#like how is this supposed to be faster than traditional?

[schoenht]

↳ santa tell me

character: vil schoenheit

synopsis: christmas isn't christmas without him and no amount of pleading can make him come home faster.

a/n: listen i wanted to do this for christmas and i had the worst writer's block so i'm slowly getting back to it </3 i've been focusing on the solverse okay

the snowflakes falling outside of the door felt like they were taunting you. every pitter patter, every whisper of the icy crystals, reminded you further of how far your own shining light was.

vil's job was more than fruitful, the people saying the same stupid phrase over and over again as if it was supposed to be some method of comfort. booked and blessed. how ridiculous. no, that was cruel to even think about. vil had worked so hard to become an actor that was reliable and able to obtain various opportunities. he even got the lead role as the hero of a movie.

but he had promised that he would return for christmas. after last year where you were alone for christmas, he told you that he'd go to you no matter how far away he was. you told him it was okay, that he needed his career more than he needed you.

selflessness came at the cost of your own exuberance.

while you decorated the christmas tree in the corner, setting up the red carpet beneath the glistening pine needles, your phone went off. the screen showed a picture of you and vil after you had gone on a date, deciding to take pictures in a photobooth. you still had the strip of pictures on your desk.

sliding the green button, you answered his call. "hey vil, how's work?"

"hi, my love. everything is okay, we are taking a five." vil had told himself that he was going to call you as often as he could and time was running out on his promise. already the first week of december, if he didn't wrap it all up soon, he could be at risk of leaving you alone for christmas, the exact thing he refused to do. "i've sent you a small package of ornaments that i thought you would like. they should be at your door."

you walked over and opened the door to find a small white box. carrying it to the table and using a boxcutter, inside were the special edition ornaments of your favorite collectibles. "how did you find these?! they were sold out everywhere!"

vil nodded, even though he knew you couldn't see him. "i had to call a friend of a friend. he claimed that he had his own stash for those people that he cared for. originally, he was going to give it to my connection, but he said i could have it."

it was like vil was there with you, or at least his thoughts were there with you.

he also had an uncanny way of knowing what you were thinking.

"i'll be there for christmas. i promise." his voice, melodic and soothing, made a sense of calm wash over you, making you believe that he was right. he would be home, he wouldn't leave you alone this year like you were the previous year.

"okay," you said delicately, "i'll hold you to it."

"my five minutes are up. i'll call you when i get on my next break."

and so it went, the days passing by with a certain schedule: waiting until vil's next call and the intervals, yet also checking the calendar to imagine what would happen that christmas day. you had your own traditions that mixed in with his.

christmas eve came and while you were deciding between take out or scrounging around for something that could potentially fill your stomach, there was a knock at the door. your hopes that he would be home lifted as quickly as fireworks did. but it sizzled out when you saw it was a takeout bag. takeout bag?

the sticker said that it was for vil, so it must have been for you as a christmas meal. then it all clicked into place.

vil wasn't coming home.

there was a deep feeling of rage, except that it seemed to be more disappointment and sadness. an actor's life was solely for the screen and never anything more.

meanwhile, vil was being driven not to his own house but to yours. he had paid his driver extra if he could get there immediately. the traffic seemed to have another idea for him and that was not to make it. vil refused to break his promise. it was one thing to be late, it was another to not arrive at the set time. no, like all movie sets, to be on time was to be late. to be late was to be dead or fired.

finally, your place of residence was in his sightlines and he could feel that joy rising up within him that he rarely externalized. he thanked the driver and went up to the door, knocking twice in the way that he knew you would recognize.

"if this is another prank, i will never forgive him--" your voice muttered from inside, clearly loaded with restrained fury.

when was the last time he saw you? it doesn't matter, it had been too long. vil could write you galaxies of ink, and the quantity would never suffice. the planets would much sooner become supernovas than he would fall out of love with you. every single inch of you was nothing less than flawless to him.

"i'm sorry i'm late."

the silence was as thick as the snow piled up behind him. he paused and whispered, "i know. i should've--"

all of that was tossed to the wind as you wrapped your arms around him. rarely did he let you squeeze him into your embrace, but today he welcomed it, cherished it, he craved it after months without you.

you looked up at him and smiled, "it's okay. i knew you were going to come home."

he let out a playful scoff. "considering what you said after i knocked, i know you had your doubts. i do not blame you for one second." the tiniest of smiles appeared on his lips. "shall we?"

then he looked up after seeing your expectant look. mistletoe. "ah, a little surprise. very well, then." he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

you raised an eyebrow. "i don't remember that being the tradition."

"don't worry. i will make up for it."

"i missed you."

"i missed you more."

[petitepatateuwu]

If you ever ask, I am in constant life support and trying to finish my school assignments. I still managed to do this somehow.

[xayasmrxsoftlyx]

Imagine...

Imagine you recently moved to the outskirts of a forest. The nature is beautiful and you do your part to keep it that way. You plant pollinator friendly flowers, rabbit friendly herbs, deer friendly bushes, you put out bird feeders, hummingbird feeders, squirrel feeders (though honestly, it's just extra bird feeders with less specific seeds since you noticed the birds didn't always eat the variety equally). Hell, you even changed out your lawn from traditional grass to clover and native wild flowers to use less water. You've been putting in a lot of effort to keep things nice for nature-- it's certainly been noticed, too.

In fact, you've no idea of the amount of eyes watching your beauty preserve nature's beauty- and to them you are nature's finest beauty. Looking at your plush body care for, tend to, and love the very things that feed their lives' essence; it's a sight that cannot be beat. At first, it was a competition amongst the forest. Who was yours? Who you belonged to? Now, now they understand that just like you work so hard to aid all of them, they can all share, love, tend to, and care for you, as well.

Imagine the first you meet, unbeknownst to you, is planned- it's all planned. You're sitting outside on a blanket, book in hand, just enjoying some rare free time when you hear a loud buzzing. It sounds as if a humming bird were flying right beside your ear. Yet, when you look up, it's certainly not that far from the truth despite not being completely correct in concept.

He's shorter than you, but not by much, barely hovering a foot off the ground. He hides half his body behind your oak tree- the one with all your feeders on it. He's got brilliant colors and jerks almost completely behind the tree when your eyes meet. (He's supposed to be speaking to you but when his eyes met your own shining gaze, he couldn't help but grow shy.) Your sweet, comforting scent has wafted in the air, stirred up in part by his own rapidly fluttering wings. He's buzzing with anxiety and adrenaline, the need to prove and show you his skills battling with his fear of your rejection. Now that he's gotten so close to those plump cheeks, he needs to kiss. Now that he's seen how soft and warm you are he needs to get closer; he needs to feel how soft and plush you are as he clings to your chubby form from his own anxiety.

Imagine you softly call out to him, voice sounding like both the sweetest lullaby to soothe his racing heart and mind and also just like home- like the sound he'd come come to with a nest full of little hatchlings and your warmth shared. It's that thought that spurs him into action, faster than you could reasonably expect. After all, the speed he can achieve gets to nearly the same as a traditional hummingbird.

He's higher in the air than you'd ever think he'd go, he shoots down, nearly towards you- no, definitely towards you, nearly at you the speed of which creates a loud chirp and you hear the sweet melody of whistles erupt from him as he's closer to you. As he hovers before you, dance still pumping adrenaline through him, he's more than proud of the awed expression you've been unable to shake. When you close your book and set it down to completely give him your full attention, he preens at your acceptance. You may not fully understand your own consent to his courtship, but the primal, feral instinct within him is more than satisfied with your open attraction and silent acceptance of him into your space- your life. He lingers by you for a moment and when he doesn't hide or fly away from you, it indicates he's comfortable enough with you. You smile and begin to speak.

Imagine you still keep your voice soft, welcoming for him. It's so, so sweet of you to care so much for him already- such a precious, soft, sweet mate you are already without hardly trying. You introduce yourself to him- you give him your name! As you do so, he flits around you with little twirls and swoops in his own excitement. Instinctually, you hold your hand out to shake. He grabs it instantaneously within his own soft, warm grasp. He holds your hand, enjoying how his hands are still just a smidge bigger than your own little, pudgy ones; even if it's barely noticeable to you, he can tell. You give the shared grasp a shake but he doesn't release you, instead he uses it to hover closer to you. (He's tempted to swoop into your outreached arm and cuddle into your side, he's strongly resisting that temptation. The mantra in his head is "not now, don't do it, not now...")

You smell like the flowers you plant, the earthiness of fresh watered soil, and there's a warmth beneath it all he can't place. It's enchanting, nearly hypnotizing. (Fuck, the other's are going to drool over your scent later when they get closer- maybe even over him if it's strong enough lingering on him after he meets you.) When he finally releases, he gives you his own name breathlessly with a giant blush upon his cheeks. His feathers puff up around him in his embarrassment before he dashes off towards the forest. As he does so, he pauses to look back at you every few yards. Instead of following you like he's silently urging and beckoning you to do, you smile, little puffy cheeks rounding adorably as you tell him "see you soon!" (fuck- his heart is going as fast as his wings and that cannot be healthy)

Imagine you start seeing Calypte more often. In fact, you start meeting him in your garden at least twice a week. After your first week, you begin to bring him fruit to eat, since you didn't quite think he drank from the hummingbird feeder like his look alike. The first time he ate the orange so ravenously for you that you never stopped. He knows that in nature, if he were true to his counterpart, he wouldn't be building the nest- you would. He knows in nature his counterparts instinct wouldn't be to linger after copulation, but he supposes that side of him is entirely the human part.

The need to preen and nest for you, the need to stay by your side, the need for you attention, for your care, for your love. That is surely, entirely his humanity. After all, hybrids are different from their animal inspiration. They're an interesting amalgamation of all the best parts of both. That's why they were created, why they were designed, right? Before the humanity and ethics caught up to it all, anyway. His parents acted very human after all, it just depended on genetics. However you.... you brought the humanity out of him. You bring the humanity out of him. It thrills him, makes him feel alive, and he can not get enough of it- of you.

[flowerofenigmas]

Maskless Mark x black male reader

An: Not a lot of black reader fics for Invincible, especially not male ones, so I thought I'd do it myself. The next post will most likely be either an Invincible X Tamaranean reader or a self-indulgent Genshin Self insert post. Or the secret THIRD option: an invincible self-insert post.

CW for major character death (reader), angst, and mild gore.

"Where's Mark, Y/N? You were supposed to drop him off an hour ago."

It was a simple question, one you could've answered easily. Amber and Mark had a bit of a falling out, you two talked for a bit after, and then he went to see Eve. An easy sequence of events to relay.

But the real question was if you wanted to.

You had never seen Omni-man so pissed, especially towards Mark. If you told him where Mark went, would he be safe afterward? You could do that to someone.

Especially not someone you love.

Omni-man's finger gripped the side of your car door, threatening to dent it. "Answer the question, Y/N. Where is Mark?" The words came more impatient and stern than the last, with the 'hero' leaning closer to you and maintaining firm eye contact. Your heart was beating so hard you swore it would just leap out. It raced faster when you noticed the blood on his fingers.

Even still, you couldn't betray Mark.

"He and Amber had a bit of a falling out...?" You murmured, voice small as you gently tugged on a loc. "And uh- he went to the mall to cool off and, um..."

Thunk.

There was now a hand shaped indent in the roof of your car. Omni-man knew you were lying, and his patience with you was near gone.

"One last chance, Y/N. Where. Is. Mark?"

You panicked.

Without a second thought, you slammed your foot down against the pedal and sped off. The roof of your car was now beyond repair and the side was now heavily scratched. You didn't care, though.

You didn't get far.

You were violently dragged out of your car, one side now cut from glass and metal and your neck held in a tight grip.

You were given a chance.

And you wasted it.

But at least it was on love.

The last thing you saw was Omni-man's fist pulling back to punch you.

Crunch.

The scene Mark had returned to was gruesome, to say the least.

Not much in the traditional sense, as it was one person, but to him, it was.

One person lay dead on the street, neck nearly twisted off and face caved in beyond recognition, but Mark knew who it was.

Brown skin. Long black locs. A Seance Dog hoodie that once belonged to him.

It was you.

"I know how much he meant to you, Mark, but you have to understand that our mission is much more important than the life of one person."

Mark didn't look back to his father; he didn't even acknowledge him. Right now, he was focused on you. The life you could've had. The gifts he had wanted to give you. Your plans to go 'hang out' later. He could've had everything with you, but it was taken from him.

You were dead, gone, and yet still he raised a hand to reach out to you.

Omni-man flew closer to Mark, placing a hand on his shoulder. "He was holding you back, son. With him around, you would've never helped me conquer Earth. He needed to go. If you're so distraught, then you can get another pet later. Right now, you need to-"

"You're right, Dad. I wouldn't have ever conquered Earth for Viltrum with him around." Mark interrupted as he finally stopped reaching out. "But after what you did? I don't want you here."

Mark finally turned back to face his father, eyes hollow and numb. "I can see the future, and you don't live to see tomorrow."

It was quiet.

He was finally quiet.

He was heartless, so Mark made sure that he fit that descriptor.

A giant hole in the chest of his 'father.'

He'd never have to listen to him again.

His mother had been killed not that long ago by his 'father.' His friend- no, not friend, you were more than that to him. His everything was killed by him, too. And now his 'father' was dead, leaving poor Mark alone.

He had gotten revenge. Revenge for his mother, revenge for you. But he didn't feel any better.

You were gone.

And he didn't feel any better.

Just empty.

Empty and angry.

Why did everyone else get to live so carefree while you had to die? It wasn't fair.

He'd make it fair.

Tell me if anything is off with the tags or if there are any spelling mistakes.

[potatoplace]

We Can Do This Together

Poly!Feysand x Reader

We Can Do This (part 1) | We Can Fix This (part 2)

Poly!ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist

Story Summary: As you near the end of your pregnancy, your doctor puts you on strict bed rest. Your doting partners make sure that you still get everything you want: your wedding, baby shower, and honeymoon.

Warnings: lots of pregnancy talk, labor (nothing graphic), light smut

Words: ~9.6k

Author's Note: AHHHHH I'm so excited to post this one!!! It is 100% fueled by how baby crazy I would be for Feysand, and also by just how damn CUTE it is (plus some unexpected spiciness, I did not plan on that lol). So enjoy it! I hope you all like this one.c I know I love it 🫶 p.s. this was supposed to be like... 3k long. This got uhhhhh a lil out of hand hehe 🤭 @icey--stars here's the extra part 💖

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Cold gel was smoothed over your massive bump as the doctor worked, one of your hands clutching at Feyre's as she did.

"Sorry, I know it's cold," Madja said as she got a better image, smiling softly down at you.

"It's okay..." you replied, craning your head to try and see the image. "Are they okay?"

Madja squinted at the screen for a moment, before raising a hand to the screen. "All three of the babies seem to be doing just fine, their heartbeats are strong and they're all doing well weight-wise. The main thing I'm concerned about-"

"Don't tell us the cord is wrapped around one of them or one of them doesn't have lungs or-" Rhys panicked, his eyes frantic as he looked at her. She fought back a smile, while you and Feyre both rolled your eyes.

"Neither of those are reality, Rhysand, I am simply worried about Y/N," Madja said with a pointed stare at you, her eyes serious. "Carrying three babies is no easy feat, especially with you still working and being 28 weeks along with triplets. And given that you came in after a fainting spell... I am recommending complete bed rest, and if you must leave the house, you need to be in a wheelchair whenever possible. And I'm going to prescribe some extra vitamins, just so we can keep the little girls inside as long as possible. Understood?" Madja asked you, and as much as you wanted to yell 'no' at the idea of bed rest... You wanted your babies healthier more.

"Okay..." you said poutily.

"We'll make sure she follows your orders, Madja," Feyre said, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

"Good! I'd also recommend massage to help with your circulation, the added benefit is that it will help with some of the aches and pains I'm sure you're feeling. Now, I'll go write those prescriptions, you three sit tight for another moment." Madja left the room, leaving you alone with your two fiancés.

You may not be able to get married in the traditional sense, but Feyre and Rhys had insisted upon a ceremony, as they wanted you to feel just as important in the relationship. You, of course, had agreed immediately, wanting nothing more than to be bound to the two in whatever way you could be. That, and the promise of a week long honeymoon of just the three of you would have been more than enough to convince you.

That had been before you discovered you were carrying triplets, though. You had to be the most fertile woman on the planet, to not only get pregnant after having sex with a condom, but for that to result in triplets. That exciting and terrifying appointment had been just a few weeks after you'd had that horrid haircut...

And now you certainly weren't getting your honeymoon, as it had been planned for three weeks from now, your wedding ceremony the day before you were to leave. With you on bed rest, their might not even be a ceremony at all...

Tears came to your eyes unbidden at the thought, and you tried to blink them away before either Feyre or Rhys saw them. But you were unsuccessful, only causing them to fall faster as disappointment swept over you.

"Oh, little love, what is it?" Rhys asked, one of his hands coming to cup your face and swipe away the tears with his thumb.

His gentle touch only spurred on more tears, a sob ripping through your chest. You covered your face with your hands, rubbing your palms into your eyes to try and stop the tears.

"Y/N, you need to tell us what's wrong so we can fix it, darling," Feyre said softly, her hand moving from your hand up to wrap around you, taking you into her arms as much as she could while you were on the exam table.

"I just- our- our wedding!" You cried, sobbing harder. "Our perfect honeymoon, and the ceremony and the baby shower!"

"Oh, love, we'll still have all of those," Rhys reassured you as he pried your hands off of your face. "The ceremony will be easy enough to do, you'll just need to sit as much as you can. We can do the baby shower at home, or even on the day of our wedding, and the honeymoon we can move to somewhere close by, a cottage by a lake, just the three of us, hmm?" Rhys asked as he cradled your face, keeping your eyes on him.

"See, little love? We can still have all of those things, you'll just be resting as much as possible. Okay?"

You stuck your lip out in a pout, which Rhys immediately caught between his thumb and forefinger.

"What do you say, baby? Will you let us take care of you?"

When he talked to you like that... Even with the hormones raging through you, you couldn't say no.

So you nodded your head.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

"I'm going crazy!" You complained from the couch as Feyre and Rhys bustled around the kitchen, delicious scents wafting over to where you had been banished to.

"You're not going crazy, Y/N, you're just bored!" Feyre called out. "Watch something or play a game, love!"

"But I'm tired of playing games and watching things," you whined, throwing the blanket off of your lap. Your bump made it harder and harder to get up without help, but you managed to push yourself off of the couch.

Over the past three weeks, you had moved into Rhys and Feyre's penthouse for good, your own personal effects now strewn across every room, and your clothes in their closet.

Getting to sleep with them every night had been heavenly, or as heavenly as sleeping at almost eight months pregnant with triplets could be. Their arms around you and soft touches helped lull you to sleep without fail, and waking up next to them and not leaving? Perfection.

The only problem? You'd been put on maternity leave at work! When you could very easily work from home on your laptop, but no. No. Your work had decided that you continuing to work with such a high risk pregnancy was a no-go, so now you were stuck in the loveliest apartment you had never been in, completely and totally bored.

You padded over to the kitchen, fluffy pink bunny slippers on your feet, this pair one that Feyre had gotten after you moved in. Your old slippers no longer fit your widened feet and ankles, and when you had cried over the fact, Feyre had run out and purchased three different pairs of slippers for you, all varying shades of adorable bunnies.

"What are you doing in here?" Rhys scolded, wrapping his arms around you when he turned around. "You're not supposed to be walking around, little love."

Feyre had turned around too, and both of their very mildly disappointed stares on you made you wish you hadn't gotten up. But still...

"I'm bored, I'm so tired of sitting on the couch or laying in bed," you whined into his chest, hands clutching at his shirt.

"There's only one more night that you're going to be this bored, darling, and that's tonight," Feyre said as she took the spot behind you, winding her arms around your middle and stroking your gigantic stomach.

"Because what's tomorrow?" She asked in your ear, sending a small shiver down your spine.

"Our wedding and baby shower," you answered, a big grin on your face as you thought about it.

"That's right, sweet girl," Feyre said, placing a kiss along your neck with every word. "Tomorrow we're getting married, and getting lots of cute gifts while we spend time with our friends, and then the day after?"

"The day after we're going to a lake cabin," you giggled, absolutely giddy at the idea. It wasn't the oceanside resort you had planned to go to, but it was nearly the same, just much closer. After all, the main thing you were excited for was spending every second of every day with your Feyre and your Rhys, celebrating the life you'd all started together eight months ago.

"That's right, Y/N, and you get us for one hundred and twenty uninterrupted hours," Rhys purred, sending a thrill to your core.

The one area you hadn't been bored in? Lovemaking. While Rhys had been too afraid to fuck you roughly, especially in the last three weeks, he and Feyre had made it their personal goal to find every other way there was to make you climax.

"Mm, and I can't wait," you said happily, craning your head to steal a kiss from him.

"Not fair," Feyre whined from behind you, even as she herself stole a kiss from Rhys. "I want one too." You twisted yourself in their arms, a grin on your face as you placed a kiss on Feyre's lips. "Good. Now that we've all gotten our smooches, you can go sit back down on the couch." You went to protest, but Feyre cut you off, "If you're a good girl and only walk when you have to tonight, you'll get a good night surprise from me."

A flush spread over your cheeks at the idea- Feyre's surprises were always the best. "I'll go sit down and be good, if you come with me. Let Rhys finish dinner."

"Hey, I want to come snuggle too," Rhys complained.

"But you're the better cook, Rhysie," Feyre said, already tugging you from his arms and over to the couch. "Besides, we need Y/N to eat soon, and if I stayed alone in the kitchen we'd have to order in!"

Rhys groaned but continued cooking, though you could tell he was doing it with a pout, even if you couldn't see it.

Feyre settled you into the couch, pulling your blue throw blanket that matched her eyes back onto your lap, but left your feet and lower legs uncovered.

"How have you ankles felt?" She asked as she settled down in front of you, grabbing the bottle of lotion that they kept nearby now.

"They've been fine," you said, a hint of a lie in your voice even as you tried to hide it. Feyre caught it, staring at you sternly. "Okay, fine, they've been sore and puffy..."

"That's what I thought, I think we need to start giving you massages twice a day now to keep your circulation going more," Feyre said gently as she started working the lotion into your skin, your head falling back onto the couch pillow. Feyre chuckled at your reaction. "Feel nice, baby?"

You managed to nod, but couldn't find it in yourself to speak. Before you'd been bored and restless, now you were just... tired. Calm. Especially with Feyre's hands on you.

You drifted off quickly, awoken by Rhys's deep laugh. "Did she fall asleep in the ten minutes it took me to finish dinner?"

"She did, I think she was just lonely," Feyre said gently, and you could still feel her hands massaging your ankles with such care.

"I was bored," you mumbled, still not fully awake.

Rhys laughed again, softer this time. "Of course you were, darling. Are you ready for dinner?" His hand stroked over your hair, his touch bringing you back to awareness.

"Dinner?" You asked sleepily, blinking to clear your eyes.

"That's right, dinner. You should eat something before you take your vitamins."

You made a face at the idea of vitamins, so many tiny little pills to swallow. But dinner...

"Dinner sounds good."

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Tears were pouring down your face as you stood in front of a floor length mirror, taking in how you looked.

"Oh, Y/N, don't cry! You look absolutely beautiful!" Emerie said, dabbing the tears off your face with a tissue.

