He doesn't think it's anything special, but Simon knows you like his voice. There's a certain cadence to it when he addresses you that just... does things to you. Coarse, heavy with emotions, and sounding a lot like home. Those were your words. Heh. Fancy that. Goes double with the pet names, though. And yes, the bastard takes advantage of this at every turn, if only to see you flustered, look away in embarrassment, or get all shy and soft on 'im. Aren't you cute, pretty?
Speaking of pretty, whenever you call out to him?
"Yeah, sweetheart?" First time he said it, Simon swore your knees buckled. Then it turned to "What is it, baby?" or "Luv?" That rough but soft lilt, just like you like it.
Oh, but if you thought that was bad, Simon ups the ante with strong eye contact, too. Sometimes he doesn't say shit, doesn't really have to to get his point across, just watches you. And when you catch him, he doesn't stop. Nah, not his M.O., precious. Your lieutenant keeps staring, keeps watching you, the ghost of a smirk on his lips, loving how you get so timid and shit, avert your gaze some, and then come back to him because yeah, you got that hold on him, too, sweetheart.
But the coup de grâce?
"...Simon?"
"...Yeah, beautiful?"
You shortcircuit something fierce, and Simon chuckles in response. Smug bastard's still got it.
And nah, he ain't stopping anytime soon. Get used to it, gorgeous.
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summary: it's not your fault you think soldier boy's just adorable first thing in the morning
pairing: soldier boy x reader (gn) | genre: fluff | word count: 1.5k (this is short, sorry !!)
warnings: soldier boy (language, mostly. sexual innuendos), implied morning-after (implied past sexual acts), probably ooc ben (i have not watched the boys, i just know he curses a lot and looks hot)
notes: clem's idea !! @clemeowntine
Sunlight streams through the window, a faint breeze fluttering the curtains. The shadows of them dance across your back, rippling like waves in the ocean over the sheets twisted between your legs. It’s peaceful, quiet in the way the world gets when you get a moment to breathe. There’s a faint smell of laundry detergent in the air, and you wrinkle your nose, unsure how the scent made it into your bedroom. It’s not a bad one, just a little out of place.
You blink your eyes open, stifling a yawn in the crook of your elbow. You’re on your stomach, a pillow turned vertically under you, wrapped up in your arms. There’s a dent in it from where your head’s been laying, and you note you must have been asleep for a while. Hauling yourself upright, you rest your weight on your forearms. Somewhere, tangled around your legs, in the sheets; hooked around one ankle, one foot exposed to the cool air of the bedroom. You give a half-hearted tug on the quilt, not surprised when it doesn’t give. You settle back into the quiet, turning onto your side and savouring the gentle ache in your lower stomach.
You smile sleepily, recalling last night. For once, it was strangely gentle at your insistence. Something soft, relaxed, no rush. For once, there was nothing coming after you, and you needed to have a night with him that wasn’t a blaze of touches. Not that it wasn’t intense, because it was, but it was intense in the softest way, where emotions and careful touches do the talking. He’d still been Soldier Boy last night, because that façade rarely slips, even around someone he trusts as much as you.
This morning is different. The man beside you in bed isn’t Soldier Boy; not some renegade patriot symbolizing the ghosts of a nation’s war dreams from eighty years ago. No, this morning, it’s Ben who sleeps soundly beside you. He’s sprawled on his back, one bare leg hooked around the blankets, which explains why you can’t move them. One arm is stretched out, and you distantly remember it being under your head when you’d fallen asleep against him. You may have moved, but his arm didn’t, still reaching for you even though you’re right there.
You slide across the mattress, curling yourself into his side and resting your head back on his arm. You move slowly, not wanting to wake him. He grunts once in his sleep when your head hits his pillow, but that’s it. Exhaling slowly, you throw your leg over his, toss an arm over his waist, and let yourself soak in the hush of morning.
You don’t know if you fully fall asleep again or not, but the next thing you take note of is that Ben’s turned in your grip, letting himself curl into you. His arm is still under your head, your leg still over his, but he’s made himself smaller. His head rests just in the crook of your neck, soft breathing tickling your shoulder. He’s warm, as always, the serum in him making him a constant space heater; something you’ve taken advantage of many times during the colder months. You smile faintly, thinking of all the times he’s teased you for wrapping yourself around him on the couch despite being in a sweater, eagerly seeking out his warmth.
You reach a hand up to run it through his hair, taming in the wild strands and smoothing them back from where they curl against his forehead. Each pass is careful, teasing out the knots without waking him up. Slowly but surely, his hair untangles beneath your touch, until your fingers pass through it unburdened. Your lips brush his forehead, feather-light and so soft he’d barely feel it if he was awake.
You turn your attention the rest of him, tracing your fingers over his brows, the ridge of his nose that’s crooked from one too many breaks, the ridges of his cheekbones that dip to his jaw. You spend extra time on his cheeks, fingertips touching the freckles that dust his face; there’s a collection of them on his right cheek near his nose that look like an ‘M’ that you find particularly interesting.
“Whatever the fuck is it you're doin', quit it,” a husky voice says, lazily swatting your arm away.
“Ask nicely,” you tease, kissing the tip of Ben’s nose as he grumbles something under you.
“Yeah, yeah, fuckin' please or whatever.”
“Please what?”
His eyes aren’t opened yet, but if they were, you’re certain he’d be rolling them right now. “Quit it.”
“Ask nicely,” you say a second time, giggling lightly at his frustration.
“You’re a pain in my ass,” he mutters.
“And yet, you’re not stopping me.”
You’re right, he’s not stopping you. Your fingers are back on his face, softly tracing along his jawline from one sideburn to the other. The short beard he’s sporting is rough under your hand, but you don’t mind the friction. Then, almost imperceptibly, he sighs through his nose and inches closer to your hand, pressing your full palm to his cheek. Your eyebrows raise in surprise.
“What’s this all about, mister?” you say, attempting a half-sultry tone.
“Oh, lay off it with the fuck-me voice. Ain’t a good look, sweetheart.”
You give him an exaggerated frown, already getting way too much joy out of riling him up. It’s not going to result in anything, and you don’t intend it to. Just ticking him off enough that he pins you under his weight and gives you his undivided attention is all you need. And it’s working.
Ben leans in to kiss you, and you turn your head, shoving your hands against his chest. He blinks, stunned.
“The fuck was that about?”
“Oh, nothing. Just not in the mood.”
His eyes narrow. “You were about to climb me like a tree ten seconds ago.”
You have to try way too hard to hold back your laughter. “And? That was ten seconds ago.”
If it were anyone else teasing him like this, they’d be a hole in the ground by now. But there’s something about you that makes him hesitate. Maybe it’s the way you look like one insult might kill you (it won’t, he very quickly discovered. You can take it just as well as you can dish it). Maybe it’s the gentleness you have whenever you do anything. Ben’s convinced you could look like an angel even taking someone’s head off.
