A Song Of Past Romance A Royal / Greek Au Gojo Fic

part one: alert synchronicity

— ★ spencer spends a day surrounded by small reminders of you—and finally understands that he's already lost his heart to you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing!

Something shifted.

It wasn’t just a minor change, a fleeting blip in the rhythm of his day—no, this was something bigger. It was subtle, almost imperceptible.

Whether it was a trick of the mind or a deeper instinct trying to get Spencer's attention, he didn’t know.

He woke that morning with an odd heaviness in his limbs, the kind that made the simple act of opening his eyes feel like a monumental effort.

The space beside him was empty. Cold.

And for a long, disorienting moment, he stared at the undisturbed sheets, his mind caught between sleep and wakefulness, reality and the lingering traces of a dream he couldn’t quite recall.

You weren’t there.

Of course you weren’t. You had left hours ago, after the movie credits rolled and the apartment had settled into silence.

You had laughed at something he said, before gathering your things and slipping out with a quiet "Bye Spencer."

That had been the plan. That’s how it always went.

Yet, for twenty minutes, he lay there, motionless, his gaze fixed on the vacant space beside him as if expecting it to offer answers. His mind was a paradox—simultaneously blank and overcrowded, thoughts swirling like leaves caught in a gust of wind, too fast to grasp, too numerous to ignore. It was as though a hundred thoughts were scrambling for attention at once, but none of them quite made it to the surface. He couldn’t grab onto anything.

All he knew was that something didn’t sit right.

Was it just exhaustion? The residual effects of too many late nights and too many cases blurring together?

Because the truth was, he had felt it before. That eerie, inexplicable tug of fate, the universe nudging him toward something he couldn’t yet name. And today, it was stronger.

Today, it refused to be ignored.

The sensation clung to him like static, prickling beneath his skin even as he dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror looked tired—more than usual.

His eyes landed on the toothbrush—the one that wasn’t technically yours, but might as well have been. A soft pink handle, sitting next to his own.

He’d bought it months ago, after the third time you’d stayed over and sheepishly admitted you’d forgotten yours. It had been a practical decision at the time—a small, logical accommodation for someone who kept ending up in his space, in his life, for longer and longer stretches.

His fingers hovered near it, not quite touching, as if it might burn him. A strange warmth spread through his chest, fluttering and restless, but beneath it was something hollow, something aching.

He didn’t understand it. Didn’t want to understand it.

Shaking his head slightly, Spencer wandered into the kitchen. The fridge door groaned as he pulled it open, half-hoping for inspiration, half-hoping to distract himself.

He frowned at the nearly empty shelves. A few containers. Half a bottle of almond milk. Some leftover takeout he wasn’t entirely sure was still safe.

He pouted, just a little. That soft, childlike disappointment that slipped out before he could mask it.

And then, out of nowhere, a thought sparked:

Your cookies. The chocolate chip ones.

The kind you never used to bake until you learned he liked them more than your usual vanilla batches .

The first ones you made had been slightly burnt on the edges, the chips off balance, but you kept trying. Adjusting the recipe, tweaking it each time like it was a science experiment. The way you’d squint at the oven timer and mutter about ratios—it made him smile more than he ever let on.

Over time, they’d gotten better. Perfect, even. To the point where Spencer had started associating the smell of melted chocolate and brown sugar with you—with the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, with the flour dusting your sleeves, with the way you’d always leave a few extra in his freezer "just in case."

Now, the absence of them felt like a physical thing.

He closed the fridge door slowly and let out a long sigh, his back pressing against the cool metal as he leaned there for a moment.

But then his eyes caught something on the counter and his breath caught.

There, on the counter—your box of cookies. The very ones he’d just been craving.

The universe had a cruel sense of humor sometimes, dangling the answer to a thought he hadn’t even fully formed. A coincidence? Maybe. But the way his pulse jumped at the sight made it feel like something more.

A slow, disbelieving smile tugged at his lips as he reached for the box, his fingers brushing over the familiar creases in the cardboard—the same way you always folded the edges to keep them fresh.

On top, a note in your unmistakable handwriting:

“For my favorite genius. I know you probably don’t have anything to eat for breakfast. And you need to stop living off coffee.”

Next to it, a lopsided smiley face, the kind you always drew when you were teasing him.

And beneath it, another slip of paper—this one with a quote:

“I hate people who are not serious about meals. It is so shallow of them.” —The Importance of Being Earnest.

His book. The one he’d lent you months ago, dog-eared and annotated in the margins with his cramped scribbles. You’d not only read it, you’d remembered it. Enough to pluck this line, this line, the one he’d laughed at when he reread it next to you.

Something warm and unnameable curled in his chest.

He gently traced the smiley face with his index finger before carefully peeling the note off the box and walking to the fridge. He smoothed the edges against the metal and stuck it there. Right in the center, right beside the magnet he never used. The quote followed, aligned just so.

Two little pieces of you.

He fully enjoyed the cookies—more than he wanted to admit. One turned into two, two into five, and before he knew it, he was staring at the bottom of the box, only two left. He hesitated, tempted to finish them off, but something made him stop. Maybe he wanted to save them. Maybe it felt symbolic somehow—leaving just a little behind.

He set the box aside with a quiet sigh, realizing it was probably time to face reality. If his breakfast consisted of cookies and the last splash of coffee from yesterday’s pot, then yeah—he needed groceries.

The thought alone was exhausting.

Reluctantly, Spencer went to get dressed. As he rummaged through his dresser for a sweater, his fingers brushed against something soft in the corner of the drawer. He paused, then slowly pulled it out.

The scarf.

The one you’d given him last winter, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, a little handwritten tag that simply said “For when the cold gets into your bones.”

He hadn’t worn it much. Not because he didn’t love it. He did. Too much, maybe. He was worried he’d ruin it, spill something on it, or catch it on a subway door or lose it in a moment of distraction.

So instead, it became a part of his quiet morning rituals—he’d look at it while choosing what to wear, smile to himself, then fold it back gently, like preserving something sacred.

It became a small, secret reminder of you that never failed to make his lips twitch upward.

But today, something tugged at him. Wear it.

He paused, hesitating. There was no case today. No flights, no crime scenes, no risk of ruining it in some chaotic whirlwind of work. It was just grocery shopping. A quick errand. No danger. No reason not to.

Before he could overthink it, he looped the scarf around his neck. The wool was warmer than he expected, carrying the faintest trace of cedar and vanilla—your perfume, maybe, or just the ghost of memory.

He slipped on his shoes, grabbed his coat, and stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The cold hit him immediately —but the scarf helped.

You helped.

And for once, Spencer didn’t feel quite so alone.

The drive to the grocery store should have been routine—just another mundane task.

Spencer flipped on the radio out of habit, his fingers automatically tuning to his usual station: the one that dissected quantum physics and debated the ethics of emerging technologies in monotone, academic voices. It was comforting, familiar. He usually looked forward to it. Even if he already knew most of the facts being discussed, there was something soothing about hearing others speak his language.

There was comfort in the predictability of it.

But today, the voices grated.

He listened for maybe a minute, maybe less. The words blurred together, sounding hollow in a way they usually didn’t.

He stared ahead at the red light, fingers tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel. Restless. Unsettled.

His gaze drifted to the radio display. Without really thinking, he pressed the button to change the station.

Click. Static. Then a beat.

And then—your favorite song.

It took him a second to register it, but once he did, his breath caught in his throat. It wasn’t a popular song, not one that played often. In fact, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d heard it on the radio.

But here it was. Blasting softly through his speakers like the universe had handpicked the moment.

The same song you’d hum under your breath while baking, the one you’d insisted on playing three times in a row that one rainy afternoon when he’d pretended to complain but secretly memorized every lyric.

His breath hitched.

For a heartbeat, he just stared, as if the universe had reached into his chest and plucked out a thought he hadn’t even fully formed. Behind him, a horn blared—sharp, impatient—jolting him back to reality.

“Oh. Sorry,” he muttered, flushing as he hit the gas, the car lurching forward a second too late.

He didn’t change the station.

The rest of the drive passed in a haze, the music wrapping around him like an echo of your voice.

By the time he pulled into the grocery store parking lot, the song had faded into something else, but the melody lingered, tangled up in the wool of your scarf and the ghost of flour on your hands.

Once he stepped out of the car, Spencer paused and looked up at the sky. Heavy clouds loomed overhead, dark and swollen with the promise of rain.

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and muttered to himself, “Alright. Just in and out. Quick.”

October weather was unpredictable. He quickened his pace toward the store, shoulders hunched against the cold. The last thing he needed was to get caught in another downpour.

Like last night.

The memory surfaced unbidden: you, standing in his doorway, drenched and shivering, your hair plastered to your forehead while rainwater pooled at your feet. He’d panicked—of course he had—fussing over the cold you’d surely catch, the inconvenience, the unnecessary risk you’d taken just to watch some movie with him.

And then you’d grinned, wide and unrepentant, before launching yourself at him.

The hug was instantaneous, your arms locking around him, soaking his shirt through in seconds. He’d stiffened—“You’re getting me all wet!”—but you’d just buried your face in his shoulder and mumbled, “We’ll be sick together, Spencer.”

He hadn’t stood a chance.

You’d spent the rest of the evening wrapped in mismatched towels, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch, your laughter warmer than any blanket. And if a cozy evening like this with you made him get sick? Who was he to care? If anything, he had used the rain and the cold to scoot even closer to you on the couch, mumbling a small "My apartment is cold" as an excuse to press his thighs closer to yours.

Now, standing in the grocery store parking lot with the wind gnawing at his scarf—your scarf—he realized something with startling clarity:

He missed you.

Not in the abstract, distant way he missed people when they were gone. But viscerally, like a pit in his stomach, that couldn't be filled with anything but the sight of you standing infront of him with a smile.

The clouds overhead rumbled softly, like the sky missed you too.

Spencer turned toward the store, tugging his scarf a little tighter, and stepped forward, but something caught his eye.

Next to the grocery store, nestled between a laundromat and a pharmacy, was a new coffee shop. That in itself wasn’t unusual. But the name?

