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occamstfs · 5 months ago

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Marichismo

Allen, a smug engineering student, finds himself seeking shelter from the storm in a museum for Latin American art. By the time it clears up it's safe to say he'll have a more than healthy appreciation for the arts.

Might've gotten away from me a tad but I think it turned out quite well! Latino Race and Cultural change, MG and language change ahead. Also a couple more people have hopped onto my Challenge since I last mentioned it! Otherwise, espero que disfrutes! -Occam

Allen was on a side of the campus he’s never quite made it a point to explore. In undergrad and in his Masters of Engineering program so far there has simply never been a need for him to venture too far from the engineering building or the architecture library. That is until his partner on a superfluous project requested he venture into the no man’s land that holds the campus’ main library, one that runs absolutely rampant with students he sees as far beneath him.

Even worse than simply venturing beyond his comfort zone, as soon as the pair have wrapped up their progress for the day, heading off on their less than merry ways, it begins to rain. As the first raindrops begin to fall, Allen scoffs at himself for being anything less than optimally prepared. Before he’s able to reflect too deeply, the snobbish student clenches his tech-filled book bag to his chest and sprints into the nearest building, apathetic to whatever space he noisily barges into.

Before his eyes can adjust to the dim light of the new space he finds himself in, Allen hears a crack of thunder as the heavens open up behind him. Sighing in relief at successfully staying dry, Allen keeps his guard up, eying the lobby of whatever building this is that he’s never deigned to step into before now. He grimaces as he finds himself in an art museum. He does not like art museums. It’s not so much that Allen sees himself as above fine art, it’s- well no it is that. Immediately, he begins scanning the lobby for a power outlet so he may continue working while he waits out the downpour.

Head shoved under a lobby bench Allen ignores a caution sign as he forces his charger in, causing an inevitable shock that forces out a less than respectful expletive in this place of introspection. He eyes the empty room around him, slightly grinning at just how barren the lobby is. Clearly he’s not the only one apathetic to this nonsense. Shaking his hand to reawaken its nerves, he hears the clicking of footsteps against the gallery floor as a small woman walks around the corner carrying a stack of books that block her view. Allen eyes a handful of escape routes to hide from the older woman before lightning strikes once more and she trips over in shock, dropping her small stack of books, “¡Dios Mio!”

Judgemental asshole Allen may be but heartless he is not. Setting down his bag with a sigh and a roll of the eyes, the student walks over to help the older woman gather herself. Barely avoiding reflexively chiding his elder as he offers her a hand, he helps her up. The attendant pushes a large pair of glasses up her nose and squints at him with a kind smile, “Ah! Gracias, gracias mijo.” She pulls herself up on Allen’s hand and he cringes back as some kind of aftershock of static goes up his arm. Thankfully it doesn’t seem to affect her. Dusting herself off, she does a double take at Allen and adjusts her glasses, “¿Qué te trae aqui hoy, mijo? (What brings you in today dear?)

Allen hesitates, blowing air as he tries to understand why this woman thinks he knows spanish. Scratching the back of his head he finally looks to see the text blazoned across the front desk, El Gustavo Ramirez Museo De Arte Latinoamericano. Putting two and two together as he is ever so proud of doing, Allen immediately apologizes for intruding. “So sorry uh, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to wander into your, uh, space.” gesturing to the woman and the building around him in a manner to distinguish it not so much as beneath him but as an other. Something that is simply a bridge too far for him to gap. “This place isn’t for me so I think I’ll go ahead and step out.” Thunder peels before he can start to gather his things, immediately reminding him why he is in here at all.

The older woman also relents, switching to English since, despite some instinct saying otherwise, the man before her clearly speaks only english. “Ah don’t you worry yourself mijo. The museum is for all, para todos. Free with your student ID,” she tacks on with a wink. Allen smiles uncomfortably, baring teeth enough that it could be mistaken as a grimace.

He can’t just tell this old lady that he hasn’t a thought to spare, in his mind: waste, on the collections behind her. Still he doesn’t want to make conversation indefinitely waiting for the storm to clear either. Fearful of the outlet he’s used thus far he convinces himself there must be one hiding somewhere in the exhibition hall. He’ll just pacify her with entry and go find some place in between ostentatious paintings and droll statues to insert himself and get some actual work done.

Producing his ID wordlessly, he hands it to the elderly woman and she quickly shuffles behind her desk to type his name into some registry. Handing it back with a smile she leaves her hand hanging for a shake, “Wonderful to meet you Allan! Soy Lupe Carvajal. But you can call me abuelita, mijo!” Pocketing his ID with a dismissive laugh he notices not that his name is apparently misspelled on his ID card, instead he packs his charger up and shakes Lupe’s hand. “Hah. Uhm, whatever you say Mrs. Carvajal.” Her hand is wrinkled and frail but surprisingly warm, as if his hand were receiving the full body experience of a hug in but a single shake.

“You know Allan, I must have thought you know spanish because you look quite like my nieto, my grandson.” Allan puffs his cheeks to bite his tongue, holding a picture in his mind of what this granny’s descendants must look like and knowing there’s simply no permutation that lands at himself. She continues, “Es un joven fuerte! Haha!” She does a little bicep pose which allows Allan to understand exactly what she means without her translating. He shyly smiles looking down at his own thin arms and wondering why this lady seems to be mocking him. After doing her bit, Lupe moves to sit at the desk and pulls a book off her stack, “You just let me know if you need anything mijo, si?” Allan nods and reflexively responds, “Si ab- Mrs. Carvajal.”

Odd taste in his mouth at almost calling this random woman grandmas she asked, he shakes it off and wanders into the exhibit hall, decidedly less worried about using her museum’s resources to his own ends. It has probably been over a decade since anyone was able to drag him into an art museum. Even then was he vehemently against wasting his time visiting. He just didn’t get art, and not for not trying. It’s just, aggravating that some people can get so much from some splotches of paint and he just sees a picture on some paper. Feeling himself get riled up he turns to the exhibit hoping for some distraction, which he finds in an elaborate statue of some dog. himself.

Allan stands beside a huichol coyote covered in beads about two feet high. Spotlighted in the dim gallery he circles it like a predator, inspecting the bright beaded beast from every angle. See this he gets. This took time, this took care. Leaning in close the warmth of the overhead light pleasantly burns the top of his head. Absorbed by the shimmering light off the beads, Allan is unaware as his hair suddenly begins to lengthen. The buzz he has always kept short for sheer manageability begins to curl over his ears, growing warm even quicker as it tints darker. Not quite black but certainly not the blonde shade he was always happy to keep despite his spending as few hours outside as possible.

Before curls can begin to crest over his forehead, his face is not spared the glare of the spotlight. Immediately as his olive eyes glaze over, absorbed into the intricate stitched patterns they begin to stain darker. The jade he has always seen in his own reflection shades darker ever so slightly. Not brown. No he doesn’t have brown eyes, they’re just hazel? His eyebrows match the suddenly darkened hair on his head as he stands staring at the beast. Not expanding to cover more of his face but growing thicker, denser. Almost as if to shade his eyes from the light. His lips thicken as a grin begins to tinge his face. Reaching up Allan feels stubble begin to prickle his chin and upper lip, as if he spent time shaving this morning.

Allan moans contentedly as he gives in and reaches fully into the spotlight to touch the coyote. Rules and codes of propriety fall to the wayside as he reaches beyond the realm of rationality to touch the statue of the trickster. His hands burn as they tint ever so slightly darker under the glare of the spotlight. As soon as his middle finger feels the warmth of the first bead he recoils in shock. “Q- What?!” He falls onto his ass, no time to inspect his decidedly browner hands as the commotion made immediately summons Abuelita Lupe. The elderly attendant meanders as quickly as she can into the showroom, “¿Qué pasó Alan?” Alan flexes his hand in shock. Whatever just happened it can’t be his fault. Surely he didn’t just unprompted mess with some artifact on display. “I, um? No sé?” He pauses, unsure of what he just said, nonsense he thinks. “I mean um, I’m not sure?”

Lupe goes to help him up with what little strength she can muster only for him to wave her off, sure that she would only get in the way. He finds standing takes more effort than usual as he does so with a grunt. Nervously patting him on the back, Lupe asks him if he’s alright after the spill, buzzing around him with concerned pleasantries. Alan doesn't quite hear her as he instead inspects his own body. His clothes are tighter. He stretches and pulls at them, presuming them to just be falling weird on him after the fall. But close inspection shows otherwise. Looking at his cardigan it is clearly strained by his chest and stomach. Blushing at the idea he’s put on weight, Alan crosses his arms and notices how snugly his arms fill the sleeves, how his wrists hang out further than they should, not only that but they are unmistakably darker. Not brown, but without a doubt a few shades darker than his usual porcelain tone.

Recovering from being lost in his thoughts he looks to find Lupe staring, “Oh! Lo, uh sorry. Did you uh, ask me something Senora Carvajal?” Looking down at a sharper angle than he did earlier, he sees the abuela looking at his head with a tilt. “Did you do something different with your hair mijo?” eyes narrowing with concern and suspicion he thrusts his hair into his new curls. He immediately gasps in shock before reconsidering. This is how he’s always looked right?

Thank god his hair is naturally curly so he can just leave them as they fall without much ado. He smiles and shakes his head at Lupe and she nods happily in return. Reaching up she puts her small hand on his bicep and squeezes it, Alan can barely hear her as he is struck with just how powerful his arm seems next to her small hand as she continues, “Well I like it mijo.” With that she aways and leaves Alan be. Having the floor to himself his expression grims as he pulls out his phone to look for a picture of himself. Something is off. His mind tells him everything is normal. When he looks at his hands he sees them as they have always been right? Why would he have a buzz cut when his hair is so naturally nice? Something in his gut screams out that something unnatural is going on. His camera roll should hold proof. Going through his phone he barely holds back a gasp that would surely summon the docent back as he is immediately greeted by a folder of his own nudes.

