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emphistic · 8 months ago

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Doctor's Orders

Synopsis: Sukuna catches a cold, and isn't able to make it to your guys' planned lunch. Luckily for him, though, you still take the food — as to-go.

A/N: i have a lot of works planned, but im kinda slow, thankfully i have a lot of free time now so i'll try to pump out as much sukuna content as i can

PS: i got sick the second day of writing this, why world? whyyyyy? also, i hated writing this. i am not proud of this whatsoever

Taglist: @starlets-things

You

Hey

R u dead or smth??

You're late

Delivered 25m ago

Those were the last text messages you sent Sukuna, before picking up two hummus wraps and drinks from Sunny's Diner. The two of you were originally supposed to meet up there and have lunch together, but the pink-haired teen wasn't answering his phone, at all.

Now, you stand before his front door. A to-go bag tucked under your arm, and another hand rapidly knocking on the door.

Mr. Itadori — Sukuna's grandpa — wasn't home, you assumed, so you were alone in this.

Sighing, you decided to do this the old fashioned way.

It took you less than five minutes to climb the tree outside of Sukuna's bedroom, and five seconds to crawl on a branch to his window.

Finally, you pressed your face up against his window, and saw Sukuna — still in bed — with the blankets covering all of his body.

You aggressively knocked on his window, and saw him moving under the blankets before sticking a head out. He immediately fell back onto his bed at the sight of you.

He looked awful; there were bags under his eyes; his hair looked like a bird's nest, not to mention, he was sweating all over.

"Open the window!" You shouted, loud enough for him to hear, but quiet enough to not disturb the peace in the neighborhood.

Despite being outside, you could practically imagine his groan at the sound of your voice.

Sukuna knew he had no choice, though, so he begrudgingly got out of bed, and walked — no, wobbled — over to his window. His arms felt like Jell-O as he opened his window, and you crawled into his bedroom.

As soon as your feet touched the floor, you felt a familiar weight fall upon you, before you crashed into the wall and onto the floor. You were in a pile of tangled limbs.

"Sukunaaaaa, oww!" You rubbed your forehead.

You tried to stand back up, but the boy's body would not give you the chance to.

"Get off of me, you slug."

"I'm good." He mumbled into your neck.

"You're too heavy," you pushed at the older's shoulders until he finally rolled off of you.

You sighed in relief. "Thank God."

You stood up, pulling Sukuna with you. Despite his size, you had to practically hold him, and yourself, up.

"You look like shit." You cupped his face to get a good look at his condition.

"Wanted to look like you."

"Well, you failed. I'm flawless."

You maneuvered the boy to his bed and let him flop down onto his stomach, before you rolled him over on his back to a more comfortable position.

You grabbed a blanket and placed it onto Sukuna, and you sat down on the side of his bed, your hand placed just inches away from his head.

"So, like, you gonna tell me what's wrong?" You raised a brow.

"What do you think, dumbass. I'm sick," he coughed, "duh." Sukuna quickly retorted, curling onto his side in order to put his head on your lap.

"How'd you get sick?"

Sukuna glared up at you.

You sigh, carding your fingers through his pink, unruly hair. He hummed, clearly content. And if you didn't know better, you would probably assume he was purring.

"Oh! I almost forgot," you rummaged through your bags; Sukuna grumbled at the lost feeling of your hands in his hair almost immediately. "I got food for us. Since someone decided not to show up."

You placed his hummus wrap — covered in foil — onto his bedside table, and set yours likewise.

"Have you eaten yet, 'Kuna?"

"I haven't had breakfast," he murmured.

"You could've just said a quick 'no'."

"Girls are so bossy."

"Hey—"

Sukuna cut you off with a whine. "Ughh, my throat hurts. And my head is throbbing."

You rubbed your chin with your thumb and index finger. You put the back of your hand against Sukuna's forehead. "You have a fever."

"Really? I couldn't tell."

"Take off your shirt," you demanded.

"In your dreams."

"More like my nightmares," you giggled, before helping Sukuna to remove his shirt.

You stood up to walk to his bathroom; Sukuna was quick to pull you back by the wrist. Even when he's sick, he's still got a strong grip.

"And where do you think you're going?"

You tugged your arm out of his grasp, "Don't."

You managed to enter the bathroom — without any more nagging from Sukuna — and grabbed a towel, soaking it in cold water.

Then, you walked back into his room, and placed it atop his forehead. Sukuna immediately went to remove it, before you swatted his hand away.

"Get this thing off of me. It's freezing," Sukuna scowled.

You had to restrain yourself from putting him in shackles, "This is literally helping you. So, shut up. You talk too much."

"This is literally," he coughed, "my house. Don't tell me what to do, girl."

"Doctor's orders."

"Nuh uh, you're far from a doctor. More like a witch instead," Sukuna snickered.

You rolled your eyes, already used to Sukuna's antics by now.

"Do you have medicine anywhere in the house?" You asked, caressing his cheek and rubbing it with your palm.

"Mmhm." He nuzzled his face impossibly closer into your hand.

You sighed, "C'mon. Work with me here, 'Kuna. Where's the medicine?"

A long break of silence, "'m not gonna tell you."

"Tell me, or else, or else I'll — ," you thought for a moment, "or else I'll tell your grandpa. And you know how he takes of people when they're sick."

Sukuna's eyes immediately shot open. He knew his grandpa's old fashioned ways.

"It's in the cabinet in the kitchen. The one above the fridge."

You struggled to reach, having to stand on your tiptoes, but at last, you brought a bottle filled with red liquid and a measuring cup to Sukuna's bedroom.

When you entered, he immediately started to move away from you. Alas, he only had so much room on his bed.

"I would rather die, than drink that shit." Sukuna pointed at the cup with his finger.

"Then die," you quipped back, shoving the cup — that you filled with medicine — into his hands.

Sukuna glared at you, but you remained unwavering in your demand. When he realized there was no point in trying to argue, he leaned his head back and drank.

"Weirdo," you sneer.

"What's the problem now?" Sukuna placed the now empty cup on his table and fell back onto his bed, covering his eyes with an arm.

"You drank the medicine like it was a shot."

"Doesn't matter."

Sukuna began to cough, and cough, and cough. He sat upright.

You rubbed his back.

Sukuna felt utterly selcouth. He never had someone help him through a sickness. Sure, Grandpa was always there, but he's different. Sukuna's had tutors, coaches, people whose jobs were to help. But it wasn't your job.

"Why?" Why do you help me? Sukuna asked.

You know why. But those words never left your mouth. Instead,

"Shh. Be quiet. Let me take care of you."

At the end of the day, you knew why you were helping Sukuna. And Sukuna knew how you were helping him.

You tucked him in, raised the blanket up to his shoulders, adjusted the towel on his forehead, and kissed his forehead.

"Don't overexert yourself," you walked to the door, "I know you will."

Sukuna wanted to call your name, have you stay by his side, run your soft fingers through his hair for just a little longer, but his throat itched, and he didn't even have the energy to cough or sneeze. So, alas, he shut his eyes, and dreamt instead.

#sukuna x reader #jjk x you #ryomen x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #em writes ˎˊ˗

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

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The Machinist 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible bullying, misogyny, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your new boss sets his sights on you. (short!reader)

Characters: August Walker

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

You take your lunch where you always do; outside. You don’t like to sit inside all day, especially after sweating amid sparks flying from dozens of torches and grinding wheels and the like. The metals walls do little to let the heat out, so it is that you greet the sunshine and fresh breeze with a sigh.

You find your way to your truck and unlock the back, climbing up to sit in the open bed as you unzip your lunchbox. You have your standard fare; some carrots, hummus, and a tuna sandwich. Nothing fancy or special. Just what you have time to throw together in the morning.

You watch the distant skyline as you chew. Insects buzz in the air and you swat away a nosy fly. The smell of pollen underlines the lingering scent of singed metal and your own sweat. You enjoy the small moment to yourself, with the barely muffled noise of drills, wheels, and hollers all around.

You dip your last carrot and close up the container of hummus. You wipe the lingering garlicky smear from your fingertips and zip away your leftovers and the used napkin. You push your head back to stretch your neck and loosen the stitch between your shoulders.

“You’re prettier in the sunlight,” the rocky voice brings your chin back down.

August approaches as you clutch your lunch box against your lap. You don’t know how to respond without putting your job in the balance, so you don’t. You push yourself to the edge of the truck bed but he’s quick. He’s right in front of you, close enough that you can’t jump down.

“This your truck?” He muses as he gives it an emphatic look, “not too bad. Bit big for you, girl. Ah, but maybe you like handling big things.”

His insinuation repulses you. He was rude before but now he’s just being gross. Doesn’t matter. Who are you gonna tell? Who’s going to care?

“Excuse me, my lunch is almost over,” you say as you teeter on the edge.

