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wambsgansshoelaces · 4 months

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Turmoil; Chapter 8

Roman Roy x Reader

a/n: I need him biblically

let me know your thoughts x

Word Count: 3.289k

You got one lazy day. That was it before you had to throw yourself back into work. You and Roman both stand at your bathroom sink, his head tucked into the crook of your neck. You press a light kiss to his forehead, and surprisingly, he doesn’t run off after the fact. He winces, but he stays.

“Connor’s bank statements should be handed to you when you walk in today,” he murmurs.

“You’re a godsend.”

“I know, right?” He takes you by the chin and presses an obnoxiously sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Kendall and I are looking into that politician thing today. Maybe we can go out to dinner today?”

“You’d better show up today,” you warn. He playfully pinches your hip.

“I promise.” He moves away, pulling his shirt off and disappearing into the closet. “If I don’t, put a bullet through my head.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “Rome?”

“Mm.”

“What’re you gonna do with that… thing with Marcia?”

“We wait until we can use it,” he calls back. “Thank god it’s on your phone and not mine.” You sigh. You both manage to get dressed and feed yourselves breakfast, and Roman hails you a cab and sees you off with a hesitant kiss to your lips.

You steel yourself as you stare up at the building containing your firm. You love your job- just not what you were doing with it now.

Before entering your office, you subtly slip a jewelry box onto your assistant’s desk. You’d gotten her a necklace and set of earrings while abroad as a thank-you for fighting Connor off with a stick. Roman was right, too. You give her the box and she slides you a manila file with a grin on her face, mouthing ‘thank you’.

You settle into your desk chair, leafing through the papers. It’s normal the first ten years, but starting another ten, his spending became erratic, and lo and behold, he stopped paying his taxes. You wonder how Connor has made it this far in life without getting killed by someone.

You can piece together the puzzle pretty easily. Connor thinks he’s too high and mighty to be taxed, he stopped paying them, the interest racked up an outrageous amount, and now he’s committing fraud to get money to pay everything off.

You take a moment to think.

If Logan bailed Connor out before, would he do it again?

You think you want to find out.

You could catch Logan with his pants down. You were closer to a solution to get him out of your- and Roman, and Kendall, and Shiv’s -life. You were lucky that he was the vote that would’ve won him the vote of no confidence- if he’d legally won, he would’ve dropped the guillotine on you and ousted the fact that you’d kept Connor innocent from fraud. Since he hadn’t, and he’d stayed, if he’d tried ruining your image, he’d look like a child throwing a tantrum.

Satisfied with your mental acrobatics, you toss the file into a lockable compartment of your desk. While you wanted nothing more than to serve Connor right that second, you knew taking him and Logan down at the same time would be much more satisfying. So you decide you’ll wait.

You make a small list on a post-it note of what you have so far. Kendall and Roman had begun to investigate Logan’s suspicious activity around the failed politician, Greg and Roman had gotten you the finances, you’d found more than one hard piece of evidence that Connor was lying on the suit. You also have the issue with Marcia, which you don’t really want to think about. Ever.

If you wait long enough, you think you’ll be able to find your way out of this mess.

Having gotten yourself into a good mood, you decide to pick up some pro-bono cases from junior associates in the bullpen to lighten their load. You spend the rest of your day doing paperwork, but you don’t mind.

You’re in your office for so long you eventually need to flick on your desk lamp. You’re not feeling as tired as you usually would at this point, and you’re thankful for it. When your phone rings, and you find Roman on the other end, you pick it up with a smile.

“Asshole. Why do you work so late?”

“Aw, I miss you too, Roman.” You jot something down in the margins of one of your documents. “Besides, it’s only dark out because it’s winter.”

“Are you almost done? I made a reservation for six.”

You glance over at your watch, sitting on the inside of your wrist. Five-thirty.

“Can you come get me?”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, we have stuff to talk about. Involving my big, happy, functional family.”

“We do,” you muse. “I thought this was a date.”

“It is, swear. I just have to tell you because I’m a good fiance.”

You laugh. “Whatever you say. Call when you’re here.”

“I’m already outside, bitch.”

“You’re so romantic.”

You clean up in your office, bid your assistant goodbye(even though you’d given her permission to leave ages ago), and find him parked in front of the complex.

“You drive? How many people have you hit?” you ask, climbing into the passenger seat. He rolls his eyes at you, waiting until you buckle your seat belt to pull away.

“Only two old ladies and their dog that looked like Kendall.”

You snort. “How was work?”

“Glorious. Felt like a superhero fucking shitting on my dad like that.”

“Go on.”

”We did some digging, found a few paper trails. I didn’t know the old man was stupid. Kendall thinks we’re on track to find people that have the ability to testimony.”

“If you even have an inkling that someone could, send them to me. Like immediately. We can’t have them blab to the wrong people. I can legally keep them safe from Logan if they disclose to the firm.”

“You’re the boss.” He honks at the car that missed the green light in front of you. “Fucking dick.”

“Of course you have road rage.”

“I don’t have road rage.”

You sit in comfortable silence the rest of the way, interrupted by the occasional expletive from Roman at bad drivers. He’s surprisingly level-headed behind the wheel, keeping calm regardless of the ‘idiots around him’.

At the restaurant, you take the inside of his elbow as you walk. He flexes his arm, trying to suppress a grin, setting his hand on his stomach. You can tell, despite his slowly dissipating disdain for your physical affection towards him, he fucking loved showing you off in public.

He’d warm up to you eventually. You didn’t want to force him into anything you didn’t want, so most of the time, you let him initiate physical contact. And even though neither of you ever spoke about it, you got the feeling that he appreciated it immensely.

You both sit in a secluded corner of the restaurant, and his legs press up against yours from his seat across from you.

“You should tell me more about yourself,” you begin, setting your head in your hands, balancing your elbows on the table.

“What is there to say?” Roman mirrors your pose.

“I dunno. What’s your favorite color, Romulus?”

“Green. The color of money. Next.”

“Oh, that’s so bullshit.” You lean back, laughing. He pushes off his elbows, instead crossing his arms over his chest. “Your favorite show?”

“I don’t watch television, Miss Attorney-at-Law. Eat, sleep, corporate fucking, repeat.”

“That’s kind of vile.” You take a sip of the water at your hand. “We should watch garbage reality TV together. You’d enjoy it.”

“Why watch on a screen when it’s my real life?”

“You boring piece of shit.”

Roman takes your hand from across the table, hooking your fingers together. “That I am.”

“What about movies? Or are you allergic to rainbows, fun, and joy?”

“Oh no, my throat’s itching,” he says sarcastically, pouting. “I don’t have time for any of that. And when I do, it feels… weird. I never was into movies or TV shows or video games when I was younger. I was always on eggshells with Dad, so…”

You give his hand an encouraging squeeze. “So… we can do all of that stuff together after we give ourselves a week off of work.”

“We just got back from Norway…”

“Roman. You’re really saying you’re not going to give yourself a week off for shits and gigs?”

He has trouble pushing down his smile. “Of course I will. You know me so well already.”

“We should do it after we serve your dad the papers. So he has to wait even longer to go to court.”

“Oh, Y/N, you’re evil. So perfect for me.”

You both laugh.

You both begin your meals, Roman surprisingly attentive the entire time. You both ask questions, answer them, and giggle like schoolchildren.

By the end of it, his chair is pulled all the way around the table, sitting next to yours as he tries to explain a business venture.

“So if pervs won’t disappear completely,” he says, gesturing with his hands, dead serious, “we appeal to the ones who like feet. Because who’s going to fucking know they’re your feet if they one, haven’t bought them, and two, inspect your toes in real life?”

You can’t help the ugly laugh that rips from your stomach. “Why have you thought about this in so much depth?”

“It’s infallible.”

”I didn’t know you knew what that word meant.”

He taps the side of his temple. “I’m learning. From you, specifically. Kendall’s fucking dumb.”

Back at home, Roman’s reclined into you, his head set lopsidedly on your shoulder. He scrolls through his phone absentmindedly, glancing up at you every so often, as if making sure you’re still there. You catch his eyes, and you both smile at each other.

Without thinking, you give him a peck on the lips. He lets you.

“It was hard,” he says quietly. “But it’s getting easier.”

“And so goes life.” You let your head rest on top of his. “I think you’re doing great.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “Thanks.”

He hums, satisfied, when your nails begin raking through his hair. You stay like that, for a long while. His eyes flutter shut, his breathing regulating as time passes. You think he’s asleep when his phone rings, loud and obnoxious.

“I’m going to fuckin’ kill whoever’s calling,” he mutters, shifting so that his head is in your lap. You see Connor’s name. “I’m putting him on speaker.”

He does, and starts the conversation with, “What is it, asshole?”

“Hey, Rome. I know it’s a little late, but your fiance hasn’t been returning my calls. Or texts.”

“She thinks you’re ugly. Not interested. Stop trying.”

“Roman.”

“Just being honest.”

“Well, be serious. We need to hurry things along. I’m starting to go into the red.”

“What the fuck are you buying? Oh, wait, your gir-”

“Shut the fuck up. That douchebag of an accountant. He’s doing some shady shit, I know it.”

“Or, shocker, you need to stop spending money. Batshit crazy idea, man.”

“You’re giving me financial advice? Remember when you spend twenty grand on a watch in high school and then lost it the day of?”

“At least I had the twenty thousand to spend.”

You have to suppress a laugh.

“This isn’t what I called for. Just forward the word, okay? I don’t want Willa to have to miss anything important at the theater.”

”What’s that have to do with my girl?”

“She can speed up proceedings.”

Roman looks up at you, and you shrug. You could, but you definitely wouldn’t. Not for Connor. “Yeah, come back later.”

“Nice talking to you, too.”

☾𖤓

The next time you’re at Waystar, it’s a ‘family’ meeting in Kendall’s office. You sit on the couch, Shiv sunken into the seat next to you.

“I say you take that nasty-ass video straight to Marcia and get the good shit from her,” Shiv says. “No beating around the bush. Surely she’ll spill.”

“You’re certainly free to do that. I can’t keep it on my phone anymore- I’m prone to vomiting,” you respond.

“Anyone know about that prick from the party? The one balding in all the weird spots?” Roman asks, leaning against the wall.

“What, Peirce? That’s the dick that was sucking the life out of Dad’s bank account. He was taking money pretending to be paying taxes.”

You turn and glance at Roman. “He’s actually not that stupid, is he?” you ask incredulously.

“I feel like we’re saying that a lot,” he mutters back. “You know that that guy is Con’s accountant now? And he has literally no money left?”

“He’s never been the brightest,” Shiv says without hesitation. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“How can he miss that, though?” Kendall asks, dragging a hand over his face.

“Desperate times,” Roman supplies.

“His firm name’s Thompson & Thompson, right?” you ask.

“Fucking banger name,” Shiv says. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“They have a consultation with me tomorrow. I don’t think it’s anything good, given Connor’s recent history.”

“Lock them out,” is all Roman says.

“This is all such a headache,” Kendall mutters. “Has anyone heard from Dad recently?”

“Surprisingly, no. He’s been suspiciously quiet,” Shiv replies. “You think he’s in the hospital again?"

“Wouldn’t he say something?” you ask.

“I guess not,” Shiv says. “Makes him look weak. Someone will notice, anyway. We’re in the States, we’ll know where he is soon enough.”

“He’s scheming,” Kendall states. “He’s trying to find a loophole back into the company.”

“He wishes,” you retort. “Vote of no confidence. Can’t come back on without making a big deal about it.”

“What if he wants that? He could use it to distract us,” Shiv suggests.

“But from what?” Kendall asks, staring at his feet, boring a hole through the floor.

“You’re overthinking it,” Roman clarifies. “What does he have that he can do right now?”

“God, I don’t even want to know.” You push yourself to your feet. “I’d better head out.”

Kendall grunts a goodbye, Shiv gives you a hug. Roman walks you, and as soon as you turn the corner and nobody’s around, he takes your hand in his.

“Is this what having a crush feels like?” he asks as you wait for the elevator.

“What do you mean?”

“I never stop thinking about you. I get all giddy talking to you- just looking at you. I’m always trying to make you laugh, smile. And look at your fucking face. I don’t need to keep telling you how fucking pretty you are.”

“Hm, maybe you do,” you say, grinning.

“But really.” He lets go of your hand in the elevator, instead winding an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Is this how normal people feel? All… sappy and shit?”

“I guess. I don’t think I can be considered normal, either.”

“Why not?”

“I’m into you, aren’t I?”

“Asshole. I take back what I said. You’re repulsive,” he says, lips on your jaw. When you’re in the lobby, he tells you, “Call me when you’re done,” and leaves you with a squeeze of your shoulder.

At your firm, you give your assistant a wave, gather some files, and head to a conference room. Peirce is there, waiting for you.

“Mr. Thompson,” you say politely, ignoring his outstretched hand. You wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole. “Please tell me tax fraud isn’t why you asked to see me and refused to disclose why over the phone.” You both take your seats.

“I’m afraid it is. Rather, not that I committed it, because I wouldn’t be here if I did.” He takes his handkerchief and wipes away a bit of sweat from his chin. He’s a horrible liar. “Rather, some accusations that are being made. I was wondering if anything could be done. And since you’re already handling my client…”

You have to refrain from rolling your eyes at him. “If you can prove it, we can sue for defamation. That’s really it.”

Peirce straightens. “I can prove it, actually. Tax returns, receipts.”

While you don’t take cases you don’t want to(Peirce makes you want to vomit), you know that this could lead to something useful. So you tell him, “Have them faxed by tomorrow,” and he’s on his feet, thanking you profusely as you push past him.

To your surprise, however, he follows you to your office. “Can I help you?” you ask, miffed.

“I just, ah, thought that since I was here, I’d check on how my client’s suit was going.”

“It’s going,” is all you say back. “Last time I checked, I’m the J.D. between the two of us. I can handle my business like a big girl, while it disappoints me to say that you can’t do the same.” You gesture in the direction of the exit. “If you would.”

“Are you sure I can’t just-”

“Quite sure.”

“But-”

“But nothing. Take no for an answer and go before I have you removed.”

Dismayed, Peirce shuffles off.

“And tell Connor to get off my fucking ass,” you say under your breath, heading into your office. You drop your notepad, pickingup your cell and dialing Roman.

He picks up on the first ring. “What’d the weasel do?”

“Was creepy. He said he’s being accused of tax fraud and that he can prove it.”

He scoffs. “He’s going to send you a ‘get out of jail free’ card from a Monopoly game. Does he really expect anybody to buy it?”

“If he’s still in business, people have before.”

He sighs on the other end. “Come home.”

“I have some paperwork to do. Then I’ll hail a cab or something.”

“Boo fucking hoo. I want to see you.”

“You saw me an hour ago.”

“I want to see you again.” Roman pauses. “Pretty please?”

“You can wait another hour. I believe in you.”

“Aw, come on. I’m warming up to you and everything.”

You laugh. “I appreciate that, Rome,” you say sincerely. “But-”

“I’ll do your laundry for a month if you just bring the paperwork home.”

You take a moment to consider it. “You know how to work a laundry machine?”

“I’m going to murder you. Come home so I can stab you.”

☾𖤓

The minute you’re home, he pulls you into bed with him and curls up against you.

“You okay?” you murmur.

“Peachy,” he says into your shoulder. “Shiv talked to Marcia. It worked.”

“At least that bullshit was worth something.” You shudder. “Why are you going to bed so early?” He’s dressed entirely in pajamas, his shirt a soft cotton that clings to every muscle in just the right way.

“Early day. Stockholder drama.”

“I thought Kendall did that.”

“He does. I’m going because I know they’re going to fight.” You feel him smile into your skin. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Mm?”

“Never mind. I’m not so good with words.”

Roman’s hand finds your chin, bringing your mouth to his. When your lips meet, his hand slips up your jaw and buries in your hair. You kiss back fervently, and he matches your vigor. He kisses you like he needs your taste to breathe.

Your hand finds the fabric of his shirt and glides across the panels of his chest, and he groans into your mouth. You feel the soft, oddly satisfying scrape of his stubble against your face. He pulls away only to dot kisses on the corners of your mouth, then unevenly again on your lips.

“I think what I meant was good night,” he says cheekily.

“Jackass,” you murmur giddily into his lips. “Fuck you, Roman.”

