#robert pattinson x y/n

[clarks-letterman]

head in the stars, only night wanderers can read you | edward cullen x male!reader

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a/n — if i say this is crackfic will y'all like it-

summary — Edward hears some desperate thoughts about himself and decides to give into his nature.

warnings — 18+! smut, spit kink, blood kink, biting kink, dead dove don't eat

words — 2.6k

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God, all I wanted him to do was make me his slut. His whore. His anything, so long as I became his.

Funny. The human mind created something out of nothing, astonishing to Edward as he heard them come to life with a capriciousness. Words were processed and controlled, even halfway through a sentence. Thoughts were left unaltered. He could almost hear the synapses setting themselves on fire, catching this person in a fiery embarrassment when a second thought erupted.

Fuck, I shouldn't be thinking that. Isn't he, like, a super-senior?

The voice echoed in his head, and Edward let out a low chuckle at the slip of profanity. Normally, he wouldn't have caught wind of this, as Edward had years of experience choosing what to tune out and acknowledge as nothing but someone else's business. If he so pleased, he could listen to them, but it was like standing in a stadium full of people: it was a choice to either single someone out or let it all mesh together. But the thought was so direct—so passionate—that he had no choice but to be subjected to the unspoken words.

He presented himself calmly, standing perfectly upright. There was a small quirk of his lips moving upward as he spoke, "Don't worry, it's mutual."

"What?" You asked, yet even to stand from the routine call of the bell. Edward surmised that your question was simply a way of playing dumb, as your voice unspokenly echoed something different. Stay calm, he doesn't know, does he?

"What?" You asked, yet even to stand from the routine call of the bell. Edward surmised that your question was simply a way of playing dumb, as your voice unspokenly echoed something different. Stay calm, he doesn't know, does he?

Everyone passed in droves around the two of you, paying no mind to the conversation taking place.

"I think I feel the same way," he admitted.

Really, me?

"Really? How did you know?"

He's so perfect, even here. Even now. I must have a fever—there's no way this is real.

"I figured it out a few moments ago," he bluffed, "you stare at me like you're in a trance."

Fuck. Edward didn't break eye contact with you, making the crinkle under his eyes from smiling easily visible to you. He couldn't believe he made you feel like this.

"You think you feel the same way?" This must be a joke.

"I'm just not sure," Edward paused for only a moment to search for the best way to describe his point, "if us doing anything together is a good idea."

Is he closeted?

You stood, finally getting to his level, "I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about."

You started slipping a backpack strap over your should, ready to start walking with the remaining crowd of people in the cafeteria to your next class. Unfortunately, you didn't share the class with Edward, so he would have to wait to continue this until later.

"Oh, by all odds, I would never have an issue with that. I'm referring to the fact that I might like things that you wouldn't be too keen on trying." People were freaks back then; historical recorders simply chose to omit those details. Edward was more than happy to try something taboo. "So, that's definitely not an issue."

You planned to say something else—what exactly that was, you weren't sure. Did he have a cell phone? Would he feel comfortable giving you his e-mail? What was he even trying to get with this conversation? You formulated a whole list of questions, unsure of where to start, but by the time you thought of the first one to ask, he was gone. He must have vanished into the crowd, you assumed.

Taking the long way to the class, dreading physics as it was arguably the worst subject you performed in, something came at you with a force and speed that was impossible. Well, you might have been wrong about that, but the pace at which your surroundings changed wasn't normal. That you knew. What you couldn't have known was who—or what—drug you to the bathroom faster than the speed of sound.

What the fuck was that?

Edward heard the panic in your thoughts, your blood rushing faster as the adrenaline kicked itself up, and attempted to sound reassuring, "It's just me."

"Jesus, you could have asked to meet up," you protested.

He held you close, ushering your back into the porcelain sink. The smell of your blood paled in comparison to some of the others he caught wind of, but he couldn't deny that it smelled delectable, regardless.

His words were soft, "Do you want this? I need to know before anything else."

You held a hand to his stone-like chest, staring into his dark eyes, "Yes, it's all I need."

Silently and hastily, without a single breath taken, he kissed you. He feared physical touch, running from it for decades, but in the end, it would never matter. His urges told him to kill you now, but time would kill you later. In the meager minutes away from you, he deliberated between two ideas: an intensely idiotic and risky move with a great payoff or a life of not knowing. Sometimes, hearing the things coming from other people's heads made it go to his own, and he caved. He took the risk, and let himself exist outside of hiding. He would have preferred to hold it forever, but you would have to resurface for air at some point so he pulled away.

"I do need something from you first. . ." He dragged, fearing to finish the sentence. How would you react? There was time to think about it later, near the time when he would ask for forgiveness. Maybe that would be in one hundred years or tomorrow, depending on how this moment went. And, in one swift dive, sharp teeth and cold lips met the warm skin of your neck.

He could feel you tense at the action, easing into it until you realized that he had bitten down until blood was drawn from two holes in the side of your carotid. Your mind held no words, but Edward felt something ruminating on the outer edges of your thoughts—a creeping feeling of actually enjoying it. You thought about shoving him away and running out of the bathroom, but he could catch up to you. He could kill you with nothing but his bare hands if he wanted; his speed was enough to prove it. There was a strange sensation of your blood flowing elsewhere beside your neck. You placed a hand on the cool sink behind you for support, helping him feast on you.

The thin layer punctured, blood spewed from the aorta and, with nowhere else to go, pooled in Edward's mouth. He swallowed the stream, taking strong gulps at first until he weaned himself down to small sips. He pulled away with an ichoric kiss comprised of saliva and blood to the wound, inking the area with red as if it were a craven lip stain.

"You taste perfect," he mumbled. As always, he wanted to drain you of everything you had. Your blood tasted complex, and he wanted to keep it as a thing to be served over every meal—preferably all while your heart still pumped.

A stream of red coursed out of your neck after the initial, along with a benign sting from his piercing. The lack of which acted as an etherizing pain-killer. The pain was there but only reminded you that you simply had to exist so as to be below Edward.

Skin tickling with warmth, he had never felt more dead in his life. He seemed to be reminiscing of a time long ago, eyes golden and lost.

After a moment, his eyes fell on you, and he started to feel unsettled as he set into his more human qualities. His compassion returned, tearing off his shirt and balling it up. His cold fingers brushed your neck as he placed the cloth on your cuts. "Here—for the blood."

Edward was impossibly near you, the sweet scent of lilac and honey wafting toward you now that he was shirtless. You only saw them for a moment, but his impeccable white teeth were a violent red as if he pulled a tooth out with no pain, only letting the blood pool and spill out. His chin, messy and incarnadine with your blood.

"What was all that for?" Your voice was weak and pitiful. You didn't think of anything that would suggest you were mad, solely curious.

In response, he undid the buckle of his belt and everything about his jeans. The sounds created a symphony of anticipation inside you, heart beating faster at the thought of seeing him. He didn't fully remove them, not wanting to tear his hand away from your source of bleeding, so he awkwardly shuffled his pants and boxers down to his thighs. Out sprung his cock, thick and reaching. It was the real monster here, searching for something to pierce.

You needed something else to think about for a moment, to combobulate yourself from that fact. "Does it—do I taste good?"

His thumb grazed from your jaw to your lips. "Open."

You listened, and he pursed his lips, tilting your head back with the hold on your chin and on your neck. A wad of saliva slipped past—red and glistening in the harsh lighting overhead. It landed directly in your mouth, and it tasted awful—bitter and metallic plaguing your taste buds. His saliva was worse than medical styptic. You jerked from Edward's touch and turned to the sink, ready to spit it out and rinse the horrid taste out of your mouth until Edward stopped you.

"Swallow."

Knowing what he could do, you listened to him again. His perceptive hearing picked up on your obedience as the softest swallow fell on his ears. You turned back to face him only to see a smirk on his face, "Good boy."

His hearing picked up on something else, too: the sound of where your blood gushed and circulated. Every place it reached, he knew of and was happy to know the steely rush to your crotch at his acts.

“Let’s see how good you listen,” he teased, baring his fangs in a confident simper to show the capability of his power. His hands fell on your bottoms, undoing them but going only that far. "You can touch yourself, but I want to see how long you can resist the temptation."

"Okay," you agreed, painfully disrespecting yourself by refusing the opportunity. A God stood before you, lean and chiseled, someone who exceeded more than words could describe. Even your thoughts couldn't capture it all, how perfect he looked—even bloody—and how his smooth voice cooed in your ear.

Edward, his cock still hanging out with impatience, lifted it with one hand while the other cautiously peeled the stained cloth from your skin and tossed it into the bowl of the sink behind you. The blood clotted and the stream stopped. His voice echoed a soft, "Turn around."

His hand dug between your skin and the fabric of your clothes, pushing down your bottoms. Cold fingertips circled your entrance, toying with the nerves by lightly tracing the ring of it over and over again. Edward promised himself that he would take you home and take things slower the next time. For now, he settled on using some of his spit on his dick, lathering himself in a mix of gushy blood and welled-up salivation.

His entrance was quick, just like his many other acts, but it did not go unnoticed. His size was invading, reaching and stretching into places it didn't belong. From his view, your hold looked filled by his wide girth, and he only hoped that he was long enough for it to feel good on your end.

His soft, golden eyes reflected in the mirror. He tried to gauge a reaction from you, his senses so high that he had trouble discerning your thoughts for a moment. After a few hip swings, lowering himself from the sensation of feeling slick warmth heating a fraction of him up, he could finally hear the thoughts swirling in your head.

Fuck, he feels so good! So painful. . .

He leaned into you, his gaunt chest pressing into you. He turned his head to your ear and uttered, "I want to hear it—out loud. You know what I mean."

You lulled your head back into him as he caused your whole body to shake with each thrust, "I need more of you, Edward. Fuck, I need it all."

His neck craned down, and his head followed, catching a whiff of the dried blood on your neck and placing a kiss on it, "Of course."

Deeper he went, slamming his hips further into you with a heightened desire. His full weight rested on you as a result but swiftly repositioned his hands onto the sink, covering yours. The smack of dead skin to flourishing skin echoed in the small enclosure. Edward was stiff, slipping up that he had to feign some sort of human reaction for a moment. He stopped forcing himself to breathe or blink, focused only on making your heart quicken and hearing that sweet red nectar rush through you like a high tide.

"Degrade me," you spat out. "Call me every name you got."

"You're a harlot—a whore, my slut," he growled. He sounded genuine. "Everything under the bright moon is mine, including you."

That did it for both of you. Edward kept his hips firmly pressed against your ass, the pressure causing the porcelain sink to start cracking under your hands. His cock flooded your insides with sticky white come, and you felt the crotch of your pants dampen as a mound of pressure released itself.

"Technically, you listened, but I was hoping to leave school early and head to my house."

"We can still go, if you want?" You offered while picking up the bloodied shirt from the sink and rinsing out the stains if left on the sides of the bowl.

"I think we have a project to work on—it might take a few days," he slyly suggested.

[neutron-stars-collision]

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Epilogue - Always You

Chapter 20; Masterlist Summary: One December evening, Vengeance climbs into your apartment through the window. That's regular occurrence by now. What isn't regular, is the conversation you share. Warnings: 18+ (sorry, the gremlin in my brain insisted I describe some of that), swearing. Author's Notes: So, this is the official farewell. This epilogue turned out to be kind of an 'evening in the life of', but I think I needed that. Even if only just to say goodbye to those two. It's 6k of headcanons and fluff, so I hope you enjoy 💕 Once again, thanks for sticking around ✨ A playlist will follow bc of course I have that too. Feel free to let me know what you think? Tag list: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim, @ttae-yong, @freyadruid, @siriuslydestiny, @ms-dont-care, @raphaelaisabella, @itsmytimetoodream, @brightjimini, @castellandiangelo, @grunge-n-roses5

(gif credit: @1038276637)

No amount of thinking and consideration could have ever prepared you for the reality of being Bruce Wayne’s partner. Or girlfriend, a term you had sometimes relished teasing him with. If only to get that same deadpan look, complemented by a pink blush on his cheeks and one sentence reply.

Always the same: “You’re much more than that to me”. Every time the answer made you blush too, overwhelmed with love and hopefulness like never before. Because, as it quickly turned out, Bruce treated this seriously, daily putting in work to make sure whatever you had would survive.

And it did, at least until the rain showers had been replaced by snowfall, and the white coat covering most of Gotham almost made up for the plummeting temperatures. Long enough for you to get used to the idea that a solo night at your place did not mean loneliness. It did not even mean that you would be alone for that much longer, for, as it happened, Bruce’s patrol now sometimes led to your apartment instead of the Terminus. It was a substitute for the nights when you opted to stay at your place instead of perusing the Tower. All the heads-up he would give would be a quick text sent between the hours when you were likely still awake. But it was all you needed, instantly perking up at the idea.

That night was like that, as you were informed by a message on the burner phone: “I’ll come by after 2”. Easy fate to achieve - waiting for Bruce until 2 am. Although, the slow passage of time made you groan for the umpteenth time as you found it still to be only 1 am. An hour. A whole bloody hour. Your head dropped onto the table with a dull thud. The waiting for him was the worst part of it all, perhaps only next to the constant anxiety that filled your veins whenever Bruce was playing the part of Batman. Mostly because you never knew whether waiting up on him in the cave would be to get that desired kiss and help him with the amour or whether it would entail cleaning the wounds and bandaging the cuts. You already had a fair share of both. And there was no point guessing which you preferred.

Your favourite nights, by a large margin, were those when Bruce stayed home. Or at least stayed long enough to go to bed with you. Those were the nights of discoveries and enlightenment, leaving you breathless and wanting more. Always wanting more. Luckily now, you did not have to deny yourself what you had become addicted to. And the list was growing exponentially. Like the fact that after that first night when you had confessed your feelings for Bruce, the three words had only gained power. Enough so that when you whispered them at just the right time, with Bruce still buried deep inside you and inching towards his release - they were all the trigger he needed. All sense of control seemed to disappear as soon as you reminded him you loved him. And for that, the affection only grew.

You knew that was very much mutual.

The other discovery, which had led to many sleepless lonely nights, spent squirming under the covers, was that once Bruce had understood that he truly was the best you ever had, a new level of confidence was unlocked. Some might even call it smugness. But you could not possibly mind a bit of cockiness when it got you a man who would tease you with his fingers and mouth till you were a whimpering mess. And then, only then, he would lean in close, let his mouth brush your heated cheek and the shell of your ear, and whisper: “Come for me”. A request. A command even. You had no choice but to obey. Not that you didn’t want to. By now, the exact way he had spoken had become a go-to soundtrack to all your daydreams. A weak substitute for when you were apart.

It was still better than nothing.

Glancing at the watch to check the time, you were easily brought back from the pleasant recollections. It was almost 2 am. Not long now. You did not need a mirror to confirm your mouth stretched into a dumb smile. The reaction was involuntary at this point, transforming you into that type of lovesick individual you always scoffed at. The irony was infuriating. Feeling the tell-tale shiver of anticipation, you made one final lap of the flat. Smoothing out the bedsheets (even though neither of you cared about it), taking out the short-rimmed tumbler (in case he did want that whiskey you offered before Halloween) and dragging a hand through your hair to detangle any knots (even though he had seen you with bed-hair and mascara stains on your cheeks). Only then you could say you were ready.

And right on time, too, for before long, you heard the familiar light knock upon the window frame. A smile broke out on your face as you crossed the room to unlatch the window and stepped back. This part always made you laugh. You knew why Bruce deemed the window a better way of entering your apartment, but it was still a strange spectacle to witness. Using the grappling hook, he would lift himself to the level of your building and gracefully slip in. The only downside? The melting snow created puddles on your floor. This time you were prepared, a sweeping mop in hand.

The first glimpse you caught was a smile under the cowl. A look so strange for Mr Vengeance himself, yet something you had grown accustomed to. You returned the expression with ease, watching as he jumped in feet first through the window frame and landed on your floor with a quiet groan. That, too, was a sign – this night had been rough. Before you could process the realization, Bruce strengthened up and took off the cowl. As always, that first shared glance made you shiver. The smudged black makeup was smeared around his eyes, hair messy and unkempt, begging you to arrange it. There was no reason to wait.

“Hello, you” you closed the remaining gap and placed your hand on his shoulder.

The material felt cold and made you shiver as you rose on your toes to level with him. Bruce’s eyes traced your every move as he wound his arm around your waist, keeping you close and secure.

“Hey,” the whisper you got in return was the last thing you let him say before you crashed your mouth into his with a satisfied hum.

The coldness of his lips did nothing to stifle the spark of fire slowly building in your veins. As always. Carefully you let your tongue trace his bottom lip, prodding at the seam till Bruce opened his mouth, inviting you in. The familiarity of the feeling was enough to let you drop the remaining weight from your shoulders and sink into him, tasting and consuming all you could. All that he was willing to give you.

Bruce responded in kind to the tempo you had set, caressing your tongue with his and lightly nipping at your bottom lip. He felt like home. Even with the melting snow dripping onto your clothes and the hard edges of the armour digging between your ribs. The need to continue was stronger than anything else. Until neither of you could get deep enough breaths to continue.

You drew back with a quiet whine, frustration adding spikes to the warmth in your chest. The blue of Bruce’s eyes staring back at you smoothed the feeling, instantly making you notice the glimmer in his gaze. The love that was no longer a secret between you. It was impossible to escape the blush blooming on your cheeks and the pick-up in your heart rate. Ignoring the urge to hide from his perceptive stare, you returned to the task at hand.

One assessing look was enough as you raised your hand to cup his cheek and then up to comb through the hair falling into his eyes. You carefully brushed it away from his forehead, barely managing not to drown in the grateful look you got awarded. The only way of avoiding the shame of losing your mind and doing something utterly stupid like falling to your knees before Bruce, you grabbed the mop and pushed it onto his chest with a simple instruction:

“Now mop the floor” you eyed the growing puddle at your feet with a critical eye, adding, “You’ve made a mess” without waiting for a reply, you turned away towards the kitchen.

Just in time to hear the answer.

“Yes, ma’am” you did not need to see him to know he was smiling.

Approaching the counter, you opened the cupboard and eyed the contents. It was too late for a meal, but when Bruce visited, you would always share a drink before retiring to your bedroom. It was only a question of choice. What suited him better on this particular December night?

“What’s your poison tonight?” you asked and turned to face Bruce, finding him leaning the mop on the wall and the floors shiny and swept (naturally), “Coffee? Tea? Whiskey?” the first two had been staples on the menu, the last one was an inside joke.

An option you always gave him for the sake of it. And also, because you were yet to see Bruce Wayne relax with an alcoholic drink in his hand. Early on, he had told you he did not indulge in that too often, seldom, in fact, because alcohol did not exactly help the difficult thoughts springing in his mind at every possible chance. You knew the feeling too well, so you never pushed. But maybe-

“You know what?” Bruce’s question interjected your internal monologue as he eyed the tumbler you had taken out earlier, “Maybe it’s time. At last,” raising his head to meet your searching gaze, Bruce grinned.

Even now, when smiles no longer were rare, you still treasured each one. Mostly because they lit up Bruce’s beautiful face like nothing else, throwing everything into perspective. It was a point of personal pride you made him smile like that.

Without waiting for Bruce to change his mind, you took the bottle off the shelf and grabbed a second glass to fill. Two ice cubs per drink clinked in the tumblers as you poured the rich brown liquid and turned to hand it to him.

“Cheers,” raising yours to toast, you sent him another pleased smile.

You did not need to discuss the arrangement, wordlessly taking a sip from the glass and placing it back on the counter to free your hands for the next step in the routine. Bruce mirrored your moves, patiently waiting for you to start taking off the armour pieces. By now, the process was almost second nature. You did not need his directions, easily following the straps and buckles to undo them. Each plating would end up on one of your chairs, a dark heap covered with the cloak. Only once Bruce was left with the black thermals, you drifted to the sofa and fell against each other on the cushions. Multiple points of contact at every spot. Calves, knees, thighs, hips, and shoulders. At the least.

At first, you did not talk, quietly soaking in the calm. It quickly became evident that Bruce valued his peace, and each nightly escapade was enough to drain his battery. Both physically and mentally. That is why when he returned home or to your place the priority was letting him rest. Usually, you would put the tv on as background noise, but tonight as soon as you turned your head to look at Bruce, the remote control was frozen in your hand.

Suddenly it struck you. The strangeness of the moment in its entirety. It was nothing you could have foreseen, not in a million years. And yet, it made perfect sense.

You must have stared for too long because the next thing you registered was Bruce looking back at you with an incredulous glim in his eyes. He arched an eyebrow, his hand landing on your knee to gently stroke the skin beneath your pyjama pants. A question followed:

“What’s that look for?” the curiosity in his tone made you smile, barely resisting the urge to hide your face in the crook of his neck to avoid being stared at.

Especially by someone who could see through each wall you ever tried to raise. By now, you never even tried anymore, aware that it was pointless. Bruce (somehow) wanted all of you, so that is what he got. You could only hope he would never change his mind.

“It’s a lot to take in,” shrugging with one shoulder, the one not tucked against his side, you chose the safest answer.

All the while knowing Bruce would not let that be the end of that conversation. You only had to wait approximately 10 seconds for the follow-up question.

“What is?” you had to admit he was good at this.

Interrogation techniques that somehow fit right in the dynamic between you. And made it impossible for you to hide from him. While the thought had been terrifying once, it was almost easy to get used to. Almost being the keyword there.

“Oh, you know” feigning nonchalance, you chose to pace your answer, taking your time with the reveal, while watching him closely, “Having Vengeance in my living room” was the most obvious of hang-ups, something you did not think you could get accustomed to. Each time you saw tv coverage of Batman or had your work colleagues develop a piece on the vigilante, the thrill of realization felt like something new, something you had never experienced before. Now, you let your gaze stray to the half-empty tumbler in his hand, adding another layer to the confession, “Serving whiskey to Bruce Wayne” lifting your eyes to catch the growing smile on his face, you allowed the fondness seep into your tone. The feeling was almost drowning out the disbelief that still tinted your vowels. You never expected to get rid of that either, “Having that same Bruce Wayne as my boyfriend…” it was strange to let the term roll off your tongue this freely, but the strangeness could not contend with the happiness you could see in his eyes. It was enough to make you grin, the conclusion to the speech coming up effortlessly, “Never once saw that coming” no lies were to be found there, “I need to stare a little longer to make sure you won’t disappear on me now” the excuse was flimsy, but it had the intended effect.

Bruce smiled and pulled you closer again, your body falling against his chest like always. The warmth of the embrace kept the chill from settling in your bones. His arms tightened around your waist as he rested his chin on your head and let out a content sigh.

“I won’t” there was no need to question him, all sense of doubt disappearing like melting snow when he added, “I like you too much,”

It was both what he said and how he said it. Like it was no big deal. Like the admission did not cost him anything. Like the character evolution you had witnessed in Bruce was something he was proud of. Something he took joy in if only because it mattered to you.

That was a little difficult to get used to.

So much so that instead of facing the affectionate admissions head-on, you chose to go for a joke, using it as a protective veil:

“Damn, never imagined Bruce Wayne would be such a softie” you lightly swatted him across the chest, not expecting the delighted giggle that would erupt from your throat when he caught your hand in his and squeezed it.

“I’m not” it took one look at Bruce, registering the slight pout and the petulance in his eyes, to make you abandon the pretence.

You dove in for a kiss, pressing your mouth against his in a quick, firm peck balancing just on the right sight of not being too greedy. Or distracting for the conversation you were still hoping to have with Bruce.

“Sure, babe” you placed another kiss on the apple of his cheek, slightly tinted pink, and changed the topic, “So, how’s Gotham? Any hot goss I should know about?” you bated your eyelashes as a complimentary show of begging.

Not that Bruce would otherwise deny you the answers. He never did that, which quickly made you the second most informed individual in the city. After the Batman, of course.

Bruce shifted slightly - a sign you had come to associate with the conversation taking a more serious turn. Placing a comforting hand on his knee, you waited as he gathered his thoughts and replied:

“There’s some talk of the Penguin putting most of his resources into bringing back the drops business” you frowned, already knowing what a mess would result from such a move. Although, unfortunately, it sounded plausible, “I’ve got addresses to scout that might be their new labs” Bruce glanced at you, awaiting a comment.

And potentially wordlessly asking whether you wanted to accompany him during the recon. It was something you did together, from time to time. An unusual way of spending time and a first-hand opportunity to gather information for work. And if the pleasant side-effect were the heated kisses shared in the shadowed alleys, then it was nobody’s business but yours.

