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ahtsumu · 4 years ago

Text

long shots ; miya osamu

pairing: miya osamu x f!reader

synopsis: miya osamu is the teacher’s assistant for food chemistry i. you can’t stop thinking about him.

tag(s): college!au, slow burn, TA!miya osamu, grad student!reader, fluff, reader is a go-getter!! ; warning(s): profanity, suggestive themes, talk of insecurities and imposter syndrome ; wc: 5.6k

a/n: happy birthday to @starrysamu! i love u. pls excuse any errors. i’ll weed them out later! btw this fic is not a sugar daddy au LOL

HIS NAME IS Miya Osamu and he always looks like he has it all figured out. Comes in every class with his black hair perfectly tousled, the sleeves of his dark button-up rolled to his elbows, a cup of coffee in one hand and the strap of that black messenger bag in another.

“He drives a BMW, did ya know?” Isla says in your ear one morning. Your only friend in Food Chemistry I gives you a pointed look before sitting back in her chair in the lecture hall with a smirk on her face. “Saw it this morning. Bet he’s loaded.” The two of you watch the subject in question walk across the classroom and settle in his seat at the table in the corner.

“Shut up,” you whisper with wide eyes. A grin–– far from innocent–– makes its way onto your face. “Imagine being Miya Osamu’s sugar baby.”

“He’s not old enough to be a sugar daddy.” Isla looks at her nails disinterestedly. “And that’s too many AUs in one. He’s already the TA, for god’s sake. This isn’t some shitty Wattpad novel.”

A light giggle slips out of your lips. “I can see the title already. My Sugar Daddy is the TA?!”

Now, if anyone had been listening in on your conversation, they would’ve assumed many things about you. The first being that you’re both gold-diggers. This is untrue–– at least, in your case. Isla, you’re not so sure about, given how your friendship only goes back about one month. But she tags you in memes on Instagram so maybe it’s as real as real gets. Their second assumption would be that you have a big fat crush on your TA. That one’s complicated, mostly because it’s true, but only kinda. It all started in the second week of school when Isla caught you staring at Osamu and slipped you a post-it note with both your initials encircled in a heart. And, because you’re shameless with a good sense of humour, you made a show of kissing it while she was looking. And thus began your meaningless but incredibly entertaining, satirical, co-written fantasy about Miya Osamu.

It also didn’t help that on the first essay you got back, Isla’s paper had been marked up with “are you sure?”s and “this is a jump”s, while yours had “excellent reasoning” and “insightful analysis”. You’d even gotten a little comment at the bottom: y/n, fantastic work. you should speak up in class more often. –– OM

But Miya Osamu doesn’t play favourites because the next week you’d gotten another essay back, this time with another comment at the bottom: y/n, not your best work. you could’ve done better by connecting your first paragraph with the second using grant’s reading. conclusion lacked punch, too. all the best. –– OM

Every time you’d read the words scrawled in blue ink, you’d felt a pair of eyes on you. But you chalk it up to Osamu being a careful grader. A good TA. Someone who cares about his students.

Isla calls bullshit on that. You’re not really sure how to feel about her stance.

The classroom door opens and shuts again. You don’t have to look at your phone to know that it’s nine on the dot. Instead, you and Isla straighten your backs, pull out your notebooks, and focus. Your no-nonsense professor says “good morning” in her usual perky manner before jumping right into her keynote presentation.

“Did you all find the reading okay?” Professor Lee asks an hour into the lecture.

A chorus of “yes”s fill the air. You bite your lip, wondering if revealing that you didn’t understand shit will out you as the class idiot. Or maybe your silence is telling enough–– maybe the people in the seats beside you have noticed the grimace on your face and are having thoughts like ‘gee whiz, am I glad I’m not dumb like her’. Heat rushes to your cheeks. Sometimes you really wonder if you’re smart enough to be here. Occurrences like these do nothing to dispel your insecurities.

You vaguely hear her ask something like, “Any thoughts about the reading?” It’s not that you’re actually dumb. It’s just that this class is ridiculously hard for an introductory course, even for a graduate programme. From the start of the semester til now, fifteen people have dropped the class. There’s just twenty of you left. Guess a ridiculously hot TA can’t save a course’s drop-rate.

Before you can make your mind up on what to say, your professor moves on from her question.

As you look off to the side of the room for a break from your thoughts, you find a pair of blue-grey eyes pointed in your direction.

Everything about you, from the expression on your face to the way your muscles tense, makes you look like a deer caught in headlights–– even though he was the one caught staring in the first place. So maybe your shamelessness works on a scale.

Miya Osamu lifts one corner of his mouth.

And as if the exchange hadn’t happened at all, he looks back down at his laptop and continues typing.

The rest of the lecture goes through one ear and out the other.

“Everyone, I believe Osamu has something he wants to say,” Professor Lee says as everyone begins packing their bags.

The raven-haired TA slides out of his seat and sits on top of his desk. “Yeah.” Osamu clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. You notice how the muscles in his arms bulge from the movement.

“Whipped,” Isla mutters, grinning mischievously.

“Him for me,” you whisper back, though your eyes do travel back to his face where they should’ve been all along. Osamu catches your gaze and holds it. And then he looks away again.

“Now, I know you’re all Nobel prizewinners in the making,” he begins, garnering a round of snickers and giggles from your classmates. Most people say that cliques dissolve in college. That there’s no such thing as popularity amongst graduate students. That much, you agree with. But no one ever said anything about popular teacher’s assistants. Especially smart, attractive, witty teacher’s assistants like Miya Osamu. “But in case you didn’t understand the reading or would like to develop a deeper understanding of it, don’t hesitate to email me. I’ll try to host a review session all of us can attend.”

Professor Lee smiles appreciatively at Osamu, adding, “That’s a wonderful idea, Osamu. Guys, please take this opportunity if you struggled with the reading. I know eighty pages is a lot, but our next three classes are structured around the concepts in the reading and the mid-term next week will almost exclusively be about it, too.”

Well, shit.

To: [email protected]

Hi Osamu,

I was wondering if I could get some help with the reading from last class. To be frank, I couldn’t make it past page 15 and I’m lost like a snot-faced five-year-old in a shopping mall on Black Friday. Sorry. Thanks in advance!

Regretfully,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: [email protected]

no problem. is 5 pm tomorrow at jack’s okay? we start on the concepts from the reading next class so i want to get you up to speed asap. let me know. thanks.

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

It’s five minutes to five when you pull into the parking lot of Jack’s Diner. The shiny, retrofuturistic eatery is a university favourite but the empty parking lot tells you it’s completely deserted right now (and rightfully so–– who eats dinner before six?). The black BMW parked a few spots from your car, however, says that you’re not alone.

Osamu’s figure comes into view as you reach for the handle to the front door of Jack’s. The twenty-six-year-old sits by himself at one of the bright red tables in the back, typing away on his dark grey laptop.

His head lifts up at the sound of the opening door. Osamu calls out your name and waves you over.

“Hi,” you greet with a smile, sitting down across from him.

“Hey.”

You look around before leaning forward on the table. “Is anyone else coming?”

“No.” Osamu sits back in his seat. “I thought about hosting one big group, but then I realised that it’d probably be stressful for the staff here.” He nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. “And I had a hunch that everyone would have different questions. Forcing everyone to review concepts they already know is a waste of time.”

At first, you nod. That makes sense. But then you furrow your brows. “So how long have you been here?”

Osamu blinks. He hadn’t expected you to ask about him. “Hmm? Oh.” He taps his phone to check the time. “Just a while.”

Quirking a brow, you ask, “And how long is ‘a while’ to you?”

“Seven hours,” he admits, chuckling lightly when he sees your jaw drop. “A lot of people had questions. They just don’t act like they do. Anyway, time flies. Really, it does.” Quickly, he clears his throat and sits forward. “So, about your email.” He grins. “Not sure if you meant it to be funny, but it was.”

“I’m glad my distress was entertaining for you. Do you TA just to watch grad students suffer?”

“Perks of the job,” Osamu says. His grin widens when you giggle. He’s never heard you laugh before and he realises at that moment that it’s really nice. And then that same grin falters. Gracefully, of course, and imperceptibly to you. But not to him. Is it okay for him to be… thinking things like that? About a student? But you’re not really his student since he’s just the TA. Right? Osamu ignores the weird feeling that comes over him and clasps his hands together at the edge of his laptop. “Back to your email. Can ya tell me what you’re confused about?”

Three hours and two Impossible Burgers later, you suddenly understand everything about food molecules so well that you wonder why you’d even been confused in the first place. But besides that, you’ve also picked up things about Osamu. As a person and not an idea. Not that you’d been actively searching for fun facts about your TA. But they’d stuck to your brain like gum at the bottom of a desk. He likes to slip sarcastic quips into a conversation every now and then. Eats burgers upside down (“The right way,” as he’d said, smirking). Is friendlier than he looks.

“You’re really good at explaining things,” you comment as Osamu shuts his laptop closed.

“Well, I kinda have to be,” he says. And maybe it’s the mental fatigue catching up on him or the fact that he’s real fond of the reason why he can break big concepts down into morsels but suddenly, the rest of his thoughts spill out his mouth like wine. “I have a twin brother with potato salad for brains.”

“Oh?”

And before he can stop himself, he tells you about Miya Atsumu, the pro-athlete you’ve definitely heard of but never gave too much thought. And then you hold onto the fact that they were both on the volleyball team and you ask of which school, so then he tells you about Inarizaki, the high school he attended, and then his decision not to go pro to go to college, and then––

“Sorry,” he laughs, cheeks turning pink. “You probably didn’t need to hear all that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say–– and you mean it. “Your life is interesting.”

Osamu leans back in his chair. “Well, I’m sure yours is, too.” He holds your gaze like it’s the key to your presence. It’s an invitation. The kind that comes from people who don’t really know if they want you around but also don’t want you gone.

You take it.

Osamu shouldn’t–– he really shouldn’t–– but he wonders about the things you didn’t tell him the entire drive home.

Isla laughs when you tell her about what happened at Jack’s. You lay in bed with your phone next to you on speaker, your face turned on your pillow so that you’re staring out the window at the city below.

“He wants you,” she sings.

“Or he was just being nice.”

“Methinks not!” Isla giggles. “He’s intrigued, girl! You’re like that cute little new mystery in his life and he just wants to get to know you.”

“I think he was just being polite.”

“Or he’s crushing on you!”

“In your dreams.”

“You mean yours? Boo, you’re no fun today. Usually, you go along with the jokes.” Isla’s tone is playful on the surface but full of implications.

A few silent seconds pass. Yeah, you think, agreeing. I do.

“Girl,” Isla drags out the word in a high pitch, saying it like a scientist says ‘eureka’. “You’re not playing along anymore because it’s real now. You're actually catching feelings!”

“Am not!” you laugh.

“The Y/N I knew would’ve said ‘nah, bitch, he’s catching feelings’ and I think that says all there is to say.”

“Okay, I think he’s cute but it’s not a crush,” you concede, grinning. “And he’s the TA, Isles. It’d never happen.”

“Not while he’s still a TA in a class you take.”

“Isla.”

“Ask him out once this semester ends! Unless you’re chicken.”

“I’m not asking him out.”

“Knew you were––”

“Have you seen me? He’s asking me out.”

Miya Osamu walks through the door at eight-fifty as usual that next morning, dressed in his usual button-up, holding his usual cup of coffee. But this time, as the rest of his tall frame passes through the doorway, Osamu’s eyes subtly scan the faces in the lecture hall, lingering for just a while over yours. The corners of your lips turn up. You hope he saw that.

“Bitch!” Isla whisper-screams. The students sitting around you turn around at the noise and grin at each other when they realise it’s just Isla being… well, Isla. She shoos them away jokingly.

“What?” you whisper back.

“Care to explain why our TA was literally eye-fucking you?”

“That was hardly eye-fucking,” you retort. “Maybe like an eye-handshake.”

“Yeah, a naked eye-handshake where his thang is handshaking your––”

He does it again the next class.

And the next.

And then he doesn’t. Miya Osamu walks through the door to Food Chemistry I at eight-fifty in the morning in a navy blue button-up with a cup of coffee in his hand and looks through the rows of seats in the lecture hall for your face, only to find it missing.

He debates pressing the matter.

To: [email protected]

hey osamu,

i wasn’t in class today because i’ve been sick with the flu (no big deal, just feel like i’m dying). a classmate sent me pictures of the slides from today so i think i should be fine, but is it okay if i email you with any questions? thank you very much!

miserably,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: [email protected]

y/n,

of course. sorry to hear that you’re sick. let me know if i can do anything to help you. the midterm is next week. get well soon.

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

“You writing that the midterm is next week did not offer me any peace of mind, by the way,” you say, spinning around in your chair as Miya Osamu enters your pod in the library.

He offers you a wry grin. “Hello to ya, too.”

“Was that an accent?” You thought you’d heard one at Jack’s, but you couldn’t be sure because it’d been so spotty.

Osamu slips into the seat beside yours and pulls out the laptop in his messenger bag. You catch a whiff of his cologne–– something spicy and woody, but clean. It suits him. “Nice catch. Yeah, I speak a regional dialect. Took me a while to smooth it over but it still resurfaces every now and then.”

“Why?”

“It just didn’t seem fitting for a PhD candidate, I guess,” Osamu explains, opening the slides from the class you missed. A day after your initial exchange, you’d emailed him again (with a much clearer mind) and asked if he could go over the slides with you in person.

i literally feel like i’ve been given the homework from russian lit, you’d written. except the russian has been translated to hieroglyphs and my task is to choreograph an interpretive dance based on the hieroglyphs.

Osamu had snickered when he saw your email. that doesn’t even make sense. must be the fever talking, he’d been tempted to write. But that strange feeling had come over him again, the one that’d screamed at him to keep it professional, goddamnit, so he’d played it safe instead and sent is eight pm at the main library okay? He hates that you’re getting a watered-down version of his personality. Osamu swears he’s a lot more interesting when he’s not, well, a TA.

“I think it’s fine,” you say, smiling. “I like it. It’s you.” And suddenly, you’re wondering if it’s okay to be complimenting your TA. If it’s okay to say that you like things about him, or if that crosses some grey, unclear line. Is it weird to treat your TAs like they’re your friends? It’s not like TAs are real teachers. Right?

A grin–– wide and genuine and almost excited–– grows on Osamu’s face. He rubs the back of his neck as his eyes flit over to the laptop screen. “Thanks. Really.”

You nod. But you feel like there’s more that he might want to say, so you wait.

“I got a lot of shit for it when I came here for my master’s, y’know. Not to my face, of course, but people would refer to me as ‘the guy with the accent’. A professor once said it made me seem crass. Said it’d hold me back in my career.”

“So you changed.”

“Adapted,” Osamu corrects. “It’s hard to admit but conforming is sometimes all you can do when you don’t have the power to change the system. Can’t really make everyone suddenly respect a dialect.”

“And after you’re finished with your PhD, you’ll go back to speaking in that dialect?”

Osamu looks out the window and smiles, probably imagining the plans he’s already made about the future. “Yeah.”

“What if you have to speak the standard language at your job? Like, your boss is all, ‘hey man, if you don’t speak––”’

“I’ll be the boss.”

“Oh?”

And with a little more prodding, Miya Osamu tells you about the restaurant chain he plans on opening after graduation, the slides about food additives left completely untouched.

The librarian knocks on your pod a few minutes before eleven to tell you they’re closing.

“Shit,” Osamu murmurs, running his hands through his hair. You’re still laughing about something he’d said before the librarian interrupted him–– one of his stories from high school–– and he thinks that you’ve completely forgotten that the reason you came to the library was to catch up on the material you were already behind on. And now you’re behind on that. But you look so carefree right now and, actually, you’re very pretty and you’ve got such a good heart and it’s a lot for him to process but he knows he just wants to see you happy a while longer. So Osamu just slumps back in his chair and laughs along with you.

He says your name as his chuckles grow softer. “It’s pretty late. How’re you getting home?”

“I’ve a bike,” you reply. It’s good for the environment and is a pretty solid form of exercise if you do say so yourself. Sometimes you just don’t feel like driving.

Osamu presses his lips in a thin line. Would it be too much to offer you a ride? “I can drive you home. It’s really not safe for you to be alone outside, especially near midnight. You can get your bike tomorrow. Or I’ll get it for you.”

He drives fast. Not the unsafe fast that speed demons drive at, but the kind of fast where you know he’s got some edge to his character. You bring it up to him–– especially since it’s nighttime, for god’s sake, he could hit something–– and all he does is remind you how there are lamps as bright as the sun lining the entire road to your dorm. And the fact that you live in the least accessible dorm on campus.

“A twenty-minute drive?” he’d exclaimed when he saw the GPS monitor.

“A bunch of roads are closed for construction. It’s a ten-minute bike-ride because I can cut through campus.” And suddenly feeling a little burdensome, you’d added, “Sorry. I can still bike––”

“No.” He’d held his hand out in front of you, gesturing for you to stay in the passenger’s seat. “It’s not a bother at all.” Because it wasn’t. Osamu was… happy. Not that he’d admit that.

“So this BMW,” you start in a teasing tone.

Osamu smirks. “A gift.”

“Can I guess from who?”

“Sure.”

“Atsumu.”

His brows rise. “Colour me impressed.” He hadn’t expected you to remember anything he’d said about Atsumu. Or maybe he had but told himself otherwise to lower his hopes.

“I’m smart like that.”

He snorts. “Not if you keep distracting me and using your review time to…” hang out with me, get to know me, tell me things about you… “…goof off.”

You grimace. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Osamu makes a turn down a familiar street. It dawns upon you that you're ten minutes away from your dorm and suddenly you wish he’d just make the wrong turn at the next intersection so that you could talk to him some more. It can even be about the health benefits of fish or the molecular makeup of kale–– you don’t mind. You just want to be around him longer.

“I think you’re really smart,” Osamu says quietly. “I think you’re not processing the readings because you’re distracted, or just not fully applying yourself. Obviously, last class’s slides are a different thing, since you were absent. But you really are smart. I’ve seen your papers.”

You bite your lip to hide your grin, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “Thank you.” You look out the window, too jacked on dopamine to think straight. “I think I still need you, though.”

And that innocuous little sentence floats right out your mouth into the air, settling between you like a little wedge before either of you even realise it. Neither of you says anything. You marinate in the awkwardness before stuttering out a clarification. “To, um, to explain things. Y’know, since you’re, uh, so good at… explaining things.”

Osamu clears his throat and chuckles stiffly. There’s a slightly pink tinge to his cheeks. “Thanks,” he says, looking straight ahead. He can’t even look at you. Fuck. It’s so awkward. “I’ll try to keep… explaining things.” Fuck. What does that even mean?

A few uncomfortable minutes pass in silence. The night can’t end like this, you think. It can’t when everything else had gone so well. You still have to see him for a few more months. “Did you know,” you start, catching Osamu’s attention, “that Jack’s Diner has a location in Italy?”

“Oh?” he asks, making the final turn to the street where your dorm is. He actually hadn’t.

“Yeah. I asked the owner about the chain a while back. Have you ever been to Italy?”

Osamu shakes his head. “I’ve been to Paris, though. To see a friend. He’s a chocolatier.”

Now, if Osamu had been your friend, you would’ve said something like well, let’s go to Italy together, except he’s not. He’s your TA and you’ve been reminded that enough tonight. So instead, you say, “When you open that restaurant of yours in Italy, let me know.”

“That’s gonna take a while,” he laughs. He appreciates how you said ‘when’, though. And he tucks that little bit of confidence you have in him somewhere deep in his mind so that it doesn’t get lost.

“Isn’t that just seven hours?” you shrug, grinning. Osamu’s BMW pulls up outside your dorm and parks as he marvels at what you just said. You’re amazing. You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face your driver.

“Thank you for driving me,” you say, offering him a smile.

“Yeah,” he replies.

You stretch out your hand. With a puzzled look on his face, Osamu grabs it and shakes it. Firmly. You can’t help but notice how nice his hands are. Calloused for sure, but they feel nice.

“Goodnight, Osamu.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watches you jog into the building before driving away. And it’s like you’ve possessed his car or something because the smell of your shampoo and perfume is everywhere and it’s too much but it’s also not enough at the same time and he can feel your palm against his as he spins the steering wheel to make a turn and for the first time in his life he doesn’t turn on the radio to fill the silence in his car. Osamu replays everything you said in his head.

But he especially thinks about that part where you said you need him.

Weeks melt into months. You turn in essays after essays for Food Chemistry I, each coming back with detailed commentary in an all-too-familiar blue scrawl. All your other classes go well–– extremely well, actually. You might just end the semester with a 4.0 if Food Chem doesn’t fuck you over. Isla still tags you in memes on Instagram. You still tell her about everything that happens with Osamu.

Speaking of.

“That’s the wrong equation,” he says behind your ear as he settles in the seat beside you. The sound of his low voice so close to your ear sends a small shiver down your spine. “You gotta switch the hydrogens.” Osamu knocks on your skull lightly. “What’s goin’ on up in there? Ya got somethin’ on your mind?”

You laugh and elbow him in the side. “Shut up, ‘Samu.” He’d told you during one of his office hours that he’d gone by that nickname because he had a teammate with a foreign name in high school. It sounded so cool, he’d said, grinning.

I think Osamu sounds pretty cool already, you’d teased.

And he’d replied, Let’s trade. I like yours, you like mine, why not share?

You teeter on the line between friends and less-than-friends and, oddly enough, more-than-friends. Sometimes you still play it safe. Sometimes he pauses between texts and real-time conversations, no doubt to scrap an instinctive reply for something more “professional”. Sometimes you say things that make him look at you with the ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips. Sometimes he calls Atsumu to scream about you.

“S’not a no,” Osamu points out. He’s dressed in a black sweater and grey trousers today. You’re suddenly reminded of how the weather’s been getting colder when someone opens the door to the university café and lets in a gust of chilly autumn air.

“Okay,” you admit, setting down the pencil. “I just… don’t really feel prepared for this next test.”

Osamu frowns and looks down at your worksheet. “Your process is correct, though.”

“Right, but… I don’t know. I’ve just not been feeling great about myself lately,” you laugh, looking down at your feet. “Food Chem’s the toughest class I’ve ever taken. And remember how I completely embarrassed myself in that class discussion last week? It’s not really making me feel like I belong here.”

“Imposter syndrome,” Osamu remarks.

“Correct-o.”

He says your name softly and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Maybe you’re not the smartest, but you’re definitely smart. And you belong here. I’ve seen your papers. They’re just as great as anyone else’s and I don’t hand out compliments for nothin’. You’re gonna do some great things but ya can’t improve if you ever give up.” Osamu searches your eyes for a sign of your understanding.

There’re a lot of things you want to say but you don’t know how to put them into words. “Can I hug you?” you finally ask.

Osamu doesn’t even think about it. “Of course.”

He feels you smile against his chest and wonders if you can feel his heart beat faster.

Isla camps out in your dorm as finals come around the corner.

“I don’t understand shit!” she wails, throwing her notebook into the air.

“Isles, it’s okay,” you laugh, slipping out of your chair and walking over to her nest in the corner. “You gotta chill, dude.”

“Not fair! I didn’t have a hunk holding my hand through this course all semester,” she retorts, humour glittering in her dark eyes. “I had the Organic Chemistry Tutor and his accent’s cute enough but, girl, you had Miya Fucking Osamu!”

“You’re literally the worst.” You giggle and sit down beside her. “Tell me what you’re confused about. I’ll try to explain it to you.” The way Osamu does.

You text him that you’d channelled his brains later that night.

His reply comes seconds later. all you, einstein.

From: osamu

good luck on the exam

you’re going to kill it

To: osamu

would u like to divulge any… information about it? 😏 😏 😏

From: osamu

bye

To: osamu

i was kidding :(

From: osamu

fine. tip #1: write your name

To: osamu

not very helpful. 0/10

From: osamu

keep running your mouth and 0/10 is what your score’s going to be

i’m kidding

you got this, y/n

“Holy fuck,” Isla groans as you cross the street to head to lunch at Jack’s. “If you don’t see me next semester it’s because I’ve gotten my grade back and decided to drop out.”

“What would you do?” you ask, amused.

“Maybe move to New Zealand. Raise some sheep. Marry a hot, blond shepherd and fuck off to a cliffside cottage.”

“Solid plan.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“Remember that conversation we had at the start of the year? About your man?” The two of you reach another red light for pedestrians.

“We’re friends. He’s not my man,” you laugh. Though it pains you to. Something about being Miya Osamu’s friend doesn’t really sit right with you, but you don’t know how to not be his friend. You don’t know how to move out of the corner you’ve backed yourself into.

“But you wish he were! And now you can finally hit him with that ‘Hey, Osamu, I’ve been madly in love with you since the start of the semester, wanna fuck like rabbits and then open that store in Italy?’ and he’ll be all––”

A throat clears behind you. With wide eyes, the two of you turn around.

Holy fuck.

Miya Osamu stands behind you with his hands in his pockets and an enormous smirk on his face.

“He’ll be all what?” he asks, eyes fixed on you.

Isla murmurs an excuse and starts walking on her own to Jack’s.

“Um.” You swallow nervously and shrink in your coat. “You heard all of that, right?”

“Yep.” Osamu grins. He grins. He’s grinning. He’s smiling like he’s won the fucking lottery and you honestly don’t know what to do with that information.

“So, like,” you look down at the sidewalk and kick at a pebble, “what are your thoughts about that?” God, you could die. “‘Cause I know you’re a TA and it’d probably look pretty bad and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you because I like you and it’s cool if we just…”

Osamu interrupts you with a laugh. “My thoughts,” he says, “are that I want to kiss you.” His fingers lift your chin up. “What are your thoughts about that?”

Well, shit. “I think that’s pretty cool, yeah,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering shut as his face comes closer to yours.

He tastes like mint. And his lips move softly, slowly against yours like he’s savouring the moment. And then you feel his hands snake around your waist to pull you closer–– closer because you both are tired of forcing the distance between bodies that want to be near each other, closer because he’s thought about kissing you just like this for so long, closer because you remember the last time he’d touched you was three days ago and it was just a brush of his fingers against your arm and that feeling of wanting more haunted you for the entire night. But holy shit, Miya Osamu is kissing you. He’s kissing you.

And then he pulls away. His dark eyes flit over yours. “I,” he breathes, “I need your course load next semester.”

“What?” you ask, disbelief written all over your features, chest rising and falling as you try to steady your breathing. You just kissed, for God's sake, and he's––

“I need to know which courses not to apply to TA for,” he grins, cupping your face in his hands. “Can’t be teachin’ in a class with my girlfriend as a student.”

“So we’re official?” you ask, beaming.

“If you want,” Osamu replies with a smirk.

You grab the front of his coat and tug him down for another kiss. “Hell yeah, I want to be official.”

#miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu scenarios #miya osamu imagines

1K notes · View notes

stressedoutcanary · 3 years ago

Text

Do You Ever Feel Like A Misfit (Everything Inside You Is Dark & Twisted)

Dick Grayson x Reader

Word Count: 3.5K (I don't know how tf that happened)

Warnings: Explicit language, Blood and Violence, lots of angst, Hurt/Comfort ✌

A/N: Guess who's back! Just for some context the reader is a magic user and her style is similar to that of Zatanna <3

•°•°•°•°

She’d have reasoned with herself that stealing from one of the most secure and heavily guarded safe-houses of a deranged sociopath was probably not the brightest idea she’s had all day. It never even made it on her to-do-list for the weekend, but here she was, running across rooftops, holding on to the stolen totem like her life depended on it, it probably did. The three assassins sent after her were no Lady Shiva or Talia Al Ghul but they weren’t exactly amateurs either. The deep cuts and two broken ribs she got from their earlier encounter were proof of that.

She glanced back and even though there was no sign of her would-be-killers she knew better than to assume they’d just let her be. They were sticking to the shadows, exploiting her blind spots. The only thing she was sure of was that they were still hot on her trail and would happily plunge a dagger into her back given the opportunity.

She was right. As of this moment she hated being right.

She caught the glint of the two sharp objects slicing through the air, hurtling towards her at full speed. A slight shift of her upper body was all she could manage as one of the daggers got embedded right into her scapula while the other one, fortunately so, whirled past her, slightly grazing her left hip. The impact of the blade on her shoulder made her lose what little balance she had left. Despite her best efforts, when the wounded shoulder made contact with the hard concrete, a loud, ear-piercing cry ripped out from her throat before she could push it back down.

Cursing under her breath she knew, she knew all she had were those few seconds of numbness and disorientation to get a grip and figure out her exit strategy. However, all her hopes started to sink as she saw one of the assassins come closer, appearing more of a blur than a person. Then again that was probably because of the nice, little concussion she got from her fall. The assassin walked over to her, unsheathed their sword and placed it right on her neck, blocking any and every way out.

“You were warned. The Demon’s Head does not tolerate treachery. We are here under his orders to bring back the totem along with the witch’s head; your head”

If she could, she would’ve rolled her eyes at the classic villainous dialogues thrown at her.

“Witch? Who’re you calling a witch Snow White? I’m clearly a sorceress, don’t they teach you the difference between the two in assassin school or something? Hell, I’d even let you call me an enchantress, though that name’s already been taken but you get my poin-”

The remaining words died in her throat as the sword on her neck shifted slightly. She knew she had extremely poor self preservation skills considering she’s clearly been instigating the very person sent to kill her, but even she wasn’t dumb enough to keep talking when the tiniest movement on either part could result in her having a severed jugular or carotid.

‘This is a pretty shitty way to die’

She thought back to how she used the last of her mystic energy to hide the totem away before her fall and how stupid that decision really was because now she could actually feel the agonizing pain coming from her shoulder. It started to spread throughout her back like wildfire, eyelids grew heavy against her wishes. Suddenly she felt really tired and the idea to close her eyes just felt so goddamn appealing.

‘No (Y/N) that’s the blood loss talking. Blood loss doesn’t get to make decisions’, she mentally scolded herself, still not breaking her eye contact with the person standing above her.

“Give us what you stole and we shall grant you the mercy of a quick death.”

That made her raise an eyebrow, “Ah, lemme think...the correct response here would be…”, she hummed, making a show of how hard she was thinking about the offer she was granted, “How about a fuck you? How would that do for you?”, she gave them a vicious grin, it was all teeth. They probably weren’t impressed by her response and it showed.