What it really is, in all honesty, is the way you look at him like he’s human. Like he’s more than just a washed-up sex symbol. You look at him, and he sees a future in your eyes, where he’s a person with a face and a name that isn’t tainted by patriotism. Maybe it’s the softness you bring into his life, the chances at all the things he never knew he could have, that make him okay with letting you push him around. Anything to make you stay. And apparently, that includes letting your teeth nip his bicep.
He winces just a touch; not from pain, but the unexpectedness of it. Your teeth nip gently once, twice, three times at the skin on his bicep, and he cocks his head in confusion.
“The fuck’s that for?” he says, voice rough and low.
“Just felt like it.”
“You just felt like it?” he mocks, pitching his voice in a poor imitation of yours.
You laugh airily. “You’re cute in the mornings, that’s all.”
He huffs once. “Alright, that’s enough outta you.”
In one smooth movement, he flips you onto your back, spreading himself out over you and pushing you into the mattress with his weight. You laugh in that pinched way you do when something’s pressing on your chest, like the air rushes out faster than it can get back in. He kisses you deeply, tongue sweeping into your mouth for just a second before he lets you go.
“Ben, get off me,” you whine breathlessly, pushing at his chest.
He doesn’t move, just winking at you and quirking his mouth up in a smile. “You had it comin’, sweetheart.”
You bite his arm once more, just because you can, and his brows furrow. “Quit that too.”
“Why? You’re cute.”
You smooth a thumb between his brows, the furrow dissolving against Ben’s will. “I am not cute. Dunno where the fuck you’re gettin’ that idea from.”
“You are cute. You’re always cute.”
He huffs against your neck, sucking a hickey onto your skin in retaliation.
“Ben!” you squeal. “Someone’s gonna see it!”
“Good. Let ‘em know you’re mine. Even if you do weird shit to me.”
The morning drags on, soft sunlight and gentle heat, sleepy warmth tangling up between your bodies. You do nothing more than lay there, letting Ben’s weight on you ground you, reminding you of how lucky you are to get this with him. This is the life he deserves, cuteness aggression and all.
Jason doesn’t believe in the kind of intimacy that glows.
He doesn’t spill himself open in the dark or trace his past with gentle words. He doesn’t talk about his job. Not the blood, not the nights, not the way Gotham hums under his skin long after the city’s gone to sleep. That part of him stays sealed, wrapped tight in muscle memory and silence.
Most nights, you find him already in bed, the lamp turned low like he’s afraid of waking something. Reading glasses slipping down his nose. A book balanced in his hands like an anchor. He looks carved from shadow and lamplight, edges softened by paper and ink. Still dangerous. Still distant. But held.
You try, at first, to meet him where couples are supposed to meet.
“How was your day?”
A pause. A shrug.
“Good. I guess.”
It’s never unkind. Just… final.
Sometimes you get fragments. Dick said something stupid. Damian recommended a book with the air of a challenge. Once, he scoffs about a character being written wrong, like that matters more than anything else. You collect these moments like loose change, hoping they’ll add up to something solid.
For a while, it feels like loving him means sitting beside a closed door and pretending you don’t hear what’s locked inside.
Then one night — tired and unguarded — you nod toward the book in his hands.
“Is it good?”
The question barely exists.
It doesn’t reach for his past or pry at old wounds. It doesn’t ask him to explain the nights that leave bruises beneath his skin or the things he keeps buried because they’re sharp. It doesn’t demand access to a world he’s deliberately built walls around.
Not because he doesn’t trust you, but because letting you in would mean letting you see the parts of him that get people hurt.
It just asks about the thing he’s already holding. The one place he’s allowed himself to be loud without consequence, vulnerable without collateral damage. Paper and ink. A story that can’t bleed on you.
He looks up.
“Yeah,” he says. Then, quieter, more honest, “It’s… complicated.”
And then he starts talking.
About the plot first. How it meanders, how it almost loses itself and then claws its way back. About characters who make choices that ruin them. About anger that burns too hot, about guilt that doesn’t let anyone sleep. His voice roughens, sharpens, warms. His hands move when he speaks, forgetting to stay still.
Time dissolves. The book slides forgotten to the mattress.
You curl closer, listening, realising this is the longest you’ve heard him speak without armor.
He doesn’t notice when his critiques turn confessional.
He says things like ‘I get why he did that’ and ‘sometimes there isn’t a clean way out’ and ‘people don’t stop being dangerous just because they’re loved’. He never says me. He never says I. But you hear it anyway, threaded between the lines.
You learn him through stories.
Through the characters he defends and the endings he hates. Through the way he respects survival more than redemption. Through the quiet reverence he has for people who keep going without being forgiven.
So you keep asking.
What he’s reading. What he thinks. Why it matters.
And slowly it becomes a language.
Books become bridges. Metaphors become confessions. He starts relating fiction to his brothers, to the shape of his anger, to the way fear disguises itself as control. Sometimes he stops mid-thought, jaw tightening, like he’s said too much.
You never rush him.
You just stay. Warm. Listening. Letting the silence land gently instead of closing like a trap.
Jason doesn’t talk about his life the way other people do.
He tells it sideways. In margins. In borrowed words.
And every night, in the low lamplight, with a book open between his hands and your heartbeat steady beside him, he lets you read him. One chapter at a time.
this is part 3, the final part of the bruce wayne x neglected spouse reader. part 1 and part 2 can be found respectively!
> 3k words!!
this chapter makes the other two look like prologues 😭
thump, thump, thump, thump
jason could hear his heart beating within him. was it his heart? or was it his booming steps as he took fast strides across the manor, chasing after one of the only people in his life that made him feel real?
y/n was much faster than he thought. but what did he expect? years of their life was wasted. just like that. all because bruce just couldn’t manage to love the most loveable person on this earth. and for jason? he didn’t even get to blink. he didn’t get to process anything. all he knew was that he needed to be there for y/n. just like y/n was there for him.
”y/n…! please wait..!” jason hastened his steps, wanting to catch up to them. y/n skidded to a stop.
”jason, i promise i will see you again,” y/n turned to face the taller man, and reached a hand out towards him. “i’m sorry things turned out this way.” they caressed his cheek so tenderly, like a mother would do, doting on their child. the irony is that the ‘child’, jason, completely towers over y/n.
”…please stay for a while..” jason whispered, leaning into y/n’s tender touch. he let his posture fall completely, as if giving up.
”..i love you, jason. i love all of you.” y/n raised his other hand to cup both of jason’s cheeks and pulls him down to his height. jason lets y/n lead him down.
“you’re all free to visit me, and i will be sure to make time for you as well. i have your number, you have mine. this isn’t a goodbye for us. you know that, right?” jason and y/n were now head to head, with jason having to lean down in front of them. the position was a bit awkward, but its nothing jason won’t endure for them.