"I know, I just-" you cried. "I just love them so much!"

"Oh, I know you do! Which is why you're getting married to them! So no more happy tears until you see them at the end of the aisle, hmm?"

You sniffled but nodded your head, doing your best to stop your tears as Emerie wiped the remaining ones from your already made up face. "Okay. I can try."

"Good. Now, does everything with your dress look right? And the veil? And your hair?"

You looked yourself over again, fighting back more tears- happy ones, thankfully, but tears nonetheless. Your soft, silk white dress had a Queen Anne neckline with cap sleeves and a flowing waistline that hung prettily over your bump, more flattering and pretty than you'd thought possible with how massive you were now. It met the floor, just barely dragging over it as you walked, and your feet were clad in comfortable ballet slippers, with an extra support stuffed inside that Feyre had insisted upon.

Your hair was lovely, having grown back out a bit, laying in soft curls and your bangs styled. Your veil was beautiful, attached to your head with a small tiara and flowing down to the backs of your knees, made of a delicate white lace.

"Everything is perfect," you breathed, fingering the necklace that Rhys and Feyre had gifted you four months ago, tiny starbursts of diamonds surrounding three square sapphires, one for each of your daughters.

Emerie smiled at you in the mirror, then began guiding you back to the couch against the wall of the dressing room. "Good, because you should be getting your cue to walk out any minute now!"

True enough, the moment after you sat down, Mor knocked on the dressing room door and opened it, peeking inside. "Oh good, you're ready, come along now!" She squealed, helping Emerie pull you back to your feet.

The two of them helped walk you to the double doors that separated you from your future. Emerie fluffed out the short train of your dress while Mor pulled the doors open, and the both of them stepped aside to let you pass through on your own.

The moment you saw them standing there, Rhys and Feyre, you thought you might faint.

Rhys looked fantastic in his fine black suit with silver stitching, his blue-black hair styled into the soft curls that you loved so much, a slight blush on his cheeks when he met your eyes across the hall, his signature smirk softened into something even lovelier. His dark purple tie brought a smile to your own lips, the dare that you and Feyre had made him take after teasing him about not only wearing black at the wedding.

And Feyre... Feyre took your breath away, her golden brown hair styled into pretty ringlets, her own veil carefully pinned onto the crown of her head. Her dress was beautiful, clinging to her curves before flowing out at her hips, with tiny spaghetti straps holding the bodice to her chest. A flush spread over her cheeks and chest when she looked at you, a smile taking up her whole face.

You finally remembered to start moving when Feyre wiggled her fingers at you, your face turning bright red as you slowly made your way down the aisle, giggling when you met Feyre and Rhys at the end, who both immediately wrapped an arm around you to help take the pressure off of your feet.

The ceremony flew by, with you hardly remembering a single word of what had been said, your mind more preoccupied with how loved and cherished the two people you were now bonded to made you feel.

Your first kiss married to the two of them was from Feyre, Rhys having muttered something like "Ladies first," to Feyre.

It was magical, getting to kiss your wife and husband, and Rhys had you giggling when he immediately scooped you into his arms, careful not to squish the babies. He carried you from the wedding hall to the attached reception hall, a large couch in the center of it with chairs, tables, and a few other, smaller couches set up as well. He gently set you onto the couch in the center before settling beside you, Feyre taking up the spot on your other side.

That was something he loved doing- literally sweeping you off of your feet whenever he had the chance, especially over the past three weeks. You didn't mind one bit, not when it meant snuggling into his chest while he carried you up a set of stairs, or being held the entire duration of the elevator ride when you could suck little marks on his neck, enjoying the pleasured hiss he would let out.

You let out a contented sigh as you leaned your head on Rhys, letting it sink in.

You're married.

Emerie quickly began taking charge of the festivities, ordering for the food to be set out and music to be played, even bossing Mor into dancing with her before they'd had a bite to eat.

Rhys had gone to get a plate for the three of you, coming back with it piled high with beef pot roast, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, and green beans- it had been your idea after seeing the fancy displays the caterer had made, your stomach rolling at the sight even though you knew it would taste just fine.

The babies had had a different, less logical idea.

So pot roast it was, the other dishes suggestions from Feyre and Rhys.

Rhys took great pride in feeding both you and Feyre, only taking his own bites when the two of you decided to steal the fork from him and feed him yourselves. Rhys would steal back the fork and continue feeding you as much as you could handle, rubbing your back as you chewed each bite. Which of course only spurred you on to eat more, wanting more of his soft smiles and gentle touch.

You could only eat so much, though, before you collapsed back against the couch cushions, rubbing at your tummy and delighting in the little kicks that your hands were met with.

They were happy too.

The ceremony had been small, no more than 30 people that the three of you had trusted to share this experience with. Your own family had declined to attend, which had stung at first, before you realized that you had a new family, one that would support you unconditionally.

And that was all that you needed, all that your babies needed.

After an hour or so, Emerie decided that it was time to open presents- likely sensing the inevitable lag in your energy that would happen sooner or later.

Presents were piled around the couch you and your spouses were sat on, far too many in your opinion. But truly? You were touched that people wanted to spoil your babies so thoroughly, when they hadn't even arrived yet.

The combined wedding reception and baby shower went by quickly at first, but your energy began to lag after the second hour, your head resting against Feyre's shoulder between presents. After a while you stopped opening them, preferring to react sleepily while your partners tore apart wrapping paper and peeked into bags.

So many baby clothes, all of the outfits coming in three matching sets and each one getting you closer and closer to tears as you thought about your babies snuggled up in cute onesies, or in the little fox outfits that Lucien and Elain had gifted you.

You gained a small second wind after the cake was cut, strawberry with a lemon filling a pretty strawberry icing, your favorite since you had grown pregnant.

Feyre and Rhys had both offered you the first bite, which had made you laugh, both of them waving forks in front of your face to try and sway you to choose theirs. Instead, you directed Rhys's fork to Feyre, and Feyre's to Rhys, only taking a bite from each of them after they'd had their own.

Soon enough, though, you were out of energy again, dozing off against Rhys's shoulder while Feyre went to the restroom. He had you sit up for a moment which had made you grumble, before pulling you back against him after draping his suit jacket over your arms and back.

"Thank you, husband," you murmured against him.

"You're welcome, sweet wife," he cooed, placing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head.

The clicking of heels just barely alerted you to Feyre's presence before she spoke. "Awe, is she all tuckered out?"

Rhys chuckled quietly. "I think so, darling. Should we get her home?"

You mumbled against his chest.

"What was that?"

You sighed but moved your face away from him a bit. "We haven't danced yet," you whined.

"Oh, love, I don't know if-"

"Madja said I could dance to one song, maybe two if I rest for a bit between them. Please?" You begged, using your best puppy dog eyes on the two of them.

Feyre sighed, but you knew she was going to give in. "Alright, since Madja said it was okay. But if you get tired you need to tell us, yeah?"

You nodded. "Of course, my pretty wifey," you said, and shrugged off Rhys's jacket. Feyre's blush was delightful, and you let her and Rhys help you stand, immediately clinging to her once you were. "I really just want to sway with you..."

"We can sway," Feyre said, wrapping her arms around you.

"Can I join or are we doing separate dances?" Rhys asked cheekily from behind you, already winding his arms around both of you, sandwiching you between them.

Just how you loved to be.

"Dances together, of course," you insisted, squeezing one of his hands. "Everything together, I think." You rested your head on Feyre's shoulder, smiling when you heard the sound of their lips meeting.

This was right where you needed to be, for the rest of time.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

The party had wound down early, with you falling asleep on Feyre's shoulder while she and Rhys talked to their close friends, their conversations garnering the occasional sleepy giggle from you when you managed to pay attention long enough.

Mostly, it was Cassian and Mor teasing Rhys about having two wives that were far prettier than he would ever be, and Rhys adamantly agreeing with it, to which Cassian and Mor would reiterate how he is not the prettiest person in his relationship. They were obviously trying to rile him up, but it seemed Rhys's overwhelming love for how you and Feyre look overrode any need of his to proclaim himself the most gorgeous person in the room.

It was only once you had drooled the tiniest bit on Feyre's shoulder that your husband and wife declared the festivities over, at least for the three of you. Rhys had scooped you into his arms once more, this time carrying you to the town car waiting to take the three of you home.

You dozed between the two of them on the way home, feeling safe and content. The drive was short, no more than ten minutes, but by the time you arrived, you were more than ready to stay in the car and sleep there until the morning.

Thankfully for you, Rhys pulled you gently into his arms and carried you all the way up to the penthouse, Feyre opening and closing the doors. You blinked yourself awake when you felt your dress being unzipped and tugged from your body, watching Feyre put it on a hanger and store it in the closet before Rhys helped her remove her own dress.

You sighed dreamily at the sight of her, clad in white lace lingerie like the perfect, pretty present that she was.

"Like what you see, darling?" She asked teasingly as she undressed Rhys slowly, grinning when she saw your eyes catch on his muscled torso.

"Mmhm," you hummed. "Come over here and I'll show you just ho-" the rest of your sentence was cut off by a wide yawn, drawing a chuckle from Rhys.

"I think you can wait to show her until tomorrow, little love," Rhys said, crossing the room once he was down to his boxers.

Also purple, like his tie.

"But I want to-"

"I would much rather help you take a bath, darling," Feyre said softly, already taking both of your hands in hers to help you up. "We can celebrate tomorrow, when we're all feeling refreshed and at the cabin. Doesn't that sound nice?"

You pouted at her for a half a second before giving in- after all, a bath did sound heavenly right now...

"Okay, as long as both of you take one with me."

"We wouldn't dream of doing it any other way, love," Rhys murmured in your ear, picking you up a moment later. "Now let's get us all warm and clean and cozy."

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

You woke tangled in the blankets the next morning, somehow having stolen nearly the entirety of it from your wife and husband, leaving them curled up close to you, half covered.

Not a bad view, you thought to yourself, drinking in the way the sunlight hit their skin, the curves of their bodies.

But still, the thought that had woken you needed to be tended to.

Though getting out of bed without waking either Rhys or Feyre... Would be tricky, seeing as you were nestled between them, their arms looped over you.

You started with Rhys first, he was always a bit of a heavier sleeper than Feyre. His arm was carefully placed over his side, though it immediately started creeping forward in its search for warmth.

The moment you moved Feyre's arm though, her eyes fluttered open, gorgeous blue meeting your own. The sleepy smile she gave you made you wish you had a camera in your hands, it was so soft and cute and sweet... Just like her.

You couldn't help it, you leaned forward to steal a sweet kiss from her, which she gladly gave, her arm tightening around your middle, pressing your bump to her tummy.

"Why are you up so early, love?" She whispered. "Did you need the bathroom?"

Well... "Yes, but I need to do something in the nursery too..."

Feyre's eyes narrowed briefly, likely having guessed what you wanted to do after relieving yourself.

"Okay, let's get you up, sweetheart," she whispered, getting out of bed herself before helping you swing your legs over the side, then pulling you to your feet. Her eyes lingered over your exposed bump and breasts, and you could sense that she was resisting pinching you somewhere.

Once you had used the bathroom, Feyre helped you get dressed in a comfortable lilac wrap dress and your purple bunny slippers before getting dressed herself. She slipped on a pair of light blue jean shorts with a forest green tshirt, looking even lovelier than ever.

Of course, that's what you thought every time you saw her, but it was still true.

"Let's get you to the nursery, love," Feyre said softly, letting one of your arms wrap around her while she did the same, helping support you as you walked the short distance to the nursery, only a door down from the master bedroom.

Inside of the pastel pink nursery, three cribs had already been set up, little mobiles dangling over them. There were already three pastel dressers that had been half filled with tiny baby clothes, carefully arranged by you into age groups, and three matching changing tables lined up against one wall, already stocked with all you would need to change the babies.

There was also a large couch against the back wall, a nursing chair positioned next to it in the corner. Both were heavenly to sit in, and remembering how long it had taken you to pick them out made you smile. Feyre and Rhys had been insistent on you getting only the most comfortable furniture for you, as you would be the one using them the most while breastfeeding.

In the middle of the room, covering most of the area rug with little animals on it, were the gifts from yesterday. None of them had been put away- good, you thought. You would only have arranged them all over again by yourself, needing them to be organized just how you liked.

Nesting, as it turned out, was very much you being overly needy about how things looked in the bedroom and nursery, but especially the nursery.

"I'll go make us some tea and be back in a few moments, alright love?" Feyre asked, waving a hand in front of your face when you didn't respond, only stared at the large pile. "Sit down, Y/N, I'll be back in a minute to help you sort it all out, don't worry."

She left the room, and you could hear how quickly she moved down the hallway. Maybe she was anxious about leaving you alone...

You sighed and sat down on the floor on your knees, not sure how better to position yourself. Picking through the pile, you started to sort the clothes out into their different age ranges, starting from newborn and going up to two years.

It was only five minutes later when Feyre returned, a tray with a pot of tea and three cups resting on it in her hands. "What are you doing on the floor?"

You blinked at her for a moment. "Uh... Sitting?"

"I can see that, silly, I meant for you to sit on the couch!" Feyre tsked, setting down the tray and holding her hands out for you to take. "Come on, little love, it's not good for you to be sitting like that."

You sighed and scrunched your face, but took Feyre's hands and let her help you onto the couch.

"Don't worry, I'll help you sort everything out exactly how you want. Now... How were you organizing this?" Feyre asked, kneeling in front of the pile.

"Well..."

It was maybe an hour later when you and Feyre had finished sorting all of the clothing that Rhys burst through the nursery door, a panicked look on his face.

"Are you okay? Are the babies okay?" He asked frantically, already by your side, assessing you with his hands and eyes.

You slapped his hands away gently when he tried to take your pulse, giggling at his antics. "I am just fine, darling. Are you okay?"

Rhys let out a breath of relief. "Of course, I was just worried when I woke up and both of you were gone..."

Feyre laughed and wrapped her arms around Rhys's shoulders. "You're such a mother hen, Rhysie. We just wanted you to sleep in a little bit, and Y/N wanted to organize all the new baby clothes we were given yesterday," she explained, rolling her eyes over his shoulder at you.

"I'm no mother hen, if anyone is a mother hen, then it's you, my dear Feyre."

"Oh, that's bull and you know it Rhys. You barely let Y/N take a step these days!"

It was Rhys's turn to roll his eyes. "Like you wouldn't also be carrying her everywhere if you could?" Feyre was silent, looking away with a smile growing on her face. "That's what I thought, darling. Now, if all the clothes are sorted, I thought we could get on the road soon," Rhys suggested, smiling when he saw your eyes light up.

"Yes, let's hit the road!" You exclaimed, and started to push yourself off the couch. Rhys and Feyre chuckled at your enthusiasm and helped you up, the three of you heading into the bedroom together.

"I think we have everything packed already, besides the blankets and pillows," Rhys said as he pulled the four duffel bags he had packed two days ago onto the bed, three stuffed full of the clothing you would be needing for the next five days, the other stuffed with toiletries, your vitamins, books, and a couple of canvases for Feyre. She would also be bringing her travel easel, packed tightly with the brushes and paints she would need to paint you in the water, as she had declared she would be doing.

And, of course, the go bag. Stuffed full of anything you would need should you go into labor, it was a must to take with you. It had the first onesies you wanted the babies to wear, lilac with a customized saying on it: 'Mommy's and Daddy's and Mommy's girl'.

You had cried when you opened them, a surprise from Feyre and Rhys two months ago.

Also inside was a Polaroid camera, a digital camera, a film camera - you wanted everything documented, and you wanted it done right... though, not the birth... That could stay off film for good.

"Is there anything else you can think of?" Feyre asked you, her pretty eyes distracting you from the question.

"Uhm... No?" You answered, your mind not coming up with anything.

"Then I do believe that we are ready to go!" Feyre said cheerily, guiding you to sit down on the bed so that she could change your shoes.

"I'll take the bags down, do not let her leave the apartment until I come back up," Rhys demanded, fixing you with a stern eye. You blushed but nodded, not wanting a repeat of your fainting spell three weeks ago.

Less than ten minutes later you were bundled into the car, your favorite pillow clutched in your lap, along with Feyre's hands. She played with your fingers the whole car ride, even when she was kissing you.

Which was nearly the entire time, both of you deciding that you didn't really need air anyways to live, you'd much rather breathe each other in.

You could hear Rhys's longing, quiet groans whenever he glanced at the two of you in the rear view mirror, and whenever you looked at him he had a slight flush to his face and neck, which only made both of you more enthusiastic.

"Oh mother, you two will be the death of me," Rhys grumbled, and you saw his right hand lower to his lap and heard the rustle of fabric.

"Hey, hands on the wheel, Rhysie," you said between kisses, tilting your neck to give Feyre access.

"Easier said than done..." He sighed, but moved his hand back to the steering wheel.

"You'll get your turn once we arrive, don't you worry husband," Feyre said against your skin, sending a shudder through you.

By the time you arrived you were a needy wreck, putty in Feyre's capable hands where they had slid below your dress, playing with your breasts.

"Alright, girls, my turn," Rhys growled as he pulled you from the car, entering the cottage once Feyre had unlocked the door and making a beeline for the bedroom. He set you down carefully, so gently that it brought tears to your eyes. "None of that sweet love, unless it's from too much pleasure," Rhys said quietly against the skin of your neck, just below your ear.

Feyre dipped onto the bed a moment later, her hand sneakily undoing the tie of your dress, which fell open easily, baring you to both of them.

"Too much pleasure? I think she can handle it," Feyre purred, her hand already snaking down your tummy and to your cunt, chuckling lowly when she felt the wetness that she'd created. "Don't you, sweet girl?"

You nodded your agreement, mouth falling slightly open when she dipped a finger inside of you.

Oh yes. You could handle this.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

An hour of their hands exploring every inch of you and another hour peacefully dozing in their embrace later, and Rhys was disentangling himself from the pile of limbs the three of you had made.

"Where are you going?" Feyre asked sleepily from your left, her breath warm against your chest.

"I'm going to go get food for our time here," Rhys replied, and you hear the shuffle of fabrics and jingle of his belt.

"I wanna go," you yawned, stretching your legs out and sighing at how lovely it felt.

Rhys kneeled on the mattress and over you, a thumb stroking over your cheek prompting your eyes to open. "If you go to the store, you know you have to be in a wheelchair the whole time, right darling?"

You scrunched your face up for a second. You hated using the wheelchair. But...

"I want to pick out snacks and drinks," you insisted, raising your own hand to cup his face. "You're so preeetty."

Rhys smiled, a toothy, adorable thing. "Okay, okay, so long as you stay in the wheelchair you can come shopping. I take it you'll want to come as well, Fey?"

"Of course, I'm not going to be left alone here while my wife and husband go shopping," Feyre said cheerily, already pulling herself into a sitting position. Rhys helped you do the same, and then to stand.

You all finished getting redressed before Rhys scooped you into his arms again and depositing you gently into the backseat, even buckling you up and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

The trip into the lakeside town was short, no more than ten minutes, and you were relieved to see it had a small hospital, just as Rhys and Feyre had reassured you.

The local grocery store was cute and fairly large, and hopefully housing all of the items that you were hoping to get. You were wheeled inside, your cheeks flaming red as you saw people stare at your large baby bump and the two gorgeous people with you.

You never had liked being stared at... Unless it was Feyre and Rhys doing the staring.

Feyre pushed a cart while Rhys pushed you along, all of you picking out ingredients for dinner, breakfast, and the occasional snack, that was until you reached the candy aisle.

Recently you'd been craving chocolate- chocolate bars, chocolate cookies, chocolate covered fruit, chocolate anything.

And today was no different.

"Okay, Y/N, you can pick out five different candies if you'd like, and we'll all share them," Feyre said, obviously having noticed how your eyes were flitting over the choices.

"Five? Really?" You asked, surprised. One item a day, even if you were sharing, seemed like a lot.

"Yes, five," Feyre chuckled. "You don't have to pick out that many if you don't want to, but I thought since it's our honeymoon and all, that you could have some extra sweetness to go with you... extra sweetness," she said, wiggling her eyebrows at the last two words.

You only flushed further, though this time was from anticipation. Still, you made yourself take your time to pick out your items, not wanting to regret not choosing something later when the cravings struck.

With everything picked out, Feyre went to the cash register while Rhys took you back to the car, gently lifting you inside and buckling you in once more, this time with a heated kiss press to your lips.

You were breathless when he pulled away, your heart fluttering. "I love you," you whispered against his lips, smiling widely when he said the words back to you.

Feyre returned a moment later with the groceries, and once everything was unloaded and they were both buckled in, you were headed back to the cottage.

Rhys carried you inside once again, this time sitting you on the couch that faced a window, overlooking the lake that was right there.

"Can we go swimming soon?" You asked once both of them were seated beside you, groceries put away.

"Of course, love," Feyre said as she nuzzled into your shoulder.

"After you've eaten something, and rested for a bit," Rhys added, already up from the couch in search of something for you to have for lunch.

"Mother hen," you muttered, drawing a laugh from Feyre.

"I told him so," she giggled into your shoulder.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Swimming had been lovely, the three of you floating in the shallow end- or rather, you floating in the shallow end as Rhys and Feyre fought with tiny squirt guns while keeping a close eye on you.

After a bit they had called on you to play referee, but you kept forgetting how many points they had and eventually called it a tie, with the winners both receiving big smooches from you.

Rhys had insisted upon carrying you out of the water and back into the cottage without even drying off, leaving a trail of water behind you as he carried you to the bedroom and into the massive bathroom, taken up by a bathing pool that could easily fit five people.

He stripped both of you out of your bathing suits and lowered you into the water, grinning when you let out a pleased sigh at the warmth. He shifted so he was behind you, your back resting against his chest and sat between his legs, his hands stroking over your belly as the babies kicked softly.

Feyre came in a moment later, clad in only a towel, though not for long. She joined you in the tub, settling in to the right of you after pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

The water was warm, but not so warm that you couldn't soak with them for a while. You were already drifting off in Rhys's embrace, the warmth of the water and excitement from the day tugging you into the place between sleep and awareness, drifting through it as you felt Feyre and Rhys's soft hands, heard them kissing above you.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

The next morning you had demanded to go swimming after breakfast, not caring that the water was still somewhat cool in the morning sun.

Feyre had decided that she very much cared, choosing to stay on the patio and paint you swimming.

Rhys was happy to swim, and even happier to have you float in his arms as he slowly tugged you through the water, completely relaxed in his hold.

Eventually, though, your skin was pruned and your stomach grumbling for a snack, and Rhys had to drag you out of the water, a pout on your face while he carried you to the patio.

"You can go back in after you've let your stomach rest a bit, love," Feyre reassured you as she patted you dry with a towel, then tied your swim dress around you.

"I know..." You pouted. "Will you join us next time?"

Feyre glanced over at her easel, a half finished painting still on it. "I suppose the rest of the painting can wait until tomorrow, if you'll be swimming then too?"

You nodded vigorously. "Oh, I plan to swim as much as I can while we're here. Once the babies come, it'll be even harder to find the time, and I think they really like it when I'm swimming," you smiled, rubbing a hand over your tummy, a small kick being enough to convince you that you were right.

Feyre placed her hand over yours, smiling when she also felt a kick, this one stronger, like she was showing off for her second mom.