She knew there was no way out but she had promised herself once that if she were to die, that if she ever goes out, she’d be anything but a whimpering and sobbing mess. She was scared shitless, more so than she’d ever been while fending off the league, she won’t deny that but she would rather die than let them know that. ‘Well at least I got that ‘rather die’ part down to a T.’ she thought, eyeing the sharpness of the blade which was now raised up in the air

She felt bad for just giving up the way she did. Her whole life she was told to fight her way through the impossible, to attain the strength rivaling that of Zatanna Zatara, John Constantine and Doctor Fate himself. To be better than them, and there she was lying on the ground limp as a sword came down on her throat; all for a silly necklace. She would’ve huffed out a laugh if only her ribs weren’t broken, if only her body wasn’t screaming in pain, if only she had a way out. She didn’t. She was too tired, too drained, too numb to do anything else. Closing her eyes she stopped fighting, she let her growing unconsciousness claim her.

‘This is what you deserve anyway’, her barely there conscience remarked.

‘Fuck you too.’ she replied.

Everything went pitch black. The darkness encompassing her was peaceful, unlike the pain she had felt before. It was nice for a change. It sounded pathetic but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

•°•°

When she came to, the first thing she observed was the feeling of something soft against her back, next was a dull rhythmic sound which she realized was her own heartbeat. Though opening her eyes was a tiring task. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. She used all the energy she had into it and her eyelids fluttered open. She stared at the white ceiling and stayed like that for a few seconds; a few minutes? She couldn’t tell, but the pain was back now, not too much but enough to tell her it was there, to tell she was still alive.

She saw something shift in her peripheral vision and her body instinctively went stiff. Her mind which was blank before now ran in all directions.

‘Could be Ra’s Al Ghul… Could be worse’, she tried not to think about the worst case scenario, but she knew she had pissed off a lot of beings, beings far more powerful and far crueler than Ra’s himself. An involuntary shudder passed through her at the thought. That must’ve caught her captor’s attention as she felt the person move closer to her. Begrudgingly, she tore her gaze from the spot on the ceiling which she had been staring at this whole time and tilted her head. The man in black and blue who appeared, was probably the last person she had expected to see.

“Nightwing…”

Her voice was barely above a whisper and the hoarseness with which it came out it took her by surprise, but her body visibly relaxed at the sight of the familiar figure, at the sight of someone who would never hurt her.

She watched him pull out a chair from the desk nearby. He sat next to the bed she was lying on and gave her a soft smile, a smile that spelled one word ‘relieve’. She remembered how when she first met him two years ago, she found that particular smile extremely annoying, she had no reason to, but she did. What she couldn’t remember was when she had grown so fond of it.

“How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

He snorted a laugh which made her pout. She was planning to point out how he was being mean; laughing at her when her response truly defined the way she was feeling, but any words she thought of were cut off by the change in his expression. His smile faltered, lips were now pressed in a thin line, face contorted in a way which showed his genuine concern.

“This is the second time, this week.”

That you almost died, he didn’t say. That I had to save you and bring you back from the clutches of death, he didn’t say.

“I know.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“I know.”

The silence that settled, stretched far too long for comfort, but she wasn’t going to be the one to break it. She wanted to, but there was nothing she could say, that would make it better. Nightwing ran his fingers through the locks of hair, burying his face in his hands.

For the first time since she woke up, she took in his appearance, he looked disheveled, his suit was torn in different places along visible faint cuts, most likely he got them when he rescued her. She felt a pang of guilt rising in her chest. He risked his life for her, she knew he had done it before, she didn’t get it then and she didn’t get it now. Why would someone do that? Why would he? She was pulled back from her spiraling thoughts when he spoke again, exhaustion evident in his voice.

“Why are you so reckless?”

“Excuse me?”

She looked at him like he had grown another head. She wasn’t ready for this conversation but by the looks of it they were gonna have it anyway.

“What if I hadn’t been there today? Or any of the other days you almost died. What then?”

“My best guess? I would’ve been dead.”

“And that fact doesn’t bother you at all?!”

She flinched at little when his voice rose, but she stood her ground, at least figuratively since she was still in bed.

“I don’t know, should it?” She didn’t try and tone down the venom dripping from her words. Her words cut deeper than the wounds he got from the assassins; she saw it clear as day on his face. She let out a deep sigh but continued. She had to get it out and he had to hear it, that’s the reason she gave herself for the confession that followed.

“I don’t need your help, Dick. I don’t know what gave you the impression that I did but I’ve never needed it.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Why was it getting harder to speak?’ “I don’t need you to save me every time. I don’t need you to risk your life for me and I definitely don’t…” She moved to sit up straight, her back resting on the headboard. She shifted her gaze on her open palms resting in her lap; palms covered in blood, in her blood, not very long ago.

“I don’t need you to care...”

The last part was a whisper and Dick was silent, so silent that for a brief moment she wondered if the man she’d come to care about even heard her, admitting something that was so painful for her to say out loud.

Dick moved to sit beside her, his shoulder bumping hers. He didn’t know where all this was coming from but he knew better to leave it unattended.

“(Y/N) I help you because I care about you. I always will, you know that.”

“Why? You have nothing to gain from it”, blinking back the unshed tears in her eyes, she looked at him with a hurt expression as if she couldn’t bring herself to understand.

“Why… as in why do I care?”, Dick tilted his head to look her in the eyes, trying to understand what she meant all the while making sure not to let his own surprise at her words show. She nodded not trusting her voice to not betray her anymore than it already had.

“I don’t care about you because I feel like you need it nor because I would gain something from it”, Dick knew he shouldn’t have to explain it to her. He briefly wondered what she had gone through to make her think that she needed to be useful to be cared for or that she had to need it to be cared for. He felt something pull at his heart at the thought; It was sorrow.

“I care about you because… well I do and there’s nothing you could or couldn’t do to change that. And it is because I care about you that I ask you to be better at taking care of yourself. Now I know for a fact that whatever you stole from The League’s safehouse definitely did not belong there, but I also know that whatever it was, it wasn’t worth your life (Y/N) It never will be.”

Dick grasped one of her hands, interlacing his gloved fingers with hers; she hadn’t even realized she was shaking until he did so. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take a deep breath despite her protesting ribs. Opening the palm of her free hand she muttered an incantation with practiced ease

“Eveirter tahw saw neddih “, her hand glowed, the golden aura taking the shape of a object. When the light subsided, Dick saw the object in her palm as she rubbed her thumb across it, quietly leaning her head on his shoulder.

“It was this totem. It belongs to Madame Xanadu. Don’t know what Ra’s wanted it for though”, she shrugged as best as she could with an injured shoulder then continued, voice firmer than it had been the whole evening,“ She asked me to retrieve it in exchange for information on a girl I was looking for. The girl was somehow sucked into some other dimension, a mystic one and her mother was so desperate when she approached me that I just couldn’t say no. So when I say the Totem was important, then I want you to know that it really is.”

Dick shook his head at that. “Still not worth your life.”

“Dick…”, she sighed. It was all she could do at the moment because she was really getting tired from all the arguing.

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

“You mean the time I met the infamous vigilante Nightwing in a dumpster of all places.”

“In my defense I was badly injured”, she hummed in agreement.

“You smelled bad”

“You try smelling like flowers after falling from a building and into an open dumpster.”

His playful grumbling pulled a short laugh out of her. She was more than a little confused at the sudden trip into the past but happily accepted it as a change of topic. She should’ve know better than to think he’d have let the matter go.

“Anyway my point is when you saw me that day, you first instinct was to help me. You pulled me out and used your magic to heal my wounds. You didn’t have to. You could’ve dropped me at a hospital. You could’ve even walked away and pretended that you never saw me, but you didn’t. Why is that?”

“Because I thought you were handsome?”, she said trying to lighten this too-heavy-for-comfort conversation he was trying to have.

“Nice try. I know you. You saved me because you cared. You helped me and the Titans save the city more than once because you cared. It is who you are. I’ve seen you care about and worry over complete strangers without conditions. So why do you think that there has to be some kind of a barter system when it comes to you? Why think that I would want to gain something if I cared about you?”

“Because everyone else did.”

The words shot out from her mouth quicker than she realized. She had voiced her greatest insecurity to the one person who never had anything to add to it and Dick’s heart clenched at the implications of her words, ‘She has never been loved unconditionally before’ his brain provided.

The tears she blinked back earlier came back with full force. She felt two strong arms that wrapped around her, all the while being mindful of her injuries. Dick pulled her into a hug and that was it. She couldn’t control the sobs that tore through her throat, the pain in her body flared due her erratic movements. She knew once the tears started flowing they wouldn’t stop at least not for a while, but now that her façade had been broken she couldn’t bring herself to give it another thought.

He waited for her to let it out, let out all the pent up emotions she had. Now that he thought about it he had never seen her cry. He never questioned it, maybe he should’ve.

“I don’t know who’s responsible for hurting you (Y/N), God, how much I wish I did”, his arms slightly tighten around her at that. “I am so sorry that you have felt like you have to have your walls up all the time, even around me and I should’ve seen that, I should’ve realized that before but I didn’t and I am so sorry for that. I can’t undo the damage you’ve endured and I will not pretend that I can. What I can do is promise you that I’d never let you down like that, never.”

The words he spoke were clear. He didn’t try to tell her to put her walls down, to trust him when she had no reason to. He also didn’t need to justify himself or make such over the top promises but it felt nice to hear it. She had already stopped crying the moment he started speaking again but she still had her forehead pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, it was calming in a way she couldn’t describe. She pulled her head back to look at him, and the honesty in his voice earlier matched the one in his eyes.

“Okay”

Hearing her response, he gave her his signature grin. It sent unexpected warmth through her, he always had that effect on her. She was sure she was just blushing at this point and was suddenly thankful for the dim lighting in the room.

She ended up composing herself rather quickly, jabbing a finger at his armored chest with her usual smirk plastered on her face.

“Now that you’ve made that promise, know this, Dick Grayson, if you let me down I will drop a mountain on you.”

“You mean that figuratively?”

“No I mean that geologically”, he waited for her to say she was kidding. She didn’t.

“Alright, alright”, He held his hands out in mock surrender. After considering the look in her eyes, Dick refrained from questioning the feasibility of that action nor did he want to question her magical abilities or intent. Last he remembered, Wally did that and that conversation ended with him being teleported to Sahara and Dick would very much like to avoid the same fate as his best friend.

Deciding that was more than enough exhaustion for one night, he got up from the bed and kissed her goodnight, informing her that he’d be sleeping on the couch so that he wouldn’t accidently hit her injuries in his sleep. She agreed and watched him slip out of the room before falling into the blissful sleep she had been putting off since forever.

•°•°

She knew Dick Grayson was full of surprises but the next morning when he put forward the offer of become a full time Titan, in front of her, she wondered if she fell from the bed in her sleep and ended up getting another concussion because he was so not making any sense.

“So let me get this straight, you want me to come live with you and your superhero friends, in the Titans freaking Tower?!”

“I was hoping for a little less yelling after an emotional evening but yes that is exactly what I’m asking.”

“Dick that’s just ridiculous!”

“Look, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

He looked like a kicked puppy which made her feel kinda guilty for all the yelling.

“It’s not that…It’s just there is still a lot about me I haven’t told them. There is still a lot I haven’t told you. I don’t see a reason why you all would want to trust a possible threat, let alone live with it”, she gestured to herself.

Dick felt like there was a deeper meaning behind her words, as if she was voicing her own fear rather than theirs but he trusted her enough to tell him about it when she was ready, on her own terms. He could wait till then but for now he crossed the short distance between them, going around the breakfast table till he stood in front of her. He grasped both of her hands in his and ran his thumb soothingly across her knuckles. He bent down to place a soft kiss on her forehead, and then moved to meet her gaze.

“(Y/N), I know you and I trust you and…It sounds silly considering I was raised by the worlds greatest detective but I believe that you don’t have to know every little detail about someone as long as you already know what’s in their heart.” Bruce probably would’ve disagreed but he wasn’t Bruce.

“And you know what’s in mine?”

“And I know what’s in yours.” His statement was firm and left no room for argument, not when it came to this.

“If you’re sure about this, then I guess...”

“Is that a yes I’m hearing?”, There was that smile again, seriously what was up with him and his smile that made her giddy inside.

In between thoughts she realized he was still waiting for a response so she nodded. Any underlying doubts she had about her answer vanished when she took in how happy it made him. As cheesy as it sounded seeing him happy made her happy. A part of her said it wouldn’t last long, but seeing her boyfriend hop onto the couch full of joy as he called his friends about the latest development in their lives, she wanted to believe otherwise.

°•°•°•°•

238 notes · View notes

pikispixies · 1 month ago

Text

lalala i can’t hear you Joker lalalalala

I KNEW going into this that this would be the calm before the storm and yet somehow, I was still lulled into a false sense of security and thought everything would be fine and dandy. CURSE YOU @tenpintsof-sundrop!!

Let’s go from the top, buckle up.

I am a condescending dom!Jason truther and thorough enjoyer >.< I loved the first ‘scene’ so much because it showed that playful and patronising side of him and then was followed by such tender moments afterwards. Both of which I think are so true to Jason and I absolutely love the way you wrote it!

I’ve said this before but I’ll say it again, the way you write is so tangible and it enables me to picture everything so clearly in my head and that level of immersion isn’t something easy to achieve by both reader and writer, so I just wanted to give you your flowers on that.

“I could come to Gotham." You whispered, barely letting your words break into audible sound. When Jason took too long to reply, you rushed to add on something else, to make your proposal seem less serious. "I guess I could come see that stupid cave you're always talking about."

That little moment when reader offers to visit Jason in Gotham is so bittersweet for me. Sweet because ugh these poor kids need each other and they’re desperately trying to fight against the circumstances they are in to be together. Bitter because we know how this turns out (in canon) and that glimmer of hope goes towards driving that knife in deeper.

Deathstroke dream sequence fucked me UP. Jason’s fear of dragging reader into his ‘shit’ (both self perceived and external) is so prevalent and dictates so much of their relationship. I’m so interested to see how this will play out in part 2/redhood era. Whether he will turn that fear into aggression towards reader in an effort to keep them away or will he be fed a narrative that plays into that fear and turns him against reader.

The texts they share were honestly one of my fav parts of the fic. I looooove their banter and their little digs to cover up their genuine care and love for each other. And those moments where their feelings shyly peek through just like 😵😵😵‍💫😵‍💫

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Dealing with homicidal psychos in costumes and you nagging me for a dick appointment. You on the Gotham tourism board?’

The Flightless Bird: ‘I am, actually. First stop on the tour - my bed. Second stop - night patrol. We spend a few hours kicking ass together. Which leads into our third stop - Little Tony’s downtown for some pizza. Aka the only reason I keep coming back to this shithole.’

Like first of all, GOALS. Where do I sign up to the Jason Todd Tour Of Gotham?

AND THEN WHEN JASON SHOWS READER THAT SHODDY ASS APPARTMENT. Hearts all over world were heard repeatedly breaking and then mending themselves again.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I’ll have to see it in person first

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘When I come to Gotham.’

Hate to break it to you, my darling. But the next time you see Gotham, it will not be under the circumstances you want it to be.

Now, I know you told me that the next part will be worse angst wise for these two but SUNNIE. SUUUNNNIIIEEEEEE. I’m holding your hand gently when i say this, (lies, not gentle at all. I’m holding your hand very tight and there is some knuckle cracking to be heard but ignore that😁) please, PLEASE tell me these darlings get some semblance of a happy ending together, please? I don’t even know if I want an answer to that…

Thou hast thine evil (delicious) hooks beneath mine SKIN. Im literally so sat for the next park of this story. What a sinister little cliffhanger you left us on!! Even thought I obviously know what happens in canon, I have no clue how things are going to progress both plot wise and relationship wise and that is so exciting!

Needless to say, another absolute, undoubted BANGER from my amazing mootie @tenpintsof-sundrop I just know this will be one of the stories I go back to again and again and again (as I do with so many of your fics.)

EVERYONE THROW YOUR FLOWERS GOGOGOGOGO💐 💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐

The Jaws of Life

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader

Now part of me has holes in it, and part of me is whole.

We’ve only begun.

I can’t decide - maybe it’s enough to get by for now.

But I’m having the time of my life - rotting in the sun.

We’re inside The Jaws of Life.

Part One: Panic Room

Summary:

You and Jason don't really hate each other - at least not anymore. Your feelings for each other are more than complicated, and before you have time to figure it all out, you have to part ways.

Jason goes back to Gotham at Bruce's behest, and you're off to visit a long lost relative that you didn't even know cared about you.

Unfortunately, while you're apart, the Joker makes things even more complicated with a phone call and a gun. And your world comes crashing down before you can even put names to all the stars in your sky.

Jason Todd x GN!Powered!Reader. Friends With Benefits to Lovers/Lovers Reunited. Smut, Extreme Emotional Angst, Hurt and Comfort. Set during Season 3.

Word Count: 19,900

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

This is a sequel to Emergency Contact, so make sure that you read that fic before you start this one. This can be read as a standalone, but reading that fic first provides emotional context for the relationship between the characters, and it gives you more amazing stuff to read! Either way, I hope you enjoy it.

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this fic has a lot of warnings, so strap in - the reader character is completely gender neutral - the main pronouns used for the bulk of the fic are you/yours and there is one scene where Jason is talking to someone else about the reader and uses they/them pronouns for the reader and there is absolutely no descriptions of what genitals the reader character has (I like all my GN fics to be interpreted so that the character could be trans, or cis, or nonbinary, and that they could have a penis or a vagina); there are implications of the reader being trans or nonbinary (something I threw in last minute cause it felt like it fit the fic well), but like with my fat reader fics - if you're cis then just ignore it, roll with it, and remember that most fics are catered specifically for you; this fic DOES use Y/N (as do all of my fics); the reader character has meta powers - the reader character can form ice crystals out of nothing and can freeze pretty much any substance; Jason calls the reader 'babe' (but as I said with the previous fic, I think this is a genderless nickname and Jason would call anyone this when flirting and being affectionate); mentions of Jason's canon kidnapping and canon interactions with Deathstroke (and the trauma those incidents likely caused for him); mentions of canon deaths; the fic starts off with a smut scene - the reader gives Jason a blowjob; mentions of Jason 'gagging' the reader with his cock (during previous incidents, not this time); Jason uses the word 'pretty' to describe the reader (he says they have a 'pretty mouth') - again, I feel like this word is fairly gender neutral, especially in the context of him being affectionate; finger sucking (the reader sucks on Jason's fingers); protected penetrative sex - Jason and the reader fuck while using a condom (and because I didn't describe the reader's genitals, it could be vaginal sex or anal sex, who knows); marking kink; some dirty talk; the reader is more submissive and Jason is more dominant, but there is no explicit BDSM roles; (very brief) cockwarming; (and I think that's it for the smut section, the rest of the warnings are non-smut related); mentions of Rose having a one-sided affection towards Jason or flirting with him to try and further her mission (in this version, Rose and Jason never get together); mentions of Jason's past and the trauma he has surrounding it - including discussions of his poverty, his parents' deaths, his abandonment and neglect by all the adults in his life, his time in foster care; Jason has a generally poor self-image in this fic and has negative internal dialogue surrounding himself when he is narrating; mentions of the reader having a backstory similar to Jason's - the reader grew up in severe poverty and neglect and was homeless for the majority of their young life, and also had a parent who had issues with substance abuse; descriptions of Jason being kidnapped by Deathstroke; semi graphic descriptions of blood and violence (and death); semi-graphic descriptions of Jason being tortured by a kidnapper; mentions of the reader going to visit a long lost relative who is dying of brain cancer (if themes around hospice and palliative care are triggering to you, then these sections might be triggering - but I haven't gone into detail about the medical aspects or mentioned any medical environments or medical equipment, the cancer is a background plot point); mentions of Jason and the reader sexting in the past (none of the messages are detailed here); mentions of Jason and the reader sharing a dark sense of humor to cope with their traumas; an enemy describes the reader character as a 'pretty one' and 'pretty thing' (again, I think this is fairly gender neutral, and the villain uses this term in a more condescending way); descriptions of gun violence; this entire fic has extreme emotional angst, and this first half is the more 'light-hearted' part, so do be warned that this fic will not make you happy and it is a big whump fest.

A/N: I am so fucking excited to post this fic, you guys have no idea omg. This is just the first half, and I think the fic as a whole is what makes it a great fic, but I think this is an amazing start/introduction and I am so excited to hear what you guys think of it!! Especially considering that this fic has been two years in the making and I am finally getting to post it omg. I am SO EXCITED !!!!!

...

“Fuck, babe.”

Jason let out a breathy sigh as your mouth worked on his cock, sloppy and eager against the beautiful dick that you had come to know so well over these past few months.

It was rare that you treated him to a blowjob. Since the two of you had started this ‘relationship’, you had noticed that he often got too greedy when you sucked him off - trying too hard to take control, shoving his cock into your mouth with unhinged care, rather than just sitting back to enjoy the ride. He would make jokes about ‘shutting you up’ by keeping his dick in your mouth, and you never wanted him to get too cocky about having this.

You wanted him to know that it was a privilege to have his cock in your mouth, especially without you simply biting his (very perfect) cock off.

But after the chaotic past few weeks that the team had - with Gar and Conner being captured by Cadmus, with Donna’s funeral still fresh in everyone’s minds - you thought that Jason deserved this to take his mind off all of it. His wounds from Deathstroke had barely healed and everyone was still mourning.

So you had him flat on his back in his bed - similar to the position he had you in not too long ago, when he had pulled the bullet fragment out of your stomach and bandaged you up. And you were straddling his knees as you worked your mouth on his cock, your tongue flat against the underside of the thick, impressive length while you bobbed your head, letting spit flow freely from your open mouth without care. It sloppily gathered around the base, slick down over his balls in a perfect, messy way.

Naturally, the room was filled with nothing but the sounds of you gurgling on his cock and the moans that he could barely contain due to the deadly heat of you eagerly swallowing his dick.

“Fuckin’ love your mouth.” He moaned, bringing a hand down to stroke gentle fingers across your cheek - burning, something that made you gasp quietly against his flesh.

It was a move much more tender than he would have ever made before.

This Jason was a Jason much sweeter than the one Doctor Light took from you on that near-fatal night. You knew that it likely had a lot to do with you laying your life on the line for him - the fact that you had dangled yourself out of a high-rise building trying to save him, vowed that you would never let him go.

That night had changed everything for the both of you.

This Jason was not the same sex-hungry, carnal, ‘live for the moment’ person who had left The Tower that night, half-cocked and determined to prove that he was better than the old ‘relics’ who kept leaving him out of all their plans. This Jason was humble, quiet, thoughtful. This Jason put his arm around you in a room full of people, not caring who looked on. This Jason actually took the time to think before he spoke.

This Jason - even if he didn’t want to admit it - clearly cared about your feelings and wanted to show it.

(And that made him a lot more deserving of a blowjob, unlike the Jason who would fuck into your mouth without asking and then laugh when you gagged on his cock.)

“Goddammit, ‘m close.” Jason mumbled out - you could feel the muscles of his thighs straining under your palms, a concerted effort not to buck up into the warmth of your mouth to chase the finality of his high.

You would have thanked him for it, if you didn’t have your mouth full. Instead, you bobbed your head faster and moaned around him - a wordless invitation for him to cum down your throat, for him to have a prize that he wouldn’t have been worthy of before.

“Shit, babe-”

Jason seethed through his teeth, and then curled his fist into the back of your shirt, tugging - surprisingly, urging you to pull away from his cock.

“Come on, come up.” He said, gulping for breath. “I wanna fuck you.”

You pulled off, leaving a sloppy twinge of spit trailing from your swollen lips to the pink head of his cock, glistening wet and slick sounding. His dick bobbed back toward his pelvis with a filthy, wet sound - causing him to groan as you caught your breath with a small gasp.

“You feelin’ okay?” You chuckled, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I have never known you to turn down cumming in my mouth.”

“As tempting as it is to see my cum dripping from your pretty lips…”

Jason said, reaching down and gently shoving his thumb past your over-worked, swollen lips. Naturally, you stuck your tongue out and tasted his skin, wrapping your lips around the digit and sucking once again, loving the absolutely lust-sick look on his face as you did this.

You couldn’t help but to indulge in the attention - not when it was his eyes on you.

“I definitely can’t pass up the opportunity to watch you cum while you ride my cock.” He added on, his voice rumbling quietly with lust, the idea clearly something that truly excited him.

You popped your mouth off his thumb before you spoke.

“Oh? You think you’re gonna make me cum before you blow your load?” You chuckled, posing it as a challenge - knowing that he fucked you better when he was riled up, when he thought of it as another thing to prove himself in.

“Think I’m some kind of amateaur?” Jason scoffed quietly under his breath.

He put a hand on your hip and pulled you up his body, silently agreeing to the challenge that you had posed. You shed your shirt while he grabbed a condom - you were already prepped and well lubed, seeing as Jason had made you cum with his fingers and his mouth before you had turned him over on his back, seeking to return the favor.

He rolled the condom on and slicked up his cock with more lube for good measure, something that made a wonderfully filthy slick sound. Then, with his hands firm on your hips, he pulled you up to straddle him and had you mounting him like he was a throne that you were meant to sit upon.

You let out a rattling moan as you sat down on his cock, feeling the full hot length stretch you open for the first time in too long. It was a smooth, steady motion - a joining of two people that came from silent, delicate knowing and trust. At this point, he didn’t have to stop and ask if you were okay - he simply knew from the blissed-out look on your face that you were enjoying every inch of it.

It was perfect.

With your hands balanced on his chest and his forehead pressed against yours, for once, his eyes daring to gaze into yours past the thickness of his lashes. Usually he busied himself with his head in your neck, or squeezed his eyes shut when your dirty talk got to him particularly well. And often, insisted on fucking you from behind so that he could focus more on destroying you with ‘skill’ than falling apart due to the expressions on your face and seeing every little echo of his cock flicker in your eyes.

But this was distinctly different. Staring right into your eyes, no shying away, no backing down. As if inviting you to a more intimate part of him that you had somehow never seen, even if you had been naked together and fucked each other dozens of times by now.

He was hot and heavy inside of you, so beautifully thick, filling you up so well. Strangely, there was that thing deep in your gut that yearned for him to pull out and peel the condom off so that you could feel every single raw inch of him - but you told yourself you were smarter than that. You should be.

“Perfect.” Jason sighed, his breath puffing out against your chin.

It was that single word that warmed your insides and made you clench around his cock, causing him to hum from deep within his chest. He stroked a slow, gentle hand from your hip to the fullness of your ass, up your back, holding you like you were something precious. It was so unlike every other time he had fucked you - when all of his touches were about grabbing, consuming you, holding you like you were an object to be taken and owned by him in those moments.

You had liked it then. It was emotionally detached - but it was hot. It always made you cum hard and fast.

But this was so different. Especially for you and Jason.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You whispered back, fishing for some of that old banter - the humor that had founded your entire ‘relationship’ with Jason.

Jason laughed, and you bit back a moan when you felt the sound vibrating through you, when it drove his cock just a bit deeper inside of you.

He resisted the urge to get sappy, to say ‘I meant you, you’re perfect’. Instead, he wrapped an arm around your waist, tucked a possessive touch tight around you and planted the other arm in the middle of your back, sitting himself up slightly, bending his knees - getting good leverage for what he wanted to do next.

“I don’t need to stroke my own ego when I have you, babe.” Jason announced, his smirk appearing in its usual stance and his voice soft.

Before you could muster any clever reply, he used his tight hold on you to lift you slightly off his cock and then began fucking up into you. In tandem with his rough, heavy thrusts up into you, he slammed your body down to meet the thickness of his cock, creating a rough, demanding rhythm that easily chased the air out of your lungs.

“Jay-” You gasped, quickly becoming breathless. “Jason, fuck me!”

You could little more than let him fuck you senseless. You were used to the feeling of his cock filling you up like this, yet it created that deadly curl in your gut each time like it was brand new. It sent harsh stinging across your nerve endings, a deadly wash across your skin as the heat crept through you.

You knew that Jason was talented at this, but you also knew that it was something else. Something more than attraction - something you couldn’t get from anyone else that you still refused to fully acknowledge.

“Hey, shh.”

Jason hushed you, using that beautifully condescending coo that you knew meant he didn’t actually want you to be quiet - he always wanted to hear how loud you became when you were entranced by his cock. He bent his knees more to fuck up into you even harsher, causing you to make a wounded sound as his cock got even deeper into you.

“I’ve got you.” He whispered, hot against your chin. “I’ve got you, babe.”

The gentle, soothing nature of his voice juxtaposed with the venomous sting of his cock continually snapping against your pelvis was something that made you downright dizzy. All the combined sensations had your body arching against him - your muscles were tightening up, and though he felt that distinct warmth rising up in his own gut, he was proud to know that he had you there already. He was going to make you cum first, just like he had promised. He knew your body too well by now not to play you like a well tuned fiddle.

“You gonna be good for me?”

Jason mumbled against your neck, leaning in to gently skim his teeth along your skin. He sucked slightly, leaving marks, being entirely selfish in his claiming of you. He loved the taste of your skin on his tongue. If you refused to let him go, if you refused to leave him to let him rot in his own poisonous life, then he would let everyone know that you had taken him on and that you were owned now. It was his silent way of begging you not to double back, not to realize what a mistake you had made.

“You gonna cum on by cock?” He added on, his throat flexing slightly as his own lust clutched at him.

It was something that you couldn’t have refused if you tried.

“Jason-!”

You gasped out, unconsciously bucking your hips down to meet his thrusts as he continued fucking up into you hard, getting quite the workout in his legs and abs, spearing his cock into you from the angle below you.

But fuck, you were so worth it. Seeing the twisting pleasure on your face as your orgasm washed over you, feeling the pleasant sting in his back as your nails dug into his shoulders. Hearing your choked off moans and panting breaths as you could do nothing but hang on for the ride, feeling the beautiful mess across his pelvis as you came, showing him just how good he was fucking you.

“So good.” Jason moaned into your neck, latching on to suck the skin there once again. “Fuck, Y/N, so good for me.”

He found his own skin on fire once again as you tightened around his dick, your muscles becoming a hot vice around him as you rode out your orgasm, forcing his mind blank from the pure pleasure of it all. He loved the sounds you made, the look on your face, the way you ground your hips so closely against his as you savored every second of it.

Jason was dizzy as his own orgasm hit him, his whole body tingling and sparking with pleasure as he shot his load into the condom. He put a hand across your back, pulling you close, pressing your body flush against his and grinding up into you in tentative, almost gentle strokes as he rode it out. With his face buried in your neck, kissing you, breathing in your scent - it was almost tender.

It was the closest to love-making that you and Jason had ever gotten.

“Fuck, Jason.” You whined, your stomach curling with a new kind of heat, your skin on fire - this time, alight with the newly birthed feeling of his loving touch on your skin.

