#it’s just so fake bru

[starlooove]

No it gets me so tight that y’all are like. I don’t wanna say pathetic but the whole “what do we think? Who do we hate? Who are we agreeing with” mentality without critical thought is so fucking annoying. Like I need you to pause and think about ur own emotions and feelings and if ur neutral ur neutral! And that’s not saying don’t ask questions; obviously you should but taking the first answer provided or just agreeing without breaking it down for yourself is kinda fake

[pinacoladamatata]

Screaming

[gothcsz]

Worst Behavior | Secret Service Agent!Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | ~6.1k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Tired of living in the confines of being the President's daughter— you sneak out, only to be caught by the head of your security, Javier Peña.

Tags: smut, age gap (reader is in her early 20s/javier is in his 40s), mean!javi i think, hurt/no comfort?, unprotected p in v sex (be safe), creampie, oral (m receiving), cock worship (i need to suck this man off), fingering, degrading names (slut, whore), semi-public sex (a car in the alleyway because i'm incapable of writing bedroom sex scenes apparently), infidelity (javi is married to lorraine in this au), dubcon (reader is drunk throughout this), no use of y/n, no physical descriptions, if it gets redundant it's because i wrote this at 4 am, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: secret service counts as bodyguard, right? right! this is for @auteurdelabre's amazing trope off with the trope i chose being, well, bodyguard 🖤 i had a lot of fun writing this, rip brat summer you will be missed! let me know what you think besties, i hope you guys enjoy! 🖤

The garden party is just like all the others—stuffy, overly formal, and dreadfully boring.

Crisp white tablecloths, lavish floral arrangements, and people so proper they could break under the weight of their own fake smiles. You sit there, listening to the endless parade of politicians and diplomats, watching them laugh at jokes that aren’t funny, and nod through speeches about policies that barely concern you.

You hate it. All of it. The politics, the empty pleasantries, the way people look at you like you’re a porcelain doll who must be carefully handled. But tonight’s different. 

Tonight, you have a plan.

Feigning a headache? Easy. You’ve been doing it for years, perfecting the art of slipping away unnoticed. You even relish the concerned whispers, the fake sympathy in their eyes. 

She can’t even handle a small gathering. Poor thing.

The moment you’re out of sight, the act drops. The tension releases, and your heart races, not from anxiety but from excitement.

You time your bathroom trip perfectly, ducking out of the guest quarters and navigating through the mansion’s less-frequented hallways.

Slipping past the Secret Service isn’t easy, but you’ve learned the gaps in their routine, the places they don’t check. It takes skill, but tonight, you’ve got it.

You’re free.

The rush of adrenaline is intoxicating. It feels foreign, but oh so thrilling, like the first breath of fresh air after being stifled for too long. You aren’t just her anymore— not the perfect girl with the pressure of a nation’s eyes on you, not the symbol of a legacy you never wanted.

You’re just a girl. You’re you.

The club hits you like a shock to the system, but it’s exactly what you crave. The air is thick with heat and bodies, the music pounding so loudly it thrums through your bones, syncing with the beat of your heart. It’s the opposite of everything your life has been—raw, chaotic, real. You feel the tightness of the dress hugging your body, a deliberate rebellion against the prim, conservative outfits you’re usually forced to wear.

There’s nothing modest about this. It clings to every curve, drawing eyes. 

The alcohol hits fast, warm and buzzing, setting your blood on fire and sharpening your senses. You raise your arms, let the music take you. Let it drown out the noise in your head— the expectations, the responsibilities, the endless duties.

Your date’s hands find your waist, pulling you closer. His fingers dig in just enough for you to feel anchored, his breath warm against your neck. You lean back into him, letting the heat of his body and the thrum of the bass take you somewhere far away from reality.

You aren’t the girl born with a silver spoon shoved down her throat, suffocating in the luxury you never asked for. No cameras, no protocols, no rules. Just you, him, and the music.

His hands are everywhere, gliding over your hips, fingertips brushing the hem of your barely-there dress. His lips press against your neck, and you let your head fall back, enjoying yourself for the first time in forever.

Everything feels hazy, dreamlike. His mouth moves to your ear, the scrape of his breath sending shivers down your spine, whispering something about sneaking off to the bathroom.

The idea is scandalous and that alone makes you want to indulge it even more. You close your eyes, swaying with him, floating.

The world outside of this moment feels so far away. You don’t even notice the man cutting through the crowd, coming straight toward you.

Not until a large, strong hand clamps down around your arm and yanks you out of your date’s grasp.

You gasp, eyes snapping open, and spin around, blinking against the blur of neon lights, your heart jumping into your throat. Your gaze lifts and you see him— Javier Peña. Oh, shit.

You immediately recognize the stern, commanding face, dark eyes sharp even in the low light of the club. He’s the head of your security, the one you juked earlier when you slipped away from the garden party.

And the look he’s giving you right now? It’s killer. Could easily send you to an early grave.

His brows are furrowed in a deep frown, lips set in a tight line, his usual stoic expression sharpened by the flashing lights around you. His jaw is clenched so hard, you’re afraid he’s going to dislocate it. His eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, burning with barely restrained fury.

You’ve been in trouble before, but this? This is something else.

“Hey, man, what the fuck is your problem?” Your date yells, trying to stand his ground, though his voice wavers a bit as he raises it above the music. For a second, you think he might actually try to do something.

Javier straightens up, his broad shoulders squared, chest puffing out, and it’s like watching a lion preparing to pounce. The guy you’re with, barely older than you, tries to hold his own, but as Javier towers over him, something in your date just... crumbles. The bravado slips from his face so quickly.

“I’d suggest you get the fuck away from her,” Javier growls, his voice low and deadly, “before I have the SWAT team outside drag your sorry ass to federal prison.” His words cut through the air like a knife, and even in the middle of the pounding music, the threat hangs heavy.

Your date’s eyes go wide, panic flickering across his face as he stumbles back. There’s no arguing with a man like that.

The guy might have been cocky a minute ago, but he’s not stupid.

He takes one last glance at you, like he’s weighing his options, but it’s clear he’s already made up his mind. Without another word, he’s scrambling away, blending into the crowd.

The people around you keep dancing, completely oblivious to the scene that just played out. But your heart is still pounding in your chest, your arm tingling where Javier’s grip lingers, and you can feel the tension rolling off of him in waves.

You glance up at him, breathless, and he looks back at you, his jaw still tight, eyes still stormy. God, he’s intense. And somehow, that only makes the heat between you burn hotter.

He’s livid. You don’t need words to understand that. 

“Peña—” you start, trying to find your voice, but it falters under the intensity of his glare. You’re used to seeing him calm, collected, the perfect professional.

That damn RJF— Resting Javi Face, as you’ve coined it. He never breaks, no matter how much you’ve tried to mess with him in the past.

You’ve spent years teasing him, trying to crack his cool exterior, just to see him react, to get something more than that unwavering stone face. But he never gives you more than the occasional twitch of his jaw, a flick of his brow. 

Until now.

Seeing him like this, thoroughly pissed off, stirs something deep inside you, something that’s both thrilling and dangerous. You can’t help the way your heart skips or how your skin flushes beneath his grip.

You’ve always found him damn near irresistible— ever since the moment you first laid eyes on him when your mom reworked your security detail. He became your personal heartthrob, eye candy for the days when you were stuck inside the house, surrounded by guards and endless rules. 

You’d never act on it, though. Especially since he’s married, that much you know by the golden band that wraps around his ring finger.

However, the way he’s looking at you now, with those smoldering eyes, is doing something to you. More than just a flutter in your chest. Anticipation pools at the base of your spine, and— damn— you’re definitely feeling it between your thighs.

He’s clearly ready to drag you back to the mansion and lock you up for good. 

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” His voice is gravelly and laced with a level of frustration that almost makes you moan. He leans down, his face inches from yours, and you can smell the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the alcohol-soaked air. It’s dizzying. “I’ve been looking for you for hours.”

The accusation in his tone is unmistakable, but you can’t help the smirk that curls at the corner of your lips. The alcohol you’ve consumed gives you some hardcore liquid courage. “Found me now, didn’t you?”

His eyes flash with something you can’t quite read— anger, annoyance. He takes a step closer, his chest brushing against yours. You’re buzzing all over, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re in trouble, or because the way his presence towers over you is doing things to you that no man has ever done before. 

“You think this is a game?” His voice drops lower, a dangerous edge to it that sends a delicious thrill through your body.

It feels like the music has been put on mute with the way you can hear him so clearly.

You’d definitely pass out if not for how bad you want him.

His fingers tense just a little more around your arm, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that you’re under his reign right now. 

“I didn’t—” you start, but the words die in your throat when he leans in even closer, his breath hot against your ear.

“Let’s fucking go” His tone is final, commanding, and it leaves no room for argument. You can’t help but want to push him a little more.

You bite your lip, feeling the pulse of desire starting its familiar beat against your clit.

“Make me.”

The way he yanks you through the sea of sweaty bodies has you stumbling, your heels wobbling beneath you as a surprised yelp escapes your lips.

The liquor in your system makes it all a blur— the music returns all at once and it jump scares you back to your surroundings; lights flashing, then suddenly, you’re outside in the cool night air.

The alley is dark and quiet compared to the chaos inside the building, the only sound now the distant bass reverberating through the walls. His government issued black SUV sits nearby, its tinted windows gleaming under the dim streetlights.

So no SWAT team? Figures, he probably just said that to scare your date away.

He finally lets go of your arm, and you pull away sharply, rubbing the spot where his grip lingered a little too tight.

“I’m not leaving,” you declare, lifting your chin defiantly. You plant your stiletto clad feet, standing your ground, even though the alcohol is still buzzing through your veins, making everything feel unsteady but bold. 

Javier lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head as he scratches his jaw. His hands settle on his narrow waist, the standard suit and tie he’s always in, making him look even more handsome.

“You’re not leaving?” he repeats, as if testing the absurdity of your statement. He arches a brow, his lips curling in a sarcastic smirk. “You think this is a negotiation? Because I can assure you, it’s not.”

You cross your arms over your chest, the dress clinging to your skin like a second layer, you can damn near see your heartbeat through the material as you lock eyes with him. “I’m tired of always following someone else’s schedule. Living in my mother’s shadow, doing what I’m told, when I’m told. You don’t get it, Peña. You have no idea what it’s like to have every aspect of your life controlled by someone else.” You can’t help but ramble, tongue loose, “I never get a damn second to myself, to do anything I want!” Your voice rises with each word, frustration boiling over, the alcohol making you bolder than you’d normally be. “So, no. I’m staying right here and enjoying my night out.”

Javier’s smirk disappears, replaced by a hard, unyielding stare. His brown eyes remain dark and guarded, the nearby orange street light casting shadows across his chiseled face. “You’re acting like a spoiled brat,” he says flatly. “This is the life you’re stuck with until your mother is out of office. It’s not about what you want. You think you can just sneak away because it’s inconvenient? Because it’s hard?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, swaying slightly. “Easy for you to say, standing there in your perfect little suit, playing agent while I drown every day under the pressure of expectations I never asked for.”

Javier’s jaw flexes. “It could be a whole lot worse. You don’t like it? Too bad. Your mother doesn’t even know you’ve snuck out, and I’m not about to let her find out. I need to get you sober and back to the White House before she realizes you’re missing.” His tone is final, like he’s already made up his mind.

You step forward, eyes flashing with rebellion. “Or,” you play right into his hands, switching up entirely. A slow, deliberate, small smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth.

His eyes narrow as he watches you approach, hands still at his waist. 

You trail a finger along the edge of his tie, tugging it gently, testing his reaction. He swallows harshly, throat twitching at the action. “Why don’t we both stay? Let loose and have some fun,” you purr, low and teasing, fluttering your eyes as you look up at him. “We could both use a night off.”

He grits his teeth and pulls back slightly, but not enough to break the moment. “Don’t,” he warns, tone laden with something that sounds a lot less like anger and more like desire. “You’re drunk. This isn’t happening.”

“Am I?” You are, obviously. “Or are you just afraid that you’ll like it?” You challenge him, cocking your head to the side slightly.

“What’s the matter, Javier? Is your wife not fulfilling her duties at home? Is that why you’re obsessed with me?”

That strikes a nerve. “Enough,” he growls, voice strained and mean. You don’t give a single fuck, leaning in even closer, your lips ghosting over his jaw. His breath is ragged now, hand twitching at his side, as if he’s debating whether to push you away or pull you closer.

You don’t care that this is dangerous, that it’s wrong. All you care about is the way he’s looking at you now, like he’s been holding back for far too long. And maybe, just maybe, tonight is the night he listens to that voice in his head that’s been craving you all along.

“You’re not pushing me away…” you whisper, “Which makes me think that I’m right about your wife.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you feel him tense up. The thrill of his reaction is like electricity.

His silence only emboldens you, makes you lean in closer, lips brushing against his ear as you stand on the tips of your toes. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head, the conflict, the desire.

“So why don’t we just fuck?” you say it so bluntly, it almost sobers you up. Your lips are so close to his that you can almost taste him. The small hairs of his mustache tickle your cupid’s bow. “Get it over with. Scratch the itch.”

His hand shoots up, holding your jaw, stopping you in your tracks. His grip is tight, making you wince as his fingers dig into your cheeks.

His eyes carry a storm, filled with the kind of hunger you’ve been dying to see from him.

“You really do think this is a game, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

He moves quickly, using the hold on your face to pull you in for a bruising kiss. It’s not soft or gentle— it’s hungry, desperate, all teeth and tongue as he devours you.

His lips are adamant against yours, rough from the way he’s been biting them in frustration. You can taste the desperation, the pent-up desire.

You kiss him back just as fiercely, your body pressing into his, hands fisting in the front of his suit jacket as you pull him closer. There’s no space between you, no hesitation left. You whimper against his mouth, head spinning from the alcohol still pulsing through your veins and the way his hands have found your waist, gripping you tight.

He pulls away just long enough to breathe, his forehead pressing against yours. “You’re out of your damn mind,” he mutters, but even as he says it, his hands are pulling you in again, pressing your hips against his as if he can’t stop himself.

His eyes are wild now, the usual cool detachment replaced with a recklessness that matches yours.

“And you’re loving every second of it,” you murmur back, your lips already brushing against his again, teasing him, daring him to take more.

Javier growls deep in his throat, and suddenly, he’s spinning then guiding you toward the SUV. You stumble backward, your heels clicking against the pavement, barely able to keep up with his pace yet again. 

He pushes you up against the side of the vehicle, your back hitting the cool metal with a soft thud. The contrast between the cold steel and his burning touch sends shivers down your spine. And then his mouth is on yours again, harder this time, his body pressing you into the car, his hands roaming over your curves like he’s been starving for this.

Your fingers card through his hair as you pull him closer, wanting more, needing more. His lips trail down your neck, his stubble scraping against your softness. He nips at the sensitive skin just below your ear, making you gasp.

You arch against him, body responding to every rough touch and kiss. His hands fall over the fabric of your dress, tugging at the hem, sliding it up your thigh.

“Fucking with me all the time just to get me to react,” his fingers press firmly against your clit, teasing through the thin fabric of your panties. The sensation has you whimpering, your head falling back against the metal.

“Then sneaking out like this. I could lose my job over your carelessness.” His teeth sink into your neck, sharp and punishing, making you gasp in surprise, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“But no,” he hisses, his words dripping with contempt as he presses harder, fingers circling your clit in a way that makes your knees weak, hooking one of your legs up on his waist to spread you open further for him “the perfect princess doesn’t give a fuck. She’s too busy whining about being taken care of.” His free hand yanks at your panties, and the flimsy fabric gives way with a harsh tear, leaving you exposed.

The sudden rush of cool air against your hot skin is nothing compared to the feel of his calloused fingers returning to your pussy, spreading the wetness around before plunging two fingers inside you roughly.

The stretch is intense, and you moan loudly, cunt squeezing around his fingers as he works you with a rough precision, like he knows exactly how to break you down.

“You talk a lot for someone who’s fucking a woman half your age,” you bite out, but the words are weak, caught somewhere between a challenge and a plea.

You’re playing a dangerous move here, but the power struggle between you and him is addictive, like a live wire sizzling between you both.

He stops suddenly, fingers still inside you, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His expression is dark, dangerous, and filled with something primal. His free hand comes up to wrap around your neck, the cool band of his ring against your heated skin sends a shock through you, and you narrow your eyes at him, daring him to make his next move.

“Tired of you runnin’ that fucking mouth,” he grunts, tightening his grip on your throat just enough to make your breath hitch. With his other hand, he undoes his belt, the gentle clink of metal the only warning you get before he’s pushing you down roughly to your knees.

Your eyes widen as you look up at him, your heart racing. “Here?” you whisper, your voice breathy, equal parts shocked and exhilarated.

Javier tilts his head, a mocking smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he strokes himself, his cock heavy and girthy in his hand. “So now you care?” His tone is patronizing, but his eyes are filled with a hunger that makes your pulse quicken. You bite your lip as your gaze drifts lower, unable to stop yourself from taking in the sheer size of him, the pressure between your thighs building to an unreachable height.

Without another word, he brings you closer by the back of your neck, and your mouth parts instinctively. Your tongue swirls around the spongy tip, tasting the salty slickness of his precome. His fingers dig into your scalp as he guides your movements, but it doesn’t take long for his hips to start thrusting forward, fucking your mouth with no patience, no hesitation.

The pace is brutal, your throat burning as he pushes deeper. His thighs twitch ever so often and you can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding back just enough to not completely unravel.

Saliva dribbles from the corners of your mouth, tears streaming down your cheeks and smudging your perfectly applied makeup as you suck him off with desperation.

Your knees ache from grinding against the rough pavement, but the pain is nothing compared to the mess in your cunt, the need building with every rough move. 

“Who would’ve thought you could be such a slut,” Javier grunts, his hand gripping the back of your head, keeping you in place. His words are condescending, each syllable dripping with lust.

He pulls you off his cock, a string of spit connecting your lips to his flushed head. “You look so fuckin’ filthy like this,” a cruel smirk is on his lips as he directs your mouth lower, pressing your face against his balls. 

Now drunk on him— on the power he’s holding over you, on the taste of him filling your senses— you eagerly obey, your tongue darting out to trace his heavy sack. You moan as you take each one into your mouth, suckling gently, savoring the weight and the taste of him. His low groan above you is all the encouragement you need to keep going, your lips moving greedily as you continue to worship him with no hands.

“Fuck,” he breathes, the rough sound of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “Had I known you were this good at sucking dick, I would’ve fucked that pretty little throat ages ago.”

His words spur you on, making you feel powerful, wanted, as though you’re giving him something he’s been missing. Something his wife can’t provide. The thought stirs something dark inside of you, a thrill that mixes with the burning in your pussy as you take him back into your mouth, deep-throating him in one smooth motion.