His breath caught slightly in his throat as he read the sign above the door.

Drip Drop Brew.

His eyes widened. He blinked, like maybe he had read it wrong. But no—those words stared right back at him, painted in playful script across the front window in soft red and black.

His breath stuttered.

“Drip drop drip drop,” you had murmured just last night as he made you tea, still damp from the rain.

You had stood beside him in the kitchen, doing absolutely nothing useful, your hair still curling with leftover stormwater. You never offered to help—and he never minded. You just liked being near him while he moved around the kitchen.

“Drip drop?” he’d repeated back, bemused, pouring hot water over chamomile leaves.

“The rain,” you’d said, as if it were obvious, tilting your head toward the sound. “Listen.”

And he had. Not to the weather, but to you—the way your voice softened around mundane things, how you found rhythm in the ordinary. It was ridiculous. It was perfect. It was such a you thing to do, finding magic in something as ordinary as the sound of water hitting glass.

Now, standing frozen on the sidewalk, the memory wrapped around him like the scarf still knotted at his throat.

A coincidence. It had to be.

But the way his pulse jumped said otherwise.

He took a slow breath, torn between stepping inside and continuing to the grocery store. He didn’t need coffee.

Groceries were forgotten the moment he pushed open the coffee shop door.

The place was you—cozy and vibrant, with mismatched armchairs in deep red and black , shelves lined with well-loved books, and the scent of freshly ground coffee.

He could already picture you here, curled up in that corner nook by the window, a half-finished report abandoned in favor of people-watching.

You both had a habit of doing reports in cafés—something that started as convenience and turned into tradition. A small ritual between the chaos of the job. He could still remember the first time you'd convinced Hotch to let it happen.

It had been on a slow day, paperwork piling up, everyone dragging. You'd walked into the bullpen and said, “What if we were… slightly more productive in a cozy public setting with caffeine and pastries?”

Complete with your best “convince-Hotch” smile.

Somehow, it worked.Honestly, most of the team had a hard time saying no to you. Even Hotch, who wasn’t exactly known for bending rules.

But Spencer? Spencer never stood a chance. He wasn’t even sure the word no existed in his vocabulary when it came to you.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he’d ever truly said no to you. The word dissolved in his throat whenever you smiled at him.

He ordered a coffee—black, simple, but he let the barista add a drizzle of cinnamon syrup, just because it reminded him of the way you'd order his drinks when you thought he needed “spicing up.”

Then he settled down in the corner seat, back against the wall, giving him a view of the whole shop. It should’ve felt peaceful.

Instead, the absence beside him was deafening.

He let his eyes wander, taking everything in. The handwritten menu on a chalkboard. Cute drawings of animals, such as ladybugs. The tiny potted succulents lining the windowsill. A basket of dog treats by the door. A stack of used books by the counter with a handwritten sign that read: “Take one, leave one, love always.” C

Time slipped through his fingers like sand.

What should have been a thirty-minute grocery run had stretched into nearly two hours—first the coffee shop, then the quiet absorption of his book (of course he’d brought one; he’d sooner leave the house without pants than without reading material).

Eventually he forced himself to leave.

With a full bag of groceries and a head full of thoughts, he made it home. The sky had darkened even more, a low rumble of thunder in the distance echoing through the streets. Rain hadn’t started yet, but it was only a matter of time.

He unpacked everything robotically, stacking the pantry and fridge, then tossed his coat aside and curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped loosely around him.

He traced the spine of the book in his lap, his thumb brushing over the slight crease near the top.

Your book.

The one you’d pressed into his hands last week with theatrical solemnity, your brows furrowed in mock severity. “This one is my favorite,” you’d said, voice low, as if entrusting him with state secrets. When you’d jabbed a warning finger in his face, he’d barely suppressed a grin. “If anything happens to it—”

He’d waited, eyes bright with amusement, until you’d leaned in close, your voice dropping to a theatrical whisper: “You will know my rage in ways you’ve never known before.”

The threat was absurd—he’d seen you genuinely angry exactly once, and even then, you’d mostly just frowned harder—but he’d played along, snatching the book from your grip with exaggerated defiance.

“Terrifying,” he’d deadpanned, already flipping to the first page.

That was another one of your rituals: swapping books every week, your version of a love language. You’d once called it “literary matchmaking.” Every Friday, without fail, a book would be passed between you—sometimes annotated, sometimes dog-eared, always loved.

This book had been your favorite.

Now, tracing the dog-eared corner of page 111—your favorite passage—he realized with a quiet ache that he could almost hear your voice between the lines.

He’d read three chapters today, but the words blurred together, his focus frayed by the day’s odd synchronicities—the cookies, the scarf, the song, the café.

And now this: your favorite book in his hands, your phantom laughter between the lines.

Spencer exhaled, tilting his head back against the couch.

The universe, it seemed, was determined to remind him of you.

Thirty minutes later, he turned the final page.

The book was finished, and God, he understood now why you loved it so much—the way the prose curled around his ribs like smoke, the underlined passages that felt like secrets shared between just the two of you.

Your notes in the margins had been his favorite part: little exclamation marks beside plot twists, sarcastic commentary in the corners, the occasional doodle when you’d clearly gotten distracted.

With a quiet sigh, he set the book on his lap, but the spine—well-loved and cracked from years of your hands holding it—fell open again of its own accord.

And there it was.

A single line, highlighted in soft yellow, framed by a constellation of pink hearts you’d drawn with the same care you reserved for frosting cookies or arranging flowers in his too-empty apartment:

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”

The air left his lungs in a rush.

It hit him with the force of a bullet train—no warning, no gradual buildup, just the devastating certainty of it.

The cookies. The scarf. The radio station. The coffee shop. The way his chest ached when you laughed. The way he’d memorized the cadence of your voice without meaning to. The way every road, every book, every breath seemed to lead back to you.

Oh.

Spencer Reid was in love with his best friend.

And the terrible, beautiful truth was—he’d been in love with you for a long, long time.

Dragon!Knight!Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

guess who's baaaack!!!

Fanfic commission for @jewish-jason-todd, thanks for buying me minecraft <3

"Mm.. the flowers are wilting again.." You murmured, your fingertips just barely grazing over the rotting petals of your garden.

Jason, your personal knight, trailed behind you, scars adorning his face, the rest covered by his armour. "Shall I inform the royal gardener, your highness? I'll make sure he does his job correctly this time." He said, his voice gruff and stern.

You shook your head. "No need. I'd rather I take care of my lovelies myself. Besides. I'm sure the gardener has already... received your message." You said, referring to the last time the gardener had allowed the flowers to wilt, making Jason give him a fearing earful.

You turned to Jason just as the sun began to set. "Will you be staying over in the castle this time? Or will you be staying in the village as usual?" You asked as you held onto a small glimpse of hope that he'd stay.

"My apologies, your highness. But I'd much prefer to rest in the village. I'll return on time tomorrow for my duties." Jason said, a small part of him also wanting to stay, but knowing well that he could not.

You sighed, hiding your disappointment. "Alright then. As you wish. I'll see you tomorrow morning, Jason."

He nodded. "Goodnight, your highness."

"Goodnight, Jason."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second Jason knew you were safe inside the castle, he legged it into the woods, away from the castle, away from the village.

A few years prior to his job of protecting you as your personal knight, the poor young man had been captured as a teenager, taken away from his adoptive father, who taught him all he knew about being a knight.

The Joker, a man who used to serve as a royal jester, tired of being the laughing stalk, being nothing but a joke, became hateful, villainous, with nothing but spite and pain coursing through his veins.

Though Bruce, known as the Dark Knight and head of the royal guards, tried to keep the Joker in containment, the jester managed to escape, continuously slipping out of Bruce's fingertips.

The Joker now only appeared occasionally, teamed with a group of bandits, terrorising the village.

But, when the Joker got his hands on young Jason, he cursed the young boy, hexing him into the same fate of turning into a beast, a monster of fury and horror, having the kingdom only fear him for what he is.

A giant, scaly, fire breathing dragon.

Luckily, Bruce managed to find some sort of cure to counteract the effects. By day, Jason remains a ruthless knight, living to serve you. But as the moon rises, he lives as this beast, hiding away, deep into the woods that no one dared to enter. No one knows about this treachery except for him and Bruce.

He'd never tell you, no. You were too innocent and kind. You were kind to him. What people and himself saw in his scars and brutality, you saw beauty. And he made the grave mistake of falling for you.

Jason's lungs hurt as he dashed further into the woods, his swords slicing through the branches in his way. He could feel the scales appearing on the side of his head. He could feel his nails grown into claws.

He fell to his knees, panting. He could only imagine the scared, disgusted look on your face if you were ever to see his transformation. No, he wouldn't handle it. He couldn't. You were very dear to him. So many nights he wished to stay at the castle, to be closer to you.

But he couldn't. Instead, he was here. In the middle of the ghastly woods. Black and red scales covering his giant body, wings tucked to his side, tail flicking back and forth.

He growled at the beast he became, extending his wings as he flew into the air, looking at the distance where he could see the castle.

You're resting. That's all that matters to him.

Except you weren't.

You knew your knight would scowl at you for sneaking out at this time. But you rarely got to see outside castle walls. You wanted adventure, you wanted freedom, you wanted thrill. And you were gonna get it.

Now, you've seen the village plenty of times before. But what you haven't seen were the treasures and secrets hidden within the woods.

You threw your cloak over yourself, your hood over your head as you began your walk through the thick trees.

Sure, you should be scared of the potential dangers, but how could you fear the way the moonlight danced over the branches, the trees creating beautiful silhouettes among the leaves the crunched beneath your feet.

You would've preferred to enjoy this walk with your trusty knight beside you.

But he's resting. That's all that matters to you.

Except he wasn't.

The dragon had, unfortunately, lost his balance when flying, landing onto a bush of thorny vines.

It didn't hurt, of course. Though, the pain of pins and thorns was quite irritable, especially since he was unable to remove them himself.

He seeked refuge in a cave, deciding that he'll just have to remove the thorns once his body shifts back into human again.

The walk was incredibly more peaceful than you thought. Not a peculiar sound to be heard, not a strange shadow in sight.