To an extent, it almost frightened you. Especially because of how much you liked it, how you could see yourself growing to love it. Especially because now you felt timid. You didn’t want to scare this part of him away.

“I’ve got you.” He said again, quietly mumbling the words into your neck like a sacred promise.

Unable to resist the urge, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, truly holding him, leaning into his touch. You relaxed against his body, sagging into the hold, and Jason hummed with content against your skin at the feeling.

For a few moments - a capsule against the world that felt more peaceful than you had ever known - you let yourself become lost to this feeling.

Still speared on his slowly softening cock, you simply enjoyed the feeling of his hard, muscled frame against you, the feeling of his arms wrapped around you in such an affectionate hold - like two giant pillars keeping you safe from the world. You enjoyed the scent of his fading cologne twinged with his sweat, let one of your hands wander up into his hair and thread a couple of your fingers along his scalp, which got another pleasant moan from him.

When you unconsciously clenched down on him again, you had a thought.

“Jason,” You whimpered out quietly. “The condom.”

It was a cruel disturbance to your peaceful little world, but he knew that the two of you couldn’t just stay like that forever. He would have to separate from you to throw it out eventually. You would be horrified if that tricky piece of latex got lost inside of you and you had to tell someone else in the Tower why you had to go to the ER to get it out.

“Oh shit.” He sighed in return.

You hesitantly climbed off him and luckily, the condom easily slid out on his soft cock, and he tossed it away while you collapsed to lay on the bed beside him.

“We should just stop using condoms.” Jason chuckled, giving you a sly grin as he laid back against the pillows beside you.

“Funny.” You griped sarcastically, moving to lay against his chest. You couldn’t resist the urge to cuddle, even if you wanted to go take a shower and get cleaned up. You could use the excuse that your legs were jelly right now and you wanted to gain back some of your energy first.

You wanted to bring up the fact that you had been so adamant about using condoms with Jason because your ‘relationship’ with him was supposed to strictly be about sex. Sure, when the two of you started fucking, you didn’t expect that he was going to be sleeping with a different person every other week. Dick had you guys locked up in the Tower, constantly breathing down your necks - that was one of the reasons why you even turned to Jason for sex at all. He was right there. He was available. He was decent looking.

And when you and Jason had started sleeping together, you had thought he was lying about how many people he had fucked before you. You thought he was a mouthy virgin or that he had slept with maybe one other person before he so boldly started pursuing you. But he could definitely back up all the talk, and that had you wondering how many of his claims were true. And that had you even more adamant about the condoms, because you didn’t know where he had… been.

And then when Rose first came around, you saw the way she looked at him. You had seen her trying to flirt with him - a gentle touch on his arm, trying to pull him aside to talk after he came back from his brush with Deathstroke. You had wondered if there was something going on between her and Jason.

You wondered if Jason proposing to drop condoms was his strange way of asking you to upgrade the status of your relationship. Friends with benefits, people who are still allowed to fuck other people - they use condoms. They have to use condoms, just in case. But people in a more serious relationship - they don’t always use condoms, because they don’t fuck other people. They don’t fuck other people because they’re in love.

“Jason-” You said his name gently, about to ask him this, but then - his phone rang.

A high-pitched digital tone chimed out from where he had put it on the nightstand and Jason groaned loudly in annoyance before he picked it up, looked at the Caller ID, and then promptly ignored the call.

“Who was it?” You asked, curious who he would outright ignore like that.

“Bruce.” He said, his tone dull, clearly feeling uncertain about the man. “The old man can leave a voicemail. Or send a text like a normal person.”

This was strange to you. You thought that Bruce and Jason were coming to be on better terms.

Bruce had come to Donna’s funeral, and you had seen the two of them talking quietly at one point. You had tried not to stare at the interaction unfolding, poorly reading Bruce’s lips out of the corner of your eye (but you didn’t get much out of it). Near the end of it, you had seen Bruce give Jason a fatherly pat on the shoulder before he walked away from the conversation, and Jason had looked entirely pensive about the whole thing, even if he hadn’t told you what it was about.

You hadn’t been introduced to Bruce, then - the funeral really wasn’t the time for ‘meeting and greeting’, seeing as everyone was quietly in mourning over their lost friend. But you got the sense that he was a stoic and reserved man, and him giving that small bit of physical affection to Jason was about as good as an outright apology, telling him how much of a mistake it was to send him away in the first place.

Apparently Jason didn’t feel the same way.

“I didn’t know you were screening his calls.” You said, curious as to why Jason didn’t want to talk to Bruce.

“I’m busy.” Jason said, giving you his usual stunning grin before he leaned in and began kissing up your neck again. It was a pleasant, sweet type of affection, but he was clearly deflecting from the actual point you were trying to make, trying to distract you.

He didn’t want to talk about Bruce. And that only made you want to press the point harder.

“Why?” You asked, trying not to fall victim to the feeling of Jason’s soft lips against your neck, lovingly sucking, moving with gentle kisses against your skin.

“‘Why’ what?” Jason replied - perhaps playing dumb, perhaps genuinely not knowing what you meant.

“Why won’t you talk to Bruce?” You asked, clarifying.

Jason sighed and leaned back against his pillow, collapsing with defeat.

After a moment of tense, thoughtful silence - a moment in which you worried that you had pushed too far and he would simply tell you to get out - he finally gave in to the fact that he would have to talk about it. He gave in to the idea that talking to you about it would be easier than not talking about it at all.

“He wants me to go back to Gotham.” Jason announced.

He sounded oddly sullen speaking these words, which instantly confused you. You knew that Jason from a few weeks ago would have jumped at the chance to go back to Gotham, to resume his duties as Robin. He would have screamed with joy and eagerly asked Bruce when the next flight out was.

So why was he hesitant now? Did it have to do with the incident with Deathstroke? Did he doubt his capabilities as Robin now? Did he want to quit?

“You don’t want to?” You asked, trying to sound gentle rather than accusatory.

Jason found it all too easy to open up to you now.

“I don’t know what I want.” Jason shrugged, entirely raw and honest in this declaration - for once, not dancing around his more serious emotions with jokes or sarcasm. “I mean, before, I would have been excited for Bruce to invite me back. But now…”

“This is probably for the best.”

You said, trying to motivate him past his potential insecurities. Before it was something you had done with playful combatance, knowing that if you faced him with a challenge, he would always rise to prove himself, even if it was out of spite. And now it was something you did with brutal, soft honesty, but still, it was nothing new for you.

“The Tower was just supposed to be a temporary stop-over, right?”

You posed, reaching out and gently brushing your fingers across his jaw. He stared into your eyes then, and you saw something swimming there - nerves. Longing.

“Gotham needs Robin.”

You repeated it because it was something you had heard Jason say before.

One of the main reasons he took up the mantle of Robin, taking on someone else’s costume and name, rather than creating his own - was because he knew that lots of lost kids looked up to Robin. When he was a young kid, growing up in the shittest parts of Gotham, he admired Robin. He had been truly thrilled to meet Dick for the first time because, in a world where he was starving and alone and none of the adults in his life cared - Robin was his hero. Someone (seemingly) not much older than himself, who donned a cape, didn’t have any superpowers or magic, and got to stand alongside the Bat himself, fighting for justice. A voice for the voiceless. A fist for the powerless.

Jason went to bed cold and hungry many nights thinking about Robin. Thinking about how one good person can make a difference in a cruel world.

So when he had been given the opportunity to make up some dumb name of his own, or to become Robin - it wasn’t really a choice for him. He became Robin in order to be that symbol of hope for others, and in truth - to fulfill the hope he once needed for himself.

“Right.” Jason sighed. He did have a duty to the people of Gotham. But something else was bothering him. “But… but what about us?”

Us.

He said it so fondly, like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to think of you and him as a pair.

It was the first time either of you had truly acknowledged it. Finally acknowledging the way your dynamic had changed since that night. Otherwise, it had been absolutely unspoken.

“What about us?” You echoed back, your voice trembling quiet.

You were truly afraid to hear his answer.

‘Say it.’ You wanted to scream at him. ‘Say the words. Stop making me think that all of this has been just big one big hallucination on my part. Say it, asshole. Say it and I’m yours for the rest of your life.’

“Come on.” He sighed, flickering off towards the wall and refusing to look at you now, the words grating against his throat.

‘Are you really gonna make me say it?’ He wanted to scream. ‘How much I fucking love you? How I can’t leave here now because I can’t leave you? How I would quit being Robin if it meant getting to be with you?’

The air trembled with the might of all those unspoken words as Jason gathered a better, more guarded reply.

“The Tower was supposed to be a stop-over. At first.” He shrugged, still distinctly refusing to look at you. “But then… we… happened.”

He explained it clumsily, clearly stuck for words in that entirely emotionally constipated way, motioning vaguely between the two of you. Once again, he was refusing to acknowledge the thing going on between the two of you. He was refusing to put those exact, big, serious words on it. Afraid that the weight of it all would knock him over, swallow him whole if he wasn’t careful.

But his lack of words bothered you so damn much.

Was it a casual relationship? Was it sex? Was it love? Was it the two of you finding your life-long soulmates and being too traumatized and stubborn and stupid to actually acknowledge it?

You hummed in agreement of this, nodding.

“You shouldn’t stay just for me, though.” You told him.

His duties as Robin were important. Mending his relationship with Bruce was important. Far more important than having sex with you and training for whatever vague threat Dick had in mind (especially when Dick couldn’t stand up and protect Jason from very real threats, like Deathstroke).

Jason’s face cracked with a flutter of disappointment and sadness, a rattle of emotions coming through that he usually wouldn’t show around anybody else. He thought that you were breaking things off with him - whatever things were. But that wasn’t the case.

“I might have to leave soon anyway.” You added on, trying to clarify your point.

“You’re leaving?” He asked, sounding entirely hurt by this, the words acting as a bitter accusation coming off his lips.

He held in the other thing he wanted to say.

‘Where else would you have to go?’

He was trying to be more thoughtful with his words these days - and he knew this sounded far too much like a dig, mocking at the circumstances of your past. A past which you had divulged to him in bits and pieces while laying in bed with him after a healthy fuck, much like this.

When he had found out how similar the two of you were, he found his soul more and more drawn to yours. Your mother had been a deadbeat, much like his. Apparently she came from some richie rich family that you had only met a few times, when you were so young that you could only piece together a few memories from it, but she left behind all of it to be with her deadbeat boyfriend - someone who may or may not have been your father. Someone who got your mother hooked on drugs and petty crime to pay for the habit when your rich grandmother cut her off from the family money, knowing the kind of life she was living.

You grew up a lot like Jason did.

You saw your mother faded, abused, you had been forced to mature up and take care of yourself and even take care of your own mother when you had been far too young to do so. You had lived in slums. At many points in your life, you had been homeless.

You never had a real father to speak of, and when your mother overdosed, you were left abandoned when you were still a young teen. But you took care of yourself well enough, especially considering that you had an advantage that Jason didn’t - icy powers from a freak accident that happened around the time you were born that should have killed you.

It was only by luck that you ran into Dick and Kory when they came into the diner that you had been waiting tables at, whispering harshly under their breath about a young girl with severe, mysterious powers that they had lost track of. And you had pointed them toward the old Caulder house on the edge of town and offered to go with them - because you knew Niles Caulder from a time when he had offered to ‘help’ you with your own powers and you had gotten a bad feeling about the man.

Jason called it luck because it was that incident that led you on the path to meeting him.

“I’m only going for a little while.” You told him. “My grandmother - the one I’ve only seen like? Twice? Apparently she hired a P. I. to track down my mom. Found out my mom was dead, and then eventually - she found me. She’s getting sentimental because she has brain cancer or something? I didn’t read everything in the letter.”

You shrugged, spotty on the information and unsure if the trip you had planned was even a good idea in the first place.

Jason easily understood why you were jaded when it came to the concept of ‘family’. You had been abandoned by them and left alone in the world. You had raised yourself, essentially. Why would you need them now?

“She wants me to come and see her - something about deathbed remorse and blah, blah. I don’t know. I wasn’t gonna go, but Dick thinks I should, because she’s like the only living family I have that I know about.” You finished the explanation with a sigh, and Jason frowned.

Of course Dickhead was being righteous about his moral code.

Jason wanted to convince you to stay, but - maybe Dick had a point. Maybe, if you had a shot at having a relationship with your ‘real’ family - maybe you should take it.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Jason had no clue why it was his first instinct to offer this. But it felt right. It felt instinctive to attempt to comfort you these days, rather than combating you or coming up with some annoying, clever comeback.

You should have said yes.

It would have been fun at the very least; an amusing trainwreck, perhaps. You could only imagine what it would be like - bringing your mouthy situationship along with you to visit your rich, uptight, estranged grandmother. Even just explaining the nature of your relationship with Jason to her would have been a wild and fun ride.

But instead, you let your guarded instincts get the better of you.

“No.” You sighed. “I - I can handle it myself.”

You sounded a lot less sure in your reply, but you made yourself sure as you continued.

“If she gets too whiny, or too… sentimental, I’ll bail. I know that Dick or Kory would come and get me if I asked them to. And I am very good at running from situations that don’t benefit me.” You tried to laugh it off, though this did evoke some painful memories of your past, when you had to run from things that very well could have ended your life - or worse.

“You also have a habit of running toward situations that don’t benefit you.” Jason sighed, not letting you easily forget the fact that you ran into a gun-hot hostage situation and dangled yourself off a building to rescue him.

You lightly smacked his shoulder in response, and he quietly grunted at this, rolling his eyes.

“I can handle myself. Dickhead.” You replied, much less bite behind the words than there would have been before. “Besides, you have to go to Gotham and deal with your own sentimental old bag.”

“The last word I would ever use to describe Bruce is ‘sentimental’.” Jason argued gently.

“He keeps a trophy room full of stuff from every criminal he’s ever taken down,” You reminded Jason. “It’s his own form of weird, fucked-up sentiment.”

Jason shrugged.

You laid back down, tucking yourself into Jason’s side and laying a few simple kisses against the skin of his chest before you settled in, closing your eyes. He wrapped his arm around you, and there was only a moment of quiet before -

“What are you gonna do after you visit your grandmother?” He asked, so entirely timid. “Are you gonna come back to The Tower?”

‘Will I ever see you again?’ He wanted to ask. ‘Is it really over between us?’

Jason couldn’t imagine not having you around.

You were the tape that had held him together after everything went down with Deathstroke. When the Titans went south, ruined by Dick’s lies and the pressure of enemies from their past, you were the brick wall that had held him up. If not for you, he could have easily imagined himself drowning in booze, crashing his motorcycle off the side of a cliff in a drunken blur; or jumping off the top of this incredibly impressive building to make himself nothing but a stain on the concrete below.

You hesitated, but worked up the courage to truly speak what was waiting on your lips, especially when you weren’t looking at his face, tracing every micro-expression for potential disappointment or glee.

“I could come to Gotham.” You whispered, barely letting your words break into audible sound. When Jason took too long to reply, you rushed to add on something else, to make your proposal seem less serious. “I guess I could come see that stupid cave you’re always talking about.”

Jason laughed at this, and you loved the feeling of the vibrations under the side of your face.

“Yeah.” He said. “Sounds cool. I - I think Bruce would actually like having you around.”

You wondered if that was true, or if Jason was just amplifying his own affection for you within his mind. Either way, it was sweet.

You ended up falling asleep for a few hours. Jason’s gentle breathing flowing through his lungs under your cheek soothed you into an easy sleep - when you woke up, you were reminded of the drying mess between your thighs and wicked soreness that had set into your muscles. You needed a hot shower, and you needed to go pack a bag. You had to tell Dick that you wanted to book the ticket to go and see your grandmother.

Knowing him, he likely already had one booked on the principle that you would come around to his line of thinking and he would end up being right.

You were crawling out of bed when Jason’s hand caught your wrist.

“You sneakin’ away on me?” He mumbled out, sleepy, not yet opening his eyes.

“I gotta go shower, dipshit.” You said, your voice gentle and chiding, no real force behind the words.

Jason gave you a sleepy smile.

“Come back afterwards.” He replied, clearly hoping for more cuddles - or more sex.

“I can’t.” You told him. “I have to get ready to leave. Remember?”

This caught his full attention, and he sat up abruptly, blinking his eyes open to catch a glimpse of you in the barely there, dim light. It was just before sunrise, the sky kissed hazy gray outside of the giant windows that lined his bedroom.

“You’re leaving so soon?” He asked, disappointment barely masked in his voice as he continued to grip your wrist.

“Yes.” You said, knowing that you were echoing that tone right back. “So… I guess this is goodbye?”

“Fuck you.” He replied, a harsh sigh from his lungs. He hurled the expletive at the concept of a goodbye with you. That was something he never wanted.

He tugged on your wrist and you were reeled in like a fish, walking around the bed toward his side. You tucked your butt tightly beside one of his thighs, sitting close to him, vowing that you would get up soon as he wrapped a thick arm around your waist.

He had the other arm across your chest, tucking his hand along your jaw and tilting your head toward him. You eased into the kiss with a small moan, enjoying the softness of his lips like a tree enjoys the sun. You soaked him up for a few long moments, and when you tried to pull back the first time, he held you there for just a bit longer.

If you had known that was going to be the last time you kissed him, you would have savored it more.

In a silent agreement - he finally let you go, and his eyes stayed glued to you as you got dressed enough to go down the hallway and then, you left out his bedroom door. His eyes lingered on the door for a few prolonged seconds after you did so, and then finally, he turned over again and fell back into an unpleasant sleep. One that felt fitful now that you weren’t in his bed.

…

Jason felt cold.

The room he was in - some mysterious, wall-off concrete place with no light - was freezing. And it wasn’t the pleasant kind of cool like the touch of your icy skin when you crawled into bed with him late at night. Or the shocking delightful kind of cold like when you played a prank on him, running your super-powered icy fingers up his back just to get a rise out of him.

No, this was a shocking, dead kind of cold.

This was the kind of cold that would bring death after a short period of time. It was the kind of cold that easily made his fingers and toes numb, and made him struggle against his binds - and it was only then that Jason realized he was tied up.

His arms were pinned behind his back and bound at the wrists - though he couldn’t tell with what. He couldn’t feel the texture of the binding through the thickness of his Robin uniform gloves in order to know how to best get out of it. Whether it was duct tape or rope, that would determine his next move, and he needed to make a move - fast.

His legs were free. That was a good sign. That would definitely be useful.

Before Jason could contemplate much more of this, a door that he hadn’t yet noticed off to his right burst open, creating a rush of light into the dull, dark room - a blinding moment where all he saw was shadows and movement. By the time his eyes had adjusted, a body was being thrown at his feet. Or rather, a very limp, fully alive person.

Deathstroke towered over this person, wearing his full gear, the armor thick and imposing, his silhouette blocking out nearly all the light that had just been let into the room.

Jason’s eyes flickered from him, to the person on the floor - purposefully stiffening his jaw in his best attempt not to show any fear.

His throat became dry and he held back a whimper of fright when he saw that the limp body on the floor was you.

Your hands were bound behind your back, too, and you were forced silent with a cloth gag in your mouth, tied tightly behind your head. But your eyes truly captured Jason’s attention the most. Beyond the scrapes and bruises that littered your cheeks, signs of pain that already made him ravenous with rage, more than eager to rip apart whatever was holding him back in order to tear Deathstroke to pieces just for daring to touch you - your eyes were full of pure terror.

Jason had never seen you like this before.

Right from the moment he had met you, you had been nothing but confident - a palace of strength, calm, cleverness that he wanted so badly to topple. It was why he flirted with you, argued with you. He wanted so badly to get under your skin, to see you rattled. It was only when the two of you had sex that he finally saw some wavering in that, finally saw you falling apart.

And eventually, it pushed away to something deeper, something softer - something that caused him to fall in love with you.

But he had never seen you afraid. That fear in your eyes, you silently screaming at him for help - it put his stomach in knots within seconds.

“It’s okay,” Jason rushed to assure you. He would get you out of this. “It’s gonna be okay, Y/N, I swear-”

Deathstroke let out a chuckle - one that sounded muffled, cold, robotic behind his mask.

“I can’t tell if you’re truly lying, following in the careless footsteps of your leader, or if you think that placating is the way to soothe someone in crisis.” He said, his tone entirely mocking. “There is no room for soothing here. Things most certainly will not be okay. Not unless you give me what I ask for,”

“What the fuck do you want, asshole?” Jason spit back bitterly, posturing, trying his best to seem big and strong when he felt so utterly weak, so small in those moments.

“Dick Grayson.” Deathstroke announced. “Tell me where he is, and I’ll let your little friend go.”

Jason hesitated.

When Deathstroke felt this, he continued.

“And if you don’t, I won’t hesitate to dispose of this pathetic excuse for a Titan.” He added on, giving you a harsh kick in the back with his heavy boot. You cried out in pain, and Jason’s insides jolted.

It was a move that made Jason want to scream, and make threats that he knew he couldn’t live up to.

He deeply feared what Deathstroke meant when he said ‘dispose of’.

“Is Grayson really that important to you?”

Jason began to panic, his eyes flickering from Deathstroke’s imposing shadow to your terrified face once again.

His brain felt scrambled. He searched, thought hard, concentrated, and somehow - came up empty. For some stupid reason, he had no clue where Dick was. The Tower, Gotham, Detroit - the fucking idiot could be anywhere. And something else nagged in the back of Jason’s mind - even if he did know where Dick was, why the fuck should he tell this asshole? Deathstroke only wanted to kill Dick. Why should it be Jason’s choice to trade one life for another?

And even if he did tell Deathstroke where Dick was, there was no promise that Deathstroke wouldn’t kill you anyway as soon as he had the information.

No - Jason could save you some other way.

There had to be another way, some other way to get out of this, something else-

“Tick tock.” Deathstroke said, rushing Jason’s answer.

“Fuck you!” Jason barked back instinctively, still panicked.

And it was that panic that cost him everything.

“Well…” Deathstroke hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose they truly didn’t teach Junior Robin anything, did they?”

In seconds, he could sense it - Deathstroke could see right through Jason. He knew that Jason didn’t know the answers to his questions. And even if he did - he wasn’t going to give up Dick. He had a strange sense of loyalty to the person who had shit on him and failed to help him time and time again.

Before Jason could come up with whatever magical solution he was hoping would come to him, Deathstroke reached down, fisted the shoulder of your shirt, and brought you up onto your knees with a surprising strength. You continued to look Jason in the eyes with an intense panic while the man reached for his belt, unsheathing a sword that glinted in the little bit of light.

When you heard the sound of the metal slicing through the air, your muscles quaked with fear and you tried to get away - but you were too weak against him.

It was too late.

“No, no!” Jason cried out in protest, having nothing else to do but watch on in horror and hope that his pitiful cries could somehow stop this, tearing harshly against the bonds holding his wrists in place. “No, fuck you! Stop it!”

It happened too quickly.

The sword appeared through the front of your stomach, coated in bright red blood, and you let out a scream of anguish through the gag. Then suddenly, you were being shucked off the blade, thrown away like you were nothing, tossed back to the floor in a puddle of your own blood, limp and near lifeless. Deathstroke turned and left the room without a single care, shutting the door behind him, shutting out all of the light, leaving Jason in cold darkness once again.

And it was only then that the ropes on his wrists somehow loosened, allowing him to break free and rush to your bleeding body - too late.

Too fucking late.

Jason grabbed you up in his arms, hoisting you onto his lap. He was empty with shock. He didn’t know how to feel. He hated the contrast of your cold flesh and the heat of the blood rushing out of you and quickly covering him.

“Y/N, Y/N, baby, look at me,”

He found himself sobbing, forcefully turning your face toward him with a gloved hand, tearing the gag out of your mouth - your lips scarily pale, more than they ever should be.

“Fuck, fuck!”

He couldn’t contain his screams of anguish when he pressed a cheek closer to your lips and felt the shallow nature of your breath.

You were dying, and it was all his fault. You were dying, and it was all his fault. You were dying, and-

Jason awoke in a cold sweat.

He was shaking, frantically looking around in the dark, soon to realize that he wasn’t locked in a concrete room with your bloody corpse - he was in his bedroom in Gotham. He was at home in the comfortable, cushy Wayne Manor.

He had been having far too many nightmares since returning to Gotham. He wanted to blame it on your lack of presence in his bed, or the fact that Bruce had practically banned him from training, now that he was benched from being Robin. So he wasn’t getting nearly as much physical exercise as he used to and it left him anxious and not nearly as physically exhausted when he went to bed, making his sleep uneasy.

Bruce had suggested sleeping pills, but Jason hated the idea of the side effects. The potential of hallucinations didn’t seem like it would make his sleep any more pleasant.

Jason sat up on the edge of his bed, and turned on the lamp, wincing as the bright light prodded at his eyes, aggravating a headache he had that wouldn’t quit for days now. He reached for his phone, and almost unconsciously, brought up your contact.

He laughed when he saw the contact name you had given yourself - clearly something you had done as a joke right before you had left the Tower.

Bootycall Temporarily Unavailable

The two of you often changed each other’s names in your contacts as a joke. He guessed that this one was a joke about how you would be gone for a while, unable to fuck him. But he hated that you insisted that he still thought of you only as a Bootycall. He decided to change it to ‘Robin’s Ice Machine’ - one of his favourites, and what he kept you listed as in his contacts most often. (Even though he wasn’t sure if he was actually considered Robin anymore…)

He opened up his last text messages with you, and couldn’t help but smile when he re-read them.

He had sent you a simple ‘u up?’ around three o’clock in the morning, being sleepless and horny, and you had replied ‘don’t come in here with that fuckboy attitude unless you’re bringing snacks’.

And this had led to the two of you having the most amazing sex and eating junkfood afterwards. That was what he missed most about you. Simple nights. The ability to just be calm with you. Doing nothing with you and feeling so complete.

Jason began typing out a message.

‘I miss you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I-’

Then, he realized how terribly sappy and stupid it sounded. And he thought about how much you would hate it. And even if you didn’t hate it, surely you would have no clue how to respond. The two of you weren’t like that. You weren’t those kind of people. He heaved a sigh, deleted the message, and then he got out of bed. He changed into some jogging pants and a sweatshirt and put on some running shoes.

If Bruce was going to ban him from being Robin, the least he could do was go on a run to get his head straight.

While he jogged through the cold night, Jason tried to convince himself that he didn’t need you. Tried to tell himself that if you decided not to come to Gotham after all, he would be just fine.

When he was finished with his run, standing at the kitchen counter chugging some way-too-expensive vitamin water that Bruce liked to buy, he pulled out his phone again and pulled up your contact. He considered calling you, and wondered what you were doing right then. He wondered if you would answer. He looked up what time it was in San Francisco, remembered you weren’t there, and then considered texting Gar to ask where you actually were - and then he went and took a long shower so he wouldn’t be able to touch his phone at all for a while.

…

When Jason went back to Gotham, Bruce made him go to therapy.

Jason thought that the entire thing was a colossal waste of time, but Bruce insisted that if he was ever going to wear the Robin mask again - he was going to get ‘cleared’ first.

Apparently, something about being kidnapped by a murderous psychopath, dropped off a building, and going to a funeral all in the span of a month doesn’t really scream of stability.

Jason was weary of Leslie at first.

He genuinely thought that her only job was to dig around for his secrets - any signs of his weakness, and report them back to Bruce. He still wasn’t all too trusting when she tried to assure him that whatever she said would stay between the two of them. But he wanted to get back to being Robin. He wanted to get back to doing his job. And if getting all mushy with her was the fastest way of doing that, then he would.

…

They were playing the stupid word association game again.

“Mother.” Leslie said, posing the first word.

“Fucker.” Jason said upon instinct, doing what he did best - deflecting from being too vulnerable by using crude humor.

Leslie gave him a deep frown, and he actually felt a pang of guilt at disappointing her.

She was one of the only adults in his life that he had ever felt bad for disappointing. Not because she put too many expectations on him - but because she didn’t. Because she expected pretty much nothing of him, and he wanted to show her that he could be great. He wanted to defy whatever bullshit Bruce had told her about him. He wanted to show her that he was more than worthy of being Robin again.

“Sorry.” He said timidly. “Habit.”

“It’s okay.” She said, forgiving him too easily. Jason wasn’t used to being forgiven.

Jason appreciated it - nobody had ever given him the chance to ‘try again’. Not even you. But he was glad about that. When you mocked him for his mistakes or called him out on his bullshit, it made him want to try harder. You were the only person in the world that he found himself actively trying for. Everyone else - he didn’t give a fuck what they thought of him. He knew that they always had preconceived notions of what he was - a screw-up, a street kid pretending while waltzing around in Robin’s costume.

But when you looked at him, you saw an asshole trying to be clever and you tore right through that persona, looking for something real. So even though he hated it - even though it made him wiggle and gape like a fish on land - he showed you more and more real parts of himself. And he couldn’t deny how good it made him feel when he was with you.

So, practicing the honesty that you had forced him to find within himself, Jason tried a more honest approach to Leslie’s word game.

“We can try again.” Leslie said, taking a small breath. “Mother.”

“Gone.” He said, announcing the first thing that truly came to mind when he thought of that word.

“Father.” Leslie moved on to the next word.

“Bruce.” Jason felt far too naked and vulnerable when saying this, but it was true.

Bruce was the closest thing to a father that he ever had.

And Jason knew that he was a bad son, constantly disappointing him - constantly failing to live up to the giant shadow that Dick had left behind.

“Robin.” She said.

“Freedom.” He easily responded.

“San Francisco.”

Jason felt like she was cheating at this point - trying to get him to weep and cry and spill all of his secrets like some kind of soap opera. He felt like she was purposefully pitching hits at his weak spots and waiting for him to block or be taken down.

“Mistake.” He said, trying his hardest not to flex back on his honesty.

He wasn’t even sure what he meant by that. If going there had been a mistake, or if he had made too many mistakes while he was there. Either way, it felt like the truth.

“Safe.” She announced the next word, and Jason was not at all surprised by the first thing that came to mind.

“Y/N.” He said your name without hesitation.

You were the only safe thing in his life. The only thing - the only person that ever truly made him feel safe. Sometimes he was terrified of losing you, or hurting you, or poisoning you as badly as he had done with so many other people. But when he was in your arms, it was so easy to forget about all of that.

You were safe.

Which was a fucking rare commodity in his life.

Leslie saw the look that came across his features - the look of fond longing mixed with gut wrenching fear. Naturally, she wanted to dig more into this. She knew that someone like Jason hadn’t grown up feeling safe, and she was curious why the concept of safety came to him now as a person’s name - and why he seemed so conflicted about it, about someone he had never even mentioned before.