"Well, let's go get you lunch then, so we can get you back in the water," Feyre said, leading you back into the cottage and to the dining table.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

When you had finished swimming that evening, Rhys and Feyre both helped you bathe again- which really meant that they washed you twice, both of them running their hands over every inch of skin, with Feyre's fingers dipping between your thighs, Rhys's mouth swallowing your cries when you came under her touch.

You watched them bathe each other, which was somehow more erotic than doing it yourself, your own hands reaching up to cup your breasts while you stared at them hungrily.

You were fixed with identical feline smirks after you let a gasp slip loose, the look in their eyes promising you nothing but trouble.

"Does our sweet girl like watching us?" Feyre crooned as she kneeled over you, your gaze locked on hers.

"Mhmm..." You nodded, biting your lip, a question on the tip of your tongue. "Would.. Rhys?"

"Yes, darling?" Rhys asked lowly from behind Feyre.

"Would you..." You blushed heavily even at the thought. "Would you fuck Feyre? Hard," you said. "I... I want to watch you fuck her until she screams," you whispered, your blush intensifying under their gazes.

"Are you asking me to fuck my pretty wife while my other pretty wife watches?" Rhys asked teasingly, and you nodded. "What do you say, Feyre?" He asked her, pulling her hair aside and kissing along the expanse of her neck.

"Mm, I say yes- as long as I get to eat Y/N's sweet cunt while you do," Feyre said, a wicked glint in her eyes as she looked you over.

"I'm sure that can be arranged," Rhys said lowly. "I do think it requires a change of scenery, though."

A moment later Rhys had hoisted a squealing Feyre over his shoulder, and you heard the bounce of a mattress as he deposited her on it, only moments later returning for you, a hungry look in his eyes.

"Once Feyre is done eating you, it'll be my turn, little love," he whispered in your ear as he brought you into the bedroom. Your eyes caught on Feyre, already on her knees and forearms on the bed.

You giggled with anticipation, more than ready for whatever the night would bring the three of you.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

The next morning, you were awoken by a dull ache in your abdomen. You tried to disentangle yourself from Rhys and Feyre's arms, but they both stirred awake before you made much progress.

"Bathroom?" Rhys asked sleepily in your ear, his hand rubbing over your stomach in a soothing pattern.

"Mm... I think so," you whispered, wiggling your hips against him, delighting in the soft moan he let out.

"Wicked girl... Come on, let's get you up."

You relieved yourself quickly and exited the bathroom, finding Rhys and Feyre sitting in bed together, both yawning.

"I'm sorry I woke you up..." you said quietly, padding back to the bed and plopping yourself back down between them.

"Oh, nonsense Y/N," Feyre said softly, carding her fingers through your hair. "Don't ever feel bad about waking us up. Especially when you come back to bed for snuggles."

You hummed in agreement, but winced when another pain went through you.

"Are you okay, love?" Rhys asked, pressing a hand to your forehead.

"Mhm, just... a little pain happening."

Feyre frowned above you. "Pain? Where?"

Your expression matched her own as you placed your hand over your lower abdomen, at the bottom of your baby bump. "And a little in my back, too," you said, just before you realized.

Oh shit.

"I'm going into labor," you said, fear creeping over you.

"You're going into labor!" Both Rhys and Feyre exclaimed at the same time you spoke, all three of you exchanging looks before you all laughed for a moment, until it sunk in.

"Oh fuck, you're going into labor!" Rhys yelled, jumping up from the bed. "Quick, we need to get dressed and get the go bag and get in the car!"

You and Feyre shared a look, both of you still on the bed.

"Uhm... Rhys?" You asked, watching as he flew around the room, picking out a dress for you and Feyre and grabbing his own clothes, throwing them on quickly.

He paused for a moment, looking over to see the two of you, still relatively calm. "What? Why aren't you moving? Get up, get up!"

Feyre laughed from beside you. "Rhysie, she's not having contractions very close together, and her water hasn't broken yet. We don't have to rush quite so much."

He blinked at her for a moment, considering her words. "Nope, nope, get dressed. I'll make us some breakfast and pack everything up, but after that, it's the hospital for all of us!" Rhys exclaimed, breezing out of the room with his shirt unbuttoned and belt unbuckled.

You and Feyre shared a laugh together, muttering about him being a mother hen to each other, but you could tell that Feyre was nervous. Not that you weren't.

After all... You could very well be pushing three little humans out of you today, and if not today, then tomorrow.

Talk about scary...

Feyre helped dress you, the soft pink wrap dress that Rhys picked out comfortable and loose against your skin, soft slippers secured on your feet.

When you entered the main room, Rhys was already in a flurry of activity, switching between stirring the oatmeal he was cooking on the stove and packing up whatever he could get his hands on.

Feyre made sure you were sat at the table before disappearing into the bedroom, likely packing up all of your clothing and possessions to keep Rhys from having a heart attack at how much there was to do, and how little time he thought he had.

"I've already called Madja, she's going to meet us at the hospital in town in no more than two hours," Rhys informed you as he set a bowl of oatmeal in front of you. "How are you feeling? Any more contractions?" He asked with a gentle hand on your cheek.

"I'm doing fine so far, Rhysie. No more contractions yet."

"Good. Good," Rhys said, placing a kiss to the crown of your head. "Eat up, little love." He started to leave the table, but you caught your hand around his wrist.

"Wait," you pleaded. "Eat with me? Please?"

Rhys's expression softened at your tone, some of his panic ebbing away. "Of course, Y/N. I'll go get Feyre, and we can all eat together."

You smiled brightly at him, pleased that you would have one last meal as a family of three, rather than a family of six.

It was peaceful, once you had gotten both Rhys and Feyre to sit down and eat, both of them keeping a soothing hand on some part of you at all times.

The babies were kicking like crazy, obviously sensing that their time inside you was coming to an end, and seeming very excited to meet the world.

The calm ended once your face pinched with another contraction, though, Rhys immediately springing up to get the dishes washed and finish packing the rest of your things and lugging them out to the car.

Feyre sat with you while he bustled about, her hand resting over yours on your stomach while she talked about everything and nothing to distract you.

But soon Rhys had hoisted you into his arms once again and strapped you into the backseat, a sweet kiss pressed to your temple before he shut the door.

Feyre buckled in beside you, and you rested your head on her shoulder during the drive, soaking in the love she was giving you as she held you and stroked your hair.

By the time you reached the hospital, the contractions were coming closer together and lasting longer, a sure sign that you were nearing full-on labor.

Rhys settled you into a wheelchair before quickly leaving to park the car, promising that he would bring the go bag and for you and Feyre to head inside.

You and Feyre did just that, Feyre pushing you in to the front desk.

"Hello, what can I help you with?" The nurse asked, her eyes glued to the paperwork on her desk.

"Hi, uh, my wife is going into labor," Feyre replied, a hand running through your hair.

"Your wi-" The woman began to ask before she looked at the two of you, eyes sticking on the large bump of your belly. "Oh. I'll page OB right away, here's some paperwork for you to fill out."

"Thank you," Feyre said, grabbing the clipboard and pen from her and settling it in your lap before wheeling you over to the waiting area.

You had nearly finished filling out the paperwork together when Rhys flew through the doors, looking around frantically before his eyes landed on the two of you, immediately crossing the room to sit by you.

"Oh, good, you didn't get taken up yet. Well... Not good, but you know what I mean," Rhys rambled.

...

"This is the first time I've seen you nervous," you remarked, smiling when he looked offended.

"I am not nervous, I am appropriately aware of everything that is happening."

"Nervous," Feyre said, earning a light swat on the thigh from Rhys. "It's okay, Rhysie, I'm nervous too."

"Me too," you admitted, rubbing your belly absently.

"Well... Good, we're all nervous, we can all be nervous together," Rhys said, bobbing his head up and down.

You giggled at him, but was cut off by another contraction taking you off guard.

"Man... These things are annoying..."

"Y/N Night?" A nurse called from across the room, her eyes already locked on the three of you. Or, more specifically, the bump you possessed.

You were taken up to the second floor and given a nice room with a good view out the window, not that you could see it with all the doctors in the room.

As you were being transferred from a wheelchair to your bed, your water had broken, spilling down your legs and onto your feet.

The sensation had brought tears to your eyes, and your loving partners had so kindly cleaned you up without even a word of complaint, instead choosing to press loving kisses to your forehead and cheeks and hands as often as they could.

Madja had arrived only a half an hour after the three of you had, entering the room and parting the sea of doctors with her presence alone. Immediately she had given you steroids to help the babies' lungs develop as much as they could before you went into full labor, and had given you an epidural.

The feeling of your lower half being numb? Not your favorite. But you supposed it was better than feeling every contraction moving through you.

Rhys was pacing in the room, not able to stay still for a moment unless he was touching you in some way, but the fleet of doctors that had come to witness a birth of triplets had made that more and more difficult as the day wore on, to the point that you were beginning to feel a bit touch starved.

Feyre had stayed calmer, sitting in a chair that had a direct line of sight to you, but you saw her legs bouncing up and down, growing faster whenever a new doctor would touch and examine you.

After three hours of waiting to be left alone with your husband and wife, you were feeling fed up. Madja had just reentered the room after giving a short briefing to Rhys and Feyre, the two of them trailing behind her.

You made a pouty face, hoping that you looked as sad as you felt, not having enough access to your spouses.

Thankfully for you, Madja knew almost every one of you looks at this point, having seen you at least once a week for the past six months.

"Alright, that's enough exams for now, let's let the mother rest a bit," Madja commanded, the sea of white coats filtering out the door, taking their mumbled words with them.

You had a feeling that more than a few of them would have said choice words about the parenting situation of the babies.

But that didn't matter. Because when you looked at Feyre and Rhys, now by your sides, each holding one of your hands? You knew that you had everything you would ever need.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Eight more hours later, and you were blessed with three beautiful, healthy baby girls. They were all small, yes, and were nearly swimming in their first onesies, but they were healthy.

They were healthy, and you had made it through labor safely, thanks to Madja's expertise.

And, of course, the parents of your children, who had stuck by you throughout the entire labor, offering their hands to squeeze and dabbing away your sweat and fanning you when you felt too hot.

They were perfect.

Your babies were perfect.

Life was perfect.

Little Astra, Aurora, and Ayla had already lit up your life with their presences, their tiny coos and cries music to your ears.

Rhys and Feyre had managed to squeeze themselves onto your hospital bed, each of you holding one of your precious little nuggets.

You had Ayla in your arms, the smallest of the triplets, but the loudest. Rhys had Astra, who had been born with a thick tuft of blue-black hair, her violet eyes wide as she surveyed the room. And Feyre was holding Aurora, the largest and most mobile of the three, her little hand already grasping at your fingers when you offered them to her.

You were exhausted, of course, but before you went to sleep for the first time as a mother, you wanted to snuggle and feed your babies, and spend some quiet time with your lovers.

"They're so..." You sighed, unable to even finish the thought.

"Perfect?" Rhys asked.

"Amazingly adorable?" Feyre suggested.

"Yes and yes. I just know... I know that they will own me forever," you said softly, taking in a deep huff of baby smell.

Fresh, sweet baby.

You could hardly believe that a one night stand, no matter how fantastic, had lead to this.

You had a family now, made up of two loving spouses and three perfect little babies.

And even if things got hard, which they surely would... You knew that everything would be alright.

Because the three of you? You can do this, together.

🤍🩵💖💜🤍

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao @twismare

[starlostastronaut]

NEW YEAR TRADITIONS WITH SKZ

ot8 × reader - fluff, headcanons

summary - what new year traditions would you do with stray kids

links - masterlist

note: this is a scheduled post i've had prepared for about a week. writing hiatus is still ongoing. also traditions are taken from this website

happy new year my loves! ✨️ i still have few hours until midnight left, but i'm posting this a little early, so i don't flood it with end of the year posts. may your new year be as amazing as possible and i'll see you all in 2025 <33 enjoy reading! <3

BANG CHAN - jumping seven waves

chan took you to spend new years with him in australia

to welcome the new year, you decided to have a picnic on the beach and watch the sunset

which was when chan suggested the tradition

he read online how people in brazil jump over seven waves for good luck and wanted to try it

well, the sea was right there and everyone could use a little extra luck anyway

you held hands as you stood in the water together

LEE MINHO - eating twelve grapes

as soon as minho heard about the spanish tradition, he had to make it a competition

and being just as competitive, you agreed

it was a tradition meant to bring good luck, but it also looked like a fun activity

minho prepared the grapes in pretty bowls for when the midnight comes

you sat opposite each other as midnight approached, both treating as a serious matter

you both managed to finish in time, but you were a few seconds faster (which meant you were absolutely going to bring it up any chance you got in the following year)

SEO CHANGBIN - smashing peppermint pig

changbin heard about the tradition from one of his friends

at first he thought it was a little funny, but it was supposed to bring good health and happiness and you get to eat the candy afterwards, so why not?

you laughed when he showed up with the pig and explained the tradition to you, but seeing how excited he was, you agreed

it turned out to be pretty fun when you eventually broke it and fed each other pieces of the pig

you made a mental reminder to do this again next year, and maybe try out some other traditions

HWANG HYUNJIN - midnight kiss

hyunjin is nothing but a romantic

he always wanted to do the midnight kiss tradition with his partner, so when you decided to spend new years together, he immediately started planning

he decorated his place perfectly and you had a lovely evening

when he asked you about the kiss, you agreed immediately, since you wanted to ask him the same

he sets at least 3 timers to not forget and miss midnight

HAN JISUNG - new year movie marathon

jisung and you are both homebodies, prefering to spend new years together at home, rather than partying out with your friends

but you spending time lazying around in the comfort of your home was pretty much a standard and you wanted to do something special still, since it was new years after all

so jisung proposed a movie marathon, but only movies that would match the vibes

you searched up top new years movies, making your own list of what you and jisung liked the most

and so new years was spent in jisung's bed, cuddling and watching movies all evening (and the following morning)

LEE FELIX - watching fireworks

originally felix wanted to set off your own fireworks, but you quickly shut that idea down

luckily for felix, every year there was a big firework show and your balcony had the perfect view

felix came over in the afternoon, working hard to turn your balcony into the most perfect coziest spot to sit together

when the sky got dark, you two went out on the balcony, felix poured champagne into glasses while you prepared some snacks

cuddling under a blanket, you watched the firework show together

KIM SEUNGMIN - writing new year resolutions

everyone knows seungmin is organized and likes to plan things

and when he suggested making a resolutions list to follow, you thought why not

before midnight you sat down together, writing down your wishes and challenges to tackle in the new year, decorating the papers so they look pretty

right before midnight you pinned your lists to the fridge so you can be reminded of them every day

(and it wouldn't be you two if you and seungmin didn't make fun of certain resolutions you each wrote down)

YANG JEONGIN - light sparklers

jeongin wanted to do something fun for your first new years together

so he went out and bought (probably too much) sparklers for you to light together

as soon as it got properly dark, he was tugging you outside

at first you took some aesthetic pictures, both solo and together

jeongin ended up running around and drawing shapes into the air with the light and after taking a video of him, you joined the fun

© starlostastronaut 2024 | do not repost/translate my work without permission

[tearsofastraeax]

naughty | könig x f!reader

you're on krampus' naughty list and it's time to collect the dept

cw: 18+, krampus au, monster!könig, kidnapping, spanking, cunnilingus, dub-con (maybe non-con but krampus!könig is a hottie so also not really)

'twas the night before st nicholas day, the streets were filled with warm lights illuminating the snow-covered little village you were staying in. it was so peaceful and quiet. large mountains erupted in the distance, the stars dancing in the night sky. your breath slowly eased out as you buried deeper into your bed, staring out at the landscape outside of the window, your eyelids growing heavy, and eventually you drifted off to sleep. 

soft images of giant horned creatures drifted through your dreams, the warmth of torches, breathless screams and little giggles of children filling your ears. it was the first time you had ever experienced this strange folklore tradition. but the krampus parades in austria were one of your main goals of this trip, so you were buzzing with excitement when you had finally been able to experience one. 

clearly this excitement ebbed over into your dream, because you could have sworn it felt a little too real, like the soft cedar smell washing over you, or the icy cold drifting over your exposed skin. and even - 

suddenly your eyes shot open as your body was jostled about, your lifeless body slung over someone’s shoulder and moving back and forth with the rhythm of their steps. 

your whole body tensed up, your eyes frantically looking around you, trying to gauge your surroundings. but your heart immediately dropped at the sight of nothing but snowy, dark landscapes around you, the lights of the village miles away. even worse, panic set in when you looked at the man... or creature? that had slung you over his shoulder. it was wrapped up in furs and when you bend your neck to look toward his head you could see two gigantic horns coming out of it. what the hell was going on? were you still dreaming? oh please, you must still be dreaming. because this looked an awful lot like the krampuses you saw at the march around town, only those were costumes. 

panic squeezed your lungs, your heart beating faster and faster, with every step the beast underneath you took, it led you further into the dark, further and further away from the warm and cozy lights of the little village. 

your brain worked in overtime trying to figure out how to get out of this situation and what the hell was even happening? was this supposed to be a joke to scare the tourists? 

you started banging your first on the fur covered back of the giant horned creature. yet nothing but a deep grunt escaped him, the low sound wrapping itself around your cold form, slowly drifting over you and warming your core. 

no. no. no. this was not happening. 

even though your obsession with monster romances and all that good stuff was a thing you could not deny, it was absolutely fucking ridiculous to get turned on by some insane creature kidnapping you. 

instead, or maybe especially to distract from those thoughts, your incessant beating on his back continued, your body squirming on the monster’s shoulder, and your strangled scream twisting through the frozen silence of the snow-covered mountains. 

suddenly a hard slap landed on your naked thigh, just below your butt. you couldn’t help the choking scream that escaped your throat. and you definitely couldn’t help the slight tingling in your core from the warm sting that you could still feel on your skin. 

at this point the blood was rushing in your ears, and you weren’t prepared when the large form of your kidnapper hoisted you down onto a soft surface in what you recognized as a scarcely lit cave. 

the orange light of a crackling bonfire filled the cold cave with gentle warmth. and for the first time you were able to see the creature that abducted you. he was gigantic, larger than any man you had ever seen, his large horns slightly curled towards the back, his long, matted hair fell over his shoulders, his face was covered by a mask, or rather the massive skull of a goat, all you could see were his dark eyes staring back at you. his gigantic body was wrapped in furs, barely hiding the mass of muscles that were contained underneath them. 

"w-what do you want from me?", you managed to press out. your voice wavering with nerves. 

but instead of answering he just stared at you. his dark eyes bore holes through you, and an uneasy feeling ran through your body. but you couldn't lie, somehow, somewhere, a warmth spread through you, shamelessly spreading to your core and heating up the rest of your body. a light blush creeped over your skin at the feeling of his hard gaze on you. 

when he started pulling off the furs covering his upper body you had a hard time to not gape at his sight. you were expecting this human like creature, with his big horns, to be muscular, but this? his pale skin stretched over bulks of inviting valleys and peaks. thick hair covered his body in all the right places, stretching over his chest and trickling into his waistband. your tongue carefully darted out to wet your lips. maybe you shouldn't have done that, because his eyes zeroed in on the movement. his dark gaze coming alive with heat. 

"time for punishment, engel", his gruff voice shook you to your core. 

he bent down over you, your scarcely clothed body pressing further into the furs beneath you. 

"please.. don't." 

your plea didn't even get a response, as he gripped your ankle with his gigantic hand and pulled you closer to him. your chest now barely inches from his naked one. his cedarwood scent washed over you, extending the blush on your skin to a deep crimson. you could feel the heat emitting off his body and now you couldn't deny the wetness gathering between your thighs anymore. 

were you really this desperate? this touch-starved to accept this monster to take you? 

his hands roamed over your flesh and made quick work of your skimpy little pyjama set, which ended up in shreds somewhere on the floor of the cave. the moment he took in your fully naked form was breathtaking, the hunger in his gaze dizzying. 

"you're könig's little bad girl, aren't you? and bad girls need to be punished." 

könig? was that his name, you wondered. but you barely had time to ponder about it, nor the rest of what he had said, before the creature slid off his pants and loomed above you in his wonderfully naked form. his cock eagerly swaying with his movements, the tip a violent shade of red, and the size - my god - the size of him made your mouth water and your legs tremble at the sight of him. 

truly you were at a loss for words, even if you wanted to, you didn't know what to say or do to get out from underneath this gloriously naked monster, but you weren't really sure if you even wanted to. 

without a second more to spare, könig lowered himself onto his knees, spreading your thighs apart and positioning himself in between them. his hands slowly ran over your hot skin, from your legs, slowly over your hips right to your breasts, which he roughly took into his large palms and gave a tight squeeze. a breathless moan escaped you in return, which made an evil twinkle flicker in the creature's eyes. 

he pinched your nipples between his thick thumbs and index fingers, making you squirm beneath him. and cruelly enough he squeezed them so hard you gasped, a lone tear sliding down your cheek, as the fire in your core was threatening to consume you. 

the look on his half-covered face could be nothing else than contentment, this fucker was enjoying punishing you, for whatever insane reason he thought you deserved it. 

and punishing he did. one of his hands continued to twist and pull on your sensitive nipples, the other ripping off the skull that had covered face and for the first time you could take in your kidnapper fully. he was beautiful, so rough and scarred, but so incredibly beautiful that your heart missed a beat. his magnetic eyes were given even more expression by the heavy set of brows above them, his cheekbones and jawline so sharp and masculine, your mouth started to water.

you were getting so lost in him you barely realized when his wonderfully biteable lips started to drag open mouthed kisses down your stomach, along the inside of your thighs and finally oh so teasingly around your wet core. his intense eyes looked deep into yours, his face was just a breath away from your clitoris, his warm exhales teasing you and making you lose your mind. 

"you're enjoying this, aren't you, kleiner engel? but this was supposed to be a punishment." 

his deep voice felt like it revibrated through you, teasing your aching cunt. thankfully he didn't wait too long before his mouth wrapped around your clit, sucking hard on it and biting down. a desperately deep moan entangled with a gut-wrenching scream escaped your lips. you weren't sure if you'd survive the punishment, especially if this was just the beginning. 

könig started to unabashedly lap up your juices, his tongue gliding from your entrance to your clit over and over again. his pace punishingly slow, until you could barely take it anymore, your desperate pleas and moans filling the silence of the cave around you. then he slowly dragged a thick finger around your entrance, collecting your wetness there and before you knew it, he was pumping his finger into you, curling inside you and starting an unrelentless pace. 

you were desperate to hold onto something, your hands finding his thick horns, grabbing them like your life depended on it. and you were nearly too ashamed to admit, but holding him like this felt good, with his head between your legs, you started to move in unison with his rhythm, fucking yourself on his face and finger. and it seemed like he liked it, because you could see a mischievous grin on his features, his eyes sparkling as he looked at you. and you liked it too, so much so, that the heat in your belly felt like it consumed you whole, the tingling and sparks spreading out into every single little corner of your body. your toes curling, your body jerking away from his passionate assault, but his gruff hands held onto you roughly. there was nowhere to go. you closed your eyes, seeing stars behind them. you came with a violent shake of your body, a desperate moan escaping you, his name on your lips. 

slowly but surely, you got pulled back to reality when a sudden hard smack on your inner thigh made your eyes fly open. your gaze immediately landing on the giant monster between your legs. 

