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penvisions · 5 months ago

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services requested {chapter four}

Pairing: Kept Man! Joel Miller x Sugar Momma! Reader

Summary: In the aftermath of your explosive interaction with Joel, you decide to get some space. He finds out in the middle of helping Ellie with something by the way of your mother bringing by a set of keys for him. Will he make it to the airport in time to tell you how sorry he is?

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: no outbreak au, modern au, age gap (joel is mid 50's, reader is late 20's / early 30's), reader is more of an oc written in the x reader style, reader is described to have a scar and tattoos, power dynamics, sexual undertones, mutual pining, flirting, casual touches, mutual attraction, light angst, mentions of infinitely (not joel or reader, mentions of past trauma, allusions to power imbalances within the tattoo world, reader is depicted to have a manic anxiety attack, reader is terrified of flying, use of prescription drugs to sooth anxiety, airport rush scene bc come oooooon lol, masturbation (male), i think that's it!

A/N: so i'm moving forward with stuff to prepare for a hip surgery. it's been a long journey of just managing the pain and finally finding an answer to eradicating it. unfortunately, my insurance will not be covering the testing that determines if i'm a good candidate, so that will require me to pick up a few extra shifts. i've linked my kofi if anyone is feeling generous but there is no pressure or need to. dropping this and running to get back to school work, love y'all!

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

The first deposit approval is staring you in the face. The payroll website that you use for your assistant and will be using for your own business once it’s all finalized and ready to operate is the only window open on your laptop.

Joel Miller – pending approval

It’s in bold since you haven’t pressed any buttons, any options. Because honestly? You’re at a loss as to what to do. You haven’t heard from the man since he all but berated you nearly a week ago. And the truth is that he had scared you when he did it. The way the whites of his eyes were visible in the faint light coming off of the streetlamps, the way he had raised his voice in almost a growl of frustration, the sheer size of him as he stalked into the house behind you.

Even if you knew, deep down in your very soul- he wouldn’t do anything to physically hurt you.

With a puff of your cheeks, you press a finger pad to the keyboard and press process deposit.

Sighing out your held breath, you move away from the laptop settled atop the desk and continue packing. Joel isn’t the only one going out of town, you reached out to a friend in California to go and work a guest spot at the independent shop they were opening. A break, a little breather to get out of a house all to yourself that you needed work done on to truly make the space yours.

You were too…everything right now to reach out to the man who you just paid to be in your services.

But you didn’t want to bother him, to agitate him, to make him feel any pressure about deciding what to do. Giving him the space and chance to make up his mind was both the polite and professional thing to do in this situation. That’s the comfort you told yourself in regards to your decision on how to handle the circumstances you found yourself in.

You’ve already taken his words and dissected them, going over them with your therapist. And she was right, he was reacting to the combination of outdated information and something from his own life. You want to forgive him, to move past it but it was going to take time, you know that. So you give him the space you know he needs, that you need to. As long as he apologizes, you know your heart will soften through the residual hurt and anger that you’ve already begun to work through.

Joel is staring at the dark screen of the new phone you sent. He’s plugged it in, the little charging symbol flashing at him before it disappears. He’s waiting now, for it to turn on. The code to synch up your schedule onto his calendar on a post it note alongside the password and username combination for him to long into the bank app to see the available funds on the work card you gave him with the contract. He hadn’t used it yet, feeling like he wasn’t worthy of the dollars and cents.

It hits him like a punch to the gut, when he see’s the bold words that spell out a phone call you’ve blocked off an entire hour for:

Case Attorney, parameters of protection. 2pm-3pm.

It’s nestled neatly among consultations and appointments that range from two hours to six hours, reminders to call and check supply orders and the status of the permits he’s already called after to secure timely dates. There are no dates blocked off, even if all there is listed on some appointments for nails, for hair, for everything and anything.

Busy. Always filling your time with something. And it all makes so much sense, if you’ve made a name for yourself, have the funds that you do.

He looks over at the blueprints for the house you finalized on, something you never mentioned until it was all set and done- inferring that this would be one the things he can handle for you in that initial meeting regarding the contract.

You were lonely, must be, he realizes it at the same time he feels it himself. He got so used to the daily conversations and interactions with you, the mundane tasks that didn’t feel so monotonous with you popping in and out of the house while they worked. Even just those first few days after the job was completed, you both continued to see each other. But now…

It’s been nearly a week since he’s seen you, more time since he’s interacted with you- like really, truly interacted with you. Since he yelled at you in your new home, demanded where your husband was and what role he would have in this agreement the two of you made. Joel likes to believe he’s got a level head atop his shoulders, but the truth is that he feels so all encompassing sometimes.

With Sarah, with Elle, with his brother- all three of them pull his heartstrings, strike the match of annoyance and anger, fuel his fierce protective side.

With a sigh, he pulls up your name in his messages. There is no previous thread, nothing transferred from his older phone due to the incapabilities of the new software. He isn’t sure how to reach out so he falls back on being professional. He settles with a summary of the good bones of your house, the suggested work being something he can more than aptly make a reality and then ends the message with a question for the best start date.

But you don’t respond, either busy or sleeping- he realizes the early hour and scolds himself. Of course you’re asleep, it’s only five in the morning. He sighs and looks out the window that his dresser is pushed up against. The sun is barely beginning to peak over the horizon, the sky a deep blue that a few stars shine in.

He startles when his phone beeps where he discarded it on the comforter.

A date, where the samples of what tile and paint you want will be left on the island in the kitchen for him. You’ll be busy with work most days, will probably miss him completely and he doesn’t think anything of it.

Until later that day when Ellie brings you up.

“Hey, I think I saw something about Grey going on a trip online.”

“What?” Joel does an amazing job of keeping his cool at the sudden news, the screwdriver in his hand drops and falls to the floor. Landing in the carpet with a dull thud before bouncing and hitting the top of his bare foot where he’s crouched down and fixing a loose shelf in one of Ellie’s bookcases. He hisses as it thunks, pain shooting across the muscles there and swelling immediately.

“It looks like she’s going to be a guest artist at a new place opening in LA.” Ellie says from where she’s cross legged in her desk chair, laptop open and displaying the piece of art she’s using as a reference for a project that’s due later in the week. She’s in one course this summer, going back to full time in the fall when that time of the year rolls around.

“She would’ve told me if she was going out of town.” At least he thinks you would, how else would he be able to begin working on the renovation of your home?

“I mean…are you sure about that with how things…?” Ellie hesitantly says, her brow furrowed in much the same way that Joel’s does, despite no direct blood relation.

“I…I would hope she would tell me, considering I have the blueprints for her house and the details of the renovation with a start date.” He picks the screwdriver back up and makes sure that his task is complete.

“Have you reached out?”

“…no.” He doesn’t turn to her, despite feeling her eyes on him from across the room.

“Well, there you go.”

“We leave in four days, there’s…”

A knock at the door has him whipping his head in that direction, completely blindsided by the direction of the conversation and someone calling upon him in the middle of the afternoon.

When he swings it open, your mother is standing there with a soft smile. She greets him, dangling a ring with three keys securely looped on it and announces that they’re for him.

“Grey left these for ya, said you’d need them to start on the job when you get back from Philly?” She pins him with a smirk, knowing she’s caught in the middle of something between the two of you. The higher pitch of your voice at the end of her sentence telling him that she’s looking for confirmation.

“Doin’ the reservations on her house.” He entertains her, though she probably already knows if she has the keys in her grip.

“Oh! That’s so lovely, you’ll do an amazing job just like you did with our house, I just know it.” She winks at him, offering the ring to him and plopping it in his palm when he holds it up. “Just make sure to lock the door back behind you and I’m sure she’s left a note of which lamp to leave on so the house doesn’t look empty at night.”

“Noticed she has a lot of late nights, I can definitely do that.” Joel feels his smile begin to melt the longer he realizes that your mother is talking so casually about the way he interacts with her daughter. How he’s watched you enough to notice certain mannerisms and routines.

Lydia stares at him over the threshold. Her sharp eyes finding the cracks in his demeanor, the effects of his harsh words, sleepless nights, and nose to the grind days. Joel’s heart beats steadily as she regards him, racketing up the longer the look lasts but especially when she gasps in the middle of her next sentence.

“She does normally, but- oh dear, she didn’t tell you?” The woman blinks and concerned wrinkles form in her brow and around her nose as she scrunches it in much the same way you do when you laugh.

“Tell me what?” Joel croaks, unable to dispel the anxiety and fear that bubbles up to fill his chest painfully. His breathing shallows as his mind works through all of the worst-case scenarios of you being in the hospital or something happening to you at the shop. His fingers tighten around the keys in his hand, the metal bites into the calluses from wielding tools his entire adult life.

“She’s gone to do a guest spot at a friend’s shop in LA for a few weeks. Manny is dropping her off right now, her flight leaves in a few hours.” Her announcement freezes time completely, Ellie was right. You were leaving without telling him. Running because he gave you a reason to.

“Shit.” He pockets the keys and shoves his feet into a pair of worn cowboy boots. Lydia moves aside quickly, avoiding him as he rushes past. His heart is pounding as he pictures you alone in the airport, swathed in one of the big, chunky cardigans that you favor. Shoving the keys into the ignition, the truck roars to life. Words from a past conversation echoing in his mind.

‘You look over at him and Joel feels his chest tighten as you smile sadly at him, lips barely lifting up.

“My parents are boarding.” He sees in the way you fiddle with your phone, fingers tapping long nails against the case, the way you focus completely on the screen. You’re nervous.

“Long flight, huh?” He set the roller in his grip down into the pan he’s poured a bit of paint in, making sure it’s not going to tip over before he wipes his hands on his stained jeans and gently pulls the phone from your grip. “Ain’t no use hyperfixatin’ on it. How long is the flight?”

“Something insane like fourteen hours. God, I couldn’t.”

“Not a fan of flyin?”

“Honestly? No, it turns me into a nervous wreck, I’d rather drive for three days to get somewhere than take a five hour flight.” You don’t meet his eyes, almost bashful at the admittance. But he watches you, sees the truth behind your words and he wants to pull you into a hug. But that would be a line, so he just reached out a hand to cup your shoulder as he moves around you, squeezing it in a quiet comfort.’

“Her flight takes off at gate 42A!” He waves a hand up through the open window to signal that he hears her shout, and his truck takes off down the street. “It’s a Delta flight!”

Ellie sidles up to Lydia with her arms crossed and a smirk on her lips.

“Oh, he’s got it baaaad.” Your mom says with a sweet laugh. Watching the way his taillights disappear around the street that runs perpendicular to the cul-de-sac.

“You have no idea.” Ellie shoves at her with an elbow, cackling at the way the woman scoffs in mock hurt and places a hand over her heart.

“Oh shut up, I didn’t even get you that hard.” She defends, shaking her head at the antics of her neighbor.

“Ellie, you little shit, I swear I shouldn’t invite you over for dinner. But I have a feeling your lovesick papa is gonna go as far as boarding a plane to fix whatever he did.” She tosses an arm over Ellie’s shoulders and tugs her close.

“Fuck, you’re right. He didn’t leave any money for food.” Her face falls and the words settle in.

“Alright, c’mon- I’ve got enchiladas comin’ out of the oven any minute now. Manny should be back soon too, she never lets us stay with her at the gate. She’s a tough cookie, that girl.”

“She really is,” Ellie makes sure to lock the door behind her and follows you mom across the street. “So what kinda enchiladas?”

Brakes screech as Joel comes to a harsh start in front of the valet stand. The logo for your airline hanging above the designated spot for pull overs and pickups. He jerks the gear shift into park, grabs a flannel from the back and shrugs it on as he rounds the front of the truck. He tosses the keys to the guy who looks up from his phone at the stand.

“Hello, sir, would you like long- or short-term parking today?” Joel pulls his wallet out from his back pocket and hands over his personal bank card. He’ll gladly pay anything out of pocket to mend the damage he’s done. He just wants to get to you before boarding begins. He got stuck in traffic, of course, making his little drive into an hour long deal that had his sighing heavily and hitting his fists to the steering wheel more times than he could count.

“Uh, whatever works. Short term shifts to longer after what- 24 hours?”

“That’s correct, sir.” The attendant tears off a receipt from a small printer, it’s got Joel’s name on it and the type of car he has. He’s ushering a quick thank you before rushing inside and going straight to the boards that show the departures. He whips his head back and forth, sweeping the area for arrows to direct him to the correct terminal that hosts your gate.

He’s just stepped onto the escalator to go up two floors when he spots a flash of sun glinting off of a watch. His chest tightens as he sees you standing out on the balcony for the floor he’s about to reach, putting out the butt of one cigarette and immediately move to light another. He can practically smell the smoke from it mixed with your perfume, and he takes a deep breath before an announcement calling for preboarding for your flight along with two others.

“Shit,” He mutters to himself as he gets to the top of the escalator. There’s a short line to go through security and they’re asking for boarding passes. He mentally steels himself, getting his wallet out and gritting his teeth as he approaches at the motion of the woman at the podium. He’s not the biggest fan of flying either, it’s always too cramped, too stuffy, it makes his anxiety bubble up. But you need him, more than he dislikes the very same thing as you do.

“Hi, I’d like to book a seat on the Los Angeles flight departing from gate 42A, ma’am.”

It’s been a shitty day, your morning client didn’t show up and the person who took the spot for a walk in wanted something too complicated for the time slot you had available. So you settled on a consultation instead. Anxiety steadily builds in your entire body, humming through you more efficiently than caffeine or the nutrient packed meal you had for lunch at your parents to keep you awake and moving. The bag you packed that morning sits beside you as you father drives you to the airport.

“No need to check the car in, when you’ve got me to help ya!”

“Dad, I really wouldn’t have minded. What if my return flight comes in super late or like really early?”

“Well, we ain’t workin’ too much these days, so shut up and drink your smoothie.”

“Well then.” You huff out a nervous laugh, the taste of peaches and passion fruit souring on your tongue as you take a big sip through the plastic straw.

“So,” He glances over at you as he signals to take the exit for the airport coming up in two miles. The highway is busy, right in the middle of the city. The word is drawn out, something riding the undercurrent of it and you look over at him with a raised brow.

“So?”

“Joel’s been a little distant since the remodel.”

“He’s busy, dad, running his own company and all.” You look back out the window, fingers trailing through the condensation on your plastic cup.

“Seems like he’s avoidin’ you, should you be over at ours.” And damn if your dad didn’t hit the nail on the head. You were both avoiding each other, too much brimming and needing to be dealt with but neither of you knowing how to begin to.

“No, we just…had a little miscommunication about the work he’s doing on my place.” A sliver of the truth is all you can offer, a little white lie.

“Hmm, okay. But don’t be too hard on him, he don’t have many people in his life ‘n he seems to have taken a liking to you.” Mulling over his words, you recall the way Joel once said that since his brother became so unreliable, he forfeited his only night out a week to go to the bar and decompress.

“Everything is okay, dad. I promise I’m not getting between you two. Invite him over if you wanna hang out with him.” Regret and guilt bubbles up, you truly didn’t mean to affect the way your parents and Joel interact. They were friends, all of them. You were simply the person who hired him as a handy man, the term kept man a little too close to the truth. But it lingers in the back of your mind. Joel is more than just a handy man, he’s someone who you talked to in the quiet moments and want to take care of.

“Wouldn’t be so bad if you did get between the two of us, never seem him look so…down. Maybe you could take him out to a nice dinner, don’t know when the last time anyone did something’ like that for him. He let’s your mom and me cook for him, sure, but it’s not the same. So stubborn on that front, but I’m sure you could convince him.”

You don’t exchange any more words as he pulls up to the drop off zone. With a kiss to your forehead and a crushing hug, he shoves you toward the entrance with a ‘now get outta here and go do your thing!’.

The nicotine was doing little to calm your nerves, you hated flying with passion. It was one of the things you didn’t have the guts to handle, even if it was a normal part of life.

You put out the cigarette you just lit when you notice the tremors of your hand shaking it so much the ash rains down onto the concrete of the balcony. You walk as quickly as you can through the main throughfare you know your gate is off of. You’ve got the last boarding group, which gives you enough time to collect yourself. Your intensions of splashing water on your face and taking a few deep breaths completely derails when you see that the bathroom is empty and a sob lurches out of your chest. With shaking hands, you plop your duffel bag onto the wall that backs up to the entrance and lean back against it.

Your head is raised as you try to keep the tears at bay, but they leak out anyway, in hot streaks down your cheeks as you slide down the slick tile and thud heavily on your butt.

With a pounding heart, a heavy weight in your stomach and twitching nerves, you sit there in the bathroom and succumb to the tears. Public setting or not be damned.

The last time you were on a plane had been one of the clearest recollections of what hinted you toward what was going on with your now ex-husband. Someone who normally comforted you and got you through the few flights that had to be taken. The last time though…

‘Micah is staring at his phone as they call for boarding, your group the first due to first class. He said he wanted to treat you, make the ordeal a little easier since your nerves got the best of you. Letting out a deep breath, you go to reach for the strap of your duffel bag and sling it over a shoulder. The tickets are loaded individually on your phones, something that you didn’t think much about.

He’s so wrapped up in whatever is on the screen that he startles when you walk behind him and wrap your arms around his neck to whisper in his ear that they’re calling for your group.

“Jesus, Grey! Don’t be doing shit like that, seriously!” He’s up like a rocket, his phone screen locking. An apology falls from you, claiming you didn’t know he would react so badly. “It’s bad enough you turn into a literal child when it comes to flying, but it doesn’t mean you have to be all clingy and invade my personal space.”

All you can do is nod once, to let him know you hear him and acknowledge what he’s saying. Even if it hurts, even if it does nothing but rachet up the feeling of a balloon inflating impossibly large inside your chest, too big to fill into the small space and making the air in your lungs feel like a monumental task to breath in and out. He doesn’t reach for your hand or usher you ahead of him with a guiding hand on the small of your back. He almost makes it look as if the two of you aren’t even traveling together as he gets into the line, not bothering to wait for you while your boarding pass gets scanned and verified.

He's already seated in the row that will house you two for the next seven hours, a trip out to Philly for the next month. A bottle of water in his grip while he scrolls on his phone with that same concentration as before. And you hate the way that your heart mends a little when the plane begins to glide across the tarmac and Michah reaches over to tangle his fingers in your own.’

You’re so lost in your feelings and memories that you ignore the loud rush of stomping steps that burst into the bathroom. It’s probably just someone who got off of a flight or someone rushing before they board.

“There you are,” You hear the sudden timbre of Joel’s southern drawl laced voice. Your head whips up to reveal your tear stained face slack in complete surprise.

“J-Joel? What- what are you doing here?” You roughly wipe the sleeve of your cardigan underneath an eye to dispel the wetness from your tears. His face softens from panicked to a sad smile as he kneels down in front of you and runs a hand over your mussed hair, tucking it behind your ear.

“You don’t like flyin’.” He cups the side of your face, thumb wiping the wetness there you didn’t manage to get yourself. You don’t flinch away from him as his eyes meet yours, even if a knot lodges itself in your throat.

“Well, yes, that’s correct but-“ You begin to shake your head, the last words he spoke to you hanging heavy in the air.

“Look, I know, okay? I know things are all out of sorts with us, but you…you needed someone and I’m here.” He’s unprepared for you to launch yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and your face burying into his chest. He lets out a little ‘oof’ as his butt makes contact with the tile but wraps his arms around your back all the same. The cherry of your perfume and the smoke from the cigarette fills his lungs and he feels like it’s the first full breath he’s taken since the past confrontation. His scent, spicy and woodsy overwhelms you as you embrace, doing much the same to you.

“You’re so stupid.” You whisper, lips brushing against the soft skin of his neck. The urge to bite into the tan expanse overtakes you and your lips purse at keeping the action securely in your mind.

“I know, sweet girl, I know.” He’s completely serious, his voice barely a whisper in imitation of yours- not wanting to break the fragile moment. You can feel the guilt he carries in the firm way he holds you, in his very breath as you lean against him and move his chest as it rises and falls.

“You bought a flight to get through the line and into the terminal.”

“Guess that means we’re going to LA.”

“You leave for Philly in a few days.”

“Ellie is perfectly capable of flying out from here and I can always fly out from LA. I ain’t worried about that, I’m worried about you.” His confidence in the girl he raised obvious, pride in his tone as he realizes himself that she’s nearly grown as much as she will be.

“Shut up, you’re not real.”

“Real as you are, have a hard time believing it when you’re not around.”

“You can’t possibly be this flirty all the time, it’s not fair.”

“I’m gonna let you get away with sayin’ anything you want right now, cause you’re going through it.” He chuckles, his body shaking yours as he loses his composure at the things you have no filter for.

He’s pulling back slightly, his nose brushing your forehead and down your temple. Your breath hitches as you feel the jump in his heart beating in his chest, your eyes flashing up to meet his. Tension fills the bright room, bouncing off the tile and coursing through the air that almost sizzles between the very little space that separates your bodies. His hands are firm and wide on the whole of your back, fingers flexing as you glance down at his plus lips so- dizzyingly close.

The sound of someone entering the space and a shocked gasp as you jerking away from him suddenly, hands detangling from him as he moves slower to mirror your actions.

“Apologies, ma’am. Little pre-trip jitters is all.” Joel offers you a steady hand to stand, remaining on the floor until you’re back up on your feet, eyes trained on your boots. With a small grunt, he’s standing too and reaching for your bag as the woman scurries to one of the stalls and the lock clicks into place. The light music playing over the speakers pauses to announce the boarding for your flight and you two move together to exit the bathroom.

“It’s gonna be okay, I swear to you.” He’s pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, tickling you as his scruff brushes there. “Now let’s catch our flight.”

Joel watches quietly as you down two of the little shot bottles you purchased from the flight attendant the second she came around with the drink cart. He felt you reach for his hand the moment the plane began to taxi along the tarmac, your grip vice like as the aircraft built speed to take off. He tried not to clamp his hand around yours to give way his own discomfort at flying, wanting to ensure that you were tended to over himself. You were so tense still, your entire body rigid beside him.

He let you get him a bottle of water, though he had yet to crack the seal on it.

The window was closed, his body shieling you on the other side from the aisle, business class only holding two larger seats to a row. You had upgraded his seat and covered the cost so you two could be beside each other and he’s grateful, not even thinking of the original seat he may have gotten.

It’s well into the flight and he sees you bend down to dig into the duffel you insisted at having stored by your feet. The rattle of a pills in a translucent orange bottle draws his eyes from where he focused on cleaning the lenses of his thick framed glasses.

“These might make me a little sleepy, but, um, the rental car is through enterprise and the hotel is through a local place downtown.” He opens the water for you to down two pills, taking a sip before he twists the cap back on, shoulder warming as you lean against him, arm wrapped around his bicep and fingers tangling with his. It’s close, it’s contact, and he hopes you can’t hear the way his heart thuds in his chest as he pictures you doing so under less extreme circumstances. He worries he’s truly messed everything up, but you’re letting him be the support you need and that’s a big step in the right direction to mending what he almost burned down.