”..yeah. i know.”
y/n smiled for the first time today. “that’s my smart boy.” y/n kisses jason’s forehead before letting the taller man lean back.
.
.
time passed. too much time has passed. it’s been about a year since y/n had their divorce with bruce. they did their best to keep it on the down low, but gotham always finds a way to unearth everyone’s secrets.
when y/n had returned to the manor to take back the papers, they were surprised to see the gates swarmed with reporters and journalists, eager to get the latest scoop first. this divorce came as a huge shock to the general public.
“bruce and y/n were so in love? what happened”
”y/n was such a sweetheart, they didn’t deserve that bruce wayne. wasn’t he known for being a playboy? i bet he was unfaithful”
> “how could you say that? were you there when they divorced? they probably separated because of y/n.”
> “proof?”
> “i agree! i never understood why y/n married such a person. i wish they stayed with their old boyfriend. hal jordy or something.”
> “hal jordan!! they weren’t that public, but I agree. he was much better for y/n”
“y/n is finally free! i hope they continue their career that they dropped for marriage.”
> “what did y/n do again?”
> “y/n used to work as a paralegal at a company in metropolis. they were going to take the bar exam but bruce wayne got in the way.”
> “how did they went from metropolis to gotham??”
> “lol, apparently bruce wayne and y/n l/n were highschool sweethearts in gotham uni. they broke things off but started dating bruce again some time after they moved away.”
”brucie is finally free! hope i can get in his pants.”
> “true!!! they acted so lovey-dovey i was worried i lost my chance on that wayne weiner. i bet it was all just an act.”
as the media had their field day, so did the birds that were left in the batcave.
.
.
dick was doing okay. he did his best to contact y/n as much as he can. But with all the shit going down in bludhaven, batman, and just being a normal person in general- it takes a huge part of his energy to just wake up in the morning. he sometimes forgets to message y/n himself. y/n never forgets though. there was never a time in y/n’s life where they forgot anything about dick, their first son.
dick was tired. he wanted nothing but to just sleep away and make everything tomorrow’s problem. just as he was about to crash in his suit, his phone vibrated. someone had sent him a message.
dick smiles. there’s only one person who messages him at 4am in the morning, right when he stops becoming nightwing and starts being dick.
”dick, i know you haven't washed up. go change before you go to bed, okay?” he let out a small laugh. even when they weren’t legally related anymore, y/n still cared for him just as they did before. it was like nothing changed. but something did change. his smile slowly faltered. they shouldn’t have to be messaging like this through a phone. they should be doing this back home, at the manor. face to face.
dick sighed. is the manor even home anymore? when the person who made that place a home doesn’t live there?
”don’t fall asleep yet after you change. i ordered some food for you. it arrives in 10. eat well, dickie. goodnight.”
yeah. who needs a home when home isn’t even a place. dick was alone. it was only him in his apartment in bludhaven. away from anyone who he calls family or friends. but still, right now, he feels just at home.
.
jason had many regrets in his life. one of them is letting you go. call him selfish all you want. but he wants you around more than anyone in that manor.
y/n was the only person who ever defended him, even while he was gone. he parks his motorcycle on the side. and he steps out. he leans on a nearby building and just thinks.
he’s keeping watch around the area. he’s getting too agitated. he feels everything. he sees everything. he just wants y/n back. he lets out a long sigh. a memory enters his mind.
.
there was y/n. it was a rainy day. they were standing with a box in one hand. an umbrella in the other. they were standing in front of a grave. jason’s grave.
today marks jason’s 18th birthday if he was still alive. and he was. but he has yet to make that known. he watches in the shadows as y/n just stands there in front of his grave. it’s been hours. were they planning on staying there the entire day?
it didn’t take much research to know that y/n had been visiting jason whenever a special occasion came up. his birthday, y/n’s birthday, christmas, his death anniversary. any event you can think of, y/n would attend to jason’s grave after. this was y/n’s way of making him feel included. and his heart clenched. his chest was filled with warmth. someone still cared. someone still remembered. he wasn’t replaced. not by y/n. never y/n.
finally. y/n made their move. they bent down to gently place the box in front of jason’s grave. next to all the gifts that have collected over the years that jason was gone. each gift is proof that he was never forgotten.
when y/n left, jason slowly walked up to his grave. the rain poured over him, wetting his hair and obscuring his view a bit, but he didn’t let such a small thing deter him. he looked at the surrounding gifts, the flower arrangements, and the two lamps that illuminated his area, before finally looking at his placard.
In loving memory of Jason Todd.
xxxx to xxxx.
next to the placard was what looked like small stone plate. it had fallen over, probably due to the weather.
he picked it up and his breath hitched.
on the stone plate, it was engraved.
“son to y/n l/n”
jason was thankful for the rain. it hid his tears well, blending with the raindrops on his face. a simple recognition like this was enough to reduce him back to being a child. just a child who wanted the embrace of his parent.
he looked over at the gift y/n had just recently placed. he kneeled down, and placed the stone back back down properly. he lifted up the top part of the box.
from there, he could feel sobs come out his throat.
in the box was shirt of a band he loved back then. it was a hardcore rock band. one that kids his age definitely shouldn't have been listening to. but y/n promised that when he was older, they would take him to one of their concerts.
.
jason looked down at the very shirt he was wearing. the same shirt in his memories. it was worn, a bit tight on him, but he never stopped wearing it. he let out another sigh.
he was selfish. selfish to think y/n would stay. it was just right for y/n to go. it wasn’t right for them.
it’s time jason accepts that. y/n deserves better. better than bruce. better than him. as much as it hurts him, he has to let y/n go.
besides, y/n was still there. just not at the manor. jason tries to convince himself that it’s better this way. he doesn’t have a reason to go back to the manor anymore. that was his past. his future would be fine, as long as y/n was there for him. and for a moment, jason let the corners of his lips quirk up.
y/n has showed time and time again that they will always be there for jason, for them. that’s one thought he can trust in the raging sea of his thoughts.
.
.
tim felt lost for once. he had always been the one among his brothers who knew best. but this is an extremely big change that not even he is able process.
he understands the importance of contracts. it’s been his morning newspaper ever since he took up the role of being part of WE. he’s been one of the first to find out about bruce and y/n’s fake love. but did he pry? yes. did he ask? no. what went down went something like this.
.
tim ad successfully gotten batman to agree. he is robin now. but what tim didn’t expect was for y/n to be… a little cold. from what he knows, y/n was supposed to be kind and loving. so tim did what tim does best. he stalked. he went through every file he can. just to understand their arrangement. that day he was sloppy. he had left the bat-computer open.
y/n found out what he was doing and confronted him. tim came clean. he had expected anger. maybe something similar to what his parents would do back when he still stayed with them. but to his surpise..