"i'm not done with you yet, engel." his smile spread his lips apart and showed off his teeth in such a grotesquely beautiful way. your juices were spread all over his chin and shining in the low lightning of the bonfire. 

for a brief second a thought ran through your mind; would you ever escape this cave alive? would you even want to? 

[hazymoonlinh]

Mistletoe.

Lighter x reader

(Happy birthday to himmm)

Pure fluff, just you clueless about the tradition.

It was one of those rare quiet moments, the kind where the world outside seemed to pause, and only the soft glow of the room’s lights and the scent of winter lingered. You were standing together in the hallway, having just walked back from the living room where everyone else had scattered off to their own business.

The overhead light caught the glimmer of green and red, and there it was: the mistletoe. It hung just above the doorway, the sprigs of it looking innocent enough, but you couldn’t help but notice Lighter’s sudden shift in posture. His usual calm, cool demeanor seemed to waver, and his cheeks were flushed just slightly—a rare sight that caught your attention.

You tilted your head to the side, looking at the mistletoe above and then back at him, a hint of curiosity in your eyes. “What’s the deal with this?” you asked, completely unaware of the tradition, your voice light and full of innocence.

Lighter’s breath caught for a moment, his fingers nervously tapping against the doorframe. “You… uh… you don’t know about mistletoe?” His words were strained, his usual confidence slipping just a little.

“No?” You said, your voice soft, still confused. “What’s it for?”

Lighter swallowed, glancing up at the mistletoe, and then back at you, his heart beating faster than it had in a while. “Well, uh… it’s… tradition, I guess. You’re supposed to, uh… kiss someone under it.”

You blinked a couple of times, trying to process the information. The realization slowly dawned on you, and you raised an eyebrow. “Kiss? You mean like a peck on the cheek, or…?”

His blush deepened, and he shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “Yeah, well, typically… it’s… it’s a kiss. And, uh, it’s supposed to be a special thing, you know?” He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly not used to being the one to explain this kind of thing. “A lot of people get… well, nervous about it.”

You looked at him, the playful glint in your eyes growing as you saw him squirm. His discomfort only made you more intrigued. “Is it… so bad?” You asked, your tone teasing as you leaned a little closer, though still standing just outside his personal space.

Lighter’s breath hitched as he met your gaze. “I’m not… I’m not saying it’s bad, it’s just…” He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

You saw his unease, and though it was clear he was hoping for some space to breathe, something playful sparked inside of you. You decided to close the gap, stepping closer to him until there was barely any distance between the two of you.

Lighter’s heart raced in his chest, his mind blanking for a second, as you tilted your head up, looking at him with a soft smile. Without saying another word, you placed a light kiss on his cheek, a simple gesture that felt gentle and natural.

His breath caught again, a mix of surprise and warmth flooding through him. “Th-That’s not exactly what I meant…” Lighter stammered, but his voice was low, as though his words couldn’t fully express what he was feeling in the moment.

You grinned playfully, still not fully aware of the intensity of the situation, but feeling a little mischievous. “So that’s how it works, huh?” You smiled again, this time leaning a bit closer, your face only inches from his.

Lighter was frozen in place, the entire atmosphere around you two shifting. His blush deepened, his lips parting slightly as he fought to regain control of his racing heart. He hadn’t expected you to be this close, nor this daring.

“Yeah, well… you know, you’re supposed to…” he started, but his words trailed off when he saw the playful, teasing glint in your eyes. His own hands hesitated at his sides, unsure whether to take that final step or keep himself rooted where he was.

You could feel the tension, the small but undeniable shift that the mistletoe had brought between you both. As your eyes met, the air felt charged with something unspoken. Maybe you didn’t fully understand the tradition, but something in that moment—the way Lighter was blushing, how his breath was shallow, the anticipation in the air—made you realize that this little bit of holiday tradition might just be more meaningful than you initially thought.

You smiled warmly, watching him. “I guess you’ll have to show me how it’s really done then, huh?”

And in that instant, Lighter knew exactly what you meant. The mischief in your voice, the way you moved so casually—he could only smile shyly and lean in just a little closer, lips, pressed against the others as the world around you faded.

[lucimaaie]

valentine ✧.* tlou

summary - you convince your girlfriend to celebrate valentine's day with you.

a/n - first time writing abby so bare with me, so maybe ooc abby, like 600 wc for both, was supposed to be a headcanon but turned into whatever this is, fluffiest fluff, actually edited and proofread this time, lemme know if you want me to write more for abby or headcanon-like stuff, anyway enjoy, happy valentine's!

The concept of holidays were obviously nonexistent in the midst of an apocalypse, especially Valentine’s Day. There were remnants of it in run down convenience and grocery stores—Shitty flowers left for dead and chocolate boxes rummaged in a hope for some sustenance— but nobody cared enough to set aside time to acknowledge the old holiday. They were too busy fighting to survive.

So when you brought it up, you weren’t expecting a completely receptive reaction or even a positive one. It was indeed one of those seemingly meaningless  holidays that even then people forgot about. Yet it wormed its way into your mind after recently learning about it. Imagining a day where you could just appreciate your girlfriend was no doubt sappy, but now was the chance to test out your curiosity, right?

“I just don’t get why it’s important,” Abby would say when you brought it up. Her brows furrowed as she pushed the sticks and uneven longs around in the fireplace. The fire was small but much needed to combat the cold air that seeped through the walls come night. 

Your lips pursed as you thought of a way to put it that didn’t make you sound insane. The idea very much was. There were some days when you were worried the cold would freeze your fingers off and draw away all the game, and now you were concerned with celebrating. “It’s about..love and appreciation, but not like the one with the big dinners..uh, thanksgiving? Yeah, it’s different than that.” 

“I do know what Valentine’s day is.” She commented dryly, sitting back next to you at the foot of your shared bed, wrapping her arm around you. 

“How was I supposed to know?” You poked her cheek. 

Abby swatted your hand away playfully, chuckling as she pulled her head back. “I never said I didn’t know about it. I just don’t get it.” She grabbed your hand from her cheek and intertwined your fingers. Her face soon grew serious as she took in the combined warmth of your body and the fire. How nice it felt to have someone to be so close to. “I appreciate you already.” She said genuinely.

Her words made your brain blank and your heart beat faster. Everything about this moment was making you feel like some kind of sap. 

“I don’t need flowers to show you how I feel.” Quite honestly, she wouldn’t know what to do if you presented her with flowers and a bed of rose petals, if you could even find those in the freezing winter. She wouldn’t hate it..but it sounded like too much.

“What if I just wanna give you flowers or not even flowers— If I just wanna do something special?” Your voice was quiet against the crackling of the fire, like it was a secret for just the two of you. It partly was. Only you got this softer side of Abby. You turned to look up at her, taking in the light blush on her cheeks and dilated eyes. “Just something different from every other day.”

“I..won’t stop you.” She mumbled with a bashful smile, not knowing what to do with the attention. She took in the awe in your eyes, inwardly cursing herself for letting you talk her into yet another pre-outbreak tradition “for the sake of normalcy,” Truth be told, this life with you was the closest she’d ever gotten to normalcy, not having a mission or some type of assignment. She’ll admit it drove her crazy at first: That need to commit every day to something other than surviving. But you helped. 

“Good,” You pressed your lips against hers softly, both hands cupping her jaw, smiling as you took in her satisfied hum. “Cause you couldn’t have anyway.” 

“I—shut up. This better be worth your hassling,” She grabbed your jaw when you pulled away, swiping her thumb against the apple of your cheek. Her hair fell over her shoulder and created some type of curtain around your faces. “Ugh, you did it again.” She groaned, glancing down at your lips. “C’mere.”

Bringing it up to Ellie on the other hand send her into an internal frenzy. You’d have talked about it in a feigned off handed manner, laying on the edge of her bed as you watched her doodle mindlessly. “The stupid holiday with the chocolates and cards?” She mumbled, not thinking much of it. You had probably heard about it from Maria or somebody else who was alive before the outbreak.

You chuckled in response, mentally getting ready for the jokes. “Yeah, that.”

“What about it?” Her brows furrowed as she thought about it some more. Why would you be mentioning it– Oh. “You..wanna celebrate it?” Her hand would stop, hovering over the paper as she was pulled out of her focus. How the hell would she find anything to give you in what was mostly ruins? What would you even want? 

“Do you?” You thought you were being subtle in your line of questioning but she caught the deflection.

“I asked first.” She turned around in her chair to face you, dropping her pencil and leaning forward to grab your hand from under your head. “Do you wanna celebrate Valentine’s Day? The whole love letter and rose’s thing?” She ran her fingertips over your knuckles as she spoke, using you to fidget as she often did hoping you’d just pass it off as affection. She could write you a letter--nah, she’s done that before. Or a song? She already had so many. 

“I mean, it’s not realistic, but—“ You sat and scooted off the bed  to take a seat on the edge of her desk. She immediately took to looking up at you as you tried to explain “It’d be sweet.” You blurted. The words still felt inadequate. “We already do birthdays and Christmas, but it’d just be about us. So..maybe I wanna celebrate it in our own way.”

Ellie waited for you to finish before placing a hand on your thigh, assuring you as if she wasn’t troubleshooting ideas in her head right now. It wasn’t— It was stupid, she had to admit, but it was sweet that you wanted to celebrate being together. It had taken her so long just to realize how much she liked you and then to finally tell you. She couldn’t imagine taking you for granted now. She hummed, thinking about it. “Our own way..how?” 

“Anything. We can..go to that cabin we found a few weeks ago..have alone time..I don’t know.” 

“Mm, abandoned cabin. Sounds romantic.” She said dryly, picking up her pencil to resume doodling, but the inspiration didn’t come. She found herself too distracted by ideas. So instead a messy, unorganized list of ideas made it to the paper. She inwardly rolled her eyes at how quickly she subscribed to the idea.

“You know what I mean,” 

“I’m messing with you. If you want, we can do it.” She insisted with a nonchalant downturn of her lips. The bounce of her leg gave away her true emotions: the weird mix of nervousness and excitement the thought had given her. Her mind being both her gift and curse was already ripping through the possibilities of your reactions based on what she did for you. 

“Really?” You perked up, back straightening almost comically. Ellie had tried not to laugh and the best she could do was a small smile. “You don't think I’m being sappy?”

“I absolutely think you’re being sappy.” She teased, scooting so that she was closer to you. She wrapped her arms around your waist, fidgeting fingers now preoccupied with the stray strings of your hoodie. “But I’ll go along with it because I love doing stupid things with you.” She admitted earnestly, pulling you to be closer. 

“That’s the sappiest thing you’ve ever said to me.” You wrapped your arms around her neck, fingers messing with the baby hairs at the nape of her neck. “And I love it,”

“Nope. It’s all you, you’re rubbing off on me.” 

thank you for reading!

[perfectlyoongi]

BEST-FRIEND!YOONGI who taught you how to play the guitar when you were still teenagers. it took a lot of words from you to convince Yoongi to teach you a mere chord; it took even more words from you to convince Yoongi to teach you a song; but it didn’t take any words from you to make Yoongi’s soul dance every time you played. lost in his thoughts, Yoongi didn’t pay attention to the songs you played; too focused on that comfort that soothed his soul, Yoongi didn’t seem to notice your presence at all. but it was you. the way you looked beautiful holding the guitar. the way you smiled when you made a harder transition. the way your eyes sparkled with pure pride at having managed to complete a song. Yoongi didn’t notice your presence, Yoongi felt your presence. “you can be really annoying when you want, but i think it’s just your way of confessing your love for me. isn’t it? come on, admit it.”

BEST-FRIEND!YOONGI who picks you up at home every day before work. even though he didn’t live close to you, Yoongi made an effort to wake up half an hour earlier just to greet you in the morning with a sweet smile. for Yoongi, a good day started with you. still driven by sleep, tired from work, you always greeted Yoongi with a small smile and a wink. and Yoongi’s heart beat a little faster at your greeting. with a slow and shuffling step, you and Yoongi walked to your work together, often watching the sunrise in tones of complicity and passion, every day planning the morning of the next day. “good morning. today is colder than normal, do you want my scarf? i don’t mind lending it to you. i just don’t want you to get sick because then i’ll have to take care of you and i don’t feel like it. just that.”

BEST-FRIEND!YOONGI who thinks about your friendship when he takes the subway with you. coming home from work was an exhausting task; after a long day of meetings, socializing, and tension, you just wanted to rest as quickly as possible. so, every day, Yoongi would pick you up from work and take you to the subway, where he would walk you home. it was a routine of yours that came from your teenage years, it was often the only time when you and Yoongi allowed yourselves to feel and let all the defences put up by both of you collapse — all that mattered was that at that moment, you and Yoongi were together. from teenagers to now. how was Yoongi not supposed to feel something for you? “i think i look at you more than i should. i think when i laugh with you my laughter sounds like love. and i’m afraid because that’s true.”

BEST-FRIEND!YOONGI who fell in love with you on a late spring afternoon when cherry blossoms adorned your hair. it was customary for you and Yoongi to have a small picnic with the arrival of spring — a good luck ritual you invented when exams were more complicated, a ritual that, so far, had proven useful. but, if this picnic was already your tradition, why was it that late afternoon that you, painted by the sun, sculpted by the breeze, decorated with the cherry tree, gave a little kiss to Yoongi’s soul? would it have been your laugh when a shower of petals drenched you in pure innocence? would it have been your gaze so bright and deep that Yoongi got lost every time he looked at you? or would it have simply been you harvesting the plant that you had planted inside Yoongi a long time ago? “you are so beautiful when the universe praises your essence, it is impossible for me not to fall into your charms. you have power over me, a magic that just comforts my heart every time i’m with you.”

BEST-FRIEND!YOONGI who stops the feeling inside him from expanding throughout his soul. although Yoongi’s heart had been completely surrendered to you for years, Yoongi thought that it was in the soul that true feelings were lodged; and as such, he could not feel. not when you were his best friend. not when you two have been through so much together. not when you… you. how was Yoongi able to block his feelings? his soul was an empty mold, yearning for a filling that would set fire to Yoongi’s essence and make him realize that life isn’t that bad. his soul was a small candle, made with the most lasting loneliness, plunged in the most continuous yearning. Yoongi just needed to let go, let his soul explore your entire essence. but that would never happen, it couldn’t happen — Yoongi couldn’t lose you. “i’m trying to realize what rivers flow in me and, until then, i just know that i can’t let myself drown in these feelings. not when you’re riding my waves of uncertainty.”

BEST-FRIEND!YOONGI who starts to see little hearts during his days. it felt like the universe was mocking Yoongi, showing him so many times what Yoongi didn’t like to give. everywhere he looked, little hearts appeared like drops of water, drenching Yoongi in a love he didn’t want to give. it was in the flowers, in their beautiful pattern. it was in the clouds, in their enviable cuteness. it was in the papers torn and thrown on the floor, in their forgotten words. everywhere, Yoongi saw heart, and everywhere, Yoongi thought of you. “my stubbornness doesn't let me accept my feelings, but when the universe is constantly reminding me of you, it becomes kind of impossible for me to forget the feelings i have for you.”

BEST-FRIEND!YOONGI who confessed on a cold winter morning when the sun was beginning to break through the sky. Yoongi said the pink on his cheeks was because of the cold wind that morning. Yoongi said his nervousness was because of a meeting he had later. Yoongi said his lack of words was because of a sore throat. but Yoongi also told you that he liked you. when the shy yellow of the sun began to emerge through the thick clouds, starting to gently paint the entire sky, the entire world, Yoongi sighed, cooled his cheeks with his cold hands, took two deep breaths and just told you “i like you. in a way i’m not supposed to feel. in a way that i’m afraid to admit, but that i really need to get this weight off of me. no. it’s not a burden. it’s a feeling. it’s so light that it just warms my soul. yes. i like you, in a way that warms me inside.”

[mydearesthrry]

sweet nothing - h.s.

a/n: TOTALLY LOST THE PLOT WHILE WRITING THIS. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE BASED OFF OF THE PICTURE BELOW BUT I GOT DISTRACTED. pls listen to sweet nothing by taylor swift for the full experience!!!

🎀 warnings/cw: none, most tooth rotting fluff ever.

🐇 pairing: fem!reader x harry styles

💐 wc: 1.6k

summary: taking care of a very sleepy harry in an ice bath, and in the car.

“H, the bath is ready, bub.” Harry heard his girlfriend call quietly to him. He was slumped on the couch, this show particularly draining. He was quieter than usual, and instead of being glued to Y/N’s side like he usually was, he let one kiss to her full lips suffice before he decided to rest. 

“Mm, thank you, lovie. I’ll… I’ll be there in a second, jus’ don’t have the energy to go there right now.” His limbs were sore, almost every part of his body completely lost of energy, and he found it hard to even entertain the thought of getting up. 

“Okay… y’know what, just let me help you, H. The faster we get you into this bath, the faster we can go back to the hotel so you can sleep.” He knew she was right, and because he knew she was right, he allowed her to help (though not really at all since he already had felt bad that she ran the ice bath for him) him get to the bathroom. They walked slowly to the connected bathroom, Harry walking zombie-like in her arms. 

“Ready, sweet boy?” She tried to be as quiet as possible, the fact that Harry probably had a headache in the front of her mind. He nodded softly, stripping down to his boxers before letting her help him balance as he stepped into the bath. 

A wince immediately left him, Y/N whispering out ‘I’m sorry’s, knowing how shocking the bath was at first. She lowered herself with him, and sat on the floor next to the bucket when he sat down, submersing himself fully. 

“Okay bubs, y’know we’ve gotta do this so you don’t fall asleep on me. You ready?” Y/N says, pulling out her phone to pull up the trivia questions she’d pre written for the late night ice bath trivia that had become a tradition for them. Harry hums, and she flips to her notes to start. 

“Pick the category, my love. We’ve got pop culture, or the Marvel Cinematic Universe.” She asked, looking up at him, heart breaking a little at the exhausted expression that was obvious on his face. 

“Marvel.” He mumbles, sinking himself lower until his neck up was the only part of his body above water. 

“Okay… Timer officially starts now. Who played the character Pietro Maximoff, also known as Quicksilver?” Her tone was soft, almost at a whisper. 

“Umm… Aaron Taylor Johnson?” Harry questioned, racking his brain to try his hardest to stay awake. His body had now gotten used to the stark cold that he’d slowly started to get used to over the times he’s done this on tour. 

“Good job, baby. What was the name of Peter Parker’s love interest in Spider-Man: Homecoming? This one should be easy, it’s one of my favorite movies.” She giggled, a serene sense of peace overcoming her at the domesticity of it all. 

“It is easy, she’s called Liz, right? Liz Allan, or something.” His eyes were now closed, feeling the tension in his body slowly disintegrate from the cold of the water. 

“Perfect! Though the both of us know that Peter and MJ were the better couple, they were entirely more in love and cuter.” She smiled. 

“Oh, really? Like us then, hm?” Harry hummed. 

“Yes, H, exactly like us.” A few more questions had passed, and Lloyd had now come to join them in the bathroom, his camera hung around his neck. They’d anticipated him coming anyway, knowing that he would come to snap some behind the scenes pictures. Before they’d even left to go to his dressing room, they’d told Lloyd when to come in so that he could come talk to them. 

“Hey guys, sorry for intruding, but I need one of you to pick a few pictures for tonight so I can get them edited by tomorrow.” Lloyd tried to keep his voice quiet too, knowing the kind of atmosphere he was entering before he even came to meet the two in the bathroom. 

“Oh yeah, of course, did you want some pictures too?” Harry smiled, a tired but polite look on his face. Harry had built a great relationship with Lloyd over the months that they’ve been on tour, and they’d gotten more comfortable with each other than they’d anticipated. 

“Only if you’re comfortable, H.” Lloyd smiled. Y/N and Lloyd talked for a second, scrolling through pictures and picking out a few for him to edit. The time they took allowed Harry to rest in the cold for a little, before pushing himself up and folding over, dipping his head into the ice cold water. He could faintly hear Lloyd’s footsteps move to the front of the tub, along with the flicking of the camera shutter going off as he lifted his head out of the tub, ringing out his hair from the nape of his neck to the front of his scalp. 

A couple more flutters from the camera shutters were heard when Harry was rubbing his eyes with the pruny tips of his fingers, and he failed to see the smile on Lloyd’s face. 

Lloyd pulled the camera from his eyes, looking at the digital screen that held a preview of the picture. In the corner, slightly blurred because of the harsh focus that was set on Harry in the center, say Y/N with a soft smile playing on her lips, a moony gaze in her eyes. He made a mental note to send it to them later, and to also crop her out in the final edit in an attempt to salvage their private relationship. 

“Perfect. I’ll let you two rest now, think I’m gonna head to the hotel now myself. Sleep well, you guys, I’ll send you the pictures in the morning.” Lloyd smiles at them, sharing goodnights before closing the door behind him as he walked out. 

Harry’s now damp hair was combed back by his fingers and rested on the top of his head, save for the rogue curl that shriveled in a tiny curl on his forehead. Y/N rested her arms on the side of the tub, a gleam in her eyes as she watched Harry’s relaxed expression. Her timer, however, had different plans for the relaxed couple, and went off with shrill screams, notifying them that it was now time for Harry to leave the bath. 

“Alright sweet boy, time to go.” She tapped on her screen to stop the ringing, standing up to grab his black and white striped towel. She met him in the middle, her boyfriend already standing on the towel that laid outside of the tub, water droplets falling from his body in a soft cascade, small shivers shaking his shoulders slightly. Wrapping the towel around his shoulders, she pushes herself up onto her tiptoes to meet the level of his face, pecking soft kisses onto his cold lips. They stayed in that position for a bit, waiting for Harry’s skin to absorb the rest of the small water droplets. 

She led him with a soft tug to the main space in the dressing room, taking the outfit she’d gotten ready for him while he was on stage from the makeup chair and placed it onto the couch. Leaning down a bit, she took the towel to let him remove his now soaked briefs, before passing him a pair of boxers, tossing his towel onto the back of the couch. She passed him his clothes as he dressed himself slowly, humming at the words of love and admiration he sleepily spewed out. Once he got his last article of clothing on, she took his hoodie strings into her hands and tugged it down softly, making him lean down a bit to meet her lips. 

Their lips connected in a soft caress, his bottom lip wedges in between her two lips, a sweet hum emitting from his throat from the taste of her coconut flavored chapstick, one that was his favorite. Something that could only be described as love seemed to fill the room whenever they had these kinds of moments. Moments that was completely and purely their own. 

They broke away from the kiss, and when Harry went to say something, a yawn cut him off, mouth opening wide making him resemble something of a lion, making a giggle fall from her slightly swollen lips. “Let’s get you into a bed, sleepy boy.” 

“M’kay.” Harry didn’t put up a fight, wanting to get into bed with her to snuggle more than anything. 

They walked through the halls of the venue, pushing through the back door where their driver was already waiting for them, engine started and purring softly. Y/N opens the back car door, stepping in and moving to the side since she knew Harry would follow her. The driver muttered that it would take them about 5 to 10 minutes to get to the hotel before taking off without another word. 

Y/N snapped her seatbelt on, a confused twinge on her face when she didn’t see Harry do the same. Instead, he scooted over to the middle seat, laying into her sleepily. “H, you gotta put on your seatbelt.” 

“Noooo, s’not even that far, and I jus’ wan’ y’to hold me right now.” He mumbled, slightly muffled from the way he burrowed his face into her neck. She sighed in slight exasperation, saying nothing and just letting him completely collapse and rest into her. He was almost laying completely in her lap, her hand in his hair, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looked out the window and into the city. 

