This is like my reader insert blog, I’ve been writing for about 8 years and I’m pretty excited to get back to it. I would love to hear from you if you enjoy my work, it fuels my soul.
A couple things, I don’t write for fem readers and never will, please do not ask. I’m an adult man and I have no interest in writing for characters who are under 18 in any capacity- again please don’t ask.
I will try to keep all of my fics labeled and tagged properly but if you notice anything is off feel free to let me know.
Finally, this blog is NOT a democracy, it is a dictatorship, harassment, bigotry, or ignoring any of my previous points will lead to you being blocked permanently.
Warnings: 6k-ish words. Still dead dove: do not eat No interaction between Jason and reader this chapter but they think about each other a whole lot. Accidental nudity, typical ABO dynamics, reader not being a morning person in any capacity, Tim Drake being a smart ass, unrequited love, arranged marriages, disabled!jason, Pierce, you/your/yourself used from readers pov, he/him/his used from Jason’s pov, love at first sight (they make me sick), Jason is on suicide watch and doesn’t realize it
(A/n: 173???? HI EVERYONE!! This was supposed to be one super long part but I broke it into two, you guys have to get through the lore and stuff to get to the fluff and romance sorry guys I don’t make the rules. Part four will come out waaaaaay sooner than part three did. Also wish me luck on my finals gang ✌️)
Oh god, oh god, oh god. You paced your bedroom for far longer than you’d like to admit, dripping water onto the beautifully plush rug and the pale colored tile floor. Oh god. You like your husband. The idea of liking him hasn’t even crossed your mind, but you really do and you can’t help but feel utterly ridiculous for it. Not a single moment had been given to such a thought. Arranged marriages where both partners tolerated each other were already rare; it's more common for the omega to suffer under the alpha until they die or manage to escape. But Jason was so kind, and funny, and unbelievably charming in a way that didn’t feel overly practiced. It was good, it felt good.
You’re still wet..
You pull your clothes off piece by piece, your face, which had managed to dry on your walk back to your room, was soaked again as you stripped out of the truly unnecessary amount of layers. Bundling the clothes tightly, watching them drip and squish in your arms, before dropping them into the hamper in the corner of your room. You wanted a shower— you needed a shower. Especially after your dip in the fountain. You’re sure you smell, at the very least, like a dog covered in rain water. But the bathroom was all the way across the hall and you’re so tired.
Dimming the lantern illuminating the room until it only showed a few inches in each direction, you crawled into the plush bed and swaddled yourself in the thick duvet, shifting until you found a perfectly comfortable position. A small twinge of guilt struck you as you realized the bedding would probably have to be changed and washed by some poor servant in the morning but you pushed it to the back of your mind as you finally settled for the night.
Despite your previous nerves and tears, it seems you might enjoy yourself here.
Morning comes with a hard knock on the door and a loudly hissed, “Your Highness, you’re late!”
With a groan you roll onto your side, burrowing farther into the thick comforter you’d wrapped yourself in. Responsibilities, meetings, formal pleasantries of the grandest and most dramatic fashion. It never ends, you just want to rest for a moment. You let your eyes close, the banging continues. Harsh whispers through wood turn to shouts as the knocking grew more and more frantic.
“Please, Your Highness, breakfast starts soon and—…” there’s a small huff, then silence, and you think you’ve gotten a break, that your endlessly loyal guard had given up on waking you and let you have a much needed rest. “…Sorry about this, Your Highness.”
Or not. The door flings open a second later, you crack your tired eyes open, revealing Pierce, dressed in his nicer, more showy armor, shiny silver with golden adornments. Polished to perfection, your family crest pressed firmly on his shoulder pauldron, vibrantly colored cape flowing behind him as he strode towards the bed. Toward you.
You hid under the covers in a manner entirely unbecoming of a prince. Comfortable in the darkness for a matter of seconds before a small, “forgive me,” falls from Pierce’s lips and suddenly your cocoon of warmth and darkness snatched away from you. Exposed to the bright morning light once again, you twist and groan and pull away from the window and its wide drawn curtains. From Pierce, who has been so adamant on getting you out of bed just a second ago, and now stood on the opposite side of the room, gapping like a fish out of water as he stared wide eyed at you. His gaze didn’t meet yours, however, and when you found yourself having the strength to push yourself into an upright position, leaning most of your weight back onto your arms.
“Pierce? What’s wrong?” You muttered between a yawn.
His eyes flicker between your face and lower, his eyes wide and dilated, black nearly overtaking the pale brown you had grown so used to over the years.
“Your— Your Highness, uh— where are your clothes?”
Clothes. Clothes.
You blink, feeling a little heavy and sluggish, it’s too early for this. They’re stuffed in a hamper, floating in a semi-abandoned fountain, on your body, at least to some extent.
“They’re…dirty. I couldn’t sleep in them.”
His gaze goes low again and stays there.
“Right, of course, but don’t you think you should get dressed? Your father is currently stalling for you at the breakfast table and I’m not sure how long the royal Wayne family can stand his, uh, stories. Please, Your Highness.”
Oh, breakfast! Oh god!
You spring out of bed, on your feet in a second and rushing to the door.
“Your Highness, wait!”
It wasn’t often Pierce grabbed you, during your secret training sessions, in his attempts to keep you from danger, and keeping you steady when you stumbled in your tight, complicated royal wear. Still, you’d never been outright yanked by the man.
“I understand this is to be your new home and that you want to be comfortable here but I, respectfully, think this is a step too far.” He says, his voice steeled to something also unrecognizable as he forced emotion out.
You huff, “it’s alright, I’m just going to the bathroom across the hall, it’s not as if I’m streaking through the castle.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’m sure the servants here have seen a lot worse than a man in his underwear. I’ll be quick, I swear—“
“You’re not wearing underwear, Your Highness.”
You look down, you see your own bare body, completely bare, familiar, and suddenly uncomfortable as you stand in front of Pierce.
You bring your hands down over yourself to try and salvage some dignity.
“Oh— Oh god, Pierce, I’m sorry—“
“It’s fine, I understand you're under a lot of stress and—“
“That’s still no excuse for appearing so indecently, I can’t believe—“ you groan in frustration, escaping Pierce’s loose grasp and standing— not hiding— behind the dressing screen a few feet away.
“My apologies, I should have said something sooner,” he says with the utmost politeness, “I’ll…wait for you outside.”
‘Please do,’ you can’t help but think— poor Pierce, you’ve managed to make a fool of yourself and unintentionally panic your guard within only a few minutes of being awake. You hope you didn’t make him too uncomfortable, he’s seen you in various states of dress, but never undress. You made an effort to be clothed in front of him at least in some form— people in your kingdom already spoke of rather untoward thing theorized between the two of you, an unmated alpha guard and his unmated omega prince— the things you’ve heard, the things people suggested so shamelessly between the two of you sounded like the depraved fairytales and fantasies of a person with a very vivid imagination and far too much time on their hands. There are books, you’ve seen them with your own eyes, had them given to you as gifts with winks and suggestive smirks as if you were both in on a very special secret. After flipping through the first few pages the first few pages you’d asked Pierce to throw the book into the fire and never mention it again.
You hope word of this never finds its way back home, or worse, to the people here. Jason, especially Jason. You weren’t exactly sure what your marriage to him was going to look like but you’d rather not begin it with scandal, his heart seemed too gentle to handle such a thing. And to have rumors as such with a man you considered to be nearly a brother to you seemed to only add salt to the supposed injury.
