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alienguts · 11 months ago

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Stay with Me (Bruce Wayne x f!Reader)

Summary: Bruce and Y/N's tentative first date gets extended when a storm floods the roads.

Warnings: Fluff, idiots with feelings who can't communicate them properly.

Request?: Not really, but I like writing this dynamic to see where the relationship goes.

A/N: I doubt anybody would ever have a problem with how fictional dogs are characterised, but I like to think that Ace and Titus are friendly pups who like people.

1 - Picking up the Pieces | 2 - Kintsugi | 3 - Stay with Me |

Earlier in the week, Bruce had asked Y/N to come over for dinner. Neither of them had said the word ‘date’, but it was certainly treated like one.

The plan was originally for the two of them to order pizza and eat it in front of the TV while Y/N showed Bruce all the movies that he’d missed out on over the years, but the rest of the Wayne household had other ideas.

As soon as she’d pressed the doorbell,the front door was flung open to reveal Damian suited up for patrol, his brothers crowding the doorway around him. The small boy tried to keep his composure as his much taller brothers tried to push past him, eager to finally see Y/N after missing her for so long.

“Boys, you have to let Y/N come in,” Bruce’s voice came from behind the wall of geared up heroes.

“We just wanted to say hi to her before we go,” Dick said as he stepped away from the door first.

“Before you go?” Y/N asked in surprise. “Where are you going?”

“Bruce put us on patrol so he can stay here for your date,” Tim said and tried to yank Damian away from her side.

Y/N looked at Bruce and saw his face turn pink in embarrassment.

“It’s not a date,” Bruce said quickly. “We’re just having dinner, that’s all.”

“Sounds like a date to me,” Jason said drily before slinking off into the manor, Tim and Dick following behind him after waving to Y/N.

Just as she was about to step inside the manor, Y/N felt a tap on her side. She turned her attention back to Damian, who had yet to follow the others.

“It was nice to see you, Y/N,” he said before heading down to the Cave.

“When did he get so nice?” Y/N asked once Damian was completely out of earshot. “No offence.”

“None taken,” Bruce said as he closed the front door behind her. “We all know how Damian can be. He must have missed you.”

When the cool evening air was shut out, the smell of food trailing in from the kitchen got stronger. The unmistakable smell of toasted bread and melted cheese filled Y/N’s senses and made her mouth water.

“You already ordered without me?” she asked as they made their way towards the kitchen.

“Not exactly,” Bruce said sheepishly.

A large cheese pizza sat in the middle of the kitchen island, steam rising from its surface. The counter against the wall was dusted with flour and an empty bowl of red sauce was ready to go into the dishwasher.

“Ah, so nice to see you Ms Y/N!” Alfred said as he appeared from behind the refrigerator door.

“Alfred made it for us,” Bruce said.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Alfred said with a warm smile. “We haven’t seen you in such a long time, I thought I would make something special.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Y/N said and took a seat at the counter. “Your cooking is just as good as ordering takeout.”

“You’re too kind, Ms Y/N.” Alfred took off the apron he was wearing and hung it up on a hook on a wall before making his way back to the foyer. “Enjoy your evening.”

Once Alfred had gone, Y/N turned to face Bruce who was now the colour of a tomato. She had to stop herself from laughing as he buried his face in his hands and groaned.

“Sorry about all of that,” he said as he took a seat next to her. “When I told them you were coming over, they all acted like it was Christmas.”

“I don’t mind,” Y/N said and took the pizza cutter that Alfred had left on the counter. “I like seeing your family.”

“Obviously they like seeing you too.” He watched as she cut two slices and passed one to him. “Wait, let me get some silverware.”

Y/N laughed before taking a bite of her slice.

“You’ve never changed, Bruce,” she said around the bite of hot pizza. “Just eat it with your hands!”

“Old habits die hard, huh?”

Although Y/N hadn’t expected the night to go wrong, it went a lot better than she’d expected. Since Bruce had sent the boys out on patrol duty and Alfred was keeping track of the comms, there were no distractions other than Ace and Titus sniffing around and wanting to be cuddled.

While Titus was more wary of Y/N, having been trained by Damian to be on watch, Ace was more than happy to shove his snout under her arm and wedge himself between her and Bruce. Despite being a German Shepherd, he seemed to want to be a lap dog.

The night was spent in front of the seldom-used television in the living room, Y/N showing Bruce her favourite movies and shows that he’d missed out on. And that turned out to be almost every movie and show ever made.

“Bruce, how can you have a subscription to every single streaming service and have not even seen The Simpsons?” she’d asked at one point.

“I don’t exactly have the time to be sitting around watching cartoons, Y/N,” he said with a laugh.

“Well, fighting crime and running a company and attending charity events doesn’t allow for a lot of leisure time.”

By 10pm, Y/N decided that it was time for her to head back home. She still had the weekend ahead of her but she didn’t really want to spend the last part of her night stuck in traffic.

There was just one problem: it had started raining. Heavily.

Y/N had never seen so much rain before. As a native Gothamite, she knew how extreme the weather could be at times, especially during the colder months. But this was torrential.

Thankfully, Wayne Manor was on higher ground and away from any likely flooding but the same couldn’t be said for her apartment on the Lower East Side. She watched the rain from the safety of the living room, worrying about how she would get home, or whether she could get home at all.

“It’s really coming down out there, huh?” Bruce said from behind her, snapping her out of her head.

“Yeah,” she said, her breath fogging up the window. “God, I hope the roads are okay.”

“You could always spend the night here,” he said casually. Maybe a little too casually.

“What?” Y/N asked as she turned around in surprise.

“I can get Alfred to make up the guest room for you. I didn’t mean, spend the night.”

“Oh,” Y/N breathed in relief.

They hadn’t made anything official yet, weren’t even calling the date a ‘date’, so why had her mind immediately jumped to that?

“But I don’t have anything to change into, or my toothbrush,” Y/N said quickly, trying to make the air a little less awkward.

“That’s no problem, I can get you some clothes and I’m sure we’ve got a spare toothbrush or two.”

“Are you sure?” Y/N asked as she moved away from the window. “I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

“Y/N,” Bruce said and rested his hands on her shoulders. “You’re family to us. You’re not intruding and I’m sure the boys will love you to stay over.”

Her heart warmed at hearing him speak so earnestly. She’d never been able to explain why she’d never felt comfortable in the manor when Selina was around, but it was all down to her own insecurities and jealousy. She hated to admit it to herself, but she hated being around them when they were a couple and she felt like she’d been cast aside, whether or not that was the case.

She didn’t care that it was selfish to think that Selina being out of the picture gave her her best friend back, but it was like he was finally seeing her again after years of being invisible. Like Bruce wanted her to be in his life again and wanted her to know that.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, her head resting on his chest as she listened to his heart pick up its pace.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Bruce returned her hug and rested his cheek on the top of her head, crouching down slightly so he could reach her.

“You’re always welcome here,” he said. “I can’t speak for everyone else, but I think the atmosphere would be better around here with you.”

Y/N lifted her head from his chest, about to step away, when he gently pulled her onto her toes and captured her lips with his own. She startled slightly at first before letting him guide her, moving her hands from his chest to loop loosely around his neck, the hair at the nape of his neck just brushing her fingers. Their lips moved together softly, chaste enough to not escalate the situation but just passionate enough to feel it.

Once again, it was over too soon for Y/N’s liking. Bruce pulled away and briefly rested his forehead against hers before standing up straight again. He reluctantly released her from his hold and took her hand to lead her upstairs.

“C’mon, we’d better find you something to wear.”

When Bruce had said that he’d find something for Y/N to wear to bed, she didn’t expect him to give her his clothes. The look on her face when he’d handed them to her must have said something.

“I didn’t want to look through the boys’ clothes so I just got something out of my closet,” he said. “I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” Y/N said and took them before opening the door for the guest bedroom.

Bruce, naturally, was still wide awake and was going to join Alfred in the Cave but stayed up to help him make up the guest room and wish Y/N goodnight. Usually when she stayed over at a friend's house, she expected to sleep on their couch, not in a lavish guest room. But, then again, most people weren’t best friends with a billionaire.

“I had a really good night,” Y/N said as she lingered in the doorway . “We should have another night like this.”

“We should,” Bruce said with a warm smile. “I think the boys will be happy about that too. They were always asking when the next time you were coming over was.”

“Well, hopefully you can tell them that I’ll see them more often.”

“Don’t be surprised if they almost knock the door down tomorrow morning.”

They were quiet for a moment, neither of them wanting the night to end, but tiredness taking over Y/N’s body. She tried her best to stifle a yawn but only made herself look more tired.

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” Bruce said before stroking the side of her face with the back of his fingers and leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“Good night, Bruce,” Y/N said before reluctantly slinking into the bedroom.

As soon as the door softly clicked shut, Y/N inhaled deeply and slowly let her breath out. The night had felt like a dream and she couldn’t help but feel like she was going to wake up and find out that it had never happened. But the bundle of clothes in her arms told her differently.

She crossed the room to the bed and set the clothes down on it before undressing. Her own clothes felt scratchy and cheap in comparison to Bruce’s. He always told her that designer clothes weren’t important to him, but the quality of them clearly did. She pulled the plain grey t-shirt over her head and donned the sweatpants and sighed when the soft cotton brushed against her skin.

If she closed her eyes, it felt like Bruce was still with her, his strong arms circling her body and the scent of his cologne filling her senses. The clothes were far too big for her, but that didn’t stop her from feeling completely at ease.

Things were still moving slowly for the two of them; Bruce was still recovering from heartbreak, after all. But a slow pace was better than nothing. Y/N didn’t want to completely ruin everything by coming across too strong, but she wished Bruce was really there to sleep next to her.

Wearing his clothes would have to do for now.

As she drifted off to sleep, her mind conjured up the feeling of him holding her in his arms, stroking her hair, an echo of his heartbeat in her ear. Hopefully the next step in their relationship would come sooner rather than later, but she was willing to wait for him.

Even if that took forever.

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chibinightowl · 10 months ago

