#because no way in hell would he be able to tell that Arsenal and Red Arrow were the same guy

[royboyfanpage]

Au where Red Hood/Arsenal still happened but it was during Roy's Red Arrow arc and Arsenal was Tim North

(If you don't know who Tim North is check the misc section of my pinned)

[roseharpermaxwell]

RWRB FirstPrince Sports (AU or Otherwise) Recs

Hockey, Lacrosse, Rugby - you name it, I'm here for it. Click below for some of my faves!

your future history (it's time) by kjbee81. T, 739 words. Alex and Henry, both rugby players at the Olympics, take part in the tradition of switching shorts after the game. Henry wants to start a different tradition.

OR me getting inspired by a tweet about the Olympic rugby players switching shorts...

Eye On The Prize by milowren. NR, 1.3k. Announcer 1: Alright, here we are at last, we’ve come to final event for mixed teams in archery, and this one’s all for the gold, Lisa.

Announcer 2: That’s right, John. I’m sure these last two teams aren’t feeling any pressure at all.

Announcer 1: (chuckles) Well, we’ll be able to see for ourselves in a minute here, when we get the readings from their heart rate monitors. As you know, the technique for archery at this level is so precise, any fluctuation in the competitors’ heartbeats can affect the outcome.

***

Henry and Alex are archers at the Olympics.

Born To Make History by @everwitch-magiks. T, 1.3k. This season, Henry has a new free skate. It's sassy, flirty, and actually genuinely fun, and somehow, it's taken him all the way to the Grand Prix Final. Still, even though Henry has perfected his lutz since his last competitive season, and gets that all too important second-half multiplier for every quad in his arsenal, he knows he isn't half as good as most of his competition. There's no way he's actually getting on the podium.

Except, one persistently curious and curiously attentive pair skater, with a distressingly attractive smile, gorgeous brown eyes and very interesting ambitions for the post-competition gala, seems to think otherwise.

'Coast-to-Coast' by @cheesecurdsgravyandfries. E, 1.3k. Lacrosse slang - when a player nearest their end-line takes the ball all the way down the field to the opposing team's end of the field.

Alex finds his old high school lacrosse jersey. Henry wears it.

The jersey is tight across Henry’s broad shoulders, the polymesh sleeves pulled by the tension, making Henry’s biceps pop, and if the hem didn’t reach the waistband of Alex’s underwear, it doesn’t stand a chance on Henry’s long torso. There’s at least two inches of skin visible between the top, and the band of Henry’s red D&G briefs - so selected tonight, because the red matches that in Alex’s high school logo on his chest. Henry looks sexy as hell, and he knows it.

i could be a better boyfriend by bananzie. T, 2.4k. It wasn't that Alex didn't like telling people about Henry—quite the opposite, actually—it was just that no one ever believed him when he did.

An AU in which Henry is one of England’s most famous rugby players, Alex met him during an exchange year, and they’re so in love it’s sickening, but no one believes him.

who are we to fight the alchemy by @coffeecatsme. T, 3.1k. INTERVIEWER: Kiss, marry, kill, between Taylor Swift, Beatrice Fox of the Tortured Poets, and Dua Lipa.

ALEX: Oh God, I’m gonna get so cancelled. Uh… Well, my sister would absolutely kill me if I killed Taylor Swift so I guess I gotta kiss her? I mean, she’s hot. And I guess I’m killing Dua Lipa? That leaves… Can I, like, take her brother instead of Beatrice Fox? He’s more my type.

Sets on the Beach by @happiness-of-the-pursuit. M, 3.6k. 95% of the able-bodied New York City queer population sign up to play intramural beach volleyball in the summer (this statistic is not supported by Nora). Unfortunately for Alex, this number includes Henry Fox and his very broad shoulders. Despite Henry’s unsportsmanlike recruiting and stupid genetic advantages, Alex is determined to take him (and the rest of Queerly the Best) down.

Or, Cowboys star Alex crashes out of the closet in an interview. This is how everyone reacts.

bed with your name on it by silver maples. E, 3.3k. “Are the beds really anti-fuckable ‘cause, if so, that’s gonna be an issue for me.”

These are the first words Alex says to Henry after throwing open the door to their shared room. Henry blinks, sitting cross-legged against the headboard, rereading The Little Prince - it felt apt to bring - when Alex’s eyes settle on him.

“Oh fuck,” Alex follows up with, and, “Oh, you’re not Liam.”

go the distance by @indomitable-love. T, 3.7k. His legs are like jello. He’s not entirely sure how he’s still upright. He’s running on fumes and the energy gel he’d been handed about forty minutes ago by one of the secret service as he’d passed by. Fumes, energy gel pouches, the roar of the crowd against New York streets, and pure adrenaline because he can see the finish line. He knows what’s there: June and Nora and Henry.

Henry. The reason Alex is doing this whole damn thing in the first place.

Alex decides to run a marathon. It's all Henry's fault, really.

Red, White & Navy Blue by @jedusaur. E, 4.4k. "Fine," says Alex. He clenches his jaw and his fists. "Great. Watch me. I'll bromance the shit out of the motherfucker." 

Twenty Seven Batters by @historicallysam. T, 4.6k. A ballplayer will refuse to stop playing because they want one more hit, steal, strikeout. One more homerun. One more win. So they get old and they lose their skill and embarrass themselves long after they should have hung up their spikes.

If that’s the rule, then Alexander Claremont-Diaz is the exception.

Because today, at age 38, Alexander Claremont-Diaz is six outs away from a perfect game.

Catch and Release by @welcometololaland. T, 4.8k. Henry isn't good at many things, but he is fairly good at rowing - something which is very deeply fine, until a transfer student from America turns up.

When Henry winds up being Alex's roommate on a training camp, they don't get off to a great start. Fortunately, their coach has other ideas.

A slice of the rowing AU involving midnight training sessions, extreme physical exertion and just a little bit of Only One Bed.

You Spin Me (Right Round) by @myheartalivewrites. E, 5.4k. “...he signs up for Henry’s evening class again, and if he comes in wearing a cropped sleeveless t-shirt with a bi pride flag on it and skintight burgundy leggings, well, that’s just a coincidence. He doesn’t necessarily mean anything by it.”

Henry is a spinning instructor and Alex is attending his first class after being ill. The whole thing is unexpectedly moving. And horny. Everyone is WAY TOO horny.

Tonight, You're Gold by @cha-melodius. E, 6k. “You could stay with me,” Henry says before he can properly think it through. Across from him, Alex raises his eyebrows. Christ. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Only, my roommate’s already done competing, and he’s moved out. So I have an extra bed.”

Alex laughs, his curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I’m not sure I’m allowed to just move into Team Great Britain territory.”

