something about the aunt that passed away. So she sent me here to hand over some stuff that was needed. Then Onyx told me you had a fever. He needed to be somewhere so I offered to stay with you,” she laid next to her and hugged her side.
“Circe?” Coronis asked.
“She went with Draco who came a few moments ago. They went to the meadows,” Nori tucked away Coronis's hair behind her ear.
“So we are alone here?” she asked.
“Mhm,” she smiled.
Nori felt like the home Coronis craved. Her sympathetic eyes and delicate face brought euphoria to her footsteps. It was the vulnerability that was fogging her mind again.
Being with Nori was what made her genuinely happy. Love or lust… She didn't know what it was but whatever it was, it was addicting. She felt like the weed that Coronis needed to smoke.
Nori… was all she felt.
“Your fever is down now…” Nori started. “ I heard that you travelled for a long time yesterday. You were already tired when you left my place,” she blushed thinking about the things they did. “I think that is why you got a fever.”
Coronis listened to her talk, “I want to be happy,” she said, keeping all of her shame aside.
Nori looked at her, “hm?”
“I want to feel happy,” she said again. “Can you make me happy? Please me? Just me and nothing in return? Would that be too selfish?”
That's what made her happy. The feeling of her hands and mouth on her. For Coronis, there were lesser feelings but the itch for physical affection was overpowering. Her needy wants were what she wanted to satisfy. As much as she felt horrible for using Nori for her needs, she had started to feel some attraction, too. Every day, she found herself drifting towards her with a need to look at her and feel her against her fingertips.
This was the only time she let go of herself and became desperate for herself.
Nori bit her lower lip shyly. “You don't have to please me in return. I love pleasing you and the feeling of you near me. That's all I want.”
Coronis turned to her side and held Nori's face. She slowly pecked her, “Then please, help me feel happy,” and whispered.
Nori kissed her passionately. Their tongues tangled together. Coronis could feel herself getting embarrassingly wet for Nori. “Please, Nori, I can't take it anymore.”
Nori crawled down and removed the blanket from her and raised the skirt of her gown. In no time, she was bare in front of her eyes.
She kissed her ankle and slowly made her way up while licking and kissing every inch of her. She kissed her inner thigh and blew hot breath on her dripping core, making her shiver and giggle dumbly.
They looked like a lovesick couple.
She could see how Coronis was dripping wet for her. Her cunt was begging for attention and so she got. Nori dipped her head between her legs and licked a long strip, capturing her clit between her lips and sucking on it.
“Fuckk,” Coronis moaned. She could feel the vibration of Nori humming on her cunt. Her fingers grabbed her hair and pushed her face harder onto her cunt. “So good for me!”
Nori pushed her two fingers into her cunt and curled them, hitting her G-spot perfectly. Coronis's back arched and her mouth fell open in a silent scream. Nori quickened her pace and fucked her with her fingers. She licked and sucked on her clit until she could feel Coronis cum. Her legs shook and closed around her head as she came.
Nori sat up and looked into Coronis’s eyes and licked her fingers clean. She smiled, “you always taste so sweet.”
Coronis chuckled. “Thank you so much,” she said after catching her breath. She sat up and fixed her clothes. “Thank you for understanding me and helping me… I can't say something out loud but you get me through so much.”
“I said it yesterday… I’ll say it again. You don't have to tell me anything. I'm just glad that we can be together here and just… Exist,” Nori smiled. But before this exchange could proceed to something schmaltzy, she spoke up again. “I have to go to the market nearby. Will you join me?”
…
As Nori was pulling Coronis with her through the crowd of the market, Coronis got lost in her thoughts.
Her mind wandered back to the morning. When she saw him covered in blood, it was around midnight. And when she saw that man hanging on the hook, it was late in the morning. It had a difference of almost two-quarters (basically, almost twelve hours) of a full day and night when she saw him and then the man on the hook.
He was covered in blood at night but the man that she saw had fresh blood dripping down his body. It looked stiff. And he was there, clean in his attire. Not a spec of blood.
The man was not killed at night. He did not kill him. As far as she could think.
Then who did? A guard or patrolman, for sure. But why?