#succession x reader #succession #roman roy x you #roman roy x reader #roman roy fic #roman roy #succession fanfiction #succession hbo #succession hbo fic #wambsgansshoelaces #turmoil #succession fic

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nesiacha · 1 month

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Propaganda mediatic around Tallien and french revolution

I fully understand that certain figures of the French Revolution are preferred over others who are less liked. It's a matter of preference. I myself have a very cultured friend who is a fan of certain royalists from this period like Olympe de Gouges, although I also admire the character in a certain way and deplore the sexism of that era which excluded her (such as the fact that she totally defends Louis XVI), but I've always enjoyed debating with this person, who is so respectful of others' opinions, very knowledgeable, and well-versed in the subject. Of course, the difficulty lies in not trying to defend the golden legend or the black legend.

It's another thing entirely to invent completely grotesque or even false facts to glorify one figure of the French Revolution and destroy another. In the grotesque episode of "Les Femmes de la Révolution Française" from "Secret d'Histoire," which was actually sexist (I" love" the fact that in this show, which claims to want to glorify women, they talked about the term "demi-mondaine" for women, when will there be an equivalent term for men, or the way paternalistic that someone call Olympe de Gouges the "little" Gouges ), there were also very serious errors or lies, take your pick.

To insinuate that Marat was a dictator when he was simply a deputy who was elected by universal suffrage, a journalist whose recommendations were not heeded, and who was arrested and brought before the Revolutionary Tribunal though acquitted according to the rules, what a funny dictator, I've never seen anything like that from a dictator before.

Furthermore, under what conditions would he have pulled off his coup d'état? The story continues in the next episode, I suppose, even though so far no historian has found any trace of Marat's coup d'état. I imagine the show will clarify that (or not). Under these conditions, I will address Tallien. They try to present him as heroic in the face of Thermidor when in reality everything was prepared for the theater of Thermidor, which was actually more anti-democratic than they let on and not out of the courage of this individual. They say it was Theresia's letter that motivated him to enact Thermidor when in reality it's because Fouché and his gang, of which he was a part, committed the worst atrocities during the French Revolution, and he wanted to escape the punishment that would rightly fall upon him and his friends and try to regain political "purity" by pinning everything on those who were to be executed (he later demanded the head of Billaud Varennes to further absolve himself). There are other motives regarding Thermidor that have nothing to do with the Convention wanting to get rid of a tyrant (Robespierre has faults but not those of a dictator or tyrant) or that they were fed up with the guillotine (the guillotine continued to function after Thermidor and the Convention had voted overwhelmingly for the creation of the Revolutionary Tribunal, arrests, the Law of Suspects). One day I'll write a more detailed piece on what I think because it's very complex, but you can watch "Robespierre: la Terreur et la Vertu" with English subtitles, it gives a better understanding of these events.

Tallien engaged in lucrative business, arresting the richest in Bordeaux so they would hand over all their money to him for personal use. Clearly not an upright man, but very serious. His lucrative business leads me to see two possibilities. Either he plundered honest people in difficult times under the pretext that they were rich and risked ending up with nothing for his personal profit, all while abusing his position, which is generalized extortion. Or he knowingly let suspicious individuals escape in exchange for money (should we recall that some suspicious Frenchmen betrayed France by handing it over to Toulon or Dumouriez), and imposed dechristianization not out of anger like Momoro, for example, but for his political career and to flatter himself, which is worse (sorry for comparing a man like Momoro to an individual like Tallien, they are truly incomparable). Later, he joined the muscadins, among other merry groups.

In any case, it's very serious, and whatever one might say about Robespierre, he had every right to be angry. Tallien is a political turncoat and bloody as Barras (I hate Ridley Scott's Napoleon for destroying the French Revolution and glorifying Barras, among others). The difference between Tallien, Barras, and Fouché is that Tallien completely failed, and an unpopular opinion perhaps, but I'm glad to see he suffered so much; it's well-deserved karma for all the wrong he did.

P.S: I love that the show "Secret d'Histoire" shows Thermidor as a great day for prisoners, as if they don't care about arbitrary arrests after this event (including the arrests of Albertine Marat, Simone Evard, Thuillier found mysteriously hanged, the fact that some political prisoners had to wait a few months after Thermidor to be released).

#frev #french revolution #tallien #marat #thermidor #robespierre

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genderliquid-witch · 19 days

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What are the Bad Kids' favourite Death Grips projects? (Fantasy High)

I've been having a blast watching Fantasy High: Junior Year, and I have also been relistening to a lot of Death Grips' discography. So, like I do with most of the fandoms I'm in, I'm going to guess what I think each of the Bad Kids' favourite Death Grips project would be. I will give reasoning for each one, but be warned that they are almost completely arbitrary.

Adaine Abernant: n-ggas on the moon

While on one hand I feel like Adaine would find some of the band's heavier albums a bit startling, I think she'd love n-ggas on the moon. It's got this whimsical atmosphere that I think a wizard would really vibe with, and I can see drunk Adaine wilding out to the more high energy tracks like Have A Sad Cum BB and Billy Not Really. Not to mention she'd have a great time deciphering what are arguably Death Grips' most cryptic and mysterious lyrics. This is a party wizard album for sure.

Fabian Aramais Seacaster: Fashion Week

As we all know, Fabian indulges in the finer things in life, and I think his taste in experimental Sacramento-based hip hop would be no different. Fashion Week is the closest Death Grips has ever come to luxury and I'm sure that would attract a young Seacaster. He's totally the type to brag about how refined his taste in music is, evident by how he chooses one of the band's more obscure, instrumental projects over the mainstream slop that is The Money Store. As for the music itself, I feel it's perfect for some wild interpretive dance, and I think Fabian would agree. I can already picture him doing some crazy sheet dance to Runway E.

Fig Faeth: Jenny Death

Jenny Death is the heaviest album in Death Grips' discography, almost acting as fully fledged psychedelic, punk metal album, so I can't imagine why Fig wouldn't adore it. The loud, abrasive guitars, the hypnotic production, the drums that practically punch your ears; it all just screams Fig to me! I mean when I saw the band live the songs from Jenny Death were easily the ones that caused the crowd to go completely wild, and we all know Fig loves a wild crowd. Even the names of the songs are perfect for her: I Break Mirrors With My Face In the United States, Centuries of Damn, Beyond Alive, and The Powers That B all sound like they came right from the Archdevil's own mind.

Also yes, I'm aware I missed an opportunity to assign her Bottomless Pit, but these are the sacrifices I make for accuracy.

Gorgug Thistlespring: Exmilitary

For a barbarian drummer, I can see no better fit than the band's debut mixtape, Exmilitary. This mixtape is so raw and primal, I mean the drums sound like war drums. We already know that Gorgug loves heavy, intense music, so I think he'd totally rock with this. I also think that the tape's unique, grinding production would appeal to his artificer side; it's a perfect mix of rage and technology, and I can imagine him blasting something like Takyon or Guillotine as he hacks through some enemies.

Kristen Applebees: Government Plates

For someone who's constantly riddled with feelings of doubt and confusion while also maintaining a general aura of weirdness (affectionate), I think Government Plates is a good pick for Kristen. It's the kind of album that you have to sit down and listen to a couple times before you really vibe with it; it doesn't want to be understood, but that doesn't mean you should stop trying! Not to mention the pure emotional intensity of tracks like You Might Think He Loves You... (I'm not writing the full title.), Two Heavens, and Bootleg (Don't Need Your Help) suit Kristen very well imo. An underappreciated album for an underappreciated character.

Riz Gukgak: No Love Deep Web

And for everyone's favourite little weirdo is what I consider Death Grips' certified weirdo album (They're all weirdo albums, but this one especially so). Though my reason for choosing No Love Deep Web as Riz's favourite Death Grips project isn't because of the music itself, but rather the history surrounding this album. If you didn't know, this album was released through a secret Alternate Reality Game on the deep web where fans had to solve incredibly cryptic puzzles over a few days in order to gain access to a link that allowed them to torrent the album, and I think that Riz would be all over that shit; I can imagine him setting up a little cork board with all of the clues and whatnot strung up. I don't even know if he'd even like the music, I think he's just invested in the mystery!

#this took way longer than it should have #also for anyone wondering Gilear is 100% noided #he's disturbed enough to be in the band tbh #fantasy high #dimension 20 #dropout #adaine abernant #fabian seacaster #fig faeth #gorgug thistlespring #kristen applebees #riz gukgak #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #d20 fantasy high #d20 fhjy #death grips

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thathilomgirl · 3 months

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"Unanswered" Prayers in Tearmoon Empire

(Light Novel/Potential Web Novel Spoiler Warning here)

This had been on the back burner for some time while I was reading through the chapters, but the more I went into the story, the more I saw characters express their longings and laments of regret as "prayers," especially when it came to them in the Guillotine Timeline. And with these prayers, they tend to be answered in the current timeline Mia is making as she (somewhat unwillingly) sets on to becoming the future Empress.

A somewhat isolated case of what I want to talk about can be seen from the side chapter in Volume 4 involving the Perujin princess Arshia.

Arshia, who had seen the horrors of famine, had once prayed to find a way to solve the issue, but over time had thought it was left unanswered, and sought to solve the matter through her hard work and research. Mia wanted to seek her to be an educator for the new academy she was setting up because of her knowledge of botany, but due to past mistreatment and discrimination from other Tearmoon nobles, she refused the offer. In a dinner Mia set up that was meant to make those nobles apologize to her (which failed), was only after meeting the future students of the academy and overthinking Mia's intentions that Arshia's prayer started to come back to her. Through accepting the teaching position, she became a key figure in creating the cold-resistant wheat alongside Cyril Rudolvon.

Additionally, in the web novel site where Tearmoon's story originally is published, the author reveals in a sidenote that he based this chapter on a missionary telling him the parable of the drowning man:

Now, going back to the bigger plot of Tearmoon, by Volume 12, we're starting to get confirmation that Mia being sent back in time (and by extension Miabel and Patricia going to her point in time) is because God/the Holy Deity (as how He's written within the story) willed it to happen. So how does that tie in to "unanswered" prayers?

First, we get Anne's prayer in Volume 1 as Mia is about to be executed:

(WEB NOVEL SPOILERS: In a chapter still unreached by the light novel publication, Mia looks back to this moment, and even thinks that Anne's prayer of protection was where her turn-back in time had started.)

In Volume 4, we see Ludwig beginning to see the "dreams" of the Guillotine Timeline and his prayer for Mia back then:

It should be noted that from Ludwig developing the theory of Miabel's time travel in Volume 12, he has now gotten a better picture on the situation, and may have recalled his prayer from back then.

In Volume 9, we get a look of Mia's prayer of redemption from the Guillotine Timeline as she deliberates her decision on Echard's punlshment:

TL;DR: The whole plot of Tearmoon Empire hinges on God answering prayers in unexpected ways

#Tearmoon Empire #Tearmoon Teikoku Monogatari #Christianity #Salt and Light #Meta #Mia Luna Tearmoon #Anne Littstein #Ludwig Hewitt #Arshia Tafrif Perujin #Spoilers #Light Novel Spoilers #God #Prayer

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paradiqms · 1 year

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(6) to you, 2000 years from now.

hongjoong x fem!reader.

tags: angst, captain!hongjoong, royalty!reader, betrayals, misunderstandings, mentions of death, cruelty, fluff here n there, fantasy setting, strangers to lovers to enemies to..?

summary: after the death of your parents and near fall of your kingdom, you have no choice but to leave your first love in order to keep the kingdom in balance with you as the new ruler. years later, you see a familiar face - but instead of being in your arms, he's kneeling in front of the guillotine.

word count: 5k

currently, six out of ?

previous.

out of all the times he worked with seonghwa, hyunjin thinks this might be the riskiest mission ever.

the assassin doesn’t doubt his abilities whatsoever. if anything, he thinks he’s more than capable of handling the job, especially since it involved stealing something from the royal family of cygnus. sneaking into the castle and breaking into the underground cellars was mere child’s play to the long-haired man – the only thing that took some enjoyment out of his task was the fact that seonghwa specifically told him not to cause any harm to the royal family.

“it’ll cause unnecessary trouble,” the pirate said during one of their meetups. “we’re already hunted down by pyxis, so just steal the map piece and get out as soon as you can.”

hyunjin had groaned after being denied the pleasure of spilling the blood of royals that he considered dirty, earning himself a light smack over the head by seonghwa. the assassin didn’t understand why the latter would request such a thing back then, but after tonight’s exchange, he finally understands.

the golden ring slides across the tip of his fingers smoothly as hyunjin rolls the accessory with ease, an obvious look of distress on his features. the tavern’s liveliness doesn’t die out even after what felt like an hour or two after seonghwa left with the girl – or should he say the royal.

seriously, hyunjin groans to himself. does he think i’m stupid?

it didn’t take the young man a full minute to connect the dots and figure out who the woman really was. seonghwa’s cloak draped over her shoulders with the hood over her head, the angered look on her face when the pirate gave hyunjin the ring that looked far too extravagant, even her entire aura and overall presence just screamed royal right in hyunjin’s face. his fingers twitched underneath the table, itching to grab the knife sheathed on his belt, but he resisted.

if it weren’t for the fact that he trusted seonghwa and his decisions greatly, he would’ve stabbed the royal right in her chest as soon as he found out.

with a frustrated sigh, the assassin stands up from his seat, the legs of his wooden chair screeching against the floorboards. he stomps his way out of the tavern through the back door, and to his surprise, he catches the lone silhouette of the person he wanted to talk to more than anything at this very moment.

“well well well,” hyunjin hums, pocketing the golden ring that he was previously playing with. “if it isn’t the pirate king himself. what are you doing out here all alone?”

“to remind you of your place.” hongjoong shrugs his shoulders as he leans against the wall behind him. “you know, don’t you?”

“you’re gonna have to be more specific, captain.” hyunjin strides forward slowly, the title falling from his lips with a tone that’s bound to set the other male off. he catches the way hongjoong’s eye twitches, and it makes a satisfied smirk creep onto his face.

“oh, i’ll be specific.” the pirate pushes himself off from the wall to move closer to the assassin, rough hands grabbing onto his collar.

“my second in command was foolish enough to bring her along to your little meetup,” hongjoong scowls. “but if you even think about harming a single hair on her head, the things i’ll do to you will make even the devil turn away with fear. do i make myself clear?”

even within the cold night air, hyunjin feels hongjoong’s eyes burn into him with a fire that might as well have been dragged from the pits of hell by his own hands. he returns the hard stare, the mischief in the assassin’s eyes only fanning the flame in hongjoong’s and making him almost feel dizzy with anger.

“look at you,” hyunjin taunts, voice barely above a whisper. “going all soft for a royal. have you forgotten why you snatched her up on your ship in the first place?”

the fire in hongjoong’s eyes flicker for a moment following the assassin’s words, and hyunjin knows he pressed on the right buttons.

“thought so.” he scoffs before pushing the other male away from him, watching the latter stumble on his feet. “don’t waste your precious time on a pathetic royal, pirate king. we both know she’ll have you and your entire crew hanging from the gallows as soon as her royal guard dogs catch up to you.”

the fire entirely dies out soon enough. hongjoong’s eyes go back to their cold, hard stare, not a glimpse of emotion seeping from the dark irises as they stare into a pair just as empty.

