Mmm something something nasty pervert boss John Price. You’re the new secretary and everyone has been nice to you on base, you haven’t quit in a week like Price told you that you would. Maybe it was out of spite, maybe not, who knew - your job quickly switched between calm and hectic and then back to calm. You liked it.
What you didn’t particularly like was John Price. The way he would make you pick up things, purely to look at your ass or walk past you a tad too close, giving your hip a squeeze. Ask inappropriate questions when nobody else was listening. Always walking along the line of what he could be doing without getting in actual trouble.
Apparently it was a part of his daily routine to be a proper dick to you and you let him get away with it more times than you should probably have. He behaves a bit better when his men were around but is a proper angel to you when Kate is in the room.
You hate him. He is annoying, inappropriate and, worst of all, hot.
Something something the final straw is when you ask for two days off because your friend invited you for a spa trip and you hadn’t had any days off in forever - hadn’t even been sick.
“What do I get in return, pet?” Leaning back, legs spread, touching that annoying beard of his. You really really want to go of that spa trip and you’re not in the mood to argue.
Instead you put the papers you’re holding down, look Price in the eye and take a fast decision. You slide off your underwear beneath your pencil skirt and straighten up - then holds up your thong with a finger, dangling it just out of his reach.
“This.”
Suddenly Captain Johnathan Price is not against the idea of letting you have two days off. In fact you get them almost immediately and he even promises not to call and bother you. You roll your eyes at his desperation but throw the thong on the desk and grab your papers, ignoring the pleasured groan leaving your boss.
I think Dick should've hallucinated Damian at least once. Bc we know Mr.Peak-Mental-Health has a history of hallucinating dead siblings that he feels guilt over their death for.
I have a bunch of head canons about how Damian's hallucination form differs from Jason's and I may ramble about it sooner or later bc I have NOTES.
“damn, your past lovers were a greedy men, aye!” johnny’s voice echoes through your flat.
he’s sitting at his desk in front of the fan, wearing nothing but his boxers. you’re sprawled out on the bed, lying on your stomach, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. just your panties and one of johnny’s old oversized military shirts hang off you. for the past few minutes, you’ve felt his eyes glued to your arse. it’s practically right in his line of sight, so you can’t exactly blame him.
you glance up at him, confused and already fed up with his nonsense. you’re used to his random comments, he says whatever pops into his head, no filter. and he knows you won’t really judge him for it, so he lets his thoughts run wild.
“what the fuck does that even mean?” you ask with a sigh, shaking your head.
you had been right, his eyes were locked on your arse, not even pretending to look away.
“well, you see, when i was waiting in line for coffee yesterday, there were these two women in front of me. really, i say women, but they were barely fourteen. i should’ve said girls,” he starts, already drifting from the main point. “so, these two girls, they were talking, right? waiting in line, of course they were talking. and i know you always tell me not to listen to other people’s conversations, but i couldn’t—”
most of the time, when his mind wandered like that, you just let him play in the background, white noise, until you heard a few keywords that meant he’d finally circled back to the point.
but right now, you’re stuck on what he said before. you’re confused, maybe a little humiliated. he hadn’t said it like an insult, it sounded casual, but still, why the hell was he talking about your past lovers?
“johnny,” you cut him off. “back to the main point. what was that about my past lover?” you snap, sharper than intended.
“yeah, sorry,” he says quickly, catching the edge in your voice. “they were talking about this theory, about beauty spots. how they’re the favorite places for your past lover to kiss you… you know, in another life and stuff? and well...”
his eyes drop again, landing on your arse, where six small, dark beauty marks scatter across the skin.
“oh,” you breathe out, feeling the heat rise to your face.
the shame bubbles up, not because you were wrong to feel thrown off, but because he hadn’t meant “past lover” in the way you thought. he wasn’t talking about before him, he meant before this life.
getting up from his chair, he kneels beside you on the bed, his eyes never leaving your arse. he doesn’t say anything, just starts grabbing at you like a kitten making bread. he kneads the skin so good, you let out a small, involuntary whine.
the way he looks at your body always amazes you. like he’s discovering it for the first time, every single time. you know johnny's a generous lover, always giving, rarely taking, and his filthy mouth never shuts up about how much he adores every inch of you.
“and you know, i was thinking…” he murmurs, slowly bending down to nip at the soft curve of your cheek. “with the way i leave teeth marks and hickeys on this pretty arse, maybe we were lovers in a past life.”
before you can respond, his mouth is back on your skin, his teeth nipping, his tongue soothing the sting. your phone slips from your hand, landing with a soft thud on the mattress as a moan escapes you.
it isn't even truly sexual, not yet. johnny just loves to worship you. he doesn’t need anything in return. he loves to kiss you, taste you, study your skin like it holds every answer he's ever wanted.
his mouth leaves your arse and begins its slow journey upward. his hands slide your shirt higher as his lips follow, until he reaches your neck. he pushes the shirt away from your shoulder and reconnects his lips with your skin a second later.
“isn’t it fucking romantic, bonnie?” he murmurs into your ear, already knowing you’re drifting into that soft, horny daze he loves. “you and me, we were always meant to be.”
he kisses a beauty spot on your neck. the one he always returns to. the one so often hidden beneath his teeth marks and hickeys, it barely has time to fade.
