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mickyschumacher · 5 months

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𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: after seeing you with play with some young fans you and charles meet on the streets of monaco, charles can't get his mind off having his own. or in which, charles has got a case of the baby fever. 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: established relationship, fluff, 18+ (minors DNI), unprotected sex (wrap it if u don't want babies), breeding kink (obvi), charles meeting the bare minimum requirement to be a good human (lmao), slight lactation kink, mutual orgasms, handjob, pussy rubbing(?), reader is sensitive as shit, google translated french (my bad to the french speakers), a questionable perversion of having children that always comes with this context, also questionable whether this qualifies as baby fever but yeh

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: charles leclerc x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: wrote this one when i first started if you can't tell by the mention of pedro and tlou! my absence explained in another post! ♡︎

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆ •°. 。 .°• ⋆

Charles loved his fans, especially Tifosi. After you, his family and friends, they were the most important people in his lives and constantly motivated him. Most of them were kind and sweet to him and loved and cherished you more than they loved him.

That's why whenever fans asked for photos with you, the both of you or autographs, Charles always accepted. He rarely refused them unless the fans gave off a certain vibe that rubbed him the wrong way; crazed fans or fans who liked you a little bit too much for his liking.

His favourite fans normally, however, were children. It was definitely pressurising to have that many children look up to him but Charles found it rewarding. They were so young and full of dreams that he could help fulfil. They always looked at him wide-eyed with their jaws open as if they had just seen an angel walk by, similarly to how Charles reacted when he had first seen you in the streets of Monaco.

Today was no exception. It was currently the mid-season break and you two were roaming the partially empty streets after having breakfast out, relishing in the privacy of Monaco. Halfway through your walk, you and Charles had bumped into some small fans, literally.

A set of 3-year old twin sisters and a boy who only seemed a year or two older had run to Charles and you yelling 'Charles!' and 'It's Ferrari!'.

Charles instantly was smiling at them, crouching down to talk to them and entertain all their bombarding questions that flew one after the other.

"Is the car really that fast?"

"Can I go in the car?!"

"I hope you win!"

You chuckled softly as Charles answered them with ease. You looked at the parents who also seemed to be equally as excited as their children. "Do you want me to take a photo for you guys?" You inquired softly.

The parents looked at you with wide eyes. "Can you? If it's no bother!" The father fretted, sharing a slightly alarmed expression with his wife.

You shook your head and smiled. "It's not a problem." They held out their phone and you took it into your hands, opening the camera. You hummed as you looked at the group. "Let's do three photos. One with the three angels, one with the parents and one family one?" You asked.

The parents were about to nod when the kids suddenly refused. "Four! We want one with a pretty girl!" One of the sisters yelled out, pointing at you.

Your mouth fell open while your body flushed with slight embarrassment. Charles grinned at you, agreeing with the children profusely. You gave a playful sigh and nodded. The children and parents began to poise for the camera several times and left the last one for you to take a selfie with them.

The parents turned to Charles, inviting him into a conversation as they apologised for the kids running to him all of a sudden.

You could hear Charles say it was fine when you felt a tug at the bottom your dress. You crouched down to the children who now crowded you.

The boy looked at you wide-eyed while the two girls poked your arm and asked "Are you a princess?"

You smiled softly. "I am!" You implored, "How did you know?" You asked in a hushed tone.

The children giggled. "Princesses are always pretty, that's why!" The boy said with red cheeks.

You hummed, pondering over the statement. You brought your hand out to pat the girls' heads and pinch the little boy's chubby cheeks. "That must mean all of you are also princesses and princes, hmm?"

The children cheered in agreement, giggling to themselves before discussing who was the best prince or princesses out of them all.

"I'm the best prince!" One sister said, putting her hands on her hips in determination. Her older brother looked at her almost offended. "How can that be? I'm the best. I'm older."

The other sister looked at her siblings dumbfounded. "Why can't we all be the best?" She sighed.

You grinned at her answer. "You're right! You are all the best. Equally. You know why?" You asked.

Three pair of big eyes looked at you with curiosity swirling within them as they shook their small heads 'no'.

You brought their hands together and held them in your palm. "Because you're siblings. You're family. That's the best."

The kids stared at you blankly, probably trying digest your words as much as they could at that age. The previous sister smiled widely, letting out a deafening yell, running to her mother. "Did you hear that, maman? We're all the best!" She screamed with joy.

You stood from the ground slowly, grinning at all the kids. "I did. We all heard that, ma cherié. It's true!" The mother chorused, giving you a thankful smile.

You smiled in response, shaking your head as if it was nothing. The parents and kids began to say goodbye to you and Charles, although the latter did so rather reluctantly as you walked over to your boyfriend.

You raised a brow at the dazed expression on Charles' face. "Cha? Mon amour, what's going on in that head of yours?" You hooked your arm with his, resting your head on his shoulder.

Charles blinked. "Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just thinking about those kids. Cute, right?" He breathed out, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

You smiled. "Very," You agreed as the two of you began to walk to Charles' car.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Arriving home, the two of you decided to lounge in your living room, not bothered to do anything else for the day. You had managed to put on the newest episode of 'The Last of Us', eager to find out what was happening next.

You and Charles laid on the couch; your head resting on his chest while he cuddled you from behind. You were intently watching Pedro Pascal after being besieged with edit after edit of him on TikTok. Charles on the other hand wasn't focusing at all.

All he could think about what those kids you and him had met earlier that morning. Specifically, you conversing with them. You hadn't realised since you were so caught up with them, but at one point him and the parents had stopped talking and tuned into your conversation with the kids.

Charles had talked to you about kids before. You both wanted them and although Charles always talked about having three kids specifically, just like him and his brothers, he would leave it up to whatever you wanted because at the end of the day, it was you giving birth, not him. He would prefer to have children when he was slightly a bit more older, you both had more control over his life, and obviously with at least one championship under his belt.

But after today, Charles was prepared to throw that plan away. As lewd as it was, the idea of you getting you pregnant and having a family not only touched his heart, but immorally touched his cock.

Knowing that he would have to ensure that his cum was entirely within you, stuffed into your cervix, and not letting a single drop come out made him feel feral. To make matters worse, you would look like a goddess when pregnant because hell, you were so beautiful now. Round and full with his child because he made sure to fuck you till you were overflowing with his cum. Or when your breasts became heavy and sensitive to his touch, leaking sporadically, giving him the opportunity to clean you up with his mouth.

God, he was an animal. The worst.

"Charles, what are you doing?" Your voice erupted into the air, breaking him out of his deep train of thought.

Charles blinked at your question in confusion before he looked down, seeing his hand traversing under your dress and up your inner thigh. He looked over to your amused eyes peering at him.

"Sorry," He let out with a sigh, rubbing the warm flesh of your thigh softly. "I just... I can't stop thinking about children."

You raised a brow, not seeing the correlation to Charles' wondering hand. "Children?" You iterated, running a hand through his hair.

Charles shut his eyes at your actions, feeling at ease. "Those kids today... make me want our own children. Now. I want to have children now."

Charles peeked his eyes open, looking at your astounded expression with a bit of fear. "What about our plans? What was it? Thirty-three, a championship, lives under control, and then children?" You queried. "I-I'm not mad or anything, Cha. Just curious. Why the change of heart all of sudden?

You had now turned to face Charles, knees on either side of him, straddling his lap as you became fully attentive to him.

Charles played with the tresses of your hair that had fallen past your face before tucking them gently behind your ear. "You would just make such a good mother, mon ange. You're so sweet and kind. You now how to talk to them. God, pregnancy would look so good on you. I can't stop thinking about you pregnant," Charles let out a small moan a thought. "You all round with our child, hormonal, sensitive at my touch."

Charles' fingers brushed over your neck, making you shudder involuntarily. You melted at his words. Charles thought a great deal of you. You weren't opposed to the idea either, in fact all of his words were making you hornier by the minute.

"You know what?" You queried, "I also want to have children. You would make an amazing father, Cha. I know you would," You softly said, pressing a brief kiss to his lips.

Charles pulled away, boring his gaze into you. "Yeah?" He whispered, eyes soft and full of lust and love.

"Yeah," You repeated. "A father of all three," You teased, giving him a small knowing smile.

Charles' eyes darkened slightly at your words. His hands rested on your hips, his half-hard on in his pants turned harder, pressing into your clothed pussy. "Mon amour," He whispered into your ear, making the hairs on your body stand straight. "Should I fuck a baby into you?" He pulled his face back, waiting for your answer.

You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, relishing in his words. "If you're going to fuck a baby in me, Charles, you better do it right the first time."

Charles groaned, grinning at your words. Staring at you with a fiery gaze, he quickly brought you down into a hungry kiss. His grip on your hips tightened while your hands became entangled in his hair. Another groan fell against your lips when you tugged at his locks.

Your heart slammed against your chest, beating loudly in your ears. Your skin was heated with Charles' touch ravaging all over you; grazing your arms, squeezing your ass only for you to press further into him. Your stomach surged with desire, feeling his clothed cock grind into you. "Fuck," Your swollen lips uttered out, high with an intoxicating buzz circulating your veins.

"Charles, I need–" You began only to be cut off by your own whimper as Charles bucked his hips up into you, setting a pace of stimulation with the tent of his pants and the gritty material of his shorts.

Charles smiled at the sight of your head thrown back and your back arching. "What do you need, ma cherié? Hmm? Tell me and I'll give it to you, my love," He sighed out, feeling his cock ache in its restraints.

"Fuck, j'ai besoin de ta bite, Charles," You murmured, feeling the temperature of your body rise with every passing second. Fuck, I need your cock, Charles.

Charles grinned at your use of French so early on. Normally when you were nearing your climax, you would lose yourself to all the French you knew. "As you wish, princesse," He stated. "Let's get this off, hmm?" He began to slid down the straps of your dress, pressing warm kisses on your shoulder. The sight of your bare breasts made him sigh in content, licking a strip from the base of your neck and down the valley of your breasts.

You felt a shiver crawl up your spine, feeling Charles' hands wander down your back while he pushed the fabric past your ass, hooking his fingers under your the waistband of your panties. You lifted your body up, aiding him in getting rid of your dress and underwear.

You settled back down on Charles' lap, pushing your wet core against his clothed cock. Charles nipped at your neck, dazed at the feeling of your pussy on him. Your hands reached out, rushing to get those shorts and shirt off of him. Pulling his shirt of him, you placed a trail of kisses down his chest. You could feel his lower stomach tense as you neared his waistband. With a grin, impatiently, you took off his shorts and the boxers underneath.

Your stomach churned and pussy throbbed at Charles' red, aching cock springing up, begging to be touched. You flickered your sultry gaze to your boyfriend, reaching over to put your fingers in his mouth.

Charles maintained eye-contact, lubing your fingers generously with his spit before he felt a shudder rip through him when you teasingly pushed your pussy to graze the angry tip of his cock.

"Vous taquinez," Charles uttered out almost with a whine after you removed your fingers. You tease.

"Don't be too sad, mon amour," You breathed out, trailing your wet fingers over his v-line before wrapping them around his cock. Charles sucked in a sharp breath as your hand began move up and down his shaft, mixing his spit and his pre-cum together, giving him a new, unique shine of his own.

"You wanted to see me pregnant, right? Full of your cum. So pregnant that everyone will know in a few months that you fucked me that good," You started, eyes trained on him while you pumped his cock with a tantalising grip. "We need a lot of your cum today. I'm just getting you prepared," You purred.

Charles let out a series of high moans, letting your words wash all over him and mix with his euphoria. His fingers reached out to your wet folds, stroking your heated slip with need. You trembled at his touch, bucking your hip against his fingers, increasing the pace of your hand on his cock.

Both of you moaned loudly while you jerked each other off, breathy sounds bouncing off the walls of your apartment. "Merde," Charles swore, pressing his head further into the couch, hips sensitively bucking into your hand as you brushed the slit of his cock.

He pushed himself, refusing to slack at your pleasure. He rubbed your pussy, groaning at the wet, glistening folds that were coating his fingers. You moaned, feeling a familiar buzzing pool in your stomach. "I need to," Charles panted out, covering your hand with his to stop you, "I need to..." He trailed off once again, pulling you closer to him.

Charles could barely think straight. He didn't know what he was saying or what he was doing. All he knew was that he needed to feel your pussy against his cock.

A guttural whimper escaped your mouth when Charles rubbed his cock against your folds. God, the both of you could get off just like this. He sighed out, eyes clouded with pleasure while he bathed in the warmth of your pussy. He could feel you jerk time to time against him, sensitive from nearing your climax.

You were was a sight to behold. You couldn't control your hips or yourself. You were just so receptive, automatically rubbing your pussy and clit up and down the head of cock. Your head falling back, supported by air while your back arched with lust. Sweat clung to your warmed body and your dry hair was now coated in a light sheen of grease. Face contorted with pleasure and flushed with heat.

"I'm gonna cum, fuck," Charles hissed out, partially angry that he already was about to climax but how could he not at such a view and feeling?

You blinked through your pleasure, remembering how you had gotten into this situation in the first place. You pushed your hips to him, hovering over his cock and sliding down onto him. You whimpered, feeling full with his throbbing cock in you.

Charles groaned, feeling your warm walls clench around him as you began to move your hips up and down. He watched your breasts bounce, making him flicker to that thought of them being full with milk once he got you pregnant. He would be selfish and have a taste of them himself.

Your pussy was a siphon, drawing and pulling his cock even further into you. Charles placed his hands on your hips, pushing you down on his cock to ensure he was balls-deep within you, fully sheathed. The breathy air was now replaced with both of your lewd moans and the sound of your skin slapping and sticking against one another.

"Merde, merde," Charles began to chant, increasing the pace of his hips snapping and rutting into your folds. Your hands fell to his own hands, tightening around them as pleasure bubbled at the pits of your stomach.

"Fuck, Charles. Cum in me, mon amour. Fais de moi une mère. Hmm? Imagine it. I'll be even more sensitive, my tits will be heavy and sore with milk and I'll ask you to massage them... everyone will know what we did," You moaned loudly. Make me a mother.

Charles's hips came to a halt, shaking with pleasure while he poured ropes and ropes of his hot cum deep into your walls. He let out staggered moans, feeling you clench around him and take even more of his load. Charles pressed his swollen lips onto your, kissing you dizzy while he thrusted out his high, ensuring his cum was staying within you.

Charles sighed out, pressing his forehead against yours. Realising you were once again on the brink of cumming, with his cock still in you, he brought his fingers to your engorged clit, rubbing the sensitive nub gently yet harshly.

He felt your walls grip him even tighter if possible as you began to convulse in his arms. "Jesus fucking Christ," You sobbed out, waves of your euphoric climax hitting you.

Christ, you were so sensitive, hips jerking up against his fingers, grinding to maximise your stimulation. He couldn't even stop you if he wanted to.

"Merde, ma cherié, cum for me. Yes, just like that," Charles coaxed, groaning as you somehow managed to get more cum out of him.

You let out a final whimper before collapsing onto him, feeling Charles' softening cock drive and push the cum deeper into you. You let out a low moan against his chest.

Charles pushed your chin up with his finger, looking into your eyes. He smiled, pressing a slow, soft kiss to your lips. "You did so well, mon amour," He praised, running a hand through your sweaty hair, getting a better glance of your face.

You gave him a weak smile, peering up at him through your eyelashes. "You think we did a good job?" You queried, voice quiet and tired. "You think we'll have a child soon?"

Charles grinned at you, planting another kiss on the side of your head. "If I didn't, I'll fuck you again and make sure that test has two lines."

𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

#f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 smut #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #mickyschumacher

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disneyprincemuke · 4 months

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the orange peel theory * fem!driver

how many men in her life would stop to peel an orange for her if she asks randomly?

pairings: f1 grid x fem!driver

warnings: -

notes: juSt a random idea i got when i dreadfully peeled oranges for myself ugh i hate being single sometimes

guys this is the last vr update today i swear i’ve got too much times on my hands actually

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

-> max verstappen, #1

would be in the middle of an interview after quali when she comes up to him with a mandarin orange in hand

max stops mid sentence to look down at her in confusion but will take the orange into his hands as she asks him to peel it for her politely

he would cover the mic and whisper “can this wait? i’m in the middle of something” and she shows him her hands, perfectly manicured white nails with a frown and says “i’ll stain my nails”

and he just does it, peeling the orange as he carries on with the interview after she walks away without him knowing

when he finishes, he turns to give it to her but she’s no longer there and ends up eating the orange during his interview lol

-> logan sargeant, #2

he’d be sitting in his garage minding his own business when she comes and sits next to him with a bag of mandarin oranges in hand

he doesn’t even need to be told

he immediately reaches out and starts peeling the oranges for her, even tearing away the white strands because he knows she hates those

totally nothing to do with the fact that he’s had a crush on her forever

everything to do with the fact that they grew up together and he’s too lazy to fight

-> daniel ricciardo, #3

he’s literally just walked into the paddocks for race day

he feels all cool with all the cameras

suddenly she runs over to him with an orange in her hands and a hopeful smile

“peel this for me please?”

he does it without question

he walks the paddocks with her while peeling her orange and even sparks up conversation with her

-> lando norris, #4

literally walks away when he sees her approaching him with an orange

she’s been doing it all weekend and he refuses to be a victim

also because he’s not that fond of peeling oranges

or oranges, for that matter

she tries chasing after him but when she finally catches up, he simply ignores the request to peel the orange for her

-> pierre gasly, #10

he’ll be literally walking over to the grid for the driver’s parade

looking pretty cool in his cool fits

an orange is presented to him without question

he grins at her and thanks her for the orange

walks away and eats the orange himself

-> sergio perez, #11

would also be in the middle of an interview when she comes up with an orange

would peel it because he’s a mega dad and he’s really taken a liking to her

excuses himself from the interview to do it for her real quick

would take one piece of the orange for himself

claims it’s the taxes for making him do it instead of doing it herself

-> fernando alonso, #14

takes the orange without her saying anything

he’s always seen with seb on race weekends and is very used to her antics

literally gives her the orange peel and one piece of orange

eats the orange without her saying anything

she’s in damn near tears because she really expected fernando to peel it for her without question

-> charles lerclerc, #16

is sad that she didn’t bring him an orange too

still peels it for her though

even though he was in the middle of some paddock game with carlos

asks for a piece and because she loves him and her crush is still very much present, she simply gives him the whole orange

-> lance stroll, #18

he’d have been coming out of his racing home minding his own business

they don’t interact often because she scares him

is almost scared to say no to the orange peeling and actually says no

mutters “i always knew you hated me” as she walks away

which then makes him chase her to peel the orange for her and apologise profusely

because lance and her literally never talk and it took up all her courage to approach him with this orange, she gives him half of the orange