“Que chingado…” He whispers under his breath as his face burns redder than the scarlet beads on the coyote. He didn’t take these did he? Zooming in he is once more floored to see tattoos on his body. Looking down at his arm he sharply inhales as there's a sting and suddenly his wrist matches the image on his phone. Or no. He’s had that tattoo for years?

Aghast at himself he still feels he wouldn’t have taken these photos of himself. Vain in many ways, his appearance is not one of them. He wonders if he’s been set up or hacked or something before he reminds himself no one would be able to do so without his knowledge. He’s a pro after all. Mind going to his technical skills, his chest puffs with pride as it grows to match the one he finds in the nudes soft-core and otherwise on his phone. Alan quickly shoves it in his pocket, finding it a much tighter fit than when he retrieved it.

Looking around nervously, he walks close to the coyote once more. Narrowing his eyes he feels new memories come to mind from his childhood. Memories of hearing story after story of the trickster, he tilts his head as the slightest whiff of something amiss hides behind them. Staring into the eyes of the beast with suspicion the image of reading Greek mythologies by himself fades away to be replaced by his mother telling him stories from her own childhood. The coyote playing tricks and la Llorona terrorizing their little town just to make sure he stays in line. Alan smiles as he shakes out of the reverie, my mom wasn't morena was she? Headache rising as seconds pass standing near the beast he wanders away, muttering to himself without awareness, “didn’t want him in the main hall anyway.”

His hair continues to thicken and curl darker as he moves deeper into the exhibition space. Scratching at his stubble lost in thought he finds it defining itself into a goatee with a matching mustache. His phone still unlocked in his pocket shifts displays his form as he continues to change unawares. He feels himself begin to sweat intensely as his cardigan grows even tighter. His body decides to ramp up his masculinity as he starts to outright swell with muscle. His whole body twitches larger as he briefly recalls Lupe playfully flexing, “un joven fuerte!” He clicks his tongue and grins as he sees his biceps strain his sweater, almost enough to see his button up through the threads. He fights back a smirk feeling his shirt underneath hug the sides of his chest as his soldiers expand. Feeling his thicker pits start to sweat through said shirt and into the jacket he resolves to remove the cardigan.

His struggled grunts echo through the museum space as he struggles to get the cardigan off over his chest. The sound of fabric tearing rips through the room as stitches finally give way down the whole front of the garment, his pecs bursting larger into the open air. The top few buttons of his dress shirt also explode open as he is finally freed from the constricting sweater, “ayy dios- fuck…” He whispers to himself as he appreciates the ice cold air of the museum on his sweaty skin. The white dress shirt may as well be sheer with his sweat soaking it, allowing any gawkers to easily see tattoos running down his arm and the nipples almost poking through the shirt.

Only briefly does he wonder why he’s not self conscious about being exposed in the gallery before he notices a side-exhibition hall. “Ah si, uh. The temporary exhibit,” he whispers dreamily. Keeping quiet as any respectful museum-goer does. Though he doesn’t quite have the bodily awareness to mute his increasingly loud footsteps, each one growing louder as his upper body expands. He looks up to read the title of the exhibit as the sound of his shoulders widen enough to tear the back of his button up. Marichismo: Taking Back Latino Masculinity. He smirks as he finds the idea compelling, he’s uh, not hispanic of course. Nor has he ever been intrigued by ‘art’ in the slightest, he thinks. But something draws him deeper. Something pulls him further. Something in him begs for more.

His pants creak as he crosses the threshold into the new space, his ass expanding beyond the pale. Similarly does his crotch demand both more room and his attention as Arlad is immediately face to face with a deliberately provocative statue. The blush burning his face is just as soon hidden as his tan grows darker as he’s overwhelmed by everything in front of him. It’s as if Tom of Finland were Chicano. Bulges beyond belief force their way out at every angle. Rigid thick mustaches hang stoic on every face as Arlad feels his own stubble grow darker, thicker, itchier.

The student is torn between instincts, just as he feels increasingly torn between two worlds. His body continues ballooning and his shirt bursts clean off, buttons scatter to the floor and sharp tears launch down his arms. He can’t help but hungrily scan the floorspace as the bright lights bore into him, exposing him as if he were a piece of art on display. He looks down just in time to see his cock burst large enough to blow his zipper out which only addles his mind further, “Tal vez, just a minute…” He wanders into the exhibit hall proper as his eyes finally make the jump into a rich chocolate brown. He trips over his feet, gasping as he feels them stuffed uncomfortably tight in his oxfords before kicking off the shoes altogether. Just as soon do his pants rip off and he is left almost entirely nude in this exhibit hall.

His mouth hangs open as his cock acts almost like a dowsing rod in between pieces. The language in which Arcad thinks rapidly begins to change altogether, already a bilingual medley, with each starved look at photographed vaqueros or bulge forward paintings does English drift farther away. Maintaining fluency in both of course, the man would never let that tongue take predominance over that of his madre y su madre before her. His pecs pump even larger with pride as thick curls begin itching up from his crotch. He scratches at his stomach as he smirks at his body finally getting on brand. This whole show is about displaying masculinity and he needs to be the apex. He needs…

Arcad twitches as these definitive thoughts cut through the fog in which he has been going about. Why does he care so much about this place? He doesn’t like art. Certainly not this uh smut. He twitches as he argues that being provocative is the point, sexualization of the male form is the point. Why could he know that? How does he know anything about this exhibit? Looking around at the photographs he sees men who are almost a parody of masculinity. Fighting back the overwhelming pervasive horniness issuing forth from balls bulging larger he takes a deep breath and ignores the temple to the male form around him.

It’s impossible for him to notice as his thoughts crest fully into español. After all it simply is the language in which he has always thought, no matter what his teachers demand of him. Back to the matter at hand he is struck with the urge to create. Mierda- this exhibition really inspired him, he should really write an essay about this. Or, no. He moans and clutches at his temples as the shining lights out of sight gleam even brighter, sparkling off his sweaty muscled form as he’s racked with the pain of opposing realities. No, that isn’t right. He doesn’t do essays anymore. That’s not how he creates.

Memories of long hours at the lab and in dark rooms sitting at a keyboard dissipate. Haughty superiority over fields and forms he deems insignificant thankfully blast away as images of the photographs and artworks around him come to mind with an ease that makes him uneasy. Creeping in from the edges of his lived memory are other exhibits, many that he has visited, some that he has put on of his own accord.

Tattoos continue to drip down his arm as his treasure trail rushes onto his chest, blooming out to cover his pecs. The space in between his mustache and goatee is quickly filled, as are the entirety of his cheeks as his eyes shut even tighter. Independent muscle groups twitch as his body struggles to forge him even larger, to be more. The lengthy curls on his head fall away as his head returns to a buzz cut, this time black as the night. This time impossibly deliberate.

Arcadio buzzed it himself, he loved his curls. But he knew for this exhibition he had to sacrifice. Anything for his art. The phrase burns across his mind, Marichismo. It, it was his exhibition. Arcadio opens his eyes to find himself standing across from an oppressive statue staring down at him in disdain. His blood boils as his fight or flight activates. Though staying strong he just clenches his fist as his body bulges larger one last time. “Papa.” He made that statue, he isn’t about to be shoved around by his own art. The feeling of confidence filling him at standing up against the domineering statue is more than he could have held within him as Allan. Reverbs of confidence go through his psyche as he finally gets it. Turning around the confidence that fills him rapidly dissipates as he sees a man posing like a dog.

He exercised complete creative control of the exhibition, but did he take this? Memories of being behind the lens of the camera dance through his mind for most of the images, this one seems obscured. He ignores the cold sudden sting of a nose ring as he leans in close to inspect it, smirking all the while. Who’d he get to model this? Looking at the jockstrap he nods approvingly, mierda it is certainly hot though. His underwear stretches to its absolute limit as he forces his large hand down to paw his cock at the image. Looking down at his hairy forearm he gasps as he sees the tattoo on his forearm perfectly matches that of the model.

At that moment his underwear burst free from his body and he suddenly realizes that being nude in this space is far worse a breach of etiquette than touching that coyote. Arcadio sprints to his bag and digs around for anything he could possibly use to hide his still bulging cock at half mast. “¡Gracias a dios!” he whispers under his breath as he wraps a towel around his waist, perfectly mimicking a photograph behind him. He smirks at the man thinking how proud Jose will be when he gets to see himself on a gallery wall. Arcadio grunts and clenches his head as memories of the man ahead of him fill his mind. Lightheaded he leans against the wall grimacing as he leads a sweaty handprint on the pristine white wall.

Turning around seeing the exhibit hall as a whole he almost falls over with a rush of memories. Advanced math and the life he once lived as Allan are dust in the wind as his childhood growing up the son of first generation immigrants in San Antonio rises to take their place. Living alone with his mother before his abuela moved up from Mexico to help raise him as if he were her son. Understanding himself and the world around him as he discovered who he was and what he had to do. Finally achieving success, winning grants, booking galleries as an artist. Not too bad for a maricon eh? He winks at the statue of his father, smirking as he feels his power as a man and artist grow.

Looking down at some engineering homework scattered from his bag the last pangs of a headache buzzes through him before he shakes his head and the work is gone. The last shreds of a life he once lived dissipate. Walking out into the lobby he sees his abuelita. She smiles at the massive man before adjusting her glasses and shouting out, “¡Ay! ¿Qué estás haciendo? ¡Ponte algo de ropa! (What are you doing! Put some clothes on!)” Arcadio laughs and waves her off, knowing the museum is closed while he preps his exhibition for opening tomorrow.