“I’m sure the boss won’t mind,” he grins boastfully.

“Really, I got a lot of work--”

“I never heard about your promotion,” he intones.

You stop short and bite back your words, “promotion?”

“Right, you must’ve got one since you’re telling me what to do,” he challenges, crossing his arms to make himself even bigger.

“I wasn’t. I’m trying to go back to work.”

“I didn’t dismiss you,” he sneers.

You ease back and nod. This isn’t the first time a man’s postured at you, it won’t be the last. You’ll let him get his rocks off.

“Sure,” you nod.

“Hmph,” he looks you up and down, “it always makes me wonder why women wander into metal shops. Really? You like being sweaty,” he steps even closer and you wince as he reaches and drags his thumb down your cheek, “dirty? I can think of better ways for that.”

“Sir,” you say flatly.

He trails his thumb down and presses on your bottom lip, “I’m new around here. Need someone to show me around. How about it?”

You scowl and rip your mouth away from his hand, “you can’t be serious?”

“Do I look like I’m fucking kidding?” He slowly pulls his arm back, crossing it once more across his chest, “what I know about this town is there’s no other fucking shop looking for tool and die, and let me tell you, princess, you’ll find they don’t pay pennies next to what I pay.” He brings a hand up to brush the short stubble darkening his jaw, “actually, we’re due for salary review. That’s what the finance officer tells me.”

You understand his threat. Even if he doesn’t fire you, he can mess with your money. All the leering men, all their nasty words, wouldn’t be worth it if you didn’t get a half-decent cut.

“Can your precious little head understand me?” His mouth slants in a half-smirk.

“Not that difficult,” you hiss out.

“Great, sounds like a plan, princess.”

Before you can react, he steps forward. He grabs you by the waist and drags you forward on the open door of the truck bed. You yelp in surprise and bat his wrists, your lunch box bouncing out of your grasp onto the ground. He holds you to hover on the edge before he lowers you to the ground, crowding you.

“Good girl,” he growls and squeezes before he lets you go.

You struggle not to snarl outright. He takes a step back, not far enough. You turn your attention to your errant bag and bend to pick it up.

“Mmm, I like that position,” he purrs.

You snap up and tamp down your irritation. You wish you could say he’s the first man to be so disgusting but that would be a miracle. Especially in this line of work. He’s just the only one you can’t tell to go fuck himself.

You face him, “can I go back to work?”

“Mm, look at you, learning already; asking permission,” he clicks his tongue, “sure, go on, princess.”

You hold back a shudder and turn to close the truck door. You toss your lunch bag over it. Whatever.

You spin and stomp away, refusing to look back at him, even as you feel his gaze bearing down on you. You feel even more filthy than before. Not just because of his behaviour but your own weakness. You should say no, you should go work at the Pizza Hut, at least there, you can spit in the food of every ass who gives you lip.

As you cross the yard towards the shop, you slow down. Your eyes meet those of Carey. He started at the same time as you. He asked you out. Several times. He glowers and narrows his eyes.

He looks at the other guys sat around him at the smokers’ table. They saw it. You know they did.

“All the fucking same, aren’t they?” He spits into the dirt as the other men look in your direction. “Cozying up to the boss to get a few extra bucks on her check.” He flicks his butt towards you as you near the door, “whatsa a matter, baby? You need some new panties? Oh, maybe you’re gonna buy a dress? Start dressing like a woman, huh?”

The other guys chortle and you ignore them. They don’t matter. That’s the difference between them and August. He can actually ruin your life, they only wish they could.

#august walker #dark august walker #dark!august walker #august walker x reader #series #drabble #au #the machinist #mission impossible: fallout #factory au

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to-thelakes · 6 months ago

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sleepy

pairing; matt murdock x fem!reader

summary; re-adjusting to anti-depressants was never an easy task but you have your vigilante boyfriend to help.

warnings; fluff, just pure fluff, reader is on anti-depressants and very very sleepy, also a cheese lover

notes; this one-shot is definitely at least a few months old, i think i wrote it when i originally switched my dosage so it's a little chaotic. i feel like there's a lack of fics talking or discussing antidepressants so i like filling in the gap to comfort anyone who was suffering the sleepiness and shitty feelings like i was those first few months. also this is my first matty one-shot i'm releasing so please enjoy <3

masterlist

You were so tired. The first two weeks of antidepressants, you were told, would be the worst but it hadn’t prepared you for just how exhausted you felt. You had spent most of the first three days, curled up in bed and sleeping the day away. By the fourth day, your snack supplies had already begun to dwindle which is the opposite of what you needed right now.

And by the fifth day, you had to venture out to the store. And that had killed you off. You had gotten back, grabbed a bag of chips and curled up on the couch. Within a few hours you were asleep and you stayed like that for another four hours. The TV had suddenly seemed to get astronomically loud and it woke you from your slumber.

So, with a little huff, you rolled off the couch and began to make something proper to eat for dinner. But you felt exhausted. It clung to your mind, hovering over you as you tried to make cheesy pasta. Everything felt impossible and slow and it was frustrating but it was made better when you heard the familiar tap-tap-tap on the fire escape window.

A grin spread across your face as you left your pasta to heat up the cheese, pulling the window open as Matt Murdock climbed through. He was still in his Daredevil costume and you thought he looked rather silly but he already knew that’s what you thought of his costume. He liked hearing you tease him.

But rather than saying anything, you just wrapped your arms around his torso and hugged him. Your eyes fell closed as you snuggled into him making him chuckle softly.

“It’s nice to see you too, darling,” He greeted softly. All you had the energy to do was hum in vague acknowledgement. His arms wrapped around your shoulders for a moment before he softly reminded you about the food on the stove. So, you reluctantly pulled back and went over to the pan. You split the pasta into two bowls and turned around just as Matt pulled his helmet off. He placed it down on the counter before cautiously walking over to you.

“I’m sleepy,” You mumbled softly as you passed him the bowl. He took a hold of it, searching for the fork before he began to eat it. You had added a little bit of seasoning, salt, pepper, garlic powder in hopes of giving it a little more flavour. But you knew within the first bite and from the look on Matt’s face that you had gone overboard with the garlic. A huff escaped your lips and you placed the bowl on the side, “I’m going back to bed,” You declared, giving up for the day. Matt chuckled, listening to your footsteps as you walked across the apartment to your bed.

The air moved around you as you face-planted and he couldn’t help another chuckle as he turned around. His gaze landed somewhere near you but you weren’t even paying attention. Sleep was desperate to crawl up your spine and take you in but Matt was here now and you wanted to see him for a bit.

He managed to place the bowl on your side before he navigated his way carefully through your apartment. He could smell a bowl of hummus on the floor somewhere, you had a habit of leaving random crockery on the floor so he was being careful before he reached your bed. He crawled onto it before he sat cross-legged across from you.

“How long have you slept today?” He asked curiously. You mumbled in vague response but he didn’t catch a single word of it. He reached out towards you and gently pushed your head back so that you would tilt your head to the side, “What was that?” He had a teasing lilt to his tone and it made you want to smack him.

“A while but I’m sleepy,” You muttered. Matt knew that you were on new medication. You had tried to hide it from him a few days ago but he could smell your body going haywire. It was the same with everyone he had known who switched medication. Body’s went haywire while they adjusted before eventually settling back into routine.

That’s all this was but he still found your sleepy-grumpiness adorable. Matt held his hand out towards you and you reluctantly dragged yourself so you could curl into his lap. His fingers began to run through your hair but the strands were getting caught on his gloves. You let out disgruntled noises before he decided to take his gloves off. Then his fingertips began to massage your scalp and you hummed happily.

“You feeling better?” He asked. You ‘mhm’d in response and he could tell that you were going to fall asleep in his lap, “I need to change, darling. Need you to get out of my lap.” There was an amused lilt to his voice and another disgruntled noise fell from your lips. You moved out of his lap before dropping onto the top of the bed. Matt always found your mood while sleepy to be not all that dissimilar to a cat. You hated being disturbed when you were curled up and comfortable and when you were, you gave the offender the evils.

You assumed Matt didn’t know that you did that but he could sense it. He had always been able to feel your gaze boring into him.

“In the usual place?” He asked. You let out another hum of agreement before you burrito’d in your covers, snuggling your face into the pillow. He changed silently, listening to your heartbeat and breathing to see if you had fallen asleep. But it seemed you weren’t falling into it quite yet. Once he had changed, he walked over to the bed and lay on top of the mattress.

And that was when you unburritoed yourself and crawled on top of Matt. You practically curled up on his chest, burritoing both of you with the covers as you snuggle into his neck. Matt’s arms wrapped around your back.