He can never find out about the rumors, this little embarrassment with Pierce, maybe. He’d find it funny and you enjoyed seeing him smile, so if you could let go of your own shame over this then maybe it’d make a nice story for him. But any rumors of a supposed untoward, down right unrealistic relationship between you and your guard must be swiftly and silently eliminated.
Snatching a dressing robe and exiting the room, past a red-faced Pierce, you walk straight to the room Jason had pointed out as a bathroom. Opening the door released a cloud of stream onto you, your coldness chased away in an instant as the warm, humid air enveloped you.
There was a massive, steaming bathtub inlaid into the floor, only raised about half a step on a small platform. The room was almost entirely bathtub, nearly black walls, with pale and dark tiles decorating the floor and bath. Kneeling next to the bath, you gathered the sleeve of your robe up to your elbow and stuck your hand in. It’s hot only for a moment before settling into something far more comfortable. The motion was familiar, and the memory of Jason sitting next to you with that ridiculous smile on his face made you smile in return.
Pulling away and shaking droplets off of your hand before disrobing. A long, smooth wooden table spanned across the length of the back wall, it seemed the perfect place for your robe, you folded it into a neat square, stepped forward, noting the baskets underneath filled with towels, robes, soap bars, and beautifully decorated glass bottles.
Simple white labels listed their scent and function and you wanted to read and smell every last one but it’d have to wait for later. Setting your robe onto the table, you crouched down, grabbing a bottle almost entirely based on looks alone and a plain looking bar of soap, and began your descent into the bath. Refusing to let yourself get too comfortable, if you did you’d never leave. Ignoring the porcelain bench inside until you need to scrub your lower half. Mentally reminding yourself that you are already very, very late every time you consider taking more than a few seconds to complete any action.
Scrubbed clean with a dull but fresh scent, your hair and body finally free from the fountain water smell, you wrap yourself in a fresh towel and rush back across the hall— Pierce remains unmoving outside the door, but you have no time to worry about him, not even slightly. Finding an outfit that wouldn’t suffocate you with dozens of layers, tying, buttoning, and tightening until everything fit just right, fixing and prodding your hair until not even a single strand stood out of place, with a quick final check in the large mirror standing in the corner of your room, you decide that you are as presentable as you could possibly be.
You take a deep breath, holding tightly onto the handle of your bedroom door, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re an honored guest and the groom to their prince, you’re sure they can forgive a little tardiness. It’s all going to be fine. You breathe out and swing the door open.
“Sir Pierce?”
He jumps as if startled, armor knocking against itself with a small ‘clink’ as he straightens.
“Y-your Highness!” He nearly shouts, “Are you ready to go?”
You give him a curt nod, folding one hand over another and letting them rest comfortably on your pelvis, back straight, head held high as Pierce escorts you to wherever this breakfast was happening.
How he managed to get used to such a large castle in only a day was beyond you, not once did he hesitate or backtrack, leading smoothly and clearly through the halls— you should speak to the King, your father, that is, about where he will be relocated to once you're married. Will he join the general palace guards? He has intimate knowledge about the royal family and their habits and schedules, and has more than enough experience guarding you, you're sure he could easily be assigned to a similar position, guarding the vaults or the royal family as a unit. Perhaps he’d join the war effort, his father had been a general, hence Pierce being assigned to you at such a young age, but you’re sure he’d fit in seamlessly with the more skilled soldiers in the army, maybe even a leading position with his father's input.
You glance at him, his short brown hair lapping at the collar of his back plate, getting stuck underneath the rim of his cape. His walk sure and strong, two steps ahead of you.
You’re going to miss him dearly. Having a friend through the worst of your isolation had been a blessing, and the blessing only continued as the two of you matured alongside each other. Despite his faults and his rather traditional way of thinking, you couldn’t consider him any other way, a friend. Your best friend.
Tears cloud your vision for only a second before you manage to blink them away. The things you’re letting go of for your kingdom, for your family… You can’t help but think how unfair it is all over again.
You like Jason, that doesn’t change the truth of your circumstance, you were traded away, a heavy bargaining chip in another meaningless war.
It’s fine. You breathe in deep and hold it for a long moment, as long as you could, until you could feel the beat of your heart in your chest, rhythmic and smooth, then fast and heavy, then you release it. This is okay, very okay.
It’s not long before you’re standing in front of a pair of large doors, the carvings on both were so small and intricate, unique on both, surely a story must be told on such a mural, but you have no mind to try and discover it. You’re late.
You can hear quiet voices behind the door, a laugh and then more talking.
Pierce gives you one last look, though he still can’t seem to meet your gaze as he does, before he pushes the doors open.
It’s… not nearly as grand as you’d expected. It was grand, of course, but it seems this was more the royal family's regular dining room rather than the kind of showy, guest dining room your family used when hosting other families. It was cozy in a way you hadn’t expected, practically glowing with the warm light filtering in through the half drawn curtains. Any sense of comfort you felt was relinquished the second you caught your father’s gaze, cold, methodical, angry. You are certainly going to hear about this.
His voice gives away none of this.
“Ah, finally, my son makes his long awaited appearance,” it’s light and humorous and draws a few small laughs from those at the table.
You give a small, polite bow to the table, the same practiced smile gracing your lips, “My apologies, I simply lost track of time this morning.”
“No apologies are necessary, Your Highness,” The King spoke clearly and with a fondness in his voice that sounded just a tad too heightened to be real, “Please, come sit.”
He gestures to the only empty seat at the table, between your two older brothers, the second oldest hardly gives you a glance, you force yourself to remember you were attending official, royal business as to keep from rolling your eyes to the back of your head at him. Your oldest brother, however, gives you a small, kind smile.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you say as the seat is pulled out for you by Pierce— he’d never done that before. But considering you usually ate alone at the desk in your bedroom, he must have figured there was no point in such priority before.
With a small polite nod, you sit, hands laid over your lap as you place at the table was set in front of you. With another quiet thanks, this time to the servant, breakfast finally began.
A set of doors burst open opposite the where you’d entered and a handful of servants, maybe five or six, moving in near perfect synchronization, came through each holding two platters in their hands. They circled the table, their footsteps quiet even as they drew closest to you, it was unnerving and mesmerizing all at the same time. They stopped once their proper positions were reached and began setting plates onto the table. You glanced over at your oldest brother, the warmth in his face had since disbursed, instead a low, pointed glare replaced it, jaw clenched tight, hand balled into a fist of the table, the absolute image of barely concealed rage. You follow his gaze and find Jason at the end of it, trying desperately not to look back at your brother, yet simultaneously unable to stop looking at him, he stares vaguely off to the side, his obvious avoidance was only a little funny.. maybe more than a little. You watch the corner of his mouth just slightly curve upward before being forced back down, only to rise again with a higher severity the second his gaze found your brothers. His eyes flicked over to you for a second. You can feel your own mildly amused smirk forming.
Knowing that Jason was seemingly unmoved by your brother despite his very blatant attempt at intimidation was just the right amount of humorous to brighten your mood and help ease off some of the embarrassment you felt from arriving so late.
Jason looked…good. Really good, even. An embroidered red vest over a black button up, his coat, also black, covered most of the details, but you could see a small blooming flower peaking through. It wasn’t the meticulously selected and painstakingly crafted costume you and the other royals at the table wore, but it was still nice. He looks tired, more than he had last night, but he’s trying not to let it show. Back straight, hands set on the table, eyes just half open. Poor thing, he must not have gotten much sleep, then having to attend this primarily demonstrative breakfast at such an early hour, poor thing indeed.
“It's rude to stare.”
