mail order bride meeting 141 for the first time 🙏
mail-order bride
he likes the way this moment sounds. it will end soon, when you both walk out the door, but for now, he sits, and he doesn't want it to end.
it's not just the sound of the television. his favorite football team has finally fucking put one into the corner of the net. the announcers cheer, but this isn't all that he hears.
the cat is in the kitchen. he can't see it, but he hears it (the little fucker). she's pawing at the cat grass that sits above the sink now. when he leans forward, he notices her little nose pushing it around before she takes a bite out of it.
she leaves the basil alone.
and then there's the sound of you. your feet in the bedroom. when you pass by the doorway, he can see you in different states of getting ready. when you pass by this time, he can see your eyeliner is on both eyes now, not just one, and your hair doesn't have clips or pieces to hold it in its style anymore. it lays perfectly now; he did a double-take when he saw it this way for the first time. you're rifling through the closet now. your clothes used to be in their own drawers. separated. socks not touching one another. your half of the closet, and his half. perfectly divided.
he doesn't remember when it happened. he found your bra under his t-shirt today. he was going through the jackets because your dresses were now between them. in the bathroom, he almost stuck your toothbrush in his mouth because they rest side-by-side in the holder.
when he looks around the room, he can't see where you begin, and he cannot see where he ends. he doesn't see where he started.
but he can see where you will go.
you bounce into the living room, holding up two hangers. there's dresses on each of them, one a dark color, the other light, and you hold them in front of simon who's still sitting on the couch, his head in his hand as he concentrates on the game (where he pretends like he hasn't been thinking about you too hard to really focus).
"simon?" you call, and he grunts, looking over at you. "which one do you like?"
he looks over the two dresses before looking at you. he hums, leaning back against the couch. he shrugs before looking back at the telly. you would look like perfection in either of them, but that isn't what you asked, and that isn't the answer you want.
"the darker one. like ya in tha' color."
you smile a little before going back into the bedroom, hanging the other dress back up and laying the other one out on the bed. you rummage through the dresser for proper undergarments, picking a soft lace pair of panties with a matching bra. you slip them on before stepping into the dress.
you reach around for the waist, and when your attempts to grab it are futile, you look over your shoulder towards the door.
"simon?" you call out gently. "could you come here, please?"
there's a shuffle of sound before simon steps into the bedroom. you point to your back, smiling at him shyly.
"c-could you help me? i can't reach the zipper."
he makes his way over to where you stand in front of the mirror. you watch as his eyes roam over your back, as he takes in the sight in front of him. you swallow as he drags a few knuckles down the length of your spine, his eyes flicking up to meet yours in the mirror before he takes the zipper in his hand and pulls it up. when he finishes, he steps a little closer, dipping his head to look at you from over your shoulder. you turn your head to look up at him, smiling.
"everything okay?" you ask softly, and he clicks his tongue, sliding his hand from its place on your back to wrap around your middle. he spreads a big palm over your tummy before dragging you backwards, your backside pressing against his front.
"mmm..." he scrunches his nose a little, running a pink tongue over his teeth. "look fuckin' beautiful."
you giggle, looking away, spreading your palms along your cheeks to try and make it less hot, less warm--fuck, it's so hot, isn't it?
you pull away to go for your shoes, picking them up from the closet. you take a seat on the bed, trying to ignore simon's stare (impossible), and you put the shoes down to slip your feet into them. just as you bend to buckle them, simon tsks, and you sit up as he kneels down in front of you.
"simon, you--"
"shut it," he mutters, reaching down and picking your foot up by the ankle gently. he wraps the strap around it, fastening the buckle, and you open your mouth to say something, but then he bends, giving your knee a soft kiss before reaching for your other foot.
your eyes meet again as he wraps it around your ankle. he smirks, just enough, and your lip wobbles a little as he fastens the next shoe before setting it back down on the floor. he puts his hands on his knee to get up, standing to his full height, and your neck strains as you try and look up at him.
at times, you feel at odds. he anticipates your needs before you even know what they are yourself. he pushes your meals in front of you just as you realize you're hungry. he helps you to the top shelf whenever you need it, picking you up from your waist without even a grunt. he feeds the cat when she cries, he wipes the tears from your face just as they fall.
you want to be more. you want to be his wife. your life is leisure and warmth, you are cared for like a fine porcelain doll, but what are you to him? what do you do for him? what is it that you bring, why are you here, why did he ever even want you if he provides and all you do is take, take, take?
the pub is alive. the lights flicker and glow a warm orange, and there's many crowds around tables, cheering and laughing and clinking pints together. you swallow as you look around; a crowded place with lots of unfamiliar faces. you freeze at the door, blinking, trying to take it all in. just as you stiffen, there's a presence right at your back.
an arm circles around your middle protectively. simon's warm hand rests at the curve of your waist, and you look up at him. he stares down at you knowingly. he's wearing his mask, obscuring his entire face except for his eyes, but you've learned to read him all the same. his hood darkens the shadows over him, but you see what he's telling you easily.
