#day 30

“That just means she really likes you,” Sam says, shrugging his shoulders.

Bucky huffs, rubbing a hand down his face. “You don’t understand, man. It’s bad, like really bad. I can barely get any of my shit done with her begging for my attention twenty-four seven. I just need some damn space to breathe sometimes.”

You didn’t think you were that bad. Sure, you really liked to drag him away from his work for cuddles—but that was only because you thought he needed the breaks. You know that he used to run himself dry, never letting himself rest until he practically passed out from exhaustion. You didn’t want that cycle to continue. It wasn’t like you forced him to do anything. He could always say no to you. In fact, he has said no to you a few times before—when the work was too important to shove aside for later. All those times he allowed himself to be pulled away, reluctant as he was—how many of those times had he been covertly annoyed with your insistence? How many times did he wish you would just leave him alone?

Your stomach twisted, guilt looming over you. He struggled socially, ran on a limited battery when it came to social interactions—why did you think it would be any different with you? Why did you think you were special? Of course, Bucky is sick of you. When’s the last time that Bucky had some time to himself without you bombarding him with affection and small talk?

“She’s spoiled, that’s what she is,” Bucky grunts, shaking his head. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes. Spoiled? Is that what he really thinks of you? How could he say such a thing? And to Sam, nonetheless. “She eats way too damn much. She’s been gaining so much weight recently; it’s honestly a problem. She ain’t gonna lose it any time soon either with how fucking lazy she is.”

Sam snorts. “Sounds like someone needs to go on a diet.”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky huffs before taking a sip of coffee.

A wave of mortification crashes over you, tears gathering in your eyes. Heart pounding, you take a shaky step back, determined to run back to your room before either of them catches you eavesdropping.

You race back to your shared room, tears blurring the hallway beyond recognition. Once in the safety of your room, you sink down to the floor, back pressed heavy against the door. Your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps as you press a hand over your mouth—as if that alone could muffle the sobs wracking your body. The betrayal is sharp, sinking its claws into your chest and twisting deep inside of you. How could they say those things about you? How could Bucky say those things about you?

You weren’t that clingy, were you? You just liked being close to him, liked the warmth of his presence, the way he always made you feel safe. And sure, maybe you indulged a little too much lately, but had it really made that much of a difference? Have you clung so much that Bucky has started to resent you for it?

The words replay in your head, each repetition hitting harder, sinking deeper. He sounded so frustrated—so tired of you. Like he was already pulling away, one step from slipping through your fingers completely.

And could you even blame him?

You’ve seen the women he works alongside, the kind of people who seem like they belong in the world. Strong, confident, beautiful. Not needy. Not desperate. Not… you. Maybe he was just now realising what you had known all along—that you weren’t enough. That you never had been.

A fresh wave of tears burns your eyes, but you swallow hard, forcing them back down. You wouldn’t let this be the end.

You could fix this.

You could give him space—stop clinging, stop being so needy. You could take up less room, be less of a burden. And if you skipped a few meals, if you pushed yourself harder, maybe you could be someone he actually wanted again. Someone he’d be proud to love, instead of someone he merely put up with.

You just had to be better.

You would be better.

When you emerged from the bedroom for the second time that day, you made sure to make your arrival audible lest you walk in on them still talking about you and your shortcomings. Whilst you couldn’t stomach any breakfast, you needed your caffeine fix. Bucky greeted you with a wide, beautiful smile and a kiss on the forehead.

It almost made you sick—the way he was able to talk about you like you were the dirt underneath his shoe, only to turn around and play the role of your sweet lover. How could he act like everything was okay when he clearly held resentment against you? It almost makes you wonder how long he’d put up with you for the sake of maintaining this relationship—how long since he’d noticed your defects and realised that he deserved better. You almost feel selfish for keeping him tied to you. Now that the secret is out, there’s no point in dancing around the subject. And yet… here you are. In a kitchen you share with a man who doesn’t love you like he used to, and the man he entrusted with his troubles over you.

Just a little longer, you pleaded. You just need a chance to prove your worth. Bucky won’t have to worry about your overbearing clinginess. He won’t have to be embarrassed to be dating someone of your stature. Bucky deserves the best after everything that he’s been through; you were determined to be that for him in whatever way it took.

You startle out of your thoughts from the movement at your feet. A white ball of fluff looks up at you, meowing incessantly. You reach down to scritch between Alpine’s ears. “Hey, sweetheart,” you coo at her, abandoning your quest for coffee in lieu of holding your baby girl. At least Alpine appreciated your affliction for affection.

