#these places are all in the west cost | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eowynstwin · 7 days ago

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Blackbird, Fly - Four

Cowboy Gaz x mail order bride—only, not his. After exchanging letters for half a year with ranching man Hans König, you finally travel out west to marry him. Gaz had been the only one to try and warn you. previous - ao3 - next

When you wake the next morning, Hans’ side of the bed is empty, the linens already cold.

As sleep leaves you in fits and starts, the aches pull you inward—glowing dull and orange like banked embers. Your whole body feels like a twisted ankle. Nothing is broken, exactly, but every muscle feels as if it’s been pulled in a direction God never quite intended it to move.

Your shoulders. The meat of your thighs. Your hips.

The entrance to your womb.

It isn’t the knife-sharp pain from before. Only the muted, persistent throb of a wound left alone to heal. In the cottony space between sleep and waking, you think there should be more damage—for all of what happened last night. And yet, there isn’t.

Still, you don’t move when your eyes finally open. Stillness seems the only defense against the bare truth of the gray morning.

Your husband used you hard on your wedding night, and did not care for the pain he caused.

You are not fool enough to think your experience unique. Women talked as much as girls did. Your mother’s friends were wont to complain when they thought the children out of earshot: husbands who grunted and sweated over them in the night, often without uttering a word. Sometimes not even waiting for the pain of childbirth to subside before claiming their marital due.

You just had come to believe, with every letter that arrived, that your fate would be different.

But it turns out none of this is a dream after all.

Your throat closes, then. Tears prick hot in the corners of your eyes.

Stupid, stupid girl.

You swallow hard. Sit up away from the pillows, even as the aches flare in protest.

Beside you, where your husband slept, there’s a noticeable dip in the mattress. Worn in over years of slumber, and you, you suppose, on Anna’s side of the bed.

Was Hans kind to her too, before?

Abruptly you swing your legs out from the linens, and go to find one of the dresses you brought along from home.

The house is empty when you descend the stairs, as far as you can tell. You hear the steady tick, tock of a grandfather clock somewhere in the sitting room that you hadn’t noticed yesterday, in all of the commotion of the wedding preparations. The floorboards creak beneath your feet as your grumbling stomach leads you along to the kitchen.

The space is as modern and well-appointed as the rest of the house, and bigger than any kitchen you ever imagined needed to be. A cast-iron wood stove with four burners and a large oven, a sink with a pump right there by the basin, and—you nearly stop dead at the luxury—an ice box, right there beside one long counter.

You momentarily forget the troubles of the night, crouching beside the little box in fascination. A cloud of cool fog descends when you swing open the door; you brush the tips of your fingers across the huge block of ice on the top shelf, jerking them away when the cold unexpectedly burns. Not once in your life have you ever seen so much ice in one place.

On the lower shelf, you find cuts of pork and beef, wrapped in brown butcher’s paper and tied with string. Bacon for breakfast, then, and biscuits if you can find flour. Your mother always said that a difficult thing was easier after having a meal.

You find the larder stocked with further luxury. Nowhere are the home-jarred goods that would populate your family’s pantry, garden-grown vegetables pickled in vinegar or hand-pressed jams fresh from the blackberry bushes along the road. Instead you find rows and rows of cans, factory-sealed tins of manufactured uniformity, colorfully labeled and containing everything you might have ever thought to grow yourself and more.

Beans of every variety. Corn. Carrots. Peas. Beets. Tomatoes.

How much must all this have cost? So many, and lined up deep into the back of the larder. You and Hans couldn’t possible eat them all before some of them began to spoil. Of course, if he could afford to buy so much, maybe that didn’t matter.

You find the flour, and baking powder as well. Breakfast is a quick affair after that, and thankfully so, as your stomach really begins to complain as soon as the food is ready.

There’s a small table in the kitchen—yet more luxury, you think, remembering the long dining table you saw yesterday—and it’s there you sit down to solve your hunger.

The hard wooden chair is not kind to the ache between your legs.

You bite into the bacon, crunching it to pieces. There—it’s all right. You have your breakfast. Isn’t that something to be grateful for? Breakfast, and a nice stove, and an ice box, and a kitchen so stuffed with food that you can’t imagine ever running out.

Isn’t this what a loving husband provides? A good home, for his wife to live comfortably in? Pretty dresses, like the one he gave to you last night? A nice ring on your finger—the little gem glittering in the sunlight streaming in through the kitchen window?

Hans loves you. Of course. This is love.

You bite into one biscuit, hot and steaming from the pan and burning your tongue. Your mother can make them better, but you tried the best you could to follow the recipe she taught you.

The front door opens outside of the kitchen. Something quick and sharp travels up your spine. Heavy boots step inside—your husband, come looking for you—you freeze without realizing it, holding half-chewed food in your mouth—

“Mrs. König?” calls Kate Laswell, the foreman, and you relax.

“In here,” you call, after swallowing.

Laswell enters the kitchen, and turns to you, at the table. She’s dressed in mens�� clothes, dusty trousers and a heavy jacket over a button-up shirt, and a wide-brimmed hat still on her head. She looks like she’s dressed to travel.

“I’m afraid I can’t show you the accounts today, like I said I would,” she tells you, no preamble, no pleasantries.

You remember then your brief conversation with her the previous night—and Hans’ disapproval at the idea.

You set down your biscuit. “Good morning, Miss Laswell. Why not?”

“I’m going over to visit the Vargas place. We’ve been working on a leasing deal. I’ll explain when I get back.”

“Of course,” you say. “Would—” you clear your throat, embarrassed— “Would you know where my husband might be?”

The lines of Laswell’s face tighten. She has a severe look to her that you think is always present—ranch work must harden anyone, man or woman—but there is no wedding happening around you now to distract you from the unmistakable displeasure on her face.

“Last I saw he was out with the herd,” she says shortly. “Anyway, I’ll be gone for a few days. The ledger is in the cabinet by the desk. Take a look at it if you find the time.”

She tips her hat to you before you can figure out how to respond—some part of you bristles at being given orders by someone who is now, ostensibly, your employee—and leaves the kitchen. You scramble to follow her, and catch her when she’s nearly out the door.

“Miss Laswell,” you call, “is Hans—is my husband—”

You’re not very sure what you intended to ask her, before you began the question. Nor, you realize, do you think she could answer honestly, if you asked her what you really wanted to know. It wouldn’t be her place, and it would be inappropriate of you to ask.

If you could actually work up the courage to approach it.

So you settle for, “Is my husband angry with me?”

She stops, and blinks at you. You see her look you up and down, briefly, but when she meets your eyes her expression is impossible to read.

“I have no idea,” she says, and her tone betrays nothing. “Gaz wants to see you in the stables when you have a moment today. Ma’am.”

She nods farewell at you and leaves.

The steady ticking of the grandfather clock punctuates the end of the odd exchange. Disoriented, you return to the kitchen to clear away the remnants of your breakfast, flushing in confusion.

Do you really want this?

His question rings now in your ears. Along with it come memories of the previous night. The Madame’s odd interest in you. The store owner Miss Boucher’s sidelong glance at Hans. Myriad other quirks of the brow or mouth that you only now grasp the meaning of.

Everyone knew, somehow, what was coming. Everyone except you.

And Gaz had been the only one to try and warn you.

You tug on a shawl as you step out onto the front porch, breathing in the mountain air. The morning chill hasn’t yet burned off, and the sky has yet to gain its full color. Across the clearing, Kyle Garrick is at work in the stable’s corral.

He holds one end of a long lead, attached at the other to the bridle of a red-brown horse, which trots in a wide circle around him. Occasionally, with the lunge-whip he holds in his free hand, Gaz taps the horse’s hindquarters, redirecting it patiently whenever it tries to move inward or otherwise deviate from its orbit.

Horses are scared creatures, Miss, I don’t know if you know this, Hans had written. You must be gentle when you train them, or destine them to a lifetime of anxiety.

When you approach, the horse’s attention briefly turns toward you, but Gaz taps it again and it goes back into its pacing. You have a moment to admire the long line of the cowboy’s body, the focused angles of his shoulders and hips, before he addresses you, sensing your presence without having to turn and look at you.

“Good morning, miss,” he says. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you,” you say. It feels dishonest, even if it isn’t a lie. “Good morning, Mr. Garrick.”

The horse makes its way past you, and then Gaz brings it to a stop. He winds up the lead in one hand and makes his way over to you, meeting you where you stand by the corral fence.

You can’t help but notice how handsome he looks in the light of late morning. The serious expression on his face is the same one he’d worn the day before; you suspect it’s his natural disposition.

You remember the brief smile he’d shown you last night, before Hans had taken you away, and your cheeks warm despite yourself.

“I thought I might introduce you to the horses today,” he says. “If you’ve got the time, that is.”

“Oh,” you gasp, suddenly eager, “Please! I’ve been looking forward to it ever since Hans proposed! I told him about the two old nags we had on our farm, to pull our wagon, and he said—”

We must get you on a proper horse, then, to show you the true pleasure riding may offer.

You stop mid-sentence. Something about what Hans had written rings in your memory now with a different note. It seems…mocking, almost. Imbued purposefully with a meaning intended to escape you, given you had not the experience enough to catch it.

Shame blooms painfully behind your breastbone.

“…He mentioned he’d bring me to meet them,” you say lamely.

The smile Gaz gives you doesn’t reach his eyes. “He’s very busy, or I suppose he would be today.”

“I suppose,” you echo.

Gaz inhales deeply, and then he gestures to the red-brown horse. “Well—this here is Newt. I’ve been getting him used to the bridle today.”

“Hello, Newt,” you say to the horse. You reach a hand out, briefly, but then pull it back; your instinct is to let the horse get your scent, like you might with a farm dog, but you don’t know if you should. Your father had always handled the nags.

Gaz notices, and brings one big hand to Newt’s long face, squeezing the arch of his muzzle. The horse’s eyes droop in obvious pleasure.

“He’s a big baby,” says Gaz, expression gentling. “I’m trying to see if he’ll make a good cutter, but it’s too early to tell.”

You reach out again. Newt’s velvety nostrils flare as he inhales, and then his hot breath bathes your hand and wrist. You suppose you have his approval, because Newt simply works his teeth a little and makes no indication of displeasure.

“A cutter?”

“Yeah. The kind of horse that can cut a steer out from the herd so you can drive it someplace else,” Gaz explains. “Horses either got cow-sense, or they don’t. Here, come around inside and I’ll show you the rest.”

Long Mask Ranch, Hans had written, built its reputation on the quality of its quarter horses. In the early days of its inception, his father had struck an extremely lucrative deal providing the US Army with its cavalry mounts, which had turned out to be a perfect way for the ranch’s reputation to spread. Even after the army mostly withdrew from the region, every state in the surrounding countryside knew: if you wanted good horses, you went to Long Mask.

“These are the yearlings,” Gaz explains as he leads you through the stable. “Just now we’re getting them trained to follow directions. Won’t be riding ‘em for a couple years yet.”

He puts Newt away and beckons you to follow. In the neighboring stall, one of the horses pokes its head out over the gate. It’s a light-colored colt, yellowish in the body and white-maned.

“This is Gus,” Gaz says, scratching its fuzzy chin. “He’s a big flirt, yeah, aren’t you, boy?”

You also reach out to give Gus a pat, and the colt chuffs and butts his nose into your hand, proving Gaz’s accusation. You can’t help giggling a little.

When another horse across the building snorts, Gaz chuckles, and leads you in the direction of the noise. “Ah, yeah, and that’s Woodrow. Him and Gus are always goin’ at it, but you won’t ever see better friends.”

Woodrow is dark gray horse with a distinctly unamused face. He accepts a pat on the forehead with what you can only describe as resigned patience. Gaz feeds him a sugar cube from one pocket for his trouble.

He takes you further along down the line of stalls. You meet a spirited filly named Elmira, and a colt beside her named July whose love for her is unrequited.

“We’ve already gelded him, so it wouldn’t matter much anyway,” Gaz relates.

He speaks fondly of every horse as you meet them, with the familiarity of long days working beside each of them. It relaxes him, you realize, to speak of them—the hard set of his expression has softened, the serious line of his brows eased from their iron setting.

It makes him look—not younger, you decide, but properly his age. A cowboy just beginning the best years of his career, still hale and fit enough to meet the rough demands of the job, but with enough experience under his belt to confront any challenge with confidence.

Such confidence is obvious in the way he moves. He walks loose and easy through the stable, his every step as assured as the sunrise the next morning. The line of his broad shoulders, the swooping curve of his back—they tell you at a mere glance that home is in this place, working with these creatures, and there could be nothing more Kyle Garrick might long for besides.

Envy twists your intestines around its fingers. There’s an empty space inside of you that you’d been expecting, as your wedding vows had finally taken flight, to fill with that same feeling.

At the end of the stable, in a stall in the back corner, a horse pokes its head out over the gate. It’s bigger than the yearlings, with a pale face and a dark, gray muzzle. It looks right at you, with such a clear focus that it startles you.

“Ah,” says Gaz, when he sees. “Was wondering if she’d notice us.”

“She?”

He nods. “A mare. She’s…difficult.”

The mare stares at you, with deep, night-black eyes.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

Gaz works his lips over his teeth. “Mr. König bought her last year off another rancher who was ‘bout fit to shoot her. She’s a thoroughbred, and she ain’t never met a white man she likes. As like to buck a man off as to let him ride.”

“Oh,” you say.

Gaz leans against the wall between two stalls. “Mr. König thought he might be able to break her. So far she hasn’t gotten him off her, but she won’t let him come near without putting up a fight. I’m the only one can saddle ‘er.”

You frown. “Why would he ride a horse that doesn’t want to be ridden?”

At that, Gaz’s eyes go cold. Shockingly cold, like an empty winter’s night. “Suppose he just likes taking what he wants, I guess.”

You should reprimand him. You know it immediately. It’s no way to talk about his employer, and certainly nothing he should ever say in front of you, his employer’s wife.

But you remember the blood, and still feel the ache. You have to look away from him, ashamed. Embarrassed.

You cannot defend your husband, and he must know it.

“I imagine he must know what he’s about,” you mumble.

Gaz gives a derisive snort. “I don’t know about that. He’s of a mind to start with thoroughbreds, but she will not let him breed her. Damn near killed every stallion he’s brought her to try.”

It hits you so sharply that you inhale with sudden pain, pressure knifing at your eyes. You turn away from Gaz entirely now, pressing your hands to your chest. Every ache from the night previous ricochets around inside you again, knocking all the way down into your bones.

You tip your head upward, as if it will prevent the gathering tears from falling. What’s worse, Gaz puts a hand on your shoulder behind you. You flinch at the touch, hips aching where Hans had bruised them in his grip.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” Gaz says softly. He sounds like he means it. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

He knows exactly what ails you. And why wouldn’t he? He’s known his employer for years. He’s worked this ranch for longer than you’ve even known of its existence.

He knew the previous Mrs. König, who first endured Hans’ attentions.

You are a terrible fool, and you are the last to know it.

He doesn’t remove his hand as you tremble. He squeezes you gently, the same caress he’d given to the young colt Newt. It is so kind that it nearly breaks you.

“Here,” Gaz murmurs, “let’s see something.”

You turn back to him; he takes your hand, and leads you to the back of the stable. The mare follows the two of you with her eyes, expression unchanging as you approach her.

Closer now, she is a stunning creature. You’ve never seen anything like her. Her coat is silvery-gray, with darker patterns all over her body, like ink absorbed into paper and then laid beneath a light rain. Her legs and mane are the same dark color as her muzzle, and there is a deep intelligence in her eyes as she beholds you.

“You might be the first woman she’s ever seen up close,” Gaz says.

He takes up a position behind you, and turns your hand over in his, opening your fingers. Then, slowly, so the horse can see it, he brings them to her face, pressing your fingertips to the soft whorl on her forehead.

The mare’s eyes do not leave you. She exhales a little through relaxed nostrils, chuffing, flicking her ears toward you. You play with the starburst of pale hair, following the direction it grows; her lids, heavy with thick, black lashes, drop a little.

“I’ll be,” Gaz murmurs behind you. “I think she might like you, miss.”

A loud BANG claps against the wall on the other end of the stable, and the mare jerks her head immediately, flinging your hand away. She grunts, snorts, and dances away from the gate, shaking her head, eyes flaring wide.

You and Gaz both look to the commotion—

Your husband stands in the open doorway, cast in a dark silhouette by the late morning light.

“Just what the hell are you doing?”

a/n: the horses' names are all references to characters in my favorite western, Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry.

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writing-mlm · 10 months ago

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Blue-pilled man [D.W]

Summary: Sophomore year of college and life is good-- until Bruce invites your family to Thanksgiving. Thankfully your boyfriend is there to distract you-- wait, boyfriend??? Pairing: Damian Wayne x male!reader WC: 9.3k

A glitch in the system is what you’d considered yourself. There wasn’t supposed to be anything special about you, the middle child born from the rare chance the birth control didn’t work. The failed plan B. The unimportant middle child in a large family living along the West Coast. You hadn’t been anyone special, you hadn’t done anything remarkable with your life.

You’d graduated high school and flew across the country to Gotham of all places. Low housing costs, honestly, was the only reason. You’d been going to Gotham University for what? Five or so months before you’d gotten an internship at Wayne Enterprise for your major in business. It was going fine, you met some other interns and made fast friends and went out with them as often as you could.

Which is probably where you fucked up. You’d gone out to someone’s birthday party in a club, fake IDs locked in. It was fun, from what you could remember. And you were all going to head out since it was a Sunday— poor choice, you know but you went to use the bathroom when someone shoved some blue pill into your mouth. But at the time you were too drunk to care about what it was. It tasted like a mint though, so you assumed that’s what it was and thanked them for the breath mint before heading to meet your friends in the Uber.

The next morning you woke up with a raging headache and the need to vomit. Unfortunately for you, you had a meeting with the Bruce Fucking Wayne. Apparently, he interviewed each intern a couple of months into their internship and it was your turn. Surprise!

But thankfully, it led to where you are now.

As a Junior in college, you like to think you’ve been doing this long enough to get the hang of it. You’ve also been granted off-campus housing. Which was fucking amazing. You lived with one person and get this… he’s Bruce Wayne’s son! Honestly, for a nepotism baby, he was cool.

Plus, he was Robin. So it made going out to fight crime at night so much easier, and his dad— your boss in more ways than one, always understood why you were late to work. But it also meant he called you whenever Robin was called in.

“Player!” Robin shouts as you leap from roof to roof, leaving an animated dust cloud after you. “Player!” He repeats this time his voice cutting through your comms. “You’re going the wrong way!” He groans and you land on the roof, confused. He watches as you tap in the air and a holographic map pops up, taking over your field of view.

“Oh, shit!” You say, tapping a button on the bottom of the map and it shoots back to the corner it came from. “My bad, Rob!” Tapping on your waist bag, you see a selection of food and swipe to find a glowing lollipop. “Heading your way now!” Popping the lollipop into your mouth, you feel a surge over you and look down at your boots. There’s a green glow on them and you nod to yourself before jumping to the roof that was closest to him.

He nods when he sees you following him, taking off towards the robbery happening at a local, beloved restaurant.

“You think they’ll be open tomorrow?” You ask, catching up to Robin just as the two of you jump down from the roof and land across the block from the restaurant. “I was thinking we get some of their food for dinner tomorrow.” He glances at you then sighs, heading towards the restaurant.

“Considering no one’s dead, yes.” He says once he's halfway across the block. You grin and catch up to him, already scanning through your inventory for where you kept handcuffs.

—

“Do you reckon I could be a mad scientist?” You ask Damian as you walk into his bedroom, not even looking up from your laptop. “Or could I get roped into a cult? Am I cult material?” Sitting on his bed, you tuck one leg under you and let the other dangle off of the bed. “I don’t think I’m cult material, I’m not easy to peer pressure,” You mutter.

