#i was drunk last night and i tried to pretend it didn’t exist but now that im sober i know it’s like one of my things that i just can’t do

[mysicksecrets]

last night i got drunk and met this guy at a party, and we had a good time and i think he’s cute and we r texting rn, but guys he is short. like shorter than me (5’5) and i KNOW that’s so superficial for me to care about, but i dont think i can be with someone shorter than me, just bc it makes me feel like weirdly big and just not good for my insecurities lololol. I FEEL SO BAD THO IDK WHAT TO DO WE ARE TALKING RN

[pinksturniolo]

Biggest Hater - Part Two

Matt Sturniolo x Fem Reader

Part 2 of 2

Alternate version of my Chris fic: Biggest Fan

Requested by the baddest! @muwapsturniolo

Summary: You just don’t get the hype of the Sturniolo Triplets like almost every girl your age does. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that you went to high school with them and Matt Sturniolo particularly, got on your nerves more than anyone you thought ever could. In fact, it has everything to do with that. And when you run into him a couple years later, at the peak of their fame, your feelings haven’t changed one bit. No matter how attractive you find him.

Content warnings: smut, oral, angry sex, teasing, pettiness, manipulation, mean!matt (even tho he's an angel irl), ANGST AF, enemies to lovers trope (somewhat?), slightly toxic, use of alcohol, a lil fluff at the end to make up for all the madness lol

word count: 3,887

You never breathed a word to anyone about what happened that night. Losing your virginity to Matt in the back of his minivan on prom night while stoned out of your mind was not something you could exactly go about announcing around the hallways of school. As much as you wanted to let what happened possibly turn into something more between you two, you simply couldn't let one night of passion make you forget the years of anger Matt caused you.

And your feelings were only solidified when you returned to school the next week, and he pretended like you didn’t even exist. He avoided you even more than he would before, and to be fair, you didn’t call or text him over the whole weekend out of sheer embarrassment. But you figured he would at least acknowledge you.

You started to feel incredibly stupid for letting your desires cloud your judgment and wished you could take back everything you did with him. You two never spoke again, as if that night never happened. And it hurt you for a while, until you eventually decided he wasn’t worth the trouble.

But that was two years ago, and this was now.

Now you were taking shots of tito’s back to back like they were water. Zach, the mutual friend that you and Matt shared from school was passing the bottle around, more people coming in and out of the house as the night wore on, the party getting bigger.

You danced in the middle of the living room along with the crowd of bodies, your body moving to the music freely as you tried to let the invasion of memories from prom night out of your mind. The alcohol coursed through your blood, your shyness leaving. You were starting to have a good time and were happy that you hadn’t seen Matt around since he disappeared down the hallway.

Zach comes up to you, leaning down to talk into your ear. He asks how you’re doing and what you’ve been up to since high school. You’re not one for small talk but you don’t want to be rude and start to engage in conversation with him when you hear a voice over the music interrupt you.

“Mind if I steal her from you?”

You turn to see Matt standing there, his eyes briefly travelling up and down your body before greeting Zach.

“Matt! What’s up, where you been? You want a shot?” he says, grabbing his hand in a handshake.

Matt shakes his head and motions to the keys attached to the belt loop of his jeans. “I’m the designated driver tonight.”

You give Matt a dirty look before you allow yourself to check him out. His appearance has changed so much since the last time you saw him. He’s wearing black jeans and a plain t shirt, a backwards hat on his head. He has light stubble on his face, making him look a little bit older. He looked really good.

But you weren’t drunk enough to acknowledge him further, turning back to Zach. “I think I’m gonna go get some fresh air.” You tell him and he barely lets you finish your sentence, grabbing both you and Matt by the shoulder.

“Hey, remember when you guys used to be at each other’s throats every day? It was hilarious.” He slurred, a drunken smile on his face.

You give him a deadpan look, avoiding looking at Matt to see his reaction. You could seriously strangle Zach right now for what he was doing.

“You know what’s hilarious Zach? She was pretending the whole time. I think she was just secretly in love with me.” Matt says and your jaw almost drops to the ground from shock.

 Zach laughs loudly, throwing his head back. “I knew it! Practically everyone in our senior class said the same thing.”

The audacity these men had. You’re absolutely fuming, staring daggers at Matt, a stupid fucking smirk on his face. He knows you’re pissed, and he likes it. Loves it in fact. It satisfies him to no end that he can still get a reaction out of you after all this time. Not to mention, he thought you were incredibly attractive when you were mad.

Before you can fire a good comeback at him, a genius idea pops into your head. The music currently blasting through the large house now switches to an upbeat reggaeton sound, something directly in your element.

The furrow in your brows from the sour look on your face relaxes as it’s replaced with a smile, your eyes lighting up. Matt is a little caught off guard by the way your expression switched up suddenly but tries not to let it show. His arms are crossed, and he raises an eyebrow in curiosity as you speak to him.

“I love this song. Wanna dance?”

“Wait-what? -“ He starts, utterly confused now but you walk past him before he can protest, the fabric of your skirt brushing against his body. He grits his teeth, his heart skipping a beat as he inhales the scent of your perfume. You look back at him over your shoulder, a mischievous look in your eyes.

“Later, Zach.” Matt says, immediately following behind you. Your hips sway as you walk, closer to the dark corner of the room. Your short skirt is skintight, your lace top not leaving much to the imagination. You have on a pair of strappy heels and Matt can’t help but let his eyes linger on the smoothness of your legs and the curve of your ass as he walks behind you.

But he feels as though he’s walking into a trap, your sudden change in behavior a mystery to him. He hasn’t seen you in two years and you seem more mature, more confident in yourself. And given the way you both left things, he’s not sure why you would even give him the time of day.

You reach the corner of the room where it’s a little more private, starting to move your hips in small circles, swaying to the beat of the song. There’s a sultry look in your eyes as you lock eyes with Matt who’s slowly moving towards you. He’s drawn dangerously close to you, a few inches separating you from him. He’s hesitant but watches your body move sensually, your hair falling around your face as you run your hands through it. You look him in the eyes again, grabbing his hands to put them on your waist.

They say revenge is a dish best served cold. And your only intention tonight is to make sure Matt knows exactly who he’s fucked with. There was just no way he was going to show up in your life again and try to make a fool out of you for the second time. You were going to remind him that yes, there’s an unspoken connection between you two, and an electric storm that is created when your bodies mesh with another. But then, you were going to rip it from him, the way that he did to you.

The music vibrates through your body as you guide Matt’s hands across your waist and hips, his lips parted as you have him in a trance. His eyes can’t choose between focusing on your breasts spilling out of your shirt, the sliver of skin peeking out from the hem, showing the curves of your hips or your bare thighs now brushing against him as you move even closer.

Then, you turn around and wrap your arm behind you, across the back of his neck. Your other hand keeps his on the side of your waist. You grind your ass lightly over his crotch, his chest pressed into your back. His head is leaned down by the side of your neck, his warm breathing fanning across your skin.

He moves with you for a minute, immersed in the music and the way your body grinds against him. He feels like its just you and him in this party, addicted to the feeling of you on him like he was the night he had you all to himself in the backseat of his van.

His lips brush lightly over the skin of your neck, and he takes a deep breath in to try and steady himself before things escalate further. “What are you doing, Y/N.” He mumbles into your ear. His fingers press into your hips, his pants tightening from the way your ass is rubbing onto him.

Fuck. It’s taking everything in him right now not to drag you to one of the empty bedrooms and bend you over the mattress so he can fuck your brains out.

You feel him grow hard in his jeans and smile to yourself, your plan going exactly how you wanted it to. You turn around suddenly and wrap your arms around his neck, your lips feathering over his. “I need you…”

It takes him all of thirty seconds to grab your hand and lead you out of the living room, and to the secluded hallway at the other side of the house. He pushes you softly against the wall, placing his arms on either side of your head. There’s a look of desperation on his face that you haven’t seen before.

“Y/N. Listen to me. I know this sounds crazy, but I think about you all the fucking time. I swear, I’ve tried so hard to get you off my mind since that night and I can’t. I- “

“Matt, please. I don’t want to talk about that right now. Just kiss me.” You interrupted and smashed your lips onto his, his shirt fisted in your hands.

What you really want to say is, you’re a liar. If you really meant that, you would’ve talked to me at school. You would’ve let me know how you felt instead of cutting me off. You would’ve acted like a grown man and reached out to me a long time ago.

But that isn’t part of your master plan to manipulate him. You needed him to think you wanted him, to make him feel the way he made you feel for months after you last saw him. You know it’s wrong and petty, but you don’t care. And you couldn’t help the fact that you also secretly enjoyed having his hands on your body again, his lips on yours like they belonged there.

Matt is completely sober but he’s getting lust drunk off the taste of your mouth, your wandering hands over his chest, his abdomen, his hair. Pushing and pulling him into you, and he can feel your pulse pounding a million miles a minute. He could breathe your air forever, could steal your kisses like it’s his favorite crime.

The desire between you two grows and grows, until Matt is convinced he could fuck you against the wall in this hallway right now and not care one bit who saw. But he knows that’s not the right way to do this. He wants you on the bed, so he can lay your body down, and devour you in the way he’s been craving all this time.

He grabs your hips, breaking the kiss and leads you to the nearest closed door, praying that it’s an empty bedroom. The chances are in his favor when he sees no one in the room, a large king-sized bed in the middle. He locks the door behind him, and you throw your arms around his neck again, entrapping his lips on yours once more. He bends down slightly and grabs your ass, lifting you up in the air. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you over to the bed.

Once he feels the mattress against his legs, he climbs on top, laying you down, his body on yours. He trails soft kisses from your cheek to your neck, his tongue on your hot skin, teeth grazing, leaving goosebumps all over you.

You sigh in pleasure, letting him take over your body like its his. Your determination has been crumbling since he pressed you against that wall, but you fight to keep your head on straight, his mouth now ghosting across your chest as his head dips lower. He tugs your shirt and bra down, revealing your tits to him, nipples hardened from the cool air. He looks up at you, blue eyes burning with fire as he circles his warm tongue around one of them, making you gasp.

He continues, taking extra time and attention to suck, kiss and lick on each of your breasts, his eyes still on yours, leaving your now soaked panties ruined. You can feel his erection pressing into you and when he starts moving his head further south, you wrap your legs around him and grab onto his shoulders so you can flip your bodies around on the bed, this time with you on top of him.

It was time for you to regain control. You pull the top of your shirt back up and he starts to sit up, but you push him down firmly by his shoulders. You grab the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head as he allows you to undress him. He doesn’t protest and watches as you move down the bed, to settle between his legs. Your hands unbutton his jeans and yank his pants down and off of him. Now he’s only left in his boxers, and you’re still completely dressed.

You lay down on the bed, bringing your face to his crotch and exhaling on his hardness. His abdomen flexes and he clenches his jaw as he watches you tease him, breathing your warm breath onto him and then letting your tongue run over him through the fabric of his boxers.

You press a kiss onto him, your lashes fluttering as you look up at him. “Y/N…” He groans, his hands tangling in your hair. “Don’t fucking tease me.”

You let a sly smile appear on your lips and rub your hands on his thighs. Your fingers curl around the band of his boxers, finally pulling them down so his cock springs out, long, hard, and begging to be taken care of.

He twitches as you press your lips to the tip, saliva leaking out of your mouth and coating him. Then you finally move your head down, taking as much of him as you can into your mouth and your soft hand curling around the base. He moans, holding your hair back as you bob your head up and down, his breathing becoming shallow.

You keep the pace, letting him brush the back of your throat and look at him, his head thrown back against the mattress in ecstasy, knowing he won’t last long at which the rate you’re going.

“Fuck…” He whimpers, letting you push him to that release, your actions feeling way too good to stop you.

You pull your mouth from him, gasping for air and letting your hand continue the motions, squeezing around him with every intention to get him to finish.

“I know baby, let go. It’s okay.” You say, urging him to cum.

But once you speak the words, Matt snaps out of his pleasure, the sentence sounding all too familiar.

“Matt…” You whine, and he presses his forehead to yours, his hands on your lower back, helping you ride him. “I know baby, let go. Its okay.” He says softly and the coil that’s been building for the past 20 minutes since he kissed you, finally releases and warmth floods your body. You moan loudly and feel yourself leaking on his thigh, your hips slowing down.

He grabs your jaw, the expression on his face now hardened. “What do you think you’re doing?” He says, finally catching onto your little plan.

Shit. You really fucked up now. You didn’t think he would recognize the same words, you thought it would be an inside joke only to yourself in your twisted mind. But Matt was smarter than you realized.

You try to play it off though, not wanting to give in. “What do you mean?” You say innocently, batting your eyelashes at him.

He chuckles darkly and snaps his boxers back on, grabbing you by your arms and pulling you up, flipping around so you lay on the bed, on your back again.

Matt had a feeling something was off the moment you asked him to dance but he let his attraction take over and his desire cloud his judgement. And now that he’d figured out what you were trying to do, he was furious. He was mad that you felt the need to mock him, to get back at him. He was mad that he let his stubbornness prevent him from acting like a mature adult and block you out of his mind, of his life.

But most of all, he was mad and at the same time obsessed with the control you had over him, over his body, over his thoughts. He never let anyone dictate his emotions but somehow you had, and right now he wanted to show you who was really in control here. He wanted to show just exactly how much he had missed you.

“Who do you think you’re trying to play with, hm?” He says as he roughly tugs your skirt down your body and off your legs, leaving your heels on. He removes your shirt and bra right after, leaving you shocked in the way he’s managed to get you naked in less than a minute.

You don’t say a word as he pushes your legs open, his thumbs digging into your skin so hard, it hurts. He slots his shoulders in between as he places his wet lips on your stomach, kissing his way down, over your pelvis, and moving to your inner thighs, licking and sucking at the crevices.

It was insane the way Matt could control you with his dominance, the touch of his hands and the feeling of his tongue on your skin. You’ve basically lost your whole course of action in revenge, allowing him to have his way with you.

He’s everywhere except the spot you need him the most, leaving you whimpering and on edge, your hips uncontrollably moving. He smacks your inner thigh, making you cry out from the sting.

“Stop fucking moving. You wanted to play this game, right? Well, let Daddy show you who’s really in control here.” He practically growls and the tone of his voice has your pussy throbbing with need but your heart pounding with anger.

“Fuck you, Matt.” You respond, glaring down at him in between your legs.

He raises his eyebrows in surprise at your defiance, his eyes almost completely black from the way his pupils are blown. His fingertips dig harshly into your skin as he pulls you down even closer to his mouth, and your breath picks up as he traces his lips over your folds, not touching all the way but barely brushing.

He places a gentle kiss to the spot right above your clit, his eyes the complete opposite of soft as he looks up at you. He kisses once more and then dips down to lick one swipe through you only to move away, his tongue on your inner thigh again.

The teasing is almost too much, making you whine and squirm under him. He smirks at your reaction, satisfied with the way he’s gotten you worked up. He licks through you again, his tongue strong and warm and circles around your hole before pulling away once more, kissing the side of your lips.

“Say you want me.” He breathes against your skin, looking at you again.

You don’t answer him and he runs one finger through your folds, massaging lightly before pulling away seconds later.

“Say you want me. And I’ll give you what you need baby.” He’s looking at you with expectancy, hoping you’ll give in because as much as he’s enjoying teasing you, he wants nothing more than to please you.

You could almost cry from how mean he’s being, and grit your teeth, your eyes continuing to give him dirty looks. No fucking way you’re giving in this easily.

“I said… Fuck. You.”

There’s a brief moment of silence and heated looks exchanged before he suddenly gets up, standing at the end of the bed and then reaches up to drag you by your ankles to the edge where he is, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He would’ve had you cumming on his tongue, thighs around his face as you shook, swallowing every last drop.

“You’re gonna regret that.” He simply says and pulls his dick out only to push it into you with no warning, bottoming out as his hips connect with yours.

You cry aloud from the feeling, and you’re seeing stars as Matt drives himself into you over and over, hard. You’re moaning along with him, your head thrown back against the mattress. He watches as he slips in and out of you, the blissful look of pleasure on your face, a sight he could replay in his head for the rest of his life.

He wraps one hand around your neck, squeezing a little, making you clench around him from the feeling of arousal it gives you. The anger pours out of both of you, mixing with pleasure until it turns into something else, something you two have been holding back for a long time. This is nothing like the last time. In the van, it was sweet, innocent and new. But now it was dirty, hot and desperate.

The sounds of your bodies against each other fill the room, the wetness you make as he thrusts into you like music to his ears. He tells you how sexy you are, how good you take him, how much he loves to have you like this. Dripping down his cock, body quivering and throat raw from screaming out his name.

You both claim to hate each other but somehow ended up in this position for the second time. As you reach your release together, he lays closer over the top of you, burying his face in your neck. You hold him, nails scratching down his back as you cum around him, and you feel the throbbing of his cock as he finishes inside you. He stays there for a minute as you both calm down and he’s whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Matt drove you home that night, after taking his brothers home first of course. Everyone assumed what you two were doing when you disappeared from the party and Chris and Nick giggled in the car, making fun of you two, much to Matt’s annoyance.

He kissed you good night. He called the next day, and the next, and the next. He checked up on you, sent flowers to your house when you weren’t expecting, he even brought you lunch to your job when you were having a particularly rough day. He made up for all the lost time.

You both had many discussions about the past. You forgave him for what happened, and it made you happy to finally say you didn’t hate Matthew Sturniolo after all. You were actually deeply, head over heels, in love with him.

taglist <3: (if you want to be added/taken off, reply to this post or comment on my masterlist. and if you weren't mentioned, it wouldnt let me tag u :/)

@sturniolopepsi @tillies33ssss @whicked-hazlatwhore @riasturns @christhopersturniolo @junnniiieee07 @sturnsjtop @seahorsie11 @inveigledvex @honestlyjb @mattslolita @certifiednatelover @glassesmattsbae @eryismum @sturncakez @sturnioloco @wh0resstuff @ribread03 @sturniololoco @75sturn

[elilelibeli]

Reggies drunk craving

Sound of their front door wakes James up. He turns on the lamp next to the couch and sees Reg taking off his shoes.

“Hi love” he ask while yawning.

“Hi Jamie” Regulus smiles at him, “why aren’t you asleep?” he asks slurring.

“Wanted to wait, how was your night?” James gets up to kiss him. Regulus melts in his boyfriend’s touch.

“Great! They played so much Rihanna, I haven’t danced that much in a very long time.” he says in between small kisses. “You can go up and I’ll be right up with you” he says smiling at his boyfriend’s childlike yawn.

James steals one more quick peck and heads up the stairs lazily. He is about to go into the bedroom when he hears a loud curse.

“Reg, love what’s going on” he calls.

“James, where are my leftover noodles” Regulus whines, closing the fridge door with a loud bang. “Did you eat them?”

“Baby, the noodles from last weekend?” He asks and chuckles at his boyfriend’s eager nod.

“No I didn’t eat them Reggie, they were old, I threw them away”

“You threw my noodles away?”

“Yes love, the veggies had mold on them”

“But I wanted to eat the noodles. That’s the only thing I craved in the cab. I was sitting and thinking about those noodles and I really..” Reg can’t finish his sentence because he is crying. He is actually crying about the noodles, big tears and full pout crying.

James can’t help himself but laugh. His boyfriend is standing in the kitchen at 3 am, crying because of the noodles with a lip quiver and that adorable, little pout.

“James, do not laugh! This is not funny you threw away my noodles” Reg says putting his hands on his hips.

“Come on baby, they had gone bad. Go up, try to take those glitters off and I’ll order you some”James pulls him by his belt loop and tries to kiss him. Reg is pretending to be upset but still smiles against James’s lips. He heads up to the bathroom happily.

Last thing Regulus remembers is going upstairs to get ready for bed. Now he wakes up because of a loud bang from the kitchen. He quickly goes down to see what’s going on.

“Jamie, are you okay?”

“Shit, did I wake you up? sorry love I dropped a lid” James answers. James who is standing in front of a stove, stirring a big pot of noodles at 4:30 in the morning.

“Jamie what are you doing?”

“The noodle place you like was not open when I tried to order, so I figured I’d try and make you some.” James was smiling at him “we ran out of spring onions but I think it will be okay”

“You made me noodles.” Regulus is staring at him, his mouth fully open.

“Yeah?!”

“Well.. Jamie is 4:30 in the morning”

“Yes but you were craving them, weren’t you?” James asks while getting a bowl from the cupboard.

Regulus is still standing. He cannot believe that he is not even surprised. Of course this is what James would do, he would stay up all night to wait for him and then cook him a stupid drunk craving at 4 in the morning. He is standing there and he is not even surprised that this is happening because things like this happen to him now. And he suddenly realizes the size of luck and happiness he has are unmeasurable, because he is used to things like this. He gets to receive James’s huge love and exist with this much kindness. He realizes how truly happy he is and how he would do anything to always be this warm from James.

As if something nudged him, Regulus moves suddenly, hugging, or more like jumping on his boyfriend’s back like a mad man. “You are going to marry me, right?” he asks with an extremely serious tone.

James turns around. He is smiling with his whole face, dimples on his cheeks, crinkles around his sweet, sweet brown eyes. He laughs with his loud laugh that Regulus prefers over any symphony he has ever heard.

“Right, of course, of course I will Reggie. I would do it right now if I could” he answers, with sincerity in his voice.

“Right, okay, good, perfect” Regulus answers, unable to form a coherent sentence after having every single cell in him injected with overdose of love. He kisses his, apparently very soon to be husband on his cheek and grabs a hot bowl of what he thinks will be the most delicious noodles in the world from his hands. He is happy truly, truly happy.

[gioboni]

Whispers in the Darkness, prologue

(Gerado por IA)

Resumo:

[...]

The wood of the cart creaked with every movement of the wheels on the uneven ground, but now it was still, anchored in a corner of the camp. I was curled up in a corner, my knees drawn to my chest, trying to make myself small enough to disappear. My eyes peered through the rusty bars that framed my prison, but what I saw outside only made my stomach churn.

They were men. Filthy men, with stained teeth and nails caked with grime, their eyes glinting with malice. They looked at me, at us, as if we were… meat. No, worse than that. Meat has a purpose; it can be eaten, it satisfies hunger. To them, the others and I were a game. Something to be broken, molded, sold.

I wasn’t alone. Other women were in carts nearby, their faces dulled by exhaustion or fear. And then I saw her, in one of the neighboring cages, a familiar face I recognized.

Beatriz.

The best friend of my best friend. The same purple dress she had worn in the ballroom still hung crookedly on her body, now dirty and torn at the knee. The memory of the last time I saw her pierced through me like a blade. Beatriz had been pacing back and forth in the ballroom on the night of the wedding, clutching the hem of her dress as she searched for the glasses she had lost.

-- Have you seen a pair of black-rimmed glasses? I’m blind without them! -- she had asked everyone she passed. I had found it amusing at the time, watching her from a distance with a glass of wine in my hand.

To be fair, I always found everything funny, so it hadn’t been hard to laugh as I subtly helped her look for her glasses.

Now, they hung crookedly on her sleeping face. The frame was broken, and one of the lenses was cracked. She was either asleep or unconscious, I couldn’t tell. There was a cut on the side of her face, dry but still visible in the firelight. Beatriz, the woman who had always been quiet and judgmental with her glances, was finally silent — but not for a good reason.

My chest tightened. It was easier to pretend the other women were strangers, that they were all just blurred faces in a nightmare. But Beatriz was real. Beatriz had a name, a history, a life I knew. How long had it been since that wedding? A day? Two? It was almost impossible to tell. It felt like another lifetime.

What happened to us?

How could this have happened in a place where, just yesterday, we were dancing, laughing, drinking? How does this world exist side by side with that bright, happy ballroom, full of cheerful voices? It’s as if I’ve been thrown into a nightmare no one would believe is real.

I closed my eyes for a moment, but the air here was heavy, almost toxic. I tried to take a deep breath, but the smell of sweat, dried blood, and something sickly sweet — something rotten — filled my lungs. It was hard not to cough. I opened my eyes again, looking at Beatriz, trying to calculate if there was any way to reach her, to help her.

But I was trapped. Just like her. Just like all the others.

The laughter in the distance was like knives cutting through the silence. The men around the fires were playing dice, drinking, mocking one another. They were drunk, but not enough to lower their guard. From the corner of my eye, I saw one of them watching me. He did nothing, but his gaze was heavy, cruel. They didn’t need to touch me to make me feel the weight of their threat.

But they also didn’t touch us because of him.

The man in the top hat.

He wasn’t like the others. His worn vest and crooked hat tried for elegance, but his presence only made him more revolting. His eyes scanned everything around him, cold and calculating. They weren’t the eyes of a hungry predator like the others. They were the eyes of a merchant. He looked at us the way a butcher appraises a cut of meat. And his low, lethal voice had made the rule crystal clear:

-- Anyone who touches them without my permission… will pay the price with their own skin.

They believed him. That much was clear. But fear didn’t erase their stares, their twisted smiles. They were just waiting. Waiting for the right moment.

I lowered my eyes to the floor of the cart, my fingers searching once more for the sharp sliver of wood I had hidden. It was small, but it was mine. And right now, it was the only thing in the world I could call my own.

My gaze returned to Beatriz. Her chest rose and fell slowly, which meant she was still alive. But for how long? And for how long would I be?

How did I get here? That question echoed like a drum in my head. It had been so fast. Everything had been so fast. A walk, a breath, a single wrong move. I remember the hands, the force, the sweet and chemical smell of the cloth they pressed to my face. After that, darkness.

And now, this.

What kind of place is this? What kind of world is this, where women vanish in the blink of an eye, and no one finds them? No one looks for them? Did anyone at the ballroom even notice I was gone? Did they notice Beatriz was gone? Or have we already been replaced, forgotten, as if we were never there?

-- One thing at a time, Livia, -- I whispered to myself, softly, to keep from falling apart. Survive the night. Then find a crack, a mistake. Every man with power has a weakness. And the man in the top hat would be no different.

I looked at the moon high in the sky, cold and indifferent, but still a witness. It wouldn’t help me, but it could see me.

I still have a chance, I thought, gripping the shard of wood tightly, as if it were my last anchor. Small as it was, it was still a chance.

And if anyone here was going to pay the price… it wouldn’t be me.

[...]

[cerebraldischarge]

Let’s get naked.

Not like that.

I mean, deeper.

Words are my thing because actions couldn’t be. They conceal as much as they reveal. I carry the voices of men that come out of me at the worst possible moments.