“I’ll make sure we get there safely, just worry about keeping calm. I got it, sweetheart.” The soft rumble of his voice sooths you, he knows as soon as your eyes drift shut and your breathing evens out.

Hours later, you begin to stir and feel marginally better. Everything is foggy through your sluggish mind, but you trust Joel to help you unbuckle from the seat as the plane finally comes to a stop after landing.

He does just as he promises, holding you securely to his side as you sleepily follow his guiding movements. The rental desk asks for the card on file and he’s leaning down and murmuring if he can dig it out of your bag slung over his shoulder. Your little hum of approval has him unzipping the side pocket before your voice reminds him that he needs to add himself down as a driver.

“Thank you, you and your wife enjoy your visit!”

The word slaps him in the face even as he tries to smile politely at the woman, turning away from the desk and guiding you over to the car. He secures you in the passenger seat before carefully placing your bag in the backseat.

“Sweetheart, what hotel did you book?” He watches as you pat yourself down, searching for something and then it clicks. Your phone. That’s in his own pocket, you pushed it into his hands back on the plane.

“I’ve got your phone here, Grey. I turned it on after we landed,” Joel hands it over and you blearily look down at the screen, little groans slipping past your lips as you sift through all the notifications to find what you were looking for. You turn it toward him and he sees the reservation, typing in the address listed in his own phone. He’ll text Ellie once everything is settled, more than the ‘landed safe’ he did as soon as the pilot turned off the fastened seatbelt sign.

As he turns the engine and maneuvers out of the parking lot and into the glittering city, he hears your phone ringing as it calls out.

“Hey momma, we made it.”

“Oh good! I assumed Joel managed to catch you, he rushed off so quickly.” Lydia’s voice chimes like tin through the line. “I’ve got Ellie over here, we’re playing monopoly and-“

“It’s late, let her go to bed.” You admonish and Joel smiles to himself at the concern you hold for his daughter thought you’ve yet to meet her.

“I’m fine! Glad you and dad are safe! Tell him he didn’t leave any food money!” Ellie’s loud voice causes you to pull the phone away from your ear and Joel smirks at the sight out of the corner of his eye.

“I think he heard ya, kid.” Your own sleepy smile softens the scene, making it more intimate in the close quarters of the cab. The rest of the call is at an appropriate volume and you assure her that you’ll make sure money gets sent over. As Joel signals to turn into the hotel entrance, you motion to the valet for him to stop at.

“Jus’ wanna sleep.” You mumble as you begin to disrobe, unaware of him freezing by the door as you do so. The skin you expose to him not even a thought as you hang your cardigan on the back of the chair at the desk and move to place your leggings there too. Your baggy shirt and underwear allowing for your legs to be on display, the ink that decorates them catching the low lights left on for those like you with late check ins. The snap of elastic as you unhook your bra is the last thing preventing you from laying down and you move toward the big bed to peel back the covers.

Slipping inside, you don’t even manage to get them over your body before you’re gone from the world and snoring softly.

Letting out the breath caught in his throat, Joel puts down the duffel bag and steps out of his cowboy boots before going into the bathroom. He hangs his head as his hands grip tight to the edge of the vanity in the large bathroom, a bathtub and glass panel shower filling the space. He dims the lights so they don’t sneak underneath the door, though he doubts you would stir at much right now.

He’s hard.

Arousal striking hot like a hook around his navel the second you began to take your clothes off and he feels like an old creep for the way his body chose to respond. You’re vulnerable, someone who trusts him to keep you safe. He wonders if he should go back down to the lobby and book himself a room, but…he doesn’t want to.

The shower doesn’t sputter to life as he turns the nob, it gently rains down instantly hot water and he groans as it runs over his exhausted muscles. He takes his time washing with the supplies already in the stall on a small alcove shelf. The same scent he recognizes from time spent with you, the hotel must’ve stocked your choice of products and he breaths in the comforting mix of lemon, cherry, and rose.

A hand drifts down to where he’s still hard between his legs, soap suds trailing down his body to envelop him completely in your scent and his breath sucks in the moment he wraps a wide palm around himself.

“Fuck.” He whispers, he’s really about to do this with you only one wall away. Fuck, he really is and it only takes him a few strokes before his orgasm blinds him, glittering stars of white clouding his vision as it buckles his knees and pulses out to paint the tiles. He’s panting heavily, the sensation almost too much as he pictures the way your legs looked, completely bare underneath your shirt. The little hint of your ass he got a good view of as you leaned over to pull the covers away from the bed.

The words of that particular clause in his contract float in his mind’s eye and he sucks in a deep breath. A decision on how to traverse that particular aspect of your relationship completely up to him. And god, does he want to keep up the casual and comforting touches, to feel the soft brush of your fingers against his own skin. But it’s okay, there’s time.

Damp and completely relaxed, Joel busies himself setting up the couch for him to sleep on with the extra blankets folded in the closet. He’s about to turn the light own by the side of the bed you aren’t occupying when he hears the hush of the sheets. Looking up, he sees you reaching out to him blindly.

“Come to bed, Joel.”

And damn, if he can’t argue with the soft timbre of your sleep voice and the pout of your lips as you lay in the big bed all alone. He looks over to where his shirt rests on the desk and walks over to shrug it back on before he slides underneath the covers beside you. The small huff of your breath as you doze back off and the gentle smile on your pretty lips eases him into a peaceful sleep.

You wake up to the sound of loud snoring, startling you where you’re curled up in the covers pulled up to your chin. Your eyes snap open as you take in a deep breath, the waking world shocking you as you spy tousled hair on the pillow beside you. Steaked with dark and light greys, but he’s the source of the sound that woke you.

Despite that, you bite down on your bottom lip as you take in the way he kept to his side of the large bed and slide out to go to the bathroom. The shower is amazing, the hot water rinsing away the last of the sleep that clings to you, a combination of the way you worked yourself up and the medication. You’re reaching to wash the conditioner from your hair when a soft knock sounds on the closed door.

“Hey, uh, I don’t mean to intrude, but nature calls.” Joel’s voice calls over the rush of water and you freeze.

“Oh, um, okay. The shower is clear, but it’s fogged up enough-“

“Ain’t gonna look, I promise.” And then the door is opening and Joel’s blurry figure can be seen through the mist. But you do. His hand is secure over his crotch and you realize he’s trying to cover the way his morning wood is tucked into the waistband of his boxer briefs. You quickly look away, arousal zinging through you as you do your best to ignore the sounds of him relieving himself.

He’s careful with flushing and washing his hands, not wanting to affect the temperature of your shower but it doesn’t even register as you do your best to avoid the weight his quick glance puts on your skin before he’s gone- just as quick as he appeared.

The rest of the morning is spent getting breakfast down in the restaurant, the conversation flowing easily as you both go over switching his flight for Philly to leave from LA instead of Austin. Money is sent over to Ellie and as you load up into the rental to hit up some shops for supplies you need to live out of the hotel room, Joel reaches for your hands and holds them gently.

“Hey,” He catches your eyes, the nerves he feels swelling up mirrored in your eyes.

“Joel, it’s okay, really. You- you didn’t know.” You try to pull your hands back and he lets you, curling them back to himself as he watches you switch your weight from one foot to the other.

“No, I didn’t. But I should’ve have come at you like that, it was…it was mighty unprofessional of me to do that. I was in the wrong and you didn’t deserve to catch the weight of how I responded to thinking you were married.” His words are genuine, carrying the guilt he feels over the way things unraveled and you exhale heavily.

“It…it wasn’t good, to hear those words come from you. Those accusations, but I understand how it might have looked, really. I just- Joel, I only ever wanted to help you, please trust me. My- the reason I moved my entire life is huge, and I was going to share it with you when I could find the courage.”

“You don’t have to, even now. I swear to you, your business and past is your own. I just want you to be okay, to be safe. That’s the most important thing.” You step up to him to carefully wrap your arms around his middle and lean up to press a kiss to his cheek despite the flutter in your chest and the slight shake to your hands.

“I’m okay, for the most part. But you’re…Joel, you’re amazing. You really didn’t have to alter your own plans to travel with me and to do everything you have since we left yesterday. I appreciate it, I appreciate you.” His own hands come up around your back to return the embrace, the causal touch lighting you up just as much as seeing him through the fogged up glass paneling of the shower this morning. He’s just so…handsome that it’s a little hard to reconcile that he’s here with you, that he’s feeling more like a friend and less like the man who you initially hired to help you out. The lines blurring the more time you spend with him, the attraction blooming and gaining a heated weight that’s harder and harder to shake from your body.

“I appreciate you too, sweetheart. It’s…it’s okay that I’ve been callin’ you that, right?” He suddenly looks bashful as you step back. And hope swells, that he might possibly feel the same effects as you do being in each other’s space. He’s asking more if everything is okay, you realize, not just the nickname he’s given you and you pause. He’s done so much the last few days, literally coming to your rescue as you fell apart in the very public bathroom of an airport terminal. He’s done more than enough to show how sorry he is and you don’t feel like his words were anything but an immediate reaction to something stemming from his own past. But you don’t push on that, just like he’s not pushing you now.

“Yes, of course.” You assure him, smiling softly as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, let’s go get you some clothes for the next two days, yeah?”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” The smile he gives you in return is disarming and you feel your stomach swoop.

“Okay, so I got the shuttle times for you, since you insisted. It’ll be here at-“ Your words trail off as you see him sitting on the large bed, his hands are in his lap though you note the way he’s clenching and unclenching his fists atop his thighs. He looks a little startled at your sudden entrance, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.

“Wanted to get you something, spent my own money on it. I hope you like it.” The scent of the bouquet on the desk that he approaches now fills the room in a pleasant way, mingling with the cologne he favors and your own perfume. A wonderful mixture of you both in the space you’ll be occupying for the next few weeks. Sadness flairs up when you realize it will fade as soon as he’s gone. “Tried to keep it a secret until I could surprise you with it.”

“What other secrets are you hiding, hmm, Mr. Miller?” Your voice is raspy, the display of the petals over the bed where a new cardigan in a fancy box sits partially open for you to see the soft muted green of the fabric. A gift, to make up for the things you’ve already decided to move past.

“Jus’ Joel, how many times do I gotta-“

“But I respect you, Mr. Miller. Don't you want me to show how highly I regard you?” The air in the room shifts as does the pitch of your voice.

“Just a workin' man, always have been, ain't nothin' special.” He’s not looking at you, pink tinging his ears and the base of his neck as he looks down at the jeans he’s originally rushed out of the house in.

“Joel,” The sound of his name releases on a breathy sigh as you begin to saunter up to where he's leaning his backside on the desk, errant petals surround him, covers him in places he hadn't patted them away from. The rugged, worn denim hugging his frame, his plain, paint spotted t-shirt displaying the muscles he's built over the years of his life. He didn’t want to fly in the things purchased earlier that day, opting to keep them in the new bag he’s got to take with him on his trip. He's a tasty looking man, and no one else is around. You can't help the pulse of desire that lances underneath your skin, lighting you up in a way you hadn't felt in ages. the piercing gaze he pins you with even as you see the bob of a harsh swallow in his throat, the pursing of his lips as he tries to keep his calm the closer you get to him.

The air is thick, heady, tension crackling and making every other sound soft as you finally step into his space. Right in front of him, you have to look up slightly because of his height, his curls so soft underneath your exploring fingers as you reach out and pet them away from his face, the longer ones having fallen to frame his gorgeous face. You can see the moment his eyes dilate, darken as your tongue peeks out to lick over your bottom lip, the way your teeth sink into the plush give of it as you tangle fingers into his curls and the scratch of your nails on his scalp. A groan sounds deep in his chest, his own lips parting as it sits in the air between you. the sound spurring you on as you rest your other hand delicately on his chest, feeling the hardness of muscle there hidden beneath the thin fabric.

“I shouldn’t want to, I really shouldn’t with how things are and who your parents are.”

“Shouldn’t want to what?” Your heart thunders in your chest, his eyes trained on you with such intensity.

Hope swells, filling your chest where you can’t seem to get enough of the heavy air into your lungs.

“Shouldn’t wanna do this.” And then his hands are cradling the back of your head and the curve of your jaw as he leans down to press his lips firmly to yours.

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thebigbadbatswife · 4 months ago

Text

I Don't Know How It Gets Better Than This

Pairing - Bruce Wayne x F!Reader Stay Like This Forever Masterlist Read on AO3

Warnings - 18+ ONLY, Explicit sexual content, Unprotected sex, Creampie, Multiple orgasms, Porn with feelings, Elements of Soft Dom!Bruce Wayne and praise kink, Established relationship, Older man/Younger woman, Age Gap, Tooth-rotting fluff, Humour, Valentine's Day

Summary - Bruce surprises you the best Valentine’s Day you’ve ever had.

A/N - A day late, but it's here! As promised! Also, as with all fics within this 'verse, this is a complete stand alone and doesn't require any thing else to be read to be enjoyed <3

Word Count - 4.8k

You frown as you get into the back of the car that’s waiting for you, just outside of the airport. Your eyes are glued to the bright screen of your phone as you fumble with the seatbelt. It’s been ten hours since your last text to Bruce and he hasn’t even read it yet.

Is he upset with you? It’s your first Valentines as a couple and you haven’t been able to spend the day together because work has kept you away. It’s a couple hours from midnight now and you have only just got back to Gotham. Should you call him? Not replying to your text is very out of character of Bruce. Even when he’s been upset in the past, he’s always been upfront about it with you about it. For him to suddenly change…

Something else is going on, so you decide that you are going to give him a call. The line doesn’t even ring. Instead you’re sent directly to his voicemail. Now you are starting to get worried about him.

“Everything alright, Miss…?” your driver, Tom, asks you. He’s been your driver for the longest time and he’s one of the few people that you know you can trust.

“Bruce hasn’t replied to my text and his phone went straight to voicemail,” you reply.

“Shall I drive you to Wayne Manor instead?”

You shake your head as you scroll through your contact list. “No, my apartment is fine. I’m going to call Alfred. He might know what’s going on.”

“Of course.”

You bring your phone back up to your ear as the line rings. Unconsciously, your leg starts to bounce as you wait for an answer. After the third ring, someone picks up the phone.

“Hello?” Alfred’s voice comes over the phone.

“Alfred! Thank goodness, I’m so sorry. I know it’s really late. I just. Bruce, he isn’t answering my texts and his phone went straight to voicemail.”

“Master Bruce left the Manor a few hours ago. Oh my, it would seem that he’s left his phone here.”

You laugh softly, relief rushing through you. “Of course he has. Okay, that’s good to know. Get him to call me when you see him next?”

“I will see that he does. Have a good night Miss…”

“Goodnight Alfred.”

You set your phone into your lap and sigh. He’s not upset with you, like you had been panicking about. He just forgot about his phone. Though it isn’t like him to be so absentminded. You remember him mentioning being concerned about a killer by the name of Calendar Man, but Alfred hadn’t mentioned Bruce going out tonight in his cape and cowl. And you’re sure that he would have.

What was he doing tonight?

As the car drives through the streets of Gotham, you find your gaze focusing on the rooftops. Ever since you figured out what it is that your boyfriend does at night, you find your focus often drawn above you. Wondering if you’ll catch a glimpse of him. The drive from the airport to your apartment isn’t super long, thankfully. Before you know it, you’re climbing out of the car, accepting your bag from Tom and thanking him and making your way up to your apartment.

When you open the door to your apartment the first thing that you notice is the rose petals on the floor. The next thing you notice is all of the candles, casting a golden glow over your home. The biggest smile that you’ve ever had makes its way onto your face as you take in the sight of what Bruce has done. It’s no wonder to you now why he forgot about his phone. He was busy setting all of this up for you.

You shut the door behind you, making sure to lock and chain it, and set your bag down onto the floor, alongside your suitcase.

Following the rose petals, they lead you to the dining room. The table is set. There’s a single flower vase with a red rose sitting inside of it and two empty wine glasses, waiting to be filled. The bottle of wine that sits next to them looks like it might have some dust on it, but it’s hard to tell in the candlelight. In the centre of it all, standing there and waiting for you, is Bruce. Looking like the picture of perfection.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says as he approaches you. His hand comes to rest on your hip as he pulls you toward him, which you protest against.

“Don’t! I need a shower; I’m all gross from the plane,” you complain as you push against him.

He chuckles softly. “I don’t care. I want to kiss my girl.”

You give in and let him pull you flush against his body. He kisses you in that soft and sweet way that always sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach as your heart skips. You grip his suit jacket as you kiss him back. Your tongue gently prods at his bottom lip, seeking more from him, which Bruce gladly gives you.

You pull away first, your smile immediately returning. “You didn’t have to do all this, babe,” you say softly.

“Of course I did. You deserve to have a nice Valentines,” he replies.

His words shouldn’t hit like they do, but you can feel yourself getting choked up. You haven’t had a great track record when it comes to past relationships. Something that Bruce keeps doing his best to make up for. Hiding your face away from him, you halfheartedly shove against his chest again.

“Stop, you’re going to make me cry.”

Bruce’s arms wrap around you, hugging you tightly. “So long as they’re happy tears. That’s all I’m going to accept tonight.”

You laugh and you look up at him. Now he’s looking at you in that way that sends your heart haywire, warmth blooming in your chest. His thumb swipes away a tear that’s slowly making its way down your cheek.

“Dinner still needs a little bit longer, so why don’t you go and take that shower?”

“Okay.”

He gives you one more kiss, drawing a soft noise from you before he finally lets you go. You pause when you reach the doorway and look back at him. There is one thing that has been nagging at you ever since you walked through the door and saw the petals.

“How’d you know that I would be back in time?”

He shrugs. “Because I’m Batman.”

You shake your head and laugh. “That’s the answer you’re really going for?”

“It hasn’t failed me yet. Now, go, shower! Or dinner will be ready and cold before you get out.”

“Alright, alright! I’m going!”

The hot water feels great as it cascades over your body. After the long day that you’ve had, it’s very much needed. A part of you almost expects Bruce to join you, but you’re not disappointed when he doesn’t. You’d prefer that he keeps his eyes on dinner and not burn your apartment down because he’s busy having sex with you. Besides, you’re sure that there will be plenty of that after dinner.

You switch the water off and wrap a towel around your body. When you enter your bedroom, you find a dress laid out on your bed, waiting for you. It’s in your favourite colour and there’s a matching set of heels, sitting in an opened shoe box. As well as that there’s a couple of velvet jewellery cases.

He didn’t.

You pick up the smaller case and open it. Inside are a pair of diamond and sapphire earrings. You’re already sure that, in the bigger case, is a matching necklace. Even though you’ve told him he doesn’t have to, Bruce does love to buy you gifts. Though, if this is what he’s buying you for Valentine’s Day, you can’t imagine what he might do for your birthday.

Once you’re dry and dressed, you look at yourself in the mirror. Your makeup doesn’t do your outfit justice. It’s simpler than what you would have normally done, but you don’t have the time right now. A delicious scent is wafting into your bedroom, from the kitchen, and it’s making your stomach growl.

If Bruce notices your toned down makeup, he doesn’t say a thing as you re-enter the dining room. His eyes take in the sight of you as he swallows thickly. Honestly, you’re convinced you could walk in wearing a burlap sack and he would still look at you the exact same way.He gets up from his seat and walks over to you again.

“Look at you. Absolutely beautiful,” he says.

“Thank you. You really didn’t have to buy me all of this.”

“I know, but you deserve to be spoiled. And I will take every chance I get to do exactly that.”

The moment is completely ruined by your stomach as it growls. Bruce chuckles and starts to lead you toward the table.

“Come on, I made your favourite.”

Once you’ve taken a seat, he pushes your chair in before taking his own seat. Your table isn’t huge like the one back at Wayne Manor. So you’re not miles from each other as he sits opposite of you. In fact, his knee presses against your own. The food looks amazing. The smell alone making your mouth watering as your stomach growls again. You tuck in immediately. Just as the first bite passes your lips, a moan leaves you. It tastes incredible. Of course, you expect nothing less from Bruce. He’s an excellent cook, when he has the time to dedicate to it. That being one of the things you learned early on, after the first night you had spent together.

The conversation between you two consists of Bruce asking about your day. Which you enthusiastically tell him about your new castmates and the script and how, for the first time in a long time, you’re actually excited about acting again. While you ask him about his biggest worry that he had mention, to which he tells you that Julian Day was caught earlier by the police. And both Arkham and Blackgate are quiet so there’s no worry about the Bat Signal pulling him away.

He’s all yours.

When dinner’s finished, and you’ve got a couple of glasses of wine in your system, you decide to skip desert. Right now, all you want is Bruce.

From the dining room, you and Bruce move to the living room. Where he’s settled on the sofa with you straddling his lap as you make out. His tongue slides across your own, exploring every inch of your mouth. Meanwhile his hands remain high up on your waist, making no move to feel you up like you want him to. It makes no sense to you considering that you can feel how hard he is. Even the smallest shift from you has him twitching in his pants. You decide to take things into your own hands.

From where your arms are wrapped around his neck, you slide a hand down his front, headed straight for his pants. Just before your finger tips come into contact with his belt, his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Am I not moving fast enough for you, princess?” he asks. The nickname sends a shiver down your spine, your body remembering all the things he’s done with you, and to you, after using it.

You shake your head. “Not even close, babe.”

“I don’t want to rush things. Besides, I love kissing you and I haven’t been able to do it enough these last few weeks.”

His words are sweet, making your cheeks heat up and warmth bloom throughout your body that isn’t due to the alcohol in your veins or your growing arousal. You kiss his jawline, following it toward his ear.

“There are other parts of me you can kiss, you know,” you whisper.

“All in good time, sweet girl.”

Bruce directs your face back toward him so that he can resume kissing you. The hand that had hold of your wrist is now on the back of your back, keeping you right where he wants you. Meanwhile, the hand that’s on your waist starts to move away. His hand slides down your side, coming down to rest on your thigh. Which he squeezes gently. As his tongue reenters your mouth, Bruce’s fingers slide beneath your dress, trailing up the inside of your thigh. All of your focus is now on his hand. The feeling of his calloused finger tips against your soft, smooth skin sends goosebumps erupting across your skin.

The closer he gets to where you want him most, the more you start to ache with need. Just before he reaches your panties, he starts to move away again, trailing his fingers back toward your knee. You whine against his lips, frustration starting to build up inside of you. He was so close! So close to finally giving you what you wanted! Why’d he stop? Bruce simply smirks as he continues to run his fingers up and down your leg.

“You’re very needy tonight, princess,” he coos. “I’d better fix that, huh?”

“Please,” you whine.

Bruce shushes you softly. His fingers trail back up your legs, dragging them slowly along the inside of your leg. His touch remains featherlight, but your body still jolts when he finally pushes his fingers against your panties. Right where your clitoris is. Gently, he starts to rub you through the soaked fabric. Even the lightest touch feels amazing, pleasure already thrumming through you. Your lips part as a breathy moan of his name leaves you.