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Today has been a day. Just a lot of hospital stress this week between my mom and my husband's surgeries and this is how it's coming out (they're both fine and are recovering well).

~~~

Dick finds Tim in a waiting room at Gotham General, slumped in a faded blue plastic chair that's seen better days. At some point during the day, his brother had been immaculately dressed for the office. But now, his blue pin-striped suit is wrinkled, his collar is unbuttoned, and his shirtsleeves have been rolled up. There was a tie somewhere as Dick knows Tim never leaves home without one on an office day, but it's anyone's guess as to where it currently is.

"Hey. I got here as fast as I could," he says, taking the open seat beside Tim. He did too, calling Wally as soon as he got the news from Barbara. "How's Jason?"

Tim opens his eyes, giving him a look that is more dead than alive. "Still critical."

Pain lances through Dick at the two words. He'd lost Jason once before and the guilt from being off world when his Little Wing needed him the most still ate at him in the darkest parts of his psyche. And now, here he is sitting with another brother he never thought he'd have, one who's been through so much trauma and loss of his own--and who is on the verge of possibly losing another loved one.

A car-pedestrian accident. The gall of something so normal and mundane having the potential to take out the Red Hood--or any of them for that matter--is enough to make Dick want to punch the taupe wall of this dreary waiting room.

To be honest, he's rather surprised none of the others are here yet. Well, expect Bruce. He's off world with the JL and...

Oh.

"Do you think Bruce knows yet?"

Tim's shrug is so minute Dick might have missed it if he wasn't watching closely. "Can't say I care right now. He and Jay got into another of their big fights before he left. Said if Jay can't clean up his act, then don't bother coming back."

Dick winces and easily reads between the lines of what Tim isn't saying given their semi-public place. Even in Bludhaven, he'd heard about the execution-style murder of a known pedophile--and that it was the Red Hood who'd done it.

"He didn't do it, Dick," Tim whispers, catching his gaze as tears build in his eyes. "I was there. I know he didn't. But Bruce didn't listen to either of us, said I was covering for him because he's in my pants." Those last words are practically spat out. "I think this is the first time I've ever felt like I hate him. He just doesn't listen!"

That's a feeling Dick knows all too well. He also knows now why the others aren't here--that Barbara called him first because Tim doesn't need just comfort.

He needs his big brother.

Dick slides from the chair to kneel on the floor in front of Tim. "Now that is something I know a lot about." He takes Tim's hands and squeezes them firmly. "I'm not going to tell you it'll get better. I'm also not going to say you need to be the bigger person and forgive him. What I am going to tell you is that I believe you and that I believe in Jason."

Tim's breath hitches and he falls into Dick's open arms sobbing. Thank yous fall from his lips and into Dick's jacket. Tears fill his own eyes as he remembers another time where he didn't believe this little bird, his first Robin.

Time hasn't necessarily dulled the guilt, but it has given him perspective. He'd done what he thought best at the time and owned up to it when he'd been proven wrong--a trait not shared by their mentor and father-figure.

"We'll get through this together," Dick soothes, running a hand up and down Tim's back. "You, me, and everyone else. We're all here for you and we're all pulling for Jason."

As he speaks, he glances up and spots Alfred hurrying down the hall with Damian and Duke in tow. Both boys are still dressed in their school uniforms, so Alfred must have pulled them out early. Behind them are Cass and Steph, hands held tightly.

"We're all here," he repeats, nudging Tim's chin to make him look up. "And we're not going anywhere."

#chibinightowl writes #dick grayson #tim drake #background JayTim #there's a lot to unpack here #but it's mostly just brotherly bonding #and me needing to word vomit in some capacity #stress is a bitch #yes I'm fine #just need sleep

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lovesick-joey · 4 months ago

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Dragon Eyes

The aroma of Alfred's chamomile tea filled Bruce's nostrils, and he took a sip of it, feeling it warming him up from the inside. He felt calmer and at ease. It's been a while since he had felt that.

Placing the cup down, he watched Alfred cleaning the counters before turning his gaze towards Dick. His son sat with his legs crossed atop of his chair, his long hair neatly tied into a ponytail. His focus was on his phone, and with the way his brows were knitting, Bruce knew he had something on his mind.

"What are you looking at?" Bruce decided to ask.

Dick's head immediately snapped up to meet his eyes. He gave him a small smile. "Oh, typical," He says. "social media."

Bruce nodded reluctantly, sensing something amiss. He didn't question him further, though. He took another sip of his tea and picked up a newspaper.

Dick was still looking at him from the corner of his eye, and with sheer discomfort Bruce couldn't focus on reading anymore. He looked at him again, raising a brow.

The young man grinned sheepishly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "Sorry. Didn't mean to stare.." He spoke halfheartedly. "..It's just.."

The more that Bruce looked at him, the more he realized Dick wasn't making eye-contact with him—he was looking at his cheek.

He was looking at the bruise that is most likely visible on his pale face.

Did he really hit me that hard?

Bruce stiffens and raised his hand to graze the purple patch just below his right eye.

"..Is it really visible?"

"Yeah, kinda."

Bruce sighs, turning his head to the newspaper. "I'll try to cover it up with makeup. The public won't know any better."

Dick was still watching him, but Bruce didn't make a move to engage in conversation. He really didn't want this right now.

Nevertheless, Dick pursued. "Bruce," The way his voice sounded made Bruce's shoulders tense, even more than before. He heard Dick put his phone down on the table. "I want you to talk to me."

Bruce let out another sigh. Folding his newspaper, he looked over at Dick. His son wore a solemn expression.

When he didn't speak, Dick did.

"I heard you and Eugene.. arguing, last night." He murmured. Here we go, Bruce bit back a groan that threatened to escape his lips. "Like, when I passed by your room.." Dick continued, twiddling with his thumbs, "..I heard him say.. fuck, I don't know, B. I didn't know he had such a mouth. I mean, I did know, but.. not to that extent.."

Bruce and Eugene had come home from patrolling Gotham City. It wasn't a good patrol at all—They dealt with arrogant street thugs and gang members and Bruce had to prevent Eugene from beating all of them until they were standing at God's doorstep. Their patrol was mostly them bickering with each other, and with the way Eugene is, Bruce knew he would meet the man's cold treatment later on when they got home.

And cold treatment he got.

Bruce could still remember Eugene's yelling in the back of his head. It never goes away. Nothing about Eugene goes away. Bruce might even say he'd get a lobotomy just so his thoughts would stop being plagued by him, but that's just an overdramatic response.

The punch still stung. Still hurt.

"..We had a bad time during our patrol last night." Bruce eventually replied, pausing to take a sip of his tea. The beverage didn't taste comforting anymore. He cleared his throat after putting his cup down. "You know how Eugene is. He's not good at handling his emotions."

Dick frowned a bit. "He's what, forty-seven years old? You'd think he would get his shit together by now."

Bruce sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "..We don't know what he's been through, Dick. He clearly has some trauma that he probably garnered growing up.. it would make sense why he's like that."

"Trauma doesn't justify abuse.." He heard Dick mutter under his breath, but decides not to speak on it.

"I must say, Sir," Alfred chimed in while simultaneously wiping the dishes dry. "Mister Amsel better get his act straight. Unlike you, I cannot tolerate his recent behavior."

Bruce remembered that time when Alfred kicked Eugene out of the manor. The old butler had caught him belittling Bruce in the Batcave, and after the 'hard R' was dropped from his mouth, Alfred had enough. He made Eugene sleep in the yard for two nights. Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn't too happy about it.

"He'll learn with time." Bruce said. "He still has room to grow."

He wasn't sure if he believed himself.

Alfred subtly shakes his head while Dick's face hardened.

Bruce looked back at the newspaper in his hands. The paper creased under his tight grip.

TGCS ¦ Good Job. ‣ Mr. Hermit I won't be posting more TGCS content on tumblr anymore and will instead be continuing on ao3.

#dc oc #dc comics #dcu #dc universe #dcau #jla #justice league #batman #bruce wayne #fanfic #one shot #dick grayson #nightwing #alfred pennyworth #batfam #batfamily

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redheadjustin · 2 years ago

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Hope you are having a good day/night?

Imagine if Joker took DNA from Jason during the time he had captured him and used it to create a child, whom he raises to be his predecessor. Now what happeneds when Jason finds out he has a son? And not only that he's being raised by the man who tortured and killed him! (Maybe even a lil batfam/Bruce to help out Jason deal with everything) and what if he is around the same age as when Jason died?

It was a dark and gloomy night in Gotham which was nothing unusual. It was even darker around Wyane manor. A young man in his early twenties walked in the main doors of the impressive estate. He had a military haircut with a white stripe in his hair. And a jagged scar that started on the left side of his lips all the way to the crown of his head. This man was Jason Todd, and he was grumpy as usual. He was called to the batcave when he’d rather be sleeping. Jason had just gotten back to Gotham after an undercover mission in Scotland. The brute of the man dragged his tired body through the main entryway of the manor and to Bruce’s downstairs study. All the while Jason had to fight off memories. These were good memories. But, Jason was far too tired to allow himself to reminisce. Even in the good ones. Once Jason reached the downstairs study it was automatic, reaching for the switch that opened the fake bookcase and revealed the elevator.

Jason had a half smile on his face as he stepped into the elevator. The door closed and his destination had been set all before Jason could turn around to face the elevator. The elevator was slower than usual. Jason tried to keep his eyes open. But his exhaustion won out for a few seconds and his eyes closed. And flashes of memories filled Jason’s mind. A blonde woman, his Robin suit, a crowbar, blood, a bomb, him trying to escape, resignation to dying, green liquid, his eyes opening, rage, Talia, Bruce, JOKER, that laugh, his gun pointed at the bastard, Bruce forgiving him, welcoming him back to the family. Jason is pulled out of his memories by the soft chime of the elevator. Jason shakes his head and walks out of the elevator. And Jason’s smile is back. He’d always loved the batcave. The trophies, the training area and most of all the quiet. It was a place for Jason to clear his head. Especially once he came back from the dead. It seemed ever since his dip in the pit Jason had a lot of anger and thoughts floating into his head at all hours of the day. The only time his head was clear was during petrol. And it was something Jason needed a lot these days.

“Jason.” Jason looks up at the call of his voice. It was his older brother, Dick Grayson. Jason’s legs were moving to his brother without him thinking about it. “Thanks for coming, little wing.” Dick says with his trademark grin and slinging an arm around Jason’s shoulder. Jason lets a snort out, “when Bruce texts me saying ‘batcave now’ i don't exactly have a choice.” It sounded resentful but Dick knew that it was a joke. Dick, Barbra, Jason and Tim all make jokes on how they all drop everything when Burce asks for them. “No, no you didn’t. But tonight it was really important. And you came. I’ll let the old man explain but, the WHOLE family is here.” Dick says as he leads Jason towards the batcomputer. “Wait, the WHOLE family?” Jason asked, alarm suddenly growing in his stomach. Dick didn’t respond and instead kept walking and soon Jason could see the ENTIRE bat family. Burce, Alfred, Barbra, Tim, Damian, Stephine, Cassandra, Duke, Luke, Kate and Selina were all gathered around the bat computer. This was big.

At Dick’s footsteps Burce turns and once he sees Jason a small smile finds its way on the face of the Dark knight. “Thank you for coming, Jason. I know you just got back from overseas and must be tired. But, this takes priority.” Burce says as he raises from his chair. And for a second Jason thought he was 11 again first meeting him. But he's not. And this is more serious than Jason was used to. Not to say that the stuff the family usually deals with isn’t serious, it is, but for some reason when he was Robin things were more fun. And less about trying to save the world and just protect Gotham.

“I’ll get straight to business because this involves the entire family and then me and the others will cover your beat.” Burce started as he sat back into his chair and hit a button and the face Jason still sees in his nightmares, Joker. “About two nights ago Joker was reported missing from Aharkham. Harely was covering for him and his son.” The last word sent a chill down Jason’s spine and he doesn’t know why. He wanted to interrupt but he knew Bruce would explain. “During your flight from Europe, Joker attacked. When we arrived on scene there was a boy about 14 with green hair but normal skin and eyes. Once he saw us he surrendered instantly. He claimed to be your son instead of Joker’s. We took a field DNA sample. Alfred confirmed his relation to you. We immediately brought him back to the cave and we examined the thumb drive he gave us. Joker took your DNA right before he killed you.” Burce finished as he stood and looked into Jason’s eyes. Jason knew. He knew. There was no doubt, he had a son.

“Jason.” Burce said in a soft voice. Jason couldn’t look away. He was a father. And his son was raised by the mam- MONSTER who killed him and is the reason he's much more buff than before. “This is a shock. I understand how you feel.” Bruce did understand just a few years back, Damian joined the family. But this is not as “pure” intentioned. A madman took his DNA to make a son. HIS son and raise it to be like him. Jaon was ferrous. He wanted to kill Joker more than he ever wanted before. “But, right now there is a 14 year old boy in the gymnastics room. And he wants to meet you.”

And with that Jason is moving towards the gymnastics room. He can hear someone call out to him but he doesn’t care. His son needs him. And that’s all that deserves his attention. Soon Jason is walking into the room. He can see his son flipping like Dick does. The green hair sticks out like a sore thumb. Jason knows hair dye from a mile away. If his son wants to continue to dye it Jason will let him. Jason watches with a proud smile as his son dismounts and sticks the landing and Jason can’t stop himself from clapping.

“Nice dismount. Almost as good as Uncle Dick.” Jason said with a smile. The second the words left Jason’s mouth the boy’s head snapped over and if Jason doubted he had a son looking into the boy’s eyes told him everything he needed to know. The boy, already having tears in his eyes Ran to his father and Jason caught him. The hug was tight and filled with love. “It’s okay baby hood. Daddy’s got you.” and while it might be weird to say that to a teenager Jason had missed almost all of his son's life so far, so for Jason he is daddy. “It’s okay bud, I got you. I got you. ”

#x male!reader #x male reader #x male! reader #dc x male reader #male!reader #bat family x male reader #jason todd x male reader #son reader

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eupheme · 1 year ago

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— i’ll be seeing you | part i

[masterlist] | [playlist]

invisible man!alfred pennyworth x f!reader

rated e - 6k

tags: invisible man!au, age gap, holiday fluff, light angst, alfred is fully invisible/silent to reader, shared spaces, mutual pining, magical elements, bruce being bruce, mentions of food/eating, unintentional gaslighting and domestic (non-sexual) voyeuristic observation, the beginning of feelings

a/n: hi! here is part i! this was a one-shot that got a little long, so I am splitting into three parts. The rest are mosty written, I hope to have them up soon (and really hope you enjoy this little holiday au!) 💕❄️

There's something wrong with Wayne Tower. Doors creak open on their own. Your things move when you're not looking. It's not a far stretch to think that Gotham might be haunted, with all of the things you've seen over the years. And it will take more than this to scare you away.

But as the days pass... you realize that perhaps, that's not its intent. That there's kindness and thoughtfulness in those movements you catch. And when you have a literal run-in with the ghost, it leaves you suddenly wondering - just who or what have you been staying with?

The Tower must be haunted.

It’s the only explanation you can think of.