I don’t remember what I said to Kevin. I doubt it actually matters. Our boundaries were too different. I just tried to keep his friendship because I didn’t want to be alone.

You see, I talk to a hell of a lot of people. Were I ever close to any, though?

I want to go to the Invaliden and to Arlington but would it do any good?

If you were good enough, you’d lie in the ground there.

Good enough for what?

We all lie in the ground eventually.

Maybe I want what I can’t have because I need an excuse to let me be me. Imperfect, fallible and human. “Reject” is a convenient box for that. Why do you drink? I was rejected. Why do you fail everyone? I failed at 18 and got used to it.

Is the fact that nobody else is perfect a good enough excuse?

You know, it’s funny.

Sometimes I fancy myself to be someone else. Stories fall out of my mouth. Where do they come from?

I got on a train once, went to an unfamiliar place, and wandered around looking lost. When an old woman asked me what I was doing, I showed her a locket with Reinhard Heydrich’s picture in it. I was obsessed with him at the time. She didn’t recognize him but before I could speak, she concluded that he was my father and I lost him recently. I didn’t correct her; in fact, I went along with it and even added to the story. Then she bought me hot chocolate and I got on another train back home.

I threw up on an 80-year-old man’s grave once. I had motion sickness a lot, back then. I got lost and locked inside the gates. In the morning, I was cold and dewdrops settled on my bare feet. It was October.

After my first short haircut, I walked out of a grocery store with a bottle in my hand. A very old man walked up to me and asked if I was a boy or a girl. I told him I didn’t know. Then I asked him about the war.

I pretended to be an old man, sometimes. I assumed a different name and accent and started lecturing random kids. I gave up on it when I found out that they weren’t listening.

Two months.

It’s either going to be a long-haul flight and a trigger pull, or a salty drink and a good night’s sleep. I don’t know what would be better.

I don’t even know if I should wait that long. There’s no one anymore who would do it with me. People come and go, and that’s life. And death. Life always implies death, as death implies life. The best option is to never come into existence, but well, that’s not what happened.

The past is just that, past. So put it past you.

I shouldn’t wonder about things that could have happened differently. They did not.

It’s either a long haul flight and a trigger pull, or a salty drink and a good night’s sleep. It’s hard to believe either is a possibility, after all the stuff. After so many failures and disappointments and lessons and unexpected turns. It’s finally within reach.

There’s a story I told a lot to people whom I just met. “We were drunk and my friend grabbed me, slammed me against the wall and said, It’s just a glorified job interview, get over it!” Truth be told, that never happened like that. Nobody grabbed me. I grabbed myself and told myself that. But then my father said, “why didn’t you ask me, I could have told you the same thing”. Would I have listened, though? Not likely. I wouldn’t have listened to someone who wanted to fail the same interview, even if I understand his reasons now. He would have most likely understood why I wasn’t listening, either. We were mirrors of one another.

I wish he would have held my hand in my last moments. I didn’t hold his, either, so it’s fair. I told him it’s going to be ugly to wait it out naturally. He admitted that I was right, but by that time, it was too late.

I want to wash the last two weeks off of me. Off of my body and my brain. I want my last two months to be the best ones. Is it too late for that?

There is a weariness about it. A specific loneliness. An uncomfortable silence.

What happens if you make your home inside a deep longing, and all of a sudden, your dream comes true?

It gets really lonely at the mountaintop. And then you look back at the road that brought you there, and see your mistakes. But if you had been taking another road, you would have made different mistakes. The end of the road is a relief… even if nobody else sees it.

[hotsforharlow]

y/n in a past abusive relationship, jack and you are out at a celeb after party or something and ur ex is there. jack can’t hold back and beats him up sahing like ‘gonna show him how it feels to be beat up by someone bigger than you’

AN: Hi, I hope this is okay for you x

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

“You good?” Jack softly whispered into your ear over the music as he stayed close to you; his overprotectiveness always kicked in at public events. His hands moved up and down your sides and you had never felt safer. “Of course. Always with you.” You whispered up at him; you had thought the height difference would scare you and it had, at the beginning but now he was perfect. He smiled at that, feeling like he could relax as he moved to gather the mock cocktails that you both ordered. You didn’t enjoy drinking and being out of control in public; you shivered at those memories. It was easy to forget about your past in Jack’s presence but sometimes it couldn’t be helped. His hand held yours as he moved you safely through the dancing crowd.

You shared a smile with Urban and Clay whilst moving into the section. It had been easy to become friends with them all even when you thought it would be impossible. “Hi,” You called out with a wave to them before placing yourself on Jack’s lap as he tugged you. They called to you and a soft conversation began to form as they all enjoyed their drinks.His hand rested on your thigh and softly stroked you. Everything with him was so soft and gentle; you didn’t know that existed. You burrowed into his neck as he continued to talk to his brother and you tried to hide those thoughts. Jack’s familiar scent moving over you was enough for you to enjoy the evening as you continued to sip your drink. 

“Did you want to dance?” Jack whispered into your ear as he caught sight of the dance floor filling up. He had noticed you being quiet and wanted to cheer you up. “You don’t dance.” You giggled and shook your head as you remembered his dance moves. “She got you there, bro.” Clay muttered. Your good mood only blossomed from there as you cuddled into his side.The music nicely moved around the group as the chatter grew louder and more drinks were spilled. You didn’t even feel uncomfortable in their presence even as they grew slightly drunk. You listened to Jack talk whilst playing with his hair some more. That was until you saw the scar across your wrist that he had made. You remembered the wine bottle’s glass all so well. 

You softly gulped at those memories before seeking comfort in Jack’s side as he instantly wrapped his arm around your shoulder whilst still conversing. Your fingers moved through his as you tried to calm yourself and returned to the conversation.The night easily moved on with laughter and enjoyment as you and Jack shared soft, sweet kisses and you burrowed into his neck to whisper sweet nothings to him. But of course that couldn’t last forever, how stupid of you to think so. You nearly missed him entering the club as Jack leaned into your neck and softly mouthed at you.

Your heart nearly stopped and you subtly moved further into Jack’s side and kept quiet. Maybe you could get him to leave now with you, you thought to yourself. “Do you want to go?” You found yourself whispering into his ear as you subtly followed your ex’s body around the club and prayed he hadn’t seen you. You found yourself moving down the seat as you looked around.Your hand moved to Jack’s thigh and you didn’t realise you were squeezing him as he turned to you. Eyes soft and his whole attention on you now. “Do you want to?” He asked. You locked eyes with him and nodded your head. “Tired.” You softly whispered and moved to kiss his soft lips; half to hide your face as his hand moved into your hair. 

Jack pecked your lips once more and moved to stand; you subtly followed and stepped behind him as you pretended to gather your belongings. “Going already?” Clay asked, and you blushed and ducked your head.”Yeah, you are boring to us.” Jack teased his brother with a wink whilst wrapping a protective arm around your waist.“No, you aren’t.” You tugged on Jack with a shake of your head. “I’m sorry, just not feeling it tonight.” You blushed as Jack pressed a soft kiss to your head. “Don’t be sorry.” He hummed and nodded towards the two boys.You could feel yourself breathing now as you followed Jack from the section and prayed that you could leave without being spotted. 

You smiled up at Jack, “Thank you.” You hummed and took his hand in yours and you could feel yourself relaxing. “Yo, Bitch.” Of course, nothing could ever stay nice. Your hand tightened on Jack’s as you carried on walking through the crowd. Thankfully, Jack didn’t think they were talking to you. You played with his fingers as your heart only sped up. You could see the door now; so close.“Hey, Y/N. Don’t walk away from me.” You squeezed your eyes shut as he continued and this time there was no escaping as Jack finally heard your name from his mouth. “Jack..” You softly whispered when he came to a stop and you tugged on him. You gave no attention to your ex who had finally gotten through the crowds to stand in front of you both.

“Is that him?” Jack asked as he looked down at you and for a moment you grew a bit faint at being crowded. “Is that why you want to go?” Jack gently cupped your face. “Please, let's just go.” You babbled before making the mistake of looking over to your ex. “I guess it didn’t take you long to move on, slut.” He snarled at you and stepped forward. The action had you backing up almost instantly and Jack just lost it.“Hey, back off.” Jack moved in front of you and you could hardly see so you stepped to the side and your ex caught your eye. “Really, man. She’s damaged goods, I made sure of it.” He winked at you and before he could say anything more, Jack’s fist connected with his face. Again and again. “Jack..”You called out with your eyes wide.

“How does it feel to be hit by someone bigger?” Jack snarled as his fists only became more bloody and finally the commotion was being witnessed by the club goers and you moved to tug Jack back by his shirt. “Come on…we need to go..” You whispered as Jack slowly finished his beating before moving to you. “No..he does..” Jack whispered against your lips before passionately taking them. You forgot about everything at that moment. “Take him away.” Jack turned to a bouncer that you didn’t realise Jack knew and you watched your ex get pulled away. You knew it was going to be on the front page tomorrow and all over the internet but Jack didn’t seem to care. He only cared about you. “You shouldn’t have done that.” You whispered and looked down. Your fingers gently move over his knuckles. “Don’t worry about anything. You won’t see him again.” Jack whispered; a darker promise than you realises as he brought you into his chest and looked over your head. He shared a look with the bouncer who disappeared in the dark and all would be well.

[typical-simplelove]

10,000 Hours -> Jay Halstead

Summary: All the ways Jay shows you he loves you.

Author's Note: This is the first time I'm posting a fic that's not hockey-related. I'm honestly so scared, so please be kind with this one, and enjoy!

Word Count: 5.4k with song lyrics

Warnings: pain, hungover, alcohol, flu, broken wrists, annoying coworkers, a few curse words, pressure/anxiety attack,

Do you love the rain, does it make you dance When you're drunk with your friends at a party? What's your favorite song, does it make you smile? Do you think of me?

The sound of the alarm blared through the bedroom. The throbbing headache you had was further pronounced as you reach to turn it off. Once your hand grapes your phone, you pull it over and turn off the alarm. You chuck your phone to a deep crevice of your bedsheets and force sleep to overcome you once again. You pull the bedsheets back up and over your face as the warmth soothes your body.

It might have been two seconds, minutes, or hours; you’re not sure. One moment, your eyes are heavy with sleep, and the next moment you’re startled awake by a dip in your bed.

You’re awake now. Very awake. Your eyes go wide as the headache continued to throb throughout your head. The pain was starting to spread to the rest of your body. What could you have possibly done to be in this much pain?

Oh, wait. The memories start flooding in.

You don’t have much time to let the memories flood back as the person on your bed begins to peel the blankets from over your face. The light forces you to rapidly blink a few times as you adjust. Your eyes finally land on him—Jay Halstead.

“If you sit up, I’ll give you some coffee, water, Advil, and breakfast,” he says. Maneuvering yourself to sit against the headboard is a difficult task in your hungover state.

Once you’re comfortably sat against the headboard, you groan in pain. “How could you let me drink this much?” you whine.

“I tried,” Jay says with a chuckle, “but you didn’t listen to me.”

“Just give me the Advil,” you say sternly.

“You don’t want to eat?” he asks as he hands you the Advil and water.

You shake your head as you knock back the meds. “I can’t think of anything except not being in pain.”

“Well, you need to eat something,” Jay contradicts and extends the plate of eggs, sausage, and toast in front of you. You slide over to let Jay sit comfortably next to you. Then, you begin to eat. The first few bites were tough to swallow, but once the meds started to work, you were able to take more confident bites.

"Did I at least look like I had fun last night?" you ask once you're halfway finished with the food Jay made you.

Jay smirks. "Does that change anything?"

"I'm trying to find a reason as to why this pain could be remotely good at all."

Jay pretends to ponder the question, but by the way, he's holding in a smirk, you know you won't like the answer. "Did you have fun? Yes, I think so. Did I get footage of you embarrassing yourself? Also yes. Those two thoughts can and do exist."

You groan into your hands.

"If it makes you feel better, then only embarrassing things happened while I was driving you home and in the elevator."

"So, nothing in public then?" you confirm.

Jay shakes his head.

"At least there's that."

He snorts. "I'm not sure if you singing Journey and sticking your head out the window like a dog should be a not so bad thing, but hey, you do you."

"No way that happened."

"That's precisely what happened."

You, again, groan. "I'm not hungry anymore."

Jay takes the plate and finished your final few bites using your fork. As your best friend, Jay has seen you do many, many, many embarrassing things, and you’re the same. The only difference is that when Jay does embarrassing things, he often looks incredibly good doing so which is not fair.

Once Jay has finished the food on the plate, he gets off your bed and says, "Go shower, and then we'll figure out today's game plan."

"Game plan? I have no intentions of leaving my apartment at all. It's Saturday after all."

He gives you a knowing look. You give one back.

"Not happening, Jay."

He sighs. "Just go shower, and we'll talk after."

You slide out of bed and hop into the shower. The warm water helps soothe the aches in your muscles as you wash off the stench and discomfort of a night out. You wash your face and hair to be rid of the greases and oil that formed. Once you've finished showering, you throw on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. You walk out of the bathroom and sit next to Jay on the couch where he's watching the highlights of last night's hockey game.

"What would I do without you?" you sigh as you take a seat.

"Die, probably," he jokes.

"I know you're joking, but it might not be too far from the truth."

Jay laughs. "I think you're the one who keeps me alive."

"Pfft, me? What good have I done to keep you alive?"

Jay shrugs. "You're my lifeline."

You smile at that. "Lifeline, I love that."

Not as much as I love you, Jay thinks to himself. Last night was one of many, many nights where Jay went out of his way to make sure you were safe. Every time you went out, he was constantly looking out for you and making sure you were having a great time and staying safe. Jay always slept in your guestroom to make sure you had breakfast and pain meds and water the next day. He always made sure you were comfortable underneath your blankets. He only wished that you realized those actions were those of love and not friendship.

When you close your eyes, tell me, what are you dreamin' Everything, I wanna know it all

You were hit with the absolute worst-case of the flu you've ever had. You were on day three of working from home and all you wanted was to leave your house and get some fresh air. You had opened a few windows to try to simulate the feeling, but when it started to make you cold and sniffle, you knew it was better to keep the windows closed.

Each morning, Jay woke up to a million texts from you complaining about how you couldn't sleep. When you were bored or couldn't sleep, you'd spam Jay with messages to cure your boredom. Now that you were stuck at home, those messages were constantly coming in. Thankfully, the unit was having a slow week, so the messages weren't distracting, but they were heartbreaking. He wanted nothing more than to take the pain from you.

At the end of his shift, Jay went to the small deli around the corner to pick up some soup. He picked up your favorite before he showed up at your apartment. He didn't bother knocking on the door because you were likely sleeping. Your texts haven't come in the past thirty minutes, so he's assuming you're asleep or "resting your eyes".

When he walks into your apartment and sees you sitting comfortably wrapped in blankets, Jay's heart warms and saddens. You only got like this when you were sad, but at the same time, you looked so cute sitting like that. Jay clears his throat, and you turn your head to face him. When you see Jay, a soft smile overcomes your face.

You take your blanket jacket fort and waddle over to Jay. "You didn't have to come."

"Yes, I did," he replies with a soft smile. "Look at you."

You glance down at your sweats, sweatshirt, and bundle of blankets and smile. "I look amazing."

Jay snorts. "You do look amazing." He walks over and pulls you into a hug. Normally, you'd breathe in his scent, but your clogged nose prevented you from doing that. You missed Jay's scent, his laundry detergent and cologne.

You sit on a seat at your kitchen counter and wait for Jay to slide the soup over to you. When Jay removes the lid, you smile at the soup—your favorite. Jay watches with satisfaction as you slowly begin to drink the soup. He watches as a bit of color returns to your face and light to your eyes. As Jay drinks the soup he bought for himself, he notices that you’re struggling to continue drinking the soup and keep the blanket that you’re wearing as a cape on. Jay stifles a chuckle knowing it wouldn’t please you, so he gets up and helps pull the blanket off of you. He throws the blanket onto the couch and kisses your forehead softly. It pained him to watch you suffer through this bout of illness.

Jay sits back at the table and continues drinking his soup. With the lack of conversation flowing, Jay assumes that you didn’t cook many meals for yourself these past few days.

You take another sip of your soup. It must have gone down the wrong pipe as you begin to cough. Jay immediately runs over to you and strokes your back. You stop coughing, and Jay runs to your kitchen to grab you a glass of water. You take a few slow sips and let yourself calm down.

“Thank you, Jay,” you say lowly.

“Anytime,” he says through a smile.

I'd spend ten thousand hours and ten thousand more Oh, if that's what it takes to learn that sweet heart of yours And I might never get there, but I'm gonna try If it's ten thousand hours or the rest of my life I'm gonna love you (Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh)

“I’ll be just a minute,” Jay tells his partner and grabs the coffee sitting in the center console. He shuts the door and quickly crosses the road. He walks into your office and signs in at the front desk. Jay receives the guest pass and speed walks to the elevator. He presses on the button for your floor and prays that you’re not in a meeting. Jay figures he should have told you he was coming, but he wanted to surprise you.

Once he gets to your floor, Jay walks up to the desk and asks if you’re in and available. The person says yes and tells you to walk to your cubicle. You’re not sitting at your desk, so Jay assumes you’re at the printer or in the washroom. In response, Jay sits and decides to wait a few minutes before he’ll leave the coffee and a note and get back to work.

Just when Jay is about to walk back to his car, he hears someone approach your desk. When he sees you, his eyes light up and pulls you into a hug. “What are you doing here?” you ask.

“I brought you coffee,” he answers pointing to your coffee order sitting on the desk.

You smile. “And you went out of your way for that?”

“Nah, we were in the area.”

“Mmm,” you say with a smile as you take a sip. “Thanks, Jay.”

“Anytime,” he says before bidding you adieu. You sat back at your desk with a smile on your face—a smile that only Jay could bring out of you.

Do you miss the road that you grew up on? Did you get your middle name from your grandma? When you think about your forever now, do you think of me?

“How did this happened again?”

You sigh and turn your head to Jay who’s driving. “We’ve been over this a million times, Jay.”

“But it’s a funny story.”

You roll your eyes. “For you, yes. For me, no.”

“Just tell the story again for me. After all, I am driving you to get groceries.”

“Which, may I remind you that you didn’t have to do considering I could just have them delivered to my door?”

“Just tell the story,” Jay insists.

“I was walking down the stairs to the lobby at work, and my coworker tripped me, and I broke my wrist.”

Jay bursts out into laughter.

“This isn’t funny, Jay.”

“To me, it is,” he insists.

“Jay!”

Jay pulls into a parking spot and looks at you. He’s very visibly hiding laughter on his face as he says, “I’m sorry that your coworker tripped you and made you break your wrist. I’m also sorry that I laughed.”

“You’re mostly forgiven,” you answer. You lean over and kiss Jay’s cheek and rush out of the truck. Jay smiles widely and places his hand on the cheek you kissed. You and your broken wrist and cheek kisses are going to be the death of Jay.

He doesn’t have the opportunity to think about the kiss much longer as you knock on his window in impatience.

You lead Jay into the grocery store. He’s pushing the cart and picks out the groceries you request. If you need more than one hand to lift it, then Jay is the one who’s grabbing the groceries. Because your wrist was still in a cast, you couldn’t do much, so Jay was driving you around and helping with errands and such. One of the positives that came with the broken wrist is Jay. He’s been driving you around for the past few weeks, so he was always there. This was definitely helping to lower and reduce the feelings you had for your best friend.

“There’s no way I’m letting you buy that milk,” Jay interjects.

You snort. “Fine, I wasn’t asking for your permission.”

“But you are asking for my help to grab it.”

“Jay, it’s milk.”

“It’s cow’s milk. We all know that almond milk is better.”

You sigh. “Just grab the milk, Jay.”

He stands up straight. “Nope, if you want that milk, you’re going to have to get it on your own.”

“Really?” you ask.

“Really,” he confirms. In response, you open the dairy fridge and grabbed the handle of the milk you wanted to purchase. You lift it but have to immediately put it back on the shelf. It was too heavy for you to grab with one hand.

“You’re going to make me injure myself further, you know,” you point out.

“I highly doubt that.”

We’ll see about that, you think to yourself. If he didn’t want to help you, then you’ll just find someone else. You scan the dairy aisle and looking around for another person. You see a tall, muscular, handsome man browsing the eggs. You throw Jay a smile and saunter over to this other man.

“Excuse me?” you ask the egg-man (that’s how you’ve decided to call him in your head).

He turns to you and smiles. “Yeah?”

“As you can tell, I broke my wrist,” you begin and hold up your broken wrist. “I can’t lift the jug of milk. Do you think you could help me?”

“Of course,” he answers and follows you. As you walk over to your shopping cart and Jay, you notice that Jay’s head is angled down to his phone, but his eyes are very much watching you and egg-man interact. Is that jealousy in his eyes?

You point at the jug of milk you want to egg-man.

“I already got your milk,” Jay interjects. Did you sense a hint of possessiveness in his voice? He pockets his phone and points at the two jugs of milk sitting in your shopping cart.

“Oh!” you say surprised. You then turn to egg-man. “I’m sorry for bothering you. Thanks, though.” Egg-man nods and walks away. As he’s doing so, you wack Jay’s arm.

“What?”

“You ass. You couldn’t get my milk until you felt threatened by another male?”

“No one helps my girl except for me,” Jay answers. My girl. That was the first time he’s ever used that phrase for you, but you liked it.

“Okay,” you reply with a smile. You could get past that.

When you close your eyes, tell me, what are you dreamin'? Everything, I wanna know it all

Growing up, if your mother had time, she’d always make you a chocolate-vanilla layered cake with buttercream. She’d always write “happy birthday” in your favorite color on the top with four blue candles. It was always four candles regardless if you were turning one, four, eight, sixteen, or eighteen. Since moving to Chicago and away from home, it wasn’t often you got to make it back home for your birthday. This year was one of those years.

You complained all of once in a very brief passing; however, this was enough for Jay to know how bad you felt about not being home. A few times, Jay has been told stories about the traditions you had. His favorite to hear about your birthday cake. Your eyes always lit up, and it was one of Jay’s favorite looks on you—happy.

When he got the hint that you were sad about not being home, Jay made it his mission to try to put a smile on your face for your birthday. He figured the best option he had to do that was to bake the cake for you. The only problem was that Jay was terrible at baking and had no strength on that front. He burnt the chocolate layers and the vanilla wasn’t cooking. By the time you showed up at Jay’s apartment, all he had was buttercream that he still isn’t sure he made properly.

“What happened here?” you ask when you see the cake pans and dirty dishes piled in his sink.

“I tried to make that birthday cake of yours that you had growing up, but as you can see, it didn’t go that well.”

You smile. “I can see that.”

“If you help me, maybe we can still have a vanilla cake?”

You giggle. “That sounds fun.”

“Oh, and happy birthday! I can’t believe I forgot,” Jay says and pulls you into a hug. You wrap your arms tightly around Jay and let yourself soak in the hug. You hold on for a few more seconds and attribute it to being your birthday. There couldn’t be any other reason, right?

“Shall we make the cake now?” Jay asks after he pulls away far too soon. You nod and begin pouring the vanilla cake batter into one pan. “What are you doing?”

“The reason the chocolate burnt was that you put too little batter into the pan.”

“And this is why we’re best friends,” Jay remarks. “You always know how to fix my mistakes.”

You smile and continue maneuvering around the kitchen to finish the cake. You direct Jay to begin to clean the dishes. It was your birthday after all; there is no way you’re cleaning the dishes. Once the vanilla batter is successfully in the oven, you open a bottle of wine and pour two glasses. You sit on a stool in his kitchen and watch Jay continue washing the dishes. Just around when the dishes are finished, the cake is ready to be taken out of the oven, so you take it out and prepare the buttercream to be spread once the cake is cooled.

Once the cake has cooled and frosted, Jay takes two plates of cake while you grab the wine. You both sit on his couch and eat the cake.

“It’s not the same as what I had growing up, but somehow, I love it even more,” you remark.

“Oh yeah?” he asks taking another bite of cake.

You nod. “Best birthday I’ve ever had.”

Jay doesn’t know, but you’re pretty sure it has something to do with Jay being who you’re celebrating with.

I'd spend ten thousand hours and ten thousand more Oh, if that's what it takes to learn that sweet heart of yours And I might never get there, but I'm gonna try If it's ten thousand hours or the rest of my life I'm gonna love you (Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh) I'm gonna love you (Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh)

Eight texts were marked unread as Jay arrived home close to midnight. It was a long day with lots of paperwork after a hard-fought case. All he wanted was to sleep, but when the texts from you begin to flood his phone, Jay was completely awake. There wasn’t a single ounce of exhaustion in his body as Jay pulls over to the side of the road to read your messages. From what he got, you were anxious about a project for work. The pressure was getting to you, and you were spiraling. Jay replies with a quick “on my way” before he turns around his truck and heads back to your apartment.

Once he arrives at your apartment, Jay is quick to park and run to the elevator. Thankfully, it was at the ground floor, so he didn’t have to wait. Jay softly knocks on your door, and you let him. Jay takes in your form. You’re wearing your pajamas, but your hair is messy from running your hands through it. Under your eyes were red from crying. Jay pulls you into a warm hug and holds you tightly as you break down again. This time, though, you had Jay there to help you. Everything, it seemed, at this moment, was exhausting. Crying even took a toll on you.

After your tears slowly begin to subside, Jay lets you go for a single moment to grab you a glass of water. It looks like you’ve been crying for a long time, so he wouldn’t want you to get dehydrated or get a headache. He hands you the glass of water, and you accept it graciously before drinking it all in a matter of seconds. You make moves to refill it, but Jay stops you and grabs the glass from you. He’s here to help you, so there’s no way that he’s letting you refill your glass on your own. In the middle of a breakdown or not, Jay isn’t going to let you do anything on your own.

“Do you want to talk?” he asks once you’ve drunk a bit of water and slowly starting to calm down.

You shake your head. “Not right now.”

“That’s fine, whenever you’re ready.”

You nod and close your eyes.

“Hey, do you want to go for a drive?” Jay proposes.

“A drive?” you ask confused. The thought, though, is enough to put a small smile on your face, and that’s all Jay wanted to do.

“Yeah, we’ll just drive around the neighborhood, around the city, anywhere. We can listen to music, or we can drive in silence. You know, just to get you out somewhere else and give your mind something else to think about,” Jay explains.

“Okay,” you answer and let Jay lead you to his truck after you’ve put on some shoes. Once you’re in the truck, you grab Jay’s phone and play your favorite playlist. Despite it being Jay’s phone, every playlist you’ve ever made is synced with Jay’s phone, too. You always insist that you can just connect your phone, but Jay always insists on using his phone.