You suppress a flinch as your brother very suddenly speaks in your ear, his tone hushed.
You turn and give him a short glare, “I wasn’t staring.”
“Whatever you say…” he trails off as his eyes find Jason again, “At least he's cute, right? If he’s got nothing else going for him, you’ll always have that.”
You try not to be completely scandalized by his words, “Be kind, brother.”
“This is me being kind.”
You turn away from him, annoyed. You know why he’s upset, you couldn’t bear having one of your siblings married off. All things considered he’s being uncharacteristically tame about all of this, it’s a miracle that he hasn’t caused a spectacle yet, though with the way he kept looking at Jason you’re sure one wasn’t far away.
You wished he’d be nicer— Jason isn’t bad, not at all, and you don’t mind spending time with him in the slightest. Though you can’t exactly tell your brother that or anyone else for that matter. If anyone found out about last night you’re sure that both families would devolve and start shouting about courting etiquette and decency within seconds.
Breakfast commences as the servants draw back from the table and file back out the door they’d entered through. Small talk quickly overtook the table, Kings chatting idly between bites, siblings talking to siblings, your older brother had stuck conversation with on of the princess’s, Lady Cassandra, while your younger brothers had practically swarmed Prince Damien with any and everything on their minds, your oldest brother's husband seemed quite pleased with the conversation he was having with Prince Duke, though your oldest brother seemed content is stewing in silence.
You wanted to talk to Jason.
Across the table and three seats down, he sat just slightly too far for conversation to be comfortable between the two of you. You tried not to be too upset by it. Next time you will be early and you’ll get to pick your own seat and that seat will be next to Jason. It just will.
With nothing to say, you began eating. The meal is pleasant and fresh and it isn’t anything you’ve ever had before in your own home but the familiar ingredients waved off any uneasiness you may have felt. And it’s good, so good. You suddenly find something else to be glad for here. You eat as fast as etiquette would allow, feeling satisfied and full, comfortable resting in your seat. Listening to the conversation around you, catching Jason's gaze every time you looked his way— just to watch him act as if he wasn’t looking at all. You could have laughed at his obviousness, but you managed to hold it together.
As more plates were cleared and taken, conversation picked up between the two families, still, you’d rather just listen for now. Hands folded in your lap, feeling oddly serene. One servant walks through the doors, you can’t help but notice how…nervous she seems. She stumbles slightly and clutches a bottle of red wine in her arms. It’s a bit early for that but nobody at the table seemed opposed to it, so she proceeds, starting at the head of the table, a polite, if uncertain, smile on her face.
“So, Prince Y/n,” you turn at the mention of your name.
It’s Prince Timothy— Tim, as he had insisted. He looked a little too smug for your liking right now, casting his gaze on you as if he could see directly into your very soul. It was an odd feeling and you found yourself already searching for ways to avoid him as much as possible.
“How long have you been having an affair with your guard?”
You choke on your own breath, coughing and clearing your throat. Where the hell had he heard that?! You know all too well how popular that rumor is in your own kingdom but for it to have spread here so quickly, and to have met the ears of the royal family, having been put so plainly, not as an accusation, but stated as a fact. In front the King, in front of your parents. In front of Jason. The room had gone dead silent.
“I’m not sure what you’re implying—“
“I’m not implying anything,” he leans back in his seat, “I could put it in plainer terms, if you’d like. How long have you been fucking—“
You hear a low, deep growl behind you.
“You best watch your tongue when you speak of His Highness!”
“Pierce, that’s enough,” You say, forcing yourself still.
Threatening the royal family wouldn’t do anybody any favors, most certainly not Pierce.
He huffs, “But he—“
You raise your hand and he’s immediately silent, such a small gesture reminding him that it wasn't a request, it was an order, and he really needs to just be quiet.
Despite his confidence, Prince Tim knows nothing, despite what he thinks, jumping to conclusions and listening to gossip is not proof, maybe clause for questioning, but not outright accusation. You allow the feeling of transgression wash over you and then let it pass.
“I think you’re mistaken, Your Highness, Sir Pierce is my guard and a dear friend, but that’s all there is,”
He gives a small laugh, “I’m sure. Given that he’s so far below you, I doubt you’d ever classify your relationship as anything beyond friendly, you can’t allow others to know you enjoy rolling around in the mud, now can you?”
Oh, he’s one of those. You resist the urge to roll your eyes.
“I’m not sure where you heard such a rumor, but that’s all it is, a rumor. I have no interest in Sir Pierce, not in that way, nor have I ever, for him or anyone else. I’m sure you’re going to keep believing whatever you’d like, Your Highness, and you are welcome to that, but I assure you that anything you’ve heard regarding us and our supposed relationship is completely false.”
He looks at you, then he looks behind you, at Pierce.
“If that’s what you insist,”
“It is, because it’s the truth.”
Something in his face changes, his brows draw together, he looks at Pierce again, and something changes again.
“Ooh..” he says as a smile slides across his face, “I’m sorry, Your Highness, truly, it seems I may have… misinterpreted some things.”
He sounds too amused to truly believe he’s wrong, still, you’re professional, and aren’t in-laws meant to be insufferable? You could deal with a little harassment.
He’s likely just feeling protective. Jason had mentioned his family's tendency for the outlandish and their lack of respect for privacy, with Tim being explicitly mentioned as one of the worst offenders.
“All is forgiven, misunderstanding happen.”
Silence swells in the room and you can’t help but feel the weight of dozens of eyes on you. Still, you don’t look at anyone, you can’t bring yourself to meet a single gaze. It’s beyond uncomfortable. By the time the servant came around she was shaking like a leaf in the wind. She pours for your oldest brother, the bottle clinking against the glass as she pours. She turns to you, and before you could tell her you didn’t want any there is an unmistakable screech of glass against glass. The bottle, still full of wine, splits cleanly in half. The wine spills, or rather pours onto you. Down your shoulder and chest, pooling in your lap until you stood, where it continued to soak into your pants and fill your shoes.
If the silence was loud before, it’s deafening now. You breathe. This is fine, this is fine, this is so very fine and you are going to move on from it.
The servant stuttered out a hundred apologies at once, fumbling over every word.
“It’s alright, there’s no harm done, it’s nothing a good wash can’t fix,” then, you turn back to the table, “May I be excused?”
The King looked…you aren’t really sure, as if in deep thought until the very moment you’d spoken to him, suddenly, his light atmosphere returns, and he gives you an apologetic smile.
“Of course, I’m truly sorry about this Your Highness, this isn’t how I expected breakfast to go.”
You give a small bow, still dripping with red wine, before turning and leaving. Pushing the doors open, with Pierce hot on your trail, just a step behind you as you find your way back to your room.
You need a nap, a bath, and more wine than this castle held. Embarrassed in ways you’d never experienced before. It was one thing if a few servants and their friends circulated a rumor and let their minds run wild with it, but to be accused in such a manner, in front of your family, your brothers, your parents, everybody. It wasn’t true but your heart still thundered heavily in your chest as you finally arrived back at your room— the process was no doubt longer than when you’d been guided around the castle, but you made it eventually.
You don’t mean to slam the door in Pierce’s face. This wasn’t his fault after all, none of it is anybody's fault— well, Prince Tim could carry some of the blame. He's such an ass. You almost feel bad referring to another member of a royal family as such, even in your own mind, but after the things he’d accused you of an ass feels like the least you can call him. It’s fine, you tell yourself for the hundredth time today, it’s fine, everything will pass and life will soon settle, it’s very okay.