(When Alex's room in the Olympic Village becomes uninhabitable, Henry acquires a new roommate who, it turns out, he's maybe, sorta, possibly falling in love with.)

your court or mine? by @silvermaples. E, 6.4k. When the guy bends to grab the ball, his little, white shorts lift, and all Alex can focus on is the way those thighs move and the sheer power behind them. He’s focusing so hard he doesn’t notice the incline of the sidewalk, nor the rock in front of him. And then, naturally, he’s bowling over and falling on his ass before he even realises what’s happening.

He may as well just die. Lay here and succumb to his wounds. Here lies Alex Claremont-Diaz, twenty-two and useless. Cause of death? Hot guy in slutty little shorts.

“Oh dear,” He hears, exceedingly British and posh and deep, and he lifts his head. Maybe death was a little premature of an idea after all. “Are you alright?”

you know i love a london boy by @coffeecatsme.  T, 6.5k. “A very special friendship bracelet,” Bea corrects, with such a delight in her voice that Henry is immediately suspicious. He grabs the darn thing and twists it around, glittery beads shining under the lights of the room. A phone number, if Henry is counting them right. Despite himself, his heart skips a beat. “From the one and only Alexander Claremont-Diaz.” She grins, bouncing on the balls of her feet—the day she stops playing matchmaker for her brother will surely be a cold day in hell. The sole excitement of her life since she doesn’t do romance.

Henry twists the bracelet in his hands, counting the numbers again, and then looks up. “Who?”

Or, 5 times Alex and Henry keep their relationship a secret and 1 time they don't. 

let's get lost (and let the good times roll) by riversdeep. M, 6.5k. “Fuck, sorry,” The man says, distinctly American, holding a hand out to right Henry where he’s fallen. His face comes into view as Henry lets the man pull him up, worried eyes and furrowed brows, and he’s utterly mortified to realise that the man isn’t just any random man, he’s Alex Claremont-Diaz, June’s volleyball playing brother. Her very attractive, very concerned looking volleyball playing brother.

There's No Problem That San Diego Can't Solve by @historicallysam. T, 6.7k. Alex doesn’t even bother knocking; he simply twists the knob on the door and shoves it open. His eyes narrow as the door bangs against the wall and he sees Henry on the phone. Maybe (definitely) it’s rude but his blood is fucking boiling so he doesn’t really care.

Because I’m A Scoundrel by @inexplicablymine. E, 8.3k. Alex Claremont-Diaz has exactly thirty minutes to make himself look as slutty as possible for this Halloween Gala. At this very moment he looks a little bit like a sexed up pirate, but with the addition of his small black vest - rest in peace to the Patagonia packers and finance brethren- and a low slung belt with a “blaster,” a very sex-on-legs Han Solo is looking back at him.

Henry Fox, who is both a double scull rower with enough Olympic medals it would make anyone other than Alex sweat, and the definitive arch nemesis of Alex - is wearing a white sylvette Princess Leia costume, hugging his curves in all the right ways, the clingy fabric draping to the floor.

When you and your arch nemesis show up to the most important gala of the year in a couples costume you either play it up or shut it down. Alex has a decision to make, but the way that dress is hugging Henry’s ass isn’t making that decision any easier.

(la)cross(e) my heart by weather_stained. E, 8.6k. Alex is determined to start a lacrosse team at his college. It's his junior year, and he's closer than ever. That is, until he finds out someone else is trying to start a rugby team, and there's only enough funding for one additional sport.

Clubs Day comes around, and he finds that his rival is no other than the insufferable Henry Fox. Alex definitely doesn't spent more time staring at Henry instead of running his booth, but if he does, it doesn't mean he's obsessed with him or anything.

Thin Ice series by @priincebutt. E, 8.8k. Alexander Claremont-Diaz, charismatic center for the NHL's Dallas Stars, is completely and utterly smitten with the posh British librarian he met by complete accident. Tonight is the night, and he's got a plan to completely woo Henry and get his man.

Don't Quit It by @inexplicablymine. M, 9k. “And goddamn last but not least on my Hit It and Don’t Quit It list would be the Saracens rugby player Henry Fox. That man has great depths, and he could so easily plumb my depths, if you know what I’m saying. An all-around fantastic player, but also someone who is ridiculously smart off the field. And we all know by now that everyone on this list features my mile-wide competency kink. Henry, if you are seeing this, we could play around with some balls that aren’t just in play.”

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck.

Alex has just accidentally outed himself to 6.7 million people. And according to the comments section, they seem to be all too aware.

Or... Announcing your crush via viral TikTok... that's one way to get his attention ;)

Puck It by @kiwiana-writes. E, 9.7k. “I’m English, dear,” Henry tells him, and fuck if the nickname isn’t doing something to Alex too. “Our national sport is rugby, and we play it with a lot less protective gear. Though,” he adds thoughtfully, “rugby players do wear mouth guards, which means they have the significant advantage of generally keeping all their teeth.”

“We wear mouth guards.” It’s a common misconception, and one that annoys the shit out of him. “And I’ve still got all my teeth. Wanna check?” 

Love-Love by @smc-27. T, 10k. “I hear Alex Claremont-Diaz is available,” she says, and while the idea is terribly appealing, he knows that it is incorrect.

“Alex is an incredible tennis player. If he wanted to pair up, I’d be open to that.”

It is not often Henry’s mouth gets him in trouble. Years of media training and growing up with a celebrity for a dad have left him very practiced in the subtle art of the spin.

Apparently the mere mention of Alex had all that leaving his head entirely.

lacrosse, my heart by indomitablelove. E, 10k. Logically, Henry should have known to expect this. He’s aware of how lacrosse works. Or, at least, he’s developed enough of an understanding of how lacrosse works through Alex. He’s seen photos of Alex in his lacrosse uniform before, and yet somehow that still doesn’t prepare him for the sight of seeing Alex actually playing lacrosse.

Alex returns to his high school to play a charity lacrosse match. Henry joins him and sees Alex play lacrosse for the first time.

You didn't tell me you play rugby by Moony_Reggie_stars_1003. E, 10k. Alex finds out that Henry plays rugby, and has some very specific feelings about it.

Tread Lightly by @smc-27. E, 11k. Alex notices this guy the moment he walks in. Which implies that he hasn’t noticed the guy before now, which isn’t true at all. He’s seen him around. He - like everyone else - has stared at the guy’s eyes and waist and thighs and fucking Disney prince swoopy hair.

Alex is really used to hitting on people and getting the outcome he wants.

Or: Lax bro Alex wants Henry

How to stay with you by lovergalore. E, 12k. Alex feels like he hasn’t slept in weeks, which is essentially ever since he got his new roommate, Henry. Alex doesn’t have anything against his roommate—or his sexual proclivities; obviously, there’s nothing wrong with that, but it gets to a point where almost every other night Henry has a ‘friend’ over and Alex has to pull out his noise-canceling headphones to be able to endure another minute in their shared dorm.

CHECK(MATE) by ma_lark_ey. T, 14k. "It's such an unexpected pairing, a hockey player and a punk star. How'd you too meet?"