“Much better,” You mumbled under your breath. He chuckled softly at your words and you let your eyes close. Your breathe evened out relatively quickly, “Much better.” You snuggled up to him, peppering kisses across his neck before you nuzzled there. Matt grinned and pressed a kiss against your hairline.

“Glad I could be of service,” He teased. You grumbled against his chest but he merely continued to grin, kissing your hairline again before he let his eyes fall closed.

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #reader-insert #reader insert #daredevil #matt murdock fic #matt murdock x reader fluff #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock fanfic

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lemoncrushh · 4 months ago

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Best Friends

Summary: You and Harry are best friends, but he would love for it be more.

Warnings: None, just fluff

Word Count: 1628

A/N: A cute best friends blurb from 2016. This blurb is a little bit different. It's still written for the reader, but it's in Harry's POV like he's telling you about you and him. It's 1D Harry, but you are roommates (not sure why I did that, it might have been a request lol). Louis, Niall, Liam and Cheryl appear in this one too.

"Y/N!" you heard me call from the kitchen.

"Yeah babe?" you yelled from your bedroom.

"What do you want for dinner?"

You slipped into your shorts and t-shirt, not bothering to put on a bra. You'd been living with me for years, and we were best friends. There was no reason for you to be modest around me. You walked into the kitchen, lightly drying your hair with a towel.

"What have we got?" you asked, my head behind the freezer door.

I stepped back, nearly knocking myself in the head as I looked at you. Jesus, you were beautiful. You were never really one to be high maintenance, but on the daily you always tried to look your best. If we ran into each other in the mornings before you left for work, I always told you how gorgeous you looked. You would smile and say, "thanks babe," giving me a kiss on the cheek. If I took you out with me to a dinner party or some other industry function, you'd look so amazing it would take my breath away. But this...this was my favourite. When you were freshly clean from the shower, your running shorts or a pair of sweats on, no makeup, your hair damp. You were absolutely stunning, and to be honest, I had a hard time not staring.

"Um..." I swallowed, "not much."

You shrugged. "Anything's fine with me. We can order pizza if you want."

Not waiting for a response, you walked back to the bathroom to hang your towel on the rod. Then returning to the living room, you plopped down on the sofa, grabbing the remote control. I watched you as I ordered pizza from my phone, then placed it on the counter.

"How was your day?" you asked me. You flipped through the channels before landing on Friends.

"It was okay," I shrugged, walking over to sit next to you.

"Just okay?" you raised a brow.

"Well, you know. Writing, studio time."

"Is the album coming along?" you inquired, adjusting yourself on the sofa so that you faced me, your elbow resting on the back. I adored the little things like that. They showed me you cared about me, and weren't just making small talk out of obligation.

"Yeah," I nodded with a grin. "It's coming along great. We have six tracks recorded now."

"Eeek!" you squealed, clapping your hands. "I can't wait to hear them! You will let your dear BFF hear them first, won't you?"

I chuckled. "Of course."

You smiled, reaching for my hand to squeeze. "I'm so excited, Harry!"

"Me too," I beamed. I couldn't help it. When you looked at me that way, my heart wanted to beat out of my chest.

We sat and watched Friends together, laughing at Phoebe getting hummus on her dress and Joey walking in with all of Chandler's clothes on. The pizza arrived and we ate it in front of the television. We ended up opening a bottle of wine, enjoying it with good conversation well into the evening. I loved watching your cheeks get pink from the alcohol, your eyelids slightly heavy. I wanted so badly to kiss you, but I knew you didn't feel that way about me. So just like every other night, I pushed the urge aside and continued with our friendly banter.

Finally around midnight, you rose from the couch to take our glasses to the kitchen. I sat back on the sofa, resting my eyes and silently wishing you'd either suddenly feel the same about me, or my own feelings would dissipate. I could hear your footsteps as you returned to the living room, stopping in front of me.

"I'm going to bed now, babe. I'm exhausted."

My eyes fluttered open to look at you, an easy grin spreading across my face.

"Okay, love," I sat up. "Goodnight."

"Night," you murmured, leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek. "I'll go shopping tomorrow for the dinner party."

"Oh. Right." I'd almost forgotten. Tomorrow the boys were coming for dinner and you were planning to cook.

"I love you," you declared.

"I love you, too."

Giving me a soft smile, you turned and headed toward your bedroom. With a deep sigh, I leaned back against the sofa again. If only you knew how much I loved you. If only...

Our dining room was noisy and smelled like a mix of garlic and cologne, which to some might sound questionable, but as for me, I wouldn't have had it any other way. You'd made the most delicious meal I'd ever tasted, and once again you'd proven to be the perfect host.

"Shall I get dessert?" you asked, starting to rise from the table.

"I'll help," offered Liam's girlfriend, Cheryl.

"Wait!" I exclaimed, standing up. "I need to make a toast."

You raised your brows in question, sitting back down and taking your glass.

"To..." I hesitated. "To best friends, best food, and best company."

"Hear hear!" everyone said in unison. I heard the sound of glasses clinking together as I turned to look at you.

"Thank you, Y/N," I grinned. "You're amazing."

You gave me your million watt smile, bringing your glass to your lips. I watched you take a drink before sipping my own.

"I'll get the dessert," you said softly, your eyes still on me.

As soon as you'd left the room, I ran my hand down my face with a groan.

"What's wrong, mate?" asked Niall.

"Nothing," I shook my head.

Louis scoffed, shaking his head.

"What?" I narrowed my eyes.

"It's so obvious, Harry," he remarked.

"What is?"

"That you're in love with her."

"Y/N?" Niall turned to me, his eyes wide. "Ya are?"

"He has been from day one," said Louis.

"I have not," I argued, my stomach suddenly in knots.

"Does she know?" Liam piped in.

"No," I shook my head. "She doesn't have a fucking clue."

"So ya are," Niall nodded.

I glared at him.

"Ya gonna tell her?"

"I can't," I dropped my head. "She seems so happy with the way things are. I don't wanna mess it up."

"Mess what up?" Cheryl asked when she walked through the doorway from the kitchen, three dishes of dessert in her hands. She placed two of them in front of Louis and Liam and sat down with her own.

"Harry's in love with Y/N," muttered Liam.

"Shhh," I put my finger to my lips.

"You are?" Cheryl's eyes widened.

"Am I the only one who picked up on this?" Louis threw up his hands.

"Yes, okay?" I whisper-shouted. "I'm in love with her. I've been in love with her for a long time."

Louis nodded, just as you emerged from the kitchen. My heart felt like it was in my throat as I prayed you hadn't overheard our conversation.

"Here you go!" you sang, placing dishes in front of Niall and me.

I looked up at you while you sat beside me, digging your fork into your dessert. I reckoned you could feel my gaze so you side-eyed me, giving me a smirk.

"What?" you asked.

I shook my head, dismissing the moment and biting into my own dessert.

After everyone had said their goodbyes and we saw them out the door with a gracious thank you, I followed you into the kitchen, offering to help you with dishes. We worked together in silence, my heart racing and my brain on overdrive. I didn't know if you'd heard my confession, but it was nearly killing me that you were being so quiet which was unlike you.

Finally, putting the last dish in the washer and shutting it, you turned to me.

"I heard you," you muttered.

"What?" I stopped. My initial reaction was to question it, because surely I misunderstood you.

"I heard what you said. What you told Cheryl and the boys."

I lowered my gaze to the countertop, my finger tracing a nonexistent pattern.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked.

"I didn't want to embarrass or humiliate you," you replied.

"How...how would you have humiliated me?"

"Harry..."

I lifted my head to look at you. What I already knew was staring me in the face.

"You don't feel the same," I stated.

You were silent for a moment until you shook your head. "It's not that. It's just...I had no idea you felt that way about me. I thought all this was harmless flirting and friendship stuff. It's...it's kinda weird, you know?"

I blinked, nodding my head. You stepped closer to me, reaching for my hand.

"I love you," you declared. "I care about you. I don't want any awkwardness between us."

"I get that," I agreed.

You lifted your other hand to touch my cheek.

"You're so amazing," you added. "And if..."

I covered your hand with mine, looking into your eyes.

"If what?"

You swallowed hard. "If I let my guard down...I could easily fall in love with you."

I felt my lips stretch into a smile as you did the same. Then leaning forward, you lightly brushed your lips against mine, kissing the corner of my mouth. I knew you were still hesitant, so I didn't push further.

"One step at a time," you said, echoing my thoughts, though it was almost a question.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm going to bed," you whispered. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight."

I watched you once again as you walked away towards your bedroom. So, the cat was out of the bag as they say. You knew the truth. You hadn't reciprocated my feelings, but at least you hadn't shut them down either. I had hope. And I planned on holding onto it for a while.