You don’t miss the look that passes between Bucky and Sam.

Stomach churning, you suddenly don’t feel the desire to make your coffee anymore. In fact, you don’t even want to be in this room anymore. “I’m going to go over to Nat’s,” you say, hoping that Nat isn’t too busy today.

Bucky’s brow furrows. “Weren’t we going to see that movie today?”

Shoot. You had completely forgotten about that. “We can go later, Nat wanted me to come over right away in the morning.”

“Let me make you your coffee before you go.”

“That’s okay, I’m stopping to get some for Nat and me,” you say, dismissal clear in your tone. It would have made you feel bad to act this way before—before his cruel words effectively tore your heart and spirit to shreds. You gave your baby Alpine a kiss on the top of her head, promising her that you’d be back soon before seeing her back on the ground. You grabbed your purse and sped out of the door without even saying goodbye to the two men.

You spent the majority of the day with Natasha, dread curling around your insides every time you thought about going back home, back to Bucky.

You had promised him that you’d be back to see the movie; however, so, too soon for your liking, you say goodbye to Nat and walk back to your apartment.

There’s a vase of your favourite flowers sitting on the counter when you enter. You frown at the sight, not sure why he would bother when he’s obviously upset with you.

You walk into the living space to see Alpine curled up on Bucky’s lap, his work laptop abandoned on the coffee table. Bucky greets you with a smile, setting a protesting Alpine aside to stand up and give you a welcome home kiss.

“What time were you thinking of for the movie?” He asks, arms resting around your waist.

Frustration begins to creep into your chest. If he had a problem with your clinginess, why is he initiating contact? That’s not fair. How are you supposed to leave him alone when he does stuff like this? “Doesn’t matter to me,” you shrug, not able to meet his eyes.

“There’s a showing in an hour, how does that sound? We can go get dinner afterwards.”

“Sounds great,” you replied.

The movie would have been great if you hadn’t sat there stewing in your own anxiety the entire film. Afterwards, Bucky took you to your favourite restaurant where you ordered a salad with the dressing on the side. Bucky’s brows furrowed at your unusual choice, but he didn’t say anything. The dinner was stilted and awkward, both of you running out of things to talk about sooner than usual.

For the next few weeks, you successfully distanced yourself from your boyfriend. You ignored the way your heart ached every time you saw Bucky alone on the couch, wishing you could go over and snuggle up to his warmth. You learned to ignore the hunger pangs, the way your stomach felt like it was eating itself. Your head split open with the force of the headaches pounding against your skull, vision swimming every time you stood up too quickly.

It’s fine, you told yourself. Who really needed breakfast anyway? Why eat lunch when you could have a few snacks? Bucky was right, you really did eat too much. You could survive on one meal a day, snacks thrown in when your hunger got the best of you, or your hands began to shake too much. You were getting better for him, though, so it didn’t matter. You were eating less, clinging less—just like Bucky had wanted; so why wasn’t he happy yet?

The bed felt colder than usual.

You used to sleep tangled up in Bucky’s arms, leeching off of Bucky’s furnace of a body. You used to tuck your perpetually cold feet against his legs, laughing off his grumbling about how your toes felt like icicles.

Now, you curl up at the farthest edge of the mattress, not willing to accidentally touch him when he clearly wants to be left alone.

You used to look forward to getting home from work, ready to melt into your supersoldier’s arms at the end of a long, tiring day.

Now, you’re filled with dread, wondering if this time will finally be the last.

You used to love the shared dinners at the worn table you had found at a thrift store long ago. Bucky and you would take turns choosing what meal to prepare—you had been on a mission to introduce him to the world of flavour the 21st century had to offer; he always used to say the best part of the ordeal was watching your expectant face as he tried the first bite.

Now your stomach twisted at the mere thought of eating in front of him. His words echoed through your brain with each bite you took—it was enough to make you sick.

Bucky had grown short and snappy with everyone (except you) lately; Natasha had complained ad nauseum about your grumpy boyfriend the last few times you’d hung out. You couldn’t help but think that all of those weeks of your overbearing clinginess were finally catching up to him, as if talking to Sam had opened the floodgates. He has finally realised what his problem was: you.

You really were too late to fix this. No amount of distance could fix what damage had been done. Bucky had a foot out the door for a long time now, and you had been too oblivious to notice.

It was a typical Tuesday when Bucky sent you a text that shattered any hope of repairing your relationship.

>>>Hey, after work, can you come straight home?