Jay pulls out of the parking spot just as the opening lines to one of your favorite songs come on. You relax into the seat of Jay’s truck and let the music relax you. Although your mind is still spinning, it’s not about what was bothering you earlier. Your mind is racing about the man sitting to your left and driving you around Chicago. When you texted him, you didn’t think he was going to be awake. You were more so texting Jay to get your feelings out instead of keeping them in; you weren’t expecting him to respond and show up at your door like your knight in shining armor. That’s what he was, wasn’t he? Jay was your knight in shining armor, and to you, you wouldn’t want anyone else to be in that role.

“Care to share your thoughts?” Jay asks in between one song ending and another starting. When he gets no response, Jay looks over to you. You’ve fallen asleep. If you’ve fallen asleep, then that means you successfully calmed down for the evening. That was all Jay wanted.

At your current location, you’re currently closer to Jay’s apartment than yours, so he opts to drive to his apartment. You have your phone, wallet, and keys, so you should be fine. Jay parks his truck in his parking spot. He slowly lifts you out of the seat and carries you to his apartment. Jay will come back for your stuff after you’re in bed.

As he’s carrying you, Jay feels you move closer to him. You rest your head on Jay’s shoulder, and he feels you get closer to him. It takes everything in him not to collapse as he feels you against his body.

Once you’re underneath the sheets on Jay’s bed, he gives you a kiss on your forehead goodnight. He closes the door and goes to sleep on the couch. For you, he’d sleep on the couch for eternity.

Ooh, want the good and the bad and everything in between Ooh, gotta cure my curiosity Ooh, yeah

A night out at Molly’s was the perfect way to end both a long day and a long week. After your supervisor basically screwed you over, you wanted nothing more than a cold beer and hanging out with your best friend.

“Here you go,” Jay says as he places the beers on the table.

“Thanks.” You smile and take a sip, the cold liquid already calming you down.

He takes the seat across from you and sips his own beer. His eyes scan your face and the worry and anxiety laced in your features. After taking another sip, you rest your hands on the table in front of you. Your hands are shaking as you think about how terrible the week was but knowing that the upcoming week is going to be just as bad. To calm and stop your shaking hands, Jay places his hands atop of yours. His hands completely envelop yours to the point where it’s impossible to see your hands.

The tremors in your hands stop as you feel a sense of relaxation ascend on your body. You twist your neck to try to relieve the stress that you could feel building there.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Jay prompts.

You sigh. “My supervisor is just the worst sometimes.”

“I’m sure it will get better,” Jay reasons.

You shrug. “She’s going on maternity leave soon, so I’ll a bit of a reprieve.”

“When does she go on maternity leave?”

“In a month.”

“Maybe I’ll sign you on for a month as a guest detective,” Jay proposes. You think he’s joking, but spending the month with Jay seems like a really great idea.

“Really?”

He chuckles. “I don’t think I could legally do that, but you know I love you, so I might as well try.”

The expression of love is often passed between you and your best friend. It was often expressed, so when Jay said it, you weren’t shocked. You didn’t notice, however, the love that Jay was trying to express, too. “I love you, too, Jay, but thank you. I don’t know how I got through today. The only thing I was working towards was us here, tonight.”

Jay smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. A darkness cloud’s Jay’s eyes, and you can’t help but wonder what the problem was. He retracts his hands that were holding yours.

“Jay?” you ask.

“You know I love you, right?” he mumbles. You furrow your eyebrows; wasn’t that just what he said?

“Yeah, of course,” you answer with confusion in your voice.

He shakes his head. “No, I love you, love you.”

Your eyes widen in shock. There was no way he felt the same. You open your mouth to respond but then close it. You never in a million years thought Jay Halstead, your best friend, would ever love you as you love him. Just seems to take your three seconds of no response as you not feeling the same, so he places some cash on the table and walks away with a somber mood.

Jay’s steadfast in his endeavor to get away from you that he doesn’t hear you calling out to him.

This couldn’t be the end. There was no way that this was how your relationship ended with Jay—over before it started.

I'd spend ten thousand hours and ten thousand more Oh, if that's what it takes to learn that sweet heart of yours (Sweet heart of yours) And I might never get there, but I'm gonna try (Yeah) If it's ten thousand hours or the rest of my life

Jay is woken by someone aggressively knocking on his door. He throws on a sweatshirt and walks over to the door angry. Who could possibly be waking him at an odd early? It wasn’t even four hours ago where he told you he loved you, and you gave him no response. It was four hours ago that Jay got his heart shattered to pieces.

“Can I help you?” he asks annoyed when he opens the door. His eyes widen when he sees you.

You push your way into his apartment angrily. “How dare you walk away from me like that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You walked away from me without letting me tell you anything.”

“You were the one who didn’t say anything,”

“Jay, you gave me three seconds before you walked away!” you yelled. “I didn’t get the chance to tell you anything!”

Jay takes a step closer to you. “And what is that? Did you plan on breaking my heart?”

“Jay, you broke my heart by walking away. If you really loved me, then you would have given me more time!”

“More time to what, think about how much you don’t love me?”

“No, you idiot.”

Jay takes a step back. “What?”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, Jay. When you told me, I was shocked. I didn’t know how to respond, but you know what, Jay? I love you. I love you so much that I can’t take it. Jay Halstead, I’m in love with you, and when you walked away from me, my heart burst.” A few tears start to form in your eyes as you finish talking. Jay pulls you against his body and holds you tightly. He lets you cry as he strokes your back and helps you calm down. Once you’ve stopped crying, you pull away and look at Jay. “You don’t get to walk away from me like that Jay. Ever again. You don’t get to send me into a spiral like that of the past four hours.”

He nods. “I’m sorry.”

“You better be sorry,” you respond bitterly. Jay can see the corners of your eyes peaking into a smile, and by that alone, he knows he’s been forgiven.

“Can I kiss you, now?” Jay asks. He’s pretty sure he’s forgiven, but at this point, he doesn’t know how angry you might still be. Your face softens at his question, and you nod. Jay places his hands gently on your face as he brings it close to his. He slowly closes the gap and rests his lips gently on yours as your hands go to the back of his neck. It was a soft, tender kiss for all of two seconds before you both further deepened the kiss. All the emotion that’s been bubbling inside you came out in that one kiss. All the love that you’ve been holding onto for years was finally being expressed. You no longer had to hide the way you felt. It was exhilarating finally having the one person you’ve wanted all this time.

Jay pulls back slowly not want to ever stop kissing you. He strokes a soft pattern on your cheek as a smile overcomes your face. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too,” you answer, a smile, too, overcoming your face. “I always will.

I'm gonna love you (Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh) I'm gonna love you (Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh) Yeah, and I... Do you love the rain, does it make you dance? I'm gonna love you (I'm gonna love you) I'm gonna love you

[goldentournesol]

Truth or Dare

(Spencer Reid x fem!Reader)

The one where Spencer is married with children and JJ confesses her love for him. Length: 2.7k A/N: this is technically a bonus chapter of The Receptionist and the Profiler but can definitely be read as a standalone. this is my take on the JJ confession, enjoy! don’t be shy, leave a comment or reblog! masterlist

Y/N furiously clicked her mouse in response to her computer screen lagging. She released an exasperated sigh and placed her head into her hands. She could practically feel the bags under her eyes increase in size and depth as she tried to regain control of her breathing. Raising two children and being the BAU’s liaison was proving to be extremely difficult, she couldn’t go out into the field or travel with the team as much. After what happened with Cat Adams, she had a hard time leaving Emelia and Adaline. Emily only requested her help as a liaison in the field when she absolutely needed it, anything else could be taken care of from Quantico. Her head pounded against her palms and her only reprieve from her incessant headache was closing her eyes. She must have dozed off in her office because the next thing she knew, she was waking up to a warm hand squeezing her shoulder.

She shot up in her seat, heart beating at an alarming rate until she was met with her husband’s eyes. Her shoulders instantly relaxed, “You’re back.” She said with relief, standing to wrap him in a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked into her shoulder, squeezing her tighter than usual.

She fought back a yawn and nodded, “Yeah, I’m just exhausted.” She pulled back and rested her hands on his face to inspect for injuries and found none on his face. A bandaged hand wrapped around one of her wrists and she gasped, “What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s not that deep, just a little gash.” Spencer said dismissively, his thumb rubbing against her wrist. “Let’s go home.” She nodded and quickly packed her things, eager to see her two baby girls.

On her way out, she noticed JJ and Rossi speaking in hushed tones. She managed to wave at them as she and Spencer made their way to the elevator. Rossi waved back, JJ looked away. Y/N had thought nothing of it, perhaps this had been a hard case on her. At least they had Rossi’s wedding tomorrow to look forward to and unwind a little. The girls would be with a babysitter and Y/N was looking forward to dressing up and hopefully getting a little (a lot) wine drunk.

Spencer was silent the entire way home, which wasn’t uncommon, so again, Y/N had thought nothing of it. As soon as they made it through the door, Emelia and Adaline came running up to the door, squealing with glee. Each parent scooped up a baby girl and showered them with kisses until they switched. 

Here, with a beautiful healthy daughter in his arms, he could forget about all the confusion of JJ’s confession. Spencer usually dealt with these difficult things on his own and in his head. He hadn’t had time to process it fully to bring it to his wife. He would deal with it later, right now, all he wanted was to spend time with his three favorite girls. Y/N hadn’t noticed anything different in the way Spencer was acting around the girls, but each hug he gave her felt a little tighter. She appreciated it and was definitely not about to complain about receiving tighter hugs from her husband.

The suspicions began the next day at Rossi’s wedding. With the girls not serving as a distraction, Y/N began to see the signs of Spencer retreating into himself. She hadn’t heard all the details of the last case yet, but Emily will soon let her know.

Emily was in the middle of giving a speech when Y/N snuck a look at Spencer beside her. He was politely listening, but everything about his eyes let her know that he was elsewhere. She caught JJ’s eye across the room, it seems as though JJ was staring at her husband as well. Before Y/N could ask with her eyes, JJ had looked away once more, the aversion of her gaze hinting at shame. A sinking feeling resided in her chest. 

She leaned towards him, linking their arms together, her heart strings intertwining with his in some metaphysical sense. Her sudden affection made him turn to her and send her a small smile. He quieted down the question in her eyes with a tender kiss to her cheek, knowing for a fact that the woman across the room watched what happened, a silent declaration of what he chose, what he will always choose.

Before they knew it, the music began blaring with Luke, Matt, and Penelope stealing the show with their dance moves. Y/N couldn’t contain her laughter as she watched them all prance around. In true Garcia fashion, she approached her and pulled her up to begin dancing. Y/N looked back towards Spencer for help but he just laughed and encouraged her to dance. All too soon, the music morphed into a slow paced rhythm. Turning around to ask Spencer to dance, she found the seat to be empty. Eyes flitting to the bar, she found Spencer and JJ in the middle of a conversation. 

“Hey, you can dance with me!” Tara said, whisking Y/N away from the scene. Y/N sent her a small grateful smile, but her curiosity was heavy.

“Is JJ okay? Did something happen?” Y/N asked Tara as they slow danced together. Tara was visibly taken aback by the question, she thought Spencer would have told Y/N about what had happened by now, but she decided that it was not her story to tell.

“Yeah, JJ’s totally fine.” Tara said dismissively and began steering Y/N away from that conversation. They soon broke apart to gather around the cake. Y/N was only half paying attention until she saw JJ take her place next to Will and was alerted of Spencer’s presence as he placed his hands on her hips from behind. She leaned into his warmth and let it go for the final time that night, she would ask about it when they were alone. But by the time the night ended, JJ was not on Y/N’s list of important things to remember. She was a little bit past tipsy and Spencer practically had to drag her out to their car.

The weekend went by smoothly, Spencer had his head buried in mountains of papers from his students even though Y/N told him that he could read them online and save so much paper. The weekend had come and gone and they were back in the office in the blink of an eye. The awkwardness between the two lifelong friends resumed. JJ was arguably the closest person to Spencer on the team (besides Y/N of course), so she found it more than weird that the two were actively avoiding each other. 

Lunch time came around and Y/N had had enough of it, she snuck into Penelope’s office.

“Hey, sunshine!” Penelope greeted, taking a hefty bite out of her donut.

“Hey.” Y/N said, leaning against the desk adjacent to Penelope’s, stirring her coffee.

“What’s going on?” Penelope stared at her knowingly. Y/N immediately put the coffee down and stared at Penelope.

“Did something happen between JJ and Spence on the last case?” Y/N asked directly, deciding that beating around the bush would help no one.

Y/N didn’t miss the slight widening of Penelope’s eyes, “Wh-what? Why would you ask that?”

“They’ve been acting really awkward around each other and JJ’s been avoiding me like the plague.” Y/N huffed. 

Penelope panicked, stuttering out, “I uh, I really think you should talk to Spencer.”

“No one’s telling me anything! Not you, not Tara! Should I be worried?” She asked, exasperated.

“Honestly? No, I don’t think so. Spencer loves you.” Penelope said surely.

Spencer loves you.

What does that even mean?

Y/N turned on her heel, leaving her coffee and marched all the way to Spencer’s desk. The carpet drowned out the clickity clack of her heels. Spencer raised his head from his files to smile at her.

“My office, now.” Y/N said simply, her tone neither angry nor cool, his smile retreating as he followed her like a puppy. Matt and Luke shared a knowing look between them and pretended to focus on their work so as to not get caught in the line of fire.

She closed the door and the blinds, crossing her arms and turning to see him taking a seat, “Care to explain why Garica just felt the need to assure me that my husband loves me? Or to explain why you and JJ have been acting so weird and having secret conversations? Or maybe why she’s been acting like I don’t exist for the past 3 and a half days?”

For a moment, Spencer looked like a child who had been caught stealing cookies out of the cookie jar, then his face returned to an unnerving mask of calm. This mask made her panic even more.

“Does this have anything to do with the hostage situation you two were in?” Y/N asked, she had just gone over the report that morning, but it had little to no details.

Spencer took a deep breath and rested both hands on his thighs, in any other circumstance, Y/N might have been tempted to sit across his lap and kiss him until they were both red in the face. But not right now, right now she needed answers.

“Yes, well--okay, yes. Something did happen. I promise I was going to tell you, but it never seemed like the right time to bring it up, I didn’t want to bring it up at home around the girls, and I didn’t want to bring it up here either.” Spencer said, leaning back to rest against the chair.

“What happened?” Y/N took a seat across from him, no longer feeling the need to attack, but rather to understand.

“JJ and I were being held hostage. The unsub, Casey, was about to shoot JJ and me. He told her to reveal something that she’d never say aloud and she…” Spencer swallowed, trailing off. Y/N leaned forward, already expecting where this was going.

“She told me that she’s always loved me and that she was just too scared to say it before.” He spoke softly, meeting her eyes.

Y/N blinked slowly, “Bullshit.”

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows at her.

“Are you sure she wasn’t just saying that in front of the unsub to get him to back down? Are you sure it was real?” Y/N said, standing up from her seat. She paced around her room, trying to piece together any evidence from the past few years that could back up that claim.

JJ had been the one to push Y/N and Spencer together. JJ couldn’t have had all these feelings for Spencer. What about Will? Henry? Michael? They were her and Spencer’s Godchildren for crying out loud. Y/N’s brain was going a hundred miles a minute. Spencer watched her pace around the small office.

“I, I don’t know. It seemed real.” Spencer wished what he had to say would calm his wife, but he really didn’t know at this point.

“Do you…” she swallowed, the question heavy on her tongue, “do you feel the same?” The tears were ready, resting at her waterline, waiting for the call. Her insecurities were ready to take over.

“No!” Spencer objected, standing from his seat. Normally, his defensive reply would have made her suspicious, but the look of utter shock and hurt on his face quelled any doubt that arose.

“No, I don’t. I love you. I have always loved you. God, you know this, I’ve loved you even when you weren’t mine to love. I’ve loved you since I was just a baby faced profiler and you were just a receptionist. I will never stop loving you and the girls, Y/N.” He said definitively, walking towards his wife and grabbing her clammy hands in his. He pressed a gentle kiss to each of her hands, staring into her teary eyes.

The cavern in her chest began to patch itself up as he looked at her that way. She had no choice but to believe him. 

“Okay, I believe you.” She smiled, a tear escaping. He reached up to tenderly swipe it away. With a simple tilt of his chin, he captured her lips in an intense, passionate kiss and like all of their kisses, he took her breath away. But something about the desperation in this kiss made it hard for her lungs to perceive air. He had a point to prove.

A few moments of silence passed between them and Y/N took a deep breath, “I should talk to JJ.” 

Spencer hadn’t pulled away yet, “It’s your choice, my love.” He placed a soft kiss to the center of her forehead and stepped back to catch her eye, “Are we okay?”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at him, “Yes, we’re okay. Can you ask JJ to come in after you leave?”

With a nod and another kiss, he left the office to go summon JJ. Y/N took her seat at her desk and folded her hands in anticipation, the undeniable and unrelenting feelings of anger and jealousy coursing right underneath her skin.

A gentle knock sounded throughout the small office and Y/N invited her to take a seat before her.

“Listen, Y/N, if this is about what I said back--” JJ began, but Y/N wasn’t interested in any of the formalities.

“Did you mean it?” Y/N asked, making direct eye contact. JJ was taken aback at the similarities between Y/N’s question and Spencer’s. They had both asked in the same way. She wasn’t ready back then. But she is now.

“Yes..” JJ whispered, averting her gaze once more. The gaze of the wife of the man she thought she loved was too heavy to face straight on.

“Yes, what? Do you love my husband?” Y/N spoke with an unrecognizable sharp edge to her voice.

“Yes, I love him. I’ve always known it. Things just got too messy too quickly. I have Will and the boys and I would never ever give them up. Spence-- Spencer has you and the girls and I could never dream of taking him away from you.” JJ spoke clearly, her eyes reddening and glistening with unshed tears.

“You are the perfect wife, I watched him fall in love with you. You’re also the best mother to his children, it’s hard not to be jealous of you.” JJ continued. The sinking feeling returned to her chest.

“You have nothing to be jealous of, I’m just doing my best. You’re one of the greatest mothers I have ever known. I need you to tell me that this is where it ends, JJ. I cannot afford the stress.” Y/N replied.

“This is where it ends, I promise. It’s over. He has you and Emelia and Adaline and I have Will, Henry, and Michael. If we were ever meant to be, then it would have happened. He deserves you, after everything he’s been through. He deserves you.” She said tearfully, wiping away stray tears.

Y/N stood from her seat and walked around her desk to embrace her in a tight hug. JJ cried into her shoulder, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I know. It’s okay, we’re okay.” Y/N rubbed her shoulder, pulling away.

“Are things going to be awkward now?” JJ chuckled, blowing her nose.

“Only if you keep avoiding me.” Y/N joked back, JJ promised she wouldn’t and excused herself to get back to work.

Y/N followed her out and stopped at her door. Leaning against her door frame, she caught her husband’s eye across the bullpen and sent him a smile and a nod.

It’ll be alright.

They’ll be alright.

[jetiisyandereclones]

Caught in the Crosshairs, Part 1

Y/N was stuck on shift… again.

It wasn’t that she hated her job, or that she was feeling unfulfilled about her mundane existance.

She just would really appreciate it if her co workers could stop falling like flies with sickness around her. So far, out of the team of 7 that ran the 24 hour refuelling station, she was the only one who hadn’t gotten sick yet. Which meant lots of last minute shift placements on her days off.

She didn’t even want to think about her sheets that have been overdue for a wash for a month now.

Working the graveyard shift could be soul sucking. Going to work in the dark, then coming home in the dark. Only to sleep through the day, not get anything done, and repeat the cycle over and over again.

Another ‘perk’ of her job, was the people who came in. Running the midnight to 6AM shift solo, she had seen her fair share of druggies, drunk people and over all idiots. The breed of person who is out and about at 3AM and stumbling into a refuel station are very rarely easy customers.

But Y/N could handle that. She could handle loud, hurried, drunk and high customers with the munchies.

What she hated were sleezebags and time wasters.

The customers who came in high as fuck. Complete airheads who proceeded to buy out the store, one thing at a time, not being able to string a five word sentence together in less than five minutes, as if you had all the time in the world to burn on listening them.

The latest example was a woman, who came in three times, each time forgetting what she was there for, what she had previously bought and where her own money was kept, then tried to return food from a bag she had been eating out of.

Y/N didn’t know if she wanted to strangle the customer, or herself.

Then there were the ones who would shamelessly, blindly hit on her while she tried to work.

A guy had come in before, about an hour ago. He had this huge order that he demanded she make, loudly commenting about how he wanted to buy her ass and asking if she would spit in his food.

Y/N was disgusted, but he was paying. Plus it was the middle of the night and she was alone in the store with him. So for her own sake, Y/N grit her teeth and bared it.

Things got interesting though, when two of her newer regulars came in.

They had been stopping by every night since about a week after she started working at the refuelling station. Always buying the same things.

Tobacco, papers and an energy drink.

Y/N had become accustomed to them hanging around the store. Not minding them being there as they seemed to ward off any truly malicious customers, saving her the trouble of having to serve them.

They had struck up a sort of, almost friendship with Y/N, and she was glad for their presence on nights like these.

The Pantoran and Clone had just lined up at the front counter, waiting patiently for her to finish with her order when the shitstain asked if she had a boyfriend.

Questions like these always made her nervous. She could cuss out a customer for hours after they left, never once breaking her lines of curses and come up with some of the most creative insults known to man, but one thing she was not good at doing, was lying.

Pretending to not hear the idiot, Y/N went about her work. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like being ignored.

‘Hey, I’m talking to you,’ he yelled.

Y/N, who was not easily intimidated by yelling and feeling slightly safer with the other two in the store, gave the shitstain a flat look.

‘I know, I heard’

She went back to get his food from the fryer. The guy still wasn’t reading the room. When she turned away, he tried to get her attention again.

‘How much for that ass, while your at it?’

Y/N didn’t answer. But she was getting more uncomfortable and annoyed every second this guy was in a five click radius of her.

This did not go unnoticed by her two friends.

The clone stepped up behind the idiot, getting right into his space.

The shithead turned to him, weary.

‘Dick’ she thought.

He was happy to hit on her short ass self, but the moment someone bigger threatened him, suddenly he was docile?

Not that she didn’t understand how intimidating the clone was. Tall as fuck, and despite being very thin, she knew he was strong, having seen him lift up a fallen speeder off of his partner once. The fact that he was almost always in armor helped too.

‘She’s not interested, civvy.’ He said simply, voice coiling around the man like a snake, and glaring down at him.

That’s something Y/N wished she could do. Her clone friend had a very cold, very piercing gaze. If he was just observing you, you felt it. If he was glaring at you, you knew it. And he was glaring. Eyes cold and calculating.

Y/N found it insanely attractive, especially as it was in her defence. But she never let herself entertain those thoughts for long. He was clearly in a VERY dedicated relationship with the handsome Pantoran he came in with.

The shitstain managed to pull his balls out of his ass, for a moment.

‘What do you care, you her boyfriend or something?’ The man glanced at the Pantoran, ‘or is she your extra. You should save some for the rest of us, clone.’ He tried to mock the tall man. The clone on the other hand, merely chewed the toothpick he had in his mouth, seemingly unbothered.

His partner, not so much.

‘You should leave’

Y/N glanced at the Pantoran. He looked MAD. She supposed she would be too if someone had implied her partner had side pieces.

What she didn’t realise though, was that they were angry on her behalf. Him insinuating that Y/N could be anyone's booty call was one of the worst moves someone could make in their eyes.

Y/N decided it was time to de escalate the situation.

‘Foods ready’, she said, handing the shitstain his greasy bag over the screen. Sensing, finally, that he wasn’t welcome here, the guy left with one last comment about wanting Y/N to spit on his food.

Crosshair sneered, but didn’t pursue. He would find the man later. Let him know exactly who he had insulted.

Y/N’s Pantoran friend came up to the counter. She never asked their names, preferring to keep some form of distance from the customers.

They didn’t seem to have the same dilemma. Almost immediately after meeting her they gave her a nickname.

She didn’t know what it meant, but it was pretty, so she let it slide.

‘You shouldn’t let them talk to you like that, Saraad’ he said. His eyes soft and caring. The clone joined him, snaking an arm around is waist.

Y/N briefly wished she had that in her life.

‘Not that I wouldn't love to learn how to kick teeth out on him, but unfortunately, I do, in fact, need to keep this job.’

Y/N got them their usual brands, scanning the items and activating the card machine.

‘Besides. Not all of us are able to intimidate so easily’

The clone paid for himself and his partner.

‘Not always so easily. You were never scared of us’ he commented, his expression back to his familier teasing one

‘who fucking told you that?'

'You were?'

Y/N looked at them.

'I'm not stupid, I dont know who's coming in at that time. Plus you ARE kinda scary'

The two men looked almost pained at her confession. She didn’t know why. It seemed to her like common sense to practise caution around two strange men at 3AM.

She didn’t know that they had been trying to make her comfortable around them. Get her used to their presence. They weren’t blind. She hid it well but they saw her attraction for them.

They wanted her too, and the thought of her being scared of them, at any point, didn’t sit well with them.

When they had first met her, they were just passing through. The clones were settling their Darlings in on Kamino, his own brothers finding theirs, and the action had made Crosshair and Luc feel crowded. So they set out into the galaxy to drift for a while.

They needed to get away. Crosshair had proposed to Luc a few weeks ago and Luc had accepted right away, but both of them agreed something was missing.

Someone.

After a very open talk while slightly drunk, they admitted to eachother that after seeing his brothers with their Wives and children, they wanted a third, a woman. Someone that they could love and hold and maybe even one day have kids of their own with.

She had to be the right one though. No exceptions made, she had to fit what they wanted perfectly.

They found her sooner than they thought.

Y/N was cute, friendly, had a killer sense of humor and they just loved her on sight.

Most wouldn't look twice but they couldnt look away, especially after her first impression.

When they'd stopped to refuel, another ship was pulling out of the dock. Crosshair saw the angry scowl on the pilots face.

They entered the store to grab some tobacco and found a surprisingly young woman, alone, checking some of the stock and muttering to herself.

'...Waste my time, you fucking flaccid fleshbag of leaking dick tips. Try to charm your way out of paying? Your dumb ass looks like your parents were cousins and siblings.

