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batmanlovesnirvana · 3 months ago

Text

‘marriage of convenience.’

BRUCE WAYNE X FEM!READER

ONE SHOT | smut, minors DNI.

synopsis : In a marriage of convenience, emotions were never part of the plan, yet they’ve begun to surface. You’ve always wanted to be a mother, but uncertainty hangs in the air. Your husband has four sons—why would he want another with someone who was never meant to stay?

A/N: This one’s a bit longer because I’m focusing on building up the pace, but I promise it’s worth it—or at least, I hope so! I didn’t specify which version of Bruce Wayne I used, so feel free to picture your favorite! I know it’s a bit of a cliché, but I’m a sucker for this plot, and I haven’t seen many similar ones with Bruce, sooo… here we go I guess ? Also, English isn’t my first language, so apologies in advance for any mistakes <3

THE MASTER BEDROOM felt both too big and too small at once—filled with walls of unspoken words and silences that grew louder each night.

Nine months had passed since you’d agreed to this marriage with Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s most enigmatic billionaire by day and its silent guardian by night. He had told you his reasons, vague as they were, and you had yours.

Still, it was a marriage of convenience—a carefully orchestrated arrangement that left you perpetually feeling out of place, knowing it could end at any moment.

It wasn’t as if you’d come from wealth, either. Your life before Gotham was modest, middle-class, and worlds away from Bruce’s fortune and the grandeur of Gotham’s elite.

This marriage was supposed to be a shield—a calculated protection from some gang’s threat, leaked just enough to the Justice League to ensure Bruce’s intervention. Beyond that, the reasons were murky, known only to him.

But hey, you were married to a billionaire, at least for now. If nothing else, it would make for one unforgettable line on your résumé.

Through the vanity mirror, you watched him, absorbed in his meticulous ritual of dressing for the gala. Each movement was slow, deliberate, as he adjusted his cufflinks with a focus that held you captive every time.

The tailored suit framed his broad shoulders perfectly, narrowing to his trim waist, offering fleeting glimpses of the muscles shifting beneath his skin. His jaw was set, and a few unruly strands of dark hair fell just above his eyes as he tightened his tie.

Those blue eyes. God, they were enough to undo you.

You forced yourself to look away, turning to your own reflection, hoping it would quiet the ache swelling in your chest.

But it didn’t.

No matter how often you told yourself you were fine with the space between you, a quiet longing lingered—a need to be more than just an arrangement, more than a convenience.

The feeling ran deeper than you’d ever admit—far beyond the desire you tried to bury.

You wanted him to want you—truly, fully, unreservedly, and completely.

Foolishly, you even dreamed of children. His children. But you reminded yourself it was just that—a dream. He already had five sons, and one day, he’d likely find someone better suited to his world.

You swallowed the ache and tied the silk robe firmly around your waist, applying a final touch of red lipstick and smoothing your glossy hair into place.

The dress, lying in wait on the bed, was a sleek masterpiece that clung to every curve. You couldn’t help but feel a thrill of anticipation at the thought of his reaction, even if it was silly. Ridiculous, you scolded yourself. Pathetic, really, to hope he might notice.

With a nervous breath, you slipped off the robe and began to step into the gown, unaware that he was watching, his gaze tracing your every movement.

Bruce adjusted his cufflinks, stealing a glance from the corner of his eye as you bent down, the delicate fabric of your lingerie tracing every curve. The lace hugged your body perfectly, emphasizing the soft curve of your hips and the tempting line of your back. His fingers paused, the tightening in his chest mirrored by a tension lower that was hard to ignore.

With a clenched jaw, he forced his gaze away, willing himself to focus elsewhere—yet the image of you lingered, vivid and consuming, stirring something he’d long buried, something he wasn’t sure he could ignore much longer.

Finally, you slipped into the dress, smoothing it over your curves before looking up to meet his gaze in the mirror.

The intensity in his eyes was unmistakable; his usual restraint had slipped, revealing a raw hunger that sent a thrill through you.

His gaze traveled slowly, savoring the way the fabric hugged your silhouette, lingering on the curve of your hips, the bare expanse of your collarbone, and the soft line of your chest.

For a fleeting moment, his eyes softened, and you felt the weight of his attention like a touch, his restraint fraying at the edges.

Your breath caught as you held his gaze, the tension between you thick and electric, an unspoken pull that left your heart pounding. You’d never felt his eyes on you like this—an intensity that thrilled and unsettled you, setting every nerve alight.

Bruce looked away abruptly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, his gaze dark with something he clearly fought to contain.

Yet you could still feel the heat of his gaze lingering on your skin, and a forbidden question lingered in your mind—what would happen if he finally let himself surrender?

You tried to ignore the thrill that raced through your mind, focusing instead on slipping into your dress. But as you reached behind to pull up the zipper, your fingers faltered.

Clearing your throat, you took a steadying breath. “Could you, um… help me with this?”

In a few long strides, Bruce was behind you, his presence filling the mirror as he met your gaze. He reached for the zipper, his touch feather-light, and the brush of his fingers against your bare back sent an involuntary shiver through you.

His movements were unhurried, almost tentative, as if savoring the excuse to be this close. His fingertips lingered a fraction longer than necessary against the base of your spine, rough yet gentle, leaving warmth in their wake.

You couldn’t help the subtle arch of your back at his touch, pressing just close enough that your bodies brushed, igniting a spark that flared dangerously between you.

His breath ghosted against your neck, his eyes lowering to the bare skin exposed before him. And for a breathless moment, his hands lingered, hovering near your shoulders, as though wrestling with the urge to pull you closer.

Then, he stepped back, clearing his throat, the moment dissolving, leaving an ache in its place.

The two of you had never been intimate. On nights when he wasn’t patrolling, you shared a bed, but there was a boundary neither of you had dared to cross.

You had never… been with anyone, and while you weren’t ashamed of your virginity, it was a private matter, something you didn’t feel ready to share with him.

As for Bruce, once Gotham’s most eligible playboy, he’d shed that image completely since the marriage—a surprise to the public, but a quiet relief to you.

Yet, a small part of you wondered if he’d been with anyone else since you’d exchanged vows. The thought tightened your chest with a pang of jealousy you tried to ignore, a feeling that only grew stronger as the months went on.

“You look… breathtaking,” he murmured, his voice rough, as though he had to push the words past some unseen barrier. His warm breath brushed against your neck, and a shiver trailed down your spine that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

The sincerity in his tone pierced through the walls you’d carefully constructed, the tenderness resonating deeper than you expected.

“Thank you.” Your voice sounded softer than you intended, and you turned from the mirror to face him, finding his face only inches away from yours.

You let your hand drift to his shoulder, where he’d been wounded just the night before—a jagged slice you’d barely managed to patch up in the early hours before dawn, despite his protests. The paramedic in you had insisted on cleaning and dressing it properly, even if he brushed off your concern.

Absently, you brushed your fingers over the clothed spot, feeling the muscles flex beneath your touch as you assessed for any tension or pain. “And you… you don’t look too bad yourself,” you managed, offering a soft smile.

His lips curved into a rare, genuine smile—the kind he usually reserved for his family—and warmth blossomed within you. You felt… safe, desired in a way that transcended the formalities of your arrangement.

“How’s your shoulder?” you asked, your fingers lingering as they traced small circles over the fabric.

“Almost healed,” he replied, his eyes softening. He reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture so tender it nearly unraveled you. The warmth of his fingers sent a thrill skittering across your skin, lingering long after his hand fell away.

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with the unsaid words that hung between you.

For a heartbeat, you almost dared to believe that he felt something deeper too. But then he stepped back, creating a measured distance that returned him to the safety of formality, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers.

You stepped back as well, the warmth of his touch still imprinted on your skin, and took a shaky breath. "Well, we should get going," you said softly, striving to regain your composure, to suppress the surge of longing that clung to every part of you he’d touched.

But Bruce held your gaze, the tension in the air so thick you could almost taste it.

He opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it, casting one last lingering glance over you before slipping on his suit coat. "Of course," he replied, his tone as stoic as ever, as if nothing had happened. "Tonight is important."

With a final breath to steady yourself, you began to put on your high heels, fastening your earrings and necklace before spritzing on a hint of perfume. As you donned your fur coat and grabbed your clutch, you felt a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

Bruce was waiting by the door, his posture relaxed yet alert, a man ready for the evening’s demands.

You stepped beside him, and for a moment, you both stood silently, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air, as if the night held the potential to change everything.

The grand staircase was silent as you descended, the soft tap of your heels against the marble echoing through the empty expanse of Wayne Manor.

With Alfred away visiting family in England and the boys off with friends, the mansion felt hollow tonight, every corner draped in shadows and stillness.

Outside, Bruce’s sleek sports car waited, polished and gleaming under the foyer lights.

Ever the gentleman, he opened the passenger door for you, his eyes catching yours with a warmth that made your stomach flutter.

You slid into the car, smoothing your dress as you settled in, and he rounded the vehicle to take his place behind the wheel.

As the engine purred to life and Bruce eased onto the long driveway, the question gnawed at you again, sharper this time.

It had been weeks, maybe even months, building inside you—a silent hope that had somehow turned into a constant hum in the back of your mind.

You wanted to ask him about children, about whether he’d ever want to start a family. The words hovered in your chest, heavy as stones, weighing down your heart until they ached.

You could almost hear his answer, feel it—a quiet, certain yes. But in that silent, unspoken response, there was a sharp edge that you couldn’t ignore. He’d want children, maybe even a family, but he wouldn’t want it with you.

You glanced at him, fingers twitching nervously in your lap as you wrestled with the words caught somewhere between your mind and your heart.

The steady hum of the engine filled the silence, but the air between you felt charged, thick with all the unspoken questions.

Bruce’s gaze flicked your way, almost as if he could sense something lingering on the tip of your tongue. “You okay?” he asked, his voice a low, familiar rumble beneath the car’s gentle purr.

You swallowed, drawing in a shaky breath as you tried to steady your thoughts. “Yeah, just… a lot on my mind.”

He nodded, his gaze softening. “It’s a big night. But I’ve seen you handle bigger.”

His confidence in you tugged a small smile from your lips, but the question still gnawed at the edges of your resolve.

Did he want a family? Could he imagine your family, a future with you? No. That was foolish.

This was a marriage of convenience—a choice made in the shadows, under false pretenses.

Besides, he had enough wards, allies, people to worry about already. A baby? Your baby? That would be a first, and a step he’d never take with someone like you.

The car glided down Gotham’s dimly lit streets, streetlights casting fleeting golden beams across the quiet interior.

You could feel your heart pounding as you looked down at your hands, fingers twisting nervously in your lap.

The question sat heavily in your chest, fragile and vulnerable. But after so many months of holding it back, you took a deep breath and let the words rise to the surface.

“Bruce…” His name came out as a whisper. You glanced at him, then away, focusing instead on the blur of city lights slipping by outside. “Have you ever thought about… having more kids?”

For a moment, silence filled the car, pressing thick and tense between you.

Bruce’s gaze stayed focused on the road, his face unreadable, shadowed in the dim light. As the seconds dragged on, you started to regret even bringing it up. But then he spoke.

“I didn’t think you’d want to bring that up,” he said, his voice a quiet murmur. “I thought you were… okay with how things are now.”

You hesitated, his answer making your heart clench, but you knew you couldn’t leave it there.

Summoning a shaky breath, you pressed on. “I am, really. I love the boys—each of them. They’re a part of my life in a way I never thought possible,” you said softly, fingers nervously tightening around the fabric of your dress. “It’s just… they know about us. They know this marriage is… part of the mission. And because of that, I think they’ll always see me as someone—” you struggled, searching for the words. “As someone useful, not… someone who matters.”

Bruce’s gaze flicked briefly to you, the hardness in his eyes easing as he listened.

“I know they care about you,” he said quietly, but there was a trace of hesitation in his voice, as if even he was aware of the boys’ guarded reserve, that shield they’d learned to hold around themselves.

“I know they do,” you replied. “They’re so much like you, in that way.” A faint, sad smile touched your lips. “They’re protective, and closed-off, and brave, and so loyal it hurts to watch sometimes. They’d die for you, you know?” You paused, swallowing against the ache in your chest. “I’ve tried to reach out, to be there for them… but I’m not sure they see me as someone important. Just another piece in this game. And I understand that.”

The words lingered between you, exposing the silent ache you’d carried. “But there’s a part of me that still wants…” You trailed off, feeling warmth rise in your cheeks as your heart willed you to continue.

Clearing your throat, you pressed on, “I guess I’ve always thought about… starting something like this, but from the beginning. A chance to be a mother… for real.”

The quiet that followed was painfully raw, every second stretching as you waited, almost afraid to look his way.

But when you did, his expression was softer than you’d ever seen, as if he understood, maybe even felt the same longing.

“I didn’t know,” he murmured, his voice gentler, with a kind of unspoken apology in his eyes. He reached over, his hand covering yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the moment. “I thought maybe I’d assumed too much—that this marriage, this… arrangement, would always keep us in that gray space.”

Your fingers tightened around his hand, your pulse thundering as you tried to process his words. “So did I… but it’s hard not to think about it now.”

Bruce turned, his eyes catching yours, and in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, you glimpsed something rare—vulnerability in his usually guarded gaze, a hint of the man beneath the mask. “And… if I told you I’ve been thinking about it too?”

The weight of his confession settled between you, mingling with the warmth and hope rising in your chest. Your breath caught, surprised by the honesty of his admission. “Really?” you whispered, the disbelief blending with the gentle swell of emotions you’d kept buried.

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his mouth, softening the edge of his stoic expression. “I didn’t think… I’d ever get to look beyond the mission. But it’s different now. Since marrying you, I keep thinking of… things I’d given up on before. It’s just… complicated.”

Your heart ached with the longing you’d tried so hard to suppress. “I know it is,” you replied, fingers clutching his hand a little tighter. “We’re not exactly a picture-perfect family. But I see the way you are with the boys, the way you protect them, how you’re there for them in every way you can be. You’re a good father, Bruce. And I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have that with you—to build something real together.”

He looked away briefly, his gaze darkening, his jaw tightening in thought. “I worry… what that means for us, for the boys, for everything. This marriage—it started out as a convenience, a front. And I don’t want to complicate things more than they already are.” His voice was almost pained, a weight in every syllable. “But… if we had a child, if we took that step—it would change everything. And I have to consider… the risks that come with that.”

You felt a thrill of excitement mingled with a pang of fear, both feelings clashing within you. “Maybe change is exactly what we need,” you said, your voice gentle but sure. “I’d never want you to feel trapped or forced into anything, Bruce. I just thought…” You paused, a blush heating your cheeks. “I just thought that maybe, there was a way for us to make this real, to make it work.”

His gaze lingered on you, searching, as if weighing his own feelings, his fears. “You really want this?” he murmured, his voice husky, a bare whisper that made your heart flutter.

You nodded, feeling the intensity of your own need to finally say it out loud. “More than anything,” you confessed, the words tumbling out, almost desperate in their honesty. “I want that with you. I want to build something, something that’s truly ours. Not part of a mission. Not for the sake of appearances… but because I love you.”

He looked at you then, and you saw something in his eyes soften, his own defenses melting as he held your gaze.

For a moment, the man you saw wasn’t Batman or the elusive billionaire, but someone who was deeply, painfully human, someone who loved fiercely but carried the weight of the world.

“I’ll have to think about it more,” he finally said, his words almost apologetic, but not without warmth.

Your heart sank a little, but you understood.

Of course he wasn’t going to say he loved you. Instead, he clenched his jaw, his hand tightening on the steering wheel. He was restraining himself, caught in some inner struggle—or maybe he was just angry. Angry at you, at what you’d said.

Guilt washed over you, but you understood. Yes, you understood. His life, his choices—they were unlike anyone else’s, and you couldn’t blame him for thinking twice.

“I know, Bruce,” you said softly, guilt threading through your voice. “I didn’t mean to bring it up now, of all times. You’ve got enough on your mind. I just wanted to know… just to see if maybe…”

He didn’t respond right away, his silence heavy with unspoken words.

You turned your gaze out the window, watching the city streets pass by as the car glided closer to the hotel where the gala awaited.

The flickering lights of Gotham washed over the sleek streets, gilding the world outside in a golden glow, the perfect contrast to the raw ache in your heart.

Bruce’s hand never left yours. He gave a small squeeze, a subtle gesture that spoke volumes, as if to say, I know.

The warmth of his touch felt like a quiet promise, reassuring even in the silence.

You found a moment of solace at the bar, the cold glass of water refreshing against your lips amid the gala's chaos.

As you took a sip, your gaze wandered around the room, taking in the crowd mingling and laughing, their voices blending into a dull hum that felt both comforting and overwhelming. Bruce was deep in conversation with the Wayne Enterprises board, his brow furrowed in concentration, clearly weighing matters far more serious than the evening's festivities.

You tried to shift your weight to ease the ache in your ankles from the high heels, but the discomfort only deepened as the evening wore on. Just as you were about to take a moment to breathe and steady your nerves, a man approached you—confident, charming, and entirely too close for comfort.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, leaning casually against the bar, a grin spreading across his face. His eyes roamed over you, assessing and appreciative, and you felt a knot of discomfort tighten in your stomach.

“Actually, I—” you began, but he cut you off, undeterred.

“Oh, come on. You look like you could use some company,” he said, flashing a flirtatious smile that only made you feel more uneasy. “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing all alone?”

You forced a polite smile, trying to convey your disinterest without sounding rude. “I’m not alone; I’m here with my husband,” you replied, fidgeting with your diamond ring—Bruce’s mother’s signet—its intricate design sparkling under the dim lights. The ring felt like a reminder of your bond, a talisman against the unwelcome advances of strangers.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. “Surely he wouldn’t mind you having a little fun. It’s a party, after all.”

A small flush crept up your neck at his suggestion, and your smile faltered. “I really don’t think so. He’d prefer I keep to myself,” you said firmly, hoping to end the conversation.

Just then, you caught sight of Bruce looking your way, a flicker of concern in his eyes as he scanned the crowd. Your heart swelled with gratitude at the sight of him, a silent reminder of why you were here.

The man followed your gaze and smirked. “Seems your knight in shining armor is watching. How sweet.”

“Actually, it’s called being a good husband,” you replied, your tone sharper than intended. You felt a rush of protectiveness over Bruce and your relationship, wanting to assert that bond against this unwanted attention. The man leaned in closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “I’ve seen you with him. You deserve a little fun tonight. I bet he doesn’t appreciate you like he should.”

Your heart raced uncomfortably. “No, really. I’m happy,” you insisted, attempting to keep your tone light. But the way he watched you felt invasive, and you were suddenly aware of how your ring gleamed—a reminder of your commitment amid the tension in the air.

“Let’s have a drink together. What’s the harm in a little fun?” he pressed, inching closer, his flirtation becoming bolder. You laughed at his joke, but it felt forced, a smile painted on your lips while your stomach twisted in knots.

Across the room, you could feel Bruce’s presence. When your eyes met, you saw the tension in his posture, his jaw clenching. The flicker of jealousy in his gaze sent a rush of warmth through you, reminding you of the complex emotions swirling around you.

Just as the man leaned in, brushing against your shoulder, Bruce appeared at your side, his voice smooth but edged with something darker. “I think she’s fine,” he said, making it clear he wasn't in the mood for debate.

You turned to Bruce, relief washing over you at his intervention. He positioned himself between you and the man, his body radiating authority and unyielding strength. “What do you want?” he asked, his tone leaving little room for interpretation.

The man straightened, clearly caught off guard. “Just having a conversation with this lovely lady,” he replied, struggling to maintain his composure, but you could see the flicker of fear in his eyes.

Bruce leaned in slightly, his voice low and serious, a chill settling in the air. “You’re talking to my wife. I’d recommend you keep your distance.”

The man hesitated, the bravado fading as he glanced nervously between you and Bruce. "Should I repeat myself?" His voice quivered, and you caught a hint of the intimidating Batman lurking beneath Bruce’s polished exterior.

“Of course not, Bruce,” the man stammered, gulping as he fumbled with his suit.

“It’s Mr. Wayne to you,” Bruce replied, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed the intruder. “Your name?”

“Uh—sorry?” the man said, clearly flustered.

“Your name.”

“Jack Laurent, sir.”

Bruce hummed, his dark stare analyzing him as if he could pierce through to the man’s very soul.

After a moment of awkward silence, Jack retreated into the crowd, a forced smile plastered on his face. As the tension dissipated with his departure, Bruce turned to you, his expression softening but still protective. “You okay?” he asked, concern threading through his voice.

You nodded, feeling a mix of gratitude and something deeper at his instinct to shield you. “Yeah, just trying to find a moment to breathe,” you admitted, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "But I think you scared him off." You laughed lightly, trying to ease the lingering tension.

Bruce stepped closer, his presence wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. He grasped your bare shoulders delicately, as if you were made of porcelain. “I don’t care about him or anyone here,” he said, pulling you closer and searching your eyes with an intensity that made your heart race. “I just need you to be alright.”

You let out a breath, feeling the weight of his words. “I know,” you replied softly, slowly bringing your hand to his cheek. He closed his eyes at the contact, savoring the warmth, and your heart swelled with appreciation. “It’s just...sometimes it’s hard to remember that in a place like this.”

Bruce nodded, his gaze steady and reassuring. “You belong here just as much as anyone else. And don’t forget, I’m always just a few steps away.”

The tension in the air slowly melted away, and the chaotic buzz of the gala faded into the background. The music shifted to a slow, melodic tune, wrapping around you like an embrace, inviting intimacy amidst the sea of glamour.

“So, Mrs. Wayne, would you like to dance?” he asked, his voice low and inviting, a playful glimmer in his eyes.

You nodded, your heart racing at the prospect. “Of course, Mr. Wayne.” You smiled, feeling a warmth blossom within you as he extended his hand, palm up, inviting you closer.

When you placed your hand in his, a spark ignited within you, sending a thrill coursing through your veins. He led you to the center of the ballroom, where couples swayed, lost in their own worlds, oblivious to everything but each other.

In the heart of the dance floor, Bruce pulled you close, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back, guiding you against him. The warmth radiating from his body was intoxicating, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart, syncing with the rhythm of the music.

As you began to sway together, his fingers lightly brushed the curve of your waist, igniting a trail of warmth in their wake. Leaning in, you could feel his breath against your ear as he whispered, “You look stunning tonight.”

The compliment sent a delightful shiver down your spine, and you met his gaze, searching for the sincerity in those deep eyes. “I know, you already told me,” you teased, a playful smirk creeping onto your lips.

He chuckled softly, the sound resonating deep within you, revealing a smoldering intensity that stirred something primal and aching inside. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you smile,” he replied, his voice low, laced with a hint of mischief.

“But, thank you,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as he guided your movements across the dance floor. In that moment, the world around you faded, leaving just the two of you and the palpable chemistry crackling in the air.

With each step, his touch grew bolder, fingers grazing your skin just a bit longer than necessary. It was electric, a tantalizing connection that made your heart race. The tension between you thickened, almost tangible.

As the song swelled, he pulled you closer, your bodies pressing together, and you felt the comforting heat radiating from him. His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking gently across your skin. The intimacy of the moment made your breath hitch, your pulse quickening in response to his nearness.

“Is this okay?” he murmured, his lips nearly brushing your forehead, sending a shiver of excitement through you. The protective warmth of his embrace enveloped you, making you feel safe yet utterly exposed.

“Yeah,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s more than okay.”

The music wrapped around you like a warm, irresistible tide, drowning out everything else. In that moment, it was just you, Bruce, and the rhythm. His presence was a force, drawing you in, and his gaze—filled with longing, affection, and something deeper—held you captive.

You broke away from his intense stare, suddenly aware of the warmth spreading through you, and cleared your throat. “Bruce, I… I wanted to apologize. If I made you uncomfortable in the car earlier, that wasn’t—”

But he cut you off, his voice calm yet unyielding. “You didn’t.”

Surprised, you looked up, your brows furrowing. “What?”

He clenched his jaw, the words seemingly heavy, as if pulling them from some hidden place within. “I’m not great with words. But… I love you too. And I want more than anything to build a life with you. Children, a family… all of it.”

Your breath caught, and you felt your body still in his arms. “You… you do?” you whispered, barely able to believe it.

In response, he placed his hands on either side of your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. He leaned in close, his lips grazing your ear. “You’re everything I never knew I needed,” he murmured, his voice filled with a raw, unguarded honesty that sent warmth flooding through you, leaving you feeling both safe and seen.

As the song slowed to its final notes, he pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your waist. His mouth lifted in a rare, tender smile as he whispered, “Let’s go home.”

Stepping through the grand entrance of Wayne Manor, the lively echoes of the gala faded away, replaced by the soft, ambient hum of the house settling into the quiet of the night.

It had been a long evening, filled with mingling and the subtle games of socializing with Gotham’s elite.

The air between you and Bruce buzzed with unspoken tension. His hand rested possessively on the small of your back, guiding you up the elegant staircase. Each step was a silent promise, building the anticipation and drawing you both toward the inevitable culmination of the night’s charged atmosphere.

When you finally reached your bedroom door, he paused, turning to face you. The moment hung in the air, electric and charged, as he searched your eyes for something—an answer, perhaps. The world outside faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of you suspended in this intimate space, heartbeats synchronized in the dim light.

Before you could catch your breath, he pushed the door closed behind you, the soft click resonating like a heartbeat in the silence of the room. He stepped closer, invading your space with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. The flickering candlelight danced across his features, illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw and the depths of his darkened gaze, making you feel both exhilarated and vulnerable under his scrutiny.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was low, almost a growl, thick with desire and restraint.

The question hung heavy in the air, sending a shiver racing down your spine. It was raw, honest—an invitation that ignited something deep within you.

“Yes,” you breathed, the word barely escaping your lips as the weight of his gaze enveloped you. The rest of the world blurred away, leaving only the two of you, suspended in this cocoon of intimacy.

In an instant, he closed the distance between you, pressing your back against the cool wooden door. The warmth of his body radiated against you, and you felt his breath ghosting over your skin, igniting every nerve ending in a fiery dance of longing.

He leaned in, capturing your lips with his, and the kiss ignited like a wildfire—fierce, consuming, and utterly intoxicating.

His lips were warm and insistent against yours, each press sending surges of electricity coursing through your body.

You melted into him, hands instinctively reaching for his shoulders, anchoring yourself as he deepened the kiss. The world outside ceased to exist; all that mattered was this moment, the exquisite collision of your mouths.

Bruce’s hands tangled in your hair, tilting your head back slightly to deepen the kiss, a gentle possessiveness that made your heart race. Tongues danced, exploring and intertwining as if they were fighting for dominance, enveloping each other in a sweet battle that fueled the fire of desire.