“No wonder you’re so needy. You’re absolutely soaked, sweetheart.”

“It’s your fault,” you tell him. “You make me like this.”

He hums and nods in agreement. “I had better look after you then, hmmm?”

“Please.”

You expect him to either slide your panties to the side or rip them off of you completely, but he does neither. Instead he keeps touching you through them. The only thing he changes is that he starts to use his thumb instead of his fingers. He kisses you again as he rubs circles against your clit, swallowing your moans. His free hand comes up from your waist and upwards to cup and grope your breasts through your dress.

You roll your hips, chasing after your pleasure that’s building up way faster than you thought that it would. But it’s really no wonder with how well Bruce knows your body. Knowing exactly how to touch you, both the pressure and speed needed to get you to your climax.

“Fuck,” you gasp. There’s no doubt in your mind that, with how quickly you’re approaching your end, that it’s feeding his ego.

“You going to be a good girl and come for me?” he asks. He applies some more pressure, his rubbing becoming more insistent.

Your breath is now coming out in short puffs as you can feel the tension coiling inside of you more and more. You’re so close. So fucking close, if he just keeps touching you like that…

Your fingers grip his suit jacket like it’s your lifeline as your body shakes. Bruce talks you through it. His words filled with encouragement and praise as your orgasm rocks through you.

Just as it starts to become way too much for you, he pulls his hand away. Your forehead comes to rest against his shoulder, your body still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. He rubs your leg. Pressing soft kisses to the side of your neck and cheek, as you come down.

“Always such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You make a soft noise of agreement as your eyes close for a moment. Enjoying the feeling of the random patterns being traced and his lips on your skin.

As your breathing calms down, you turn your head and capture his lips with your own again. At the same time, your hand trails back down his body. Following the exact same path as earlier. He doesn’t stop you this time. You press your hand against the tent in his pants. A low groan leaves Bruce as you touch him. The sound making your pussy clench around nothing, sending another wave of arousal through you.

Fuck, you need him inside of you.

“I think we should move this to the bedroom,” you suggest, pulling away.

His eyes are dark, that steely blue of his iris a thin line against his pupil. While there is a light blush across his cheeks, which stands out a fair bit against his pale skin.

“Definitely.”

Once he’s made sure your grip on him is secure, he stands up, bringing you with him. As he carries you toward the bedroom, you press kisses to his jaw and neck. Even going as far as to gently bite and suck on his neck, leaving behind a few lovebites in your wake.

They’re in a rather visible spot, unless he wears a turtleneck. He, honestly, might just end up covering it up with the same makeup he uses to cover up the worst of the bruises he earns each night as Batman. Deep down, you hope that he doesn’t. You want him to show them off. Remind everyone that he’s all yours.

Though, with how the media continues talking about you both, they likely don’t need it.

When you get to the bedroom, he sets you down. His hand quickly locates the zipper for your dress and, very slowly, he starts to pull it down. The action surprises you. You had expected him to rip it from you like he’s done to every other dress that he’s previously bought you. Bruce chuckles.

“I love the way this dress looks on you far too much to ruin it just yet,” he says.

“Oh, I see. So I only get to keep dresses based on how you feel about them?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Do you want me to ruin it?”

“No! I’m just in mourning over the other ones.”

He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling as they shine with amusement. He kisses the tip of your nose. “I will buy a replacement for each one I’ve ruined, okay? Now, come on.”

With your dress fully unzipped, he eases it off of your shoulders and lets it fall into a pile on the floor, around your feet. He helps you step out of it and pushes you back toward the bed.

“Lay down,” he instructs you.

You dutifully follow his order, settling down onto the bed. As you get comfortable, Bruce strips himself of his suit jacket and shirt. You drag your eyes down his body. Appreciating how well toned his body is. The scars that litter his body add to his sexiness.

“Enjoying the view?” he teases you.

“Only fair considering you keep ogling my boobs,” you reply. The entire time he’s been undressing his top half, his eyes have kept glancing over, landing on your chest more often than not. Not that you mind. You like it when he’s ogling your body. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t have some fun.

“Well, I know your name now.”

His reply makes you shake your head as it prompts the memory of the night you first met him. Your dress had been completely scandalous that night, yet he had not looked at your chest once; claiming that doing so would be rude since he didn’t even know your name.

You cross your arms over your boobs, hiding them from his view, pretending to be annoyed with him. Bruce chuckles at your antics as he shakes his head. He comes over to the bed and climbs onto the bed, draping his body over yours as he settles between your legs. He nuzzles his face against your neck. His kisses turn into light bites as he trails them down your skin.

He nibbles at your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine and making it really hard to keep your act up. When he reaches where your arms are still crossed against your chest, he kisses along the length of one of your forearms before pulling away. Supporting himself with one hand, he uses the other to gently pry your arms apart. You don’t do anything to fight him on it, letting him open your arms and reveal your breasts to him again.

“There you are.”

He litters your chest with kisses and lovebites. Starting at the top of one and trailing his way to the underside. His bites turn into licks as he gets closer to your nipple. Bruce swirls his tongue around the hardened bud before finally taking it into his mouth and starts to suck. You arch your back into his touch, a short gasp, bordering on a moan, leaving you. Like the tentative boyfriend that he is, he doesn’t neglect your other breast, using his free hand to squeeze and play with it. He lavishes your chest in affection. Kissing, biting and licking his way to the other. Where he repeats his actions.

“Bruce,” you moan softly as you run your fingers through his hair, messing it up. You shift your hips beneath him, grinding against his cock. Your actions draw a deep groan from him and he rocks his hips into yours. Letting you know that two can play at that game.

He only stops so that he can trail his kisses down your body, past your naval and toward your truly soaked panties. He presses a firm kiss to your clit through the fabric, making you sharply inhale. Bruce doesn’t stop there. Instead he kisses and bites the inside of both of your thighs.

You love the sight of him between your legs. Whether it’s him eating you out or kissing where your thighs are most sensitive. His hair messy and pupils blown wide. Even better if his chin and mouth is shiny with your slick. It’s one of the best sights in the world to you. You wouldn’t mind keeping him there forever.

Deft fingers undo the buckles of your heels before sliding them off of your feet and letting them fall to the floor with a thud. As soon as they’re gone, your panties quickly follow as Bruce rips the fabric, as if it’s paper, and gets rid of them. You don’t care. Anything is good as long as it gets him inside of you faster. The longer that he draws this out, the more desperate that you are starting to become.

The ache between your legs is becoming unbearable as your clitoris throbs, begging for more attention from him. You want, no, you need him inside of you. You need to feel him stretching you open as he fills you up, making you feel impossible full.

“Brucie?” you call softly. He looks up at you from where he’s been drinking in the sight of the mess that your arousal and earlier orgasm have made of you.

“Yes, princess?”

“I need to feel you inside of me. Please? Please, fuck me?”

You don’t even need to beg him for it. The way that he’s looking at you and how hard his cock feels against you. He was likely about to make a move to finally start fucking you to begin with. You just begged before he could make that move.

With a speed that would be impressive if he wasn’t Batman, Bruce removes the rest of his clothing. He drapes his body back over yours, lining himself up with your entrance.

There was a time when you used to be nervous about his size; he’s the biggest you’ve ever had after all. Now though? Now you wrap a leg around his waist and pull him down for another kiss as he starts to slowly slide into you. You’re so wet that he easily enters you, bottoming out immediately. He feels absolutely amazing. Stretching your pussy and filling you up exactly the way that you want him to. Your head falls backwards, onto the pillow, as you moan.

“That feels better, doesn’t it, princess?” he coos softly. He’s stilled, letting you adjust to his size, like he always does.

“Yes,” you reply, along with a nod. It really does. It’s insane how good he makes you feel.

As soon as you give him the go ahead to move, he does. Slowly he pulls out of you, leaving only the tip inside, before pushing back in. Each time he makes sure he’s hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you, drawing more moans from you.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Let me hear you,” he murmurs. He’s back to nuzzling and kissing your neck and jaw.

You could stay here, in this moment, forever. Your bodies tangled up together, joined as one. Bruce slowly fucking you as his fingers played with your clit. Tonight has been something like you might read in some romance novel or see in some movie. A great surprise by a perfect boyfriend who knows exactly how to make you feel so good once he finally gets you into the bedroom. At the same time they all paled in comparison. The real thing always being better. Because no character in a novel or movie could compare to what you have in front of you.

Bringing your hands to his shoulders and push lightly. If Bruce didn’t want to move, he wouldn’t, but he follows your lead. Flipping your positions so that you are now on top. A deep groan leaves him as you start to bounce on his cock, your hands flat against his chest to support yourself. His hands are on your thighs, stroking them with his thumbs as he watches you ride him. His eyes hooded and pupils blown wide.

“Look at you. You look absolutely amazing sweetheart.” His voice sounds strained as he speaks. Much like earlier, his eyes are trained on your boobs, which bounce with each roll of your hips, along with the jewels around your neck. “You always look so good riding my cock.”

You laugh softly, which quickly turns into a moan. You can feel yourself getting close again. Your pussy squeezing and fluttering around his cock while the coil inside of you grows tighter and tighter. Bruce is getting close as well. While before he was holding back his moans, wanting to hear you instead, he’s growing more vocal as he starts to thrust up into you.

His thumb returns to your clit, rubbing in time with you and sending you tumbling over the edge. You cry his name as your pussy clamps down onto him. Bruce falls over that edge with you, the way your squeezing him making it impossible for him not to, and he comes deep inside of you with a moan of your name.

Boneless and spent, it’s easy for him to get you to lay on his chest. Pulling you down from where you're supporting yourself on shaky arms. Both of you panting hard and becoming the only sound that can now be heard in the bedroom.

The feeling of him running random patterns against your back and the steady beating of his heart in your ear, soothes you. Almost sending you straight to sleep. It is rather late at night and you were previously on a long flight. You’re tired and blissed out. More than ready to sleep for the next week.

Before you can, you pull away from Bruce, muttering that you need the bathroom when he goes to stop you.

While you're in there, you make sure to remove your makeup and the expensive jewels he bought you, settling them back into their cases.

When you’ve finished up and re-enter the bedroom you come back to Bruce waiting for you with a glass of water and a slice of the cheesecake that had originally been for desert.

Grateful, you accept the glass and take a sip, before settling onto his lap like he wants you to. Bruce offers you a bite of the cheesecake which, again, you accept, groaning at the rich taste of it.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” he asks you, as if the answer isn’t the most obvious thing in the world.

“Tonight was perfect, Bruce. Thank you.”

“Anything for my girl,” he tells you. The kiss is soft and sweet; you smile into it. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

There really aren’t enough words in the world for you to describe or tell him how much you love him. Something tells you that it’s the same for him as well.

The cheesecake slice is shared between the two of you. He continues to feed you each bite, batting your hand away when you attempt to take the fork. Once the plate is empty, he sets it down the nightstand. Bruce moves you both down the bed, getting you settled against his chest and pulls the covers up over you both.

You snuggle against him, your focus returning to his heartbeat as you let your eyes close this time and fall fast asleep, in the arms of your boyfriend.

You don’t know how life can get much better than this.

#bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x you #batman x you #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batman x fem!reader #age gap verse #bruce wayne x y/n #batman x y/n #dc x reader #batman imagine #bruce wayne imagine #my writing

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mirrored-muse · 24 days ago

Note

For the vi request I was thinking of like a more mature older woman with her maybe more stern yk with vi cuz why was she getting abused the whole season I j wanna take care of her this can be a bot or head canon or fic idc (i will check before submitting next time again sorry)

-💖

ᴠɪ x ᴏʟᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ʜᴄꜱ

ᴀ/ɴ: Hi, sorry for doing this so late. 😭 I know you sent this months ago, so thank you for being patient. I decided to do headcannons for this. I don’t make bots much anymore. 😔

⟢ You’re older than Vi by a good 5-10 years, enough to have your shit together. You’ve already been through your wild phase, already made your mistakes and now you know how to handle chaos without becoming it.

⟢ Despite her tough exterior, Vi melts when you use that calm, no-nonsense tone with her. Not in a submissive way, more like she finally feels safe enough to breathe.

⟢ You’re the first person in a long time who doesn’t treat Vi like a problem to solve or a weapon to aim. You treat her like a person.

⟢ After prison and the hell she’s been through, she’s not used to softness. When you patch her up after a fight, she fidgets and grumbles, like it’s a big deal, but the way she leans into your touch gives her away.

⟢ You never baby her. You’re not condescending, but firm. Like:

“You’re limping. Sit down before you make it worse.”

“You don’t have to prove anything tonight. You’re allowed to rest, y’know?”

“Next time you let someone land a punch like that, I’m not letting you back in my bed.”

(You say it so deadpan she has to listen.)

⟢ Vi likes to act like she’s the protector in the relationship, and in some ways she is, no one looks at you the wrong way without catching Vi’s glare, but behind closed doors, it’s different.

⟢ You’re the one who grounds her when she has nightmares. You don’t ask questions she can’t answer. You just pull her into your chest and keep your hand on the back of her neck until her breathing slows.

⟢ She jokes about your age sometimes. Calls you a “cougar” just to see the way your eyes narrow. You call her “kid” right back, mostly because it makes her scoff and blush at the same time.

⟢ You absolutely threaten people on her behalf, but you do it quietly. While Vi is throwing punches, you’re the one cornering someone in an alley and warning them never to come near her again. You’re scarier than she is.

⟢ You notice when she’s spiraling before even she does. All it takes is a shift in her tone, visible tension in her jaw. You sit her down and get her talking before she spirals.

⟢ Vi didn’t know she could trust someone like this. Someone who isn’t afraid of her temper, who sees through the wall she’s built up over the years, who doesn’t flinch when she’s angry or shut down when she goes quiet.

⟢ She doesn’t say “I love you” often, but she shows it constantly, doing the dishes before you get home, picking fights with anyone who so much as looks at you the wrong way, leaning her head against your shoulder when no one’s looking.

⟢ You say “I love you” all the time. Every time you say it, Vi acts like it surprises her, but you never stop saying it, and she never stops softening.

⟢ You do not let her beat herself up. The guilt, the survivor’s complex, the rage, you let her feel it, but you don’t let it consume her.

⟢ Sometimes she just sits between your legs with her back to your chest while you run your fingers through her hair or rub her shoulders. She always pretends she’s just “letting you” do it, but the second you stop, she’s whining for more.

Main menu.

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anniebeckcalla · 18 days ago

Text

roses (l.mk x reader)

(bf!marklee x fm reader) ◦ ₊ WC! 959 ◦ ₊ CW! angst, fluff, cheating, heartbreak, y/n being a drama queen when it's all her fault [sorry yes it's another angst]

ღ NOTE FROM C. this was inspired by roses (jaehyun) (although ik you guessed that already) it's a short one but I hope you like it !!

Valentines Day had always been the best day of the year for you in recent years- yes, over birthdays and Christmas. It wasn't just the wine and the gifts and the chocolate, (although those were nice too.) No, it was the person who you got to celebrate it with- Mark Lee.

He always made you feel like the luckiest woman, but even more so on Valentine's Day; he'd wake you up with warm kisses to your cheek and jaw, insisting that there was no reason to go to work that day. “Can't have you doing boring things on this special day, can we?” he'd smile. The entire morning and afternoon would be filled with surprises and excitement (one year, Mark had hidden handwritten notes around the house that when opened, revealed reasons why Mark loved you so much.) Of course, there would be the evening. After a night out of dining on your favourite cuisine (Mark always insisted it had to be your favourite and not his) it would be back home to a night of slow music, rose petals, and candles in bed.

Mark made Valentines Day your day; he showered you with more love and affection than you could imagine. There wasn't a future that you could imagine without him.

But then you had to go and ruin everything.

One day, several months ago, you'd let yourself get too close with your work colleague, Hyunsuk Choi. ‘Only for a bit of fun,’ you'd told yourself. You thought that Hyunsuk really liked you when he called you for a quick fumble in the office bathroom. You felt powerful when he sent you text messages declaring how lonely he was without your presence, all while Mark went to the end of the world for you.

You thought Mark would never know.

But of course, he found out. It was a late evening when he'd arrived to pick you up from work, his heart shattering when he saw you two in the back of Hyunsuk's car.

“We're done,” was all that he'd said to you afterwards.

Fast forward to tonight, the first Valentine's Day that you were spending alone in ages. (of course, that thing with Hyunsuk had never lasted.) Funnily enough, you had worked all day today. Of course, you were at a different place; a waitress at a high-end restaurant. The couples that you'd seen all day made you long for Mark- his hand over yours as he read the menu to you, his dark eyes gazing into yours as you told him what you wanted, his politeness to the staff as he told them your order. With a dull ache in your heart, you realised that you missed him so, so much. You didn't want Hyunsuk, nor the countless failed relationships that you'd had afterwards. You just wanted Mark. The longing and regret was painful.

“Someone's waiting at the table over there,” your co-worker Giselle snapped. “Go over and see them, that's what you're paid to do.” You knew better than to backchat Giselle, so you went over to the table. A man sat there alone, staring at the table. “Can I take your order, sir?” you chirped. When the man looked up, you almost fell over with surprise. It was none other than Mark, more handsome than ever. His black hair was in a stylish haircut, his clothes fresh and new. His cologne smelt heavenly.

“Mark,” you gasped.

“Y/n.” Mark nodded politely.

“You look…great,” you stuttered.

“I'd say the same to you, but I was taught not to tell lies,” Mark snipped back, an edge of razor steel to his voice.

You felt hurt by that remark, but continued, “I see you're alone tonight.”

Mark didn't answer, but stared down at the table. “I don't know why you're making that your business.”

Hope flickered in your chest. Maybe Mark didn't have a partner… maybe he sat here alone, hoping that you-

“I'm back, honey!” A beautiful girl with long red hair waltzed to the table, completely ignoring you as she sat down opposite Mark. Mark's eyes immediately softened, his hand reaching out to take hers. “I missed you, darling,” he said gently. The girl laughed, the sound as light as lilting bells. “I was only in the toilet, Mark! Tell you what, though, I missed you as well.” Your stomach churned, pain and envy ebbing throughout your heart and veins like a disease. You turned around to leave; you couldn't watch anymore.

You found yourself facing a massive bouquet of red roses. “Move out of the way, you klutz,” Giselle snapped, shoving you as she and the other waiters approached Mark's table with the roses.

“Woah,” Mark exclaimed. “What's this?” Giselle smiled as she read the note attached to the roses, “These are for the love of my life, Mark Lee. You are the 106 to my 94. Happy Valentine's Day from your girlfriend.” Everyone in the restaurant cheered as Mark took the flowers, his cheeks rosy with shyness and excitement. “Thank you so much,” he said to the red haired girl. “I love you.”

It was all too much. Mark's coldness towards you, the beautiful red haired girl, everyone cheering for them like they were some sort of heroes-

And the roses. You felt sick at the very sight of the roses. Vomit filled your mouth as you rushed out of the door without a word. When you were outside, you retched, sobbing heavily, your heart breaking into little pieces. You'd truly lost Mark, and you knew it. The warmth in his eyes when he looked at you was gone, restored and saved for the new woman.

It was 0 to you, and 200 to Mark.

Valentines Day would never be the same again.

thank you so much for reading !!

i appreciate your reblogs and saves !! (ФωФ)

taglist: @cigsaftersuh @jenoleeaesthetic @pl4netx1a @jeonghansshitester @chenlezip @neodreamzenie @markkiatocafe @mejaemin [thank you so much !!]

credits to @dollywons for the beautiful lace dividers !! ♡

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gingerteafairy · 4 months ago

Text

i want to thank @marchsfreakshow for encouraging me to post it. this is insanely long, had to be divided into other chapters, this is the first one. hope you guys like it because i loved to write this fic. sorry for the mistakes here. english is not my first language. special thanks for @ikkyfics!!

THE GREAT GUIDE FOR JAILBIRDS IN LOVE

warren lipka x fem!reader part two

summary: tough times shows up after prision. His only alternative? Working miles away from home. The name of the place was almost faded, but he could still make it out: Last Chance Market.

tags n warnings: postprison!warren, singlemom!reader, language, age gap (late 20s/early 30s), suggestive, complicated family scenario. word count: 13k

Rule #1: Make a Good Impression

Warren was cornered. Spending time in prison wasn’t as tough as what came after: having to rebuild his life from scratch, with that stupid criminal record hanging around his neck like a weight. There was no place for him anywhere, not even at street corner markets selling stolen cigarettes. He felt useless. He’d been turned down even for a job at a sleazy motel, where not even the criminal underworld seemed to want him anymore. Rent was overdue, and his last meal of the month was expired cereal from a month ago and a warm bottle of beer, which he was still deciding whether or not to drink to numb the pain a little.

He had almost given up on looking for more opportunities. Maybe selling art on the beach, like Spencer, or getting rid of all the junk in his place until he was left with just a bed and a fridge. Because, honestly, even a wood-burning stove could come in handy these days.

What was there to do now? The answer was simple: absolutely nothing. Just shrink. He slouched on the couch, legs stretched out, eyes glued to his phone screen, as if it were his last lifeline. The internet bill was the only thing he had managed to keep up with. Funny. He could be broke and starving, but funny videos were a relief. Reality, no matter how harsh, could wait. He mindlessly scrolled through the feed, as if in some way postponing the inevitable, until a message flashed on the screen, snapping him out of his stupor.

Spencer:

Hey man. My buddy’s market is hiring. Cashier. Male. $1,720. Fuel help. Only requirement is knowing how to count change. No small talk. Just show up today at 3 PM.

It was impossible not to feel an immediate sense of relief, like life had suddenly given him a second chance. This had to be some kind of miracle. But of course, there was a catch. It was already 2 PM, and the market was on the other side of the city. So, what did he do? Like an automatic reflex, he glanced at the dirty mirror on the wall. He needed a shower, at least.

He grabbed his phone again without thinking twice. Before stepping into the bathroom, he sent Spencer a message.

Warren:

Thanks, man. I know this could be my last shot before I fade into invisibility.

Spencer:

I know things are tough. Good luck. I know you’ll nail it.

With that, Warren rushed into the shower, doing the bare minimum to look like someone who hadn’t completely lost himself. He thought about his clothes. His first option was what was left of the most “decent” outfit— the T-shirt and jeans he’d worn the day of the robbery. “Great, perfect impression, Warren Lipka,” he muttered, staring at himself in the mirror. The shirt was wrinkled, and the jeans had a hole in the pocket, but deep down, he didn’t care anymore. Ironing? Maybe another day. If he had to go, he might as well go in style. A style that was wrinkled, but still, style.