"Oh, maybe we can figure something else out..." Asswipe please. Your genetic line spirals down from a venn diagram. When was the last time you fucked your neice-wife and you cock did anything other than wheeze dust in dispair...'

Both Crosshair and Luc had their eyebrows raised at the pretty womans rant.

It was... amusing.

Luc spoke up, interrupting her.

'Damn...what did he do?'

'AGHHH, FUUCKKK MEEE, where did you come from?!'

Aparently she hadn't heard them come in.

They watched as the spooked woman got herself together.

'We walked in the front door' crosshair replied dryly.

'Uh huh, ummm, I'm not sure how much of they you heard...'

Luc smirked.

'Oh, only about from flaccid fleshbag to wheezing dust. Imaginative. By the way.'

The woman looked sheepish.

'Ah, sorry about that'

'Dont be. Havnt heard imagination like that since the war'

'Glad to entertain' she flatly spoke.

'What happened?'

The woman stood up.

'Just... the usual fuckwits trying their luck'

'That was your response to 'the usual?'

'If you've never worked customer service, I can only say that the rage is real'

'Heh. Aparently. Listen kitten-'

'Dont call me that'

'...Alright, Saraad.'

'I will... allow it.'

'Hmm. Ok. We came in here to get some tobacco. You old enough to sell, or is there someone else here?'

She looked at him disbeleivingly.

'How young do you think I am?'

The clone shrugged, nonplussed.

'Natties age weird.'

This earned a raised eyebrow from her and an eye roll from the Pantoran.

'Yes I can sell. Minors aren't allowed to work graveyard shifts'

She went behind the counter.

'They let you work alone, at this time of night?' The Pantoran questioned.

'I guess so. What brand were you after?'

---------------------------------------------------

The two came back the next night, and the night after that, and every night after that.

She learnt that they were surprisingly kind, if a little gruff. They insisted sticking around for her full shift, to make sure nothing happened.

Y/N assured them that that wasnt nessesary. They did it anyway.

She had started to think of them as friends when the Pantoran had his speeder accident.

Him and the clone where next to their shuttle when a Rodian tore into the parking dock on his speeder bike, narrowly missing the clone, his Pantoran pulling him out of the way just in time.

Y/N heard the insults from the register.

And she thought she was creative.

The Rodian stumbled off of his bike, accidentally deactivating the anti-gravity boosters.

The bike crashed to the ground, catching her Pantoran friend in the stomach and trapping him under the saddle.

Having been watching everything, Y/N called the guards, stating that they would need a medic droid and a people carrier.

Hanging up she ran outside as her clone friend was calling for her, the Rodian lay stunned on the other side of the bike.

She shot him a foul look as she went to kneel next to the Pantoran.

He was knocked out, and Y/N had never seen his clone partner so frantic.

'I called the guards. They're on their way with a medic droid'

'We need to get this speeder off. I'll lift it, you pull him out'

Y/N wasnt so sure he'd be able to lift the bike on his own, but there wasn't time to argue. So she got into position, her arms under the Pantoran's shoulders ready to pull him out.

The clone lifted one side of the bike, grunting as he wedged his shoulder under the saddle.

Y/N pulled the Pantoran out as gently as she could, spying the horrifying black bruise on his stomach.

'Oh, goddam.'

The clone let the speeder crash to the ground. And with the Pantoran's head in her lap and the guards pulling into the station, she allowed herself a moment to admire her friends heaving shoulders, before the medic droid approached them.

The Pantoran groaned, whimpering when the droid attempted to move him from her lap.

Not sensing any immediate danger, the medic just scanned the Pantoran where he lay, his head turned sideways, nose pressed into the soft meat of Y/N's inner thigh.

His partner held his hand as the medic explained that they were lucky.

There was no dangerous buildup of lactic acid, as the saddle was curved high enough to not cut off blood supply completly.

They got the speeder off quick enough to avoid anything worse than some severe bruising and a possible concussion from hitting the ground.

The clone layed a hand on Y/N's shoulder, eyes sincere and thankfull. The medic helped the clone load the Pantoran onto their shuttle, as the guards loaded the very drunk Rodian into the people carrier.

Y/N went back inside, shaken, but wanting to finish her shift.

She didnt see them again untill a few days later.

The Pantoran was walking slowly, looking pained and leaning on his partner, but otherwise healthy.

Since then they were more protective of her. Hovering over her and commenting on her recently unpredictable schedual.

---------------------------------------------------

After the sleezebag left, Crosshair and Luc stuck around for a while, to keep an eye on their Darling.

They had decided that she had been working too hard, her boss too demanding.

It wasnt good for her. And they intended to fix it.

They had both planned on taking her soon regardless, but that scumbag had cemented it in their minds that they needed to get their beloved Saraad out of there.

They would snatch her when she finished her shift and spirit her away on their ship, spending some time in space to let her get to know them, intimately, and them her.

But first, Crosshair's trigger finger was itching for that fuckwits blood.

It wasnt hard for Crosshair to find him. His darling Luc had a whole range of skills. Slipping a tracker into someone's pocket unnoticed was nothing to him.

When crosshair caught up to the idiot, he didn't make it clean.

Unseen, yes, but it was messy.

He beat the man to within an inch of his life, only stopping when he looked like he was about to pass out, then looked at him with disgust. Taking in his scared expression, Crosshair unceremoniously put a bolt between his eyes.

'Have fun?' His Luc teased, wrapping his arms around Crosshair's waist. A look of indifference on him as he stared at the bloody body.

'An easier death than he deserved. Who knows who else he harrased'

Luc hummed, kissing the back of Crosshair's neck and then his lips, softly sweeping his toungue over them, before resting his forehead against crosshairs and taking his hand.

'Come, my love. We still have work to do, and you can't bring our Saraad on board covered in blood'

Crosshair melted into him. Following him back to their shuttle, trusting Luc to avoid the cameras.

They showered together, once again testing the strength of their fresher walls, then their bed frame as they waited for their Saraad, imagining her writhing and panting between them in a loving embrace. Wearing nothing but the rings they planned on giving to her.

Said rings were in an ornate box next to Crosshair's and Luc's.

A claim, an engagement and a wedding band all glinting on her hand, all from them. The picture sent them to bliss many times before morning.

---------------------------------------------------

When Y/N came back to, she was naked, showered and wedged between two people.

The last thing she remembered was someone pressing a rag against her mouth, and a soft hand taking hers, placing kiss against her knuckles.

Y/N looked to her sides. She didnt beleive it.

It was her friends! Or who she thought were friends, at least.

They must have noticed her moving or heavy breathing, because they started to stir.

Y/N's sluggish mind finally snapped to awareness. She attempted to launch herself off the bed, but not soon enough.

A pair of blue arms encircled her bare chest, pulling her back down on top of the owners body, their arms holding hers by her side. Y/N was crying by now, seeing the clone snap to awareness.

Crosshair rolled over onto Y/N's thighs, stilling her struggles. He had felt her trying to run and woke immediatly.

It didnt escape the men's notice, how she was shaking and appeared to be frozen with fear. Poor thing must be nervous about being naked with them for the first time, feeling their arousal against her skin.

She didnt need to be scared. They would never force anything on her.

Crosshair tried his best to sooth her.

He leant over her, tenderly running his hands up her stomach, massaging her soft tummy fat for a second. He lovingly kissed Y/N on her cheeks and the corner of her mouth. Using his lips to clean her tears.

His attention to her mouth reminded her she still had a voice.

'You bastards, I trusted you! How could-'

The clone covered her mouth. Shushing her gently.

'Crosshair, Y/N.'

'What?' Y/N's mind short circuited.

'My name is Crosshair. This is Luc.' The Pantoran brushed his nose and lips against her shoulder, disgustingly adoring.

Crosshair brought her hand up to his face, kissing her hand, nuzzling into her palm. It was now she noticed the raised bump under her skin and the rings on her fingers.

Crosshair looked down at her lovingly, feeling Luc leg his leg across his own.

'Welcome home, our perfect Riddur.'

[fangirleaconmigo]

There Was Only One Bed (staged):

Or, Geralt Orchestrates It So There Is Only One Bed

This trope has been floating around Tumblr and Twitter and @softforhenry asked for someone to write it with Geraskier. So I did a quick, soft little ficlet. Teen and Up. 1765 words.

-------------------

Geralt knew that Jaskier wanted him. He knew it because the troubadour didn’t flirt with him. That didn’t sound right, but it very much was.

When Jaskier fancied someone, a duke or merchant, or serving girl, (anyone really), he was overcome with the spirit of lovers of old. His words grew florid, his flourishes intricate. He bellowed poetry, and wiggled his eyebrows.

Perhaps he didn’t actually bellow, but that’s what it felt like to Geralt.

But he was tentative with Geralt. Thoughtful. When Geralt was hungry, Jaskier was singularly determined to find him food. When the bartender gave Geralt the wrong order, it was Jaskier who took it back and got Geralt the thing he wanted. He cared for Roach because she was important to Geralt. And when he looked into Geralt’s eyes in quiet moments, he looked tentative. Tender.

Nothing short of love could make the bombastic, self involved troubadour so attentive. So vulnerable.

Geralt knew Jaskier loved him, and he felt the same. But he was terrified. Whenever he tried to say what he felt, fear seized him. It froze him. Geralt knew how to take a beating. A slashing. A stoning. But taking emotional risks that could end in the pain of being rejected or abandoned by someone he held dear. Well, he had never been particularly good at that.

It wasn’t that he was shy. He had happily accepted many a proposition on lonely nights. He’d even been the one to offer sometimes. But it was different when you already loved the person so much it hurt. It was paralyzing.

He had almost given up the thought of ever sharing his feelings with his dear friend, when an opportunity presented itself to show him.

Geralt was working a long term contract in Toussaint, and had been granted an apartment by the Duchess. He had sent Jaskier a letter, inviting him for a visit. Thankfully, the bard’s love affair and the resulting chaos with the duchess was at an end, and they could simply exist in the fair duchy with minimal drama.

When Geralt opened the door, to reveal his dearest friend, his heart leapt. He squeezed Jaskier in a tight hug and smiled with abandon. His affection seemed to light up Jaskier, who stepped over the threshold with a skip in his step.

“How about a night in?” Jaskier suggested, as they sank back into luxurious chairs. “Drink some wine and catch up?”

So that is what they did. They sat around a crackling fire drinking the best wine, and detailed everything that had happened in their lives since their last parting. It was the best way that Geralt could think of to pass an evening, sitting with his friend, just talking. It grew more difficult, these stretches without Jaskier. Sitting near him felt like coming home, and Geralt wasn’t sure what warmed him more...the wine, or the twinkle in Jaskier’s eyes whenever there was a lull in the conversation and their eyes met.

The night wore on, and they caught up, told some stories, and Jaskier played him a new ballad. Geralt wanted this to last forever. But soon their eyes began to droop and Jaskier sagged in his chair. Finally, it became unavoidable.

“Well,” Jaskier slapped his knees and stood. Jaskier had bought a room for the night at an inn. “I’d better get back to my room.” Geralt rued the thought of Jaskier walking out the door. Of losing this opportunity to tell him how he felt. If he couldn’t do so in lovely Toussaint by a firelight, when could he?

“Aren’t you too drunk to wander off down the streets alone?” Geralt hadn’t been able to think of a good excuse, and now he had to pretend he couldn’t tell tired from drunk.

Jaskier smiled sleepily and rubbed his eyes. “Will the mighty witcher accompany me back, like the gentleman he is?”

Geralt stood, and then regretted it, because they were now facing each other, and he had no idea what to do with his hands. “You could stay here.”

Jaskier smiled such that his face crinkled with affection. “Why thank you. I’ll just take the sofa, my dear witcher,” he declared, shedding his ostentatious hat and cape. He had left them on all evening so he could preen, as was his habit. He was quite ridiculous, when Geralt thought about it. But for some reason, it only made him more endearing. Geralt had never claimed to have sensible taste in matters of romance.

Geralt watched him, realizing that he didn’t want to be separated at all for the night, not even by a single wall. He didn’t want to pass the night alone, with Jaskier in the next room. He tried to say so. He tried to say that he wanted to hold him. To kiss him. To whisper soft things into his ears.

But again, he was seized with a blind panic that he couldn’t seem to shake. So, he settled on a different tactic.

“Oh, no. You can’t.”

Jaskier looked doubtful. “No? Why not?”

“Because,” said Geralt. “It’s broken. The legs. Two of them. It’ll crack right through if you sit on it.”

Jaskier had picked up a cushion to fluff it, and he slowly set it back down. “Hmm,” he said, eyeing the sofa. “Alright, well I don’t want to break your furniture. I can take the floor. The rug looks soft. It’ll be fine.”

Geralt’s hands grew clammy and he swallowed hard. He had already said that Jaskier should stay there. He had already said that he couldn't use the sofa. He only had to go one step further.

“You can sleep with me,” he said. He had hoped to the gods he sounded casual, despite the thudding of his heart. “It’s a big bed. You should see it. Luxurious. Right up your alley.”

He was practically rambling. Jaskier smiled tentatively. He untied the top of his tunic. “Well alright, lead the way.” The collar fell open, and Geralt had to look away fast, before a blush crept up his ears.

They took off their boots and padded into the room. Geralt handed Jaskier some sleeping clothes. They both silently changed, keeping their eyes cast away from one another. Then Jaskier waited for Geralt to crawl under the covers, and invite him in. His reliably tart tongue was tied and he looked about as nervous as Geralt felt.

Geralt could not sleep for a good while. At first, it was because Jaskier’s familiar heartbeat was thudding rapidly. As long as he was anxious, Geralt would not be able to sleep.

“Right, well, goodnight Geralt,” whispered Jaskier.

“Goodnight.”

The knowledge that Geralt could just reach out and touch him, could just slide against him and lay his head on the furry chest that held the heart of his most beloved, it kept him awake even longer. Several times he tried to get up the nerve, but each time he stayed put. Well, he had gotten that far. Maybe it was progress. Maybe next time he would tell him. Show him.

Eventually he fell asleep.

He didn’t know what time it was when he awoke to the sound of Jaskier gently calling his name. He came into consciousness, and realized that all four of his limbs were wrapped around Jaskier, and his face was buried into the crook of his neck.

He smelled fucking divine. His stubbly jaw begged to be delicately kissed. His neck--

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeated.

Geralt focused. “Yes?” he croaked. He tried to pull back his arms and roll away. Jaskier stopped him with an embrace. Suddenly, their faces were so close that the warmth of their breath mingled, Jaskier’s palms held firm to the small of Geralt’s back, like he had imagined so many times.

“I’m not complaining, mind you,” Jaskier murmured, mirth dancing in his eyes. “I quite like this. A lot. I just didn’t want you to be embarrassed or regretful in the morning.”

They were so close. Geralt felt as though his toes were hanging over a cliff, and he was about to dive into the waters of the sea.

“I like it too,” he said. And he kissed him. Jaskier moaned into his lips. He pulled Geralt even tighter, and tenderly but ferociously, kissed him back.

Geralt had thought that Jaskier felt like home before. But that night, he discovered new ways of feeling comfort and pleasure. Touching Jaskier was even better than Geralt could have ever imagined. He knew his life would never be the same, and somehow, he was no longer afraid. They fell asleep with their limbs tangled together, and Jaskier’s head on Geralt’s chest.

---

The next morning, Geralt awoke giddy. He heard Jaskier in the kitchen, clattering around. He practically jumped from the bed to go see Jaskier in the morning light. To kiss him again, to make sure the night before hadn’t all been some dream.

He greeted Jaskier with a kiss, and a squeeze. Jaskier smiled into his lips and offered him breakfast.

“Yes, please.”

“Alright, it’ll be a minute, make yourself comfortable.”

When Geralt lobbed himself at the sofa, plopping down six feet of solid witcher in one go, he had completely forgotten that it was supposed to be broken.

Jaskier whipped around and squeaked in shock, eyes taking in the smug, comfortable witcher on a very solid sofa. Then he burst into laughter.

“What?” Geralt asked, watching him bend over, cackling like a lunatic. “What?”

Jaskier finally composed himself. He straightened up and wiped his eyes, then leveled a gaze at Geralt. “Someone must have sent repair gnomes overnight.”

Geralt smiled sheepishly. “Oh.”

“You lied to me!” Jaskier practically shrieked. But curiously, he didn’t look angry at all. He looked gleeful. “Just to get me in bed with you! I never knew you could be so conniving, witcher.” He grinned wildly.

Geralt looked down at the sofa as though it would save him and just break on the spot. It didn’t. He cleared his throat. There was no use in lying again. “Maybe?”

“Fuck this,” Jaskier said.

“What?”

“Breakfast can wait.” He tossed down the towel, before Geralt could blink, Jaskier was standing right in front of him, a mysterious look on his face. Geralt looked up at him, not sure what was happening.

Jaskier pulled the tie on his robe and it dropped, pooling around his ankles. Geralt instinctively opened his arms. “Come on then.”

Jaskier climbed into his lap. “Let’s test it out. Make sure those repairs really hold.”

“Great idea.” And Geralt kissed him.

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

Come Back Home

Pairing: Dick Grayson (DC Titans) x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death and miscarriage

Word Count: 4.5K

Summary: Years after the two of you broke up, Dick Grayson comes back to your life. But he doesn’t know you’ve been hiding a secret all this time.

A/N: @imcarolinashannon​ and I were talking about angst fics so I decided to write this. I probably might do a second part so if you want to be tagged in that then just send me a message or something

Dick lounged comfortably in Donna’s living room. She promised to meet up with him but unfortunately, she was running late. Dick had no trouble letting himself in and laying down on her couch, waiting for her to get home.

He heard the door open and opted to stay silent, wanting to see her reaction when she realized he had broken in. Technically he hadn’t really broken in but used the key that she hid underneath the doormat.

He silently waited for Donna to come to the living room, feeling childish but at the same time anticipating it.

“Don?”

That wasn’t Donna’s voice.

“Don? You here? The door was left open…”

Dick stiffened. That voice. He’s heard that voice before.

“Don? I—” Your voiced cut off suddenly, whatever was in your hands slipped and fell to the ground. You barely even realized, just hearing a faint thump in the back of your head as the plastic bag hit the floor.

It had been so long.

Dick Grayson hadn’t changed one bit since the last time you had seen him. You on the other hand, looked like age had caught up with you, but in Dick’s eyes you looked as beautiful as the day he last saw you.

That day flashed vividly in his head. You looking beautiful and holding him close to your heart. The ache he felt that day. He couldn’t bear to say anything and break your heart. He couldn’t break your heart again. Saying goodbye to you while you were asleep. Leaving a note on the nightstand.

And then leaving without a second look back.

He never let himself rethink his decision. When he got drunk, he’d shed silent tears when he thought about you, but he’d never let himself call you up. When he got your letters, he’d keep them by his nightstand, but he’d never let himself read it. He feared he’d listen to you and come back.

He didn’t deserve to have you in his life again.

Looking at you again after all these years. He wondered if he made the right decision. He wondered if he should’ve just given into his selfishness. But beyond everything, the void in his heart was made that much more apparent to him when he noticed the way you were looking at him. It was guarded, but at the same time emotional.

It was like you felt something, but you didn’t want to show him.

It was like that for a few seconds, where you were just stuck staring at each other, frozen in time. Neither of you dared to move a muscle. It was calm, too calm. And the two of you were afraid that it would start a storm.

So just as quickly as you came, you backtracked and ran away.

“(Y/N) wait—!” Dick started, moving for you before he could stop himself. He couldn’t let you slip through his fingers. He just needed a few more minutes. A few more minutes to look at you and realize what he gave up. A few more minutes.

But you were already booking it down the hallway when he made it to the door. It was then he found the strength to stop himself. He had to. He couldn’t ask for you to wait. You probably waited a lot already. He couldn’t ask you to wait anymore.

So, he let you slip through his fingers again.

But this time it was him who had to watch you walk away.

And it was only then he realized how much it hurt to be left behind.

***

When the Titans split up you were the only one who remained in San Francisco. Waiting. Just waiting for someone to return. Anyone.

Everything happened so quickly. Garth was taken from you, as well as Jericho, and everything just changed in the span of a night. The family that you had built had broken and no one seemed to have the energy to put back the pieces together.

You remember the same monotonous days, the days where you couldn’t feel anything, when you just woke up to go back to sleep and slept to pretend that none of this ever happened. It was suffocating and exhausting, but you had no way to pull yourself out into the light.

You remember holding onto your fiancé a little tighter that night, your body shaking even though you weren’t cold. You remember sleeping a little heavier that night, as if your body couldn’t bear to wake up to this existence anymore. You remember feeling cold and empty.

You remember waking up to find the space next to you on the bed empty and you immediately knew what had happened. Dick had taken off. You had known it was coming, for a while now, but you couldn’t seem to believe it.

For a while you just stared at the note he left behind with an emotionless gaze. This week had been hell enough, what was another punch? At least things couldn’t get worse.

For a while you just held the note loosely between your fingers, not bothering to move from your bed. You knew you were supposed to be feeling sad, but your heart couldn’t afford it. You couldn’t feel anything anymore.

So, you just stood up from bed, moving unsteadily to the kitchen, not being able to process anything. You just went to the fridge and got yourself a glass of milk before going back to the couch and turning on the television. It was playing but you weren’t watching it.

The sorrow of losing your best friends and your fiancé didn’t hit you until a few days later. You ran out of milk and were looking for something else to drink. Opening the fridge reserved for alcohol, you grabbed whatever touched your fingers first.

An orange soda.

Then your gaze moved to the diamond ring sitting snugly on your finger. The bottle slipped through your fingers, falling onto the ground along with your body. You held yourself as you cried, screamed for someone to come back. For someone to save you through this loneliness.

You cried for what seemed like forever, until you felt dry and then you cried some more. You couldn’t even bring yourself to get off the floor, letting the sticky orange soda soak into your pants and the glass shards of the broken bottle sink into your legs.

Crying felt like the only thing you were capable of. You weren’t able to do anything else, even consoling yourself was far from your mind. All you could do was mourn the death of your friend and the death of your friendships.

Your breath left your body, your stomach churned painfully and your heart clenched in your chest. You couldn’t stand the thought of saying goodbye. You just couldn’t do what the others had and leave your family in the past. You couldn’t bring yourself to.

So, you waited, for someone to return, for anyone to return. You waited and waited, until it had been engrained into your behaviour, until it had been the first thing you thought about in the morning and the last thing you thought about at night. You waited.

You knew the day would come when this void in your heart would be filled.

If you had just waited.

But you eventually gave up the hope of them coming back, you gave it all up. You figured they would never come back home. That they found new homes. That they forgot about you. At this point you wondered if even one of your family members would return.

Nothing could have prepared you for Donna’s phone call one day. She told you that she was back in town and wanted to see you again. Something told you it was too good to be true. Something else told you to give into your pride and bail on her like she did so many years ago.

But against your better judgement, you still agreed to meet with her.

You weren’t expecting to come face to face with the man who left you behind so many years ago. However unhealthy it may have been, you never let yourself think about how you were really feeling when this devastation hit you.

You never tried to identify your feelings.

Rather, you tried to distract yourself and move forward. And it had worked. Until you made eye contact with Dick and had to wonder whether you should break down, get angry and scream or just be happy and relieved to see him again.

It was something you couldn’t handle. You couldn’t even begin to think about it. You couldn’t.

So, you didn’t have to think twice when your legs stumbled back and sprinted out of Donna’s apartment and out of the building.

Only when you were safely back home did you stop running, ignoring the calls from Donna for the rest of the day and instead drowning your sorrows in orange soda, trying to forget this ever happened.

***

Donna eventually managed to track you down to your apartment where you were just laying around your couch. While you were feeling overwhelmed to invite her into your home you were also excited to just sit down and talk with her again.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Donna smiled, pulling you in for a hug, “It’s been so long. Nice place you have here.” She commented, taking off her coat as you shut the door behind her.

“Oh, it’ just your run of the mill, one-bedroom apartment.” You said absentmindedly, “You can look around if you want.”

Donna did exactly that, moving to the passageway and then towards the one bedroom. The door was closed and she wondered if she was allowed to enter. You did say that you could look around so it wouldn’t do any harm.

“Hey, um, the door is locked.” She called out to you and there was an awkward beat of silence before you answered.

“Yeah, I, um, I keep the old suit and weapons there. Don’t want anybody to get in there, you know?”

Oh. Well, that made sense.

“Why don’t you come here and we can have a cup of tea of something.”

“So, what have you been up to?” You asked, getting a cup of tea ready for her. It had been a while since you had anyone in your place so you weren’t even sure where the second tea cup was.

“(Y/N), as much as I would love for this to just be a visit, I’m sorry but there’s something important that I have to tell you.”

Donna told you all about how Dick had reinstated the Titans and was actually in the city right now. You had already known that and made a conscious decision to stay far away from them. You had waited and waited and waited for them to return but when you finally moved on, they decide to show up again?

She told you about how each of the original Titans members were being targeted by an assassin, reasons and identity unknown and that she was here to bring you to the base for your protection.

“Listen, Donna, I hung up that suit a long time ago. If you guys are getting targeted then it’s probably because you started to get back into this life again. I’m fine and I haven’t been involved in it for a long time.” You told her.

“Yeah, (Y/N), I know but we all just think it would be safer—”

“Donna, I told you, I’ve moved on. I’m just an elementary school teacher now. No one is out to get me.”

A shot rang out through the apartment and your windows shattered.

The butt of the bullet shined from its hole in your wooden floors. It was a warning shot. And when you turned you saw the silhouette of a man on the roof of the apartment complex next to your building. He hid well and you couldn’t really make out any features.

The man held the gun up to eye level again and you jumped grabbing Donna’s arm and running towards the closet in the hallway before throwing it open and handing her a gun as shots rang out one after the other.

“I thought you said you kept all your superhero stuff in the other room?” She asked, seeing your costume hung in all it’s glory along with a number of weapons and gadgets.

“Is that really important now?!” You shouted, trying to pocket as many weapons as you could and then ran out into the hallway and past the staircase to the other side of the building

“What? (Y/N) what are we doing? The exit is over there!” She shouted, following you through the halls and she heard you click the safety off your gun before shooting at a lock and kicking the door open.

She ran behind you through an empty apartment and then through the window, scaling down the fire escape before making a break for it.

***

“So, you’re telling me I know have a target painted on my back because the rest of you couldn’t stop playing dress up?” You asked with a furious bite to your voice. The rest of the members held their head down, trying to avoid your gaze.

You were always the mother of the group, looking after people and making sure everyone was okay. But everybody knew when you were angry, there was nothing topping you from ripping them to shreds. The only thing they could do was try their hardest not to agitate you.

