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[goorgeousz]

overtime | aaron hotchner

overtime | aaron hotchner

18+

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!female!reader

summary: based on this request! hotch calls you into his office after hours about a missing report but you know the real reason behind it

content/tw: unprotected sex, p in v sex, office sex, semi-public sex, use of y/n, dom!hotch, sub!reader, hotch puts you on a headlock (sexually), choking (reader being choked),

word count:

a/n: this was supposed to be a porn without plot situation but I’m a whore for background story… anyway, thank you for submitting, my requests are open <3 I hope you enjoy it!

after hours au masterlist (aaron hotchner x reader series)

main masterlist

This had to come to an end. 

This thing between you and Hotchner — whatever that was — had been going on for months now. The mutual pining, stolen glances, longing touches. 

You liked it. At first, it was too subtle. The rush of trying to get a moment alone. The butterflies in your stomach not knowing if it was real or happening just in your head. ‘Did he want to touch my waist or was it an accident?’ ‘Did he get coffee for everyone else or was it just me?’ ‘Was he looking at my lips or I’m seeing things?’

But enough is enough. You were adults, for Christ’s sake. And even though the longing were fun and exciting, it had to come to an end, otherwise would be just torture. Fantasy.

You were stubborn, you’d admit it. But Aaron? That man was a fucking wall. 

A few weeks ago, you thought he was going to break. It was a dinner party at Rossi’s. A lot of wine later, he offered to give you and JJ a ride. He let her home first, and you were alone in the car. Your dress had slipped up, you could see his eyes staring holes at your thighs from the driver seat. But as you waited for him to make the first move, he just parked and offered to walk you to the door, not even waiting for you to invite him to come in.

And then, in the last case you had, you felt him uneasy. He was shifting on his seat, fumbling with his fingers, his tie seemingly too tight, and he stared at you more than usual. Late at night, on the plane home, after everyone was asleep, you asked him what was wrong. He was nervous, but he was going to tell you. He really was. Finally. But the jet entered a turbulent area, and it woke everyone up. When you arrived, after packing your things to go home you went to talk to him again. Just the two of you. But the moment was gone, and he’d become distant again.

That’s when you decided: today was the day.

You didn’t typically wear tight outfits, or anything remotely short. Your day to day outfits were consistent: pants and a shirt. Maybe a sweater, maybe long skirts. You valued a good closet, choosing carefully your clothes — you loved feeling well dressed —, your goal to be the most comfortable possible. 

But it was summer, and hotter than usual. You didn’t think much of it, just picking that dress because it was possibly the only item you owned that wouldn’t overheat you. It wasn’t anything inappropriate, really. Just not what you usually went for.

It was a tight dress, stopping mid thigh, with a v-neck and ¾ sleeves. Nothing fancy, but it hugged your curves just right. You felt beautiful walking out, but you didn’t think people would notice it.

Man, were you wrong.

It started with Morgan, who playfully barked as soon as you walked into the bullpen. You laughed at him, playing and giving him a twirl. They all complimented you, and only then you realized you could use that to your advantage.

The team had a meeting, and you made sure to arrive early at the conference room, to be alone with Hotch and see if he would give you a reaction.

A reaction was given.

Hotch looked up from his papers when he heard your footsteps approaching the conference room. You smiled politely, greeted him with a good morning and grabbed a cup of coffee, making sure to spend as much time standing as possible.

More than seen, you felt his gaze on you. He looked at you like a man starved, not even bothering to greet you back. His eyes roamed your whole body, his breath hitching when you swayed your hips, walking slowly to sit next to him.

He didn’t pretend he wasn’t looking at your chest, your breasts pushed together under the cleavage, making him thirsty. His eyes found yours, and you realized you had him.

Before anything could happen, Spencer and Emily walked into the room, followed a few minutes later by the rest of the team. The interruption didn’t bother you in the slightest. You leaned back, trying not to grin too wildly while he started the meeting, not so subtly averting his eyes from you.

… 

It was a matter of time. You didn’t know when, you didn’t know how. But nonetheless, you knew.

Not even 10 minutes after, you got a text. Before you even got your phone, you knew it was coming.

From ‘Hotch’: Y/N, come to my office as soon as possible.

Feeling all too pleased with yourself, you chuckled and stood up, fixing your already perfectly smoothed dress, and climbed the stairs leading to Hotch’s office.

You knocked at the door and waited for a response. He authorized you to come in, his voice muffled by his soundproof walls.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you asked, managing to seem oblivious.

“Yes.” he nodded, grabbing one of the files at his table. “It’s about your paperwork.”

“Is there something wrong?” you asked, knowing damn right there was nothing wrong. 

“Not with the ones you submit. There are a few reports missing.”

“Yes, I was going to do them tomorrow, when I’ll have more time. Since they’re too important, you know? Didn’t want to end up messing them up.” you explained, crossing your arms.

“I understand. But I’ll ask you to start doing those first.” you arched an eyebrow at that “It’s important to improve your production organization, just as much as the work itself. For example, if tomorrow we end up having a case, your focus should be on the case, not on the previous paper work. Even though there are only a few reports missing, they are the most relevant ones. So I suggest…” he interrupted his speech, clearly annoyed at you “I don’t see this is so funny, agent.”

“Sorry. I’m so sorry, sir.” you said, trying and failing miserably to suppress your grin. You didn’t even bother to sit.

This was ridiculous.

He leaned back on his chair, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows at you.

“Care to explain?” 

“It’s just that… I’m waiting for you to tell me the real reason you called me in here.” he looked dumbfounded at you.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not that what you’re saying isn’t important, it is. Very much so, I understand that. But you never told me about it. Not once, since I joined the team. I’ve always managed my paperwork just fine, never missed a report. Case or no case. And it didn’t affect my performance in the field, not in the slightest.” you explained, resting your hips at the back of the chair before you, glancing at him on the other side of the table. 

“This is not true at all.” he said, fixing his tie. You laughed.

“It is. You know it.” he did. But he wasn’t ready to admit it. “So you called me in just to talk about my reports?”

“Precisely.”

“And you had to wait for everyone to leave to talk with me about my reports?” you got him.

“I didn’t realize it was that late.” at that you laughed.

“Come on, Hotch. I see you staring. You can’t keep your eyes up. You try to, I’ll give you that.”

“That’s a very serious accusation, agent.” he muttered.

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m simply stating facts.” you sighed “It could be so much easier if you just admitted.”

“How so?” he didn’t deny, so you took it as a sign he was close.

“You and I both know what’s going on. And neither of us want to break first. But I know I don’t just speak for myself when I say it’s becoming unbearable.”

“I don’t know if I agree.” he said, but his voice sounded hoarse and his pupils dilated.

“Oh but you do.” your tone a mocking sweetness “I bet you spent hours just figuring out a way to call me here. Something reasonable enough so it would be pathetic. It didn’t worry, did it?”

“Are you calling your unit chief pathetic, agent” he arched an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“I’m calling pathetic men who let pride stop themselves from getting what they truly want. Are you pathetic, sir?” you asked, blinking your eyelashes at him.

Whatever smile he may have vanished at that.

He sat up straight, his eyes darkening with something dangerous. 

“Careful.” he warned, scolding.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. You thought this was over. It was starting to piss you off.

Any amusement you may have felt just vanished.

You were so over this. It wasn’t funny anymore. It was ridiculous, humiliating. This game you two were playing was long overdue.

That’s when you decided to give up. It was now or never.

“Fine, Hotch. Do you want me to leave?” you asked, looking at him blatantly, your emotions displayed openly in your eyes like they were a shining outdoor.

He hesitated.

That motherfucker.

Hotch looked at you in the eyes once more, deeply. Like he needed to confirm something before he chose his next move. Like a chess player. Pacient. Deliberate. Analytical. Whatever he was looking for, he found it. And he made his move.

“No.”

No.

How could a single, monosyllabic, two-letter word could carry the weight of the whole world?

One word that changed everything.

It was a crime. A sin. A dream.

Everything you ever wanted, but not nearly enough. 

You really wanted to say you remember everything, every detail. But your mind must’ve blanked out, because you had no idea of how and when you moved, but the next second you were standing right next to each other. 

His hands reach out to you to pull you closer, like you weren’t fast enough, and he needed you now. Out of all times, now. He held you by your waist, you gripped tightly on the lapels of his expensive suit. He stopped for a second. Without hesitation, but reverence. Like he wanted to savour every single detail of this, of you. You wanted too. Wanted to feel him, to see him. 

To enjoy the last seconds of the before. Because after that, nothing would ever be the same.

Despite the strength of his grip, when he kissed you, it was gentle. Kind. Devoted. Like he waited long for this (he did). You hoped, dreamt, fantasized about it even. It didn’t even compare.

His lips were gentle, kind, steady. It grounded you, it brought you back to this moment. He tasted like coffee and mint. Weird on the paper, but felt like heaven. He kissed you languidly, like he wanted to devour you. Like he was starved, and you were his only saving. He was an expert – of course-. It was surprising but not really. He was so good at it, but again, he was good at everything.

His hands rested on your waist and on your lower back, touching you like you were his holy grail.

You pulled back slightly, just to look at him again. To check if this wasn’t another cruel joke of your mind, a fantasy developed by your subconscious to punish you for its lack of rest.

It wasn’t.

You smiled at him breathlessly, biting your lower lip in delight. You stared at his wet lips like they held the secret of life behind them. You tasted it, you knew what he felt like. It was sweet, caring, and beautiful. Something to tell your kids, your grandkids. But still, not enough.

So you leaned in again, hungrier this time. So determined he was caught by surprise, stumbling back a little. He held you tighter and balanced his stance. He hummed in delight, you swallowed the sound like it was water.

“God” you muttered between kisses, and you felt his lips turning into a smirk.

“Wrong.” he teased, racing his hand lower and gripping tightly on your hips. You hummed in satisfaction, gripping the hair on the back of his neck and pulling on it. He groaned, pressing you closer against him. “So pretty.” you chuckled.

“If I knew all it took was a tight old dress I would’ve worn it way sooner.” you teased, biting on his lower lip. He stiffened. His grip remained strong, but he wasn’t pulling you into him anymore.

“You think that’s what this is about? Your dress?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. He was confused, a bit worried even.

“You can’t fool me, I saw you staring.” you gave him a pointed look. He arched an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t get me wrong, I was. But this is not about your dress. Or none of your… attributes.” he said, glancing at your chest while sliding his hands to the curve of your ass. You held your breath unconsciously. “It’s about your eyes.” 

Huh?

“What?” you managed, your voice hoarse. He smirked. The bastard. “The way you looked at me today. So determined. You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?” He was right, of course.

Normally, you would’ve lied, teased. But the attentive gaze he held you under didn’t let you. He was so close, his brown eyes staring so deeply into yours that you knew you couldn’t lie to him. Even if you wanted to.

“Yes.” you breathed. His smirk only grew. “You knew it all along. Played me like a toy.” 

“No, I- I wouldn’t say that…” you stuttered. He chuckled, amused. “Thought your little dress would make me crumble, right?”  he teased, leaning in, his lips brushing your ear “I was already long gone. But nice try, sweetheart.” you moaned – actually, moaned – at the sound of his voice.

He could’ve laughed at you. He should’ve. Damn it, you would’ve laughed at yourself, if it wasn’t for the crushing desire burning you and all your moral thoughts inside out. But apparently, he was suffering just the same, because your moan just ignited something in him. Like a switch, his teasing demeanour vanished, taking its place an animalistic one. He wasn’t tasting you anymore. He was taking from you, taking everything you had to give him. Your lips, your teeths, your tongue. Oh, your tongue. He sucked on it, licked it, grazed his teeth along it. He played with it like a pro, and you were ready to cut it off and hand it to him on a silver platter, if he asked you to.

Hotch grabbed your hips and crashed them onto his, and you could feel his hard-on right under his expensive suit pants pressed against you. Both of you hummed at the contact, thirsting for more.

He started to back you up against his desk, your thighs pressing the edge of the dark wooden desk. He leaned over while kissing you, pushing you firmly until you were seated on his desk. Fully seated, you opened your legs for him to stand between them. You pulled back, batting your eyelashes to him.

“Aren’t you going to push the files off the table?” you teased the cliche setting. He smirked, leaning closer to bite your neck “I’m taking you over right on top of it.”

Thank God you were sitting, otherwise you would’ve felt down. Now that would be humiliating.

“Hotch” you murmured, hooking your fingers to the waistband of his pants, pulling him closer “Please”.

“Anything you want, Sweetheart.” he said in fake compliance “Just have to tell me what it is.” he grinned, wickedly. You groaned, needy.

“You, Hotch.” you said. He chuckled, “I’m right here.”

You rolled your eyes, but he held you closer, placing his hands on your thighs and squeezing them harshly. It didn’t hurt you, the sting going straight to your core. You moaned in response, instinctively arching your back and spreading your legs further apart.

He kissed you hungrily, pushing up the hem of your dress until it barely covered up your cunt, groaning every time your nails grazed the nape of his neck. You wrapped your legs around his hips, grinding into him like your life depended on it. He held your hips steady, stopping you from moving, making you huff in frustration. With his other hand, he held you by your jaw, his hand easily covering it entirely.

You looked up at him, his hand holding you in place. Metaphorically and physically submissive for him. It turned you on so bad.

“I’ll ask again, Sweetheart.” he whispered, trying not to grin too much “What do you want?”

You didn’t hold back in the slightest “Fuck me, Hotch. Please, just fuck me.” you begged. He smiled slowly, predatorily. Leaned in gently and left a chaste peck on your lips. It confused you. Until it didn’t.

In a mere of seconds he stepped away, stood you up and spinned you around, pushing you again against the dest, making you lay in your stomach, your ass pressed directly into his crotch.

He pulled the rem of your dress up, letting the fabric mound around your waist “Of fucking course” he muttered at your navy-blue lacy panties. His hands roamed around you, your back, your asscheeks, your thighs. He kissed it, licked it, sucked on your flesh like he needed it more than he needed to breathe.

You pushed yourself back, needing him so much it was starting to ache “Hotch, please” you whined, not even caring if you sound desperate – which you did. Surprisingly, he heard you, standing up and unbuckling his belt. The sound made you moan in anticipation, all your bossy facade disappearing completely. 

You glanced back, ogling at the sight of him pulling himself out of his briefs, hard, long and ready to fill you up. He looked at you, smugly smirking at you. He squeezed the red tip, groaning with the feeling, and stroked himself once, and then twice looking at your cheeks thrown at him. You made sure he had the best view, arching your back and pushing it back in his direction. He held your hips and spanked your cheeks with his shaft, chuckling to himself at your neediness.

Hotch eventually took pity on you, spreading your legs further apart by nudging your feets with his. He slides your underwear down, taking it off and hiding it his poked with a grin. His fingers teased your entrance, spreading your wetness and pushing one finger in. He thrusted in you a few times, your moan confirming to him you were ready for a second finger. And then a third. When you were clenching around his fingers, needy and ready for him, he took all of them off. You whined while he used his wet fingers as a lub, stroking himself again and aligning his shaft with your entrance.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse. You hummed. “Words, please.” “Yes, Hotch. Damn it, I’m…” your bickering soon turned into a strangled moan as he thrusted in you, his length and girth stretching you deliciously. He slowly bottomed out, his breath heavy and shallow, trying to control himself.

The moan he let out when you pushed your ass back, thrusting into him, was guttural. Animalistic. Feral. He held your hips and started thrusting into you, his tip reaching your spot so many times it made your head light.

“Doing so good for me, sweetheart.”  he praised. You moaned. “S-so good.” you managed to say, your words cutting short by his thrusts. He chuckled “So monosyllabic now. Cat got your tongue?” “Fuck you” you muttered “Is that the way to speak with your boss?” he teased, tangling a hand on your hair in a makeshift ponytail and pulling you towards him, your back sticking to his chest.

The new angle made him reach even deeper, both of you panting in sensibility. He reached one hand to your clit, pressing tiny and light circles in it, making you moan even louder. With his other hand he roamed at your body, pulling your breasts out of your cleavage, squeezing them. The callus in his hand adds to the addictive feeling, and pushes you further on the edge.

Hotch kissed and sucked your neck, teeth grazing just enough to sting, and licking right after to sting the pain. It was hell and heaven all at once. So many sensations, his cock deep inside you, his breath hot on the shell of your ear, whispering praises and groaning until you couldn’t hear anything but his voice and the sinful sounds of your wetness being filled by him.

His hand climbed up at your throat, squeezing it gently.

You tried to hide it, you truly did.

You weren’t embarrassed about your moaning, your begging. You were way past that.

But to have your boss knowing how much you got off on being choked — the very same way you saw people get killed on a daily basis — was a different kind of humiliation.

So you tried to hide, to muffle. But your body got the best of you, clenching and letting the most pornography moan you could at the minimum pressure on your throat.

He laughed. Not smiled, not chuckled. Laughed. Pleasantly. Like he found a treasure, the key of the universe.

And honestly, he felt like he did.

He gripped on your hair tightly, pulling you harder with one hand and using the other to spread across your stomach, keeping your body flush against his.

“Got you.” he hummed drunkenly right next to your ear, biting it hard. The hand on your stomach lowered until it found your clit, pressing his thumb on your bound tightly. You were close and he knew it. 

With his free arm he did the unthinkable. He engulfed you on a one-arm hug, putting you on a headlock, his biceps squeezing you deliciously. You clenched around him, pushing your hips out and fucking him back.

