Every morning, she spent eight dollars that wasn’t hers on coffee and an additional six dollars that also wasn’t hers on a loaf of ciabatta from the bakery next store for her daily panini. 

She lounged in a brownstone that she didn’t pay for, spending money that wasn’t hers on whatever caught her interest that day while already having a stack of packages that she hadn’t opened yet. 

She was sunbathing in a string bikini on her balcony, eyes closed and feeling increasingly restless while trying to think of outlets she hadn’t visited, dream destinations that she hadn’t been to, brands she hadn’t worn when she realized that her problem wasn’t as materialistic as she originally thought. This was when she realized that this life was no longer what she wanted.

What was this? She was living the life of a regency-era mistress. 

Using a man’s credit card, living in his apartment. 

She attended events with outfits he bought, makeup he paid for. She leaned against his arm and looked beautiful while he spoke about topics that she knew too much about, but wasn’t invited to speak on.

The only thing that she had that was hers was a blacked out 2015 Volkswagen Golf R which had sounded like so little to the version of her from six years ago, when this arrangement first began. 

Now she felt her that her Golf was somehow encompassing her entire world. She had hardly touched the car, had only passively kept up on its maintenance. 

She shot up, suddenly invigorated and rushed into his townhouse, hardly wasting enough time to shut the door to the balcony behind her and surveyed the room. She had expected to feel a pang of sadness to be leaving everything behind and wasn’t expecting the giddiness she felt at the prospect of nothing. 

She hadn’t known when the lethargy started, when the visits waned and she became complacent but now that she had become aware—she could no longer look past it. Being a sugar baby wasn’t bad. Her college self had dreamed of having a man like Bruce Wayne pay for everything she needed and then leave her be—no expectation of sex, though that did happen, just companionship, but the reality of that situation was different. 

It left her empty. She had become isolated, waiting for any drop of affection from a man was notoriously distant. She knew that it hadn’t always been like that, but she felt that the days of a Bruce Wayne that was almost suffocatingly affection had been gone for years now. 

She hadn’t known when she had stopped messaging her friends, or when they had stopped reaching out. 

She was in her mid-twenties, women she had once called friends had careers, or children, their lives were fulfilling even if she didn’t understand the appeal of a child. 

She had never used her degree, she dropped to her knees by her bed and shoved aside dust bunnies until she reached her duffel bag—a plain black Adidas that she had carried since high school. It was worn, faded, but undeniably something that she had paid for. She pulled it out and walked into her closet, breezing past racks of designer clothing to a series of tied grocery bags buried in the back that she had kept forgetting to part with. 

She pulled the bags out, opening them to check that they weren’t moldy and couldn’t help but smile at her completely mundane black t-shirts, dorky capris, hiking boots. She tossed everything but the three pairs of shoes in the washer and gathered her folder of important documents next, shoving that into her duffel and set to work on looking for items in the townhouse that she had purchased, spending three hours to come up with a total of ten things. Seven of them being books, one being her old purple iPhone, which she would need to get reactivated, a pair of corded headphones and then, surprisingly, an unopened, carefully wrapped present of something that she had bought Bruce and been too insecure to give him. It had been too long for her to remember what was inside, but she tossed it on her bed.

Whatever it was, she had no need for it. He could keep it—she didn’t want to remember Bruce. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but it was easier than admitting that she had a silly, childish misconception that she would be different. She would be the wife, she would live with him, whoever that was. 

When her laundry was finally done, she folded everything out of the dryer and felt giddy at the complete mundanity of warm laundry. Then, she did a last survey of the townhouse, lingered on shelves of books that she had accumulated; easy over a thousand but paling in comparison to the library at Wayne manor. 

She had expected to feel sad, leaving everything she had ever wanted behind. She had scrolled on LinkedIn after finding her ten items, applied to at least forty seasonal jobs, before she transitioned onto Indeed and various government websites. 

She wasn’t entirely sure where she was going, but knew that she missed Boston and had applied to a Seafood Data & Operations role there. She had always wanted to road trip across the United States. Why hadn’t she? All the free time in the world and she had spent it doing nothing—she felt atrophied. She no longer researched, hardly ever drew. She wasn’t entirely sure that she could even be qualified for any of the jobs that she had applied to anymore.

 She had the basic yearn of journaling but she no longer eagerly waited for the Hobonichi drop each year and had eventually stopped even purchasing them two years ago. 

She would need to dig through her storage unit, but the thought of looking through years of her passions, shoved inside and forgotten about made her queasy. 

An entire life that she had abandoned, her eyes were stinging and she choose to look at the ceiling to avoid tears. 

Leaving this townhouse was different—her old life had fulfilled her. It was challenging, but it was hers. She visited the library everyday, pirated thousands of books and only bought groceries on sale and most items over one hundred with pay later apps. 

When she had met Bruce, it wasn’t with the intention of.. this. 

She couldn’t pinpoint when their relationship had transitioned into a sugar baby dynamic. 

They used to have fun. She dragged him with her to hike Mt. Tammany, Mt. Rainier, Mt. Whitney, she had been telling him to get time off to backpack the Appalachian Trail, but couldn’t remember why they had never gone. 

She looked down at her keys, the embroidered patch style motel keychain of swordtail shark had been a gift from Bruce—the first one that he had ever given her. 

She could remember the day with starling clarity—how lucky, how loved she had felt. She wondered if her Golf could make it to California, giddy the prospect of finding out. She thought about writing a note, but what was there to say? 

Bruce would be fine. How long would it take for him to even notice? Did he keep tabs on her? Their dynamic had to have been coming to an end even without her decision to leave.

She left the phone that he had bought her on the entrance table, inside the large catch-all bowl he had bought her beside the wallet he had bought her (she only needed the ID and her old, barely non expired debit card.) She looked in the mirror above the entrance table that Bruce had bought her and grinned. 

She was in her old chunky New Balances, cargo capri’s and a loose fitting brown and white shirt. Her hair was lose around her shoulders, grown out slightly and she looked considerably different than her fresh out of college self. 

She rifled in the bowl and pulled out an old light pink lipstick, scribbling on the mirror, ‘Gone Fishing. Wont be back.’ Before locking the door behind her and slipping the key under the mat as she left.

- 

Her phone was ringing. 

That shouldn’t scare her as much as it did. No one should be calling her. Her parents were dead, she was an afterthought to her siblings—had she even talked to them in recent years? She was no longer a prodigal daughter, but it did tickle her to still be the only one in her family with a masters.

She was a (hopefully) formally depressed, aimless (working on it) former sugar baby who had been camping in Congaree National Park for the better half of the week. 

She leaned over her center console, three missed calls, the same number she didn’t recognize. She had every number related to Bruce memorized, but he had been instantly ruled out—he would’ve called with a familiar number. Maybe it was her nephew? She answered.

“Hello?” 

“Where are you?” She jumped, let out a small screech and dropped her phone between the center console and passenger seat while cursing, “Hold on, I dropped my phone, let me—” she grunted as she rooted around for it, “Almost there.” She said when she finally managed to grab it.

“Where are you?” Bruce asked again, significantly less amused. “Didn’t you see my note? I’ve gone fishing.”

“And you won’t come back? Explain yourself, you have one minute to begin or—”

“Or what?” She spat, “You’ll cut off Daddy’s credit cards?” 

“You know I hate when you call me that.” 

“That wasn’t a no.” She pulled her leg to her chest, looking out at the campsite and watching families interact with each other. 

“You didn’t take my cards.” Came his low, deliciously gravelly voice. There was a unique note to it. She wouldn’t say that he sounded sad, maybe.. distant? Her mouth felt dry, “I’m surprised you noticed.” 

“I noticed instantly.” She fought the urge to hang up. “Now, where are you? I’m coming to get you.” Her hand was shaking, “Why would you do that?” 

“You’re clearly not thinking straight.” 

Ah, now he pissed her off. “I’m thinking with more clarity than I have in years.” She placed her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she started her car. 

She hadn’t seen the famous Congaree fireflies, but that was fine, she could come back. She decided her next stop would be the Bayou—drive straight through the night, day, whatever it took. “If that was true, then you wouldn’t be where ever the fuck you are now. You would’ve told me where you’re going and would’ve bought my cards. I see you’ve taken that German piece of shit car with you too. You’re going to end up stranded in the middle of no where with no way to get home.” She was surprised at the vitriol in his tone—Bruce didn’t often cuss. It would’ve made her laugh, if he had used different verbiage. 

“That townhouse is not my home & teenage boys everywhere would kill to have my Golf.” 

“That thing is a deathtrap, that’s why you have the E-Class.”

“I don’t have an E-class. I can call a driver to bring me the E-Class.” Then, with her eyebrow twitching she added, “and Mercedes is German too.” She could practically feel Bruce’s eye roll.

“How many speeding tickets did you get in the Golf? I had to bail you out of jail for racing an undercover cop!”

“He downshifted next to me! He provoked me! It was a trap.” The laugh that came from Bruce was sardonic, “Yes, yes, I’ve heard. You can explain it all to me again when I come pick you up.  Now, where are you? If I need to ask again—” She didn’t let him finish, “Bruce, I don’t need to be picked up.” She could admit that she didn’t sound convincing, there was little conviction in her tone. She hadn’t even really thought she would need to defend her reasoning to him. 

“I want to pick you up.” Bruce Wayne couldn’t fathom the idea of her no longer wanting to be with him—to him, this might’ve been her just being difficult, playing hard to get. 

She flinched at the memory of his exasperation, a distant memory of him referring to her as ‘annoying’ maybe that had been the beginning of the end, when her wanting affection had transitioned from something adorable, into something that had a crease forming between his brows before he waved her off.

“That’s nice and all, except. When I left, I meant for our arrangement to end.” 

Silence. She pulled her phone from her ear to make sure that the call hadn’t been disconnected and only caught the ending words, “—to end?” 

“I don’t want to be your sugar baby anymore.”

“You have never been my—” 

“Don’t piss me off. If I was your girlfriend, I’d be living in that scary ass gothic manor with your forty kids.” She was bouncing her leg, turning up the AC as her car was growing suffocatingly hot. “You’d be seeing me more than once every few weeks.” Her addition was an afterthought, almost mumbled as she wiped off a small section of dust she had missed off her dash.

“Mature adults would’ve reached out to have a discussion about this.” He wasn’t disagreeing.

“That’s what happens when you hook up with women twelve years younger.” She hung up and tossed her phone to the passenger side, exhaling and slumping into the driver’s seat. 

She felt the familiar burn of tears, but wiped at her eyes harshly enough for her to attribute them towards herself and definitely not Bruce. That was it, the last time she would ever speak to him. 

She hadn’t expected to end on a bad note, had thought the last memory she would have of him would from a week before she left, catching his gaze lingering on her as she tried to catch a budgie she hadn’t seen before the last few days and had become convinced it was someone’s escaped pet. His smile as she caught the bird.

She had texted Bruce notifying him that she had reunited the bird with it’s owners, but he had left her on read. She might’ve cared a few years back, but that somewhere along the way that had become their dynamic. 

She jumped at the ringtone, noticing quickly it was the same number. She blocked the number and pulled up directions to New Orleans. 

Her phone had rang three more times after that, she had blocked each number and after the fourth time, turned her phone off and went off highway signage. 

She ended up conceding and turning her phone back on a few hours later after the stretches of spotty radio connection left her alone with her thoughts for too long. 

She tried not to see the four new missed calls, the series of text messages. She didn’t want to think of them—they confused her, opened topics that she didn’t want to think of. 

- 

She made it to New Orleans in the middle of the night, or maybe it was early morning? She was tired. Exhausted and too broke to sleep in a hotel, so she searched for Hiltons with free parking and tried to blend in with the cars in the parking lot. 

From her previous car camping days, she had immaculate window blinds that covered each window and let almost zero light in. She pushed her back seats down and rolled out her bedding and stared the lighting she had installed in her ceiling to mimic stars—some of them were out, but majority were in great shape. 

She had been avoiding looking at the messages Bruce had left, but was tossing and turning too much with the knowledge that they existed to sleep. With a frustrated sigh, she checked her voicemail first—nothing, and no with no longer being able to avoid the inevitable, she opened her messages. 

‘Hanging up on me was extremely immature.’  Well, that’s what happens when you screw younger women. 

‘This is completely out of the blue and deeply concerning.’ Was it though? Or had Bruce just stopped reaching out, or talking to her?

‘You are welcome to leave, but you do not have a job, or an apartment.’ She had her car. That was good enough and how she had first moved into the brownstone originally—her decrepit apartment had been condemned and she had been sleeping in her car for almost a week before Bruce had offered. 

She still didn’t know how the man had known she wasn’t in a hotel (too expensive) since she hadn’t told him about the apartment being condemned—ironically, it seemed too personal. 

Too open-ended, her younger self had considered it like she would’ve been asking to move in with him. 

‘At least be angry with me where I know you’re safe.’ That tugged on her heartstrings. 

‘If you do not pick up this fucking phone, I am going to drag your ass back to Gotham with me.’ Where did this mouth come from? Why, she ought to wash it out with soap. 

She typed a threat, ‘I will get a restraining order so fast your head will spin.’ Her finger hovered over the arrow, she deleted it, tucked her phone into the pocket behind her passenger seat and forced herself to count sheep.

- 

She woke up to her phone vibrating and still half asleep, made the horrible mistake of answering it—too tired to remember the only person who could be calling was the one person she didn’t want to talk to. “Hello?” She heard a sharp intake of breath from the other side. “Where are you? I’m in Congaree and I don’t see that piece of shit car.” 

It took her a few moments to register what Bruce had said, “You’re.. in Congaree?” 

“Correct and before you repeat the next half, I’m not seeing your piece of shit car either.” She was wide awake now.

“You’re looking for me?” 

“I warned you that I would drag you back to Gotham if you refused to pick your phone up.” What could she say? I didn’t think you were serious? I didn’t think you would notice that I was gone? I didn’t think you’d miss me? 

“I told you I don’t want to be your sugar baby. What’s not clicking?” She tried to look for constellations in her ceiling, but didn’t think her past shelf had thought to add any. “Yes and that is fine—if you didn’t leave everything you owned behind and start driving across the country. You can stew in a different townhouse if you’d like, a penthouse, a loft, a studio. It doesn’t matter where are long as—” did his voice crack? She didn’t want to dwell on it. 

“I am safe.” She snarled, growing more annoyed and less endeared. “Go back to ignoring my existence. I preferred when you left me on delivered.” She hung up, deciding future attempts at sleep were impossible and that she suddenly no longer wanted to see the Bayou, so she folded up her window blinds and pulled up her seats and had no destination in mind as she started driving. 

She didn’t stop til she was in Texas and decided that peeing was no longer optional. 

She wanted to grab gas station snacks, but could only afford a slim Jim after using the bathroom and spent twenty minutes slouched in a parking spot, scrolling Craiglist looking for odd jobs that paid yesterday and ending up depressed that her only options were related to agriculture.

She scrolled her inbox next--zoom interview invitations, in person ones that she would need to ask to be done over zoom, a few rejections sprinkled in.

 She made quick work of replying to the zoom interview inquiries, sent the same copy and paste ask for a zoom interview to the ones asking for in-person before she finally decided to look at her messages. 

‘New Orleans? Are you serious?’ She shouldn’t be surprised that he is somehow tracking her. He was insanely wealthy—big corporations did this shady shit all the time. ‘I would prefer you broken down on the side of the road, rather than a city with drive-thru Daiquiris.’ She couldn’t recall asking what Bruce Wayne thought. 

‘The sooner you come back to Gotham, the sooner you can be rid of me.’ She was trying to be rid of him now. 

She didn’t need to be in Gotham to do it—she wasn’t even from New Jersey. She was from Nebraska! Then, below that was an Apple Pay of $400 with a note, ‘Noticed your bank account is getting a little low.’ 

She immediately sent $390 back with a note ‘Inconvenience fee’ he immediately sends $900. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She sends back $910. 

‘For the love of god, take the fucking money.’ He sends $3,000. 

She sends back $2980 with a note , ‘no.’

He sends her $25, ‘At least eat.’ 

Her lip wobbles. She was hungry. She sends back $45. 

-

She was sitting in the parking lot of a Chilis somewhere near Alamosa, $30 richer from helping an old lady with her lawn and sapping some of their WiFi for a zoom interview when her phone chimed. She didn’t need to look to know it was Bruce.

She waited until after the interview to reach over to and open her messages. It was primarily Bruce complaining about being in places that she had just been, asking if she was eating and sending her money that she promptly returned. 

He complained about having to work on the road, about important meetings that he was going to have to reschedule. Bruce had always excelled at making her mere existence feel like a burden. Her sheer presence too suffocating to tolerate. 

The distance had helped her realize how little she had been wanted in the last few years. The reminder had her tucking her laptop away and driving. 

She stopped in Flagstaff next, not because she wanted to, but because if she didn’t stop she was going to run out of gas and really be stranded. She leaned against her car, staring into the dark past the lights of the gas station and despite the exhaustion that had her eyes closing, she knew she couldn’t stop driving. 

She didn’t want to—Bruce was ruining her roadtrip. Not with his messages, but the knowledge that he was only ever a few cities behind her, a few hours away and yet he felt closer to her than when he was beside her. 

She stops in San Diego, at an isolated beach she doesn’t know the name of and almost stumbles out of her Golf. It’s late, so late, she has never driven for so long and doesn’t ever want to sit in a car again. 

She grabs her sleeping bag, bundling it up and almost falls down the stairs that lead to the beach. The night air is humid, the smell of the sea overwhelming and the sounds of cars distant. The city isn’t quite asleep, but it’s late enough. 

She unceremoniously drops her sleeping bag onto the beach and falls asleep as soon as she’s inside. 

She rises when the sun does. Groggily, half-conscious and still unbearably tired she forces herself up and still doesn’t miss the townhouse, the safety net of billions behind Bruce. She shakes out her sleeping back, more gentle as she rolls It up and tucks it into the trunk of her car, grumbling when sand flakes off into the boot and she knows she has to find a laundromat, a hotel, a shower. 

Only two of those she can afford, but she quickly discovers, it’s easier to find work in San Diego.

-

She didn’t intend to stay. It was accidental, a serving job that she couldn’t pass up and the perfect spot for a hammock in a hidden part of the beach. She showered, she did her laundry, she thought about apartments but didn’t want to look just yet. 

She would need to reset a dozen passwords that she couldn’t remember. Were her credit cards still active? Bruce hadn’t messaged her since Flagstaff. She had made the mistake of looking at their texts and cringed at the sentence she had texted in her exhaustion, before deleting the thread entirely. 

She was sitting behind the building, a shaky chair pulled up near the door that the line cooks sat and smoked at. 

There was a trail of sweat sliding down from her temple, the heat of the kitchen wafting out with the familiar scent of the family meal that she was only allowed to partake in on the condition that she would fall into the rotation of cooking—something she hadn’t expected to agree to but found it came naturally. 

“Aye, there is someone asking for you.” A gruff voice called from inside, the cook that it belonged to was considerably younger than the voice implied, but that was what happened when you chain-smoked everyday for years. 

“A table?”

“A man.”

“You can tell him I died for all I fucking care.” 

“Said he won’t leave til you talk to him.” She cracked her neck, standing and debating on the merit of asking for a cigarette but couldn’t stand the smell of whatever he smoked and knew she would only end up embarrassing herself by coughing out a lung. 

She walked past, knowing that the cook said something but the buzzing in her ears was too loud to comprehend as she walked out of the kitchen, almost immediately smacking into Bruce who had the audacity to be waiting immediately outside of the kitchen entrance despite the hostess—Araceli, attempting to politely redirect him to a table. 

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting when Bruce finally caught up. Was she expecting to regret her decision to leave? A pang of longing? was she expecting her chest to constrict? Or for her to break down into uncontrollable sobbing?

She found that she felt none of that. It was weird, slightly uncomfortable to be seeing him. It was as if any affection she had for him as carved out of her, leaving an empty void where she knew once, maybe, had been something adjacent to love. 

There were a few hairs out of place, his two top buttons were undone. “Are you available to talk?” 

“I’m in the middle of my shift.” That was a weird sentence to say.

“I’ll wait. Please place me in her section.” 

Araceli nodded and it was only when the hostess got back from settling Bruce in that she swapped sections with another server. 

The restaurant was small enough that Bruce could see her from every end. It was unnerving, the feeling of his eyes following her as she weaved between tables and dodged customers with no spatial awareness. 

There was an electricity in the air, reminding her of when she had accidentally electrocuted herself at her first job when plugging in the motorized cart.

The last few hours of her shift seemed to pass agonizingly slowly. She tried to slip out the back, she really did. She was almost home free, speed walking to her car when she noticed the giant fucking barnacle on her windshield and knew exactly who had done it.

She had spun on her heel, almost throwing open the front doors to the restaurant to storm up to a completely unbothered Bruce who definitely had noticed he hadn’t seen her leave. “My compliments to the chef.” He dabbed at his mouth 

“He did a line of cocaine off between a servers back dimple dermals last night. I don’t think he cares for your compliments.” Bruce’s expression remained carefully blank.

“I take it your shift is over?”

“You have five minutes to get that barnacle off my car.” 

Bruce stood, lifting the chair up slightly as he pushed it back against the table. “I’m afraid that won’t be happening.”

She couldn’t remember being so angry before. He had never provoked her like this—had never challenged her like he was now and she hated it. 

Outwardly, she was silent as she spun on her heel and walked out, shooting one last glare at the nosy staff suspiciously congregating in perfect view of Bruce’s table. 