>>>We really need to talk.

The cursor blinked steadily even as your hand shook. Tears quickly blurred the damning texts beyond recognition—not that you’d ever forget those words; the words that signified the end of the best thing to happen to you.

After crying in the bathroom for the entirety of your lunch break, you passed through the rest of the day in a haze. Your coworkers knew something was wrong, of course, they did, but you didn’t offer up any explanation.

You felt something press against your throat as you slid the key into the lock, suffocating you with every step you took towards him. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable any further. You wouldn’t continue to drag Bucky down.

The vase of flowers was still sitting on the counter—he’d been buying you a new batch every time they started to wilt. Was he cheating on you? Was that why he was getting you flowers so much more often? The thought was something you’d have previously thought inconceivable, but now you weren’t so sure.

Breaking you from your thoughts, Bucky called out your name from the living room. You forced your gaze away from the flowers and to the living room.

Bucky was sitting on the sofa, hands clasped in between his knees and head hanging low. Your stomach swirled at the sight. This was it, wasn’t it? He was going to cut his losses—cut you from his life.

You crossed your arms, tucking your hands out of sight to hide the way they trembled. You waited for him to say something, not willing to be the person to instigate the conversation.

“Could you sit down?” Bucky asks, sounding so small as he gestures to the armchair. You walk over to the chair, despite wanting to stay as close to the exit as possible—ready to run away as soon as his words cut through you like a knife.

Bucky sighs deeply, his hands running over his face. You almost reach out for him, wanting to comfort him, wanting to kiss those lines away from his forehead. Stopping yourself, you remind yourself that it’s not your place, not anymore, and it hasn’t been for a while now.

“This isn’t working anymore, doll,” Bucky says, not even able to look at you. You saw it coming a mile away, and yet it doesn’t take away the anguish those words bring you.

You know you should say something, but words seem to escape you as soon as you open your mouth. Instead, a hot ball of grief and shame lodges in your throat. Tears spring to your eyes, despite telling yourself that you would not let him see you cry over this. It’s for the best, you try to tell yourself. You were but a stepping stone to Bucky’s recovery. You should be grateful that a man like him even offered you a second glance. Despite the way things ended, you know that you’ll look back on all the memories you made together and smile. Because, for once in your life, you knew what it was like to be loved so wholly. You knew what it was like to have a man who cared so deeply, loved so openly, and gave you enough devotion to last a lifetime.

“Yeah,” you agree with him for the sake of things. You hope he won’t look too deeply into your unshed tears, the way your voice wobbled and the way your body trembled. “I… I should go.”

“Doll-”

You cut him off before he can get another word in. “No, just… let me-”

Standing up to run away from this awful conversation, you feel the world sway around you. Black fades in at the edges of your vision as you stumble forward. You think you hear Bucky calling out your name under the sharp ringing in your ears. Clenching your eyes shut, you brace yourself for the hardwood floor.

—

“Doll?”

You groan as something prods your side. Just five more minutes, you think, burying your face into the warmth surrounding you.

“Sweetheart, please!”

Is that Bucky? Why does he sound so worried?

Blinking up at your boyfriend, you find that you’re both in the living room. Bucky’s clenching onto your body like a lifeline. “What’s wrong, Bucky?”

He stares blankly at you for a few seconds. “Doll… you just passed out.”

“Oh,” you eloquently respond.

The fog covering your brain begins to lift bit by bit. You were both sitting down… Bucky was… he was breaking up with you.

Jolting, you scramble out of Bucky’s arms, pushing him away, away, away.

“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your heated face in shame. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

“Don’t be sorry, honey.” He scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” you say, despite knowing full well that ever since you started skipping meals, you’ve been prone to blacking out if you stand up too fast.

Bucky frowns at you, eyebrows furrowed. “I feel like you aren’t telling the truth right now.”

“It doesn’t matter, Bucky.”

“Like hell it doesn’t matter! You just fainted. If I hadn’t been there to catch you, you’d have cut your head open on the side of the table. Tell me what’s going on!” Never before had you heard Bucky sound so worried.

“Why do you care so much?”

“Why do I–Why do I care?” Bucky scoffs in disbelief. “You did not just ask me that.”

“You’re finally breaking up with me, you don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore,” you shoot back, venom lacing your words as you extricate yourself from under his arm.

“Breaking… I wasn’t going to break up with you,” Bucky says as if the idea alone was unimaginable.

“Bullshit! I know that you’ve been wanting to break up with me for weeks—months even!”