“you see, i fucking love this theory, baby,” he coos against your skin, laying his body over yours, grinding his now-hard cock against your arse.
“i was you lover in every fucking life you've ever lived. you've been mine since the dawn of time. always”
sum.: you see andrew for the first time in six years.
warnings: age gap (andrew is canon age, reader is in her late twenties), secret child trope, their son is 5ish, slight angst, mention of cath, brief mentions of sex, mentions of a dead mother, brief domestic violence (andrew grabs reader by the throat and slams her up against a door frame, i think that’s it??
notes: ahhhh this is just a very brief introduction to this next lil story i’m writing!!! i am super super excited!!! please let me know your thoughts!!! unedited. and as always, any feedback is extremely appreciated, it helps keep me motivated. especially reblogs/comments/asks!
wc: roughly 900
next
There's a sinking feeling in your stomach when someone knocking on your door catches your attention.
Three knocks. Firm. They echo loudly in your head.
You know exactly who it is without even having to go check.
Glancing lightly to your left, the curly haired boy is still slumped against your arm, sleeping soundly and drooling against your skin.
He knocks again, louder this time.
Sighing, you lightly shift around and lay him flat on the couch as you make your way to the door.
Your heart is pounding in your ears as you look at the door, and you can feel your blood rushing to your face. For a split second, you consider ignoring him. But you know better, you know Andrew. He'll break-in through the bedroom and just wait you out.
He looks different. Rougher around the edges. Older. Not that he wasn't already plenty older than you to begin with.
There's a look in his eyes that you were maybe all too familiar with once upon a time, but now, it makes a slight unease crawl up your spine.
"Hello." You aren't sure what else to say to him, and he doesn't respond. Just continues staring a hole through your head.
You shift uncomfortably on your feet, fighting the urge to glance back and make sure he's still sleeping.
He continues staring with a look in his eyes that you can't quite name before raising his eyebrows slightly, "Are you going to invite me in?"
You tense, and he notices, because of course he does, and you catch a certain look cross his face that you do know.
Fuck.
"I'm not sure that's a great idea right now,"
His head tilts slightly to the side, he's mocking you, "Oh? Why? Your little boyfriend here?"
You almost laugh at that, genuinely, "Excuse me?"
He just sighs and glances off to the side as he shrugs, "Don't know. You spouted a lota bullshit about waiting for me. Lots of crying and shit during your first visit. Then what? You never visit again? No phone call. Not even a fucking letter? Better yet, returning every single one I wrote you? Then I get out and you’re just fucking gone?"
He's pissed. And you guess justifiably so. But honestly, you aren't sure if you care.
"I meant it, at the time." And you did. Genuinely.
He scoffs, "At the fucking time?"
You nod, gnawing your bottom lip between your teeth.
"Then tell me, what changed between you visiting me, and what was supposed to be your next visit a month later?"
A positive pregnancy test.
"The letter you sent me. I think you got the envelopes mixed up."
His brows are furrowed, and you can see a slight confusion in his eyes.
You sigh, rolling your eyes in irritation, "The letter you sent me was addressed to Catherine."
The confusion leaves, and shock replaces it, and before he can give you some bullshit explanation, you speak, "After that, waiting for you felt like a waste of my time. So I moved in with my dad for a little bit."
He flinches at the harshness of your words, and part of you feels bad, but then you remember how hurt you felt when you read the words he wrote to Catherine. The intimacy in his words, the way he talked about how you were just a distraction, the next best thing he could have if he couldn't have her.
"Then why did you move back?" He's guarded now, and you don't know if you'd rather him tell you how he really feels or this.
"My mom died," You glance away, a sharpness in your throat as you say it out loud, "I'm handling her estate stuff and then I'm going back to Connecticut."
Andrew doesn't say anything, just stares.
You break first, looking away, "If you aren't gonna say anything, can you just leave?"
He scoffs, loudly, "You have no idea what you think you read in that letter to Cath,"
You're glaring now, "Is that a sick joke?"
He opens his mouth to respond, but you hold your hand up to silence him, "I don't want to fucking hear it. Are you just here because you think I'm fucking someone else? You're getting all possessive and shit now?"
You step closer to him, glaring up at him, "You think I haven't fucked other guys in the past six years? Huh?"
He reacts before you can blink, grabbing you by the neck and slamming you into the side of the door, causing you to flinch.
He breathing heavy right next to your face, gritting his teeth, "Don't you fucking dare talk to me about that kind of shit."
Tears well up in your eyes as you look into his, his nostrils flaring in anger at the thought of someone else having their hands on you.
Your hands are shaky as you reach up to grip his bicep, "Andrew," it's barely a whisper, "let me go."
His eyes close, hand around your throat flexing as he takes a deep breath before you lets you go.
When he opens his eyes, the two of you stare at each other for a few minutes, though it feels like hours. You don't speak, not even sure what you would say at this point, and he doesn't speak, because words have never been Andrew's strongest suit.
Finally, you open your mouth, unsure of what you'll say, willing yourself to gather the courage to tell him to get the fuck away from you, but nothing comes out.
Instead, your interrupted by a small voice that had your stomach filling with lead.
"Mommy?"
An anxious breath leaves you as you watch Andrew tense at the word as he moves slightly so he can glance over and see who exactly interrupted the two of you, already knowing he's looking at a smaller version of himself dressed in spider-man pajamas.