Even though none of them were scared of you and they probably could be equally matched with you in a fight. They would probably ever win, because you haven’t been out in the field for a year. But there was just something about your fiery gaze and your sharp voice that made their hearts quicken and them lower their heads in shame.

“(Y/N),” Dawn began with a placating voice, trying to put out your anger, “I know your mad but—”

“Mad?! I’m furious! What the hell were you imbeciles thinking?! Oh, let me guess, absolutely nothing!”

Usually when you were this angry, the team would send Dick your way, knowing that you could never stay angry with him for long. Even though years have passed and your relationship was now broken, it seemed like their strategies were still ingrained into their minds.

“(Y/N), look we just—” Dick began, moving towards you gently so he could hold you but you snapped at him, glaring at him so harshly that he actually took a few steps back and sat back into his seat.

“Oh, shut up, daddy issues! I don’t even wanna start with you!”

Hank immediately stood up then, getting annoyed with you constantly yelling at him. He was a grown man, why should he have to hear you shout at him like he was a little kid?

“Look, (Y/N), none of us—”

“Sit! The fuck! Down!”

No one could appreciate how funny Hank looked, slinking back to his seat like a kicked puppy.

“I seem to recall all of you saying that you wanted to leave this life behind! And now because none of you could actually give it up, my apartment is trashed, all my stuff probably has bullet holes and now I’m stuck here with no clothes, no stuff and all of you!”

“I could lend you some clothes if you like.” Donna said meekly from beside Dick, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“Oh, well all of my problems are solved! Thank you so much!”

“I can’t believe this.” You murmured with a quiet voice and the rest recognized that you were finished with yelling. To be quite honest it was just a lot to process. You thought you had left these monsters in the past. It felt like they were trying to pull you back in by your ankles.

“I’m sorry.” Dick spoke up quietly and you sighed, seeing how ashamed he looked. He probably felt horrible, and that didn’t excuse him, but you couldn’t bear to keep yelling when you knew they felt apologetic towards you.

Maybe that’s why you were always being taken advantage of.

“Not like we can do anything about it now.” You said quietly, not making eye contact with either of them and instead just turning around and walking out of the mission room, briefly passing Rachel as you made your way to the kitchen.

You needed a shot.

Rachel stepped into the room once you left with a dazed look, clutching her arm that brushed against you as you walked out. It didn’t go unnoticed by the others.

“Rachel? Is everything okay?”

“I—” You started but then stopped herself, not quite understanding what she was feeling, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

***

You were formally introduced to the rest of the team by the end of the day. Dick watched with a gentle smile as you made witty banter with Jason and told Gar how adorable he was as he blushed.

“Hi, I’m Rachel.”

“Hey, Rachel, I’m (Y/N), it’s nice to meet you.” You smiled and held out your hand for her to shake. As soon as her skin came into contact with yours a gasp l4eft her lips.

Behind her closed eyelids she saw bits and pieces of your memories. She saw you writing letters. Even though you weren’t speaking she could hear what you were writing in her head. It was just bits and pieces of you writing letters but she could feel all the emotions that you felt as you wrote it down.

‘Hey love, it’s (Y/N), I love you, please come home.’

‘Dick it’s been weeks, please come home. There’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you, and I was hoping I could do it in person but I can’t. Dick, I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant with your child so I need you to come home. Please.’

You sent an ultrasound along with the letter and behind it in your handwriting was ‘Please, come home, our baby needs you.’

‘Dick, I want to fly out to Detroit and see you but my Doctor says it isn’t safe for me to fly. I’m about 3 months along and I just heard his heartbeat today. I’m so scared of doing this alone, Dick. I can’t do this alone. Please come home. I need you.’

‘I don’t know if you’re even reading my letters, Dick, but I’m going to keep sending them. If it’s the only way I can talk to you then I’m going to keep sending them. I’m craving a lot of sweets, so if you decide to come home all you need to do is bring back a s’more or something to get me to forgive you, okay? I’ll forgive you, I promise, just please come back home.’

‘I found out the sex of the baby today. It’s gonna be a boy. Dick, we’re gonna have a son and I don’t think I can raise him without you. Please come back home, let’s raise our son together. Please just even call me, or even just sending me a letter back is enough. Something. Anything, Dick, please.’

‘He’s starting to kick more often now, he’s really very active. He loves it when we watch your favourite movie. I don’t know why but I can feel it when we watch it together. He feels happy. Come back home and you can feel his kicks yourself. You don’t know how amazing that feels until it happens. I talk to him a lot; I tell him about you and I know he probably doesn’t understand but It feels like he does. I’m so scared to do this alone, Dick, I don’t think I can. Would you please come home now?’

‘I’ve been getting these things called Braxton Hick’s contractions. They were scary and new but apparently nothing to worry about. That’s what the doctor’s say but I can’t help but get scared, you know? It was absolutely heart-breaking to have to get myself to the hospital. I have friends, but let’s face it, none of them can actually take on the burden of having a child. And I couldn’t ask them to. I still love you, Dick. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you. Our son, he feels so familiar, like there was a piece of you left behind. I’m starting to lose hope of you coming back, but I’m still going to keep writing letters because our son needs his father.’

Scenes flashes one after another and her head began spinning with images and she felt dizzy. Eventually her head cleared up and her eyes focused on your staring at her with concerned eyes.

“Rachel, is everything okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

“Are you sure, you blanked out for a second there.”

Yeah, Yeah I’m fine.”

You seemed to buy her explanation and left the room along with the boys when they offered to show you around. Rachel still stood in the middle of the kitchen, seemingly frozen.

Dick walked up to her, putting a hand on her shoulder and that seemed to pull her out of her trance but she still seemed pretty shaken up.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“She sent you letters, didn’t she?”

His brows furrowed as he scanned her face. There was something about it that he couldn’t pin-point, that he couldn’t read. It didn’t surprise him that she knew that you had written letters to him but what surprised him was that she asked about it. Usually, she never did.

“Yeah, she did.”

“You never read them, did you?” She asked again, meekly, breaking eye contact with him. She sounded disappointed and hurt but he couldn’t understand why. Maybe if he just explained the situation to her, she would understand.

“No, I never did.” He was going to tell her why. He was going to explain himself. But just as the moment came, Rachel started pulling herself away, moving towards her bedroom like she was lost.

“You should have.”

***

After his conversation with Rachel, Dick wondered what could have been in those letters that made her so shaken up. That made her distance herself from him for the next few days. It was heart-breaking to watch her pull away from him whenever he wanted to talk.

The longer Rachel distanced herself from him, the longer he wondered what exactly was in those letters. Rachel seemed to think that he should have read those letters, but what could’ve been in there that was so terrible?

Obviously, you were well and you looked like you had completely turned your life around, so what could it have been that Rachel thought he should find out about even after all these years?

The curiosity was enough to make him find those letters but not enough to give him the courage to read them. But he still needed to, he absolutely had to, so he opened the first letter you ever sent him.

Around an hour later, all the letters were opened and scattered around his bed. Nothing was going through his head. He didn’t even here you when you called him for dinner from the kitchen.

“Dick? Dinner’s ready. What are you….?” It was then you noticed the opened letters sitting on his bed, “What is this?”

“The letters you sent me.” He told you, his voice cracking and your breath caught. Your first emotion was to run away, to run far away but at the same time it felt like your feet were bolted to the floor. Dick looked up at you and you vaguely noticed the tears in his eyes.

For the first time, it felt like he finally understood how much leaving you had hurt him. He finally realized that he did more harm than good by leaving you. That he was missing out on his life’s greatest dream by leaving you. That while he was missing you, were begging him to come back.

“We have a son…” He started and you flinched, taking a sharp breath but not moving from your place in the doorway with your arms wrapped around your waist to protect yourself from what was going to come.

“I—I can’t believe this.” He spoke again and you bit your lip. Was he going to scream? Shout? Was he going to tell you that you should’ve aborted it? He stood up, albeit on shaky legs but still made his way towards you, keeping a few feet of distance between you.

You were scared of how he would react. You were worried about what he would say.

“I want to meet—”

“You can’t.” You said firmly, clenching your jaw hard as your nails dug into your palms. This was possibly the worst thing he could’ve said.

“Look I know that I shouldn’t have left. I realize that now. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my entire life and I’m sorry. But he’s my son too, please let me—”

“I lost it.” You murmured, not being able to meet his eyes and instead just lowered your eyes, “I lost our son.”

Just like that, Dick Grayson’s world began to crumble before his eyes.

“I woke up one night, in a pool of blood,” You spoke, screwing your eyes shut as you tried to fight the onslaught of tears. Dick immediately pulled you into a hug and you didn’t fight it, instead you fisted his shirt in your hands to keep you in this world and keep you from reliving that day.

 “I called the ambulance and even though they got me to the hospital and did first aid, he was already gone when I got there.” You cried into his neck and his arms were tight around your shaking form, but he was shedding silent tears into your hair.

“It wasn’t your fault.” He said, voice cracking with guilt and a sob broke through you.

“That’s what everyone else said. But—I just—Can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if I had just been more careful. If I had taken care of myself more. If I had tried harder. We would still have our baby boy.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” He said once more, firmly this time, that you almost began to believe him.

“I was his mother. I was supposed to protect him. I failed.”

“I was his father. I was supposed to protect the both of you. I’m sorry I failed you.” He wanted to tell you that he loved you. The words were just on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn’t bring himself to. He couldn’t say it. He didn’t deserve to love you. And he didn’t deserve to tell you.

“I’m sorry (Y/N).” He said again before he broke down and the two of you fell to the floor, crying in each other’s arms.

Forever Taglist: @simonsbluee​

DC Taglist: @emmacata​

[seijorhi]

A Thousand Words

as promised, a Valentine’s Day fic 💕 

Oikawa Tooru x female reader, Iwaizumi Hajime x female reader

TW implied dub/non-con, cheating, minor choking/abuse, nsfw(ish)

You break up with Iwaizumi two weeks before Valentine’s Day, standing in the doorway of the apartment you share with him.

And you hate that it still hurts, still tugs at the wretched, broken strings of your heart to watch that rare, beautiful smile of his fracture like glass, confusion giving way to disbelief and then finally anguish.

Iwa’s never been the best with his words, but it seems that you’ve robbed him of those too as you tell him that your relationship’s over. He just stands there, wide eyed, agonised as you shove your phone – the proof – into his face, a hoarse, strangled whisper of ‘why’ leaves his lips. 

It seems that it’s all that he’s capable of.

There’s nothing for him to say anyway. You don’t want his apologies or his excuses. The pictures are evidence enough. 

A boys weekend, he’d told you, and you’d trusted him. You loved him. He wasn’t like your ex, Iwa would never deliberately do anything to hurt you. 

He knew what fidelity meant to you.

You’d thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with him, but those pictures are enough to show you what a fool’s dream that was. Iwa, naked in bed, wrapped around some other woman.

Sleeping so peacefully, curled up by her side, like he’d done with you a thousand times.

And it doesn’t matter whether he was drunk or not. It doesn’t matter if he knew her or paid for her or found her at some fancy fucking bar downtown. He cheated on you, he broke your heart and he doesn’t get to watch you fall apart in front of him.

You save your tears until the door swings shut, collapsing onto the floor with a heartbroken wail as the man you love walks away.

—

Iwaizumi doesn’t remember much of that night. He’s never been a lightweight, but the drinks they were knocking back would’ve been enough to take out the best of them. And Iwa didn’t have to worry, not when he was out with friends. 

God knows they’d gotten him into so much shit when they were younger and stupider, but between the four of them they’ll stop each other from doing anything too damaging. They have careers now (most of them, anyway) and reputations to protect. And Iwa had you.

Out of everything; his career, his reputation, his livelihood, you were the one thing Iwa wouldn’t risk fucking up.

The night itself is a hazy, incomprehensible blur, but he does remember the girl. Not her name or where she came from, but he remembers her. A pretty face with a sultry smile, wearing some short, tight, shimmering dress. He remembers her sitting on Oikawa’s lap, fingers carding through his hair, red lips kissing at his jaw.

And he remembers Oikawa lounging back in his seat, barely paying the poor girl an ounce of attention, even when her hand started to run teasingly up his thigh, those same sinful lips whispering into his ear.

How the girl managed to find her way from Oikawa’s lap to his hotel bedroom is beyond him, but the pictures don’t lie. It’s his arm wrapped around her waist, her skin littered with love bites and fingerprint shaped bruises.

It was her mouth he’d woken up to, trailing a slow, teasing path up along his chest. He’d shoved her aside, snapped and snarled until the pretty thing welled up with tears and all but fled, leaving him to fall back into the sheets full of self loathing and disgust, wondering how he could possibly have fucked up this badly.

And when he threw up later, hurling until there was nothing left in his stomach, he knew it had nothing to do with the alcohol he’d drunk.

Iwa hadn’t known that anybody knew, hadn’t thought that there was proof – not until you were shoving it in his face, your bottom lip trembling as you tried to keep your tears at bay. And what could he say? 

It was a mistake?

He was drunk?

Iwa doesn’t make excuses, you deserve more than that. You deserve more than him.

He should’ve fallen to his knees and begged – begged you through tears if he had to – for you to give him a second chance. But the words stuck in his throat, because the look of absolute, utter heartbreak on your face felt like a fist driving into his gut, and he wasn’t sure if he even deserved it.

You break up with him two weeks before Valentine’s Day, entirely unaware of the ring he’s been carrying around in his pocket for almost a month now, and Iwaizumi doesn’t know what he���s supposed to do.

So he does the only thing he can, and calls Oikawa.

—

Moving your things out of the apartment you’d spent the last year and a half sharing with your boyfriend – your ex-boyfriend – takes less time than you think. The life you’d started to build with him, packed up in nice neat little boxes in only a few hours.  

And you’re grateful that he’s not there. He’d messaged you to tell you that he wouldn’t be, the only contact you’d had with him since breaking up. 

It’s not the pictures on the nightstand, Iwa’s strong arms wrapped around you, a dopey little grin on his face that gets to you – it’s the World’s Best Boyfriend mug he’d bought you as a joke one day, the old hoodie of yours that was actually his, the one you’d worn half to death because it was warm and smelled like him. 

It’s hard enough to do this without him hovering over you, but stupidly you’d forgotten that while Iwa had promised not to be there, he wasn’t the only one with a key to your shared apartment.

The lock clicks and the door swings open just as you’re finishing up in the bedroom and for one single, split second, your heart jumps into your throat.

But the brunette that saunters in isn’t the one you’re still in love with, and you’re quick to brush away the tears on your face before he can see.

Before he can mock you for it.

Oikawa, ever the charmer, merely grins when he catches sight of you. 

“Did Iwa send you to supervise?” you say in lieu of a proper greeting, the words slightly more bitter than you intend – even for him. 

He isn’t bothered by it, his grin widening just a fraction as he turns and settles down on the bed, long legs stretched out, ankles casually crossed over. He looks entirely too comfortable there and it’s an effort not to bristle.

“Well hello to you too,” he says, his voice a teasing lilt. “Are you always this fun in the mornings?”

Your brows draw together in a frown, but just as you open your mouth to snap a retort, his palms come up in a gesture of mock surrender. “No, Iwa did not send me to supervise you. He doesn’t know I’m here, actually.”

“Then why are you here? To gloat?” you spit.

Oikawa’s eyes glitter, amusement tugging at his lips. You love Iwaizumi, and for his sake you’ve spent the past few years tolerating the constant, overbearing presence of his best and oldest friend. Oikawa, on the other hand has never made all that much of an effort to hide the fact that he doesn’t exactly approve of your relationship with his friend.

Oh, he’s never outwardly rude or hurtful. He doesn’t sit there and spew abuse at you, and as far as you know he hasn’t tried to sway Iwa into leaving you since the very early days of your relationship, but Oikawa doesn’t need to be overt to make his feelings clear.

He treats you like a one night stand that hasn’t quite gotten the hint that it’s time to fix your dress and move right along. 

You still haven’t forgotten the night you all went out to celebrate your boyfriend’s birthday, how he’d slid into Iwa’s empty seat the moment he’d slipped out to get another round of drinks and spoken so casually, as if it was nothing but a friendly conversation. Small talk. 

“You know it won’t last; you and Iwa.”

And you hadn’t said a word, not wanting to be baited into fighting – into ruining Iwa’s night. You hadn’t even scowled at him, just sat there, pretending that he didn’t exist as you waited for your boyfriend to come back to you. 

“You’re cute together, I’ll give you that much,” he’d mused, swallowing the last mouthful of his beer. He’d studied you from beneath long lashes for a moment; a sharp, lingering look entirely at odds with the easy, relaxed tone of his voice. “But you two aren’t a good match. You don’t belong with him.”

You never did figure out exactly what you’d done to make him dislike you so much, but you suppose it doesn’t matter now. 

Not when he’s finally proven himself to be right. 

“Please,” he says with a scoff, rolling those pretty eyes of his, “as if I’d be so immature. I’m just here to make sure you don’t steal the coffee machine – it’s so much better than the one I have at home.”

He spends the next half hour trailing you from room to room, looking entirely too delighted at your misery. It’s almost a relief when you slip into the bathroom just for a moment’s fucking peace, brushing angrily away at the tears that still haven’t left you.

You almost – almost – reach for your phone to message Iwa and tell him to call off his stupid, infuriating friend, except you’d left it lying on the kitchen bench.

—

His head hurts. An incessant pounding, throbbing ache that makes him want to hurl.

Rationally, he’d known that the cure for the monstrous hangover he’d given himself wasn’t going out for a run at five in the morning, but he didn’t know what else to do. It was either that or keep drinking, and considering it was the alcohol that had gotten him into this fucking mess in the first place…

“I need to fix this,” he groans, dropping his head into his hands, letting his fingers roughly run through the tangles of his hair. “I need to fucking fix this.”

He looks like shit, feels like shit, but he can’t bring himself to care, not even as a solid weight drops itself onto the couch beside him. 

“You need to give her space, Iwa,” Oikawa comments with a sigh, passing him a glass of water that he gratefully chugs. “Give her time to figure things out. She’s hurting, and you constantly harassing her won’t do you any favours in trying to win her back.”

He wants to see the truth in his friend’s wisdom. He knows he hurt you, he knows he fucked up, but–

You’d already moved your things out.

He’d known that, of course he had, but coming home to see every trace of you just gone was like a gut punch. He was gonna marry you, get down on one fucking knee in front of everybody and– and now you’re gone and he’s crashing in his best friend’s spare bedroom because the thought of going home without you there is too fucking painful for him to bare.

And he only has himself to blame for it. 

But you’re his future, the only one he really gives a damn about, and he’s not one to just give up and walk away. Iwa doesn’t care if it takes weeks or months, he doesn’t care if he has to spend the rest of his life making this up to you; he will. 

He can’t just let you go. 

Oikawa continues to try and talk sense beside him, but he’s barely paying attention, only offering a small grunt of acknowledgement when he feels the brunette’s eyes studying him. He knows that he’s only trying to help, but he can’t honestly remember the last time Oikawa bothered to introduce him to one of the girls hanging off his arm. He knew as well as his friend did that there wasn’t much point – they wouldn’t be sticking around for long. Fuck, he doesn’t think that Oikawa’s ever had a serious relationship in his life, so excuse him if he’s a little hesitant to take his advice as gospel.

And Oikawa doesn’t know you like Iwaizumi does. He doesn’t understand you, doesn’t see what Iwa does when he looks at you. You’re like… sunlight. There’s no other way he can describe it. It’s cheesy and stupidly sappy, he’d rather be shot than admit it out loud, but he’s never met another person so–so… radiant. You burn bright, and Iwaizumi can’t help but be drawn to you – your warmth and your softness and everything about you. You’re beautiful and caring and you’re home and he’s terrified that if he waits too long, somebody else is gonna see that and snatch you up for themselves and he won’t even be able to blame them for it.

He knows he fucked up, knows that you probably (rightfully) hate him, but he has to try. 

So he ignores the way that Oikawa huffs and rolls his eyes when he reaches for his phone, opening up your last conversation.

Please, can we talk? I know you don’t want anything to do with me right now but I’m begging you. Just ten minutes?

And his heart pounds against his ribcage so violently that he thinks he might be sick as he waits for it to send. Waits for the little ‘Read’ notification to pop up.

And waits.

And waits.

Error. Message failed to send.

He tries again, distinctly aware of the Oikawa’s watchful, curious gaze peering over his shoulder.

Error. Message failed to send.

There’s a sinking feeling in his gut and in his panic, he presses the call button, bringing the phone to his ear with a sick feeling in his stomach.

It doesn’t even ring, there’s just three beeps and the line disconnects.

You’ve blocked his number.

—

You second guess yourself with every step, but you don’t stop and you don’t turn around. 

The radio silence from your ex had been a little unexpected, but you’d been the one to tell him in no uncertain terms that the two of you were done.

You were the one to make a point of moving out, keeping the few messages you’d exchanged short and to the point. Were you expecting him to fight you on it? Blow up your phone with messages and voicemails begging you to come back? Maybe show up at your door demanding that you hear him out and give him another chance. 

Were you maybe just the tiniest bit disappointed that he hadn’t? 

It wasn’t remotely fair to expect that of him, you know that, but you couldn’t help the way your heart had leapt into your throat the moment his message had come through after days of nothing.

Can we talk face to face? I need to see you. 

Two sentences, that was it. And you’d spent the better part of an hour debating whether or not you should reply.

Because you love him still, despite it all. 

The last person you’d given a second chance to had used that chance to walk all over you. He’d broken your heart, your trust, and any semblance of self worth you’d had. Iwaizumi had been the one to build you back up afterwards. 

And now he’d done the same thing. Knowing what you’d gone through before, and it gutted you.

The date on the calendar hasn’t slipped your attention. It’s Valentine’s Day, and you’d spent all morning trying to forget that if things were different, you would have spent the day with Iwa. He’d been secretive about his plans, tight lipped for once in his life, and there’d been some part of you that had wondered, hoped even… but instead you’re sitting alone in a hotel room, feeling miserable for yourself. 

If you were stronger, maybe, and if today were any other day, you might have ignored the message, the way those two brief sentences made your pathetic heart ache, but–

But… perhaps you had been a little too hasty when you’d broken it off. Iwa hadn’t said a word to defend himself, but you hadn’t really given him the option, had you?

Agreeing to meet with him wasn’t agreeing to brush it all under the rug. It wasn’t a promise of forgiveness, or even really an olive branch. It just meant that you would go to hear him out, that’s all.

Just to hear him out.

Yet your stomach’s twisting into knots as you walk up the familiar steps, your heart beating out an unsteady rhythm. You love him, despite it all.

You love him, but that doesn’t stop your hand from trembling as you raise a fist to knock.

The smiling face that greets you when that door swings open, however, is not the one you’re expecting.

“Hey there, cutie. You’re early.”

Oikawa.

For one single, floundering heartbeat, confusion grips you. Why was he– was Iwaizumi not coming? Had you misunderstood the message, or… or had he changed his mind, backed down at the last second and sent his friend to hammer the final nail into the coffin of your failed relationship.

You didn’t think Iwaizumi would be the type, though. He’d never been cruel, he’d never been cowardly, either.

“I don’t… understand,” you breathe, wide eyes darting around as if you’re expecting your ex to suddenly pop up behind his shoulder and shove him aside with a growl, telling him to butt out of your relationship the way he had countless times before.

Yet Oikawa offers no explanation, that same stupid, infuriating grin widening as he steps back to let you in, and you, somewhat robotically, follow him inside. Your eyes flicker from his back to the apartment around you – it’s exactly how you left it last week, not a single thing out of place. 

“Iwa said–” but your voice falls silent as you realise that no, that’s not true. 

The door to your bedroom is ajar, soft, flickering light spilling out from the crack, but that’s not what catches your attention. It’s the rose petals on the floor, the dulcet music playing so quietly you’d missed it entirely. 

Your brow furrows, breath catching in your throat as you stare at the scene before you, utterly frozen. You don’t register Oikawa stepping closer, nor the dark hunger brewing in his eyes. None of this makes any sense, you don’t understand–

“Iwa’s not coming.” Long, delicate fingers grip your chin, tilting your face and before you can even draw breath his lips are pressing against yours. It only lasts a second, long enough for your lagging brain to register that Oikawa is kissing you, here, in the middle of the apartment you’d shared with his best friend.

Oikawa, who hates you. Who’s cupping your cheek, gazing at you with an expression so eager and wanting, so unnervingly wrong that it makes your heart clench in fear and your blood run cold.

His thumb brushes along the curve of your cheekbone,  “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

And then he’s grabbing at your hand, fingers entwining with yours as he tugs you towards the bedroom, and finally the shock wears off enough for reality to kick in.

“What the fu– Oikawa, get the hell off of me!” you snap, trying to wrench yourself free. But he’s stronger than he looks, and his grip merely tightens.

“Tooru,” he calls back, glancing over his shoulder with that impish, wicked little smirk. “I want you to moan it for me tonight. You can do that for me, right cutie?”

You’re not a violent person, you’ve never been the type to lash out with fists and blows, but something inside of you just snaps at his words, and before you can stop yourself, your open palm flies towards his face. 

Quick as lightning, Oikawa spins, catching at your wrist and slamming you up against the living room wall. A small burst of pain radiates through your skull from the impact, your breath forced from your lungs in a pathetic squeak as he boxes you in. There’s not a moment for you to catch your breath, though, not with his forearm pressing down on your throat just hard enough so that you can feel it. He’s always been taller than you, but you’d never considered him to be intimidating – not until he’s looming over you, teeth bared in that feral smirk.

“Oh, baby. If you’re not going to play nice, I won’t either.” His fingers tighten on your wrist, squeezing until a choked whimper slips out and he kisses you once more. Not soft or sweet, but bruising, teeth clacking, nipping and biting and harshly sucking at your bottom lip until you return it.

And when he pulls away, there’s blood on his lips – yours – and he licks it away with a satisfied little hum. “I put effort into this, you know,” he says, his tone almost conversational if not for the slight pant, the shivering undercurrent that laces every word. Oikawa leans closer, and you can feel the outline of his cock, hardening already as he presses it against you, rutting his hips ever so slightly. “Set the bedroom up nice and romantic for our first time together.”

He kisses you again, a sweet, tender peck, smiling when you part.

“But if you want me to fuck you here first, up against the wall, all you had to do was say so.”

—

The girl had been easy enough to convince to play along, which probably should have disgusted him. 

