"you Twins?"

"Simon Strong is pro daemyra" Simon Strong is pro getting this crazy man out of his house

Reunion - Aftermath

Masterlist

Pairing: Dick Grayson x (f)reader

Tags: slight NSFW, angst, toxic, you cant fix him, smut, grad school, halloween, Dick is the reader's friend's ex's best friend, reunion, oral, penetration, praise, heartbreak, heartbroken reader,

It took some time to get over your initial jealousy after seeing Dick with the girl at the bar. You excused yourself and left your things with your friends, then headed to the bathroom. You held it together surprisingly well, that is until you saw yourself in the mirror and let out a quiet sob.

Damn you. You fell for it again. Visions of that night replayed in your mind. His kind words, the gentleness of his hands on your body, of his lips on your neck, the way his eyes geld yours - it all meant nothing!

You wished you were a like that. Wished you could indulge in intimate activities without being emotionally attached or vulnerable. That you could just have fun and feel nothing the next day.

"Asshole," you cursed under your breath.

Your mascara was smudged at the sides, giving you away despite your attempts to calm your emotions. You ripped a couple of pieces of paper and tried your best to wipe off the tear smudged eyeliner and bring yourself back to normal.

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts.

You sniffled, calling out, "Just a minute!" And collected your things.

Opening the door, you questioned if the universe was testing you today because you came face to face with the same girl you had just been mentally cursing. She was pretty, dressed in a simple sweater and skinny jeans, tucked into high leather boots. The outfit slapped. It actually mirrored yours, and you almost laughed at the thought that Dick had a type. Speaking of, he was right behind her, his face nuzzled between her ear and her shoulder as the couple giggled to each other.

His gaze registered you, and then a look of surprise took over his face. His smile dropped, and he straightened up, clearing his throat.

You blinked, partly in surprise, partly to clear a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill. Swallowing uncomfortably, you moved out of their way, pressing yourself against the wall in the narrow hallway and trying to escape.

"Honey," the girl took you gently by the wrist. You squeezed your eyes shut at hearing her kind voice. "Are you okay-"

"I'm fine, thanks." You rushed without meeting her gaze. Then you made a mistake. As you walked past Dick, your shoulder nudged his - more aggressively than it needed to, for a random stranger passing by.

You knew your evening was positively ruined. To avoid ruining the mood of your fellow interns, you offered them a made-up excuse about a headache and took your bag on your way out.

"Y/n," the last voice you wanted to hear right now called our behind you.

You didn't turn around, instead holding your eyes closed and sniffling quietly under your breath. "Why, god?"

"Y/n," Dick prompted behind you. "What happened?"

"Oh, shut up." You said, stopping yourself too late.

He paused in front of you, leaning back as if ti assess you. "You're mad at me..." He observed.

Too tired to argue, you took out your phone and checked the bus schedule.

"Why are you mad at me?" He asked.

What a stupid question. You glared up at him from your phone. "Dont you have a face to suck on in there?"

A knowing smile spread across his face, and he shook his head. "I see."

"Good for you." You snapped, murmuring to yourself, "Go after her." You said, feeling your cheeks heat in embarrassment and began walking towards the bus stop, grasping at your coat as you shivered.

"She can wait." He took you by your hand and turned you to face him, nearly dislocating your shoulder in the process. You tore your arm away, only to be backed up against the wall of the bar, caged in by his frame.

You lifted you chin, challenging him with your red eyed gaze. You sneered, "Aren't you worried she'll see us?"

"Not really." Dick gazed back at you with equal challenge. This close you could smell the mix of his skin with his cologne, a painful reminder of how close you let him get to you. "At least she knows the meaning of 'no-strings-attatched'."

"Oh yeah?" You shot back at him "Well at least -" Your shoulders rose and fell as you searched for a retort, only to come up empty-handed. "At least..."

Giving up, you felt your shoulders sag along with your gaze as you let out another sob you'd been holding back. You sniffled, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

Something in him shifted. The vision of you crying? He never saw that, nor had he wanted to see that again.

He let go of you, feeling his own shame rise in his throat. His voice lowered to an apologetic tone. "I'm sorry. That was... uncool. Had i known you would see us... I would never have done anything in front of you."

Shaking your head, you admitted between sniffles, "I wish I was like you."

His brow furrowed. "Why?"

"I wish I could..." He swallowed. "Not get attached."

"I don't... not get attached -" he attempted half heartedly.

"Please," you rolled your eyes, taking out a napkin to wipe them. "I'm still covering up hickeys you left two days ago -" You pulled down your turtleneck to demonstrate "-and you're already shmoozing with someone new."

"I..." He swallowed thickly, studying to purple marks on your neck. Ones he left there. They had even begun to fade. It was like he branded you. But now that brand was disappearing. That image summoned a possessive flash to course through him.

You noticed his expression shift. Nostrils flared as his breathing begame heavy, and his gaze was scorching, you could almost feel where his eyes looked on your neck.

Quickly, you covered back up, putting some distance between the two of you. You didn't know what that look meant, but you knew you were just going to end up sad again. "I have to go,"

"Wait," he said, you stood, waiting for him to speak. "This isn't right."

"What?"

He ran his hand through his hair, the action causing his leather jacket to lift, revealing the gun and handcuffs on the belt of his jeans. Your eyes narrowed. Was he out on the field today? Was that how he ended up in the bar?

"Damn it, y/n," he let out in a quiet frustration. "I dont like this, you being mad at me. Our night was good. It was fun. I didn't ever wanna see you hurt. Please believe me."

"I believe you." You said, grasping at the strap of your back.

He met your gaze, searching.

"I believe you." Air left your mouth in a cloud as you repeated yourself. And you did. Truly. You didn't think his actions were in any way deliberate to hurt you. That was just... the way he was. "I'll see you around."

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Yeah... he fucked up.

Not in his decision to have sex with you. That was great.

No, what he fucked up in was not picking up on the clues that you were not the kind of girl who had casual sex. The women he usually slept with were all looking for the same as him. No attachment, no feelings, just a good few rounds.

And you had him convinced. How early you got up and got dressed the next day, ready to leave quickly. You didn't even wake him up. So he'd assumed you two were on the same page.

He assumed wrong.

No, he had you all wrong. Back in sophomore year, you'd always carried yourself with nonchalance. You underreacred where others overreacted. You prefered to listen rather than speak. You always appeared so... conservative of your energy. That's what made seeing you cry for the first time, which is much more shocking. Dick felt like he'd ended years of inner peace.

What was worse is that that night when he brought home the girl from the bar, he'd closed his eyes, imagining he was with you he was in bed with.

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"Hey, I'm not like a... bad person, right?" He asked out loud, eyes wandering off behind his mask as he finished dragging a perps unconscious body to the corner of the hangar.

"Who cares?" His youngest brother, Damian, spoke into his comm unhelpfully. The kid had just started the eighth grade, and his voice began to drop. Sometimes, when he spoke over comms, Dick found himself asking who that was.

"What?" Jason asked behind his own mask a meter from him, kicking the limp body of another henchman.

"Where's this coming from?" Tim asked over the comm. He was currently on lookout on the warehouse roof. "Also, you got two perps coming into the warehouse - no, hold on, one."

"Copy that." Dick nodded. "And for the record, I care, you heard me, and -" Dick put up a gloved finger as he listed his answers, then shrugged. "Just curious."

"Nightwing," Jason sighed in annoyance. "There is nothing you could do that would make you a bad-"

Another henchmen ran in, just to be knocked out with a single punch from Nightwing.

"-person." Jason finished.

But Dick wasn't so sure.

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The morning rain poured against the gym’s windows as Dick landed another punch against the bag, harder than necessary. He gritted his teeth, trying to focus, on his stance, his core, anything except the remnants of that night that kept slipping into his mind.

The memories were relentless. Flashes of you beneath him, the feel of your skin on his hands, the way your breath hitched when he kissed a path along your collarbone - they crept in despite his efforts to shove them away. The warmth, the breathiness of your voice, the way you looked at him like he was more everything to you. He shook his head, forcing himself to snap out of it.

He threw another punch, this time more controlled, as if he could hit the memory right out of himself. But even now, he couldn’t ignore the way his stomach twisted, that irritating rush of excitement mixed with something he didn’t want to name. You’d thrown off his rhythm. All it took was a couple of tears. And he hated it.

Hell, he was Dick Grayson. He was supposed to have his heart compartmentalized by now - no strings, no lingering thoughts. Just one night and done. So why did the thought of you keep pulling at him, driving him back to those damn memories? It wasn’t like him to get distracted. Yet here he was, haunted by the way your lips had felt against his skin, the softness of your touch. Fuck.

A curse slipped from his mouth as he gave the bag one final hit, feeling the pain in his knuckles. He’d have to get over it, right? But no matter how many times he told himself he’d forget you, he knew the way you’d laughed, the way you’d looked at him like he was worth something real, had left its stupid mark.

Yeah, he fucked up.