Though... that sudden low growl might've been a sign for you to turn around and run back to the castle where it's safe.

Unfortunately, your curiosity got the better of you. Bevause what could be possibly making that sound? It definitely wasn't a bear, no. It's too loud.

You crept your way, closer to a cave where the sound was sourced, and peered your head through the opening.

Whatever it was, it was deeper in the cave. You took a breath, carefully walking in as quiet as you could.

And if your eyes gotten any wider, they probably would've fallen out of your sockets. You were amazed at the magnificent creature in front of you.

A dragon, probably bigger than the castle, with beautiful scales and sharp wings, lying at the back of the cave.

Only a fool would approach such an unpredictable beast.

You kept walking.

".... Hello?.." You softly said, a sharp gasp escaping as the dragon growled, trying to scare whoever dared intrude his place of refuge.

Jason's eyes slightly widened, seeing you in front of him. What the hell?

He glared at you with a huff, smoke coming out through his nostrils. What the hell were you doing here? Why aren't you at the castle? Why are you alone?

You glanced down, seeing parts of his body covered with thorns. "Are you hurt?.." You asked softly. You thought if this dragon were to hurt you, he'd to it by now.

He huffed, turning away, hoping you'd go back to the castle.

"I can help you.." You gently offered, stepping closer.

Jason growled, wanting you to be gone already. He didn't want you to see this. To see him as a monster.

You clicked your tongue. "Come on now, now you're just being stubborn." You said, walking up in front of him.

Jason scoffed in his head. He loved hated how persistent you were. Always helping others, getting what you wanted. He laid down, at this point, not caring what you did.

"There you go.." You whispered, your hand flat against him. "This might pinch.." You said before plucking out one of the thorns. You looked up to see he he was in any sort of discomfort. But Jason didn't budge. He's definitely been through worse.

You shrugged and continued to pluck the rest of the thorns.

"I've never seen a dragon before. I almost thought that they were a myth." You said softly as you picked out the thorns. Jason just lied down and listened. "The people of the village said that they were cruel and baked, ugly monsters."

'Yeah, that sounds about right,' Jason thought.

"But you are quite beautiful." You whispered. Jason felt like he couldn't breathe. There's absolutely no way you called him beautiful. Him? Beautiful? To you? He must be dreaming. This is wrong. This isn't how people react.

"There we go. All done." You said, kicking away the discarded thorns. Jason sighed, slightly nodding, appreciating your help, though still pissed that you're out at this hour. "Well, I should head home now.." I murmured. "Although, I do wish to see you again soon." You said, about to make your way out.

Though Jason groaned, quickly making his way beside you. He knelt down, wanting to accompany you on your journey back. No way was he letting you venture on your own again.

You glanced at his back, then back to his eyes. "You.. want me to..?" You said questionably, pointing to his back. He nodded. "Are you sure?" You asked again. And he nodded again.

You gulped before carefully trying to mount his back. Jason raised his wings, creating a border to make sure you didn't fall off.

He then began stalking through the woulds, occasionally using his wings to push away the branches to prevent them from hitting against you.

He reached the edge of the woods, kneeling down. He sighed, not being able to take you all the way to the castle. He refused to leave the woods in this form. It'll be too dangerous.

You slid off his back, resting your hand just at the side of his face. "Thank you.." You murmuted softly. "You're very kind. I promise to visit you again soon." You said. Jason didn't want you to leave the castle this late again. But, oh, how good it felt to have someone, especially you, look at him with awe instead of fear.

Jason nodded with a huff as he turned around, returning back to his cave.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I saw something last night." You said as you and Jason strolled around the garden.

"What? Did you go outside?" Jason said with annoyance, pretending that he had no clue of the adventure you've been up to.

"It was fine, Jason. I wasn't hurt or anything." You reassured him.

"You shouldn't be going outside after dark, princess. It's too dangerous."

"It was a dragon." You bluntly said, waiting for his reaction.

Jason lightly scoffed. "A dragon hasn't been spotted for centuries, your highness. Are you sure you weren't just dreaming?"

You pouted at his dismissal. "Don't mock me, Jason. It was real. I know it was. And it wasn't like those silly stories the townspeople talk of. The dragon was kind. Quite a gentleman, I might add."

"A dragon? A gentleman? Are you sure you're not feeling ill, your higness?" Jason said with a kight chuckle, a faint dust of pink over his cheeks, turning his head slightly so you wouldn't see.

"I wish for you to accompany me tonight, Jason. I want to see the dragon again."

"No."

"Why not?" You said with a frown, looking up at him.

"I'm busy."

"Liar."

"I said no."

You huffed in defeat. "I wish you would. It really is a marvellous creature. Ethereal."

Jason raised a brow. "You should stay inside tonight. Get some sleep. Dream about this dragon again."

"It wasn't a dream!" You retorted, annoyed that your knight doesn't believe you as you stormed back inside the castle. Jason sighed, running his hand through his hair in frustration, praying you didn't go back to the woods tonight.

But, of course, you did.

"You'd think that spending years by my side, he'd believe me." You muttered, basically ranting your frustrations to the dragon lying in front of you.

The dragon let out a low whine, barely rolling his eyes.

"What? Don't tell me you're on his side." You said, crossing your arms. "I didn't come all this way at this time to be told off by a dragon too."

He grumbled, nudging his snout against your hand. You sighed, one hand held under his chin, the other petting over his muzzle.

"Just wished he'd spend time with me. When he's not on duty." You muttered quietly. "He's quite the charmer, you know." You said with a small chuckle.

Now you had Jason's full attention.

"Very handsome, too. Just like yourself." You said, stroking the side of the dragon's face. Jason's heart raced. Maybe he was the one who was dreaming and not you.

"But, I'm sure he's much more interested in women who know how to fight for themselves. You know.. warriors. Not dainty princesses who have servants to do everything for them.."

The dragon let out another low whine. 'No. That isn't true.' Jason thought as he leaned further into your touch

So, for the next few nights, you've been spending your time in the cave within the woods with the dragon. It's been comforting. Because of your royal status and the difficulty of stepping outside the walls, making friends hasn't come easy.

But still. It was nice to have some company during the nights. However, ot has been taking a toll on your energy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you alright, your highness?" Jason asked, concerned with how tired you looked. The guilt pooled in his stomach. He hated how much he enjoyed spending time with you, listening to you praise him, as knight and dragon, but simultaneously stealing away your sleep.

"I'm just fine, Jason." You said, waving him off

"Is it because of this dragon again?"

"Would you even believe me if I said yes?" You huffed.

"Yes."

You looked up at him, eyes wide. "What?"

"I believe you. You don't lie. And even if you do, you do a god-awful job at it." He said, looking down at you.

You scoffed. "You even mock me when you try comforting me.." You pouted.

"It's true, though," Jason said, patting your head, the small gesture itself being enough to flush your cheeks a soft pink. "Maybe you should take a nap, however. You look exhausted."

You shook your head. "No, no... I'm fine— oof!"

You accidentally tripped on an overgrown root in the garden, your leg scraping against a rose bush as you fell to your knees.

"Your highness!" Jason exclaimed, kneeling at your side.

"I'm— I'm alright, Jason.." You said, lifting up your dress slightly, wincing at the two thorns stuck in your leg.

Jason sighed, shaking his head. "Come on, let me take you to your chambers.." He muttered, lifting you uo bridle style unexpectedly.

You gasped, wrapping your arms around him. "Ja— Jason! Put me down! It's just a thorn!" You exclaimed, your face now a bright red.

"Do not argue with me, your highness." He said firmly, taking you back inside the castle, straight to your room.

He carefully settled you down onto the bed, kneeling in front of you. He hesitated, gulping as he looked up at you. "I.. May I?"

If your cheeks could've gotten any redder, then they certainly have. You nodded slightly, looking away.

Jason then gently took the hem of your dress, lifting it just enough to see the thorns. "I told you to get more sleep." Jason whispered, grabbing the tweezers off your nightstand.

"Be quiet.." I murmured in response.

"This might pinch." He said before plucking out one of the thorns. You slightly wince as he pulled out one of the thorns. Oddly enough, this seemed quite familiar.

"There we go.." He muttered, taking out the second thorn before taking out a cloth, cleaning away the speckled blood.

You cleared your throat. "So... it's getting late... Will you be staying tonight this time?" You said, just as you did every evening.

"What?" Jason said, his head snapping up to look out the window. "Shit." He hissed as he saw the moon begin to rise. "I must go." He said in a panic. "Goodnight, your highness." He said before rushing out of the room.

"Wait! Jason!" You called out for him, pulling your dress down as you rushed after him. Why did he always leave before sun down?

He laid no mind to you as he dashed out of the castle, straight into the woods. Not onto the path to the village.

"Jason?" You called out as you followed him, but he still kept sprinting.

Your lungs hurt as you tried to keep up, but even with that heavy armour on him, he was still so much faster than you. Where the hell was he going?

But the deeper you went into the woods, the more familiar it looked.

Your eyes widened when you saw Jason dash into the cave.

"No— Jason, wait!" You tried to warn him, not wanting him to disturb the dragon inside.

You ran into the cave, but the dragon wasn't there. Just Jason backing up into the cave wall.

"Your highness?! Go! Go away! Get out!" Jason yelled.

"Jason?—" You stepped forward, but your eyes widened as you saw the scales appearing on the side of his head. You saw his nails growing into claws.

"Don't! Don't look at me!" He screamed, turning away, hiding his face as he transformed into the monster he saw himself as.

You gasped, watching Jason grow into that ferocious dragon you've been spending your nights with.

Jason, now a dragon, roared out in agony, his wings covering his face.

"Jas— Jason, it's okay!" You yelled, trying to calm him down, but to no avail. He turned to you, roaring in your face, fire shooting out in front of you, blocking you from Jason. You gasped as you turned, sprinting back to the castle.

There it was. The panic and terror that Jason anticipated if you ever saw the truth. He panted, lying on the cold stone, his wings going limp as he wallowed in his returned lonliness.

You returned to the castle, back to your chambers, tucking yourself to bed, and closing your eyes, praying that it was just a dream.

