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cas-backwards-tie · 11 months

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Chapter Two: Cruel New World

Heiress of Gotham

Masterlist | Previous Chapter

Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Summary: It's your first-day living life in Wayne Manor. A new house, a new school, and of course there's the new siblings thing too.

Warnings: Negativity, Damian's Jealous, Talks of Death, Numbness, Depression, Disassociation,t Misandry, Crying, Suicidal Thoughts (if u squint), Existentialism, Cursing, Yelling, Outbursts, Anti-Police Rhetoric, Injury, Blood, Catcalling

Mentions of: Suicide, Body Fluids (mucus),

Words: 6.7k

A/N: POV kind of switches in some points, but I think it's fine. You know when it's the reader and when it's more of a third-person pov.

"Please take a seat, Miss Wayne," Alfred suggests as he pulls out a chair directly center of the long black cherry wood table. Your father sits at the opposite end of the room at the head of the table, while a smaller black-haired child sits with his back to the kitchen doors. There's one other person who sits directly across the table from where Alfred stands behind the chair meant for you.

"Are you serious? We really have to do this today of all days?" The child whines.

"I thought I told you no technology at the table this morning, Tim," Your father tells the person you're meant to sit across from. Ipad propped up on the table beside his plate, the teenage boy's grayish-blue eyes remain on the screen for a few moments as he shovels forkfuls of eggs into his mouth. In a tacit conversation, they make eye contact for a moment before he flips the cover back over the device and shoves it into the backpack by his feet. "Thank you.”

"You know, Bruce, I really need to get this essay done by this afternoon.” Tim—as you now know—explains.

"Oh? And what's it on?" Always wanting to get more involved in the kids' lives, Bruce attempts some sort of civil conversation other than indulging the begrudging eye-roll Damian throws him from across the table.

"It's on-" Tim begins to explain.

"You're really making us eat breakfast all together at-" Damian interjects.

"-the table like the nice, loving family we are? Pssh, you're lucky everyone's actually here this morning!" Dick cuts Damian off in an attempt to dissuade the boy's frustrations and some of his, perhaps just, points. Walking over to his chair he pulls it out enough to plop down.

"Everyone's coming?! Just for her?!" Damian, as you now know, complains.

"I'm afraid Stephanie has a doctor’s appointment, and Jason is... well," Bruce doesn't finish his explanation as he glances around the table.

"Jason," Dick defends, even if he's still somewhat suspicious of the man's current motives. "You'll meet them later, I'm sure," he tosses toward you as he sits at his chair between Tim and Damian still tying his tie.

"Why are you even here? Don't you have work? It's a Tuesday!" Damian chastizes Dick.

"Well if you must know, I have a few suspects I need to bring in for interviews today. They're extraditing a few people since the uptick last week."

"But I thought that-" A look from Dick makes Damian's thoughts linger in the air for a moment as he cuts himself off. Right. Next subject.

"I'm a detective over in Bludhaven," he explains to you, "Luckily I don't live here anymore, so... hopefully that lessens the overwhelming sense of a constant presence of people," he jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

With a nod, you finally reach for your fork. It’d been bad enough that it seems more and more people are continuing to engage you when really, it’s been hell enough to process all the transitions currently taking place in your life. While it’s nice in some sense that you’d have breakfast with your Mom on school days like this, having someone cook for you, let alone push in your chair is… well… strange.

“Hello? He’s talking to you,” the sassy child spits at you, garnering your attention. Eyes flitting from him to the person sitting across from you beside Tim, you offer what you can in an attempted smile. It comes across more as a grimace than anything. The Detective politely calls your name, finally tightening his tie as he finishes dressing.

“It’s okay, I get it. This is all a lot. I asked if you ate breakfast with your—“ he spares a quick glance at your Father before it settles back on you, “—Mom, often before everything?”

Though he smiles and has a jovial and pleasant attitude, you can’t bring yourself to really return the favor. While he’s extending an olive branch of friendship, one you’d usually take up, you’re unable to. “Yeah. Nothing like this though,” you mutter, voice surprising even you with the quiet quality to it.

While the rest of breakfast is filled with questions and trivial conversation, you feel off, with a weary sense of the world. It’s almost like everything is a dream. Once you’ve finished your food, your eyes raise to take in the vase of flowers and candles on either side of it in their ornate silver holders sitting in the middle of the table. “Can I be excused?” Suddenly turned toward your Father, you await his hesitant permission before getting up and heading back to the room they’ve deemed yours just last night.

“She didn’t even look up at me when she answered any of my questions. That’s not good,” Dick points out. There's a hint of concern in his voice as he eyes Bruce.

“She’s probably still grieving her Mom. It only happened yesterday,” Tim proposes with a shrug as he looks up at Dick, who sits to his left.

“Shit,” Dick whispers.

“Do we even know how it happened?” Damian asks from the end of the table, hands clasped in front of himself like a miniature businessman.

“Damian,” Tim whispers with hostility, eyeing him for the inappropriate nature of his comment. Though he’s also curious, as it seems Dick is too, as they all look toward Bruce.

“What? I mean, her Mom dies and suddenly she’s a Wayne? No way,” Damian speaks with confidence.

With a clearing of his throat, Bruce stands. “It’s true. I… hadn’t-“ he begins, though hesitates as this wasn’t really a conversation he’d wanted to have with his teenage son of all people. “It wasn’t planned. It was a one-time thing back when I was a little more reckless with keeping up my image.”

“So during your Party Bruce years? Oh my god,” Dick quietly laughs with incredulity. He’d known about it, sure, that ‘phase’ of his Father… yet he hadn’t anticipated him to be that reckless. The look of guilt upon Bruce’s face is all it takes for them to know it’s true.

“I did the math, I looked into her mother’s history, and… it all adds up. I wouldn’t have taken custody of her yesterday if I wasn’t certain.”

“So she was an accident? Ha!” Damian laughs as if he wasn’t technically an accident on his Father’s behalf as well.

“Hey! I will not hear any jokes or have any information imparted on her with dislike. It wasn’t her fault, and I won’t see anything but acceptance and welcoming from you three, will I?” His stern voice sends chills down their spines to some degree. While Bruce doesn’t often take up a fatherly role in terms other than the awful jokes and rare wistful advice, this is a side none of them have ever gotten quite used to.

“Fine. But I’m not changing my entire life around for her. Jon is still coming over after school,” Damian announces with a click of his tongue and a cross of his arms over his chest.

“Good. Now I know this absolutely will not leave the room but I looked into her cause of death last night and it was a car crash.” With that, Bruce leaves the table.

“Sometimes things are just life, I guess,” Dick thinks aloud, still processing the information.