The sensation sent shockwaves coursing through you, awakening a hunger you hadn’t fully realized was there. You responded in kind, kissing him back with equal fervor, your lips moving in a rhythm that felt both familiar and entirely new.

The weight of his body pressed against you, grounding you while his kiss transported you to a realm of dizzying exhilaration.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, a potent energy that fueled the fire building within you. The kiss grew more passionate, a fusion of longing and urgency, as if you were both trying to reclaim something that had long been held back.

Every touch, every movement, felt like the unveiling of secrets long buried, a revelation of what had been simmering beneath the surface.

When he finally pulled back, both of you gasping for air, his eyes dark and stormy, filled with an intensity that made your heart race. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he confessed, his voice rough, laden with unfiltered emotion.

The vulnerability in his admission sent a thrill through you, a delicious mingling of excitement and certainty that surged through your veins.

“Me too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible yet brimming with honesty. The weight of those words hung between you, binding you together in a shared moment of understanding that transcended the chaos of the outside world.

Bruce stepped back slightly, just enough to trace a finger along your jawline, the touch featherlight yet electrifying. “I never wanted to rush you. I just needed to make sure you felt safe… wanted,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering, filled with a sincerity that made your heart swell. Each word was a testament to his care, each glance a reminder of the bond you shared.

“Being here with you feels safe,” you admitted, leaning into his touch, craving more of that intimate connection. “It feels right.”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, transforming his fierce demeanor into something tender.

He leaned in again, this time pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, a promise wrapped in affection that made your heart flutter. “Then let’s make this moment last,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, igniting a yearning that simmered just beneath the surface.

His lips were back on yours in an instant, and you surrendered to the moment, letting the world around you fade away once more. The warmth of his body enveloped you, drawing you into a cocoon of desire and urgency, each kiss igniting flames of longing that spread through you like wildfire.

With a gentle yet deliberate touch, he slowly unzipped your dress, the fabric slipping away to pool at your feet, leaving you clad only in your strappy heels.

The cool air brushed against your skin, causing your nipples to harden in response, the sensation electric and thrilling.

You felt exposed yet liberated, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation.

His gaze darkened as he drank you in like a man starved, his fingers trailing down your abdomen, teasingly exploring the curves that he found so captivating.

As his hand glided over your hips, he softly brushed against your nipple, sending a shockwave of sensation through you.

The unexpected contact made you gasp, your head tilting back instinctively, exposing your neck and inviting him closer.

His breath hitched at your submission, the hunger in his eyes intensifying as he inched even closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your skin.

You could feel the tension crackle in the air between you, thick and intoxicating, enveloping you both in a heady mix of desire and vulnerability.

He cupped your breast, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple, eliciting a shiver that danced down your spine.

You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as desire ignited within you, flaring to life like a match struck in the darkness.

The sound seemed to spur him on, a silent encouragement that sent him deeper into this intoxicating exploration.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned in, his lips grazing your neck as he trailed soft, tantalizing kisses along your collarbone. Each kiss sent ripples of pleasure coursing through you, and you tilted your head to give him better access, the soft whimpers of pleasure escaping your mouth only fueling his hunger.

The weight of his body pressed against you grounded you in this shared moment while your hearts raced in sync, every pulse resonating with the urgency of your connection.

His lips continued their tantalizing journey, exploring the sensitive skin of your neck as he whispered words that sent shivers through you, igniting a fire deep within.

Each kiss grew bolder, more urgent, as if he were claiming you, marking you as his own.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, a magnetic pull drawing you even closer, making it impossible to resist. Your hands found their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands as you pulled him in, craving more of his touch.

He responded instantly, his hands roaming lower, tracing the curve of your waist before grasping your hips, anchoring you in place as he deepened the kiss.

The taste of him was intoxicating—warm and addictive, leaving you breathless, desperate for more.

With a sudden, bold movement, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively as he pressed you against the wall, the cool surface contrasting with the heat radiating between you.

You could feel his heart racing, matching the tempo of your own. Every brush of his skin against yours sent electric jolts of pleasure coursing through you, and you gasped, caught in the whirlwind of desire and longing.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his voice low and husky, sending waves of anticipation crashing over you.

The world outside your little bubble faded into nothingness, leaving just the two of you enveloped in this heated moment.

You locked eyes, the intensity of the moment palpable, and with a breathless whisper, you revealed your deepest desire, surrendering to the passion that had ignited between you.

“Take me,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper but heavy with longing.

The air around you crackled with anticipation as his eyes darkened, a primal hunger evident in his gaze. With a swift, possessive motion, he captured your lips again, the kiss igniting into a fiery dance of tongues and breathless gasps.

His hands roamed eagerly over your bare skin, exploring every inch as he savored the taste of you.

You could feel him growing harder against you, and it only heightened your desire, stirring an insatiable craving that drove you both deeper into the moment.

He pulled away just enough to look into your eyes, searching for any hesitation, but all he found was unyielding need reflected back at him.

A smirk curled on his lips, playful yet dangerously seductive. “I want you to feel everything,” he promised, his voice a low rumble that made your pulse quicken.

“Everything,” you echoed, the weight of that word hanging between you, filled with the promise of what was to come. His hands tightened around your waist, and you felt an exhilarating rush of anticipation flood through you.

With each passing second, the tension between you escalated, pushing you both to the brink of surrender.

His hands grip your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he carries you to the bed. You fall back onto the soft sheets, the sensation sending a ripple of pleasure through you. He hovers above you, the heat radiating from his body enveloping you like a warm embrace, and you can’t help but arch against him, craving his touch.

“Just like this,” he murmurs, leaning down to trail kisses across your collarbone, his warm breath fanning against your skin. He pauses, lingering at your breast, his mouth closing over your nipple, sucking gently as you gasp and writhe beneath him. Each flick of his tongue sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, unraveling you further.

“More,” you plead, your voice thick with desire, and he responds instantly, shifting lower, his kisses trailing down your abdomen, leaving a path of fire in their wake.

You can feel every nerve ending awaken, every touch igniting a longing deep within you as you surrender to the intoxicating sensations washing over you.

He pauses, looking up at you, a devilish grin on his face. “You have no idea what you’re in for,” he teases, before continuing his descent, ready to explore the depths of your desire.

The air around you crackles with tension, your heart racing as anticipation coils tightly in your stomach, a mixture of excitement and raw yearning.

His words hang in the air, heavy with promise and heat, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m gonna put a baby inside of you,” he growls, the primal intensity of his voice igniting a fierce longing deep within you.

The sheer audacity of his claim leaves you breathless, every part of you alive with the possibilities of what’s to come.

You can hardly process the weight of his statement, the idea swirling in your mind, feeding the fire of your desire.

The thought alone sends a surge of warmth through you, making your cheeks flush as the heat between you builds, wild and untamed.

Your heart races, a blend of exhilaration and raw anticipation thrumming through your veins. His words are bold, stirring something deep inside you, a desire so potent it’s almost overwhelming.

“Do you want that?” he murmurs, his eyes locking onto yours, piercing through the haze of your desire to reach the vulnerable truth beneath. His question feels like an invitation, a daring challenge, as his thumb brushes over your cheek, grounding you in the moment. The tenderness in his voice only intensifies the intimacy, and for a heartbeat, you feel a depth that goes beyond passion—a need that borders on devotion.

“Yes,” you answer, barely more than a breath, but thick with longing. The simple word hangs in the air like a spark, lighting a fuse neither of you can ignore.

A slow, almost triumphant smile curves at his lips as he leans in, capturing your mouth with a kiss that’s searing, consuming. His hands slide to your hips, his grip firm, possessive, sending a thrill down your spine as he presses you closer.

“Then let’s make it unforgettable,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and low, each word vibrating through you as he begins to move, each movement slow, intentional, every thrust deep and consuming.

He takes his time, savoring every reaction, every shiver, every gasp that slips from your lips as he drives you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

In a playful moment, you pause him, a spark in your eyes as you lean in to trace your lips over the faint scars that line his chest, each one a silent testament to battles fought and endured. Your kisses are warm, gentle, and when you murmur, “You’re so beautiful,” the words come from a place of pure sincerity.

You can feel his breath hitch as your lips trace his skin, the depth of his groan telling you he feels it too, letting you both linger in this exquisite, vulnerable intimacy.

His breath hitches, caught off guard by your tenderness amidst the raw intensity of the moment.

You let your hands roam over his defined torso, tracing the contours and dips, savoring the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips. The warmth radiating from him envelops you, fueling your desire.

With a bold move, you grasp the waistband of his briefs, teasingly tugging them down.

His length springs free, a glorious sight that takes your breath away. You bite your lip, heat pooling in your core as you admire the raw masculinity before you. He’s impressively big, thick and hard, with veins running along his length—a striking reminder of just how much he wants you.

He watches you with hooded eyes, a mix of confidence and need in his gaze.

Without breaking eye contact, you reach out, wrapping your fingers around him, feeling the heat and strength beneath your touch.

His jaw tightens, a low, breathy groan escaping as he watches you, eyes dark with desire.

Slowly, you begin to move, each stroke slow and deliberate, savoring the connection, letting the intensity build between you with every deliberate touch.

Then, with a teasing smile, you lean forward, your soft lips hovering just above him. The anticipation hangs thick in the air, charged with desire as you take a moment to savor the view. He’s so big and long, and the sight of him sends a thrill of excitement through you.

With a playful flick of your tongue, you tease the tip, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him. The sensation sends shivers coursing through your body, igniting your own hunger. You wrap your lips around him, taking him in slowly, your mouth fitting him perfectly as you begin to move.

He groans, a deep, primal sound that reverberates through you, urging you to continue. The warmth of your mouth envelops him, each movement eliciting a wave of pleasure that sends him spiraling deeper into the moment.

You feel his hands thread through your hair, guiding you as you take him further in, savoring the taste and the way he feels against your tongue.

You lock eyes with him, the heat of the moment intensifying as you push yourself to take him even deeper, your lips gliding over his length in a rhythm that builds both your desires.

He watches you with a mix of awe and lust, every thrust of your mouth sending him closer to the edge.

“Just like that,” he encourages, his voice low and rough, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you.

You take him deeper, unyielding, letting the sensation of him fill you completely. You don’t care if you gag; the thrill of taking him entirely fuels your desire, and you want him to see just how far you’re willing to go for him.

His eyes widen as he watches you, the lust in them igniting a fire within you that makes you crave him even more.

As you push your limits, you feel him tense beneath you, the undeniable signs of his release building.

“I’m close,” he warns, his voice a low growl, but you only increase your efforts, sucking harder, your mouth gliding over him in a frenzy of pleasure.

Your other hand sneaks down, slipping beneath the waistband of your wet panties, your fingers finding your slick heat. You touch yourself, the combination of sensations sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you.

His breaths quicken, the sight of you pleasuring yourself while taking him deeper pushing him to the brink.

“Yes,” he gasps, and with one final thrust of his hips, he explodes, warmth flooding your mouth and throat.

You swallow instinctively, looking up at him through lust-filled eyes, and you can feel the overwhelming rush as more of him spills forth, dribbling from your lips.

You keep your eyes locked on his, the connection electrifying as you revel in the moment. There’s so much cum that it spills over, dripping from your mouth, a visual testament to the intensity of your shared pleasure. You can see the mixture of awe and satisfaction in his gaze, and it only heightens the fire within you.

With a satisfied smirk, you wipe your lips with the back of your hand, savoring the lingering taste of him and the thrill of the moment. But before you can utter a word, he grips your elbows, effortlessly pushing you back onto the mattress. His lips find yours again, this time with a roughness that sends a jolt of electricity through you. It’s primal, a clash of teeth and tongues, raw and unfiltered, leaving your lips bruised but you find you don’t care. There’s something intoxicating about his urgency, something that awakens a wildness in you.

He pulls back, his gaze piercing as you gasp for air, your heart racing. “Do you want a baby?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly, his fingers trailing across your stomach with a rough tenderness that sends a shiver through you. Heat floods your cheeks, and you avert your eyes, unable to meet his gaze. But he gently cups your face, forcing you to look at him. “Tell me,” he urges, his intensity igniting something deep within you.

After a moment of contemplation, you whisper, “Yes.” The word hangs in the air, heavy with possibility and charged with electricity. Without hesitation, he quickly pulls your panties down, the suddenness of his action catching you off guard and leaving you breathless.

As his fingers glide through your folds, a moan escapes your lips, and you arch your back instinctively. “Bruce,” you gasp, reaching up to cradle his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair. The way he teases you makes it hard to think clearly.

“Bruce, I—” Another moan escapes you as he applies pressure to that sensitive bundle of nerves, making it impossible to finish your sentence. “I’ve never done this before,” you finally admit, your voice trembling.

He pauses at your words, concern flashing in his eyes. “I’m sorry if you’re not ready—”

But you cut him off, urgency flooding your voice. “No—I want this more than anything.”

He softens, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek before trailing down with warm kisses and the teasing flick of his tongue, exploring the valley between your breasts and moving down to your stomach.

Before he enters you, he shifts his position, lifting your legs and resting them on his shoulders.

The new angle sends a thrilling rush through you, completely exposing you and making you feel both vulnerable and electrified. You meet his gaze, a mix of hunger and desire burning in his eyes as he prepares to take you in every sense.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with longing. The warmth of his breath sends shivers down your spine, and you feel the heat radiating from his body, drawing you in closer.

He lowers himself, pressing a soft kiss just above your thigh, teasingly inching his way toward your core. The anticipation is nearly unbearable as he inhales deeply, savoring your scent, and you can feel your body responding instinctively to his presence.

“Please,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need as you arch your back, trying to pull him closer. The heat within you builds, desperate for his touch. “I need you...”

With a wicked grin, he finally gives in, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like a decadent dessert. The sound of him savoring you vibrates through your core, eliciting a loud moan from your lips that surprises even you.

He licks with the fervor of a man starved, drawing on your most sensitive spots with a precision that drives you wild. Each flick of his tongue sends you spiraling deeper into ecstasy, your body instinctively arching and grinding against his mouth, hungry for more. He grips your thighs firmly, anchoring you in place as he devours you with an insatiable hunger, as if it’s the first time he’s ever tasted something so exquisite.

“God, you taste incredible,” he growls against you, his voice muffled yet filled with raw desire.

The heat within you rises, your fingers tangling more tightly in his hair, pulling him closer as you push him deeper into your core. He responds eagerly, teasing your entrance with his tongue, and you cry out in pleasure, coiling tighter with every movement he makes. The world around you fades, leaving only the intoxicating sensations of his mouth and the overwhelming pleasure that consumes you.

Your breathing quickens, each gasp mingling with soft cries as you surrender completely to the waves of ecstasy washing over you. The tension builds within you, the edge of release drawing nearer with every flick and swirl of his tongue.

“Don’t stop,” you plead, your voice thick with need as your body thrums with anticipation, ready to shatter into a million pieces under his touch.

He watches you with hungry eyes as he slips one finger inside you, filling you in a way that sends jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. You gasp at the sensation, instinctively grasping his wrist, your back arching as your hips grind against his hand.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety. He begins to work his finger deeper, curling it to find that sweet spot within you. The pressure builds, and the pleasure intensifies with each thrust.

Just when you think it can't get any better, he adds another finger, stretching you further. Your breath catches in your throat, the sensation overwhelming as he fills you completely. “You’re so tight,” he growls, his eyes dark with desire, and you can’t help but moan in response, guiding his hand deeper, craving more.

With a deliberate rhythm, he begins to thrust his fingers in and out, finding a pace that makes your body sing. Each stroke pushes you closer to the edge, heat pooling low in your belly as you bite your lip, trying to hold back the cries threatening to spill forth.

“Please,” you whimper, desperate for more, and he responds instantly, slipping in a third finger, filling you to the brim. The combination of his mouth on your sensitive skin and his fingers working you expertly is almost too much to bear.

“Let go, baby,” he urges, his voice deep and smooth as he continues to curl his fingers just right, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. You can feel yourself teetering on the brink, the tension winding tighter until you feel like you might burst.

With every thrust of his fingers, you get closer and closer, the room spinning as you lose yourself in the moment. “I’m so close,” you gasp, your body trembling under his expert touch.

“Good,” he growls, his fingers quickening, pushing you over the edge with a final, delicious thrust. You shatter, a moan escaping your lips as pleasure explodes through you, sending you spiraling into blissful release.

“That's it, let it all out,” he murmurs, satisfaction evident in his voice as he watches you ride the waves of ecstasy, your body writhing beneath him.

As you come down from your high, he pulls back, his fingers slick and glistening as he wipes them on your thigh, a smug smile playing on his lips. The hunger in his eyes tells you that this is just the beginning of what’s to come.

He brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a satisfied grin. The sight of him savoring you sends a rush of heat through you, reigniting the desire that simmers just beneath the surface.

Then, with a deliberate motion, he takes a pillow and slides it under your hips, angling your body just right. Anticipation builds within you as he positions himself, the tip of his length teasingly pressing against you. You catch your breath, a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through you.

“It’s gonna hurt at first,” he says softly, his gaze locking onto yours. You nod, breathing heavily, and he takes one of your hands in his, the warmth of his skin grounding you. “You tell me if you want to stop.” You respond by leaning in and kissing him deeply, reassuring him of your desire to continue.

With that connection, he slowly pushes inside you, stretching you in a way that makes you gasp. It’s hard and intense, and he’s not even halfway in yet. Every inch of him fills you, the sensation of his size and the texture of his veins overwhelming as he sinks deeper. “You feel incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

Taking both of your hands, he pins them above your head, his grip firm yet tender as he leans down to kiss you. The kiss ignites a fire within you, and you lose yourself in the taste of him. As he continues to push into you, a mix of pain and pleasure washes over you. You know your body needs to adjust, but the feeling of him filling you is intoxicating.

“Just breathe, it’s okay,” he whispers against your lips, and you nod, focusing on his soothing voice as he finally buries himself completely within you. A gasp escapes your lips as you feel so full, and he pauses for a moment, allowing you to acclimate to his size.

As he kisses down your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses along your skin, the pain begins to fade, replaced by an overwhelming wave of pleasure that courses through you. His movements are slow and deliberate, drawing out the sensations as he starts to move, each thrust igniting sparks of ecstasy within you.

The rhythm builds, and you can’t help but let out an echoing moan, the sound reverberating in the expansive room. “That’s it, let me hear you,” he encourages, his voice a low growl as he picks up the pace, the rhythm of flesh against flesh echoing around you.

You arch your back, surrendering completely to the pleasure, the initial discomfort forgotten as you lose yourself in the sensations he’s creating. It’s almost overwhelming; each thrust pushes you closer to the edge, your body responding instinctively, craving more, needing more.

At first, his movements are slow and tender, each thrust deliberate as he savors the connection between you. He watches your face closely, absorbing every expression and sigh that escapes your lips. The intimacy of the moment feels almost sacred, wrapped in the warmth of his body.

But as the rhythm continues, the tension builds. You feel heat rising between you, a pressure that intensifies with each gentle thrust. The sweet pleasure begins to intertwine with a growing need for something more. You grip the sheets beneath you, your body tightening around him, silently urging him to go deeper, to give you more.

And just like that, he shifts gears.

The slow, romantic pace is replaced with something far more primal—animalistic even. He thrusts harder, deeper, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room. The headboard bangs against the wall, the intensity echoing your rising desire.

Your breath hitches as each thrust sends jolts of pleasure mixed with a delicious edge of pain coursing through you. You can feel the raw power in his movements, the way he claims you completely. Each time he fills you, it’s overwhelming, and you gasp and moan, lost in the storm of sensation.

“Just like that,” he growls, his voice low and rough as he drives into you with urgency, his grip on your wrists tightening. One of his hands glides to your chest, grasping one of your breasts and squeezing, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. It’s too much, yet not enough, and you can feel his heart racing, matching your own as he loses himself in the moment.

Your body instinctively arches to meet him, craving every thrust. The sensations blur the lines between pleasure and pain, leaving you caught in their throes, every cry and moan spilling from your lips unbidden.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin as he rocks into you with increasing ferocity. You feel heat pooling deep within, the familiar pressure building as he takes you higher and higher.

With each thrust, the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you in this moment of raw, uninhibited passion. The tension between you is palpable, igniting a fire that consumes you both. You know you’re on the brink of something incredible.

“Don’t stop,” you beg, your voice a breathless whisper, urging him on. He responds with a primal growl, picking up the pace even more, pushing you further into ecstasy.

You touch your chest absently, lost in the sensations swirling around you. He leans down, taking one of your nipples between his teeth, and a sharp gasp escapes your lips. The pleasure is overwhelming, and with each thrust, the connection deepens, sending shockwaves through your body.

“God, it’s too much,” you cry out, your voice echoing in the room. You try to meet him with each thrust, but it’s a struggle; the intensity is more than you ever imagined. As you scratch his back, your nails digging in, he can only moan in response, reveling in your reactions.

Your legs open wider than you thought possible, driven by an insatiable desire for him to penetrate you deeper. “I want you so deep,” you whimper, your voice thick with need.

With every powerful thrust, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of bliss, the waves of pleasure crashing over you until you can’t hold back any longer. You explode, a scream of ecstasy bursting from your lips as your body quakes with release.

But he doesn’t relent. He continues his relentless pace, pounding into you with an urgency that keeps you riding the high, your body still trembling from the aftermath of your orgasm. Each thrust pushes you higher, your senses overwhelmed as pleasure pulses through your veins.

It’s only when your cries start to quiet, the peaks of your pleasure beginning to ebb, that he finally lets himself go. With a primal roar, he drives into you one last time, filling you to the brim, a wave of warmth spilling inside you.

You can feel him shudder as he reaches his own climax, the raw intensity of the moment binding you together in a whirlwind of heat and desire. He collapses against you, breathless and spent, and you can only hold onto him, the remnants of pleasure coursing through you as you both come down from the high.

In the stillness that follows, the echoes of your passion linger in the air, wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

But he isn’t finished. Not yet.

With a sudden, powerful movement, he turns you over, bending you back with an arch that leaves you vulnerable and exposed to him entirely.

You gasp as he re-enters you, the sensitivity from your last wave of pleasure sending fresh sparks through your body. Each thrust is a mix of pleasure and delicious discomfort, igniting a new fire within you.

“So tight, so good,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with hunger as he fills you once more. The initial sting quickly gives way to overwhelming pleasure, and you can’t help but surrender to the sensation. It’s as if he knows just how to push you, how to drive you wild.

As he thrusts deeper, you feel every inch of him, stretching you perfectly, igniting every nerve ending. The angle sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan, but it escapes anyway—a breathy sound of pure desire.

“Take it,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips tightly, anchoring you as he begins to pound into you with renewed vigor. Each thrust sends you spiraling, and the world outside fades away once more, leaving just the two of you in this heated moment.

“Please, yes,” you manage to gasp, pushing back against him, urging him to go harder, to claim you completely. The sensation is a delicious mix of pleasure and pain, and you can feel the heat pooling deep within you once again.

He leans over you, his breath hot against your ear, whispering words that send shivers down your spine. “You love it, don’t you? You love being filled with me.”

You can only nod, too lost in the pleasure to form coherent words.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, each thrust echoing your shared desire. You feel yourself teetering on the edge again, your body responding instinctively to his every movement.

As he continues to drive into you, the rhythm builds, becoming more frantic, more desperate.

You can feel your body tightening, your high building once again, and it’s almost too much to handle. “I’m so close,” you breathe, the words barely escaping your lips.

“Come for me,” he commands, and with that, you let go completely. The pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, pulling him in with you as you both reach your climax together.

As the tidal wave of pleasure crashes over you, your body convulses around him, tightening involuntarily as the waves of ecstasy pulse through every fiber of your being.

Your scream of bliss fills the room, echoing against the walls as you surrender completely to the intensity of the moment.

He growls deep in his throat, the sound primal and raw, matching your high with his own. You feel him surge deeper, his movements becoming more erratic as he loses himself in the pleasure of your shared release.

The heat between you is intoxicating, a swirling mix of desperation and fulfillment that binds you together in that sacred space.

With each thrust, he drives you further into the depths of your pleasure, his own release mingling with yours. You can feel him spill inside you, a warmth that fills you completely, pushing you over the edge once more—a final wave of bliss washing through you, leaving you gasping and trembling.

“God, yes,” he breathes, collapsing onto you, his weight pressing you into the sheets as he takes a moment to catch his breath. The room is thick with the lingering scent of sweat and passion, the echoes of your shared climax hanging in the air.

You feel spent but exhilarated, every inch of your body humming with a delicious afterglow. He gently pulls out, and you can’t help but shiver at the loss, the sensation sending a soft gasp from your lips.

He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze down at you, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “You okay?” he asks, his voice low and husky, tinged with concern, as he brushes a damp strand of hair from your face.

“More than okay,” you reply, a breathless laugh escaping you as you meet his gaze, your heart racing from the intensity of it all.

He chuckles softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

With that, he leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that ignites the embers of desire once more. You can feel the heat building between you again, a spark that promises the night is far from over.

As his hands wander across your body, exploring every curve and contour, you realize that this moment, this connection, is something you never want to end.

With a renewed surge of desire coursing through you, you shift your position, straddling him as you sit up. Your body instinctively responds to the heat radiating from him, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as he watches you, his expression a mix of admiration and raw hunger.

Slowly, you begin to ride him, your chest rising and falling with each movement, breaths mingling in the heated air. You sink down, feeling him fill you completely again, a soft moan escaping your lips as you adjust to the familiar stretch.

“Just like that,” he encourages, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your movements as you find your rhythm. You lift your hips, then push down, the sensations electrifying as you take control, the intensity of the moment building with each thrust.

His eyes are locked onto yours, filled with a primal need that sends shivers down your spine. “You look so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. “I could watch you all night.”

You smile at his words, feeling empowered as you pick up the pace, your body moving fluidly above him. The pleasure intensifies, and you can feel the tension coiling within you once more, ready to unravel.

As you ride him, your hands find his chest, fingers trailing over the defined muscles, tracing the scars that tell stories of battles fought. You lean down, pressing your lips against his, the kiss igniting a fire between you that fuels your movements.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, a rhythmic melody that matches the beat of your hearts. You feel the familiar tightness in your core, the sensation building as you grind against him, taking him deeper and deeper, lost in the ecstasy of it all.

“Just like that, baby,” he groans, his hands gripping your thighs, urging you on as he meets your movements with his own thrusts.

The two of you are perfectly in sync, the connection palpable, electric even.

You feel the heat pooling within you again, a delicious pressure that teeters on the edge of release.