“Who is Y/N?” Leslie asked. Jason didn’t immediately answer, so she prodded more. “Boyfriend? Girlfriend? … Friend?”

Leslie didn’t presume to know Jason’s sexuality, or the gender of his special person (and she wouldn’t judge him, no matter what he said) - but beyond gender, for Jason, it was even more complicated than that.

Jason didn’t know what to call you when speaking about you to someone else.

A friend that he sometimes fucks? Should he even call you a friend?

You had tried to save his life, but before that, the two of you had never really been friendly. Mostly argumentative. But no matter how much the two of you argued, you had never hurt him the way that Dick had, or Bruce had. Or even the way that the other Titans had when they had accused him of all those things he hadn’t done.

Your arguments were playful. The two of you never said anything to each other that would actually dig deep, that was ever truly meant to hurt. Nothing like when the Titans had doubted Jason’s loyalty to the team - had accused him of truly trying to harm them. Your arguments with him always held a certain kind of passion. Every time you fired back against dumb shit that he said, even if you were blatantly disagreeing with him for sport - it meant that you cared.

Jason shrugged. “Kind of.”

“Can you… explain more?” Leslie asked, careful and curious.

“Shit’s complicated.” Jason mumbled, truly unsure what to say in order to describe the situation.

“Okay, well… whoever this special person is, whatever they mean to you… why is it that they make you feel safe?”

Now that was a million dollar question.

Jason had never really asked himself that before. The ‘why’.

“Well…”

He began trying to explain it, and found himself stuck for words. But Leslie was patient, and waited for him to find the right ones.

“It’s like…” Jason sighed, finding the whole thing very difficult. “It’s like Y/N knows what I am.”

“‘What you are’?” Leslie parroted back, using his own phrasing carefully. “And what would that be?”

“An asshole. Ya know - a fuck-up.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Y/N has seen it first hand. They know me - they - they’ve seen all the worst parts of me, and… somehow, they don’t care. Y/N saw me at my worst and didn’t run.”

It was the best way that Jason could think to describe it. Everyone else who had seen him beaten down and broken - Dick, Bruce, the other Titans - they all saw him at his worst and wanted to dump him at the first possible opportunity. But you held onto him tighter and refused to let go. Even when he struggled in your loving hold like an animal caught in a trap - you still held onto him tighter than anyone else ever had.

And it made him feel a little less broken each time that he was with you.

“Okay.” Leslie smiled. “So - you find safety in not being judged? In… being allowed to be messy?”

“Yeah.” Jason nodded.

“Well, that’s perfectly normal.” She told him.

Jason found an odd sense of relief in this. There wasn’t a lot that was normal in his life.

“A lot of great relationships - whether they are friendships, or something more-”

Jason resisted the urge to speak up and say that you and him were definitely in the ‘something more’ category, but he didn’t want to jinx it. Not when it was yet to be official.

“-are founded on the truth. Founded on two people coming together because they find safety in being allowed to be their most authentic self with the other person. Feeling that they can make mistakes without being judged.” She explained this to him gently, and Jason couldn’t stop thinking about you. “So if you have that with someone, you should embrace it. Embrace that feeling of safety.”

Jason definitely had that with you. Or - he had the start of that with you. And he wanted so badly to embrace. To see where a life with you would go. Maybe it was something he wanted even more badly than becoming Robin again.

Ultimately, Jason knew that he wanted to be loved, even at his worst. But he thought that even you weren’t capable of that. Nobody was.

“Next word.” Leslie looked back down at her list. “Fear.”

Jason didn’t take long with that one either.

“Y/N.”

Leslie looked utterly confused at this one.

But - he was too raw, and he ended the session before she could prod him to explain it further.

…

Jason was afraid that he wasn’t good enough for you.

He was afraid that if the time ever came, if you were ever in danger - he wasn’t going to be able to save you like you had tried to do for him. Thinking back on it, he had no clue how you had so boldly stepped into the line of fire, how you had dangled yourself out of a window that many stories high, desperately holding onto him.

You acted fearless, put yourself on the line just to save his life - ultimately, one that wasn’t worth saving.

And if he couldn’t do the same for you, then he wasn’t worth the risks you had taken for him at all.

It was this mindset that brought him to visiting Crane in prison. He worked hard to reverse manufacture the Fear Gas, wanting to be brave for you - not knowing that it would ultimately be his downfall.

…

Going to your grandmother’s house was certainly… interesting.

She was rich. Old money rich.

It was the type of wealth you had encountered very sparsely in your life. Initially, you had only met that type of rich person for the first time when you had met Dick - someone who drove a vintage Ashton Martin and said it was a ‘family heirloom’, yet thought nothing of trading it in for a minivan on a whim.

When you first moved into the Tower - a million dollar condo with advanced tech that you could barely comprehend at first, you didn’t easily feel comfortable among all of the shiny, lavish, modern furniture and the fancy touchscreens just to access everyday necessities. At the time, you had still been sporting an illegally jailbroken iPhone 6 that you had pickpocketed off some random guy a few years prior, and soon as Dick found out about that fact, he insisted on buying you a new phone that you had a very difficult time accepting because you were not at all good with gifts or ‘being spoiled’. You felt awkward accepting something that you hadn’t worked for.

It was one of the reasons that you so easily crumbled to Jason’s sexual advances.

You felt so fucking alone when you first started living in the Tower. Your queen sized bed with a brand new mattress and brand new sheets felt too big. Being so new, it felt too cold. Sometimes you went stir-crazy, thinking about how much the silverware in the kitchen cost and the fact that the fucking television had an ipad for a remote (which apparently also controlled the curtains and the lights in the living room) - fixating on how if you had pawned those things off, if could have fed so many hungry children.

At the time, you were desperate for a distraction. Jason became a very easy one to fall into. It was all too easy to fall asleep in his bed afterwards, because even if you hated the smell of Axe body wash and drying cum, sleeping beside someone, having a warm body at your back - it eased you so much more than sleeping in a big luxurious bed by yourself.

Your grandmother’s house was a different type of rich than the Tower was. Most definitely not modern; everything in her house was about as old as things can get - but still rich. It seemed that she was blatantly against technology, in fact. She didn’t seem to have a TV anywhere in the place, and all the phones were corded into the walls like it was the 80s, and she often mocked you for being so ‘obsessed’ with that ‘brick’ in your pocket (checking, looking for Jason’s calls or texts).

All of the furniture was far older than you, and well taken care of. Polished, the fabric clearly patched or reupholstered by professionals in places where it had worn down over time. She was the nick-nack type. Tall china cabinets full of fancy dishes with patterns on them, and the moment she caught you looking at them, she went on long winding stories about how the pieces were rare antiques that had been owned by some Duke from some place in Europe - again, something more expensive than you could comprehend or even really care about.

Like it had said in the letter, your grandmother had brain cancer.

She had a large tumor that was eventually going to kill her. Apparently money can buy a lot of things - but it can’t buy a miracle treatment. The tumor had invaded too much of her brain before it had been discovered, and operating on it at her age was more likely to mean death than recovery. And as she so gracefully put it, she would rather spend her last days ‘in grace and dignity’ than to be balding and ‘out of her mind’ - so she didn’t accept the only potentially helpful chemo treatment that was offered to her.

Apparently, one of her last wishes was to meet and spend time with the grandchild that she had ‘lost’ when your mother took you away all those years ago. Your grandmother seemed nice enough - she peppered you with cheek kisses and invited you to tea the moment that you came in through the door. She had even sent a limo to pick you up at the airport, which made you feel far too important and awkward, sitting alone in the back of the expensive vehicle with a classical music station playing that you felt too intimidated to attempt to change.

And although your paranoid instincts were waiting for some horror movie reveal, waiting for someone to drug you and tell you that she was going to perform some voodoo ritual on you in order to use your young, healthy body to keep living her life and that’s all she wanted you for - you stuck around. Because the longer you waited with baited breath, the less that seemed to be the case.

If the old woman wanted to spend her last weeks of life telling you winding stories about old dishes from Europe and drinking tea with you on her porch, then you would consider it a much needed vacation. You would simply sit down and listen.

…

“And you know, her granddaughter, she was a - a handmaiden for the Duchess of Yorke, and…”

When you looked over at your grandmother, she had fallen asleep mid-sentence, holding her tea cup at an odd angle that made the small amount of tea inside almost dribble out. Though she had been talking just a moment before, telling a long, winding story about the history of the vase holding the flowers in the middle of the table - she let out a deep snore, and you worried that she was going to drop her cup or spill tea in her lap.

Strangely, after such a short period of time being around her, you found yourself caring for the woman.

You put down your own cup and crept over to her, trying not to wake her, and gently wriggled the cup out of her hands to place it down on the table.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when your phone buzzed in your back pocket. When you realized what the sudden, frightening feeling was, you took a deep breath and calmed down. Your grandmother had asked you to turn it off and leave it in your room, a luxurious guest room that she had you staying in, but you couldn’t help yourself. You missed Jason and you were eagerly waiting to talk to him. You didn’t want to miss a potential call or text from him.

You made sure that your grandmother was sleeping peacefully (in the oddly upright position as it was) before you took out your phone and sat back in your own chair, looking to see who had texted you.

New message from The Flightless Bird

Yes, Jason had a very strange contact name in your phone. For a while, you had kept it as Hot Guy, as it had originally entered it, before changing it to (Not) Hot Guy as a joke. Then, when the two of you started living at the Tower, it became a running gag for you to steal each other’s phones whenever possible and change the contact name to something strange and odd, usually paired with a memey photo to jokingly represent the other person.

After the incident where he had free fallen from the building to his near death, he had changed his contact name in your phone to ‘The Flightless Bird’ - a terrible bit of dark humor. You loved it, and you had kept it since then.

Right before you had left for your flight out, you had snuck into his room and grabbed his phone while he had been sleeping, and changed your contact name in his phone from ‘Cold Hands, Hot Ass’ to ‘Bootycall Temporarily Unavailable’. Mostly because you didn’t need him sending you dickpics at three in the morning when he got bored. As much as you loved his cock, you thought about how weird it would be trying to get off in your grandmother’s house and Jason was so damn persistent and so damn tempting.

You did have to wonder what PG-13 texting would be like between the two of you. It had been incredibly rare. All of your text conversations before living together at the Tower were R-rated enough to send anybody who read them into a mental meltdown.

Before you could wonder if you should send him a message, making it clear that he wasn’t to pull any of his typical fuckboy antics, you opened his latest message, and a large smile ripped across your face.

The Flightless Bird: ‘I miss you like hell.’

You hated that you grinned uncontrollably and your stomach flipped like a teenager with a stupid crush, but you couldn’t help it. Jason just made you feel like that these days. Even just knowing that he had been missing you too - that he had been thinking about you. That was something that had you floating as you typed out your reply, trying not to seem too desperate in your response.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Gotham must be really boring if you miss hanging out with me.’

You sent back the simple message and opened another app, browsing while you waited for his reply, trying not to seem too eager.

Moments later, your phone buzzed again.

The Flightless Bird: ‘Gotham is Gotham. It’s always been a boring shithole. The only time it’s not boring is when some fucker in a mask is trying to kill everyone.’

So very Jason. Before you could reply, he sent another message.

The Flightless Bird: ‘Plus, it’s not just hanging out with you that I miss. ;)’

Leave it to him to make even a virtual wink look so incredibly sleazy. Somehow, it brought up fond feelings within you because you had missed him so much.

You resisted the urge to tell him to cool it. Especially because your grandmother was sitting at the table with you. But you didn’t want him to get the wrong idea and start sending his cock out of nowhere.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Oh, you make it sound so appealing for me to visit.’

Then you quickly added on:

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Dealing with homicidal psychos in costumes and you nagging me for a dick appointment. You on the Gotham tourism board?’

It was only a moment before your messages were seen, and you could practically hear Jason’s dry laughter in response, even though he was so far away. You felt validated when he sent you back several laughter emojis and then quickly typed out another message.

You couldn’t help but to grin at the thought of it. You resisted the urge to hide your face in your hands, almost embarrassed at just how cheek-splitting your smile was - waiting for someone to call you out on it.

Your imagination ran away with you, and you couldn’t help but to feel warm, thinking about yourself living out his ideal day in Gotham. Being warm in his arms again, feeling his touch all over your body. Getting thoroughly fucked and only leaving his bed when the call of those in need beckoned you both to action.

You soon began picturing yourself in some spandex costume - something you didn’t yet have and made fun of Jason for wearing so often, perhaps slightly out of jealousy because he actually got the importance of a title and a suit and you didn’t yet have either. You imagined yourself in something themed around a hero name with an ice pun to suit your powers, kicking ass beside Jason while he proudly carried the mantle of Robin. The two of you taking down criminals like a perfectly paired team and topping off your night with pizza from a familiar place that Jason praised.

You began typing again.

… Robin’s Ice Machine is typing ….

‘You wanna make it a date, Jay?’

But you feared that it would sound too forward. That he was simply joking about all of it and you would seem too eager. So you deleted that message before you sent it and typed out something else instead.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘You brave the streets of downtown Gotham just for pizza?’

The Flightless Bird: ‘It’s worth it.’

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I guess they probably give Robin the hero discount.’

You typed out the message and sent it without thinking.

You had been so absorbed in your own world over the past few weeks that you had no clue that Robin hadn’t been active on the streets of Gotham for a while. You hadn’t checked the news or hadn’t thought to check in with the biggest Robin fan you knew (Gar) to ask for updates.

But ever since Jason had gotten back to Gotham - Robin hadn’t seen a night of patrol, his costume quarantined away in the Batcave like Bruce considered him some kind of disease.

The Flightless Bird: ‘I wouldn’t know.’

You found this reply to be confusing, but waited patiently while Jason typed out more.

The Flightless Bird: ‘Bruce has me benched. He said I’m not allowed to take on Robin again until I get “cleared” by a fucking shrink. Like I’m a fucking war vet or something. He’s acting like I jumped off that building on purpose or some shit.’

You wanted to remind him that in a sense, he did. That he had begged you to let him go because he hadn’t thought that he was worth saving. But you didn’t want to rub salt into the wounds. Instead, you felt curious about his words and hoped that he wouldn’t clam up if you went prodding.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Bruce has you seeing a shrink?’

You were more than tense with curiosity at this point. More than anything, you wondered if it was actually helping Jason, or if he was just going through the motions, trying to please Bruce.

The Flightless Bird: ‘Yeah. Someone named Leslie. Wants me to talk about my feelings and be vulnerable and all that type of bullshit.’

For once, this was something that Bruce had done that actually gave you hope for Jason’s future.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Maybe it’s not a bad idea.’

… The Flightless Bird is typing …

The typing bubbles appeared at the top of the screen a few times and then disappeared, indicating that Jason had read your message and was unsure about what to say in reply. Your stomach twisted up and you hated it. You hated to think that you might have insulted him.

Finally, after a few long moments, he sent something back.

The Flightless Bird: ‘Do you think I’m crazy?’

There it was. He was terrified that you thought he was broken. That because he had to go to therapy - it meant he was weak. That’s probably what Bruce thought. Or why he feared that he had been benched from being Robin.

You carefully chose your words as you replied.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I don’t know.’

You easily sent in a single message, and he read it quickly. And then, you moved on to adding more, clarifying your words.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I don’t know if you’re crazy or not, and I don’t care.’

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I know that you’re kind of fucked up - but so am I. And I don’t want to spend my time around anyone else because your kind of fucked up matches my fucked up really perfectly, and nobody else understands me like you do.’

You sent the messages, and then thought of something important to add.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘There is no normal well adjusted person in the world who would understand me like you do. Fuck normal people.’

(On the other end, Jason grinned and sighed with relief when he read these messages.)

The Flightless Bird: ‘Yeah. Fuck normal people.’

Jason easily echoed back the sentiment, and then he said something that you weren’t entirely expecting.

The Flightless Bird: ‘This therapy bullshit has got me thinking about a lot of things.’

You resisted the urge to make a ‘don’t hurt yourself’ joke - but you knew that he was sensitive, and you should encourage him to open up rather than make jokes. It was something that a version of yourself from a few months ago would have done without hesitation, but you absolutely knew that things between you and Jason had changed. Hopefully, for the better.

While you were mulling that over in your head, Jason typed out another message.

The Flightless Bird: ‘I don’t think my place is with Bruce anymore.’

You were curious what he meant by this. Did he want to quit being Robin? Had he come to realize that everything Dick said about Bruce was actually true?

When that argument came up, multiple times, you were never sure whose side to choose. You had never known the man personally, but you did find it strange that Jason seemed to idolize him and Dick seemed to resent him like he was some kind of cartoon villain. If anything, it made you wary and cautious of Bruce.

Especially because you knew that Jason had been intensely dependent on Bruce when they first met - he had just aged out of foster care, and he had the ‘choice’ of being homeless or becoming Robin. And who would really make that choice when three square a day, a giant mansion, and a shining costume are staring you in the face? Especially after everything else Jason had been through - all the adults who had given up on him, told him he was nothing. Then he was being presented with the chance to truly be something, someone so damn important.

Again, before you could question him, Jason saw that you had read the message and moved to explain himself further.

The Flightless Bird: ‘When I was at the Tower, I thought that being away from him…’

The Flightless Bird: ‘I thought that not being Robin was a punishment. But now I know that it was really good for me. And not for the reasons he thinks - not because I was benched and focusing on training.’

The Flightless Bird: ‘I got to be away from Bruce. I got some distance from the way he made me think about myself - about Robin. I used to think that I was nothing without him. That I was just some bullshit street kid nobody and him picking me up and making me Robin was what MADE me something.’

Your heart ached reading this.

So that was why he idolized Bruce so much. He thought that he would be nothing without the old man. He didn’t see all of his own strength and determination that he put into Robin. He didn’t see all of his own bravery and resolute stubbornness.

The Flightless Bird: ‘Now I realize that I can be something without him.’

The Flightless Bird: ‘I know it sounds like sappy bullshit, but you’re the one who helped me realize that I am something without him. That I can be great - even without Robin.’

You re-read the message a few times over, those words clutching at your throat, nearly bringing you to tears. For a long time, a part of you thought that you weren’t good for Jason. That you were just another nagging force in his life, another negativity. Then - you thought that you were just something he used to fill the time, to distract from the mental noise, as you did with him. And even then, as you realized that you needed him in other ways, and you might be coming to love him - you thought that he would never feel the same about you.

You thought that you had been fighting a losing battle, trying to comfort someone who didn’t want it, or wouldn’t accept it. But reading those words, feeling the rawness of their honesty - it flowed through you and hit you with a radical force.

You actually helped him.

You thought he was too stubborn and hard-headed to get through to, but hearing it directly from him - that was nice. It was more than nice, it was… it shook you to your core.

Your phone vibrated in your hand again, and you realized that you had gone too long without responding.

The Flightless Bird: ‘Too much?’

Clearly he thought that he had frightened you off.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Not too much.’

The Flightless Bird: ‘Good. So you won’t think it’s too much if I tell you that I’ve been looking at apartments?’

Wait - what?

You had barely finished reading the message before he sent you a screenshot of an online listing - a picture of some shady, broken-down building. When you glanced at the address, you were almost sure that it was in downtown Gotham.

You wanted to believe that Jason was joking. But from the general tone of the conversation, he didn’t seem to be. He was eager to get away from Bruce, to be out on his own.

Your stomach curled with warmth at the thought of you and Jason living together, and this time not because of some half-baked superhero team. But by choice. This time because you were… what? Friends? Lovers?

You armed yourself with humor as you replied.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Jason, that’s downtown Gotham. It’s a shithole.’

The Flightless Bird: ‘Oh, living with rich grandmama has you getting used to the fancy pants lifestyle now? Shall I start looking at mansions with 500 acres and golden swimming pools?’

You let out a small chuckle at his joke. You could practically hear him reciting the words with a fake snooty accent to drive home his point, but you eagerly felt the need to correct him.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Hey, I grew up in shitholes too. You know a lot of the time I didn’t even have a roof, Jay.’

The Flightless Bird: ‘Yes, and you slept on a bed of bricks and ate dirt for dinner. Oliver Twist ass. You’re the only person I know who grew up more poor than I did.’

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘The correct tense is: poorer.’

The Flightless Bird: ‘Yet you could afford grammar lessons? Damn.’

You couldn’t hold back a small bit of laughter at this. One of the things he hated most was you correcting his grammar, and you still found it highly amusing.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘My point is that all this fancy shit makes me uncomfortable. I feel like I can’t even sit down on the furniture at my grandmother’s properly.’

The Flightless Bird: ‘Grandmama will probably have it steam cleaned when you leave. To get the street rat smell out.’

The Flightless Bird: ‘Anyway, do you like the apartment or not?’

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I don’t know. It looks… sketchy.’

The Flightless Bird: ‘It is. It’s a sketchy ass neighborhood.’

You started typing out a reply full of protests against this, wondering why he would want the two of you to live in a place that was full of drug dealers and other crime, but he beat you to it with another message - and when you read it, your heart warmed.

The Flightless Bird: ‘But - I thought me and you could help keep it safer.’

You grinned widely at this again.

You resisted the urge to correct his grammar again, wanting to tell him the tense was ‘you and I’. He was truly onto something here and you didn’t want to ruin the moment for him.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I’ll have to see it in person first.’

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘When I come to Gotham.’

You had no clue what stupid love bug had bitten you - but you were seriously agreeing to go view an apartment with Jason Todd. And you were more excited than anything else.

You finally resigned to the idea, feeling a certain kind of joy in making plans with him. You were entirely unfamiliar with the feeling of looking forward to the future. It was delightfully strange.

For the first time in your entire life, you felt giddy and optimistic for the future.

On the other end, Jason pumped an arm and cheered quietly to himself, knowing that he would hold you to the promise of coming to Gotham to visit him. Knowing that once he had you in town, he would somehow talk you into getting an apartment with him.

This was just the start of your life together. In his mind, this was just the first of many plans.

The Flightless Bird: ‘You could be on a plane tomorrow.’

The Flightless Bird: ‘I’ll pay for your ticket.’

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘You mean Daddy would?’

You knew Jason was rolling his eyes at this, and while he rushed to type out protests about Bruce being his ‘Daddy’, you corrected his initial thought.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I can’t come tomorrow, anyway. My trip isn’t supposed to end for another week, at least.’

You didn’t want to tell him that you were getting attached to your grandmother, and you didn’t want to leave her yet. You thought he might mock you for developing those vulnerable familial attachments too quickly. And he would have been right.

The Flightless Bird: ‘Well, don’t take too long. I miss your stupid face.’

In your mind, the only proper response to this was to open your camera and take a picture of yourself - one crudely sticking your tongue out and flipping him off.

You sent it to him and received back several heart emojis.

The Flightless Bird: ‘Gorgeous as always, babe.’

Right then, Jason made that picture into his lockscreen.

You rolled your eyes, and bit your lip to suppress another stupid giddy smile.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘And you’re a charming asshole, as always.’

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘But I guess you’re mine.’

You sent the last part without much thought, feeling a twist in your gut when Jason read it and didn’t immediately reply. You stared at the screen for several long moments, waiting for something, wondering how he would react -

But then your attention was snapped away from your conversation with Jason when your grandmother let out a loud snort and woke from her nap.

“Playing with that brick again?” She said, sounding quite displeased.

Though you felt anxious, wondering if you had scared Jason away with your affection, you locked the screen and put the phone back into your pocket.

“Sometimes these ‘bricks’ can be useful.” You told her. “Maybe you should get one.”

You suggested it on the idea that you could communicate with her more easily once your trip was over, though you knew what her stance on the matter was. It didn’t hurt to try.

“Oh deary. I’d never want to strain my eyes looking at that. You know what they say - old dogs, and such.” She let out a small yawn. “Besides, I have heard they can give you cancer.”

You let out a snort of laughter. At least it was nice to know where your sense of dark humor came from.

…

Jason wasn’t sure why he did it.

Bruce told him not to. It should have been obvious that it was a trap. If history had anything to say about it - the Joker never made himself that obvious unless he wanted to get caught. Unless he was planning something and he wanted a lot of people to get caught up in the smoke.

Unless the Joker blatantly wanted attention, then he stayed hidden.

Maybe it was the Anti-Fear Gas. Maybe Jason needed to prove that he was brave. That he was good enough to take up the mantle of Robin again - even if he didn’t necessarily want it. Deep down, he needed to prove to himself that he was good enough for you. That he wasn’t just some broken bird that you needed to fix.

Jason thought the drug made him brave, but it probably just made him stupid. He thought this would be a good field test for it. But it just made his senses dull and useless to everything around him. It made him less aware of his surroundings, it blurred out all his fight or flight that nature intended.

When Bruce said that fear served him, he had no clue that this is what the old man meant.

The Anti-Fear Gas made perfect conditions for someone to sneak up on him.

He heard the cackling laughter - a sound coming from one of those stupid carnival machines, or from the Joker himself, he wasn’t sure - before he even realized what was going on. There was a bag over his head and some heavy, hazy drug forced under his nose.

He was stupid.

He thought he learned something from the incident with Doctor Light.

But it turns out that he was just as stupid as everyone accused him of being.

Because when he woke up, he was right back there. Tied to a chair. Confused. And when the Anti-Fear Gas started to wear off - he was scared. Utterly terrified. Just like he had been on that night.

Bruce was at some investors’ meeting halfway around the world. When Jason didn’t pick up his calls, didn’t answer his texts - he thought that Jason was still pissed off about the fight they had before he left. Bruce tried to give him distance. Without Alfred around to keep an eye on him, nobody reported Jason missing.

Nobody even noticed that he was gone.

…

When Jason stopped answering your texts, you got a horrible feeling in your gut.

The next time you looked at your phone, he had left you on read, and you had an utterly horrible feeling about it. Your stomach twisted over on itself, you became ripe with worry. You immediately wanted to cry to Dick about it, beg him to go searching for Jason’s tracker, or at the very least, call Bruce and ask to confirm where Jason was.

But technically - you had nothing to cry about.

Jason wasn’t your boyfriend. He didn’t owe you anything. Especially not his time. He didn’t owe you an immediate reply to your messages. He wasn’t supposed to be at your beckoned call like a loyal dog.

You had to guess that he got busy training. That he was angry with Bruce, so he was spending extra hours at the gym, working off that anger. Maybe he had doubled down on the apartment search and he was somewhere in downtown Gotham, looking at more shitholes where he didn’t have any service.

At the very worst, you thought maybe you had scared him off with your affection. You thought maybe he was finally realizing that he didn’t want that big, scary thing with you, and he was getting ready to run away from it. Maybe he was debating blocking your number so that he didn’t have to break-off this non-relationship with you.

Maybe he had met someone else.

You went over the possibilities - made yourself sick, wondering why he wasn’t answering you.

But you had never considered the most sickening possibility of them all.

…

As usual, the Joker had seemingly no aim with his chaos.

He took Jason to some random location. Tied him up, hit him. Some of the Joker’s goons came and went. The Joker talked about potentially setting Jason out as ‘bait’ for the Bat to come and get. Jason wanted to tell him that his precious Bat was out of town, but he couldn’t risk revealing Bruce’s identity if he divulged that information.

If that was the Joker’s plan - using Jason as bait - he waited a long time to get on with it.

He spent the interim torturing Jason in increasingly creative ways.

Jason watched the sun rise and fall three different times - through a tiny window in whatever place they were keeping him. When darkness fell on the fourth day, his eyes were becoming too swollen to see light anymore.

Jason tried not to flinch when he heard footsteps approaching.

Every single inch of Jason’s body ached - he was sure that he had fingers broken, an arm broken. Broken ribs. He had several missing teeth, and he was leaking blood freely into his mouth. If he did get out of this, he would be severely fucked up for the rest of his life.

But he had a feeling that the Joker wasn’t going to let him out of this.

A cold hand moved across his forehead, and instinctively, he flinched away from it. The Joker tutted his tongue, and other voices came - echoes of laughter in the room, goons he had brought along with him.

“So shy, Little Birdie.” The Joker’s voice mocked him. “You weren’t so shy when you came looking for me… in fact, you were eager then. Eager, eager, eager. Eager to play my games. But you don’t wanna play now, do you?”

Jason was exhausted. But he knew that he couldn’t give up. If he stopped fighting, then the Joker had won.

“Fuck you.” Jason said, fighting past blood flowing in his mouth, deflated, clearly tired.

But he was still fighting.

The Joker laughed.

Cruel. Harsh.

“Well, I’ll take that as a sign - game on!”

The Joker clapped his hands together above Jason’s head, loudly. Jason hated that he flinched. There was another round of laughter from the goons.

Jason expected that the ‘game’ would be something violent. Removing his fingers, having the goons take turns to hit him harder. Perhaps they would strap him to some kind of target and make up point values for his different limbs and then have a knife throwing contest around him.

But no.

It seemed that they were growing bored of physical violence.

Something that Jason hadn’t even thought of - an utterly terrifying possibility.

With his eyes out of commission, he was relying on his ears more. He heard a small click, a button being pushed - if he wasn’t mistaken, it was someone trying to wake the lockscreen of a phone. It was very close to his head.

“My, my, that is a pretty one.” The Joker teased.

Jason sucked in a sharp breath, causing a painful sting in his likely broken ribs as an even more painful realization hit him.

They had taken his phone. The Joker was talking about you.

He should never have made that picture of you into his lockscreen, you were too important, he had put you in danger -

“Tell me, does this pretty thing have a name?”

The Joker chuckled - Jason thought maybe the phone with your picture was being waved in front of his face, but he couldn’t quite see it.

“Oh wait! You can’t see it, can you?” The Joker seemed amused to remember this, his voice light and jaunty as the thought crossed his mind.

“Fuck you!” Jason spat out, much more energized now, refreshed with the might of protecting you - quite literally spitting blood, hopefully getting some on the clown.

The Joker simply let out another cackling laugh.

There was a ping. A text message coming in.

Let it be Bruce. Let it be Dick. Let it be Gar, for fuck’s sake. Anybody but you.

“You know, this friend of yours sends an awful lot of text messages.”

The Joker chuckled, putting emphasis on that word, clearly mocking Jason’s relationship status with you. Even with his psychotic mind, he could see that Jason loved you more than he cared to admit, and he was terrified to speak it aloud.

“‘Jason, I’m worried about you. Please text me back when you can. I know it’s stupid to be worried just cause I haven’t heard from you in a few days, but Gotham is a stupid shithole and I wanna know that you haven’t been eaten by a giant mutant crocodile or something.’”

Jason’s skin crawled when the Joker read a text from you aloud.

You were worried.