She looked like you; a cheap imitation, of course, but close enough. Oikawa could kid himself that it was for Iwaizumi’s sake, to sow the seeds of doubt in his head, but he knows as he forces her face down into the pillow, slamming his hips against her ass like a man possessed, that that’s not the whole truth.

But she served her purpose well enough, letting him fuck her, mark up that pristine skin with the same kind he’d seen littered across your neck and collarbones, your thighs–

And she’d still tried to kiss him the moment before slipping out of her robe and climbing into his best friend’s bed. Given him that playful wink, biting her bottom lip seductively as if she were anything but a means to an end for him. 

As if he hadn’t forgotten her name the moment he’d gotten those pictures.

Oikawa knows all about your ex and how that asshole treated you, out of all the possible scenarios he could have engineered, this would be the one that’d hurt you the most. He’d thought that you would fly off the handle, kick Iwa out for a few days and leave the door open just wide enough for him to weasel his way in, but you’d gone one step further. 

You’d left him.

Broken his heart completely, the way he’d broken yours. Oikawa couldn’t have planned it better himself, and oh what he would have killed to have been there to see it. 

And it’s not that he enjoys his best friend’s pain – truly, he wants Iwa to be happy, he does.

Just not with you. Not when you’re his.

It was easy enough to bully Iwa into revealing when you’d be coming over to pick up your things. Easy enough to rile you up to the point you’d run and hide just so he wouldn’t see you shed all those pretty tears.

Leaving your phone unattended. And really, it’s your own fault for choosing such an obvious passcode – how could he possibly resist?

You were none the wiser, his poor, unsuspecting little idiot. 

Yet for all your posturing and your badly concealed hurt, he’d known that you’d show up today. You’re a romantic at heart, and you’d let yourself be walked all over again if you thought it meant that somebody loved you, wouldn’t you?

You would’ve said yes when he’d gotten down on one knee, and when he’d come back to you with tears in his eyes, drowning in regret and you saw what a mess Iwaizumi was without you, you would have forgiven him – even if it meant giving him the power to break you all over again.

Oikawa honestly doesn’t know whether he should admire or pity you for it.

It hardly matters now, he supposes. Not when you’re so beautifully wrecked, lying nestled against his bare chest with those tears he adores spilling down your flushed cheeks. Every thump of your heart echoing his. 

He wonders if he should send Iwaizumi a picture. 

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 2)

(part 1)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.  

word count: 3k

chapter warnings: kinda smut? (male masturbation), stalking (not bucky lol), a bit a violence, angst

It had been a month.  Well, 29 days, to be exact; he’d been counting them.  29 days since he’d seen so much more than he was supposed to, and he was pretty sure you’d seen him too.  29 days of tense silence as he wondered if you were ever going to say anything about it.

It must have been that you hadn’t seen him, if you hadn’t said anything for so long.  But god, it really did feel like you were looking right into his eyes as you came that night.  He knew the reality was that it was a horrible mistake and he was a terrible person for looking at you like that, and that he was never going to be any closer to you than watching someone else pleasure you; he knew that truly.  But regardless, that moment had been playing on repeat in his mind for 29 days.

And now, as he took his shower, he prepared to finish off day 29 and start day 30.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, head falling back against the cool tile as his hand stroked slowly over his cock.  He’d dreamt about you (again) and woken up so hard that it actually hurt; so this wasn’t a continuation of his perversion, or his unhealthy obsession, no, it was pain relief.  It was medicine, really.

In his dream, like always, it had been him between your legs in the back of the car and not that other guy— who he’d seen on TV the other day, dying in the first five minutes of an episode of some awful CW drama, by the way.  It killed him that he couldn’t know how you really taste, or how you really would sound saying his name, but the best guess of his subconscious would have to do.  He tried to conjure in his mind how you sounded that night, each frame of the memory burned into his brain until it was what he saw every time it closed his eyes.

Baby.

That was what you’d said first, and it still made his heart stop every time it echoed in his head.  Baby.

The word itself was sort of innocuous, but it was the way you said it— just below your breath, deep but airy— and what it meant.  It was a plea: you were begging him to touch you, to make you feel good, to help you.  Bucky could listen to you beg for hours, it would be like music to his ears; like poetry, even.  

Later that night, when he’d given you the rest of his sandwich, he’d gotten the closest he ever would to hearing you moan his name.  What you’d said originally was just ‘oh my god, Bucky, this is so good’ and it was just generic enough that he could imagine it being a little more specific.  Sure, it was stupid to get off on memories of you praising a sandwich (that you ate while drunk in the shower) but it still did wonders for him as his hand pumped his length faster and faster.

Oh my god, Bucky, it feels so good— you feel so good.  You’re so good.  Oh my god, Bucky—

He bit down on his lip, already so close to the edge that there was no turning back, toes curling underneath the stream of hot water as his breathing moved just as quick as his thoughts— thoughts of you in the back of the car, or in the shower with your foggy silhouette just barely visible to him, or doing all sorts of things that he’d never seen you do but he’d love to pretend he had.  

“Oh my god, Bucky!” you yelled as you swung open the door, a choked moan jumping out of his throat in shock as his eyes shot open, come starting to spill down over his hand.

You couldn’t see him through his shower curtain, thank all that’s holy, but it was a sort of sensory overload as he tried to process what was going on mid-orgasm.

“What?!” he yelped, voice clearly rougher but hopefully not in a way you would find suspicious.

“Come quick,” you requested.

Already did, he thought to himself with a shudder of guilt.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s somebody in the yard,” you explained frantically, “it’s probably nothing, but I don’t know how they got past the gate—”

Your mitigation was lost to him as he was already turning off the flow of water, the evidence of his misdeed already washed away, leaving only the ringing in his ears and the burning in his cheeks as reminders.

You stepped out into the hall to give him just enough privacy to slip on a robe, which he was certain he looked ridiculous in but he really had no choice.  Storming out of the bathroom, he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront a potential threat while dripping wet and barefoot, but the whole point of him living here most of the week was so he could keep you safe at all times— apparently, shower time included.  

“Stay inside,” he instructed you quickly, “and stay out of the line of sight of any windows and doors, got it?” 

You nodded, and he could tell you were scared.  He hated that you had to worry about this sort of stuff.  He was glad to be there to help, yes, but he would rather this line of work didn’t need to exist at all even if it put him out of a job.  You waited for him there as he pushed past you and moved through the living room, considering whether or not he should grab a weapon from the safe he kept hidden in this room— but then he glanced to his left arm, drying quicker than the rest of him, and remembered he already had a weapon.

By the time he reached the door he could hear someone shouting your name outside.  As Bucky flipped on the damn-near-blinding security light on your porch and entered the yard, he saw a guy— smaller than him, but not exactly tiny— who seemed to ignore him and the light completely as he continued his desperate attempts to get your attention.  

“This is private property, you need to leave,” Bucky told the man in his best ‘stern but not quite yelling’ voice. 

“Is she home?” he asked him instead, totally unfazed by the warning.  As the fan looked back up and called your name again, Bucky shivered with the realization that he was looking up at your bedroom window.  Had he already seen you there?  Or, worse, did he have some other way of knowing which window was your bedroom?

“You need to get out of here before I call the police.  You’re trespassing,” Bucky continued, pushing the man back towards the gate.  Sadly, Bucky knew from experience the police weren’t that concerned about celebrity stalkers— you and him had both called to no avail once they learned the name of the homeowner.  It made his blood boil just to think about it.

“Hey, let go of me!” the man resisted, pushing Bucky back.  He seemed to sober up a bit when Bucky’s face changed, though, but it was too late.  He tried to duck but totally missed, and Bucky’s right fist made contact with his jaw.  “Ow!” he screeched, cowering and trying to cover his face.  “What the fuck?!  That’s assault— you just assaulted me!”

“And you’re trespassing.  And harassing.  And probably stalking,” Bucky listed, continuing to guide the man back towards the gate.  “Tell me how you got in here.  Did you hop the fence?”

He couldn’t go any further back as the man was pressed back against a stone column, squirming a bit but otherwise putting up little fight— or maybe he was actually trying his best, and it was just lost on someone as strong as Bucky.  

Unamused by his stammering and lack of an answer, Bucky brought his metal fist to the column right beside the man’s face, hitting hard enough to break off a sizable chunk of the stone.  “Tell me!” he demanded.

“There’s a tree out back, I climbed it!” he explained with a whimper, “I’m sorry!”

“Don’t come back here, you hear me?  Or this—” Bucky pointed to the dent in the column that he’d made— “will be your face!”

Letting him go and swinging open the gate a bit, the man ran away of his own volition, stumbling down the street and out of the glowing light of the streetlamps.  Bucky let out a low sigh, hoping it was the last of him but terrified that it wouldn’t be.  He made a mental note to call a landscaper about trimming this mysterious tree in the back, or maybe chopping it down altogether, as he made his way back inside.  He found you in the living room, chewing your nails nervously and watching him step closer with wide, watery eyes.

“He’s gone,” Bucky informed you quickly.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

“Um, yeah,” you decided, but you didn’t seem so confident.  Even so, he wasn’t sure what more he could do.  

“Oh, I broke your pillar, by the way.  Sorry.”

“I saw that,” you smiled a little, but he frowned.

“I told you to stay out of sight of the windows,” he reminded you.

You sighed.   “I know, I know, I just…” you trailed off, lip quivering a little as you got emotional again.  “I know it’s stupid but—”

“No, don’t say that,” he interjected.

“— but I was so scared,” you finished, voice wavering as you ran towards him, suddenly pulling him into a tight hug.  It took him by surprise, but he figured it was okay to hug you back.  He was only wearing a robe, he suddenly remembered, and your face was against the exposed portion of his bare chest.  If he hadn’t gotten off just minutes ago, he certainly would’ve gotten hard just from that (embarrassingly enough).

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothed gently, indulging himself in resting his chin on top of your head as he stroked your hair.  

“Thank you,” you mumbled against his skin, pulling him even closer, “god, I don’t even know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been here.”

A pang of guilt rattled in his chest; you trusted him so completely and he was crushing on you, spying on you (only the once, but still), taking advantage of your need for protection, staying in your guest bedroom and jerking off to you in your shower— when had he turned into an unstoppable pervert?

“Will you stay in my room tonight?” you asked him suddenly, looking up at him with those big shiny eyes and a pouty lip.

“Oh nonononono,” he shook his head, instantly recognizing that trap.

“No, Bucky, please,” you whimpered, “that guy might come back, I don’t want you all the way across the house.”

“I shouldn’t— I’d be overstepping—” he stammered.

“Please,” you sighed, and he sighed too, because when you said it like that, he couldn’t say no to you.

//

Bucky had insisted on staying on the floor as opposed to getting up on your bed, which was a drag but whatever.  At least you had a lot of good spare blankets and pillows to make him a comfy-looking pallet.  He seemed to agree when he appeared behind you in the doorway to find you on your knees on the floor, putting it all together.

“You didn’t need to do that, I’m pretty good at sleeping on floors as-is,” he dismissed.

“No, I’m happy to!” you beamed, turning around and choking a bit when you looked up at him in his pajamas.  Even though they were still pretty conservative, specifically sweats and a scoop neck sweater-y sort of top, it was probably more than you’d ever seen of him since his uniform was very concealing.  You were kind of hoping to catch a glimpse of his metal hand— you didn’t get to see it much because he wore driving gloves the vast majority of the time, and you hadn’t really been paying attention when it was exposed earlier by his just being in a robe— but he was noticeably leaning against the doorframe in such a way that you couldn’t see it.  The thing that really got a reaction out of you was his dog tags, though; you’d never seen him wear them before and there was something perfect about the way the silver chain dangled over the slight peek of collarbone visible above his neckline.  “Aren’t you warm wearing that much to bed?”

“No, it’s fine,” he dismissed.  You hoped he wasn’t wearing more just for your benefit.  Shirtlessness would’ve benefited you more, certainly.  In fact, now you felt kind of bad that you were just wearing a thin, silky short-and-tank set.  Hopefully it didn’t make him uncomfortable.

Getting up from the floor, you slipped under your covers and motioned for him to do the same.  He turned off your lamp first, stealing your last chance at a good view of the hand, and you heard him get comfortable on the floor.

“Thank you for this,” you mumbled quickly into the darkness.  “I don’t think I’d be able to fall asleep if you weren’t in here.

“Oh, of course,” he replied softly.  

“Goodnight,” you whispered.

“Goodnight,” he answered back, and his low, sleepy voice was somehow both soothing and energizing.

You weren’t sure if you even tried to fall asleep, or how long you laid staring out into the void of the darkness.  It was so dark in your room that you saw purple spots dancing in the corners like static as your eyes adjusted, incomprehensible shapes forming to make up for the lack of visual stimulation.  You wished that there was enough ambient light to be able to see Bucky’s shape on the floor and know he was there; instead, you settled for the subtle sound of his slow breathing.  When you heard him adjust slightly, you decided maybe just the breathing wasn’t enough to be sure it was really safe.

“Bucky?” you whispered under your breath.  “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” he answered, making you sigh with relief.

“I can’t sleep.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to sleep if I wasn’t here.”

“But I never said you being here would make me sleep,” you pointed out.

“Then I should go,” he decided.

“No, please,” you hissed, “don’t go.”

“Okay.”

You took a deep breath.  “Tell me something,” you requested.

“Tell you what?”

“I don’t know, anything.”

He paused for a moment.  “Will it help you sleep?”

“Maybe,” you shrugged.

Bucky sighed, and you heard him turn on his side.  “Want me to tell you a bedtime story?” he asked, sarcasm noticeable even in a whisper.

“Yes,” you announced with a smile.

“Okay,” he pondered, “um… once upon a time—”

“Good start,” you rolled your eyes.

“No interrupting!” he scolded.

“Sorry…”

“Anyways, once upon a time there was a princess, who lived in a castle in the Isle of Manhattan.”

“A castle?” you asked excitedly.

“A somewhat modest castle, but yes.  One with big golden gates and marble columns.  The princess didn’t live all alone in her castle though— at least, not all the time.  She had many royal attendants, and servants, and plenty of friends of course.  But the problem with being a beautiful, kind, generous princess is that sometimes people get too friendly and want to visit her in the castle when she’d rather be alone.  Thankfully, the princess had a last line of defense—”

“Let me guess, a knight in shining armor?”  Or more like knight with shining arm.

“Wish I could say so,” he disagreed.�� “No, this princess needed something a little fiercer, and that was why a dragon guarded the castle.”

“A dragon?!”

“Mhmm.  A big, scary dragon with sharp teeth and big wings, that breathed fire on anyone who got in his way.  The thing about knights is that they’re noble, and handsome, and righteous.  But righteousness prevents people from doing bad things, and sometimes bad things need to be done to protect good things.  So, knights can’t protect princesses like they should.  That’s what dragons are for.  They’re mean and nasty— it’s their nature, after all— and sometimes you need somebody burnt up, so you call a dragon and he’ll deal with it for you.  And this dragon was the meanest and nastiest of them all, and he’d burnt a lot of people in his time.  Oddly enough, the princess was still nice to him, but she had a lot of knights and princes and kings who wanted her hand.  Good thing the dragon was there to pick off the worst ones.”

You giggled a little, even though your heart was racing.

“The dragon watched over the castle every night— well, five nights a week… cause the princess wanted weekends to herself— but, still, he was very dedicated and did his best to keep her safe.  Sometimes he would take her to whatever lavish ball she had been invited to that week; she would ride on his back as he flew there, even though he was pretty scared she would fall off or something.  And sometimes…”

Your breath caught at the pause, waiting anxiously for what would come next.  

“Sometimes the dragon wished he wasn’t a monster.  But if he wasn’t a monster, then he couldn’t keep her safe.  So, he resigned himself to a life outside the castle, because at least he could be near her— even if she was impossibly far away.”

You swallowed as you tried to process it, finding yourself at a complete loss for words.

“The end,” he whispered gently, before giving you a goodnight and saying your name in a way that he’d never said it before— at least, you’d never heard him say it that way before.  But you really, really hoped you’d get to hear it again.  You did manage to fall asleep eventually, dreaming about flying and wishing you didn’t have to wake up.

[hogwartsfirebolt]

Desvelo (or: The Case of Subject A1534: Harry James Potter)

Draco turned on the recorder as soon as he walked into the lab. Two of his colleagues stood by the main table, fastening the unconscious subject’s limbs, and a third one handed him his notes, which he took without looking up as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves.

There was a hum of magic around the body, keeping it safe, keeping it still. He forced himself not to think too hard about who it belonged to.

“What’s the status?” he asked the room at large, approaching the table.

“Alive, under a magically induced coma to prevent strain to the core. We haven’t identified the curse,” replied Zeller, holding her hands over the subject’s head to hold the charm. Draco nodded at her, turned his face towards the recorder and spoke clearly.

“This is Draco Malfoy, code DM17008512, head of the Dark Arts BioStudies division, reporting from Level 9, on the 25th of June, 2008.” He walked around the exam table, lowered Zeller’s charms and replaced them with his own, finding the subject’s vitals with his magical awareness. “Subject A1534, Harry James Potter, is alive, kept under a magical coma. Slight bradycardia, as expected, blood pressure of 110/60, core unstable at 250 joules and climbing by the second.”

The manic energy of Harry’s magic zinged his forearms, crazed, looking for an outlet. Draco felt it around his fingers, underneath his nails. He clenched his teeth.

“This is Rose Zeller,” she picked up as he fell silent, “code RZ19003276, member of the Dark Arts BioStudies division, reporting from Level 9 on the 25th of June, 2008. Subject Harry James Potter arrived unconscious in the emergency department of St Mungo’s Hospital in the early hours of the 24th of June, 2008, and was referred to the Dark Arts Biostudies division that very morning, after the medics failed to identify the curse responsible for his condition.”

Draco knew all that, and yet it made his hackles rise once again to remember what the medics had said, the call he’d received the previous day, informing him of his new subject. He looked at Harry’s prone form now, the easy rise and fall of his chest as the coma imitated sleep, the peaceful drop of his eyelids, and had to will himself not to think as he ran his hands down the tan neck, the long clavicles. This was just a subject, he told himself. Nothing was different. He cleared his throat, “Curse entry identified over second rib, at midclavicular line on the right side. Trifocal, seeming to suggest a curse of the Imperial family. No exit mark apparent upon inspection.”

He took his hands off the body, clasping them together so he could pretend they weren’t shaking, and retracted his magic, pulling it free of the magnet of Harry’s. It was quiet, only the static hum of the spells keeping Harry unconscious broke the silence of the insular room. His soft breaths. The occasional brush of Zeller’s pen against paper. Draco tried not to stare, and couldn’t. There was so much brown naked skin on display, so much history, that no matter how hard he attempted to root himself to the present, he found himself falling into memories of that body, of those hands, of years of watching. Years of wanting.

“No exit mark apparent upon inspection,” he repeated. Made up his mind. “Impossible to reach further conclusions until the subject is woken up. Zeller, Nott, rennervate him. I shall stabilize his core.”

It was a testament to how far he’d come that neither of them thought to argue. They moved, one of them standing at each of Harry’s sides, and Draco stayed near his head, reaching towards his core with his magic, coaxing it into stillness, easing it from the entropy the curse had unleashed.

“Rennervate,” Zeller and Nott whispered in unison.

Harry’s core cells shook against Draco’s hold, fought the intrusion for a moment, but he held on, and soon enough Harry’s eyes popped open, frantic, his body immediately battling the restraints, thrashing, attempting to free his arms and legs, to flee. But still Draco held on, and at last, when Harry looked up and their eyes met, he stopped struggling, as sudden as a bucket of water dousing a fire.

“Potter,” Draco muttered through clenched teeth, as he reined in Harry’s core cells. “You need to tell us what they hit you with.”

He felt Zeller’s magic join his own, take some of the brunt of Harry’s magic, lift a bit of weight off his shoulders. His breaths came more easily.

“W-what?” Harry asked, still confused, still looking at Draco, only at Draco.

“You’re in the Department of Mysteries,” Draco said, “you were attacked. Do you remember what they hit you with?”

“I don’t— what? Department of— Do I know you?”

“Boss, his core is nearing 300 joules,” Nott said. “We need to put him down again.”

But Draco barely heard him. “You don’t remember me?”

Harry blinked, confused, tried to stand up, shook his wrists against his restraints when he found he couldn’t. “No. I was hit?”

“Yes, with a curse. Did you have the chance to hear what it was?” Zeller asked when Draco, stunned into silence, didn’t continue the interrogation.

“A curse? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry said. “Did you kidnap me? I — what’s happening?”

“Boss, core at 325”

“You’re the boss?” Harry asked Draco, looking right into his eyes once again. “I thought… you feel familiar but I don’t really—?”

“Boss, 350.”

“Mr Potter,” Rose said, “We really need you to...”

“Potter?” Harry asked.

Draco felt faint.

“360”

“Am I—?” Harry didn’t look away from Draco, his eyes pleading.

“380”

“Put him down,” Draco said.

Nott did.

The silence that followed ringed in Draco’s ears. They were all quiet, stunned into it. Harry lay unconscious on the table once again. Draco could still hear his pained confusion.

“Subject appears to suffer from severe amnesia,” he said at last. “Recording over.”

-

They’d kissed once.

It could almost have been passed off as an accident, brief and light as it was.

To Draco, it counted.

It had been four years before, the night Harry graduated from the Auror Academy. Him and the other 24 graduates had piled up into a bar and made a big deal of it, gotten drunk out of their minds. Draco’s presence had been a mere coincidence, his getting drunk a very conscious decision once he’d seen the boisterous, red-coated lot.

His memories were confusing, the images blurring into each other as the night progressed in increasingly drunker increments, but he remembered stumbling into the bathroom and finding Harry there, broad shoulders free of his coat, with Ron weeping into his arm and saying, “I just love you so much, you’re my best friend I love you sooo—“ and Harry patting his shoulder and saying, “I know, I know, I love you too.” He remembered, somehow, ending up at their table. Doing shots with them. A confusing few minutes on the dance floor. He remembered standing outside the bar in the rain and then, right there, the kiss. He couldn’t remember what had led up to it, but the fact of it had sobered him up immediately, and he remembered it, crystal clear, himself leaning against the wall, wet from the rain, and Harry, a long line of heat along his side, their lips pressed together. He remembered pushing for more, and then Harry pulling back. Harry saying, “Oh god.”

Then, the night dissolved in his mind and the next thing he remembered was waking up the following morning, hungover.

He’d not seen Harry for weeks after that, and when they’d finally met again at an interdepartmental meeting, Harry had given him a mere nod, eyes sliding right past him. As if nothing had happened. Perhaps, to him, it hadn’t. But to Draco, it counted.

-

“What’s the plan now, boss?” Nott asked him, droplets of sweat high on his brow from maintaining the charm keeping Harry down.

Draco took a deep breath. “We got some information. Find all references to amnesia linked to a curse of the Imperial class on the records.”

“On it.” Zeller said.

Harry lay unconscious once again, incongruous in the calmness of his induced sleep. A tamed lion. Draco reached forward, removed his glasses, folded the temples carefully. Then, he ran his knuckles along the dark, freckled cheekbones.

“I’m going to talk to The Professor,” he said. His colleagues hummed their assent.

The Professor’s office stood right at the end of Level 9, a door you might not see if it didn’t feel like being seen, in a corridor that, at times, didn’t exist at all. Fitting for the head of the department of mysteries.

The door opened for him before he knocked, which told him he was expected. When he walked inside, Hermione Granger stood beside her desk, two books in her hands.

“Professor,” Draco said. “You heard the recording.”

“Yes,” she replied, fingers quick on the pages of one of the books she held. “I want nothing more than to go see him myself, but I have to meet the minister right now. I did find these, I hope they help,” she handed Draco the books, one of them open to a specific page. Her level, browned eyed gaze was harsh on him. “The only reason I’m not storming your lab is that I know you’re capable. Take care of him.”

“I will.”

She nodded. “Do whatever it takes to bring him back.” He would.

Back in his lab, Draco sat on top of his desk and paged through the books Hermione had given him. The first one, the one she had handed him open, was on mind magic.

The dissolution of memories following an attack with dark magic, the title read at the top of the page.

A clear marker of mind magic is its lightness. Schuester and Neels classify the magical particles that travel through neurons as a follow-up to their natural action potential into two large groups: permalight and everblue. The permalight particles possess an immutable quality that ensures their stability, whereas everblue particles, in charge of the pathways pertaining to memory, when disturbed by specific dark curses (especially those dealing with the proceedings of the magical center in the medulla oblongata) become overactive, releasing an increased amount of energy that forces the magical core into a state of overcompensation. Cases with magical cores that reach up to 500 joules have been documented, and the main consequence is a loss of the overactive everblue particles and the resultant dissolution of memories.

“Found it,” Draco said, marking the page down and putting the book aside before reaching for the second one. “Nott, give me a rundown of the state of his everblue particles.”

“Got it,” Nott replied. After a couple seconds, he added, surprised, “the everblue particles are… going haywire, just frantic, it’s hard to say. They’re definitely more active than they should be.”

“Attempt to stabilize, give me a second,” Draco opened the second book. It was a Mind Potions manual. He paged through it, looking, looking, until he found what he was looking for. “McKinney, get me a silver cauldron.”

“There’s an antidote?” Zeller asked.

Draco nodded. “It will take a few hours to brew, but if I’m right, he should be out of here by tomorrow morning.”

“Baseline?” McKinney asked.

“Memory potion. Get me one as well, I’ll modify as needed.”

In a second, they were all working again. Draco went to the supply closet and picked out the ingredients carefully, one finger over the page that held the instructions. If he did it right, Harry would be back the next day. That was all that mattered. That was all he cared about.

“You need help?” McKinney asked him when he took the cauldron from her. He didn’t, not really, but one look at Harry lying on the exam table and at the clock on the wall had him nodding.

He would bring him back, and he would do it as soon as possible.

“Yes. Chop the staghorn.” He got the fire going, crushed the neem leaves, squeezed the valerian root. Together, he and McKinney completed the ingredient list, and Draco added them to the cauldron one by one, paying attention to the scent of the fumes, the color of the smoke. Once he had a royal blue potion, he turned the fire down.

“It needs to simmer for two hours. After that, I’ll need your help to wake him up and make him drink it.”

Mckinney cringed. Draco nodded, sympathetic. He wasn’t keen on forcing Harry, either.

“Will he have his memories back, boss?”

“The important ones, right away. He should remember the rest in the next few days.”

“Everything he remembered before?”