"Oh, well, it's really silly. It actually started when Alex's fans started..."

"I met Henry because my Tumblr followers started this elaborate hoax about us being best friends."

"And, let me guess, you ran with it?"

"Oh, June, you know I commit to a good bit."

Pumped by myheartalive. E, 22k. Recently moved to London, Alex meets Henry at a climbing wall, where accidental rudeness and misunderstandings keep them apart, until they don’t.

There's pining, there's climbing, there's stupid boys falling for each other, and smut towards the end.

Show Me What You’re Working With by @clottedcreamfudge. E, 23k. He doesn't want to think the words "monster cock" but frankly, it's too fucking late, because they're now living rent-free in his brain in twenty-foot high neon letters.

How does that even work? Do the women he sleeps with come out changed? Does he have the goddamn ER on alert every time he goes on a date?

Alex isn't into dick, except maybe he is, and maybe this one specifically. 

the winner takes it all by @dumbpeachjuice. E, 24k. In theory, this shouldn’t be a thing. Alex has spent his whole life around other cyclists, on the track and the road and off both, and he’s never had this sort of visceral reaction to any of them.

(Well. Kind of. Maybe he let his eyes linger on a teammate once or twice. But like—Alex is an athlete. He appreciates the human form.)

But the way the muscles in Henry Fox’s thighs stretch and ripple as he urges his bike up the mountain—

Yeah.

It’s a lot.

And if Alex weren’t so determined to steal that yellow jersey off his back he’d fall off his bike.

Made the Right Selection by clottedcreamfudge. E, 27k. "You don't take 'no' for an answer, do you?" Henry says curiously, and Alex cocks his head to the side; his hair falls into his eyes just a little but he doesn't bother to brush it aside. Henry's fingers itch to do it for him.

"I do when it's the actual answer," he says eventually, and Henry's face twists into a smile.

"Right," he says.

"Alex, come the fuck on," Nora calls over from where the squad has started to wander off into whatever day there is left. Henry suspects, looking at the sun, that there's rather a lot of it to go.

"See you later, H," Alex says with a grin, and then he's gone, leaving Henry with his helmet in his hand and his heart in his throat.

Alex is a cheerleader. That's the premise. 

catch my breath to breathe your name by goingmywaydoll. M, 29k. “So,” the person says without pause, “I heard you like soccer butts but not the people attached to them.”

Where Henry’s family owns a (fictional) football club and Alex is fresh from the States and the new star addition to the team and it's all entirely predictable.

Stupid Games, Stupid Prizes by JustAnotherWriter_93. E, 38k. The College AU where Alex is a football player, and Henry has had a secret crush on him for two years, attending every football game possible. Henry thinks that getting involved with Alex will be nothing but a disaster, Alex thinks that maybe he isn’t as straight as he thought, and they’re both a little bit right.

Faster, Higher, Stronger by everwitch. E, 64k. When Alex fails to qualify for the 2022 Winter Olympics, it’s all too easy to blame Henry Fox, the dual citizen who’d switched from Team GB to Team USA and snagged the last spot for men’s figure skating. After Alex is abruptly thrown back into the games, he forms an unexpectedly deep connection with Henry. But no athlete who aims for the top of the podium can afford any serious distractions. Will Alex be able to keep his flaring emotions in check and take home the Olympic gold medal he’s always aimed for?

Baseball Boyfriends series by bleedingballroomfloor. E, 121k. “It’s just — I’ve had such a hard time feeling like I really belonged. I think that’s what got me in the slump in the first place. But coming back here, seeing all the love I still got even though I’m not on the Rangers anymore… that really helped. And being on the Mets, being in New York — you helped with all of that. More than you’ll ever know.”

Or, Alex and Henry are dumb, horny disasters. With an added bonus of baseball.

A Sporting Chance series by clottedcreamfudge. E, 236k. "Marry Henry - destination wedding. Combine all of our names so paperwork is a fucking nightmare." Henry stares at him and Pez rolls the dice, and-

"Congratulations to Alex and Henry Claremont-Diaz-Fox-Mountchristen," he says with a bright grin, and Alex punches the air and makes a 'whooping' noise. "Your wedding is attended by the Beckhams, the President, and several key members of congress. Henry is very gentle on your wedding night." Henry is going to fucking kill Pez.

"Fucking sweet," Alex says, because Henry is apparently the only one here trying not to have a coronary about all of this.

It had just been a party game, except now Henry is in way over his head.

I only tag an author once per post, but I'm still figuring out firstprince author handles. If you see one I may not know or find a broken link, please give me a heads up!

Master List of RWRB FirstPrince Recs

Master List of Recommendations

[gffa]

Hi!  You are welcome for being dragged down into this hell with me! :D The fic in this fandom is really delightful and there are genuinely some excellent comics to read! OKAY SO.  Here's the thing about DC comics and DC fic, I find that it's easiest to think of it in four stages or four continuities: - Pre-Crisis on Infinite Earths (anything pre-1985 or so) - Post-Crisis Crisis on Infinite Earths (1985-2011) - Post New 52 (2011-2016) - Post Rebirth (2016---) (Note:  Crisis on Infinite Earths and Infinite Crisis are two different things!  So you may see Infinite Crisis mentioned here and there, but it's separate from the really big one in 1985 that changed the landscape so much.) Like, it's a bit more complicated than that, but generally that's how they're divided in my mind and each of them is separated by a massive universe-wide continuity change and what's true of one era may not be true of another era--and that's not even getting into various retcons that are told all the time.  Then you have fic, which often takes elements from different continuities and puts them all in a blender because it's fic, you do what you want, you pick what you like!  Which means, even aside from the usual aspects of fanon, you cannot trust fic at all to be a guide to what is or isn't canon, no matter how canon something seems. For example, in the Post-Crisis/Pre-Nu52 era, very briefly, Jason came back to life because a Superboy from a different world punched reality so hard that Jason was jarred back to life, clawed his way out of the grave, and was picked up by the League to be dumped in the Lazarus Pit.  Post-Nu52, I believe he didn't wake up until after Talia dug him up and put him in the Lazarus pit.  Or another example that you'll see a lot in fic is, Post-Crisis/Pre-Nu52 Nightwing had a story where he was trying to train Tarantula into being a hero and that story ended with him stepping aside to let her kill Blockbuster and then she sexually assaulted him, but Post-Nu52, I'm not sure Tarantula even exists, despite that a ton of fic will bring that event up and blend it in with the current continuity.  (And this is fine!  I enjoy when authors do this actually!  It just means that what's in fic =/= being able to understand the comics timeline.  Like, as far as I'm aware, Jason and Damian having a relationship is entirely a fic thing, I don't think the comics have touched on it?  To be fair, Jason is not my hardcore area of expertise yet.  XD) Now, the complicated thing--DC Rebirth isn't a reboot per se, it's more like blending pre-Nu52 elements back into the current timeline, so I'm a bit fuzzy on what's currently true and what's not, and I only mention this to basically illustrate why I think it's best to just roll with whatever the story in front of you is telling you, because there just often isn't one, true definitive version of events of the characters' backstories.  And that's if DC decides to cover things at all, rather than just throwing you into the middle of the story!  Which they will do a lot. That said, while others will probably have better Jason recs for you (which I would welcome better recs!), I would say some of the best places to understand his character would be: - Batman: Under the Hood by Judd Winick (~2005) - You can also watch the animated movie "Batman: Under the Red Hood" which a lot of people love, but it does have some differences between the two.  But both are good places to start! - Red Hood: The Lost Days (2010—2011) by Judd Winick - Another retelling of how Jason came back to life, I believe this one is pre-Nu52 - Robin 80th Anniversary Special (2020) is a series of various Robin stories and Jason has one that's a good read as well--"More Time" by Judd Winick. - Red Hood and the Outlaws (2016) by Scott Lobdell - I believe this is the only Rebirth-era storyline of Jason's that covers his background, though, I haven't read it yet myself.  You want the one with Bizarro and Artemis, NOT the one with Arsenal and Starfire.  (I mean, I'm not your mom, read what you want, but I would suggest putting those much further down on your reading list.  XD) And yes yes yes YOUR LIBRARY IS GOING TO HAVE MORE COMICS THAN YOU REALIZE, also if you have a library card already, check out Hoopla, because many libraries partner with them and you can use your card to log in and they have a TON of comics (I know for sure they have Under the Red Hood and Red Hood - The Lost Days and Red Hood and the Outlaws Volume 1 + Volume 2 + Volume 3 + Volume 4 and so, so many more comics) and you may be limited to how many you can check out per month (like 10/month or so) but it's a GREAT way to support libraries, authors/artists, and check out what you like before spending a lot of money! (Further recs, I personally enjoyed the Jason story in Batman: Urban Legends volume 1, even if the art wasn't my thing, the story had some great emotional punches, and Robins: Being Robin was such a fun ride of all five Robins solving a case together and was just pure joy to read. And mileages vary, but I remember enjoying the Hush storyline, back when I was still reading comics and it first came out, though, I haven't reread it since then, so it's a cautious rec.)