A very long bath would fix this. Settle your nerves, settle your mind, clean the sticky wine from your skin. You feel bad for once again dropping a load of wet clothes into the hamper, which had been emptied at some point while you were away, but you desperately needed to get out of these clothes. Despite your words, you’re not entirely sure the wine will come out, the fabric was fine and delicate, the color pale and subtle, such a large, dark stain may never fully come out. You mourn the potential loss of the set for only a moment before moving on, wrapped in a robe, you step out again. It’s too similar to the steps you’d taken at most two hours ago, with Pierce unmoving at your door and the warm steam wafting in your face as you entered the bathroom.
You’re not entirely sure what other duties you were expected to do today, but considering breakfast had suddenly been cut short, you’re sure you can waste a little time in the bath.
Tim is a dead man, he knows it, his family knows it, but nobody knows it more than Jason. Jason, who’d watched y/n’s face fall as the words left Tim’s mouth, watched him put on a mask of prestige just to get through the conversation, watched as he flinched and gasped as wine spilled down his body.
Jason doesn’t care if it’s true, he doesn’t. The Prince is not his, he doesn’t own him, and he could never bring himself to give a shit about the whole virginal, pure omega thing that permeated in royal spaces. So what if he had a boyfriend, so fucking what. He’s an adult man with wants and if this Sir Pierce can help with them, or has helped previously, who is he to say anything about it?
He needs to talk to him. Say something, make it clear that he doesn’t think the way Tim does, that Tim is an asshole and a moron that’s too smart and nosy for his own good. He needs to talk to him, needs to see him smile the way he had last night, to look at him with such fondness and laugh and joke like he had before.
He needs Bruce to let him out of his sight.
So far, it hasn’t happened.
Breakfast wraps up soon after The Prince leaves, Jason, having grit his teeth to force his own silence, watches each member file out one by one. As the door closes behind them, he turns to Tim. Though he can’t get a single word out before Tim starts speaking-
“I was wrong, they’re not sleeping together, his knight is definitely in love with him though, it’s kinda gross actually—“
“Tim, that’s enough.” Bruce’s voice, in its natural low baritone, silences the room.
It’s a long moment before Bruce speaks again, pinching the bridge of his nose in pure frustration as his children sat and watched, waiting with bated breath for his next words.
“Tim—“ it’s a lot calmer than before, and it only pisses Jason off a little bit, “Whether or not Prince Y/n has a relationship with his knight is none of our business, you shouldn’t have pried and you definitely shouldn’t have confronted him like this. He’s—“
He paused, letting out a deeply frustrated sigh.
“—He’s taking all of this remarkably well, let’s try to keep it that way. The last thing we need is The King and Queen trying to break our arrangement because their son is being harassed.”
“I wasn’t harassing him,” Tim says, nearly pouting.
“You were,” half the table says, because what else could what he has done be classified as?
About a thousand different synonyms pass through Jason’s mind— and it gives him a thousand new reasons to start beating his ass. From his disgusting words to the wine— oh god the wine— Jason had recognized Tim’s usual accomplice in mischief the second she walked through the door, wearing a kitchen aids uniform, carrying a bottle of wine. He had tried so hard not to think about her, hoped whatever Tim wanted to pull today wasn’t going to be directed at him. He’d managed to ignore her presence completely, considering that just a few seconds after she walked through the door, Tim had opened his mouth and let filth words from his filthy mind tumble out.
It isn’t until she’s standing over The Prince’s shoulder does he notice her strange grip on the bottle, then she twists it, each hand in an opposite direction, the top of the bottle lifts and suddenly wine is drenching the painstakingly beautiful outfit he’d been wearing. He flinches and gasps and stands with his mouth agape and for a moment Jason thinks he’s going to yell at her— he doesn’t, he excuses himself and leaves and something in Jason’s chest squeezes at the sight of his upset face, then something else happens when Sir Pierce follows inches behind him.
He doesn’t think about it any longer, if he does, he might strangle Tim.
Bruce lectures for a long time, and slowly, uninvolved siblings see themselves out. First Cas, then Dick, then Duke, and Damien.
Eventually, the only ones remaining in the dining room are Bruce, Tim, and Jason.
Bruce and Tim because Bruce is giving him their usual lecture on privacy and appropriate timing, again, and Jason is only here because Bruce is here.
For lack of a better word, Jason is grounded. He’d gotten his own thorough lecture last night. Something about respect or something, who knows. Nothing from his conversation with Bruce really stuck, if you could call it that, it was more Bruce trying not to yell while Jason thought about literally anything other than him. Mostly The Prince, as he found his thoughts being drawn back to him more often than he’d like.
He’s so… so much, Jason couldn’t even name it. In an unfortunately short matter of time he’d managed to consume his every thought— not waking thought— considering Jason had dreamed of him. Every thought, all the time, while he bathed and brushed his teeth, while he dressed and while Bruce lectured him again this morning, while he waited for him to show up to breakfast, when he looked between Jason and his brother and barely suppressed a grin.
It should be concerning. It should worry and scare him, it should have him running for the hills, instead, when he catches his gaze, he sees humor, joy, and fondness— fondness for Jason of all people— and he feels it in return. Maybe even more than the prince does.
His morning is soured by his idiot brother, and he can’t unsee the last look he saw on The Prince’s face.
“Can I—“ he interrupts Bruce without meaning to, he hadn’t even realized he was talking, “— go? This chair hurts my back.”
It wasn’t necessarily untrue, these chairs set his spin in an awkward position and made his leg numb when sitting in them for too long, but he’d dealt with worse, and he usually just pushed it to the back of his mind, grit his teeth and bared it until he could finally, finally leave.
“Sure, son—“ Bruce turns to Tim, “this conversation is not over.”
Then he stands and waits for Jason to do the same.
He resisted the urge to groan.
Right, he’s grounded. Unfortunately he also had several responsibilities that he could not be locked in his room for, like getting married, so instead he’s got Bruce trailing him around, because apparently the King has nothing better to do than bother his poor, bored son all day. It’s childish and even with this punishment having only started a few hours ago Jason already wishes it would end.
They walk the halls in silence, it’s uncomfortable. Him and Bruce haven’t spent time together in a long while, and Jason could certainly take most of the blame for that, but he knows that he isn’t easy for Bruce to be around either, considering what he is.
This is undoubtedly punishing for both of them and yet they endured.
Jason eventually leads them to his room, everything else he wanted to do involved the Prince somehow, but with Bruce tailing him all of that was completely out of the question. So he went for the sullen option of “lay in bed and mope”.
He barely reaches for the door handle before his wrist is caught.
“Jason.”
Jason turns to him. He looks…conflicted.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
Jason’s gotten this question about 15 times in the past couple hours. He gets it, he blew off the visiting royal family to sit in a decrepit garden all day, but this is getting ridiculous.
“I’m sure, B.”
Bruce sighs, “if anything is wrong—“
“Nothings wrong, I’m fine. I’m just a little tired.”
It’s true, he hadn’t slept much last night for a myriad of reasons.
This doesn't seem to bring any comfort to Bruce.
“I’m here if you need me, son.”
“I know.”
Jason turns the handle and enters his room before Bruce can keep him any longer.
He’s tired, he's so tired, and his cane feels weird in his hand today, and his back hurts, and his suit was uncomfortable, and he was tired.
The first order of business is getting out of this suit and into bed as soon as possible. It’s still morning but Jason pays it no mind outside of shutting his curtains as tightly as possible.
He nearly collapses onto the bed once he’s finally ready, face pressed into his pillows, the pressure on his face and the unyielding darkness lulling him to sleep in a matter of minutes.