His new voice is rich on his tongue as he speaks up, “Espero que les guste. La universidad no sabe lo que pagaron ¡ja! (Hope they like it. The uni doesn’t know what they paid for ha!)” His abuelita clicks her tongue, she loves her grandson more than the world but boy if he hasn’t made her old beyond her years. She digs through the lost and found next to her for something that might fit her larger than life grandson and throws it at him. The man laughs and his abuelita can’t help but join in the reverie. She wouldn’t dream of going through his exhibit- que obsceno, que cachondo! But he could do no real wrong in her eyes. So far he’s blown her expectations out of the water with his success and she can’t wait to see what Arcadio gets up to next.

#male tf #racial change #mental change #masculinization #hair growth #muscle tf #reality change #cultural change #male transformation

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harmonysanreads · 9 days ago

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You remember the first time Phainon said your name with a vexing clarity.

Well, ‘announced with all the vigor of a gorilla in its prime’ would be a more accurate description of that moment, not that you can word this out loud in front of ordinary folk — not anymore. What beget that incident and how he came to know of your identity are details even you question currently.

Exhilarating is the simplest (and most positive) word to describe the experience with the Chrysos Heir, being in his presence is no less riveting than witnessing a blood-warming battle straight from Castrum Kremnos. As such, against your judgement and awareness, it seemed that most things became a blur whenever he was nearby.

Not that it stirs an affirmative thrill in your arteries now. It did back then ; when he'd so brazenly dedicated his victory to your name in front of hundreds, nay, thousands of citizens, uncaring of the uncertain state of your acquaintanceship. You recall being more confused than overjoyed at the seemingly once-in-a-lifetime event of a Hero's attention falling upon you. But that, too, was swept by the tide of envious curiosity of the people of Okhema soon.

You don't blame them, you'd question if a nobody became the subject of reverence of a hero so suddenly as well. But that didn't mean you were no less annoyed by it, especially as it seemed that Phainon had no intention of quitting this practice. Every spar, every small victory towards the Flame-Chase and even the most random of achievements — he'd dedicate to you, the declarations becoming bolder each time.

You don't even need to ask what exactly you did to have him so invested, he has scarce control of his mouth when it concerns you. Do you believe the things he says though? That criteria, will not be met regardless of how sincere the Hero appears to be. You're not someone who's had to mingle with people of this volume, the invisible pushes to step into Phainon's world, direct or indirect, do not soothe your nerves in the slightest.

Ballads speak of the distant days when the sun used to kiss the soil of Amphoreus, but you weren't fortunate enough to witness those times. You've been reprimanded in a recent style lately though, your surroundings are quick to point at the dawn-incarnate, dashing specimen of a hero who's illuminated your once dull life and wonder so starry-eyed how grateful you must feel.

You used to roll your eyes at these whispers for a short frame of time. But as whispers ascended to theater and people eagerly awaited to spectate the turns of your ‘love story’, you really started to feel grateful. Not because you were pleased with your situation, but because of the support Phainon had provided throughout. He'd commented lightly once, you aren't built for such a harsh life. You deserve to recline, let others — him do the heavy-lifting and indulge yourself.

You tried your utmost to prove this redundant hypothesis incorrect. But dogs, once sufficiently attached, will always return to the master no matter how far one throws the toy. In moments of vulnerability, if even darkness helps, people will cling to it. And if it is the sun, they'll embrace blindness against the wishes of their conscience.

In Amphoreus, there goes the tale of the valiant hero and the beloved he's claimed as his life. Only in moments of clarity do you recall, it is nothing but the recounting of your immurement.

#the way phainon introduces himself as “phainon of aedes elysiae” made me think #yan phainon declares his adoration with pride. because he feels alive and guided by remembering the things he's affectionate towards #or so i think orz #yandere phainon #yandere phainon x reader #phainon x reader #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #phainon brainrot #phainon

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 8 months ago

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.⋆｡Forgotten｡⋆.

Bruce Wayne x plus size reader

To love Bruce was risky and it was exhilarating but you weren’t ready to deal with its consequences when everything suddenly changed.

Warnings: angst, amnesia, injuries, unplanned pregnancy, fluff, i couldn’t help but add bat family shenanigans, hints of smut, scarecrow fear toxin, mentions of self-harm as a result of toxin, hospital visits/health scare, happy endings baby, age difference WC: 7k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

You knew Bruce Wayne.

You knew the depth of blue in his eyes, the placement of every scar and mole and freckle on his body, the little cowlick at the back of his head that would only appear when he had gone too long without a haircut.

You knew he liked tea but only when he didn’t have meetings, his right shoulder locked up when it was cold and wet, he hated the beach but loved the ocean, he regularly brought home stray animals until he was 12, and he was a hopeless romantic.

And you loved each other deeply, so deeply that you felt like there was no colour in your world before him and he had no light in his before you. It had started out simply enough, you were his secretary. Fresh from your Masters program, you needed a job and he needed a new assistant after the retirement of his last one. You were hired on the spot with the promise that it would only be temporary until you got a job in your field. But that was almost 4 years ago now and you had no intention of leaving the man you had fallen so hard for, he guiltily admitted once that he did not want you to leave either.

There were countless date nights and sleepovers, weekend getaways and times where you would spend the entire day naked in bed. You saw each other almost every day and yet it ached when you were apart for even just a few minutes.

But no one else knew.

Besides the fact that he was your boss and 10 years older than you, Bruce wanted to shield you both from his life as Batman and from the public eye. And you were terrified of the judgement of his family especially given that there was only a couple of years difference between you and his oldest kid. And it was fine, for a while at least. You got to exist in this perfect little bubble of love with the only man you could envision a future with, away from the harshness of your lives.

As it must, the real world crashes down upon your little bubble, shattering it.

“Bruce! You have a meeting!” His teeth sunk into the column of your throat with a discontented grunt as he pressed his hips even closer to your own, his arms winding around your plush middle.

“They’re not as important as this.” The tip of his nose brushed against your pulse. You let yourself melt into his strong hold for just a moment, savouring the feel of his toned body against you like you always did when Bruce lathered you with attention. With one last squeeze around your torso, Bruce reluctantly let you go. His huge hands lingered on your wide hips as you shifted so you were now facing him.

“You’ve blown them off three times already, you have to go.” You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing along the 5 o’clock shadow that was already growing along his jaw.

“I’d rather you blow me off instead, sunny.” You smacked his chest as Bruce chuckled.

“Alright rein it in big boy, you’ll get your fill of me soon enough.”

“I think you’ll find that it’s me that does the filling.” You glared at him and stepped away, making his hands fall from your body.

“Go, before I start to rethink about our ~plans~ for the weekend.”

“Oh you fucking vixen. If I can sneak away from the boys tonight, you’re gonna be eating those words.” You spun on your heel, letting Bruce get a good look at your ass in the tight work skirt you knew he loved on you.

“I think you’ll find that you’ll be the one who will be eating. I’ll see you tomorrow Mr Wayne.” You cooed, not bothering to look back at him as you left Bruce standing in the middle of the hallway with a stunned expression and a straining in his pants.

——————

You were getting nervous now. You hadn’t seen Bruce in almost a week, which wasn’t unusual considering his ‘nightlife’ but to have no communication from him at all? That was completely out of the ordinary. There had been a message left on your office phone from his butler that Bruce had some business to attend to and would be unreachable for the foreseeable future but the way your stomach twisted in fear told you that something else was going on. He did not, in fact, sneak away that night to see you nor come to your apartment over the weekend as you both had planned. But there was nothing you could do without exposing your relationship.

So, you did what you could to keep WE functioning without him: misdirecting calls, charming impatient board members, even sending phoney emails from his account to placate people as with each passing day, that little spark of anxiety grew into a blazing fire.

Then, at promptly 9 am on the sixth day of Bruce’s disappearance, your routine was disrupted once more. You were typing away at your computer, having been in the office for almost an hour already, when you heard the elevator doors slide open and the click of men’s formal shoes against the tile. You eyed the bottle of Tylenol on your desk, anticipating yet another headache from some prissy rich boy who couldn’t take no for an answer. But you froze as soon as an imposing figure turned the corner.

Your breath caught at the sight of him. Mostly unharmed, save for the wicked looking cut across his left eyebrow, he was dressed the same way he normally would, but there was something about his posture that was completely wrong.

“Bruce.” Your legs shook as you rose to your feet. His steely gaze flicked to you as he nodded politely, not even missing a beat in his stride.

“Miss Y/L/N.” His office door slammed shut behind him and you felt your heart splinter. Silence washed over the hall and for just a moment, you could almost believe that he had been a hallucination that your anxiety ridden mind had conjured up. The ping of an email notification from your computer broke you out of your desperate reasoning and suddenly you were following his steps.

Your knuckles curled over the steak knob, just as you had done so many times in the past and you pushed open the door. Bruce looked up from the pile of papers that you had left on his own desk over the past week, brandishing you with a look far more harsh than he had ever given you before.

“Bruce, what’s going on? You’ve been gone for days with no calls, no texts. I’ve been worried sick.” His jaw clenched, sending a shot of panic up your spine.

“Miss Y/L/N I don’t know where this feeling of entitlement has come from. What I do with my time is none of your business. I am your boss- not your friend and I would keep that in mind if you wish to keep your job.” He snarled. You physically recoiled as if he had struck you, unconsciously taking a step backwards. “Please refrain from using my first name, this is a place of business.”