He checked the GPS and entered the address. The drive would be long, the kind of trip that makes you see parts of the city you only know by name. It felt like a tour, but of a place you didn’t want to know. The city stretched out, as if it couldn’t quite handle its own misery. Finally, he reached a run-down market and parked in a secluded corner. The name of the place was almost faded, but he could still make it out: Last Chance Market.

“Last Chance? What a joke,” he muttered to himself, laughing quietly as he stepped out of the car. He locked the door quickly, not wasting time. What kind of neighborhood was this? You never know when a bigger problem might pop up, something worse than a simple job interview.

He took a deep breath, trying to stay calm, but a strange wave of nervousness hit him. It was just another job, he told himself. Just another one, a way to get things moving, even a little. If he was lucky, maybe he'd even come out with some dignity. If he was unlucky... well, he was used to that.

The one thing he knew for sure was that, somehow, life wouldn’t wait for him to figure things out. He had to try. Even if it was at a place called Last Chance.

He pushed open the door, hearing the little bell ring, announcing his entrance. The place was so quiet that the sound seemed to echo in the emptiness. As Warren had expected, no one was in sight. He let out a low, almost scornful laugh, twirling his car keys in his fingers before slipping them into his pocket. "This place looks like it’s been forgotten," he thought, feeling an odd sense of discomfort, but he knew there was no choice but to press on.

“Is anyone here?” he shouted, hoping no one would answer. That way, he could just turn around and leave this bizarre place behind, a bad judgment call.

The silence lingered for a few seconds, but no answer came. With nothing else to do, he shrugged and began walking through the narrow aisles. Hands in his pockets, Warren scanned the area, his eyes sharp, looking for any sign of a security camera. No security in this place? Typical. He gave a crooked smile, and as he passed a shelf, he grabbed a chocolate bar and slipped it into his pocket with a quick, almost natural motion.

"Why are you stealing?" The sudden, sharp voice of a child cut through the air, making Warren jump back, knocking the candy off the shelf. They fell to the floor with a small clatter, creating an absurd scene. "Shit, that scared the hell out of me."

"Jesus, kid. Where did you..." He muttered, instinctively raising his fist, as if it were an automatic reaction, but quickly lowering it when he saw the child. It was just a little boy, there was no way he could hit someone that young. "I wasn’t stealing, man. I was just saving it to pay later."

"Luke, who are you talking to?" Her voice came in soft but firm. Warren turned, his eyes widening, and there you were: so beautiful, it almost seemed out of place in this dead-end town. You appeared so suddenly he barely had time to process it.

"Talking to this guy who was..." The little boy began to reply, but you interrupted him with a calm smile.

"Warren Lipka." He quickly introduced himself, extending his hand to you. He wanted to make a good impression, or at least seem less pathetic than he felt. "I’m here for the job interview they said was going on."

You paused for a moment, then let out a short laugh, gentler than he expected. "Oh, you’re Warren, I should’ve guessed." You shook his hand politely, with a confidence he couldn’t even pretend to have. Then, with a motherly gesture, you turned back to the boy, who was still staring curiously at Warren.

You bent down and kissed the boy on the top of his head, the gesture so natural, like it was something you did every day. Afterward, you turned and started walking toward a door behind the cashier. "Come on, or are you going to steal another chocolate?" You asked, your voice laced with light teasing. Warren almost wanted to bury himself right then and there, embarrassed for being caught.

"How..." He began to ask, unsure of what exactly to say.

"Hidden camera," you explained, flashing a mischievous smile. You watched as he began scanning the room with his eyes, trying to piece together what had just happened. "I’ll show you later. Now come on."

With one last glance around the place, Warren, still confused and wearing an awkward smile, followed you to the door.

The room revealed was simple, with white walls and a large shelf on one side covered in folders and a few books—most of them children’s books, others Warren couldn’t identify, but from the titles, he could tell they were probably boring. You gestured for him to sit, and then took a seat across the desk. Warren distractedly looked at the small photo on the desk: the little boy outside, smiling beside you in a park filled with trees. Their smiles, so natural, reflected a moment of happiness.

"You two look alike." Warren started the conversation, pointing at the photo with one hand while the other fiddled in his pocket.

"They say he has my eyes. But I think it’s the hair, maybe the shape of the face." You smiled softly, stretching your neck to look at the photo more closely, the movement light and effortless.

"Maybe it’s the eyes. They really do look like yours." Warren said, shaking his head with a somewhat awkward smile. "You’re a really great older sister."

You let out a soft laugh, masking a smile that slipped out for just a moment. "Thanks, but Luke’s my son."

Warren froze, his jaw dropping at the revelation. He widened his eyes, unable to believe it, then quickly disguised his shock, putting his hands to his mouth like he was trying to wipe the look of disbelief off his face. "Now it all makes sense," he murmured, unaware of how visibly stunned he was.

"What?" You asked, raising an eyebrow, curious.

"I’ve never seen a sibling so affectionate. I used to fight with mine all the time." Warren laughed, still in disbelief, furrowing his brow casually as if trying to make the moment less awkward.

"Really? I had Luke when I was really young, 18 years old to be exact." You added, your hands folding on the table, your expression now more serious, as if you were sharing a piece of your story.

"Damn. God, I’m sorry. Shit, I feel like such an idiot now." Warren muttered, running a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable.

"It’s fine. You don’t need to get nervous." You quickly reassured him, your voice calm and soothing. You leaned forward slightly, as if trying to show empathy for him in that moment.

"And I even called you beautiful. Shit, I’m really not cut out for this." Warren placed his hands on his head, leaning on the table with a heavy sigh. He lifted his eyes to you, his gaze now loaded with guilt. "You think your husband would kill me if he knew?"

"Maybe he would, if I had one." You joked, tilting your head lightly in a playful way, trying to ease the tension in the air. Warren noticed a slight sadness in your voice that didn’t go unnoticed, but for some reason, he decided not to bring it up.

You sighed, straightening your posture and sitting up straighter as if shifting the conversation. "Alright. You’re hired."

"What? Already? What about the interview..." He paused, scratching his head, visibly surprised at how quickly the decision had been made.

"You were hired the moment you walked through that door." You laughed softly, stretching in your chair casually. "Not many people make it out here."

"No wonder. A dump like this..." He scoffed, mocking the place, but his eyes widened when he realized what he’d just said. "Oh my god. Again. Shit, I just say the dumbest stuff. Sorry."

"Don’t worry about it. It really is a dump." You laughed, getting up and walking around the table with light steps. Out of nowhere, you surprised him with a quick, almost warm hug that left Warren feeling momentarily disoriented. "Welcome, Warren."

"Thanks. I won’t let you down." He said, offering a weak smile, but mentally cursing himself for noticing how good you smelled as you pulled away. The feeling of being an idiot didn’t leave his chest.

Warren opened the door for you, and you gave him a gentle smile, your eyes sparkling with a kind of genuine warmth. He followed right behind you, closing the door with a soft click, breathing deeply as he watched you walk through the market, seemingly immersed in something only you knew. He wondered if it was something related to the boy’s father or if you were just worried about something missing from the shelves.

"Did you pay for the chocolate?" Little Luke inquired, a confused expression plastered on his face.

"How old are you, kid?" Warren questioned, furrowing his brow, briefly glancing at you before returning his gaze to the boy.

"Seven. But I’m almost eight. In nine months and thirteen days." Luke declared proudly, crossing his arms like an adult.

"Weird kid." Warren thought to himself, silently laughing at the little one with big, curious eyes. Something about him seemed strangely familiar. So he pulled a dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to the boy. Maybe it was a desire to please you or to apologize to the kid. "Here. It’s for the chocolate."

"It’s $2.35. You’re short $1.35." Luke blinked, extending his hand toward him.

"Oh, kid. Just take the dollar and be quiet, alright? I’m struggling here." Warren hissed at the boy, but instead of crying, the little one just smiled.

"You’re weird. I like you." He chuckled, a funny, purely childlike melody echoing through the small space of the market.

Something warmed in Warren’s chest as he watched that toothless smile. The thought of being a dedicated father flooded his mind, creating false scenarios of an idealized life – a family smiling, him hugging his wife, holding his son in his arms, walking him to school, giving him a dog, teaching him how to shoot. Damn, he’d do anything to be the best dad for Luke, and it wouldn’t even be just because he wanted to win over the beautiful mom from the market. That was the one thing missing from his life, maybe that’s why he was born.

"If you start today, I can give you a tip." Your voice, breaking the idealized moment, brought Warren back to reality. He was an ex-convict, semi-in-love with a single mom, and still trying to figure out if any of this even made sense.

"You don’t have to. I can help." He tried to hide the silly smile that was about to appear, taking the uniform you handed him.

"I insist. The salary’s not great, and you’re practically the only employee here." You remarked, with that radiant smile Warren had already memorized. The sincerity in your tone was palpable.

"No, seriously. Don’t worry about it. It’ll be a pleasure working with you." He stated without thinking, quickly clearing his throat with a small gesture. "Working with you. You get it."

"Yes. Thanks. I owe you one." You waved your hand, heading back to the room with Luke happily trailing behind you, both walking away while Warren stood there, eyes fixed, his heart still beating harder than usual.

"Alright… time to work." Warren stretched lazily, raising his arms above his head before shuffling toward the employee bathroom.

The space was small and functional, a far cry from the public restroom, which for some reason, was absurdly large and had a strange smell that didn’t leave, even with air freshener. He grabbed the uniform you had given him—a yellow shirt with the store’s name printed on the front. Since there were no pants in the package, he decided his own would do the trick.

When he came out of the bathroom, he closed the door with a quiet click and, with a swift motion, tied his hair in a tiny ponytail. He walked to the register, where you were already standing with a notebook in hand. The moment you heard his footsteps, you looked up.

"Looks good on you." Your tone was kind as you pointed to the shirt identical to yours. He hadn’t even noticed when you had changed—maybe it was when you went into the back room.

"Now we match, look." The voice emerged from behind him. Luke appeared beside him, wearing the same uniform, which, even in the smallest size, was still too big for his tiny frame.

"Yeah, kid. Now we’re coworkers. A real man." Warren smiled and lowered his hand for a high five with the boy, who tried to slap it with all his might.

"Wow. You’re strong. You gonna tell me you’ve been training secretly?"

"I train. I watch fight videos on YouTube." Luke replied proudly, striking a boxing guard pose.

"Luke, we’ve talked about this." Your voice came with a warning tone as you approached.

"Ah, mom. I don’t watch blood. Only sometimes." He pouted indignantly, and you tilted your head before pinching his nose with two fingers.

"Ow, mom!"

"Didn’t see that coming, huh?" Warren chuckled without thinking, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment longer than necessary. In the brief silence that followed, something in his expression made his heart skip a beat. Warren Lipka didn’t seem like the dangerous criminal from the TV—just a guy with a big heart and an intensity that even he didn’t realize he had.

“Yeah... we have a routine.” You cleared your throat, shaking off the unnecessarily sweet thoughts and handing the sheet over to him. “Monday is deep cleaning day, Saturday we count the stock. I’m here at 8 AM every day, except Thursday, when I pick up Luke from his grandparents’ house and drop him off at school. I get here at 10 AM that day. The rest is pretty easy, not much movement. Here, take this to memorize.”

“Got it.” Warren took the notebook, noticing how detailed your notes were.

“Today is Wednesday. You’ll be in the deli section.”

“Just checking expiration dates?”

“Yep. Luke usually helps me, but today he has homework.”

“Can I stay with Warren first?” Luke inquired, his eyes shining with expectation.

You gave an indulgent smile before raising an eyebrow. “Promise you won’t fight with your classmates at school tomorrow?”

“I promise.” He nodded firmly and raised his pinky. “But only tomorrow.”

Warren let out a low chuckle, and you gave him a playful disapproving look.

“Don’t encourage him.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t help it.” He laughed even harder, covering his mouth with his hand. “Let’s go, Luke. Let’s see if this meat is still good. Did you know that a lot of good meat gets thrown away here in the US? I used to collect it.”

“Seriously?” Luke’s eyes widened as he walked alongside him to the refrigerators.

“Yeah. I’d go to markets like this one and take the ones that were still good.” Warren opened the fridge and started checking the labels. Then he paused, blinking as if realizing too late what he’d just said. “…But don’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s wrong.” He tried to hold back his laughter but failed miserably. “Hey, what do you think of this one?” He picked up a steak package and held it up for Luke to see.

“I think it’s still good to freeze. It’s got 10 days left.”

“A deal, then. 50% off this stuff that’s about to expire.” Warren shrugged, smiling and tossing the package back into the freezer.

…

Warren paced restlessly back and forth in their usual café, his hands moving nervously, his nails gnawed down to the quick, until a small piece of nail polish chipped off. He could feel a tightness in his chest, as if he were about to burst. His body swayed back and forth, his gaze locked on the clock on the wall, the anxiety consuming him. The weight of the conversation he was about to have was crushing his mind. When he finally saw Spencer walk through the door, the relief was instant, but it didn’t ease his nerves. His snack, the one he’d ordered earlier, lay forgotten on the table, untouched. He didn’t even notice it was still there.

Spencer greeted a few people in the café with a disinterested wave before walking over to the table. He sat down, casually tossing his backpack into the chair beside him, and extended his hand to shake Warren's.

“I want to be a stepdad.” Warren blurted out, not wasting a moment, before Spencer had a chance to say anything. The words came out fast, clinging to his chest like gum, almost as if the pressure had reached a point where it could no longer be ignored.

"Hey, how’s it going, Spencer? How’s work? Good. Thanks." Spencer mocked, rolling his eyes at Warren’s approach. He leaned back in his chair, letting out a sarcastic laugh. "We haven’t talked in two weeks, and that’s the first thing out of your mouth?"

Warren didn’t care about the teasing. His mind was already fixated on what he had to say. "It’s been two weeks since I met my son." He slammed his hand on the table with conviction, the slap of his palm echoing in the otherwise quiet café. The tension in his body was palpable now, his shoulders tight. He quickly ran a hand through his disheveled hair and pulled a nicotine lozenge from his pocket, placing it in his mouth almost mechanically.

"Since when are you quitting smoking?" Spencer asked, raising an eyebrow, an almost amused smile tugging at his lips as he reached out to grab one of the lozenges and popped it into his own mouth.

"Since I realized innocent people suffer from the crap smokers exhale," Warren replied in a serious tone, biting down harder on the snack, the crunch almost matching the stress he was feeling. "I saw it in the paper."

Spencer frowned, skeptical, but chose not to comment. Instead, he flagged down the waitress to put in an order. The conversation was starting to take a curious turn, and he didn’t want to miss his chance to figure out what was really going on with his friend. The café bell rang, and suddenly, Eric appeared at the door, casually waving to the crowd before heading straight to the table.

"Hey, guys." Eric greeted, throwing himself into a chair and locking eyes with Warren.

"Warren wants to be a stepdad." Spencer said, his tone bored, hiding a smirk of irony, and Warren smiled broadly, relieved to finally say it out loud. It was a mix of nervousness and excitement he couldn’t quite suppress.

"Dude, that’s a bad idea." Eric shook his head, disapproval written all over his face. He leaned forward slightly, as if preparing to explain himself seriously. "Those things never work out. Once you get attached to the mom, she’s never gonna let you go. You’ll regret it."

"That’s sexist, Eric." Warren hissed, grabbing Spencer’s coffee cup and taking a sip without caring that it was someone else’s drink. He knew he was breaking the unspoken rules of the café, but he needed something—anything—to relieve the pressure building inside. "And what’s wrong with her getting attached? I like her."

"When’s her birthday?" Eric shot back, his voice relentless, eyes narrowing as if he were conducting an interrogation.

"I don’t know." Warren replied quickly, but a hint of doubt crept in.

"And the kid’s?" Eric pressed, staring at Warren, waiting for a response.

"Wait, I remember, he told me..." Warren trailed off, trying to recall the details.

"What’s her favorite color, and why is it blue?" Eric fired again, a mocking edge in his tone.

"That’s not the point!" Warren snapped, throwing his hands up in exasperation, his frustration growing. "I don’t know, man. It’s the way she looks at me. Her and that weird kid. The little pest knows everything, he rattles off stuff I don’t even know. He answered 37 + 53 like it was nothing."

"90." Eric responded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"That doesn't count, you're a robot." Warren muttered, shaking the snack bag with frustration as he glared at Spencer. He noticed the bag was almost empty. "No, seriously. The kid’s really smart. I know he’s not mine and everything. But I’d make an effort. He has the same nose as me."

"Alright, you're stretching it a bit now." Spencer warned, his voice taking on a serious tone as he finished his coffee with a sigh, setting the empty cup on the table. "What about the job?"

"Tiring. I lift boxes, stack them, store everything. I do almost everything. She helps with cleaning and sometimes takes the register when I'm organizing the fridges. The kid helps her with the change. Everyone who passes by loves him."

"Hmmm. Sounds good." Eric shrugged as the waitress approached with a new order, and he gave a distracted thumbs-up.

"What made you change your mind?" Spencer asked, his curiosity piqued as he looked at Warren with more intensity, his eyebrows raised in genuine interest.

"She’s a hard worker. Women like that are strong. She’s probably fought hard to get this far." Eric spoke with an almost knowing conviction, his tone calm but determined. "Just don’t screw it up, Warren."

"Now it’s my fault?" Warren defended himself, shaking his head in frustration as he stood up from the table, stepping back slightly while slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Where are you going?" Spencer looked up, concern now evident on his face.

"Home. I need to get some sleep for work tomorrow. See you guys." Warren replied quickly, his movements hurried, shoulders tight as he turned to leave. The tension still hung in the air, but he needed a moment alone to process everything.

Rule #2: (Try) Not to Stick Your Nose in Other People’s Business.

Warren woke up earlier than usual that morning. He felt surprisingly energized, a rare occurrence, so he made sure to take a proper shower before heading out for work. He knew that today was one of those days you tended to be late, so he planned to take care of everything until you arrived.

As he parked the car in front of the shop, his eyes immediately found you sitting on the doorstep, shoulders slumped, hands pressing against your head. Something was off. His chest tightened at the sight. You looked... desperate.

His brows furrowed slightly, and Warren stepped out of the car, walking toward you with measured steps, trying not to invade your space too abruptly.

"Hey, are you okay?" His voice was low, cautious, as if afraid of startling you.

You quickly lifted your face, eyes misty, and your chest rose and fell unevenly, betraying the anxiety trapped in your breathing.

"It’s Luke..." Your voice cracked, and you stood up, your hands nervously twisting in front of your chest. "My car broke down, I can't pick him up from his grandparents’ house, and it's almost time for school. He’s going to miss class, and his teacher already said he’s struggling. My brother isn’t answering, no taxis are coming, and..."

With every word, the weight in your chest grew heavier. You didn’t even notice your hands trembling until Warren gently interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

"Hey, hey." His voice was firm but kind, and without thinking much, he pulled you into an embrace.

The warmth of his body surrounded you, and the sudden gesture made your walls crumble for just a second. The woody scent of his cologne mixed with the softness of his jacket fabric made you realize how tense you were. Your heart, which had been pounding against your ribs, began to slow down.

"Sorry. I thought you needed this," he murmured close to your ear.

You exhaled the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and pulled back slightly, but without fully breaking the closeness.

"I did. Thank you." Your voice was steadier now, though there was still a lingering edge of panic. You quickly wiped your face with your hands, trying to erase the traces of tears. "Sorry for unloading all this on you, I’m just... desperate."

Warren tilted his head slightly, watching you closely, as if he were analyzing every layer of your nervousness before speaking.

"Where’s his grandparents’ house?" His voice was resolute, like he had already made up his mind.

You blinked a few times, confused by the sudden question.

"What?"

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, taking a deep breath before repeating himself.

"Where’s Luke’s address? I’ll go pick him up."

You froze for a moment, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. Your instincts told you to refuse — he was just your employee, he didn’t need to get involved. But the desperation pressing down on you was heavier than the pride that wanted to hold you back.

"You’d do that?"

The smile that appeared on Warren’s lips was small, but genuine, his dimples barely visible as he grinned. His eyes lingered on them for a moment before you realized you were smiling too, even if shyly.

"Why wouldn’t I?" He raised an eyebrow, as though genuinely finding your hesitation puzzling.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Your chest warmed in a strange way.

"Come on. Let’s go." He gestured toward the car.

"And the shop?"

"Ah, no one comes here at this time anyway." He chuckled, as if the place was his to command. And for a moment, you found yourself wishing it was.

Warren walked around the car and opened the passenger door, waiting patiently for you to get in before closing it carefully with a swift motion. He settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

The silence stretched for a few seconds. You were still tense, biting your lower lip, trying to hold onto the last threads of control. Warren noticed and, without saying a word, turned on the radio. A loud rock song blasted through the speakers.

"Shit." He muttered, quickly lowering the volume and switching stations.

The sensual melody of Careless Whisper filled the car.

"Goddamn radio." He grumbled again, spinning the dial hastily. This time, soft instrumental music filled the air. "Better," he said, leaning back into his seat and relaxing.

You chuckled quietly. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"For this." You gestured vaguely at the radio and at him. Warren cast a quick glance in your direction before returning his focus to the road.

"Do you like the job?" You asked, trying to ease the weight of the moment, your fingers nervously tapping on the edge of the seat.

"Yeah, actually, I’m pretty attached to it. I think it was my last chance to be a decent citizen." He said with a playful smile, his eyes momentarily glancing at you before turning back to the road.

You tilted your head slightly, studying his profile for a beat, the soft tension in the air palpable.

"Do you like it just for that?" Your question came out more curious than you’d intended, a little more pointed than you planned.

Warren gripped the steering wheel with one hand, using the other to run through his hair, the hint of a mysterious smile curling at the corners of his lips.

"There are other reasons too."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly turned your gaze to the window, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. You weren't sure why, but the way he said it unsettled you, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

"What about you? Do you like your job?"

You let out a soft, nasal laugh, tilting your head back slightly. "Being the manager of a run-down market wasn’t exactly my childhood dream."

Warren chuckled through his nose, shaking his head in amusement. "How’d you end up there?"

Your smile faltered slightly, and you took a deep breath before answering.

"Well... I got pregnant with Luke."

The atmosphere in the car shifted subtly. Warren fell silent for a moment, as if processing the weight of your words, his hands firm on the wheel, eyes focused ahead.

"Do you regret it?" He asked quietly, his voice softer now, laced with genuine concern.

"In the beginning, it was hard. I didn’t have much support, just graduated high school. College seemed impossible." You glanced down at your hands resting on your lap, fingers twisting nervously. Warren nodded slowly, never looking away from the road. "But then he was born, and... everything changed. It was like my whole life suddenly had a new meaning."

Warren smiled, his thoughts clearly drifting to Luke. And as he did, he realized something interesting: his smile was almost identical to the boy's. That same genuine sparkle in his eyes, a light untouched by time, despite all the struggles life had thrown their way. Without thinking, Warren’s own smile softened, mirroring the one he had just seen.