Your palm finally reaches up, fondling his balls as you move, your throat contracting around him with every stroke, the sound of your gagging filling the alley. 

You pull him out again, spitting on his cock and pumping him with both hands, your grip slick as you work him faster, relishing in the way his head tips back, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. 

After a few more minutes of your sloppy, eager blowjob, he groans and yanks you off him, his hands rough as he drags you to your feet. Before you can process what’s happening, he’s thrown open the backdoor of the SUV, damn near tossing you inside before climbing in behind you. 

The moment he’s inside, his badge and gun are discarded to the side, and he grabs you by the waist, pulling you onto his lap as he leans back against the seat. His cock is hard and slick, pressing against your soaked entrance, but he doesn’t push inside yet. 

Instead, he yanks the top of your dress down, exposing your breasts, and immediately latches his mouth onto one of your nipples. His wet tongue swirls around the sensitive bud as his free hand pinches and tugs at the other, sending shocks of pleasure straight to your pussy. 

You moan loudly, your hips grinding down against his dick, sliding him between your slick folds, teasing both of you.

You’ve made a mess of his white shirt and part of his slacks.

You wonder if he’ll go home to her like this. Kiss her with the same mouth that’s kissed you.

Every inch of your skin is on fire, the need to have him inside of you building with every passing second. 

“Javier, please,” you whine, your fingers tangling in his hair as you try to push yourself down onto him.

He pulls away from your breast with a wet pop, “Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with condescension as his hand trails down your body, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Begging for my cock like a whore.”

You bite your lip, your pride long forgotten as you look down at him, a needy expression painting your face. “Please, Javi,” you beg, grinding harder against him, feeling the thick head of his cock press against your entrance. “I need you. Please— fuck me.”

He chuckles darkly, his grip on your hips bruising the skin as he holds you still. “You think I’m just gonna give you what you want after the way you’ve been acting?”

Before you can respond, his hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp sting of the spank making you cry out in surprise. “Javi!”

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, landing another spank on the other cheek. “You want my cock? Earn it.”

You moan, your body trembling as the pain mixes with the pleasure coursing through you. His words, his rough treatment— it only makes you want him more. “Please,” you sob, your voice shaky as you wiggle your hips, trying to push him inside, the lingering sting of his smacks vibrating against your plush skin. 

He groans, and in one swift motion, he thrusts up into you, his cock stretching you wide as he sinks deep inside. You cry at the sudden intrusion, your body tensing before relaxing as the pleasure of being filled washes over you.

“Fuck,” it feels like his cock has punched you in the lungs, your nails digging into his shoulders as you start to move, riding him slowly at first, your head thrown back as you savor the feeling of him inside of you. “So fucking big.”

Javier grunts, his hands gripping your hips as he guides your movements, bucking up into you as you swivel your hips. “That’s it,” his teeth graze your neck as he thrusts harder, deeper. “Take it, princess. Take every inch.”

You moan loudly, your body then bouncing on his lap as you both lose yourselves in the heat of the moment.

Nothing else matters except the way he feels inside you and the filthy words spilling from his lips as you fuck each other like you’ve both been waiting for this for far too long.

The sounds coming from both of you—wet, filthy, primal—fill the confined space of the SUV. The smell of sex and leather in the air.

Each thrust of his hips sends you spiraling closer to the edge, your bodies colliding in a frenzied rhythm that makes the vehicle rock with your movements. Thank fucking God the windows are tinted.

Javier’s hands grip your hips tightly, guiding your frantic movements, his cock buried deep inside of you, hitting every spot that makes you cry out in pleasure.

Eyes are half-lidded as he watches your breasts bounce while you hop on his dick.

His lips part, a low groan escaping him as he feels you flutter around him, your pussy tightening with the promise of your impending orgasm.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grits out. He’s close— so fucking close— and the way you’re moving, the way you’re so desperate for him, makes it impossible for him to hold back much longer.

His brow furrows, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face as he thrusts up into you harder, faster— chasing his own release. “You’re gonna make me come, princess,” he groans, his fingers digging into your skin as he bites down on his lower lip.

Your head falls back, your lips parted in a breathless moan as the band inside you snaps. “Javi,” you mewl, barely able to get his name out as the wave of pleasure crashes over you, sending your body trembling and convulsing around him. “Oh fuck, I’m coming,” you gasp, your voice breaking as your orgasm ripples through you. “Harder— please.”

He grits his teeth once he feels you unravel around him, your pussy clenching against his cock. It gets him there with you, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as his hips jerk up harshly a few more times time.

His release hits him hard, spilling into you without asking, but you don’t notice nor care. You both ride out the aftershocks together, tangled in each other’s arms, your breaths coming in ragged gasps, the car still rocking slightly as the final thrusts slow.

For a brief moment, everything is still. Your fingers trailing over his skin as you try to catch even out your breathing.

But then, reality slams back into focus.

Javier’s body goes rigid beneath you, his hands releasing their grip on your hips as if what just happened is sinking in all at once. “Get off,” he mutters, his voice suddenly sharp. “Now.”

You blink, disoriented, still riding the afterglow, but the tone of his voice cuts through the haze. You hesitate for a second, looking down at him, trying to read his expression. There’s no trace of the infatuation that had consumed him just moments ago. Instead, his face is etched with regret, his lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight.

“Javi…” you start, but he cuts you off, his hand coming up to push you gently but firmly off his lap.

“Get. Off,” he repeats, leaving no room for argument.

You pull away, your body trembling slightly as you move off him, awkwardly adjusting your dress. The tension is suffocating as Javier quickly pulls up his pants, his hands shaking slightly as he fastens his belt. He’s avoiding your gaze, his brows furrowed in frustration as he runs a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath.

“We need to go,” his voice is cold and distant, as if the intimacy you just shared never happened. “Before your mother declares a state of emergency on the entire country.”

He digs into his pocket, your ruined panties then are tossed at you and you bite your lip, feeling the sting of rejection settle deep in your chest.

Once he’s fixed his clothes, Javier moves with a tense efficiency, reholstering his gun and straightening his badge like nothing happened.

His movements are mechanical, as if he’s trying to regain control, trying to rebuild that wall he always hides behind. You sit there, watching him in silence, a real icy feeling knotting in your chest.

He doesn’t look at you as he steps out of the SUV, slamming the door behind him forcefully and it makes you flinch. The loud thud echoes through the car, leaving you alone in the backseat with nothing but your racing thoughts and destroyed underwear.

The shame snaps into you then, creeping up your spine and spreading through your body like poison. You wipe the smeared makeup from under your eyes, fix your dress, but there’s no saving it. Literally and metaphorically.

He slips into the driver’s seat a moment later. He doesn’t say a word.

You sink back into the leather seat, the silence absolutely deafening. The back of the car feels like a cage now— your earlier exhilaration has all but disappeared. All that’s left is this gnawing sense of regret swirling in your gut.

The engine hums to life as he drives out of the alleyway, his movements precise and methodical, the way they always are when he’s on the job.

Like he’s already compartmentalizing.

You consider saying something— anything to break the silence that’s strangling you both— but the words die on your lips. What would you even say?

“You should’ve never snuck out,” Javier finally speaks lowly, as if it’s painful for him to even acknowledge the situation. “You’re lucky no one saw you.”

There’s an edge to his words, but it’s not the usual reprimand. Rather just regret, frustration, and anger all wrapped into one.

You don’t respond right away, your eyes fixed on the traffic ahead. “I don’t care,” you finally mutter, more to yourself than to him. “I’m sick of it. Of all of it.” You pause, your throat tight with emotion. “For once, I just wanted to feel like I was in control.”

Javier lets out a harsh breath, his hands tightening on the wheel. “Control? ” He scoffs, his tone biting. “You don’t even know what that word means.”

You turn your head to glare at him, heart pounding in your chest. “I’m not a fucking child.” He chuckles at that, wordlessly saying otherwise. “And you don’t know what it’s like to live my life,” you snap, the frustration boiling over. “To constantly be watched, to have every move scrutinized, to be paraded around like some perfect fucking doll when I didn’t ask for any of it.”

His grip on the wheel loosens slightly, but his face remains impassive. “None of this is new,” he reminds you, “You knew what your life would be like when your mother was re-elected. It’s not about you anymore. It never was.”

You feel the sting of his words, but you refuse to back down. “Maybe it should be,” you say, your voice trembling with anger. “Maybe I should get to live my life the way I want to. Not the way everyone else expects me to.”

Brown eyes flicker toward you in the rearview mirror for a split second. He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter,” his voice is tight. “You can try again in four years.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you sink deeper into the seat. “You just want to pretend this never happened.”

Javier’s silence is answer enough.

The rest of the ride is quiet and tense. When you finally pull up to the back gates of the White House, you sigh when your lavish prison comes into view and when he parks right outside the private entrance that you and the rest of your family get in and out of.

Javier glances in the rearview mirror one final time, his expression unreadable, before he cuts the engine and steps out.

He opens the back door for you, his handsome face set in that familiar stoic mask. “Let’s go,” he orders, tone flat, devoid of the erotic emotions from earlier.

You hesitate, a pout forming on your lips, the confidence you’d wielded earlier crumbling to dust. Your legs wobble as you step out, shaky and weak from how he fucked you

He shrugs off his jacket and throws it over your bare shoulders. The gesture would’ve felt protective, maybe even tender, in another moment. But now, it’s a calculated move to cover up the evidence of what you just did. He’s not doing it for you— he’s doing it for his job. 

He walks you inside, his large hand resting lightly at your lower back as if guiding you, but the warmth you once felt from his touch is nowhere to be found. His eyes dart around the hall, scoping the area, making sure none of the other agents that he commands are around to see you.

He nods curtly when the coast is clear, a silent gesture to keep moving. You feel like a liability— something to be hidden away, managed, not the girl who he was just balls deep inside.

The heels you’re wearing are muted against the thick carpet as you walk down the long hallway toward your bedroom. Each step feels like an eternity. 

When you finally reach your bedroom door, he pulls the jacket from your shoulders without a word. You blink back the sting of tears, throat tightening at the action.

He’s not just being distant—he’s erasing you, erasing the moment, wiping it all away like it meant nothing.

Because it hadn’t meant a damn thing. He is married, after all. You were nothing but an easy fuck. A form of relief. Eye candy for him as he was for you.

Without looking back or saying anything, you push open the door and step inside. The soft click of the latch as you shut it in his face echoes in the stillness and you don’t need to look back to know that there’s nothing behind those brown eyes for you anymore. 

[allfearstofallto]

College au is so delicious bc you can have Childe having to deal with the fact that you don't like him. Whether it be his sus vibes or how...dead his eyes look, you just don't like him. So you avoid him like the plague to save the both of you from any trouble.

But the thing is, he likes you and he's sure he can make you feel the same way about him. You'll come around, he's sure of it.

Just Childe engaging in pest behavior is all I can think about for this au

-🐇

Writing Childe without his power and assets is so goddamn challenging, but also so fun!

He's such a pest though. That pretty face can get him so damn far, I'm sure of it. I have to think about how easily I fell for Childe before it was revealed that he was super fucking evil, so obviously it wouldn't be hard for him to develop a pretty powerful influence with enough smiles.

Childe <3

College AU

Yandere! Childe x Fem! Reader

You don't like Ajax? Or Childe as they called him. A stupid nickname, but one he apparently earned. Where he got it from to even who he was, you truly didn't care. You didn't like him and apparently that was a problem with everyone, but you.

You were okay with not having a relationship with him. The campus was big enough where you didn't have to see him if you didn't want to and you both studied different majors, although you put more time and effort into your study. He spent most of his energy on being the life of the party.

People didn't understand why you didn't like Ajax, apparently just saying that you found him creepy wasn't enough of an answer.The Ajax who made an effort to always invite you out? The Ajax who always wanted to walk you to and from classes even though you never told him your schedule? The Ajax who was the only person to buy you gifts for Valentine's, heart shaped, lavish chocolates and a bouquet bigger than your head, even though you weren't romantic with him? The Ajax that called and texted you at random hours of the night to “check on you” when you didn't give him your number? No. Not that Ajax. That Ajax wasn't creepy at all.

The worst part was his dead eyed stare. You wondered how people enjoyed his company when he had the eyes of someone with no true compassion, the eyes of someone who was obviously faking their emotion. Was everyone just pretending to not notice how his smile didn't reach his eyes, or had you truly gone crazy?

The dim, setting sunlight hit your note pages as you sat in the library to study, a typical thing for you to do when you had hours between your classes. And Ajax, the one who was failing almost every single class he took, decided to sit only a few tables over from you, pretending to be nose deep into a book for a course he didn't even take.

You could feel his eyes on you as you tried to focus on anything, but him. The books, the clocks, your phone, anything but him, where he sat unmoving. Why was today the day the library had to be empty? Where was everyone else who was supposed to be studying? Why were you alone with him, only a few tables between you.

A weight lifted off your shoulder when you heard someone stomping up the stairs to the library, calling his name loudly, “What are you doing here man? I didn't even think you knew what a library was!” they ostracized him while playfully smacking him on the back. They were obnoxiously loud, something that would've annoyed you any other day, but today you were grateful for their rudeness.

He was distracted. You could tell because you could no longer feel those eyes on you. This was your chance to scoop all of your books up and toss your bag over your shoulder, running out the door before he had the chance to notice you were gone. You breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the cool autumn air against your skin eased you more than the tense air of the library.

It was worrisome how much more you'd been seeing him these past few days. More than usual and not in the coincidental way. It was like he always knew where you were going. You tried to brush the thought from your head as you walked to your next class, trying to focus on anything else, but that feeling was back. The feeling of eyes on you. And not just any eyes. Those dead eyes. He was nearby.

You stopped in your tracks and turned on your heels with your eyes closed. In your mind, you were silently praying that it was just the nerves and your mind was playing tricks on you. That it was making you imagine the feeling, but sure enough, there he was, messy orange hair, charming smile, and lifeless eyes.

“You're jumpy today,” he said playfully. You took a hesitant step back, but he still closed the distance between you, with little hassle. All it took was two steps from his long legs and suddenly you could smell his oaky cologne. He tossed an arm over your shoulder and pulled you back into his chest, “You left pretty quickly back there. I didn't even get to say hello.”

“Sorry,” you muttered beneath your breath. His baggy clothes hid it well, but he was built firmly beneath them, all muscle with little to no fat. He wasn't choking you with this arm, not yet, but you could feel his ability to. And it would be easy for him to do.

His orange hair tickled your cheeks as he leaned down to be closer to your face, “You didn't answer my text,” his voice just barely above a whisper, his tone playful, but you could feel the malice behind it. He was annunciating each syllable of each word, speaking slowly so you couldn't say you didn't hear him correctly.

“T-text?” You stuttered back. Which text? Ajax texted you all hours of the day and night. Was he actually taking your dry, one word answers as replies? Was what you were doing to try to push him away only making him push back harder?

With an arm still around your neck, his other hand trailed down your body. His fingertips traced every curve of your clothed person, until they landed on the hip. He took this time to squeeze and groped your lower body before slipping your phone out of your pocket and typed in your password.

The blood drained from your face while you watched him scroll through your apps. No one knew your password. No one. Yet he typed it in like it was a regular occurrence for him.

“Didn't even save my number,” he whined, “Don't worry, I've got you.”

His name was changed from a string of numbers to “Childe <3” not giving you the chance to protest.

“You really are a bad girlfriend,” he muttered again, not caring about your lack of a response to him. Girlfriend? Since when were you his girlfriend? You felt like you were spinning in place and your head just felt so heavy. He was saying everything so casually, like you were supposed to agree with it, like you were the one who was wrong.

“Ajax, I think you've misunderstood something,” you said a little too quickly, but your lungs felt like they couldn't get any air in them.

It seemed like he ignored your words completely as he continued to scroll through his messages to you, where he was practically talking to himself, “See? Right here. I asked to take you out for coffee,” he held the screen up to your face.

Sure enough, he had. But you never responded and that text was quickly swallowed up by the myriad of other texts he'd sent you. His flirty messages were ignored by you, more often than not you only replied out of what felt like obligation and fear. Anyone who said you were lucky to have the oh so popular Ajax crushing on you, obviously didn't look into those empty eyes enough.

He sighed and using that arm around your shoulders, began to drag you in the opposite direction from where you were going. You tried to stop him and pull away, but his strength only made you stumble over your own steps, falling into his arms.

“Where are you taking me?” Fear was laced in your words as you continued to struggle in his grasp, but he didn't stagger.

“Coffee.” He spoke with ease as he continued to drag you along with him, that well built, muscled arm shifted ever so slightly to your neck and starting to choke, “I think we need to talk.”

[shadowdaddies]

Could I request a Cassian x reader fic where reader is really shy and almost innocent and Cassian finds her so adorable and they have sex for the first time?

always love some Cassian. Here ya go lovely

Adventurous

Cassian x Reader

Warnings: smut below the cut, oral f!receiving, corruption kink-ish, minors dni

The moment Cassian saw you for the first time at Rita’s, oblivious as your silky pink dress rode dangerously high up your thighs, he knew he had to have you. The sweet blush that dusted your cheeks, your nervous giggle when he shook your hand for the first time, soft small and soft against his rough callouses - you had no idea how quickly you had the general wrapped around your finger.

One night, he stumbled into the House of Wind after a long day of training to overhear you talking to Mor over a glass of wine. Your soft laugh chimed like bells, the sweet innocence of the sound softening his mood, as your presence always did. 

“I’ve had sex, Mor. I’m just shy. It takes me awhile to feel comfortable with someone, so I’ve never really gotten to a place to be... Adventurous, you could say,” you admitted with a giggle.

Mor gave you a smirk behind her glass of wine, those all-knowing eyes staring right through you as though she could read your every thought. She sat her glass on the table, finger swirling around the rim as she leaned back, a cat-like grin on her face. “What about Cassian?” she purred in a low voice.

Cassian’s heart began pounding in his chest. He knew it was wrong to listen in on this conversation, but was frozen in place as he waited to hear your answer. He’d dreamed of taking you, of making you moan louder than he’d ever heard your soft voice. The image of you writhing on his bed, mouth open in a silent scream as he pleasured you consumed his thoughts - only for him to be drawn out of them by the sound of your nervous chuckle.

“I don’t think Cassian is interested in me,” you murmured, blush deepening on your cheeks. Mor’s face contorted in confusion, a disbelieving laugh escaping her. 

“Why would you think that? You’re beautiful, and-“

Her words were cut off by the sound of boots against the hardwood floors, Cassian purposefully trying to make his presence known. The general turned the corner into the living area where you sat, his long black hair unbound in waves around his face. 