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ellesthots · 2 months ago

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Fateful Beginnings

XXX. “gut feeling”

parts: previous / next

plot: in an untoward evening, Bruce gets protective.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, violence, drugging, aggression, description of injury, angst, nausea/vomit, basically Gotham being Gotham

words: 6.7k

a/n: oooowieeee Bruce is really starting to show his more flustered side 🤭

PHOTOS: EMT Says Bruce Wayne “Lucky to be Alive" After Harrowing Crash on Tower Grounds

You'd been walking the sidewalk just before Rai's when you got the news alert. Even with his warning, one that left you for a few seconds when first staring at the phone, it was like being pummeled by a brick. Tethered to your screen, flipping through the photos TMZ posted like they were scripture. After a few heavy exhales, you gathered yourself enough to walk inside. The familiar 'Welcome in!' before a double-take. "Y/N? What are you doing here? You said you left?"

In all honesty you'd forgotten about your last conversation, the last moments before tragedy, and hadn't prepared for what you'd say to people outside of what you were to tell Mar. You did your best to laugh it off, but he wasn't taking it. He walked around the register and stood in front of you, right by the Oreos. "Always been able to read you, friend. Tell me, what's on your mind?"

Ding! The door opened to a cluster of women and Rai gave you a playful finger wag. "Foiled this time."

You joined half of the pack as they perused the drink aisle, then the other that clustered by the deli. He was almost out of tabbouleh, and the second best thing in your opinion—baklava—was being thirsted after by the two people in front. You decided to get some pita and hummus to go.

Rai didn't have time to talk to you with the line of people behind you, and for a brief moment you thought about staying—but your bed was calling your name, so you kept it simple. "I decided to stay for a few more weeks, at the very least. I'll be back soon for more tabbouleh." You winked at him, smiled, and found yourself right back where you had rotted the past 36 hours.

Rai sent you a text about fifteen minutes later. Heard you're a big journalist now girl! How does it feel to be published?

The message stopped you in your tracks; it was the first time someone had mentioned the interview without also mentioning Bruce Wayne. It brought tears to your eyes. He was the first person truly interested in your experience with it, about how it was just a project, not the person, that was the cool part.

I'm staying a bit longer for the election. Especially with how much traction my interview got, I think I carved out some legitimacy for myself to maybe make a difference reporting on the mayoral campaign.

He must've gotten swamped because your next text from him wasn't until an hour later. Whatever keeps you near Gotham and tabbouleh makes me happy. Bouleh on me next visit.

It was a running joke how often you ordered it; it was almost a hyperfixation, the flavor of it orienting you to time and place whenever things got harried. You learned a few months after being here that you needed some routine and, well. That was yours. The glow of your iPad screen was also an ever-present friend:

SEARCH: Marian Grange

Google showed that Grange was the former district attorney, a big-time lawyer taking on some very high profile cases in her time. A handful of years ago she had made her way to Gotham—notably, with just enough years of residency to run for Mayor this calendar year. Since coming to the city, she hadn't taken on any more cases, submitting wholly to the pursuit of... socializing? She was often pictured with the elite, holding hands with a beaming smile, endlessly pictured throughout her public-facing Instagram going to various fundraisers and luncheons. Per her campaign website, she wanted to stop the 'targeting' of the city's rich. Out of the many filler words on her 'issues' page, that was the only information you could glean.

SEARCH: Sebastian Hady

Hady's 'issues' page was a bit more complex: in addition to his position of taxing the churches, he wanted to put out an immediate hit on the batman. He'd attempted to run for mayor in the past two elections, falling short of winning enough votes to make the final matchup, and it was clear why: his politics were inconsistent. Tax the churches, but don't tax the wealthy; increase taxes on the poor, so they could 'bootstrap' their way out of their 'unfortunate predicament'. As out of touch as Grange was, Hady made your stomach flip. He'd been a political science major, with no real experience due to being denied access to Gotham University's Public Administration graduate program. Outside of running incessant campaign ads on late-night television and blaring his oversaturated frame across the city streets, he'd mostly laid low.

SEARCH: Lincoln March

BRRT BRRT. BRRT BRRT. "Mar?"

"Have you seen the news? I didn't have any reception in the lounge."

Every time she went to the Iceberg Lounge you wanted to hold her by her collar and give her a desperate talking-to. You gripped the phone tighter. "It's dangerous, you know the type of shady shit that's gone down there the past few years?"

"So you haven't seen it." She slurped away on a drink. “Sour as hell.”

Ding! You pulled your phone away from your ear to see the TMZ article. Your gut cinched.

"It's all anyone's talking about. People are getting into massive arguments on Scypher about it, it's fucking crazy."

"Arguments?" You bit the inside of your cheek.

She scoffed on the other line. "You're joking, right? Some people are saying he was DOA and had to be revived!"

A lurching clump of bile hurtled into your mouth, forcing you to double over and squeeze your mouth shut. Everything about that sentence haunted you, from the almost incredulous way she delivered it to Gotham's colloquial use of shorthand when describing being killed. He might've been fucking dead? Fuck, fuck...

"Hello? Y/N? Hello?" She groaned. "You're acting weird. Haven't even told me why you're still in the city."

"Don't you think it's a heavy fucking thing to talk about like that? You can't throw around someone being, someone being fucking, dead!" You were more shrill than you meant to be, but you didn't exactly have the resources to control your tone while you clutched your stomach and held your breath, not wanting to taste the vomit you'd just swallowed.

"Shiiit, I thought you didn't like him." If she turns this into a conversation about dating...

"I already saw it earlier."

"Think it'll interfere with your interview?" The sound of background whistling and whooping created an unsettling soundscape.

"I really don't care if it does."

"Pretty rude of the guy, in my opinion. Stealing your thunder like that?"

She's drunk. She doesn't know any better. Hell, might even be wasted. Still, your hand shook with anger to the point you had to set the phone on your comforter and scoot back from it. You pressed your palms flat against your mouth to keep from screaming. Screaming what, you didn't know. You were beginning to understand what it was like for Bruce to talk to you as you struggled to speak through gritted teeth. "That's really disrespectful, Mar."

"I'm jooookingg!" She cackled and you heard a clatter. "Oh shit hahaha, my phone. Hello? Still there?"

Don't want to be. "Yeah. Do you need me to call you an Uber?"

"Nahh, this guy's taking me home."

"What about Gianna?" She always hung around Gianna; you'd only met her once when Mar got picked up, and only for about five seconds, but after a brief look over her socials (and an impressive LinkedIn) you were inclined to think she was a good influence. Gianna had to be with her.

"I haven't asked her to be exclusive yet, you know that." Her words were beginning to slur.

"Who's the guy?"

"Some dude I met at the bar, he's super fuckin' rad."

"I'm sending an Uber to your location. Come up to my apartment, we'll spend the night together." Did she always leave with someone when she didn't go out with you? You pictured her being preyed upon, studied in the pulsing lights of the club. It made you sick.

"Okay bossy. No." She giggled to herself. "His apartment is like half a mile north, he's walking me." She hung up. Jesus. You threw on your sneakers, grabbed a taser, and raced outside, scanning your apartment fob to access the free-use bike garage. Iceberg Lounge was about a fifteen minute walk south.

It was terrifying biking on the streets of Gotham. Half the street lamps didn't work, and the drivers were all fiendish assholes who drove like they wanted to smear bodies on the pavement. You'd almost thought yourself lost until you spotted a glint of her neon pink cami.

"Hey!" You tried not to sound too menacing; maybe this was a rare good guy in Gotham, and he was gonna tuck her in safely to his spare bed and make sure she had a nice, non-laced drink of water at her bedside. No fucking way. "Hey,"

"Y/N?" Mar looked shocked at your arrival.

You dismounted your bike and grabbed her hand. When you did, the man grabbed your forearm. You ignored him and spoke directly to her. “Let’s head back to my place.”

”Interrupting our date.” The man laughed, but it was indignant. He still wasn’t loosening his grip on your arm. Getting a closer look at Mar, she was disheveled; her straps were sliding off her arm, exposing the top of her bra; her belt was halfway undone, yet her lipstick was pristine.

“We have a rule to not go home with people when we’re drunk.” You flashed him a smile, his green eyes dark and menacing. Why do I always notice the eyes?

“Sounds like BS to me.” He tried to laugh again when he said it, which only pissed you off. He probably thought he was one of the ‘good guys’ and didn’t understand why no one ever called him for a second date. You snaked your left arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to you. A quick once-over noted him wearing a thick leather jacket with white cuffs, and dark blue jeans with rips in the knees. His shoes were a nondescript pair of white Nikes. “You seem perfectly sober, interesting.” Mar was unsteady in your grasp, her weight leaning slightly too much into you, her knees wobbly. Did he fucking slip her something?