But the next morning, when you exited your room, it was Bruce awaiting for you. Not Jason.

"Bruce?.." You said questionably, tilting your head in confusion.

"Good morning, your highness. Please excuse the unexpected change. Unfortunately, Jason is feeling ill, so I shall accompany you until he is better." Bruce explained.

"But, I... I thought he did not get sick." You said, noticing how Jason never had even a small cough ever.

"Today must be an unlucky day, your highness. But, do not fret. He shall return to his duties the second he is better." He reassured as you nodded with a sigh. Guess last night wasn't a dream.

So, Bruce accompanied you through your day, walking around with you around the garden.

"Mm.. the flowers are wilting again.." You murmured.

"I'll let the royal gardener know, your highness." Burce said softly.

"No.. no, it's fine Ja— Bruce." You quickly corrected yourself. You didn't like this. If it were Jason, he'd take great offence that someone dared to allow your precious flowers to wilt. He would've started threatening the gardener again.

Your day went on, but you began to miss the presence of your loyal knight. Maybe if you didn't follow him, nothing would have changed.

"Bruce?" You called out to him as you strolled around.

"Yes, your highness?"

"Has Jason ever gotten sick before?" You asked.

"When he was younger, yes. I always told him to stay inside our home, yet he always snuck out to the pub to listen to the live music." Bruce said.

Your ears perked up at that. Maybe Jason would be at the pub. You look up at the sun. It was late afternoon.

"So... he'd be at the pub?" You asked, double checking.

Bruce nodded, looking down at the flowers. "He always was stubborn. He hasn't been sick in a long while. But I reckon he'd be there right now, your highness— Your highness?" The second Bruce looked back up, looking around the garden, you were suddenly gone.

You didn't even give it a second thought as you raced out of the castle, throwing your hood over your head. You didn't care if Jason scolded you for being outside the walls without permission. You wanted to see him.

You panted as you made it to the village, people setting up for the night market, as you tugged your hood down.

You entered the pub, the place bustling with laughter, music, and drunkards. You glanced at the counter, and lo and behold your beautiful knight, slumping at the bar, his head on the counter.

"Is... he okay?" You quietly asked the bartender, looking at Jason with concern.

"He's been here since early this afternoon, miss." the bartender said, shaking his head. "I'm surprised he's not losing his liver yet. Mighty impressive, to be honest." He said, cleaning the rim of the glass.

You sighed, staring down at Jason's state.

"Jason?.." You softly called his name, lightly brushing the hair away from his eyes.

"What..." The knight murmured, drool drying down his chin, his eyes droopy. But even so, he could still recognise this beautiful eyes of yours.

"You're.. you're not in the castle..." Jason mumbled, his words slurred.

You shook your head. "No, I'm not."

He scoffed, turning his head to the other side. "You're.. go— *hic* going to get in trouble again.." He grumbled, clearly annoyed. You sighed, placing your hand on his shoulder.

"Jason, it is almost sundown." You said worriedly.

Jason scoffed once more, waving his hand, dismissing you. "Who cares? Let everyone find out. That horrible, terrifying dragon they fear of in their stories is really the princess'— mmph.." You quickly covered his mouth before he could finish his sentence, looking around, making sure no one heard.

"Jason, please," you almost begged, "Let's go to the cave, hm? I'll stay with you, I promise." You whispered.

"Yes, just as how you stayed last night, too, huh?" He retorted in spite.

"Well, maybe next time to shoot fire at me, hm? Now, please, come on. I will not take no for an answer." You said stubbornly, swinging one of his arms over your shoulder, lifting him up, though his weight with his armour knocked the air out of your lungs.

"Uhm— Thank you, good sir." You nodded to the bartender, struggling to put the money in the counter before waddling off with Jason leaning on you.

"Get— ngh.. get off of me.. I don't need you.. or your help.." He muttered weakly as you made it into the woods. But, he made no effort to push you away, instead clinging onto you just a little bit tighter. And of course you noticed.

You huffed, rolling your eyes at his persistence as you made it to the cave, already noticing how his scales began to appear on his neck.

As you reached the back of the cave, his wings emerged, though the limped to the cold ground. As Jason fully transformed, he laid down on the ground, letting out small, low whines.

You sighed, kneeling in front of his face, gently placing your hands on either side of his head.

"It's okay, Jason.." You whispered. "I'll stay with you.."

The dragon whimpered, only leaning into your touch, not pushing you away this time. Not breathing fire at you or trying to scare you on purpose.

And you did stay with him. Jason was already fast asleep, his snores echoing through the cave. But you? You didn't even get a wink of sleep, but you couldn't care less. You needed Jason to know how much you cared for him, how much he makes your heart swell from his presence alone. How much you love him, knight or dragon.

Eventually, the sun peeked over the horizon, the ray barely making their way into the cave. You watched in awe at how Jason morphed back into human. God, he was absolutely gorgeous.

The knight remained lying down, his head resting on your lap as you threaded your fingers through his hair. You didn't want to wake him. He deserved his rest. And as he slept, you realised.

You finally spent your nught together with him.

Granted, they weren't under the best circumstances. He probably wouldn't even remember you bringing him into the cave, but... It's good enough for you.

Soon, he stirred awake, letting out a quiet groan. But as his eyes opened, he was taken aback to see your face above his. He quickly sat up, hissing as his head pounded, his mind dizzy.

"Your— Your highness—" He said frantically, trying to stand up, but you grabbed his wrist before he could.

"Stop. You're hungover. You need rest, Jason." You said, your thumb smoothing over his wrist.

Jason looked down where you held him, his thoughts scattering, his mind fuzzy.

"Your highness, please.." He muttered. You didn't know what he was asking of you, but if he were honest, he didn't know either.

"Don't be ashamed, Jason..."

"No. No.. this.. thing— this monster. It's vile and disgusting." He spat, looking away.

"You're wrong." You said firmly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "It's— It's the most magnificent thing I've ever seen!"

"You don't know what you're taking about." He hissed.

"You're beautiful, Jason." You said, staring right him, refusing to take anymore of his stubbornness.

Jason looked at you with wide eyes and disbelief. Beautiful was a completely new one for him. It's always been dangerous, scary, ludicrous. Beautiful hadn't been in his dictionary.

"Your scales are so sharp and bold, your wings are strong, your colour is gorgeous! Gosh, it's so hard not to love!" You said passionately, desperate for him to believe you.

Jason froze. How could you, such a perfect woman, love such a horrid.. thing?

"Your highness.."

"No... no, please, Jason.. no more of that.. no more honorifics.." You whispered.

He sighed, saying your name, rolling off his tongue so smoothly. Your heart raced hearing him call you by your name for the first time. "Don't do this.." Jason whispered. "Don't pretend to love.. this.. for my sake."

"You don't understand." You said. You tilted his chin up, making him look at you. "I am in love with you, Jason Todd. You have been by my side since day one, and you've never left, even when you had the opportunity to. And even as a dragon... I still can't stop myself from falling in love with you.." You quietly admitted.

Jason's breath hitched. This isn't right. He thought it wasn't right. A royal princess falling in love with a cursed knight. But, god, he'd be lying if he said it didn't make his heart pound.

He barely registered what happened. You barely registered what happened.

His hands somehow found themselves grabbing your waist, pulling you flushed against him before he pressed his lips upon yours.

You melted into the kiss before you could even acknowledge he was kissing you. But no matter. How much you've dreamt before that this moment would happen. And how much it's better than you ever imagined.

His lips were chapped, just as you predicted. His hands felt snug around your waist. It all just felt so natural. So perfect .

Jason pulled away as you both lightly panted, catching your breath.

"I— I'm sorry.." Jason muttered breathlessly. "I—"

"Jason.." You said his name softly, your hands on the collar of his armour, lightly pulling him closer. "Kiss me again... please..." You quietly begged.

Oh, and who was the loyal knight to deny a request from his princess?

He sighed, knowing well that he'd easily comply. This time, the both of you, knowing exactly what you needed, kissed each other once more, lips moulding perfectly together.

The fierce and mighty dragon, falling hopelessly for his dear princess. And the princess falling hopelessly for her dear knight.

@jewish-jason-todd I hope you enjoyed reading!! I haven't written in a looooong while, so I really hope this is good!! If i remember right, this is my first au fic, so I put lots and lots and lots of thought into it just for you! I can't thank you enough, you're the first person to ever commission me, and it really has made my day! I've already spent hours and hours on minecraft. Again, thank you so so much, I really loved writing this, and I hope you like it! <3

Jason would unironically do fan service.

Wouldn't it be funny to watch this muscular, brutish and tall vigilante make a heart with the same gloves that beat the absolute living shiz out of a criminal?

Don't get me wrong, the first time he did it, it was a joke to get under the skin of Bruce or another batfam and by chance a civilian saw them. And reluctantly he became a meme, a word of mouth Gothamite inside joke.

Desperately, Jason didn't want to hear "hey, ya gon do the heart? Make the heart!" that Gotham was asking of him.

But he had an epiphany. A realization that he could single-handedly, with upmost bothersome Gothamite support, be the most annoying person to the batfam once again.

So he gave Gotham what they wanted.

Thumbs up? no, too simple. fingers hearts? much better. hand heart on his metallic cheek? he was going all in.

he was cutting out heart-shaped cards and throwing them out to whoever could catch them. It became a hit.

And Jason looked forward to every night as he watched all the Batfam roll their eyes at the pure absurdity that became the weekly Red Hood fanservice.

And best of all? What were they going to do? Tell Gotham to stop encouraging this? Hell no.

Jason got the best sleep during such a painful time of peak Red Hood enthusiasm for the Batfam. And it was because of how excited he was to terrorize them for another day.

Babygirl

Uhhhhhhhhh...

Part 2 >

Dragon!Sylus who has been searching for that which will fill the (metaphorical) void in his heart. He's convinced money will do the trick. It doesn't. And then he meets you.

Dragon!Sylus who covets you like his greatest treasure. All of the riches he has accumulated mean nothing to him now that you're by his side.

Dragon!Sylus who growls at anyone who will so much as look at you. Teeth bared, claws ready, tail standing on guard.