How cool is it that this room has a window seat? Absolutely awesome! Unfortunately, that’s not something you can fully appreciate as everything has already started to feel numb. They’d explained at the hospital that it’d been a car crash. You know the number of stitches they’d placed, the degree of burns she’d taken as they attempted several grafts to save her life… yet it wasn’t enough. There was nothing they could do. A frown overtakes your expression as a pinch of immense sadness pricks your heart.

“I’ll do it-“ you hear his voice from outside the door, “-I’m sure.” With three knocks and no response, it creaks open. Unbothered to check who it is, you watch as the rain droplets roll down the leaves on the tree outside your window and slowly drip toward the ground below. He clears his throat and shifts on his feet before speaking. “I really hate to do this to you. I know everyone processes things in their own time, but I’ve got to make arrangements on top of work today and so the best thing I can think to do is get you into a routine.” A look in his direction is all it takes; uniform neatly folded in his extended arms, your Father presents it to you with a sympathetic look on his face.

“What about Melville High?” The question leaves your lips, and all he can think is that you’re too innocent for this world. He doesn't even know you, but already the world has taken too much from you.

“It’s… too far, I’m afraid. Gotham Metro Academy is where Damian goes, and it has a lot of better opportunities from what I’ve seen. I’m sure you’ll like it once you get settled in.”

It isn’t the end of the conversation. While you’re barely responding, he imparts as much wisdom and comfort as he’s able, but it goes in one ear and out the other. All too soon you find yourself running your hands over the lapels of your navy uniform’s blazer. A prep school with uniforms was something you’d never imagined in your future—in fact—it’d been far from it! Growing up with enough money to keep you comfortable was fine, but prep school was never in the cards. You and your Mom knew that. Without too much thought to your hair and any accessories or makeup, Alfred is rushing you downstairs and into the awaiting Rolls Royce.

“Had you ever been to Gotham prior, Miss?” Alfred asks from the driver’s seat as you pull away from the infamous Wayne Manor. It looks much more opulent and welcoming in the daylight, yet it still has an intimidating air of aristocracy to you.

“Um… just once, a long time ago.” It hurts your chest to think about; there’d been a weekend you’d gone with your Mom a few years back when she’d wanted to show you all the sights. From the shows to the Financial District, to the historical sights and monuments, it’d been a weekend to remember, truly. If memory serves you right, you even still have a sweater and baseball cap tucked away somewhere from that trip.

Expecting some sort of snarky remark from the child you’ve deduced is Damian, you finally take him in. Sure, everyone’s heard of him. He’s a celebrity for what it’s worth: ‘Bruce Wayne’s Secret Son’ the headlines read. It was national news at the time, his Mom still remaining a mystery. His skin is darker than yours, and while his eyes are a striking green, you can’t deny that he has a resemblance to your Father. Neither can you deny your resemblance, either, really.

“What?” Damian finally bites. With a quiet, automatic ‘sorry’ and a shift of your eyes out the window and away from the kid on his phone, you can’t help but think about it.

Was Bruce Wayne really as much of a playboy as the media made him out to be? Yours and Damian’s mom would surely proffer the confirmation. Yet, having met the legendary man behind the technological empire, you aren’t sure he really seems the type. As much as your mother tried to keep you from boys and men, you’d met more than your fair share of assholes. Womanizers, scumbags, misogynists; no matter the differences in look or personality, there were always a few similarities they’d have in common, usually in their speech, behavior, or beliefs.

Nevertheless, it’s odd that you’ve been able to place the term ‘Father’ in his grasp so easily. Your mother had feigned a forgetful memory oftentimes when you’d ask during your childhood. Only offering the slightest of details and assuring you that he’d left the both of you as a baby. It was only as you grew that she eventually let you know that whatever relationship the two of them had, it wasn’t as serious as one would expect of a mother and father. She’d never named him, exactly, having always told you it wasn’t important. He wasn’t worth searching for, seeking out, begging for some answer you surely didn’t want to hear. Why? Why did you leave us? Why don’t you care about us? It was all a waste of time. That much, you knew. Never, even in your dreams would you imagine it’d be the Bruce Wayne.

Before you know it, the trees and streetlights are turning into buildings and stoplights. While you're nervous about going to a new school, it also provides a bit of excitement at the thought of reinventing yourself and making new friends. Surely with the funding from Wayne Enterprises, it'll have more clubs, activities, and maybe more sports, too. You'd always wanted to try out for sports or even be on the varsity squads if possible. As the car slows along the street, Alfred meets your anxious eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Damian, I expect you'll be there if Miss--" he says your name, "--needs anything. I'm going to park the car and escort you inside, as there happens to be a bit of preliminary paperwork your Father has requested I accompany you to fill out."

Surprisingly, Damian doesn't refute Alfred's sentiment, though as he parks the car, your half-brother hastily exits, headphones still in his ears as he scrolls through his phone. A quiet 'see ya later' is heard before the door slams shut. Soon enough you've filled out the registration forms and are given a schedule and tour. Alfred offers you a courteous nod and a lingering hand on your shoulder before he departs for the day. "I'll be here to pick you up when the school lets out. You can do this, Miss," he assures with a warm smile.

It was somewhat embarrassing that you'd had to interrupt class to join in on eleventh-grade, American Literature, yet upon introduction, it doesn't go past your observation that many of the kids start whispering to one another. While a few people attempt to talk to you, for the most part, you feel overwhelmed with all the information and the way the lesson quickly continues. Trying to catch up and take everything in, it all feels like too much, and the unintentional tendency to disassociate naturally begins to happen. You zone out for most of the classes, the day passing in whirlwinds and sympathetic smiles from the teachers.

When school lets out, you find Alfred exactly where he'd parked this morning in front of the school. Leant against the car with his hands clasped in front of him, you begin making your way down the steps to meet him. Two boys quickly pass you, both laughing as they playfully smack one another's arms and talk in hushed voices. As you approach the car you realize it's Damian and some boy. He has friends? Who would be friends with him? He seemed so rude earlier, you can't help but think. Maybe he's just upset because you came along.

"Who's this?" The boy in the blue jacket asks as he watches you join Alfred.

"Mister Kent," Alfred greets the boy, "I take it you'll be joining us tonight?" When the boy flashes a white smile full of bright teeth up at him with an eager nod, you take it this is a family friend.

"She's... apparently Dad's daughter," Damian reveals, eyes slicing across the space till the intimidating green orbs land on you. "Don't mind her. I planned a few things we could maybe do when we get to the Manor! I just got Mario Kart Ten and it's supposed to have a bunch of new maps and characters!"

Upon Alfred opening the car door, all three of you slide into the vehicle, the boy separating you and Damian in the backseat. "So... your sister, you mean," He laughs. Despite what he'd said about ignoring you, the boy turns his smile your way with an extension of his hand. "I'm Jon! Damian's best friend. I actually go to West Reeves but I got out early so I could catch a ride to your house. You are..?"