Tag list: @needjoekeery @definitelynotinurwalls @lucielovesdick @pickles-the-jackalope @im-so-goddamn-tired
I wrote Pierce with a lot of the stereotypical A/B/O dynamics and characters in mind, I know *SPOILERS* chapter three focused on his and readers relationship a lot and how others perceive it and i just want to see what y'all think of him as i continue the story (this poll will not influence his predetermined fate :/ lol)
Warnings: 6k-ish words. Still dead dove: do not eat No interaction between Jason and reader this chapter but they think about each other a whole lot. Accidental nudity, typical ABO dynamics, reader not being a morning person in any capacity, Tim Drake being a smart ass, unrequited love, arranged marriages, disabled!jason, Pierce, you/your/yourself used from readers pov, he/him/his used from Jason’s pov, love at first sight (they make me sick), Jason is on suicide watch and doesn’t realize it
(A/n: 173???? HI EVERYONE!! This was supposed to be one super long part but I broke it into two, you guys have to get through the lore and stuff to get to the fluff and romance sorry guys I don’t make the rules. Part four will come out waaaaaay sooner than part three did. Also wish me luck on my finals gang ✌️)
Oh god, oh god, oh god. You paced your bedroom for far longer than you’d like to admit, dripping water onto the beautifully plush rug and the pale colored tile floor. Oh god. You like your husband. The idea of liking him hasn’t even crossed your mind, but you really do and you can’t help but feel utterly ridiculous for it. Not a single moment had been given to such a thought. Arranged marriages where both partners tolerated each other were already rare; it's more common for the omega to suffer under the alpha until they die or manage to escape. But Jason was so kind, and funny, and unbelievably charming in a way that didn’t feel overly practiced. It was good, it felt good.
You’re still wet..
You pull your clothes off piece by piece, your face, which had managed to dry on your walk back to your room, was soaked again as you stripped out of the truly unnecessary amount of layers. Bundling the clothes tightly, watching them drip and squish in your arms, before dropping them into the hamper in the corner of your room. You wanted a shower— you needed a shower. Especially after your dip in the fountain. You’re sure you smell, at the very least, like a dog covered in rain water. But the bathroom was all the way across the hall and you’re so tired.
Dimming the lantern illuminating the room until it only showed a few inches in each direction, you crawled into the plush bed and swaddled yourself in the thick duvet, shifting until you found a perfectly comfortable position. A small twinge of guilt struck you as you realized the bedding would probably have to be changed and washed by some poor servant in the morning but you pushed it to the back of your mind as you finally settled for the night.
Despite your previous nerves and tears, it seems you might enjoy yourself here.
Morning comes with a hard knock on the door and a loudly hissed, “Your Highness, you’re late!”
With a groan you roll onto your side, burrowing farther into the thick comforter you’d wrapped yourself in. Responsibilities, meetings, formal pleasantries of the grandest and most dramatic fashion. It never ends, you just want to rest for a moment. You let your eyes close, the banging continues. Harsh whispers through wood turn to shouts as the knocking grew more and more frantic.
“Please, Your Highness, breakfast starts soon and—…” there’s a small huff, then silence, and you think you’ve gotten a break, that your endlessly loyal guard had given up on waking you and let you have a much needed rest. “…Sorry about this, Your Highness.”
Or not. The door flings open a second later, you crack your tired eyes open, revealing Pierce, dressed in his nicer, more showy armor, shiny silver with golden adornments. Polished to perfection, your family crest pressed firmly on his shoulder pauldron, vibrantly colored cape flowing behind him as he strode towards the bed. Toward you.
You hid under the covers in a manner entirely unbecoming of a prince. Comfortable in the darkness for a matter of seconds before a small, “forgive me,” falls from Pierce’s lips and suddenly your cocoon of warmth and darkness snatched away from you. Exposed to the bright morning light once again, you twist and groan and pull away from the window and its wide drawn curtains. From Pierce, who has been so adamant on getting you out of bed just a second ago, and now stood on the opposite side of the room, gapping like a fish out of water as he stared wide eyed at you. His gaze didn’t meet yours, however, and when you found yourself having the strength to push yourself into an upright position, leaning most of your weight back onto your arms.
“Pierce? What’s wrong?” You muttered between a yawn.
His eyes flicker between your face and lower, his eyes wide and dilated, black nearly overtaking the pale brown you had grown so used to over the years.
“Your— Your Highness, uh— where are your clothes?”
Clothes. Clothes.
You blink, feeling a little heavy and sluggish, it’s too early for this. They’re stuffed in a hamper, floating in a semi-abandoned fountain, on your body, at least to some extent.
“They’re…dirty. I couldn’t sleep in them.”
His gaze goes low again and stays there.
“Right, of course, but don’t you think you should get dressed? Your father is currently stalling for you at the breakfast table and I’m not sure how long the royal Wayne family can stand his, uh, stories. Please, Your Highness.”
Oh, breakfast! Oh god!
You spring out of bed, on your feet in a second and rushing to the door.
“Your Highness, wait!”
It wasn’t often Pierce grabbed you, during your secret training sessions, in his attempts to keep you from danger, and keeping you steady when you stumbled in your tight, complicated royal wear. Still, you’d never been outright yanked by the man.
“I understand this is to be your new home and that you want to be comfortable here but I, respectfully, think this is a step too far.” He says, his voice steeled to something also unrecognizable as he forced emotion out.
You huff, “it’s alright, I’m just going to the bathroom across the hall, it’s not as if I’m streaking through the castle.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’m sure the servants here have seen a lot worse than a man in his underwear. I’ll be quick, I swear—“
“You’re not wearing underwear, Your Highness.”
You look down, you see your own bare body, completely bare, familiar, and suddenly uncomfortable as you stand in front of Pierce.
You bring your hands down over yourself to try and salvage some dignity.
“Oh— Oh god, Pierce, I’m sorry—“
“It’s fine, I understand you're under a lot of stress and—“
“That’s still no excuse for appearing so indecently, I can’t believe—“ you groan in frustration, escaping Pierce’s loose grasp and standing— not hiding— behind the dressing screen a few feet away.
“My apologies, I should have said something sooner,” he says with the utmost politeness, “I’ll…wait for you outside.”
‘Please do,’ you can’t help but think— poor Pierce, you’ve managed to make a fool of yourself and unintentionally panic your guard within only a few minutes of being awake. You hope you didn’t make him too uncomfortable, he’s seen you in various states of dress, but never undress. You made an effort to be clothed in front of him at least in some form— people in your kingdom already spoke of rather untoward thing theorized between the two of you, an unmated alpha guard and his unmated omega prince— the things you’ve heard, the things people suggested so shamelessly between the two of you sounded like the depraved fairytales and fantasies of a person with a very vivid imagination and far too much time on their hands. There are books, you’ve seen them with your own eyes, had them given to you as gifts with winks and suggestive smirks as if you were both in on a very special secret. After flipping through the first few pages the first few pages you’d asked Pierce to throw the book into the fire and never mention it again.
You hope word of this never finds its way back home, or worse, to the people here. Jason, especially Jason. You weren’t exactly sure what your marriage to him was going to look like but you’d rather not begin it with scandal, his heart seemed too gentle to handle such a thing. And to have rumors as such with a man you considered to be nearly a brother to you seemed to only add salt to the supposed injury.
He can never find out about the rumors, this little embarrassment with Pierce, maybe. He’d find it funny and you enjoyed seeing him smile, so if you could let go of your own shame over this then maybe it’d make a nice story for him. But any rumors of a supposed untoward, down right unrealistic relationship between you and your guard must be swiftly and silently eliminated.