Dragon!Sylus who chitters and purrs when you caress him, his hair, his wings, his tail...

Dragon!Sylus who takes you for a flight around Philos and shows you his favorite spots, also discovering new ones by your side

Dragon!Sylus who always makes you sit on his lap and curls his tail around you protectively. No one will be getting near what's his anytime soon.

Dragon!Sylus who has a mating season, getting unbearably touchy and affectionate during it, wanting nothing more than to fuck make love to you.

Dragon!Sylus who is so big. In every sense of the word. Everything about him is big. His hands, his wings, his love for you, his di-

Dragon!Sylus who now gathers pretty things just to give them to you. As a sort of mating ritual. You accept them? Great, he's hauling you to his bed.

Dragon!Sylus who curls up next to you when he sleeps, snoring softly. Literally curled next to you.

Dragon!Sylus who has sensitive spots in... Different places.

Dragon!Sylus who is always so warm. You don't need any kind of heat source if he's there. He's the heat source.

Dragon!Sylus who bites bites bites. Loves to bite you. Not even to make marks, sometimes, he just wants to *nom*.

Dragon!Sylus who puts his wings around you when you sleep. Particularly often after a session of lovemaking.

Dragon!Sylus who will be clingy as hell. He loves you so much. Don't break his heart.

Tags: [mlw][mdni][arranged marriage][friends to lovers][loss of virginity][unprotected p in v][just the tip][oral f! receiving][fingering][aged up][nipple play][UNDERSTAND by keshi for the fluff (trust)][petnames][ra's you little matchmaker you]

"I'm sorry, what?" Bruce's brows raise, nearly meeting his hairline as he stares at Jason, who only nods his head enthusiastically.

"Damian had a bride. Like.... They were married, had a ceremony and everything. It was actually really beautiful, I cried." Jason hums softly before extending his legs out in front of him, booted feet crossing at the ankles.

"And you want us to get this girl, why?" Tim questions, a brow raising.

"Damian's lonely." Dick states. "So... It would do him some good to be around someone he knows. Like... Properly knows."

"For his birthday." Barbara chimes in. "He's turning 19 and he's a virgin. And he's definitely not gay."

"The turtlenecks could've fooled me." Jason snickers softly, before glancing at Bruce's turtleneck, and raising a brow, almost suspiciously.

"We'll get the girl." Bruce hums.

—♱—

"Is this... a house?" Your voice is quiet, almost meek and timid as you look around at the architecture of Wayne Manor, before your eyes move towards the light switches. And you gasp.

"Lights?" You breathe out. "You have magic within your walls?"

They don't know how to react. They don't know if you're joking or if you're serially disadvantaged.

Until you let out a snort of laughter.

"Nah, I'm just messing with you." You snicker, your hands tucked into the pockets of the oversized hoodie you're wearing and you look around.

"You have a lovely home, Mr Wayne. It's lovely to see that there aren't a lot of staff." You smile. A polite, and genuine expression and Bruce damn near melts because shit, maybe Ra's picked good for Damian.

"That's the opposite of what Damian said." Bruce hums and you feel your heart nearly stop in your chest as you repeat the name.

"Damian?"

"Beloved?"

Damian's voice is a quiet murmur, the thick, wooden spined book tumbling from his limp hand as he stares at you, emerald pools wide and pink lips parted to let out the shakiest of breaths.

It feels like time stands still.

You hadn't seen him in so long. The last you can remember is waking up to the sound of screams and clashing blades, blood seeping into the Egyptian rugs that covered the floorboards and you'd found assassins slain.

Body after body after body.

He looks older. Boyish features remain but tinged with the sharpness of maturity, broad shoulders and muscles in place of lean, slender limbs. But that couldn't be anyone else.

The scent of oud and cinnamon musk clings to the air as he takes tentative steps towards you, shaky hands cupping your cheeks and making you look up at him.

You have the same mischievous eyes, your iris flecked with that metallic hue that always seemed to suit your eyes, your face still fits so perfectly in his hands. You're taller than you were, you weigh a bit more, your hips are fuller. Grabbable. There's a sensual dip in your waist that he'll be sure to explore later.

And Damian's forehead rests against yours, feeling the contact of your skin and he lets out a shuddering breath.

"I missed you." You whisper quietly, your voice filling the silent air of the foyer and Damian nods his head.

"As have I." He murmurs quietly. "More than you could imagine."

—♱—

You sit anxiously on the edge of Damian's bed and you watch as he steps out of the ensuite bathroom, steam rising from his tanned skin and rivulets of hot water dripping between the cords of his muscles. His hair is damp, a towel low on his waist before he moves towards you, standing between your thighs and he looks down at you, a hand lifting to cup your cheek.

Watching the way you stare up at him through your lashes, tilting your head ever so slightly, capturing his thumb between your full lips. And you watch the way that slow blush creeps up his features.

"Still so easy to fluster." You tease him softly and you watch as his eyes narrow.

"Still such a raging asshole." He retorts, before leaning forward, pressing the softest kiss against your forehead.

You lean back against the headboard, Damian's head resting on your lower belly, fingers idly tracing patterns on your hips, exposed by where the T-shirt had ridden up.

"Your head is still fat." You murmur, your voice a soft sound against the sound of Gotham's pouring rain, streets and sidewalks soaked with rain and slippery to the touch.

Bruce had given Damian the night off, and it would be a lie to say Damian doesn't intend to make the most of the night.

Whether it be losing his virginity or falling asleep in your arms like when times were... Ridiculously simpler. When his focus was taking lives and not protecting them.

"I can see the hair on your forearms." Damian mocks, and he watches as you tuck your hands behind your back, a snort of boyish laughter tumbling from his lips. He reaches behind your back, pulling your arms forward before pressing the sweetest kisses to your palms.

"I'm just kidding." He reassures quietly. "I like that you're a Sasqua—" Damian's words are cut off when you push his head back into your stomach, and you can tell by the tension in his shoulders that he's going to argue.

So you card your fingers through those raven strands, scratching his scalp lightly and you watch the way the muscles in his back relaxes, and a minty sigh leaves his lips.

"You're lucky I love you." Damian mumbles, his voice muffled by the slight pudge of your belly and your fingers halt just a bit in his hair.

"Still ?" You question, almost incredulously and Damian lifts his head, staring up at you from beneath furrowed brows.

"The years apart doesn't diminish the fact that you're my wife." Damian murmurs. "My grandfather may have been a dick but he made a good choice to make my best friend my bride."

Your heart swells and thuds. Your eyes feel the tiniest bit misty and almost immediately, your free hand reaches for the bedside lamp, switching off the light and shrouding the bedroom in shadows and silvery moonlight.

"Are you crying?" Damian asks, a tinge of humour in his voice as he sits up, your thighs tossed over his and his hands move to your cheeks.

"...no."

You sniffle, tears dropping down your flushed cheeks in fat droplets, rolling until Damian's thumbs brush them away. His hands are warm against your cheeks, palms just a bit rougher than they were and you feel the way his lips press sweet kisses to your eyelids.

"You complete me." Damian whispers. "Emotionally, not physically." He adds, almost like it needs clarification and you let out a teary snicker.

"Wow, thank you so much for clarifying that." You answer sarcastically, before your hands move to cradle his face, just like you used after a particularly hard day of training and you watch the way the moonlight illuminates his features, and you watch his eyes soften at the action.

Eyes closing to commit the sensation to memory once again and he lets out an almost unsteady breath.

Leaning forward to rest his cheek against your chest, before feeling the familiar feel of a ring that you've chosen to keep on a chain instead.

"It's felt rather... Peculiar without it." Damian murmurs under his breath, reaching for one of the drawers of his bedside table, and tugging it open, and he rifles through the bits and bobs until he finds the tiny satin satchel he was looking for.

And he opens it up, turning the light on but on a dimmer setting, before he pulls the ring out of the baggie.

A tungsten carbide wedding band, two thin gold strips on it, divided by flakes of gold and emerald, encapsulated.

Reaching for the clasp behind your neck, you slide the necklace off and remove the ring. Your wedding ring.

An ornate gold band, the centre stone being an upside down, pear-shaped emerald, accented by two diamonds on either side.

The rings had been too big for either of your fingers, so you'd simply held onto them. But now, you're both old enough.

Old enough to know that the arrangement could be nullified, and old enough to know that neither wanted that.

Damian slides your ring onto your left hand, the act so intimate as he stares up at our face, scanning for any hints of hesitance but he only sees adoration. A hopeful expression of love.

And you mimic his actions.

And there isn't a lick of doubt in his expression, not even a flicker of hesitance, just pure... Relief. Contentment. Adoration.

Damian interlocks your hands with his, enjoying the warmth of the metal against his fingers and he presses his lips against yours in a sweet, adoring kiss that lingers for far longer than one of the friendly pecks you'd give back then.

He savours the feeling of you near, his bare chest pressed against yours, only kept apart by the soft, cotton fabric between you two and he pulls back.

Watching the way you stare up at him through your lashes, kiss-reddened lips parted to let out sweet symphonies of quiet breaths.

And you see his pupils dilate even more in the dim light, as his hands disentangle from yours, moving to rest on the swell of your hips.

You pretend that you don't notice his shaking hands as he reaches for the edge of the T-shirt you've snatched from his closet after your shower, and you pretend that you don't notice the way those same shaky hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebble while his knee slots between your thighs, kisses slowly pressed against the soft skin of your neck.

Your hands move to rest on his biceps, manicured nails tracing over the faintest of scars in his perfect flesh and you feel him gently guide you to rest back against the thick, Egyptian covers, his hands anxiously roaming along your sides.

"Does this feel good?" Damian questions softly, his lips sucking a mark into the sensitive skin right over your pulse and you swallow, nodding your head.

You wet your lips when he lifts his head, looking down at you and his muscular thigh presses against your core, feeling the way your pussy throbs against the stretchy fabric of his boxers that you'd stolen.

Damian's sweet when he's guiding your legs to rest over his broad, muscular shoulders.

Pressing sweet kisses along the flesh of your inner thighs, hands gently kneading the fat of your hips with so much reverence that it makes your toes curl.