You swatted away his hand, which had a butterfly effect; he swiftly grabbed your ponytail, yanking on it so you were removed from between them. He grabbed her by the elbow as you stuttered back, tears springing into your eyes from the tension of having your hair yanked. He couldn’t quite walk as fast as he wanted to, her legs catching on every crack in the sidewalk. In this city that meant a long, treacherous walk anywhere, and an opportunity for you to strike.

You pulled out your taser and ran closer to him before slamming your finger on the trigger. A small catch of electricity came from the tip, then faltered. It’s not charged. Fuck. He turned toward the nearest apartment complex, and you lunged for his neck. He was tall, but not too tall, and there were a few steps he’d climbed to the doorway. You were able to wrap your palm around half of his neck, pulling him down hard on the concrete. Before he’d even smacked the ground you jumped down the stairs and slammed your foot into his balls, as hard as you could, your left foot skipping atop the concrete with the force as it struggled to balance. He cursed, spit flying out of his mouth as he clutched his groin. Mar was barely holding onto the siderails at this point, confirming she’d been slipped something. His legs thrashed wildly, his grunts filling the empty sidewalk. He caught your ankle and you fell back, smacking your head against the bottom stair. For a few seconds all you could do was breathe, the air knocked out of you and your vision blurry, stilted. He rose to his knees, and you scrambled back. By the grace of whatever God may or may not exist, you were able to get back on your feet before he did. The transition made you wildly dizzy, and before you knew it you fell to your knees again.

Mar was barfing off the edge of the railing, crying. You figured she had no idea what was going on, just knew that it was bad; the first and only time you’d been roofied was out with Mar one night. You’d tasted your drink and within a few minutes you were feeling woozy. Make it ten minutes later, and the room was a glowing haze of smoke and mirror—literally. You were seeing double everywhere you looked, locked in your own cage of whatever someone else did to you. Thankfully Mar had enough experience to notice the initial signs of being drugged (at least, in someone else) and had immediately called an Uber and notified the staff of the bar. She’d tended to you the rest of that night, and when you woke up her eyes were buggy and bloodshot. “I stayed up all night watching you. I didn’t want you to like, choke in your sleep or something.”

You attempted to raise your head, but it was pounding, whiting out your vision when you tried to support it with just your neck. You grabbed your phone and managed to open it to your phone app, but he smacked it away. You watched through bleary eyes as it soared into a bit of bark dust beneath some shrubs, landing face-down. All you saw was a gentle emanation of dark blue light. It called someone.

“HELP!” You shouted, hoping that whoever it was would hear you. Most of your contacts (you didn’t have too many) had access to your location information. You’d gotten scared after a few harrowing abduction stories in the Gazette and sent a mass text to the people in it with your info. Someone would call, and it would be fine. “CALL 911.”

Mar slumped to the ground and balanced her head against the railing, tears streaming down her cheeks. This part of town was deceptively barren, of course it was. The man grabbed you by the ankles and you screamed, jerking your legs until one broke free. “HELP!”

A part of you thought it would be okay—until you remembered Batman wasn’t on patrol tonight. Your heart sank as you watched him latch both hands onto your other ankle… and then he dropped you. He turned and walked halfway between the road and the apartment doors—why wasn’t anyone coming out to help?—and faced you, his mouth slobbery and in a slack grin. He shook out his body and flexed his fingers, taking a moment to hype himself up. You tried to sit up again, grinding your molars with the effort, but you nearly blacked out. The only thing that came to mind were the earthquake drills from elementary school, of hiding under your desk with your hands over your head to protect from falling debris. He was falling debris. Inevitable. You wrapped your hands around your aching head. Pressed your elbows together in front of your nose. Tucked your chin, barely, to protect your neck. He took off in a sprint for you, his sneakers connecting brutally with your thigh. You screamed, and he kicked it again. And again. And again. “See how you like it, fucking bitch.”

Mar screamed behind you; weak, but undeniable. “Stop it,” She stumbled toward you as his foot barreled into you with unbridled ferocity. She grabbed onto his arm and he shoved her off. She reached back out, her nails digging into his skin. He shouted and shoved her hard against the railing, turning his attention on her. She had enough bearings now to dodge a single hit, rolling out of the way before another landed square between her shoulders. You were busy incrementally lifting your head from the cement, centimeter by slow centimeter sitting upright. The man wiped the arm of his jacket against his mouth, muttering. “Bullshit fucking cunts.” He slammed his foot between her legs, and she yelped, rolling over onto her stomach. A wave of nausea stormed through you.

She was slowly rising, but he slammed his fists into her back and she buckled. Her face hit the pavement so hard you hoped her nose wasn’t broken. She started coughing, stringy spit dribbling off her lips. At this point he turned back to you with a sneer. “Guess I’m getting double tonight.”

Sick freak. The pain was edging out your fear, and resignation was teetering towards fruition. You only needed a few more minutes to get your bearings. Long enough to heat up a fucking hot pocket. He slapped you across the face, and you fell back to exactly where you were. Flat against the ground. Thundering head. Unable to sit up, arrested by searing pain.

The sound of skin slamming into skin disoriented you. Thudding, smacking sounds pierced the air, peppered with the man’s grunts and yelps. He sounded like a hit dog. What, the fuck? You shoved your palms against the ground to support your weight, but it wasn’t working. You physically grabbed your jaw and the back of your head and tilted it up, holding it there to watch the scene unfolding a few feet in front of you. A horrible hollow sound echoed just as the man was hurled against the opposite railing, his chest nearly touching his shin as his body bent around the metal. His opponent was adept at fighting; fully hooded with a black shirt wrapped around the bottom half of his face, a thick, baggy jacket bulking his frame, gauze wrapped around his knuckles. You couldn’t make out his full face, but the feeling you got told you all you needed. It wasn’t quite fear, not quite comfort, or peace, but an indisputable sensation of safety. You let your head fall back, too fast, as you sobbed cries of relief.

The mystery man kept trying to fight back, but not a single hit landed. You saw it all in the lower half of your vision. Saw the guy try, fight, and run, and the other stoop down to Mar and help her sit up. Once she was in a safe, neutral position he turned to you—Bruce’s eyes were framed with black, paint smearing down his cheekbones and into his brows. He took your arm and attempted to pull you up to the same position, but you squealed. “I hit my head,”

He sat back like he was calculating something for a moment before cupping his left hand at the base of your head. Holding you like an infant, he slowly tilted you upright. He held his hand just above your neck a few seconds longer. “Gonna let go.” Tentatively, he did, and you resisted your torso’s urge to flop back down.

A car pulled up right then, one you hadn’t seen before. It was flashy, but not a sportscar. He noticed your eyes follow it and lowered his voice. “It’s mine. I’ll take you both home.” He paused, gesturing with his head. “Do you know her?”

You tried to nod but you felt like your head would snap off your neck. “Yeah. My friend. I think, she was drugged.” The pulsing in your thigh was violent, and you worried you might have fractured something. He gave you a once-over, then looked back to her. “I’ll help her in first.”

Bruce tried to help her stand, but she shook her head. “Y/N,” she called out weakly, moving to her hands and knees to crawl toward you. She managed to make her way to your side, panting with the effort. “Who is, why,”

Shit. “Um, he’s my friend. I called him when, when the guy, shit,” Your head was in agony. You struggled to form coherent thoughts, let alone speech. How, clear is she? Recognize? Him? Disguise?

“I trust you.” Her voice no stronger than a whisper. She reached her arms out to him, and he walked over to help her up. He wrapped his arm around her back and to her armpit, hoisting her up and steadying her to the car. The side door opened as he walked up, and he helped her sidle in. He waited a few seconds while she adjusted, then grabbed the seatbelt. You heard him say something, but couldn’t… only if you want maybe? About the seatbelt?

You blinked and he was holding out his hands for you. The scarred, dirty hands that now had traces of fresh blood from reopened knuckle scabs soaking through the gauze. It made you faint thinking about him at the… Arkham. All at once you sat up, the motion sending you reeling. “Fuck!” Your hands trembled as pain ravaged your head, all the blood simultaneously leaving and filling it. “No, you shouldn’t, fuck,”

He squatted to your eye-level. His stare didn’t waver once. “You’re, recovering, I don’t, thanks,” Between every word was a gasp of pain.

His tone was firm, leaving no room for disagreement. “I’m glad you called. I’m taking you home.”

“Are you—”

“I’m fine.” He held out an expectant hand for you to take. You anticipated having to pull your own, but to your surprise he pulled you up with you barely feeling the ground whatsoever. He carried the bulk of your weight, snaking his arm on top of your shoulders instead of under, allowing your neck not to bobble as you both walked. The last time you’d been this close to him you hadn’t known his identity. You recalled his hold being so firm you couldn’t escape, how afraid that had made you until you’d realized it was him. You stopped trying to force your balance and let him guide you the last steps to the car; the door opened automatically again, and he helped you slip in beside Mar. She had her head against the back of the seat, eyes half shut.