Revealing your name, he repeats it with a fondness as you shake his hand. "I don't know that I'd say best," Damian groans with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh hush it! Yes, you would," Jon argues, nudging your half-brother with his body as the two laugh.

"How was your first day, Miss? Did it go alright?" Alfred asks in the rearview mirror before pulling off the school's sidewalk and onto the street.

While this question was unexpected, you can't answer it. Was today good? You're unsure that any sort of sentiment could capture what today was like, truly. With your mother's death, the move, the new school, new people, and the luxury of it all... you feel unable to describe it all in one simple response. Sufficing for a nod, you purse your lips before opting for a quiet "Thanks." If nothing else, you can't deny that this old man has been kind to you since the moment you arrived. It seems he cares, but... isn't that also his job? You're not sure how butlers work, exactly, but surely that detail encompasses part of his job description, you think.

With the car parked in the driveway, you all exit the vehicle and head inside. Alfred asks if anyone wants a snack, however, you shake your head and point upstairs, signaling your destination.

You aren't sure what comes over you, a wave of hurt--sadness-angst, pain... there are endless synonyms for whatever it is that washes over you. It winds up there, lingering in your chest like a weight you hadn't realized was weighing your shoulders down. Maybe it was the attention, the comments, the questions, the energy it took to put on a 'fine' facade, yet it all finally comes crumbling down. With the click of the lock on the door, you make the final steps toward your unfamiliar bed. Letting the backpack fall from your shoulders haphazardly on the carpeted floors, you flop onto the bed face first, chest hitting the plush comforter before the rest of your body follows, the rebound sending your body bouncing slightly. Face screwing up into one of pain, you do your best to hold it back, and you're not quite sure why. No one's around, no one cares, so why won't you let yourself cry? Would that make it all real? Would that mean you're accepting her death? That she's really gone? That you're letting go? Moving on with your life? Thoughts of guilt consume you as you feel as though you should've known, you should've called her, said something, asked her to pick you up that day. Anything would've changed the chain in the course of events, right?

It's then, with the realization of the butterfly effect that a sob wracks your chest and tears stream down your cheeks. Like rapid fire, the sting of hot, salty tears cascade down your skin leaving streaks of mascara in its wake, you're sure. Screaming into your pillow, you can't help but struggle to breathe as you're not sure what to do. How do you move on from this? Where do you begin? What's left in your life, really? What does anything matter if she's gone? Your mom? The only person who's been there through your whole life from the beginning till... well, now. She was your best friend, your confidant, your partner in crime, your... everything. At the end of every day you always knew you'd have her to go back to. Never has the fear of being alone crossed your mind until right this second. Now you understand why so many people commit suicide each year. If their pain feels anything like this, then you understand. All you can think, wish, and mentally pray for is this to stop. For the tears to stop falling and your breath to stop coming in quick bursts of panicked, hyperventilating heaves. Snot runs down your lips and it's hard to see with the blurriness of the tears in your eyes.

After a while, the crying eventually dies down and you lie--wishfully--lifeless on your bed. A small hand towel you'd grabbed from the bathroom is folded under your face where the tears would fall and you've folded it over the few times you'd blown your mucousy snot into it. Silence consumes the room, and you've found yourself simply staring up at the ceiling for what feels like hours. Constantly caught in your thoughts, between crying and being eerily silent, you're unsure if all this was destined to happen. Or maybe it was supposed to come out sooner. Maybe it's only because you've been pushing everything down into a deep dark place that only feels safe for you to express once you're absolutely sure you're alone.

In the midst of a quiet moment, your eyes and throat sore, head throbbing, there's a knock at the door. "Dinner will be served in just a few minutes." It's Alfred. You hope he hadn't heard your crying, though if he had... what can you really do? Nothing... just like everything else in life. You can't do anything.

With a quick splash of cold water on your face, hands combing your hair down, and making sure you look as presentable as possible, you're ready. Aside from the slight red tinge that lingers around your eyes and the dark circles beneath them that are impossible to get rid of, you head downstairs. While you're sat in the same spot as this morning, you're joined by many more people this time. Bruce and Damian both sit at the ends of the table again, Tim sits across from you, though this time he's flanked by the Detective, and another man you don't recognize. He has a white stripe in his hair and a longer face than the others, but it suits him with his angular features. On your right sits a very tall and broad man clad in a business suit and glasses. Past him, sits Jon--who you'd met this afternoon--and across from him there's one more person who makes the table uneven in terms of people. It's a blonde girl, with an enticing sparkle in her eyes and a charming smile from what you can see from the other side of the table.

"This is my good friend, and Jon's dad, Clark Kent," Bruce introduces, gesturing to the man beside you. Said man holds out his big hand and offers a friendly smile.

"Pleasure to meet you," he recites your name and you reciprocate the handshake. It's good to know that not everyone in Damian's association is a complete asshole, you suppose.

"Nice to meet you too," you respond quietly. With the meal served, everyone dives into eating, leaving you a little unsettled. While your mother had come from a very religious upbringing, she hadn't forced it on you. Yet, you'd still find yourself and your mom praying before dinner to whatever God or higher deity might exist. In a way, it was more to give thanks each day for being alive and having food on the table. Sometimes it was a conversation starter when someone would mention what their day entailed, the good things they'd seen, or maybe the bad things they'd ask for protection from. Nevertheless, it's clear that this family operates differently; digging your fork into the fancy black-peppered pork roast, you use your knife to slice a piece off for yourself. Not in the mood to talk at the moment, you simply listen to what everyone's discussing.

With the lack of response they'd gotten from you, Bruce opts for talking to Clark about business and how things have been. Dick and Tim fill in the mysterious man on the little they knew of you. The blonde girl talks with the younger boys at the end of the table at moments but also butts into the other conversation among the young adults diagonally across the table from you. Stabbing multiple string green beans onto your fork, you don't make eye contact with anyone as you simply try to get through this dinner. Maybe then you can go upstairs and try to relax away from everyone.

"-something we shouldn't really talk about too much, but I can guess the funeral will be by the end of next week with all the arrangements I made today," Bruce speaks to Clark.

"Wait, what?" Your voice is quiet, only drawing the attention of those sitting closest to you. Butting into their conversation, you raise your eyes to meet your Father's surprised blue eyes.

"The funeral will be at the end of next week, I'm presuming. It'll take a little while with all the arrangements," he repeats. Though he seems hesitant, he doesn't keep himself from speaking it again. After all, he's someone who stands behind his actions.

"What? Why?" Your fork clanks against the chinaware, lips parted in shock as you dropped it. "You made the arrangements without me?"

"Yes. It was important that you go to school and it was all right there in the will." Forkful of mashed potatoes lingering in the air as his blue eyes bore into yours, you find your breath beginning to rise and fall at a faster rate.