“whether or not she’ll have me hanged,” hongjoong says as he turns to walk away. “is entirely her decision, just as it is mine to have your head on my wall if you disregard my warning.”

without another word, the pirate leaves hyunjin alone in the dark back alley, uncaring of the way he can still feel the assassin’s stare following his every move.

the moment you wake up, you feel like you’re still dreaming.

the song of the early morning birds gently bring you out of your drowsiness, soft sunlight peeking from the curtains next to the soft bed you’re currently resting on. the covers are wrapped around your body comfortably as if someone had tucked you in, and it takes you absolutely everything you’ve got to force yourself to sit up.

you can’t remember the last time you’ve properly rested on a bed after spending days swaying back and forth on a hammock with your wrist cuffed to a pillar. as you take in the new surroundings of the bedroom, your eyes catch a single piece of paper by the nightstand on top of a pile of clothes. you reach out for it, and you squint your eyes at the unfamiliar handwriting.

dear sleeping beauty,

by the time you’re awake and reading this, i’ve already left. don’t worry, i won’t be gone for long, i’m only out to grab some breakfast in bed for you. i have left some clothes for you to use after you freshen up. they are all mine, so i apologize if they don’t fit you properly. please stay put and don’t leave the bedroom until i come back.

from,

seonghwa.

a small smile twitches on your dry lips once you finish reading the note. you remember, albeit very fuzzy and probably missing a lot of detail, how the blond pirate held you last night while you were bawling your eyes out and hyperventilating. you come to the conclusion that he must’ve carried you to the building you’re currently in and tucked you in bed after you passed out.

without wasting another minute, you place the note back down on the nightstand before picking up the clothes seonghwa had chosen for you, making your way towards the bathroom provided within the room. once you enter, there’s a mirror hanging on the wall by the sink, and you make the wrong decision to look into your own reflection.

the circles under your eyes are as dark as the ink you used to dip your quilt in, the skin of your lips pale and most probably on the verge of peeling off – and good lord, is that a pimple? you turn away from the mirror with a small cringe on your face. it seems that your days of being borderline neglected on the ship has finally caught up to you.

you begin to shed yourself from your old clothes, starting with the dark cloak that remains hugging your frame ever since last night. your nose catches the slightly familiar scent of a certain bright haired pirate as you peel the cloak off, a scent that had washed over you as he held you in his arms as if you were as fragile as the porcelain cups you used to drink from. you shake your head to get rid of the sudden mental image of seonghwa’s face in your mind, quickly placing his cloak somewhere so it won’t get wet along with your old clothes.

by the time you’ve finished scrubbing off all the grime that stuck on your skin and patting your skin dry, you hear someone knock on the bedroom door. you stiffen up at the unexpected visit, but the sound of seonghwa’s muffled voice calling out for you makes you soften up.

“i’m still changing!” you respond. “i’ll be out in a minute.”

with slightly clumsy hands grasping at the unfamiliar set of clothes, you start to slip the garments on one by one, the layers providing you the perfect amount of warmth and comfort. the fabrics fit you better than you had expected, save for the length of the trousers and sleeves that reach further than your own limbs could go. after grabbing seonghwa’s cloak, you push the bathroom door open, and you’re met with the very same pirate standing rather awkwardly in the middle of the room, his hands carrying two small boxes.

“good morn – oh.” seonghwa’s eyes widen slightly as he takes in your appearance, covered entirely in his clothes that were a bit too long you. he can feel a warmth creeping onto his cheeks and slithering its way up to the tip of his ears, attempting to cover it up by coughing into his fist before placing down the boxes he was previously holding.

“here,” seonghwa mumbles, making his way towards the spot you’re standing in before kneeling down. “let me help.”

you watch with bewilderment as the pirate starts to fold the cuffs of the trousers as to not make them pool around your feet, hands skillfully rolling them upwards until they reach your ankles. from the way you’re looking down at him with your current positions, you can see the tinge of red decorating the edges of his ears.

“i’m sorry if they’re uncomfortable,” he says. “they’re the only pieces of clothing i had that i thought would fit you.”

you shake your head at the man’s words, although he’s unable to even see you from the way he’s still kneeling in front of you.

“no,” you respond, a small smile gracing your lips. “they’re nice and warm. thank you.”

seonghwa swears he could feel the temperate of the room spike up as he listens to how your smooth voice thanks him. he’s quick to clear his throat and stand back straight once he’s satisfied with the way the cuffs of your trousers are neatly rolled up.

“that’s good to know.” he mumbles. “ahem, anyway– i bought some breakfast. you should eat before we board the ship.”

your eyes light up as seonghwa nudges you along with him to sit on the bed, pulling out a chair for himself to settle down across from you. he places one of the small boxes on your lap, and you open it with excited hands.

within the cardboard box sits a neat, cleanly cut piece of cake, the layers in between colored with the flavors that you’ve loved ever since your younger days. there’s a thin coating of cream on the top tinged in your favorite color paired with bite-sized bits of the fruit that your personal maids would bring to you every morning without fail, which also happens to be your favorite.

sitting quietly and observing your reaction, seonghwa wears a knowing smile on his lips.

“this is…” you breathe out, slowly lifting the box from your lap as if to inspect the piece of pastry placed inside closer. “this… i used to eat this a lot when i was younger.”

“is that so?” seonghwa feigns mild astonishment, opening up his own little box. “i randomly picked that out. seems like i have quite the luck.”

a wistful, weak smile curves on your lips as you continue to merely stare at the piece of pastry. you remember, with a heavy heart, the last time you had a slice of this specific cake.

you could still hear the drops of heavy rainfall against the roof of the small attic space turned bedroom that you used to visit every night, the familiar scent of your loved one clinging onto the bedsheets that were wrapped around your frame making you feel warm and fuzzy inside as you watch the young man sitting next to you take a bite of your favorite cake.

you remember the way his eyes had twinkled with delight once the sweet, rich flavor of the pastry melted on his tongue, and you remember smiling so widely to the point your cheeks began aching as you watched your first love enjoy something that you decided to share with him. you had spent another night in his arms, comfortable beneath the warm sheets to avoid the cold that the midnight rain came with, promising one another to share each other’s favorite things every now and then.

the first time you shared something that brought you comfort with him became the last time you ever tasted the piece of pastry – because, several days and nights would pass, and you couldn’t bear the sickeningly sweet taste of it anymore once you lost sight of the boy with hair that shined like the stars.

seonghwa seems to have noticed the way you’re spacing out, and he gently taps his finger on your shoulder to bring you back. you jolt a little, snapping your head back up to look at the man in front of you. his lips are still curving upwards with a smile that reflects the same gentleness his eyes hold.

“no time to frown now, your highness.” seonghwa offers you the plastic fork that came with the packaging, gesturing for you to take it. “eat up, we have a long day ahead of us.”

the pirate sits back as he watches you take the small utensil from him with a sniffle, a feeling akin to satisfaction growing in the confines of his chest as he watches you enjoy the pastry hongjoong had asked him to get for you.

“she likes the one with fruit toppings,” his captain had mumbled earlier this morning, avoiding his gaze as he stares at the bustling streets of cygnus from the window. “and thin cream. she doesn’t like too much of it, it makes her sick. ask for a bigger slice too; i’m assuming it’s been a while since she’s had cygnus pastries.”

seonghwa blinked at hongjoong’s words, frozen in place as he was making his way down the stairs of the inn that the other male had rented out completely for his crew to rest in during the night.

“what?” hongjoong turned to face the other pirate. seonghwa can make out the dark circles under his eyes even from the poor flickering lights of the lobby. “you’re going to get her breakfast, aren’t you? that fool hasn’t eaten anything proper for days. the least you could do while we’re here is to get her something she can actually digest. i’m not looking forward to having a spoiled royal starve to death on my ship.”

the words fell from hongjoong’s lips faster than his brain can tell him to stop, immediately regretting his decision to even utter a single sentence out once he feels seonghwa’s eyes burning into the back of his head. but he remained still, arms crossed over his chest that’s aching and thumping from the wild beats of his heart due to the memories of sharing that godforsaken cake with you under the sheets of his bed on a rainy night.

“… got it, captain.” he heard seonghwa say after what felt like an eternity.

just as his right-hand-man turned to open the door of the inn, hongjoong hears him call out once more.

“you should just be honest with yourself,” the blond spoke, and the ache in hongjoong’s chest worsens. “we both know you don’t have much time left. you shouldn’t waste it on hating someone who still loves you.”

“don’t speak on topics you know nothing of, park seonghwa.” hongjoong had clenched his jaw, digging his nails into the palm of his cold hands. another beat of silence follows the captain’s words, but before long, the sound of the door creaking open and closing right afterwards reached his ears.

hongjoong was alone, once again. the words that came out of his second in command’s mouth echoes in his throbbing head, making his vision blur.

someone who still loves me, he solemnly thinks to himself. is that right?

silence answers in it’s own words, leaving hongjoong dissatisfied, as how he always is whenever it comes to anything related to you and your nature.

before you know it, you’re back on the ship, surprisingly on your own terms this time and not carried over the shoulders of a certain red haired pirate after being drugged.

you and seonghwa were the last ones to arrive, the other members of the crew already gathered in the main deck facing a familiar statured man who stands at the front. from your position behind seonghwa’s broad shoulders, you manage to catch a glimpse of the captain’s armband, and the mere sight of it makes you frown.

“look who’s finally here.” hongjoong claps his hands mockingly once he notices you and seonghwa, the clicks of his heavy boots against the deck’s wooden floorboards scratching your brain in all the wrong ways. “we were just about to set sail without you.”

you hear seonghwa scoff at his captain’s words.

“bold of you to think that you’d reach absolutely anywhere without this,” the taller male reaches into his pocket to fish out the scroll that’s still neatly tied with a red thread. “and her.”

a confused noise gets caught in the back of your throat when seonghwa mentions you. you feel several pairs of eyes turn to look at you, and you feel yourself shrink behind the blond pirate’s back, but he’s quick to wrap his slender fingers around your wrist to pull you out and make you stand next to him properly.

hongjoong spares you a quick glance, eyes narrowing and the edges of his mouth arching downwards once he’s done scanning you from head to toe.

the clothes you’re wearing look familiar, the captain thinks.

“… seonghwa,” you whisper, tugging on the man’s sleeve. “what do you mean, me?”

“did you think we brought you aboard for shits and giggles?” hongjoong interrupts, and you send him a heated glare that he merely mirrors with just as much fire. the dark-haired man treads closer towards you and seonghwa only to snatch the scroll out of his right-hand-man’s grip.

“this,” hongjoong waves the piece of rolled parchment in front of your face as if he were talking to a child. “is the last piece of the map that we’ve been compiling for god knows how long. apparently, legends say that only one person is able to decipher it once all the pieces have been reunited.”

with another heavy step closer into your personal space, hongjoong nudges you with the scroll as if to put some emphasis on his next sentence, making you stumble on your feet.

“and that’s where you come in, dear pureblood royal of pyxis.”

the cogs in your head come whirring with realization.

pyxis, a kingdom named after the constellation of a compass within the dark night sky. you remember vaguely how your late mother would tell you stories of each and every one of the constellations that twinkled with wonder during your childhood, your eyes following the movement of her finger as she traced the outlines that connected the stars together.

“and that’s pyxis,” she had told you, her voice as gentle as the night breeze. “it’s a compass, do you see it? it’s said that the very first rulers of our kingdom were blessed by the heavens, to have the pure life essence of the stars running in their veins that would allow them to see what others cannot, and to be the north star that will guide every lost ship back home.”

your little brain didn’t quite understand the words your mother had explained to you back then, but a big smile grew on your face nonetheless.

“do we have that gift, mama?” you had asked the former queen. “does that mean we’re stars, too?”

“of course,” your mother smiled, embracing your small frame in her arms. “you’ll always be mama’s brightest star.”

a small breath escapes from your trembling lips, previously unfocused eyes now narrowed as they stare at the impassive look on the captain’s face as he waits for your answer.

“you…” your voice falters. “if you think for one second that i’ll help you, then you’ve gone completely mad.”

everything happened faster than you could register. one second hongjoong had the map in front of your face, the darkened piece of old parchment’s texture giving a weird feeling against your skin, and the next second he’s pointing his gun at you. you can see the way seonghwa immediately stiffens in his spot next to you, and behind hongjoong, san is holding onto wooyoung who looks like he’s about to pounce at the captain.

“i’m not giving you a choice here.” hongjoong hisses out, pressing the cold and hard material of his weapon against your forehead. “you will decipher the map for us or else i’ll–”

i’ll blow your brains out and toss your body overboard, is what hongjoong would usually promise when his patience runs thin in the presence of a difficult situation. but for reasons that he would rather die than admit out loud, the captain suddenly finds himself speechless in your presence. your eyes shake anxiously, a slight tremble to your lips that you’re desperately trying to stop by chewing on them. with a quick glance downwards, hongjoong notices the way you’re picking at the skin around your nails, and his own knuckles turn white as his grip tightens on his weapon.

she’s still doing that, hongjoong somberly thinks. he remembers the way he would hold onto your hands whenever he caught you picking at your skin, lacing his fingers with yours to stop you from giving in to the bad habit.

seonghwa catches up on the captain’s reluctance, and he’s quick to shove hongjoong’s weapon out of your face before sliding himself in between you and the other pirate.

“captain, calm down.” the blond pirate’s voice goes deep as he voices out the warning. “threatening her won’t get you anywhere.”

as hongjoong’s eyes go back and forth between the taller pirate and you, something clicks in his head.

the familiar set of clothes you’re wearing, the way you had arrived on board at the same time as seonghwa, how you were sticking yourself onto his side earlier, the sight of seonghwa’s dark cloak that hongjoong would recognize anywhere being draped over your figure last night, the whole fact that his second in command went out of his way to buy breakfast for you mere hours before?

“oh.” hongjoong breathes out, an amused and sick smile twisting onto his lips that makes a shiver go down seonghwa’s spine. “i see. seems like i’m not the only one ignoring my duties for a mere girl.”

at the way hongjoong quoted his own words, seonghwa grits his teeth and lifts his hands to roughly shove the other pirate backwards, the single action causing the other crew members to quite literally explode into chaos as they do their best to hold the two fuming pirates back from gouging each other’s eyes out.

wooyoung is quick to go over to your side and hide you behind his back while another pirate who you’re not acquainted with yet settles himself in between the quarreling pair, long arms placed onto both of their chests to keep them at a safe distance from one another.

“break it up, you two!” he scolds, eyebrows arched with annoyance. “you’re acting like children, seriously.”

“piss off, jeong yunho.” hongjoong hisses, eyes not breaking their heated glare with the blond pirate who looks like there might as well be steam coming out of his ears.

“that’s cute, capt.” yunho scoffs. “calm down, please. we’re not getting any closer to our next stop like this.”

wooyoung’s hand finds yours as he slowly brings you away from the scene, slender fingers wrapping around your wrist. you follow him closely, keeping your steps light as if one wrong move could set things off once again. just as you set foot on the top stair that leads down towards the crew’s quarters, you make the decision to turn around, and you catch hongjoong’s gaze.

it must’ve been a trick under the light of the early cygnus morning, because to you, it seemed like the captain’s eyes softened up for a moment, the tightened muscles around his well-sculpted face relaxing for the briefest minute before resuming to their stone cold expression. you watch quietly as he roughly shoves yunho’s hand away from his chest before stomping his way to his personal quarters, slamming the door behind him so hard, you swear you felt the entire ship shake for a second.

“they can be so fussy sometimes.” wooyoung’s words bring you out of your bubble, and you swivel your head forward to face the red haired pirate. “sorry you had to see that, your highness. captain has a temper.”

“i can tell.” you mumble. the crew’s quarters remain the same, dark and quiet, save for the sound of creaking floorboards and sloshing water. wooyoung settles you down on the hammock that you’ve missed during your one night stay in cygnus before running a hand through his hair with a loud sigh.

“they’re not always like that,” the pirate says as he leans against one of the pillars that your hammock is tied to. “they’re really close, actually. but captain has been a little… different, ever since.. you know.”

ever since i came, you finished wooyoung’s sentence by yourself inside your head.

the commotion on the main deck dies out soon enough, and another figure comes descending from the small flight of stairs. you quickly make the new visitor out as yunho.

“hi.” the freakishly tall pirate breathes out as if he’s out of breath. you nod at his way as a greeting of your own. “i know you might need some time to cool down after what happened, but i really need you to work with me right now.”

yunho pulls out several pieces of aged paper, all rolled neatly into similar sized scrolls and secured with a red thread. you realize that he’s here to convince you to decipher the goddamn map again, and without a second thought, you turn away.

“like i said,” you grumble. “if you think i’m going to help you read that stupid map, then you’re insane. i’m not helping any of you.”

“your majesty,” yunho says, as if the flattering title would make you listen to any of the words that came out of his mouth. “with all due respect, i’m not giving you a chance either. as the ships navigator, i need you to decipher this map for me.”

you dare yourself to look at the tall pirate standing next to your hammock, and there’s not a single hint on his face that makes him look like he’ll even allow you to turn him down another time. but you’re not one to easily give in yourself.

“no.” you respond. “i’d rather you feed me to the sharks.”