Snatching a dressing robe and exiting the room, past a red-faced Pierce, you walk straight to the room Jason had pointed out as a bathroom. Opening the door released a cloud of stream onto you, your coldness chased away in an instant as the warm, humid air enveloped you.
There was a massive, steaming bathtub inlaid into the floor, only raised about half a step on a small platform. The room was almost entirely bathtub, nearly black walls, with pale and dark tiles decorating the floor and bath. Kneeling next to the bath, you gathered the sleeve of your robe up to your elbow and stuck your hand in. It’s hot only for a moment before settling into something far more comfortable. The motion was familiar, and the memory of Jason sitting next to you with that ridiculous smile on his face made you smile in return.
Pulling away and shaking droplets off of your hand before disrobing. A long, smooth wooden table spanned across the length of the back wall, it seemed the perfect place for your robe, you folded it into a neat square, stepped forward, noting the baskets underneath filled with towels, robes, soap bars, and beautifully decorated glass bottles.
Simple white labels listed their scent and function and you wanted to read and smell every last one but it’d have to wait for later. Setting your robe onto the table, you crouched down, grabbing a bottle almost entirely based on looks alone and a plain looking bar of soap, and began your descent into the bath. Refusing to let yourself get too comfortable, if you did you’d never leave. Ignoring the porcelain bench inside until you need to scrub your lower half. Mentally reminding yourself that you are already very, very late every time you consider taking more than a few seconds to complete any action.
Scrubbed clean with a dull but fresh scent, your hair and body finally free from the fountain water smell, you wrap yourself in a fresh towel and rush back across the hall— Pierce remains unmoving outside the door, but you have no time to worry about him, not even slightly. Finding an outfit that wouldn’t suffocate you with dozens of layers, tying, buttoning, and tightening until everything fit just right, fixing and prodding your hair until not even a single strand stood out of place, with a quick final check in the large mirror standing in the corner of your room, you decide that you are as presentable as you could possibly be.
You take a deep breath, holding tightly onto the handle of your bedroom door, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re an honored guest and the groom to their prince, you’re sure they can forgive a little tardiness. It’s all going to be fine. You breathe out and swing the door open.
“Sir Pierce?”
He jumps as if startled, armor knocking against itself with a small ‘clink’ as he straightens.
“Y-your Highness!” He nearly shouts, “Are you ready to go?”
You give him a curt nod, folding one hand over another and letting them rest comfortably on your pelvis, back straight, head held high as Pierce escorts you to wherever this breakfast was happening.
How he managed to get used to such a large castle in only a day was beyond you, not once did he hesitate or backtrack, leading smoothly and clearly through the halls— you should speak to the King, your father, that is, about where he will be relocated to once you're married. Will he join the general palace guards? He has intimate knowledge about the royal family and their habits and schedules, and has more than enough experience guarding you, you're sure he could easily be assigned to a similar position, guarding the vaults or the royal family as a unit. Perhaps he’d join the war effort, his father had been a general, hence Pierce being assigned to you at such a young age, but you’re sure he’d fit in seamlessly with the more skilled soldiers in the army, maybe even a leading position with his father's input.
You glance at him, his short brown hair lapping at the collar of his back plate, getting stuck underneath the rim of his cape. His walk sure and strong, two steps ahead of you.
You’re going to miss him dearly. Having a friend through the worst of your isolation had been a blessing, and the blessing only continued as the two of you matured alongside each other. Despite his faults and his rather traditional way of thinking, you couldn’t consider him any other way, a friend. Your best friend.
Tears cloud your vision for only a second before you manage to blink them away. The things you’re letting go of for your kingdom, for your family… You can’t help but think how unfair it is all over again.
You like Jason, that doesn’t change the truth of your circumstance, you were traded away, a heavy bargaining chip in another meaningless war.
It’s fine. You breathe in deep and hold it for a long moment, as long as you could, until you could feel the beat of your heart in your chest, rhythmic and smooth, then fast and heavy, then you release it. This is okay, very okay.
It’s not long before you’re standing in front of a pair of large doors, the carvings on both were so small and intricate, unique on both, surely a story must be told on such a mural, but you have no mind to try and discover it. You’re late.
You can hear quiet voices behind the door, a laugh and then more talking.
Pierce gives you one last look, though he still can’t seem to meet your gaze as he does, before he pushes the doors open.
It’s… not nearly as grand as you’d expected. It was grand, of course, but it seems this was more the royal family's regular dining room rather than the kind of showy, guest dining room your family used when hosting other families. It was cozy in a way you hadn’t expected, practically glowing with the warm light filtering in through the half drawn curtains. Any sense of comfort you felt was relinquished the second you caught your father’s gaze, cold, methodical, angry. You are certainly going to hear about this.
His voice gives away none of this.
“Ah, finally, my son makes his long awaited appearance,” it’s light and humorous and draws a few small laughs from those at the table.
You give a small, polite bow to the table, the same practiced smile gracing your lips, “My apologies, I simply lost track of time this morning.”
“No apologies are necessary, Your Highness,” The King spoke clearly and with a fondness in his voice that sounded just a tad too heightened to be real, “Please, come sit.”
He gestures to the only empty seat at the table, between your two older brothers, the second oldest hardly gives you a glance, you force yourself to remember you were attending official, royal business as to keep from rolling your eyes to the back of your head at him. Your oldest brother, however, gives you a small, kind smile.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you say as the seat is pulled out for you by Pierce— he’d never done that before. But considering you usually ate alone at the desk in your bedroom, he must have figured there was no point in such priority before.
With a small polite nod, you sit, hands laid over your lap as you place at the table was set in front of you. With another quiet thanks, this time to the servant, breakfast finally began.
A set of doors burst open opposite the where you’d entered and a handful of servants, maybe five or six, moving in near perfect synchronization, came through each holding two platters in their hands. They circled the table, their footsteps quiet even as they drew closest to you, it was unnerving and mesmerizing all at the same time. They stopped once their proper positions were reached and began setting plates onto the table. You glanced over at your oldest brother, the warmth in his face had since disbursed, instead a low, pointed glare replaced it, jaw clenched tight, hand balled into a fist of the table, the absolute image of barely concealed rage. You follow his gaze and find Jason at the end of it, trying desperately not to look back at your brother, yet simultaneously unable to stop looking at him, he stares vaguely off to the side, his obvious avoidance was only a little funny.. maybe more than a little. You watch the corner of his mouth just slightly curve upward before being forced back down, only to rise again with a higher severity the second his gaze found your brothers. His eyes flicked over to you for a second. You can feel your own mildly amused smirk forming.
Knowing that Jason was seemingly unmoved by your brother despite his very blatant attempt at intimidation was just the right amount of humorous to brighten your mood and help ease off some of the embarrassment you felt from arriving so late.
Jason looked…good. Really good, even. An embroidered red vest over a black button up, his coat, also black, covered most of the details, but you could see a small blooming flower peaking through. It wasn’t the meticulously selected and painstakingly crafted costume you and the other royals at the table wore, but it was still nice. He looks tired, more than he had last night, but he’s trying not to let it show. Back straight, hands set on the table, eyes just half open. Poor thing, he must not have gotten much sleep, then having to attend this primarily demonstrative breakfast at such an early hour, poor thing indeed.
“It's rude to stare.”
You suppress a flinch as your brother very suddenly speaks in your ear, his tone hushed.
You turn and give him a short glare, “I wasn’t staring.”