Jason was beaten, dying because of the consequences of his own stupid actions, and you were worried.

“Well, that’s almost sweet.” The Joker sniggered. “You’ve been ignoring these for days now! That’s rude!”

Another round of laughter from the goons.

Jason was then struck with the realization that because of his current situation - idiotically kidnapped, tied to a chair, beaten - he had been ignoring you for days. He had unintentionally caused you to worry, on top of everything else. He had hurt you.

Had you sent someone looking for him? Would he actually somehow get out of this? Was there a chance that he might actually be rescued?

“I think we should answer. Your sweet little friend deserves some closure - a load off the mind, you know.”

The Joker’s voice took on a menacing dark tone as he said this.

Jason’s insides clenched with horror. They had tortured him in almost every way imaginable - taken it as far as they could without actually killing him. They had inflicted all kinds of pain on his body. Now they were going to torture his mind.

They were pulling you into their game as a fucked up pawn.

“No!” Jason tried to weakly protest, but then, entirely against his will, came the sound of his phone unlocking. “Fuck you!”

He hadn’t put a password on it yet. It was relatively new - a present Bruce had gotten him when he had come back to Gotham. A bid to buy his affection. He hadn’t gotten around to putting a password on it yet.

Another stupid mistake.

Jason nearly lost his breath when he heard ringing. The Joker wasn’t just going to reply to your text messages - he was calling you.

Whatever happened to Jason next - whatever torture, whatever pain they inflicted upon him - they were going to make you listen.

…

One thing you had come to learn over the past week: rich people have a lot of peculiar habits.

Your grandmother would insist that you be there for afternoon tea at three o’clock sharp, and apparently having too much sugar in your tea was considered rude, because it was a reflection of the quality of the tea that the host had presented you with. She insisted that you ‘dress for dinner’ - which meant that you weren’t allowed to wear sweatpants at her formal dining table, and even ripped jeans were frowned upon. Also, sitting with your feet curled underneath you at the dining table caused her glare at you - a lot.

But as much as she had scolded you for your brutish, poor people ways - you had managed to bring her around to some of your ways of life. You showed her how binging reality shows could be fun, and that not all types of processed junk food were terribly beyond her taste.

It was probably why you were putting up with this now. The garden party.

You were surprised that she had been able to put together a party this elaborate so quickly. But she said that it was necessary because she had insisted that she wanted you to meet all of her friends.

You thought that it would be just a few people; no more than would fill up the dozen chairs that she had at her exceedingly large fancy dining table. But you grew more anxious as cars filled the long driveway and more people filled the ‘garden’ out back, picking at tables that had been set up with expensive catered food and sipping on drinks that were being poured by a bartender that had been highered last minute.

Of course - your grandmother insisted on picking an outfit for you. She didn’t bring herself to care where exactly on the gender spectrum you fell - she didn’t even bring up your birth gender at all, which surprised you, since she had known you as a baby. She simply took it at face value when you introduced yourself to her by name and the two of you easily rolled with things from there. It was strange for an old woman, especially one so caught up in the history of all the objects in her home. But you supposed that those deathbed regrets ran deep and she preferred to spend this time with you actually embracing you instead of arguing with you and potentially driving you away.

She insisted on picking your clothes because she simply hated your graphic band tee shirts and your ripped jeans, and insisted that you wear something ‘light and airy’ worthy of a garden party. All she had asked before she consulted her personal shopper was if you had a preference of pants or a skirt. And you couldn’t bring yourself to protest, even when you saw the pastel colours that you normally would have utterly hated.

You weren’t sure why you were trying so hard to impress someone that you barely knew - someone you could barely even call family. Perhaps it was because your mother had treated you so poorly - she had never cared if you were clothed or fed, so having someone buy you expensive new clothes after caring to have ‘family dinner’ with you every night, it was touching. Especially considering that she was throwing an entire party in your honor when your mother hadn’t even wished you ‘happy birthday’ most years - often forgot the day and let it pass without acknowledgment at all.

Everything your grandmother was going for you, it made you feel like you truly mattered for the first time in your young life.

Perhaps for the first time since Jason had insisted on stitching up your wound - after he had told you that you being hurt on his behalf in the first place was such a terrible crime. But you didn’t want to think about that too much because you missed him so terribly.

You did find yourself picky at the itchy, slightly too tight collar as you went downstairs to join the other guests. Your grandmother paraded you around, introduced you to different people. And soon, she abandoned you near one of the snack tables when she was called over by some ‘business associate’.

You couldn’t resist the urge to pull out your phone and check - your stomach sank when you saw that there was still nothing from Jason.

Entirely against your own will, you began typing.

‘Jason, I’m worried about you. Please text me back when you can. I know it’s stupid to be worried just cause I haven’t heard from you in a few days, but Gotham is a stupid shithole and I wanna know that you haven’t been eaten by a giant mutant crocodile or something.’

You hoped that he would reply soon. Even if it was telling you to fuck off.

You hated when you got sucked into another conversation with more people you didn’t know. You quickly found yourself mentally begging to be released from the hell as more and more people asked you questions that you couldn’t even begin to form the answers to.

“What are your top three?” One of the women asked you, looking at you with precise, dissecting eyes.

‘Top three what?’ You wanted to shriek.

“My Brandon is going to Dartmouth after summering in Metropolis. Doing a lot of volunteer work there - an angel, he is.”

The other women standing around you all nodded, giving approving looks with strangely fake smiles, and all you could do was nod and smile along with them.

‘Summering? Since when is that a verb?’

You wished more than anything that Jason was there with you. Not only would he pull you aside and relentlessly laugh at these plastic-y women with you, but you knew that he would be able to save you from this. He did have a bit more experience being around rich people because of Bruce, and he would actually be able to tell you what the hell they were saying. He would be able to translate all this shit to ‘Oliver Twist’ for you so that you wouldn’t feel like you were suddenly living on some alien planet.

“Where do you usually summer? When you’re not with your grandmother, that is?”

You felt more panic rise in you as another question was directed at you, desperately racking your brain for an answer that wouldn’t make you sound stupidly out of place to them.

Luckily, before you had to stumble your way through the interaction, your phone began to vibrate in the pocket of the overly expensive blazer that your grandmother had made you wear. You wanted to breathe a sigh of relief at the chance for distraction - even though it was probably a spam call, or Gar, calling to complain that he was lonely because Rachel wasn’t back from her trip yet. (Without you and Jason there, and with Rachel extending her stay on Themyscira, he near constantly complained to you that he was lonely, and that he hated everyone leaving.)

But still, you jumped at the chance to escape the many pairs of eyes, staring at you, studying your every move like you were a very fascinating bug. Looking at you like you were something that didn’t belong there.

“I have to take this.” You grinned at them, reaching to grab your phone out of your pocket.

You moved away from the group of clucking hens, hoping for some privacy in the conversation. Even if it was just Gar, you would use this opportunity to stall for as long as possible before being pulled back into the party.

When you took your phone out and saw Jason’s contact photo lighting up the screen, you couldn’t hold back the smile that broke across your cheeks. It was a picture of him sticking his tongue out that you had taken using the front facing camera when he had been annoying you over your shoulder one day.

Pure, unadulterated joy. That stupid teenager crush igniting your insides yet again.

You moved toward the refreshment table, knowing that you looked like an idiot as you stared down at your phone, smiling so widely.

You knew that you were in too deep. That you probably felt far more deeply for him than he did for you - that you would have dared to call it that deep, ‘tied together forever’ thing, and he probably wouldn’t.

But you were caring less and less each day. You were beginning not to care if he broke your heart.

At this point, you were just along for the ride.

A very small voice in the back of your head told you that maybe he was calling to break things off with you. Maybe, all this time that he had gone without speaking to you, he had been waiting, working up the courage, finding the right words to tell you that he was truly done with you.

But no. That wouldn’t be the case.

He had simply been busy. And now, he was calling to tell you what a hectic, shitty few days it had been, how much he had missed you -

“Hey, asshole. I don’t know if you leeched some of Rach’s psychic powers, but you called just in time to save me.”

You breathed into the receiver as soon as you picked up, throwing out a casual greeting, knowing that Jason wouldn’t be offended by the words.

“I always hesitate to say that you were right, but I am beginning to regret not taking you up on that offer to come with me. You should see some of these rich, stuck-up snobs - you would be laughing your ass off if you were here right now.”

There was a long silence.

Your stomach dropped.

On the other end, you had no clue that Jason felt that exact same sting of regret about not coming with you. If he had - the two of you could have been safe and happy together.

Fear clutched at your throat.

It was a basic instinct, but you knew that the silence wasn’t a good thing. You thought that all of your worst fears were about to come true. That Jason was about to tell you that he was truly done with you, that he never actually felt anything for you in the first place, and he was just working up the courage to speak the words aloud.

But it was so much worse than that. It was worse than anything you could have imagined.

A single, ragged breath.

Air struggling to get in and out of his lungs past broken bone - pain.

Standing in the radiance of a warm, pleasant afternoon, with people mingling happily all around you - all the life drained from you. All the happiness sucked out of the world in a matter of seconds.

You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs, wanted to cry out for help.

There was a unique cruelty in the fact that everyone else in the garden simply went on, chatting, laughing, engaging in merriment. The fact that they went about their stupid party, having no clue that a world away, in Gotham - a great tragedy was taking place.

All of those rich assholes sipped their drinks and carried on with their day, having no clue that your world was about to end.

“Jason?”

You knew that your voice was so utterly wounded, small and terrified. You made no effort to hide it.

There was a harsh sound - a collision of flesh, a groan. A hit. It was a sound that somehow made your guts twist in on themselves even more.

“Go on, Robin.”

That voice wasn’t Jason. It wasn’t someone you knew. It was wicked and harsh and made you want to scream. All you could do was swallow around a thick dryness that had formed in your throat - like sandpaper had been put there.

You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t do anything more than listen.

“Go on, answer your pretty friend.”

Jason sucked in another harsh breath, and sputtered out a cough.

“I - I fucked up.” Jason said, his voice ragged. “I fucked up big time.”

You felt a hot, wet tear run down your face before you realized that you were crying. Your legs were filled with concrete and you felt the world spinning on its axis. It was a miracle that you managed to stay standing upright.

You couldn’t even comprehend how you might have looked to someone else in those moments, and truthfully it didn’t matter. No one else at the party even noticed the terrible grief that had struck you. They simply carried on, absorbed in their own little world.

“Jason?”

It hadn’t even occurred to you that you had given up Jason’s secret identity - the name behind the Robin mask. You were too busy quaking with fear, your chest tight as you considered: this might actually be the end of his life.

And you couldn��t do anything about it.

What the fuck could you do about it?

“What happened?” You rushed to ask, your voice full of breath, full of fear. “What’s happening?”

More tears poured down your face, and you swallowed around the tightness of your throat, forcing a clearness to be able to speak.

“I made a mistake.” Jason said, his voice coming out in a tight wheeze as he struggled to breathe. “I - I never should have gotten you involved in this.”

You knew what he really wanted to say. He wanted to apologize for letting you get close to him. For giving you the potential to get hurt.

“No!” You easily argued back. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

You decided right then and there - maybe you had decided a long time ago - if he broke your heart by leaving you alone, by dying, you didn’t care. You didn’t care if he left you fucked up and broken. All of the time the two of you had spent together - it had all been worth it.

You needed him to know that. You needed him to know.

“Jason, I-”

You hesitated for a moment before you said it. Before you crossed that line into the abyss. Your voice clouded with the thickness of your tears when you finally said the words.

“I love you.”

When he heard it, Jason let out a wounded howl.

You thought that he had been stabbed. You let out a sob of your own, echoing his pain.

You did not know that it was these words alone that damned him. It was something that hurt him more than any baseball bat crashing down over his knees or any brass knuckles against his jaw ever could have.

Moments before his death, you sentenced him to the worst crime of all - breaking your heart. Now, with his own foolish choices, he had damned you to a life without the one you loved. You had sentenced him to dying with the knowledge that he was the worst piece of shit to ever touch your life. That he truly had rotted everything good about you - just like he had promised.

You could have chosen anyone else, and you chose to love the stupid, fucked up, idiotic Jason Todd. The man who was about to die due to his own incompetence.

“Aww, isn’t that sweet?” The stranger’s voice was there again, mocking you.

You weren’t surprised that Jason didn’t say it back - but you hoped that your words, that you saying it brought some comfort to him.

You were about to open your mouth again, about to promise that you would find him and rescue him in time.

And then another pillar of hell struck you.

“Now, it’s time for the little birdie to go bye-bye.”

You couldn’t even muster your voice again, couldn’t scream out against this. Your throat was swollen shut, like an allergic reaction to the tragedy as it happened.

There was a silence - a second of your life that swallowed you whole like an abyss of fifty endless years.

And then, that silence was cut through by the worst sound you had ever been forced to hear.

A gunshot.

The sound was distinctive, clear as day.

“Jason?!”

You screamed his name at the top of your lungs - this time, undeniably drawing attention to yourself. Even the plastic party goers couldn’t ignore a tragedy of this magnitude. You couldn’t bring yourself to care as multiple of their heads snapped toward you, taking in the now utterly disheveled sight of you, crying, clutching at your phone like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“Jason?!” You screamed again, your voice nagging into a hopelessly dead line.

You didn’t know that they had smashed Jason’s phone, disposing of it now that they were done with their game.

Upon instinct, you ran. Your legs were heavy and felt stupid and you stumbled into multiple people on your way into the house, causing murmurs as the crowd stared at you. You didn’t care. You were panicked, shaking, confused. You made your way up to the guest bedroom that you had been staying in and began frantically shoving your things back into your bag, half-packed when you finally realized that you had no clue where you were going.

And you collapsed onto the floor, then. Your whole body was weak, overtaken by shock. Clueless and terrified, your chest was barely taking in breath and your own phone slipped out of your shaking hand when you tried to think of your next move.

For a long time - what felt like endless hours, days - you could do nothing but sit there and desperately try to suck air into your lungs, playing the gunshot sound over and over again in your mind.

They shot Jason. They shot Jason. They had shot Jason.

Your brain could hardly process it.

One of your grandmother’s caretakers knocked on the bedroom door and you couldn’t gather words to answer. When she asked you what had happened, you couldn’t even begin to explain. That was when you realized that you had needed concrete answers yourself. So as she left the room to make you some peppermint tea ‘for your nerves’, you forced your shaking hands to work, and you grabbed up your phone again.

You needed to call Dick.

He didn’t pick up. Then you called Kory. No dice. Then you called Gar - you could hear the bustle of a crime scene in the background, but he sounded okay. He was talking in his usual bright, excited voice. The Titans had likely just made a bust. He was excited to be making a difference, helping people.

You sucked down breath and tripped over your own words trying to explain it. Jason was in trouble - a gunshot, he was hurt. He was dead. Gar barely understood, tried arguing against you because you sounded hysterical. But he passed the phone to Dick at your insistence. Dick made sense of your words, and made you wait fifteen long painful minutes until he was back in front of the computer at Titans Tower to give you some kind of answer.

Jason’s tracker was online. It was in Gotham. It was at the Amusement Mile.

It wasn’t picking up any heat signature from Jason’s body. That only meant one thing: his body was cold.

“I’m - I’m so sorry, Y/N. Jason’s - he’s gone.”

...

A/N: This is part one of two, and I do have the second part ready to go in my drafts.

Based on the original, Emergency Contact, having around 400 notes, and based on the fact that Jason Todd is a popular character:

I would like to see around 50 reblogs and around 50 comments on this before I post the next part.

Which I do think is a modest ask - if the same amount of people who enjoyed the original show up to read this sequel, then I will be asking one quarter of those people to comment or reblog. And I say 'around' because if I see a good amount of people commenting and reblogging, even if we don't meet the goal, then I will post the next part more quickly.

(I just don't want another incident to happen where people stop commenting immediately as the goal is met and then I end up with 30 comments and 900 likes, clearly showing that people don't care to support a fic even if they clearly enjoyed it.)

However, if you are going to comment, please do not just comment asking for the next part or asking when the next part will be posted, please comment about the body of work that has already been written and posted. I find it inconsiderate and stressful when people only ask for updates. I much prefer to spark a discussion about the existing work that has been written.

Anyway - I am just insanely proud of this fic and I really want to hear what you guys think of it so far!! So please do comment, reblog and rant in the tags, or come to my inbox and chat with me on anon if you're shy. I always wanna hear from fellow Jason Todd lovers and fellow Titans enjoyers.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #titans #dc titans #fic rec #my lovely moots #rec #rereading this brb

217 notes · View notes

bluecookies02 · 4 years ago

Text

Dabi x Reader- I Run To You /nsfw/

warnings: praise/degradation, sex oriented quirk?(meaning succubus-ish!Reader), choking, overstimulation, squirting, pinning/slightly obsessed reader.

The reader becomes a villain-->brief mentions of blood, mentions of Touya's "death".

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Maybe you're supposed to feel some sort of remorse when you see your childhood friend on the screen, blue flames hugging every corner of the building he's in, the poor glass shattering and melting as the reporters hurriedly fly around to catch every evidence and information they can.

You couldn't see much of his face, but the way he carried himself and the exact patterns of his scarred arm were enough for her. You only needed one glance.

It took a few months for you to wrap your head around it. Trying to push down the anger and grief by finding excuses for whatever he's doing. You became obsessed though, super fixated on every last trail of him you can find.

Years went by fast. Gaining the trust of other villains was fairly easy when you share the same hatred for the heroes. It brings you a sense of belonging and they listen. They listen and feel your anger, understand loss better than anyone else you tried to talk to before. You don't receive stupid condolences and bullshit like "it gets better" or "that's what faith had in store for you". You get raw emotion, telling you exactly what you yearned to hear, finally knowing that you're not crazy and that there are people who have enough braincells to see through the terrible facades the society has been smearing over everybody's eyes.

It's hard at first, watching blood and flesh rip through the air you breathe as your shoes leave red trails that follow your step...until they don't...they get mixed and lost and the footprints you once knew were yours look foreign, you don't know where you came from, you just know where you're headed.

You come back to your small apartment almost every night, writing down and scribbling each piece of information before it has the chance to be forgotten, intent on not letting a single detail slip.

You find it bizarre. You wanted to be a hero. For as long as your memory goes, you admired and glorified the kind and selfless faces you saw on TV, and in your own house.

He wanted to be a hero too? Even more than you. You're close, just a handful of months and you'd earn yourself a place. You know it.

Would he remember you?

Your pen breaks under the pressure of your palm, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You stack the notebooks neatly, locking your door before plopping on your pillow.

All of this for a boy...how silly of you...Would he be happy to have someone familiar next to him?

You feel lonely...You miss the comfort of the past and you wonder if he does too. Did he even like you back then? You dig for every memory of him smiling at you, gracing your hand while the two of you played the games on his computer.

Then your eyes wander to the pictures on your wall, collages of newspapers with his face on it. He aged like fine wine. Strong and handsome. His hands are something you can't look away from, his long fingers keeping you in a trance while you snuggle under your blanket, slipping your hand in your shorts. Just this time.

You bend your legs at your knees, head craned to look at the pictures on your walls, mouth loosely open. You take your time working your clit, imagining how he would do it. How he would take his time exploring you after not seeing you for so long.

Your ass bucks off the bed a little, humping against your fingers, almost dipping into your greedy pussy, ghosting over the slicked up hole and spreading the nice coat of the slimy wetness across your folds.

Would he be good at eating you out? Stretching his scarred jaw to fit his mouth over your cunt and lap at it, sticking his tongue out as far as it can go.

You stretch your shorts to fit your hand in, pressing two fingers on each side of the sensitive nub, using your other hand to flick at the exposed pearl. It almost burns from the pressure, too sensitive when it's not hidden under the thin layer.

What if he had his tongue pierced? Imagining the metal on you, swirling over every inch, digging into you as it bumps your clit. You can't make yourself wait anymore, pulling your shorts down and pressing your knees to your tummy. Like he's there in the room, giving him a perfect view of your dripping hole, untouched and clenching around nothing as you trail your finger across it.

You slip two of them in, too horny to drag it out anymore, you start pumping them in and out of your pussy, convulsing and shivering each time you hit that spot while you arch off the bed. Your other hand works your clit, chasing the trashing of your hips while your drenched cunt pools around your fingers, the sound making you high. It's wet and erotic, your palm slamming against your other hand, the rhythm on your clit rushed and messy, interrupting the pace you need.

You imagine his skilled fingers on you again, precisely circling your swollen nub as he stuffs you with his cock, his hot breath on your neck while his dyed hair tickles your face, wet kisses adoring your skin as he's about to stuff you full of his cum, press your legs to your stomach until they feel like they're gonna break. He'd try to go deeper than possible, holding your neck so that he can kiss you properly as your bodies rock the bed.

He'd cum first, seconds before you just to make sure that you milk every last drop as you cum and pulse around his shaft, your pussy gripping and sucking him in while he still balls deep inside you, groaning into your mouth.

The sensation of him shaking against you sends you over the edge, your breath being knocked out of you as your thighs flex and clench together, squeezing your hands and trapping them in place.

You're gasping for breath, eyes closing and ears buzzing from your high, light thrust against your clit coming to a stop as you slowly calm down.

Bliss washes over you as you lay there for a bit, chest rising and falling, your body completely relaxed.

You hope it'll all turn out to be worth it and joining the League would just be another step from many to go. Yet you still hope that your feelings were mutual back then. You experience loss too early in your teen years and a lot has changed since. But one thing was constant, you never stop loving someone even after they're gone, and Touya is the biggest proof of that.

You still had his books, pens, shirts and all of the notes the two of you passed around during dinners or classes...and you held onto them long before you found out he was still somewhere out there.

He was stoic and cold most of the time, his affections looked calculated, keeping you on the line throughout the whole friendship, not letting the two of you slip into a relationship. Pausing his flirting as soon as you seemed to get your hopes up.

If not a relationship, you want closure, and you want him, in any form you can have him.

_______________

Slowly you wake up to a pattern of knocks on your bedside table, not having the time to panic or get scared as you're slipping away from your dreams.

When you finally do see a tall white-haired man next to your bed, you raise your hands up in defense, heart skipping beats and toes curling as you back away to the headboard.

"Quiet a stalker aren't you?" Red eyes pierce through you, your quirk activating for a split second until he grabs a hold of your ankle with four fingers.

"You know what the fifth one does...so behave nicely, I'm not here to kill you" You look around the room, avoiding the uncomfortable gaze of the leader.

The shame of your interior upsetting you more than the initial fear of getting murdered.

"How did you get in?" Your locks are too good to be broken down, your alarm system expensive(but stolen) and working perfectly.

A purple portal flashes in the middle of the room. Well not so perfectly, you figure.

"I won't snitch on your obsession cause I couldn't care less, I want you in the League. Pack your shit or run." Your eyes are wide open, watching as the man slips into a portal and disappears, the purple mist still glowing in front of you.

You hurriedly grab a small suitcase, stuffing everything you know is important, already having some luggage packed in case you had to move fast for whatever reason. It comes in handy being organized.

You hide the newspapers you took off your walls, slipping them between your clothes and zipping the suitcase. First impression matters, so you risk wasting a bit of time to pick out an outfit, making yourself look presentable before you slip into a mellow cloud, dragging your stuff with you.

Your heart is pounding, blood rushing to the tips of your ears and the pads of your fingers, pulsing and warming you up.

The leader greets you again, grinning as he leads you to a room, telling you to make yourself at home.

"I wanted to give you a roommate, but that would be distracting" he teases, his teeth still showing as he closes the door behind you. The room is warm and surprisingly not messy at all. Yes, some things are carelessly tossed on the bed or draped over the chair but everything else is neat. You figure out fairly quickly that it was probably occasionally used.

You take your time to explore the room, piling up the stuff that wasn't yours in one corner of it. You unpack one of your suitcases and half of the other, cursing yourself for bringing the evidence of your little plan.

You don't know why you brought it, it seemed useless after you found out where you're going, but you guess it's for sentimental reasons. You didn't plan for it to happen so fast. But they were indeed a bit low on numbers after recent attacks so they must've gotten impatient and started seeking out more people.

You did do everything in your power to get noticed so you do want to take some credit. You smoothen out the sheets before you sit on the bed, thighs rubbing together from nervousness.

Is he on a mission?

How can you play it cool?

What's his favorite food now?

What are his interests?

Does anything make him particularly happy...maybe a hobby?

Should you try using your quirk to lure him in?

Does he know you exist?

Will he recognize you?

Would he remember you even after you tell him?

Maybe you shouldn't tell him.

You stop before you get too deep in your thoughts, deciding that you should make yourself comfortable. It's very likely that he's not there anyways, and he might not even show up soon, sitting there all alone is just making you more anxious.

You decide to leave the room, curious to meet other members that you heard in the hallways a few minutes ago. They were all headed to the same place, so you decided to go to what you figured was the living room.

The smell of alcohol got stronger, and the small giggles and banter got louder. You fixed your clothes one last time before opening the door, seeing the all too familiar faces in the room.

A blonde-haired girl ran to you, almost tumbling them both to the floor as she giggled excitedly.

"I was dying for more girls in this dump, they all stink" she whined, sniffing your shirt. She was grabbed by the collar by the boss, his pinkie up as the girl huffed.

_________________

So that's exactly how you met everyone, sitting on the bar as you silently wished the last member showed any desire in greeting you. He was sprawled out on the sofa in the far end of the room, a beer in hand and a cigarette in his mouth. You've never seen someone so unapproachable before, and it had to be him of all people.

Yet you didn't take it to heart. He was always like this...well minus the alcohol. New people didn't phase him, even more, he hated new. You're not worthy of his time until he deems you as so and you figure he never met "you" before.

But you do glance at him. The whole fucking night, chatting with others but always slipping and almost getting caught. They pointed it out but you just brushed it off as being curious to why he doesn't look like he's enjoying himself.

Even tho, you can practically feel his gaze on your back each time you turn away, feeling flustered you sip on your drink through the night, blushing when you catch him averting his gaze.

He is intrigued, to say the least. The way you move and talk is intoxicating, your voice feeling like something he had forgotten a long time ago. It reminds him of his past and it makes him fairly angry...but it brings some form of comfort he didn't feel in a while. He'll be selfish enough to indulge himself.

And he does. Months. Seeping into years.

________________

Missions are exhausting, so far you've been on more than you could bring yourself to count. On the run for weeks with little to no rest wasn't the luxurious lifestyle younger you dreamed about.

The comfort of the not so soft bed never felt more heavenly than now. A cheap motel wasn't your form of rest either, but you had to deal, hopping in for a not so relaxing shower with water that jumped from freezing to burning hot every second, tho it did an amazing job on easing the coil in your stomach.

Your quirk is taking a toll on you, control over it fading away as soon as you are laying clean and fresh on the bed. Too much...You were working too much and just teasing the victims never seemed to satiate your quirks' hunger. You second guess your path a lot, especially when you end up alone and exhausted, but you never think about quitting...as weird as that feels. It has its perks you guess...

Him being your partner wasn't one of them. He's practically eating you up, showing off in front of you but ignoring you all the same. You feel like crying from frustration, huffing to yourself before digging into your backpack and grabbing your small toy. It's been a few weeks since you could indulge yourself, the tension of your muscles painful.

Tears are almost freely rolling down your cheeks, your quirk making you feel dizzy as you slip the toy against your clit.

His voice is rough and quiet in your head, the conversations you had playing on repeat, searching for anything that you might've missed.

Every time you thought of one, it was followed by a memory of him pushing you away, smirking before going to do his own thing. He always had a smart mouth, flirting with you but making sure to step right off when he feels like he's dancing on that line.

You bit back equally though, returning the snarky comments and putting up a tough facade all while you tried to cling onto every thread of hope he threw your way.

He was almost sure he heard you though, his real name followed by a muffled cough as you tried your hardest to drown it with small talk. A moment of pure joy after you both made it out alive and safe made you let your guard down.

And when he called off the rest of the mission for the day out of nowhere, you were almost sure too.

But he isn't here now. He didn't follow you, and you're certainly all alone in this empty room. He'll come around...or he'll leave in the middle of the night. You wouldn't be able to blame him for either.

He's in the room right next to you, his fist wrapped tightly around his cock and his eyes squinted shut. He knows exactly who you remind him of, knows exactly what he felt as soon as you joined. You were always similar to her.

Awfully similar.

He knows.

It doesn't feel fair. Not to you or him. But he can't think. He can't focus and he can't stop himself from moaning out your name as his cock slicks up with pre-cum, his other going to his balls and squeezing them lightly.

He feels drunk, even though he didn't drink...well more than the usual amount... his body is burning like it's on fire...which isn't a foreign feeling to him. But it's different, the blood in his veins is warm, surging to the tips of his hands and toes as he fucks into his own fist. He's almost in a haze, fighting the urge to get up and slam your door open. If he runs away now, you'll be safer, maybe quit the League if he's lucky.

But he can't win, messily pulling his pants up and slipping on his shoes, grabbing your door handle in less than a blink as he tries to go back one last time. He has a primal need that pulls him towards you, even when he's not in the same room, it urges him to reach out and chase you, grip on the last straw of sanity and happiness that happens to be you.

Your toy buzzes faintly, sweat gracing your body while you so desperately try to cum. You're too sad and it doesn't help in reaching your high at all, but if you don't do it you feel like you might explode. He knows and he doesn't want you. You wasted your life away. You deserve it for being a creep.

He opens the door cautiously, feeling his cock pulse against the loose buckle. The lamp highlights your tear-stained cheeks and it's criminally hot, illegal even, making his toes curl.

You notice him immediately, dropping the toy on the mattress and using the sheet to cover as best as you can.

"I can't believe you" he whispers.

"Please..." you whine, drinking in the sight of him, wiping the tears with the back of your hand. To leave or to stay...any of the two.You know desire when you see it, praying that he came to quench it.

You're so desperate, craving him, letting go of your quirk and sending hormones to clash and bite against his skin.

You'll lie if you have to, say how you couldn't control it for a second more.

Nothing matters now when he's crawling up your naked body like a starved man, ripping the sheets away, digging his nails into your sides as he ravages your skin like it's the sweetest thing he's ever tasted.

And it probably is, the soft nibbles turning rough and hungry as you struggle to hold one, tangling your hands in his hair. You try to pull on it, yearning to kiss him and pour everything you feel against his lips, even if you're just a fuck, you need him to know that you never forgot him.

He doesn't budge, instead, he makes quick work of his pants, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

The room is too warm for you, the air too thick to breathe. You don't know if you want to stop and talk first....maybe you'll have the chance later?