“hey,” you hear wooyoung butt in from his spot near the pillar. “don’t say that. they might actually consider it.”

“we already are.” yunho deadpans before heaving out a heavy sigh, putting away the map pieces. “please, before captain loses his shit again, consider helping us.”

when you don’t even turn to look at his way, yunho frowns.

“… let’s go, wooyoung.” you notice how the taller pirate’s tone seems to change, his voice dropping lower as if it wasn’t already booming against your eardrums the first time you heard it, and it sends shivers down your spine. you hear wooyoung’s shoes against the floor as he follows yunho, albeit rather slowly, away from the crew’s quarters, leaving you alone once again.

you rest atop the hammock, staring up at the empty ceiling before closing your eyes, an ache in your chest when you can practically see pyxis’ constellation on the back of your eyelids.

the north star that will guide every lost ship back home.

your mother’s words echo in your head, and only now do you realize that it sounds a bit familiar. you’re suddenly back in pyxis, sitting on top of a small bed within an attic space turned bedroom where the walls are decorated with all sorts of poems with you as the muse.

so bright and beautiful, the north star that leads me home.

home. to you, he was your home. a home that was burnt to the ground by his own hands that used to hold you so dearly, the same hands that pointed a gun to your head. your heart aches all over again, but you shake your head to try and get rid of the voice of the gentle poet who died long ago, only to be replaced with a heartless pirate.

you press the palm of your hands against your closed eyes with a frustrated groan as if to stop the onslaught of fresh tears that threatened to spill out.

you can’t keep crying over someone who’s already gone, you remind yourself. it’s pointless. pathetic, even.

home. oh, how you wish you could go back home, as well. not to your personal chambers in the palace, or anywhere at all within the place you had lived in for most of your life. you wish you could go back to six years ago, where everything was nothing short of perfect.

unbeknownst to you, within the captain’s quarters, a certain pirate shares the same exact thoughts.

next.

taglist: @atinytinaa @crimson-mia @catwhisk @lelaleleb@realrya @layzfeelit @atinyreads @revehosh @fourthirtyone-am

#hongjoong x reader #hongjoong angst #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #hongjoong fic #hongjoong x you #ateez angst #ateez imagines #hongjoong fluff #ateez x you #i dont like this chapter a bit huhuhu #but i hope you all still like it hhehe

150 notes · View notes

thegreymoon · 17 days

Text

I am really not the target demographic for Red, White and Royal Blue and honestly, the entire premise sounds dumb af from where I'm sitting, but all the gifs that crossed my dash looked hilarious and that main actor is beyond gorgeous, so I am going to give it a shot tonight. My expectations are so low, that unless this movie gets a shovel and starts digging, there is no chance it cannot exceed them. I am so ready to eat my words, just give me some pretty people, mindless fluff and basic comedy and I will be happy, I swear!

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TWO FUCKING HOURS?

You guys, I'm going to be honest here, I don't think I have it in me to sit through this 😭😭

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LOL, only a younger brother 🤣🤣 They did not have the guts to go all in and make him the heir to the throne.

Also, lol @ "Prince of England's hearts" but even more so at "whom all the world adores" 🤣🤣 I cannot. I am absolutely not the target demographic for this and I don't think I have it in me to just go along with this, fictional British royal family or not. Who speaks like this? Who even believes it?

Anyway. Abolish the monarchy, Guillotine them all. Long live the glorious revolution!

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LMFAO 🤣🤣

Well, at least he looks equally disgusted.

If we can't off the royal family, how about we just off this news announcer? Because I am getting so much second-hand embarrassment.

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LMAO, OK, he gets ONE point 🤣🤣

OK, fine, two points, because he is stupid beautiful and the reason I sat down to watch this in the first place 😤

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Yassss, girlfriend has great taste!

I'm two minutes in and so far, she's my favourite. I would totally watch a two-hour movie of her touring London and giving commentary on the yumminess of various guys she encounters.

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LMAO, is he going to get hammered and smash the obscene 75-thousand-pound cake? 🤣🤣

Because why else would they mention that price point and also show the cake in all its humongous 8-tier glory 🤣🤣

Here for the diplomatic incident, ngl, I would totally read the shit out of that in the tabloids the next day 🤣🤣

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NOOOOO, THE CAKE IS RIGHT BEHIND THEM!

THEY WILL TOTALLY TOPPLE THAT CAKE!

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Okay, I am laughing 🤣🤣

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SCREAMING 🤣🤣

I saw it coming from a mile away, but goddamn, it DELIVERED! 🤣🤣

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I can't stop laughing 🤣🤣

Watching this was such a good decision 🤣🤣

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LOL, if this was a real-life event, I would spend a week gleefully reblogging it on Tumblr, no lie 🤣🤣

Also, it is a 9-TIER CAKE, not 8 🤣🤣 The more, the messier!

***

LMFAO 🤣🤣

Also, OMG! Uma Thurman! 😍 It's been a hundred years since I watched her in anything!

***

"Sunshine of my heart" 🤣🤣

This movie is hilarious 🤣🤣

***

Wait, Sarah Shahi??

I loved her in Life! I also watched Fairly Legal for her and thought she was stunning in The L Word! I'm forever bitter we never got to see that Nancy Drew adaptation with her in the main role 😕

***

The thing that is the most difficult for me to suspend my disbelief for is the idea that these two overly privileged young men involved in their countries' respective politics are actually nice people.

I keep chanting to myself, "You are not here for realism! You are not here for realism! YOU ARE NOT HERE FOR REALISM!"

To varying levels of success 😕

***

Romantic comedies are so not my genre. And I am so not here for ex-boyfriends or whatever this guy is.

I need Alex and Henry to get back together ASAP and start smashing cakes again because I'm starting to get bored.

***

These are gutter-level jokes.

Seriously, they couldn't get more creative?

***

They have the most basic taste in literature ever. It doesn't even feel authentic, more like what a nineteen-year-old girl thinks good taste in literature should look like.

***

I feel like I am extremely uncharitable towards this movie (the cake thing was funny tho) but it is very hard to take their bland flirting, pedestrian romance and pathetic humour seriously when you're coming into this from 2ha 😕 The standards that have been set are on another planet compared to what we are being given here.

***

Please 😭

And smash another cake, otherwise I don't know how I'm going to make it through another hour-and-a-half of this 😭😭

***

The things I will watch for pretty people 😭

He truly is stupid beautiful and makes this thing infinitely more watchable every time he's on screen.

***

I'm with Henry on this one, this party is like something straight out of my worst nightmares and crushing on the tall, hot guy seems like the only tolerable thing in this whole hellscape.

***

Aww, baby, he is not having a good time.

He wants to kiss him for New Year's too!

***

LOL.

Well. That escalated 🤣🤣

***

NOOOOO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST STARING AFTER HIM?

RUN AFTER HIM AND TELL HIM IT'S OK AND THAT YOU SHOULD CONTINUE SOMEWHERE BEHIND CLOSED DOORS!!

***

And some women! 👀

She's my favourite character in this thing, lol, followed closely by Sarah Shahi and Uma Thurman. And then Prince Henry 😅

***

This guy stands no chance to the level that it's embarrassing he still keeps trying.

I almost feel sorry for him, but I kinda have the feeling that he's going to be the one to out Alex and Henry, so my sympathy is very shallow. Just know when you've lost, my man, and MOVE ON.

#red white and royal blue

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stromuprisahat · 10 months

Note

Question: how do you justify what the darkling did to Genya, Alina and Nikolai? I don’t even mean this to sound rude, but I’m just genuinely curious how you just brush past that when you say the Darkling never did anything he’d have to apologize for 🙃

I'd start with stating that I don't like the word "justify". Google says its meaning is "to show or prove to be right or reasonable", which to me sounds like something that's expected whenever you're about to do something that might offend or hurt anyone. Like pre-made apology you owe people even though you might not have anything to apologize for in the end.

It's really about lack of better words. Czech dictionary translates "justify" as "odůvodnit" or "ospravedlnit", out of which the first one is strictly without that moral baggage. Closer to "give reason".

Aleksander's actions are often perceived out of context, as malicious crimes he committed for his own enjoyment, or whatever suits the antis best, while there are plenty of factors we shouldn't fail to consider.

Ravka- The country he loves, even though it doesn't love him. Rarely peaceful- according to Shadow and Bone, current wars last for over a century. Drained by both its neighbours, split in two for long enough it's pretty unbelievable the West is only planning to secede, poor, with ruling class, who doesn't care and has no reason to.

Grisha- From outright hated to respected, but in constant danger anywhere else, Aleksander manged to carve out a place for them under conditions. The Crown allows Grisha to live right on its backyard (to better keep an eye on), safely train and serve as soldiers or servants of noble houses, as long as they're useful, but... also has no need or intention to take it further. Grisha are glorified, envied serfs in fancy clothes. They're used by monarchy, despised and distrusted by masses, as proved by several little things throughout the first book and instant pogroms once the Fold moves (And don't forget there were no survivors- no true witnesses-, aside from few of the Darkling's people.).

His own lives' experience- Let's be honest- centuries of watching his people- however close- die, drawbacks, betrayals, constantly repeating history... gives one quite a perspective. It's a miracle the Darkling is merely numb and tired, yet somehow hardly unfeeling. Unlike the young heroes he possesses enough self-control not to start begging, crying, screaming... He's lashing out, when he has a reason to believe it won't bite him in the ass, he's petty and hurts others, punishing them for hurting him.

setting- Forget 21st century morality. If we're talking about 19th century-esque world, it wouldn't only have fancy nobles, dashing princes to play pirates privateers and masses of uneducated peasants. The reason people think the way they do is they got there somehow. Ravka still has servitude, for gods' sake! Lives don't matter the way people want them to today! It won't be only about some being rich and some poor, there should be huge differences depending on one's circumstances of birth, bloodlines, wrongs or slights generations old... I'm aware we're suppose to pretend Alina get a pass, because she's "Living Saint", but for example slapping a member of royalty should cost her. Bastard or not, you let it slide once, and next thing you know people are getting ideas and building guillotines.

Now to your question:

Genya is the easiest. She got punished for disobeying direct order, betraying the Darkling for a girl she hardly knew and who was too self-involved to truly act like the friend Genya for some reason suddenly feels her to be.

Aleksander let Genya close enough to be considerably honest around her, at least regarding his intentions with Lantsovs. Dangerous thing to do for a man in his position (and although I have my theories, this reply is no place for them). That's why he made it personal. She didn't only abandon their cause, she hurt him, so he took what she valued most about herself, fitting his revenge into her expectable punishment.

He could've had her whipped. To death even. Instead he chose more personal approach.

Alina's the messiest, because way too many feelings got involved and Aleksander's shit in handling those. His only lasting relationship is his abusive mother, others tend to die on him. Alina's a personification of a dream. Someone to keep him company for the rest of eternity. A companion he longed for for so long, he's not able to handle the bitter truth. I don't think he ever considered his "One and Only Equal" might not be interested in his goals and while he might rationally understand Alina's so much younger, he quickly loses his patience and decides to speed up her development because her young self is interfering with his general plans.

Now, while younger Aleksander might have been more passionate, he was never allowed the luxury of recklessness or even childhood, as a consequence of which he has no idea how to handle hormonal teenagers. Alina's worldview is incredibly narrow and she has several mental mechanisms to prevent her from changing that, while Aleksander's living in constant paranoia, possibility of fight or flight 24/7. They're incompatible the way they are- Alina unwilling to change, Aleksander too rigid and lacking the luxury of choice- yet in each other's way too much to merely split up. The Darkling needs the Sun Summoner as a tool and a symbol, and as long as he breathes, Alina won't have a chance to regain her beloved anonymity.

What he did to her?

The Collar was his hand forced. Unreliable deserter possessing the power he needed to ensure ceasefire.

What else is there that couldn't be explain by simple "They're on opposite sides of a conflict."?

The only other moment that comes to my mind is him burning down the orphanage, one of my favourites. The situation is thus:

The Darkling occupies the Throne (Yay!), but he lacks wide support, numbers and resources, therefore he's forced to rule by fear, which is no way to go, when he wants to build future, where Grisha are accepted. Who does have the love of masses, is an undeserving "Saint" and rogue prince, starving his own people, while being cheered on for it, because he's thwarting the Darkling at the same time. I'll ignore Nikolai for now. So, how do you catch a single person, who could be hiding anywhere, with help from anyone, while you can count on no one? You make them come to you. You make them show themselves under circumstances you control.

Alina already fled slaughter of others three times, one she even directly caused. She might pretend to be a do-gooder, but she truly cares only about herself and her otkazat'sya past. Threatening Malyen already proved to be fruitful, but that one's out of Aleksander's reach, so he tries the next best thing. Destroying her "home". There's also poetry in it- he lost his mother for Alina, it's only fair she'd lose hers. As a symbol of the past Alina's so stubbornly clinging to, there's even some chance it WILL really hurt her, which is certainly plus for his vengeful self.

Eventually it proves to be ruthless, simple and utterly brilliant. Alina falls for his threat and meets him in the Fold.

It's a beautiful example of sacrificing a few (The Grisha teachers probably stayed with the children for their sake, and residents of the orphanage were also just doing their jobs as far as we know.) to end civil war and bring the other side to heel. Ravka wasn't able to handle two-front war, opening third one was insanity and I'm genuinely surprised the country didn't fall (or that West didn't use it to finally free itself from East). With Alina's power under control the Darkling could've attempted "Peace or the Fold" again, perhaps even succeed this time.

And then we have Nikolai.

Second-born Lantsov thwarting his plans, proposing "his" Sun Summoner, loved by masses and army alike because unlike Aleksander, he's otkazat'sya. Goals? Same. Positions? Incomparable. Willingness to give everything? Yes for both.

In better world, they could've been allies. One easily accepted, the other highly experienced. But the story doesn't want that, so Nikolai is serious contender and an obstacle in Aleksander's way to "Fine, I'll do it myself.". He needs to be gone. Killing him would be easiest and most permanent, but Kolya fucked up, when he made it personal.

Tricking the Darkling, shooting him, proposing to his "not"gf, evacuating royal family AND Baghra, starving his forces once Darkles sits on the throne... taking away Nikolai's most valuable quality, while keeping him conscious enough to comprehend it is the way to go!

There's also a POV that says showing your essence down your rival's throat to irrecoverably change him might be seen as a romantic gesture or outright foreplay, but I happen to be a Fannibal, so I'm aware the majority of Grishaverse fans might find my ideas of romance a bit harder to digest (pun absolutely intended).

To sum up: Most of the Darkling's actions corresponds with his position of 19th century-esque war general and revolutionary attempting Coup to save his bankrupt country, while hated by masses and lacking resources. Plus a drop of clever, petty vindictiveness.

(And whole bucket of bad writing, because there are things that just DON'T MAKE SENSE- both regarding worldbuilding and characterisation.)

#reply #Grishaverse #The Darkling #Genya Safin #Alina Starkov #Nikolai Lantsov #Darklina #Darkolai #grishanalyticritical #Ravka #Grisha #self centred and paranoid #degraded!Genya

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ninadove · 10 months

Text

Miraculous Masterpost

Because I did not expect to write about this series as much as I did, so now my Random Ramblings Masterpost looks like a never-ending shopping list, and we can’t have that.