Yes yes yes! He's got to be someone who could actually step to Damian ya know, like it can't be some nerdy guy from her physics class who'll run with his tail tucked. It's gotta be some other mogul heir in Gotham. Maybe they don't hold a candle to WE, nobody does, but he's still the big cheese when it comes to GU which is full of semi rich kids and brainiacs. Point is, he doesn't back down from Damian in his pursuit of her. I hate to throw homegirl in a messy love triangle that makes Damian realize his feelings for her, but a cliche is a cliche because that shit is tried and true, what can I say 🤷🏽‍♀️

Oh, he will be 😏

Cold-hearted Wolf

Tags: Angst, fluff, arranged marriage, eventual smut, cregan is repressed and mean at first, then falls for the reader.

Master list

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Martell princess reader

All fiction, the reader is a made-up character. Im a long-time reader, but first-time writer.

Chapter 1 - Every decision Cregan Stark made was with a heavy sense of duty to his people. And this union, this upcoming wedding with the Martell girl, was no different. In his mind, you were just a pretty decoration, spoiled by the sun and riches of Dorne.

The skies over Winterfell were gray. The Martells of Dorne had arrived, bringing with them a warmth that was foreign to the North.

Cregan Stark was a formidable figure, trained to rule and fight from a young age. Past generations of Starks ran in his veins. Every decision he made was with a heavy sense of duty to his people. And this union, this upcoming wedding with the Martell girl, was no different. He saw it as a political move. In his mind, you were just a pretty decoration, spoiled by the sun and riches of Dorne.

You, on the other hand, were a bright-eyed girl. Though you have been trained in combat since a young age, as per Dornish custom, you had always been drawn to beauty – not war. The tales of the dashing Northern warrior had you intrigued. Since your announced engagement, you had imagined him with the ice of the North in his eyes and a heroic presence. And as the two of you finally met, you weren't disappointed. He was every bit the man of your dreams.

"You're as handsome as they say, my Lord," you offered with a smile and a bow, your voice tinged with genuine admiration.

Cregan simply nodded, taking you in. You were dressed in a gown the color of a sunset, your bare shoulders and collarbone a bit too revealing by Northern standards, and he could see the goosebumps lining your skin.

You began to second guess your wardrobe as you felt yourself shiver. Your maids tried to warn you of the exposed dress, however, you had told them that it would all be worth it once he sees your beauty.

You overheard a snicker come from the crowd. One of Cregan’s men, unable to resist, whispered loudly, "Looks like the sun forgot a few places."

You blushed as Cregan turned to give the man a deadly look, and the man's smirk instantly dropped.

Cregan’s icy grey eyes fixed on you again. "It's quite cold in the North, princess.”

You chuckled nervously. ”Yes, my lord. I seem to have forgotten.”

Instead of reciprocating your attempt at a joke, he took off the wolf hide around his shoulder and wrapped it around you. You accepted the warmth with gratitude.

“Perhaps in time, you'll learn to dress as befits the wife of a Stark." Was all he offered.

The words landed as a sharp jab. Your smile dropped as you looked down at yourself. You had tried, tried so hard to look beautiful for him, to make a good impression. Instead, you felt the weight of his disappointment.

The ceremony that followed was quite somber. Cregan was stoic. He did his duty, saying the words, making the vows, as did you. But there was a distance between the two of you. As the festivities went on, and the music played, he had not called upon you once to accompany him to the floor.

As you sat, your excitement slowly faded. You felt out of place. And as the night went on, you couldn't help but wonder if this marriage of convenience would ever know genuine affection.

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On the morning after his wedding, Cregan woke up to an unusual sound – he could have sworn he heard footsteps echoing outside his window. The chill air from the cracked open window mixed in with the fire in the hearth as he rose from his bed of furs. He looked to his side and stirred when he didn't see his bride's sleeping form beside him.

His loyal dog stirred beside the bed. "Easy, Grey," Cregan whispered, his hand soothingly running through the thick fur of his pet, who settled back down.

A glance out the window revealed a figure descending the roofs of Winterfell. As Cregan squinted against the early morning sun, he saw a figure in tight riding leathers, hair escaping from the hood in a braid. The figure turned to assess the distance to the ground, and beneath the hood, he recognized your distinct features. Unaware of his gaze, you scaled down the tower.

Panic briefly gripped Cregan at the thought of you falling. However, as you maneuvered with ease, his concern turned to curiosity. "Where are you going, princess?" He asked no one in particular.

Quickly dressing and concealing his identity with a hood, Cregan descended the stairs of the castle, avoiding working servents to sneak into the barn.

In the quiet darkness of the barn, Cregan spoke softly to his horse, Storm, as he saddled him. He clicked his tongue, guiding the horse as he followed you out of the castle.

Amidst the early morning silence of Winterfell, Cregan spotted you again, tossing a rope around one of the gate's stone columns. With a graceful swing, you scaled the wall before landing nimbly outside the castle grounds.

Cregan urged his horse onward, determined to follow your path.

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Having successfully snuck out of the castle (your gymnastics instructor was right in saying you would someday need the skill), you now stood behind a railing, quietly overlooking the jeweller at work in his shop.

Yesterday, the same jeweler had gifted you a stunning silver bracelet, crafted to resemble a viper wrapped around your hand. It occupied your thoughts pretty much the whole night, lighting the desire for a matching one for your other hand. Your early morning escapade confirmed the jeweler's location, and here he was—the handsome man, strands of grey hair falling on his forehead as he worked.

"What are you doing?" A voice whispered behind you.

You gasped, jumping to face Cregan, who leaned against the window with an air of anger, clad in riding leathers, his hood hiding part of his face. His eyes roamed over you in suspicion.

You blinked in surprise to meet his gaze. "My lord," you said, questioning. "Did you follow me?"

Raising a single brow, Cregan responded, "Merely concerned over my wife's reputation, what with the sneaking out of castle grounds, out of our marriage bed, no less, in the break of dawn."

Noting the harshness in his words, you retorted. "I don't see why there has to be an issue, given that everyone in Winterfell knows I belong to you anyway."

Something stirred within him at your words, and he took a couple of steps forward, backing you against the railing.

"That's right," he murmured, his voice low so as to not get you two caught. "It will be good you remembered it as well. Do you often sneak away into strange men’s homes?"

You, over your haze since last night, were unimpressed, maintaining your composure, responded, "Should I be alarmed by your sudden interest in me?"

Cregan, feeling oddly aggressive, leaned in, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "Alarmed or not, wife, I am the one who will leave a lasting mark on you."

Your heart sped up, and you felt an odd warmth in the pit of your stomach where his hand lay. You were a princess, after all. No one had ever spoken to you in such a commanding tone before.

You let him pull you through the window, and the two of you took his horse to find your way back to the castle. Neither spoke during the ride.

source

Thank you @2spence4u and everyone who got me to 250 reblogs!

Academia - The Gala

Pairing: Aged up Damian Wayne x f reader

Tags: academic setting, rivals to lovers, friends with benefits, smut, blowjobs, possessiveness, jealousy, oral, p in v, semi-pibloc sex,

Side note: can y'all tell I've never been to a Gala before? I don't know how they donate in those things. Please bare with me.

The perp screamed as Damian flipped him onto the ground, making sure the way he landed would be impactful enough to knock him out for at least a minute.

"Fuck! You fucking brat!" The perp chocked out.

Squatting next to him, Damian flipped his staff to rest it against his shoulder blades, hanging both his arms on it. "You see the rest of your crew over there?" He nodded in the direction of four bodies lying down on the floor of the warehouse, then looked back at the perp currently struggling to take a breath. "Not big talkers, apparently. But you -" he grabbed the man by his collar and dragged him towards himself, the perp yelped, blood dripping from his nose as he struggled against Damian's unyielding grip. "You might still make it out of here alive." He finished.

The perp eyed his men nervously, stammering. "D-did you kill them?"

Damian ignored the question. "I'm gonna ask you one last time, Markus. Where is Roman's shipment arriving to?"

The man's eyes widened at the correct use of his name, and he began to shake.

Damian registered a new stench, his upper lip lifted in digust as he stared down a Marcus. "You better not have fucking pissed yourself. That's disgusting."

Marcus looked like he was about to cry. Damian would bet they were tears of shame rather than pain. He grasped the collar tighter, sneering. "Where did the shipment leave to, Marc? While I'm still in a good mood."

"Y-you fucking psycho!" Marcus was crying now. "Do you have any idea what he'll do to me if I tell you?"

"It can't be worse than what I'll do to you if you don't." Damian said before punching the crying man in the nose, making sure to crack something. Marcus cried out in pain.

"Talk." Damian prompted.

Bloody lips trembling, Marcus confessed the address.

Damian nodded, sure to memorize the location. "What time is it coming in?" He asked.

Marcus's features twisted pathetically as he slurred, "Come on, man. I already told you-"

"What time is it coming in?" Damian sneered. Hating to have to repeat himself.

"E-eleven-Thirty!" The criminam cried. "Pick up's at midnight."

Damian stood up then, kicking Marcus right in the nose, making sure to knock him out this time.

"Jesus christ, kid." Jason spoke in his ear. "Remind me to play bats this footage if ever gives me shit about how I do interrogations."

"That won't stop me from giving you shit." Batman's voice came on the line.

Withholding a retort about Jason calling him "kid." All Damian said was, "it's not like I killed him."

"Right, no, of course." The red hood laughed in his comm. "You just re-organized the order his face, much more merciful."