"This is your fault" he huffs, slipping one hand to his boxers to ease the tension, gripping his cock tightly. He'll have to rush it, groaning when your legs subconsciously twitch and spread to let him fit in between.

"I feel like a fucking teenager" he argues, cupping your pussy and hunching over you.

He's missing a few steps, but seeing you so desperate and aching to cum urges him to help you out first.

"Since when did you start luring me in with your stupid quirk huh? Part of your little plan?" he questions, not letting you answer.

You're shaking your head, trying to mumble how you never tricked him into wanting you, not until this exact moment. But words are not your friend right now.

His eyes pierce through yours, beautiful blue swallowed up by the black of his pupils, half-lidded stare stripping you naked. Bare and vulnerable as your back arches, ghosting his fingers over the right spots and making you moan out a soft "Dabi".

It doesn't sound right on your tongue, and he sees the way it rolls off your lips, strained and dishonest.

His large hand wraps around your throat, holding you in place as he works the small bud, lowering his lips dangerously close, whispering across yours.

"Don't close your eyes." he demands.

It's in his arms reach, and everything is so close to making sense. If you look at him, he might start feeling like himself again. One of his fingers slowly dips inside your warmth, dragging the pad of it gently while he presses his thumb against your clit.

Your soft lips fit on his, your hands pulling him in by the back of his neck. He wants to make it slow and romantic, a nice reunion, yet he lets you slip your tongue in his mouth, deepening the kiss.

He's not holding himself up anymore, his body's weight shifting onto you with each thrust of his finger, the clacking sound of your pussy urging him to move even faster, make you feel even better. He adds in another one, watching you mewl and relax.

"That's fucking right, you wanted it, you fucking planned this, you sick fuck" he muses, catching you off guard. There's something bittersweet in the fact that he'll never be able to leave every little aspect of his life behind.

Before you even try to mumble something out, his lips are slamming against yours, teeth clashing and pulling on your soft skin.

You clench around him, riding his fingers greedily and roaming your hands across his back, fisting and gripping at his shirt.

You can feel the blood on your tongue, hissing when he pulls out only to slap his palm over your clit, causing you to yelp and pull away from the kiss.

"Touya, listen-" He shakes his head, nails digging into the flesh of your ass.

"You little stalker...how much work did you do for this cock huh?" he presses against you for good measure, making you feel his hot length on your cunt.

"You have no fucking idea" you snarl, gaining some of the confidence back, wiggling from beneath him.

He kicks his shoes and boxers all the way off, getting on your bed and pulling you to him.

His shirt is thrown messily to the edge of the bed, his hands pressing on the small of your back so that you can tower over him, trapping him between your thighs as he leans against the headboard.

Your ass slides over his cock, your hips moving slowly while he trails your figure, gliding his warm fingers across your thighs and up to your breasts.

Both of his hands cup the soft mounds, eyes glued to yours as he sticks his tongue out of his mouth. Hypersensitive to every little touch, your body shivers as he takes gentle, almost there swipes across your nipple, moving his arms back to your sides while he slips the sensitive bud in his mouth.

He lowers his thumb to your clit, flicking it slowly while he nips at your tits, biting and sucking marks across the smooth skin. His cock hooks and prods at your hole each time you both sway against each other, teasing you until the knot in your belly becomes too tight, skin crawling with pleasure wherever his body meets yours. He can hear your breath hitching in your throat, grinning while he speeds up the work on your clit, patiently waiting for you to start arching into his hand. He's gonna make you feel so good...convince you that chasing after him was the best decision you made in your life. Make up for all the years you had to deal with everything on your own.

He can feel your pussy clenching around the tip of his cock, making him push up in one slow and deep motion, immediately feeling the spasms of your soft walls gripping tight around his length. You let out a shaky breath, riding out the first high that finally satiates your quirk if only for a bit, making you drop your weight on him.

"There we go...Feeling better?" the ground might swallow you up, but when his hips start to lazily buck into you, you get distracted...You didn't notice how full you are, every inch pushing and stretching perfectly. You realize his finger never really stopped, only slowed down while he built up the agonizing pace he's bouncing you on.

You know your quirk makes you needy, but it makes everyone even more so, the realization that he probably feels like 9 circles of hell causing your hips to move, meeting his thrusts more roughly.

His head moves back to the headboard, eyes glued to yours as you ride him, propping yourself on his shoulders.

He ignored the burn of his body, too intoxicated and keen on making you feel better to focus on his aching cock, getting drowned in pleasure now that he can experience everything clearly.

You're beautiful.... and he wants to break you, make you blabber his name as you cling to him like he's the only one that can make you feel good. And he's gonna make sure he is. He admires you for a moment, cheeks heating up while watches your tits bounce, your eyes averting under his stare.

Your world turns upside down, your head sinking into a soft pillow as your legs are pushed as far as they can go.

You're scared to look away now, his gaze never breaking when he starts plowing in and out of your cunt, slamming his cock all the way in with each thrust.

His feet dig into your mattress, making the cheap bed creak.

You don't know where to put your hands, switching from the sheets to your thighs.

"Dumb little whore...is this all it takes?" he moves lower to you, pressing your spit coated lips against his.

You manage to hook your arms around his neck, swinging your legs behind his back.

He's plowing too deep, his navel bumping against your clit. He can't make himself pull out at all anymore, stuck on humping inside your pussy, slamming and angling his cock until you cry out.

Panting and groaning against your lips, he manages to slip a few curses, hissing when he tries to stop himself from cumming. Your quirk is cruel.

His fingers tangle in your hair, holding you still as he bottoms out completely, feeling his cock throb and spill, your walls tightening up against his shaft as hot cum paints them white.

He's high and addicted, already fucking his cum deeper, making sure it goes into every little crease and pore it can reach. You slip your fingers to your clit, trying to get yourself off while he rocks both of you.

"You wanna cum? Wanna milk my cock again huh? Want me to knock you up?" He's stammering it out, words spilling from his mouth in a rush, feeling the burning of his sensitive head as he picks up the pace again, slapping your hands away.

He raises just a bit, pressing one of his large palms on your belly.

His other hand slips to your clit instead, circling and flicking it to make you reach your high before he fills you up again.

Your whining does nothing to slow him down, his motions too rough and almost painful, your cervix bruising up when he presses even harder on your tummy, making your hips buck off the bed.

"Want you to cum...want you to make a mess..." he urges, a low rumble in his throat.

You can only nod, grabbing both of your thighs and spreading them further for him, your pussy open and on display to him to watch as it hugs his cock, slick and dripping.

You have to close your eyes, too embarrassed as you feel the burning sensation surge through you, eyes watering from the pressure as you finally let go. Your whole body tenses up, a low scream slipping out of your mouth when clear liquid splashes over your thighs and stomach, leaking onto his cock.

"Fucking hell" is all you can hear before he stuffs you full again, this time dropping onto your chest as his knees and feet numb out, hot breath tickling your neck as he moans against your skin.

Your weak hands slump on his back, muscles relaxed and barely working.

Someone is supposed to say something...minutes passing by quickly.

Your tired voice fills the room, a soft "Touya..." reaching his ears as you trail off. You're not sure what you wanted to say, but he holds you a little tighter, heart beating faster at the sound of his name.

He kisses your cheek softly, snuggling into the crook of your neck. "Fucking creep".

#dabi x reader #dabi x reader smut #touya x reader #touya todoroki #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x reader lemon #dabi #bnha #mha #touya x reader lemon #touya x reader smut #idk #tags are weird

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taestefully-in-luv · 4 years ago

Text

The Island | KTH (Five)

Summary: You’re just two strangers waking up in a room on a lonely island where a company in the business of love has placed you. They believe that thanks to their in depth research you two are destined soulmates. What happens when your ‘soulmate’ and you want nothing to do with each other but falling in love is the only way to leave?

Pairing: Taehyung x Female reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, very slight enemies to lovers, soulmates au, roommate au, slow burn, fluff, smut, angst, slight crack, and drama.

Word Count: 10.2k

Warnings: swearing, sexual tension (?) panic attack, miscommunication, fingering ( female receiving)

Notes: here’s ch5! Hope you guys like this chapter. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, or send an ask if just want to chat about the stories!:)

Taglist: @ggukkieland @monvieesdaebak @707sblog @peacedreamer14 @dopedreamfireparty @everythingnamjoon @taebae19 @typicalgenzworld @mooniyooni @getmemyfries @helenazbmrskai @justinetingball @jpeachytaev @marplest @calling-dips-on-j-hope

Previous --- Next

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The silky robe is a deep burgundy and it looks divine draped over your skin…Taehyung watches as you stand between his spread legs and the silky material begins to slowly slip off your shoulders. He can’t help but gulp when the robe falls down your arms and your matching lingerie set is finally exposed. The material that covers your breasts is lace, he can see your hardening buds and he sighs out in satisfaction… the rest of the lingerie top is sheer and flowy. He only observes as the robe finally falls to the floor and you step closer to him, bending down giving him the most immaculate view of your cleavage…god, he can’t wait to have your tits in his large hands. He is a man of self-control though. He just wants to watch you for a while before he even touches you, which ultimately drives you crazy.

You finally begin to crawl into his lap, settling over his bulge. He leans away from you, his head hitting the cushion of the sofa when you continue to bend forward until your lips are on his neck. Taehyung smirks and releases breath after breath when he feels your tongue run up his throat.

“Taehyung…” you whisper, “Taehyung, what are you thinking about?”

“Taehyung what are you thinking about? Hello?”

“Taehyung? Earth to Tae?” You continue to wave your hand in front of his face. You both are sitting on the living room couch watching a Disney movie when Taehyung obviously stopped paying attention. The boy is completely zoned out.

“Tae?”

“Huh? What?” his eyes zone back in and he’s whipping his head in your direction. “What?”

“I asked what you were thinking about, you really zoned out there.” You giggle. Taehyung’s eyes skim over your body, you’re wearing a t shirt and some shorts…definitely not the lingerie set he was just imagining you in. Yet somehow you still look sexy and it’s driving him nuts.

“Oh nothing.” Taehyung grins, feeling himself grow warmer at the memory of his imagination.

“Movie night is boring you, huh?” you steal the blanket from Taehyung’s lap and wrap it around yourself. “We can play a game instead? Or maybe, hear me out, just maybe, you can show me that song you’ve been working on.” You eye him, waiting for his reaction.

“It’s not ready.” Taehyung pouts, “I promise I’ll show you when it’s ready. I’m just stuck.”

“Maybe I could help? You never know.”

“y/n…” he whines, “Just wait.” Then he’s scooting a little closer to you, “Patience isn’t really something you’re good at, huh?” he teases then his voice goes lower, “I’ll have to teach you.”

“Fine, fine. I can be patient.” You roll your eyes at him, you unwrap the blanket from yourself and put it out in front of you, offering to share with your roommate.

Taehyung accepts the invitation by inching closer to you and going under the blanket, his body heat sticking to your skin.

“Want to go for a walk?” Taehyung asks, snuggling further into the blanket.

“A walk? It’s so dark out?”

“I bet the moon looks nice over the ocean.” Taehyung points out softly, “I bet it feels nice and cool.”

“Hmm, okay.”

Taehyung was right, the moon looks absolutely hypnotizing over the water. You two are sat in the sand near the shore and you can feel the mist of cool water greet you as the waves come in. It feels amazing.

“Can you believe it’s been a little over 6 months?” you sigh, “Time is flying by.”

“You don’t sound as bitter as you usually would.” Taehyung playfully bumps his knee into yours. “You like my company that much?” he teases.

But you tense at his words…he isn’t that far off and you know that’s dangerous, almost as dangerous as him.

“I’m tired of being so bitter.” You admit, “Doesn’t mean I love this situation. I want to return to the real world…I have a lot of things to take care of. I can’t use the island as an excuse anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“My life is a mess, Tae. This island was like a break from that…I know that sounds crazy—”

“No, I get it.” Taehyung says softly. “I get it.”

“But can you believe we are still here? I mean, we flirt but I don’t know if it’s getting us anywhere.” You whisper. “And are they really taking us seriously?”

“What’s that mean?” Taehyung raises his brows, “Take us seriously?”

“We don’t view each other that way.” You say as quietly as you can, making Taehyung’s heart race. “We never will.”

“Oh.” Taehyung drops his head low, “Right.” Then he raises his head. “So are you saying you would never view me in any way besides a friend?”

“Obviously.” You chuckle, “That’s what we agreed on.”

Taehyung let’s your words marinate for a second…you’re right you two agreed to get along and nothing more. But things change? Taehyung is the type to realize things pretty quickly and go for it. He’s questioning a lot right now. Is he just super fucking attracted to you? Or does his feelings run deeper than that. And he just got his answer.

The fact that you say you would never view him that way has him feeling down, like a major state of depression is coming, like a large storm cloud is making its way over his body.

He wants you to change your mind. He wants you to like him. Why? Isn’t it obvious? He likes you.

“I guess.” He finally says after a long while, he doesn’t know what else to say honestly. He knows you aren’t anywhere near ready to hear his feelings and honestly he isn’t ready to say them out loud yet either. He knows he isn’t technically dating Hana but he still feels like he’s doing something wrong…like he’s cheating or just straight up betraying.

“Let’s walk.” He says standing to his feet, he leans down to help you up by the arm.

“Okie.”

You two begin walking down a path underneath the starry sky, his hand keeps bumping into yours as he talks and you grow nervous at the small contact. You can handle it, or so you think but when his skin touches your skin you feel a bolt of electricity fly down to your lower belly.

“And Jimin is my favorite.” He chuckles, “I mean, don’t get me wrong…I love all the guys but Jimin and I go way back. He can read me like his favorite book and vise versa.”

“That’s awesome. I wish I could meet them.” You admit shyly and Taehyung smiles down at you.

“You can!” he grins, “When we get out of here, I’ll fly you to Korea so you can visit me and you’ll meet the guys. Trust me, they’ll love you.”

You nod your head blushing like a middle school girl who just confessed a crush, you can’t help how rosy your cheeks get.

“You really think you’ll want to see me after this? Aren’t you tired of me yet?” you joke.

“Why? Are you tired of me?” Taehyung’s voice dips down an octave. “You can be honest.”

“No, Tae. I’m not tired of you….yet.” You bump your shoulder into his side and he chuckles.

“Good. Because…” Taehyung pauses, not entirely sure of what he was going to say. “Because…” he begins again. “I think I’m just getting used to you.”

“Only now?” you half joke, teasing him. “We—”

“I just mean,” Taehyung clears his throat, cutting you off. “I think I mean like I’m used to you in a way that I look forward to spending everyday with you.”

Oh. Oh. You stop walking abruptly making Taehyung stop as well, he blinks at you in confusion like ‘why the hell did you stop so suddenly?’.

“You look forward to spending time with me?” you swallow down your spit as you try to speak. “That’s…really sweet of you.” You admit.

Taehyung walks to you and stops just when his toes hit yours, “I can be very sweet.” He whispers to you. “I can show you.” Then he’s taking your hand in his and intertwining your fingers, you only stare up at him confused by his action.

“For the cameras?” you ask as quietly as possibly.

“Not everything is for the cameras y/n. When are you going to get that through your pretty head?”

~~~~~~~~

Lately, Taehyung is confusing the hell out of you. He’s doing things he wouldn’t normally do, you think. You can understand flirting for the camera but why is he doing shit even when the cameras aren’t around? It’s not like you hate it…no, it’s not that. You hate to admit it but you fucking like it. A lot. The way he leans into you, the way his hands grip at your waist, the way his touch absolutely melts you. But it’s dangerous. You can’t get attached to him. He’s the first real friend you have in so many months…and that makes you feel pathetic. Poor guy is forced to be friends with you, flirt with you and so on.

You can feel the anxiety start to build…you hate this. You hate how easy it is for you to break, for you to crumble. It’s one of those days, right? You’ve barely made much of an appearance downstairs and you know that worries Taehyung. But today is just one of those days. The heartbreak of your real life seeps into the joyous façade of your island life. Fuck, you hate this. You hate how messy everything is and how nothing feels right or feels real.

It feels like your old life is becoming more and more out of reach, like you run after it, extending your hand out but it’s too far away from your grasp and that has you feeling helpless.

And that overwhelming dread suffocates you. Its hand wraps tightly around your throat, threatening to cut off your air supply. You’re sat up in your bed, your knees pulled into your chest as you try your hardest to level out your breathing, but it’s no use. No fucking use. The dread is too strong, its fingers leaving bruises around your neck.

“Breathe…breathe.” You repeat the words over like a mantra but your throat burns as tears threaten to pool your eyes so you keep them screwed shut.

Suddenly, you hear soft knocks on your bedroom door. Your head snaps upward. Shit.

“Y-Yeah?” You manage to choke out.

“Can I come in?” Taehyung’s voice is muffled on the other side of the door, his voice laced in concern.

“Uh…” you try to calm yourself down so you can respond properly.

“C-Can you just come by later?” You weakly suggest.

There’s a few beats of silence, you start to think he’s given up on you and left when you hear his soft voice once again,

“I have strawberries.”

You feel the pounding of your anxious heart relax just the tiniest. He brought me strawberries…of course he did.

“Umm sure, come in.”

Taehyung slowly creaks the door open, exposing himself.

He walks to the side of the bed, approaching you carefully, one hand carrying a bowl while the other carries a can of whipped cream.

“Snack?” He shakes the can in offering.

You try to smile, you really want to at least. But you feel your chest growing heavier and tighter, your breathing once again becoming uneven. Images of your family and your friends—the ones who didn’t totally shun you—come to mind and you just can’t take it anymore. Everything is too much. Tears well deep inside and before you realize it, tears are racing down your cheeks. You look up at Taehyung, without say anything you are begging him to comfort you. You weakly smile.

“Its…hard.” You admit between choked sobs. It so fucking hard. You miss your old life—believe it not—and the life you have now…is just playing pretend. Everything’s just too much for you right now.

Taehyung seems…surprised. He looks like he’s being torn apart.

“Woah, woah.” He rushes to set the bowl and can down on the nightstand.

“Hey, shh shh.” Taehyung sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. He reaches for your shoulder and begins rubbing it soothingly. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

You cry even harder at that. You reach your hand towards your shoulder and grab his, holding it tightly. You try your best to calm down, his touch relieving some of your pain.

“That’s it… In and out…good.” He continues rubbing your shoulder, even with your hand attached to his. He then releases your hand and finds his way into your hair, massaging your scalp, slowly and tenderly. A long sigh escapes you.

“I…I’m sorry for this…” You take a deep breath, “I just miss them so much.” You laugh pitifully, your head falling into your hands. “I know it’s pathetic.”

“No!” Taehyung’s stern voice startles you. “Don’t you say that. It’s understandable y/n…if anyone understands you, it’s me, right?” He reaches for your hand. “And I think you’ve been amazing, it’s okay to break down every once in a while.”

You manage to nod your head, as you stare down at your connecting hands.

“I know I can’t make up for the people we’ve been ripped from…”

“Don’t do that.” you say, squeezing his hand. “Don’t compare yourself with people from my old life.”

“I…sorry.” He breathes out, squeezing your hand back.

The two of you let long moments of silence pass between you, they are comfortable moments though. Just feeling his hand in yours is enough to make you breathe easy again.

“We have each other.” He says out of nowhere. He gazes into your swollen eyes and he can’t believe he didn’t notice before…he always thought your eyes were dark, plain, boring but he sees how gorgeous and deep they are. They look like the setting sun, they look like they could hold stars, they look mesmerizing.

“Yeah, we do.” You try to smile. “Will you…will you stay with me tonight?” Your voice is small and timid. Taehyung is surprised to say the least, that you would request such a thing but he’s softening his features and smiles for you.

“Yeah, of course.” Taehyung breathes out. He rises from the bed and walks to the other side, he makes his way to the spot he is supposed to occupy.

“This is okay, right?” he asks, making sure.

You can’t help but swallow hard as you answer. “Yes.”

Taehyung slips into the bed, sliding underneath the sheets…yours are way softer than his, he thinks. He lays on his side, facing you.

“I miss my sister.” You whisper. “She could be so annoying and over protective but,” you pause, trying not to cry again, “But I do miss her.” You laugh as Taehyung stays silent.

“My-my mom’s cooking, it’s the best. We may not always get along and we kind of fight a lot…but her way of apologizing or making sure I am okay is by cooking me some amazing meal.” You turn to your side as well, your back facing him. You’re too embarrassed to look at him.

“My dad…he always comforts me…he always has my back when I fight with my mom…” you chuckle and then you feel Taehyung’s hand on your back. He begins tracing circles on the fabric of your shirt.

“You know I use to go to this coffee place almost every single day. I miss it. That routine. It’s called Cozy Coffee…a small, family owned shop. Only one of its kind. I would read, write, journal. Just relax. Every day.” You breathe out, missing your comfort spot.

“My friend Layla…who isn’t really my friend anymore…she used to give the best advice. She would probably know exactly what to say to help me get through this situation.” You say a little bitterly. Taehyung feels his heart start to ache as he listens to you.

“You have me to get through this.” Taehyung whispers.

“I know I have you, Tae.” You move from your side to your back. “It’s crazy…I’ve only known you for 6 months but I…” you pause, hating yourself for admitting this. “I feel so close to you.” You quietly admit. “Can I ask you something?” you don’t wait for him to respond as you begin speaking again. “You think if we had met organically…we would get along?” you swallow hard before continuing, “Or are we only getting along because we like, have to? Because face it, you have no one else to talk to and—”

“y/n.” his tone is firm. “Don’t.” he warns. “Don’t think of it that way.”

“Just because you say that doesn’t mean I won’t.” you snap, surprising him.

“We will still talk after we get out of here…we will visit, we will make this work…” Taehyung tries but you scoff.

“If that’s even possible.”

“What do you mean?”

“We live so far from each other. And sure, we have texts and video chats but what about the time difference? Huh? This isn’t going to work afterwards. I’m already…” you take in a shaky breath, “I’m already getting so attached to you.” you then release that same shaky breath. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch when I don’t hear from you months at a time…” you shake your head, “and that’s okay! Because you’re just living life.” You clear your throat, he can tell you’re on the verge of crying. Fuck, what does he do?

“I’m sorry.” You wipe your face with your hands, “This convo took a turn, I’m sorry.”

Taehyung feels his heart aching still, it hurts. He hurts because you’re hurt. He just wants you to feel better.

“C’mere you baby.” He says while tugging on your arm towards his body…you barely even think about it as you scooch closer to him and you let him hold you in his arms for a short hug. You pull away just as quickly as you get comfortable in bed again.

“Get some sleep y/n. You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.”

The A.C is kept rather low, and the buzz of the spinning fan keeps things cool…so, Taehyung’s arms wrapped around you is more than welcome. WAIT. Your eyes shoot open now, realizing your position. Your back is facing him, and your-your butt is shoved into his crotch. If the word ‘shoved’ was too aggressive you apologize but shit is true. Your ass is shoved deep into his crotch, you mean, you can feel everything. It’s an awkward position to say the least…you mean, or is it?

You glance around the room, your eyes fluttering all the way open. It’s now just hitting you that you two really slept in this room together.

His limbs are heavy, slung over your smaller body. His body is acting like your own personal heater, it’s pretty nice, not gonna lie. And his scent—don’t get started on his scent. His breathing is calm, each fan of his breath tickling your skin. Should you try to escape his hold? Or just let it be? Is it weird if you intentionally stay? Your mind is starting to race with a thousand questions, your overthinking getting the best of you. You lay still while your mind drowns in thoughts of Taehyung. Suddenly, you feel Taehyung stir behind you, so you immediately slam your eyes shut in panic, pretending to be asleep.

You can feel Taehyung sit up, just the slightest , one arm still under your head. But then Taehyung slips down further into the sheets once more, his body moving even closer to yours. His arms engulf you into a tight back hug, you can feel his face nuzzling the back of your neck. And the worst part is you feel him inhale you, snuggling impossibly closer. This makes you tense and melt at the same fucking time. He just nuzzled and inhaled you like you were what? He fucking safe space? You feel pulled into him, drawn to him. So you sleepily turn over in his arms, you wrap an arm around him while keeping your other arm safely tucked into your chest. You open your eyes to take a look at Taehyung’s sleeping face when you are met with two wide eyes. He looks…shocked at first but then the corners of his lips turn upwards. He gently squeezes your body into his and slowly closes his eyes again.

How can he sleep again?! Your mind is racing, your heart is racing, your body is racing even if you are frozen. Your nerves are very present, you feel your stomach turn, you feel butterflies flying, you feel restless. But Taehyung? He is absolutely fine. And that makes your body feel an ache you wish it didn’t.

~~~~

“Uh, can I help you?” You wait impatiently for an answer…you were just falling asleep!

“Sleepover.” Taehyung says nonchalantly while pushing past you, entering your bedroom.

“Um, sleepover?”

“I can’t sleep. I want to cuddle. Very innocent stuff.” Taehyung says as he pulls back the covers on your bed.

“Tae…” you hesitate to close the door, “What do you think you are doing?”

Ever since your little panic attack and your little sleepover with Taehyung, he has gotten used to the idea of snuggling closer to you even on places like the couch. And now tonight, he is here in your room requesting to sleep with you. You go red just at the thought.

“Don’t be a brat, y/n.” he says slipping into the bed and patting the spot next to him, “Now come over here.” He grins at you and you flush.

“Fine…” you can’t say you hate the idea…after getting a taste of cuddling once you have been yearning for his touch…just a little. You turn off the lights and step over towards the bed, sliding inside and snuggling in the blanket.

“No, come here.” He softly commands, “Lay on my chest…ah, wait.” He stops you from moving. “Do you mind if I sleep with my shirt off?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before so sure.” You mumble. Taehyung winks at you before he’s lifting his shirt over his head, sliding back down into the bed. “Now come.”

Taehyung slips an arm underneath your head as you lay down on his bare chest…you won’t lie…his warm skin on your cheek has you melting.

“So you think you and Hana would be a couple by now?” you decide to ask but you cringe at your own question. Why the hell did you bring up Hana? Taehyung’s face falls into a frown.

“Probably...maybe…I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Why are you saying sorry, it’s not like it’s your fault.”

“Somehow it feels like it is.” You admit, you lean a little closer to Taehyung, your body feeling heavier and heavier.

“It’s not…” he wraps his other hand around your waist, “I don’t regret meeting you y/n.”

“Do you mean that?”

You lean away from him and scoff, “Your life could be perfect right now but I’m ruining it.”

“Hey, don’t do that.” Taehyung warns, “It’s not you—”

“It is me! This company paired you with me! A complete and total stranger!” you whisper, “You’re stuck here with me, Taehyung. You’re forced to be what, friends with me?”

“No one’s forcing me to do anything. I genuinely enjoy spending time with you…” Taehyung tries to explain, he’s becoming really confused. Where is this all coming from?

“y/n…”

“What?” you snap and he flinches, “sorry…what is it?” you ask more softly.

“I could say the same about me, that I’m ruining your life too—”

“My life is already a mess before you.”

“We’re friends y/n. When we get out of here I will find you on twitter or what—”

“I don’t have social media.” You say.

“Fine, we will eventually exchange numbers. You get the point, we’re friends. Real friends.”

“Sorry I’m just overwhelmed…” you finally admit, “We’ve been here over six month Taehyung…why are we still here? How hasn’t anyone found us yet? Aren’t they looking for us?”

“I’m sure people are trying.”

“I don’t hate being with you.” You say, “But I want to go home.” You begin to sniffle and Taehyung panics. He tightens his hold on you, he wishes he could bring you in even closer.

“I know. Me too.” He admits, hugging you tight. “But at least we got each other, right?”

Taehyung is the closest thing you’ve had to a friend in months…you don’t want to get this attached to him. When you guys get sent home…he’s going back to Korea and you back to your home and he will move on with his life and you won’t have him anymore.

“Sure.” You reply weakly, “Sure.”

“Let’s not talk about this anymore.” Taehyung whispers.

“What should we talk about then? Or should we just go to sleep?”

“No, I want to chat.” He chuckles. “Why do you seem nervous around me sometimes?” he decides to ask, his hand loosening around your waist.

“Me? Nervous? You’re just imagining that.” You breathe out, “and if I have been it’s not like you have never been nervous around me…right?”

“Who says I haven’t?” His chuckles come out dark and low. “I think I make you nervous.”

His hand slides down until he grips at your thigh before he’s letting go and gliding his fingers across your thigh and up to your hip. Your bare legs feeling the electric touch of his fingers. You suck in a long breath at the contact.

“W-Why would you make me nervous?” your eyes flutter shut and you bite down on your bottom lip as he continues to stroke your thigh. Your breathing picking up unknowing to you, your chest rising and falling faster than before.

“Your body tells me I do.” He says slowly, his voice deep.

Your quick breaths fan across his chest…he obviously knows you are getting affected.

“What does that mean?” you sigh but Taehyung doesn’t answer he just continues his ministrations on your skin. The way your shorts ride up gives him access to your thighs and hip. He lightly strokes you over and over, making you lose some of your composure. It’s been so long since you’ve been touched. And Taehyung knows this. He knows he should probably stop…but your skin feels so warm, so soft. His fingers skid across your upper thigh again and he notices how you exhale deep long breaths at his touch, how you close your eyes, how you bite your lip.

“If I don’t make you feel nervous,” he begins, his light touch never stopping, “then what do I make you feel?”

“Good.” You breathe out, “You make me feel good.”

Taehyung raises his brows in amusement, clearly liking your admission.

“You don’t know how good I can make you feel y/n.” Taehyung’s voice goes low, it makes the goosebumps on your skin rise.

“Taehyung…” You open your eyes again and find his, his gaze is so dangerous you could honestly feel the torture of it forever.

His hand travels lower to caress your calf, then he’s sliding it back up again this time closer to the inner part of your thigh. Without thinking you slightly spread your legs apart, letting his fingers play with your more sensitive skin.

His touch is sending heat waves throughout your body and God, you are melting at his burning hot touch. You start to dance your hips around, too turned on to actually feel embarrassed.

“Jeez…you’re really getting worked up.” Taehyung darkly chuckles. He stares down at you with dark, intense eyes. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“S-Shut up.” You breathe out. “We probably…we probably shouldn’t do this…” you say, your voice strained.

Taehyung only smirks. “Do what? What exactly is it do you think we are going to do?”

His fingers slide closer and closer to the place that he shouldn’t. Your inner thigh is dangerous enough…but he lightly strokes you closer anyway. He knows exactly what he is doing.

“Do you think I’m going to make you come?” he teases. You hate how deep his voice gets when he talks to you like this—not that he’s ever said anything this bold.

“Lay on your back for me.” You nod your head until realization hits you.