You’ve been staying here for a little over a week now. A offer from Bruce that tips heavily in your favor - the use of the Tower for six weeks, while he is abroad.

Glorified house-sitting, needing someone to keep an eye on things while he was gone. Pick up the occasional package from Wayne Enterprises. Use up the perishables in the fully-stocked fridge, before they are wasted.

For you, it’s honestly a no-brainer. The perfect escape, the solace you thought was so needed to work on finishing up and editing your novel.

You jumped at the chance to help your friend, and privately, you’d always been curious to see just what lied in the penthouse. A chance to peek at the bookshelves and cabinets filled with curios. See how the hallways might twist and turn, to run your fingers over all the intricate wooden carvings.

But that has been before.

Before things started moving. Mail you had been so sure was left on the heavy wooden table in the open foyer, now on the desk. Those tall, arched doors that seemed to creak open on their own, just barely caught in the corner of your eye as you were passing.

Footsteps, in the night.

And then - turning even more peculiar, and more personal.

Your scattered research notes carefully stacked on the table next to you, when you woke from a lazy, afternoon nap. Some items in the kitchen never seeming to go empty, no matter how many times you’ve used them.

It had been a mystery. Unsettling, in the variety.

What you knew of ghosts involved spirits, unable to move on. Beings who lashed out, sought to frighten its inhabitants away. Or possess them.

At night, when you’re alone in the guestroom, you think you ought to be nervous. Afraid that you presence might have caused it displeasure, that it somehow, would take that anger out on you.

But, this is Gotham, after all. And with the hell the city has been through, you’ve lived through worse. The prospect of a haunting doesn’t seem as frightening compared to them. The creak of old floors is nothing compared to riddling clues and murdered politicians, thousands of people displaced from their homes as the city had gone near-underwater.

No, it’s something more like curiosity that flickers through you. After all, these movements were almost… helpful.

Intentional, at least.

And with that thought - something Bruce had said nudged at you, from the morning he handed over the keys.

But surely it had been a joke.

An internal amusement, at your expense.

“I’ll be six hours ahead, but text if you need me. You don’t have to worry about the Tower or cleaning, Alfred will take care of everything.”

“Alfred?” You had asked him, frowning. The name tickling something in the memory of your friendship, but you thought Bruce had lived alone.

“Don’t worry about it.” Bruce had coaxed, before changing the subject, “You won’t even see him.”

There had been no Alfred.

You were certain of that - by now you’d know if you were sharing the space with someone.

The Tower was expansive, but it was impossible that if they did exist, that they would always be in the exact opposite room as you. That your paths surely would have crossed by now.

You thought that perhaps, it was some form of Artificial Intelligence. Parts of the house hooked to some sort of electronic device he could monitor - call in any fixes or deliveries from home.

Alfred was probably an acronym for something clever.

Artificial Life For Reliable, Effective Delegation

It would make sense, with Bruce’s knack for gadgets. His fortune. The hours he kept - not a lot of room left to keep up with a dwelling as large as this. Far too busy and focused to worry about the daily minutia of bill-paying and grocery shopping.

Yes, surely - that was it.

And it had contented you, for a little while.

Until now. Because it didn’t explain this.

The last thing Bruce had told you to do was not to snoop. Tacked on at the end while he buttoned up his dark peacoat, baggage in hand - almost as if he had almost forgotten.

“Enjoy yourself.”

“But stay out of the west wing, alright?”

It had been on the tip of your tongue to ask just what you should be avoiding. Your interest piqued - all manner of thoughts of what he might be hiding springing into your consciousness - though you tried to forget it.

Bruce had been far too generous already, in offering you his home. You would never intentionally disobey his wishes.

And you hadn’t meant to. Really.

You had just gotten turned around in the mix of different rooms. The large split staircase had lead you upstairs, along a corridor of bedrooms - a narrow spiral back down popping you out near the kitchen. Around a corner, and you’d found yourself beneath an arched passageway that you haven’t been down before.

Intricate oil paintings lined the walls, ones you had ached to see. To examine the brushstrokes yourself, the splashes of gold and crimson against the dark walls. The shut doors flanked by suits of shining silver armor, and… was that a chain on the door, at the end?

If you were just there, if you didn’t open anything…. then it wouldn’t be snooping if you just peeked around. Right?

You had only taken a half-dozen steps down the hallway, before you suddenly collided with something solid. A soft noise ripping from you as you had stumbled, knocked off-kilter.

There had been a pinching at your elbow, a pointed pressure that steered you around. A feeling at the small of your back guiding you forward, as you suddenly found yourself facing the passageway you had just walked under.

It happened so quickly that you hadn’t been sure what happened. Startled enough that you abandoned your exploring, making for familiar territory instead.

But that night, the memory had kept you up. Replaying it over and over. Enough that you had texted Bruce, a quick message that had already made you feel foolish the second you had sent it.

Is your house haunted?

His answer coming some time later, your eyes heavy and red-rimmed with exhaustion.

Isn’t everyone’s?

Leaving you to wonder if Bruce hadn’t really been joking, after all.

It doesn’t happen again for a solid week. Long enough that you had started to doubt that it ever did. That perhaps, you had just imagined it.

Giving you time to turn the moment over again and again, in your mind. Picking at the loose thread thing together the pieces. Your writings sidetracked by searches for ghosts, of hauntings - you suppose it would not be unusual, in a place like Gotham. To have spirits attached to a city that feels so cursed at times.

But, you keep going back to that pressure. The feeling of a hand at your arm, though there had only been the walls and floors ahead of you.

It had been physical. Corporeal.

You notice more, in that time after.

More moments that you had spared a quick glance and thought of, but figured it had been in your head. The occasional dirty dish left in the sink is cleaned and tucked away the next morning. The blankets on the couch neatly folded, instead of strewn across the cushions.

At first, you had thought you had just forgotten. That perhaps your mind had just wandered, that you had been unintentionally tidying up as you mentally worked through your next task.

It wouldn’t be unusual - since you arrived, your sleep schedule had twisted. Mornings becoming afternoons. Night becoming day, with no one’s responsibilities to manage but your own.

Running on auto-pilot and simply not realizing.

If it is a ghost, it is a tidy one.

It's that thought that begins to cement your earlier suspicions. That their identity just might be the one that Bruce was hinting at, when he said you didn't have to worry about the Tower.

Some small comfort in knowing that he would never leave you in any danger. That you might have been on edge - with the creaking of doors at night - but that harm would not come to you.

That hypnosis’s tested as time passed - there were no threats, smeared with jagged letters in the fogged-up mirror after your shower. No swinging chandeliers, loosening on their own to crash down against your head.

That whatever it was, it kept its distance.

An intrigue slowly forms, that only grows with time. A urge to find out more - determined to see something, to make contact, again.

Even if you can't help being annoyed, as well.

Trust Bruce to let you think your mind was playing tricks on you, instead of telling the truth.

And with your now-careful surveillance - you finally catch when they slip up.

Your chin has been propped on your hand for some time now as you think - staring out of the tall, arched windows in one of the alcoves of the foyer. Head tilted to the side, so you can watch the small cars below - the tiny movements of people as they scurry into stores, to escape the cold wind that whips through the city streets.

There's a movement, then. Not outside, not below.

A flickering out of the corner of your eye you almost miss, near the coffee table you sit in front of. No more than a glint of silver in the light.

The faintest sound of pouring, which would have been drowned out by the ambient music trickling from your laptop, if you had not become so suddenly focused on the source.

It’s pouring you more coffee.

You're careful to keep still - your head fixed in place as you glance surreptitiously towards the movement. The silver coffeepot you've been lugging around tilted just enough to let a stream into your near-empty cup.

There can't be many ghosts that would choose to help, instead of scare or harm. That wiggle of curiosity surges into something more - a need to understand.

So, you try. Carefully, and unmoving.

"Are you Alfred?"

The coffee sloshes against the rim of your mug, dripping down the side. Startled by your words, so certain he had slipped past you, in your reverie. The carafe still hovers aloft, as you slowly turn your head.

Thinking that he might bolt. Hoping that he wouldn't.

Your eyes meet open air, swooping over the space - although you don't know where to look.

"Bruce mentioned you.” You try, settling on the area that you guess might be eye-level, on a man. "He said you'd be around, that I-… well, he must have thought he was being funny."

Teeth bite into the edge of your tongue - your head shaking at the half-truth he had given you. An omission, but still leaving room to argue later that he hadn’t been lying.

Your attention focuses back, again.

"But you're real, right? That was you, in the hallway?"

The coffee pot lowers to the table, then. A clunk against the heavy wood, just as you twist fully around. Your hand darting out to keep him there, curling around something solid. A wrist?

There's a tension as if he's about to move but then, at your touch, - he goes still. He's warm and solid beneath your palm, excitement sparking in your belly. Your other hand rising, index finger extended as you gesture for him to wait.

"Please don't go. Just let me-" Your hand slips from him as you bend, looking for the bag propped against the wooden legs of the velvet settee. A second of rooting around before you find what you're looking for - a capped pen, and your spiral-bound notebook.

A page is torn from the end, and then ripped in half. You scribble down two words before flipping them around - setting them on the top of the table.

Yes and No rest there, scrawled in thick purple ink. A simplistic system by all means, and you're not even sure if he's still there or if he slipped away while you searched.

"You're Alfred, right?" You ask again, quietly - hopefully.

A fluttering in your heart at the idea of communicating. Unable to help the way you lean towards the words, as if willing them to move.

And after a long moment… they do.

The slightest flutter, a nudge to the word marked Yes.

A grin splits your face, hands clasped together, "It was you in the hallway? You this whole time?"

His answer comes more quickly now, another nudge. A sort of relief washes over you with that confirmation. No ghost lurking in these halls - just an unexpected and unusual sort-of roommate.

You had thought the solitude would suit you, but as the days pass, the interaction now feels welcome. Too many silent hours in such a big penthouse, left to your own devices for hours on end.

"And is that your collection of tea in the kitchen, or do they belong to Bruce?" The tease comes without thought, though you belatedly realize that it's not a binary question. A heavy pause hangs in the air, before there's the slightest tug at your fingers.

You let the pen go, as he pulls it from you. One of the torn pieces flips over, the writing that appears much smaller and neater than yours.

Mine.

He plays along, to your amusement. Enough so that you're not quite ready to let him go.

"Will you have a cup with me, then?"

The paper flips back over, before it's nudged back your way.

Yes.

He hadn't been sure what to make of you.

A prickle of irritation when Bruce had informed him - yes, informed - of the arrangement. Visitors had never bothered him in the past, he was always grateful for any opportunity that meant Bruce felt comfortable bringing someone into his home. That he was spending time in the company of another, and not stuck lingering on what could never be changed.

But that was before.

With Bruce gone, what was he to do? Pretend he doesn't exist, skirting around a stranger in the Tower? Unable to rest, too worried that you would disturb the sanctuary he's spent so long protecting?

"You know you can't go out." Bruce's eyes had been downcast, peering beneath the hood of his car. Alfred's own finger's streaked with grease, with his constant and silent aide.

Down beneath the guts of the Tower, in the Terminus. Another place to keep secret in his absence. A few years ago he would have considered caving it in while Bruce was away, but they've both come a long way since the days of the Riddler. Managing to meet somewhere in the middle, even as difficult as the journey was.

"She's doing us a favor."

He could go out, if Bruce needed. Yes, a floating parcel could be problematic - a car driven with no owner - but he could get around that. It would be far from the more difficult things he's had to do over the course of his lifetime.

But before he knew it - you was there, and Bruce was gone.

Alfred had never intended to interact with you. He had been all but a ghost for some time now, silent and invisible. It would have been too easy to keep to the shadows.

To avoid you completely.

But that wasn’t quite how things had turned out.

You were fascinating, in your novelty. Beautiful, though he tries not to dwell on that particular observation. Keeping a schedule much like Bruce’s - all odd hours and self-directed patterns - though you couldn’t be more opposite.

Alfred would never dare step into your room, or encroach upon a private moment. He did not seek you out. But if he was already up, and you wandered into the kitchen to make pasta in the middle of the night, then sometimes… he stayed.

Watching you move about the space. Resisting the long-engrained urge to nudge you out of the way, to cook for you himself.

Forcing himself to linger instead, listening to you hum along to music only you could hear. Opening all the cabinets each time, until you found what you were looking for. A coffee mug, the deepest bowl you could find.

He’d rearrange them later. Bring them to the shelf closest to you, so you didn’t have to search so hard.

That he could do, at least.

And when you had grown curious - wandering about the Tower, down the very hallway Bruce had told you to avoid - he had been unable to avoid you any longer.

It had been all too easy to catch you off guard. Ignoring the spark that jolted through him when his hand had wrapped around your elbow, swiftly guiding you back the way you came. Away from the entrance to Wayne Terminus.

The expression of shock on your face still makes him smile, though he took no pleasure in frightening you.

He still manages to do so, though. Your hand flattening across your chest, a muffled shriek when his fingers stretch out to carefully tap your arm, announcing his presence.

You were open like that - smiles and frowns and everything in between, worn so plainly and unfettered across your face. Another source of intrigue.

So different than what he was used to. Interpreting the minute frowns and sighs and ticks of Bruce’s jaw, as if he was in the circus again - solving a codex.

He thought he was starting to be able to read you. Annoyance and boredom and that laser-focused look you got when you were working - hours passing without notice.

And now, he watches as curiosity blooms.

Directed at him, no less.

It was an unusual feeling. No one he was used to - there were few secrets between himself and Bruce, especially over the recent years. A promise made that he would do better, even though he's still wracked at night with worry.

He's not a spectacle. You don't push - though surely, you must wonder. It's not as if he doesn't himself, even though he's long been resigned to the feeling of merely existing, instead of living.

And when he finds that your routines slowly start to include him - an extra mug of tea made, the paper set out where he usually spends the morning - that wish that he had been left alone slowly begins to slip.

Alfred finds himself thinking that perhaps, perhaps, these weeks won't be so bad, after all.

Or at least - not quite so boring.

In the days that follow, a semblance of a routine is formed.

His presence is announced by a touch on your shoulder - a soft tap, as not to scare you, like he had before. The questions you have about the manor, about him, answered with more of those touches.

One tap for no. Two quick ones for yes.

Or written on pen and paper like your first meeting, when you have it.

You take to carrying a pad around in your backpocket. A pen tucked behind you ear, as you grow more brave - emboldened by the fact that he does answer. That they are short and succinct, though you think, not unwelcome.