[yellowkitkieran]

kt rq… i absolutely love ‘support system’ and you writing reader on arsenals women team.. maybe after the final game he is obviously quite down bc he knows it’s best for him to move clubs but he worries about their relationship. And reader tells him she would move to a club closer to his (possible) new one (even if not immediately) which he didn’t expect.. lot of angst/bit of fluff.

ofc only if something like that is for you and all. still feel a bit down momentarily after Sunday and now your recent fic just has me in a mood x

The Hardest Goodbye (Kieran Tierney)

Masterlist

Word count: 2.0k

Kieran's lap of honour at the Emirates is more of an anticipatory goodbye than anything.

You wait in the wings in the tunnel, dressed to the nines in the same Arsenal gear you wear on your own match days, and let Kieran have his moment with the fans. He drinks it all in, the fans clapping for him as they sing his chant, enjoying the Emirates for what is likely his last time as a gunner.

Heart aching, you stand still as Kieran's team trickles past you. He is one of the few remaining now, reluctant to accept his fate. Each time he turns to leave, Kieran is drawn to the crowd in the same manner that a fisherman is perpetually drawn to the sea. This rectangle of grass is more of a home to him than the four walls he shares with you. Kieran would sleep here, eat here, hang up family portraits in the halls if he could.

No matter what, Kieran's soul will always lie with the team he was meant to captain. The red banners will hang in his heart until it stops beating. Kieran is a gunner, through and through, and no contract can change that.

The past few weeks have been hell. Rumors of a move have plagued Kieran's every step. All he's focused on is performing at his best for his club, trying to go out on a positive note if he has to. There isn't anything formal just yet, but neither of you have acknowledged the elephant in the room: Newcastle has come knocking, and their interest has not been quiet.

It would be a smart move for Kieran. His career would flourish with a stable place in the starting XI, and he'd finally get the recognition he deserves. The footballer in you wants him to accept it should a deal come his way. That side of you is at war with the part of you that loves Kieran unconditionally though. Because if Kieran moves, that means you'll be apart. And if you're apart, you aren't sure you'll be able to provide Kieran the support he needs.

Your contract with the Arsenal women's team doesn't run out until the end of next season. Even if it did expire tomorrow, you haven't had any promising interest from other teams. Your agent could pester someone into taking you, sure, but it would probably come with a salary cut. You wouldn't mind though, as long as it brought you closer to Kieran.

When Kieran finally turns to head off the pitch, you wait for him with open arms. His boots click on the pavement and you resist the urge to warm him against wrecking the studs. Kieran is already crestfallen enough, tears already brimming in those brown eyes usually overflowing with adoration, and you can't bring yourself to push him over the edge.

"Come here my love," you murmur when Kieran is in earshot. Without hesitation, Kieran fits himself against you and clings to you like a lifeline. You let him tuck his face into your neck as he sniffles quietly, trying to fit a leash onto his emotions.

You murmur reassurances while you card your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. "You played beautifully, my love. Everyone knows you left it all out on the pitch. I couldn't be prouder of you."

Whether or not your words help, Kieran's heartbeat slows from a frantic slam you can feel in your own chest to a steady rhythm that echoes your own. "Sorry," he mumbles a minute later. "Just cannae believe I might never walk out there wearing red again."

Stroking your fingers over Kieran's hair, you murmur, "I know baby, I know it's hard. But hey, even if you don't make it back, you'll still be loved here in London. You heard the fans, yeah? They'll always remember you for your flair and how well you brought us together when you captained. It's not your fault that the owners shelled out big bucks for someone halfway decent and benched you because they couldn't let their pocketbook take a hit."

"Now you're just trying to make me feel better."

"Working though, innit?"

"Maybe a little."

You smile, coaxing Kieran away from you far enough that you can kiss him. "I love you, Key. You've done great things in your time at Arsenal and you've made all of us who play here proud. If it's time for a new chapter, we can figure that out together."

**********

"Contract is here," Kieran croaks, as if contract talks are a normal part of your conversations over your morning coffee. "Newcastle want me on the same wages I'm on now at Arsenal, and they don't want to keep me. Arteta said there's no spot for me in the squad because I don't fit in the left side as well as he'd like."

"Oh."

Isn't it supposed to be storming when one receives bad news? Shouldn't the window panes be battered with rain, wind howling as it tries to seep into the cracks? The sun shouldn't be warming your face as you crack eggs in a pan. Birds shouldn't be singing their merry songs. The potted flowers lining your windowsill should be wilted, not stretching towards the light.

Wrong. This morning is all wrong for that sort of earth-shattering, heartbreaking news.

"Yeah, oh."