“WAIT WHAT?” you sit up. “I am not going to like, have sex with you! Plus how can you even be sure I would come during sex?” You cock a brow, “You are a real cocky bastard, you know that?” Taehyung rolls his eyes all the way to the back of his head.

“We aren’t having sex.” He assures you. Oh. A little tiny voice in your head is asking why not. “And I definitely could make you come during sex. Jeez y/n, what type of incompetent guys have you been with?” Taehyung smirks, sitting up as well.

“T-Then how would you make me come?” You ask, suddenly feeling shy under his intense gaze. The gaze that drives you fucking nuts.

“With my fingers?” He shrugs.

“Aren’t you afraid this will ruin our friendship?” you pull at the ends of your hair, you know, a bad fucking habit.

“Not at all.” He says with total nonchalance. Jesus this guy is something else.

His features soften as he stares down at you, “Just let me take care of you.” He says.

You need to say no. This crosses way too many lines. But you can’t. You won’t. You figure you can just forget about it because that’s your only choice since you are already nodding your head in agreement.

“Then relax for me.” Taehyung uses his hand to softly push you down by the shoulder. “Please.” He licks his lips watching you ease yourself back on to the bed. You never break eye contact with Taehyung as your chest heaves again. How does he affect you this quickly? You are full of nerves, no shit, but you are so turned on by Taehyung’s low voice and sharp gaze that you nod your head, going along with his words.

“Good.” He says and you let out a long, harsh breath in response. Almost a moan.

“Taehyung…” your voice comes out more breathy than you intend and you immediately blush. You can feel his erection struggling in the confines of his sweats, poking the side of your thigh, you hope you calling out his name is making him suffer even more. Taehyung hasn’t made another move yet, just staring at you like he’s never seen you before.

“Please…” You reach for his hand and set it between your inner thighs. Wow, when were you this bold? He immediately smirks.

“Patience, baby.” The pet name has you rolling your eyes and not in a sassy way. Your lips part and your eyes are half lidded, you are a goner. And from what? This barely counts as foreplay! You are just so deprived of sexual attention. Taehyung watches you and you feel him rut against your thigh, God he feels so big.

“Sorry,” he says weakly, his own breaths sharp.

He takes a moment to compose himself, but to be honest you wish he wouldn’t. Taehyung lets out a long breath becoming even more serious, if that is possible. His hand is already dipped between your thighs and you are sure he can feel how desperate you are by the way you squirm. Even though he hasn’t even touched you. But you ache for his touch, it honestly hurts.

Finally, he cups you in his large hand. “So warm.” He says lowly. He wastes no time, using his fingers to move your shorts and panties to the side and swirls two fingers over your aching clit. You are dripping in arousal, his fingers getting coated in your juices within seconds.

“Did I make you this wet? Just by barely touching you?” He sounds genuinely surprised. Taehyung continues to glide his fingers between your folds.

You try to stay quiet, not trusting your voice at this point. It’s been so long since you’ve been touched that the feeling of his fingers, his long, beautiful fingers has you struggling to keep quiet. But you choke out when Taehyung slips a long finger inside you, pumping in and out very slowly. You whine at the sudden contact.

“I asked you a question.”

He enters another long finger into your greedy cunt. You want more of him. You are starting to think his fingers aren’t enough, but that’s your horny haze talking. His fingers begin thrusting into you, twisting his fingers in a way that has your body rutting against him. You can’t help the long dragged out moan that escapes your parted lips. Maybe they are enough, holy shit.

“Who made you this wet?” he asks almost like he genuinely wants to know like it’s not obvious.

Taehyung inserts another finger. Fuck. You moan over and over, loving how he explores you.

“Huh, baby?” he questions while you squeeze your eyes shut, while your mouth hangs open.

“I need you to use your words.” His fingers come to a sudden stop, he pulls them away from you. You gasp at the loss of contact. How un-fucking-fair. Your eyes shoot open, looking at him with eyes on fire.

“Y-You!” You finally choke out, “You made me this wet! Please Taehyung, please don’t stop.” You are a whining, withering mess. Taehyung just watches you, a dark smile appearing on his face.

“So greedy.” He says, his wicked grin taking over his face. “So fucking greedy.”

And before you know it, his fingers are back inside you but this time moving at a greater force than before, leaving you fucking breathless. His long fingers are reaching places so much deeper than you ever could.

“There…there. Don’t stop.” You pant.

The slick sounds of his fingers pushing into your body is delicious and disgusting. Between your moans and his harsh breaths and the sound of his fingers inside your body…it’s music to your ears.

“Need…need more…” you pant, your hand coming to your mouth.

“More? I got you babe.” His fingers leave your core, leaving you frustrated. How was this more? But then suddenly those same fingers are on your clit, your most sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Gonna—gonna make you feel so good…” You glance Taehyung’s way to see him with his gaze directed towards you already, his dark eyes somehow even darker.

You bite back a moan, your hand still covering your mouth.

“Let me hear you. Don’t cover your beautiful sounds.”

His fingers rub your aching clit even faster, harder, added pressure that is making you see stars and you aren’t even coming yet.

“So close Tae, I’m so…so”

“Yeah baby? Wanna come?”

“Yes yes yes” the coil twists tighter between your legs, already ready to snap. Taehyung repeats his motions, pulling you closer and closer to the edge. Taehyung watches with parted, panting lips as you lose all composure.

“Fuck, y/n.” Taehyung grunts under his breath, his voice taking you to the end.

Your body is twisting and turning, your hair is stuck to your forehead as the sweat builds up. Your eyes are slammed shut and your lips are apart releasing moan after moan. His other hand is at your core as well, two fingers entering you.

“Come all over my fingers, y/n. Let go baby, let go.”

Taehyung’s words has your vision going white, your entire body goes tense and then you are letting go. Cumming all over Taehyung’s fingers as his pumps slow and you begin to come down from your high. Your hand reaches up and grips his left arm, you whine at the feel of his muscles underneath your touch—only further turning you on. You clench your thighs together, bucking your hips into his slowing hand. Finally, you grind against his hand one last time, letting out all your last moans.

“You did so good.” Taehyung teases, his fingers leaving your body.

“Shut up.” Your breaths are heavy but you smile. Taehyung’s breathing isn’t much better. What do you do now? Say thank you?

“I’ll wash up and bring you a towel.” Taehyung informs you, breathing out roughly. He is painfully hard, you could feel him rutting against you the entire time he fingered you. Probably why you came so fast, honestly.

You hear Taehyung in the bathroom washing his hands. The sound of the running water giving you time to think. Sooooo what the fuck just happened? Did you just let your friend, your roommate, your fellow victim…finger bang you? Finger bang…what are you, 14? Either way, what the fuck? This is a lot to take it…you didn’t hate it. What do you do with that thought? No guy has ever made you come that fast and just from his fingers? Dear Lord, dear sweet baby Jesus. This is obviously because you haven’t come in so long…you mean, you’ve touched yourself, don’t get it wrong but it only ended in frustration. But tonight…you met a different fate. A fate that was in the hands of your friend. Your fucking friend. All the sudden tears prick your eyes—you’re just friends. You quickly pat your eyes dry with your T-shirt and shake your head to rid yourself of these thoughts. Why are you disappointed you’re just friends?

Before you know it Taehyung is back in the room, he’s holding a towel in his hand. He walks to your side of the bed and crawls on top…he looks hesitant. He almost looks afraid of you.

You reach for the towel, its warm and damp.

“No, I’ll do it.” Taehyung smiles softly, his eyebrows creasing as he does so.

He takes the damp towelette and begins cleaning up. You hiss at the contact, you are still incredibly sensitive. He only takes a few seconds to clean up the mess you two made before he’s pulling back.

“Thanks…” you mumble. Him cleaning you up was oddly intimate. Maybe it’s not that odd how intimate it felt actually. Because you know what? It was fucking intimate! This whole fiasco was intimate as hell! And it’s all your fault.

Taehyung sits on his knees, awkwardly might you add. You don’t know what to do with the towelette so you just throw it behind him. He looks at you with slight disgust before he’s smiling.

“Really?” he gives you a pointed look.

“What? I’ll throw it in the dirty clothes basket in the morning.” you smile back, then you become shy. Yes, fucking shy. Like you weren’t just a moaning mess for him minutes prior. You don’t know what to do with yourself. What do you say? What do you do? A sigh of relief is pushing past your lips when you realize Taehyung probably feels the same. He is looking at you like you might break. Suddenly you don’t feel relief, you feel guilt. This is your fault, you did this. You allowed this. What does he think of you now? You don’t just usually let your friends finger bang you—uh, you really need to stop saying it like that—this is bad.

“Aren’t you going to lay down?” You gesture to his side of the bed real awkwardly.

“Yup.” He then rolls his entire body over yours, like his weight wouldn’t crush you, landing in his previous spot on the bed. He sinks down into the sheets, leaving like a foot of space between you both. He is literally on the edge of his side of the bed. Shit. You did this. Now you’re fucking awkward.

“So.”

“So…”

Taehyung isn’t one to get weird after a sexual encounters but this is you we’re talking about, the girl he is stuck on an island with, the girl who is apparently his best match, the girl he definitely wants to fuck and last but not least, the girl he has real romantic feelings for.

He had the fanfuckingtastic idea of fucking you with his fingers…yeah, real smart on his part. He feels himself fill with pride that he was the first and only to make you come since you’ve been here.

He knows you two need to talk. What could this mean? He knows you enjoyed yourself…he knows you loved every moment his fingers were inside you. He is well aware of that fact. Your moans and cries of pleasure are indication enough.

He needs to talk to you though, he needs to hear how you feel. He wants you. He wants you so fucking bad. Taehyung smiles because he has a feeling this will turn out alright.

“So about what just happ—”

“Thanks for that,” you’re quick to cut him off, “but can we pretend that never happened?” you laugh, humorless.

Oh.

“Okay.”

~~~~~

It’s been a week. A fucking week. And you have hardly even looked at Taehyung much less spoke to him. It’s kind of hard to ignore the one person you live with but he guesses in such a big house he’s able to stay out of your way. Because that’s what you want, right? He thinks that’s what you want. You’ve been spending an awful amount of time in your bedroom and your dance studio and not a whole lot of time in the common areas. So basically fuck Taehyung, right? At least that’s what he’s thinking.

You…you regret it, right? Letting things escalate? You want to forget all about your little sleepover—like it never happened. And he has no one to blame but himself. But he couldn’t contain himself…touching you felt so good, felt so right. And the way you reacted from his simple touches…you want him, don’t you? At least that’s what he thought. He knows this is his fault. And he wants to take responsibility, as a man, as a decent human being…but he doesn’t know how to talk to you. When you two do pass each other, you either look at him with a tense, tight lipped smile or you don’t even acknowledge him at all. Both fucking hurt him. He feels like if this was the real world this is where you ghost him and he hates people who ghost.

Taehyung is just lying in bed, chest being crushed by a massive fat man as he wishes you would just talk to him. At this point that’s kind of all he wants. He has to accept this fact...this is an unrequited love, isn’t it? He groans in frustration, a heavy hand dragging down his face.

“y/n…” He whispers your name like a secret. It escapes past his lips without him really realizing. Why did the company set him up with a girl who will never feel the same? The thought rings in his head. The more he thinks about it the more he hates the company. He fists his hands in the sheets beneath him until his knuckles turn white. This fucking company is the one to blame for everything. He could be home, he could be making music, hanging with his friends and maybe even have Hana to call his. But no, he’s here. With the most amazing person he has ever met and it’s all one sided.

Would he change things? Wish he never came here? He honestly doesn’t know. But he can’t change things so why even ask that stupid question. Does he really wish he was back home and maybe be with Hana? But Hana didn’t do this to him. Didn’t make me feel lost and crazy and so fucking happy to even be in the same place as her. He loosens his grip on the sheets, flattening his palms on the bed. No, Hana was never the one for him. That he is certain of. But if you don’t feel the same way then you’re not the one for him either. And that fucking crushes him.

He huffs out a long breath and sits up, he tangles his fingers in his hair trying to soothe himself. It doesn’t really work but it was worth a shot. He gets off the bed and heads toward the door, he wants to wash his face with cold water, he needs a refresher, so he exits the room and begins walking towards the bathroom. As he reaches the door, he hears the sound of your bedroom door opening. You are leaving your bedroom for the first time today he believes and you immediately stop in your tracks when you spot him. Your eyes go wide and your mouth falls open just the slightest. He stares at you, just stares at you. His expression hardens when he remember this is you ghosting him but you speak up. Actually speak up.

“Hi.” You squeak out.

Explosions. Taehyung feels explosions everywhere. His heart is exploding, his mind is exploding, the world is exploding. How does one girl manage to rile him up this much? All you said was say hi…

“Hey.” He grumbles, not really doing much to hide his bitter tone.

You can’t help but wince at his response.

“Umm,” you start, your eyes darting all around the hallway. “Wanna…” your words get lost on your tongue.

“Wanna what?” he says harshly, folding his arms over his broad chest.

“Wanna watch a movie?” you whisper, your eyes down at your feet.

“Do I wanna watch a fucking movie?” He scoffs. Loud and clear.

“Oh.” You say, your eyes finally meeting his.

“Oh.” he mimics, his stiff expression never letting up.

“Taehyung—”

“What?” there’s a bite in his tone.

“Please watch a movie with me?” Your eyes are pleading. God, that’s when they are his favorite.

Taehyung stares at you from across the hall, just staring, he lowers his arms to his side and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his sweats.

“What movie?” He finally asks, his tone still tight.

“Any movie, it doesn’t matter.” You rush to say, feeling hopeful he will take you up on your suggestion. You shift from one foot to the other, your nerves spiking. He loves seeing you nervous like this, he can’t help it.

“Can we talk first?” He takes a few steps towards you but you clumsily move backward, backing away from him.

“We’re talk-talking right now.” You breathe out, your eyes never leaving his.

“You know exactly what I am talking about y/n.” his voice goes lower.

“Just wanna watch a movie.” You take another step back.

“Jesus y/n,” Taehyung rolls his eyes at you, “you really suck ass at confrontation.” He bites back.

You’re quiet for a moment, your eyes still on Taehyung. You suck in your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down hard. You are lost in your thoughts, trying to focus on the specific one you need. You’re swaying from side to side, clearly thinking of how to respond to him.

“You fingered me, big deal.” You finally huff out, rolling your eyes.

“It’s not a big deal? Then why haven’t you talked to me all fucking week?” He takes a few steps closer, closing the major distance between you two. This time your feet stay planted on the ground.

“Was worried you might take it… the wrong way.” You say, your eyes slide to the side. You understand this is a weak ass excuse but…

“Take it the wrong way?” He takes another step forward.

“Yeah. We’re just friends, right? Friends don’t let friends get them off. Didn’t want you to think this was something more.” Your words slice through him, cutting him up. Something more. Of course that’s what you were worried about. You just didn’t want him to catch feelings for you or whatever the fuck. Well too fucking late babe, he thinks bitterly.

“Right.” He finally says, taking one last step forward. He won’t lie, his heart doesn’t feel good. It feels sick probably, like it has an aching fever. Taehyung leans forward until his lips are barely touching the shell of your ear. His warm breaths tickling your skin.

“Just friends also don’t moan out for them over and over wanting to come.” He whispers, “And just friends don’t enjoy what we did as much as we did.” His deep voice sends chills across your body as you sigh out. “But right, we are just friends.”

“Yeah.” You release a shaky breath, “So…A movie?”

“Sure, y/n.” he leans away from you and he gives a half smile, he looks pained. And it hurts you. You nod your head towards the stairs and he nods in agreement.

But there’s still a lingering tension in the air, you can feel and you are sure Taehyung feels it too. There’s no way you are imagining a tension this thick. Somethings not right and after all of this, and you aren’t sure it ever will be.

You’re full of regret. Don’t get it wrong, you don’t regret crossing the line with Taehyung…you regret telling him to forget about it. You just got so scared…he is closest thing you have to a friend and you hope you didn’t ruin that. But there’s more. You feel something more and that scares you too. What happens if you tell him you liked it and you want more but he rejects you first? He beats you to it.

“Should I make some popcorn?” Taehyung asks, his hands fiddling with the TV’s remote as he lowers the volume.

“Sure.” You respond a bit awkwardly. You find your way to the couch, sitting on one end, pulling the blanket to your lap.

Taehyung takes his time in the kitchen, he gulps down a glass of water as he waits for the popcorn to finish in the microwave. Once the timer is going off he takes it out and pours the popcorn in a large bowl and makes his way to the living room finding the sofa and taking a seat on the other side of it.

“You can sit closer Tae…” you shyly offer, your hand gesturing towards the spot next to you but Taehyung stares at you with hard eyes.

“No thanks. I’m good here.”

“Seriously Taehyung? You pout, “Can we try to be a little normal?”

“Don’t know if that’s possible.” He quickly retorts, staring straight ahead now.

You frown at that, your lips turning downward in the most animated way. This is a mess. Everything is a mess. And it’s your fault. You feel bad, so fucking bad. You feel like Taehyung hates you. And that thought breaks your freaking heart into a million and one pieces.

“Taehyung?” you start to inch closer to him and he whips his head in your direction.

“”What?” He leans away from you, confused why you are scooting closer to him.

“Taehyung…” you sit as close to him as possible and he looks at you with a face void of emotion. You eye him carefully and he looks numb. This just makes you feel worse. Tears start to prick your eyes and your face scrunches up…Taehyung’s features soften when he realizes how close you are to crying.

“Cry baby.” He states, his voice much softer than he intended. “Come.” He pulls you by the arm, bringing him to his body.

“Taehyung.” You sniffle.

“What is it?” he replies back easily this time, no harshness in his tone…like, instead it’s the sound of comfort.

“I’m sorry.” You choke out, burying your head into his chest. You inhale him and his scent makes you feel dizzy. You breathe him in again, getting high off of him. You start to silently cry, your tears wetting his shirt…he doesn’t say anything though, he just rubs your back soothingly.

“What are you sorry for?” he asks, almost hesitant.

“Everything.” You admit. “Sorry for what I said in the hall…sorry for…” you cry a little more.

“For?”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to forget about that night.” You finally push out, sliding your eyes to the side. Taehyung blows out a puff of air and offers you a small smile.

“Why did you?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know.” You answer with a half-truth. Taehyung creases his brows, pulling them together so dramatically as his expression hardens again.

“You don’t know?” he pinches his nose with his fingers. “Listen…did you enjoy it?” he asks bluntly. His eyes finding yours again and it’s that same gaze that drives you insane.

“Taehyung…”

“Did you enjoy it y/n?” he asks again, this time more demanding.

“I…” the words get lost in a lump in your throat.

“Words y/n.” His hardened expression intimidates the fuck out of you to say the least. “Is that what you are afraid of? That because you liked it so much…you’ll want more?”

Bulls fucking eye. You swallow down your response. You just let your mouth open and close and open and close again, unable to say anything.

“What did I say about using your words y/n?” Taehyung scoots closer, making you feel fucking suffocated…but not entirely in a bad way.

“Tae…” his name escapes you in a breathy moan.

Taehyung stares down at you, his eyes narrowed and serious. He breathes out roughly before scoffing.

“I think we’re done here.” He states coldly, he stands to his feet and begins walking away, leaving you confused and breathless.

Done? How? What does he mean? Taehyung then continued to avoid you for several more days…until…

~~~~~~

“I’m not doing it.” Taehyung yells out, loud enough for you, who is in another room to hear.

“What?” You shout back, wiping your forehead with a towel. “Did you say something?” It would be the first time he’s saying something to you in several days.

“I said I’m not doing it!” and with that you hear him bolt up the stairs and after a few seconds the sound of his bedroom door slamming shut could be heard throughout the house.

“Jeez…” You step out of your dance studio, sweat patted dry into your skin. “What’s he throwing a tantrum over?” but somehow you have a feeling. You walk into the living room towards the bright TV, you face falling at the sight. The TV is bright white with black letter painted across, showing the ‘Request’ that has your face as white as a ghost.

Request: make out for 1 Minute.

Penalty: no power for 5 days.

You reread the words at least 30 fucking times, letting each syllable sink in,

you sigh to yourself, feeling fucking lost. You know you have to talk to Taehyung, his reaction also repeating in your crazy mind. You slump your shoulders as your head bows down in defeat. He fucking hates you, wants nothing to do with you right now. It’s just some kissing right? You both have literally done worse. You have to talk to him. You lift your head and look in the direction of the staircase, your lips pulling into a pout. How would this go?

“I said we’re not doing it.” Taehyung plainly states. He sits on the edge of his bed, fists balling up the end of the blanket. You look between him and his cool statement and his fists of frustration.

“Taehyung we—”

“We can just take the penalty.” His tone is firm.

You look at him incredulously. Take the fucking penalty? 5 days without power?

“You’re saying you would rather have 5,” You lift up your hand showing him your five fingers in case he doesn’t know what 5 looks like, “5 fucking days without power then to just kiss me? Like really?”

“Really.” He stands from his bed, stepping in front of you, walking you backwards. You step back until your back hits the wall next to the door. Taehyung stops only a few inches away from you, looming over your body.

“So…I’ll be taking a nap now.” He says flatly.

Is he serious? He really won’t do this with you? You have seen each other naked for Christs sake! You’ve never not done a request! You get that he’s mad at you, but 5 days? 5 whole days?

“It’s just a minute Taehyung…” You murmur more to yourself than him. Hurt probably written all over your face. You are feeling absolutely rejected. A feeling you hate the most.

“Yeah.” he takes a step back. “A minute I don’t want to be a part of.” He spits out at you.

Fucking ouch.

Things with Ben hurt. Bad. But Taehyung wanting nothing to do with you? Hurts worse.

You look down at your feet, fidgeting with your digits.

“Why are you being such an asshole?” You say between deep breaths. You can’t cry. He’s quiet. Too quiet. You suck in a shaky breath, “I already said sorry so why are you treating me this way?” You don’t mean to sound so pathetic but you do because well, you are. He lets silence linger in the air. You can’t muster the courage to look up at him, he’s probably void of all emotion, probably will give you some robotic answer. If you are even lucky enough to get an answer.

You hear Taehyung exhale through his nose but that’s it. Without even sparing him a glance, you turn towards the door to take your leave but then you feel Taehyung’s hand on your arm stopping you.

“Wait.” His voice is rough. He clears his throat and releases his grip on you.

You turn to face him, finally lifting your head to see him. His eyes are narrowed and his lips are set in a firm line. At least he has an expression.

“What?” you mumble, your eyes glossy.

“Don’t cry.” He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing even more. His gaze is not one to fuck with.

“I won’t.” you say, unconvincing.

“y/n…” his gaze begins to soften.

“I won’t” you repeat, still just as unconvincing. Your eyes gloss over even more and you feel your throat beginning to tighten.

Taehyung relaxes his features even more, and to your surprise he reaches forward and rubs your shoulder.

“Please don’t cry.” His voice loses its edge, all softness now.

“I won’t” You choke out, barely able to keep your lip from quivering. A single tear falling from your eye.

“If I agree to do the request will you stop?” he asks, still rubbing your shoulder.

“If you-if you stop being an asshole I’ll stop.” Another tear.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I just…I just had to be firm with you.” He admits, his voice low.

“I don’t understand…” You cry out. More tears fallen on your cheek.

Taehyung looks at you with an odd expression you can’t decipher.

“Trust me, I know.” He says, defeat lacing his tone. “Can you just…respect my decision?” he adds on.

“I just don’t see the big deal…” you sniffle, “We’ve done worse.”

“And look where that got us.” He laughs bitterly.

He’s not…wrong. But still, for some reason you keep pushing it.

“It’s just a minute Tae.” You try again, wiping your flushed face of tears.

Taehyung raises his brows at you and sets his lips into a firm line again, he places his hands into his pants pockets and rocks back and forth.

“Wanna do it that badly?” he lightly snaps. “Fine.”

You feel the shift in his mood again, he’s been a roller coaster lately—it’s so unlike him. Are you doing this to him? Damn, girl you toxic as fuck.

You step forward and reach for his hand, he lets you.

“What’s wrong?” You finally ask.

“What’s wrong?” he mocks your voice.

“Taehyung please—”

“I want to kiss you.” He states. “And…and...” he tears his gaze away from you, looking all around the room instead. “And you just don’t get that.”

Taehyung steps forward, a fire in his eyes as he speaks up again.

“It’s cruel for me, don’t you think? I get to kiss you until that timer goes off and then what? I have to pretend we didn’t just do that? Have to pretend we didn’t do something I have been wanting to do for god knows how long! I have to pretend we’re just fucking friends?” he shouts, laughing bitterly again.

You’re…stunned. Taehyung takes a step back again, his eyes never leaving yours. You look up at him with pinched brows and a confused mind.

“But yeah, let’s do the stupid request. That’s a great idea.” He rolls his eyes.

“Taehyung…” You start to feel guilty, like maybe and by maybe you mean obviously, you struck a chord.

“No y/n, we’re doing the request.” He cages you with his arms on either side of you, he leans forward until his nose is brushing yours. “I’m going to kiss you, and I am not responsible for what happens after that.” He leans away again, “So, I’ll see you tonight.”

#bts #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfic #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #the island chapter 5

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joshslater · 4 years ago

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I'm fucking furious. To most people Jack Wilson is a hockey hotshot, but to me he is just my wife's ex that can't let go. She said they had another encounter, but wouldn't go into details, saying it wasn't just his fault. She couldn't help herself, she said. Knowing how much she loathes him I suspect she was afraid of him turning violent. He is a star athlete after all, known to have punched more than a few players on the ice.

I know he's training at the stadium right now. That's how bad it has gotten, that I even know his schedule. I'm probably speeding getting there, but nothing else is important right now. I park the car in the huge, but almost empty parking. Neverending slabs of concrete to allow for the cars of thousands of cheering fans during game day. Well, I'm certainly not a fan. Still fuming as I exit the car and heading towards the arena I see him and a few others from his team running towards the same building from across the car park. They must be out for cardio or something. I stop and shout towards them "Hey! Jack!"

I can see them slow down a little, Jack saying something to them, and then breaking apart jogging in my direction while they continue at speed towards the stadium building. I remain still, just glaring at him as he closes in on me. He slows down quite a bit away and saunters towards me, still panting. He has an aura of smug superiority. He's good looking, despite his matted, sweaty hair and week-old beard. It's not just because he's in top shape, but he has that classic athlete chin cut, and mesmerizing eyes to go with it too. He's quite a bit shorter than me, and way denser and muscled, but I would bet my weekly martial arts practice can match him if needed. "Hey, cocksucker! You managed to find your way here," he yells back at me.

"I want you to know..." "Shut up"

I don't know why, but I can't look away from his intense eyes. It's like they can see into me, see every part of me. I'm frozen in place just watching him getting closer. "I said hey cocksucker. What are you waiting for? Go ahead and suck my cock." He says this as calmly as he can, never breaking eye contact. I don't think he blinks. I don't think I blink. I slowly go down on my knees, grabbing the hem of his sweatpants, and pull down. I still keep eye contact, so I have to feel my way for the waistband of his underwear to pull it down too. I can feel the heat radiate from his steaming body. There's a smell of sweat, not the stale, musky kind, but from someone who showers every day and uses fresh clothes for each workout. He's professional and they got staff. I can hear his heavy breath as he is still recovering from the sprint. And I can feel a rather large cock in front of me that is erect, or at least a good way there. I grab it in my hands and guide the tip to my lips and begin to lick it. It doesn't really taste of much. I open my mouth and get more and more of his compression shirt wrapped abs and pecs in my view as I stare into his deep eyes, and take his big cock deeper and deeper into my mouth.

The tip reaches some point at the back of my mouth and I start to gag, making horrendous gurgling noises. I move back from him. "All the way. I want to be balls deep down your throat, cocksucker." I do as he commands, and push it in again, further. It's somehow much easier this time and my lips are tickled by his moist bush of pubes. I then start to work it, in and out, in and out. The noise I'm making is still horrendous. A wet, sloshy sound, and I hate it. "Yeah, you like that, cocksucker. Now, faster." I grab him by the hip and increase the pace. I get lost in the actions, like nothing matters but his cock, the noise, and his eyes.

I don't know for how long I was in a trance, but I feel him tensing up, pulling me tight to him, and shooting a big load of his cum down my throat. Suddenly the gaze that had held me like a vice breaks and he looks at my face rather than into my eyes. The spell is broken. I'm kneeling in a parking lot with Jack Wilson's cock down my throat, and my nose nuzzled into his pubes. His eyes suddenly widen, and his face turns into horror, like he is looking at a monster. Everything is going like in slow motion. I begin to push him away, to get his disgusting cock out of my mouth as he shoots his second load. Somehow in shock I manage to breathe in his cum. He pulls away from me as well, and his third load ends up just next to me on the concrete. "Fuck!" he says, visibly upset. "It's still in the bloodstream. Spit it out! Spit it out!"

I'm not sure I even have any in my mouth to spit out. It just went straight into my belly and into my lungs. Lungs that are desperately trying to cough up his spunky goo in phlegm-filled, deep whoops. "Fuck!" he shouts one last time, pulls up his sweatpants, and runs towards the Stadium building with one hand holding the pants up. I'm just folded over on my knees coughing and coughing while my mind is racing to make sense of what just happened. My chest is burning and I feel nauseated. There is the salty, bitter taste of cum in my mouth and a stench of athlete sweat as I gasp for air in between the coughs. I keep coughing, but less and less of substance is coming up. I spit out specks of Jack's spunk on the concrete in front of me, and realize what she had meant when she said she couldn't help herself. Did he fuck her? After what just happened I wouldn't put anything past Jack, and there is literally nothing I wouldn't forgive her for having done. She would have been helpless to stop.

I can feel my whole body burning as I get up from the concrete. I'm very aware how my clothes rubs against my body, like my senses have just gone into overdrive. Everything, every single muscle in my body feels sore. My head is spinning. Still coughing I stagger towards my car and get in behind the wheels. As I close the door the world goes silent. I can only hear my own exhausted panting. I'm confused about what is happening and feel sick as shit, but at least the world isn't spinning anymore. Somehow I must have been poisoned. What did he mean with "in the bloodstream?"

I start the car and carefully drive from the parking lot and out in the direction of home. Perhaps I shouldn't be driving at all. Crashing while driving is worse than crashing while sitting in a parking lot, but I really don't want to have to call anyone for help. Not after what I've just been through. I so sympathize with the movie cliché of a girl sobbing in the shower. I only want to cleanse myself in any way possible. To get rid of Jack from me. Even now I can feel the smell of athletic sweat, like it was clinging on to me.