“Whatever you say…” he trails off as his eyes find Jason again, “At least he's cute, right? If he’s got nothing else going for him, you’ll always have that.”
You try not to be completely scandalized by his words, “Be kind, brother.”
“This is me being kind.”
You turn away from him, annoyed. You know why he’s upset, you couldn’t bear having one of your siblings married off. All things considered he’s being uncharacteristically tame about all of this, it’s a miracle that he hasn’t caused a spectacle yet, though with the way he kept looking at Jason you’re sure one wasn’t far away.
You wished he’d be nicer— Jason isn’t bad, not at all, and you don’t mind spending time with him in the slightest. Though you can’t exactly tell your brother that or anyone else for that matter. If anyone found out about last night you’re sure that both families would devolve and start shouting about courting etiquette and decency within seconds.
Breakfast commences as the servants draw back from the table and file back out the door they’d entered through. Small talk quickly overtook the table, Kings chatting idly between bites, siblings talking to siblings, your older brother had stuck conversation with on of the princess’s, Lady Cassandra, while your younger brothers had practically swarmed Prince Damien with any and everything on their minds, your oldest brother's husband seemed quite pleased with the conversation he was having with Prince Duke, though your oldest brother seemed content is stewing in silence.
You wanted to talk to Jason.
Across the table and three seats down, he sat just slightly too far for conversation to be comfortable between the two of you. You tried not to be too upset by it. Next time you will be early and you’ll get to pick your own seat and that seat will be next to Jason. It just will.
With nothing to say, you began eating. The meal is pleasant and fresh and it isn’t anything you’ve ever had before in your own home but the familiar ingredients waved off any uneasiness you may have felt. And it’s good, so good. You suddenly find something else to be glad for here. You eat as fast as etiquette would allow, feeling satisfied and full, comfortable resting in your seat. Listening to the conversation around you, catching Jason's gaze every time you looked his way— just to watch him act as if he wasn’t looking at all. You could have laughed at his obviousness, but you managed to hold it together.
As more plates were cleared and taken, conversation picked up between the two families, still, you’d rather just listen for now. Hands folded in your lap, feeling oddly serene. One servant walks through the doors, you can’t help but notice how…nervous she seems. She stumbles slightly and clutches a bottle of red wine in her arms. It’s a bit early for that but nobody at the table seemed opposed to it, so she proceeds, starting at the head of the table, a polite, if uncertain, smile on her face.
“So, Prince Y/n,” you turn at the mention of your name.
It’s Prince Timothy— Tim, as he had insisted. He looked a little too smug for your liking right now, casting his gaze on you as if he could see directly into your very soul. It was an odd feeling and you found yourself already searching for ways to avoid him as much as possible.
“How long have you been having an affair with your guard?”
You choke on your own breath, coughing and clearing your throat. Where the hell had he heard that?! You know all too well how popular that rumor is in your own kingdom but for it to have spread here so quickly, and to have met the ears of the royal family, having been put so plainly, not as an accusation, but stated as a fact. In front the King, in front of your parents. In front of Jason. The room had gone dead silent.
“I’m not sure what you’re implying—“
“I’m not implying anything,” he leans back in his seat, “I could put it in plainer terms, if you’d like. How long have you been fucking—“
You hear a low, deep growl behind you.
“You best watch your tongue when you speak of His Highness!”
“Pierce, that’s enough,” You say, forcing yourself still.
Threatening the royal family wouldn’t do anybody any favors, most certainly not Pierce.
He huffs, “But he—“
You raise your hand and he’s immediately silent, such a small gesture reminding him that it wasn't a request, it was an order, and he really needs to just be quiet.
Despite his confidence, Prince Tim knows nothing, despite what he thinks, jumping to conclusions and listening to gossip is not proof, maybe clause for questioning, but not outright accusation. You allow the feeling of transgression wash over you and then let it pass.
“I think you’re mistaken, Your Highness, Sir Pierce is my guard and a dear friend, but that’s all there is,”
He gives a small laugh, “I’m sure. Given that he’s so far below you, I doubt you’d ever classify your relationship as anything beyond friendly, you can’t allow others to know you enjoy rolling around in the mud, now can you?”
Oh, he’s one of those. You resist the urge to roll your eyes.
“I’m not sure where you heard such a rumor, but that’s all it is, a rumor. I have no interest in Sir Pierce, not in that way, nor have I ever, for him or anyone else. I’m sure you’re going to keep believing whatever you’d like, Your Highness, and you are welcome to that, but I assure you that anything you’ve heard regarding us and our supposed relationship is completely false.”
He looks at you, then he looks behind you, at Pierce.
“If that’s what you insist,”
“It is, because it’s the truth.”
Something in his face changes, his brows draw together, he looks at Pierce again, and something changes again.
“Ooh..” he says as a smile slides across his face, “I’m sorry, Your Highness, truly, it seems I may have… misinterpreted some things.”
He sounds too amused to truly believe he’s wrong, still, you’re professional, and aren’t in-laws meant to be insufferable? You could deal with a little harassment.
He’s likely just feeling protective. Jason had mentioned his family's tendency for the outlandish and their lack of respect for privacy, with Tim being explicitly mentioned as one of the worst offenders.
“All is forgiven, misunderstanding happen.”
Silence swells in the room and you can’t help but feel the weight of dozens of eyes on you. Still, you don’t look at anyone, you can’t bring yourself to meet a single gaze. It’s beyond uncomfortable. By the time the servant came around she was shaking like a leaf in the wind. She pours for your oldest brother, the bottle clinking against the glass as she pours. She turns to you, and before you could tell her you didn’t want any there is an unmistakable screech of glass against glass. The bottle, still full of wine, splits cleanly in half. The wine spills, or rather pours onto you. Down your shoulder and chest, pooling in your lap until you stood, where it continued to soak into your pants and fill your shoes.
If the silence was loud before, it’s deafening now. You breathe. This is fine, this is fine, this is so very fine and you are going to move on from it.
The servant stuttered out a hundred apologies at once, fumbling over every word.
“It’s alright, there’s no harm done, it’s nothing a good wash can’t fix,” then, you turn back to the table, “May I be excused?”
The King looked…you aren’t really sure, as if in deep thought until the very moment you’d spoken to him, suddenly, his light atmosphere returns, and he gives you an apologetic smile.
“Of course, I’m truly sorry about this Your Highness, this isn’t how I expected breakfast to go.”
You give a small bow, still dripping with red wine, before turning and leaving. Pushing the doors open, with Pierce hot on your trail, just a step behind you as you find your way back to your room.
You need a nap, a bath, and more wine than this castle held. Embarrassed in ways you’d never experienced before. It was one thing if a few servants and their friends circulated a rumor and let their minds run wild with it, but to be accused in such a manner, in front of your family, your brothers, your parents, everybody. It wasn’t true but your heart still thundered heavily in your chest as you finally arrived back at your room— the process was no doubt longer than when you’d been guided around the castle, but you made it eventually.
You don’t mean to slam the door in Pierce’s face. This wasn’t his fault after all, none of it is anybody's fault— well, Prince Tim could carry some of the blame. He's such an ass. You almost feel bad referring to another member of a royal family as such, even in your own mind, but after the things he’d accused you of an ass feels like the least you can call him. It’s fine, you tell yourself for the hundredth time today, it’s fine, everything will pass and life will soon settle, it’s very okay.