Never, in your many years of working for this man, who was now a stranger, did he ever speak to you with such contempt, even hatred. And it broke your heart.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed down tears. “Of course Mr Wayne, I apologise for my unprofessionalism.” He grunted in acknowledgement. Your hands shook as you closed the door to his office, shutting yourself out from the man you loved with every piece of you.

——————

There was no greater torture than this, you thought, to watch as your soulmate iced you out until you couldn’t remember what his warmth had felt like. When was the last time his name slipped past your lips or when yours escaped his. You were forced to see him almost every day and yet, he was more like a ghost to you.

He wouldn’t even speak to you anymore. At first, he kept his interactions with you to a few words in the mornings when he arrived and evenings when he would leave. But as the weeks carried on, he spoke less and less until he would barely even look at you as he passed.

Your chest burned with thousands of questions, each breath laced with the poison of doubt and fear. You wished for this behaviour to be some sick dream, oftentimes you thought that this could be a result of Scarecrow’s fear drug. But when you awoke each morning, you knew, deep down, that this was very real. You could only wonder if this was an inevitable fate that you were meant to suffer for loving someone as unobtainable as Bruce was.

You had known since the very first moment that his blue eyes held something more than friendship for you, that your love for him would always be greater than he would ever hold for you. You knew this, and yet you didn’t think you would have to accept such a devastating truth so soon. You were greedy for him and perhaps, you had taken too much.

“Y/L/N.” The sudden call of your name snapped you from your spiral of self-pity. You looked up and met the bright green eyes of the youngest Wayne. The ever-frowning Damian was now glaring at you, an almost perfect replica of his father. “Where is my father?”

“He’s-“ You cleared your throat, feeling incredibly uncomfortable under the 10 year old’s scrutinising gaze. “He’s in his office. You can go right in.” Damian observed you for another moment before he turned his nose up and walked past you. You breathed a sigh of relief as the door behind you opened and closed, seemingly leaving you alone once more.

“Are you quite alright Miss Y/N?”

“Jesus!” You yelped in surprise, clutching your chest. The ever present force of Alfred looked down at you, lips pursed in concern. “Sorry, I didn’t see you come in.”

“I believe it is I who should be apologising, I didn’t mean to frighten you. But, are you very sure you’re ok? You seem to be out of sorts.” He stepped closer, placing Damian’s jacket on the coat rack just beside the office door.

You waved him off, your throat suddenly thick with emotion. Alfred had always been immensely kind to you in the fleeting encounters you’d had with the man. And for a while, you believed that he knew about you and Bruce, but since he had been acting the same way since Bruce’s unexplained absence, you were obviously wrong.

With a glance over your shoulder, as if to double check that your boss wasn’t listening in, you grabbed your purse from the floor and quickly slung it over your shoulder. “He doesn’t have any other meetings today so I think I may leave early. It was nice to see you, Alfred.”

And before he could even get a single word of protest out, you had already dashed to the elevator and slipped inside. As the reflective doors shut, you were able to catch the way Alfred frowned, his brown eyes dark as he watched you run.

You managed to hold off your sobs until you were safely in your car. Grief wrapped around your chest like a snake, slowly crushing your ribs inwards until all you could manage was small gasps of air as you slowly drowned in it. It was all getting too much, Bruce and work and this stupid fucking nausea that kept showing up at the worst times.

The stress was going to wear you down until you were nothing and what did you get out of it? A boss that couldn’t even look you in the eye even after years of sharing your life and your bed with him. He was acting like he didn’t even know your first name. You couldn’t keep doing this to yourself.

Tears still rolled down your rounded cheeks as the car’s engine turned over and you pulled out of your designated spot. The white paint that they used to write your name was chipping away, leaving a faded imprint of each letter like a child’s chalk drawing that was being washed away.

Your hiccuping sobs were slowly dying down until you pulled into your apartment complex and a notification appeared on your phone. The screen lit up the inside of your car, immediately drawing your attention to it.

‘Your period is 6 weeks late, is it stress or something more?’

——————

Silence in the office was not unusual for the top floor of Wayne Enterprises, though a complete lack of any noise was deeply concerning. Bruce once again glanced over his monitor to the open door where your vacant desk was clearly visible. His eyes flicked to the time displayed on the screen in front of him, you were over a half hour late and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.

Just as Bruce was reaching over for his phone, you turned the corner. Your heels, far smaller than you normally wore he noted, clacked against the flooring as you strode towards him. Before you could spot him looking at you, he forced his gaze back down to the spreadsheets he hadn’t even bothered to read when he arrived this morning. His stomach fluttered as he heard you enter his office. Bruce tried to swallow the feeling down like he always did when you were around.

“I’m resigning.” His neck audibly popped as his head snapped up, suddenly all of his attention on you. Your hands trembled as you put a sheet of paper on his desk and quickly took a step back like a deer preparing to run. Bruce kept his eyes on you, the muscle in his jaw rolling as he bit back a thousand questions.

“I’m assuming this is effective immediately?” You nodded while he leaned back in his chair as nonchalantly as he could. “Is there any reason why? I thought you were happy working here.”

Your left eye twitched but you steeled yourself with a deep breath. “I’m not obligated to tell you the reason why I’m leaving, just as you promised when you hired me. I have responsibilities elsewhere. I left candidates for your next secretary on my desk.” You turned on your heel, intent on leaving as quickly as you possibly could.

“Wait-“ Bruce darted out of his seat, sending it flying back as he rushed forwards. “Please I just want to know why, I think I deserve that much.” His large hand wrapped around your wrist in an iron grip, forcing you to stop your retreat.

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that Bruce.” You didn’t even bother to look at him as you spoke. “I really thought you were different. But obviously, I was wrong. You’re so selfish and cruel and I made the mistake of falling in love with you.”

He stumbled back as you finally met his gaze. Your eyes were burning with a loathing that sent a chill to his bones. “So no, you don’t deserve to know why I’m leaving. Be glad I even did you the courtesy of giving you my resignation in writing.” You yanked your hand from his hold. “Goodbye Mr Wayne. Don’t contact me.”

And then you stormed out of his life, leaving the feared Bat of Gotham confused and with a massive pit in his heart.

——————

“Okay, so we agree that this isn’t an invasion of anyone’s privacy, Y/N or B’s, because it’s for the sake of the greater good.” Dick made eye contact with each of his younger siblings as if to reinforce this statement.

“Yeah cause if B doesn’t stop moping around and nagging us, I will actually kill him.” Jason quipped from where he was perched on the fire escape. Cass nodded in agreement from beside the bigger man as Steph snorted under her breath.

“I’m just here for the drama. I’ve never seen him acting like a moody teenager before. Babs wants me to keep her updated.” Dick sighed heavily, deciding to ignore her comment as he continued to address the others.

“We stay hidden and only observe. Got that Damian?”

“Why am I being singled out when Drake was the one that hacked into her medical records?”

“For the last time, it wasn’t her medical records, it was just her employment records!”

“Like that’s any better.” Tim glared at Duke.

“You’re the one who snitched.”

“Hey!” Dick stepped in before they could escalate their little squabble, “That doesn’t matter now. What does matter is finding out exactly what happened to make Y/N quit and B so fucking miserable.”

“Ooo golden boy swore, guess that means it’s serious.” Jason jostled Cass with his shoulder as she giggled quietly. Dick rolled his eyes.

“If you’re not gonna take this seriously, you can just go home.” Red Hood rose to his feet, his gloved hands raised in surrender.

“I am taking this seriously, I just also enjoy annoying you. It’s called multitasking.”

“Father is fine. I don’t understand why this is necessary.” Damian huffed from his place at Dick’s side. He had been adamant that nothing was wrong with Bruce, even after the increased number of injuries he had been receiving on a nightly basis and a general disinterest in anything besides crime fighting. All the kids knew that it was a problem but Damian got to go on more patrols so he was content.

“Because demon brat, ever since Y/N quit, he’s been in an awful-ass mood and has been making it our problem. I would rather not have the old man keep sticking his nose in my business just because he’s cranky.”

“And-“ Duke shot Jason a look, “he’s getting extremely reckless. We’ve all seen the amount of med supplies he’s been going through. If we don’t find out what’s going on, he’s gonna end up in a body bag.” Silence fell upon the rooftop.

We can help both of them. Cass signed. I really liked Y/N. She was nice.

Tim cleared his throat. “So, can we go now? The longer we’re not responding to Alfred, the more chance B comes after us.” Dick put his hand on Damian’s shoulder.

“Tim’s right. We stay low and we stay quiet. Duke, Jay you two go on ahead and we’ll follow behind. Do not engage and don’t be creepy.” He spoke specifically to Jason.

“This whole thing is fucking creepy but fine, I guess I won’t look in her nightstand.” And before Dick could even open his mouth to scold his younger brother, he was gone over the side of the building. Duke shrugged and followed after, his footsteps silent beneath the sounds of the city.

Damian jerked forwards but Nightwing’s grip on his shoulder kept him stuck to the spot. “You’re with Steph. You two keep an ear open for the big man but other than that, stay off the comms. Cass, Tim with me, we’ll cover the street and then come up behind.” Cass nodded and pulled her mask up higher over her nose, following after her older brothers.

“Are you sure about this Dick? If we’re wrong-“

“I know T, but what if we’re right? Something happened between those two and maybe, we can make it right. B isn’t himself and it’s affecting all of us.” Dick then released his youngest brother. “Remember, stay out of sight.”

As soon as he disappeared into the night, Stephanie muttered. “This is bullshit.”

“I agree.”

Your apartment was easy to find— the 7th floor of a relatively upscale building, one that was suspiciously out of your price range. Jason raised an eyebrow at the double glazed window panes as well as the discreet sill reinforcements he could just make out around the edges of the glass.

“She’s either extremely paranoid or someone else is.” Duke grunted in agreement.