For if he had wanted to stay out of your sight, it would have been all too easy. If he stayed - sharing the space with you, steam rising from his teacup as the newspaper turned - then surely, it would mean that he did not mind.

Notes passed back and forth as you work - the heavy velvet curtains in the foyer pulled back to let the daylight in. Giving you a view of the Gotham skyline, how untouched it feels from so high up. Rows and rows of buildings, each climbing taller.

Have you always worked for the Waynes?

Your question is folded up, flicked across the table. A old trick from school, the triangular shape soaring to where the papers are sorted in neat stacks, the click of a calculator as sums are added and marked down in a ledger.

His answer comes in neat, uniform letters. Carefully written on the sheet below your looping scrawl.

Not always. I met Thomas after my days in the military.

Another small detail you hoard like a magpie, this new piece weaving its way into the shiny pile of treasures you've collected. It explained a little - the tidiness of the kitchen, the way he moved through the morning like clockwork.

So unlike your own schedule, tied to the whims of your creativity.

But you've been with them since?

Yes.

Have you always been their Butler?

It seems like a strange course to take after his years of service and you think he must see the way you frown, as you think it over. His pen hesitates, before he answers.

In a way.

His answers are as cryptic as Bruce's could be. You wonder which one had begun that way - who had learned from the other. The thought of the connection made you smile.

In these moments, you find you work well together. He’s a busy man - the ambient sounds of his fountain pen scratching over papers filling your afternoons. The notes shared a welcome reprieve, when the hunch of your shoulders and twist of your hips start to ache.

Trading pieces of each other across the hours. Favorite books. Foods that remind you of home, ones that are sometimes ordered and shared over the course of the next day.

Memories, carefully inked down - feeling like confessions.

Your eyes are bleary when you finally glance up from your laptop, the mid-morning light somehow slipping towards evening before you could blink. The room now eerily silent, and you wonder if he is still here. Or if he moved on without notice, as sometimes did.

“Alfred?”

You voice is quiet in the large room. It’s not like you need him for anything but you still can’t help but wonder where he is - not minding the moments where you share the room together.

Still getting used to the fact that he exists, and yet is always unseen.

He appears before the sound has faded, his name still hanging in the air. A brush at your shoulder, embarrassment heating your cheeks at the thought of being caught, sounding so needy.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here,” You admit, with a scrunch of your nose, “I wasn’t sure, I-”

Words cut off by the plate set down next to you. Dinner - the meal still warm, fresh from the kitchen. You’d worked through lunch, too caught up to notice the time. The ache that had formed in your belly as the time passed now making itself known.

It has you wondering if he had been on his way back, or whether he had heard your call. He seemed to have a habit of that - appearing just when you’re looking for him. As if he had an innate sixth sense for knowing when he was wanted.

“Thank you. You really didn’t have to do this, you know.” You protest, and your refilled coffee cup rattles as it’s set down next.

The movement almost indignant.

A quick jotting on the back of a printed article he’d been perusing, the ink still glossy when it’s rotated your way - the last word underlined for emphasis.

You are our guest.

It’s hard to hold back the smile, as you read. You wonder when it became “our” and not just Bruce’s guest - if the exact syntax held anything in it’s arrangement.

Would it be strange that you think you want to find a deeper meaning in his words? That assurance that he wasn’t inconvenience by your presence? That the hours spent together were more pleasure than mere obligation?

You push the thought away from now - unable to examine your inner feelings with the source of them being so near. Dipping into the food he brought, instead. It’s good - a twist on a quick meal you’ve made a few times since you arrived, but much more delicious.

The thought of him watching you unawares, sends a little jolt crackling low in your stomach.

But you realize - it’s not one of discomfort.

Something else to contemplate, later.

“Did you already eat?” You ask, between mouthfuls.

The answer comes with the movement of his pen, nudging the plate closer.

Over time, you’ve found he can tips towards bossy. Insistent. Amusement at the thought of him trying to keep Bruce in check - hiding your smile as you shut down your laptop in favor of concentrating on your food. Savoring it, a certain luxury found in a hearty meal that was not made with your own hands.

Something you’re not used to, something you certainly and wholeheartedly appreciate.

When your belly is full, you lean back against the cushions. Thinking about how often you find yourself here, in this cluster of alcoves off the large, open foyer. Leaving you wondering about the rest of the Tower, as a sip of coffee warms your belly.

“Do you have a favorite room?” You ask him, with a tilt of your head.

There is no written answer. It comes instead with the pushing back of his chair - a hand that rests on top of yours, squeezing twice as he coaxes you out of your chair.

Alfred guides you down halls you've explored before, though you were never brave enough to peek into any of the closed rooms. The thought of getting a look inside one of them thrills you, a hand gently touching between your shoulder blades to steer you towards a set of the doors at the end of the hall.

The closer of the two opens with his touch, the room brighter than you're expecting as you slip inside.

A beautiful study, the walls and built-in bookshelves stained a deep brown that tips towards gray. An antique wooden desk takes up the middle of the room - a closed laptop resting on top, next to piles of neat manila folders.

The heavy drapes that embrace the arched window behind are cracked open to let in the setting sun - and as you step into the room, they open wider.

The view is stunning.

Looking out across Gotham River instead of the streets of Midtown, clogged with buildings and the never-ending traffic. Framing the lazy rush of the water that had caused so much destruction in the years before, softened by the glitter and glint of the sun as it dips below the horizon.

Unmarred by man-made buildings and dark shadows.

"It's beautiful," You breathe - only just now noticing how close you've moved to the window, skirting around that old wooden desk, "I can see why you love it."

You can feel him next to you, at your shoulder. That sort of heavy presence that you've started to sense - nearly well-enough that you've gotten good at hazarding a guess where he stands.

Lingering just a little longer in the silence, watching the crash of the waters against the floodwalls. But your insatiable curiosity eventually piques at you, unable to help the twist of your head as you take in the surroundings.

Seeing more from this side of the room. The cracked door from off to the side, leading to a darkened bedroom in shades of charcoal and silver.

A buttery-soft leather chair tucked into the desk, where a sterling silver teapot sits on a folded newspaper. You've seen it before, in the kitchen, on the hexagonal table in the foyer.

"Is this your room? Your study?" You ask, piecing things together. Wondering how it took you so long to realize how it feels like him. The sort of him you’ve come to picture - tidy and proper.

Thick-bound books tucked neatly into the shelves that reach towards the ceiling, sculptures breaking up the space. The wooden floor covered in a thick rug, soft against your toes. A warmth brought to the space, in spite of all the sharp stone and dark wood.

Yes.

And then your eyes are snagging on the desk. Where two photos lie overlapping, unseen from the other side. Ones of people, their edges creased and well-worn with touch - two men flanking a women, a child in her arms. For a moment you almost think one of them is Bruce, with his sharp jawline and dark hair.

As you step closer, you realize it's not. You recognize the Waynes from the newspapers, both beautiful and elegant - their son a perfect mix of both of them. Next to them, standing close - just as much as part of the family, is another.

You don't know the man on the right. He is striking - broad-shouldered and dressed just as well. Dark hair that is carefully combed back, just starting to lighten at the temples. Eyes bright and blue, his smile framed with a neatly trimmed beard.

But maybe... you do.

"Is this you?" Your fingers reach out, nearly touching. Hovering, instead.

The second picture lifts, pressed into your hand. Just two, now. A small smile at Bruce, clad in a cap and gown, a golden stamp at the corner edge that notes Yale University. The tight-lipped smile of a young man, exasperated at the prospect of a photo.

The man - your Alfred - is here, too. Older, his hair more gray than black now. Still smiling, though the expression has faded, as he stands next to Bruce.

"You look..." The words trail off. Something lodging in your chest, stealing your breath.

Handsome. Happy. Just like I imagined you.

None are appropriate to say. Eyes quickly soaking up the photos, trying to picture him now. Not that much older, certainly less than a decade. Distinguished, the salt-and-pepper tones only complimenting his already attractive features.

Your thumb traces the edge of the photo as you find your voice, "Proud."

Yes.

It hits you then - the mystery of him. You head suddenly jerking in his direction, the frame setting back down on the desk as you turn, "You haven't always been like this?"

There's a wave of your hand, gesturing at his situation.

You hadn't known what to think. You lived in fiction and you lived in Gotham - the world twisting and turning dark in front of your own eyes. Countless ideas had flitted through your mind, a topic you had come back to frequently.

Whether he was born like this, never seen by human eyes. Truly a ghost, haunting the halls - unable to leave. Or even just a figment of your imagination - a dream that you haven't woken up from yet.

None of them had made sense. Not with what he had told you of his past. But the ideas had started to dry up, leaving you with no answers. Until now.

His hand squeezes your arm. No.

It sends your heart tumbling, as a drawer in his desk opens. Digging down deep, an article tucked beneath layers of folders, as if untouched for years. Worn and paper thin from where it had been clipped from the Gotham Gazette, carefully held out to you.

And as your eyes flick over the headline, you remember. The sorcerer who had sold his soul to the devil, wreaking havoc throughout the city. People had disappeared, plucked from the streets. Tricked by their own eyes by his illusions, in his quest for dominance over the city.

Your parents had called you - begging you to stay inside, to stay safe, until it was over. A shiver racing up your spine at their worry, how it still lingers in your memory.

Alfred must have been caught. One of the many affected by the spells. Cursed.

"This was years ago," Your voice was hushed, "You've been this way for that long?"

Yes.

The thought makes you ache.

"Can you fix this? Is there a way?"

You think surely there must be. There had been others, brought out of months of sleep. Turned back into their human forms, from the animal they had become. It has you clinging to a spark of hope that had long been extinguished in these halls.

A pen from his desk lifts, an answer slowly inked in the margins of the article.

I cannot not tell you.

And then two words, written below it.

Ask Bruce.

You text Bruce that night.

In the glow of your laptop - the scene you're working on left hanging, open-ended as you're unable to resist any longer. Late enough now for you that for him, it's morning.

I met your butler.

Your phone is still glowing when he answers. Barely a minute passing before the bubbles appear, just two words popping up.

Did you?

He never makes it easy - a sigh slipping from your lungs as you lean back into the plush chair, a knee pressing into the edge of the desk.

I did.

A second, as you wonder if you should dive in. If you should just ask what you want to know - if Bruce would entertain the thoughts and questions swirling in your mind.

You decide you should. That he's busy, and blunt. No reason you can't cut to the chase.

He said you could tell me about the curse.

Interesting. So you didn't just meet him. How long has it been?

That has you pausing, your thumb tapping a quick response.

What do you mean?

Alfred would never just tell that to anyone.

Even someone like you.

You scoff.

Meaning??

A pause hangs. Minutes passing, before an answer appears.

Meaning someone I trust enough to leave in my home.

His answer mollifies you. A friend, you think. Something he would never say. On anyone else you'd comment on the sentiment, but you think bringing attention to it would only push him further away.

We've been talking for a little while. Written notes, stuff like that.

The touching is innocent, but you feel protective of it. Like the brush of his hand is private. That aspect remains unmentioned, something just for you.

I'm impressed.

Your eyes roll with impatience. Impressed that you'd find a way to talk to him? Or impressed that you'd even noticed?

Thanks, I guess. Today he told me about the curse. Said I could ask you. Can I?

You haven't told me what he's told you.

You take a second then, to recollect. Typing slowly and then erasing, until you get your thoughts down.

He showed me the newspaper. I know about what happened, and when I asked if it could be fixed he said he couldn't tell me. That I could ask you.

You can.

I am???

Fuck - he's infuriating. Your jaw grits, as you flop sideways - twisting on your back. Hands held above your face as you type out your answer with a little more force than necessary.

I'm asking right now. Could you please tell me?

From what we've gathered, his curse will be lifted when he gets what he truly wants. Which might be impossible, considering.

This is something. A tangible goal, something you can really work towards. Your heart kicks up a notch, as you murmur the words while typing.

Considering what? What does he want?

That depends. Why do you want to lift it?

That has you pausing. Why do you? Is it because it's what any decent person would do?

Perhaps if it was the first day, that would be your answer.

But over the course of the evening and the time that had passed, it's become more.

It's hard not to think about how lonely Alfred must be. Half a lifetime spent with just the two of them. Now - left utterly unseen. Not even a ghost, but someone trapped as time still moves on without him. Forgotten.

And yes - lately, selfishly, you want to see him. Deep down, you’re realizing you want him to see you, too. Though it’s more than just that.

You need to break it.

To help him, because Alfred deserves it.

You can't tell Bruce this. It feels too new, too tender. Something still half-formed, even to your own mind.

So you send your own half-truth in reply.

Because it's the right thing to do.

Bruce’s response comes quickly.

If that is your answer, then you should give up now.

It leaves you frowning, a pit forming in your stomach.

Bruce.

???

What do you mean?

No other answers come, though it doesn't stop your eye from wandering the rest of the night. That urge to check for a more substantial answer. Frustration bubbling in your stomach, acid in your throat. Hurt and confused by his words.

Leaving your mind swirling - an irritation in the way your mind has now split. Words no longer flowing from your fingertips - your manuscript left frozen in place, as you try to puzzle out his meaning. Reading and rereading his messages.

That so-very human urge to help turning into something a more.

A desire.

Your jaw grits as you decide that don't need Bruce's help. You can do this yourself.

For Alfred.

thanks for reading! 💖

#alfred pennyworth x reader #alfred pennyworth x you #alfred pennyworth x f!reader #alfred pennyworth fan fic

127 notes · View notes

to-the-stars8 · 1 year ago

Text

Learning to Love Slowly

Jason Todd x Reader All Chapters AO3

51-The Little Things and Bernard

“You must be Bernard, I’m Jason’s partner,” You introduced yourself to the young man. You noted that he was handsome, and looked just like Tim’s type. Good-looking and a bit nerdy.

Jason had filled you in on the issues between Tim and his boyfriend, asking you to talk to at least one of them in hopes of helping his little brother. Initially, you were hesitant and weary of intervening in someone else’s relationship. Then, when you came over for family dinner, Tim looked at you with those big blue eyes with the cutest little puppy dog look that only a little brother could give. That’s when you finally caved, but told him only that you do the bare minimum since you didn’t want to be caught in the middle of something.

“Yeah, Tim’s told me about you,” Bernard held out his hand and you two greeted each other warmly. He sounded happy and chirpy. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only non-vigilante here! Other than Alfred, of course.”

You laughed because it was polite, and took a seat next to him. “Yeah. Gotta admit we’re in pretty unique situations.”