Every motion sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, and you can’t help but cry out as you lose yourself in the moment, surrendering to the bliss that envelops you both.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp, the words escaping your lips like a desperate plea, and he responds with a growl, driving up into you with renewed vigor.

With each downward motion, your breaths come faster, a delicious mix of pleasure and desperation driving you both closer to the edge.

You know you’re close, the world around you fading as you focus solely on the moment, on him.

He brings two fingers to your clit, playing with it, and you scream, throwing your head back and exposing your neck, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with each thrust.

“I’m almost there, Bruce,” you gasp, feeling the heat pooling deep within you, ready to explode.

“Me too,” he growls, his eyes darkening with desire.

With one final, powerful thrust, you both let go, the waves of pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, pulling you both into the depths of ecstasy.

As you watch where you’re connected, your heat enveloping his length, absorbing it, tightening around it, a rush of exhilaration courses through you.

The sight is primal and intoxicating, fueling your desire as you quicken your pace again, driven by instinct, addicted to the feeling.

Suddenly, he sits up, his arms enveloping your torso, bringing your naked chest against his muscled frame. His hand descends to grip your hips tightly, enough to leave a bruise, but you don’t care; you don’t want this to end.

He pulls you closer as the rhythm becomes almost animalistic—no, more than that; it’s nihilistic.

Both of you are sweating, your bodies glinting under the moonlight. The sound of your bodies meeting fills the air, a wild, desperate symphony that matches the pounding of your hearts.

You lock eyes, a silent understanding passing between you, and then you kiss fiercely, the connection igniting into a fiery exchange. Your lips crash against his with a fervor that leaves you both breathless, teeth clashing as you bite at each other’s lips, tasting the need that crackles in the air around you.

“God, you feel so good,” he growls against your mouth, his breath hot and heavy, and you can feel the heat radiating off him, heightening your senses.

You can’t get enough, and you grind down harder, reveling in the pleasure that builds with every thrust.

His hands roam your body, exploring your curves as he pulls you closer, deepening the connection between you. You can feel every pulse, every inch of him, and it drives you wild.

Leaning back slightly, you allow him to watch as you move, the sight of you taking him in and out, completely lost in the moment.

“More,” you demand, your voice a low whisper, filled with urgency, and he responds with a feral growl, matching your intensity. The room is charged with heat, your bodies entwined in a dance that feels both ancient and raw.

You can feel the world outside fading away; the only thing that matters is the rhythm you’ve created together.

He leans in, kissing down your neck, each bite and kiss igniting sparks of pleasure that shoot through your body.

You can’t hold back any longer.

The pleasure builds higher, tightening like a coil within you. “I’m so close,” you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer, urging him on.

“Let go for me,” he urges, his voice thick with desire, and with a final thrust, you tumble over the edge, your body quaking as pleasure washes over you in waves, pulling him along with you into the depths of ecstasy.

You cry out, a mix of pleasure and relief, as you both surrender to the moment—hearts racing, bodies entwined, lost in the bliss of your connection.

You can feel his warmth inside you, completely full and satisfied, and you revel in the sensation.

For a while, you stay like this—him on top, your bodies intertwined, enjoying the closeness and the aftermath of your shared ecstasy. He kisses your forehead softly, a tender gesture that makes your heart swell.

Slowly, he begins to pull out, and you moan at the loss, the sensation of emptiness causing a bittersweet ache.

Cum drips from your core, a reminder of the intensity you just shared, but before you can fully process it, Bruce slips two fingers back inside you.

You let out a soft moan, surprised yet responsive, your body still humming with pleasure despite the exhaustion settling in. Your eyes feel heavy, droopy with fatigue.

“Just to make sure it stays,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, as he lays down beside you.

You only nod, too spent to protest or question his actions, and finally, you close your eyes, surrendering to the blissful aftermath.

The world around you dissolves into nothingness, leaving only the echo of your shared breaths and the pounding of your hearts, two souls entwined in an exquisite dance of passion and desire.

Each heartbeat feels like a gentle reminder of the intimacy you’ve just experienced, a moment that feels both surreal and grounding.

In this cocoon of warmth and safety, you drift off into a peaceful sleep, fully content and wrapped in the remnants of bliss.

go check [ TU’BURNI (Bruce Wayne fic) ]

Congrats to me for finally posting this draft cause it’s been rotting since forever… Also first time writing and posting smut so please be nice … 😣 I might delete it later lol

don’t hesitate to leave a comment babes xxx

631 notes · View notes

ghoulsbounty · 7 months ago

Note

Can I request baby billy maybe reader Is a Virgin and he has plenty of skills he will help teach his innocent girl ?

Hidden Sins

Uncle Baby Billy Freeman x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, loss of virginity, p in v, fingering, dirty talk, corruption kink, slight cum play, innocent reader, takes place in a church (it used to be a sears, okay), description of a religious service, talk of religious beliefs/upbringing, manipulation, possessiveness, idolisation.

Word Count: 7.3K

A/N: I joined these two requests, I hope that's okay! I love writing for Baby Billy, he just oozes charm but has that slight edge of manipulation 🥵 Thank you for the kind words on A Fall From Grace, anon! I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

As the doors of the newest Gemstone Prayer Centre opened on Sunday morning, the congregation trickled in. There was a gentle murmur of voices as families, couples, and individuals made their way to their seats. The set lights created colourful patterns on the floor as they streamed through imitation stained-glass windows, giving a warm and inviting glow to the sanctuary, which was a recently renovated Sears in Locust Grove’s Eastland mall.

There was a comforting rhythm to the rituals performed as people settled into their seats. Some bowed their heads in silent prayer, while others leafed through their hymnals or exchanged hushed conversations with their neighbours. Children, dressed in their Sunday outfits, fidgeted beside their parents, their impatience to be let free into the mall barely contained. The musicians, positioned near the front, tuned their instruments and chatted quietly among themselves, their voices blending in harmonious laughter.

The keyboardist played a soft prelude, the gentle notes filling the space and creating an atmosphere of reverence and anticipation. Conversations gradually quieted as the music swelled, drawing the congregation’s attention towards the front of the church. The choir stood, their faces reflecting a mixture of concentration and serene joy as they prepared to lead the opening number, a soulful blend of rock and country.

At the pulpit, Baby Billy Freeman took his place, his persona commanding yet approachable. He adjusted the microphone, his warm hazel eyes scanning the room, acknowledging familiar faces with a nod and a smile. As the last notes of the prelude faded, a hush fell over the sanctuary. He cleared his throat, his melodic voice resonating with warmth and authority as he welcomed everyone to the service, setting the tone for the morning’s worship.

“Good morning, brothers and sisters,” he began, rich and melodious, filling the space with ease. “It is a blessing to see so many familiar faces, and I extend a heartfelt welcome to those who are visiting us for the first time. We gather here today, not just as individuals, but as a community of faith, bound by the love and grace of our Lord.”

Calls of “Amen” rang out through the room as he stepped away from the pulpit, moving to the front of the stage with a graceful confidence that commanded attention. He began weaving a story, his voice rising and falling with the rhythm of his words. You found yourself entranced, unable to take your eyes off his tall, lean frame. He oozed magnetic charm, from the way he adjusted the cufflinks on his impeccably tailored suit to the slick, groomed hair that crowned his head. This was a pastor who clearly appreciated the finer things in life, and it showed in every deliberate movement he made.

His story unfolded with the elegance of a master storyteller, each word chosen with care, each pause perfectly timed to draw the crowd deeper into his narrative. The light caught the fabric of his suit just right, highlighting its quality and fit, and you couldn’t help but admire the attention to detail in his appearance. It was evident that Baby Billy Freeman understood the power of presentation, using it to enhance the impact of his message, much like the Gemstone family did.

As he spoke, his eyes scanned the crowd, ensuring each person experienced a sense of direct connection as he addressed them. His hands moved gracefully, emphasizing points with a natural ease that came from years of practice and a deep understanding of his craft. The way he stood, the way he gestured, even the way he smiled—all of it contributed to the aura of a man who was not only confident in his message but also in his place at the front of the room.

When his eyes settled on you, it appeared time itself slowed. His gaze lingered, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he took you in, assessing you with a knowing look. The intensity of his eyes sent a jolt through you, igniting a heat that rocketed to your cheeks under his watchful scrutiny. Your fingers moved subconsciously to smooth the pleats of your dress over your lap, a nervous attempt to steady yourself against the flurry of emotions his intense stare provoked.

In that moment, it was as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you. The sanctuary, its audience and ambient murmurs, faded into the background, leaving only the charged connection between you and Baby Billy. His eyes, so penetrating and vivid, held you captive, conveying a silent message that was both thrilling and unnerving.

His smirk deepened, a small but deliberate acknowledgment of the influence he had on you. You felt exposed, as though he could see right through the façade of composure you tried to maintain. The room felt warmer, the air thicker, every sense heightened by the charged interaction. Your heart raced, and your breaths came quicker, shallow and uneven, as you struggled to regain control.

The folds of your dress became a focus for your hands, fingers trembling as they smoothed and re-smoothed the fabric in a futile attempt to calm your nerves. Nothing could lessen the impact of his gaze. His sermon and presence made you feel singled out and significant, as if he intended them solely for you.

His eyes moved on, continuing to scan his flock, but the spell he had cast remained. You were left feeling flustered, your cheeks still flushed, and an unfamiliar yet exhilarating sense of longing settling in your chest. The rest of the room came back into focus, the collective presence of the congregation reasserting itself, but the lasting effect of his stare lingered. You knew that something had shifted within you, a spark ignited by the magnetic pull of Baby Billy Freeman’s attention, leaving you both eager and apprehensive about the next encounter.

The moment came sooner than you expected when Judy Gemstone grabbed your hand and marched you toward the backroom after the service, her heels clipping briskly on the tiled floor as you hurried to keep up. Suspense and lingering incense from the church filled the air, adding a heady sense of urgency to Judy’s determined stride.

You had been friends with Judy long enough to recognize the signs—her set jaw, the tenacious glint in her eyes, and the way she moved with single-minded purpose. Judy was on a mission, and right now, that mission was to secure the coveted position of the lead vocalist of her uncle’s church. Almost tangibly, her passion fuelled her determination to prove her brothers wrong and show her father she could uphold the Gemstone reputation.

Like the rest of the Gemstones, Judy’s determination was a force of nature. Her drive to impress her family was relentless, and it often swept you up in its wake. You had long accepted your role as her loyal sidekick, accompanying her on various ventures and ambitions. Today was no different. She dragged you into the backroom of the church, her arm linked tightly through yours. Memories of similar situations flooded your mind, each one of her ideas more hare-brained than the last.

The backroom, a repurposed Sears storage room, was a hive of activity, with band members chatting animatedly and church staff tidying up after the service. The noise and movement seemed to part like the Red Sea before Judy, her appearance commanding immediate attention. You stayed close, your heart fluttering at the prospect of finally meeting Baby Billy Freeman.

The service wasn’t the first occasion you had laid eyes on him, but it was the first time you had done so in person. Your mother admired Amy-Leigh Gemstone for a long time. They became close friends, which likely led to your introduction into Judy’s social circle. She had keenly tracked Amy-Leigh’s ascent to fame, along with her brother, accumulating their albums and any related merchandise available.

Your family home was practically a museum dedicated to the siblings. Vivid posters of Baby Billy decorated the walls, providing a stark contrast to the otherwise subdued décor. Shelves brimmed with collectibles ranging from signed photographs to rare figurines, each item echoing your mother’s deep appreciation for the famed clogging pair. Items adorned with Baby Billy’s image, from coffee mugs to decorative pillows, filled the space, turning it into a veritable shrine.

After your own mother passed away, Amy-Leigh became like a second mother to you, and her eventual passing left a profound void in your life. The Gemstones embraced you, providing a modest home within their compound and a job assisting with their ministry. The day Eli announced Baby Billy’s appointment as head pastor of their new centre, you could hardly believe it. Years of fawning over the man on the poster, and finally you were going to be within proximity of him.

Judy’s heels clicked with authority as she approached the corner where her uncle stood, surrounded by a small group of admirers. His charismatic aura was unmistakable, even in this more casual setting. He was in the midst of a conversation, his laughter rich and inviting, but it cut off smoothly as he noticed Judy’s determined approach.

“Uncle Baby Billy,” Judy called out, her voice clear over the din. “We need to talk.”

He turned towards her, his eyes momentarily flicking to you, a spark of recognition lighting up his features. His smile broadened, that familiar smirk playing at the edges of his lips. Your pulse quickened as his gaze held yours for a beat longer than seemed necessary before he turned his full attention to Judy.

“Judy, my favourite niece,” he greeted, his voice warm and welcoming, though his eyes still held a mischievous glint. “What brings you here?”

Judy didn’t waste a moment. She launched into her pitch with the fervour of someone who had rehearsed every word, every inflection. She spoke of her vocal talents, her dedication to the church, and her deep desire to serve in a greater capacity. Her words were passionate and persuasive, painting a vivid picture of her as the ideal candidate for the lead vocalist role. All true for the moment, but her attentions were often fleeting.

As Judy presented her case, you couldn’t help but notice how Baby Billy listened intently. Yet, every so often, his eyes would dart back to you, a silent, lingering glance that made your skin heat. You busied yourself by nodding along to your friend’s speech, trying to appear composed despite the tumult of emotions within you.

Judy concluded her pitch with a confident smile. “So, Baby Billy, what do you say? Give me the chance to prove myself.”

Baby Billy leaned back, his expression thoughtful and appraising as he considered her request. His eyes flicked between Judy and you, a smile spreading across his face. “Well, Judy, you certainly make a compelling case,” he said, his tone measured. Then, his gaze settled on you, and his smile took on a warmer, more personal touch. “What about you, darlin’? Do you think my niece has the pipes to pull it off?”

You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand under his attention, the depth of his gaze making your heart race. You noticed every detail—the slight arch of his brow, the glint of curiosity in his eyes, and the expectant look on Judy’s face. Your mind whirled, searching for the right words, knowing that this moment was crucial for your friend.

Clearing your throat, you straightened up, wrangling your fingers out of nervous habit. “Absolutely, Pastor Freeman,” you began, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. “Judy has an incredible voice and a passion for music, just like her mama.” A small, white lie. You would pray later.

Baby Billy smiled, his eyes never leaving yours as he seemed to weigh your words. The connection between you felt almost tangible, a silent communication that left you both exhilarated and unnerved. He nodded, his gaze shifting back to Judy.

“Well, it sounds like you’ve got quite the endorsement, Judy,” he said, his tone approving. “Let’s see what you’ve got. How about a little audition, just so’s its fair? Don’t want ol’ Baby Billy being accused of playing favourites, now.”

Judy beamed with excitement, her eyes sparkling with a readiness that lit up the room. “I’m ready, Uncle Baby Billy! I’ll blow the roof off this place,” she declared, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Just tell me where you want me!”

“Hold on there, speed racer,” he chuckled, raising a hand to temper her enthusiasm. “There’s a bit of preparation that needs to be done first.” He gestured toward a group of staff members who were exiting the backroom to continue the clean-up in the centre. “Why don’t you help tidy up while the band gets themselves ready on stage?” he suggested, handing her a mop from the trolley behind him with a playful smile.

Judy’s face fell for the briefest moment, a flicker of disappointment crossing her features. “Uh, no fuckin’ way,” she protested, holding the mop out to you. You took it from her, feeling the rough handle in your grip. “I’m the star, not the help.”

Baby Billy exhaled and caressed his forehead with his thumb as he glanced at her. “Now, Judy, we must exhibit grace in all our actions,” he murmured, retrieving the mop from your grasp and placing it in her hands. His fingertips grazed yours, sending a shock wave of energy through your nerves. “Amy-Leigh and I, we began by mopping the floors of the church halls where we would perform each Sunday.”

Judy looked down at the mop in her hands, her defiance wavering as she absorbed his words. “Those were humble beginnings,” he continued, his voice filled with a nostalgic warmth. “But it taught us the value of hard work and humility. We learned to appreciate every step of our journey, no matter how insignificant it seemed.”

Judy sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Alright, Baby Billy,” she muttered, reluctantly accepting her fate. “But you owe me one for this.” She turned to you, jutting her head towards the door. “Let’s go.”

Baby Billy chuckled, a soft, reassuring sound that seemed to lighten the atmosphere. “Hold on a minute,” he patted Judy’s shoulder gently, his touch almost fatherly. His gaze then shifted to you, his eyes twinkling with both mischief and sincerity. “I have a different job for your friend here,” he said, his voice laden with a sense of importance. He turned fully towards you, his smile warm and inviting. “If you’ll accept.”

You felt the weight of his words, the air thick with anticipation as Judy’s eyes fell on you. Baby Billy’s influence was commanding. It made you feel both honoured and nervous.

You nodded, your voice barely audible, and uttered, “I’ll help.”

“Alright,” he grinned, slapping his hands together with enthusiasm. He instructed the band and the other employees to return to the main area as he carefully led Judy to the exit. “Make sure you give it a thorough cleaning, Judy. The Lord is always watchin’,” he remarked, nudging her through the door and shutting it on her objections.

Your throat dried as you watched him twist the lock, producing a thunderous click that reverberated throughout the silent room. The sound seemed to echo endlessly, amplifying the tension that had been steadily building. He redirected his attention to you, his expression warm and inviting, a reassuring smile playing on his lips. Yet, there was a glint of something darker in his eyes, a flicker of intent that sent a shiver down your spine.

“She’s got a lot of spirit, doesn’t she?” he said, his tone light as he stalked towards you. You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat under his potent stare. “Always been so desperate to prove herself, our sweet Judy,” he continued. His eyes didn’t leave yours. He stopped just a step away from you. “What about you?” he asked, his voice dropping to a soft, almost tender whisper.

As you swallowed hard, the severity of his question hit you. The room felt suffocating as you struggled to calm your breathing. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something deeper, and you found it hard to think straight under his watch.

“What about me?” you gulped, your voice hardly steady.

He stepped closer, and instinctively, you took a step back. Your back hit the edge of the vanity, causing various lotions and potions to topple over, clattering onto the floor. Your fingers grasped at the table, the cool wood grounding you as you looked up into Baby Billy’s predatory gaze.

His eyes, fierce and unyielding, locked onto yours, making your heart pound against your chest. He was so close that you could feel the raw magnetism seeping from him, leaving you feeling both vulnerable and electrified.

“Are you desperate to prove yourself?” he asked, his finger lightly grazing your chin. He tilted it upwards, leaving you no choice but to look directly at him. The touch of his fingertip sent a pulse of arousal through you, making your pussy thrum. You squeezed your thighs together to ease the ache between them. His gaze was unrelenting, piercing through your defences and searching for the truth hidden within you.

“I-I don’t know,” you stammered, your voice breaking. It wasn’t true. Deep inside, you felt a magnetic pull toward the older man standing before you, a profound need to please him. You’d fantasized about this moment countless times over the years, your fingers teasing your most sensitive spots as you pictured him. You had writhed against your mattress, biting your lip to stifle his name from escaping them in a heated whisper. You’d wanted him for so many years.

“Don’t be shy now,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes glinted with amusement and something primal. “You certainly weren’t when you were giving me those eyes during the service.” His voice dripped with a teasing tone, each word deliberately slow, as if savouring the memory.

His words sent a flush of heat through your cheeks and you tried to look away, but his finger held your chin in place, keeping your gaze locked with his. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body, his presence overwhelming. The room seemed to shrink around you, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken tension and desire as you looked up at him, transfixed.

His thumb brushed lightly across your jaw, sending shivers down your spine. The scent of his cologne filled your senses, making it hard to think clearly. His eyes, a captivating blend of mischief and command, searched yours for any sign of resistance, but all he found was the raw vulnerability you tried to hide.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” he uttered, his voice a velvety whisper that seemed to wrap around you. “I see you, all of you.” The sincerity in his tone made your heart clench, any defiance melting away under the heat of his gaze.

He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your lips, teasing and tempting. The closeness was intoxicating, every nerve in your body alert to his presence. You could feel the strength in his grip, the subtle dominance that made you weak with craving. The atmosphere crackled with electricity, the promise of what could happen hanging heavily in the air.

“I saw the way you looked at me,” he continued, his voice low and intimate. “Like you were daring me to come over and do something about it.” His eyes smouldered with intent, and the smirk on his lips grew more pronounced. The weight of his gaze was almost too heavy to withstand, filled with challenge and promise that made your pulse quicken.

You struggled to react to his words, a haze of lust clouding your mind as he leaned in closer. The mixture of authority and need in his eyes was utterly mesmerizing, making it impossible to look away. Your entire being, every fibre in your body was alive with excitement.

“Tell me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Do you want me to do something about it?” His question hung in the air, the weight of it pressing down on you as you struggled to find your voice.

Another sharp intake, the proximity and the raw emotion in his voice, leaving you vulnerable. “Yes,” you whispered, the admission sending a thrill through you.

A satisfied smile curved his lips as he pressed a soft, chaste kiss to your mouth. “Good,” he whispered back, his voice low and commanding. “Clothes off, angel.”

His words sent a shiver of anticipation through you, and you hesitantly glanced toward the door. Sensing your distraction, he gently tilted your chin back toward him, his eyes locking onto yours with a determined gaze.

“Don’t you worry about her,” he assured, his voice soft yet assertive, drawing your attention back to the moment. “You focus on me.”

“But you said that the Lord is always watching,” you reminded him, echoing the words he had spoken to Judy just moments before.

Raised in a devout Christian household, you had lived and worked with the Gemstones, always striving to be the virtuous, Christian woman your mother wanted you to be. A part of you knew that this was sinful, felt wrong, like a lamb being led to slaughter. Yet a larger part of you—the part that felt a fire ignited within, burning and aching for more of his touch—knew that your words were a hollow attempt to save face before you gave in.

He smiled, running his hands up and down your arms in a soothing gesture. “The Lord and I, we have a deal,” he said, his voice calm and reassuring. “Ain’t no one’s eyes on you but mine.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, both comforting and thrilling. Taking a step forward, his hand made contact with your cheek, his thumb softly caressing your skin. “I bet you’ve tried so hard to be the good girl, to live up to everyone’s expectations,” he murmured. “But what about your own needs? What about what you want, hmm?”

Your heart pounded as his words took hold, resonating within you. The years of restraint, the hidden fantasies, all converged at this single moment. “I... I want this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ve never been with a man before.”

His smile widened, a mix of triumph and tenderness. “Oh darlin’, I know that. I’ll be gentle,” he said, his voice a low, seductive murmur. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, drawing you closer until your lips were almost touching. “Let me show you what it means to truly surrender.”

The last barrier within you crumbled, and with a shuddering breath, you closed the gap, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was both fervent and tender. You sighed into his mouth as his tongue licked against your own; the sensation sending waves of pleasure through you. You felt consumed by him. It was as if all your reservations had melted away, leaving only a deep, aching need for his touch. His hands roamed your body with a possessive tenderness, and you knew there was no turning back.

He released you, gave you an encouraging smile as his eyes flickered over your body. You hesitantly undressed, your fingers fumbling with the buttons and fabric. The room seemed to grow warmer with each piece of clothing that fell away, leaving your skin exposed to the cool air. His expression was a mix of appreciation and yearning, his eyes darkening with every inch of you revealed.

“That’s it,” he said when you were bare before him. He stepped closer, his fingers tracing a path down your chest, over the swell of your breast. The touch was exhilarating, sending waves of sensation through your body. “Beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes roaming over you with undisguised admiration. “A sight to behold.”

His hands moved to your hips, pulling you closer until your bodies pressed together. The feel of the rich fabric of his suit against your skin gave you goosebumps, and he slowly traced kisses down the expanse of your neck, over your collarbone, until he reached your breasts. He took one hardened nipple into his mouth, enclosing his lips around it as you gasped.

You grabbed hold of his shoulders for support as your legs weakened from the fiery touch of his tongue. His mouth worked skilfully, alternating between gentle sucking and flicking, setting your nerves on fire. His other hand caressed your side, his touch both reassuring and tantalizing.

“You’re so sensitive,” he mumbled into you, his voice thick with want. His hand moved to your other breast, his thumb brushing over the nipple, eliciting another gasp from you. He switched his attention, giving your other nipple the same devoted attention, his mouth and hand working in perfect harmony.

Your body responded to his touch, arching into him as the pleasure built. The contrast of the soft fabric of his suit and the firmness of his body against your bare skin heightened every sensation. You could sense the power in his shoulders under your grip, grounding you as he continued his exploration.

He left your nipple with a suctioned pop, lifting you until you perched on the vanity table. His mouth was back on you, kisses trailing lower over your breasts, down your stomach as his hands guided you to lean against the mirror. He knelt between your legs, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. His fingers grazed your thighs as he paused. Looking up at you, a devious grin spreading across his lips.

“Wouldn’t deny an old man a taste, would you?” he asked, low and teasing as he parted your legs wider.

You held back a moan, the longing building as his hands caressed your thighs, spreading them apart. The cool surface of the mirror against your back contrasted with the heat of his breath on your skin, making every feeling more intense. His eyes never left yours, the connection between you pulsating.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire. “I wouldn’t.”

His smile widened, a look of triumph and hunger in his eyes. “Good girl,” he murmured, his hands sliding round to grip your thighs firmly, your mind reeling from his praise.

He leaned in, his mouth descending to your core, and you mewled his name as the flat of his tongue dragged through your wet slit. He moved skilfully, exploring every inch of you, his hands holding you open as he flicked and swirled his tongue over your sensitive flesh. When his lips wrapped around your clit and he began sucking gently on the bundle of nerves, you couldn’t suppress the whine that escaped your lips.

One of your hands left the vanity, slipped into his perfect hair, tugging and pulling him closer, desperate to feel more of the intense, foreign sensation. He groaned in response; the vibration adding another layer of pleasure as he continued his ministrations, his tongue dancing over your most sensitive spots with precision and care.

Your hips bucked against him when you felt his tongue dipping into your tight hole. He laughed, his grip on your thighs tightening as he held you to the table and fucked your cunt with his tongue. His strong nose brushed against your sensitive clit, and you cried out, fighting against his hold to grind against him, desperate for more friction.

“Baby Billy, it feels s-so good,” you moaned, your voice trembling with pleasure.

With his finger prodding at your entrance, your grip on his hair tightened and your back arched, while his lips encased your clit again, sucking with fervour as you adjusted to the stretch of his finger.

As he stared at you greedily, he pulled back to witness his finger sliding into you, wet with your juices. “Oh, you sweet thing,” he cooed, his voice dripping with lust, adding to the growing tightness of the coil within you. Your eyes widened as you felt another finger prod experimentally at your hole, swirling through your arousal before pushing in to join the first. You gasped at the stretch, then broke into a cry when he curled them against you, hitting a spot that had your vision spotting.