Inwardly, she was going absolutely insane. She was going to gnaw the barnacle off with her teeth. She was going to key his Maybach, she was going to break his phone and throttle him with his own tie. 

She was going to scream and scream and she was going to stomp his foot. She was going to break the window just to have the barnacle off her car and she was going to be using his giant, hard head to do it. 

She was standing beside the drivers side door of her car, running her hand on the handle of the locked car to avoid pacing. 

She needed an anchor, a tether. She wanted to be calm, but felt increasingly unable to. Bruce, on the other hand, seemed to feel nothing but calm, even as he chased her half across the country after half-ignoring her for years. She hadn’t looked too far for his car, but she doubted it was too far. 

“Get this off my car.” She repeated, proud of how level her tone was. 

Bruce stopped hardly a foot away from her. She didn’t turn to face him fully, but she straightened her shoulders. That make Bruce any shorter, didn’t make her any more intimidating. 

“Will you be returning to Gotham?” 

Her grip on the drivers handle tightened. She exhaled, Bruce wasn’t used to being told no. 

He wasn’t used to being the one ignored, so she released the handle and leaned against her drivers side door, crossing her arms as she looked first his chest, the peak of chest hair and the few wrinkles on his shirts he usually kept impeccably smooth.  

“I genuinely don’t want to return to Gotham.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Let me pay for an apartment here.” She shook her head, “I was serious Bruce. I don’t want that life anymore.” 

“You would rather be broke and homeless?” 

“It’s just difficult now. It won’t be like this forever.” She was going to argue that she was moreso unhoused—she had felt better sleeping in her hammock, in her car than she had in that egregiously large bed but knew Bruce cared little for what she said, especially evident as he closed the distance between them, raising a hand to her softly cup her cheek. 

Was she breathing? He drew a circle on her cheek with this thumb, before his hand trailed slowly along the side of her face, he drew another circle just above her jaw line before lowering to her neck. 

“I don’t know what to do with you.” Bruce sounded almost reverent, completely at odds with his choice of words and his hand on the back of her neck, which tightened to keep her firmly in place. 

It seemed he knew exactly what to do with her and it involved keeping her from running from him, again. Though she didn’t really think of it as running. 

He didn’t need to follow her across the country. “I’m missing work for this tantrum of yours.” 

“I didn’t ask you to. You were welcome to go back at any time.”

“You refused to come with me.” 

“I am still not going.” She refused to flinch from eye contact, even as he looked more monster than man. Then, a flash and Bruce loosened his grip on the back of her neck, but didn’t remove it entirely as he pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes were closed. 

She averted her gaze as her mind was racing, when was the last time he had been so close to her? “Please, just let me—just let me pay for a hotel. Until you get an apartment. I just—” She was too scared to look up, she didn’t want to see his expression. “—Want to know you’re safe.” 

“Will you remove the barnacle?” 

“Yes.” 

She allowed herself to relax under his touch, his breath ghosted her face. 

“Okay.” She ducked out from under Bruce, unlocking her car and sliding into the driver’s seat and barely stopped herself from locking the door. He leaned against the door she had been and she chose to organize her center console as she waited for the barnacle to be removed.

-

It had taken ten minutes for the barnacle to be removed. Then, she had been so engrossed in pretending that Bruce wasn’t outside of her car that she didn’t notice he had moved until he was sliding into her passenger seat.

“Excuse me?” 

He looked unbelievably awkward in her car—his head almost touching the ceiling, his knees touching the dash until he adjusted the seat. “You’re excused.”

“I think you made a joke, just then. It wasn’t funny either, which is on par with your sense of humor.” He ignored her jab and moved to adjusting his seatbelt before clicking into place and reaching over to grab her phone. 

“What is this, an iPhone 14?” He tapped a code on her screen, frowned when it didn’t immediately unlock and tried another, “What’s your password?” She snatched it back from him. She couldn’t remember Bruce ever having this much audacity. “Nunya.”

“Nunya? Your password was—”

“Nunya business.” 

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, “You are a child.”

“That is what happens when you--”

“I practiced consensual intercourse with a woman well into her twenties.” 

“Please never say it like that again.” She unlocked her phone and handed it over without thought. 

A few seconds after Bruce had opened her maps, typed in directions and then gently placed her phone on her magnetic mount she remembered that Bruce was no longer entitled to that level of trust. She took a sip of her day old Dasani. 

-

She had expected to drive to a hotel, not a towering apartment complex in the middle of downtown. Their drive was spent in silence, other than occasional directions and the top 40 rock hits of the last decade on the radio, “I didn’t know you knew how to drive a stick shift.” She wanted to start mentioning all of things that Bruce didn’t know about her, but didn’t want to risk inviting further conversation. 

She turned into the parking garage, “Or that you drove so well.” Bruce added, she waited an appropriate two seconds before slamming on her breaks, laughing when Bruce’s head bounced lightly off her ceiling, “Oops! Guess not that good.” Then, she stalled in the immediate aftermath for added effect. 

She didn’t find a parking spot til the second floor, which would’ve typically been a godsend if she wasn’t in the car with Bruce Wayne—brooding extraordinaire. 

She parked slightly too close to the SUV on Bruce’s side to see how the huge man would navigate sliding out without damaging either car.

“This doesn’t look like a hotel to me.” She commented when instead of attempting to squeeze out the passenger side, simply lifted himself over the center console and out of the drivers side. “You’re not looking hard enough.” His hand hovered at her lower back, close enough for her to imagine feeling the heat from his hand but far enough that he wasn’t touching her, unless she abruptly stopped and she was exceptionally careful not to. 

Bruce guided her to the elevator, a dynamic that despite abandoning, she fell into without much thought. 

It was habit, she told herself. They bypassed the receptionist, there was no keycard for Bruce to swipe when they reached the elevators, nor was there an option for a floor to be selected. Bruce entered a code on the pin pad she instantly recognized as her former phone password: 8008 and the elevator immediately came to life. 

She to be less aware that this wasn’t a hotel. When the doors opened, the apartment wasn’t sparsely furnished, but the furnishing was boring. 

A gray couch, a glass table, hardwood floors, a gray rug—everything was gray! One wall, facing the San Diego skyline was floor to ceiling windows, though the bottom level of curtains were half raised and created somewhat of a balcony effect. 

“I was thinking more of a Motel 8.” Bruce snorted. 

“This will be fine til you’re able to get situated in an apartment.” Silence came over the pair—she found it to be suffocatingly awkward, but he didn’t seem bothered. 

“This was conveniently close to my work.” Bruce remained silent, but inched slightly closer to her. She wasn’t stupid, but knew that arguing with him was fruitless. 

You knew that. 

You knew it was him, you knew because you had spent evenings with him while he perfected desserts in the kitchen, adding little flecks of saffron that you said suited him so well—

You whipped your head in the direction of the scent at a speed that nearly undid your hair updo. And—

There he was.

Knowing, silent, and oh, so stunning. 

You used to joke that in the right lighting, his hazel eyes could easily be mistaken for honey, a hyperbole that was meant to symbolise why you loved calling him honey.

But today? Today, it felt anything but a joke, because Nanami Kento’s honeyed gaze was on you and you alone. Wide, apologetic and longing so deeply rooted you felt the weight from across the hall, him on the first floor, and you on the ground, separated by glittering chandeliers and the huge chasm of people in love around you. The distance amplified what you didn’t have.

It was a surprise to no one that Kento had been at the event too. He could never pull his orbit away from the gravity of your force, just like you could not either. And Satoru had accompanied you, practically depositing you at the altar of Kento's shrine of longing and wanting his hazel eyes kept hidden — but how could they hide it from you?

Before you could say anything, not that he would hear you from such a distance, he turned and stepped towards a darkened corridor beside the mezzanine’s balcony. Naturally, your instinct told you to follow him, and you took a step, steeling yourself to move and pursue him, but an arm around your waist stopped you. Right. Satoru.

“Your wine, M’Lady.” 

At this moment, you could not care less about the goddamn wine. 

“Right, yeah, can you keep this with you? I need a little breather,” you pointed at the corridor, “I’m… stepping away for a bit.” 

The smallest of frowns graced Satoru’s pink lips, “You okay, sweetheart?” 

Many responses were running in your head with the way he kept pausing you, ranging from negatives to straight up expletives, but you reigned all of them in to answer with a soft, “Yeah. I just need to be away from the crowd for a little, Toru.” 

He softened at the nickname, cupping your cheeks with his free hand to pull you into a kiss, but you stopped him once again, just in time for the announcement to come over about the auction being started.

“Why don’t you go sit and join the auction? I’ll be there in a bit.”

“You sure, sweets?”

Of course not.

“Yes,” you kissed his lips — too soft, too plump, too much, too wrong, all made for a face similar to yours but miles away, gone too far to ever come back in his reach — “I promise.”

That seemed to satisfy him, for he let go off you to join the masses towards the different auction hall, leaving you with the gate open to rush to someone you hoped hadn’t left, you hoped it wasn’t too late.

Your heels clicked obnoxiously on the marble floor, and you didn’t even pause to fix your dress as it caught on the sharp corners of your heels. Up, you went on the winding staircase, hair falling loose, messy and falling apart like your composure. Oh god, you hoped he was there. You hoped he hadn’t left—

“My darling.”

At once, every breath you had swallowed in hopes of using it to convey your emotions to the man you had left some minutes ago, left you in a gush. In the silence of the empty dark gallery, loud were your heartbeat — so traitorously loud, you almost believed that Kento was hearing it anyway.

A bare few footsteps away stood the man who had already once left you, speaking to you in dulcet tones and caramelled syllables like you would fall prey to the sweetness you had never stopped missing since he left.

Kento inched closer, just within your grasp and the reflex surprised you as much as it did him, for your hand shot out, striking him on his cheeks so sharply that he flinched, holding the side of his face. Despite the sting, no words were on his tongue, only silence, a grim acceptance, a belief that was only finally sliding off of you and onto him that you hadn’t been the only one to make mistakes.

Gently, he stepped closer, and you let him, your chest heaving as you struggled to focus on the dichotomy of the moment, to choose whether to voice your turmoil or the relief of his presence. To chastise him, to rage at him, to be mad at this game he had made of you — or to inch closer yourself, to pull him in your arms, to curl up in his and hold the living breathing example of just what was missing from your life, an emptiness that no amount of charisma and a facade of sweetness from Satoru could fill. Especially not when it was tailored for the wrong body type.

“You came—”

“Is this a joke to you?” You hissed, “Do you think this is something that fulfils either of us? Sneaking around like this? What do you think of me, Nanami—”

“Darling, please, I — that’s not what you call me—”

“Do you think you can throw a bone and I’ll come running to fetch that on your command, is that what you think?”

These words were but a useless placation to nothing else but your heart. Because in this moment, you felt exactly like the grime you were spewing. 

How dare he leave and come back with that pathetic look on his face like he had missed you? How dare he come back now with a lure so strong you could not resist it? How dare he come back with a tender embrace and the strength to home all your fights and weapons, how dare he come back with such acceptance when he couldn’t fathom the idea of compromise some months ago?

How dare he be so human in front of you?

“No! No— my love, no—” Kento’s voice was a mirror of his heart, you thought of that for ages, and now you were witnessing it once again, watching and feel it splinter in front of you, just like his eyes beading with tears at your vicious words. Did he know of the pain he had left you in? Did he know of the repercussions of his departure? Did he know that as easily he had walked away, Satoru had picked you up just as easily and refused to let go of you to the point you were suffocating in the cloying embrace of his hands?

“Seven months.” You grit out, but you felt the words dissolving on your tongue, replaced with emotions you were sure you had buried, “Seven fucking months, Nanam—”

“Please.” Kento rushed to speak over the syllables of his surname, as if the mere consonants of it was a worse wound than the slap of your hand. 

“Darling, please.” He was begging now, and you just looked at him, it was all over wasn’t it? Tears burned in the back of your eyes, mirroring how Kento’s were ready to spill over, but you pushed them back. Not now, not here.

Exhaling, he lowered his head, and then — and then Kento was on the floor in front of you, on his knees, his hands braced on your waist, bunching the baby blues of your gown.

Taglist open <3

You turned the doorknob, opening it gently, but that was soon broken by Suguru’s harsh hand. Pushing at the door before slamming it in his guard's face as he glowered at you with all the hatred in his heart. It was only about a few hours ago that he was staring at you with dark, desiring eyes, filled with want and need. It was only about a few hours ago, that his hands, his lips, and mouth, were gently caressing your body.

He left here when you can see a quarter of the sun from the horizon. Now, it’s gone. Now, it’s totally gone. Nothing but darkness walks the ground of the kingdom and creeps up the walls. Now, it’s totally gone, and the Suguru that you saw a few hours ago has nothing but darkness in his eyes.

All the love and affection that you’ve been craving all these months of being his wife was totally, painfully gone.

The dried tears in your eyes and on your cheek felt like it was stretching your skin, wanting to tear it off. You looked up at him, waiting for him to explain what made him barge in the way he did, and why he was looking at you the way he is doing right now, but nothing came. He just stood there, breathing hard and his jaw tightly clenched. You can almost feel the friction in your own teeth as he scowled at you.

“H-how is Princess Aika? How come you're back too early—” Your words were abruptly cut off by his gritted voice, strained and heavy with exhaustion from the long journey. “You really ought to know.” He snapped, bitterness prominent in his voice as he took a step closer to you. Naturally, you stepped back with your brows furrowed. Your throat felt dry, and his words got your thoughts into a braided twist.

“What do you mean? I heard she collapsed, so I—” Once again, he interrupted your words, making you flinch—not by the sharpness of his voice but the harshness of his words. “Has your disciple not told you yet?” He smirked mockingly at you, undoing the first two buttons of his shirt as if desperately needing to cool down before he said something harsh that could put you and him in an irreversible place. But it wasn’t of help at all as he continuously spilled his heart and mind, his rage and frustrations from all the troubles that you put him and his lover through.

If you’re coming for Aika’s heart, then it’s only fair that he comes for yours.

“Did you think killing her off would open up a space for you in my heart?” Your chest felt heavy with each word that came out of his mouth. Suddenly, thoughts of the things that could’ve happened to the Princess, your cousin, were thrown out of the window. Questions of why’s and how’s you’re being blamed slowly made their way out of your head, and now all you could think about was how futile all your tries to get his love were.

“Y/N, even if I lost everything dear to my heart, none of those spaces will ever suit you.” Your hand was frozen, shaking, and numb from the coldness of his words. You’re pretty sure it would’ve reached up to rub your chest to attempt to soothe the searing pain flowing in your every vein. “Get that through the stones of your crown and your thick skull.” He hissed through his tightly clenched teeth, pointing a finger at your forehead.

You stood there, unmoving, letting your mind and heart absorb his words. They were knives, cutting you all over your body. They were daggers, piercing through your heart and twisting themselves to your very body to incapacitate you. You thought being left hanging was already painful. You didn’t think you’d end up hurting more when he came back, openly spitting out his resentment towards you. Further proving that whatever happened earlier was only as shallow as the flesh. 

The wind blew on the curtains through your open window, caressing your back and dancing on your hair as you stared up at him with tear-filled eyes. You didn’t blink, you don’t want to let them fall. Because you know that the moment you feel their warm wetness on your cheek, the ice from his disdain will melt, and you’ll end up feeling more of his less. You looked down, watching as the droplets fell on the dark carpet underneath your bare feet and his shoe. 

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Suguru.” Your voice was a broken whisper, turning around and finally letting your hand reach for the falling tears. “I am unaware of the accusations you are throwing at me.” You’re starting to break as you walked towards your vanity, grabbing a hairbrush and avoiding his glare at you through the mirror. “Whatever happened to Princess Aika is not one of my deeds. I simply wanted to know if my cousin was fine—” You were halted when Suguru clicked his tongue, closing his eyes in annoyance.

“Tell your dog to lift the curse, or I shall find her.” He held his head high, looking you down. His Adam’s apple bobbed up ad down as he swallowed. His eyes were stern, much like his words, as if he was so sure it was you who commanded the evil act. Opening your mouth, you turned to him, but before you could even speak, he already beat you to it.

“Nobody would hate Aika more than you. Nobody would hate the woman their husband love, more than a desperate wife.” Your lips quivered, tears continuously brimming your eyes as you watched him look away from you, turning his back to stare at his shadow on the wall. “Nobody knows about Aika and me as much as you do, much less where we meet.” Your eyes softened as his voice did, coming to a realization at how cruelly he was talking to you. “Who else would…who else would…” He panted, licking his lips as he closed his eyes to calm himself.

“It’s not me…” You croaked, feeling defeated, not really expecting your husband to believe it. If he’s this disoriented, then it must be worse than what you’re thinking. Swallowing the broken shards of your heart, you asked, “Could she be…expecting?” Suguru paused before shaking his head, sure that that wasn’t the case. “An enchanter was with her, a doctor was with her. Aika is not with a child.” He turned to you again, composed this time as he took in your form.

You were trying so hard not to cry, to break down and tell him you didn’t know a thing about what’s going on, but you’re too afraid to meet his gaze. You lost all strength when he left, his accusations squeezed you dry, and now you just want to lock yourself up in this room and cry til your tears turn to blood, probably ending you for good. Apart from saying that you cursed his beloved, everything he said was close to the truth. It only made sense that you’ll be his first suspect if something happens to Aika.

“I shouldn’t have accused you like that but…” He breathed, sitting on the edge of the bed. The image of how he sits now was much different than how he was positioned earlier; greatly contrasting, if anything. “The enchanter said it was done on your account. And I was scared. Aika isn’t well. She’s far from well and we…we’re being forced to separate.” You stood there, perplexed, as you tried to think of any enchantresses you might know, but there are none. 

“Be honest with me. I’ll figure something out to make this work out for all of us but don’t do this to Aika. She did nothing but love.” He almost sounded like he was begging, yet you can’t help but feel sour for his last sentence. She did nothing but love, your hand reached for your collar bones as you locked eyes with him. You did nothing but love too, but what did you get? 

“It’s not me, Suguru. I have no idea about whom it could be, but it is not me.” You sat back down on the ribboned vanity stool, feeling your knees starting to give out. You watched him sigh, face contorted with a worry you’ve never seen before, and you wondered if he’d get like this too if you were in Aika’s place. His hand ran a hand through his hair, grunting as he stood up before halting his steps to turn to you. 

“I’m trying to trust you, Y/N. Please, do not stoop so low.” With that, he exited your room, once again leaving you stripped. 

This time, not of your clothes, but your dignity, your honor, and peace of mind. He stripped you of your right to love him on your own with no consequences.

—--------------------------------------------

“The pages will continue their training, I’ll be stepping in for the officials who are leaving. They’ll try to get back as soon as possible, but I assure you, my Queen, the Kingdom will continue to be safe even in their absence.” Kento assured as the gears get loaded into the carriage. Suguru made a decision to perform a search in the farther end of the woods, an unexplored area, to look for the enchantress. They have no clear leads, but the enchanter said that the culprit is not far outside the Kingdom’s safe grounds. 

Suguru stepped in front of him, locking eyes with you as he picked up something behind you. “It’s only for two weeks.” He rasped, watching Kento hung his head low, stepping back in respect. He should be the one assuring you. But the connection between the two of you only deteriorated ever since the night he confronted you. He apologized, but he’s aware that those words aren’t easy to erase, especially for someone with your wits. 

You know that he somewhat carry a hint of honesty with what he said. You’ve been absent to some court meetings, and they were days when your heart was too heavy to carry. This situation carries such an uncertainty to it that makes you scared of the future. Maybe this is where this circus show will end. Maybe after they fix this, Suguru will leave the Kingdom for good, and elope with Aika somewhere outside your territory where no one will quickly recognize them. Maybe you’ll be stepping down, left alone, like how you were when you were younger. 

Maybe this is where you’ll have to give everything up just so you could give back everything you took away from them.

You weren’t even made aware of the plan until today, as per Suguru’s request. If you denied him, it would only come out as a confirmation for his suspicions, and that’s the last thing you want. You weren’t given a choice but to agree just to prove your innocence to your husband. Some men aren’t aware of the whole purpose of the expedition. Just that they’re supposed to let the Prince interrogate each enchanter and enchantresses they come across.

Suguru looked up from the yard to the small window at the back of your room. As a childhood friend, he hated that he has to accuse you of something like this. But it was like he was left with no choice. You already did something as cruel as forcing a marriage with him, taking him away from Aika despite knowing of their relationship. He couldn’t bring himself to excuse and exempt you of speculations and doubts. 

Setting his mind on Aika’s cure, he pushed his thoughts of you aside. Once he finds the culprit for her pain, he promised himself that he won’t let his emotions get ahead of him and instead go immediately for what he can do to heal her. There’s nothing more important than seeing his Princess alive and smiling again. Suguru’s ready to sacrifice anything, even anyone, if it is required for Aika’s life.

After a week of journey, a letter was sent to them through the Central Palace’s skilled courier. This letter was probably sent a few days ago and only reached them now due to how deep they got into this uncharted territory. As much as he wants to hear from the Southern Palace about the Princess, his mind won’t let him think peaceful thoughts. It scares him that when something comes from them, it’ll only be bad news.

Opening the letter, he spotted that it was from Kento. He assumed that it was about the knights and the pages’ progress or needs, but that was not the case. Suguru found himself frowning, brows knitted together, as he read how the man wrote about you and your state. He almost called a knight to pen him a letter about what your ladies-in-waiting are so busy about that a Grand Officer is looking after you.