“Where the hell would you get an idea like that from?”

“I heard you talking to Sam last month. You told him that I was clingy and lazy and fat.”

Bucky looks positively bewildered at your words. “I would never say any of that crap!”

“But you did.” You cross your arms, daring him to continue lying to you.

“Why the hell would I ever say that? I sure as hell don’t think any of that-”

“Oh, give it up, Barnes. Who else would you have been talking about? Who else is such a spoiled, lazy, clingy, fat-”

“Oh my god,” Bucky interrupts you. “Are you talking about that time I was complaining about Alpine?”

Your heart stops in your chest. “What?”

“I was telling Sam about how annoying it was trying to work from home. She’d always sit on my damn laptop and yowl in my face until I payed attention to her.” Bucky shakes his head—his bemusement is quick to fade, however. “You seriously thought that I was talking about you?”

Sniffling back tears, you nodded your head.

“Oh, Jesus, doll. Why didn’t you say something?” Bucky wraps his arms around you. “Hell, if I ever said something like that, I’d expect at least a slap to the face.”

“But I was too clingy, always cuddling you and giving you kisses-”

“Is that why you haven’t so much as touched me the last few weeks?”

“I thought you wanted me to stop,”

Bucky squeezes you tighter. “Never. I’d never want you to stop. Doll, I thought you were mad at me. I kept buying you flowers and making your favourite dinners to try and get you to forgive me. But you didn’t even give them a second glance, and half the time you’d already eaten or you’d just push the food around on your plate.”

You melt into his embrace, his reassurances a balm over the lingering anxiety of being too much for him. “I was just trying to make you like me again.”

“Doll,” Bucky pulls away from you, sounding completely gutted. “You should never change yourself to make someone like you more. I love how clingy you are—I missed you so damn much.”

“What about…” No, you can’t ask that—you don’t want to hear his answer. “Never mind.”

And Bucky, damn him, doesn’t let it go. “What about what?”

“It’s nothing,” you say, pulling away from him.

“Doll, please don’t shut me out,” Bucky pleads, using those sad eyes that always make you fold.

“It’s just… You never… Do you have a problem with what I look like?”

Bucky’s frown deepens. “Of course, not. Doll, you are so damn beautiful-”

“But I could be thinner. Lots of other girls are prettier and skinnier,” you interrupt him. You freeze at the way his face hardens.

“I love you just the way you are, sweetheart. You don’t have to change a god damn thing about you. You want to know who drives me crazy? You. You want to know who I want to spend the rest of my life looking at? You. When I fell in love with you, I fell in love with all of you. It’s always going to be you. I don’t want no one else, got it?”

“I…” You stumble over your words, tears burning in your waterline. “I started skipping meals again. That’s why I passed out.”

Bucky’s face turns ashen. “You… you stopped eating because of me?”

“I didn’t completely stop eating! I had snacks and dinner most days. It’s not that big-”

“So help me god if you were about to say that it’s not that big of a deal,” Bucky interrupts you, voice sharp. “You need to eat, doll. This beautiful body cannot live without food.”

“I just thought… I thought if I started skipping meals and working out more, I’d look more like Nat or Sharon or-”

“If I wanted someone that looked like them, I’d ask them out. You wanna know why I asked you out? It’s because I thought you were hot. It’s because you’re as gorgeous on the outside as you are on the inside. I don’t want you to look like Nat, I don’t want you to look like Sharon. I want you to look like you.”

Bucky says it with such conviction, you can’t help but allow the tears to fall down your face. “You really mean that?”

“Of course, babydoll. You’re it for me. Don’t want no one else.” Bucky pulls you back into his arms, nuzzling his face into the junction between your neck and shoulder. “Call off of work tomorrow.”

“What? I can’t-” You screech as he lifts you into his arms. Clinging to him like a koala as he makes his way to your bedroom, you protest every step of the way.

“Hush,” he says, laying you down on the bed. “I have been deprived of your cuddles for too damn long. We’re gonna order whatever you want, and snuggle all night long. Then tomorrow, I’m going to make you a giant breakfast and we can go on a picnic for lunch.”

“I don’t ever want my best girl doubting my love for her again, got it?” Bucky asks, leaning over you.

You huff at his antics, rolling your eyes. He pinches your side, only the hint of a grin belying his angered expression. “Got it?” Bucky asks again.

“Yes! Okay, I got it!”

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know just how loved you are,” he says as a promise before leaning in and kissing your lips.