-> kevin magnussen, #20

asks her if she's got an extra orange for his baby girl

she literally came prepared and gives one to cute baby laura

so now kevin has to peel two oranges for two babies

outrageous, if u ask him

-> nyck de vries, #21

has unfortunately departed by the time she decided to be a menace about the orange peel theory

she thinks about him often though

they're texting buddies actually

-> yuki tsunoda, #22

literally came prepared

he's got a packet of candy he bought when he flew back to japan for a visit

she gives him the whole orange

she literally peels the orange for him in exchange for the candy

-> alex albon, #23

was literally walking to the grid for the opening ceremony of the race weekend

says no immediately

but he does change his mind and asks if he can have half if he peels it for her

peels it and takes more than half of the share

-> zhou guanyu, #24

is delighted to even see her because they don't come across one another often

is kinda touched that she asked him to peel an orange but then is disappointed to find out that he's not the first victim and that this is all a tiktok trend for her

peels it anyway

asks her to bring an extra orange if there's a next time as payment

-> niko hulkenberg, #27

she literally cannot find him

doesn't get to participate in the trend

she only saw him once that weekend and it was at the opening ceremony and she only had 1 orange for alex to peel

and on the grid in his race car

-> esteban ocon, #31

absolutely ADORES her

peels it without question

peeks around her shoulder to ask if she's brought another one for him

she says yes and that he's the only one who gets one for himself because she loves him back

-> lewis hamilton, #44

this psycho literally approaches lewis when he's on an interview panel

but that's because he asked her to do it at that time so he has a excuse to escape the panel

he's just so tired of the panel interviews

giggling with her like demons as he peels the orange

-> carlos sainz, #55

peels it for her without question

the only one to ask her why she's got so many oranges to eat and hand out

also the only one to ask her if oranges have been the only thing she's eaten all weekend

inhumanly impossible to eat this many oranges in one weekend perhaps

-> george russell, #63

is literally tearing up because she came to him to ask to peel the orange

he heard from alex what she's been doing

he's been waiting all weekend for her and was sad that it seemed like she had no intentions on letting him participate in her tiktok

she feels so bad for him that she joins him in peeling an orange as well

-> valtteri bottas, #77

is confused because he's just minding his own business using his phone during the driver's briefing

peels the orange for her anyway

asks if oranges are her favourite fruit

suggests eating something less acidic to avoid a tummyache

-> oscar piastri, #81

if anyone's tired of her being a menace with all these oranges, it's going to be him

but because he knows she'll pick a fight if he says no

he will peel the orange reluctantly

takes a picture with the orange because it's the same shade as the mclaren shirt he is wearing

— bonus

-> liam lawson, #30

asks her to fuck off

only ask him to peel an orange when she's lost all the ability to peel one for herself

asks her if he can have one from her orange stash

she says no in tears because he cussed at her

shrugs and walks away

-> sebastian vettel, #5

this clinically insane woman has got this 4 time world champion peeling oranges on the pit wall during qualifying

has him throw her a peeled orange in between laps during qualifying

eats it in the car for a racing 'buff' before she drives out for a lap

she's got too many oranges so he helps her eat some of them

eating oranges = beating mclaren = beating oscar because they're all the same colour and have a correlation obviously

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @inejismywife @vellicora @leilanixx @meadhgbcavanagh @2bormaybenot @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @cashtons-wife @love4lando @sadg3 @bborra @a10vely-yutazen @mellowarcadefun @glitterf1 @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @gentlyweeps-world @woozarts @sadg3

#f1 grid x reader #fem!driver #female driver #f1 fem!driver #f1 female driver #vettel reincarnate #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke vr #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #logan sargeant x reader #alex albon x reader #sebastian vettel x reader

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fairyofshampgyu · 6 months

Text

Super shy !

genre: smut, baker au, college au, crack

Pairing: shy loser virgin bakery worker ! soobin x college customer ! reader

Warnings: sub soobin, dom reader, clubbing, loss of virginity, riding, hand job, titty groping (can’t be a Soobin smut without him being obsessed with boobies be fr), premature ejaculation,

word count: 2.9k

As soon as you stepped into the newly established campus bakery, walking up to the counter and observing all the pastries, contemplating for a rather long time before you end up deciding on what you’d usually order anyway, Soobin couldn’t help feeling like his world got totally turned upside down. The sight of you rendering him completely speechless and unable to even think.

Time seemingly going by so slow like in the kdramas as your shiny hair majestically blows in the non existent wind inside, smile brightening up the entire bakery. He could practically see the roses blooming around your face like in the mangas. Was this love at first sight?!

Realistically, no.

But were you incredibly attractive to him and a breath of fresh air to the moody, stressed out college students that purchase a single coffee and stay for hours completing assignments with their backs concerningly hunched over? Hell yes.

And unfortunately for Soobin, he does not do well with pretty people. At all. Not realising you had even ordered, too in awe and preoccupied with taking in all your features until he’s snapped back to reality with the clearing of your throat and he can already feel his cheeks burning up horribly fast. Oh god. He really, really hopes it’s not evident right now.

“S-sorry…What did you say?” He begins apologising profusely to you, too embarrassed to even look you in the eyes, staring off more to the side. This was definitely not his best customer service.

With a chuckle, you brush it off and state your order again, “I said could I have the strawberry swirl cheesecake please?” If Soobin could look at himself in third person, he would so be face palming right now. Or better yet, maybe he could just go up and like, punch himself straight up or something for acting like such a loser.

“Ah right... That’s ₩7500. Cash or card?”

You pay with cash and Soobin, very nervously, fumbles around to garner the right amount of change to hand you, though doing it in the most awkward way possible and his palm makes direct contact with yours as he hands the money, making him blush even more and let out a small obvious gasp at the feeling of your soft hand. Oh my god. Why did he do that?! He really hopes you didn’t find that weird.

You only let out another chuckle, thanking him before you’re leaving the bakery in an elegant manner and Soobin is left to sigh and watch your back disappear. Damn it. He’ll probably never see you again. You were so pretty and so cute, too cute even-

“You’re such a virgin.”

His thoughts about you are abruptly dissipated by his coworker and unfortunately best friend, Choi Beomgyu who gives him the stupidest, most annoying grin he would definitely like to slap off his face right now.

“Just shut up.” Soobin grimaces and rolls his eyes at beomgyu, bringing a batch of freshly baked cookies out of the oven behind him and placing them into the display glass one by one.

"You’re pinker than the strawberry macarons we sell. That's saying something." Beomgyu raises an eyebrow at him with sass.

So does that mean you could see how flustered he was getting then? Oh no! Soobin clears his throat and narrows his eyes at beomgyu anyway. “Am not.”

“Are too! Anyway, all I’m saying is that interaction was painful to watch. You’re really giving pathetic, loser, virgin right now. I cant lie.” Beomgyu attempts to stifle in one of his obnoxious laughs.

Soobin is quick to snap back, "You've only ever slept with one person!"

"S-so!! At least im not a virgin!" Beomgyu’s cheeks also become the equivalent to the strawberry macarons as he scrambles to try and defend himself, brows furrowed and cheeks puffed.

“Well, the concept of a virgin is purely societal anyway. It doesn’t actually matter. It doesn’t mean anything really.” Soobin bitterly replies, continuing to work whilst his counterpart does completely nothing like most of the time. It's usually soobin that does work, remind him not to agree to beomyu's silly ideas of getting a job together ever again.

Beomgyu scoffs and snickers at this, "Whatever. You’re just saying all that to make yourself feel better because you’re a loser. LMAO"

"I’ll punch you right now."

"Then we'll both be fired~”

A poor customer still awaits at the counter to be served, standing in bewilderment and tiredness. Waiting for the two bakers to finish bickering and sighing as they don’t seem like they’re going to stop anytime soon.

Soobin doesn’t expect to see you again, in complete honesty, he’s almost forgotten you even exist after you never come again. But he’s in luck and more than pleasantly surprised when he hears the bell to the door go ding!, indicating a customer had walked in. He looks up from the cake he was decorating and in comes you looking cuter than the first time he saw you. He tries not to mess up the cake and he stands up straight almost instantly when he sees you, waiting for you to order and trying to remain calm.

You laugh and point at his cute nose when you come up to the counter. “You have like, icing all on your nose.”

“O-oh. I do?” He points at himself and you nod in reply. He feels himself going redder by the minute. He must look so stupid right now! And he urgently brings his sleeve up and tries to wipe the icing off his nose to not make himself look an even more of a complete fool in front of you .

“Ah wait no. Let me do it!” You lean over the counter as you see him struggling and wipe it off the top of his cute bunny like nose instead for him.

And that was the end of soobin. The end.

You become a regular at the bakery and soobin becomes a regular of embarrassing the absolute shit out of himself each time he sees you. He really doesn’t think he can top the previous comedic disaster that occurs when you enter, yet he always proves himself wrong, the awkwardness reaching new heights each time. From dropping trays of pastries, spilling drinks, nearly slipping in front of you, giving you a ₩50000 note when it was only ₩5000 change, the list goes on and on. He’s actually surprised he hasn’t lost his job yet.

And there’s also always a disappointed beomgyu shaking his head afterwards ready to make fun of him when Soobin promises to make a move but freezes every time you’re in sight, too much of a pussy.

“I’m calling an intervention.” Beomgyu declares and sighs after the nth time of soobin making absolutely no moves on you whatsoever, “Soobin, my man, my bro, you desperately need to get banged. It’s painful seeing the way you act. Your little crush is not gonna like you with the way you act. That’s it. We’re going clubbing tonight after this shift. No buts.”

“But-”

“I said no buts!”

“You know I hate clubbing.”

“You’ve never even been with me despite my constant pleads.” Beomgyu shakes his head and makes a dramatic pained face at his way.

“So? I know I’ll hate it.”

“You’re such a hater bro.”

“Yes I am. And I take pride in it. I’m a hater of everything.”

Beomgyu just sighs. He was utterly hopeless.

Unfortunately, there was no way Soobin could get out of this because beomgyu was having absolutely none of his protests and excuses and that’s how he ends up finding himself at the club anyway after his shift, sitting off to the side as he watches beomgyu disappear somewhere into the crowd. Soobin sighs as he downs his jack and coke. This was going to be a long fucking night.

In the dimly lit club, soobin’s discomfort was palpable, like a fish out of water and you noticed instantly upon arrival. It’s that cute tall baker boy who always serves you! You excitedly make your way and sit next to him, he looked a little lonely. “Hey! You work at that bakery on campus. I go there!”

Soobin’s eyes nearly fall out of his sockets at the sight of you sitting next to him and he nearly chokes on his drink as he splutters on his straw and nods. Act calm, act calm, act calm, act calm. Act cool and mysterious.

It’s you! You’re speaking to him?!

“So…these things not really your scene, huh?”

“Gee. How did you ever notice?” Soobin attempts to smile and joke with dry humour but it executes a little more awkward and nervous than how he would have liked.

You also try to carry on the conversation since this is the first time you’ve got to ever actually talk to the cute boy before. “I’m very intuitive. I can just sense things like that.”

He laughs at that too, feeling a bit more comfortable around you now. “No but yeah, I’d much rather be at home right now sleeping. Can’t say I’m much of an advocate for getting stupidly drunk with sweaty people you don’t even know with terrible rave music and flashing lights that should have an epilepsy warning”

“I get it.” You chuckle at how passionate he gets talking about how much he hates clubbing, frown on his cute face. “So why are you here then?”

“Friend wanted me to. Said I needed to finally get laid or whatever.” Soobin rolls his eyes and sips on his drink again, motioning his head to the direction of beomgyu on the dance floor, clearly drunk off his ass now.

“Oh, you’re a Virgin?”

Soobin’s ears go red when he realises what he said to you. “O-oh um y-yeah I guess…”

“Are you waiting for like marriage or the right person or something?” You question, genuinely surprised. He was tall and very attractive and it was rare for college boys to not hook up every single night these days.

“God no. Just never happened. I don’t really care for things like that. It’s probably overhyped anyway and doesn’t even feel that good. Like porn is highly unrealistic anyway.”

“You think so?” You chuckle at him and he nods, continuing to cutely sip on his drink with his straw. “Well maybe you should to try it out first and see for yourself.” Your words start to become a little flirty as you grow more confident talking with him and also because of the alcohol making you slightly tipsy now. “Sorry, but do you want to get out of here?”

“Yes please.” Soobin’s eyes widen even more at your suggestion and he’s more than happy to get out of here with you especially.

“Umm your friend is a bit….out of it right now.” You watch beomgyu drunk from afar, whipping his long hair back and forth claiming to everyone around he’ll be able to do it fast enough to lift off his feet and fly like a helicopter.

“He’ll be…he’ll be fine I’m sure”

Soobin has no idea what good stuff he must have done in his past life to get to this moment right now, in your room, making out with you, in your bed. Did he mention making out? With you?! The customer he’s been crushing on for months?! Holy, he might hyperventilate right now. It all feels like a dream. Is this real right now?

You cup his cheek and move into his lap, continuing to move your lips against his and soobin’s ears and face are all flushed, breathing loud of enough for you to hear and he looks all nervous and a little shaky.

You stop kissing him but he chases after your lips still and you stroke his cheek, “Are you okay Soobin?”

He’s only able to nod, lips parted and eyes all glazed over. He’s so out of it just from making out with you it’s crazy. But so cute too.

“C-can you…can we…just want…”

“What do you want, baby?” You chuckle and stroke his cheek as he manages to utter some words. The petname only makes his head go even more haywire.

“W-want you…”

“What do you want me to do?” You giggle and coo at him.

He shyly shows you the boner he’s had this entire time. You can’t believe he got a boner just from some kissing. “Can you-will you touch me…please? Need it…” He pleads at you nervously, so red in the face.

“Are you sure?”

He nods his head exceptionally fast and you begin to unbuckle his jeans as he watches you take his flushed and hard dick out, breathing only becoming heavier. Damn, you didn’t think he’d be that big.

You take him into your hands and his mouth his already agape, gasping when you slowly start to stroke him.

You pump his big cock at a steady pace so as not to overwhelm him too much, though twisting and thumbing at the tip occasionally that has him drooling at the corner of his mouth and beads of precum dribbling out heavily from his cock. It’s endearing how far gone he is just at you stroking his dick slow, shy whimpers and other noises eliciting from his mouth.

You unbutton you shirt with your other hand as you continue to pump him and his eyes go crazed at the sight of your tits, you guiding his own big inexperienced hands to grope at them and he does, slumping his head into your neck and shoulder moaning into it and still groping and squeezing at your tits.

With a sudden yelp you feel Soobin’s cum spurt up and leak into your hands, his eyes rolling back as he whimpers continuously from his premature orgasm.

He doesn’t lift his head from your shoulder yet, too embarrassed to face you but he eventually does, eyes still half lidded, trying to catch his breath and he’s hard again. “W-will you fuck me? Please please please. Wanna feel it, wanna feel you, please?” He practically begs, still panting out.

“Are you really sure, Soobin? With me?”

“Yes please! Only want you.”

You study his face for any hesitancy but it’s clear he’s so set on wanting you to fuck him. So you wrap your hands around both his wrists and bring him to lay down on your pillows instead, you still straddling his lap.

When you’ve undressed your lower half, you bring his dick and slide it over your entrance a few times, he moans out loud, hands coming up shyly to cover his face and then you sink down incredibly slowly on his massive length . Soobin’s jaw drops and breath hitches at the feeling of his dick finally in your warm pussy, a strangled moan ripping out of him. He could seriously cum just from being in you right now, but he tries so hard not to or you’ll be disappointed and he doesn’t want to see you disappointed or embarrass himself even more.

“You good, baby?”

“M’ f-fine. Just-Just need a minute.” Soobin shakes out.

You take his hands away from his face and lean down to softly kiss him instead, trying to calm him down and he effuses into your mouth, kissing back passionately with his eyes closed.

“I’m ready now…” He pulls away after a while and looks you in the eyes.

So you start to slowly move, riding him, going up and down on his virgin dick. Soobin’s mouth hangs open in endless moans and gasps and whimpers, face buried into your pillow to the side and his hair all messy now. Whole body flushed and shaking underneath you.

“Better than you thought, baby?” You grunt out, bouncing on top of his cock.

“So much better. O-oh my god, f-fuck…ah!” So maybe sex wasn’t overhyped after all. Because goddamn, you feel so fucking good. Maybe it was just you. But Soobin truly feels like he’s gliding on fluffy clouds right now. All the times he’s touched himself not even coming close to how he feels right now stuffed in your pussy as you fuck him, watching mesmerised as your tits bounce with each movement. He could die here right now in full contentment. Oh how he was so wrong.

It’s not long at all before Soobin can’t hold it anymore. His hips bucking up and breath hitching as a loud strangled mewl tumbles out of his mouth and you feel hot cum fill you up suddenly that makes you still your movements on him. He lets out a long slurred groan and then goes limp beneath you, eyes closing shut and open as he fades from conscious to not every now and then. Is he really that fucked out?

After a while, he finally somewhat recovers and comes back to you from his high, still panting out and chest rising up and down. He looks up at you with a small shy smile on his lips, arm thrown over his forehead.

“You know I literally only go to the bakery because of how cute and silly you are and how you always make a mess of yourself whenever I walk in” You chuckle and admit, drawing shapes into his chest.

“W-wait you knew I liked you?” Soobin asks, shocked and feeling embarrassed again.

You laugh, “Come on, you made it rather obvious.”

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys 😭 if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and irriating when fics have such little reblogs ☹️. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it make writers want to actually write :)

A/n: having serious writers block rn but forced myself to write this in practically one sitting (it was so painful) and has not been proof read at all so if it makes no sense I apologise 😭

#soobin smut #Soobin x reader #txt smut #sub!idol #txt headcanons #txt scenarios #sub soobin #dom reader #dom! reader #txt x reader #sub txt #soobin hard thoughts #choi soobin smut #choi Soobin x reader #soobin scenarios #sub! txt #sub idol

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mariana-oconnor · 1 year

Text

Types of AO3 Summary

Option 1 - The Excerpt:

The quickest, the easiest! Find a section of your fic that contains the main premise of said fic and also showcases your writing. Copy paste that into the summary box. BOOM! Done.

Best used for any fic, unless it's so short the excerpt would be the whole fic.

Option 2 - The No Frills:

Just a description of the fic. No need for drama. No need to complicate matters. Keep it simple, keep it safe.

Example: "A short character exploration of Blorbo's thoughts after Daisy leaves."

Best used for short fics, poems and fics where the style/format is more important than the plot. Or fics that tie directly into a scene/episode from canon or another fanfic.

Option 3 - The Hook:

Draw the reader's interest by giving them a set up with no conclusion. Introduce the main character(s), introduce the status quo, describe an inciting incident, leave a question in the reader's mind.

Example: "Blorbo is a barista at a coffee shop, struggling to pay their bills, but after handsome rockstar Obrolb walks into their coffee shop they find that they have to decide whether a chance at love is worth the cost of fame."

Best used for mid to long fic where there's a strong premise and follow through. Especially good for AUs. Can be expanded for more complex plots or used multiple times in one summary for multiple characters or subplots.

Option 4 - The Sitcom One-Liner:

"The one in which [over simplified description of one of the main plotlines]" This is essentially 'boil your plot down to the very simplest statement you can, oversimplify if possible. The more bizarre or unhelpful the better.

Example: "The one in which Blorbo learns to like cake".

Best used for fics with at least a little humour in them.

Option 5 - The Rule of Three:

Three is a magic number. Find three key moments in your fic and just list them. That's it. Often ends with 'not necessarily in that order' if used for comic effect. If it's an AU, establish that quickly (i.e. 'Star NHL player Blorbo…').

Example: "Blorbo makes a friend, falls in love, and almost burns to death, not necessarily in that order."

Best used for anything, really. Three is a magic number. The human brain loves things that come in threes.