"Ugh, been on the receiving end of that." Dick's voice joined the line. "Now look at oir baby boy, all grown up and graduated from scratching to dislocation."

"Aww." Barbara's voice supplied helpfully.

Damian rolled his eyes. "I was dislocating men twice my size back when you were still running around in a leotard."

He was so grateful he got to work on his own suit, with a fabric that wasn't skin fucking tight had at fully covered him in bulletproof Kevlar yet still allowed for a full range of motion. If he were forced to wear the same suit as his eldest brother, Batman would have been his first victim.

"Oooh there are those claws!" Tim now joined the line, along with Stephanie, who supplied the helpful words: "scratchy scratchy" in the background.

Clearly, his family was having a much less fun night that he and were desperate for some entertainment. Ignoring them, Damian climbed up from the warehouse and onto the roof of a neighboring, taller building to get a better vantage point. The wind ruffled his hair as the sounds of gotham: sirens, choppers, and car horns, as well as the waves from the nearby river filled his ears. Inhaling the cool air and exhaling, the fog from his mouth traveling with the wind. He switched onto a different line. "Oracle, I need coordinates to the Conrad docks port hanger number 9."

"Roger that, Robin. Shall I send for back up?"

"No need." He said. "I can't handle this myself."

And he did. Carrying out a perfect stealth mission and stealing a crate of the new drug that Black Mask was trying to push on the city, along with the files that exposed every crooken cop currently on his payroll. The files found their way to commissioner Gordon's coffee table that night. The corrupt cops were behind bars by morning.

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Damian didn't know how to explain, but he was having a particularly good day. That is, until he heard your name being said by one of the guys from your program.

"There she is. What was her name again?"

"Y/n, I think?" The boy, a skinny eng student from your physics class, was talking to his friend.

Damian followed his gaze to you, sitting by yourself in a yellow checkered blazer and skinny jeans, with a neat ponytail tide by a yellow ribbon. You were sitting on one of the benches at the campus atrium, chewing on a cut-up apple as you read something on your computer, the screen illuminating your face.

"I got two tickets for the howling mystery this Thursday. I'm gonna ask her to go with me."

Like hell. Damian's nostrils flared, and he turned to walk in their direction.

Just as his friend replied sardonically. "She doesn't hit me as the type that listens to hard metal -"

"Hey," they both turned at the sound of Damian's voice. The boy who talked about asking you out straightening up. Unimpressed, Damian trampled him in size. "How are you guys doing?" He asked casually.

"Fine, thanks." The friend replied, looking at Damian in disbelief that he was used to by now. "You?"

"Listen, were you guys just in Atkinson's lecture?" He pointed his thumb in the direction of the room behind himself.

The two guys nodded.

"He's in there right now explaining the Pokhozhaev identity problem that was on the midterm." Damian lied.

Their eyes widened. And one of them asked. "Fuck really?"

Damian nodded. "Yeah. If you hurry, maybe you could still catch him."

"Dude, thanks!" One of them clapped him on the back, and Damian offered them one his signature easygoing smiles as they went down the hall and back into the lecture, none the wiser.

He himself made his way to sit beside you, leaning back on the bench. "Hey,"

You looked up at him, eyes widening when you realized it's him. You quickly collected yourself, offering a poline smile. "Damian, hi."

"What are you doing this Thursday?" He asked.

You thought about it for a moment, checked your calendar to see that your midterms were done by Wednesday. "Nothing, why?"

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You looked at yourself in the mirror, assessing the outfit. The dress you wore was a velvet, red form-fitting one that accentuated your silhouette, it reach the top of your knees with an asymmetrical hem that added an edgy touch, showcasing the velvet knee high black boots under it. A deep neckline showed the gold necklace that you never took off, with its matching earrings - gifts from your parents. You let your hair down, framing your face in subtle curls and draping over your shoukders. Your makeup was subtle with a focus on your eyes and red lipstick. The look you were going for was a combination of chic and classy.

A knock on your door caused you to open it, mouth dropping slightly when you did.

Damian Wayne stood at your doorstep wearing a suit. Confident posture and athletic physique. His tailored suit accentuated his broad shoulders and a trim waist. Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and those green eyes of his sparkled over you with appreciation. You realized why he'd told you to wear red, a well-chosen tie hung from his neck, matching your dress in color.

"Hey, perfect girl," he gave you an appreciative look.

"Oh wow," you let the words out without thinking. Clearing your throat, you offered a shy smile. "You look really nice."

"Thanks," he put his hand in his pocket, eyes roaming your body, and he shook his head. "So do you. Very nice."

He offered you his hand, and you took it, letting him lead you to his Camaro.

"Will you not be drinking?" You asked, seated at the passenger seat.

"I dont drink." He said.

You nodded, thinking that if he wanted to elaborate, he would have. "I read up about that Gala. It's a charity event to raise money for the new wing in the children's hospital, right?"

"Right."

"I'd like to contribute, if that's still allowed." You said.

Damian smirked to himself, a dimple appearing as his perfect teeth came into view. "Do you know how much Wayne tech donated, y/n?"

"No," you confessed.

"You're welcome to contribute, but trust me, they're set for at least the next four years. And that's including construction."

"Wow," you couldn't bring yourself to even inagine the amount that entailed. Suddenly, your donation felt like barely anything. Your shoulders slumped slightly, and then you shook it off. "Well, it doesn't matter. I'd still like to."

He turned to give you a look, the meaning of which you couldn't decipher. "Have you ever donated at a gala before?"

You shookyour head.

He offered you his hand, and you took it.

At last, he spoke. "I'll show you how."

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The way he commanded attention in any room with mere silence should be studied, you thought.

His hand brushed your hip, leading you inside the massive banquet hall. You looked around, and massive chandeliers hung from the intricately painted fresco on the ceiling as the velvet carpet was rolled out under expensive shoes. The sound of chatter and clinging glasses was accompanied by classical music. This was an entirely different world than the one you were used to. Still, you looked around in fascination.

"Is that real Chanel?" Damian's question drew you from your thoughts. You turned to see him eyeing your dress.

You tensed. "... no." You looked down, blushing as you were painfully reminded that someone of his stature could tell the difference. Slightly embarrassed, you quietly confessed, "Mainstream brands can make good knock offs when they want to."

He nodded, gaze drifting back over the crowd. As did you, the sea of people in front of you was clad in high brand designer gowns, suits, and perfumes. Granted, your outfit was by no means cheap, and in fact, it took you a day of work to make up for it. But if he could see that your clothes were a high fashion copy, so could everyone here. In your clothes you felt like you didn't belong. For the first time in your life, you felt... cheap.

You just hoped his lack of a reaction meant a lack of judgment. Damian came both from old money and from new money, as the heir to the top weapons mogul in the world, he was used to a certain standard.

Either way, you may not have been rich but you weren't struggling. Per se.

You glanced at him, about to wonder if he felt embarrassed to be seen with you. But after thinking of it for too long, you realized... you don't care.

Very grateful to both of your parents who worked blue-collar jobs to raise you and your siblings, you learned the value of appearance from a young age. You didn't come from the best neighborhood, but you couldn't tell from the way your family presented itself. Your townhouse was always clean and well decorated. Your mother made sure to always have homemade food and put all of her kids through some kind of extracurricular activities. Which is how you go into maths and sciences. You relied on scholarships and the goodness of your teachers to make it where you did. And you never wished things were different; your life made you who you were today.

So what if you didn't wear designer brands? You had immaculate fashion sense even if it was affordable.

And suddenly, you caught yourself smiling. Suddenly, everyone's facial expressions didn't look so judgmental. Someone cleared their throat beside you, and you turned to face a beautiful couple.

The man was immediately recognizable. Matching in height with Damian, Bruce Wayne looked every bit the billionaire playboy in his classic black suit jacket, accessorized with golden cufflinks, crisp white shirt, and a black bow tie. His hair was stylized and polished. Sharp facial features, visibly similar to his son's, and a well-groomed stubble enhanced his masculine charm. He held a confident, charismatic expression that exuded mystery.

He held by the waist a woman in an elegant, form-fitting black evening gown with a daring cut at the front. Her hair was styled in an updo. A statement necklace hung around her neck. Her look complemented Bruce's style while showcasing her own elegance. She gave youband Damian a knowing smile.

"Y/n, this is my father." Damian introduced you.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne." You smiled at his father and offered to shake his hand.

He took your hand in a firm grip. "Y/n," his deep voice, also similar to Damian's, greeted you. "You interned for Wayne Industries this summer, am I correct?"

"Yes," you nodded eagerly. "In R&D. It was an amazing opportunity, sir. You run a truly unique organization."

Bruce's grin widened. "Well, I'm glad to hear. Your team lead wrote a great review after you were done. When you graduate, we'd be lucky to have you."

Your cheeks certainly reddened by now, and you felt like you were out of breath as you stuttered out a "Thank you." Or at least you hoped you did. You were pretty sure you had blacked out for a moment.

You couldn't tell Damian how grateful you were for his hand on your lower back. The touch rooting you and making you feel less intimidated, or at least protected by him.

"Thank you, Father." Damian's tone was slow but menacing. "I know young, smart, and pretty are your type, but maybe try not to steal my date? Especially when you have your own..." He gave the woman a pointed look.