You already knew it was a yes if he asked.

“That’s probably something you should share with Gordon” instead of voicing that, you chose to offer him reasoning.

The close cooperation between them was still a surprising development. But it was getting stronger and sometimes made you wonder whether the GCPD lieutenant would not be the very next person to learn Vengeance’s identity. So far, Bruce denied it, but you knew better than to take his word for granted. After all, decisions changed.

“And I will. But once I’m sure there’s truth in what I’ve been told,” Bruce shrugged, a brief hint of petulance in his tone making you grin.

Bruce Wayne also did not seem to change. Not completely.

You could never let a chance like that pass you by. Shifting yet again to sit up on your knees and face him, you dropped your voice a notch, giving it an appropriately seductive timbre:

“Good boy” before Bruce could react, you patted his head and dragged your fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands.

That was another key phrase of your relationship. The magical two words, if used correctly, gave you complete control over Bruce. As it turned out, the Wayne heir was incredibly susceptible to praise. You could never have too much fun with that knowledge.

You watched with growing satisfaction at how he shuddered, the two words already having an impact. Bruce blushed, and his eyes darkened almost imperceptibly. To anyone else, the reactions would have been difficult to discern from the poker face he had slipped back on. But it was much harder to fool you.

Bruce knew as much. He shrugged off your hand with unnecessary care and turned to glare at you. The twitching corner of his mouth was an easy giveaway.

“Careful there,” the warning in his voice was another trick taken straight from the toolbox.

You already knew what this was. The rules of the game were familiar by now. You did not have to fake the heat blooming in your face at the tone Bruce had implemented. All you had to do was give him your brightest smile and amp the innocent flicker in your eyes to fit the intent. That was always fun.

“Or what?” enjoying the way his eyes followed your every move, you placed your hand on his chest, pressing it flat against the fabric to feel the heartbeat, “You’re going to jump me?” as the question left your lips, your fingers begun tracing their path up the length of his thigh.

More often than not, that was how those precious nights between you began. With a ridiculous conversation and increasingly risky touch, getting rid of the remaining inhibitions. Not that there were many left.

You could see Bruce ponder the assumption, using the ball you had placed in his court. The decision was strictly up to him. You liked to remind him from time to time that you both could share the control equally. And that whatever he chose did not change anything for you. You were there for the long run.

“I’d love to” he reached out to brush the stray hair from your forehead, eyes showing hints of remorse that spoiled the answer before he gave it, “Not tonight though, sorry” it was impossible to miss the subtle wince on his face as Bruce shifted on the sofa.

That told you all you needed to know. Your hand stopped all its wandering, resting atop his thigh and tracing lazy circles over the black fabric. You knew that before you both went to bed, you would need to take out the ointments bought specifically for evenings like that and ask Bruce to take off his shirt. And it was alright. Fine, even. Because seeing Bruce Wayne shirtless was a perk of every kind of evening. Full stop.

Hoping the convey the feelings through the softness of your gaze, you allowed yourself one last joke. One final tease to satisfy the need and drag that shy smile out of its confines.

“You’ll pay for your crimes soon enough” Bruce let out a breathless laugh, and you felt like the luckiest being on the planet.

Yeah, you never saw this coming.

***

It was well past 4 am when you finally turned off the ceiling lights in your bedroom and joined Bruce on the bed. Sometimes that part, the brief conversations whispered with your heads resting against the headboard, felt almost like the domestic future you never expected to have. Like the word, which began with an m and ended with an e. You were still too scared to say it out loud or even in the quiet of your mind.

Ignoring the thought now, you quietly settled against the pillows and turned to stare at Bruce. He looked as if he belonged there, nestled underneath your woollen quilt with his damp, dark hair falling in strands over his forehead. Your heart throbbed in your chest. It was almost too good to be true. Fearing another wave of feelings you could not control, you broke the silence with whatever sentence you could think of:

“You know there’s this gala Réal is hosting before Christmas…” admittedly, it was something you had wanted to bring up to Bruce.

It has been on your mind since the mayor’s announcement via press release weeks back. After the election and everything else that followed, she had taken decisive steps to fix the city. One of them was inviting the elites and the journalists to the charity gala this December. Although you were sceptical about the effects, the intents alone were admirable.

You knew Bruce had received an invite. But if that were not common knowledge, the myriad of emotions passing through his face at the reminder would have been the giveaway. You could easily discern discomfort, uncertainty, and fear among them. Without thinking about it, you took hold of his hand resting on the covers and squeezed it. That was a common way of assuring Bruce that you were there, of offering him comfort when he would not ask for it first. After what felt like hours of silence, Bruce let out a tortured sigh and replied:

“Yes, of course. It’s only every other day that Alfred reminds me I should show up” from that dejected tone alone, you could recognize that it was a touchy subject.

And that Bruce had already made up his mind about doing everything he could not to go. Unfortunately for him, with this case and with many others you were on Alfred’s side. You made a quick mental note to mention it to the butler the next time you saw him.

“Well, you should” as soon as you spoke, Bruce sent you a glare and let out another pained groan. His penchant for dramatics was something you never expected but was incredibly happy to discover, always making you laugh, “I know, I know, but… I mean, I’ll be there” once the bit of information was out, you winced. It was a stupid thing to add. While it was true, the fact was entirely unnecessary. For obvious reasons, “Obviously we can’t go together… which I don’t mind, by the way,” nervous laughter broke through the surface as you unconsciously moved away from Bruce and fixed your gaze on the swirling patterns of the duvet “I knew what I was getting myself into with you, so…”

And you did know. You never expected to ramble around Gotham’s public events holding onto Bruce’s arm. It was not even something you actively yearned for, finding the desired happiness and peace in those quiet private moments instead. It was another case of your mouth having a mind of its own and an incontrollable want to fill the gaps between reasonable sentences with bullshit. It was far from the first time that had happened.

Maybe that was why what Bruce said next did not surprise you but only made the pricks of conscience worse.

“I’m sorry” the apology was filled with enough sincerity to make your heart ache.

You knew that he meant it. In his eyes, something as silly as keeping your relationship secret was another way of letting you down. Of not being enough for you. It was another thing to nag him in the quiet of his mind when there were no distractions. You knew what that was like all too well. Before Bruce could drown in the spiral of his own making, you leaned in to cup his face and spoke:

“No, Bruce, I… I love you” the admission was an easy thing to say these days, falling from your lips like the tears you had once shed over it, “Nothing changes that. Plus, there’s an exciting potential in taking some time away from the other guests by perusing the bathroom” you wiggled your eyebrows comically, delighted to see him smile “It’s just a suggestion,”

It felt like a relief when Bruce grinned and gave you a forehead kiss.

“I’ll think about it. I promise” giving his hand another squeeze, you accepted the truce and made sure to meet his gaze. The tone Bruce used told you that was only just the beginning, “You’re not the only one who didn’t see this coming” slightly changing the grip on your hand, Bruce caressed your knuckles in broad, repetitive strokes.

The shyness in his eyes was familiar by now. Although, still, his openness could surprise you. Like just now. With an admission that he had no obligation to make yet seemed eager to anyway. You tightened the hold on his hand and asked:

“Yeah?” wincing at the wavering voice, you could hardly conceal the surprise in your gaze.

Because that was a line of conversation, you never expected him to follow. At least not tonight. But it did not make you any less curious, always happy to get another glimpse into the workings of Bruce’s mind and heart. Those were utterly precious. It was pointless to even think about getting rid of the gaping mouth and the dazed eyes.

Judging by Bruce’s smile, there was no need to try either.

“Yep,” he nodded and raised his arm in an invitation, soon followed by words, “Come here” you did not hesitate in scooting closer and letting Bruce pull you to rest with your back against his chest. You could feel him nosing along the tendons in your neck, voice slightly muffled yet still audible “You’re absolutely terrifying” you could picture his gleeful smile with your eyes closed.

The joy in his tone felt infectious. It was easy to say he meant it. That being called terrifying was one of the highest honours Bruce could bestow on you. You leant into the lingering kiss he pressed to the nape of your neck and breathed out the reply:

“That’s a new one, but I’ll take it” stringing together the words and ignoring the fire torched in your lower stomach from something as simple as his lips on your neck were too difficult a feat to achieve.

It became apparent as soon as you became aware of your breathless voice and heard Bruce’s low chuckle resonating through your body. It was a sound you came to like, very much. It meant he was finding you amusing and decidedly good enough. It was something to shove in the face of struggling self-confidence that could always try a little more.

“You’re terrifying because, with you, I can’t hide behind the cowl and pretend I don’t exist” the sincerity of the statement was enough to make your heart trip over itself in your chest.

Without thinking, you raised your clasped hands to your mouth and kissed his knuckles. A few days old scrapes scratched the skin of your lips. It felt real.

“Is that a good thing?” you had to ask, even if only to prolong the fragile moment.

Because no matter how much you enjoyed the loudest of nights and the blatant confessions, poignancy was something else entirely. Something you would always chase after if it stepped into your sights. Like just now.

“Yes, because you make me braver” Bruce did not hesitate, his grip around your waist tightening just a little bit as he continued, “I’m pretty sure you know this, but you’re the only person that gets to see me. The real Bruce Wayne as he’s supposed to be” you did know that which did not make the knowledge feel any less groundbreaking “It’s just that I know I’m not enough. For you-” it was once he started saying utter bullshit, that you had to interject.

That was not acceptable. Not on your watch. Gently peeling Bruce’s arms from your waist, you turned in his lap to straddle his hips and placed your hands on his shoulders. He did not expect that. You could tell as much from the hitch in his breathing and the widening eyes. Bruce still took it in his stride, steadying you with his arm around your shoulders, the other hand tracing invisible pathways along your thigh. You knew he was struck into silence, unable to do anything but wait on your next call. Something about the power you possessed over him was intoxicating if you did as much as stop and think about it.

Most days, you simply did not.

“You’re really dumb, but that’s okay” without hesitation, you cupped his cheek and carded your fingers through his unruly hair, smiling like an idiot. Because in the end, it was quite simple, you were astonished Bruce did not know it just yet. You waited for his blue eyes to meet yours and whispered, “You’re everything to me,”

It was an easy synonym to the familiar I love you, and to the less apparent I don’t want to imagine my life without you. It was the only way you could tell him the extent of his importance. The only way you could try to without dissolving into tears or doing something stupid like asking him to marry you. You did not think that would be quite the right time for it.

Bruce’s answering smile, softened by the persisting edges of disbelief, told you that you made the right call. He understood. As always. Unlike your very first kiss, you moved simultaneously, colliding somewhere in between with strangled gasps. Your tongues met in an electrizing touch, igniting the fire in your veins and making you fall against him with a whimper. Bruce swallowed the sound, his fingers buried into your hair as his tongue traced the sharper edges of your canines. As if he did not have the inside of your mouth memorized by now.

You could only step into the dance, letting him set the pace. His warmth overwhelmed your body as you kissed his lips with the hunger and thirst of a dying woman. Because that was the next best thing you could think of to show him you meant it. Because the pressure of his mouth against yours and the taste of his tongue sometimes were the only things that felt real. Real enough to make you believe hope could persist. That it had a place within your reality. With each kiss, each confession, and each day that passed with Bruce, hope slowly replaced the longing that used to fill your heart. You could only trust that one day it would be eradicated.

Your kiss stretched until it was nearly impossible to breathe. Then, and only then, you nipped at Bruce’s lower lip and softened the bite with the swipe of your tongue before parting. His eyes looked beautiful when nearly swallowed by the gaping black of his blown-out pupils. And it was all your doing. You always took pleasure in the seconds just after the kiss, the few ticks of the clock when Bruce had to forcibly shake himself awake from the spell you had put him under. You could see it in the slight shake of his head, clearing the daze in his eyes and the deep breath he took before even trying to speak.

You rested your forehead against his, the pounding heart slowing down. Until everything that was left was a pleasant hum of the passion coursing in your veins. There was no need to act on it, so you let yourself exist and bask in the warmth of Bruce’s body against yours. When he finally spoke, you were almost composed:

“See? Terrifying” happiness shone in his blue eyes as Bruce raised his hand to let his fingers trace the edges of your features.

It was impossible not to lean into his touch, greedily taking every ounce of tenderness Bruce would offer. He always took that additional second to brush the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, soothing the kiss-bruised skin. You could hardly stop the satisfied purr that rose in your throat.

Instead, you tried to focus on the sentiment. On how much it must have meant for Bruce to admit. Without needing to think about it too hard, you knew you understood the feeling. That the myriad of emotions swirling in your chest could be summarized with one response. One that Bruce would see through easily. One that would show him that you have this in common, too.

You leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek and whispered the reply:

“Quite right, too,” the unspoken meaning shone through the gaps between the vowels, highlighted by the slight waver of your voice.

When Bruce tipped your chin and met your gaze, you knew you made the right choice. Another ounce of hope replaced the longing. Another heavy sigh became unanchored and took flight within the safety of his eyes.

As the snow covered the city outside, you became aware of two things. 1) It was good to be seen if the gaze that pierced through your soul was kind. 2) Bruce Wayne could be many things, but above all that, he was yours. And that was enough.

[folklorcore]

how about a little scenario where the reader wrote call it what you want for robert and him reacting to it

call it what you want ─ r. pattinson

Thank u so much for your request. <3

Pairing: Robert Pattinson x Singer!Fem!Reader

TW/Tags: Established relationship, pure fluff.

Summary: Everyone believes that fame is happiness and perfection, but on the other side of the coin is that at any moment they can destroy you. And that's what happened to you, but during that you met Robert, who you wrote a song for and he reacts to it for the first time.

Words count: 0.83 k.

Robert's Masterlist.

As is known, fame is not always rosy. Much less perfect.

You learned this as soon as a rumor that nearly destroyed your entire reputation caused you to disappear from the public eye for almost half a year.

If it hadn't been for Robert, you honestly wouldn't have pursued that career.

The two first met in person a month after the whole mess went off. When you first started dating, dubious about everything that was going on, you tried to break up with him a couple of times. You didn't think it was good for his career that when both went public with your relationship, they linked him to you.

Most of the discussions were about that. And they always brought you to tears.

So he took you by the cheeks, caressed them gently and looked directly into your eyes.

"Listen to me, if I'm with you knowing everything that happened it's because I really love you for the great person that you are. I know that the y/n they talk about out there is not my y/n. I'm here to stay, honey ."

And that's when you started planning your comeback, preparing your next studio album.

In which there was a song, or more, for Robert.

"All the liars are calling me one,

nobody's heard from me for months,

I'm doing better than I ever was."

You started humming while writing the lyrics.

As the days passed you had more than half the song done.

Everything was inspired by the situation you were going through, how you went from feeling so low but Robert helped get you out of the hole you were in when everyone turned their backs on you.

There was one time where they almost saw you on the streets of Hollywood when you and he went to buy breakfast, only you stayed inside the black armored van and they only got photos of the actor. But they were photos of him smiling at the van as he got into it.

Magazine articles and Internet pages began to speculate about Robert's new conquest, but they never imagined that it would be you.

"'Cause my baby's fit like a daydream,

walking with his head down,

I'm the one he's walking to."

You recorded little clips of moments with him for a possible video for the song.

Moments when it was you and him in a cabin you had in Canada. You spent much of the time there.

You playing the guitar by the fireplace with him in front of you while recording the video.

Walks in the woods. You smiling as he took your hand to kiss the back of it. You composing. You looking at the snowy landscape through the window with a cup of hot chocolate in it. Making forts under the covers in the living room.

"Starry eyes sparking up my darkest night."

It was almost completely finished, only the bridge was missing.

As you tried to figure out what you could write on that part, you brought your hand up to your clavicle, playing with the thin chain that hung from your neck with Robert's initial.

And just like in the cartoons, it was like a light bulb went on over your head.

"I want to wear his initial on a chain 'round my neck, chain 'round my neck." you murmured singing, writing everything before the idea left.

And at least a couple of days later the song was completely finished. A week later you went to record it in a studio and a couple of months later the album was completely ready.

That had been three months ago. All your fans received you in a good way along with your new album.

And some time later the rumor that had caused your disappearance was denied.

You started a tour and that was the first night of it. And it would be the first time Robert would hear the song, because you wanted it to be special, when the album came out you didn't let him hear it.

"This song was inspired by a person who stayed with me all the time when I disappeared," the screams of the fans filled the stadium, making you smile. You looked in the audience for your boyfriend, who was already looking at you with happiness shining on his face. "Robert, this is for you."

You started to sing the song, watching at all times Robert's reaction, which did not stop smiling with love.

"So call it what you want, yeah,

call it what you want to."

You finished, your chest heavy with joy and adrenaline, facing the entire audience with a genuine smile.

Backstage you looked for Robert, and when you saw him you ran to him to hug him, so he welcomed you with open arms, hugging you tightly.

"I loved the song."

"Yeah?" You looked at him affectionately and he nodded caressing your cheek.

"Yeah." He tilted his face a little so he could kiss you softly.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.

[stuismybf]

do not wait. - e.c

prompt “their blood is on your hands”

summary: When you’re attacked by a wolf in the woods Edward tries his best to save you.

a/n: trying to not be so depressed so i thought i would try and get back into writing, sorry about not publishing anything new for almost 3 months. hope this is okay <3

Your vision was growing blurry and your eyes moved from alice and edward and back. Edward’s arm was wrapped around you in the back seat and your legs were propped on Alice’s lap as Emmett was speeding towards the hospital to take you to Carlisle.

You twitched in pain and struggled to focus on your breathing, or any of your surroundings.

“edward we could just change her…she’s…edward just look at her”

you were bleeding out.

the wolf had attacked you out of nowhere and left you for dead, you hadn't thought about it then but you knew it was because you were close with the Cullen's.

he shook his head. “i can’t. it’s not right…she’ll be okay it’ll be fine”

he rubbed his thumb against your cheek and Emmett swerved into the hospital parking lot. Edward wrapped his arms around you and rushed into the hospital.

"Carlisle!" he yelled rushing inside, your head flopped to the side limply he looked down at you and Carlisle's head came from around the corner looking at you, your mouth fell open "Edward" you whispered hoarsely his eyes were full of pain and his grip on you tightened.

Carlisle ran to you "what happened?" he asked looking at the blood soaking through your shirt, your eyes followed his and you hadn't realized what a mess you were.

Your pants were torn and covered in mud, the bottom half of your shirt was missing and your wound was exposed, your sleeves were dirty and also bloody, the jacket you had been wearing was missing completely and you had a cut on your right cheek.

You reached your hand out for Edwards, your fingers were aching as they intertwined with his icy ones, you sighed in relief at the coldness numbing your pain.

You only heard bits of the conversation,

"Carlisle i'm not losing her"

"then let me-"

"no...i won't...i can't"

"those stupid dogs i'll fucking..."

"will it work?"

"low chances...her injuries...fatal...I'm sorry"

"I don't believe you"

"Edward please just let me-" "No." "maybe this isn't your choice."

"call her parents"

He couldn’t though. They were on a hiking trip with no service, he’d have to wait until tomorrow at least to call them.

You were moved to a hospital bed and Carlisle gave you some meds to try and soothe your pain while Edward was sitting beside you.

"Carlisle has to preform surgery on you but you'll be okay" he said holding your hand you gave him a gentle squeeze but then you saw the reluctant look on Carlisle’s face and then you looked back over to Edward, denial.

Carlisle placed the breathing mask over your face and Edwards expression was full of pain as he watched you slip into unconsciousness.

Edwards hands ran over his face and he looked at your body and how peaceful you looked, he wanted to smile but it quickly faded away at the realization that you didn’t just look peaceful you looked…dead. He placed his fingertips on your wrist and felt your pulse. It was weak but it was still there.

hours later

Carlisle stitched the cut on your arm and cleaned your wounds, while you were less likely to get an infection the wound on your stomach worried Carlisle. He hadn't said anything to Edward yet in fear of alarming him but he was afraid of the severity of the wound. You had lost a lot of blood and you were lucky that you were still alive.

You were on the brink of death and Carlisle was afraid that it was too late to save you. He walked into the waiting room and saw Edward with his head in his hands and Alice had her arm on his back trying to comfort him but Carlisle could tell that Alice was upset as well.

“edward”

his eyes looked up at Carlisle, hopeful.

Carlisle shook his head and he watched the anger surge through Edward. He sped into the room and was by your side instantly. “It’s not too late” he whispered holding onto your arm. Edward sunk his teeth into your wrist, it had to work. “come on…come on please” he whispered.

you lay on the hospital bed in a lifeless state, “please please please” he chanted, bite marks covered your arms. Maybe he could still change you, it couldn’t be too late could it? No you had to make it.

fear was pumping through Edward’s body as he tried to think of a way to save you. “i love you” he whispered.

“edward it’s too late…she’s gone”

Edward’s mouth slipped away from your wrist, the blood pouring down his mouth. He threw his hands in his hair and started dry sobbing. “there must be something we can do” he pleaded looking at your corpse.

“i’m sorry” Carlisle said.

“no god please” Edward begged grabbing your hand. “I can’t live without her. I won’t” he shook his head and angrily kicked your bedside table.

Alice walked into the hospital room and looked at you, her brows furrowed and she felt like tears were pricking her eyes. “their blood is on your hands” she angrily shouted, walking out.

Edward was laying by your hospital bed in anguish, you were gone. You wouldn’t be coming back and it was his fault.

[robertpattinsonslut]

hi darling! i was wondering if you could write your last imagine its so cute! i love it! hope you have a great day or night and i loveeee youu!

𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄!

ೃ⁀➷ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐄𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐒𝐰𝐚𝐧!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ೃ⁀➷𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 1/?

ೃ⁀➷𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 3.3+𝐊!

ೃ⁀➷ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞.

ೃ⁀➷ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞, 𝐃𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐥.

ೃ⁀➷ 𝐀/𝐍: 𝐇𝐢 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲! 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 <3. 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠! ⍟

My hands were shaking. My body was sweating. My head was spinning. I couldn't believe that my sister was dead.

I grabbed my phone from the counter and typed in Charlie's phone number as I placed the phone to my earlobe. I was holding into the table, breathing heavily as a silent tear rolled down on my left cheek what was flushed red because of my blood pressure.

Charlie answered the phone after the fourth ring as he spoke into it. His voice was raspy, sad and angry. I couldn't hold it anymore so I started to cry while he was listening to me through the phone.

My sobs were quiet as I gasped for air. The worst part was that Bella was pregnant and I couldn't imagine how the Cullens were dealing with the situation...especially Edward.

- Y/N don't cry it's going to be okay I promise. I sent the Cullens after you, it's better if you stay with them for a short period of time. I don't think I can take a really good care of you...and you are still eighteen a kid. I'm going to Phoenix for a few days, tell Renée that you are going to be fine I don't think she will believe me...I love you. - He said and when I didn't answer, a sigh left his lips and he placed down the phone.

I placed the phone back to the counter as I carried my legs to the stairs of the house. I almost fell due to my blurred vision. I let out more sobs and got got upstairs holding onto the limit as I lifted my legs on each step.

I entered my room staring at it. It was a little room with a bed in it, next to it a desk where my books and some photo frames where. I slowly got to the desk, picking up photo frame and I stared at it blankly. I traced my fingers on the frame of the photo of me and my sister.

It was after graduation. Bella and I were wearing this long, yellow dress and the graduation hat on our heads. I remember that dad took this picture because mom asked him to. Renée was always a memory keeper, whatever happened she had to take millions of pictures to remember the exact same moment.

I bought the frame to my chest, holding it tightly as a few more sobs escaped my mouth. I never could imagine myself living with the Cullens. What dad meant that he is going to be away for days in his understatement meant a few years, and I was a hundred percent sure that I'm not going to make it with hero hair Edward Cullen and his vampire family. Yeah maybe I spent dinners there because Bella and Edward invited me to, but nothing serious happened.

I softly ran my hands through my brunette locks and took the hair away from my face. I leaned onto the wall sliding down to the floor. My mascara ran down my face as I looked at my ceiling still crying and reaching for air.

It didn't even take 5 minutes for a car to show up. I heard the motor of it which was kind of surprising, because the only car this loud I knew was Bella's trunk. I slowly got up from the floor and wiped my mascara off with the sleeves of my hoodie.

I walked to my window and reached for the knob of it, twisting and opening it fully. As I gazed out the window the cold October's breeze got through my skin and I closed my eyes feeling the fresh air. The weather was chilly, after all living in Forks comes with this. I shifted my gaze to the oak tree which was in the neighborhood and watched the letters slowly fall down from it to the ground.