With precision, he twisted and thrust his fingers, never taking his eyes off your face as he watched your reactions. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a mix of encouragement and dominance. “Let me see how good it feels.”

Your pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. His fingers moved faster, curling and stroking the sensitive spot inside you with expert skill as the rings that adorned them stretched you deliciously, the chill of them a shock against your dripping heat. The wet sounds of your arousal and your increasingly frantic moans echoed throughout the room.

“Please,” you begged, your voice breaking. “Don’t stop.”

He smirked, relishing the impact he had on you, and the sight of him so dishevelled—hair unkempt and face glistening from your juices—had you grasping at him, pulling him up toward you for another heated kiss. You rocked your hips harder as he continued to fuck his fingers into you, the taste of yourself on his lips adding to the sinful pleasure.

His mouth swallowed your moans, the kiss deep and hungry, your tongues tangling as you revelled in the shared intensity. His fingers moved relentlessly, curling and thrusting with expert precision, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over as he thumbed your clit.

The room seemed to spin as the pleasure built, your body tightening around his fingers. His free hand roamed your body, caressing and gripping your curves, adding to the sensation of overload. Every touch, every thrust, pushed you towards the brink.

“You like this, don’t you?” he murmured against your lips. “Feel how wet you are, letting Baby Billy do such unholy things to you.”

You nodded, unable to form coherent words, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The rhythm of his fingers was driving you wild, the coil inside you tightening to the breaking point.

A choked sob escaped you as your muscles clenched around his fingers, your body convulsing with pleasure as the tension finally broke. He held you through it, fingers never stopping their assault, drawing out every shudder and gasp. You slowly came back down, eyes bleary and body quivering around him. He looked down at the mess between your thighs where his fingers were slowly retracting from your cunt. His eyes shone with a satisfied gleam.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. His fingers glistened with your arousal as he brought them to his lips, tasting you once more with a low, appreciative moan. “You’re nice and ready for me now,” he grinned, pushing between your legs to grind his clothed arousal against you.

He groaned, his hands gripping your hips, guiding you to move against him. “Feel that?” he asked, his voice a low growl. “That’s what you’ve done to me.” His eyes locked on yours. The intensity in them makes even more heat pool between your thighs.

The friction of his hard length against your slick folds sent shivers through your body, your hips rocking against him to seek more. His grip tightened, controlling your movements as he pressed harder against you, the fabric of his pants only heightening the sensation.

“You want this, don’t you?” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Tell me how much you want it now.”

You reacted to his command, a moan escaping your lips as you ground against him with more urgency. “I want it,” you uttered, your voice quivering with longing. “Please, Baby Billy. I need you.”

His grin widened, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he watched you writhe against him. “Oh angel,” he sighed, his voice rough with lust. “You’re gonna get exactly what you need.”

He pulled back just enough to unzip his pants, freeing his aching cock. The sight made your mouth water—thick and long, with a slight curve and beads of pre-cum glistening on his swollen, red tip. He stroked himself, spreading the slickness over his length, and you watched, mesmerized. A sudden curiosity flooded you, imagining the weight and taste of him on your tongue.

“See something you like?“ he teased, his voice a sultry, enticing rumble. His eyes clouded with desire as he watched your reaction, enjoying the effect he had on you. He stepped closer, his hand still working his shaft slowly, as if to give you a show. His eyes flicked to the door, then back to you, his expression deep in thought. “Ain’t enough time for that now, but you best believe I’ll be puttin’ that mouth to good use next time.”

Before you had time to contemplate his words, Baby Billy grabbed at your thighs, wrapping them around his waist as he positioned himself at your entrance. The weeping head of his cock teased through your slick folds, sending shivers up your spine. His eyes snapped to yours when he heard the whimper fall from your lips, an almost sadistic grin spreading across his face.

Whispering softly, he brushed his lips teasingly against yours, and said, “Once I’m finished with you, you’ll belong to me, understand?”

With a slow, deliberate thrust, he entered you. The stretch was an exquisite blend of pleasure and pain, making your vision blur and chest heave as you clung to him. Driven wild by the sensation of your tight, wet heat, he let out a guttural moan as he pushed himself deeper.

“Good Lord, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he groaned, his voice thick with passion. His firm hands held onto your hips tightly, bringing you closer as he filled you entirely. The overwhelming force of the moment left you breathless, your body trembling with each inch he claimed.

He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the fullness, his eyes hardened with possessiveness as they locked onto yours. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Made just for me.”

His words made you keen, your mind empty except for the thought of Baby Billy and his cock consuming you. Pleas tumbled from your lips, urging him to move, begging him to fill you, and he groaned as he snapped his hips, setting a slow and deliberate pace so that you could feel every ridge of his cock as he moved within you.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut briefly at the tightness of you around him, fingers digging into your hips as he fucked into you. “Take all of me. I know you can.”

As the sparks of pain subsided, overwhelming surges of pleasure took over. The vanity and mirror slammed loudly against the wall as he rocked your hips to meet his, matching his rhythm perfectly. You were so absorbed in him you didn’t care about the door just a few feet away, separating your friend — his kin — from possibly hearing the illicit act you were engaged in.

With your back arching into him, you pleaded for more, as his lips wrapped around your nipple again, eliciting a desperate whine from you. “Faster, please.”

With a growl, he responded, grazing your sensitive bud with his teeth, causing you to sharply inhale. His muffled curse vibrated against your skin as he picked up the pace, pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes that reached new depths, pushing you closer to the edge. Your nails dug into his shoulders, crinkling the fabric of his expensive suit.

“I knew you weren’t as innocent as you seemed,” he mumbled against your skin, his voice dripping with raw desire. “Can’t get enough of Baby Billy, can you?”

His breath was hot and heavy against your chest, each word making your spine tingle. His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you closer as he thrust deeper, the intensity of his movements mirroring the hunger in his voice.

“It’s like music to my ears, hearing you beg,” he murmured, delivering a final flick of his tongue over your nipple before straightening to meet your gaze. “My new favourite song.”

The sincerity in his eyes made your heart race even faster, the connection between you electrifying. He held your gaze with an intensity that left you breathless, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. Every thrust, every touch, was a symphony of pleasure that built and built, pushing you both closer to the edge.

As you teetered on the brink of another orgasm, your breaths came in ragged gasps, and your muscles spasmed. One of Baby Billy’s hands left your thighs, snaking between you to trace wet circles over your swollen clit. You bucked into his hand, his touch sending jolts of pleasure through your body, as he looked down at you with pride.

“That’s it. Sing for me, angel,” he commanded.

As your body convulsed around him, a broken cry ripped from your throat. Your thighs shook and you gripped him tighter, riding out your earth-shattering ecstasy, every muscle tightening as you clutched desperately at him. He watched you with a primal hunger, his eyes dark and filled with greed, captivated by the sight of you falling apart on his cock.

Your walls clenched rhythmically around him, drawing a gasping moan from his lips. The sensation was too much for him to handle, and his thrusts became sloppy and erratic, each movement driven by pure instinct. His hands gripped your hips with bruising force, trying to maintain some semblance of control as the pleasure overwhelmed him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice heavy with need. “You got me feelin’ some kind of way, angel. Something wicked.”

His words had you spiralling, your orgasm continuing to crash over you like a tidal wave. Your garbled cry cut short as he captured your lips with his and you moaned into his mouth, riding out the rest of your climax with desperate ruts of your hips, clinging to him for dear life.

His kiss was deep and consuming, his tongue exploring your mouth as if he couldn’t get enough of you. He held you tight, grounding you both as he bucked at a frenzied pace, chasing his own release. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, the faltering rhythm of his thrusts echoing in the heated air. Your lips tore from his, head dropped back against the mirror, eyes half-closed, as you surrendered to Baby Billy’s insistent need.

He used your cunt for his own amusement, his thick girth splitting you open and filling you. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure and pain through your body, the intensity almost too much to bear. You breathed in shallow, erratic gulps, mingling with his groans of pleasure.

“You gonna let Baby Billy finish inside of you?” he grunted as you felt the powerful contraction of his muscles under your fingers. “Go back out there with my cum filling you, let everyone know who owns you now.”

His words, steeped in raw, possessive control, gave you goosebumps. The heat between you was almost unbearable, and the thought of being so intimately claimed ignited a fire within you. You could barely manage a nod, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, your breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Yes,” you managed, your voice trembling with need. “F-fill me.”

His eyes shone at your words, lighting up with pride. You felt him pulse and throb inside you, and with a final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. His body shuddered as he found his release, the hot spurts of his cum flooding you, mingling with your own arousal to create an intoxicating warmth. You milked him for every drop of his seed, drawing out every ounce of pleasure.

Your body, wrecked and trembling, collapsed against his as you sobbed into the crook of his neck. A combination of fulfilment and exhaustion washed over you, your breathing slowly adjusting to a calmer rhythm. His gentle touch roamed your spine in soothing strokes, grounding you as you both basked in the afterglow. The surrounding air seemed to hum with the energy of your passion, the scent of sweat and sex lingering, creating a heady, intimate atmosphere.

With his breath still uneven against your skin, he pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “That was a job well done,” he murmured, his voice prideful despite his jest. He groaned as he pulled himself from your swollen cunt, eyes shining at the sight of you leaking with his load. You whimpered at the emptiness, a pout forming on your lips as he tucked himself away, but then he pushed two digits into you, stuffing your pussy almost full again.

“Keep it all in there,” he said, his eyes flicking to you as he twisted his fingers. The squelch of his load being forced back inside of you filled the room, an erotic sound that made your mouth water. “I wasn’t lying. Baby Billy wants you out there, front and centre.”

The intensity in his gaze, coupled with the sensation of his fingers pushing his cum deeper inside you, had you shaking again. Each movement was deliberate, ensuring you felt every bit of his claim on you. The thought of stepping out, filled with his essence, ignited a mix of thrill and arousal within you.

He finally withdrew his fingers, leaving you with a lingering sense of fullness. “Now, let’s get you dressed,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He helped you to your feet, steadying you as you adjusted to standing. The rush of reality hit you as you caught sight of yourself in the mirror—marks from his mouth adorned your breasts, and bruises from his fingers dotted your thighs. You looked spent, yet there was a radiant glow to your skin that hadn’t been there before.

You watched in the mirror as Baby Billy adjusted his suit, fixing his hair until it was back in almost perfect condition. He dabbed at the sweat that had formed on his brow with his handkerchief, his focus intent on readying himself. The sight of him, composed and immaculate, made you suddenly aware of your own state. You felt uncomfortably exposed and quickly retrieved your clothes from the floor.

Your body ached as you dressed, each movement a reminder of what you’d just done. Your muscles throbbed from the recent exertion, and as you put on your clothes, the thoughts that had been repressed by passion now surged through your mind. The reality of your sin with the pastor drowned you in a wave of guilt and confusion.

You wanted to regret it, to tell yourself that you would pray for forgiveness, but you knew it wasn’t true. You’d wanted him so much, was willing to throw all caution to the wind and give yourself so freely to him. Now, he seemed so distant from you, and maybe that felt worse than anything. The desire that had driven you to this moment still simmered under the surface, a raw and undeniable truth.

As you finished dressing, you caught your reflection in the mirror. The marks on your body, the glow in your skin, all told the story of what had transpired. You felt a complex mix of emotions—shame, guilt, satisfaction, and a strange sense of pride.

Baby Billy turned to you, his eyes softening as he took in your appearance. “You alright?” he asked, his voice gentle, a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before.

With a nod, you managed a slight smile. “Yeah, I think so.”

Drawing nearer, he lightly brushed his thumb against your cheek. “No one else needs to know what happened here.”

You took a deep breath, fully absorbing the impact of his words. The secret you now shared felt like a heavy burden, one you couldn’t speak of to anyone. The fear that this might be your last moment with him gnawed at you, prompting you to ask softly, “Will I see you again?”

He smiled, a teasing glint in his eye, as he leaned in to place a gentle, lingering kiss on your lips. When he pulled back, he lightly tapped his finger over your bottom lip, his touch both tender and possessive.

“Oh darlin’,” he drawled, his voice low and filled with promise, “didn’t I already tell you I’d be puttin’ this mouth to good use one day?”

The way he said it sent a chill through you, the intimacy of his words and the light touch on your lip igniting a spark within you. His eyes held yours, the playful glint mixing with something deeper, a reassurance that this moment was far from the last.

As he stepped back, his hand trailed from your lip to your chin, lifting it slightly. His gaze softened, the teasing replaced with genuine affection as he murmured, “this isn’t the last you’ll see of Baby Billy.”

#uncle baby billy #uncle baby billy x reader #baby billy x reader #the righteous gemstones #walton goggins #baby billy freeman #baby billy freeman x reader #fic request #uncle baby billy smut #baby billy smut #smut fic #the righteous gemstones smut #the righteous gemstones x reader #corruption kink #walton goggins x reader #x reader

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sodamnradd · 2 months ago

Text

Draco wanted to rip it off her. That little silk skirt bunched up around her thighs. Hermione lay with her elbows on the mattress, legs crossed demurely. “This is impossible,” she sighed. “You said you could decode it.”

“It’s going to take more than a couple hours,” he said, twisting the model relic between his hands. It was like a spherical Rubik’s Cube, marked with runes instead of colours.

Tired of rifling through his drawers and touching all his belongings, Hermione threw herself on the bed, displaying all the patience of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. “Have you got anything to drink?” she asked. “I’m bored.”

“Nightstand, second drawer,” he said dismissively, turning the relic an inch. She rattled the drawer open, extracted a clear bottle with a scoff, holding it up by the neck. “You’re supposed to be a Malfoy.”

“A Malfoy funding his own mastery,” he reminded her.

She twisted the cap off and took a generous gulp. At the disbelieving look on his face, she shrugged. “It’s Friday.”

He rolled his eyes, resuming their assignment. Hermione had recently been dumped, and he’d learned that getting dumped turned her personality inside out. She had no interest in homework. No regard for personal space. And she was wearing an awful lot of miniature skirts.

“You could sell some of your stuff, you know,” she suggested unhelpfully. “One of those solid gold watches or that pair of diamond cufflinks. I mean, do you really need those things?”

“No,” he answered flatly. “I would much rather buy overpriced liquor that you can vomit all over my bedroom floor.”

“It was one time,” she mumbled, taking another swig.

“Slow down,” he cautioned, eyes fixed on their assignment that he was beginning to worry they would fail.

“Slow down.” She snorted. “That’s what I was always telling Ron with all his plans and expectations. And where did that get me?”

“Out of a marriage you weren’t prepared for.”

“What if I was?”

“Hermione,” he said managing to sound patient and irritated all at once. “You’re doing a double mastery abroad, and you hate children.”

“I don’t hate them.”

“You always scrunch your nose at the shops.”

“Only because they can be so loud.”

He grinned.

She rolled onto her side, skirt hitching up higher, propping her head up on his pillow. “What if nobody ever loves me the way he did?”

Giving up on the hopeless assignment, Draco swivelled his chair to face her. Folding his elbows to his thighs, he crouched to her eye-level and held her gaze.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

She swallowed. “Do you ever think about me?”

Draco did not reply.

Her gaze shifted to his lips. His heart was racing. She leaned in, liquor on her breath, and Draco turned his head. “Not like this.”

Her thighs rubbed together, the silk fabric of her skirt making a whisper-soft noise. His fingers twitched.

Shoulders slumping, she released a deep breath. “Don’t let me be alone, Draco.”

And then it hit him. “Two people need to open it. Not just one.”

She sat up, following his directions as he guided her hands into place, a little clumsy since she was drunk on cheap alcohol.

The model relic opened.

They smiled at each other, victorious.

And then they were kissing. Hermione threw her arms around his neck murmuring, “Just a taste.” Soft and warm in his arms, seating herself upon his lap.

He groaned, kissing her back with uninhibited enthusiasm. He was so tempted to touch that silk skirt, slip his hand beneath the hem. He stopped himself, pushing her away.

She fell onto the bed, staring at him wistfully. Gods, he was gone for her.

He cleared his throat, looked away. He couldn’t be here right now. Rising to his feet, he grabbed his cloak.

Hermione lay flat on her back, curling herself up in his sheets. Sometimes they smelled like her, and he lingered a little longer in the morning, imagining what it might be like to have her there when he opened his eyes.

“I’ll be back,” he said, opening his dorm room door.

The sheets rustled as she nestled deeper in the bed. Partway out the door he heard her mutter, “Maybe Ron broke up with me because he knew how I felt about you.”

When he looked at her, he saw her staring back fixedly. Eyes a little glassy from the liquor. Cheeks flushed.

“Go to sleep, Hermione,” he croaked, electricity coursing through his veins.

“Bring back the good liquor,” she called sleepily as he shut the door. He leaned against it once he was in the corridor, expelling a long breath. Tomorrow. He would tell her how he felt tomorrow.

(788 words, no prompts just a photo that caught my eye)

#dramione #hermione granger #draco malfoy #draco x hermione #dhr #hermione x draco #dramione drabble #sodamnrad #sodamnraddrabbles

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newtonsheffield · 4 months ago

Text

Here’s just something random to drum up excitement for I fell in love with the fire long ago (Surprise neddy Au) because I can do what I want I guess:

Kate knew they’d moved past the point of two people sat beside one another while they drank hours ago. She’d felt the moment the shift had happened when she’d lain her hand on his thigh and that muscle in his jaw clenched again before his hand shot out and took hold of the bar stool between her legs until she was so close she could feel every movement of his body when he’d turned back to the bartender.

“Trouble and I’ll have another round.”

It was late now. That was obvious from the way the bar had emptied around them and she’d let the moment to leave pass almost gladly. And now here she was, waiting for one of them to make a move.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Just the thought of it made her want to clench her thighs but she pretended to think about it, finishing her drink. “That depends.”

He raised his eyebrows, “On… what?”

“Two things.“ she clicked her tongue, “Are you married?”

“Not married. Not seeing anybody.”

Kate nodded, “Then it depends on how well you kiss me.”

His lips curved in a lazy smile as he stood, he’d taken off his suit jacket ages ago, leaving him in his waistcoat. He tugged his cufflinks free and rolled his sleeves. “Nice kiss or filthy kiss?”

“Somewhere in between.”

“Stand up then, Trouble.”

The second she slid off the stool his hand found the back of her neck, tugging her forward until their lips met. His other hand curved around her hip, warm against the bare skin where she’d removed her blue after work and buttoned her jacket over her skin. The stubble on his face grated against her skin as his lips moved over hers and she felt a moan ripple through her chest as his tongue swept over hers. He tilted her head back deepening it further and his tongue moved in time with the slow circles his thumb was drawing on her hip. He tugged her closer, sliding one of his legs between hers, drawing the kiss on and on. Suddenly he pulled back, his eyes burning into hers as his tongue moved slowly over his bottom lip.

Kate’s voice sounded much more breathless than she wanted it to. “That wasn’t a nice guy kiss.”

He laughed, his hands still gripping her. “You didn’t want a nice guy kiss, Trouble.” He stepped closer to her again, his lips brushing her ear, “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Yes.”

#surprise neddy au #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton

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e-dubbc11 · 2 months ago

Note

SIKE. This one's the last one 😭

You're worried about me sleeping with other women? I don't want anyone else but you. That means I won't sleep with anyone else but you.

"I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified"

With this one:

Choices...choices ✨

Well my lovely, this is it. This is the final ask in my follower celebration! I did it, I finished them ALL! So I chose Billy for this one, thank you for sending this and all of your asks in and for celebrating with me. I appreciate you and your friendship, it really means a lot to me. I hope you like it! ♥️♥️♥️

Nobody But You

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: little bit of angst, swear words, fluff and smooches.

Word Count: 1.8K-ish

Summary: You’re dressed up for a night of business mingling for Billy’s company. You’ve fallen for him but doubt he feels the same way.

A/N: So like I said above, this is the final ask for my 500 follower/friend celebration. This took a lot longer than I thought it would but I had a busy fall. Just wanted to say thank you for your patience, friendship and my inbox is always open!🧡🧡🧡🧡

He looked so handsome in his black suit.

The black silk tie around his neck, crisp white dress shirt with silver cufflinks, and his shoes were shined to perfection. The man looked more like a model than a soldier but underneath his fancy clothes and perfect smile was a soldier and a damn good one according to everyone you talked to at his event tonight.

Billy Russo had a lot of mingling to do tonight, he had perfected the sales pitch, and when he needed to use it, that million-dollar smile and firm handshake worked every time.

He did his best to make sure you felt comfortable, that you were taken care of as far as drinks and food went, but tonight really was more about business than pleasure but it wasn’t so bad. His best friend, Frank Castle, kept you company some of the time, told you stories of when they served together and pranks they played on each other to pass the time in the desert which made you laugh.

You heard from Billy’s fellow Marines that told you Billy was the perfect soldier. They were the only family he ever had, especially Frank. They would do anything for him and he would do anything for them in return.

You loved listening to their stories. It made you feel closer to him because it was difficult for him to talk about…anything. Billy let you in, just a little, but never elaborated. There weren't ever any details so how could you possibly have fallen for someone that you didn’t know that much about, that beautiful women threw themselves at all the time, and for someone who had the reputation of not being “relationship material” and emotionally unavailable.

It was the way Billy made you feel. He made you feel safe and satisfied in every way possible but would he get tired of you and move on to someone else? You’ve seen the pictures online with beautiful models on his arm, referring to him as a handsome eligible bachelor, and rumors of him being nothing but a womanizer that just breaks hearts all over New York City.

No matter where you were in the giant ballroom tonight, Billy found you. His hypnotic dark brown eyes fixated on you, making sure you weren’t too far away from him, and smiling when your gaze finally met his. You had fallen hard for him but highly doubted he felt the same.

“He’s different with you, kid.” Said Frank, catching you off-guard as you were staring down at your drink that was resting on the bar.

Not really paying much attention, you picked your head up and replied, “Huh? What was that, Frank?”

“Bill…” he said, “I saw the worried look on your face and I just wanted to say that I noticed he’s different with you. You’re not just another date on his arm.”

Your eyes unexpectedly welled up with tears, making them shine like glass marbles. A nervous smile stretched across your lips as a tear fell and streaked down your cheek.

“I went into this thinking that it was just going to be a fling. I wasn’t expecting this. I see those other women everywhere, Frank. Their gorgeous faces flash in my head so clearly, it’s like I’m looking at their photos online again and phantom whispers in my ear about how ‘he doesn’t care about you, y/n, make sure you don’t get too attached, and he’ll make you fall for him, break your heart and not think twice about it.’ But I don’t want to listen to those words because…I love him.” You said in barely more than a whisper.

“Maybe you should te—“ Frank started to say.

You interrupted, “Tell him?” You shook your head violently and continued, “Come on, Frank. You know Billy better than anyone! He doesn’t talk about how he feels; he doesn’t have relationships. And I know he has been through a LOT, a lot of stuff that I understand he doesn’t want to talk about but I…” Your voice hitched. “I just want him to know that I would never ever hurt him like that.”

Not wanting to ruin your makeup, you tried to catch your tears before they could leave tracks down your cheeks.

Earlier in the evening when Billy picked you up, he told you how beautiful you looked which made you blush. As you tried to shy away from him, Billy tilted your chin so you were looking into his endless brown eyes and he inched closer so he could gently kiss you which made you feel beautiful.

“Maybe I should just go.” You said, swiping a tear away from your cheek.

Frank tried to stop you. “Sweetheart, please. I’m tellin’ you, I’ve seen a change in him.”

Before running out of the room, you replied, “I can’t do this, Frank. Tell Billy I’m sorry.”

**********

The elevator seemed to move in slow motion as it dropped from floor to floor before reaching the lobby. You figured you would just call for an Uber when you stepped outside. When the elevator doors parted, you were met with a pair of brown eyes as dark as the night sky, his once perfectly styled hair was now out of place and looked like spilled ink across his forehead. Billy was panting heavily as he must have taken the stairs rather than wait for another elevator.

“W-where are y-you going, baby?” He asked, trying to catch his breath.

You replied, “Figured it was time for me to go. Must be about that time for you to move on, right?”

As you pushed past him, he asked in a confused tone, “What? What do you mean ‘move on,’ sweet girl? Talk to me, please!”

“Oh now you wanna talk?! You never want to talk, Billy. Attachments are a weakness, right? Use them, break their hearts and leave them to pick up the pieces, while you move on to someone else. That’s what all the tabloids say.” You said as your face tightened with anger and you walked toward the door.

Billy grabbed your wrist and spun you around so you were looking at him again.

“Whoa, wait. It’s been going well the past few months, I thought.” Said Billy, loosening the grip on your wrist.

His warm breath coasted across your exposed collarbone causing goosebumps to erupt across your chest. The black dress you picked out for tonight was floor length with a long slit up the front with a deep V-neck and long sleeves with a slight sparkle.

Throughout the night, Billy kept at least one hand on your body at all times when you were nearby. He wanted to keep you close and anytime you felt his breath against your skin, it made your stomach flutter, like right now.

With his other hand, Billy pushed his hair away from his eyes and the expression on his face told you he was desperately trying to figure out how to say what he wanted, how to get the words out while trying to remain in control of his emotions.

The last thing he ever wanted for himself was to appear weak or out of control but with everything that he had told you about his childhood and for everything that he has become as an adult, Billy was the strongest person you had ever met.

Billy pointed to the couch in the lobby of the building.

“Sit with me? Please?” He begged.

You agreed and he ushered you over to the couch. After sitting down, he laced his long slender fingers with yours as you wiped more tears away with your other hand. The knot in your chest eased a little as he began to talk.

“Sweet girl, I am very aware of my business reputation and my personal reputation. I know what those bullshit tabloids say about me and the reason I normally take out beautiful, shallow women is because I know I could never get attached to them. It’s just sex.” He said.

“Is this supposed to be making me feel better, Billy? Because you’re doing a shitty job of sellin’ it.” You said in an angry tone.

Billy cracked a smile.

“I do have a point, baby.” He said.

“Then make it.” You hissed.

“My point is that you’re different. You are very beautiful but you’re also smart, I can actually hold a conversation with you without wanting to throw myself into traffic. You’re funny, it’s not easy to make me laugh but you manage to do that too, and I know I don’t really talk about my past but I actually want to try and open up to you.” He said.

As difficult as that was for Billy to get out, it made you feel special that he was choosing you and that he trusts you enough to let you in.

There was only a breath of room between your bodies after you inched closer to him. Billy wasn’t trying to sweet talk you or give you excuses. He was trying to share with you how he felt.

“Oh Billy…I’m sorry. I just had it in my head that I knew this was going to end soon, figured you probably had someone else in mind or lined up already.” You said, choking on your words.