'm right 'ere.
simon moves you in front of him, walking just behind you, and he leans over to murmur in your ear as he guides you forward.
"in the corner, luv."
you barely have time to register that your husband just called you love when you see an enthusiastic wave meant for you out of the corner of your eye.
simon showed you their pictures, but the grainy selfies from his phone don't do them any justice. kyle has a pearly smile and round cheeks (troublemaker, he could get away with anything with those eyes). johnny has an infectious grin and wild curls that fall in a line down his head (a wild card, he's got eyes that you can't read and a leg bouncing from his terrible inability to sit still). and then there's john, hidden under a beanie and a rough smile (all business, all thought, because even out here, he can't stop his mind from wandering back to the papers on his desk and the cries for help he can't ignore).
johnny's smile drops a little when you come near. he eyes the hand that simon has on you, the proximity of your bodies. he raises a brow when you hold out your hand to shake, gawking when he eyes your other hand, the ring that sparkles there.
"ach, LT..." johnny swallows hard. "is this...is she--?"
simon clears his throat. "this is my wife."
"steamin' jesus," johnny breathes, leaning back in the booth. he picks up his drink and knocks back the entire thing, choking a little as he looks between the two of you. "what the fawk?!"
you blink, stepping back, and simon takes a seat beside john, shaking his head.
"fuckin' hell, johnny. behave," simon mutters. "'s not--"
"ye said y'were showin' us yer new lass," johnny quips. "not yer wife!"
you look at simon, laughing a little.
"simon, you didn't tell them you were married?"
"tha' was need t'know," simon mutters, rolling his eyes. you giggle, looking around for somewhere to sit. simon doesn't give you much time to choose--you let out a shaky breath as he picks you up from your hips, sliding you up and onto his thigh. he spreads his legs a little to accommodate you, but he's such a big man.
simon holds one hand at your back, and the other lays flat against the table. it's easy, falling into conversation with them. they don't talk about work. they're infatuated with their lieutenant and his surprise wife. they ask if he owns pajamas. they ask if he takes the mask off to sleep. they ask if simon whittles, if he listens to music, if there's a snack that puts him in a good mood (jaffa cakes, you tell johnny, who cackles with delight).
when simon gets up to have a smoke, you're surprised. simon never leaves you alone in a public place, ever. he's always at your back, even at the grocery store. he likes to take you aisle by aisle, and he doesn't care if it makes the trip longer, because he doesn't like to have you out of his sight for very long.
he gives you that look, one that you can read. you're safe with these men.
you agree. they bring simon home, every single time.
"awwww, no' gonna give yer lass a smooch, LT?" johnny winks. "'s alright, we don't care. won't think ye a big softie cuz o' it."
simon rolls his eyes, pocketing his cigarettes as he stands by the table. he dips his fingers into johnny's pint and flicks him with it before leaning over and kissing you lightly through the mask, a chaste kiss that already leaves you reeling.
you blink, caught off guard, and you blink up at simon so slowly, a syrupy smile falling over your face.
"LT, that wasnae a real one," johnny rolls his eyes. "wut, are ye scared of us?"
"shut your fuckin' mouth, sergeant, i'll make y'do laps tomorrow."