Especially when his hands move to aid him, thumbs pressing against the puffy, plump flesh of your pussy and parting the lips, watching the way your slick and slippery folds twitch and Damian takes a deep breath.

"How much teeth do you suppose I use?" Damian questions softly, and the amount of stress that runs through your body is insane.

"None at a—or..... Oh..."

Your lips form the cutest little 'o' shape when Damian drags his tongue through your folds, juniper gaze locked on your expression that he finds as a mixture of surprised and aroused.

Your hands move to his hair, fingers carding through them affectionately. And Damian takes that as a sign that he should keep doing that. Long strokes of his tongue have your fingers clutching at his hair, brows knitting into a twitchy frown, your hips nearly bucking.

And you need to stifle a loud and pitchy gasp when he circles what he assumes to be your clit.

"Is that it?" Damian asks softly, before you nod your head, swallowing down every sound that possibly threatens to spill in the quietness of the manor.

And Damian lifts his head, locating the exact spot he just licked and committing it to memory.

"But.... Not all girls' are like... On the exact same spot.." You breathe out quietly, still trying to teach him while he's slowly flicking his tongue along your needy clit.

"I only need to know where yours is." Damian hums, the low vibration causing the pleasure in your belly to build like an accumulating wildfire. And your lashes flutter, a whine slipping past your lips as Damian sucks at your clit, teasing the little button before he lifts his head.

His chin is wet with your slick, and he spits at your hole, watching the way your pussy pulses the tiniest bit before he goes back to lapping at your clit. And one of his muscular fingers slowly push past the ring of muscle, and his brows furrow at the way you twitch around his fingers.

And your toes curl just as his finger crooks.

"Shit, shit, shit..." You whimper, your chest heaving as you feel your orgasm building and Damian adds a second finger, slowly fucking you with his digits, eyes watching the way your body shivers and shudders.

And you grab a pillow, muffling your moan as you cum around his fingers, and Damian swallows, licking up any of the mess and keeping your hips anchored with one of his forearms, resting across your pelvis.

Damian slurps, the sound is lewd and it makes your hips buck harder.

He's gentle. Licking at your clit, teasing the bud until it peeks out from beneath the hood, oversensitive and slippery against his tongue, before he lifts his head.

His chin is shiny in the moonlight that pours in and the low light of the lamp beside the bed. He peels off the towel around his waist, tossing it to the carpet into a fuzzy puddle before he watches your bleary gaze lower.

He's... Thick. Perfect in literally every way. A flushed tip, leaking beads of precum down his long shaft, a pretty and prominent vein on the underside and Damian gives himself a few shy strokes.

Not to excite himself, obviously. Just so the sound fills the silence, and he lets out a shaky breath, before he brushes his tip along your sloppy folds.

The feeling is... Surreal.

Your toes feel like when you put your lips against a TV, a muffled gasp slipping from your lips everytime his slit catches against your clit and Damian shifts, resting your legs against his thighs.

"Are you ready?" Damian asks quietly, his free hand fiddling, thumbing your clit sweetly and you nod your head.

"I'm ready." Your voice is a soft murmur. "Are you?"

And he nods his head, before notching himself at your entrance.

"Tell me if hurts." Damian instructs, before he slowly pushes into you. It's... Uncomfortable. The slightest pinch of pain, but not unbearable and your hands fist at the sheets, before Damian stops abruptly.

Taking your hands and placing the on his tightly toned lower belly, the faintest and thinnest sliver of dark hair between your palms.

"This is so you can.... Control the depth." Damian mutters.

Control.

Damian's never given that to anyone. Especially not over his own body.

And slowly, Damian pushes until his whole tip is nestled snugly inside you.

"H—...How is it?" You mutter shyly, your gaze locked on where the two of you meet, and he swallows.

"Tight... Warm... It's so wet..." Damian shudders, a cool sweat prickling across his skin. "You're so perfect."

"Would you rate it 5 stars?" You question teasingly and he lets out a laugh. A cute snort of laughter and he leans forward, his hands moving to rest on the mahogany headboard, fingers absentmindedly tracing the decadent carvings in the wood.

"4.5." Damian answers. "Because you asked me to rate it."

You watch his stomach muscles flex, his abs rippling beneath his tawny skin before the watch on his wrist beeps. And he lets out a quiet groan, looking down at you with those sweet, adoring eyes.

"I'm sorry— I—" "You don't need to explain." You reassure quietly, kissing Damian sweetly when he leans close enough and he pulls out of you.

"I'll be back before you know it, beloved."

—♱—

"Why do you smell like pussy?" Jason questions over the intercom, his voice staticky over the connection.

"How dare you?" Damian scowls, bringing his hood over his head, obscuring his face in the shadow of the fabric.

"I smell like my wife's pussy. Get it right."

WOULD YOU FALL IN LOVE WITH ME AGAIN

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn! reader

Summary: you would fall in love with him over and over again.

Word count: 1k

A/N: Lyrics come from Would You Fall in Love with Me Again from Epic.

You were exhausted, work had been an absolute bitch today. You'd ended up leaving nearly an hour late, and then the grocery store had been out of the products you liked.

All you wanted to do was collapse face-first into your bed and sleep all weekend. You close the door behind you with your foot, the street lights filtering in from your apartment window your only source of light as you step towards the counter.

That same window that you very quickly realised was open, with a distinctly human-like shape crawling halfway through it.

You screech, stepping back in alarm and raising the plastic bags in your hands in front of you as a flimsy and pathetic barrier.

"No, no! Please don't be scared. It's me. It's me." The stranger pleads, stepping through the ajar window hurriedly, extending to a frankly terrifying height.

Yet any words, or screams you may have conjured die a swift death in the back of your throat.

The groceries fall to the floor with a thud, eggs cracking and vegetables bruising. Though the lighting was terrible, you couldn't help the wave of familiarity that washed over you.

It was stupid of you. It couldn't possibly be him, yet your body moved forward with single-minded determination, ignoring the warning sirens going off in your brain.

"Is it really you?" you walked dazedly forward, shaky hands reaching out to cup his scarred cheek. "Or am I dreaming once more?" Your voice is hoarse, and hesitant, distant to your ears

The man leaned into your touch, Jason, leaned into your touch. The tension melts from his broad shoulders, much larger than you remembered him being. His eyes shutter closed, brow relaxing as he basks in the feel of your gentle touch.

He was different, how couldn't he be? With the years that had come and gone, the unknown sufferings and horrors he must have undergone. Aside from the grotesque J-shaped scar carved into his cheek, his face had developed faint stress lines, dark circles lining under his eyes.

His eyes. The deep cerulean you'd loved so much was still the same, but the playful spark was gone, replaced with a weary exhaustion you longed to erase.

"I'm not the boy you fell in love with. I've done things... monstrous things." Even his voice had changed, a gravelly rasp that you suspected wasn't just from the tears threatening to spill over his misting eyes. "Any kindness, any goodness I might have possessed, has long been snuffed out. I'm not the Jason you knew before."

He's pacing now, agitated as he avoids your gaze, fearful of rejection.

You approach slowly, as if reaching for a frightened stray, fingers entwining with his much larger and calloused ones in a gentle grip, stopping him in his tracks despite how easily he could undoubtedly escape.

"What have you done Jay?" There's nothing but open acceptance in your gaze, a softness he'd forgotten could even exist. Everything about you was softer than the harsh, cutting edges of the League.

"These hands you cradle so lovingly are soaked in blood. I've become an entity of violence." He croaked. "I've callously traded lives, all of it to bring me home to you."

His chest shuddered on his next inhale as he all but rips himself out of your grasp. Instantly, you mourn the loss of contact, "It's selfish of me, but I can't help wondering. Would you fall in love with me again? If you knew what I've done? Could you even love me the same?"

He couldn't bring himself to glance in your direction, terrified of seeing the disgust in your eyes. He heard your soft footsteps approaching as he stubbornly refused to look at you, seeing only your hands reaching out to him once more.

He's too weak to pull away, even as you snake a hand up his chest to splay across his neck gently, your thumb rubbing circles against his jaw as you tilted his head up to look at you.

"I will fall in love with you over and over again. I don't care how, where, or when. No matter how long it's been, you're mine. Don't tell me you're not the same person. You'll always be my Jason."

You were exhausted, work had been an absolute bitch today. You'd ended up leaving nearly an hour late, and then the grocery store had been out of the products you liked.

All you wanted to do was collapse face-first into your bed and sleep all weekend. You close the door behind you with your foot, the street lights filtering in from your apartment window your only source of light as you step towards the counter.

That same window that you very quickly realised was open, with a distinctly human-like shape crawling halfway through it.

You screech, stepping back in alarm and raising the plastic bags in your hands in front of you as a flimsy and pathetic barrier.

"No, no! Please don't be scared. It's me. It's me, " the stranger pleads, hurriedly stepping through the ajar window and extending to a frankly terrifying height.

Yet any words or screams you may have conjured die a swift death in the back of your throat.

The groceries fall to the floor with a thud, eggs cracking and vegetables bruising. Though the lighting was terrible, you couldn't help the wave of familiarity that washed over you.

It was stupid of you. It couldn't possibly be him, yet your body moved forward with single-minded determination, ignoring the warning sirens going off in your brain.

"Is it really you?" you walked dazedly forward, shaky hands reaching out to cup his scarred cheek. "Or am I dreaming once more?" Your voice is hoarse, and hesitant, distant to your ears

The man leaned into your touch, Jason, leaned into your touch. The tension melted from his broad shoulders, which were much larger than you remembered him being. His eyes shuttered closed, his brow relaxing as he basked in the feel of your gentle touch.

He was different; how couldn't he be? With the years that had come and gone, the unknown sufferings and horrors he must have undergone. Aside from the grotesque J-shaped scar carved into his cheek, his face had developed faint stress lines, dark circles lining under his eyes.

His eyes. The deep cerulean you'd loved so much was still the same, but the playful spark was gone, replaced with a weary exhaustion you longed to erase.