She let out a tiny giggle when she felt the slight tickle of stubble on her neck, followed by sweet kisses on the expanse of it. “I love you, love y’so much, it hurts.” 

“I love you, H.” She intertwined their fingers together, bringing up his hand to her mouth and pressing featherlight kisses onto his knuckles. 

“I love you,” Harry whined, making the smallest of smiles cover her face since knew how clingy and lovey Harry got when he was tired. She tried to relish in these moments as much as possible. 

“I love you, sweet boy, the Peter Parker to my Michelle Jones.” A sweet giggle sounded from Harry as he remembered the conversation from earlier. 

“Entirely in love and cute. I agree.” 

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XLVIII. “Bliss”

read on AO3 🦇

parts: previous / next

plot: everyone knows about you and Bruce… except you, and Bruce—though this, among other things, heats up.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, angst, giggling kicking feet

words: 14.2k

a/n: hiiiiiii this is the longest chapter yet!! Luminol, my beloved, you’ve been upstaged (just a lil bit). this was a (fun) beast to write, and thought it needed to be allll one chapter. have fun, lovelies!! also… I definitely didn’t stay up all night finishing this with an ear infection bc I love them and y’all <3 lmaooo

The first half of the meeting went by without a hitch; you figured you’d be snubbed more by the press, but it was quite the opposite—faces that had pinned to the back of your thoughts by the shove of their cold shoulder faced you with smiles and handshakes. Some even pretended they hadn’t seen you before, and if you were of sound mind, you might’ve challenged their niceties. Oz had grabbed you by the neck and rattled your confidence to the bone. 

Why had Bruce known that comment would set him off, and why had it in the first place? Making a comment at Bruce’s expense, the resident billionaire, didn’t make sense for Oz having the bad reaction. Was it based in something traditional, like a distaste for women talking back? Embarrassing their man? Obsessing over it only worked you in circles, teeth tearing at your cheek as you struggled to pay Mr. Convoy any mind.

The budget looked no different than last year’s, though this was in spite of the population actually growing for the first time in a decade. You had no reserves to call out the discrepancy, to stick your neck out for the little guy, too busy worrying about yours getting severed. Every thought was a downward spiral from Oz’s glass in the trash to Bruce’s supposed imagination, making your head spin whenever you lingered there. It was the only thing that pulled you out of your anxious reverie. 

Notions of a universe where Bruce pictured you in the same frame capsized everything you thought you knew about boundaries and guilt. That single taste of him made you want him more, and more, and more, on an endless loop. And, shit, if you didn’t bite back a tremble reminiscing on how his lips felt on your neck… 

Convoy’s voice was grating, at least against the velvet memory of your lips. He knew why you’d done it; if it had been Oz coming in, it would’ve been suspicious to just be talking. Two lovebirds finding the closest private room to make out was smart, quick thinking. Hopefully you thought he was trying to sell it, too; hopefully, you weren’t reading into that imagine, but if roles were reversed, he wouldn’t have a single deviating thought. 

Concentrating on the meeting wasn’t an option. Your skin… it was soft, supple and warm beneath his lips, an absolute dream. He absently traced his lips with his tongue, biting down when he felt himself begin to breathe deeper, harder, faster. Fake or not, it was enough to undo every knot he’d so carefully tied. Bruce gripped his thighs under the table. 

“Mr. Wayne.” 

He blinked to the meeting’s intermission. “Seth.” A gnarly purple bruise glared at him from his temple. 

“Watch out.” Gavenstein pointed to his forehead, face deadset. “See what that bitch d—”

Bruce stood from his chair with a loud scrape, shoving it back into place. “Lucky she didn’t do worse.” He didn’t concern himself with awaiting a reaction, the man’s string of words dulling as he turned to notice you were no longer in the conference room, and nothing else mattered but finding you. 

His breath caught when Oz walked up to you from the front doors, and it took supreme restraint not to sprint across the foyer at lightning speed. It was like slipping a hand into glove when Bruce finally wrapped an arm around your waist. It hadn’t been subtle, and surely, Oz would read it as possessive. He didn’t much care.

“Oz.” He monitored his expression, keeping it neutral to pleasant. Penguin glanced between him and you, wearing a laugh and a brutalized leather jacket; it hadn’t looked that wrinkled at entry. If he didn’t know any better—and how could innocent Bruce Wayne?—he would’ve wrung his neck and checked him for blood splatters. He tightened his abdomen as he fought not to hold his breath. 

“Thought I’d leave over some shit wine?”

Yes. “Surprised not to see you in there.” Bruce hoped you’d stay quiet, not by any fault of your own. One slightly misplaced word, a sideways glance, and you’d be on his hit list. It was too unbearable to think about you being targeted, and what he might do to anyone who hurt you. The flexing of his moral code was almost as disturbing as the black eyes in front of him. He dug his fingers tighter to your waist. 

“Had to take care of some business. You know how it gets.” Penguin put his hands in his greedy pockets, Bruce analyzing his every move like prime prey, every sense heightened by your presence; everything too high stakes. 

Bruce couldn’t manage to get a word out, only a watery grin and nod. Why’d you have to come to Gotham? And why, god why, had he let you get involved in the research? Though he was grateful to meet you, to hold you, you walked a tightrope every second you remained. You were too precious, your mortality as visible to him as a throbbing carotid. 

“Man of few words, huh?” Penguin gestured to you, eyebrow raised, and you tightened against him. You were scared. As you should be with him, as he wished you would’ve understood before getting your hands dirty. He would spiral if he lingered much longer. 

“Trust me, I’ve talked to him about it.” He felt you slap his chest, feigning a laugh that was convincing enough, benign enough, but no—nothing was benign enough with Penguin. Probably spinning a narrative in his head about if you’d talked to Bruce about him, signifying that he didn’t want to talk to him in particular, and this was going to snowball, and his throat went dry, tight, and this was excruciating. 

What once had been anger had melted into pure fear. Penguin had something valuable now, could tell by how he pulled you into him, by how he pulled into the corner of your waist with his fingers, how he tracked every pull of every ligament in Penguin’s face for danger, any inkling he needed to jump in front of you to deflect a bullet. 

“Guy doesn’t need to talk, right? Money does.” He dared nudge your arm, and it felt like a bullet to his chest. He gripped you too tightly already, resisting the impossible urge to pull you closer, tighter, merge your body into his; signal that if Penguin ever touched you, ever even looked at you… his thoughts drew increasingly violent. He glanced at you to melt them away, like sun to snow. 

You laughed, and said something he couldn’t track, too invested in how Penguin sized you up with just a glance, eyes squinting and widening, seeming too interested. Oh, this made him absolutely ill. Fuck. You deserved more than he could give you. Staying here, with his beady eyes on you, was the beginning of a death sentence. 

You jammed your elbow into his rib, and Bruce attended to the words falling out of Penguin’s mouth, only catching the tail-end. Something about just joking, about never too busy for a Wayne, something about it being an honor. He forced himself to agree, play along, because it would make you safer, only for your safekeeping. Fuck. Fuck! This was visceral, tangible fear, capable of snuffing him out. He barely registered when Oz walked away, except that the air was less suffocating. 

“I need to pee.” You pulled him by the wrist down the hallway, and he was so out of it that he really thought you were going to the restroom, and startled when you got close, so close your perfume whacked him, making him dizzy; everything was getting too much, and his hands were clammy, and his lips parted and he wanted to hug you, and hold you, and never let you go, and never see you again. 

“So we’re going to the club tomorrow night?”

“We?” He hadn’t known he was agreeing to we, and the only thing filling his thoughts were expletives. “No, I’m going alone.” 

“You said we were going together.”

“I didn’t say it.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair. 

“But you agreed to it.”

“I didn’t catch that.” He jammed his tongue into his cheek, looking anywhere but at you. He must not have worn his spiral well, because your hands came to his cheeks and straightened him to face you. The mist broke when he met your eyes. 

“We’ll be fine, it would be weird if we didn’t go together. It’ll solidify things.”

Convoy called the meeting to resume, and Bruce very nearly took you back home, but acquiesced to Penguin’s pull. He’d think it strange if he disappeared, give him something to read into, a reason to be more suspicious…

He didn’t have to pull you into his chest this time, you went there. Your hand knocked into his pocket, and you jumped at the small, rectangular box. “What’s that?”

“Benadryl.” He muttered, keeping an eye out for where penguins loitered. 

“I told you, you shouldn’t have it again.” 

He shook his head, responding without thought. “It’s for you. Keep it on me, just in case.”

Bruce was too busy scanning the foyer to notice the way you looked at him. No one had been that thoughtful with you; you’d even forgotten to bring your goddamn epipen back with you after the last visit home. A surge of warmth replaced the chill Oz had left. 

His gaze darted frantically across the room, and even a yank at his wrist—not gentle—wasn’t enough to tug him out of his hyperfocus. You grabbed his forearm and led him back around the corner, just out of view, and put your hands on his shoulders. He carried the weight of the world on them. 

Ocean blue eyes pored over your face with the weight of a truck. You rubbed his shoulders, down his bicep, all the way to his wrists, repeating the motion until his breathing evened. While his stare wasn’t a shred less frantic, it became increasingly focused, almost pinning you to the wall with its intensity. Mr. Convoy announced the closing of the doors, Bruce took a breath, and you both slipped into the conference room as he pulled the door shut behind you. 

Every second of the meeting was pulled teeth, every minute agony. You sat behind him, which was partially ideal with Penguin flush to his shoulder—but that meant Bruce couldn’t see you, either. He tore at his nail beds under the table, something he’d never done before. Scraping nail tips and cuticles distracted him from the intrusive worry that if Penguin looked at him just the right way, like you had, maybe he would deduce the same damn thing, and everything would be gone: forever. 

Bruce felt chained at the meeting’s end as he refused his instinct to make a quick getaway. He bid goodbye with a plastic grin and empty words of how thrilled he was to see the lounge, and what time was it again? Got it, great, awesome, excited to see you, and wrapped his arm around your shoulder as his thoughts flew him. Pulling you down the wet stairs past the paparazzi caused a slip, but he caught you, and you smiled, and he laughed, and it was hollow, but also not, and the paps got lots of photos of that, and he let you into the front seat, and you were in the car now, it was okay, but was the car fucked with, had Penguin cut the brakes? 

“What was that about a storm?”

His grip clenched around the wheel. Rain spattered the windshield, side streets already struggling to drain the excess water as the car zipped past. “There’s a bad storm that runs through every fall. Expected to hit tomorrow night, forgot about it.” 

“How bad does it get?”

He glanced at you before refocusing on the glittering road. Your tentativeness sat like an untrained animal, its gentleness cruel. 

“A few days of staying in.” 

You tapped his shoulder, then gestured down a random alleyway. Confused, but desperate as ever to please, he followed. Your face was stern as he switched off the car, and his chest thrummed with variations of what you might say, about the kiss, or his imagination, or anything else. But all you said was: “I’m okay.”

He rolled his shoulders back. “I know you are.”

“No, you don’t.”

He slumped back into the seat, his head knocking against the leather headrest. His eyes fluttered shut, deep breaths accompanying the affirmative sound you made from the passenger, somewhere close to ‘I told you so’. “Oz. Freaks me out.” 

“Freaks you out?” An edge crept into your voice. 

“I don’t want him hurting you.” 

“So obsessed with me getting hurt.”

Bruce was almost offended. You said it like it was stupid, dismissed it like it wasn’t the most natural thing in the world; like he wasn’t born to worry about you. You didn’t return his stare, instead watching a raindrop drip down the glass. 

Silence stretched the length of the cabin, seeming to inflate with every blink. He startled—a rarity—when you severed it. 

“We could go shopping tomorrow.” 

He side-eyed you. 

“For club outfits. Another outing for people to photograph.” 

Bruce couldn’t say he wasn’t interested in doing another activity with you, or that he wasn’t pleased at you taking Penguin more seriously. However, he ping-ponged this interest against the fear of your heightened visibility. Going to meetings together was one thing, but making a habit of public outings elsewhere? 

He followed your lead, concentrating his nervous energy into raindrops on the glass. Showing up without you would do more harm than showing up with you; this was simply the best course of action for supporting his and your public personas. His gut cinched at your needing one, but there wasn’t much he could do about that at present; it didn’t help his tension knowing the only time he’d get to act like this with you was when things were public, and fake. Penguin had certainly dampened things, but it was still peaceful having you close. 

He nodded at you, and put the car in gear. The remainder of the drive was quiet; it didn’t exactly make you uncomfortable, but you were cued into his anxiety like it was your own body. You knew he didn’t like this arrangement, and wrestled with new guilt about taking him away from his patrols, his research, to do mindless little things in an effort to protect you. Though, you reminded yourself, it was protecting him, too. 

Bruce paused before the final turn to his house. Strange that one of the most notable skyscrapers in the city you’d walked past time and time again with Mar was now a ‘house’. “Can you do something for me?”

The hair that’d been swept behind his ear fell into his eyes with his sigh, and your stomach somersaulted. “Stay at my place. Through the storm.”

“Sure.” 

He was struck by your resolute acceptance, but he wouldn’t push his luck. If you were finally seeing how risky things were, he wasn’t about to change your tune. 

“Can I get some of my stuff, then?”

A pile of chairs stuffed to the side of your apartment door made you cringe as you flicked on the lights, and you hoped he wouldn’t read into it. In your periphery, you noticed him glance over it, and clenched your hands. 

“For future reference,” he picked up one of the chairs after shutting the door, pushing it at a certain angle against the doorknob. “This is most effective.” 

You nodded and walked to your bedroom, Bruce keeping his list of hypotheses to himself. Nightmares, probably. Hell, he still had them twenty years later. He’d ask you about them soon, but not now. Dresser drawers shifted and closed as he roamed the open plan living-dining, analytical gaze inspecting for sign of intruders. His circling landed him at the freezer, where an opened pint of Ben and Jerry’s sat alone in the corner. 

The gentle, cool breeze of it closing locked him to his mind. Sentimental over ice cream? He distracted by looking out the kitchen window. When he took in the skyline—you had a stellar view from here—it was difficult to justify the inevitable time that he would spend talking with you, looking at you, and thinking about you that could be given to the city. You tied him down like an anchor. 

“How many days will it last?” You shouted, and the sound of your voice was an immediate balm. 

“Sunday evening.” 

A selfish smile snuck up on him as he stared at the kitchen tile; true, he wasn’t helping the city, but he was with you. No matter how illogical it was, his feelings remained unshakeable, and refused not to be indulged. 

Sweats and baggy tees sat in the bottom of your backpack, slowly being crushed by the toiletries you stuffed on top. You doubled-back to your dresser to find something worth being papped in, but nothing was sufficient. You drew increasingly worried as you faced the reality of one dress, one pair of trousers, and a couple fine-knit sweaters. Maybe that would work, but…

You stopped yourself with a fistful of sweater, bringing yourself back to your body. There was no use starting this cycle; you were okay showing up exactly as you were. You grabbed a sweater, an extra tee and jeans, and avoided the lingerie you meant to throw away—and extra avoided how your mind connected them to the condoms in your nightstand. 

You moved to leave the bedroom, but stalled. Really, no? Wasn’t it best practice to have them regardless? What if… you felt a bit dizzied. Surely there was no world where that would occur, and… but… every day you spent with him brought you closer to that fantasy, at least in your thoughts. Locked in over the weekend through a storm would provide ample opportunity, and maybe you’d get cabin fever and he would too, and maybe you both would try it out since you were faking things in public anyway…

Through sheer force of will, you blocked the thought, turned off the light, and stepped into the kitchen, letting Bruce know you were ready to head back out. 

You were both stiff and silent as you walked down the hall toward the elevator. Bruce interrupted it once to ask if he could carry your bag, but tightening your hands on the straps was the only thing keeping intrusive thoughts from spilling out, so you refused. The ding! of its arrival exposed a cluster of friends who gasped as they looked behind you. They pressed themselves to the corners of the elevator to make room, their faces varying shades of pink. 

Bruce grabbed your hand, softly, every touch from him was like a whisper; almost like he was afraid to touch you. You’d thought you were better than the people who fell all over him, but here you were, fighting goosebumps at a choreographed touch of his fingers. A giggle erupted behind you, but neither you nor Bruce brought attention to it. Your focus was entirely taken by the heat of his skin on yours. 

Cameras flashed through the lobby windows, the paparazzi’s shouting echoing coolly off the walls. His grip tightened, nearly too much. They knew where you lived, now. Would they camp out indefinitely? Bruce had done a good job of losing the cars that followed from the meeting, tucking into the parking garage seamlessly, but it was as if he’d posted his location. 

He tucked you closer to his chest as you walked, the backpack bumping against his side with each step. Men shouted, fawned for attention, peppered questions you couldn’t quite make out through the glass, though you swore the word ‘scandal’ and ‘relationship’ popped through a handful of times. If it already spread this much throughout Gotham, why hadn’t Dr. Crane mentioned it? Did he not pay attention to that sort of thing? 

“Sorry.” Bruce spoke quietly into your ear as you descended the second elevator, and thankfully, the parking garage was empty. You hadn’t realized until he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze that your breathing had become dysregulated, or that spots had entered your vision. He made efficient work of leaving the garage, and you pulled a grin as the doors lifted. Am I smiling too much? Not enough? What are people going to say about this? Intrusive images of your face plastered across tabloids in checkout aisles made you shiver. 

Paparazzi didn’t lessen when you arrived at Wayne Tower; hiding in the back had been necessary before. They snapped photos on the sidewalk, waved, yelled, and some even moved so close to the car you jumped, worried that Bruce might accidentally run someone over. When his garage doors slid shut you felt your body deflate. Holy shit. That single interaction had made this whole thing real. 

Bruce sensed how much it affected you; you weren’t exactly keeping your nerves hidden. And how could you on your first run-in with these vultures? He unbuckled, hesitating before stepping out. “I…” his head shook, just a little, words failing him. Your eyes cast down and away, and his gut cinched. “I’m sorry.” 

You played with your fingernails again and, though he knew how ridiculous it was, he wanted to die. He shifted toward you, caring less how the words came out and more just that they did. “Don’t worry about catering to them.” 

Rage tensed his muscles as you gnawed at your lip with your teeth. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do for either of you but stay trapped; the options were to waste his family’s legacy for all the public knew, or be poked, prodded, and analyzed by them until the day he died. “You look fine.” 

You shoved your hands into your pockets when a hangnail began to bleed and sting, following his lead to yet another elevator. Bruce pressed for the top floors, and everything became routine. You walked up the stairs first, after saying a drive-by hello to Alfred, found your way to your room, and shut the door behind you. 

The room felt bigger and emptier than it had last night. Would he talk to you about that new apartment now that you did find a lead? Would he ask you to move in here? You admired the high ceilings and thought of the echoey halls in the night. Would you want to? 

Marble flooring was cool beneath you, the short length of the dress dropping the temperature a few degrees. You peeled it off, kicked your heels across the room, and threw on pajamas. You sat in a huff at the edge of the bed, lost in vague, blurry thoughts, letting emotion wash through you as you rocked back and forth. 

Eventually, you rattled yourself out of it by remembering your purpose: you were doing a good thing. For Gotham, and for Bruce. You wiped under your eyes to make sure no wetness remained, and smoothed your fingers over your hair to catch any flyaways that might’ve cropped up from changing. There was a reason you were doing this, and you needed to take advantage of it. 

You padded down to the kitchen, finding Bruce and Alfred speaking in hushed tones by the sink. Alfred smiled when you entered, and all conversation ceased. “What’s going on?”

“Wanted to know if you were okay after the ordeal on the way, Miss.” Alfred wrung his hands on a dish towel, a ray of comfort breaking through his evident fretting. Could be the accent.

“I’m okay. Thanks.” You clasped your hands together and followed Bruce as he walked to another elevator. Your head spun. 

“If you need anything, let me know. Our house is yours.” 

You nodded over your shoulder gratefully, settling in flush to Bruce’s shoulder. He didn’t say a word until it had descended, you’d both stepped out, and he’d logged into his computers. Your stool was still in its place, and you wondered if he’d made any headway on the research since Monday night. 

He hadn’t. The monitor opened to the same screen you’d left it on before he clicked away. It only took a short glance to see that something ate at him. He pulled up the camera software and cursed under his breath, making some command and stepping back from the desk. You squinted at the monitor, noting a name you barely recognized as the Times reporter, with his headshot.

Approx. ten minutes remaining.

You felt slow, foggy. Fighting with things to break the silence, you questioned the giant tunnel leading to the basement before broaching the elephant of research, which you hadn’t a clue how to approach.

“Has anyone found you down here?” It was just… open. 

He spoke with curious conviction. “People don’t think about what’s underground.” 

You drummed your fingers on the edge of the stool, and bit the bullet. “Did you find anything else about Morrison?”

Bruce shook his head, running his fingers through his hair with an air of delicious frustration. Oh, how a movement like that used to set you on edge; now you wanted to soothe it out of him, barely restraining yourself from thinking up ways to. 

He ripped off a sticky note and began writing bullet points. You steeled yourself and scooted until you could read it. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, pausing with his pen above a scrawled M. 

Gary Morrison, GU head of journalism. ‘Deceased’, ‘river accident’ in March 2014. 

Wife reported she ‘wanted body to rest’

Last seen via cam August 7, 2024

Rimmel building

Clifford Marks, Times interviewer. ‘Retired’. Age 35.

Interviewed Morrison’s wife

‘Retired’ from Times month later

Approx. eight minutes remaining.

“So Morrison was only there? Didn’t come or go from anywhere?”

“Nowhere the cameras caught.” Bruce set his pen down and stuck the note to the side of the monitor. The stool creaked beneath him. “By his stride pattern, he approached from the west. All we have.” 

“Can you confirm if he was that victim?”

“Caught on too late.” He leaned over the desk, pinching his nose bridge. This was where the frustration came from. 

“So… where do we go from here? If he could be the dead guy, or,” you snapped your fingers, feeling excited. “or maybe he was the killer!”

Bruce cast a blank sort of look your direction. Your shoulders dropped. “Your evidence for that?” 

Your eyes narrowed. “And your evidence against it?” 

“He never left the building.” 

“At least not in a way the cameras recognized him.” 

He rolled his eyes, and your stomach curdled. “This isn’t ‘true crime’.”

You pressed on, despite how much that hurt. “Was he that mutilated you couldn’t tell it was him?” 

“Look, I’ve got it covered.” He pulled off the note from the monitor and grabbed his pen, fixing his stare pointedly at the screen, which had jumped to one minute left. 

“I’m trying.” You cleared your throat when it came out whiny, fiddling with a hole in the side of the seat’s leather. “I want to help.”

He tapped the pen’s tip on the corner of the note, placing small dots at random. “You being here helps.” 

“Don’t placate me.”

“I get distracted when you’re a–way.” His pen dropped as his sentence fizzled out. There had been two sightings: one at Arkham a month post-the interview, then the airport that same day. 

Two blurry videos loaded from each; Bruce played the Arkham footage first, where Marks was seen shouting, pointing his finger at the security guard who shoved him out. He shouted from the ground, but there was no audio, and there was no way to make out the words on a lipread from such low quality footage. 

“Wait,” you squinted, squishing closer. You pointed to the ground by his foot. He rewound the footage, and a shimmer crossed the camera’s lens by his leg. 