Of course, none of them know your buttons and what it looks like once they've been pressed, but if your mother was here right now, she'd know. With a screech of the chair being pushed back hastily and a quiet slam of your palms on the table to stand, you're livid. "Why would you do that? How could you do that?!" Hands shaking, you begin to gesticulate, any former semblance of masked placation now fallen. All eyes are transfixed on your figure. "She's my mother! Mine! You don't even know her- I do! I know what she would've wanted, and this isn't it. What, just because your name was on my birth certificate that means you get to take over my life? You, who doesn't even know anything about me, and yet you act like we're best friends! Your children call you 'Bruce' and you have no problem with it! You don't get to just come into my life and fuck everything up! You sleep with her once, what? Sixteen years ago and now you come in and take everything?" A wry laugh leaves your lips, "Well, more for you, I guess! Did you ever stop to think that there's a reason I had no idea who you were? Let alone, why she never told me? She never once asked for your money or your help, and now I'm just here. All my stuff? Gone. All my friends and family? Gone, a-"

"-We can go get your-" The Detective begins.

"-Oh, shut up! You really think anyone wants to hear what you have to say? You're adopted, you're not even related to me! You don't know me. None of you do! The only good thing about this is I don't have to put up with being interrogated by the BPD every goddamn time I walk down the halls of school. But I'd at least take that over never seeing my friends again!"

"-What do you mean?" He follows up, commenting over you. Everyone else looks around the table silently, taken aback by what they're witnessing.

"You want to 'Bring Justice to Bludhaven', I guess, when everyone already knows what happened to Perdy Chapman! Everyone except the BPD, I guess!"

"How dare you?! You can't speak to my brother like that, you-"

"Finally! The only person I'm actually related to here. My half-brother, the mysterious 'Wayne Boy' who doesn't have a mom! You have no fucking empathy for me, you've been giving me shit all day! And yet you're the only person I would've expected to actually give a damn! So sit your ass down, pendejo twerp!"

Without asking for permission you storm out of the dining room and through the living room toward the staircase.

"I'm guessing you're done with your dinner?"

The voice stops you in your tracks, hand on the banister, you let out a loud sigh, shoulders falling before you try to maintain a jovial demeanor when turning to him. "I don't need you to do anything for me, Alfred. I think it's fucking ridiculous to have a servant when it's the twenty-first century, for crying out loud!"

"It's my job. I assure you he pays me, if that makes it any better," Alfred speaks in a calm tone, unfazed by your words or behavior.

"Great! Well, I still don't need you doing things for me that I can do myself. Thank you, though," while the words come out through tense, grit-together teeth, you turn and head upstairs. It doesn't take long to get to your backpack, slinging it over your shoulders. Luckily, this was the one thing you knew you could do with the advantages of not only your room but a backyard. Opening the window, you climb out onto the tree branch a few feet away.

Soon enough, you're on solid ground, out of the boundaries and gate of Wayne Manor. With a heaving chest and shaky hands, you speedwalk down the road toward where you know the bridge will be heading into Bludhaven from the transfer point on the Eastern Seaboard. This time for whatever reason, you can't bring yourself to cry. Maybe all the tears had already flooded from your body this evening, but nothing emanates from your tear ducts. Eyeing the blood that's already starting to dry on your palms from the splinters and the last little drop you'd had to take from the tree, you scraped your palm.

It'd been silent upon your departure from the dining room. Bruce insisted that everyone return to eating, that everything was fine, and that this wasn't unexpected. While things returned normal for the most part, Jason excused himself with a look toward his father. It wasn't until an alarm rang from Bruce's phone that he groaned and pulled it out only to find the surveillance outside capturing your figure leaving the premises. Announcing what the 'emergency' was, at everyone's persistence, Jon ran out of the room before Bruce could elect Clark to go check where you were headed.

It's a lone road, cypress trees lining it and gravel-filled sides. With it only being garnered by private property of the elite, and no real intersections for miles, no cars pass in either direction. As the sound of a faraway motorcycle approaches, you don't let it deter you. It'll be at least an hour or more before any of them realize you've left the property. They all think you're just upstairs crying to yourself, most likely. Rage still swirls in your gut, however, it's drained somewhat, being replaced by the determination to get home. A billionaire, his family, servants, and even a few splinters won't stop you. It doesn't strike you as odd that the sound of the nearing motorcycle slows; after all, not many people hitchhike on this road, you're guessing, and with the speed limit being higher in this area.

Jon had been faster, intrigued for some reason--his justification upon later questioning--to find out where you were going. Clark trails behind him, neither of them bothering to change clothes as they fly above the closest road, trailing you from a distance silently. It's only when they spot the motorcyclist approaching you that they hold their position.

"Where do you think you're going?" The voice is unfamiliar. While being catcalled isn't a stranger to you, it's still annoying that it'll happen in the middle of fucking nowhere. Ignoring the motorcycle that now stalls to your left, you continue walking with determination, eyes ahead and fists wrapped around each strap of your backpack upon your stiff shoulders. "Really? You're gonna ignore me and play it that way? Get on the motorcycle," the man calls your nickname, which elicits a reaction from you.

Eyes widening and lips parting, and eyebrows shooting upward, you finally look at the man. You don't remember his name, but he'd been sitting at the table across from you between Tim and that Detective. Expression immediately turning into one of anger, your jaw setting, you feel reinspired to make your way to Bludhaven. "I'm not going back! I can't," you argue, "plus I don't even know you. Why would I go with you?!"

A chuckle leaves his lips and you hear the shifting of plastic before the motorcycle revs in a way that elicits an automatic jump from your body. The motorcycle speeds a few feet down the road before it does a loop and skirts into a stopped position just a few feet in front of you. Legs on either side of the vehicle, the man flicks the visor of his helmet back up and reaches into the back compartment, producing another. Before you have time to react, he throws the helmet your way. Hands instinctively reach out to catch it instead of letting yourself get hit with the speed of it. You wince; it pushes the splinters further into your palm. You come to a standstill a few feet away from him as you lift the helmet slowly only to see the blood starting to pool around them again.

"I'm Jason," he reveals, "I don't know where you plan to go, running away like this, but you don't think the old man will notice you're gone sooner than later? What's your plan then?"

Irritation and a desperate anger linger in your chest as your eyes finally raise to meet his. "Well, Jason, it's none of your business! Regardless, it doesn't matter. You can't stop me." Approaching him, you're about to shove the helmet in his hands when he raises one of his own, palm facing you.

"Truce? Look, I know you don't know me, but I was like you. I grew up in Crime Alley and had to steal tires for a living. I tried to steal the-" he stops himself, another chuckle escaping his lips, "the old man's, and that's how we met. I get it... it's not easy, and, no one expects you to just go along with everything, alright? If you're thinking about going home, well, that'll take what-? Hours? You really want to walk for hours to... where are you from, again? Bludhaven? What part?"

"Canaveron District, yeah," you respond gruffly, some of the tension leaving your shoulders.