”you can always just ask, tim. i don’t mind” y/n says as they closed some of the open tabs tim had left open.
tim wasn’t too sure about that. he had been very wary of y/n’s presence in the manor. shortly after he volunteered to become robin, the reception to his acceptance was sort of cold. he could recall the moment y/n’s eyes landed on him. the heartbreak, the pain, the anguish, it was all contained in their eyes.
for the first time in tim’s life, he was unsure. he knew why y/n acted that way. it was because of the other boy. jason. the boy before him. he remembered y/n gently urging him out the batcave. and as soon as the doors closed, he could faintly hear them yelling at bruce.
since then, tim took it upon himself to stay away.
”…why did you marry bruce if you don’t like him?” maybe for him, it was too naive. but he had to know.
y/n finally looked at tim. “he has a lot of money.”
”but you do too.”
y/n let out a laugh, “he used to make me happy.”
”used to?” tim questioned.
y/n nodded, “he used to be part of the happiest years of my life.”
”you’re talking in past tense. why would you stay for him?”
y/n ruffled his hair. “im not staying for him. not anymore.” y/n looks down, into the robin costume tim was wearing.
from there, tim understood.
”i hope you know what you’re doing. there mustn't be another accident. it shouldn’t happen again. it shouldn’t happen to you.” y/n sighed, keeping his eyes on tim.
from there, tim and y/n’s relationship only grew closer and closer.
.
im his bedroom, tim sighed, looking at an empty coffee mug on his desk. it was usually filled to the brim with joe.
after y/n had left the manor, all the improved habits y/n had helped him build came crashing all over. he went back to drinking coffee for water. counting ‘blinking’ as ‘sleep’. hell, he doesn’t remember the last time he laid down on his bed. just why did they have to leave?
oh, right. bruce.
tim looked at the coffee mug, debating whether or not he should fill it up. he looked at his computer, mentally contemplating how much work he had. after a self battle, he remembered y/n’s words to take breaks when he can. hm. he can do this for y/n. he reluctantly stood up from his seat, grabbing his phone with him before plopping onto his mattress.
as tim begins scrolling on his phone, he comes across a post from y/n. they have passed. the bar exam.
tim lifted himself up from the bed and smiled so widely before sharing the post to the family group chat without bruce. he let the notifications run, ignoring his siblings excited pings.
”congratulations y/n! i’m so happy for you.” it didn’t take long for y/n to respond.
”tim!! you should be sleeping!!!” tim scoffed, laughing lightly.
”but thank you. let’s go out and celebrate :))”
tim smiled. he missed this. their conversation didn’t stop until the sun trickled from the curtains.
.
.
for damian, it had been a punch in the gut. the league had taught him many things. one of those is to hide whatever he was feeling. emotions are reserved for very little occassions. then y/n came along and made him unlearn everything from the league.
he was distraught. but he was thankful. he had gotten a taste of what its like to be normal. his mother wasn’t too happy about it however.
he recalls his mother visiting, to challenge y/n. damian had tried to warn everyone, but he found himself being given the choice. let it happen, or he returns back to league. it was talia who gave the wayne’s guardianship over him. doesn’t matter if it was legal or not, she would revoke him from seeing them ever again if he disobeyed. and so, he kept silent.
when she arrived, y/n looked very visibly upset, but they took control of their emotions well. they urged everyone not to worry, and politely asked talia if they could talk in another room. everyone intervened, especially damian. but y/n was insistent.
damian didn’t know what happened in that room, but both his mother and y/n came out looking very happy. looks like y/n had won over his mother just as much as they have won over all of them.
he was satisfied. y/n is worthy. even mother acknowledges it. it doesn’t stop him from being scolded by y/n when talia left though.
”damian! how could you not say a thing..!” damian looked down. he could see his brothers snickering from their places.
damian opened his mouth, about to explain himself, “why didn’t you say anything, baby? if you were threatened your brothers- and bruce- would have done a number on them! what would have happened if talia wasn’t in such a good mood today..? i was so worried..!”
damian can only look at y/n in awe. they were worried for him? but they were the one being directly confronted by his mother just moments ago! damian felt like a child. but in a good way.
he felt pampered. he felt coddled. he felt safe. after y/n finishes rambling, he embraces y/n. his ten year old self can only reach up to hug y/n’s waist. he felt y/n stumble back in shock- but they were quick to melt in his embrace.
y/n kneeled to properly give damian a hug.
y/n was different. they weren’t talia, and they weren’t bruce. they were perfect.
they were his.
he can only blame himself for pushing y/n to leave. y/n texts daily. but nothing beats y/n being here.
.
damian promised y/n that they will see each other again. that moment has yet to come. he can only hope it happens soon.
.
“selina.” bruce acknowledges, still in his bat costume. mask somewhere in the room.
”hm. where is everybody else?”
bruce momentarily looked up from the bat-computer, before his focus returned, eyes locked on the screen.
”probably tired. give them time, they’ll come around.”
seline huffed. she knew they won’t. it’s been months since bruce formally introduced her as his girlfriend, and none of them have bothered to even look at her.
”a cat doesn’t wait forever, bruce.” she whined, wrapping her arms behind bruce.
he stiffened, before relaxing in her embrace.
she noticed it however.
but she doesn’t say anything. she would rather pretend that everything is okay just to stay with bruce. and for bruce? he chose this. he has to live with his choice. as much as he regrets his choice. his pride is too big for him to admit his own mistakes.
he lets selina do whatever she wants while he studies the screen.
.
“clark-! wait!” laughter filled the air as two figures were seen flying in the sky.
well, one figure was. the other was just clinging onto superman.
”having fun?” superman asked. he was clad in his super suit, the bright blue contrasting against the soft hues of the sky.
”-you jerk! i wasn’t ready!” y/n hit clark’s chest with a fist. it undoubtedly did nothing to the superhuman.
as the two lovers giggle away up high in the sky, the bats all wonder, ‘when will they see y/n again’?
turns out it was much sooner than they anticipated. after a year of only hearing from y/n on the phone, they finally see each other.
.
”so mr. kent, when will you finally interview metropolis’ most renowned lawyer?”
”well, i would love to! but i’m afraid there would be a conflict of interest?”
”how so?”
”well, i’m very interested in my partner!”
laughter filled the a small circle. it contained y/n, clark, and a few others who stroke up a conversation with them.
y/n l/n and clark kent. lawyer and journalist. the internet says they met through grad school, kept in touch, and met when y/n began working at the same company as clark- only in different departments. how romantic.
the batboys watched in excitement. it was y/n! the boys couldn’t wait to see them. but they knew they had all night to talk. they were just glad to see them again. though, it did take all of them to stop damian from stomping right over to take you away.
as for bruce? maybe he ate something bad that night. must be why he can’t seem to get rid of that grimace on his face. even with seline hanging on his arm.
𓏲ּ ❤︎ toothless sneaks into you and hiccup's bed, much to hiccup's annoyance!