She and Bruce shared a knowing look before she turned to you and said in a soft, cat-like taunt. "Careful honey. The more territorial they are, the harder it is to tell if they wish to love you..." She eyed Damian in a way that, for some reason, upset you. "Or own you."

Damian's hand tightened around your waist. The woman caught the movement before her gaze returned to yours. It felt like the air around your was a hundred degrees golder. You felt goosebumps on the back of your neck when she said. "Soon enough, you'll be lucky if Damian lets any man near you."

"I think I see the mayor." Bruce spoke up, breaking the tension, and led the woman away. "We should say hello."

When they were gone, you took in a deep breath, turning to Damian, you wispered. "Was that your mother?"

He huffed out a laugh. "Thank God no." He smiled down at you, his hand rubbing circles on your back. "Did she scare you?"

"She did."

"Yeah, my father's always had a type." He spoke in disdain. For a moment, it almost looked like he was the parent who was dissappointnent in his child's choice in partners.

A small smile crept across your lips. "What's your mother like -"

He lifted your chin and placed a kiss on your lips. A polite way to shut down your question. He pulled back an inch to whisper. "I don't want to talk about my parents anymore." Against your lips.

Message received, you nodded against him. Throughout the night you met a lot of interesting people. Of course, all of them had already known Damian. And they seemed happy to interact with you both. Shy and inexperienced in small talk, you let Damian take the lead. He answered their eager questions with ease, and you noted the way men and women hung on to his every word.

The whole time, Damian's hands never let you go, visibly claiming you in front of whatever audience you had. You took up a rather interesting conversation with a man who word for the district attorney. You nodded eagerly, agreeing with every word as he said. "It's just a different way of thinking. A mathematical one."

"Those are the kinds of conversations I want to be a part of in my line of work." You admitted.

His smiled. "I'm sure you will. If you're eager enough to make it happen. Give me a call if you ever want to come see our unit at work." He handed you a business card, and you took it, nodding gratefully.

Suddenly, you felt Damian slide up from your hip to your neck, his fingers drawing circles on your collarbone. You turned to look at him, seeing his tongue poking his cheek as he eyed the man you were talking to.

"Well." The man cleared his throat. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too," you said before you were led away. Into the hall, away from the crowd.

"Where are you going?" You asked as Damian pulled you into what looked like a conference room, shutting the door behind you and pressing you against it. You looked up at him, squirming under his heated gaze. "Damian, is everything okay?"

"Leave it to you to make a two hundred dollar dress look like it was worth two thousand." He growled against your ear.

"Thank you?" You wimpered in question, unsure how to take the words.

"They were all looking at you like they wanted to take you home with them." He wispered, kissing you hard. "But they can't. You're mine."

You captured your bottom lip between your teeth to keep from moaning. The woman's words from earlier began playing in your mind. You saw Damian the way she described. Possessive, territorial. You couldn't understand why it both scared and excited you.

"Say it." He ordered. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours." You don't know why you obeyed so quickly. But the words felt right on your tongue.

"Damn right." He wispered, before kissing you hard. "Fuck, you're so beautiful." He groaned against your mouth. "I win. Out of all those men. I win."

The flattering words made you smile. It was the first time someone said something like that to you. To have it be Damian Wayne, of all people.

Eager for more of his praise, you sunk down to your knees in front of him, looking up to meet his gaze as you unbuckled his belt, lowering his pants and boxers. You bit your lip when you saw his erection, tongue sneaking out to lick up his shaft. Damian was bigger than anyone you've been with. You ran your hands over the hard muscles of his stomach before taking him in your mouth and sucking eagerly.

"Fuck yes, baby." He groaned as his fingers pulled into your hair.

You whimpered around him.

"Finger yourself while you suck my dick. Get yourself ready." He ordered.

You obeyed, you index finger touching your clit through under your dress as you whined around his cock. You worked him for minutes on end, switching from sucking to licking his head, delighting in the way his hips trusted against you and his panting sped up above you.

Damian thought he won. But looking up into his glazed dark eyes, brows furrowed in pleasure as his mouth opened... all because of you. All at your mercy. You felt like you were the one who won. No one out of all those women in that room could see him like this except you.

His hand pulled you up by your hair, pining you between himself and the wall again. You felt so fragile in his arms. "Did you finger yourself like I ask, baby?" He asked, lifting the hem of your dress.

You nodded.

His finger dipped into your whole, feeling how wet you are. He grinned at you through a hooded gaze. "Good girl."

He made quick work of lining himself up and thrusting into you. You arched off the wall and into him as your arms flew to grasp onto him. Unable to hold back, you begged him. "Damian, please kiss me!"

His lips were on yours in an instant, silencing a string of uncontrollable moans as he thrust into you over and over again. Despit holding your weight and fucking you for a long time, he never got tired. Rather he sped up, panting against your lips. "Come for me, my perfect girl,"

You nodded absentmindedly, grasping onto him, needing him as close as possible as you whispered. "Please, please..."

He thrust into you hard, both of you moaning into each other as you reached your climax. Your limbs shook even as Damian lowered you and led you to a nearby door, letting you both into a bathroom.

He used a cloth to clean up your pussy, correcting your dress and hair, before adressing his own look. All while you were dazed and coming down from the high. He held your shaking body, kissing your lips and cheeks and forehead, telling you you did a good job. At last he asked, "Are you ready to go make your donation?"

You had nearly forgotten. You turned to him, still disoriented but determined to see your goal through. Glancing at yourself in the mirror, you saw that Damian did a good job of cleaning you up. Other than your flushed face, you wouldn't have been able to guess what you had just done. He offered his hand, and you took it, allowing yourself to be let out.

Dragon Blood

Chapter 1: Jace is furious that a mere servant like you has Targaryen blood. It would benefit you to know your place.

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Dragonseed (f) reader

The grand halls of Dragonstone echoed with the sounds of dragons and the footsteps of staff. You walked among them, invisible. As a servant, you were accustomed to blending into the background, a silent observer to the lives of the Targaryens.

Today was no different. The sun cast long rays through the high windows as you carried a tray of goblets, preoccupied with tasks. You barely noticed the tall figure that stood watching you from a shadowed alcove.

"Come with me," a commanding voice cut through your thoughts. You looked up to see Jacaerys Velaryon.

You hesitated, but his tone left no room for disobedience. It wasn't as if you could deny a prince anyway. You followed him down a dimly lit corridor. You rushed to brush down your dress and try to make yourself presentable. He led you into a small, secluded room, closing the door behind you with a thud.

"Do you know why you're here?" Jacaerys asked, his eyes boring into yours. It seemed like he was studying your eyes, and you cast yours down, unable to handle his intensity.

You had been self-concious about your eyes. Their unusual purple hue had caused you to be the butt of many jokes and accusations.

"No, my prince," you stammered.

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "Y/N, L/N" he said. “That's your full name, correct?”

"Yes," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, before adding the customary, “My prince.”

"I've been researching our bloodlines, looking for potential dragon riders. Imagine my surprise when I found out about you," he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "A servant, hiding in plain sight."

You blinked, confusion mingling with fear. "Me?"

"Yes, you," he replied, his eyes narrowing. "You are a Targaryen bastard. Your lineage gives you a claim, a potential to bond with a dragon."

The revelation hit you like a tidal wave. Yet the intensity in Jacaerys' eyes told you he believed it.

"But... I'm just a servant," you whispered, struggling to process your shock.

"Aye, just a servant," he echoed, his gaze piercing. "With the blood of the dragon in her veins."

His tone was insinuating that you were unworthy of the privilege, which made you acutely aware of the power dynamic. He was a prince, the heir to the throne. He was pure and noble and chosen by the gods, while you were a nobody, a commoner, privileged to even be in his presence. It made you feel small and insignificant.

"My prince," you replied, bowing your head. "I have no wish to claim a dragon. I am content as I am."

Jacaerys' eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Forgive me if I don't believe you." he said, his voice low and challenging. "Power corrupts even those who do not wish for it."

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The revelation that you were a Targaryen bastard haunted you. You had never known your parents, raised by an innkeeper who later sent you to work as a servant at the Dragonstone. Your life had been a series of harsh treatments, endless work, and neglect. But now, the knowledge that you had the blood of the dragon stirred something in you.

As you scrubbed the floors of the castle, you couldn't help but ponder what it would be like to be a dragon rider, to wield such awesome power. You imagine life as a princess, adored and respected, a major contrast to your current situation. But you kept these thoughts to yourself.

Today, your tasks took you to the castle study, carrying scrolls and parchments for the maesters. As you entered the study, you noticed the prince perched over maps and documents, his expression intense and focused.

Your curiosity got the better of you. Gathering your courage, you approached him hesitantly. "My prince, may I ask you something?" you bowed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jacaerys looked up. "What is it?" he asked, his tone measured but firm.

"I... I was wondering if you could tell me who my parents were" you said, your heart pounding in your chest.

"And why would you need that information?" he responded, his gaze challenging.

You flinched slightly but forced yourself to speak. "I grew up not knowing where I came from. It's a curiosity I can't ignore... even if its just their names. Please."