"Can I ask you about his dad, or would that be too intrusive?" Warren’s voice was gentle now, eyes fixed on you, the concern clear in his gaze.

"No... no, it’s not intrusive." You shook your head, a quiet sigh escaping your lips. "Luke's dad is complicated. He was a great father in the first few months, but then he started saying that Luke was getting in the way of his career."

"What a jerk." Warren spat without thinking, his jaw tightening in indignation. He frowned, immediately realizing his own boldness. "Sorry."

"No... jerk is too mild a word." You shot back, your tone still sharp, but softened by the vulnerability that lingered beneath it. Warren relaxed his shoulders, relieved that he hadn’t crossed a line. "When he said that, I couldn’t take it anymore and ended it. Since then, it’s just been me and Luke. I ended up raising him alone with the help of my parents. Luke doesn’t even know who he is. I prefer it that way. If he asks about him in the future, I’ll tell him, but not now. I’m still angry about it, though."

Warren nodded slowly, processing your words, his expression softening with understanding. For a moment, the only sound in the car was the hum of the engine and the distant rumble of tires on the road.

Finally, Warren let out a small, knowing smile, his gaze gentle.

"I may not know much about you guys, but Luke is a really cool kid." Warren’s voice held a genuine tone of admiration. "Not many seven-year-olds can count the days until their own birthday."

"You really think so?" Your eyes lit up at the question, and a soft smile crept onto your lips, the warmth spreading across your face.

"Of course. The kid’s a little terrifying sometimes, I’ll admit." Warren teased, making you laugh out loud. "Seriously, I get freaked out when he starts doing mental math."

"He’s the best in his class at math." You said, the pride evident in your voice.

Warren rolled his eyes dramatically, his expression playful. "Of course he is. That kid’s going places. He’s going to be the next Einstein, and they’ll write books about him. Mark my words."

You laughed again, and Warren held onto that sound, savoring it, like it was a melody he didn’t want to forget. The sound was infectious, and his chest swelled with an unfamiliar warmth.

"He sounds like my brother. He was always super smart, too. Top of his class, just like Luke. He’s the one who owns the market and helped me get this job. That’s how I ended up there."

"So it’s in the genes."

"Maybe." You fell quiet for a moment, absentmindedly running your fingers through your hair, a warm feeling blooming in your chest. Your thoughts drifted as you absentmindedly added, "Does he have a girlfriend?"

The question came out casually, but it hung in the air with an unexpected weight, more serious than you’d intended.

"Me?" Warren raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard. He let out a surprised laugh, his face lit up with disbelief. When you nodded, he shook his head, still laughing. "That’s a good one."

"Why?" You chuckled, leaning slightly towards him. "What’s wrong with that? You’re good-looking, charming, funny. There must be someone."

Warren snorted, resting his elbow against the car window, the air suddenly a little heavier. "Oh, yeah, sure, women love a former convict who can’t even afford a Coke." His voice had a mocking tone, but there was something beneath the sarcasm—a hint of self-deprecation that made your chest tighten with empathy.

"No... no one." He answered quietly, his gaze now fixed on the road ahead. "What about you?"

"No…" Your response came out almost hesitantly, and for a brief moment, a flicker of hope danced in your mind before you pushed it aside.

The conversation fell into a heavy silence, the kind that lingered like a thick fog between you. You could feel the change in the air, the tension that wasn’t quite palpable but couldn’t be ignored either. You silently thanked the universe that you were close to your destination. As Warren parked the car, you quickly unbuckled your seatbelt and stepped out, eager to escape the weight of your own thoughts before they dragged you deeper into uncertainty.

You hurried up to the door, your hand moving quickly to press the doorbell without hesitation. Warren followed closely behind, stopping a step back, his body still tense, his eyes scanning the surroundings as if ready for something unexpected.

The door swung open.

And then, your blood ran cold.

"Daniel?" Your voice came out as a strained rasp, barely a whisper, your face draining of color instantly.

The man standing there, with his captivating green eyes and a charming smile, widened the door to let you in. "I was really hoping to talk to you. Come on in."

He then looked at Warren, sizing him up with a quick, calculating glance before extending his hand. "Hey, man. How’s it going? I'm Daniel Beavers, but you can call me Dan."

Warren held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, his jaw tightening, before he shook Daniel's hand with deliberate firmness. "Warren." His voice was cold, the warmth and ease from earlier gone completely.

Daniel laughed, a little too loudly. "Damn, you’re strong." He gave Warren a friendly slap on the back, but Warren didn’t flinch, keeping his expression neutral, only offering a polite smile before stepping inside.

Once out of Daniel’s line of sight, Warren leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, his breath brushing your ear. "Who’s that guy?"

You swallowed hard, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor for a moment before your voice barely escaped your lips, a whisper heavy with discomfort. "Luke’s father."

Warren went silent for a beat, his body stiffening as though the weight of your words had struck him physically. His chest tightened, and his next words came out as a low, almost inaudible murmur. "Shit."

Without thinking, his body straightened, as if some primal instinct had taken over. His shoulders subtly broadened, and he instinctively positioned himself a bit closer to you, as if shielding you from whatever lay ahead. The gesture was so natural, so automatic, it was almost like he was becoming a human barrier.

He didn’t have the right to interfere.

But something inside him screamed that he should.

“Hi, mom!”

Luke’s cheerful voice shattered the tense silence in the room. The little boy appeared, his backpack already slung over his shoulders, running to hug you before turning to Warren with a bright, wide smile.

"Warren!" he exclaimed, launching himself into Warren’s legs for a tight hug.

"Hey, little man. Hope I didn’t take too long." Warren grinned, gently messing up Luke’s hair.

Luke pulled away, furrowing his brow. "What happened? I thought you weren’t gonna come."

"The car broke down, buddy. Warren’s gonna take you to school." You explained, maintaining a smile, though out of the corner of your eye, you couldn’t ignore the way Daniel was watching the scene, his gaze quiet and calculating.

"Cool!" Luke cheered, raising his hand for a high-five with Warren. "Can I sit in the front?"

"Not this time, kiddo." Warren pretended to sound disappointed, crouching down to meet his eyes with a playful expression. "But next time, I promise."

"Okay." Luke whispered, clapping his hands excitedly.

You glanced around the room, feeling the house unusually quiet. "Where are your grandparents?"

"They went to the market. They’re planning a party for Daniel. For some celebration." Luke answered innocently, not noticing the way your shoulders tensed at the mention of Daniel’s name.

You inhaled deeply, trying to keep your composure. "Alright, let’s go. Luke’s gonna be late. It was nice seeing you, Daniel." The falseness of your smile was clear, but it was a necessary mask.

"Wait." Daniel stepped closer, pulling a shiny gold envelope with navy blue details from his pocket. He extended it toward you, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I didn’t even tell you the big news."

Your stomach churned before you even looked at the contents.

"Daniel and Honey?" Your voice came out low, almost incredulous.

"I’m inviting you to my wedding." He announced as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You can bring Warren too. It’d be great to have you both with us. Honey really wants to meet you."

Daniel then pulled out a smaller piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Warren, who hesitated for a moment before reluctantly taking it.

You laughed—not out of happiness, but out of pure disgust. "Yeah, Daniel. You really outdo yourself every day." You stuffed the invitation into your pocket without a second thought.

"It’ll be great to have you there." He softened his voice, his hand making an almost theatrical gesture as it brushed your arm. "Please, sweetheart…"

The silence was thick, suffocating.

Warren watched the scene unfold like a predator studying its prey. His jaw was clenched tight, and his fists were subtly balled at his sides, barely contained by the tension in his body. Something inside him had already pegged Daniel as a fool, but seeing this whole act up close... that was too much. His protective instincts kicked in.

He couldn’t hold back any longer.

"Dude, what’s up with this? Don’t you think this is a little weird?" Warren broke the silence, his voice a low growl that drew every eye in the room to him. His tone came out rougher than he intended, but at that moment, he didn’t care to hide his feelings.

Daniel blinked, genuinely confused by Warren’s reaction. "Weird? Why would it be weird?"

That question only fueled the fire inside Warren.

"Don’t you realize how completely bizarre it is to invite your ex to your wedding without even giving a heads-up? You abandoned this kid, and now you show up years later like everything’s fine?" Warren narrowed his eyes, his muscles visibly tensing as his posture became more aggressive, as if he was ready to jump at any moment.

Daniel let out a nervous laugh, trying to downplay the situation with a dismissive gesture. "Relax, man. I just thought… I don’t know. We’d be good friends. Didn’t know she was already seeing someone again." He shrugged, giving you and Warren a mischievous look, as if he was enjoying the discomfort he was causing.

The statement caught Warren off guard for a moment, making his eyes narrow even further, but he quickly recovered, his expression hardening. "Yeah. Exactly." He reaffirmed without hesitation, crossing his arms firmly. "And even if she wasn’t, you can’t just keep popping in and out of people’s lives like it’s a game. Look at yourself. How old are you?"

Daniel was slightly thrown off, the first crack in his confidence showing in his hesitation. "Twenty-seven."

Warren let out a dry laugh, almost sarcastically. "Twenty-seven." He repeated, savoring the irony of the situation. Then, he stepped forward, forcing Daniel to retreat until his back hit the wall. The intensity of Warren’s presence was palpable. "Listen, man to man. I’m thirty-one. But I had a grip on things long before that."

The discomfort on Daniel's face was unmistakable. He tried to recover his posture, but Warren wasn’t letting him off the hook.

"Alright, man. No need to get all upset or rude." Daniel hissed, attempting to regain his composure as he pushed lightly against Warren’s chest. Warren instantly lifted a fist, ready for any reaction.

It was only then that he remembered you and Luke were still there, silently observing the scene. Warren took a deep breath, cracked his neck, and relaxed his shoulders before speaking in a more controlled voice, though still firm. "Stay out of our lives again, alright?"

Then, with a sharp smile, he straightened Daniel’s perfectly aligned suit jacket as if he were adjusting a porcelain doll, his touch almost mocking. "Are you a lawyer?"

"Yeah." Daniel replied automatically, quickly wiping where Warren had gripped him, trying to salvage his composure.

"I hate that kind." Warren muttered between his teeth, his gaze hardening, but he quickly turned to you, softening his expression. He gave you a more serene smile, almost affectionate. "Shall we go, babe?"

Your heart skipped a beat at hearing him say “babe.” Not out of fear, but because, in that moment, you realized something different. The way Warren said it felt... right. As though he had claimed a piece of you without even realizing it.

"For sure." You smiled, your eyes softening as you started walking toward the door. But then you stopped, turned around, and walked back to Daniel with steady steps.

Without hurrying, you took the invitation from your pocket with a smooth motion and extended it to him, without any emotional appeal. "Keep it for someone who actually wants to go. Best wishes!" Your voice was sweet, but the sarcasm beneath it was impossible to ignore. Every word carried a subtle criticism, something you could no longer hide.

Daniel stood there, frozen, holding the invitation as if he had finally realized it was irrelevant to you, his expression draining of any confidence he had left as the reality hit him. He was out of place. And that seemed clear to everyone in the room.

Warren opened the door for you to pass, but before you stepped out, he gave Daniel one last threatening glance. A silent, but clear, warning.

You both walked toward the car, no longer needing to hide the smile on your faces. The tension from the earlier conversation still hung in the air, but somehow, the whole situation seemed to have brought you even closer.

"Alright, all set..." Warren murmured as he buckled Luke's seatbelt in the back seat. "Now, school."

He was already turning to head to the driver's seat when Luke's curious little voice caught you both off guard:

"Are you and mommy dating?"

The silence that followed was instant. You and Warren froze for a second before exchanging a knowing glance.

Warren raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well... I'm a pretty nosy guy," he said, looking directly at you before turning to Luke. "So, I guess we are."

He twisted the key in the ignition, but before pulling away, he cast a quick glance your way. "Is this alright with you? Us... this."

The question came without hesitation, but with a genuine undertone of concern. You held your breath for a moment, feeling the weight of the silent exchange between you two. Then, you smiled. Not just any smile, but one of those effortless, warm, and real smiles.

"Great." You replied, feeling a lightness in your chest.

He studied your face for a second longer than necessary, as if he wanted to lock that expression in his memory. Then, he nodded, a small smile forming at the corner of his lips.

"Great." He repeated, turning his attention back to the road before accelerating, as if the whole world had just fallen back into place.

Rule #3: Your friends aren’t always right.

After school, you drove to the grocery store. The car’s engine hummed softly before going silent as you turned the key in the ignition. The sound of the seatbelt undoing echoed in the silence between you. You opened the door and climbed out, unlocking the passenger door without looking back. Warren stepped out soon after, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets, his gaze scanning the storefront as if something was different, even though everything looked exactly the same.

Inside, the muffled sound of an old radio played some generic music as you made your way to the checkout. Warren, on the other hand, detoured to the warehouse, his steps slower than usual. The smell of dust and cardboard filled his nostrils as he entered. The shelves were crammed, the boxes stacked chaotically, as usual. But Warren didn’t care about any of that.

He just needed a moment here, alone, to gather his thoughts.

With a heavy sigh, he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it with trembling fingers. His gaze ran over the words written there—how many times had he read them?—but before he could get lost in his own thoughts, the creak of the door opening made him quickly shove the paper back into his pocket.

"Can I come in?" Your voice sounded hesitant, head peeking through the crack in the door. He blinked a few times before forcing a smile.

"Of course you can. You own the place." He gestured with his hand, a relaxed movement, but his shoulders remained tense.

You walked in, closing the door behind you, the dry sound of wood echoing through the small space. Your eyes wandered around the warehouse for a second before returning to Warren, who was now swinging his foot on the floor, his right hand still deep in his pocket.

"I just came to say..." You began, walking slowly towards him. "Thank you for what you did today."

He let out a short, humorless laugh, looking away from you to the floor. "Oh, that?" His shoulders lifted in a casual gesture. "It was nothing. In fact, I think I was kind of stupid."

"No." Your answer came out firm, quick, taking him by surprise. You cleared your throat, trying to soften your tone. "It wasn't stupid. It was... it was really good. Really helpful. I lost my mind, I didn't know what to do in that situation. He was such an asshole."

Warren tilted his head to the side, watching your expression for a moment before asking, "Has he always been like this?"

You let out a tired sigh, leaning against the wall behind you. "I guess he always has. I just didn't want to notice."

"That sucks." He muttered, biting the inside of his cheek. After a second of hesitation, he walked over to stand next to you, leaning against the wall as well. "I guess we always have that in life. Not realizing the right person was right there."

You frowned, lifting your chin with a hint of indignation in your voice. "Why do we do this, huh? All the signs were there. The way he ignored me, how I had to ask him to the school dance..."

Warren turned his face towards you, blinking slowly. "You asked him to the school dance and not the other way around?"

"Yeah! Can you believe that?" You huffed, crossing your arms. "He said he forgot! When we were picking out my dress the night before!"

Warren closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a long sigh before muttering, "What an idiot." He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling, the fluorescent light above casting soft shadows on his face. With a slow movement, he licked his lips before speaking again. "I would never do that to you."

Your chest tightened, your breath catching for a second.

"What do you mean by that?" Your voice came out low, almost reluctant.

He pressed his teeth against his cheek, looking away to the floor, as if seeking courage there. When he finally looked back at you, his expression was more serious.

"I would never treat you like that." His voice was firm, but there was a certain hesitation in his gaze. "I'm not exactly a good guy, you know that. But I’d never leave you hanging like that."

"Really?" You leaned your head against the wall, still looking at him, your fingers tightening the hem of your blouse with an unconscious reflex of nervousness.

Warren nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips, almost as if he was amused by your reaction. You snorted and went back to staring at the ceiling. The silence that followed was almost palpable. Your breathing seemed to echo in the small warehouse, while the dust danced in the air under the yellowish light.

"Oh my God..." The laugh came low, exhaled along with a sigh.

"What?" He frowned, but the corner of his mouth still carried a trace of amusement.

"Now I want to go to Daniel's wedding with you just so he can see that I'm okay." You admitted, covering your face with your hands, feeling the heat rise to your ears. "That's so immature. I'm such an idiot."

Warren let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, come on, I don't care." Without hesitation, he took another step towards you, leaning in slightly as he gently removed your hands from your face. "I still have a password, we can say it's yours and that I'm following."

"No, Warren... That's not right." You protested, but the lightness of laughter was still present in your voice. "I'd be using you and that's so wrong..."

"Do it. I just don't want you to look like that because of that idiot." His voice lowered slightly, seriousness seeping into his tone.

"He doesn't deserve even a second of your emotions, of anything you have to offer. So use me. Do whatever you think is best, because you have a hard enough life to worry about anything else and I'm willing to do anything to help you."

Your heart stumbled in your chest when you felt his warm touch against your wrists. Warren gently lowered them, letting his hands rest on either side of your body. The space between you was decreasing with each passing second without anyone making an effort to break it.

He bit his lower lip, his gaze flickering between your mouth and your eyes. You felt your breath catch at the realization, heat rising in your stomach, in your cheeks. Your own attention followed suit—his lips, then his brown eyes, intense, filled with something unsaid but completely understood. The atmosphere was heavy in a way that seemed impossible to ignore.

Warren's heart hammered against his ribs as he raised one hand, bracing it on the wall beside you. The other still held yours. The space between your bodies slowly disappeared. He leaned toward you, his lashes lowering as your faces came closer, your breath mingling.

Then, the doorbell rang.

The sound cut through the moment like a sharp blade, making you both pull away in an instant. You took a step back, your chest rising and falling with your ragged breaths. Warren ran a hand through his hair, staring at the ceiling as if cursing the universe.

"I better... you know... go outside." He nodded, his voice thick with something that sounded like disappointment.

You nodded, crossing your arms over your body as if that could contain the wave of feelings that were stirring inside you. He hesitated for a moment before leaving, closing the door behind him. But he didn't leave right away—Warren leaned his back against the wood for a few seconds, exhaling slowly, trying to regain control. Only then did he pull away and walk to the cashier.

You stood there for a few more moments, your fingertips brushing your lips, as if trying to feel something that had never happened.

If you had kissed... would it have been wrong? Or was the doorbell a signal not to?

You shook your head, muttering "Stop it" to yourself, trying to push the thought away. But the knot in your chest was still there as you left the warehouse and headed back to the market.

Across the way, Warren was handing over the customer’s groceries with automatic movements, but his mind was elsewhere. When his eyes met yours, for just a second, something flared again—a question, an uncertainty, a regret.

Without saying anything, you looked away and walked into the office, busying yourself with anything that felt like work. You needed to distract yourself, needed to convince yourself that this didn’t mean anything.

The customer left, and Warren stood behind the register, still holding the last bag as if he’d forgotten to let go of it. His mind raced in circles, trying to find a way to talk about what had almost happened. To tell him how he felt without ruining everything.

He walked slowly to the office door and raised his hand to knock, but hesitated. His fingers hovered over the wood for a second before curling into a fist and pulling back.

This didn’t make sense. It wasn’t supposed to happen.

And if it did, he was sure it would ruin everything.

Eric was right. It was better to just give up.

Rule #4: Don't hold back an emotion for too long, it might take over you.

The doorbell rang, and Warren didn't even need to look up to know who it was. The familiar jingle of keychains rattling in his backpack and the sweet smell of grape candies in the air were enough to recognize Luke.

"Hey, little man. How was school today?" Warren beamed, walking around the counter with lazy steps to talk to the boy.

"It was nice." Luke replied excitedly, throwing his backpack on the floor before wrapping Warren in a brief, tight hug. Soon after, he pulled away and stuck his small hand in his pants pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. "Look, I made this today."

"Awesome, a frog." Warren took the green origami between his fingers, studying the careful folds. He turned the piece from side to side, smiling. "Where did you learn that?"

"On the internet, look. Come see, it jumps." Luke took it back, placed it on the counter, and pressed it lightly on the paper. The little frog jumped. "See?"

Warren raised an eyebrow. "Boy, you're scary." He tested the frog, squeezing the paper as Luke had done, and the creature jumped again. "This is witchcraft, isn't it? You put magic in it and didn't tell me, you little brat."

"No!" Luke laughed, shaking his head. "It's just origami. If you fold the paper the right way, it moves, like a lever."

"I see..." Warren feigned distrust, crossing his arms. "So it's pure skill and not some dark pact?"

Luke laughed, shaking his head. "Wanna make one?"

"Tsk, I don't know." Warren leaned back a little, as if it were a risky challenge. "I'm pretty sure I'll ruin it before I even touch the paper."

"Stop being a wimp." The boy, however, didn't take the refusal lying down. Luke took his hand with determination and pulled him down the hallway to the office. The air grew heavier as Warren walked through the door.

His eyes met yours for a moment too long. Something unresolved hung in the space between you, and you both looked away almost at the same time, disguising it with silent discomfort.

It had been a week.

Seven days since what almost happened in the warehouse.

Since then, conversations had been limited to short sentences about work, polite words that didn't fill the awkward silence. You spent as much time as possible in the office, while Warren remained at the cash register busy with anything other than talking to you. Always busy. The only close interaction happened when it was time to restock the shelves or when one of you left. And even then, you both avoided looking each other directly in the eyes.

"Hi, sweetheart. How was school today?" You broke the silence first, forcing a smile as Luke let go of Warren's hand and ran over to you.

"It was cool, but Warren and I are really busy right now." He explained excitedly, grabbing two sheets of paper from your desk.

"With what, exactly?" You asked, your gaze falling on Warren more than the boy.

"We're gonna make frogs." Warren answered casually, twirling the sheet between his fingers.

"Frogs?" Your brow furrowed slightly.

"Of paper, Mom." Luke rolled his eyes, as if your question was absurd. "I made one in class and now I'm going to teach Warren how to make one too. Sit here, facing Mom."

Warren hesitated, his eyes meeting yours again, almost as if he was asking for permission. You held his gaze for a second before nodding, pointing to the chair across from you. He sat down, looking guilty, shifting in his chair as Luke stood beside him, full of excitement.

"Here's how it is, follow everything I do or you'll get lost and do it all wrong." The boy began to fold the paper with precision. Warren imitated the movement, frowning in concentration.

"That's it. Now you're going to fold it here... like this."

"Okay..." Warren replicated the fold, narrowing his eyes to check if he was doing it right. "And now?"

"Do it like this, like this. Now fold it like this... Now turn it over. Don't let it get wrinkled, it has to be right. Turn it over again, fold it."

"Easy there, Luke. I'm old." Warren laughed, his hands fumbling to keep up with the boy's agile movements.

Luke snorted, but held back a smile. "You're slow, Warren."

"Hey, that was unnecessary." He made a playfully offended expression.

"Now just this one more and it's done!" Luke showed off his perfectly aligned frog, proud.

"Congratulations, honey!" You clapped your hands, amazed at your son's work. “It looks exactly like a frog. Good job.”

Warren looked at his origami, then at Luke’s. He held up his creation—a crumpled, shapeless ball—and raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, it looks just like mine.”