"You won't get there for another three hours walking, at best. If you just want to get your things, well, I can take you there. But we'd have to get everyone else-"

"No! no, I don't want-"

"-If you let me finish," he warns, "I was going to say get the others to help tomorrow or this weekend, we can get the rest. Alright? Just essentials, and I bring you right back here. Got it?" His eyes search yours for a moment before he adds, "That's the best I can do for you, kid. Otherwise, I've gotta drag you back to the Manor kicking and screaming, which I really don't want to do."

"He sent you?" You weren't too surprised, only that if anyone was coming, you figured it would've been Bruce, himself. It's only when Jason notices you looking around and contemplating your decision that he cocks his head toward the Manor, signaling the Kents to leave. He's got this.

"No. I came, because... unlike those other dicks, I actually know what it's like to come from, well, somewhere that's not the greatest," he admits, a look of sympathy and understanding in his eyes.

"And this isn't some scam? You just tell me this, get me on the bike, and then take me back to the White House?" This elicits a laugh from the man, and he runs a gloved hand through his black and white hair.

"Look, I don't know how much they've mentioned about me, but... let's just say I'm not exactly in Bruce's good favor if you know what I mean." Reading the look on your face, he expands. "I'm not exactly the goody-two-shoes of the family. If you want your stuff, I'll take you, but only because I know he wouldn't do that."

"Why?" Standing in silence, the two of you search one another's eyes for any sense of understanding. It's tacit, the question that you both know you were really asking, yet he doesn't make you voice it: why would you do this for me?

"Because I know what it's like to have everything taken from you." A sigh leaves his lips, and you can tell simply from his stance and demeanor that this man has been through much more than he's letting on. "If you wanna do this, we should get going. I can't be out too late tonight. You coming? Or should I call the old man and let him know what your plan is?" With a raised brow and eyes flicking toward the helmet in your hands and back to your eyes, he awaits an answer.

"I'm coming." Sliding the helmet over your head, you approach the vehicle. "Just... don't tell him, please! At least don't tell him for another... fifteen minutes?" The request elicits a questioning look before a smirk replaces it.

"Deal. Hang on," he requests. Shifting the bike to stand upright, he leans closer and reaches under your chin to clip a strap in place you hadn't noticed. He tightens it, checks with you, and then gets onto the bike. "You ever ridden a motorcycle?"

With a thick swallow, your eyes shift from his to the bike. Sliding over the seat, you're unsure where to place your feet, but Jason instructs you, making sure you're comfortable before you slide your arms around his waist and brace for takeoff. Visor flicked down and everything in place, he revs the motorcycle before speeding down the road.

Beneath the helmet, the ends of your hair tickle your arm as it whips through the air. Cool breeze wooshes past your body, arms able to feel the chill through the blazer, your legs gaining goosebumps through the exhilarating experience. Cypress trees turn into willows, which become more and more sparse as gates and brick walls slowly fade with the elitist properties into cemeteries and then into more forest before turning more industrial. As different plants and factories appear, so do the cars. Jason weaves in and out of traffic as he maneuvers his way down the highway and onto the bridge that winds around Gotham and finally goes into Bludhaven. The lights and sights passing this fast is intimidating at the thought of crashing, however, it's thrilling in a way you've also never experienced. Skyscrapers line the island, lights, signs, and monuments only add a sort of fascination and exuberant liveliness to it. As the Wayne Enterprises sign passes, you finally feel comfortable enough to remove one hand from Jason's side for a moment, long enough to flash a quick middle finger at the sign before fearfully grabbing onto his jacket again.

With a laugh and shake of his head, he removes a hand from the handlebar to flip a bird alongside her, eliciting what he thinks is a laugh. Nevertheless, he can feel the fear in her grip so he returns his hand to the handlebars and makes sure to keep his focus on the road. It's not likely they'd crash, not unless someone was out for him and knows his bike, and his civilian identity. Not that he goes too far out of his way to hide it, but it's not impossible. He's confident in his abilities, but considering they don't know each other the best, he doesn't do anything to further scare her.

As he draws nearer to the Canaveron District, he slows down enough for her to give him directions. Parking the bike outside the apartment complex she's identified, Jason helps her off the bike and stashes the helmets in the back. "Lead the way, little lady," he encourages.

~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

hog taglist: @luvly-writer , @clairese1980

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xxno-thoughts-just-chaosxx · 3 months

Text

Annnnnd thats their dynamic. Speculate at will.

It'll be a while until I post this series since I wanna rack up the first few pages, at least for the very start.

#spike #fanart #mario #tw: yelling

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kipxer · 2 years

Text

Fear a Raised Voice

Obey Me! Mammon/Reader - Platonic - No MC pronouns

Warnings: Angst, being yelled at, mentions of breaking things, lots of crying, mean thoughts, learning how to accept comfort. It's an angsty one you've been warned.

Summary: MC gets yelled at by Lucifer after trying to go to the attic again. Gets triggered by childhood past experiences. Mammon is there to help.

Word Count: 2k

Note: You could probably psychoanalysis me from this. Should show this to my future therapist. Also I don't like this title, if you can come up with something better let me know lmaoo

Masterlist

You walk out of Lucifer's office. A blank far off expression on your face, with a few tears starting to grow in your eyes.

You hate having people see you cry. It feels so humiliating. You tried your absolute best to hold it in while Lucifer was berating you for attempting to go to the attic again. You tried your best to stand your ground silently, just saying whatever he wanted to hear until he was appeased and let you go.

And as if the universe had any pity on you, here comes Mammon, strolling by, looking down at his phone. You quickly turn away and start to walk to your room hoping to escape before he notices you.

"Oi human!" He runs over to you before putting an arm around your shoulder. Goddammit.

"Was just lookin' for ya, I have a great idea you're gonna love it!!" You turn your face away acting as if something caught your attention, just to keep his eyes from seeing his face.

You suck in a breath. "Maybe next time Mammon."

"C'mon ya gotta trust me! I promise it's good and most definitely not a scam this time." He says with a devilish grin.

Your tone turns a bit harsher and slower "Maybe next time Mammon." Maybe if he could just take a hint that you were annoyed and give you some space, you could run to your room to let out all your angst quicker.

But unlucky for you, there are two facts about Mammon that you overlooked. 1) He isn't afraid of being annoying and 2) he really likes to talk.

"What's up with ya today?? Are my brothers rubbin' off on ya or something?"

You take in another sharp breath "Look, I'm just not in the mood today, I'm sorry." Your voice falters among your sharp words.

"MC are you ok? For real?"

"I'm fine I just need to be alone. It's fine."

You reeeally didn't wanna burden anyone else with your problems right now, especially Mammon. By this point you were the one keeping most of the peace in this house, you couldn't just break down in front of them and disrupt that. Besides, what if he just brushes it off or mocks you for it like he does with most of your feelings.