Jacaerys studied you for a long moment, his expression a contemplation. Finally, he sighed, his tone remaining hard. "Your mother was a distant niece of my great-grandsire," he began, watching your reaction closely, "and your father was a mere farm hand. As far as I could tell, she was a bastard herself, and they were both commoners like you.”

His words stung, but you were grateful to at least have some information. You fidgeted with your hands. “Do you know their names?”

“I couldn't find your fathers name, but your mother was recorded. Her name was Halaena.”

“Halaena,” you repeated, not understanding why your heart sped up as you spoke the name of your mother. It was beautiful. "Thank you, my prince," you said, bowing your head, hiding a smile.

He regarded you with a mix of disdain and curiosity. "You're welcome.” he said before turning back to his maps and documents, effectively dismissing you.

You turned to leave the study, your mind racing, but as you reached for the door handle, he called after you. “Remember your place.” Jace didn't bother lifting His eyes off the maps to see your response.

Your hands balled into fists. You've never interacted with Jace much. But your fellow servents had only nice things to say about him. Well, clearly, they had misread his character.

Nevertheless, your mother's name echoed in your thoughts, bringing a strange sense of satisfaction; finally, you've answered a question you've had your whole life. For the first time in your life, you felt a connection to your past. As you resumed your duties, a quiet resolve began to take root within you. A hope that this is a potential plan b.

Chilling

Masterlist

Pairing: Henry X Reader

Synopsis: You were in love with the blacksmith's boy since you were both children. One day, he stumbles into into the apothecary, covered in blood and wounds, asking for you. As the last survivor of the hunting party, you start to suspect what has changed him.

Tags: fluff, eventual smut, werewolves, friends to lovers, mutual pining, angst, danger, some death, gore,

Chapter 2

The village buzzed with excitement as the sun dipped below the horizon. A makeshift stage stood in the village square adorned with torches and candels. The scent of roasting chestnuts and warm cider wafted through the crisp winter air.

You wore your beautiful festive dress, long, flowing sleeves ending in ruffles decorated with an intricate woven design of snowflakes, a tight bodice hugging your middle and starting at the top of your chest, emphasizing the necklace you made out of rocks from the lake. The bodice dipped into a flowing skirt that riches your ankles above your brown boots. Your hair was adorned with delicate braids and beads, which you worked on before braiding some of the girls' at the apothecary.

Rebecca urged you to go and enjoy the festivities for the night before coming back to help her.

You made your way to the village center to twinkling lights and cheerful laughter. The familiar faces of the villagers gathered for the winter solstice celebration.

You found yourself in the company of your friend, Anna. Your laughter mixes with the sound of singing and string instruments and flutes. You both twirled under the starlit sky.

Needing to take a breath, you stepped away from the dancing and laughter, finding solace near a soft glow of a slightly isolated bonfire. As you stood there, the cold winter air filled your lungs, and the quiet rustle of leaves added a calming break to the festivities.

Suddenly, a twig snapped, and a low growl emanated from a nearby bush. You turned, attempting to spot the source of the cryptic sound in the darkness of the trees. You couldn't make out anything in the shadows. An unsettling feeling lingered, as if something were right in front of you, just out of sight. Taking slow steps backward, you bumped into a hard figure. Startled, you turned to see Henry looking down at you with a quizzical expression.

"What were we looking for?" Henry asked, his brow furrowed in curiosity. He looked like he had just arrived from the smithy. Bis exposed arms under rolled up sleeves and was still covered in sweat and oil as he messaged his wrists. Your eyes trailed up to his tousled hair, light stubble covering his sharp jawline and finally his brown eyes, gazing down at you with amusement.

Still on edge from the mysterious sounds, you stammered, "I heard something. A growl."

Henry scanned the darkness behind, the shrugged, "Probably just a wandering animal."

As you tried to shake off the eerie sensation, your mind raced back to the cryptic dream from the previous night. In that dream, Henry had been both a source of comfort and fear, and the ominous warning of sinking teeth echoed in your mind.

Offering his hand, Henry said, "I saw you wander off. Didn't want you to be alone in the dark and cold."

Nervously, you took his hand, the warmth of his touch grounding you. Henry walked you towards the crowd, the festive lights flickering in the winter night. Just as you reached the edge of the celebration, he stopped and turned you to face him, concern etched on his face.

"Are you sure you're alright, y/n?" he asked, noting your slightly trembling hand.

You nodded, attempting to dismiss the uneasy feeling lingering from the mysterious sounds in the thicket. "I just remembered a dream I had-"

Realising what you had almost just admitted, you felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Henry raised a single brow. "Was it a nightmare?"

You simply nodded.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No!" You answered instantly, feeling your face flush. "I mean, it's just a dream. It's nothing."

Henry looked off into the distance, clicking his tongue. "Once, I tripped over my own shoelaces and fell into a puddle. Another time, I mistook salt for sugar and ruined a batch of cookies. Jens never let me use the kitchen again."

You blinked at him, surprised by the sudden admissions. A sudden giggle escaped your lips, alongside the question, "Why are you telling me this?"

He shrugged, his hair falling onto his forehead. “Wanted to see you laugh."

The admission sent a thrill through you. Your eyes widened in amusement. "I remember that, I tried one of your cookies. Matthew gave it to me as a gift!" You chuckled, recalling the day Henry's best friend dropped off the "sweet" at the apothecary, only to have you throw it at him after you tried a bite. "That was your work?"

He closed his eyes in embarrassment. "Please tell me your nightmare wasnt about my baking." He mumbled.

You couldn't help but laugh at his self-deprecating humor.

Henry sighed, "Now, should we get back to the celebration? I've just closed the shop and I've been looking forward to the ale."

You joined the festivities in the mayor's lodge. The two-floor wooden structure stood as a testament to the mayor's status as the richest man in the village. You walked through the crowd, marveling at the intricate details of wall carpets from French artists, showcasing a life of luxury—finely crafted furniture, tapestries, and the warmth of a roaring fireplace.

The mayor emerged from the crowd, with a wide smile lighting up his face as he caught sight of Henry. Without hesitation, he thrust a drink into Henry 's hand, welcoming him.

"Henry, my man! How's the smithy doing these days? Still crafting the finest blades in town?" The mayor slurred, patting Henry on the back.

Henry, maintaining his calm demeanor, replied, "Business is good, sir.” Accepting the drink. "Working every day of the year," he sipped with a sigh.

The mayor bombarded Henry with questions, trying to impress him with the abundance of fresh food and the expert craftsmanship of the village carpenter who delivered his furniture. Feeling like a third wheel, you took a step side, but Henry's arm circled your waist, pulling your back with an exaggerated smile, wispering "Don't leave me with him."

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile, and let Henry lead you as the mayor continued the tour. The mayor, seemingly noticing your presence, turned to you with a friendly grin. "Y/n! How fares the apothecary?" he inquired.

Feeling shy under the mayor's attention, you nodded. "All is well, Mayor. Just the usual healing and remedies."

The mayor turned back to Henry. “Y/n here once saved me from an awful bee sting. Your potions work wonders!"

You wanted to correct his use of the term “potions” but you held back.

Henry, joining in the playful banter, nudged you with his elbow. "We're lucky to have her, Mayor. A true lifesaver, isnt she?"

You smiled humbly, brushing your hair behind your ear.

Henry chuckled, his gaze lingering on your flushed face. He let the mayor drunkenly stroll along and asked you. “Any more patients who need your help today?”

You confessed, "No. I was planning to go home afterward."

Henry's mischievous smirk turned into a determined grin. "No way. We're going to Matthew's cabin by the lakeside. You need a break, and a dip in the water will do you good."

You began to shake your head. “Henry, no.”

The Winter Shock was a foolish tradition that the village youth upheld. Each winter solstice, they took a dip in the cold lake before it froze. No one knew how or why the tradition had started, but the adrenaline rush of the cold water was admittedly fun enough to justify it for some of them to keep doing.

“Y/n yes,” Henry insisted, pulling you along until the two of you were outside, making your way past the torches and towards the cabin.

“Have we not outgrown this?” You whined, seeing the smiles on your friends' faces as they all came to join you at the fisherman's Cabin.

“Do I hear you complaining again, y/n?” Matthews' voice piped up before he appeared in front of the two of you, holding hands with one of your other friends, Eugenia. His blond hair was brushed out but somehow covered with flower crowns, you guessed he snatched some from the girls. “So predictable.” he whined about you.

You rolled your eyes at that. “You know what else is predictable? The fever you will inevitably get tomorrow morning.”

"Im not worried." Matthew planted a kiss on your cheek. “The best healer In our village will take good care of me.”

You smiled.

Matthew raised a brow. “I meant Rebecca.”

He ducked as you picked up a handful of snow and tossed it at him. “Save the snow for later!”

When you reached the fisherman's cabin, a group already sat on the dock, their feet dipped into the cold water.

Matthew sighed, gazing out at the quiet lake. "This season hasn't been bringing much. The stream nearby is usually full of salmon, but my father and brothers haven't ventured there yet because of bears roaming around."

You, trying to lighten the mood, quipped, "Bring Peter with you. He's the first-place champion in our archery tournament two years in a row."

Henry scoffed at the praise, but then he grinned and reminded you, "Yes, but he's only the second strongest in weightlifting in the village. After me, of course. Three years in a row."