I was still hearing the motor of the shiny Volvo what I immediately recognized. I looked down to my shaking hands noticing that I was gripping the windows ledge. The door opened and Edward Cullen got out of the car. I showed him a tired smile as he looked at me worried. My face was totally saying others then my inner, but I knew that he could easily read my toughts from even 20 meters.

My heart started pounding in my chest. I felt like a part of my heart just stopped beating and was nowhere to be functioning. I stood out of his way and waited until he got in through my window, but before he could even get in I fainted and my head hit the floor, loosing my consciousness as my eyes started to give out just like my heart.

A few days later

I woke up to the beeps of the green glowing monitor what showed my heart rate next to me. My fingertips were tracing somethings on the blanket what was wrapped around my figure. I slowly opened my eyes gazing at the table that was next to me with roses and cards on it. I moved my gaze to the end of the bed and a girl was sitting on it, waiting for me to wake up.

- Oh my god you are awake! - She exclaimed smiling at me while taking my hand in hers.

The girl was Alice, she looked a bit more like a woman after graduation eventough they don't really age. Seems like their 67th graduation changed a lot about them...wish I could say the same.

She was wearing a leather jacket with a black dress covering her thighs with a matching pair of black heels. The "Im dressed in black" look informed me that today is Bella's funeral and I couldn't go because of my physical condition.

- Hi... - I said with a raspy tone. Her hand was cold and it felt good. My eyes were still sore and I barely managed to open them fully. I felt that something in my stomach wasn't really having great days because I wasn't eating for a few, a nd my immune system started to give out.

-How are you? We were worried you are not going to wake up. - Alice asked tightening her hold on my hand.

I was surprised she didn't have any visions of me...maybe because I wasn't awake or something like that.

- Yeah well I only remember seeing Edward from my windows and then I fainted my head is still spinning and my stomach is hurting like crazy. - I said quietly looking out of the big see through doors and I realised that I wasn't at a hospital. I was in Carlisle's hospital room in the Cullen house.

Then she suddenly looked into the nothing and stayed motionless. She stayed like this for almost half a minute and then when she woke up she stared at me with wide eyes and a shocked face.

- Alice what's wrong? What did you see? - I asked holding her hands in mines. It didn’t take a second for her to quickly speed away from the room and ran up the stairs to find her family.

I was left alone in the bed for about ten minutes after Carlisle came down to the room I was in. Good I tought. Now I will have to stay here for I don't know how long. Behind him followed Edward who didn't even look up from the stairs.

- Edward help her sit in the wheelchair. - Carlisle said running to his desk to grab some things after the mentioned person came up to my bed and placed his hand behind my back and the other one under my legs.

- Hey I can sit up don't touch me! - I said. No. Shouted at him. He looked at me like I was crazy but he lifted me up anyways and carried me to the wheelchair, sitting me in it. I looked at him like I was going to kill him after the funeral, but he pushed the wheelchair to Carlisle's desk and he sat down aswell on a chair next to me.

I looked down to see why were my legs shaking and I saw it. I saw that I had huge bump, covering the top of my thighs as I opened my mouth to scream out of the top of my lungs. The only thing that accused me not to was Edward turning his back on me, ignoring my words and acting like I wasn't even there. I moved my head back to my thighs and lifted my nightgrown. How did I even get in a nightgrown?

- This is why we came up... - Carlisle spoke and I moved my head up from my thigs to stare at his face. He was giving me a worried look again just like Edward did yesterday. Was it even yesterday? I didn't know how many days I have slept through - Y/N - He kept the eye contact with me and not caring about that he wasn't blinking already for about 3 minutes - You are not pregnant by yourself don't worry, you are carrying the baby Bella was. - He spoke looking back at Edward who was still turning his back on us.

It was like in that moment, my full life just run down in front of my eyes. I couldn't believe nor I wanted to that I was carrying my dead sisters baby, or whatever is this. A baby shouldn't grow this fast. They just came home from the honeymoon like two weeks ago. I finally found my voice again in my sore throat and began to speak eventough I didn't even know what words were coming out of my mouth.

- No I can't. Bella died! My sister is dead how can I possibly carry something what was in her womb a few days ago? How? You are lying! You did something to me there is no possibility for a 2 week old fetus to be this huge already! Look at me! I look like I'm already in my nineth month! - I exclaimed, sweating and trying to control my anger what just literally splashed over my nerves. He took a deep breath before going to the ultrasound station and nodding to Edward to come and help me to the bed.

-I already told you that I do not need your help, thank you! - I said getting slowly up myself, eventough I thought I did it, my back started to hurt after not being used to my big bump and I almost fell to my knees, letting out a gasp as Edward catched me and picked me up before I could even take a breath.

He stared at my face and gave me a look that told me I shouldn't really speak back to him. And I immediately thought about two words that he could easily read out from my mind.

Fuck yourself.

He gave me his serious look again and carried me to the bed where the ultrasound was, and laid me on my back. He then moved away from me and went to the big windows to look out of them. I stared at his back blankly as he walked to the window and crossed his arms on his chest.

- Atleast try to not show it that you hate me from this moment now... - I whispered but also knew that he could hear it so I turned my gaze to Carlisle who was setting up the whole thing. I lifted my nightgrown a little so the bump's end would be visible and he placed the cold transcuder on it and I shivered.

He started typing in some things on the keyboard and I moved my gaze to the monitor as it turned on and the baby became more visible.

- The head is upwards so it will be sure a caesarean delivery still and I see that the hands are opening. - He smiled as he moved the transcuder to the left and upwards. - After all it seems healthier then before! - Carlisle said typing more things on the keyboard as I stared at the baby in the monitor.

A silent tear fell down on my cheek and I quickly wiped it away, sniffling my nose and I felt more tears spill out. I couldn't still believe that a part of Bella was still with me. It made me happy and forget about how worse things were. I forgot about everything that bothered me in that moment and thought about the baby. I smiled as the monitor showed the heartbeat of it.

- Okay I'm done, I'm just gonna pack away everything. You can wipe the gel down. - He handed me the paper towels and I slowly but cleverly wiped it down. My gaze flew to the person standing at the window who's hands now were in his pockets as he didn't hid the fact that he listened to what Carlisle said about the baby and he then turned around staring at me laying on the bed.

His face as usual, didn't show his emotions. It was like he swallowed something really bad, but didn't want to tell it. He finally walked over his adoptive father as he gave something to the younger vampire.

He held a picture in his hand. Probably that was what Carlisle was typing after he checked on me. After all Edward finally showed the famous little smile of his and slided the picture in the pocket of his jacket.

- I'm gonna check your blood pressure and take some blood from you, then I will help you to your room. - Carlisle spoke finally standing up from his seat to find the blood pressure meter as Edward helped me to sit up.

He squeezed my hand before letting it go again as he went back to the big see through windows. I stared at him again, thinking that I probably messed up now our friendship with my thoughts and I let out a sigh.

- Your room is still not ready since Alice is rambling about something called "Y/N's color scheme" and we didn't knew what kind of furniture we should buy so today I'm taking Rosalie with myself and she will help me since she is into pregnancy, until that you are going to sleep in Edward's room. - he said wrapping the fabric around my arm and tying it tightly then pressing the start button on the little machine.

I looked at Edward again who was facing the windows. The color black didn't really remind me of him. He never wore these kind of suits and what really hurt my heart, that in the next few years, he is never going to go out of his room, while I have to be with him. I knew that if he comes home I would confront him about this whole thing. It hurt to me aswell just as enough as for him, so I knew what was he feeling, but I was here and I was only here because if Bella couldn't make her dream come true, then I knew that she would beg for me to complete my own.

- Average. - Carlisle said forcing me out of my thoughts. I looked back at him and he turned the machine off taking the fabric off my left arm and placed it on the table next to us.

- Now I'm going to take blood. - He said reaching for the clamping strap and wrapped it tightly around my arm.

I wondered back to my own thoughts. What would happen if I give birth to this baby? Would Edward still hate me for being here instead of Bella? Would he even speak to me? I looked down again before Carlisle could see that I had tears in my eyes again.

- Okay now stretch your arm and your palm too. - He went to his desk reaching for the needle and some tampons with sterilizer and he sat down facing me.

- You can look to the window if you like to some of my patients don't really like seeing their blood. - he chuckled searching my veins when he found one he sterilized the spot and grabbed the needle.

As he pushed the needle in a sigh left my lips and I looked at the window. When he was done he pulled it out and gave me a tampon to hold the blood back.

- Okay well then Edward will push you to his room! - Carlisle said looking at Edward and giving him a look as he turned around. He slowly walked to me again, now looking somewhat calmer then before. He picked me up by my legs and my back then slowly sitting me in the wheel chair. My back leant onto the back of the chair, relaxing my muscles. Edward went behind me again and reached for the two handles of the chair. He lifted the metal rod so it could move as he started to push me towards the elevator.

- Wait you have a bed in your room? I tought vampires don't sleep...? - I asked, remembering again what his room looked like. No, it sure didn't have a bed before.

- Well it's technically yours. We couldn't set it in your room now, you know what Carlisle said. - Edward finally spoke after being silent for almost an hour. He pushed the button to the elevator and the doors opened infront of us. He pushed me into it, pushing the button of the second floor as he still stood behind me, probably reading my thoughts.

Then I decided I would ask if something with me being here bothers him but I decided not to. Atleast not today, on Bella's funeral.

He suddenly stepped in front of me and bended down to my level. He brushed the hair out of my face and pushed some behnd my ear. He looked down and pursed his lips as tried to say something but no words came out of his mouth. Then he shook his head, and went behind my chair again. I sighed in defeat, because I wanted to talk to him. And it didn't work out again.

As the doors slowly opened they revealed the white corridors and the paintings on the wall. I smiled looking at the familiar doors and paintings all over the wall as Edward pushed me towards the right side of the corridor where his room was. He stopped infront of the familiar elephantbone white colored door with a number on it and he twisted the know revealing his room. He pushed me inside and stopped in the middle of his room stepping infront of me again to pick me up. He placed his hands again under my legs and my back and picked me up.

He carried me to the king sized bed and placed me down on it, covering my body with the blankets. And he squeezed my hand again walking to the door. I stopped him by saying his name.

- Edward! - I spoke calmly as his back faced me again. He didn't even bother to turn around he just stopped in his tracks. - Please if you come home wake me up. Don't wait for me until I do. Now go you have somewhere to be... - I whispered as he continued to walk to the door and opened it closing it slowly behind him.

I stared at the ceiling trying to sleep that day. Whenever I closed my eyes, he would come infront of me. I tried to turn to my sides, but it didn't work out. I only once almost screamed because of the pain I felt, but I quickly turned to my back again never trying to turn around.

I looked at his sshelf where his CD's where. They were full of classic's from the sixties to the now day music. I was surprised that he even had the first of Taylor's album. I quickly glanced over his desk where his journal was opened with a black picture glancing out of it. I couldn't see it from far away. As my eyes started to give out again, I smiled to myself as the baby kicked somehow now not that painful. I placed my palm on my bump again and started rubbing it.

After all I could live here. Not like the Cullens were horrible persons. Atleast I knew they weren't. I just didn't know what was Alice's vision holding in the future for me.

[davidlcki]

christmas!battinson?! kissing under the mistletoe? snow fights in the garden? baking cookies? PLEASE

wayne manor christmas

I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCH THANK YOU ANON THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! happy early holidays everyone! i hope you all enjoy, although my writing skills aren’t at 100% currently.

pairing: pattinson! bruce wayne/ reader

warnings: none :)

you woke up this morning with a start. bruce however was not ready to get up, moaning tiredly as you roll over on top of his sleeping figure.

“bruce! come on let’s get up!” you whisper shout as you card your fingers through his black hair. he opens one eye to peer down at you.

“what’s the occasion?” he asks sarcastically, his voice was low and hoarse from sleep. you roll your eyes and sit up, tugging him by his arm until he unwillingly stands up. once he was on his feet and you smothered him with kisses, he began to perk up and even show you one of his rare smiles. what made this morning better was the snow that was steadily falling outside. it was christmas morning and you were too eager to head downstairs and exchange presents with bruce.

“here’s yours my good sir” you hand the present to him gracefully and watch eagerly as he rips off the wrapping. his eyes visibly light up as he observes your gift to him. it was an expensive watch that he had been eyeing for MONTHS but never got around to buying.

“my watch! i love it, thank you honey” bruce kisses your lips gently and you could feel him smile against you. “here, open yours”

you open the present quickly, too excited to see what lies inside. once pulling the box open, you were met with the most beautiful necklace you’d ever seen. he knew your taste perfectly. you were too afraid to ask how much it cost.

“bruce! it’s beautiful, thank you!” you nearly knock him backwards as you throw your arms around him and kiss him all over for the second time that day. the two of you spent another hour, talking and opening your smaller gifts for each other. before deciding to bake cookies for the christmas party you were hosting tonight.

“do we really have to host the party?” bruce asks, to which alfred gives a glare.

“yes, master wayne. it would be good for you to connect with some old friends, don’t you think?”

“plus we can show off our christmas decorations” you give an encouraging smile and pull out the christmas cookie ingredients.

baking took a lot longer than it should have. you were either throwing flour at each other, or shielding the raw dough from bruce who would have eaten it all if you let him. but alas, you eventually got the cookies baking in the oven.

“mission accomplished!” you high five bruce, which creates a cloud of flour. bruce had white handprints all over his clothes, and on his nose and cheeks.

“you got a little something” you point at your own nose, and bruce gives you a scowl.

“really? i didn’t notice” he throws sarcasm at you, and sticks his hand into the pile of flour on the counter. before you could react, he had rubbed it all down your face and shirt.

“oh my god!” you smack his hands away and gasp with shock, although a smile was tugging at your lips.

the two of you ended up showering while the cookies baked, and by the time you were finished getting ready, people were arriving for the party. you and bruce were in ugly christmas sweaters that you insisted would be cute to wear as you greeted guests that arrived. you enjoyed catching up with old friends, and even though bruce wasn’t enthusiastic, you could tell he enjoyed the socializing at least a little bit.

you both had an overwhelming feeling of normalcy, not having to worry about crime in the city as much, it seemed batman’s presence had really made it die down. it felt good to be able to breathe, and have something as normal as a party.

an hour in, the two of you were socially drained. you stood off under a wide doorframe, lost in a conversation that you didn’t have to force out like around guests. suddenly, bruce looks up. furrowing your brows, you follow his gaze and notice a mistletoe hanging above the two of you. you look back at him, giving him that ‘really?’ stare, along with a playful smile.

“did you plan this?” you cock your head to the side, bruce copies your head tilt and steps closer to you.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about” he shrugs and places a hand on your waist. his other hand gracefully balanced a wine glass. you on the other hand, nearly spilled your drink down his back as you wrapped your arms around his neck. you connected your lips with his, the kiss was passionate, a kiss reserved for when it’s just you and him (how convenient that the mistletoe is just out of the party’s eye?). no matter how long you’ve known bruce, every kiss felt like the first with him. the sparks never fade, but only grow stronger. hell, you felt like a highschooler.

the party flew by quickly with the help of being tipsy, and when you gave your farewells to all the guests you noticed the snow outside. the light from the moon bounced off of the powdery substance and you guessed there was maybe 2-3 feet of snow now. you gave bruce the look, and he immediately shook his head no.

“please!!” you clasp your hands together and show puppy eyes in a silent beg, and bruce quickly gives in.

in an instant you were in your winter clothes and out into the night, trudging through the snow filled garden with a childlike wonder in your eyes. you turned to bruce to speak to him, but were instantly met with a snowball to the shoulder. you gasp in fake shock, and you suddenly felt like you were in a gunslinger stand off. the two of you made eye contact, waiting to see who would make the first move. quickly, you run behind a bush and begin to create snowballs that you hurled at bruce. you managed to dodge (most of) them, but when you popped up from your bush again, you noticed he was gone. carefully, you creep through the garden, armed with two snowballs.

“bruuuuuuceeeee” you sing out teasingly, tossing the snowball up and down in your gloved hand. before you could even react, bruce pops out from behind a tree and charges at you. you manage to throw one snowball before he gets to you, and sends the two of you crashing to the ground. you let out a scream, followed by laughter from the both of you. you take a breath to calm down, but fall into a fit again at the sight of bruce’s face absolutely covered in snow.

“oh that’s funny?” he teases, grabbing your face and shaking the snow off of him onto you.

“hey, hey!!!” you grab his own face to stop him, the two of you were now dripping with melted snow. you kiss one of the snowflakes off of his cheek near the corner of his mouth, and when you pull back he catches you in another kiss on the lips. you smile against him and kiss back eagerly.

“can we go back inside now?” bruce’s voice was shaking slightly as he smiled at you, and it made you aware of how cold you were yourself.

“good idea”

[imagine--if]

Haiiii 🖤 can u do a sfw/fluff alphabet or headcanon for Battinson please?? I love your blog and writing 😄

A/N: I absolutely can 💕 enjoy!! And what the hecc, WhY dO i LoVe ThIs GiF sO mUcH?!? His eyesss and anfghsedsvf he's too cute 🥰

Pairing: Battinson x reader (The Batman 2022)

Warnings: FlUfF 😍

A- Activity (What is their favourite activity to do with you?)

Bruce doesn't spend much time out in public with you, because it's really annoying when paparazzi and journalists barge in on dates and simple outings... and he's more comfortable in the night's darkness. Still, he'll go out with you if you like anyway, but he prefers when you two do stuff together in the manor. And there's always something to do 😉

B- Beginnings (How do they act in the beginning of a relationship?)

It takes a little while for Bruce to open up completely, but give him time, and he'll definitely come around. Poor guy's been through quite a lot, but he finds it so easy to talk and be around you. He's a little shy and nervous about doing anything wrong, since Bruce isn't very experienced relationship-wise, but he grows more comfortable and sappy every day 😊

C- Communication (Are they good communicators? How do they normally talk about their problems or solve issues?)

Like I said, Bruce is quite a quiet and closed-off person, but with you, he really wants to tell you everything. It's just really hard for him to put it all into words, to rehash the painful and bittersweet memories. Sometimes he writes them down in his jornals and gives them to you to read when he's not around. Other times he'll murmur about a memory at night in bed or something. Apart from that, he's pretty open about everything else that goes on in his life. You probably know that he's Batman early on in the relationship, since Bruce would find it difficult to keep that big part of him seperate from you. But after you accepted that and totally agreed to keep it secret, Bruce knew that you're a trustworthy person, so there's no need to hide anything from you.

D- Drunk (What are they like when they’re drunk?)

Bruce doesn't really get drunk much lmao, unless he's had a particularly rough day/night. I feel like he'd ramble about random thoughts and feelings a lot, space out and stare at you, point out everything he loves about you in precise detail that he'd be a little too shy to do properly when he's sober 😌 Then you'll have to deal with him being put and embarrassed the next morning hehe

E- Emergency (How are they in emergency situations? You get hurt, they get hurt, someone is dying etc?)

Welp, Bruce is Batsy, so if you ever got hurt, he'd be sooo quick to get you help and patched up. He gets all sorts of bruises and cuts while he's out patrolling the nights, but it's you that he's concerned about, so he'd just have to try not to panic and deal with the situation as calmly as he can. He's so protective and in love, so your safety and well-being are his priority.

F- Free Spot (I’ll give you any headcanon I come up with.)

Bruce prefers it when you come with him to events he has to turn up to, like special galas and meetings and stuff. You help ground him and put him at ease, even though the cameras flashing and the persistent questions about your relationship from the press and such get on his nerves as he sends them with death glares 😂 He writes about you a lot in his journals too. Like, he's writing down everything that happened on the night, but then the rest of the page is just about how he's doing this for you and won't let anything bad happen to you and you're the only person he cares about 🖤

G- Gifts (What kind of gifts do they give? What kind of gifts do they get?)

It's fair to say that this man spoils the hell out of you. Bruce isn't a very materialistic person, doesn't really care about latest models to blow his money on, but with you, he'll throw it around like nothing. You could literally be looking through a book about private jets and he'll be like: "Do you want-" "No, Bruce, I'm literally just reading 😂😂" He gets you meaningful presents too though, things he thinks you'd like and know is your style, because he's pretty attentive and observant.

H- Hugs (How do they show affection/cuddle?)

Oh boy, Bruce can't get enough of cuddling. He's a little shy at first about initiating it, just in case you're busy or don't feel like it, but you end up pulling him into a tight embrace which he reutrns fully. He loves being close to you, burying his face in your neck, letting himself just get lost in the warmth and love he's missed ever since his parents died. Even when he's writing up reports after being Batman for the night or is working on some other Wayne business, you'll most likely be held securely in his lap while you do your thing 🥰

I- Irritation (What is something that irritates them? How do they show their irritation?)

Bruce is massively protective over you so when anyone makes you feel uncomfortable, puts you in any danger, tries to expose you to anything that'll be bad for you... Anything like that, and he'll really get annoyed. Because you're all he's got left, and he's not giving you up anytime soon, especially to some careless person in Gotham. He won't go raging mad on them, but his jaw clenches as he tells them in his firm, quiet tone to back off and be careful and all. If they still don't get it, he'll make sure you're away from them before he properly does something about them, probably through Vengeance.

J- Jackpot (How would they spend their winnings if they won the lottery?)

Yeah, like Bruce Wayne needs to win the lottery 🤣 This guy’s literally a BiLlIoNaRe, in case you didn’t know 😎 and he spends a lot of it on you, as I’ve already established. He’s not at all social-climbing.

K- Kryptonite (What is their ultimate weakness?)

It's gotta be you, one hundred per cent. If anything happened to you, he'd never forgive himself. No one knows about Bruce being Batman except for you and Alfred though, so no threats of that sort come about, otherwise that'd really cause some issues.

L- Laughter (What makes them laugh?)

Whenever you're laughing, I think. Like, if you find something hysterical, or you're just in a giggling fit for no reason, Bruce finds it really hard not to chuckle at you with a fond smile. Sometimes he videos it so he can watch it in the rare times you're not together 💕

M- Morning ( How do they wake up in the morning? Are they a morning person or a morning grouch?)

Bruce Wayne isn't a morning person at all, due to him being out for most of the night as The Batman. He has curtains in the bedroom that block out the light, and he'd probably stay in bed with you all day if Alfred let him 😂 He just as his legs over your body and head in your neck in a sprawled out cuddly mess and refuses to let you move until you really have to, or Alfred yanks the curtains open and teases him lol

N- Needy (When do they feel particularly needy? How do they show it?)

He's needy a lot of the time, particularly for affection and attention. Bruce will do subtle things like move closer to you or hold your hand or lean against you slightly, and that's all you need to hold him properly. He loves kisses too, they're just so sweet and intimate and it makes him a blushy, lovestruck mess 😍

O- Oasis (Where is their happy place? Where would they go if they didn’t have anything holding them back?)

Wayne Manor and The Cave are his familiar places and his home. Bruce is dedicated to saving Gotham, but after a while, he wouldn't mind going out of town or the country for a few days or so to unwind or something. Still, that's hard with him being The Batman, but he'd find a way somehow.

P- Pain (How do they handle pain? How do they handle when you are in pain?)

Honestly, when he's hurt, it doesn't matter much to him. He'll grit his teeth and let Alfred or you bandage him with a light scolding, but like I metnioned earlier, if you're in pain, Bruce will do anything to help. Even if it's cramps or something, he's immeditely getting you meds and comfort and relief. It breaks his heart to see you hurt, so you'd get a hell of a lot of attention from him throughout the day, to the point where he'd be willing to stop early for the night to get back to you instead of staying as his vigilante self.

Q- Quote (What’s a quote that fits them and your relationship)

"And they will be the light your darkness has longed for." - Joseph Colombrita

R- Reunion (How do they celebrate seeing you after a long time of being apart?)

He's pretty clingy, wanting nothing more than to just melt into your hugs and keep you by his side for as long as possible. Bruce doesn't like being apart from you for too long - he can cope with the late nights and stuff, but not days at a time. He'd find it really hard to stay focused and Bruce would miss you too much 🥺🥺

S- Stress (What stresses them out? How do deal with stress and how do they relieve it?)

Daily pressures of being social as a Wayne, the responsibilities of being Batman... there's a lot he deals with, but you're always there to help him unwind, so you're what makes everything better for him. He'll willingly go through all the stress in Gotham if it means that you're there every step of the way.