“A knife.” Bruce scrawled something else on the note, then pulled up another software you’d never seen him use before. GCA. Airport records. 

“How the hell do you have access to all this?”

He clicked to another tab, writing something else down. 

“What? Tell me what you’re finding.”

“He was headed to LA.” Keystrokes. “Stopped in Denver.”

“And?”

You waited what felt like an hour for him to respond, watching him pull up that camera software, other programs, notate more, moving at such rapid speed you wondered how he even caught what was on the first screen before moving to the next. 

“He left the Denver airport, never came back.” 

“Why would he do that?”

“Didn’t want to be tracked. Most flights are direct.”

“So we look into Arkham.” You swallowed hard, knowing this would end terribly, but knowing too many signs pointed there to ignore any longer. Maybe you could keep him specifically to that time frame, and he wouldn’t have to find out about things happening now. Namely, you.

“We find out where he went in Denver, and talk to him.” 

“For all you know he paid cash for a random car and could be anywhere in the country.” 

“It’s a lead.” 

“There’s so much shit that points to Arkham.” 

“Thought you said I shouldn’t look there yet.” He’d paused his incessant typing and scrolling, eyes dipped to the screen’s bezel. 

“I think we won’t get anywhere until we look into it. Too much to avoid now.” If he hated you, at least people would be safer for it. At least you were trying to do something good for him and them, even if he might not see it that way when he got there.

“We need to talk to Marks.”

“Arkham is right here. You said yourself he hasn’t been spotted elsewhere.” 

Bruce was well aware why he worked alone, but he became more certain he’d continue with every ‘helpful’ comment by you.  

“What, are you going to tap into every security camera in the US and hope it caught the right angle?”

“I’m following the lead.”

“Arkham is also a lead.”

“We don’t even know what to look for there.” His shoulders turned toward each other, feeling squeezed. Anger sat at the tip of his tongue, snide comments creeping along the walls of his skull. “I’m used to doing this alone.”

“I can tell.”

“I’m sorry. I’m getting frustrated.”

He said it so plainly it was almost funny, if you weren’t so insecure about your incompetence. You shifted in your seat as you looked around the basement, noting his giant Batcar jacked up to get serviced, and put a pin in it, wanting to redirect. 

“We’re meeting Oz tomorrow. What do we want to look for down there?”

His brow furrowed. “We’re going there to be allied.”

“We can’t double-task?”

Guilt warming his conscience, he gave you an inch of the reigns. “Have anything in mind?”

“You said he’s a dealer, right?”

“Drops. Already know everything about that.”

You sat in thought for a moment while he organized his desk space. The click of his pen brought Arkham to the front of your thoughts again. “The mayor, Bella. She had that task force thing. The journalist talked about it.”

“Yeah?” Bruce looked increasingly interested, his shoulders shifting square to yours. 

“We don’t know why she was put in there. Maybe they found a new drug or something.”

He mused on that, and by the very second you internalized being a complete idiot, he grabbed another note and scribbled things down. He was always in a hurry, and you kind of understood it now. He had competence and power to make an impact, and he was caring and kind, wanting to help as many people as possible. It was valiant, almost like he was some sort of hero.

You blinked away the thought; idolizing him would do no good, especially with the inevitable end you hurtled towards with this research. If you kept adorning him with a halo, you’d never recover. 

Could you recover at this point? When just packing your bags had you wondering about condoms and lingerie and perfume? You hadn’t needed to pack things like body wash, you knew he had that here, but you wanted him to know you, to smell you, like how you smelled him every time he got close; in case he memorized you like you did him. Juicy papaya, guava, surely that would make an impression… 

Suddenly the air between you popped like it held a charge. Being alone with him threatened the firmest of your resolve against the backdrop of the kiss. You bit the inside of your lip and abruptly stood, refusing that rabbit hole. The car caught your eye for the second time, and you followed it, asking him to show you what needed fixing.

A few hours later, you tucked a towel into the rack as the shower warmed; your hands and arms were covered in grease because apparently, giant cars had millions of parts that needed constant tweaking. You shut the glass door as you stepped inside, feeling sleepy and full to bursting. The shower was pleasant. Everything was. 

You tugged clothes onto damp skin and wrapped the towel atop your shoulders so as to not leave a trail to your room. Bruce waited at the top of the stairs, his hair only slightly drier than your own. You wondered why he stood there, he’d already thanked you on the elevator up, but didn’t complain. He was a vision in his quintessential black, emphasizing the softness of his eyes. 

“What do you like for breakfast?”

“I don’t wanna interrupt Alfred’s plan.”

“Thought I’d make it tomorrow.” 

“Those burnt pancakes were pretty good.” You grinned. “Lot of personality.” 

The timbre of his laugh made your face heat. “Will-do.” 

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” 

You paused before turning to the door. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.” 

He nodded, putting a hand on the railing. “Good.” 

Breakfast had been nice; the food was noticeably less charred, and there was an actually full jug of orange juice. You’d been so excited when he woke you up in the morning that you hadn’t checked your phone until you were finding parking at Saks. 

Bruce looked concerned when you groaned, skimming the curb of the parking garage before correcting. “What?”

“I was supposed to go home this weekend.” You’d missed a call from your mom, received a text updating about the shot. Everything went well, and she commented on how delightfully busy you must be. 

Let me know you’re safe, honey. 

The garage had no signal, so you put it in your trouser pocket. You could practically feel how close she was to assuming you were busy with Bruce; last night before you’d gone to sleep, you’d decided to scroll through your unread messages. Aunts, uncles, and cousins just ‘checking in’, acquaintances from high school coming out of the woodwork. It was beginning to feel impossible not to reckon with what this meant, bleeding past what you could mute notifications on.

Walking into a luxury store made your gaze heavy, focusing on the floor. Bruce let go of you to shake a worker’s hand as they welcomed him in, and you startled when he introduced you. He didn’t give you a title, no girlfriend or partner, but he didn’t need to. Your hand was cold on the shake, ears booming with the shouting and cameras banging on the windows behind you. 

First was the men’s section, and you didn’t expect otherwise. You coming along was an afterthought to them, starry-eyed by the presence of Bruce Wayne. They walked him right past brands like Eton, Canali, and Ralph Lauren, motioning towards names like Garavani, Prada, Saint Laurent, and Givenchy. You nearly felt bad for even breathing on any of the items. 

Bruce was overtaken by the man who was apparently his personal shopper for the day, and you thought the staff had completely forgotten your existence until you pulled out an enticing black dress shirt, and he plucked it from you with a pearly smile. “Impeccable taste, ma’am.” He left you to your own devices with an armful of items already taken to the back. You stifled a laugh at how overwhelmed Bruce looked the next rack over. 

Taking advantage of the shopper’s absence, you moved to the pants, and gasped at the prices. 

“Find anything?”

You shook your head, thumbing through strange cuts, textures, and colors. “Only the ugliest shit I’ve ever seen.” 

He chuckled. “Don’t want me in…” he held up tan, ribbed joggers that looked like long johns. “Four thousand dollar sweats at the club?”

Sometimes you forgot he wasn’t as old as Alfred, and knew terms like ‘ghosting’ and basic club etiquette. You averted your eyes to the rack, swooning over this dynamic. It felt effortless. “Your closet’s probably full of them, just in black.” 

You moved to a rack of black dress pants, shivering to think someone would willingly wear the others in public. Flipping through hangers ran your pinky across smooth, silky fabric, and you paused, pulling out pleated Saint Laurent with a thin, flat waistband. Saint Laurent. You’d only heard the name in songs. 

“Will that be all for now, Mr. Wayne?” The shopper had arrived, holding out his arm to take the trousers. 

Bruce looked at you as you handed it over. “Up to you.” 

You’d picked one shirt and one pair of pants, but followed Eric (his nametag was small), and Bruce to his dressing room; it was enormous. Full-length couch plus loveseat, plush throw carpets, and rows of shoes, handbags, and jewelry in addition to the racks of clothing already chosen. He said he’d be back in a few minutes, leaving you and Bruce standing in the hallway. 

He gestured for you to come in. You crossed your arms tight to your chest and sat yourself on the couch. He grabbed the outfit you chose, and hesitated long enough you noticed. You covered your face with your palms and heard buttons and zippers, clenching your teeth when his pants plopped softly on the ground. 

“This?” 

“You sound confused.”

“I’ve just… never worn anything like it.”

You peeked, seeing the back of him as he faced the mirror. The fabric was a thin silk—no, satin; which was more matte?—looking like a normal dress shirt at first glance. At the points where the light hit, the sheer was especially obvious, highlighting the curve of his shoulderblades. The pants hugged his frame like they’d been crafted with him in mind, tight and flowy in a way that elevated the simple silhouettes. He looked over his shoulder, and you snagged on the turn of his waist. Shit. 

He caught your sharp inhale, and quickly turned away. He fiddled with the cuffs, then undid an extra button at the top of the shirt when he began to sweat. “I, uh, think he picked things for you.” 

And Eric had. Bruce faced the opposite wall while you shimmied on a silver mini dress, trying on shoes and watches. 

Metallic mesh with thin straps connected by hardware accents. You grabbed a pair of silver heels he’d left, and checked yourself in the floor mirror, then stopped, half your foot in the heel. 

It looked… gorgeous. You never figured silver would complement you so well. If Mar were here, she might’ve started squealing.

“Like anything?”

“Um, mhm,” you stammered as you shoved your feet in the heels and smoothed out your hair. In an instant you felt vulnerable, consumed by the fact Bruce would see you like this. Why’d it feel so fucking intimate?

“Can I see?”

“Yeah,” you said, weakly. 

Bruce took a step back, his breathing taking a hit. “Whoa.” You fussed with the dress’s edge in the mirror, and he was grateful for the extra seconds to pull his expression together, hoping he’d said it so quietly you hadn’t heard. 

Your eyes narrowed as you took yourself in, and he couldn’t fathom why. “What do you think?”

He needed a cold glass of water, that’s what he thought. He felt himself turn red. “Looks like it was made for you.” 

Has all the air been removed in here? Can Eric show up? Please? Your heart raced, and you were certain he could see goosebumps with this much exposed skin. Your gaze betrayed you and you checked his outfit in the mirror to your left, heartbeat rushing to your throat seeing both of you together. 

Your phone buzzed, twice. An email had never been such a saving grace. Thankfully, Bruce went back to whatever he was doing in the corner, and you read the message from Dr. Vry. 

“Can we stop at GU on the way? Since I’m not leaving, Dr. Vry says she has something for me.” 

“Sure.” He kicked off the shoes he just tried on, reaching down to grab them. They looked nice, and shiny. 

You both changed facing opposite walls, heads buzzing. 

Eric checked you both out, and you winced at the five-thousand dollar price tag on just your dress. Bruce carried the bags out, and you actually felt happy seeing the paparazzi, knowing that… his hand slipped into yours, and you grinned. 

Bridgit met you at Dr. Vry’s office, holding a spiffy black handbag. The hallways seemed smaller now. “Hey, she told me to—”

She beamed, handing the purse to you. “Janay told me.” Janay? Since when? “She wants you to bring this to events from now on. Represents the prestige of the university.”

Prestige of a public university? In Gotham? You took it, confused. It felt sturdy, like thick, unyielding leather, with gold accents. You thanked her, and left. 

Bruce’s eyes flashed when you entered with it, and he informed you on the short drive to his house that it was a Birkin bag. “If you thought the dress was expensive…”

Thirty-two thousand dollars was the price that came up on Google, and you carried it gingerly up to your room to change, petrified of leaving a fingerprint. You set it on the spare dresser, just enough out of reach it couldn’t be bothered if you tried. What the fuck was Dr. Vry thinking? You pulled on your dress and strapped on your heels, threw on some makeup from the bottom of your purse, and headed downstairs.

You struggled to avoid looking at Bruce as you headed to the elevator. Alfred appeared, the clip of this cane comforting you. You thought it might be easier to look at him than Bruce, but he was positively beaming; did he know this was fake, or was he leading him on, too?  

“Have fun.”

Bruce handed you a pair of contacts when you got to the garage. He said he had three pairs to be able to rotate through, in case they tore. He grabbed a contact case and plopped his in no problem, and you struggled until you swore your mascara would bleed. 

Bruce’s hand was warm and reassuring as you walked into the Iceberg Lounge. Mar had visited a few times, and you recognized some booths and light fixtures from half-drunk selfies she’d sent over the years. 

If you thought eyes had been on you at City Hall, you were the goddamn Mona Lisa here. Bruce tucked you under his arm as the hallway narrowed, and you swallowed spoonfuls of saliva at the contact. Possibility electrified your limbs, rendering them half-numb and hypersensitive. To think that anything went here… that getting handsy, or a kiss, or stuffing him into a corner booth to have your way with him would only help the cause. Tasting his tongue against yours, running fingers down his thighs—playing the part. It left such wonderful deniability; for all he knew, you were a dedicated actress. 

The man in front waved a keycard to security, but Bruce made it through without a hitch. He held you tighter as a drunk group of men swaggered past, bumping you against his dense, muscled body. 

It was a perfectly normal club; downstairs was noticeably less noisy, but it still boomed, tickling your eardrums. A quick scan of the room didn’t show Oz anywhere, which was upsetting and relieving; Bruce’s brief on the way about what set the guy off had been unsettling—anything that could be read as pandering, insulting, or condescending would get you clipped. 

The bartender nodded as you both settled into seats at the counter. They quickly saddled you with a water glass, and you ran your fingers on the lip, trying to calm your nerves. Red and blue reflections of the club lights glinted through it, projecting a kaleidoscope on the countertop. The low lighting also illuminated the curves and valleys of Bruce’s muscles.

Every night pounding the pavement in that heavy suit had formed his build into a fucking menace; so different than how you might’ve imagined Batman would look, bringing butterflies to your stomach. You took a swig of water, avoiding further analyzing. You kept forgetting he was fucking Batman, even that he was a Wayne, but you felt the presence of both now. It dizzied you. 

But could you blame yourself? Was there anyone who wouldn’t want him? Anyone who would sit in your position looking into those ocean blue eyes with those long lashes, feel the comfort and strength in his touch, the sultry invitation of his breath wafting across your cheeks, and not fall head over heels? 

“What do you want to do?”

You wanted to take him to the back rooms you kept seeing the dancers take men to, that’s what you really wanted. Unbutton his pants and pull his shirt over his head, trail kisses everywhere usually hidden, hear whatever sounds that pulled from him, damn. You toyed with the glass again, the only thing you could.

You rushed to fill the space with something other than erotic thoughts, and landed on what you and Mar always pulled out once it passed eleven, and all catch-up conversations had been positively exhausted. “Truth or dare?”

Pulling up questions on your phone from some random generator sites, you placed it between you. One red button for DARE and a blue button for TRUTH sat there, ready to roll the dice. “You first.”

Bruce hit truth, and you mused the politics of his decision. Too shy to pick dare? Also, having him touching your things? Exhilarating. Having his undivided attention? Fucking addicting.

What’s your favorite curse word?

“Damn, starting tame.”

Bruce rested his chin in his hand, thinking way too hard about this. A crease appeared between his brows, and after about thirty seconds, you had to nudge him. Maybe he wanted that closer contact. Seeming like you were in the grips of intense, loving conversation, making eyes. He knew what moves to make, he knew how to manipulate. His eyes flicked to yours. “Fuck.”

That felt intimate. Too intimate, and your body rattled. You managed to a nod, clicking on your request.

“Ooh.” Bruce hummed when you clicked dare, and the screen spun. When had he started that humming thing? Since when did he make small little comments like this?

Eat a teaspoon of hot sauce.

You thought Bruce was moving toward letting you off the hook, so you waved down the bartender and requested a shot of it. You felt a strange desire to impress him, like a kid at recess trying to impress a crush. They asked how spicy, and you said medium. The bartender brought back a half-filled shot glass, and you slammed it back without a wasted second.

“Shit.”

A swell of pride speared through you at making an impression. The heat hadn’t hit in full yet, percolating on the roof of your mouth. His eyes widened, and he sat up from his slump.

“Not spicy?”

As if on cue, it attacked your tastebuds, screaming to be heard. Your face contorted, and you chugged the rest of your water; Bruce passed you his, and in a second that was finished, too. Your eyes watered, your stomach turned into a knot. 

“What the fuck sauce do they have here?!” You flapped your hands at your sides as if that would make a single dent—and noticed how happy he seemed. You wanted to tease, how dare he like when you were in pain, but the crinkle by his eyes always felled you. The bartender must’ve been watching, because they brought you a jug of water, and you drank it like you never would again. Bruce smiled, and you fought to join him.

“Since you were so brave.” He clicked dare, and you tried not to feel ecstatic at being called brave by Batman himself. Somehow, it wasn’t at all condescending. You hoped you could get a few more rounds in, seeing as your phone was at a measly five percent.

Show your most recent Google search.

Bruce’s lashes fluttered, and your face scrunched. “Such an easy one, this game’s rigged.”

Pink spread across his cheeks, and his voice became softer. “There’s no ‘skip’?” He laughed, halfheartedly, and you cocked your head at him. He eyed you. “Since you got such a big one,”

“No, no.” You were curious now. “Show me.”

Bruce gingerly pulled out his cell, and when he opened it, you saw he didn’t have a password. Surely he knew better than that, right? Or did he have a hack for that too, some sort of bomb that would go off in the battery if he ever had an inkling it was lost?

He opened Safari, and your eyes flit between his increasingly red face and the loading screen. He shifted in his seat and glanced at the table underneath. You could tell when it loaded, because his face flushed the darkest you’d seen it.

An article, titled: Romantic Conversation Starters (+ Tips to Set the Mood).

You chanced a look at him as you tucked your lip under your teeth, barely abating a laugh. You felt yourself turning warmer, and tempted the increasingly tense silence; you could feel he was about to combust. You called it out before your anticipation got the better of you and you zeroed in on things you shouldn’t. “You’re blushing.”

“Wanted to make it believable.”

Your laugh escaped you, unable to be contained. “By going on WikiHow?”

It was so endearing; he navigated these rooms so seamlessly, had people falling all over him, desperate for his attention, practically on their hands and knees to whatever the hell he had to say, including yourself, but he was just… awkward. Unsure. It was written all over his face. And fuck, it only made him more attractive.

“You got a better idea?” His defensiveness was creeping in, as expected. You might’ve fallen into the floor in his position. You mirrored his earlier posture, resting your chin in your hand.

“Be yourself.”

He clicked the phone off, slipping the evidence back in his pocket. The movement pulled at the fabric across his bicep deliciously. “‘Myself’ doesn’t want to be here.”

“What would make it more tolerable, Mr. Wayne?” You sipped at the remainder of the water from the jug like it was a delicate glass. His blush flushed deeper, which you didn’t think possible. Teasing him was fucking adorable; how could you not?

“Thought I was baby.”

You struggled not to show how that affected you, because it affected you. “Thought you were shy.”

“Sometimes.”

Another imperceptible cock of his brow and that deep, penetrating eye contact. The rise and fall of your shoulders was tighter, higher. You thought of pushing it further, teasing more, being a bit more forward, but your tongue tied, and he wasn’t breaking eye contact, and your hand was going numb under the weight of your body pressing toward the counter for balance, and—

Out of the corner of your vision, you watched Oz enter, pulling some pills out of a bin to his side. When he distributed them to the table, they stuck their tongues out at each other, showing a bright red bloom from the drug. They laughed and handed over cash. So bright and bloody… Mar did something like that once. She’d told you about it. Showed you the tongue stain a year ago. 

Oz pulled out two more pills, then locked eyes with you. You smiled, but it felt like ice water thrown down your neck. Bruce tensed as he approached. 

“Welcome, welcome! Got a coupla drinks, yeah? How ‘bout we keep the good vibes going? On the house.” He held out the pills, and you hesitated; Bruce began a deflection, but you grabbed one. His attention shot to your mouth, and he started stuttering something out, eyes wide, but you swallowed.

Oz chuckled, pushing his hand closer. “C’mon, don’t let your lady outdo ya.” 

“He’s the designated driver, I’ll have my fun tonight.” You winked at the man, and he grinned, but it faltered for a second before he righted it. Bruce needed to be careful, shooting daggers at you with Oz right there. 

“Hey baby, yeah yeah.” Oz apologized, saying he’d bring you both back to ‘his section’ soon. The second he was out of earshot, Bruce leaned in, whispering heatedly. 

“What the hell was that?”

“You want to know what this does, right? This isn’t Drops, this is newer.”

Bruce glared at your red tongue. “We could’ve asked any druggie here.” He slammed his palm just hard enough against the table to make you stiffen. “For all you know he could’ve laced it.” 

“He pulled it out of the same thing he gave everyone else, I watched him.”

He softened when you jumped, moving his hand down to his pocket. There were better ways to get his point across than scaring you. He faced you with apologetic, worried eyes. His chest felt heavy, breathing more labored. “I’m scared it’s dangerous.”

“Well then,” you scrambled not to look like a total airhead, knowing you had your reasons, but struggling to articulate them. “I’m the perfect control either way. We know I haven’t drank anything, I’m not on other drugs,”

He sighed. “Wish you would’ve consulted me.” 

“He was about to get suspicious. Now you have an out.” You sipped some water to try to abate the rising anxiety; it didn’t work. “Rich guy who doesn’t want to total his favorite car, I don’t know. Get his ditzy girlfriend all wasted.”

He turned to you, waiting for you to look at him. You didn’t. He brought his hand to your chin, and you thought it would be harsh and rough, but it was gentle as he tilted you to face him—always gentle. He looked a bit like he had at City Hall the day before. Frazzled, concerned. “You can’t leave my side, okay?” 

You swallowed hard, immobilized by the pull of him. “Didn’t plan on it.” 

His hand left you, but his stare didn’t. “How are you feeling now? We need a baseline.”

You remembered at this point that he was wearing the contacts, and you were, too, when he didn’t take out his phone to notate. Oz’s big hand gestures from a table across the way signified it wouldn’t be long. “Uh,”

“Fatigue? One to ten.”

“Uh, two.”

He pressured his speech, likely feeling Oz’s inevitability as much as you. “Brain fog?”

“I don’t know, one? Zero?”

“How does your body feel?”

“I don’t know, my feet hurt from the heels,”

“Hot? Cold?”

“Flushed, warm, I don’t know, a tiny bit warm? The hot sauce?” And conversation.

“What’s your mood?”

“Uh,”

“Apathetic? Euthymic?”

He was moving at lightning speed. “I don’t, a little anxious? Kinda sad, I don’t, I can’t quantify it right now,”

“Sad, scale of one to ten.”

You picked at your nails. “Four?”

“Anxiety?”

“Like a five?”

“Do you feel weak at all?”

“No.”

“Unsteady?”

You only had time to shake your head before him.

“Hey, VIPs!” Oz shouted from the corner, waving you and Bruce toward the back of the bar. “Follow me.”

It only took a few steps for things to shift. The world blurred out, and you were suddenly gone; all worries about what Oz was doing, all anxiety about the night: disappeared. The lights went increasingly hazy, and then it snapped into a mist; you couldn’t help but laugh. 

You leaned harder into Bruce, your knees weakened. Every brush against his arm was so electric, sensual, like foreplay. It was blissful. 