“Need help?” He had a finger looped around the seatbelt. Your cheeks heated, and you stammered out a no. He shut the door, and you painstakingly buckled yourself. A part of you wondered what he’d do if you refused to buckle up, and how long he would sit there demanding you put it on before you finally gave in, having sufficiently annoyed him.

When Bruce climbed in, you felt like a child who forgot their lunch on the way to school. You asked him to retrieve your phone, explaining it was under some shrubs by the entryway. Not ten seconds later he was back in, wiping dirt off the screen before handing it back to you. He was so fucking fast.

Mar didn’t talk during the drive, and neither did Bruce, so neither did you. You kept one eye on her at all times, making sure she didn’t fall asleep before you could check if she had a concussion or not. You figured you did, and you were not looking forward to checking in the mirror later looking at the damage done to your left leg. Now I match Bruce. A bitter thought.

You’d had the wherewithal prior to leaving to bring your keychain with you, tucked nicely into your pocket. By some stretch he hadn’t kicked just a few inches higher, which would have probably left you with a gaping wound from the jagged ends of the keys fileting your hip. You held the fob out the window when he pulled up to the garage, and in another blink he was helping Mar out.

“Can you stand?” Mar was slumped into his shoulder as he supported her weight. “Might have to carry her.” She looked exhausted, with her eyes glazed over, her face sweaty. You watched her chest with diligence, and per usual he sensed you, reading you like he was superhuman. “Her respiration’s normal. You can check the rest of her when you get your bearings.”

You unbuckled and tried to stand, but even shifting halfway out the car scared you. The ground phased in and out of your vision, the depth completely lost. As much as it burned… You sighed. “Take her up first. I think I need help walking.”

You handed him your keychain and he went on his way. Only after he’d disappeared up the elevator did you question it. I let her go up alone with a man? In this state? You couldn’t berate yourself much though, because a strong swell of defensiveness ravaged you. It was like the you before and you now were dueling. Condemning your judgment and rationalizing it, back and forth.

There was truly just something about him. Maybe you were infantilizing him and the past week was clouding your judgment. Maybe he moonlighted as Batman to cover up his serial killer tendencies. Keep the cops trained on an alternate identity, a vigilante. But he made you feel safe. He always made you feel held. Even when your mind took over and convinced you he was wrong, convinced you you should be afraid, your body never internalized it. That gut feeling you got around other men; the other men at city hall, the other men at the club, some of the men in your undergrad classes, even some of the professors… your stomach never curdled like that around him.

You didn’t think about it any further.

Bruce jogged out the elevator and helped you out. You ignored how your stomach fluttered being pressed so close to him, fought the tears that begged at the edge of your eyes, and let yourself sink into his chest. At some point you closed your eyes and concentrated on the roughness of his jacket against your cheek, and the patter of his heartbeat. Warmth. Alive. Breathing. Secure.

You being so close to him made him keen to his breathing. His body felt tingly and dizzy. He held you tighter. Every exhale fluttered the hair in front of your face, wisping it across your eyelashes. Was his breathing too loud? Were you falling asleep? He rustled you slightly, just taking a step slightly too hard, not wanting you to—your lashes fluttered, having caught you right before slipping into dreamland. He needed to keep you awake, at least long enough to do a proper assessment. Long enough to make sure you weren’t going to die.

Walking through your doorframe was a beast he realized too late; too narrow to both walk through wide, after your left hip caught on the strike plate and you cried out. He hated how much it felt like someone squeezed his chest when he saw you in pain; if you or your friend had been any less injured, he would’ve taken more time on the perpetrator.

He sat you delicately on the couch, instructing you to sit upright as much as you were able. He unwrapped the cloth from over his mouth, shoving it into his jacket pocket. He asked if he could touch the back of your head, and you agreed. His fingers were as gentle as a cat’s whisker, delicately sifting through sweaty clumps of hair that, if it weren’t for even the air moving past it causing flinching pain, might’ve made you soft, weak. You startled when he removed his hand. “Can’t feel any bleeding, no cuts.” His voice was soft, his eyes scanning everywhere but yours. You were glad.

He asked the date, gave you a few words to recall back, and shined a light in your eyes. You recoiled like he’d slapped you when he pulled out his flashlight, the light causing physical pain. On the jump back, your leg brushed the pillow to your left, and he stared down at it. “May I?” You nodded and he pulled up your shorts; you were biting down on your tongue as his pinky grazed the bruise. “How bad is it?” It was at this point, when he didn’t immediately respond, that you realized he’d turned off the lights in your apartment and only left the lamp on in the corner. Thoughtful.

“Already bruising.” He grimaced, seeing the speckled outline of the shoe’s leather binding indented in harsh red streaks along your leg. His grimace made your face fall; he hardly grimaced like that when he had a fucking gaping wound in his leg. “What? Tell me.”

He shook his head. “A bad bruise, that’s all.” He grabbed your shin lightly and asked you to bend your leg. Then put weight on it. Twist left to right. Flex your hip. Everything worked normally. Still, his brow was twisted together, looking like he was gnawing on his cheek. You eyed him skeptically. “What?”

This was the second time he’d pulled someone off of you in less than six months. Your entire thigh would be lit dark scarlet in just a few days. He’d called Gordon the second he got into his car, and whispered an ID to his watch to ping over when he went to get your phone. He was sure they got him, but all he could think about was brutality; he didn’t like the things he was imagining, the drive to crack all the fingers off the man’s hand and shove them into his petrified, quivering mouth, and the equal drive to wrap you in a hug that never ended to make sure no one else harmed you.

You saw the movement of all these thoughts across his face, but the only source you could track them to was hesitation to tell you the extent of your injury. “Do I need to go to the hospital?”

He wanted to scour every inch of you to look for more lacerations, bruises, bleeds. For possibly the first time ever, he didn’t trust his estimation. You needed a professional, just in case. In case he missed something. In case you’d jostled your brain too much, in case the man had loosened a clot in your leg. He nodded. “I think you should.” He could take a back way there, walk you up to the doors and then put you in a wheelchair at the entrance. His mask would cover up enough, probably. He’d bring your friend with you. She could be checked out too.

You looked to his bloodless palms and fingertips that had just explored your scalp. Down to the splotches across your leg. “Why?” You felt like shit, yeah, but…?

“I might be wrong.”

”About what?”

”The extent of it.”

”What, like a brain bleed?”

”Exactly like that.”

You flicked your gaze up to your bedroom door. “I can’t leave her. Is she okay?” You moved to get up, and it was painful, but you managed. You slammed your hand on his shoulder for emergency balance, and you begrudgingly accepted his support across the living area. Mar was on her side in bed, squinting at her phone that seemed to already be on the lowest brightness. You whispered. “I got it.”

He let you go and walked back to the living room, and you shut the door behind you. You limped over to her and sat on the edge, tapping her ankle to alert her. Slowly her eyes moved to yours. The lipstick that had been untouched was now smeared across her cheeks, and her eyeliner bled and cracked off. “Are you, okay?”

”I think so. Are you?” You were doing exactly what Bruce just had; scanning her body at rapid speed, analyzing for any signs of injury. She looked a bit scraped up on the heels of her hands and knees, and you asked her to turn to take a look at her back. There was still the rough, muddied outline of his shoe from where it connected on her spine, but nothing else of note. Some general redness, and when you touched it she groaned, but didn’t shriek.

You looked into her eyes, but knew you had no idea what to look for. “Did he check you out already?”

She nodded, leisurely. “Shined something in my eye and told me to say stuff, I don’t remember what though.” Her words were still slurred, and the top of her nose was scraped, but nothing looked broken. You thought of the kick he’d done between her legs, and asked if she felt any pain there. She almost giggled. “Bastard forgot I don’t have balls. But, how,” She winced as she adjusted, her back rippling with it. “Cool is it he thought, I did.” She sighed and returned her attention back to her phone.

“Do you have pain anywhere?”

She glanced down at her palms and then pointed to her nose. Her biggest thing then was being drugged, and yours was whatever head thing you had going on paired with a throbbing leg. The thought of leaving your warm bed to go to a bright–fuck, BRIGHT–hospital made you want to actually die. You were gonna take your chances tonight. Oh, it was making you sick thinking about it…

“I’m gonna get some meds. Want some?” Whew, just a few steps through to the kitchen. I can do it! I’ve done it a lot! At least half of the journey is carpet, if I do eat shit. She nodded again (you were very jealous she was able to bob her head), and began your slow shuffle to the kitchen. The second you appeared in the doorway, Bruce jumped to your aid. You waved him off. “I think I’ll stay home.” You grabbed the counter for support.

“I’m taking you in.”

Furrowing your brow hurt your aching head. “I’m gonna take some meds, it’ll, be fine.”