T- Terror (What are they afraid of?)

Bruce's biggest fear is losing you like he lost his parents. He's admitted this several times in vulnerable moments where he clings to your like a life force at nights, forcing back tears, while you assure him that you'll never leave him and love him just as much as he loves you 💕

U- Unique (What is a quirk that is unique to them?)

Does being The Batman count? It should 😂 Bruce likes it when it's darker - like, did you see him putting sunglasses on while he was indoors in the movie?? - but he likes to see all of your face and features more clearly in the light too, so, dilemma lmao

V- Violence (Do they fight a lot? Are they a good fighter? What is their fighting style?)

Yep, Bruce fights a fair bit as The Batman, and knows exactly how to defend himself. He has his gadgets and techniques that work well for him. We know this stuff hehe

W- Wow (What do you do that really surprises them? What do you do that they really like?)

Bruce loves you being you. Watching you be comfortable in your own skin wherever and whenever is so beautiful and amazing to see, because he loves everything about you and seeing the little things you do that just make his day.

X- (Explicit headcanon. For all you degenerates)

Yikes, I don't really write smut 😅🤣 I will say that Bruce is a really soft, passionate lover, and any way the two of you can bond and be close together, he's more than willing to try it. He just lives to make you happy 🥺

Y- Yucky (Is there something that grosses them out so badly that they can’t deal with it?)

I'm not sure about this one... that stuff wouldn't be typical phobias and disgusts to do with bugs and sicky basic things like that. Even though Bruce is Batman, seeing sadistic acts and torture makes him shiver and feel sick to his stomach, though you'd never be able to tell.

Z- ZZZ’s (What are their sleeping habits? Both with and without you?)

He finds it hard to sleep anyways, unless he's seriously worn out from being Batman. Bruce will sleep better with you there cuddling beside him, his arms wrapped protectively around you, because he knows you're there and safe, and loves the feeling of you in his arms

This was so fun and cute to write 😘

[malexmalesstuff]

should I finish?

[buttercup--bee]

Heavy Heart to Carry

Summary: Pretending everything is fine is much harder than it seems. 

Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Female!Reader

Warnings: Heavy Depictions of Trauma; Descriptions of Abuse; First Time Meetings; Dialogue Heavy; Minors DNI;

Main Masterlist ~ Series Masterlist ~ Ao3 ~ Playlist ~ Next

I do not give permission for any of my works or their included components to be copied, translated, and/or reposted, even with credit.

There's a monster in your bed. 

A creature devoid of compassion. It itches for comprehension of the unknown - what renders firing synapses to a halt. To re-awaken century old fears in the hopes of a collective remedy. That somehow, deep inside a human’s brain, the monster can scoop out what makes humanity primal in everything but genuine empathy. 

That instinct, basic as it is natural to be cruel, a liar, impassive in all things but self interest. The beast at your side, it swallows hope whole, and has become what it hates most. Or perhaps it’d always been like this? Devoted to a system it could not prove existed. Willing to cross lines meant for the sane all for a precious project. 

Yes, it’s a monster that holds you tight, curling his head at your shoulder. The same beast to have knelt on one knee, who had promised safety and deceived you into believing his devotion was for you alone. 

It’d been a beautiful mirage - elegant and propitious and above all else, arduous. He’d let you believe in him, in all he had to offer and more. 

But time has passed, and now you lay in your grave nestled in silk. He tightens his hold subconsciously, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your stomach and just above your rib cage. You’d push him away if you had the strength to. Would’ve wrenched yourself free and fled from this ornate cage of a house. 

Experimentation went on far longer than promised, however, and you ache in every possible sense of the word. Dreary, absent in mind and body; feeling as if you were drifting above your own body. Watching from afar as Jon encases you, buries you beneath heavy bones and sinew. 

An auspicious encounter that you are forced under day and night. He’s been getting soft, lucid amidst his own speculations and tests. Tears of frustration gather at the corner of your eyes - if you weren’t numb, if you could lift even a finger, you’d steal away into the night. 

Why were you condemned to this? What had you done in life that deserved such torment? It's not as if you were a bad person. You attended city council, donated to charity when possible, helped where needed - and you are given a life of cruelty in exchange. 

A great deal of you believes it's your fault. That you’ve done this to yourself. That you gave into devotion and allowed it to blind you from avid truths. 

And God, you’re tired. Exhausted of all your energy, breathing itself has become a strenuous effort. Vision blurring, warm tears lick at your cheeks, chapped lips cracking as you attempt to hold in the sobs. 

He claims to love you. Swears up and down his experiments are for your benefit. To extract your past, to come to terms with it all, to live a life without terror; it is a part of letting go, accepting horror and its place within your mind. That his merciless trials are a kindness, a definitive proclamation of adoration.

This wasn’t love.

You can’t love a man in the dark, nor can he express the same after what he’s done. What he’ll continue to do again and again and again. When it comes down to it, despite all the memories that you hold dear to your heart, his smile, laugh, the rough buzz of his throat when he’d embrace you, how he once looked to you as if you were the only person in the world - that man died. 

Survival isn’t enough anymore. Nor are your hopes that Jon might return to you. 

Eventually, you would have to think of something. A time when you weren’t incapable of simple motor skills. Bidding on your patience for the long haul seemed to be the only decision worth planning. 

Sucking in a deep breath, you hiss at the way it scratches your throat. 

Jon twitches, clinging to you further; a cage, a trap designed to deceive. You decide then that you can do this - that you have to. You’ve already spent two years doing so for him, you could manage twice as much for yourself. 

There is no such thing as choice in this matter. Only survival.

—-

To say Gordon is flabbergasted is an understatement. 

You meet his gaze easily, doing your best to act nonchalant about your return to work despite having been in the hospital only yesterday. 

There’d been a hasty sort of desperation when you’d been discharged. Your doctor suggested you remain on bed rest for another week, but you’d drown in your thoughts. Define miserable, and it still wouldn’t capture what you’d feel if left alone. 

Your only choice had been a simple one. Return to work and ignore all the guilt that had accumulated since witnessing the attack on Gothams public library, the way the dark knight had scowled at you; suspicion, anger, confusion, and what it meant. 

What now resides in Gotham. 

For good reason, of course, as it wouldn’t have been easy to be left to your own devices, let alone your mind. 

Work would captivate you enough to ensure you were properly taken care of. Empty mind means empty concern. Focusing on your job would be far more productive anyways; for the city and yourself. 

That didn’t mean everyone would understand, hence Gordon. His jaw slung open and eyes wide as saucers. 

“Ives, what the hell are you doing here?” said detective grates, confused and unashamed of his obvious chagrin.

“I wasn’t feeling that bad, I -“

Gordon shakes his head, “No, don’t give me an excuse. What you went through…” his brows furrow, frown encapsulating his features. “It was a lot, you should be resting.”

You give a noncommittal shrug, “It was my decision to come back - I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t feel okay.” 

He glared, and while it is tempered and soft, there is disappointment held there as well. You hold back the urge to roll your eyes, because of course a father of an eleven year old would look at you as such. 

A moment passes, and he sighs. “Fine, fine.” Reluctance etches itself deep inside his timbre, as it does his faltered frame.

Chancing a glance upwards, you capture his frown, the deep intonation of his doubt. It’s carved in the grooves of his features, the rigid lines of posture, and it fills the atmosphere with dread. 

A piece of you, knowing and clear, understands his worry. He is merely a human being concerned for another. That doesn’t ease the growing pit in your stomach, nor the lack of sympathy. Something you’ve conjured once escaping your prison. 

It was needed on the run, to be indifferent was to survive. No donating to the poor, asking for help, gracing those you didn’t know with a proffered hand. The allure of it didn’t outweigh the tragedy if caught. Even now, amidst your identity of a thousand lies, you cannot help but view the comely officer as a trial. 

You want to help, be of service, to be a friend and confidant of his. But that trait faded the longer you were in hiding. Any sort of commitment beyond work was destined for failure. Even if you got along, an acquaintance was all you could ever be. 

Gordon meant well. He always did, and you knew one day he would reach further into Gotham and clean what was left spoiled. Hell, you’d vote for him as commissioner if the damned mayor would focus a little more on the GCPD. 

Given the circumstance however, there is a halt in any elections, no matter how needed they are. The precinct is without a leader, a finger to point in the right direction, someone who can diminish the corrupt. But that doesn’t matter now, not with whom you assume to be wreaking havoc. 

And by God do you hope it isn’t him. That you are merely in the midst of a coincidence and everything will end for the better. 

Daunted, you hastily shut your laptop and crane your head until it hits the back of your chair. Gordon eyes your movement with interest, head tilted in an all too telling sign of worry. Any exclamations you’d given might have just been thrown out the proverbial window, and you both know it. 

Carefully, he takes a step towards you, another, as if approaching a wounded rabbit. It isn’t too far from the truth, as much as you hate to admit it. There are tears in your façade, the sort that ripple and carve a vicious path. How long does it take to hide those? To claim ignorance towards your own distress?

When he’s at your desk, he folds his arms, shrinking in size. You are aware of its objective. To bring you comfort, peace, even if the situation is uncomfortable.

“Why are you here?” he asks again. There is no anger there, nor frustration. Only doubt, retaliation that coats itself in definitive dismay. 

I don’t want to be alone, you think, if I’m alone I won’t breathe, I won’t move - I don’t want that - I don’t want the fear. 

You can't cave, to fall beneath his avid gaze. There is so much concern embedded in his dark eyes. The kind that should be reserved for family. It's warm and caring and you’ve missed that - yearned for any comfort that could be spared for you. A price you’ve paid for years and you’ve become soft and trusting. Something you can’t afford. 

There’s a resolve that consumes you then, it grips at your stomach like a vice. 

You can’t share anything, you won’t. It’s too dangerous. You’ve only known him for a short time, and you’ve let him get far too close to you. His actions prove as much. He has a wife, a little girl, and if Jon really is here - if he knows you’ve made more than acquaintances - you can’t imagine the outcome. 

He’s always been possessive of his experiments.

Perhaps that’s what has you standing, abrupt and agitated. Gordon doesn’t move, he stands his ground despite your glare.

“I’ve told you I’m fine,” gathering some manila folders into your arms, you nod his way, “if you don’t mind, I have to fax these to the mayor’s office.”

He can’t get a word in, for you're already out the door.

—-

Dusk is your least favorite time of day. A shift that consumes Gotham in despair. 

As if the city knows that when the moon rises before the satellite itself is humming, a barely visible glow shining through the storm and smog, that they become more than shadows. More than an addict, an orphan left to the streets, survivors left to fend for themselves.

These people transform into monsters - and you can’t blame them. They struggle day in and day out. Most of their crimes are petty, desperation clawing through a distorted lens. 

Of course, not all of them are cruel. Many hide as well, keep to themselves, as others cling to their bloodied armor of important names and titles. 

Once upon a time, it was Falcone that ruled Gotham. Now it’s Oswald Cobblepot (an eccentric name to say the least), an obviously not dead Maroni, and there are whispers of a man that goes by Black Mask (another crazy name). 

Innocent citizens either hide from those who have joined mobs and gangs alike, or integrate themselves for the promised security it offers. 

Sometimes, even then, you can’t claim any fault on their parts. Despair leads to extremities. 

If those at the top of the food chain actually bothered to give a damn, if they helped, Gotham could become a new city. A metropolis worth investing in. 

It physically pains you to pend on all that could be renewed if those assholes got themselves together and cared. 

It's apparent when displayed on a screen like yours. False smiles and provocative promises everyone knows won’t be kept. And while you might be working, you can multitask - despite being wrist deep in some poor man’s torso - you manage.

Mostly to look out for any signs of who you hope isn’t Jon. A week has passed and nothing has come up. Two parts grateful and one part fraught, you itch for more information. Not that you wish for more blood to be spilled. 

A piece of you wants him to simply show his face, even if that means he’s come to you. It's no coincidence that you’d been attacked in your own place of work - it was targeted. But it's possible that the assault on your person had been premeditated as a warning to the GCPD in general. You clutch to the hope that this monster is someone who might have read Jon’s work. One of those copy-cats you hear about every once in a while - who morph what was said into a far worse conclusion - perhaps even perfected the formula Jon couldn’t complete.

It’s unlikely, obvious and terrifying all at once. Your gut sinks, curdling as if there were a knife lacerating your insides; it does so until you're on the verge of abandoning your work in favor of breathing. 

You start when the door to your office bursts open, fingers flexing in an awful pinch against what you assume is the man's vertebrae. Wincing, you turn towards whomever decided knocking didn’t exist.

Gordon frowns, regret creasing at his brow. “Sorry,” he moves aside at the entrance, allowing another to enter - you freeze, throat suddenly dry. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

His apology goes in one ear and out the other, your attention focused solely on who has entered. 

Bruce Wayne. 

Only living heir to Gotham’s greatest dynasty, stands beside GCPD’s best detective. He smirks, and while practiced, it is still egomaniac. The sort of curl that grapples your person and dives deeper into the abyss without question. 

What you’ve seen of him on television is varied. Before the flood, the ‘enigmatic’ Bruce Wayne had been a recluse. An heir full of potential that kept to himself. Only after the tragedy the Riddler befell Gotham did he slip from the shadows and expose himself as someone worth keeping an eye on. Someone that may actually have the people's interest at heart. 

When you think of the man, you imagine a ghost of a child - unkempt hair, dark bruises beneath blank eyes, a frown indentured to its master - that is not who stands before you. Frankly, it isn’t what has been displayed for a little while. 

Prince of Gotham. Most eligible bachelor this side of America. His smirks says it all, and yet it is devoid of any interest. Merely curious, you think, bright iris’s scanning your work space with interest. 

He’s clean shaven, hair combed and gelled, and his suit fits him like a glove. Custom tailored no doubt. Hell, even his cologne wafts in with the demand to be seen.

You don’t even realize he’s come to stand before you, not until his large palm is held out in custom pleasantries. 

A moment passes; you twitch, then frantically cover the body beside you and pull your gloves clean off, slathering your hands in soap - and for fucks sake, why is his hand still out? 

You mutter apologies upon grievances, but the man merely taunts you with his smirk. One that has you rushing furthermore in desperation. 

Once you’re finished, you carefully take his hand in yours in a gentle shake. His is one of calluses and dry skin. To think someone as magnetic and powerful as him doesn’t even have a simple skin care routine almost makes you scoff, or laugh, you can’t tell. 

Bruce speaks before you do, deftly sweeping his hand back inside his trousers pocket.

“Detective Gordon says you're Gotham’s finest,” a curl pulls at the edge of his mouth, eyes twinkling brightly amidst the fluorescent lights, “at least when it comes to the dead.” 

Wearily, you glance towards Gordon, who gives a shrug. One that refuses to take fault. 

“That’s very kind of him.” You hum. 

Gordon sets a folder down then. It’s pristine and black, a W embroidered in gold sits centerfold, a spotlight amidst the papers on your desk despite its shade. 

Said detective twists it upright for your convenience, and says, “Mr. Wayne would like to take a look at our facility and…help.” His tone is unsure but hopeful. 

Help? Since when do the rich help? 

Though, you suppose this one has been putting effort into rebuilding Gotham, as well as opening positions within his firm to those on the streets or in dire need of help. Journalists rave over it, practically drooling over the man's newly open persona. 

It’s pretty hard to miss when it's plastered all over the city via magazines, newspapers, and jumbo screens. He’s doing so much, so often, it's hard to think of him as anything but genuine in his efforts. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you shuffle towards your desk and lean against its edge. You open the folder and scan its contents. 

You skim over most of it, an intense need to finish quickly nipping at your heels. Were you supposed to sign it? The more pages you flipped through, the less space there was. No designated X, no blank space, only ink declaring offer after offer fills the document. 

Flickering your gaze upwards, you find Bruce is still staring. It isn’t nearly as intense as before, however it never wavers, and that's enough to have you avert your attention back to Gordon. 

“What am I -”

Gordon’s cell interrupts you, its high pitched ring smothering your voice. Even Mr. Wayne’s expression morphs into a grimace. Hastily, he answers, an apology gracing his ever grim features.

He agrees to whatever is being said on the other end, hangs up, and gives you a look that reeks of pity. Your stomach sinks. 

“I’m wanted at city hall,” he grouses something under his breath, rubs at his jaw, and adds “are you alright with finishing this up?” he waves vaguely between you and the man who’d found his way to your mess of a filing cabinet. 

Observing where the stray billionaire had wandered, you turn to Gordon and nod, “Sure, go on ahead.” 

When it's only the two of you left, a viable ache chisels at your stomach, hollow yet swollen. Nerve wracking energy pulses at your flesh, and you refuse to look at the only other body - living body, to be precise - in the room. 

With a sigh, you peer back down at the folder. Wayne Enterprises is laminated in a small, italicized font just below the lone W. 

Perhaps you should go through it again, to ensure you didn’t miss anything of importance. Or you could go over some files, wait for him to ask questions - if he speaks at all. His silence is uneasy, though you have to assume it's only you who feels like this. Most days perturb you, and they have always lacked a notorious billionaire until now. 

It couldn’t be him. It’s just you, only you. 

“Your cabinet is a mess.” 

The occupants' baritone shocks you from your stupor, your eyes flickering towards Mr. Wayne. You find that some have been pulled open, his discretion nonexistent. 

You have to bite your tongue to keep from berating him. Who looks through official files as if it were a library?

“Those aren’t for the public eye, Mr. Wayne.” 

He glances at the open drawers, shrugs, and says, “Bruce.”

“What?” 

“Just call me Bruce,” he stuffs the folders back inside and closes the cabinets, though his attention remains upon your person through his peripheral, “Mr. Wayne is far too formal for my tastes.”

Promptly, and without consideration, Bruce has returned to your desk. He positions himself at the other end of your desk, and yet he manages to make it feel as if he were in your personal space. Breathing down your neck, nagging and yanking at your never ending displeasure. 

You have to remind yourself he’s an appropriate distance away, and make an attempt at a complimentary smile. 

He doesn’t give one in return, narrowing his gaze with little effort, as if wishing for your smile to fade. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t last long.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re happy I’m here.”

You open your mouth to deny his claims, surprise coursing through your mind. 

He holds a hand up, “It’s fine,” rather than sounding annoyed or pompous, he appears genuine when he concludes, “you were in the middle of your job, and I interrupted. I apologize.”

Unknowing of how to respond, you merely nod. What do you do now? Are you supposed to show him around? All there is to show are corpses, the tools you use, and a cabinet he already rifled through. 

Which is highly illegal. Yet he must not have to worry about that. He could simply just pay his way out of the legal system. The real question is if he would? Is he the sort of man to ignore the law so easily, or does he actually abide by it? 

Given his recent actions, you have to ponder on the former. 

The silence is beginning to dig at you, and before you can think of it, you’re already speaking.

“Why are you helping?” there's no masking your suspicion, let alone twisting it around into something else. Your doubt is as plain as day and you can’t take it back. 

Bruce meets you head on; expecting such a question, his ice leaden hue coats itself in a mist, something indiscernible, intangible. 

His posture broadens, shoulders assuming a mass that had previously gone unnoticed. You realize, with hesitation, that he’s a lot bigger than he had let on.

“Why not?” 

It’s your turn to glower, folding your arms you straighten your figure as he had. “So what, you’re helping the GCPD out of the kindness of your heart?” 

“Something like that,” you don’t like that answer, its evident to even the most ignorant that it prickles, a thorn wiggling its way inside your conscience - he smirks again, because of course your suspicion has him bemused, “lets just say I’d rather have good people working to protect Gotham with my help, instead of giving a blind eye and allowing whoever wants to to do it for me.”

Good people. The term sticks with you, it clings like the last note of a song that’ll never leave your head. 

“You mean people like Cobblepot and Maroni?” 

Your lack of censoring seems to catch him off guard, but he nods anyway. 

“Yes, people like them.” Disgust plays at the edges of his rich voice, reviled and recognized all the same. 

You don’t know your co-workers well enough to defend them, let alone declare they’d never work for monsters. But you weren’t blind to the very simple fact, that given the chance, many would take the job happily.

It’s no secret that they pay well for their eyes and ears. Right now, the GCPD is the cleanest it's ever been since you arrived. Gordon always reminds you it was worse, once upon a time, and that you should always safeguard yourself. 

Hell, the only person you trust here is Gordon, and you suppose that's your fault. He’s the only one you’ve bothered to get to know. However, he’s also the only one here who went out of their  way to get you to speak up.

Curious, you prod further, “And you’re the person to do it?” 

“I would like to think so,” 

“Why’s that?” 

Resolve spills over his expression, any sign of playful intentions swept away in its oncoming storm. 

“I’m the only one in power who wants Detective Gordon as Commissioner.” 

Okay, you have to admit, you didn’t expect that. The revelation sheds a new light on the enigma that is Bruce Wayne. It doesn’t take an idiot to know who else he's referring to. Those who even reach the potential influence of Gotham's prince aren’t on top because they’re pure of heart. 

No, they’re omnipotent because they crush whoever gets in the way, and their riches are drowning in the blood of those they sacrifice just for a taste of power.

If Gordon were to become Commissioner, it would be that much harder to pursue the police force as a ‘free-for-all’ market. 

It’s difficult to hide your admiration, and you can’t steal your gaze from him, not this time. He holds it as he does the rest of Gotham; in the palm of his hand. 

“Do you dislike the idea?” he asks, quirking a brow. 

He can’t read minds, you remind yourself, and shake your head. 

“No, just…surprised.”

“I hope it’s because you're satisfied with my answer,” you’re a little taken aback when he admits this, and are diffident towards this unexpected behavior, “and not because you dislike the detective.” 

“No, no!” you immediately urge, “he’s a good man. I can’t think of anyone better suited for the job than him.” 

He smiles, this time it’s genuine, it catches you off guard. “Great minds think alike.” 

You sense it, the conversation coming to an end, and you fiddle with the hem of your jumper - a simple desperation for something to do. 

A beat passes, and when you think it really is over, he speaks once more. 

“May I ask a personal question?” 

Hesitation seems to be your forte today; you grasp for the right words, chest constricting in just the slightest tug. You can’t help but indulge the question, as unexpected as it is, you are a curious being down to your core. It can’t be helped. 

Nodding, you clasp your hands together. 

He looks relieved, you think, a soft composition smoothing over his stern features. 

“Why’d you move to Gotham?” your heart near skips a beat, “it’s no secret this city is a lost cause to many, so why here? Why risk exposing yourself to…its everyday atrocities?” 

Bruce Wayne's sincere curiosity strikes you as mildly inconvenient and absurd. You’re a coroner with absolutely no record in his eyes, no past, and little to no interaction with those who populate the city. Only until recently have you been so deeply involved in Gotham’s unique proceedings.

Without precedence, you retort, “How’d you know I moved here?” 

“Gordon mentioned it.” 

Why is it always him? Masking your disappointment under the guise of neutrality, you hum. 

Bruce waits patiently, much to your disdain. Apparently, this isn’t something he’ll drop. Absently, you wander to your chair and sit down. 

What were you supposed to say? ‘I’m hiding from my ex-husband and Gotham was the best place to do so’? 

You couldn’t admit that. Not to anyone. The less people who knew the better. You didn’t want to even think of what Jon might do if he found out you had ‘accomplices’. 

Settling on an absent lie, you purse your lips. 

“I had a difficult home life,” you exclaim, and it isn’t much of a lie, more so twisted than anything else, “Gotham was the furthest away, I guess.” 

Bruce nods to himself, pensive, and says, “I’m sorry.” 

You shrug, “There’s nothing to apologize for.” 

Before he can find a response, his phone rings. It’s a common jingle, nothing personalized. He answers immediately and steps away. He patiently listens to whoever he exchanges his name with, and hangs up seconds after. 

He beams in your direction, and somehow it appears far more relaxed.

“Duty calls,” he exclaims, “it was a pleasure making your acquaintance doctor Ives.”

You weren’t expecting direct acknowledgment towards your profession, as many in your field of work refuse to. Whether it’s because you’re a woman or someone who examines dead bodies, you don’t know. 

It’s nice to hear, and frankly, he was the last person you’d thought who would. 

Candid and open, you soften; a gentle simper gracing your person. 

“The pleasure is all mine.” 

With a slant of a nod, he leaves. Following his exit wafts a pinch of cedar and bergamot, and distinct notes of sandalwood. 

It’s pleasant. 