“Hotch… So… Close” you warned him between huffs, your lungs failing you. The burn makes your eyes water and your legs shake.

“I can feel just how much you’re enjoying this. Clenching me so fucking tight.” he grunted, his own thrust becoming erratic and clumsy “That’s all you wanted all along, right? Teasing me for months just to be choked by me. Next I’ll choke you with my cock down your throat.” he hissed, and you felt your orgasm coming.

“Hotch, I’m…” you couldn’t finish it, your orgasm hitting like a truck.

“So pretty coming around me. ‘M gonna fill you up so fucking good.” and just like that you felt his dick twitching inside you, spurting his seed deep on your cervix.

He thrusted until you stopped shaking, too sensitive for any more contact. With a hiss, he pulled out of you, chuckling with the sight of your juices combined sliding down your leg.

He cleaned you up, peppering your face with kisses. He fixed your dress, your underwear long gone — you couldn’t find it in yourself to care — and redid his pants, almost like it never happened. Besides the hairs clinging on his face with sweat and the blush of his cheeks. And you, lying lazily on his lap like a renascent painting.

“So… next time, huh?” you teased, trying to ease up the tension — created by your own intrusive thoughts only — and lightly bring up the question that lingers on your head as soon as any coherent thought managed to linger on your mind for more than three seconds:

 Was this a one time thing? You glanced up at him, and relief rushed through your bloodstream. If the relaxed, adoring and glowing smile he had on his lips meant anything, you had nothing to worry about.

[bunny-jpeg]

max verstappen, blueberry bars, belgian waffles, tim bits with margarita and root beer. like, reader is max's naive and innocent best friend and he does this without her knowledge, asleep or drugs. she ends up preg and max convinces her that it sometimes happens and promises to take care of her.

bakery menu

want to submit an order? the bakery is open! submit your orders and i'll try to get through them as fast as possible. been a bit of a slow period because of the holdays/end of the year, but i'm making a comeback with 'em since they are very popular with ya'll! i was immediately drawn to this one, i love a good dark fic and i knew i had to write it! so thank you, thank you! enjoy <3

blueberry bars: “gonna make you a mamma and you're gonna make me a daddy.” + belgian waffles: "i cum in that every night." + tim bits: "stupid little thing." + margarita: unprotected sex + root beer: filming/recording served by max verstappen!

tags: smut/pwp, dark fic/dark themes, filming/recording, unprotected sex, breeding& pregnancy, best friend!reader, non-con somophilia, innocent!reader, mad!max, drugging

the sight of you was beautiful, there was something about your sleeping form that drove him mad. max knew that he could have any woman he desired, but why would he desire them when he could have you. you pulled him in, but even after years of friendship. you never seemed to notice max's advances, and he was getting desperate.

earlier in the evening you complained about not being able to sleep. you were visiting your best friend who was happy to house you in his apartment in monaco, so when max handed you a dainty little pill and told you to have a good night, you happily took it. and when your soft snores could be heard from the doorway of the bedroom, max felt himself getting arousing.

you looked like an innocent princess, and max believed himself to be the prince who will protect you. even if that meant having his hands under your shirt while you were asleep. a prince deserved a reward didn't he?

you laid under the sheet, which max pulled off slowly. you were in a thin tank top and underwear. he felt his heartbeat leap at the sight of you. he took out his phone to take photos.

he chuckled to himself lowly, "i cum in that every night." a cheeky joke as he had spent the last week slipping you a little pill and having his wicked way with you once you were asleep. you were quite nice when you were asleep, so much softer. it only made max yearn for you more. he wanted you, you were just too beautiful. he groaned as he felt tension in his sweatpants, "stupid little thing."

there was hunger inside of him, he needed you. wanted you in carnal ways that he couldn't put into words. the sight of you, he took more photos as he got his cock out of his sweatpants and rubbed it against your now bare stomach. he shuddered, "beautiful little thing. so stupid. need someone to protect you. you need to be saved don't you? well that's what i'm here for." he then got your panties down around your ankle and exposed your entire form to him.

it was only right for him to admire every inch of you, you were going to be his wife. the mother of his child. he said softly, “gonna make you a mamma and you're gonna make me a daddy.” and you shifted a little, it excited him as he got between your legs. he felt the rush through him as he sank his cock into you.

he had been doing this every night for a week now. every evening like ritual, he made sure you were tucked in, only for him to peel back the sheets and fuck you with a feverish want while you sleep. max had enough of beating around the bush with your love, he was a man of action.

and all he needed was for two little cells to meet before that action became a plan. some would call it baby trapping, but he'd call it a promise of commitment. you weren't going to do it alone, you'd have max every step of the way. he'd even retired to make sure that you and his baby were taken care of.

he could feel the pleasure through his body as he moved against you. he held your legs wrapped around him as he leaned in to kiss you on the lips. he snatched his phone up from the bed and snapped photos and took a small video of his cock being rocked in and out of you. he let out a small groan as the pleasure seeped into his blood. you felt amazing, he eyed your sleeping form as he picked up the pace a little bit more. he filmed a little more and let himself just enjoy the feeling of your slick cunt.

it was like a warm vice that pulled him in further. he took it as a sign that your body wanted it. you wanted this too, to carry his child. of course you did, you were so innocent and sweet. bordering on naive that max knew that you'd want a baby. a chubby little verstappen baby at your hip, you'd make a good mother.

and max knew that, even if you didn't at that moment.

he groaned lightly as he held onto your hips. he felt the climbing warmth in his body as he fucked you. feeling your body against his. your sleeping form was like the future in his eyes. he could imagine your wedding, having your family. you being the perfect wife for him. it was only destiny for the two of you, you had been friends for ages.

he knew everything about you, no other man would be able to compare. to think they could would be stupid to think, you were meant to be with max. for him to dote, love and protect. you didn't need to do anything else besides be his wife and the mother of his children. he had already made enough money to sustain a full house for three lifetimes. you deserved a man who could provide, max knew you 'dated', but they never lasted long. they didn't deserve to be with a woman like you. an angel from the heavens brought to earth.

"i love you." he said, "even when you don't see it. i know you do, i know you love me. you want me badly, but you don't think you're good enough. hopefully when i get you pregnant you can realize that i love you. i need you." his breathing was heavy as he thrusted against you.

there was no protection between you two and honestly he didn't need it. 'protection' wouldn't get you pregnant, wouldn't keep you as his. plus, it felt so much better bare-back. to feel the closeness to you. fill you with his seed and let it take root inside of you. then maybe you'd come to your senses.

maybe he could've done it a different way, but why would we do that? you looked so peaceful, he knew you weren't getting sleep. and max, the dutiful husband, would always make sure that you were alright. he just happened to want your sweet cunt wrapped around his hard cock at the same time. who could blame him, your pussy was the kind to salivate over like a hungry dog.

to love you, in his own twisted way, was a sign of utter devotion. even in your sleep, he would protect you. he knew what was right, and had convinced himself that breeding you while asleep was the best course of action. it'll prove that max is the man you need in your life, the protector. you were so innocent at times, anyone could hurt you!

but not max, at least in his logic.

you cunt felt amazing around his cock. his heart hammered in his chest a she rocked against you. he panted heavily as he moved against you. he held onto your thighs firmly and the dirty talk spilled from his lips. it was hard to make it stop at the feeling of your cunt like a vice around his cock. he rutted up into your further, as deep as he could go, as he said, "you're a fucking good girl. always did everything right, you were so trusting. that's why i have to keep you with me. close to me, where you belong. you're my wife, i knew that from the moment i met you. but the older we get, the further you're getting. time to bring you home. you, me and baby." his voice was hushed, but his words were protective and loving. or his version of loving.

if anyone saw or heard what he was doing. they'd be in shock, but they didn't understand. they didn't get how much you meant to him. he spent so much time trying to find you in other women, but why bother with them when he had you. all of you.

and soon there would be a product of your love. your union together. that only made him work his hips faster against you. you remained limp under him as he drilled his cock into you. your let out a small moan in your deep sleep and it made max near drool as he finished inside of you.

he thrusted quickly against you and felt all semblance of control start to slip. he was left hungry, near feverish from the intensity of the pleasure. he loved it, just as he loved you. of course the love of his life would have a cunt that drove him to near insanity.

he soon finished inside of you after the pleasure took hold. he clutched onto you tightly and felt the intense heights of pleasure. he let out a loud moan before he slowed to a stop. he wiped his sweaty brow and eyed your still sleepy form. it made his cock twitch inside of you for a moment.

he leaned in to kiss you on the lips before he pulled away to get you re-clothed and tucked back in. before he left the room, he kissed you on the face once more and said,

"everything i do. i do for you."

-

you were in tears weeks later, you showed max the pregnancy test when fear in your eyes. and while you looked distraught, max looked excited. the test clattered on the floor as max took you in his strong arms and kissed your face.

"how..how did this happen?" you asked meekly.

max replied with a wide smile, "don't worry about it! it's our little miracle! you and the baby won't go without. we'll have to get a bigger place, and move your stuff back home. or i can buy you new things since you'll be going through so much change... and then of course, i have to marry you. it's only right!" he was already talking like you two had planned this pregnancy.

but it was hard to do much thinking when max held you so protectively. you held onto the front of his shirt and rubbed your face against his chest. you exhaled deeply, still feeling shaken to your core. you held on tightly like a lifeline, knowing that max's child was growing in your womb. a part of you wondered if the things you were feeling late into the night weren't dreams after all. <3

[gloomwitchwrites]

You send him a text "Thanks for the flowers, babe" attached with a photo of a bouquet as a prank. Obvs, he gets jealous/possessive.

Anon, I love this. I cackled the first time I read it, and I've been wanting to get to it for a while. There are so many requests (and I will get to them all), but with my health being shit, I'm trying to select from the pool where I'm not overworking my brain or stressing myself out trying to come up with something. This prompt came very naturally to me.

These are all spicy. Period. I didn't hold back with this one. Maybe I'm ovulating or some shit but I literally couldn't write anything but smut for this prompt. I had a lot of fun with this one, and I hope you enjoy.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, dirty talk, praise, spanking, oral sex (female & male receiving), face fucking, restraints, vaginal fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, jealousy, possessive behavior, orgasm control

Word Count: 4.4k

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He ignores it, attention stuck on Price who stands in front of a large map of Europe.

There are pictures—some have a red “X” through them while a couple others have black question marks. The mission isn’t done, but that isn’t surprising. This has taken months to complete. It’s been slow, and entirely too complicated for Simon’s liking.

His phone buzzes again, the vibration pulling his attention away.

When the third buzz comes in, his agitation turns to worry. Simon never allows messages to come through at work unless it’s from very specific people. To have three come through in less than two minutes stirs something in his gut.

Price starts talking again but Simon’s brain is melting. He reaches into his pocket and fishes out his phone. Keeping it next to his thigh, Simon awakens the screen.

Your name is there and 3 new messages.

Simon glances up, but no one is looking at him. Silently, he unlocks the phone and clicks over to his messages, tapping on your name.

At first, Simon doesn’t understand. His brain short-circuits, and then unbridled jealousy comes roaring forward.

The first message is a photo of a beautiful bouquet sitting on the kitchen island. It’s fucking large, taking up most of the space. The flowers are different shades of pink, yellow, and orange. It looks like spring.

Beneath the picture are two texts.

Thanks for the flowers!!

I love you!

But Simon did not get you flowers. He didn’t order these, and he certainly didn’t have them delivered to the flat.

Fuck. What the actual fuck.

Someone else did this.

Simon’s first thought is that Johnny did it to prank him. But Johnny has been a bit subdued today, and his attention isn’t on Simon at all.

No. It’s likely not him.

Simon locks his phone and stews. He can’t just leave this meeting. It’s important, but he’s going to get to the fucking bottom of it.

By the time Price dismisses them, Simon is already out the door, charging toward his locker to grab his stuff. It usually takes him a half hour to arrive home, but today he does it in twenty. When Simon bursts through the front door, he’s ready to toss those flowers right off the balcony.

But then he sees your face—how happy you are—and Simon melts. You throw yourself into his arms, and Simon instinctually responds, embracing you tightly. He presses his face into your hair and inhales.

“Missed you,” you say, grabbing both sides of his face and kissing him. “Thank you for the flowers.”

I didn’t get you any flowers.

Simon smiles because it’s all he can manage. That jealousy from earlier starts to curl back up, twisting around in his ribcage.

“Did you like the note?”

You frown. “What note?”

The way you ask is…odd. It’s far too innocent in the presentation. Simon knows your cues and this seems forced to him. But the sender didn’t leave a message. That doesn’t give Simon much to go on if he’s going to track down who sent them.

“Maybe they forgot,” he replies, kissing your forehead. “Show them to me.”

With a bright smile, you take his hand, guiding him into the kitchen. They’re much more stunning in person and Simon momentarily freezes. Did he forget your birthday? An anniversary? An important event?

Simon recalls nothing for today’s date.

The jealousy rises again but he clamps down on it. Anyone could have sent this, especially a friend of yours or a family member. Doesn’t mean there is someone out there with predatory intentions. And for all Simon knows, you’re having a laugh, riling me up. You’ve done it before.

“They’re lovely,” observes Simon. “Better than the picture.”

Your grin is gorgeous, a thing Simon wants to bottle up. You open your mouth to answer him but the dryer goes off. “Hold on,” you call over your shoulder as you dash away. “Let me change over the loads.”

When you disappear, Simon goes for the bouquet. He quickly checks through every flower and between the stems, even sticks his fingers in the dirt. Simon doesn’t know what the fuck he’s looking for, but he’s grasping for anything.

The only thing of note is the business card which Simon quickly plucks from its holder and tucks into his pocket. Simon steps away from the bouquet when you appear again.

Jealousy is stewing, showing its fangs, curling tighter around Simon’s ribs.

When you reach for him, Simon sweeps you off your feet, planting you on the kitchen island. You giggle, but Simon cuts it off, drawing you to the edge to seize your lips in a fierce kiss.

That jealous viper between his bones tells him to possess you.

Simon’s hands drop to your waist and then your hips. He settles himself between your legs, hands moving down to your bare thighs.

You’re flushed with embarrassment, attempting to hide your face from him, giggling his name as you fist his shirt.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” rasps Simon.

Your lips part and Simon slides his tongue inside. You moan, suck on his tongue, and release him. Simon’s grip on your thighs tightens.

“All day?” you ask softly.

Moving his hands to beneath your thighs, Simon tugs you into his arms and carries you over to the dining room table, but doesn’t place you on top of it. He brings you to your feet, and then his fingers curl around the shorts that are little more than underwear.

“Take these off.”

“Simon—”

“Do it,” he growls, releasing them and bringing his hand back to his side.

Slowly, you do as he says. You bring them up so that Simon can see them before tossing them to the side. That viper in him hisses, the venom leaking into his system.

Simon slides his hand between your thighs. You lean back against the table, hands resting on the edge as you part your legs. What his fingers find only makes him groan.

Withdrawing, Simon licks his fingers clean. “Turn around. Bend over the table. Show me what I want.” With a smirk on your lips, you face the table, and bend forward, going up on your toes.

Fuck the flowers and whoever sent them. You’re his.

Simon unbuckles the front of his belt, undoes the zipper of his pants, and frees his aching cock. He needs to be inside you, to hear you say his name, to feel you come around him. He needs to possess because it’s the only thing he can do right now.

Guiding with his hand, Simon rubs the head of his cock through your slickness. You’re already so wet for him—so fucking needy, and he’ll devour it all. Give you exactly what you want while taking something for him.

As he starts to slide in, you whimper. Reaching back, your hand grabs your ass, opening yourself a bit wider for him.

Bloody hell.

Simon doesn’t want to go slow. Using his grip on your hip, he slides all the way in, making you take him to the hilt with one forward thrust of his hips.

Your gasp is choked, and then Simon is lost, pounding into you as if this is the last time he’ll ever fuck you. It’s only your tightness, your breathy moans of pleasure, and the desperate why you say his name. It wraps around him, satiates the viper, calms the rising jealousy until it’s only you Simon can focus on.

Through the haze, Simon finds your clit, plays with it, slows his thrusts until your orgasm arrives, squeezing him so tight he almost finishes right then and there. But once that wave crests and crashes, Simon is back at it. Planting both hands on the table on either side of your waist, Simon stutters out, his lower back tensing, everything draw up.

Simon’s orgasm is an unraveling. All the tension melts as he finishes, and even then, he continues to thrust, pushing his cum deeper inside you. His chest heaves, body shuddering as he draws back a bit. Your breathing is just as labored.

Easing out of your body, Simon admires the bloom of cum at your entrance. He presses it back inside before helping you unbend from the table. Turning you around to face him, Simon claims your mouth in a deep kiss, his grasping the back of your head.

You form to him, and Simon’s hunger flares.

“To bed,” he says, drawing you away with a tug on your hair.

“To sleep?” you ask, smirking.

Maybe you did all this. Planned it all from the beginning.

Naughty girl.

Simon shakes his head. “Not yet.”

He releases you, and then smacks your ass for good measure. Squeaking, you scurry away toward the bedroom. Simon stands there for a moment, composing himself. Reaching into his pocket, he withdraws the business card. There is an address and a phone number.

Glancing over his shoulder at the bouquet, Simon comes to a decision. Stalking toward his duffle, Simon secures the business card in a side pocket. He’ll deal with this at work.

Right now, you’re getting undressed.

And Simon is much more interested in that.