“Think B is behind it?”

Jason shrugged as he lowered himself down onto the steel grate of the fire escape that snaked past the apartment’s windows. “That or she’s got a hell of a lot more secrets than we thought.” Duke dropped down beside him, the two of them moving in sync along the catwalk.

The kitchen was dark, as was the living room. Duke’s head jerked to the right, drawing Jason’s eyes to the soft glow coming from the last window. He gently squeezed the shorter man’s shoulder as he slipped past.

Jason pressed his bulk against the naked brick and crept his way forwards, keeping to the shadows as much as he could. Thin curtains covered the window from the inside, but it did nothing to hinder his view of the brightly lit bedroom.

You were sitting in a rocking chair in the corner of the room, eyes locked onto a small black and white photo in your right hand. Your left gently cradled your belly, your thumb gently brushing over the soft layer of fat. Even through the haze of the sheer curtains, the sadness on your face was as clear as day.

Jason’s own eyes narrowed in on the image in your hand before he stumbled backwards, almost falling from the fire escape. His neck clicked as his eyes met Signal’s who was suddenly standing ram-rod straight.

“Holy shit she’s pregnant.” But before Duke or Jason could even begin to comprehend the magnitude of their discovery, the bedroom window slammed open and suddenly, you and the Red Hood were face-to-face.

“Do you all want to come in for tea or should I tell you to fuck off now?”

“Huh, I guess she did have some secrets.” You moved out of the way, letting Duke slip into the warm apartment and leaving Jason stunned for only a second before he clicked on his com system.

“Yo, we’ve been caught.” And then he followed behind.

The bedroom was smaller than he thought it would be, but it was cosy. A thick duvet on the bed, a candle on the vanity in the corner. It was… nice. Duke had already made himself comfortable at the kitchen counter by the time Jason stepped out of the bedroom. The thick black and yellow helmet he donned was neatly placed on the chair beside him.

“Dude.” Jason whined but his little brother only smiled at him, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Would you like milk in your tea Jason?”

“What the fu- goddamnit. Yes and honey too please.” You hummed softly and set the kettle on the stove.

“I take it the same way. Mugs are in the cabinet above the sink, grab them for me. Duke, would you mind opening the front door, I’d rather not have mud tracked into my bedroom.” The teen dutifully stalked off as Jason retrieved said mugs and set them down on the counter. His own helmet soon joined his brother’s as he leaned against the wall across from you.

You continued to fuss about the kitchen, pulling out some biscuits and sugar as well. “It’s Bruce’s isn’t it?” Your body stuttered but you were quickly composed once more, though you did not look Jason’s way.

“I think you already know the answer to that.” He lurched forward as if he were about to defend his adoptive father but then just as suddenly, he leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Jesus. I just thought you got sick of him.” You chuckled under your breath though it was plain enough that there was no joy in it. You looked truly exhausted as you placed a tea bag in each mug, the dark circles that marred your face almost broke Jason’s heart.

“You’ll find that it’s the other way around.” But before he could open his mouth to object, the rest of his siblings burst into the apartment, led by a frazzled Dick.

“How!”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t yell in my apartment Richard, I don’t want a noise complaint.” Dick’s jaw shut with an audible click, his shoulders slouching in defeat.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good dog.” Steph cooed as she strutted past, her own mask already off and safely tucked into her belt. She gunned straight for the freshly poured tea. The others shambled around the stunned man, each finding their own spot in your apartment.

The air was stale with questions that none of them wanted to ask though the answers were obvious. Damian settled himself beside you, the top of his head just barely peeking out over the top of the stone counter. The blank white eyes of his mask were fixed on the steaming mugs.

“This is acceptable.” This time your laugh was genuine as you gently pushed the largest mug towards the 10 year old who quickly snatched it off the counter. Jason noticed the way the tension in your shoulders gradually eased as each of his siblings took their own tea, filling the room with quiet murmurings.

Dick was the last to approach you. “So you know.”

You nodded and offered him his own cup. “I know. Figured it out pretty soon after I was hired.”

He gratefully took the mug, letting its warmth seep into his gloved hands as he sank onto a chair from the dining room. You smiled sweetly at him before your attention was pulled away by Steph who interpreted for Cass. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You shrugged, the fingers of your left hand brushed against the swell of your belly. “What could I have said ‘hey I know you and your kids dress up in costumes and run around Gotham at night punching people, anyway, can you sign this document?’. Bruce- Mr Wayne and I had an understanding; I don’t mention the whole bat thing and he actually starts doing work and showing up on time. Plus a great health care package.”

“Apparently that wasn’t the only package you were getting.” The words had barely left Jason’s mouth before Cass slapped the back of his head, hard. “Fuck! What was that for?” She gave him a withering look then met your eyes once more with a silent apology.

You smiled at her and continued. “I wouldn’t put it as crassly but yes, we were together. Our anniversary was supposed to be next week.”

“And now you’re pregnant.” You nodded at Duke.

“I’m 12 weeks as of yesterday.”

Tim cleared his throat but kept his eyes locked on his now empty mug. “There was an incident during patrol a few weeks ago. Bruce got hit with a new serum scarecrow had been developing and- it was really bad. He threw himself at walls and us, screaming about how he needed pain. We were only able to stop him when he knocked himself out on a pipe. He was in really bad shape, when he finally woke up after three days, he couldn’t even remember his own name.

“We all had to come home and essentially re-introduce ourselves to him but he did remember us, some just took longer than others. He recognised Cass as soon as she smiled at him while it took Dick swinging from the chandelier in the dining room for it to click.” Dick’s cheeks warmed in embarrassment.

“I did what I had to do.”

“Tt, you just wished to show off Grayson.” Damian chose to speak up then, making you jump as his voice was far closer than it had been a few minutes before. The youngest Wayne now stood at your hip, barely an inch of space between the two of you. “Father remembered me the quickest.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah definitely, it had nothing to do with you getting upset and throwing a temper tantrum for him to remember.” Damian glared at his older brother but made no move to stray from your side.

“Anyway.” Tim continued. “After what happened we’ve been trying to help him but-“

“He’s fucking miserable.” Duke interrupted, “He has been since the accident and even more so after you quit. At least hear him out.” Duke leaned forward, planting his elbows onto the kitchen counter. “At least you should tell him about the baby so he could help support you.” His voice strained like he was on the edge of tears.

“Your father doesn’t owe me anything. I was greedy and I took too much. I-“ You choked on your words and suddenly, you were just a heartbroken girl standing in front of them. “I just want peace now so I think it would be best if you all forgot about me, about this. I get that you want to protect your father and under any other circumstance, I would agree with you but even if what you said is true, then why hasn’t he remembered me? We were together for almost four years, and saw each other every day. If he needed to see me to jog his memory or talk to me then that would’ve been solved the day he walked back into the office. He doesn’t want to remember- he doesn’t want me.”

No one spoke until you cleared your throat and turned towards the kitchen sink, your back now to the whole group. “I think you all should leave. Just forget tonight ever happened. We’re not your concern and we certainly aren’t Bruce’s. I appreciate that you all care so much but I don’t think this is something that can be fixed.”

“But-“ Steph tried.

“Please, go. This hurts enough as it is, don’t make it worse.”

Dick sighed. “She’s right. Let’s give her some space. C’mon.” You ignored the way their pitying looks burned against the back of your neck as they each walked out the door, donning their masks once more until Dick was the last one in your apartment. “Here’s my number, call if you need anything at all. And I mean anything, even if it’s for stupid cravings. You may think that Bruce abandoned you but I won’t.”

He gave your shoulder a friendly squeeze before slipping out behind his siblings.

You waited until the door shut to finally cry, not knowing that all the kids could hear you.

——————

“Do you ever want to tell them about us?” Your voice was soft, as if you were whispering a dark secret. Bruce’s heart thumped loudly beneath your ear as you rested on his naked chest. You traced the pale lines of scars that littered his torso, occasionally pressing soft kisses to his overheated skin.

His large hand cupped the back of your head as he let his lips brush against your crown. “Maybe one day princess. But I want to keep you to myself just a bit longer.” You wanted to protest but the fight was quickly stolen from you as Bruce rolled you onto your back, slotting himself between your plump thighs as you felt him harden once more. “Let me spoil my girl in peace.” Any protests you had were quickly drowned out as he pulled moans from you.

Bruce lurched up with a gasp, desperately trying to suck in oxygen as the dream replayed in his mind. It felt so real but there is no way that it could be, he would’ve remembered it by now if it was.

“Fuck.” His ribs screamed in protest at his violent awakening. Even a month after his run in with the Scarecrow, his body was barely recovering and he could feel pieces of his mind that had still yet to fit themselves back into place.

The blaring green light from the clock on his nightstand told him that he had only been asleep for an hour, an improvement after he recovered from the concussion but still not great. The cold hardwood sent a jolt of alertness up his spine, but did nothing to subdue the torrent of images that flashed in his mind every time he so much as blinked.

The curve of your shoulder as water droplets ran down your back.

Bruce rocked his weight forward and stood with a groan.

Your thick thighs wrapped around his hips as he gripped you by the waist and thrust downwards.

He slipped a shirt over his shoulders, and tugged on a pair of sweats as he headed for the door to his bedroom.

Candle light flickering across your face as you cradled him against your chest, his lips branding every inch of skin he could reach.

“What a fucking pervert.” He snarled to himself. All you had ever been was kind to him, and respectful. And yet he was imagining you in his bed. Not only in his bed, some twisted part of his mind coos. His nails bit into his palm as he swallowed thickly.

It started the first day back after his ‘accident’. Bruce vaguely knew who you were, fleeting memories of your job interview and casual conversations at the beginning of the work day. Alfred had told him of your intelligence and hard work but none of his family could recall anything other than a professional relationship between the two of you.