Billy tilted your chin up so you were looking into his eyes as he asked, “You’re worried about me sleeping with other women?”

“Can you blame me for worrying about that? I see the way they look at you, Billy.” You said, softly.

He flashed you that perfect smile again; If he only knew it made you weak in the knees every time.

“I don’t want anyone else but you. That means I won’t sleep with anyone else but you. I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.” He whispered.

Your eyelids were warm with his breath as you gently pressed your lips to his. Your lips parted, he slipped his tongue between them, tangling with yours, while a soft whimper escaped your mouth.

As he continued to kiss up and down the side of your neck and along the sculpted hollow of your throat, he pulled you into his lap. As he buried his head into the crook of your neck like a cat, you tried to catch your breath, and felt like his embrace was where you were meant to be.

“Would you feel better to know that I am very much in love with you, Billy Russo?” You asked, shyly.

Brushing his beard with your thumbs, you waited impatiently for his response.

A warm smile stretched across Billy’s lips, he leaned in to kiss you again, and replied, “Maybe I’m not afraid anymore.”

His forceful exhale against the sweet spot on your neck seemed like a sign of relief for Billy, like he had let go of some of the stress he had been holding onto for most of his life.

It would be a process for him to build more trust, learn to communicate better, and help him open up, only if and when he was ready to but you were ready to help him, listen to him, and most importantly…more than willing to love him.

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If you’d like to be added to (or removed from) my tag list for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfic #billy russo imagine #billy russo x female reader #billy russo x you #billy russo x y/n #ericca answers #ericca’s 500 follower celebration

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awkwardauthorwrites · 2 years ago

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Wildest Dreams - Epilogue

Word Count: 2k

Themes: an unbelievable about of fluff

Summary: Set two years after the reunion, and Y/N and Sebastian are (finally) getting married

Warnings: Potential spoilers for HL. All characters are aged up and around 27/28 years old. Quote in bold italics is not mine. It’s from the film Corpse Bride and I love it too much to pass on using it.

Find Part One here and Part Two here

Two Years Later

Sebastian stood by the fountain at the north entrance of Hogwarts castle and couldn’t help but think of the last time he had been here - how it felt like he couldn’t get Y/N out of there fast enough. It was a stark parallel to the present, where he shuffled between his feet with nervous energy and willed her to move a little faster so that he could finally see her. When he approached Headmaster Black about getting married in the gardens he had half expected the man to laugh in his face and reject him. Instead, he clapped him on the shoulder and agreed without a second thought, muttering about how it would do wonders for the image of the school if the Hero of Hogwarts chose to return there for the most important day of her life. Sebastian itched to shake him off and find a different venue instead, but he knew Y/N wanted nothing more than to get married in the first place she had truly called home, and so he begrudgingly thanked his old Headmaster and informed him of their plans.

They had decided to get married in the summer, partially so they wouldn’t disturb any students, but also because it offered them the best weather for their outdoor ceremony. They would have both much preferred a winter wedding so they could see the grounds covered in snow, but decided it would be easier (and warmer) to get married earlier in the year so they didn’t have to worry about constantly casting warming charms. Sebastian had to admit, the summer flowers added a beautiful touch to the whole affair, his eyes darting over the different array of colours in the gardens around him.

“Stop moving so much,” Ominous nudged him gently. “You’re making me nervous.”

“You’re nervous?” Sebastian laughed and nudged his friend and brother back. “I’m so sorry for putting you out on my wedding day.”

“Apology accepted.” Ominis smirked at him, his head tilting to the side slightly as the guests in front of them talked amongst themselves. Sebastian began to fiddle with his cufflinks as he watched their guests arrive and take their seats, nodding in greeting to those who caught his eye. “You seem jumpier than usual, are you alright?”

“I can’t wait to see her.”

“I remember that feeling.” He smiled softly to himself as he remembered his own wedding day with Anne, how anxious he had been as he waited for her arrival. He would have much preferred to run away and elope as opposed to having all the attention on them both, but he knew she wanted a proper ceremony and he wanted to do things right by her. “We should be starting soon. Are you ready?”

“I was ready the day she said yes.”

“You’re not going to burst into song, are you?”

“Shut up, you prick.” The pair laughed as the music that was playing quietly in the background swelled and a hush fell over the guests. The officiant walked over to Sebastian and Ominis, a large smile on his face as he shook both of their hands and they waited for the bridal party.

Sebastian watched with bated breath as the doors to the castle swung open right as the enchanted instruments started to play the bridal march. The guests stood and turned to watch Anne walk out first, gently leading both of her twins down the aisle. Arabella threw flower petals at random intervals while Alexander clung to his mothers skirts, a toothy grin coming over the toddler’s face as he noticed both his father and his uncle waiting at the other end of the aisle. Sebastian couldn’t help but laugh as Alexander wrapped his arms around his knees while Arabella ran for her father, the rest of the flower petals forgotten. He scooped his nephew into a hug and pressed a kiss to his chubby cheek before passing him off to Anne who gave his arm a gentle squeeze before standing on the other end of the altar.

Poppy and Imelda came out next, both of them looking beautiful in their bridesmaid dresses, with the former giving Sebastian an encouraging smile as the latter sent him a glare and mimed that she was watching him. He chuckled and pulled both of the girls in for a hug before they joined Anne, muttering to Imelda about how he knew she was secretly pleased they had finally decided to tie the knot. She flicked his shoulder, but there was an obvious smile on her face as she stood by Anne and Poppy. The music swelled and went quiet for a few moments before picking up again softly as Y/N appeared in the doorway.

Sebastian felt all the breath leave his lungs as she came into view and he unconsciously pressed a hand to his chest as she caught his eye and gave him a heart stopping smile. He felt his eyes burn as she started to walk towards him slowly and willed the music to play faster so she could reach him quicker and he could take her in his arms. Y/N had always been the most beautiful girl he had ever seen - even back when he had first met her - but the words did not do her justice in that moment as she practically floated down the aisle towards him.

“Breathe, Sebastian.” Ominis nudged him gently and he took in a shaky breath and quickly reached up to brush away a tear before it could escape. He couldn’t look away from her even if he wanted to. He would never be able to put into words how absolutely ethereal she looked, her white dress almost glowing in the afternoon sun. Y/N (finally) neared him and took his hand and Sebastian was hit with a sudden moment of realisation at just how lucky he was. He was so much closer to spending the rest of his life with his best friend and he couldn’t wait.

“Hey, you.” Y/N smiled shyly at him as she took her place by his side, his hand clutching onto hers tightly. Her gaze softened as she noticed the tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes and reached up to brush them away gently. “Good tears, I hope?”

“Merlin, yes.” Sebastian breathed, his voice cracking slightly due to his emotions. “The best.” He resisted the urge to tug her against him and kiss her like they weren’t surrounded by their friends and family, and instead settled on standing a little closer than necessary and pressing his lips to her knuckles softly. “You are stunning.”

“Look who’s talking.” Y/N’s gaze ran over his suit appreciatively and his grip on her hand tightened fractionally as he remembered that they needed to get married first before he could whisk her away and have his way with her. He was vaguely aware of the officiant starting the ceremony, sharing anecdotes about love and friendship that he couldn’t pay attention to as he stared at the woman standing in front of him. He didn’t know what he had done in a past life to deserve her, but he would spend every day of the rest of his life - the rest of their lives - showing her just how much she meant to him.

“I love you,” he mouthed the words, his lips twitching into a smile as he watched her flush delicately.

“I love you more.”

“Impossible.” He frowned playfully and shook his head as she continued to stare at him with pure adoration on her features.

Neither of them could believe this day was finally here. If anyone had told Sebastian and Y/N when they first met all those years ago that they would be standing where it all started, surrounded by their loved ones, both of them would have blushed and stuttered in protest; but here they were, and Sebastian could think of nowhere else in the world he would rather be. He always thought his favourite version of Y/N would be her first thing in the morning, and that had been true from the very first moment he had woken with her in his arms two years ago up until that exact moment. Nothing would ever compare to how completely and utterly captivating she was, looking like his own personal divine being.

“...Sebastian?” Y/N muttered his name, a coy smile playing on her face.

“Sorry. I’m here,” he offered the officiant a sheepish smile and shrugged one of his shoulders while tilting his head in Y/N’s direction as if to say, can you blame me? “Could you repeat that, please?”

“Do you, Sebastian Sallow, take Y/N Y/L/N to be your wife? To - ”

“I do.” The minister, as well as their audience, laughed as Sebastian interrupted with a cheeky smile on his face as he glanced at Y/N. He had waited so long for this moment and now that it was here he just wanted to skip forward to the most important part. He knew he should be a little more patient and show some restraint, but had been waiting for this for longer than he would ever admit. He wanted to be able to finally call Y/N his wife.

“Very well, then.” The preacher turned to Y/N, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “And do you, Y/N Y/L/N, take Sebastian Sallow to be your husband? To live together in matrimony, to love, honour, comfort and to keep in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” A tear slipped down Y/N’s face as she took in the look of pure devotion on Sebastian’s face. She had never been more sure of a decision in her entire life.

“You each have a ring for the other,” the officiant looked between the pair, taking note of both of their living smiles and unshed tears. “These are placed on each other’s fingers as a visible sign of the vows which you have taken today which have bound you both together as husband and wife. I hope they always remind you of your promise and love for each other.” He looked over at Sebastian, who in turn took the ring from Ominis’ outstretched hand. He thought his hands would shake during this part, but they remained steady as he slipped the ring on Y/N’s finger, his heart thumping in his chest as he did so.

“With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine.” He brushed a stray tear from Y/N’s face and gently kissed the piece of jewellery before letting her turn to Anne so she could get his ring.

“With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine.” She repeated the vow back to him, her voice wavering slightly as she slid the wedding band onto his ring finger, the metal gleaming in the afternoon sun.

“I’ve been told you have both been through many adventures together, but let us begin this one with a kiss. I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Sebastian was already tugging Y/N towards him before the words were finished, both of his hands resting on her waist as he dipped down to press his lips to hers. He thought his heart was about to beat out of his chest as she wound her hands up to the back of his head and pulled him in closer, the crowd fading out of his mind as he held onto her tightly. Imelda whistled loudly as their kiss lasted long enough to be indecent and Y/N broke away to laugh, her face flushing as Sebastian tried to chase her lips and pull her back into another kiss. She grinned at him and pressed a sweet, chaste peck on his lips.

“How do you feel about being a married man, Mr Sallow?”

“You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, Mrs Sallow.”

#sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x y/n #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader #sebastian sallow fluff #sebastian sallow x slytherin!reader #sebastian sallow fic #sebastian sallow x fem!reader #hogwarts game #hogwarts #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts legacy #awkwardauthor #awkwardauthorwrites #awkwardauthormasterlist

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jessiemeows · 1 month ago

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Midwinter's Eve

A/N: Happy holidays! I wanted to write something about what I imagine Astarion & Amaya's future looks like (plus a little bit of smut :)). I hope you enjoy it! I've only written a little of smut so im not great at it but hopefully its good and I'll eventually get better as I write more of Lost and Found. Also this is spoilery for Lost and Found. Other than that hope everyone had some great holidays and happy new year <3

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F! Redeened Dark Urge Tiefling, My OC Amaya, Selunite Cleric/Paladin

Word Count: 3500

Warning: 18+!!!!! fingering, PIV, cum inside without protection, pregnancy, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of abuse but does not elaborate in any way, Astarion being a tiny tiny smidge dominant but not really

A/N part 2: It's Midwinter Eve! Midwinter is a holiday that's the DND equivalent of Christmas. In the story it has been three years since the Netherbrain fell, Astarion reflects on the past three years of his life with his partner and how good it's truly been (everyone deserves a happy ending, especially our BOY!) Astarion in this story is also now loved and being loved sometimes makes you soft and squishy.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Story:

Astarion gazed out his study window transfixed by the quickening snowfall outside. A faint smile played across his lips as he reflected on the past three years— the defeat of the Netherbrain, Cazador's death that had freed him from centuries of torment, and Bhaal's influence had finally released its grip on his beloved. It had now been three and a half years since that fateful first meeting—gods, he could still picture it perfectly: himself, pulling a knife on her like the desperate, scared fool he was, throwing every defense and bitter barb her way throughout their entire journey, and yet she somehow saw through it all and stayed.

The winter sun dipped below the horizon earlier these days. With a casual flick of his wrist, Astarion cast some fire bolt cantrips, lighting the candles scattered across his desk. Lady Adelia Caldwel's contract lay before him, a mess of legal tangles he'd been asked to untangle. Her husband had sold off their prime Upper City parkland that she loved so dearly, and she desperately hoped for a loophole or a way of breaking the contract—though prospects looked grim. Running fingers through his silver curls, he loosened the gleaming golden cufflinks of his fine black cotton shirt, rolling up the sleeves, and propped his feet up on the desk, balancing the parchment on his lap.

His thoughts drifted treacherously to Cazador, sending an old, familiar chill down his spine. The memories still held power—how small and worthless his former master had made him feel. Though the worst had passed, there had been dark times: panic attacks, violent outbursts, moments when nothing could console him. Amaya, his beloved, understood better than anyone; she still battled her own demons, nightmares of Bhaal haunting her sleep, panic seizing her with fears she might harm him. But they both knew better now. Those fears had no foundation in reality.

After the Netherbrain's fall, they'd ransacked Cazador's palace together, setting it ablaze in a final act of defiance. The old vampire's hoarded wealth had been substantial—enough that, even after Amaya insisted he share it with his six siblings, they'd secured their place in society. Combined with Amaya's status as "The Hero of Baldur's Gate," they'd acquired a small manor just outside the Upper City, complete with a vineyard and garden. It was perfect: Amaya spent her days tending the garden and painting, occasionally dragging him to the Wide to sell their goods or to Lady Jannath's exhibitions to show off her artwork. If not spending most of his time with Amaya, or attending the endless social engagements required to maintain their newfound noble standing - balls, banquets, and the like, Astarion would then spend his days in his study which had become a sanctuary, he managed their estates and helped others navigate legal matters (thanks to his lovely partner's endless bragging of his talent of negotiation to the Baldur’s Gate nobility after he'd helped Wyll escape the now very dead Mizora's contract all those years ago).

They'd risen quickly in these three years to become Lord Ancunín and Lady Othzál—soon to be Lord and Lady Ancunín. Just six months ago, during the bi-annual ‘Heroes' of the Gate’ reunion hosted by the beloved party animal wraith Withers, he had proposed to her in the very spot where they'd first been intimate. Back then, his motives had been purely selfish; this time, he'd wanted to make it special. Her warm embrace, mingled with tears of joy had ruined his brand-new white doublet with black streaks of makeup—something he still teased her about mercilessly.

Though in such little time, life had brought more miracles: first it was the Cloak of Dragomir that they found a little more than two years ago, which let him brave the sunlight again despite some setbacks. Then, just three months ago, they found the Sun-walker's Ring—a simple gold banded ring with a blood-red ruby that allowed him to walk carelessly free in the sun for hours on end. Although, he still keeps his cloak on hand just in case no matter how awful the fabric is. But the greatest miracle had come with the adventure to find the ring: Amaya was with child. His child. They'd discovered it in the Underdark when she kept falling ill, though he should have recognized the signs immediately.

The memory of her first ill-fated pregnancy in the Shadowlands still haunts Astarion’s mind. When Amaya was under Bhaal's influence, she had been frequently sick, but upon entering the cursed lands, her health deteriorated even further, which concerned almost all of their friends. He hadn’t known of the pregnancy until it was lost to an infernal dagger Back then, he'd been conflicted, almost relieved at its loss. He had never actually imagined himself as a father, it was always a foreign, unattainable concept - until now.

The transition back to home life after their recent return from Underdark two months ago has been a little difficult for the couple. Amaya was in her first trimester, she had persistent morning sickness, obscene cravings, and general unease stemming from the pregnancy. Meanwhile, Astarion’s constant stress and worry have made him increasingly overprotective and borderline overbearing.

Things have eased down a bit since the start of the second trimester and Astarion has relaxed more since the constant sickness has stopped. It wasn’t until their latest bi-annual reunion over a ten-day ago, Withers' had given a cryptic hint to the couple when they were alone that still echoed in his mind: their children—plural—were "destined for greatness." Coming from the usually tight-lipped avatar of Jergal, it had been a surprising comfort to both of them, especially given Amaya's fears about bearing a child being both a Bhaalspawn and a dhampir. But Astarion always knew in his heart their child would inherit Amaya's love and gentleness. She was never the person her father made her out to be and since purifying her blood, and the murder whispers had fallen silent he knew from the start their children would not be that way, though the plural "children" in Withers' prophecy still made Astarion's head spin.

Darkness had fallen completely now, the snow and wind picking up outside his window. Sighing, Astarion began tidying his desk—Lady Caldwel's contract would have to wait. Worry gnawed at him; Amaya had gone to the Upper City's Midwinter’s Eve festival with Shadowheart, Karlach, and Lae'zel. Last year's memories brought a smile to his face: Lae'zel's newfound obsession with sugar cookies, and his sneak snowball attacks on Shadowheart. Despite Amaya's adorable pouting, he declined today's invitation to finish up some work so he would be free all day tomorrow for Midwinter, though the elf did somewhat wish he had joined the group.

The Midwinter festivities weren't exactly Astarion's cup of tea, Amaya had grown to adore them. This year, the tiefling had truly outdone herself, decking their home with the most beautiful seasonal decorations and carefully selecting thoughtful gifts for all their friends who would be joining them for the celebratory dinner the next evening. Even Minthara will be impressed by Amaya's efforts just like she had the previous Midwinter.

But this year's gathering would be extra special. Not only were Karlach and Wyll back in Baldur's Gate permanently, but Astarion and Amaya also planned to have their pregnancy announcement to everyone. Of course, only a select few already knew— Gale, his fiancée Elysia, Shadowheart, and her partner Kaelum, having accompanied the couple on their journey to find the Sun-walker's ring, and Withers who knew everything. However, the rest of their dinner guests remained blissfully unaware. Astarion was still a bit hesitant to make the announcement, worried that it might be too soon, but Amaya was positively bursting with joy and how could he possibly say no?

Astarion was beginning to get a headache thinking over everything, and his worry began to heighten when heavy winds crashed onto his study’s window. The sound of their heavy front door slamming shut snapped him to attention making his pointed ears twitch. "Oh, thank the gods," he breathed, hurrying toward their drawing room. Shadowheart's and Amaya's soft voices drifted through the halls as he approached silently.

"Are you four months along now?" Shadowheart asked as Amaya shed her heavy winter layers.

"Yes!" Amaya beamed, smoothing her hand over the slight swell of her belly.

"Oh, by the Moonmaiden’s grace, I always knew you'd make the cutest little pregnant lady!" Shadowheart reached out to touch the bump. "Have you been taking those herbs I recommended for nausea? And drinking blood for the little one? It must be strange having to drink blood."

Amaya stifled a laugh. "I'm not too sure it's the strangest thing I've had to drink, Shadowheart."

Before Amaya could continue, Astarion slipped behind the tiefling, wrapping his cold hands around her belly and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Hello, lover," he purred into her ear.

"Can you please do that when I'm not around?" Shadowheart groaned.

"Shush," Astarion smirked. "Don't act like I didn't see you and Kaelum cozying up at the reunion. By the way, do tell them I said hello." His devious smile only widened at Shadowheart's resulting blush. Shadowheart then rolled her eyes at Astarion's teasing, pointedly ignoring him.

Astarion's eyes widened as he surveyed the drawing room floor. "So, are we broke now?" Astarion smirked, eyeing the mountain of shopping bags. "Based on this haul, I can only assume we're destitute."

"Quiet, you," Amaya turned, pressing her lips to his. He chuckled into the kiss, the sound vibrating against her mouth. "And no—everything was on sale!" She swatted his hand away as he reached for one of the mysterious packages.

Their head maid, Dakota, appeared in the doorway, offering to whisk the bags away to "Amaya's special hiding spot"—a location Astarion had long since discovered in the maid's quarters. She offered tea, but Shadowheart declined, casting a worried glance at the darkening sky through the window.

"I should really get going. The storm's picking up, and it's quite a hike to the cottage," Shadowheart said, rising from her seat.

Amaya jumped up to embrace her friend at the doorway. "See you and others tomorrow, then. Don't forget the Midwinter feast starts just before sunset. You and Kaelum are welcome to borrow some of my night clothes, or if Kaelum prefers, they can use Astarion's when you stay the night."

“I did not agree to that!” Astarion protested behind them, but the two ignored him.

"We'll be there and thank you," Shadowheart assured her. "Now rest, please."

"I will. Stay safe—send me a sending spell when you're home."

After Shadowheart's departure, Astarion sprawled across the drawing room couch, arms extended in invitation. Amaya settled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as he asked, "Why does she want you to rest, love?"

"It's nothing, really", Amaya deflected, peppering his cheek with the rapid little kisses she always used when seeking affection. "I just got winded more quickly than usual today. That’s all."

Astarion's brow furrowed and genuine concern colored his voice. "Perhaps we should skip tomorrow's festivities if you're struggling to catch your breath. I don’t want you to over-exert yourself."

Amaya fixed him with her big, brown eyes he never could resist, and a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips."You're just nervous about seeing everyone," she countered, “I know you’re not fond of this holiday but don't try to use me as an excuse."

"No, Amaya, I'm truly worried about the little one." His cool fingers found their way to her gently swollen belly as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck.

Amaya let out a soft sigh, resting her head on his and running her hands soothingly down his back. "Star, I already got Shadowheart’s second opinion on it and she already said I'd be fine. I just need to rest tonight."

Astarion’s fingers lingered around her belly as he began to fiddle with her loose velvet dress. "If you say so, Mayabear." he said as he groaned of defeat vibrating against her skin.

"I do. Now, I’m feeling peckish, and have you had any blood? It should still be fresh; I can fetch you some from the butcher's box while I make some tea and grab a snack ."

"Haven't had the chance," he sighed, rubbing his temples. "I've been wrestling with Lady Caldwel's contract for hours. I don't even want to think about it anymore."

Amaya's brow furrowed in concern. "I thought you said it would be easy?

Astarion grumbled, "It should be, but her husband is an absolute fool." The tiefling then gently kissed his cheek, saying, "I'm sorry, lovie. Maybe getting some rest will help clear your mind."

Amaya then slipped away to prepare their drinks and herself a small plate of gingersnaps that one of their maids must have prepared before heading home. Returning, she found her vampire with his eyes closed, the picture of contentment. Years ago, he'd never have allowed himself such vulnerability. Reclaiming her rightful place in his lap, her tail wrapped instinctively around his leg as she nestled against him. His fingers found their way into her dark curls, twirling the silky strands absently as he breathed in the familiar scent - his own bergamot, rosemary, and brandy faint on her but mingled with her naturally rich vanilla essence, the delicious aroma of the gingersnap crumbs on her lips and the sweet scent of her blood.

He licked his lips, savoring the memory of the rich, chocolate-like flavor of her blood - so different from the wine-like taste of others. Though the temptation remained constant, he'd been restraining himself lately, knowing their child already drew from her strength.

Taking the chalice of fresh boar's blood, he drank deeply. Their arrangement with the local butcher had proven invaluable, especially now that Amaya required blood for the baby. If the butcher ever grew curious about their frequent deliveries, they could simply blame it on Amaya's peculiar cravings for blood sausage. Usually during the winter months, the deliveries would be twice a week, but with everything going on they had made the decision for deliveries once a day, and generous payment had kept any questions at bay so far.

The peaceful silence stretched between them until Astarion's curiosity got the better of him. "So darling, what did you get me?" he asked, then promptly snatched a bite of one of Amaya's gingersnaps just as she was about to take a taste herself.

"Hey!" Amaya protested, pouting at him. "And what makes you think I got you anything?"

"HA! I know you far too well, my love. And I'd rather not have to sneak into your 'super secret hideout' in Dakota's quarters," he said with a mischievous grin.

"How did you—?" Amaya's eyes widened in dismay.

"Sweetheart, you're terrible at keeping secrets from me. I overheard you discussing it with Dakota during yesterday's tea." His grin widened. "Besides, won't Dakota peek at her own gift?"

"Her gift is hidden elsewhere, thank you very much." the tiefling pouted, avoiding his gaze.

Astarion chuckled a bit while using his free hand to cup her cheek, "Come now, darling, we both know I have ways of discovering these things." He coaxed.

"I know, but sometimes I'd like to keep these particular secrets... secret." Her lower lip trembled slightly, pregnancy hormones amplifying her natural sensitivity.

As she began to pull away, Astarion tightened his hold. "Mayabear, don't be cross. I promise I don't know what you bought—only where you've hidden it." His cool fingers wiped away the tears threatening to fall.

Amaya sighed ”It's ridiculous that I feel like crying over this."

"This crying is perfectly normal, pet. You're experiencing new things." Astarion then pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and then to her cheek.

"I know what would make you feel better,” Astarion purred into her ears, his voice was now low and sultry.

Amaya now amused by him now looked up at him.“Oh, really and what is that” the tiefling mumbled.

Astarion gently cupped her face. “May I kiss you a little more? I can more than guarantee it will help with your little poutiness. I know you’ve missed me, and I’ve certainly missed you."

Amaya's gentle nod of approval was all the invitation Astarion needed. He tilted her head back and pressed his lips to hers, his fingers traced delicate patterns along her curves as their kisses deepened. Amaya's fingers tangled in his silver curls, drawing a pleased hum from his throat. His hands now roaming down to squeeze her full ample bottom leaving a soft, breathy moan from Amaya’s parted lips. Astarion could already feel his trousers begin to tighten uncomfortably. Every new curve of hers was driving him mad.

"Would going to the bedroom go against your instructions to rest?" he whispered against her lips, barely breaking their kiss.

At an eager shake of her head, the vampire gently swept her into his arms, carrying her swiftly to their chambers. He deposited her gently on their bed before retrieving an arcane lock scroll from their drawer—they'd learned that lesson after an awkward encounter with a new maid. The quick incantation sealed their privacy, and he returned to Amaya who was leaning against the bed’s headboard.

Astarion crawled close to Amaya, purring, "On your side, facing me darling." She obeyed, and his hungry kisses trailed from her lips down to her neck as his dexterous fingers untied the top drawstrings of the soft velvet dress, carefully lifting the fabric to reveal herself to him.

“Such a good, obedient girl.” He whispered. The sight of her stole his breath—her swollen breasts, the subtle curve of her belly, and the flush spreading across her skin.

"What?" she asked, noticing his intense gaze.

"Nothing," he murmured, his voice low and raspy. "I just think you grow more beautiful every day." With practiced grace, he slid off her lacy undergarments, sliding cold nimble fingers toward her already glistening desire.