He seemed to definitely understand what you meant by immediately going into a tirade about how annoying it was to get stood up all the time and how a lot of dates were put off for months to accommodate Tim’s “bat-schedule”. You understood a bit, more than once had you gotten dressed up for a date only to have Jason text saying that the two of you would have to reschedule. He’d make up for it with a bundle of apologies and promises that he had always kept. You’d try something else instead, working on small things for the weeks he was way too busy. It might have been a short dinner or even the two of you making a date out of going to the grocery store. It didn’t matter what small things it was as long as the two of you got to spend time together.

You told Bernard as much. “It’s their life, Bernard.”

He rebuffed your comment, “Yet, they still can’t make time for us.”

“They can, but you gotta give them a chance first. Look,” You turned to look at him. “Let me lay it out like this. No one in this family is like us. They’ve had a whole different childhood and adulthood. About sixty-five percent of it is just fighting crime. Other than that, they haven’t had much experience with normal things, especially normal relationships.”

You could see the wheels in Bernard’s head turn as he thought over your words, and silently waited for his response. It took a good minute before he finally turned to you and quietly said, “But, when do you know it’s not enough?”

“Do you think it’s not enough?” Bernard shrugged, and you sighed. “You love Tim?”

He was quiet again then nodded, “Yeah.”

“Then rebuild and rework. When you finally see improvement or not, then you know. Talk to him about it, though. This is a two-way street.”

Bernard nodded, standing suddenly and bee-lining for the door. You took that as he wanted to start afresh with Tim as soon as possible. As soon as he was out the door, Jason slinked in right after, looking like he was after all the tea. You disclosed to him that despite being his girlfriend and accepting to help him it didn’t entitle him to know a private conversation.

Jason tried to fight you on it, to at least let him know how it’ll work out. You implied that you didn’t know, and only said, “We’re still on for Friday night, right?”

#jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd #romance #red hood #red hood x reader #batfamily #red hood fanfic #tim drake x bernard dowd #tim drake #tim x bernard #bernard dowd

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l-starlight-l · 2 years ago

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Meeting the brothers

A/n: it’s been foreverrrre since I posted, but I’m thinking about making a cute series of smaller story’s that all go together.

Description: Jason finally can get everyone out of the manor so you two can have alone time, but it doesn’t last long.

Pairings: Jason Todd x reader

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:Reference:

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Jason had finally invited you over to his father’s manor. You were so excited, you had heard stories about how Luxurious it was. When you got there all the excitement in your stomach turned to anxiety. The place was huge, and I mean like castle huge. What we’re your boyfriends fancy rich family gonna think of not so fancy you. You took a few deep breaths and knocked in a harmonious pattern on the oak door. After a minute a kind looking old man in a butlers outfit opens the door.

“Ah you must be miss y/n” he greets you with a smile

“Oh um yes I’m here to see Jason” you mutter feeling very shy. They’re so rich they have a butler, this is crazy.

“He’s in the Library, I’m quite suprised how hard he worked to get you here. The rest of the family is out of the house” he said with a small smirk, he held the door while you walked into the manor.

A sigh of relief fell over you when he said that it would only be you and Jason here. You were only a little intimidated by the stories he would tell you about his family. You stepped through the doors and were taken back by the beauty of the inside. It was decorated with such style and absolutely spotless. You took another deep breath, a warm aroma filled your nose. It was the smell of fresh baked cookies, a smile spread across your lips at the thought of tasting Alfred’s famous cookies.

“If you walk down this hall” Alfred said gesturing towards a very long hallway, “the library is the last door on the left”. You thanked him for the direction and you made your way to Jason. When you got to the end of the hallway, you stood in front of doors two times as tall as you. You pushed the very heavy door open and walked into the book filled room. There you saw Jason sitting in a very comfy looking chair with his nose deep in a book. He looked up when he heard the door close behind you. He met your eyes with a smile, god you loved his smile. He closed the book and got up to great you.

“Hey sweetheart” he said with love while pulling you into a hug. He kissed the top of your head. You wrapped your arms around his firm torso. “I was just finishing that book I was reading yesterday” he said with joy.

You released from the hug and looked up at him, “you’re so amazing” you say dumb found.

He laughs and looks back down at you smirking. “how so” he questions.

You spread out your arms showing the huge bookshelves that cover three walls of the room and go up to the ceiling. “I mean look at this room, it’s huge” you laugh and spin taking in the library. “And you have a butler, you are soooo rich” you stop your spin and look at him, “and you’re kind and handsome” you smile and gaze at him. His toned body, his jet black hair with an adorable streak of white, his beautiful eyes. Everything about him is so overwhelming.

You slowly walk over to him, cup his face and give him a quick kiss. You go to release from the kiss but he grabs you pulling you back in. The kiss deepens and you both stumble over to the couch in the middle of the room. You fall back hitting the couch and he stands over you. He leans towards you for another kiss when there’s a knock on the door. You pop up now standing next to Jason.

“Relax sweetheart it’s just Alfred” he says putting a soothing hand on the dip of your back. The door opens and Alfred is standing there with a tray of cookies. Your body relaxes and you smile at the man.

“Sorry to interrupt but I’ve brought snacks” he apologizes while setting the tray down on a side table by the door. He turns back towards the door, “call me if you need me”. He leaves with a kind nod to you and Jason.

You gaze at the door and then at the table with the cookies. Jason walks over to the tray and picks it up “care for a picnic my lady” he says with a wink. You giggle and nod. he points to a tan colored blanket, “Take that blanket on the couch we can set it up outside”. You grab it and follow him out the back doors in the library that leads to the Wayne manor gardens.

You lay the blanket down in a peaceful grassy area and Jason places the tray down in the middle of the picnic blanket. He pulls you down to sit with him. “Stop being so nervous, it’s just us” he places a gentle kiss on your forehead and offers you a cookie. “Your house is just so big, it’s intimidating” you say as you take a bite of the cookie. “Oh my god these are so good” you say looking up at Jason who’s smiling down at you. “Alfred is the best baker I know” he smirks, “I asked him to bake you a special batch” he winks and lays on his back.

You finish the cookie and lay down beside him. Your head resting on his chest while y’all look at the cloudy sky. You point at a weird shaped cloud, “that one kinda looks like a flower”. Jason smiles and points at another cloud, “and that one’s shaped like a Robin”. You both laugh and continue your little game. You sit back up to grab another cookie. You turn back to look at Jason whose still laying down looking at the sky. “Wanna smoke” you ask him. “Of course I do sweet heart” he sits up and grabs his lighter. He puts a cigarette between your lips and lights it. You watch him as he does it, he’s beautiful. You breath in and inhale the smoke, then breath it out. You pass it to Jason and lay back down. Jason leans over you and kisses you, it startles you but you kiss him back. He deepens the kiss and you wrap you arms around his neck.

You two are now heavily making out. He’s completely on top of you and all your nerves have disappeared. You’re only focusing on him and how hot it is when he towers over you like this. Lost in each other you don’t realize you’ve been caught. Water sprays at you and soaks Jason. He jumps up and you sit there in shock, barely wet due to Jason being on top. You look up to and see Alfred and Tim standing there watching you two. You blush seeing a hose in Alfred hand and Tim laughing his ass off.

“What the fuck” Jason yells in anger. Alfred shakes his head

“master Todd there is no smoking and you know that”. You roll over and hide in your hands super embarrassed. Jason crouches down and puts a hand on your back.

“Come on let’s go inside sweetheart, I’m so sorry about this” he helps you up and smiles at your bright red face.

As you are walking into the manor a dark haired boy a little older than you laughs and says “quiet the show you were putting on out there”. Jason’s looks furious “shut up dick”. Jason takes you to a guest room so you can both clean up and dry off. Once your cleaned up he introduces you to his two brothers who has came back from a mission earlier then expected. You got along with him quite well and became closer to Jason.

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#jason todd #red hood #batfam #dc comics #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #red hood x y/n #red hood x you #red hood x gender neutral reader #dick grayson #nightwing #tim drake #red robin

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nonagesiiiimus · 3 months ago

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eden's TLT reread: GTN's peripheral materials, pt 2:

part two! this turned into a super long one, and i still didn't even get all my thoughts out about the naming conventions. but it's long enough already.

A Sermon on Cavaliers and Necromancers

what a freaking interesting passage. this part does a few things for me.

it highlights the colonial attitudes and blindnesses of those living in the Empire. it uses the phrase "bullet-fueled barbarism" to describe non Resurrection societies, which is a complete and total colonialist phrase: used often to describe Native peoples, calling a group barbaric is a racially undertoned, 'better-than-them' filled word (p. 450).

this passage also says a lot about how the necro-cav pairing is a) perceived and b) marketed, to an extent, to the empires' people. the ideology of the empire is propagandized here to ensure that people view the necro-cav bond in a particular way. is it actually that way? in many cases yes, these two are bonded to each other in a love that is undefinable, and powerful, and balanced. what i think this passage does is try to hammer the reader over the head with that in a way that comes off as almost repressive towards any dissenting opinions.

i laughed at "BE MY CAVELIER V11". it reminded me of palamades' romance novel. he's absolutely dying for 6 sequels.

i also laughed at the "lowly lieutenant" remark (p.450). massive slam on marta dyas out of nowhere

this passage also gives some interesting information on how necromantic babies are born, and how the families work: “One flesh” is the underpinning of our whole Empire. We are born necromancers, or we are not; yet we are one. The non-necromancer will still have necromantic children. The necromancer will have parents who lacked the aptitude. The possibility is within us. We live under the thanergenic light of Dominicus, are born, grow, and die in his thanergetic Houses; the Resurrection made us so. We are fundamentally different to those born on thalergy planets outside the Empire. Our anxiety drives the expectant parent to arrange to give birth back home, or concern themselves with the baby’s proximity to grave dirt sourced from home" (p.451). not much more to add to this except that it seems like people in the Dominicus want their children to turn out as necromancers.

i was overall confused on the pattern marriages thing's importance and purpose. is it to hold onto necromantic power? what's up with all the bloodline stuff in the Houses, especially with the Sixth and their "set childbearing pairs" and "genetic scarcity" (p.453)? my understanding is that the sixth all descend from a very limited group of people and maybe have had difficulty marrying out of their house, which makes their gene pool limited. more of this is addressed in GTN/Dr. Sex/Nona, so i'm putting a pin in it to dive back into later.

THE NOTE. THE LYCTORAL NOTE. which reads: valancy says one flesh one end sounds like instructions for a sex toy. can’t stop thinking about that so can someone stop cris and alfred before the sex toy phrase catches on, thanks

i don't know who wrote it yet (cyrus?) and maybe we'll never know. but... hilarious. a bit of acid to cut through the fat of the propagandizing.

Cohort Intelligence Files

judith and marta have never seen action on the battlefield (p. 455)! also confirms there's a Cohort youth group, which, yuck. i guess they don't mind child soldiers.

i love that the tridentarii got in-house necromancy training. there would be no way ianthe could have kept up Corona's lie if they were in school! their parents must be committed to the matching set idea. again, yuck. i also think it's interesting the way that judith, like everyone else and despite knowing her for a long time, discounts ianthe completely. they are absolutely codependent in a lot of unhealthy and weird ways, but i feel like you'd have to be really not watching her to not notice ianthe's strengths. but tbh, she must have perfected the disguise. their descriptions are the first place we see "resurrection purity family" listed as a qualifier, under Naberius (p. 458).

the descriptions of isaac and jeannemary make it very clear how connected the fourth and fifth are. my question is, strategically, what does the fifth want/need from the fourth? we don't know enough about either of the houses to hazard a guess, in my opinion.

magnus and abigail married before magnus was her cavalier, which according to the Sermon, is a fifth house tradition they stick to in many cases (p.452). i enjoy the idea of magnus quinn leading a board meeting as a bureaucratic type.

palamades genius confirmed. also, camilla is so mysterious- and COMPLETELY DISCOUNTED by Judith (p.463). oh babe, she can soooo "compete on the cavalier stage".

heptanary blood cancer. yeesh. i'm dying to know what heptanary means or if it's a tamsyn word. also, reading judith's notes on protesilaus, it's wild to me that nobody fucking thought "hm. mr family man is acting like... a robot? that doesn't track. and he sucks at swords and is super slow? that doesn't track with his record either". hindsight on the beguiling dead is 20/20.

i didn't realize silas was 16. yikes, again! also, the breeding cavaliers thing is fucking disgusting. i feel so much pity for colum.

the poor mysterious ninth.

A Little Explanation of Naming Systems

first name refers to your family in some way. surname always in indicative of the House. first and last name can be used interchangeably to the same effect. names are not changed in marriage (p. 467)

some marraige stuff here too: non-necros must pick which house to settle on and affiliate with, and all children will be of the SETTLED house. necros can't marry out of house, which is why if they are to be married to someone from outside the house, that person has to affiliate with the necro's house instead of keeping their own house identity (pgs. 467-468).

harrow = harrowing of Hell. from swordofthespirit.net : "The “harrowing of hell” refers to what Christ did when he descended to Hades or hell between his death and his resurrection. Specifically, the early church believed that after his death Christ descended into hell in order to rescue the souls of the just, starting with Adam and Eve, who had died under the Fall. When Jesus descends he beaks down the doors of hell, unbinds the prisoners held in chains, and then leads the just to their heavenly paradise."

“hark is one of those terrible, portentous words that always precedes an awful time, but in the old sense of ‘awe’.” (468)

Harrow’s name is potentially a direct reference to the plot of ATN, or her character’s end game: to descend into Hell, and free those in chains, bringing them back to the light.

gideon: one who cuts down, Hacker or One Who Hewed Down the Enemy. in the bible, Gideon is a massive warrior and prophet of God, who is called down to fight the Midianites and essentially whoops ass. interesting quote from abarim publications: "The verb גדע (gada') means to hew down or cut off, mostly of religious regalia and holy trees and such. Strikingly, there are no nouns formed from this verb, suggesting that whatever was cut off, was no longer discussed and even cut off from speech itself."

tamsyn writes: "Gideon is a prophetic name: someone named their own demise in her" (p. 468). which i LOVE. their names tell of their future story, i.e she's going to KICK GOD'S ASS. hopefully.

priam: "priam in the iliad was famously a dad in a city about to go splat. (p. 469)"

coronabeth: Corona: the sun, the halo, the crown

ianthe : quoting from ancestry.com: "The name Ianthe finds its root in ancient Greek, where it is derived from the combination of the Greek words ia meaning violet and anthos meaning flower. This gave birth to its meaning as a violet colored flower. In Greek mythology, Ianthe was a [oceanid water] nymph who was beloved by one of the gods, who granted her immortality." violet eyes, immortality by God. also interestingly, ianthe was also the name of one of persephone's companions when she was taken by Hades.