Luke laughed loudly. You put your hand over your mouth, trying to hold back your laughter too. “Sorry, Warren. It’s just so funny.”

“It looks like a frog that got run over!” Luke laughed, placing his hands on his stomach.

“I know, I know. I should’ve seen that coming. You two are against me.” Warren sighed dramatically, tossing the paper ball aside. “It’s definitely not for me. I’ll leave that to the little man and his super smart mom.”

But even though he failed miserably at origami, the smile on his face seemed genuine for the first time in a week.

“You don’t pay attention either, Warren Sillyka!” Luke laughed, sticking his tongue out at Warren.

“Did you see that?” Warren raised an eyebrow at you, pointing indignantly at the boy. “The kid just gave me tongue!” And without thinking twice, he returned the gesture.

"Hey!" Luke protested, grimacing and pulling the corners of his mouth with his fingers.

"Now, you little criminal..." Warren narrowed his eyes before standing up, his hands ready to attack with tickles.

"No, stop! Stop!" Luke squirmed, laughing as he tried to escape. Warren, however, was faster, grabbing him easily and lifting him in his arms, swinging him from side to side.

"Serious infraction, young man!" Warren mocked, holding Luke tightly. "You have the right to remain silent! Hands where I can see them!"

"Never!" Luke challenged, laughing loudly, clearly enjoying the joke. "I will not give in to you, Sillyka."

"Oh, then let's go again." Warren took a deep breath and threw the boy slightly in the air before catching him again, eliciting more laughter. "What now? I’ll only let you go with an apology!’

You watched them, the scene unfolding before your eyes like something you never imagined you would see. Your son laughing freely, sharing such pure happiness with someone other than you. Warren holding him in his arms felt... right. Like this was where Luke was always supposed to be.

The laughter escaped your lips before you could stop it. And when Warren and Luke looked at you, your laughter turned into something else—louder, looser, more genuine. Your eyes grew teary, but not just from laughter. The emotions inside you bubbled up in a way they didn’t know how to express, that you had kept locked away under lock and key deep in your heart for many, many years.

"No... don't look at me." You tried to contain your laughter, quickly wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. "Keep going..."

"Mommy?" Luke frowned, his joy turning to instant concern.

Warren noticed the same and quickly put the boy down before approaching you.

"Mommy, are you okay?"

You took a deep breath, blinking a few times to hold back the tears. "Yes, my baby... I am." You smiled, even though your voice shook a little. "I'm just happy." It was true. Partially, at least. "Can you go to the storage room and get me a tissue?"

Luke hesitated, still suspicious, but nodded. "Yeah." And then he left, looking back one last time before disappearing down the hallway.

The moment the door closed, the barrier you were trying to hold collapsed. A sob escaped your throat, followed by an uncontrolled sob.

"I'm sorry." You buried your face in your hands, unable to stop the wave of emotion.

Warren's heart clenched, and before you knew it, he was kneeling in front of you, his arms wrapped around your shoulders in a firm embrace.

He didn't say anything. He just stood there.

Your face buried in his neck, your hands clutching the fabric of his uniform, feeling the heat of his body as you cried without reserve.

“I'm here. Shh..." Warren murmured against your hair, stroking your back in slow circles. "I'm here."

"I'm soaking your clothes…”

"Fuck it. I'll wash them when I get home."

He slid his fingers through your hair, brushing his lips gently against your temple, a silent gesture of comfort. Your breathing began to calm, still shaky, but less suffocating. You sniffed and pulled away slightly, staring at his face so close to yours. The way he looked at you... calm, steady. Like a beacon in the middle of your storm, guiding you back.

"I forget how incredibly perceptive he is." Your voice still cracked. "He always knows when I'm not okay. I can't hide anything from him."

Warren smiled weakly, running his hand over your wet face, brushing away the remnants of your tears with his thumb.

"You don't have to hide it from me either." He said softly, then leaned down, still on his knees, to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Don't hide anything from me."

The door swung open.

"Here, Mom! I got it." Luke came running back, holding the box of tissues. "Sorry I took so long. It was really highI had to grab a chair to get up. But I didn't drop anything."

You let out a shaky laugh, accepting the tissues and opening your arms to him. Luke fit into the hug without hesitation. You looked at Warren over your son's head, his gaze full of gratitude.

"Well... I guess I'll be going now." Warren mumbled, standing up slowly.

"Where to?" You asked, grabbing a tissue and blowing your nose. "Leaving already?"

"To the cashier. It's my turn." He smiled weakly, watching Luke grab another tissue for you. "Take care of your mom, okay?"

"I'll do it." Luke nodded with the seriousness of someone who takes the mission seriously. He held the trash can for you to dispose of the tissues. "It'll be okay, Mommy."

You smiled, tightening your arms around your son. "I know it will, my baby. Thank you.

" Warren took slow steps towards the door, almost hesitantly. You watched him go, feeling a tightness in your chest as you watched him walk away.

"See you later." He paused for a brief second, turning just enough to look you in the eyes.

"See you..."

…

Warren turned the "Closed" sign on the door, taking one last look at the street before returning to the cash register and writing down the day's records. You always dropped Luke off before five, so you'd be back soon. He wanted to get everything done early to make his job easier.

After reviewing the checklist, he went to his office and left the paper on his desk. When he returned to the cash register, he heard the door open and looked up in time to see you come in. You walked over to him with a small smile on your lips.

"You look happy." He commented, resting his hands on the counter.

"I just found the perfect dress for Daniel's wedding." You said, leaning a little on the counter.

"When is it?"

"Tomorrow, Saturday."

You walked around the counter, stopping next to him. "Do you have an outfit yet?"

"I have that damn thing I wore on my first day here. Will that fit?" Warren asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and crossing his arms.

"It'll do. It's perfect." You replied, placing your hands on your hips. "I can't wait to show you."

"The dress?" He raised an eyebrow, and you nodded. "I want to see it too. What color is it? No, wait... Isn't that bad luck?"

"What?"

"To know what the woman will wear on her wedding day." He explained, confused. You let out a laugh.

"No, Warren." He blinked, waiting for the explanation. "That's only for the bride. You can know."

"Oh... sorry. I've never been to a wedding before." He confessed, relaxing his arms. "Are you excited?"

"Nervous." You admitted, leaning against the counter. "I don't know how I'm going to react."

"I'll be there." Warren comforted. "Do I have permission to punch him if he messes up with Luke?"

"Luke isn't going. It's at night. It starts at eight, but these things always take a while. I don't want him to stay up until the early hours of the morning."

"So it's just going to be the two of us?"

The question came with a subtle but noticeable tone of curiosity.

"Yes." You nodded, feeling an unexpected nervousness grow in your chest.

"Do you want me to pick you up?" He asked, and there was something else in his voice—a hint of expectation.

"Yes, it's okay. I was just going to drop Luke off at his friend's house and come back to get ready."

"Deal. I'll stop by at seven-thirty?"

"Seven-thirty is fine." You nodded, crossing your arms. He held your gaze for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but he just smiled sideways.

"Shall we go out? It's closing time, and I don't want anyone knocking here." You changed the subject, walking to the door.

"Good idea." Warren grabbed his keys and followed you out, locking the store behind you.

Warren scanned the street, frowning slightly when he noticed one of the streetlights flickering, casting irregular shadows across the sidewalk. The silence of the night seemed to drag on with the cold wind.

"So... is it okay to walk home in this darkness?"

"Yeah, I always walk back after work." You answered matter-of-factly, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

He let out a short sigh, pulling the iron to cover the store window. "This isn't good."

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as he locked the door. "Since when did walking two streets over become a problem?"

"Since always. Anyone can run into the wrong person." He turned to you, glaring firmly.

"No problem. If anything happens, I'll scream and run." You joked, shrugging.

Warren chuckled and shook his head before approaching. With his hands firmly on his waist, he tilted his face, his eyes assessing you up and down.

“Come on. I’ll take you.” You hesitated for a moment, but ended up nodding and starting to walk. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Going home?” You pointed to the end of the street.

“No. Get in the car.” He patted the hood of the vehicle twice with a half smile.

“It’s only two streets.”

“And I don’t know who’s coming around the corner. Do you know?”

“You’re so worried.”

“Baby, after you go to jail, even your neighbors are suspicious.” He joked, unlocking the doors. “Maybe you have your own criminal record and I’m here all by myself thinking I’m safe and sound.”

You smiled, getting in the car. “And what would my crime be?”

Warren started the engine and pulled out of the space, his eyes narrowing as if he was evaluating the response.

“Murder, for sure. In cold blood, plain daylight.” He teased, turning the steering wheel to enter the avenue. “Maybe poisoning.”

“And why?”

He gave you a quick glance before turning his attention back to the road.

“Because you have this innocent woman look, all pretty, cute eyes who make men fall in love at first sight… the perfect stereotype.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile. “When I least expect it, I’ll wake up in an ice bath.”

You gave a short laugh and lightly pushed his shoulder. “How awful, Warren. I’d never kill you.”

“I don’t know… what if one day I make you angry?”

He turned onto your street and parked in front of your house. The engine purred softly before being turned off. Silence filled the car.

“Then I don’t know…” you teased, biting your lip as you pretended to think.

Warren chuckled softly and shook his head. “See? That’s what I’m talking about.”

“See you tomorrow.” You said, unbuckling your seatbelt.

But before you could reach for the door handle, you hesitated.

“Warren.”

He turned to face you, leaning in slightly. “Yeah?” His voice was lower, as if he already knew what was coming.

You hesitated for a second, your gaze locked on his lips. Your heart raced as your bodies leaned almost instinctively toward each other. Your hot breath mingled in the small space between you. But at the last moment, you pulled back, looking away.

“Nothing…”

“Fuck, stop saying it’s nothing.” Warren grumbled, letting out a short sigh before unbuckling his belt and cupping your face with his warm hands, pulling you into an unexpected kiss.

The touch was intense, a mix of urgency and pent-up desire. Your fingers tightened the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer, opening your mouth for more of what you craved so much.

When you pulled away, a mischievous smile played on his lips. You smiled, still feeling his breath against your skin, your mouth damp from the trace of what had happened.

“Thank you.” You mumbled, trying to pull away, but he pulled you back, deepening the kiss without hesitation.

This time, you moaned against his lips and released his belt, seeking more proximity. Warren slid his hand under your shirt, pulling your waist closer and feeling the soft skin against his touch. His other hand went to the back of your neck, his fingers intertwining in your hair as the kiss grew more intense.

Time seemed to have stopped. You turned your body so that he had more access, your hand touching his face, the hairs of his growing beard prickling your skin, brushing against your chin. It stung, but it felt so damn good. When air became a necessity, you pulled away with a silly smile, your eyes shining under the dim light of the streetlamp.

“You’re very welcome.” Warren murmured, his eyes fixed on your mouth, his fingers lightly brushing your skin as if he still didn’t want to let go.

You smiled and looked away, opening the door.

“See you tomorrow, Warren.”

“Why?”

“I’m in front of my house.” You laughed softly.

Before you could leave, he pulled your hand and stole one last kiss.

“Just one more.” He murmured against your lips, sealing them once more. You smiled against his mouth before finally leaving.

Warren waited until you got in and closed the door to start the car. He licked his lips, capturing your trail. He frowned, smelling a strange smell in the air. Looking around, he decided to look at his pants and...

“Shit, Warren. What’s wrong with you?” He groaned in disgust, seeing his own situation. His jeans were darker, damp, soft. “I can’t believe this. One kiss! One kiss! I’m so fucked up. That’s the ending.”

Disgusted, he just decided to go home as soon as possible to resolve the outcome of the little moment between you. Even though he was uncomfortable with the sticky feeling between his legs, the satisfied smile didn’t leave his face.

And it didn’t leave throughout the entire night.

#warren lipka x y/n #warren lipka x you #warren lipka x reader #warren lipka #imagine #x reader #reader insert #fanfic #evan peters #evan peters fandom #evan peters x reader #evan peters x you #evan peters x y/n #american animals

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andy-15-07 · 5 months ago

Note

hiii, hope you’re doing well! i was wondering if you could write something where y/n is an actress and meets aaron at some awards or maybe the met gala? i’d appreciate it soo much, i love your writing! thankss

Champagne & Fate

pairing: Aaron Taylor Johnson x female!reader

word count: 1031 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Aaron Taylor Johnson Masterlist

The cacophony of the Met Gala pressed in on y/n, a rising starlet still navigating the treacherous waters of Hollywood’s elite. Her emerald green gown, a daring choice, felt both like armor and a spotlight. She’d just finished a slightly awkward interview about her latest indie film, her nerves making her responses sound stilted. Sighing internally, she snagged a glass of champagne, hoping to blend into the glittering backdrop. That's when disaster struck. A sudden jostle from a passing waiter sent her bubbly cascading down the front of someone’s impeccably tailored tuxedo.

“Oh my god, I am so incredibly sorry!” y/n gasped, mortified. She dabbed uselessly at the spreading stain with a napkin. “I’m such a klutz.”

The man turned, and y/n’s breath hitched. It was Aaron Taylor-Johnson. Up close, he was even more striking than in photographs. His green eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, a disarming gesture that eased some of her panic.

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckled, his voice surprisingly warm. “Champagne showers are practically a Met Gala tradition. Consider yourself initiated.”

“Still,” y/n stammered, feeling her cheeks flush. “I’m y/n.”

“Aaron,” he replied, extending a hand. His grip was firm and warm. “Nice to meet you, y/n.”

They stood there for a moment, the spilled champagne forming a small puddle at their feet. y/n, still reeling from the embarrassment (and the proximity to him), blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I loved ‘Kick-Ass’!”

Aaron laughed. “Thanks. That feels like a lifetime ago. These days, I’m trying to graduate from superhero vigilantes to something a little more… nuanced.”

“Like what?” y/n asked, genuinely curious.

“I’m working on a psychological thriller at the moment,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “It’s dark, twisty, and completely messed up. I’m having a blast.”

“That sounds amazing,” y/n said. “I’m a sucker for anything dark and twisty.”

They talked for the next hour, oblivious to the swirling crowd around them. y/n was surprised by how easy it was to talk to him. He was intelligent, witty, and refreshingly down-to-earth. He didn’t treat her like some starstruck ingenue, but like a fellow artist. They discussed their shared passion for film, their favorite directors, and even debated the merits of method acting (he was for it, she was skeptical).

“You know,” Aaron said, leaning closer, his voice a low rumble, “I’d love to hear more about your indie film. The one you were talking about earlier.”

y/n’s heart fluttered. “It’s a small project, but I’m really proud of it. It’s a coming-of-age story, set against the backdrop of… well, it’s complicated.”

“Complicated is good,” Aaron said with a grin. “I like complicated.”

As the evening drew to a close, Aaron pulled out his phone. “I’d hate for our champagne-soaked conversation to end here. Would you mind if I got your number?”

y/n, trying to play it cool, but failing miserably, rattled off her digits.

“Great,” Aaron said. “I’ll text you tomorrow. Maybe we could grab coffee and talk more about… complicated things.”

“I’d like that,” y/n replied, her smile mirroring his.

The next day, a text arrived: “Aaron T-J: Coffee tomorrow? My treat. And maybe we can discuss the proper etiquette for champagne spills.”

y/n’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “y/n: Deal. But I’m warning you, I’m a terrible influence. Prepare for more accidental beverage-related incidents.”

Their coffee date turned into dinner, which turned into late-night talks on his apartment balcony overlooking the city. They discovered a shared love for old vinyl records, a mutual disdain for reality TV, and a surprisingly compatible sense of humor. The whirlwind romance that followed was a blur of stolen kisses, whispered secrets, and a growing sense of connection that neither of them could deny.

One rainy Saturday afternoon, they were curled up on Aaron's couch, watching an old black and white movie. A comfortable silence settled between them, punctuated only by the crackling of the fireplace. y/n felt a sense of belonging she hadn't experienced before. She looked at Aaron, his face illuminated by the flickering light, and a warmth spread through her chest.

He turned, catching her gaze. He smiled, a soft, intimate smile that made her heart skip a beat. He reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers.

"y/n," he said, his voice quiet, "I know things have moved quickly between us, but... I can't imagine my life without you in it."

y/n's breath hitched. She knew what was coming, and her heart pounded in her chest.

"I love spending time with you," he continued, his eyes searching hers. "You make me laugh, you challenge me, and you make me happier than I've ever been. I was wondering... would you want to move in with me?"

y/n's mind raced. Moving in together was a big step, but it felt right. It felt natural. She loved being with Aaron. She loved their late-night talks, their shared laughter, and the way he made her feel.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. "Yes, I would love to."

Aaron's smile widened. He pulled her closer, kissing her softly. "I can't wait," he murmured against her lips.

The next few weeks were a flurry of packing, organizing, and merging their lives together. y/n's apartment felt empty without her, but her new home with Aaron felt full of promise. They painted the spare room a warm, inviting shade of blue, turning it into y/n's writing room. They rearranged the furniture in the living room, creating a cozy space where they could relax and unwind after a long day.

One evening, after they had finished unpacking, they stood in the doorway of their apartment, looking around at their shared space. y/n leaned against Aaron, her head resting on his shoulder.

"It feels like home," she said softly.

Aaron wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. "It does," he agreed. "It feels like we're finally where we're supposed to be."

And as they stood there, surrounded by the quiet comfort of their new home, y/n knew that she had made the right decision. She had spilled champagne on her future, and it had led her to a place where she truly belonged.

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myhouse-mychair-myfics · 20 days ago

Text

Fuzz Therapy

@empyreanevents Liam Week Day 7: Free Day

Liam Mairi x Reader, Modern College AU

Getting tackled by a golden retriever was not on your bingo card for this particular day. Or on any of your bingo cards for that matter. That’s what you get for running late. Professor Markham was going to kill you if this dog didn’t do it first.

You had stayed up all night working on your paper for Markham’s class and had fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning and slept right through your alarm. Meaning, on top of grogginess and lack of sleep, you had to skip breakfast and cut through Basgiath University’s dog park just to make it to class on time.

You were already flustered, hungry and exhausted when the reddest looking golden retriever you’d ever seen barreled straight into you, toppling you at the knees and bringing you and your backpack down into the grass.

If that wasn’t just the icing on the cake.

“Deigh!” A guy’s voice shouted across the park and the retriever paused his sniffing and licking of you momentarily to snap his head up before returning to tormenting you.

“Get off me! You stupid dog!” You said, attempting to sound angry but, really you were closer to tears than anything else.

“Deigh! Stop it!” The guy was closer now, pulling the dog to him and leashing him. Deigh apparently was a very strong pooch though, because the leash could barely keep him at this boy’s side.

“Come here, boy,” he said as you sat up. He procured a treat from a bag attached to his waist and used it to lure Deigh a step or two further away from you.

“You know,” you said, wiping the grass stains off your backpack, “you shouldn’t bribe him with treats.” You knew you sounded bitter, but you didn’t care. You were well and fully late now, imagining the public humiliation you would receive upon entering, both late and covered in dirt and dog slobber.

“I am really sorry about him. He never does that, he must just like you.”

“Well, he has a funny way of showing it,” you said, anger quickly dissipating to frustrated tears as you noticed the stains all over your favorite outfit - the one bit of joy you allowed yourself in picking out this morning.

You finally looked up at the guy and immediately wished you hadn’t. He was really pretty. Perfect blond hair, swooped just the right way, gorgeous eyes looking at you concerned, tall, strong, and generally looked like a puppy dog given human form.

You really wanted to be mad, but he looked nice, he’d apologized, and Deigh had his tail between his legs and sent sad eyes looking up at you.

The campus clock tower struck ten, each ring a death knell for your reputation in Markham’s class. On that tenth chime, you dropped your head in your hands and sank to the ground, tears that had threatened to fall all morning finally doing so.

Deigh moved forward, nudging his nose at your arms and finally settling his head in your lap, tail thumping on the ground.

You finally let your face go, dropping your hands to card through Deigh’s fur since the dog wasn’t moving.

“What’s wrong?” The guy asked.

You looked into those pretty, puppy dog eyes and figured, ‘why not?’ and spilled everything this morning had done to you. Pouring your tortured student heart out to this pretty stranger your age.

“I follow rubrics to the letter and nothing I do is ever good enough! It’s like he looked at me the first day two semesters ago and said that for however long I’m in his classes, I am the one he’s going to pick on. Every example of what not to do, he uses my work. Every time I answer a question, I’m always wrong. Some other student parrots back the same thing I said with a few different words? Excellent. Marvelous answer. I’d drop the class but my program’s so small and he teaches the majority of the classes. I just- I’m so tired, you know?”

Deigh keened from your lap, seeming to understand in the way dogs often do as his owner sat beside you, scratching the dog’s back.

“But, I’m sorry,” you said, “you don’t even know me and I’ve wasted your and my time just dumping all of this out, I-“

“Let me stop you there. My name’s Liam, and I get it. My program’s like that too.”

He paused momentarily, indicating you, when you told him your name, he smiled softly and said, “see? Now we know each other. And something tells me, you needed some fuzz therapy right about now.”

“I never thought those events were worth going to,” you said, remembering the flyers around campus last semester for students to destress from finals with some campus dogs at the library.

“We go all the time,” Liam said, scratching his dog behind the ears, “Deigh is always a hit there. He always seems to know exactly what someone needs. I think that’s why he sought you out this morning.”

You sighed and rubbed the dog’s side. “Good boy.”

Deigh barked enthusiastically once, happy to be of service.

“I am sorry for yelling and crying at you on some random Tuesday,” you said.

“Don’t say sorry, we all have our moments. Besides, Deigh and I got a new friend out of it, didn’t we bud?”

Deigh barked and sat up to lick your face, pulling the first laugh of the day from you.

The clock tower struck again, indicating that there was only a half an hour left of your class anyway.

“You know what?” you said.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck Markham,” you said, “For all he knows I was sick today. He doesn’t like me anyway, why should I bend over backwards for him. For all he hates me, he has to grade me fairly.”

“There’s the spirit,” Liam said, “maybe you could ask around, see if any other students have reported similar things with him, I know he’s an adjunct in a few other departments. I’ve got a friend who’s dealt with some nastiness from him as well.”

“Are you really suggesting I try to get a professor fired?”

“After everything you told me, yes.”

“Maybe I’ll just start with skipping class,” you laughed.

“Sure,” Liam smiled, “hey, since you’re not going to class anyway, how do you feel about accompanying me and this little rascal for some breakfast?”

At the mention of food, Deigh’s head snapped up and you laughed. Just at the same time, your stomach growled loudly.

“You know, that sounds great, Liam. Lead the way.”