“She caught a fever two days ago, Sir. I suppose from worrying too much. About the troop and the people of the Kingdom.” He mouthed quietly, allowing the overthinking to settle on the top of his head. He blinked away the thoughts of another man looking after you. He pulled at the collar of his clothes.

It wasn’t jealousy. He has no time to be jealous right now in the middle of all that is going on inside his head. He simply thinks that it won’t be such a pleasant sight that a Queen is allowing a man other than her husband to take care of her.

Grabbing a piece of paper, he pulled a pen from his chest pocket. “Where are her ladies-in-waiting?” was the first thing he wrote without second thoughts, “She doesn’t like the taste of water when she’s sick. Tell them to make sure she gets enough.” He added, “Grand Officer Nanami, I appreciate your concern towards my wife, but I need you to focus on the pages. With the new schedule, I want you to ensure that they’re still getting quality education and training.”

Proceeding to write the letter, Suguru tried not to make it so much about you and how he felt like Nanami was overstepping his boundaries. He doesn’t want to be so selfish, leaving his wife to save his lover and not expecting her to look for comfort from someone else. He isn’t stupid, and he won’t be surprised if that’s how you feel. But he knows you too much, and he’s just afraid that in times when your relationship is this brittle, you’ll be swayed by the temporary solace and end up ruining your reputation.

That night, he wondered why you got so sick. He felt bad thinking about how the strain from overthinking was making you weak. On the other hand, he can’t help but feel suspicious that of all times, you choose to be sick right now that he’s on a search mission. It might sound cruel, but not even you can make him abandon this mission to save Aika. 

The second week was intense. Wild animals have started appearing in the woods, and it’s getting more dangerous for Suguru’s men. He’s just grateful that these men trained under him so, Suguru’s very confident with their skills. Today marks the 11th day of their expedition, and he can never be prouder about the fact that his troop remained complete and all intact. Their resources as well-managed, too, so no serious problems are arising.

Earlier this morning, a knight informed him that a house has been discovered deeper into the woods. It was really remote, almost close to the borders, but Suguru didn’t think twice before deciding that the location of the house is where they’re headed. This arduous journey might just come to an end after this and conclude Aika’s misery in the best way possible. 

“Remain on guard at all times. This place is extremely unknown to all of us as it is very far from our lands.” Suguru started, turning to his mean as they stood several meters away from the small bungalow. “Stay where you’ve been assigned and remain vigilant.” An Official stepped forward, turning to the men as he let the Prince speak.

“I will be accompanying the Prince. Pay close attention to anything strange, may it be noise or smell.” With that, they went on to knock on the door of the bungalow. Suguru clenched his jaw and balled his fist, saying prayers inside his head as he hoped that this will be their last stop before heading back to the Kingdom. The two of them looked at each other as no one answered the door despite the slow footsteps inside that has stopped a couple of seconds ago.

Another knock gave them nothing. Nobody answered or even moved inside. As if their first knock sent whoever’s inside scuffling and hiding, and now they won’t open the door for the two knights. The Prince was getting impatient, breathing loudly as he tapped his feet on the cold hard ground, covered with leaves. Just as Suguru was about to step forward to knock, the door handle turned. A short woman with strands of white hair looked up at them as she creaked the door ajar.

“I cannot let you in. I’m sick.” The old lady coughed, turning away, but Suguru was observant enough to catch how she glanced at them sharply even as she does so. “You don’t have to entertain us at all. Just answer our questions.” He swallowed his frustration, not having it in him to shout at a poor, old woman’s face, even when she’s obviously rejecting them right away.

“Don’t you recognize the Prince?” His companion spoke, sighing. “I’ll be getting straight to the point because we’ve spent long enough time in the middle of this forest.* Suguru raised his hand a bit to stop the knight from scaring the poor woman further. Having been in service for several years, Suguru knows that he also noticed the woman’s odd behavior toward their appearance. 

"Are you the enchantress who placed a curse on Princess Aika of the Southern District?” The Prince knows that it was pointless asking her, because based on her reactions, she seems like she wanted to shut the door on their faces. "No. Please, leave. I need to rest.” As expected, she attempted to close the door, but the knight’s foot was quick to stop. “This is not our Kingdom’s territory so if someone else came to get you, we won’t be able to give you justice.” He spoke, and it was partly true. Aika’s father also sent a small troop to cover some areas that they can’t and make the search faster.

“We’re not the only ones searching for the enchantress. But I can assure you that we only seek answers and do not intend to harm anybody.” Suguru was determined. He doesn’t know where else they would head to or how else to navigate the area if this is still not what they are looking for. He also has a feeling that they’re running out of time. That’s the last thing he wants to happen.

With his words, the old woman held the door open wider, stepping aside to invite them in. Suguru and his companion shared a look, nodding once before entering the small house. The ceiling was low, but it was surprisingly bright despite being a house owned by someone who practices dark magic. The sat on chairs that creak and look like they’d fall apart if a bit more weight was placed on them. There were books on the shelf that were obviously not opened for a long time, in contrast to the blooming and colorful flowers near the window. It was an odd place, and not what they expected for an enchantress.

“Sir, I have to tell you this first before anything else.” She began and Suguru immediately tensed up, eyes going wide as he turned to the woman "It’s true that I did it for the Queen. But a-a woman was involved. She’s the one who told me of the affair. But I cannot tell you who it was.” She fidgeted, swallowing as she looked between Suguru and his companion. Suguru was too shocked to respond quickly, but the other knight was very observant, “There’s no way, you’ll just give out that information, but I assume you’re saying this to save yourself from the blame.” He gave her an accusatory gaze, only to be met with a shake of her head.

“No, Sir. It’s because it was a part of our deal. It can only be known if she herself admits it, but other than that, it won’t come out of my mouth. This is a woman of power. And I am not the only one who can place sceleris in the world.” Her eyes were looking straight at theirs, they were almost completely convinced, but they know not to trust too much. The knight and Suguru once again exchanged looks, letting the enchantress continue. “But I can tell you how to cure the Princess of the South.” 

That. More than anything was what Suguru needed to know. 

“Tell me, and we’ll leave you alone.” He commanded right away, standing up and standing close to the enchantress, making her breath hitch as she stepped back, afraid. “Tell me.” He repeated, ready to fall on his knees and offer all that he can just to get the answers out of the old woman’s trembling lips. The silence felt so long, and the air he was breathing felt hot and thick in his nose. The moment he hears what Aika needs, they’re bolting out of this shadowed place. 

“There’s this stone that she needs to come in contact with. Just a touch would be sufficient to restore her health.” The enchanter, albeit shaking, took a basin with water, allowing the light to illuminate it and reflect the orange gem she was mentioning. There was a curious look on Suguru’s face, mixed with eagerness and worry. He can’t help but feel like it was too easy to be true. “If you’re fooling us, I won’t hesitate to come and chase after you. Even to the ends of the Earth.” He threatened, eyes looking away from the image for a bit to sent daggers to the old woman, a serious threat.

She simply shook her head and breathed onto the water. Suguru’s companion was behind them, standing guard, just in case this old lady pulls a trick on them. “The only reason I’m giving you answers this easily was because none of them will come from me. They all depend on the people involved, and I’m afraid that they’ll be the real challenge to you, Your Royal Highness.” She addressed, eyes filled with an odd combination of worry, remorse, and fear.

“Just tell me how and where to get it.” The Prince’s teeth were clenched so hard that they start to hurt. His jaw felt like jelly with their friction vibration on them each time they grate against one another. “I don’t care how difficult, how hard. Just tell me.” He whispered, feeling the exhaustion of the past several days slowly catching up to him. 

“There are only two people who own the Amber. As it was a part of a pact that happened long ago.” She started, struggling to sit up straight and wrap herself in her shabby coat that probably can’t even keep her warm enough. It has tons of patches, and loose threads that could probably tear the whole thing down with a single pull.

“The King of the tribe on the other end of the map.” Suguru gulped, feeling his companion's distress radiate on him. The place was not close. He probably won’t be able to save Aika even if he began his journey now. Other than that, they have no connections to that land, no more. They used to be allies, but after certain events and changes, they fell out, and that pact was considered null now. There’s no way they’d have access to their stone. 

“Who holds the other one?” The Prince’s throat felt like sand paper, stinging as he spoke each word. The old woman looked him straight in the eyes, frowning slightly as she breathed deeply, making Suguru’s heartbeat race. He felt like it was something worse than the former. “The Queen has the other one.” Fuck. Suguru spoke in his mind, more out of relief than worry. 

“Queen Y/N?” Suguru asked, refusing to succumb to his assumptions. The enchantress nodded, making him feel a little easy about it all. If it was with you, then it shouldn’t be so hard to acquire it. After all, you also wish for Aika to be better. The only thing to be worried about here was the fact that your judgment could be clouded with your desire for him and the inevitable animosity you might feel towards Aika which explains the look on the enchantress’ face before she revealed you.

Not giving Suguru the stone can get Aika out of your way. This is something Suguru hates to think you’d do, but when it dawns on him that you proceeded with your wedding to Suguru despite knowing his status with Aika put enormous doubts in his mind. If it gets to that point where you’d let your cousin die just to have Suguru all to yourself, then he doesn’t know what he’d do anymore. He’ll probably lose his mind, begging you to save Aika.

Panicking, Suguru couldn’t bring himself to ask another question. “Inform everyone we’re leaving.” He turned, heading for the door as he dragged his cape with him, and rushing out the door. He’ll get that stone, he’ll convince you to let him have that stone. He affirmed himself as he watched his knights scramble to their horses as the official announces their plan. Within a few minutes, all of them were heading back to the palace.

—---------------------------------------------

“Did he not write a letter after the one you mentioned?” You asked Nanami as he sat in front of you, setting down his cup. You looked to the horizon, hoping to see their silhouette on the setting sun. It’s been two weeks since they left, and no letters were received by the palace after the one he sent back ten days ago. You were worried about him and everyone. You also sent Aika some fresh fruits and a letter, hoping for her speedy recovery, and were just glad to receive a short one back. You can’t blame them for giving you a cold treatment. You can’t blame them for suspecting you. But for you, it was just enough that right now, Suguru listened to you. 

That’s all you ever need, after all; for him to listen to you.

 “I think they are very busy with the search. It was an uncharted area. Even for a courier, it might be hard to track, and I believe Prince Suguru considered that.” He comforted you, seeing the glow of the sun shine down on your face. Nanami knows that this whole thing was killing you too. What with watching your husband leave and search for the cure of his lover, and leaving you waiting for two weeks. 

“The maids said you’ve developed an unhealthy sleeping habit, Your Majesty, forgive me if this is a bit too much for a knight, but I worry about you, the whole kingdom will worry about you too if they know.” He sighed, taking in the dark circles under your eyes and how your face is starting to look slim from poor diet. “I doubt the Prince would be happy if he found out too, we all know he cares for you more than he lets you know.” You looked down, shaking your head. 

“It doesn’t matter, Aika’s having it worse. She doesn’t deserve it.” Your voice sounded raspy, cracking at the end. Nanami can’t understand why Prince Suguru finds it hard to fall for you when you are like this; golden inside and out. He looked away, blocking the inappropriate thoughts. He should not be questioning your relationship with the Prince. He’s not on your level and aside from that, he wasn’t chosen to marry someone when he’s already courting someone else. He is in no place to judge Suguru.

“I know they’ll solve it when they come back. The Prince has never taken on a task and failed.” You nodded, pursing your lips as you looked at the empty space on the wooden coffee table. This is a gift you got from Aika’s parents for your wedding. Intricately carved with small images of two lovers waltzing. You wondered if they had Aika and Suguru in mind when deciding its designs. It made you sick, looking away and back to the horizon,

“Nanami,” You breathed out, tensing in your seat as you braced yourself with your chair's armrests. Nanami followed your gaze, eyes widening as he saw the figures of men in horses, rushing to the palace gates. “They’re back.” With that, you sprung out of your seat, holding the skirt of your dress. “Be careful, Your Majesty.” Nanami tried his best to support you, but you were running downstairs, more worried than excited for your Prince's return. 

After all, there was nothing to be excited about. It's not like he was returning for you. 

“Are the gates opened?” You asked the maids as you passed by them in the halls, breathing hard as if you were chasing someone. And maybe you are. Maybe you're too scared that this man isn't even with this troop. Maybe you're scared that this man didn’t even come straight home to you. Maybe you’re scared that if you’re too slow, you won’t even catch him before he disappears again. 

“Suguru!” You shouted, leaning by the window as relief took over your features when you catch him in his horse, having just entered the palace premises. Quite the contrast with his grim expression, as he looked up at you, getting down from his horse. It wasn’t anger or hate like you expected, but it was definitely something far from the longing that your eyes were screaming to him as you ran to hug his figure.

His arms reached up to the small of your back, turning away his head to signal his men to rest and unpack. “You’re back. How have you been? The maids have a meal prepared, let’s go inside.” Nanami stood by the arch of the back door of the palace, meeting Suguru’s gaze as he ran a hand through your hair. Bowing, he saluted the Commander before turning to leave and check on the other knights.

“I need to talk to you about something, Y/N.” His voice sounded hoarse, like he hasn’t spoken for hours. And maybe he didn’t from how fast his heart was beating you can tell it was days of travel. He got slimmer, his eyes look dull; duller than before. “Just rest for a bit first, look at you. It can wait, I’m always just here.” You checked him, turning his face to the side as your hands caressed his shoulders.

“No, it can’t. Aika’s life won’t wait.” Your hands fell to your sides as tears continuously fell from your eyes. Earlier, they were tears of joy, worry, and care. Now, they’re just tears of a heart slowly breaking more and more as you realize that he really isn’t here for you. “I need the Amber, Y/N.” He continued, shutting his eyes close as he tried to steady himself. He cannot let the fatigue get to him yet.

“What Amber?” Your voice was soft, but there was roughness too. “You know what I’m talking about.” He held your hands, kissing them, but it didn’t help at all. It didn’t sooth you, it didn’t stop  your heart from gushing blood. You shook your head, taking a small step back, but he only took one after you, “Please, just this time. Just let me save her. I’ll… I’ll do as you wish. Even an heir, Y/N. If you want me to stop meeting her every other night, I will. Just…” Y/N was too smart to know that half of what he was saying can easily be thrown away if he wanted, but that’s not why she was shaking her head.

“No, I can’t.” Closing her eyes as she turned away, she felt him hug her from behind, pleading with his whole heart, his whole being, more than he did when she decided their marriage. It was an arrow to her already dying soul. She doesn’t know how much more she can take. “Suguru, you don’t understand.” She took his arms off around her, walking away despite his desperation but was quickly halted by his next words.

“Why? You know, the enchantress said it was someone of power who did this to Aika. A woman of power, Y/N.” His voiced cracked, finally getting to his last resort. He hates to say this, but what else can he do or say to make you hear him out? Your back was facing him as your surroundings started to blur, listening to everything he says even as they tear you to shreds, freezing you on your spot.

“This is your chance to prove that it wasn’t you.”

PREVIOUS | NEXT

秦彻 SYLUS QIN

It’s all a blur—the cramps twisting inside you, your head spinning, vision blurring. The gun slips from your shaking hand, but Sylus doesn’t notice that. He notices the way your scent changes, sweet and sharp, his pupils shrinking in horror before widening with something worse.

You barely hear him call your name before glass shatters and his Evol drags you both out of danger.

Fuck. This wasn’t how he was supposed to find out you weren’t a beta. You’d been so careful—suppressants doubled, routine perfected—but you hadn’t accounted for a high-risk mission throwing your cycle off balance.

“Pheromones,” you croak, clutching your stomach, curling fetal in the passenger seat.

He doesn’t hesitate. Soon, the car is heavy with his presence. His pheromones wrap around you—warm like a leather jacket left in the sun, like the earth after rain, rich and grounding. Your cramps dull…for a moment. Until they hit again.

“Please. m’sorry,” you murmur, guiding his hand to your cunt, soaking through your pants.

“Kitten.” His jaw is tight—warning—or pleading—it’s impossible to tell apart.

“For fuck’s sake, Sylus. Please.”

That’s all it takes. His hand shoves into your pants, sliding two fingers in while the other stays on the wheel.

“Fucking soaked,” he grunts, his pheromones thickening as your cunt holds him in a hot grip.  

He groans once more as you clamp tight. “Heat suppressants. Is that why this is that bad?”

You give him a look. But he just curls his fingers in you, making a whorish moan rip from your throat. “Fuck—fuck me. please.” You cling to his arm like a lifeline.

“Sweetie.” His brows furrow but God he’s so hard at that. “Do you realise what you’re saying?”

“Just shut up—for once and listen to me.” your jaw tightens as you hold back a sob.

It’s how you’re on his bed, pants off, the angry tip of his cock already dragging between your soaked lips. his face is close to your hot one, his arms secured around your arched body.

His cock slips into you. he pushes forward once—his delicious weight crushing your body. And the draaaaag of his stupidly thick dick along your pulsating walls—ohhh—

“Sy—!” a weak moan escapes you as you cum around him.

“Already, kitten? I’ve barely filled you.” he cradles your face as your eyes open. Your hips rock once, pushing his head deeper.

He sighs, and lifts off you. you nearly whimper at the lack of his skin against yours. But soon, his pheromones come alive, drowning you. his hand snakes below you knee, hooking it up and pressing it way back to your chest.

“Now that you’ve come to,” he drawls, pulling his hips back until only his tip remains. “Let us begin.” And with that, he surges forward, filling you in one long stroke.

You mouth hangs open as you fall limp under him, your cheek wet from drool. Your cramps have dulled and there’s only the pressure of his dick filling your womb so perfectly at each brutal snap of his hips to yours.

Your body rocks at each thrust. Strings of whimpers fall from your mouth as he fucks you. You don’t know if you’re imagining it but his pheromones tickle your skin like they have a mind of their own. How long had you been suppressing your heat?

“Stay with me.” Sylus grips your chin, his cock never stopping its heavenly abuse.

“mmpph—please more,” where do you find the audacity, truly?

He chuckles darky until he pulls back and thrusts hard. “ah—hah yes fucking perfect!”

His finger finds your clit, just keeping it there, still, it has your body quivering. He buries himself to the hilt once and spills into you with a deep groan.  

And as if your womb has a brain of its own—you cum with him. Just at the taste of his cum.

“Your pheromones are going haywire.” He rasps, eyes closing briefly. You’re so ferally horny that even the syllables he articulates has your pussy fluttering around him. Why wouldn’t you though? Sylus had always been such an alluring alpha. And now that he’s bred you, you wanted more.

…you wanted his knot.

Yeah, you’ve lost your mind.

“Tightening around me,” he groans low in chest, keeping you full of his dick, kissing your womb each time. “If you keep this up, I might knot you.”

“Do it,” you feel him throb inside you. Hard. Like he was swelling—

“don’t—” he bites his tongue, nostrils flaring as he tries to calm the way his blood pumps to his cock. He gives you another thrust regardless—before his energy links slither around your body, flipping you on your stomach.

You whine. But he has to. If he doesn’t—if you keep your slutty mouth running—you’re gonna have a thick knot swelling in you, plugging you and keeping you full of his warm cum.

his hand snakes around your throat, bringing your face back close to his. Your back is arched, ass flush against his hips as his cock drives deeper into your pliant hole. Already overstimulated from finishing so wildly.

“g-god sy—too deep—please!”

“Why did you lie?” his thrusts turn punishing. Sharp.

“I—ngh! Thought you didn’t want a weak partner.” His fingers curls around your neck. Your face feels hotter now. Your thighs press together as you inch closer to cumming hard on his heavy cock again.

“Weak?” he nearly spits those words out. “Kitten. You’re the last person on this planet I’d describe as weak.”

His hand comes down again, to find your clit. His cock screws into you with precision. Making your gummy walls pulsate happily around him.

“fuuuuck. fuck sylus!” you cry out.

“Alpha, beta or omega. It doesn’t fucking matter to me. you’ll always be the strongest woman in my life. And you’re the only one I’d want by my side.”

You’re soaking up the sheets at this point. Your juices spilling and spilling endlessly.

“cum for me.” his lips trace the shell of your ear, before biting your earlobe. And that’s it. You cum around him. Desperately. Pathetically.

Pussy wringing him for his cum. Begging to be bred full. And he gives you. Loads and loads and loads of his cum. It doesn’t stop. And your pussy doesn’t let up on milking him until he’s completely dry.

“You’ll spend your heat cycles with me from now on.”

Who are you to argue.

夏以昼 CALEB XIA

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You thought you could skip your heat suppressants this month. Your doctor had listed all the side effects of the pills. So maybe since you were all alone this weekend, you could let your body be for once. Caleb wasn’t coming over this week. Or so he said.

But here he was, outside your door.

How were you supposed to know he was planning a surprise?

You can’t stop your pheromones. you can’t pretend Caleb’s not knocking on your door and louder now that he can smell your essence flowing through.

“you got an omega in there?” the knocks get insistent. Shit.

“y-yeah. just—just leave for today, okay?” you lie through clenched teeth, one arm over the couch for support. Did you truly think this would repel him?

The door opens. When did he get the key—

The minute his eyes fall on you, he freezes in horror. “no fucking way…” he breathes.

“Caleb I—lets discuss this—” you tremble, falling to the ground. He rushes to crouch beside you. Caleb’s pheromones come alive in response to your wild ones. He has to hold his breath to keep himself in check. And you sense it. His restraint. The only way to escape the interrogation is—

Your lips crash to his, and it doesn’t even take him a second to devour you right back.