There is a big pop accompanied by one of the chest buttons on my shirt shooting off in the car. The pop isn't so much heard as felt, as a reverberation in my body like someone just punched me in the chest, with dull spikes of pain in the joints. I swerve dangerously close to the side of the road. It feels like my shoulders pops into their sockets, like my chest just suddenly expands and the rest of my body catches up. There is no mirror I can look in, but I can clearly see something is off just by looking down at my body. What little movement I can make while driving the car feels different.

There is another big shift. Knees and hip joints this time, I think. I'm a little more prepared to handle that one without swerving, but this time I'm instead missing the brake pedal like the seat is set wrong. I scoot forward on the seat and reach the pedal. Now I'm getting real nervous what is happening. I'm almost home though, but I can feel my thigh muscles involuntarily flexing, my feet are hurting, and my stomach is gurgling like bad plumbing.

Her car is not home yet, thank God. I park mine as calmly as I can, screaming inside that I need to get inside and see what the fuck is going on. As I step out of the car I get a first inkling about the enormity of the changes. I almost trip stepping out of the car, and sit down again on the edge of the seat. The fabric on the trousers are straining, and I realize that my feet are probably hurting because they have swollen up inside the shoes. I try to kick off one of the sneakers, but it's stuck enough that I have to untie them. My movements feel off. It's not that it is hard to move. The opposite in fact, but different somehow. Me feet thanks me in relief as they are freed,

With the shoes off I awkwardly make my way into the house and step into the nearest bathroom. It's me in the mirror, of course, but me 5-10 years younger. I'm touching my face in disbelief. But this isn't just me regressed a decade in time. I was way taller than this then. Curious I unbutton the remaining buttons on my shirt and throw it on the floor. The chest and abs are not me 5-10 years ago. I've never looked this buff before. For one I've never had washboard abs, and the pecs and shoulders are wide and meaty. The arms more slender, though still muscular, and the core is built more for function than aesthetics. A bit too dense for the show off V shape. Dense, with a low center of gravity.

It's the body of a hockey player.

I rip off the straining trousers and the socks. Sure enough, massive leg muscles, big thighs, big ass, big feet. Jack the fucking cheater is a fraud in all areas. Whatever the fuck he is taking must have concentrated in his balls, shot into my lungs, and from there gone straight into my bloodstream to do whatever the fuck it's done to me. And there is nothing I can do to hurt him with it. Who would believe me? This is so far from any science I've heard of.

I take a closer look in the mirror again. Perhaps it isn't all bad after all.

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ourblued · 2 years ago

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if there was anything astrid wanted to be, it was to be transparent in this. to let him know what goes on in their life, whether it be major, it be -- not that major. astrid thought that he deserved to know, if they were going to go further, right? right. deep down, astrid's trying their best to not go about things in the most immature way that they can, however, it's not that easy when there's guilt in their bones & all they're trying to do is tell him things that they've felt bad for. for example, this. the mess that their ex put in their head. " i just thought you should know. am i that idiotic for wanting to tell the truth to you? in case anything happened or if . . i don't know, you would think that i'm cheating on you. which wouldn't happen, " of course it wouldn't happen, astrid's too invested in this, in him, of all things. " . . yeah. " it comes out as sullen, with their eyes away from him for a second, shaking their head.

" i never said you were a waste of time -- ! i just mean, if this results in me getting led on by you, then i'd have to figure something out for myself. " words coming out like bullets, astrid begins pacing around the room once again, trying to get their thoughts straight, trying not to be so negative all the time. it's been a while, for astrid. for them to actually be happy with someone that likes being around them, it's all something they have to eventually get used to, in fact. either way, astrid wouldn't know what to do, seeing how most things are. considering the fact that they've probably messed this all up for them & there was no way to go back. it's like they can't focus on anything, not even the pacing's helping. because they feel like shit, because all of this could've been prevented if they just kept their mouth shut, but they didn't. " stop pretending? stop -- oh my god, journey. i literally tell you how i feel & that's what you have to say to me? next thing i know, you're probably just going to avoid it. " there's this short look of disappointment on their face, heart beating, wanting to ignore it, in fact. " no, he shouldn't have -- ! because i love you. because i have always loved you! why would i give that up? "

astrid wants to give up. tell him that he's won this argument, for the sake of not hearing words on words, though, it's just . . they don't want him to censor himself, they want him to be protective of them, not be so nonchalant, or tell them that they made a mistake. " it's not that i don't . . it's just that . . i wish you cared more or something. & meant it, showed it. " astrid shakes their head, thinking that it's so stupid to want that, but it's because they've never had . . something real before & they want all of it, the emotions, the arguing, the making up. " i do accept you! or are my words not good enough? you want me to prove it to you or something? " they're letting out, pausing their pacing just to look at him, chewing down on their lower lip. " . . fine. i won't. you can . . do whatever you want, feel however you want. " they're speaking, feeling as if they're walking on broken glass.

for a second, they're taking a deep breath, it's evident in the way that they're focusing on themselves, letting out a short sigh. taking all of their anger, possibly channeling it somewhere else for the moment being. " that's not true, journey. there are things we can do about it. but, you're right. let's just move on from it. i'm tired & i'm sure you are from all of this arguing. i'm getting a headache anyways. "

it's a light nibble on his lower lip as he's forcing a deeper reaction out of them, body nearly jolting as he's laughing. of course, it's funny to him. but -- they weren't acting like a brat, or at least, they don't see it like that, of all things. " i love you. i really -- really, fucking love you. " they're mumbling, hoping this would make everything better. god, they hoped it did, considering most. as he pulls away, astrid has a good feeling about this, fingers ruffling through their hair, eyes on the other.

"Ah. Yes?!" Journey made a face, not sure what Astrid was trying to get at, there. He wasn't wanting this, out of all things, to be an argument. And Astrid was wanting him to be angry by their actions, with an entirely different person that was not him. Journey couldn't help but feel that that wasn't exactly stable behavior. Frowning as they tell him he didn't know, he crossed his arms under his chest, eying the other. Not really enjoying that they were dismissing his ability to observe, like that. Journey inhaled sharply, turning his head to one side as he told himself that this wasn't exactly Astrid's fault. That this was just them trying to sort out the situation they had been in.

But that didn't mean it was any less stressful to have to put up with this side of them. He was getting angry, not because they had kissed a past lover, but because they insisted he react in a way that pleased them. His breathing picking up, he shook his head, trying not to let these thoughts get to him. He had to focus on the other, first. Even if they were being extremely troubling for him right now "I appreciate you telling me, Astrid. I do. But this didn't have to happen…" He was talking about this argument. At their next accusation he felt his chest sting, the words seeming so spiteful from their lips. Journey's breath caught in his chest, his heart stinging "I do feel things other than happiness, Astrid. You've seen that…"

Of course, he was always calm, he had to be for his own health, more than anything. Journey held his arms crossed under his chest, still. Letting the other go on "So, do you think I'm a waste of time to you because I'm not showing you negative emotions?" Journey asked them, a questioning look on his face, not sure why they needed those reactions so much. He felt a hot flash of anger or a moment, his nails digging into his arms, biting down on the rage threatening to explode on the other "I don't want to lose control like that, Astrid. I can't!" He's listening still as they go on. Closing his eyes, taking in another few, deep, focused breaths, to balance himself "Then stop pretending and start allowing things to happen. He kissed you, who gives a shit… You shouldn't have. Alright. You know that. He shouldn't have done that--" He stops.

Bringing his left hand up to his chest then, messaging it gently " You have to stop standing in the way of yourself, Astrid. Live your life. If you don't like me maintaining my emotions. I'm sorry." Pulling his hand away from him then, he drops it down, staring at them "I'm right here. I will be that, not just because you want it. But because I'd want that two. But, you have to accept me for all that I am. Flaws and all. Just like I would do for you. If my lack of expression is a flaw to you… If I am…too happy, for you…" Breaking, he coughed a little bit, then continued "…But I am what I am…You aren't going to tell me what I should be…"

Taking in a deep breath, he feels the focus return, getting control over himself again. The slight trembling in his hands halting, he stares at Astrid still, listening to them "Yeah, some people do. But I don't. I'm okay with you acknowledging what happened wasn't something you liked. But don't bring me into it, if you only want me to get angry with you about some guy I haven't met kissing you. I wished you hadn't. But I can't do anything about it, now. Neither can you. We just have to keep going. I forgive you, okay. You're not stupid, you made a mistake…It happens. I still-… I like…" Feeling his throat closing up, shyly he looked away, lost for words for a moment.

Holding his hands together then he lift them up slightly to his midsection, toying with his fingers nervously, blood rushing into his head, his heart slamming into his chest "Ah-…Hehh… I-" He swallowed thickly. Then shook his head "No-" That's not what he was trying to do "I don't think you didn't! I - I just-" Pausing he lift his left hand to drop his head into it, cupping his head gently, his nails scratching through his hair "Fuck!" There it was again, like a hot iron rod, the anger shot up again.

Grabbing onto the back of their neck he smirked against their lips, pressing more forcefully against Astrids own, another laugh escaping him as they deny his statement of their being a brat. He broke from the kiss briefly as he shook his head "I love you back." Journey states, despite his being angry over this, he was still able to control himself, despite it wanting to break loose, but he was reaching his limit here. Hoping this would at least calm the situation down. Slowly, he pulls away, licking his lips a bit, eying Astrid before taking a step back.

@ruinedtendencies

#&*. astrid bishop.#&*. astrid and journey.#thornstocutyouwith.#thornstocutyouwith

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lumosandnoxwriting · 4 years ago

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Call Me When You’re Sober - George Weasley

Title: Call Me When You’re Sober Pairing: George x Fem!Reader, George x Angelina Johnson (kinda, sorta, not really) Warning: mentions of drug use!! Also some mentions of sexual things like sexting/sending nudes and one mention of a boner. I also use the word tits a few times. Summary: George only seems to have the time for Y/N when he’s high, and that’s just not enough for her anymore. (This is also a modern au where they have cell phones and social media bc why not) A/N: this is for an anon that wanted a fic based off of a tiktok POV they saw and funnily enough that POV ended up on my fyp last week so you can find that here if you want. The only part I was inspired by was Angelina being present, but that part was specifically mentioned in the request everything else is purely from my own brain!! This also includes a bit of Angelina Johnson slander but it does not represent my actual views. Angelina slander is not welcome in this house. Feedback is always welcome and requests are open! Tags: @feltondarling @pandaxnienke @raerae27

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The first time it happens Y/N answers the phone right away.

“George? What’s wrong?” she asks frantically, already getting out of bed. It’s three am and George never calls even at a decent hour, so she assumes that something has gone wrong and he needs help.

“Hey, Y/N,” George drawls slowly, like his mouth is moving in slow motion.

Y/N pauses in the middle of her bedroom, her hand hovering above her car keys. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” George certainly sounds off, but he doesn’t necessarily sound like he’s in need of her rescuing. When all George does is giggle in response, Y/N groans. “Are you high?”

“High on life!” George responds, prompting Y/N to roll her eyes. She shuffles back over to her bed and climbs back in, snuggling under the covers. “And maybe a little bit of weed,” he adds with a laugh.

Y/N rolls her eyes, but there’s a small smile on her face. George is one of her favorite people in the world, and it’s hard for her to stay mad at him. “A little bit?” she teases. “You sound baked out of your mind.”

George lets out a throaty laugh, and Y/N closes her eyes, making it seem like he’s there in the room with her. They don’t get to see each other often now that they’re both out of school and busy with their lives, and George’s aversion to phone calls means all she has to get her through their periods of time apart are short text messages and stupid memes. Hearing his voice sends shivers down her spine, and if it wasn’t so late she’d be driving to wherever he is to climb into his arms.

“What can I say? Freddie got the good stuff now that we can afford it.” Y/N can hear some rustling, and she figures that he’s laying back onto his bed. “Not like back when we were at Hoggywarts. Remember those days?”

Y/N hums as she lets her mind wander back to their school days. It didn’t happen often, but every once in a while Fred or George would sneak out of the castle down to Hogsmeade to buy off of a guy that works at the Hogshead Inn. They would settle into their dorm along with Lee and after placing some spells on the room and throwing the windows open they’d light up and pass the joint around until nothing was left. The weed was cheap and burned their lungs, but none of them cared. It left them all feeling like they were floating, and they would talk for hours about nothing in particular.

George always got handsy when he was high, and Y/N supposes this is where her feelings for him started. Once the joint burned out George would pull her body close and let his hands roam all over it as he talked with the boys idly. Y/N would run her hands through his hair and scratch at his scalp, her face pressed tightly to his neck. They often ended up falling asleep together wherever they had landed, sometimes it was George’s bed, but it was usually the floor, swaddled in some random blankets and pillows from the common room. Y/N was always the first to wake up, and she’d hug George tightly for one more fleeting moment before sneaking out and back into her own dorm.

“You roll the best joints, Y/N,” George continues when Y/N doesn’t say anything. “Fred is so shit at it. No matter how many times you showed him how to do it.”

“Very sweet of you to say, Georgie,” Y/N laughs. She yawns a moment later, desperately trying to fight off sleep. “Though you were always more fond of smoking from a bowl if I remember correctly.

George yawns too and Y/N can hear him climbing under the covers of his bed. “I am. But smoking joints reminds me of you.”

“George,” Y/N says softly, sitting up in bed. She waits for him to say something, but all she’s met with are his light snores. She rolls her eyes, settling back down into her pillows. “Goodnight, George.” Y/N hangs up her phone and places it on her nightstand before letting memories of George lull her back to sleep.

The next time it happens Y/N doesn’t hear her phone the first time. She’s out of town for work, and after a long day she’d collapsed right onto the bed in her hotel room, formal clothes still on and everything. Y/N had ignored her phone the first time, hoping to fall back asleep. But when it started to ring again only seconds after it stopped she picks up her phone and answers the call without bothering to see who it is.

“Hullo?” she answers sleepily, her eyes barely open. She glances at the clock, noting that it’s only 10 pm and figures that it’s one of her coworkers inviting her to go out with them.

“You sound sleepy,” George responds softly, his voice deep and languid. “Did I wake you up?”

Y/N sits up in bed, rubbing some of the sleep from her eyes. “George?”

George laughs. “Who else would it be?”

“Considering the fact that this is literally the second time you’ve ever called me I figured it would be anyone else besides you,” Y/N teases, shrugging out of her suit jacket.

“Hey,” George whines, and Y/N can practically hear the pout on his face. “I called you on your birthday.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Oh, you’re right, my mistake.” She pauses as she walks over to the dresser in the room, starting to take off her jewelry. “How baked are you this time?” she asks playfully.

“What makes you think I’m high?” George laughs.

“For one the sound of your voice,” Y/N explains as she kicks off her heels. “And you only call me when you’re high. Oh, and on my birthday,” she adds when George makes a noise of disapproval.

Y/N hears George shuffle around, and she takes the opportunity to put him on speaker so she can put her phone down and start getting rid of the rest of her clothes. “You can tell by my voice?”

“Mhm,” Y/N hums, fumbling with the buttons of her shirt. “It gets deeper and slower.”

“Really?” George asks, sounding surprised. “Does it sound sexy?”

Y/N laughs as she heads over towards her suitcase, taking off her bra as she goes. She starts to dig through the mess, trying to find her pajamas. “Super sexy,” she responds, hoping George is too high to notice how serious she is.

“What are you doing? You sound too far away.”

Y/N chuckles at George’s dramatics as her hands finally land on her sleep shirt. It’s an old t-shirt of George’s that she stole sometime during their last year and never gave back. Whenever Y/N travels for work she brings it with her as a reminder of home. “I’m putting my pajamas on.”

“So, you’re naked right now?” George’s voice is rough, and it sends a shiver right down her spine.

“Practically,” Y/N responds, pulling the shirt over her head. It’s far too large for her so the hem barely brushes the tops of her thighs, but it reminds her of George, and that’s what matters.

George groans, and Y/N can feel her cheeks heating up as she crawls back into bed. “Wish I was there to see.” Y/N can feel butterflies erupt in her stomach and she has to clamp a hand over her mouth to conceal the noise that bubbles out of her throat. “Send me a pic of your tits,” he continues bluntly when Y/N doesn’t say anything.

“George!” Y/N says, the surprise in her tone evident. The butterflies in her stomach are going wild, and Y/N has to remind herself that it’s the weed talking, not George. “I’m not going to do that George.” Although Y/N would be lying if she said she wasn’t tempted to. “Besides I’m already dressed and in bed.”

“What a party pooper,” George grumbles. “Got me all hard for nothing.” Y/N’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of her chest. George has never been this lewd with her in all the times they’ve been high together, and she wonders if it’s because of whatever he smoked or because this is one of the only times they’ve been alone while one of them was baked. “What are you wearing then? A sexy little nighty?”

Y/N has to take a few deep breaths, hardly able to believe what she’s hearing. Part of her wants to tell George to knock it off and hang up on him. But the other part has wanted to hear George talk to her like this since their Hogwarts days and she doesn’t know which part should win.

“One of your old t-shirts, actually,” Y/N responds quietly, giving in to her desires.

George groans, and it takes everything in Y/N’s power not to shove a hand down her panties. “That red one? That I let you borrow and never saw again?”

“You remember that?” Y/N asks softly.

“Of course,” George answers. His voice is slower now and Y/N can tell he’s going to fall asleep any second. Smoking always makes him tired and he was often the target of a few pranks since he would be the first to nod off. “That’s like a guys wet dream. Seeing a girl that’s as pretty and sexy as you are in his clothes.”

Y/N bites her tongue as to not say anything, just listening to George through the phone. His breathing starts to slow down, and within a few seconds Y/N can tell he’s fallen into a deep sleep. She listens to him breathe for a moment, before hanging up and tossing her phone down. She cuddles up in the unfamiliar bed, desperately trying to fall asleep.

Every few weeks George’s name pops up on Y/N’s phone usually late at night and he’s always baked out of his mind. Y/N finds it nice the first half dozen times, George’s voice is always calming to her and she basks in the opportunity to get to speak with him. They haven’t seen each other in months, despite the fact that Y/N has tried to catch up with him several times. But he’s always got an excuse ready. At first Y/N understood, the joke shop is his number one priority, but after a while it gets insulting. When George is sober he can barely be bothered to send her a text message but the second he lights up he’s dialing her phone number.

One night when he calls she asks him why he doesn’t just invite her over to smoke. Her flat is only 30 minutes outside of London and he knows that she’d drive to the ends of the earth to see him. But of course he has an excuse. He says that it’s something just for him and Fred, a way to wind down together after a hectic workday. Which makes sense to Y/N, and as much as she wants to push it she doesn’t. If it were any other person she would have given up on their friendship by now. But George isn’t just any average person. He’s the person she cares most about in this world, and Y/N doesn’t want to live without him. So as shitty as it makes her feel to just be someone he calls when he’s too baked to care who he talks to, she puts up with it.

That is until she reaches her breaking point.

The last time it happens Y/N doesn’t answer her phone the first time it rings. Or the second time. She’s just gotten home from having a few drinks with friends and the alcohol has made her brave. She puts her phone on vibrate mode and leaves it on her bed as she gets ready to go to sleep. It takes her 20 minutes to get ready and once she’s finally in bed under the covers she picks up her phone to assess the damage.

“What the fuck George?” she whispers to herself, scrolling through the notifications on her phone. She has 15 missed calls from him and a litany of text messages.

Answer ur phone Y/N Y/N I called again Pls Answer me Y R u ignoring me Need to hear your voice Baby Y/N Im gonna call until u pick up Ill keep txtin 2 Baby please Y/N I need to talk to you I miss u Pls

When George’s name and the stupid photo of him Y/N set as his contact picture pop again Y/N sighs and she reluctantly answers. “What?”

“Oh my god finally,” George groans in his usual slow voice. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Because, George. I was busy. I have a life outside of you and your stupid little phone calls.” Her tone is harsh, and George is so quiet for a moment that Y/N has to check to make sure that he hasn’t hung up on her.

“Why are you so angry?” he asks a second later, and Y/N can tell he’s upset. Normally she would just drop the subject, but there’s alcohol thrumming through her veins and she’s tired of keeping it all in.

“Because, George,” Y/N sneers. “You only call me when you’re high. You dodge every attempt I make at seeing you and you barely even text me anymore. I thought we were friends George. But in reality you treat me like dirt. You use me whenever you want and then you cast me aside without another thought until you’re high again.”

“Y/N,” George starts, but he gets distracted when someone in the background starts to giggle wildly.

Y/N’s blood runs cold, immediately recognizing that laugh. “I thought smoking was something for only you and Fred, George?” Y/N asks accusatorily, sadness and hurt starting to mix with her anger. “I can’t believe you. Not only did you lie to me, but you can find the time to hang out with Angelina Johnson and not your best friend?”

“I-I’m here all alone, Y/N. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” George stutters. But before Y/N can say anything, the same voice says something.

“Georgie,” Angelina whines. “You’re too far away, get back over here.”

“Y/N, I can explain,” George starts, but she cuts him off.

“Fuck you, George Weasley.” Y/N spits, before hanging up on him. She turns her phone off and slams it down, before burying her head in her pillow and crying herself to sleep.

When Y/N wakes up the next morning her head is pounding and her throat is dry, and it’s not just from the alcohol she drank. George broke her heart last night, and she has the dry tear tracks on her cheeks to prove it. Y/N avoids her phone, deciding she’s not quite ready for whatever is going to pop up when she turns it back on.

She gets ready for the day slowly, thankful that it’s still the weekend. Y/N stands in the shower for nearly an hour, just letting the hot water sting her skin. When she gets out she brushes her hair slowly, just looking at herself in the mirror. She can’t help but be as mad at herself as she is at George. George may have treated her like shit, but Y/N let him. She let herself become so desperate for his attention that she played right into his stupid game. And as much as Y/N hates to admit it, she doesn’t regret it for a second. All she’s ever craved was George’s undivided attention, and finally getting it felt so good, even if George was higher than a kite each time. Seeing his name pop up on her phone gave Y/N a thrill each time, even though she wanted more – deserved more. Y/N has always been there for George and all she wanted was for him to be there for her too.

Y/N picks out her comfiest lounging outfit, forcing herself not to automatically reach for the old shirt of George’s hanging in her closet. She’s been wearing it more often these days, craving the comfort of his embrace but settling for the cloth of his shirt instead. But now the sight of it makes her want to throw up.

She’s been up for nearly two hours when she settles back into bed, a hot cup of tea in her hands. Y/N’s not sure if she’s actually ready to face whatever mess George put them in last night, but sooner is better than later. She places her mug on her bedside table, reaching over to flip the framed photo she has of her and George over so she can’t see their smiling faces. When her phone finally boots up the screen shows just her background for a moment, before a barrage of texts, missed calls and voicemails show up. George has called nearly 100 times, with almost as many voicemails accompanying them and he’s texted over 200 times to boot.

Y/N scrolls through them, surprised to find that the most recent call and voicemail are from Fred. She can’t remember the last time Fred initiated a phone call with her, since he’s just as hard to get on the phone as George. Fred prefers to communicate through snapchats and tweets, so Y/N knows something big has gone on if Fred bothered to pick up his phone and make a call.

“Uh hey, Y/N. It’s me. Fred. But you probably already know that. Or maybe you don’t. Whatever, not important. I know this is probably the last thing you wanna hear since he’s left you like a thousand messages, but will you please call George? Or text him. Hell send him an email. He’s sorry for whatever it is he did. I’m not really sure what, he was crying a lot when he barged into my room and I was zooted as hell. But what matters is he’s sorry and he really wants to talk to you. So call him, please. Do it for me, at least even if you don’t do it for him. Okay anyway. Bye.”

Y/N sighs, running a hand through her hair. As pissed as she is, she hates to hear that George is upset. She chooses to ignore George’s voicemails for now, since they’re probably a mishmash of words and sobs considering how messy Fred said he was. She clicks on her text message app, scrolling through the messages George had sent, stopping every once and a while to read a few.

Y/N please Im srry Its sending me to voicemail Did u turn ur phone off Talk 2 me Pls y/n pls baby baby baby im sorry I need you to talk to me I need to hear ur voice Pls Let me explain I dnt care abt angie Not like how I care abt u Y/N please. Don’t do this I fucked up I knw I fucked up Let me make it right Please I love you, please

The last text message shocks Y/N, and she rereads it over and over again until its image is imprinted in her brain. George has only ever told her he loves her one other time. It was the last time they got high together, the night before he and Fred left to start the joke shop. Fred, George, Lee and her were all fairly baked, and after Fred and Lee left to sneak down to the kitchens for snacks, George had turned to Y/N and pulled her right into his lap. He had grabbed her face with both of his hands and looked deep into her eyes. I love you, you know that right? His tone was firm and when Y/N nodded he used his grip on her face to pull her into a kiss. It was uncoordinated and messy, but she didn’t care. He had mumbled the word ‘good’ when he pulled away and in a blink of an eye he’d drifted off to sleep. Y/N had snuck back into her own bed, figuring it was best to ignore it, since George surely wouldn’t remember it in the morning anyway.

A knock at her door brings Y/N out of her thoughts and she tosses her phone on the bed to go and answer it. She’s been expecting a package, so when Y/N reaches the door she doesn’t bother to check to see who it is, and just throws it open.

“You look like hell,” Y/N says when her eyes land on George. She certainly wasn’t expecting it to be him, but she’s truly not surprised. His text messages had sounded desperate and it’s very like George to just show up at her doorstep when she doesn’t want him to after he refused to come over for months. Y/N looks him over as he fidgets, taking in his disheveled appearance. His eyes are sullen and dull, his hair is sticking out in a million directions and his skin is ever paler than normal.

“Suppose I deserve that,” George responds, his voice raspy. He lets his eyes rake over Y/N, dumbfounded by how beautiful she looks even in her lounge wear. It’s the first time he’s seen her in person in over half a year and even though he’s spent much of his free time staring at her Instagram photos, she still takes his breath away. “You look good though.”

Y/N rolls her eyes and goes to slam the door, but George puts his hand up to stop it. “What do you want, George?”

“Just let me explain,” he pleads. “Just let me explain everything and then if you want I’ll go. I’ll leave and you’ll never have to talk to me or see me again. You can delete me from your life. But I can’t let you go without explaining myself.”

“Fine,” Y/N resolves, stepping aside and opening the door so George can come in. She leads him over to her couch and motions for him to sit down. Y/N resists her urge to sit next to him, instead choosing to stand in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes narrowed. “Talk.”

George clears his throat and starts to fiddle with his thumbs. “I like calling you when I’m high because I say whatever comes to my mind. When I’m sober I think too much about what I’m going to say, and I never end up saying what I want. But when I’m high the words just fly out of my mouth without me thinking about the consequences and I like that. Because there’s so many things I want to say to you that I don’t have the balls to say when I’m sober.”

“Like asking me for tit pics?” Y/N asks with a curt laugh.

“Honestly, yes,” he answers, a blush forming on his cheeks. “But it’s more than that. Like telling you I smoke joints even though I despise them, and Fred can’t roll to save his life because it reminds me of you. Or that just the thought of you not wearing any clothes drives me wild. Or that I find you so ungodly beautiful and so damn sexy, Y/N. And that I love you.” George pauses for a moment so he can just watch Y/N. “Because I do love you, Y/N. So much more and in so many different ways than a best friend should.”

Y/N bites her lip to keep herself from sharing the same sentiment as George. Because holy hell does she love him with every fiber of her being, but he’s fucked up and hurt her in more ways than just his inability to admit his feelings. “Then why keep me at arm’s length, George? You avoid all my attempts to see you, you only ever bother talking to me when you’re baked out of your mind and you lie to me. Out of all the people in the world you had to smoke with it had to be her. You know how I feel about Angelina.”

Despite being roommates and pretty similar personality wise, Y/N and Angelina never really got along. They were always competing with each other, for the best grades in their year, for prefect and head girl, and Y/N is ashamed to admit that they’d fought over a boy or two in their early years at Hogwarts. But by far their biggest competition was for George’s attention. George couldn’t care less about girls during his time at Hogwarts, Fred didn’t either but at least he would sleep with some of the girls that threw themselves at him. George on the other hand didn’t seem to care. The only girl he ever bothered to spend meaningful time with was Y/N, and it drove Angelina up the wall. Angelina did everything she could to vie for George’s attention, including spreading a nasty rumor about Y/N during their 5th year. Much to Angelina’s disappointment it failed miserably, and they pretty much ignored each other from that day on.

“The Angelina thing is not my fault,” George insists. “She came into the shop just before we closed, and Fred invited her up and she accepted. What was I supposed to do?”

“Not let her in your room!” Y/N answers as if it’s obvious. “But this isn’t just about Angelina, I don’t want to talk about her. It’s about the fact that you’ve been treating me like shit, George. I’ve been trying so hard to get through to you and you stop me every time.”

“Because being around you and having to pretend that I don’t have feelings for you is too painful,” George admits honestly. “The only time I’m brave enough to be with you the way I want to is when I’m high. Why do you think I was always grabbing your ass after we smoked? Why I always made you cuddle me? Why I kissed you that night?”

“You remember that?” Y/N asks, clearly shocked. George had never mentioned it again and Y/N figured he was too high to remember what he said and did. It had upset her to no end that George returning her feelings was only a side effect of the weed, but she never brought it up to him in fear of ruining their relationship.

George scoffs. “Of course I do. When I woke up the next morning and you weren’t there I figured you didn’t feel the same way. So, I just never mentioned it, and when you didn’t either I figured you thought I was just being a high idiot like always and brushed it off. I never invited you to smoke after that because I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you. And kissing you once is easy to explain away but kissing you every time we get high pretty obviously means something more. So, I would call you instead. And I’d lay in my bed high as hell pretending that you were there next to me until I fell asleep with you on the phone.”

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Y/N mutters. Before she has a chance to regret her actions, Y/N is throwing herself at George. She straddles his waist and kisses him hard, moaning when his hands land on her bum and give it a squeeze. “You’re such a fucking idiot,” she pants, starting to trail kisses across George’s jaw and down his neck. “But you’re my idiot.”

George chuckles before he grabs Y/N’s face so that he can kiss her again. Their lips move together slowly, and George starts to rub Y/N’s back lightly. “I love you,” he murmurs as their kiss breaks.

“I love you too,” Y/N responds, her head dizzy.

“Does this mean I get tit pics whenever I want?” George asks cheekily, laughing when Y/N slaps his chest.

“Only if you promise to only call me when you’re sober from now on,” Y/N bargains.

George grins at Y/N before leaning in to kiss her briefly. “Deal.”

#George Weasley #George Weasley imagine #gw #golden

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