#fourth wing x reader #fourth wing #the empyrean #iron flame #onyx storm #liamweek2025 #liam mairi #liam mairi x reader #modern au #college au #modern fourth wing #college fourth wing #deigh #dog!deigh

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ggomos-maribat · 2 years ago

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10 | in which Marinette Dupain-Cheng submits her resignation

Part 10 (Last Chapter) of No Mr. Wayne You Can't Adopt Me! | Masterlist

Marinette ticked off her mental checklist. Lights? Here. Stage? Ready. Food? All served. She clenched her jaw. Bruce Wayne, her boss, the single most important person for the night?

Missing in action.

She tapped her heeled foot on the ground. It was twenty minutes already, but the entire night's schedule was officially in disarray. Sooner or later, the guests would be asking. She had relentlessly called Bruce's phone over and over again that she didn't even know how many times it was. Even Damian she called a few times yet there was no answer.

She had a guess on what the reason was, but she expected more sense from Bruce—even if it was late at night, he would not be out there fighting crime.

Soon, she waved the figurative white flag and called Alfred after sneaking off somewhere quieter.

"Where is he?" she asked. Straightforward and simple.

"I'm sorry, Miss Marinette. I understand Master Bruce has an event today but . . ." Alfred trailed off. "He is currently unavailable at the moment."

"No, Alfred. Where exactly is he?"

A long pause followed. Then the elderly man spoke again. "I'm afraid he's caught up in a situation. They went out for patrol and seemed to have underestimated their targets. They are currently in a warehouse right now."

"What?" Marinette rubbed her head. Bruce, just. . . how?! "They, as in, all of them?!"

"Yes, Miss Marinette."

"Can no one get them right now?! The event was supposed to start ages ago!"

"Master Duke, Miss Cassandra and Miss Stephanie are all out of town unfortunately." Alfred sighed. "Actually, may I trouble you to rescue them? It will be faster than calling for backup from the Justice League."

Marinette bit her lip. Kwamis. How could all of them get captured?! What's stopping me from walking out from my job right now, huh, Bruce? I could leave you to your kidnappers all night long.

"I apologize, Miss Marinette, but they cannot seem to get out themselves. I will personally make sure Master Bruce gives you a bonus within the week—"

"Okay, send me the coordinates."

Marinette changed into a dark vigilante-type outfit as fast as she could. Alfred sent an auto-driven ride to her location and she floored the pedal all the way to the warehouse. Relax, Marinette, she told herself, you asked Tam to stall the guests. If we finish this in fifteen minutes and Bruce gives some sort of half-assed excuse to the attendees, it'll be fiiiine.

She pulled down her mask when she arrived at the warehouse. Going into it, she exercised a little bit of caution. But later on, she realized that taking down the men was a piece of cake and maybe the boys just got a little but unlucky.

She slammed the doors open to one room and saw the vigilantes all tied up.

"MMmmf mmff mmm?" Batman asked, but his mouth was duct-taped.

"That's not important right now." Before Marinette cut off their binds, she threw them one by one into the car: Batman at the passenger seat and Red Hood, Red Robin, and Robin at the back.

"Who . . .?" Batman started again. The rest seemed speechless with shock (except Damian perhaps, who likely already figured her out).

"How, just how?" Marinette slammed the driver's side door loudly and twisted the ignition with her pent-up rage. "How did all of you get caught up in that?! Did you decide to play along with your kidnappers?!"

". . . Marinette?"

She huffed and drove, calculating the shortest possible route to the event venue. "Did you forget what was tonight, huh? Couldn't resist getting into your fursuit before a big launching event at WE?"

"But . . .but—"

"You literally have no excuse!" Marinette expertly swerved around cars, even nearly running a red light.

Batman reached for the car radio, which was playing a news update covering the WE event but she slapped his hand away.

"I thought I could make it in time," he helplessly explained, pulling his cowl down. "How did you know?"

"No, in case you didn't know, you're not making it in time." She instantly honked the car when another vehicle cut in in front of them. "Don't mess with me tonight, fucker!" She cried out the half-open window.

She swore she saw the boys at the back visibly gulp.

Marinette exhaled a steady breath. "Look, we'll talk about this some other time, but for now, you will go into that event, be a good CEO, and get treatment for your bruises the minute you get home, comprendre?"

"Com—comprendre . . ." Bruce repeated.

Marinette halted at the back of the venue, pulled out a formal outfit from a compartment and threw it at Bruce. Thankfully, he seemed to get the hint and bolted out of the car without complaints.

Marinette directed a glare at the boys through the rearview mirror. "Damian, switch with me. Jason, don't move and keep pressing on that wound. I'll give you first aid but we have to take you to Alfred to get that checked out."

"You got stabbed?!" Tim exclaimed.

"Um yeah." Jason sucked in a breath as Marinette hopped into the back and Damian took the wheel.

"Why didn't you tell us?!"

"You'll make a big fuss out of it." Jason rolled his eyes. "It's no big deal."

Marinette flicked his forehead while Tim helped get Jason's clothes out of the way. "It is a big deal; it looks pretty serious."

"I've had worse." Jason made a face as she treated his wound.

"Okay just because you died once already it doesn't mean you can get overconfident," Marinette sassed.

Tim stared at her with wide eyes. "How the hell did you know that?"

"I know everything." She finished off by wrapping the bandages around Jason's torso. "Sorry Dames, can you drive faster?"

With a nod, Damian sped up, replicating the rush from earlier. Jason also had his jaw hanging. "Demon spawn listens to her."

***

"How long have you known?"

They finally had the chance to sit down and talk the following day in the office. Marinette had her hands calmly folded on top of her lap, while Bruce was looking at her intently on the seat across.

"Ever since I started working for you."

Bruce blinked a few times, as if getting his identity discovered easily was news to him. Marinette continued, "You're not exactly sneaky about it, you know. It was very obvious. Who do you think was covering up for you?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Bruce asked.

She sighed. "I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I wanted to help you from the sidelines like Alfred does and I thought you'd fire me if you knew that I knew."

By the look on his face, he was probably doing a quick flashback to all the times she messed with him as Batman. Bruce opened his mouth for a reply but she interrupted him. "And before you start suspecting me of doing anything bad, I want to let you know that you can trust me with your secret. If I had any ill intent, I would've acted on it a long time ago."

"It's—it's not that I don't trust you . . . it's—well, what made you break last night?"

Her gaze was glued to the floor. "I called Alfred and he told me where you were. I just . . . uhm, aside from the money he offered, I was really upset. The company prepared so much for the event and I put so much time making sure it was perfect. Then you don't show up."

When she looked up, the sting of guilt was evident in Bruce's eyes.

"I'm not faulting you for trying to fight crime," she added. "I just thought you'd be more responsible with your priorities."

"I'm sorry, Marinette," he said softly. "I didn't mean to disappoint you like that."

"Are you mad at me? For not telling you?"

"Mad—? I . . . I'm just surprised, really. But I should've known better. You helped us escape last night and you treated Jason's injury. I shouldn't be angry for that."

Marinette nodded slowly, satisfied with the apology. "I appreciate what you're doing for Gotham, so I'll make sure to keep you and your family's identities safe." She pulled out an envelope. "On a completely unrelated note, I think it's time I give you this."

Suffice to say, Bruce looked like he went through a storm of emotions whilst reading the piece of paper. "Your resignation letter?" He set it down. "If this is because of last night—"

"Nope, it's not because of last night." She smiled. "I just think it's time for me to look for a different career path. I do love my job right now, but I don't see myself as a PA forever."

Bruce's shoulders sagged. "Where will you go?"

"Hmm, recently Queen Industries sent me a good offer—"

"How much did Ollie offer you?" He sprung from his seat. "I'll pay ten times that!"

"Mr. Wayne," she motioned for him to sit back down. "I really do want to explore other options. I think I can get more experience with another company."

"But you'll need to leave Gotham."

She shook her head. "Mr. Queen allowed me to work remotely from Gotham. I'll be a consultant of sorts for their fashion department."

"But . . . but . . ."

"I'll be leaving in about a week. Don't worry, I'll make sure everything's in order for your next PA."

He's really sulking, Marinette observed. I feel a little bad . . .

"Any chance I can still adopt you?"

"Mr. Wayne."

"Fine." He raked a hand through his hair. "Then, will you at least join our family brunch this weekend? As a last 'thank you' to you."

Marinette thought for a moment, remembering a similar invitation from Alfred that Damian relayed earlier. "Sure, I'd love to go."

***

"Are you sure about this?"

Marinette checked her reflection on her phone. They arrived pretty early, but that meant she could help Alfred out for the food prep. Damian parked the car right in front of the manor. "Why? I already submitted my resignation."

"You were forced to quit your job because of me."

"I chose to resign not only because of you, but also because I did want to take Oliver's offer." She reached over to squeeze his hand. "If I stay as your father's assistant, there will always be a professional boundary I can't cross regardless of what's in the contract. You'll always be my boss' son, and I’ll just be your father's assistant. Without that now, I can actually act freely around you. I can even help with vigilante stuff if you need me."

He squeezed back. "Are you not worried about what people will say?"

The headlines flickered in Marinette's head: Bruce Wayne's former PA nabs the billionaire's son.

"Are you?"

"No. I couldn't care less."

"Then I'm not." She beamed. "I've already seen how harsh the media can be. If all goes to shit, we sue the hell out of them."

"Father will be devastated when he finds out."

She shrugged. "He should've seen this coming, honestly."

"Hmm."

"Why?"

"When I marry you, he will have the satisfaction of having you as his daughter however."

"M—marry?" Marinette squeaked. "You're already thinking about marriage?"

"Is that bad?"

"No . . . wait, sorry I was just caught off guard." Her chest fluttered at the thought of their future. "Of course Damian, I'd love to marry you someday."

A small smile played at Damian's lips, the subtle kind that she loved so much. "Now that you're not bound by contract, does that mean I can kiss you anytime I want?"

Marinette answered him with her lips, softly kissing him as his hand lifted to hold her cheek. They parted for a second before he started peppering kisses on the corner of her lips, on her nose and her forehead. She pressed a long kiss on his cheek in return.

"It looks like we won't need to break the news to Father anymore."

"What?"

When Marinette turned around, Bruce was just at the front steps of the manor, disheveled and clad in pajamas and an old bathrobe, plus Robin-themed fuzzy slippers. At his feet laid pieces of a shattered mug, which he had seemingly dropped out of shock.

Marinette laughed. "Oops."

She pressed the button to roll her window down and waved at the dumbstruck Bruce Wayne. "Morning, Bruce! Cute slippers!"

End AN: That wraps up NMWYCAM! Thank you for reading, commenting and kudos-ing this fic; I didn't expect it to blow up this much😮 If you want to know about my next upcoming fic, check out this poll of mine in Tumblr🙂

#maribat fic #maribat fanfic #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat #dc x miraculous #NMWYCAM #PA!Marinette #aaa i can't believe its donee

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allthingsfangirl101 · 1 year ago

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Hell of A Greeting – Timothy McGee

I got the call that every girlfriend, wife, sister, and friend dreads to get. I couldn't find my voice as the nurse told me about my boyfriend's condition. Apparently, Tim was shot in the field. The entire drive from our shared apartment to the hospital, my mind was only focused on the what ifs, the oh nos, the please don't let this actually be happening, the only horrible things could happen. I parked my car and headed inside as the only thing I could think of was that there was no way the hospital would let me in.

"Hello," said the sweet nurse behind the desk. "What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

"I'm here to see Timothy McGee," I said, my voice shaky. "He's a federal agent with NCIS."

"Give me one moment," she said sweetly. I held my breath and tried to wait patiently.

"Excuse me," an older gentleman said, making me turn around. "Did you say you were here to see Agent McGee?"

"I am," I stuttered.

"How do you know McGee?" A man around mine and Tim's age walked over.

"Tim's my boyfriend," I said eyeing the two men. "Who are you?"

"McGeek has a girlfriend?" The younger man laughed.

The older man smiled as he held his hand out. "Agent Gibbs," he introduced. "I work with McGee."

"The famous Agent Gibbs," I smiled, feeling myself relax a little. I reached forward and shook his hand. "I've heard wonderful things about you. Tim always tells me that I should come to you if I'm ever in trouble."

"He's absolutely right," Gibbs smiled at me. "What do we call you?"

"Y/F/N Y/L/N."

"Does he talk about me, Y/F/N Y/L/N? Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo?" He smirked as he asked me.

"Yep," I answered slowly.

"Good things?" He smiled cheekily.

"Not the kind of good things you're hoping," I chuckled.

"I like her," a woman agent laughed.

"You must be Agent Ziva David," I smiled. "Tim says you're a total badass."

"I see McGee described me correctly," Ziva smirked at Tony who responded with an eye roll.

I looked over and saw a girl with black hair, three-inch platforms, and a dog collar. "You must be Abby."

"I am!" She said bouncing up and down. I gasped when she wrapped me in a hug. "It's so nice to meet you. I've noticed McGee's been a lot happier lately. It must be because of you."

"Let her breathe, Abs," Gibbs chuckled as he pulled her off of me.

"Sorry," she smiled softly at me. "I'm a hugger."

"Don't worry about it," I said. I lowered my voice and added, "I am too."

"Miss?"

We all turned around to see the nurse walking back to the nurse's station.

"Yes?" I asked, stepping toward the desk.

"The doctors are just finishing up with Agent McGee's surgery and will be on his way to recovery soon," she told me. My entire body relaxed until she cleared her throat. "Unfortunately, I cannot let you see him. Family only, I'm afraid."

Gibbs stepped forward, put his hand on my lower back, and showed the nurse his badge.

"This young woman is Agent McGee's emergency contact," he said. "Which means, she's the only one, other than us, allowed to see him."

"Of course," she stuttered. "Once he is settled in a room, I can take you. Until then, feel free to have a seat in the waiting room."

She looked at everyone before walking away. Agent Gibbs leaned in and whispered, "Come with us, Ms. Y/N. We can wait together."

* * * * *

As we waited, Tim's team interrogated me about our relationship. Tim and I met 18 months ago at a local bookstore. We ran into each other and Tim helped me pick up my books. He bought me a coffee and we've been dating ever since.

"McLoverboy always was clumsy," DiNozzo laughed.

"It was my fault," I corrected. "I had a stack of books and turned into him. I'm the clutz in the relationship, Agent DiNozzo. Not Tim."

"I find that hard to believe," DiNozzo mumbled. I gasped when Gibbs smacked DiNozzo across the back of the head.

"Not surprised McGee got a girl before you, DiNozzo," Gibbs said as he sent me a look.

"How are things going with you two?" Abby asked.

"Things are really good," I said, my face burning. "We actually just moved in together."

"Really?!" Abby squealed. "That's amazing!"

The smile fell off my face when I remembered where we were. I looked down at my hands and tried to stop the tears. Suddenly, someone reached over and put their hand on top of mine.

"He's going to be fine," Gibbs whispered. I looked up at him with tears in my eyes.

"How do you know?"

"Because," he smiled at me, "he's got you."

"That doesn't mean he'll be fine," I whispered.

"It does," Gibbs corrected, "because he's got something to fight for."

"Agents?"

Everyone looked up to see a doctor walking toward us.

"How is he?" Gibbs asked.

"We were able to get the bullet out and stop the bleeding," the doctor told us. "He shouldn't do anything too much for the next couple of weeks, but I expect him to make a full recovery. You can see him now if you like. The anesthesia is still wearing off but he should wake up within the next thirty minutes."

"Thank you, doc," Gibbs said. When the doctor left us, everyone turned toward me. "Come on, Ms. Y/N. We'll walk with you."

I stood up and nervously wiped my hands on my jeans. Abby reached over and grabbed one of my hands. We were quiet as we walked down the hallway. When we got to his room, Tony grabbed the door and held it open for me. The minute I saw him, my hand flew to my mouth and I choked on a sob.

Gibbs wrapped his arm around my shoulders and led me inside. My knees were shaking so badly that I felt like I could barely walk. Gibbs led me over to a chair next to the bed. I collapsed into it and instantly reached for Tim's hand.

"We'll give you a minute," Gibbs whispered. He squeezed my shoulder before taking the team and waiting in the hallway. I scanned Tim's body and saw bruises, cuts, and dirt.

"Please wake up," I whispered. "I need you, Tim."

I leaned my head down and rested my forehead on his arm. I'm not sure how long I sat like that but as soon as I heard him moan, my head shot up.

"Tim?" I watched his face closely. "Come on, baby. Open your eyes for me."

A few beats passed before Tim's eyes finally fluttered open. I held my breath as he finally looked at me.

"Y/N?"

"Hey, you," I said, my voice breaking. "The hospital called me. . . They said. . . And then your team. . ."

"You met my team?" He smiled weakly at me. The tears began to stream down my face as I nodded.

"They are exactly like you described," I whispered. "Gibbs was tough but sweet. Ziva was strong-headed. Abby was a ball of sunshine. And Tony instantly hit on me."

Tim laughed weakly as he intertwined our fingers. His smile dropped when he saw I was still crying.

"I'm okay," he whispered. "I promise, sweetheart. I'm okay."

"I know," I said weakly. "But still. . . It's the call that everyone who loves a police officer or federal agent or someone in the Navy is terrified to get."

"You love me?" He smirked at me.

"Of course. You know that."

Tim pulled off my hand until I was lying next to him. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head.

"I do," he whispered. "I do know that just like how you know I love you."

I closed my eyes and cuddled more into his chest. Tim tightened his arms around me as he added, "I'm sorry you got that call, baby."

"I'm just glad you're okay."

"I'm glad you met my team," Tim chuckled.

"It was a hell of a greeting," I scoffed.

"I know," he laughed.

"I would've preferred meeting them at Thanksgiving dinner or the NCIS Christmas party."

"Me too, baby," Tim sighed almost dreamily. "Me too."

#timothy mcgee x reader #timothy mcgee #tim mcgee #NCIS #NCIS fanfic #sean murray

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call-mi-jinx · 6 months ago

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Dave Lizewski X Reader - Social Suicide (Part 2)

warnings: 18!dave, 18!reader, bitch!reader, mentions of injury, implied violence

summary: you’re were failing calculus so your teacher gives you a tutor, dave lizewski.

Main Masterlist Dave Lizewski Masterlist Series Masterlist

a/n: hiya girlies! im on a writing rampage at the moment, so here’s part 2! hope u enjoy! ta ta my lovelies xx

dave lizewski x popular!reader

part 1 part 3 part 4

It has been about a month since Dave started tutoring you. He always comes to your house twice a week, every Friday and Sunday at 5 o’clock on the dot. Your grades were improving, all because of his help. You were grateful for him.

You now made sure you were always free on Fridays and Sundays. You’ve grown to love the time you spend with him. Possibly a little bit of a crush on him as well. But you don’t tell anyone.

Tonight, he’s late. One hour and thirty five minutes late to be exact. You’re worried. You’ve messaged him three times but to no avail.

You have been pacing around your room for the whole time he’s been late. How had you grown so fond of him in only a month?

Just a month ago you wouldn’t even look his way, let alone spend time with him. But now, you can’t go a day without messaging him. Or thinking about him. Maybe it wasn’t such a little crush after all.

You hear your phone ding. You practically run to your phone and open the notification as fast as you could. It was Dave.

hey y/n, im rlly sorry for being late but i can’t come at all tonight, my dad wants me to stay home with all the crime going on. sorry :(

Your heart sank. You were really looking forward to seeing him tonight. You quickly sent a message back.

that’s okay dave dw, just tell me sooner next time pls

The next week or two consisted of the same thing. Him being late and texting fucking AGES after 5 with a shitty excuse. You were growing tired. What the fuck could he be doing that’s more important than me? You always asked yourself.

Now it’s been three weeks. Excuse after excuse. You were growing tired. You need to talk to him. Ask him why he’s been avoiding you and lying. You know the excuses he uses aren’t true whatsoever.

You were taking laps around the school. Looking forward Dave. You were losing hope. You had taken about 6 laps of the whole entire school.

Until you saw him.

He was at his locker, probably grabbing books. You began to walk to him, picking up the pace when you saw him close his locker.

“Dave!” You shout to him. He turns, sees it’s you then makes a run for it. You begin running yourself, luckily you run every day so it was nothing for you. But Dave was pretty fast.

You were catching up to him, you grabbed his backpack, pulled it backwards then slammed him into the wall. You quickly looked around and saw you were behind the school.

“Why the fuck have you been avoiding me?” At first you were sad, but now you were pissed. Because in the time you and Dave have spent together, you opened up to him. You had no clue why but you had told him things not even Haley knew and she was your best friend.

Dave didn’t know what to say, his mouth opens and closes like a fish yearning to be put back into water. You grew more pissed with his silence.

“Answer me!” You hadn’t even spoken to him like this. But you have never been so upset. After you open up to him the way you did and then he just completely blanks you?

“I-I can’t tell you!” He blurts out. The fuck? What does he mean by that? “If I could tell you, I would. P-please believe me. All I can say is it’s for your own safety.”

You don’t even say a word and storm off. If he couldn’t tell you then there’s no point pushing. You just decided to give up. On him too. Although you wouldn’t be able to get over the crush on him.

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

It’s been three weeks since you last spoke to Dave. Your grades were slipping back to where they used to be. You refused to talk to Dave but he was the only one that could help you improve.

It’s Saturday. You were going to go to another party with Haley. But this thing with Dave has affected you more than you thought it would. You really like him. But he hurt you.

Currently, you’re trying to get back up to speed with calculus. But boy was it hard. You don’t understand it whatsoever. You feel like you’re reading a foreign language when you look at it.

As you were about to give up, you heard a knock on your window. You look up and see Dave. You ignore him, and the fact he’s at your window of all places. But he knocks at your window again.

“Y/N, please! I really need you right now…” you hear his muffled voice through the window. He sounds desperate. You groan and roll your eyes as you get up and open your window.

“What do you want David?” Your voice is laced with venom, you don’t even look him in the eyes.

“I just need a place to stay. Not for long.” He winces as he talks. “Please, you’re the only person I trust right now.” The look in his eyes makes you want to wrap your arms around comfort him, but he hurt you. So all you do is open the window more and go back to your bed.

As he climbs in, you see he’s wearing a green and yellow suit. What the fuck? It kinda looks like the suit Kick-Ass wears. But that’s gotta be a coincidence.

“Why are you wearing that?” He doesn’t answer, you look closer at the suit and it’s covered in blood. You eyes widen and worry takes over your body. He was Kick-Ass. But that didn’t matter right now, Dave was hurt. Badly.

“Oh my god Dave! What happened to you?” You kneel down in front of him and cup his cheeks in your hands.

“C-can you just help me? I’ll tell you, a-at some point.” You nod your head and hurry into your bathroom attached to your room and retrieve the first-aid kit from the cupboard under your sink and rush back to Dave.

“Can you get up? It’ll be easier for me to help if you’re on my bed.” He nods, he tries to get up but winces in pain and falls back to the floor. He tries again and this time you help him up and walk him over to your bed.

You open up your first-aid kit and take out the rubbing alcohol and cotton pads.

“I’m gonna need you to take the top half off Dave. To see how bad it is and to actually help.” He nods and unzips the back of his suit and pulls it down.