༯ genderneutral!reader ⸝⸝ u and hiccup share a bed ⸝⸝ toothless is a third wheel ⸝⸝ bad writing ⸝⸝ lowercase intended ⸝⸝ artist is unknown, if you know who made this fanart, please let me know.
your eyes blearily adjusted to the sun rays peeking through the curtains, the feeling of wet pressure up against your hand. your finger twitched, the scaly nose shoving itself to where your hand was grazing. “toothless,” you chuckled, flattening your hand to slide up against his head. the small little head spikes, that shockingly felt like rubber. toothless purred, his bright green eyes shining in the morning light.
toothless moved his body up further, a gummy smile, on the night-fury's face. “hi, sweetie.” you cooed, scratching his chin with the tips of your nails. toothless cooed back; having no care for the other objects on the bed, toothless clambered his way over the plush of the bed and . . . hiccup, legs pushing hiccup down into the bed. hiccup groaned, “toothless!” hiccup's eyes, blinked open, narrowing in as toothless purred under your touch, not caring about hiccup's annoyance.
“toothless, get out!” hiccup cries in annoyance, pushing himself up to shove toothles's side. toothless let out an offended growl, “hiccup,” you chided, flitting your eyes towards him. “he's fine, don't be mean.” toothless purred in content, curling into your hands, turning to stick his tongue out at hiccup. hiccup gaped, his mouth wide open, “he's manipulating you!” hiccup sighed, “he just stuck his tongue out at me,”
you grinned, childishly, placing your hands under toothless jaw to present his face to hiccup. “this angel?” you questioned, kissing the edge of toothless's nose. toothles's tail smacking the side of bed at the praise. “you're both so annoying,” hiccup rolled his eyes, scooting over to lay next to toothless. throwing his arm around the both of you, toothless eyes closing in delight at the attention. you giggled at the night fury's antics, “you love us,” toothless gave a small hum of agreement. hiccup sighed good naturedly, shaking his head, tightening his arm around the both of you.
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Summary: You've got Andrew whipped. Hook, line and sinker...there's no getting rid of you.
Genre: Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort
CW: Gn!Reader as far as I'm aware, no pronouns used, second person point of view, no use of y/n, Reader is very sensitive and empathetic, Reader is extremely observant, I think that's basically it.
Word Count: 1.5k
A/N: I just started watching Animal Kingdom, so of course I'm writing a fic. I'm only on season two so, I did my best not to really include any timeline relevant shit. Anyways, I really like this fic. (More Dustin fics will be coming I SWEAR. I've just gotten a little burnt out so gimme a little bit.) Love y'all!!
ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ⌖ ♡
You were close with Andrew, some may even consider you friends. You talked, hung out, he let you vent to him…but he never vented to you. He never said anything about himself and he was sure you wouldn’t notice. Most people are too self-centered to care much when someone else won’t talk about themselves.
But you weren’t most people. You were…you. You were sweet like sugar, kinder than anyone he’s ever known, and not in the fake way. Not in the way that Smurf was, kind in order to receive something in return at some point.
You were just kind because that’s who you were. It wasn’t even that you wanted to be kind, you were cursed to be unnecessarily caring and understanding. You were empathetic to a fault, feeling everyone’s pain as your own…so much so that you would spiral. Andrew remembers the first time he witnessed it…he could never forget.
“Hey.” You hear his voice call out to you, muffled and warbled. You feel like you’re fucking drowning. “I was knocking for like fifteen minutes…you okay?” He finally rounds the bed to crouch down in front of you. Your face is mostly covered by the blanket, only your teary eyes being visible. “Hey…” He reaches out, voice gentle in a way no one but you had ever heard.
“They killed him.” You choke out, holding back another wave of tears.
“Who?” His brows knit together.
“A police officer.” Andrew feels his heart lurching. “He was…he was patrolling or something. He had a wife and kids, he was an incredible officer. I hate cops but he…he was good.” You swallow. “And they killed him…ran him over with their fucking truck.” Andrew couldn’t believe it. Some man you’ve never met or seen in person a day in your life…and you were sobbing in bed because he’d died.
You were inconsolable, rotting in bed for two days until he finally came by your apartment.
“I saw it on the news.” Is all he replies with. He climbs into bed with you and holds you close while you cry. For the first time in his life, he truly feels guilty. He’s felt guilt, but never enough to make him crack…cave and tell the truth. You were different, you made him different. The words almost fell past his lips multiple times…this was dangerous.
So yes…you were kind. You were gentle with him and comforted him so easily. It seemed so effortless when you did it, so natural. You never had to try, never had to force it. You held him in a way he’d only ever dreamed of. The way you made him feel was…scary.
Andrew had liked people before, dated before. He loved Cathrine since they were children, he knew love. Until he met you that is, because what he felt for you surpassed every other feeling he’s experienced.
He loved you.
So he knew he had to let you go.
Only his version of ‘letting you go’ was really just pushing you away. He fell away and ignored you, pretended he was busy. You bought it for a while, until you didn’t. That was another thing he loved about you, you were smart. Not book smart in particular, but people smart. You saw things no one else did, understood things no one else could…which is what made him consider telling you everything.
That was another thing he’d never experienced. The need to be completely honest, to spill his guts to you. He wanted to tell you everything he’s ever done or witnessed, and he wanted to tell you how it made him feel. He didn’t want to give you the dumbed down version either, he wanted to tell you exactly how he had been hurting.
He thought he’d gotten rid of you, everyone in his family did. They pat him on the back and told him it was the right thing to do. They didn’t see how horrible it was for him, how broken he was…but you would have, and you did.
“Andrew!” You scream, making him whip his head back, locking eyes with you. You’ve been crying, a lot. Your eyes are red and swollen, lips plump and extra pink, the tip of your nose rosy like Rudolph’s.
He was ready for you to scream at him, belittle him and call him an asshole. He braced himself for your harsh words, but they never came.
You walk up to him, reaching him in only a few strides. He flinches, ready for the worst.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, voice sweet as ever.
“What?” He asks, voice cracking.
“What’s wrong?” You ask again, reaching out to grab his face in your hands. “You’ve been drifting away, pulling back. I see the way your face shifts, holding back tears.” How could you possibly notice that? “If there’s something I did or said, you can tell me. I can try to fix it or if it isn’t fixable then at least I know why you’re pulling away.”
You’re unbelievable…truly unbelievable.
“You didn’t do anything.” He answers simply.
“Then what is it? Does it have to do with your family?” Andrew’s eyes widen just a fraction.
“Why do you think it’s about them?”
“Anytime I mention them you flinch. Your eyes twitch and your bottom lip trembles a few times before you stop it.” You really did notice everything. “Anytime you talk about them yourself, your voice lowers. You sound rougher, angrier. Your jaw clenches and your teeth grit together, which is really bad for them by the way.” The way you slip the comment in makes him smirk.
“How do you notice things like that?”
“Born that way, you know that.” He nods slowly, he did know that. “Talk to me, Andy…you know you can.”
“I can’t.” His voice breaks, gently pulling your hands away from his face.