there's one more legend of ianthe in greek mythology, as presumably another individual: Ianthe, a Cretan girl who was betrothed to Iphis, appears as another figure in Greek and Roman mythology. Iphis, a woman raised as a man, also fell in love with Ianthe and prayed to the gods for permission to marry the other woman. Instead, Isis changed Iphis into a man who then became Ianthe’s husband. very queer of her!

this note on the sixth house: "any person, regardless of necromantic aptitude, marrying any member of the Sixth House (also regardless of necromantic aptitude), becomes a member of the Sixth House. This binds them to the Sixth House for the rest of their lives; additionally, any subsequent children they might have are for the Sixth, even if their current partner is not of the Sixth House" (quote from the wiki). tamsyn remarks that this makes it complicated.. which i can imagine. but it probably helps with their gene pool issue.

isaac: Named for Isaac in the Bible, who was set to be sacrificed by his father by God’s orders, in order to test his father Abraham’s loyalty. “the sacrifice and death of Jesus Christ is heavily foreshadowed in the biblical account of Abraham's willingness to sacrifice Isaac…God had already asked Abraham to leave his kinfolk and give up his past, and in asking him to sacrifice Isaac, his only son, was asking him to "surrender his future as well... Just as Abraham was prepared to sacrifice Isaac, God sacrificed his only son, Jesus.”

jeannemary: named for Jeanne d’Arc, aka Joan of Arc.

isaac being named for the foreshadowed death of christ, and jeannemary being named for jeanne d’arc are just masterful (p. 472). the symbolism is near heavy handed but i eat it with a spoon anyway. gideon as christ for sure.

i LOVE tamsyn’s use of the matching parts of the name to signify the necro cav pairs that were truly devoted to each other: palAMades and cAMilla… mAGgnus and abiGAil… sobbing (p. 473)

dulcinea: Named for the imaginary love interest of Don Quixote. Don Quixote believes he must have a lady, under the mistaken view that chivalry requires it… As he does not have one, he invents her, making her the very model of female perfection.

“a case of a woman you want to exist but who really doesn’t” is heart shattering foreshadowing (p.473). this foreshadows the reveal that dulcinea as they all knew her never existed: she’d been killed by cytherea before they could even meet her

but tbh she does exist… just not in gideon. gotta wait for the river for that one. i am a pal/cam/dulcie polycule truther.

not much more except i am just consistently delighted in the thoughtfulness of the naming and how much foreshadowing is layered in the very names of these characters. many in ways we still have yet to see play out in the broader story of the text.

#the locked tomb #eden's tlt reread #gideon the ninth #tlt spoilers

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strangedreamings · 4 months ago

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S2E5 (spoilers abound)

The credits sequence hasn't changed, as far as I can tell.

Driftmark. Corlys limping to the Driftwood Throne. He's weeping over the death of his wife. As far as he knows, he's lost everyone now -- both of his children and his wife. (It's even money whether the writers even remember that Laenor is still alive.)

There's a fucking famine and all the Greens care about is parading Meleys' head through the streets. Guys, reminding the people that dragons CAN BE KILLED probably isn't the wisest thing to do right now. How many of them have lost livestock to feed the dragons' stomachs?

The Targaryen family literally spent YEARS convincing the people of Westeros that being dragonriders made them superior, now you're showing them that a dragon is really just a giant, flying horse. This is going to bite you in the ass so damn hard very soon.

"It's just meat." EXACTLY!

If Rhaenys' body is on that wagon, they need to have the Silent Sisters escort it to Driftmark, it's the only decent thing to do.

Aemond is still so damn pretty.

To be fucking honest, I don't know if that's Rhaenys' corpse or Aegon II's almost-corpse in that box. I wouldn't put it past Cole to have Aegon II transported in a way that no one can see how mangled he is.

So it was Aegon. He must be in a coma to have not made a sound this entire time. As fucked up as he is, he still didn't deserve this.

Alicent, you don't want to see this. And when did you suddenly decide you give a damn about Aegon anyway?

Ugh, they have to cut his armor off him and honestly, he looks like barbecued meat. Aemond's got a lot to answer for but the only person who can accuse him is currently comatose.

The burns make him look like he has greyscale, it's that bad.

I'm not crazy about this Grand Maester but he does seem to know what he's doing.

Oh, his broken legs. Poor guy, he'll never be able to walk properly again, if at all.

Aemond sniffing around, wanting someone, anyone, to name him Prince Regent. Sadly, he's the best option. God knows Alicent and Helaena aren't in the right frame of mind right now to rule.

But really, if the monarch can't rule, it's supposed to be the Hand who fills in. Criston, stop cleaning your sword (are you having a Lady MacBeth moment?) and do your job.

Wait, Sunfyre is dead? I thought Sunfyre is the one that eats Rhaenyra. *side-eyes the writers* What the fuck?

"He who has left us after some marital spat." I really want this guy dead. Can someone just shank him, please? Again, someone calls him Ser Alfred, but what's his surname? I can't look this asshole up without a surname.

Excusing your misogyny isn't going to get you out of this, dude.

"You've seen no more battles than I have." God, I love you, Rhaenyra.

Jace and Baela. Honestly, Baela is the more mature of the two. Jace going behind Rhaenyra's back? To be honest, the Battle of the Gullet can't come soon enough, I'm sick of him. He's too immature, too hotheaded, and he listens to no one. He may be half-Targaryen but he's no prince.

Daemon involving himself in the Blackwood-Bracken feud. This is pointless.

I like Willem but I don't think Daemon can trust him, not when it comes to the Brackens.

The Eyrie. So this is the famous Lady Jeyne Arryn. She's upset that the dragons Rhaenyra sent with Rhaena are hatchlings.

"Will you goad me, child?" Honey, you're barely old enough to be her mother, shush.

I don't like Jeyne. I can understand her rage but I don't know, she's aiming it at the wrong target. Please tell me her offering her sympathy was not how Rhaena found out Rhaenys is dead.

"There is more than one way to fight a war." Let's get the propaganda machine churning! Again, I like Mysaria, but I don't know if Rhaenyra (or anyone) can trust her.

Where are they sending Elinda? This woman needs hazard pay.

Rhaenyra and Baela sharing memories of Rhaenys, this is what this episode needed.

Daemon's dreaming again but is that Aemma, Viserys' first wife?! Did Daemon have an affair with his sister-in-law or is he just straight tripping right now? At this point, we've seen every woman in his life in these dreams except for Rhea, his first wife. Blood on his hands again.

"My favorite son"? Is she supposed to be his mom Alyssa now? Daemon, your head is a fascinating place, I swear. You need to get out of Harrenhal with whatever sanity you have left.

Daemon's chair is as broken as his psyche.

Lord God Almighty, Daemon, you're not the fucking monarch. Saying anything otherwise is treason.

Grand Maester reporting on Aegon's prognosis and Aemond is over there smirking. Boy, you need a better poker face if you want the world to believe you didn't do it.

Alicent is made to see exactly how valuable a woman's voice is in a world ruled by men. Honey, I hate to say it, but you deserve this. Like Larys said, if they're saying Rhaenyra can't rule, then they can't have a female Regent.

Prince Regent Aemond. God help the realm.

"We should make for Tumbleton." Absolutely fucking not! You're not going to a town that's going to see TWO battles.

Cheese's dog following the cart with his body, so sad.

The woman who fucked the man who was supposed to be guarding her grandson is talking about temperance? Fuck you, you hypocrite.

"I did not give you leave to speak my name." Honey, you gave him leave to eat you out, the two kinda go together. :P

Their child's skin is GRAY, this kid is either dead or almost there.

Why are the Freys using a door as a table?

"Dragons cannot be in two places at once." These Freys do realize the Blacks have multiple dragons, right?

Fuck yes, give the Freys Harrenhal, that'll end that House right there and they won't be a problem for future generations.

"Bent knees." Yeah, Jace just woke up the whole fandom.

Secret pacts with the Freys never end well.

Daemon and Alys. I thought she was supposed to be Aemond's lover, not his.

Daemon's plotting to take KL himself. Yeah, keep dreaming. You're never leaving the Riverlands.

"The Blackwoods will be feted in these halls." With what money, Daemon?

Corlys doesn't want to be Hand but he does want to make Baela his heir, but she turns him down. Honestly, Baela should be Hand.

So I found out this guy's name is Ser Alfred Broome, and he becomes a turncloak. Raise your hand if you're at all surprised.

"Not while I live, Your Grace." Liar.

Hour of the wolf, the "blackest part of the night." So, something like four in the morning.

Ser Simon has the thankless task of keeping Daemon on target, poor guy.

Laena's back to remind Daemon that he has two daughters.

I have to love that this thunderstorm is big enough to cover Harrenhal, KL, and Driftmark.

Helaena knows what Aemond did. Is it bad that I still ship them? (Don't @ me, they're Targaryens.)

Alicent, you know you can put Aegon out of his misery, right? I'm sure there are plenty of pillows around. Just saying.

"Mummy." Aww. Go back to sleep, Aegon.

For the uninitiated, Vermithor was the dragon of Jaehaerys I (Viserys I's predecessor) and Silverwing was the dragon of Alysanne, Jaehaerys' sister-wife and queen.

So, they're going with Targ cousins instead of the dragonseed bastards to ride the remaining dragons? Interesting.

They're ending the episode there? Boo. Still no Ser Harrold.

Watching the credits. I love that the two units are named "Fire" and "Blood."

Next week's episode is gonna be gory, calling it now.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd spoilers

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buttercream-princess · 2 years ago

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The First Night In Rio (Oneshot)

Summary: Last year you had more losses than wins, so when the opportunity to go to Carnival in Brazil came along, it was the healing getaway you needed. Along the way, you meet a beautiful stranger at the club who provides you with the sexual healing you also needed.

**I’m terrible with summaries but you get the gist. 😉

Warnings: Drinking, Swearing, Peeping Tom Behaviour, Unprotected sex, SMUT, interactive, public sex, cheating

Word count: 7.7K

Paring: Alfred Enoch x Reader

(Only slightly edited | only proofread once!)

Thank heavens, the year was finally over. 2022 was filled with nothing but heartbreak, worrisome regrets, and waves of pain that kept you up every night, leaving puddles of tears on your childhood plushies that always knew how to soothe you. Without your plushies, your go-to sappy playlist on Spotify, and your favorite California red wine, you were sure the earth would've swallowed you whole.

In March, your fiancé of two years, Elijah, called off the engagement without explanation or closure. He left you standing there speechless, surrounded by the half-empty apartment the two of you shared, with just a brief goodbye and dirty dishes in the sink.

"I think it's best this way. We were never gonna make it," he said bluntly.

As Elijah's belongings were already packed and out of sight, you were left to cancel the wedding invitations and hires alone. Elijah didn't even bother to help cancel the suppliers and planner, leaving all the nitty-gritty, heart-aching tasks to you. Your best friend of ten years, Iyana, was by your side the entire time, helping you tick everything off the wedding disaster checklist. That was the easy part.

Administrative tasks come naturally to you, but the hard part was the inevitable loneliness and continuous questioning of "Why?" when you slept on his side of the bed at night, smelling his cologne in the sheets and trying to hold onto what was and the remnants of his love that was no longer there.

The endless headaches from crying and lack of self-care due to the cold sting of depression left you in a mess.

In November, you finally received an answer to your "why" about Elijah. It was during a wine and movie night with your friends, and you were beginning to forget about him, even if only for the moment. That is until Iyalna asked you to call her phone because she thought she had left it in her car.

"Got you, girl. I'll call it now," you said, tapping open your phone and dialing her number.

"Thanks, lovely," Iyalna said as she headed out the door.

You could hear muffled buzzing coming from the kitchen. "Iy, I think it's here!" you called out, but there was no response. "Oh, she can't hear me. She must have gotten on the elevator already..." you thought, following the sound of her phone.

You peeled back a bag of chips that was hiding her phone and pressed down on the home button to turn off the vibration.

Elijah - 2 Messages

Wait, Elijah? Your Elijah? Why would he be texting her?

Two seconds hadn't gone by, and your curiosity got the best of you. You usually respected boundaries and were not a nosy person, but this called for investigation. You unlocked her phone. You didn't know what to expect, but nothing could have prepared you for what you saw next.

"Can't you just cancel on Y/N tonight? I swear she asks to see you almost every week. She's so needy, like a sad little puppy 🙁"

"I miss you. Come home soon."

"Also, I'm staying up for when you get back. I may or may not have bought you something that I want to use on you. 😏"

Hell broke loose when you confronted Iyalna with the texts. Extensions were pulled out, and blood was drawn that night. Your other girlfriends had to pull you off of her.

It was a nasty sight but you felt no regrets. A good ass-whooping was all the closure you needed. In a way, you were grateful for the falling out. It answered all of your questions and remedied the painful nights you experienced daily. From that moment, you were completely done with fiances, dating, best friends, and overall letting people into your vulnerable and annoyingly soft heart.

Although you were satisfied with the end result of the whole situation, you felt the burn of two heartbreaks double-time over. You painted on a happy face every day, but you were subconsciously in agony, mourning people who you thought were your soulmates.

Something as devastating as what you experienced called for a life cleanse. By December, you challenged yourself to enjoy life without dating or romance, and without allowing people to toy with or manipulate your heart behind your back. Your emotional wall was up like a barricade on a battlefield.

Sure, this choice of yours had some toxic holes, but it kept you safe. And that's exactly what you wanted: a sense of comfort and "peace".

The agreement you made with yourself did have its perks, you must admit. You learned the beauty of saying "No" to things you had no desire to participate in, whether romantically or platonically. But this boundary was bittersweet; friends started inviting you out less and less, and eventually, you forgot what it was like to be touched by someone with the desire to connect with you on a deeper level.

January was kicking off with a bang. You had taken all your energy and put it into your job at Beleza Do Mar, the most prestigious beauty and wellness company in North and South America. As a social media marketing manager, you spent day and night pushing out magnificent results that exceeded expectations. So much so that work had become your crutch, a rewarding replacement for any kind of relationship.

In fact, you were working so hard that your boss took note and became both pleased and worried. You were working from 7 a.m. to 10 p.m., beyond the usual hours. Psyched up on caffeine and adderall, you sometimes even forgot to clock out and return home. But your presence and dedication were definitely noticed.

One afternoon, after another sleepless night at the office, your boss, Maya, called you into her office.

"So, Y/K, your performance has been phenomenal," she said.

"Thank you. I just want to make sure everything is perfect," you replied, your finger jittering with the hem of your skirt due to the five black coffees you've already downed that morning.

"Yes. Everyone appreciates all the work you've been doing. You've raised our sales numbers just from your insight." A thin-lipped smile formed on her lips. "But..." she lingered, her smile slowly fading into a stern gaze.

"Yes?" You knit your eyebrows together in confusion.

"But at Beleza Do Mar, we can't possibly - or legally - allow you to work more than 38 hours a week. I looked at your clock card online, and you've been working 45 hours per week."

"I don't see the issue. I've been acing every project that's come my way, plus handling the extra tasks of everyone in my team and picking up slack in Communications."

"That's the problem. You're working seven hours beyond our full-time employee bandwidth, and that's not even including the wellness seminars and out-of-office engagements that have been assigned to you." She showed a downward smile as her brows narrowed together. It was as if it was painful to present you with this news.