Oz said something about the party finally starting, and you thought he looked at you, but you were lost in the strength of Bruce’s hand and how much of his skin you could touch. A bright smile peaked the apples of your cheeks as you felt genuinely, stunningly happy. The music settled into the background in a dull pulse. Your thoughts rolled into a mess of ferns and twigs and pine needles that amounted to one singular need: Bruce.

Bruce tightened his grip on you, feeling you begin to drag; he wanted to make sure you were okay, but Penguin was showing him towards a back room, refusing him space to avoid eye contact. 

Stepping behind the bar revealed a moderately large lounge, close enough to 44 Below’s main stage to be involved, far enough to be private. The space was moderately large, with a glowing green EXIT sign to the left, and a long hallway to the right. No one else was back here. 

“When I’m not upstairs, you know, doing business? This is my zone, my asilo. Make yourselves at home, go on.” He moved for him to take a booth, and you clomped down next to him with a delighted huff. Bruce looked at your half-lidded eyes and enormous grin when you rustled the table, desperate to know what was going through your head. 

Penguin pointed at you, and launched into a speech about how business shifted since the flood. Bruce couldn’t make sense of why he started shifting to talking about drugs with him; was he this confident now of not catching consequences? 

“Needed to find something to help the people here. Lost lives, families, homes. Who wants to go to the club when their lives are falling apart, huh?” Penguin held his arms like he was bragging, like he was selling something. Did he want him to go in? 

You shifted and giggled beside him. God, he needed to talk to you. 

“Those eye things,” Bruce pretended not to recall, snapping his fingers in thought. 

“Ah, Drops.” He made a disappointed, dismissive sound and waved his hand, as if one of the most dangerous and widespread drugs in all of Gotham was nothing more than a passing project. “Nah, nah. That brings people down, makes ‘em nostalgic. You’ve tried it, right?”

“Makes things slower, yeah.” Was Penguin observant enough to catch the non-answer? Bold enough to call it out?

“Right, right. So this, this is something beautiful. Brings people up, keeps them excited, partying.” He straightened, gesturing every which way with his hands, his tone moving in and out as it only did with him. “And the best part is, thing’s all natural. Straight from the soil.”

Mushrooms. Why was he saying all this?

“Sure you don’t want any, boss man?”

Bruce barely contained a disgust response. With no other way to see out of it besides throwing the relationship under the bus, that’s exactly what he did. 

“Paps have been fucking ruthless since they got those photos.” He shook out his arms and set his face to look annoyed. “If they catch me with anything for a while, whew.” A tight shake of his head would finish it, and a pursed lip. “Gonna have to stay sober tonight.” 

“Prince of Gotham, alright.” The man held his hands up like he was being accused, though his demeanor remained agreeable. “Ain’t wanna be responsible for corrupting that.” 

Bruce played along, deepening this faux rapport. “People already try to discredit,” he recycled your earlier attacks on him. “Nepotism, all that bullshit.”

“Right, right. Lotta rumors.”

“Exactly, Oz.” Bruce blew a heavy breath from the bottom of his chest, making himself look as frazzled as possible. He performed musing on something, then moved like he might get up to the bar. “You know, I might get a whiskey,”

“Nah, not in this section.” Penguin, almost angry, motioned for him to sit back down with a shoo. Bruce stifled a grin; like hell he would leave you. “I’ll send one of the girls to get something for you.” 

You slumped against him as Penguin turned the corner. He didn’t waste a second. “How are you feeling?”

Your hands crawled up his arm and shoulder, and your grin got louder, and louder, which he didn’t know a grin could do. He reflexively smiled at your supposed euphoria, never seeing you so content. Your smirk went straight to his chest. 

Bruce measured his breathing when you moved your hands to his hair, twirling it between fingers. He bit his cheek when your hand slid lower; down his neck, past his abs… he gulped and moved your hand away, his body lighting up. You pouted, making a pitiful noise that went straight through him. 

“Please.” You slid nearer, whining, closing the space; your pupils were so wide your eyes were almost entirely black, your shoulders squeezed inward, like every muscle in your body was tense, needy. Your fingers moved to his thighs, rubbing the top in smooth, languid strokes. 

That please echoed through him like a fucking gong. He shook it from his thoughts the second it ricocheted. Shallow and quick, his breathing hitched, and he shifted away with another swallow. 

Heat spread across his face as he darted a look at yours. You bit your lip, and he averted his eyes to under the table. No chance you would’ve taken it if you knew it would increase your libido this sharply. With his awareness cast down, he noticed you press your thighs together, crossing your ankles. 

“I want you.”

He caught your hand as it traveled to his waistband. His fingertips were freezing, head turning staticky at your touch. You pouted again, and he looked at you with increased resolve. 

“No. You’re not sober.” Gentle, yet firm. Your eyes went glossy, almost with tears. He took your hand to bridge the distance, rubbing what he hoped was a relaxing circle along your palm. 

Your eyes pleaded with him. “It’d be so fun like this.” 

“We can talk.” 

“Can we talk about it?” You rested your head in your hands, fluttering your lashes to frame your doe eyes. 

He didn’t hesitate shaking his head. You thought long and hard, and he theorized you were mining for a loophole. “Can I look at you?”

His expression eased. “You can look.” 

You were so thrilled it was like the past conversation hadn’t happened. You analyzed every pore of his face, admiring it like some great statue or famous painting. When he felt himself start to wonder what you were imagining, he pivoted. “Tell me. How are you feeling?”

“Could be better.”

He paid the insinuation no mind. “One to ten?”

“You’re funny.”

Huh? “How am I funny?”

“Soo serious.” You pressed your finger between his brows, uncreasing them. He let his shoulders relax. “There you go.” 

You sat back, gazing dreamily. “You should talk more. I love hearing you talk.” 

Should he… stop talking? Was it making it worse for you? Were you lucid? “Do you know why we’re here?”

“Talk, baby. Come on.” 

Like he was zigzagging his car through Gotham, but unable to lose them. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I just wanna watch you.” 

He regretted the question as it passed his lips, loathed how he couldn’t help but blush under your focused attention, but he’d endure it. If he needed to dodge your advances for the next ten hours, the whole weekend, so be it. 

“You’re so cute!”

You looked pained, a growl edging out your sentence. “Is that a bad thing?”

“UGH.” You slammed back into the chair, giving him barely enough time to place his hand behind your head; his knuckles knocked into the wood, and he winced. 

Was this because he wouldn’t let you touch him? Tentatively, he removed his hand. “If you still feel this way when you’re sober, we can talk about—”

“Whiskey for Mr. Wayne?”

“Thanks.” His fingers wrapped around the drink, leaving visible prints against the smooth siding. You still faced forward, looking upset. 

He worried his hands along the lip of the glass, needing to make himself perfectly clear. “I don’t want you feeling rejected,” he took a deep breath. “but there’s no way anything is happening while you’re like this.” 

“Not that.” You scoffed, like you hadn’t just begged him to let you. 

“What then?”

“The storm.” Your expression twisted, and you really looked like you might cry. “All the animals, and birds,”

“What about them?” 

“They hate getting wet.” Tears slipped down your cheeks. Mood swings. “Walter hates getting wet. What if he was here?” 

He pressed his lips into a thin line to keep a laugh at bay, reminding himself you were obviously wrecked over it. It was no small feat evicting humor from his tone. “I’m sure animals here are used to rain.”

You sat in thought. The booming sounds from the dance hall upstairs filled the silence, and the sharp click of a dancer’s heels as they pulled a customer to the back went along with the beat. “Can we go dance?”

“I don’t dance.”

He’d tried to convince you on the stairs to ditch this idea, but you’d quite literally yanked him to the dance floor. Admittedly, he liked this possessiveness, but under different circumstances. 

The crowd was tight, and only got tighter as word spread. Anxious thoughts circled like a shark, threatening to drown, but not you. Fully invested in whatever song was blasting through the speakers, you held your hands high, swaying side to side, grabbing his hips at every switch in the beat. You mouthed the words—you knew this one, had you gone clubbing with your friend much?—and he tried to mirror your movements, though subtly, feeling embarrassed. 

He shut his eyes for just a second at the overstimulation; he needed to be firmly rooted here to keep you safe. He wanted to help you have fun, too, and he wanted to enjoy this, or at the very least tolerate it. What kind of person would he be if he interrupted your joy, no matter what caused it? 

When he opened his eyes, a flurry of people were pressed against him, fighting to claim his attention, touching him in ways that made him want to jump out of his skin. He only panicked for a moment at your disappearance, easily looking over shoulders to find you just behind. You stared at the back of their heads with amusement; somehow, he thought you’d be angry. 

You laughed, so loud he could hear it over the bass, and jammed your way through them limb by limb, shoving your body flush to his. He caught you, feeling a profound sense of home when you pressed into him, your perfume and shampoo and whatever else made up you filling his senses in a way that shot him straight to heaven. He felt you rumble against him, hearing your laugh even closer now. He moved his mouth to your ear as you tightened around him. “What’s so funny?”

“They think you’re not mine.” You rolled your eyes so casually, like he hadn’t burned to tell you so for weeks. 

His lips curled into a small grin. “You think I’m yours?” 

Those half-lidded eyes met him again, spearing him. “Of course you are.” 

You didn’t wait for him to respond, and that was good, because he was full of nothing but looping thoughts of yes, yes he was, he was yours. 

You brought his hands to your waist and he held you carefully, the room shifting to a closed concept as he absently moved in tandem with you, following your lead as his nerves fell away. He wouldn’t ask you how you meant it, not now, possibly never, but he could pretend. Pretend you could feel how much he cared; that somehow, despite his best efforts, you knew with unwavering confidence that he was entirely, deeply yours without ever having to say it. 

As you both danced, he kept a shield around you. When someone got too close, he’d shift you away or pull you in without you even noticing. He caught you the rare times you stumbled, and every time you laughed, he placed the memory in a locket. Your face lit up when he’d dip his shoulders to the beat, rolling his body just enough to feel the rhythm deep in his core. Eventually his movements became smoother, more evocative, encouraged by your enjoyment. When you got too dizzy, he let you catch a breath in his arms. You’d lean in, whispering that you knew he would get into it, that you knew he could let loose. 

You pressed your foreheads together, panting. He realized he’d been working up a sweat, moving more than he had outside of patrol in years. “You don’t dance, huh?”

He laughed, and it didn’t feel strained or hollow. “Didn’t think so.” This wasn’t scary, not at all. 

He guided you off the floor when your eyes shut, rubbing your shoulders to keep you awake. He whispered to you. “Let’s say goodbye to Oz,” and brought you downstairs, already anticipating… Penguin laughed, giving him a wink and a nudge.

“Have fun, kid.” 

Disgusting. 

He snuck you out of a side door, wanting to limit photography, when he felt a punch on his right shoulder. He pushed you against the brick wall as gently as he could, but not as gently as he would’ve liked, as he caught sight of a knife. 

Disarming the assailant was easy; it didn’t take three steps and a few uppercuts for the weapon to clatter to the ground, and him to fall to his ass. Usually, if he were in the suit, the criminal would scoot back wildly, scrambling to escape further punishment; but this guy thought he was dealing with prissy Bruce Wayne.

The man lunged for his ankle—elementary. He had his wrist in one hand, wrenching his elbow until he screamed. Desperate not to escape but to hurt, the stranger lunged forward, teeth bared. Bruce yanked hard on his arm, hearing a crack, and slammed the heel of his shoe against the man’s jaw. He fell on his back, dazed, blood trickling down his nose. 

From the ground, he eyed you with a glare in the second it took Bruce to decide to scuff his shoes. Against thigh, then stomach, then chest. The last hit had the man yelping, dragging himself down the alleyway in as much a limping hurry he could manage. Bruce huffed, feeling the impact on unprotected knuckles. 

“What the fuck…” 

You were disoriented, blinking slowly, out of it. He wrapped you in a hug, shielding you from the rain he hadn’t felt until now, rushing you out front to the valet. He helped you into the passenger seat, buckling you himself so he didn’t worry, and slipped beside you, hurrying past the crowd. 

The weather worsened by the second. Umbrellas swayed and flew out of hands on the sidewalk, and rain pelted the car like bullets. If you’d left any later, he might’ve had to carry you home. After what felt like an eternity, he pulled into the drive. The piss-poor weather had deterred most of the paparazzi. 

Not even six in the evening, Alfred startled at the state of you, eyes struggling to open, slumped into Bruce’s side. “What happened?” 

“She’s fine.” 

“Bruce,”

“Went to meet Penguin, she took some drugs,”

“Drugs?”

“I told you, it’s fine,”

In his haste to get the old man off his back, you tripped on the first stair. Bruce barely caught you before you nose-dived. He helped you upright, whispering for you to jump; it was halfhearted, feet barely an inch off the ground in your exhaustion, but it was enough. He carried you the rest of the way, tenderly setting you in the middle of your bed. 

You grumbled, shifting to your side. Your heel grazed him. Right. He knelt to pull them off, setting them under the bed. He massaged the back of your heel until your grumbles turned to sighs, then hums. When your mouth slacked open against the pillow, he knew you’d passed out. 

Silently, he rose and snuck to the door, careful not to rouse you. He’d keep the door open, check on you every half hour. He grimaced, spiraling on how much could go wrong in that time. Maybe every quarter hour. 

“Don’t leave.” 

His heart cracked when he heard tears. He stepped back into the room, your scrunched, tired face staring at him like he’d committed a cardinal sin. “Okay.” He let go of the doorknob. “I won’t.” 

You patted the bed next to you, and scooted to make room. He laid on the bed’s furthest edge, arms tight to his torso. You shook your head. “Closer.”

He scooted toward you, and you dragged yourself into the crook of his arm. Your body softened and the sniffling stopped. Bruce kept deadly still, scared he’d interrupt your sleepiness with full breaths. 

It was impossible not to follow suit; just as he thought he might nap, you rustled in your sleep. His body jerked in response when you sat up, mumbling about feeling hot, and promptly yanked off your dress. Half awake by that point, he only realized you’d undressed when you threw it to the end of the bed. You thudded into him like nothing happened.

He almost fell asleep again, but you started pawing at his chest, muttering. “Too scratchy, take it off.”

He hesitated, instead pulling the blanket higher to cover it. You fell asleep quickly, and he did the same. 

You heard a thump. 

More thumps. 

You opened your eyes and saw a quilt, and felt a weight draped over your hips. You blinked a few times, groggy, and realized it was a heartbeat that you heard. 

Bruce rustled, and what was apparently his arm moved off your hip to rub at his eyes. You sat up and felt a breeze, becoming aware of your discarded dress, and your stomach shot to the back of your throat. 

You tried to remember what happened. Everything was blank, outside of entering the club and playing some truth or dare. Had you dared to hook up with him? Had he dared you? 

“How are you feeling?” His voice was slightly hoarse, from fatigue or something else. 

Your mouth went dry, posing the question even seeming too intimate. “Did we, uh,” you pulsed with embarrassment, forcing yourself to meet his eyes, “have sex?” 

Suddenly you were quite breathless. A ghost of an ache pulsed between your thighs. Ah, fuck, you’d fucked him for the first time and you couldn’t even relive it. 

“No.” His eyes narrowed. “What do you remember?”

You tried to, but it was like the time hadn't passed. He swung his legs off the bed, moving to stand. His shirt was half-tucked, his hair undone just enough to be sexy. You wished you’d fucked him; but your body, it… it felt like it had. It was needy, and spent. “Nothing.”

“You can watch the recording, then.” Bruce held out his hand, and you stared at it. You placed your hand in his, and a small noise fell from him. You ripped it away, and his brow quirked. You burned. “Contacts.” 

Timid, you peeled the contacts off your dry eyes and handed them over. As he put them in a case, you patted the bed for your phone. He pulled it out of his pocket, apologizing for the oversight as he plugged it in. “It died at the bar, sorry.”

“Why were we in bed together?” You figured you’d find out soon on the tape, but the anticipation was ruining you. Maybe you hadn’t fucked, but you’d made out, or touched him, or he touched you, because your pussy ached like it’d been made sore, and you couldn’t fucking place why or how. You clenched. 

“You cried when I tried to leave.” 

Cried?

“Wanted me to stay while you slept.” 

You believed him, but that felt humiliating to admit. “Then why was I half naked?”

“Said you were too hot.” He shrugged, moving toward the exit. “Glad you’re alright.” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You took Oz’s drug.” 

Your face fell, a crumb of memory resurfacing. His worry, his questions, and how bitter the pill was on your tongue. 

“Meet me in the kitchen and we’ll go down together.” 

Bruce pretended to work on his car while you watched the video; he thought you couldn’t tell, but you were excruciatingly aware of his presence and knew you’d be doing the same thing if he’d been behaving this way. It was mortifying.

Every time you gasped or looked away from the monitor—he definitely wasn’t watching you, no—he would attempt to soothe, telling you that ‘everything worked out’, and ‘seemed like you had fun, that’s good’. You did not agree. 

Watching your hands glide over his body, getting dangerously close to his zipper, fuck. The beg in your voice, saying that you wanted him, saying please, oh, you could’ve died. Creeping on him like that… Why hadn’t he let Oz take you out back with a shotgun?

“If you still feel this way when you’re sober, we can talk about—”

You jumped. The basement went quiet, the worn concrete walls choosing now to absorb all sound. You skipped forward, gulping back a scream, as your head pounded at the implication. 

It killed you to type ‘marked increase in libido’ and ‘risky behavior’ into his computer, but externalizing it walked you back from the cliff. A third word: ‘euphoria’. That feeling had been the loudest. You didn’t want to keep watching, but you had to. 

The fucking dancing. This couldn’t be too bad, right? No talking could happen under these circumstances. You unwound watching Bruce blush under the lights, moving stiffly like the concept of rhythm was entirely foreign. 

Bruce took a peek at you as he bolted the last tire on, watching you grin and tuck your lower lip under your teeth. He grabbed the bottled water at his side and swigged it, wishing just a little bit that it was whiskey.

You got pushed aside by a group practically clawing at him. You boiled inside, bruised, but heard yourself laugh. You pushed your way through them, easier than you thought, especially for someone drugged, and suddenly your vision was dark, clouded against his chest. His voice was right in your ear. “What’s so funny?”

“They think you’re not mine.” 

Jesus, how did he react? Just when you thought you might actually die, you watched him grin. Cold flashed through you. 

“You think I’m yours?” and it sounded really rhetorical, really delicate, and what the hell did you say to that? 

“Of course you are.”

Oh, shit.

You paused the footage, feeling caught between worlds. Technically, you’d already told him all the things you were so scared of. A side-eye in Bruce’s direction showed that he wasn’t working on his car anymore, and his empty hands looked inviting. That neediness was back, and you nearly stepped toward him, but stalled. Your heart could’ve beat out of your chest. 

When your breathing caught, you took it and rushed to the elevator, fully aware how fast you were moving, and how suspicious it was. But Mar would want to know what happened, you’d told her you’d gone clubbing, and she did need to know you were safe, and you wanted to know if she’d escaped the storm. But all you told him was you wanted water. 

“Can I go with you?”

You nodded, knocking the hair out of your face with shaky fingers. Every stride between his car to the elevator ratcheted your heart rate up a notch, and you swore it was as visible as the clothes you wanted him to tear off. Your hands clenched into fists as he stepped inside. “Sorry for acting like that.”

“No need.” 

“I overstepped, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t.” He pressed UP, and you began the ascent.

“Do you mean that?”

You watched his Adam’s apple bob, and started feeling like the question you asked was more intimate than you thought. “We can’t do this right now.”

“Do what?”

“It’s only been a few hours.”

“What do you mean?”

His back pressed against the elevator wall, like he wanted to create distance. “Do you just want water, o-or want me to make you something?”

“Why are you stuttering?”

“Why are you asking?”

The doors opened, and he practically lunged toward the kitchen sink. You watched, breathless. He didn’t think you were fully sober. Maybe you weren’t. 

You cut upstairs, head pounding. ‘Right now’. ‘Imagined’. That grin of his, and how sure you sounded. You struggled to grip the doorknob, palms slick. It wouldn’t turn, and you smacked the wood, spirit weary. You wished you’d never found out about Batman, that you’d never gotten tangled up in this shit so you didn’t have to wonder, and worry, about what was placation and what was real; so that you could break the ice and ask him yourself, or tell him, and not silently read into every glance, holding memories with white knuckles.

The door popped open, and you stumbled inside. Your phone glowed on the nightstand. Thinking nothing of it, you fell into bed and unlocked it.

The glass shattered in the sink as Bruce heard you scream. No thoughts came, only fear, and he traveled the steps four at a time. You flung the door open and slammed into him. He’d never felt someone shake so much, and held you so tight he thought he might break you, but you were squeezing him harder than anyone ever had, and shrieking. His teeth went cold. 

Your limbs tingled, weightless, and you moved and breathed on instinct alone. Bruce’s arms were around you, but you didn’t quite feel them. Presence and dissociation carved out your stomach. 

You pulled away, a dead, empty feeling bloated with adrenaline to keep you moving. A brightness filled your chest, but like a glowing hot poker. Explanation spilled out of you like you couldn’t breathe, like you were hyperventilating, but you weren’t there. 

Bruce cupped your face, but you saw him through gray mist. Alfred popped out and said something, but the waves of shock drowned him out. 

“I should’ve fucking gone, I was supposed, I planned to fucking go,”

Bruce guided you to the edge of the bed through your bursts of anger. He crouched in front of you as you listened to the other voicemails. His hands warmed your knees, his attention unwavering. 

‘Tried to call, but I’m on the way to the hospital now…’

You barely registered what you agreed to until you were halfway down the road; you didn’t react when Bruce fought the car against endless hydroplaning, but jolted back to a portion of the moment with the splatter of hail on the passenger window.

Tears flooded your lap like the monsoon outside. The buildings changing to greenery on the side of the highway choked reality down a bargaining throat. A realization that this was a moment you had to be there for, present for. You sniffed up a wall of tears. You could disappear after, if she didn’t wake up.

His hand moved to your knee. You blinked at how calmly the conversation went. Shaking hands finding delayed flights, and the complete lack of fight when he told Alfred to find the nearest operational jet. A prickle of it found you now in the form of guilt, weighing on you like the weekend bag in your lap. In a blip of lucidity, you’d asked him why he was packing a duffel. He said you were in no state to be alone right now. That if he could help, he would. That he’d leave whenever you asked, but not until you were at the hospital. 

‘fell’, ‘unconscious’, ‘waiting game’. You leaned your head to rest on his shoulder. You squeezed your puffy eyes shut, body wracking with choppy, sobbing gasps. Bruce laced his fingers between yours, giving you a gentle squeeze. He didn’t say it would be okay, or that everything happened for a reason. He let you be sad. He just let you cry.

[niallerspayno]

How they react to getting caught under the mistletoe with you

Masterlist

A little drabble about how each of the boys would react to being caught under the mistletoe with you🎄

…

Niall

You’re laughing with the group, enjoying the cozy holiday atmosphere, when Niall’s gaze flicks up to the mistletoe hanging just above you. His eyes widen slightly, and he glances down at the ground, as if debating whether he should say something. But the teasing whispers of the others quickly bring his attention back to you.

The room falls into a quiet anticipation as Niall steps closer, his usual easy smile a little more nervous now. He clears his throat, his face turning a shade redder than usual. “Uh… I think we’re supposed to…” He trails off, his voice a little uncertain, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that betrays his shyness.

You can’t help but smile at how awkwardly adorable he looks. “Yeah, I guess we are,” you reply, your voice soft and teasing as you look up at the mistletoe, then back at him.