Generic 🦋

Miraculous’ philosophy of consent: all’s fair in love and plot [S5 E19]

A word on show-don’t-tell (Get it? A word? On show-don’t-tell? I’ll see myself out —) [S5 E18]

London Callin’ (Maybe) (We’re not sure) [S5 E24]

The Shadow Weaver-ification of Gabriel Agreste — Part 1 [S5 E26]

The Shadow Weaver-ification of Gabriel Agreste — Part 2 [S5 E26]

The Shadow Weaver-ification of Gabriel Agreste — Part 3 [S5 E26]

I love the Sentimonster Theory Canon and you can pry out of my cold, dead hands [S5 E26]

Felix Graham de Vanily / Argos 🦚

"Duusu, spread my feathers!" — A queer reading of the Sentimonster theory [S4 E26]

Felix is a little b*tch (affectionate) [S4 E26]

Taking risks in Strikeback (Get it? Risk? Strikeback?) [S4 E26]

On the beef between Felix and Chloé [S5 E18]

Felix’s masterplan was brilliant, actually [S5 E18]

Leave my fucking child alone — Part I: "There’s only one thing worse than Gabriel —" [S5 E18]

Leave my fucking child alone — Part II: A very chill rant about Adrien’s amok [S5 E18]

Reminder that yes, Colt SUCKS, but he’s not the only one [S5 E24]

On cracked rings and broken chains [S5 E24]

Surviving child abuse through humour [S5 E24]

Badass in the arena [S5 E24]

TRANSMASC. FELIX. PROPAGANDA. [S5 E24]

On Felix’s wish [S5 E26]

Kagami Tsurugi / Ryuko 🐉

To wear one’s heart on one’s sleeve [S5 E18]

Thinking about Kagami Tsurugi ❤️ [S5 E24]

On Kagami and the cousins’ silly antics [S5 E26]

Feligami 🦚🐉

On Feligami and the (absence of) masks [S5 E18]

Beware of first impressions [S5 E18]

Transmasc Felix Propaganda [S5 E18]

Feligami Fastburn my beloved [S5 E19]

Feligami Flexes [S5 E19]

It’s the way they hold hands, your honour [S5 E19]

Some Ship Bingo Ramblings [S5 E19]

Incoherent screaming over Kagami’s amok [S5 E19]

The quickest prison break ever [S5 E24]

You come to MY post, you disrespect MY blorbos — [S5 E24]

A word on jealousy [S5 E24]

Finding beauty in the monstruous [S5 E24]

Feligami’s couple cosplays [S5 E24]

A word on monsters [S5 E24]

Feligami Writing Guide [S5 E24]

From queer neurodivergent child abuse survivors to lovers [S5 E24]

Draw me like one of your British boys [S5 E26]

Felix doesn’t get the monopoly of the heart eyes [S5 E26]

On defying the narrative [S5 E24]

*Fireflies from Owl City starts playing* [S5 E26]

Beauty and the Beast AU

Felix’s fanfictions

Adrien Agreste / Chat Noir 🐈‍⬛

Remember kids: necromancy bad — [S5 E26]

On the S6 Redesigns Dread™ [S5 E26]

Graham de Family 💍

Flairmidable’s formidable costume [S4 E26]

The Senticousins Agenda — Part I: NEWSFLASH, ASSHOLES!!!!! Felix has cared about Adrien the entire goddamn time [S5 E24]

The Senticousins Agenda — Part II: The Path to Isolation [S5 E24]

The Senticousins Agenda — Part III: L’Enfer est pavé de bonnes intentions [S5 E24]

The Senticousins Agenda — Part IV: Sun and rain [S5 E24]

The Senticousins Agenda — Part V: Sun and moon [S5 E24]

The Senticousins Agenda — Part VI: Mirror, mirror [S5 E24]

The Senticousins Agenda — Part V: First draft [S5 E24]

#LetAmelieStabABitch2023 [S5 E24]

On Felix, Emilie and Solitude [S5 E24]

On Felix, Emilie and loneliness [S5 E24]

All I’m saying is, Emilie should have been a lesbian [S5 E24]

Some thoughts on Sentisouls [S5 E24]

Adrien is a disappointment to his entire lineage (and we love him for it) [S5 E24]

Let’s play Animal Crossing: Happy Home Paradise! [S5 E26]

A word on accents and guillotines (with a title like that how can you NOT want to click)

Marinette Dupain Cheng / Ladybug 🐞

Do NOT talk shit about Marinette [S5 E26]

In defense of Ladybug’s suit [Miraculous World: Tales of Shadybug and Claw Noir]

Chloé Bourgeois / Queen Bee 🐝

Can a bee change her stripes? [S5 E18]

That one time I accidentally made myself a Chlolila shipper [S5 E22]

Master Fu 🗝️

Ah yes, the good old cycle of abuse and neglect

Lukadrien 🐈‍⬛🐍

A word on… Swear words

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storiumemporium · 9 months

Text

Trauma and Repeating Cycles

Full disclosure before I get into this little ramble I've been wanting to make— a lot of the theories and mutterings here are just the culmination of other theories and thought processes I've seen from much cleverer fans around the inets (primarily here and twitter), I would link them but frankly there's so many and I have no idea who would truly be the original coiner of these thoughts 😭😭😭

And also, of course, par the course for this show, very dark themes ahead.

I've just been thinking (probably too much) in depth about how Aegon and Aemond in particular are the final culminations of literal generations of sexual, psychological, and emotional abuse at this point. How Aegon wants so desperately for his mother's approval, and ends up instead a dark mirror of his father. And how Aemond wants to be his own, and instead ends up a dark mirror of his mother.

Alicent

I think it's important to start here with Alicent and just... Take a moment to truly detail and soak in the level of horror this poor girl has been subjected to.

She's the tender age of fourteen (important to keep this in mind later) when she's preyed upon by a man she not only regards as her father figure but is- yes- in fact the same age as her actual father. This man is the father of her at-the-time best friend. And though it's made more overt in the script than in the scenes, we see immediately even before the guillotine drops the fissures within Alicent's mental health. (Biting and chewing at her nails aggressively, for one.)

This is already horrifying enough, it should be enough. But it's exacerbated by the fact that this predatory union is propagated by her actual father, and that both of these men work to sequester her from the only person she would have had for support in this. Rhaenyra. The one with the temper, and the power, to be enraged by this without consequence. Conveniently, the only one who could have hissed and spat her rage at her father with impunity is the one completely erased from her life by them.

And by the time she finds out? It's too late, (none of the blame lies with Rhaenyra for her reaction, as she herself is a teenage girl going through horrific grief and finding out what has been done behind her back) Alicent is already set to be wed to Viserys, to become her step-mother.

This evolves into the first signs of an extremely important trauma response that we see carry down in different ways, much later on in the story. Alicent begins to lean upon duty, upon sacrifice, upon law and order. These things that she swaddles herself in from her youth to protect from having to admit how unfair all of this has been to her. What is leadership without sacrifice? What is being a Queen without suffering? She's too young and too wounded to look at the truth, she needs the structure of pain being a necessity in order to survive the burden of being a mother at fifteen years old. Of being the victim of martial rape at that tender young age.

And through these repeated traumas, she bears four children. The only part of her life worth anything to her, in the end. She's too young for them, too traumatized, too unequipped, but she loves them down to their souls.

And then, in her attempts to remain a good friend to Rhaenyra, in vouching for her, her father is ripped out from under her and she is completely alone with these toddlers. A moment which becomes defining for Alicent.

The moment Otto plants within her the seeds that would turn her- well, into Otto himself. Something she only realizes when it is tragically far too late.

Otto tells her, impresses upon her in a moment of extreme distress, that Rhaenyra will butcher the only good thing that has come of her traumas in life. That she will do anything to maintain the power her son rightfully (at least in the laws of Westeros) should have. She's not as cunning as Otto, and so where he uses cleverness and cunning she uses desperation and strict force (duty, suffering, law, order) to impress upon her firstborn that be must be King to survive.

As we all know, the death knell of Alicent ever believing otherwise first calls at Driftmark. When her son is maimed and Rhaenyra calls for torture (a desperate move to protect her own sons, but alas).

Now, why do I mention all of this that we've seen repeated plentily about Alicent? Because of how it trickles down into her children. Aemond in obvious ways, but less obviously in

Aegon

People have no trouble looking at Aemond and Alicent for the horrors that have been wrought throughout their lives, but not so much for Aegon the Elder, and while I think that's completely fair considering what we see of Aegon on the surface level throughout the season, I'd like to cut deeper into him.

Primarily, that I think Aegon himself has been severely sexually abused and traumatized, and that the character we see by the end of the season is a result of a great deal of very horrific circumstances that the show unfortunately either makes light of or completely undermines.

The mildest of the things I want to bring up is that Aegon's alcoholism very likely stems from that of Viserys- either the man is an alcoholic himself or at least fosters the unhealthy codependence in Aegon. I mean- he's two when Viserys first gives him a drink from Viserys' own cup. From a very young, very very much so still developing mind, I can't imagine what that would do to him.

But the more keen points, Helaena and Flea Bottom.

We all make our cracks about Aegon running to Flea Bottom for safety, that he's passed out drunk in a puddle somewhere or singing shanties in a bar with pirates. But I do want to point out the overwhelming odds that Viserys brought him there, or at least ordered for it to happen.

We even outright hear Daemon state that they used to run the whole of the Street of Silk in their youth. Viserys doesn't deny it, he simply grows hypocritically enraged that Daemon would do so with his daughter. Not his son. His daughter.

Who else in the entire keep would have the power and- frankly- the audacity to take Viserys' eldest son out into the city and to a brothel? Who would even benefit from that happening? And sure, you could say that Aegon simply chose to do it of his own agency. But how is it that a thirteen-fourteen-fifteen year old boy manages to escape what should be the most densely guarded location in the whole of Kings' Landing to go gallivanting off in the most dangerous corners of the city all night long? To end up drunk until sunrise there? At the very least do you think Otto would let his key to the throne go risking death constantly?

Unless, of course, the person to first bring him there has more power than Otto.

Aegon, at least from an age as young as Aemond and Alicent, had been brought by his father or at his father's behest, to a brothel to have sexual relations likely of a similar age gap to that of Aemond with the Madame.

Now, I want to bring up something that I already have a couple of times, something that I think envelops itself into his early experiences at the brothel.

There are two separate scenes, both dismissive and used as humor, that paint an incredibly bleak and tragic picture.

Aegon, age fourteen (the same as Alicent), outright stating that he does not wish to marry Helaena. He doesn't want it, and he words it in a crude and cruel way- as a drunken fourteen year old might be so inclined to do- but the sentiment beneath remains. Aegon is an unwilling participant in this marriage.

Aegon must, for duty, for order, for sacrifice, for law.

Helaena, standing from her chair with a cup in her hands, proclaims that Aegon mostly just leaves her alone, unless he comes back drunk.

On the surface? A joke that embarrasses Aegon and cuts the tension of the scene. Beyond that?

Aegon has already expressed that he did not desire to marry his sister, and now we hear that the only time he touches her is when he's inebriated. This doesn't give the impression of consent.

Which brings why I wrote about Alicent first into this. We see her impress duty upon him so aggressively, that it is his necessity to be King and all things that come with it. This is the product of a trauma response that duty and order and sacrifice and law are the means by which she survives, as well as a long held terror that her children will be butchered by proxy of having a stronger claim to the throne than Rhaenyra.

As a result, Alicent unwittingly subjugates her eldest son to the exact same traumas as Otto did with her. Aegon is robbed of his agency and autonomy in life. Everything about him curated with the intent to take a throne that was never meant to be his, that he does not want. He is forced to marry his sister against his express desires, and he is forced to bed her.

And make no mistake, it's force. Aegon is a notorious man-whore and lecher, he's a regular purveyor of brothels is he not? And yet he requires alcohol to crawl into bed with her, to sleep with her as he regularly and enthusiastically does other women.

I cannot say what this does to Helaena, I would like to think she is either neutral or accepting of this since she mentions what happens so casually and openly to her family. (Otherwise, we would need to get into the topic of a harmful stereotype of the neurodivergent girl being portrayed as having childlike innocence/stupidity and not understanding her own circumstances).

But at the very least, this means that Aegon is forcibly complicit in his own sexual assault, his own rape. Because he has to perform his marital duties, he has to have children by Helaena, it's his duty.

And we see the way this cultivates in Aegon. One of the most common symbols of someone attempting to seize control of their own life is to cut the hair (for a real world example, Britney Spears). It is extremely common symbolism in media, it has meaning in multiple cultures, even TGC himself says that Aegon's hair is short as a rejection of his blood, feeling like the black sheep of the family. I believe he hacks at his own hair in a desperate bid to feel some sort of control or ownership of himself in a world where he otherwise has none. Aegon copes by becoming an alcoholic and developing hypersexuality, he lacks any understanding of boundaries or what would be reasonable in a sexual environment.

It results in Dyana, and it results in Aemond.

Neither of which are forgivable things, neither of which become less horrifying, neither of which become more acceptable. (And we're very blessed to live within an era and society where it is commonly held knowledge that these things are unacceptable and horrific). But with the context that Aegon has been subjected to brothels and sexuality from such an early age- and against his will- it sheds a little light on Sara Hess' statement that Aegon doesn't understand consent, for himself or for others. Even his depressive acceptance of becoming King. He never once mentions that it's unfair to him, he just reaches out like a child, asking do you love me? Wanting to know that if he does this thing being demanded of him, he'll be rewarded with affection for it.

It's a tragic shame that the first season was so short, because we didn't get remotely enough time with the children, I think it would have been valuable to flesh out Aegon's relationship with self actualization and lack of control. That everything he wants and desires is out of his hands, that he must perform, and that even when he does it's not enough because he doesn't do it right. He proclaims that he tries so hard in that scene with Alicent, and that it's never enough, and it sounds comedic because they don't even take the time to show us, or to expand upon the morbid crumbs left behind of how Aegon is in a very predatory situation of his own, and that it's burnt away at his understanding of how the world works.

Which in my mind, plays out why he would bring Aemond to the brothel. In some convoluted, distorted way, I could see it being his attempt to comfort or reach out, Aegon's deeply warped perception of bonding and affection. Their father brought him to one at the same age, no? Aemond needs to take his mind off of what is still a relatively recent trauma, and so Aegon supplies the only way he can, the only way he's equipped to do so. Unwittingly, like Otto upon Alicent and Alicent upon Aegon, Aegon traumatizes Aemond further.

Aemond

Which brings me to Aemond, I think this will be a touch more brief than the others because plenty of people much more eloquent than myself have already expanded upon the tragedy of Aemond and how he turned out the way he did.

Unlike Aegon, Aemond never had the burden of the spotlight, the opposite in fact. By the time Aemond existed, all of Viserys' children by Alicent had fallen out of favor, and so Aemond has never once known the attention or the love of his father. Instead, the only consistent and parental figure Aemond ever had in his life was Alicent. Alicent already favored restriction and piety from a young age, as a result of the things done to her, though they hadn't quite hit their summit yet within the story.

Instead, Aemond is raised nestled into her skirts, resenting Aegon for his behaviors toward him and being ostracized by all else. Helaena was the only other kind figure aside from his own mother in his life, and her absent mind meant that Aemond truly lacked any peers in his life to bond with.

As a result, we have a child that is incredibly isolated, attributing all the cruelties and absences in his life upon his own shortcomings, his need to succeed and match the image of the Targaryen Prince, because then Viserys would have to notice him, because then his nephews and brother would have to respect him. And so he does something incredibly brave, incredibly reckless.

As a result? He's permanently maimed. And who is punished for it? Him, his mother. Not the one who did it, the one who tried to protect him. He watches his mother have a massive outburst and he watches how emotion is a crime, he's witness to the fact that feeling anything at all is sin and makes you the one in the wrong. She's made out to be a shrieking lunatic, that Rhaenyra and her children are the innocents, that Aemond was the criminal in this.

Alicent retreats into herself, that transformation finally hits it's pinnacle, and Aemond chases after it. He learns to bottle himself the exact same way, he learns to suppress everything and to instead focus on violence and physical prowess. But Aegon learned to cope in completely antithetical ways, and so when he attempts to soothe, he further harms. He subjects Aemond to yet another scenario in which he has no control, in which leaving makes him the bad guy- wasting Aegon's coin, disappointing him at least. It completely solidifies Aemond's dislike of things he perceives as unclean or uncouth, and he becomes a violent and barely composed mirror image of his mother.

All in all, these three are on a wheel turning against each other, unwittingly they cultivate harm that drips from one onto the other. Aegon knew their love once upon a time, and so he dives into the unhealthy things laid at his table, he gorges upon them until he needs to vomit and consumes again in the attempt to return to the feeling of love that they gave him so long ago that they will be fleeting, foundational memories and little else, anymore. (Might I remind everybody of that conversation between Jason Lannister and Rhaenyra? "I wonder, Princess. Was your own second nameday as grand as this?" "I honestly don't recall, and neither will he.") Aemond never once knew those feelings, he never knew massive hunts and banquets and celebrations, gargantuan bonfires and fawning nobility. So he shelled in on himself, he became utterly cold and disconnected. The distance was his friend, but now he's completely alone and with absolutely no one to lean on, no one to understand him, and no outlets for emotions that refuse to be bottled up when Lucerys enters his life again. Aegon invites him to the feast, but there's nothing on the plates, and there hasn't been for a very, very long time.