“Then I’m staying.”

He sounded like a scolding parent. You shot a look at him and felt the ground wiggle beneath you. You squeezed your eyes shut which only made it worse. Tried to refocus on the medicine cabinet. So high…

“Let’s go.” He made his voice a bit louder, sterner. You finally scooted close enough to reach the handle, and now worked up the courage to grab it. You rustled around in there for a moment.

“You’re not really going to take that, are you?” His tone was biting. Footsteps, then he snatched the bottle of ibuprofen out of your hand. “Do you want to have a brain bleed?”

Shame coursed through you, another one of his thousand cuts. When you were able to look back at him, he had his eyes shut tight and his lips pursed, one hand holding the bottle and the other gripping the counter. He saw you looking at him and hastily turned away. The pop of the plastic bottle on the marble punctuated his apology. “Sorry.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his hood removed somewhere between your bedroom and the couch. He huffed and tilted his head back to stare at the dark kitchen light. His shoulders rose and fell with every cycle of breath, one for every three blinks. The room was silent like that for a minute. He was so angry… no, he was nervous. Upset.

He caught your eye when you turned and his face fell into something softer, more vulnerable. “You’re not going, right?” He gave the smallest shake of his head and flicked the bottle a few inches. He didn’t wait for your answer. “I’m staying.” He made his voice strong, though you both knew you could kick him out and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Bruce,”

“You’re both incapacitated, leaving you here alone, it’s, it’s not an option.” He was getting flustered. You always took him there. He didn’t stutter, he never caught on his words, never caught on the sidewalk, never overlooked a pedestrian, fuck. His voice was raising, only slightly. His breathing got shallower, his fingers feeling chilled. “I need a minute.” He put his hands over his head and walked to the other side of the room, pacing in front of the couch. The fact the silence felt thick made you want to cut it. “I’ll be fine,”

“Please!” He dropped his hands at his sides and stood facing the cushions.

Deep breath in. Hold… exhale. Inhale, hold… exhale. Inhale, hold… exhale. Inhale, hold… exhale. He felt his chest start to release. Inhale, hold… exhale. Hold. Inhale, hold… exhale, hold… the feeling was coming back into his fingertips. Inhale, exhale. Hold… Inhale, slow, hold… exhale, slow, hold. Blink. Blink. Look at the wall. Couch. Hands. Jacket. In, out.

Another big sigh and a small shake, and he looked over his shoulder. He swallowed back globs of saliva that threatened to drown his vocal folds. His cheeks were pink, from what he had no idea. “I’m upset this happened to you.” He figured some transparency wouldn’t hurt, seeing as he’d just watched you get bludgeoned on the sidewalk and the… events of the past weekend. His jaw flexed. “And your friend.” He groaned, feeling frustrated tension fill him again. “I heard your shouting from blocks away. There were plenty of people.” His hands tightened in and out of fists, a motion you never failed to dial into. “No one did a damn thing.”

“Seems about right.” You slowly reached for the ibuprofen and put it back in the cabinet, letting it fall shut with a small tap.

Bruce was facing you now. “You don’t seem fazed.”

You shrugged, but couldn’t raise your shoulders in any meaningful capacity. “People don’t give a shit here.” You winced, as another blow of pain emanated the circumference of your skull. “Of course you don’t,” You flinched, speaking causing coils of pain to vibrate in your head. “Get it.”

He held back the full extent of his response, because he had a full argument sitting on the tip of his tongue. “I’ve seen the worst of it as him. I get it.” His enunciation begged no comment, but it was steamrolled.

“You don’t.” It was going to hurt to push all the words out at once, but the adrenaline of more friction with him was enough fuel to edge it out, momentarily. “You’re only able to be him because of your very unique, situation.” It was suffering to continue talking. “Even if people wanted to, to be you.” You took a small breather, placing both hands on the edge of the counter as the world whizzed by. “We can’t. We have, work, school, people are, shit.”

“We can talk about it later.” He walked to the cupboard and drew some water from the sink. You noticed him rinse it twice before filling. He held it out to you. “Drink. Sips.”

Some muscle in your finger had to have direct access to your brain because when you extended your arm fully to grab it, as soon as your pinky gripped the glass, you shuddered like you’d flicked a nerve. The glass clattered to the ground, exploding shards across the floor. When you ventured to move, he stopped you with a firm hand on your shoulder. “I’ll get it.” He didn’t want you tripping with how unsteady your gait was. He moved to your side and grabbed some paper towels, squatting once more to gather the biggest chunks. “There’s a, broom. In the closet by the door.”

“Y/N?” Mar had made her way out of your room in a drunken shuffle. She’d said your name but her squinted, hazy gaze was focused entirely on Bruce, who was now facing her without his hood, without his mask, almost entirely exposed save the black around his eyes. Her eyes widened. “Is that…”

In your periphery you noticed Bruce’s eyes flick up to yours as his hands slowed. For once he was silent, letting you take the lead–naturally, it was the first time ever you didn’t want to. Fuck.

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christopher-bangnaldoskzz · 1 year ago

Text

Soft Dom Bangchan x Female Reader Sub!

Genre: 🌶️🌶️🌶️

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Oral Sex (female receiving) Fingering , protected Sex, Unprotected sex. sexual content included I am going to say this is strictly 18+ MDNI fan fiction.

Summary: A sub needs a dom, a dom wants a sub but what happens when feelings overlap with contracts and love creeps in? Will a contract remain only a contract? Or are emotions like love too hard to keep in check?

A/N: would also like to dedicate this story to @daceydeath , thank you for always putting up with my deluluness, also thank you for putting up with my drama fill life honestly. I wouldn’t be still writing if it wasn’t for you encouraging me. Also thank you so much for writing my summary xx

You giggle as Chan throws you over his shoulder to carry you inside. He smacks your ass playfully as he puts the key into the lock and opens the door.

Walking you directly to the bedroom and laying you down on the bed, his body crawling on top so his body rests between your legs. His body starts to roll as his tongue enters your mouth.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks, pulling back.

“You”, you mewl.

“Good girl”, he grips the bed as he continues to dry hump you. One hand slips under your t-shirt, his fingertips gliding along your skin before cupping your breast.

“I thought you were gonna rip my clothes off”, you giggle.

"Mmm," Chan hummus, kissing and licking your neck.

You giggle as his hand starts to play with your nipple. Chan lifts his body up. “Sit up," he growls as he says. Chan pulls your shirt up and over your head, revealing your bra. “This is my favourite bra”, he continues pulling the cup down as he licks your nipple.

He licks and sucks your breast making sure to alternate between each breast; you arch your body as your pussy starts throbbing. Chan's hand slides down your stomach and into your pants; his fingers spreading your folds as he checks how wet you are for him.

“Baby girl…you’re so wet”, he smiles.

“Only for you, sir” You liked playing to his possessive side.

“Fuck….only for me”, he moans as he pulls his hand out and sucks on his fingers.

He rolls your pants down, lifting your legs up to pull them off your body; you spread them for him as he sucks on his fingers, sliding them back down.

“How many do you want?" He breathes. “One,” he says as he slides one finger inside you.

You shake your head “more” You moan.

“Two”, he slides another one in. This time, he curls his fingers hitting your g spot, causing you to let out a slight whimper.

“More, please”, you beg.

“How about three?" he says, pumping a third inside you.

“YES,” you scream as you begin to squirm.

“That’s my good girl.... hmmm”, he said as he pumped and curled his fingers inside you as he continued stimulating your breasts.

“This feels so good, sir," you moan.

“Who do you belong to?” He grunts into your chest.

“You, sir," you moan back.

“Say my name," he growled.

“Channie” was the only word you could manage to get out.

“That’s it, baby….again”, he grunts, pumping his fingers in deeper.

“U-uh, Channie”, you cry

“Okay baby, come for me", he murmurs as he curls his fingers, massaging your spot.

“Yes, yes, YES…..CHANNIE” You call.

Chan pulls his fingers out as he kisses up your body.

“I love the way you call me Channie”, he smiles before kissing you.

Your body starts to shake as you feel your orgasm wash over you. He sucks up the moans with his mouth before helping you ride out your high.

“You’re mine”, he smiles at you.

He places a kiss on your lips. “These lips are mine.”

He places a kiss on your neck. “This neck is mine.”

Rolling down your body, “these breasts,” he makes sure to suck each one, “are mine.”

Licking down your stomach, kissing right at your pelvis, “This stomach is mine.”

“These legs”, he’s now placing kisses down your thighs. “All mine, baby”, he grunts, kissing upwards towards your centre.

“And last but not least….my favourite” he kisses your dripping pussy. “This….is….” You finish his sentence.

“Yours”, you moan as he spreads your folds with his tongue.