My god he was ripped. You couldn’t look away. He looked like a Greek god. Carved from angels tears by God himself. The heavens took their time with him. You thought to yourself.

You shake your head, getting yourself out of the thoughts you were having. You doused the cotton pad in your hand with the rubbing alcohol and begin to clean the cuts all over his torso. He sucks in a breath through his teeth every time the cotton pad touches his cuts.

After you cleaned and bandaged all the cuts and scrapes, you put your first-aid kit away and sit in front of Dave.

“Can you please tell me why the fuck you’re wearing that? Or what happened to you at least?” You look at him with worry and desperation in your eyes.

He goes to start speaking but stops himself. He tries again but stops. He was trying to find the words. He wanted to tell you absolutely everything. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

“Y/N…” He looks at you with longing. You see that he wants to tell you but can’t. Won’t.

“It’s okay Dave… I know you can’t tell me. Please just whatever you do, be careful. You’re my friend. I don’t like seeing my friends get hurt.” It hurt you to say friend. You wanted to be more than just friends. But if he can’t open up to you like you’ve opened up to him, then it won’t happen. You don’t want to be in a relationship without honesty.

Not again.

#dave lizewski #dave lizewski fluff #dave lizewski x reader #kick ass x y/n #kick ass x reader #kick ass

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still--kicking · 27 days ago

Note

Hi! I just read Part Time Soulmate, Full Time Problem all in one and left a comment at the end. A bit later, I thought that maybe I should have sent it as an ask, and almost did that in addition, but then thought that that would probably come across as pushy. Then, I saw the ask you answered about PTSFTP just a bit ago, and decided to do it anyway. Sorry if you have already seen it, and please don't worry about replying. Here's the original comment:

Okay, so I just found and have now caught up on all of this(!!!), and while I’ve been doing that these last few days I’ve kept a few notes that I figured I would comment all together at the end (in case any questions/predictions were answered in further, already posted chapters (many were)). Here they are, not completely in order:

From the beginning, I was wondering how Zarkon and Honerva/Haggar would work. At first, just like the humans, I was working under the assumption that everyone had the same soulmate indicators. So, assuming that Zarkon and Honerva were soulmates, I was super confused about how Haggar could possibly not know who she was, as she would be feeling Zarkon’s pain. Then, you dropped the information about different species having different (and only their own) tells, and specifically about Alteans having marks. Then, their story made complete sense. There is one thing that still isn’t totally clear about Altean soulmates, and that’s if, in interspecies couples, both parties have marks. I think it could make sense if, in a case like this, there were just no marks at all. An Altean born in the age of space travel with no soulmark would probably be more likely to assume their soulmate was non-Altean, rather than that they didn’t have one. Whether this is the case, or both Zarkon and Honerva/Haggar have marks, or only the latter does, it could still easily be hidden from/go unnoticed by Haggar. I’m wondering how much of this you’ve thought through, and if any of your decisions about soulmate mechanics were made with them in mind.

Building on the previous note, I’m wondering about Allura’s soulmate. Personally, I am a lesbian Allura believer, and (secondarily) a Romellura shipper. Not meant to be a criticism if you aren’t planning this, but I think Romellura as soulmates with these rules could be super interesting. I’m imagining Allura growing up with an Altean soulmark, so knowing that she has an Altean soulmate (assuming my aforementioned rules), but never meeting them. Then, she’s ten thousand years in the future, and she thinks all Alteans are dead. So, she assumes she must have met her soulmate before, but not known it, and now she’s just fucked in one more way. Or, maybe this could give her some hope that other Alteans could still be out there.

Did Coran have a soulmate he lost? Is he going to meet someone in the present?

As soon as the dream thing clicked for me (embarrassingly late, it wasn’t until the mermaid dream), one of the first things I realized was that this meant that Krolia actually did get to watch Keith grow up until his dad’s death. Their family’s story has always made me feel crazy, so that… wow. I can’t wait for Keith to realize that, and then for them to get to talk about it.

Working with the assumption that Veracxa are soulmates, I’m looking forward to Acxa meeting Lance and immediately recognizing him. It’s possible she might recognize the other human team members too, especially Shiro. I’m also interested to find out what Acxa’s other soulmate indicator is. (Plus, poor Veronica, because I doubt Acxa has been being gentle with her body)

The differences in Adam’s relationships with both Keith and Shiro are very interesting. In canon, I do think that they would have gotten back together if the mission had gone normally or if Adam had survived the war, but obviously neither of those things happened. I think it totally makes sense for them to have never broken up at all though, knowing that they were soulmates. This creates a very different kind of angst for Adashi, and it was also interesting to have Keith and Adam stay in close contact, instead of Keith pulling away out of loyalty to Shiro.

Are you going with Pidge being aroace (my very strong belief), and, if so, does that mean that they don’t have a soulmate? (Also, this shouldn’t even really be something I have to say, but thank you so, so much for including nonbinary Pidge. There are so many good fics that I struggle to read because Pidge is off being she/herred (or, much more rarely (and not quite as terribly) he/himmed) in the background, and it’s just so distracting!!)

I think it was cool how you used Hunk and Shay’s soulmatism to explain what it’s like for interspecies couples. It reminded me of a writing teacher I had in elementary school who used to say “show, don’t tell” all the time. (I also love them being soulmates, of course.)

That’s it for now, but I’m sure I’ll have a lot more thoughts, and that these thoughts will evolve with new information! In summary, you’re doing a great job and I can't wait for more :)

OMG HIIIII THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND SENDING SUCH A LOVELY COMMENT!!!!! sorry it took me a bit to reply on ao3, your comment was so thoughtful and clever that I wanted to give you an equally thoughtful and thorough response!!! My reply was a little long so I'll put it under the cut <3

One of the big questions I had to answer in planning out this fic initially was why don't Keith and Lance tell the team when they discover that they're soulmates, and the idea of different species having different soulbonds came from that originally!!! (Hence allura's less than thrilled reaction when she learned about human soulbonds.) It was a lot of fun to sit down and problem solve what some of the different bonds might be, and how they would work for different couples in the show!!

I don't want to give too much away, but what I will say is that you can't point to Lotor and tell me he's proof that Allura is into men. It's giving comp het lmao

As for Coran, I do have an idea of who his soulmate was but I'm honestly not sure it's going to come up in the fic, and I'm not completely set on the idea yet so we'll see where it goes 🙈

For Alteans who had soulmates that were a different species, their mark would likely be some marking that their soulmate has that's typical for their species. So like, if krolia's soulmate had been Altean they might have had one of her facial markings. It's not a perfect system but Hunk mentions that some Alteans were also able to use some of their fancy life / spirit magic that the show very helpfully left incredibly vague to manipulate the form soulbonds take, because Alteans were such a diplomatic people I thought that would be a fun bit of world building that they could adapt their soulbond to match their partner's, similar to how they shape shift!!

For Veraxca, there is a component of the galra soulbond that is going to be revealed next chapter (spoiler alert?) that answers that question ;)

Playing with the relationships between Adam and Keith and Shiro is a lot of fun tbh, and I've been (pleasantly!!) surprised by how much people have been enjoying those dynamics :')

As for Pidge, I also headcanon them as aro ace and wanted to leave it kind of open for people to interpret how they wanted, but I like the idea of platonic soulmates for people who are on the aro ace spectrum. I actually felt a little nervous about Hunk's line about Shay thinking she didn't have a soulmate "being kind of sad for her" because I didn't want it to come across like romantic love is the most important thing, but in Shay's case she is not on the aro or ace spectrums and would have personally been sad not to have a soulmate. But I don't think the idea of not having a soulmate or having a platonic soulmate is inherently sad by any means !!!

Thank you so much for reading and for sharing your thoughts and theories with me, I really love to hear them, that's one of the most fun parts about writing this fic!!!! Thank youuuu <33

#kicking asks #part time soulmate #klance soulmate au #klance

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tryin2writehere · 9 months ago

Text

PEOPLE IN GLASS HOUSES

Chapter Three

He could still smell Susie’s perfume from the previous evening, and Edward wondered if the wisps of smoky vanilla custard were really there, or just in his mind.

“You’re not even listening to me,” Charlotte sighed.

“Of course I am,” Edward turned from the window. He hadn’t been listening to her in the slightest.

“What is it?” she questioned, folding her arms in frustration.

“Hm?”

“You’re clearly not paying me any attention, and you’ve never been prone to daydreaming; what is it Edwina?”

“I’m sorry, Chuckles,” he grinned affably. “You have my attention.”

“It’s just got to be Susie Glass.”

“Hm?” He picked up his long-forgotten cup of tea.

“That’s who you were thinking of a moment ago when you were supposed to be listening to me. You get this flummoxed look lately. Have you told her that you fancy her?”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t fancy Susie Glass?”

“I haven’t fancied anyone since the age of seven.”

She raised her right eyebrow, “You’re enamored Edwina, and you know it. You ogle at her like you haven’t eaten in three days, and she’s a braised duck.”

“You’re spending too much time with Freddy. You’re beginning to sound like him,” he teased, and smiled genuinely at his sister, “braised duck?”

“You like braised duck, and you like Susie Glass. It was an inspired comparison.”

“Accurate I suppose.”

“No one could blame you. She is the most stunningly fit éminence grise on two legs.”

Edward stilled, his teacup nearly to his mouth, eyes wide in response.

She huffed her stilted little Charly laugh at his expression, “I have eyes, do I not?”

“Apparently,” he sipped the tepid tea, the sunny bergamot scent still strong.

His pocket vibrated, and he excused himself, opening his phone to a text. A sense of foreboding crept under his skin. He tilted his head, studying the screen, and then tapped the text.

“Everything okay?” Charlotte asked, “You look suddenly quite unwell.”

“She just texted me her location,” he scowled.

“Who?” she responded, peering around him, “Susie Glass? Why?”

“I’m not actually sure,” he said dialing her number and consequently frowned when he reached her voicemail. He looked at his phone and quickly thumb-texted, “Is this a request to retrieve you?”

Answer. Answer. Answer the fucking text Susie.

“She’s not answering.”

“Well give it a moment.”

He shook his head, “Last night, she was distracted. Troubled. Something’s amiss.”

After he hadn’t looked up from his phone for several minutes, Charlotte studied his expression, “you look concerned.”

His eyes still locked upon his phone’s screen, he silently willed Susie to respond so his fucking heart could resume beating, “I’m…becoming a bit concerned.”

Anxiety-weighted silence spread within the room until Charlotte finally blurted, “Go on then, Edward. Go find her. Mother wanted to take the baby and me anyway.”

She jerked her head towards the door, and he planted a quick kiss on her forehead, “thank you Chuckles.”

He heard her calling after him as he raced out the door, “and do be careful!”

He dialed Blanket as he ducked into his car.

“Are you with Susie?” he demanded as soon as Blanket answered.

“No, I’m up in the big smoke visiting my sister.”

“Fuck.”

“Lose track of her?”

“She sent me her location.”

“Well, where she at then?”

“Birmingham, but that’s not the issue; she had a meeting with a gym owner, some former boxer, Sugar Something.”

“Sugar Walsh?”

“Yes, you know him?”

“Heard of him.”

Eddie waited for Blanket to expand and when he didn’t, “and what is it that you’ve heard Blanket?”

“Ah well, heard he likes whizz, fixing fights. Uh. Trafficker. Guns, heard maybe girls sometimes. Supposed to be a cunt.”

“Fuck.”

“You to meet her?”

“No.”

“Why she sending you where she at then?”

“That’s precisely what I’m attempting to determine, Blanket,” Edward explained between clenched teeth.

He steadied himself, “Would she have taken anyone else with her?”

“What? To the meeting? No. No, not since Keith, you know. Just by herself or with me or you know, with you.”

“Fuck.”

“She in trouble?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Best call the old man,” Blanket advised, sagely.

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Susie wouldn’t want me to.”

“Yeah. But -“

“Blanket.”

“Yeah. All right,” he sighed. “I’m on my way.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Be there in two hours.”

“I’ve got it handled.”

“Yeah I heard you, but I’m on my way.”

Edward nodded, “I’ll text you the address.”

“Update me if everything cool, yeah?”

“I’ll do that Blanket; thank you.”

Eddie heard keys jangling, “yeah.”

Of torturous drives, this one topped the list. Eddie's muscles burned with tension, pressing upon the accelerator and squeezing the steering wheel like he was ringing out a wet flannel. The drive through the rain seemingly unending. By the time he pulled into Walsh’s Gym car park, every horrible scenario possible plagued his thoughts.

His hope remained that upon walking into the gym to an anodyne scene, Susie would give him that look, the one where her eyes intimated doubt in his decision-making.

The car park projected eery silence, Susie’s Land Rover the only vehicle. Located in an industrial area in the Digbeth neighborhood, Eddie noted the unusual lack of neighboring businesses and activity.

He plucked his gun from the cubby box before exiting his car, and steeled himself for whatever encounter awaited.

Finding the glass front door unlocked, he surreptitiously entered the gleaming lobby. Left or right? Left or right? Confronted with the two entryways, he chose left and found himself in an elaborately ostentatious office.

He quickly spotted Susie’s large Hermès handbag, the contents spilled across the tatami flooring. Beyond the office, a horrifying path of blood led Eddie through the gym, passing an enormous still-wet rufous stain, followed by another more significant blood trail. One of Susie’s blue velvet stilettos paused his pursuit. His heart surged into his throat, and the overwhelming urge to frantically scream out her name nearly overtook his good sense.

He followed the sanguineous trail like some grisly German fairytale set of breadcrumbs into a dimly lit room full of boxing rings. His eyes pinged around the area and landed upon a large body in an enormous pool of gore.

Not Susie’s body. He resumed breathing, but as he drew closer to the large man’s slumped form, his stomach dropped through the floorboards. Susie’s bloodied face and right hand protruded lifeless from beneath the dead behemoth.

He sprinted to her and dropped to a crouch beside her. With a grunt, he shouldered the giant man off of her. Seeing Susie Glass blood-soaked, stripped of her usual armor, and sprawled upon the floor jarred him into a brief paralysis. She resembled a horror film heroine: blood everywhere, one foot bare, her baby blue silk blouse torn open revealing a lacy cobalt bra, and rivulets of blood nearly covering her bare torso. An open wound above her eyebrow steadily streamed fresh blood into her ear canal.

He slipped his hand under her head and found her hair entirely sopping wet with blood. He pressed his fingers to her neck, instantly finding her pulse. She was alive. A peculiar little laugh of relief sputtered from him.

Urgently, he whispered, “Susie!”

To see her in this vulnerable state of undress (where were her fucking layers?) rattled him nearly as much as her countenance as she returned to consciousness with a sharp frightened gasp and eyes wide with terror.

Before this, he’d been certain he’d cataloged all of her expressions, could predict them based upon circumstance, and draw them to his mind at will. The look on her face at this moment, however, would play unbidden in his future nightmares.

“Susie, Susie, it’s me,” he tried, scanning the room for anyone who may have heard them. “Is anyone else here?”

Unresponsive to his words, her eyes wide and wild and pinned to the corpse beside them. Eddie gave her a little shake, instantly regretting it as she winced in pain, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Susie, please look at me.”

She glanced at him blankly, then back at the body, then back at Eddie, recognition finally glimmering: “Edward. What’r you doing here?”

“Susie, you need to answer me. Do you know if there is anyone else here?”

“Here?” she looked around as though trying to place where ‘here’ was. “Sean and Don. In the slaughterhouse.”

His head swiveled madly, looking for whatever she referred to.

“They’re dead.”

“There were two of them?”

“Sean and Don. Don and Sean.”

“You killed them both?”

“Yes.”

“You’re certain?”

“Fucking yes, Eddie,” she grumbled and attempted to pull herself up, crying out in anguish as a result. The sound of Susie Glass in pain sent shockwaves through his body.

“Just stay still for a moment, Susie,” he tried to invoke placidity in his voice. “I need to check you for injuries. Is that alright?”

“What do you mean?”

“I need to see if you’ve been injured. Is that-“

“I’m injured?”

He swallowed thickly, deeply concerned at her level of confusion.

“That’s what I’m asking, Susan,” he said softly, gently pushing the hair back from the open cut on her forehead. “Can I take off your jacket?”

“Another time Edward. Quite tired.”

“Does it hurt anywhere? I’m just trying to determine if you’re okay.”

“Am I?” Her normally bright blue eyes were nearly black with dilated pupils. She looked like a frightened deer, and this filled Eddie with dread.

“You will be,” he tried to smile reassuringly.

She suddenly clutched his lapels and pulled Eddie closer to her face as if to kiss him and whispered, “he spiked my drink.”

“What?”

“That dead cunt,” she suddenly yelled and lunged in the direction of the dead body. Yelping in pain from her sudden movement, she groaned and clutched her midsection, “he spiked my drink.”

“He fucking drugged you?!”

He never wanted to murder an already-dead man more.

“Yes, Eddie. That’s what I said,” she groaned again. “Fucking hurts.”

“We’re going. I’m carrying you,” he gently nudged her fully into his arms, carefully standing so as not to jostle her, “which way?”

“It’s a horseshoe. For luck. You have to point it up.”

“Okay then,” he raised his eyebrows and nodded, his jacket and shirt instantly absorbing some of the blood she’d been stewing within.

“Where we going?” She rasped.

“A and E,” he scanned the area.

“Mmm, not keen on that idea. Not bleeding out,” she looked down at herself, “am I?”

“No. You’re going to be fine,” he kissed her temple and hoped he sounded convincing. He didn’t spy any gaping wounds, aside from the forehead laceration, but being covered in the dead cunt’s blood hampered his ability to asses her.

She giggled, a sound completely foreign and yet utterly delightful to him, “Edward, you’re carrying me.”

“Indeed,” he tightly smiled down at her, turning backward, pushing against the glass door, finally exiting the hell Susie had been trapped within.

“No hospitals,” she directed, but with unguarded watery round eyes.

“No, you’re right, Susie. We’ll have the family doctor meet us,” he agreed, easing her into his car and securing her with a click of the seatbelt.

He rounded the car, trying to cooly note any pedestrians, cameras or cars. Finding none, he slid into his seat pressing the ignition in one fluid motion.

“My knife,” she lurched forward and unsuccessfully reached for the door handle, instead hitting the window button, “its scrimshaw, doesn’t set off metal detectives…detectives? No, No. Detectors!” She announced like she’d solved a riddle.

“Leave it,” he said, rolled her window back up (covertly hitting child safety lock) and peeled out of the parking lot.

“Was my mother’s,” she slurred softly and fell back against her seat, defeated, hissing in pain from her sudden movement.

He glimpsed her aggrieved face; she’d never mentioned her deceased mother, at least not to him, “I’ll have the cleanup team retrieve it.”

She swiveled her head to him, eyes glassy and heavy-lidded, “promise?”

“Of course,” he nodded. “What’s hurting the most right now?”

“Hm? You hurt Edward?” she mumbled, eyes lolling.

“Susie stay with me for just another minute - are you able to determine if you were stabbed or shot anywhere?”

She squinted like he was far away, “I was stabbed and shot? Fuck me.”

“No, no, you’re okay. You’re safe.“

She quietly observed him, “I’m safe?”

“Of course. I’m with you, Susie. Go ahead and rest. I can handle the remaining issues.”

“Just for a moment then. Ta.” She closed her eyes, and the tension left her face. Within a minute her breathing deepened into a steady rhythm.

He thumb-dialed Geoff, and before he even uttered a greeting, Eddie launched into orders: “Call Doctor Halley. Get him there now. Susan is injured, I don’t know how badly, but she’s also been drugged. I’m not sure what with.”

“How far out are you?” Geoff didn’t miss a beat, all-business, bless him.

“An hour, Geoff; I’ve another call to make; see you shortly.”

Disconnecting the call, he then pulled up Felix in his contacts.

“Your Grace,” Felix answered.

“I’ve got a situation Felix.”

“Go on then.”

“I had to leave the location, I’m texting you the address. Three bodies, bring me the knife, the high heel, the handbag, check for cctv - this, this has to be perfectly executed Felix. You’ll need to retrieve Susie’s car. Blanket should be there shortly as well. And Felix, move quickly.”

After disconnecting the call, he glanced at Susie, his eyes rolling over her, head to foot, trying to tamp down a building rage he couldn’t sort. His gaze again landed upon her feet, one blue velvet heel on and one delicate little bare foot, toes painted cherry red. He couldn’t fathom why this sight in particular upset him so much, but he physically shook with anger, repeatedly clenching and flexing his hands upon the steering wheel.

“Audible,” Susie murmured, pulling his attention to her face.

“Susan?”

She turned her head towards him, and without opening her eyes mumbled, “read the Magna Carta.”

“You’re alright Susie.”

He had no idea if this was true, but he desperately yearned to blanket her in comfort and security. He awkwardly placed his hand alongside her face. Her skin too cold and clammy, he clenched his jaw and pressed the accelerator to the floor, the darkening countryside whipping past.

After an emotionally exhausting drive, he finally pulled in front of his home, cutting the engine, he bolted out of the car. Upon quietly pulling the passenger door ajar, he hovered over her, carefully unbuckling her seatbelt. He swept his arms under her knees and back, easily lifting her from her seat and into his arms. She moaned lowly, wincing, though still unconscious.

“Almost there, Susie. Just a few more moments,” he said softly.

The front door opened, and Lady Sabrina ushered them forward, “come in Darling.”

Geoff appeared from somewhere, “the doctor is five minutes away.”

Sabrina regarded Susie’s appearance, her shock and concern evident, “what in the world happened?”

“I’m not entirely sure, Mother,” he headed to the stairs, clutching Susie’s cold body close to his chest. “Send the doctor to my room when he arrives.”

“Of course,” she replied, and he ascended the staircase, two at a time, whispering solace as he traveled, “I’m here Susie. I’m with you. You’re alright. You’re safe.”

As he gently deposited her upon his bed, he surveyed her form, and the reality of her small, prone body in front of him lodged a lump in his throat. Susie Glass exuded authority, competence, precision, and cutting intelligence. She earned it. She demanded it. She deserved better than whatever happened in Walsh’s Gym.

He released a quivering breath and quickly blinked away the tears pooling in his eyes.

“Fuck,” he whispered, shaking his head, trying to free himself of bootless could-have-should-have-would-haves.

Where the fuck was the doctor?!

Author’s Notes:

My apologies for taking forever to finish this chapter, for promising quicker turnaround and for the short-ish chapter. This is going to be a longer story than I expected. I love writing them. 🖤

Tell me what you thought of this chapter. What worked for you? What didn’t? Or just say hi! I love our tiny fandom.

#the gentlemen 2024 #gentlemen susie glass #the gentlemen #the gentlemen netflix #eddie horniman #the gentlemen eddie x susie #eddie x susie #edward horniman #susie x eddie #Eddie horniman fanfiction #horniglass #gentlemen fanfics #gentlemen fanfiction #whump #whump writing

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