“make it stop. Please.” Your hand trails down, low to his hard on. Of course.

That pretty much seals your fate. He lifts you with one hand, and within ten paces he’s putting you on the bed.

He’s on you, nose buried in the crook of your neck, drinking in that sweet scent you keep spilling.

“fuck is this what you needed? An alpha to make it all go away?” his hand traverses down, between your legs where you keep oozing your love juices. You whimper at his words, back arching with need.

“caleb please—”

“you think you’re in the place to make demands pips?” he murmurs darkly. And then you feel it. The way his cock springs free and hits your stomach. Hot and heavy and—you look down—leaking precum that makes your cunt spasm. He taps your clit with the angry red head of his cock.

Before you can let out the whimper stuck in your throat, he pushes in.

“ohh—oh please—” your legs spread wider to accommodate him to no avail. He’s too big. Filling you up too much. Your walls are forced to open for him. “too—hic—big!”

He doesn’t give you a moment to adjust before he’s driving into you again, tits bouncing at each hard thrust, allll the way back out and then alllll the way in. your jaw falls slack, eyes glazed with need.

“pretty pussy takin me so well though, baby.” He leans back, watching his dick get smothered in your juices as it keeps disappearing in your little hole.

His finger finds your clit, wetting it with all the mess you dribble out around his cock.

“hngh—! Cale—”

“why’d you hide it from me?” he asks, yanking you closer by your thighs.

“you’d—mmph—treat me like a baby—” your eyes flutter shut as he slams his cock right against your sweet spot buried deep in your gummy walls.

“like what? Do things for you?” he smirks, his thumb teasing your hole as his cock stretches it. “don’t you like it? Me spoiling you?” he groans to himself at it.

You manage to shake your head even as every thought gets fucked out of you.

“no?” he stops abruptly and you whine so pathetically that it reverses each statement of self-respect you’ve made.

You feel weightless as his evol lifts you and places you on him, slamming you back down on his cock. “Well go ahead. Show me how much you hate it when I do the work.”

Your thighs shake as you attempt to move. You try to move. To prove something. But your legs quake, your body burns, and you end up grinding helplessly against him. Not deep enough. Not full enough.

“Fuck, Caleb—”

He cups your face, brings you nose-to-nose.

“Just say it,” he whispers. “Say you need me.” you nod erratically at that.

Wet thwops echoing as he fucks up into you, bullying your hole into swallowing him deeper. “ohmygod—mmfuck!” your head lolls back, eyes shut as he drives into you from below. One sharp thrust and it has you pulsing around him as you cum.

One more thrust and he’s spurting ropes of his cum into you. but then…

“ca—caleb—?!” he grows. His cock gets bigger, and you pussy keeps milking it as his knot swells inside you.

“sorry pips. I need to.” He groans deep as his knot keeps all the thick seed in you—plugged. He lasts only a moment until he’s grinding you on his knot.

“hahh! Istoomuch!” his knot probes your g spot, and the more he grinds, the more it massages that spot making you see fuckin stars even though you’re mad overstimulated, pussy still fluttering in the aftershocks. Tears fall free now.

“Take it. Cum ‘round my knot, baby.” He grunts, pulling you against him, his knot shifting to a delicious angle, pressing so perfectly against that swollen spot—your pussy just dumbly clamping around him, sensitive from all that overuse.

His thumb finds your clit, rubbing it in slow, torturous circles.

“gonna cum—hah—again, pips. You’re gonna take it like a good girl, riight?” his eyes fall on the bulge that forms in your lower tummy. “fuck, you ready to be bred?”

Your nod’s barely a tremor, but it’s enough. He grips your hips, thrusting up hard, deep, relentless. Wet, obscene sounds fill the room. Your orgasm crashes through you, violent and shattering, and his follows—hot and heavy—until you feel it.

And after hours, your heat finally tames into dull cramps.

Maybe having Caleb find out wasn’t as bad as you had thought.

沈星回 XAVIER SHEN

The Association knew your ABO type. Not your cute coworker-slash-neighbour living upstairs. And really, you hadn’t even lied. When he’d assumed you were a beta, you’d simply… not corrected him. A harmless omission.

Until one day, your heat hits. The consecutive missions had been weighing on your mind. Enough to make you forget to take your heat suppressants for the month.

You’d shut all the windows, even taped the edges halfway before a worse wave of cramps hit and you had to curl in fetal on the couch. And as you’re trying to take controlled breaths, you see a basket being lowered onto your balcony. Curiosity drives you toward it.

it’s from Xavier. Painkillers, lavender essential oil and a note. Fuckin hell he knows.

I had some painkillers at home. and the other stuff. Hope it is helpful.

And so, one thing leads to another and you’re begging him to come downstairs.

He has you close to him—back pressed against yours, hands in your panties and two of his fingers in your cunt.

“Xavier… this isn’t helping.” You croak helplessly, hips grinding back against him. You hear him suck in a sharp breath. His pheromones start feeling thicker now.

“you want my cock?” it’s a sultry whisper in your ear. Far from innocent.

“y-yes…”

Your panties are slid aside as the blunt head of his cock teases your hole, coating his own cock in your warm syrup—before slipping in, making you stretch open around him inch by inch.

You whimper into the pillow when he buries himself to the hilt.

“m’so full.” You mewl, hips chasing it.

“and you still want more?” he raises a brow behind you. “okay.”

And he drives back in. filling you once more. Your thighs tremble, pressing together as he fucks you slow and deep. The angle makes your head spin. He’s nestled against that deep spot so well that you’re already close.

Still, you whimper for more—restless. For that itchy emptiness in your womb to be filled. His palm rests on the side of your waist as he leans close, making the head of his cock shift closer to where you want him.

“what’re you begging for?” his voice is low whisper in your ear.

“wanna-wanna be filled.” You manage. You feel him halt for a moment before he hikes up a thigh. You yelp in surprise but he’s already pounding the blunt head of his cock back into your gummy walls.

“hngh—Xav-Xavier.” You babble incoherently the minute he kisses your cervix. His essence comes alive, encompassing you as he brands you with his cock over and over again.

By the time he slows his pace, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum or how many times he’s filled you full.

Xavier pulls out, only to see your walls push out his creamy spend in a weak pulse. The sound you make is barely human. He exhales something rough, something that sounds like he’s losing the last thread of restraint he ever had.

His thumb presses lightly to your swollen rim, puffy pussy lips tingling with need, circling it once as if testing how sensitive you are. The answer hits him immediately when your whole body jolts.

“…greedy,” he mutters under his breath, voice ragged. “You don’t want to let any of it go, do you?”

“mmh—no—please—”

Your hips twitch, your hand reaching back for him without thought. He catches your wrist, pins it to the small of your back, and watches another bead of slick roll down your thigh.

Then he pushes two fingers back inside you.

You gasp, going taut around them, sucking them in like your pussy recognizes him now and refuses to let him go. His fingers curl, gathering the creamy mess he left inside you and nudging it deeper, deeper to your womb.

“you’re—,” he murmurs, leaning over your spine, his breath hot against your ear. “Still clenching. You’re not done.”

Your breath stutters. “Xavier… please… need—”

“You need me to keep you full,” he finishes for you, like he’s reading straight out of your instincts. He withdraws his fingers, slick and dripping, and you feel the heavy drag of his cock settle between your thighs again. Thicker now. Harder, if that’s even possible.

He guides himself back to your messy pussy lips, tapping lightly against your overstimulated hole before pushing the head in, slow enough to make your eyes cross. The stretch burns in the sweetest way, your walls fluttering as they try to pull him deeper.

“Good,” he whispers when you moan. “Open for me.”

Your legs fall apart on instinct.

He shoves in with a single, unhesitating thrust.

Your mewl against the pillow as his hips mold flush to yours, your body accepting him like it’s starved for it. His chest presses to your back, trapping you under him as his hand slides under your lower belly, holding you in place while he grinds deeper, deeper, deeper—

“Stay like this,” he says against your neck. “I’m not stopping until your heat settles.”

You sob in blisfull agreement.

Xavier starts moving.

Slow at first. Deep enough that your toes curl with every roll of his hips. Then faster, his rhythm tightening into sharp, precise strokes that spear straight into that molten spot inside you. Your breath breaks, your vision shatters, and you’re already trembling before the next orgasm even crests.

Your body clamps around him so hard he groans into your skin, low.

“That’s it,” he hisses. “Keep milking me. You’re going to take all of it this time.”

His hand slides down, thumb working tight circles over your clit while he fucks you deeper, the bed shaking underneath both of you. Pressure coils so brutally that you’re practically ripped open by the pleasure when it hits, your walls spasming around him in relentless waves.

Xavier isn’t far behind. His pace stutters, his grip on your waist bruises, and with a groan that sounds dragged from the bottom of his lungs, he spills inside you again, thick and hot and endless.

Your body shudders, overstimulated and so full it aches.

Xavier breathes hard against your shoulder, but he doesn’t pull out. His fingers hold your hips steady, keeping every drop inside you.

“Not done,” he mumbles, voice a deep, exhausted rasp. “Your heat’s nowhere near finished.”

You whimper, already trembling under him. And he rolls his hips again.

祁煜 RAFAYEL QI

Your fork barely touches the plate before the first cramp hits. You try to school your face, but Rafayel’s eyes are on you instantly, bright and nosy as always.

“You good, cutie?” he drawls, tipping his head, curls falling over his cheek. “You look like you just saw your report card.”

You force a shaky laugh and wave him off. “Just… gas.”

He hums, unconvinced. Meanwhile, your heat is blooming too fast, rising under your skin, threatening to drag you under. Why weren’t the suppressants working well?

Another cramp snarls through your abdomen. You grip the table edge.

His eyes narrow. “Okay. That wasn’t a ‘gas’ thing. What’s going on?”

Your pulse skitters. You need relief. Something to anchor you. You swallow hard and manage, “Your… your pheromones. I just—what do they smell like, again?”

There’s a beat where he just blinks. Then his brows lift, slow, almost elegant.

“My pheromones,” he repeats. He leans in like a cat catching a scent trail. “You’ve been hiding something from me, miss bodyguard.”

The way he says it feels like a fingertip down your spine. You don’t answer. You can’t. Another wave hits and you shudder, breath hitching.

Rafayel’s expression shifts, his dramatic flair flickering into something sharper. Calmer. A tone you’ve never heard from him.

“Come here,” he murmurs.

It doesn’t take him much time to drive you back to his place. He carries you down the hall, pushes into his room, and sets you on the bed with a care that barely matches the tension in his body. The scent of him settles around you, curling warm and sweet, thick enough to make your thighs part on instinct.

Rafayel’s gaze drops between your legs, breath stuttering. “Cutie… your scent is driving me insane.”

Your heat spikes at the sound of his voice. You reach for him, dragging him in by his shirt. He kisses you immediately, deep and dizzying, his mouth soft but insistent as your body arches up against him. His pheromones hit you in a hot wave and you moan into his lips.

“Lie back,” he murmurs.

You do, chest rising and falling too fast, the need clawing through your skin. He slides his hands up your thighs, pushes your panties aside, and the moment the cooler air hits you, you gasp.

“cutiee,” he whispers, eyes darkening as slick gathers between your legs. “You’re already dripping.”

You try to squeeze your thighs together but he stops you, fingers pressing them open again. He leans down, kisses the inside of your knee, then your thigh… then settles right between your legs.

The first slow lick of his tongue makes your hips jump. The second pulls a broken sound from your throat. He sucks gently at your swollen clit, breath warm against you, one hand holding your thigh steady while the other slides under your ass to lift your hips closer to his mouth.

Your heat flares. Hard. Violent. You grab at his hair as your back arches off the bed.

“Rafa—Rafayel, I can’t—”

“Yes you can.” His voice is thick, hungry. “You need this, don’t you?”

Before you can answer, he flattens his tongue against you and pushes two fingers inside you. Your body clamps down instantly, drawing them deeper. The relief is so sharp you whimper, hips rocking helplessly.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your skin. “Let me take care of you today, miss bodyguard.”

You fall apart on his fingers, pleasure hitting so fast you barely manage a gasp before the orgasm crashes over you. He doesn’t pull back. He keeps licking you through it, his spit mixing with the sweet syrup you ooze out. He keeps fucking you with his fingers until the overstimulation burns into need again.

You’re shaking when he finally lifts his head. His lips and chin are slick with you. His pupils blown wide.

“Round one.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then crawls up your body, kissing your stomach, your ribs, your throat. “You’re not done, cutie.”

You barely register his clothes being pulled off him, his body settling over yours, his cock heavy and leaking against your soaked entrance. He cups your face, brushing his thumb along your cheekbone.

Your eyes meet his and his pheromones roll out in a deep, sweet rush that goes straight to your spine.

The second he pushes into you, your breath breaks. The stretch is intense, perfect, your walls gripping him so tight he groans against your ear.

“Warm… so warm…” His hips snap forward, burying him fully inside you. “suuuch a sweet pussy. Clinging so pathetically.”

You cling to him, heat twisting your nerves raw as he starts to thrust. Slow at first, deep enough to make your toes curl. Then faster, his grip tightening on your waist as he pounds into your syrupy cunt, every stroke hitting the spot that makes your vision blur.

Your legs lock around him. “ohhmmhhh ye—rafayel—ah—please—”

He catches your wrists and pins them above your head, leaning down until his forehead touches yours. “I know. Just take it. You need it reeal bad.”

His thrusts get sharper. Harder. The bed creaks. Sweat slicks your bodies together. The smell of your heat and his pheromones mixes into something thick, intoxicating. Your climax builds hot and brutal, tearing through you the moment his thumb drops to your clit.

You cry his name. Your poor cunt spasms around him. He groans, hips jerking as he presses as deep as your body will take him.

He fills you. Hot. Thick. Pulse after pulse until you’re trembling under him, stuffed full of his creamy goodness.

But he doesn’t soften.

He kisses your jaw, breath shaky. “That’s two.”

“wha—angh!”

His hips roll again, slow, deliberate, keeping everything inside you.

“You’re not done,” he whispers, licking into your mouth as he starts moving again. “Your heat wants more.”

And he gives it to you. Again. And again. Until the room smells like nothing but the two of you tangled in instinct and sweat and pleasure, until you lose count of rounds and the world narrows to the feeling of his body claiming yours until your heat finally, finally settles.

Rafayel collapses beside you, pulls you against his chest, and presses a kiss to your temple.

“Next time,” he murmurs into your hair, “just ask nicely, baby.”

黎深 ZAYNE LI

"breeding.”

—Is the last word you’d use with Zayne. much less ask for it. Yet here you are after his little pheromone outburst at the hospital. You’d lied about being a beta right from the beginning. Avoided the Akso hospital to get yourself checked, avoided Zayne half your high school after you bloomed late.

All because of one thing—like his evol, Zayne had a hard time containing his pheromones. and being a decently dominant alpha, his pheromones would often push omegas around him into heat.

As it did to you when you thought of visiting him to drop by lunch. The moment you entered his office, your knees weakened. Your stomach twisted in painful knots. and he—he had to rush you back home after learning everything. Even your unhealthy dosage of heat suppressants that you ingested each month because of him.

“I’m not leaving until you’re alright.” He kneels by your bed as you curl up in pain.

“s’not your f-faul-fuckinsonofa—” you breathe once as a cramp hits. “just leave. It’s—” a breath again “…fine.”

“untrue.” His jaw flexes. Adamant idiot. It’s the pain that makes your brain fry enough to forget all boundaries.

“breeding. Tha—aghh—! Is what’ll stop it.”

You don’t give him a chance to process before your lips are crashing with his. He freezes for a moment until he melts into it, slowly rising from the floor and onto the bed when you clutch his collar.

“there is a high chance this might result in unwanted—”

“I know. We’ll get me some pills.” You huff, guiding his hand to your soaked, hot cunt.

His wrist twists, catching yours. “are you certain?” his eyes are softer. Scared.

You nod. And then cup his face despite your womb internally punching you.

“of course.” With that, he pulls you on him, keeping you close, thighs against his knees.

His fingers find the edge of your panties, slipping through easily. Two fingers circle your entrance before pushing in. you grind on his lap. His hips lift for a moment, chasing that friction.

You whimper in pain and that’s what makes Zayne finally pull out his cock. Thick, heavy and so, sooo ready to ruin you.

But the moment you lift your hips to finally sink, your cramp hits.

“I’ve got you.” he murmurs, stroking your hair with one hand and the other guiding his leaky tip to your pussy.

Your hips roll once and you wince again. “stop.” His brows furrow in a silent correction.

“relax.” He murmurs as he eases into you, slowly, filling every inch sooo good that it has you whimpering. Your walls stretch around him inch by inch.

“zay—mmhh so—” your eyes roll back, mouth open.

He lets out a soft sound at the way you clutch around him so perfectly. Fit him like a fuckin glove.

His hips raise once. Testing. And judging by your already fucked out look, he thrusts harder this time. your nails dig into his shoulders as your own hips roll once the pain ebbs away giving way to molten pleasure.

Your walls flutter around him at each kiss of his cock to your overly welcoming womb.

“m’so close…” you whisper, burying your head into his neck, breathing in his scent that singlehandedly calms your pain. His fingers find your clit, rubbing taut circles on your swollen nub, smearing your arousal over it.

Your pussy keeps clamping around him tighter and tighter and tighter—

“c-cumming—ohhhmy—zaynee—” he fills you to the hilt, giving your syrupy, greedy walls something to milk.

And ohhh that you do. Enough to have him explode into you, filling you with hot ribbons of cum, making it cream around your hole—mixing with your honey.

He slowly sets you down are you come down from your high. But his cock is insistent. Still hard, still keeping you full of him.

“s’not enough—” your hand comes down to your stomach. But Zayne captures it, bringing it to his lips, kissing the inside of your wrist.

“then let me satisfy you.” He pulls back only to fill you up again.

Messy strings of his cum dribbles out of you, spilling onto the sheets. His hips move again, this time—pounding you.

Deep, looong strokes, each reaching the end of you and back out.

“hngh—m’too full—” you babble, moans stuck in your throat.

His hands part your thighs, hiking them up so your body can take him deeper if that were even possible.

Your walls flutter around him hungrily again with every deep thrust, your hips rolling on instinct as he fills you relentlessly. Strings of his cum mix with your arousal, dripping down the curve of your thighs, and the scent—his pheromones, his essence—wraps around you, making you all hot and coaxing you towards your orgasm.

“Zayne—mhh… s-so deep…” you whimper, nails digging into his broad shoulders as he keeps moving, slow at first, then harder. A cocktail that messes your brain chemistry.

 Each stroke hits that perfect spot, and you sob, lost between pleasure and the ache that still lingers from your heat.

His hands move to your waist, holding you firmly, but gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, almost tender, brushing a strand of sweat-damp hair from your temple. “I wish I could control it—”

You shake your head weakly, lips parting in a soft moan. “S’not your fault… Zayne,” you breathe, tilting your head to kiss his jawline, tasting the mixture of him and yourself. “I’ve always wanted you.”

He groans softly at your confession, letting it wash over him before pressing back into you, hips snapping against yours with a fresh, deliberate force.

“cum for me, my sweet.” A kiss is planted to your temple. “please.” He adds softly as he reaches down to rub your clit, pushing you closer to your climax.

But he beats you to it. Breeding you full—once more—giving you everything you’ve begged for tonight. Still, he mumbles apologies, thrusting into you—pushing through his overstimulation. He nearly cries out when you cum around him for the last time tonight.

It was a brand new, extremely experimental, highly sensitive project. The kind you certainly didn’t write home about, and the kind that definitely found its way into your consideration for the promised cash payment. All you had to do post-signing-up was show up, let them say a spell or two, and then you’d simply say yes or no if you could feel each test they administered. 

So you sat in the cold, white research room while over half a dozen of those working on the project milled about. You knew what the project was for. Knew exactly what the $10,000.00 cash tucked into the envelope in your purse was for. But it was just a few tests. Easy, fully clothed, verbal confirmation tests.

They rolled the sterilized metal table to face you more, the objects neatly aligned on their stands. The spells they'd said were distant words you couldn't recall, but you'd already nodded when they'd asked if you could feel the tingling connection when they'd finished. You could–it was a warm hum underneath your clothing that already had a bit of sweat forming at your brow. But that could've also been the anticipation. 

The silicone facing you was highly detailed. Granted, for what they were, toys had already gotten far in looking real. They were soft and giving, and they replicated what they generically needed to replicate. Breasts, nipples, vagina, clit, an asshole, and a mouth. Still, you swallowed hard listening to the murmured conversation, and you gripped the edge of that metal table they'd seated you on. 

“You will be blindfolded to prevent any phantom sensations by merely watching,” one said before a thick black strip of fabric was tied over your eyes. “We will begin momentarily, so we just need you to speak when you begin to feel something. We have a series of tests to run through, some a bit more invasive to test the maintained connection, then you will be finished. Okay?”

“Okay,” you breathed.

And you braced yourself against that metal edge warmed by your touch. In blistering, stomach-flipping anticipation, you waited. $10,000.00. You swallowed hard. It was so worth it for $10k cash.

Just a few tests. Ones that might not even work–

Beneath your thick sweater, underneath your bra, you felt it. The warm, gloved touch. A brush of fingers underneath your breast, following the curve up. A jolt at the touch had you pulling back from nothing. Nobody was in front of you, magically slipping underneath your shirt. It wasn't lifted. Your bra didn't magically vanish. No, as you leaned back from nobody's touch, the gloved fingers went higher, and they brushed over both nipples.