Option 6 - The Trope Lure:

Why bother describing the plot? We all know AO3 readers are here for the tropes. Similar to The Sitcom One-Liner just using tropes instead of plot. Often followed by the phrase 'that nobody asked for'.

Example: "The Space western / A/B/O / Mail Order Bride fic that nobody asked for."

Often tacked on to the end of The Hook or The Excerpt as a tl;dr.

Best used for fic that plays its tropes straight with no shame or second guessing.

Option 7 - The Pre-emptive Strike:

(Not recommended) You just wrote this fic, the self doubt is consuming you. You feel the need to apologise profusely for your existence for no apparently reason. You feel cringe, you think the fic is cringe, you want everyone to know that you think the fic is cringe in case they don't like it and judge you for it.

Example: "So I fell in love with this pairing and had to write this. It's weird and terrible. Lol! I suck at summaries! Sorry!"

Best used for no fics ever. I cannot stress this enough.

(Seriously, I am begging you, don't do this. If you're planning to use this option, rethink it and do one of the others. I guarantee you more people will want to read your fic.)

Sometimes added on to any other summary as a strange disclaimer. (srsly. don't.)

Option 8 - The Unapology:

Embrace the mayhem, embrace the deep dark depths of your soul. The opposite of The Pre-emptive Strike. A combination of The No Frills and The Trope Lure that truly gives no fucks.

You have committed crimes and you are proud of them. You know what your USP is and you're going to make sure your target market finds you. Look upon my works, ye readers, and despair!

Example: "There aren't enough tentacle fics in this pairing, so I had to write one myself!"

Best used for fics with controversial/polarising tropes with all relevant details already clearly stated in the tags.

Option 9 - The Interrogation:

What if you wrote a summary entirely in questions? What if your readers had to read the fic to discover the answers? Who knows what will happen if you do this?

Example: "What happens when Blorbo McBlorbo gets his wish and Daisy doesn't make it to the plane on time? What happens when Obrolb finds out? How will this change Daisy and Blorbo's friendship?"

Best used for... I honestly don't know. This style of summary does not vibe with me. Mystery fic maybe? Sorry guys.

Option 10 - The Multipack:

Got a bunch of shorter fics in one work? No way of summarising them all without a wall of text larger than the Great Wall of China? This one is similar to The No Frills in that you're not describing the plots themselves and similar to The Trope Lure in that often broader genres and tropes are mentioned. What links those fics? Are they all in the same fandom? The same pairing? The same challenge? Just slap that right in the summary. A chapter list with 1-2 word trope/pairing summaries can be included or not.

Example: "A collection of Blorbo/Daisy/Obrolb fics based on Tumblr prompts. Chapter 1: Regency AU Chapter 2: Werewolves vs vampires Chapter 3: Ghost!Daisy Chapter 4: Space pirates!"

Best used for (obviously) works that are compilations of fic.

Option ? - The Void:

I said The Excerpt was the quickest and easiest summary to do. I lied, well... I didn't exactly lie. What is quicker and easier than not having a summary at all? After all, that's what the tags are for.

Example:

Best used for... nothing? Write a summary, guys. Please?

#AO3 #fandom #on writing #clearing out my drafts #long post #Qd #This list is intended for entertainment purposes only #I just came across a lot of fic summaries that followed similar rules #so I decided to post this about it #I'm sure other options are available #If you've ever used number 7 that's not bad of you #But my advice would be to not do that

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captainfern · 2 months

Note

Hi fernie ☺️

I wanted to request some sweet time waking up next to Price/Gaz after getting back with them… these ex-husband and ex-boyfriend tropes are so bittersweet and I love them but I also crave some solid resolutions 😭 You can make this smut or pure fluff, whatever you want.

Thank you ❤️

ex-husband price, but the “ex” lays on significantly blurred lines now.

fem!reader, 18+ [unprotected piv, etc] — lazy writing/editing + formatting sorry

a/n: i’m so sorry for how late this is !! i’m literally terrible at completing my asks 😭 i hope this is good enough <3

He had come crawling back to you last night.

Amidst the howling wind and the cold, sleeting rain, John appeared on your doorstep like a stray dog— hair wet and clinging to his forehead, his clothes soaked through, his lips quirked into a slightly embarrassed smile.

And then, then he looked at you with those warm eyes, his pupils expanding beneath the weight of his gaze, and you folded.

Of course you folded.

You let him inside, allowed him into the cradle of your very life. A life in which you had built around the absence of him.

The divorce happened a year ago. The constant strain of John being away, and the crippling loneliness his job brought you, was too much to bear. Without him, your home had felt like a shell of itself, so empty and quiet. Separation allowed you to make your own home not-so reliant on him.

And maybe it was hard. Maybe you did cry for him, yearn for him in the penetratingly dark hours of the morning— a want for his body pressed to yours, a need for his heat against your chilled skin.

But you had to move on. You were strong and, once the initial emptiness of your ring finger no longer bothered you, you were set free. The shackles of grief snapped and crumpled and allowed you to spring forth into a fresh life.

Yet, the night he appeared on your front step, cold and white like a wraith against a sea of black, you allowed him entry.

There was no hesitation like you convinced yourself there’d be. There was no sort of what the hell are you doing here, John? You simply sighed, your heart clenching beneath the calloused fingers of your reappearing grief, and stepped aside.

He had thanked you profusely.

And then broke down.

Still in his wet clothes, he hung his head and let tears well in his eyes, his hands balled into fists at his sides as he attempted to control his emotions. You watched him patiently, your own sadness itching tightly at the back of your throat.

He apologised. For everything you knew affected the relationship, and for everything he thought affected the relationship.

Long periods of absence, missing important milestones in your life and holidays, the strained communication when in the field. He apologised for it all, shaking and dripping like the lost dog he was.

When he looked up at you, eyes red and glossy with tears, his cheeks rouged beneath his facial hair and lips bitten from nervousness, you broke too.

Of course I miss you, tumbled from your lips. Of course I still think about you. Of course I haven’t been with anyone else. Of course I want you back—

The two of you broke like a dam, a crack of lightening outside acting as the starting gun, spurring you on as you moved in unison, meeting together in a searing kiss that made you whine out for him. But his groan of pleasure, of relief, was louder than any sound he had ever made before. It made your heart flutter.

That night, he held you so impossibly close to him that you feared you may sink into him— that your souls would intertwine within the heat of him, and you’d be stuck with him forever. But, after a moment, you realised it wasn’t fear. You’d happily seep into the grooves of his soul if he let you.

The next morning, you awoke bundled in his strong, warm arms, the coarse hairs a deliciously familiar juxtaposition against your soft flesh. You moaned quietly as you drifted awake.

John stirred behind you, the arm he had around your midriff moving, his large hand moving to splay across the curve of your bare tummy. He pressed against the warm fat, nose in the crook of your neck, nuzzling you. You whined when he gripped your tummy, but he just chuckled quietly with a kiss to the pulse beneath your ear.

Only now did you realise, against the warmth of the skin above your navel, that John was still wearing his wedding band.

It made your stomach flip.

Last night, while he had your knees to your ears, his cock heavy inside you, he asked about your rings.

“In the drawer— fuck— the bedside table—!” You moaned, his hips snapping forward, his stomach pressed to yours, pinning you to the bed.

He stopped only to lean over and open the drawer. Then, he fished out both your extravagant engagement ring, and the more simply wedding ring. Then, he resumed his thrusts, knocking another moan from your chest.

When you came around his cock with an earth-shattering orgasm, a moan of “Yes, John!” echoing through the room, he slipped the rings back onto your finger. Your sweet moans were a welcome nostalgia, a guilty-pleasure in this very moment. He came inside you after that.

Now, John was kissing the pulse behind your ear, arms around you, his chest to your back as he slotted one of his legs between yours, separating them so he could rut his hardening cock between the plushness of your thighs.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered to you, the leaking tip of his cock rubbing against your wet folds, dipping in and out in a gentle rut with each movement of his hips. “I’ve missed my pretty wife.”

The hand on your stomach snaked down, brushing over your mound and then cupping you there, a finger pressing to the already swollen bud of your clit. He hummed when he began to run circles across it, slow and steady.

You mewled, arse moving backwards to press against him, then moving forward again to buck into his touch. The warmth of his cock between your thighs had your pussy fluttering, leaking.

“John…” You whispered, flexing the muscles of your thighs, the sensation against John’s cock making him groan. You begged, “Please, I need you.”

“Then you’ll have me,” he whispered back, the ruddy tip of his cock finally snagging against your entrance. He slowly, slowly began pushing inside, splitting you open with a soft, wet sound. He moaned against your neck. “You’ll have me forever, sweetheart. Whenever you want me, you’ll have me.”

John bottomed out with one final lazy snap of his hips against your arse. You both moaned, the air around you warm and thick like honey.

His cock reached so deeply inside you, nudging the pliant plug of your cervix with each rut. His movements never left you empty, keeping you stretched open around his girth. Your cunt squeezed him, dribbling along your inner thighs now as he rocked into you, the mattress creaking beneath you both.

The finger in your clit sped up, the circles deepening and quickening in pace, timed with his thrusts as they grew faster and faster, still lazy, but coordinated and intent on dragging you to release.

The pleasure was sickly sweet, parting the veil of sleep with ease. You could taste it on your tongue, the precipice of your orgasm, and the many more to come— sweet and warm against the wintery rain outside. Just like John.

“John…” You whimpered, your body tightening, sweat building along your already-dewy skin.

“That’s it, sweetheart, doing so well for me. My good girl. My pretty wife,” he praised, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you every damn time. He drank in your moans, an elixir he had longed for since the moment you two separated, and continued his thrusts. Kissing your neck, he asked, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes—!” And you came around him, moaning loudly, writhing and spasming as your orgasm wracked through you. It was intense and hot and it had your pussy clenching around John’s cock like a vice.

Your acceptance made him moan, moan your name, and then come deep inside you, painting your slick walls white.

For a long while, he held you to him, cock still inside you, but the two of you weren’t in any hurry to part from one another. You felt sticky all over, skin tacky with sweat and cum, but you couldn’t care less. Wrapped up in your ex— your husband’s arms, was all that mattered.

“I love you,” John said to you. “Always have. Always will.”

#captainfern #captainfernsalutes #captain john price #john price call of duty #captain john price smut #captain price smut #john price smut #cod price #cod smut

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 4 months

Note

ALR!!!!!! SO, jealous/mad sex w the moonboys?

- 🦅🇺🇸

at your service🫡 thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

JEALOUS/ MAD SEX WITH THE MOONBOYS

moonboys x female reader (not as the moon system)

warnings. 18+ only!! rough pinv mdni

with marc, I feel like it would after a bad day, and he is in need of a stress reliever. he'd be kinda forceful (ALL CONSENUAL!!) and rough with you, manhandling you a bit. he'd fuck you in doggy, just ploughing and slamming into you from behind - ignoring your muffled cries into the mattress. he'd bruise your ass with slaps and squeezes, marking your waist as he tugs you to meet his ruthless thrusts. butt cheeks slamming against his thighs, balls hitting your clit from behind - all that good shit. he'd also grab onto your hair or behind your neck, using you as leverage as he fucks into you - holding you still to take his fucking. he'd cum first, all over your lower back, completely unaware that you haven't cum. he'd apologise profusely for getting so carried away and would roll you over to kiss you - comforting you. then he would eat you out til you cum on his tongue. he'd chub up again right after, so you'd go again. but more lovingly this time, and you'd talk and kiss as he winds into you. asking him what's on his mind/ bothering him

with steven, im thinking he gets jealous when he sees you talking with a guy in the queue. he'd sit on it all day and would be mopey about it. he wouldn't tell you why he's mad or jealous - he'd wait until the night when you'd have sex. usually, he's not one for games/ messing about, but it made him feel insecure bc the guy was 'better looking' than him (untrue) and he felt inadequate, and that you could do better. you'd be in missionary and he would be really sneaky and mean with it - only giving you the head of his cock, letting you satiate your need on just his tip. he'd edge you for so long, thumbing over your clit with his cock inside, waiting just until you were about to cum then he'd snatch his dick and thumb away - leaving you desperate and frustrated. it would be a much different steven !! he'd realise how much he loves to edge you - how much he enjoys the power of controlling your climax. it would take some good restraint to control his own orgasm but the thought of you with another man would give him that little push to hold off. after he'd talk about what bothered him and you'd reassure him, telling him how you'd never leave him for another man

with jake, im feeling that he gets jealous (?) or mad seeing you getting hit on at the bar. he'd keep it all hidden with his composure, never once exposing how territorial it made him feel. if you were getting hit on and he was beside you ???? he wouldn't get angry at all !! (I feel like he's confident with your relationship so to him it's amusing) he'd join in when the guy is chatting you up, "she is beautiful, isn't she?" he knows you're his, so to him it's like a fun game - kinda pimping you out (bc he knows he can protect you) he'd whisper something in spanish in your ear and he'd walk you away, a hand on the small of your back as you'd giggle. in the car, he'd be all over you and you wouldn't even make it home. he'd fuck you in the car park, in the backseat, you riding him. he'd have his grip around your throat, fucking you down onto him - you'd have your hands around his forearms, using him as stability as he claims you, pounding up into you. he'd mutter how he doesn't share and that you're his, telling you how pretty you are as he just slams his cock up into you. when you'd get home, you'd have another few rounds, nothing able to satiate the carnal feeling

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dilemmaontwolegs · 5 months

Text

The Bucket List || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader Summary: Life changes in the blink of an eye with a diagnosis and you are forced to face your mortality with the help of Charles Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, implied smut, grief, implied character death.

WC: 5.8k

Story || Death Scene || Two Years Later || Bucket Moments || Five Years Later

The winter break was meant to be a time for Charles to relax but one simple act had put an end to those plans. It had been a little joke between lovers while you were getting dressed. Charles had seen an opportunity and taken it, cradling the swell of your breast in his palm and giving it a quick squeeze.

“Honk, honk!”

You gasped at the sudden pain that flared and rubbed at the aching area. Charles was immediately sorry, apologising profusely as he brushed your hand aside and massaged it gently for you.

“It’s ok, Cha, this one’s been a bit tender lately.”

“What do you mean?” His concern was palpable and his hand flattened so the palm was pressing into your flesh. You couldn’t hide the wince at the spot he touched and he couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes.

“What?!” You stepped away and grabbed your breast, almost immediately feeling what he felt as your heart began to hammer hard in your chest. “It’s probably nothing, boobs are lumpy all the time.”

“Yeah…” he murmured distractedly. “We should probably check just to be sure. Right?”

You tried to nod casually but it was too hurried. “I mean, just to be sure.”

Everything moved quickly after that. The exhaustion was no longer jet lag. The low red blood count was no longer anaemia. The lump was no longer just fatty tissue.

“What happens now?”

You looked at your boyfriend, but his eyes were fixed on the doctor who had been explaining the test results. Charles had done all of the talking while you sat in a state of shock. You didn’t even feel like you were inside your own body but floating somewhere in the room and watching from outside.

“We could take a biopsy to be certain but the tests so far are quite conclusive and I wouldn’t recommend waiting. We could fit you in to remove the tumour in the next couple of days and have you home for Christmas.”

You knew this already. He had spoken about removing the lump. You couldn’t bring yourself to call it a tumour because, benign or malignant, it made it too real. Removing the lump was the extreme simplification of what he really meant. Mastectomy. Double to be precise. The risk was too great to leave the other breast untreated, apparently.

“We’ll take the surgery as soon as possible.”

You blinked at Charles, waiting to see if he would even look in your direction before making such a decision but his chin was resting on the tip of his steepled fingers. He leaned forwards, digging his elbows into his knees as he always did when he was deep in thought.

“No,” you rasped. “I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can,” Charles replied without even looking at you. He had hardly looked your way since the first appointment a week ago.

“I’ll give you two some time to talk,” Doctor Hall said softly as he rose from his chair and left the room, the click of the door closing too loud in the heavy silence.

“It’s my body, Charles,” you whispered, your throat too hoarse to manage anything louder.

“I know that, but this is your life we are talking about.”

“We don’t even know for certain that it’s…that it’s…”

“It’s cancer,” he said with a sigh, “not saying it doesn’t change the test results.”

Your eyes burned, your tear ducts working overtime all week. The harsh lines on Charles’ face softened as he saw them well on your waterline before spilling over. Pulling you into his lap, he cradled your head to his chest as you ruined yet another one of his shirts with your makeup and tears.

“Mon amour, we will get through this but we have to trust the doctors.”

“I won’t have boobs,” you whispered as your voice broke.

Charles curled his finger under your chin and tipped it back as he searched your eyes for the answer. He found what he was looking for and dropped his forehead to yours with a shake of his head. “You will still be the most beautiful woman in the world. And I need you in the world, mon amour, do you understand that? I need you to fight this.”

A few days turned out to be just one after the oncology department received a large, anonymous donation. The private room in the hospital was filled with bouquets from friends and family, their floral scents were almost able to erase the tart smell of bleach. You still felt numb to the entire experience and Charles watched on with concern as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

Your reflection was the same, yet it wasn’t. Permanent marker pen lined the skin that would soon be permanently marred. The outlines accentuated what would be taken from you and you turned to your side profile, trying to imagine waking up without the pieces of your body Charles had loved.

“The surgeon said there are options, if it’s really that important to you,” Charles said as he pushed off the doorway he had leaned against and walked into the room. “But you don’t have to think about that now.”

You let him drape the surgical gown over your arms and they fell limp at your side while he tied the bows to keep your modesty. “Come and lay down with me,” he murmured as he took your hand and led you to the bed. You hadn’t been sleeping well, neither of you had.

It was narrow but Charles made space for you to lay in his arms with his chest pressed to your back. Monaco was alive outside the window you faced but the sounds didn’t reach you. Instead of watching the cars on their journeys you turned your eyes up to the cloudless sky and spotted the gulls that danced in the salt air.

“I lo-.”

Charles’ chest shuddered with the breath he took before he kissed your temple and whispered, “Don’t.”

“I need to tell you.”

“We promised, not until you wake up.”

“But what if I-”

“Don’t,” Charles begged, a wet drop falling into your hair. “Please.”

A knock sounded at the door but you kept your eyes firmly only the white feathers of the bird that landed on your windowsill outside. Charles pressed his lips to your temple once more before releasing you from his hold and climbing off the bed.

“I’ll be right there when you wake up, mon amour.”

“I…I’ll see you soon.”

He smiled sadly as you caught yourself from saying what you wanted to say, that sad smile remaining while your bed was wheeled away. You craned your neck as you were taken further down the hall, wanting to memorise the way he looked in case it was the last time you had the chance.

As promised, you woke up bleary eyed and groggy to those gold and green eyes, his hands holding yours tenderly as he sat beside your bed.

“Hi, beautiful,” he greeted as his smile brightened your day. It was a true smile, one you hadn’t seen for over a week, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and revealed the dimples in his cheeks. “I love you.”

You felt drunk as the anaesthesia still circulated your body and you were sure you slurred the words you had been banned from telling him before. “I love you.”

You dozed in and out of consciousness until the pain relief began to wear off and breathing itself hurt. The bandages across your chest irritated your skin and the stitches pulled with every little movement. Charles noticed it all.

“I’ll see if they can give you anything for the pain.”

You caught his hand before he could leave and winced as the IV line in your hand tugged uncomfortably. “I’m hungry.”