Kieran tips his chair onto its rear legs, reaching into the glass cabinet behind him for the bottle of Scottish whisky off the top shelf and the two crystal glasses beside it. The heavy tumblers thud against the wood dining table when Kieran sets them down, pouring himself a double and then a single in the other glass, which he leaves for you if you want it. He doesn't so much as wince when he throws his own back, swallowing it swiftly.

"It's nine in the morning," you say softly, out of concern for Kieran's liver and his psyche.

"I'm not taking it," Kieran mutters, eyes trained on the crystal in his hand. The finality in his voice is what terrifies you. He's given this decision plenty of thought, that much is obvious, and yet this is the first you've truly heard him talk about it.

At first, you aren't sure you've heard him correctly. If Kieran doesn't take this contract, then certainly Arsenal will sell him off to the next highest bidder, which will most likely be non-premier league. His career will stagnate and his dreams of a European championship will be all but squashed.

"Kieran," you say firmly, trying to elicit some sense. "Babe, you have to take it." Abandoning your breakfast, you quickly skim through the summarized terms on the top sheet. It's a good deal, one that means he'll be secure for at least four years at Newcastle. "Four years is a long time, you could get a lot done. Help build a winning team. You could captain them and stay there long term."

"I don't want to be there long term," Kieran snaps uncharacteristically. In arguments it's usually you that has the hot head, not your boyfriend. It catches you off guard and you take a physical step away to distance yourself.

"Why not?" You ask after a pause.

Asking a simple question sets Kieran off and he lashes out like a cornered animal, "Because you're here! My entire life is in London, in this house that we bought together- you can't just up and move with me! Newcastle's women's team isn't anywhere near the same level as Arsenal's- you'd be sacrificing your career for me and I can't let that happen. Which means we'll have to do long distance and I already have a hard time during international breaks! I wouldn't survive that, I couldn't come home to an empty house each night!

"And yet you sit here and act like I should be okay leaving you behind. Like I wouldn't be abandoning the most important person in my life, the woman I want to marry one day. I should just accept that because it's good for my career? You're more important than that! You're my priority, not football!"

While you know his frustration isn't directed at you, that doesn't stop his outburst from stinging. You know better than to reply straight away, letting Kieran process his emotions on his own until his eyes glass over with tears and his lip wobbles.

"I dinnae ken what I'd do without you," he whispers finally. "I can't just leave you behind."

"Kieran, I hear you baby. I hear you." You cautiously come around the table, aware of Kieran's ridgid shoulders and his wide, terrified eyes. "Take a breath, Key. Breathe for me." When you're finally in front of him, you cup Kieran's jaw and turn his face upwards. "In and out, Key. Just breathe."

As Kieran fights to find a steady breath, you wedge yourself between his body and the table to sit in his lap. You take his hands and guide them around your middle with the same gentle persuasion one might use with a frightened child. "Breathe," you remind him, with his face once more in your hands.

When his eyes squeeze shut, you finally notice the red blotches on his cheeks. He's been crying in your room, for who knows how long. He's been fighting this battle on his own, waging war with himself over what he wants for himself and what he wants for your relationship. It's tearing him apart inside; the fact that he's consumed alcohol at this early hour is evidence enough of that.

You have two very distinct, separate jobs. On the pitch, you're the star of Arsenal's women's team, guiding your best friends towards wins and scoring the occasional goal while you're at it. You've trained hard nearly every day of your life to be where you're at, and signing for Arsenal has brought you a lifelong found family along with the love of your life, Kieran.

Off the pitch, you've tasked yourself with loving Kieran. It isn't something anyone ever offers advice or guidance on; it's something you've have to explore and learn how to do on your own, in your own time. But you think you've done a damn good job of it so far. You're the one he turns to after a shit match and you're the one he wants to celebrate with after a win. You don't hold him back but instead you help him realize his full potential, even if that potential means separating the two of you for the time being.

"I don't want to go," Kieran repeats. You've never heard him so distraught. Deep down, he knows Newcastle is the best choice for him, but neither of you are willing to give up the love you share.

"You know, I've been looking at Manchester lately."

Kieran sniffles and rubs at his wet eyes. "What for? I don't want to move to United and City doesn't need a left back."

"Mmm, no, their men's team doesn't… but their women's team? Well, City's ladies could really use some help defensively."

Hope finally returns to Kieran's eyes. He blinks up at you, his hands landing on your hips to pull you impossibly closer to him. "I couldn't ask you to leave Arsenal. I know it's your home, too."

"See that's where you're wrong," you murmur, tipping your forehead to rest on Kieran's. "My home is wherever you are, Key. This is my home." You lay your palm on the center of Kieran’s chest, directly over his heart. "I was looking and Manchester is only an hour from Newcastle. I could see about a loan to City or even about a move there next year. We could get a house in the middle and commute- a half hour each isn't terrible. I know it's longer than the ten minute drive we have now, but…"

"We would be together," Kieran finishes on your behalf. You smile and reward him with a soft kiss before sweeping the pad of your thumb over his lips.

"Yes, we would be together. So do you think you can make it until January without me there? This summer we can pick out a house together, and I can start figuring out a move for myself. Meanwhile, you can just focus on you, and planning as many date nights as you can."

"I like the sound of that, darling. I really, really do."

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

All Men Have Limits - VI

Character: Dick Grayson x Reader x Bruce Wayne

Summary: A certain bat believes that Y/N is in way over her head, that she’s too naive to act in her best interest. So, whether she wants it or not, the vigilante family is going to help and protect her before she gets herself killed.

Word Count: 3,800+

Previously on…

“Nightwing! Regroup!” Bruce snapped into the comms again.

No matter how dire the situation was, they always stuck with their codenames while in uniform. But right now, Bruce wanted to scream at Dick to get his shit together.

Dick was quiet for a moment, allowing his family to only hear the roaring of his motorcycle as it zipped through the streets of Gotham.

“By the time we regroup, she’ll be dead,” Dick answered darkly.

This was the biggest difference between Dick and Bruce.

Dick wasn’t ruled by his emotions – except when it involved the safety of people he cared for and loved. When that happened, his emotions took control. It was very unlike Bruce, which just proved there were some things Dick simply couldn’t get trained out of him.

Bruce was always calm and collected – even when it was his kids that were in danger. Was he scared for Y/N’s life? Yes. But he also knew that panicking and going in hot was not going to help her. If anything, it would put more people in danger.

“Jason is following him,” Tim announced.

Jason might’ve refused to use comms, but they still had a tracker on his bike.

“What’s the plan?” Tim asked.

——————

Y/N probably looked like a drunk driver from the way she was serpentining to the heart of Gotham.

But she was tried to load a magazine into her gun as she ran every red light without getting t-boned by oncoming traffic.

It was…a lot. Especially since Y/N knew she were driving to her assassination.

It hadn’t been hard sneaking past the internal security at the manor. Y/N knew she could do it since she was brought there. But she decided to save that knowledge for the right time. And that was tonight. It was clearly designed mostly for Damian – or perhaps for any of the boys when they were younger and rebellious.