Alicent became a facsimile of what harmed her in the pursuit of protecting her own children, not realizing she was sentencing them to the same fate. Not realizing until the ashes were settling around her and green was as horrifying as red that they'd never stood a chance, at all.

#Alicent #alicent hightower #Aegon #Aegon II Targaryen #Aegon Targaryen #Aemond #Aemond Targaryen #Prince Aemond #olivia cooke #tom glynn carney #ewan mitchell #hotd #house of the dragon #meta #Emporium Posts

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neutron-stars-collision · 11 months

Text

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 19 - You'll be the promise, I'll be the scream

Masterlist; Chapter 18 Summary: The aftermath of Riddler's words. You're forced to face the fears and talk to Bruce. Neither of those is an easy feat... Warnings: 18+; tones of angst, R's internal crisis and... them smuts ✨ Author's Notes: Woo, she made it! Incredible! Outstanding achievement. Seriously, though, I know it's been a while. To compensate - this one is long. Like 10.7k long. And it's also explicit bc them idiots needed tension release of the traditional kind :))))) It's probably only one chapter and epilogue left now so... getting emotional. A little bit. But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now... buckle up, 'kay? You're gonna needed. (I know they're idiots). Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think? 💕 Tag list: 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 (let me know if you wanted to be removed/added).

(gif credit: @makoto-shinkai)

Returning to the Wayne Tower from Arkham felt like a fevered dream. You could barely remember how you got there from the street by your house where you had directed Gordon to drop you off. Only that no matter the distance from the prison, your heart did not get any lighter.

Riddler’s words still rang out loud and clear in your head, slowly driving you crazy. The tower was blessedly quiet and empty when you reached the study and collapsed into the armchair. One look at the phone screen and a quick read of the only text that awaited you confirmed the expected – Bruce was already out and would be back later. Probably much later. Which was good. The last thing you wanted was to be confronted by someone you could not lie to. All hopes shattered when Dory walked into the room not a quarter of an hour later.

It was easy to pretend then, quickly falling back into the role you knew well. You smiled when appropriate, forced down a meal that could not be contested and produced a lie that worked in your favour. Dory had no clue. It did not matter that your heart was breaking beneath the performance. You were stellar, as always.

It was a relief to have her retire to her room not long after you finished eating. You were finally alone. It was a no-brainer to turn down all the unnecessary lights and carry your stuff to your bedroom, closing the door behind your back. You got as far as sitting down at the foot of the bed when your brain caught up. The memories came rushing in, Riddler’s voice as clear as in that cell, taunting you just like he did. What if he was right? What if your father was a monster, and you were following in his footsteps? There were no answers. Frantic brain kept running through all the pieces you had ever written, quickly finding those Nashton could have meant. The times when you were relentless, pushed too far. The times when you should have stopped. The solution was simple – he was right.

The steady stream of tears rushed down your cheeks, smudging the mascara you had recklessly put on in the morning as you lied down on the covers and curled up. The weight on your chest was not going anywhere, making it hard to breathe. Near impossible to leave the spiral once you got absorbed in it. An endless onslaught of self-hatred poured out along with the quiet sobs that wrecked your frame. Each thought felt like your heart being ripped out, piece by piece. The smithereens bled onto the duvet as your mind circled back, time and time again, to that one idea.

The worst one of them all. The fear that you would hurt Bruce. That it was all you were capable of doing, destroying what you held dear. Perhaps it had already happened; the guillotine was let loose. About to slash your neck, once and for all. Maybe it would’ve been for the best.

After a while, the tears had dried out, the parched throat begging for a glass of water. But you did not want to move. Did not seem to have the strength to do so. Slowly, you raised your head enough to see the inky skies outside, for once free from rain clouds. The moon peered shyly into the room, painting the floor silver. The thoughts were still there. The pain had not left.

You were almost close to dozing off from exhaustion when faint creaks of the floorboards in the corridor outside made you open your eyes. Someone stopped right by your door, hesitating. Somehow, you knew who it was before they decided and pressed the handle. For a split second, you mourned that you had left the door unlocked. Then Bruce stepped inside, and all you could do was close your eyes against the sudden pinprick of pain in your chest. The silence was deafening. Almost enough to make you speak and answer the thousands of questions he seemed to have. You never got quite that far.

As if reading your mind, Bruce closed the door behind his back and slowly approached the bed. His body was tense, uncertainty visible in every move. You could only imagine what he saw when he came closer. You did not dare to move, passively staring at his approaching form until Bruce stopped two feet away from the bed and raised his head. Enough so you could see his expression. The haunting blue eyes were now flooded with concern and fear. Before you could dwell on what you saw, Bruce spoke:

“What happened?” his husky tone dripped with worry, making you wince from the sound alone.

But you did not feel like giving in to him just yet.

“You could’ve knocked, you know” aware of the tear tracks tainted with ink from the mascara on your cheeks, you did your best to glower at him.

Judging by the defeated look you got back, it was a futile attempt. Bruce took another step closer, visibly pondering whether he should sit next to your slumped form.

“Come on, don’t give me that. What happened?” his tone softened a notch, enough to make your heart pick up its pace.

And to make you sit up, silently offering space should he want it. Training your mind on the floor, you whispered:

“I met him” you could hear the unspoken question in the heavy silence, forcing you to add, quieter still, “Riddler,”

Bruce gasped as if he had been hit in the stomach.

“What? Why?” the disbelief in his voice made you look up.

Seeing the horror on his face as if he could not believe what he was hearing. It was enough to make shame bloom in the pit of your stomach, yet again making you wish you could disappear. But there was no divine intervention. No opening pit in the ground or a merciful hand to end it for you. As if subconsciously wanting to make the pain worse, you forced yourself to look him in the eye as you spoke:

“Because I wanted to. I was curious, so I asked Gordon to take me to him after the witness statement” as soon as the words were out, you could feel the tears welling up.

Because hearing it said like that spoke volumes about your idiocy. How it all could have been avoided if not for your lack of logic. It was not surprising to hear Bruce groan in response,

“Jesus Christ,” a muttered curse dropped from his lips as he covered his face with his hands for a beat, then raised it to fix you with a glare, “Why did you-”

Somehow you knew what was coming. And that you would not survive it if Bruce scolded you, pointing out all the ways you had fucked up and the reasons why you could never be enough. For him or anybody else. So, you interjected his incoming rant with the wavering voice:

“Please, don’t. I know it was stupid, and it definitely taught me a lesson” it was impossible to hide the pain from your tone, keen on getting the message, “So if you’re going to berate me, I’d rather you left” what was supposed to be a stern warning, never got that far.

Instead, the condition sounded weak, like a thinly veiled plea for mercy. And it was not wrong. To your immense surprise, it worked. Bruce visibly winced as his words seemed to catch up with him.

“God, no. I’m sorry” seeing immediate contrition felt good enough for you to nod your head in agreement to his silent question, allowing Bruce to sit down and finish the thought, “I just… What did he say to you?” he kept his distance yet the softness in his voice felt like a reassuring hand-squeeze.

You glanced at him, hoping to convey the gratitude. But even that was not enough to make you eager to tell the tale.

“Many, many things” a choice for the moment was a tentative opening.

A quick attempt at dodging the question if Bruce allowed you.

“I’ve got time,” he didn’t; leaning back a fraction to appear at ease.

To highlight that he wanted to hear it, that he had nothing else to do but listen to your sob story of naivety and stupid decisions. From the look in his eyes, you could tell you had no other choice. Letting out a sigh as a preamble, you shifted your gaze back onto the floor. You could already feel the familiar burn of tears.

“Um… in a nutshell, my father was a monster directly responsible for what happened to your mother. I’m exactly the same, devoted to the job so much that nothing else matters” you heard Bruce’s sharp breath intake but did not grant yourself the right to look at him, “He asked when am I going to destroy you and finish what my father started” the wobbling voice cracked as new tears streamed down your cheeks again, ever so eager to make an appearance; they forced out the most vulnerable of confessions you could give him then “The worst part is that I think he’s right” there it is, as always.

Without giving you time to dissolve into sobs that choked up your throat, Bruce moved, his careful fingers lifting your chin so he could lock his eyes with yours. There was no escape from his knowing stare as he delicately swept his thumb over your tear-streaked cheeks before dipping lower to trace your cupid’s bow. Unable to hold his tender gaze, you closed your eyes.

“He’s not,” the gentle whisper was filled with conviction.

But it was not enough to convince you. Not quite enough to stop the vicious thoughts.

“But-” your protest got silenced before you could get a word out.

As if knowing what you needed, Bruce leaned in to press a lingering kiss to your forehead before squeezing your hand with his unoccupied palm. Reluctantly you opened your eyes, realising the intended effect. He had your full attention.

“Listen to me. The point of that conversation was to rile you up. To make you believe those things and go insane because of them,” his firm tone captured your mind, as did the heat in his eyes, betraying the anger Bruce felt on your behalf, “He loved every second because this is what he does. He gets under your skin, feeds on guilt and insecurities and amplifies them” tangling his fingers with yours in what felt like second nature, Bruce allowed the passion give way to fondness, strengthening the message “But the main point is that it was all bullshit” on its own accord, your mouth twisted into a weak smile, triggered by something as unusual as hearing him curse “Nothing else” he finished the speech with another hand squeeze as he raised your joined hands to his mouth and kissed your knuckles.

The gesture, along with everything he said, made your head spin. The logical part of your brain knew Bruce was right. But it was a small fraction of an overall emotional consciousness, which would not be settled quite so easily. You hoped that perhaps the longer you stared into his eyes, the more convinced you would become.

Leaning into his palm that still cupped your cheek, you whispered a question:

“How can you be so sure?” one that you were scared to ask but still needed to know.

To understand what it was that Bruce saw, that you were blind to. Why he trusted you when he should not?

“Because I know you,” his confidence did not waver as he offered the response without hesitancy, “I know that you care about everyone around you, that you would do anything for those you hold dear. And that, above all, you’re a good person” Bruce concluded his speech with another kiss on your forehead, a rare sure smile hiding in the corners of his lips.

At once, the vicious voices in your head grew silent, emptying the space of all that was not affection and gratitude. Even if just for a moment. The prickling tears were not going anywhere as you closed your eyes, relishing the feeling of Bruce’s hand clasping yours. For the first time during that long day, you felt the stifling weight lift off your chest.

“Shit, you’re going to make me cry, sweetheart” cracking a weak joke, you risked a glance at his reaction following the nickname.

Bruce grinned, no longer pretending to mask the fondness with an eye roll. Even with the haze of tiredness quickly descending over your head, you greatly appreciated the change. Enough so to creep a little closer still and lean your head on his shoulder, covertly inhaling the familiar scent of laundry detergent, expensive cologne and dampness of the terminus. A strange concoction that already felt like home, although you would never admit it.

“I mean it, though” Bruce gently rested his head on top of yours, cementing the sentiment and leaving another rush of warmth burning in your chest.

It was hard to fill the silence with anything else. Save maybe for the things you couldn’t say. After a beat, you found the safest question and gave it a voice:

“How- Um… How was your day?” the pathetic quiver shook your vocal cords.

Before you could give yourself a moment to marinate in shame while listening to his answer, Bruce carefully extracted himself from your embrace and stood up. Upon your questioning look, he murmured:

“One sec” already moving towards the ensuite, he kept speaking, “Selina asked to meet up with me, so I went to see her… She’s left the city, actually” you stared as Bruce entered the room a few seconds later, clutching a bottle of micellar water and cotton pads.

It took another three seconds for his words to sink in and for you to understand them. What it meant and how it made you feel. Strange. Conflicted. Fucking confused, among others. The attempts at words got stuck in your throat when Bruce sat next to you on the duvet and wordlessly prepared the make-up remover, waiting for you to tip your chin forward. Your body moved before you told it to, closing the gap yet again. He did not hesitate before leaning in to begin wiping off the mess from your face with a look of pure concentration.

It felt strange to be under his scrutiny, mindful of all the different issues you could catalogue on your face. Of all the ways Bruce could find you lacking. Not enough compared with someone like her.

“Oh… okay,” remembering that it was your turn to speak, you blurted out the only question you desperately needed to be answered, “You didn’t want to go with her?”

There. Your heart lying in his open palm, ready to be crushed. Not for the first time since you had met.

Bruce took his time, meticulously wiping off the smudged mascara from underneath your eyes, his gaze never straying from your face. You did not dare think about what he must have seen there.

“No, of course not” cutting through the uncertainty, Bruce offered a reply that gave no room for interpretation, at once meeting your worried look with a ready explanation, “I spent too much time fighting for Gotham just to leave it on a whim” he swallowed hard as if finally caught by the doubts, clearly debating whether what he wanted to say next should be spoken; then, he made up his mind “Plus, it was never like that between us” the meaningful look was impossible to miss, as was the unspoken implication of what he meant; the combination was enough to fortify the blush on your cheeks “She’s glad you’re fine after what happened. And that you’re staying too,”

The final comment was another surprise, spiking your heart rate to a faster beat. Because it suggested one thing you did not consider – Bruce talked with Selina about you. That you were important enough to be a conversation topic. Selina took her time to think about what she witnessed.

And that Bruce wasn’t going to leave. You still had time, for better or worse. Using the tidbit of information as your needed courage inspiration, you reached your hand to his, curling your fingers around his wrist. Just to keep him close.

“Are you? Happy I’m staying?” the thin band of skin-to-skin contact offered the push you needed to ask what you wanted.

The second most important matter after Bruce staying in Gotham.

Bruce used the final clean cotton wipe to erase the dried-up coats of foundation from the bridge of your nose and lowered his hands, freeing your face. His blue eyes stayed right where they were, sometimes meeting yours, at other times fixed on your mouth. Enough so to wreak havoc in your head and heart. At last, Bruce’s lips quirked into a small smile, his other hand coming down to cover yours, still encircling his wrist. The light pressure of his touch was enough to ground you, making the wait for his answer seem bearable.

“More than I know how to express” even with the anticipation, his reply took you by surprise, making you gasp as you were suddenly too bashful to look him in the eye; and for a good reason, “The meeting with Selina made me think about some things and…” you glanced up, the breath caught in your throat as you watched Bruce ponder something again; it was impossible to tell where it was leading “Before you, I was never brave enough to want. The feeling was there, the desires and the needs, but I never gave in to them. Slowly, I learnt how to repress it and shove it so far down that I almost thought I’m resistant” oh; your head flew back up fast enough to make your spine crack, head unable to comprehend the meaning without getting overwhelmed, only to find Bruce staring right back; his blue eyes sure and firm in their unwavering belief “Then you happened” oh.

The confession felt important. Crucial in its significance, like nothing else before it. Tangible like the pressure of his hand over yours and the heat of his body across the narrow space. Terrifying like the depths of feelings in your heart and head. You did not know what made him say it. Caught speechless by the admission, you could only whisper:

“Sorry,” shyly biting into your lower lip until Bruce tugged it free.

Your tender skin was burning from his touch. Thousand more apologies for turning his life on its head died on your tongue as you felt the familiar tension rise. Suddenly it was hard to find reasons why you should not close that gap. Why you should not keep touching him, giving whatever he wanted from you. The resolution was waiting in the wings for you to take the plunge whenever you were ready.

“I never said it’s a bad thing” Bruce’s smile only brightened as he brushed away your foolish apology while his fingers drifted downwards to trail over the skin of your neck, “Just that sometimes it’s difficult to stop myself from reaching for what I want” there was an implication in his voice, a pointer towards what he was too scared to say.

Perhaps the heat of his touch sparking the fire in your veins made you decide. Reach for the opening he created and take what he was offering. It was not difficult to breach the gap and take hold of his hand to drag it down, pressing his palm to your chest, right over the heart. Taking pleasure in the hungry look in his eyes, you leaned in close to whisper:

“You don’t have to stop” keeping your gaze locked onto his mouth, you added, “Not with me” then, with the both of you suspended millimetres away from the kiss that you could already feel, you posed the question, “What do you want, Bruce?”