You shook your head at his childlike pettiness. Discarding his shirt, Henry leaped from the dock into the lake, surprising the group of companions who all shouted and backed away from the splash. He resurfaced, shaking his hair, droplets decorating the lean muscles of his shoulders as he urged the group to join him. "Come in!"

Without hesitation, Matthew followed suit, as did some more of the boys and girls, leaving you and the rest on the dock. You turned to look for a place to sit, and before you could, strong arms embraced you from behind, and you were pulled into a freezing, wet embrace.

You gasped, “Henry!” panting against the shockingly cold water conflicting with Henry's body heat against your skin.

Soaked and slightly annoyed, you turned around in his arms to face him. Droplets hung down from his hair and eyelashes as he grinned down at you. The stubble he sported made him look both boyishly charming yet rugged. And the oil and sweat from the smithy were gone thanks to the water. In his strong embrace, you felt small and delicate, contrasting with Henry's towering presence. You felt hard muscle everywhere your skin met his. Playfully, he declared, "I've got you. What are you going to do now?"

His words, though meant as playful, made your heart quicken. The dream then took an unexpected turn, shifting into darkness, leaving you to ponder the lingering emotions from the youthful escapade by the lakeside.

"What are you gonna do, I have you at my mercy, little lamb?" Henry whispered in your ear, and while the words sent a rush through you, you couldn't help but recall last night's nightmare.

I want to sink my teeth into you.

You couldn't help but feel like prey.

Suddenly, a distraught Valerie and Peter burst onto the clearing out of the woods, clutching a lifeless body. Tears streamed down Valerie's face as he pleaded, "Please, help her!"

Everything froze. You freed yourself from Henry's arms and rushed to Valerie's side, your heart sinking as you saw the gruesome sight and, worse, recognized the girl in her and Peter's arms as your friends' little sister, Alice. The child's throat had been brutally torn out, leaving only a lifeless shell. Everyone in the cabin began exchanging whispers, worries, and screams.

"I'll go get Markus." You heard someone mutter, indicating Alice's brother.

“What happened to her?” You asked the couple who brought her, cradling the girl in your arms.

“We don't know.” Valerie weeped. “We were on my way here through the fields, and I saw her laying on the ground.”

“It must have been an animal attack.” Peter supplied. “Those are bite marks around her throat.”

Your dream appeared before you, and you swallowed nervously.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You all brought the girl's body back to the village, to her mourning family. A similar tragedy unfolded the following week, and then three more in rapid succession. Each time, grief descended upon the village like a relentless storm, leaving a trail of shattered families and unanswered questions.

In the dimly lit church, the village gathered for solace and guidance. You came late from the apothecary and stood against a cold stone wall, listening to the village preacher address the crowd. His voice tried to steady the shaken villagers, assuring them that a hunting party would be dispatched to eliminate the beast responsible for the gruesome deaths.

As the preacher read the names of the chosen men, your heart clenched when he'd called out the final one: "Henry."

The crowd's reaction was divided—some nodding in agreement, others expressing worry. You fell into the latter group, eyes tearing up, your thoughts silently pleading for him to return home safely. The council had ended, and people began to disperse. With a heavy heart, you left the church, unaware of Henry's searching gaze following you. Back at the apothecary, you delivered the news to Rebecca and at home to your family, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Rebecca's reaction was a worried shake of her head while continuing to make remedies.

"If anyone can kill that thing, it would be Henry.” Your brother spoke during dinner. “He's strong, and he's no fool. Not by a longshot."

You tried your best not to show your worry as your family discussed the situation. Sophie hugged you longer than usual before kissing your head and wishing you a good night.

That night, sleep eluded you, your mind haunted by visions of the impending danger that loomed over Henry and the hunting party.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The village awaited the return of the hunting party with bated breath. A week passed in ominous silence, and as each day slipped away without news, your heart sank deeper. You prayed for Henry 's safe return, even if it meant he returned to someone else.

One day, six members of the hunting party had returned from the hunting party, battered and wounded. There were eight of them who had left originally. Henry wasn't among them. You felt your heart physically tighten as a sob threatened to escape. You took a moment to bring yourself together before getting back to work at the apothecary. The men's recounting of their encounter with the wolf.

"We saw it. It was huge!"

"That thing was no wolf."

"It almost ripped me in half."

"It was a demon! Not an animal."

Most of them screamed. One of them, Asher, a young farmer, was so shellshocked that he didn't even speak. You had to read him and bring him water as he sat motionless on a cot.

Helping Rebecca patch them up, you returned home, exhausted. That night, and several after it, you cried yourself to sleep.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

One quiet morning, around a week after the return of the hunting party, the apothecary held only a handful of patients. The door creaked open, and in he stumbled.

You gasped, mouth dropping, as did nearly the towels you were holding on your way to the sick bed. Henry stood at the door. Alive. Thank god!

A broken and bloodied figure of the man you'd loved. Of the man you were worried had been dead slumped against the door.

His terrified gaze met yours, hazel eyes, wet with tears and red with pain.

"Y/n," your name escaped his raspy lips before he fell unconscious with a hard thump, the sight sending shockwaves through the somber atmosphere.

I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, "So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?"

I turn in to him. "Put you somewhere you can't get hurt."

- The Hunger Games, Page 368

Crushing On The Nerdy Guy At Work

Masterlist

Next Chapter

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader

Synopsis: You can't stop thinking about the adorably awkward tech genius with messy hair and a slight smile that had made your heart flutter more than you'd like to admit. Too bad he barely knows you exist.

Tags: NSFW, characters are in their twenties, coworkers to lovers, oposites attract, nerd/popular, she fell first, virgin hero, first time, one-sided pining (reader has a massive crush on Tim), Angst, betrayal,

Tim Drake was brilliant, and there was no other way to put it. When he wasn’t glued to his computer, he was sketching complex symbols into his notepad, his messy dark hair falling into his eyes as he worked. You’d caught yourself watching him once or twice. Sharp cheekbones, full lips, and those piercing blue eyes behind thick glasses that seemed to analyze everything around him. He was the opposite of the jock type you usually went for. But something about him just made you catch your breath. You decided you were being punished for overlooking guys like him in high school and college...

As Gotham PD's PR associate, you got to see the detectives at work, especially if you had to take pictures for press releases.

Tim’s skinny frame was deceiving. He must have had some sort of training growing up. You'd seen him take down guys twice his size when he trained. Unlike the other detectives who had burly builds, Tim was lean but strong. His shoulders were broader than you would expect for a "tech nerd," and his arms and chest toned - visible when his shirt sleeves pulled tight on those rare days when he wasn't drowning in his oversized hoodies.

You always dressed to impress. After a long year of figuring your shit out, you left you bougie corporate job and replaced it with the gotham police department. You didn't know exactly what would lead to it, but you knew you wanted to serve the public rather than exploit it. That meant that all the high-end fashion you wore would fit right in at your old brand, but in the PD, you stood out. Tweet blazers, skirts, clean button ups, and knee-high boots. Your clothes are highly contrasted from the sports shoes, jackets, and practical clothes you saw worn each day.

But the attention you got for it was good.

After catching his eyes lingering on you in the office, you tried flirting with him. It didn't go well.

A couple of days ago, he sat at the kitchen table, alone, scribbling on his notepad. His hands, calloused but delicate, were mesmerizing you while you sat and ate your lunch surrounded by chatty co-workers. You noted small scars on his knuckles and fingers, always raising questions that you didn't have the guts to ask.

You got up from your own table and walked up to him, your heels clicking with each step.

"Hey," you began, clearing your throat to steady your voice. "How’s the Phantom investigation going?"

Tim looked up, his glasses slipping down his nose. His blue eyes flicked over you, quick but observant. "Slow. Phantom’s code isn’t cracking anytime soon." He tilted his head. "What about you?"

"Oh, you know." You waved your hand. "Same old, same old. Just got off the phone with the mayor. No big deal." You winced at how obnoxious that sounded, but Tim offered a faint smile.

"Uhmm..." You hesitated, taking a seat next to him. His scent was a mix of coffee and old spice. "You know, Tim, I think you're really nice, and..."

He tilted his head, waiting for you to go on.

Only, you didn't know what to say.

This hasnt happened since middle school...

You were always confident around men. You knew what to say to have them in the palm of your hand.

And now, with Tim, you choked. Like you were back in middle school or something.

"What I mean is," you continued. "You’re kind of the cutest guy in the office - " your eyes widened. You didn't mean to reveal that.

Tim spared you a small smile before turning back to his notes. "Ha. Very funny, y/n." He pushed up his glasses, then stood and walked away, wishing you a good day.

You frowned, not knowing whether you should be relieved or disappointed. He thought you were joking.

"I don't get you." Jake bit into his bagel as he leaned against Tim’s desk. "The hottest girl on our team wants you and you just... walk away?"

Tim turned away from his screen to look at his friend, shrugging his confusion.

"Y/n," Jake clarified. "She was flirting with you at lunch -"

Tim sighed, rubbing his temples. "She was joking, Jake. Come on, you really think someone like her would go for... me?"

"She called you the cutest guy in the office!"

Tim pushed his glasses up. "Girls like her don’t go for awkward computer nerds." Not to mention, virgins, he thought.