Then Y/N had to jumpstart the first car she saw parked on the street near Wayne Manor, which took longer than she had liked.

She might not have a lot of skills in the combat area. But she was rather resourceful in almost every other way – which included hijacking cars.

Y/N was so panicked about making it to the city before they could intervene, that her mind wasn’t really processing what was about to happen.

All Y/N knew was that she hoped they’d be done with it before any of them knew what was happening and could try to stop it.

She knew what they would’ve said. They would’ve told her to stay where she was and they would handle it. They would’ve done everything to keep her safe while also trying to save Gotham.

But Y/N couldn’t wait to see if she was responsible for the deaths of thousands while she sat on her ass and did nothing.

So she took her life into her own hands.

She gave enough information for them to use. Even if she was gone, she’d given them enough leads to finish the job without her.

Now her time was up.

Y/N knew eventually time would catch to her. She’d lived a far too risky life, threatened the most dangerous people, ruined the lives and locked up even more of dangerous people. It was only a matter of time before her luck ran out.

Y/N skidded the car to a stop. And she realized her hands were shaking as she threw the car into park.

She hadn’t stopped driving until she reached Old Gotham – right underneath the Clock Tower.

It was a nice, wealthy part of the city, which meant that there weren’t questionable people lingering on the streets.

In fact, it was eerily quiet – even for such a nice neighborhood. Y/N didn’t see a single person walking around in her vicinity.

But when she turned, there were five masked people watching her.

The Talons.

Their faces and bodies were completely covered, with their masks and goggles reminiscent of actual owls.

All of them had an arsenal of some sort of bladed weapon – countless knives, katanas, axes, or even broadswords. And, of course, they all had talons. 

“So you are the irritant,” one of them greeted, his voice muffled from his gear.

Y/N took a step back as she grabbed her gun out of the back of her waist.

But she felt a presence behind her and whipped around to see more Talons surrounding her.

Did they really expect her to be able to put up that much of a fight?

“I’ve been called worse,” Y/N smirked.

She was clearly in denial that she was about to die.

They all unsheathed their weapons.

But Y/N wasn’t going to let them make the first move.

She started shooting bullets. Either they were wearing bullet-proof vests or they were blocking her bullets with their weapons. It was all happening so fast that she couldn’t figure it out. She knew her aim wasn’t off. Jason had been secretly teaching her how to shoot. And she’d gotten rather good with his help.

“Fuck,” Y/N hissed when her magazine was empty and she had failed to take down a single Talon.

As she tried to reload the magazine, their patience ran out.

One of them knocked the gun out of her hand, slicing the skin in the process.

Before Y/N could look down at the damage, another Talon wrapped his hand around her neck and lifted her off the ground like a doll.

“How can such a weak and pathetic woman have caused such a nuisance?” He cooed at her as he tilted his head, inspecting her.

Y/N couldn’t reply even if she wanted to.

Her hands were frantically trying to free herself, nails ripping at the armor and gloves of the Talon.

“Perhaps she could be of use to us,” one of them spoke up. “Unless she’d rather die…”

But before they could drop her or make a decision, someone dropped into the middle of the chaos with a blur.

Next thing Y/N knew, she was being dropped to the ground and coughing to recover her breath.

When she looked up, she saw Dick – no, Nightwing – taking on all of the Talons who were sent to kill her.

Yes, Y/N had frequently seen Dick train with Bruce and his brothers. However, this was something entirely different.

Y/N watched in shock as Dick used his escrima sticks to take out the Talons in droves. He flipped, kicked, punched, and moved in a way Y/N had never seen before.

There was a moment of pause that gave him the opportunity to meet her gaze.

“Y/N, run!” Dick screamed as he flipped away from the deadly claws of a Talon.

She blinked at his command and snapped out of her daze.

Jumping to her feet, she did as he said.

But she only got a few yards before two more Talons dropped in front of her and blocked her path.

Her fear was interrupted by bullets raining on them seconds before a motorcycle flew into her peripheral.

Red Hood did a front wheel break and swung his motorcycle so precisely that he managed to take out both of the Talons with the backend of his bike.  

He turned to look at her. “Get on.”

But Y/N looked behind her at Dick, who was fighting Talon after Talon.

“What about Di–” she stopped herself from using his name. “What about Nightwing?!”

“Batman is on his way with the others. But right now, we have to get you out of here,” Jason yelled back.

Right on cue, the Batmobile came screaming toward them, as well as Tim on his motorcycle.

“Y/N, get on the motherfucking bike,” Jason warned her.

She turned around again and saw Dick now being aided by Damian, Tim, and Bruce. They were finally starting to overpower the Talons.

Clearly they hadn’t sent the numbers to defend themselves against the entire bat family. They probably assumed Y/N would head their warning and arrive unaccompanied. And Y/N did. But both her and The Court underestimated the vigilante family’s protectiveness towards her.

Y/N finally listened to Jason and jumped on the back of his motorcycle.

Barely giving her a second to adjust, Jason floored it and sped away from the fight as quickly as possible.

This motorcycle ride was nothing like the one Y/N shared with Dick.

Jason rode like bat out of hell, whipping around tight corners without slowing down. And even with her vice-like grip around his waist, Y/N felt like she could fly off at any moment. The wind stung against her skin like a million little needles.

“Where are we going?” Y/N tried to scream to him.

“We have to make sure they’re not tracking us before we return to the cave!”

Y/N couldn’t tell how long they had been driving around. But her arms and muscles were sore from the tension of holding on for dear life. She was so exhausted that if she hadn’t been so scared, she probably could’ve fallen asleep on the back of Jason’s motorcycle – even with his reckless driving.

Without any warning, Jason veered into a parking garage and went to the basement level where no cars were parked. He must’ve pressed a button because a hidden compartment was opening against the cement wall and suddenly they were driving through it.

Y/N got off the bike as soon as he stopped and looked around.

It must be one of his safehouses.

To her surprise, Jason took off his Red Hood helmet and then the domino mask underneath. He also grabbed some clothes that would either cover his Red Hood uniform or make it look like civilian clothing.

He pointed to a car, “Come on.”

Y/N followed him silently and got into the passenger seat.

It was a 20 minute ride back to the manor.

And it finally gave Y/N time to actually process what she had planned to do tonight. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Jason asked after 10 minutes of silence.

“And say what?” She challenged.

He smirked. “I don’t know. Maybe how you enjoy playing sacrificial lamb.”

Y/N ground her teeth together. “That’s oversimplifying it, and you know it.”

Jason just shrugged.

“That’s it?” She asked when he didn’t follow up with any more questions. “Really? You’re not going to start lecturing me?”

“Oh, definitely not. ‘Cause you’re gonna get a shit ton of that when Bruce sees you – maybe even from Dick, if he’s not too overwhelmed with relief from seeing you in one piece. Which, by the way, you’re very lucky to be.”