The second he saw you, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He wanted to touch you, kiss you, just be in your presence but how could he? You were young, his secretary and you would be in danger if he indulged. And still, you remained.

For weeks, Bruce buried himself in the mystery of you. He needed to know what it was about you that captivated him. Yet none of the information he uncovered gave him answers and you still remained in his dreams. He pushed himself into patrols, into training and work. He had already been on the end of dozens of lectures from Alfred and Dick (and one very strange one from Damian), he kept pushing on.

The cave’s chill sliced through him as Bruce stepped from the elevator and he was greeted by the sight of his oldest and youngest bickering by the huge wall of monitors. He ignored them.

The police scanner was suspiciously silent as he took a seat in front of his workbench. “You shut off the alert system.” His voice was raspy from disuse but it immediately silenced his boys and drew their gaze to him.

“Grayson did it. I was just informing him how irresponsible he’s being.”

“And I was telling Damian that you need a break, desperately.”

“Chum-“

“No. I’m serious Bruce, you’re actively fucking killing yourself and I won’t let you. Jason and Cass are covering your patrols for the foreseeable future and you are staying put. I am sick of this stupid self-destruction rampage you’re going on.”

Dick’s phone suddenly rang, the default tone echoing around the cave for a moment before he fished it from his pocket and answered. “Grayson.” As the person on the other end spoke, his eyebrows scrunched and his jaw tightened.

“Which hospital are they taking you to? Ok, I’ll meet you there, just keep breathing, everything's going to be fine.” The line went dead. Dick regarded his father with a look. “I have to go but this is not the end of this conversation.” Before he could take a step towards the exit, Damian grabbed his brother’s hand.

“Is Y/N hurt?” There were moments like this where Dick cursed the fact that his little brother was so observant. He could see Bruce sit up, his focus no longer on the work in front of him.

“She’s fine, just a little scared but she’ll be alright.”

Then Damian did something so dumb, Dick knew that it was on purpose. “Is the baby ok?”

There was a beat, then another as he waited on his father’s reaction. Damian had already tried to jog his memory on the topic of you but nothing ever worked and he only succeeded in pissing off his siblings who tried to get him to understand that it wasn’t his decision to make. “The baby?” Bruce whispered like the air had just been knocked from his lungs.

Dick’s temples pulsed with the beginning of a migraine and he glowered at the young boy. “The baby is fine, they’re gonna run some tests. You stay here and we’re going to have a very long talk when I get back.”

“Y/N’s pregnant?” He ignored his father and instead shook off Damian before he jogged to the elevator. So instead Bruce looked to the boy that stood alone in front of the wall of glowing monitors. “Is-is the baby-“

“It appears as though I won’t be the youngest any longer. If you run, you could catch up.”

Bruce’s stomach dropped. “I-“

Damian glared at him. “Go.”

——————

“I’m only taking you because I think that you’re still listed as her emergency contact so I need you in order to visit.” Bruce nodded solemnly as Dick pulled into a parking spot in the hospital garage. “You will not talk to her, you won’t even fucking look at her.” He took his father’s silence as agreement.

The powerful engine cut off and without another word, he stepped from the car, expecting Bruce to follow behind. Bruce had always hated hospitals, the air too stale from all the cleaning chemicals they used, the silence, the blinding lights. But if you were here, he would spend the rest of his life on the uncomfortable waiting room chairs just to make sure you were safe.

“I’m here to see Y/N Y/L/N, she called me from the ambulance.” The older nurse at the check-in desk raised her eyebrow at the pair.

“She’s in room 335. Down the hall, third door on your right.”

“Thank you.” Bruce trailed along behind his son, the questions in his mind building up higher and higher with each step he took. But all he could concentrate on was if you were ok.

Dick gave him a warning look as they reached the room. “It’s me, can I come in?” There was a muffled response and then Dick slipped inside, quickly shutting the door behind him.

The hall was now only filled with the beeping machines from other rooms and the occasional call over the pa system, leaving nothing to distract Bruce from the fear that curled around his heart. He knew what he was going to do was a bad idea, one that could have the potential to destroy not only any redemption with you but might fracture the already tumultuous relationship he had with his son.

But he had to see you, just once.

As quietly as he could, Bruce grabbed the door handle and slowly pushed his way in, praying that the hinges didn’t squeak.

“I’m ok, I just got a bit dizzy and fell down like 1 step. I think the ambulance was totally unnecessary.”

Dick shook his head. “Will you just let someone take care of you for once?”

You chuckled softly and took his hand in such a maternal fashion, it made Bruce’s heart lurch in his chest. “I called, didn't I?”

The door swung fully open, hitting the wall behind with a resounding thud. Both your attentions snapped to Bruce.

You sat up in bed on the opposite side of the room, dressed in a flimsy hospital gown and illuminated by harsh lights but you were still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Your fading smile was tired and your eyes bloodshot from crying and Bruce realised that you were comforting Dick, not the other way around. He hadn’t seen you smile in so long.

“Why is he here?” You hissed and visibly curled in on yourself, arms around your stomach.

“Bruce-“

“I know you.”

He knew each dip and bump and curve of your soft body, the colour of your eyes in the sun and how different they were under fluorescent lights, which hairstyle you wore indicating what mood you were in.

He knew your insecurities and your trauma, you hated humidity but didn’t mind the heat, the names of all your plants, and the way you would smile just a bit brighter and just a bit wider when children or animals were around.

He knew you loved him.

Bruce Wayne knew he loved you.

“I-I know you.” His voice shook as he took a step towards you yet this time, you didn’t flinch away. “Sunny. My sun. My light.”

“Bruce.” A tear rolled down your cheek.

“I’m so sorry.” He fell to his knees beside you, his head bowed. “I’m sorry my love. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t- Why couldn’t I remember?” He sobbed.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Your fingers, your perfect delicate fingers, brushed away his tears before you gently cupped his cheeks, lifting his gaze back up to meet yours.

“I was so horrible to you, I didn’t know. And you’re- god you’re pregnant.” His hands slid up the side of the bed, cupping your thigh over the scratchy hospital blankets. You nodded and guided them higher so his palms spread over your growing stomach. “Wow I guess I really did do the filling huh?”

“Oh god, ‘m gonna throw up.”

You laughed as Bruce bashfully looked over at his son. “Sorry chum.”

“I’m gonna go get some coffee, by the time I get back, you two better be fully dressed.” Your lips snapped shut as you looked away in embarrassment and it was Bruce’s turn to chuckle.

“Sunny, I’m so sorry, you deserved so much better.”

“Will you stop that? I know it wasn’t your fault.”

“But it still hurt you and I made a promise to never do that. So please, let me grovel.” He laid his head onto your thigh while you threaded your fingers into his hair.

“What made you remember?”

“Your smile. I realised that I would always remember your smile and then everything came flooding back.”

“You’re a fucking sap you know that.” You tugged on his hair but Bruce just smiled dumbly at you before he smirked.

“Marry me.”

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maiamore · 2 months ago

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NEW BEGINNINGS

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 4.3k

Summary: You decide to go to your office's New Year's party, what you get in exchange is far more than you bargained for.

Tags: lawyer a/u, alcohol consumption, slight angst, colleagues to lovers type, able bodied reader, p-in-v, unprotected sex, mentions of anal, unrealistic sex (please practice safe sex irl), mutual pining, f!receiving oral, degrading words during sex, edging, orgasm denial, filthy FILTHY smut, unspecified age gap

A/N: got this out of my system finally, just love seeing these two fools try to be ignore their feelings. my advice to colleague/office romance? just fuck!! MAIN STORY | MASTERLIST

New Year’s Day, 2023

“They’re Dior!”

“Oh. Are they?” You retort politely—failing in showing interest in whatever the man standing before you had to say about his cufflinks, off all things. Your voice competes against the blaring music in the bar. You’d been cornered by an associate, Marcus—you worked with him at Miller Associates. Looking around for your colleague who’d conveniently disappeared.

“I’m gonna get a drink! Be right–...” You went silent before even completing your sentence. No, you would not be right back.

Marcus on the other hand, nodded, eagerly letting you be. Squeezing your way to the bar, you got yourself two cocktail shots. Somehow, you’d allowed yourself to be roped into going into this year's office new years get together at some hoity toity hipster bar in Manhattan, against your better judgement. Serena—your deskmate at work, insisted that you didn’t skip this year, only for her to abandon you entirely twenty minutes in.

You tugged the hem of the uncomfortably short dress you had on, tucking it beneath you as you sat by the corner of the bars to isolate yourself from the laughter and chaos around. Your coworkers had all been scattered around the bar by now, celebrating within their little groups.

11:15pm.

You were counting down too. Not for the new years—but for when you finally could slip out and not feel guilty for not trying to enjoy this time out.

The second you’d swallowed the cooled, sickeningly sweet liquid, a slow exhale left your lips. This wasn’t what you wanted to be doing, no. You flicked through your phone, empathy texts from your parents and friends telling you—don’t worry, take it again next year—not everyone nails the LSATs the second time trying.

You cringed at the unwelcome reality. That called for another cocktail shot for sure.

“Hey! Lost you back there.” You looked back, lips pulling taut into a polite smile. Watching Marcus unsteadily drags a chair next to you. As much as he was a polite guy and all, you didn’t know how much more you could take in season two of “what other branded shit do I have on me.”

You just didn’t have it in you to say no.

For the next fifteen minutes, you stayed and listened to him enthusiastically explain how he’d begun mining bitcoin in his free time to be able to afford all his swag.