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[navstuffs]

hi love! can you do the robert pattinson that got caught cheating in front of you but turns out it was your bestfriend pls? i'm wanting for angst one, thanks before x

Betrayal

Pairing: Robert Pattinson x GN!Reader

Warnings: ANGST, cheating, robert is an asshole, your bff is an asshole, reader gets defensive (no violence happens)

Summary: You come back earlier from a work trip, excited to surprise your boyfriend. It doesn't end well.

Author's note: heey! first of all, i am very sorry for the delay in writing this. i have been struggling to write in those last couple of months but trying to return slowly. i hope i wrote this as angst and painful as you wanted. thank you for requesting, i hope you enjoy it! gif credits to the owner

You are excited as you drive back earlier from your work trip. You haven't seen your boyfriend Robert for a while, barely spoke to him at all. After the project ended way earlier, your boss allowed the whole team to return three days earlier. Three well-deserved free days you could pass with your boyfriend. Which you two were needing it.

Robert felt distant during all the calls you had with him. For some reason, he also didn't want to do any video calls. He was feeling sick and didn't want you to see his gross face which only made you feel more guilty you couldn't be there to take care of him. You couldn't wait to surprise him and enjoy your time together.

You arrive at your house after dinner time. You are exhausted from the drive but content you finally arrived. You can't wait to shower and help Rob feel better.

Opening the door very silently, you tiptoe slowly to look for Robert. You glance towards the dining room and notice there are two plates and two candles? Odd. Robert didn't mention having anyone for dinner. Maybe a friend?

Deciding to go to the living room, there are wine bottles on top of the rug and two wine glasses turned over, semi-empty. Robert definitely had a friend over. You almost decide to call out his name when you hear his loud laugh coming from the bedroom.

With your heart beating up fast, you decide to not overreact. Just breathe. There must have a reasonable explanation for all of this. Do not overreact now, you beg to yourself, just wait and see.

You walk towards your bedroom, your hands starting to sweat, your heart beating even faster with each step. The door is semi-open so you peek from the side.

Robert is in the bed and there is someone else in bed with him. A woman with long hair you can't recognize. They are kissing deeply, his hands rubbing her back, down to her ass as she moans. They are naked. In your bed. Kissing.

In your bed.

Kissing.

Naked.

You feel tears coming down your eyes. You don't look away. You don't scream. You don't run. You are unable to look away, just wondering when was the last time you and Robert even kissed each other like that.

When was the last time he even desired you like that.

You must have made a noise because Robert lifts his head up, his eyes widening as he sees you. The woman notices his sudden change and turns to look over her shoulder. It is just your best friend since childhood, Ella.

The one that was with you during your struggles. The one that cleaned your tears, and eased your fears. The one that supported your relationship with Robert since the beginning.

Ella covers herself with the sheet, hiding her face on the pillow. She can't even look at you. Robert gets up from the bed, getting his boxer briefs and you just notice the clothes thrown around the bed. His shirt, a black fancy bra on top, a dress.

You want to puke.

Robert calls your name and you lift your head up, your noose flaring up. He slowly approaches you, his arms up as a sign of peace.

"This, this is not..."

Your knuckles are white holding the door frame. Find your voice, you think to yourself. Scream. Shout. Puke on his face.

"This is not..."

"What is this, then? What is it?" You don't know if you are asking Robert, Ella, or even yourself. Your voice carries all the disgust, pain, and anger that is bubbling inside of you.

Robert can't find his voice or courage to answer you. He looks down embarrassed and you let your glance go to Ella's form, still hiding in your bed.

"I hope you are comfortable in my bed, Ella. Have fun you two."

You decide to leave and you swear you can hear a sob from Ella. You don't know, maybe she is laughing even. Ella and Robert, both of them, kept insisting on you getting more projects, more travel, and more responsibilities. That was going to be good for your career. Of course, that would keep you away from them. You are probably more hurt over her betrayal than Robert. She was your best friend, your ride your die. Since when did this start? Not that mattered now.

Robert is following behind you, calling your name. He grabs you by your arm and you turn with your fists clenched, ready to throw a punch if he dares to touch you. Robert realizes you are serious and take two steps back.

"I swear, this wasn't..."

"Fuck you, Robert. Actually continue fucking her, have fun!"

"No wait, we can talk about this. She isn't, we aren't..."

You roll your eyes, turning away to leave, grabbing your stuff on the way out. Bastard. All those talks of forever love, getting married, having a family, creating a life together. All lies. And Ella kept insisting for you get married to him! That you were so lucky, so happy!

You hear Robert's steps follow behind you in the driveway and you hit your car door on his face. You turn the car on, holding the steering wheel for a second, the blood rushing in your veins. You know you got to make a decision.

"Wait, don't leave like this! I love you! I don't know what I was doing there, but it wasn't me! I-I..." Robert's face is against your car window and he sounds desperate.

"I will send someone to collect my things."

You give one good last look to Robert's face and turn the car driving away. He looks pathetic and miserable. Good.

You don't know exactly where you are going now. You will find yourself a hotel room, a friend, a family member, something. You beat yourself to not look at the rear mirror, controlling your sobs as you drive away.

You just lost your boyfriend and best friend, two of the most important people in your life. Although you are destroyed and you know you will take a long time to recover from this betrayal, a deep tiny little part of you is relieved. It knows you will be okay in the end. That tiny part also knows you will eventually sigh when you look back at all of this. You will guilt yourself for not realizing earlier, and you might feel the pain again, and oh you will cry. But you know, deep down, you will be relieved. Because you will be fine.

MASTERLIST | ROBERT PATTINSON MASTERLIST

Taglist: @uwiuwi

[usetheeauthor]

I Know What You Did Last Weekend 18+ (Smut)

Battinson!Sub!Bruce Wayne x Kravitz!Dom!Selina Kyle x Switch!Curvy!Villain!Fem!Reader

A/N: This was long overdue. I think both Zoe and Robert are absolutely hot so I had to do it to ‘em! The picture is not meant to represent the reader’s appearance. This switches between POVs. It’s first person for your POV in the beginning while Selina’s and Bruce’s are in third/second towards the ending. Also, this is really filthy and Selina’s def top 😅 Enjoy!

Word Count: 5.1k+

Summary: Bruce goes undercover at the popular nightclub, “Club Succubus”, in search of a serial killer who murders very powerful men. Selina wants vengeance. She’s looking for the woman who killed her father when it should’ve been her. Little did they know, you’d be a lot tougher to resist.

Warnings: use of Y/N, violence, murder, blood kink, threesome, oral sex (m & f receiving), DUB CON, dom/sub dynamics, p in v penetration, unprotected sex (pls be safe), cum eating, girl on girl, spanking, slight mommy kink, slight ass worship (reader’s got a wagon), use of oil, face sitting, use of handcuffs, hair pulling, dirty talk, slight themes of misandry and misogyny, implied body shaming

Y/N’s POV

The smell of sex wafting through the air. That was the way I liked it. I craved an atmosphere of full debauchery and zero inhibitions. Club Succubus was my creation. Here…I did whatever the fuck I want. No rules, no worries, no bullshit. Hell, I even recognized some cops frequenting this place of sin.

I look over at the entrance recognizing the face of a man whom I’ve despised for so long. Carmine Falcone. The dirty bastard. He’s taken business deals from me for as long as I can remember. The crime world was dominated by men and no one took a woman getting her foot through the door seriously. Slowly but surely, I’ve found my footing in this city along with loyal members who help carry out my plans for Gotham. But him. He was always an obstacle that kept me from being fully feared by everyone. That will come to an end. There’s no place for a man like him in this city. I’d be doing everyone a favor getting rid of him.

I’ve flirted with him times before. It wasn’t lost on me that he’d dismissed me because I was a curvier girl. Yet, here he was in my nightclub specifically looking for me.

His eyes land on mine as I sat in VIP section. I smirk. He makes his way over to me, eyes intense with lust.

“Baby, you’re looking ravishing.” He says, breathlessly raking up and down your figure.

“Mr. Falcone,” You smiled before standing up from your purple, tufted throne chair. You sauntered down the short steps towards him. “You know, I wasn’t sure you’d come. After all, I was convinced that you were way too vanilla. Couldn’t handle a body like mine.” You ran your hand over his shirt and see his Adam’s Apple bobbing.

“It’s not like that, baby,” He bites his lip, hypnotized by your hands roaming his body. “Just…you intimidate me.”

“Why?” You pout, keeping up the innocent ploy.

“Well, I have all the things you want. Power, the fear of the people, loyal subjects at the palm of your hands. You must be mad at me, babe,” He grips your ass, pulling you closer to him. “Can’t help how good I am? The ladies love an alpha.”

“All those things are true. Especially the part about me being mad. I’m so mad, in fact,” You lean into his ear. “I’d like to punish you.”

Taking his hand, I led him to a private room in the back. I could practically taste the power pouring into me. I was soon going to be queen of Gotham.

When we arrived to the room, I immediately threw him onto the bed earning a surprised chuckle from the trashy douchebag.

“Whoa, honey, I make like it rough but I’m still fragile.” He says looking up at me. I pull out some handcuffs from the drawer nearby, swaying my hips side to side as I walked over to him. I grab his wrists, putting them above his head and locking them to them into place.

I shove a hand down his pocket. “I don’t have any cash on me if that’s what your looking for. Didn’t know this ‘business’ exchange required any compensation.” He smirks.

“No, babe, I’m looking for this,” I show him the magnum. “Gotta have protection, right?” I yank his pants and underwear down his ankles before rolling the condom over his unimpressively average length. I climb over him, sliding down on his length. “Besides, I’ll get all the compensation I need right here.” I whispered, darkly.

I began riding the crime lord, trying to keep myself from rollin my eyes at his insufferable moans. While his mind was occupied by the pleasure, I slowly pull out a dagger from my thigh holster. I knew it’d only be minutes until this was over. Taking my chance, I stab him in the chest as he reached his climax.

I lean over him. “I told you I’d get my compensation.”

His eyes were wide, coughing up blood as he began processing the image of the knife in his chest. “You won’t get away with this. Do you know who I am? I have connections. Fucking cops work under me. You’ll be on a lot of powerful people’s lists. You’ll be dead before you could even step out the door.”

“You’ve underestimated me, Mr. Falcone. Your men, the ones that you brought to protect you, they belong to me now. Those cops you have working for you, mine. Everything is mine now. The power, the fear, the people all mine!” I shout as I continued to stab him over and over. The blood gushing and spraying all over the bed and room. I laugh maniacally, finally reaching my climax from the high of finally winning.

When I’ve had my fill I looked down at my finished product, the crime lord looking barely recognizable. I hop off of him, walking over to the mirror. I smile at my reflection. My tight white dress and hair covered in blood. I resembled Carrie and I absolutely loved the look. This was the look of a new boss.

~~~~

Selina’s POV

“Authorities are saying that the body of Carmine Falcone was found his home on the evening of Saturday. His body was discovered by a dancer and lover who works at his nightclub. It is shocking to see a man like him go down so brutally to say the least but police are doing their best to search for the person or persons responsible. Until then—” Selina switches off the television set.

Her emotions were a mix bag. There was pity, sadness, joy, anger…it was all there. He was her biological father after all. Yet, he was a disgusting piece of shit that left her mother for dead. He was responsible for the death of her former lover, Annika. She wanted to be the one to kill him. Whoever did it stripped her from the right. She was going to find them and kill them. In her twisted form of justice, it would be an indirect way of getting back at her father.

She just needed to know who could have had the balls to carry it out?

~~~~

Bruce’s POV

*Inner monologue*

Y/L/N, Y/F/N. To those on the outside, you were just what they’d call a “girl boss”. An admirable woman with a business mindset. Every man’s dream. But I know women like you. You have a fiery spirit. In the wrong hands, however, that spirit can be deadly.

*end of monologue*

Bruce looked at your file name. You were the perfect match. In your younger days, You had time in and out of the criminal justice system for crimes against men specifically those in power. Now in your late 20s, they’d say you’d had a clean slate every since then. Bruce knew better. While law enforcement turned and looked away at certain things, Bruce took a magnifying glass inspecting the issues further. It’s what made him the best detective in all of Gotham. It’s what made the people believe in Batman.

Club Succubus. That’s the nightclub you owned. You couldn’t have gotten this powerful unless you had to stomp on a lot of toes including your biggest competitor. Bruce figured that instead of going as The Batman, he’d go as himself. That way he’d bait himself as your target. You went after men with money well here he was. Bruce Wayne, playboy billionaire, powerful, influential. It was just what you were looking for as your next victim.

~~~

Y/N’s POV

Somehow being at the top just wasn’t enough, I wanted more. I wanted to be bigger. Sure, business was booming and I’ve been running the town sweeping it with fear. Sure, the people were beginning to know my name. But I wanted a challenge.

As if God heard my prayers, in walks Bruce fucking Wayne! Walking into my club?! I didn’t take him for a guy interested in scenes like this. By the look on his face, this was definitely something he’s not into. Maybe he was looking for someone who could teach him the ropes.

I haven’t done much research on the guy so I don’t exactly have him on the list of men I’d like to kill (i call it the MiLK list) but he’s got the money. Who knows if I rock his world enough, I could get him to invest some of his money into my club.

I make my move. I stalk towards him like a predator to its prey. His eyes were on mine and if i’d blinked I would’ve missed the millisecond of lust in them. I reach the man in all black. He was quite gorgeous up close. Electric blue eyes, pink lips, a jawline that was evidence of God’s favor of him. It was the first time anyone had taken my breath away. I quickly recover.

“You’re Bruce Wayne. You’re hardly ever in the public eye. What brings you to a place like this? Looking for some fun?” I tease.

“Business, actually.”

“Really?” I tried burying my excitement as much as I could. Didn’t want to look eager. However, this could be my huge break.

He nods. “Mind if we could go somewhere more quiet to discuss?”

“Y-yes,”I stuttered out, too excited for your mouth to speak. “Right this way.” Just I took him by the arm to lead, a woman in a tight red stops you in your tracks.

“Omg! Have we met before?” She flashes a pearly, white smile at you.

She was gorgeous, soft golden brown skin shimmered under the neon lights. Her lips were red and full. Her eyes carried a look that was sultry yet dangerous. “Not likely. I would’ve remembered a girl like you.”

“My name is Selina. Selina Kyle.” She looks between me and Bruce. “I’d hate to interrupt. I won’t keep you long but I would love if we could go somewhere quiet. Maybe we can catch up.”

I was currently between two very sexy people. This just might work in my favor.

“Sure, we can all go.” I lift my finger in a “come hither” motion. “Follow me.” I lead them down the pink lit hallways. The music and thumping gradually decreasing in sound.

When we’d finally arrived to the room, the moment I’d shut the door. Selina presses me up against it, a knife to my throat. “I know you sent your men after Carmine.”

I laugh. “I didn’t send anyone after Carmine. I killed him myself, sweetie.”

Selina looks at me in shock.

————

Bruce’s POV

Bruce had it all figured out. He’d go to the nightclub in Bruce Wayne persona, knowing you’d bite because you went after rich, powerful men. He’d gather the evidence he’d get from your private room opening the case for the DEA to finally care.

His plan now out the window the moment Selina stepped in. She hadn’t recognized him. Only knowing him as The Batman. Of course she’d do something as reckless as this.

“She really is stubborn.” Bruce thought, gritting his teeth.

Selina continues, the knife still pressed against your neck. “How’d you kill him?”

“I stabbed him a bunch of time with his shrimp dick still inside me. Then I made my men put his body back in his office like it was a regular Sunday. Couldn’t have him rotting in my club. For some big boss guy who fucks anything that moves, he sure sucks at fucking. Didn’t make me cum once. I had to handle myself all on my lonesome,” You say in a teasing, pouty voice. “I think maybe you can change that.”

She presses the blade deeper into the skin, on the verge of breaking skin. “Why’d you do it?”

“Selina, let’s put away the knife. You don’t have to do this.” Bruce speaks up, walking over to the catty women.

Selina ignores him, her eyes still staring intensely at you. You still bore a smirk on your face.

“What’s so fucking funny?” She hisses.

“Are you one of his whores or something? I did you a favor getting rid of him. He was a piece of shit and you know it.”

“I-I was…his daughter.” She fidgets nervously.

“Oh shit,” You scoffed. “You mean, that fucker was your dad. No wonder you want to kill me. You’re avenging father dearest.”

“That’s where your wrong, kitten,” You can feel your pussy begin to throb at the raspy, sensual way she said it. “I wanted to kill him, too. He killed someone I loved. I wanted to do it. I couldn’t. The time wasn’t right. Then, you come in and you take what could’ve been my peace. The only way I can get closure now is if I kill you.”

Selina cuts a small line on your neck. You let out a pained moan that sounded as if you enjoyed it. You can feel that the cut had drawn some blood.

“Selina, it’s not worth it. You’d just be getting yourself in trouble. Then what will this all be for. Avenging the ones you love doesn’t mean having to kill those who’ve wronged you.” Bruce pleads.

This frustrates Selina. She was tired of people telling her what to feel; to do. She turns on her heels pointing the knife in his direction. “I am tired of people—-men… telling me ‘no’. I don’t think I’d want to hear anything more from you.” She points the knife at you. “You! You’ve got handcuffs somewhere around here, don’t you? Get them and cuff him.”

You were about to head over to the draw when she pulls you by the end of your hair. “Actually, you show me what drawer to get them. Don’t want you trying to reach for your handgun of anything.” She winks before pushing away at your head.

“It’s in the first drawer near the bed.” You were honestly fearful for your life. You somehow even felt bad for Bruce who’d only been an innocent bystander.

Selina reaches for the handcuffs also finding the handgun you stored there. “Good thing I went for it myself.” She laughs. Throwing the cuffs for you to catch, she aims the handgun at you.

“Cuff him.”

“What are you doing?” Bruce growls, fuming at this insanity.

She turns the gun to him. “I said I don’t want to hear you.”

Bruce complies understanding he needs to in order to make sure no one gets hurt. He puts his hands out in the front of him.

“Oh no, baby, I want them cuffed to the back. Suit jacket and shirt off, by the way.” Selina demands.

He shakes his head, his jaw clenching before doing what was commanded of him. He pulls off his jacket and shirt revealing his washboard abs. You clipped the cuffs around his wrists. Despite your fear, you were quite turned on. You could feel your panties drench at the situation; Bruce’s half nakedness not helping your state.

“Sit him on that chair.” She flicks the gun over to the royal purple accent chair.

You lead him to his seat. He lowers, looking up between the women. A tent suddenly forming in his slacks.

Selina pushes down at the top of your head. “Down, kitty.”

You obey, falling to your knees in front of Bruce and both your eyes met one another’s.

“I’m sure you know what I want you to do. After all, you like you’ve gone through this plenty of times. So go on.”

“I-I d-dont know what you want.” You stutter out.

“Awww, what happened to the ruthless bitch that had no problem killing my dad? Figure it out. You’re not on your knees to polish his shoes.” She squats to your level, pressing the barrel against your temple.

Bruce looks at you apologetically, only to find that you were completely enjoying this. He’s now convinced that he’s in a room with crazy people.

You bring your hands shakily up to his slacks, unbuttoning and unzipping them. You lower them just enough for you to have access to him boxers. His breath hitches when he feels your fingertips against his bare skin. Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn’t turned on by all of this. He blames the women for his corruption. He must not be thinking clearly. All he had to do was focus and— his thoughts are interrupted when he feels your hands wrap around his painfully hard member. He bites his lip to keep himself from whimpering. He wasn’t very experienced in the sex department only having had 2 partners because he’s always so busy. Any form of touch was enough to have him panting.

“Look at that fat cock, kitten. He’s so hard,” Selina licks her lips. “Every inch of that will be going down your throat soon. Wanna see you gag on it like a pornstar. Give me a show.” She sits at the edge of the king-sized bed, looking at our direction.

You wouldn’t hesitate any longer. You wanted to taste him. To make him see stars. You make no haste, swirling your tongue around the tip and giving it a fervent suck.

Bruce lets out a shaky moan, his head thrown back against the chair. Selina immediately stands up, strutting over to him, taking him by the hair and forcing him to look down between his legs; at you.

“No. You watch. She’s gonna give a performance of a lifetime so have some decency.”

You smile up at her before turning your attention back to his. Never had you worship a cock the way you would to his. You bring your mouth all the way down his length, letting him hit the back of your throat.

He whines. You can see his restraint to keep quiet. To keep himself from enjoying. You were going to break him. You bob up and down on his length, the suction noises filling the room. You look at him noticing the way his eyes flicked between looking into your face and staring at the way your ample ass swayed side to side in delight.

“Look how happy you made, kitty,” Selina moans, dropping to her knees next to you and tossing the gun a close distance away from her. “I think I’ll have a taste, too.”

The moment Bruce heard that, he knew he’d be a goner. You pull your mouth away, a line of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his dick. Selina cups your face and plants an intimate kiss on your lips. Your tongues massaging each others as she attempts to taste him indirectly through you.

She breaks the kiss. “I think I wanna taste more.” She brings her mouth to his length and licks. You put your mouth back on him as well. Both of your tongues playing with the tip, every now and then your tongues would meet once again. You rubbed your thighs together, hoping to get some friction when you heard him finally begin to moan and tug at his restraints.

“Oh, he likes it,” Selina exclaims. “Don’t you, you little slut?”

He nods, breathing hard.

“It’s rude to nod. Tell us how much you appreciate us sucking your cock.”

“Thank you.” He says through a strained tone.

“For what?”

“For sucking my cock.”

“He’s such a good boy. Isn’t he, kitten?”

“Yes, he is. Maybe we could reward him.” You purr.

The two of you shoot each other a playful look before Selina bobbed her mouth on the thick, curved length while you licked and fondled at the balls. These women were trying to kill him. He was sure of it. Because how could any man survive this kind of bliss. It was all too much.

He’d forgot all restraint and soon he was moaning like a pathetic mess of a man. “Oh god. Please I c-can’t. Too much.”

There was no letting up. You’d both wanted to see him crumbles. His stoic presence soon a shadow of itself. You can feel his testicles begin to tighten. Selina’s mouth off him, jacking him off and staring at him determined. You also remove your mouth to look up at him, your hands rolling and squeezing his balls.

“F-fuck. M-mommy,” He whines pathetically. “Please.”

You and Selina look at each other and smiling deviously. “Ohhh, he’s looking for mommies. Someone missing their mommy? Don’t worry, Brucey. We’ll take real good care of you.” You say, sucking and running my tongue on his tip while Selina continue to jack his length. His body began to tense and you both knew you’d be rewarded with his cum soon.

“Cum for us, pretty boy. We wanna swallow it all for you.” Selina encourages. He lets out a loud drawn out groan, ropes of cum spurt from his dick. Selina and you indulge, licking frantically to make sure no a drop is missed. He shudders against you both, forced to take overload of pleasure. When you were sure you’d gotten everything, you both make your way up to kiss and bite at his neck. You’d taken the key for the handcuff finally freeing him. Bruce takes this opportunity to place a kiss on Selina’s lips then kissed yours, then you and Selina once again. Each deep kiss filled with lots of tongue and saliva.

Selina pulls down your lacy panties and you follow suit removing hers, groping each other’s breasts. The two of you straddle each of Bruce’s thigh, grinding your cores against his grey slacks. He grabs a handful your ass, the other hand pulling down Selina’s top, tweaking at her hardened peaks. All three of you moaning into the atmosphere. You rub two fingers on Selina’s clit as she rode his thigh.

“Oh, fuck right there.” She moans, grinding faster against him. You could tell that his pants would be soak in your arousals but he didn’t seem to care. He just watch intently, moaning at the sight of two beautiful women who were getting off to his thigh alone. You thanked the fact that Bruce’s thigh had been strong enough to carry your weight especially with how forceful your thrusts were. It seemed like he had a thing for thicker girl making sure his hands would feel every part of you.

Selina stops her movements, standing up from his thigh. Both you and Bruce looking at her. “I’m thinking we should move this to the bed. I wanna try some things,” She points at the mattress in front of her. “Y/N, I want you on all fours. Brucey, you’re going to fuck her nice and hard for me. Be as brutal as you like for all I care.”

You obey. It didn’t matter to you that you’d probably be killed or in jail after this. You were going to get what you’ve been craving the moment you’d set eyes on these two. You remove whatever’s left of your clothes before crawling on your hands and knees on the bed.

You bend over enough so that your ass in the air was the main focal point. Selina takes a bottle of oil, lathering your bottom and give you a hard smack. You moan at the contact.

Bruce removes his clothes, on his knees behind you his hard length dangling between thighs like a third leg. “I don’t know if I could do this.” He says, almost innocently.

“All ya gotta do is stick your dick in her. Not rocket science, baby.” She teases, yanking her dress over her head and joining you both on the bed.

He sighs. “No, I mean, this isn’t right. She’s a criminal. We’ve got to turn her in.”

Selina attempts to speak up again, but it was your turn to make your case. You were not going anywhere. Not until you’re ruined by them. “Please fuck me, Brucey,” You groan. You roll your hips back, feeling his dick rubbing between your ass cheeks. “I know I’m bad but all I ask is that you punish me. Take me how you want me. Wreck me from inside with your cock.”

Selina smirks, glancing at Bruce who’s breathing had gotten heavy. “Hear that, sweet boy. She wants it real bad. You can’t be cruel enough to leave her hangin’.”

His large hands pull you rough against him. You squeak at his sudden ferocity, a pool of wetness seeping out of your core. He smacks the heavy manhood against your globes, guiding it to your quiver core. You’d still been sensitive there so when he taps himself at your entrance, you shiver in delight. He prods his tip at the tight hole, letting your folds swallow him in with little effort from him. You both groan simultaneously.

“Fuck, that’s so hot.” Selina rubs herself, watching where the two of you met.

Bruce strokes shallowly into your pussy. The light sticky, wet noises filling the silence. You whine needing him to fuck you long and deep. You attempt to fuck back into him, he holds you still by your hips, pulling even more of his length out of you so that only the tip rests.

“Shit, please, I need it.” You sob. You’re practically crying real tears.

Selina pulls his cock from your core. Wrapping her plump lips around the bulbous head. She sucks him deep into her mouth, swishing her tongue around. “She tastes so good,” She pulls off him, easing him back into your cunt. Going behind him, she whispers in his ear. “Go on, baby boy. Fuck her. Make her cum hard.”

As if he’s a robot waiting on the commands of his master, he immediately drive into you. He bottoms out and you swear that he’s made a mess of your guts. He pummels into you, fucking you into the mattress. Your cries bouncing off the walls.

“Fuck, fuck, holy shit.” You were unintelligible. All you could do is curse or say things that you really couldn’t understand. Bruce ramming into you the way a beast ruts into its mate.

Selina could feel herself dripping with anticipation. She couldn’t wait to take his cock next but first she’s like to focus her attention all on you. Bringing your face up from the mattress, your tongues meet in a passionate kiss. Bruce takes your arms crossing them behind your back, pinning them down with one hand. Now your body’s sandwiched between Bruce powerfully thrusting into you and Selina who’d kiss you in a way that made your toes curled.

She snakes a hand down to rub your sensitive nub. You gasp, grinding into her hand. When you moved forward, you’d feel her aggressively flicking at it and when you’d moved back, his cock would nudge the deepest parts of you. It was an overload of pleasure you’d never experienced.

“Fuck me now,” Selina says, lying on her back. Bruce pulls out of you, using your juices to slide in with ease into her. She moans, licking her lips. “Oh my god, baby. You’re so big. You’re splitting me in two. I can see why my little kitten over there was screaming for her life.”

Bruce leverages himself up with his hands, angling his hips the right way to hit into her core from the side. She throws her head back and bites her lip feeling the thrusts getting more desperate. You squeezed your thighs together, wanting to get rid of the ache. She opens her eyes and notices. “Aww, kitten, I didn’t forget about you. Come here and ride my face.”

Your eyes light up. You hover your slick coated core over her face turned so that you were in the 69 position and facing Bruce. Selina gets to work, licking and sucking at your pussy the way she did when she kissed you. You ground against her face, looking at Bruce with half-lidded eyes. You grip him by the neck and he groans. You pull him forward for a kiss, mimicking the movements of Selina’s tongue but in his mouth. His thrusts causing you to bounce along with them.

He plucks at your hardened nipple then lowers his lips to them sucking and twisting each bud. Both of their tongues caressing your body. You felt so lucky. Maybe Selina has already killed you and you’d gone to heaven. Or a fun ass hell.

“Lick that sweet pussy.” Bruce growls.

He pushes your head down so that you were in between Selina’s legs watching his cock moving in and out of it. Her juices messy all over his cock and her inner thighs. You stick your tongue out, flicking between her clit and tasting his length sloshing around inside her.

“Oh, fuck! You both are so fucking good. So perfect.” Selina cries out, sticking a finger in you and pumping. You fuck back into her fingers. With one hand still on the back of your head, the other smacks your ass.

The room filled with each other your moans and whines. You were sure anyone who’d accidentally walk in would blush but most likely stay for the show. It was sinful, filthy, it was so fucking hot!

“I’m gonna cum.” Bruce groans.

“Me too.” Selina moans, curling her finger and touching the soft button deep in you.

“Oh my god.” You can feel the coil building up more and more. The pressure almost scaring you at how much it was building. Bruce pulls out of Selina shoving himself into your mouth and bobbing your head up and down. You swallow and suck around him. The same time he cums down your throat is the same time Selina decides to give you the hardest orgasm of your fucking life. You scream into the air, frantically rubbing at her flowery bud.

She quakes and shivers underneath you. You lick at her core until she eventually clamps her thighs around your head from other stimulation. “Holy shit.” She laughs, her head feeling light from the shattering of her world.

You roll off of her and the three of you laid on your back, staring up at the ceiling and breathing heavily. You can taste the remnants of them on your tongue; a reminder of your time with them.

You propped yourself up on your elbows. “So I’m guessing you’ll be turning me in to the authorities. It’s fine, though. I got all I needed anyway.”

“No, I think I’ll keep you, kitten. You’ll be my little play toy. What do ya think, Brucey? Should we keep her?” She bats her eyes at the blissed out man.

He groans. “Is that really appropriate?”

“Yes.” Selina smiles at you and you smile back.

You turn over to the brooding sex symbol. “I can make it worth your while, Brucey,” You kiss and suck at his neck. “I promise you I won’t be bad. I’ll be so good for you.”

Selina joins in, attacking at the other side of his neck. Bruce isn’t sure if he believes either of the women, but with their hands running ever so softly over his body, he can’t say he wouldn’t try.

[clarks-letterman]

violentine | edward cullen x reader

a/n — the pics don’t really match, cant find anything red for eddy boy😪 meant to get this out last week for v-day (vampire day, valentines day, you name it) but work and school and work and school and work and school and work and school and work and you get my point

summary — Edward visits on Valentine's day. . . right as it starts.

warnings — straddling, m@sturbation (Edward), solo sex, one watches (the reader)

words — 2k