Y/N had no response to that.

The rest of the ride was quiet, except for the local classic rock radio station that Jason decided to turn on.

To their surprise, no one was waiting in the cave for them. But Dick and Tim’s motorcycles were parked, as well as the batmobile. So they had clearly returned.

“That might not be a great sign…” Jason mumbled as got out of his civilian car. “Come on,” he nudged with his head as he started making his way to the stairs that led back into the manor.

When they got up, Jason followed the sounds of voices coming from the kitchen.

Y/N’s eyes immediately took in the group, worried that someone would be missing.

No one was in full uniform. Tim and Damian were in sweats. Bruce’s cape and cowl were gone, but his full body armor was still on.

The three of them and Alfred were all gathered around Dick, who was sitting on the island counter shirtless with nothing but his black compression shorts on.

One of his left eye was black, there was dried blood below his nostrils, his bottom lip was split and swollen. But Y/N’s eyes were only looking at the wound on his side that Alfred was currently stitching. Clearly one of the Talons’ swords found an in.

When the family heard Jason and Y/N’s entrance, all eyes were on them.

Dick looked relieved.

But Bruce? He looked livid.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

He didn’t yell. No, instead his voice was low and even. And it scared Y/N more than yelling ever could.

But she was too busy looking at Dick’s injuries with concern.

Then her gaze raced to Tim and Damian, looking them up and down to try and assess if they had any injuries. But they seemed in good shape.

“Y/N!” Bruce snapped.

Finally she acknowledged him. 

“What?!” She growled in return.

“What were you thinking?”

“Bruce…” Dick warned quietly.

They had all seen Bruce get this way. And they all unfortunately had been on the other side of his wrath. They could see the telltale signs that Bruce was about to give one of his level-headed, but extremely disappointed speeches.

Except there was one big difference this time: Y/N wasn’t one of Bruce’s kids.

And by now, all of the boys had figured out that Bruce was feeling some kind of way about her. Even Damian had finally realized that Y/N wasn’t just an ally or fellow vigilante to his father.

“How about we all take in a deep breath and appreciate that none of us are dead?” Jason asked the group loudly. “Because we know that hasn’t always been on the case in the past…”

But Bruce ignored Jason and took a step to Y/N.

“You could’ve been killed,” he muttered quickly.

“I was trying to save innocent lives!” Y/N snapped.

“You should’ve told us as soon as you received the threat,” he countered.

“Why? So you could sideline me and make decisions about my fucking life?”

“We would have come up with a plan. One that did not involve you hot-wiring a car and driving to your death.”

“I was trying not to endanger anyone else, meaning all five of you!”

“And look how that ended,” Bruce answered darkly as she gesture to Dick, who was now stitched up and Alfred was putting a wrap around his torso.

“You can’t just shove your way into my life whenever you feel like it!” Y/N finally shouted at Bruce. “I was doing just fine before you added yourself to the situation.”

This wasn’t just about tonight anymore. The tension in their relationship had now flooded into the argument, finally reaching its boiling point.

“Tonight proved otherwise,” Bruce told her evenly.

But Bruce remaining too calm and showing no emotional reaction was only infuriating Y/N more.

“Hey!” Y/N yelled. “Just because I don’t put on a stupid costume and punch my way out of problems doesn’t mean you’re better than me. In fact, you would be screwed if it weren’t for me. You need me. You need me more than I need you.”

Bruce just glared at her.

“What? Nothing to say?”

“We can have a discussion when you stop behaving like a child.”

And it was finally what made Y/N snap.

She lunged at him.

What she planned on doing to him was beyond her. Everyone, including herself, knew she didn’t stand a chance against a petty fight with Batman. She probably couldn’t even land a punch if he let her.

Thankfully, she would never have to get that proven to her. Because Dick put a stop to it before it could actually start.

When he had moved off the counter and closer to their argument, she didn’t know.

But now Dick was finally intervening as he wrapped his arms around Y/N from behind her, pinning her arms to her side and pressing her back to his chest.

“A child?!” Y/N screamed as she tried to fight her way out of Dick’s grip. “Should I remind you that you fucked this ‘child’?!”

“Alright,” Dick warned her calmly. “That’s enough.”

“Let go of me!”

“Calm down,” he told her quietly.

Suddenly, Y/N remembered that Dick was injured, and he was injured because of her. And now she was thrashing against him, probably causing him harm and putting him at risk of opening the stitches Alfred had just finished.

“Fine,” she huffed. “I’m calm.”

But Dick waited a second or two before he decided to believe her.

When he let go, she lightly shoved him away from her and made her escape.

The whole family watched her leave, and felt the awkward tension that filled the room after she’d gone.

Tim looked shocked.

Jason glared at Bruce.

Damian seemed rather disappointed – in Y/N or his father, no one could figure out.

Dick eyed Bruce. “Great job,” he told him darkly.

Bruce just crossed this arms and sighed.

Dick gestured in the direction that Y/N went. “Aren’t you going to go after her?”

But he knew already from Bruce’s expression that he wasn’t going to anything of the sort.

“You know what, forget it.” Dick huffed before heading in the general direction that Y/N had escaped.

But Jason wasn’t going to let Bruce off the hook so easily.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” He hissed.

“Stay out of it, Jason.”

“Stay out of it?” He mocked. “Yeah, it’s a little bit hard to do that when her safety has become a family matter.” Jason shook his head in disappointment and turned to leave, “I’m out of here.”

-----------

When Dick tried to retrace Y/N’s steps, he found the front door of the manor wide open. The sight was rather eerie for some reason. But Dick stepped onto the front of the manor and looked out at the land.

Had she made a run for the gate?

It wouldn’t be the first time tonight, clearly.

But after a few scans of the property, he eventually found her.

Despite the circumstances, Dick couldn’t help but smirk when he found Y/N sprawled on the great lawn of the manor, laying on her back and staring up at the stars.

He stood over her. “I’m surprised you didn’t make a run for it.”

“Oh, I tried,” she told him matter of factly. “Bastard’s already updated the security system from earlier tonight.”

“Believe it or not, that’s his way of saying he cares. Just ask Damian.” He slowly sat down on the lawn with her, but made sure to still give her some space.

“No. It’s his way of reminding me that he’s the one in control.”

Dick winced, knowing there was probably truth to that, too.

“He shouldn’t have said that to you,” Dick sighed.

Y/N scoffed. “What part?”  

He hesitated before clarifying. “You’re not a child.”

She went quiet, not expecting him to get right to it.

“Well, we’re the same age…so of course you’d say that.”

Dick rubbed his face, knowing this was a losing battle. Nothing he said on the matter would bring her comfort.

Y/N finally looked away from the stars and her face scrunched in guilt and worry as she took in Dick’s fresh bandage. There was a pinkish blotch that showed just how big the wound was.