Your heart leapt in your chest as his hazel eyes locked with yours, a look of hunger dancing in them as he watched you. Mor’s gaze flicked between the two of you, a satisfied grin prominent on her face as she winked at you. 

“I think I’d better head home for the evening,” the blonde sighed, an obviously fake yawn echoing through the room as she stretched her arms. “Have a goodnight, sweetheart,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek before giving Cassian a hug, and vanishing into a cloud of darkness as she winnowed home.

Cassian cleared his throat, shifting on his feet as you dared to look up at him through your lashes. A nervous giggle left you at his intense stare, blush creeping further onto your cheeks as you granted the Illyrian a shy smile. 

“Did you... happen to overhear any of that?” you whispered, hands fidgeting as you watched his eyes darken, a musky scent filling the room. Heart beating in your chest, your tongue subconsciously flicked out over your bottom lip as his chest moved with deep breaths.

“Yes. I heard,” Cassian admitted, his voice a low growl as he prowled towards where you sat on the sofa. His eyes flicked down to where your breasts strained against the fabric of your top, your own breaths growing ragged as the scent of your arousal filled the room. 

“Would you like that? For me to touch you, to show you what you’ve been missing?” A whimper left your lips as you nodded, transfixed on Cassian as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, pushing inside. His thumb pressed down on your tongue, drawing a pathetic moan that had his cock straining against his leathers. He leaned forward, dark waves of hair brushing your cheek as he licked up the shell of your ear. “I can’t promise that I’ll be gentle. I’ve dreamed of this for too long, all I can promise is that I will ruin you,” he groaned into your ear, breath warm against your skin as his teeth tugged your earlobe.

“Please,” you whispered, hips bucking involuntarily as you leaned desperately into his touch. 

Gripping your chin between his fingers, Cassian directed your gaze to his. With a wicked smirk, his pointer finger stroked under your chin, snapping your jaw shut. “Well, since you beg so prettily for me,” he murmured, leaning in to press a fierce kiss to your lips, forcing his tongue into your mouth as teeth clashed, both of you hungry for more. 

Strong arms swept you up bridal style as Cassian carried you to his bedroom, kicking the door open before tossing you effortlessly onto the bed. Striding purposefully over to where you lay, Cassian’s hands found your top, ripping the fabric, exposing your bare breasts to the cool air of the room. 

“Fuck, you are so beautiful,” he murmured, hands trailing down to the waistband of your pants. Quickly, you moved one foot to his chest, shaking your head with a playful smile. 

“Your turn,” you purred, nodding to the leathers that still adorned his chest. A small laugh left Cassian’s lips as he unbuckled the straps, slipping of his top in record time. Biting back a moan, you marveled at his broad, tattooed chest, toned as a trained warrior. Moving your legs to wrap around his waist, you pulled Cassian forward, relishing in the power you felt as he fell on top of you, arms supporting him as he hovered above you on the mattress.

Running your hands up his chest, you admired the muscles beneath as you ground up into him. With a growl, Cassian took your hands, pinning your wrists above your head as he kissed and sucked his way down your neck. 

“I have had too much time to think about everything that I want to do to you. Keep your hands there, and do not rush me, angel,” he murmured, eliciting a gasp from you as his tongue flicked out against your nipple. His hand found your other breast, pinching lightly as he pulled on the bud. 

Squirming under his touch, you tucked your hands behind your head to keep from pushing him down further where you wanted him. His warm, soft lips sucked on one breast, a sharp contrast to the cool callouses teasing your other. 

“Please, Cass, I need more,” you pleaded breathlessly, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. With a dark chuckle, Cassian switched his movements, soothing the teased nipple with his tongue, hazel eyes locked on your expression as your head lolled back against the mattress in bliss.

You could feel his smirk against your skin as he kissed his way down your stomach, long hair softly tickling your sides as he sucked harshly just above your pants line, sure to leave a mark. Warm fingers skated underneath the fabric of your waistband, encouraging you to look up at the Illyrian who lay between your legs.

Brows furrowed, you bit your lip and nodded in permission. Nostrils flaring, Cassian, dragged your pants down to your knees, pausing as he saw the lacy pink panties that barely covered your soaked core. 

A guttural groan escaped him, nose brushing your clit through the fabric as he inhaled your scent. You felt his tongue flick out, the warmth of his saliva seeping through the fabric of your panties as you wriggled against his touch. A dark, taunting laugh escaped the general as he pinned your hips firmly to the bed. 

“You are not going anywhere before you’ve screamed until you can’t speak,” he growled, ripping your pants and underwear down in one swift motion, baring you to him completely. 

Eyes heavy with desire, Cassian blew cold air onto your pussy, reveling in the mewl that escaped you at the stimulation. “Tell me how bad you want me,” he murmured between kisses up your thighs. “Tell me you need me.”

Small, breathy moans were pouring from your lips as you tried to form words. “I need you Cassian. I need you to touch me, I need you more than air. Please, please fuck me,” you pleaded.

Cassian paused, raising up slightly as he admired your disheveled state, hair splayed out as you spread yourself for him. “I will fuck you, after I taste you,” he spoke firmly, just before his tongue licked a broad stripe up through your folds. 

You gasped, moaning loudly as Cassian continued licking, thrusting his hot tongue into your core as he spread you open for his use. His tongue found your clit, flicking back and forth quickly as his lips wrapped around the swollen bud, sucking in a rhythmic pattern that drew your to your orgasm quicker than ever before. 

With shaky breaths, you dared to bring down a hand to thread through Cassian’s long hair in an attempt to warn him of your approaching orgasm. He moaned at the touch of your hand in his hair, the vibration sending you over the edge as you convulsed, shouting his name as your high coursed through you.

Panting, you came to to find Cassian hovering above your waist, smirking as he licked your release from his lips, the remainder dripping from the male’s chin. 

“I do believe I told you to keep your hands to yourself. Didn’t I, sweetheart?” Cassian’s hands slid up your arms, holding each of your wrists in his grasp as he flipped you to your back. Your hands pinned behind you in one of his, your face was flat against the mattress as his free hand massaged your ass before landing a soft smack.

You gasped, wiggling into his touch instinctively as he laughed amusedly at you. “You like that? Do you want me to be rough with you?” he ground out, hips rutting against your backside as his hand continued working your ass.

“Mmm, yes please,” you whimpered, dizzy with need as you heard ties being released behind you. Cassian’s pants dropped to the floor, his cock rubbing against your folds as he pulled you towards him by your wrists. 

“If it’s too much, you yell stop. Okay?” he murmured, voice softer this time as he leaned down to press a kiss to your neck. You nodded, whispering a ‘yes’ as you arched into him, desperate for more. “Good girl,” he groaned before thrusting into you.

Collapsing into the mattress, you moaned at the stretch of his cock inside of you, clenching at the fullness of him. Cassian groaned, jerking you up by your wrists as he pinned your back to his front, your knees on the bed as he stood on the floor. He bit into your neck, soothing over the spot with his tongue as he began pounding inside of you.

The feeling was unlike any you had experienced before, his large cock hitting the perfect spot inside of you every time as you lay limp against his chest. Cassian released his hold on your wrists, bringing one hand to toy with your nipples as the other rubbed circles on your clit. 

You screamed out in pleasure, legs shaking as you reached your high for the second time tonight. Cassian slowed his thrusts inside of you, trailing kisses down your neck as hazel eyes found yours. “Are you alright?” he questioned, sincerity written on his features.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the question, smiling as you leaned back against him, grinding your ass along his front. “Okay wouldn’t be adequate. That was indescribable,” you murmured, pulling him down for a kiss.

“Good, because we’re not leaving here until I’ve shown you the meaning of ‘adventurous’,” Cassian muttered, teeth tugging your bottom lip before flipping you onto your back, spreading your legs as he opened you up to him once more.

[6ix9inewiturmom]

Crying on your birthday

Summary: You’ve been best friends with the triplets since you were born and your boyfriend of 2 years broke up with you on your birthday and chris confesses his love to you in an interesting way;)

Warnings: Smut!! P in V, Dom!Chris, Sub!reader, choking, hair pulling, use of Y/N, unprotected sex (wrap ur snickers), Oral (fem reviving), fingering, cursing, alcohol consumption, cream pie, cursing, lowkey possessive chris?, (lemme know if i forget anything)

A/N: not requested but i had this idea cookin in my head for a WHILE!! this is a long one so be prepared!!

:¨ ·.· ¨:

`· . ꔫ

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

i’ve known the triplets since i was born. our moms were best friends since they were 9, Marylou and My mom went to college together and even had me at the same time Marylou was pregnant with the boys. i’ve thought nothing more then the triplets as my brothers, but chris… Christopher owen.. that boy has his ways with me about ever since we hit puberty together and learned we didn’t have the same body parts, now we never showed each other we liked each other so i never knew he liked me back. marylou always told me she’d seen me with either matt or chris. once matt started dating i KNEW i was never his type.. not in the slightest. nick and i were always just besties, once he came out it made more sense why he never attempted to “flirt” with me, so we were strictly just best friends or siblings. but chris? oh no he was a huge player, he treated me like a sibling but there was something about the way he “joked” with me i knew it was something more, but none of us ever talked about it so i ignored it, and just assumed that’s his way of joking. i’ve been dating my boyfriend, Cooper, for 2 years now, things were amazing, the triplets and their parents, were super supportive of me and him considering how we were raised as siblings. my mom liked him but i knew she never loved him.

today was my 21st birthday, i was actually about to have my ‘first drink’. at least to my parents knowledge. the boys and i would always sneak alcohol behind mine and their parents back all the time from the ages of 15-19, that was till they got themselves a house in boston, and i got an apartment close by in boston as well.

i spent about an hour and a half getting ready. i wore a black tight dress with little pink bows connecting to my middle breast, pushing my breast up and against each other making them look nice. with the dress i put on some thigh high leather boots with a slight heel on them.

cooper had finally texted me saying he was at my apartment to drive us to my venue i had booked for about 300 people. i knew my 21st had to be huge. i walk

down my stairs of the building leading to coopers car, but as i’m walking to him i’m expecting his usual flirty compliments such as, ‘hey sexy u come here often’, ‘can’t wait to rip that off you tonight’, ‘gimme a twirl lemme see that ass’, but strangely, it’s like i was a ghost to him, i ignore it thinking he just had a bad day at work or something.

“Hey coop! you ready” i say getting in the car closing the door smiling.

“hm? oh yeah i’m ready” he shoots me a fake smile before flipping his phone over face down and under his thigh slowly backing out to drive to the venue.

he’s never done that before? why did he hide his phone like that? why under his leg? i wonder so many things in my head but im not gonna let it get in the way of my birthday.. not happening, been waiting on this day for YEARS, today was about me!

the drive was silent and lifeless, never in the 2 years we’ve been together had our drives ever been less then filled with laughter and jokes, or blasting music and singing along to our shared playlist together. i plug my phone up to the aux cord and start playing our shared playlist thinking maybe i could lighten the mood but that doesn’t work. hes distant and it’s irking me, but again i brush it off cause its my birthday of all days.

i text chris a simple text telling him i was close to the venue hoping he’d be there and not take his princess ass his sweet time. as we pulled up to the venue i’m all smiles and giggles and as im walking towards cooper to hold his hand as im walking into the place he drops my hand, ive officially had enough of this i stop in my tracks.

“nu uh what the fuck is ur issue, first u hide ur phone, next ur completely silent, and now u drop my hand?” i slightly yell trying not to cause a ruckus infront of the venue

“just not feeling the party mood Y/N” he says almost uninterested in my feelings

“cooper marshall?? not in a party mood?? i don’t believe it.. not for a second, u literally have ‘party monster’ tatted on your thigh.. you NEVER turn down a pary, specially for your GIRLFRIEND of 2 YEARS, might i mention” i yell pretty sternly at this point not caring who hears

“yeah Y/N i’m not in a party mood, it’s not that hard to believe.. plus ur too clingy sometimes expecally when you can’t take a hint when someone’s upset you’re still fucking attached to me at the hip, i’m not always feeling you” again uninterested in how i feel

“Cooper what the fuck? i’m too ‘clingy’ where is this coming from?” using air quotes to emphasize my words.

cooper rolls his eyes “Y/N you’re causing a scene at your party you so desperately wanted to have, let’s just go” he attempts to grab my hand to drag me inside.

i drop his hand “no, your not just gonna ignore whatever issue you have with me, ESPECIALLY on my fucking birthday cooper”

again he rolls his eyes “i’m not doing this Y/N”

my eyes widen “doing what exactly? the party? me? what?”

he sighs before running his fingers through his hair “everything Y/N.. just leave me alone, don’t text me, don’t call me, just don’t worry about me and have fun at your pitty party”

my jaw dropped, if my jaw could break, my jaw would be in hell for how low my jaw hung. “your seriously breaking up with me?”

he presses his lips together and nods “yeah i guess i am i would say im sorry but im not.. bye sav-“ he stops abruptly before trying to fix his mistake of calling me the wrong name “bye Y/N”

tears start forming in my eyes “you were cheating on me? now ur breaking up with me on my fucking birthday? i truly thought better of you..”

he turns around “it’s not like you probably aren’t fucking chris behind my back anyway, it’s only fair” he shrugs

tears streaming down my face trying to comprehend what he just said.

“fuck off cooper” i storm inside the venue and as i walk in im greeted by the three same face people i grew up with.

“i uh- we uh-“ matt starts

“yeah we- you see” chris try’s to save matt

“oh my god you guys are fucking idiots.. Y/N we saw the whole thing.. what they’re trying to say is we’re sorry” nick finishes his brothers sentences and brings me into a tight bear hug.

i sniffle into nick as matt and chris both hug me, i pull away softly.

“i-it’s okay.. let’s just party, there’s 300 people here for me, i’m 21, finally we’re all 21 together, let’s just party and get drunk” i say promoting a half assed smile

“love ur attitude Y/N but let’s actually have a good time! also you look wayy too hot to be crying on your fucking birthday” nick says with his positive energy he always promotes

“you do look good sassy” chris says with his infamous smirk.

‘Sassy’ a nickname chris gave me when we were 8 and i was starting to get into my personality being sassy and not taking bull shit from anyone.

“thank you bubbles” i say with a smile. bubbles was a nickname i gave to him when we were 5 cause he was the bubbliest boy of the three.

about an hour went by, i lost count of how many drinks i consumed that night, on average id say about 8-10, i was the drunkest here, my words were slurring, i was full on shakin ass on the air, and my vision was blurred.

“oh chrisssy pooh” i slurred as chris came up behind me helping me walk around.

he chuckles “hey sassy, you’re a little

too drunk”

“whattt” i act shocked in my drunken state “nu uh, am not”

maybe these were my drunken thoughts but his smile could lighten up hell, the way his cheeks puffed up as he smiled, the way his blue eyes sparkle.

“mhm sure, why don’t we get you in the van and take you home and call it quits hm?” nick follows chris and holds my arms up to try and attempt to hold me i lean towards chris almost falling down as he caught me like one of those corny romantic movies.

i glaze into his eyes “you’re so pretty Christopher”

he laughs and picks me up and carrys me bridal style “oh yeah you’re done for love”

i nuzzle into his neck as nick, matt, chris and i walk to the van smiling like a kid in the candy store.

i randomly start busting out into drunken laughter as chris attempts to buckle me in “you wanna know something funny? cooper told me that i was fucking chris behind his back? pft he’s like my brother”

chris laughs and closes the door on the passenger back seat as nick takes the front passenger side and runs to the driver back seat to sit next to me.

“CHRISSY” i say a little louder

“i’m here sassy” he places my head on his lap and starts playing with my hair like he used to when we were kids.

i look up at him as his blue eyes glisten against the moonlight shining into the car window as matt drives to the triplets house “your so sweet to me.. can you braid my hair”

he looks down at me and smiles “yes i can” he takes my head and turns it to the side and starts french braiding my hair like i taught him years ago.

i softly hum before drifting off to sleep until i was woken up to chris carrying me to his bedroom and i groan as he sits me down on his bed “mm chris-“ before i could even warn him im running to the bathroom and puking up every ounce of alcohol in me.

“Y/N??” he says barging in the bathroom immediately holding my hair back to help me and rubbing my back softly saying ‘it’s okay sassy’ ‘i’m here’

i finally stop puking and am just leaning my back onto chris’ chest as he runs his fingers in my hair “you feelin any better”

i softly smile “i’m pretty much sobered up now”

“you ready to get into bed? you can wear some of my clothes and stuff since you weren’t prepared for anything tonight given the circumstances of your recent breakup- oh my god im sorry i shouldn’t have mentioned that im so-“

i cut him off “chris it’s fine, i promise, if anything im already over it… i know i shouldn’t be but i pretty much am” i smile turning my body to face him now

he returns the smile at me “good, let’s get you up and changed” he helps me up off the cold bathroom tiled floor as he guides me to his bedroom and lays out a pair of ‘Fresh Love’ sweatpants and one of his ‘Lyrical Lemonade’ T-shirts for me.

“here you go sass, i’ll be outside the door just let me in when your changed, you can throw your clothes in that hamper over there and i’ll wash em in the morning” he states before attempting to walk out of the door

“Wait chris” i stop “please don’t leave, it ain’t like we used to bathe together” i continue adding a small smile to my face

“okay.. but i’m turning around” he chuckled using his pointed finger to point at me

i smile at him “okay okay..” he turns around and i take my shoes off putting them to the side carefully and taking my dress off leaving me in my bra and underwear which was a matching orange set with little to no coverage on either my breast or ass, i was gonna suprise cooper with tonight but since coopers no longer in the picture it’s just another set in my collection. i throw on chris’ clothes which were a little too big on me but alas they were comfy.

“okay goober you can turn around now” i laugh and he slowly turns around and walks his way to me grabbing my hand and spinning me around like some disney moving looking at me up and down.

“my my my, i thought you looked beautiful in that dress but my clothes looks 10x better on you” he chuckles

i’m a giggling mess “oh stop it chris, you’re just fuckin with me”

he shoots me a smirk “eh maybe i am, maybe im not..” his voice trails off almost nervously

chris? nervous? never, i’ve warned his clothes thousands of times and never once has he showered me with affection the most id normally get is ‘i better see that hoodie back in my closet’ jokingly of course.

but alas a blush creeps on my cheeks giving away i liked his compliment, i can’t deny ive always had a thing for chris, i USED to only look at him as my ‘brother who’s not actually my brother but is my brother’ but that was before i knew what boys actually were. chris and i had/have never hooked up before, granted we were each others first kiss because we entered middle school together and Marylou gave them a talk about girls that somehow interested chris and he wanted to ‘get some practice’ as he says. but we were 11, we never kissed again cause we thought it was awkward, that was until i had my first date and didn’t know how to make out, chris, the player of course, was the one i ran to to teach me. cooper knew how close we all were, i told him i’ve only ever kissed chris twice but it meant nothing, it’s not like we hooked up before.