“Tsk, tsk, you are already so wet”, he purred into her ear. He propped up her leg on his hip, angling her body to lay on her side more comfortably. Slowly, he began slipping one, then two fingers in and out of her slick, glistening folds at a steady pace, drawing soft yet needy moans from her lips.

Astarion trailed tender kisses lower, his tongue lingering and tracing the delicate curves of her body His fanged teeth accidentally grazing around her pert nipple, eliciting a sharp gasp from Amaya. Amaya then cupped his hair between her fingers, arching into his touch. "A-Astarion," she gasped. The vampire began to focus his attention, zeroing in on her sweet spot. "I want you to bite me," she pleaded. "You haven't in so long."

Astarion hesitated, "You know I have my reasons, pet." he murmured, his voice vibrating against her skin. But Amaya's pleading, trembling voice of need was impossible to resist. "Please! And I so desperately want to feel all of you."

Astarion paused briefly, his brow furrowed in deep contemplation. "Well, well you've persuaded me, you cheeky little pup," he growled. He quickly unbuttoned his shirt and removed his trousers, only to reveal his aching cock glistening and beaded with precum. Positioning himself on his side at Amaya's entrance, he let out a soft growl as he slowly began to thrust into her welcoming heat.

Astarion's teeth sank into the delicate skin of Amaya's neck, drinking deeply of her rich, sweet life’s nectar as he pounded into her his fingers gripping tighter around her plump bottom. Amaya's muffled cries spurred him on, his pace quickening. Only when he felt himself nearing the edge did Astarion detach his fangs, letting out a stifled moan.

Desperate, he deliberately slowed his movements, savoring each delicious sensation as he remained deeply immersed in her welcoming warmth.

“Fuck, Maya” Astarion finally growled, Amaya's hands roamed avoiding Astarion's scarred back, her nails digging in just above his shoulder blades as their bodies moved together in a shared, building climax. "Astarion!" Amaya cried out, her walls clenching around him as his hips began to stagger losing control, his seed filling her in warm, pulsing waves..

Spent, they clung to each other, Astarion pulling Amaya close to his chest entangled with one another between the silk sheets. Her fingers played with his sweat-dampened curls brushing them back from his forehead—a tender habit that had brought him comfort since their first night together. As sleep began to claim Amaya, Astarion gazed at her drinking in her beauty.

"I really love you, you know that right?" he whispered.

"Of course, love," she smiled drowsily at him. "I hope you know I love you too."

"I'm more than aware." He pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

“So, what did you get me for Midwinter?” She asked softly but amusement in her voice.

Astarion chuckled to himself, “You’ll see, now close your eyes.”

Her soft laugh and the gentle tug of her fingers in his hair were the last things he registered before she drifted off and he began to trance, safe in each other's arms forever, for good.

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killeromanoff · 2 months ago

Text

I KNOW YOUR GHOST | ch. 3

summary: Cassie navigates a haze of alcohol and emotions as she confronts the weight of her past and future decisions.

pairing: Declan O’Hara x Cassandra 'Cassie' Jones (Female OC)

warnings: Mild language, Themes of Corruption, Power dynamics, Age-Gap (Cassie is 25 yo), Moral conflict, Slow-burn tension, Alcohol Use, Realism in Media Industry, Self-doubting

w.c: 15.7k

[prologue], [chapter one], [chapter two], [here], [chapter four]

o3. Never break the chain

The warmth of Bar Sinister wrapped around Declan the moment he stepped inside, a soft hum of voices and clinking glasses providing the backdrop. The place had a worn-in charm, like an old leather armchair—comfortably familiar yet quietly sophisticated. The light fixtures cast a muted, golden glow, pooling in corners and leaving enough shadows to feel discreet. It was the kind of place where people came to talk, not to be seen.

Declan’s gaze swept the room, scanning for Rupert.

His friend was nowhere to be found, undoubtedly caught up in whatever social entanglement he met in his way. Typical of him. Declan let out a quiet sigh, adjusting his cufflinks—a subconscious habit more than anything.

Then his gaze landed on Bas, comfortably sprawled at a counter near the far corner. The scene was familiar enough: Bas gesturing animatedly, the low light reflecting off the condensation of a half-empty glass at his side. His grin was wide, his loose posture exuding the kind of effortless charm Declan had come to associate with him.

Typical Bas.

At first, Declan had hoped to find Rupert with Bas, since both were joined at the hip.

Where Bas was, usually, Rupert was as well.

However, this time, next to Bas sat a woman, her back to Declan. Again, typical Bas.

At first glance, she didn’t seem remarkable. Dark brown hair, the soft curls catching the light to reveal subtle auburn undertones—spilling over her shoulders, posture relaxed, head tilted backwards as she laughed at something Bas had said to her.

Declan nearly dismissed it as just another encounter for Bas, who had a way of surrounding himself with women who were drawn to his easy humor and magnetic energy. But as the journalist stepped closer, something about the way the woman moved—a slight tilt of her head, a gesture of her hand—nagged at him.

And then her voice reached his ears, carrying over the soft background sound of the bar.

“You know,” she remarked, casually, “you’d make a terrible lawyer. Your evidence is a horse, and your defense strategy is sarcasm.”

Declan halted in his tracks.

That voice.

Recognition struck him like a sudden shock, and everything fell into place. It wasn’t just any woman sitting with Bas—it was Cassie.

Cassie Jones.

The realization sent a strange mix of emotions through him, each one colliding before he could fully process them. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he walked in, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Cassie, in this bar, with Bas—her back to him, her shoulders shaking with laughter—felt as unexpected as it was unnerving.

Declan’s gaze tunneled, focusing on her with newfound intent.

Her chestnut locks cascaded around her face in gentle waves, reflecting the soft golden light from above. Even from behind, she exuded a vibrant energy that drew the eye irresistibly. She leaned in gradually, resting her elbow on the table, her fingers loosely holding her glass as if it anchored her to the moment.

The sharp lines of her black blazer stood out against the cozy ambiance of the bar, yet it felt entirely appropriate. It complemented her persona—elegant and poised, yet with a hint of unpredictability that suggested she could burst into laughter at any moment.

He took a breath, but it didn’t quite steady him.

Bas let out a snort, struggling to suppress a laugh. The sound was unrestrained and familiar, waltzing through the bar with an undercurrent of satisfaction. He was clearly enjoying himself, reveling in the shared amusement between them.

This was Bas at his most infuriating—delightfully irreverent, effortlessly magnetic, and undeniably present. He had a knack for disarming people, creating an intimacy that felt both natural and easy.

It was a skill that Declan admired in theory, but witnessing it unfold with a young woman like Cassie left him unsettled in ways he preferred not to explore.

“A lawyer?” Bas said with another incredulous laugh, his voice loud enough to turn heads, “Please. Too much paperwork. I’d rather keep slinging drinks, making people laugh, and playing polo.”

“Ah, the noble profession of bartending again,” Cassie attempted to suppress another fit of giggles, her tone laced with playful sarcasm, “Defender of soy sauce incidents and peddler of questionable anecdotes.”

“Questionable?” Bas echoed, feigning shock as he clutched his chest, “That story was the highlight of my week.”

Cassie’s laughter rang out again—this time softer, almost reflective—and Declan felt its warmth wash over him before he could rein it in.

For a moment, Declan allowed himself to remain in that space, his eyes locked on her. There was something about the way she leaned in, her fingers lightly grazing the rim of her glass as she absorbed Bas’s reply, that felt... Out of place.

Not because she didn’t belong—if anything, she seamlessly blended into the bar's warm, lived-in ambiance—but because he hadn’t anticipated how effortlessly she could adapt to this relaxed environment.

Across from her, Bas lounged with an infuriating charm that seemed to flow from him like a second language. Declan felt a sharp pang grip him—something instinctual and unsettling. It wasn’t exactly anger; he wasn’t angry at Bas.

How could he be? Bas was simply being himself: witty, disarming, and entirely at ease in captivating an audience.

It was just… Complicated.

Declan’s chest tightened as he watched. There was no real justification for the feeling, just the disquieting realization that seeing Cassie and Bas together—sharing effortless laughter and moving in sync—had stirred something deep within him.

“Oh,” he said with a smooth tone, his voice slicing through the warm stillness of the bar as he paused beside the counter, “I thought Rupert would be here already.”

The words flowed easily, yet he couldn't shake the tightening sensation in his chest as he truly focused on her.

Cassie hadn’t even fully turned to acknowledge him, but he could sense her attention, which was more than he anticipated.

Bas leaned back in his chair, clearly entertained by the unfolding scene.

“Rupert’s at Mrs. Spencer’s gala,” he answered, his tone breezy, “Something about giving someone a ride.”

Declan’s thoughts wandered for a moment. Rupert at the gala.

Mrs. Spencer’s gala was the epitome of a high-society affair—too… Perfect for Rupert. The only thing that would pique his interest was the chance to engage in flirtations with anyone present.

That thought was interrupted briefly as Declan recalled his earlier conversation with Taggie about the ride to the Spencer’s residence. She had insisted she already had a ride, that she didn’t want to disturb him and his plans.

He had assumed—perhaps naively—that Mr. Spencer himself would have come to collect her. What kind of man would allow a woman like her to navigate the night alone, especially during such an extravagant gala?

Declan’s brow furrowed, though his expression remained relaxed as he turned his attention back to the conversation. He allowed a thoughtful hum to leave his lips, careful not to let his thoughts show on his face.

“Taggie’s doing their buffet, isn’t she?” His voice was quieter now, as though speaking more to himself than to them.

The casual question floated into the air between them, but Declan’s mind was elsewhere—focused on Cassie. Because why would he be thinking about her when he has Rupert to worry about?

Perhaps the one glass of whiskey he had treated himself when the show finished wasn’t hitting so well.

She was here with Bas, laughing and chatting with an ease that felt foreign to him. This vibrant side of her was a revelation, making the earlier awkwardness of their interactions fade into the background.

Bas nodded to Declan’s inquiry, which reminded him of his earlier question, a hint of satisfaction creeping into Baddingham's expression. Declan couldn't shake the sensation that he was missing out on something significant.

For the moment, he resolved to set this concern aside, leaving it for a future version of himself to figure out.

Cassie hadn’t turned completely yet, but Declan could feel the air shift the moment he entered the scene. Something was different, but he couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps it was the intensity of his thoughts, or maybe it was the realization that he hadn’t anticipated how much he would want her attention at this moment.

Whatever it was, the energy between them felt charged in a way that hadn't existed before.

“Hi, Cassie,” he said, her name rolling off his tongue with an ease that belied the intent behind it, “I imagine you saw my show tonight.”

Only then, she did finally turn, the motion was cautious, almost reluctant, like she was testing each muscle before committing to the full action. For a moment, he saw her uncertainty—unspoken but undeniable—and then her eyes met his, and everything else in the room seemed to still.

Her dark eyes caught the muted glow of the bar’s lighting, making them seem deeper, more guarded than they had earlier in the day. Her expression was unreadable at first, her lips slightly parted as though she was preparing to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

Declan felt something stir in his chest—a pull, faint but insistent, that made him want to take a step closer. He resisted the urge, instead letting his gaze linger, unhurried, as if taking in every detail of her.

Her blazer was sharper up close, well-fitted but rumpled, suggesting she’d thrown it on in a hurry. The fade flush in her cheeks, still warm from the bar’s heat made her seem almost vulnerable. Almost.

Because if there was something that Cassie Jones wasn’t, that was that: vulnerable. She could show vulnerability, but she wasn’t one to let it define her.

He smiled, just enough to break the edge of the silence between them. It wasn’t a smirk—he knew better than to wield arrogance here—but it was self-assured.

And there it was, that subtle shift in her gaze, the telltale sign of someone trying too hard to appear unaffected. It was temporary, but he caught it, and it sent a flicker of satisfaction through him.

She held his gaze longer than he’d expected, her expression settling into something closer to defiance than uncertainty. Declan found himself appreciating the fire there, the way she refused to back down despite the tension thickening between them.

“Yes, it was… Thorough,” she replied, dismissing the tension that had lingered in her silence until she spoke.

Declan raised an eyebrow, and although he held back his reaction, he felt the sting of her understatement. Thorough? He might have laughed if he weren't slightly offended.

“Thorough,” Declan echoed, his brow lifting as if feigning offense, “I’ll take that as your version of a compliment.”

She shrugged, “Don’t get used to it.”

Bas’s laughter cut through the moment, a snort of genuine amusement as his gaze darted between the two of them. Grinning, he turned back toward the bar and began assembling Declan’s usual drink with the ease of someone who knew the routine by heart.

“Don’t listen to her,” Bas said, handing the glass to Declan with a flourish, “You should have seen her face when you said her name on television.”

Declan raised an eyebrow, intrigued, just as Cassie snapped her head toward Bas, her eyes wide in protest.

“Shut up, will you?” she shot at him, narrowing her gaze as she pointed a finger in warning.

Bas, ever the provocateur, pouted dramatically, though his grin threatened to spill over at any second.

“Sorry, American,” he said with exaggerated politeness, “I just take orders from true British.”

Declan stood silently for a beat, his drink untouched in his hand. Watching them interact, the playful rhythm of their words, the easy way they occupied the space around each other—it struck him in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

“Don’t you dare,” Cassie shot back, leaning closer, her voice sharp with faux outrage, “I was born in London, Bas. We’ve been over this!”

When he had first entered the bar and his gaze landed on them—Cassie laughing, Bas leaning closer with that mischievous grin… Something about their ease, the natural rhythm of their interaction, had snagged in his mind for just a moment.

But now, as he watched Cassie half-climb over the counter in mock outrage, her sharp retort cutting through Bas’s exaggerated pouting, whatever thought he had felt absurd.

They weren’t flirting. It was too careless, too playful—siblings bickering over nothing at all… And anyway, of course, they weren’t. If anything, they were squabbling like siblings over a childhood rivalry, their teasing lighthearted but relentless.

Still, the thought lingered in the back of his mind, refusing to fully dissipate. And even if they were?

Declan’s fingers brushed the edge of his glass, grounding himself as he let the moment play out. Whatever had crossed his mind before, it was irrelevant now. It didn’t matter. And even if it did—well, that wasn’t something he intended to examine further.

“Good to know you’ve sorted out your identity crisis,” he spoke up, trying to soothe the tension off of his shoulders.

Cassie turned her attention to him, her eyes narrowing, though the amusement still lingered in her expression. Bas, meanwhile, sat back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Don’t mind Declan,” Bas said to Cassie, raising his glass in an exaggerated toast, “He’s just grumpy because he missed the part where you glared at the television like it owed you money.”

Cassie groaned, dragging a hand down her face, “Bas, I swear to God—”

Bas chuckled to himself, clearly enjoying the scene, but Declan’s attention was still focused on Cassie. Despite the playful banter, something about the way she held herself, the sharpness in her eyes, intrigued him. Her guard was still up, but it felt different now. More like she was sparring with them for sport, her quick wit and retorts keeping everything at arm's length.

Declan let the silence hang for a moment, watching her as she settled back into her seat, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. It wasn’t an easy thing to hold her attention—he knew that much.

He cleared his throat, his voice softer this time, though still with the weight of the question.

“So, what did you think of the show?”

Don’t say thorough again, he almost whispered to himself.

Cassie hesitated, her fingers drumming lightly against the counter, her eyes shifting to her drink before finally meeting his gaze.

“You gave me my story back,” she said quietly, her eyes darting away to the content in her glass. Yet, Declan got a glimpse of the corners of her lips lifting, “My allegations. My accusations. You didn’t just… You credited me.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Declan’s mouth, though he kept it restrained. He hadn’t expected to feel this... satisfied. There was something about hearing her say it that felt more than just a professional acknowledgment. It felt personal.

The past thirty minutes—Cameron’s scolding for not telling her about the section of the interview that had been planned—seemed far less important at that moment. It was all worth it.

The satisfaction from seeing her smile, from catching the brief flicker of recognition in her eyes when she’d looked at him again? That made the whole thing feel meaningful. Real.

“It was your work, Cassie,” he said simply, “It deserved to be heard the way you intended it. Besides,” he added with a smile, “I told you, I like your work. It’s sharp. Honest. You deserve the credit.”

Cassie blinked, her gaze flickering away again, and for a brief moment, Declan wondered if he had said too much. Her fingers tightened around her glass, and then the quiet stretched out between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but it was different—he could feel the space between them heavier than it had been moments before.

Declan watched her, trying to read the change in her, the way she seemed to retreat inward. Her face was still, but there was a tension in her posture, a thought she hadn’t voiced yet but that she was wrestling with all the same.

Bas, ever the disruptor, broke the quiet with a grin and raised his glass in a mock toast.

“Which is exactly why you should join Venturer,” he said with ease, as though it were the most obvious conclusion in the world.

Cassie widened her eyes at Bas, pausing just a moment longer than expected. For a brief second, Declan caught the glint of an unspoken question in her gaze, a hesitation she hadn’t voiced but that was plain to see. And plain it was, it wasn’t difficult to see what was storming her mind again.

Bas leaned in, his voice shifting to a more persuasive tone as he continued, “You’ve got a lot to offer, Cassie. This isn’t about diving in headfirst. It’s about giving you a platform. Venturer is where you could take the next step.”

Declan kept his focus on her as he added, “It’s not about the show or the spotlight. It’s about the stories you’ve been telling—the stories that deserve to be heard. We’re just offering the chance to help amplify them.”

Cassie’s eyes moved from one of them to the other, but she didn’t immediately respond. Declan noticed how her brows furrowed, her focus distant as she turned over their words. She wasn’t sure, not yet, but she was listening.

After a beat, she exhaled, her gaze lifting again, this time fixated on a spot behind Bas, as if she was looking for an answer elsewhere.

“What exactly would you want me to do there?” she asked quietly, as though she had already begun to weigh her options in her mind, “At Venturer?”

Declan didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward just enough to meet her eyes directly.

“I want you as my co-host,” The words slipped out before he had fully considered them.

Had he ever discussed this with anyone? He tried to remember—perhaps Freddie and Rupert, months ago, when the idea of a co-host had first come up.

They had all agreed that it would only make sense if they found someone who could match the dynamic of the show, but no one felt right. They’d searched for weeks, but no name had emerged, not one that made Declan feel this level of certainty.

He remembered Freddie saying something about making calls, but the woman he had thought of already had a job in radio—an obstacle at the time. Who would have guessed that the right person, the one he’d been unknowingly searching for, was sitting right in front of him?

The woman working at a radio, huh?

Declan’s mind shifted as he considered the situation now.

Cameron, of course, would have to sign off on this. They couldn’t move forward without her approval, and there was always the politics to manage.

Still, the thought of Cassie in that role felt more fitting than he had anticipated. Maybe it wasn’t just about the show. Maybe it was about giving her a platform, the one she deserved.

He’d handle Cameron later. He’d manage that as it came.

Declan focused back on Cassie, waiting for her response.

When she finally spoke, it was with a quiet certainty.

“I can’t be a co-host,” she said, shaking her head in a way that seemed to emphasize her decision. Her eyes briefly skimmed over his face, reading his reaction, but she didn’t hold her look too long—just enough to gauge him before continuing, “Not in a show that’s already built on your name. Your brand. That’s not where I fit.”

Declan understood, he had suspected as much, but hearing her articulate it only solidified what he had already sensed. It wasn’t about her not wanting to be a part of the show; it was about not losing herself in something that wasn’t truly hers. He admired that.

Bas, noticing the shift in the conversation, raised an eyebrow but kept quiet, waiting for Declan to respond.

Declan let the silence stretch for a moment, letting Cassie’s words sit between them. He could see the wheels turning behind her eyes, her thoughts still moving beneath the surface. And when she spoke again, her voice was calmer, more considered.

“Let’s say I accept,” she said, the decision still heavy on the tip of her tongue, though she was clearly still pondering, “What I’m offering—” she gave a small pause, underscoring the seriousness of her consideration, “Is to be part of the show, but in a way that makes sense for me. Maybe a segment. A smaller part, where I can bring in the stories I’ve been chasing. The cases I’m working with. That’s where I can make the biggest difference.”

Declan absorbed her words carefully, his expression thoughtful. The idea of a segment, a piece of the show that felt more organic to her… Made sense. It wasn’t about pushing her into something that wasn’t right—it was about finding the right space for her to thrive.

His mind raced for a moment, considering how this could fit.

“A segment. We can do that,” he nodded, a slight smile playing in his lips, “Your stories. Your voice. That’s what this is about.”

Cassie’s fingers resumed their quiet drumming on the glass, her gaze lowering for a moment as she mulled over the next words. Declan observed her closely, watching the way her fingers moved—rhythmic, methodical. It wasn’t a nervous gesture, but something deliberate, as though she was laying the foundation for her next move.

The final pieces of the puzzle were clearly clicking into place in her mind, and Declan could almost hear the thoughts running through her head.

When Cassie spoke again, her voice was more casual, the tension easing from her shoulders. But even in this more relaxed tone, there was an undeniable practicality that struck him.

“And when I’m not on screen,” she said, her eyes meeting him briefly, “I want to be part of the production side. Camera work. Editing. Anything that gives me hands-on experience. I’ve got bills to pay and if I’m going to do this, I want to understand every angle.”

Declan blinked, his lips pressed in a thin line as his mind processed her words quickly. There was no hesitation now, no reluctance in her tone. She knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it.

Cassie wasn’t interested in just being a figurehead, a talking head for a show. She wanted to be in the trenches, learning the ropes, understanding the mechanics of the industry. The way she expressed it—so grounded, so aware of the realities—made something in Declan click.

Bas grinned, clearly impressed.

“Practical and resourceful,” His tone was light, but Declan could sense the respect in his words, “You always surprise me, Jones.”

Cassie shot Bas a small, pointed look, but it wasn’t one of amusement. The smile that had briefly touched her lips faded quickly, replaced by that same determined expression.

“If I’m doing this, I’m not just here to be a pretty face. I want to learn.”

She wasn’t the type to hide behind vague promises or false humility. She was real, grounded. She wanted to be more than a figure in front of a camera, and that was exactly why she was the right fit for what they were trying to build.

Declan studied her, taking in the quiet confidence she exuded. Her eyes weren’t just steady—they were attentive, measuring everything around her, and there was an underlying fire in them that he couldn’t ignore. She wasn’t one to settle for the obvious answers. Her posture, too, was a study in balance—leaning forward just enough to show interest, but never fully giving herself away.

It was an energy that kept him guessing, but in the best way possible.

And for someone like Declan, with his own history in this world of media and public image, he knew exactly the kind of woman she was.

Someone who didn’t rely on the glitz of the industry, but on something real. Something genuine. That was what set her apart. That’s what would make her the perfect fit for the kind of thing they were building here.

He didn’t have the words for it. He simply watched her, knowing that this was the kind of woman who always had an edge—a razor-sharp focus on the things that mattered.

There’s the fighter, he thought, and that thought brought a small, involuntary smile to his lips.

“So?” he said, his voice still calm, a subtle nudge, but with no urgency, “What’s next?”

Because, of course, a young woman like her would have a third condition.

Cassie’s eyes softened, just the smallest trace of vulnerability appearing before she masked it again, her lips pressing into a thin line. Declan saw it, but he didn’t press.

This wasn’t a moment to rush. She was measuring her response, and that was fine with him.

“Third condition,” there was no hesitation this time, but Declan noticed the way she settled into the words, almost as though she had prepared for this moment, “I want to talk to my uncle before anything final happens.”

Declan didn’t miss the subtle emphasis she put on ‘talk’—she wasn’t asking for permission, but she was looking for a conversation. And that made sense. Cassie’s relationship with her uncle was important, and he understood the need to clear things with him first.

For a second, he wouldn’t lie, he forgot she was Freddie’s niece. Yes, they had some similarities in appearances: brownish hair and brown eyes. But, despite that? Two different people entirely.

Bas glanced at Declan, and Declan gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“Of course. No one’s rushing you,” Bas said, his voice filled with that easy, knowing tone.

Declan allowed himself a smile, a little quieter now.

That mattered more than he wanted to admit, it made every minute listening to Cameron’s lecture worthier than ever.

“I wish Rupert were here,” Declan chuckled as he thought about his friend, leaning back a little, “It would be nice to get his approval on this. At least then we’d know you’re already part of the team. Since, obviously, Freddie would agree.”

Cassie raised an eyebrow, a touch of amusement breaking through her previously serious expression.

“You think he’d just approve it like that? Rupert?”

Declan’s grin was small but genuine. There was something apologetic in the way he held her gaze, as if admitting that… Yes, I am that confident.

“If anyone could, it’d be him. But we can wait. Just know, when you’re ready, you’ve got a place here.”

“Wait a second,” Bas said suddenly, rising from his seat and turning to rummage behind the counter.

“I didn’t even say yes,” Cassie said with a frown, watching her friend shuffle behind the bar, his movements purposeful.

After a moment, Bas emerged with a bottle, his grin wide.

“That’s the only time I’ve seen you really consider it,” he said, pulling out two glasses from behind the bar, “You know, Declan? Me and Freddie have been trying to get her to even think about this since she moved in.”

“Really?” Declan asked, his voice tinged with a mischievous as he leaned forward, never taking his eyes off Cassie.

She shot him a look, brows raised, as though silently asking if he was being serious.

He was.

And there was something about hearing Bas’s words, seeing Cassie’s expression shift just a little, that made Declan feel a sense of quiet victory.

It wasn’t just about the idea of her joining the show anymore—it was about seeing her consider it, seeing her mind working through the possibilities. To think that the things she had been working on, her stories, could have more power, more reach... He couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through him at the thought.

To him, her name deserved to carry weight—more weight than any of the fears she still held about the public eye. Cassie’s work deserved to be heard on a broader scale, and the possibility of that, of seeing her stories unfold the way they were meant to, made his heart settle into something easier.

Bas placed the bottle on the counter with a thud, his grin widening as he poured a generous measure into three glasses. The amber liquid caught the dim light of the bar, casting golden reflections that danced on the polished surface. Cassie watched the liquid swirl, her thoughts tangling like the intricate play of light and shadow before her.

“Here’s to bad ideas,” Bas declared, raising his glass high.

Cassie smirked, shaking her head as she reluctantly took her glass. Declan, seated across from her, mirrored Bas’s motion, though his movement was slower. His eyes strayed to her, a quiet idea strangling his thoughts.

“To bad ideas,” Declan whispered, raising his own glass.

“To bad ideas,” Cassie echoed, clinking her glass against theirs. The first sip was smooth, warm, leaving a faint burn as it settled, but the growing warmth in her chest wasn’t just from the whiskey.