Mammon's grip tightened around your shoulders. "Follow me."

"Mammon I already said I'm not in the mood."

"Just-" He nudges you along "Put up with me for a sec and c'mon."

Deciding that he really isn't gonna let up anytime soon, you take another deep breath and tilt your head back. Might as well just suck it up and get this over with, then maybe you can get to your room faster.

"Fine." You say in an annoyed manner.

You find yourself being dragged to the doorway of his room where he finally lets you go to fumble with the lock.

Walking in and plopping down on his couch you say flatly, "Now what." Watching him as moves to sit next to you.

He leans back and turns towards to look at you, causing you to shift your gaze to your now very interesting shoeslaces.

"What's wrong."

"Nothing."

He gives you a look.

"Stubborn human... If somethin' is making ya so bothered then it's my job as your guardian to fix it. Just spill it."

You take another deep breath trying to calm yourself but also just getting tired of fighting him. "If I do," You chew on your cheek thinking over your next words, "then I'll start crying."

With that, his face twists with confusion and worry. "Just an even better reason to tell me I guess."

You take a final shaky breath. "Lucifer yelled at me." deciding to just keep it brief.

He looks at you confused "That's it??"

"For the most part yeah."

"Oh come on, I've seen him threaten ya and even lunge at ya, how is yellin' the worst of it?"

"Um." You grow small in your seat as memories start to flood back. Tears begin to prick the corners of your eyes that you try to blink away.

"Well. I used to get yelled at a lot as a kid by my parents."

Mammon's silence urges you on.

"a-and. I uh, it just reminded me of that. That feeling of being just so small and weak." You sniffed putting on an anxious smile. "They would scream shitty things at me, calling me stuff like ungrateful and lazy. They would break stuff and throw away my favorite toys. The lectures would last for what felt like hours before they would lock me in my room for the rest of the day." You let out a weak laugh "All because I didn't clean my room usually."

You waved your hand in the air dismissively. "I know it's not that bad, especially compared to what you go through all the time. It just. It kinda messed me up a little bit." You struggled to fight back the tears threatening to fall. God, you really didn't want to talk about this.

The air grows thick as you both remain silent, Mammon sitting there stunned.

"Not that bad? If I saw a kid bein' treated like that I'd be fucking pissed!" His whole body tenses in disgust and anger.

"You get strung up by Lucifer and fucking whipped like every other week! How is this anything compared to that?" You cross your arms.

"You were a kid!!"

"So!?"

"Lucifer does that cause he knows I can handle it. I'm a full grown goddamned demon, I can fight back."

"What? That still doesn't make it ok. And why don't you fight back if you're so strong huh??"

"Cause I know it makes him feel better to take it out on me." His voice drops to a mumble. "Plus, it keeps him from doin' the same to my younger brothers."

Now you're the one who's stunned to silence, hearing nothing but Mammon's aggravated breath and your anxious heartbeat.

As you fidget with you hands, you feel a few tears make their way down your face, both from your own confession and now his. Seems like quite the touchy subject for the both of you. Finally, you look up at Mammon, who's leaning in your direction, shoulders tense, eyebrows furrowed, and to your surprise, a pair of blinking watery eyes.

Oh shit. You really just made him cry. Well, almost cry. You've never seen him like this. Oh holy shit. It's your fault. What kind of shitty fucking friend are you. Why did you even ask that question in the first place you dumb fuck. You have to apologize. Now.

"I'm sorry." You say ever so quietly, as if it wasn't more than a whisper.

"What?" You grow even smaller under his intense gaze.

"I'm sorry for making you all worked up. I should've just left when I had the chance." You bite on your tongue.

Mammon huffs, "Oh what. And just lock yourself in your room for the rest of the day?"

You stare up at him as you feel your heart jump and your breath becoming shaky.

All the pent up panic and tears you've been trying to hold off suddenly flood your system. Oh god, why did he have to say that.

Choking on air, you start hiccuping and fighting for breath as you wipe at the wetness on your face.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you plead. You go back to trying to hide your face, breaking into a full on ugly cry. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

You hate this, so so much. Why did you let him talk you into this. Stupid annoying demons. This is so embarrassing your face is all gross now. You should just leave, just leave, leave. JUST GET UP AND LEAVE. WHY CAN'T YOU LEAVE.

Slowly, you feel two soft but awkward arms wrap around you, as a hand is placed on the back of your head, nudging it closer.

Goddammit. Pushing your forehead into his chest, you heave.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" You can't stop apologizing as if it's a mantra, slowly turning into a jumble of choked whispers.

Gently, he rubs your shaking back, holding you close.

"You're ok. It's ok. You don't need to be sorry."

No it's not ok, it's not ok, it's not ok. You have everything to be sorry for.

You take a strangled gasp for air, as if that would let up the tightness in your throat.

You grip onto his shirt tightly as you hide your face in his chest. God this is so embarrassing. You must look so stupid and pathetic right now.

"Hey, take a deep breath for me ok?" He interrupts your thoughts.

Starting you off, he takes a long deep inhale himself. Shakily, the mess of yourself tries follow along.

In...

And out...

"Another one."

In...

And out...

With each breath, your sobbing grows quieter and your apologies die down.

"You're ok." He strokes your back some more, as your grip relaxes. You take another deep breath on your own, the air feeling just a bit lighter now.

Realizing the position your in, you let out a weak laugh as you hold onto him. "I told you I would cry."

He chuckles, the sound reverberating from his chest "Well hey, at least ya warned me."

A beat of silence passes as he soothes your back, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

Why was he being so nice. He always rambled about how annoying it was to take care of you, so why go through all the effort to comfort you like this.

Still. With all his self sacrifice for his brothers and now with the way he's treating you, you can't help but have just the slightest tiniest thought that maybe, just maybe, he cared about his family and you much more than he led on.

"Thank you."

He gently squeezes you in his embrace.

"Anytime."

He gives some more time for you both to relax. Just gentle touches and soft slow breaths. His warm palm traveling up and down your back in slow fluid motions, the hand in your hair holding you securely. You press your face further into his chest, soft fabric against your cheek, smelling strongly of his cologne.

"Ya don't gotta run off if ya need to cry. I'm here to talk about it- I mean it is my job after all."

You let out a chuckle at his sudden change in demeanor.

"I don't know, it's kinda really hard for me to just cry in front of people. Or ask for help. Or anything like that." You trail off.

He hums in thought. "Well, how about this. If I catch ya havin' a hard time, you're not allowed to run away." He smiles softly burying his face in your hair.

You huff out a laugh "Hard to say I won't just start avoiding you."

"Then I'll just have to stick by your side and annoy ya even more then, huh." He squeezes you real tight proving his point, both of your smiles growing as laughter begins to bubble up from your chest.

"Ah like you don't already do that enough."