“ma?” chris attempted to get my attention but i was LOST in my thoughts about wanting to kiss chris’ soft lips again… was it wrong to want that?

“hm? oh yeah sorry i was uh just thinking” i laughed my nervousness away

“about what?” he said walking over to his bed, i followed sitting next to him

“nosey.. but mostly just us as kids.. i still think it’s funny cooper thought we hooked up, but it brought me to the memories when we were 11 and had our first kiss” i giggled softly

“OH I REMEMBER THAT ONE” he exclaimed “we were in my bedroom at the old house and” before his attempt at telling the rest of the story i joined in

“we didn’t talk for 3 days because we thought it was weird” we said in unison

we both laugh but slowly we just start looking at each other in a not so friendly way.. more of a romantic way, now i know i just broke up with my boyfriend of 2 years and the last thing i should be doing is looking at chris wanting his nice plump limps on mine.

before i knew it chris’ lips were attached to mine but i didn’t hesitate once, i immediately kissed him back but what was weird is that he pulled away… i thought i would have pulled away.

“i-im sorry i shouldn’t have done that” chris attempts to apologize

“no you should have… i know im recently single but… i want you to kiss me again���” i attempt to make him feel better the thought of his lips on mine and everywhere else on my body just came flooding down and creating a sense of heat in between my legs

chris leans in using his hand to caress my cheek before pressing his lips on mine this time in a more passionate manner, but with a hint of sexual desire in his lips, he wanted this just as much as i did, maybe more.

i softly moan into his lips as his hand travels down to my hips and up and down my upper thigh before slowly pulling away

“is this okay…?” he looks nervously down at his hand on my thigh

i nodded but that wasn’t enough for chris

“i need to hear you say it ma, tell me if i can do this” he looks at me deeply in my eyes.

“yes chris, this is perfect” i smile

“god i’ve been waiting for this my entire life” he kisses me again while using his hand to move into the waistband of his sweatpants i had on and taking off the pants laying me down on my back and pulling away from the kiss to admire the orange set of underwear i had on.

“such a whore for wearing such slutty underwear like this like you’re asking to be fucked…” he growled placing himself in between my legs and pulling my underwear to the side and admiring the glistening from my wetness coated on my pussy almost drooling and using his finger to collect my wetness on his finger.

“fuck you’re dripping…” his finger was drenched in my arousal he took his finger in his mouth to have a taste and his eyes lit up with desire and hunger for me “cooper would be shitting himself… i bet you’ve never been this wet for him eh? only for me?” he states cockily

“mhm” i smiled and nodded before adjusting myself to take off his shirt i had on showing him the rest of the matching set i had on, both being in his favorite color and little to no coverage for my hard nipples.

that’s all it took and his mouth was attached to my clit placing open mouth kisses on it eating me like his life depends on it, eating me like a gun was placed to his head for his last meal.

a loud moan escaped through my lips as my jaw when open “chris!” i yelped “fuck you’re too damn good at- at this” i state with a shakey breath.

he moaned against my pussy sending a vibration through my body feeling his smirk against me, he lifts up to speak “i bet ur sorry excuse for an ex couldn’t treat this pussy like it deserves” he smirks

“shut up christopher and use that mouth for good use” he didn’t look to happy

“i didn’t say you could speak back to me” he lightly slaps my clit, causing my hips

to jerk forward and a soft whimper let out my lips.

“oh? you like that?” he slaps it again and another whimper softly comes out me

he dips his head down in my legs again adding a finger and curling upwards to hit my spot just right and my toes began to curl and my back arching off the bed and moans leaking from my mouth, he adds another finger curling both upwards with ease.

“oh- oh chris!” i hum softly “d-don’t s-stop please s-s-so close” my legs tremble lightly

“don’t plan on it ma” he muttered against me occasionally looking up at me supporting myself with my elbows dug into the mattress, head thrown back, with my nails twisting the sheets between my fingertips

“fuck chris i’m ab to cum” i moan out

“do it, be a good girl and cum all over my fingers” he spits moving his body upward to watch me come undone on his fingers his eyes piercing in me keeping his fingers curling up at a constant speed

“mpft- FUCK” i cursed a constant string of ‘fucks’ and ‘chris’ as my legs tremble even more and i came absolutely all over his fingers as he slowly pulls them out with a huge grin and licking my cum up on his fingers

“mmm fuck you taste amazing.. i’ve waited a long time to taste you and i’d have to say it’s the best thing that’s touched my tongue” he grins

i roll my eyes playfully trying to come down from my high “now let me suck tour dick or you fuck me into tomorrow, ur choice” i smirk

he hums softly “now i’d love to watch you suck me off but tonight is all about you sassy, so we’ll save your mouth for another night” he shoots me a wink

“there’s gonna be another night?” i ask smiling and cocking my head to the side.

“i hope you didn’t think this was a one time thing.. im gonna need your pussy in my mouth every night” he smiles pulling his pants down and his boxers down in one swift motion and taking his shirt off leaving him bare… my jaw dropped, his dick is huge… thick and LONG… the sweatpants don’t do him any justice.

he obviously catches me staring “you like what your looking at sass?”

i nod HARD… it’s so much bigger then coopers…

“good” he smirks leaning over me and pressing a passionate kiss on my lips before lining his dick up with my entrance and sliding in with ease inch by inch, i pull away moaning as he bottoms out and starts thrusting his hips at a steady pace to begin with

“oh my god, you’re so fucking tight.. and wet… fuckk” he leans his head back beginning to thrust into me a little faster

“mpfh- h-harder chris” i moan out

his hips immediately went harder hitting my spot every time again. he grabs my neck softly choking me as i’m a bigger moaning mess then i was on his fingers.

“i bet cooper could never fuck you like this… he wouldn’t know what to do with a pussy like yours” chris whispers almost growling in my ear while pounding into me causing the bed to repeatedly hit the wall

“oh chris” i groan out arching my back

“i can fuck you better then that sorry peice of shit… mmm” he groans in my ear

a loud pornographic moan escapes my lips as his tip kisses my cervix over and over again leaving my legs shaking violently beneath him.

he flips me over so my back is arched and my ass is in the air, he begins thrusting in me at a domestic pace as if he can’t control himself with me anymore he’s groaning to the point it’s almost a whimper as my ass repeatedly clapping on his pelvic bone.

“Fuckkk chris… i can feel you in my fucking throat… you’re so deep” i moan out

Smack

he lets a HARD smack on my ass before grabbing a wad of my hair and lifting me up to whisper in my ear

“you’re such a dirty whore” he says nibbling at my neck leaving dark circles on my neck “you’re mine now… no one else’s” he grunts “mine to mark” thrust “mine to fuck” thrust “mine to destroy” he lets go of my hair and pressing my head into the mattress “mine” thrust “mine” thrust “mine” my moans turns into whimpering as i become overstimulated

“c-close” i choke out, i could barely form a coherent sentence.

“mmf- me too ma… just keep taking me like a good girl you are” he groans throwing his head back, maintaining his constant hard and rough thrusts.

my legs now fully numb and shaking violently, “c-cumming” i whimper out as im releasing all over his dick leaving a white ring of cum on the base of his dick.

his thrust became sloppy as he paints my walls with his ropes of cum and slowly pulls out trying not to hurt me he rubs my lower back as i turn over and lay on my back.

“hang on ma, lemme go get a towel to clean you up” he exists the room and i hear nick from downstairs cheering

“YESSSS FINALLY YALL HOOKED UP!!! IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE!!! but next time be quiet or wait till we’re not here yall freaks!” nick yells causing a smile to appear on my lips as chris walks in with a warm rag to start carefully wiping my legs and carefully rubbing my pussy off trying not to hurt me.

“happy birthday sassy” he smiles at me as we’re now laying down next to each other bare, skin to skin.

“thank you bubbles” i smile over at him.

“where does this leave us Y/N?” his smile drops into a nervous expression

“let’s just cuddle and we’ll talk about in the morning okay? i’m too tired” i smile at him reassuringly

he kisses my forehead bringing me closer to his chest “thank you” he whispered

“mhm” i mumbled falling fast asleep with the real man of my heart next to me.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

IDK HOW TO FEEL ABOUT THIS ONE??? it’s a long one but i had fun writing it! ALSO ILY GUYS!!! lemme know how yall enjoyed this one!!

[harkonnen-darkness]

❝𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞?❞

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen X f! Reader

• OneShot

words: ca. 3.000

Warnings: fluff at the beginning, soft and dark Feyd, Feyd bites you bloody -> pain, lies, a few thoughts on both sides, love-hate-feelings (from Feyd of course), dark romance?, him touching your wounds causing you more pain, manipulative bastard

You had immediately noticed how stressed and upset he was, when the guards opened the double doors of your chambers, as he entered. ❝Leave now!❞, you heard Feyd say roughly to the two men. When Feyd had late night political meetings with his family, that mostly you weren't allowed to attend, he always had guards posted outside your doors. He knew there were some maniacs here who thought you were too pretty. ❝Ohh, what happened? What was it about?❞, you asked quietly and hesitantly. You didn't want to provoke him unnecessarily. He just grumbled and shook his head. You swallowed and knew it was about your behavior yesterday. Although it had felt so good at that moment, you knew you made a mistake. But after all these hours, you still couldn't tell whether Feyd was also angry. You had slept next to each other last night too. At the moment you both had spent more of the last few nights in your chambers, than in his. This morning he had also given you a few new hickeys before he had left, which had puzzled you. He could still be angry with you, you thought. You had killed someone he had once loved, at least in a way.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't even notice, when he dropped onto the bed next to you, cold and wet from a quick shower. The dim light of a candle and your pretty bedside lamp only lit up the room a little. But enough to see the pearls of water running down his muscles. Oh, how beautiful the Harkonnen looked. A blush came to your face and you hoped he wouldn't see it. You hesitantly raised a hand and ran your fingers over his skin, which was literally glowing. The water was ice-cold, but his muscles hot as fire. Perhaps he had even trained briefly to calm down? Is that why he was so quiet? Or was he quiet because he was angry with you after all? Even though he was just letting you touch him? Or because of Vladimir? ❝Do you... do you want to talk about it?❞, you asked him quietly. Ever since you knew him, you knew that he was the silent type. Nevertheless, he had opened up to you a few times, told you about events from his earlier days, which you really appreciated. But now your fiancé remained silent. He didn't even shake his head.

The insecurity inside you slowly turned to fear and your fingers detached themselves from him. It would be better to leave him alone. But the Na-Baron grabbed your hand and placed it on his stomach again. ❝Don't stop.❞, he said commanding, but calmly. He had felt your pulse, but didn't say a word about it. It was enough for him to know that your heart was racing because of him. He had to pull himself together not to grin. He turned his gaze away from you and looked at the slightly flickering flame of the candle. Feyd discovered a few other pieces of your jewelry on the table. Some rings, a bracelet and necklaces. He liked your way to dress. The silver and black material was classy and pretty to look at. Especially at you. To this day, he found it strange to find a woman beautiful after he had never looked for this. Different from his harpies, yet so pretty.

Feyd looked in your direction again. Your gentle fingers continued to stroke his body, tracing his muscles. Your eyes sparkled in the faint light, resting on his body as if you were spellbound. Now the Harkonnen couldn't help but grin. He knew exactly how attractive you found and how much you desired him. That none of your moans were fake, as they sometimes were from his pets in the past. He hadn't been very interested at the time, but if you ever thought of faking an orgasm and faking moans, there would be consequences for you. But why fake it when he knew exactly what he had to do to keep you and your body completely under his control.

Feyd suddenly rose quickly, growled your name in your ear and bit into your neck. Not hard, it was more of a light nibble. ❝Just don't do it again!❞, he murmured between bites. You eagerly agreed. ❝It was not good of you to throw the lifeless, bloody body at my uncle's feet and give him a speech. Even though I found the sight very pretty.❞ His hands wrapped around your cheekbones and his eyes looked firmly into yours. ❝Got it?❞, he asked sternly. ❝I'm sorry.❞, you whispered, meaning the words sincerely. At least to him. ❝I don't care about that. In my opinion, you could do that more often. I like it when you show who you are.❞, he said, watching the nervous, quick movements of your eyes. ❝What do you mean?❞, you asked, tilting your head a little. A dark smile came to his lips. Feyd rarely smiled, but when he did, it even scared you a little. It was different from the gentle ones, he sometimes gave you. It seemed as if he had thousands of terrible thoughts in his head that would frighten even you, a warrior. And when his piercing eyes didn't break away from yours, you even had to break eye contact. You loved him, but even in such small moments, you became uncomfortably aware of how dangerous this man was. It was as if you were seeing him for the first time. And his mere form frightened you. In a completely different way, than the Baron did.

Feyd's strong hands suddenly grabbed your legs and pulled you onto his lap. He growled, but not as deeply as usual, which calmed you down a little. His lips touched the thin skin of your neck again, his hot breath raising every last hair on your body. ❝I told you, and not just once, why I chose you…❞, he growled against your skin. His tone wasn't quite as serious as before. You tried to understand his words, but the intimidation literally made your brain go blank. You were relieved when Feyd helped you to your knowledge. ❝… Lady Skiras.❞ You wanted to slap your forehead when you understood. You smiled briefly as your nervous heartbeat relaxed a little. ❝What good is a snooty, spoiled and stupid princess, when I can have a proud warrior by my side, hm?❞, he asked you, and you felt his black teeth on your ear. Feyd liked it when you showed dominance over others? Did he like your brutish manner and veins?

You put your hands on his chest to create some distance. He looked at you in confusion. ❝I couldn't control myself yesterday and I know it was a terrible mistake. And I'm sorry about that. I'm just glad that, as it stands, I won't be banished and-❞ ❝This wanker can say what he wants, I wouldn't let him do that! And he knows that. Nevertheless, I repeat that you shouldn't do that again... at least not in the near future.❞ You nod immediately and fall against his chest. You enjoyed the pleasant warmth emanating from his body, hearing and feeling his heartbeat against your cheek. He leaned his chin on your head, one arm wrapped tightly around your body and pressed you closer to him. His other hand stroked your bare legs, as you wore a pair of snug shorts. And he realized again that he was admitting his feelings to you, when he spoke out, that he would not allow you to be taken away from him. Never. His eyes wandered over your legs, realizing that his markings on your skin were no longer fresh enough to him, too faded. You didn't have time to react as he pushed you down onto the mattress. His fingers gripped around your vade, pulling you into the position he wanted you in and immediately bit hard into the flesh of your thighs.

A small gasp escaped your lips, which you couldn't hold back on time. You felt the warm liquid running down your tights, unless his tongue got hold of it in time. However, as his hands didn't move any higher, you suspected other intentions behind his actions. It wasn't sexual this time, or at least only a little. Was he trying to calm down, to relax hinself? 'Please don't let this become a habit' you thought as his teeth dug deep into your flesh again and again. It hurt, it burned, but you didn't want to say anything. You didn't want to upset him any more. You wondered what your bedding would look like, if it had been light. Fortunately, the housekeeping ladies had covered your bed in black this time. Or was this perhaps a disadvantage? Would it be possible to distract him? You knew that a "Please stop." in this case, wouldn't help at all. He emphasized every few days that his marks on you were very important to him. Love bites? It felt less like that right now...

You raised your upper body and Feyd looked up questioningly as you took your shirt off. Underneath you were naked and you were relieved to know, that your breasts were covered with fairly fresh hickeys. You laid your shirt on the floor, your slender fingers wrapped around his wrists. ❝Come here.❞, you whispered and he obeyed. As you lay down on your cozy thick pillow, he rested his head on your torso. He didn't seem to question it. Good. His hands pressed between your back and the mattress to get a grip on you. The young man sighed softly as your fingers slowly stroked up and down his skull, between his shoulders and as far as your arms could reach up to his back. He didn't say a word for a while, his comforting sigh turned into a purr that you loved so much to hear. Yes, he relaxed slowly - and that relaxed you. You would never have guessed how much he was enjoying your caresses at that moment. Feyd wished this moment would never end. There was a kind of peace in the room. A kind of peace that he could do something with. No one to annoy him. No one to speak ill of you. No one would be able to destroy this moment between you now.

The night was quiet. No storm, no thunder, no rain. The air outside was pleasantly cool. Every now and then a light breeze that caused the heavy curtains to move briefly, nothing else. As if this moment had been made for you. Feyd's eyes were half closed, your gentle touches were a delight to him. So unfamiliar, and yet so familiar because of you. No one else had touched him like this. His harpies had touched him gently from time to time, but you did it in a much deeper way. He admitted to himself that you had him wrapped around your fingers at that moment. That he had, again, become weak against you. He hated you for it. And at the same time, something deep inside him longed for you. After your touch, your scent, your voice, your presence. No, no one could snatch you away from him. His uncle would never be able to do that! On the other hand, he thought that you could mock him completely, because of his affection for you. But you didn't. You knew how dangerous the Na-Baron was, he knew that very well. When he had purred the first few times, pressed close to you, he had heard a short giggle from you. That was it. However, he had immediately realized that this was not meant to be derogatory. Nevertheless, he had said that you should shut the fuck up immediately, which you did. Was this perhaps also a sign of trust? That you accepted the way he was? Even his weaker emotional moments?

He twitched a little as your fingertips stroked down his muscular arms. ❝Does it tickle?❞, you giggled softly. ❝Mh-hm.❞, Feyd answered. Audibly tired. You ignored the stinging of your bleeding wounds as best you could. The trembling was hard to suppress, but he actually didn't seem to notice. You suddenly felt as if you were rewarding him for it. He bit you, harder than usual, hardly seeming to notice how much you were bleeding and now caressing him with tenderness. How ironic the world was with Feyd in it. But that seemed to be the price you had to pay, when you wanted to live with him. You knew it could be worse. Much worse. You would see a doctor in the morning after he left and have the wounds disinfected. Now Feyd was so deeply relaxed, it was almost sweet. It was a sign of his trust in you - and that was worth more than anything. You smiled slightly when you heard his purring again. Until he suddenly began to speak. ❝Do you feel safe by my side?❞ It took incredible willpower not to stop your movements in shock. These were the words you least expected to hear now from him. Your eyes darted across the ceiling wall in panic, as if you were looking for an answer. What would satisfy him now? Because the truth was that it was neither a yes nor a no. But you couldn't and wouldn't tell him that.