"big baby."
you watch simon take the back door, letting it swing shut behind him. you excuse yourself, following after him, pushing the door open and blinking to adjust to the dark light of the alleyway.
there's stars out. they sparkle, and you pause to stare up at them for just a moment before making your way to where simon leans against a brick wall.
it all reminds you that you're just small. not small, but smaller than simon, and compared to what stares at you across a violet sky, you are nothing but specks in time. you're drifters, composites of organic matter that somehow, for some reason, exist at the same time.
simon's eyes find your own in the dark. it's hard to see; the only light nearby flickers, and it's hard to focus, but you can see his eyes clearly, magnetized even when the rest of him seems so obscure, hiding from your view.
your smile is clear, too. the watery lines of your eyes, they glow, and when you come near, you and simon are in your own bubble, a pocket of the universe that cannot be explained. he has found you, and you have found him, and even when the night sky tries so hard to hide the things you know are there, it isn't strong enough to take away what exists in the in-between.
you slide your fingers under the hem of his mask. this kind of thing is practiced. the same thing you do when he comes home every day. the only acts of service he ever allows, the only things he ever lets you do.
you ask yourself always what it is that you provide. what it is that he sees in you that you can't seem to see in yourself.
maybe it's this. maybe it's the grounding. the gravity he never used to feel, the orbit he could never quite get himself to maintain, the taut line of connection that's been severed ever since the only people he's ever loved were ripped right out from underneath his ribs.
he puts his hands over yours when the mask is over his nose. his palms over the backs of your hands, warm skin over soft, something broken over something seeking.
"you don't want this," simon whispers, and you frown a little, shaking your head.
"how...how can you say that?"
"i'm not..." he flinches a little. "not made for this. 's not wha' y'think."
you're eyes water. you aren't sad. you're upset.
"y-you have no idea," you whisper. "i know what i want. you can always tell when i'm lying, am i lying now?"
"'s not--"
"simon," you stop him. "look at me," you sniffle, and he closes his eyes, squeezes them shut, before finding your gaze again. it's frightening, what he sees. he sees nothing that he expects. no deception. no fear. the honesty, it terrifies him. the reality of accepting what he can't understand hurts inside. it trickles deep, down to his toes, along his spine, a curdling in his stomach that he can't believe because there's no way that someone can love me when i can't fucking love myself. "am i lying now?"
"no," he breathes, and your smile is sickly sweet. he doesn't understand. he doesn't get it. nothing in his life has ever been this easy. nothing in his life has ever been just for him, all for him, just his, and no one else's. there has never been a piece of life that has ever pitied him enough to let him have it exactly as it is, and yet here she is, my perfect girl, arriving on my doorstep.
like you dropped straight from heaven. angels with soft hands and a timid face and a shadow with soft fur and big eyes and terrible little temper.
simon's hand is an anchor on the back of your head. tilting you to the side, drawing you near, until you are on your toes, and your face is canted up.
you kiss in the dark. your mouth slots over his, hands gripping the front of his jacket as you try and get even closer to him. he's a little shy at first, letting you lead while he follows, but it only takes a few seconds for you to feel his hand stiffen against your head as he kisses you feverishly.
you smile between kisses. he smiles, too. you giggle, and he huffs, and he chases you with more kisses as you cradle his face between your hands and whisper between soft presses, i'm sorry and i know and it's all i've ever wanted.
when you pull away, he doesn't let you go. he presses your forehead to his, connecting you somehow, breathing in the warmth that you radiate to try and calm the pulsing of his blood that rushes in his ears.
when your eyes open again, and you look at each other, everything is suddenly clearer. whatever he saw before, everything must have been in black and white.
he sees in color. the stars align. they fall, one by one, sparkling as they form a pattern, one undiscovered by anyone before him, one he will keep all to himself in the time that follows. when he kisses you again, he memorizes that pattern.
he knows it will always lead right back to you.
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i do love the idea of the wayne kids giving bernard shovel talks about taking care of tim and all that but also give me batfam who are just as protective of bernard as they are of each other.
give me bernard, attending his first wayne gala as tim's significant other. having a suit custom tailored and funded by bruce even if bernard insists it's not necessary because he already has one. arriving at the gala anxious because of course he is, it's a goddamn socialite event, but being protected from every side by the wayne kids even when tim is dragged away.
Socialite: Oh, and who might you be?
Bernard: Oh, um, hi. I'm Bernard Dowd, nice to meet you.
Socialite: Dowd? I've never heard of your family before. Who...?
Bernard: I'm not here with my family, miss, I'm here with my boyfriend.
Socialite: ... Boyfriend?
Bernard: Yeah, I'm here with Tim.
Socialite, frowning: Tim... as in Drake-Wayne? He has a boyfriend?
Dick, coming up next to Bernard: He sure does! Bernard here is practically one of ours now, aren't you? He matters to Timmy, so he matters to us.