That night, as you snuggle into his warmth, you endeavour to never let a misunderstanding like this tear you apart again.

it had been two weeks since you had left the city. Two weeks since you were meant to go back to your cramped apartment, to continue the city life that you had begun carving for yourself. Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to go back, too scared of seeing what life was going to be like when you walked through those doors and was forced to face the part of yourself that was now missing. So you didn’t. You stayed home for a few extra weeks, after being consoled by your parents on the farm. It had been nights sobbing in the arms of your mother, as you sniffled about your heartbreak. It had been the shaky tears as you tried to explain to you or little sister why the man she d been calling he ‘new big brother’ was suddenly gone, and why you were sad. Marcus had closed up again, silently putting the tack he had fitted just for Dick, away in the stables storage shed. When you were out of sight of the prying eyes of your family, you sobbed with your knees to your chest. Your heart panged and clenched as you sobbed into your pillow, wondering how he could just leave you like that. Hours of sleep were lost as you tried to figure out why he had done it so suddenly, why he had thought those things, what that moment of hesitation that flickered over his eyes had been. You hated yourself crying under your covers like a schoolgirl, like you had been rejected from your first crush. Tears stained the fabric of your pillowcase, not even the familiar comfort your childhood bedroom enough to pull you out from the twisting of your heart.

So, after a few weeks of the crying, you decided you had enough of the silence. Dick hadn’t texted you once, no call or even an acknowledgement that you had ever been a part of his life. You’d gotten back into your car after days of waiting by the phone, tearfully hugging your siblings goodbye. Your father was resistant to the idea of you leaving again, keeping you close a moment longer as you took your bags to the car. “You don’t have to go, you know.” He murmurs, kissing you on the forehead gruffly. “I don’t want you going back there to break your heart-“ “Oh, she’ll be fine.” Your mother scolds, coming up to the two of you. “She’s stronger than she looks.” You give her a watery smile, the cracks in your heart healing just a fraction. “Thanks, mama” you say, throwing yourself into her arms for one last hug. With a smile she pats your back and walks you to your car door, helping you in. After a lecture on road safety from your father, you were ready to go. the first couple of hours weren’t that bad on the highway, time flying by fast. It was like the first time you had moved to Gotham, when you were still eager and wide eyed. No gala, no dance or dress, no Dick. There were very few cars, and your music queued your favourite songs. For those few hours you sang your heart out, beaming as you tapped the rhythm on your steering wheel. You screamed the lyrics and sang loudly, the sun setting through the windows in a beautiful orange and gold. Yet as the night began to set in ad your playlists began to run empty, the pain in your chest began to flare. Honestly, it had probably started when the song the two of you shared, YOUR song, began to play. You had still sung along, tone bittersweet as your voice faded. You still remembered when you had showed it to him, lounging at your apartment together. Despite the amount of money he had, he never looked down on visiting your lace.In fact, he came over more to yours than you did to his, due to a lot of nightly visits where he just so ‘happened’ to be in the area.

You had both been cleaning your apartment for the coming week, and as usual you were in your lounge gear singing loudly in the kitchen. Dick looked up from his phone, grin on his face. You knew that glimmer in his eyes the moment you saw it, but you weren’t fast enough to react to him. He had already lunged across the couch and dashed for the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your middle with a laugh. “Whatcha singing?” He asked with a grin,smiling into the crook of your shoulder. “Just a favourite from when I was a kid.” You giggle back, looking over your shoulder. “I got all the words wrong, but I loved it anyways.” His grin widened at that. “Sounds pretty.” He hums, kissing the back of your neck. “Let me join in.” After he learnt one chorus, he belts into song next to you, freeing you from the hug to go do the dishes. Both of you sang wildly different songs to the same tune, random words spilling from his mouth yet sung with o much incidence you almost believed they were the real lyrics.

As you drove home now, you mumbled those lyrics to yourself as the sun sank deeper. Tears stung at your eyes, and it had only taken a few more minutes before you were sniffling. Wiping your eyes with the back of your sleeve, your tried to ignore the crushing in your chest and the sharp pain that ran through your heart. The nightly thoughts came crashing in, ruining your party to turn it into the nightly tumble with anxiety. You wondered what he was doing without you, and if he was really talking to Barbara behind your back. If they had been doing this for long,if that was the real reason or not. But why would he lie? You asked yourself that as you held back sobs. Yet you also asked yourself why he’d break up without a proper explanation, and for that, you couldn’t come up with a reason either.