❝Do you want me to feel safe?❞, you asked a counter-question, hoping that this was the right decision. Feyd didn't answer immediately, but raised his upper body after a few seconds and sat down between your legs. ❝Actually, yes...❞, he began. The very beginning of the sentence unsettled you. ❝... but you're not answering my question with a question, Harkonnen-warrior.❞ His words sounded serious. You quickly decide that you'd better stay lying down. Sitting up now would only lead to another conversation that could make Feyd angry. And you wanted to avoid that at all costs. With a wave of your hand, you gestured for him to come closer. Again he obeyed, leaning his forehead against yours and waiting for an answer. He wouldn't give you much more time. A hand rested on the back of his neck, your lips kissed his ear. ❝Yes, my Baron.❞, you breathed. Feyd had started calling you his Baroness at some point, even though you were not yet entitled to the title. But you hadn't asked. You had simply agreed by calling him that yourself. It was a thing between you, which you didn't do in public. Only when you both were alone.

Feyd smiled with satisfaction. And still you thought you saw something dark in it again. Or were your senses playing tricks on you by now? He took your jaw gently between his warm fingers, kissed you deeply and would have loved to break your neck at that moment. But instead, he dropped onto the mattress, grabbed your soft blanket and covered you up. Himself just a little. He switched off the bedside lamp and blew out the candle, before turning back to you. But not as you expected, he wrapped an arm around your waist to press you closer to him. This time, his hand slipped under the blanket and reached between your bloody thighs, causing you to take a startled breath. With difficulty, you managed not to make a sound. Resting his chin on your head again, he knew he was causing you pain once more.

He squeezed every few minutes, surprised that you didn't react. You lay calmly next to him, your forehead leaning against his chest muscles, your eyes tightly shut. It burned like poison. Feyd felt the warm liquid covering his hand more and more. Knowing that you would have more beautiful scars that flattered you and your body so much. And when you fell asleep at some point, which you couldn't fake either (he would know), he licked your sweet blood from his hand, which he loved so much. Since the corpse of the woman he had often fucked would still be lying around somewhere, he decided at that moment to give you her heart tomorrow as well, since he couldn't give you his own.

-> Taglist 🖤

Good Night. 🌙✨

[fleurmiss]

ೃ⁀➷ ‘cause you’re a good girl and you know it

- ,, lo’ak x fem reader

- ,, you don’t care if you get in trouble!! maybe you do.. but being able to see lo’ak makes you think it’s worth it

- ,, warnings - nothing, fluff, first kisses, confessions, cheesy……. lo’ak is so cute but i literally cannot write for him bru, this sucks btw

-‘๑’- hold on, we’re going home - drake, majid jordan

You think getting yourself in trouble is a foolish thought, you’ve always been witty, respectful, eager to please. The reaction you get from your parents from those 10 minutes of rebellious fun just ruins it all, at the end, the troublemaking deemed “useless”.

Lo’ak knows you’re a good girl, you act so different around him though. Why does getting in trouble seem worth it when it’s lo’ak you’re with? Why does the 10 minutes of rebellious fun turn into 10 minutes of butterflies and stuttering shy messes?

“you know ao’nung almost snitched on us tonight to dad?” you whisper to lo’ak whose chest you’re laying on in a gentle voice, afraid anything louder will wake the whole tribe up.

Sneaking him into your marui pod after eclipse is risky, your parents will absolutely skin you alive if they find out.

Lo’ak is rubbing soothing circles on your waist with one hand, the other arm around your shoulders as yours rest around his waist. It’s peaceful, the calm sound of the ocean waves, the gentle sway of your curtain that hangs upon the entrance, the wind blowing softly into the pod, lulling you in and out of slumber.

“he’ll eat my fist again if he snitches” you giggle, it’s not funny, ao’nung is your brother, but his face on that day when he got punched by lo’ak was something to die for.

“im serious! he’ll regret opening his mouth cuz i’ll make sure bro never speaks again”

“lo’ak, you’ll be okay, ao’nung was just joking around” you smile up at him, he glances at you before letting a smile quirk up on his lips as-well.

lo’ak sighs, “your mom is terrifying y/n, you’re so different from her.”

“neytiri is just as scary..” you shudder and lo’ak laughs loudly,

“i can’t disagree with you on that”

Your eyes widen as you get up and put your palm over his mouth, your body hovering over his as his arms hold your waist to prevent you from falling on top of him

“not so loud forest boy!” you smile as you narrow your eyes at him, removing your palm from his face as you stay in position.

“sorry..” lo’ak breathes out, he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, like ewya sculpted you with her own hands.

‘fuck, she’s pretty’

It wouldn’t take a genius to guess lo’aks inner monologue. You look like an angel.

He realizes you’re on top of him and suddenly his heart is beating a whole lot faster, his cheeks are turning a whole lot redder, and speaking seems like an insanely tough task for some reason.

“y/n..” he whispers, opening his mouth to say something but closing it just as quick.

“yeah?” you smile fondly at him, cheeky almost. Your hand finds its way to his face, thumb stroking his cheek lovingly.

“i- i see you” its quiet, so quiet that you wouldn’t hear it if you weren’t so close to him.

“lo’ak..” your pupils dilate and you gasp softly, letting your jaw hang slightly.

“y/n i love you so much, you don’t even know” he whispers again and you almost fall on top of him from the shock of the sudden confession.

you stare. he stares back.

you smile. he smiles back.

your eyes crinkle and you dip down, he closes his eyes, ready to kiss you! Yes! He’s been waiting for this moment since forever!

You touch your forehead to his and look at his eyes, giggling at his face when he doesn’t receive a sweet kiss from his oh so sweet girl.

His face contorts into a shocked expression , his eyes narrowing in fake offense, he grabs your hips and quickly turns you around, him on top of you as you lay beneath him.

“oh so you think this is funny?” he questions, a smirk on his lips, you wanna kiss it off him so bad.

“so funny” you close your eyes and pucker your lips in a poor imitation of lo’ak and you giggle as he gives you a look that feigns hurt.

he dips in to kiss you as you dodge it and laugh again, finding his misery quite amusing.

“y/n.. i just wanna give you a kiss” lo’ak whispers, his voice soft and his eyes hold a gentle adoration for you.

you cup his face in your hands, you see his eyes dropping to your lips and coming back up to gaze into your eyes, you bring him closer to your face and he reaches forward, waiting just an inch away from your lips to ask for approval.

“you sure you wanna kiss me now? can’t back off later” he teases. Oh how the tables turn!!!

“shut up lo’ak” you whisper and he finally slots his lips against yours, you don’t think he knows what he is doing, this is his first ever kiss, but damn can he kiss well, not that you have anything to compare to, but it feels so good!

You kiss him back, his face in your hands as he tilts his neck to deepen it.

Slightly out of breath, you pull away and he chases your lips, you smile “slow down, forest boy”

He’s panting, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. ‘cute’ you think, you’re about to bring his face close to yours again for a peck but are interrupted by your dearest of brothers.

“Lo’ak you little shit” Ao’nung laughs as he walks through the curtain at the entrance of your marui. Lo’ak gets off of you in a hurry as he helps you sit up aswell.

A groan makes its way out your throat, the disappointment of interruption and the interruption being your brother.

“ ‘nung, you can’t tell mom and dad.” you plead

“you’re so lucky i don’t snitch, if dad finds out lo’ak was on top of his little baby daughter he would never let y/n go out again” he chuckles, sounding kind of evil..

“future blackmail i suppose”

grinning at you both as he walks out the marui “don’t go too far now baby tail, i should be beating your ass for this”

lo’ak huffs as he buries his face in your shoulder, you let out a sigh.

“it’s almost morning, you should go, your mom will definitely know if she wakes up and you’re not there” you say as you grab his hand and tug him towards the entrance.

“ao’nung better keep his mouth shut tomorrow when we’re training”

“i’ll make sure he does, now hurry and go back, get some rest okay?” you smile

“yeah, gimme a kiss”

you circle your arms around his waist and crane your head up to give him a quick peck, giggling afterwards and pushing him out of your marui.

“see you tomorrow?”

“duh” you roll your eyes and he smiles at you

“bye cutie pie”

he cringes at the nickname and grumbles while walking backwards, his eyes never leaving your giggly figure.

“don’t miss me too much lo’ak!”

“i definitely will” you grin and watch him turn around and walk to his marui, which was surprisingly just 4 marui pods away.

Getting in trouble seems worth it when you’re with Lo’ak, but he thinks he loves your good girl persona more than he likes getting in trouble.

[just-honey-dewd]

Tiny Toons Looniversity - Take a Break

I see Bugs performing drag shows for the students at the Loo Bru regularly, while Daffy and Wile E. grade assignments in the evenings.

With this arrangement, it’s a common occurance for Daffy to ask Bugs to get him coffee from Loo Bru to get him through the night. He’ll then return hours later, still in drag, with two coffees in hand, and accompany Daffy (to make sure he hasn’t gone full executioner on the poor students). So if a kid got a D, they have Bugs to thank for that.

Pity the kid who’s gonna get that test back though…

BONUS:

Their names are Renaldo Raccoon and Saul Sheepdog btw, for all you fake fans out there. (Apparently Saul’s just called “Dog student” so far in ttl, but I’d rather believe Babs didn’t give a darn to learn this kid’s name)

[ichorai]

talk ; bruce wayne.

track nine of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; rpatz!bruce wayne x fiance!gn!reader

synopsis ; it’d been years since you died. bruce stood silent in front of your grave, hair damp from the cold rain. you approached him from behind, tipping your umbrella forward just enough so the tears of the sky would stop mingling with his own.

words ; 6.8k

themes ; angst, action, fluff, engaged au, ex-thief au

warnings / includes ; faked death, injuries/blood/violence/death, depictions of human trafficking, a lot of Emotions, reader used to be a thief, mentions of the joker and harley quinn, alfred cameo !! and one smutty-ish sentence?

main masterlist.

The ground was sodden with rainwater, mud clinging onto his black boots. Its long laces were loosely dragging through the dirt, wet and filthy, but he couldn’t be bothered to retie them. Rain dripped from the hair that hung limply from his head, frigid drops pricking his skin and meandering down his cheeks. The cold air from the sky was a pleasant but striking juxtaposition to the hot tears slipping from the corners of his eyes, conveniently camouflaged by the rain. It wasn’t often that Bruce Wayne cried, but for you, he allowed himself to shed a few tears.

After all, it was the third anniversary of your death.

He hadn’t shown up to your funeral—well, from what Alfred told him, he wouldn’t have made much of a difference. There were hundreds of people there. He was just glad he wasn’t there so the vultures of public press didn’t have the chance to shove flashing cameras into his face.

He could just imagine the headlines: Bruce Wayne At Gotham’s Most Notorious Thief’s Funeral, Y/N L/N And Bruce Wayne: A Tragic Romance, Bruce Wayne’s Ex-Criminal Fiance Killed By The Joker.

Bruce coughed into his fist, masking a strained, broken sob as his eyes trailed down your headstone, where your name was carved in stone. His shoulders trembled. The sky thundered. He bit down on his tongue. His lungs felt thick and heavy, as if slickened with tar. 

There were nearly a dozen bouquets of flowers crowded around the stone. Bruce noticed that there were several wilting roses amongst the heap of petals and thorns. 

You hated roses.

“Hope you didn’t leave me any of those,” said an eerily familiar voice from behind him. All of a sudden, the rain stopped pelting his head, shadowed by a dark umbrella, just enough to stop the tears of the sky from mingling with his own. “You know I hate roses.”

His shoulders tensed.

Chest constricting, your name slipped from his lips, nearly lost to the pelting rain. 

“The one and only,” you said. “It’s been a long time, Bru.”

He turned around, stiff. His eyes twitched in disbelief. There was a bitter taste in the back of his throat. A part of Bruce, the grief-stricken part, wondered if he was hallucinating you.

But you were here, in the flesh. And there was a small grin coyly toying at the corner of your lips. You had a hat pulled low over your head, nearly shielding your bright eyes as well, and you were dressed in loose, dark clothing. 

The ring he gave you dangled on a thin silver chain around your neck, gleaming as if regularly polished. You silently noted that he still wore his own engagement ring.

Bruce’s supposedly dead fiance tilted their head, regarding him with veiled fondness.

“Come on,” you said, pointedly turning away so that the umbrella was no longer hovering over him. He flinched when the cold rain touched his skin. He stood there for a second longer, still in shock, before numbly following behind you. 

Rust. 

Bruce could smell it everywhere.

“I know it isn’t much,” you said, shouldering the creaky door to the abandoned warehouse open, “but it’s home. For now, at least.”

You glanced over your shoulder, catching Bruce’s hardened eyes. With pursed lips, you shook the water out of your umbrella before shucking it closed, tossing it somewhere in the corner. Bruce watched as you busied yourself with lighting small gas lamps on rickety metal chairs, before allowing his gaze to briefly dart around the room. It was spacious in a way that was unsettling—dark and dreary, cold and lifeless. There were a couple dozen boxes stacked along the opposite wall, lining the large, moldy windows. A beaten down sofa was placed off to the side, with a thin blanket messily thrown over the back. 

You’d been living here this entire time? 

When he spoke—his first words to you in three entire years—it was shaky and saturated with raw hurt. He was… he was so inexplicably angry with you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered, so quietly you nearly wished he was yelling instead. “How could you… how could you do this to me? To Alfred?”

The splinter within the fractures of your heart was all of a sudden a large stake, and Bruce held the hammer.

A small sigh fell from your lips and you turned to face him fully. “It’s a long story.”

Bruce’s frustrated countenance remained unchanged. “You better get going, then.”

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, before dropping down onto your patchy sofa. “You don’t wanna sit down?” you asked. He gave you no response. “Alright, then.”

There was so much to tell him. You didn’t know where to start.

After clearing your throat, you finally croaked out, “That night three years ago—I contacted the Joker through Harley Quinn. She was an old pal of mine from my crime days. Through her, I asked him to meet me under Gotham’s largest bridge because I had a deal to make with him. A part of me wasn’t sure he was going to show but—my reputation as the city’s most famous ex-thief was more than enough to convince him. He was curious, you see. He thought I was coming back into the business of stealing. It didn’t take him long to realize that I wasn’t planning on working with him, and he was about to call his cronies for back up, but I knocked him out before he could reach for anything. I planted evidence of my death on him—a knife with my blood on it, his fingerprints over my equipment, his hair on my clothes, my skin under his nails. The next couple of hours, I was across the city, ingesting a fake-death pill—potassium cyanide. The next day, the entire world thought I was dead, killed by the Joker—though if you dug up that grave you were standing over earlier today, you’d find it to be empty. I framed him so he’d land in jail, Bruce. Like he deserves to be.”

Bruce’s pallid complexion made it look like he was going to keel over and hurl. “Why? Why did you do it?”

“There were people trying to kill you because of me, Bru,” you whispered. “They wanted me dead, and they wanted you dead, too. I was protecting you. If I’m gone, then they’d no longer have a reason to kill you.” 

“YOU COULD’VE TOLD ME!” he roared, his pain ricocheting throughout the warehouse. All of a sudden, he was no farther than an arm’s length away from you. The blue of his eyes gleamed with a mirage of resurfaced bitterness and anger. His voice quietened, “I could’ve done something. I could’ve helped you. We could’ve worked through it together.”

You shook your head. “You knowing I was alive would’ve put us both at more risk. I had to do it, Bruce. I… I had to do it so I wasn’t under the eye of scrutiny anymore. Being the most famous ex-thief and Bruce Wayne’s fiance meant more eyes on me than practically anyone else in the country. One tiny slip up, and I’d be in jail right next to the Joker!”

Bruce reared back upon realizing what you were saying. “You faked your death to steal again?”

“No!” you bit back, voice cracking. “Not to steal. To help—just without the cops on my back. Without the Penguin breathing down my neck. Without Deathstroke hunting me down. I did it to protect you and help the city in my own way.”

Silence stretched thin between the two of you. Bruce was tense, frozen in front of you, repeating your words over and over in his head.

“I still love you, Bru,” you said, reaching out for his arm. “That’s never changed.”

He moved out of your way, flinching at the mere prospect of touching you.

“Then what do you want from me?” he snarled, gruffer than he had intended. “I grieved you. I couldn’t—I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I’d failed you. I couldn’t save you. It tore me apart, Y/N. I just… I loved you so much. You meant so much to me. And to just… leave without so much as a goodbye! Not even a note!”

Your hand fell back to your side, a sharp ache clawing within your ribcage. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, gritting your jaw and willing the surfacing tears away. “I’d love to hash this out with you, B, but there’s more pressing matters at hand. I would’ve never told you that I’m still alive if I really didn’t need your help.”

There was a beat of silence. Bruce shifted, shoulders hunched over as if he wanted to cave in on himself. The thought of being around you right now was simultaneously the worst thing he could do to himself, and what he desired most. 

He missed you—painfully so. He missed the hard, determined edge to your expression whenever you concentrated on something. He missed the way you used to cradle him close to you when he had terrible nightmares, kissing around his bruises. He missed the way you’d playfully bump your hip against his while the two of you worked on the same table. He missed the way you'd lewdly moan your special nickname for him—Bru—into the mattress when he rolled his hips into yours from behind, pressing hot kisses down your arched spine. He missed your infamous grin, and how it never failed to replicate itself onto his own lips. He missed your scent—a homely mix of cinnamon and lavender, a smell he wanted to drown himself with. After you’d died, he’d sleep with your hoodie pressed against his nose—and he did so until the perfume wore away, and the last trace of you was gone. He missed your laughter, your lighthearted banter with Alfred, your help on missions when he found himself at a dead end. 

This time, you were asking for his help.

And how could he say no to that? 

Bruce’s sore eyes darted from the rusty ceiling to you, watching him intently. “What is it?” 

Hope sparked within you, like a candle lit in the middle of a hurricane. “Human trafficking, Bru. That’s what I’ve spent the past three years trying to take down. Gotham is rampant with it. If I told the police… they would’ve been five steps ahead and relocated across the country and we’d be right back to square one. I finally got my hands on some intel—they’re moving a bunch of kidnapped children through the abandoned railways under the city tomorrow night. I don’t know where they’re going, but I can’t let them leave, or things would get infinitely more complicated. I don’t know how many exactly. Could be a couple dozen. A hundred. Maybe even just one. But I know I have to stop them—and I can’t do it alone.”

There was something akin to awe behind Bruce’s blue irises. “The five missing kids randomly appearing in a homeless shelter last year—that was you?”

A weak grin nudged at the corner off your lips. “Yeah. The poor things were being forced to manufacture illegal firearms with scrap metal parts.”

Another beat of silence. The hesitance in Bruce seemed to wane away with each passing second. 

“How do you know it’s not a trap?” Bruce stepped closer to you, eyebrows furrowing. The fact that all of this was happening right under his nose made a sick feeling twist his stomach.

Your lips trembled. Slowly, you pulled out your phone, pressing on a video file and held it out to him. He took it from you, watching with horror as the grainy footage played. Half of the screen was black, as if filming from behind a wall. The kids were chained, manhandled and shoved into a truck by several armed people, screams and cries echoing along the metal walls. There was a louder shout, closer to the person recording, and the camera began to wobble and shake, pulling away from the crime scene as they began running. The video was cut off there. 