A very long bath would fix this. Settle your nerves, settle your mind, clean the sticky wine from your skin. You feel bad for once again dropping a load of wet clothes into the hamper, which had been emptied at some point while you were away, but you desperately needed to get out of these clothes. Despite your words, you’re not entirely sure the wine will come out, the fabric was fine and delicate, the color pale and subtle, such a large, dark stain may never fully come out. You mourn the potential loss of the set for only a moment before moving on, wrapped in a robe, you step out again. It’s too similar to the steps you’d taken at most two hours ago, with Pierce unmoving at your door and the warm steam wafting in your face as you entered the bathroom.
You’re not entirely sure what other duties you were expected to do today, but considering breakfast had suddenly been cut short, you’re sure you can waste a little time in the bath.
Tim is a dead man, he knows it, his family knows it, but nobody knows it more than Jason. Jason, who’d watched y/n’s face fall as the words left Tim’s mouth, watched him put on a mask of prestige just to get through the conversation, watched as he flinched and gasped as wine spilled down his body.
Jason doesn’t care if it’s true, he doesn’t. The Prince is not his, he doesn’t own him, and he could never bring himself to give a shit about the whole virginal, pure omega thing that permeated in royal spaces. So what if he had a boyfriend, so fucking what. He’s an adult man with wants and if this Sir Pierce can help with them, or has helped previously, who is he to say anything about it?
He needs to talk to him. Say something, make it clear that he doesn’t think the way Tim does, that Tim is an asshole and a moron that’s too smart and nosy for his own good. He needs to talk to him, needs to see him smile the way he had last night, to look at him with such fondness and laugh and joke like he had before.
He needs Bruce to let him out of his sight.
So far, it hasn’t happened.
Breakfast wraps up soon after The Prince leaves, Jason, having grit his teeth to force his own silence, watches each member file out one by one. As the door closes behind them, he turns to Tim. Though he can’t get a single word out before Tim starts speaking-
“I was wrong, they’re not sleeping together, his knight is definitely in love with him though, it’s kinda gross actually—“
“Tim, that’s enough.” Bruce’s voice, in its natural low baritone, silences the room.
It’s a long moment before Bruce speaks again, pinching the bridge of his nose in pure frustration as his children sat and watched, waiting with bated breath for his next words.
“Tim—“ it’s a lot calmer than before, and it only pisses Jason off a little bit, “Whether or not Prince Y/n has a relationship with his knight is none of our business, you shouldn’t have pried and you definitely shouldn’t have confronted him like this. He’s—“
He paused, letting out a deeply frustrated sigh.
“—He’s taking all of this remarkably well, let’s try to keep it that way. The last thing we need is The King and Queen trying to break our arrangement because their son is being harassed.”
“I wasn’t harassing him,” Tim says, nearly pouting.
“You were,” half the table says, because what else could what he has done be classified as?
About a thousand different synonyms pass through Jason’s mind— and it gives him a thousand new reasons to start beating his ass. From his disgusting words to the wine— oh god the wine— Jason had recognized Tim’s usual accomplice in mischief the second she walked through the door, wearing a kitchen aids uniform, carrying a bottle of wine. He had tried so hard not to think about her, hoped whatever Tim wanted to pull today wasn’t going to be directed at him. He’d managed to ignore her presence completely, considering that just a few seconds after she walked through the door, Tim had opened his mouth and let filth words from his filthy mind tumble out.
It isn’t until she’s standing over The Prince’s shoulder does he notice her strange grip on the bottle, then she twists it, each hand in an opposite direction, the top of the bottle lifts and suddenly wine is drenching the painstakingly beautiful outfit he’d been wearing. He flinches and gasps and stands with his mouth agape and for a moment Jason thinks he’s going to yell at her— he doesn’t, he excuses himself and leaves and something in Jason’s chest squeezes at the sight of his upset face, then something else happens when Sir Pierce follows inches behind him.
He doesn’t think about it any longer, if he does, he might strangle Tim.
Bruce lectures for a long time, and slowly, uninvolved siblings see themselves out. First Cas, then Dick, then Duke, and Damien.
Eventually, the only ones remaining in the dining room are Bruce, Tim, and Jason.
Bruce and Tim because Bruce is giving him their usual lecture on privacy and appropriate timing, again, and Jason is only here because Bruce is here.
For lack of a better word, Jason is grounded. He’d gotten his own thorough lecture last night. Something about respect or something, who knows. Nothing from his conversation with Bruce really stuck, if you could call it that, it was more Bruce trying not to yell while Jason thought about literally anything other than him. Mostly The Prince, as he found his thoughts being drawn back to him more often than he’d like.
He’s so… so much, Jason couldn’t even name it. In an unfortunately short matter of time he’d managed to consume his every thought— not waking thought— considering Jason had dreamed of him. Every thought, all the time, while he bathed and brushed his teeth, while he dressed and while Bruce lectured him again this morning, while he waited for him to show up to breakfast, when he looked between Jason and his brother and barely suppressed a grin.
It should be concerning. It should worry and scare him, it should have him running for the hills, instead, when he catches his gaze, he sees humor, joy, and fondness— fondness for Jason of all people— and he feels it in return. Maybe even more than the prince does.
His morning is soured by his idiot brother, and he can’t unsee the last look he saw on The Prince’s face.
“Can I—“ he interrupts Bruce without meaning to, he hadn’t even realized he was talking, “— go? This chair hurts my back.”
It wasn’t necessarily untrue, these chairs set his spin in an awkward position and made his leg numb when sitting in them for too long, but he’d dealt with worse, and he usually just pushed it to the back of his mind, grit his teeth and bared it until he could finally, finally leave.
“Sure, son—“ Bruce turns to Tim, “this conversation is not over.”
Then he stands and waits for Jason to do the same.
He resisted the urge to groan.
Right, he’s grounded. Unfortunately he also had several responsibilities that he could not be locked in his room for, like getting married, so instead he’s got Bruce trailing him around, because apparently the King has nothing better to do than bother his poor, bored son all day. It’s childish and even with this punishment having only started a few hours ago Jason already wishes it would end.
They walk the halls in silence, it’s uncomfortable. Him and Bruce haven’t spent time together in a long while, and Jason could certainly take most of the blame for that, but he knows that he isn’t easy for Bruce to be around either, considering what he is.
This is undoubtedly punishing for both of them and yet they endured.
Jason eventually leads them to his room, everything else he wanted to do involved the Prince somehow, but with Bruce tailing him all of that was completely out of the question. So he went for the sullen option of “lay in bed and mope”.
He barely reaches for the door handle before his wrist is caught.
“Jason.”
Jason turns to him. He looks…conflicted.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
Jason’s gotten this question about 15 times in the past couple hours. He gets it, he blew off the visiting royal family to sit in a decrepit garden all day, but this is getting ridiculous.
“I’m sure, B.”
Bruce sighs, “if anything is wrong—“
“Nothings wrong, I’m fine. I’m just a little tired.”
It’s true, he hadn’t slept much last night for a myriad of reasons.
This doesn't seem to bring any comfort to Bruce.
“I’m here if you need me, son.”
“I know.”
Jason turns the handle and enters his room before Bruce can keep him any longer.
He’s tired, he's so tired, and his cane feels weird in his hand today, and his back hurts, and his suit was uncomfortable, and he was tired.
The first order of business is getting out of this suit and into bed as soon as possible. It’s still morning but Jason pays it no mind outside of shutting his curtains as tightly as possible.
He nearly collapses onto the bed once he’s finally ready, face pressed into his pillows, the pressure on his face and the unyielding darkness lulling him to sleep in a matter of minutes.
Tag list: @needjoekeery @definitelynotinurwalls @lucielovesdick @pickles-the-jackalope @im-so-goddamn-tired