Downing what was definitely your fifth shot, you mustered up the courage to get up. “Um..Actually—I really need to find Serena.” You explained, cutting Marcus off mid sentence when he’d been about to dive into something about being the master of your own finances. “Oh yeah, no worries. See you next week.”

You’d only taken a few steps forward when vertigo hit you. Half from the alcohol, half from having to sit and take lessons from Mr Bitcoin back there. The ground grew closer and you didn’t have quick enough reflexes to stop it. Shutting your eyes tightly to brace the impact.

A rough tug pulls you back up, albeit—by the chains of your purse. With it, you had enough momentum to stagger backwards into your apparent savior. You blinked. Joel's deep brown eyes looking into yours. He shifts to hold the other side of your shoulder to make sure you were steady enough before guiding you to sit down by the bar chairs. Joel. Joel Miller. One of the name partners at the firm you worked in, so, your boss.

The music thumped so loud you could feel it in your chest, the countdown clock on the wall ticking closer to midnight. Confetti already littered the floor, sticking to shoes and drink spills. It was loud, messy, and unapologetically festive—definitely not a scene you’d expected him to show up in.

“Thanks.” You managed. Brushing off the embarrassment from the way you had to be caught. At least you had confirmation that the purse chains held up.

You tried not to gawk at the shadow that was sheltering you like a warm embrace. In the past two years of working at the firm, your exchanges with Joel were limited. For some reason—tense too. More often than not, you’d catch him staring at you with an intense look he gets like he was about to reprimand you. Despite that, you couldn’t deny how he was quite possibly the only man you were hung up on even without reaching the dating phase. It was like idolising an unreachable celebrity.

His tailored suits, now switched out for a fitted grey t-shirt and a brown leather jacket with worn jeans. Thick silver rings on his index finger and thumb.

He seemed different. In the best ways possible, his out of work presence was, to put it nicely, way too fucking hot.

Joel decided he was here out of professional courtesy.

With his mother offering to keep Sarah company for the night, he figured he’d have a couple of drinks, greet his employees and head home before the ball dropped. He had his schedule for the night down.

It all went to shit the second he saw you by the bar alone, until his associate at the firm decided to grace you with his presence.

He made an effort to know every employee that worked with him and you stood out. For all the wrong reasons. He was infatuated with you the second he had the pleasure of meeting and it threw him off kilter every. damn. time. Joel could’ve easily had you transferred to another floor in the building. Mergers & Acquisitions he supposed, you would’ve been a good fit.

But he was a selfish man. He wanted you around him—just long enough until he’d figured out just what to do with you.

Joel finally takes a seat next to you, dragging his palms flat against the wooden surface. You pathetically were entranced at every goddamn gesture of his. His hands were so, so wide. You swallowed. The carnal need for him interrupts all civil thoughts.

“Darlin’. You with me?”

Oh. That went straight to your cunt. His southern drawl was impossible to ignore, pulling your focus entirely. As he folded his arms across his chest, the motion made the top half of his shirt pull taut, accentuating his frame.

You were surprised he’d stuck around at all—his words barely registered. Instead, your attention was caught on the loose, dark brown curls framing his face and the black rimmed glasses perched perfectly on the gentle curve of his nose.

“Yeah. Yes. Sorry. You were saying?” You managed, after an awkward clear of the throat.

“I asked if you were a masochist.”

A perfectly rehearsed answer was about to leave your lips. Like yes, Mr Miller, I am excited for the new year. Not…whatever the fuck that was. You had to have heard him wrong. Your brows pressed into a furrow. Maybe he was referring to the uncomfortable shoes you were wearing. “Oh…I mean when you drink enough it dulls the pain and all.” You offered. Glancing at your strappy heels.

He sucks in a breath he didn’t know he held. Joel was generally a respectful man. Gaze never lingered longer where it wasn’t appropriate. And there you were, in the most sinful fucking dress he’d ever laid eyes on. His gaze followed the path of your own, lingering briefly at your ankles before traveling up the length of your dress.

He shifts. Hoping the rising tent in his jeans wouldn’t give his thoughts away. You were too pretty and too young for an old man like him.

You felt heat creeping up your neck and settling on your cheeks. The way he’d been looking made you feel more exposed than ever.

“M’talkin’ about you sittin’ through…all that crap bout’...crypt coin..bit currency.” He finally says, rubbing the back of his shoulder. You bit back a smile when he’d messed up the terms. It was a little endearing. “...You were listening?”

He hadn’t meant to, not at first. He’d only stopped by the bar for a drink, or so he told himself. But then he saw you—attentively listening to Marcus drone on and on—and found himself lingering pathetically near the edge of the area where you’d been sitting.

“Hard not to. Kid was practically yellin’,” Joel muttered, his tone casual, though the faint flush creeping along his neck betrayed him.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

The corner of his lips lifted up into a slight smirk in amusement. “Course’. Because you were so eager to stay.” You frowned. He was right, you probably left a cartoon like dust silhouette of your body the moment you found the window to leave.

“Boy like that wouldn’t know what t’do with a good girl if he had one.”

You stared at him blankly, heartbeat picking up at his words. What the hell did that mean? Maybe you were drunker than you thought. It sounded like he was flirting. His gaze on the other hand, hadn’t wavered.

“Are you implying you could do better?” You managed, forcing your voice to stay steady as you tried not to overthink the implication behind his words. Flirting with your boss was already a dangerous game, and the thought of embarrassing yourself by hitting on someone nearly a decade older only made you hesitate.

He scoffs. Thumb coming up to swipe over his bottom lips as though in thought. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m sayin’.”

You’re fixated on the way he subconsciously draws attention to his lips now.

He takes a sip from the half filled out whiskey glass loosely between his forefingers and thumb. Settling into a brief silence.

“Are you having a good time?” He looks at you with renewed interest as you speak up again. “I mean—It’s just that I don’t usually see you in an out of work celebration.”

He raises a brow at the way you’d rambled on. “So…since you’re still here I figured…” You turned away slightly. Cringing at the sound of your own voice. How long had you been talking for?

“S’not really my scene, sweetheart,” Joel responds finally, his drawl cutting through the noise.

You eyed the rowdy crowd, the room was a blur of blue ambient lights, you could hardly make out his expression through it. “Me neither.” You offered with a smile—a genuine one at that.

“It’s easier.” He says. Slowly. He’s finally able to see your face clearly. Features gently reflecting the dim lighting of the bar. “You make it easier.”

A bright light causes you to wince, bringing your hand to shield your eyes. Interrupting your train of thought. The bar's overhead lighting switches on. The massive speakers screeched a little as someone took the stand at the live band area.

Folks, grab your date or friends and head down to the floors, because our five minute countdown to the new year starts now!

“Oh fuck.” You muttered under your breath, watching the swarm of people congregate in the middle. You were calling time of death at this, it was a little much for you now.

Your heart was still thrumming at Joel’s sudden admittance, when you’d looked at him, his deep brown eyes had already been on yours. A flutter of something in the air keeps you warm.

He leans in next to your ears. “Talk outside?” Your nose gently brushes past the scruff of his beard as you turn. The scent of Patchouli & Vanilla, with a tinge of fabric softener filled your senses.

“…Okay.”

Being shoved and pushed wasn’t on your agenda today, you’d pretty much been swallowed by the crazies around you just trying to leave the place. Thankfully, Joel had been practically wedged behind you like a sturdy wall amidst all the awkward shoves.

Your hands instinctively grips around Joel’s arms when another particularly rough push from someone elbowing you had you careening backwards into Joel.

“Easy, exit’s out front.” His voice sounded strained somehow. He’d finally allowed you to step away, though as you regained your footing, you shifted back into his pelvis. A low grunt rumbled in his throat at your unwitting action. Your breath hitches when you’d felt the unmistakable strain against Joel’s jeans, poking against your back.

Looking up at him with your wide eyes and down to the sizable bulge. He awkwardly adjusts the crotch of his jeans, avoiding looking directly at you.

Was he hard? Just from brushing against you? More importantly, how long had he been sporting a damn boner?

“Sorry. Don’t know why it...” He tries. He was surprised he could even get it up with how busy he’d been as of late.

You’d attempted not to let it show just how his discomposure at a natural reaction was presently igniting parts of you that lay dormant for years. Seeing him so visibly react to you, had your core aching with need.

Fuck it.

Your body twists, both palms resting against the base of his neck—tip-toeing to barely meet his height—you lean in and slot your lips against his, though misaimed. His glasses pressed at an awkward angle at your movements. Trying again, you tilt your head to kiss him more assuredly when he hadn’t pushed you away completely. He groaned in your lips.

Joel moves to cup his palms against the back of your head. His other hand tugging you by your hips. He dips his head lower to reciprocate your soft little pecks with a much, much deeper intensity. The second you’d parted your lips a little wider, all the sweet sentiments of a first kiss dissipates.

Though, he seems to have some semblance of the situation, pulling you out of your haze. Searching your face for a sign. Any sign of hesitation. He places a tentative, hesitant kiss against your pulse point. “Tell me to stop and I will.” His arm curls around your waist to pull you fully against his body.

The countdown timer flashed on the screens above the bar, its sudden glow cutting through the haze of desperation that grew dangerously. The atmosphere shifts, the pulse of the moment broken, and the world outside of the dance floor suddenly seemed to return to focus.

“Let’s just get out of here.” You managed.

—

Joel had noticed how jittery you seemed, he wanted nothing more than to take his time with you. But he feared the longer you’d both have to think, the more you’d have realised how much of a bad idea it was. Frankly, he didn’t know if he had it in him to wait any longer either.

You blinked at him in confusion when drops down to his knees against the gravel. Heart pounding in your ears watching this six foot man before you like this.