"By girls like her, you mean...?" Jake pressed.

Tim chuckled. "You know exactly what I mean. Beautiful, sweet, charming. She could get anyone she wants."

"Bro, she wants YOU though!"

"She does not. Trust me." He shook his head. "Now, go away, please. I need to focus." Tim looked back at the screen, the code looking back at him in patterns.

The Phantom’s latest message was a cipher. A complex one. He’d spotted a recurring theme, though. The symbols seemed to resemble constellations.

Jake groaned before muttering. "Youre the dumbest smart person I know," then, taking another bite of his bagel, he walked back to his desk.

The day Tim rejected you, you came home sulking. When your roommate saw your face, she raised a brow.

"What happened to you?" she asked.

You let out a groan, flopping down onto the couch and reaching for the bottle of wine sitting on the counter. "Tim," you muttered.

"'Hot Nerd' Tim?” Your roommate asked. She knew how much you’d been into him.

"Yeah. I tried flirting with him, but he ignored me." You grabbed the wine glass, pouring a generous amount into it.

"Wait... would this be like... the first time a guy has ever rejected you?" Your roommate asked, laughing.

You ignored her because yes, it was. "There’s this intensity about him, Jess." You sighed, looking at her. "Like, he’s always so capable, so... smart. And he's so humble about it, you know? Not like those guys at forensics, that man-splain everything. And that makes him so... damn attractive. Even if he doesn’t see it." You took another sip of wine and set the glass down, glaring at it.

Your roommate stared at you for a long moment. "Yeah, you need to get laid."

"I know." You groaned.

"Well, lucky for you," she said with a raised brow, "I need a wingwoman tonight. Get dressed."

You weren’t in the mood to go out, but maybe a distraction was what you needed. The guy you ended up coming home with was the type you usually went out with. A finance bro named Jared with perfectly styled hair and an expensive suit. He was charming and a good kisser

It didn’t take long for you to realize everything about Jared was wrong. He wore a designer suit when you preferred a wrinkled button-down, with rolled up sleeves and dark jeans. His loafers were clean and new, but you would have liked dirty sneakers. And he was missing something essential: a pair of smudged, square-rimmed glasses.

Despite all that, you went along with it, kissing him back, but your mind wandered back to a certain awkward tech genius with messy hair and shy smile that had made your heart flutter more than you'd like to admit. You found yourself imagining Jared was Tim, and every touch, every kiss became more interesting.

Suddenly, Jared broke the kiss, looking down at you with a frown. "Who's Tim?" His voice felt like a cold splash to your face.

You froze, blinking up at him. “Huh?"

"You were moaning 'Tim,'" he said, his tone accusatory.

Your face turned red. "Oh my god," you muttered, avoiding his gaze. You didn't even realize you were whispering Tim’s name. "I’m sorry," you said. "I shouldn’t have - there's this guy at work - ugh. I'm sorry, Jared."

You expected him to be rightfully upset. What you didn't expect was the reassuring hand placed on your shoulder.

"I get it." He said, sitting up. "I'm kind of on the same boat actually."

You looked up at him. "Really?"

"Yeah. There’s this girl on our data team. No matter what I do, I can’t get her out of my head." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Stupid fuckin nerd."

You chuckled at that. "Tell me about it.

The next day, Tim came to the office with hollowed out cheeks and bags under his eyes. It was clear last night was another sleepless night of work for him.

He marched into the captain's office, closing the door behind him.

Halfway through your meeting in the conference room, the door swung open, and Tim walked in, Jim Gordon at his side. Both men were dressed in gear. Bulletproof vests with "GPD" printed boldly across the front. Tim held a handgun, meticulously checking the bullets in the chamber. His movements were calm and precise, but his eyes burned with intensity.

The room stilled. Gordon nnounced, "We’ve got a lead on the Phantom. Squad One, you’re with me. Squad Two, you’ll follow Drake."

The nervous tech genius you were used to seemed to vanish. Tim's usual fidgeting hands gripped his weapon with precision, and his hunched posture straightened into one of authority.

As he broke down the plan of action, even the detectives who usually brushed him off as “the kid prodigy” were silent. And you felt it too. This side of Tim was undeniably captivating.

In under an hour, the squads was deployed, and both Tim and Gordon led their teams out into the field.

Three hours later, the Phantom was caught. Tim’s code-breaking that led them to the hideout. As the criminal was hauled into the precinct in cuffs, Tim stood quietly to the side, his shoulders finally relaxing. Exhaustion lingered in his features, but there was satisfaction in his eyes. All the while, you stood on the sidelines and looked on in awe.

The team celebrated at a local pub. At the captain's insistence, Tim joined despite his usual aversion to social gatherings.

When you stepped onto the small stage to read the press release you’d written about the case, Tim couldn’t help but watch. You looked stunning in a frilly top tucked into a pencil skirt that hugged your waist.

As you spoke, his lips moved silently along with yours, already having memorized every word when you’d sent the draft to the team earlier. You made him sound like a hero. It was… nice.

Tim looked adorable, sitting beside Jake, his hair falling over his forehead in a way that made it seem like he’d just rolled out of bed.

Rose, a paralegal who worked closely with you, cleared her throat. "You’re staring."

You blinked, startled. "No, I’m not."

"Oh, come on, Rose," Karl chimed in, clapping a hand on your shoulder. "Y/n's allowed to admire Gotham’s best boy."

"Ignore them," Maria from forensics said, sliding into a seat beside you.

Your table had grown larger as the night progressed, but despite the lively company, your eyes kept drifting back to Tim. You wanted to invite him over. If only you could have him alone.

"So, Y/N, what song are you gonna sing?" someone asked, nodding toward the karaoke session currently underway on the mini stage of the bar.

You laughed. "Not sure yet. Any suggestions?" You looked around the table, and in a moment, you received about ten shouts of song ideas.

Rose teased, leaning closer. "I have one. It's not a suggestion, but it is a challenge."

"Go on?" You raised a brow, waiting for her to continue.

"I dare you to get a kiss from the genius boy tonight."

The rest of the table broke out into one collective. "Ooooh,"

You eyed Rose. She knew exactly how to get under your skin.

Grinning, you tossed a French fry into your mouth and rose from your seat. You sauntered over to put in your song request, then returned to your table, excitement buzzing as you waited for your turn.

You smiled sweetly as you sang a song Tim didn’t recognize.

Apparently, everyone else knew it, though. His coworkers sang along enthusiastically.

What the hell did "bed chem" even mean? That wasn't a word, right?

The ones who weren’t singing were ogling you outright, and Tim could hardly blame them. The way you flipped your hair and batted your eyelashes sent his face burning.

Tim swallowed, shifting awkwardly on his chair and clutching his beer. Every glance you sent his way made his chest tighten, though he tried to convince himself it was all in his head.

Still, the idea that you might be looking at him made his thoughts spiral. He cleared his throat and cast his gaze down, pretending to focus on the contrnt of his bottle.

Cheers erupted around him as you finished the song, offering a playful bow. You handed the mic back to the DJ and stepped down from the small stage, making your way to him

Tim tensed. By the time you stopped in front of him, his mind had gone blank. You bit your lip - an innocent gesture, but the shiny pink of your lipstick made his vision go hazy.

"Can we step outside for a moment?" you asked in a sweet tone.

Tim blinked, not registering the words, too stuck on the fact that you were so close, your perfume smelled like roses.

"Uh… sure?" he mumbled, unsure if he’d heard you right but unwilling to make you repeat yourself.

You tilted your head toward the exit. Tim stood, feeling strange, and followed you, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.

Outside, you turned back to face him, the night air crisp against your skin. "Hi."

Tim shifted nervously, his back pressing against the cool brick wall behind him. "H-hey."

"I have a confession to make," you said, stepping closer, your gaze lingering on his lips. You noticed the way his eyes darted to yours.

He swallowed hard. "O-okay -"

Without another word, you rose onto your tiptoes, closing the small distance between you, and kissed him.

Tim froze, clearly caught off guard, but then his lips began to move against yours, tentative but eager, and his hands hovered awkwardly before finally wrapping around your waist. His grip was firm yet cautious, pulling you closer.

When you pulled back, you smiled, breathless. "Do you want to come back to my place?"

Tim blinked at you, his expression caught between shock and disbelief. He stammered, "U-uh... can we just... pause for a moment?"

You stepped back slightly, hugging yourself against the cool breeze. "Sure,"

Tim shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. You opened your mouth to thank him, but he began to speak.

"Y/n," he said hesitantly, his voice low and unsure. "I sometimes have trouble knowing when people are joking or being serious. Like... right now."

You tilted your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Tim, I’m serious. I want to take you home."

His cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. "I-I mean, that sounds... amazing. But..." He hesitated, his eyes darting away before meeting yours again. "I wouldn’t even know what to do with you."

The vulnerability in his voice made you pause. You stepped closer, your fingers brushing lightly against his palm. "Do you mean…?"

Tim’s face burned brighter as he nodded. "Yeah."

Instead of laughing or teasing like hed expected, you laced your fingers with his, squeezing gently. There was something about his confession that made your pulse quicken. "Would you like me to show you?"

His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he gave a small, nervous nod.

The dim light of your bedroom cast a warmth across your tidy place and the only sounds were coming from the heater and the city outside your window.