"I'm not the boy you fell in love with. I've done things... monstrous things." Even his voice had changed, a gravelly rasp that you suspected wasn't just from the tears threatening to spill over his misting eyes. "Any kindness, any goodness I might have possessed, has long been snuffed out. I'm not the Jason you knew before."

He's pacing now, agitated as he avoids your gaze, fearful of rejection.

You approach slowly as if reaching for a frightened stray, fingers entwining with his much larger and calloused ones in a gentle grip, stopping him in his tracks despite how easily he could undoubtedly escape.

"What have you done, Jay?" There's nothing but open acceptance in your gaze, a softness he'd forgotten could even exist. Everything about you was softer than the harsh, cutting edges of the League.

"These hands you cradle so lovingly are soaked in blood. I've become an entity of violence." He croaked. "I've callously traded lives, all of it, to bring me home to you."

His chest shuddered on his next inhale as he all but ripped himself out of your grasp. Instantly, you mourned the loss of contact. "It's selfish of me, but I can't help wondering. Would you fall in love with me again? If you knew what I've done? Could you even love me the same?"

He couldn't bring himself to glance in your direction, terrified of seeing the disgust in your eyes. He heard your soft footsteps approaching as he stubbornly refused to look at you, seeing only your hands reaching out to him once more.

He's too weak to pull away, even as you snake a hand up his chest to splay across his neck gently, your thumb rubbing circles against his jaw as you tilt his head up to look at you.

"I will fall in love with you over and over again. I don't care how, where, or when. No matter how long it's been, you're mine. Don't tell me you're not the same person. You'll always be my Jason." 

“What? You can’t possibly…” He shakes his head in denial. He was a killer, a monster. Why couldn’t you understand, you were far too good for him; he hadn’t even meant for you to find out he was still alive. 

“Don’t presume to know how I feel, Jason.” You said sternly before your face softened once more, your fingers tracing his skin almost reverently again. 

“But — ”

“No buts. I don’t… I don’t give a fuck what you’ve done. Maybe that makes me a bad person, but the only thing that matters to me is that you’re alive. That you’re here, with me.” Despite your soft tone, there’s a fierceness in your eyes and desperation in your touch as you grasp onto him as if he may evaporate into smoke at any second. 

Jason knows that he’s not a good man. He’s selfish, greedy, and so, so weak to your touch. He’s been dreaming of this for years, of your touch, of you. Now that he finally has it again, he doesn’t think he’s strong enough to leave like he knows he should. Watching from afar, checking in to make sure you were safe, wouldn’t be enough anymore.

He whispers your name, a choked prayer as he finally allows himself to fully succumb to your loving embrace. He drops to his knees, face buried in the crook of your neck as you both hit the floor together, his arms locking you against his chest. 

The noise of Gotham’s nightlife fades to a distant blur, salty tears wetting the neck of your shirt as he urgently inhales your scent, committing the long-lost smell to his memory. 

“How long has it been?”

“Six years,” you answer through your own tears before saying the words he’d ached to hear, “I love you.”

“Truly? After all these years?” He rests his forehead against yours, raw vulnerability on display. 

“Always, " you firmly declare before pulling him into a deep kiss, and Jason temporarily forgets his worries and insecurities because all that matters is you. That after six gruelling years, he’s finally home.

she’s with me. 

synopsis: love and deepspace boys’ reaction when someone tries to flirt with you. 

wc: 3.5k (approx 800-900 per chara)

character/s: zayne, rafayel, xavier, sylus 

warning/s: men being creeps (dude, she's just not into you.)

note/s: i apologize in advance if this isn’t entirely lore accurate or ooc, i’ve just started playing and am only at chapter 5 (if you’re in the asian server, let’s be friends!!) 

zayne: 

zayne was running late. you sighed as you looked at zayne’s text message. it contained an apology about the unexpected traffic and how he would be a few minutes later than the agreed upon time. 

knowing that the situation was out of his control, you text him back a reassurance and took a picture of the menu, asking him what he’d like so you could order it before he arrives. 

“are you ready to order, miss?” the waiter asks and you put the menu down and give him a polite smile. 

“not yet, i’m still waiting for someone.” you could see a spark twinkle in the waiter’s eyes. you didn’t like it. it felt as if he were hoping for something that you were not willing to give. 

every now and then, the waiter would ask if you would like to order and time and time again, you make it clear that you were waiting for someone. the waiter would constantly look over at your table, taking notes of the minutes and coming back with subtle hints of his infatuations. 

first, it was a refill on the untouched napkins with the first folded one conveniently having his number. 

second, it was accidentally spilling water over your table even though there were no obstacles that hindered his footing. 

third, and hopefully the last, he managed to insert himself while explaining the menu as a pick-up line–which almost made you lose your appetite. 

you felt uncomfortable.  

“would you like me to inform you of tonight’s specials? it’s a rare wagyu steak with a side of me—” “oh, you’ll just be wasting your time. i think it’s better for you to tell me when my date arrives. we wouldn’t want you wasting your breath now, would we?” you jest, trying to subtly tell the waiter to leave you alone but it was either he was very persistent or very dense as he keeps ghosting over your table even after leaving. 

you try to push any assumption away, telling yourself that it was part of his job to be attentive but was it still professional attentiveness when he wouldn’t stop staring at you? 

your phone vibrated on the table and before you could take a look. the waiter comes back to your table, more confidently this time. as if he was about to claim a prize. 

“miss, i’m off for the next half hour, how about i keep you company while you wait for your ‘date’.” you didn’t like how he put air quotes on the word date and the sarcastic lilt in his voice as he speaks to you. 

“i told you, i am expecting someone and i do not appreciate you being unprofessional when i have explicitly told you i’m waiting for my date.” 

“by the looks of it, he probably stood you up. no man would keep a pretty girl like you waiting.”

you were evidently pissed, your face held an unimpressed stare but before you could answer back, a familiar deep voice caught both of your attention. 

“while i do appreciate your sentiment for keeping my girlfriend company, i don’t think that’s necessary.” the sight of zayne made your lips quirk up into a small smile, the waiter, with his back turned, only offered a snort of arrogance. 

“yeah, some boyfriend you are keeping a lady like her wa—” the waiter stops in his tracks as he turns around and sees zayne’s tall, lean physique looking at him with the same unimpressed look you were sporting. the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. 

the waiter feels like he’s being watched under a microscope due to how the two of you were looking at him as if he were some kind of gum under your –most likely– expensive shoes. 

zayne spares him a glance no longer than a second before he turns to you. 

“i apologize for being late, darling. work took longer than usual and the traffic was unexpected.” he explains and takes a seat in front of you. you smiled and shook your head. 

“was the surgery a success?” you asked and zayne nods before you gave a hum of acknowledgement. 

the waiter then realizes who just sat across from you. he was on the news for being the best cardiac surgeon in the akso hospital. he knew he was no match for him– not that he was an option in the first place. 

 you turned over to the waiter who looked like he was regretting every decision he’s ever made with his life. 

“would you mind getting another menu? my date and i would like to order at the same time.” you asked, the waiter nods stiffly before turning around and walking away. 

the additional menu was brought over to the table by a different waiter, but neither you and zayne questioned it as you enjoyed your date night. 

rafayel: 

stinkfish: wruuu :((  stinkfish: i’ll sneak out this exhibition talk to come to u this is so boring :((  stinkfish: i don’t wanna explain to the people why i painted this and that. they won’t listen the way you do stinkfish: tell me where u are pretty pleaseee :(( 

you snort as you see the myriad of texts rafayel was sending you. you sent him a picture of the aisle you were in with no context before turning your phone off, you looked at the painting in great detail. smiling softly as you remembered how excited rafayel was when he was rambling about the vision he had and how he couldn’t wait to paint it. and now, after a few days, his vision came to life and you were in front of it, admiring the details and thoughts that went behind the painting. 

“you know…” you hear a foreign voice say from beside you, your thoughts get cut off as you look at the stranger with a curious glance. 

“i thought you were the prettiest painting until you started moving.” you blinked, not exactly knowing how to respond to the cheesy pick up line but you only offered him a polite smile as you nod and move away. 

the man did not take the hint. 

“so, what brought you here?” he asked and you showed him the brochure of rafayel’s exhibition with an obvious look.

“so am i! wow, we have a lot of things in common.” you were fighting the urge to roll your eyes because as much as friendly goes, the man knows that you’re obviously not interested, but he isn’t going to give up. 

the two of you stopped by in front of rafayel’s biggest painting yet. the glimmering shade of red that contrasted with the painted sand captivated you. you tilt your head to the side, smiling at how the painted blue ocean seemed as if it were glittering under the lights of the exhibition. 

“do you like that painting.” right. he’s still there. you don’t bother facing him as you nod. the stranger huffs. 

“there’s nothing good about this painting. it’s just the ocean. if you were to ask me, i’d say it’s mediocre at best.” 

‘i didn’t ask.’ you wanted to say but you kept your mouth shut, not bothering to reply to the stranger no matter how much he insulted your boyfriend’s works. your hand clenches the brochure tightly as you move on to the next painting, hoping the man gets off your tail because you were so close to flag down a security guard and report him but it’s fine. you can handle it. 

silence is the best weapon after all. 

“— and i think the blue could use a deeper shade because it doesn’t look right, the blablablablabla” you tuned out the stranger’s yapping, not really acknowledging nor caring about whatever comes out of his mouth. 

“you know… the exhibition is about to end and i think we have a connection.” brother eugh. this time, you couldn’t help the cringe that overtook your features as you grimaced at his forwardness. 

the stranger clicked his tongue, a smirk playing on his face. “still playing hard to get, huh?” he takes a step closer to you. “i like that about a girl.” your grimace only deepens as you look at him as if he was the most disgusting being on earth. 

“too bad, that’s my little conch shell you’re talking to.” you turn your head to the side, your grimace turning into a smile as you see rafayel behind you. 

“hey miss bodyguard. you weren’t at the picture you took.” rafayel pouts, you shook your head slightly. “you were taking too long, i wanted to see your exhibition already.” you finally talked for the first time and in the corner of your eye, you could see the stranger deflate when he realizes that he was your boyfriend and you were not in fact playing hard to get nor interested in him. 