He felt sick. His eyes flickered back up to you, anxiously worrying on your bottom lip. 

“I filmed that around a day ago,” you whispered, throat thick with emotion. You began to physically shake. “I saw it. I tried to stop them—but I messed up. One of the guards turned around the corner and saw me. I killed him, Bruce, or the entire operation would’ve been blown. I… I—”

There was a cold hand on your shoulder. His thumb brushed against the bare skin of your collarbone. Your fiance kneeled in front of you, nodding his head to silently tell you to go on. You swallowed nervously.

“Thankfully, the rest of them didn’t know I was there. I don’t know where the kids are now, and it kills me to wait. All I know is that they’re planning on taking them through the railways tomorrow. It’s the best shot I have.”

Bruce’s stare burned into you. “You’ve been managing on your own for the past three years. Why are you only asking for my help now?”

You winced, pursing your lips. “The man I killed—he didn’t go down without a fight.” 

Gingerly, you shifted your hands down to the hem of your shirt, lifting it up to reveal tightly wound bandages over your stomach. Much to your dismay, they were soaked through with copper-hued blood, a dark shade that sent a queasy tremor up your spine.

Almost immediately, a shadowed, closed-off expression melded over his features. You couldn’t exactly tell whether or not he was angry at you, or just angry in general. 

“You’re bleeding,” he stated, rather bluntly. You bit back the urge to berate him for spelling out the obvious, and remained quiet as he told you to lean back. “Do you have extra bandages?”

“Yeah—in that box in the corner there. Nicked ‘em from the pharmacy down the block.”

Bruce frowned at that, but didn’t vocalize his disapproval. 

In the box, he’d noticed a bottle of alcohol beside the bandages, grabbing that as well. 

He strode back to you, softly asking you to peel back your bandages. You complied, but not without a grumpy divot appearing between your brows. If you weren’t practically bleeding out in front of him, Bruce would’ve found it to be rather endearing.

There were several lacerations across your abdomen, some shallow, and others deep. There were stitches across the more serious wounds, but they were done shoddily. Bruce sent you a look, swallowing hard.

“These look awful.”

“Why don’t you try stitching yourself up, then?” you hissed, biting down on your palm as he started cleaning up your wounds with an alcohol-doused bandage. 

Bruce couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was cleaning up his fiance’s stab wounds after three years of their supposed death. A part of him wondered if he’d wake up from this nightmare, sprawled across his bed with his nose tucked into your hoodie. 

But this was real. 

Your muffled groans of pain brought him back down to earth.

You were real. 

As swiftly as he could, he neatly wrapped fresh bandages over your waist, murmuring a shaky apology when you cried out from the stinging agony of the combined pressure and the cleansing alcohol.

“What else have you been doing?” Bruce asked, much to your surprise. Your eyes darted to his, and his skin flushed with heat, shifting his gaze to the ground.

It took you a moment to formulate a response. You were walking on eggshells around him, afraid that a slip of your tongue would make him get up and leave. “I’ve been in international waters for the majority of the time—staking out meetings, organizing heists, stealing from the rich—all that lovely jazz. I went to France, Mexico, India, New Zealand—trying to find something to do. My purpose. I guess I was traveling all over the place to run away from Gotham for a while. But I came back—because Gotham will always be my home. Because Gotham is where you are.” You fixed him with a pointed gaze, and Bruce swallowed uneasily. The hazy blue of his irises darkened a shade. You spoke again, voice lowered, “I gave all the money to charities, by the way. A couple of orphanages, too. Balancing out the scales, Bruce. For all the shitty things I’ve done.” You gritted your teeth when he wound another set of bandages over you for good measure. 

Your words made an overwhelming sense of nostalgia wash over him, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore. There was good in you, no matter what the press had to say about that. Bruce knew that you were doing your best to help Gotham, just like he was. In your own way, of course, but it was what made Bruce fall in love with you in the first place. 

You cared so much for Gotham. For its people. Even when they probably didn’t deserve it.

“Ironic that I fell in love with one of the richest men in the world, isn’t it?” you chuckled, lolling your head back onto the sofa’s armrest, staring up at the rusty warehouse’s ceiling. Bruce could feel his chest constricting. “What about you, Bru? What’ve you been up to since I’ve been dead?”

The man gave you no response, merely lifting one of his shoulders in a tense shrug. He wasn’t sure he was ready to divulge the past few years to you just yet. As much as he missed you, dreamed of you coming back to him—he couldn’t find it within himself to tear down all the barriers he built around himself since your death. 

It was all too sudden. Bruce needed time.

You understood him all too well, much to his mild relief, and hummed noncommittally, as if to say ‘take your time’.

“You can’t tell anybody that I’m alive,” you said breathlessly, after a moment of terse silence. “Not even Alfred.”

Bruce’s jaw flexed. He didn’t like keeping secrets from the closest thing he had to a father, but he knew that it was necessary. “What’s the plan?”

“They’ll be moving tomorrow. Are you in, Bruce?”

Only now did he realize that his hands were still splayed out over your bandaged abdomen, and he jerked back, as if he’d burned himself. You propped yourself up on an elbow, a hint of an amused grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

God, you were so beautiful. 

It took a great amount of effort for him to look away from your lips, and he focused on leveling his gaze with those bright eyes of yours.

“I’m in,” he said.

You smiled, all warm and utterly heart-breakingly wide, and Bruce could swear the air stilled around the two of you. 

“Alright.” Your hand reached out to clasp his pale, cold one. He couldn’t pull away. He should’ve. He didn’t want to. “We strike at midnight.”

There was something about Bruce’s Batman suit that made you stop and stare at him with awe. Quite a few adjustments had been made to the outfit the past three years—the bulletproof platelets over his chest and abdomen were much more form-fitting than before, and a lightweight cape draped down to his ankles, dark as the night. His mask was different as well—it was tighter and covered more of his face. Seeing him like this made you remember that Batman didn’t hide in the shadows—he was the shadow.

He caught you watching him, the blue of his eyes flashing almost dangerously beneath the moonlight. You noticed the way his gaze trailed up and down your form, soaking in your own suit.

It was a simple outfit, made up of a long, cowled coat, the hood draping over your forehead and stopping just above your eyebrows. It was a mottled hue of grey, perfect camouflage for the dull concrete jungle of Gotham city. A mask of the same color covered your nose and mouth, leaving just your eyes for Bruce to see. The rest of your outfit beneath the coat was dark and well-fitted, with several compartments to store your gizmos and gadgets. 

There were two daggers slid into your utility belt and a third emergency one strapped to your left shin. Further hidden within your pockets were a multitude of smoke grenades, ropes, and throwing stars. 

You had a small pistol wedged into your belt, but that was only for worst-case scenarios. You knew Bruce didn’t like guns.

The two of you stood before the entrance of the abandoned railways, the gaping tunnel overgrown with moss and greenery. He gave you a weary glance, non-verbally asking if you were ready. You gave him a soft nod in response. Graffiti lined the walls near the front, but as the two of you walked in, there were fewer and farther in between. 

The plan was clean-cut. Locate the children, take out the guards, and high-tail out of there. Your fiance (or was it ex-fiance? You weren’t quite sure) had made you promise not to kill anybody but—given the circumstances, you weren’t entirely sure if you could hold up to that promise.

Bruce had this innate ability to move in a way that if you hadn’t known he was already there, you wouldn’t have seen him at all. His hands loosely wrapped around your wrist to guide you to the right, and you couldn’t help but hold your breath at the minimal contact.

In the distance, the two of you heard echoing murmurs, gruff voices of what sounded to be a pair of boisterous men. They were getting closer, and getting close fast. In a whirl of dark fabric, you found yourself pressed up against the wall, Bruce’s face mere inches from yours. His long cape draped over the both of you, blending seamlessly into the shadows. 

It took you another second to realize that his entire body was slotted against yours. His scent warped around you and consumed you whole, an overwhelmingly nostalgic aroma of fresh mint and blueberries and something purely, entirely just Bruce. You inhaled sharply.

This close, you could see the thin flecks of pale green amongst his blue irises, the smudged mascara around his eyes, the small, faded scar on his jaw. You could—

Oh.

A lump formed in your throat. You could hear his heart beating—feel it—thundering against his ribcage, just above where yours was. 

Heat spidered beneath your skin, crawling up your neck and flushing your cheeks. Bruce watched you with an indiscernible gaze, jaw set. Perhaps it was a trick of light, but you could’ve sworn you saw his pupils dilate, dipping towards your lips for a millisecond before flicking right back up to meet your heady stare. 

Desperate for a distraction, you craned your neck, and caught sight of the two men passing by. You bit onto the inside of your cheek, swallowing down a tirade of curses when you saw that they both held guns. Of fucking course they did.

Another couple of minutes, and they turned the corner, speaking to each other loudly. Bruce stepped away from you then, still keeping his eyes trained on you.

They both have guns, you signed with your hands. Sign language was something the two of you learned together during your first year of dating—it was always handy in case of emergencies such as this. 

Bruce cocked his head in understanding. Stay in the shadows, he signed back.

You nodded, and the two of you took off once more, skimming across the gravel so quickly that you were practically floating. 

The two of you slowed to a halt in front of several wrecked train cars, rusted and filthy with neglect. You peered through the glass, noting a few guards milling in front of trucks on the opposite side. That must’ve been where the children were. Tilting your head to look further to the left, you caught sight of a row of children lined up against the wall to the side of the tunnel. Chains shackled their wrists and ankles together. They were entirely silent, which unnerved you more than anything.

You’ve done this a million times before. Why were you so nervous?

Ah, right. Maybe, just maybe, because last time, you got stabbed. Or maybe it was because the love of your life was right by your side—the man who was supposed to think that you were dead. 

You bit down on your tongue in a fruitless effort to quell the nausea roiling about in the pits of your stomach. 

With a gentle hand to Bruce’s shoulder, you signed, Six kids. Get them to safety. I’ll take the guards.

Not allowing him the chance to protest, you reached into your coat’s pocket and brandished two smoke grenades, your other hand sliding out a dagger. You leapt through the totaled train’s doors, before pulling the pins out with your teeth, chucking them amongst the lounging guards. 

Shouts erupted as two large plumes of ashy white smoke encompassed the entirety of the tunnel. Silent as the night, you snuck up behind two guards, bashing their heads together hard enough to render them unconscious. Your dagger flipped in your hand as you knelt, sweeping around and stabbed another right in the leg, dragging the blade down the entire length of their shin. An ear-splitting scream ricocheted across the stone walls of the tunnel. 

That was when the gunshots started ringing out. You were able to dodge them lithely, watching the trajectory of the amber sparks made by the ricocheting bullets and ducking away from its sweeping arc. You drove your dagger straight into the jugular of the guard with a gun, kicking him back until he fell into the gravel, gurgling incoherently through the blood flooding his mouth. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Bruce ushering the children through the wrecked train cars, towards the exit. Panic seized its dark hands around your heart as you spotted another guard—the last one in sight—pointing their gun towards Bruce. 

You ripped your dagger out of the guard’s throat in no less than half a second, pulling your arm back to hurl it through the air. The blade embedded itself cleanly through the side of his head, the impact sending him crashing into the wall. 

A breath of relief slipped your lungs, and you ran over to scoop the fallen gun up, shoving it into your belt. 

Bruce had all the kids—it was time to go.

You dashed through the first set of doors into the train.

A deafening gunshot rang out to your right, and you dove down out of pure reflex.

But you were too late. 

Searing pain blossomed over your chest, your stomach, your head—everywhere. 

Children screaming. 

Footsteps thundering. 

The gravel beneath you—cold and sticky with your blood.

Bruce yelling your name, panic saturating every syllable.

The edges of your vision flickered with darkness.

Chest heaving—heaving—heaving—your breath leaving you—

Bruce… the children…

Oh, fuck. Everything hurt.

Your head throbbed angrily.

“Wake up, Y/N. Look at me. LOOK AT ME!”

Bruce’s voice was tightly interwoven with dread—bordering on hysteria as he knelt down over you, palm applying direct pressure to the bullet hole in your abdomen. A low moan fell from your lips at the searing agony that shot up your body. 

As soon as your eyes dazedly cracked open, Bruce swore under his breath, mild relief seeping into his blown eyes. You’d only been down for no less than two seconds before he ripped his batarang from his armored chest, sending it arcing through the air to the last gunman, striking him down. 

Not a single thing registered in your mind as Bruce swept you into his arms, carrying you down the tunnel and ushering the children along with gritted teeth and panic-laced words.

An overwhelming sense of terror still coursed through the very fibers of his being. He couldn’t lose you—not again. 

“Bats, put me down,” you said, hoarsely. “Put me down.”

A protest was on the tip of his tongue, but the warning glare you sent him made him reluctantly comply, gently lowering you down to your feet. Your hand clutched his bicep for stability while the other still held pressure against your bullet wound. There were so many emotions coursing through him that he nearly felt dizzy with the overwhelming barrage of turmoil. 

The two of you soon reached the end of the tunnel with half a dozen kids in front of you. Bruce herded them into the back seats of the Batmobile—it was a tight fit, but they were small and eager to leave. One of the little girls started crying as soon as she sat down on the leather seat of his car, and Bruce could feel his heart lurch with an ugly amalgamation of anger and concern. 

He slid into the driver’s seat just as you slumped into the one next to him. A groan of pain left you as you began rifling through the car dash’s compartment, whipping out a roll of bandages and began winding it around your abdomen. 

The car purred to life and in no less than half a minute, you were jetting off, leaving the dirty crime scene far behind. 

Bruce’s eyes darted from the dark road to you, nearly bleeding out in the passenger’s seat. You were panting shallowly, head tilted back as you swallowed uneasily. Sweat beaded your forehead.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” he whispered.

“No,” you replied, a biting edge to your tone.

Bruce’s eyebrows drew together. “You have a fucking bullet in you.” His voice lowered, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I can’t lose you again.” The last bit was said softly, his voice cracking with raw hurt. 

You shook your head, stubborn. Your voice was quiet enough so the trembling kids in the back wouldn’t be able to hear you. “Don’t take me to the hospital, Bru. It’ll ruin everything I’ve built the past few years. Nobody can know I’m still alive.”

There was a beat of hesitation. Bruce clenched his jaw so hard it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack under the pressure. “At least let me take you back home. Alfred can help you.”

You frowned but kept silent. Going back to the Wayne Mansion was less than desirable, but it was the best choice you had—the other being bleeding out to death in your rusty abandoned warehouse. Your nose twitched as you slowly shifted to look out the window. 

The drive went by much quicker than expected, mostly because you were fading in and out of a pain-induced unconsciousness. When you cracked your eyes open again, your head was pounding angrily and your bullet wound pulsated hotly in tandem with the thick, languid beating of your heart. You could faintly make out Bruce in his Batsuit just outside of the car, leading the kids into a building. 

Your gaze shifted upwards, a sigh of relief falling from your lips upon seeing the gotham orphanage sign. Bruce helped the woman at the door usher the children in, before handing her about a dozen fat wads of cash. The look on the woman’s face was priceless—mouth gaping and eyes misting over with unshed tears. His lips moved, but you couldn’t hear him from inside the car. 

Once Bruce made sure the kids were safe inside, he nodded once to the woman, before turning back to the Batmobile.

He slid in smoothly, checking all the mirrors to make sure that nobody had followed you. 

“How are you holding up?” he asked, quiet and uncertain.

“I’m alive,” you replied. “Could really use an Advil right now, though.”

He huffed out a humorless laugh. “Think you need a bit more than an Advil.”

You couldn’t find it in you to reply, the edges of your vision darkening at a concerningly rapid pace. 

“Hang on for me, baby,” Bruce whispered brokenly, his hand darting out to grasp your limp one as he drove to the Wayne Mansion, slamming down on the gas. “Hang on.”

The street lights began to expand into a million shards of light as your eyelids drooped.

Blinding, blinding, blinding. 

And yet you could see everything. The blue of Bruce’s eyes that constantly glanced over at you. The trembling of his pale hand on the steering wheel. The tacky blood that meandered down your sides and pooled into the crevices of the leather seat.

All of a sudden—

It all went dark. 

It’d been three years since you stepped foot in the Batcave. 

Really, it was just a private underground railway beneath the Wayne Mansion, but it definitely wasn’t fit for its original use and you were sure at least a couple dozen bats made the dark tunnel their permanent home, thus its name.

Bruce carried you out the car and into his work station, worry woven between every muscle. He deposited you gently onto the table, just as the elevator door rattled open. 

Alfred stepped out, and he immediately blanched upon seeing you, bleeding and teetering on the edge of death itself.

They exchanged a couple hurried words, but you couldn’t hear much. Everything was blurry. 

A tear slipped down your cheek when Alfred made his way to you, his hand cupping your cheek. He had a medkit clutched in his hands, and he popped it open right beside your head. 

“Hi, Al,” you murmured hoarsely. “Long time no see.”

“Hello, my dear,” he replied fondly, deathly calm. It might’ve been a trick of the dim lights, but you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes misting over with unshed tears. “Last I checked, you were dead.”

If you weren’t in so much pain, you would’ve laughed, and given him an easy shrug. “Plans changed, I guess.”

Mustering what little energy you had left in you, you turned to look at Bruce as Alfred began peeling your clothing back to start working on your wounds. 

“Hey, Bru,” you whispered. Bruce’s lips twitched at the nickname. “If I don’t make it—”

“Don’t say that,” he gruffed.

His warning fell upon deaf ears and you spoke again, determined. “If I don’t make it, for real this time, just remember that I love you. And I’ve never stopped.”

Something in his chest broke, and a suffocating sob thundered within him. He clutched at your limp hands, whispering out your name just in time for you to hear before you let the darkness take you one last time.

The first thing you noticed when you came to was Bruce’s hand still holding tightly onto yours. The second thing was the fact that the pain in your abdomen was no longer unbearable, but instead subdued to a sharp ache. 

Your gaze roamed around the room, and you dimly realized that you were in Bruce’s bed—the bed that the two of you had slept in together when you were together. He was asleep by the edge of the mattress, hunched over in a position that wasn’t at all good for his spine. 

He still had the black eye makeup on, smudged and flaking off, dried bits of mascara on his cheeks. His hair was mussed, as if he had raked his fingers through several times. 

When you shifted a bit on his expansive mattress, Bruce stirred awake, the blue of his eyes shifting from confusion to panic to relief in a matter of seconds. 

“Hey,” you croaked. “Thanks for getting me here. And tell Alfred thanks for patching me up.”

“We nearly lost you,” Bruce replied hoarsely. A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Alfred wasn’t sure if you were going to make it. There was so much blood.”