Bernard: Dick—
Dick: C'mon, let's get you back to Timmy. Farewell, Mrs!
Bernard: I could've handled that.
Dick: All the rules that apply to my siblings during galas apply to you too. I'm sure you could've, but you shouldn't have to. I've got your back too, now, yeah?
Bernard: ... Yeah. Thanks, Dick.
Jason, coming up to Bernard at the bar: Not to freak you out, kid, but there's a guy starin' at ya from the other side of the bar. Y'know him or should I encourage him to look away?
Bernard, startled: Huh? (looks around) Oh. No, I don't know him. Why... is he looking at me like that, actually?
Jason, scowling: 'S just how the slimy fuckers at these events are. Can't keep their eyes off anything that's small, young or pretty. Disgusting. I'll deal with him— where's your annoying other half gone, inferior blondie?
Bernard: Tim? He got pulled away for quote; 'something important' by some lady. He said he'll meet me here after he's done, so I've been waiting.
Jason: Huh. If I see him I'll point him yer way. Hey, don't be 'fraid to ask any of us questions or for help if ya need it. We know the best how daunting this shit can be.
Bernard, genuinely touched: ... Thanks, Jason.
Jason: Yeah, yeah. Don't tell Timmers I said that, though, he'll call me a loser.
Bernard, laughing: I won't.
Bernard, being talked to by several people at once and a bit overwhelmed by the attention: Uh— I'm—
Damian, stepping between him and the socialites: Dowd. I require your assistance.
Bernard: Um— hi, Damian— with what?
Damian: You will see when we get there. Follow me, Drake's more tolerable half.
Bernard: Okay... so what do you need from me?
Damian: Nothing. You seemed to dislike the attention from all of the nosy adults over there. It was the most efficient way of extracting you from the situation.
Bernard: Oh. Thanks, Damian.
Damian: Tt, don't thank me yet, Dowd. I am still criticising your choice in romantic partners.
Bernard: Didn't you threaten me with a katana to not dampen Tim's mood in any way shape or form?
Damian: Slander. I said quote 'if you make Drake more annoying by breaking his heart I'm going to maim you.' I don't see how you got the message you did from that.
Bernard, grinning: Sure, Damian. Sure.
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guard dog katsuki
katsuki being protective of you when you wear a short dress out on a date with him
bakugou katsuki x fem!reader (sfw) just a teensy bit suggestive but mostly fluff
katsuki loves it when you dress up on dates.
partially because you’ve dolled yourself up for him, doing your hair all nice and spritzing that damn perfume that katsuki’s addicted to. but even more so because he loves it when his girl’s feeling all pretty and confident. as you should, always.
it’s a friday night and katsuki’s picking you up from your place to bring you out to a really nice restaurant for dinner. it’s been a long, tiring week, and you’re a real sight for sore eyes, in that little black dress that sits tight on all your curves.
it’s gorgeous on you. you look absolutely ravishing in it (and katsuki has every intention of ravishing you later tonight), so really, katsuki has no complaints about the dress.
but god, katsuki hates the way these extras are looking at you.
katsuki glares at every guy who walks past you with their eyes clearly glued to you. as if his arm isn’t wrapped securely around your waist. as if it wasn’t already clear that you belong to him.
“katsuki, you okay?” you ask, looking up at him sweetly. “you’ve been kinda quiet.”
“my bad,” katsuki mutters, but he doesn’t meet your gaze. he’s busy staring down some depraved fucker who’s shamelessly staring at your ass from across the street. “m’listenin’, jus’ keep talkin’.”
but you’re not dense, and you quickly realise that katsuki’s irritated by all the unwanted attention you’re receiving.
“sorry, kats,” you grimace as you pull down your dress in an attempt to make it seem more modest. “i left my jacket in your car, i should’ve taken it with me to the restaurant.”
“you cold?” katsuki asks. you shake your head. “then what d’ya need your jacket for?”
“to cover up a lil.”
“why? ya not feelin’ comfortable?” katsuki asks almost demandingly, like an overly concerned parent, and you can’t help but laugh.
“i’m okay, katsuki, but i feel bad. you’re like my guard dog, glaring at every sketchy guy we walk by. this wouldn’t be a problem if—”
“if people weren’t freaks,” katsuki finishes for you. “s’got nothin’ to do with you, darlin’. you look beautiful tonight, as always.”
“thank you, katsuki.” you smile. katsuki tightens his arm around you and looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky tonight.