“Yes,” you stuttered, eyes wide behind the blindfold. Not that you didn’t think it was possible–surely if they were offering so much money, they had some semblance of a success they needed to recreate, but still. Actually experiencing the slow connection of their fingers pinching your nipples without actually touching you? “Yes, I feel that.”

“Good, human contact is successful. We need to test artificial,” he stated.

Artificial…? 

Oh.

Oh.

The actual coldness of the metal was somehow there and faraway at the same time. It didn’t entirely make sense how you were able to process it. But magic was magic, so. One tight metal clamp closed around one nipple, and the rip of pinching pleasure shot through to your spine and went lower.

“Yes–”

A second clamp closed on your other nipple. 

Tight, there, but not. A low throbbing bullied its way beneath your shirt. It was…strange. The sensation of the sharp pinching that was there but wasn’t. Squeezing the table’s edge, you fought the urge to reach up just to feel yourself through your sweater. The throbbing acted in tandem with the clamps, but there was more to it. A necessity you couldn’t fully put to words–that you wouldn’t put to words for them–that you ached to touch yourself beyond the means of just…checking. Your nipples ached, that’s as plain as it got, and they ached for contact.

“Yes, I can…I can feel both,” you breathed.

“Good.”

The clamps released. 

The ache remained.

The metal was a soft clack on the table, and with a little tilt of your head to listen to what the blindfold was now painfully keeping hidden, there was a brush against your lips. A gloved finger, unmistakably. It was a subconscious response. Again, you reared back from nothing. There wasn't anyone or anything but you and the air around you. But there, again, fingers touched your lips, pushed past with just a little bit of force, and you could feel two pressing down on your tongue.

“Mhm,” was all you managed to get out. Muffled yet…not. They weren’t actually in there, but the pressure kept your tongue down and mouth closing around their fingers.

“Okay,” came as a distant murmur, and then fingers retreated. 

There was only a half-second pause before your mouth went from swallowing empty to taking in a wooden tongue depressor, pushing your tongue down as the fingers had. The woody taste was flat and bitter, but not entirely direct. You made the same muffled mhm sound as best as you could, fighting back the urge to push up on what wasn’t actually there. 

It retreated. 

"We will be moving on," someone else said. Her voice came in from the left as adjustments were made to your right. The soft scratching from pencils carried across papers. More papers rustled, and your pulse was through the roof. With a held breath, you waited for what exactly moving on meant.

A quiver in your thighs traveled down to your toes. 

It’d be just a few more tests.

Sensitive ones, but $10k. Yeah.

You fought the subconscious need to nod.

In all but seconds, as you listened to the air conditioning run through the vents above you, while pencils scratched against papers, you felt it underneath your jeans. Beyond the thick seam and the awkward inadvertent touch of your thighs together. Past your belt, button, and zipper. Underneath your underwear came the warm, gloved touch over you. Just a stroke over your folds. Like the graze of a paintbrush on a canvas. 

Tension shot through from your hitched breath down to your curling toes.

“I can feel that.”

You breathed through your teeth.

Higher up the finger went. Light as a feather still, parting your folds in the process, you sat in wait. A heart-stopping, grip-tightening wait. They were going to test every spot, weren’t they? It was important. It was about making sure the pleasure connections were there. What good would it serve if there was just minimal connection? They had to test–

The finger brushed over your clit.

“Yes,” you cracked out. It was a rash reaction, but the pad of their finger ran over your clit directly. Back and forth. They were idle touches and nothing more, but sweet hell. It continued. With a bit more pressure behind the strokes. “Yes, yes, I…I can feel that.”

The touch retreated. The air conditioning hum battled with the flicker of your pulse. The thrumming in your ears found your head. They were just tests. Important tests. This was what you signed up for. You knew it was coming. You’d prepped yourself for it.

Still, when the cold silicone touched your clit, you jolted so hard you gasped. It was a perfect circle that came with a soft touch at first, then a second long brought more pressure. Not hard or even remotely uncomfortable, but as you nodded, the person applying it seemed to settle it firmer against you. 

“We will conduct a quick test just to test external stimulation success,” one said. 

The words drowned in the sea of ambiguity that suddenly made a whole lot of sense when that firm press wasn’t just a tongue depressor equivalent. A near-silent click caught your attention before it was suddenly eviscerated. All focus fell into a pinpoint on your clit. Where the hum of the air conditioning and the thrum of your heart had been in your head, all that encapsulated it was an abrupt vibration against your clit. Low in intensity, but it was still a vibrator to your clit. Directly to your clit.

“Oh my god.”

A quiet laugh echoed out to your right.

“I would say she can feel it,” someone said.

“We need to test the varying levels, but we can return to that,” another said. Click. The vibrations kicked off just as your clit began to ache. Not that general ache of stimulation, but when the sensations cut, you felt the slight release in tension that only came in slight. The seam of your jeans pressed up against your clit, and it pulsed against the thick material to ask for more attention. A pulsing that sank deeper than just surface level.

Your cunt clenched. A dampness in your underwear turned your senses up a notch.

“We will conduct another external test, and then two internal ones,” someone said. “Then, the general testing will be complete.”

“Okay,” you muttered.

One more external and then two internal?

A flash of the objects laid out on the table came up.

One more external and two internal…that could only mean….

There was a gentle pressure against your asshole. Warm, gloves, and slick with lube. It was just one slender finger running slow circles. Careful, delicate circles. Much like the touch against your clit. Just rubbing. Yes, you could feel that. You started nodding frantically, hardly able to find the single word yes. But the scratching pencils told you they'd gotten your answer. The pressure still pushing against your asshole, however, came with a gradual increase. More and more and more. 

Oh.

Your breath caught in a sharp gasp.

Their finger pushed into you. Stretching. Bit by bit, you gave way with an ease only possible with the toy they had their finger in. It seemed to correlate with you, even if you weren't lubed. Knuckle by knuckle, they pushed in. Oh, god. You didn’t mean to clench around them, but you could feel their hand against your bottom. Bottomed out. Wiggling–Jesus Christ–they wiggled their finger.

“Yes. I…. Yes, yes, I can…feel…that,” you said through careful breaths. 

“Good,” some said, her voice static and unaffected. 

A gradual pull left you empty and feeling partially gaping. But it wasn't a long sensation. Cold and lube silicone roughly the same size as the finger came to replace it. As gradual as the finger had entered and left, the thin rod-like thing pushed into you. Deeper–it went deeper than the finger, and you…. Keeping still and casual was a fight. How were you supposed to sit on that table, nodding your head and sputtering that you could feel it not be anything but awkward? 

A part of you wanted to fall back, but it was general testing!

So you gripped the edge of the table until your knuckles went white and clenched your jaw until it hurt. Casual. Professional. Click. The rod hummed to life, and your gasp brought more notes to pages. Wait. Pages fluttered. The rod stayed on and pulled out, then pushed back in. Oh, god. You nodded. And nodded. And nodded.

“Good.”

Click.

Off.

Out.

Empty.

The darkness of the blindfold blurred. How, you had no idea. But when the tension released from your shoulders and you slumped, everything felt a little blurry and off-kilter. No hair stood on end. No discomfort. But your asshole pulsed and you were…so empty. Tests, they were just tests. Ones meant to simulate sex and foreplay, so it made sense to get a little aroused. It…it was fine.

It was totally and completely fine.

One warm, gloved finger was back on your cunt. A pass over your clit made you twitch, and the path lower was a mark for the final test. A light ringing hit your ears as more fingers spread you, and the tip of one finger touched your entrance. Pushing back to get a better position on the exam table, right as you sank down to really sit, the finger sank into you.

Just like in your ass, knuckle by knuckle, it pushed in. So, so slowly. Filling you up with a curl. A nice, careful curl. A curl that brushed right over your sweet spot. Oh, fuck. It wasn’t stagnant. While you sat there, thighs spreading involuntarily, it pumped. And curled. And pumped and curled in slow, almost teasing strokes.

“Yes,” you threw out there on a cracked moan. You hadn’t said you could feel it. “Yes, yes, I can feel that. Yes.”

Their finger pressed all the way back in, and there was a quiet hum. 

“Good.”

Then, you were empty again.

Then, the cold, roundish tip of something silicone touched your entrance.

It was wider than the finger, but nothing abhorrent. Lubed up, it pushed into you and filled you right on up. The slight stretch was a sudden tease, and you couldn't help it. Your elbows hit the table with a thud. Equilibrium was off, and for a moment, you worried you might tumble to the floor. Just for insertion! This was bad. But the scribble of pencils said they took that as the necessary answer. 

You were fine.

This was just research.

Click.

“Oh, my–”

That vibration test echoed to life in your cunt. Right against your sweet spot, your head fell back, and you had to grit your teeth and bear the pleasure. Couldn't moan. Couldn't gasp. Just had to bite the bullet that you'd already thrown your head back, you couldn't do more than that. Had to fight it. Had to face it. Had to nod your head. 

“I can feel that, yes.”

In and out. 

They pulled the toy in and out, practically fucking you on it.

“Yes,” you pushed out. 

In and out. In and out, all the way to the vibrating tip. And….

Click.

“Good,” someone said.

“Great,” from another.

That tension faded into obscurity and embarrassment. Shaking like a leaf in the breeze, you just lay there. Your underwear was soaking wet and your cunt…. Parts of you were throbbing that shouldn't still be throbbing and clenching that shouldn't be clenching. But it…they…. Whatever. That was the preliminary testing done. 

You managed to get back upright like normal after a minute or so, the blindfold still intact. Pencils scribbled down notes. Papers fluttered. Footsteps came closer, but not entirely near. 

“Given how well you’ve reacted to the tests and the success with each, we would like to offer you another $5,000.00 to advance the next set of tests we were already going to complete. They will just be a bit more…intensive than originally planned. Nothing will be confirmed without prior consent. We just have not had a compatible subject with such success yet, and we wish to take advantage of such a case. If you are willing.”

Your hands twitched on the table’s edge. An extra $5k? For…a higher intensity, huh?

“What do the tests entail?” you asked softly. There was a rough edge in your voice that hadn’t been there at the start. What were you doing? You didn’t let yourself answer the question.

“Well, we need to essentially test that all connections remain intact while in use. Simple touch tests can provide the simple responses, yes. But it would be great to test higher intensity activities together to make sure all can remain working properly without conflict. We would hate for connection to be lost during the moment.”

…

You swallowed hard.

Incense activities?

“We will have to simulate various activities in repeated tests to check the maintained connection. We will require verbal confirmation throughout to make sure all is correct. Really, it is not much different. The initial tests are simple finger stimulation and insertion. This would be additional stimulation of a higher intensity, that is all.”

So…it…. Okay….

“We will offer $7,000.00 if you are willing to strip for the tests so we can see any bodily reaction,” someone said behind the woman talking to you. 

$7,000.00? $7k. You’d be walking away from the tests with $17,000.00. Sweet fuck. 

What else were you supposed to say to that? Seriously. Seriously, $17,000.00. 

That would cover multiple months of rent and help you pay off the last of your car. So then…. Then.

Then, you cleared your throat and nodded slowly.

“Okay. $7,000.00. I consent.”

Behind the blindfold, you could still see the room light up.

“Fantastic,” the woman said. “I will help you out of your clothes and back onto the table.”

****

Truthfully, the tests were simple but invasive. You were laid out stark naked on the metal table, blindfolded, and shaking uncontrollably. Stripping you down was nothing but necessary for the tests. But eyes still wandered. Seeing the peaks of your nipples in the cold air and the glistening over your cunt was definitely a great sign. And sight.

You kept your thighs together and scrunched up a little, but it wouldn’t last. 

If the tests remained successful, you’d be begging them to keep running them.

But $17,000.00 was an okay price to pay for success. 

They’d all be making ten times that when this hit the market.

The group of researchers watched you with eagerness. Anticipation was a curse upon the room amongst them and you, but patience had to be called for. The next cart was wheeled in, and more gloves were pulled onto the hands of assistants. They'd be stimulating every sensitive part of your body for the next…three hours? Maybe more. They couldn't just jump up to the highest intensity just to make sure it worked. Longevity was part of it.

There was already another stack of $10,000.00 waiting for you when this was over to allow them to check for distance after you left. Within that testing, yes, there came another intensity level check. If they sent you on your way with a thrusting dildo in you and a vibrator on your clit, would the sensations remain just as strong a step outside the building as it would while you slept in bed? Would it remain for hours on end, or would it eventually fade into the background to be ignored?

And more importantly, as these tests in-house would also test, would the participant cum?

If yes, would they be able to repeatedly? Would they be overstimulated if their body wasn't actually experiencing the direct contact, or would the sixth orgasm feel as incredible as the first?

What if there was stimulation on the toys and on the person? If someone was fucking your cunt through means of the toy and in-person, what would you feel? What if a vibrator was strapped to the clit on the toy and someone knelt between your legs and sucked it into their mouth? Questions. Endless questions. And you were the perfect guinea pig; you just had to be worked up to the point of agreeing to work with them. But those were such intense tests…. These early ones had to be conducted first.

So, with everyone gathered in the proper places, it was time to begin.

Test One: simply touching. In your mouth, where you muffled around the two fingers. On your nipples, where they were pinched just enough. Down where one finger pushed into your asshole while one entered your cunt. Then, up on your clit, pressure. Just a little bit of pressure on the silicone bud.

Notes were written as you seemed to stall out a little on the table. It was quite a lot to endure at once. But as your hands fell to the sides of the table to squeeze, your thighs pressing and rubbing together, it was obvious before you even muffled a yes. 

Good.

Test Two: All fingers retreated, and the same was recreated without pause with the silicone toys.

The arch in your back came through nicely. The researchers all reacted in tandem. The clamps added to your nipples were tugged, and the toys between your legs all clicked on at the same time.

Test Two already made you moan. Much like a broken, gasping sound, it cut through the silent research room with success written all over it.

The lead researcher held up her hand. The way your back continued to arch said you could orgasm if they simply decided to leave you like that. But this wasn’t about that yet. And any denial prior to then was considered helpful, so she just gave you those few extra teasing seconds before lowering her hand.

All were removed. More notes were written.

“Tests from this point forward will be with movement,” she said plainly. They would be. This wasn’t some malicious research study. They had to run each test to be sure. You’d agreed. You’d taken the payments. “And repeated penetration. May we continue?”

A hitch in your breath was all that the next pause was, then you nodded.

Test Three: Fingers closed around your nipples in place of the clamps and pinched hard. Not painfully, but as you gasped at the touch, three fingers pumped into your mouth. Two found your cunt and pushed in very, very slowly, two found your asshole and did the same, and up on your clit, attention was given. Light and slow, in gentle circles. Barely there, but looking back….

One hand went over your head, and your thighs parted. Enjoyment was a positive sign. Not inherently an important one, so long as the stimulation was noted, but enjoyment worked in their benefit. Your cunt was dripping onto the table, and you outright writhed as more pressure was applied to your clit.

“Contractions,” two said one right after the other as their fingers pumped into you.

“Oh, so you can feel them?” the lead asked. You breathed through your teeth behind them, and out came a whine. “Good. That’s really good.”

Test Four: Was the same with merely added intensity. You propped your feet up on the table and let your legs fall wide open for everyone to see you jerk with every thrust of the fingers into you. Taking them like someone was practically fucking you right there on the table. Your initial awkwardness upon arrival dripped out of you right down onto that table. Good. Comfort made this better.

The lead researcher nodded, and more attention was given to your clit. Direct, unrelenting attention. Tight, faster circles that made your hips lift up off the table. Your orgasm impending. But not yet. It wasn’t the right time just yet. But that meant you could cum quickly, and that was also perfect. Just short of walking into the research building and offering yourself up naked and willing to do it for free, you were turning out to be the perfect participant. 

Test Five: Silicone returned. A small dildo was pushed past your lips and you choked on nothing but air behind them. Vibrating clamps closed around your nipples. A thick vibrating plug was pushed in right to the thickest part, pulled out, pushed in, pulled out, and then pushed right back into your ass while you writhed on the table. On your cunt, the circular vibrator was pressed back to your clit directly, and lower, lubed up, an average-sized vibrator gradually pushed inside of you.

“We will run the next test with simulated sex with these,” the lead researcher said upon your initial consent. You nodded to both.

Click. You had to be held down. None moved inside of you outside of the low vibrations, but the way you jerked, four assistants had to rush over and pin you to the table. Hands back by your head, ankles and legs held against their stomachs, they pinned you properly so others could take the necessary notes. The position provided the perfect view for such required notes. There was a physical reaction. There was no hint beyond your arousal that you had every hole filled. Your clit didn’t so much as twitch when the vibrator was lifted and someone rolled it between their thumb and forefinger. 

Yes, you lurched and lashed. Yes, your cunt dropped and clenched. But as they moved onto Test Six–thrusting the toys in every hole–you were subsequently empty in your sudden squirming. 

The lead researcher stood over you, watching. How you pulled and whined, rocking your hips before stopping, clearly trying to act professional. The test would only last about another ten seconds, but she could see it. You could feel her watching you, and you knew as well as she did that you were close to climaxing. 

But….

Click.

You threw your head back. Sweat sheened, and your body went limp. 

She walked around to stand beside you, bending over with new ideas popping in at a dangerous speed and with questionable ethics.

“Can we apply dual stimulation?” she asked beside your ear. “For an extra $10,000. In accordance with our testing the distance between here and your home, I want to apply stimulation to the toys directly and to you.” She looked over your aching nipples. “Think about it. While we finish this round of testing.”

Test Seven: Before you could answer, she held up her hand to begin. Click. The next level of intensity shot through the toys. Pumping in and out of you, the lube squelched like you yourself were getting fucked in both holes. Your scream was partially muffled, and your hips lifted again. Tried to, at least.

“Can you feel it in your mouth?” the lead researcher asked, pointlessly. She knew you could.

You still nodded.

“Can you feel it on your nipples?”

Again, you nodded.

“Your clit?”

Your whine said yes.

“Your asshole? Do you feel the vibrators inside your asshole? Inside your cunt?”

Two more whines that said yes, yes. You did. You most certainly did. You did because there, pulling at those pinning you down, you started squirming again. Pulling and pushing, back and forth, trying to get yourself back to wherever you were trying to go, but there you were arching your back off the table and choking on a dildo that wasn't actually in your mouth.

There, you screamed out a broken moan, and your orgasm came over you violently. The exact way they’d needed it to. Violent, unforgiving, and just perfectly. The pleasure erupted improperly because nobody was actually touching you, and your body twitched and shifted. You took the thrusts of the toys with your head back and pussy dripping. Fucked in all holes–barely, they’d barely started giving you real thrusts and strength–you clenched empty and aching. And yet?

Yet, you still came.

Click.

“Test Eight,” the lead researcher declared with a hint of amusement in her voice.

You flinched at the words, but there was no denial.

Click.

The next of five intensity levels. The lead researcher bent over the table and whispered in your ear. We have so many more tests we need to run. Will you help us? Seeing how many ways we can reach an orgasm with these is imperative. If you’re willing. 

Test Nine.

The penultimate intensity was locked in. You came again. Thrashing on the table, more were called in to hold you down. The lead researcher watched from between your legs when your climax hit. Hardly any evidence that you were being fucked senseless. If you could keep yourself together, nobody would know. A good selling point for the exhibitionists. Sort of.

Interesting.

Test Ten.

Test Ten was quite a lot for you. The toys drilling into you harder than before whilst on the highest settings? The one on your clit was turned on last out of courtesy, and when that click came through, it was immediately silenced by your shriek. 

It only took seconds.

Literal seconds. Successful seconds. 

Whatever words you'd been aiming to speak were immediately torn to smithereens. Your cunt gushed empty and aching in the sudden burst of your orgasm. It ripped through you as violently as your first one had, but this one…. The lead researcher didn't hold up their hand, and the panic came across your face immediately when the stimulation didn't stop. It was a good testing point.

The way you fell into the pleasure was visible. From the rush of your orgasm into the mind-shattering pleasure that remained, it was a partial answer. You were overstimulated, but differently. Sobbing, but barely begging, your hips lifted and your back arched, and just like that, you came. Again.

Came with another shriek and came with such a successful force, it was fantastic.

All while you lie completely untouched. Your poor clit was swollen, but it wasn't from touch. It wanted. 

How fascinating. You were multiple orgasms in, and your body technically hadn’t had a real one yet. Just a brush against your clit said you’d cum. But at the wave of her hand, the test finished. It was unethical to touch you without permission. And the way you collapsed when the clamps were removed and the toys were pulled out, you were in need of a break she didn’t entirely want to give. But….

She walked over to you slowly. Everyone took the notes she didn't need to take. Left in a sweaty, gushing mess, she just bent over you. Your chest heaved, and tears dampened the blindfold just enough to be visible, but she was undeterred.

“Will you walk out of here $27,000.00 richer for just a few extra tests?” She paused. You wanted that $27k. Badly. But…. “We need to test simultaneous stimulation. I will raise it to $30,000.00 if you roll onto your knees and chest and allow us to penetrate you.”

$30,000.00. Holy…. It….

Your chest stuttered on your next breath.

Notes were still written. Your body still hadn’t fully relaxed.

$30k. 

Fuck it. 

Fuck it!

Your nod was barely there, but it was a nod.

And with a careful, moaning roll, the tests continued.