~~~

Click, the sound emanated from your window. Click. There it was again. You assumed that it was rain—harsh pellets hitting your window as the seasons changed from the cold and bitter winter to the warmth and love of the soon-to-arrive spring.

Click. Again, there it was, like an incessant beg from the clock on the wall, reminding you to spend the time you had with a passion that should never die. Expected but unfamiliar was the sound. On the fourth, most obnoxious click, you stammered to the window in total darkness. Edward stood out from the shadows, a large bouquet of some breed of flower in his one hand as he readied his aim with another pebble.

He dropped it when he saw you slide the window open. "I was about to invite myself in," he called up to you.

"Edward it's—" You paused, glancing over at the clock that hung on the wall over your bed. Both hands pointed up, but one was dipped by the other by only a fraction, caught in its arms. "Twelve-o-one."

In a flash, he was up through the window and standing in your room. "That's a minute too late. Happy Valentines day."

You could see what was in his hands better—a clump of white petals stemming into individual flowers—roses was their name. White roses, it must have been a joke since he sucked all the red pigment from their folios.

You could also see his attire, clean and layered with an expensive watch to match and the usual mess of hair that looked like he had just woken up, even though he never needed a wink of sleep to look as gorgeous as he was. All of it was a sharp contrast from your relaxed attire; pajama bottoms and a loose-fitting tee. You felt painfully under-dressed in the moment, and unprepared, as you too had a gift. The only difference was that your gift was still as naked as you, lacking any wrapping paper or disguise to keep an aura of mystery, much like Edward's presence so early into the new day.

"They smell good," you thanked, taking them from him and setting them down on a nearby surface in your room. You made a mental note of getting a vase later for them while rushing to dig out Edward's surprise.

"If only you knew how yours makes me feel," he confessed.

"I think I have some idea," you teased, retrieving the object and returning to where he was. Edward retracted his arms from both sleeves of his jacket; yours were occupied with keeping his gift hidden behind your back as if it would actually keep him from seeing it. His panoramic senses had a way of ruining surprises, but you hoped that he wouldn't cheat the system this time. "Hey, I got you something. It's, uh, modern—something from my time that—"

"Stop trying to sell me on it. You bought it—I'll love it, no matter what." He went to reach around you, already tired of the charade, but you beat him to it and handed him a small plastic package that contained a jockstrap. Edward took it and his face fell before turning up and wrinkling into a smile. “You want to see me in this? I don't—no—I can't."

After a bit of convincing, you stood at one end of the room while Edward changed in the corner, keeping your eyes covered and closed per his request. The room was silent aside from the shuffling of fabric against itself and skin. A stone-chipped god such as himself made no creak in the floor, leaving you to be unsure of when he actually got the thing on. So much shuffling and movement. Maybe this was a necessity, because he must have had layers and layers and suspenders and knee-high socks on for it to take that long to change.

"Take your hands away but keep your eyes closed," his alluring voice commanded; soft but clear from beyond the distance between you and him.

The breeze around you shifted, and there was almost a palpable feeling of understanding to open your eyes. So you did, and the sight before you crossed purposes. An old face trapped in immaturity—a chiseled body made for a different time, now contoured by something non-contemporary. Perfect, if only by gradation.

Edward played dumb, "How did my clothes end up all the way over there?"

"How did you end up all the way over here?" You angled back at him, playing dumber.

"I think yours would look good with them," he spoke, never tearing away from your gaze—not even to blink.

"Me too."

The words were an invitation. He scaled down your neck with light kisses, undoing the wrapper of loose clothing and lingering smog from the end of yesterday, clouding your mind only with the feel of him. Such a violent creature treating his quarry so tender and soft. He reached the thin layer shaping your outline—your skin—in a matter of seconds, your slothful clothes now mingled with his formals. One piece in particular stood out to you, his boxers. He had done it, and you looked down to see the various straps hugging him nicely.

"Too small?" They looked like the aftermath of attempting to strangle a swan. Something so elegant as him weighed down by the brutality of sexual thirst.

"Maybe, if a little in the front," Edward gave a half-effort smile and a small laugh to go with the comment. Unlike Edward, the venomously teasing words left a lot to be desired.

"I'm serious!" You shoved him away, watching him take a few steps back and stretch the elastic conforming to his sculpted thighs and cadaverous backside, filling out like binary crescent moons. You couldn't fathom that, even stumbling, he made it look intentionally graceful. You flopped onto your bed, the cushion acting as quicksand as your sluggishness returned from being abruptly woken up. Though, you trudged on, determined to stay awake. If a man such as Edward had forgone sleep for decades and still looked the way that he did, then you could do it for one night.

His hands reached down to the crotch, which was the only piece of fabric actually covering something, and he readjusted it, "I'm just not used to it, is all."

"But I could definitely get used to that view," you joked, watching him spin around like a puppy-dog chasing its tail as he tried to fix one of the straps in the back. "Now, all I need is that baseball jersey to go with it. When I see that, you can suck me dry."

Edward found himself wading on his knees over lumps of mattress, "Speaking of. . . I hope you're not tired."

With a knee on either side of you—which to his unbecomingly hairy thighs and thin straps hooking around to his backside and to the thin belt encircling his lean hips—you answered him in defense, saying damn near anything to get to the furtive confines made of cloth and elastic, "I couldn't be. You're my nightmare—my adrenaline."

"Then you should start fighting me," he leaned down to whisper. But the tiredness bordering his bold contingence in your mind kept you down, and Edward physically preventing you from getting up didn't make it much easier. He sat, straddling your torso with enough care to make the pressure applied known, but not daunting, "If you can, that is."

"Why would I? You never take the opportunity to do anything fun," you whined.

He kept his face close to yours, looking it over as he remarked: "Risking your pretty face sounds fun?"

You refused to let up on the feeling. A relationship was more than words and vague actions of romance like showing up at your house at midnight. You simply wanted a little more. "I just wish we could have some more contact during a time like this."

"No one wants to go to space when they first see it; they just stare, mesmerized by stars and light in the sky. Let me have that—let me give you that," he begged.

"Sometimes it feels like you're all talk," you spat with a passion. Edward was easy to love for his profound outlook on things thanks to his time spent in various places, but it became easy to hate when that was all he offered at certain moments. But, to your surprise, he caved.

"Then you do it. Tell me everything you would do if you had dictative will over me."

In what seemed like a rebuttal, he pulled himself out of the jockstrap from the side. You could see a light gathering of hair around the pubic bone, easily identifiable by the thin area due to the absence of excess fat.

You paused, taking a moment to think. Even then, you struggled to string together something to say, "I'd. . . taste you? Fuck, Ed, I don't know how to phrase it."

"No that's good, keep going," he seemed to like the effort, at least. He went from a half-chubbed cock to something harder with the ability to bob in the air on its own for a few seconds.

You decided on what you would do, answering him with certainty, "I would—I would kiss you. All over—everywhere."

"Everywhere?" He asked, tugging thoroughly at himself. He ensured that his hand met the base and worked its way up to the tip in a screwing motion, twisting around his shaft for a heightened sense of pleasure.

"Every imperfect fold and bit of skin that sparkles, Ed." He liked that idea, too. Edwards face twisted from it's set of gorgeous placement to a strong expression of pleasure.

"What else?" He huffed out, feigning a loss of breath. Maybe, he was simply putting on a show.

"What do you want to hear?" You watched his thin core falsely heave in a breath and exude it, cold wind emanating from him as he let out a moan. It was a show, but it was a damn good one. His own ideas got to his head before you could say anything to make them enticing.

"What if we got a house one day? What would I come home to?"

"Me, your undoubtedly happy partner, waiting inside a small house. White pickets on the lawn, cloudy days with the blinds shut—we can't have anyone knowing you're a vampire," you laugh at how ridiculous it sounds, "The two of us would likely be crowned 'the weirdos in Forks,' and there would be long-running rumors about how no one goes in and comes out alive. The neighbors see us every now and then, but we're reclusive, spending every night and day making love, Ed. We'll give ourselves up to instincts and love."

"And when we are making love?" The motion of his hand picked up speed, but not to the degree of his running feats, rather, only a bit faster than what you could average when you were pent up. Though, you weren't nearly as big as him. You used it as a reference for your last point.

"I'll wear one of your shirts—that button-down right over there, coated in your scent, but you can still smell the red ocean inside me. We'll kiss, like I said, a lot. And I think for my first time with you, I'd want to swallow your. . . venom. Make you feel like you're human again."

That's when he came, spewing his own, cold release over your chest and a bit spraying on to your sheets, staining it with him. You noticed that the color was a bit darker than the regular human dickspit, but it was an extension of him in his most raw form. Edward sped over to fish out his shirt from the piles of clothes on the floor. He came over, carefully dabbing up his mess and tossing the shirt to you when he was finished. He remarked to himself, "Wash it, or not. I'd prefer it if you didn't, but I won't judge cleanliness."

You started drifting in and out of the realm of sleep, disappearing to a place Edward couldn't wander to. He hastily asked one last question, "Did you mean everything you said?"

"Every time you ask."

[neutron-stars-collision]

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 4 - North Greenwich Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 3 Summary: Neil's brief disappearance does nothing to extinguish the sparks. As he returns, you make a series of discoveries about each other and grow ever so much closer. Warnings: Swearing, E-rated language, ridiculous amounts of flirting as per usual. Buckle up bc we're amping the pace a little... ;) Author's Notes: Well... that was a long break between the chapters 🙈 My apologies, turns out that having a job takes away the little joys in life like writing silly stories. Anyways, here we are, at last. With another 10.7k. And this one's packed with many good, fun things ;))) Some of those scenes had been months in the making (if not years, considering I first mentioned this AU to Shet in like 2021? I think?). So, yeah. They had it long time coming. More cameos, more nonsensical POV changes and, above all, more certified idiocy by them two kids. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

What Neil’s departure from London did not do was change the way things worked between you. Although you only had meagre information about his whereabouts (such as that he was within the same time zone but in a different country), there was no sense of a breach building in the space of that strange yet solid connection. With the anxieties surrounding the imminent ‘Don Quixote’ premiere keeping your blood pressure high daily, you more than enjoyed being able to pick up your phone and message him whenever possible.

He did not always respond immediately, but it was not a must. What mattered was that Neil eventually got back to you. Never disclosing any information about his work trip, apart from the fact that it was warm there even in mid-October, he still made the effort to keep up with your antics. In that sense, the insanity of the date you had risked changed absolutely nothing.

But it also changed everything.

It was as if your free will chose to conspire with the soul’s desires to get what they wanted. Namely – Neil. Because as soon as you had even begun considering breaching the line separating friendship from every other kind of relationship, your brain decided it was done.

Being his girlfriend was not on the list of priorities or wants, but getting in his pants definitely was. It was almost freeing to admit.

The only question left after all that soul-searching was whether Neil wanted you like that, too. Sometimes there were no doubts about that, either.

Almost a week in, with the ballet previews looming on the horizon and no chance of sleep anytime soon, you huffed an annoyed sigh and picked up the phone from your bedside table. Bleary eyes registered the hour (five past midnight) as you opened apps randomly, already giving up on the promise of sleep. It took you another few minutes to make up your mind, open the texts and stare at the conversation with Neil. It had been a few hours since the last exchange concerning the warmth of the climate wherever he was. You had been (fruitlessly) trying to make Neil send you a picture. Of himself. Not necessarily without clothes, but that was the dream. And a girl was allowed to dream, right?

Squinting at the screen, you hesitated for another millisecond before typing out the simple question:

/ 🏹, 00:15 am/ Are you missing me yet?

Neil did not make you wait for long.

/✝️, 00:26 am/ Obviously.

/✝️, 00:26 am/ I’m barely coping here, sunshine.

/ 🏹, 00:29 am/ Gee, you’re making it too easy.

/✝️, 00:30 am/ Making what too easy?

/ 🏹, 00:33 am/ Missing you.

/ 🏹, 00:34 am/ See, I thought my cheeky line would get a lukewarm response, so I was prepared to tease you further.

/ 🏹, 00:34 am/ And now I’ve no quips to offer.

/✝️, 00:39 am/ Apologies. I’ll do better next time.

/ 🏹, 00:40 am/ I’ll make sure of that.

/✝️, 00:42 am/ And what punishment do you propose?

/ 🏹, 00:43 am/ I’ve always wondered what you’d sound like if you begged.

/✝️, 00:44 am/ It could probably be arranged.

/✝️, 00:45 am/ I’ve no qualms about getting on my knees for a beautiful woman.

/✝️, 00:45 am/ But that would hardly be a punishment.

/ 🏹, 00:48 am/ Yeah, but if I let you have that and then left you… on your knees, so painfully hard with no release… How would that feel?

/✝️, 00:51 am/ You win this one.

/✝️, 00:52 am/ And yes, I’m blushing. Fiercely.

/ 🏹, 00:59 am/ Good, I was hoping you are. Goodnight, Neil.

As you hit send on the last message, your head hit the pillows with an audible ‘oof’. Your cheeks burned; the blush invisible in the dark yet still very much there. That was the problem with Neil and your chats. It was impossible to say when they would turn in that direction. When you would both lose control and follow a line of conversation that probably never should have happened. Not that you were complaining.

It was good to know what you could expect from Neil. If things happened the way you wished, they would. Admittedly, he’d look good on his knees. That was a fact.

That night you only got five hours of sleep, but who counted it anyway. What mattered was that you had some excellent dreams. Dreams that you hoped would end up prophetic.

On other days, your conversations were a little more serious. Like that early afternoon when you just finished the final in-costume run of the Cupid variation and exited the ROH to wander the streets of Soho. Whenever you felt close to losing your sanity, the walk around those familiar spots always did the trick. It was easier to breathe, to hope that you would not fuck it all up when the curtain call came. To believe that imposter syndrome was nothing more than a vile bitch.

Sighing against the thoughts muddling your brain, you took out the phone and immediately noticed the new message:

/✝️, 1:49 pm/ How’s the garden of the Dryads coming along?

/✝️, 1:50 pm/ It probably goes without saying that you’re my favourite ballerina.

/ 🏹, 2:06 pm/ Damn, that’s high praise. Especially considering that I’m the only ballerina you know.

/ 🏹, 2:06 pm/ I think the garden is coming along nicely. Not so sure about Cupid, tho.

/✝️, 2:08 pm/ I call bullshit on that.

/✝️, 2:09 pm/ I just know that you’re brilliant.

/ 🏹, 2:12 pm/ Doubt, she said.

/ 🏹, 2:12 pm/ ‘Cause like… How do you deal with the overwhelming weight of expectations?

/✝️, 2:18 pm/ I mean, I panic and lose it instantly, but generally speaking, I think you just sort of… ignore it and trust you are good enough.

/✝️, 2:19 pm/ I know that you are, Cupid. This role was made for you.

/ 🏹, 2:22 pm/ Elaborate, please. I need my ego stroked.

/✝️, 2:23 pm/ Well, she sorts of saunters onto the stage and has a minute to dazzle everyone, yeah?

/✝️, 2:24 pm/ Which is exactly what you did to me.

/✝️, 2:24 pm/ You’ve got this.

/ 🏹, 2:26 pm/ God, you’re irreconcilable. Better come back so I can force you to sit through this.

/✝️, 2:27 pm/ Working on it as we speak.

A smile painted itself on your face with an inerasable stroke of brush. Neil’s constant support and cheerleading were a welcome surprise. Sometimes, your meeting almost felt like a divine intervention. That is if you believed in such things. Because the odds of gaining both a fascinating man to pursue and a friend were quite low. And yet.

As you looped your steps back towards Covent Garden, you made the mental note to visit the box office and add a request for the guest list. It was a rare enough event to have someone you could invite to the performance. And have the right to believe they would come. You were not going to squander that sort of chance.

***

The whirring ceiling fan was starting to get on his nerves with its endless sputtering. And it was not even working, as far as Neil was concerned. The sweat still clung to his skin and trickled down his back to a point where he seriously contemplated ditching the shirt. And that rarely happened. Especially not on the job, with the whole squad confined to a medium-sized safehouse.

The bustle of the city streamed through the windows, cracked open so they could let in fresh air while still having a chance of keeping them safe from snipers and the like. Granted, one could never be fully prepared for an inverted shot, but it was worth trying not to get killed. Especially during a mission that technically was just a recon. Though Neil knew better than to believe The Protagonist when the man claimed something was perfectly safe. He meant well, sure. But despite the appearances, he did not know everything.

So, the windows cracked open three inches had to do. Neil sighed, annoyance digging deep beneath his skin to stay there for a little longer. It was another one of those boring, yet technically productive afternoons in the safehouse. Today, the task was to plan a hypothetical pincer movement. Just in case, they said. Well, Neil sure did hope the case never came to be.

He glanced at the blacked-out screen of his phone, the muscle memory betraying him as he picked up the device almost mindlessly and opened the conversation with Cupid. It had been a few hours since the last chat, which was pretty usual. They did not need to talk all the time. Neil knew that. He also knew that it was probably better they did not talk constantly. Considering that 3 out of 5 conversations always ended up dirty, up to the point where he was blushing like an idiot. And, sometimes disappeared in the bathroom to deal with some troublesome effects of those chats.

Yes, considering all that, Neil knew it was best they took some breaks. But also-

“Blondie, can you give us a hand with this?” the yell from further inside the apartment acted like a bucket of cold water tipped over his head unceremoniously.

Neil whipped his head up, glaring at the open doorway. Unfortunately, being referred to as ‘blondie’ was becoming more frequent. The petulant nature urged him to ignore it, but he knew that was hardly the last one. With another long-suffering sigh, he heaved himself out of the armchair and called back:

“I said I’m coming,” granted, that was over fifteen minutes ago, but everyone could get distracted. Right? “Would it hurt you to ask nicer?” he stalked down the corridor toward the living area with an arched eyebrow.

It was not surprising to meet a mirroring expression on the faces of Ives, Wheeler, and Jeremy sitting in a trifecta of judgment. Neil had no doubts about his place in that makeshift courtroom.