“i got you covered princess.”
katsuki does indeed have you covered. a drunk guy asking for your number almost knocks into you and proceeds to get kicked to the curb by katsuki.
BONUS:
“hey, dollface! can i get your number?”
“hey, fucker, want mine instead?” katsuki snaps so quickly you have to hold back your laughter.
“woah there, buddy, calm down!”
“this is me being calm, dipshit. can’t you see my girl’s holdin’ my hand right now? that’s the only thing keeping me from going over there and fucking you up, so you’d better hightail it out of here before i kill you for even thinkin’ that trash like you could ever deserve a chance with my gi—”
“katsuki, enough. he’s already running away, see?”
“…yes, ma’am.”
“good. thanks for being such a good dog, ‘suki.”
“the fuck did you just call me?! …not in public, dumbass.”
say “woof” katsuki! 🦴
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Midnight Pals: Spicy Stories
JK Rowling: hello children
Poe: oh
Poe: oh joanne
Poe: you're back
Rowling: i have concernss
Poe: uh we're mostly about just telling stories here
Poe: you have your own campfire for your terf stuff don't you?
Rowling: yess but they've really been getting on my nervess lately
Rowling: you know how it iss with terf deatheaterss
Poe: not really
Rowling: alwayss agreeing with everything i ssay
Rowling: all "oh yes dark lord" this and "oh spare me dark lord" that
Rowling: ssometimess you jusst get tired of hearing "masterful gambit dark lord"
Rowling: i tell you, you don't know how hard it is to run a cult
L Ron Hubbard: oh yeah woof big mood
Hubbard: people think its all fun, but its actually a lot of work
Rowling: I know right????
Poe: regardless, joanne, i'm going to have to put my foot down
Poe: this campfire is just for stories
Rowling: uhhh actually i do have a new ssstory
Rowling: i wass insspired to write after having an argument on the internet
Barker: oh damn no shit?
Barker: that's wild
Rowling: it's a new harry potter ssstory
King: oh man! it's about time, i've been hoping for a new potter story for ages!
Rowling: itss about hermione going back in time to help grindelwald, who actually had sssome good points if you think about it
Rowling: i call it
Rowling: the time turner diariesss
Barker: wow this is not really funny anymore
Baker: its like INTENSELY not funny
Lovecraft: catchy title tho!
Rowling: i'm retconning grindelwald into a misundersstood idealisst
Rowling: who was only forced to make hard choicess because of the unreassonablenesss of decadent weimar society
Rowling: oh also you know that thing where people kept criticizing me cuz technically grindelwald's "evil" plan was to prevent the holocaust?
Rowling: well good news
Rowling: i've rectified that little mistake
Rowling: like, why would the naziss target transs & queer people, traditionally the most powerful and widely accepted memberss of ssociety?
Rowling: would not the naziss, famouss for their love of diverssity, actually approve of them?
Rowling: i'm jusst asskin questions
King: actually joanne there's a lot of well-documented evidence
Barker: give it up steve
King: no no i can fix this
King: i'm sure if i just lay out the facts in a logical, well-reasoned manner-
Barker: oh god that's so cute
Barker: don't you just love him?
Poe: that's our steve
King: so you see the nazi book burning of the institute for sexualwissenschaft-
Rowling: nope
Rowling: didn't happen
King:
King: well it kinda did, see, as i was saying-
Rowling: thiss iss missogyny
Rowling: i don't undersstand you lot at all
Rowling: i come into your campfire, i make a sstatement that i really want to be true & you all refuse to accept it
Rowling: thiss issn't the way it works over with my terf deatheaters at all
Rowling: they love accepting things i ssay!
Rowling: it'ss actually really missogynisstic that you all refusse to accept what i'm ssaying asss truth
Rowling: even though you all know how badly i want it to be true
King: but joanne, it isn't true-
Rowling: ssave it for court ssteve!
Mary Shelley: sup fuckers
Shelley: i got here late wot's going on?
Barker: joanne is doing holocaust denial
Rowling: EXCUSE ME it'ss only holocausst denial if you quesstion the murder of jews
Rowling: tho now that i think about it i do have some questionss
Rowling: like, would they not have ussed their goblin magic to essscape?
Lovecraft: ya know, she makes a good point
Sonia Greene: i'm right here howard
Lovecraft:
Greene: see, this is why i don't talk much
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