Niall chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Well, I’m not sure what I’m doing, but… guess we’ll find out.” He reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours with that familiar warmth that always makes you feel at ease. He leans in, his breath mixing with yours, and for a moment, everything else seems to fade away.

His lips brush against yours, tentative at first, like he’s testing the waters. The kiss is soft, slow, the kind of first kiss that feels like it’s been waiting to happen for a long time. Niall’s hand finds the side of your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he deepens the kiss just slightly, a little more confident now.

You can feel the tenderness in his touch, the quiet reassurance that this moment, this kiss, means more than just a tradition—it’s the beginning of something real, something special.

When he finally pulls away, both of you are breathless, a soft smile curling on Niall’s lips. He looks at you, his eyes shining with something unreadable but full of warmth. “Wow,” he says softly, his voice almost in awe. “I didn’t expect that to feel like… that.��

You laugh quietly, your heart racing in the best way. “Yeah, me neither.”

Niall chuckles, a little embarrassed but still glowing. “Merry Christmas, love,” he says, his hand still gently holding yours. And even though the teasing from the others begins, you’re both lost in the soft afterglow of that first kiss, your hearts in sync.

Liam

Liam notices the mistletoe hanging above you both almost immediately. He pauses mid-conversation, his gaze flicking to the leafy sprig before his eyes shift back to you. There’s a quiet moment, and you catch the brief hesitation in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything right away, just stands still for a second, as if considering the situation carefully.

The others begin to notice the shift, teasing whispers filling the air. But Liam stays calm, his expression thoughtful. He steps closer, his movements deliberate, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. There’s a quiet intensity in his eyes, and when he speaks, his voice is low and soft, almost as if he’s just sharing a secret with you. “Looks like we’re under the mistletoe,” he says, his tone both playful and sincere.

You nod, your heart beating a little faster, and before you can even respond, Liam’s hand gently reaches out to touch the side of your arm, his touch warm and comforting. “I’ve… been waiting for this,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

His words catch you off guard, but before you can process them fully, Liam leans in. His lips brush yours with careful, deliberate tenderness. It’s the kind of kiss that feels so familiar, like it’s been building for far longer than just this moment. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you just a little closer, the kiss deepening with a quiet intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

Liam’s kiss isn’t rushed or uncertain—there’s a surety to it, like he’s been waiting for the right moment to finally close the gap between you. His lips move gently against yours, a mix of sweetness and something more powerful that sends a flutter through your chest. When he pulls back just a fraction, his forehead rests gently against yours, both of you breathless but content.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion, as if the kiss had meant something more than just a holiday tradition. He keeps his eyes closed for a moment, his hand still resting on your neck, as if grounding himself in the moment.

When you open your eyes, you find him looking at you with a mix of admiration and something deeper, something unspoken but clear. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admits, his voice soft but sincere.

You smile, feeling the warmth of his words settling in your chest. “Me too.”

The others tease you both, but Liam simply holds your gaze, a small, content smile tugging at the corners of his lips. For once, it doesn’t matter what anyone else is saying. In this moment, you’re both just there, lost in each other’s presence.

Zayn

Zayn’s eyes flicker upward when he spots the mistletoe hanging above the two of you. For a split second, there’s a flicker of hesitation in his gaze—his usual calm, collected demeanor momentarily faltering. He seems to gather himself before offering a small, knowing smirk, the kind of expression that could melt anyone’s heart.

“Well, this is unexpected,” he says, his voice smooth and low, with that signature coolness you’ve come to admire. He steps toward you slowly, his movements deliberate, and for a moment, the teasing of the others fades into the background. It’s just the two of you now, and Zayn’s intensity is palpable.

You feel the air between you shift as Zayn leans in slightly, his face close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. He’s not rushing this—he takes his time, studying you with that steady, almost magnetic gaze. His hand finds the small of your back, his fingers grazing your skin through the fabric of your sweater, sending a shiver up your spine.

There’s a quiet tension in the air, the kind that makes your heart race. “I didn’t think I’d be here, doing this tonight,” Zayn admits, his voice hushed but earnest. “But I guess I’m not complaining.”

Before you can respond, he’s gently cupping your face with his free hand, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. You can feel your breath catch in your throat, and when his lips finally meet yours, it’s not rushed or tentative. It’s deep, slow, and filled with something undeniable, as though he’s been wanting this for longer than either of you realized.

Zayn’s kiss is intense, almost magnetic, and it pulls you into him like gravity. His other hand wraps around your waist, pulling you a little closer, and there’s an urgency in the way his lips move against yours, as if he’s been holding back a tidal wave of emotions that finally crash over both of you in this kiss.

It’s not playful like Louis, or tender like Liam—it’s raw, passionate, and completely consuming, leaving you breathless when he finally pulls away, his forehead resting against yours. You both stand there for a moment, eyes closed, sharing the quiet aftershock of the kiss.

“Merry Christmas,” Zayn murmurs, his voice rough and low, his thumb brushing against your lips as though savoring the taste of the moment. He doesn’t say anything more, but the quiet smile that tugs at his lips says everything—there’s a depth to his gaze now, something soft but filled with a quiet intensity that lingers even as the others tease in the background.

When he looks at you again, his gaze is softer, almost playful. “Guess I’ll be counting down the days until the next time,” he adds, with a small, knowing smirk.

Louis

Louis notices the mistletoe before anyone else does, and the second he spots it, he flashes a mischievous grin in your direction. His eyes twinkle with a playful energy, and you can already tell he’s up to something.

“Well, well, well…” Louis says with a dramatic flourish, his voice filled with exaggerated excitement. He steps closer to you, clearly relishing the moment. “Looks like someone’s gonna have to kiss me,” he says, his grin widening. “Don’t worry, love, I promise I’m a gentleman.”

You can’t help but laugh at how confident he is, but there’s an undeniable warmth in his eyes that lets you know he’s being sincere, despite his playful banter. He stands directly in front of you now, a mischievous glint still in his gaze.

You raise an eyebrow, teasing, “Are you sure you’re ready for that, Louis?”

“Oh, I’m more than ready,” he says with a wink, taking a step closer until there’s hardly any space between you. He lowers his voice, his tone softer now. “But I think it’ll be worth the wait.”

Before you can respond, Louis leans in, his hand brushing against your cheek as his lips hover just inches from yours. There’s a moment of quiet anticipation, and then, with a sudden burst of confidence, he presses his lips to yours.

His kiss is bold, filled with energy and laughter, but there’s a depth to it that takes you by surprise. It’s not rushed—though he’s the playful one, there’s a sincerity to the way he kisses you, a moment where the teasing fades and all that’s left is the simple connection between you two.

As he pulls back, a wide grin spreads across his face, and he looks at you with that familiar, mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “Told you I was a gentleman,” he says with a wink, his voice playful but soft.

You laugh, a little breathless from the kiss, but the moment feels easy, lighthearted, and somehow… perfect. Louis doesn’t let the teasing stop, but the energy between you two is different now, and there’s a warmth in his gaze that matches the glow of the Christmas lights around you.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he adds, his voice still light and teasing, but his smile now a little softer, a little more sincere.

Harry

When Harry spots the mistletoe hanging above you, a small, knowing smile tugs at the corner of his lips. His usual calm and collected demeanor remains, but there’s something different in the way he looks at you—a softness that wasn’t there before. He takes a small step closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Well, this is convenient,” he says, his voice low and smooth, with a hint of playfulness. There’s no teasing in his words, just a quiet acknowledgment that the moment is here. He steps into your space, and for a moment, everything else fades into the background. It’s just the two of you, standing under the mistletoe with the world softly humming around you.

Harry gently reaches for your hand, his touch warm and gentle. The space between you feels charged, and you can see the unspoken emotions reflected in his eyes. It’s clear he’s thought about this, and now that the moment is finally here, there’s a sense of quiet certainty in his movements.

“Guess this is the part where I kiss you, then,” he says, his voice soft but confident.

You nod, your heart fluttering at the way he’s looking at you, his gaze tender and filled with something deeper. He leans in slowly, as if savoring every second of the moment. His lips meet yours in a soft, careful kiss, and it’s like everything slows down—his warmth, the gentleness of his touch, the feeling of his lips against yours is everything you’ve wanted in a first kiss and more.

The kiss is gentle, tender, and yet there’s something undeniable about it—a connection that goes beyond the mistletoe, beyond the holiday tradition. It’s as if all the words you couldn’t say are being expressed through this one quiet, meaningful kiss.

When Harry pulls away, he doesn’t go far. His forehead rests gently against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, and he smiles softly, a little shy but still radiating that familiar warmth.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispers, his voice barely above a breath. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

You smile, your heart racing from the intensity of the kiss. “Me too,” you reply softly.

Harry chuckles, the sound low and rich, before he pulls back just slightly, his thumb gently brushing the back of your hand. His gaze is full of something unspoken, something more than just a holiday kiss—it’s the beginning of something deeper.

“Definitely worth the wait,” he adds with a smile, before he leans in again, pressing a quick, soft kiss to your forehead, leaving you feeling warm and entirely content.

[thevoidscreams]

For mating press march maybe snuggling naked with Jaghatai in his bed aboard his starship at night. You are his lover and he’s holding you close and telling you how much you mean to him whilst he gently thrusts into you from behind until he fills you up. Afterwards you nestle into his muscular hairy chest as his soft Mongol throat singing lulls you to sleep. Maybe some breeding chucked in for good measure.

Always enjoy reading your warhammer fics <3

Day 4 Year 2 Mmm, Jaghatai (sorry if it's a bit short, I have been having to juggle these and my course work to get dive certified)

Warnings: Breeding and a very affectionate large man who loves you

words: 1016

The khan was not a man who often slowed down, it wasn't who he was. He was made to conquer, it was in his blood and he was most himself when he was moving faster than the eye could comprehend.

At least that's who he was when he was the primarch of the fifth legion. But for right now, he has focused himself on one thing, being your loving husband.

His hands ran up your sides, stroking your body gently as he whispered to you. The man who was so often ready to push others away, drew you closer as his hips met yours, the pace was slow. He wanted to savor this time with you, the time he so often did not get to have. "You take me so beautifully." He moaned as he watched his cock slip into you, stretching you on his cock. It was a particular fascination of his that formed the first time he'd ever lain with you. Your body, despite being so much smaller, took him with surprising ease, as if you had been made just for him. The khan groaned as he felt your pussy flex around him. "I must say the feeling is mutual, you fill me so wonderfully." You supplied, lifting your face from the mattress. He gave only a low quiet laugh in response as his hands trailed back down to your hips, holding them as he pulled you back to meet his thrusts. Oh if only he hadn't been created for conquest and could have been a creator, he'd spend more of his time here, building something of simple but ethereal beauty with you. Though he supposed he still could create something with you. The thought of you, well bred and soft with his children made his cock twitch as his hips bucked harder than intended. Your sudden gasp at the hard thrust made him smile. It would be nice to come home to his little wife and children. And your safety would be well assured by his brothers in arms. His astartes sons. His White Scars. And someday his Sons or Daughters would join him in battle. It was a pleasing mental image.

He bent to kiss your shoulder, his chest pressing into your back, forcing you into the bed just a bit more. "I am not going to pull out tonight." He hummed so close to your ear you could feel the vibration of his voice.

The sudden declaration made your pussy throb with need as you pushed your hips back to meet his thrusts. "Yes, please, Jaghatai." With the eagerness of your plea he doubled down, his thrusts became harder, and he thrilled in the chorus of moans and gasps that he drew from you. He may not have been an artist in the traditional sense like some of his brothers but he could certainly compose a song when he was alone with you.

His cock ached to cum but he would not until he felt you cum, and heard the beautiful song of you begging and pleading for him not to stop. His right hand slipped from your hips to quest between your legs, finding that small tender nub he knew would aid in driving you over the edge and he brushed his fingers over it with such loving tenderness. He knew from experience that he couldn't press too hard or too lightly, and he was satisfied to know that he'd done it correctly when he felt you jolt beneath him, your body clenching as the provocative touch. "Come for me my love." He hummed in Chagorian, his fingers brushing again in sync with his thrusts.

It wasn't long after that he felt you begin to tremble and he knew you were so close. "Come." He ordered again, and you did. Biting the pillow he'd gotten you for your comfort and crying out as he doubled his pace, riding the high of feeling you come undone beneath him to his own climax.

He pulled out carefully, helping you lower yourself to the bed even if you were practically there already.

Jaghatai fetched a cloth, dipping it into a basin of water and bringing it over to wipe you clean, He didn't want to leave you covered in sweat and the fluids left by your love making.

"You are such a rare beauty, my wife." He smiled. Even disheveled and exhausted from sex he only saw a goddess before him as he set the wash basin aside and climbed into bed next to you. Drawing you in close and wrapping the furs he'd hunted just for you.

His body was warm and sturdy as you nestled into his chest, playing with the surprisingly soft wisps of his chest hair. Which made him chuckle. "You seem to like those hairs even more than the ones on my head." You shook your head. "I love all parts of you equally my Khan." You purred, not missing the way his cock twitched against your leg as you used his title. "You know how to undo me, my beloved. I do not know if it should comfort me or terrify me that you know me so well."

"Why not both? Variety is the spice of life." You smiled, as he pulled you in and squished you against his chest in a hug.

He only sighed and kissed the top of your head. "Shall I perform for my queen as usual?" He asked and you nodded. "Please." You yawned and he nodded. "Sing the one about the horses."

His chest resonated with the steady rhythm of his voice and the reverberation of his throat as he sang your favorite song from his home world. He held you as you fell asleep but he did not dare stop until the song was complete.

He watched as you slumbered, you looked so at peace, it made him glad. He joined you shortly after, wondering if soon he would have more than just his gene sons to care for along with you. The idea carried him into a peaceful sleep.

[wolfclan-gen]

WOLFCLAN: MOON 16.5

"What's that weird thing around his neck?" "He smells funny." "Why's he always asleep? Doesn't he want to explore the camp?"

Rapidwind sighed. His kits were at the age where they had endless questions about everything around them, and asked faster than he could answer. "He came from far away. He smells funny and wears that thing around his neck because he didn't live with a clan, he lived with big animals called 'Twolegs'. Try not to bother him, he's hurt and he's been through a lot. He needs rest. And, um, don't tell him he smells funny. That's rude."

Robinkit, crawling up Rapidwind's back, managed to tumble over his father's head and fall into his paws. Rapidwind avoided the impulse to itch his face where the kit's tail tickled it - Indigoleaf would be furious if he accidentally wiped the poultice off his snout. Again. "But, but, why is he here now?" Robinkit mewed, before Finchkit interrupted by pouncing on his brother.

"Because… Twolegs don't like cats." Rapidwind answered. But was that true? His old clanmate, Terracotta, had claimed most Twolegs were kind. But she had been hurt and thrown out by them too, hadn't she? "So stay away from them. Just like you'd stay away from wolves, or coyotes, or eagles."

"And foxes and snakes and owls!" Oriolekit added. "Is that where we come from?"

Rapidwind stared at the kit for a moment, caught off-guard. "What do you mean, where you come from?"

"Badgerstripe said you brought us to camp." Oriolekit continued, and now her brothers were also looking up at Rapidwind. "Did you get us from Twolegs, like Shimmerstar brought Dusty back to camp?"

Rapidwind knew they'd ask about their origin eventually, but he hadn't settled on how much he would share. "No, you didn't come from Twolegs." He eventually answered. "You're clan-born, because I'm your dad."

"Badgerstripe said most cats have two parents." Oriolekit's gaze was more prying than Rapidwind thought was possible for a kit.

Badgerstripe needs to mind his own business. "That's true." He admitted. He couldn't lie to them. "You're my kits. And you also have a mother." Robinkit opened his mouth, about to speak, but Rapidwind laid his tail over the kit's muzzle. "Hush, just listen. She lived far away, with other cats. She didn't think it was safe to raise kits there, but she couldn't leave, because she was loyal to them too. So we decided you would grow up here, because WolfClan will care for any cat that needs help. Little kits like you, and old kittypets like Dusty."

Rapidwind realized his kits were all looking up at him, wide-eyed. "Does that answer your question?"

Finchkit nodded. "So, does everyone else know our mother?"

"No, I don't think so." Rapidwind glanced around the cave, but it was empty besides him, his kits, and the sleeping Dusty. "A long time ago, back when I was as little as you and the clan lived somewhere else, cats weren't supposed to have families outside their clan. Now that we live in the mountains things are different, but... I thought it was best if I didn't tell everyone. All that matters is that you're here, with me."

Rapidwind assumed that he and Shimmerstar were the only ones to actually remember living with the old codes and traditions. Indigoleaf, Badgerstripe, and Polecatspot had been too young at the time. When they fled to the mountains, it had felt like those restrictions were left behind, and all that mattered was that they would take care of each other. Shimmerstar hadn't punished Rapidwind when he brought his half-clan kits to camp, and treated the kits with the same kindness that they had shown Rapidwind when he was little, but it was obvious that the leader was actively avoiding the subject of WolfClan's deputy breaking the old clan's rules.

"Well, I like being here." Robinkit announced, his squeaky mew as serious as he could make it. Rapidwind didn't miss how he was starting to get fidgety.

"I like it more!" Oriolekit mewed back, and swiped a paw at Robinkit. Robinkit swiped back, and the two started wrestling.

Finchkit bonked his head against Rapidwind's flank, purring. "I like that we get to be with you."

Rapidwind curled his tail around Finchkit, both of them watching the others play-fight. "I like that you get to be with me, too."

[inuiiwonderland]

Twisted Captivity

Chapter 3

Twst third years x fem reader

A/n: Sorry for the long wait! This chapter is a bit longer than the first and second one so I hope you guys enjoy! Also sorry for any spelling mistakes and grammar it’s like really late rn and I’m sleep deprived😵‍💫

Words:1.3k

-

You spent half an hour talking to both ace and deuce in the heartslabyul enclosure. The two were absolutely curious creatures. They asked all sorts of questions about humans and what they eat. (With the best of their ability since they couldn’t speak the human language all to well)

You of course answered their questions with the best of your ability. While the three of you chatted you also decided to ask your fair share of questions about merpeople.

The two of them were rather thrilled when you asked. With the little bit of human language that they know, they started telling you about all sorts of traditions, stories, and cultures about them and their people. You were amazed as you wrote everything- well rather try since they said so much you couldn’t keep up.

You were all so caught up in the conversation that you didn’t realize that you still had to go visit the savanaclaw enclosure!

“Shit! I’m so sorry you two but I have to go!”

“Go?”

“Why?”

“I forgot that Crowley also asked for me to go visit the savanaclaw enclosure! Shoot I’m late! Bye guys I’ll see you two later!” You quickly grabbed your things and bolted right out of there. The two mermen sadly watched as you left.

-

You ran as fast as you could to get to the next enclosure that you were supposed to be at 20 minutes ago.

Your lungs burned and your legs felt wobbly but you decided to ignore it all and push yourself to run even faster. The relief that ran through your body when the doors to the enclosure came into view as you slowed down and started catching your breath.

“Shit! Ah I can’t breathe-“

“You’re late!” You quickly looked up to see a man who seemed to be in his late 50s look down at you with a raised brow.

“I’m sorry!” You bowed while also trying to steady your breathing.

The man just shook his head before sighing.

“Since you’re still new, I suppose I can let this slide for today. But next time I won’t, so please make sure you make it here on time”

You could only nod as you still tried to catch your breath. The man then handed you a silver bucket. You curiously looked in only to see a pile of dead fish. You grimace at the sight before looking back at the man.

“It’s their feeding time. I suppose Crowley also mentioned that you’ll be in charge of feeding the mers, no?”

“Ah yes he did say that” you awkwardly rubbed the back of your neck as you gave him a sheepish smile.

“Well I suggest you go in and feed them. One of them is very upset right now. He doesn’t like waiting when it comes to feeding time”

“Right. And thank you”

“Mhm”

He moved out the way as you opened the door. You were once again met with a beautiful sight but too bad you didn’t have the time to gawk and admire it this time since you have hungry mers to feed.

You walked in and looked around before you saw them. There were multiple mers surrounding a giant rock and you can tell some looked very upset.

You gulp before quickly making your way over to them. One of the mers seemed to have noticed you as they chirped and whistled which caused everyone to turn and look at you.

“Sorry for the wait” The moment they saw the bucket. They grew Wild.

You gasp as some tried yanking the thing out of your hands but you quickly backed up before they could.

The hell?! They’re acting like they haven’t seen food before or something!

You quickly grabbed a fish before throwing it in the water. They all went wild so you quickly threw more in until there were only three left.

You looked around to see if everyone got one and once you saw how everyone had their own fish you let out a sigh of relief.

You looked down at the bucket and wondered if you should take it back or just give them extra.

You were in deep thought until you heard a whistle

You look down to see a mer. He pointed at the bucket and then his stomach.

“Oh! I’m sorry here” You grabbed one of the fish from the bucket before throwing it to him. The boy quickly grabs it before scarfing it down.

Poor guy….does Crowley feed any of them at all?

Your thoughts were soon interrupted when you felt webbed hands wrap around your ankles. You gasp as you look down to see the mer pointing at the bucket again.

“I’m sorry but I already gave you some already. It wouldn’t be fair to everyone if I gave you another”

The mer tilts his head in confusion before pointing at himself and shaking his head. Now you were the one confused. You watch as the mer points at the bucket again but then he turns around and points at something.

You look to see a cave. He was pointing at the cave.

“Do you have some friends in there that haven’t gotten any?” The mer only nods as you sigh.

“Alright, take me to em” The mer then motions you to follow him as he starts swimming towards the cave.

Once you two got there, you looked at him and he motions you inside. He swims right in and you follow suit. You were thankful that there was a small path for you to be able to walk right in. You were careful, making sure you didn't slip and fall right into the water.

The mer stops and calls out who you assume to be his friends.

You felt a shiver go down your spine as you swear you heard something similar to a growl. You gulp as two mermen make their presence known as the other one just swims away.

“I-I have your food” You say as you raise the bucket. One of them, the one with white hair swims up to you as you try to stay still.

Jeez….I sometimes forget how scary some look.

He eyes the bucket curiously before sniffing it. Once he is satisfied, he nods before patiently waiting for you to give him one.

“Oh! Here” You gave him the fish and he thanks you with a nod. You watch as he also scarfs it down and your heart couldn’t help but break.

Does anyone even feed them? They eat like they haven’t eaten in ages!

He senses your stare and quickly swims away. Like he was shy.

You watch as he swims deeper into the cave. You then turn to the other one who was already staring intensely at you. You gulp as you grab the last fish from the bucket and show it to him.

“Here” The mer just stares at you. You didn’t know what to say or do so you just stood there uncomfortably with a dead fish in your hand.

Damn it. Did I say or do something weird? Feels like I’m being judged.

You just carefully placed it down on one of the rocks that you saw near you before getting up.

“Well I guess it’s time for me to go. Enjoy your um…meal!” And you bolted right up out of there.

The man just watched as you ran away.

Yes he was mad that you were late with his meal but he was more surprised that you dared step foot into this cave. Some keepers either don’t feed him at all for this reason or just hand the fish to one of the two mers with him so that they can give him his food.

You were sure a interesting one that’s for sure

He grabs the fish before swimming deeper into the darkness of the cave.

What an interesting human

-

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