Was he out there at night hunting for wild animals? Or was there something else he was doing? Why did it feel like it had to do something with her?
She felt like she was making everything about herself at this point. Nothing was adding up. It was all a big mess. She could not wrap her head around anything that was going on. What exactly was this?
“Coronis,” Nori shook her out of her thoughts. “Are you alright?”
“Hm?” she looked around and then back at her. “Oh yeah! I am fine, yeah.”
Nori felt strange. She could see the gears turning around in Coronis’s mind. “Can you do me a favour?”
“Yeah, of course,” Coronis said.
“I'll get the meat. Can you get the fruits from Eli's?” she sweetly asked.
“Okay,” she took the money and walked towards the Eli’s. She checked through the fruits and got the best one she could find and paid the price.
On her way back, she was met with a familiar scent that made her shiver out of her boots. She looked to her right and saw a young girl, around her age, preparing some redolent.
Coronis stepped into the shop and looked around and saw many glass bottles containing pretty coloured liquid. Each of them was labelled as different redolent. Some were floral and some were labelled as cigars. An odd choice of scent but she couldn't make a remark on it.
“What would you like?” the girl asked as she looked at the newcomer.
Coronis looked at the bottle that the girl was preparing. Its scent was almost making her suffocate yet it was pleasant to sniff. She had only sniffed it once. It had a delightful scent of woody and musky redolent.
“How much for that?” she pointed at the bottle.
The girl's eyes widened. “You can not buy that,” she said.
“Why not?”
“It's for the Lord. You know, no one can use what he exploits,” Coronis’s ears started to ring. She got out of the shop and quickly walked in Nori’s direction.
No no no, this can't be it, she thought. This can not happen. This is not real. This is not fucking real. Her hands and pupils shook in dread after the realization hit her in her guts.
Her world shattered in front of her eyes after hearing just a few words. Out of everyone, him. How unlucky was she that she was thrown into this situation? She thought she was playing with the devil but it was the Lord himself.
The sweat trickled down her face as her colour went pale. Her lips felt chapped and her throat went dry. It was forbidden. Everything that she was committing was forbidden. This could no longer happen.
Her brain was empty of thoughts and only those firey gaze remained stuck.
“Coronis!” Nori caught Coronis by her arm. “What happened? Why are you sweating like that? Did something happen? Talk to me!” she started to panic after seeing how Coronis was hyperventilating.
Coronis shoved the fruits into Nori's hands and pulled away. She looked at Nori as if she was a ghost. Her steps moved away from Nori as she tried to get a grip on Coronis. But she whimpered and her tears rolled down her cheeks. She vigorously shook her head and gestured to her (Nori) to stop wherever she was.
“Coronis, why are you doing this?” Nori felt hurt seeing the woman she loved running away from her like this. Her heart felt heavier and on the edge of bursting.
She felt sympathetic to Coronis as she saw how her face drained out of blood and looked like a phantom. Her body shook like a leaf and sweat soaked her face like water.
Poor girl must have seen something awful to make her look like this. Coronis was stronger than any woman Nori had ever seen. She always carried herself with a tough demeanour, scaring people away. And now, seeing her crumble in front of her eyes, broke her heart. She wanted to hold her and tell her that everything was fine.
“We can’t do this anymore! We are done!”
.....
Sanaa's note:
I hope you guys are doing fine! I love interacting with you all, it makes me feel like you guys actually care for my blog. It makes me feel a little important, not gonna lie. So thank you so much. I hope you will leave some feedback for this chapter as well😊
The behaviour of all the characters is visualized.
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Have a nice day/night💓
#bts#bts fanfic#yandere bts#bts yandere#bts angst#bts smut#bts fic#bts jeon jungkook#bts jeongguk#bts jeon jungguk#jeon jungkook#bts jungkook smut#bts jungkook#bts jeon jeongguk#jungkook#jeon jungkook smut#jungkook smut#jungkook angst#jungkook x reader#jeon jungkook yandere#jungkook yandere#jungkook x oc#jeon jungkook angst#yandere#yandere smut#dark romance#dark fantasy#bts dark romance#jungkook fluff#Bloody love
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