You hated that he was burned into the back of your eyelids, every blink forcing you to see his face. You saw his smile when he woke up in the morning, slow but soft. Or the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at something he loved, the look he used to give you. You could feel the touch of his hands over yours like a ghost, the warmth so close yet so far away. The way he looked on the farm, the relaxing of his muscles and how he looked so free. The way that he was good with kids, and got along with your siblings like they were his own. You couldn’t stop the tears that were falling, nor could you stop the sobs that eventually tore from your chest, all demanding the answer to the same question: why?

You cleched your fists on the wheel and sucked in another deep breath, hissing it through your teeth. If you were too scared to go back to your apartment to face the questions there, you’d go to he only place that you knew you would find him. The manor.

So hellbent on getting to your destination, resolve burning in your chest with still coming from trembling lips, you didn’t notice the very familiar car passing by you.

Dick was an idiot. He knew that, god, he knew that, but he didn’t think he would have made this big of a mistake. The second that Alfred had taken him home to the manor, all he had wanted to do was lick his wounds and sulk in peace. He had broken your heart to keep you safe, to protect you. That’s what he told himself, and what he had repeated to Jason when his younger brother had tossed him over his shoulder onto a training mat. “Are you fucking serious?” Jason had scoffed, wiping his hand on his pants. His younger brother looked down at him, eyes rows raised like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you really going to run with that excuse?” “It’s not an excuse.”Dick had mumbled, dusting himself off and pushing himself to his feet, only to get knocked back down by another blow from Jason. “It is, and you know it.” Jason rolls his eyes, frowning. “This is a cop out. Weren’t you going to go over there to tell them who you were at night? Wasn’t that the plan?” He asks, arms crossed over his chest. “Yet here you are, not even fighting back properly and moping about over an issue you created.” “I’m not moping-“ “Yes, you are.” Jason says pointedly. “You’ve got that look in your eye, the one you get before you lock yourself in your room for a week and take it out on criminals. I also know that it means that you were doing something selfish.” Jason says, eyes narrowing as Dick gathers himself to his feet once more. A hand collides with his chest, but it doesn’t send him crashing back down. “You’re doing this because you were scared of hurting yourself, not her.” Jason says, hand bunching up the material in his fingers. “You didn’t want the rejection, so you ran away. Honestly, man up sometimes, Dick.” Jason huffs, still mad before letting him go.

Dick wished that it hadn’t taken that conversation for him to see how wrong he had been, and how selfish. He didn’t know what it was going to take for you to forgive him, if you forgave him at all. He couldn’t stop thinking of all the potential scenarios as he raced back to your family farm. His hands were clenched white on the steering wheel, and he hoped to himself that he wasn’t too late to catch you.

He’d tried to go to your apartment, but you weren’t there. Your place had swung open when he used the spare key, everything left exactly where he had left it. The flowers that he was delivering to the door piled up, and his heart grew heavier each night he swung past to see if you had taken them inside. It had crossed his mind that something horrible might have happened to you, his worst nightmare coming to life. Yet he took a deep breath and checked out all other leads before settling that you must have stayed with your family.

He sighed, running a hand trough his hair as he sped down the highway. He was such an idiot, but he couldn’t stop the fear running through his veins. What if things happened to you when he told you? What if you hated him for the mask he wore? Yet each thought of fear was shaded with the same tinge of guilt, settling over his memories like a filter. The way that you put it all on the line for him, starting a life in a new city with him at your side. The way that you had so gingerly trusted him with your heart, only asking in return that he didn’t misplace it. Well instead of that, he had pretty much torn it in two with his bare hands.

He tried to bite back the tears that stung at his eyes remembering how you looked dancing round the kitchen, how he could pick out the features of both your mother and father reflected in your face. The same people he had hurt when he broke up with you suddenly, his one decision causing a flow on effect of pain. He missed your smile when he came late at night,and the sleepy dimples that formed in the early morning, sneaking under the covers and giving you a peck on the lips to go back to sleep. The way that you whole body seemed to light up talking about your passion, and the familiar weight of your hand on the crook of his elbow at galas.

He had realised that you made him feel like Dick again, the Dick he knew he was deep inside. Your gentle hands had managed to gently coax the crying boy inside him to come out, drying his tears and no longer cowering. Like a flower turning towards the warmth of the sun you had tenderly loved him until e loved himself outside of the suit, as a man rather than a vigilante. But what had he done in return? he’d scorned your sun and accused it of burning too bright, shutting himself down and shutting you out in the process. He had taken your heart,beating softly in his hands, and squeezed it until it screamed under the pressure of his fingers. The had left you sobbing and shattered, something he had felt himself as he cried freely for the first time time in years.