He chuckles at your sarcastic tone before relaxing again.

And after a moment, you finally pull back to look up at his face. Feeling relaxed, grounded, and safe, having gotten to this point so much quicker than any solo sob fest you've given yourself.

And you ask,

"So what was that idea you had?"

His grin widens.

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ask-the-black-family · 21 days

Note

hey gang... is theo home yet? and if he is is he... alive?

[ theo sighs, ]

“no time like the present…”

[ and shakily opens the door. nolan’s head snaps up as he stands from his spot on the couch, rushing over. ]

“theo, you have to leave, will’s really mad like, madder than ive ever seen him, i think going to clivesdale would be better for you right now-“

“Theodore.”

[ the two freeze, slowly turning to look up at will. his eyes are steely, a sharp green cutting into both of the siblings. nolan steps away, biting his lip, as theo quietly closes the door. ]

“…w-will, i can explain-“

“Don’t.”

[ theo winces, standing away from the door, eyes fixed on will. ]

“Not only did you break the rules - and, furthermore, the law. You ran away from the consequences.”

“i just thought you wouldn’t wanna see me straight away-“

“Don’t you dare pin the blame on me.”

[ his voice cuts through the younger, theo bites back a yelp. ]

“You have no one to blame for this but yourself. You’re lucky I haven’t gone to the HFPD, you little shit.”

“i-i’m sorry-“

“I didn’t ask you to speak.”

[ nolan whimpers, running to the kitchen. ]

“You know what that type of shit can do. You know exactly why I hate it.”

“i-i know-“

“Then why the fuck did you do it?! Trying to get yourself into an accident as well, are you?!”

[ will stomps up to theo, the teen now with tears brimming in his eyes, ]

“n-no, no! i wouldn’t- i wasn’t ever gonna-“

“I don’t want to hear it.“

[ theo looks down at the floor in shame. ]

“Christ, it’s always you, isn’t it, Theodore? Blaire doesn’t cause this type of trouble. You could take a couple notes from her.”

[ the comparison hurts, big time, but theo doesnt argue back against it. ]

“You’ll be lucky to see another person for as long as you live after this type of colossal fuck-up. You’re going to hand over your phone, your laptop, everything you own. No after-school clubs, no skipping classes, nothing.”

[ theo nods, shakily, and pulls out his phone, holding it out to will. ]

“I’ll be collecting the rest from your room.”

[ as he turns to leave, he lets out an exasperated sigh, ]

“I hope you know exactly how dissapointed I am with you.”

[ and walks away. theo sniffles, gulping. it’s now that the other three emerge from their hiding spots: nolan from the kitchen, pierre from the cupboard, blaire from the bathroom. blaire at least has the decency to look guilty, rubbing her arm with a bitten lip. pierre approaches, hesitantly, placing a hand on theo’s shoulder. the older yanks it away. ]

“don’t.”

[ pierre, stunned for a second, just nods quietly. he stands away, and gestures for his siblings to do the same. as they all shuffle away up the stairs, blaire gives theo one last look. at the sharp glare she gets, she turns back around, walking up and away. ]

[ well. he survived. ]

#tw: yelling #hatchetblr #hatchetfield rp #lords in black rp #rp #starkid rp #rp account #oc rp

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extremesmarts · 5 months

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this still makes me giggle even if it was simple

#fnf ruv #ruvyzvat #kapi fnf #vs kapi arcade showdown #mid fight masses #friday night funkin #tw: mention of animal death #mention of animal death #just in case the original audio bothers people!#sheri's art #tw: yelling #yelling #sheri's animatics

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whisperingwinters · 8 months

Note

(@friendball-irl) 😴😨?

She’s watching her family. They all look happy. The faces are blurry and the dream seems very vibrant and confusing, like all of her dreams usually are.

——

He hates her. He forgot her. Why did she let herself get attached when she always knew this was the outcome? There’s yelling. He sounds angry. It hurts.

#pkmn irl #pokeblogging #tw: yelling #ask game

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emzchaos · 1 year

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The Torres Home

[Mumbling Yelling]

Niko: *Rage* DID YOU TWO FORGET THAT TRESPASSING IS BREAKING THE FUCKING LAW? Kole: No Dad. Ryder: N…n.. no Dad Niko: How could you be so fucking dumb Kole, Ryder you too to follow him what if you got hurt?! DID YOU THINK ABOUT THAT?!

Ryder: Dad, I’m sorry Kole: You know I would never put him in danger Niko: How the hell am I suppose to know that? Kole: Because you don’t trust me Niko: You are fucking right about that one Kole Aubrey: Niko send them to bed it’s 1am

✨ 𝔅𝔢𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 | 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 | 𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 ✨

#Playing With Wires #ts4 #ts4 story #Kole Torres #Niko Torres #Ryder Torres #Aubrey Torres #tw: yelling #tw: arguing

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fanfictionhyperfixation · 1 year

Text

Forgotten Starlight (Eris Vanserra X OFC) Part Five.

TW: suggestive content, anger, yelling

***

Rowena’s breath was coming in short bursts as she finally broke through the doors of Eris’s private quarters. She hadn’t dared look down at her arm yet. She had felt the tattoo spring to life on her inner arm and knew her fate was sealed. But so was Beron’s. She paced around the entryway and waited. Slowly her breathing returned to normal and she settled on an overstuffed couch as her new reality sank in.

She didn’t flinch as Eris burst into the room, rage clear on his bloodied face.

“What have you done?!” Eris exploded.

Rowena turned to him with tired eyes and finally let her mask fall. She sighed and walked away. She heard Eris following her, his steps heavy and his voice full of anger as he ranted. Nothing he said registered in Rowena’s mind as she pushed through the door to the bathroom and turned on the faucet to the tub. She poured in oils that smelled of cinnamon and clove and finally turned to Eris who was looking at her like she was mad.

“Are you seriously bathing now? Do you realise what you have done?” Eris said, his voice filled with quiet anger.

“I am perfectly aware of what I have done. I have saved my life.” Rowena said earnestly as she walked up to Eris and stood chest to chest with him, forcing the taller male to look down at her. Before he could say more, Rowena trailed her hands up his arms until they reached the neck of Eris’ bloodied shirt. She began to undo the laces and he flinched away.

“What are you doing?”

“Shut up.”

Eris balked at her words but as the female before him pulled his shirt from over his head, all words seemed to fail him. She let her fingers trail over the tattoo on Eris’s left ribs that matched her own.

“I trust you can do the rest.” Rowena said softly and turned away from Eris. A maelstrom of confused thoughts ran through Eris’ head but the loudest was why Rowena wasn’t leaving. She had bent over the bath once again, checking the temperature and adding soap to the running water so great mountains of white bubbles formed on the surface. Eris hesitated as he began to undo the laces of his pants, but he was completely certain that Rowena would throw him in the water half dressed if he didn’t follow her directions.