Charles chuckled, knowing you would be after eating nothing before the surgery, and cradled your cheek gently. “Maman’s on her way with your favourites. I’ll be right back, baby.”

Charles arrived back with a large bag of hot dishes from your favourite restaurants around the city and the promise that the nurse would bring some medicine around soon.

“We’ll have someone come and move you up to the ward shortly,” the kind nurse said after she had given you another dose of pain relief. “You’ll be able to see your visitors there.”

You thanked her since you knew your parents would have been waiting with Pascale, Arthur and Lorenzo too. Charles had been keeping them updated since you woke up and his phone was constantly going off with notifications from your friends.

“How are you feeling?”

You placed your fork down into the empty bowl and Charles whisked it off your lap and tidied up the rubbish with the need to keep himself busy. “I don’t know,” you admitted as your head began to clear from the anaesthesia. “Two weeks ago we were partying in Baku and now we’re here. I still don’t know how this even happened. What if they made a mistake? This was all done so quickly.”

Charles carefully tucked the sheet back around your body after helping you to lie back down. “Mon amour, this is one of the best hospitals, they wouldn’t have done this unless it was the right decision for your health.”

“I know, I know. I just don’t know how to feel anything right now, except confusion.” You took his hand as he sat back into the chair beside your bed and kissed his knuckles. “How do you feel?”

“Me?” His brows pinched together as if he hadn’t been thinking for himself, and he really hadn’t. All of his thoughts and feelings had been focused on you. “I’m relieved, I suppose. You are here, I get to kiss you and hold your hand. That is good.”

You smiled at the hope in his voice. “I don’t remember a kiss.”

“Ah,” he hummed with a nod as he leaned closer until his lips were so close you could feel the heat of them as he whispered, “This one.”

You were warned that day two would be the hardest. The hard drugs had worn off and what you were supplied with took away the dull throbbing ache when you were stationary but did nothing to prevent the sharp pain of moving.

Charles had just lifted you back into bed after helping you go to the bathroom when the surgeon arrived with a forlorn look on his face. Immediately you felt the air leave the room.

Doctor Hall started with the good news, that the surgery went as planned with minimal bleeding from the tissue removal, but then there was a pause. Your fingers tightened around Charles hand as the doctor flipped the piece of paper on his clipboard over and clicked the end of his pen.

“When we began the removal of the tumour we found that the shape wasn’t exactly as we expected from the ultrasound.” He drew an oval shape on the paper before adding webs spindling off in all directions and pointing to them. “We removed as many of the tentacles as we could find but they are invasive and so we would like to start chemotherapy as soon as you have recovered from the operation.”

Charles' knee shook the bed as it bounced nervously. “Chemo?”

“Does this mean it is definitely c-cancer?” you stumbled over the word as you said it aloud for the first time.

The doctor nodded. “We were quite sure before but pathology confirmed it with the sample we sent.”

“What about Christmas?” you asked. “Can I still go home for Christmas?”

The doctor nodded again and you exhaled in relief. Christmas had been organised to be held at your house for months and it would give you a chance to do something normal after your life had been thrown off the rails. You needed this Christmas.

“We will schedule you in for after New Years, but you wouldn’t want to delay it much further than that.”

“Thank you,” Charles choked out for the both of you as you fell silent and he left. “What are you thinking so hard about, beautiful?”

“The menu. It needs to be special. And I want to invite everyone.”

“What, slow down, what are you talking about?”

“Christmas, Cha, I need to start planning now.”

Charles knew you were deflecting, pouring yourself into a future task so you didn’t have to think about the present. You had already gone through enough, so he bit his tongue and took a second to clear the thoughts he wanted to voice. Instead, he asked, “who, exactly, is everyone?”

“Slow down, you’re meant to be relaxing,” Charles warned as you rushed around the house for a last minute tidy up. “Don’t hurt yourself, baby, let me help.”

“I love you, but please leave this to me. I know where everything is.”

“I do too,” he exclaimed, falling silent when you picked up a remote that had stopped working. You had asked him to get the batteries for it the night before, but he hadn’t been able to find them.

“Second drawer in the kitchen,” you said as you tossed it to him and folded the blanket you snuggled under with him every night. “But you knew that right.”

He sent you a charming smile as he backed out of the room. “Of course, honey.”

You chuckled at his retreating figure. “Thought so.”

You had just finished lighting the scented candles around the house when the front door opened and Arthur breezed into the living room.

“Merry Christmas, ma chére. Shouldn’t you have your feet up?” he tutted as he kissed your cheeks, careful not to hug you since your chest still hurt.

“Merry Christmas, Tuthur.” His smile lifted at the old nickname and it only grew as you said, “You know how well your brother cooks. Be glad I don’t have my feet up.”

Everyone arrived steadily after Arthur and as the night grew colder every seat in the living room was taken by your guests. You could have imagined it being just like every other family Christmas as you sat on Charles lap and listened to Joris recount how he had spent the winter break so far.

You could have imagined it being just like every other family Christmas, but it wasn’t.

You were self-conscious in a way you never were before. The dresses you had loved so much were now something you couldn’t bear to wear as it accentuated the changes in your body. You had taken one shopping trip with Pascale so you could buy some presents but by the time you had got home there was a photo circulating the F1 WAG pages. The comments had nearly made you sick as they compared your flat chest to that of a young boy, or joked that the championship wasn’t the only thing that was lost at the end of the season.

You knew it was only a matter of time before the truth came out but you doubted they would feel any remorse, anyone who could say such things through a keyboard didn’t have the emotional capacity to feel guilt.

When midnight came and went, so too did the guests. Tipsy and jolly, they said their goodbyes and well wishes until the house fell quiet except for the music playing softly from the speakers. Charles pulled you into his arms and gently rocked you side to side as you laid your head on his chest. “Merry Christmas, mon amour. I didn’t know what to get you this year, so I was absolutely selfish and got this.”

Charles stepped out of your embrace as he dropped to one knee and held a ring out. Similarly designed to his mother’s, the ring was timeless and elegant with a large princess cut diamond. “Will you make me the happiest man and marry me?”

You had waited years for the question but the answer that fell from your lips went against every fibre of your being. Your hands covered your mouth but there was no silencing the words as they hung in the air. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Confusion slapped Charles’ pink cheeks and he swallowed twice before his voice could work again. “Why not?”

“You know why,” you whispered.

“No, I don’t.”

“Because I’m sick, and I don’t want to make plans if I’m not going to be there to…I just don’t think now is the right time.” You took the ring from his fingers and sighed with longing. “It’s beautiful, Char.”

“Hold on to it for me,” he said as he stood up and closed your hand around it. “When you beat this, I’ll be waiting, mon amour, however long it takes. I’ll wait for you.”

You held the ring tight as you closed the distance and put all the words and emotion you couldn’t articulate into a kiss, deepening it until you were breathless and needy. “Come to bed,” you breathed against his lips.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He looked pained by the very idea, or maybe it was the weeks of celibacy after your surgery.

Lacing your fingers together, you took a step towards the stairs and gently tugged him to follow. “You could never hurt me.”

The moment had been weeks in the making as the chemotherapy took its toll on you. For days after the treatment you had been ill and Charles had been at your side with a bowl ready for when you emptied the contents of your stomach. Then your muscles ached and you could barely hold your own weight up to walk. Just when you thought the worst had come to pass you felt the first strands come loose.

“Hello, my dear,” Pascale answered your call, only to be met with a hiccup. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“M-my hair,” you stammered as you looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Charles had been out shopping but you saw his face appear behind you as you turned to show him what filled your gripped fist. “It’s my hair.”

“I’ll be over shortly, just let me lock up the shop,” Pascale soothed before ending the call.

“I just brushed it,” you hiccuped as you touched your hair again, more of it floating to the tile floor. “It won’t stop.”

“I know, baby,” he murmured as he took your hand and brushed the hair from your palm. “Maman will know what to do. We’ll get through this like we have everything else, together.”

Pascale promised she could have a wig made for you if you wanted one but it was already late in the evening and you knew she was exhausted from working all day. You did however accept her offer to shave the rest of your head so at least the patches of missing hair didn’t stand out as much. Charles had sat with you in the bathroom and held your hand the entire time before asking his mother to shave his next.

“No, I love your hair,” you argued as he pulled his shirt over his head to save it from getting covered in the short dark strands.

“I told you we are doing this together,” he replied as he kissed your knuckles and nodded to his mum to proceed.

It took a while to get used to the smooth feel of skin on your head but you came to prefer it to the wig that Pascale crafted, somehow finding hair that was almost the exact same shade and texture to your natural hair. The moment you got home from any outing you would pull the wig off with a grateful moan just as you used to do with your bra.

“Are you going to be alright? Maman said she can come and stay with you.” Charles sat on his suitcase so he could zip it closed before looking up to where you sat in bed with a book on your lap. “I don’t like leaving you here alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured him. “It’s only for two nights.”

His team had let him get away with having one extra night at home before going to Bahrain for the 2024 pre-season testing, but it was still too long away from you in his eyes. You would have been with him but you were due some follow up tests.

“You’ll be so busy you won’t even have time to miss me,” you teased, spurring him to climb onto the bed and cage you beneath him.

“I miss you every second we are apart.”

You recognised the number calling your cell phone because you still had nightmares from the last time they rang. A pit of dread was already opening in your gut as you hovered your finger over the green button. You debated not answering the call but if you didn’t answer it then he would try Charles’ number next - and he needed to focus on driving.

You wished you never answered the call.

You had been quiet the entire drive from the airport to the hotel Charles was staying at. He wasn’t one to push you to talk before you were ready but he was certainly worried when he reached across the gearbox and placed his hand on your lap. He spared a glance to you as he gently squeezed your thigh but still you didn’t react, or take his hand, or even blink.

You didn’t remember the walk from the car to the hotel room. You were busy thinking about how you were going to break Charles’ heart, something you had never imagined you would have a hand in. You never wanted to hurt him, you loved him more than life itself, a life that was going to be shorter than you had once thought.

Charles stood quietly in the doorway to the bedroom, your suitcase still in his hand. He watched as you pulled your wig off for the first time since leaving Monaco and listened as you sighed heavily. His feet only carried him closer when you pulled a piece of paper from your pocket and held it out silently.

“What’s this?” Charles asked as he unfolded the note you had written on the plane. You had almost 10 hours to think of everything you wanted to do while you could and his eyes scanned over the list. “Baby, what is this?”

“It’s my bucket list.”

“A bucket list?”

“It’s a list of what I want to do before I die.”

“I know what a bucket list is!” He took a breath and ran his hand over the fuzz that had grown back on his scalp before lowering his voice as he shook the paper. “Why am I holding yours?”

His green eyes blurred with tears as you bit your lip and looked at your feet. He was already shaking his head in denial, wet droplets soaking into the list.

“My results came back…”

“Non, non, baby, non…”

“I’m sorry, Charles,” you choked as he fell to his knees and let the paper fall to the floor. His arms encircled your hips and you cradled the back of his head to your stomach as he cried against you. You finally let your own tears fall, the tears you had held back since you received the news. “I’m so sorry.”

Charles missed testing the next morning as he held you in his arms. The tears had long run out but the sadness still remained. He had laid with you all night as close as your bodies would allow and together you had seen the sunrise over the desert. He had listened to you quietly recount the doctor’s words but most of it made no sense to him.

Metastasized. Stage four. Terminal. The information ruined him.

“How long?” he finally asked. He looked at the paper that was still on the bedroom floor before clearing his throat and trying again. “How long do we have?”

You didn’t know if answering him would help or not but he was waiting for an answer as you rolled over to face him. The last three months had taken a toll on him and dark circles rimmed his eyes and they no longer held the same brightness. They were only going to dim more at the news. “Six months, maybe a year.”

He was silent, but you knew it wasn’t because he hadn’t heard you. Emotions warred behind his eyes before he climbed out of the bed and walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

You hated the silence but the screaming was worse. The painful wail echoed around the room and you felt it shatter something deep in your chest, before something shattered in the bathroom.

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you held yourself together while Charles fell apart.

You weren’t sure how long he screamed at the universe, how many times he asked it why, what he had done to deserve to lose someone else he loved. You weren’t sure how long it took him to clean the blood from his fist and wash his face of the tears before he unlocked the door and slipped back into the bed.

“Whatever you want, mon amour,” he promised as he unclenched your hands and curled his body around yours. “Anything you want to do, we’ll do it. We’ll do it all together.”

You stood at the edge of the lookout and smiled at Charles as he took the photo, another one for the memory box you were making together. Charles kept his promise, taking you everywhere around the world with him to tick off the items on your bucket list.

You had watched him win his home race for the first time and gone to a couples cooking class.

You visited all the Disneyland Theme Parks you hadn’t been to before: the Tokyo one when he raced in Suzuka, the Chinese one when he raced in Shanghai and the Floridian one when he raced in Miami.

Charles had taken you to Iceland to camp under the northern lights and to Pamukkale in Turkey where the blue waters were meant to work miracles. It hadn’t cured the illness that ravaged your body but each activity you crossed off cured some of the sadness in your soul.

“It’s bigger than I imagined,” Charles commented as he looked up at Christ the Redeemer. “What size shoes do you think he wears?”

“Well you know what they say about big feet.”

Charles’ head fell back with a laugh. “You cannot say that about Jesus.”

You fluttered your eyelashes innocently as he stepped closer to take a photo of you together. “I was going to say he wears big socks, get your head out of the gutter.”

“Of course you were, mon amour.” Charles’ lips curled up in amusement and you relished the way his eyes crinkled before you rose onto your toes so you could kiss him before the smile faded.

The flash of his camera captured the moment and you reluctantly pulled away as the sun began to set on another day spent living. The days were getting tiresome, your energy flagging as the medication changed from treating the illness to managing the pain. You had read enough to know that time was running out.

“We should get going, don’t want to miss our flight to Vegas.”

“About that…” he trailed off as he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and placed it in your hand. “I made a list of my own.”

Marry the woman of my dreams.

“I can only do it with you by my side.”

—

Pascale had created a beautiful headpiece for your wedding but when it came time to leave you hadn’t been able to place it on your head. A year ago you had only dreamt of the day you married Charles and in all those imagined scenes you had your hair styled up like she had crafted on the wig with pearl pins and a delicate tiara. But a lot had changed in a year, you had changed.

“Oh, sweetheart, you look beautiful,” she said as she wiped her eyes. Your own mother was speechless as she pulled you into her arms and held you tight.

“I’m going to ruin my makeup if you two don’t stop crying.”

“Honey, let her go,” your dad said softly as he placed a hand on your mother’s shoulder. “It’s time.”

Your throat felt as if it were closing and for a second you held on tighter before you both opened your arms. “I love you,” you said to them all as you looked at the proud but sad smiles on their faces. “Thank you for making this possible, for both of us.”

Your father grabbed the wheelchair you had been using, the exhaustion sometimes too much for you to handle, but you shook your head. “I’m going to marry him on my own two feet.”

You knew Charles had a lot of help organising the wedding because there was no way he could have done it on his own. The entire paddock had come to a standstill at the end of Media Day and you found yourself walking down a makeshift aisle on the grid to the starting lights.

Hundreds of friends joined your families on the track and you had no doubt that Charles had flown them all there at his own expense.

“When you said married in Vegas, I thought you meant the White Chapel,” you whispered with a giggle.

Charles' smile grew at the sound and he took your hands in his. “That’s something tacky Pierre would do.”

“Hey,” the groomsman objected beside Charles. “Elvis isn’t tacky. Focus on your own wedding, mate.”

You laughed at the exchange before Lorenzo cleared his throat and your eyes widened as you realised he was the celebrant. “Is this legal?”

“The online certificate I got says so,” he said with a wink. “But if you’ve changed your mind I can skip the legal bits.”

Your eyes lit up with amusement. “No way, I’m not going to miss having you as a brother-in-law.”

“And I thought we were here because you wanted to marry me,” Charles joked. He had waited so long to marry you but now that the moment was here he was in no rush for it to end. He wanted to stay in this moment forever, where you were lighthearted and smiling. Where you weren’t lost in thought but present in the moment, with him.

“I do,” you said with a grin before peeking back at his older brother. “Does that count, can I kiss him now?”

Lorenzo wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not quite, shall we get started?”

Charles could hardly keep still with his excitement. “Ready, baby?”

You reached into a hidden pocket in the dress and pulled out the engagement ring he proposed at Christmas with. Slipping it into your finger, you gave him a serious nod. “Now I am.”

—

“Good morning, Mrs Leclerc.”

You smiled as Charles kissed your shoulder blade and rolled you over to face him. He had already showered and dressed for the day before climbing back into bed with you and you peeked at the clock to see he would almost be late.

“You should be at the track already,” you hummed between the sweet kisses he peppered across your skin.

“Wasn’t going to miss watching you wake up as my beautiful wife for the first time.” His smile wavered as he kissed your forehead before pressing the back of his hand to it. “How are you feeling?”

“A little tired, but last night was worth the lack of sleep.”

He smirked and traced your lips longingly with his eyes. “Definitely worth it. But you don’t feel hot or cold?”

“Focus on FP1, Cha,” you said with a little push for him to get out of bed. “You’re going to be late.”

He playfully nipped your collarbone before getting off the bed and blowing you a kiss. “Rest up, mon amour, I’ll come back between the practices.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, more than the moon and the stars.”

“Hopeless romantic.”

“Love of my life. Fire in my loins. The apple of my-“

“Go away!” You tossed a pillow at him before falling back into the warm blankets with a laugh that turned to a yawn. “Profess your love to someone else and let me sleep.”

“Never,” he chuckled quietly as he watched your chest rise and fall into a steady rhythm. “It will only be you.”

Your health deteriorated rapidly after Vegas and your doctor urged you to return to Monaco, but you weren’t ready to leave just yet. There was only one thing left on your bucket list and it was within your grasp. Charles and Max were neck and neck in the championship but you had faith your husband would triumph in the end. So instead of heading home you remained by his side in Qatar and Abu Dhabi, letting him hire a medical team as a trade off for ignoring your doctor's advice.

It wasn’t just the season coming to an end and you could both feel it as Charles prepared for the final race. You didn’t have the strength to go to the track and see him start from pole, the prime position for the championship deciding race. You barely had the strength to stay awake for the whole race but you fought against the heaviness in your body and scanned the screens that had been brought into your room.

Pride made you heart light as you watched the world through Charles’ eyes. The onboard camera was clear ahead, all his competitors in his rear view, and as the laps passed by his lead grew wider. Charles was flying and he was taking you with him.

Charles took a seat on the centre podium as confetti rained down and fireworks exploded overhead. He wiped the sweat and champagne from his face before reaching into his race suit and grabbing the pen and paper he had tucked away.

Putting a strike through the last line he held it up triumphantly to the camera. “We did it, mon amour, we did it.”

You smiled as if he would see it and closed your eyes as you lost the battle. “I’m ready to go home now.”

The Bucket List:

Sleep under the northern lights

Swim with sharks

Skinny dip (not with sharks)

See Christ the Redeemer

Bowl a strike

Go to every Disneyland once

Ride an elephant

Go to India for the colour festival

Win an escape room

Learn to whistle

Have a mud bath

Teach Charles to cook

Watch the Grand National horse race

Get a tattoo

Learn to use chopsticks

Throw beads at Mardi Gras

Have my palm read

Try absinthe

Ride a luge

Go to a rage room

Join the mile high club

Catch a fish

Make a will

Bathe in healing waters

Charles Leclerc - World Champion

Click here for the requested last day alive.