So lost in thoughts he didn’t notice he familiar shade of your cars paint blur past him, his eyes too focused on trying to spot landmarks ahead of him. He just hoped that he wasn’t too late, and that you’d hear him out. You just hoped that he’d be honest with you, and that he’d say why he did what he did.

So close, yet so far.

“Damn it!” You quietly muttered under your breath. You couldn’t find your Walkman, you had dug through your backpack three times, but it was nowhere in there, and you knew for a fact it wasn’t in your locker because you had stopped there to grab your statistics textbook before meeting up with Steve to head to the library. The memory of setting it down on your nightstand the previous evening flashed into your mind, and you realized you forgot to grab it before heading to school. Studying was going to be impossible without your music. You released a frustrated groan and dramatically let your head fall onto the table.

Steve, who was sitting next to you attempting to study for his economics test, removed one of his earbuds and asked, “You good?”

“Yeah, I just left my Walkman at home, and I can’t study without music.” You lifted your head from the table and turned to Steve with a pout.

“No, I’m not letting you use my Walkman, I need music to study too.”

You grabbed his arm and started pleading, “You can’t share?”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want you giving me shit for my mix tape.” Steve tried to turn his attention back to his textbook, but he could still see you pouting out of the corner of his eye.

“I promise I won’t,” you leaned your head on his arm and looked up at him with the puppy-dog eyes that you knew would make him fold, “Please?”

Steve bowed his head in defeat and let out a sigh, “Fine.”

“Thank you.” You perked immediately and took the earbud from his hand, placing it into your ear. The song he was currently listening to caused you to chuckle, “Spandau Ballet? Seriously?”

“What was that about not giving me shit for the tape?” He glared at you, but there was no real threat behind his eyes.

“Sorry.” You bit back a smile.

You knew Steve didn’t have much taste when it came to music, he mainly just listened to whatever was popular, and didn’t give it much thought, and his mix tape proved it. Michael Jackson, Duran Duran, Wham!, though you were a bit surprised when a Fleetwood Mac song made an appearance, they didn’t really seem like Steve’s thing. Nothing wrong with liking the popular stuff, but it was starting to feel like you were listening to the Billboard Top 100, which wasn’t necessarily to your taste, though maybe you had just been hanging out with Eddie too much.

Once Kenny Loggins’ “Footloose” came to an end, an unfamiliar song started playing. You tried to place it, figuring it must have been a song you’d heard before, but you couldn’t. The gentle synth-pop beat and longing lyrics were completely new to you.

“Steve.” You bumped his arm to get his attention.

“What?” He responded in a dull tone, still focused on his textbook

“What is this?”

He glanced over at your opened textbook and shrugged, “I’m not taking statistics, I don’t know.”

You rolled your eyes, “Not what I’m talking about, dingus. What song is this?”

“You said you weren’t gonna give me sh—”

“I’m not giving you shit, Steve,” you lowered your voice when you caught the librarian glaring at you, “I’m simply asking a question.”

He sat up, but didn’t make eye contact with you, idly playing with the pages of his book, “It’s by that British band Yaz or Yazoo, something like that. I heard it on the radio a couple weeks ago and thought it was catchy.”

“It is.”

Your comment surprised him. He was so used to you, Eddie, and even Robin giving him shit for the music he listened to, it was almost shocking to hear you agree with him. Steve watched as you listened to the rest of the song, a smile slowly making its way onto your face. When the song ended, you immediately asked if he could rewind the tape and listen to it again, which he did without hesitation. Steve would never tell you, but he liked the song not just because it was catchy, but because it reminded him of you, or at least how he felt about you. Falling for you, wanting to be near you, but still feeling a sense of longing when he is.

“Do you think you could put this on a tape for me?”

Steve could feel the blush starting to spread into his cheeks up to his ears when you looked at him with that soft smile and those bright, excited eyes. He was putty in your hands when you looked at him like that, but he was almost certain you didn’t know it, “Y-yeah, I can do that.”

“You’re the best!” You leaned over and gave him a hug.

“You’re welcome.” Steve returned the hug in kind, taking the moment to enjoy the feeling of having you in his arms.

Your legs rest against his shoulders as he fervently pushes into you— he was a man gone mad with desire, with purpose. As your velvety walls enveloped his cock Gortash only had one thought, breeding your wretched womb.

“This rancid little cunt takes me so well— You have such a pretty face, my dear, it’s a shame it’s wasted on such a vile being like yourself.” Gortash coos, kissing at your ankle as he caresses at the silky skin of your legs.