****

They had to tie you down. You drooled onto the metal table, the minutes ticking by into hours. How a little stimulation test turned into this, you had the answer as cash in your purse, but sweet fuck. They’d started with the toys first, pushing beads one by thickening one into your ass there and using the same toy on you. Literally on you. Lubing you up and working you open with a slender finger first, then giving them to you.

In together. Out together. Then alternating. Magically, they were pushed in, while literally, they came out. Being stretched at different sizes while being filled and emptied at the same time made no sense, but it felt so out of the world incredible, you couldn’t breathe.

They did the same with their fingers in your cunt. Gloved fingers pushed into the toy, then out, then two more ran over your aching cunt like a torturous tease before pushing in. And when they pushed in, sweet hell, it was a whole other ballgame. The difference between the toys and the real thing was felt then. Prominently. 

But as they pulled out of your cunt and pushed back in whilst those in the toy did the same, there was no time to linger on such a thought. They fucked you together, making you whine onto the table. 

The tests weren’t stated anymore. They just started touching and didn't stop until you were quivering and clenching. The bindings on your ankles and wrists kept you pinned clean to the table. One strap went higher over the backs of your knees to keep you steady, and another went over your shoulders. 

They gave you earplugs so you couldn't hear any comments or commands. 

Blindfolded and deafened, you just listened to the beat of your pulse while you drooled and moaned. Gloved fingers alternated in fucking your cunt with a not-so-gradual increase in intensity. 

You didn’t hear them when the lead researcher said to rub your clit on you while directing one of the assistants to lick the one on the toy. Didn’t have to, though. You felt their tongue drag over you the second before the finger touched you and rubbed. Pleasure spiked in an instant. Your clit was finally given attention, and it came with a phantom wrap of lips around it and a suck that made you scream.

It happened so fast. Clenching around the fingers. Spasming and twitching. The rush of pleasure rippling from the contact on your clit and the curl of the fingers in your cunt. You sobbed uncontrollably when your orgasm hit you like it was the first of the night, and you gushed. Sprayed. 

All over the table and the person behind you.

You came.

Their fingers, their mouths–they continued without pause. Even literally on you, they continued. It was so much. So, so much. You said as much against the table, but they continued. They pushed and pushed and pushed until you were there again. Again! Tears dampened the blindfold in your second, powerful, overwhelming orgasm.

You dripped down your thighs.

The tests continued.

When a signed contract to act as their official test subject for $30.50/hr was in your purse with your messy signature on it, your throat was raw and scratchy as hands gripped your hips. The table was lowered, and your position was changed just enough to fit someone underneath you. The hours ticked by. The earplugs were changed to noise-cancelling headphones, and the blindfold stayed on. Your hands were bound behind your back then, with a harsh grip holding onto the rope keeping them together.

On the table, alternating thrusts, two assistants fucked you, and one stood next to the table with her skirt up. Both holes were stuffed full with alternating rough thrusts. Out of sight, your orgasms were tallied on a whiteboard for you to see when you were finished. Behind you, however, the test found its second important layer.

Three more assistants and the head researcher stood with the toys. One played with the silicone nipples in varying-strengthed pinches and pulls. Two more mimicked those at the table with you, their pants down, the toys off their stands, fucking into you slow at first, then they matched the rhythm of the other two. A small vibrator was taped to the toy just at your clit.

The mouth one came underneath the head researcher’s skirt, locked there where she felt every motion you did to the assistant standing beside the table.

It was for research. To see if you could really feel everything. When they put their fingers inside the toys, they could feel you warm and wet and clenching. And now they could say that oral could be reciprocated that way. It could even be done so efficiently that orgasm could be reached.

She locked the toy against herself in proof of that.

And….

And orgasm could be reached multiple times while clearly overstimulated with multiple cocks penetrating you. Granted, it was one in each hole, and there was a vibrator on your clit. But you were being fucked senseless in four ways, and you spasmed and screamed with orgasm after orgasm.

Until cum dripped out of both toys, and the assistants were pulling their pants up.

Until the condoms were full and you were left with a glistening mouth and gaping, clenching holes on the table.

The head researcher set the mouth replica aside. 

“We will be running various tests of this nature every night for the foreseeable future,” she said beside you, lifting up the headphones. Water, towels, snacks, and a robe were brought next. Those who had to wait their turn for next time to…run the test…took very gentle touches to you to clean you up. “Do you have a short, casual dress?”

You barely nodded. You did. 

“Good. Bring it tomorrow. We will be testing how prominent the spell remains while you complete other tasks. It requires frequent checks, and a dress makes it easy.” She gave your back a small pat. “My assistants will help you. See you tomorrow at 9:00 AM. Oh, and fill out this sheet if you feel anything during the night or experience any reactions in the morning.” 

A folder with a dozen sheets was set aside for you. To note symptoms, to write about what you’d thought they’d done to you via the toys during the night. All set up neatly for you to fill out and them to check. Ones that’d be handed out to countless others if they could perfect the product and bring in other participants. Then, they could have you test the products on each other at will and randomly.

"Thank you for signing on with us. You'll see an additional $500.00 be deposited into your account as a sign-on bonus."

It felt laughable compared to the $40k in your purse, but comparatively…. You'd taken a small chunk of the fortune awaiting them. It'd take about a year of testing, and they'd be the most successful product of its kind on the market. With you as their top tester and advocate. 

But…you had to get through that year first, and in that year came a lot of tests.

It made incredible money, and with all the orgasms attached?

You waddle your way to your couch, slip your underwear off and open your legs wide. You watch your pussy stretch around the stranger as they slowly inch further inside you. They must know this is your first cock this big, they must feel it with how tightly your walls squeeze them.

Every time you think they've bottomed out another inch is pushed in and another and another until you're so full, it feels like you can feel them in your stomach and beyond.

You're in tears when he actually bottoms out, then the bastard does the worst possible and pulls out completely just so you feel how empty you are without him, leaving you clenching around nothing. You whine as if he can hear you but it's not long before he's easing himself back inside.

He starts a slow pace, pulling almost all the way out, tip just barely slipping out of your pussy before pushing all the way in again to the base. The thing about the portal is that you can't control the pace, only the person on the other side can, no matter how much you hump your cushions or clench your pussy, they control the pace.

The minotaur finally starts fucking you properly and by that point, you can barely string two words together. You wonder if he can feel when you press on the bulge in your tummy or if he can smell how soaked wet you are.

Your mindless moans fill your home as you watch your hole get pounded. The force of his thrusts rock your whole body, making your couch springs squeak.

You wish he could hear you, see how fucked out he's making you. He picks up the pace as you rub your clit, finally cumming around the beast. Your sensitive pussy weeps as he pounds you harder and faster than you've ever had.

Hot cum floods your womb, filling you to the brim as he holds you firmly to the base of his cock. You feel your stomach bulge with the volume and cum squirts out of you, having nowhere left to go.

He stays still for a moment before slowly slipping out, the moment his tip pops out of you, a river of potent cum pours from your hole and onto the floor.

You lay there and catch your breath, barely having enough time to get your brain in working order before you feel it again, a big blunt minotaur tip pressing against you. Cum still leaks from your pussy, down your legs from the first client but you can't find it in you to deny yourself just another round.

You first learned about role model day from a crumpled flyer that fell out of Henry’s backpack while you were unpacking his lunchbox, the paper creased in multiple places and decorated with a collection of uneven crayon stars that made it clear your six-year-old had been both enthusiastic and impatient while handling it. The moment you smoothed it across the kitchen counter, you noticed his name scribbled across the top in thick pencil, followed by the assignment instructions asking students to present their personal hero and explain why they admired them.

Henry hovered nearby while you read, rocking slightly on his heels as if he were trying to physically hold in a secret too large for his small frame. You pretended not to notice his anticipation at first, scanning the page carefully while he inched closer, his dinosaur socks sliding against the tile in short, restless shuffles.

“So,” you murmured casually, folding the paper once before glancing down at him, “have you picked your role model yet?”

His entire face brightened with immediate relief, like he had been waiting hours for you to ask, and he nodded so quickly you worried he might give himself whiplash.

“Yeah,” he announced proudly, puffing his chest in a way that mirrored Bruce so perfectly it made your heart squeeze. “It’s Batman.”

You paused mid-movement, your fingers tightening slightly around the flyer as you absorbed the answer, your gaze drifting toward the hallway where Bruce’s office door stood closed, hiding secrets your son was far too young to carry. You and Bruce had always agreed that Henry deserved a childhood as normal and unburdened as possible, shielded from the weight of capes and crime and the impossible expectations that followed the cowl, but the thought of your son idolizing the very man who tucked him in every night still warmed something deep and tender inside your chest.

“Batman, huh?” you asked, keeping your tone light while you leaned against the counter, studying him with gentle curiosity. “What makes him your hero?”

Henry climbed onto one of the stools with exaggerated determination, his small hands gripping the edge of the counter as he considered the question with the serious focus of someone delivering a very important speech.

“He helps people even when he’s tired,” Henry explained carefully, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words, his sincerity settling heavily into the space between you. “And he doesn’t need powers to be brave. He just… decides to be.”

You swallowed, blinking back the sudden sting behind your eyes while pride and heartbreak tangled together in a complicated knot, because he was describing Bruce perfectly without realizing it, unknowingly sketching a portrait of his father through admiration for a masked legend.

“That’s a really good reason,” you murmured softly, reaching across the counter to brush a curl from his forehead, grounding yourself in the warmth of his presence. “Are you planning to make a poster? Maybe draw him?”

Henry hesitated, chewing lightly on his bottom lip while excitement flickered across his expression in a way that immediately set off your maternal radar.

“…I was thinking,” he began slowly, leaning closer like he was about to reveal state secrets, “maybe I could dress up as him instead.”

Your breath caught, and you turned slightly to hide your smile, because the mental image alone threatened to dismantle your composure entirely.

“That sounds like a pretty big project,” you replied carefully, watching his face for any hint of uncertainty you might need to reassure.

“I can do it,” he insisted quickly, his fingers curling into determined little fists. “But… I don’t wanna tell Dad. I wanna surprise him.”

That was when your resolve crumbled completely.

You nodded, lowering your voice like you were sealing a pact. “Then we better make it the best surprise ever.”

The following week turned into a covert operation that felt suspiciously like planning a heist, except your accomplice was six years old and extremely prone to accidentally humming the Batman theme song while attempting stealth. You worked together in the craft room during the afternoons, carefully assembling a scaled-down version of Bruce’s suit using fabric scraps, foam padding, and an alarming amount of hot glue that left both of you with at least two minor burns and several bursts of uncontrollable laughter.

Henry approached the project with fierce dedication, studying reference photos from news articles and carefully adjusting every piece to match his understanding of the hero he admired. He insisted the cape needed to “swish correctly,” which resulted in several dramatic test runs down the hallway while Alfred pretended not to monitor the proceedings with quiet fondness from the doorway.

“You must promise me, Miss, that Master Bruce is not aware of this endeavor,” Alfred remarked one afternoon while handing Henry a perfectly cut strip of black fabric.

You placed a finger over your lips with a conspiratorial grin. “Not a clue.”

Alfred’s expression softened in a way that suggested he suspected the outcome would be worth every ounce of secrecy.

Bruce remained completely oblivious, though you occasionally caught him studying the faint glue smudges on your hands or the way Henry vanished into the craft room with suspicious frequency. He never pressed for answers, trusting you both with a patience that made the upcoming reveal feel even more precious.

Role model day arrived wrapped in crisp autumn sunlight, the school auditorium buzzing with parents and teachers settling into folding chairs while colorful posters lined the walls, each decorated with heroes ranging from firefighters to grandparents to cartoon astronauts. You crouched beside Henry near the entrance, adjusting the cowl carefully around his face while he bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, vibrating with nervous excitement that radiated through the small costume you had worked so hard to perfect.

“You ready?” you asked gently, smoothing the cape across his shoulders while he nodded with exaggerated seriousness, his tiny gloved hands resting against his hips in a stance that mirrored Bruce so flawlessly it nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

“Is Dad here yet?” he whispered, his voice muffled slightly beneath the mask.

“He’s parking,” you assured him, pressing a kiss against his temple before straightening. “Remember, you go up when they call your name, okay?”

He nodded again, his confidence wobbling slightly as his gaze flickered toward the stage where another child enthusiastically described their veterinarian mother as “the bravest person alive.”

Bruce slipped into the auditorium moments later, scanning the room instinctively until his eyes found you, his expression softening with immediate warmth as he crossed the aisle and settled beside you. He leaned close enough that you caught the familiar scent of his cologne, grounding and steady as ever.

“You didn’t tell me what Henry chose for today,” he murmured, his voice low while he rested his forearms against his knees, watching the stage with quiet curiosity.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” you replied, clasping your hands together in your lap to hide your growing excitement, because you could already picture the exact moment his carefully maintained composure would shatter.

He tilted his head slightly, suspicion flickering across his features, though he didn’t press further. Instead, he watched each presentation attentively, applauding politely while occasionally glancing toward the hallway where students waited for their turn.

“Henry Wayne,” the teacher announced brightly.

Bruce straightened slightly, his attention sharpening immediately while he scanned the stage entrance, clearly expecting construction paper or maybe a diorama. The moment Henry stepped into view, clad in miniature black armor with a slightly oversized cape trailing behind him, Bruce froze completely.

Henry walked carefully toward the microphone, his small boots thudding softly against the stage floor while he adjusted the cowl nervously before gripping the stand with both hands. He cleared his throat in a gesture he had unconsciously borrowed from Bruce, and you watched your husband’s entire expression shift as recognition and emotion collided behind his eyes.

“My hero is Batman,” Henry began, his voice steady despite the way he shifted his weight slightly from foot to foot. “I like him because he helps people even when it’s scary and because he makes Gotham safer for kids like me.”

Bruce’s hand found yours without looking, his fingers curling tightly around yours as his thumb pressed into your palm in a silent, overwhelmed gesture that spoke louder than anything he could have voiced in that moment. You glanced toward him, catching the faint sheen in his eyes as he watched his son continue speaking with earnest admiration, completely unaware that the man he idolized sat in the front row fighting to maintain composure.

“He works really hard,” Henry continued, his voice growing more confident as he straightened his shoulders, the cape fluttering slightly behind him. “And I think he probably gets tired sometimes, but he still shows up, and that makes him really brave.”

Bruce exhaled slowly beside you, the breath trembling almost imperceptibly while his gaze remained locked on the stage, drinking in every word like they were oxygen. His jaw tightened briefly as he swallowed, his thumb brushing absently across your knuckles in a grounding motion that revealed more vulnerability than he would ever allow anyone else to witness.

Henry finished his presentation with a dramatic cape swirl that earned laughter and applause from the audience, and Bruce clapped harder than anyone, his pride radiating in quiet waves that made your chest ache with affection.

After the presentations concluded, Henry raced toward you both, the cape tangling slightly around his legs while he barreled directly into Bruce’s arms with unrestrained enthusiasm. Bruce caught him effortlessly, lifting him off the ground while his expression softened into something achingly open, the edges of the billionaire persona dissolving completely beneath fatherhood.

“That was incredible,” Bruce murmured, his voice rougher than usual while he adjusted Henry’s cowl gently, his fingers lingering against the fabric like he was memorizing the moment. “You did an exceptional job.”

Henry beamed, wrapping his arms around Bruce’s neck while pride radiated from every inch of him. “Did you like it?”

“I loved it,” Bruce answered quietly, pressing a kiss against Henry’s temple while he held him closer, his eyes briefly meeting yours over your son’s shoulder, gratitude and emotion shimmering beneath his usual restraint.

Henry wriggled slightly, suddenly remembering the final component of his surprise. “Mom helped me make it,” he revealed eagerly, gesturing toward the carefully crafted armor while Bruce glanced toward you again, his gaze softening further.

“You kept this from me,” he murmured later as you walked beside him through the parking lot, Henry trotting ahead while dramatically narrating imaginary crime-fighting scenarios to himself.

“I thought you deserved to experience it fresh,” you admitted, linking your arm through his while the afternoon sunlight stretched long shadows across the pavement.

Bruce paused beside the car, watching Henry spin in circles while his cape fluttered behind him like a flag of childhood innocence he had fought so fiercely to protect.

“I spend every night trying to be worthy of that symbol,” he confessed quietly, his voice low and thoughtful as he rested a hand against the roof of the car. “Hearing him admire it without fear… it means more than I can properly articulate.”

You leaned your head gently against his shoulder, your hand sliding into his as warmth settled between you both, steady and grounding.

“You’re already his hero,” you murmured softly, watching Henry continue his imaginary patrol across the parking lot, completely unaware of the truth standing a few feet behind him.

Bruce’s fingers tightened around yours, his gaze never leaving your son while pride and love softened every line of his face.

“I think,” he began after a moment, his voice quieter now, steadier but filled with emotion he allowed only in moments like this, “that being his father might be the greatest responsibility I will ever have.”

Henry sprinted back toward you both then, breathless and laughing, and Bruce crouched to catch him again, pulling him into another warm embrace while the cape bunched between them. You watched them together, your heart swelling with the quiet certainty that Bruce Wayne might be Gotham’s protector, but here, in the golden spill of afternoon light with his son clutched against his chest, he was simply a man learning how to be someone’s entire world.

And judging by the way Henry clung to him without hesitation, he was doing a remarkable job.

← MLIST. ᝰ.ᐟ edawgz 2026.

Subject: Wayne Enterprises Partnership Inquiry

Good Morning,

I hope this message finds you well.

I am reaching out regarding your company’s recent bid submission concerning the Gotham Renewable Infrastructure Initiative. While Wayne Enterprises respects your firm’s growth and innovation in the sector, there are several areas within your proposal that appear to overlap with proprietary development projects currently underway within our Applied Sciences Division.

I would appreciate the opportunity to arrange a meeting to discuss potential redundancies and avoid unnecessary complications as the city moves forward with its selection process.

Please let me know your availability later this week.

Regards, Bruce Wayne CEO, Wayne Enterprises

Subject: RE: Wayne Enterprises Partnership Inquiry

Mr. Wayne,

Thank you for your concern.

However, I can assure you that every aspect of our proposal is entirely original and legally vetted. If there are similarities between our work and Wayne Enterprises’ projects, it likely speaks to the inevitability of industry-wide progression rather than overlap.

That said, I am always open to conversations that protect my company’s interests just as fiercely as you protect yours.

Thursday afternoon works for me.

Best, Executive Director Kord Industries

Subject: RE: RE: Wayne Enterprises Partnership Inquiry

Miss,

Thursday afternoon is acceptable. My assistant will forward you the conference details.

For clarity’s sake, my concern is not industry progression. It is the speed at which your firm has managed to replicate technology that required Wayne Enterprises years to refine.

I admit I’m impressed.

I’m also very curious.

Until Thursday, Bruce Wayne

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Wayne Enterprises Partnership Inquiry

Mr. Wayne,

Curiosity is a dangerous trait for a man in your position. It often leads to uncomfortable discoveries.

Still, I’m flattered you’ve been paying such close attention to our progress. I would hate to think Gotham’s most influential company only noticed us once we became legitimate competition.

Looking forward to satisfying your curiosity.

Warm regards

Subject: Follow-Up – Post Meeting Notes

Good Afternoon,

Thank you for your time earlier today.

Your presentation was… thorough. I rarely encounter executives who remain composed while disagreeing with me in front of an entire boardroom. You handled yourself exceptionally well.

You also left your portfolio behind in Conference Room B. I have instructed security to hold it at reception should you wish to retrieve it.

Unless, of course, you intentionally left it as a negotiation tactic. I would not put that past you.

Bruce Wayne

Subject: RE: Follow-Up – Post Meeting Notes

Mr. Wayne,

I appreciate you safeguarding my portfolio. I assure you, if I were attempting psychological warfare, it would be significantly less subtle.

Though, for transparency’s sake, I did notice you watching me more than you were watching the slides.

I will stop by tomorrow morning to retrieve it.

Try not to dismantle my business model overnight.

Thank you

Subject: RE: RE: Follow-Up – Post Meeting Notes

I make no promises regarding your business model.

As for the meeting, I watch people who interest me. You should consider it a compliment, though I suspect you already have.

If you are coming by tomorrow, allow me to extend an invitation to lunch. Strictly professional, of course. I would like to continue discussing how our companies might avoid stepping on each other’s toes.

And perhaps how you manage to make opposition sound so compelling.

Bruce

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Follow-Up – Post Meeting Notes

Bruce,

If this lunch is strictly professional, you should probably stop signing your emails with just your first name. Still, I accept.

But for fairness, I’ll warn you now, I don’t lose negotiations easily, and I certainly don’t get charmed out of them.

Tomorrow at noon works.

And Bruce?

You watch people who interest you. I compete with people who intrigue me.

See you then

Subject: Scheduling Lunch – Wayne Enterprises & Kord Industries Collaboration

Miss,

Per Mr. Wayne’s request, I am coordinating tomorrow’s lunch meeting. Please find attached reservation details.

Location: Bristol & Crown, Private Dining Room Time: 12:00 PM

Mr. Wayne has also asked that Mr. Fox join for technical consultation.

Please confirm your attendance.

Regards, Alfred Pennyworth Executive Assistant to Mr. Wayne

Subject: RE: Scheduling Lunch – Wayne Enterprises & Kord Industries Collaboration CC: Bruce Wayne, Lucius Fox

Mr. Pennyworth,

Attendance confirmed. Please extend my thanks to Mr. Wayne for the invitation.

And thank you for including Mr. Fox. It will be refreshing to speak with someone who focuses on engineering solutions instead of intimidation tactics disguised as philanthropy.