"So...am I...fired? Please don't tell me I'm fired." Your stomach churned. "This job is all I have left." you say, feeling a teensy bit pathetic, but you couldn’t help being so transparent, it was the truth. This job was your be-all and end-all at the moment.

Your boss quickly jumped to your relief. "Y/N, I know you've had a difficult year. I share my sympathy with you. I know things haven't been easy for you. Beleza Do Mar is a wellness company, and we don't find pleasure or joy in overworking our staff..."

You stared at her, eyes wide open and heart racing, waiting for her to continue.

"We are giving you an all-expenses-paid holiday in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, with three extra invitations for guests of your choosing. It's a yearly trip that the higher-ups go to for Carnival. One of the vice presidents called in sick and couldn't go, so it's been passed down. I figured, out of everyone, you would benefit from the trip the most." She paused, breathing in, and a fixed grin grew on her face. "This is off the record, but my love, you need a break. You've been working yourself to the bone. This would be an enlightening time to go to Rio, smell the flowers, and connect your feet to the welcoming soil of the mother..." She smiled with a glint almost shining off her holy teeth, "Mother Earth, that is."

Of course, she would say that. She's a homeopathic vegan doula turned executive president for a company that was in Forbes' "The Global 200" list. This was something that you could never quite get your head around. She's a product of the company, you guessed.

"I understand...and am extremely grateful. I just can't up and leave my job. I have bills to pay," you said, mumbling the last bit.

"No need to worry about that, flower child. We are covering all the days you are on holiday. You'll be paid for every workday, limitless room service, plus per diems that are quite gracious, if you ask me."

Your posture relaxed in your chair as you heard this. This sounded like a dream. Almost too good to be true.

"What about my projects?"

"Not your problem while on holiday. I'll have Jennie in Socials take care of everything. All you have to worry about is what you're wearing for Carnival and lathering up on Beleza Do Mar 50+ sunscreen while you're there. The South American sun takes no prisoners, trust me." She cheerfully informed you.

You let out a sigh of relief while pondering over your options. Though you had arising work questions and tried to fix made-up dilemmas to protest about, you took a minute to sit on the idea of a holiday. You looked back up to Maya, who had her computer screen turned around to show you the five-star resort you'd be staying at.

A plunge pool and limitless room service didn't sound too bad. You hesitated to respond, quickly gathering your thoughts.

"I mean...I have nothing to lose. Why not..." A thought of consolation eased into your mind as you eyed the kind luxurious bed shown in the photos on the laptop.

You couldn't help the goofy smile as you gave your answer. "Okay, I'll take the holiday."

Maya let out a high-spirited "Fabulous!" followed by reassuring elements about the trip that were sure to put your anxiety-driven mind at bay.

Carnival in Brazil? That was an event you'd always wanted to go to. Once you put your over-eager girl-boss demeanor aside, you were shyly beaming with joy.

What were the odds of this trip falling into your lap? If you needed a sign from God that you deserved some sense of calm after the storm, this was it.

_________________________________________

"Okay, and are you wearing the skin-toned sheer tights I bought you with your carnival outfit?" your mom blissfully asks.

"No, Mom. My legs look fine just as they are," you say.

"Sweetie, I told you your cellulite looks like a striped Bengal tiger. It's beautiful, I just love it! Nature, gorgeous. But don't you think you'll catch more bees if your honey is hidden? Or however that saying goes," she blurts out, not even thinking once to mince her words.

"Mom!"

"What? I'm only saying what I think is right. Plus, it's your father's fault you have that backside. Those Y/L/N genes are too potent."

"Oh my god, I'm not speaking about this right now," you blatantly state while shaking your head as the bellboy at the luxurious hotel you're staying at packs your bags onto the luggage carrier, guiding your group into the entrance of the accommodation.

February whined around, and eventually, you found yourself in Rio, ready to get blind drunk, dance until your hips go numb, and practice the Portuguese that you've been learning on Duolingo for the past month. Unfortunately, with the price of unbreakable boundaries, you've burned more bridges than you could count on your fingers, so those three extra tickets you were given were going to waste until you mentioned the trip to your family in a group Facetime. By the time you accidentally mentioned that you didn't have anyone to attend Carnival with, your little sister and mother already volunteered themselves to fill the spot, along with your mother's best friend, Tamara. There was no turning back when they decided they were coming, plus you could use the familiar company. You've been lonely in the city for what felt like centuries.

You near the front desk, tapping the bell as no one is around to attend to you.

Your little sister, Nia, already has her phone out, capturing every second to post on her Instagram story.

"Nia, delete that. Now."

"What? No way. This is funny as fuck. It's only going on my close friends."

"We just landed like 30 minutes ago, and you're already airing out my business? You are unbelievable." You aim to take her phone, but her hand slaps your movement out of the way, and suddenly, the two of you were squabbling over her phone, making a scene in front of everyone watching.

Embarrassment was an understatement, but you were more embarrassed at the thought of her friends in your hometown reporting to their older siblings that your whole derriere was up for shits and gigs.

"Girls stop, you're being ridiculous," your mother says as she takes selfies with Aunt Tamara, already basking in the vacation vibes.

Who would have thought you and your 20-year-old sister would already be bickering over Instagram posts at 7 PM in the afternoon of the beautiful paradise that is Brazil? You were grown but not too grown to put your little sister in her place.

From an earshot, you hear the concierge clear their throat and speak out loudly.

"Boa tarde senhorita (Good Afternoon, miss), how may I help you?"

You instantly end the debacle and give your attention to the front desk, straightening out your clothes and readjusting your hair.

You force a toothy smile as you respond, "Hi, I'd like to check in. We are under Y/L/N. There are four of us."

"Si, let me just check…alright, we have you in our presidential suite. I'll just have to grab identification, and I can get the keys for you."

Presidential suite? Maya wasn't lying when she said this was 5-star, damn!

The handover happened swiftly, and soon you and your family were unlocking the door to the suite.

All you could hear were gasps as you stepped into the room. Soaking in the rich greenery and smell of sea salt water, you run to the deck outside and take in the beautiful scenery. Your heart welled with lovely goodness; this is exactly what you need.

You were a 10-minute stroll from the beach, the sun was setting in a pink-hued orange bake, and the sound of early festive parties for Carnival was all happening on the beach. You were speechless, just in complete awe.

"This is better than I expected. I'll give it to you. This is amazing," Nia says as she comes up from behind you, joining you at the rail of the suite.

She was right; this is beyond amazing.

"Thanks. I'm just happy we're here." You childishly raise a brow and look over at Nia, not being able to hide your giddiness; a smile creeps up on your lips.

"What? Not mad anymore?" She asks.

"How could I be? Do you see this? I'm just…grateful." A single tear escapes your eyes, exhaling out all the stress, worry, and heartache that you carried with you to Brazil, in complete gratitude.

"Aweeee, look at my big baby. It's okay, let it out." Nia wraps her arms around you, embracing you in a tight squeeze as the two of you look out to waves crashing on the shore.

Feelings stirred and brewed in you; you didn't know what it was, but everything coming into place just made you emotional.

"Y'know, even though you're a bitch sometimes, I'm happy you're here. And I love you," you mumble into her hair, hugging her back.

"I know."

"And I know we might both be jet-lagged, but how does 'First night in Rio, getting fucked up off some shots and funk carioca' before Mom and Aunt Tamara crash our night sound to you?"

"I don't know what funk carioca is, but I heard shots, so I'm in." Nia laughs, resting her head on your chest. "And it's better we fuck off before they start getting into the bar. I don't wanna hear Mom singing any Prince to us tonight."

You and Nia giggle to yourselves at the memory of your mom doing karaoke whenever she gets drunk.

"Let's unpack and take showers. Tonight we get fucking scattered." She exclaimed and cheekily smacks Nia's bottom before heading inside to the suite.

—------------------------------------------------

Thanks to Nia's research on the best nightclubs in Rio for young people from Tiktok, the two of you were able to find a hidden gem that played tasteful R&B tunes and served delicious cocktails. As most tourists did not know about this club, the Y/L/N girls were able to stand out, and locals were dancing with and buying drinks for you all night.

After three margaritas and three shots, you were feeling your skin and your confidence was skyrocketing in the outfit Nia picked out for you. She suggested ditching the heels for some flats, as this is something true Brazilians would wear to the club. Thank god you listened to her, as all the girls sported sneakers or sandals.

A local boy who had been buying you drinks all night asked if you wanted to dance, but you declined, saying you were taking a break and feeling tired. He nodded and went to dance with his friends. Although he was cute, he was young, and you would pass him off to your sister. Meanwhile, Nia was preoccupied with a girl with sun-beached curls pressed against the wall of the club, trying to lay some game despite not speaking an ounce of Portuguese. You chuckled to yourself, watching the interaction like quality comedy television.

After a few songs the girl leaves and you mindlessly watch Nia approach the bar, crossing your legs as you waited for her to get you both a drink. A man with a fine muscular build stood next to Nia. He was tall, rocking a bleached platinum blonde buzz cut, wearing green cargo pants and a fitted singlet with a singular necklace hanging off his neck. He was fine.

He said something in Nia's ear, and she laughed. It seemed that this girl was on a roll, as she had almost every good-looking person at the club trying to make a pass at her. Nia listened to him with a look of confusion on her face, turned, and pointed to you, replying back to the man. He nodded and glanced over at you, a sly smirk on his face. You felt heat rise on your cheeks, wondering what they were talking about.

You awkwardly look down at your phone and press away at random apps, distracting yourself from the handsome strangers gaze. Moments later all you hear is rows of drinks being placed on the table in front of you. They looked like nice fancy cocktails, not the cheap stuff. It turned out that the tall guy Nia met at the bar, who was now sitting in VIP, had ordered every cocktail on the menu for you and Nia. He asked Nia what drink you liked, and she told him cocktails so now you were getting a taste of everyone. You were flattered by the gesture.

Looking up at the sexy stranger, you caught him staring you down with a smug smirk on his lips. It was like he knew his attention had you feeling a type of way. You smile and raise one of the drinks up to him, chucking him a thumbs up as if to gesture that it was a good choice. He licked his lips and nodded his head, not sparing you from his effortless sensual gaze.

You clench your thighs together, already feeling your bud starting to buzz. You glance up at him again, but he was no longer sitting at his table. You look around the club, trying to spot his platinum cut, but you couldn't see through the crowd of people. A sigh escapes your lips. "Well, that was nice. For the short time it lasted," you thought.

"I gotta pee, can you mind the drinks?" You ask Nia.

"Of course!" She says, sipping away on a blue cocktail.

You get up from your seat and head to the restrooms, only to find a long line outside the ladies bathroom. You’ve had too many drinks to wait for 20 minutes; you’re just about ready to make a puddle in the club right now.

You decide to make your way to the male bathroom and barge in, throwing the men in the quarters off guard.

"I’ve seen it all before, there’s nothing you have that could shock me. Eu eu? Eu só tenho que fazer xixi! (Me me? Me just have to pee)" You exclaim as you walk in. You were 100% sure what you said didn’t make sense, but that was the least of your worries.

The male clubgoers in the bathroom remark sentences to you in Portuguese that you couldn’t make out, but they clearly weren’t pleased, apart from the flirty foreign catcalls and whistles in the mix.

Most of the men clear the room when you entered and you lean against the wall next to a urinal, waiting for a free stall. Out of the corner of your eye, you can just make out the frame of a tall somebody.

You dare to look, finding that tall somebody to be the sexy stranger who bought you the row of cocktails. "Oh…my…god. Fuck." You think, as he lines himself up with the urinal right next to you.

You knew he was attractive but didn’t know he was this fine. It was almost criminal how beautiful he was up close. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up and your core starts setting off fireworks.

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to snap yourself back to reality, but your eyes remained on his beauty.

He lifts his shirt, revealing his marbled abs. He was cut to perfection. A body so heavenly sculpted, it would put Michelangelo’s work to shame. Your eyes fall to his curled snail trail as he unbuttons his belt, peeling the hem of his boxers down.

He stands completely oblivious to you gawking, as if you blended in with the neon lights and concrete restroom wall. A breeze of his vanilla musk cologne sucks you right back in, and that’s all it takes for you to go feral. Your eyes shamelessly flock down to his manhood, catching a glimpse of just how much wood he was packing.

A low gasp leaves your mouth. You couldn’t hold it back. His member was a shocking 9 inches of lust and astonishing girth. Even on soft, he had a weapon that could demolish your walls, which were already flooded with your slick. Your heartbeat begins racing, matching the beat of your pulsing clit, which had become its own entity at this point, yearning to be fiddled with and sucked on by him.

You look away to hold on to whatever was left of your dignity. Yet when you look ahead, you automatically glue to his reflection in the bathroom mirror, his back muscles flexing as he takes care of his business.

You tightly press your thighs together, trying to put a damper on waves of juices drenching your thong. He chuckles, a sly smirk on his lips. You quickly look away, knowing damn well he caught you out. Heat flushes your cheeks as you throw your hand over your face in embarrassment.

“Shit.” you murmur.

"Eu te mostro o meu se você me mostrar o seu. ('ll show you mine if you show me yours.)"

His voice was deep and warm, inviting even. You didn’t understand what he was saying, but whatever it was, you liked it.

“Oh- I…shit. I’m sorry!” You apologize, not able to find words for your behavior.

He tilts his head and finally looks at you, smug written all over his face while putting his goods away and zipping up.

“I didn’t mean to look.”

You definitely did.

“I’m just waiting to use the toilet. The line for the women's toilet was packed. I, ah… eu preciso urinar? (I need to use the toilet.)”

He shakes his head, laughing at your attempt to speak his language. He walks over to the sink, not saying a word nor responding to your dramatics. Judging by his silence, you can only assume there was a language barrier.

Going off the fact that he or anyone else in the restroom wasn’t processing a single english word you were saying, you thought, “Fuck it. No one's listening anyways,” then went on to babble your train of thoughts out loud.

“Why? Why do these things happen to me? Why couldn’t I just mind my business? No, I had to be nosy.”

He watches you in the reflection of the mirror while washing his hands with a pleased look plastered on his face. You want to run away and hide, but his gaze is pouring unholy thoughts into your mind and you like all the nasty things he was making you think.

You just want him to take you to an alley behind the club, pull your skirt up and put all his 9 inches inside you. You know it would hurt, he's too big, he’d leave you creamed with rug burns for days - you're sure of it.

You snap back to reality when a door to one of the toilers opens, and a man exits. Still thinking out loud, you drunkenly narrate to yourself, burping out giggles here and there as you enter the stall.

You relieve your bladder and wipe multiple times, having to thoroughly clean up the vat of slick on your slit. The disgustingly horny effect he had on your body was evident. You were a mess. Drenched panties, swollen clit, and stained inner thighs from your juices. Even your asshole was lubed up enough to pop a plug in.