An audible groan leaves his lips when he slides the hem of your dress up with sturdy palms on the both sides of your hips. “Dirty girl, goin’ around with no panties?” Your lips briefly quivered at his words, feeling a tinge of humiliation from it, but the way he’d looked on his knees for you drowned out every other thought.

“I didn’t think I needed to with the dress.” You managed. Pouted, really. He pressed kisses up your knees, scruff gently brushes past your inner thighs. “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

Joel kneads the softness of your hips. Bunching up the fabric above, your slick pussy glistening.

With no warning, he licks a stripe up your already sopping wet cunt. Jolting at the sensation, Joel didn’t let you inch away from him.“Wait, Mr Miller, I’m—” His palm slides under your thigh to hike it over his shoulder, stopping when he hears your plea.

“Joel, sweetheart. I’ve got my face buried in your pussy, think we’re over the formalities.”

A louder moan escapes your lips along with a breath you didn’t know you held when he dives back into your cunt. “O-Oh my god!” Your back arches against the alley’s walls, scratching over the gravelly surface. His fingers dig into the plump of your thighs, probing his tongue into your velvety soft walls. He didn’t care how messy & sloppy it got, no—your unrestrained moans were encouraging him further. “Shit—you’re fuckin’ soakin’ me.” He mutters against your cunt.

You involuntarily ground against his mouth when you’d felt the vibrations of his voice against your clit. The curve of his nose notches perfectly against it. “Th-...there. Right there.” He hummed against your pussy, lapping at your clit, sucking your sensitive bud relentlessly. Judging by how your tight walls were pulsating around his tongue, he knew that you were close. He drags your hand to the back of his head, allowing you to grind against him as you wished.

“Take what you need, baby.”

Your head tips back when he tongue fucks your pussy, alternating with deep sucks to your clit. The sensation causes you to clench around him. “Joel—” You stuttered out. Curling your fingers into the softness of his hair. Your hips subconsciously moved to ride against his nose, the stimulation of it all had you trembling like a baby deer. Not even your most expensive vibrators could match the intensity Joel was eating you out with.

Joel didn’t stop what he was doing. Not even taking a moment to take a fucking breath. If he’d died eating your pussy like this, he’d die a happy man. His other hand slides to the base of your ass, dragging his slick coated fingers down to your tight little hole to probe against the entrance. You groaned out at the intrusion, your puckered hole welcoming his thick slippery finger. “T-too much–” You cried out. Tugging his head against your clit. “Y-yes, yes, god, oh my god, yes!”

You wriggled your hips backwards and away from his mouth abruptly. The absence of his fingers having stuffed you, had your pussy pulsing around nothing in your white hot release.

As you were trying to come to, Joel sits back on his heels with a heaving breath. Admiring you in your fucked out state. He was fucked. Just a taste of you was enough for him. He needed you.

He brings up his wrists to wipe his lips a little. Standing up with his hand anchored to your hips, making sure you wouldn’t fall when your legs had threatened to give out on you.

Joel’s thumbs gently swipes over your bottom lips, lifting your face up with his pointer and middle finger. “What am I going to do with you?” He mutters, more to himself before he leans down to kiss you slowly—coaxing you out of the haze of your orgasm. You loll your head to the side to meet his deep kisses, the taste of your slick with the mix of fruity cocktails and whiskey proving to be an intoxicating combination.

You couldn’t think straight—arms falling limp around his neck to drag him impossibly close. Suckling onto his tongue in a messy, sloppy back and forth. You weren’t even sure if you could speak anymore. He pulls away from your lips with an obscene pop. Gazing deeply into your eyes.

“Need to fuck you baby. Can I?” He whispers, thumb swiping around your smeared glitter eye makeup. “Just need a nod, sweetheart.” It’d taken you a couple more seconds, after feeling Joel fix your dress. Frankly, you weren’t sure if you could take any more. But the way he’d been willing to pull out all stops despite how painfully his cock was bursting at the seams in his jeans had you feeling like you’d be in good hands.

You tipped your head slightly to get in his line of vision, you bit down on your lips, nodding slowly.

“Good fucking girl.” He praises. Rubbing the back of your waist gently.

The sharp buckle of his jeans snapped your gaze downwards. A deep gasp leaving your lip. The coarse, neatly trimmed curled hairs guiding your vision to his thick cock, pre-come already dripping down the tip. It tenses on its own, growing harder by the second.

He brings your hand up to your chin, right below your lips. “Spit.” You lock your gaze with his. Your tongue swiping your lower lips and letting a dribble of your own spit collect in your palm. You swore you could see his eyes twitch slightly as you did so.

His hands then twist around your wrist, lowering your spit-coated hand onto his cock. He groaned at the sensation. “Jus’ like that.” He rumbles against the side of your head, feeling your soft, slippery hands stroke his cock. “See how hard you make me?”

Your thighs clenched at his words. Your cunt aching and desperate for something. Anything.

“Joel, I can’t—” He tutted at your desperate tone, kissing down your neck. “Can’t what baby? Can’t take it anymore? I should just stop, hm?” You let out a pathetic wine at your words. Pumping his cock fully, feeling his full length. It was hot, and throbbing. You wanted him in you.

“Please.” Your cunt was aching for him desperately. He lets out a hiss at the way your thumb rubs over the slit of his cock, grabbing your wrist to halt your movements. He wanted to come inside you, one way or another. Not like this.

“Please what? Gotta tell me what you need.” Your head falls against his shoulder. Growing increasingly frustrated.

“Need you to fuck me, Joel. Need him.” He’d pulled the filthy words out of you so damn easily. Forcing your hand despite his grip around your wrists—you jerk his cock from the base to the tip in a ring, up & down with your forefingers and thumb. His hips stuttered slightly, that particular stroke and your desperate plea nearly had him coming in your hands.

“Fuck!” He grips painfully around the base of his cock. With a grunt, he holds your hips and turns you abruptly. Lust fueled anger filling his mind.

“You wanna be fucked like a desperate little slut? I’ll give you what you want.” His voice was muffled against the back of your head. You’d let out a ‘unnh!’ in response to his sudden sternness.

Joel rubbed the base of his cock, coated with your spit and slick, nudging at your entrance. His other hand cradling your forehead so the brick walls wouldn’t hurt you. With a snap of his hips, he fully buries himself to the hilt into your pussy.

The both of you groaned at the same time. “Fuck, tight snatch swallowing me whole.” He fucks you at a bruising pace. Hoisting you against his chest.

“This—”, he grunts. Punctuating his every word with each thrust.

“What—“

“You—”

“Wanted?”

Your head tips back against his shoulder. “Mhnn—fuck!” Your pussy flutters around his cock, reeling at every time his hips ground in a circle in you everytime it snapped against your ass. His heavy balls slapping against your clit.

With a sharp gasp, Joel tugged you further into him. Pressing his body weight against your back, his strong arm holding you up securely.

Your forearms pressed against the brick walls with a heavy exhale. He readjusts to rest both his hands on your hips. He begins to pound his hips into yours, stopping to grind his cock deep into you. Watching his cock get swallowed as he fucked you from the back. “Soft pussy’s gonna devour me fuckin’ whole.” He growls against your shoulder. His sweat mixing against your cheeks.

“Fuck—yes! Yesyesyesyes!” You’d bounced back against his cock. Slurring your words. Your thighs quivered finally in the wake of your second orgasm of the night. Warm streaks of tears trickling down your cheeks. You tiptoeing as your thighs tensed up. Your walls convulsing around Joel’s cock as you came.

He slows his pace just so he could drag out the feeling of his cock pulsing in your tight pussy. It was embarrassing just how easily you'd gotten him stuttering at your mercy.

“Sweetheart…” He breathes out, slowly. He presses open mouthed kisses against your neck. Grinding his hips into you desperately. In a moment of clarity after your orgasm earlier, you tipped your head back. “N-Not…inside.”

Briefly, a dark look took over Joel’s gaze.

He pulls out, pumping his cock still. He’d respect your wishes regardless. But then, your hands clumsily felt for him, guiding his cock to your tight ring of muscle.

“Fuck—“ Immediately, he angles his cock against the entrance of your ass at your offer, notching the cockhead in. Groaning at how greedily you were sucking him in. You moaned at the intrusion, relaxing yourself to take him in—the slick and slipperiness making it a little easier.

He groans out, wincing at the sensation of the muscles threatening to milk him dry. With a lazy and slow thrust, he fills you with hot spurts of his spend.

With a few heaving pants, he pulls out of your ass, watching the creamy ring pulsate with his milky white come. “You alright, sweetheart?” He tips your head to face him. Rubbing your tear stricken cheeks clean. “M-…Mhm..” You manage. Unsteadily straightening up.

“Mhm?” He repeats. Turning you back around gently. Tilting his head to meet your eye level. “Words, baby.”

“I’m okay. I promise.”

His lips meet yours. Kissing you reverently, to the corners of your lips and then against your flushed cheeks. Not wanting to break you, as though he hadn’t spent the better half of an hour fucking you senseless.

He grabs a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, swiping the fabric to gather the uncomfortable slick from your thighs.

You peered up at him through your lashes. The blue lights from the signage above the both of you illuminate your features. Joel swore this feeling was what those stupid love songs were always on about. He’d never felt that, not even for the mother of his daughter.

The wash of reality was apparent in your post orgasmic silent haze while the two of you cleaned up. Not that it mattered. “Mr Miller—”

You tried. He shot you a warning look. His own heart twists at how easily you’d shut this all down. If he wasn’t sober before, he sure as hell was now.

“Not yet.”

He breathes out. Letting his knuckles brush down your cheeks as he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours.

He’d just have to think about how he could get over you tomorrow.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x y/n #joel x reader #tlou smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut

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