His tongue circles your clitoris slowly, making you gasp and arch your back. His lips enclose your pleasure spot, sucking and licking in a steady rhythm that drives you wild. His hands move to your hips, gripping them tightly as his mouth continues to eat your pussy. You feel like you're about to explode, and with one final stroke of his tongue, you do. Your orgasm ripples through you in waves of pleasure.

"That's my girl", he grunts, sending another wave of shivers down your spine.

He pulls away and slides his body up yours, crushing your lips in a passionate kiss. His hardness presses against your thigh, his need for you palpable in the air. You melt into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as you deepen the kiss. He pulls back, his eyes smouldering with desire as he looks into yours. He murmurs, "All mine" softly before leaning in to kiss your lips tenderly.

His hands caress your curves, exploring your body as the kiss intensifies. You can feel his heart racing against yours as your bodies press closer. You lose yourself in the moment, feeling an intense pleasure as his lips move against yours.

"Channie...... I should be taking care of you, remember?" You smile as he pulls away.

"You are," he hums. "I'm feeling so much better." It occurred to you that maybe Chan was lying this morning about being sick, but why?

"Where are the condoms?" He looks at you with a mischievous grin.

"Top Draw" well, at least you thought there was some.

He hops off the bed and opens the draw. "Y/N, really?" He pulls out the first pair of handcuffs you had ever purchased; of course, they were bright purple and fluffy.

"What, they keep me humble", you laughed. He grinned and closed the drawer, catching your eye as he walked towards you. He grabbed your wrist and clicked the handcuffs onto it, locking it in place. You smiled, feeling the thrill as he moved closer.

He moved his face to yours, his eyes twinkling with mischief. You felt his breath on your skin as he spoke. “Remember,” he said, “I'm in control.” He leaned in and kissed you lightly on the lips. A shiver ran through your body as his hands ran down your arms. He stepped back, smiling at you as he said, “Now, where was I?" He tore the condom packet open with his teeth. He pulled out the condom and put it on. He then pulled you close and kissed you deeply. Pushing your body back on the bed while lifting your arms above your head.

He moved his body over yours, his hands running down your sides. He looked into your eyes as he entered you, his breathing getting deeper and faster. You gasped in pleasure as he moved, your bodies in perfect harmony.

"You're safe with me,” he said, kissing down your neck while locking his fingers in yours. “Look at me as I hold your hands,” he said, hovering over your body. “Breath, baby….feel me stretching out your pretty pussy”, he moaned as he kissed you. “I will never stop wanting you.”

Your breath shutters as he thrusts in and out, kissing and sucking your collarbones.

“This feels so good, sir." You moan as his lips meet yours again.

“Good….come for me one more time”, he grunts as he sucks up your moans with his mouth.

He starts to stimulate your clit as he thrusts deeper into you. “That’s a baby girl”, he growls as he feels your walls tighten around him.

“Channie”, you cry as your vision blurs and your body quivers as you feel a wave of pleasure wash over you.

It wasn’t long before Master Chan followed your lead and creamed inside the condom. “You look so beautiful underneath me”, he said, kissing you, not yet pulling out.

“I have the new contract for you to sign”, he mumbles, his lips pressed to yours.

“Okay….I’ll read it now”, you smile chan still not letting your move,

“In a minute…..I want to just sit here for a moment” he continues to kiss you, his tongue sliding past your lips.

……

You wore your robe out into the living room as you waited for Chan to come out with the new contract.

“Okay…I have it here. Let’s give it a read,” he said, sitting down on the couch in his boxers.

“You should go lay down….I don’t want you getting worse,” you said, reaching out to feel his forehead.

“I’m okay….must have just been a little bug or something”, he said, handing you the new contract.

“Okay, let’s go through this together”, he said, handing you a cup of water.

“I didn’t even see you pour this”, you laughed as you took a sip.

He smiled as he looked down at the contract. He was proud of himself.

“Okay, section 3A amendment…..The submissive should only refer to the dominant as Sir or Master when alone. The submissive is to call the dominant by the following names only while at work or in the company of other side outside the BDSM community: Chan, Channie, Mr Bang or Chris.” He smiled, looking up at you, waiting for your acknowledgement.

“Yes, master”, you smile at him fondly, waiting for him to continue.

“Section 3B…..The submissive must sleep in the dominant room at least once a week” All you can think about is…..what is he up to?

You raise an eyebrow at him. “I thought you might like it, seeming as though you’ve seemed to enjoy it the last couple of days..." He said without hesitation.

“I can strike it out if you like,” he said, clicking his pen.

“No…….I mean, no sir, it’s fine to leave in,” you said, swallowing hard.

“Excellent”, he smiled, continuing to read. “Next page section 6B…… I’d like to add in the following sexual kinks….. unprotected sex” he looks up to gauge your reaction.

You were shocked that he was always so careful. Why, all of a sudden, did he want to fuck you unprotected?

“Now that you’ve been on birth control for a couple of weeks….I thought we could maybe try it…..I’ll always ask permission first, baby, I promise.”

He was so adorable in the way he justified his kinks to you.

“I’ve uh never had a master do that before”, Master Chan gulped.

“I’ll strike it out….you don’t look comfortable with it” he clicked his pen, but before he could reach the paper, you grabbed his hand.

“I trust you." Those three words made his eyes light up.

“I don’t want to pressure you”, he said, searching your face.

You take the pen off him and sign the contract without reading the rest of the changes. “Let me show you how much I trust you”, placing the signed agreement on the table as your climb onto his lap.

He brushes your hair behind your ears before you lean in and kiss his lips.

Chan pov

God, I want to be inside her so desperately. My cock is throbbing. “There’s just one more really important thing?”

“What’s that?” She says before placing her plump lips back on mine.

“How do you feel about me installing a mirror on top of our playroom ceiling?” I wonder if she picked up on my use of the word ours.

“Love that idea,” she said before biting my bottom lip.

“Excellent,” I said before pushing her body down on the couch.

“Sir…” she moaned while sliding her hand down my body.

“Mmmmm,” I said while kissing down her neck.

“I want you to cum inside me……” my eye shot open.

“Now!” I said in shock.

“I want you to claim me…..only you,” she said so sweetly that my cock twitched.

“Only me”, I whispered.

She nods. “Only you, sir." Her finger brushes my lip.

She reaches down and pulls my cock out of my boxers, licking her hand before she starts pumping. “Please”, she whimpers; who am I to deprive her of what she wants.

Taking her hand away, I command, "Beg me for it.".

“Please….. I need to feel you cum inside me." Oh fuck she’s getting really good at this begging thing.

“Shit”, I whispered.

I lean down to place a kiss on her neck when she whispers. “ I’m not wearing any underwear, remember” Her desperate lips pressed to my ears.

Trying to ignore her, I kiss her jawline before she whispers again, “I want you to be the first to cum inside me.”

That was enough begging for me. I lined myself up with her entrance and slowly pushed myself inside her.

Her body arched into mine. “Tell me how you feel”, I growled, trying not to cum before I even got to start.

“Good sir”, her lips parted slightly as she started to roll her hips.

The three orgasms I gave her before weren't enough.

I lean my body down. I can feel her throbbing clit on my pelvic bone. “So desperate for me, hmm,” I smile.

“I need you”, she whined, her whines sending sparks down to my dick.

I start to roll my hips, stimulating her clit as her wall throbs against my cock. I didn’t want to tell her, but this is my first time ever going bareback. The sensation is different. “You feel amazing, baby girl”, I grew.

I feel her breathing getting heavier and her moans getting louder. I feel my orgasm building up, ready to be released. I slow down my movements, savouring the sensation before it's gone. I let out a loud moan of pleasure as I finally reached my climax. I can feel the warmth of my release inside of her, and I can't help but smile in satisfaction. She follows suit, and I can feel the contractions of her body as she reaches her own peak. We stay there for a few moments, our bodies intertwined in a state of post-orgasmic bliss. We collapse in each other's arms, satisfied.

"I'm all yours," she said, her lips pressed to my ear.

Master Taglist : @bellamuerte1987 @nightrayseishina @9900z @armystay89 @dreamstarsandskz @raven-skz95 @fosfopirite @neyangi @princesspanda16 @krishastumblernow @agnes-king @bangtanmix73 @djeniryuu @calicanbeevil @khemrose @fawnpeaks @missrobyn81 @dreambelieveinme @umbreonwolfy @jisungiexx @scarletrosesposts @choisoorin @izzathequeen @binnies-minsung-fanclub @jetblackbelle @bunnyxoxodarling @berryberrytan @sky-outta @zerefdragn33l @shiningnono @tinys0ftie @zinnichong @tuggybug @nokacchan @amaranth-writing @seungbinis @jisunglover3409 @kimseungminsprincess @goblin-waifu @skzswife @uwuitsjungwoo @marrivmel

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