“What the fuck? I must be ovulating because how did he make me this wet?…There’s so much, so much…”

After using a week's worth of toilet paper, you flush and head out. The nameless sex god was still present, adjusting his chain in the mirror.

You sigh in frustration, walking towards the sink furthest away from him. You can’t help but feel the nasty sting of regret from your sloppiness. He was by far the most attractive person you’ve seen in your entire life. You're sure any chance with him is out of the picture, all because of your cocktail-fueled actions. You're gutted. Although, it doesn’t hurt to look at him. Shit, if anything, it feels good to look at him, you thought.

Pressing the dispenser for soap, his reflection in the mirror is all you can focus on. Your mindless narration isn’t done; you still have thoughts that need to be spoken out loud.

“I just know that dick is crazy. I would’ve fucked the breaks off him.”

You hear the beautiful stranger snort.

"For what it’s worth, I’d rate your Portuguese pretty good for a foreigner." He says, this time in clear English, looking back at you in the mirror.

Your muscles tense up, and your breathing comes to a hitch. God, no…he understood English the entire time? What the fuck.

You can’t believe it. The possibility of him listening to every crazy thought you word vomited out was too much to process.

“And,” he walks over to you, nearing so close you were engulfed in his cologne and could feel heat radiating off his body, “I’d fuck the breaks off you too.”

An English accent drips off his words like honey. You're just about filled to the brim with surprises, but you’d let him fill you even more if it meant hearing that sexy accent moan your name.

“I didn’t mean to say that. I thought you didn’t speak English.”

He places his hand on the wall behind you and leans his face down to yours.

“I beg to differ. I think you did mean it.”

“It was an accident.”

“Right. I think I recall hearing, “How’d he get me so wet?” Was that also an accident?”

You swallow hard, feeling the pulse in your core pick back up.

“Acci-Yes. Accident.” You stutter.

His eyes wander down to your nether region.

“Well, I’d love to taste this accident.”

Fuck, he was smooth.

He retracts his hand from behind you with a fist of paper towels and dries his hands.

You're speechless. So much happened in a matter of seconds that you were lost for words, your mouth fell open but not a single word came out.

He laughs and leaves for the door, leaving you there standing in a state of shock. Your gaze shifts back to the mirror, your face was red and you were almost shaking of pure embarrassment. Before you could debrief and gather yourself, you hear his voice again.

“So, you coming or what?” He leans against the door with an awaiting look on his face.

You look around the bathroom to see who else he would be talking to. There was no one else in view, only you. He wanted you and he was making it obviously clear. You point towards your chest and mouth, “Me?”

“Who else, a namorada? (Sweetheart)”

Goddamnit. That's all you needed to hear.

You take no time to jump to the opportunity and follow the stranger out of the bathroom. He takes your hand which was twice the size of yours and leads you through the cramped crowd of the club. You didn’t bother to ask where he was taking you, you’d follow this man anywhere, anyday.

He guides you to a red VIP queue barrier and nods to the security guard.

“She’s with me. Also another girl.”

He scans the crowd behind you and points out Nia in the crowd to which the guard nods and heads in amongst the dancing bodies towards Nia’s direction.

He whispers in your ear, “Your sister, right?”

You smile. How sweet of him to remember Nia, you like that kind of consideration in a man.

“Sim (Yes), little sister. Thanks for inviting her too.”

His hand was still clasped with yours, he gently squeezed it and flashes you a wink.

You wave at Nia who was now following the guard towards the VIP area you were in, she waves back at you and starts giggling once she sees you with the sexy stranger from the bar. She knows your type, so she knows you’ll be glued to him all night.

You bring you attention back to him and he continue walking down a hall behind the section, and guides you to a room. It was empty besides the aisle of liquor on the wall and couches and seats. You let go of his hand and walked in the room, it was much more fancy and well decorated compared to the rest of the club.

“So what’s this room used for?”

“Depends on the occasion.”

“Is this a part of the package for the section you were in?”

“No.” He clicks the door locked.

You walk to the bar, eyeing down your drink of choice.

“So we’re stealing rooms tonight, are we?”

“My best mate owns the club. We can go to any room of your choosing. I just thought a pretty lady like yourself deserved the best one.”

You couldn't help but feel a flutter in your chest at his words. He was charming, but there was something genuine about the way he spoke to you that made you feel special…and seen.

"Well, I appreciate the gesture. So what do you recommend we do in this fancy room of yours?"

"I can think of a few things," he murmurs.

Before you could grab yourself a glass, you feel his body near behind you. You were stuck between him and the bar and it felt amazing to be against his body.

Your heart races as he leans in closer. He clearly wanted you right now but you weren’t gonna give it up that easily, you already made it too well known how eager you were in the bathroom, it’s time to slow down this burn. His breath is hot against your ear.

"But first, let's have a drink. What can I get for you?"

He grabs the glass you were going for and digs into the ice bucket in the sink with it.

“Tequila. And let’s start with the basics...names. We don’t even know eachothers names.”

“I mean I was fine with callin’ you a minha rapariga.”

He grabs the bottle of 1800 on the top shelf.

“And that means?”

“My girl. But I’d love to put a name to your beautiful face”

You snort.

“Good one. It’s Y/K.”

“Y/K? Oh Y/K. I like the way that feels on my lips.”

He pours the 1800 into the glass, no mixer.

“And yours?”

He rotates your hips so you were now facing him, a smirk on his face.

“Alfie, my mates call me Al.”

He moves closer to you, his hand resting on the bar beside yours. "You know, I've been watching you all night," he says, his voice low and seductive. "And I have to say, I've never had anyone steal my attention like you."

Alfie pulls your hips closer to his and lifts the drink up to your lips to which you swallow. He doesn't pull away, he continues feeding you the alcohol until it was finished. You shiver at the sensation, feeling a rush of desire wash over you.

“All, all, all of it. Good girl.”

The alcohol burned your throat but you didn’t wince, there was something about him talking you through it that gave you all the motivation to stomach the tequila.

Alfie places the glass on the counter and leans in, his lips hovering just inches away from yours.

You feel his breath on your skin and your heart races in anticipation.

"Can I kiss you, Y/K?" he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

You nod your head, unable to find your voice as your eyes lock onto his. With a gentle touch, he cups your face in his hands and presses his lips against yours.

The kiss is fiery, sending a jolt of desire through your body as his tongue traces your lips, seeking entrance. You open your mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss as he pulls you closer to him.

His hands roam over your body, tracing the curve of your hips and the swell of your breasts through your clothes. You moan softly into his mouth as he pulls away, his eyes dark with desire.

"God, you're so beautiful. I’ve been wanting to do this all night to you" he murmurs, his hands trailing down your body to the hem of your dress. With a swift motion, he pulls it up and over your head, leaving you standing there in your underwear.

You blush at his intense gaze, feeling exposed and vulnerable in front of him. But his eyes soften as he takes in the sight of you, his gaze tracing every curve and dip of your body.

"Perfect," he says, his voice filled with admiration.

He steps forward, his hands tracing the outline of your body as he presses his lips to your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin. You let out a soft moan, arching your back as he moves lower, his hands trailing down your sides to your hips.

He hooks his fingers into your underwear and pulls them down, leaving you completely exposed to his gaze. You feel a rush of heat between your legs as he dips his head down, his tongue flicking over your clit, overwhelming you in waves of ecstasy.

Your back spans against the bar as you let out a cry of pleasure, your fingers going over his buzz cut hair while he continues to pleasure you, his tongue and fingers working in perfect unison, slurping on your clit and tugging on your g-spot in perfect movement. You feel your body start to tense, your orgasm building as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

"Alfie," you moan, your hips bucking against his mouth as you finally fall over the edge, your body shaking with pleasure.

He stands up, a satisfied grin on his face as he takes in the sight of you, sated and blissed out.

"Ready for round two, Bebê (Baby)?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You nod, unable to resist the allure of this gorgeous stranger as he picks you up from the bench and places you on one of the couches, eager to explore every inch of your body.

You lean in, pressing your lips against his ear, "I want you to make me cream," you whisper.

He grins, "I can do that," he replies before capturing your lips in a kiss.

You can feel his hands sliding down your body, his fingers trailing over every curve and dip. You moan into the kiss as his fingers, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck as his hands continue to explore your body. You feel his teeth graze against your skin and you let out a whimper, your body already tingling with pleasure.

He pulls back, a wicked grin on his face. "You like that, don't you?" he asks, his voice husky with desire.

You can only nod, lost in a haze of desire and lust.

He leans in, his hot breath caressing your inner thigh before his tongue makes contact with your core. You gasp, your hands gripping onto the cushions as he begins to work his magic.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, the pleasure building inside of you. And just when you think you can't take it anymore, he stops.

You open your eyes, looking down at him with a pleading expression.

"Don't worry, baby," he says, his voice low and seductive. "I'm just getting started."

He stands up, his eyes locked on yours as he starts to undress. Slowly, he removes his shirt, revealing a toned chest and abs that make your mouth water, the way he’s built he definitely had to be an athlete, his arms were chiseled to perfection. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you watch him, feeling a delicious anticipation building inside of you.

He climbs onto the couch, positioning himself above you as he leans in for another kiss. This time it's deeper, more urgent, and you can feel his need for you as his tongue takes over your mouth.

His hands roam over your body, teasing and caressing as he works his way down to your pussy, before positioning himself at your entrance.

He enters you slowly, his body pressing against yours as he begins to move in a steady rhythm. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure through you, and you can feel yourself building towards an explosive orgasm already.

“I’m already cumming!” You moan.

“I know baby, I know.” He groans while his eyes are closed shut, lost in the pure pleasure of your sex.

He picks up the pace, his movements becoming faster and more intense as you both reach the brink of release. And when you finally come undone, he's there to catch you, holding you tightly as you ride the waves of ecstasy, grinding against each other's bodies together.

When it's over, you lay there, panting and spent, wrapped in his arms. You look up at him, feeling a deep sense of connection and satisfaction that words could never fully describe. He leans back and looks down between you two, at the mess you made on his dick

"Look at that. That’s all for me, huh?" He says, a smirk spreading across his face.

You look away smiling, feeling vulnerable and whisper, “Yeah, only you.”

He chuckles, his hand stroking your hair. "I aim to please," he replies, a contented look on his face.

Just as Alfie leans back into your slit for round 2, there’s an abrupt knock at the door.

“Fuck!” you mutter under your breath, reaching for your panties and dress which was scattered across the floor.

Alfie stands up and fixes his pants which had a sight of hard pulsating wood. He quickly fixes it so it was tamed down before checking in with you.

“You alright?” He asks.

“Yes, who’s at the door?” You say fixing up your shoulder straps.

Alfie walks to the door, unlocking it to find a security guard waiting.

“Estamos fechando quartos. Só verificando os quartos. Tudo bem Al? (We're closing rooms. Just checking. You all good Al?)” The security asks.

“Sim, estávamos prestes a sair. (Yeah, we was just about to leave.)” Alfie responds while motioning for you to come over to him.

You follow Alfie out the room back to the open space of the club to the VIP area which was filled with Alfie’s friends and Nia, who was busy chatting up with a boy on the couches. This girl was on fire! Well, who are you to be judging, you just got your cat demolished out by a man you just met.

As you walk towards the VIP area, you sit yourself down next to Nia.

“Girl, I know you didn’t just do what I think you did.” Nia says in your ear.

“What are you talking about? We just talked and drank.”

“Oh really?”

Nia catches your eye and gives you a knowing smile, “Babe. Your dress is on inside out.”

You feel a little embarrassed, but more so exhilarated at the thought of people knowing he gave you probably the best dick of your life.

“Oh my god. Okay you got me there!” You laugh off the awkwardness. Nia rubs your back, laughing too.

“It’s okay, we’ve all been there before.”

Alfie makes his way back over to you and introduces you to his friends, who all seem friendly and welcoming. They offer you drinks and chat with you about Carnival and asked questions about America. Most of them spoke English along with Portuguese which made it easy to connect with them, they were lovely and easy to get along with. But your mind keeps drifting back to the intense chemistry you shared with Alfie just a few moments ago.

As the night wears on, you find yourself getting more comfortable around Alfie's friends. They share stories and jokes, and you can't help but laugh and enjoy yourself. But every time Alfie touches you or leans in to whisper something in your ear, you feel a jolt of electricity course through your body.

Eventually, it's time for the club to close. Alfie offers to walk you out, and you gladly accept. As you exit the club, It was almost sun up outside and the nearby cafes and business’s were beginning to open for the day. He takes your hand and pulls you close. "I had a great time tonight," he says, looking deep into your eyes, “I hope to do this with you again sometime, a minha rapariga (My girl)”

"Me too," you reply, feeling your heart rate increase.

Alfie leans in and kisses you, and for a moment, it feels like the world fades away. It's just you and him, lost in each other's embrace amongst the rest of the noise. And as you break the kiss, Nia calls your name.

“Y/K, our ubers here!”

You pull to let go but he hesitates to release his grasp, squeezing your waist tight.

“I have to go…” You shyly say, pulling from his arms. Feeling giddy, you run to the car Nia hopped in and get in the back seat

“Get home safe.” He says, waving you down before throwing his hands in the air and yelling, “Wait, I didn’t even get your number! What’s your instagram?!”

You stick your head outside the window, “It’s Y/KsWorld!”, hoping he heard you. By the smile on his face, it seemed he did because he quickly pulls out his phone and tapped away. Not even 2 seconds later you felt a buzz on your lap and there was a notification: LewisAl88 followed you.

You fall back into the seat, smiling to yourself. You was exhausted and it wasn’t just from the jet-lag, he blew your back out into another time-zone himself. Sure it was just a hook up at the club, which is something you’ve never done before in your life, but you couldn’t deny the tension between the two of you.

You feel another buzz from your phone.

LewisAl88 sent you a message

When am I gonna see you next?

You laugh to yourself, here you thought you were the thirsty one yet he was just as keen to be all over you. Ahhh, that feels like balance to me, you thought.

“What’s got you smiling so hard?” Nia asks.

You show her the notifications on your phone screen, she covers her mouth and joins you in laughter.

“Oh he wants you…bad!”

You roll your eyes, but can't help the smile that creeps onto your face. "I don't know," you say, "I just met him. But there was definitely something there."

Nia nods, understanding. "Well, whatever happens, just be safe and have fun," she says, reaching over to give your hand a squeeze.

You nod, grateful for her words of encouragement. As the car drives away from the club, you lean back in your seat and close your eyes, replaying the night's events in your mind.

#Alfred Enoch smut #Alfie Enoch x Reader #Alfred Enoch x Reader #Alfred Enoch fanfiction #Alfred Enoch

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