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #tw: cancer #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #f1 rpf

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gay-dorito-dust · 18 days

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hi hi!! could i request blade, dan heng, jingyuan, (and anyone else u may want to add) reacting to finding out you’re being creeped on at work please? i’m going through a similar situation at my job atm and would really appreciate it :’) thank u! <3

I hope the situation gets resolved soon sweetheart, you don’t deserve some creep making you uncomfortable or being well…a creep in general.

Jing yuan:

The dozing general seemed a bit more alert when you admitted to him that you were being creeped on at work, a place where this sort of thing shouldn’t be happening at all but is nonetheless.

He can tell that you were greatly affected by it and would do anything and everything in his power to rid you of it all. Jing yuan promises that the anxieties and the stress of having to constantly look over your shoulder, praying that the person responsible for all of it wasn’t nearby would be gone in a heartbeat.

His status as the General was more then enough to scare the creep stiff and profusely apologise for not knowing that you were his partner, rather then apologise to you like he should be, only for Jing Yuan to smile apathetically and say:

‘I’m not the one you should be apologising to,’ he then gestures towards you, ‘they are. So I’d suggest you get on your knees and plea for forgiveness. Quickly.’ He adds with a seriousness as his eyes glowed gold upon opening them and his smile faded.

Needless to say that the creep handed in their notice not long after the encounter with the General.

Dan Heng:

Hates, hates, hates seeing you this scared and uncomfortable by the actions made by one person who thought that it was acceptable to be a freak. All Dan Heng wanted to do in that moment was comfort you and reassure you that everything was going to be okay, but how could he when he himself wasn’t quite sure that was going to be the case?

He hates being uncertain, especially when it’s in regard to your safety in general, because he couldn’t fathom anything happening to you and he was there to protect you like he should’ve.

So instead he helps you in arranging a meeting with your manager about the creep’s behaviour towards you, going as far as to keep a list of all the things they’ve done during their tenure at your workplace in the instance should you not be believed. ‘Just in case.’ He’d say to you as he produced a thick folder filled with the creeps vile actions within the past few months alone.

Thankfully your manager wasn’t a piece of shit and the folder of evidence was enough to take action against the creep, and within immediate effect the bastard was gone by the end of the week; Just as procedures were later put in place for the safety of all employees who believed they were being harassed in the workplace.

After all was said and done, Dan Heng would still want to walk you to work and back, just as a precaution and a reminder that he was always going to be with you no matter what.

Blade:

Doesn’t take to the fact that you were being creeped on lightly and especially not when it was at your workplace either, and he will most likely try to take action into his own hands through any means necessary.

He’s aching to unsheathe his blade and put it to good use and end the pathetic creeps life for ever coming near you with impure intentions without feeling an ounce of guilt. However Blades sets this thought aside and decided to focus on you instead by standing guard outside your workplace until your shift finished.

He didn’t care. He’ll stay as long as he needed if it meant knowing that you were going to be okay, and even if the creep did try to pull something, Blade would be there within seconds to rip them to shreds. However Blade was already an intimidating bloke alone with his physical appearance, that he didn’t need to do much to scare the creep stiff, staring them down with his ruby eyes.

His natural stone face was also benefactor that Blade had going for him in terms of frightening the creep into handing in his notice that very same day. While It may not be how he wants it to end, but that didn’t mean Blade stopped waiting outside your workplace for you.

Just incase a new creep arises in the old one’s place and he needed to get a bit…physical.

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konigsblog · 2 months

Text

WARNINGS: NON-CON/DUB-CON, STEPCEST, INTOXICATION, SOMNOPHILLIA. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

to write about stepbrother's johnny, kyle and simon...

all of them being so perverted, yet so predictable. :(

you can't wear a short dress around simon, otherwise he'll bombard you with questions, asking where you think you're going whilst dressed like a hooker! believe him, he's just looking out for you... but, when you come home drunk, attempting to hide in your room, simon is already convincing and coercing you into his bedroom, where he'll demand you to suck him off and let him fuck your tight, little asshole. gripping your soft tits over your short dress, rolled up around your waist as he begins to thrust and grind deep into your swollen, puffy and glistening folds.

you can't wear shorts around johnny because it drives him crazy. even your other stepbrothers will tell you to cover up, because johnny's acting depraved; palming himself in front of everyone, and eyeing you up like a feast. if you do, he'll be humping you constantly, trying to get you to bend over so he can get a nice view of your ass... you may even wake up to johnny rubbing his hard boner over your clothed ass, all drowsy and conditioned, tip soaking your skimpy pajama shorts, thick and milky cum oozing from the head of his achingly hard cock, while he apologises profusely, telling you to go back to sleep, that he'll be quick...

you can't wear anything revealing around kyle, nothing whatsoever, he'll find a way to sexualise you somehow. when you're wearing a low cut top, one that reveals too much cleavage, he can't resist. he'll grope you and kiss your breasts, telling you it's alright for a stepbrother to touch you like this because it's done with protectiveness, making sure you're safe in his arms, the perverted bastard lying straight to your face and being so touchy and perverted.

wearing bikinis? it's like you're asking to be fucked like a whore... :( during a pool party, he'll corner you in the bathroom and have his way with you, fucking your sweet pussy while you tell him it's not alright for a stepbrother to be so depraved with his stepsister!

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allysunny · 4 months

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Pls pls pls friends to lovers with an ass load of pining!!! I love the trope where literally everyone but her can see that he’s in love with her and they’re basically dating without the title. She’s in love with him too but a little more guarded/scared. They have fun traditions like a book club, and Bruce gives her the princess treatment. Pls pls pls, I’d literally love you forever if you wrote this

Obliviously in Love | Bale!Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Words: 15k words

Warnings: Friends to lovers, pining, two idiots in love but way too blind to see it, Alfred being a very sassy butler (I love Michael Cane sm), possibly OOC Bruce (I've never written for him before), some angst, love confessions, Christmas! and mistletoe, eventual romance of course! Not beta, we die like Harvey Dent.

A/N: Hey everyone!!! Sorry for the delay, but as I told you, uni was kicking my ass. I'm back now, and hopefully I'll be able to write a lot!

So, this is my first Bale!Bruce request, and I'm so excited, but at the same time I'm super, super nervous because I've never written for this man in my entire life? I love this trilogy so bad and even rewatched all the movies as I was doing this, because I wanted to make sure I got him right. Sure, he's a vigilante and a billionaire and a supposed playboy, but he's also just a man, and I sort of wanted to explore that.

There's so many layers to this man, it is insane. If there's anything OOC about him, please do let me know. I swear to god I tried my best, and I hope you like the finished result.

This is my longest word so far - I'm so sorry! It was supposed to be kinda short and sweet but I just ran with it! I don't know if it was for the better or worst, but I hope you guys like it nevertheless. Again, I'm sorry if it's somewhat OOC, I tried to get everyone's personalities just right. I'm scared of not doing these movies justice. I also took some liberties with this - Bruce and Rachel don't have feelings for each other, Bruce often goes to charity galas, etc. Small things.

Also, it's set somewhat in between Batman Begins and The Dark Knight!

Anyways, enjoy!

Bruce Wayne was a lonely man.

Not that he minded, really.

Ever since he was a child, he knew most people were after him and his family for the money. Family friends cashing in favours done ages ago, things as small as having once lent his father an umbrella, women pretending to befriend his mother to accompany her whenever she went shopping, kids at school getting closer to him only to get a peek at the famed Wayne Manor and all the wonders it hid inside.

He'd rather be alone than have such leeches around him, surrounding him like vultures, waiting for an opening.

Kids who'd mocked him would apologise profusely days later, having learned about his family, offering their friendship. Once Bruce made it clear he had no intentions of inviting anyone to his place (he was just shy, really), they'd take back their so called “friendship”.

He was better off without such people.

They were few, the people he could trust. And even those he called his “friends”, he didn't trust completely. His childhood best friend, Rachel, had grown up and busied herself at the DA’s office. She reached out to him after he’d returned after all those years in training, but she was a busy woman, and Bruce had found a new passion himself – patrolling the streets of Gotham dressed up as a bat. They would talk often, but it simply wasn’t the same. They were still friends of course – childhood could link two people – but he’d changed, and so had she. No matter how well they got along, they were changed people.

So, he was back to square one, with no people to truly confide in.

There was, after all, a reason only Alfred knew of his secret identity.

No, Bruce Wayne wasn't a stranger to loneliness.

He preferred the peace and quiet of his home office to the loud ambiences of the parties thrown by pretentious people who wanted to pass by as charitable, and found that sometimes, being by himself was a better option.

Bruce Wayne could count with his hands how many “friends” he had, and how many were simply greedy bloodsuckers trying to get to his fortune.

All but you, though.

Never you.

Bruce met you a few years ago, at the bakery you used to work at.

He wasn't a regular - hell, he didn't usually eat at places like those. Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, dined at the best restaurants - a truth universally acknowledged.

But after being stuck in traffic for about thirty minutes (he'd sent Alfred on a makeshift vacation, having miraculously been able to convince the old man to take some time for himself), he decided to exit the cab and go for a stroll.

It'd been a stressing day, with about a hundred reports coming in for him to sign at Wayne Enterprises, the prototypes for his new motorcycle had proved to be a failure, and he was simply exhausted. A walk would do him good, clear his head.

That's when he walked by the bakery, noticing the colourfully decorated cupcakes and pastries on the shelves. The pastel-coloured frostings seemed far too pretty to eat, and curiosity got the best of him, compelling him to go inside and purchase one.

That's when he first saw you.

You took a while to take his order, quickly informing him you were working all by yourself. One of your coworkers was in labour, the other on vacation. You were baking, cleaning and waitressing on your own.

Bruce was surprised, to say the least. You were taking over each station, keeping calm even under pressure and tending to each task diligently.

When asked who baked the frosted treats, you smiled and told him you baked those yourself. Apparently, it was your first time exposing them, the owner of the bakery finally giving you some leeway to try your own cakes and sweets.

“No one's tried them yet, though,” you said, sheepishly. “People don’t really want to try anything new. They’re scared my food is going to suck. I keep telling myself they’re just scared of change, you know. To keep my spirits high.”

“I hear that,” Bruce replied. If he knew anything about people, it was that they were all terrified of the unknown. “It’s Gotham – what can you do? You bump into lunatics every other day. I’ll have the one on the shop window, the one with the pink frosting.”

Your eyes sparkled then, and Bruce swore he’d do anything to see them shine again and again.

“Really?” you asked, a hopeful smile playing in your lips.

“Absolutely. It looks good.”

You gave him an enthusiastic nod and went to retrieve the cupcake, placing it on top of a small place along with a fork. He paid for the treat along with a cup of coffee and sat down on a nearby table.

Unlocking his phone, he found a few messages from Alfred, asking him if he hadn't burnt down the Manor yet. Sure, maybe he couldn't cook nor clean nor take care of himself that well, but that didn't warrant a fire brigade to go check up on him, now did it?

Burned to the ground, he texted back in a joking manner. All that's left are the red slippers I gave to you last Christmas. Hadn't you lost them? It's a miracle.

Alfred replied just as quickly.

Should've let them burn too. Hideous things.

Bruce chuckled, assuring his trusted butler all was well, and locking his phone once again.

If he looked from the corner of his eye, he could see you, nervously chewing on your lip while you looked at his plate expectantly.

Right, he thought. The cupcake.

Bruce tasted the coffee first, deciding it was far better than whatever he was drinking at his office, and slowly cut the cupcake with his fork (because why would he use his hands). HIs eyes widened once he finally bit into it.

It was good, really good. It tasted like strawberries - not that artificial strawberry flavoured crap he was sure was in most of the food out there - actual strawberries.

The frosting was sugary, but not too much that it became nauseous, and the mix of flavours melted in his mouth.

You’d approached him, breath hitched as you awaited his verdict.

“So?” You asked, after a while, giving him an apologetic smile. “How is it?”

“It’s good.”

“Really?” You graced him with the brightest of smiles, holding onto your little notepad. “You think so?”

“I know so.” Way to go, Bruce. Not corny at all. You’re the man.

Pulling the chair next to him, you sighed in relief and sat down.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me. I was so scared no one was gonna like them.”

“The people of Gotham are idiots if they don’t want to try these.” He took another bite of his cupcake and your smile only got bigger.

“Well, you said it. It’s Gotham. Even something as simple as a different coffee order will get their panties in a twist. Look at how everyone reacted to that Bat guy. He takes out a few criminals and cleans the streets, and suddenly he’s the bad guy?” you inquire.

“Bat guy?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you know! Bat guy! They’re calling him the Batman. You’ve probably seen him on TV. Black cape, black cowl, black, well, clothes?”

“Ah,” he nodded, “The Batman, yes. I might have heard of him.” Might have. “What’s his deal anyway? I think the police are calling the guy a criminal.”

You scoffed, placing a strand of hair behind your ear. “A criminal? The guy’s doing a better job than most cops. I think they’re just jealous. And pissed that someone’s not up for briberies.”

Bruce nodded, before turning to his cupcake. You thought what Batman did was right. He brimmed with pride.

“I don’t know – he sounds like your typical Arkham resident to me. Dressed like a bat, running around with a black cape?” It was practically wired into his brain by now, the way he attempted to detach his Bruce Wayne persona from his Batman one. Even if he’d just met you, even if you seemed genuine, he couldn’t help but keep up the façade. “They should probably lock him up.”

“That’s nonsense!” you exclaimed. “He’s the only one willing to do something right for this city. The only one who’s not being compensated by turning a blind eye to criminals like half of the GCPD are. The streets are safer with him around.”

So, he made you feel safe.

Well, not him – Batman did.

Bottom line was, he made you feel safe.

And wasn’t that the reason for all of this? To make Gotham a better place? To clean the streets, to give people some hope in amidst all the chaos and darkness? Wasn’t that his goal – to give Gotham citizens their city back to them, and allow them to live unruled by fear?

“Anyway - I’m sorry, here I am, sitting next to you while you probably want to eat by yourself. Gosh, I’m so sorry. Taking care of the shop by myself makes me feel a tad lonely.” You gave him another apologetic smile (although this one did not reach your eyes), and got up, hurrying behind the counter.

For a few moments, Bruce sat in silence, eating his cupcake, and sipping from his coffee. Good stuff – nothing like the ones Alfred prepared for him, but still good.

When he glanced back up, he watched as you quickly washed some dishes, brow furrowed in concentration. He took you all in, the way you carefully rinsed every dish, ensuring it was stable on the tray nearby before moving onto the next one. Once or twice, you looked up, observing the city through the windows. He saw you sigh softly and get back to work.

To say he was intrigued was an understatement. A big one.

It wasn’t only that you were strikingly beautiful – that helped too, quite a lot – but there was something more to you that Bruce couldn’t really pinpoint and wanted to get to know more of. He was tired of fake people. Of all the fake smiles and fake laughter and fake parties and having to pretend he was someone he simply wasn’t. It was all for the greater good, sure, but hiding behind a mask was draining. No one knew that better than Bruce Wayne.

Before he realised it, he’d stood up, placing his plate and cup on top of the counter. The soft “clack” of it made you turn around and your eyes widened slightly.

“Oh – “ you mumbled. “It’s okay, I usually just do that.”

“Lifting a cup and a plate won’t kill me, I assure you.”

You chuckled and took the dishes, turning to the sink.

“You’re not at all like what people say.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not like they describe you,” you said with a small shrug. A strand of hair fell from behind your ear and Bruce’s hand twitched slightly, perhaps wishing to tuck it back himself.

“So you know who I am?” he asked, a curious smile forming in his lips. He wasn’t expecting to be completely ignorant of him – hell, it’s impossible to be unaware of his existence when you live in Gotham.

“I have a television and friends who love gossip magazines. It’s preposterous to think of a person who hasn’t come across your face, considering it’s slapped in nearly every tabloid ever.” You chuckled, soaking his plate. “And there was the matter of your credit card – I thought American Express was a myth.”

Bruce remained silent, which prompted you to go on.

“Everyone says you’re an arrogant jerk – “ The words come out of your mouth before you can process them, and he chuckles mentally, finding the way you stumbled over your words quite amusing. “I mean, that’s what they say – I’m not saying that you’re one, I just – I’m just repeating what’s been told to me. Anyway, yeah. You don’t seem like that at all.”

“And what makes you say that? We’ve spoken for all but five minutes,” he cocked an eyebrow, eagerly awaiting your answer.

You think for a while, gripping the towel at your hands and shrug again.

“I don’t know.” You turn to him. “Call it intuition, but I just felt like you were being genuine. I mean, you don’t have a bazillion models hanging off your arms – and it looked like you walked all the way here. No fancy sports car like the ones in the magazines either.” Another shrug. “You just seemed like a random guy when you walked in. No fancy titles whatsoever.”

Just a random guy.

Sometimes it felt like such a thing was unattainable for Bruce.

In front of the cameras, he had to be spoiled, rich, reckless playboy Bruce who bought hotels on a whim, hung around with hot models and spent his money on useless luxuries such as cars and yachts. When no one was watching, he had the weight of Gotham in his shoulders as Batman, sacrificing his mind and body every night just to make sure his people were safe.

It was impossible for Bruce to be just a random guy, no matter how much he wanted to.

But the way you said it – like you truly believed it – made him think twice about it.

You weren’t grovelling at his feet. Nor were you pretending not to know him as many others had done, in order to appear mysterious and different, and therefore catch his attention. No, you were just being you – or what he hoped was you. You knew who he was, admitted to seeing his face and knowing of his affairs, but that didn’t stop you from treating him like a normal person.

Just a random guy.

“Or maybe I’m just biased because you liked my cupcakes.” There it was again, that lovely smile of yours.

And you were funny too.

“I’ll admit, that was my tactic all along.” Bruce allowed a hint of playfulness to tint his voice, and your smile widened at that.

“Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Wayne.”

“Please, just Bruce.”

“Alright then. Your secret is safe with me, Bruce.” You smiled and went back to cleaning the counter. (You half expected him to leave without saying a word – why’d a billionaire entertain your company for more than a few minutes? – and were surprised when he stayed.)

“I’m sorry if I’m crossing a line here, but,” he started, “Would you like to join me for lunch one of these days?”

You eyed him curiously and cocked your head to the side, giving him a cheeky smile.

“Me? Really?”

“Exactly you.”

“Why? I don’t exactly belong with your people, Bruce – whoever they might be.”

“I was actually just hoping I’d get some free cupcakes.”

At this, you snorted out loud, covering your mouth with your hand. The other clients in the bakery looked at you with a slightly disgusted face, and it only made you laugh louder.

Once you stopped giggling (and after having wiped some tears from your eyes), you nodded and turned to him.

“Alright, fine. Lunch sounds great. Although – I’m sure you’re followed everywhere. And I don’t really want to be the latest gossip magazine cover.” You crossed your arms. Bruce nodded in understanding. After all, he knew how troublesome the media could be, especially when they were looking for any crumbs that might get them any insight into someone’s life.

(Un)fortunately for him, they couldn’t see past the playboy persona.

“I’ll take care of that – don’t worry.” Was his honest response. “Let’s say it’s easy for me to… become invisible.”