“Yes, when you’re slacking,” Wheeler dropped the disapproving glare with all the air of nonchalance and pointedly glanced at the table covered with maps and blueprints.

Neil had no choice but to sit down in the remaining chair and offer an apologetic pout to anyone willing to hear him out:

“I’m not slacking. I’m just-” whatever excuse he could whip out on a whim got interrupted prematurely.

“Otherwise occupied with your girlfriend. Yes, we know,” Wheeler raised her head once more with a dismissive wave of hand, making Neil consider the possibility that she was close to losing it right there and then.

That possibility was always worrisome, for no anger could compare to that of his friend. Especially when she was pissed off.

But that careful consideration was nothing in the face of the two realisations brought forward by that simple assumption. Firstly - Cupid was decidedly not his girlfriend. Secondly – fucking Ives.

Neil glared at the man in question, hoping his eyes would reveal the murderous intents hidden underneath as his clarifying statement broke the awkward silence:

“She’s not-” he never finished that sentence (perhaps for the better), for the harsh sound of his ringtone filled the room with cacophonic clamour. Neil scrambled to pick up the phone without as much as glancing at the screen, “Hello?” the tentative opener sounded ridiculous even to his ears.

Soon, it was clear he should have checked the caller before picking up.

“Hi, Neil,” Cupid’s silky tone caressed his ear through the device.

Neil knew she did that purposefully, solely inspired to make the idiot inside him blush and giggle like a loser. Make no mistake; Neil was certainly a loser. And an idiot.

Once he felt the shock pass enough to ensure he would not drop the phone he repeated the greeting.

“Umm, hi,” from the corner of his eye, Neil could see the accompanying trio stare at him without trying to be covert about it. Absolute assholes “You’ve never called me before” trust him to state the obvious.

For a second, Neil considered faceplanting onto the table. Equally, the idea of jumping out of the window sounded appealing. The thoughts of potential demise were interrupted by Cupid’s reply:

“I know. I just thought it might be fun to spice things up,” she was definitely enjoying this and the damage she has caused. It was audible in the lightness of her voice, the vowels curled by a cheeky smile he could hear as she asked, “How’s your day?”

No longer happy to ignore his audience, Neil turned towards them with another glare. All three stared back, with Ives going as far as shooting him a knowing smile.

“It’s fine, except for my team being desperate to berate me,” Neil directed the venom in his voice at the trio as Wheeler casually got up from the table and put the kettle on.

The light chuckle from the phone almost made him feel better about it.

“That’s rude,” her remark contrasted with the laughter he could hear in her voice. Yet it was too late to raise the alarm or prepare for what would follow, “Would it be better if I reminded you what a good boy you are?” as soon as Cupid finished the question, Neil felt the full-body reaction she wanted.

A shudder ran through his spine as his face flushed pink. On a last conscious thought, Neil leapt up from the chair and paced towards the window, hiding from the group. A half-swallowed groan broke through his mouth as he tightened his fist, hopelessly trying to forget how those two words sounded on her lips. It was pathetic.

The more tragic outcome was that now Cupid had even more blackmailing material in her arsenal.

“Jesus Christ, you’re evil,” Neil knew he still sounded wrecked.

There was no way of hiding that. Of making her forget this had just happened and the conclusions she could draw from it. Neil barely resisted the urge to smash his head into the window.

“Oh, so it would help,” as expected, Cupid sounded delighted by what had transpired. The cheeky smile he liked way too much was undoubtedly present on her face as she added, “Not so dully noted” may he rest in pieces, apparently, “When are you coming back?” the question sounded almost out of place.

Yet even in his muddled mind, Neil knew it was genuine. That she wanted to know. If that fact meant anything at all, he did not know. And he tried his hardest not to think about it too much.

“Why? You miss me?” ignoring the chorus of ‘awws’ behind his back, Neil allowed himself to ask.

Even if only for emotional validation. Because while she has hinted at it before, Neil was never tired of being reminded. The whole thing with her might have been hopeless, but it did not change how he worked. How his heart ticked and what beat it chose. Tragically, romanticism was tricky to get rid of. Neil experienced that first-hand.

“You know that I do,” Cupid did not mind humouring his whims as she offered a simple admission without a fight.

With all his predictability, Neil could not hold back the idiotic grin from making an appearance. Sure, it had no future, but that did not make him less eager to play along. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Famous last words and all. Probably.

“I should be back in a week. More or less,” that was the hope, anyway.

The few stray thoughts that had somehow escaped the web spun by Cupid, and her attention reminded him about the work still left to be done. Like the fucking pincer movement plan. With threebastards taunting him mercilessly. So much fun.

“Fab. I got you a great seat for the premiere, so… You know what to do,” the hopeful note in her voice was worth the future pain.

He had no doubts about it. The fact was that Neil was looking forward to the ballet. The hazy memories of seeing ‘Swan Lake’, aged six, hardly compared to the Royal Ballet company. It was a good enough reason to attend. The other excellent reason was Cupid herself, but that was best unsaid. And unthought. Somehow.

“Got you,” ignoring the ridiculous thoughts, Neil offered her a smile she could not see and a silent prayer cast into the heavens that he was not lying unknowingly.

“I know you do. You’re a good boy, Neil,” Cupid’s strike came with no warning.

Yet again, she dropped her tone a notch and whispered the damned two words with a breathy sigh. The metaphorical nail to the coffin this time was how she said his name, almost caressing the letters. And yes, this time it worked, too.

Neil had the mind to faceplant into the window and groan with frustration. The inescapable blush warmed up his cheeks as his body shivered. Some… particular parts of his physique also showed interest in what was happening, eternally oh so eager to betray his wish to stay unbothered.

“For fuck’s-” the choked curse got swallowed by the mightiest effort on his side as Neil took a steadying breath and asked, “Why?”

As if happy to punish him, Cupid laughed.

“Because it’s fun,” the unspoken duh made him both more annoyed and more bewitched by her, “I’ll let you work now, but…” as did the carrot dangled in front of his face like the sweetest of baits.

Always the idiot, Neil could not possibly ignore it.

“Yeah?” he could hear her take a deep breath as if steeling herself for a difficult admission.

“I’m glad we’ve met,” Cupid whispered the confession without as much as a pause between the words.

“Me too,” his reply got lost in the static as she hung up.

Letting out the breath he did not know he was holding, Neil lowered the phone onto the windowsill and stared at the city outside. Well then. The call would take a while to process; that was unquestionable.

“Aw, aren’t you two cute?” Ives’ teasing threw Neil out of that pleasantly fuzzy mind space with all the grace of an elephant.

He turned around with the glower at the ready. This time, he could not bite back the curse:

“Shut the fuck up,” on an afterthought, Neil added, “Please,” noticing the soldier open his mouth for a quip, he dropped his tone to a warning timbre. That called for a final caution, “Unless you want to start looking for a new physicist,” his glare slipped over the trio before Neil settled at the table and unfolded the blueprints without another word.

***

When that awaited text from Neil came, bearing the information that he was back in London and happy to meet you whenever you did not jump for joy. Definitely not. What you did do was grin and discuss the possible rendezvous immediately. When that Tuesday afternoon arrived, with the glory of a decent rehearsal and a good coffee in your paper cup, you happily bypassed the crowds at Green Park and skipped the steps down to the correct platform.

That twenty-minute walk to the station was a blessing, just as much as a curse. When Neil proposed the time you could meet on the train, you did not correct him about your location that day. Or that grabbing the Jubilee line would be entirely off the quickest route back home. You just accepted the time and place and ignored the voice at the back of your head reminding you that this was not how you usually behaved.

It could go fuck itself.

Once you settled on the platform, one glance at the watch told you the next train would be the right one. The strange giddiness sparked in your veins, but you blamed it on the three-week gap between the meetings. It was just that, nothing more. Obviously.

The autopilot carried you through the motions until you had boarded the carriage and came face to face with the cause of all this idiocy. Neil smiled, instantly clocking you before you had even placed both feet inside. It was impossible to keep your face neutral, returning the grin and manoeuvring around the commuters to sit next to him on the three plastic chairs facing the sliding doors.

Then, as if seized by insanity, you propelled your body forward with the arms coming up around Neil’s neck to embrace him tightly. His freeze took approximately twenty seconds to thaw as he returned the hug with equal strength. You could feel the warmth of his breath hitting the crook of your neck and making you fight back a shiver that would not do. Instead, you let yourself breathe him in, rest in the moment that was potentially a mistake. Still, you were not going to treat it like one. Not when the warmth of his hands seeped through the clothes as they rested on your waist.

When the lurch of the train reminded you of reality and all its flaws, you ruefully disentangled from Neil and met his wary gaze. His blue eyes scanned your face as if looking for clues towards the reasons for the madness you just allowed yourself. When that offered no answers, Neil broke the silence with a careful observation:

“I didn’t know that we’re doing hugs,” his impassive face offered no clues either, triggering a wave of uncertainty you had to smother.

Because what if you went too far? What if that was not what Neil wanted?

“We are now,” the confidence was missing from the statement, making you add a crucial question, “Is that okay?” you could hear the insecurity in your voice, betraying the worries.

They disappeared the moment Neil flashed you a smile, his hand lightly patting your knee as a complement to the simple reassurance:

“Sure is,” lowering his gaze to catch yours, Neil winked.

Thank fuck. It surely made life much easier. Or the plans you might or might have not made regarding him. Now that the crisis had passed, you shifted in the seat to find a more comfortable position and allowed yourself a selfish look, measuring him up as usual. The slight tan line revealed by the rolled-up sleeves confirmed what you did know about his disappearance. The minor tiredness in how he carried his body strengthened your guesses. The rest of him blinded you as always.

Especially the three buttons left undone, revealing a strip of his chest. And inspiring ungodly thoughts in your head. Ignoring that what could not be addressed. Especially not right now in a carriage full of people. You switched your attention to the other crucial topic. Everything was better than being arrested for public indecency. At least you did hope so.

“How was the trip?” you noted the shift in Neil’s posture.

How he strengthened in the seat, the mask back in place. Although his mystery had fallen into the background over the acceleration of your dynamic, it was still very much present. You had to figure him out. Had to crack the case. Even if it killed you.

For now, though, simply asking mundane questions had to be enough.

“Well… it was fine. The usual” the answer did not help much, however.

Neil looked as if he knew how enigmatic it sounded but could not do anything about it. Upon your questioning look, he only shrugged and offered no further details. This time, you could not let the moment pass without a comment. You rolled your eyes, a frustrated huff interrupting the silence with petulance:

“God, you couldn’t be any less mysterious if you tried,” although anger was not one of the present emotions, you knew Neil would understand the message as you glared at him without heat.

He winced as if admitting to the guilt you hinted at and turned to you with a more open expression on his face:

“Sorry, it’s uh… maybe one day,” Neil met your gaze meaningfully, making you keener to believe him.

You held his gaze for a beat, even if only to have an excuse to look into his eyes and see Neil without the veil of pretence. It was easy to hope one day he would tell you more. That there was one day, somewhere along the line, waiting for you. That whatever was happening would not burn to a cinder in two weeks and leave you bereft. As things like this tended to do.

“I’ll hold you to that,” before breaking the eye contact, you reached for his hand.

It was another insane reflex that was difficult to explain, even to yourself. Yet, still, Neil went willingly. His long fingers tangled with yours without resistance and allowed you to rest your joined palms between the seats, almost like a beacon to whoever was curious about your meeting. And you could see the nosy stares, the inquisitive grandmas eager to judge and label everything and everyone existing within their vicinity.

You used the warmth of your connected hands to anchor you in the present as Neil asked:

“How’s the imposter syndrome? Did it fuck off at last?” the softness in his eyes could undoubtedly be fatal.

As was the way he knew what to ask and hit the jackpot without even trying. Because, of course, the feeling of not being good enough did not disappear. Of course, you still got up every morning with the vague desire to approach the ballet director and tell her you are giving up. That you cannot do this. It almost seemed like Neil could sense your thoughts.

Which was both terrifying and appealing, if you were to be honest. It would make your job easier if he knew exactly what you were thinking. About him.

“I wish,” the suffering sigh was a cheap trick, but viable in your books, “I still think I’m going to embarrass myself, but well,” not willing to give up the comfortable weight of his hand in yours, you offered Neil a one-sided shrug “Can’t exactly capitulate now” the desperate edge to that sentence did not escape his attention.

Sure, you would not actually give up, but that did not mean you were not half-heartedly wishing it happened anyway. Ideally, in the form of someone else doing the job for you. Pathetic, innit?

Neil squeezed your hand, capturing your attention without needing to try at all. The frown was still present on your face, its force turning the corners of your mouth downwards. As always, Neil seemed to see through all that you were not saying. He met your gaze (which was a feat considering you were happy to look anywhere but at him) and spoke:

“I wouldn’t let you,” there was an edge to his voice, a steely resolve that told you the conversation was gaining another layer.

A different destination to the one you had expected at first. Although, with how your chats recently played out, it was to be anticipated. Probably.

Without giving yourself the time to overthink, you leaned closer to Neil and placed a hand on his thigh. You could see his eyes widen upon the move, the pupils blowing up in the quickest form of flattery a man could give you. Sharpening your smile to the perfectly saccharine variant, you delivered the prepared lines:

“Oh yeah?” his thigh muscles tensed underneath your hand as Neil’s mouth fell agape without him being fully in control of the reaction. It was adorable. And an ideally ripe ground to lay the final strike, “You’d force me? Have your way with me?” the sparks in his eyes were a pretty addition to the already gorgeous picture.

At that moment, you knew that you had missed this. No texting could ever replace the real thing. The back and forth with the arresting strength of his eye contact and the unpredictable suspense of what would come next. Like the sudden softening of Neil’s features and an unexpectedly tentative counter to your bold questions:

“If you’d let me,” he swallowed hard as if desperately trying to get rid of the thoughts in his head and simultaneously unable to shake them off.

As if ripping the thread connecting him to you and shortening it at an alarming rate was causing Neil physical pain. The revelation acted like a hot poker pressed against the tender skin of your palm. It was difficult to shrug it off as if it was nothing. It nagged and prodded until you could do nothing but stare dumbly at him, feeling every passing second like a wasted beat of time you would never get back.

Before you could get your shit together in any way, it was too late. Neil had already jumped to conclusions, as you worried he might. His brows furrowed as his teeth nibbled on the chapped bottom lip in a familiar nervous tic. Slowly, as if navigating a mined battlefield, he shifted in the seat, widening the space between you by a fraction. You noticed it anyway.

“You don’t mind that this sort of thing keeps happening?” the question was completed with a vague gesture, slashing the air between you awkwardly.

The inflexion offered no space for doubt. Neil concluded that you very much did mind. That somehow you were not an active and eager participant in the heavy flirting and mutual teasing. Neil was an idiot.

And you had to put that point across instantly.

“Why would I mind?” without thinking, you let your fingers repeatedly stroke his forearm as you leaned back into his orbit to confess what ought to have been obvious, “I mean every word I say to you. Including all that post-Watershed talk” it was delightful to see your favourite smile disrupt his frown.

At the same time, it was nice to have it out in the open, no longer unsaid and implied. Because you did mean it. And you did want it. Whatever Neil would offer, be it a friendship or more. The choice was his.

You could pinpoint when the weight lifted off his shoulders and let him breathe deeper. You stared as Neil absorbed and processed the information, his blue eyes showing a spectrum of emotions. Some were unreadable. Other more obvious, like the devilish sparks that always guaranteed the conversation would take a curious turn. Or the cautious hope, making him look so much younger and innocent. Your unoccupied hand itched with the desire to brush his golden locks from his forehead, so you tightened it into a fist hidden in the coat pocket.

Just like you hid everything that had no place in your life.

At the periphery of your attention, you could register the called stations. Or the fact that your stop was mercilessly getting closer. Only one question could make you forget the reality altogether:

“So, what would you do if I kissed you?” when Neil asked, you were glad you had never forced yourself to look away from him.

That hesitant hope was still there, lightening up his eyes. You let it pull you in, as there was no need to search your heart for an answer. It was fair to assume Neil knew that, too. The question was only a preliminary. But it was still admirable he asked. People rarely did.

You shrugged, highlighting the evident conclusion he hopefully had already reached. It would have been easy to close the gap and let that be the answer. Too easy. It was enough that you could hardly ever look away from him, constantly drawn and arrested by his eyes.

Forcing yourself to break the spell, you met his gaze and offered him an impassive smile. If only to keep up the façade for a little longer.

“There’s only one way to find out, Neil,” you hoped that was enough, that he would understand the ball was back in his court to do as he pleased.

You also hoped Neil came to the right solution. Sadly, that did not seem to come to be just yet. One glance outside the window alarmed you about the surroundings and that you were arriving at your station. The frown twisted your mouth downwards as you risked a glance at Neil. The disappointment in his eyes told you he already caught up.

Two choices were waiting at your disposal. You could either stay, miss your stop to find out what would happen next. Or you could choose cowardice and leave the carriage, delaying the fateful moment a little longer. Definitely not forever.

It was hard to say why you chose the second option. Why you stood up without as much as a look at Neil and feigned a cheery farewell that felt foreign on your tongue. Later, you were keen to pretend it was just the influence of the moment. A sudden spell of insanity.

“Oops, that’s me. See you soon,” it was a miracle that you did not trip in the haste to get out.

You barely registered the surroundings as you bolted towards the sliding door and stepped onto the platform, missing the gap by mere millimetres. It was pure luck that you did not walk into any poor soul as you attempted to get away from the train as fast as possible.

You did not get the time to flee. All because you did not consider one thing – Neil had a choice, too.

When you felt a hand take yours and pull you back, there was that split second of panic. Your disoriented mind rapidly flicked through at least ten different disastrous scenarios, starting at a random appearance of Liam and ending at a violent assault you were about to be subjected to. Only then, at the very end, your brain pushed forward another observation. There was something familiar about that handhold.

Before you had a second to follow that thought, the interrupter pulled at your hand, making you whirl around to face them. Your widened gaze fell upon the undone tortoiseshell shirt buttons and wandered up the neck to land on Neil’s blue eyes, patiently staring back at you. It took you another second to understand what happened. And another one to begin processing what it could mean. Why he did it.

Without being aware of the movement of your body, you stepped closer to Neil, tightening the bubble you both had created in the middle of the platform. People bypassed you as they rushed to the train with the beeping doors hastening their steps. But that hardly mattered. It was just white noise. Unimportant and ignorable.

Unlike Neil, who closed the gap between your bodies to mere millimetres, and wordlessly repeated the question from before. The answer did not change. You offered him a tiny nod, not feeling the need to speak. The surrealism of the moment could not be labelled anyhow.

From the second you had tasted Neil’s lips, you knew it would not be something you could forget. That the feel of him would burn into the cortex of your brain and stay there to haunt you for eternity. You were right.

Your eyes snapped shut as soon as he closed the distance and covered your mouth with his in a soft kiss. His gentle and pliant lips caressed yours attentively without effort, making you cling even closer to him. Your arms came around Neil’s neck as your fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. It took another second, a blissful beat of existence, to make you kiss him back. Just as carefully. Just like you never kissed anyone before.

Neil’s relief came through in a short gasp, let out into your opening mouth, and the warm weight of his palms came up to rest on your waist beneath the open coat. Following the logic you did not understand, you tilted your head and allowed his prying tongue to lick into your mouth. The liquid heat traversed your veins, warming up your skin as Neil took his time to map out the inside of your mouth. Suddenly, the instant connection you felt made sense. Things clicked into place as you breathed the taste of him and breathed out the uncertainty. It felt right. Good. Unforgettable, even.

It felt like no first kisses and endless one-night stands ever did. And that made no sense.

Soon, that first kiss evolved into another and then the next. The platform, the people and the noise faded into the background as you swapped kisses, barely interrupted by quiet groans and swallowed gasps. On its own accord, your hand ventured up to tangle in his hair, grabbing a fistful of the golden locks and tugging in time with a particularly hungry nip taken out of Neil’s bottom lip. The reward of a barely stifled moan was more than worth it.

As was how Neil held you close and returned your kisses with equal zeal. He matched your energy and pushed you further until the remaining part of your conscience worried about being arrested for public indecency.

When the burn of your lungs excelled that of your soul, you placed a palm over the centre of his chest and pushed Neil back. Just a fraction. Just to catch your breath. His answering whine felt like another spark of pride, making your eyes glow with self-satisfaction. That was better than any other form of gratification you could think of.

When you finally forced yourself to blink your eyes open and look at Neil, you were met with kiss-bruised lips and darkened blue eyes, showing nothing else but hunger. At least ten increasingly ridiculous religious metaphors battled for leadership in your mind, but you pushed them all aside. The most accurate comment went to two simple words, pushed forward by the strength of your soul’s crudeness. Fucking hell. In the best of meanings, that is.

Following deeply rooted instincts, your tongue darted out to thoroughly trace the expanse of your bottom lip. And get remains of his taste, that you had already started missing. As far as kisses had gone, this one was pretty damn spectacular.

Neil seemed frozen, his eyes fixed on your mouth as if that was the only thing he could do. Admittedly, it was adorable. Yet, still, you decided to break the spell, the only way you could think of:

“I think your train has left,” you glanced over his shoulder, noting the expectedly empty platform.

Only now, when the haze of the kiss (or rather a whole make-out session) had begun to lift, you could understand what had transpired. And that Neil was keen to delay his return home for the price of a kiss. Or for the hope of a kiss, for clearly, he did not think he would get that far. Idiot.

You could see it now, back on his face. The slight disorientation and confusion suggested Neil could barely believe that what just happened was real. He blinked twice, then again, as if forcing himself to wake up and met your gaze with wide eyes. Without thinking, you allowed the hand you had pressed flat to his chest to venture up, stopping when your fingers started grazing over his neck. That was the trigger Neil needed to return to reality. He seized your adventurous fingers in a loose hold and placed your joined hands back over his heart. You could feel it racing.

“I’ll wait for the next one,” Neil offered you a half-smile, the uncertainty shining through the tentative joy in his eyes.

It was not something you were used to. Usually, after a kiss like that (never even preceded with a question, because who the fuck still asked for kisses?), you only ever got smugness. And an attempt at a smooth transition to sex, which did or did not succeed, depending on the participating party). Never uncertainty. Never shyness. Never contentment with what happened without pushing you for more.

You didn’t know what to do with any of it.

“No regrets?” the question was also one that you never asked before.

Not after something as trivial as a first kiss. But then, nothing was the way it usually went with Neil. That much was quite clear.

“Not really. You?” as if sensing your growing uncertainty, Neil did not hesitate before answering the question.

He squeezed your fingers, still wrapped in his palm and met your gaze with something almost resembling confidence. Somehow, that was enough. You took a fortifying breath to gather courage and discard the doubts. There would be more than enough time to deal with them later. Hopefully.

For now, there were other things to do and say. Like answering Neil’s question and reclaiming the conversation from its sombre paths. Especially since no cell in your body regretted the kiss. Or any other thing you had ever said or hinted at to him. It is just that somehow, somewhere along the line, your normal confidence had been wiped off the table. And it felt like it was never to be seen again. Not like before.

You hoped to ignore that bit of revelation, too.

“Nope. I’d offer a coffee at mine, but… I think some things need a better build-up,” you hoped the chaos in your head was not easily seen as you dropped the line with an attempt at the usual smoothness and met Neil’s eyes with remaining poise.

You meant that, too. A part of you, the same that had difficulties ending the kiss, wanted to continue it wherever it may lead you. You were quite sure you knew where it was going. And you certainly wanted that. But, at the same time, rushing into it seemed… wrong. As if the fact that you also wanted to be friends with Neil needed a little more respect. A little more time.

You could tell he understood from the way Neil nodded, his eyes still blown out by the darkened pupils.

“Agreed,” he shook his head slightly as if trying to clear it before glancing at the timing screen over your heads. Whatever the impact those 7 minutes of waiting had, the next thing Neil did was to heave a sigh and set his weary eyes on you, “Actually, I might walk back home. Should probably clear my head,” a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

Without overthinking the act, you seized his hand and started for the stairs. Just because you were not yet taking him home did not mean you could not drag out the goodbye. Right?

Right.

***

Although the kiss was not forgotten and only added to the general restlessness, you never mentioned it again. It was another layer added to the sprinkled, complex mess that was your relationship. A tiered cake that had so many flavours it was impossible to label it using a concise, less than five-word description. It just did not get discussed.