Tim was fidgety, avoiding eye contact as you planted kisses along his jaw while gently undoing the buttons of his shirt. His breath hitched when you kissed his neck, his hips rolling under you.

You wrapped your fingers around his wrist, bringing it to your own top, hinting him on what to do.

His movements were tentative as he began undoing the buttons of your blazer and removing it, leaving you in your bra. His eyes studied the patterns on your undergarment, pretty flowers, and subconsciously, his hand brushed your arm up to your collarbone, enjoying the softness of your skin, making you shiver. He liked that.

Your own work had resulted in removing his shirt, showcasing his impressive bare chest and torso, riddled with valleys of muscle and scars that you eagerly ran your hands over. You leaned down to plant kisses down his chest. With every lick and nip of his skin, he let out quiet gasps that he could barely contain.

You reached the train of hair from his belly button leading down to his pants, slowly unbuttoning them and lowering them and his boxers. You couldn't help the pang of triumph at seeing him hard. You looked back at him through your lashes. "You like what I'm doing to you?"

He nodded shyly.

You licked up to his tip, making sure to give it extra attention. "I can't hear you, genius boy," you teased.

"Yeah -" he sucked in a breath. "I like it,"

You smiled to yourself, working him with your hands and mouth. You went slow, then accelerated speed, then went slow again. You kept up this pattern for a while, basking in the glow of his responsive body and enjoying his taste. As Tim got comfortable, he grew more assertive, reaching for your hair with his hand and coming wrapping his fingers in your hair. Really wanting his first time to be enjoyable, you hoped his moans and gasps were an indication that you were doing well. You looked up, seeing him squeeze his eyes shut and roll his head back against your wall as he gasped your name. You couldn't believe it. Your unreachable crush was moaning your name. Go you!

You felt his hips tense and knew what was coming, so you sped up your movement, helping him reach his climax, never taking your mouth or hands off him.

Gasping against the wall, Tim looked down at you, his hroad chest moving up and down as he came down from his hogh.

Parted lips, pink cheeks, sweat glistening skin, and hazy eyes all made for a really hot visual, and you couldn't help but bite your lip. He’d clearly enjoyed that, even if he was shy about showing it.

Before you could say anything, he grasped you by your arm and lifted you to sit on his lap in a matter of seconds. Wrapping a firm hand around your nape, he pulled you into a kiss, deep and desperate.

He pulled apart for a moment, leaving you to catch your breath. "Teach me how to make you feel good." He rasped against your mouth.

"O-okay," you stammered, turned on by his eagerness. "Get on your knees in front of me."

He did so with impressive speed, also managing to remove your pants and panties in the process and pulling you to the edge of the bed, holding your legs open for him.

"Wait -" you giggled, cupping his cheeks and bringing his face closer to yours. "Start slow."

Obediently, he began to kiss you. God, you liked kissing him. And he was a good kisser, too. He's definitely had practice doing that. Leaving your lips glistened, he planted a trail down your throat, biting at your collarbones, before soothing the marks with his tongue. The mix of pain and pleasure had you arching against him, and his fingers pulled down the straps of your bra, lowering the garment and baring your breasts to him.

There was hardly any blue left in his eyes as his pupils grew at the sight of your breasts, and he leaned down to kiss your nipple. The warmth of his mouth mixed with the sparks of pleasure he produced with every kiss on your sensitive nub. He did the same with your other nipple, sending pleasure through your whole body, leaving you whimpering and biting back moans so as not to wake your roommate.

Tim watched you with hooded eyes. "Does this feel good?" His focus is on making the experience enjoyable for you.

Your breath hitched. "Yes!"

Tim kept kissing down your breasts to your lower belly, essentially mimicking your earlier movements on him.

When he reached your core, you knew you had already been wet. You didn't know how much it would amaze him. He murmured your name in awe as he closed in on your cunt. His hands grasped at your thighs as he brought his lips to your folds, carefully exploring you with his tongue. Your fingers grasped the bedsheets as your head rolled back. He was eager in his exploration - messily messaging your sensitive muscles with his tongue, mixing his saliva with your juices.

He tightened his grip, not letting you move from his grasp as he ate you out. That heat that situated in your sex spread through your whole body like fire.

"Tim -" You grasped at his messy locks. "Wait,"

He froze, eyes searching yours. "Whats wrong?"

"Nothing," you swallowed. "I'd like to come with you inside me. It just feels better. If that's okay?"

He huffed out a chuckle of relief, running his hand through his hair. "Of course."

"I'll talk you through it." You promised. "It's going to feel good. For both of us." You moved to sit on his lap, reaching for him and aligning him with your entrance. "Do you trust me?"

Like this, you were facing each other, and you could clearly read all of the signs on his facial expression.

"I do." He said.

After rolling on the condom, you slowly lowered yourself on him, letting his stretch you out and adjusting yourself to his size. Your hand shot up to your mouth to smother a desperate moan, and your eyes closed. When they opened, it was to a view of a desperate Tim. His brows were furrowed as he watched you with pleading eyes, his hands gripping your hips.

"Good?" You asked.

"Fuck yes," he brushed his lips against your. "You?"

"Yes," you said, slowly moving up then down, increasing the friction he cause within you. Slowly, Tim began to match your pace, lifting his hips to meet you, brushing deliciously against your nerves with his thrust.

On particular movement had you squealing before you could stop yourself.

"Here?" He asked.

"Uh, huh," you panted. "Please, I'm close -"

He kept thrusting at the same angle, hitting your spot each time. You grabbed on to his shoulders, feeling them flex each time his lifted and lowered you.

"Oh my god," Tim moaned against you. You were squeezing around him tightly. "Kiss me," he pleaded.

You lowered your mouth to his as the two of you continued moving in unison.

"Tim-" before you could say more, your body seized and shook. He continued to thrust into you, his iron grip keeping you in place even when the sensation became too much.

"Tim!" You grasped at his attention and pulling his focus away from you. "S-sensitive!"

Understanding, he backed away from your poor, overstimulated sex, muttering. "Sorry,"

His reaction made you giggle. "Not bad for your first time." You said quietly.

He grinned. "That was... incredible."

You nodded, still out of breath. "You're incredible."

"Thanks," he said, his tone one of disbelief.

You felt the need to clarify. "No, not at sex-"

His brow rose, and he looked like a kicked puppy. "Oh,"

"No!" You rushed to explain. "You're good at that, too! I just meant - " you sighed, closing your eyes. "God, I always get tongue tied around you." You laughed, then took a deep breath and faced him again.

Tim smiled, waiting patiently.

"I meant to say that you - Tim Drake - are incredible. Not just tonight, but the person you are." You said.

Those eyes gazed into you intensely, and now it was your turn to shily look away.

Tim had other ideas. He brought his lips down on yours in a slow, meticulous kiss.

"Thank you," he wispered, smiling against your mouth as the two of you exchanged more soft kisses

On Monday, Tim was sipping his coffee at his desk when he overheard Rose’s unmistakable voice drifting from the break room.

"They’re so cute, oh my god!" she squealed.

Tim couldn’t help but smile, his mind immediately conjuring up images of you.

"I better get invited to their wedding!" Rose continued, laughing. "I’m honestly not sure she would’ve ever kissed him if I didn’t dare her to."

The grin on Tim’s face froze. What?

Rose dared you to kiss him? Is that why you did it?

He tried to rationalize it. Was the rest of the night also part of the dare? Was anything you said or did genuine, or had he just been a pawn in some game between you and your coworkers?

His grip on his coffee mug tightened involuntarily, his thoughts spiraling into shame. That night had meant so much to him. His first! It was nothing more than a casual challenge between friends?

The sharp sound of shattering ceramic brought him back to reality. Tim stared down at his hand, now dotted with small cuts from the broken shards of the mug. Hot coffee dripped onto his desk and the floor.

His chest felt heavy, and his head fillee with thoughts of betrayal. Without another word, he rose from his seat, grabbing a few tissues to wipe his hand. He needed air. He needed space.

You stood alone in the office balcony sipping coffee when Tim stepped out to join you.

"Good morning!" You smiled at him.

He didn't reciprocate your smile. Closing the door, he turned to face you. "Did you get with me because of a dare?"

You nearly choked on your coffee. "What? No!" You blinked up at him, alarmed. "Well, I mean, Rose did dare me - "

Tim’s jaw clenched, and he took a sharp inhale. "That’s all I needed to hear." His voice was tight. The hurt was unmistakable.

"Tim wait," You stepped forward, grabbing his hand. "There's been a misunderstanding, I liked you - "

Tim closed the distance between you, crowding you, his broad shoulders stiff with frustration. His blue eyes flickered with emotion. “How much of Friday night was real, y/n?"

Desperate, your voice strained. "All of it! Please, you have to believe me - "

Tim shook his head bitterly, cutting you off. "God. I’m such an idiot." He turned away from you, his hands running through his hair, face flushed with embarrassment.

"Dont say that!" You rushed forward, but he took another step back, his face hardened. "Tim, please, you don’t understand - "

He turned his back on you completely, his breath heavy with the weight of unspoken words. "Save it."

You stood frozen in the cold silence that followed, a sick feeling settling in your stomach. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone on the balcony.