“i had to escape thomas, he kept telling me that new buyers were coming and he kept going on and on and on– so i escaped and here i am.” he beams, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer. 

“you’re prettier than anything in this exhibit.” he says loud enough for the stranger to hear and the stranger almost throws a tantrum when he sees you bury your face in rafayel’s chest due to flusteredness. 

rafayel cradles your head to his chest in a gentle way, but the look he gave to the stranger was nowhere near. 

his brow raises. “why are you still here?” as if the man’s trance snapped, he blubbered out apologies before he ran out the exhibition, knowing the embarrassment would probably haunt him for years. you pull away with a sigh. “thought he’d never leave me alone. i almost thought you’d met your match because he kept talking.”

“are you trying to say i talk too much.” 

“...”

“hey!” 

xavier: 

xav<33: I’m sleepy. U and Ur friend enjoy yourselves though. Good night my little star.

you huff as you read your boyfriend’s text. he could’ve at least remembered tara’s name. you think to yourself before you send him a good night sticker. he responds back with one back and a heart, causing a smile to etch on your face. 

“hoho.” tara smirked evilly. “is the boyfie dropping by?” she teases and you huffed. “i wish. knowing xav, he probably sent me that emoji while asleep.” you said before pocketing your phone. 

“pfft, more fun for us then!” tara beams as she pulls you in the nightclub that she planned. 

the strobe lights were blinding as the dance floor lit up with different shades of blues and purples. the people around were dancing as if nothing else mattered and there was no tomorrow. 

“whoah.” tara breathes out, eyes filled with amazement. “there are a lot more people than i thought there would be.” she turns to you with a smile on her face. “stay close to me, okay? wouldn’t want your boyfriend getting worried!” you smiled and nodded as you let her lead you to the dance floor. 

the dance floor wasn’t quite as packed as it was a few minutes ago, seeing as some people left to get more drinks, hoping to get more buzzed. 

maybe it was an impulsive decision on tara’s end, or maybe it was her fear of missing out as she yells over the music. 

“i’ll be back in a second, i’ll go grab us drinks!” and before you could yell back that you’ll stay on the sidelines while waiting, she was already gone. 

thinking that tara would look for you and see you on the sides eventually, you stood and observed the people around you. the atmosphere was nice. the club wasn’t stuffy, the music was loud but not uncomfortably so and the people seemed to be having a great time. 

“you here by yourself?” you remain unfazed as your eyes flit to the sides, seeing a man who looked like he was buzzed. his breath reeked of alcohol and his body was slurring to the side. you smile dismissively before you shake your head and point towards the dancefloor with a vague finger. 

“my friend is getting me drinks.” tara hurry up. 

“ah? really? i don’t see them.” he takes one step closer and you instinctively take a step away from him. “she’s about to head here.” you explained. the stranger grins and you could feel a cold sweat on your back. 

“how about you give me a dance before i let you over to your little friend? maybe she could join if you’d like.” disgusting. absolutely disgusting. 

you wanted to kick the man where the sun doesn’t shine and maybe, just maybe, neutralize him with the same neutralizer you use with unstable wanderers. the thoughts of what you could do in the situation filled up your mind that you didn’t notice his grimy hand reaching for your wrist. 

“would you mind not touching my girlfriend?” you look up to the voice. pleasantly surprised to see your boyfriend holding onto the man’s wrist with a glare on his face. 

“hah! as if! back off, chump, i saw her first.” the man cackles, xavier remains unfazed as he tightens his grip on the man’s wrist every time he struggles– which was a lot that you had to stop xavier once you hear the cracking of bones. 

xavier abides to your gentle touch before he pushes the man before letting go, causing him to lose his balance and slide against the nightclub wall as he whimpers pitifully at the pain on his wrist. 

xavier spares him no glance as he places a hand on the small of your back and escorts you outside the nightclub. 

“(y/n)!” you hear tara wail as she runs to you, hugging you tightly. “oh my god, i’m so sorry! i couldn’t find you anywhere and you weren’t responding to my messages and–” “tara, it’s okay.” you reassured her, tara looks at you with a doubtful expression, obviously still feeling guilt before she turns to xavier. “thank god you got here so fast! i really wouldn’t know what to do! ack! i’m really, really sorry.” she apologizes, xavier gives her a nod. 

“it’s alright. i’ve neutralized the threat—” “threat?!” “what he means—” you hold tara’s hands with a smile on your face. “he managed to find me before anything bad happened, right, xav?” your smile screamed out just agree and thankfully, your dense boyfriend caught onto it as he nods his head in agreement. “right.” 

“it’s getting late and i don’t think we can continue the night, how about we reschedule this?” you asked tara and she gives you a determined nod before the two of you parted ways. 

once you waved the taxi that tara was in goodbye, you turned to xav. 

“how did she manage to wake you?” “i wasn’t asleep. i was waiting for you to message me to pick you up.” he explains before he yawns. “you owe me so much cuddles for making me teleport.” 

you scoffed, knowing that your night will be spent with you as his personal bolster. but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

sylus: 

“last chance to back out, kitten. i must warn you that i may not be able to have my eyes on you once we get inside.” sylus says as the two of you stood outside the banquet doors. you were donned in a fitted blood red dress, your makeup was done just right and you were the embodiment of elegance. 

“are you scared that i’ll be swept on my feet by someone else if you look away?” you teased. sylus chuckles, the rich baritone of his voice reverberating against the quiet hall. 

“my kitten, i am in no way insecure about you falling for another man’s trap. i am merely concerned for the poor fellows who will fall for your beauty, not knowing you’re mine.” his deep voice practically purrs by your ear as his nose traces the outline of the side of your head. his musky cologne invades your nostrils causing you to shiver slightly. you scoffed, pushing his head away before you wrapped your perfectly manicured hand on his bicep.

the banquet was regal. that was the only term you could think of as you stepped in with sylus by your side. your heels click in pace with his large steps as all the clamor quieted down, all eyes were on you and sylus. 

almost immediately, the elite walked towards him, trying their best to get the onychinus’ boss’ attention. you immediately let go of his arm, not wanting any attention to be on you. although, if that were truly the case, you shouldn’t have had walked in with him but it was his demands. you had no choice but to abide. 

you shouldn’t even be here in the first place! you did not agree to being sylus’ arm accessory, it wasn’t part of your deal but with the wave of his black card, you find yourself observing the people who desperately tried to gain his attention.

you can see the women blinking their lashes, trying to get sylus to even glance at them but you paid them no mind, knowing that sylus only has his eyes on you. unfortunately, not at the moment, as you slipped from his gaze and walked over towards the bar. 

you sat by the corner, by yourself as you observed the elite and how they interacted with each other. you can see how the ladies immediately roll their eyes once their conversation partner turns their backs, or how the men would look pointedly at their henchmen when information about their rival partnerships were leaked out of intoxication. 

a cold drink slides down the bar and hits your arm, you jolt slightly at the sudden change in temperature before you turn to take a look at the bartender who offered you a charming smile. 

“i did not order this.” you say, pushing the drink back, the bartender shakes his head. “it’s on the house.” 

you tilt your head in confusion, your body unconsciously shifting towards the bar as you engaged in conversation. 

“i can’t have a pretty lady sitting on my bar and not have her drink, right?” you blinked before your eyes darted towards the drink, a blank expression on your face before the bartender chuckled. he took the glass away from you, dumping its contents out before preparing you a new one.

“the first one wasn’t spiked. but maybe that just wasn’t your cup of tea.” he explains before asking for your preferred drink and went into making it immediately, making sure your eyes were on him. the bartender smiles as he presents you with the drink. 

“open a tab fo–” “it’s on the house.” “excuse me?” the bartender smirks, elbows on the bar as he gestures towards the drink. 

“pretty ladies drink for free.” he winks and you almost want to look back at sylus and see if his eyes were indeed on you, but you weren’t about to take advantage of some stranger’s generosity even if he was obviously flirting with you. 

“no, i insist. open a tab for–” “i insist it’s on the hous–” “sylus.” the bartender looks at you amusedly before he huffs out a laugh. “sylus, huh? haven’t heard that name for a tab in the past twenty minutes.” he smirks. 

“lady, you’re the fifth person to ask for a tab to be opened after sylus’ name.” you fight the urge to roll your eyes. “before this gets embarrassing for you, i suggest you take the free drink and maybe i can have your contact?” he winks. 

“sylus may not look at you but i will.” the bartender obviously did not see you and sylus walk in together. 

“while i do appreciate the generosity for buying my kitten a drink.” you barely bat an eye as you hear sylus’ booming voice interrupt your conversation, one of sylus’ big hands run down the slit of your dress, fingers slipping into your thigh garter as he pulls out his black card. 

“i am very capable of providing for what’s mine.” he says as he places the black card down. “you heard the lady, open a tab under my name.”  

the bartender was now distraught, obviously intimidated by sylus’ presence as he takes the card and immediately turns his back, making your drinks with shaky hands.

“scared i’d get swept away?” you repeat your words from before, a smirk forming on your lips. sylus places his hand on your cheek, his thumb playing near your lips. 

“what can i say? you look absolutely ethereal, sweetie. i wouldn’t put it past them to attempt and steal what’s mine.” 

note/s: first ever l&ds work we cheer !

T7 blank period

reference:

🕸️Your Friendly Neighborhood Alien Kisser | Masterlist

mark grayson x spider-woman!reader

prologue — the bite the spider didn’t just change your body, it changed everything.

chapter 1 — double lives, double dates pt 1 double lives and double dates pt 2 you weren’t there. you should’ve been there.

chapter 2 — tangled threads pt 1 tangled threads pt 2 the way she touches his arm… yeah. you’re spiraling.

chapter 3 — the kiss and the curse pt 1 the kiss and the curse pt2

chapter 4 — a stranger in her skin pt 1 a stranger in her skin pt2

chapter 5 — spiders and secrets

chapter 6 — the unmasking pt 1 the unmasking pt 2

chapter 7 — i don’t know who i am anymore

chapter 8 — the fight for yourself

chapter 9 — truth and tangled healing

chapter 10 — our city, our web