Hoping he would get the message that whatever was about to happen had to be his request. Only then could you let go of the uncertainty and fear ruling your head. The heart was kept hostage. Bruce let out a shuddered breath, fanning your parted lips with a wisp of air. His nose nudged yours as he struggled to look you in the eye before replying:

“You” his free hand wandered down to touch your hip as Bruce leaned against you, slowly pushing you down onto the mattress, “Everything. I-”

Too scared to let him speak, you closed his mouth with a kiss, finally closing the gap. Releasing your heart from the captivity of the mind. Sealing your fate with a careful caress of your lips over his. Taking Bruce’s broken gasp and pulling him further into the embrace so that he had no choice but to surrender. Cover your body with his, enveloping your shaking bones with the warmth you have craved. That kiss was meant to be slow and direct in its meaning. You knew he understood when you broke the contact with a quiet whimper, your eyes roaming over his stunned features. The blown-out pupils and reddened lips drew your attention like magnets and made it so much easier to find the necessary words:

“You can have everything,” swallowing past the unspeakable, you met his gaze with vulnerability, “Please,” now there was nothing to hide.

He had it all, waiting for his move. The troubled blue eyes searched yours for a beat as if looking for uncertainty he expected to follow your admission.

“Are- are you sure?” the hesitant question confirmed your suspicions but was contested by his seemingly unconscious touch.

Fingers running down the slope of your thigh, now hitched over his hip to keep him in place. Adding fuel to the fire and distracting your mind from anything else but Bruce. Even with the fog steadily rising, his question was ridiculous. Without wasting time speaking, you used the empty hand to grab his shirt and pull him down to meet your lips. Again.

Only, this time, you did not idle, instantly opening your mouth and prodding his open with your curious tongue. Swiping against his tongue in a well-practised dance, exploring the inside of his mouth. All the moves were familiar; all elicited a gasp, a tightening hand touching your hip. All increased the temperature till all you wanted to do was make sure Bruce took off his clothes soon. So you could touch him how you wanted to.

Motivated by the thought, you broke the kiss and leaned back far enough to huff out a question:

“Was that good enough for you?” making sure to throw a cheeky smile, you admired the blush blooming upon his cheeks.

The kiss did what you needed it to. Bruce smiled back, the last tint of uncertainty vanishing from his face as you cupped his cheek. Fingertips tracing the sharp cheekbones and the fading bruises. He was beautiful. A fact that still sometimes astonished you after years of hearing about Bruce Wayne and seeing grainy photographs in the paper and online. Along with the idea that one day you would be this close to him. Close enough to touch and tear your heart apart in the process.

Ignoring the melancholy that threatened to steal the moment from your hands, you swept your thumb over Bruce’s bottom lip. Drawing both of you back in. Shaking himself awake, Bruce’s hand ventured up from your hip to trace the hem of your shirt and then dove underneath. Warm fingers skating over your skin, helping the chills settle in and raise the goosebumps. His attentive eyes watched you, noticing every shiver you tried to fight off. Pondering the mystery of what was going to happen next. One thing was clear – this time Bruce had it all figured out. He knew exactly how to get you to the edge of insanity. And then beyond.

Once he leaned in, slowly making his path from the corner of your mouth to your neck with pecks, you knew it was over. With each carefully laid peck, your body trembled. Each ignited a fire in your veins only Bruce could smother. Your hand tightened its hold over his shoulder; legs immediately accommodated to fit his body in the cradle of your thighs. Heart hammering between your ribs, begging to be listened to. To keep him like this forever.

Nosing at your pulse point, Bruce licked the spot, making your hips buck to meet his as if on autopilot. Making you gasp and mutter a curse that never quite got its voice. Only for him to sink his teeth in a shallow bite. Enough for your body to jerk upright, a pathetic breathless moan slipping through the gritted teeth. Enough for you to dig your nails into his arm and bunch up the shirt to find his bare skin. Trace the scars and the outline of muscles. You already felt like you were losing your mind. As if summoned by your hazy thoughts, Bruce concluded his exploration with a final teasing kiss over your collarbone and raised his head to ask:

“Can I?” the enigmatic question was easily explained by his tentative hand tracing the hem of your shirt.

Asking to give him what was already his. You appreciated the thoughtfulness. But there was one condition you had to voice before you gave in.

“Only if you take this off too” tugging at his t-shirt, you whispered out the pitiful wish, “I really want to touch you” a wave of shame threatened to rise, but it never got anywhere.

Not with the way Bruce looked at you after the admission. His lips stretched into a soft smile. Eyes awed and sparkling like rarely before. As if what you said was something he had been aching to hear.

Without another word, Bruce kissed your forehead before getting up on his knees to pull off the shirt in one move. You never saw quite where he threw the clothing. It did not matter that you already saw him like this many times before. Nor that now, after the few harrowing days, his torso was littered with an array of bruises and cuts. Your hand darted out as if controlled with a mind of its own, only just managing to graze the skin of his abdomen. The dark hair trail disappearing into the waistline of his trousers drew your attention like it always did. A simple touch earned you a full-body shiver quickly masked with an outstretched hand, inviting you to join him.

You did not waste a second to get up on your knees and close that awful gap. To meet Bruce’s gaze with bravery you did not feel and take off your shirt. Feeling the drafty air over your naked skin, you moved to cover up, but he stopped you with a firm grip on the forearm. Blue eyes locked stares with yours, ceasing all the chatter running through your brain. Till it was just Bruce. His reassuring touch, running up your arms to trace the bra straps and a silent question you knew he was asking. With the staccato in your chest, you nodded. Just once. Already feeling the rush of blood to your head. It all felt different. More profound. As if every action mattered.

The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. Despite the ridiculous fears, you nodded and watched with bated breath as Bruce carefully lowered both straps and reached around your back to undo the clasp. Another rush of cold air could be only partially blamed for the shiver that wrecked your frame when the bra slipped down. Leaving your torso bare under Bruce’s watchful gaze. His fingertips skated over your tender skin, slowly circling the dark pink areolas and making you gasp. But it was not enough to shut up the brain. Your hand darted out to stop his meticulous study with a grasp around the wrist. His head snapped back up. An instant crease between the eyebrows brought a flush of softness to your heart.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce’s question made you wince.

You could not tell him. Couldn’t-

“Nothing,” the reply was automatic, your tongue falling into the familiar pattern to make up the word, hoping it would be enough to fool him. It wasn’t. You knew it as soon as you saw his brow twitch with disbelief, soothing circles traced into your upper arm acting as a further reason to let it all spill out, “I’m just… feeling weirdly shy, I guess” it was hard to meet his eyes.

Yet the crux of the issue had been laid out. It fell between you, disappearing into the weighted silence. You knew it made no sense. That Bruce had already seen you. Hell, he’s seen so much more. Still. The head did not want to listen to reason. The once hopeful dreams of getting lost in him tonight already seemed improbable. Because how does one get lost when the head and the heart are still in it?

“Why?” another question brought your back to the scene, his measured voice quickly becoming the lifeline you needed.

The string pulling you back from the spiral and forcing you to talk how you probably should have at the beginning. Your breath caught in your chest when you saw the depth of understanding in his gaze. And no judgement or ire. Almost as if, for Bruce, nothing would change no matter what you said next. Almost as if- No. He’d never. You ignored the idea before it could spread like a disease. Instead, you steeled your spine and gathered the courage to answer his question. To reveal a fraction of the truth, as he deserved.

“Because it matters how you see me” your eyes turned glossy as they focused on his face.

It was more than accurate. An admission long overdue. Somehow you could tell Bruce knew that. His hands cupped your face between his palms in a tender hold. Thumbs softly stroke your cheeks as he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead before speaking:

“Then there’s no need to worry” his nose brushed against yours in a gentle caress, letting the whisper carry his words through the narrow space between you, “You’re perfect” his gaze flickered from your eyes to your mouth, but it was easy to miss.

Christ. You wanted to say something else. To protest, ask him how he can tell when you are the only woman he has ever been with. But it would not do. Your heart would never let you. No, it already took the compliment and ran with it, thrashing in your chest like a caged bird. There was nothing you could do.

Nothing, but throw your arms around his neck and dive in for a kiss. Bruce was waiting for you, opening his mouth under yours as soon as you pressed your lips against his. Not willing to waste time already running out, you let your tongue dart out. Swirling it around his and then sucking, enough to make him gasp and pull you closer. His arms enveloped your body, somehow making everything seem fine. Complete, even. You kissed him till there was barely any oxygen left, and you had to separate, eagerly exchanging pecks as you both caught your breath. His taste had filled your mouth, getting rid of the salty tint of tears and the bitterness of coffee. Everything was just Bruce. Like always.

Without thinking, you lowered your head to press another kiss to his chin and then below, tracing the slope of his throat with careful pecks. Bruce’s grip tightened over your waist as a broken groan reverberated through his chest. You could almost feel the sound in your bones. The thought rushed through your body like a bolt of lightning, venturing down between your thighs to a spot you had tried your hardest to ignore. But no longer could. Your core throbbed with the persistent desire as wetness spilt onto the gusset of your panties. You did not have to search your heart to know what you wanted.

That need made you bold enough to swipe your tongue in a broad stroke over Bruce’s throat. Collecting the low moan, he let out with satisfaction. As you sunk your teeth into a shallow bite over his pulse point, the feeling grew tenfold inspired by the noises that Bruce could not to stop. As if you were driving him insane. Leaning back to study your work, you knew the mark on his skin would stay. That it would be something he could remember you by, no matter what came after.

Before you could dive back in to continue, Bruce hooked his fingers under your chin to gently make you raise your head and look at him. So you could see the flushed cheeks and swollen lips parted to let out strained breaths. Following a will of their own, your eyes flicked to his waist and then below, checking whether he was just as affected as you were. What you found only made the frenzy worse. As did his words, accompanied by deliberate touch running along the waistline of your trousers:

“I want to taste you,” Bruce leaned in close, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

But you hardly registered it, brain caught up on what he said. Because that… that was quite something. Something you never expected to hear from him. The surprise must have painted across your face, your gaping mouth left open and eyes staring at him for too long. Until your brain thawed enough for you to speak (or stutter):

“Christ… Bruce, you can’t say things like- Okay, yeah” the string of words made only a little sense, but you compensated with a stupid grin and a hasty nod; the anticipatory shiver already coursing through your body as you met his gaze to add, “A sensible lady never says no that” your lips curled into a smirk, gleefully taking note of his mirroring smile, only then it was time for a check in “Do you really want to?” your hand run up his chest to curl around his shoulder.

Feeling the warmth of his skin and the promise of what he offered. But you could not just let him do it. That would have been too selfish. Even if Bruce seemed pretty convinced. The hunger in his eyes stole your breath as he took your verbal consent and hooked his fingers under the waistline of your trousers. Never straying from your gaze, he gave the reply:

“Yes,” his new confidence could easily be your outdoing.

But it could have also been the unceremonial way he pushed you down onto the bed, your body hitting the mattress with a quiet thud. A confirmation enough for the last of your worries.

“Okay,” a nervous giggle broke out from your chest as you watched him lean over you, those blue eyes darker than usual “Blow my mind, sweetheart” there were no doubts in your mind that he was capable.

It was proven as soon as Bruce finished undressing you, the quick work perfected with his lingering touch had you breathing shallowly. The feeling grew once you were lying naked before him, with nothing but the soaked panties to save you from his intense gaze. From the heat of his eyes, caressing what was already familiar. Tracing the paths his hands would soon follow. Unable to withstand the scrutiny much longer, you reached up to get him close, capturing his mouth with a kiss Bruce had long anticipated. He opened his lips underneath yours without a second wasted while letting his hands venture down your stomach, short fingernails emblazoning your tender skin. Before you knew it, he had tugged down your underwear, leaving you bare. The strange shyness had breached the surface again as you broke the kiss with a gasp and met his gaze with wide eyes. Silently asking for mercy.

One quick kiss and a nod had to be enough for you as Bruce gave your nose a playful nudge, his hand delving between your thighs without another warning. Your body shuddered upon his touch, cheeks turning scarlet once you realised how wet you were. Bruce’s surprise was evident in the slight hitch in his breathing, almost disguised by an inhale.

Your slick covered his fingers to the knuckles as he meticulously learnt to play you how you needed. At first, only stroking your clit with a feather-like touch, then circling your entrance, spreading your arousal, and making your thighs shake. It was already bad. And it could only get worse. For your dignity, that is. Sweat pearled on your forehead as you watched Bruce lower himself down your body, placing pecks along your abdomen. He settled between your thighs, the muscles on his back flexing under the skin in the faint light of the bedroom. As if unconsciously acting on his instincts, Bruce pressed a kiss to the inside of your left thigh, quickly following it with another one on the right thigh. Both kisses burned your skin like a hot poker. The sensation culminated in the apex of your thighs, in the frustrating throbbing you could hardly ignore anymore. But you did not have to.

Bruce met your gaze, seeking consent for the final time. With no words found, save for the ones you could never tell out loud, you nodded, impatiently brushing away the stray strands of hair that fell into your eyes. You wanted to see him. That first glimpse of Bruce diving between your legs with his head bowed was reason enough. As was the way his hands curled around your thighs, keeping them apart and spread. Leaving you exposed and shaking with want. All the faintest doubts disappeared when his tongue touched your clit in a kitten stroke. Your body jerked upright, kept in place only with Bruce’s steel grip. He repeated the move, drawing out a moan you could not hold in. Setting your blood on fire. Christ. A thousand curses and endearments rose in your throat but were desperately stifled by your waning self-control. You knew it would not last long.

The first blow came with Bruce’s skilful tongue circling your clit, learning all the different ways to make you tremble. He was a good listener, taking all the cues you were leaving and changing his technique to fit your needs. Searching for grounding, you sank your fingers in his hair and pulled. Bruce did not seem to mind, briefly stopping his feast to press a lingering kiss on your thigh. His fingers traced circles onto your skin, soothing the fevered flesh. The unbidden confessions showed up again, choking you with ferocity. Bruce was the one to save you, letting his tongue delve inside you in an exploratory move. One that made your hips buck into his face and tore a shout from your mouth.

Desire shot through your body like a bolt of lightning, bringing a delirious grin onto your face. It was quickly wiped clean as Bruce continued licking into you with passion you never expected from him. Utterly devoted to the task and focused on driving you crazy. A coil tightened in your lower belly, making it much harder to shut up. Making you squirm and trash under his hold. When he interrupted the relentless penetration with a flick of his tongue over your clit, you could not keep quiet.

“God, you- You’re so good” panting out the sentence that barely made sense, you highlighted the sentiment with a sharper tug on his hair.

Making Bruce groan into your core, the sound pushing you down the slippery slope with no way back. From then on, it was only a question of when you would break. Your body burned under his attention. Each point of contact felt like a flame scorching your flesh. Your heart hammered between your ribs, overwhelmed with the multitude of feelings. Pleasure rose and rose until all you could do was gasp his name between moans. Till your head was empty of everything but Bruce. Until the tension snapped, and an explosion filled your vision with white.

“I’m- Fuck,” the curse substituted any words you could have intended to say, but it was enough.

Bruce knew, his hands gripped your legs harder as if to ground you moments before. You came with his name on your lips and your hand gripping his hair. Your core squeezed around his prodding tongue wave after wave as Bruce lapped at your arousal without hesitation. Your thighs trapped his head between them, but he did not seem to mind, helping you ride the aftershocks with patience. As you came to, feeling your body go limp with a sigh, Bruce took his time earnestly licking at your folds. Collecting every drop as if he was hooked already on the taste. You did not dare dwell on that thought too long.

Instead, you searched for his hand to squeeze his palm. He understood the signal, instantly raising his head to find your gaze. You knew the look in your eyes could only be described as wild, with the pupils blown out large. But staring into his darkened blue stare, the realization did not hurt quite so much. His lips and chin were shiny from your arousal; the discovery of the fact sent a shiver down your spine. Bruce took hold of your hand to return the squeeze while his lips stretched into a confident smile. An incredibly attractive look, you had to admit.

“So… I take it, I did good,” emphasizing the word, Bruce smirked, his eyes twinkling.

Despite the embarrassment at what you said, you could not stop the chuckle. The fondness in your heart made its way to your gaze as you attempted a one-sided shrug.

“You broke me” that was an understatement.

But it only made his grin brighter. Without breaking the eye contact Bruce swept his tongue over his lower lip. Collecting the droplets of your come and crawling up to meet you on the bed. There was no mercy for the wicked.