“No,” He sighs, setting his own laptop down next to him but he doesn’t close it. “You couldn't be a mad scientist but you would get sucked into a cult.” Gasping, you look up at him and blink.

“Nuh-uh! How?” Crossing your arms, you sit properly on his bed and shut your laptop.

“You almost signed up for the Church of Scientology last week because they asked if you wanted to take a personality test. Every time you pass by a club that asks you to join, you sit on it for a week before declining because I remind you that you’re a full-time college student with a job and a vigilante!” He lists and you huff, throwing yourself onto his bed. “It’s not your fault, though. Growing up in an environment where you didn’t feel loved would lead to a person being more susceptible to a cult. They make you feel needed, wanted.” God, you hated that he had taken that psychology course.

“Ouch,” You mutter, resting your hands on your stomach. Looking over at him, you see he’s gone back to doing his work. “Do you want me?” You ask and he glances up at you before looking back to your laptop.

“In my room? Depends on my mood.” He shrugs.

“In your life, I mean.” He looks at you this time, his hands ready to close his laptop.

“I do,” He gives one strong nod. “Considering I agreed to live with you until we graduate, I would hope I’d… enjoy your company.” Smiling, you look back to the ceiling. His ceiling is bare, although you can see the marks from the times you’ve thrown sticky balls to the ceiling and pieces got left behind. You wonder why he hadn’t taken those off yet.

Damian’s room isn’t what you had expected it to be. He has various art materials set up around his room, an entire section of his room is dedicated to his pets like their beds and toys, and his walls are covered in various items. You see drawings, news clippings, posters of various famous people he enjoys, and a full-length mirror was nailed to the back of his door. He doesn’t have a rug, he says Alfred the cat likes to tear those up. But he does have a curtain that looks like a rug.

Not to mention his swords.

His bed is nice, too. Bruce had spared no expense furnishing the place, he’d gotten the best beds possible for the two of you. Damian preferred a firmer bed, he never liked the feeling of sinking into a bed and not being in control of that. He also needed space for his pets, since there was no rule about how many could sleep in his bed now that he no longer lived in the manor. Prior to moving in, you’d pegged him as a one-pillow type of guy. But he had an absolute mountain of pillows, most of which he didn’t even use.

Tapping on the transparent food icon that was always in the corner of your eye, you watch as your inventory materializes above your body. You widen the bar into a grid and scroll until you reach a water bottle.

“Want one?” You ask. “They’re cold.” He hums and you pluck two water bottles out from the bar and toss one to him. Of course, being Damian, he catches it without looking up from his work and you roll your eyes.

“Thank you,” He says as you close out your food inventory.

Honestly, major fucking thank you to that blue pill guy. Whatever was in it had made you into your very own video game character. You could even change your appearance! It was so fucking cool, you could find random items lying around and literally create a bomb in two seconds!

Not that you’ve ever done that.

Sitting up, you take a slow sip of the water as Ace trots over to you and lifts his paw. Grinning, you pat the bed and he jumps up, bumping his nose to your arm as a greeting before curling up at Damian’s side. He glances down at his dog and mindlessly pets him along his spine.

“Have you studied yet?” He asks, lifting his eyes from his screen to meet yours for a brief moment. Capping the bottle, you toss it back into your inventory and lean back on his bed.

“A little,” You admit. “Between jobs and class, I haven’t had time. Was gonna during break, though.” He raises an eyebrow and you shove his foot. “Sorry some of us won’t be visiting family and will have an entire week to do nothing!”

“Oh, and where do you think you’re staying?” He asks, finally fully closing his laptop and setting it on his nightstand.

“Here,” You shrug as if the answer was obvious.

“Father wants you at the manor, he’s invited you to Thanksgiving,” This is news to you. Looking at him, you see Damian is looking at you before he turns his attention back to Ace. He’s old, you note. He’s gotten the powered face and you’re pretty sure he’s been sleeping on the sofa while watching late-night game shows. He even snores now.

“Oh, thanks so much for the heads up!” Scratching his backside, Ace’s leg kicks and you chuckle. His eyes crack open when you stop and he moves to nudge your hand, letting out a small howl.

“Don’t be cruel, he’s old.” Damian gestures to the dog who’s doing his best to look like he’s about to cry. Where he learned that, you’ll never know. But you lay down properly on the bed and continue to pet him. Damian pets his head, and you just barely register that he probably doesn’t want you to smash his pillows underneath you. Adjusting yourself, you look around for Alfred.

He’s awake in his cat tree, but his tail is slowly swishing in the air. A little harshly, you might add.

“Someone’s jealous,” You joke, and Damian follows where you’re looking. “Come and get pet, Alfred!” The cat lets out a chipper merwl and leaps from his place on the tree and onto the floor. There are two small thumps, one from the front paws hitting the floor and the second from the back paws. Alfred flicks his tail as he lands before jumping onto the bed in one big jump.

He nudges your free hand and when you lift it, crawls underneath forcing you to pet along his back before he settles on your chest. One thing about cats is that despite their small size, when they’re sitting directly over your ribcage they all but quadruple in weight.

“Ow,” You bite back a groan, closing one eye and slowly easing onto Damian’s pillows. “Lay down, please,” Whispering to Alfred, he blinks and then plops down as if his bones had just gone away. Chuckling, you pet wherever he asks and close your eyes.

“Fathers texted,” Damian mutters, shifting down on the bed so he could comfortably lie down. “We’re patrolling tomorrow,”

“Thank god, not tonight,” You huff, looking down at Alfred whose content on your chest. He’s purring loudly, and his front paws are neatly tucked under his body while his lower half is splayed out to the side. His eyes don’t leave your face, though. They’re half-lidded like he’s fighting sleep and you see his head rocking a bit. Scratching his forehead, he pushes his head further into your fingers and gives one lick before laying his head flat on your chest.

“He likes you too much,” Damian chides. “He’s a traitor!” Alfred doesn’t miss a beat as he rolls to turn his back to Damian, letting out the loudest sigh he can muster in his very tiny body.

“He’s a baby!” You protest. “Ain’t that right, Alfie?” In response, Alfred flicks his tail once, slowly lowering it back down to your stomach. “See,” Looking over at Damian, you see him watching his cat with an almost envious glare before he looks at you.

“You know it took me five hours to train him?” He asks as Ace gets up and jumps off of the bed. You watch for a second as he paws the door open before slipping into the hallway. Damian scoots a bit closer and raises his hand to pet Alfred. “He was totally feral before me.”

“Ah, so he was you before Bruce?” The tease is clear in your voice, your eyebrows wiggling and your chest shakes a little bit when you see his reaction.

“I wasn’t feral,” He bites, looking over at you.

“You stabbed your brothers,” You softly remind him and he scoffs, laying his head down on the same pillow you were using. But neither of you seems to notice or care.

“If they could get stabbed by a ten-year-old, they deserved it.”

Alfred stands up, his back rising to comical heights before he spawns and stretches over to Damian.

“Traitor,” You frown, rolling to your side and watching as he lays down on Damian, his tail curling under his body.

“He knows where home is,” Damian jokes, making you scoff.

“I’m gonna go take a shit,” You mutter and press a kiss to Damian’s forehead. Somewhere in your mind, it was intended for Alfred, but you missed it and didn’t realize it until you were at the door.

“I don’t mind,” Damian said when he noticed you had paused at the door.

“…Okay…” You hum and leave his room. It’s not like you’ll make a habit out of it.

—

A week later you’re both in the apartment's living room, Damian is busy working on this art project he’s been working on and you’re cramming for your last final of the semester. You’re sure if you read another word in that stupid textbook you’re going to explode and huff, slamming it shut before tossing it onto the pile that had amassed on the floor.

You need to do something else. Looking towards the kitchen you squint, food? No. Sighing, you look towards Damian. He’s focused on his drawing, you’d hate to disturb him. Your attention drifts down to your phone that’s vibrating on the coffee table.

Perfect timing.

You grab your phone and stand up before leaning down to kiss Damian’s cheek and say a quick “Call,” before heading into the kitchen to fix yourself a snack.

Okay, so habits quickly form, according to your track record.

Apparently, anytime either one of you leaves a room, you announce it with a kiss on the cheek or forehead— whichever is closer, and then the location. You’d actually grown to be fond of it. And it didn’t really affect your previous relationship with him. If anything, you spent more time with Damian now. Which seemed impossible considering you go to the same college, live in the same place, work at the same place, and fight crime together.

But, still. It’s just bros being bros.

“Hello?” You answer the call just before it stops ringing. Slipping the phone between your shoulder and ear, you open the fridge and lean inside for a better look. God, you need to go grocery shopping soon.

“God! I’ve been calling you for twenty minutes!” A woman shouts from the other end and you pull the phone from your ear and check the caller ID. It’s not saved and you don’t recognize it. Probably the wrong number.

“Who is this?” You ask, grabbing the butter tub and opening it. Yogurt-covered fruits. Jackpot. You set the tub on the counter and reach for a nearby bowl.

“Your mother! Hello, this is (Y/n), right?” Standing up straight, you disregard the fruit and rush into the living room and wave to get Damian’s attention. He doesn’t notice and you almost shout at him; he’s Robin and he can’t tell when his best friend is literally silently calling out for help five feet away?

“Hey, mom!” He looks up at that, slowly setting his pencil and sketchbook down. He mouths something but you don’t catch it between your blinking and pacing. “How’d you— how are you?” You cringe, biting your fist to stop yourself from speaking.

“Horrible! Where are you? We’re in Gotham,” She huffs and you whip around to Damian, eyes wide and you’re so close to lowering yourself into a squat and banging your head on the table.

“You’re here! In Gotham!” Damian sits up properly, motioning for you to put it on speaker and you do, setting the phone on the table. “How long are you here?” You ask, tugging your hands down your face.

“Two months,” Your mother answers and you swear you almost passed out right then and there. “Ujjwal, no! That place looks like it has bedbugs,” She huffs and your step-father starts to complain in Hindi. “Where are you?” She asks over the complaining. “We’re coming over!”

“I dorm, actually!” You quickly spit out, covering your mouth immediately afterward.

“Ah, why don’t you have an apartment yet?” Your step-father asks. “You know, your sister, Nadia has a house.” He says, forgetting the fact that Nadia was 27 and had won the lottery before moving to the countryside and buying her own house with her roommate since elementary school.

“I know, abbā.” You strain.

“I still don’t know why he went to Gotham for college,” He mutters and you wouldn’t have heard it had it not been for them being on speaker.

“Come meet us!” Your mom demands. “We’re in front of Gotham Bright Hotel! Diana is tired.”

“I’m busy, mom.”

“Nonsense, come and pick us up!” She huffs.

You at Damian, silently telling him see, crazy! He nods and thinks for a second before grabbing the TV remote and hurriedly opening YouTube.

“I’m studying and I’m pretty busy,” You repeat, watching as he looks up Fire Alarm noises. “Just stay there. I heard it’s a go—“ The video plays and you thank god there wasn’t an ad and it’s loud enough to seem real. “Sorry, abbā, mom, I gotta go! Fire drill,” Hanging up, you sigh and press your forehead to the cold table.

“Why are they in Gotham?” He asks, stopping the video.

“Fuck if I know,” You grumble into the wood. “I should get a new number…” Sitting down, you stare at your phone and groan. It’s not worth it. “I’m gonna take a nap, don’t wake me up until the sun comes up, please.” Getting up, you kiss his cheek and head to your room.

—

It doesn’t take long for you to bump into your family. The very next day, in fact. Dick had all but begged you and Damian to come along with him and the rest of the Waynes to go and check out the tree they put in front of Gotham City Hall every year. Like the New York tree. Just way smaller and probably will be stolen before Christmas.

You’re next to Damian, your hands stuffed into your big coat and your chin trying to retreat into your scarf watching as the crane lowers the tree. It’s already decorated in yellow and red ornaments, There’s some Gotham Vigilante ornaments, too, you note and grin when you see your insignia.

“It looks nice,” You chitter to Damian who looks over at you. He laughs at your state and moves in front of you to fix your scarf. You watch him as he carefully unwraps it and measures it to an equal length. He does it incredibly fast and you hope one day you’re as good as him with— everything really.

He looks back up at you and carefully draws the middle in front of your neck. He has to lean a bit forward to wrap the material around your neck but he doesn’t mind the fact that you can see your breaths mixing with the small gap he created. You don’t either, though. His fingers graze your neck as he tucks the scarf into itself before he admires his work and nods.

“Thanks,” With a noticeably less chatter of your teeth Damian is satisfied with his work and stands next to you again. You peer over at Dick who’s grinning ear to ear, watching the tree and putting his phone back into his pocket.

“He’s like a kid or something,” You laugh and Damian follows your eyes.

“He’s up to something,” He shakes his head and glares at his brother. Feeling the glare, Dick looks over at the two of you and waves his hand wildly. “Suspicious,” Damian confirms to himself. You roll your eyes and look back to the tree. There are some people helping set it in place as it’s lowered. Hopefully, there are no bombs in it this year.

“(Y/n)?” Several heads turn to the voice and you see your younger sister grinning and rushing over to you. She’s dressed in a fancy blue winter coat, the one with a small cape on the shoulders and white fur along the edges.

“Diana…!” Behind her, you see some other family members. Your parents, both your step-parents, your siblings, and two cousins with their mom. “Oh my god.” You whisper. In truth, you probably should’ve expected they’d be there. That’s your fault.

“We should run.” You tell Damian and he considers it. But your mother must be the flash with how fast she’s in front of you.

“Where’s your hat? And you don’t have gloves!” She immediately says while removing her gloves and holding your face for a second. She removes her hands as you try not to move away from her grip, then places the back of her head to your forehead then your ears. “You’re going to get sick!”

“Is this your mother?” Bruce smiles as he stands behind you.

“Yes,” You nod, putting your hands in your pocket.

“I’m Bruce,” He introduces himself and holds his hand out. It doesn’t click fast for the others, but for Diana it does.

“Like Bruce Wayne? So, you’re Damian Wayne, right?”

Diana’s eyes gleam as she asks and for some reason, it leaves a bad feeling in your mouth. You don’t like the way she looks at him and the idea of her touching him makes you angry. He notices, you don’t know how, and places a hand on your shoulder.

“Yes.” He nods. “And you are?” Her smile falters for a second and her eyes dart to you for a second. She composed herself and removed her hands from her pocket.

“Diana, his sister!” She holds her hand out for him as the rest of your family catches up. “He must’ve talked about me a bunch!” She flashes a grin to you.

“Not at all.” He shakes his head and turns to the rest of your family. You hide a grin and he shakes their hands, he already knows their names and he’s seen their faces before so it’s just a formality on his end.

“I had already invited (Y/n) to Thanksgiving,” Bruce starts, getting everyone’s attention back to him. “Would you like to join?”

Oh god no. Please.

Damian looks over at his father with barely hidden distaste as you stare at nothing. You know they’ll jump at the chance. They’ll ruin everything.

“We’d love to!” Your father says as your stepmother nods in agreement. The rest of your family agrees and maybe it’s the cold air that makes it hard to breathe but for some reason, you can’t. You blink, trying to take in as much as possible but it’s hard and you’re sure you don’t have asthma. Not anymore at least. Subconsciously, you tug at your earlobe to try and calm down.

“We need to leave now, though.” Damian cuts off your step-father as he’s about to speak. “We have finals to study for. It was nice meeting you.” He grabs your wrist from your ear and tugs you after him; you follow him without hassle until you’re back at the car Bruce had driven in.

“I truly do not understand father's thinking. Inviting them without consulting with you was a brash and out-of-character thing for him to do.” He frowns, unlocking the car with the keys he snagged from Bruce’s pocket. You used to wonder how he did it, but you’ve learned to not truly question him and his methods. Just hope he teaches you then one day.

“Yeah,” Is the only thing you manage to say. Only Damian really knew about your family, the others just knew you weren’t very close with them.

It was one night, you figured. You’ll be fine.

—

Bruce had requested everyone be at the manor before noon, which to Damian reads as being at the manor by nine. It’s less than a two-hour drive from your apartment to the manor, so you had to be up since four in the fucking morning. Which, honestly, you didn’t mind all that much.

It was a little homey just sitting with Damian in the living room and the sun wasn’t up yet, and then taking turns getting ready. It was nice. Different too. It almost distracted you from the fact that you were about to see your family.

“Is this okay?” You ask Damian as you enter his room, tugging at the hem of your sweater. He was already dressed, in a simple black shirt and brown pants but he made it look expensive. You felt stupid and like someone pretending to be important. God, your pants didn’t even fit right! You should probably go and change, find something from one of the gala’s you’ve attended.

“You look perfect,” He says as he removes your hands from the hem and locks your hands together to stop you from leaving. “Cuff the ends of your pants, perhaps.” He adds offhandedly. You frown and look behind him. He has a small bag packed and you look back at him.

“I don’t wanna go,” You whisper, searching his face for a sign that he’ll agree and you’ll both stay in your apartment for the night. You won’t have to see your family and probably finally block them. He won’t have to deal with his brothers. It’s a win-win situation.

“Take this opportunity,” He says and lets go of one of your hands to grab his bag from his bed. “Show them how good you’re doing. You’re basically a Wayne, you’re above them in every way possible.” Shouldering his bag, he guides you to your room and hands you your bag.

“But…” You bite your cheek and take the bag. “What if… I dunno— I do something stupid! I slip up and reveal everything… I’m probably better off just sitting there. Diana will do most of the talking anyway.” You huff the last part. “Did you see the way she acted? I mean, she definitely toned down the spoiled and entitled energy but still. She’ll probably try and get with you, too.” His face scrunches at the thought and it makes you laugh.

“You should know she’s far from my type.” He says as he checks his phone and you don’t really understand but you pretend you do.

“Can you grab Alfred? Pennyworth is here.” Humming, you enter the living room and grab the carrier that Alfred is less than happy to be in from the table. You try and keep him as stable as possible while Damian gets Titus and the two of you head out. He locks the door and you add an extra measure from your toolbar before going to the elevator.

“You’ll be fine,” He swears as the two of you step inside. There’s no one else in the elevator seeing how early in the day it is and all the students have already gone home. “Besides, I’m sure one of my moronic brothers will do something embarrassing and do all the talking for us. And Pennyworth has promised knafeh.”

“I love knafeh,” He grins and steps out of the elevator.

“That’s why I asked him to make it.” And they call him a demon.

Following Damian, you spot Alfred waiting in front of the car with a warm smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Pennyworth,” You greet him while giving him a one-armed hug.

“Good morning, Mr. (L/n),” He pats your back then moves to open the car door. “Young Master Damian,” He nods and Damian nods back. The two of you scoot into the car and you set the cage in front of your legs. Alfred meows when he realizes he’s going back to the manor and begins to scratch at the bottom of the cage.

“I’m sure he misses the open space,” You comment, trying to peer down inside of the cage but you can only lean down so far without fearing you’d break your back.

“Alfred is truly a pampered cat,” Pennyworth says as he enters the car. “Buckle up.”

The ride is spent with you and Damian discussing random topics from your next patrol to your finals. He had even gotten Alfred to join in on the topic and the two of them all but yelled at you to study for your finals. Eventually, you did cave and promised them you would and you just know Damian is going to hold you to that.

“Now,” Alfred sighs as he parks the car in front of the door to the manor. “I have to retrieve your family along with Master Dick. Do not tell the others this, but I trust you two the most in the kitchen. Could you please continue my preparations?”

“Of course, Alfie!” You grin while Damian just nods. Alfred smiles and looks at the two of you through the rearview mirror.

“Thank you, I have a list on the fridge. Simply follow it until I get back.” With the promise not to fuck anything up, the two of you head into the manor and quickly put your things into his room and let Alfred out.

“You’re better with a knife,” You mutter as you read over the list on the fridge. A list probably isn't even the right word for it. It’s four pages long and double-sided, explains what’s being made and the steps to make it and you’re not sure that’s even all of the papers he’s created. Alfred tends to go big for Thanksgiving, you think it’s because the Wayne’s hadn’t been a big family until Bruce got addicted to taking in kids. Not to mention now your family was joining. “I’ll season the food.”