You leaned against the counter, smile ever so present.

“And how are you going to do that? Gonna wear a cap and sunglasses? A wig? Do we get to wear disguises? Maybe you could wear a mask!” Funny.

“I’ll just leave the American Express at home. Do you think that new Pizza place everyone’s been talking about accepts hundreds?” Bruce joked.

Your snort resonated through the bakery again, and the couple that had glanced at you earlier left, shaking their heads and muttering something about “decorum”.

The rest was history.

You and Bruce had become inseparable from that day onward.

Turns out that around you, he could be just a random guy, like he always wanted.

He started going to your bakery more and more, and convinced your boss to let you experiment with your cupcakes however you wanted.

“How the hell did you manage that?” you asked him, mouth open in wonder. “She told me I had full control of the menu! Two weeks ago, she said she didn’t want to try my sweets!”

“I’m very persuasive,” he replied, biting into a banana flavoured muffin – one of your more recent experiments. “It’s a bit chunky. Kind of bland, doesn’t melt on your mouth like the others do.”

“Yeah, I think I went overboard with the flour…” you mumble, writing something down on your notepad. “Anyways, how persuasive can you be? This woman has drunk the same cup of coffee for like, 40 years. She hates change.”

“Let’s just say I worked my regular Wayne charm.”

At that, you rolled your eyes and hit him with your towel but couldn’t hide the smile that graced your lips.

He’d stop by every day after work, eager to try out your new recipes and have a nice chat. It was freeing to have someone he could call his friend, with whom he could have conversations that weren’t about his job, his money, or his other affairs. It felt nice to be able to share things with you, things he couldn’t find it in himself to share with other people.

It took him a while, but he eventually told you things about himself. Slowly.

He told you about his parents, how much he looked up to his father and how he adored his mother. He told you about his childhood, playing in the gardens of his Manor or watching his father fiddle with the stethoscope, hoping one day he could make a difference just like him. He told you how sometimes he would just watch his mother apply makeup in her face, marvelling at how beautiful she looked. Other women of the high society always looked like they had this world and the next worth of makeup on their faces, but his mother was able to enhance all her natural features with a simple eye pencil or some lipstick.

“Makeup shouldn’t be used to turn yourself into something new,” she’d once told him, applying some sort of clear powder on her face. “Just to complement the beauty you already have.”

He found it easy to relate to that. Not the makeup, necessarily, but the whole “turning into a new person”. Batman was no different than him, nor was he someone different. He just brought out Bruce’s biggest desires, to keep Gotham safe.

In return, you told him about your childhood. About your first years in school, your friends and family. You told him about your passions, your wishes. How you wanted to travel the world and read as many books as possible. How you liked to laze around some Saturdays but couldn’t stay home and just had to get up and leave in others.

Bruce found the duality in you quite entrancing.

Some days, you’d be running around the Manor, goofing around with Alfred, and whipping up new recipes with him, the both of you jamming to old jazz that played on the radio – Alfred had been teaching you swing, and you enjoyed spinning around the room with him as lively tunes played.

(In fact, Bruce had walked in on you and him dancing a few times, and couldn’t help but lean against the doorway, watching and you laughed loudly and tried not to fall whenever his butler spun you around.)

It also went without saying that Alfred was over the moon now that his master no longer seemed to be alone. You might only be one person, but the Manor came alive whenever you were in it, and he relished in knowing Bruce finally had someone he could trust besides himself.

At first, Bruce thought of you as a friend. Someone he could confide in, someone to have a good time with and relax. But as weeks turned to months, he found himself developing stronger feelings. It wasn’t about “having fun” and relaxing anymore, it was now about seeing you, making sure you were alright, listening to your every thought and feelings.

He thought it was normal, though. After all, aren’t friends supposed to care for each other and be eager to spend time together? After all, it had been a while since he had friends. At least ones that spoke to him on the regular, that were there for him. This whole thing was new to him. So, he kept these feelings hidden, convinced they were nothing but the norm, enjoying whatever silly activities you engaged in.

You two had, after all, your own little rituals.

You loved reading – always had, and believed to continue doing so until you were dead and buried. And despite not having a lot of time to do so, Bruce did too. So, it wasn’t long before you two created your own little book club along with Alfred.

You would prepare a batch of cookies, Alfred would make some tea, and Bruce would wait by the fireplace in the living room, since there was really nothing he could contribute with but his insight on the books you were reading.

“So, what’d you think?” he asked, taking a sip from his tea, and placing the mug on the coffee table by his feet.

“I think it was terrible.” You replied.

Bruce nearly spat the drink in his mouth.

“Excuse me?!”

“I said what I said – it was a terrible book.”

“I think you’re the first person ever to call The Great Gatsby a ‘terrible book’.” He raised an eyebrow and looked at Alfred, who was intent on hearing whatever you were going to say next. He too was quite curious, but he had an inkling he knew where you were going with this.

You just shrugged your shoulders and brought your legs to your chair, sitting on top of them. You felt at home in Wayne Manor. Bruce had told you to make yourself comfortable after the third time you visited, and you wasted no time in doing so.

“Jay Gatsby is one pretentious motherfucker,” you say.

“Language!” Alfred tutted.

“Sorry – I meant; Jay Gatsby is one pretentious douchebag.” You bowed your head towards Alfred and the butler nodded in acknowledgment.

“Wait – why?”

“Are you kidding me?” All you could do was scoff. “Gatsby is an obsessive narcissist, an egocentric pathological liar who cares about no one else other than himself, and much probably, a psychopath.”

Bruce was perplexed. Very much so.

“I – I – well. I see.”

“And the way he objectifies Daisy throughout the whole book – he doesn’t even love her! He loves the idea of her. He’s a jerk.”

Bruce couldn’t even interrupt you, because you were on a spree, gesticulating with your arms and talking fast.

“But let’s be honest here, it’s not like she loves him either.”

“She doesn’t?”

“Of course not! She’s a shallow, materialistic, spoiled brat and I can’t stand her!” You finished your little speech by taking a bite out of a cookie and crossing your arms.

“Huh. Right.” Bruce said, grabbing his copy of the book. “Well, I thought it was a great book. And I don’t think Gatsby is any of the things you said.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really. I think he is a misunderstood soul.”

You scoffed. Again.

“He’s a misunderstood ass – “

“Language – “

“He is Alfred!”

“Yes, but you aren’t, and I would like to keep this household clean, for dear Master and Missus Wayne’s sake.” He replied casually, giving you that look you’d learn to interpret as “do not test me you silly little baker, for I am British and have the high ground”, and to which you just stuck your tongue out.

Bruce ignored the both of you and continued.

“And, well, I think he truly did love Daisy.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No, no, and here’s why, he did everything for her.”

“Name one thing.”

“Well, he waited five whole years for her. I think that’s rather romantic. He went great lengths to impress Daisy and win her love. The parties, the money, his whole persona – it wasn’t him, but he did it all for Daisy.” Bruce explained calmly. Alfred looked at him with raised eyebrows and just sipped from his teacup quietly.

“Bruce, the whole thing was a circus.” You reached in front of you to grab another cookie and took a bite out of it, missing the way your friend’s gaze dropped to your lips and then returned to your eyes in just a millisecond. “He was just showing off.”

“Perhaps,” Bruce said, “But perhaps he was just trying to be someone worthy of her. I’m sure love can make people do crazy things.” He wasn’t one to talk. It’s not like he knew what “love” was. He’d crushed on Rachel as kids, but that’s all it was, a silly childhood crush.

Perhaps the love he had for his city could count. He did do crazy things for it. Dressing up as a bat was an example.

You nodded your head a few times, pondering his answer.

“Maybe, yeah. But I don’t think so. If he loved her, he should’ve just said it. There was no need for all the show.”

Alfred raised his eyebrows once again. A very you-ish reply. He was enjoying this immensely.

Bruce replayed her words in his head. He should’ve said it. Surely, it wasn’t that easy. Jay Gatsby wasn’t your average man. He was a mystery. He had secrets and things he needed to hide. It wasn’t as easy as just walking up to Daisy and telling her “I love you”. It wasn’t that simple. “You think so?” he asked.

“Well, yeah! Absolutely – I mean, why complicate things?” you replied. “He should’ve just dropped the luxuries, the parties, he should’ve just stopped with all of the eccentric millionaire thing, looked her in the eyes and say, ‘I love you’. Simple.”

"Absolutely! I mean, why complicate things? Just look someone in the eyes and say, ‘I love you.’ Simple.”

“Simple, huh?”

You nodded, taking another sip from your tea – you drank it sickeningly sweet, with lots of honey, while he preferred one or two spoons of sugar.

“Yeah. Simple. No need for the fancy parties, and mysterious acts. Just be genuine.”

“That’s an interesting perspective,” he mumbled. “But sometimes people have reasons for not saying what’s in their hearts. Sometimes they must hide their feelings.” It was true. You didn’t know he was Batman – you couldn’t. He needed to keep you safe. All you knew was that he worked a lot, plenty of times exhausting himself and arriving home super late. It was for the best.

Alfred hummed thoughtfully, which earned him a curious look from the both of you.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Please, do continue,” he said, gesturing for you to go on.

You gave him a weird look but simply turned to face Bruce once again.

“Reasons? Like what?”

Bruce couldn’t look you in the eye now. He shrugged and got suddenly very interested by the coffee table by his feet.

“Fear, maybe. Fear of what might happen if they open up. Fear of losing someone precious.”

You hummed, “Well, in my book, it’s always better to be honest and take the risk. Life’s too short for illusions. If Gatsby had just said it, maybe things would’ve been different. Who knows? But I still think he was one pompous son of a bitch.” You leaned back in your chair with a smug grin and finished the rest of your tea.

Alfred just excused himself and made his way towards the kitchen.

You certainly did bring some life into this once empty house.

You were lazing around in a Sunday afternoon, mindlessly scrolling your phone as a rerun of a show you liked played on TV. Even after a few years, it could still get some laughs out of you, and you’d look at the screen and smile.

All of a sudden, the couch dipped next to you.

Bruce had jumped over it, and landed next to you, sitting down comfortably, as if parkouring around Wayne Manor was something he did on the regular.

“Shit! Holy – Bruce!” You nearly jumped out of your seat, clutching your chest. Sometimes you wondered if Bruce wasn’t some sort of ninja. Being able to hide himself and be so silent wasn’t normal, and at times, to be frank, a little bit creepy.

He acted as if nothing was wrong and turned to you.

“Friday night, charity gala, you and me,” he said, matter-of-factly, as if he’d simply asked you what the weather was like outside.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, the Carringtons are throwing a big party this Friday. It’s supposed to be this big fundraiser. The profits will go for new police facilities. As if those corrupt idiots needed them…” He sighed. “And clearly, Bruce Wayne must attend. And, as expected, he has to bring someone.”

You whined and threw your head back in frustration. You’d been to a couple of galas with Bruce. Most of them were dreadfully boring, filled with fake people whose only purpose there was to flaunt their money and pretend to care about whatever topics seemed most controversial. You hated them. The fake smiles, the gross men leering on you, the women shamelessly throwing themselves at Bruce (not that you minded. After all, you two were just friends. It just made you uncomfortable that they were so forward about his advances. Clearly, he wasn’t alone. He had you. Could they not see it? But of course, you two were just friends. Which meant you weren’t jealous. You just felt sorry for them, and extremely uncomfortable whenever they looked at, spoke to, or touched him. Duh.)

“I can’t go.”

Bruce grimaced.

“Why?”

“I’m busy. Sorry Bruce, I have plans.” What a liar.

Your friend smirked and nudged his head towards the kitchen.

“Alfred checked your schedule – you’re free for the next two weeks.”

Your jaw dropped and you looked back at the kitchen, where Alfred innocently prepared a few sandwiches.

“Damn him! I swear that man must’ve been a British spy!” you muttered, shaking your head.

“So, are you coming with me?” Bruce pressed on.

“I can’t – I have to return some videotapes.” You replied smugly.

Bruce gave you a dry laugh and threw a pillow in your direction, which you failed to dodge.

“Very funny. I’m serious – I can’t go by myself. Look, I know what this is going to sound like, but the Carringtons are only doing this to show off. They don’t care about the police; they want to show Gotham just how rich their grandfather’s money has made them. They’ve been around for years and never once donated – why now?”

“Just because you have to go, doesn’t mean that I have!” you too threw a pillow at him, but as always, his reflexes were on point, and he managed to catch it mid-air.

“Look, you’d be doing me a huge favour.”

“I have literally nothing to wear.”

Bruce gave you a blank stare – that excuse did not stick anymore, not after he’d bought you a different dress for each party he had taken you to (“Think of it as a thank you gift”, he said).

“Just take a model. Or an actress. Or some other celebrity. You know me Bruce, I don’t belong with those people. They’re not my crowd.” You grabbed another pillow and prepared to throw it at him.

“I can’t stand another night of pretending to spend my free time buying hotels and yachts.” Bruce said your name softly and you let your guard down, lowering your arm. “It’s not me, and you know it.” You looked into those chocolate brown eyes that seemed to have soften – those eyes of his always made you melt, and you often found yourself saying yes to his every whim.

You pondered your choices.

He could take a model or an actress. The headlines would love speculating who the hell was Bruce Wayne messing around with this time. He’d have to pretend to be someone he was not for a whole evening – though you didn’t know why; only that, for some reason, he had a reputation to upkeep – and the next morning you’d wake up and seethe as you watched the shots paparazzi got of your best friend and some random floozy slobbering on top of him.

Or, you could go with him. It’d be a pain in the ass to pretend to like all of those people and to interact with those phony idiots who thought money was worth anything and would try their best to snake their ways in Bruce’s close circle. But you’d spend a nice evening with your friend, wear a pretty dress, drink some expensive champagne and be able to laugh at everyone else with him. There were worse fates than that, you were sure.

“Fine,” you sighed, “I’ll come with you.”

Bruce did a small “yes” gesture with his arm, and then grabbed a nearby pillow. “Now, where were we?”

“Oh – OH don’t you dare, Bruce Wayne!” You lifted your arm once again, but before you could throw the pillow in his direction, he’d grabbed your arm and pulled you to him. You fell on top of his body, hands on either side of his head as they bore the weight of your body. Your face was inches away from his, and all you could do was stare into those brown eyes that had you so weak.

You blinked repeatedly, before quickly getting up. Your cheeks were flaring up and you grabbed your phone, standing up from the couch.

Bruce, on his end, was speechless. He watched as you stood up, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“I – I should go. I need to… yeah, I gotta – I gotta do something. I’ll see you later.” You mumbled, and within seconds, you were out the door.

When you were gone, Alfred left the kitchen and walked towards the couch where Bruce was sitting, still silently staring at the wall.

“Is everything alright, Master Wayne?” he asked, although he didn’t really need an answer. He knew exactly what was going on with him. After all, he’d raised this boy like his own son for years.

“Yes,” Bruce cleared his throat, nodding. “Yes, yes, I am. Everything’s fine. How about those sandwiches you were making?” He tried changing the topic, but it was too late.

As Alfred walked back to the kitchen, he couldn’t help but think that he should probably schedule an optometrist appointment for his master. After all, one can’t help but be concerned when such a smart, capable man was so blind to matters of the heart. Almost as blind as a bat, one could say. He’d keep this joke for later. Bruce would hate it. Even better.

Funnily enough, Alfred wasn’t the only one who thought Bruce was blind to his feelings.

In fact, it seemed like everyone could see how smitten the Wayne billionaire was with you.

When you two went out, he would look at you with this sparkle in his eyes, looking at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

You walked into the party, arm linked with his, and it was as if the whole world stopped to look at you two.

Everyone knew about your existence – it wasn’t the first time you accompanied Bruce to parties – Bruce Wayne and his close friend. Friend. Yeah, sure. If the glances he stole were any indication, the Wayne heir was nothing but completely enamoured with you. In fact, it was incredible how much he’d changed. His whole attitude changed when he was accompanied by you. No longer was he the reckless billionaire who drank too much and humiliated himself, but the elegant man who liked to engage in conversations (as long as the topics were interesting) and had a heart of gold.

Yes, everyone seemed to spot the change in demeanour whenever you two were together.

“Bruce!” A voice could be heard from the distance, and Rachel Dawes made her way towards the both of you. She smiled and spoke your name once she noticed you were the one accompanying her childhood friend, before hugging you. “Oh, it’s so nice to see you here!”

You hugged her back and gave her a genuine smile. You’d met Rachel before more than a few times – she was a lovely young woman with a great sense of justice, and you were sure she was going to do great things for Gotham’s wellbeing. You also enjoyed her company greatly, since she had once told you all of the embarrassing stories about Bruce’s childhood. “I had no idea you were going to be here!”

“Yeah, well,” she looked around and smiled, seemingly looking for someone. “I was just as surprised as you were.”

Then, a very familiar face emerged from the crowd, calling out “Rachel!” and walking to her side.

“There you were – you left so abruptly; I thought something was wrong.” The man said, before turning to look at you and Bruce. You took him in. Dirty blond hair and a familiar cleft chin. You furrowed your eyebrows, before it finally clicked in.

“You’re Harvey Dent – I’ve seen you on TV before,” you said, and he smiled in acknowledgement.

“That would be me, yes.” He put forward his hand, and you shook it, introducing yourself.

Harvey then turned to look at Bruce, extending his hand to him.

“And you must be Bruce Wayne. Rachel talks about you a lot.”

Bruce shook it and nodded.

“Hopefully she hasn’t disclosed everything about me, otherwise I’d be ruined.”

The two men chuckled, and you took that opportunity to look at Rachel. You looked from her to Harvey, opened your mouth and wiggled your eyebrows, earning a laugh from her. Rachel moved to your side as Bruce and Harvey spoke about Gotham and took your arm.

“Well, well, Miss Dawes. Is there anything you’d like to tell us?” you asked in a hushed tone, still wiggling your eyebrows up and down. “How’d you meet?”

“At work. Harvey is running for district attorney. One thing led to another, and…” she trailed off, and you nudged her torso with your arm.

“And now you’re shagging future attorney Harvey Dent. Look at you go!”

Rachel covered her mouth with her hands and supressed a scoff.

“You’re unbelievable, and I never want to hear those words coming from your mouth ever! It’s just a casual thing, we’ve only gone on a few dates. Besides, you’re the one attending a charity gala with Gotham’s most eligible bachelor. I think every woman in this room has you on a death list.”

“Pftt,” you waved your hand dismissively, “You know we’re just friends. Nothing for those women to be jealous about.”

“Ah, I see. You’re just friends.” Rachel nodded, feigning seriousness in her voice.

“Yes, we are. Stop with that face!”

“What face?”

“That face you always do,” you motioned towards her face, nearly pouting. “We are! And that’s the end of the discussion! I don’t even know why we’re talking about my non-existent relationship with Bruce when you’re probably going to be First Lady someday – this is huge.”

Rachel swatted you with her purse and returned to Harvey’s side before giving you a cheeky smile – it felt nice to have a girl friend you could talk to in these scenarios. Usually, it was just you and Bruce, which, however pleasant, wasn’t the same thing as having a girl in there. You were happy to catch her off work – Rachel seemed like a different person at the office. While there, she maintained a strong and serious attitude, you were happy to see her when she had no work business to worry about and could simply be a girl with you.