“Such a nice cock, shame it’s wasted on such an ugly, rude man.” You retort, breathless as Gortash pushes deeper into you— his swollen tip hitting against your cervix.

“Awe, there’s no need to be spiteful, dearest. We both know it’s the truth. But it needn’t be so— You could be purified… with my seed.” Gortash breathes.

Ever since he first laid claim to your flesh, Gortash yearned to see your breasts heavy with milk and your belly swollen with his children. Your offspring, the blood of Bhaal’s purest spawn and his, blessed by Bane’s black hand— They would be indomitable, a god walking amongst mortals and you… You would be his. There would be no denying it with his seed festering in your womb, you would belong to him just as much as his affections belonged to you. Now he was just a god’s daughter’s little plaything. For you to use at your disposal until he was no longer of service. But were he to breed you it would mean something. He would no longer be just your little doll or your ally. He would be the father of your children.

“With my seed you can be more… You will be born anew, no longer just a mere Bhaalspawn but the mother of the most powerful being ever seen in all the planes— Both the heavens and hells will tremble before their feet.” Gortash says, his eyes alight with unbridled passion as he feeds you his tender promise.

“You’re wrong, love-hmm… I’m not a Bhaalspawn… I’m the Bhaalspawn… Gods will…will fall at my feet, ah-” You pant as Gortash fucks into you faster, leaving your skin flush with a sweaty, sticky glow.

You roll your heavy eyes at Gortash’s musings, you’ve been his confidant long enough to know his little game. He would taunt you, play at your insecurities, and offer a remedy— The solution he offered was always the same, pumping you full of his potent seed. And when you refused, as you always did, he would threaten to take what he wanted by force. It was always the same sad little story with him, you were starting to get terribly bored with his antics. You almost wish he would make good on his threats, show you he wasn’t a coward, wasn’t afraid to take what he desired— even if it meant hurting you.

Gortash pushes your legs further back towards the bed until your knees rest by your ears, his hips flush against yours. His length nestled deep within you, your cunt almost painfully full as he bottoms out inside of it. He takes your mouth in his, his sharp tongue gliding along yours as he makes love to your blushing body. Out of all the things you did together, all the foes you felled, this was his favorite— The moments you two truly got to be alone, no politics, no gods, only your sweaty bare bodies writhing against each other, joined as one.

His cock throbs within your slick walls, he was nearing his end. He brings a hand to where the two of you connect, stroking over your clit as he tries to bring your wanton body over the edge. You cling to him, nails digging into his back as your walls clench and gush around him. Gortash’s hips falter as he gets ready to empty his heavy, aching balls into your warm spasming walls.

“What are you doing? Pull yourself from me, don’t you dare come inside.” You spit, attempting to shove his body from atop you. But his grips remain tight on the flesh of your thighs.

His hold on you remains steadfast as you kick at his shoulders and claw at his back, drawing blood. Your resistance does nothing more than spur him on as he spills his seed deep within.

You feel the warmness of his fluids coat the inside of your walls as Gortash’s breath hitches and he clenches his eyes shut. His balls pull taught against his body and a whiny groan leaves his lips as he finishes inside of you. His body still moves against yours as he rides his orgasm out, fucking his seed deeper into your cunt with each thrust.

As he comes down from his high, he puts the full weight of his body on yours. Your body is trapped beneath his as he grips the flesh at the back of your thighs and lifts your lower body. He holds your wriggling hips in place, stopping any of his seed from spilling out of your entrance— he couldn’t bear to see a drop of it wasted.

You can feel his cock softening as he holds himself inside your cunt, your hole gaped around him. Gortash doesn’t release you until he’s sure his come has had time to quicken within your womb, pulling himself out with a wet squelch as your sore walls clench around nothing at the loss of him.

You take your chance to release yourself from his grasp as he loosens his grip on your legs, grabbing at his neck and pushing him over until your body rests on top of his— your roles reversed. You straddle his waist, your knees digging into the mattress as your hands tighten around his throat and you throttle your treacherous lover.

“You better pray to your puny god that I am not with child, I swear by my father's honor I will force you to eat whatever creature crawls its way out of my womb!” You hiss, your body overtaken by your murderous urges as you try to bash his skull against the mattress.

Despite your best efforts no harm comes to the smug Banite as his head bounces against the downy material of his fine sheets. He smiles as he looks up at your enraged face, knowing that the possibility of new life rests within your womb.