Eris’ eyes trailed the female as he lowered himself into the steaming water. He groaned in delight as his screaming muscles and aching wounds found relief. Rowena had busied herself gathering supplies and she could feel Eris watching her. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up in anticipation. She took a deep breath to control her wild thoughts. Without missing a beat she turned back to Eris and dropped to her knees at the edge of the tub.

“What are you doing?” Eris asked again, his voice quiet and devoid of anger.

“Helping.”

Without another word, Rowena dipped a soft cloth in the hot soapy water. Eris watched every movement she made and felt his heart jump as she brought the cloth down against a patch of dried blood. Tenderly, Rowena rubbed away the dried blood from Eris’ arms and body. She trickled water through his rust coloured hair and lathered soap in his wavy hair. She kept moving her hands, dragging her nails over Eris’ scalp in a delicious way that sent the males’ head spinning. She waited until the shampoo turned pink before rinsing it from his hair.

When she was done, Rowena didn’t rise from her place by Eris’ side. She crossed her arms on the ledge and dropped her head down. She looked at Eris and offered him a small smile. Eris was looking at her with an emotion she couldn’t decipher, but it didn’t scare her. Slowly, like he was worried he would frighten her, Eris reached a damp hand to the pins that held her hair up. One by one he pulled them out until a small pile formed on the ground and her red waves tumbled completely free.

“Do you want to join me?” Eris teased, but there was no fire behind his words. Rowena chuckled and she shook her head while toying with the ends of her hair.

“Another time.”

“Promise?”

Rowena poked him in the shoulder and Eris feigned pain. “I’ve made enough promises for one day.”

Eris watched her rub at the new tattoo on her arm and felt the fear she had chased away clawing its way back into his heart.

“Why did you do it?”

“Because I’m selfish.”

Eris looked at her, pushing her to talk.

“I don’t want to be a prisoner again. I don’t want to be taken by my brother. This was my choice to make. Beron has to keep his word. If he doesn’t, well there will be consequences.”

“And your end of the bargain? You intend to keep it?” Eris pressed.

Rowena cast her eyes down, knowing what he was asking. “When he calls on me, I will reveal myself.”

“Rowena…”

“And I will marry you.”

Eris reached out and tilted her head up so she couldn’t hide from him. An unreadable expression crossed Eris’ face and Rowena held her breath as he leaned closer to her. She could feel his warm breath wash over her lips as her eyes fluttered open. The ghost of his lips brushed hers when a series of sharp knocks rang through the silent room and Rowena sprang from her position like she had been burned. Eris looked as startled as she was and hauled himself from the bath as Rowena flew to the door. She cracked it open just enough to peak out, the design of her dress left her shoulders bare so she could pass off being interrupted as she was about to bathe.

Narvla flashed her an apologetic smile. “We’ve come to talk about your wedding dress. Beron insisted.”

Rowena stuttered out a simple, “Okay.”

She shut the door and turned to find Eris standing in nothing but a towel which left not a lot to the imagination.

I need you to undo my dress. I can’t reach the laces on my own.

Eris nodded and quietly padded towards Rowena. He took his time sweeping her hair away from her back and Rowena couldn’t suppress the shudder that swept over her body. Eris would have laughed in any other scenario, but he was entranced by Rowena. He moved his fingers through the laces until he saw the dress sag enough that Rowena needed to clutch her hands to her chest to keep it up.

Neither of them moved.

Eris’ hands burned through the fabric of Rowena’s dress as he clutched her hips. Without thinking, Eris leaned down and pressed a searing kiss to her bare shoulder. Rowena let out a shuddering breath as her blood was set aflame. Before she could do anything, another knock rang from the door and Rowena knew her time was up. She rushed behind a changing screen where she had stashed a spare nightgown and quickly threw it on. As she dashed to the door, she spared a glance at Eris whose fists were clenched as his eyes blazed with fire.

Narvla and her maids wasted no time in bustling Rowena away. She was soon drowning in a sea of fabric silhouette choices, but all she could think about was Eris and the way her soul sang when he was close. How everything was calm for those blissful moments when all she had to do was wash blood from his wounds.

“Rowena,” Narvla said and startled the younger female. “Do you like any of these?”

Rowena glanced down at the fabrics around her and only one caught her eye. It was rust coloured and gilded leaves danced across the bolt of fabric. She ran it between her fingers, “This one. This is the one. I trust you to choose the design.”

Narvla smiled sweetly and let Rowena go. Without a destination in mind, Rowena began walking through the halls until she stopped in front of a door. She could hear the smooth sound of wood being carved and knew who was inside. What he was doing. She knocked once and waited. The door swung open and Eris moved aside. Rowena slipped in, drifting towards the piece of wood that sat on the table.

“What are you making?” she asked and trailed her fingers over the rough wood.

“I don’t know yet.” Eris muttered, and came to stand behind Rowena. She basked in the heat he gave off and waited. She waited for him to move. She gasped as he trailed a hand over her shoulder, leaving a burning trail in his wake.

“You kissed me.”

“On the shoulder.”

Eris chuckled and as if he wanted to prove something to her, he did it again. Without a second thought, Rowena turned around and pressed her lips to Eris’. He wasted no time in wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her onto the workbench, a growl escaping his throat. Rowena felt like every inch of her body was on fire. Her body worked on its own accord and she wrapped her legs around his waist to try and bring him as close as possible. She moaned as he swept the tip of his tongue against her lips. Eris started playing with the ties of Rowena’s nightgown and as he started to pull, she panicked.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Rowena panted and pulled back.

“What?” Eris asked and nipped at her swollen bottom lip.

Rowena groaned as Eris ground against her and for a moment what she wanted to say disappeared from the tip of her tongue.

As Eris’s hand started roaming again, the jolts of electricity that followed his fingertips gave her enough energy to remember what she had wanted to say.

“I’ve never done this.”

Eris stilled.

“You’ve never done what?”

“Please don’t make me say it.” Rowena whined and hid her head in the crook of Eris’s neck as her cheeks turned red.

Somewhere deep in Eris, a possessive groan rumbled to life, “I need you to say it.”

“I’ve never been with another male. I’ve never had sex.”

Eris pressed a scorching kiss to Rowena’s lips and then pulled away completely. He rested his forehead against hers and took a few steadying breaths.

“The first time I have you, I’m going to do it right and not on my workbench.”

“Okay.” Rowena said breathlessly. Eris trailed a hand down her back and grazed the juncture where her wings met her back. Instantly, she arched her back and let out the most provocative moan Eris had ever heard and had the male second guessing everything he had just said.

“I’m going to remember that.”

#Eris Vanserra #Eris Vanserra Fanfiction #Eris Vanserra Fanfic #Eris Vanserra X OFC #ACOTAR #TW: suggestive content #TW: yelling

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