Damian peers over at the list as you move to wash your hands and sees that everything has a time next to it, they’re already a little behind schedule so he’ll need to work quickly. He’s sure that the two of you can catch everything back up to speed and hopefully allow Alfred some breathing room.

It’s vegetables after vegetables for Damian. He’s sure he’s cut up an entire acre of carrots and onions by the time he sees the two cars pull up to the manor. You, on the other hand, are having fun mixing and mashing various foods. You just hoped it was to Alfred’s standards.

You see both of the cars pull up and take that as your sign to wrap up whatever you’re doing and you wash your hands.

“I’m a pro fucking chef,” You grin at Damian as he sets the last of the stuff he chopped into a bowl next to the sink.

“It smells good.” He agrees, watching as the cars pull to a stop just long enough for everyone to get out. Your family piles out of the cars and you cringe as Diana is quick to insist on a family photo. You, of course, are not included in it but that’s nothing new. That fact doesn’t do anything to satiate your mood, though.

“Bathroom,” You say as you kiss his cheek and head down the hallway. He watches with a frown before he wipes his hands on the kitchen towel and decides he’s not going to greet your family at the door.

He stops at the first-floor bathroom and hears the faucet running. He knocks on the door once with his index knuckle and hears the water stop running.

“I’m going to be in the family library,” Looking up from your spot on the top of the toilet, you wipe your face and clear your throat.

“Okay, be there in a second.”

—

Entering the family library, you’re glad your family wasn’t inside just yet. They were probably still taking pictures in front since god knows how many individual and group pictures they like to take. Damian is sitting on the middle couch, Titus and Ace are sandwiching him together but Ace moves when he sees you. Like he knows you’re going to sit there.

It makes you smile and you greet Tim who’s on a chair, he gives a small wave without pulling his head out of his laptop. You wonder what case he’s working on, has to be important if Bruce couldn’t force him to keep it in his room. The others aren’t downstairs yet, so it’s just the three of you in the room.

Damian moves his left arm to the top of the sofa as you sit down and only when you’re comfortable does he move it to lay across your shoulders. He doesn’t do that often, but whenever he does it’s a welcomed interaction. You lean into his touch, just a little.

You hear them enter the manor, but you’re more focused on the fact that he started to play with the hair on the base of your scalp. He’s probably doing it on purpose, but you don’t care; you’re glad he does because you didn’t even realize they had entered the library until you felt him greet them. His shoulder bounces a bit as he nods to them.

“Oh,” Nadia says and you look over at her. She says it in the same way you’d say oh when you catch onto something. But you’re not sure what she’s caught onto. Her roommate, Kendall, waves with her fingers and you wave back. “Hey, squirt.” Your eyes turn back to your sister and her hand that twitches to grab Kendall’s.

“There you are!” Her hand snaps back to her side as your mother speaks. You sit up straight as you see your mother, you don’t know why. But it felt wrong leaning on Damian with your family there, you’ve never felt that way before. “Why didn’t you greet us at the door?” Your mother asks.

“I was busy.” You say, looking over your family. “How was the ride?”

“No one shot at us,” Your cousin laughs, throwing himself onto one of the sofas. You cringe, watching the wood bend at the sheer force he’d thrown himself down with. “But there was this one lady with the only gyatt!” He says and oh my god, you’d forgotten he was a middle school boy.

“How’s school going?” Your step-mother asks, sitting in your father's lap. Your mother eyes them and you try not to as well, but you’ve never liked them together. She’s twenty-five, hardly old enough to be with a man in his fifties.

“Good,” You hum.

“So,” Diana grins as she crosses her leg over her right. “Damian, what’s it like— living in Gotham? I bet it’s scary.” She’s sitting on the sofa next to the one you’re on, but closer to Damian. You bet if your folks weren’t in the rooms she’d try and reach for his hand. You try and not to focus on that.

“It’s not,” He shrugs.

“Really?” She grins. “Because I was thinking of transferring to Gotham University!” She says and Damian’s fingers twitch along your back.

“It’s not scary for me, someone who isn’t used to life here will never make it.” He quickly adds and she frowns.

“It can’t be that hard,” She waves her hand to you. “I mean, (Y/n) is doing fine and he’s… him!” She laughs as she says that and you look at your parents, they’re clearly listening to the conversation but as per usual, no one will ever stop Diana.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Damian asks while leaning forward in his seat.

“There you two are!” Dick shouts as he runs into the library. His eyes look between the two of you and he makes the same face he does when he sees a cute dog.

“Richard.” Damian greets.

“Kori!” You gasp and rush over to the woman as she walks into the room. Damian grumbles something but stands up and follows after you. “Oh my god, Dick didn’t mention you were coming.” You glare at him but he holds his hands up.

“We wanted to keep it a surprise,” She laughs and holds onto his shoulder. “His father has the baby.” Two months ago, Kori had given birth to their daughter, Mari. You had yet to meet her, but Dick made sure to spam-send you photos whenever he could.

“Aw!” You frown. “Why does that old man get to see the baby first?” Damian hides his laughter and you nudge his side with your hip.

“Because she’s my grandchild,” Bruce says as he walks in behind them. He walks next to Kori and you see her swaddled in a purple blanket, sound asleep.

“And I’m the godfather!” You remind him, looking down at Mari.

“As am I,” Damian reminds you and you roll your eyes, waving your hand at him.

“Can I hold her?” You whisper, afraid you’d wake her up. Bruce nods and you grin, helping him slide Mari into your arms. “She’s so small,” Turning to Damian, he holds your shoulder with one hand, and the other scoops under the hand that holds Mari’s head. He’s trying not to smile in front of Dick but you can see it.

“She has your hair, Richard.” He notes, turning to his brother as he puts his phone back into his pocket as quickly as possible. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t broach the topic.

“And her mother's eyes,” Dick smiles at his wife.

“Let’s sit,” Bruce says and you nod, unable to look away from Mari in fear of dropping her. Damian guides you back to your seats and you slowly lower yourself onto the couch.

“She’s less fragile than you think,” He softly reminds you and you finally look away from her. Damian looks away from Mari and looks at you, his eyes flickering across your face before they settle on your eyes.

“She’s so small, though.” You frown and he nods, moving some of your hair from your face. “Wanna hold her?”

“Wish Jay took that much of an interest in her.” Dick frowns, watching the two of you. “First grandchild of the family!”

“Hopefully only grandchild for a while,” Bruce says as he unbuttons his jacket to sit comfortably.

“I doubt you’ll have a baby problem anytime soon.” Tim laughs, finally putting his laptop away. “Dickie is the only one of us to date a woman.” Dick laughs and Bruce genuinely has to think about it. Had he raised a home filled with gay people? Did he make kids gay? He’s one for four at the moment but he sort of wishes Duke and Cas would even the scores out a bit. No— he’s zero for five. He corrects himself, remembering Dick’s boyfriend from a few years back.

“Not true,” You cross your arms, oblivious to Bruce’s spiral. “Steph—“

“You know what I meant!” He rolls his eyes. “He’s the only guy in this family who’s dated a woman.”

“No,” You shake your head while looking at Damian. “Didn’t you date uh… what’s her name? Nika?” He looks almost offended that you said that.

“(Y/n), she’s gay.” He corrects.

“Alexis?”

“She was delusional.”

“Emiko?”

“Friends.”

“Maxinne?”

“Friends. Why do you think I’ve dated these women?” The man himself walks into the library with Alfred.

“…Jason…” You admit and he gives you a Are you fucking serious look. Jason looks confused for a second but he can get a hint of what’s happening based on Damian and Dick’s face.

“You believed Todd to tell you the truth of my love life?” He stresses and now you feel stupid.

“When you say it like that!” You huff, turning your head away from him. “I mean he also said you dated Jon.”

“And that didn’t give you a sign he was lying?” He chuckles.

“So, are you single?” Your mother asks and you catch Diana pretending not to listen but she leans in closer.

“No.” Damian answers in a tight tone and you frown.

“No?” You echo and he looks at you, bewildered.

“No shot,” Jason laughs, his head tilted. “You two with me.” He points between the two of you and you look between his family, a similar look spreading across their faces. What the fuck is going on? But you follow Jason after Damian handed Mari back to Dick. He doesn’t look happy, you note as he walks two paces ahead of you; something he hardly ever does.

Jason guided the two of you into a smaller library that Bruce uses when he’s having meetings. You stand on the carpet while Damian stands close to the fireplace.

“Damian,” Jason says as he closes the doors. “Are you single?”

“No.” He snaps.

“(Y/n),” He turns to you. “Are you single?”

“Yes…?” You trail. “Why?”

“Figure it out!” Jason laughs and then leaves the room. Staring at the door, you sigh and sit on the couch, leaning your arms on your legs.

“(Y/n),” Damian calls. “Why didn’t you tell your family we’re together?” His voice is smaller than before and he doesn’t look at your face, like he’s ashamed.

“We’re what?” You shout, your head snapping over to him. “Dude, since when?” He realizes it then and now it makes sense.

“You kissed me.” He stresses and sits down across from you.

“Yeah, on the cheek!” You roll your hand. “That’s normal and totally not romantic!” He crosses his arms and you shrink into your seat under his gaze.

“Do you kiss all of your friends?” He asks, an eyebrow raised in the air. You humor it for a second, thinking about kissing one of your college friends on the cheek like you did with him. It seemed gross, wrong. As if it was some sort of violation. That those kisses between you and Damian were sacred and to even think about it with someone else was somehow an act against god.

“Well, no,” You blink down to the floor.

“Then why me?” He asks. You don’t understand at that moment, but when you look back on the conversation you realize he was guiding you to an answer you already knew.

“I mean, it just feels right with you.” Looking back at him, he’s smiling and his eyes are bright. “But I’ve never liked a guy before.” You admit, taking in a deep breath. “I dunno how to be in a gay relationship.”

“It’s the same as any other relationship.” He reassures you. “If that’s what you want.” He adds, holding your hand. You look at your hands together and smile. Do you want that?

You imagine yourself, going on dates with him and announcing each other as your boyfriend. Kissing him. Like actually kissing him. And it makes your face hurt with how much you’re smiling. You’re giddy, like some kid with a crush and you feel stupid for not putting two and two together sooner.

“I think I do.” You look at him and hold his hand back. “I do.” You nod. “I want that— this.”

“Good,” He sighs, his shoulders relaxing. “Because my family already knows.” He admits and you look at the door. Jason is probably still there, listening and reporting back to the others.

“Do you want other people to know?” You ask. “I know you consider your private life… private.”

“I would love nothing more than to introduce you as my partner.” He says, his thumb rubbing against your flesh.

“If I knew you liked me this much before I would’ve made a move sooner,” You laugh, looking between his eyes. He rolls his eyes and stands up, pulling you with him.

Once you’re on your feet, he holds you by your hips and you don’t exactly know what to do with your hands. You settle on holding his waist, you’ve never realized just how toned he was.

“Can I?” He asks, bringing his left hand up to brush against your bottom lip. Understanding what he’s asking, your heart hammers in your chest as you nod. “Use your words, Habibi.”

“Yes.” You nod feverishly and he dips in without a second thought. His left hand cups your face, trying to pull you closer and you’re doing the same with his waist. Digging into his skin, you’re sure your lips are going to bruise with how needy you’re kissing him. It’s almost shameful how easily you’re crumbling under his touch. Your stomach is doing tricks that only Dick could perform and for some reason, you don’t know why you didn’t do this sooner.

Never has a kiss felt this good, this right. His right hand moves from your hip and travels up, surely messing up your shirt but that’s a worry for another time. You can only focus on how it’s now holding the back of your head, his nails dragging across your scalp and you can’t help the noise that comes out.

“Oh?” He utters against your lips. You laugh and take the time to catch your breath, looking between his eyes, listening to your shared panting.

“Again?” You’re almost pleading, your eyes stuck on his lips.

“Of course.” This kiss is different, it’s less of a release and more of a we have all the time in the world now type of kiss. It’s slow and it’s tender, you feel all the details in his lips and how yours moves against his. This one feels like a hum you’ve known all your life and it’s wonderful.

This time, your hands find his hair and you don’t realize it, but you’re dragging your nails across his scalp and playing with his hair. He does, though. It makes his heart hammer and he moans into the kiss, unable to do anything but focus on you.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Jason says as he opens the door. Without breaking the kiss, you open your hot bar and with pure muscle memory, grab the water gun and spray him until he leaves. Damian laughs, pulling away from the kiss, and looks at Jason who’s trying to avoid getting sprayed but it seems like Damian’s rubbed off on you more than you realize it because damn, even when he moves you’re still hitting him!

He looks back to you and you’re still looking at him, your pupils blown wide and he can feel the light panting coming from you. Your lips are glossy, coating in both of your spit and he’s sure his are too. He can get used to that.

“We should head back,” He reasons, lowering your water gun. “Before father sends Grayson and he starts crying like before.” Throwing the gun back into your hot bar, you give him a questioning look. “When I announced we were dating… he cried.”

“You’re joking?”

“Unfortunately not.” He rolls his eyes and stands up straight, fixing his clothes and his hair. You do the same while Jason is going on about cleaning up the water and having to change. There’s no water on the floor, you note as you walk out of the library. None on the walls either. Every single one of them hit Jason.

Back in the family library, you return to your seats and Tim is the first to notice both of your elated moods. It’s more visible on you, but it’s harder to spot with Damian. It’s more of a feeling he gets, his face is as neutral as he can be when he’s around you but he’s so clearly happy. His steps are different, he imagines if he had less dignity he’d skip around the manor. The two of you settle in your seats and he’s pleasantly surprised to see you lean into Damian without a care of who else is in the room.

He’d gotten the text, along with every other sibling from the NO BRUCE!!! group chat. Jason, only seconds after closing the door had told everyone that you didn’t know of your own relationship. Safe to say you knew now.

Tim looks at your family and the only happy one seems to be Nadia. She’s a somber type of happy, though. She’s happy for you, but she can’t bring herself to be half as bold as you are and it hurts. Diana is trying to wrap her head to a different conclusion, she’s holding onto hope that you’ll be pushed away. It almost makes him laugh. Your older brother is in his own world, as he’s always been. He’s quiet, hardly noticeable but it seems to be on his own devices as he had picked the furthest seat from everyone.

But it seems to be from more of an air of misplaced pride than anything. His nose is turned up and he’s wearing an expensive suit. But it’s clearly not his, Tim would know. If there’s the money to splurge on that type of suit there’s always a tailor to get the proportions right.

Then there’s your half-sibling, from your father's side. She’s around ten and he wonders just when did your parents separated. Then he remembers there’s a seventeen-year age gap between the oldest and the youngest of your siblings. She’s sleeping, her head on her father's shoulder and the forgotten iPad discarded on her lap, about to fall off and hit the carpet.

Your father sees the two of you and looks at your mother who’s trying to keep her calm around the company— rich company at that. Tim doesn’t know why, but if he were them, he would at least try and pretend as if he’s happy for the relationship. Their son was dating the richest bachelor in the world and could very possibly give them a comfortable life. But he doesn’t think they see the bigger picture.

And yet, despite the clear disgust throughout your family, no one says a single word. The entire library is silent save for Mari and the two of you, talking as if no one else is in the room.

He wants to gag.

“Kids,” Bruce says as he sits straight in his seat. “Could you leave us for a moment? I’d like a word with the adults.”

“Half of us are adults,” You chide and he gives you a look.

“A word with the parents.” He corrects.

“I’m still in, baby!” Dick silently cheers to not wake Mari. But it only makes Bruce sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“A word with (Y/n)’s parents and aunt. Alone.” He stresses. Curious as to what he’s up to, and mostly afraid of what’s going to happen while you’re gone, you open your hot bar without causing too much attention to yourself. The Hotbar is only visible to yourself, so no one sees the vast list of gadgets you pull up and quickly find the listening device Tim created.

“Don’t need to ask me twice,” You grumble and stand up, pulling Damian up after you.

Jason and Tim are already out of the room, there any fewer interactions and they’ll jump at the opportunity. Dick and Kori, despite wanting to enjoy the snow in the yard with the others, retreat to Dick’s room to nap while Mari is sleeping.

You hold the door open for your siblings and cousin, but Damian sees you place the device on the door and raises an eyebrow

“(Y/n),” Bruce says in a low tone. Of course, he’d seen it, too.

“Gotta go!” You urge and slip out of the room.

—

Diana, alone in the yard as her family had drifted away, finds herself bored and honestly, she’s at Wayne Manor and she just has to show off. She hasn’t posted the pictures yet, she still needs to edit them so no one knows she’s there. And she’s sure her followers would love to see a snowy Wayne manor.

Thankfully, the wifi was stable enough in the backyard that the connection for her Instagram Live was crystal clear.

She waits until she sees five digits on the view counter before he even starts speaking.

“Hey, guys!” She waves at her phone. “Bruce Wayne invited my family to his manor for Thanksgiving! Super grateful for that,” She nods towards the large manor and then at the comments, begging to see the man in question. “He’s inside, talking to my parents. But his kids are here too! I think Damian went into the maze…” She looks off to the green hedges coated in a thick layer of snow. “I’ll go and find him.”

She flips the camera around, and her viewers watch as she walks inside. She doesn’t notice right away, but nearly gasps when she sees she has just over two million people watching. Maybe you are good for something, she almost laughs.

It takes about twenty minutes of aimlessly walking before she finds the center of the maze. The two million viewers had gone down to just a million but she’ll take it.

“I think that’s it,” She mutters, seeing a clearing of bushes. It’s incredibly cold, so she’s shivering and her teeth are chattering but she can’t blame herself! She’s not used to snow. “There’s Damian!” She whispers, seeing his head of hair sitting on a bench. Pointing her phone in that direction, she decides it’s better to hide herself and look through her phone.

From what people can see, Damian is sitting next to someone. They can’t tell until she turns the phone a bit more and it’s you. Gotham citizens know you, of course. Over the past couple of years, everyone in Gotham knows the two of you are friends but no one really cares to post about it.

She rolls her eyes, of course, you’re still stuck to his side. The two of you are talking, but you’re too far away for Diana to hear the conversation. You’re laughing, though and Damian is explaining something. Your laughter slows down and the two of you just sorta of look at each other.

Damian asks something and you scoff, looking away before he grabs your chin and leans in. The viewer count is going up and before Diana can fully process what’s happening, the two of you are kissing. Honestly, she’s furious! You knew she liked him, she’s sure of that. This— whatever game you’re playing is just to get at her. She’s sure of it. But she can’t act on it, the views are around eight million and she doesn't want Damian to think she’s crazy.

He’s holding you dearly, it’s the gentlest he’s ever touched a person before and you’re proud to say you’ll be his first and only.

His lips detach for yours and trail down to your chin.

“Habibi,” He mutters and you shudder, feeling the vibrations against your neck. Honestly, at that moment you genuinely could not give a single fuck about your family. About their feelings towards you, about the ways they treated you growing up, and about them. As people. Each and every one of them, none of them could ever compare to this.

Thank that blue-pilled man, seriously.

#x male reader #x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x male reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian al ghul x male reader #damian wayne x reader

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billthedrake · 1 month ago

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BIG SKY

I won't lie to you and tell you that I've never perved on my brothers, but with Keith I managed to keep the lust in check. But objectively, my older, middle brother is a hunk. Even as I walked past security at the regional airport and saw him standing there waiting for me, I was struck by how attractive he was. 6-foot-even in casual summer clothes with a build that looked almost wiry-lean at first but was super solid when you got closer.

"Alex!" he called out to me to catch my attention. Then stepping up to meet me in a quick bear hug he added in a more normal voice. "So good to see you, bro."