The conversation drifted, light and meandering, as the three of them settled into an easy rhythm. Declan’s usual formality seemed to loosen with each drink, his laugh becoming more frequent, more unrestrained. Bas, ever the raconteur, regaled them with one ridiculous story after another, his words punctuated by grand gestures that had both Cassie and Declan chuckling into their glasses.

“You should’ve seen the look on Freddie’s face when that happened,” Bas said, his grin infectious, “He was stuck between being horrified and thoroughly impressed.”

Cassie shook her head, her laughter spilling out despite herself, “Freddie’s tolerance for you must be superhuman.”

Bas placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense.

“I’ll have you know, he secretly adores me. I’m the chaos he never knew he needed.”

“I’d love to see how he’d frame that argument,” Declan chuckled, his voice tinged with genuine amusement.

As the laughter died down, Bas leaned back, swirling the whiskey in his glass thoughtfully. A sly thought passed though his mind as he glanced at Declan.

“Speaking of Freddie,” he began, deceptively casual, “he’s at Mrs. Spencer’s gala tonight. Valerie was invited too.”

Declan’s posture stiffened imperceptibly, though his smile remained intact.

“Is that so?” he said evenly, taking another sip from his glass, “Makes sense. It’s exactly the kind of event she’d enjoy.”

Bas raised an eyebrow, his grin widening knowingly.

“And Taggie’s catering for them, isn’t she? Wonder if she’s getting a ride home from Mr. Spencer himself back to your house.”

The offhand comment hit its mark precisely, Bas ever the player.

Declan’s grip on his glass tightened, and though he let out a soft laugh, it was edged with something uneasy.

The thought was absurd, of course. Mr. Spencer was kind-hearted and unassuming—a man who wouldn’t hesitate to ensure Taggie’s evening went smoothly. Still, Bas’s remark nudged at an earlier suspicion that had already fogged Declan’s mind.

Rupert at the gala, “being someone’s ride” as Bas had mentioned—what had that even meant?

Declan cleared his throat, brushing the errant thought aside.

“I was actually thinking of swinging by,” he said, the words slipping out before he could reconsider, “If only to give her a ride home. Save her from any... Unnecessary chivalry.”

Both Cassie and Bas turned to him in unison, their expressions mirrors of surprise, though Bas’s quickly shifted into a smirk.

“Unnecessary?” Cassie’s voice was teasing lilt as she tilted her head, “Sounds like you’re volunteering yourself to rescue some damsel. Isn’t Taggie your daughter?”

Declan sighed, a tired smile tugging at his lips, “Let’s just say I prefer to ensure she gets home safe.”

Bas chuckled, pouring another round.

“Well, I’m staying put,” he said, topping off Declan’s glass before sliding it back toward him, “The bar won’t run itself. But you,” he added, nodding toward Cassie, “should definitely go. Give him some company.”

Cassie blinked, clearly caught off guard, “Me? Why me?”

Declan raised an eyebrow at Bas, mirroring Cassie’s confusion. The whiskey in his glass swirled as he considered whether two a little too drunk individuals driving to a gala was even remotely a good idea.

His logical side screamed no, but the alcohol softened that resolve.

“Are you with your car?” Declan asked Cassie directly.

She shook her head, almost sheepishly.

“No. Baz dragged me out earlier,” she said, pointing at the olive-skinned man who looked far too smug for his own good, “He’s been playing chauffeur lately. Friend of the year, clearly.”

“Only when Rupert’s not around,” Bas quipped with a grin, the comment laced with purposeful provocation.

Cassie rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Bas. You’re just lucky I don’t charge you for putting up with your nonsense.”

The banter between them flowed easily, their sharp words softened by the undercurrent of camaraderie. Declan watched the exchange, bemused. There was something refreshing in their dynamic, the way Cassie’s sharp wit met Bas’s playful arrogance in a clash that was more rhythm than conflict.

As the banter went, for some reason Declan couldn’t quite understand, now they were arguing about horse riding.

British people and their fascination with horses…

“Sorry if I don’t have time for playdates with Jester and the other aristocratic ponies in the evenings,” Cassie shot back, her tone mock-serious.

“Unemployed for now,” he commented nonchalantly to his and Cassie’s banter, “Guess you’ve got all the time in the world for riding lessons for a while.”

“Piss off, you daft git,” Cassie shot back, it was hard to discern if it was faux anger or not.

Bas doubled over with laughter, nearly spilling his drink.

“Oh, now that’s rich!” he exclaimed, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, “Full-on British, eh? Should I even ask who corrupted you so thoroughly?”

Cassie raised an eyebrow, the glint in her eyes pure mischief, “Do you really want to know? Because yesterday, your fath—”

Before their banter could spiral further, Bas pivoted smoothly, clinking his glass against Declan’s, “So-ooo, what’s the verdict, O’Hara? Gala or no gala?”

“Coward,” she said, faking a cough, her words aimed squarely at Bas.

Bas threw his hands up dramatically, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m a bartender, love, not a chauffeur. I know where my responsibilities end.”

“Oh yes,” she muttered, swirling the remnants of her drink, “I am talking about that convenience, not the previous one.”

Declan hesitated, brushing his mustache as he thought about it, his eyes slowly and lazily moving to Cassie. The bar’s golden glow caught in her hair, illuminating the soft waves that framed her face.

She was different here—lighter, freer. It was a side of her he hadn’t quite seen yet, and for reasons he couldn’t name, he found himself drawn to it. There was something magnetic about the way she wielded her wit, sharp yet never cruel, like a blade meant for dueling, not wounding.

There was something about her presence that made the idea of the whole ride less daunting.

Or perhaps it was just his mind, in a tipsy and peculiar way, trying to justify the desire to see Cassie in a different light, in a more uplifting atmosphere.

“I will pass by,” he mumbled, “And if you’re tagging along,” he added, meeting Cassie’s eyes, “you might as well meet your uncle there.”

Cassie arched an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

“Meet my uncle? At a gala full of pretentious twats in overpriced suits? Sounds delightful.”

Bas snorted into his drink, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“If Freddie’s there, you can have your talk with him.”

Cassie groaned, dragging her hand down her face in exaggerated frustration. It wasn’t that she agreed with Bas—far from it. She simply didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. Her day had been draining enough without adding another verbal sparring match to the list.

“Fine,” she relented, “But don’t expect me to mingle. I’ll be your shadow, nothing more.”

Declan, who had been quietly observing the back-and-forth, allowed a small smile to break through, “Deal.”

Bas, sensing his moment, leaned forward with his glass raised high. His grin widened into something bordering on wicked mischief.

“To Cassie Jones, stepping into the lion’s den. Godspeed.”

Was he referring to going to a gala she wouldn’t even get into or Venturer? By Cassie’s face, she didn’t know which was worse.

“To the Bloody Harrier!” Declan added, lifting his glass in agreement, the nickname slipping out almost too easily.

Cassie rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at her lips.

“More like dragging me into it,” she muttered as she clinked her glass against theirs.

The whiskey burned slightly less this time, the warmth spreading through her chest in a way that felt oddly comforting.

Despite her outward reluctance, resolve burned quietly beneath the surface. She had made up her mind long before they’d goaded her into it.

She tilted her glass back, finishing the last sip before setting it down with a thud. It wasn’t hesitation that had her drinking more than she should tonight; it was certainty—an attempt to drown out the anxiety that always came with choices like this.

Declan had noticed it all from the first sip. He could see the gears turning in her mind, the quiet battle she waged with herself, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he downed the rest of his drink, the burn grounding him as he rose from his seat.

“Well then,” he said, grabbing his coat and motioning toward the door, “shall we?”

Bas, still lounging comfortably in his chair, raised his glass in a mock salute.

“Try not to scare the posh ones too much if you find one of them, Harrier,” he teased, “They’re not used to someone who actually speaks their mind.”

Cassie smirked, tossing her scarf over her shoulder as she headed for the door.

“I am going there to talk with my uncle, not for the gala,” she shot over her shoulder, her tone light besides the playfulness in it, “And tell your father to not wait up.”

She also ignored the obscene gesture that Bas threw at her as she and Declan made their way out of the bar, the journalist laughing by her side.

As the bar door swung shut behind them, the crisp night air enveloped them, carrying with it the faint scent of rain and the earthy tang of distant foliage. Cassie shivered, the combination of the cool breeze and the lingering warmth of whiskey creating a pleasant contradiction in her chest. She pulled her scarf tighter around her neck, her eyes briefly meeting Declan’s.

The night felt quieter than it should have, the distant traffic barely audible over the weight of shared laughter still hanging in the air. Declan adjusted his coat, his fingers brushing the lapels as his mind caught up to the absurdity of his idea.

Why had he thought this was a good plan? Bringing Cassie along to the gala on a whim felt reckless, even by his occasionally impulsive standards. His chest rose with a deep breath, an attempt to ground himself, but his gaze drifted toward Cassie.

Her cheeks were tinged pink, likely from both the whiskey and the chill, and her steps had that subtle looseness that hinted at her being just tipsy enough to consider something like this entertaining. Her hair, illuminated under the glow of the streetlight, framed her face in soft, tousled waves. She didn’t seem like someone who’d jump at the chance to crash a society event sober, but tonight?

Tonight, she wasn’t sober.

Declan’s lips turned up despite himself. There was something about her presence that felt grounding and yet entirely unpredictable—a combination that, oddly, made his chest relax.

He couldn’t explain it, not fully. Maybe it was the way her wit cut through his occasional self-seriousness, or perhaps it was vulnerability she didn’t bother to mask. Whatever it was, it brought a strange sense of ease to his otherwise tightly-wound existence, like an unexpected breeze cutting through a stifling room.

Still, the logical part of his brain—a singular sober cell stubbornly clinging to coherence—questioned every piece of this plan.

And yet, another part of him. Whether it was the whiskey or the strange clarity that came with her company—countered with an unapologetic, why not?

A shiver passed through Cassie, pulling him from his thoughts. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, but the chill of the night seemed persistent. Without a second thought, Declan slipped his navy coat from his shoulders—the same one he’d worn during the broadcast—and draped it over hers.

Her brows lifted immediately, surprise painted across her face. She turned to face him and opened her mouth, perhaps to reject the gesture, but before the words could form, her eyes found his and then… The moment settled around them like the hush before a storm.

Their eyes met, lingering longer than either had anticipated, as if a know was being tied between the gazes.

Her eyes held his, searching, curious, and for a fraction of a second, the air between them seemed to thrum with something unnamed. Declan felt his pulse quicken—not in the way it did during a heated debate or an impassioned broadcast, but with a subtle, disarming intensity he hadn’t anticipated.

And then Cassie looked away.

Darting her eyes downward, adjusting the coat on her shoulders as though to busy herself. The spell was broken, leaving Declan standing there.

Suddenly and inexplicably aware of his own actions.

What had possessed him to do that? It was nothing—just a small kindness in the face of the cold. Yet, he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that tugged at the corners of his thoughts.

He refused to entertain the notion further. It was foolishness, plain and simple.

Cassie was Freddie’s niece, a talented journalist, someone he deeply admired professionally. There was no room for anything else, no matter how fleeting or innocent the thought.

Anything? Who had said anything? No one, of course. There wasn’t even a sign of conversation—just the rustle of the wind and the muffled hum of distant traffic.

There was nothing happening here.

No lingering tension, no unspoken understanding, no room for any of those... Passing thoughts that had crossed his mind. And certainly no reason for him to be standing there, feeling like the stillness between them was suddenly louder than it should be.

Declan cleared his throat, brushing the moment aside with the kind of practiced ease that only years of navigating sharp interviews and high-stakes debates could provide. His hand gestured toward the street ahead, the movement casual.

“Let’s go then, huh?”

Cassie didn’t respond immediately. She adjusted the coat one more time before offering him a faint, lopsided smile—one that didn’t betray whatever she might have been thinking.

“Lead the way, Declan.”

That glint in her eyes—it wasn’t mischief exactly, but it wasn’t far from it either. Whatever it was, it left him more unsettled than he cared to admit.

It wasn’t unease, not entirely. It was curiosity.

Wasn't it?

The sound of the car engine filled the quiet moments between their words, a steady undercurrent that matched the rhythm of the tires rolling over the asphalt. Declan’s hands rested on the steering wheel with a practiced ease, though his mind was anything but still. Beside him, Cassie reclined lazily, her head tilted toward the window, the streetlights casting fleeting patterns on her face.

It was the kind of quiet he might have found calming on any other night, but tonight, it felt alive with tension—unspoken words and half-formed thoughts swirling between them.

He almost didn’t notice it at first, the faint murmur of her voice rising above the hum of the car. It wasn’t until she started mumbling along to Blondie’s War Child that he realized she was singing—or, at least, trying to.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, and for a fleeting moment, he let himself watch her out of the corner of his eye. She was too drunk to be coherent but not drunk enough to lose her rhythm entirely. It was... Endearing, in a way he hadn’t expected.

By the time London Calling by The Clash began to play, she had stopped singing and settled into an amused silence, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of his coat.

“You don’t do this often, do you?” she said suddenly, her voice breaking through the quiet.

“What?” Declan glanced at her, catching the flicker of her eyes in the dim light.

“Driving drunk journalists around Rutshire,” she said, a sly smirk playing on her lips.

He chuckled low, shaking his head, “Can’t say it’s part of my usual routine.”

“Didn’t think so,” she replied, her tone softening. Her fingers stopped their idle tracing, coming to rest on her lap, “You’re too... I don’t know. Controlled? Like you’ve got a vice grip on everything—your work, your life...”

Declan raised an eyebrow, half amused, half wary, “Is that so?”

Was she the same young woman he had encountered roughly... Let’s see, nearly 13 hours ago? Now he grasped how individuals typically felt when he scrutinized them. Bloody journalists, eh?

She shrugged and redirected her attention to the window.

“It’s not a bad thing,” she said after a pause, “It’s just... Heavy. On television, at least, it’s how you look but now… You look more human.

Declan’s lips parted as though to respond, but the words caught somewhere between his thoughts and his tongue. He couldn’t tell if it was the whiskey clouding his mind or the way her words seemed to cut through the fog and hit something raw.

“I don’t think it’s as easy as you make it sound,” his voice quieter now.

“That sounds unusual,” Cassie commented, lifting a brow, “Today, you’ve been the one making everything sound easy.”

A soft laugh escaped him, surprising even himself.

“Touché,” he said, shaking his head, bemused by her candor, “I suppose I walked right into that one.”

Cassie didn’t immediately reply, her gaze trailing out the window as the landscape blurred by. There was something contemplative in her expression, a quiet gravity that hadn’t been there before.

The radio continued to play softly in the background—a low thread that filled the gaps between their words. For once, Declan welcomed its presence, it gave him something to focus on other than the knot in his chest or the way her words seemed to echo louder than the music.

“You’re different than I expected,” she remarked once more, shattering the quiet. This time, her voice was gentler, tinged with uncertainty. "On television, you appear... So grand, almost unreachable. But here... You’re simply a father going to a gala, anxious to take his daughter home because he cares for her."

Declan’s grip on the steering wheel faltered, his knuckles shifting pale against the leather.

“I suppose that’s the danger of screens,” he murmured, glancing briefly at her, “They magnify what you want people to see and blur the rest.”

The words hung between them, heavier than he intended.

He regretted saying that. Not only because usually it was a thought he kept for himself but also for reminding that it was that the thing that Cassie had said that terrified her. He expected her to recoil, to retreat into her own thoughts as he had unintentionally circled back to her fears of being seen.

Instead, Cassie tilted her head, studying him for a moment before turning back to the window.

“Or maybe you’re just better at hiding than most.”

Okay, that was a surprise.

Declan didn’t respond, though her words echoed in his mind.

Hiding. It wasn’t entirely untrue, was it? How much of his life had been spent crafting a version of himself that fit the narrative, that could carry the weight of expectations without buckling?

Despite him always wanting to be his true self in the screens, it was impossible to not create another self for the audience, to the guests. Someone more humble, more in control of the situation, more certain.

But here, in this car, with her, the mask felt thinner somehow, as if her presence had a way of peeling back the layers he had built.

Cassie shifted in her seat, drawing the coat closer around her shoulders.

“Does this ever get you tired?” Cassie asked, her voice sounding casual, but there was a thread of sincerity beneath it that caught Declan’s attention. “It looks... Draining.”

Declan glanced at her, the question catching him mid-thought. He knew why she was asking, and could hear the echoes of her own struggles in the question.

Her drunkenness hadn’t dulled her insight—it had sharpened it, like a lens focusing on things she might not have addressed sober. And deep down, Declan understood why.

Almost everyone in their world knew about the tragic death of Matthew Jones, the celebrated journalist and Cassie’s father. Freddie had shared details in private over the months, filling in the gaps about the fallout that followed, the relentless media circus, and how it shaped his life at the time—as Matthew’s brother.

Declan imagined it had reshaped Cassie’s as well. It was not for nothing that she was asking.

“All the time,” he admitted quietly, surprising himself with the honesty in his voice.

Cassie nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to her hands resting in her lap. There was no triumph in her expression, no sense of having “won” something from him. Instead, her silence carried a kind of understanding that was oddly comforting. It wasn’t pity—it was recognition.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The steady hum of the engine filled the space, accompanied by the faint, familiar strains of the radio.

“You don’t have to answer,” she murmured, her voice gentler now and out of the sudden once again, “But when you’re not on screen, not on show—who are you?”

Declan didn’t react right away, his hands adjusting on the wheel as if grounding himself in the present. Her question persisted in his mind, not just in the car but in the corners of his mind, where the answers felt messy and uncertain.

“I think that’s the problem,” he wondered, his voice laced with self-awareness, “I’m not sure I know anymore.”

His own honesty surprised him… Again.

The road ahead was nearly empty, the soft glow of the gala’s lights appearing faintly on the horizon. Still, the journey felt oddly suspended in time, as though this moment in the car existed in a space separate from the reality waiting for them.

Declan exhaled slowly, the sound barely audible over the low hum of the engine.

Cassie’s question echoed in his mind, repeating again and again, threading itself through his thoughts.

For years, he had been the face of authority, the man people turned to for clarity in chaos. On screen, he was sharp and controlled, always ready with the perfect retort or the incisive question. But off-screen? The man behind the polished veneer?

He wasn’t sure he’d known that man in years.

The divorce papers from Maud had stripped away more than just their marriage—they had exposed the hollowness in parts of his life he thought were solid. He’d once imagined a future filled with quiet evenings, the warmth of family anchoring him.

He’d pictured Taggie, Caitlin, and Patrick coming home to a full house, their laughter bouncing off walls unburdened by the ghosts of his failures. But those dreams had dissolved into something messier and far lonelier.

Even the moments he had hoped to share with Maud—their plans for simpler times, away from the cameras and schedules once they were old enough to have grandchildren—had slipped through his fingers like sand, leaving behind only the ache of what could have been.

And then there was Taggie herself. Slipping through his grasp in ways he couldn’t fully define, like trying to hold on to water. He had always prided himself on their closeness, on the way she used to confide in him as a child. But now, there were signs he couldn’t ignore. The easy rapport she seemed to have with Rupert—was she confiding in him more than her own father?

Did she see him, her father, as the man he tried to be on TV or the one who fell short in real life?

Declan glanced at Cassie again. She wasn’t like anyone else in his orbit. She wasn’t asking him to perform or expecting him to have all the answers.

Her frankness, her willingness to sit in the discomfort of not knowing, felt... Disarming. Specifically when she was drunk.

He could only imagine that all these questions she had once made in her mind while they talked in the afternoon or after.

“You’re a strange one, Cassie,” he said, the faintest trace of a smile pulling at his lips.

She opened one eye, regarding him with mock suspicion, “Strange good or strange bad?”

“Just... Strange,” he replied, not knowing himself the right answer.

“I’ll take it,” Cassie snorted softly, closing her eyes again as if content to let the moment drift, “Guess I, myself, walked right into that one. Sorry if I said something stupid, I’m not exactly thinking straight.”

Declan chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he turned his eyes back to the road.

“You’ve got an interesting way of apologizing, I’ll give you that.”

Cassie let out a quiet breath, a soft, unexpected chuckle escaping her as she absorbed something Declan had said. It was different from her usual sharp humor—lighter, more relaxed, as though the weight of her thoughts had loosened just a little as her head lolled against the seat.

“It’s a gift,” she mumbled, though her voice had lost some of its earlier edge, softening into something more reflective, drowned in the dizziness, “Maybe I’ll regret this tomorrow. Maybe not.”

“Regret what exactly?” Declan asked, glancing her way again.

She exhaled deeply, the sound filling the car as she stared out the window, almost as though the passing lights could help her figure out the answer.

“Saying things like... Like that.” She gestured vaguely, her words slurring, “Asking questions. About you. About screens. About all this... Stuff that probably isn’t my business.”

The car slowed as they approached a turn, the glow of the gala lights becoming visible in the distance.

“You ask because you care,” he managed the words out, trying to soothe the moment, “Not because you’re trying to pry. There’s a difference, there is no need for an apology, truly.”

Cassie opened her eyes at that, turning her head to look at him properly, “That’s very diplomatic of you, Declan. How very on-brand.”

Declan’s laugh came easily this time, less guarded than before, “I’ve been accused of worse.”

The car fell silent again, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. Cassie leaned her head back, only a moment later laughing at the joke. For what it seemed, it took her sometime to realize what he meant.

“You know,” she commented, “My dad... He never talked about this stuff. About what it meant to be public. To have people look at you like you’re more than you are. Or less.”

Declan’s grip on the wheel shifted, his attention still on the road. He didn’t interrupt her, sensing there was more.

“I think he thought if he didn’t talk about it, he could shield me from it. Like if he just kept me out of the spotlight, none of it would touch me. But it did. It always does.”

Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, the only sound was the faint sound of the engine and the muted music from the radio.

Declan took a deep breath, considering his words carefully, “It’s not easy, being seen like that. Or knowing people will judge you for things they don’t even understand.”

Cassie nodded, her gaze distant.

“Yeah,” she agreed, her eyes darting away to the window once more, “And sometimes, you don’t even know if you’re judging yourself the same way they do.”

The gala loomed ahead now, its grandeur casting long shadows on the darkened road. Declan slowed the car as they approached, his attention divided between the glowing entrance and the woman beside him.

“You’re not your father, Cassie,” he stated, each word delivered with the beat of his heart, “But that’s not a bad thing. He made his impact, left his mark. You get to decide what yours will be.”

Cassie turned to him, her lips parting as though to respond, but she hesitated. His words sank in slowly, their intent more comforting than overwhelming.

Declan glanced at her once more before parking.

“The world doesn’t need another Matthew Jones. But it could use a Cassie Jones.”

Cassie felt a shift inside her, a moment of stillness before her heart seemed to give a sudden, unexpected jolt. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t doubt. It was a warmth, something that felt almost unfamiliar but not unwelcome, growing quietly where the uncertainty once was.

How strange, she thought, that in less than a day, a man she had only known through screens could make her feel this way.

She decided it was a strange good, then.

The drive toward the gala hadn’t felt nearly long enough. For Cassie, the time between Declan’s car stopping and walking outside Bar Sinister was a blur. Yet, amidst the haze of alcohol and the disjointed events of the night, her mind circled back to one thing: Venturer.

Her clarity wasn’t rooted in confidence—it was more fragile, almost tenuous. But it clung to her nonetheless.

The calls she’d made earlier that day lingered in her thoughts, the voices of strangers who had trusted her with their pain. They had placed their faith in her, even when she wasn’t sure she deserved it. She had promised them she would do something, find some way to make their stories mean something.

And then there was Declan. She still didn’t fully understand it—the way he had used her allegations, not to diminish her, but to magnify the voices she had tried to represent. It hadn’t even been a day since they’d met, and yet, he had gone out of his way to give her story weight…

Why? Really, she couldn’t understand, why?

That question looped in her mind, unanswered and bewildering. He didn’t owe her anything, and yet, he’d offered her not just a platform but a hand to steady herself.

She didn’t know if she would ever be able to unravel his motivations. But in a way, it didn’t matter. It made her feel something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time: hope. For herself, for the people she had promised to help, and for the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she could step into a space she had always believed was too big for her.

Well, she still believed it was. But, for the first time, she wanted to believe she was wrong.

Cassie’s gaze drifted toward the glowing lights of the Spencer estate through the window. She still questioned whether she belonged in front of a camera, whether she could wield a platform like Venturer without losing herself in the process. However, everyone else seemed to believe in her—Declan, Freddie, even Bas in his teasing way.

And maybe, she wanted to believe as well.

Because if Declan O’Hara could wield her story like a weapon for justice, then surely, she could wield her own voice for the same cause… Couldn't she?

It wasn’t about being sure of herself or about proving anything to the media that had twisted her father’s legacy into something unrecognizable. It was about those voices on the other end of the line, about the people she’d promised to help. Turning away now would mean breaking that promise—not just to them, but to herself.

And for the first time, as she stepped off the car, the thought didn’t terrify her.

Cassie’s boots crunched softly on the gravel as the cool night air greeted her, crisp and grounding. The Spencer estate rose before her like a beacon, its illuminated windows spilling gold across manicured hedges and cobblestone paths. The gentle clinking of glasses and faint bursts of laughter drifted toward her, mixing with the faint, far-off hum of an orchestra.

She tugged Declan’s coat closer around her shoulders, its tailored fabric heavier than she’d expected. The faint trace of his cologne lingered, grounding her in an evening that already felt half-dream, half-dare. The coat didn’t quite fit the elegance of the gala, but that incongruity comforted her—an unspoken reminder of where she’d come from and where she was heading.

Declan rounded the car, his gaze sweeping toward the far end of the lot.

“Freddie’s over there,” he said, nodding toward a parked car, its driver’s-side door slightly ajar as a familiar silhouette leaned casually against it.

Cassie followed Declan’s gesture, her gaze easily finding Freddie among the guests. It wasn’t as much about spotting him as it was about feeling his presence, something familiar amidst the unfamiliarity of the evening. He stood a little apart, his posture relaxed but somehow still precise, as though he could never fully shed the tension in his shoulders, even in moments of ease.

The scene around him blurred, the glow of the gala's lights playing off the edges of his silhouette, but Cassie’s focus didn’t waver. She knew him too well to miss the way he held himself, the ever-present quiet that seemed to follow him, even in the crowd.

She gave a small, barely perceptible nod, tugging Declan’s coat tighter around her shoulders. The coat was warm, but it felt almost foreign against the coldness of the night air, as though it didn’t quite belong to her at this moment.

“Alright. I’ll... Talk to him,” her words trailing off as she turned toward Freddie.

Declan’s eyes softened as he observed her. The stoic composure she had become accustomed to seeing in him seemed to loosen for just a fraction of a second, his expression betraying a hint of something unreadable. But instead of pressing, he simply nodded.