“Well, I’m afraid I’ve wasted too much of your time, Mr. Wayne,” Harvey said, shaking Bruce’s hand again. “It was a pleasure to meet Rachel’s oldest friend.” He then turned to you, “And a pleasure to meet you too, Miss.” “Likewise,” you replied.

Bruce nodded.

“Of course. I’ll be sure to send you a nice bottle of Chardonnay when you’re elected district attorney,” he said in his best careless billionaire voice, and nodded at Rachel before the two walked away. “Who would’ve thought,” he muttered to you, beckoning a butler who was carrying a tray of champagne glasses close to him.

“Well, I think they’re lovely together,” you smiled and grabbed a glass, smiling once the liquid hit your lips. Champagne was always welcome.

“Well, you think everyone looks lovely together. You’re a sap.” You laugh at Bruce’s comment and hold onto his arm. He brings you close, absentmindedly, and the two of you walk around the party, occasionally being stopped by the average donor.

After eating some entrees and mingling with the guests, soft music started to play and ring throughout the room. You looked up, pleasantly surprised, and tugged at Bruce’s arm.

“Come on,”

You didn’t have to tell him twice – he was growing tired of pretending to share the same interests as these vile people. He wanted a respite from keeping the charade up, so he gladly took your hand and led you to the middle of what had become the dancefloor. You two weren’t the only ones in there, a couple more pairs having decided to dance.

Bruce gently held your waist and pulled you close to him, his other hand coming to lift yours.

“Thank you,” he spoke, ignoring the way everyone’s eyes glued onto the two of you.

“I could see you were about to actually punch that man right in the face,” you chuckled, looking at the person in question. He was a middle-aged man who could probably stand to lose a few pounds for the sake of his health, who was trying to talk Bruce into introducing him a couple of models. You just had to come to the rescue, because Bruce actually looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. Thankfully, he was a good actor and simply promised the man he would surely hook him up with the woman of his dreams.

“I think it goes without saying I’m not introducing jack shit to him. I’m pretty sure he’s assaulted his female employers. I should have someone investigate it.”

“My, my. Bruce Wayne, ever the White Knight.” You smiled, and you could swear that for some minutes, the entire world faded away as the soft melodies of Camille Saint-Saëns filled the air.

He snorted at that but did not say anything.

The two of you kept dancing. You found looking into his eyes extremely hard, so you avoided his gaze, looking straight ahead at behind his shoulder continuously.

“I still haven’t told you how beautiful you look tonight,” Bruce finally broke the silence between you two, and you returned his gaze. He’d bought you a floor-length black John Galliano gown with delicate lace trim and a bias cut, and you had actually screamed into your pillow once you saw it – it was far too pretty.

“Thank you,” you reply, brushing some invisible dust from his shoulders. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Bruce lowered his voice and looked you in the eyes, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“I mean it. You do look stunning.”

The two of you stopped dancing for a few moments, and you were unable to look away from his almost magnetic gaze. Time seemed to stand still, and you gripped his shoulder tighter, to make sure you were real, and he was real, and this whole ordeal was real.

He was just about to speak again, when you were interrupted by a loud, shrill voice.

“Mr. Wayne! Oh, what a pleasure to have you here!”

You quickly pulled away from him as Catherine Carrington, a woman in her mid-40s with long, blonde hair approached the both of you and placed two loud kisses on either side of his cheeks. You looked away, trying to figure out how to properly breathe again, and fanned yourself with your hands.

Harrold Carrington, Catherine’s husband walked to her side and shook Bruce’s hand, far too interested in talking to you. You stifled a laugh – whoever was in charge of his wig had tone a terrible job, because it was clear as day his hairline was receding, and the hair he had on was fake.

“Ah, you must be the mysterious friend everyone has been talking about. We’ve seen you around a few times, haven’t we Miss? But I don’t think we’ve properly met – I’m Harrold Carrington. And may I say, you look splendid this evening.”

None of the Carringtons seemed interested in their spouses. Catherine was fawning over Bruce, and Harrold’s eyes lingered far too long on your exposed collarbone and cleavage. So much so, that you turned from him uncomfortably. Bruce was quick to notice your discomfort, and pulled you next to him once again, wrapping a protective arm around your waist.

“I’d appreciate it if you could keep your eyes on the lady’s face, as opposed to her chest, Mr. Carrington,” he said with a smile that you could only identify as fake, and that smug voice he used when he was feeling particularly cocky.

All of the colour drained from Harrold’s face, and he stuttered, trying to form a coherent sentence – which he failed miserably. “I – I, well – I wasn’t – I would never! I – I was just –“

Bruce faced Catherine once again and gave her another fake smile.

“Lovely party Mrs. Carrington. Very nice of you to raise money for the Gotham Police Department. Very charitable, indeed. And the champagne is just splendid. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I heard someone was eating caviar, and it’s not a real party without it, now is it?”

Effortlessly, he brought you away from the couple.

Once you were out of sight, he looked at you with a worried expression.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah – he was just creepy. Shit, I hate galas.”

“Tell me about it,” Bruce sighed, before shaking his head. “How long have we been here for?”

“About two hours.”

“How about we ditch at three? I think it’d be a crime to abandon this party now. Especially when you look this dazzling.”

He was giving you that look once again, the one you couldn’t quite decipher, and you felt butterflies in your stomach.

Bruce, on the other hand, was freaking out. You looked lovely, even more so than usual. He’d been dancing with you, and all was perfect, and then that hag Catherine had to go and ruin everything.

Was it too much to ask for a quiet dance with his friend?

Friend.

The word tasted wrong in his mouth.

No, you weren’t his friend. At least not anymore.

He thought about your dance moments earlier. How you’d held onto him, far too shy to look him in the eye, lips slightly parted and eyes sparkly. He thought of how easily you leaned into his touch and how he liked having you by his side.

He thought of how much he enjoyed spending time with you, how much he laughed in your presence, how free he felt when he was with you. He could be himself, something that he felt he couldn’t be anywhere else. You were his safe haven. You were everything.

It was that night Bruce Wayne realised he was in love with you.

One time the both of you went out to do some Christmas shopping.

(“In November?” Bruce had asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Christmas sales have already started! And I bet everyone’s going to start super soon, so we need to get to it!” Was your reply. Bruce could only sigh and agree, like he always did when it came to you.)

Besides, it was the first Christmas you’d be able to spend together after 2 years of friendship. The last two had Bruce way too busy with his company (at least that’s what he told you. In reality, he had been tracking down a few criminals who’d been wreaking havoc days before.

The main point was: after two years of being friends, you would finally get to spend Christmas together. It’s not that you’d suffered those Christmases without him; you had friends and family. But you wanted to spend the holidays with who you now considered to be your closest friend.

Bruce, however, wanted to spend Christmas with the woman he was in love with. He hadn’t found the courage to tell you – not yet. He was afraid of ruining things, of hurting you. So he kept silent, relishing in the friendship the both of you had.

Approaching the mall, you had a small list in your hand, filled with names of everyone you wanted to buy a gift for. He had around five people in mind, so he did not need all those preparations.

Once you were in the crowded mall, Bruce would hold you close to him, shielding you from everyone who might bump into you. His hand would respectfully be in the small of your back, and if he needed you to get out of someone’s way (people who refused to look up from their phones were the worst), he would slide it to your waist and gently pull you towards him.

You’d stopped at a beauty store, wanting to buy a new skin care package for your closest friend at work – heavens knew how badly you needed her to keep you sane – so you’d asked Bruce for his opinion on a myriad of perfumes.

“See, I like this one, but I think the smell is a bit too strong,” you mumbled, squeezing some of the hand lotion’s sample on your hand and applying it there. “Here,” you reached your hand to him, and nearly all the air was sucked out of your lungs when Bruce carefully reached for it, holding your pulse in his and bringing it to his face. His lips nearly brushed against your skin as he took the smell of the lotion in, and at least a dozen of women who were shopping nearby swooned.

Bruce let go of your hand just as gently and you blinked a few times, trying to wake up from your little trance.

“It is a bit strong, yeah. You mentioned she’s got a sensitive nose, so maybe something less floral?”

You were quick to nod and walk away, afraid he’d notice the way your cheeks heat up and your pupils dilated.

Once you turned away from him, focusing on the other hand lotions, he sighed, still feeling a buzzing sensation in his hand. It was as if he could still feel your skin against his, and he had to shake his head to return to the task at hand. Control yourself.

At a clothing store, you held up different sweatshirts next to him, asking for his opinion on a gift to your father. He gave you his earnest opinion, and insisted on carrying all your bags once you were done.

“Bruce – come on, I can carry them. I’m not a baby,” you’d told him, sighing in exasperation.

“Just allow me. You’re still picking up things left and right, it’s better if I carry these for you.”

You two checked out a jewellery shop – you’d been saving up to buy your mom a pair of earrings, and while you busied yourself looking through rows and rows of pairs, looking for the one you had your eyes on, Bruce quickly excused himself, and turned to a shop helper.

Approaching the counter, he placed the delicate pair of pearl earrings next to the cashier, glancing around just to make sure you weren’t paying attention to him.

“Would you like these to be gift wrapped?” The cashier asked.

“Yes please.”

Bruce continued glancing around. You too were speaking to a shop helper, pointing to the delicate pair of gold earrings you wanted to get.

“A gift for a special someone?” The cashier asked once again with a polite smile. Bruce wasn’t dumb. If he were anyone else, this would be a regular, standard question asked by shop clerks to keep a friendly conversation going. But he’s not just anyone else. He’d noticed the way the woman had glanced him up and down with a wishful expression and could bet all his money that if he were to reveal more than necessary, then she would turn to any gossip magazine as soon as he was out the door and spill whatever nonsense she thought it was going on.

He gave her a curt nod, paid for the earrings (now neatly placed inside of a box and wrapped with a pretty red ribbon), and returned to your side, hiding the box inside his jacket’s pocket.

“Did you find them?” he asked once he got to your side, and if it were anyone else, you would’ve jumped, but by now you were used to Bruce. You seemed to lean into his side and smiled, looking at the pair of hoops the shop helper brought to the counter.

“Yeah – she’s gonna love them! I was super scared they’d be sold out Bruce, I’ve been working my ass off to get these. I’m so proud of myself,” your smile was contagious, and Bruce found himself bringing you closer to him by the waist and giving you one of his super rare smiles. Once again, every woman within a five-mile radio sighed, basically eating him up with their eyes. It was no secret Bruce Wayne was a handsome man – not to mention Gotham’s most eligible bachelor – but to see him act so affectionate in public was a completely different thing, and it was clear more than woman had gotten jealous just looking at you.

(Their boyfriends were not happy with the way said women ogled Bruce up and down.)

“I’m proud of you too.” Bruce replied. It was true. You were a hardworking woman, and he beamed with pride at your accomplishments.

Of course he didn’t tell you he bribed the store to keep the earrings stored until you came along to buy them – he wasn’t about to let someone snatch the thing you’d been working so hard to get – but it didn’t matter. You’d earned it.

You grinned at him and reluctantly broke free from his hold.

“I’m gonna go pay for these, meet me outside?”

He nodded and walked outside of the store, hand coming to pat the box inside of his pocket. They’d look incredible with his mother’s pearl necklace, that’s for sure.

He carried your things to the limo, and upon arriving to the Manor, he distracted you with promises of hot chocolate and marshmallows, before handing Alfred the little white box and telling him to keep it a secret. The rest of the evening was spent with the two of you discussing presents, drinking your hot chocolate, and watching some Christmas movies as the wood in the fireplaced cracked piece by piece, enveloping you both in a cozy warmth.

Later that month, the two of you were sitting at an expensive café, having a few treats, and talking about your Christmas shopping. Although the place was very fancy and its prices had shocked you, so had the quality of their food.

“This is garbage,” you said, eyeing the cupcake on your plate. “Holy shit, who baked these? It feels like I’m chewing on a brick!”

“Yours are much better, yes,” Bruce agreed, taking his own cupcake, and looking at it carefully. “And that’s this awful taste?”

“I think she added lemon juice, but it doesn’t work in this recipe, not at all. You’ll see, it’ll basically nullify the sweetness of it, and the whole thing is just gonna taste like one sour cupcake. Gosh, people pay their rent’s worth of money for these?”

Bruce could listen to you talk for hours on end. The way your eyes lit up when you found a topic you were interested in, and how genuinely passionate you were about your hobbies. Your genuineness was something he praised and found himself looking for more and more. In fact, one of the reasons he’d taken you to this specific café was because he knew the cupcakes sucked – he’d eaten there before. He just wanted to hear you talk about them.

An old woman approached your table, wearing a Santa Claus had on top of her head, and a few Christmas related pins on her waitress apron.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” she asked with a smile.

“Oh, no thank you, we’re fine.” You replied, returning it «.

“I see. Well, I’d just like to say, it’s a real gift to see such precious young love.” The woman gestured at the both of you, and your cheeks flared up. “This city can be so dark and gloomy sometimes; it warms my heart to know that love still prevails on top of all. You two are such a lovely couple.”

“We’re –“ you coughed, trying to clear your throat. “We’re not – we’re not a couple.”

“Oh!”

“Yeah, we’re just – we’re just friends!” you were quick to correct her and refused to meet Bruce in the eye.

Oh, right. Bruce. He was staring at the old woman, completely lost in thought. This woman thought you two were a couple. Did you look like it? And why had you shut her down so quickly? Did you hate the idea that much? Would it be so terrible if the two of you were to date?

“Oh, I am so sorry then, my apologies!” the waitress was quick to apologise. “It’s just – you two look rather lovely together. I’m sorry for the intrusion.” She walked away and you covered your cheeks with your hands, trying to mask the sudden blush that had overcome you.

Bruce, on his end, was still staring at where the woman had been. Did you two look like a couple that much? He wouldn’t mind it. No, not really, he wouldn’t mind being a couple with you. He could finally drop that stupid playboy persona, be one step closer to his real self. He could protect you and always keep you safe and closer to him. He wondered what it would be like to wake up to you every morning and be greeted with that dazzling smile of yours. Would you ask him for five more minutes in bed? Act all grumpy until you had your morning coffee? Would you drag him out of his bedroom to start the day and be productive?

“Shall we go?” you interrupted his thoughts, placing your now empty mug on top of your plate. “It’s gonna get dark soon, and I wanted to see the Christmas lights.” Your voice was lower, still tinted with some nervousness. Bruce snapped out of it and nodded, walking towards the counter to pay the bill.

While he was gone, you made your way to the bathroom and splashed some water on your face, to wake yourself up and hopefully cool down.

Once you were ready, you walked out of the café, strolling the streets of Gotham.

Sometimes it surprised you how pretty your city could be. Sure, there was chaos and corruption, and most of the times it was a fucking shithole, but it was still home, and the tall buildings and bright lights could still take your breath away.

You and Bruce walked side by side. You were still far too nervous to look at him, so you kept your distance. Bruce, respectful as ever, remained by your side, refusing to touch you until you gave him permission. As you were looking at the prettily decorated shop windows and houses, he could see the way your body shivered and trembled.

That’s what you got for refusing to bring a jacket because, “your outfit looked far too pretty to be hidden behind a coat”.

“Cold?” he asked.

“N-no. Not at all. I’m fine. I told you; these tights are really warm.” Your voice was trembling, and your teeth were close to chattering. A part of Bruce wanted to see you fight for your case just a bit longer, while the other just longed to envelop you in his arms and keep the cold away.

“Oh, really? Because I’m pretty sure the tips of your fingers are turning blue.” He said with a smug expression.

“No, I’m fine.” You replied, nodding eagerly. “I told you; I wouldn’t be cold. I’m not.”

Bruce just nodded and kept walking by your side.

After a few minutes, it was far too obvious you were freezing. Your body was trembling, your teeth were chattering, and he was sure he could see your lips becoming a dark shade of purple.

Wordlessly, Bruce began to remove his jacket.

“What are you doing?” you asked, turning to him in confusion.

“Preventing you from catching pneumonia,” he replied, handing it to you.

“N-no, T-that’s not n-necessary, Bruce. I’m fine. I’m n-not cold. I’m f-fine! See? Just p-peachy.”

Bruce had faced criminals and villains and corrupt cops, and they’d all lied to him at one point or another. None was as bad as you.

He gave you one of his “I told you so” looks, and you nearly pouted, spreading your arms as he helped you put the jacket on. Almost instantly, you felt warmth spread through your body and sighed in relief. Bruce also removed his scarf, and carefully wrapped around your neck, hands lingering on your face for longer than necessary when he brushed a few strands away from it.

“Better?” he murmured.

You looked at him through your lashes. He was close. Very close. So close, that you could hear your heartbeat hammering on your chest. You gave him a soft “mhm” and he returned to your side, keeping a respectful distance from you.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked him. It made you feel terrible – it was freezing in Gotham, and you’d taken his only sources of comfort.

“I’m fine – believe me. I’d much rather have you not freezing on me.” He replied.

“Are you sure? It’s very cold.”

“I promise.”

You nodded and continued your silent stroll.

Suddenly, while crossing the street, some careless motorbike showed up out of nowhere. You shrieked in surprise, and froze in your place, closing your eyes in fear. A pair of strong arms pulled you away, and you collided with a strong figure. Bruce was holding you close, cursing the driver under his breath. Once you looked up to you look at him, he turned to you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking all over your face to make sure you were unharmed.

“Yeah – just – that dickhead –“

“I know. It’s like you can’t trust anyone with a license these days.” He muttered. It hurt to part from you. It was like you were made to stand next to him, body slotting perfectly with his. Reluctantly, he pulled away from you, giving you space, but was surprised when you held onto his arm, like you usually do.

You looked at him, silently asking for permission, which he granted. You scooted closer to him, and he smiled.

The two of you continued walking through the streets of Gotham, making comments on the architecture, the lighting, the people. There were small stalls selling all sorts of trinkets and goods, a sort of small Christmas market, and you smiled as you saw kids running around with balloons or cups of hot chocolate. It was dark and gloomy, but once again, Gotham could be so very beautiful.

“A pretty flower for a pretty lady?” An old vendor asked, extending a pretty rose in your direction.

“Oh, no thank you – “ you mumbled, shaking your head, but Bruce was quicker.

“Thank you.” He nodded, taking the flower in his hands. He handed the man a bill (and surely a big one at that, because the man’s eyes widened, and he stared at it for quite a while before thanking Bruce profusely.)

Bruce turned to you and handed you the flower.

You weren’t sure if it was from his jacket, or if your whole body had simply decided to set itself on fire. You took the flower and brought it up to your nose, the intoxicating smell of it filling your senses.

“Thank you,” you said, still looking at it. No one had ever bought you flowers.

“A pretty flower for a pretty lady,” he repeated the old man’s words, and continued walking with you by his side, but not without hearing the old man say something about how “beautiful it was to see love bringing people together”. You didn’t seem to have heard it, but Bruce did, and he smiled.

It was Christmas Eve, and you were in Wayne Manor, having dinner with Bruce and Alfred (whom he begged to take a seat at the table with the two of you). There was wine and plenty of food, and the three of you had a great time, sharing funny stories and anecdotes and just enjoying each other’s companies.

You had promised your family to visit them the day after and were dead set on spending the Eve with Bruce.