That was both a blessing and a curse, considering that with mere days left till the public Don Quixote premiere you could barely handle one type of stress and uncertainty. Let alone two. The reality check deadline crept up on you without warning, catching you pacing the flat for over an hour the evening before the official pre-premiere. The event always happened at least a night before the opening soiree and was reserved for the press, Royal Ballet directory and special guests of honour. It also meant that every detail of the performance had to be up to par if one wanted to continue advancing the career in the company. Which you did want. Desperately. It was just bloody unfortunate that the usual insanity of anxiety now was interlaced with something else.

Something that made you stop the pacing and pick up the phone only to open the messages and stare at the text conversation with Neil. It had been a few hours, and considering the 9 pm on the clock, you had a fair right to believe that he might be asleep. Maybe. But that could hardly deter the part of your brain that tended to get ahead of itself. Especially fuelled by stress and anxiety.

Without letting yourself falter, you typed the question:

/ 🏹, 9:04 pm/ Are you still up?

Luckily, you only had to hold your breath for an answer (or a lack of it) for less than 5 minutes. For that, your lungs were eternally thankful.

/✝️, 9:08 pm/ Is this the moment you ask me for dick pics?

A ridiculous guffaw broke the silence of your flat, along with that necessary intake of oxygen. Conversations like those still happened daily and only increased the want you could not get rid of if you tried.

And you didn’t try. There was no point to it.

/ 🏹, 9:09 pm/ Nah. Not yet.

You were having fun, chatting the shit on the daily with someone who seemed more than eager to keep the ball going. That was partially why you reached out on a whim, desperate to get out of the flat even for a little while. After all, asking Neil offered a fifty-fifty chance of an entertaining evening. All other intentions did not have to be disclosed. Even in your mind.

/✝️, 9:10 pm/ That’s a relief.

/✝️, 9:10 pm/ How can I be of service, my lady?

/ 🏹, 9:11 pm/ You’ve no idea, babe.

/ 🏹, 9:12 pm/ I was thinking of going to the dance studio, that’s open till midnight. Do you want to come?

/ 🏹, 9:12 pm/ You’ve said you wanted to see me dance so…

After sending the third message, you put down the phone and exhaled. That nervousness residing in your bones was new. It was almost as if it mattered what Neil’s answer would be. As if you cared whether he would say yes to the tentative proposition. None of that had ever happened before.

The urge to faceplant into the pillow was derailed by the buzz of an incoming message. With embarrassing speed of reaction, you read the texts:

/✝️, 9:15 pm/ Happily.

/✝️, 9:15 pm/ When and where do we meet?

You grinned. As you copied and pasted the location pin into the message, you could already feel a different type of nervousness enter your system. It was time for Neil to see you dance. You would also see him for the first time since the kiss. It was high time someone covered this topic on wikiHow. Or, at least, you thought so.

***

Although the Royal Ballet had more than good enough facilities at the Covent Garden building, the company could also use a studio by the Southwark Underground Station whenever you felt like it. Conveniently, that alternative place was open till midnight on weeknights, offering a one-in-a-million chance to run over the choreography for a billion times more before the pre-premiere. Without an audience of your fellow ballet dancers and their critical eyes, at that.

The other perk to the external studio was that nothing stopped you from bringing someone from the outside along. Nothing except for maybe the deeply rooted fear of showing Neil what you could do. Or couldn’t do.

That fear had not left through the Uber drive from your flat, growing in force from the moment you set your eyes upon Neil waiting outside the studio with a smile on his face. You exchanged the usual niceties, bypassing the awkward tint to the interaction with an avoided hug and nonsensical commentary from your side.

The nerves seemed to reach the peak as you left Neil in the main ballet studio room, the space lit up sparsely to maintain the strangely surreal atmosphere of those late autumn nights in London when nothing seems to be tangible and real. Having left the house in a pre-planned rehearsal outfit, you only took off the unnecessary layers, leaving you in a simple bodice and a wrap mid-thigh skirt and pulled on the woollen leg warmers to keep the chill at bay.

Luckily for your racing heart, the ritual of putting on and lacing up the pointe shoes always did its magic, allowing you to centre yourself and take a couple of deep breaths. Until there was nothing left but to march out of the changing room and connect your phone to the speaker, the right track ready for you to press play.

But before you could go that far, you made the mistake of locating Neil in the room. He had settled on the floor opposite you, his back pressed to the mirror-covered walls of the studio. He stared as you entered the invisible stage and offered you an encouraging smile. A slow, gentle warm-up was a valid opportunity to falter. A necessary step you had to take while also admitting that it was convenient. Although, Neil’s attentive gaze following your every move was much less convenient.

Once you had run out of all other options, you started the music, put down the phone and took up position. Desperate to rehearse as much as possible, you chose to go through the entire dream sequence at the end of Act 2. As always, the Minkus score did its magic, helping you settle into the movement and almost forget about everything else.

You followed the steps with practised ease, hearing the dull thud of pointe shoes hitting the hardwood floors with each landing between the orchestral notes. When the cue to finish was near you were almost out of breath. The pearls of sweat clung to your temples as the sweetness of exertion burned through your muscles and tendons. When those final notes rang off in the quiet studio, you held the finishing pose and waited for the music to end. The resulting silence was deafening.

Slowly, as if pained to do it, you opened your eyes. Neil was right where you had left him; his gaze seemingly never trailed away. But the exact look on his face was different. Instead of the ease and unbothered nonchalance he tried to emit earlier, Neil was now speechless. Dazed. His mouth was still agape, and he had to remind himself to close it before swallowing hard. You tried your hardest not to let that get into your head. You failed.

“So… what do you think?” unable to keep quiet for much longer, you released the question into the ether with a permanent frown and a minimal level of conviction.

It seemed to be what Neil needed to wake up from the stupor. He shifted, pulled up his knees to his chin and eyed you with a bright gaze. The desire to look away rose with every minute, but you tried to endure it. Somehow.

“You’re brilliant. Do you know that?” the matter-of-fact tone threw you off kilter, bringing out an automatic (albeit manic) grin from its hiding back onto your face.

Neil mirrored the expression instantly, only widening your smile in the process. Feeling the need to move again, you flexed your calves, completing a set of rapid changements. Only once that was done you could attempt to answer the question.

“Maybe,” you shrugged, unwilling to stray onto that sort of honest territory just yet, “It doesn’t hurt to hear it again, though,” unable to ignore that one voice at the back of your head that had not been convinced, you asked, “Was it actually… good?” the emphasis on the word was automatic.

You could tell Neil saw right through your faux nonchalance as he smiled, a different type of fondness shining in his eyes. That, too, was best left alone for now. The observation was shelved among others of its kind in the darkest cavern of your brain. Ideally left alone for good, never to be touched or thought of again. Just in case.

Neil’s gaze never strayed from yours as he offered you an answer without a hint of exasperation:

“As far as my virgin eyes could tell, it was perfect,” the corner of his mouth rose in the makings of a familiar smirk.

It eradicated any illusions that he did not know what he was saying. Or the effect the sentence would have. You closed your eyes against the sight, hopelessly willing the inconvenient feelings to disappear.

By now, it was painfully clear that Neil could be a bastard when he wanted to. It was just another thing that you liked about him. Perhaps too much.

For a second, you debated following the easy way out he had offered. It would have been effortless to take up the tone and turn the conversation into yet another pleasant back-and-forth that could potentially lead you past the talking. Past that one kiss, that had lowkey driven you insane with the promise of potential.

But the doubts were still there. They still clouded your mind like a flock of hungry birds of prey hunting for a bite of flesh. And Neil was the only person you could talk to and know he would listen. That he would care. For some reason, it was a crucial thing to share. An important topic to raise. Here and now.

“Allow me to ignore that double entendre potential for a second,” your apologetic frown was accepted with a subtle nod and meaningful glance.

“You’re excused, Cupid,” Neil grinned, evidently taking pleasure from the nickname you became fond of.

Especially because it was him, who bestowed it on you.

“Thank you,” shaking off the sudden rush of affection, you completed the gratitude with a cheeky addition, returning Neil’s smirk, “Sir,” only once noted his answering blush, it was safe to delve into what you really wanted to tell him. You took a deep breath, completing half a pirouette to face the mirrors on the wall and asked, “Do you ever feel like you’re just constantly pretending? Like the whole ‘fake it till you make it’ deal, except you never stop faking it?” training your gaze on the hardwood floors, you stared at the tips of your pointe shoes.

The worn-out, ragged edges caught your attention for a split second. You took a mental note to break in the brand-new pair and prepare them for tomorrow’s show. On the periphery of your vision, you could see Neil’s reflection. You could feel him staring, the intense gazing boring holes in the back of your head. But not even that could make you turn and face him.

“Pretty much every day,” Neil’s reply made you look up, meeting his eyes in the reflection. That was not an answer you had expected, “I’ve found that sometimes, if you’re lucky, all that pretending can fool the brain, too,” he signed off the addition with another reassuring smile.

Still, the scepticism reigned free as an unbidden scoff tore from your throat, forcing you to swallow down the sudden desire to retreat from the conversation. Years of practice did not seem to share Neil’s thesis. Things never got easier. You doubted they ever would.

“I’d hope so. Except that, I’m not sure I am that lucky,” that was a given, an undeniable fact of life like the laws of physics or the ignorance of the Tories. Unchangeable. The familiar wave of frustration threatened to pull you down as you allowed the insecurities to speak their part,“I may appear as a fucking cool cat, confident and all, but… I’m not,” hearing the broken note in your voice, you swallowed hard, unable to look at Neil anymore. There was only one final thing to add, “And I wish I could be,”

There. The curtain has fallen, revealing the truth underneath. Now, it was clear Neil had no illusions left about you. No reason to think of you highly. Somehow, you felt lighter. Sure, still unable to meet his gaze, even in the reflection, but it was better that way. Now, when you did disappoint him somewhere along the line, for whatever reason, it would be much less surprising.

You had no doubts whether that moment of disappointment would happen. It always did.

“You have every right to be. Because you are” when Neil spoke, at first, you did not register it. His words flew right over your head before being caught by your heart, desperate to find anything to hold on to. Only then did you hear what he said. You looked up in time to see the remains of the fading blush on his cheeks, “If that even makes sense,” he shook his head slightly as if scolding himself over the awkward reassurance and stood up. The tense shoulders betrayed the lightness he still tried to emit, “Trust me when I say I feel useless and stupid every minute of every day,” the weariness in his voice clashed with the disbelief you felt when hearing what he said.

That made no sense. The turmoil made you turn around in a half-pirouette and face Neil with wide eyes and mouth agape. Your brain was experiencing severe computing issues, the smoke almost sizzling out through your open lips.

He was none of those things. You barely resisted the urge to close the miles between you and shake him by the shoulders, all the while screaming at him to stop saying such bullshit. You did not do any of those things.

“But you’re… you,” instead, you gestured vaguely towards him, armed with words that were not enough.

No words seemed to be apt to describe him. Neil was just… impossible. Ineffable in his wonderfulness. Much better than anyone you had ever known. But that was something you could not say. Not now.

“In my books, that’s not necessarily a good thing,” Neil glanced at you with tired eyes, kicking around at nothing as he slid across the parquet in his socks.

When you entered the studio, he started unlacing his shoes before you could protest. Said something about not wanting the cleaner to have more work. The comment made you smile too brightly before you excused yourself into the changing room and hid your face in the palms of your hands. That state didn’t seem to have passed.

In an effort not to do anything stupid, you backed away till you could feel the barre against your back. Only then you met his searching gaze and made sure to show Neil the extent of earnestness on your face:

“It is. I’ve never met anyone like you, Neil,” the admission was met with a surprised double-take, so you decided to soften the tone with a stupid addition, “The hottest priest in London and whatnot,” you did mean that one, too.

Neil’s huff of laughter felt like a dodged bullet.

“Funny,” the bright sparks in his eyes confirmed the praise with doubled force, making you turn back towards the mirror to avoid being blinded by the strength of his affection. That stuff could be dangerous, “You’re the hottest ballerina in London, so we’re even,” once you registered Neil’s words, the silky tone of his voice that had not been there just a second ago, you knew that trouble was coming.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him close the gap. The warmth settled in your cheeks as you felt the comfortable heat spread around your body. That pleasant anticipation ignited in your bones with every step Neil took. Somewhere, at the edges of reason and logic, you knew you still had a choice. You knew that whatever he had envisioned in his mind, could easily be stopped with one word from your side. What was the problem?

Mainly that you didn’t want him to stop. Did not want to cut short the moment slowly blooming into something crucial. You could feel it buzz beneath your skin as Neil took the final steps towards you and leaned in. His hands came to rest upon the barre, millimetres from yours. Not quite touching but enough so you could not ignore his presence. You could feel the heat from his body as Neil pressed his chest to your back and whispered into your ear:

“A cool cat,” in normal circumstances, the call-back to your rant would have made you laugh.

But those weren’t normal circumstances. Not with Neil’s proximity, his hands slowly tracing invisible lines up your arms. You could feel his breath on the nape of your neck, creating goosebumps effortlessly. And the thing was – this wasn’t anything new. It was far from the first time someone had done this. Far from the first time you had been tempted by someone who desired you. But it was the first time they seemed to take their time for it.

Your head felt dizzy with the revelation as Neil’s fingers lightly brushed the neckline of your bodice and journeyed down. It was a first in the fact that he did not even try touching your breasts, instead respectfully settling over your ribs and tapping a vague rhythm over your heated skin. Without searching your heart, you knew that you did not mind it. Not one bit.

You covered one of his palms with yours, firmly pressing it against your waist and raised your head to seek Neil’s gaze. He was already looking back at you, the blue eyes of his eyes dark and consumed with something you wanted to call hunger. The same feeling could be easily found on your face.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” you frowned at the hoarseness of your voice and the breathless tint to the question.

For the first time, it was impossible to fake your reaction. Impossible to pretend you were not affected. Neil’s answering smile, full of confidence and mischief, made that discovery seem fine. Not troubling at all.

“Is it working?” the warmth in his eyes made you feel safe, not threatened by the potential of what could happen.

Not viable to the pains of consequences. That seemed enough.

Enough to make you gently tug at his hand, asking for the freedom of movement to turn around and face him. Only then, with Neil’s curious gaze beaming down on you like a desirable spotlight, you placed his palm back on your waist and offered an honest reply:

“I think you already know,” as proof, you picked up his other hand and guided it to press against your chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat.

The wolfish grin you received in return was worth any leftover sense of shame and embarrassment. Neil leaned in, and just as you were about to close your eyes, awaiting another life-changing kiss, he left a promising peck on the edge of your jaw. On its own accord, your hand tightened over the wooden railing as you exposed your throat for his use.

Neil wasted no time leaving a trail of kisses down the slope of your neck, only just being careful enough not to leave marks. Each kiss felt like a hot poker pressed against the tender skin of your neck, blazing hot and impossible to shake off. You closed your eyes, letting the sense take in the sensation of his tender care. Of the contrasting burn of stubble, scratching at your skin with a delicious sting.

Every kiss took time, only then to be sealed with a lick of his tongue, eliciting your quiet gasps and barely kept in groans of pleasure. The wave of insanity rose, threatening to take over your brain, save for one consistent thought. One revelation.

No one had cared this much before.

Letting go of his hand, you tangled your fingers in his golden strands, lightly tugging to gain his attention. The answering groan was sure to enter the library of sounds and images you liked to relieve in private. But before you could attempt to formulate the desire painted across your face, the door to the studio creaked, disrupting the silence.

You gasped in shock as Neil took half a step back, warily eyeing the doorway. A thousand curses lodged themselves in your throat as a silhouette of an older man, armed with a bucket and a mop, peered inside the room with a scowl. Fucking Rich, the Janitor.

The older man scanned you both from head to toe and sighed.

“It’s closing time, kids. Go home,” his gravelly voice acted like the much-needed bucket of cold water.

As he turned back towards the darkness of the corridor, you met Neil’s eyes. The depths of exasperation visible there told you this business was far from over. You certainly hoped so.

[ktficworld]

London boy

Paring: Neil tenet x desi!reader

Summary: you were in a bad mood. And a poor blond was your victim.

Warnings: none

A/n: yelp, I'm going this. Neil with desi reader equals no traction. Anyway. If anyone wants to be tagged, let me know. Let's see if it's going to be funny outside of my head.

Main masterlist

Neil tenet masterlist

@the-house-of-auditore-frye

To say you were in a shitty mood would be an understatement.

First your AC broke, then unannounced guest dropped like bomb, and then groceries ran out. Meaning you'd have to go to market in the middle of the June afternoon.

Oh and the heat.

Don't even talk about that. Sunny dearest was sucking up all your energy like someone drinking every drop of a very expensive drink.

God you hated summer

No it was not summer. It was the trailer of the hell that everyone was going to.

You didn't bring your scooty. Oh no, because you were pretty sure with this heat rain. You could probably make dosa on the seat. Which you didn't wanted to do to your backside. So a good walk it was.

You were so exhausted that you didn't even tried to bargain. Your mother was going to chew you out, you were sure of it.

You took the gorciers. And made your way back home. When a accented voice called from behind.

"Excuse me, miss."

Huh, when did mumbai boys started having british accent.

You turned around to see two very tall and very non- Indians. One was clearly white. With blonde hair and blue eyes. Like if someone wanted to give a example of a white man. He would fit right in. Another was a dark skinned man, black. You concluded.

After seeing them you had two questions.

First, how the fuck were they wearing suits while you were melting here?

Second, what the fuck were they even going here?

"Yes..."

"I'm neil." The blonde said.

Clothes wihitening neel?

Oh god! No you idiot it's a name. You mentally chastised yourself.

It wasn't helping that your brain was cooking something evil after listening his accent. British hmmm...

"Yes neil, how can I help you?" You said while grinning internally. You were going to pull something and he was going to be the target.

"I want to-" That was when the tubelight went off in your head.

"Want. What do you want? You already took everything." You said in a sickeningly innocent voice.

He stopped as if his train of thoughts have hit a dead end. And his face contorted in utter confusion. Same was the black guy.

Honestly you were having a hard time keeping a straight face.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's okay, at least someone said sorry."

Now, his gaze was just screaming "what the fuck lady."

You glanced at the black dude. You held your gaze for sometime with your innocent face. And you saw as realization dawned on him.

Now, he was trying hard not to laugh.

"Actually, we are looking for someone's address." The black man said. While the blonde was still processing.

"Who?" Knowing everyone in Mumbai was impossible. But you could take a shot.

"Priya."

"Oh! She's abroad, studying."

"What?!

"There are lakhs of priyas. You gotta be specific."

After he gave you some details. You figured out who he was talking about. Priya, nice and sweet lady. You have met her a few times. So you gave him her address. And he looked pleased with the information.

"Neil, let's go." He said as he put a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah, but-"

"We don't have time for this." He looked at you and said." Thank you."

"You're welcome." You said as he dragged Neil away. But you wanted to pull his leg one last time.

"HAVE A GOOD DAY, LONDON BOY." you shouted. It got his attention and also of some bystanders, but you didn't care about them.

His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. He looked like he just solved the baramunda triangular mystery.

You threw your head back and laughed till your lungs hurt and your eyes waterd.

Maybe he finally got the reference.

[robertpattinsonslut]

imagine that bella is your sister and you two are really close. you always knew that something with his new bf wasnt okay and ofc she found out that the cullens are vampires and so did you. bella then realised she is pregnant from edward and alice sees that the child is gonna save the kid vampires from killing so that the volturi doesnt have to rip their heads off. ofc the volturi gets to know about this and they all go nuts and decide to visit the cullens. as they do you esme begs you to stay with them for dinner but as usual you say that your not hungry. few months later bella dies from a car crash. after the funeral you realise something weird on your body. a bump is forming. so you run to the cullens and carlisle checks up on you. your the same month as bella was when she died. the family speeds to the library to read about transferring babies with magic from one woman to another. edward runs in from hunting and he is very confused but once they all close their books and look at you. while some of them are smiling some of them have an afraid expression on their face. carlisle pulls you and edward aside to tell you that when bella died a witch helped the baby and while bella was still alive she told the witch to transfer the baby to your uterus. your alll shocked especially now that you are carrying an half immortal and half human child in your uterus. edward is beyond happy that atleast the baby could make it if bella didnt. You turn to him and you see that he is smiling. the next months go as the same...except for the fact that your now living with them and your also trying to take your time with the others but edward cant help but read the babys toughts and you smile as he rubs your belly. once the kid is born edward confesses his feelings for you and you live happily as a married couple with a kid.

[davidlcki]

HEAR ME OUT.

bruce wayne and the reader having the exact same music taste (i’m thinking nirvana or deftones) and they lay in bed at night with headphones in each ear and listening together. GOD

drive me far away

FUCK YEAH I LOVE THIS IDEA THANK YOU SO MUCH ANON I LOVE U!!!! i hope i did your idea justice, it’s a little corny but i think it’s cute :) anyways ignore how bad i am at ending stories and enjoy!!!

pairing: pattinson! bruce wayne/ reader

warnings: female pronouns used in the form of ‘mrs.’ once. i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything!

-

the first thing you and bruce found out you really had in common, was your music taste. it brought the two of you together tremendously, and you still bond over it to this day. wether it was nirvana, deftones, or even bands like new order, (YES, i strongly believe bruce would listen to new order/ new wave in general) you bonded over it all. no matter what time of day, no matter what activity, there was usually a song playing that both of you enjoyed.

it was a gloomy monday, and you had decided you wanted to give alfred the day off, or at least help a little. which took a lot of convincing.

“alfred please, just let me do the dishes, or something!” you always felt bad for him, even though he clearly didn’t dislike his job, you still felt the need to help every once in a while.

“alright, fine mrs. wayne. clean away” alfred throws his hands up in surrender and exits the room. bruce gives you a questionable look from where he was working at the kitchen table. “what??? i wanna help out” you retort at his silence.

“i didn’t say anything” he shrugs, before unwillingly going back to his work. you stick your headphones in as to not bother bruce, and begin to play “mollys lips” by nirvana. you bop your head to the music as you wash the dishes, silently mouthing the words as you go. bruce notices this, and decides that nows the perfect time to take a break from his work. he walks up behind you silently, and snakes his arms around your waist. he rests his chin on top of your head as he speaks.

“whatcha listening to?” he takes an earbud out of your ear and places it in his own, and an instant smile crosses his face. you push out of his arms and grab a ladle from the sink, going into full theatre mode now that you knew bruce wasnt working. you mouth the lyrics into the ‘mic’ with much exaggeration.

she said

she’d take me anywhere

she’d take me anywhere

as long as she stays with me

bruce leans against the kitchen counter, watching with full amusement and a lopsided smile.

she said

she’d take me anywhere

she’d take me anywhere

as long as i stay clean

kiss, kiss mollys lips

kiss, kiss mollys lips

you continue to perform your heart out, dropping down to your knees like a true rockstar at the end of the song. bruce claps enthusiastically.

“amazing” his sentence comes out broken between his laughter as he helps you up from the ground. you smile as he pulls you flush against him and places a kiss upon your lips.

“can i help you do the dishes” he mumbles lazily against your lips.

“weren’t you doing other work?” you question, looking over to the papers scattered across the table.

“i was, but i’d rather do dishes. less boring.” your shrug, placing your phone on speaker and playing the music aloud. the two of you slowly but surely finished the dishes, although you both were drenched because you thought it would be funny to start a water fight.

later that night, you were settled into bed, laying on your side and nose deep into a book as bruce got ready in the bathroom behind you. this was one of the rare nights that bruce didn’t go out, and the both of you went to bed at the same time.

you smile to yourself as bruce places himself flat against your back, entangling his legs with yours and placing soft kisses on the space behind your ear and down your neck to your collar bone. you place your book down, he then takes one of his earbuds and places it in your ear. deftones fills your head and you smile softly to yourself as you turn to face him. you were quite literally centimeters apart as the music plays for the both of you.

“be quiet and drive huh?” you speak over the music, quirking an eyebrow at him.

he shrugs, “basic, but one of my favorites” a smile ghosts his lips as his eyes scan your face. he was admiring you, drinking in your beauty. something he did quite often without thinking about it, he could be in the middle of doing anything, and he would stop to admire you. you decide to move in, your lips moving in sync with his as the song continued to play. bruce tugs you impossibly closer as he faintly mouths the lyrics against your lips.

it feels good to know you’re all mine

now drive me far

away, away, away,

that night, the two of you fell asleep in each others arms, music still playing in your ears as you dreams came and went.