Warm regards

Subject: RE: RE: Scheduling Lunch – Wayne Enterprises & Kord Industries Collaboration CC: Alfred Pennyworth, Lucius Fox

For the record, I do not employ intimidation tactics.

I simply prefer to be thorough.

Looking forward to lunch.

Bruce Wayne

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Scheduling Lunch – Wayne Enterprises & Kord Industries Collaboration CC: Alfred Pennyworth, Lucius Fox

Mr. Wayne,

Of course. Thoroughness. My mistake.

I assume that same thoroughness explains the twelve-page comparative analysis your team sent overnight outlining theoretical weaknesses in our solar grid model.

Impressive work.

Also unnecessary.

Subject: Solar Grid Comparative Analysis CC: Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth

Ma'am,

For what it’s worth, your model holds up better than most competitors we review.

And between us — you were correct to challenge Bruce during the energy storage projection discussion. We had not considered one of your scalability variables.

He won’t say it directly, but he respects competence. He also rarely invites competitors to private lunches.

Just an observation.

Lucius Fox Chief Technology Officer Wayne Enterprises

Subject: RE: Solar Grid Comparative Analysis CC: Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth

Mr. Fox,

I appreciate the insight.

For transparency, Mr. Wayne is far less subtle in person than he appears in written correspondence. He stared at me for nearly the entirety of dessert as if attempting to calculate my next five business decisions.

It was either strategic analysis or deeply unsettling eye contact.

I have not decided which.

Best wishes

Subject: RE: RE: Solar Grid Comparative Analysis CC: Lucius Fox, Alfred Pennyworth

It was strategic analysis.

And possibly dessert appreciation.

Bruce

Subject: Joint Proposal Draft - Renewable Initiative CC: Lucius Fox, Alfred Pennyworth, WayneExecutiveTeam

Miss

Attached is a preliminary outline suggesting a joint infrastructure model between Wayne Enterprises and your firm. The city council has expressed interest in collaborative bids.

Before formal submission, I would value your input personally. Your approach to decentralized energy access is… innovative.

Also, your revision notes from lunch were correct. I have incorporated them.

Bruce Wayne

Subject: RE: Joint Proposal Draft - Renewable Initiative CC: Lucius Fox, Alfred Pennyworth, WayneExecutiveTeam

Bruce,

I reviewed the draft.

You adjusted the distribution hierarchy to reflect my accessibility model. That is either a strategic compromise or you are beginning to trust my judgment.

Both are concerning developments.

I have attached my revisions. You will notice I allowed Wayne Enterprises primary infrastructure credit. Consider it a professional courtesy.

Or a peace offering.

Subject: RE: RE: Joint Proposal Draft - Renewable Initiative CC: Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne, WayneExecutiveTeam

Mr. Wayne asked me to confirm that he has reviewed your revisions three times this evening and has not left his office since receiving them.

He also asked me to cancel his 8:00 PM charity gala appearance citing “urgent partnership negotiations.”

Make of that what you will.

Alfred Pennyworth

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Joint Proposal Draft - Renewable Initiative CC: Lucius Fox, Alfred Pennyworth, WayneExecutiveTeam

Alfred,

Please inform Mr. Wayne that working through dinner is unnecessary. Negotiations can continue tomorrow.

Though I admit I am curious what aspect of the proposal requires three separate reviews.

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Joint Proposal Draft - Renewable Initiative CC: Lucius Fox, Alfred Pennyworth

It’s not the proposal.

It’s you.

You think differently than anyone I’ve worked with in years. You argue without ego, and you listen without conceding. I find that… rare.

Dinner tomorrow. Not negotiation related.

You can decline if maintaining rivalry feels safer.

Bruce

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Joint Proposal Draft - Renewable Initiative CC: Lucius Fox, Alfred Pennyworth

You CC’d your assistant and CTO on what is very clearly not a business invitation.

Bold strategy.

Dinner is acceptable. But if this ruins our competitive leverage, I will absolutely hold it against you during the next contract review.

7:00 PM works.

And for record-keeping purposes, I do not choose safer options.

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Joint Proposal Draft - Renewable Initiative CC: Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne

Miss,

Reservation confirmed.

Also, for record-keeping purposes, Mr. Fox and I have begun an internal wager regarding how long it will take before the two of you stop pretending this is strictly professional.

Do enjoy your evening tomorrow.

Alfred Pennyworth

← MLIST. ᝰ.ᐟ edawgz 2026.

You waddle your way to your couch, slip your underwear off and open your legs wide. You watch your pussy stretch around the stranger as they slowly inch further inside you. They must know this is your first cock this big, they must feel it with how tightly your walls squeeze them.

Every time you think they've bottomed out another inch is pushed in and another and another until you're so full, it feels like you can feel them in your stomach and beyond.

You're in tears when he actually bottoms out, then the bastard does the worst possible and pulls out completely just so you feel how empty you are without him, leaving you clenching around nothing. You whine as if he can hear you but it's not long before he's easing himself back inside.

He starts a slow pace, pulling almost all the way out, tip just barely slipping out of your pussy before pushing all the way in again to the base. The thing about the portal is that you can't control the pace, only the person on the other side can, no matter how much you hump your cushions or clench your pussy, they control the pace.

The minotaur finally starts fucking you properly and by that point, you can barely string two words together. You wonder if he can feel when you press on the bulge in your tummy or if he can smell how soaked wet you are.

Your mindless moans fill your home as you watch your hole get pounded. The force of his thrusts rock your whole body, making your couch springs squeak.

You wish he could hear you, see how fucked out he's making you. He picks up the pace as you rub your clit, finally cumming around the beast. Your sensitive pussy weeps as he pounds you harder and faster than you've ever had.

Hot cum floods your womb, filling you to the brim as he holds you firmly to the base of his cock. You feel your stomach bulge with the volume and cum squirts out of you, having nowhere left to go.

He stays still for a moment before slowly slipping out, the moment his tip pops out of you, a river of potent cum pours from your hole and onto the floor.

You lay there and catch your breath, barely having enough time to get your brain in working order before you feel it again, a big blunt minotaur tip pressing against you. Cum still leaks from your pussy, down your legs from the first client but you can't find it in you to deny yourself just another round.

The gala was already in full swing by the time you stepped inside.

Crystal chandeliers bathed the grand hall in warm, golden light, their reflections glinting off polished marble floors and silk-clad shoulders. The room hummed with low murmurs and whispered gossip. At the sight of you and Bruce, heads turned almost immediately to watch you two walk in.

Whatever your private problems there was no denying that you two made a striking pair. Both attractive and powerful, the two of you were considered untouchable…if only they all knew.

You moved through the room together, making the customary rounds, and the whispers followed.

Some were appreciative.

Some were disapproving.

Your attire was certainly one of the main points of conversations. A few women looked at you with open admiration, eyes bright with envy or respect. Others smiled tightly, their disapproval thinly veiled behind practiced civility. Compliments were offered freely, as they gushed over the dress asking where you got it, who the designer was, so and so forth. Even the criticism came wrapped in backhanded praise, because no one in the room was foolish enough to be openly unkind. Not when no one dared to incite the wrath of the Waynes.

You accepted it all with easy grace.

Their opinions held no real weight with you. Gotham’s elite were nothing if not fickle, and truly genuine souls were rare among them. You had long since lost any desire to entertain the judgments of people who smiled sweetly to your face, only to stab you in the back the moment you turned away.

Bruce remained at your side as the evening unfolded, his hand a constant, careful presence at the small of your back. Together, you moved through the crowd with practiced ease—greeting donors and board members, pausing for photographs, exchanging pleasantries that meant little to you but was necessary to maintain images. You both played your roles flawlessly.

If Bruce noticed the way people looked at you, he didn’t say a word. But you felt it. The subtle tightening of his hand whenever someone’s gaze lingered too long where it shouldn’t, the slight shift of his stance between you and them, his possessiveness without being overt. 

Eventually, he was pulled away by Winston, the CEO of another major energy corporation. You’d been about to follow, intent on polite introductions, when a familiar figure caught your eye across the room.

Andrew.

The CEO of Nexus.

Your focus sharpened instantly. Without hesitation, you angled toward him, weaving smoothly through the clusters of guests.

“Andrew,” you called as you approached, deftly lifting two flutes of champagne from a passing tray and offering him one.

He turned at the sound of his name, surprise flickering briefly across his features before recognition settled in. “Mrs. Wayne.”

You took his hand, your grip firm and assured. “Please,” you said lightly. “Tonight, just Y/N.”

A quiet laugh escaped him as he accepted the glass. “Only if you call me Andrew.”

You smiled. “Deal.”

You angled your body toward a quieter corner near the terrace doors, away from the hum of overlapping conversations and polite laughter. The music was quieter there, the city lights visible through tall panes of glass. Andrew followed without hesitation.

“I’ve been reviewing the Eden proposal again,” he said once you both were out of earshot from the other guests, lowering his voice. “I won’t deny it—it’s a visionary project.”

You waited.

His gaze drifted toward the city beyond the glass, thoughtful. “But the board at Nexus remains… cautious. The cost alone is substantial. The resources required to rehabilitate land that compromised—it’s not insignificant.”

He turned back to you, expression careful now, measured the way men in his position learned to be. “And Gotham isn’t exactly known for rewarding humanitarian efforts. There’s no guaranteed return value. No clean projections.”

You inclined your head slightly, acknowledging the concern, inviting him to continue without interruption.

“In the end,” Andrew said, meeting your eyes again, “Nexus has to be confident it’s securing the best possible deal for the company.”

“I understand that,” you replied calmly. “Eden was never designed to be a quick return. It’s a long play—expensive upfront, slow to show dividends.”

Andrew took a measured sip of his champagne. “That’s exactly the concern. Nexus isn’t a charity.”

“Neither is Wayne Enterprises,” you said evenly. “But we’re also not blind to the cost of doing nothing.”

That caught his attention. He tilted his head slightly, inviting you to continue.

“Those properties Nexus owns?” you said. “They’re liabilities disguised as assets. Every year they sit untouched, they cost you—environmental penalties, insurance premiums, quiet settlements. And even public scrutiny.”

Andrew exhaled. “You’re not wrong.”

You met his gaze, steady and unflinching. “Eden doesn’t just address the damage. It transfers the risk. Wayne Enterprises absorbs the cleanup costs, the audits, the remediation. Nexus walks away with regulatory goodwill and equity in the redevelopment phase.”

He frowned slightly. “Equity that won’t mature for years.”

“Equity that will,” you countered without missing a beat. “And when it does, it’ll be tied to housing, infrastructure, and clean water—not facilities that raise questions five years down the line.”

Andrew studied you for a long moment, the glass forgotten in his hand. “You’re asking us to bet on patience.”

“I’m asking you to bet on inevitability,” you replied. “Because whether Nexus chooses Eden or not, that land will have to be addressed eventually. “

Andrew sighed. “LexCorp would move faster.”

“Too right on that.” The voice slid into the conversation like oil on water.

You stiffened, fingers tightening around the stem of your glass before you forced them to relax.

“Lex,” you said coolly, the name tasting sour on your tongue.

“Mrs. Wayne,” Lex Luthor drawled, his eyes roaming with open appraisal. “My, you are a vision tonight.”

His gaze lingered far too long, unapologetic and hungry. You resisted the instinctive urge to step back, lifting your chin instead and meeting his look head-on.

“Come to enjoy the view, Mr. Luthor?” you asked flatly.

“I have,” he purred, sending you a smug smile. His attention flicked briefly to Andrew. “I couldn’t help overhearing—Nexus weighing its options.”

Andrew’s expression cooled. “We’re in the middle of a discussion.”

“Of course,” Lex said smoothly. “I simply thought it worth mentioning that LexCorp doesn’t believe in dragging its feet when opportunity presents itself.”

Andrew’s shoulders stiffened beside you. “We were just—“

“—discussing speed,” Lex cut in smoothly, his gaze never leaving your face. “Efficiency. Things Gotham could certainly use more of.” His smile sharpened. “Nexus has an impressive portfolio of land assets. Wasted potential, really. Left to rot for years. I’m surprised it’s taken this long to divest land that continues to cost the company billions.”

“Some would call it restraint,” you said evenly. “After all, Nexus should consider all of its options before committing to a course of action—and choose the one that truly serves the company’s long-term interests.”

Andrew glanced at you, surprise flickering across his face before settling into something closer to gratitude. He inclined his head slightly, as though acknowledging the support.

Lex laughed softly, the sound smooth and dismissive. “Some would call it fear.”

Andrew shifted beside you, his discomfort plain now. “We were discussing long-term viability.”

“Of course you were,” Lex replied easily. “Eden.” He let the name linger, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Wayne Enterprises does love a legacy project. Very… sentimental.”

Your spine stiffened at the casual familiarity he seemed to have of the project. The details and the name hadn’t been released publicly yet, and the way he said it made your skin prickle.

Lex’s gaze flicked briefly to Andrew. “But sentiment doesn’t clean land faster. It doesn’t quiet regulators. And it certainly doesn’t protect a board when things get messy.”

You turned fully toward him then, your expression cool and unflinching. “And cutting corners doesn’t make consequences disappear,” you said evenly. “It just delays them.”

You made a deliberate choice not to acknowledge the fact that he clearly knew confidential details. Calling it out would only open the door to questions you had no intention of answering. Like questions about who leaked the information, about how secure the internal security of Wayne enterprises really was, or about how Wayne Enterprises could promise to protect and reassure Nexus if it couldn’t even safeguard its own information. 

Lex would relish that opening. You would be damned if you would give it to him.

Lex’s eyes gleamed with interest. “You really believe Eden won’t become a money pit?”

“I believe,” you replied calmly, “that burying contamination under concrete is what turned Gotham into a liability in the first place.”

The smile on his face tightened, just slightly.

Lex’s gaze dipped down to your body again. His gaze leering but purposeful. He wanted to make you uncomfortable. 

“You’re passionate,” he said smoothly. “I’ll give you that. I can see why Wayne married you.” His lips curved. “Shame to see the marriage ending so soon.”

Your spine went rigid, but your expression remained composed.

“My marriage,” you said calmly, “is not a talking point for business negotiations.”

Lex chuckled softly, entirely unbothered. “Everything is a talking point when it affects stability,” he replied. “Nexus is choosing a partner, after all. Continuity matters.”

Beside you, Andrew shifted, the discomfort written plainly across his face.

“Funny,” you continued, unfazed, your voice cool and precise, “how concern for stability only seems to arise when it suits your narrative.”

Lex’s eyes narrowed just a fraction.

“I’m merely pointing out,” he said evenly, “that if the rumours about you and Bruce’s divorce are true, it could result in a change of leadership—and therefore a change in how this project is handled.”

“And I’m pointing out,” you replied without missing a beat, “that Eden doesn’t hinge on my marital status. It hinges on contracts and mutually agreed-upon terms.” Your gaze held his, unyielding. “Rest assured—Wayne Enterprises, with or without me, will continue to conduct every deal with integrity and honour.”

Lex snorted dismissively, lips parting as he prepared to respond—

—but before he could, an arm slid around your waist.

The scent of the cologne instantly told you who it was as Bruce stepped in close. Close enough that you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, the solid warmth of him seeping into you. His hand rested easily against you, thumb swiping along your hip in what seemed like his attempt at comfort.

“Is there a problem?” he asked lightly.

His voice calm, deceptively mild but you knew your husband well enough to know he was far from happy. Playboy or not, Bruce Wayne could be viciously sharp when he chose to be.

Lex turned, surprise flickering across his features before his familiar smile snapped back into place. “Bruce. We were just discussing stability.”

Bruce glanced down at you briefly, noting the tight line of your jaw, the unmistakable glare aimed Lex’s way. Then he looked back at the other billionaire, smile never wavering.

“Stability,” he repeated, as if tasting the word. His grin widened just a touch. “Interesting choice…I didn’t realize you’d developed such an appreciation for long-term commitments.”

Lex’s mouth tightened a fraction.

“Any project of this magnitude requires confidence in leadership,” Lex replied smoothly. “Rumours don’t help.”

Bruce gave a soft laugh, the kind that sounded friendly and easy-going to anyone listening—but carried an edge if you knew him well enough.

“Oh, rumours are Gotham’s favourite pastime,” he said lightly. “Right after bribery and blackmail. I’m sure you’re used to it.”

Lex lifted his glass, eyes narrowing just a shade. “I’m simply pointing out that projects of this scale require confidence in leadership. Uncertainty makes investors nervous.”

“Oh, investors are always nervous,” Bruce replied with effortless charm. “That’s why they pay people like us obscene amounts of money—to pretend we’re not.”

He reached out smoothly, plucking a champagne flute from a passing tray, and tapped it lightly against Lex’s glass.

“Besides,” Bruce went on, his tone easy, conversational, “if rumours were enough to derail Wayne Enterprises, I’d have been bankrupt by the time I was twenty.”

A ripple of polite laughter spread among a few nearby guests, who took the remark for self-deprecation—a billionaire poking fun at his own tabloid reputation.

Lex, however, didn’t laugh. His eyes sharpened, the humour missing him entirely. “Public perception matters.”

“Of course it does,” Bruce agreed cheerfully, unbothered. “Which is precisely why I’m very selective about who I’m seen aligning with.” His gaze flicked narrowing—pointedly—at Lex. “But if you’re that concerned about Wayne Enterprises, Lex, then allow me to put Andrew at ease.”

Bruce turned to Andrew.

“Wayne Enterprises doesn’t make decisions based on gossip,” Bruce said calmly. “We make them based on contracts, results… and whether the people across the table are actually capable of delivering what they promise.”

He let the words settle, then continued with an easy, almost careless lift of his brow. “And since we’re talking about leadership, I should probably clarify something else.”

He shifted just enough to angle himself subtly between you and Lex—an unspoken line drawn. The message was clear. Off limits.

“Wayne Enterprises isn’t fragile,” Bruce went on, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. “It doesn’t hinge on headlines, rumours, or who the tabloids think I’m having dinner with this week.” He paused. “…Or my marital status.”

A few nearby guests chuckled again. Andrew, however, was watching closely now, his interest sharpened.

“Trust me,” Bruce added lightly, lifting his glass and taking an unhurried sip, “if it did, Gotham would’ve eaten me alive years ago.”

He lowered the glass, his gaze never leaving Lex.

“What does matter,” Bruce continued, “is follow-through. Environmental accountability. And not cutting corners just because no one’s watching yet.”

Lex let out a force chuckle. “You’re painting me as careless.”

Bruce shrugged lazily. “I’m painting you as… efficient.” His smile was easy, almost friendly. “It’s just that some of us prefer efficiency that doesn’t come with congressional hearings attached.”

You nearly snorted, catching yourself just in time to disguise it as a cough. Bruce turned toward you at once, concern flickering across his face, but you waved him off casually. Reaching out, you plucked the glass from his hand and took a quick sip—only to pause mid-swallow.

That wasn’t champagne.

You lowered the flute slightly, confusion knitting your brows as the mild burn of ginger ale registered. You glanced at the glass, then at Bruce, suspicion blooming just as he offered you an infuriatingly innocent look. Before you could say anything—or demand an explanation—Andrew cleared his throat.

“Wayne’s proposal does offer long-term insulation from regulatory fallout,” he admitted, his tone thoughtful now rather than guarded. “That’s been a significant point of debate at Nexus.”

Taking the glass back from you, Bruce lifted the glass toward Andrew, a friendly grin settling easily into place.

“Let’s be honest,” he said lightly. “Eden isn’t sexy. It’s boring. Expensive.” 

You shot him a sharp glare, one he absolutely deserved—but your infuriating, soon-to-be ex-husband ignored it entirely. If anything, he looked amused. His smile widened, smooth and unbothered, as though he hadn’t just dismissed years of work with a handful of carefully chosen words.

“It’s not a publicity stunt,” Bruce continued easily. “There won’t be any dramatic unveiling. No glowing towers, no flashy press releases. No me cutting a ribbon and pretending I know how all the construction put into the project works.”

He tilted his head, mock thoughtful.

“Well. I could pretend,” he added, glancing down at his suit. “But who would believe that coming from a man in a hundred-thousand-dollar Armani?”

Andrew snorted despite himself, the tension easing just a fraction.

“But what Eden is,” Bruce continued smoothly, his tone shifting into something more sincere without losing its casual cadence, “is solid.”

He spoke as though he weren’t discussing a project worth billions—like this was just another conversation over drinks rather than a turning point. His arm remained firm at your waist. 

“Every aspect has been meticulously thought out to benefit all parties involved,” he went on. “And what’s even more solid than the numbers is the woman behind the project.”

Your glare faltered, softening into something closer to surprise, and your throat tightened despite your best efforts to remain composed. The praise hit you harder than it should have, you didn’t expect him to sound this sincere and confident in you. As if sensing the shift, his thumb moved almost imperceptibly at your side, a gentle, grounding stroke meant only for you.

Damn this man.

“Rest assured,” Bruce finished smoothly, lifting his glass once more, his tone all effortless confidence, “Wayne Enterprises has every intention of honouring the terms agreed upon by Nexus and Y/N.”

Lex studied him, his gaze flicking briefly to where Bruce’s hand remained possessively in place. “Spoken like a man protecting his interests.”

Bruce’s smile softened—but only on the surface. “Spoken like a man who knows them.”

Lex’s lips pressed thin. “You’re awfully confident for someone whose personal life is currently under a microscope.”

Bruce’s grin turned razor sharp.