Flowers can wait.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You send the final text and lock your phone, leaving it on the coffee table.

It’s just a little prank. A tease.

Kyle is always a gentleman even when he makes your toes curl and pulls unseemly sounds from between your lips. But riling him up can be just as fun. Kyle isn’t one to be jealous or even possessive of you. He’s certainly protective, and his presence always makes you feel safe, but you’re aching for something else right now.

The flowers weren’t all that expensive. And they are pretty.

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it.

It buzzes again.

When you check the screen, you see two new texts from Kyle. You stare at it, and set it back down. You’re going to let him stew and question. If anything, Kyle might think the flowers innocent.

Tapping your fingers against your knee, impatience stirring in your belly, you stare out the patio door. You need to distract yourself, but the urge to look is too strong. Snatching the phone back up, you glance at the messages.

That’s sweet, love.

But I didn’t get you flowers.

Honesty. This man is terrible at lying or hiding his feelings.

You tap out a reply.

Of course you did! Loved the note you left with it!

Kyle’s reply is instant.

Note?

You nearly cackle at the ceiling and when you hit send.

I want you tonight. You know you can have me whenever lol. No need to send flowers about it.

Within seconds of you hitting send, you phone starts to vibrate. Yelping, you nearly drop the thing. Kyle’s name and a photo of him at the beach pop up on your screen. You stare at it, allowing it to go to voicemail. He calls again immediately.

You launch off the couch, pacing as the phone falls back into voicemail. It’s a bit thrilling knowing that Kyle is likely worked up on the other end.

Answer the phone, comes Kyle’s next text, and then, I’m coming home.

Oh shit.

You are all nervous excitement waiting for him. And when he does come barreling through the door, you’re a bit shocked at the sight of him.

Slowly, he shuts the front door, striding into the kitchen where the bouquet is. He stares at it for a long moment before turning his gaze on you.

“Kyle,” you say brightly, walking toward him.

He holds up a finger and walks past you. You hear the opening and shutting of doors, of drawers being opened, and items moving around. Kyle returns, hands on his hips, concern on his features.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I didn’t send you those flowers.”

“Didn’t you?” you reply, innocently, moving toward them.

Kyle shoots forward and begins digging through the stems. “Where is that bloody card?” he mutters.

There is no card. No note. You made it all up.

“Kyle,” you say, but he ignores you.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he says, ripping opening the plastic to see inside.

“Kyle,” you repeat, adding a bit of volume behind your voice.

Again, he ignores you, scattering the flowers across the countertop.

“When I find the fucking wanker that—”

“Kyle!”

He turns, eyes a bit wild. Kyle looks ridiculous, and you suddenly feel terrible. You reach for him, placing both hands on either side of his face. “There’s no note.”

Kyle blinks like he didn’t hear you correctly. “What?”

“There’s no note,” you repeat. “I bought the flo—”

Kyle groans loudly and places his entire hand over your face, muffling the last few words. “Bloody hell, baby girl.” He lightly pushes off, dropping his hand, and stepping back.

You grin sheepishly as Kyle crosses his arms over his chest.

“What was the goal?” he asks, leaning forward a bit.

You shrug your shoulders. “To rile you up?”

Kyle laughs, short and clipped. “Rile me up?”

“Yes,” you say slowly.

He leans in a bit more, a smirk on his face. “And what do you think was going to happen once you riled me up?”

You know that Kyle already knows the answer to this question. But he’s indulging you. As he always does.

“I didn’t think that far,” you reply, but it’s far from the truth.

You wanted to rile him up so that he’d come home and fuck you like a man possessed.

Kyle bites down on his bottom lip and you track the movement. “No, love. You did.” He straightens. “And I know what you want.”

Kyle steps into your space, his head dipping as if to kiss you but pausing just before. “You need a good throat fucking. I need an apology. And then I can give you what you want.”

“Kyle,” you breathe.

“On your knees, love. Present your mouth.”

You obediently drop to your knees, and part your lips.

“Wider,” he almost growls.

You do so just as Kyle reaches down and undoes the front of his belt. He doesn’t even look. Doesn’t flinch. The belt is gone and the front of his pants are open by the time Kyle grabs your face and brings you close.

“Tongue out.”

You do so, and Kyle taps the head of his cock against it before sliding it back and forth over your tongue. His hold shifts, falling to the nape of your neck.

“Take it like a good girl. Got it?”

You nod, and Kyle draws you forward, forcing you to take all of him. Holding you in place for a few seconds, Kyle only eases you back once your gag reflex kicks in. Kyle adjusts his stance, and your hands grasp the sides of his thighs.

Kyle’s hand on the back of your neck tightens as his other hand tangles in your hair. Keeping you in place, he starts to thrust, fucking your mouth like he would your pussy. All you can do is cling to him, to hold on as he grunts above you.

There isn’t any anger there, just a stern brow and a need for control. It’s delicious. Entirely mouth-watering. Your core warms, a slickness blooming, indicating just how much this turns you on.

To bring Kyle toward his end, you make little sounds in your throat. It makes him stutter. It makes him moan. Beneath his pants, you feel the muscles in his legs tighten. And then he’s forcing you down his length, throating him entirely as he comes down your throat.

Breathing through you nose is the only thing holding you together. And when he slides you off, you cough, wiping at your lips.

Kyle’s hand caresses your cheek, drawing your gaze to him. He arches a single eyebrow.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

Reaching out, Kyle draws you up to your feet, bringing you close. His smile is soft, and when he comes in for a kiss, it is consuming.

“Now that you’ve riled me up,” he murmurs against your lips. “I’ll give you what you want.”

Kyle pulls away, his thumb pressing on your bottom lip.

“Take off your clothes. Kneel on the bed. And bend over. Got it?”

You nod, and Kyle drops his hand.

“That’s my good girl.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny’s ears are ringing.

“You better be bloody joking,” he growls at his phone.

On the screen is a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Flowers that you’re thanking him for. Flowers that he didn’t send.

And the card? Bloody fucking hell. That card is going in the shredder. Johnny will tear it apart with his own teeth if he has to. Some fucker had the bright idea to send you flowers like he’s the one you’re dating.

No. Fuck that.

Johnny might be the demolitions expert, but he knows Ghost could dig around for him if he asked. Scratch that. Johnny is asking right fucking now.

“Hey, Lt!” Johnny jogs over to Ghost and turns his phone around. “Can you trace who sent these flowers?”

Ghost’s expression behind the balaclava remains flat. “It’s a fucking photo, Johnny.”

Cursing under his breath, Johnny forwards the image to Ghost. Ghost checks his phone, enlarging the image.

He grunts. “Should be easy.” Ghost glances up from the screen. “Why?”

“Someone making a move on my woman,” replies Johnny, holding back a growl.

“Done,” says Ghost. “Give me a couple hours.”

It doesn’t take Ghost long, and Johnny has to laugh out loud.

“You fucking naughty thing,” mutters Johnny as he unlocks the door to your flat.

When he enters, you’re nearly on your toes, eager for him. It’s cute, but you need to learn first. Sure, the prank is harmless, but you were wanting a rise out of him.

Punishment is needed.

“Johnny,” you say brightly, coming around the counter to greet him.

As you arms reach for him, Johnny removes his belt. Your gaze drops, but he is faster than you. Johnny has the belt around your wrists and secured before you can even protest.

“What are you doing?” you ask breathlessly.

“Thought I wouldn’t find out?” Johnny tuts. He yanks you forward, bringing the two of you almost face-to-face. “Bought those flowers yourself.”

Johnny tugs on the belt again. You stumble into him and he spins you around. With another quick tug, Johnny has the belt looped onto one of the coat hooks embedded in the wall.

Reaching down, Johnny palms your ass, his lips pressed to your ear. “Got me all jealous at work. Had Ghost stalking the flower shop and everything.” He squeezes, and then smacks your ass. Hard.

You whimper. “Johnny. I’m sorry.”

“No apologies, love.” He kisses your throat. Your skin is soft and he inhales, savoring your scent. You’re freshly showered, and the smell of your shampoo invades his nostrils.

It doesn’t take much to rid you of your underwear. It’s just you in an old shirt and your bare ass on full display. Johnny slides his hands between you clenched thighs.

“Spread them.”

You do so obediently and a primal part of him simmers with pleasure. Johnny slowly drops to his knees behind you. He savors the view, taking his time to enjoy the sight before him. Even from here, Johnny can see how slick you are. How wanton.

He’s going to devour you. Make you beg. Deny you what it is you most want until you’re a fucking mess for him. That’s punishment enough.

Johnny tests by running one finger over your pussy. It comes back glossy. He pops it into his mouth, groaning at your taste.

“Want me to eat this pretty pussy?” asks Johnny, running his finger over you again.

You nod frantically. “Yes. Please.”

That’s a start.

Johnny leans in, the tip of his tongue playing with your entrance. He traces it with his tongue before slipping inside, slowly fucking you with it. It’s not enough, but Johnny knows this. He needs to suck on your clit and give you his fingers to make you come.

But even then, you’ll have to wait.

You’ll have to beg.

Johnny trails upward, swirling his tongue, finding your clit. He teases it. Flicks it back and forth in a steady stroke. You’re already growing wetter. You’re already moaning above him. Too bad you don’t know what’s coming.

Johnny slides one finger inside of you, pumping twice before inserting a second. You’re tight around him. He can feel the stretch.

He works you slowly, lightly thrusting his fingers in and out of your pussy as he teases your clit with his tongue. Above him, your moans come unbroken and loud. It’s sweet. He loves the sound. But Johnny knows your tells, and when your muscles begin to clench and unclench quickly, he ceases all movement.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, glancing down.

Johnny chuckles. “You have to earn it love.”

“Johnny, please,” you beg.

“What’s that, love? Didn’t hear you?”

“Please,” you say, drawing it out.

“Please what?” he prompts.

“I want to come,” you murmur.

Johnny smirks and starts fucking you with his fingers again, but doesn’t put his mouth back on your clit. It’s not enough for you. You’re squirming. Wiggling. Needing more.

“You pull another stunt like this again, love, and this,” Johnny smacks your ass with a sharp thwack, “will be red.”

“I’m sorry, Johnny. Please. Just—please.”

Johnny teases your clit with a quick swipe of his tongue. “Beg some more.”

You do. All sorts of obscene things fall from your lips. When tears form in the corner of your eyes, Johnny finally gives you relief.

He fucks your gorgeous pussy with his fingers. He tastes and teases until you’re crying out, clamping around him as you come undone.

Johnny withdraws. Straightens.

You’re still hanging on the hook.

He frees you from it, but does not remove the belt from around your wrists. Johnny presses you against him with a flat palm upon your stomach.

“Don’t do that again,” he murmurs.

“I won’t.”

Johnny kisses your throat. “To bed.”

You frown, holding up your bound hands. “But the belt.”

“Stays on,” he says, fisting the tangling leather. “Until I’m done with you.”

John Price

John isn’t one for texting.

You’ll send him a barrage of texts only for him to call you hours later asking what you were texting him about.

Which is why you didn’t think this plan would work.

But then it did, and now you’re bent over John’s lap, bare ass in the air.

John told you that he was working late to catch up on paperwork. Whenever that happens, he always gives you a call to check-in and hear your voice. It’s routine at this point. A comfort. Most of the time, he just wants you on the other side, to have you talk about the day or whatever you want while he’s working. John will usually remain silent, listening, basking in your voice.

You planned it perfectly, knowing that he’d check his phone before giving you a call. You sent the photo of the flowers. A beautiful display really. And they were on sale. You also sent him a picture of the makeshift “note” that you made for it. All it said was “thinking of you” with no name. All of that was follow up by a “thank you” and promises to please him later.

John was calm when he called you—almost eerily so. When you thanked him from the flowers, he didn’t reply. He simply pushed past it. The thing is, John saved all of that energy up for when he came home.

Your ass stings. John rubs the spot he just smacked before squeezing.

“Now, love. Tell me the truth.” He says it so sweetly, like it’s such a simple thing.

And you don’t know how much longer you’ll last under this barrage.

“You bought them for me,” you whimper, keeping up the façade.

John shakes his head. “We both know that’s not true.” He squeezes your ass again, the sting burning slightly when he let’s go.

“I’d guess you’re seeing someone else but that would be lie. Wouldn’t it?”

He punctuates this statement by slipping his hand between your thighs, his fingers running over your pussy, parting your slickness. John dips one finger inside and then another, only to retreat and grab your ass cheek with the same hand.

“I know just how to make you wet, love. You have no one else to run to.”

“I told you—Fuck! John!” You jolt in his lap as his palm comes down on your already throbbing cheek.

“Be honest, love. Or you’ll get a few more.”

You swallow down your pride. You wanted him riled up, but you weren’t expecting this. Not for John to come home, strip you down, and bend you over his lap.

“I bought them,” you grumble.

John’s hand eases. “You what?”

“I bought them,” you snap.

“I knew you did.”

Before you have the chance to form a retort, John guides you up and into his lap. He grabs the front of your throat, bringing you close to him. He does not kiss you. He simply hovers.

“You’re going to straddle my lap and bounce on my cock until I fill you up. You understand?”

You nod, and Price let’s go of your throat.

“Get to it,” he purrs.

John is fully clothed, and you’re wearing nothing at all. You undo the clasp of his belt, pull the zipper, and he flexes his hips enough that you can work his pants down a bit. When his hard length is free to you, you straddle him, lining yourself up.

He remains impassive as you start to sink down. The stretch is perfect—as it always is, and you groan as you seat yourself entirely on his cock. Gripping his shoulders, you roll up and back down, rocking when you can to give your legs a break.

John still stays quiet but his gaze is assessing. Slowly, his hand comes around your neck again, and this time he squeezes slightly. It’s not to hurt. It’s to dominate and possess.

“Who do you belong to, love?” he asks.

“You,” you murmur, sinking down on him.

“Say it again,” repeats John.

“I belong to you,” you gasp, coming up and then back down.

“Again,” and this time there’s a growl in his tone.

“I’m yours, John.”

“Fucking right,” he says, crashing his mouth to yours.

The kiss is a claiming, one that shoots through your body and consumes your limbs and control. You shudder, pussy clenching, and then John is fucking up into you, his hands on your hips.

You’re no longer in control. It’s just John, and his need to possess.

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[alice-angel12x]

Blue Knight ch.2

The complicated heart arc.

<- Part 1 that way/ Part 3 -> this way

"Listen to my Voice. White Lily Cookie Needs Your Help. SHe must wake up. So that she may hear my voice once more. Pure Vanilla Cookie... PURE VANILLA COOKIE!"

"Pure Vanilla Cookie!" Y/n called out to him.

"Y-Y/n cookie?" Pure vanilla gasped.

"Are you okay? your dough is turning pale as powder," Y/n asked as they gave him a handkerchief.

"I was lost in thought. Don't worry about me. Are we arriving at Beast yeast soon?" Pure Vanilla asked.

"We just crossed the border of beast yeast. Thank goodness the creme republic were willing spare an airship," Y/n said as they rested their arms on the railing.

Pure vanilla nodded as another uncomfortable silence fell between them. Neither really wanting to accidently talk about their last conversation and night together.

"So, was there anything back in your academy days that talked about Beast Yeast?" Y/n asked, trying to keep a conversation going.

"Not much, though there were many theories that many ancient life forms could be residing there," Pure Vanilla happily answered.

"Ancient life forms," Y/n repeated, then a playful smirk formed on their lips. "Sounds like your neck of the woods, ancient Hero."

"Is that so?" Pure vanilla asked with a light grin. " I may have lived for a long time, but I'm not that old."

"Oh?" Y/n smiles as they borrow Pure Vanilla's staff. "I feel like a young Cookie again!"

Y/n says with their best pure vanilla impression.

"Never thought I'd be adventuring at my age...!" Y/n said this time with a more old man voice to it.

"You little minx. I don't sound like this. Come here," Pure vanilla laughs as he quickly scoops Y/n to a bear hug. Trapping them against himself.

The two laugh and giggle as Y/n tries to wiggle free. While Pure Vanilla struggles to keep them close.

"No Pure Vanilla! Let go!" Y/n laughs.

"Then you must take back what you said," Pure Vanilla chuckles as he continues to bear-hug them and tickles their neck with a peck.

"Never! I won't submit!" Y/n roars with laughter.

"Oh, you rebellious spirit," Pure Vanilla laughs as he hugs them close

Gingerbrave and friends watch from the corner, with relieved smiles.

"Phew, I thought this was gonna be an awkward adventure," Gingerbrave sighs in relief.

"Did they have an argument not long ago?" Strawberry Cookie wondered.

"Maybe, but I hope they don't remain this lovey-dovey throughout this whole journey," Wizard Cookie groaned.

Just as the atmosphere was getting lighter, suddenly, the ship shook. An unseen monster grabbed the hull of the ship and started to shake everything violently. Everything happened so fast that the next thing the cookies knew, they were tumbling off the ship.

Gingerbread & Friends and pure vanilla cookie hit their heads on their way out of the airship. Leaving them in an unconsiouse free fall. Y/n quickly leaps into action as they dive after their party. They focused as their hands stretched and became paw like, long horns grew from their head. Their hair quickly changed into beautiful blue feathers, and it quickly covered Y/n changing form.

With one flap of their powerful wings, they quickly caught the tiny cookies.

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

"Pure Vanilla Cookie? Pure Vanilla!" Y/n's voice called from the void, as light suddenly floods his vision.

Pure vanilla cookies slowly open his eyes to see Gingerbrave standing above him with a concerned expression on their faces.

"I-is everyone okay?" Pure vanilla asked as he slowly rose to his feet.

"Supprisingly, I can't recall how we got down here after we were tossed off the ship," Wizard Cookie groaned.

"W-Where is Y/n Knight Cookie?!" The Hero gasped.

"They scouted ahead after we woke up. They told us to keep you company till you woke up, or they came back," Strawberry Cookie Explained.

"They left you three alone in beast yeast?" Pure vanilla cookie asked in surprise.

"Nope! They left these dough brains with me," Said a camilione creature that crawled onto Gingerbrave's head.

"Long story," Wizard Cookie said.

"Well, how long has Y/n Cookie been gone?" Pure Vanilla asked.

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

Beast yeast was certainly not for the faint of heart; yeast spore creatures were relentless. Coming in droves and trying to overwhelm in numbers.

It's a good thing they're weak to fire, and quickly got the message after a while.

" I must reveal it, the secret, " A voice called out.

Y/n's eyes darkened as they searched for the source of the voice. Their eyes landed on a brightly shining shard. As they reached out to grab the shard, they failed to notice. A faint glow from her chest almost looked like a star shape.

Grabbing hold of the shard, Y/nʻs reality faded away and standing before them were two cookies. They were giants; one was covered head to toe in obsidian black frosting armor. The other was cloaked in a light green cape, her hood obscuring face.

"What are you doing out here, Bliss Butter Cookie?" The black armored Cookie asked.

"Amazing, aren't they Silent salt?" Bliss Butter said as she cupped a few yeast creatures in her palms. "One day, they will be quite a menace in beast yeast."

"Would you think we should deal with them now? They could hurt the cookies we are supposed to be protecting?" Silent Salt asked as he readied his great sword.

"No, if we did, a horrible ripple effect will happen, making things worse for the Cookies in the future... At least, that's the common outcome in my visions," Bliss sighs as she blows away the yeast creatures.

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

"You're alright! Are you hurt?!" Pure vanilla asked as he rushed over to Y/n.

Y/n blinked as the world suddenly returned as Pure Vanilla pulled them into a hug.

"I'm good. I was fortunate to land on some...Soft flora," Y/n stuttered a bit, pure vanilla noticed.

"Anyways. I found something," Y/n said as they handed the shards over.

The light of freedom shone from them. A voice calls out to him.

"Be careful. I was given visions when I touched them," Y/n warned.

"Be Careful, Pure Vanilla Cookie. It could be a trick of dark entrantress Cookie," Wizard Cookie said.

"I carry the light of truth in my soul jam, just like White Liliy does with the light of freedom in hers," The hero says. "This shard holds a part of white Lily's soul."

Y/n holds out the shard to Pure Vanilla.

'And if it really is a piece of White Lily's memories, it's all the more reason to keep it close.' He whispered to himself.

Y/n watched as the cookie's eyes glazed over and stared into the unknown. But the cookies quickly regain consciousness.

"T-this is one of white lily's memories!" Pure vanilla gasped.

"White Lily's... That's strange; the vision I got wasn't of white Lily at all," Y/n commented.

"But this is her Soul Jam? How can that be?" The hero asked.

"Maybe it's best you hold this then," Y/n said.

"Thank you, Y/n, for finding this. I'm glad to find a trace of White Lily Cookie." Pure vanilla smiles warmly down at the shard.

Yeah, you're welcome." Y/n puts on their best smile.

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

"I told you to watch your left." Bliss butter giggled.

"Maybe say it a bit soon than later," Silent salt grunted as Bliss rubbed healing butter on his shoulder. "And where were you, Eternal Sugar? I could have used your help."

He said to a beautiful pink cookie, with ain't feathery wings and flowing hair.

"I was busy... Making Sure Bliss was protected. I must look out for my companion," Enternal sugar said as she flew to hug the Hooded Bliss Butter.

Bliss Butter chuckled as they suddenly looked to you.

[neeeooon]

Hii (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

I absolutely loved the part 2 of the when they found out they had a kid, and I was wondering, is it possible for you to make a one shot, perhaps a continuation/2nd part for Reo? Like if he tells his current wife about it or not. And what the child feels about him. It's ok if you don't want to I'm just thirsty for Reo content lol. Thank you very much!

YESSS i was so happy to see this req lmao i didn’t think u guys would like those posts SO THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST!! <3

the past becomes the present

ex-husband/baby-daddy reo! & fem!reader. continuation of reo’s part in this post. reo has a wife and kids. most characters have names

“did you know who i was at the doctor’s office?” reo’s wife, kaori, asked in a trembling voice. she knew her husband was married before, but it was brief and left him heartbroken.

you sank further into your chair under her scrutinizing gaze. there was no doubt in your mind that she was better suited for this life than you. “i didn’t. i knew reo got married again, but i always avoided those photos and articles… i didn’t know until i saw his number on your card.”

when reo hit you with the “i want partial custody,” you’d panicked, thinking he’d use his big, fancy lawyers to force you to submit. though you’d taken the bribe from his parents all those years ago, you put most of it into a sealed account for your son to open when he became an adult. there was only enough for living expenses and things that would give your son a comfortable life, not to blow on expensive lawyers.

“y/n,” reo’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you looked up to see something sparkling in his violet eyes. grief? hurt? disgust? you didn’t know, but all three were warranted. “i’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t talk to me about this back then.”

both kaori and you sat up straight in your chairs. “huh?”

“when my parents offered you that deal, when you ran, i should have looked for you to see why you left. all i did was listen to their lies. i had no idea you were pregnant…” he shot a brief look at his wife before reaching over and giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “i wouldn’t change anything, though. i have a new life. i’m happy. but now i know i have a son, and i want us to be a part of his life, too.”

you thought back to the three children playing with your son in the waiting room—reo’s daughters—and felt your throat begin to itch. ducking your head, you focused hard on the little string bracelet your son made for you. “i want that, too.” looking up, you felt warm tears dripping down your cheeks as you stared at your ex-husband and his beautiful wife. “but i don’t want to be replaced. i know sota would be happy with your family, but he’s my son, too. he’s all i have, and i know that you could take him without so much as lifting a finger, but please, don’t take him away from me.”

the raw desperation in your voice sent shivers down both mikage’s spines. kaori looked at her husband, then back at you. “y/n…” she sounded softer this time, like you were one of her daughters in need of comfort. “i would never take your son away from you. he’ll have a place here if he wants it, but you are his mother. you’ll always be his mother.”

you were sobbing into your hands by this point, and kaori gave reo’s hand one last squeeze before getting up from her chair and hurrying around the table to hug your shoulders. “why don’t we have that play date now, hm? my girls and your sota. it will be nice for him to get to know his dad a bit, don’t you think?” you held on tight to your ex’s new wife as you managed a small, yes, through your tears.

☆ 🧸

“wow! you’re really good!” your son, sota, exclaimed, eyes sparking, as he watched reo shoot a goal. the mikage’s had an entire floor of their penthouse dedicated to soccer, and since your son was a fan of the sport, reo offered to teach him some moves.

grinning at the praise, reo plucked the ball from the goal and lightly passed it to his son. “why don’t you try?” they continued playing together, your son’s ecstatic laugh reverberating around the room until the sun had dipped past the horizon. reo asked your son if he wanted to stay for dinner, but sota gave you a look that said “bedtime,” so you promised your ex-husband you’d both be back for lunch.

on the drive home, sora dozing off in the backseat, you quietly asked, “did you have fun today? with the girls?”

he hummed sleepily, and you saw him nodding in your rearview mirror. “they’re nice… mommy?”

“yes, baby?” he hesitated for only a moment, but it was long enough to send your fingers tightening around the wheel. “is mr. mikage my dad?”

during the meeting, kaori and reo mentioned wanting to wait until sota was more familiar with them before breaking the news. even you didn’t think your son would catch on so quick. clearing your throat, you forced a chirpy voice as you asked, “what makes you say that, sweetheart?”

sota’s silence made you anxious. then he sighed. “mrs. takeda at school says i have a handsome smile. mr. mikage has it, too.”

for real? he figured it out over a smile? you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. instead, you hummed lightly, trying to remain calm for him. “if he was, how would that make you feel?”

“awesome! mr. mikage is so cool! and ms. kaori and kumi and the twins, too! but they’re not as cool as you, mommy.” he exclaimed, and you could hear him wiggling around in his car seat.

he fell asleep before you got home, giving you enough silence to contemplate how this was your life. you carefully carried and tucked him into bed when you got home and immediately called reo’s new wife.

“is everything okay?” she asked immediately, to which you replied with a shaky sigh. “he knows. i didn’t confirm, but he knows.” it was her turn to release a slow breath. “and his thoughts?”

“he seems happy. he thinks very highly of your family.” you managed a laugh before pausing. “do we tell reo? i know he wanted to have a sit-down with sota soon…”

kaori hummed on the other line. “you didn’t confirm, right? i’ll tell him that sota suspects so he can change up whatever speech he’s planning.” you both laughed then, and you felt strangely… lighter. like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

“thank you,” you began slowly. “for everything. i don’t… i don’t deserve any of your kindness.”

“you were young and scared, y/n. what reo’s parents did was wrong, but i would never subject an innocent child to such cruelty. and you’re his mother, someone reo once loved, which means you deserve the benefit of the doubt. plus, i need a mom-friend!” your eyes stung once again, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you thanked kaori and wished her goodnight. part of you would always love reo, but you were so eternally grateful that he found happiness with someone as precious as his new wife.

☆ 🧸

you debated whether or not to give reo and sota privacy for when reo officially broke the news, but your son’s firm grip on your shirt was enough for you to stay. the three of you sat on the ground of reo’s office, your legs tight to your chest as you carefully watched your son’s expressions.

“hi, sota,” reo began with a smile. sota looked between the two of you, and you could tell he was growing scared. scooting closer, you wrapped an arm around his small shoulders and pulled him into your side. “you don’t have to be nervous, baby. we just walk to talk to you about something, that’s all.”

“am i in trouble? are you mad that i said i want you to be my dad?” his bottom lip trembled, wobbling worse when reo’s eyes widened. the man’s mouth opened and closed several times before he finally said, “y-you want that?”

you hugged your son when you felt his breathing speed up. “you’re not in trouble, baby! i promise.”

“he looks mad…”

“i’m not mad,” reo managed in the softest voice he could muster. you knew him well enough to know he was fighting back tears. “i just… i know you only met me recently, but i want to be your dad, too.”

your son’s face lit up. “really?!”

“really.”

“and kumi and the twins can be my sisters?!”

reo was chuckling now. “yes, they’re your sisters.”

“but,” sota paused now to look up at you. “ms. kaori is nice, but i want mommy to be my mommy.” you sucked in a shaky breath and squeezed sota into your side. “oh, baby. don’t worry about that; i’m not going anywhere.”

sota asked to play with his new little sister’s after that, and you watched the four kids run circles around a laughing kaori as she baked cookies for them. “he’s a good kid, y/n.” reo said at your side, and you rubbed your arm with a smile. “you did well.” he didn’t hug you, but you felt engulfed by his words.

blinking back tears, you turned and gave him a small nod. “thank you, reo.”

this is so long but it was SO fun!! reo and reader don't end up together, but i wasn't going to break his family up ❤️‍🩹

[theaceace]

An old concept that I'm still feral over, but a Dreamling fic in which the dreamling relationship is chronicled entirely by Yelp reviews of the New Inn.

Reviews are either 5* or 1* with surprisingly little in between, and the business owner replies are always a riot. They start off fairly normal, talking about the food and drink, the couple of guest rooms upstairs, the location and prices etc, but then they start to get weird.

Constantine leaves 3*, beer is shit whiskey is ok not haunted which is more than I can say for most london pubs and the response is Thanks Jo, but you're still banned

4* this place is run by my history professor and it's amazing but he asked me about my overdue essay three times so I can't give it 5* and Hob, who has had multiple students visit the pub for the sole purpose of doing this, is just like you still haven't submitted that, get off yelp and start citing your sources

There are multiple 5* reviews like would give 10* if i could, the owner chased off a neo nazi with a literal sword he pulled out from behind the bar

5* should probably give it less because a couple of times the answers to the history round on the monthly quiz night have been wrong, but otherwise it's a solid little place for a reasonably priced pint and a nice afternoon and Hob's response is just those answers were right

And then Dream comes back and the reviews start... Changing, a bit

One of the 1* reviews is just complaining about the fact that there was a bird at the bar and no one got rid of it and the reply from Hob is that's Matthew, he has a tab. Several of the 5* reviews are also about the fact that sometimes there's a bird in the bar

One of the 5* reviews is saw the most beautiful goth twink in the world, will definitely be going back and Hob nearly deletes that one. The reply instead is that's my boyfriend, unlike Matthew he never pays his tab

5* i have no idea how i got there or found the place because i swaer i was halfway across london from where google maps says it is but anyway the bartender was really great and understandig when I started crying on him, will defiantely go back if reality ever warps like that again. Response from owner: yeah sorry about the reality warping, we don't get it either

1* I only wish I could have given this establishment a glowing review – fabulous service, lovely food and a sumptuous wine I hadn't expected, but unfortunately I had to see my brother's face. Response from owner: Desire get off the internet, it doesn’t need your help

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 14/01✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@cloverthewanderer ha chiesto: Soooo….Imma be honest, I just found you on Instagram this morning with a small part of your Biodads au with the monkey bois. And I might’ve thought it looked so cool I went to Tumblr to binge read it and I just caught up. I love everything about the series and it is so fantastic!! Thank you for having so amazing I am going to obsess over it for awhile. I hope you have a wonderful day!!!! Drink lots of water and take care of yourself! (All of the colors and art is just divine!)

AAAWWWW thank you!!!

@sakuralotus03 ha chiesto: Now that MK and Red Son are officially dating, MK will tell Red Son that his name is Xiaotian and Red Son will call him that from now on (or else more pet names for the couple). 🔥🍜

Aww, I think technically Red Son also has like-a full name if we keep the chinese dub logic.(Hóng Hái-er)

@samfroggie ha chiesto: Okayokayokayokay- I never liked Shadowpeach, hell I still wouldn't call myself a shipper of it (or of any LMK ship aside from Freenoodles tbh) but you, sir, have made me fall in love with your AU and I can't let it go reeeeeee Honestly, it's the familial love aspect of this that makes me love it, as someone who is fully on board with MK having four dads, shipping aside lmao I'll always look at every image of MK cuddling with any of his parents and feel my heart swell, it's so freaking cute and the angst is just the nice sprinkling on top, I need more protective Mac in my life because I never see it! Also, question, how do you feel about ocs inserts? Like, are we allowed to make art about the AU and insert ocs into it? Asking because I have an oc who's more or less meant to be like MK's mother figure, and I mean, gotta give him more parental figures right?

I got no probs with OC inserts, as long as you credit the comic!

@aptainmilf ha chiesto: Need to tell you that a chapter of your comic singlehandedly pushed a friend of mine to finally watch the show and I would sincerely like to thank you for that lmao. It was the one with Wukong and Macaque at the hot springs

Ahaha welcome them to the club!

@dimensional-storm ha chiesto: Where did the inspiration for Wukong's 'War Form' come from? It's so big, beautiful!! I love the design so much :D

From the original novel, and the sun.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Question Was the spicynoodles kiss inspired by the caitvi prison kiss? :3

Eh, technically no? I also have the text I send my friend as proff, but I swear to you I planned that scene BEFORE S2 came out.

@silktealover ha chiesto: Hi kiri! I'm b33p and I want to ask if mac and my both have ears sensitive to fireworks,if so how do they react on holidays like fourth of July or new years? :3

Yes, I guess during Chinese New Year they would be really bothered by fireworks.

Anonimo ha chiesto: So you have a shadowpeach playlist? What are your favorite shadowpeach coded songs.

My favourite one is like- S1 vibe of Shadowpeach. which is Wonderful Nothing by Glass Annimals

@ayrza ha chiesto: A FUNNY QUESTION! I have also had this doubt with the canon but I want to know now with your AU Kyri... The heads of Wukong each think differently or is it the same wukong divided into three? Will each of them have a different personality? 🤔🤔🤔 Questions that don't let me sleep at night

Aww I think they could!! Like one head is more silly, one more chaotic, while the middle one is just generally more emotionally open and vulnerable.

@twilight-bai-he ha chiesto: Between Wukong and Macaque whose the better dancer 💃🏽 and Can mk dance ?

Macaque, and MK got mooves let's say (more disco than anything else)

@pyromaniacldrt ha chiesto: Heyyyy So You mentioned in other post that Macaque's name was "Six eared Macaque", right? Does that mean Mk's name is "Habringer of Chaos"?

Nope.

@super-may ha chiesto: Stop, if Macaque got hurt in his shadow form does it mean that his real form is not injured or anything? Like in battle with Wukong in the first season he didn’t seem to be hurt or angry about Wukong’s punches. But If he isn’t hurt and his shadow form is injured I don’t think that it will stay like this with Mk and it will return to the body. Oh no, DOES THAT MEAN THAT MK WILL BE ON HIMSELF NOW IN HIS SHADOW FORM OR SMTH? Or return with Macaque’s shadow to Macaque’s body and Mk’s plan will be ruined and he will need to make a choice between himself and the safety of his loved ones? OMG IM SO WORRIED PLS MAKE A HAPPY END WITH EVERYONE ALIVE AND HAPPY AND NOT UNDER THE WILL OF HEAVEN🙏🙏🙏

it's like Sword Art Online. If you die in the shadow world u die in real life.

@harb1ng3r0fch4os ha chiesto: Can I make/post edits of the shadowpeach bio parents au ?? :3 I’ll credit you ofc :]

yea sure!

@king-cinamon ha chiesto: Have you watched Nezha (2019)?

nope. I've read his story though.

@mkthemonkiekiddd ha chiesto: Totally random question (i just wanna know someones opinion on the matter since its been in my head for so long.), how would nezha react to social media, like, imagine someone gave him a phone, Would he even know what it is

He would probably be on the edge between "this is very uneducational" and "holy shit this is the best idea for arsony I ever saw"

@astro-lmk-enjoyer ha chiesto: Will we ever see Red Son wag his tail like a dog?? (That would be so cute!! + his parents would be shocked to to see him show such emotion) Oh and I make some art for you, I posted it- Bye <3

oh my- eh... no. I don't think so.

@askthezodiacs ha chiesto: May I use your AU in RPs?

yeah sure! As long as they aren't AI made.

[humbertozero]

How to read Fate/Strange Fake Light Novel

Read the First Volume: Fate/strange Fake Vol.1 (2015) PDF

Read the Second Volume: Fate/strange Fake Vol.2 PDF

Read the Third Volume: Fate/strange Fake Vol.3 PDF

Read the Fourth Volume: Fate/strange Fake Vol.4 PDF

Read the Fifth Volume: Fate/strange Fake Vol.5 PDF

Read the Sixth Volume: Fate/strange Fake Vol.6 PDF

Read the Seventh Volume: Fate/strange Fake Vol.7 PDF

Read the Eighth Volume: Fate/strange Fake Vol.8 PDF

Read the Nineth Volume: Fate/strange Fake Vol.9 PDF

Volume 9 PDF updated 2/3/2025:

Volume 9 updated and completed

Note: From this point onwards I don't think I'll be able to keep up with the updates. I barely read it anymore, a lot of years have passed and I have more pressing matters to attend IRL so these PDFs will only work as a quality of life for those that want PDF reading but are not desperate to read the updates as soon a translator picks them up. Sorry for the inconvenience.

It's all about the sauce:

The chapters translations are made by OtherSideofSky and Comun. You can read the original raw text submitted by the translator in The Beast Lair along with epub versions.

About the Manga:

You should also read the manga. It has a sharp and beautiful art style (by Morii) and complements the story already being told in the LN.

Credits to:

Thanks to Nakula for translating the initial version (2008) of F/SF Vol 1, and Mew and Food for the extra chapters to complete the final Volume 1. Thanks to OtherSideofSky for translating the Volumes 2 to 6 and Comun for Volume 7 onwards. And thanks to Ryohgo Narita for writing Strange Fake!

I suggest following me on Twitter if you so desire getting updates when I... update... these PDFs. It's also a better way of communicating with me in case it's necessary since this post is a revision of the original I made back then in 2017 but the Tumblr account was breached and deleted the pinned post (this one) so... yeah, there's that.

@ZeroDestreza on Twitter (I’m not calling it “X”, that’s dum dum)

[aemondwhoresworld]

WITH WIRED

pairing: ewan mitchell x fem!reader

summary: in which ewan and y/n doing their first interview as newlywed with wired

words-count: 1,3k

warning: fluff, maybe abit cliché?, use of y/n, ewan and y/n being a newlywed couple, reader is quite sensitive, does not have any specific descriptions about y/n and ewan's appearance.

mae: english is not my first language, i do used google translate a few part in this one-shot. also this is my 2nd fic, im a long time reader but im a new writer, haven’t wrote any long imagines before. please forgive me if there was any mistakes. thank u!! maybe a part 2? idk

ASK | SUBMIT A POST | ARCHIVE

you and ewan had the opportunity to meet each other at a new movie premiere few years ago, at the event ewan participated as the main actor and you were a guest invited by the director of that movie.

at first you were quite hesitant about being the one to make a first move to go over to talk to ewan, people would wonder what was the reason? well of course, because you’re attracted by ewan’s charming appearance, but also by how the way he treated his colleagues, or anyone he met.

and then today, at this moment, you both received an invitation from wired to come here for an interview as newlyweds… yes, ewan and you have been married for 3 months now and both are extremely excited for the upcoming interview

it can be said that since you got married, or to be more precise, since the announced, the news has caused the fan community to react extremely positively, of course, negatively as well. yes but mostly positive

—

and 3… 2… 1… the interview begin, camera start rolling

"hi! this is y/n, y/n mitchell" you introduced yourself with a small smile while looking at the camera, then raised your left hand to show off your wedding ring you were wearing on your ring finger at the same time you look over at ewan, ewan now looked at you with this “husband proud smiley” smile

“and, i’m ewan mitchell, husband of this beautiful woman sitting next to me” ewan introduced himself, and then he repeated the same gesture as you, at this moment you heard a few people behind the camera, giggling and enjoying themselves

“we're here with WIRED, answering the most asked questions on google” ewan continued

“but newlywed edition” you and ewan both said at the same time

then a staff member brought out a large copy, with the questions partially hidden. you were now extremely nervous, then turned to look at him and asked softly.

“are you ready to answer these questions” you asked

“always” said and then ewan smiled slightly

"okay, first question for you my dear" you said and then gently pulled the sticky note off with your hand to make the question appear, then you continued to read

“how did ewan and y/n meet?” you read the question, then looked up at ewan and continued, "hmm, do you remember how we met, husband?" you asked ewan

“how could i forget it, the first time we ever met” ewan said while looking at you smiling, he sat thinking for a moment then he continued

"y/n and i met at this movie premiere, well… i was the main character, actor and she was invited by this great movie director, john, as a friend" ewan said, then used his hand to stroke his chin and continued. “while i was you know doing those interview, i saw her was looking at me so after the premier, we have like a little after party, i was just enjoying myself you know…” he laugh “erm.. and i-i saw this pretty lady slowly walking towards my direction and started conversation with me, and after a few minutes of talking, i thought wow she’s kinda nice to talk to, yeah.. that's… that’s how we met” and now you just sit there and giggled, flashing back all of those memories the first time you met him

“great job husband, it's so surprise to know that you still remember the first time we met, cause you never mention it ever since” you laughed and then continued “you know, to be able to date this guy, ewan mitchell, it's really a journey for me. to be mrs. mitchell is a long way" as you said, you used your thumb to point at ewan. at this time, ewan just looked helpless and shrugged his shoulders

from where you sit, you can clearly see the surprised faces of the staff member behind the camera about the fact that how hard it is to get close to him

“it's your turn” you said as ewan tore lightly to see the next question

“are ewan and y/n expecting?” Both you and ewan seemed quite surprised after hearing this question

“really, is this really the most asked question?” you laughed and giggled, “asked google?! this is crazy” you were extremely surprised by this question

“well y/n and ewan ARE NOT expecting… yet, and if we are, we will definitely announce it and share the joy with you guys so there is no need to ask mr google” you laughed, then you tuck your hair behind your ear

“we are not planning on having baby anytime soon and yes we do talk about it more often now since we’re married, you know we both love to build a family of our own but we both think this is not the right time” ewan said, you nodded with agreement with that ewan said

“next question” you looked at ewan, saying “oh i see this question seems long, it might be quite interesting!”

“the question is, have ewan and y/n ever been in a movie together?” you read the question, then you both looked at each other, you asked ewan “we talked about this a few times, aren’t we?”

“oh we literally talked about it yesterday before bed too…“ ewan chuckled then he continue “even though we have never worked together on any movie before, but we both talk about hoping that in the future we will have the opportunity to work together” ewan explained.

“yea…, there's a funny thing that if we both have the opportunity to be act in the same movie, we’ll both hope to be each other's villains” you laughed then ewan continued.

“you know, it's funny when viewers hear y/n and me's names and they might immediately think we're going to play happy married couple but no, there is not lovey dovey birds”

“but i think it's quite interesting, don't you guys think so too?” you turned to look at the camera in front of you, asking the people whom watching (after this interview video was posted).

“I'll let you answer this last question, baby” you said then let ewan remove the last sticky note to read the last question for today's interview.

“how have ewan and y/n enjoyed their marriage life so far?” ewan continued reading the last question and then he continued to answer

“who would ask this question on Google? how would Google know?” ewan replied

and you both sit there and laugh like an idiot because of how stupid this question is. really, how can Google know what your and ewan's married life is like? You laugh until you cry because of the absurdity of it

“how was it, my husband?” you asked ewan with a curious expression, wonder if he liked married life with you or not, making ewan partly amused and partly pampered, looking towards you, while you sat there patiently waiting his answer

“honestly, i am extremely happy and enjoy this married life with my wife. in short, i’m extremely satisfied, i mean who wouldn't, when you marry the person you love, so do i and especially y/n always makes me feel like i’m the luckiest man is marry to y/n, the woman i love the most" ewan replied a bit shyly because you know he rarely shows affection in front of the camera or in public

“ewan, you're going to make me cry” you smiled and used your hand to gently wipe away the happy tears at the corner of your eyes.

ewan then turned to see you so moved and pulled out a small handkerchief from his pocket and wiped your tears.

“i love you” ewan whispered to you while wipe the tear off your eye but he didn't know that the microphone attached to his shirt caught his all his words.

“i love you too but we have to say goodbye to the audience watching this interview first” you said to ewan and then burst out a small laughed

“and these are all the most asked questions on google” you said with excitement again, turning to look at ewan

“thank you WIRED for inviting us, and see you next time” ewan said “goodbye” both you and ewan raised your hands and waved to the audience

WIRED just made post

liked by y/nmitchell and others

wired #EwanMitchell and #Y/nMitchell Answer Most Asked Question On Google (Newlywed Edition)

Now available on WIRED! check out the link on bio

tagged: y/nmitchell

View comments

user1 cannot believe they haven’t had any movies together. that’s a need

user2 my fav couple

user3 i can feels ewan head over heels for her, like even more than before

user4 his eyes always had this bling bling whenever he look at her

[soulsludge]

finally sharing my piece from the evening star zine! find out more about it's meaning and see other beautiful art in the @ntvzine!

i'm doing so to ask all of you to consider taking a moment to submit a comment to the army corps of engineers asking them to prevent the dakota access pipeline from crossing underneath lake oahe!!! comments end december 13th, and using the pre-fabbed letter that the standing rock tribe provides takes mere seconds of your time!! if you're feeling more charitable with your time, writing a unique comment helps immensely! (date passed!)

if you're seeing this after dec 13th - consider checking out the zine this comes from - all proceeds go to AISES, which is an organization that helps native americans in STEM (which includes conservation work!)

that's all! thank you <3

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Humphrey Bogart (Casablanca, Key Largo, Sabrina)—John Huston speaking at Bogart's funeral: "Himself, he never took his work too seriously. He regarded the somewhat gaudy figure of Bogart, the star, with an amused cynicism; Bogart, the actor, he held in deep respect … In each of the fountains at Versailles there is a pike which keeps all the carp active; otherwise they would grow over-fat and die. Bogie took rare delight in performing a similar duty in the fountains of Hollywood. Yet his victims seldom bore him any malice, and when they did, not for long. His shafts were fashioned only to stick into the outer layer of complacency, and not to penetrate through to the regions of the spirit where real injuries are done … He is quite irreplaceable. There will never be another like him."

Buster Keaton (The General, The Navigator, Sherlock Jr.)—For me Buster’s hotness comes not just from his physical beauty but in the constant surprise and contradictions of the man, he’s simultaneously delicate/rough, feminine/masculine, confident/vulnerable, 5foot5 pretty face with an unexpectedly deep voice, at first glance you think oh he’s a cute little thing and then he takes his top off and it’s Superman abs underneath. He was intensely shy in social situations but had no hesitation in jumping off the top of a building. He famously never smiled on screen* but he exudes warmth and joy and laughter. He created some of the most beautiful, intelligent movies ever made but refused to acknowledge his own genius and talent as an artist, instead maintaining that all he wanted to do was make people laugh. If he was here in reality competing in this poll he would give it 100% but he would not be at all bothered if he didn’t win. And that’s why he’s the hottest vintage man. A vote for Buster is a vote for all that is good and decent in the world 💕 (*he did smile on camera occasionally despite his own assertions to the contrary 😄)

This is round 3 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage man.

[enormous amounts of additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Humphrey Bogart propaganda:

Bogart on why he became an actor: "I was born to be indolent and this was the softest of rackets."

Bogart about his wife Methot [who later divorced him]: "I like a jealous wife ... I wouldn't give you two cents for a dame without a temper."

Bogart, on why he was one of the only cast members filming African Queen to avoid catching dysentery: "All I ate was baked beans, canned asparagus and Scotch Whiskey. Whenever a fly bit me, it dropped dead."

Bogart's advice to a recently-nominated friend on how to write an acceptance speech for an oscar: "Just say you did it all yourself and don't thank anyone."

"the way he looks at Lauren Bacall……"

Buster Keaton propaganda:

"Just look at his freaking face...."

This entire Tumblr page was submitted

This post

This video

"And for those who have never heard it, here’s his lovely voice in action: link"

Submitted: Link to Buster Keaton car stunts

Submitted: BK fancam

Submitted: quotes about BK video compilation

"Ripped body, gorgeous unique face, beautiful personality too"

[bunny-jpeg]

hiii bunny! could I have a blueberry muffin with a milkshake served by oscar piastri please? thank youuuu (the bakery theme is such an adorable concept btw)

bakery menu

thank you for the request, anon! i love your mind about size kink oscar! like those big ol' hands what the fuck! if you'd like to submit your own order, please check out the menu!! i love receiving requests, they give me something to work on throughout the day! so please keep 'em coming! <3

blueberry muffin ("i don't think it'll fit.") + milkshake (size kink) served by oscar piastri (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, size difference/kink, filming, fingering, missionary position, sweet sex

you felt a little nervous with the phone propped up on the desk near the bed. you felt so vulnerable under the gaze of the camera. this was so stupid, but oscar was going be away from you for a few weeks and he wanted something to remind him of you.

so there you were, seated with your legs crossed and your shoulders back as you watched oscar undress. even the amount of times you've seen him naked, you were still amazed by him.

his gaze lingered on you and you leaned back on your arms. he chuckled at the sight of you, he could feel his heartbeat race because of you. he took off his briefs and stood there naked with his arms crossed. his cock twitched with need.

you looked up at him and licked your lips, "look at you, mister piastri." your gaze flickered to the camera for a moment, "you could've just video called me, no need to film it."

oscar shook his head as he got onto the bed next to you. he took you by the face and pulled you into a sweet kiss, "no, no. because i'm staying in the motor home. and even at night there would be too many eyes. and this." he gestured his head to you, "is mine."

"i don't think it'll fit." you responded as you gestured to his cock with your chin. you yelped when you were laid out on your back and your lover as close as he could get.

his fingers grazed along your slit, even his fingers were painfully big. everything about oscar was big in a good way. the kind that left a fire in your belly when he touched you. it was almost a protective feeling as he slipped his fingers into you.

you and oscar had some instances where it took a bit of work for him to fit inside of you. one time on a break between races, you flew out to see him. and he spent an hour fingering you until he pulled enough orgasms out of you before he was able to slip into you with ease.

"my pretty girl." he said softly, as he fingered you nice and slowly. opening you up enough to take his cock with ease. he could feel how wet you were. it made him harder. his cock leaked pre cum as he played with your sweet pussy.

"shit, oscar." you panted as you reached for him, hands on his shoulders as he added a second finger, then a third. you arched your back and felt the pleasure criss-cross in your body as he pleasured you.

"that's it. fuck, you're so beautiful. i missed you while i was gone. that's why i wanted this video. so i can keep you on my mind all the time." his pulse quickened as he felt your sweet pussy grow more wet.

the sounds of his fingers inside of you were mixed with both of your heavy breathing and your soft moans. he brushed his thumb up against your clit and for you it was like a live wire.

"that's it." he purred, "that's my perfect, angel. you take me so well." his voice was molasses on your brain, making you feel warm all over, "i know that it's always a bit of a tight fit. but you take me so well."

you squirmed and whined a little. you felt hot all over. you panted, "please, oscar." you clawed at his shoulders and arched your back against him.

he could feel your gummy walls get looser for him and soon pulled his fingers out. he licked the digits free of your wetness and he felt something warm in his body. he got up between your legs, seated on his knees and looked down at you.

your legs splayed open, your pussy gleamed with wetness. you were just the most perfect thing ever.

he chuckled as he wrapped your legs around him. he said softly, "do you have anything to say to future oscar?"

you shifted a little on the bed to get more comfortable as you let yourself be moved, "i hope he wins the upcoming race. i want to see that trophy in person." you giggled, "i want the world to see how much of a superstar he is."

he pushed his cock into you. the feeling was euphoric. he was always a little self conscious about his size, but you took him so well. you were a perfect fit for him as he sank in all the way. he held onto your hips and loomed over you as you started to move up against him.

he could feel his heartbeat in the back of his head as he started to rock his cock up against you. the sweat started on his neck from your warmth as you two moved together. you were just so erotic under him.

"my beautiful girl." he said softly, "you don't realize how beautiful you are. i always think about you, those pretty eyes. your soft skin. how you look when you're focusing on something. you drive me wild." he began to pick up a little speed, "so small under me."

"not my fault you have such big ass shoulders."

oscar chuckled and pulled you in for a sweet kiss. he continued his strokes. he groaned against your lips as he rocked against you. he was so blessed to be able to fuck you. to be so close to you.

"i'm going to miss you on the road, but i'll bring it all home for you. you deserve it. you've always been there for me." his kisses got heavier, sloppier the more he fucked you.

the bed squeaked a little under your movements and you made sweet noises against him. the feeling was a rush in your ears as the two of you made love on the bed you shared.

the filming continued, and you felt the gaze of the lens less and less, the further you were pulled into hot lust for your boyfriend. you whimpered against his lips and held onto his shoulders.

soon the two of you were chest to chest and he was fucking you at a angle that the pleasure swarmed your brain. you let out a string of soft noises as he moved against you.

you panted heavily as his motions continued. you knew you weren't going to last long as you clung to your lover.

"you're perfect." he said, "and all mine."

"and you are mine too, oscar." you two kissed once more, the heat of everything thumped in the back of your mind and kept you feeling light all over.

he whispered sweet nothings against your lips as he moved. the pleasure was in his bones.

you soon climaxed and dug your fingers into his shoulders. you grazed your nails across the skin as you arched your back against him. you panted heavily as you felt yourself reach that peak. you tensed up for a moment then relaxed.

oscar continued to thrust up into you. he held onto your hips and bullied his cock up against your sweet pussy. he remained hunched over you, the camera captured your beauty. this would be a great video for his little collection.

for his viewing eyes only. sorry lando. he knew it wasn't as good at the real thing, but it would get him relaxed enough to do his best on the track. and he'd bring him that trophy for you.

a few more heavy strokes and he felt the pleasure curl up in his gut. he panted heavily and groaned when he shoved his entire length into you and climaxed. he shuddered at the feeling, the tight wet heat around his cock.

it was perfect. you were perfect.

he pressed his forehead up against yours for a moment as he tried to regain his composure. after a few moments, he pulled away and grabbed the phone from the desk. he leaned in to kiss you on the lips as the camera was closer to your faces.

"my love." he said softly.

"my oscar." you giggled before you kissed him once more.

oscar was your big handsome man. and you knew that the video would be well loved while he was on the road. he kissed you once more before he shut off the video and pulled you into is arms. with legs tangled up with one another.

you laid together in utter peace. oscar's heartbeat was comforting as you felt yourself start to doze off. in love and forever happy. <3

[lnfours]

Heyy love, congrats on 12K!! 🩰 could you please do no. 15 from prompt list 2 for Lando, fluff definitely but it later leads to smut? idk i love your writing, write whatever you feel best :)

thank you, love! i've been waiting for someone to submit #15 i'm so excited! i hope you like it <3

prompt #15: fake dating, but having to kiss in front of the family!! "do you trust me?" "i do, [name]" followed by THE KISS

join the 12k and annual celebration!

"lando, that's the stupidest thing i've ever heard." you replied to the man sitting on your couch. the man who had texted you and asked if he could come over to ask you something, and now you were wishing you had told him no.

"please," he begged, "it's just for the weekend and i can't show up by myself, i'll look so lame."

"i mean, you're asking me to be your fake girlfriend for you, but what's in it for me?" you asked, arms crossing over your chest.

he hummed, thinking of something, "free paddock passes for a year?"

you raised your eyebrows, "really?"

"if you agree, then yes."

"alright, fine," you sighed, being caught off by him jumping up from the sofa and wrapping his arms around you in tight, appreciative hug, "you're so lucky i'm a good friend."

and that's how you found yourself here, standing in the middle of the reception venue, his arm linked with yours as he introduced you to his hometown friends.

the dj's voice sounded over the outro of the song he had been playing, the tune changing to a slower song, "the bride and groom would like to invite all the couples to the dance floor for a dance."

lando leaned down to your ear, the arm that was linked with yours now moving to place his hand on the small of your back, leading you to the dance floor, "c'mon,"

you smiled at the friends of his you had met, bidding them a wave as you let him lead you to the middle of the floor. his hand found your waist, yours wrapping around his neck, hands conjoined at the side as your bodies slowly moved to the song.

"your friends are nice," you smiled, "not sure why they hang around you, though."

he chuckled, "ha ha, very funny."

you laughed softly, watching his eyes dance around your face. yours did the same, giggling softly when he lifted his hand towards the ceiling, spinning you in place.

"have i told you how beautiful you look tonight?" he asked, a smile still on his lips.

"about four times," you chuckled, "but i'm not opposed to hearing it again."

"well, it's true," he said, "you look stunning."

you smiled, eyes meeting his green ones that you couldn't help but notice had an extra sparkle in them, "you look good too, lan."

he was still smiling, but he looked out at the crowd around them. seeing the different couples you were surrounded with share smiles and quick kisses. his heart dropped, in order to really sell this, he'd have to kiss you.

you saw the expression on his face change, your eyebrows furrowing, "what's wrong?"

he licked his lips, meeting your concerned eyes before taking a deep breath, "i think we have to kiss."

your eyes widened, "sorry, what?"

"all the other couples are kissing," he said, "i mean, we don't have to if it'll make you uncomfortable, but i think it'd look weird if we were the only couple who didn't."

you took a deep breath, nodding, "okay,"

"hey," he said softly, lowering his head to meet your eyes, "do you trust me?"

you nodded, "i do, lando."

"good." he said, moving the hand that was placed on your waist up to your cheek, cupping it in his palm. he leaned in, the smell of his cologne taking over your senses as his lips met yours. you kissed him back, your lips moving in sync.

he pulled away, lips swollen as your forehead rested against his. he smiled, "see? perfect."

you chuckled softly before he spoke again, "can we do that again?"

you laughed a little louder, leaning back in towards his lips nonetheless, “right now?"

"right now." he nodded, leaning down and kissing you again.

[makeyoumine69]

for your 2k follow celebration, could you do wife fem!reader x husband patrick? patrick has a lactation kink (reader is breastfeeding) and facesitting? angel / pretty as pet names <3

You're My Snack

PAIRING: Husband!Patrick Bateman x Wife!Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Your husband is hungry and horny. Only you can satisfy his hunger since you're his favorite snack.

CONTAINS: Smut, Daddy kink, lactation kink, spanking, body worship, tit sucking/nipple play, face-sitting, pet names, dirty talk.

WORDS: Around 1k

A/N: Thank you so much for your request, I hope you like it! 💗🤞

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [2k CELEBRATION MASTERLIST]

You always knew that your beloved husband, named Patrick Bateman, had many kinks, but you never imagined that he would be so turned on by breastfeeding — once he tasted your milk, he couldn't stop thinking about it, and whenever he got a chance to latch his greedy mouth around your swollen nipple, he did it with a desperate ferocity. 

That night, Bateman found you peacefully napping on the couch, and he couldn't take his dark eyes off your heavy breasts that looked so captivating in your tight top. Licking his lower lip briefly, Patrick approached your sleepy form and traced a finger along your cheekbone.

"God, you're so beautiful," he murmured in a low voice, sliding his thumb down to your lips to part them. "My pretty girl."

A sudden surge of heat rushed through your body as his warm mouth found the most sensual spot on your delicate neck, and that delightful sensation woke you up. Batting your long eyelashes, you tried to get up, only to be easily positioned on his lap.

"I've missed you, Angel," he nipped your earlobe, his hands wasting no time exploring your curvaceous body. "I've been thinking about tasting you all fucking day."

"But I–" You stammered as Bateman cut you off with a searing, sloppy kiss on your lips.

"You only fed me in the morning, right?" He arched his brow playfully as his nimble fingers were busy outlining the shape of your hard little tips. " So, I'm hungry again."

His silky voice flowed through every particle of your trembling frame, making you submit as if you were spellbound. "Uh, you're so insatiable ..."

"It's all because of you, honey," Patrick grinned before pulling up your top with ease, his mouth watering at the sight of your milk-filled breasts and the next moment he was already swirling his wet tongue around your engorged nipple. "You like it, don't you?"

Considering how badly you were shaking; it was kind of pointless to deny it. "Yes, Daddy," you used that nickname faster than you could even realize it. "Please ... leave some milk for the baby." 

Bateman groaned in response, sucking covetously at your tender flesh — the sweet taste of your milk was intoxicating, forcing his blood to rush through his veins. Hot and bothered, Patrick released your swollen peak with a loud pop, licking every single drop of your breast milk.

"Fuck, you're so tasty," he pulled you even closer, making you wrap your legs around his waist and grind against the hard bulge in his pants. "Do you want to ride Daddy's face after he finishes his meal?"

Oh shit, that sneaky bastard knew how to hit the bullseye when he needed to. 

"Yes..." you gasped and involuntarily brought his head closer to your chest, shutting your eyes as you were about to lose yourself in the overwhelming sensation. "You're s-so hard, Daddy...mhmm...I can feel it."

With a low chuckle, Bateman painfully tugged at your nipples before slapping your ass with both hands, savoring all of your high-pitched wails, not to mention the way you frowned every time your dripping pussy rubbed against his hardness. 

"Ahh, look at you," he slapped your butt once more, then gave your ass cheeks a pretty rough squeeze. "Enjoying yourself, babygirl? So eager for my cock?"

His dirty talk didn't give you a chance, as by now you couldn't control your moans or the needy rocking of your hips against his firm ones. "Lie down already!"

Your sudden attempt to take the lead took him by surprise for a moment, but instead of restraining you or punishing you for defying his dominance, Bateman just sneered mischievously and did as you asked.

"All right, Angel," he crooned teasingly as he lay back on the soft, white couch and loosened his red tie. "Go ahead, show me how well you can use Daddy's face."

Patrick didn't have to ask you twice.

Carefully but confidently, you positioned yourself on top of his beautiful face, leaving inches between your soaped slit and his ravenous mouth, ready to devour you at any moment.

"Don't doubt me, Daddy," you murmured excitedly as you moved your panties aside and descended lower, his perfectly shaped nose brushing so deliciously against your taut, lower lips. "Awww, Patrick..."

At first, Bateman lay still and only stuck out his tongue, allowing you to take control and set the pace that was comfortable for you, each slide along his scorching flesh igniting you with passion. Whimpering uncontrollably, you tangled your fingers in his brown curls, bucking your hips back and forth along his face, drowning in the pool of pleasure his mouth was giving you, exploring your oozing folds delightfully and sucking on your blushing clit.

"Daddy," you gasped, tilting your head as you felt your orgasm building in your core, Bateman noticed it immediately and held your hips tightly to keep you in one place. "I'm close... I'm so damn close!"

"Mmhm, my slutty little Angel," Patrick's muffled voice reverberated against your throbbing bud, making it hard for you to move, but now it was his turn to take control as his strong hands on your thighs encouraged you to keep grinding on his tongue. "(Y/n), you ride my face so fucking good."

As soon as he felt your body convulse, Batemn pressed his thumb to your bundle of nerves to make the friction completely unbearable, accompanying it with merciless lapping at your wet entrance, plunging his tongue inside as you reached your climax, intending to make your orgasm even more blissful.

"Pat-Patrick...mmmmhm," you gripped his arms almost painfully, but he didn't even flinch. "Your mouth...feels so good...I love...I love you..."

Patrick could barely keep himself from giggling at your pleading comments, but he couldn't deny that they worshipped his ego like nothing else in this world.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[xojennyboo]

Harry Smut Imagines

Hello everyone! I have officially created my masterlist of everything I've written so far. Thank you to everyone that has read my writing on wattpad and on here. Please do not hesitate to submit in your requests of any imagine that you want. Don't forget to follow and like. Thank you!

My Wattpad!

Smut

Brits

Pregnancy Cravings

Love of My Life

Welcome Back

Christmas Dinner

All Night Long

Merry Christmas

Happy New Year

Birthday Wishes

Late Night Shower

Happy Birthday Harry

Roomates

Baby Bliss

Valentine's Day

Unexpected

Beautiful

Friends

Through thick and thin

Work Relations

Affair

Darling

Morning Bliss

In the club

Series

Mother Part 1

Mother Part 2

Mother Part 3

Mother Part 4

Crush Part 1

Crush Part 2

Blurbs

Lucy

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XLIII. “a terrible thing”

read on AO3 🦇

parts: previous / next

plot: Bruce can’t believe the softness you pull out of him—you can’t believe how fully you trust him.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, fluff, jealousy, yearning, mention of sex, brief discussion of violence (martha wayne’s parent’s murder-suicide)

words: 8.4k

a/n: i think we’re all in need of some fluff right now, and it just so happens that we’re in the mutual pining phase with these lovebirds and that’s where the chapter took me <3 also omg I’ve felt so spoiled by all the comments and asks, thank you for continuously blessing my inbox with them!! love love 💞

The doorbell woke you right at noon. You opened the door to a cardboard drink carrier from DoorDash sat on your doormat, cradling a tan iced coffee from the cafe down the street. A typed note fell from the bottom when you lifted it onto the counter. 

for keeping you last night - B

Admittedly, he was halfway decent at apologies for someone who didn’t seem to have practice with them. Sleep had calmed your nerves a few levels, cooling your head enough to—begrudgingly—accept his apologies. The coffee chilling your hand made that grudge slip. Per usual, his eyes left nothing unanalyzed; he’d even managed to get the alternate milk right. Kinda terrifying, kinda cool?

As you sipped on the latte, you thought to how past partners had reacted after arguments. Ignored calls, passive aggressive texts, days without acknowledgment or apology. You nearly choked and died when you realized you’d lumped Bruce into the category ‘partner’, and discarded the coffee on the counter as if it had the power to remove him from your thoughts.

Somewhere down the line the edges of your arguments had softened. The fear of him had whittled away, yet his anger retained the vigor of a snappy punch. Your fingers danced along the marble countertop, its smoothness lending no distraction to your wandering mind. Arguing like a couple, with none of the benefits.

Your stare fixed absentmindedly on the sink. Forgiving him so easily felt like bending to the whims of your hormones; naivety’s tug whispered beratement for believing the first man to utter the words I’m sorry to you. Was the bar truly that low? Why did you feel so safe with someone so reactive, so violent as to spend every night chasing people to punch?

Your gaze dropped to the note. It was thoughtful. A butterfly or two danced around the room. Even though he was the last person you ever thought you’d feel anything other than loathing for, and it could never be set in motion, it was fun having a crush. How pretty was it to imagine him sipping his own latte across the kitchen? Or sweatpants hung low on his hips as he cooked you breakfast after staying overnight?

Thoughts could wander, even if reality could never align. Fantasy worlds where circumstances had been different, and the callousness of the world allowed you temporary effervescence through the eyes of a beautiful man you met in a big and terrible city. You’d unknowingly created an indivisible fork the night you chose to lie, and this was all you could ever be to him. 

The rest of your afternoon was spent hunched over a laptop typing up highlights from the two rallies. After Grange’s the following Tuesday, you could submit on Friday for publishing that weekend. You cast away all worry about it potentially being your last column ever, otherwise a single word wouldn’t have been written. 

You eyed your usual outfit at the top of your laundry hamper. A dress would mean heels, heels would mean pain… you grabbed a pair of black jeans and a vaguely musty sweater from the bottom drawer, and shook it until you beat the lingering scent of old out of it. 

You’d fastened your second earring and spritzed some perfume when you heard a knock. “It’s meee!” 

Mar spilled in holding a small rectangular box wrapped in shiny silver paper. She beat you to the punch. “I know you have your meeting right now, but I’m on the way to Gianna’s and had to stop by just in case.”

Your brow furrowed, mouth twitching into a grin as you took the box and began to unwrap it. It was feather-light. She joked about it being a housewarming gift, “only a month late, but better late than never”.

The Trojan logo blared at you. BareSkin Raw were the next words unveiled, and it was at precisely this point where you thought the universe was pranking you. But no: it was just Mar.

“Last time I was here I peeked around a little bit and couldn’t find any. The thought of babytrapping a billionaire is enticing, but—”

“We’re not together.”

“Even if you ‘aren’t together’,” she took the condoms from you and ripped open the box, tearing two off the pack. “You can still get pregnant.” She took your bag and rifled around for your wallet, tucking them into a side zipper pocket. 

“Technically that’s not safe storage.” You closed the top of the box and walked it to your bedside drawer, sliding it to the right of the diary you hadn’t used yet. Mar was gazing knowingly at you from the doorframe. 

“Safer than having nothing.”

As awkward as it was, she was trying. Even if looking out for you was centered around keeping your uterus uninhabited, it was something. You thanked her, running to the bathroom to put on the deodorant you’d almost forgotten.

“Want a ride?” Mar called from the kitchen. “I have an Uber out front, we could add a stop.”

“Sure.” You stepped to grab your bag as she plucked the note with a gasp. 

“For keeping you last night? You’re fucking joking.” She was positively beaming; you had a passing thought of crumpling it up and throwing it at Bruce’s chest, chastising him about the lack of forethought for what could happen if a wild Mar read it. “When will you want to talk about it with me? Marathoning so hard he gifts you coffee the next morning is crazy.”

You swerved the conversation to her budding relationship with Gianna for the drive to City Hall, though she kept trying to redirect it. 

“Where do you usually get dropped off?” You pointed Mar to the front loop, and she directed the driver to follow the other rideshares near the entry steps. She mumbled something about it reading like the Met Gala with the amount of paparazzi, and you grumbled something about how it was all because of Bruce.

She talked briefly about how he’d blown up the past few months and needed to cut you a check, but she interrupted herself. “Oh my god.”

Bruce had climbed out of his vintage Chevy and handed the key to the valet. Sneakers, dark gray slacks, black tee, and a matching leather jacket. Completely different from his sweaters and suits to the point of being nearly unrecognizable.

Mar all but shoved you out of the Uber, excitedly whispering about how she should’ve packed more than two for you, leaving no time to settle before ascending the steps and entering the foyer. 

Bruce was at the catering table chatting with the women waiting in line. Unusual. By the time you’d situated with the other press, the crowd of his admirers had tripled. When you’d fished out your notebook and pen, he had his arms wrapped around a few of them. He was talking, smiling and not shooting one look your way. Was he trying to make you jealous? 

Bruce counted the seconds of each inhale and exhale, anything to help him forget the eyes and ears hanging on his every word. His arm was going numb from being passed around so much. Half of these women were married, including the few skimming their hands along his chest and hips. 

“What happened, Mr. Wayne?” Someone was caressing his bruised hand.

He had about three seconds to conjure the most vague, lewd response and not crumble into the floor. “Played a little too rough.”

You watched as some of the group giggled at something he said, fluttered their lashes at his winks, and pursed their lips into a barely-contained grin when he’d lean in to whisper something. At one point you swore his lips touched a woman’s ear and you felt like you’d been shot.

If jealousy was his intention, it was unfortunately working. He looked undeniably hot, somehow managing an effortless cool. Had he been honest about his introversion? The sling of his arm around shoulders, the little glances he gave, the grins that flashed teeth when he leaned closer. Maybe he tried to play docile and shy, but Jesus… you followed the way his eyes dropped to their lips when they spoke, occasionally darting to their eyes before trailing down again. You tensed. That man knew exactly what he was doing. If that ‘already spoken for’ was true, his partner was made of steel. 

You couldn’t stop the swirl in your gut from feeling played. Did he think because he apologized and got you coffee he had you wrapped around his finger? Was this a subtle power play? It has to be. Your throat was tight, fixated on every touch and glance. Maybe he did have you in the palm of his hand. Everything he did was working.

The meeting began and Bruce was last into the room—alongside some of the men’s wives. A few introductions of nonsense characters, some reminders about the upcoming rallies and fundraisers, then budget talk. The budget was something you genuinely wanted to attend to, but it was impossible with your heart pounding in your ears deadening all sound. If he was so sorry, why had he marched in and flirted with every woman in the building? The minutes passed like hours.

Eventually Mr. Convoy called a brief intermission to collect his notes, and you stared Bruce down as he drew a deep breath before standing. He shook out his hands and moved through the doorway, tucking his left fist into his pocket as the first group approached him. Your eyes narrowed as you settled into the corner by the drinks, mulling over his evident anxiety. Yet he remained desperate enough to push through it to get under your skin. Did he have gum in his mouth? Who the hell? 

A group of suited men clustered in the foyer’s center, the tallest of them snickering at you. He’d talked to Bruce once or twice in the past month you’d been here. You remembered him due to how severely his sandy brown hair was gelled to his scalp. Your cheeks heated when he made a mocking kissy face and you realized he was harassing you for openly staring at the man of the hour. As your downcast eyes scoured the tiling, you mulled over the man’s name. Probably started with a G. The sound of Bruce’s laugh involuntarily placed your attention back on his tall, wide frame, the silver zipper of his jacket slipping through salon-manicured fingers, being fiddled with and jerked about like your heartstrings. 

A hand slipped underneath his jacket, rubbing between his shoulderblades. Someone ‘tripped’ and caught themselves against his abs, marveling at them as they steadied. It was just about impossible to keep his smile from fading to a grimace, a forced laugh playing it off. Overstimulation nipped at his frayed nerves. Too many voices asking too many questions, too far out of his element effectively seducing people in public. The exaggerated glances he gave, the haughty nonchalance, it was wearying. You’d better be enjoying this.

He knew you were by the catering, but hadn’t wanted to impose his presence after the night before. He chanced a glance and, sure enough, you were glaring at him. His heart skipped at how angry you looked. Had he misread it? Someone’s hand trailed up his chest now. “Something bothering you, Bruce?” He imagined it was you, his ears perking to the sound of his name and the circular motion of your fingers between his pecs. His hand moved to grab yours on instinct, fingers lacing for a single second before catching himself. The stranger bit her lip, re-grabbing his hand, misattributing the blush sweeping his face. “Your hands are so…”

You’d never seen that woman before, and you never wanted to see her again. You never again wanted to feel this tight, hot squishing sensation in your head and chest. Mr. Convoy called the meeting to resume and you hung back, not trusting your legs, except that Bruce did the same. After continuous hesitation the doors were set to shut, so you both started for them. He fell in line beside you. 

When he spoke your spine stiffened. “Trying the playboy thing.” 

Yeah, he sure is. 

“Thought you might find it funny. After our conversation yesterday.”

You stopped where you stood. He gave an apologetic smile before stepping through the door. Yesterday. Early in the a.m.. You spent the rest of the meeting feeling guilty and meek. It was so easy, too easy, to assume the worst of him. 

Pictures weren’t allowed in the building, so you heard a few of the journalists behind you game-plan leaving the conference room first to stake out the front steps. A minute to its end, as your peers crept toward the exit, you threw a text his way. 

Still accepting ride requests? 

He checked his phone under the table. 

Meet you around back in five.

The meeting ended, Bruce waded through his many fans, and you skirted to the back. Cool metal across your palm reminded you that it all had to end just as it began to feel routine. The chilly night air blew in your face as the heavy door clicked shut behind you. Next week’s meeting would be the last opportunity to be driven home by him; the last time home would be Gotham, and not thousands of miles’ distance. Unless he ever found himself adventuring southern Washington, you’d never see him again, either.

When he pulled up you pretended to peer in the backseat, wanting to play off your earlier frustration. An apology, coffee, and trying to entertain you in the most bland environment in existence? The lively, social man of ten minutes ago had been whittled down to something more subdued. The drain of the evening was splashed across the subtle lines in his face. 

You slipped into the heavy leather seat and gestured behind you. “Surprised it isn’t full of your admirers.” Your senses heightened knowing this was one of three last times you’d ever be in his presence. When he laughed under his breath, you felt it like a beam of light in your chest. 

“What’s my grade?” He put the car in gear and headed down the alleyway as you finished buckling. Wanting to ensure he wasn’t overstepping, he shot cautious glances your way. He hoped the car was dark enough it wouldn’t show his blush.

“Not sure I can be unbiased after you bribed me with that coffee.” 

Just hearing your voice turned him scarlet. “Tried to match the color to when we crossed paths.”

“You nailed it.”

Tires gliding over potholes and crunchy gravel patches studded the silence of the next few blocks. Bruce was doing a very diligent job of taking you straight home; sometimes he swerved down side roads but tonight he stayed a strict path. You felt the apology hanging over him. It reminded you of how Walter acted when he’d broken into some human food. Ears back, posture drawn-in and hesitant. He caught you glancing at him.

“You seemed upset.” His voice was soft. So much softer than with everyone at City Hall. 

Flashes of their hands across his chest and neck while he leaned in to make them laugh made you shift in the seat, the leather crinkling. White lies were fine, right? It seemed better than admitting debilitating jealousy. “I had a headache.” 

“Should be back soon if you need ibuprofen.” 

“Nah, it’s all good.” You waved your hand and it slapped against your thigh. 

His hands tightened around the wheel, and so did your gut. He always had something on his tongue when he did that. And now you were thinking about his mouth… 

“You’re right about the playboy angle. I think that’s the clearest direction.”

Still thinking… you swallowed. “Pretty different to how you usually act.” 

“Enduring it will be a whole other thing.” Alongside a begrudging nod, he rolled his eyes and grit his teeth. It was imperative his jaw stopped moving. As jealous as the playboy facade made you, you weren’t mad at how it made him even more visible, situated like a painting for your viewing pleasure. 

“You didn’t have any fun with it?” 

The half-second he thought it was you, maybe. The rest of the evening was a painful blur. “Not really.” 

The car tucked into the alleyway. 

“Here.”

Your foot tapped against the carpeted interior. In hindsight—once you were gridlocked to the confines of rurality—would you hate yourself for leaving right now? Probably. “You said there’s places outside of city limits to drive?” 

“You don’t want to go home?”

“I’m up for some racing.”

“Let me know when you want me to drop you off.”

The ride was quiet. Bruce, of course, knew every back road away from prying eyes, making the sirens, shouts, and car horns a distant memory. When buildings morphed to trees, your shoulders relaxed. He noticed.

“Lot of pine trees in Washington?”

“Some.” Your nose made a print against the glass, straining through the glare. “A lot of Douglas Fir. Cedar.” 

“Do you mind gravel roads?” He didn’t want to jostle you too much if not. You grinned at him and his body surged a streak of warmth.

“Prefer them.” You glanced around the interior. “Sure you want to scratch up the paint?”

You heard him smile; he laughed via a particularly jaunty exhale through his nose. “Nothing some Sharpie can’t fix.”

You looked out the passenger window so he wouldn’t see your smirk. The weirdest rich person. 

“Prefer them?” 

You couldn’t resist peeking at him, and his brow was scrunched. “Most people don’t, which means it’s likely really pretty.”

“No one wants to see something pretty.” 

You nudged him, biting your tongue. He could barely contain his relief at your apparent forgiveness. 

The trees thickened, and the road turned bumpy. You rolled down the window and leaned your head out, basking in the smell of pine needles and fresh air. 

“Careful, rock could hit you.”

You stuck your arm out, the cold breeze chilling it immediately. It’d been so long since you’d driven like this. Years, maybe. Your dad was always so busy with work, your mom so exhausted; having to scrimp and save pennies for copayments, past dues on maxed out credit cards. For the better part of the past decade, the car had been reserved for medical appointments and grocery trips exclusively. The only time you got to feel the breeze on your skin in anything reminiscent of a forest was on lone bike rides, but you were usually too sad to immerse yourself in them. 

He hung a left at the fork in the road, too late to hit the usual right while distracted by watching you. Fingers dancing in the wind, hair ruffling. He accelerated, toeing the speed limit of dense gravel. A soft yelp radiated from your side—looking like a dog with their ears flapping in the wind, you were laughing. Your face was the happiest he’d ever seen it. A light expanded in his chest. Gorgeous. 

“Shit,” the gravel turned to dirt, the wheels slipping hard into a vat of mud; in a blink you felt a wall in front of you—his outstretched arm across your chest kept you from rocketing forward. You tumbled against Bruce as he turned into the skid, the thick seatbelt keeping you from spilling sideways into his lap. Both of you sat motionless, and he pulled both hands back to the wheel. Your torso rumbled like you were laughing.

“What fancy contraption do you have to yank us out?” You pushed yourself up and ran a frigid hand over windswept hair. Probably had a button in the trunk which unfurled a hook to yank the vehicle back to safety. Maybe a mega-drone would fly over from Wayne Tower and pull the car by the roof with a magnet. 

He waited for you to face him. “I’ll get out and push.” 

“Push?!” 

His smile wrinkled his eyes as he hopped out, a sticky slop sound slapping his shoes. You thought he was so froofy. Worried about paint jobs, staining designer clothing, unable to shove a car out of a rut. He heaved his weight in a strong, deliberate push, and the car moved. Then slid back. 

“Here, I’ll get out.” You unbuckled. 

“What?” He couldn’t hear over the wind hissing through trees. 

You fell flat on your hands and knees into a foot and a half of thick mud. “Holy shit.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. This is fucking deep.” You managed to wrangle out an arm but your knees were locked in place. 

You heard the schlorp, schlorp sound of his approach. How were you supposed to get a car out of something like this? “I forgot you’re supposed to turn right back there.” He held out his hand. He fell to his knees when he underestimated how stuck you were.

You pushed up off his shoulder, the heel of your palm shoving him deeper. Your other hand tracked mud across his back, the slick of the leather making you fall forward again, slung halfway over his back. His elbow buckled as his hands dug further into the pit. You slid onto your back, your hair soaking with mud so dense you struggled to lift your head.

He managed onto his feet again, once more grabbing your hand—this time with more of an angle for leverage—and pulled. You hardly moved, trying to grip his arm for support. “You’re gonna have to take off that jacket unless you want to leave me here.”

He obliged, your eyes trailing down his muscled arms now outstretched for you to enjoy. This time was more successful, but the un-shlucking made you rocket toward him. You fell against the hood of his car, no, against him against the hood of the car. You caked the entire front of his body in mud.

“Might have to call Alfred,” you panted, grasping for the antenna to your left for balance. He locked eyes with you a moment, a beautiful, fleeting moment, before you watched them flick toward the sky. You rolled onto your back and followed his gaze. 

Stars. Not very clear, but better than the foggy clouds that hung over the city. You moved to stand before tossing another look his way. His eyes glimmered as they roamed the sky as if he’d never seen them before. You let your back fall gently against the hood, shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“Can’t see them very well in the city, huh?”

Bruce shook his head, mesmerized. A long pause, which you reveled in. He was so caught up he couldn’t see you admiring his sudden youthfulness. “Is this how bright they are in Washington?”

He had no idea how adorable that question was, and it filled your body with extraordinary warmth. He looked like a child who’d just seen the ocean for the first time, awestruck by the endless horizon. The word Washington sounded so foreign in his voice. It was like he was born to exist firmly in Gotham and nowhere beyond. Like a prison. You looked back to the sky, the edges of each star blurred and hazy. 

“Actually, like ten times brighter there.”

Bruce’s head snapped to you, brow furrowed. He looked like he’d just been insulted. “You’re joking.” 

“I think you’d pass out if you saw the sky there.” There were still so many trees, and some light pollution from downtown. What the hell would he do if you brought him to the middle of an empty, rural field on a clear night? You’d never thought it was particularly beautiful. It was just… normal. 

“Guess I take it for granted.” Your eyes followed his jaw up to his eyelashes, really seeing him. He didn’t notice, already turned back to admire the blurry stars again. You sighed. One more week. You’d been so terrified of him that first night. The second too. Now you just might start counting every second of his eye contact. 

Your nose crinkled, a tease cropping up with the memory. “You’re wrong, by the way. You do use bribes.”

That furrowed brow and those blue eyes again. If only those agains could tumble in forever. “When?”

“At the initial interview.” 

His nose scrunched, momentarily moving up to his eyes. “No way.”

“You asked what I wanted for my silence.” Your lips quirked into a grin. He was gorgeous like this; so unassuming, unintimidating. 

He rifled through the memory, and you watched the gears turn. His face set with disappointment. “Guess you’re right.”

“The only reason I stayed was to piss you off.” You laughed, his eyes never leaving you. 

“It worked.” He grinned. “Maybe if you hadn’t, the car wouldn’t be stuck.”

“Then we wouldn’t be having this riveting conversation.”

A quick, sharp laugh escaped him. His eyes flicked down, and he fiddled with muddy fingers. When they met yours again they were hesitant, but hopeful. “What you said yesterday helped. About my… brain.” He said the word carefully, still grappling with what it meant beneath the euphemism. 

“About still being you?” 

Bruce looked away, sighing through his nose as he nodded. “I’m able to patrol as usual. Maintain public responsibilities. Doesn’t seem to be life-ruining. Yet.”

You grinned, relieved to see him on a path to acceptance, relieved to see him sitting here with you at all. “I’m glad.” You paused, letting it linger. “It doesn’t erase you, or make you worse.” 

His shifting eyes landed briefly on yours before returning to the stars, the combination of the wind and endless sky making the world big enough for his confessions to get lost. “… My mom was in and out of Arkham.” His words hung between you and the blustery wind. 

“Was that hard growing up?” You figured it was, but any way you could coax an emotion out of him felt meaningful. The way he clung to your hug and kept even Alfred at arm’s length made you hypothesize that he wasn’t used to speaking it aloud. Shoving feelings deeper and deeper until the distractions caused enough dissociation to remove the sting. 

“I didn’t know about it then. Learned about it with the rest of the world.” His teeth clenched, the angled corner of his jaw flexing tightly. Vague memories of Wayne Family Secrets across your family’s television two years ago reminded you that Bruce had been caught up in the killer’s antics. 

“Around the time of the flood, right?”

He nodded again. His jaw moved as if his lips might part to speak, but he hesitated. Sensing his discomfort, you turned your attention back to the hazy stars. Wind whipped through the tops of trees, creating a faint high-pitched whistle in the silence. You spoke at the same time, cutting the other off. 

“You can talk about it if you want.”

”Her mom killed her dad.” 

You cast a sideways glance at each other and looked again to the sky. His voice dulled. “Then herself.” 

The hands clasped across your waist dug into your stomach. It wasn’t a wonder why he was so worried about his attempt. Seemed like every generation was touched by it. “I’m sorry.” 

He could tell that you meant it by how it sat in his stomach. He hated to hear those words, but not from you. For possibly the first time ever, he responded with “Thanks.” He watched a star twinkle like an ornament behind the top of a tree, still keeping his attention to his periphery. 

“Makes sense, I guess.” His lips pulled into a sardonic grin. Your attention pulled to it like a physical force, grim or not. “I am half Arkham.” 

In the meager amount of research you’d done to prepare for the actual interview you did with him, you’d discovered his mother’s ties to Arkham; Martha Arkham, the granddaughter of the asylum’s founders. One of the questions you’d nearly written down was why he didn’t do more with its fundraising; now you were grateful pen hadn’t hit paper. 

You were focused on the few clouds floating above when a gentle nudge tapped your shoulder. Your eyes met his unwavering blue. “I didn’t forget last night.” The car evaporated from under your back, suspending you in the air weightlessly. “I really didn’t mean to scare you, but I know that I did. I’m sorry.” 

He was so good at saying what you needed. How were his eyes that blue, his lashes that lush, voice so full. His apology sat with you the same way a slurpee did on arid, hundred-degree days in the valley. Ropes of sugary sweet, revitalizing in that specific, intoxicating way that kept you coming back despite the brain freeze and inevitable crash. 

You mused on whether or not he tasted like cherry cola too. 

“Just don’t trap me in your car in the middle of the night again.” 

“I know, I’m sorry. It was wrong.” You’d meant it to be a bit of a playful jab, and your eyes flashed slightly when he took it soberly. 

”Not in the suit is fine, but.” You teased him when you felt his growing earnestness, nudging him. “I’m joking.”

His expression remained unchanged, though it mellowed. “You don’t need to play it off.” 

A joke about how perceptive he was for someone who didn’t get out much stalled on the tip of your tongue. His worn features were too genuine. 

“Thank you.” You wanted to acknowledge all of the effort, that wavering pain in his eyes at sitting in this. It was easy to see how brutal it was on him, the isolation you imagined plagued his youth. How hard opening up was for him, seeming to go against his wiring like breaking one’s own bones. You longed to scoop him into your arms or lap, running soothing fingers through his hair until the pain melted out of his cells. 

When you couldn’t come up with a better word for the chasing apologies, the city hall antics, the coffee, the continuous acknowledgement, the life stories, and the I’m not used to this confessions, you settled on the simplest descriptor. “It means a lot that you’re trying.” 

His eyes lingered on yours for a second. He felt his heartbeat in the back of his throat. He wouldn’t. He swung his body up, clearing his voice on the upswing. “Let’s push.”

He schlopped his way to the front of the car, digging his heels into the mud for grip. You joined him, buzzing from stargazing, the weight of your muddy hair straining your back. You gripped the front bumper and followed his count, shoving the weight of your hips into your palms. The front wheels slipped up half a foot, then plopped back into place. 

You teased him when he paused to inspect the wheel placement. “C’mon dude, I’m pulling all the weight here.” His eyes darted to yours with a friendly sneer. On his count, you jammed all your weight into it, your feet slipping against the mud. This one was longer, and you shoved, shoved, pressed, pushed... the wheels crept back, nearly pushing out of the original divet. 

Bruce grunted to your right, and you made the mistake of seeing his clenched, focused expression. His eyes were squeezed closed, and threads of sweat glistened on his temples. Your focus slipped along with your grip, and the burden you’d lifted fell onto him. He groaned when it hit, the car losing an inch of ground, and you scrambled to regain footing with it echoing your thoughts. He was so fucking hot, jesus. 

Pressing, shoving, slamming, straining… the wheels unstuck and began to glide through shallower sludge. The ringing in your ears intensified when he shouted above the wind to let go and stood with his hands over his head, exposing the bottom half of his abs. You looked away, feeling perverted.

“Whew,” you focused on the sound of his footsteps rather than how out of breath he was. “Want to head back?”

A joke fell out of you before you realized the implications. “You’ll have to shower at mine to make it even.”

He shrugged. “If you want.”

And so you found yourself unlocking the door to your apartment ten minutes later, after he sped through side streets and took turns you were sure he wouldn’t make, making you squeal with a rush each time. When you got in the garage elevator, you mentally checked that you’d put away the condoms, that you had enough clean towels, that you weren’t out of detergent, that you had clothes he could borrow. And tried not to think about how he’d be naked in your bedroom bath.

With robotic monotony, pretending you were prepping the bathroom for a regular shower with yourself, you pulled out a towel and your baggiest hoodie and sweats, hoping it would be comfortable enough for him. You eyed your fruity body wash, curiously thinking ahead to how it might smell on him. 

Bruce asked if you needed any help from where he stood in the kitchen. When you said no, he paused, then asked if you had any pints of ice cream he could ‘borrow’. You teasingly lectured him about the meaning of the word from your hands and knees on the shower floor, pulling the odd hairs that were stuck in the drain to discard them.

He opened the freezer and noted a few pints, the most notable of them the single chocolate one: ‘Phish Food’. Marshmallow, caramel, and fudge. You hadn’t given him the OK yet, but his earlier attempt to cheer you up had been unsuccessful and he’d drenched you in mud. He opened a drawer and shut it loud enough for you to hear, grabbing the ice cream and slapping it onto the counter, untouched. “Never had this one, wow.” 

“That’s not the chocolate one, is it?”

His eyes trailed around the room to the dining area that had been reinstated. Absently, he continued to tease. “Can’t hear you.” He grinned. “But the marshmallow is really good.”

”Marshmallow?!”

He took a spoon from the door and tapped it along the rim of the cardboard as if he were scraping out the dregs. “Almost finished actually.”

You appeared in the doorway a second later looking disheveled. “Are you for—” Your eyes caught on his spoon resting on the outside of the ice cream, not even the plastic removed. “Ohh my god.” Biting your lip to reign in a smile, you swiped it off the counter and grabbed the spoon from his hand. 

“Didn’t know you were so serious about marshmallows.”

You groaned at the prank and slugged him in the arm on the way to the freezer. “You’re insufferable.” Even if he didn’t hear the lilt in your voice, from your side profile he could see the delight on your face. Good. One less moment hurting.

“Shower’s ready if you want to go first.”

Could go together. He blinked. “I’m the one who took the wrong turn, go ahead.”

“I’m the one who even wanted to go driving if we’re getting into it.” 

Bruce held out his hands in concession, walking past you to the shower. You shouted after him that you left an outfit on the counter for him, with towels in the cupboard. After a minute you heard the water turn on, and it took massive restraint not to sit on your bed and stare at the door to the bathroom. Until you remembered you could do that with your journal, pretending to do something. 

You grabbed a towel and laid it out on the mattress so you didn’t soak your bed with mud. Sat cross-legged, you pulled out the journal and a pen and suppressed a startle response when your eyes laid upon the condoms. The black ink swirled and sloped around the paper edges indiscriminately as the minutes passed. You threw some random sentences on there in case he glanced over at it when he got out, and heard the shower shut off soon after. Your face heated, and the scribbling intensified. 

Rustling of clothing, then the door opened. His eyes flashed when he saw you on the bed. His first thought was lewd, and it took two breaths to sate it. You did the same seeing his wet hair smoothed through by your hairbrush, the dew of the shower peppering his cheekbones. How in just two strides he could have you pinned to the bed. In his mind it was the other way around. 

“I like that body wash.” He’d slathered it over himself without thinking, then became extremely aware it smelled like you. He’d stood for a full minute breathing it in, pondering the ethics of buying the same one so he could always smell it. He rinsed it off when the haze began to lift and he started feeling like a fucking weirdo.

“There’s this fancy boutique called ‘Target’ that sells it if you’re ever in the area.”

He rolled his eyes and folded up his towel. “Funny.” He eyed the laundry hamper in the far corner and crossed your room to get it. The few strides where he passed your bed caught your breath in your chest. He looked back at you, smirking. His face looked cut from stone. “It’s where Alfred gets the Breyer’s.”

God how your heart pounded. Like a peripheral shadow, your mind seeing things that weren’t there. If you were any less certain of the dynamics at play, you might’ve thought he was flirting. That maybe both of you were. As it stood he walked past the bed and into the kitchen, speaking lazily. “Which ice cream can you part with?” So casual, comfortable. Like he lives here. It was fucking sexy. If only he’d christen your apartment.

His fingers tapped mindlessly on the freezer handle, turning over the jokes in his mind like a Rubik’s cube. Were they too offputting? He meant to put you at ease after being scared of him the night before, but was it overbearing? Unsettling? You waltzed into the kitchen, caked with mud, and yanked open the freezer to hand him PB S’more. The tips of his fingers vibrated where yours had grazed. 

“It’ll change your life.”

Initially, the shower was wonderful. The water soothed your cool, dirty skin, and your body felt light knowing he’d just taken one. That his hands had touched the knob you just did. That his hands had opened the same sliding door. Past that, the shower was excruciating. 

Water hitting the drying mud had reactivated it, making it heavy on your hair and, if anything, making it even more impossible to get out of your strands. It clumped and stuck no matter how you fussed with it, and you were left with an agonizing choice: have Bruce come help you, or force Mar to come over the next day (if she could), meaning indefinite time with heavy, smelly hair all over your pillows, clothes… fuck.

“Bruce?”

His heart leapt out of his chest and the spoon clattered to the ground. You called out again. “Can you help?” Your voice was too calm, and his fingers felt too warm, too cold, then disappeared altogether as he approached the bathroom door. He kept his eyes tilted to the ceiling as he pushed it open, holding his breath. He did his best not to let his mind wander on what you wanted. 

“Can you rinse my hair? The mud’s stuck.” 

Bruce pulled up his sleeves and got to work, his hands running on autopilot or they wouldn’t move at all. Every skim of his hand against your back, shoulders, ears, even feeling the slip of your wet hair through his fingers spurred a riot. You smelled like passionfruit and citrus, and your skin was petal-soft. As his fingertips brushed your neck he wondered if you might ever feel the same way. Was every touch searing against your skin? Every breath measured and silent, your thoughts liquid smoke being this close? 

He’d more than managed to remove the chunks of dirt, rinsing the length of your hair entirely clean. His hands hesitated above your scalp as he calculated if you’d want him to finish. The intimacy of this was so sweet; he’d never washed hair besides his own before, and it tucked into him a tenderness he never thought himself capable of. 

Just as he was about to pull his hands away, he bit his cheek and tried to sound as casual (not terrified) as he could muster. “Want me to wash the rest?”

Maybe it was the steam, but you felt the heat of his breath waft against exposed skin. Your face was hot as the Sahara, stiff and still as a statue; your knuckles paled clenching the sopping towel wrapped around you. You nodded because if you spoke, your yes would’ve come out like a whine. Tilting your head back, he grabbed the shampoo bottle and slathered it across his palms, gently working it into your hair. You shut your eyes to savor the sensation of his fingertips delicately raking along your scalp, tickling up your spine. “That feels really good.”

“Does it?” Breathy, barely a whisper, almost certain you couldn’t hear it above the water hitting the floor. Your shoulders dropped when he moved to massage behind your ears. The firmer he pressed, the more your shoulders rolled forward. 

“That’s even better.”

Dramatic for such a simple thing, he might’ve fought to acknowledge it if it hadn’t ripped through him so forcefully; nothing compared to the high of pleasing you. It filled a cavernous well in his chest with a buoyancy that almost knocked the wind out of him. 

He hadn’t realized his hands hadn’t moved, and resumed too quickly; you startled when he recommenced working the shampoo, and he flinched like his nervous system had a string tied to yours. He hoped for your sake it wouldn’t work in reverse the next time he panicked. If doing this was any less soothing, he could’ve tested the theory right then.

Your breathing struggled to cooperate, confused between I want his hands to devour me and I could fall asleep right here, right now. Your eyes that had flashed open fluttered shut, and your breathing shallowed through your mouth. Cutting off your senses one by one until all you felt were his strong, deft hands across your skin. You tucked your lower lip under your teeth and held your breath as he traced the back of your head, the crown of your hair, ooh, up to your temples… allowing a small inhale through your nose brought the sudsy aroma to the background, rendering your thoughts cloudlike, misty. 

Your neck had gone from stiff to slack over the past two minutes—he certainly wasn’t counting—to the point it bobbled with the movement of his palms. Your hands shifted on the towel, the tension in your knuckles lessening. Your guard was down further than he’d ever seen it, seemingly melting into his touch. His heart jammed against his ribs. 

The shampoo was mostly gone, only the odd bubble slipping through your strands. Not wanting to interrupt your zen, he gently squeezed out the length of your hair and reached for the conditioner. As he expected, you didn’t even notice when he soaked your hair with it. He rinsed his hands before going back to your scalp with long combing motions, circling behind your ears and temples as he waited to rinse. 

Just when he thought he’d heard a snore, your weight fell fully into his hands. He rushed to support your back—one hand between your shoulders, the other fisting your towel to keep it from falling. Your conditioned hair swung back and stuck to his cheek when you gasped awake, grasping for the shower handle to steady yourself. 

“You fell asleep while I finished your hair.” 

You righted yourself and assumed control of your towel; your thoughts darted around the steamy bathroom, grateful that he hadn’t taken advantage of a slipped wardrobe. Your hand moved back to your hair, thick with conditioner. You didn’t recall him finishing the shampoo, let alone… your cheeks heated, self-consciousness creeping up your spine where his massage left fireworks. “Thanks.” 

His cue to exit. He mumbled something about it being no problem, and walked out to the kitchen. His hands flexed at his sides to either shake out the memory or encode it, he couldn’t tell. He stood in the kitchen while you finished up, feeling caged, like his body was in a mismeasured wetsuit. He glanced out the window to see if the signal was lit, and he couldn’t make anything out. Cars zigzagged below, people shouted, horns honked, ambulances skirted curbs, and the sky was dark night. He was never indoors when the sky looked like that. 

He caught himself eyeing the fridge, wondering what he might be able to fix for the both of you. His dizzy gaze flitted to the floor between his feet. His face tightened into a tense knot, knuckles going white as he gripped the counter’s edge. He’d liked that too much. Washing someone’s hair. Washing your hair. 

Bruce crossed his legs and faced the ceiling now, his shoulders dropping into the softness of the evening. He could make dinner for you both, enjoy some polite conversation, and—he uncrossed his legs, antsy and anxious, and surveyed your apartment. He went still with the brush of thick cotton on his skin. He didn’t do this. Never wanted this. Never even thought about it. It didn’t fit, and even if it did, it couldn’t. 

He winced when his vision snagged on the note. The shred of paper swayed against his breath as he held it. Did you appreciate it? Did you want more of them? Shards of glass danced in his throat and heat stung his face; he set it down as quickly as he had picked it up. 

Washing your hair, getting you coffee, spending nights inside, redecorating a room just in case you wanted to come over, not to mention… it might’ve been easier if this was a passing fixation; something told him this was a cigarette half-pressed into the tray, lingering and domineering. Maybe he could snuff it out, but the stench likely already filled the room and baked into the fabrics. Didn’t mean he had to sit in it and breathe it in, though.

You wiped the sleep from your eyes and wrapped your hair in a towel. You pulled on sweats and a tee, lotioning up your arms and slathering moisturizer on your heated face. Your hair was grateful for his assistance, but were you? You were supposed to be severing, creating distance between the both of you. You didn’t think that included nearly drowning in the shower half-naked while he massaged you to sleep. But… your fucking soul had relaxed for the first time in years when he touched you. 

You squinted. No, the first time since the night Miller attacked. In his arms for the first time. When everything was finally quiet. The room went still with the implication, soured by the impending trip home for the last time. You bit your cheek.

He grabbed a grocery bag and stuffed his muddy clothes inside. When his body tried to reject the notion of leaving, he reminded himself it wasn’t for lack of wanting, it was due to it. He frustrated his logic and patience, retelling himself that your life was quaint, punctuated by normal things like a normal person, and it would be a bad thing for him to interrupt that. A terrible thing.

Missing the click of the bathroom door opening, he turned toward your doorway when you stepped out; your face clean and bright, a towel wrapped in a short spiral atop your head. The light hit your cheekbones and his bag slipped to the floor. He sucked in a tight breath and cleared his throat, slingshot out of the weeds back into the clouds. 

There was nothing he could do about his legs walking to the fridge, or his question about what you had to eat; nor his clarification that he didn’t want something for him, he wanted to make something for, um, the both of you, and no, he was hungry too, and while he cooked you could pick a show, and it really wasn’t a problem at all, he never got to cook enough with Alfred around, don’t even worry about it. Damn. There was just something about being in service of you. 

And there he was, straight from this morning’s musings: situated at your stovetop fixing you something—you hadn’t had sex, which you were sure was hidden somewhere in your earlier daydream, but you had been close in a way that strangely didn’t feel too far off.

You peered at him while he cooked and felt a pull to feel embarrassed about the off-brand noodles and cheap marinara. Dressed in tattered black clothing and doing absolutely nothing a typical rich guy did, it was easy to forget that he was a billionaire, and at some level used to opulence. He cracked open the dollar marinara without a second glance, and you twiddled your thumbs. 

He was dangerous. Violent. Isolated. A man with so much power he could destroy you however he wanted and get away with it. Get praised for it, even. He could buy, bully, or hurt anyone into anything, yet here you were visualizing him with a halo. Dangerous, you reminded yourself as your eyes followed him grabbing the wooden spoon to fold the sauce in. Violent, it continued, desperate to protect, though you’d never felt more protected than in Bruce’s presence. 

“How much do you want?” He looked over his shoulder and you could’ve melted into a puddle. Maybe he’d earned a bit of that mesmerizing halo. 

You ate wordlessly, save an initial thanks and yeah. The way his eyes shifted you couldn’t tell if he actually wanted to be there, so you didn’t push your presence onto him with conversation. Bruce already felt like enough of an intruder, so he waited for you to initiate. It seemed like you wanted some silence. You both kept it, until you noticed he looked lost in thought.

You set aside the few noodles sticking to the edges of the bowl. He had finished his minutes ago, vacillating between the eating speed of a mouse and a vacuum dependent on the meal. Note: he likes spaghetti. “What’s up?”

His tone was tentative. “Can we talk about Oz?”