OK, I mostly felt that normal fraternal affection and his excitement was rubbing off on as he clapped my lats through my polo shirt and I felt his own taut bod underneath some faded National Parks T-shirt he had on. At least I hoped his excitement was rubbing off on me. I was low-key dreading this trip and not so low-key resenting how much even the air ticket out west was costing me mid-summer, not to mention my share of the lodging costs.

Seeing Keith happy made it worth while. "Glad you could make it," he said, giving my shoulder a playful squeeze, as if we were still in high school and as if I weren't not taller than him. "I know it's not your thing."

I shrugged. I promised I wasn't gonna be an ass this week. I knew this meant a lot to Keith and to be honest I was glad and a little impressed he wasn't doing the typical Vegas thing, or even the typical Nashville thing. Keith loved the outdoors, so his buddies planned a week of fly fishing and light hiking in big sky country.

"Come on, Keith," I objected. "I'm glad to be here."

It was the right answer, but my brother couldn't help but tease me. "Dude, your idea of nature is Central Park." I had a carry-on that I knew how to efficiently pack, so we didn't need to wait for bags. I followed my brother's lead out toward the exit.

In addition to not being an ass, I had two related goals for the week: one, dial down the bitchy gay humor. I mean, I don't think of myself as bitchy or queeny or whatever, but I know these guys probably do, and I lived enough in the Midwest to know how my normal wit comes across.

And two: have fun.

"Look at you expanding my horizons," I said. Then as we stepped outside the doors, I saw a vista of the Rockies in the background. "Fuck, that's beautiful," I muttered.

Keith smiled, amused at my big city reaction maybe but I think also enjoying that I liked it here.

We got in his rental car and were on our way.

"You didn't have to pick me up," I said as I took in the scenery that unfolded in front of us, flat but also majestic.

"No need for everyone to get a car," he said. He gave a quick glance over at me. "I'm really happy you came, Alex," my brother said in that sincere tone of his that used to drive me crazy - I don't know it sort of seemed West Coast people talk super earnest about every fucking thing - but now it hit me in a certain emotional place. I felt bad that I even considered for a moment saying no to this trip.

"Of course," I replied. "Big step for you and Rebecca."

He grinned. "It is," he said. "We were taking our time, not rushing anything you know, and then all of a sudden, we weren't taking our time," he chuckled.

"It'll be great," I said. "You're a great couple."

He nodded and shot me another look. "What about you, bro? Anyone in your life these days?"

I wouldn't say I was the black sheep of the family, but whereas Keith and Mike were close with each other and close with our parents, I had established some distance.

"Nah," I replied. I about tossed out some bitchy-witty comment, but reminded myself that I was going to be a new Alex Miller this week. "I've been trying to date more seriously, actually," I admitted. "But that shit's hard."

Keith smirked. He was always the supportive brother. Whereas Mike could be the typical ex-jock, Keith had a protective streak about his kid gay brother. Still, he was sometimes amused by the differences between gay and straight life. "How so?" he asked.

"Man, I need a couple of drinks in me before I start in on that," I said.

"Fair," Keith replied. Maybe we weren't that different.

We drove for a bit more in silence before Keith spoke up again. "Listen Alex, I wanted to thank you again for showing us around New York on last visit. We had a blast, and it meant a lot to Rebecca, I know."

I muttered a thanks. I mostly was enjoying the big sky country unfolding ahead of us as Keith drove us to the place where we'd rented a couple of cabins for the week. But, yeah, I couldn't help but sneak glances at my big brother, looking hot as fuck as he relaxed in the driver's seat. Keith very much had the body I was working for - muscular but lean. I got annoyed with how straight guys made that kind of body seem effortless, though in reality, I knew they put in the work, too.

***

Mike was Mike. Pushing 40 and looking very much like the high school football coach he was - 6'3" with 230 pounds that was a combo of solid muscle and some married spread, including a slight beer belly that filled out the Ohio State T-shirt he had on.

"Alex!" his voice boomed as I stepped into the cabin. I set down my bags as he got up off the couch, where he'd been watching the Cubs game. "Guess the party's starting now," he laughed.

If Keith was the sincere, serious one of the Miller brothers and I was the wry, cynical one, Mike was happy-go-lucky one, like an overgrown kid who still hadn't gotten used to adulting. Even if we shared a lot of genetics, Mike looked the most midwestern, with fine, pale brown hair and a strong stockiness, and a booming Midwestern accent.

I felt his big body clasp mine and I could smell the body wash on him and feel the heat from his build. If I kept my lust for Keith well repressed, I hadn't been able do the same with Mike. We had a complicated history and the fact I'd sucked his meaty cock before made compartmentalizing that much harder.

"I'll let you guys get settled in," Keith said. "Dinner up at the big cabin in an hour?" he added. "But feel free to come up earlier if you want. We'll just be hanging out."

I got settled into my room and freshened up. The place we'd rented wasn't cheap, but it was pretty damn nice, I'll admit, and Mike and I had our own rooms in the smaller, secondary cabin, while the best man Ben and the other two groomsmen Ian and Nathan were sharing the larger cabin with Keith.

Mike was popping open a beer can when I stepped back into the main open living/kitchen area. "Vodka's in the freezer for you," he said. "Picked up your brand."

"Thanks," I said. Vodka-soda was my go-to, but after the long travel day, a martini sounded perfect. "You must think I'm a picky bastard," I said, half in self-deprecation.

Mike grinned. "Oh, I KNOW you're a picky bastard," he said, taking a sip of his beer. "It shows on your face every time your back home."

I shrugged. He had me there.

"How are things back home?" I asked, pulling out the vodka and the chilled rocks glass my brother had put in for me.

"Same ol, same ol," Mike said. "Cat and I are getting divorced," he said bluntly, like he wasn't dropping a bombshell."

"Jesus!" I exclaimed, setting my glass down on the counter. "Really?" then seeing his nod, "Fuck."

He gave a shrug but I knew my big brother was an emotional wreck beneath his boisterous personality. "Technically it's a separation. But writing is on the wall."

"How are Emily and Jase taking it?" I asked, referring to his kids, my niece and nephew.

"Fine," he said, blue eyes looking at me intently. "Maybe. I don't know, A."

"We don't gotta talk about it," I said.

"Thanks," Mike said reaching forward to clasp my shoulder and giving it a strong squeeze. It was friendly and brotherly and flirty at the same time. "I don't mind you knowing, bro, it's just some things can't be fixed, you know?"

"Yeah," I replied. His hand didn't leave, nor did his gaze relent. I lowered my voice. "You want some head, don't ya Mike?"

He gave a shy grin before his face grew bedroom serious. "It's all I've been thinking about since Keith told me you were coming."

I felt my throat tense up. I hadn't expected sex, not this soon, but the thrill of sucking my coach brother off was getting to me. "What about the other guys?" I asked.

His voice grew sultry. "I'll keep watch, A. Just work your magic. Please."

Before I had a chance to agree or to crouch down, Mike was leaning in. He was a little buzzed from the beer, but I loved his combination of relaxed and excited as we swapped tongues. This wasn't a first for us, but it was new territory, something we'd tried when we stole off surreptitiously last Christmas.

Even as we kissed I could feel him reach down, undoubtedly pulling down his shorts. "Please, A," he grunted into my mouth.

I nodded. Giving a quick look out the window.

"They're not coming to check on," Mike said with some horny exasperation. "Just suck my cock, man."

I wasn't sure I liked my brother in bossy mode, but I was into the naughty thrill of this. I crouched down and took a second to admire this hard tool. We had similar cocks, if I had to measure I was probably a half inch longer, while Mike Miller had about a half inch of extra girth. I ran my hands up his furry legs - if his middle had a softness, the legs were all hard muscle. I leaned in and traced my tongue up from the base.

"Fuck yes," he hissed. The tone was now appreciative and begging rather than commanding. Pariticularly as I teased the shaft some, wetting my big brother down before I craned my head up to position my mouth over his leaking head.

I tasted that sap, then the saltiness of his prick, as I went down on him. I'm not an OnlyFans expert at giving head, but I'm good enough. Even without his telling me, I knew I gave the best blowjobs my oldest brother ever had.

"Holy Christ, bro... yeah, just like that." I felt his fingers grip my head. Not roughly, more cradling my temples to encourage me as I went up and down.

I frickin loved my brother's dick. It's meaty and just enough of a challenge without being too much. I relaxed my jaw and willed my throat to cooperate as I began deep throating him at a good clip. Working up and down with long mouth strokes, feeling the thick rigidity in his bone spear my gullet in rhythmic succession. It's the kind of vigorous cocksucking that I can't kepe up for a long session, but I knew I wouldn't have to.

"Oh FUCK, Alex! FUCK!"

I felt the quiver of that hard cock and was being fed a healthy appetizer of pent-up sperm. I adjusted my sucking pace to milk out that load without overstimulating him.

"Oh shit," I gasped as I pulled off. I had a healthy sex life but brother sex was some of the hottest and made me feel like a starved man. "That was hot, Mike."

I looked up and saw a look of pure sexual contentment and gratitude. "Bro... you're the fucking best. Seriously."

I mean, I kind of knew that, at least in comparison to Mike's wife or his past girlfriends. But I liked seeing him happy and knowing I'd put him in that state. It was fucked up.

"Stand up," he urged softly. But Bossy Mike was gone and it was his normal buddy tone of voice.

That only made me more willing to do as he asked. I stood up, hardon aching. We'd done this before, maybe a half dozen times over the years. Sometimes I jerked off in Mike's presence after I'd sucked him off. I wanted to now, so I started undoing my shorts.

I got the surprise of my life to see my big stud brother kneel down. Right there in the kitchen of the rental cabin.

"Oh shit, Mike," I grunted. "Are you gonna?"

He didn't really answer. He just flashed a smile before his face got closer to my hardon. And before I knew it was feeling my brother's tongue on my dick.

It took me a second to even think. I looked out the window. The coast was clear. I absolutely didn't want anyone to walk in on this. But I also enjoyed the fact Mike was blowing me out here in the open.

I touched his skull like he had mine. Gentler, even, since I didn't want to spook him. Mike was better at this than I thought. Wisely, he didn't try to take too much dick in. Holding the base of my cock he worked the top in steady sucking motions. It was gonna work, all right. I was already turned on like crazy.

"Mike... I'm gonna..."

His lips and tongue worked me faster and he hummed around my prick. Then as I felt the first shot fire out into his mouth, he raised up off my dick and rapidly stroked out the rest of my cum. I fired a good five or six heavy jets, right on to Mike's handsome face, and splotching that Ohio State shirt stretched over his meaty body.

"Yeah... stud..." he encouraged, his blue eyes wide as he watched the last of my ejaculation.

I was breathing hard now and my dick twitched, even after Mike let go of it and stood up. I watched him pick up his beer and take a healthy swig. "I fucking hate the taste of cum," he announced, before taking another sip to wash the flavor away. "I don't see how you swallow, Alex."

I shrugged. "I don't know... it's the best part." I felt throughly drained, and yet the sight of my hunky big bro dripping with my semen was going to keep my boned.

Mike got self conscious all of a sudden and grabbed a napkin off the counter to wipe his cheek and chin of my seed.

The reality was sinking in. "That wasn't your first dick," I said softly.

He grinned. "I've been fooling around with one of my players. Graduated senior now. Yeah, yeah, I know that's dumb as hell."

It was my turn to reach forward and pat his arm. "Maybe. But it's hot as fuck."

That seemed to relax him. "I guess we got some catching up to do, huh?"

"Sounds that way," I laughed. I looked at my watch. "I guess we should make our way up."

Mike peeled off his shirt. He wasn't fit like Keith, but I loved the view of his body. For all our times together, I'd never seen him head to toe naked. "I'll go get a new shirt," he said, reaching down to pull his shorts back up.

My glass was no longer ice cold, so I swapped it for a fresh one in the freezer. I could use that martini. The first sips were great, and between it and the sex I was glad I'd come out here.

Mike came back out, with a polo shirt that was his version of dressy. He picked up his beer can and patted me on the shoulder. "I'm glad you came, Alex." He was surprisingly on the same wavelength as me.

"Me too," I said.

Mike paused and looked at me more intently. Then leaned in again. Soon we were kissing once more, not just a gotta-fuck kiss. But something else. I guess we'd figure it out this week. And try not to get into too much trouble.

#drakestories

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komsomolka · 1 month ago

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To sit in the comfort and safety of the West and condemn acts of armed resistance that the Palestinians choose to carry out – always at great risk to their lives – is a deeply chauvinistic position. It must be stated plainly: it is not the place of those who choose to stand in solidarity with the Palestinians from afar to then try and dictate how they should wage the anti-colonial struggle that, as Frantz Fanon believed, is necessary to maintain their humanity and dignity, and ultimately to achieve their liberation. Those who are not under brutal military occupation or refugees from ethnic cleansing have no right to judge the manner in which those who are choose to confront their colonisers. Indeed, expressing solidarity with the Palestinian cause is ultimately meaningless if that support dissipates the moment that the Palestinians resist their oppression with anything more than rocks and can no longer be portrayed as courageous, photogenic, but ultimately powerless, victims. [...]

As a result, large swathes of the Western left express solidarity with the Palestinian cause in a generalised, abstract way, overstating the importance of their own role, and simultaneously rejecting the very groups who are currently fighting – and dying – for it. All too often, those who have refused to surrender and steadfastly resisted at great cost, are condemned by people who, in the same breath, declare solidarity with the cause. Similarly, it is common for these same people to either ignore or demonise those external forces that materially aid the Palestinian resistance more than any others – most notably Iran. If this assistance is acknowledged, which is rare, the Palestinian groups that accept it are typically infantilised as mere ‘dupes’ or ‘pawns’, for allowing themselves to be used cynically by the self-serving acts of others – a sentiment that directly contradicts Palestinian leaders’ own statements.

A specific criticism of Hamas that is frequently deployed in this context is the ‘indiscriminate’ nature of its missile launches from Gaza, actions which both Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International regularly label ‘war crimes’. As observed by Perugini and Gordon, the false equivalence that this designation relies upon ‘essentially says that using homemade missiles – there isn’t much else available to people living under permanent siege – is a war crime. In other words, Palestinian armed groups are criminalised for their technological inferiority’. After the latest round of fighting in May 2021, al-Sinwar stated clearly that, unlike Israel, ‘which possesses a complete arsenal of weaponry, state-of-the-art equipment and aircraft’ and ‘bombs our children and women, on purpose’, if Hamas possessed ‘the capabilities to launch precision missiles that targeted military targets, we wouldn’t have used the rockets that we did. We are forced to defend our people with what we have, and this is what we have’.

This failure to support legitimate armed struggle is a part of a wider problem with the framing used by many supporters of the Palestinian cause in the West, that obscures its fundamental nature and how it must be resolved. Palestine is not simply a human rights issue, or even just a question of apartheid, but rather an anti-colonial fight for national liberation being waged by an indigenous resistance against the forces of an imperialist-backed settler colony. Decolonisation is a word now frequently used in the West in an abstract sense or in relation to curricula, institutions and public art, but rarely anymore in connection to what actually matters most: land. And that is the very crux of the issue: the land of Palestine must be decolonised, its Zionist colonisers deposed, their racist structures and barriers – both physical and political – dismantled, and all Palestinian refugees given the right of return.

#palestine

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thecharacterchronicler · 6 months ago

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District Girl (Part 1) || (Peacekeeper) Coriolanus Snow x Reader || Smut

Outline: In district 12, peacekeeper Coriolanus Snow catches you sneaking past the fence. Thankfully for you, he accepts when you offer him a special arrangement in exchange of his silence.

Word count: 2’700

Warnings: power imbalance, consensual coercion (if that’s a thing), explicit smut.

(( Part 2 )) - (( Part 3 ))

It had been a long day. The sun was shining bright in the sky and yet, the air was saturated with humidity, making it hard to breathe. His peacekeeper uniform and gear felt heavy. He had showered before leaving the barracks and was already sweating again, adding to his discomfort with the already constant humidity. He hated it here. He hated everything, from the weather to the decaying buildings and the miners walking around with dirty clothes and faces. More than once had he thought about deserting his job, running back to the Capitol where people could manage to maintain a semblance of elegance and dignity, even while starving. But his family were the only people who would welcome him back home, he had nowhere else to go, and illegally deserting would put not only him but his cousin and grandmother in trouble. So he bite down on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood, as he once more gathered courage to keep going.

He had been asked to patrol the outskirts of District 12 for the rest of the afternoon. Smiley had been assigned the same task, covering the eastern part of the border while Coriolanus took care of the west. Without his bunkmates and colleagues to entertain him, time went by slowly. He walked along the tall fence that bordered the district, separating the village and the mines from a vast expanse of tall grass and trees in the distance. He found himself wondering what was hidden behind the forest, if there were other people somewhere that the Capitol didn’t know about. Maybe district 12 would have been nicer if it had included that large and lush landscape within its borders, the idea of patrolling under the shade of the trees seeming a lot more pleasant than doing it under the scorching sun. Maybe there even was a stream of fresh water meandering through the trees or better yet, a lake of cold water in which he could dive in and finally get rid of the beads of sweat that never seemed to leave his forehead, not since he had stepped in this foreign place.

His imagination running wild with ways to make his new home more bearable, he almost missed it. That movement in the corner of his eye, that trail of trampled grass leading to the fence… He turned around to see a silhouette, crouching down to enter the limit of the district from under broken wires he hadn’t even noticed when he had walked passed it a few minutes earlier. A trespasser. But were you an intruder or just a rule breaker ?

“Hey!” He shouted, the authority in his tone surprising both you and him. You lifted your head, eyes widening as you saw him and tried to hurry but the hem of your skirt was hooked to a sharp piece of wire that didn’t seem to want to let you go that easily.

His hand went to his belt, where his weapon was ready to be pulled out in case you were some kind of threat. Even if you didn’t look like it, Coriolanus knew better than to trust people, especially the people of District 12.

You didn’t want to get in trouble. All you wanted was to go back to your shack and forget about this encounter. You had heard enough terrible stories about peacekeepers to know you needed to avoid them at all cost. And mostly, you knew you had to be weary of the new ones like him, the ones who didn’t make deals and trades in exchange of turning an blind eye to whatever the citizens of your district needed to do in order to survive.

He was getting closer. Dangerously closer. And although he was walking slowly, almost carefully in your direction, you had noticed how his long fingers were just inches away from his weapon, ready to grab it and use it on you. So you decided to sacrifice your skirt, even though you didn’t own another one, and ran off, hearing the sound of the fabric tearing apart.

Coriolanus didn’t expect you to run. Where would you go anyway ? He had caught you breaking the law, he knew what you looked like, he wasn’t going to let you get out of it so easily. If he had to abide to rules he clearly didn’t want to follow, do a job he hated and was forced to live in this depressing area just because he was meant to face the consequences of his actions in the Capitol, you would have to face yours too.

He ran after you, easily catching up on you with his tall legs. And, since you weren’t making it easy for him, refusing to stop and comply, he grabbed you by the arm and yanked you back, a scream escaping your lips in reaction.

“Please, let me go.” You begged. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I was looking for food past the fence to feed my family.”

He listened. He even understood. He too had struggled to find food for himself and his family a few years back. He knew what it felt like to be hungry. And he knew how it hurt to see your loved ones starving too. However, the people of the districts deserved it. It was the consequences of their actions, a fair turn of the tables that they were the ones knowing poverty now. And hopefully, it would only get worse from now on. They needed to know that they were nothing without the Capitol. And they needed to know that their reckless behavior would cause the downfall of their own people.

He held both of your wrists together in your back, his free hand pressing against the back of your neck to make you walk forward. He wasn’t sure what your punishment would be for trespassing and frankly he didn’t care, the only thing that really mattered was that his superiors would at least notice that he was a good element, if not the best one they had.

You kept begging him for freedom, explaining yourself and assuring him that your escapade to the woods wasn’t a threat in any way to the government but he stayed stoic, still walking you in direction of the peacekeepers’ barracks with your hands held painfully tight in your back.