Draco nodded. “If I did it right, yes.” He was looking at the clock, at the slow tick of the thin hand marking the seconds. “You should all go grab lunch, I will need you sharp. I can guard the subject.”

They all recognized it as the order it was and, after taking off their aprons and offering to bring him coffee once they returned, they left him alone. The room was eerily silent in their wake. Draco brought a stool next to the exam table and sat there, right beside Harry. His hand, wide and open, lay next to his body. Draco swallowed, brought his hand up and ran the tips of his fingers down Harry’s palm.

Would he remember, Draco wondered.

He supposed it didn’t really matter.

-

When he’d mentioned the graduation party, over a year after it happened, Harry had simply stared at him blankly.

“You were there?” And then, sheepish, “Oh, man, I was so drunk I don’t remember a single thing. I’m sorry, did I do something embarrassing? Do you have embarrassing stories about me?”

Draco laughed it off, relayed the story of a weepy Ron in the bathroom of the bar, and Harry laughed along.

They’d become friends by then, were already past the tentative first drinks, well into the stage of inside jokes, of shared meals. And now Draco knew that Harry didn’t remember.

For a while, he willed himself to forget. Once he realized it was impossible, he resigned himself to living with his one-sided crush. Harry’s friendship was already so much more than he could’ve ever hoped for, his hyper-distilled attention heady enough as it was. It was enough.

-

“Ready?” Draco asked, holding the vial between his fingers. Zeller, Nott and McKinney stood at Harry’s sides. He waited for their nod before giving the order, “Now.”

“Rennervate.”

Once again, Harry woke up fighting, struggling with his binds before even becoming fully conscious. This time, though, Draco was right there, a hand to Harry’s sweaty nape, the short hair at the back of his head.

“Hey, it’s okay. Harry, wake up.”

Harry did, his eyes overtaken by his pupils for a couple seconds before adjusting to the bright lights of the lab. He looked at Draco, right at him as he had before, just as confused. “What’s happening?”

“You lost your memories,” Draco whispered, disarmed by the absolute trust in Harry’s eyes. “We can help you, but you have to drink this. Will you?”

He showed him the vial. Harry eyed it, swallowed. “Yeah, okay.”

Draco breathed out, relieved. “Here, I’ll help you.” He tipped Harry’s head back, brought the vial close to his lips. “It tastes good, I promise. I made it specially for you.”

Harry nodded, didn’t look away from him for a second as he swallowed, and soon enough, the vial was empty.

The potion acted immediately. The monitors beeped as Harry’s pulse skyrocketed, his breath quickening, but his core began to regain stability, the number climbing down from 400. His hand shot forward, clung to Draco’s arm, and Draco let him, watched him ride the waves of memories.

At last, Harry’s eyes fell closed, a faint sheen of sweat covering his forehead. The monitors showed his core at 80 joules.

“What’s your name?” Draco asked softly, gently.

“Harry James Potter,” Harry whispered, eyes still closed. He brought a hand up, covered his eyelids.

“Do you know what they hit you with?”

“Desvelo”

Unveiling.

Draco nodded at Zeller. She nodded back, took off her apron and walked out of the lab, to investigate previous uses of the curse on their records. Draco turned back to Harry.

“Do you know who I am?”

Harry stayed still for a moment, then nodded, a slight jerk of his chin. He didn’t say anything.

“How are you feeling, Harry?”

“My head really hurts.”

Draco moved his sweaty hair away from his forehead, still gentle, still speaking low. “Do you want a painkiller?”

Harry nodded.

“Nott, bring me ibuprofen, 650 milligrams,” he didn’t turn to see if Nott had listened, instead ran his fingers through Harry’s hair once again. “Anything else?”

He saw Harry’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Yes. Back when— On the day of my graduation I—“

“Oh god, no,” Draco said quickly, hands stilling in Harry’s hair. “You don’t have to say anything. Please, just… you need to rest.”

“I do. But… we’ll talk about it later?”

Draco took a deep breath. “Yes. We’ll talk about it later.”

“Good.”

This is my gift to the amazing, lovely @onbeinganangel for the Wheel of Drarry Mini Exchange. Mari, you are the absolute loveliest and just, omg, give all of us on the server so much every single day, with your time and encouragement. It was a joy to get to write for you. I really hope you like it!! Infinite thanks to @moonstruckwytch for betaing this for me ❤️

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

In Times Past

Character: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bruce Wayne’s life doesn’t exist beyond the fake storylines he performs for the media and citizens of Gotham. Maybe the only person that can change that is someone who knew him before Batman ever even existed. 

Word Count: 8,200+ [One Shot]

Warnings: Violence, mentions of sexual harrassment

A/N: As I teased before, this was inspired by this scene from Batman Begins. 

Bruce could sense Alfred’s tension when he walked into the kitchen that morning. The man was not one to hold back his thoughts and feelings. It was both a blessing and a curse. But Bruce sensed it was the latter today.

Before Bruce could even get a sip of coffee in, Alfred tossed the Sunday newspaper in front of him.

On the front page was a photo of Batman, far too high of a resolution for Bruce’s liking. ‘BATMAN: SAVIOR OR MENACE?’ the headline read.

“A little too close for comfort, don’t you think?” Alfred asked with a hint of sass.

However, Bruce controlled his reaction.

“Not the first time I’ve been photographed, Alfred.”

“You’re dancing with the devil, Master Wayne.”

“So, what? You want me to lay down the cape because everyone in America has the ability to take a photo on their cellphone?”

“Of course not,” Alfred retorted. Though Alfred secretly wished every day that Bruce would say goodbye to the Batman. “I just thought perhaps you should be putting a bit more effort into Bruce Wayne’s life if you really want to throw Gotham off your trail.”

Then he tossed another newspaper. This one of Bruce Wayne, the other mask he wore.

‘Bruce Wayne Lights Up the Room at Charity Ball.’

Alfred points to the date…it was 9 months ago. And it was unfortunately the last time Bruce Wayne was in the press.

“You better start creating alibis, Master Wayne, or the dark web will start to putting two and two together…”

Bruce sighed. He knew Alfred was right. But he hated all that went with what he had to do. He’d rather face off with Gotham’s deadliest criminals than go galavanting around the city as the self-absorbed and reckless playboy persona that he’d created.

“There is a birthday party for Eaton Elliot next weekend. Naturally, being old family friends, you received an invitation,” Alfred explained. “Plenty of press will be there to note your attendance. Seems rather convenient."

Bruce recognized the name. It was the older brother of Thomas Elliot, a childhood friend that he slightly lost touch with. He’d see him or his parents at various events, and things were always cordial.

But it didn’t really matter how absent or quiet Bruce was when it came to maintaining such relationships. Everyone forgave such behavior when it came to saving face with the only living member of the Wayne family. Bruce could spit in the faces of Gotham’s elite and they’d probably thank him for it.

“Black tie affair, as always,” Alfred added as he slipped the invitation to Bruce. “Perhaps you could bring a date…”

Bruce glared up at the butler. “Dates make it harder to make a quick and quiet exit, Alfred.”

“Well, maybe that’s the point, Master Wayne.”

————

Just like he was on patrol or working on an op, Bruce had prepared for every single scenario. He made a plan that would be the most effective in the shortest amount of time. He didn’t want to torture himself any longer than absolutely necessary.

When Alfred asked him again if he was planning on bringing a date, Bruce had only replied with a mischievous smirk.

Because he walked in with a girl on each arm.

It wasn’t the classy or gentlemanly thing to do. And that was exactly the point.

Conversations paused, attention was turned, and flashes went off.

Bruce Wayne made his entrance.

He carefully fell into the groove of being the spoiled brat everyone had painted him out to be. It had been awhile since he played the part, but Bruce always found it easy when he was surrounded by these kinds of people.

Bruce made sure to slightly slur his words. He would get too handsy with his dates. He would rudely interrupt people to share his own useless opinion on whatever topic was leading the conversation. He never looked waitstaff in the eye.

But now it was time for the finale.

Bruce whispered a certain suggestion into the ears of his dates.

They shared a look that proved they were both game.

The three of them stumbled into a bathroom – one out in the open that most of the guests would be steered toward.

The kissing began and clothes were quickly shifted.

There was a split moment when Bruce wondered what this would feel like for a man who actually wanted to be in this situation.

The two woman managed unbuckle his belt, the clanking metal echoing in the all-tile bathroom.

But just as they unbuttoned and then unzipped his pants, Bruce’s cellphone rang loudly.

Right on cue.

“Ladies, ladies, ladies,” Bruce whined. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” his words stumbled out. “But I just have to take this call.”

“Aww. Brucie. You’re no fun,” one of the women fussed.

But Bruce gave off enough dominate energy that they didn’t try to fight him on it.

Hair disheveled, mouth swollen and pink, lipstick stains on his skin and his pants and belt barely put back together, Bruce stumbled out of the bathroom first.

The two women didn’t bother to stay back and spread out their exits, making it very clear what had just happened – or what it looked like just happened.

It didn’t matter that Bruce didn’t actually have sex with them, every woman in Gotham wanted to say they’d shared a bed with Bruce Wayne. His two dates would lie to save face and get street cred. Bruce hated that he knew that, that it was guaranteed.

Dozens of people, who were socializing near the bathroom, stopped what they were doing and watched with judgmental looks. Some men looked jealous. Some women looked disgusted and eyed the two women up and down.

Then there was the flash of a camera.

Bingo.

Bruce wouldn’t have to linger much longer now.  

He played up being somewhat embarrassed.

But just as he put his phone to his ear to take the fake call that Alfred dialed, he saw the last person he expected.

It caused him to do a double take and freeze. 

His focus fell for a moment as they made eye contact.

Why did she have to be here?

Why did she have to be one of his witnesses?

Why did it hurt so much to see how she looked at him as if he were a stranger?

And why did she have to look so god damn beautiful?

Y/F/N Y/L/N.

The Y/L/N family were another one of Gotham’s elite – well, they used to be.

Y/N’s father was once worth billions. But being born into wealth didn’t guarantee intelligence or the skills to properly run the family business. When Bruce and Y/N were in high school, Y/N’s father filed for bankruptcy and confessed that the family was about to lose everything. With the announcement, the press also exposed Mr. Y/L/N’s many lustful affairs.

What came next was a messy and brutal divorce that the media ate up.  

Out of spite, Y/N’s mother remarried her ex-husband’s biggest competitor, maintaining her status and wealth, and making sure she still came out on top. It was the greatest revenge and even Y/N had to give her mother credit for the ingenuity of it all.

Bruce remembered how terrible it all was for Y/N, who was used as a pawn in her parents war against each other.

Having had enough of it, Y/N fled Gotham and chose to live with her eccentric great aunt in London and finished her last year of high school there.

But Y/N didn’t run away from Bruce. They emailed, texted, video chatted, called.

They had always been good friends.

The elites of Gotham always suspected the two would get married. But both Bruce and Y/N pretended to ignore such whisperings.

But when Bruce shifted his life, when he changed his life’s purpose, when he started becoming a vigilante…he stopped taking Y/N’s calls and he stopped returning them.

He told himself it was better that way. He couldn’t handle any distractions. Batman didn’t have time for personal relationships, so neither did Bruce Wayne. But more importantly, Y/N deserved someone who would prioritize her – even just as a friend.

Now Bruce needed to get actually drunk.

Putting the phone back to his ear, he broke eye contact and made a beeline for one of the bars. 

“Did you forget to tell me about the guest list, Alfred?” Bruce muttered evenly to the phone, knowing that Alfred would easily be able to hear his anger and irritation.

“How was I to know who RSVPed yes or no…” Alfred bit back. But he knew exactly who Bruce was looking at.

Bruce frowned as he ended the call abruptly and asked for a whiskey.

“I don’t know, man. She’s not my type,” a man said to his friend.

The two of them were just a foot or two away from Bruce.

“What do you mean ‘not your type’? She’s fucking hot.”

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s beautiful. But she’s so stiff and uptight. Look, she’s had a resting bitch face all night.”

Bruce’s grip on his face tightened as he easily put together who they were talking about. It was moments like these that Bruce hated being lumped together with men like this.

“You’re an idiot,” the friend said with a laugh.

“Oh, yeah? Alright. If you’re so obsessed with her, why don’t you go over and talk to her?”

Bruce saw his window. 

With a sloppy haste, Bruce turned right into the two men and just happened to spill his drink over the man who was about to make a move on Y/N.

Bruce laughed and spilled another drink on the bar as he tried to grab some nearby cocktail napkins. “Gentleman, gentleman…I so dearly apologize.”

Both of them were clearly annoyed, but then realized who he was.  

Bruce gripped them by the shoulders and made sure his eyes were struggling to stay open. “I could be wrong…but it’s possible…that I have been over served.”

He broke out into a chuckle and both men forced their own laughter.

Bruce subtle glanced over to where Y/N had been standing. She’d disappeared.

He’d spared her…for now.

“I think it’s time I go home,” Bruce told them too loudly. “Do me a favor? Wish her congratulations for me?”

The two men looked at one another. “Congratulations? To who?”

Bruce frowned in confusion and looked around. “Isn’t this an engagement party?”

They tried to hide their laughter. “Wayne, this is a birthday party. For Eaton Elliot.”

Bruce’s brows shot up. “A birthday party? Look at that!”

Then he turned around, zigzagged his walk, and threw a wave over his shoulder.

But Bruce wasn’t that lucky.

Because when he made his way to the valet, he found Y/N waiting patiently with her back to him. 

Her fancy dress and gloves seemed to do nothing to help protect her from the cold night. 

Bruce could’ve left. He could’ve left her alone, gone back into the party, and made more of a fool of himself.

But next thing he knew, he was walking forward.  

“Waiting for your car?”

Y/N didn’t turn to him, but it was clear that she heard his question and recognized who it had come from. “I didn’t drive. They’re getting me a cab.”

Bruce nodded slowly even though she wasn’t looking at him.

All charm had left his body now that he had quit the act. It wasn’t going to do any favors for him. He needed to do this on his own, as his real self.

Y/N finally turned with a slight attitude and Bruce was taken aback at how she was even more beautiful up close.

“What are you doing here, Bruce?”

He smirked. “I’m here for the party, of course.” He didn’t want to play the part anymore – not with her. But it was second nature at this point.

Her lips pursed at his response.

“Leaving so soon?” He asked.

Y/N sighed. “Between you and me, I’m only here as a favor to my mother. She wouldn’t get off my back about coming. I tried to leave sooner, but…”

One of the valets hopped up the steps. “I’m sorry, Dr. Y/L/N. It can take awhile to get cabs in the area at this time of night.”

Y/N gave him a sympathetic smile and opened her mouth to say she’d walk home.

“I’ll drive her home,” Bruce spoke before she could. Then he handed the valet his ticket.

Y/N looked at him with confusion and a bit of annoyance. “You really don’t have to do that.”

Bruce just gave her a look that said he absolutely did.

Then Y/N gestured back to the party. “You’re just gonna abandon your dates?”

The way she asked made it clear that Y/N had seen Bruce stumble out of the bathroom with the two of them. He also didn’t miss how she emphasized the plural.

“They’ll be fine,” Bruce told her.

He took a step toward her. “Let me give you a ride, Y/N.”

She took in a deep breath.

She knew she needed the ride. Only an idiot would walk home at this time of night, even if the walk to her apartment was a relatively safe one for Gotham standards.

Y/N just nodded.

A minute later, an Aston Martin drove up.

Bruce offered his arm to Y/N and helped her down the stairs before opening the passenger door for her.

He handed the valet a few bills, not even noticing they were all hundreds.

“Where to?” Bruce asked her.

“Oh, umm…” Y/N quickly gave him her address.

“I know you’ve been gone awhile, but you definitely shouldn’t be walking around the streets of Gotham at night.”

Y/N scoffed. “I’m aware. I moved back awhile ago.”

“Oh. I didn’t know…”

“Yeah. Well, why would you? It’s not like you kept in touch.”

The car filled with silence.

Y/N stared out the passenger window, looking at the skyscraper lights of Gotham

It seemed Y/N had no issue with staying silent for the whole car ride.There was nothing awkward about it for her.

But Bruce knew there were things he needed to say. “I’m sorry.”

This was the last thing Y/N expected and her head whipped to him.

But Bruce kept his eyes on the road. “For disappearing like I did.”

Y/N slowly turned back to the passenger window and said nothing.

Bruce didn’t expect to win her forgiveness. He would have to deal with that. But at least he could apologize.

“Y/N.” Bruce said it ever so quietly, like he was forbidden from speaking it. “This isn’t…I’m not…” Dammit. What was he even trying to accomplish right now? “Back there–”

“Back there?” Y/N interrupted his fumbling. “Oh, you mean the threesome you had in a bathroom at a party?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

Everyone bought his performance. Unfortunately, even Y/N.

Bruce pulled over and Y/N realized they were at her building already.

“You can say whatever makes you feel good, Bruce. Have at it.” Then she threw open the car door.

She put her hand on the handle to help herself out.

But she hesitated.

No. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

Y/N spun around to face Bruce, his blue eyes already waiting for her.

“You used to be kind. Strong and brave. You were better than all of them.”

And for the first time, Bruce really saw the damage he had done.

“Is that boy really gone?” She searched his eyes for the answer. “What is the act and what is the truth?” She whispered. “Huh, Bruce?”

He wanted to tell her.

Bruce had never felt the urge to expose his secret ever before.

But right now? Right now, he wanted to take Y/N back to the manor, drag her down to the cave, and show her all of his secrets – every single one.

But he couldn’t. And he knew that.

Bruce kept his face reserved.

His brow furrowed for just a second as he took Y/N in. All of her. Her eyelashes. Her lips. The styling of her hair. The dip of her neck.

“You became quite the woman, Y/N.” He told her. “And a beautiful one at that.”

Y/N blinked at the statement. Her mind desperately tried to decipher the hidden message in his words, in his actions from the night. But she came up with nothing.

She wanted to say that she knew he was using flattery to divert her attention from what she wanted to know. But it was also clear that he genuinely meant what he said as well. His eyes seeming to be taking in every moment of being in her presence.

If Y/N weren’t so irritated, she probably would’ve been more taken aback by his compliment, feeling vulnerable and almost embarrassed.

There wasn’t any point in pushing.

So Y/N took in a breath. “Thank you for the ride, Bruce.”

He just nodded. Then he watched her walk to the door of her apartment building. He probably lingered a few moments too long, but he couldn’t bring himself to once again put distance between them.

————

Alfred brought down food and an espresso to the cave.

When he looked up, Y/F/N Y/L/N’s face was on the giant screen.

“Working on a case, Master Wayne?” He asked with his usual sarcasm.

Bruce ignored the question. “She attended undergrad in Metropolis and then went to grad school in New York City.”

“Yes, I can see that…considering you have her student records exploited all over the screen,” Alfred responded with a smirk. “She’s been living in Gotham again for a few years, working as a psychiatrist. Even volunteers her services at Arkham – pro bono.”

That caught Bruce’s attention. He turned away from the screen to look at Alfred.

“I found no record of that,” he argued.

“Yes. Well, her mother is rather embarrassed by it. Thinks it gives the family a bad image. She insisted Y/N’s philanthropy was kept secret, even approved the NDAs herself.”

Bruce gave him a look, utterly confused how Alfred had access to such information.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Never underestimate the power of gossip, Master Wayne. Most family secrets cannot be found on the dark corners of the internet.” Then he smirked. “You would gain quite the knowledge if you didn’t turn your nose up at it.”

Bruce smiled at that and turned back to the computer.

“So, I take it that it was good seeing her?” Alfred pressed.

Bruce tensed at the question. “Not entirely. I’m certain that she hates me.”

“Hates you or hates the character you’ve so carefully created?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just Bruce Wayne to her.”

Alfred opened his mouth to say more.

“Leave it, Alfred.” Bruce cut off before he could.

“Well, it appears I’m not the one struggling with leaving it alone, Master Wayne.”

Like many of Gotham’s elites, Alfred had humored the idea that Bruce and Y/N would make a marvelous couple. Like Bruce, Y/N didn’t let money and power sway her morals or damage her good and kind heart.

Alfred had always enjoyed having her over and listening to her and Bruce’s laughter as they caused trouble around the manor and entertained themselves.

But he also saw how her departure effected Bruce, no matter how much the teenager had tried to hide it at the time.

Maybe Alfred was an optimist or a romantic, but he still believed there was a chance for the two of them. But Bruce, quite frankly, would have to get over himself and his stubbornness.

————

Bruce was looking down at the city from yet another rooftop. It had been a quiet night. And he hated nights like that. It was always ended up being the calm before a storm.

“Batman?” Alfred spoke into his comms.

“Yes.”

“It appears there’s been a breakout at Arkham. The media hasn’t caught wind of it yet. But law enforcement has already been dispatched.”

“I’m on my way,” Bruce announced as he slid down a fire escape and made his way to the batmobile that he’d hidden in the shadows of an alley.

“Master Wayne…” Alfred knew to only use codenames on comms.

Bruce tense. “What is it?”

There was hesitation from the butler. “Y/N was scheduled to work a shift there tonight…”

Bruce said nothing. But his foot pressed the gas pedal down further than necessary.

—

Y/N was sitting with a patient when the alarm went off.

The people that worked there called them inmates, and corrected her every time she chose not to use that title.

Harleen Quinzel had been sitting across from Y/N for almost 30 minutes when they were interrupted.

“Oh, fun!” Harley clapped and giggled as the sirens filled their ears.

Harley and Y/N had formed an interesting relationship. The criminal seemed to like her and looked forward to her visits. She never threatened Y/N or tried to manipulate her.

Y/N believes she won her over by addressing her as Dr. Quinzel and often asking her professional opinions on trends and news in their industry. 

Most people there only referred to Harley as if she was property of the Joker, no matter how many times Harley clarified that she wasn’t his anything anymore.

“Does this happen a lot?” Y/N asked her, trying to remain calm.

“Not enough, if ya ask me!” She laughed.

Y/N made the mistake of opening the door and seeing that the majority of the cells had been opened and prisoners were slowly making their way into the hallway.

“Not good,” Y/N muttered.

“Don’t worry, doc. I’ll protect ya! Us gals gotta stick together.” Harley said from behind her shoulder.

Y/N whipped around and looked at her and then at the table she’d been sitting at. “Dr. Quinzel! How did you get out of your restraints?”

“Oh, I’ve always been able to. I just leave ‘em on to be polite.”

Y/N sighed. No one had explained any sort of protocol for such a situation.

“Where the fuck are all the guards?” Y/N asked.

Suddenly the lights shut off.

“Yippy!” Harley cheered.

Y/N turned to her and softly grabbed her shoulder, but gave her an insistent look. “Harley, we need to get somewhere safe.”

Her face did dip to serious for a moment. “You don’t need to worry about me. But you’re right. Not everyone in here appreciates a shrink…”

To her surprise, Harley starts pulling her through the darkness with a purpose.

Y/N had no idea where she was planning on taking her. It seemed all the doors were in lock-down mode, leaving her stranded. If she survived tonight, she’d definitely be bringing that up to the board.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Y/N yelped at the sound.

Someone had either gotten a hold of a gun or security guards were opening fire.

Either way, it caused chaos to erupt.

Suddenly the dark hallways were being filled with a stampede of prisoners. Either they wanted to take down the guard who was shooting or they were getting an adrenaline rush at the concept of their peers attacking their wardens.

The crowd ripped the two women apart. Y/N was shoved up against the wall and her head slammed against the cement.

Y/N swore under her breath from the pain.

“Is that…No, it can’t be…”

A voice called out over the madness.

A chill went up Y/N’s spine. She’d know that voice anywhere.

The Joker.

He wasn’t one of her patients. All researchers and doctors were forbidden to speak with him – especially after what happened with Harley.

But that didn’t stop the Joker from knowing who Y/N was. He whined and whined about feeling left out. “All my pals get to chat with her and all I get to do is look!”

Now, Joker was free from him isolation.

Y/N suspected he was behind the breakout.

And he was going to make a slight detour. A detour that was doing whatever the hell he wanted to with Dr. Y/L/N.

Y/N didn’t even bother hiding her fear. With a new found strength and endurance, she started shoving her way through the mob.

“I hear you and my pumpkin’ pie have gotten close.” Then his smile dropped. “Too close, if ya ask me.”

Y/N ignored him as another prisoner shoved into her shoulder.

“I don’t appreciate you putting ideas in her head!”

Y/N stopped, realizing she had miscalculated her escape and had come to a dead end.

So she slowly turned around to face him, putting her back to the wall. “And what ideas are those?”

“Independence. Self respect. A life beyond crime and incarceration,” he spat.

Y/N realized he had his goonies flanking him, only making her odds that much worse.

“Those aren’t ideas. They’re a reality, a possible future,” she defended.

Joker didn’t like that answer one bit. He threw himself against her, once again slamming Y/N into the wall.

He gripped her chin roughly and smiled with his yellow teeth. “You know…she’s not the only doctor I’d like to break in. And in more ways than one, if you catch my drift,” he giggled.

Then his eyes raked over her body, up and down. His hands slid down her hips and the side of her legs until they got to the hem of her pencil skirt.

Y/N shoved him away with all of her strength. 

But that earned her a slap across the face from him.

Joker gripped her waist tightly pressing her between the wall and his body. “I’m in charge now, doc. And I’ve got a few lessons to teach you.”

His hands grabbed at the buttons of her blouse and with one jerk, he ripped open her her blouse.

But before he could go any further, a few of his lackeys cried out in pain. 

Y/N swore she heard the sound of objects whipping through the darkness. 

She didn’t want to let herself feel any relief. But she hoped Harley had made her way back to her. She’d probably pack an even heavier punch once she realized Y/N needed protecting from her asshole ex.

But when Joker turned around and Y/N followed his gaze, Harley was nowhere to be found.

Yet three men were on the ground, unconscious.

“Well, well, well,” Joker muttered in amusement. “Has Batsy come out to play?”

Next thing Y/N saw was a shadow dropping down out of nowhere and taking out even more of Joker’s men.

Joker seemed to be prepared for such an interruption. Because he grabbed a knife from somewhere hidden on his body and ripped Y/N off the wall. He pressed Y/N’s back to his chest and put the tip of his knife to her throat.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” Joker sang.

To Y/N’s shock, Batman stepped into what little light was in the hallway.

“Long time, no see!” Joker screamed so loudly that Y/N flinched. “Did you miss me, Batsy? And you came all this way to see little old me?! How very sweet!”

“Your attempted escape was a failure,” Batman stated. “There’s nowhere for you to go. All the exits are blocked. Arkham has been contained.”