A pained smile stretched your lips thin. “Well, I’m alive. Sort of. How long was I out?”

“A couple hours,” he replied. He exhaled quietly, lowering his head. “I never stopped loving you, too. After all these years… I should be mad at you. I was, at first… but I’m not anymore. I’m just—glad. I’m glad you’re here.”

You blinked, tilting your head. Slow, you wrapped your wrist around his hand, gingerly moving it up to your lips. You kissed the back of his palm, and he cupped your face tenderly just as the familiar sensation of tears began stinging the corner of your eyes.

“Oh, Bru. I’m so sorry for causing you all this pain. I’m sorry.” You hiccupped, not wanting to dissolve into a mess of tears right in front of him. “I love you so much. I wanted to come back every day, I swear. I had to do it. I did it for you.”

A glimmer of pain warbled in the blue of his irises. “After you died… I was in a bad place. I nearly killed the Joker when I visited him in prison—I was this close. Gordon took me away before I could. From then I just… I lost myself without you. I spiraled. I was vengeance. Then the anger just sort of left and all I had left was just this… this ache. This hurt that never went away.”

A part of you was surprised he was opening up. It was as if the dam had cracked, and the water was spewing out and Bruce just couldn’t stop. He began to cry softly, the dark mascara meandering down his face once more and his hand shaking against your cheek. You could feel your heart crumbling through the bones of your ribcage, and you wanted nothing more than to hold him close to you. 

“Please stay,” Bruce croaked. “I can’t lose you—not again. I can’t go through that again. Please don’t let me go through it again.” His forehead fell to the mattress right beside your hip as his hand fell away from your face and his body shook. 

This was him begging, you realized in shock. He was begging you.

Helplessness placed its dark hands on your shoulders, and you were frozen for a second. 

“Bru, baby, I—”

“Please don’t leave. You can fight crime undercover with me. Here. By my side. Please—I love you.”

Tentative, you reached over and gently ran your fingers through his overgrown hair. This seemed to quell his shaking just a bit. He stayed in that position for another minute before peering up at you. 

“I’ll stay,” you said. “But we’re going to have to be careful. I can’t risk more people finding out I’m alive—and I can’t risk dragging you down with me. I need you to understand that if things go south, I’m leaving immediately—to protect you, Bru. And as long as you won’t hold me back from my own missions. We might’ve stopped one trafficking transfer tonight, but I have no doubt that there’ll be plenty more to come.”

For the first time in a very long time, Bruce smiled. It was a small one, the kind that twitched at the corner of his lips and wrinkled the corner of his mirthful, tear-glossed eyes. 

He shifted upwards so he sat beside you on the bed, pressing a chaste, affectionate kiss to your forehead. His palm found its way back to your jaw, and he rested his temple against yours. 

It’d been three long years since you kissed him.

You arched your neck just enough so his lips would meld over yours. A pained, broken noise fell from Bruce’s throat, and he surged forward, kissing you back with just as much vigor. He missed this. He missed you. 

He avoided touching your stomach, afraid that he’d hurt you or rip the stitches of your wound. The last thing he wanted was to explain to Alfred how you’d managed to hurt yourself even more. 

As he kissed you, your hands moved to grip his biceps, nails digging into his shirt. His nose bumped softly into yours and he could feel your radiant smile growing against his lips, utterly contagious. Your homely smell, the mesh of cinnamon and gentle lavender invaded his senses, and he nearly started sobbing again at the pure nostalgia from it all. 

You were back. You came back to him.

“As lovely as this is,” you husked, voice lowered an octave, “I still need you to promise me you won’t hold me back. You’d be Batman and I’d be… a ghost.” It pleased Bruce immensely to see your chest heaving, and your pupils dilated as they shamelessly darted from his eyes to his lips. 

“I promise,” he whispered against your lips in reply. Despite everything that had happened the past few days, he still trusted you to take care of yourself. A thrill shot through him when the cold engagement ring around your neck pressed flush against his chest. “How’d I be able to hold back a ghost, anyway?”

You smiled into him, before tugging him down for another kiss.

[gffa]

I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING but it makes perfect sense and GODDAMN WHAT A DELIVERY ON THE BUILDING TENSION OF IT ALL, because the entire issue was about Tommy pitting himself against Nightwing as a narrative foil, screaming in rage about how Bruce will do anything for him, how he wants to kill Nightwing because Bruce cares about him and how he doesn't really get why Dick understands Bruce in a way he never did. And it's so interesting that I wonder how much Dick is right about Tommy's motivations, because everything Tommy has said up to this point in the issue doesn't really feel like he wants Bruce's life:

"You keep trying to disavow our friendship and eliminate our shared history.  You keep trying to erase my face from your memory so that I have to wear yours!  I'm going to make sure you never forget... by cutting my name into Nightwing's back! You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you, Bruce? But what have you done for me... your first true friend? Besides take everything that should have been mine!" I can see how it seems like that last line might come across as Tommy wanting Bruce's life, that he felt that life should have been his, and wearing Bruce's face is a pretty obvious extension of that. But being enraged by Nightwing's presence, by Bruce's willingness to do anything for that kid, it made it so that I saw it as what Tommy wants here isn't Bruce's life, it's Bruce's friendship. That distinction makes him such a more complicated, interesting presence in this issue, because here he wants what Dick has--the partnership with Bruce, the willingness to throw himself between Dick and any harm that would come his way, the way they can speak volumes with just a shared look. He wants to be the one that changed Bruce's world the way Bruce and the Waynes changed his world. But he didn't, so he has to take what he believes should have been his--and that's why he changed his face again, because what he wants in this issue is Dick Grayson's life. Underneath all of it, what Tommy desperately wanted was to be loved and Thomas and Martha Wayne are dead, they can't love him. But Bruce Wayne lives and he can and does love. Tommy won't find the love he's been hungry for since childhood by taking over Bruce's life, because then the elements of his childhood won't be there to love him.  So he has to become someone that Bruce loves, someone that Bruce will do anything for. And Dick's absolutely right that Tommy wasn't there for any of the hard times or the little moments, he doesn't understand that being loved by Bruce Wayne isn't some idyllic, easy thing. It's hard fucking work because Bruce Wayne is still swimming against the tide of his own trauma and he is never easy about how it affects his relationships. From the outside, it might seem easy--and I think sometimes not even the other Batfam members understand that it's not easy for Dick, either, despite how they too see how desperately Bruce loves him. Yeah, Dick makes it look easy, he drags Bruce to Batburger and teams up with Clark for a god-awful bachelor party and gets Bruce to say he misses him unprompted and thank him for the night. But you don't see all the history that comes with it.  The knock-down-drag-out fights Dick and Bruce have.  The years of hurt and anger after he was fired as Robin.  The hurt of having to fake his death and go undercover as a spy.  The constant push-and-pull of Bruce trying to respect his independence, but also resenting Dick for how much he misses his kid.  Honestly, the entire Ric Grayson arc illustrates so much of how angry Dick still is about all the shit that Bruce pulls. Tommy skips right over that, because Dick makes it look so easy from the outside to be loved by Bruce, but it's not. You can't just cheat-code your way into that role by getting surgery to look like the guy who knocked down Bruce's emotional walls, because every single goddamned day Dick still has to get up and demand that Bruce love him and be the person that drags light into the darkness of Bruce's life. It makes the narrative foils aspect of this issue so engaging because both of them don't really fully get the other, that Dick doesn't understand what Tommy really wants, that Tommy doesn't really understand why Dick has what he has, all of it wrapped up in wanting Bruce Wayne's attention. And it's so interesting because that's kind of the whole point of Bruce as a character, that all these people love him and want his approval, but only a handful ever really get it because you can't love him as this mythic figure that's there to loom over you. You have to love him as the asshole that makes your life miserable but you also admire for the sheer determination he has for justice and that, when he trusts you, he trusts you with everything he has, and because you like his dry sense of humor, you like that he's kind of stupid sometimes.  You have to love him as a man, not an idea.

[kieran-granola]

Nest Fright

TW: omegaverse & incorrectly assumed CSA, or the one in which Bruce wishes he could give the Drakes a piece of his mind posthumously for failing to love and teach their son basic life knowledge.

Tim taught himself everything he knows about seasons from books. This means that he internalized the traditional idea that "the best way a pup can help their omega parent with their season is to stay in the nest."

Unfortunately, with the Drakes gone most of the time, no one really took the time to explain what that rule means.

By the time Bruce adopts him, Tim has seen enough omegas and alphas in season as Robin to think that that means pups have to let their omega parents, well... hurt them. By touching them. This assumption might have played a part in his decision to fake an uncle.

When all the papers have been signed, he's not too worried, though: Bruce is an omega but he doesn't let himself go into heat. He says that he hates the feeling, the loss of control and fever.

...But then Bruce doesn't have a choice — doctor's orders: no suppressants for a while, as they would mess with his painkillers for his latest major injury — and Tim panics as Bruce slides into preheat.

Don't get him wrong, he doesn't want Bruce to think he's ungrateful. However, he doesn't want Bruce to touch him like that either. He doesn't want anyone to touch him like that for now, really, but the fact that B is his father figure makes the prospect three thousand times worse to him.

But.

He's pack now. He benefits from it. Surely he has to do it. Quid pro quo, it's only fair.

And so, despite his hang-ups and fear, he sticks around.

Bruce doesn't know why Tim starts to hide his scent in the days leading up to his heat proper, but Tim isn't his first teenage son. He thinks it's probably just some puberty-related shame.

The truth is that Tim can't find a way to tamp down the terror in his scent.

When Bruce's heat finally comes around, and Alfred knocks at Tim's door to let him know that Bruce is asking for him, Tim has a blood-curdling minute of pure panic before he forces himself to get up and go.

Alfred opens the door to Bruce's suite for him, and Tim walks towards the bedroom like a man condemned. Nausea is rising in his stomach, but he has to be brave. He has to.

Bruce's room smells terrifyingly sweet. The temperature is hotter than it is in the rest of house by a few degrees. Everything, from the dim lighting to the pillows and covers spread around the place screams heat.

It does nothing to settle Tim's stomach. Still, he forces himself to smile when Bruce emerges from the gigantic nest on his bed to trill at him in invitation.

Bruce is flushed red and sweaty. His eyes are glassier than usual. He's clearly sliding, and Tim is pretty sure he knows what that means. He'll need someone to soothe his omega instincts and pleasure him soon.

Tim climbs into the nest on trembling hands. He doesn't manage to hold back his flinch when Bruce grabs him and pulls him in closer to wrap himself around him. He closes his eyes, terrified by what comes next...

Bruce hugs him tight and starts scenting him. He rubs his stubbled cheek against Tim's neck and licks his throat until Tim is reeking of omega. Then, once Bruce's satisfied with his claim...

He settles down and purrs into Tim's hair, just holding him.

Tim stays tense, convinced it's only a matter of time before Bruce crosses a line. He probably just misjudged how deep into the heat B was, and things are just not at their peak yet. He at least expects that clothes will be removed soon.

Except no, Bruce is definitely gone. He's just apparently satisfied with using Tim like a teddy bear. He fingercombs his hair like he's grooming a puppy. He snuggles him. And he stays alert and vigilant, like he's spotted a threat, until Tim's body unconsciously relaxes.

By the time Alfred visits the nest to check on them, Tim is drooping. He's half crushed under a purring Bruce, hopelessly confused, but warm and loose. Bruce is radiating care-safety-father, and it's making it very difficult to stay awake.

Tim's panic rears its head up again at the sight of Alfred. He wonders if he's going to get scolded because Bruce isn't taking what he needs...

Instead, the old butler smiles and asks Bruce to let Timothy breathe, Master.

Needless to say, Tim has no idea what's going on.

It takes Tim another solid day of peace before he starts believing that Bruce isn't going to do anything but cuddle him, feed him like a kid, and hover outside of the bathroom like a particularly disgruntled mama cat whenever he needs to use the loo or take a shower.

After that, he lets himself relax. He doesn't put on new scent concealers and cuddles back, purring for the first time in ages. He takes the time to sleep and bribes Alfred into bringing him a tablet because things get boring after a while when he's not terrified.

By the time Bruce's fever breaks, Tim is better-rested than he can remember being in ages... but he's also still confused? And mildly worried about Bruce's health because? B's not menopausal? It can't be normal for him not to demand sex during his heat, right? Maybe he's ill?

He shares his concerns with a newly rational Bruce and, needless to say, Bruce is appalled and horrified because it reveals what Tim was expecting to happen.

Bruce: "To be clear, you thought I was going to rape you... but you still came to me?"

Tim: "Yes? If that's what you need then I have to help, right? To stay in the pack, I mean."

Bruce, staring in sheer horror: "...Absolutely not! Did your parents—"

Tim: "Oh no, they never spent a season in Gotham."

Bruce: "But they told that you should—"

Tim: "No, no. I, uh, I read it? 'The best way a pup can help their omega parent with their season is to stay in the nest.'"

Bruce: "Yes. So their parent can scent them and reassure themselves that their child is safe."

Tim: "...Oh. Sorry."

Bruce: "I'm the one who owes you an apology if you thought you had to—God, Tim. You're my son, you don't have to do anything to earn your place in my pack much less... anything like that. Please, next time something comes up that makes you feel uncomfortable just talk to us."

Tim: "I'll... try."

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

Things I Noticed While Writing Light The Fuse: Part 12, Episode 5

The battles I fought to get this extended episode, so this one is going to be special, I'm actually going to compare scenes and alternate takes this time~ As such, all my gifs will be in full widescreen to get all the details and love in there 🥰

Now, I've never in my life been a car person, but goddamn if that ain't a beautiful car, let's just appreciate it a moment 😌 also laughing at the film car in the reflection lol

I love how my initial train of thought was 'wait, I don't know those necks... Johnson!' like even so recognizable this close, also they really should've put this in a less kissable area I mean really, how do they expect everyone to not wanna go in for a bite, I can only be that lucky cause I'm getting this tattoo, like there is no doubt about it at this point

Young Joel jumpscare! I love how you can tell this is a flashback just from the sheer lack of gray ;w;

Cut on the left (Hulu), extended on the right (Amazon). I can't believe they cut out that not only was Johnson still a Phoenix when Joel was, but he was there for longer.

This shot is actually a tad longer in the cut version ironically enough

I spy chipped nail polish hehe

Switchblade branded beer, delicious

I actually think Rita was pregnant with Lyla here, which is why he asked, obviously not very far along, and she doesn't seem concerned, so I set this about ten years ago as I wrote. Checking now, Lyla's actress was around 8 during filming, so my guess is that this takes place in 2010-11 or so. In my fic both Joel and Bru were done their turns by the time the war was over, so once Joel was done here, Bru came in, and then after him was Matty, who then proceeded to never leave ;w;

Joel's kinda adorable 😊

Not Phoenix or LtF related, but guys, when I was trying to come up with a rival gang for my s/i Addy to be a part of, I was gunna do something with roses obviously since that her last name/whole brand, and then this gang just is in the show. They're right there, and the rustiness makes me think of another great love of mine, Silent Hill, and when I got to this ep I started choking and screaming like it's so perfect I might as well already be in there

Okay I wanna talk about Joel here for a sec since he's a Phoenix at the moment and it counts. We know that Katherine disappeared roughly ten years ago, cause that's another vague date that was mentioned a couple times in her scenes, both 10 and 8 come up, and that's why I set this scene specifically back ten, ignoring Lyla's actual irl age.

If Joel had already done his business with Burt by now, he doesn't seem too bothered by it, plus he's still a Phoenix, so in my head it hasn't happened yet. At the same time, they're already going around trying to get the other gangs to join their tax deal, which is what Burt did after the betrayal, right? So again, in my head, here's how this all went down seeing as I skipped this part in the fic entirely in place of Avron's flashback, so this part will come as the fic progresses and Johnson talks to them. Everything's already been mentioned loosely, so here's my full timeline that I've been working around just based on this scene and those others.

Ten years ago, Joel was a Phoenix, brought on and found by Burt. While there, he met Rita, and they fell in love and had Lyla. Burt asks Joel for his help with the fake betrayal when he can't get as many other gangs to join, cause this courtesy call doesn't seem very terrifying and what Joel says they should be afraid of, and having his trust is what makes him a Brawler. Rita eventually then leaves while Lyla is still young, as she wanted to get out, and they officially split. Around this time war is now being threatened/going on, and this is when Alice also gets out (not a spoiler cause I've had a few characters mention it already, although she is still a mystery).

Bru comes in before she leaves, and when she's gone a bunch of other quick Phoenixes cycle through to bring up the numbers for war, along with my character Dusty, who then had something with Johnson. After the war ends, Johnson rides the river alone for a while because all the other Phoenixes are now Brawlers, and he's a little safer to continue business alone; it's three years after this scene when he picks up Matty on the side of the road while heading back, and it's all history from there.

Alternate take here, instead of the full follow we get a very lovely shot of Johnson, I love having both versions 🥰

I thought this hard cut was hilarious until I learned I was missing out on more Johnson ;w;

I would wear the fuck outta this, I'm gunna be slowly collecting gang jackets by the end of this fic

This rink looks so damn awesome, this place is so me 🤩 Damn, these guys are doing pretty good for themselves, 7 territories plus this badass rink

I can't decide if I like the idea of the Phoenixes being created just for the Brawlers, or if their gang was so small that they were hired entirely, forever stuck under them or else they'd be obliterated. I already have the starts in my mind, I know for sure how most of it goes, I just need to decide on this final bit 🤔 and this is super fast but watch Johnson, he steals a drink from that girl fuckin lmao

The way he says all this makes me think that either they're 100 miles up the river back at the 707, or they're actually going around telling everyone to pay up and bringing the war to them (which weirds up Joel and my timeline), and this really is a courtesy call before they head to wherever they're parked for the night. Might not've been great for them to drive up to either after the beating they're about to get oop

Oh to have Johnson toss me a lighter with a lil tongue click to get my attention 🥰 Joel's also so banged up, this makes me think they've been doing this all day maybe and this is just another/the last stop for the night, with little success

Short king not even afraid Weird Al lookin' ass staring Joel down he's going right for the jugular

This one's just for me. I adore how this is just how he adjusts his sleeves. Johnson please look down on me like that while you're getting ready to fight pleasepleaseplease

I will never get over the height on those pants, also her already getting ready to beat his ass lol there is no intimidation going on here at all and I love it

I love hard cuts so much. What happened to Joel the Mover here, he kicked so much ass it got him that name and he couldn't even fight a man as part of his job. It's funny how incredibly different these scenes are played, with her instantly accepting it and then driving him to safety, to them having steamy makeouts while he's got a knife in his side and Johnson's just thirdwheeling in the backseat lmao also his arm! It's naked!