As the austere buildings came in sight, you decided to fight back, abruptly trying to free yourself from his grip. It took him by surprise and you managed to run forward, all the way to a narrow path by the side of the barracks before he caught you again. He grabbed you with both hands this time, pushing you against the stone wall of the building with your arms held above your head. He was close, his broad shoulders blocking your view of everything else but him. His body was a fence you wouldn’t be able to cross, it was trapping you against the wall, leaving you helpless and at his mercy and he did not looked pleased.

“I promise I won’t do it again.” You said, knowing as well as he did that it was a lie. “I’m going home to tell my family that I haven’t found anything for them to eat today, isn’t that enough of a punishment ?”

Coriolanus’s pale blue eyes stared at you, visibly conflicted. He knew that feeling all too well. And indeed, it was a sufficient punishment in his opinion. An even more cruel one than anything his superiors might have in store for you. However, he couldn’t just let you go like this, not when you had been such a pain to catch. You had interrupted his quiet stroll along the fence, you had made him run under the scorching sun, you didn’t deserve that much mercy.

“Please, I’ll do anything.” You said, making sure he would notice the implications you put in your last word, staring right back at him as suggestively as you could. You knew peacekeepers were easily convinced by the prospect of a bit a fun with a woman since they didn’t get to have that much of it while in service. It was a good way to get out of trouble. And this peacekeeper in particular was handsome enough to make you slightly nervous at the idea of him accepting what you tried to suggest.

Coriolanus wasn’t sure what to think. Or do. For a moment, he wasn’t even sure he had heard you correctly at all, getting lost in your beautiful eyes instead of focusing on your words. Maybe such close proximity to a woman was messing with his head, it had been a while after all. In fact, he had never been that physically close to anyone before and the fact that he had you pinned down against the wall, holding so much power over you made all his blood instantly rush down to his cock. There was something deeply satisfying at the thought that he could do whatever he pleased with you. Especially there, concealed from the other peacekeepers that might be leaving or entering the barracks, with nothing in his back but the fence, he could do anything and no one would know.

“Do we have a deal ?” You asked him, arching your back enough for your hips to brush against his, bringing his attention - and yours - to the impressive bulge that had formed in his pants.

Oh, it was wrong. So wrong. He shouldn’t even consider it, he should do his job and bring you to his superiors as he had been instructed to do in such circumstances but there was something about you that made him hesitate. Maybe it was how short your skirt was now, with half of it still stuck in the fence, it revealed more of your body than you were comfortable with and he definitely liked what he saw. The curves of your body, the shape of you, your lovely face… You were so different from the others. If he could have Tigris design some fashionable clothes for you and arrange your hair, you could look like a girl from the Capitol. One that he could be interested in…

But you were a girl from the filthy and barbaric district 12 and he was a peacekeeper.

“Deal.” He breathed, taking unexpected pride in the way your cheeks turned red at his word. You had never been so shy in front of a peacekeeper before, maybe it was because he was too handsome for words or maybe it was because he had an odd elegance to him that intrigued you, made you want to know who he was and where he came from. But you’d have to wait to indulge your curiosity with small talk, you had the end of a deal to hold and you actually felt pretty eager to get it done.

His breath caught in his throat when you dropped to your knees in front of him, your hands still held up above your head by one of his, yet no longer all pressed up against the wall. He easily opened his pants with his free hand, pulling out his already hard erection for you. Your hands moved, instinctively wanting to close your fingers around his cock but he held them back, still tightly in his grip.

“You won’t need them.” He told you, meeting your eyes. You quietly nodded and opened your mouth as wide as you could, letting him decide what to do next.

Still with one hand, he guided his cock past your pretty lips, the sensation of his sensitive skin gliding on your soft tongue almost ending him on the spot. He wasn’t prepared for how warm and wet it would feel, how his shaft would slide so perfectly all the way until his tip touched the back of your throat, making you gag.

You bopped your head for him, creating friction, having him slide back and forth in your mouth while you also focused on your breathing to avoid gagging too often. His eyes were clouded with intense pleasure when he closed them, letting you take care of him without opposing much resistance.

Fuck, it felt good. Especially when you took him down your throat, his whole cock fitting inside your mouth and your soft lips enclosing the base. He liked the way your cheeks were still colored pink, how your eyes watered from how big he was to swallow and how incredibly arousing it was to have you on your knees in front of him. A moment before you were a rebel, a reckless girl breaking the rules regardless of the punishment you might face and now, he had you tamed and compliant as he slowly fucked your mouth.

But maybe It was a bit too slow. Once the excitement of the new sensations he felt died down, there was only one thing he could think about; relief. That intense pleasure that you had carefully built in the pit of his stomach was begging for release, to explode on your tongue so that he could fill your mouth with his cum. He wondered if you would swallow it all, compliant til the very end or if you’d let it past your lips, drip on your chin and clothes like a very visible sign that he had marked you as his.

He was too eager to find out. He wanted to see for himself, feel how gloriously good it was going to be once his pleasure would splash out of him. So he stepped forward, forcing you back to the wall, hands still pinned up. You had no room left to move your head anymore and it was exactly what he wanted, thrusting his cock inside you himself instead. His rythym was fast and merciless, making you gag and feel breathless. His pushes forward were strong and quick, and soon, you felt his warm release drip down your throat, as his eratic movements finally came to a stop.

His cock was still twitching, spitting out white cum when he pulled it out of your mouth to allow you to breathe again, drops falling down on your chin and chest. He was breathless too, and the hunger you saw in his eyes as he stared at the drop of his cum that was slowly rolling downwards on your chest made you wonder if he was going to ask for more. He sure looked like he was ready to give it another go, right there and now.

But he unexpectedly released your wrists instead, taking a step back to arrange his still hard cock back inside his pants. With the blood finally rushing back down your arms, you tried to stand up. To your surprise, the peacekeeper held a hand out for you, helping you back up like a gentleman would.

You both stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. You wanted to ask him where his manners came from, and why he wasn’t using them to navigate high society instead of being here but you couldn’t find the courage to say anything at all. There were many questions he wanted to ask you too, starting with asking for your name, but he refrained from saying anything, knowing it was better if he kept his distances. The last thing he wanted was to fall for a district girl.

You fled without a word but granting him a smile and he let you, memorizing the way your perfect body looked like in that torn skirt you probably were going to throw away now, wondering if he’d ever get to take a peek underneath your clothes.

When he went out that night with his friends, he didn’t mention you even though he knew it would have earned him the admiration of his roommates. And when he wasn’t able to fall asleep once in his bed, his mind flooded with all the possibilities of what else he could do to you - if he ever got another chance to - he ended up sneaking out of the barracks and walking back to the fence in the middle of the night, to retrieve the piece of your skirt that was still dangling in the wind, hooked to the wire meant to keep everyone in.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

#peacekeeper!coriolanus snow #peacekeeper coriolanus snow #smut #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow #coryo x reader #coryo x you #coryo smut #tbosas smut #tbosbas #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x y/n #coriolanus snow x female!reader

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catdotjpeg · 1 year ago

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UPDATE 4:02pm EST: Mondoweiss has verified in their article that the family is asking "that no one make donations to fundraisers unless specifically organized by our families." Thanks to @justaboutsnapped for flagging this!

Three Palestinian college students were shot and wounded in Burlington, Vermont Saturday evening, local Vermont TV station WCAX reported. The victims, unnamed by police, reportedly include Brown undergraduate Hesham Awartani ’25, as well as Kinnan Abdelhamid and Tahseen Ahmed, students at Haverford College and Trinity College, respectively. Police statements did not identify a shooter or indicate that a suspect is in custody; the Council on American-Islamic Relations is offering a $10,000 reward for information leading to an arrest, The Messenger reported. The shooting took place at 6:25 p.m. Saturday, and safety personnel brought all three victims to the University of Vermont Medical Center, according to VTDigger. Awartani and Ahmed sustained serious injuries, according to a statement from their high school in the West Bank. The Arab American Anti-Discrimination Committee has called upon authorities to investigate the incident as a hate crime. The organization wrote in a statement that “the three victims were wearing a kuffiyeh and speaking Arabic. A man shouted and harassed the victims, then proceeded to shoot them." Brown is aware of the incident but could not confirm the identity of the victims, University Spokesperson Amanda McGregor wrote in an email to The Herald. “We received the difficult news from the family this morning that a Brown undergraduate currently enrolled in his junior year at the University is in the hospital after being shot while out of state for the Thanksgiving break,” McGregor wrote. “We’re not at liberty to release details about his health status or his identity, but we are actively offering care to the family and support to our student, as well as members of our campus community.” All three students attended Ramallah Friends School in the West Bank before attending college in the U.S., according to a Facebook post from the school. “Ramallah Friends School board, administration, staff and community are deeply distressed by the recent incident involving three of our graduates, Hisham Awartani, Kinnan Abdel Hamid and Tahseen Ahmed who were shot and injured last evening in Burlington, VT,” the school wrote in the post. “While we are relieved to know that they are alive, we remain uncertain about their condition and hold them in the light. We extend our thoughts and prayers to them and their families for a full recovery, especially considering the severity of injuries,” the statement continued. “We stand united in hope and support for their well-being during this challenging time.” [...] Basil Awartani, who identified himself as Hisham Awartani’s cousin, shared in a post on X that “My cousin Hisham has been shot in the back while walking with his friends in Burlington for simply wearing kuffiyehs and speaking Arabic. Dangerous performative rhetoric from US pundits and politicians as well as constant dehumanization of Palestinians has a real-life cost.”

-- "Brown junior among three Palestinian students shot in Vermont Saturday night" from Brown Daily Herald, 26 Nov 2023 12:36pm EST

Kinnan Abdelhamid is a student at Haverford College in Pennsylvania and Tahseen Ahmed is a student at Trinity College in Connecticut. Their current condition is unknown.

#palestine #racism #burlington #vermont

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metamatar · 11 months ago

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One of the world’s top arms exporters, Israel exports annually as much as $7 billion worth of military technology, or 2.2 percent of its Gross Domestic Product. An additional 1.35 percent of GDP is dedicated to military research and development, and 6.7 percent is spent on its defense budget— the world’s second largest military budget as a percentage of GDP after Saudi Arabia. All told, 10.25 percent of the Israeli economy is involved directly in arms. Comparatively, for the United States, the world’s top weapons exporter, arms account for around 3.7 percent of its economy. Israel is actually the world’s largest arms supplier per capita, according to data from the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute and the World Bank, at ninety-eight dollars; it is followed by a distant Russia at fifty-eight dollars, and Sweden at fifty-three dollars.

These figures do not include the contribution from natural resources exploited under occupation in the West Bank and Gaza.50 They do not factor in the service sector’s revenue or general industry and construction taking place in the West Bank. Such figures are difficult to quantify, since many companies operate in the West Bank but have offices in Tel Aviv to obscure where operations take place. Nor does this account for Israeli exports into the Occupied Territories, which are 72 percent of Palestinian imports and 0.16 percent of Israeli GDP. All told, the Israeli economy is deeply involved in a web of expenditure and profit around the ongoing occupation and expansion of settlements.

American military aid supplanting open-ended government grants has had the effect of increasing arms production and diminishing the overall economic reach of the state. No longer is foreign aid and imperialist incentive directly invested in the working class. Israeli workers are now rewarded through the arms economy. This is why, despite the lack of social mobility and the economic degradation of neoliberalism, the working class remains committed as ever to Zionism.

The working class has become dependent on the education, housing, and career opportunities that their participation in the IDF affords them. They have found routes for advancement in the military-fueled high-tech industry, with over 9 percent of workers concentrated in high-tech. And as pensions and real wages are eroded, the cheaper cost of settlement living in the Occupied Territories has become essential.

#war economy #israel

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fuckyeahgoodomens · 1 year ago

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Hi, do you have the list of flashbacks we could have had but didn't? Thanks!

Hiya! Oooh, like the historical scenes? :) I shall try:

Season 1 - written but not shot:

In which Crowley gets drunk with Leonardo da Vinci - where Crowley does that and buys his Mona Lisa sketch. (in the ultimate script book)

The bookshop opening scene - with Gabriel and Sandalphon as Regency dandies, and Crowley bringing Aziraphale chocolates and saving him from having to leave the bookshop by ‘being promoted’ to Heaven. (in the ultimate script book)

In which Aziraphale almost sells a book - with Aziraphale as Victorian Bookseller. (shared by Neil on his twitter or in the ultimate script book)

In which Crowley goes clothes shopping - scene preceding the 60s one where Crowley shops for ’psychedelic black’ paisley jacket. (in the ultimate script book)

honourable mention: the Rome scene is a smol bit longer with Aziraphale and Crowley talking about Nero and Caligula - this was shot but cut (also in the scriptbook)

(also, I have like a foggish memory Neil mentioning considering them in the ancint egyptian era possibility? 🤔 can't find it so not sure :))

Season 2 - only planned or written but not filmed because covid shortened the episodes (covid costs made 55min episodes into 42min episodes :( ):

an Arabian Nights one by a British-Sudanese author who had made a study of the period and the material previously and she was determined to tell a story set in that time and place that wasn’t from, a “stereotypical western vantage point”. It had a djinn.

a 15th century Papal one

a Wild West one

a 1960s American one with Crowley and Aziraphale female presenting.

Bonus: When Neil was asked about a Christmas special:

Not one that’s going to be on this Christmas, no.

(Thinks, we could do the Birth of Jesus one, where Aziraphale is in the Inn and has rented out all the rooms to welcome Mary and Joseph, and then is sent out to be glorious to the shepherds and forgets to tell anyone at the Inn that the rooms aren’t just for him.)

(Or The Victorian one where Crowley, Aziraphale and the Usher Of Hell are determined to reform a miser by disguising themselves and turning up in his bedroom on Christmas Eve….)

(still hoping to get... all of them :D! <3)

#ask #deleted scenes #historical flashback scenes list #fun fact #bts #gos1 #season 1 #gos2 #season 2

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webslinger-holland · 2 years ago

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Another Dream | Kaz Brekker

Summary: In which Kaz reveals what his true dream is.

Warning: slight angst...its short...and major fluff near the end

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader

Type: Oneshot

Word Count: 1.9k

The chapel hadn’t sustained much damage from the battle. A few wooden pews ended up getting pushed and overturned. A few shards of glass scattered across the floor from broken windows. Yet, the stainless window remained absolutely untouched. The image of the Saint Sun Summoner cast colorful rays of light onto the stone floor.

At the given moment, Y/n was sitting on the edge of one of the pews. Her eyes remained on the saint in front of her. She had never been the religious type; she often left Inej be the expert in that area. But she found comfort in sitting in the small chapel.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour ago when they almost lost their lives to the shadow monster they encountered in that very room. The crows had done risky jobs in the past, but none of them involved looking death right in the eye like they just did. She was still shaken up from the whole ordeal.

The familiar sound of a cane clicking against the stone floor could be heard behind her. The leader of the crows was making his way down the center aisle of the church, coming to a halt slightly behind the pew she sat in. She did not turn her head to address him.

“Lantsov paid up,” Kaz had come to tell her. “Everyone will get their cut.”

“Good,” Y/n nodded once. She looked over her shoulder, resting a hand on the back of the pew. “And Nina?”

“She’ll receive a pardon for deserting and another for her Fjerdan. As long as he stays out of trouble, the charges will be dropped.” Kaz explained.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Y/n let out a sigh. She went to turn back around in her place. Her eyes naturally gravitating to the stain glass window once again.

Unbeknownst to her, Kaz began staring at her through the corner of his eyes. He felt his heart tighten in the confines of his chest upon just looking at her. He spent so many years admiring her from a distance, never being able to find the courage to act on the feelings in his heart.

He had known for a very long time that she did not want to stay in Ketterdam. There were too many painful memories to give her reason to stick around. She always loved to travel anyway. She wanted to move west as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Now that the fold had been destroyed and the job was complete, there was nothing preventing her from moving far away.

Just by looking at her, Kaz could tell that her mind was in a different place at the given moment. She was probably already planning about the adventure she’d be on, the journey across the sea, and the exploration of a new land. She’d be thinking about how great it would be to leave Ketterdam behind, along with him.

Under the notion that the two of them would have very little time left together, Kaz tried being slightly sentimental for once in his life. He racked his brain for something that meant worthwhile and heartfelt.

“I also...” Kaz’s voice trailed off. “Wanted to say goodbye.”

“Oh,” Y/n said sadly.

“Since I assume you’ll be leaving as soon as you find a ship,” Kaz predicted. She nodded her head at this. “As you should. It’s what you’ve always dreamed about,” Kaz said in an almost harsh tone. It sounded mocking.

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Y/n responded in retort. She spun around in the small wooden pew, staring at him with a strong him of confusion in her eyes. “What would you have me do? Stay in Ketterdam?” Y/n persisted.

In response, Kaz went to turn his head away from her to avoid eye contact at all costs. He wanted nothing more than to slip behind the facade he held, void of all emotions if he could help it. His face was blank as if she hadn’t just expressed the one thing he desired the most. Having her stay in Ketterdam.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had a dream,” Y/n scoffed at his stone cold expression. She faced forward once more. What followed was a moment of pure silence.

With a haunting past, Kaz Brekker was cursed with torturous nightmares most nights. However, on the rare nights that he had dreams, he always dreamed of her and absolutely nothing else. His imagination would run wild of the endless possibilities they could share together.

In his dreams, Kaz would find himself stroking up and down her bare back with his own hand. There’d be no gloves. No urge to pull away at contact. No memory of his past. It was just the two of them together.

They would spend hours together in bed. He’d brush her hair away from her neck to grant him access. He’d burrow his face into the crook of her neck, placing the most delicate kisses along her kiss. He loved hearing the sound of her sighs in his dreams.

He could see it all now. Her body lay underneath his. Her delicate hand trailing up the length of his chest, stopping to linger at his heart. He take her hand in his own and give it a gentle squeeze before leaning down to capture her lips.

His dreams wanted them to be together. He wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss her until she forgot her own name. Being brought back to reality became his nightmare. He came to realize that he’d never be able to have that and his dreams would never come true. His armor was still in place and she’d be leaving soon anyways.

After the moment of silence, Y/n had tilted her head to the side as if she was trying to look at him through her peripheral vision. She grew curious. Her mouth parted to ask a question.

“What is your dream, Kaz Brekker?” Y/n wondered.

Slowly, Y/n turned around in her place. She looked at him expectedly, patiently awaiting for his answer. She quirked her eyebrows to show her curiosity. He studied her face for a moment. He thought about his choice of words, struggling to express his true emotions.

The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie’s voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared to life inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome. You, Y/n. You.

For a second, Kaz opened his mouth, but no words came out of his mouth. He was so close to confessing his true feelings to her. However, the fear quickly overtook him. He resorted to fortifying himself behind his walls again. He quickly tore his gaze away from her.

“To die, buried under the weight of my own gold.” Kaz claimed.

She faced forward. She felt herself rolling her eyes at his answer, even scoffing under her breath. She couldn’t believe him.

“More money. More scores to settle,” Y/n deduced. She quickly rose to her feet, which only took him by surprise. She went to approach him. “Was there never another dream?” Y/n tried one final time.

The silence to follow was enough reason to leave. She went to brush past him with the intent of walking away and never looking back. But as she began to walk away from him, Kaz reached out to grab onto her wrist. He stopped her.

“Stay,” Kaz pleaded. His voice was rough stone. “Stay in Ketterdam. Stay with me.”

Slowly, Y/n shifted her body to face him She briefly glanced down at the gloved hand which held her wrist captive. Her gaze shifted back to the look of desperation in his eyes, silently pleading for her to stay for his own sake. She could feel the tears begin to gather in the corners of her eyes.

“What would be the point?” Y/n whispered. She shook her head at the notion.

He only drew closer to her. He refused to look away from her now, knowing that if he did, he might lose her forever. He took a breath.