“Oh, my personal life is always under a microscope,” he replied lightly. “That’s what happens when you’re rich, handsome, and tragically charming.” He tilted his head, mock-curious. “Must not be something you’re used to, I guess.”

Both you and Andrew coughed at the same time as Bruce lifted his glass in a lazy, mocking salute.

“But don’t worry,” he added, voice almost playful. “When Eden moves forward, it’ll give the tabloids something new to obsess over.” The smile Bruce gave didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll be able to read all about it in the papers—just like everyone else.”

Lex’s grip tightened around his glass, knuckles blanching as crystal creaked softly under the pressure. For a fleeting moment, you half-expected it to shatter in his hand.

Having grown up with that egomaniac, both you and Bruce knew exactly where to poke. And the most effective blow of all was the same one every time—implying that Lex Luthor was no different from anyone else.

You half expected him to stamp his foot and throw a tantrum but instead, Lex only levelled Bruce with a cold glare and a tight, brittle smile, his teeth audibly grinding behind it.

Andrew’s attention shifted between the three of you now—no longer weighing numbers alone. Something more contemplative crossed his expression.

“I think,” he said slowly, “the board will want to revisit the ethical framework before making any decisions.”

“Of course,” you replied smoothly, unfazed. “We look forward to Nexus’s decision.”

Bruce inclined his head with polite ease. “Take all the time you need.”

Then, turning slightly toward you, his hand firm at your waist, he added with casual authority, “Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us—I believe I owe my wife a dance.”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

He guided you forward, seamlessly pulling you into the crowd. Lex’s stare burned into your back as the two of you disappeared beneath chandeliers and shifting bodies.

“Has Lex been causing you trouble?” Bruce murmured near your ear, his voice low, the easy charm gone—replaced by something darker.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you replied tightly, lifting a hand in dismissal as you took a half step back, ready to put space between you and him.

Bruce caught your arm.

The touch was gentle, but decisive enough to stop you cold. You turned, meeting his gaze. For a moment, the noise of the gala seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you suspended in something unspoken.

Bruce exhaled slowly, as if choosing his next words with care. “Lex doesn’t play fair. If he pushes, if he tries to undermine you—”

“I’ll deal with it,” you cut in firmly. “This is my project. And I’ve been putting Lex in his place since we were kids.” Your gaze didn’t waver. “I can handle him.”

A corner of his mouth lifted, something close to admiration softening his expression. 

“I know,” he said.

You studied him for a beat longer than necessary, searching for a crack in the armour he wore so effortlessly.  Instead, he offered you a lazy, practiced smile, all playboy ease as he held out a hand in offering.

“Shall we, Mrs. Wayne?”

You swallowed, then nodded.

His hand settled at your waist, fingers warm even through the fabric of your dress, guiding you closer as the orchestra swelled. You let yourself follow his lead, moving with him easily, muscle memory carrying you through the steps—an old familiarity born of countless lessons you’d been forced to endure as children, ironically enough with Bruce as your partner.

“You’ve been turning heads tonight,” he murmured, voice low. “Even more than usual.”

You gave a noncommittal hum, deliberately keeping your eyes elsewhere, unwilling to meet his gaze when it felt so gentle looking at you

“And the dress—” He paused, his attention dipping briefly before lifting again. “It suits you.”

“So you’ve already said,” you replied blandly, though your heart betrayed you with its uneven rhythm.

He let out a soft, breathy chuckle.

Something shifted then—his expression morphed into something determined and resolute. You felt it in the way his grip tightened at your waist, the way his attention narrowed until it seemed as though the rest of the ballroom had fallen away. He leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed warm against your ear.

“There’s something I need to—”

“Bruce!”

Julie’s voice cut cleanly through the moment. So very perfectly timed.

She appeared at his shoulder, all bright, polished smiles, her hand already reaching out to rest on his arm as though it belonged there. “I was hoping I’d get a dance before the night was over.”

For a moment, you simply stared at her—at the innocence she wore so convincingly. Of everyone who knew about the impending divorce, she was the only one connected to Lex Luthor, and the only one you wouldn’t put it past to let something slip. 

You wondered, whether Bruce realized she was still in contact with her ex—one of Wayne Enterprises’ biggest rivals, no less.

Soon, it wouldn’t be your problem.

Bruce had chosen her. He could deal with the consequences of that choice, so long as it didn’t touch Eden.

And yet…

The worrying question lingered: who had been leaking private information about the project in the first place? Eden’s details weren’t public. Access was restricted, tightly controlled. Julie shouldn’t have known anything—unless—

Your fingers curled slowly at your side.

Unless Bruce had been careless enough to leave sensitive files open in his desk. Unless, in his distraction, he’d left her unattended in his office.

“—Y/N?”

You blinked, the angered edge of your thoughts dissolving as your fingers uncurled. Julie was looking at you now, her expression open and expectant. Bruce stood beside her, concern flickering across his face as he searched yours.

“Hm?” you murmured.

“Is it alright if I steal Bruce away for a dance?” Julie asked lightly.

Your expression smoothed instantly, composure sliding back into place like a well-worn mask. You offered a polite smile. “Of course,” you said evenly.

After all, it wasn’t as though Bruce actually belonged to you to be stolen.

Before Bruce could protest—before he could even open his mouth—you released him and stepped back. Then you turned and slipped away into the crowd, not daring to look over your shoulder. You couldn’t bear the sight of him and Julie together, couldn’t stomach watching history repeat itself in real time.

By the time you reached the bar, you had made the decision to drink your feelings away. If you were going to feel this hollow, this exposed, then you might as well numb the edges.

All your worries and problems would be a tomorrow you’s problem. Tonight, you needed a distraction

You slid onto a barstool and signalled for a drink without bothering to specify what kind, just motioning to the top shelf. The bartender moved quickly, glass appearing in front of you moments later, amber liquid catching the light.

You wrapped your fingers around it and took a generous sip.

The burn was sharp and welcome, cutting through the tightness in your chest.

“Now this,” a familiar voice purred beside you, “is a sight I don’t see often.”

You turned, a rueful grin tugging at your lips as Selina slipped into the empty stool next to you, black dress clinging like it had been painted on, confidence radiating off her in waves.

“Care to join me in drowning my pathetic emotions?” you asked, lifting your glass slightly in invitation.

Selina snorted and flagged the bartender for her own drink without hesitation. “Always.”

Selina accepted her glass, took a measured sip, then leaned back against the bar, one arm draped loosely as her eyes swept the room with sharp, feline interest.

“I swear,” she said dryly, “that man does not deserve you.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re biased.”

“Wildly,” Selina replied without a hint of shame. Then her head tilted, gaze narrowing as she searched the ballroom. “So—where is our favourite emotionally repressed billionaire tonight?”

You tipped your chin toward the crowd.

Bruce and Julie moved together with an ease that looked far too natural. The sight tightened something in your chest, and you looked away before the ache could deepen. You missed the way Bruce’s gaze tracked you anyway, unguarded and yearning, until it collided with Selina’s. Her eyes narrowed instantly.

You’re an idiot, she mouthed at him before turning her back.

“Mhm,” you said lightly, lifting your glass. “Well, we’re getting a divorce. So he’s free to do as he pleases.”

Selina’s head snapped toward you, outrage flaring bright and theatrical—as if she hadn’t already heard the news straight from him. “He wanted a divorce?” she demanded. “That bastard.”

“Actually,” you corrected calmly, taking another sip, “I did.”

She rose a brow. “You?”

“I can’t keep doing this with him.”

Selina took a slow sip, eyes never leaving your face, then set the glass down with a quiet clink. “He’s still a bastard.”

A soft, humourless huff escaped you. “What did I expect from the richest man in Gotham?” you said lightly. “It was stupid to think an arranged marriage could tame the city’s billionaire playboy. Bruce will do what he’s always done—what he wants. I’m just making it easier for him.”

Selina’s jaw tightened. “He never deserved you,” she muttered. “You’ve been more patient with him than anyone I know.”

You shrugged, the motion deceptively light. “Maybe. But it was because I kept clinging to the hope that we could actually make this marriage work. We were close, once upon a time.”

Unable to help yourself your gaze drifted, unbidden, to the dance floor.

You swallowed, the memory sitting heavy beneath your ribs. “I thought… maybe we could find our way back to that.”

Bruce stood with Julie hanging comfortably off his arm. The sight had your throat tightening and you wondered why you still cared.

“Now I realize,” you added, your voice softer still, “that was wishful thinking.”

Selina opened her mouth, clearly ready to say something, but another voice cut in.

“Every time I see you,” it drawled, rich with amusement, “you somehow get more stunning.”

Your head turned at once, and a genuine smile bloomed across your face. “Ollie.”

You rose from the bar stool and stepped into Oliver Queen’s open arms, returning the embrace without hesitation. When you pulled back, his gaze flicked to Selina, a spark of recognition and mischief lighting his expression.

“Kitty.”

She rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “Robin Hood.”

Your brows knit together at the exchange, confusion flickering briefly—but before you could voice it, Oliver had already turned his attention back to you, all easy charm and curiosity.

“So,” he said casually, leaning an elbow against the bar, “what are we drinking to tonight?”

You opened your mouth—

And Selina beat you to it.

A wicked smirk curved her lips as she lifted her glass. “Y/N and Bruce’s divorce.”

Oliver blinked, his gaze snapping between the two of you, disbelief written plainly across his face. “Wait—what?” he demanded. “He asked for one?!”

You took a slow sip of your drink, letting the burn steady you as you ignored the uncomfortable truth behind his assumption. Had you really been that obvious? That much of a lovesick fool for a man who never quite chose you?

“Actually,” you said calmly, setting the glass down, “I did.”

Oliver’s expression shifted—surprise giving way to something darker, more contemplative. His gaze flicked briefly toward the dance floor, where Bruce still stood with Julie at his side, before sliding to Selina. She met his look with a subtle shake of her head, a silent warning, before his attention returned to you.

What you didn’t realize was that both Selina and Oliver knew the truth.

They’d seen it—in the way Bruce watched you when he thought no one was paying attention, in the way his composure fractured whenever your name came up, in the quiet restraint he wrapped around himself like armour whenever you were near. They knew how deeply, how disastrously, he loved you.

And neither of them could believe—truly believe—that Bruce Wayne would ever be foolish enough to let you go.

“Well,” he said at last, lifting his glass, his tone carefully measured, “that’s… incredibly unfortunate.”

You arched a brow, unimpressed. “Don’t sound too devastated,” you remarked dryly.

His grin widened immediately, all charm and audacity as he leaned a little closer. “How could I be?” he said lightly. “Gotham’s most desired woman is officially back on the market.”

You blinked—just for a heartbeat—caught off guard long enough to register the unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes. Then a laugh escaped you, genuine despite yourself, as you shoved him lightly in the chest.

“You are so full of shit, Oliver Queen,” you said, shaking your head.

He winked, entirely unrepentant. “I’m just saying—I’m thrilled we can finally go out and cause trouble without the guard bat glaring at us from across the room.”

Your brows knit together, confusion flickering across your features. “The what—”

You never got to finish the question.

An arm wrapped firmly around your waist, tugging you back into a hard chest that made your breath hitch despite yourself. The scent of his cologne washed over you.

“It looks like I’m missing the private party over here,” Bruce said, laughing lightly—too lightly—as his gaze swept from Oliver to Selina before settling on you. His hand remained at your waist, possessively as he glared at Oliver over your head.

Oliver’s grin sharpened. “Nothing private about it, B. Just friends catching up.”

Selina lifted her glass, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You should try it sometime.”

Bruce ignored her completely, his attention shifting onto you. “Everything alright?”

You gently but unmistakably removed his arm from around your waist, stepping out of his reach before answering. “Perfectly fine.”

The distance was subtle, but it landed like a slap. Bruce’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, the muscle in his cheek flexing as he restrained whatever instinct threatened to surface.

“We were just talking,” Oliver continued easily, leaning back against the bar as if nothing at all were amiss. “You know—life, changes… fresh starts.”

“Is that so?” Bruce replied coolly.

Oliver hummed in response, completely unapologetic.

You rolled your eyes and reached for your glass, taking a measured sip before turning slightly back toward Oliver, pointedly excluding Bruce from the exchange. “You were saying?” you prompted, hoping—vainly—to derail the brewing dick-measuring contest.

Oliver’s gaze flicked between you and Bruce, amusement dancing openly in his eyes. Then he smiled—slow, knowing. “I was saying that change suits some people.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed sharply, the infamous bat glare making a brief appearance. Unfortunately, Oliver was one of the very few people immune to it, having grown up alongside him.

Oliver’s grin only widened, tauntingly.

Bruce’s fingers twitched at his side—an almost imperceptible tell, but one Selina caught instantly. She stiffened, eyes narrowing as she watched him closely, already bracing herself.

He was seconds away from doing something incredibly stupid. 

Like punching the Queen billionaire square in the face.

But in that moment, Julie appeared.

“There you are!” she chimed brightly, looping an arm through Bruce’s as if reclaiming territory. “You disappeared on me, Bruce!”

The contact broke whatever fragile tension had been simmering.

Your fingers tightened around your glass, knuckles whitening for the briefest moment before you forced them to relax. You took a slow breath through your nose, schooling your expression into something cool and unreadable.

Julie’s gaze drifted—first to you, then to Oliver, then to Selina. Her smile thinned. “Oh. What are we all up to?”

Selina lifted her glass in a mock toast, lips curving. “Drinking.”

Oliver smirked. “Catching up.”

Bruce said nothing. His attention had narrowed to you alone now, jaw tight, the arm Julie had claimed stiff beneath her grip—as though he were tolerating the contact rather than welcoming it.

Before you could add something, Selina cut in smoothly, her tone calculated. “Actually…Oliver and Y/N were about to go dance.”

You blinked at Selina, momentarily caught off guard, but she only sent you a conspiratorial wink.

Julie’s lips dipped, just barely. “Oh…”

You raised a brow, the challenge unmistakable. “Problem?”

She hesitated, eyes flicking to Bruce for half a second before returning to you. “Well… I mean, would that be appropriate?” She asked innocently.

Your voice remained cool. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well,” Julie said, choosing her words carefully, “you are married.”

Selina snorted outright. “If that’s the standard,” she said dryly, “then why are you hanging off a married man?” Her gaze swept pointedly over Julie’s grip on Bruce’s arm. “You’ve been glued to him all night like a leech.”

Julie’s face flushed several shades darker. “That’s different,” she snapped. “Everyone knows Bruce and I are childhood friends.”

“And so are Oliver and I,” you said calmly. You offered her a look of mock innocence, all wide eyes and pleasant composure. “I know we don’t always run in the same circles, Julie, but most of the old families grew up together.”

Oliver smiled, lazy and unapologetic, slinging an arm comfortably over your shoulder. “Playdates, boarding schools, shared nannies,” he said with an easy grin. “Really charming stuff.”

Julie’s gaze darted between the three of you, her confidence visibly faltering as she scrambled for footing. “That’s not what I meant,” she said quickly. Then, realizing she was outnumbered, she turned toward Bruce—crocodile tears already welling in her eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way. I was just trying to look out for you two.”

Bruce let out a weary sigh, clearly on the verge of stepping in—but you didn’t give him the chance.

“As sweet as that is,” you said evenly, your tone polite but final, “there’s really no need. I’ve already told you—Bruce and I are getting a divorce. So if that’s all…”

You turned away from her without another glance and faced Oliver instead, extending your hand.

“Care to dance?”

He took it instantly, eyes lighting with unmistakable delight. “Thought you’d never ask.”

You didn’t look back as Oliver led you onto the dance floor. You didn’t need to. The music wrapped around you, and you let yourself fall into it. Your shoulders loosened, your steps grew lighter, and the smile that curved your lips was real. 

Behind you, Bruce remained where you’d left him—rigid and silent—with Julie’s hand still looped through his arm.

Selina watched the scene unfold with open amusement. She rose gracefully from her stool and crossed the space toward Bruce, heels clicking softly against the marble. Reaching him, she gave his chest a light pat—almost fond—and leaned up to murmur in his ear.

“I’ll tell you again,” she said softly, “you’re an idiot.”

Then she straightened and sauntered away without another glance, leaving Bruce standing alone with the truth he’d been avoiding.

On the dance floor, Oliver spun you once, and laughter bubbled free from your chest before you could stop it. The lights caught the fabric of your dress as you moved, effortless and alive.

Across the room, Bruce could only watch, heart aching as he realized you were slipping through his fingers. 

For once, it was Bruce who decided to end the night early.

He found you on the edge of the crowd and minutes later, the two of you were standing outside beneath the portico, waiting for Alfred to bring the car around.

You immediately regretted not bringing a jacket.

What had been a cool, refreshing evening had dropped into something far less pleasant. The cold cut through the thin fabric of your dress, and you crossed your arms tightly over your chest, willing the shiver crawling up your spine to stop.

Suddenly, warmth settled over your shoulders.

You looked up in surprise to find Bruce standing close, his suit jacket draped around you.

“Next time,” he grumbled, “remember to bring a jacket.”

Your eyes narrowed at the tone. “I’m fine,” you replied, already moving to shrug it off.

His hand closed over the lapel, stopping you.

“You’re trembling,” he said flatly. “Keep it.”

You grumbled under your breath, but another sharp gust of wind had you pulling the jacket closer instead. The scent of his cologne lingered—clean, dark, unmistakably him—and before you could stop yourself, you inhaled subtly.

Damn him. You hated how good he smelled.

“Bruce!” Julie’s voice called. You stiffened, biting back a groan. Selina had been right—this woman clung to him like a leech.

Julie slipped up beside him, her smile bright and practiced as she latched onto his arm, giving him a mock frown. “Where’s your jacket? You’re going to catch a chill,” she said, hands roaming over his biceps under the guise of concern. Her fingers rubbed along his sleeves in a way that was anything but subtle.

“I’m fine,” Bruce grunted, neatly stepping out of her grip.

Julie frowned at the rejection, surprise flickering across her face before she smoothed it away. “I was hoping you could give me a ride,” she added lightly. “My driver says the car has a flat.”

Bruce’s gaze flicked to you.

You pointedly looked away, staring straight ahead, jaw clenched tight enough to ache.

“It’s late,” Bruce said evenly, “and my wife isn’t feeling well.” He lifted a hand, flagging down a cab before Julie could respond, and pulled a wad of cash from his pocket. “Make sure she gets home safely.”

Julie’s mouth fell open. She tried to protest, but Bruce was already guiding her toward the cab, practically ushering her inside before shutting the door in her face—just as Alfred’s car rolled up to the curb.

Without sparing the cab a second glance, Bruce turned back and opened the door for you, gesturing for you to enter first.

You ducked your head as you slid inside, hating the way warmth bloomed in your chest at the gesture.

One small moment of care, you reminded yourself, didn’t erase years of distance.

The car pulled away smoothly. Silence settled between you and Bruce, thick and heavy, broken only by the muted hum of Gotham passing outside the windows. You didn’t look at him, but you could feel the tension radiating off him—coiled and restless. He had something to say. It was obvious in the way he shifted, the way his jaw flexed.

After a few minutes, he finally broke.

“Do you realize you’re still Mrs. Wayne?” Bruce said, his voice controlled but edged. “Dancing with Oliver will only fuel the rumours going around.”

You scoffed softly, the sound sharp with disbelief. The sheer audacity of him—after weeks of Julie on his arm, paraded openly without a shred of consideration.

“Like you have any room to talk,” you muttered, barely bothering to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

Bruce turned to you fully then, eyes narrowing. “What was that?”

You faced him at last, something hard settling into your expression. “I said it’s not much of a rumour when it’s true,” you replied evenly. “And if you find it that scandalizing, then sign the papers and let’s finalize this divorce as soon as possible.”

With a sharp motion, you reached into your bag, pulled out the neatly folded documents, and shoved them into his chest. The papers rustled softly as they struck him.

His jaw clenched. “I’ll need a lawyer to look them over.”

You rolled your eyes, exhaustion bleeding through the irritation. “Then I suggest you do it soon, Bruce. I want nothing from you. I’ve already agreed to transfer my Wayne Enterprises shares back to you. I don’t want your money. I don’t want your assets.” Your voice steadied, firm and unwavering. “I’ve never asked you for anything—except this. So give me this one thing. It takes a month to finalize.”

His teeth pressed together harder.

A month.

That was how long he had. How long he could stall. How long he could figure out a way to stop this from becoming real.

Reluctantly, he pulled out his pen. He hesitated, eyes flicking from your expectant expression down to the papers, then back again. His jaw tightened, the conflict written plainly across his face. Part of him wanted—needed—to give you what you were asking for. The other part couldn’t accept a world where you weren’t his.

With a quiet exhale, he signed.

Or rather, he made a show of it.

He closed the file quickly and handed it back to you, expression carefully neutral, controlled.

You didn’t notice the way his grip lingered for half a second too long on the folder, not wanting to let it go.

He would find a way to change your mind before the month was up. He had to. Because in no world could he let you go. He was too selfish for that—and he knew it. A hypocrite, through and through. He had kept you despite knowing he couldn’t give you what you needed. And now, faced with losing you, he realized the truth he’d been avoiding all along.

You were what he needed.

You let out a small breath as you took the folder back. Something heavy in your chest sank when you saw him give in and sign without a fight—but alongside it came a strange lightness, as if a weight you’d been carrying for years had finally loosened its grip.

You didn’t bother to check the document. There was no reason to distrust him. Not with something like this. Not after everything you’d shared.

You carefully slid the file back into your bag.

This was it.

The first step toward moving on from Bruce Wayne.