“Did they do something?” He simply shakes his head, looking away. “Did they say something?” Another shake of his head. “Is this about the whole crime thing?” You question. His eyes go bulging wide as he stares back at you, mouth hanging open slightly.
“How did you-“ He trails off, watching you like you’re the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.
“The dozens of vehicles in your garage. Boats, bikes, cars. The giant fucking house and all the nice furniture. How careful they are when talking about their jobs, and yours. All their voices catch the slightest bit when they lie, including yours. Anytime they talked about your guys jobs, lives, pasts…voices would catch.” Andrew watches you still, head shaking in awe.
“Janine always offers money, always tries to buy her way through. You all have an edge to you too…” You pause. “A certain…vibe I guess. You’re all tough and secretive, sly and cunning. All signs point to criminals…for lack of a better word.” You wince when the word leaves your lips, shaking your head.
“Why are you still here?” He asks quietly. You don’t have to ask what he means, because you always know.
“Because I don’t care.” You scoff, like the answer was so obvious. It was obvious, but he wasn’t hopeful enough to let himself see it. “I love you, Andy.” Your voice wavers, tears gathering in your eyes. “I don’t care what you do, or what your family does. All I care about is being with you, taking care of you when you won’t do it yourself…talking to you when you need it, helping you.”
“You’re too good.” He shakes his head with a smile.
“So are you…you just don’t show it all the time. It isn’t obvious, or out in the open. You’re so kind but you hide it, don’t make a big deal out of it.” You notice so many things he’s always overlooked, things everyone’s always overlooked.
“That’s why I love you, Andy. You’re a better person than you think. You aren’t who you envision yourself to be, who you think everyone else sees. I see you, good and bad, I see it all…” His eyes are watering now. You don’t point it out, you don’t wipe away his tears because you know it would make him toughen up again, lock away his emotions. “And I still love you, with everything I have.”
“I love you too.” And he did, he always did. How could he not love you when you were just so kind? So observant and understanding, so smart and generous, so empathetic and honest? He couldn’t not love you. You dragged him in with your charm, and you kept him with your love and unwavering devotion.
Could you do jason x gn reader where reader faints durring sex? Not because of how good it is but because something is wrong. Like theyre sick or hurt or smth.
Idk man I just like whump lol. 😔
Also I know your requests are currently closed so please feel free to ignore this or save it for later. I just got the idea and didnt want to forget.
synopsis: you accidentally get caught up in the heat of the moment, luckily your boyfriend is here to take care of you
notes: mature; for vague depictions of sex and non-sexual nudity but also kinda sexual?
tags: fluff, vaguest hurt/comfort, passing out during sex, whump, soft!Jason, gn!reader, wc: 1.6k
this has been sat in my drafts for far too long, hope you enjoy! ☆
⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧
You hadn't noticed yourself grow so warm—Jason was on top of you, mumbling soft praises into your skin as he rocked his hips into yours, large hands wrapped gently around your waist, pulling you back onto his dick with every thrust.
You did notice the sweat gathering on your brow and the back of your neck, your heartbeat steadily grew faster and faster. You noticed the way your vision swam as you stared up, the swirls in your ceiling's paint coming to life, like lazily, hazy rivers.
But that was just the approaching orgasm.
"Baby?"
Just like that, your heart fell and you went limp.
Waking to Jason gently taping your cheek was definitely a first. You meant to ask what he was doing but all that came out was a dry, garbled sound from the back of your throat.
"Oh thank fuck," Jason mumbled as he sat up a little, no longer leaning over you, but still within your line of sight. The back of his hand gently along the side of your arm, light enough that you hadn't even felt it at first, but the more you focused on it, the more it lulled you, almost hypnotic in its repetition. "Gonna have to stay awake for me, sweetheart."
The petting stopped, brushing your hair out of your face. Jason pressed his fingers to your forehead, then your neck, humming softly in what you could vaguely guess was concern? Not that you quite understood why. The world was still swirling and the heat was making it a little hard to think.
"I need to go grab you a towel," Jason said. He cupped your face, so your unfocused eyes could find his. You weren't entirely sure was he needed a towel for. You were a little sticky — were you already done? Jason was still naked but other than that… you didn't note anything else. What did you want to know? You watched Jason's frown deepen a little as he looked for something: it always bothered you when he did that. It felt like you had spinach in your teeth and he just refused to tell you.
"You're going to faint again." Which wasn't a question, per se. You watched as he glanced between you and somewhere behind him, chewing his lip as he thought. You were reaching out before you realised you were—the tips of your fingers felt a little numb as you raised them but you could just about feel the warmth of Jason's cheek under your skin.
"Hey," Jason gave you a gentle smile as he looked back towards you, gently clasping your hand in his own—his hand was so much bigger than your own. His everything was so much bigger than you. There was no way avoid feeling like the biggest pick-me when you compared his body to you—but it was so fun. Watching his fingers curl over the top of yours, climbing up on various boxes and odd objects laying around to 'see what he sees'—it was fun. Why had you been comparing hand sizes again?
"You fainted," Jason said, his voice pulling you back to shore where you had been lost to the currents, "I'm gonna carry you to the bathroom so I can help you cool down a little, okay?"
Your head bobbed a little, "Okay."
Straining your voice was worth it for the bright smile you got in return—it was almost boyish, his excitement and relief. There was something so pure about Jason's joy you hope he never lost.
Your heart leapt into your throat for the second that Jason dipped out of your view, only to reappear at your other side. He gave a quiet countdown as he gathered you up into his arms before standing and your world spun. You clenched your eyes shut as you tucked your face against Jason's bare chest.
"Baby?"
"Mhm?"
You felt his chest cave as he let out a sigh of relief—Jason readjusted his grasp on you before he began making his way to the bathroom; usually, any other occasion you would be delighted. You loved being carried in Jason's arms. You felt like a princess, watching his biceps flex to support your weight—and if he struggled he certainly didn't make a sound.
But right now you just wanted to laid on the cool, hard tiles of the bathroom. You wanted to be let down. You were squirming in his arms like an impatient cat—which arguably, this amount of activity was supposed to be reassuring, right?
Your wish was granted soon enough—but still yet you squealed softly as the feeling of the cold tiles against your back. Jason bent your legs, cushioned your head with a clean towel before kissing your forehead and kneeling beside you.
"Still feeling faint?"
"A little bit," you mumbled as you closed your eyes, the only thing you could think of to dull the growing ache in your head. "M not warm anymore."
"That's good." Jason's hand was warm against your belly but you didn't mind much—his thumb idly pet your skin as Jason watched you breathe. "I'm going to get you a glass of water and then I'm gonna clean you up. Does that sound okay? Sweetheart?"
"Huh?" You looked up at him, and you didn't want to admit just how blurry his face had become in the span of no time. You blinked away the fog before nodding. "That's… that's fine."