“I want you to,” Kaz confessed truthfully. He saw the look in her eyes change slightly. She was taken back by this. He needed to make himself clearer. “I want...I want...you,” Kaz confirmed.

The two of them didn’t seem to realize how close they had gotten to one another. Their chests were pressed together and they were able to feel another’s breath fanning their faces. Either of them had been so close to anyone before.

With great hesitation, Y/n had lifted her head to stare directly into those brilliant green eyes. She felt the tears streaming down the slides of her cheeks. She shook her head at his words.

“And how will you have me?” Y/n wondered in a soft whisper. “Gloves on? Fully clothed? With your head turned so our lips never--” but she was never able to finish that sentence.

Because the rest of her words were lost against his mouth. He had grabbed her face with his two gloved hands and pulled her into a captivating kiss. He kept his eyes squeezed shut so tightly as if he was trying to silence the voices in his head. He felt sparks of lightning tingling against his lips, knowing his mind was screaming for him to pull away. But he didn’t want to.

Yet, he kissed her so gently and carefully in fear of losing her forever. He felt her body begin to relax in his grasp. She gripped the lapels of his black trench coat, pulling him harder against her if that was even possible. His arms had shifted to circle around her waist, gathering her body against him.

A hint of pressure only caused a most delicate hum to escape past her lips, muffled against his mouth. If he could bottle the sound and get drunk on it every night, he would have without question. Their lips moved together in a synchronized harmony as if they were two puzzle pieces made to fit together.

The kiss had brought a newfound sense of warmth and comfort to his old stone heart. The memories of his brother, which were often brought from contact, hadn’t plagued his mind. He focused on the feeling the softness of her lips, how she tasted, and how she felt agains him.

She couldn't believe what was happening. Even she had dreamed about what it would be like to touch him, but never so far as kiss him. He tasted like the expensive liquor from his flask, which he always kept in his coat pocket. His lips moved compellingly against hers as if they were fighting to persuade her to stay. And it was working.

With great reluctance, their lips parted ever so slightly from one another. Their breath held without thinking. The suspense in the air was caught at the top of their throats.

The two of them had leaned forward to rest their heads against one another’s. They panted softly to regain their breath. They remained so close to one another that their noses brushed against each others. They stare down at each other’s lips, tempted to continue.

“You...” Kaz panted. He brought a hand up to cup her cheek lovingly, staring into the depths of her eyes. “You are my dream. You always have been.”

Upon hearing those words, Y/n felt any tension leave her body and she finally relaxed. She felt a small smile growing at the corners of her lips. She closed her eyes to savor those precious little words.

“Stay with me,” Kaz pleaded one last time. He nudged his nose against hers as if trying to persuade her and it was working. “Stay for me, my dear.” Kaz whispered.

She had never heard him speak so desperately. Though he was a master at crafting a lie, she knew him well enough to know that he’d never lie about his feelings. He wanted her and he was asking her to stay with him.

Her eyes glanced between his own and his mouth. “I’ll stay...for you,” Y/n agreed.

Upon hearing this, Kaz felt like his dreams had finally come true. He inclined his face towards hers so that he could lay his lips against her own once again. He pulled her body as close to his as humanly possible, now knowing that he’d never have to let go. She was finally his.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker fluff #kaz brekker angst #kaz brekker smut #kaz brekker oneshot #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker series #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #six of crows

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gretavangroupie · 6 months ago

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Goldenrod

Word count: 8.1k

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Angst, Toxic Themes and Behavior, Jealousy. Smut: Kissing, Touching, Oral M!Receiving, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Unprotected Sex, Fluff.

A/N: I blame Josh Kiszka, entirely.

It’s a nice place, with tea light candles and fresh flowers on every table. Tucked away on the West side of Nashville, far from the wide eyed tourists and the flashing city lights. It’s quaint, but always busy. A reservation here would cost you. A name or your checkbook, either one will do. You wonder how he managed it, who he knows or what he does. You’d been here only once before, strings pulled and names dropped no doubt.

The hostess led you to your table, smack dab in the center of the restaurant, commanding all the eyes and attention of the patrons around you. With a curt smile you tucked into your chair and waited for your date. You weren’t really sure why you agreed to this, but after several failed attempts on your own you finally caved. Cambry is a terrible influence and you knew better than to go on a date with a man of her choosing, but here you found yourself in a swanky restaurant at a table for two.

You didn’t put too much effort into your outfit, opting for a tight black dress and a pair of gold earrings. It showed off your figure without revealing too much. It was tasteful and sexy, everything you want on a first date.

You knew nothing of the man you were meeting apart from his name. Simon. Cambry assured you that he was perfect for you, claiming how similar the two of you were and citing you had similar taste in music. So, you agreed.

You couldn’t fault him too much for being late, the traffic absolutely horrendous as you made your way through Midtown. You perused the drink menu, placing your order for a dirty martini when the waiter stopped at your table. As you sipped at the briney drink you felt a presence behind you, and you knew Simon must have arrived.

A tall man, with long dirty blonde hair stepped up to the seat across from you, lifting his hand to shake yours.

“Hi, I’m Simon. Sorry I’m late, the traffic–”

“Was terrible, I know,” you laugh, shaking his hand. “Y/N.”

He takes his seat as his eyes dart around your face taking you in. “You got a drink I see, any recommendations? I’ve never been here before.”

“I was wondering how you were able to pull a reservation so last minute,” you answer, pushing the drink menu towards him.

“Ah, called up one of my buddies, works tickets down at Nissan Stadium. Was no trouble,” he boasts as if entry level ticket sales is something to be proud of.

You smile politely and nod your head, “I got a dirty martini, they are heavy handed on the vermouth so I order gin instead of vodka.”

“Dirty, huh?” he smirks, opening the drink menu.

You offer a clipped smile, already not liking this guy too much. His frat boy vibes are a little too strong for your liking, and quite frankly is the opposite of what you have ever been into. The waiter steps up a few seconds later, noticing that your date has arrived.

“What can I get for you sir?”

“I don’t know what all this fancy shit is, do you have Bud Light?” he asks, rapping his knuckles against the table.

“Um, no sir, I believe the only beer we have on tap is Thunder Ann from Jackalope,” he offers with a pleasant smile.

“Was that English?” Simon jokes, however, it is not well received by your waiter or yourself.

“I could bring you a sample if you’d like?”

He blows out a breath of defeat, “I’ll just have what she’s having, but make mine stronger.”

You raise an eyebrow at his demand, silently kicking yourself for ever agreeing to this.

The waiter nods and heads off and a sense of dread washes over you as you realize you are about to enter into forced conversation with this stranger.

“So how do you know Cambry?” he asks, leaning back in his chair like he's at his mothers house.

You swallow down the distaste and try to answer his question, “Cambry and I work together. She is my office suitemate.”

“Oh so you work at the little music place, too?” he asks, downplaying your career to boost his own ego.

“I don’t think Sony Music Publishing is a ‘little music place’ but I guess everyone is entitled to their opinion,” you jest.

“What do you do there?” he asks, accepting his drink from the waiter. He takes far too large of a sip before you can answer, shocking the both of you.

“I’m an account executive, so I do sales, client management, data reports, that kind of thing. How about you? What do you do?” you ask, genuinely curious about what he could possibly do that he would need to belittle your career.

“Oh well, right now I am kinda just playing the corporate field so to speak. I’ve got a few sweet options in my pocket, but uh, right now I am working down at AT&T. You know that Batman looking building. It’s pretty chill,” he says in an attempt to flaunt.

“Yeah, I know it well actually. What do you do there?” you ask.

“I’m a field sales representative,” he answers, his voice dropping a little. You feel your eyes practically bulge from their sockets.

“So, you don’t like, physically work in the building,” you confirm.

“I mean, I report there at the end of the day,” he replies, trying to blow smoke.

“So if you report there at the end of the day, where do you spend your day?” you ask.

“Kind of everywhere. I do a lot of driving around. I was able to secure a deal with a new Mexican restaurant over in Hendersonville. They want full fiber and phones. Pretty sweet, might even make a commission on it,” he says pridefully.

“Wow, a commission too? They are spoiling you,” you taunt.

“Yeah, I’m about to move up, gonna put me into commercial sales. More office time and less road time,” he says, folding up his menu. Your mind is positively racing at how Cambry thought you two would be a perfect match when he couldn’t be more different than you.

“So uh, what are you thinking you want to eat?” he asks.

“I think I might do the farmhouse pasta, the sun dried tomatoes sound good,” you answer, closing your menu as well.

“Yeah I’m gonna get a steak, I bet they are good here,” he says waving over the waiter. Your face blushes red as he makes a scene to grab his attention.

“Yes sir, we are ready to order,” Simon states, opening up his menu. “I’m gonna have the Porterhouse with mushrooms well done and can you bring a side of ketchup?”

You think that if your eyes rolled any harder you could see your brain, but alas you must keep your composure and make it through this trainwreck of a date.

“For you miss?”

“Yes, could I please do the farmhouse pasta? I will also do one more dirty martini,” you smile, hoping the waiter can sense the apology in your tone.

“Great, I will be back,” he says, stepping away with the gentle nod of his head.

The evening continues on as you listen to him tell you every uninteresting fact about himself while he dips his shoe leather of a steak in ketchup. You have a hard time finding your own meal appetizing as you watch him eat, a tiny dribble of ketchup at the corner of his lips. He barely gives you a chance to speak as he relives his fraternity glory days, telling you every close call he has ever had with the police and every famous person’s door he’s knocked on since he moved here from Mississippi.

You down your drink probably a little too fast, trying to decide if you will need another to make it through the last part of this date. You know you will never speak to this man again, and you know you will be giving Cambry a firm talking to come Monday morning.

The waiter steps up to the table with the check, placing it in front of Simon who sends him a puzzled look. “Oh, actually she’s getting the check tonight.”

“Am I?” you ask, a little confused yourself. You had no problem going dutch, but to be told you were taking the entire responsibility of the bill was a bit of a shock.

“I mean, yeah, Cambry said you wanted this date, so… I figured since it was your idea, you were paying. I didn’t bring my wallet.”

You feel your mouth go dry at the audacity of his assumption. “I have no problem going dutch,” you say.

“Yeah, it’s just I didn’t bring my wallet,” he counters, shrugging his shoulders. “I can Venmo you later or something.”

You bite your tongue as you reach for your purse, knowing there is an extremely high chance that this meal will drain his checking account.

“It’s fine, I can get it. No problem,” you say, pulling your wallet from your purse. Just as you unzip it you feel someone walk up behind you, and the sight of a hand on the waiter's arm. The person leans towards the waiter, saying something quietly in his ear as he slips a silver metal credit card into his hand.

As you look up you recognize the mass of curls and the crisp white linen. The smell of his cologne forever ingrained in your memory. Your eyes flash over to Simon who is just as confused as you are, watching the interaction. A few more words are spoken between the waiter and the man you now know is Josh. Your ex.

The waiter scurries off with Josh’s card just as he turns to face you with a shit eating grin. He then casts a lethal glance to Simon, who at this point is looking rather small.

“Don’t you know it's distasteful to make your date pay?” he asks, venom in his voice.

“And you are?” Simon snaps.

“Well, from my place at the bar I thought I was the competition, but now I’m fairly positive that is not the case. My name is Josh, and I would ask yours but quite frankly I don’t care to know.”

“Josh!” you yelp.

“What darling, you can’t deny the facts. I’ve been sitting at the bar since you arrived. Was quite the unexpected show, I must admit,” he pauses, “If I’ve misjudged your evening, which, I’m sure I haven’t based on your body language alone, please do feel free to correct me.”

“We’re actually on a date, man,” Simon speaks up, taking you and Josh both by surprise as you turn to stare at him.

Josh just snickers, shaking his head before turning to you. “Have you had enough, sweets?”

“What do you want, Joshua?” you ask, a little annoyed at his brazenness.

He cups your chin with his thumb and forefinger as he gives you a knowing look, “Is this what you want? You want me to go?”

You push his hand away and cross your arms over your chest, refusing to answer his question.

“Fuck this,” Simon spouts, pushing away from the table and storming out of the restaurant.

Josh quickly takes his seat, sitting across from you as he folds his hands on the table. “You’re welcome,” he taunts, accepting the check book back from the waiter.

“A pleasure Mr. Kiszka,” he nods, walking away.

“Mr. Kiszka? They know you by name here?” you groan, watching a sideways grin pull across his full lips. His eyes glance down to the plate of half eaten food in front of him.

“A well done steak with ketchup? My, my, darling have your standards dipped that low?” he asks, signing the receipt and closing the book. You roll your eyes and reach for your martini glass, however his hand snakes out to grab it first, tossing the rest of it back.

“What the hell,” you growl.

“You dumped me for a broke asshole?” he asks, sitting back in the chair.

“He might have been broke, but I bet he could fuck me more than once every three months,” you snap, pulling ammo from your failed past.

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, “Now, now, retract the claws sweetness, be my good girl, yeah?”

“I’m not your anything, Josh, and I don’t know what you think is about to happen here, but I can promise you it’s not.”

He stabs at the olive in the martini glass, popping it between his lips. “You sure about that?”

“You completely derailed my date,” you bark.

“Oh, please Y/N. You were ready to go the moment he introduced himself, late, might I add. You were entirely repulsed through dinner, and you couldn't get a word in edgewise. It may have been a year or so since we called it quits, but I still know you like the back of my hand, darling.”

“You don’t know me like that anymore, Josh.”

He chews the olive as a hum rings through his chest, “Is that why your thighs are clenched together under the table right now, for the first time tonight? Why you can’t seem to sit still, squirming everytime I look at you? The pretty pink blush on your cheeks that happened to appear as soon as I stole his seat? Because I just don’t know you anymore?”

You shake your head and look away, pushing him out of your mind.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he demands, and instinctually you turn your head. “Own it.”

You meet his eyes and huff out an annoyed breath. “You can’t just walk up to me and think we are going to pick up where we left off. I left you for a reason, Josh.”

“Are you ready to go now that you’ve said your piece?” he asks, pushing his chair away from the table.

“I drove myself here, and I’ll drive myself home,” you quip.

“After two martinis, I don’t think so, sweetness. I’ll send for your car in the morning,” he insists.

“Send for my car? What are you, the Pope?”

“Only the one time if you remember correctly,” he jokes, offering his hand to help you stand from your chair. You take it begrudgingly, grabbing your purse and smoothing out your dress.

“Stunning as usual, love. You know I love that silhouette on you,” he says, ushering the two of you out the door and into the parking lot. He drives a different car now, which is probably why you didn't recognize it in the lot when you arrived.

“It wasn’t for you,” you gripe.

“But it was for him? Mister can’t even split the check?” he counters.

“Again, he may not be made of money, but he at least listened the few times I was able to get a word in,” you snap.

Josh sucks his teeth as he opens the passenger door, helping you climb inside. It’s spacious and smells of new leather. A string of beads hangs from the rearview mirror and a tiny crystal lays haphazardly in the center console. He joins you seconds later, starting the car and backing out of the parking space.

“Where are you taking me?” you question, although you’re fairly certain you know the answer.

“Home,” he snickers, taking a right out of the parking lot.

“You don’t know where I live, I moved,” you say, shifting your body in the seat.

“No, no. I said, I am taking you home.”

“What if I don’t want to go?” you ask, fully lying to yourself and to him and he knows it.

“I did always like it when you played hard to get,” he smiles, moving his hand to rest on your bare leg. “But your body gives you away everytime.”

“Where’d you find him?” he asks, letting his eyes flick over to yours for just a second.

“Cambry,” you answer, a twinge of defeat in your voice.

“Cambry? Come on, baby, you know she has the worst taste in men,” he groans, merging onto the freeway with ease.

“I didn’t really have a choice, and she oversold him, clearly,” you answer.

“So you’re still at Sony, then?”

“I am, though I’ve been considering a career change, maybe even a city change,” you lie.

“Had enough of Nashville?” he jests.

“The people that reside here,” you taunt.

“Fair enough,” he concedes.

His fingers trace circles into your skin, lighting little fires with every pass. “You stopped answering my calls,” he trails off.

“That is typical of a break up Josh…”

“Baby–”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap.

“What can I call you?” he asks.

“Nothing, you can take me home and send my car in the morning,” you answer.

His grip on your leg tightens, his thumb passing over your knee. You feel warm beneath his touch, a calmness washing over you. This is always how he got you.

“It was one fight, Y/N! I know I fucked up, but–” he shouts, losing his calm and cool composure for a millisecond.

“Josh…” you whine, not wanting to hash this out again.

As you pull up to a red light he turns to look at you, moving his hand from your leg and grabbing your hand instead.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. Just– come over for a little bit. Let’s talk. Catch up a little. Don’t let your night be a complete loss, you look too pretty. Let me appreciate you,” he says, squeezing your hand.

Your eyes meet his, sparkling and encased by his thick lashes. “Okay,” you murmur.

“Yeah?”

You roll your eyes and nod your head, “Yes, fine. Just to catch up.”

The light changes and you swear he did twenty over the speed limit the rest of the way to his house. He has a smirk on his lips that he can’t seem to shake, and his hand hasn't left yours.

“Why were you at the bar alone?” you ask, the gin making you feel a little more brave than usual.

“I like the food, and they make my drink the right way. You know I don’t like going into the city, too many people, and the guys were all busy tonight. I think I was right where I needed to be though. Got you out of that shitty date,” he laughs.

“It was pretty shitty,” you agree, flashing him a smile.

“Missed that,” he says, turning into his driveway. “That smile. Lights up a room.”

“Stop,” you say, playfully pushing his shoulder. “Don’t suck up now after you were all bossy and demanding at the restaurant.”

“Worked though,” he grins, shrugging his shoulders and shutting off the car.

“Did it?”

“You’re here…” he says, tipping his chin.

“To talk. To catch up,” you counter.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” he says, helping you out of the car and shutting the door behind you. He guides you up to the front door with his hand on the small of your back, shoving his key into the lock and opening the door.

You’re instantly transported back in time. A time when this was your safe place, when this was your landing pad of comfort. A home you shared together. Warm and welcoming. Until, it wasn’t. It was a big empty house with nothing but the echo of your own voice for months on end. The place you would listen to your calls ring out with no answer and texts would sit on delivered for days.

It was hard to leave him, your personal ray of light. The good times were the greatest, and the bad times were worse than the worst. You met your breaking point and all you could think of was starting over. Living a normal life with a normal job and a normal relationship.

You’d grown a little since that day, finding yourself and establishing your own roots in the city. You cut off contact completely. Josh never gave up though. He was persistent, you’d give him that. He tried to reconcile things, promised to fix it, promised to do better, but after so many failed attempts, you couldn’t do it anymore. You needed to see this through, for yourself.

It took almost a year but he did stop calling. Stopped checking in. Your heart ached for him. You wondered if you’d made a mistake. You knew you never really stopped loving him. How could you stop loving someone like him? He took your heart and cast it in gold, giving a piece of himself to you to carry when he was away, but still it wasn’t enough. You needed more than he could give you then.

“You redecorated,” you ponder.

“A bit. Just some new furniture, art and things I picked up on the road,” he says, tossing his keys on the table. “You like it?”

You nod your head, “Yeah, I do. It feels very… you.” you pause, “It feels warm.”

He walks into the kitchen, pulling two lowball glasses from the cabinet before reaching for the tequila on top of the fridge. He holds the bottle up towards you in question and you nod your head, knowing you aren’t leaving tonight.

He pours the tequila into the glasses, topping them with sparkling water and a handful of ice as you walk over to join him. He slides the glass to you and holds his up to tap against yours.

“Glad you’re here, baby,” he breathes.

“Josh…”

“Sorry, old habit,” he blushes, taking a sip of his drink.

You join him, taking a long pull from the glass letting the bubbles slip down your throat. He made it perfect, just how you like it.

“Shall we?” he asks, pushing off the counter top and making his way into the living room. You follow behind him taking the seat next to him on the couch. You settle into the leather cushions as he shoots up again.

“Wait, hold on,” he says, walking across the room. He struts across the wood floors carrying himself in a way much different than you have ever seen him. He looks confident and seems to be floating. He grabs a small remote and turns down the lights, casting the room in a much dimmer light.

“Do you always walk around like that?” you ask, sipping from the rim of your glass.

“Like what?” he asks, returning to his place next to you.

“Like…like you’re made of gold,” you giggle, letting the tequila warm your blood.

“What if I am?” he challenges.

“What, made of gold?”

“Mhmm,” he hums.

“Kinda seems like it sometimes,” you confess.

“Yeah?”

“You kinda glow,” you answer.

“Optical illusion, sweets,” he grins.

“I don’t know, you’ve always kinda been that way. Glowy…” you offer, feeling a little hazy.

“You flirting with me now?” he asks, his lips turning up into a grin.

“No,” you growl, “Can I not give you a compliment?”

“Absolutely. Please do continue, I’m quite enjoying it,” he laughs, throwing his arm across the back of the couch. His fingertips brush your shoulder and you shudder at the contact.

“Has it been that long, darling?”

“What?” you question, turning to meet his eyes. His fingers graze against your skin again, goosebumps rising to the surface.

“Oh, say it isn’t so, baby. Break my heart,” he whines.

“What, Josh?”

“You’re touch starved aren’t you sweetness,” he says, his eyes searching yours.

“No, I’m fine,” you lie. You look away, knowing he was always able to read you like a book.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he snaps. You turn your head and meet his eyes again. “Don’t lie to me again. You know that never went well for you.”

You bite your lips together as your cheeks grow red hot. Part of you wants to push him a little more, force him to make good on his threat. The other part of you knows you should leave before he sucks you in.

“Tell me how long,” he says, resting his hand on the curve of your neck.

You blow out a breath and shake your head, “It’s not important,” you answer.

“Is to me, always important to me,” he urges.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I want to know that you were being taken care of,” he pauses, “I don’t think that’s a crime.”

“It’s been… a minute,” you confess.

“Baby,” he breathes.

“It’s fine, Josh. Really.”

“It’s not,” he snaps. “How long, love? You can tell me. It’s just me.”

“God! Since we split! Okay?! Is that what you want to hear?! That I haven’t fucked anyone since you?!” you shout, burying your head in your hands. You feel his hand rest on your back, warm and firm.

“Oh, my love. No wonder you’re so feisty. Wound up tighter than a two dollar watch. My girl needs a little relief, doesn’t she,” he asks.

You turn your head in your hands to look at him, his face serious and dripping with lust. You push yourself up off of the couch, pacing around the living room.

“I don’t want your pity, Josh.”

“It’s not pity darling, you’d know if it was,” he retorts.

“Well whatever it is, I don’t want it,” you snap.

He blows out a deep breath and clears his throat, “I’ve had just about enough of your mouth tonight,” he growls. “Why don’t you come back over here and try again, yeah?”

You stare at him from across the room, arms crossed over your chest in an effort to conceal your nipples that have grown hard just from the demanding quality of his voice.

“You can drop the act, I know you want me just as bad as I want you. If you want me to beg, crawl on my hands and knees for you, you know I’ll do it, but I think your body is begging for me harder than I ever could.”

You roll your eyes, and look away.

“Am I wrong? Tell me I’m wrong.”

You huff out a breath, “No,” you whisper.

“What’s that?”

“I said no,” you answer.

A smirk pulls across his lips, “No, what?”

You feel your chest grow warm and you swallow thickly, “No, sir.”

He clicks his tongue, “Don’t call me sir, that's my brother. Try again, love.”

“No, baby,” you breathe.

“That’s better. Much better. Come back over here,” he says, motioning you over with two fingers.

He reaches for your hand as you approach him, pulling you down onto his lap. Your legs fall to either side of his hips as you straddle him, the position feeling familiar and comforting.

“There’s my girl,” he growls, leaning forward to place his drink on the coffee table. His hands move to grip at your hips, holding you in place as he sinks a little further beneath you. It would be a lie if you said you weren’t enjoying this, feeling his hands on you and the evidence of his want as it grew beneath you.

“Not yours, Josh,” you say, letting your hands land on his chest.

“Liar,” he breathes, rolling his hips into you, eliciting a whine from your chest. You hear him laugh, “Your body says otherwise.”

“My body has never been able to say no to you,” you admit.

“And that's what I love about it, baby. Mine even when you aren’t.”

A sigh falls from your lips as his thumb drags over your lips, “Kiss me, Josh,” you beg.

A grin pulls across his lips as he pulls you by the back of your neck towards him. His soft, warm lips brush yours just slightly, enough to pull a whine from your chest.

“Now who’s begging?” he murmurs. Your eyes meet his, dark and lust filled before he crashes his lips to yours. His hands grip at your head as if he’s afraid you might fly away, his fingers twisting into your hair.

His tongue slides against yours, the taste of him so sweet and familiar. There would never be anyone that tasted better, you were sure of it. His hands slid down your face and over your shoulders, reaching for your hands as they sat on his chest. He wrapped his hands around yours, linking his fingers with yours the best he could, just holding you in a way you’ve desperately missed over the last year without him.

“Josh…” you breathe.

His lips break away from yours, his cheeks pink and his lips glossy, “Yeah, baby?”

You hesitate asking your question, momentarily debating whether you truly want to know or not, but you know if this night is going to continue, you have to know.

“How long…” you pause, “How long for you?” It comes out breathless, his warm hands in yours as his lips hover over yours.

He pulls back a touch, licking his lips and swallowing harshly, “A month or two,” he answers honestly.

Your traitorous eyes fill with tears and you do your best to blink them away. You drop your head in an effort to conceal your emotions, knowing this is all entirely your fault to begin with. His hand releases yours and grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“They were never you. Not a single one of them could ever be you.”

You nod your head and swallow the lump in your throat, “Then why?”

“It’s been a year, baby. I never thought I’d have you again,” he confesses.

“But you want me?” you ask, just wanting to hear him say it.

“Is that not clear? Of course I want you. I never stopped wanting you. You stopped wanting me.”

You shake your head, “I didn’t. I swear I didn’t, I just– It was too hard, I couldn’t do it anymore. It hurt too much.”

He grabs your face in his hands again, holding eye contact with you. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I know I messed up. I’ve thought of it every single day since you left. I’m so sorry.”

You can see it in his eyes that he means it this time. The urgency in his voice and the trembling of his hands against your face prove it. You decide at that moment to cast the memories of the past to the wind and fall headfirst into him, the way you’ve dreamt of for months.

You press your lips to his, smiling, “Tequila always did make you all mushy, baby.”

A smile pulls across his lips as he stands from the couch, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he makes his way to the stairs. His lips connect to your jaw, peppering kisses up and down your neck with every step he takes.

It’s seconds before you’re tossed onto the bed. The bed you’ve missed so terribly. The bed that smells of him and his linen sheets. You melt into the comforter, your body relaxing almost immediately. Your eyes close and all you can hear is the shedding of clothes across the room, and the tinkling of beads as Josh places his necklace on the dresser.

You feel his hand as it comes to rest on your foot, sliding up the length of your body and stopping just as it reaches the hem of your dress. You sit up on your elbows to look at him, standing at the end of the bed in his boxers.

His gaze is fixed upon you, devouring your every inch.

“Joshy?” you breathe.

He drops his head for a second before looking back at you, “God I haven’t heard that in so long,” he whines. “What sweetness?”

“Come lay down with me,” you ask.

He licks his lips and crawls onto the bed, laying down next to you and resting his hand on your hip. “Hi beautiful.”

“Hi baby,” you whisper, rolling towards him. You lay your head on his shoulder, listening to his heart as it pounds erratically in his chest.

“I missed this bed,” you whisper against his skin.

“I missed you in this bed,” he pauses, “Terribly lonely without you.”

“Not too lonely it sounds like,” you tease, sitting up and stepping off of the bed.

“Baby, I–”

“I’m kidding, Josh. I don’t mind. Well, not completely anyway.”

You pull the zipper on the back of your dress, letting it fall to the floor and instinctively kicking it to the chair at the side of the bed like you'd done a thousand times before.

“So you care a little?” he smirks, taking in the sight of your matching lingerie. “Jesus, was that for him?”

“If all went well,” you answer cheekily, crawling back onto the bed.

“Over my dead body,” he growls, grabbing your arm and pulling you to lay on top of him.

“It was for me. I needed a little confidence boost.”

“Baby, what? Why? You were always so confident and cool,” he asks, furrowing his brow.

“Not lately… A few failed dates will do that to you I guess,” you admit.

“No, no no no no. Don’t let a few pricks dull your glow, sweetness. You’re everything. They’d be lucky to have you.”

You push up off of him, crawling backwards down the bed as you place a few errant kisses across his stomach. Your eyes never leave his as you stop above his waistband, sliding your nails against the elastic.

“What if I never wanted them,” you ask.

He sucks in a breath as your finger dips beneath the band, slightly tugging at the fabric.

“What do you want?” he asks, his eyes searching yours.

You pull his boxers over his hips watching his cock spring free to slap against his groin. You take him in your hand, watching as his face twists up in pleasure.

“Tell me,” he growls through gritted teeth.

Instead of answering him you let your tongue lick a hot stripe from his base to his tip, tasting the bitter sweetness of his precum on your tongue. His core tightens as you take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue against his length, feeling every vein and the rapid pulse pounding through him.

His hand finds the side of your face, tucking your hair behind your ear as he watches you take him down so easily, remembering exactly how he likes it. You grip his base as you work him, hollowing your cheeks as you eyes meet his. His lips are parted, a heavy breath leaving his chest as his grip on your hair tightens. You take him farther, swallowing around his tip as he nudges the back of your throat, sending him spiraling in his own bliss.

“Fuck, baby, please…” he begs.

You pop off of him, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his length. “Please what?”

“Please let me fuck you,” he asnwers, panting as he desperately awaits your mouths return to him.

“I’m kind of enjoying myself here,” you tease, taking him into your throat again.

“Fucking hell, you’re so goddamn sexy. I fucking– I–” he stammers, groaning as you swallow around him again.

“You think of this, baby? You miss sucking my cock? My good fucking girl,” he asks, jerking his hips up off of the bed. “You think of me like I think of you?”

You groan as your tongue swirls at his tip, letting your eyes meet his.

“Answer me,” he demands.

You pull off of him quickly, a spit covered mess, “Yes, yes baby,” you whine.

“Missed your mouth, your perfect fucking mouth. Your lips, your tongue, everything,” he growls, a moan leaving his chest as you suction your mouth around him. “Pull off baby, not yet. Not ready yet.”

You do as you're told, pulling off of him and wiping your lips on the back of your hand. He grabs your chin and pulls you toward him, his wet cock laying against your panties. His lips meet yours, swollen and pink and still glistening with your spit. He’s desperate to taste you, to devour you completely. You feel his hands slide over your waist and up to your bra, unclasping the hooks and pulling the straps from your arms. He pulls it from between you in one move, before turning you to your back to take in the sight of you.

His eyes practically bulge from his head as he looks at you. “You– You pierced your nipples? When did you? Wha– Fucking Christ.”

A smile spreads across your face. It's not very often you can catch Josh off guard like this, so you’re taking this small victory.

“About seven months ago, on a whim,” you answer.

“Anything else I should know about before I have a stroke?” he laughs.

“Why don’t you just find out?” you say playfully, just wanting to see his reaction.

He pulls the elastic of your panties over your hips, tossing the lacy garment to the floor. His tongue darts out over his lips as he looks at you, as if deciding where he wants to start. Though, you knew Josh, and he would forever be a victim to his own fascination with shiny objects.

His lips wrap around your nipple, his tongue gently flicking over the golden barbell. You lace your fingers into his curls, scratching at his roots as his teeth graze the sensitive bud in his mouth.

“Josh,” you whine, arching your back beneath him.

“Mhmm,” he whines, not letting his lips detach from you.

“Missed your touch,” you answer.

He pulls off of your right breast and kisses his way to your left, treating your left nipple with the same reverence as the previous. You grab his hand and pull his fingers to your lips, sucking his first two digits into your mouth and letting your tongue twist against them.

You hear him groan against you, the sensation becoming a little too overwhelming for him.

“You okay, baby?”

He pulls off of you, still staring down at the shiny gold bars adorning your nipples.

“No, fuck no, I’m never gonna stop thinking about these,” he says through a pant.

A laugh bubbles up from your chest as his hand meets your chest, sliding down your stomach and stopping at your hip.

“You gonna let me in, sweetness?” he asks, biting at his bottom lip.

A smirk pulls at your lips as you look at him, nodding gently. His hand slides down further, his fingers dusting across your folds. Your body quivers at his gentle touch, a small grin of satisfaction on his lips.

“You want it?”

“Stop teasing, Josh,” you whine.

“I’m sorry, baby. I know you need it. I’ll give you what you want. You know that, right?”

You nod furiously, just wanting him to touch you. Needing it more than anything. “Yes, yes, I know. Please…”

He bends forward and presses a kiss to your stomach, two fingers sinking into your wetness. You jerk towards him as his fingertips press to your clit, a whine escaping your lips before you can stop it. He hums as his fingers start to circle through your wetness, his lip bitten firmly between his teeth. His eyes are dark as they stare into yours, watching your every move and memorizing every expression.

“You feel so good, baby. Missed this so bad,” he breathes, teasing your entrance.

“You could have had anyone,” you whisper.

“I didn’t want anyone. Just you.”

His fingers dip into you, finding the place they once knew so well. Your hand moves to rest on his bicep, stronger now than they once were, the muscle rounded and defined. In fact, all of him is that way. Lean and fit, stronger and more chiseled. The thought alone makes you clench around his fingers.

“Yeah?”

“You feel so– so different. Stronger,” you say.

“Needed something to fill the time,” he smiles, curling his fingers inside of you. You cry out in bliss as your stomach starts to tighten.

“So good, baby,” you cry.

“Yeah, you gonna come for me? You gonna come right on my fingers, so needy and sweet,” he urges. His fingers are moving rapidly, working you toward your release better than you could have imagined.

“Ease into it, baby. Don’t rush it. I’m right here, not going anywhere. I’m yours,” he says, his voice soft and comforting.

Your eyes meet his, desperate and lust filled, “Mine?”

He nods his head quickly, “Yours,” he pauses, “If you want, I just– I’m here, okay? Take your time, feel it. Breathe it in, savor it. I’m here.”

“I want it,” you plead.

“Have it, have me,” he breathes.

His fingers move at a relentless pace, fingertips massaging into you with such precision it’s like a year never passed. Your chest grows hot and your stomach tightens as his eyes meet yours, both of you knowing you’re on the edge of release.

“Do it. Take it baby,” he growls.

“Josh,” you whine, reaching for his hand and twisting your fingers with his. His grip is tight on you, grounding you the way you need him to.

With another flick of his thumb across your clit, you’re sent spiraling into your release. You’d never been able to replicate the way it feels when it's by his hand, and you were sure no other man could. His hand slows as your eyes open, finding his full of desire as they stare back at you.

He grins as he presses a kiss to your mound, slowly pulling his fingers from inside you. Your body is shaking with adrenaline, the want for him coursing through you like never before. You need him. You need him now.

“Josh, now,” you pant, your chest still heaving as you catch your breath.

He doesn’t hesitate. There are no witty remarks, no jokes, no playful banter at all. Just the need the two of you share for each other taking center stage. He pushes up and crawls up towards you, falling into the space between your legs. He pushes them further apart with his knees, fisting at his base as he stares at you. You swear you can see his heart pounding in his chest, and you know he needs this as badly as you do.

He lowers himself down to you, brushing his tip through your folds. Your hands come up to his face, cradling his cheeks as you press your lips to his. It's different this time, a little less desperate, more intentional. He lets himself slowly sink inside of you as his lips dance with yours, filling you so fully and so completely, the way he always had.

He bottoms out inside of you, sliding his arm beneath your hips to pull you in close. His eyes meet yours in question and you nod, letting him know you need more. He begins to slowly move his hips, rolling into you at a fairly gentle pace, soaking in every inch of you and savoring every sound that falls from your lips.

Your hands wrap around his waist, pulling him in tighter, desperate for all of him. He groans as your chest presses against his, the coolness of the metal bars against his warm, dewy skin pulling a groan from his chest.

“Baby,” he whines, snapping his hips into you a little harder.

“Josh,” you answer, more of a moan.

“I need this,” he says, moving his hand to cradle your jaw. “I need you.”

“I know, baby,” you cry out, “I know. I need you, too. I fucking need you.”

He groans as he drops his head, letting his lips connect with your neck. His hot tongue slides against your skin before he sucks the skin into a fresh pink bite. His pace quickens, his skin slick with sweat as he pounds into you.

“Tell me that you think someone could fuck you better than this,” he growls.

“Fuck, no. No one. No one but you, Josh. I only want you,” you answer, gripping your fingers into his ass.

His demeanor changes, he’s grown animalistic, grunts and groans falling from his lips as he nears the peak of his release.

“Tell me that you don’t love me anymore,” he demands.

“Josh, I–”

“Say it,” he barks.

“I do! I do love you! You know I still fucking love you!” you cry, feeling the coil tighten in your groin.

A cry falls from his chest, echoing around the room as his lips crash to yours. It's rough and desperate, and you know you just told him everything he’s been waiting to hear.

“I fucking love you, Y/N,” he pants, “Don’t you ever fucking leave me again.”

You nod your head desperately, needing to feel his lips on yours again. His strokes start to quicken, hitting you long and deep as you both teeter on the edge of your orgasm. The wet sounds dancing through the air are deafening, and the heat of his breath on your face has you dizzy.

“Josh, baby,” you whine, knowing you won't last much longer.

“Yeah? Yeah you gonna come again? Bloom like a pretty flower just for me?” he urges, knowing the sound of his voice will push you over the edge. He nods his head, and bites his bottom lip as he watches you, squirming and panting beneath him as his cock hits you right where it belongs.

“Come on sweetness, be my pretty flower, come for me,” he whispers against your lips.

His hand cups at your breast as his fingers brush your piercing, letting his thumb and forefinger pinch at your nipple. The sensation is enough to bring you to the brink, letting you dive headfirst into your release. You cry out beneath him, his name falling from your lips in succession.

“Just like that, my love. I’m here, I’ve got you,” he says, pulling you closer to him as his hips continue to work you through it. “I’m there sweetheart, tell me where.”

“You know where, I’m yours,” you plead.

He snaps his hips into you again, holding you in place as he spills inside of you, the most beautiful noises falling from his lips. He comes down, loosening his grip on your hips as he falls slack on top of you. Your arms wrap around him, your hand drifting up into his sweaty curls as he catches his breath.

“I mean it,” he breathes, “I do love you.” He props his head up on your chest, letting his eyes meet yours.

“You know I love you, Josh.”

He cranes his neck forward and kisses you again, and you can almost feel the smile on his lips. “Does this mean you’ll come home? Let me love you again?”

“Is that you asking me?” you tease.

“I’ll call the movers right now,” he taunts.

“You forgive me for leaving you in the first place?” you ask, a hint of nervousness in your voice.

“I deserved it. I know what I lost.”

“I keep my apartment,” you counter.

“But you’ll be with me when I’m here?” he asks with questioning eyes.

“If that’s what you want,” you answer.

“No more dates with assholes who don’t deserve you?” he smirks.

“No more dates, just you,” you nod.

“I’ll do it right this time, give you everything. I promise.”

His lips press to yours, soft and sweet and barely there, sealing his promise and setting your heart aflame. He rolls off of you, laying next to you as close as he can get.

“You said I’m your flower,” you pause, “What kind?”

He pulls you into his side, hitching your leg up over his waist. “Hmm, a poppy perhaps? A bright red one, maybe orange.”

You giggle at the fact he has picked such an outlandish flower. “Why’s that?”

He turns his head to look at you and raises his eyebrow playfully, “The seeds are an opiate and can provide intense pleasure to the consumer, and you, my sweets, are certainly a drug to me.”

You roll your eyes and shove at his chest, feeling him pull you in tighter. He kisses your head and lets out a sigh.

“What about me, am I a flower, darling?”

“Of course you are,” you pause, looking at him. “Too easy, you’re Goldenrod.”

“Isn’t that a weed?” he laughs, running his fingertips against your bare thigh.

“Technically, but it’s beautiful. It’s wild and free and vibrant. Thrives in the warm sunshine and sways in the breeze. They’re made of gold, just like you,” you smile, flashing him a wink.

“Although, it is poisonous,” you add.

He rolls to face you completely, cupping your face in his hand as he smiles, “You know what they say…”

“What’s that,” you question.

“The worst poison always tastes the sweetest.”

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mechaknight-98 · 6 months ago

Text

Holy Grail 1

Authors note: the poll fic is coming along with a few other ideas I’ve been churning out. In the meantime here is a SFW stitching together of last week’s fics with some extra story at the end

“Picture this: it's the final round of Core-A’s Tatsunoko VS Capcom blast from the past tournament and my friend Bonsai is facing off against a new challenger whose gamer tag is Mothra. (she also happens to be his girlfriend Olivia Hye, but more on that later) The set is tied between Bonsai and her. She's been wrecking His team of Frank West and Tekkaman so to throw her for a curveball He goes Polymer and Morrigan. Mothra is confused “No one plays Polymer,” she says perplexed at Bonsai's choice, but Bonsai smiles at his opponent, and says confidently "I do," being a strong competitive player Bonsai easily beats Mothra with his unique team.”

Our friends clap happily as I recount the tournament story for those who weren't present; Jacob, Haseul, Arin, Nagyung, and Tobi. Olivia Hye (Mothra) was less than happy with my recounting of events.

“Yeah, I don't know why you're so cocky; you came in third,” Olivia rolled her eyes, her skepticism evident.

I narrowed my eyes at her before asserting, “Yeah because I only lost to Bonsai. I beat everyone else I played against, and I would have beaten you,” I said, laughing, knowing that despite my boisterous and arrogant antics, I often backed it up with skill.

Bonsai knew I put in more hours into the game than he did. I was constantly in the training lab, mastering characters, but he still bested me because he was the better player. Bonsai also knew If I hadn't pushed him to learn more characters, including Polymer and Morrigan. Plus my strategic input, proved invaluable against high-tier players due to their unpredictability. he would have not won today's tournament

Olivia remained unconvinced. “Oh, come on, Bonsai beat you in three rounds with one flawless win,” she retorted.

Sensing an opportunity to dismantle her argument, I was ready to point out flaws in her playstyle and offer ways to improve, but Bonsai, defending his girlfriend from my unwanted critiques, intervened, “Sorry, Liv, but Daizo would level you. I only beat him because I know how he approaches the game and his patterns.”

Hyeju laughed, “Please, and like I couldn't! We all play together every Thursday, and he always comes in under us.” Bonsai and I exchanged knowing glances, and I decided to drive the point home.

Raising an eyebrow, I struck the killing blow, “Um, Olivia, what two characters are my mains in TVC?”

Olivia shrugged, “Um, Karas and Chun Li?”

I looked at Bonsai as he broke the news to his girlfriend, sighing as he explained, “Hye, he hates playing Chun Li and Karas. He only does it to you because I ask him to.”

Olivia was flabbergasted, “Why?” she asked.

Bonsai knew he had to broach this carefully. “Well, did you see his last match?”

Olivia shook her head. “No, all I heard from that was screaming while I got us lunch.”

Bonsai sighed, elaborating, “Babe, he zero to deathed his opponent after reading their first assist correctly, and he only started playing Joe the Condor today.”

Olivia looked at him, then at me, confused, as did the rest of the group.

“You just learned Joe today?” Arin inquired, struck with bewilderment.

I nodded, prompting Jacob to ask a very legitimate question, “Wait, why risk that at a paid tournament? That seems out of your win-at-any-cost mentality.”

I shrugged before answering, “Because as soon as I was in the same bracket side as Bon, I was getting third place no matter what, so why not see how far I could push my limits?”

Olivia looked at me with disgust, “How arrogant of you to think you can just waltz in and win a tournament on whim picks.”

I laughed and responded, “Liv, we had to give you an advanced tech crash course when you told us you wanted to participate on a whim, despite only playing occasionally with us. I don't want to hear about me doing anything competition-wise on a whim. I am always competition-ready.” This made Olivia go quiet.

Arin, bless her heart, sensed the tension and grabbed my hand. Her touch, as always, was a soothing wave cooling off the plasmidic heat that I felt burn in the Vacuous Core where normal emotional reactions should be.

It worked until Olivia's hurt ego resurfaced, and she said,

“Okay, then Daizo, if you're so great, how about a friendly exhibition match?” I heard Arin sigh, and I knew that either I or Olivia was going to receive a lecture later. But honestly, she already blooded the water by doubting me and further pushed me with an official challenge. So when we got to Bon and Liv's place, I was nearly delirious with anticipation.

I beat Liv 25-1. We could have stopped at 13-0, but the part of me that my friends don't like demanded I beat her more. Thankfully, before I could make Liv cry, Arin and Bonsai stopped me.

“Okay, Disaster, that's enough. You have proved your supremacy, and I don't think Hye can take anymore,” Bonsai's sad tone reached me, and I came out of that dark place.

Arin and I went back to our shared apartment, leaving Bonsai to comfort the almost in-tears and shocked Olivia on their shared couch. He cuddled next to his girlfriend, who was a little grumpy that I beat her...repeatedly

“I can't believe Daizo’s so mean,” she said with an adorable pout. You smiled and nestled closer.

“Come on, babe, you went after him and triggered one of his "episodes". Be glad we stopped it before you went 1-29,” Bonsai said.

Olivia was just revving up, though, “It's just…(He shut her up with an impassioned kiss) uh, babe, no fair.” Bonsai spent the rest of the night consoling his girlfriend's hurt feelings.

A couple of days after what I guess you could call my "bullying" of Hyeju, our little friend group met up again, as we had planned. Arin and I ended up being late due to circumstances beyond our control—a rainstorm that felt almost biblical in its intensity. Arin laughed as we finally entered her car.

"You know, this reminds me of the time we fell for each other," Arin reminisced.

"Yeah, it was a cloudy morning like this," I responded.

"Cloudy? It was pouring," Arin corrected.

I raised an eyebrow. "Huh, oh, I guess that day has such a weird recollection in my head."

"Yeah, me too, but I distinctly remember the rain and seeing how soaked Jacob and you were," Arin replied. "To think we were at each other's throats, and in a split second, we were making out on the floor."

"Yeah, love is weird," I said.

Jacob was grinning ear to ear as we walked to his car. "We're going to this party—there will be girls, grub, and, best of all, games," he said excitedly. I nodded as I got in the car with him. The synthetic smell of maple and brown sugar bombarded me uncomfortably.

"Dude, do you have to have the most obnoxious air freshener?" I teased.

Jacob laughed before saying, "Oh, so you insult my taste, huh? Well, what if I were to tell you that shirt is terrible?" He teased back.

I smiled and responded, "Nope, you can't hurt me. I'm too excited—I've been watching them for so long, so finally going to see Core-A in person seems sick."

"Me too," he said as he started his car.

When he went to shift gears he gave a weird look and then said something odd, "Oh, one thing—don't be mad," he said.

I raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Arin is going to be there," Jacob responded, and I died a little inside.

I groaned. "Is it too late for me not to go?"

"Dude, she's a 5'5'' girl. You'll be fine, Mr. Legendary Spell Fencer," Jacob reassured me. I scratched my hair nervously, thinking about possible outs.

"I don't know, the last time we met, we yelled at each other for two hours," I said.

"I remember—you guys sounded like an old married couple... Maybe that's it. Maybe you two like each other, but your minds misattribute the attraction with spite. Maybe the two of you just need to kiss, and the wires will be crossed correctly," Jacob suggested as he drove off, sealing my fate.

I rolled my eyes and confidently explained, "There is no way."

Jacob hesitated as if remembering something. "Well, remember how the first time you guys fought, afterward you were all hot and bothered thinking about her for two weeks? It was also weird because you would say all these nice things about her like 'How could someone so compassionate and smart be so damn pig-headed and boorish? I hate that vexing bitch.' You know, weirdly flirty stuff," Jacob said teasingly. I looked at him with an "Are you serious?" look. He laughed, of course.

"Hey, it's just a theory," he finished.

After that, for the most part, we rode in silence until we reached Core-A's studio and the location of the party. We got out of Jacob's baby blue VW Beetle, which he lovingly referred to as the "Love Bug" (which I believe is copyrighted, but I could be wrong). We walked into the purple venue, though the atmosphere breathed competition without the sweaty smell. The air was chilled to a comfortable level as we filed in along with a few others.

"Ah, Jac, glad you could make it," a tall Korean man said as he approached us. He hugged Jacob, who smiled, and then the man sized me up.

"You must be Daizohan?" the Korean man asked.

I nodded affirmatively. "I am."

He extended his hand and introduced himself, "Nice to meet you. My name is Gerald Lee."

I couldn't help but grin widely. "I know who you are. I'm a huge fan. I've watched all your channel's videos and loved what you have done, not only for the fighting game community but for competitive communities everywhere," I raved.

Gerald Lee smiled, then said, "Please, then enjoy yourself, make friends, eat, and have fun. I only ask that you be respectful. Some pretty public figures are roaming about who would like their privacy," I nodded in agreement.

"Sure thing, sir," I replied, to which he chuckled before walking away.

Jacob nudged me, pointing out, "Dude, I've never seen you smile that big."

I squinted at him, annoyed. "Jacob, that's one of my heroes."

Jacob laughed at my expense, "I can tell. Now, don't get too excited, but I think they have your favorite over there." I turned to see the familiar loading screen and couldn't contain my excitement. I lifted my hand in anticipation and walked over to the TV. It was exactly what I had hoped for: Tatsunoko VS Capcom. I sat down, feeling nostalgic as I hadn't played the game since childhood. Despite its age and my lack of recent practice, I was instantly transported back to the date of its release, a ten-year-old rediscovering his first fighting game and embarking on a decades-long love affair. I was engrossed in the game when I heard a voice asking,

"Hey, can I play with you?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Let me just quit this arcade match," I said as I exited my current run-through of the mode.

"I'm surprised you've been so invested; you haven't moved once since sitting here," the voice remarked.

"Well, this is my second favorite game of all time," I explained.

I noticed the voice sitting next to me, intrigued. "Oh, what's the first?"

"Kingdom Hearts II," I replied.

"Oh, I hear a lot about how complicated those games are," the voice said.

I smiled, replying, "Well, they're usually less complicated than life, to be honest." The voice laughed, causing me to smile. It was feminine and pleasant, making me feel like I was at a calming beach.

"This is my first time playing this one, so I don't know how to play. Can you teach me?" the voice asked. I nodded and turned to face her, handing her the controller. Our hands touched, and then our eyes locked, sending my emotions into warp drive.

"Arin?"

"Daizo?"

Arin and I looked at each other with equally confused expressions before she abruptly stood up and said, "Bathroom. Now." I followed her, hoping to avoid a scene. Thankfully, no one saw us enter the furthest one from the party.

Arin and I silently glared at each other until she spoke first, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Um, I was invited by Jacob," I replied.

I watched as Arin rolled her eyes, “Yeah, of course he'd invite you. God, I hate you cameramen sometimes.”

Unaware of the growing feelings within, I gave her the response she wanted, “Damn it, why are you always so mean? Like, what did I do to you?”

Arin rolled her eyes and teased, “You? Please. I'm sorry, but why would I ever be friends with such an attention whore? Did mommy and daddy never give you enough as a child?”

Seeing where this conversation was going, I decided to do something more interesting. I decided to play into her analysis.

“Actually, yes. My parents were consumed with work much of my childhood and had a rigid structure that maintained my physical safety but preyed upon my social and emotional safety as a special needs child, leading to severely stunted emotional and social growth but excellent physical and cognitive growth. This manifested as childhood chasing and severe attention-seeking behaviors. Thankfully, I'm risk-averse enough to have that rein me in from being an absolute menace. Also, if I am attention-seeking, so are you, as often you join me happily in that, as seen by the show we put on for Nagyung’s birthday where we argued for three hours.”

Arin stood there stunned. I watched as she tried to form a response until I got bored and walked away. She grabbed me and said, “Wait, Daizohan (she was using my full name, so I knew she was serious). I am sorry, I didn't know.”

I gave her a kind smile and replied, “It's all good. I also didn't realize until just now when you were talking about it.”

Arin smiled, and that same feeling of a wave washing over me crept up. “Well, now that you know, I expect better from you,” I nodded, and we walked back to Tatsunoko vs. Capcom. While walking, I noticed how pretty Arin was. Like, she was distractingly pretty.

As we walked back, that distraction caused me to walk into a metal pole. Obviously, I fell, but Arin was quick to pick me up and begin scolding me about “staying aware.”

As Arin spoke and droned on and on, my body sent a shiver down my spine before sending a weird impulse to my brain.

“Arin’s stern scolding is kinda of hot; she makes a great and nurturing mother. I should make her a mother,” my brain told me, and I jolted. Arin noticed, and for a moment, the animosity in her eyes dissipated, and I saw something I wasn't expecting: genuine concern.

Arin’s features softened from a disgusted grimace to concerned caution as she said, “Are you okay? You just jumped!” I nodded, standing there dumbfounded. “Good,” she continued, “Hey, don't scare me like that, Daizo.”

In an instant, all that animosity turned into this overwhelming desire to kiss her. Before I knew it, all I could think about besides how pretty her eyes were with her cute glasses was how to go about kissing her. So, I did. At first, it was awkward as Arin was combating similar competing feelings of infatuation and infuriation. After a few seconds though, she joined me in choosing to be infatuated. We broke the kiss and Arin smiled at me and said, “What?”

“Oh nothing just remembering our first time together Arin smiles as we get in her car and drive to Nagyung and Jacob’s place.

While Arin and I were on our way to the meetup, she asked me what I thought Jacob would like for his upcoming birthday.

"Oh, don't worry about that. I already got his drinks, food, and presents handled," I reassured her.

"Good, I know when you're on top of things, you overachieve. I just need to remind you," Arin said, relieved.

"Oh, you never have to remind me of friends. I always show up for them when I can," I replied, which made Arin laugh.

“Hey babe, can I ask you something?” Jacob walked into the living room.

“Sure, what is it, Naggy?”

"Why did you invite Arin and Daizo? They're so gross," Nagyung whined.

Jacob chuckled before replying, "Daizo and Arin are my friends, and while they may be 'gross,' they are good company."

Nagyung sighed, annoyed. "But Jakey, they are obsessed with... that, what did you call it?"

Jacob raised an eyebrow. "The Holy Grail or fighting games?"

"The Holy Grail," Nagyung confirmed.

"Oh, well, yeah. Everyone needs friends who chase the Holy Grail. They show you where you're lacking," Jacob replied.

"What?" Nagyung responded, confused.

"Chasing the Holy Grail means chasing the impossible. Both Arin and Daizo have impossibly large goals, which is probably why they work so well together. But I digress. They are chasing impossible goals for different reasons. For Daizo, it's to see how far he can take himself in this world, and for Arin, it's to prove herself," Jacob explained. Nagyung nodded and then replied,

"But why can't they be satisfied with what they have? They're successful and have a great love life and careers. What more could they want?"

Jacob shrugged as he replied.

About 65 minutes later the couple finishing up cooking lunch.

"Wow, you guys finally made it?" Nagyung said smiling. I gave a thumbs up and Bonsai explained how traffic was terrible for some weird reason.

Arin perked up, "It's mostly because of the rain and the impromptu K-pop festival going on in Hongdae."

"Wait really? (Bonsai turns to Haseul) Why wasn't the best group ARTMS invited," Bonsai said

exaggeratedly. Haseul blushed and smiled as Arin and I both suppressed the urge to say "What are you talking about the best is obviously Oh My Girl,"

Bonsai noted our restraint and smiled, "You know it shows that there are still tickets and they're pretty cheap,"

Arin and I looked at each other before we both said "So it's settled We are all going," The group nodded excitedly as we got up and began prepping for the Concert. We all ordered Tickets and then walked to the venue. On the way, Arin grabbed my hand, "What's up?"

"Nothing just showing everyone who you belong to," She said with a possessive smile,

"Are you jealous?"

"No, I am not the Jealous type but what's mine is mine end of story," Arin said smiling. I smiled back before kissing her forehead.

"Blegh. You guys are so gross," Hyeju says as she notices we haven't moved for a bit. Arin rolls her eyes before grabbing my hand and having us catch up to the others.

We arrived at the festival and its insanely lively fantastic atmosphere despite the gloomy weather. Plenty of Alcohol for everyone except Arin, plus me, and several acts we were more than excited to see. We decided to start with H1-Key as they were the next act. (We probably should have gotten food in hindsight but it's not that big a deal.) As H1-Key performed many of their hits Arin and I danced to music, as did our friends (At one point Nagyung was twerking on Jacob which was always hilarious). when the weather dropped to a colder temperature we moved less to conserve heat but still sang along. Arin nestled herself in my jacket to stay warm due to our size difference. After that act, We decided to get food and stopped by the nearby Ramyeon place. We all congregated around a pretty big table which allowed us to stay near our partners but also be in decent positions to talk to everyone.

Arin put her hand in mine as we watched our friends. "So Daizo how much longer are you here for?" Haseul asked.

I looked to Tobi for confirmation he held up the number three letting me know I had three weeks left

"Oh three weeks left," I answered. Subtly I noticed Arin tightening her grip on me. I turn to her and clarify, "I will be back though,"

"Oh, when," Nagyung asked.

"Uh probably in the second half of the year, around September," I replied.

Arin‘s grip softened, and I looked at her before saying, “Don't worry I'll be back,”

After we finished we went back to the festival and enjoyed the rest of the acts.

We got back from the impromptu festival around midnight I want to say, and on the way back to Jacob's place we were stopped by a lady, She stood at the precipe of a crosswalk. She is holding a massive sword and she says,

"If one of you can land a hit on me; I will give you a massive prize." My friends all look at each other and then at me to stop me but I'm already walking to the lady.

“So I just gotta land one hit?” I ask

“Yes,” the lady responds

“Any other rules? Stipulations?” I add

“Nope give it all you got,” the lady says with a pleased smile.

“Okay! Let's do it.” I reply. Arin grabs my hand and says

“Go get em,” I smile and reply

“God I love you,” Arin beams and I turn to the lady. I summon my spell sword and get in a combat-ready stance. The lady smiles before taking out a needle and syringe. She injects herself and I watch as her eyes begin to glow. I stand guard as she also gets ready. I blink and in an instant, she is at my throat. I block her blade and disarm her by throwing both our blades away.

Taking advantage of her staggered and uneven stance I grapple her and throw her to the ground. As she lands I get one quick strike to her arm. She smiles,

“A thief with honor.” the lady says as I help her up. I notice her skin is a magenta color and she only has one eye. She smiles at me before saying, “Congratulations,” and everything goes dark.

When I wake up I am on a floor mat with Arin sitting above me. I sit up and Arin Jolts.

"Where am I," I ask.

"Babe relax," Arin says hearing my heart race

"Okay," I say as she has me slow my breathing.

"There has been a bad situation,"

"What is it?" I ask

"Look," Arin says sadly

I look at what she has gestured at and see my home planet shattered and exploded. I breathe in and out slowly processing what I am seeing, I turn to Arin and she grabs me tightly before saying, "It will be okay Daizo."

I had only one question on my mind, "who did this?"

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