“I can tell” his eyes roamed over your face affectionately, making you want to hide from his attention.

But you chose to meet it straight on, raising your head just enough to capture his lips in a kiss. Only to instantly groan into his mouth when you tasted yourself on his tongue. Bruce’s embrace tightened around your arms as he gathered you into his chest, carefully laying down next to you. And never breaking the kiss that stretched and evolved to fit your needs. Going from hectic and eager to languid. From chaotic to deliberate, and lasting till you were both out of breath, panting against each other’s mouth, unwilling to separate. You made sure you were sufficiently curled against his warm body before you leaned back to put some space and find his gaze again.

The blue eyes were never disappointing, instantly setting your body on fire with the tenderness you found in them. It felt good to be like this with Bruce, able to let go of the fears and inhibitions. Able to give in to the love you could feel coursing in your bloodstream every second you had spent with Bruce. Because even if he did not reciprocate, the memories would still be there. After. Whatever that meant. After you fucked it and told him, probably. With the aching heart beating in your chest and the creeping dread threatening to tear the moment away from you, the hesitant question placed itself on the tip of your tongue:

“Was it how you imagined?” with your eyes trained on his face, you knew when Bruce caught the meaning.

His flushed cheeks turned redder as his arms tightened around your waist, nose nuzzling into your head to buy him some time. And hide from your curious gaze. Bruce Wayne was adorable, and you had no idea what to do with the fact.

“Better,” his reply came in the form of a rushed word and was followed by an admission you almost thought you had misheard, “Think I’m already addicted to you” he raised his head again to meet your eyes.

It was impossible to get rid of the lovesick look on your face as your body shivered with anticipation. That something was still in the air. The tension that assured you Bruce was eager to take another step. You did not have to search your heart and mind to know you wanted it too. Right here and now. No matter the consequences. You knew there was a high chance you would regret it later. But that did not matter now.

Carefully, you placed your hand over his heart, splaying the palm on his chest and replied:

“That’s my line” taking a deep breath to take the plunge, you added, “I- I want you,” your voice wavered, but the revelation could not have been surer.

The sudden shyness was still concerning, rendering you nearly useless with how it had tied your tongue into knots. But with Bruce, those three words were enough. His eyes darkened almost instantly, a hitch in the breath disguised by a kiss pressed to your temple. It was easy to tell what it meant, encouraging you to trail your hand down the broad planes of his chest and stomach. Eliciting another gasp, this time masked with a tentative question:

“Are you sure?” the irony of his asking did not escape you.

The last time it had been you that asked, a thousand times or more, just to ascertain he would not regret it. To be assured that Bruce wanted to give you that crucial part of himself. A gift no one had given you before. Not quite like that. But now, after everything, you appreciated that he checked. Even though you never needed him to.

“Perfectly” you found his eyes to show him the smile on your face while your hand skated lower still, brushing over his abdomen and the trail of hair disappearing into the waistband.

But you did not stop there, letting your fingertips touch his zipper in what you hoped was a smooth enough suggestion. It worked if the way Bruce grabbed your hand was anything to go by. You shot him a questioning glance, waiting for that telling nod to work his belt undone. Once you had it, his eyes dark and hungry, you did not waste time tugging his trousers and boxers down his legs and throwing them somewhere onto the floor. The longer you hesitated, the more likely it would be for your head or heart to catch up. Intervene in what was supposed to be just sex. No strings attached. Or so you liked to tell yourself.

Only when neither of you could hide behind fabric or pretence, the noises in your head grew quiet again. The room was silent as your eyes trailed over his naked body, consuming all the details you had almost forgotten. Though it had only been days. Like the constellation of moles on his hip or the exact markings of his multiple scars. Like the fading bruises, which were all new to your eyes. Like the feel of his hand running over your hip and thigh, drawing you in for a kiss.

You went willingly, melting into his touch and making sure every inch of your body touched his. With your leg in between his, arms thrown around his waist and mouth sealed in a kiss. A kiss that went on for minutes, which felt like hours. An eternity of your tongues sliding against each other’s and tracing the insides of your mouths. Imprinting the taste of him in your mind forever. Slowly, your hands continued exploration, reaching down to touch his length. Carefully yet firmly enough to elicit a groan from his lips and break the kiss. Encouraged by the reaction, you circled his shaft with your hand, putting pressure and making Bruce gasp. It felt powerful.

Bruce met your gaze with dark, hungry eyes, wasting no time to delve a hand between your thighs and spread your arousal over your folds. All for an act of retaliation that had you cursing under your breath. All to make sure you were ready for him. Without stopping your ministrations, you settled to lie on your back, silently extending an invitation. Bruce took it with your name on his lips and his hands on your waist. He shifted to hover over you, knees resting in the cradle of your thighs. The staccato of your heartbeat thumped between your ribs as you laced your hands on the nape of his neck and met his gaze. Nodding once more to assure the both of you. That it was alright. It was what you wanted. Even if it already felt like a mistake.

Bruce entered you with a gasp falling from his lips, one of his hands coming up to cup your face. You exhaled sharply upon the stretch, body instantly accommodating the feel of him. Your legs opened wider, knees coming up to rest over his hips. It was simple, a primal instinct taking over as you looked him in the eyes and let him know it was okay to move. You could only hope that the pain in your heart would ease. That you could ignore it.

At first, it was easy. You did not let your eyes stray from Bruce, noting every expression that flitting across his face. The awe, the pleasure, and the need. Your fingers tangled into his hair while the other hand sought purchase on his shoulder. Feeling the heat radiating from him and warming every cell of your body. Bruce built up a rhythm, thrusting into you with ease and care. Now and then, he leaned in to kiss you, consuming your lips with his. You tried focusing on it, on the delicious friction and the feel of him inside you. On the closeness and the touch. On the familiarity of his kisses, the pressure of his mouth against yours. But it was not enough. Your heart still felt as if it was being torn apart.

With a moan, you hoisted your legs to cross them over his back, bucking your hips into his. Pleasure erupted underneath your eyelids as he hit the spot that made you cry out his name. Bruce’s only answer was a guttural groan reverberating through your joined bodies. Adding to the urgency building between you. To the need to have it faster and sooner and now. You repeated the move, following that instinct. Soon enough, you had Bruce where you wanted him – gasping and panting; his eyes screwed shut with pleasure.

The pressure in your abdomen rose, making your moans louder. Making you rake your fingernails over his back, breaking the skin and marking Bruce as yours. Only he wasn’t. He wasn’t yours. He could never be yours.

Later you wondered what the reason was. What made you break and shatter like glass. Whether it was how Bruce suddenly opened his eyes and looked at you. His gaze full of affection and admiration you did not deserve and never could live up to. Or his gentle touch, caressing the expanse of your thigh. Or the feel of his breath against your gasping mouth, offering kisses you could not claim without risking too much. Or how he whispered your name, the syllables filled with reverence and devotion. Or maybe it was the constant beating of your heart, spelling out the confessions you could never tell him. Blinding you to the pleasure building in your body.

Before you caught up and understood what was happening, it was done. Tears pooled in your eyes and spilt down your cheeks, tinting your swollen lips with salt. A whimper got caught in your throat, fracturing the moment in a second. You never had the time to hide.

As if in slow motion, you could see when Bruce noticed. His body stilled, eyes widening as his forehead scrunched up with concern. His palm returned to your cheek, rendering it impossible to escape his gaze. The heart thrashed in your chest as you scrapped your mind for words, excuses, anything at all. By the time Bruce asked the question, you came up empty:

“Did I hurt you? What’s wrong?” the worry in his voice felt like a knife to your bleeding heart; you tried turning your head into the pillow, but he did not let you, “Hey, don’t-” you’ve had enough, pressing your palm to his mouth, shutting him up.

At last, your brain found what was needed.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine” the lie fell with practised ease as you slipped on the mask you had tried on many times before; it was just another role, another part to play, “I’m good, Bruce. I promise” forcing a saccharine smile, you moved your palm to caress his face “Don’t stop, please” to strengthen the act, you tightened the muscles in your thighs, caging him within your hold.

Praying to every god you had ever heard of that Bruce would listen. That the tears could dry on your face, and he would push you over the precipice. Help you lose yourself in him and the pleasure. Because you could never explain it. Did not dare to try.

“But you’re-” the conflicted look in his eyes was still there, staining every word with unease.

Ripping your heart into shreds. But there was no other way. There was no universe where you could tell him the truth. No world where you could come clean, whisper those three cursed words, and have this. Things like that didn’t happen to people like you. So, you turned to what you knew best. Desperate to have this night, even if it would be the last one. Impatiently, you wiped the tears off your face and hooked your fingers under his chin, bringing Bruce closer. His mouth an inch away from yours, hot breath fanning your lips:

“I need you like this,” your eyes revealed the despair you no longer tried to hide, “I need you to fuck me so I can forget everything else” as soon as the words left your mouth, you knew why it felt wrong.

It was a dirty trick, an appeal to the side Bruce did not yet have under control. But it was the only one you knew would work. And it had to work.

His gasp and the way he twitched inside you confirmed you were right. But nothing eased the bitterness coating your tongue. Not the way Bruce squeezed you tighter, his swallowed curse buried in the heated kiss you did not deny him. When his tongue swept over yours, you wondered whether he could taste your anguish.

Bruce broke the contact too soon, searching your face for any signs of the truths you had been hiding. All for nothing. Pressing your forehead to his, you whispered the final word of encouragement:

“Please” you met his gaze, aware of your glassy eyes and the pain in your tone.

Bruce only nodded and kissed your forehead, resuming the steady rocking of his hips into yours. Almost as if nothing happened at all. Almost. Your inner walls involuntarily clenched around him, drawing out another groan. Making the throbbing between your thighs prominent again. Just like before. Squeezing his waist with your legs, you latched onto his arms, thrusting up to meet his hips with increasing speed. The desire pooled in your veins, making you bite his shoulder. Resulting in a loud moan, which only spurred you on.

Trading bites like kisses along his neck and throat till Bruce was panting above you. His hips stuttered and twitched in what you knew were tell-tale signs he was close. You were not that far behind, freeing one of your hands to find your clit between your bodies. Desperate to follow him.

Your movement made Bruce look up, his eyes instantly finding yours. You should have always known that would be your downfall. How he looked at you, his gaze filled with a myriad of feelings, some indescribable and impossible to identify. That same unknowable emotion there, like many times before. That tenderness and affection that bruised your heart each time. This one was not any different.

The heart thumped in your chest, the pulse in your ears drowning out thoughts and fears till all you could hear were the moans and sighs neither of you held back. Till unbidden words slipped through your tight control.

“Make me yours. I want to be yours” only when they were out, whispered in between whimpers, you realised what you just said.

What it meant. And prayed Bruce did not hear it. Please.

There was no time to dwell on it, for as soon as the words left your mouth Bruce’s hips stuttered. His tempo waned, forcing you to act. To take over the rhythm and buck your hips till you could feel him tense up. Till it was enough. His lips opened with a breathless moan as he came inside you with a sharp gasp, his head hiding in the crook of your neck. Bruce’s body shook in your hold as he rode the high, never once stopping to chant your name into your skin.

With his arms around you still, it was easy to let go. Let yourself fall, knowing Bruce was there to catch you. For once, you weren’t alone. The sensation of his teeth biting into the sensitive skin underneath your ear pushed you over the precipice. Your vision darkened, a sharp cry piercing the silence as your steel grip bruised his bicep. Your tense muscles uncoiled at once as the orgasm coursed through your body, twitching in the aftershocks. You had been burnt to cinder. Ruined for anyone else. Forever.

Unable to move, you sagged into the mattress, eyes closed to stop yourself from doing something stupid. Or stupider than you’ve already done. Faintly, you could feel a reassuring touch running over your arms and waist, lulling the anxieties and fears. Fooling you into the promise of safety. But the mirage was better than the hard truth and the cruel reality. You took a deep breath to steady your heart and opened your eyes.

Only to find Bruce gazing back at you with concern. On its own accord, your hand rose to smooth the wrinkle between his eyebrows. Before you could drop it again, he pressed a kiss to the inside of your wrist. He rolled off your body, putting inches of space between you as he settled on his side.

“Everything alright?” his question brought you back into the moment, anchoring your mind in the present.

The tinge of relief at the lack of mention of your slip-up was unmistakable. But so was the gratitude you felt upon check-in. A step Bruce could have ignored after everything you had put him through. Especially tonight. Your throat suddenly felt dry. You went too far, didn’t you?

“Yeah. Yes,” swallowing hard, you hoped the guilt could be wiped off your face, “You’ve just kinda blown my mind” a half-hearted shrug and a weak smile were all you could manage.

It was not surprising to see a flash of distrust in Bruce’s eyes as they scanned your face for any signs of lies. You were too good at pretending for him to find anything solid. But he knew you well enough to tell something was off. After a beat, he gave up, meeting your gaze with a smirk of his own:

“You asked me to” the confidence in his voice was still there, now, perhaps even stronger.

Because – yes. You asked, and he delivered, and now you knew, for a fact, that Bruce Wayne was an avid learner. Which somehow made everything harder. Like not falling for him further. If that was even possible.

You did not talk much after. With your refusal to delve into any part of what happened, and Bruce’s inability to persuade you to talk, it was easier to stay silent. As if on autopilot, you pressed a final kiss to his lips and got up, wordlessly heading to the ensuite. To hide and marinate in misery for as long as you could without it being even more suspicious. Avoiding the mirror, you got dressed in a set of sweats and cleaned your face.

The unknown of what you would find back in your room terrified you the most. Because there was no guarantee Bruce would still be there. You did not discuss it, easily letting the awkwardness consume you both. But the hope was still there. The hope that he would stay. Even if just this once.

When you had hand-combed your hair and checked at least twenty times whether there were no signs of the war you were waging in your head, you exited the bathroom. Your eyes darted across the room, drawn to the bed where you had last seen him. Bruce was still there, sitting on the edge of the mattress with his back turned to you. Your heart thumped in your chest, relieved and overwhelmed at once. Bruce waiting on you was just a part of the predicament. The other was that now you had to ask for what you needed.

The creaking floorboards gave away your presence as Bruce glanced at you over his shoulder. He was still shirtless, his back littered with moles, scars, and red lines from where you had scratched him. The discovery brought an instant blush to your cheeks as you silently stared back. The impasse was broken by Bruce’s timid smile, warming up your heart and stifling the fears. If he was still around, it meant that it would be okay. Right?

In a split second, you decided that the only way of finding out was to ask him. No matter how terrifying that seemed. Steeling your spine upon his searching look, you whispered the question:

“Can you stay with me?” fully aware of the tremble in your voice and the shaking in your hands, clasped together tightly.

Aware of the vulnerability you were showing, on top of the rollercoaster of emotions you had dragged him through the past hour. But there was no annoyance on Bruce’s face. An invisible weight lifted off your shoulders as you watched him nod, following the gesture with a reply:

“I was hoping you’d ask” it was that same soft tone which had captured your heart at the very beginning.

Almost as gentle as the look in his eyes, willingly offering the truth you did not expect to hear. Not after everything. Frozen with the dazed smile on your lips, you only moved when Bruce got up from the bed and crossed the space to you. His hand reached out to squeeze your palms as he leaned in to kiss your temple. Without another word, he disappeared into the bathroom. But there were no regrets or uncertainties this time. He would stay. It would be okay.

At least until the morning.

***

Later, when she was long asleep, quiet snores breaking the silence in the room, Bruce was still awake. He watched her chest rise and fall with every breath. Her head was cushioned on his shoulder as if it belonged there. There was only a slight twinge of guilt in his heart when he tightened the hold over her body, drawing her closer. Because god only knew how long that would last. Because if there was one thing the evening taught him, it was that she still was lost within the prison of her own making. Unwilling to believe it was real. That this was real. She was still looking for a reason to run. And he had no way of proving her wrong.

But Bruce wanted to try. Even if it would all be in vain.

He stared at her peaceful face, bathed in the faint moonlight peeking through the hastily drawn curtains, feeling the steady beat of her heart. There was only one thought circling in his head like a vulture. She was wrong. And she had to know. Bruce turned his head towards hers, instantly feeling her burrow her head into the crook of his neck. Still asleep. An uncertain smile bloomed on his face as he whispered:

“I told you there would never be anybody else,”

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