Slowly she sat up and turned to him. “Are you okay?” She whispered shakily.

He grinned at her concern. “Believe it or not, this is nothing.”

But Y/N still reached forward and cupped his face. Her thumb traced around his black eye, but made sure not to put any pressure on the swollen skin.

Dick leaned into her touch, not bothering to try and hide the affection.

“This is exactly what I didn’t want,” Y/N mumbled.

Dick opened his mouth, but then quickly changed his mind and closed it again.

“What?” She pushed.

But before Dick would answer, he slowly moved into her space. Then he pressed his forehead to hers.

“Please, don’t do anything like that again.”

His approach was different, but it was clear Dick and Bruce felt the same way about the stunt she had pulled. 

Y/N was quiet.

“I understand why you did it. I really do.” He added quickly. “But just…” He paused and took in a shaky inhale. “Tonight scared the hell out of me, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered.  

“I know you are. I saw it on your face as soon as you saw my injuries.” His eyes went dark. “But we can’t do things like that. We have to work together or this is all going to explode in our faces.”

Y/N thought over his words.

His hands went to cup her face.

“Deal?” He pushed.

She nodded.

Then Dick’s eyes moved down to her throat.The blistering red was already fading and being replaced by purple and blue bruising.

His mind flashed back to earlier, how he saw her dangling by her throat and unable to escape the Talon’s grip. The sight had caused him to rush into battle, not thinking of a plan before doing so. It went against everything Bruce had taught him. But seeing Y/N’s life in danger made him black out.

“We should get some ice for your neck,” Dick muttered quietly.

Then he looked down at her hand. It had stopped bleeding, but the cut looked painful and there was dried blood surrounding it.

“Fucker sliced it when he knocked my gun out of my hand,” Y/N mumbled when she saw Dick staring at it.

He eyed her suspiciously. “And I suppose Jason’s been helping with that, huh?”

She cringed. “Maybe…”

Dick just huffed and shook his head.

He started getting up, “Come on. Let me clean that cut and get some ice for your neck.”

But Y/N pulled him back down.

“Wait. Can we…Can we just stay for a bit?” She asked quietly, and then pointed up and laid back down in the grass to stare up at the sky.

Dick smirked and nodded.

He joined her, moving closer this time so their shoulders touched.

“You can actually see the stars out here,” Y/N sighed.

The smog and city lights of Gotham made them invisible.

But now they were far enough to see a few.

Dick thought about all the places he used to travel to with the circus. Some of them were so far removed from society that he could see every single star at night.

But he didn’t tell Y/N that this was nothing compared to those places.

Instead, Dick just slowly moved his hand and grabbed Y/Ns, interlacing their fingers. A part of him expected her to pull away. But she squeezed his hand and kept looking up.

—

Alfred found Bruce in the library, looking out the windows.

When he joined his side, he saw what Bruce was looking at: Dick and Y/N laying on the grass of the great lawn, stargazing.

“You’re disappointed in me,” Bruce said without taking his eyes off the two.

“I said nothing of the sort, Master Wayne.”

Bruce frowned. “You don’t have to.”

“She is not another charge, Master Wayne.” Alfred sighed. “Therefore you should not treat her as such.”

“I’m trying to keep her safe.”

“Why do you think she said nothing of the threat?” Alfred countered. “Why do you think she did not believe she could trust you?”

Bruce said nothing.

“You put the safety of Gotham over your own life every night, Master Wayne.” Alfred continued. “Yet you are so spiteful towards others who do the same.”

That finally made Bruce turn away from the window to look at Alfred.

“You owe her an apology,” Alfred finally confirmed. “Even if Master Dick has become rather good at cleaning up your messes.” 

--------------------------------------------

Part 7

Let me know what you think – please, please, please.  

[allegra-writes]

“The Devil all the time”

Hunter!Tom x Demon!Reader

Supernatural AU

NSFW

Warnings: Smut

"Break the silence, damn the dark

Damn the light..."

The Chain - Fleetwood Mac

Forget everything you thought you knew, you had every reason to be afraid of the dark when you were a kid. In this world where monsters are real, the Holland brothers hunt them so normal people can continue to live in the bliss of ignorance.

But when something goes terribly wrong, Tom will do anything to save his brother's life, including selling his soul to the devil. Well... Not exactly the devil, but close enough.

You don't need to watch Supernatural to read this AU

MY MASTERLIST

He knew it was you, even before turning. He knew it as soon as he heard your deceptively delicate footsteps break the supernatural silence that had fallen over the forest the moment he had buried the little metal box in the old crossroad. Tom didn't want to think about what it meant, having such an intimate knowledge of you to be able to recognize you by the cadence of your steps, being so in sync with you that he could tell whenever you were in the vicinity. 

So he used his favorite deflection technique whenever it came to you.

"Y/n? What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Sorry, did I say nice girl? I meant evil skank"

The insult didn't phase you. None ever did. It was hard to take them seriously when you knew how many nights he fell asleep with your name on his lips, after pathetically releasing himself into his own hand, or fucking his boring girl-next-door girlfriend, chasing orgasm over unsatisfactory orgasm that would never completely satiate him. Because it wasn't your face the one contorted in pleasure looking up at him from the mattress.

"You called. I came" You batted your lashes, sweetly. "I always come when you call…" 

He gulped, the innuendo not lost to his ears. It threw him off guard, like it always did. 

"I would have thought this would be… beneath you" Tom cleared his throat, looking away, trying to regain his footing, "collecting a deal, like a vulgar crossroad demon"

There was nothing vulgar about the soul of a Holland. But he didn't need to know that, so you just shrugged,

"Queen Rowena has an interest in you boys. She finds you entertaining. I'm just being a good subdit" 

He scoffed,

"Funny. I would have never peg you for a sub"

You took a step closer to him.

"You don't have what it takes to make me submit, Holland" Your hot breath fanned over his skin, setting his skin on fire. Making his blood boil. You had a way of doing that, of bringing out the worst in him. Of making him lose control. And you thoroughly enjoyed it, poking at the bear until the claws came out, laughing at the carnage.

Another step, and you could physically feel it: The hate, radiating from his every pore, his mind screaming with it. He hated you. He hated your kind. He hated your beauty. He hated the pretty white dress you were wearing, so pure and innocent, glowing like a beacon in the dark. A lure, guiding uncountable men before him into perdition. 

But above all else, he hated that, even then, he couldn't help but to want you. Fervently. Desperately. Irreversibly. 

"I came here to make a deal" He croaked, cursing himself internally for showing weakness. 

"Let's negotiate, then," you replied, stepping away, mercifully letting him breath. 

"My brother-"

"I know" You interrupted, sounding bored already, "Reapers everywhere are going berserk. Who, oh who, will get to reap the soul of a Holland?" 

The wind picked up, making your long dress billow around your legs. You twirled a little, admiring the way it moved. Tom's eyes were glued to you, almost hypnotized. