#which would have been helpful were any in the cast. to ground that

[satansdarlin]

Marigold margins

Chapter two

Ceo!Tim Drake x assistant fem!reader

Notes: hammered this out when I was supposed to be sleeping! Also I'm twenty now :0! Not beta read this time so excuse any grammar errors. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! Tell me what you think! I love to hear your thoughts

Warnings: talk of the loss of a parent, toxic work environments, talk about how a sugar daddy relationship can be toxic (not in this one tho!), referenced past cheating (all my homies hate Josh and Alexia), straight up attempted murder (cause that bitch knows you don't know how to swim), sickeningly sweet love confessions, Thomas being a bit of a cockblock but we love him.

Word count: 10k

Rating: T

Playlist

The restaurant was a world apart from anything you'd experienced before. Gotham's most exclusive Vietnamese restaurant wasn't just a dining establishment – it was a temple of culinary artistry. Crystal chandeliers cast soft golden light over tables draped in pristine white linens, each setting a carefully curated masterpiece of silver and crystal.

You felt like an imposter.

Your pale yellow dress – the nicest thing in your wardrobe, carefully selected after three panicked phone calls to your sister – suddenly felt woefully inadequate. The other patrons looked like they'd stepped out of a high-fashion magazine, all carefully tailored suits and designer jewelry that probably cost more than your entire year's rent.

The hostess – impossibly elegant in a tailored red silk uniform that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe – looked you up and down with a gaze that made you want to shrink into yourself.

"Name?" Her tone was crisp, professional, and utterly intimidating.

"I'm, um, here with Timothy Drake?" The words came out as a question, your confidence evaporating under her scrutiny.

Her perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. "I don't believe we have—"

"There you are." Tim's voice cut through your mounting anxiety like a warm knife through butter. He appeared beside you, immaculate in a charcoal suit that looked like it had been tailored by angels. His hand settled on the small of your back – warm, reassuring, possessive.

The hostess's demeanor changed instantly. "Mr. Drake, your table is ready. Right this way."

You found yourself guided through the restaurant, feeling like you were floating. Tim's touch was steady, grounding you even as your mind raced. The other diners seemed to part like a sea, heads turning in recognition.

"Sorry about traffic," you mumbled, fingers nervously smoothing the fabric of your dress.

Tim leaned in, his breath close to your ear. "I could have sent a car," he murmured. "One of the company's autonomous vehicles would have—"

"And that," you interrupted, finding a spark of your usual banter, "would be even more unprofessional than this, Mr. Drake."

The nickname made his eyes dance with amusement. "We're not at the office," he said, pulling out your chair with a fluid motion that spoke of years of practiced elegance. "Just Tim. Please."

As you sat, you couldn't help but marvel at the contrast between you. Tim moved through this world like he was born to it – which, technically, he was. You, on the other hand, felt like an actress who'd wandered onto the wrong set.

The menu was a work of art, more like a leather-bound book than a list of dishes. Golden-edged pages revealed delicacies you'd only read about, prices conspicuously absent – a sure sign that if you had to ask, you couldn't afford it.

"Have you ever had real Vietnamese cuisine?" Tim asked, his menu folded casually beside his plate.

You shifted uncomfortably. "Define 'real'?"

His laugh was soft, meant only for you. "Not from a food truck or a strip mall restaurant."

"Hey," you mock-protested, "those are cultural institutions!"

A waiter appeared, as if summoned by magic. Crystal water glasses were filled, a wine list presented to Tim with the reverence usually reserved for religious texts.

"The 2015 Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, sir?" the waiter suggested.

Tim's fingers brushed yours across the table. "What do you think?"

The wine probably cost more than your monthly salary. You swallowed, suddenly feeling very out of your depth.

"I'm more of a craft beer girl," you admitted.

Tim's smile was blinding. "Good. Because I am too. Though don't tell my family."

Something in that moment – his genuine smile, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room – made all the elegance around you fade into background noise.

"So," you leaned forward, "tell me something real. Something the tabloids don't know."

His eyes glinted with a promise of secrets about to be shared. Tim leaned back, a challenge dancing in his eyes. "Something real, huh? Most people think they know me – Timothy Drake, Wayne heir, tech prodigy. But nobody knows the real me."

The waiter returned, setting down an array of dishes that looked more like art installations than food. Delicate rice paper rolls, a steaming pho that sent wisps of aromatic steam into the air, garnishes so precisely placed they looked like they'd been positioned with tweezers.

"I was seven," Tim began, picking up his chopsticks with the same precision the chef had used to arrange the meal, "when I first taught myself computer programming."

You raised an eyebrow. "Most seven-year-olds are playing video games. You were writing code?"

"Not just writing," he corrected, a hint of that boyish enthusiasm breaking through his polished exterior. "I was trying to hack my parents' computer to prove I could do it."

A laugh escaped you – loud, unrestrained, completely inappropriate for the refined setting. Several nearby diners turned, but Tim's eyes never left you.

"Did you succeed?" you asked, leaning forward.

His smile was pure mischief. "Of course I did. Took me three days. My mother was both furious and secretly impressed."

You took a bite of the rice paper roll, trying to look elegant and immediately realizing how difficult that was. A drop of sauce landed on your dress.

"Shit," you muttered.

Tim slides a napkin toward you, but there's something soft in his eyes. "It's just a dress," he says simply. "Not like the world will end."

It wasn't just a napkin. It was a perfectly pressed white linen napkin that probably cost more than your dry cleaning budget for a year. You dabbed at the spot, acutely aware of how out of place you felt.

"Your turn," Tim said. "Something real about you that nobody knows."

You hesitated, twirling your chopsticks. "I... can't actually use these very well."

His laugh was unexpected. Full. Rich. The kind of laugh that made other diners turn and smile, even if they didn't know the joke.

"tell me something actually real," he prompted again, his eyes holding a mix of curiosity and challenge.

"When I was in college," you admitted quietly, a mischievous edge creeping into your voice, "I may have orchestrated the complete academic downfall of six guys from Gotham University."

Tim's laugh burst out unexpectedly, sharp and surprised. "You got them expelled?"

"They had cut up photos of my sister Indi from magazines," you exclaimed, a fierce protectiveness blazing in your eyes. "Hung them in their dorm with these... disgusting annotations. No one makes gross comments about my sister without consequences."

Your voice was matter-of-fact, but there was a steel underneath that made Tim's eyes widen. He leaned closer, fascinated.

"What did you do?" he asked, genuinely intrigued.

A small, dangerous smile played across your lips. "Let's just say their academic records became... quite complicated. Plagiarism allegations. Lost recommendation letters. Academic conduct hearings." You shrugged. "By the time I was done, they were lucky to transfer to community college."

Tim's laughter was a mix of shock and admiration. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"Wise choice," you winked.

The conversation hung between you - a delicate balance of humor and intensity. Tim's fingers traced patterns on the pristine white tablecloth, his next words carefully chosen.

"Most people think I'm just the tech genius of the Wayne family," he said softly. "But my first love was actually marine biology."

You blinked, caught off guard. "Marine biology? Really?"

"Spent an entire summer when I was fourteen volunteering at the Gotham Aquarium," he admitted, a soft vulnerability replacing his usual polished exterior. "I wanted to save every single sea creature. Drove my family absolutely mad. I still have a boat bruce bought me for it."

The waiter returned, setting down two steaming bowls of pho. The aroma was intoxicating – star anise, beef broth, fresh herbs creating a symphony of scent that made your mouth water.

"What changed?" you asked, watching Tim expertly manipulate his chopsticks. "Why didn't you become a marine biologist?"

His smile turned slightly rueful. "Reality of the Wayne legacy, I suppose. Family expectations are... complicated."

You understood that. Family expectations were a language you'd spoken fluently your entire life. The weight of unspoken rules, inherited dreams, and silent sacrifices - you knew that terrain intimately.

"My turn, huh?" You traced the rim of your water glass, your voice soft but steady. "My father died when I was fifteen. Lung cancer - a delayed consequence of a Joker gas attack years earlier. Most people don't understand how something like that lingers, how toxicity can take years to kill you."

You looked up, meeting Tim's gaze directly. No apology in your eyes, just a raw, unvarnished truth.

"He made me promise something before he died," you continued. "Not just me, but all my sisters. 'Never stop fighting for what you want most in life.' Not in a motivational poster kind of way. But like a mission. A directive."

Tim's hand moved across the table, his fingers barely touching yours. Not a gesture of pity, but of connection. Understanding.

"Some legacies are survival instructions," he said quietly. It wasn't a question. It was a statement of solidarity.

You appreciated that he didn't say "I'm sorry." Those words had lost meaning years ago.

"Want to know something else?" Tim's smile shifted - part mischief, part vulnerability. "I've been wanting to ask you out for months."

"No way," you laughed, the sound low and disbelieving. "Me? Of all people?" Your eyebrow arched, a challenge dancing in your eyes. "Absolutely not."

Tim's smile didn't falter. If anything, it deepened - a mix of amusement and something more profound. "Oh, but yes way," he countered, his fingers still intertwined with yours. "The universe works in strange ways."

You'd heard that before. Gotham was a city of strange ways, of unexpected connections.

"The truth," Tim continued, leaning closer, "is always more complicated." His voice dropped, intimate. "You're the first person who's ever looked past the surface. Who sees beyond the Drake heir, beyond the Wayne successor. Who sees just... me."

The words hung between you - vulnerable, honest, dangerous.

The food arrived like a distraction, a symphony of colors that seemed almost too artful to disturb. Delicate rice paper rolls that looked like they'd been crafted by an artist, not a chef. Steam rising from a soup that promised complexity. Crisp pancakes that looked more like small architectural models than something meant to be eaten.

"Eat," Tim encouraged, his eyes never leaving yours. "No nerves required."

Your chopsticks felt awkward, clumsy. Tim's movements, by contrast, were fluid - each motion precise, economic. A dancer's grace, a programmer's efficiency.

The first bite exploded across your tongue - layers of flavor so complex they almost seemed impossible. Nuanced. Unexpected. Nothing like any Vietnamese food you'd experienced before.

"Good?" Tim asked, and the word was loaded with something more than simple curiosity.

"Incredible," you admitted. And you weren't just talking about the food.

Outside, Gotham's night was falling. City lights began to sparkle - a million stories unfolding in the darkness. But inside this restaurant, in this moment, there was only the two of you. The elegant space. The extraordinary food. And a connection that felt like it was writing its own unexpected story.

The evening was drawing to a close, and the last thing you wanted was for it to end. The tension between you and Tim was electric - professional boundaries blurring with each passing moment. One more hour, and you'd be dangerously close to crossing lines that couldn't be uncrossed.

Gotham's night air bit through your jacket as you stepped outside, the city's chill a stark contrast to the warmth of the restaurant.

"Metropolis," you said softly, a statement and a promise. Your feet shifted, reluctant to create distance between you.

Tim's gaze was warm, understanding. But there was something else brewing beneath the surface - a careful consideration you recognized instantly.

"I spoke with Bruce," he began, each word measured. "About us. About potential... complications."

You tensed slightly. The unspoken implications hung between you - this could work, or this could spectacularly fall apart.

"A contract," Tim continued, watching your reaction carefully. "Not what you're thinking. An NDA. A way to protect both of us. Professionally and personally."

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. "A contract? Like some kind of corporate romance clause?"

Tim's laugh matched yours - nervous, excited, slightly ridiculous. "Something like that. Bruce thought it might provide a framework. Protection."

"Romantic," you deadpanned, but your eyes were sparkling.

"Bruce was never known for his romantic sensibilities," Tim shot back.

A soft silence settled between you, the city's background noise a distant hum. Tim's hands were tucked into his coat pockets, but you could see the tension in his shoulders - a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

"So," you said finally, your breath creating small clouds in the cold Gotham air, "a contract that essentially says what, exactly?"

Tim's smile was equal parts nervous and calculated. "Mutual discretion. Clear boundaries. Protections for both of us if things become... complicated." He paused. "Bruce suggested it might help us navigate the professional complexities."

You appreciated the directness. In Gotham, in your world, nothing was ever simple. Relationships were chess matches, and Tim was proposing a detailed playbook.

"And if I want to play?" The question hung between you, loaded with possibility.

"Then we play carefully," Tim responded, his voice low. "Very carefully."

The streetlights cast a golden glow, creating a bubble of intimacy in the middle of a city that never truly slept. Gotham watched, perpetually curious, perpetually waiting.

“I can do careful,” you hummed sweetly and stood on the tips of your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek making him flush red in the face. You heard a honk and looked over and saw scarlet's car. “That's my ride. See you in Metropolis, Mr. Drake”

“I'm never going to get you to just call me Tim all the time, am i?” His voice filled with mirth and teasing as he smiled at you.

“We will see, sir” you chirped, giving a mock salute before going off to your sister's car.

.

.

.

"That should be everything," Scarlet declared, setting down the final box in the spacious Metropolis penthouse. She let out a low whistle, surveying the room. "Quite the setup your boyfriend arranged."

"He's not—" You sighed, catching yourself, maybe you were, you werent sure. "Tim just needs me close for our work."

Scarlet's eyebrow arched, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Right. Just work."

You rolled your eyes, recognizing the familiar teasing. "You sound just like Indi and Dick."

Her laugh was soft, but her gaze grew serious. Stuffing her hands into her pockets, Scarlet studied you with a mixture of concern and pride. "You sure you'll be okay out here? It's a hell of a long way from Gotham."

The concern was layered—part sisterly protection, part lingering grief. You both knew how much had changed since your father's death.

"I need this," you said quietly. "A fresh start. Away from... everything."

"Away from Josh," Scarlet corrected, her tone hardening. "I still offer to break his kneecaps, by the way."

"Calm down, Vito Corleone," you chuckled.

For a moment, Scarlet looked less like the fierce small business owner and more like the sister who had helped raise you. Her fingers traced the edge of a nearby box—an old nervous habit from childhood.

"I worry," she admitted. "Ever since dad..."

You moved closer, placing a hand on her arm. "I know. But I'm not alone. I've got you. Indi. Petal. Mom. And now, this opportunity with Tim."

Moisture gathered in Scarlet's eyes. "You're going to do amazing things. I know it."

The hug was tight, filled with the familiar scents of lavender, flower shop soil, and citrus cleaning products that defined Scarlet.

"How's the shop? How's Harkin?" you asked, sensing she needed to shift focus.

Her smile transformed her entire demeanor. "Growing like a weed. He's 'helping' me arrange flowers—which means creating beautiful, chaotic messes."

"Sounds exactly like his mother," you teased.

"Careful," Scarlet mock-warned. "I have connections with every florist in Gotham. I could make your professional life very interesting."

You raised an eyebrow. "Weaponized flower arrangements?"

"Not a threat. A promise."

Laughter dissolved the remaining tension. Outside the penthouse windows, Metropolis awaited—a canvas of new possibilities.

"Call me," Scarlet insisted as she prepared to leave. "Every. Single. Day."

"Yes, mom," you retorted, the affection clear.

After she departed, you stood amid the boxes—each one a symbol of transformation, of escape, of hope.

Your phone buzzed.

From: Tim

Everything settled in?

To: Tim

Almost. My sister just threatened to weaponize flower arrangements if I don't call her daily.

From: Tim

Remind me to never get on her bad side either.

A smile played on your lips. Metropolis wasn't just a new city. It was a new beginning.

.

.

.

The weeks blurred together, each day more demanding than the last. You could feel the tension building—in your jaw, in Tim's posture, in the very air around your work.

You were on a call, your tone clipped and professional, when Tim entered the room. His face was a map of stress, fingers rubbing his temples. Their eyes met—a silent acknowledgment of the mounting pressure.

The phone call was a masterclass in professional restraint. Your voice, crisp and controlled, sliced through the potential client's growing agitation.

"Mr. Drake's schedule is completely booked," you stated, each word precisely calibrated. "We cannot accommodate additional meetings at this time."

Tim watched from the doorway, a silent observer to your professional ballet. The muffled sounds of argument filtered through the phone's speaker—frustration, desperation, the kind of negotiation that happened when someone was used to getting their way.

"I understand your concerns," you continued, a razor's edge of patience threading through your tone. "If you could provide a more comprehensive proposal, I'd be happy to review it for potential future consideration."

Another pause. Your fingers drummed a subtle rhythm against the desk—the only outward sign of your mounting irritation.

"No," you said firmly. "Mr. Drake maintains strict boundaries regarding business communications. Discretion is paramount in our work."

When you finally ended the call, the silence felt like a physical thing. You exhaled—long, controlled, a study in professional composure.

Tim's chuckle was low, tinged with exhaustion. "Problems?"

Your smile was wry, weathered. "Just another client who believes the rules don't apply to them."

The subtext was clear. The Metropolis transfer—once a promising strategic expansion—had become a crucible of unexpected challenges. New clients, competing interests, a constant barrage of professional obstacles had transformed their work into a high-wire act of precision and patience.

"I'm starting to think Samantha might have been right about the market volatility," you admitted, shuffling papers that seemed to multiply with each passing moment.

Tim's jaw tightened. The mention of Samantha was a deliberate provocation, and he knew it.

"We're not giving her the satisfaction," he responded, the words clipped.

You raised an eyebrow, a challenge masked as curiosity. "Competitive?"

"Always," he said. But beneath the professional veneer, a hint of his younger self emerged—that brilliant, driven individual who'd never backed down from a challenge.

"Coffee?"

It wasn't a question. It was survival.

The break room was a sanctuary of sorts—a small pocket of relative calm in their storm of professional intensity. The coffee machine gurgled, filling the space with a rich, bitter aroma that spoke of long nights and endless negotiations.

Tim's phone buzzed. The caller ID read "Dick"—a name that immediately sparked a warning look from Tim.

"Don't," he said, catching your inquisitive glance.

"Don't what?" Innocence personified.

"Whatever matchmaking scheme Dick and Indi are plotting." No real heat in the words. Just resignation.

Outside, Metropolis stretched beneath gray skies—a city of perpetual motion, of opportunities hidden behind concrete and glass. Much like the relationship developing between you and Tim. Professional. Intense. Something more.

"We're going to make this work," you muttered. A promise. A prayer.

Tim looked at you—truly looked. Past the stress. Beyond the tense shoulders and dark circles. He saw potential. Resilience. Something profound.

"Together," he confirmed.

The word hung in the air. Weighted. Promising.

Your phone buzzed. Scarlet, as always, a lifeline.

From: Scarlet

Coffee count? Eating actual food today?

You showed Tim the message. He laughed, a sound that broke through the professional tension.

"Indi's more responsible sibling" he observed.

"Careful," you warned. "She weaponizes flower arrangements."

As if summoned by the conversation, a delivery arrived. A small, elegant bouquet. The card read: "Survive. Thrive. Love you."

Something soft passed over Tim's expression. A vulnerability quickly masked by professional composure.

"We've got this," he said quietly.

And for the first time in weeks, you believed him.

.

.

.

The first true glimpse of Timothy Jackson Drake's anger wasn't a explosion. It was precise. Surgical. Triggered by a rumor that threatened everything you'd both been building.

A coworker's casual observation. You and Tim, lunch, appearing more familiar than strictly professional.

The storm was just beginning.

The voices filtered through Tim's office door, muffled but unmistakable.

"Mr. Drake, we aren't saying personal relationships are forbidden, but consider the optics."

You continued typing, each keystroke a measured rhythm of professional composure. But you were listening. Always listening.

The arrangement between you and Tim was a delicate architecture. Not a relationship, not exactly. Something more calculated. Less romantic, more strategic. Bruce's recommendation hung over everything—a non-disclosure agreement disguised as professional courtesy.

Tim took care of things. A Prada handbag here. Covering unexpected expenses there. You weren't naive enough to call it love. You were pragmatic enough to recognize opportunity.

Inside the office, Tim's voice rose—a razor's edge of controlled fury.

"My assistant's performance is exemplary," he stated. Not a defense. A declaration.

You knew the game. Every interaction choreographed. Lunches that could pass as strategy meetings. Texts that whispered professional necessity. Gifts positioned as performance incentives.

The door opened. Tim emerged—professional armor firmly in place, save for the microscopic tension in his jaw.

"Pull the quarterly reports," he instructed. Not a request.

You understood immediately. Performance metrics as weaponry. A clinical dismantling of any suggestion of impropriety.

Your phone buzzed. Indi's perpetual concern.

From: Indi

You're being careful?

To: Indi

Always.

Tim's fingers flew across his keyboard—composing what you knew would be a surgical email. Destroying potential narratives before they could take root.

"Coffee?" you asked.

"Already brewing," he responded, because you always were.

The first true fracture came later. Not during the meeting. After.

His office. Private territory. The walls seemed to breathe with unspoken tension.

"I've never seen you so calm," you remarked.

Tim's response was immediate. "I'm not calm."

A muscle ticked in his cheek. Fury, precisely contained. "I'm furious they would dare question your competence. Your integrity."

You stepped closer. An instinctive movement. Grounding.

"Tim—"

The space between you was charged. Not with anger. Something more complex. More dangerous.

Metropolis stretched outside—a city of ambition, of carefully constructed facades. Much like the relationship developing between you and Tim.

Professional. Intense. Undefined.

Precisely where you both wanted it.

"They don't truly see you," Tim said, his voice a low, controlled intensity that could slice through steel. "Just another face. A convenient target."

The space between you vibrated with unspoken tension. Professional. Personal. Something impossibly complex.

His hand caught your wrist—not a restraint, but a connection. Firm. Deliberate.

"I see you," he repeated. Each word a precise instrument. A vow. “Do you know what I see? What you are?”

You knew the game. The careful dance you'd choreographed. Bruce's recommendations echoing in every interaction. Boundaries drawn with surgical precision.

"I'm the one who understands the numbers," you murmured. "The one who keeps this machine running."

His grip softened. A single finger tracing the delicate skin of your inner arm—a touch that defied every professional protocol you'd both meticulously constructed.

"The one," Tim said, "who makes me want to break every rule we've set."

City lights filtered through the office windows. Metropolis—a backdrop to your carefully modulated tension.

"Tim," you warned. A plea. A boundary.

He was close. Close enough that you could feel the heat of him. The controlled fury. The restrained desire.

"Just one moment," he said. Not a question. Not quite a demand.

The line between professional and personal blurred. Dissolved.

His kiss was precise. Controlled. A claim and a surrender wrapped into one moment of absolute clarity.

When he pulled back, you were breathless. Flushed. Changed.

"Remember," Tim said, "who you are to me."

You nodded. A return to form. To function.

"Reports," he instructed.

And just like that, the moment dissolved. Professional composure restored.

.

.

.

Performance reports became your weapon. Tim's legendary meticulousness combined with your strategic brilliance—a combination more surgical than any board meeting could anticipate.

"They're searching for weakness," Tim murmured, documents spread between you like battle plans.

The office was silent. Just desk lamps. City lights. The soft rustle of paper.

"They won't find it," you responded. Your phone buzzed. Indi.

From: Indi

Message: Heard through the grapevine you're causing board drama. Need me to come weaponize some PR?

To: Indi

Message: Absolutely not.

Tim glanced over, catching your slight smile. "Your sister?"

"Offering to commit professional warfare on my behalf," you deadpanned.

He chuckled. A rare sound these days.

The Metropolis expansion was proving more challenging than anticipated. Tech companies were circling, sensing vulnerability. The board's whispers about your relationship were just one pressure point.

"We could make a statement," Tim suggested, not for the first time.

"And say what? That we're... what exactly?" You raised an eyebrow. "Professionally involved? Personally connected?"

The space between those definitions was where you lived now.

A knock interrupted. Martin Reynolds – the board member who'd been most vocal about your "inappropriate relationship" – stood in the doorway.

"Ms. (Y/L/N)," he said, deliberately not looking at Tim, "a moment?"

Tim's hand – almost imperceptibly – brushed yours under the desk. A silent warning. A promise.

The game was just beginning.

You followed Mr. Reynolds out into the hall, who glanced around for a moment, ensuring no one was within immediate earshot.

"You wished to speak to me, sir?"

"With all due respect, ma'am, I'd like to make a suggestion." His tone was clipped and lined with a superiority that made you want to claw his eyes out. "End whatever little situation you have with Mr. Drake before it ruins you."

You gaped at the audacity of this man for a moment before your eyes narrowed. "Mr. Drake and I's connection outside of work hours is not of company concern, sir."

Reynolds leaned in, his voice low and threatening. "Do you really think you're the first assistant to believe she can navigate a relationship with her boss? I've seen careers destroyed for far less."

Your spine straightened. You'd grown up with Indi as a sister and survived Scarlet's protective fury and had helped raise the youngest of your sisters into a formidable young woman. A middle-aged board member attempting to intimidate you was child's play.

"Are you suggesting, Mr. Reynolds, that my professional performance has been anything less than exceptional?" Each word was precisely placed, a verbal chess move.

He faltered slightly. The quarterly reports – the ones you and Tim had meticulously prepared – spoke for themselves. Your metrics were impeccable. The Metropolis office had seen a 17% increase in efficiency since your arrival.

"I'm suggesting," he said, recovering his bluster, "that personal entanglements compromise professional judgment."

A laugh – short, sharp – escaped you before you could stop it. "With all due respect, sir, the only compromise I see is your apparent inability to recognize talent when it's directly in front of you."

Tim's approach was subtle. You didn't hear him, but suddenly he was there, a presence just behind you. Not intervening, but clearly present.

"Is there a problem?" Tim's voice was silk over steel.

Reynolds straightened, the bravado momentarily deflating. "Mr. Drake. Just having a professional discussion with your... assistant."

"My executive assistant," Tim corrected, a razor's edge to the words. "Is there something specific you needed to discuss about our recent performance reports?"

The hall seemed to compress, tension thrumming between them. You were acutely aware of the strategic positioning – Tim slightly behind you, a silent support, letting you handle the confrontation.

Reynolds knew he was outmaneuvered. "No," he said finally. "Nothing further."

As he walked away, Tim's hand brushed yours – so briefly anyone watching would miss it. A moment of connection. Of solidarity.

"Lunch?" he asked, as if nothing had happened.

Your smile was pure defiance. "Absolutely."

The walk to the cafeteria was charged. Tim's mind raced, replaying the interaction. Reynolds' thinly veiled threats. Your sharp-edged response. The way you'd stood your ground, unflinching.

"You know," he said as you entered the elevator, "I'm starting to think you enjoy these confrontations."

Your laugh was sharp. Bitter. "Not so much enjoyment as necessitate."

The elevator doors slid shut, sealing you in a capsule of forced intimacy. Tim leaned against the wall, studying you. Really seeing you for the first time since the whole Reynolds debacle began.

"I never thanked you," he said quietly. "For handling that. With Reynolds."

You shrugged, but there was a tension in your shoulders. A tightness around your eyes that spoke of long-held frustrations.

"Don't," you said, too quickly. "Don't thank me for doing my job."

Ah. There it was. The crux of the issue.

"(Y/N)," he started, but the elevator dinged, doors sliding open to reveal the bustling cafeteria. The aroma of fresh coffee and reheated pizza wafted out, a stark contrast to the sterile hallways of Wayne Enterprises.

Tim hesitated, his hand hovering at the threshold. The urge to pull you aside, to find a quiet corner and hash this out, was strong. But the rational part of his brain knew that wasn't the answer. Not here, not now.

So he followed you into the fray, falling into step beside you as you wove through the lunchtime crowd. You moved with purpose, your posture straight and your gaze focused. No one would guess at the tension thrumming beneath your skin.

"Salad bar?" Tim asked, a peace offering. A chance to salvage some normalcy.

You nodded, a curt jerk of your head. No words, but the message was clear.

As you loaded up your tray with greens and vegetables, Tim found himself studying you. The set of your jaw, the furrow between your brows. He'd seen you angry before, but this was different. This was cold. Calculating.

"You know," he said softly, leaning in so only you could hear, "if you ever need a sparring partner, I'm your guy."

The joke fell flat. Your eyes never left the salad bar, but he could see the muscles in your back tense.

Right. Not the time for levity.

They found a table in the corner, as far from the crowds as possible. You sat across from him, arranging your food with mechanical precision.

Tim took a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly. The silence stretched between you, heavy with things unsaid.

"(Y/N)," he started, but the words tangled on his tongue. How did you even begin to address this? The double standards, the constant scrutiny, the need to be twice as good just to be seen as half as competent?

You looked up, meeting his gaze. There was a challenge there, a defiance that took his breath away.

"Don't," you said, your voice low and intense. "Don't look at me like that. Like I'm some fragile thing that needs protecting."

"I'm not," he protested, but the denial rang hollow even to his own ears.

"Yes, you are." Your knife scraped against your plate, a sharp sound in the quiet cafeteria. "You're looking at me like I'm a victim. Like I need you to fight my battles for me."

Tim's jaw clenched. He knew that look. That patronizing tilt of the head, that subtle shift in body language that said 'poor little girl, can't handle the big bad corporate world'.

It made his blood boil.

"That's not," he started, but you cut him off with a look.

"It is," you insisted, leaning forward. "It's exactly what you're thinking. You're wondering how I can handle myself, how I can stand up to men like Reynolds."

"I'm not," Tim said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were a lie. He had wondered that, in the moment. Had seen you standing tall and proud and fierce, and had felt a flicker of doubt.

"Well, stop," you said, sitting back. "Stop wondering, stop worrying, stop treating me like I'm made of glass."

Tim's hands curled into fists beneath the table. He wanted to argue, to defend himself. But the words wouldn't come.

Because you were right. He had been treating you differently, holding you to a different standard. And that was wrong.

"I apologize," he said finally, the words stiff and formal in his mouth. "I shouldn't have assumed."

You studied him for a long moment, searching his face. Then, slowly, you nodded.

"Apology accepted," you said, and just like that, the tension broke.

You went back to your salad, and Tim to his sandwich. The conversation flowed back to safer topics - work, the weather, the never-ending stream of emails.

But beneath it all, something had shifted. A new understanding, a deeper respect.

Tim Drake was many things - a vigilante, a detective, a genius. But today, he was learning to be something else. Your equal.

.

.

.

Morning sunlight filtered through your penthouse windows, illuminating an elegantly wrapped box outside your door. The tag made you sigh: 'a proper apology - T'. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, lay a dress that made your breath catch. Chamomile yellow silk, the kind of elegance that belonged at galas, not board meetings. Your laptop search for the designer nearly stopped your heart.

You hit Tim's speed dial. "Timothy Jackson Drake, did you seriously buy me a five thousand dollar dress as an apology?!"

His chuckle was warm, rich. "Guilty. But it's not just any dress. It's Valentino, that designer you mentioned loving at the charity gala last month."

Your fingers traced the impeccable stitching, betraying you even as you protested. "This is excessive."

"Says the woman who orchestrated a complete restructuring of our Asia-Pacific division in three days." The smile in his voice was audible. "But seriously, I wanted... I needed to show you that yesterday meant something. That I heard you."

You bit your lip, caught between admiration and unease. The gesture was thoughtful, intimate even - he'd remembered an offhand comment about your favorite designer. But it also highlighted the very power dynamic you'd fought against yesterday.

"Tim," you said softly, still running your fingers along the silk, "I can't accept this. It's too much."

His pause spoke volumes. When he finally responded, his voice had lost its playful edge.

"This isn't about the money, (Y/N). This is me saying I see you. As my equal. My partner. Yesterday made me realize I needed to show that, not just say it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. You closed your eyes, taking a steadying breath.

"I appreciate the sentiment," you said carefully. "But gifts like this... they create expectations. Obligations."

"I'm not trying to create obligations," Tim said, exasperation creeping into his tone. "I'm trying to show you that I value you. As a person. As my colleague. You're important to me."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died in your throat. Because maybe... maybe he was right. Maybe you were reading too much into this. Seeing shadows where there was only light.

"Keep it," Tim said, his voice gentle now. "Wear it to the gala next week. Show them all how wrong they are about you."

The gala. Of course. The annual charity event that was as much about business as it was about philanthropy. A chance to network, to make statements.

To make a point.

"Fine," you said, surprising yourself with the word. "I'll wear it. But only because it's a lovely dress."

"And because you look stunning in yellow," Tim added, his voice warm.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. "Flatterer."

"Always," he agreed, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

You hung up a moment later, still holding the dress. The silk was cool against your skin, a reminder of the promise – and the danger – that lay ahead.

The dress was beautiful. Tim's intentions were pure. But in the cutthroat world of Wayne Enterprises, even the most innocent of gestures could be twisted. Used against you.

You'd have to be careful. Cautious. But for now, in the early morning light, you allowed yourself a moment of indulgence.

Of possibility.

The next morning arrived too soon, the alarm jarring you awake with its insistent beep. You groaned, burying your face in the pillow, but the events of the day ahead refused to be ignored.

The gala. The dress. Tim.

With a sigh, you dragged yourself out of bed, stumbling to the closet where you'd hung the chamomile dress the night before. The silk shimmered in the low light, a promise of elegance amidst the chaos of your morning routine.

You showered quickly, taking extra care with your hair and makeup. Tonight was about making a statement, and you wanted to look your best.

As you slipped into the dress, you marveled at the way it hugged your curves, accentuating your assets without being overtly sexual.

You stepped back, taking in the full effect. The dress was perfect – elegant, sophisticated, but with a hint of something more. A whisper of danger beneath the surface.

Just like you.

A knock at the door startled you from your thoughts.

“Door is open, let yourself in,” you called out. The door swung open, revealing Tim in a tailored tuxedo. His blue eyes widened as he took in the sight of you, the chamomile dress clinging to your curves like a second skin.

"Wow," he breathed, stepping into the room. "You look... incredible."

You felt a flush of pleasure at the compliment, even as you tried to tamp it down. This was about making a statement, not fishing for compliments.

"Thank you," you said coolly, moving past him to grab your clutch. "I hope you don't intend to keep me waiting."

Tim chuckled, following you out into the hallway. "Wouldn't dream of it. I know better than to keep a lady waiting."

The ride to the gala was filled with small talk, the kind of inane chatter that filled the air at these sorts of events. You pointed out a few notable guests as they arrived, while Tim regaled you with stories of past galas gone wrong.

"One year," he said, his eyes twinkling in the dim light of the limo, "one year, I accidentally spilled red wine all over Bruce's date. He was furious. Threw me out of the car and made me walk home."

You couldn't help but laugh at the image, the sound escaping before you could stop it. Tim grinned, clearly pleased with the reaction.

"I've never lived it down," he confessed, shaking his head. "But hey, at least I learned to hold my drink."

The limo pulled up to the gala venue, the Starlight Ballroom, a glittering palace of glass and steel. You stepped out onto the red carpet, the flash of cameras blinding in the night.

Tim offered you his arm, ever the gentleman. You took it, ignoring the way your heart raced at the contact.

The Starlight Ballroom shimmered like a jewel box, crystal chandeliers casting prismatic light across the crowd of Metropolis elite. You smoothed down the chamomile silk of your dress - Tim's gift - and fought the urge to fidget with your clutch. The weight of eyes on you was tangible: board members, society mavens, all wondering about the nature of your relationship with Timothy Drake.

"Champagne?" Tim appeared at your elbow, two flutes balanced elegantly in his hands. In his perfectly tailored tuxedo, he looked every inch the billionaire CEO - except for the slight softness in his eyes when they met yours.

"My hero," you murmured, accepting the glass. The cool crystal anchored you, gave you something to do with your hands besides betray your nerves.

"Reynolds is watching," Tim said under his breath, his smile never wavering. "Third pillar from the left."

You didn't turn to look. You'd learned that much about these gatherings - never let them see you react. "Let him watch. We have nothing to hide."

Tim's fingers brushed yours as he took your empty glass, the touch sending electricity up your arm. "Dance with me?"

The orchestra was playing something slow and romantic - because of course it was. You let Tim lead you onto the floor, his hand settling at your waist with practiced ease. This close, you could smell his cologne, see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.

"You're thinking too loud," he murmured, guiding you through a turn.

"Someone has to," you shot back, but there was no heat in it. How could there be, when he was looking at you like that?

The music swelled, a slow, sultry beat that seemed to pulse in time with your heart. Tim pulled you close, his hand splayed across your back, drawing you flush against his body.

You moved together, your bodies finding a rhythm that was uniquely yours. The world fell away, the gala fading into the background as you lost yourself in the feel of him, the scent of his cologne, the heat of his skin.

When the song ended, you pulled back, breathless and flushed. Tim's eyes were dark, his gaze heavy with promise.

"Tim... I" your hands lingered on his shoulders and he hummed softly, gazing at you through hooded lids.

"Mmmhm?"

"I.."

"(Y/N), is that you?" A voice like honey laced with arsenic cut through the moment. You stiffened, your spine turning to ice. Slowly, you turned to face the architect of your past heartbreak. Alexia stood there, resplendent in a champagne-colored dress that probably cost more than your monthly rent, her smile sharp as a knife's edge.

"Alexia." Your voice came out steadier than you felt.

"(Y/N)!" She glided forward with practiced grace, enveloping you in a cloud of expensive perfume and false warmth. "It's been absolute ages!"

You remained rigid in her embrace, your arms hanging uselessly at your sides. The memory of finding her in your bed – in your bed with Josh – flashed unbidden through your mind.

Tim's hand found your waist, his touch grounding you. His fingers pressed ever so slightly into your skin – a silent reminder that you weren't alone.

"How... unexpected to see you here," you managed, extracting yourself from her embrace. The smile you offered felt like shattered glass on your lips.

Alexia's perfectly shaped eyebrows arched as her gaze slid to Tim, lingering just a heartbeat too long on the elegant cut of his suit. "And who might this be?"

"Tim Drake," he introduced himself with impossible smoothness, extending his hand. The way he said it – so casual yet commanding – sent a flutter through your stomach.

"Charmed," Alexia purred, her manicured fingers wrapping around his hand. She held on just long enough to make you notice, her thumb brushing his palm as she withdrew. "I don't suppose you're here alone?"

Your fingers curled into Tim's jacket before you could stop yourself. "Actually, Tim's my date."

"Is he now?" Alexia's smile didn't waver, but something flickered in her eyes – calculation, perhaps. Or hunger. "How... lovely."

She turned back to Tim, angling her body to partially exclude you from the conversation. "You must tell me how you two met. (Y/N) was always so... particular about her choices. After Josh, I mean."

The casual cruelty of the reference made your breath catch. Tim's hand tightened imperceptibly on your waist.

"Actually," he interjected smoothly, "we were just about to get some air. The terrace here is supposed to be spectacular."

"Oh, but you must save a dance for me later," Alexia called as you turned to leave, her voice carrying just enough to draw curious glances from nearby guests. "For old times' sake."

You didn't trust yourself to respond, letting Tim guide you through the crowd. But you could feel Alexia's eyes following you, calculating and cold as a snake's.

Later, when you found yourself alone by the pool, the click of heels on marble announced her arrival before her voice did.

"Quite the catch," she drawled, coming to stand beside you. "Better than Josh, I'd say. Though that's not saying much, is it?"

You turned to face her, tired of the games. "What do you want, Alexia?"

Her perfect smile faltered for just a moment. "Want? Can't I just want to reconnect with an old friend?"

"We stopped being friends the moment you chose to destroy everything I trusted you with."

"Oh please," she scoffed, mask slipping further. "You always were so dramatic. It was just sex. Besides," her lips curved into a cruel smile, "he wasn't exactly thinking about you that night."

The words hit like a physical blow, but you refused to let her see you flinch. "And that's supposed to make it better? That you both betrayed me so completely?"

"Betrayed you?" Alexia laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "Honey, you betrayed yourself. Always playing it safe, always so... proper. Josh needed more. Maybe Tim will too, eventually."

Your hands clenched at your sides, nails biting into your palms. "You don't know anything about Tim."

"Not yet," she agreed, her smile turning predatory. "But the night is young."

You stepped closer, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Stay away from him, Alexia. And stay away from me."

She merely laughed, the sound echoing across the water. "Come on, don't you wanna hear about how good I have it now?"

You paused, hand hovering over the ornate handle of the ballroom door. The rational part of your brain screamed at you to walk away, to deny her the satisfaction. But there was something magnetic about the moment – like watching a car crash in slow motion, knowing the impact was coming but unable to look away.

Pivoting slowly on your heel, you faced her with a carefully constructed mask of indifference. "Alright, Alexia. Dazzle me."

Her smile unfurled like a poisonous flower, perfectly painted lips curving with predatory satisfaction. "Oh, I think you'll find this particularly... interesting." She paused, savoring the moment like fine wine. "Wayne Enterprises just signed me as their new Director of Strategic Partnerships. I'll be working directly with Tim on all major accounts."

The words hit you like ice water in your veins. You fought to keep your expression neutral, even as your mind raced through the implications. Tim. Every day. In meetings, over coffee, late nights at the office...

"Funny," you heard yourself say, voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. "Tim hasn't mentioned anything about it."

"Hasn't he?" Alexia's eyebrow arched delicately. "Well, it's all very recent. The paperwork was just finalized today, actually. Tim and I had quite the... intimate discussion about my role." She emphasized 'intimate' just enough to make your skin crawl.

Your fingers curled into your palm, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake. The familiar whisper of inadequacy crept up your spine – the same voice that had haunted you after finding her with Josh. But something else stirred beneath the surface. Something harder, sharper.

"Although," you began, surprising yourself with the honeyed steel in your voice, "you might want to check that paperwork again. As Tim's executive assistant, I handle all his strategic partnerships." You watched the flicker of uncertainty cross her face. "And I don't recall seeing your name cross my desk."

The change in Alexia was instant – like a switch being flipped. Her perfectly composed facade cracked, revealing the raw fury beneath. Before you could react, her hands connected with your shoulders.

The world tilted.

The pool water shocked your system, stealing your breath. You flailed, your designer dress becoming a lead weight dragging you down. The underwater lights blurred into abstract shapes as panic clawed at your chest. Your lungs burned. You'd never learned to swim – a fact that had seemed inconsequential until this moment.

The water above you rippled and distorted, darkness creeping at the edges of your vision. Then – movement. Strong arms encircled your waist, pulling you up, up, up.

You broke the surface gasping, instinctively pressing your face into the crook of a familiar neck. Tim's cologne cut through the chlorine, grounding you as he lifted you from the pool.

"I've got you," he murmured against your hair, his voice rough with barely contained emotion. "You're safe. I've got you."

Water cascaded from your ruined dress as he carried you swiftly through the service entrance, away from prying eyes and whispered gossip. Your fingers clutched at his soaked shirt, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against your palm.

He shouldered open the door to a private bathroom, setting you down carefully on the closed toilet lid. "Don't move," he ordered, voice tight with concern. "I'll be right back."

You nodded numbly, watching droplets fall from your hair to the marble floor. Time seemed to stretch and compress oddly – you weren't sure if seconds or hours passed before Tim returned, arms full of pristine white towels.

He knelt before you, hands infinitely gentle as they moved to help you out of your waterlogged dress. "We need to get you warm," he murmured, but there was something else in his voice. Something dangerous. "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head, then stopped as the movement made the room spin slightly. "Tim..."

"Shh," he soothed, wrapping a towel around your shoulders. "We'll deal with her later. Right now, all that matters is you."

But even as his hands worked to warm you, you could see the cold fury building behind his eyes. Tim Drake was not a man who forgot. And Alexia had just made a very, very big mistake.

You shivered as the cool air kissed your wet skin, raising an army of goosebumps across your arms and legs. Tim's hands were steady as he wrapped a towel around your shoulders, then another at your waist, his movements precise yet tender.

"Think you can stand?" His voice was soft, brow furrowed with the kind of concern that made your chest ache.

You nodded, gripping his forearms as he helped you up. Your legs trembled beneath you like a newborn fawn's, but Tim's presence was solid, unwavering. His soaked suit clung to his frame, water still dripping from his usually perfectly styled hair, and something about seeing him so disheveled, so human, made your heart flutter traitorously in your chest.

The whispers followed you through the ballroom like persistent shadows. Did you see...? In the pool...? Drake's assistant... But they felt distant, meaningless against the steady rhythm of Tim's heartbeat where your hand pressed against his chest for balance.

He guided you to a secluded alcove, settling you onto a velvet sofa that probably cost more than your monthly salary. The fabric would be ruined by your wet clothes, but Tim didn't seem to care as he knelt before you, one hand resting carefully on your knee.

"I'm going to find you something dry to wear," he murmured, his thumb tracing an absent circle against your skin. "Then we'll get you home, okay?"

You managed a nod, sinking back into the sofa as exhaustion began to seep into your bones. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness that made your eyelids heavy.

When Tim returned, he held what looked like designer workout clothes. His touch was feather-light as he helped you change, his eyes carefully averted even though you were still in your slip. Ever the gentleman, even now.

"Better?" he asked, smoothing your damp hair back from your face with a gentleness that made your breath catch.

"Tired," you admitted, unconsciously leaning into his touch. "And mortified that half of Gotham's elite just saw me dripping all over their marble floors."

Tim's laugh was low and warm, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. "Trust me, they've seen worse at these things. Besides," his eyes softened, "I think I ruined the dramatic effect by jumping in after you in a three-piece Armani."

That startled a laugh from you, though it caught in your throat as you really looked at him – his ruined suit, his tousled hair, the way his eyes hadn't left your face since pulling you from the pool. Like you might disappear if he looked away.

"I should go," you whispered, the words feeling wrong even as you said them. "Before someone takes a photo of me in borrowed Lululemon."

Tim's hand stilled against your cheek, something flickering in his eyes before he slowly pulled away. "Let me take you home," he said, standing and offering his hand. "We should... talk. About Alexia. About everything."

The drive home was quiet, filled with the soft hum of the car's heater and the occasional brush of Tim's hand against yours as he shifted gears. When you finally reached your building, he insisted on walking you up, carrying your ruined dress in a designer shopping bag someone had procured.

The lights in your penthouse apartment flickered on, casting a warm glow over the hardwood floors. You kicked off the borrowed shoes with a sigh of relief, and then—

"Mrrrrrowww?" A long, creaky sound echoed from the kitchen, followed by the appearance of a distinguished-looking tuxedo cat. Thomas sauntered out, his black and white coat gleaming in the light, tail held high like a flag of greeting.

"Hey, old man," you cooed, bending to pet him, but he gracefully sidestepped your still-damp hand with an affronted look that only cats can truly master.

Tim's surprised laugh was warm and genuine. "You have a cat?" He watched as Thomas performed his elaborate greeting ritual, circling your legs before sitting just out of reach, green eyes studying Tim with regal assessment.

"This is Thomas," you said, fighting a smile as the cat turned his attention to Tim, whiskers twitching with interest. "He's particular about his humans. And apparently about wet hands."

Tim crouched down, extending his fingers toward Thomas. To your surprise, the cat moved forward immediately, butting his head against Tim's hand with a purr that sounded like a small motor.

"Traitor," you muttered fondly, watching as your normally aloof cat melted under Tim's attention. "He usually takes weeks to warm up to people."

Tim glanced up at you, a soft smile playing at his lips. "What can I say? I have a way with complicated personalities."

The weight of the evening suddenly pressed down on you – the party, Alexia, the pool, and now Tim kneeling on your floor, charming your cat while still wearing a soaked designer suit. It felt surreal, like a dream you might wake from at any moment.

"Tim," you started, not quite sure what you were going to say, but needing to say something.

He stood slowly, Thomas weaving between his legs. "We should talk," he said quietly, "but first, you should get warm and dry. Properly dry." His eyes were serious now, concern evident in the set of his shoulders. "Do you want me to stay?"

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with possibilities. You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly aware of how vulnerable you felt in the borrowed clothes, hair still damp and curling at the ends. The question lingered in the air, charged with unspoken meaning.

"Yes," you whispered, then cleared your throat. "Yes, I'd... like that."

Tim's expression softened. "Okay. Go change. I'll make us some tea."

"You know where everything is?" you asked, already knowing the answer. He'd been here countless times for late-night work sessions and early morning briefings, but this felt different somehow.

"Second cabinet on the left, top shelf," he replied with a small smile. "Go on. Thomas and I will handle things out here."

As if on cue, Thomas let out another creaky meow and padded after Tim toward the kitchen. You shook your head, still amazed at your cat's immediate acceptance of him.

In your bedroom, you peeled off the borrowed clothes, hanging them carefully over your shower rod. The hot water of the shower felt like heaven against your chlorine-scented skin, washing away the last physical traces of the evening. But Alexia's words still echoed in your mind, mixing with the sound of running water.

When you emerged, wrapped in your softest pajamas and warmest robe, you found Tim had made himself at home. He'd somehow procured dry clothes – you suspected he kept a change in his car for emergencies – and was sitting on your couch, two steaming mugs on the coffee table before him. Thomas was curled in his lap, purring contentedly.

"Better?" Tim asked, looking up as you approached.

"Much," you said, settling beside him on the couch and accepting the mug he offered. The familiar scent of chamomile wafted up, along with something else – honey, you realized. He remembered how you took your tea.

"So," he began carefully, his free hand still absently stroking Thomas, "want to tell me what really happened with Alexia?"

You stared into your mug, watching the steam rise in delicate spirals. "She... she said she's going to be working with you. At Wayne Enterprises."

Tim's hand stilled on Thomas's fur. "Is that what she told you?"

"She said she'd be your new Director of Strategic Partnerships." The words tasted bitter on your tongue.

To your surprise, Tim let out a short laugh. "Well, she certainly has an active imagination."

You looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"(Y/N)," he set his mug down, turning to face you fully. "Wayne Enterprises did receive her application, yes. But it was rejected two weeks ago. She didn't meet our requirements."

Relief flooded through you, followed quickly by embarrassment. "Oh."

"Besides," he continued, his voice softer now, "did you really think I'd hire someone without running it by you first? You're not just my assistant, you're..." he paused, something shifting in his expression. "You're important to me. Very important."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "Tim..."

He reached out, gently taking your mug and setting it beside his. "When I saw her push you," his voice had dropped, taking on an edge you rarely heard, "when I saw you go under..." His hands clenched briefly before relaxing. "I've never been so scared in my life."

"You jumped in after me," you said softly. "In your Armani suit."

"I would have jumped in wearing a tuxedo made of diamonds," he replied, dead serious. "I will always jump in after you, (Y/N)."

The weight of his words settled over you like a warm blanket. Thomas chose that moment to hop down from Tim's lap, padding away with an air of feline discretion.

"Even my cat approves of you," you murmured, trying to lighten the moment even as your heart raced. "He never likes anyone."

Tim's hand found yours, his thumb tracing patterns on your palm. "Maybe he just knows what I've known for a long time."

"And what's that?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.

He leaned closer, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek. "That I'm completely, utterly in love with you."

The world seemed to stop, narrowing down to just this moment – the soft brush of his thumb against your cheekbone, the warmth of his hand in yours, the way his eyes held yours with an intensity that took your breath away.

"Tim," you breathed, "I—"

"You don't have to say anything," he interrupted gently. "I just needed you to know. After tonight, after almost losing you... I couldn't keep pretending these feelings don't exist."

You shifted closer, your free hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling his heartbeat strong and steady beneath your palm. "What if I want to say something?"

His breath caught, hope flickering across his features. "Then I'm listening.”

"If I tell you the truth," your voice barely a whisper in the dim light of your apartment, "everything changes. We can't go back."

Tim shifted closer, the leather of your couch creaking softly beneath him. His hand was still on your cheek, thumb tracing invisible patterns that sent shivers down your spine. "Maybe I don't want to go back."

"The press would have a field day," you breathed, but didn't pull away. "Vicki Vale would write headlines for weeks. 'Wayne Heir Falls for Assistant: A Modern Cinderella Story.'"

His lips curved into a half-smile, eyes dark with something that made your heart stutter. "Let them write. I'll buy every newspaper in Gotham if I have to."

"Bruce—"

"Bruce has his own complicated love life to worry about," Tim murmured, his forehead coming to rest against yours. Your noses brushed, and you could feel his breath against your lips. "Besides, he's not the one I'm in love with."

The word hung between you, heavy with promise and possibility. Your fingers curled into the soft material of his shirt, anchoring yourself to this moment, to him.

"The board would talk," you tried one last time, even as your resolve crumbled like sand. "Your reputation—"

"Listen to me," Tim's voice was low, urgent. His other hand came up to frame your face, holding you like something precious. "I would give up Wayne Enterprises tomorrow. The money, the reputation, all of it. I'd walk away from everything if it meant having this – having you – for even a moment."

Your breath caught in your throat. "You can't mean that."

"Try me." His eyes met yours, blazing with an intensity that made you tremble. "Just say the words, (Y/N). Tell me you feel it too. Tell me I'm not alone in this."

Thomas chose that moment to leap onto the back of the couch, letting out a disapproving meow at the tension in the room. You couldn't help the small laugh that escaped, even as tears pricked at your eyes.

"Even my cat is telling me to stop being stubborn," you whispered.

Tim's thumb brushed away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "Smart cat."

You took a shaky breath, finally letting yourself say what you'd been holding back for so long. "I love you too. God help me, Tim Drake, but I'm completely in love with you."

The smile that broke across his face was like sunrise – slow, warm, and absolutely beautiful. He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, his eyes scanning your face as if memorizing every detail.

"Say it again," he breathed.

"I love you." The words came easier now, like they'd been waiting all this time to break free. "I love your brilliant mind, and your terrible coffee addiction, and the way you look at three in the morning when you're finally solving a problem that's been bothering you all day. I love—"

He kissed you.

It wasn't like the movies – there were no fireworks, no swelling orchestra. Instead, it was soft and sweet and achingly tender, like coming home after a long journey. His hands cradled your face like you were made of spun glass, even as yours fisted in his shirt to pull him closer.

When you finally broke apart, both breathless, Tim rested his forehead against yours again. "We're going to figure this out," he promised. "The press, the board, Bruce – none of it matters. We'll face it together."

"Together," you echoed, the word tasting like a promise on your lips.

From his perch on the couch, Thomas let out another creaky meow, as if sealing the deal. Tim laughed, the sound rich and warm.

"Does this mean I get joint custody of the cat?" he teased, reaching up to scratch Thomas behind the ears.

You smiled, leaning into his touch. "He already likes you better than me anyway."

"Impossible," Tim murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "But I'll settle for second place in his affections, as long as I'm first in yours."

"Always," you whispered, and knew with absolute certainty that you meant it. Whatever came next – whatever headlines Vicki Vale wrote, whatever the board whispered, whatever challenges lay ahead – you would face it together.

And somehow, that made everything else seem insignificant in comparison.

Thomas purred his approval, settling between you like he'd always belonged there. Like all of this had always been inevitable, just waiting for the right moment to fall into place.

Maybe it had been.

.

.

.

Taglist:

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[fideidefenswhore]

extremely annoyed in retrospect how often the phrase 'great whore' was scripted in BE.

[misswynters]

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝 Part One

pairing. ambessa x reader x sevika

warnings. kissing, sparring and kissing, touching, neck kisses, pet names (darling)

wc. i have no idea (i went overboard)

synopsis. You were sent on a mission to train sevika for an underground tournament, by non other than the tyrant herself, Ambessa Merdarda.

a/n. there needs to be more of these because i am in need. i keep making part twos because im indecisive also let me know if there’s any misspelling

note. it would greatly appreciated if you would not only just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. thank you!

Sweat clung to your brow as you stepped into the training room, its atmosphere oppressive and bathed in a dim crimson glow. The walls, which were made of steel, echoed with every movement. Scuffed mats covered sections of the concrete floor, marked by years of punishment from brutal sparring matches. Ambient heat radiated from flickering red lights overhead, casting jagged shadows that seemed to ripple with every movement. It wasn’t an ideal space for training, but Zaun didn’t do luxury, and neither did Ambessa.

Ambessa’s voice rang out from the elevated platform at the far end of the room, her piercing gaze fixed on the two of you. “Again,” she ordered, her tone sharp enough to cut through the humid air. “Don’t hold back this time. You’re wasting my time if you’re not going to make her bleed.”

Resentment prickled under your skin, but you bit your tongue. Ambessa’s presence had been the only thing keeping you in this hell of an assignment. Training Sevika for an underground tournament had sounded ridiculous when the offer first came to you. Why would a battle maiden brute like her need anyone’s help. But Ambessa had insisted, claiming your expertise was “essential” to Zaun’s victory. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Sevika stood in front of you, her large frame coiled with tension. Her metal arm glinted under the lights as her breathing stayed steady. Her gaze looked betrayed with annoyance. She wasn’t thrilled about being told what to do, let alone by you. The feeling was mutual. “You ready for another bruising, princess?” Sevika taunted, cracking her knuckles.

Rolling your eyes, you dropped into a fighting stance. “Keep talking, and I’ll make sure your metal arm isn’t the only thing out of commission.”

Her grin was predatory. “Such big words for someone so small.”

The session resumed with a flurry of blows. Sevika lunged first, her movements quick despite her size. You ducked under her swing, your fist connecting with her side. The impact barely fazed her, but it was enough to get her attention. She retaliated with a sweeping kick, forcing you to leap back to avoid losing your footing. The clash of flesh and metal echoed in the room as the two of you exchanged blows, your mutual irritation fueling every strike.

Sevika was too strong to take head-on. So you relied on precision and agility, darting around her strikes and aiming for weak spots. But Sevika wasn’t stupid. She adapted quickly, her strikes coming faster and more calculated. Her metal fist grazed your ribs at one point, and the shock of it made you stumble.

“Getting tired already, sweetheart?” she sneered, wiping the sweat from her brow with her forearm.

“Hardly,” you shot back, charging at her with renewed energy.

Your next strike caught her off guard. A perfectly timed uppercut sent her stumbling backward. You didn’t stop, delivering a swift kick to her midsection that knocked her off balance. She hit the ground hard, her body slamming against the concrete with a grunt. For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing.

“Stay down,” you said, wiping your hands on your pants.

But Sevika didn’t stay down. With a growl, she lunged at you like a wild animal. Her strength caught you off guard, and before you could react, she had you pinned to the cold floor. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, and you gasped as her full weight pressed against you.

Sevika’s metal hand gripped both of your wrists, pinning them above your head. Her other hand rested on your shoulder, keeping you firmly in place. You struggled, but her strength was overwhelming.

“Not so cocky now, are ya?” she panted, her voice low and dripping with satisfaction. Sweat dripped from her forehead onto your cheek, and the heat of her body seeped into yours.

“Let me up,” you growled, glaring at her.

Her lips curled into a smirk as she leaned closer, her face mere inches from yours. “Now why would i do that? You look good down there.”

Your pulse quickened, though you told yourself it was from exertion. “You’re enjoying this wayyyy too much.”

“Maybe,” Sevika admitted, her voice a husky whisper. “But I think you are too.” Her chest heaved with every breath, the fabric of her tank top clinging to her damp skin. The scent of sweat and iron filled the air, mingling with something deeper, something unspoken. Her gray eyes bore into yours, challenging you, daring you to say something, to do something. But neither of you moved. The world outside the training room seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in this heat of a moment.

“You’re stronger than I expected,” Sevika muttered, her voice softer now. “Almost makes me want to keep you around.”

“Almost?” you shot back, your voice tight. “Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

Her smirk widened. “You can try, but you wouldn’t succeed.”

Ambessa’s voice cut through the moment like a blade. “Enough!” she barked, her tone sharp and commanding. “If you two are done flirting, we have a tournament to prepare for.”

Ambessa’s voice thundered through the training room before either of you had the chance to speak. “What in the hell is going on here?” Her presence filled the room instantly, her commanding tone freezing both you and Sevika in place.

Her boots clanged against the concrete as she strode forward, her towering frame illuminated by the dim red glow. Dressed in training gear, Ambessa looked more like a war goddess than a general with her broad shoulders and powerful arms on full display. A simple black sports bra wrapped tightly around her chest as her glistened abs catch the faint light.

“Off,” she barked, her sharp gaze locking on Sevika.

Sevika, who rarely flinched at anything, hesitated for a split second before pulling back. Her expression was tight with frustration, but she obeyed, releasing your wrists and standing. The loss of her warmth was immediate as the cold floor pressed against your back.

Ambessa stepped in without missing a beat, gripping Sevika’s arm and pulling her upright effortlessly. “Do you think this is some kind of game?” Her voice was low, dangerous, as she squared off with Sevika.

Sevika yanked her arm back, her jaw tightening. “She hit me. I hit her back.”

“You pinned her like a street brawler,” Ambessa snapped, her voice cutting through the charged air. “This isn’t some tavern scuffle. You’re supposed to be training, not rolling around like a fool.”

“She’s the one who pushed me,” Sevika shot back, her chest heaving as she stepped closer. The heat in her gaze didn’t waver, and the muscles in her arms flexed with tension.

Still lying on the ground, you watched the two women square off, rooted in place by the sheer energy between them. Ambessa’s imposing frame radiated authority, her dark eyes blazing, while Sevika bristled like a cornered beast, her fists clenched tightly at her sides.

“Pushed you?” Ambessa’s voice dropped to a near growl. She took another step forward, her tone mocking. “What are you, a child? You’re supposed to be stronger than this.”

“Maybe if you didn’t bark orders from a balcony, you’d see how this fight actually went,” Sevika bit back, her voice dripping with venom. Her muscles tensed beneath the fabric of her tank top, the strain of holding back her frustration evident in every line of her body.

Ambessa’s laugh was sharp and humorless, cutting through the suffocating air. “Careful, Sevika. You’re one poorly thrown punch away from losing that metal arm.”

Sevika’s lips twisted into a snarl, her voice rising as she stepped into Ambessa’s space. “And you’re one more order away from learning I don’t take kindly to being treated like a damn pawn.”

Every word exchanged felt like a spark, each one igniting the fire between them further. You remained where you were, watching from the ground as the red lights painted their figures like some living, breathing battle scene.

Ambessa tilted her head slightly, her piercing gaze narrowing. “You think this is about you?” she asked, her voice quiet but filled with dangerous intent. She took a step closer, the heat from her body palpable even from where you lay. “You’re nothing without me. You wouldn’t have that arm, that strength, or this opportunity. So don’t test me, Sevika.”

For a moment, Sevika didn’t respond, her jaw tight as her gaze flickered to the floor before locking onto Ambessa again. Then, like a wave breaking, the anger in her expression shifted into something more intimate replacing it.

“Nothing without you?” Sevika’s voice dropped, her tone low and measured, sending a shiver down your spine. “You think you own me because you gave me this?” She raised her metal arm, flexing it deliberately. “Don’t fool yourself. I’ve earned every inch of what I am.”

Ambessa didn’t back down, stepping even closer until their chests were nearly brushing. “Then prove it. Because right now, all I see is someone too stubborn to recognize when they’re being tested.”

The air between them shifted. Their breathing was heavy, their bodies so close you swore you could see the tension vibrating between them. Ambessa’s hand raised slightly, and for a second, you thought she might push Sevika, or worse, strike her. But her fingers caught the strap of Sevika’s tank top instead, her grip firm.

“You talk about earning it,” Ambessa said, her voice softer now, her words dripping with sharpness. “But have you earned this?”

Sevika didn’t flinch, though her chest rose and fell faster, her gray eyes locked onto Ambessa’s dark ones. “I’ve earned more than you think,” she said, her voice just as quiet, though there was a slight tremor. The aggression in Sevika’s stance softened, though her muscles remained taut, her body coiled and ready. Ambessa’s imposing presence didn’t falter, but the edge in her gaze dulled ever so slightly.

“You’re reckless,” Ambessa murmured, her fingers still resting against Sevika’s shirt.

“Tyrant bitch,” Sevika shot back, though there was no bite to her words.

They were so close now, their tension-filled standoff transforming into something you couldn’t quite name. You should’ve looked away, should’ve gotten up and interrupted, but you couldn’t. The sight of them, Ambessa’s glistening abs under the red lights and Sevika’s tank top clinging to her damp skin. It was mesmerizing.

The sparring session between Ambessa and Sevika had turned into a spectacle of raw power and dominance. The two women circled each other, muscles taut and glistening under the red light as they calculated their next moves. The tension in the room was almost unbearable, the charged atmosphere making it impossible to look away.

Sevika lunged first, her movements swift. Ambessa parried with ease, her stature and experience giving her the upper hand. The clash of their bodies reverberated through the room, their strength evenly matched, though Ambessa carried herself with an effortless grace that only came from years of battle.

Whereas, you sat on the couch in the corner with your legs crossed and your hands gripping the cushion tightly as you watched. The intensity between them was magnetic, and you felt heat creeping up your neck as you took it all in. The way Ambessa’s muscles shifted with every movement, the sheer power in her strikes. It was impossible not to admire her.

Sevika grunted as Ambessa caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting her arm behind her back in one fluid motion. “You’re too easy to predict,” Ambessa said, her voice low and laced with authority.

Sevika growled, twisting to free herself, but Ambessa didn’t let go. Instead, she pinned Sevika’s arms together, holding them in place with one hand. The strength in that single motion was enough to make your jaw drop. You could see the flex of her biceps, the veins on her forearm standing out as she kept Sevika completely immobilized.

You swallowed hard, feeling your cheeks flush. It wasn’t just the display of power that made your stomach flip, it was the way Ambessa looked doing it. She was in complete control, her eyes burning with determination.

Ambessa leaned in close, her lips brushing against Sevika’s ear. Whatever she whispered was too quiet for you to hear, but the way Sevika’s ears turned pink told you enough. Sevika was blushing. Their breathing was labored, their chests pressed against each other in a way that blurred the lines between aggression and intimacy. They were similar in height and strength that it was hard to tell who had the upper hand, though Ambessa’s control of the situation made it clear she was the dominant one.

You shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the way your body was reacting to the scene in front of you. The way they moved, the tension between them. it was impossible not to feel flustered. Your eyes flicked to Ambessa’s back, the muscles there flexing as she held Sevika in place, and then to Sevika’s jaw, clenched tightly in frustration.

And then, with a sharp motion, Ambessa threw Sevika to the ground. The impact echoed through the room, but before Sevika could recover, Ambessa straddled her waist, pinning her completely. Her hands pressed into the concrete on either side of Sevika’s head, caging her in.

For a moment, they just looked at each other. Ambessa’s gaze was piercing, and Sevika’s was equally defiant, though there was a flicker of something soft beneath her frustration. The proximity between them was almost suffocating, their breaths mingling as they stared each other down.

From your spot on the couch, you felt a pang of jealousy twist in your chest. You hated to admit it, but the sight of them like this: with Ambessa in complete control and Sevika pinned beneath her. You couldn’t deny what it made you feel. You were indecisive, whether you wanted to be in Ambessa’s place or Sevika’s.

Ambessa finally broke the moment, her head turning slightly in your direction. “Darling,” she called, her voice smooth and inviting.

Your heart skipped a beat. She rarely used that tone with you, and when she did, it always made your pulse race. You stood hesitantly, your legs feeling weak as you approached them.

“C’mere,” Ambessa said again, her eyes darkening as she watched you. You obeyed without question, moving closer until you were kneeling beside the two women. Ambessa shifted her attention back to Sevika for a moment, her thumb brushing against Sevika’s jawline before she finally let go of her. Sevika sat up slightly, her breathing still heavy as she stared at Ambessa, her lips parted as though she wanted to a near whisper. "Do you want her?"

The question hit you like a shit ton of bricks. Your eyes widened, and you quickly shook your head. "What? No, I-"

Ambessa tilted her head, a faint smirk playing at her lips. "Come on. there’s no need lie," she said, her voice soft but dangerous. "I've seen the way you look at her."

It’s true i-" you started, but your words caught in your throat as Ambessa leaned closer, her hand coming up to cup your chin.

"You can deny it all you want," she murmured, her thumb brushing against your lower lip. "But I already know the truth." Behind her, Sevika shifted, her eyes narrowing as she watched the interaction. Her gaze flicked between you and Ambessa, her jaw tightening as though she was trying to figure out what to make of the situation.

Ambessa's lips curved into a knowing smile as she let go of your chin, her hand moving to rest on your shoulder instead. "It's nothing to be ashamed of," she said, her tone almost teasing now. "Desire is a natural thing."

You felt your cheeks heat up, unsure of how to respond. Ambessa's gaze was unrelenting, and the weight of both her and Sevika's attention made your head spin.

"Still," Ambessa continued, her voice taking on a more serious edge, "you should know where your loyalties lie." Her words sent a shiver down your spine, and you nodded slowly. With the inability to tear your eyes away from her. The room was silent for a moment, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. Sevika finally stood, brushing herself off and crossing her arms over her chest as she stared down at the two of you.

Ambessa smirked, leaning back slightly but still keeping her hand on your shoulder. "Oh, I'm counting on it," she said, her tone dripping with confidence.

As the two women exchanged another charged look, you couldn't help but feel caught in the middle of something bigger than yourself. And yet, you didn't want to be anywhere else.

Ambessa stood there, towering over both you and Sevika, her sharp gaze locked on Sevika's defiant stance. The tension between them was thick, electric, but then something shifted in Ambessa's expression. A sly smirk curved her lips, and before anyone could react, she leaned in and pressed her lips against Sevika's.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was intense, fiery, and utterly captivating. Sevika's eyes widened in surprise at first, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she matched Ambessa's energy, their mouths moving against each other with such a desire that made your heart pound. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the sight. The sound of their labored breaths and the faint growls of dominance filled the room. They kissed as if they were trying to conquer one another, neither willing to back down. Sevika's hand shot up, gripping the back of Ambessa's neck, her fingers curling into her short hair. While Ambessa's large hands found Sevika's waist, pulling her closer.

Your cheeks flushed as you watched, your mind racing. It was undeniably hot. You clenched your fists in your lap, trying to ignore the heat pooling in your belly as you continued to observe the exchange.

Ambessa's teeth caught Sevika's lower lip, tugging it slightly before she pulled back just enough to smirk. "Is that all you've got?" she taunted, her voice husky and breathless.

"Not even close," Sevika growled, surging forward to capture her lips again, this time with even more hunger.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. The two women before you were locked in a battle of dominance, their bodies pressed so tightly together that it was hard to see where one ended and the other began. The red light from the room cast their silhouettes in an almost ethereal glow, accentuating the muscles in their arms and shoulders as they held each other.

You felt a pang of longing in your chest, wishing you could be part of that. Your eyes drifted to Sevika's lips. You imagined her pressing her lips against your neck. And then your gaze moved to Ambessa's hands, the thought of them holding you like that making your stomach flip.

You didn't realize you were pouting until Ambessa pulled back slightly from Sevika, her eyes flicking toward you. She chuckled lowly, her voice thick with amusement. "What's wrong, darling?" she teased, the pet name rolling off her tongue like silk.

You quickly looked away, embarrassed that she'd caught you. "Nothing," you muttered, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

"Nothing, hm?" Ambessa stepped closer, leaving Sevika standing there looking both frustrated and dazed. She reached out, her hand brushing lightly against your cheek before trailing down to rest against your back. "I don't think I believe you."

Sevika, still breathing heavily, smirked as she noticed your reaction. "Looks like someone wants in on the fun," she said, her tone teasing but her eyes were dark. Your heart skipped a beat as Ambessa's hand pressed more firmly against your back, guiding you to your feet. "Join us.” she commanded softly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated for only a moment before obeying, letting her lead you exactly where you wanted to be. Right inbetween the two of them. Her hand stayed firm against your back, her touch grounding yet electrifying.

"You've been watching like you want something," Ambessa murmured, her lips brushing against your ear as she spoke. "Well?"

"I..." You trailed off, unsure of how to put into words the mix of desire and anticipation swirling inside you.

"Shy now?" Sevika teased, stepping closer until her chest was nearly brushing against your back. She reached out, her calloused fingers tilting your chin up so you had to look at her. "Don't be."

The proximity of both women was overwhelming, their sheer size making you feel small and delicate in comparison. Ambessa's hands slid down to your hips, pulling you flush against her chest while Sevika's fingers trailed along your jawline.

"You're trembling," Ambessa noted with a smirk, her voice a low rumble against your back. "Are we making you nervous, darling?"

"I-i’m not nervous," you managed to say, though your voice betrayed you.

Ambessa chuckled, the sound vibrating through her chest and into your body. "Good," she said. "Because we're just getting started."

Before you could respond, Ambessa leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both commanding and intoxicating. Her hands tightened on your hips, holding you firmly against her as her lips moved against yours with expert precision.

You barely had time to process the kiss before Sevika's lips found the curve of your neck, her teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. The combination of their touches was almost too much to handle, and yet you craved more.

Ambessa pulled back slightly, her eyes dark with desire as she looked down at you. "Sevika," she said, her tone carrying a hint of command.

Sevika hummed in response, her lips still pressed against your neck.

"I think you want more," Ambessa said, a mischievous glint in her eye as she looked between you and Sevika.

Sevika smirked, her hand coming up to cup your cheek as she pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. "Then we shouldn't disappoint," she said, her voice low and full of promise.

As they both closed in on you, you couldn't help but feel excitement. Being caught between these two powerful women, their attention focused entirely on you, was a dream come true. And as their lips and hands began explored every inch of your body, you couldn’t resist.

part two?

taglist. @blckbny @themostlesbianever @galaxydreamer468 @mpenguin7 @mvistl @dollstry @abitchnamedtia @ab2ysw1fe @lizzy222y @lexi2000 @sevslut @yer-boiiii @jayden-prentiss @humbledaylily556 @desnaa

banner. @anitalenia

[sixosix]

aether (one of the) main character(s) in hit game genshin impact hits on you.

thank u sm for beta reading @mitsies i love u and your silly comments and insightful suggestions on googledocs, wc 700, NO ONE IS ACTUALLY DEAD

“Holy—Archons!”

Anyone would be surprised if a body materialized from thin air right in front of you, lifeless like a doll. You stare at the body, thoughts racing as fast as your heartbeat, and all the while, the man with sun threads as hair lay eerily still on the ground, eyes fluttered shut.

The man is terrifyingly beautiful, like a fallen star. A limp and unmoving fallen star, that is. Your jaw extends to the ground, terrified and—mystified? Immediately, your instincts scream at you to perform emergency measures, but—

A pixie comes barreling in from somewhere, tears running down her cheeks as she zeroes in on the presumably dead body.

“Was he your friend?” you ask quietly, mourning on her behalf. Were they siblings? The way she’s slapping his face around seems so.

“He’s not dead!” the little pixie exclaims, sniffling and shaking the apparently not-dead body.

You stare at her, perplexed. “Then why are you crying?”

“Because Paimon had to go through that trial challenge alone!”

“The what?”

Paimon huffs, slamming her tiny fists on the man’s bare waist. It seems to not even have left a mark on his skin. “You wake him up. Paimon’s upset at him.”

It’s hard to say no when tears are rolling down her face. Obediently, you poke around the man’s shut eyes, and it snaps open.

You flinch back. He blinks blearily.

“Are you okay?” You study his face, looking for any signs of a newly born zombie, but his face looks flushed and as healthy as any living human being. His eyes are bright and gold as they stare back at you.

“I’m in heaven,” he says. “Celestia has done it. I’m seeing angels, and I’m in heaven.”

Angels? Celestia?

Paimon tackles his face, shaking his shoulders and crying. “You’re not dead, dummy! How dare you leave Paimon in Dragonspine! All alone, Aether!”

“Oh,” Aether says, sounding almost disappointed. “Then…?”

“You’re not dead,” you agree with Paimon, because evidence lies before you despite the initial fright. However, his comment about angels has you a little flustered. “Um, what happened?”

“Ah,” Aether laughs sheepishly, rubbing the nape of his neck. “I failed the trial, and it respawned me back here. Which is weird—I haven’t been in Bubu Pharmacy for ages!”

“I’m sorry?”

Aether jumps to his feet, startling you enough to fall on your ass. He grins down at you and offers a hand. “At least I got to meet you,” he says, pulling you up from the grass. You stumble from his strength; he catches you easily, and you bump against his chest. “Or—not meet you yet. What’s your name?”

You can’t believe the previously perished fallen star is now hitting on you. “I’m… Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeats, smiling broadly. “I’ll remember that.”

You hope that your face doesn’t betray the warmth you feel fluttering under your skin.

Aether sighs, casting a glance at the ground he was previously lying on. “Sorry you had to see that. That was probably very disturbing and decidedly not flattering for me.”

You can’t help but laugh. Aether beams. “Does that happen often?”

“When I get a little rusty, yeah.” He tilts his head, looking at you up and down, then around your surroundings. “Do you work here? I haven’t seen you around before.”

“Just recently.” You gesture vaguely to the side, feeling a little shy. “If you don’t see me hanging around, it’s probably because I’m always loitering the docks to watch out for exhausted tourists.”

Aether’s smile turns sly. “Nurse me back to health, would you?”

But then Paimon starts tugging on his ear and away from you, a relief for your racing heart. “Enough flirting! You can come back here after you unlock that precious chest!”

“Ow, ow, okay,” Aether laughs, hesitating, before letting you slip from his hold. He takes a few steps back, his smile as blinding as stars seconds away from exploding. “The docks, right? I’ll see you soon!”

By 'soon,' you hope he doesn't mean he'll attempt to die again immediately, but you figure you'll find out eventually. You glance around to see if anyone is watching, then decide to take a stroll around the docks for reasons no one should know.

i cant believe mitzi's first aether fic is THIS i feel so ashamed lmfao, but TY FOR READING!!!!! <3

[scarlethexelove]

I’d love to see a Wanda x Reader fic where Wanda is practicing a new duplication spell, and she asks reader to help spot any differences between her and her new “clone”. The game turns flirty and then cue a Wanda/Reader/Wanda threeway :)

Seeing Double

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 3569

Warnings: Smut, Spell gone wrong (Or oh so right), Strap-on (R receiving), Oral on Strap-on (Wanda receiving), light bondage (Only a split second), Enchanted Straps, Cum filled Straps, Dom!Wanda, Sub!Reader, Two Wanda's, Anal, Double Penetration, Plugs, Anal fingering, Mommy Kink, Mistress Kink, Slight selfcest (Just making out), Squirting, A bit of Cock warming

A/n: I was so excited to write this. Hopefully it doesn't get too confusing with the double Wanda's. I tried my best to tell who was who when doing anything. Thank you for the request and I really hope you like it.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

“Wands?” You call out as you open the door to the study. Wanda likes to use it to practice her magic. You would normally never disturb her while doing so, but she has been in there awhile and you just wanted to make sure she was ok and to bring her something to eat and drink. She warns you that it is dangerous and she would never want to hurt you. So you normally stay away like she said but your nerves got the best of you so you made your way inside. 

The tray clatters to the ground. The cup of tea shattering on impact. Your stunned, mouth hanging agape. There in front of you is your girlfriend and also your girlfriend. You rub your eyes thinking something is wrong with you but when you blink there are still two Wanda’s standing in front of you. “I- What? Why are there two of you?” You stammer out. 

Both Wanda’s stare at you in a bit of shock. They never expect you to come in here and to see this. It’s like watching a mirror as both of them gain their composure at the same exact time. Their expressions are the same as they soften, seeing you and the fact that you had dropped what seems to be food and water for them, albeit there is only supposed to be one of them. 

“Detka a spell didn’t go quite as planned.” One of them speaks. “I didn’t mean to copy myself; it was an unexpected result of a spell.” The other one finishes. Which causes a different confusion now. “Which one of you is the real Wanda?” You question looking between them. They share a look that you don’t quite understand until the first one speaks. “Well we both are real Milaya. But since you're here now why don’t you try and figure out which one of us cast the spell.” The second one purrs in your ear with the last part. Both of them circling you like prey. You gulp both women making you squirm with their intense gaze. It doesn’t take much for your girlfriend to make you squirm like this but now that there are two of them it’s even easier. You nod your head at their words when you grow confident enough to look up into their eyes. 

The first thing you try doing is asking questions to both of them, but both of them answer all the questions correctly. You're getting frustrated with asking questions to the women. You feel as if you're a bad girlfriend for not being able to tell but the one is pretty much a carbon copy of your girlfriend. So you moved to a different tactic but you’re not so sure if it was the worst idea or the best idea you have ever had in your life. Both women are standing in front of you naked. You wanted to see if there were any differences such as marks or scars but both of them were the same. But now your mind is wondering.

You let out a noise of frustration and upset, almost sounding like a whine as you stand behind one of them. You haven’t noticed the swirl of red in their eyes as they have followed you. You're taken by surprise when the Wanda in front of you whirls around and grabs your waist tightly. You let out a gasp looking up at her. “Mommy.” You whimper. There is a proud smirk on her face. “Good girl.” She purrs, you can feel a gush of arousal at the praise. “But that pretty little head of yours has been very loud and very naughty. We have been listening to you for a while now. Do you want to be our pretty little slut? For Mommy and her duplicate to use you.” Her eyes darken as your eyes grow with surprise and need. You let out a whimper as you nod. 

Another body presses against you from behind. You can feel her hardened nipples in your back as her lips meet your neck sucking harsh red and purple marks on your skin. “You're such a dirty girl. Wanting to be used by us.” The second one mumbles nipping at your skin. “Fuck Wanda you should have made two of us a long time ago if it was going to turn her on this much.” She lets out a hum continuing to attack your neck leaving marks behind. Another whine escaping your lips as your head drops back onto her shoulder giving her more access. 

But as quickly as they started they both pulled away from you. “Whyyyy?” You whine, your mind already feeling fuzzy and needy for both the women from their touches. “Patience detka. I want you to go and sit on the couch.” Your Wanda demands. You obediently and quickly head over to the couch sitting down. “How about to keep things simple you can call me Mistress.” The other Wanda states. You nod. “Yes Mistress.” They both smile at how obedient you’re being. “Such a good girl we have. So pretty and obedient.” The second Wanda says. With a wave of her hand you feel the cold air on your skin. Your nipples are pebbling at the cool air now surrounding your body. 

“Mommy? Mistress?” You want them so badly to touch you already. “Patience. Do you want a punishment?” Your Wanda speaks. “No Mommy.” You shake your head and look down. You don’t hear anything for a second so you look back up and that is when you see it. The other Wanda gripping your Wanda’s hips kissing her harshly. The two are making out holding onto one another which is turning you on even more. Wanting nothing more than to be touched by them but you don’t want a punishment so you swallow the whimper threatening to escape. Your body squirms as your thighs become coated in your arousal. You're rubbing your legs together in any hopes of relief. But that is ripped away from you quickly. Red tendrils wrap around your ankles forcing them apart. Biting your tongue not to make a noise. You catch both women's eyes glancing over at you as they continue their actions. 

You're fighting everything inside of you that tells you to plead and beg for them to touch you. Your squirm in your seat as your arousal begins to soak the cushion under you. A small whimper that you weren’t able to hold back escapes your lips. Both women pull away and their eyes land on you. You quickly look down not wanting to meet their gaze. “I-I’m sorry.” You stutter out. 

A finger hooks under your chin. You hadn’t even noticed that they had crossed the room joining you both standing looking down upon you. Gently she pulls you to look up at her. The green in her eyes is barely visible as the blacks of her eyes overtake them with desire. “Tell Mommy what you want detka.” Her voice low, sending another wave of arousal. You try so desperately to close your legs forgetting the binds keeping them apart. “Want Mommy and Mistress to touch me.” Your voice barely above a whisper as both women chuckle. “I am touching you Milaya” You let out a  whine before a rush of words. “Please Mommy want you to fuck me. Want you and Mistress to fuck me till I can’t walk. Use me however you please. Just please fuck me.” 

Your Wanda is leaning down, lips hovering just out of reach. “I love it when you beg.” Her lips crash into yours, as your hands move to her waist gripping onto her. She asserts her dominance quickly as you open your mouth to let her in. Her tongue is searching for yours. You can feel Wanda’s need in the hungry way that she is kissing you. Still gripping your chin, keeping you exactly how she wants you. 

You're so caught up in the kiss you don’t even notice the magic swirling around until you feel a weight on your thigh and one that has slapped against your arm. You pull back quickly panting as you look down slightly. There around your Wanda’s hips is a red large strap with ample girth. A gasp leaving your lips at the sheer size of it. You quickly look beside you and see the other Wanda sitting there. You hadn’t noticed her even sitting at all. She is adorning an identical strap to your Wanda. 

In your shocked state the other Wanda’s hand snakes between your thighs swiping through your wet folds. “Fuck you’re so wet Kotenok.” She groans. “M-Mistress.” You whimper. Your Wanda sits down next to you and turns your face back to her and attacks your lips. The other Wanda plunges two of her fingers into your heat. Your moaning in your Wanda’s mouth as the other fucks her fingers into you. Your Wanda’s hands moving to your breast pinching and twisting your hardened peaks. Swallowing all the noises that escape your pretty little mouth. 

It doesn’t take long to have you on edge. Your walls clenching desperately around the other Wanda’s fingers, your hands gripping anywhere on your Wanda that you can, digging your nails in harshly to her skin. It all stops on a dime. Both women pull away from you causing you to let out another whine in frustration. Your wall quivering asking for their release. 

“Hands and knees Kotenok.” The other Wanda says. They both move to give you room as you scramble to get on your hands and knees. Your Wanda is positioned in front of you sitting up on her knees, the strap mer inches from your lips. The other Wanda is behind you and you can already feel her shuffling closer to you. She swipes the tip through your folds causing you both to moan. As your mouth opens to moan you Wanda shoving her cock into your throat causing her to let out a moan. You know now that both straps are enchanted and can feel everything. You can’t help but let out a moan at that which causes your Wanda to moan again. Feeling the vibrations from your throat on her cock.

“Mommy is going to use your throat while Mistress takes you from behind. You like that little whore?” You do your best to nod with her strap bobbing in and out of your mouth. “Fuck! This pussy is always so good.” The second Wanda says sinking further into you the stretch is slightly painful but oh so delicious. “Maybe Mistress will use this other pretty little hole back here.” Her hands spread your cheeks admiring as you clench. You try to speak but all that can be heard is gurgles as Wanda slowly fucks your mouth. The women don’t need to hear what you say and they don’t even need to read your mind, all they have to do is read your body's reactions. “By the way you're clenching I’m betting you want me to use this tight hole.” A finger presses against your ass and all you can do is whimper and press back.

“If I had known all it would take for me to be able to take that little ass of yours was to have two of me I would have done this a long time ago. I’ve been dying to sink my strap deep in your ass detka.” You look up at your Wanda tears in your eyes as she smiles down at you. But you’re caught off guard when she thrusts hard into your throat causing you to gag and for the tears to start spilling down your cheeks. Her hand cups your face as she wipes the tears. “So pretty when you cry for me. Such a good girl taking my strap down your throat.” She punctuates each word with a thrust of her hips. This sends your body back onto the other Wanda’s cock. Her lubed finger slipped into your ass, you don’t even remember her getting any lube but then you realize that she has magic just the same. Already feeling so full with just one finger you don’t know how you will take any more. 

The women start on a brutal pace of fucking your throat and pussy. As the other Wanda fucks into your pussy it pushes your further onto your Wanda’s strap causing you to gag. As she thrusts forward it sends you back further on the other strap while the other Wanda is still slowly fingering your ass. All that can be hard in the room is the sounds of moans, your gaging, and the wet sounds of your pussy. 

The finger in your ass is removed before feeling a cold metal pressing against your tight ring. The coldness makes your jumps slightly but neither of them seem to care as the other Wanda starts to press a metal plug into your ass. You let out a whine as it presses in stretching further than you have ever gone. The women taking pity on you and slowing down to take their time. The other Wanda uses her other hand to gently caress your hips. “Shhh it will feel so good when it’s all in.” She tells you as she slowly works it in. Your Wanda pulls back to give you a chance to breathe as it sinks in. You let out a groan when you feel it pop into place the slight fullness, a new and exciting feeling. 

“You like that detka?” Your Wanda asks you. You look up at her and see a gentle smile on her face still having concern for your pleasure. “Y-Yes Mommy.” You give her a small smile back. Once they both know that you are ok they quickly flip the switch back. Your Wanda shoving you so far down on her cock making you gag as your nose pressed against her stomach. The other Wanda pressing on the plug as she jackhammers her hips into you. Your Wanda holds you there as you keep getting presses further into her. Their moans bouncing off the walls of the room. Tears are steadily streaming down your face as they fuck into you roughly. 

Right now they are chasing their own pleasure you can feel their hips stuttering as they both fuck into you. The other Wanda has a harsh grip on your hips as she thrust hard and deep each time. Your Wanda has pulled you back slightly so she can fuck your throat enjoying as she watches the tears roll down your cheeks. Their moans turn you on, causing your thoughts to only be of giving them pleasure. Your walls are clenching tightly around the other Wanda signaling that you are all close to your impending orgasms. If it was even possible they seemed to have picked up their pace. The other Wanda hits your spongy wall perfectly with each thrust. You want to tell them you are close but they already know. 

“Fuck. Cum with us Kotenok.” The other Wanda moans. “Got a nice surprise for you detka.” You Wanda adds. Her hips jerked as you felt a warm sticky liquid sliding down your throat. You moan around her doing your best to swallow. The other Wanda’s load fills your pussy as your walls clamp hard around her as you cum with her. Your cum coating her cock as she continues to thrust, riding you both through your highs. Your Wanda is still lightly thrusting, filling your throat with her white sticky substance. As all of you come down your Wanda pulls out of your mouth and gently kisses your lips. The other Wanda staying buried inside of you. “So good.” You mumble causing both women to smile. “You didn’t think we were done with you yet, did you detka?” Your Wanda says as the other pulls back and thrust hard into you again. 

You have lost count of how many orgasms you have had now. They weren’t kidding about making sure you can’t walk. They have had you in all different positions as they fuck and fill you. Your body is weak and exhausted as you're now hovering over the other Wanda's cock. She is tugging on the plug as she removes it from your ass causing you to whimper. “One more detka. Hmm be a good girl for Mommy and Mistress.” Your Wanda smiles in front of you. Your brain is too fuzzy to fight it so you nod. “Okay Mommy.”

The other Wanda is laying back on the couch as they both help guide you onto her strap. She presses it against your ass as you start to sink down. Your eyes widened, your brain hadn’t put together that this is what they were going to do. “Mommy.” You whimper. “Shhh detka you can take. Be a good girl like we said.” She kisses you to distract you. Your body is being guided down on the strap as it slowly fills your ass up. Wanda swallows your sounds the further you sink down. She pulls away when you're fully seated on the other Wanda’s lap. “Fuck so fucking tight.” The other Wanda moans grinding into your ass which causes you to moan. 

Your Wanda moves and positions herself in front of you. The other Wanda leaning you back presenting your leaky abused cunt to your Wanda. She groans as the cum leaks from you but as much as she wants to taste you it will have to wait for another time. She positions her cock at your entrance slamming her cock into you in one swift motion. “Ahhhh fuck Mommy.” You cry out. The other Wanda is kissing and whispering praises in your ear as you adjust to fullness. They both wait for you to adjust before they start. Your Wanda circling your clit lightly to help your body relax more. 

Once they have given you time and they notice your hips grinding they start to slowly thrust into you. Your Wanda keeps her fingers on your clit as their paces pick up. They are now both pounding into you hard. With each thrust of their hips and filling you perfectly to the brim has you gasping for air. You're so full and the pleasure is becoming overwhelming as they stretch you to your max. They have both turned to praising you as they continue to fuck and fill you. Giving you gentle kisses all over your body helps to keep you grounded. “S-so full.” You’re able to mumble out. The women picked up their paces if that was even possible. 

You're all so sensitive already that it doesn’t take long for your orgasms to build. You're already teetering on the edge as your Wanda starts to pinch your engorged bundle of nerves. All of your moans are bouncing off the walls. Your whole body is shaking with pleasure as more tears run down your face. All that can come out of your mouth is incoherent words along with moans. “Fuck I’m going to cum.” The other Wanda says under you. You nod along as they continue to use your body. “Cum then.” Your Wanda moans above both of you. 

White hot sticky liquid fills both your holes as both Wanda’s cum hard. Your walls are able to clench around both of them as you cum harder than you ever have before. Squirting all over your Wanda’s lower abdomen while some gushes down onto the other Wanda below you. You see stars as your eyes roll back into your head. Your body goes rigid before relaxing completely between the women. They slowly fuck you through all of your orgasms before coming to a hault. 

You're so thankful that Wanda had bought the larger couch as they both rotate you on your side staying inside of you. You nuzzle into your Wanda’s neck exhaustion taking over your body. They want to give your body a chance to recover a little before pulling out completely so they both stay inside you not wanting to hurt you. They both are whispering praises into your ear gently kissing you and making sure you know that they love you and you did so good in such a vulnerable state that you are in. 

“You did so good for us, Milaya.” Your Wanda kisses your head. “Such a good girl” The other Wanda says, kissing your shoulder. Your eyes close as your body starts to get heavy between them. You want to ask questions like how long does the spell last and could it ever happen again? But your too exhausted and your throat is pretty raw from the throat fucking and all the moaning so you opt to ask later. Right now you will enjoy the comfort from the two women. They know they need to clean you up but they can see you need time to recover a bit before they can move you. So they give you some time to rest. Taking some time to admire all the marks that they left behind on your skin.

This isn’t what you expected today to come to when you stepped into that room but you are so glad that you did. Both Wanda’s thinking the same thing as they hold you closer to them. This was the best spell gone wrong that has ever happened and both of them communicating that it will happen again. 

[zaldritzosrose]

Surrender (Sihtric x Noble!Reader)

Summary: Your relationship with Sihtric was secret, except from those closest to you. And ever the gentleman, Sihtric was determined for you to remain pure. But somethings, or some people, are just too tempting to resist.

TW: She/Her pronouns, afab reader, innuendo, dry humping, fingering, eventual sex, Sihtric being soft and a little subby (if you squint)

Words: 2,660

It had been quite the task to hide your relationship with Sihtric, being a lady-in-waiting to the Lady Aethelflaed. Courting a Dane would not go down well with the King, you knew that without any doubt. But it did not stop either of you, the sweet, shy smile Sihtric would always cast your way was far too hard to resist.

Though it had not taken your Lady long to notice, which should have spelled disaster. But she had been nothing but supportive. Even going as far to assure you no one would know other than her, and anyone Sihtric himself chose to tell. In terms of his friends, he had not needed tell them. Apparently, he had not been as subtle in his affections towards you as he thought. Finan had been the first to notice, not hesitating to tease Sihtric over the way he never seemed able to tear his eyes away from you any time they were at the royal castle. And it had only been a matter of time before Uhtred and Osferth knew as well – the Irishman being incapable of keeping it a secret for long.

Which brought some comfort, with how your lady and his friends would always find ways to bring the two of you together in secret.

And if there was one thing to be said about your Dane paramour, was that he was a gentleman, through and through. At least with you. No matter how much you tried to tease and tempt, Sihtric was stubborn and determined not to, in his words, ‘sully your virtue’. He would remind you time after time, that it was not proper of him to make a Christian such as yourself sin. Even when you tried to remind him that not every Saxon was a devout Christian. But he was dead set on that fact.

Until one day, you heard quite the interesting piece of information that you knew might help…persuade your lover.

“It stays innocent if our clothes stay on…”

You had heard those words uttered between two ladies, around your age, at the Winchester market and they had stuck with you. Sihtric was set to return to Winchester that evening and you kept the phrase turning in your mind as you awaited his return. You had returned to Winchester castle and completed your duties for your Lady, when word soon came of the return of Uhtred and his men. And Lady Aethelflaed being the staunchest support of your relationship, prepared for you to finish your duties and have an excuse to leave her company. You had nothing but thanks for her, she did not need to help you as she did, but you were forever grateful to her for it.

So, you waited, under a particular tree in some secluded gardens just outside the busy centre of the city. Secluded enough for a secret lover’s meeting. And you did not have to wait long for Sihtric to arrive, and he never failed to make your skin flush and your stomach flip with how he greeted you. Thick arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you into his embrace, burying his face into your neck. Like he was reminding himself you were real.

“Missed me?” you laughed, blushing as he peppered kisses over your cheeks before finally reaching your lips.

“What do you think, my lady?” he whispered, following his path of kisses back over your face again.

You could only giggle in response; he made you feel like you were the only person in his entire world when he held you like this. But those kisses were not enough for you. Not right now. He had been gone for a few weeks, almost a month, and that amount of time had not dulled your need for him.

Your hand found the back of his neck and kept him close as he set you back down onto the ground. Not hesitating to push your lips onto his in a much more aggressive kiss and Sihtric was quick to meld his lips to yours. Facial hair tickling your skin as he walked you back towards the tree behind you. Hands resting on your waist tight, quickly taking control of the kiss as he usually did.

But before long, he pulled back and you could not help the sigh that left your lips and Sihtric only smiled in response.

“You know why, my lady, I do not want to-” he began but you pressed a finger to his lips.

You knew what he would say, that he did not want to ‘taint your virtue’.

“I heard something today, you know, that might persuade you,” you whispered, pressing a single kiss to the curve of his jaw, and you could see him roll his eyes. But he waited for you to continue.

“I heard…that it stays innocent if we remain clothed,” you continued, and Sihtric pulled back a little, but you chased his lips and pulled him down for another kiss.

But this time you tried to move things further, your hands now gripping into his shirt and pulling him tighter to your body. And he relented, until your hands began to delve lower.

“Not yet, my lady…” he whispered and when you opened your mouth to speak again, he silenced you with a final kiss.

Three weeks later, a note arrived at your rooms with the name of an inn and nothing else written upon it. Which meant only one thing, Sihtric was leaving again. You had no duties remaining, so you wasted no time in grabbing your cloak and hurrying out of a little-known door to the castle. The walk to the inn felt like it took forever, when it was mere minutes with how quiet the city was now. The whole situation was bittersweet. You were excited to see Sihtric as always, but you knew this meant he was going to be gone for who knows how long.

When you arrived at the inn, you were greeted immediately by Finan who only nodded and led you quickly to where Sihtric was roomed. You appreciated the help of course, the less time spent in the more public areas of an inn was better. Finan led you upstairs and knocked once on what you assumed was Sihtric’s door before leaving you to wait.

Thankfully, your lover did not take long to answer, tugging you inside and shutting the door quickly. He was quick to pull you into his arms. Sihtric was one for showing, rather than telling. Physical touch over poetic words.

You were pulled to the bed and Sihtric was quick to have you straddling his lap, a place you had been quite a few times before. His hands on your waist, holding you in place as his lips found yours. The kiss was hungrier than the one he had greeted you with only a few weeks ago and the few you had shared in between. But he always was before he left you.

You wasted less time in trying to push things further and he was a little slower in stopping you this time. Your hands gripping his shirt and unlacing a few ties toward the top. Exposing his throat and collarbone to your lingering kisses. The groans you earned from his lips only spurring you on.

As if on instinct, your hips began to roll, giving into the passion that was coursing through every inch of your veins. Sihtric’s grip on your hips tightened momentarily before he began to help you move and you took that as a sign. You got bold, kissing and nipping softly at his neck and smiling when he did not stop you.

But your joy was short-lived.

“My lady…we should not...” he groaned, the roughness in his tone telling you something very different.

“Sihtric, what I said still stands. We remain clothed, it remains innocent,” you whispered, now kissing from his neck and up to the shell of his ear.

You could feel his resolve faltering. But not quite enough. Sihtric pulled back from you and held your face in his hands.

“When I return, we will talk, my love, I swear it.”

A month, that was how long he had been gone, and you were getting more concerned by the day. Uhtred had followed Alfred and the Saxons to battle with the invading Danes and no news of the outcome had returned to Winchester. And no news was worse than bad news. Not knowing if any of them lived or were hurt or worse. Lady Aethelflaed could see you were concerned and did her best to keep you distracted but when you were alone, you could only wonder what the truth was.

Before he had left, Sihtric had asked you to meet him at the same inn as before and that he would send word the moment he stepped foot in Winchester. Now, it was simply a waiting game.

Days later, such word arrived, and you did not even try to hide the way you rushed from the castle. Lady Aethelflaed made excuses for your sudden departure, as she always did. You near ran to the inn, pushing past patrons and finding Sihtric hidden away in a corner. Without a word, he took your hand and pulled you back towards a room he had already paid for.

The moment that door shut, you were in his arms. Sihtric pressed your back to the door the second the latch clicked closed and his lips found your neck immediately. His beard had grown in the time had been gone and the rough hairs only added to the sensations against your skin.

You can tell he is so lost in his pleasure as he slips his leg between yours, spreading them apart ever so slightly. It is only when you begin to roll your hips against him that he stops.

“You promised we would talk…” you mumbled, the sudden absence of his touch leaving your mind a little foggy.

“I did.”

Sihtric was torn. As much as he wanted more, craved more, there was a part of him that felt guilty at the idea of, for want of a better word, defiling you. As far as he had been concerned, you were good and pure. He could not take that away from you.

“I will say it and keep saying it. It is innocent if we remain clothed…” Your voice was no more than a whisper as you moved to kiss him again, gripping his shirt and pulling him back tight against you.

And you kept saying those words. As you kissed down his jaw, his neck and all the while moving your hands lower from his back to his waist and finally gripping the firm flesh of his backside.

All those things combined had something snap in him. A low, almost whimpered groan leaving him as he pressed himself more forcefully against you. The wood of the door scratching at your back. What you didn’t expect was his hand to grip your thigh and pull it to his waist. Gone was the soft gentleman that had been so averse to such intimacies. Replaced now with a man slowly being consumed by his need and desires.

“I promise…it will be innocent still…” Were the last words that left your lips before they were replaced with moans. His hips rutting up into yours in an almost desperate rhythm, searching for some sort of friction to relieve the rush of blood to his cock. Your words were breaking his resolve piece by piece, but he no longer cared.

But you were not quite ready to relinquish all control. You had spent so long breaking that steadfast resolve of his, that you were not about to falter at the last stretch.

Your hand slipped down his body, palming him over the fabric of his trousers and relishing the sigh that he breathed against your neck as he finally got some of the friction he needed. Your movements were slow, giving him some but not quite enough for him to find release.

“Please…” he mumbled against your neck, barely loud enough for you to hear. So, you played on it, slowing your hand further and asking him to repeat himself.

“Please, my love, just…please,” he barely knew what he was saying, but he knew that his resolve was nothing. He needed you; he wanted you.

You did not let him see the smile that tugged at your lips as you sped up your movements, working his length until he was panting and huffing against your throat. His own hand had found its way beneath your skirts and had them pushed up to your waist. Now it was your turn to moan out, as his fingers dipped quickly beneath your small clothes and between your already slick folds. There was little need for such touches, you were already more than wet and ready for him, but he wanted to feel you. Sihtric had only allowed himself such a pleasure with you once before and he vowed now to never deny himself again.

“Sihtric..” you moaned out as his thumb found your pearl, practised movements creating a steady rhythm that had your head falling back against the door and your hand losing rhythm over his cock.

But he did not mind one bit, your words playing over and over in his mind. If you believed it, then it must be true. “It stays innocent if our clothes stay on…”

His hand on your thigh tightened as the fingers buried in your cunt pulled away. Your whine at the loss of contact was cut short when your heard the rustle of fabric as he untied his trousers. Pushing them down just enough to free his now painfully hard cock. His lips were gentle against yours as he slowly pushed inside, the stretch painful, but not enough to make you want to stop.

And much like before, feeling you clench and relax around him made him wonder why he had denied himself this. You wanted it just as he did. His thrusts began gentle, easing himself inside and giving you time to adjust. You appreciated the gesture, but you wanted…no…needed more.

“Faster, please…”

That was all he needed. His hands gripping your thighs and lifting you higher up the door, reminding you of the strength that was held in such a soft shell. The new angle was enough to have you moaning his name, over and over as his hands held you firm against the door. His rhythm picking up momentum as he chased your release and his. There was no concern for how loud you were being, his name being chanted over and over again as he pounded his hips into you. His own grunts and whimpers muffled by the skin of your neck.

Soon, release found you. Your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as you sighed out what sounded like his name, but your voice was too pleasure filled to tell. But Sihtric was far from done. Planting one hand against the door and focusing solely on finding his own release. Which came soon enough, the way your walls clenched round him in the aftershocks of your orgasm was enough to having him painting your insides with a soft groan.

He slowed himself to still, pressing kisses over your skin until he reached your lips. The two of you remained there for a while, simply taking in each other’s presence.

The next morning came, and it was the first time you had spent the night sleeping at Sihtric’s side. But you could think of nowhere else to be. Sihtric soon led you downstairs and you were both greeted by his friends, who all turned to you with what could only be described as smug grins. What they all said next, would only be the beginning of their teasing.

“It stays innocent if our clothes stay on…”

Tags: @foxyanon @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @legitalicat @fallingintoyourlilaceyes @alexagirlie

You guys are the reason this got written so you deserve to be tagged!

[atlabeth]

i crumble completely (when you cry)

pairing: sebastian sallow x fem ravenclaw reader

summary: there's only one way to get into salazar slytherin's scriptorium.

a/n: hogwarts legacy was 70% off, i bought it and it's good but not good enough in all the ways that matter so im fixing it for myself. no i dont know why this is where my inspo is when i have so much unfinished stuff but just go with it

wc: 2.1k

warning(s): angst but hurt/comfort angst! a more in depth scriptorium scene so crucio is used but this is from seb's pov so lighter descriptions of all that fun stuff

“Ominis, you have to.”

“I’m not doing it!” he exclaimed. “What do you not get?”

“Would you rather die here?” Sebastian spat. “Because if you don’t, that’s what will happen. And I’ve become rather fond of my life over these past few minutes.” 

“I refuse to use dark magic,” Ominis seethed. “You of all people should understand, Sebastian!” 

“I don’t understand why you’d let us die instead of casting one spell!”

He barked an incredulous laugh. “It is not just one spell! God, you—”

“Can you do it?” 

Sebastian’s anger faltered for a moment when you spoke up, and he frowned when he saw you were looking at him. “What?” 

“Can you do it?” you repeated. “Can you cast the curse?” 

“I—” His mouth fell open and shut as he looked between you and Ominis, before they finally settled on you. “—I think so. Not well, but—”

“Then you can do it,” you said. “Cast it on me, and we’ll be out of this mess.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened as he said your name in disbelief. “You can’t be serious!”

You stared at him. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Ominis cut in. “I know what it feels like—you’re not putting yourself through that. We’ll find another way.”

“There is no other way.” You gestured at the letters on the ground, his aunt’s last mark on the world. “You’ve got the answer right here, and a willing victim. What are you waiting for?”

Sebastian grimaced. “Calling yourself a victim isn’t helping.”

“The only reason you’re willing is because you don’t know what you’re signing up for.” Ominis’s blank gaze pointed at the ground, but his sharp words hit you all the same. “It’s unimaginable, excruciating pain. Every one of your nerves exploding, your bones being crushed to dust, your blood turning to fire. You will never forget what it feels like.”

You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the chill settling over you. “Well, it’s either that or we sit around here until we die.”

“Even if he wanted to—”

“Which I don’t!” Sebastian cut in. 

“He would have to really mean it,” Ominis finished. 

“Again, which I don’t!” he exclaimed. 

“That just means it won’t hurt as much,” you said. “Should take away some of your reservations.”

Sebastian huffed. “There is something wrong with you.”

“And you were all for this when it would be Ominis casting it on me?” you asked, tilting your head.

“I— I figured he would cast it on me!” His eyes widened. “I— I could teach it to you, and you could cast it on me!”

“Will the two of you stop bickering?” Ominis asked. “It’s not making this any better.” 

“Of course,” you nodded. “Sebastian will cast the Cruciatus Curse on me, and we’ll be out of here. Okay?” 

Sebastian stared at you, your steely gaze having already met his. You’d always been stubborn, unyielding—he’d known it since you bested him in a duel in your first ever meeting. 

Ravenclaw hardheadedness, he figured. Always assuming you knew best (you usually did), that you were right (you usually were), that you could handle whatever ended up in your path (you usually could). 

And here you were, standing right in front of him, those determined eyes unwavering as you practically begged him to cast an Unforgivable Curse on you. 

Did you know that he wasn’t even sure he could cast it on you? Not just because it was near unthinkable, but because he had no idea if he could scrounge up enough ill will towards you to even partially want to hurt you. 

Did you know that you were the reason he’d started doing better in classes? That, no matter how much he complained about your study sessions together, that he could have been doing something much more productive, he treasured every moment with you? 

Did you even know that the mere thought of causing you pain made him want to retch? That, yes, he may very well choose death over imparting the torture curse on you? 

Did you even know how he felt about you? 

Sebastian pulled his wand out his robes, his grip tightening in an effort to stop his hand from shaking. “You’re sure about this.” 

You nodded. “It won’t leave any physical wounds. It’ll be over sooner than you know it.” 

He huffed as he glanced away. “You shouldn’t be the one reassuring me.” 

“I don’t mind,” you shrugged. “Just… buy me a pint of butterbeer when we get out of here. Then we’ll be square.” 

“You’re not exactly aiming high,” Sebastian said wryly. 

You smiled. “My mum always told me it was the simple things. Now, do it before I lose my nerve.” 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, once, twice, three times as he adjusted his hold on his wand. He closed his eyes as he tried to remember the wand movement, but instead, he saw your face. 

The first time he met you, when you embarrassed him in front of the whole class by beating him ina duel. When you asked him to take you to Hogsmeade for the first time, and you ended up taking down a troll—how beautiful you looked with the glow of exertion beneath your skin, when you turned to him with the widest (and maybe first) smile he’d ever seen from you in the wake of your efforts. 

How could he do something like this to you?

He pushed the doubt down. There was no other way. You wanted him to do it—wanted him to save them all from a very boring, very preventable death. 

Something in the scriptorium could save Anne. That was worth anything. 

Sebastian took in a deep breath. He brought forth every negative thought—the goblin that cursed his sister, his housemates that believed in nothing but blood purity, his uncle that refused to believe in him, refused to even try to save Anne. 

None of it to do with you, who had done nothing but support him since you helped him up from the ground after pummeling him into it, but he tried to project it onto you anyways. 

He raised his wand. 

He opened his eyes—your gaze hadn’t moved. They showed no fear, no anger, no emotion at all but steely determination. 

“Crucio!” 

Red light arced from his wand to your body. You crumpled to your knees the instant the spell reached you, skull-splintering screams echoing throughout the small room as the curse wrapped its way around you. 

Your scarf fell from your neck, your robes pooled around you, your knees and palms scraped the stone as you tried to support yourself in any way. Your agonized wails were deafening, and Sebastian nearly lost it right then and there, nausea rising in his throat. Ominis’s blank, widened gaze fell on the wall, his hands clenched into fists as he fought to keep his expression even. 

You were one of the strongest people Sebastian knew. Always infallible, always so smart, so level headed in the face of his impulsivity. Naturally gifted at magic, and somehow willing to tolerate him. And he’d been forced to reduce you to this. 

But it worked. Your screams of pure torment unlocked something in Salazar Slytherin’s sick design, and the door of tortured faces pulsed with red energy before sliding into the stone. 

Sebastian rushed over the moment the door started to open, his wand falling from his grasp in his haste and his eyes wide with fear and concern. He went to touch you, but stopped just before he could—he didn’t want to hurt you more. Your entire body rose and fell with your beleaguered breaths as you rolled on your side, your every movement labored. 

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed. “I— I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

You couldn’t respond, the pain still arcing its way through your body despite the curse being done. You inhaled sharply as your eyes screwed shut, and you nodded. 

“You’re clearly not okay.” The slight waver in Ominis’s voice betrayed his unaffected stature. “That was remarkably stupid.”

“Ominis—” Sebastian started, but you shook your head. 

“It worked,” you interrupted as you lifted a shaky hand to point at the now revealed scriptorium. “Couldn’t… couldn’t be too stupid… could it?”

“There is something wrong with you,” he whispered. You could only manage a pained laugh at his words. 

Sebastian stayed there with you as you fought through the last few convulsions—he said nothing when you grabbed his hand, bit back his wince when you squeezed tighter than a vice. After what you just went through, he could bear something so small. 

Your breathing was still labored when he finally helped you up. Your legs nearly collapsed beneath you, but he kept you upright. 

“You’re okay,” he whispered, desperate to reassure you. “You— you’re okay.”

“I told you I would be,” you said. 

“You did,” he conceded. “I keep forgetting you’re always right.” 

He got the slightest smile from you at that. Sebastian glanced over when he heard footsteps, and he saw Ominis approaching. His whole body still held a tenseness, but he was sure it was for a different reason this time. 

“…You took that well,” he finally said, and he held out your scarf. 

Again, another laugh and another wince. “I really didn’t. But thank you.” 

You reached for the scarf, but Sebastian got to it first. He gently draped it around your neck, taking special care to keep the Ravenclaw emblem in the front. You had a lot of pride in your house. 

“How’s that?” he asked softly. 

“Perfect,” you nodded. “Thank you.” 

He nodded too, and Ominis cleared his throat. Sebastian turned back to him, his cheeks tinted slightly pink. Ominis held his wand, and he took it back before shoving it back into his robes. Casting any sort of spell felt dirtied right now. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I… I’m sorry about all this.” 

“…Thank you,” Ominis echoed. “Let’s just get out of here before any more of Slytherin’s tricks find us.” 

“No arguments here,” you mumbled. 

Ominis walked in, and though your eyes followed him, you lingered back with Sebastian. He still supported you, one of his arms interlocked with yours. A part of him was worried that you would collapse again the second he stepped away. He could feel your chilled skin even through your robes—no wonder you always wore your scarf. You ran colder than a mermaid. 

“I’m so sorry,” Sebastian said quietly. 

“You already said that.” 

“Because it’s true,” he said. “These curses are unforgivable for a reason. You never should have had to go through this.” 

“Well, I forgive you,” you said. “We had no choice, and I asked you to do it. And,” you gave him a wry look, “it didn’t hurt that much, so you clearly didn’t mean it.” 

He couldn’t even laugh at that—he kept hearing your piercing screams, agony beyond all reason. He would surely hear them for weeks to come in his sleep, see your prone form every time he closed his eyes. 

He felt you nudge him in the side. “Hey. Perk up. I’m okay. Besides,” you gave him a sideways smile, “Rowena would be proud. Anything in the name of knowledge, eh?” 

That got the slightest of smiles out of him, and he shook his head. “There’s—” 

“Something wrong with me, I know. That’s the third time today.” You tilted your head towards the scriptorium. “Now, shall we get what we suffered for?” 

Sebastian nodded, and the two of you walked in, him still supporting you. Ominis had already made his way up the stairs—he really did want to get out as soon as possible. You had your wand in your free hand and had already murmured a quick Revelio, eyes darting around in an effort to unearth any secrets. 

“That brain of yours never stops, does it?” 

Your lips quirked. “Never.” 

Another beat of silence as you searched the alcoves together. He couldn’t help but watch you—you were a Ravenclaw in her natural habitat. Your brow creased just so, your pretty features honed to a single point of focus, cycling through all your thoughts at breakneck speed despite what you just went through. It made his heart swell with something he couldn’t quite name, right beside a gnawing hole filled with guilt.  

“I really do owe you a pint,” Sebastian murmured.  

You laughed. Lighter, this time, and with only the slightest grimace. “Make that two.” 

A smile crossed his lips without him even thinking. Sebastian was so glad he had you in his life—he was only sorry he had to wait until fifth year. 

“Deal.”

[finnglas]

So I can't remember if I voted in the 2016 election.

I voted in the primaries, I remember that. For Bernie actually. I didn't like Hillary; I fell for the decades of smear campaigns. The right wing has been shining a spotlight on any real, perceived, or straight up fabricated less than savory detail about her since she was a political advocate in college in Arkansas who insisted on wearing pants when pants were not "professional" for women. And I, old enough to know better, fell for it.

2015 and 2016 were two of the hardest personal years of my life. I had lost my job, my cats had been super sick, we'd spent tens of thousands of dollars trying to pinpoint a mysterious health problem my partner was having, my mom had to have surgery on a crushed vertebrae -- there was a lot. I was exhausted, I wasn't excited by the Democratic candidate, and the polls all said Hillary had it in the bag. I meant to vote. I thought about it. But to this day, I don't know if I actually did. I have a sneaking suspicion that I didn't, that I ran out of time because I kept putting it off. My memory has trauma shaped holes in it, though, and I don't know for sure.

I do remember the gut punch of the election results though. I remember the breath stealing feeling of panic. I remember writing electors and asking them not to certify. I remember donating to Jill fucking Stein who said she was going to sue over the scandal with the voting machines.

(She did not; she kept that money for herself like the grifter she is.)

Most of all I remember crying for the entire month of January, because I knew what a Trump presidency meant. I watched as multiple queer and trans friends contemplated - and in some cases, carried through - plans for suicide because they were so terrified for what would happen to them under that government. (Note: I understand the impulse, but please do not do their job for them if you can help it. They don't deserve that and neither do you.) The trauma of several online contacts not existing anymore because they took what they saw as an emergency exit.

And I don't remember if I voted. I am haunted by the suspicion that I and others like me simply were not excited about the candidate we had, and had other concerns that took precedence. We relied on everyone else showing up in our place. Friends, there is no one else to show up in your place. You are the only person who can cast your vote.

If I could go back to 2016 now, I would drag my ass off the couch and go stand in line for however long it took, because not voting means I was complicit. It means I did not stand in the way of the damage I saw coming. I did not take what action was available to me to prevent or reduce harm.

I will never do that again. And honestly? You shouldn't either. There is no scenario in which handing over our basic safety without even the bare minimum of resistance is the moral high ground. It is just regret waiting to happen.

I know what I'm talking about on this one, ok?

Thanks for listening.

[arcielee]

sinful

Summary: Lucifer shows you what Adam is lacking. Paring: Lucifer Morningstar x Reader Word Count: 2k+ Warnings: 18+, Reader AFAB, sexual discomfort hinted, sexual inexperience, kissing, oral (f receiving), fingering, cunnilingus from the leader of all demons, and also Bible verses being used to create sexual tension?? Author's Note: Well, I have fallen headfirst into the Hellaverse and needed to get this smut out of my system. Bible verses being used are 1 Corinthians 9-10 & Galatians 5:17. This was inspired by the artwork created by cluffy_25 from IG & TikTok. Maybe now I can finally get some sleep. I hope you enjoy! 😭

On that fateful day of your creation, there was a palpable shift in paradise from the jealousy that was sown into the earth. 

Lucifer was first in the shadows, just another specter amongst the watchful wonderment as the rib pulled from Adam was crafted, flesh intricately woven; the sight of you was a holy splendor, surpassing every and any expectation imagined. When it was proclaimed that your image was the likeness of Yahweh, he had scoffed, ignoring the chorus of angels recoiling; the truth–which he spoke out loud–was that your beauty was a novel artistry all its own. 

He continued that nothing, that no one, could even compare to you. 

It did not help that the praises above echoed this sentiment and further seeded a growing resentment, its envious tendrils wrapping and rotting Eden from within. With it, your novelty was peeled away, but Lucifer remained enraptured with your ethereal grace, with your careful consideration you showed to all living things as you learned your surroundings. 

He also saw the covetous gaze cast from the angels and how they poorly masked it with a cold reserve that was met with your every interaction. 

Lucifer saw how it began to chip away at the kindness you gave freely. He burned when he saw the hurt that touched your lovely features, he fumed at the sound of your disheartened sigh of acceptance that this was all you could expect from this life given. 

Your isolation called to his loneliness, and with Lucifer, you found a kindred spirit. You were grateful with how he returned your genuineness, even finding a sense of comfort, of validation, at the tip of his brazen tongue that did not fear consequence. With him, you found your thoughts could be shared, the ones you carefully clutched to your chest, and would not be met with any judgment–your shy whispers on your divine purpose that came knitted with your existence and the gilded cage that it created. 

Though he seemed an empathetic creature, always kind to you, you were also aware of the stories and his lore. You caught a glimpse one day when you let slip the chore required of you to lay with Adam, a duty you tried to complete quickly and quietly when he demanded. 

The air around you thickened, and you saw the demon that thrummed beneath the surface: the flash of red in his eyes, the heat from the flame on his furrowed brow. Something powerful, something dire that came and went with your heartbeat. 

This was an intimate subject that Lucifer always precariously balanced on the precipice of, always alluring to something unknown by you. He hinted at the shrine you possessed, giving you just a taste of something sinful, of something more that was within your reach. He spoke of pleasure that could be found, but when you mentioned this to Adam, he only sneered. 

For man did not come from woman, but woman from man; neither was man created for woman, but woman for man.

“But do you ever wish for more?”

It was another day in the garden. Adam had been swept away by the angels who remained in awe of the First Man, but this never bothered you. You welcomed the reprieve, slipping away to return to the natural arbor by the river weaving through the oasis. 

Here the branches curled overhead, light streaking through and the leaves blanketing the ground. Your legs were stretched to feel the sun that fell through, allowing Lucifer to lay his head on your plush thighs. His eyes were watching you, waiting for your response to his question. 

Your lips pursed. “I already have all that I could ever need.” You were careful with your words, your fingers moving to comb through his golden hair.

He hummed with your touch. “I did not say need,” his eyes were still trained to you, an upwards curl to his lips. “I asked if you wished for something more, for something else.” 

“What else could I possibly want?” Your brow quirked. It was part question, part curiosity. The fallen angel seemed to speak in riddles. 

His eyes glittered. “Free will.” 

“But I have free will.”

“Free will allows you choices all your own,” he argued, still smiling. “Would you have chosen Adam if you had not been given to him?”

Lucifer grinned as he watched his words catch in your throat. It was another intrusive thought he always seemed to uncover, pulling to the surface. Your blood stained the apples of your cheeks and your tongue wet your lips. 

“Adam,” you began, pulling your hands away and placing them at your sides, “was created in the likeness of God.” This was the repeated mantra sung from the heavens, words you spoke now without any conviction. “To not choose him would be to not choose the one true…” 

But it faded to obscurity once you became aware of his close proximity; he pulled himself upright before facing you, leaning in with his intensive gaze. “Adam is not God, but only a man.” His voice was low, fanning against your cheeks, and your skin flushed hotly with his words.

This was not the first time he reminded you that Adam was just a man, merely created from the dust of the earth. You never defended whenever Lucifer spoke of Adam’s failures, his certainty that Adam did not give this pleasure you deserved.

It was a topic that piqued your interest, but you felt too bashful to continue it before. But now…

“Free will should allow you the option to choose for more,” his honeyed tone continued. “Should you not experience all that this life has to offer?” 

For a moment, you could only hear the orchestra life created, the rustle of the leaves with the soft breeze and the water that flowed. You had always thought Lucifer was handsome. There was something captivating about him, and right now, you were entranced with the new emotion that now played in the amber glow of his eyes.

Like what, you dared to whisper, eyes wide. 

Lust of the flesh, he replied with an elegant arc to his brow, with an impish curl to his lips.

You felt your skin prickling, something that flitted along the seams of your being before returning to coil in your abdomen. It was something that pulled you to the precarious ledge he seemed perpetually perched on. 

And you kissed him. 

It was gentle and it was quick, though your heart bruised against your ribs with your bold action. You felt the embarrassment flood your features, but when you tried to pull away, his hand caught the back of your neck, his fingers curling into your nape. His mouth captured yours with vigor and your mind splintered from the softness of his lips, from the warmth of his mouth; a sensation that screamed throughout you, craving for more.

Flesh lusts against the spirit…these are contrary, the one to the other.

He stopped the moment you tensed, pulling back and allowing you a breath. Your lips were swollen and flushed, your eyes glassy as they came to focus on the Prince of Darkness. “This does not have to go further unless you wish it to,” his voice soft with his emphasis.

The choice presented like a thick haze that swirled around you, drawing you towards him again. This pleasure promised trilled your veins, and your hands moved to grasp and pull him closer for another clumsy kiss. 

Your body sang from his touch as his fingers skimmed over to grab into your hips, his warmth alighting your every nerve. His mouth moved to your jaw, to the curve of your neck and lower, nipping at your collarbone. You giggled, squirming against him, and his hold moved to cradle your lower back, a guiding press backwards until you were laying on the grass. 

“Trust me,” he whispered against your skin, his hot mouth trailing lower. 

Lucifer nestled between your thighs, his hands never leaving your body so you were aptly aware of his next movements. His head turned to press a kiss on the inside of your knee, following along with licks and nips of his teeth and tongue, plumes of color following his wake. It was a slow pacing, creeping towards your core, feeling how your blood simmered beneath, your body blossoming with his methodical ministrations. 

Your legs widened, welcoming him and his intimate touch. His fingers pressed a v-shape to spread your folds, his exhaling tickling against your cunt, swollen and glossy with your arousal. He moved closer, a tentative touch of his tongue, and you melted against his mouth. He groaned with your taste, briny and begging for more; his hands curled under your thighs, canting your hips to meet with his lips. 

It was a sensation that seared through your veins, a bolt straightening your spine. You gasped again, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair to ground yourself as his forked tongue moved with precision and with purpose. 

He was mindful of your every sound, your bated breath and your sweet sighs, the mewling noises that spilled like nectar from your lips. He pulled you towards a plateau of pleasure that resonated throughout your core, rattling your bones beneath. 

You felt him swell against you, burning between, and your thighs clenched around him. Your chin pressed down to see him, truly for the first time: his horns curling up from his blond hair, the blood-red glow of his eyes pooling onto your skin. 

Your mouth fell open, shock and pleasure twisting from your lungs. 

Lucifer lifted his head, meeting with your teary gaze, his sharp smile gleaming from your slick. “You may grab onto them, if you need to.” His voice was low, husky. 

Your hands trembled to touch and their smooth texture was warm against your palms. You reverberated with his low chuckle as he dipped his head back to the apex of your thighs, his vitality unleashed. He feasted on your essence, and your hands gripped the base of his horns as his forked tongue carved into your sensitive flesh, a pulsing pleasure that poured hotly in your core. You cried out with the prod at your entrance, and he pressed a quick kiss to soothe as his finger curled within you. 

“You are doing so well for me,” he crooned as his finger searched, brushing against a spot that brightened your vision, curling your toes. He hummed again, and you felt his satisfaction curling on his lips. “Can you take another one for me?”

Your back arched with his touch; the tandem of his tongue and fingers thrilled you, the pulsing pleasure coiling so tight it was as if your heart was beating outside your body. It unfurled, a blinding light, a sobbed release, this euphoria wrenching the air from your lungs and your muscles contracting around his digits; and Lucifer continued his come hither motion to your completion. 

You were eventually brought back to your body, feeling a gentle breeze against the sheen of sweat, the grounding weight pressing to the inside of your thigh. You blinked, seeing Lucifer with his head resting against you, his fingers drawing lazy designs on your skin. His wicked grin was splayed, watching through hooded eyes at the slow rise and fall of your chest as you regained your breath. 

You blushed furiously, feeling the dull throb between your thighs, the last remnants of your pleasure he craftily pulled from you. But there was also an ache, a contrast of emotions playing in the haze of your mind: the purpose you were given and this newfound pleasure had. 

These are contrary, the one to the other: so that ye cannot do the things that ye would wish.

The blood drained as you pushed to your elbows, a prickling fear that followed the curve of your spine. You stammered, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. “W-what did you say?” 

Lucifer tilted his head, his brow furrowed, confused. “I only said that you were beautiful,” and he pushed up, moving to kiss you, softly, sweetly. “You are beautiful just like this.”

You allowed his kiss to comfort you, rekindling the fire he had found within you, with the sweet taste of your sin on his lips. 

arcie's masterlist

[ryebread0605]

Could I request bottom Sebek with top male reader? it's fine if not :)

Of course! I’ve never really written for Sebek but I adore him as a character so I’ll do my best!!! 

And yes I gave Sebek a praise kink because he deserves praise 

“I’m sorry I know I should’ve warned you before you slept over but-“ Sebeks fingers fidgeted with the soft blanket covering his lap, his eyes cast downwards and a heavy red tint covering his cheeks. 

Earlier today, he had been so excited about inviting you, his boyfriend, to sleepover for the first time (which Lilia teased him endlessly about how he stuttered while asking) that he forgot one major key detail.

His rut.

It wasn’t new to him, Sevens no, but it completely slipped his mind this time and so now he was sat in his bed hoping to whichever of the Great Seven could hear him that he could calm his now desperate mind and just have a normal sleepover with you. 

But as your lips gently pressed against his and a small smile made its way to your face, he couldn’t help but be completely entranced and focused on nothing but your voice and body.

“My poor boy, you don’t have to be embarrassed. These things are natural sweetheart, it’s alright. Now, would you like some help?” You made sure to keep your voice calm and soft, not wanting to scare the already heavily embarrassed man any further. And well, you knew how much he adored when you spoke like that.

With a hesitant nod and a small whine, you coaxed him to lay on his stomach and slowly reached around to undo his belt. Slipping it out of the loop and undoing his pants before pulling those off too, you could already feel his cock hard and pressing taut against his boxers. His face flushed even more red as he tried to hide it but slowly moved his hands as you reminded him you had to take his boxers off to help him.

“Such a good boy, now I know how bad you want me but I have to prep you first alright? Cant have my precious boy in pain” he practically melted at the praise. The way you called him precious made his heart beat faster and his body grow more desperate for you. As you slipped one finger inside of him, he bit back a moan at the sensation. He was always so sensitive and surprisingly quiet during these intimate times, that was until you *really* got him going. 

Slowly yet steadily you pumped your finger in and out of him, adding a second once you thought he was ready and beginning to scissor his hole to stretch him for you.  His soft moans were muffled by the pillow he had chosen to bury his face into but the way he ground himself against your hand told you he was enjoying himself. 

He let out a soft whine as you removed your fingers, looking back to see why you stopped only to be met with the site of your bare body. Grabbing the bottle of lube you knew he kept in his bedside drawer, you coated your cock in it before lining yourself up against his hole.

“Take a deep breath for me sweetheart, and if you need me to stop you tell me” he nodded in response and gripped the pillow, letting out a moan of pure pleasure as you began to push into him. Allowing him to adjust slowly to the feeling, you took your time before bottoming out, smirking a bit at the slight bulge in his stomach. He panted softly before looking back at you again.

“P-please (name), i need you to move. P-please don’t hold back i need you to be fast (name) please!” His begs were like music to your ears and, with a smirk, you complied. The sound of skin against skin and his desperate yet muffled moans filled the normally stubborn boy’s room as your cock moved against his walls. Reaching a hand around, you used one hand to jerk him off while the other held his hips in place. 

“Such a good boy for me, being all loud~ I just love when you’re this obedient~ you really want everyone to know who you belong to, don’t you sweetheart~?” Your teasing praise made him blush more, his mind too scrambled by the pace of your hips slamming into his to do anything more than shakily repeat the word more over and over. And who were you to deny your perfect boy what he wanted? 

Your pace was brutally fast, each thrust causing your balls to slap against him while your hand continued to jerk him off. He was far too fucked out of it to even speak anymore, lips parted and tongue hanging out as his back arched beautifully and he moaned out your name like it was the only thing he knew how to do. It wasn’t surprising when he hit his peak and came hard onto his sheets and your hand, his hole clenching around you and milking your cock. You sent ropes of warm, sticky cum into him while still fucking him through both of your orgasms.

Pulling out him slowly, you lay beside him and gently run your hands through his hair that now sticks to his forehead, a lovedrunk smile on his face as he lays his head on your chest.

“You did so good baby, I’m so proud of you. You’re so amazing for me” your words of praise made the man whine again, quickly feeling his cock harden and, with a chuckle, you got on your knees in front of him, intending to please him until your poor boy was finally satisfied 

[catnipaddictt]

teeth

modern!anakin x gn!vampire reader wc: 2.1k tw: BLOOD - lots of talk about it, reader turns anakin into a vampire, kissing

synopsis: while on a routine visit to anakin, he decides he wants to be with you forever, even if that means giving up his human life

The trees of the now abandoned playground cast long shadows across the ground as you walked. The moon illuminated the road, bathing the dead silent street in a brilliant white light. You have made this trip a thousand times now, only at night, and ways by foot. It was safer for you this way. 

Rounding the block your senses pick up the rustling of a neighbor cat, who upon seeing your figure, immediately flees the scene. There is no wind tonight, the humid air of summer has long gone, replaced by a permanent nip at your porcelain like skin.

You pass by the places you know all too well by now. The sidewalk where you first saw him, the drooping willow tree where he ‘accidentally’ walked into you. You had a map of the neighborhood in your mind, pins dropped where-ever he had been. To say you were infatuated would be offensive.

His name was Anakin Skywalker. Your Ani. Sweet human Ani. He was young, well younger than you, but still a man. Rough hands and always tired eyes that always found their way to you, and you who eagerly accepted them. He was so close now, you could almost taste him. 

Running your tongue over your sharp teeth, you make your way down his garden, to the back door he left unlocked. Just for you. You tap your knuckles against the aging wood, waiting for your obsession to answer. 

A mop of curls and blue eyes appear almost as soon as you make yourself known. He was always waiting for you. He holds out his large palm for you, “come inside.” 

Anakin Skywalker never minded your prying eyes and unnatural temperature skin. It never bothered him that you only could visit him when it was dark or that you would wait until he collected you from the aging backdoor to his small apartment. All he knew was that he adored you. 

He adored the way you visited him every night and the way your words rolled off your tongue. He loved the way you spoke to him, possessive, in a way he knew he would never get enough off. 

Anakin trusted you with his life, there was something about you that intoxicated him. You made him feel hazy but focused at the same time. And he loved it.

He led you inside, past the kitchen countertop and the cluttered desk in his compact living room, until he reached the door to his bedroom which he pushed open. His hand encased yours as he brought you into his little sanctuary. 

You could hear the steady beat of his heart and the rush of blood in his veins as he settled in his plush bed, leaning against the wall. You sat opposite him as you always did, legs crossed and eyes taking him in. 

His soft sweatpants clung to his hips and as he raised his arm to push a stand of hair out of his face, you were blessed with a sliver of smooth skin. You didn't speak, you never had to, he talked and you listened. He told you about his day and what he ate for dinner. He tried to explain what it tasted like but can never find the words to describe all the different flavors. He always made an effort to try and help you understand humans more. 

It perplexed you how they lived such short lives, a brief dot in the history of humanity, and the world. You had been around for centuries before him, experience the change that came with it. Sometimes you would talk, never for long, about what it was like before cars or the invention of the telephone. 

Anakin loved hearing your voice, it was soft but smart, you always knew how to word things for him. Most nights, like this one, you didn't speak, only watched him and the pull of his lips as he told you a story. 

The words flowed out of his mouth smoothly as you remained transfixed on the human before you. He was just so precious? That was the only way to describe it. You wanted to keep him until the end of time itself. But there was only one way to do that and you didn't want to take his normal life away from him just yet 

It was like he could hear your brain ticking away, “What are you thinking about huh? What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?” He cooed at you. He spoke softly.

At the beginning of your nightly meeting, you had been skittish and unsure. You had steered clear of humans for as long as you could remember. Anakin had spooked you a few times in the past, but you had gotten a lot more comfortable around him. You knew he wasn't going to hurt you. Nowadays he loves to tease and joke with you. Anakin was naturally a flirt and he thrived on seeing your cheeks heat up. However he still made an effort to be gentle towards you. 

You blink at him a few times before thinking. “You” is all you reply, your voice quiet. He smiles at you, placing his palm out for you to take. You do, letting his large hand envelope yours. He rubs soothing circles over your knuckles as he speaks. “Yeah? What about me?” He asks in a teasing manner. 

There had always been something unspoken between you two. Although he was yours in your head, you had never verbalized your possession of him. You tilt your head slightly, “just you.” 

“Uh-huh” he nods, making eye contact. His rough hands continue to play with your slender fingers, running the pad of his index finger over your sharp, deep red nails. Nail polish was one of humanity's greatest inventions.

You could smell the blood surging away Anakin's body, you could also taste the iron in your mouth. Shaking your head, you try to snap out of it. It would be irresponsible to turn him, you could satisfy your need for blood elsewhere.

You feel Anakin take a deep breath before he speaks again. “I want you to do your thing to me.” His fingers run over your knuckles. You look at him with big eyes, wondering if you heard him correctly. You look at him questioningly, wanting him to elaborate. He surely couldn't mean what you thought he did. Could he?

“I know it sounds crazy, but I want you too” he continues. You just sit there, thinking over the options in your head. You didn't want to take his whole future away from him. He was a good human, he had a good job and a normal good life to look forward to. And if you took that away, well he would have a future, it would just be a much longer one. You don't know if you could burden him with that.

“I know you don't want to,” he speaks, “but I've thought it over and I don't want this to end. For us to end. Even if there is no us right now, I want there to be” 

His shining blue eyes met yours, searching for a sigh or something to let him know what you are thinking. Inside you are a total mess, he wants there to be an us. Maybe your feelings towards him haven't been one sided after all. You just never thought he, a human, would ever like you, something very much not human. 

“Say something?” He asks cautiously, his thumb rubbing a circle on the top of your hand. “Are you sure?” You question lightly. You wanted nothing more than to sink your fangs into the flesh of his neck, but you knew, at least up until now, that doing that would be reckless. Downright irresponsible of you. But now things had changed, he wanted you to. Anakin Skywalker was inviting you to take him for all eternity.

“I'm sure. I want this, and I know you do too. I've seen the way you look at my throat and the way your pupils get bigger when you run your fingers over my wrists. You want this probably more than I do.” He speaks, his words getting bolder by the second. 

Biting in the inside of your cheek, you think it over. It would uproot his whole life, make everything ten times more difficult than they already were. But you wanted this too. You wanted him.

“Okay” you answer finally. You hear his heart race at your reply, he really did want this. His hand squeezes you as he blinks at you softly. “How do we do this?” He asks.

You had never shared with him the secrets of turning mortals into immortals. You really had no authority too as you had never tried. You knew how it works, but this would be an experience for both you and Anakin. 

“I bite you, I'll be gentle I promise. It will probably feel weird at first, but just relax” you voice mesmerizes Anakin as he takes in your words. He was nervous, a bit afraid, but he knew he wanted this. 

“Okay” he responds to you, nodding his head. You move yourself closer to him, your legs now bumping into each other. He moves from leaning against the wall to cross legged in front of you. “Is there anything you want to do before I, you know?” You ask.

Anakin nods before bringing his hands to either side of your face. “Can I kiss you?” He asks permission, which you give in the form of a nod. He brings his face closer and closer to yours, then suddenly his lips are on yours.

The kiss is sweet and you lean into it. You had never kissed a human before but you liked it. The feeling of him so close to you was intoxicating and you didn't want him to stop. Eventually he has to break away for air, giving you a dopey grin. Now that he had gotten his wish there was only one thing to do.

You take his face in your hands, looking into his baby blue eyes. He gives you a nod of confirmation and then you are tilting his head to the side to expose the expanse of his neck. Your tongue runs over your teeth, preparing yourself. Bringing yourself closer to his neck, you can feel the blood streaming below the smooth skin, inviting you to take a bite. 

Your mouth makes contact with his neck, finding the right spot before running your tongue over it. You were finally getting what you really wanted, him. You knew deep down that it would always turn out this way. Once you attached to him, he was never getting away easily. Sinking your teeth into him would mean you got what you truly craved. 

Slowly you bare your fangs against him so that he could feel the points of your canines pressing against his skin. Not enough to break through, but as a warning for what was about to happen. You take a deep breath in, letting the smell of iron and Anakin's natural musk envelop you. It was now or never. Gently you sink your teeth into Anakin's neck. Your eyes almost rolled back in pleasure, he tasted better than you could have imagined. All blood tastes different, but Anakin's was by far the best you had ever drunken. Although maybe the fact that he was the only human you talked to made it better. 

He tasted almost familiar, sweet and delicious. You suck at the wound in his neck, pulling the divine sensation of his hot blood into your awaiting mouth. Anakin seemed fine so far, nothing drastic had occurred, however you could sense a feeling of slight unease about him. But that was to be expected with your latched onto his skin, tanned from the sun. 

You only drank what you needed from him, you didn't want to leave him weak. After you had your feast, you lap at the holes on his neck, trying to stop the flow of rich blood. You pull away in time to see Anakin flex his fingers and look at you.

He was different. His blue eyes had a new feeling to them; while they were still the same blue, they seemed to hold more depth than before. He is still your Anakin, but now he has a sense of eternity about him. You could say that he had become one of your kind. He runs a large hand through his curls before taking your hands in his. “Till eternity do us part”

taglist: @qvnthesia @anisscarletstarlet @inneedsoffanfics @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist @anakinstwinklebunny @deathst9rs

thanks to my lovely editor @memoiich for this one <3

[spidernuggets]

Jason Todd x Reader

Part 2 to this.

Thanks for the support guys, sending lots of love <3

It's been 2 years or so since you moved out of Gotham. Well. Not moved out moved out. You couldn't leave. Gotham was your home. And even with those painful memories of Jason demanding you to leave, he's still the same person who you shared those long-lasting kisses with, who texted you every 5 minutes while he was on patrol to make sure you were safe at home, who was able to give you the first, real experience of love and devotion for the first time in your life.

But now you feel numb. Every time you caught a glimpse of your reflection from puddles on the ground or the shine of a window, you saw that gut-wrenching, eerie grin of the Joker. The grin of your father who once killed your ex-boyfriend and your passionate love.

But you broke Jason's trust. Maybe if you told him sooner, he wouldn't have cast you out. Maybe he would've sat down for a second and realised you aren't the same person as your father.

Staying at the next town over beside Gotham wasn't a bad idea, however. You were able to reflect on yourself, realising that you had no power over your father, and there was physically nothing you could've done to save Robin. But you've repeated in your head over and over that you are not the Joker. You weren't the ones who committed those crimes. You weren't the ones who killed so many innocent people. The only guilt that would eat at you was that you were selfish and a coward to stand up to the Joker and at least attempt to save someone. Bht you didn't. And you hoped that if someone knew your name, who knew your story, that they'd understand. That they'd be scared, too.

You were able to buy a run down... apartment?..house? Whatever it was, it was, unfortunately, all you could've afforded at the moment. And worse, it reminded you too much of your room in the warehouse. Minus the dried blood. But it had a horrible stench of weed, which took you forever to get rid of.

Unlike the warehouse, however, you were at least able to make it a little more homey. You didn't have any furniture, but you did have a cleaner mattress plus bed sheets, knick knacks scattered across the floors, a fake plant, or two on the floor beside you bed. And lastly, though you really should move on, a framed picture of you and Jason. You put this directly beside your bed, where it would be the first thing you see in the morning.

You know that what Jason told you was cruel. You could never forget it. But you had the decency to understand him. He dated someone he trusted. And unfortunately that someone just happened to be the daughter of his murderer. Of course, he'd think you're working with the Joker. Especially if that camera footage showed that you showed no effort to help Robin.

So, what the hell have you been doing when you went away? Well, as said, you couldn't stay out of Gotham for very long. You always went in and out, just for the nostalgia. Just because you had bad memories in Gotham didn't mean you didn't have good ones either. You just assumed that since your leave, you've been fired from Bat Burgers, so you decided to avoid that vicinity for now.

The real reason, though, was the soup kitchen. You could never step foot inside ever again, in fear that Jason would still be volunteering there, and you wouldn't want him to have a breakdown. So you just anonymously dropped off bags of produce of whatever you could afford during the day and quickly departed without being seen. But you missed the kids. Yeah, Jason made you feel loved romantically, but those kids, they felt like family. And how you missed diane so much, too. She was like a mother to you.

It pained you that you couldn't go see the kids anymore, but as you heard them laugh and yell just from the other side of the entrance, you smiled. You always took quick glimpses of them, and some of them grew taller. Some of them formed freckles on their faces. But your smile would slightly falter when they mention how much they missed you. And by that time, you'd just drop off the bag and make your way back home.

You weren't proud of it, but when you found yourself completely broke, you decided, fuck it, and started nicking a things from grocery stores, just for you to survive. And in moments like them, you think to yourself... am I slowly becoming like...him? You shake your head, thinking that the Joker had committed the most heinous, unforgivable crimes, while vigilantes wouldn't really care for petty theft, and the cops wouldn't give two shits anyway, especially if it's only stores running on the poor side of Gotham being robbed.

God, how you hated the police system. They'd only help when the richies were being mugged. Even Batman neglected the poor. Sometimes, you'd smile when you'd see Jason helping the kids of Crime Alley. The memory warmed your heart. Too bad you couldn't make more memories similar to those ones.

You rushed your quick drop off of fruits and veggies to the soup kitchen. It wasn't much. You think an empolyee spotted you trying to conceal a small box of strawberries in your jacket.

You felt some familiarity when you turned to make a run for it when you ran into somethi- someone.

"oW- literally what the fuck-" You hiss, grabbing onto your scrunched up face, not noticing the person you walked into. "Watch where you're going, nit-" You looked up to glare at the person, but oh, how you could never forget those gorgeous green eyes. Those green eyes you fell too far in love with. The green eyes that would sparkle when its owner would rant about the new chapter he was reading in The Catcher in the Rye. The ones that used to look at you so lovingly. But now, it is replaced with burning resentment.

"You're the one not watching where they're going."

What a familiar setting. But instead of the joking tone of Jason correcting that you're the one not watching their step, he means it now. As if he was some stranger to you, annoyed that some rando foolishly walked into him and tried to blame him.

And suddenly, you're back at the Batcave. Suddenly, you're back on your knees, looking up at the hurt, screaming man who towered over you. Suddenly, you hear once more if I ever see you again, I'll end you.

You don't reply to his spiteful response. But you notice your breathing getting heavy. You try to make a run for it past him, but what he says next makes you stop.

"You're selfish for coming here," he grumbles, barely audible, but you hear it. You hear it so clearly. And it pisses you off. What the hell does that mean?

"I get you hurting me because I was Robin. Because I'm close to Batman. But coming here to hurt these kids?"

You turn to him, disbelief on your face. "Excuse me?" You spit.

"These kids did nothing wrong. So leave them alone. Leave Diane alone. Leave Gotham." He says, surprisingly pretty calm.

You already feel the tears brim your eyes. "Fuck you," you say quietly, choking out a sarcastic laugh as you turned to walk away. But before you can leave his line of sight, you turn to face him once more. "I didn't do shit, okay?! I made a mistake, but I didn't. Do. Shit,"you claimed as you walk away in a fast pace. And this makes Jason fume in anger. Yes, you did. You lied to him. He told you his secrets. You were about to give him up back to the Joker. You put his family that he worked so hard and long to make amends in jeopardy. Right?

Jason follows after you in anger, pulling you through a narrow alleyway. Luckily, the neighbourhood was quiet, and no one was around to see this private situation.

"Don't talk to me like you did nothing wrong," Jason hisses. And you yank yourself away from his grip.

"You never told me you were Arkham Knight. Why do I owe you who I was?!" You snarl at him.

"But I did!" He yells back. "At least I eventually told you because you were always nagging that I was out late! And you didn't even return the favour by telling me you're the daughter of someone I hate the most! You didn't commit any of the same crimes he did? Fine. But you're still an accessory. You stood there watching him torture me. And I bet you stood there with every other victim that he killed, feeling absolutely no remorse. That makes you just as disgusting as him."

By this time, tears were already rolling down your cheeks. Your cheeks burned red, and you could feel a headache forming.

"And the worst part," Jason continues quietly. "I still can't get you out of my head. A stupid itch at the back of my mind saying that I still love you," he says in shame.

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. What the fuck? No. No, why the fuck would he say that. That's selfish of him.

"Fuck you!" You yell. "I'm sorry, Jason. I'm so fucking sorry, but I couldn't do anything! You saw it yourself! I was a kid, I couldn't do anything! I was scared! And I did NOT watch him torture you- I wasn't even aware you were there until he killed you! I didn't even remember it was you when I first met you!"

"BULLSHIT"

"IT'S NOT FUCKING BULLSHIT," you cried, panting, your adrenaline dying down. You rake your hair back, tangled between your fingers as your tears begin to dry up.

"I'm sorry, Jason," you sighed. "I really am, I- I'm sorry I couldn't save you. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you who I was but.. but not telling you was protecting you! The fewer people who knew who I was, the safer everyone would be, especially after you told me that you're Red Hood..." You took a breath. "I spent my whole childhood believing my dad when he told me that no one could love me. But then I met you. You taught me how to love and- and how to be loved! And I fucked this up, and I'm sorry. But I'm too tired to keep arguing. I finally accepted that I'm not the same person as my father and- and I'm not going to let you take that away from me because it's the only thing I have left.."

Jason stares down at you. You have no idea what's going through your head, and right now, you don't have the energy to find out what it is. So, you slightly shake your head in defeat and start to wall out of the cramped alley.

"Oh," you say before leaving. "And for your information, I already left gotham. Just stopping for a visit," you mutter before finally leaving Hason on his own.

He shouldn't believe you. How can he trust you?

You arrived back at your house. Your body went limp, laying on the mattress as a final tear soaked through your pillow.

You absolutely hate how you know that you still love Jason Todd. He was the first person to ever help you what love truly felt like but also showed you how fast such a strong bond can crumble in a few minutes.

As Jason is remained to be alone in the alley, he thinks to himself. It's crazy. You've been raised by the Joker. The Joker. How are you raised by such an abomination but still be the most angelic, beautiful person to cross the planet.

He walks out of the alley and goes towards the soup kitchen where he'd start his volunteer work. Before he walks in, he notices the small bag that you left behind. He picks it up and opens it to see fruits and vegetables inside. He shrugs, not trying to think so much about it and heads inside.

As soon as he steps in, he's greeted by the kids, and his gave brightens in delight. But he sees some of the expressions falter.

"Where's Y/n?" One of them asks. "You two are always together... we haven't seen her for a long, long, loooong time," they frown.

Jason was about to awkwardly answer when Diane came up to him. "Jason, my dear boy! How was your rest, honey?" She asks. Ever since he found out you were the Joker's daughter, he couldn't work, he couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep. He didn't have the energy of volunteering, so he rang up Diane saying that he wasn't in the best spirits, in which she completely understood, saying that you would be around to help anyway. He was about to answer to say that he wasn't so sure about that, but Diane hung up, telling him to get a good rest, and that she'll see him soon.

Jason nods and sends her a sweet smile. "Yeah, thanks. Had a lot in my hands at the time," he explains, but Diane shakes her head.

"Don't even worry, sweetie. It's been calm the past few days," she says, looking down at Jason's hands, and a sad look reaches her eyes. "Is that from Y/n? She always left a bag of food outside, thinking she's slick. Tsk, foolish girl," she jokes. "She hasn't been around in a while. You two are dating, no? What happened? Of course, it's not my place to know. But I'm here if you need to talk, sweetheart," she says, placing a comforting hand to his cheek before walking back to the kitchen.

A little girl tugs on Jason's jacket.

"Jay-jay?" She calls out as Jason bends down to her eye level. "Is, N/n okay?" She asks, worry in her face. Jason attempts to send her a reassuring smile.

"I'm sure she's fine," he responds. "She's a big girl, like you. I'll check up on her to make sure she's okay, if that'll make you feel better," he offers.

"You promise?" She asks, holding her tiny pinky out.

Jason sighs. "I promise," he says, intertwining his larger pinky around hers.

Unfortunately for Jason, he never breaks a pinky promise to the kids. And he would never lie to them. So, on Jason's next scheduled patrol, he'll ditch and find you to make sure you're safe. That's it. Nothing else. He doesn't need to speak to you. Just a quick glance to see if you're not doing anything stupid.

Wait.

God fucking damn it.

You told Jason you already left Gotham. How the hell was he supposed to find you??

Shit, right. Diane said you always leave bags of food outside their door. So you couldn't have lived far, right?

Okay, he'll do a quick sweep of the ourskirts of Gotham, then he'll check the edge of the next town over.

It's been a long, tiring night, to say the least. He started searching the outskirts of Gotham around 6 pm and started his search of the next town from 1am.

He was about to give up his search when he heard a man yelling. He looks down to see a figure running out of a 24 hour convenient store as a man in a uniform yells after you. Jason rolls his eyes, hopping down to the roof to stop you.

You run pretty far, but you look back to see if the store owner was chasing you. You smile to see that you weren't being followed, but as you face back forward, your head hits against an extremely hard, metalic surface.

"Fuck! No- why!" You yell, pressing a palm to to your forhead, where the impact was laid. And low and behild, you see the infamous Red Hood standing in front of you.

"You know I'm always not looking where I'm going! Can you at least have the decency not to be in my way!" You hiss, swerving past him. "Besides, I don't want to speak to you," you mutter, heading home, which wasn't that far.

"I'm not here to talk. Anna just wanted me to check if you're safe." He claims as you scoff.

"I'm alive, aren't I?" You sarcastically say, grabbing the keys for your door. Jason inspects your house.

"This is where you live?" He blurts out with clear concern.

"What of it," you mumble, stepping in. Neither of you really commented on the fact that Jason let's himself in, continuing to critique your humble abode.

"There's mould and cracks everywhere," Jason says, looking around.

"Great observation, sherlock. Guess what? I don't care. It's a roof over my head, and it's a 10 times upgrade compared to the warehouse. At least there isn't dried blood everywhere," you say.

"What? You didn't have a proper room?"

"Joker wasn't really a 'world's greatest dad mug' kind of guy." You say, laying on the mattress, keeping one leg bent upwards as the other lays flat. One arm is tucked under your head as the other is laid over your eyes.

Jason wanders around the run-down bulding, looking at your belongings scattered on the floor, which used to sit on the shelves and windowsill of his much more comfortable apartment.

But a shimmer catches the corner of his eyes. He sees a frame, the picture turned away from him, directly beside where your head lies.

He cautiously walks towards you, taking a peek of the picture. And he could already tell, by the smiling faces and puckered lips of the photo, that it was his favourite picture of the two of you. He had a copy of the photo stuck in his room somewhere in his apartment.

And the guilt slowly eats at him.

"I'm sorry," Jason quietly says.

"For what?" You mutter, obvious that you're exhausted.

"Everything I said." He replies, sitting on the floor beside you. "For telling you to leave Gotham, thinking you were anything like the Joker... saying I'd kill you if I saw you again.. I didn't mean it," he says, his voice getting raspier by the second. "It was horrible of me to say."

"It's whatever, Jay... Jason," you reply, shifting to turn away from him, your back facing him. "I'd probably think the same if I were you."

His heart sunk.

"I should've believed you," he says, his voice raising a little. All he needs is for you to say you forgive him for saying all that shit. Because of him, you think so lowly of yourself, and that you love in such a horrible state, where instead the two of you could be cosy, wrapped in softer blankets in his bed in what ysed to be your shared apartment. He doesn't think he can take it if you think so harshly of yourself.

"But you didn't. And... and that's okay. I mean.." You try to hide your sniffle by burying your face into your pillow, but you aren't as discreet as you think as Jason obviously catches you. "I don't think anyone in this world would trust the daughter of a psycho," you try to joke, sending a weak, pathetic laugh.

"But you proved to me so many times that you aren't him. And I completely ignored all those times and started labelling you for someone you're not! How are you not mad- how are you not yelling at me?" Jason says, almost in a desperate whine. He needs some sort of emotional reaction from you. But you look so... dead.

You sigh as you sit up, avoiding eye contact. "Because you were right, Jason. You had every right not to trust me. I broke your trust by not telling you- I couldn't even save you."

Jason shakes his head vigorously. "No- No, no, no. Sweetheart, no," he didn't mean for the nickname to slip out, but no one mentions it. He reaches for your hands, which fit so perfectly in his larger ones. He held your hands in his grasp, pulling them to his chest, making sure you're looking at him.

"I was wrong- It wasn't your responsibility to save me. You were a kid- we were both kids! There was nothing we could've done. We were both kids dragged into Batman and Joker's stupid game of theirs! This isn't either of our faults! And you didn't tell me you were Joker's daughter... and that's okay. I'm sorry it took so long for me to understand why you didn't tell me. The Joker is wrong, Y/n. You can be loved... You are loved. Because I love you so much that it hurts," he admits, brushing strands of your hair away from your face so that he can look into your eyes. And you can look back into his. His gorgeous green eyes that can finally see love again. "And I understand if you don't lo-"

"I love you so much, Jay," you sniffle, smiling at him. Jason's eyes soften as he smiles, his head leabing forward and his lips resting on your forhead. "I'm sorry," you say, and Jason just shushes you, but you continue. "And I forgive you for what you said to me," you quietly say, shifting to lean your head on his shoulder.

"I forgive you, too, my love," Jason replies, his hand reaching up to softly caress your cheek. "I'll stay the night. Okay? Then tomorrow, first thing, you pack your stuff and move back in with me, okay?"

You smile as you nod, your tears finally withering away as you lie down in your bed, watching Jason strip off his heavy armour, laying in with you in just his tactical pants and compression shirt on. He wraps his arms around you in a warm embrace, and suddenly, you feel safe again. You feel warm again.

You feel loved again.

I'm so sorry if this is ass 😭. I really wanted this finished, and it's like 2am. But i really hope you'd still enjoy!! 🙏🙏

Taglist 🏷: @tyrone200 @pank0w @lorosette @havlindzk @achromaticerebus @demonicparalysis @fairyeoll

sorry if you requested part 2 and was not tagged, maybe because of mention priv settings? nonetheless, i hope you like it!

[birdiewriteslit]

Hi ! I just love your writing ! ❤️ Also, I was wondering if you could write a story in which the reader is Thalia’s sister and dating Luke. The reader always thought that Luke liked Thalia and thinks that Luke only dates her because she reminds him of Thalia. She shares her doubts with Annabeth who tries to comfort her and Luke overhears their conversation. Then Luke talks to the reader about it reassuring he loves her for her and it’s all fluffy. Also, to add little angst, the reader has been traumatized by Thalia’s “transformation” and beats herself up thinking that it’s her fault that her sister is a tree.

thank you so much! sure, i can do this!!

luke castellan x daughter of zeus!reader

warnings: angst, self doubt, trauma, fluff at the end

sorry if this is bad i haven’t written angst in a hot minute

Your memory of the day you arrived at camp was still as vivid as it was when it happened. You, Grover, Annabeth, Luke, and your little sister were on the run from a horde of monsters, all of them attracted to the strong scent of the daughters of Zeus.

You were sprinting up the hill, breath ragged. Luke, Annabeth, and Grover were ahead of you. “We’re almost there!” Grover shouted. “Just keep running!”

You were exhausted, running for days with no help from any of your godly parents, but you had to keep going.

You looked back to make sure Thalia hadn’t fallen behind, but she had her shield up, showing Medusa’s face to the monsters that were catching up.

“We can’t outrun them!” she yelled. “I can slow them down, go on without me!”

Thalia started to run toward the monsters, but you grabbed her arm. “I can’t let you go. We can make it, please try to keep going.”

“I have to! Aegis will keep them at bay for a little while. It’s me they’re following,” she reasoned, her eyes stormy and unyielding.

“Thalia, don’t. They want me too. I’ll go instead, I won’t let you die for me,” you proposed desperately.

“You’re always doing things for me, let me do this for you. Let me repay my big sister.” She pulled her arm out of your grasp and turned to run at the monsters before you could stop her.

“Come on!” Grover yelled from the top of the hill, Annabeth and Luke now far in front of him. “They’re catching up!”

“I’m not leaving her!” you protested. Grover met you in the middle and grabbed hold of your arm, practically dragging you to camp as you shouted several curses at him. “Let me go!”

“I can’t. My mission is to get you across that border, and I’m not letting two of you die for the rest of us.” Grover was gritting his teeth, struggling to keep hold of you as you made it across the boundary.

You watched in horror as Thalia jabbed with her spear and missed, the Fury’s whip coming down hard and hitting her over the head, knocking her to the ground. She didn’t get up.

The biggest lightning bolt you’d ever seen struck the ground, sending the hellhounds into a panic. The monsters retreated, half victorious, as they only managed to kill one of you.

From the place where Thalia died, a large pine was growing rapidly out of the ground, and a magical force field spread across the woods, strengthening the border you just crossed.

Luke grabbed your shoulder, forcing you to turn away from the scene. His eyes were cast to the ground. He couldn’t look. “Come on,” he said, his voice breaking.

You walked past the strawberry fields with Luke’s arm around your shoulders keeping you stable. You couldn’t say anything. You knew that if you did, you would break down.

Annabeth was sobbing beside Grover, who was leading the three of you to the Big House, where Chiron stood on the porch, looking solemn. You weren’t even shocked by his centaur form. The image of Thalia’s body hitting the ground was still replaying in your mind.

You woke with a start, sweating profusely and breathing heavily. Five years later, and you still had nightmares like this. It was always the same scene over and over. You could never escape that night.

You slowly sat up in your bed, pulling the covers back and placing your feet on the cold marble floor. You rubbed at your eyes, sighing as you knelt at your father’s statue in the middle of the cabin.

You never shared this space with Thalia, but you missed her like you had. Sometimes you would dream of her and you when you were small, and you would expect to wake up and see her asleep on the other side of the room.

You stared into the reflecting pool around the statue, barely recognizing who was looking back at you. The girl in the water was tired, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days.

Looking up at your father’s carved face, you felt that familiar feeling of resentment. He had never helped you. When you were on the run, the only gift he gave was weapons for you and Thalia to defend yourselves with.

After you were claimed, it was like you never existed to him. He never answered your prayers, and he was never there for you when you needed him.

When you needed help facing Ladon on Luke’s quest, he was absent from the sky. You were forced to return to camp, two failures who learned to never rely the gods for help.

Luke was the only one you could relate to in that way. After that quest, you thought of each other differently. Finding that common ground changed your friendship into something more.

Sometimes you wondered if Luke saw Thalia when he looked at you. There would be moments where he would look at you like your sister was staring back, and he would get this sad glint in his eyes.

You certainly didn’t see her in your reflection. You’d looked for so long to find something that reminded you of her, but you could never find something good.

You had an aggression problem, which was about the only thing about you that resembled your sister. The only people you got along with were your boyfriend, Annabeth, and Grover.

Everybody at camp stayed clear of you anyways, as they were afraid of what you might do to them. Of course, you were more powerful than the others, and they were scared of that.

The day was off to a rough start. You were fifteen minutes late for breakfast, and when you entered the pavilion, heads turned. You were used to getting stared at, so you were able to ignore it.

You ate by yourself, keeping your head down. After breakfast, your first activity of the day was Ancient Greek with Annabeth.

You were reading out a boring passage to her when she stopped you at the end of a paragraph. “Are you having nightmares again?” she asked tentatively.

You looked up from the book. “Why do you ask?”

“You were late to breakfast. You’ve been looking so tired this past week. I’m worried. Luke’s worried. He says you’ve been distant,” she analyzed.

You sighed. “Yeah, I’ve been having them again. It’s the same as it’s always been.” You rubbed your hands over your tired eyes. “I can’t get it out of my head.”

“You haven’t told Luke?”

“No, I don’t want to stress him out. Besides, he probably sees enough of Thalia in me. Honestly, I think that’s why he’s with me. We all lost her that night, and he just needs something to remind him of her,” you confessed gloomily, picking at the corners of the pages.

Annabeth raised her eyebrows in surprise. “What are you talking about? Luke has liked you as long as I’ve known you. Thalia meant a lot to him, but you’re different from her. You mean something different to him.”

“Do you really think that’s why I’m with you?” Luke said, rounding the corner of the porch and making himself known. He had a hurt expression on his face.

“I’ll leave you alone,” Annabeth said awkwardly, standing up from her chair and hurrying away from the Big House.

“Luke, I-“

“I’m sorry to eavesdrop, but you can’t really think that.” He sat down next to you and pulled your hands away from the book pages. “Annabeth’s right, I’ve liked you forever. Thalia was like a little sister to me. The only time you remind me of her is when you get angry, and I’m not with you because of your anger,” he reassured, trying to make you believe him.

“Why are you with me?” Your voice came out small, and you were afraid of what he would say.

He shook his head, taking your face in his hands. “So many reasons. You’re smart, brave, and resourceful. You’re strong and beautiful. Honestly, you could name anything you don’t like about yourself and I promise you that I would love you regardless.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Yes,” he said sincerely.

You took a deep breath, ready to be honest with him. “In my nightmares, I see us on the night Thalia died. I see the moment she slipped away from me and I left her to fight on her own. I’m such a bad sister,” you admitted, voice breaking a little.

Luke looked pained at your words. His thumb was quick to wipe away a tear that had fallen. “What happened wasn’t your fault. Thalia was stubborn, once she got an idea in her head she wouldn’t let it go. You know that. If we let you go too, we would’ve lost you both. We couldn’t risk that.”

You were silent, taking in his reasoning and knowing that he was right. You leaned forward and kissed his lips softly. “Thank you, Luke,” you said quietly, resting your forehead against his.

“Of course.” He pushed a stray hair behind your ear. “Do you want me to sleep in your cabin tonight?”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright.” Luke pulled away and smiled at you. “What do you say we go zap some Dionysus kids in the strawberry fields?”

“That sounds like a great idea.” You grinned, already feeling much better.

[barblaz-arts]

Stephanie Beatrice had played my 3 favorite characters (Rosa Mirabel and Vaggie) and since I watched Encanto and B99 I have my head canon that Vaggie have both Rosa and Mirabel personalities.

Any way, I just want to know what is your head canon or theory about her? ( specifically about Lute calling her weak and why the other exorcist hate her)

Since she is your girl, I would love to read your essay about her.(I’m joking you don’t have to write that much I just like to read your post)

Thank you

"My girl"... Am I just "that one artist who's the biggest Vaggie stan" to you guys? (I won't mind it!)

Oh man! I do have some ideas! A lot of my headcanons were already kinda sorta mentioned in my fic/art tho, so sorry if you're not getting a lot of new info

- I have this headcanon that Vaggie's always been "softer" than the other Exorcists, which is what I assume Lute meant when she said she "always knew [Vaggie] was weak". I know it probably has more to do with how little time each episode has, but what if Lute was so ready, already behind Vaggie when she let that kid go, because she knew this wasn't the first time Vaggie spared a sinner? Maybe that was just the first time Lute actually caught her. Maybe she's always had her suspicions, when Vaggie's kill count would lower every year, and she'd sometimes find Vaggie saying a sinner got away somehow despite cornering that demon moments ago.

- although she's gotten used enough to her lack of depth perception when it comes to her hand eye coordination, especially when fighting, i like to think her reading ability could never truly go back to the way it used to be, so she has trouble reading/ writing/texting (if you notice, i always showed instances of this in my fic ;> )But because she's the hotel manager she still has to deal with them because of paperwork and shit, so she has prescription glasses that help. I'd wanted to include a scene in the First Guest where Vaggie almost cries after seeing Charlie thru the glasses for the first time, because she didn't think Charlie could be any more beautiful, but i scrapped the idea because I couldn't expand the concept enough to an actual scene that could be relevant to the overall fic. I probably should have just mentioned it in a paragraph or something, but by the time i remembered id already posted the chapter I intended to add it in. Maybe I'll use it for another fic.

- she prefers femme clothing so she doesn't really have a reason to do this, but she learned how to do all kinds of ties so that she could do Charlie's whenever

- she grew her hair to compensate for her lost wings

- she wasn't exactly a great cook before she Fell, but she was pretty capable when she lived alone in Heaven. Cooking for Charlie tho gave her the motivation to get better and actually enjoy it

- an angel trait that she could never truly abandon is being a stickler for rules. She's very strict on everyone and herself with these things, within reason. So even when she and Charlie started dating, she insisted that they can't sleep together until they've had their third date. When they're on the clock, they have to be professional and avoid flirtatious advances in front of staff and guests. Charlie didn't mind because she prefers privacy too.

- Vaggie's physical appearance slightly changed gradually the longer she stayed in hell. As an angel, her sclera was paler, her incisors duller, and her skin grayer. But as time passed, her sclera got more and more peach/pink, fangs sharper, and skin more purple toned

- i still like to think that Vaggie's old backstory back when only the pilot was out (having died in 2014 in her early twenties who worked as a sex worker in El Salvador) was still true. Maybe it's just because I've liked Chaggie since pilot, and I've grown really attached to that backstory. I also just really don't want Vaggie to be Heavenborn for some reason. Among the cast she just seems the most grounded to reality to me, so having her revealed to have never been human and born "divine" just doesn't seem right to me. I also just think it'd be cute and funny if it turns out she's chronologically the youngest in the hotel even tho she's basically everyone's strict not-mom.

- idgaf what Adam says, I wanna think that "Vaggie" is short for "Evangeline". I used to have these 2 coworkers in their late 50's to 60's who had Evangeline as their government name, but one of them goes by "Vanj" and the other "Vajee". Being older Filipino women who aren't really too fluent in English, they never thought there was anything wrong with that when they grew up with their nicknames. I like to think that the case was the same if Vaggie used to be human. I'm not sure how common English is in El Salvador, but I'm willing to bet it's possible she could have been given that nickname as a kid by an older family member who didn't know a lot of English. Also Evangeline makes more sense to have been the name of an angel cmon now...

[lessi-lover]

all is fair in love with you II a.russo x reader

summary: alessia comes with you for christmas. ★ all is fair in love with you II a.russo x reader

in the gentle embrace of the morning sky, the sun casted an unusual warm, golden, light through your large bedroom window. the window, adorned with soft, rustic curtains, slightly ajar, allowing the peaceful glow of the morning to filter through. framed photographs decorated the walls, each capturing a memory in time, all shared with your favourite blonde.

the same blonde lay peacefully in bed, with her hair spread out across your cream sheets. her face, half - buried into her pillow, only allowing calm, rhythmic breaths to leave her parted lips. a softly painted, hand draped itself across your waist, light pink nails slightly digging into your hips.

after a tough, but rewarding game against tottenham, all you wanted to do was allow your body to be welcomed by your lover’s comforting embrace, to feel the joyfulness of the holidays. you had quiet conversations discussing your plans for christmas, and enjoyed the unusual peacefulness you both felt.

her thumb gently traced patterns on your bare thigh, which was tucked tightly between her own pair of legs, a soothing gesture that would be able to ground you both in the moment.

“only if you’re ready to meet my family, lessi. they can be quite overwhelming.” your voice muffled by the blonde’s neck. during your 'cuddle session', your girlfriend had brought up the idea of potentially meeting the rest of your family for christmas. she had already met your parents couple months ago and the introduction couldn’t have gone smoother.

the blonde lifted her head from between your shoulder blades, her eyes filled with love and affection. “i’m willing to face the storm of mccabe siblings if it means i get to keep you,” alessia replied, arms wrapping tightly around you. a cheeky smile adorned her face, small dimples forming on the girl’s cheeks.

“absolutely love, and i promise i will tell them to keep the interrogating to a minimum,” you added, hoping to ease the girl of any worries. you had been dating for almost a year now, and making this step felt like a natural progression for your relationship.

“then saturday night sounds perfect, amore mio,” kissing your cheek, she gazed out the window.

the fading sunlight danced on her features, highlighting each perfection of her face, and you found yourself lost in captivation by her beauty.

~

"darling, are you sure i don’t need to go buy anything, and this outfit is appropriate?” the blonde asked, gesturing to what she was wearing. you had offered to help her get ready, knowing she was quite nervous about meeting your family.

“yes, i promise you don’t need to bring anything. and you look perfect, lessi, you always do,” you reassured her, a soft smile on your lips. you let the girl fuss over herself in the mirror one last time, the judgement in her own eyes, enough to make you cry.

“ready to go?” you asked the blonde, again she gave herself another look in the mirror and nodded, taking a deep breath. “okay, i can do this,” she said shakily. taking your hand, her confidence growing with your support.

~

the living room was alive with the sounds of a long - separated family finally together again. the house decorated with red, green and white tinsel, your christmas tree displayed proudly by the fire. the air thick with the smell of home- cooked food, and the walls echoed with laughter.

“hello, everyone!” you called out to your family, with a beaming smile, as the two of you entered through the front door, her hand firmly intertwined with yours. the living room erupted with cheerful greetings.

your family members were quick to welcome the both of you with open arms, instantly making the blonde feel like a part of the family. “how are ya!” your sister ella, was first one to reach you, excitedly engulfing you in a long awaited hug, nearly lifting you off the ground.

then came your youngest sister lauryn, and perhaps the one you missed the most. she crashed into you both, wrapping her arms around the both of you, before extending the invite alessia, pulling her into the embrace.

letting go, your sisters immediately started to create conversation with the blonde. her brows furrowed, both your sister's accents somehow stronger than the irish woman she saw daily, making it difficult for her to understand. questions about where you too met and how she dealt with you were dished out.

your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head, as your siblings told your most embarrassing moments to your girlfriend. about to cut into the exchange and save the poor girl, you were abruptly swept up in another embrace, by another set of arms wrapping around you, this time belonging to your mother.

cupping your face, your mom let a few tears slip, in which you wiped away with a small chuckle. "far too long, darling," your mother whispered, holding you so tightly in her grasp, as if you would slip away if she let go.

you hadn't been home in almost a whole year now, your thigh injury meaning you missed the ireland camps, and were forced to stay in london to recover. "i know, but i'm here now, that's what matters," you reassured her, rubbing her back up and down.

then suddenly, her watery eyes shifted to the left of you, arms immediately letting go. curious, you turned to see what had captured her attention. as if a moment in time paused, you saw your mom extending her arms out to alessia, enveloping her in a warm hug. you watched as your mom and girlfriend chatted, your mom making cheesy jokes that she can call her 'mom', and alessia doing her best to keep up with her rambling.

after exhaustingly greeting each of your family members you were finally able to speak to your girlfriend. although not without a few sly comments from your siblings, about the "fashionably late couple", courtesy of your well complimented outfits, - which the blonde would profusely deny she chose.

my father's entrance from the kitchen was perfectly timed, strutting around in his 'dad apron', he announced that dinner was ready. the heavy scent of food was now flowing freely through the house, everybody sitting down, excited to finally eat.

throughout dinner, alessia charmed everyone with her wit and kindness. your family was captivated by her presence, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride seeing how well she connected with them, effortlessly joining conversations. the blonde once shy, began opening up more, cracking jokes and adding the playful banter between your siblings.

"can't forget the time when y/n tried to bake a cake and it ended up looking like a deflated football?" your sister, katie pipes up. laughter erupting amongst your family. "never letting that one go. it's in the mccabe hall of fame now," your older brother added. laughter breaking out through the dining room.

"was it at least edible?" alessia asked, with a playful glint in her eye. "hey! it was, it tasted… well, it tasted interesting, i'll have you know." you responded before any of your siblings could, feigning offense to the comments about your cooking skills.

"interesting is one way to put it. i think even dad had second thoughts." your youngest sister said teasingly. the table bursts into laughter, even louder this time. "i think we've found a new judge for our family cooking contests!" your mother exclaims. alessia laughs, looking more relaxed than she had felt in a long time. "just wait until you hear about the time y/n tried to fix the sink on her own, and flooded the kitchen!"

alessia's eyes widen in amusement, turning to you with her eyebrows raised. "i'm being ganged up on! that didn't happen!" you threw your arms up, trying to think of any excuse to save yourself. "oh that reminds me!" your mother changed the topic, everyone confused as she swiftly left the dining room looking for something.

a moment later your mother returned, but this time with 12 wrapped gifts in her hands. "presents!" she exclaimed, your siblings faces lighting up and their mother's clear excitement. handing each gift, you waited patiently for your turn.

your mother handed you a wrapped gift box, a deep blue wrapping with a golden coloured bow lay in front of you, attached the gold ribbon read a small handwritten tag with your name on it. next to you alessia's eyes glistened, face lit up in anticipation. until, the blonde was given her own gift. "and one for our newest family member," you mother said, her voice laced with warmth. the comment making the blonde's eyes twinkle, a large grin plastered on her face.

"well don’t just stare at em, open them!" wrapping paper flew, a series of cheers chorused as each sibling opened their gift. each gift contained a christmas styled sweater, customised for the sibling.

for alessia, her sweater was a classic, elegant design, in a soft heather maroon colour. it featured a ribbed pattern, and a vibrant red turtleneck, perfect for chilly nights in london.

opening your own gift, you were given a similar sweater to the blonde. a chic, oversized sweater, with a trendy off the shoulder cut, although yours was a slightly richer red, more of a deep burgundy, both sweaters again complimenting each other.

a wave of cozy, oversized sweaters were lifted up in hands across the table, a mix of black, blue, greens, reds and pink sweaters clouded your view, each sibling as happy with their gift as the last. your mom stood at the end of the table, and you could only describe her facial expressions as truly at peace, her children finally together in time for christmas.

giggling with the blonde, you felt so at ease. she really was the one for you. ahead of you, both your parents stood, looking so proud and content. your father's arm was wrapped around your mother, holding her close, eyes glistening. they shared a knowing glance, their gazes both loving and approving. an unspoken message laying in their eyes, a silent affirmation that seemed to say, "she's perfect for you."

as the night went on, you found yourself falling even more in love with alessia, appreciating the way she effortlessly fit into your family and made everyone feel at ease. it was a night you would always cherish, the beginning of many more gatherings to come. you had never felt your family bond feel so strong.

after all, this was what christmas was about.

~

Liked by leahwilliamsonn, @y/m/n_ and 93,048 others

alessiarusso99 beautiful way to end a really positive 2023, with my girls and thank you mom for the sweater, the girls loved <3

view all 728 comments

y/n_y/l/n understatement of the season. that sweater is incredible. 💗

victoriapelova ❤️❤️

leahwilliamsonn I want my own one @y/n_y/l/n

y/n_y/l/n @y/m/n_ leah wants one as well

bethmead_ i think we all deserve a sweater for christmas? 🧐

katie_mccabe11 😍

lottewubbenmoy love you, sis ❤️

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15 hours ago

[reelovesfictionalmen]

Just some comfort.

Cross posted from my ao3. Wrote this in bed at midnight. Probably straight up trash. Reader is supposed to be in their 30s even though not mentioned.

As the head of requisitions and the lead quatermaster for Kortac you interacted with the operators regularly. Making sure they got clothes, armor, toiletries, weapons and anything else they needed for daily life and the field.

You had gained an easy comradere with many of the members.

The one who's company you enjoyed most as were honestly surprised to have was Nikto.

It had started with you noticing he rarely took himself to medical, you had asked other operators if he had taken any hits and they would confirm if he had or not.

One evening when he was returning his gear for you to catalog you noticed swelling and redness around his left eye. His eternal eye black doing little to hide any of it.

Clearing your throat you asked if you could talk to him privately.

He bristled at your request, agreeing but clearly uncomfortable.

Once in your office you asked him why he has not gone to medical for the injury he is failing to hide.

"we do not like them, they stare too long and judge us" he ground toeing at a stain on the carpet, keeping his eyes on said spot.

"what about letting me look at it? I've already taken measurements for your masks and other tac gear. I promise not to look more than needed" you offered.

Nikto met your eyes, you weren't sure if he meant to stare you down but for a moment you felt pinned, like you were a predator being sized up by another predator. Like he was seeing if he could take you down.

But, his gaze softened and he agreed.

After that day after every mission Nikto would come to you and have you see any injuries he had. Any he could tend himself he would but those he shouldn't he would let you see to.

During one painful wound stitching on brow, the fool did not want numbing, he had grabbed onto your hips firmly to ground himself. Even once you had finished he kept his grip on you. Unsure what to do you stroked his shoulders offering soothing words.

From that moment on, he would seek you out during normal work days. You would be going over a new shipment of gear and he would be there to help you move heavy things even if you had people for that job.

During down time when you would be relaxing somewhere quiet reading he would come sit by you and read too

You truly enjoyed his quiet company. You had begun to be able to decern what alter was what judging by the tone in which they spoke.

One day he returned from a mission and went about returning his gear but you were not there. One of your assistants answered his unspoken question, telling him you were in the infirmary after some heavy shelving fell on you.

He deposited his gear swiftly and all but ran to the infirmary to see you in one of the beds with one of your legs in a cast up to the thigh. When you saw him in the doorway you gave him a dopey grin having been given some morphine. He came to your bedside, even with his balaclava on you could see the furrow of his brow as he look in your very broken leg.

"I'm okay" you slurred as you smiled up at him.

"you are not. we should have been here sooner" he lamented as he reached out and stroked your face.

Later you would bame the morphine for killing your inhibitions, you leaned into his hand, holding it to your cheek with your own hand with a contented hum coming from you.

You didn't see how his eyes widened in shock at your actions nor did you when you pulled him by the arm so he was close enough to throw your arms around his neck and place a kiss to his masked cheek telling him how you are glad he's here.

His mind was a buzz. You had no idea what you're doing to him. What you've always done to him since you first took his measurements for his gear the first time you met.

So he did what felt natural. He embraced you in return. Holding you close to him as he buried his face in your neck.