"We should get you down to Doctor Thompson's-"
"Nooo." You sounded like a whining brat but the thought of standing and leaving the cold hard ground made you want to cry and heave. "Later."
"Later," Jason agreed before setting off to work.
Jason stood, and even in your less than ideal state, you could appreciate the view in front of you—his ass wasn't within reach, curse his long legs, but the urge to pinch his ass was still. You still tried though, which got you a snort and soft chiding.
"Even when you feel like shit? Really?"
"Mmh, always."
Getting you to sit up was a bit of a challenge—Jason helped you lean against his chest as you sat up, before helping you bring the glass he filled for you to your lips. You were trembling a little more than you realised you would, holding something fragile was a bit of a risk right now.
"Slow sips… that's it, baby." You followed his instructions as best you could, especially as his praises reached you, filling you with a soft pride—which was so silly, but it worked. Jason set the glass to the side once it was empty, but didn't lay you back down, both of you content with your current position. "Would you like to wipe yourself down?"
You nodded—you could now identify the stickiness for what it was, which was not in fact cum like your muddled brain had first assume. It wasn't gooey like that, instead just sweat and lube and other bodily fluids that had cooled against your skin, leaving you feeling quite unpleasant, even with the whole feeling faint thing.
Jason handed you the damp rag, and pretended not to notice as you struggled a little, your trembling hands try to wipe away the mess from between your legs. It only took thirty seconds of struggling before you wordlessly held out the towel and he took over for you, apologising softly when you shivered.
"Better?" He waited for you to nod before he wiped himself down quickly with a clean corner of the rag and tossed it into the sink above you.
"Sorry."
"Hmm?" Jason looked down at you before kissing your temple, "What are you sorry for, baby."
"Fainting." The moment the word left your mouth, you pulled a face—it sounded, stupid, to put it lightly, but you meant it. You hadn't meant to faint, obviously, but you felt bad for prematurely ending the sex. You already had such limited time together, and usually that time together was spent sleeping because you both had such busy lives. Sex didn't happen nearly as often as either of you would like, and when you finally manage to, you pass out.
Jason laughed, and it wasn't mean but you still buried your face in his chest, unable to face him as your face warmed.
"You know that's fucking ridiculous." You grumbled. "It's not like you chose to faint."
"Yeah, but still."
"No." You squealed as Jason pinched your waist—you glared up at him with all the effort you could muster, which wasn't much, even if you felt significantly better than you did twenty minutes ago. "Don't say dumb shit like that. I'm sorry for not noticing."
"It kinda just… crept up on me. I don't know what happened."
"We should definitely get you down to Dr Thompson," Jason said before kissing the crown of your head, "I didn't count, but your heart was definitely beating a little fast for my taste."
"I'm probably just a little deficient in something."
"Still." He brushed his knuckles across your stomach. "Do it for your scaredy cat of a boyfriend."
"Fine… can I take a nap first?"
"After we get some food in you. Deal?"
"Deal."
"Oh, by the way, baby?"
"Oww! Quit pinching me!"
"Quit scaring me like that."
I love whump too ♡ I should honestly write it more often
anyway ☆ more from me here (masterlist + wips list ❀˖°) — for requests please check this post ✧˖° thank you
↬ warnings: some freak shit with henry, but nothing nsfw
↬ notes: there's sort of an established relationship between you and the guys here! can you tell i don't really write a lot of kissing scenes... don't answer that
𝐊𝐞𝐧
• the first time ken tried to kiss you, it was quite possibly the most awkward thing in the world. a combination of too much teeth, and an odd amount of smacking noises to accompany it. if you hadn't known any better, you would have thought he was trying to replicate something off of a cartoon show.
• actually. knowing ken, thats exactly what was going on.
• he gets better at it, the two of you make sure of that. you had originally introduced kissing lessons as a joke, but ken had been so damn excited about learning that you couldn't find it in you to say no— even if your face felt like it was on fire the whole time. thankfuly the doll didnt seem to mind.
• its a lot for him to remember at first ("don't rush into it, the other person may be caught off guard," "some teeth is okay, but too much and you'll get hurt," "take care of your dental hygiene," "make sure that they aren't trying to pull away before,") but youre a good enough teacher that he can't bring himself to care.
• really the whole thing is a charade merely disguised as lessons in order to spend disgusting amounts of time together. but when both of you are sitting on your living room couch, one hand on ken's chest and the other cupping his jaw softly while you plant a sweet kiss on his lips, you can't help but think it was the greatest idea you'd ever had.
you pull away from ken for the first time in nearly a minute, tongue coming out to dart at your swollen lips as you looked at him.
the blond was sitting against the far side of the couch, chest heaving and eyes scruntched up at the corners as he looked at you. his shirt (a tasteful hawaiian flannel, with striped shorts and flip flops to match) was wrinkled and unbuttoned. he looked, for a lack of better words, dumbstruck.
"is it always like that?" ken asks after recovering a little, scooting towards you more as he asks the question. his tone is one of excitement and wonder, and you cant stop a grin from breaking out on your face. "can we do it again?"
"woah woah, hold your horses cowboy." you huff out a small laugh, not missing the way his head perks up at the mention of horses. "give me a second to breathe. i don't know exactly how your lungs work, but i need at least a minute to recover after a kiss like.... that."
"was it not good?" came the next query. you heard the blatant insecurity in his tone, and read even more of on his face. you couldn't stop your chest from seizing a bit at the sight, immediately doing your best to reassure him.
"it was amazing ken, really." you spoke with a broad smile. you weren't just saying that, either. compared to the first kiss he had given you, this was worlds ahead. better than some of your past partners, if you said so yourself— not that they provided any real competition. none of them had tasted like fruit or whimpered when you ran a thumb over their jaw. god, you could listen to that sound all day...
"there are different kinds of kisses is all." you continue your explanation, weaving your fingers with kens in the meantime. running your fingers over his pulse point, you feel it jump a little. "some are shorter, some are rougher, and some are more intense. doesn't mean one is better than the other— that decision is up to you and your partner."
"that's you, right?"
"yes buddy, that's me." ken preens at you, doing a little arm pump at the confirmation that he was right.
"so which one do you like more? 'cause i could do all of them— can we do all of them? i mean, if you want to!"
right, back to the task at hand.
you feel a mischevious grin tugging at the corner of your lips, reaching out to grab the proverbial opportunity that had been given to you.
"i don't know ken, i've never thought about that before. you know, we may just have to try them all. what do you think?"
the giggle he lets out is a good enough answer for you.
• theres a certain charm to the way that ken goes about asking you for a kiss after he gets the hang of it (or about as much "hang" that a living doll can get). sort of akin to a child who wants to ask for something, but is too shy to speak up. more often than not, you'll find him hovering around or behind you. never close enough to touch, but definitely close enough to crowd. he barely registers it either, only stepping back if you ask aloud, and always with a bit of a crestfallen expression. its those moments that you have to take the extra time to explain 'no ken, i'm not mad, i need you to move so i can reach the stove'
• you've, essentially, created a monster. a tall, beach blond monster who can only be satiated with a kiss. good luck trying to explain the do's and don't of PDA to him... you're going to need it.
𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦
• with henry, the kiss always comes from a sense of desperation. a crushing need to be close to you, to grab you as tight as he can and not let go— almost like he's afraid you'll dissapear into smoke if he doesn't.
• his favorite place to kiss you, aside from the obvious, would be your hands. he positively preens when you run your hands through his hair or dance them across his face as gentle as can be, so it's no surprise that he takes a special interest in them. henry always leans into them with a careful look, placing a slow kiss to your palm or knuckles before saddling closer by your side to plant more. they're never less passionate than the ones he pressed to your mouth, just.. different.
• henry likes knowing that he's yours, and vice versa. a kiss reassures him, in a way, that you're still there— wherever there happens to be that day. often times it's your appartment or walking down the streets together. occasionally a shop or two if no one seems to be around to complain.
• theres a deeper part of henry, a darker part of him, that yearns for the taste of copper during a kiss. the urge to bite at your lip until blood spills into his mouth, tongue immediately soothing over the mark in reassurance, is constant. even in the sweetest moments those feelings will show their ugly head, prompting a shudder to roll through his body at the very thought.
• occasionally, he imagines you doing the same to him.
henry is burning up. he can hardly breathe as his hands search for purchase on your clothes. he's panting heavily, pupils blown out to the point where you could barely see the ring of blue around them. his head feels like it's full of static— his lips even more.
a stray drop of blood drips onto the floor unceremoniously, barely staining the tip of his shoe. a few more lie beside it, having fallen just moments before. a testimony to the teeth-shaped indent on his bottom lip that tasted like you.
you're in no better shape than henry is, really. you're breathing just as hard as him, and there's a splotch of red smeared messily by the corner of your mouth, ("like lipstick," henry thinks faintly) although he knows it isn't yours. did he want it to be? no, that was for later.
"was that okay?" you have the audacity to ask him that while he struggles not to beg for more. you, staring at him with a curious expression and that worried look in your eye— as if you hadn't just given him everything he wanted.
henry doesnt answer you; not verbally anyways. he doesnt need to when he's already back to kissing you again, practically moaning into your mouth as he tastes the tangy salt and blood between you all at once. you reciprocate the action, your tongue occasionally poking at his wound in what he hoped was an attempt to tease him. it was filthy and quite possibly derranged, but that made him love it even more.
• freak to the max about that kind of stuff, what can i say. "always the quite ones," as you once put it. he had just taken another drag of his cigarette at that, blowing the smoke to the side as he grinned that small grin of his. the one he knew you loved.
• any sort of relationship with henry letham of all people is going to be weird and sort-of-macabre, and by extent the kissing, but the two of you make it work. he'll ramble on about the work of the late-great tristian rêveur while you lie there next to him patiently, a little bit of his blood still clinging to the corner of your lips. it's not perfect, but it's undoubtedly and irrevocably the two of you, and that's all that matters.
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫
• okay. we've all seen the movie. there's no sense in pretending that this man would kiss you with anything less than the passion of a thousand supernovas. that's just a fact.
• whether you believe it comes from a place of self-confidence and heat, or a much more desperate part of him, driver will always give you his undivided attention. thats just who he is. methodical— obsessive, even. every word and small touch to your back as he pulls you closer is carefully planned out beforehand.
• it's a sign of trust to him, really.
• he's no stranger to soft pecks on the cheek or lips, don't get me wrong, driver just prefers the ever-encompasing feeling of your mouth on his, tongues dancing around each other as you both take your time mapping out each individual detail. everything about you is intoxicating to the point where driver wants to drown in it.. sometimes he thinks he just might. wouldn't be the worst way to go.
• he definitely uses chapstick. nothing too flavorful, (unless you like that, then he'd reconsider) just enough to keep them from cracking or drying out. he finds that it makes for a much more enjoyable kiss either way, and you agree.
• it's also my strong belief that driver has definitely forgotten to take his toothpick out once or twice before going in for a kiss, resulting in a little poke. you always wave it off, but the first time it had happened he'd looked positively mortified (or about as mortified as he could get). thankfully, driver's been pretty mindful about it since then, always making sure to toss the thing or settle it behind his ear before pecking you.
• in spite of the rest of his fast paced lifestyle, driver is not really a big fan of PDA. it's simply too much attention on somebody with too many criminal ties, and he'd rather die than risk your saftey. but on the off chance that he's feeling risky, it's usually after a nice cruise through the streets with you.
driver's steady hands are cradling the sides of your face as the two of you stand beside his car— a new one he just picked up from sharon. you had asked to tag along that day, always jumping at the opertunity to be in the front seat with him. his favorite habit of yours was how your hand always seemed to find his on the road, fingers interlocking as you let him whisk you away on whatever road he had in mind.
the flickering white light from above casts an irregular shadow across driver's face while he recalls all of this. it draws out the intensity of his eyes as his gaze darts from your eyes to your nose and to your lips. even here, standing in a dingy underground parking garage, he can't help but think that you looked stunning.
your own arms were wrapped around drivers middle, squeezing lightly as you admired him back. the two of you often had moments like this. moments where driver seemed incapable of doing anything but soaking you in, almost overwhelmed with the realization that you loved him just as much as he loved you. living on one's own for so long takes its toll on the importance behind human touch, and driver had been deprived of it (of you) for far too long.
nothing was said as you craned your head slightly upwards, lips carefully capturing his own in a soft kiss. nothing had to be; it was a familiar motion between the two of you by now.
driver accepts the display of affection with a barely audible hum, showing his appreciation as his mouth begins to move in tandem with your own. he can taste the faint remnants of the toothpaste you used this morning before he picked you up, and it brings him comfort. everything about you to him is comforting. safe. the one part of his life that he's been allowed to really, truly enjoy. and enjoy himself, he would.
eventually you had to break away, much to driver's disappointment. if he had it his way, he'd be glued at your side at all times, there to angle your lips towards his at any point. but then again, if he had it his way, nothing would end up getting done. your appartment had seen enough evidence of that— you'd lost count of the amount of times you'd shown up late to something because driver couldn't keep his lips (or hands) off of you.
you reach to press one last kiss to his lips, an unspoken promise for more. "come on, let's get inside before someone complains."
"let them." came his only response before dipping back down for another. he ends up chasing your lips instead, mouth twitching into a barely-there smile as you pull away with a teasing laugh. you're already making your way towards the elevator, grinning at him as if to say 'catch up'. you barely make it there before he's got you by your wrist, interlocking your fingers and pulling you into his chest gently.
"sucker." you mummble against his jacket, but driver hears the unmistakeable smile in your tone.
as he leans down for yet another kiss, he can help but think that you're right.