After dinner, you sat near the fireplace, talking about books, movies, and whatever silly topic that came to mind. You, with your legs comfortably spread on the couch, Alfred on the big chair, and Bruce on the floor, by your feet. To him, that was the closest he had to spending Christmas with his family, and wondered if his parents would’ve enjoyed your company. Of course they’d have, he thought, you’re perfect.

After the three of you had played a few games (Alfred had won at charades, his Batman impression making you laugh for five minutes straight), you stood up announcing that, since it was almost midnight, you wanted everyone to open their gifts. It was more about you giving yours away than opening them, really – you were quite proud of the gifts you’d bought and wanted Bruce’s and Alfred’s reactions as soon as possible.

“Alright, alright, alright, me first! Here – Alfred, these are for you!” You handed him about five different packages, and he looked at you with a fond expression in his eyes.

“You didn’t have to, Miss.”

“Well, but I did. I need to spoil my swing partner, don’t I?”

He smiled at your antics and slowly opened the packages, one by one. Inside, there were a few woollen sweaters with matching-coloured ties.

“They’re really warm, you know. And it’s real wool – the quality of these is amazing! And you can even wear them without the ties, for a more casual look. What do you think? Do you like them?” you asked eagerly, hoping to get the response you wanted.

“I do, Miss. Thank you. These are lovely.”

You beamed and hugged him tightly. “Promise? There’s a receipt somewhere if you don’t like them – but I just thought they looked so cool and they were so pretty and the fabric is so soft, and – “

“Yes, Miss. I promise. Thank you. These are splendid.”

“Well, since we’re spoiling Alfred, I don’t really want to get left out.” Bruce joked, before reaching for an envelope sitting on top of the Christmas tree (decorated by the both of you on the first of December, thank you very much.) He handed his butler the envelope and sat back, awaiting his reply.

“So, you’ve finally decided to get rid of me.” Alfred said, looking at the contents of the envelope intently.

“Don’t be so dramatic, it’s just a few weeks.” Bruce replied smugly. “If anyone deserves a vacation in this house, it’s you.”

When Alfred didn’t reply, Bruce raised an eyebrow, worry starting to pool in his stomach.

“Alfred? Is everything okay?”

Alfred sighed and shook the envelope in his head.

“A ticket to the Maldives, Master Wayne? You’ve outdone yourself this time.”

Bruce grinned, nodding. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I do indeed, but, if I may express a tiny complaint…”

“Of course, Alfred. You can always speak your mind.”

“You’re a bit of a cheapskate, Master Wayne.”

You burst out laughing, nodding along with Alfred.

“A cheapskate. I see. And why is that?”

“After all I’ve done for you, three weeks of vacation seems a bit stingy, don’t you think?” Although he was saying this, he had a smile playing in his lips. Clearly none of it was serious.

“It’s not like I can function without you Alfred. Can’t have you enjoying too much time off, now, can we? You might remember just how fantastic life is outside this place and never return. You’ll be here forever. You’ve changed my diapers when I was born, and you’ll change them when I’m old and gray.”

“I knew I should’ve never accepted Thomas Wayne’s job offer back then.” He muttered. But he then turned to Bruce and gave him an earnest smile. “Thank you, sir. This is very thoughtful of you.”

After that, it was his turn to give you your presents. He gave Bruce a (very expensive) bottle of wine, that he expressed “wanted it to be opened on a very special occasion” with a wink – which made Bruce clear his throat and change the subject. You received a burgundy scarf he’d brought from his latest trip to England, from a shop you’ve expressed your admiration for a few times.

“Holy – oh my god! This is incredible, I mean, look at it!” You hugged him tightly and wrapped the scarf around your neck, not caring that it was far too warm inside the Manor for you to require a scarf.

“Well, now, it seems to be getting rather late for me,” he announced, standing up.

“Oh? You don’t wanna stay here until midnight?”

Alfred shook his head.

“I’m afraid not, Miss. I’m quite tired. I’ll be retiring for the night.”

“Alright, Alfred. Goodnight.” Bruce said with a curt nod.

“Goodnight, sir. Goodnight, Miss.”

You’d turned away to investigate your scarf once again, you missed the look Alfred gave his master, which made him sigh and look at you fondly.

“Alright – now it’s my turn! I need to go get your gift, just wait in here!” You were quick to stand up and disappear into the hallway. You’d been gone for a few minutes, so Bruce went after you, wondering if everything was alright. He bumped into you near the grand staircase at the entrance, and you jumped.

“Christ – you need to stop scaring me like that!” you reprimanded him.

Bruce chuckled, and you shook your head.

“Anyway,” you mumbled, presenting him with a small black box. “This is for you. I know it’s not nearly as fancy as the ones you already have but – well, it’s Christmas and it’s the thought that counts, is it not?” There was a certain nervousness in your voice, Bruce could feel it.

He gently took the box from you, and opened it, revealing a fancy looking black Hugo Boss watch. His fingers trailed the screen and the expensive leather strap.

“I know you have a ton of those, but I thought, hey, this one’s special, this one’s from me!” Before you could keep on with your nervous ramblings, Bruce brought you close, hugging you tightly. You smiled against his chest and wrapped your hands around his torso. This was nice. This was comfortable and familiar and nice.

“Thank you,” he whispered into your hair, and you almost melted at the cadence of his voice.

“You’re welcome.” You replied.

When you two pulled away, something caught his eye. Looking up, he realised the both of you were standing right underneath a few branches of mistletoe. You followed his eyes and blushed furiously, your whole body heating up.

Bruce said your name and you turned to look at him, feeling as light as a feather.

“Look, I – there’s something I would like to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Bruce thought of all you’d been through together. Laughter, tears, giggles, and scowls. You’d had great times, reading books, walking around, spending time together, and bad times, when he blew you off, choosing Gotham city at night over you. He thought of all he told you, all he trusted you with.

“I just wanted to say that I really enjoy spending time with you,” he began.

“I enjoy spending time with you too.” You inched closer to him, hands still on his chest.

“You’re amazing, and I’m so glad to have you in my life. You see through my charade. I can be myself when I’m around you.”

He thought back on the charity gala, on you wearing that lovely black dress, dancing with him. He thought of holding your hand and pulling you close to him to keep you safe. He thought of your sparkly eyes and delicate lips, and how much he could stare into the former and how badly he wanted to kiss the later.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me. I guess what I’m trying to say is…”

He thought about how badly he wanted to always be with you. How much he’d love to wake up next to you, feel your skin against his, be able to shout from the rooftops that you’re his and his alone. He thought about dropping to one knee and seeing you walking down an aisle wearing the prettiest of white dresses. He saw a lifetime with you, side by side.

“What I’m trying to say is…”

He thought about Batman.

How he’d have to cancel date after date after date, prioritising the black suit over your relationship. He thought of you getting worried sick when he got home late, frowning as you looked at his scars and bruises. He could see it vividly, how you’d cry and beg him not to leave you, to choose you over the city for once in his life, and how he’d leave you to cry all of your tears as he put the cowl on.

“Is…”

“Is…?” You pressed further, eyes dropping to his lips.

He saw argument after argument, saw you screaming at him, accusing him of not loving you. He saw nights spent in the couch, because you were far too angry to let him in your bed. He saw your sad eyes welling up with tears in the middle of romantic dates after he’d told you he had to go because the bat signal was shining in the night sky. He thought about someone finding his identity and going after you first and foremost. He saw you tied up in some random chair, mouth gagged and tears running down your streak as some criminal tortured you to get to him.

He saw your lifeless body inside a coffin, skin devoid of colour, eyes closed, to never open again, and how he’d spend the rest of his life hating both himself and his mask.

He thought about Bruce Wayne, and Batman.

And he realised you couldn’t possibly love both.

“Is… You’re a great friend. Thank you.” He squeezed your arms in a comforting manner and walked away, leaving you wide eyed and speechless under the mistletoe.

Later, he’d gift you the first edition of your favourite classic novel and wish you goodnight with a polite nod of his head, going up to his bedroom.

Before he went to sleep, he locked the pearl earrings and his mother’s necklace inside his drawer.

Things were awkward between you two. Your friendship with Bruce was still there, but he was sort of distant. Your weekly book club meetings still happened, and he still dropped by your café to drink coffee and try new cupcake recipes, but everything seemed to have changed after Christmas Eve.

So, you tried to move on with your life.

A few weeks after Christmas, your bakery started to work with a new supplier, and you quickly befriended the delivery guy, Tom. While you started to look forward to his visits more and more, it still did not feel the same as when you were with Bruce, and you felt guilty for hanging out with him.

One day, Bruce came in for his regular cup of coffee and a cupcake and found you smiling and giggling at a guy at the counter. His first reaction was to punch the guy to next Sunday, but thankfully he calmed down and approached you with a polite smile on his face.

“Hey there,” he greeted you, not sparing Tom a single glance.

“Oh! Hey Bruce – this is Tom. He’s the delivery guy from the new supplier.” Tom’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he realised the Bruce Wayne was standing in front of him and tried his best to shake his hand nonchalantly.

“I’ll be right with you,” you told him, and continued your conversation with Tom.

Fucking Tom. Who even was this guy?

And why were you smiling so much? What the fuck did he have that Bruce didn’t?

Most likely, it was what Bruce didn’t have that make a difference – a mask, a secret identity, a promise made to Gotham.

After you were done chatting with the delivery guy, you placed a cupcake and a cup of coffee in front of Bruce, but instead of sitting down with him, you returned to the counter and resumed your conversation.

Bruce cursed himself mentally.

On Christmas day, after you’d left, Alfred had asked what happened.

Bruce told him everything. How he couldn’t be with you because of Batman, how he couldn’t risk your safety and life, how he pushed you away.

Alfred lectured him, telling his master that his mask was going to be the end of him, but Bruce refused to listen and went to the batcave to busy himself and get his mind off you.

As he looked at you now, radiant and smiling at someone else, he realised that he might’ve made a big, big mistake.

It wasn’t long until you two started dating. It was casual, nothing too serious, but Bruce still seethed on the inside. He found himself staring at you for longer, hands lingering on yours whenever he touched you, and his heart ached more and more whenever he saw you with Tom.

You seemed so happy with him.

Seemed.

Because the truth was, you weren’t doing as well as Bruce thought you were. Tom was a nice man, yeah, but there was something off about the whole thing. He was good looking, yes, and very kind. He listened to you and made you, his priority. He was a dream. But there was just one problem, he wasn’t Bruce.

When you two went out, you often found yourself wishing it was Bruce’s arms wrapped around you. When you two went shopping and you decided to go try on a few hand lotions, Tom simply bent over to sniff your hand, and you were brought back to that time last November when Bruce held you with such gentleness, you nearly melted.

Tom always reminded you to bring a jacket, and you did so diligently, unconsciously put off by the idea of wearing his. He’d once given it to you, and it just wasn’t the same. He didn’t wrap it around you securely, he didn’t brush the hair away from your face, he didn’t look at you the way Bruce did. He was an amazing guy, and you liked him.

But that was it.

Still, you kept your relationship going, hoping your feelings would change.

After all, it’s not like you had ever felt anything for Bruce, right?

He was just a good friend.

You enjoyed spending time with him, sure, but that was it.

So, you looked forward to every time the two of you hung out. And your heartbeat quickened every time he was near. You couldn’t get your eyes off him. You easily got angry or upset whenever other women looked at him, and even more so when he entertained their advances. You longed to have him hold you in your arms.

But that was all normal, right? It just meant you were great friends.

You mind goes back to Christmas Eve, and the way he hugged you. Standing under that mistletoe, there was nothing you wanted more than to kiss him. You remember looking at him and wishing so bad that he would lean down and press his lips against yours. Just friends don’t kiss.

And that’s what you were to him – just a friend. He’d say that himself.

So why were you so heartbroken?

Looking at an empty coffee mug, it suddenly hit you like a train.

You were in love with Bruce Wayne.

And he didn’t love you back.

So there was no need to feel guilty over going out with Tom, right? Even if you didn’t particularly want to kiss him and didn’t want his hands around you when you two went out. Even if you were reluctant to introduce you as “your boyfriend” and had more than once ditched him to stay home and rethink your life decisions.

Even if when the two of you went out on dates, you barely paid any attention to him, focusing on the times you’d sat down with Bruce over a drink and just laughed your asses off and spoke until the crack of dawn.

Even if you didn’t really love Tom.

Yeah. No need at all.

On a lovely April afternoon, you were helping Bruce do some spring cleaning. You were both wearing some casual, old clothes, and helping Alfred to make sure the Manor ended up spotless.

You were currently in charge of the spacious living room, carefully placing picture frames on top of the coffee table so you could clean the fireplace. You looked at the framed memories. Pictures of Bruce as a child, or with his parents. There was one with a young Bruce standing on his father’s shoulders, and another one of him hugging Alfred.

You smiled to yourself. What a cute kid, he was. He seemed so happy.

There were pictures of him with Rachel, knees scraped and clothes dirty from the mud, and some with you. Your gaze lingered on those.

There was one framed selfie with the two of you, faces full of flour and whipped cream. You’d been teaching him how to bake, but the whole ordeal ended up in a small food fight – which he’d won. You chuckled at the memories of trying to teach Mr. “I’m far too rich to cook because I have people to do it for me” how to measure cups of flour, and break eggs. You’d held onto his arms and guided him to make sure he got the measurements just right.

Something inside of you flared up the memory.

The other picture in your hand had been taken at the Carrington gala.

You were wearing your pretty (and extremely expensive) black dress and were smiling at the camera. You were leaning into Bruce’s touch, who was holding you close by the waist. Instead of looking at the camera, he was instead looking at you.

Somehow, tears had clouded your vision.

How you had loved dancing with him. Being held by him as if you were the only person in the world he cared about. Your fingers traced his figure in the picture, and a tear fell down your cheek, falling on top of the glass.

“Hey, are you done with the fireplace?” You jumped at the voice behind you, and dropped the frame, which fell on the floor and broke into a million little pieces.

“Shit!” you mumbled, quick to crouch and try to pick up each glass shard. Bruce was quicker though, and made his way towards you, pulling you away from the soiled floor.

“No, get away from this, you might get hurt. I’ll call Alfred and – “ he looked at you and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Tears were streaming down your face, and you couldn’t look away from the mess you had made. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you choked back a sob. “I’m so sorry – I broke it.”

“No, no. It’s okay, we’ll just get a new frame.” Bruce assured you, hands resting on your shoulders.

“No – fuck – it’s not okay! None of this is okay!” You cried, and he pulled you against his chest, running his fingers through your hair.

“It’s just a frame. We’ll get a new one. And we’ll clean the floor.”

You cried in his arms for a while, until your sobs subsided into quiet sniffs. Bruce didn’t really know what to do, so he stood there, holding you tight. He’d never let you go.

After a while, you broke the silence.

“I – “ sniff, “ – I broke up with Tom,” you mumbled.

Bruce’s expression was one of surprise. Really? Why would you though? You two seemed happy.

“I… I don’t really think I liked him…” you continued; voice muffled by his chest. “I think I was dating him simply because I wanted to forget you…”

What?

He looked at you, but you refused to face him, face pressing harder against his chest.

“I’m such an idiot, Bruce… Everything was fine, and then I went and fell for you… And now our friendship is going to be ruined, and I broke your picture frame…”

Bruce held you tighter. You fell for him?

“I’m sorry, Bruce… I’m so sorry – I promise I’ll fix this. I – I’ll stop loving you and we can go back to being friends, and – “

Bruce used his thumb to lift your face up and looked straight into your eyes. There was nowhere to run. You were trapped, and so was he.

“You love me?” he asked, voice as soft as you’d ever heard it.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say those words out loud, so you opted for nodding.

“But – Tom –“

“Tom was a distraction,” you sniffled, “And I feel terrible about it. But I didn’t really like him. I just wanted to forget about you.”

“You love me,” Bruce repeated, using the same thumb to rub circles on the skin of your cheek. His gaze fell on your lips.

He had two choices. He could let you go once again. He could walk away from you, tell you he didn’t love you back. He could watch as you eventually moved on with your life (this time for real) and protect you from having to choose between Bruce Wayne and Batman.

He could give up the love of his life forever.

Or he could kiss you. He could tell you how he felt. He could trust you with that darker side of him, and you two could figure it out along the way. He could take it easy. He could bare his heart and finally tell you how you felt.

Two sides of him fought against each other, but ultimately, one was stronger.

He bent down and took your lips in his, sliding his hands up to your face to cradle it.

You were surprised to say the least, but pleasantly so. You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him back with vigour, tears of happiness falling down your cheeks. How you’d wanted this. And now, it was finally happening.

When you two parted for air, Bruce refused to let you go, standing mere inches away from you. His nose nuzzled yours, and he whispered a quiet, “I love you.”

You don’t know wat surprised you more. That he’d say it, or that you said it back.

“I love you too,” you smiled, pressing yourself against him and kissing him once again.

Bruce wrapped his arms around you, attempting to convey all his feelings for you in a simple kiss. All the longing, the love, the desire, the friendship. Everything he couldn’t find the words to say, he poured into that kiss. And you smiled, accepting all his confessions, all his words.

“Well, it was about time, don’t you two think?” Alfred said from across the room.

You jumped and just stared at him, embarrassment overtaking you.

“Yes, I’m talking about you two. Do you know how bothersome it was to see you moping around and sulking because you hadn’t kissed her on Christmas Eve, sir?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“I – You wanted to kiss me on Christmas Eve?” you turned to Bruce and gave him a soft smile.

“I did. I really did. I’m so sorry I didn’t.” he replied, before looking at Alfred. “Could you please leave us alone now? I don’t really recall paying you to mind my business.”

“You don’t pay me enough not to, sir.” The butler replied with a cheeky grin and that “I have the high ground, for I am British and old and wise” smug look of his. “I am glad to see the both of you are finally getting along. If you need me, I’ll be cleaning the Manor, since no one in this house does it.”

You laughed and faced Bruce once again, cupping his cheek.

“I thought you didn’t even like me. I mean, on Christmas…”

“I’m sorry about Christmas. I really did want to kiss you, it’s just… There are things about me – things you don’t know. And I’m afraid of telling you because I don’t want you to get hurt.” He replied, hand coming up to touch yours.

“You can tell me anything Bruce, you know it. Right?”

He nodded, and hugged you close one more time.

“I do. And I love you. I really mean it.”

Bruce could hear the smile in your voice when you replied.

“I love you too.”

For once in his life, Bruce Wayne did not feel completely alone. On the next room, he had his trusted butler, who had raised him as his own and acted like a parental figure all these years. And in his arms, he had you. The love of his life, the woman he loved the most in the world.

Holding you close to him, he knew he could trust you, no matter what. He knew you’d accept him, because if anyone would, it was you. And he would cherish that forever.

Later that night, a small white box was taken out of a locked drawer and placed inside of his pocket.

Bruce led you to the same spot you’d been on Christmas Eve, handed you the small box, and after carefully placing the necklace around your neck, finally kissed you.

There was no way he was ever letting go of you.

A/N: And that's it! I hope I was able to do both this trilogy and this request justice, I was really worried about it. I wrote most of it in one sitting, you have no idea, I just kept on writing and writing and writing and when I realised it, it'd gotten kinda long and out of hand.

I also hope this Tom character wasn't useless? I mean, he sorta was, he was just a plot device, but I hope he didn't feel rushed or whatever.

Anyways, I hope you guys liked it! I really do!

Have an amazing day, everyone! <3

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