“What a shame! I really felt this one was gonna work!” Joker laughed.

Batman took a step toward him. “It’s over, Joker.”

“You’re probably right,” Joker shrugged. “But I really wanted to have some fun with doc here. So, if you could give us some privacy.”

Batman’s eyes flickered to Y/N’s for a brief moment. “Let her go,” he warned.

“How about…no?” Joker laughed.

Just as Batman was about to make his move, Y/N grabbed the wrist of Joker’s arm that held the knife. She twisted it and dived in such a succinct motion that it was obvious Y/N had been trained.

Whipping herself out of Joker’s grip, she twisted Joker’s arm so roughly and quickly behind his back that he had no choice but to drop his knife from the pain.

Then Y/N was now facing him, and with one swift swing of her leg, she kicked him right in the groan.

Batman saw his opening and rushed forward, cuffing Joker in place.

While Batman neutralized him, Y/N stumbled for the knife that Joker had dropped, still not feeling safe and out of danger.

She looked around, realizing that the police had filtered in and apprehended all the escaped prisoners. Some were already locked back into their cells. Other’s were in handcuffs with guns being pointed at them in warning.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” his voice made her whip back around.

How the hell did Batman know her name?

She squinted wearily at him.

“You can drop the knife,” Batman told her quietly.

Y/N blinked and looked down at her hand, having forgotten that she even grabbed the knife. And she now had a vice-like grip on it.

Her hands were shaking when she dropped the knife and the clatter echoed in the hallway.

She eyed the Joker, not trusting any sort of weapon to be in his vicinity, despite being handcuffed now.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Batman noted, as if he could read her mind and hear the concerns she was thinking.

Police officers surrounded them now.

“Until next time, doc!” Joker sang loudly.

Batman stepped between him and Y/N, shielding her from even being seen by the lunatic.

Y/N eyed him, wondering if he did that on purpose.

“This way,” he directed lowly as he led her out of the hallway.

Y/N was surprised when he escorted her all the way out of the building.

Wasn’t this supposed to be Gotham’s Dark Knight? A disappearing act? An urban legend that some people still didn’t believe in?

When they got outside, there were even more officers. The night was flickering blue and red from all the patrol car’s lights still being on.

Commissioner Gordon was having a field day with Arkham’s warden, yelling at him about lack of protocol and no protection for the volunteers and workers that had gotten caught in the crossfire.

But finally, the reality of what just happened was starting to set in for Y/N. And she realized that her entire body was shaking.

All of a sudden, a blanket was wrapped around her shoulders.

She looked up to see that Batman had draped it over her. When and where he’d grabbed it, she had no clue. But the warmth was helping, so she didn’t question it.

“Thank you…for saving me back there.”

Was that a smirk on his lips? Was Batman amused by her?

Why was it so comforting when he was a mere stranger?

And his eyes, even when they were surrounded by a cowl and dark paint, they still felt familiar. Y/N had a similar feeling to deja vu.

“Looked like you had it handled,” he replied.

“Oh, I definitely didn’t. But thank god for those self-defense classes.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a second.

“Make sure you get checked out by the paramedics,” he told her gently, but insistent.

It was far too gentle for his Batman alter ego. But she caught how it sounded like it personally mattered to him.

Y/N looked behind her, where the ambulance was.

But when she turned back around, Batman was gone.

Next thing Y/N knew, she was being surrounded by two paramedics and Commissioner Gordon who was careful not to push her by asking too many questions at once.

“Does he always do that?” She asked him in a daze.

“Do what?” Gordon asked.

“Disappear like that?”

Gordon smiled and nodded. “Annoying, isn’t it?”

———

“What’s the gossip of the privileged this week?” Bruce asked Alfred at breakfast a few days after the outbreak.

“Something specific you’re looking for, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked as he poured Bruce a big mug of coffee.

Bruce glared at him, knowing he was playing coy with him.

But he put his pride aside. “How is she doing?”

Alfred took pity on him. “She took some time off work. But seems to be handling it better than expected. Makes quite a bit of sense, doesn’t it? Her being psychiatrist and all.”

Bruce just nodded with a dazed look.

“You could always see for yourself…” Alfred added.

Bruce snapped out of his daze and looked up him questioningly.

“You could go see her,” Alfred confirmed.

“Alfred, don’t you start.”

“Start what, Master Wayne? Pushing you to form any sort of relationship?”

Bruce sighed and got up from the breakfast nook. He didn’t want to fight with him, so he’d made his exit before that happened.

“Batman has plenty of friends,” Alfred stopped him. “But what about Bruce Wayne, hmm? Who are his friends?”

“You saying we’re not friends, Alfred?”

“I’m all you’ve got, Master Wayne. And that’s my point.”

Before the discussion could go on any further, the doorbell rang.

The two men shared a look. 

No one stopped by the manor.

Alfred made his way over.

Bruce figured he’d wait where he was. But the front entrance was too far away from him to overhear any conversation.

A few minutes later, Alfred walked in with an unreadable expression.

“Dr. Y/L/N is here, Master Wayne. She is waiting for you in the drawing room.”

Bruce opened his mouth to tell him to make an excuse and get her to leave. But Alfred was already disappearing, making it clear that he would do no such thing for him.

When Bruce walked into the drawing room, he found Y/N’s back to him as she looked at the family heirlooms and trinkets that were displayed on the shelved.

She was dressed casually, which caught Bruce off guard since he’d only see her in formal wear and professional outfits since their reunion. Her hair was in a messy bun and she didn’t appear to be wearing much makeup, if any at all.

“Hi,” he greeted softly, making her quickly turn around.

“Hi,” she replied.

Bruce stepped further into the room. But neither of them moved to sit in any of the many seats that surrounded them.

“I heard what happened. How are you doing?” He asked.

She nodded and shrugged. “Alright.”

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Bruce admitted.

Y/N ignored his comment and her eyes went around the room. “I missed this place,” she thought aloud. Then her eyes fell back to his, softening. “I missed you.”

Bruce was taken aback from her confession. Seeing as the last time they were together, she was rather blunt about how disgusted and disappointed in him she was.

The energy between them felt so different than last time.

To his surprise, Y/N stepped toward him. And she didn’t stop until she was at a proximity that most would call rather intimate.

There was a voice in the back of Bruce’s mind, urging him to close the last bit of distance and place his lips on hers. But he managed to ignore it. That didn’t stop his heart from beating faster, though.

Y/N stared into his eyes for a few seconds, almost like she was searching for something.

“I have something that belongs to you…”

Bruce waited, not sure what she could possibly have to give him.

But then she pulled out one of his batarangs from her coat pocket, offering it to him.

She had found it embedded in the wall when she had gone back down to grab her personal belongings that night. 

Bruce kept his face composed. “I’m not sure I understand.” 

But he grabbed it from her anyways.

“He’s you,” she whispered. “Or I guess…you’re him.”

Bruce let out a breath, “Y/N…”

She took step away from him. “Don’t lie to me, Bruce.”

So he shut his mouth and said nothing instead.

“I’ve been doing some research. Things started lining up,” Y/N explained. “The first Batman sightings were right around when we stopped talking. The more Batman was in the press, the less Bruce Wayne was. And when he was, it was never positive – like it was meant to be a distraction.”

Her eyes went sad. “I never understood how the boy I used to love could grow into the man I’m so disappointed in. It never made sense.” She paused. “But when you wonder if the man himself is the mask, it all fits.”

“I’m sorry.” Bruce hung his head slightly. “I couldn’t tell anyone. Not even you.”

“I’d never share your secret.”

“I know,” he answered instantly.

Y/N couldn’t hold back her emotions any longer. Her eyes welled with tears. “Bruce…living like this has its consequences.”

Bruce said nothing.

She stepped forward and grabbed his hand. “You can’t change the world on your own. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Y/N wasn’t giving him advice. She was offering him something.  

Her trust.

Her secrecy.

Her love.

He shook his head, but gripped her hand tightly. “You would just end up in the shadows with me. And I…I can’t do that to you.”

“I’m stronger than you think,” Y/N defended.

“I’ve always known how strong you are, Y/N.” His jaw tightened at even the thought of being selfish. “You deserve more than what I can give. Gotham will always come first. That’s the sacrifice I made. That’s what is required. I can’t be what you need.”

Y/N studied his face, knowing that there would be no winning with him.

She nodded once, not even slightly hiding her heartbreak and disappointment.

Then she stepped closer and gave him a slow kiss on the cheek.

“It’s not a one time offer, Bruce.”

Bruce couldn’t move a muscle. He was rooted in place.

He heard Y/N have a short conversation with Alfred, then the door closed, and she was gone again.

———

Bruce Wayne was a fool.

Alfred could probably make a list, in seconds, with a hundred reasons why.

But, no, Bruce Wayne was a fool for believing Y/N would give up so easily.

Two weeks later, Y/N was at Wayne Manor again.

Bruce knew something was going on when Alfred didn’t seem surprised in the slightest.

In one of her arms was popcorn seeds, twizzlers, sour patch kids, and chocolate covered pretzels. In the other arm was a case of beer.

Y/N barely said hi to Bruce as Alfred helped her out of her coat and took the things out of her grasp so she was no longer struggling to hold it all.

“I’m here to use your theater,” she announced.

And with that, she walked right past Bruce like she owned the place.

Bruce looked at Alfred and silently asked, ‘What the hell is going on?’

“I believe you have a guest to entertain, Master Wayne.” Then he looked at the items in his hand. “And I believe I have some popcorn to make.”

Bruce still didn’t move.

“You successfully closed yet another case last night, it’s Friday night, and you have a beautiful woman who decided she wants to spend her time with you. Best you don’t keep her waiting, Master Wayne.”

Bruce narrowed his gaze as if telling Alfred they’d discuss this matter at another time.

“I presume you shouldn’t go empty handed,” Alfred added quickly and handed Bruce two beers from the case in his arms.

Bruce chuckled, but started walking away. “I’m surprised you even let this stuff in the house, Alfred.”

When Bruce reached the theater, Y/N had already started a movie.

He watched her a for a moment before she could realize he'd joined her. 

Y/N looked like she belonged there. Even after all this time apart, she just burrowed herself a cozy nook in Bruce’s life.

It was something she had been able to do even when they were kids. When Bruce had his mood swings or his depressive episodes, Y/N didn’t scare. She just found her way to stay at his side without upsetting him further.

Bruce grabbed the seat to the left of hers.

They weren’t really seats, more like small beds. A dozen were placed in the theater.

A couple could easily share one, but Bruce wasn’t planning on even approaching that fine line.

When Bruce sat down, he didn’t look at Y/N. But she gave a shy smile at his joining.

It was a long movie – almost a 3 hour run time.

And Y/N almost made it.

Without only 30 minutes left, Y/N had fallen asleep. Meaning Bruce’s attention was now taken from the movie.

He got up and grabbed one of the many blankets in the trunk hidden in the corner and placed it carefully over her, before silently leaving.

This was not a one time thing.

These type of visits continued.

Bruce knew Y/N and Alfred had to be in cahoots together. 

Y/N seemed to always come to the manor when Bruce needed her most. 

Alfred would force Bruce out of the cave and moments later, the doorbell would be ringing.

On the bad nights, she wouldn’t make him talk. She wouldn’t ask questions or try to make him magically feel better. Sometimes she would talk – mostly about mundane things. She’d tell Bruce about her day or how her neighbor always left baked goods at her door or about the new show she started watching. Sometimes she wouldn’t say anything at all, just sit there silently and make sure he wasn’t alone.

Sometimes she would bring coffee and pastries.

Sometimes Bruce would just walk into the library and find her reading.

Sometimes she would sit and chat with Alfred as if he was the reason she was visiting, and not Bruce.

Bruce couldn’t sleep one night. Nothing specific was causing his insomnia. Just the overall weight of being so many people.

It was 3AM when Y/N texted him to open the door for her because she didn’t want to wake Alfred.

When Bruce did so, Y/N was standing on the other door in sandals and a slightly transparent coverup that barely showed the outline of the bathing suit underneath.

He said nothing, but his face clearly showed that he wanted to know why the hell she was there in the middle of the night.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Y/N told him quietly. Then she shrugged a bit,“I decided I wanted to go for a swim."

Whether she was lying for his benefit, Bruce wasn’t sure. But he followed her to the indoor swimming pool like a sailor would follow a siren.

Without hesitation, Y/N kicked her sandals off and tossed her coverup on the nearest chair. And the next second, she was diving into the pool.

Bruce smirked at her nonchalance, but made sure to hide it when she breached the surface once again.

“Doesn’t your apartment building have its won pool?” He asked.

Y/N smiled and tilted her head back to get her hair wet again and out of her face. “They put too much chlorine in it.”

Bruce crossed his arms, “I see.”

“Coming in?” She asked teasingly.

He shook his head.

“At least keep me company,” she requested.

Bruce glared playfully at her, knowing the game she was playing.

But he finally sighed and nodded.

He was in cotton shorts and a t-shirt. But he decided to sit on the edge of the pool and dip his feet in.

He watched as she swam around, looking as natural in the water as a mermaid. She had always loved swimming as a kid and it appeared not much had changed.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He finally decided to break the silence.

Y/N swam to him and crossed her arms on the edge of the pool to rest and tilted her head to look at him.

She shrugged, “The usual: stress, nightmares, insomnia, too much caffeine.”

 Bruce’s concern spiked instantly. “Nightmares about what?”

She watched him for a moment, seeing how quickly her subtle comment triggered him.

“You’re not the only person who’s seen fucked up things, Bruce.”

An hour later, Y/N asked for a towel.

When she climbed out, she was taken aback by Bruce wrapping it around her shoulders and rubbing her down gently. It was innocent, but subtly intimate.

As their eyes locked for a prolonged time, and he seemed to realize what he’d done accidentally.

Y/N cleared her throat. “I should head home and let you try to get some sleep.”

“You could stay,” he offered. “I mean, we have plenty of bedrooms here,” he quickly added and saved himself a bit.

“Is that…what you want?” Y/N asked slowly.

Bruce knew what she was trying to ask. He didn’t trust himself to answer the way he should, so he didn’t answer.

“Let me drive you home,” he asked as they left the indoor pool and started toward the front entrance.

Y/N ignored the request until they were at the door. She turned to face him with a smug look, “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself. Thank you.”

She hesitated before kissing him on the cheek. “Get some sleep, Bruce.”

————

Months after Y/N’s visits started, Bruce was doing some research for a case on his tablet as he ate dinner.

“Margaret Caulfield’s engagement party is tonight,” Alfred broke the silence of the manor as he took Bruce’s finished plate.

Bruce looked confused on why he was supposed to care.

“Y/N will be there,” Alfred added.

But Bruce still didn’t understand what he was trying to say.

“Master Wayne, when you attend all those sufferable parties, what is the first question people ask you?”

Bruce thought for a moment. “When I plan on settling down, I guess.”

“Now imagine that, but magnified by about 100…and that is what Y/N’s experience is at those same parties. That young woman is one of the brightest people in Gotham and all those people care about is who will put a silly ring on her finger.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, now understanding what Alfred was getting at. “I’m not her boyfriend, Alfred.”

“And you’ve made damn sure of that,” Alfred said a little too harshly.

Bruce watched him carefully.

“Y/N has fought off every one of your attempts to be a miserable recluse.”

Bruce opened his mouth.

“And don’t you dare try and tell me her efforts are wasted,” Alfred cut him off. “I’ve seen a change in you. And she has asked for absolutely nothing in return. She’d never ask you to pick her over Batman. Though she bloody well should!”

He wasn’t done.

“You’re not living, Master Wayne. And I won’t apologize for wanting more for you.”

Bruce just sat there and took it.

Alfred took in a breath, calming himself down. “There’s a suit waiting for you in your bedroom. I’ve decided I’m going for a evening walk.”

——————

Y/N didn’t know how many more champagnes she’d have to shrug to start feeling the buzz she so desperately needed.

Not even an hour of being at the party and she’s already been asked 15 times if she was seeing anyone. And when she answered no, half of those ended in them trying to set her up with someone.

As Y/N was trying to think of an excuse to escape, an old family friend approached her – a friend of her grandma’s unfortunately.

“Y/N, dear, let me see those hands!”

Y/N wanted to roll her eyes and snap, but she did as requested.

“No ring yet,” the woman teased, but she was also genuinely disappointed.

“That would be my fault, actually.” A voice said behind Y/N before she felt a hand on her lower back.

“Oh, Mr. Wayne, how nice of you to come!” The woman beamed. “Now, Y/N, why wouldn’t you tell anyone that you and Bruce are an item?”

“My fault again,” Bruce chuckled, “I’ve always enjoyed a good secret.”

Before she could ask more, Bruce smiled politely. “If you could excuse us for a moment.”

He steered Y/N to a private area of the party.

“What are you doing?” Y/N hissed at him. “The press are gonna have a field day. You and I will be every headline tomorrow.”

He smiled at her frantic concern.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I’m serious!”

Bruce captured her lips, silencing any further panic from her.

Y/N was completely caught off guard, but he wasn’t letting her go so easily. And soon, her hand went to the back of his head and she kissed him back. 

Damn all the people who were probably watching them.

When Bruce finally let her pull away, he smirked at her dazed look and cupped her cheek. 

She matched his smirk.

But then reality set in like a splash of cold water and she frowned.

“Am I – Is this your new cover?” She asked shakily, so scared that the answer was ‘yes.’

She could tolerate being Bruce’s friend for the rest of her life. But she wouldn’t survive being used in such a way. She couldn’t live in a fake relationship with a man she actually loved. She’d rather watch his sloppy persona with girls hanging off of him.

“No cover-up,” he muttered to her. “Just me and you – the real me.”

-----------------------------------------------------

I worked so hard on this 😩  Please let me know your thoughts. 

[oitommothetease]

Invisible String (6/?)

Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Description: James Buchanan Barnes, the owner of the most expensive-looking club in town and your new apartment. He was a dick and you hated him. What could possibly go wrong when you, the new girl in town, start bartending at his club to pursue your dreams?

Word Count: 2.1k words

Bucky couldn't recall the last time he had a genuine conversation with someone who wasn't his best mates, Sam and Steve. He enjoyed your company and as much as he hated to let his guard down, he wanted to do just that with you. You were everything that Bucky thought he would find repulsive, but he couldn’t help but be attracted towards you. And for the first time he wanted more, he didn't want a one-night stand or a fling with you, he wanted to know you. He admired your courage and bravery, but mostly he admired you. You, with all your stupid yet funny jokes and spontaneity; he liked you more than he would like to admit.

But there was this thing that you were his employee and one meal doesn't count as a date. It was just a meal. But yet, Bucky wanted it to be more. He had never been so intrigued by another person, but it was also clear that you didn't reciprocate his interest. And Bucky would have all of his 206 bones crushed out rather than giving his heart to someone only for it to be not requited. 

So, when you walked into the club the next day, pretending as if nothing had changed, Bucky knew where your relationship lay with him, and he was content with it. Okay, he wasn't content with it, but he knew he couldn't force something that wasn't there. He would choose to be in your life as your boss, acquaintance, or maybe even a friend if he's lucky enough than to not be in your life at all. 

***

When you got settled behind the counter, your mood wasn't that great. It could be because you weren't drunk this time, or maybe because you enjoyed your meal with your boss a little too much for your liking. You wouldn't call it a date, but it sure as hell was a lot better than all the dates or meals you've had with people.

Your good mood was definitely not because of the fact that your mother called only to inform you that this family friend's son is not going to wait around long, and you should at least find a stable job if you can't find a suitable boyfriend. Then she started boasting about your sister and her amazing profession and how she and her husband save lives every day. And you might have had enough of her bullshit and lied that you indeed have a stable job and relationship. None of which is true. 

Bartending only pays the bills, and you haven't had a relationship in years and none of them were serious. You always ran away from any sort of commitment because you knew you would eventually have to introduce your partner to your family and nobody deserves to see that circus, and you told yourself that you're doing a favor to those previous partners by leaving them or as your friends like to call ghosting them. In your defense, dealing with you and your family is more horrific than any scary movie. 

Well, until now because tomorrow your sister and her family are coming to meet your partner and take you back to your parents' place for the weekend. The only problem is that you lied to them about your job and your partner. The worst part is that both of them are pretty non-existent.

"Hey, How are you feeling? " Peter asked you, noticing how you still weren't paying attention to the customer in front of you. 

“Great, not drunk, if that's what you're wondering.” 

“I'm fine," you retorted, glancing at the concerned look Peter was giving you. You quickly took the customer's order and proceeded to make the drink. 

"The last time you said you were fine, you threatened to kill a dude," Pietro interjected, enjoying the faux disbelief that landed on your face. You looked over to Wanda for help, but she just chuckled at her brother's antics.

The rest of the night at work went by as it usually did. Pietro making a sarcastic remark here and there, Wanda countering her brother with a snarky response, you were laughing your ass off watching the duo and Peter awkwardly tried to suppress his amusement. In a weird custom, these three coworkers were the only thing that felt normal. 

By the time you were done, it was mostly you left like always, with the addition of security guards that James added since Rumlow. You wanted to talk to him, especially after the wonderful not date you had, but the situation with him was not under your control anymore and it released from your grasp which scared the shit out of you. If James and you had met under different circumstances, then you would have tried to date him, but with him being your boss and the whole Rumlow thing made everything so complicated, and you didn't have time for any sort of relationship complication in your life. At least that's what you kept telling yourself.

When you were done with your shift and were about to leave, a very familiar voice called for you. You've been trying to ignore him all day and just when you thought you've succeeded, he catches up to you. 

The thing that scared you with James was that you felt safe, too safe with him. You were scared that you were going to become dependent on him for your security, and you hated that. You always despised women who weren't anything except their husband's wife, as if their whole identity was being a man's property. Furthermore, you knew the only thing to be blamed here was patriarchy and men, but you decided that you weren't going to be someone's property, you were going to be your own person. 

And you rebelled a lot to reach here, dyed your hair blue just because your mom told you not to, pursued your dream just because your dad told you to follow a secure nine to four job, left ex-partners because they told you what to and what not to wear. And some part of you knew that James wasn't like that. He wouldn't exploit you and your weaknesses. 

But what you didn't realize was that these were merely excuses that your brain mustered up because you were too scared to be dumped. A long time ago, you decided that it is better to leave than be left. And James — well, James made you feel things that you didn't want to chase. You feared commitment and abandonment too much to go after a guy. 

Your thoughts were brought to a halt when he held your wrist gently and called your name again. Reluctantly, you turned around, pretending to be surprised as if you didn't see him. 

He obviously caught on to you. "Why are you ignoring me?" 

"What?" You scoffed in feign disbelief, taking your hand away from his grasp and setting it on his shoulder. "Why would I ignore you, bud?"

Bud? What the fuck? , both of you thought at the same time.

Carefully, he eyed your hand and then you, "Okay, come on, I'll drop you home."

"No, James, it's fine, I can go on my own." 

"Yes, yes, you are an independent, strong woman but come on," He teased, but you didn't seem to pick up the glint of mischief in his eyes. 

You heard that as a taunt, a taunt your father has told you an ample number of times, that you indeed can never be anything on your own if you don't have a man beside you. While you were lost in your thoughts, James was moving towards his car, assuming that you were following him.

 "But I am," you argued. 

Your voice sounded distant to him, he turned around and walked towards you. "You are what?" 

"I am strong and independent."

"Yes, you are," he agreed as a matter of factly because it was the truth. He had never met someone so strong who would leave behind their whole life to pursue their dreams. He, being the mob boss, and filthy rich couldn't do the same, and he may not tell you this, but he admired you so much. 

Once you got the assurance you needed, you started walking towards his car. "Are you coming or not?" and he followed you. 

Of course, you knew you were strong, but your life had not been going as smoothly as you anticipated. You're stuck in writer's block, your family interference and lack of trust in you hurts like a bitch. You were somewhat crushing on your boss, and you blurted random embarrassing stuff in front of him without thinking. You know, normal crush things. 

When you reached the apartment, he insisted on dropping you to your floor. The car ride was spent in peaceful silence, but the time spent in the elevator was everything but that. No, the fifteen seconds were spent in James fidgeting beside you because he wanted to say something but didn't know how to. 

After you unlocked your door, he finally spoke up. "Um, I was just wondering whether, you know, - I had fun last night and I don't have smooth conversations with people - um, I don't know, I'd like to go out with you again," he didn't finish, but your eyebrows shot up to your forehead and he quickly backpedaled. " Not as a date, if that's what you want. It could be a meal shared between you and your boss. Not that I'm implying that you are obligated to go with me just because I'm your boss. I'm asking this as a stranger, well, not as a stranger but as a friend, I think."

"James,” you spoke softly, and he could feel the denial coming his way.” I had fun too, but you're my boss. This is highly unprofessional."

He signed in defeat and looked at you one last time. There was so much he wanted to say, he wanted to tell you that he enjoyed your company more than he should. He wanted to tell you that he liked you. He wanted to tell you that he wanted to see where this thing would lead with you, but he knew better than that. At the end of the day, you were his employee and if you were to get involved with him in any form, it would only end in your tarnished reputation. So, he nodded, not trusting himself enough to speak much after the clear rejection. "I understand."

"Y/N! “

Both of you turned towards the source of the voice and frowned. He frowned because he was confused, whereas you, oh, you weren't confused, you were furious at the person standing there and at yourself for forgetting about their arrival.

 "Hi, Carol. I thought you were coming tomorrow," you stated, faking a smile, and everyone in the area could see your distressed attempt at looking excited.

 Well, everyone except your sister because she shrieked with happiness and ran towards you to throw her arms around you. Her husband followed behind and gave you and James an awkward smile.

 "I just couldn't wait to meet my baby sister and we'll take you guys back for the weekend."

You guys, James and you thought at the same time. James looked at the side of your face for an explanation, and you kept looking forward at your sister, avoiding his gaze.

Fuck, you forgot about that. How can you forget about that? You mentally cursed yourself and didn't say anything because you didn't know what to do. 

Your sister picked your silence as her cue to talk and pointed her index finger at James, who was standing beside you now. "Is this him?"

Your sister looked at you, expecting an answer, your brother-in-law looked at you with something called, please hurry up, I just want to go back to the hotel. James looked at you with bewilderment. 

You sighed and took your boss's hand in yours, who also happens to be the most dangerous person in the town. He complied, holding on to you tightly, running his thumb on the back of your hand in a soothing manner. It felt like the most obvious thing as if your hand was made to be held by him. The thought sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, but you were too stubborn to accept it.

"Yes," you finalized. "This is James, my boyfriend."

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