I'm in love with you. I'm also in the backseat confessing my love right now. He got hit right in the forehead with that skate and he can't even smoke and he's beautiful.

I also really love how incredibly talkative he was this entire scene! I wonder if he talked more back then, and then just got used to Matty saying everything, or if he just talks more around the other Phoenixes, cause he only talks to the Monster Ring first to get Ethan back and that's it, the rest is all to Matty and Ethan outside of being alone with Burt and speaking up Doris because the others wouldn't.

No other times with Joel, no Bru outside of the finale lie because Matty was nervous, or Queenie, no Meredith even, no Percy, no Bash, not even to Avron outside of that whistle. This man does not speak unless he has to, unless he's talking to Phoenixes, then he's got sparse comments galore.

Phew that was a big one, I wanted to get all of the changed stuff in here this time and I actually hit my limit right at the end and had to delete a screenshot to make room, can't end this one on anyone else other than Johnson ❤️

[zahri-melitor]

The Best of DC #22

This is another reprint edition of a bunch of Christmas Stories, I'll run through them:

A Swinging Christmas Carol - Teen Titans #13 (1996). I have already covered this. No Santa, just A Christmas Carol retelling.

Merry Christmas - Batman #247. Still no Santa. A family gets trapped in the snow and comes across a mysterious house with an old man astronomer inside. They encounter a criminal inside who wants to kill them all. Batman turns up and ends up punching out the criminal (after they all get herded back out into the snow). They're saved by a Bright Star In The Sky (according to the astronomer) as apparently a very convenient supernova goes off and blinds the criminal right as he's trying to shoot them.

Freddy Freeman's X-Mas - Captain Marvel, Jr #46. Only fake Santas. Freddy's moping about Christmas a bit as he wishes people wanted FREDDY not Captain Marvel, Jr for things. Then Mrs Fortheringham invites him down to the orphanage to celebrate with the kids. One sad kid points out they never get any presents, so Freddy goes on a quest to find some, runs into an old villain of his playing Santa, Lightfingers Louie, who agrees when Freddy asks him to come play Santa for the kids, and gets the X-Crooks Club to put in to get presents for all the kids. One of the X-Crooks doesn't want to give money (Hard John), and ends up beating up Louie and stealing the Santa suit and presents. However when he is taken to the orphanage by CMJ he suddenly realises how terrible it would be to deny these children the presents. It is very, VERY Shazam.

A Christmas Peril! - Batman #27. This is another A Christmas Carol retelling (surely they could have spaced these out better). This is far looser and involves an orphan rich young boy named Scranton who is called Young Scrooge for trying to extort people in business (he's cornered the Christmas Tree market using thugs for instance). His uncle turns up dressed as Santa to be his guardian, and Scranton thinks Santa is stupid. Batman and Robin turn up and take Scranton to see the damage his thugs caused (in the traditional 3 visits, and wants to spot fix the issues he sees). Scranton is apparently also getting robbed in turn by his butler. His uncle figures this out and is captured, then Scranton returns and also gets captured...but Batman and Robin save them, and we get the return of the decked out Christmas Batplane. Still no real Santa though.

The Sandman: The Seal Men's War on Santa Claus - Cancelled Comic Cavalcade #2. FINALLY ANOTHER SANTA.

Titus Gotrox, a rich old man, mocks Jed Paulsen when he comes asking for contributions for the Christmas fund and promises a million dollars if Jed can prove Santa is real. Jed then summons the Sandman to help him find Santa.

I'm going to level with you - I do NOT understand this Sandman, but there's a bunch of travelling by magic and witch power.

Sandman and Jed get set on by Santa's Elves who think they are Seal Men, not the Sandman. They're told off by Mrs Claus. The Seal Men have apparently kidnapped Santa! (the Seal Men are in fact seals dressed in people clothes who walk on their back flippers)

Sandman and Jed get captured and end up with Santa. Sandman breaks them out:

Ah yes of course, the hypno-sonic whistle would be useful to widen chimneys, Santa, if you don't want to undergo the Superman Shrinking Exercise Plan.

However they are once again recaptured, to discover why the Seal Men are mad at Santa - they've been getting useless gifts! Sandman and Jed say this must have been a mix-up, some kids in the Sahara Desert 'must have been getting frozen fish' and the king of the Seal Men lets them go. (Why do the seals have a king? Don't ask that question).

Santa then sorts everything out and comes to visit Titus Gotrox and guilts Titus into handing over the 1 million dollar cheque.

Robin's (Very) White Christmas - Batman Family #4. Once again only many fake Santas. Dick's still dating Lori Elton in this one btw.

Millionaire "Father" Bruce Wayne, hey Lori?

Dick will admit he's cold, but he still won't wear pants as Robin.

Anyway in this story Dick's helping out with the Christmas fundraising drive at Hudson Uni in a blizzard, hoping to get on his flight home to Gotham before it's cancelled.

Except oh no! the airport is closed! And Dick doesn't seem that cut up about it as Lori invites him over for Christmas. Except...surprise Bruce, Alfred and Aunt Harriet flew in earlier to surprise Dick when they saw the weather forecast, so both families have Christmas together. (Dick really does not seem thrilled by this state of affairs)

The Man Who Murdered Santa Claus! - Justice League of America #110. Someone murders a department store Santa.

These panels about why Barry, Ray and Ralph can't turn up are hilariously funny to me, as apparently Barry's hanging out in the 30th century for Christmas, Ray Palmer is probably contributing to why he ends up divorced, and Ralph Dibney is just very in love with Sue and on holidays.

Also Hal Jordan slipped on some soap in the shower and knocked himself out, so we get John Stewart instead as Green Lantern. (No seriously. That happened).

Anyway an incredibly dull plot involving a villain called the Key ensues where he snares a member of the JLA in each of his traps, but the Phantom Stranger saves each of them. Then the Key still sets off the bomb of his plan, the JLA evacuate the city neighbourhood, and John Stewart contains the explosion with the Lantern ring. John Stewart also rebuilds all the tenement houses destroyed in the explosion "without roaches, rats, collapsing ceilings and such".

Next up: a whole lot more 80s comics titles I've never heard of.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

Day 18: Ache

whumpee: sonny carisi

fandom: law and order svu

hi! this fic is for @pauletteandrea28 i am so sorry it took like four months but i hope you enjoy it!!! it's set around s17 but nothing specific.

He aches. He’d thought, yesterday, afterwards, that he’d be fine. A little bruised, maybe. Nothing more. But now he’s sitting at his desk, looking into a construction company that’s looking more and more like a front for sex trafficking, and he feels like he can barely breathe. 

He’s angry with himself for letting it happen. He’d been stupid. Chasing a highly dangerous man down a back alley with no backup, not even a call to his team to let them know what he was doing. 

He’d paid for it - a dumpster shoved his way out of nowhere, pinning him to a brick wall, knocking all the air out of his lungs and sitting against him, heavy on his chest. 

Their man had gotten away, obviously. Because of him. By the time he’d freed himself from his rusty metal prison, the guy was nowhere to be seen. And Sonny had had to tell his team that he had lost their perp. 

He hadn’t told them about the dumpster, of course. It’s bad enough to be responsible for a dangerous man still being on the streets. He doesn’t need the extra embarrassment. 

“Carisi! You coming?” 

He looks up from his computer at the sound of Rollins’ voice. She, Fin, and Liv are standing by the elevator, and it’s clear he’s missed something. 

Not that he’s going to let them know. 

“Comin’,” he says, and stands up. His chest twinges, and he forces himself not to grimace, to just breathe (never mind that that hurts, too). He’s gonna have to go to the ER after work tonight. He’s pretty sure his ribs are bruised, if not broken. 

“Are you alright, Carisi?” This is Liv, as they’re getting into the elevator. Maybe he hadn’t done as good a job of hiding his reaction as he’d thought. 

Fin saves him. “Course he’s alright.” He puts up his hands like a boxer, throws a playful fake punch at Sonny’s chest. It barely even connects, but it hurts. 

He hisses in a breath, which hurts too. He bites his lip, stifles a groan, closes his eyes when they start to water. 

“Hey.” Fin’s voice is still playful, but it’s careful too. “What’s wrong with you?”

Sonny opens his eyes, blinks a few times. God, it hurts. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want them to know. 

He feels his face heat up, the way it does when he’s embarrassed or upset. He’s both now, and he hates it. 

Rollins’ hand is on his arm. “C’mon, look at me. What’s wrong?”

He opens his mouth to say something but the words won’t come. The sharp pain is receding, turning into a more pronounced version of the ache that’s been enveloping his chest since yesterday.

It’s not even that bad. But it still fucking hurts. 

“Are you hurt?” This is Liv. The elevator has stopped, but no one moves. 

Sonny can’t bring himself to lie to her, but he doesn’t want to tell the truth either. He settles for a shrug, for stepping off of the elevator. 

The three others follow, naturally. They don’t let him get out of the front door, shepherding him to a relatively secluded part of the lobby and then pouncing on him. 

“You need to tell us what’s going on, right now.” Rollins is all business, but there’s concern underneath. He doesn’t deserve it. Not for this. 

“I’m fine.” He is, relatively speaking. It’s not a complete lie. It’s not like he’s bleeding. It’s not like he’s concussed. He can still do the job. He just wishes it didn’t hurt so much. 

“You’re not.” Fin says it like fact. 

Sonny hates that he’s right. 

“It’s nothin’, really. No reason to be concerned.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that,” Liv says. “What happened?” The question is gentle, but firm. 

There’s no getting out of it now. 

“Yesterday, when…when I let that guy get away. He shoved a dumpster at me, got me in the chest. Stupid, I know.” He says it quickly, not quite meeting her eyes. 

“Not your fault,” Fin says. “Busted ribs?”

Sonny shrugs, which hurts. “I dunno. Maybe.”

“How bad’s the bruising?” Rollins asks. 

It had been bad enough this morning, a harsh line of purple across his entire chest and scattered splotches beneath that. “It’s not so bad,” he says, because it definitely could be worse. 

“Can I take a look?” Liv asks. He knows she wouldn’t press if he said no, but he isn’t going to deny her request. Anyway, they’re not angry with him. And none of them had laughed when he’d told them what happened. They’re not looking at him weird. They’re just worried. He can deal with that, even if it’s not something he really deserves. 

“Yeah, okay.” He turns his back to the rest of the room, tosses his tie over his shoulder, untucks and lifts up his shirt to reveal the bruising. 

“Jesus,” Rollins says, and Sonny looks down. His view is slightly hampered by his shirt and hands, but - it’s pretty bad. The bruising has darkened and spread since this morning. Seeing it makes the ache in his chest redouble, and he quickly releases his shirt, tucking it back in. 

“You’re going to the ER,” says Liv. 

“I will.”

“Now.”

“I can go after -”

“You’re going now.”

“But -”

Liv shakes her head, cutting him off. “No buts, Carisi. Go now. Take care of yourself.”

She’s firm, but she’s not mad. He doesn’t have a reason to say no, beyond his own stubbornness and sense of pride. 

And so he gives in. “Alright, alright, I’m going.” He raises his hands in mock surrender (which, like every other action, hurts) and goes outside to catch a cab to the nearest emergency room.

thanks for reading! the ending is a bit wonky but that is par for the course by now. hope you liked it!

[prairiesongserial]

20.2

Friday wandered down the deck of the ship, her gauzy dress whipping in the wind. She twisted her string of fake pearls around her finger. Their first full day aboard the Demeter was coming to an end, and it couldn’t have gone better.

The level of wealth on display here was really something else; these people were in a class of their own. Friday had only briefly brushed against this kind of money at the Hemisphere Gala, and she found it was almost impossible to imitate. Every other sentence laid a trap to test her knowledge of other wealthy people that she should know and parties she should have been invited to. But Friday had managed to find her angle. She was playing nouveau riche–it excused some errors and explained her outgoing approach.

Despite themselves, the circle she’d been talking with last night and this afternoon had taken to her pretty well; they would humor her until the Demeter made port in Canada, if only for a little entertainment. Val was doing an exceptional job playing the disinterested husband, and all Friday had to do was be herself.

She’d excused herself to powder her nose, hoping that Val would follow her a few minutes behind. She’d been telling some fairly rude stories in which he, as her husband, was a key figure. She’d gone a little over the top with the last one–he should feel compelled to come out and give her a hard time, if nothing else. 

Friday slowed her pace, eventually coming to a stop by the railing. Water made her a little nervous after her dunking in the Hudson River, but the ocean was really something else, especially with twilight reflecting off the glass-like surface. And the ocean spray felt good after spending so long in the warm lounge.

Friday’s hands were nervous–she had to consciously keep them still and serene. The longer she waited by the railing, the more sure she was that Val wasn’t coming.

It wasn’t like him at all. This was the man who Friday had known to lock himself in the bathroom at the Ace of Spades after a mere twenty minutes at the bar. He should be hiding in their cabin, letting Friday act for the both of them. Which was another reason why she’d hoped he would come and find her on the deck. She wanted to gently encourage him to come down with the flu. She could handle this one.

Last night–their first night on the Demeter–Val had never come back to their cabin. He had elected to stay behind when Friday had announced her exit. And for what? No one needed him to be up this late. For once in their lives, all they needed to do was pass through. There was no Hemisphere, no battle to fight, just tea and small talk–all Val had to do was lay low for a couple of days before they disembarked in Canada. John and Cody had gotten the idea, barely showing up for meals before disappearing again, so why not Val?

Last night, Friday had waited up for him for hours, pacing in front of the bed. When Val still hadn’t come back after three in the morning, Friday had crept back to the lounge, expecting to find him asleep in an armchair. Instead, she’d found Val losing at chess against Casimir Brus, a quiet man she hadn’t been able to get a good read on yet.

The rest of the company had shrunk down to six, including the first mate, who appeared to be only just hanging on. It was curious to find her here, sitting up with the passengers. She might be more interesting than Friday had thought. At some point everyone had switched to alcohol, and Val nursed a gin and tonic which was mostly melted ice.

Friday had swallowed her surprise and meandered past the rest of the late night crowd to the chess match, the satin robe she’d thrown over her nightgown hanging loosely enough to show the top of her chest. All eyes had followed her across the room, curious to see what she would do.

“I’m glad to see you aren’t gambling, darling,” she said, landing behind Val. She leaned forward, as if to better inspect the game, pressing the bare part of her chest against the back of his shoulder–an instruction to the rest of the room on how to read the situation. “You know you’re worse at cards than you are at chess.”

“Mm,” Val said. He took another sip of his drink with a hint of a grimace.

Friday sighed lightly behind his ear.

“I’m going to get a cup of tea,” she said. “Would you like anything?” 

Val took his move, and Mr. Brus immediately took one of Val’s rooks.

“No, thank you,” Val said.

Friday felt a spike of annoyance, but kept her face placid. She leaned in to kiss him, but stopped short over his ear.

“Don’t stay up too late,” she whispered. The eyes that had been curiously boring into her back suddenly found something else to look at. Their first night, and Friday had been forced to invoke marital problems. But if Val would just come away and let her talk to him…

As she’d turned away from the chess game, the first mate’s eyes had caught hers for a moment.

“Mrs. Lecter, do you know your way to the dining room?” The first mate, Ms. Écuyer said, standing. She had removed the jacket of her uniform, and her tie was draped over her neck un-tied. “Let me walk with you. My cabin is in that direction anyway.”

Friday smiled at the truly brazen offer made right in front of her husband. She wanted to turn the first mate down, but she was already standing to go, and if Ms. Écuyer’s cabin was really in the same direction as the dining room, she would see if Friday passed by without stopping for her stupid cup of tea. Friday was really regretting coming looking for Val. Now she would have to put effort into a flirtation that would ultimately end in rejection–not that the first mate was bad to look at, but Friday wasn’t in the mood.

“I would hate to drag you away, Ms. Écuyer,” Friday said, drawing her robe closed a little more closely. “Enjoy the company for a while longer, I’ll be quite alright.”

Ms. Écuyer’s gaze wandered over to the chess game behind Friday. After a tense moment, she sat back down with a smile.

“Of course, Mrs. Lecter.”

Friday had returned to her cabin truly bewildered. She couldn’t begin to guess why Val would hole himself up in a room full of strangers so late into the night. Granted, he wasn’t doing well with how things had ended with the circus, but she couldn’t understand why he would want to put himself out of his element.

Unless, of course, it was Friday he was avoiding. She’d next seen Val over breakfast, and it was clear that he’d snuck back into their cabin early to change and tidy up. He’d gotten himself a stack of pancakes and upended a small pitcher of syrup over them. Then he’d wandered into a game of shuffleboard, before finally depositing himself back in the lounge for the afternoon. Not once could she catch him alone.

Friday sighed and released her grip on the ship’s railing. She had better return to the lounge, maybe see if she could tempt Val away to the dining room with her. It was already after seven; he had to eat dinner sometime.

“Mrs. Lecter.”

Friday turned her head. The first mate stood with her hands formally held behind her back–a big difference from her casual attitude when she’d looped an arm around Friday’s shoulders at tea that afternoon. Every part of her from her hairstyle to her smile were subdued and professional.

“Friday’s fine,” she said, smiling invitingly. “What can I do for you, Ms. Écuyer?”

The first mate’s smile faded.

“Tomorrow morning, we drop anchor in Newfoundland,” she said. “It’s our last stop to resupply.”

Friday wasn’t familiar with the islands between Maine and Canada, so she nodded politely. She didn’t want to let her lack of education show.

“And then how long before we reach the mainland?” she asked.

Ms. Écuyer stepped up beside her and draped her arms over the railing. She was close enough that Friday’s dress billowed against the slacks of her uniform. 

“Passengers aren’t to disembark in Newfoundland, but I could let you off the ship,” Ms. Écuyer said. “You and your husband. The stop will be brief, owing to the tides. By six in the morning, we’ll be back at sea, so you’ll have to meet me outside my cabin no later than five.”

Friday felt a sudden coldness creeping up her spine.

“Why would my husband and I want to disembark before we reach the mainland?” she asked. She watched Ms. Écuyer closely, but the first mate betrayed nothing in her face. Had Val said something last night that had revealed them as frauds? If that was the case, maybe the first mate was trying to get them safely off the ship before they suffered the consequences. Or was this a trap? If Friday took Ms. Écuyer up on the offer of early departure, wouldn’t that tip off the rest of the ship that something wasn’t right with the Lecters?

“It’s the last stop,” Ms. Écuyer repeated. “That’s all I’m saying, Mrs. Lecter. Friday.”

She excused herself, returning not to the lounge, but through another door to a different part of the ship.

Friday let out a hiss of breath, too quiet even for her to hear over the slosh of the ocean against the side of the ship. If there had been any question as to how she would be spending the rest of her evening, she had her answer.

20.1 || 20.3