"Take your time," he said quietly, his tone low but not without its own kind of reassurance, “I’ll go look for Taggie inside.”

Cassie hesitated for a moment, standing on the uneven gravel as Declan’s footsteps faded toward the glowing entrance of the gala. She turned her focus back to Freddie, who leaned casually against the side of his car. The sharp lines of his profile caught the light, casting shadows that made him look simultaneously familiar and distant.

She wasn’t entirely sure why she felt the need to speak to him, or couldn’t quite remember why the sober version of her wanted to. Maybe it was because like Declan, Freddie believed in her, even when she struggled to believe in herself. Or perhaps it was because he was one of the few people who truly understood her father—not just the media icon, but the man behind the legacy.

The alcohol in her system blurred her thoughts, turning them into fragments that didn’t quite connect. What had she meant to say? That she was ready to join Venturer? Or was she seeking reassurance, confirmation that she wasn’t about to make a colossal mistake? Or... Was it something else? A deeper need to see herself as others saw her—not as Matthew Jones’s daughter, or a reckless journalist who doesn’t know what she is doing, but as someone with her own voice, her own agency and could figure things out.

As she approached, her steps crunching against the gravel, Freddie’s head lifted. He spotted her instantly, his expression shifting from mild distraction to curiosity.

“Cass,” he greeted, his voice steady as ever, though his brows knitted, “Didn’t expect to see you here. Or... Like this.” His gaze flicked over the oversized coat draped over her shoulders.

Cassie smirked, tugging the coat closer, “Declan O’Hara has an interesting sense of chivalry.”

Freddie’s lips twitched into a smile that didn't quite get into his eyes. For a second, a suspicious look washed over his face before shifting back to curiosity, his attention lingered on her face.

“You’ve had a drink or two.” It was really that obvious? “Yesterday, you got arrested, tonight you are drunk… What do you plan to do tomorrow night?”

“Perhaps rob a bank,” she jested, finger over her chin, tapping as if she was truly thinking about it further, “Give them a true reason to arrest me, you know?”

Freddie arched a brow but didn’t press, gesturing toward the passenger side of his car, “You’re definitely too drunk. Come on, let’s sit.”

The moment they settled inside the car, Cassie found herself staring at her hands, tracing invisible patterns on her lap. The words she’d rehearsed in her mind earlier—if she had even rehearsed them—seemed to scatter.

Worse considering how drunk she was. Because let’s confess, she was too drunk. Thanks to Bas and Declan.

“Uncle, I...” She paused, frowning as she tried to organize her thoughts, “I think I’m going to do it.”

“Do what?” he asked gently, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

“Venturer,” she said, the word tumbling out in a single breath, “I’m going to take the offer.”

Freddie studied her for a long moment, his expression changing subtly. There was no dramatic change, no obvious emotion to pinpoint. Instead, there was something quieter—an intensity in the way his brow furrowed, his lips pressed together, and his eyes softened even more as though weighing every word she’d just said.

He wasn’t just listening. He was reading her, the way he always did, peeling back the layers of her drunken bravado and finding what lay beneath.

His silence drew her to continue, filling the space with her own uncertain voice.

“It’s not just about... Getting out there or proving anything,” she said, her words slower now, measured in a way that contrasted with her slightly slurred tone, “It’s about the people I promised to help. The ones I will meet someday in the future. And the ones who believed I could do something. And maybe... Maybe they’re right. Maybe I can.”

Her gaze lifted to meet his, searching for something she couldn’t quite name. If she was to be sincere, anything really.

“I don’t want to be my father’s shadow,” she whispered, her voice cracking, “But I also don’t want to ruin what he stood for. The media’s already done enough of that. I want to make him proud. I have to.”

Freddie’s expression softened, and he placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding. As always,

“You already are, Cass,” he whispered back to her, a smile adorning his lips, “Even if you don’t see it yet.”

“You think so?” she questioned him, hesitant.

“I know so,” he replied firmly, now serious, “And you don’t have to do it alone. There are people who want to help—Bas, for one. Lizzie, too. She could give you advice if you’d let her.”

Cassie hesitated, her drunken haze making it harder to parse his words, but their meaning still sank in.

“Lizzie,” she repeated softly, her thoughts meandering back to the woman’s gentle presence and subtle strength, “She seems so... Sure of herself, isn't she?” she slurred it, laughing before continuing, “I don’t know if I’m anything like that.”

“You don’t have to be Lizzie, neither like your father,” Freddie said gently, his voice threading through her rambling, “And you don’t have to figure it all out tonight. But Lizzie’s been through her share of fights, as your father. I know he’d understand what you’re facing.”

Cassie’s gaze drifted downward, her fingers absentmindedly brushing over the worn fabric of Declan’s coat draped around her shoulders. It felt heavy—she couldn’t stop herself from noticing that, but not oppressively so… More like an anchor keeping her grounded as her thoughts tumbled over themselves in a blur.

“My father...” she started, then stopped, her voice catching in her throat. The words felt fragile, like glass she was afraid to shatter. She took a breath, her hand stilling against the edge of the coat as if searching for steadiness.

“I don’t know if I can stop trying to protect him,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, her words almost drowned in the quiet of the car. “I’ve spent so much time trying to keep what he built from being ruined. I want to... I don’t want to be what they’ve turned him into.”

Freddie stayed quiet, his gaze focused on her, urging her to continue.

“It’s like I’m always trying to put back together something I can never touch,” the frustration bleeding into her tone, “I can’t fix what they did to him. I can’t stop people from seeing him the way they painted him. But every time I try, it just... it slips through my fingers.”

Freddie’s silence lingered for a moment, almost too long, before he spoke again, his voice calm but carrying an unspoken weight.

“You’re not responsible for what happened to him, Cass. You’re carrying something that wasn’t meant for you. His legacy... It’s not about what you protect, or how many people you shield from the things they did to him. It’s what you choose to do with the pieces of him that remain—what you make of them.”

Cassie’s breath hitched, but she didn’t break down. She just nodded quietly, trying to digest his words as they tumbled around in her mind.

“It feels like everything I’ve been doing... It’s to keep him whole. But I’m just patching things up. I’m not even sure what’s left anymore to protect.”

“You don’t have to carry that burden,” Freddie replied, his gaze focused on Spencer's residence, “You don’t have to carry his mistakes or his image, trust me, I’ve been in your place, I know what I’m talking about. What matters is what you choose to do next—what you make of your own life. You’re not him, neither of us are. You don’t need to be.”

Cassie inhaled deeply, but it didn’t seem to fill her lungs. She’d heard the words before—the advice, the reassurances. It should have been enough, right? But tonight, it felt heavier, like the walls were closing in. Her mind was drawing darker pictures now, the fear bleeding into thoughts she couldn’t push aside.

Now she remembered why she didn’t usually drink.

“I’m so scared of losing him,” she finally said, her words tumbling out in a rush. The tightness that had gripped her for so long released in a rush, “Losing his name... Making it all feel like it was for nothing.”

“You’re not losing him,” he replied, his tone firm but not harsh, “He’s in you, Cassie. Not in some image the media wants to cling to. Not in the mistakes that the media blew out of proportion. He’s in the parts of you that are real—the way you see people, how you care about them. That’s what matters. That’s what counts.”

Cassie swallowed hard, but the words didn’t bring the relief she expected. She shifted in her seat, suddenly feeling the weight of the conversation and the alcohol heavier than before. Her fingers brushed over the coat again, the sensation grounding her, but her thoughts were spiraling, tugging her deeper.

Everything seemed so much worse with the drunken fog covering his mind.

“I don’t even know how to start letting go,” she whispered, her voice cracking as her gaze dropped to her lap, the coat, anything but his eyes, “I’ve spent so long keeping his name intact. His image... So careful, so guarded. And every time I try... Every time I feel like I can breathe without him, it just slips right through my fingers.”

Freddie stayed silent for a moment, letting her words hang in the air, weighted and unresolved. When he spoke again, his voice was steady.

“You don’t have to know right now,” he tried to reassure her, “It’ll come, when it’s time. And you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here.”

She couldn’t answer him right away, her mind still lost in the complexity of her own emotions. His words felt like a promise, but even in her intoxicated state, she knew they weren’t that simple.

But then, something cracked in her thoughts, a flash of clarity amid the haze.

“If I go to Venturer,” she wondered, almost to herself, “When I take the offer… What if I do what he did? What if I make the same things?” Her voice was quiet now, trembling as the thought she had been avoiding suddenly surfaced, “What if they start comparing me to him once they discover he was my father? Because they will. What if I can’t measure up? What if... I ruin everything more than they already have?”

Freddie’s silence was louder than his words could have been. The understanding between them was almost too much for her to bear. She glanced at him, waiting for an answer, but Freddie’s gaze was a quiet sea of thought.

After a pause, he spoke, the simplicity of his words hitting her harder than she expected.

“You’re not him, Cass. You’ll never be him. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone, especially not to the media or to anyone who’s already decided who you are.”

“But they’ll always remember him,” Cassie replied, the truth seeping out as a mixture of resignation and frustration, “And I’ll always be compared to him.”

She didn’t even know why she was saying it—maybe because tonight, it all felt too close to the surface. Maybe because she didn’t have the energy to keep pretending she didn’t care.

The alcohol had taken all her energy away.

Her uncle looked at her with a softness that made her want to run but somehow kept her grounded.

“People will try, Cass,” he said after a moment, “But they won’t see what you can do. They will try to make up something that is not real, but it won’t ever work. Because it would be impossible to imagine you being anything but sincere, raw, honest.”

Cassie absorbed that for a long moment, the air heavy with the vulnerability she hadn’t intended to show. The unease in her chest hadn’t disappeared, but it didn’t feel as suffocating. Still, something gnawed at her—a quiet, unrelenting fear.

Freddie looked at her more closely now, his words quieter, almost a whisper.

“You’ve always been afraid of making the same things he did, Cassie. But that fear, it’s not just about you. It’s about his shadow. And you don’t have to keep hiding from it.”

Cassie turned her gaze away, her thoughts spinning again. It wasn’t just about being seen by a grand audience and discovering she was nothing she tried to be. Neither about being seen as her father’s daughter. It was about avoiding the comparisons—avoiding becoming the next failure in a long line of missteps.

But that wasn’t the whole picture, was it?

If she took that offer—really took it—she wasn’t just signing up for a fight for herself. She was signing up for the possibility of failure, of becoming something that wasn’t perfect. Of being judged. Of losing herself in the process.

But then again… If she didn’t, what would she be?

Her father's legacy would hang like a weight around her neck, too heavy to carry and too fragile to protect.

Earlier that they, she had thought of using it as an advantage instead of considering Venturer. But now? The more she thought about that, the more she hated herself for having been so desperate at that hour.

It would have been a terrible idea.

Cassie’s thoughts churned, a tangled mess of doubts, desires, and the lingering weight of everything she couldn’t quite name. The fear of falling into the same patterns, of becoming just another misstep in the line of her father’s legacy, clawed at her. But the more she tried to run from it, the more it seemed to haunt her.

And yet, she knew that if she didn’t take the chance, if she didn’t step into the space that had been carved out for her, it would all be for nothing. She couldn’t let that happen. Not now, not after everything she’d promised.

Her heart was heavy with the weight of the choice before her, but for the first time, there was a faint sense of relief in the uncertainty. It wasn’t a clear-cut path, not a guarantee of success, but it was hers. It had to be.

Her voice was barely a whisper, the thought escaping her before she could stop it.

“Maybe I need to stop running from it.”

Freddie’s smile was small, but it was there, soft and understanding.

“You’ll be fine, Cass. I know you will.”

Cassie turned her gaze toward him, uncertain but strangely comforted by his presence, “How can you be so sure?”

Freddie’s expression shifted, becoming more distant, as if reaching back to a time and place she couldn’t fully understand. He leaned back, his hands resting on the steering wheel, gathering his thoughts before speaking again.

“When I lost him,” he began, “I was so deep in that well that I couldn’t see my way out. I couldn’t face the world. I didn’t want to. I just wanted to lay down and let time take me too.”

Cassie stayed quiet, her eyes fixed on him, waiting for him to continue.

“But,” he continued, his voice gaining strength as the memories took shape, “As time passed, as I got the help I needed and found my way back, it was when I stopped running from the world—when I stopped running from his image—that things started to make sense. I stopped fighting it and just... Understood. And one day, you’ll understand too. It won’t happen all at once. But it’ll come.”

Cassie stared out of the car window, the lights of the gala blurring in her vision. The coat around her shoulders felt heavy—not from its weight, but from the reminders it carried, of Declan and of the space she was now stepping into.

She had always thought radio would be a way to stay hidden. A way to keep her father’s name from haunting her every move. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized it had only been another form of running. Now, with Venturer on the table, she knew she couldn’t keep avoiding it forever. It wasn’t about her father’s legacy; it was about her. It was time to stop letting the past dictate her future.

Turning to Freddie, the words slipped out before she could stop them.

“I thought getting into radio was my way of staying out of this, you know? But now… If once I’m there, in front of a camera, I know I’ll be forced to face it.”

Freddie’s eyes didn’t leave her face, “You probably won’t remember most of the conversation tomorrow, but I’ll say it, you need to live it without doubting every action.”

Cassie let out a slow breath, her gaze dropping to the coat in her lap. She wasn’t sure she was ready for this, but the weight of the decision didn’t feel quite as heavy as it had before. Maybe she wasn’t meant to be someone else’s idea of who she should be. Maybe it was time to step into something real.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said quietly, “I’ll for sure forget most of the conversation.”

Freddie’s laugh came as a soft, rumbling sound, breaking through the quiet like a beacon. He shook his head slightly, his usual sardonic edge replaced with something gentler.

“You’ll think about it,” he said, his tone confident yet unpressing.

Cassie nodded slowly, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of Declan’s coat draped across her lap. The heaviness of the conversation settled, but it didn’t smother—it was lighter now, the kind of weight she felt she could hold without being crushed.

Freddie glanced toward the glow of the house, “We can talk more tomorrow. I’ll bring Lizzie with me. We’ll help you nurse your inevitable hangover and sort through the rest.”

Cassie let out a small laugh, her lips quirking into a half-smile.

“That sounds like a thrilling way to spend your day.”

“It’ll be worth it,” he said simply, his words carrying a steadiness that made her feel a little less adrift.

Cassie leaned back against the seat, the night air brushing against her cheeks as she glanced toward him.

“Speaking of Lizzie... Where is she? Is she here?”

Freddie nodded, his gaze shifting toward the entrance.

“She’s wrapping up. I promised her a ride back.”

Cassie’s brow furrowed slightly, curiosity cutting through the haze of her thoughts, “And Valerie? Is she here too?”

Freddie’s expression didn’t falter, but there was the briefest pause before he replied.

“She left earlier. Said she wasn’t feeling great—probably went home.”

Cassie blinked, her intoxicated mind seizing on the detail, “Without you?”

“She doesn’t need me to hold her hand every time she leaves,” Freddie shrugged, his tone casual.

The words stirred in Cassie’s mind, unremarkable on the surface but carrying a weight she couldn’t ignore… Until a thought crossed her mind, followed by a million more.

She tilted her head, her gaze sharpening despite the whiskey softening her edges.

“You should just end it, Uncle,” she said in the next second, the words tumbling out without the usual filter she kept in place, “Be with Lizzie, you clearly enjoy each other’s company. Valerie’s already halfway out the door, and Lizzie—”

“Cassie,” Freddie interrupted, a note of surprise threading through his voice as his eyes widened slightly, his hands lifting in a quick gesture as if to calm her down or stop the thought mid-air.

His widened eyes met Cassie’s, but the surprise on his face softened quickly, replaced by a quiet exasperation. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a short laugh—a deflection, maybe, or an attempt to shake off the weight of her words.

“Good God, Cassie. You’ve always been too blunt for your own good,” he muttered, his lips curving in a half-smile, a sad one.

Cassie blinked at him, the alcohol buzzing through her veins making her unusually bold. She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d said it—no, scratch that, she was sure. It had been brewing in her mind for weeks, months even.

Still, now that the words were out there, the implications seemed heavier, clearer.

“You know I’m right,” she said, her voice quieter this time but no less insistent.

Freddie didn’t answer immediately. He shifted his weight in the driver’s seat, his fingers drumming briefly against the steering wheel before dropping into his lap. His eyes flickered toward the faint glow of the residence beyond the windshield, the hum of distant music filtering through the cool night air.

“Lizzie’s...” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “She’s a friend, Cass. And Valerie—”

“Doesn’t care,” Cassie interrupted, her voice sharper now.

Freddie looked at her again, his brows drawing together. His gaze wasn’t angry, though—more contemplative, like he was weighing her words against something unspoken.

“Maybe not,” he admitted after a moment, his voice measured, “But it’s complicated. Life is complicated, and not everything is as simple as it looks from the outside.”

Cassie opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, the sound of crunching gravel outside the car caught both their attention.

Freddie’s hand moved instinctively to the door handle, but he paused, his head turning toward the approaching figures illuminated by the headlights.

Declan O’Hara stepped into view first, his sharp features carved into focus by the pale light. Behind him, Rupert strolled with an air of practiced ease, Taggie walking just a little too close at his side. Her hand brushed his arm—a fleeting gesture, but enough to catch Cassie’s notice.

The Wolfhound’s gaze swept the scene, his sharp eyes moving with deliberate calm over Freddie’s car, Cassie in the passenger seat, and the trio behind him. For a moment, his expression was carefully neutral, but there was a flicker—an almost imperceptible tension in the set of his jaw, the faint narrowing of his eyes.

Curiosity, perhaps, or something closer to suspicion. Cassie, in her drunken haze, couldn’t quite decide which.

Rupert’s grin widened as he approached, his voice breaking the silence with a deliberate cheeriness.

“Well, well, what do we have here? A cozy little pow-wow?”

Freddie’s jaw tightened subtly, though he matched Rupert’s energy with a casual smile.

“Waiting on Lizzie,” he said, his tone easy, “What about you lot?”

Declan’s gaze lingered on Cassie for a moment before he responded.

“Giving Taggie a ride. Figured she’d need one since...” He trailed off, his eyes darting briefly to Rupert before continuing smoothly, “Mr. Spencer brought her here.”

Rupert’s grin didn’t falter, but there was a sharpness in his gaze as he replied, “Taggie has plenty of options for getting home.”

Taggie interjected quickly, her voice light and steady. “Dad was kind enough to offer, that’s all.”

The tension crackled between them, subtle but undeniable. Cassie’s attention shifted from one face to the next, her drunk mind trying to piece together what wasn’t being said.

Cassie’s gaze darted between them, her mind sluggish but still catching the undercurrent of something unspoken. The faint pressure in Declan’s voice, the way Rupert’s easy grin didn’t reach his eyes, and Taggie’s too-smooth interjection all seemed to hum with an almost imperceptible strain. Like a string pulled just tight enough to vibrate but not yet snap.

It was the kind of tension that didn’t need loud arguments to make itself known—it lived in the pauses, the glances, the spaces between words.

Taggie turned her attention to Cassie, her smile warm, trying to soothe the moment.

“You must be Cassie, right?” she said smoothly, her voice carrying the lightness of someone who had perfected small talk, “I’m Taggie. I’m a big fan of yours—I listened to your show every night.”

“Thanks,” Cassie replied, her lips curving into a small smile, “I really enjoyed working there but, you know, sometimes we must recognize that we deserve better.”

Taggie’s polite nod came quickly, her smile not quite meeting her eyes. The soft glow of the car headlights bounced off the curves of her features, and Cassie could feel Taggie’s thoughts wandering away from their exchange.

Declan’s expression remained inscrutable, but Cassie didn’t miss the way his gaze flicked briefly to Taggie, then Rupert. The angle of his stance shifted slightly, subtle yet calculated, as though bracing for something.

“So, you must be the famous Cassie Jones, Freddie’s niece!” Rupert said, breaking the silence with a grin that leaned toward the theatrical, “Quite the reunion out here. I’m Rupert—”

“I know who you are,” Cassie interrupted, raising her hands, “Minister of Sport. I’m more surprised you know who I am.” Her voice had a touch of amusement, though her brow arched as she spoke, the tiniest edge of challenge lacing her words.

Rupert chuckled, his hands spreading out in mock innocence.

“Well, your uncle telling us nothing about you didn’t make it easier,” he said, his tone light but not entirely devoid of calculation, “But you must imagine it, stirring with people like Crawford tends to bring attention.”

Cassie held back a laugh. Despite being drunk, she knew better than saying it was her who asked her uncle not to mention her.

She knew once she said that, the night would never end.

Cassie fought the urge to laugh, biting the inside of her cheek. Even in her drunken haze, she knew better than to let it slip that it was her idea to keep her uncle quiet about her. Admitting that would guarantee a night full of relentless questioning—and she was already past her limit.

Declan’s voice cut in smoothly, his tone casual but laced with a playful edge.

“Freddie, you keeping this one out of trouble?” His gesture toward Cassie was easy, but his gaze flicked briefly between Rupert and Taggie, his stance just a little too composed.

Freddie’s smile was polite but taut, his tone balancing on the edge of friendliness. “I will try.”

Cassie, emboldened by the alcohol humming through her veins, turned to Freddie with a grin.

“I can assure you,” she said, her voice lilting with mock seriousness, “I’ll sleep the second we hit the road.”

Taggie laughed lightly, the sound warm but carefully measured.

“You’re even funnier in person,” she said, her eyes flitting toward Declan for just a moment before returning to Cassie, “You’d be a great addition to Venturer.”

Cassie’s gaze shifted to Declan, her expression softening despite herself. “I’ve heard that before,” she said, her voice quieter, more reflective.

For a moment, their eyes locked. It was subtle—barely a pause—but the space between them seemed to shift. Declan’s mouth curved into the faintest smile, though there was something restrained in his expression, as if he were holding back a thought.

Freddie, sitting silently in the periphery, seemed to notice the moment, his gaze narrowing just slightly before returning to neutral.

“We should be on our way,” Declan said finally, his voice smooth but carrying a note of finality.

Rupert, however, seemed in no hurry to leave. He rocked back on his heels, hands shoved into his pockets as his gaze drifted lazily around the lot.

“No rush, is there? It’s a nice night.”

Declan’s brow twitched, a barely perceptible shift that Cassie might have missed if she weren’t already hyper-aware of his presence. His voice remained measured, calm.

“It’s late, and I’d like to get Taggie home before it gets any later.”

The words landed with a certain punch, though Cassie’s tipsy mind grappled with why. There was something about the phrasing—precise, intentional—that caught her attention.

She glanced between Declan and Taggie again, noting how Rupert’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Weird.

Freddie cleared his throat, cutting through the subtle tension.

“We’re heading out too,” Freddie said, his voice carrying a casual lilt, though his hand moved almost instinctively toward the coat draped across Cassie’s shoulders. His gaze flicked briefly toward the house before settling back on Declan, “We’ll just wait for Lizzie; I’m giving her a ride.”

Cassie glanced down, her fingers curling absently into the soft folds of the coat. It still carried a faint warmth, a strange mix of comfort and weight she couldn’t quite place.

“Oh, right. I should give this back.” Her voice wavered slightly, a mix of tiredness and awkwardness, as she lifted the coat and held it toward Declan.

For a moment, Declan didn’t move. His gaze found hers, steady and searching, and the faintest flicker of something—hesitation? Thoughtfulness?—crossed his expression.

“Keep it,” he said at last, his lips curving faintly. The smile was almost shy as it widened, “You can return it another time.”

Cassie hesitated, caught between the instinct to protest and the sudden quiet that seemed to settle between them. Her fingers faltered mid-motion.

Before she could decide, Freddie’s hand intercepted the coat mid-motion.

“It’s fine,” Freddie said, his voice calm but firm, a hint of finality in the undertone, “It’s warmer in the car.”

The air shifted, the unspoken tension stretching thin one more time as Freddie and Declan’s gazes met. Declan’s stance didn’t tremble, but his expression tightened—briefly, imperceptibly—before smoothing into neutrality.

“Of course,” Declan replied, his tone polite but noticeably cooler.

Cassie rose from her seat, the motion drawing her closer to Declan. Her eyes lifted to meet his, and for a moment, their gazes held. It wasn’t a charged look, not exactly—it was quieter, a lingering acknowledgment of something.

Something that Cassie’s drunk mind didn’t even acknowledge truly. If her drunk version was to be sincere, she only appreciated looking into his dark eyes, she felt lighter every time she found them tonight.

Declan reached out, taking the coat gently from her hands. His fingers brushed the fabric, a fleeting touch that felt heavier than it should have.

After tonight, Cassie silently swore that she would never drink again.

“Thank you,” she murmured, though her voice was almost lost in the space between them.

He inclined his head, the trace of a smile returning to his face.

“Goodnight, Cassie. Freddie.” He faced the man, bowing his head briefly.

Cassie watched, still lingering by the car, as Rupert climbed into his vehicle, the door slamming shut with a soft thud. Declan moved fluidly beside him, offering Taggie a brief but courteous smile before opening the door for her. The brief interaction was almost too smooth, too polished to feel completely natural. Cassie couldn’t help but notice the way Declan’s posture remained perfectly composed, how his movements were precise.

As she slid into the backseat of Freddie's car, Cassie leaned her head against the cool window, her thoughts still racing. The events of the night clung to her, fragmented pieces of conversation and moments flickering in her mind like disjointed images. The cool glass against her skin was grounding, but the unease still lingered.

Declan’s smile, the way he had looked at her earlier… Sincerely, the whole day sit sat in the pit of her stomach

Her eyes followed Rupert’s car as it pulled away from the lot, the taillights fading into the distance before disappearing entirely. She then watched as Declan’s car followed suit, the two of them driving off into the night with an almost eerie synchronicity.

Freddie’s sigh filled the quiet space between her and Freddie, pulling her back from the haze of her thoughts. She hadn’t realized how much of the night she had been holding her breath. Freddie, however, seemed unfazed, his eyes focused on something else.

Cassie hadn’t seen him glance at Declan, but as the car’s headlights illuminated the road ahead, she caught the subtle change in Freddie’s demeanor. His gaze flickered toward the rear view mirror before quickly turning back to the residence, waiting for Lizzie.

The moment was brief, but something in the way he carried himself shifted—a slight tension, a quiet little figure that she wouldn’t grasp even if she had noticed the whole sudden reaction.

“You alright, Uncle?” Cassie turned to face him, knitting her brows.

Freddie nodded slowly, but his answer wasn’t as certain as he wanted it to be.

“Yeah,” he replied, her voice a little hoarse, “Just... Thinking.”

Cassie hummed, turning her attention back to the window as her mind drifted once more, still tangled with the events of the day.

What a day, really.

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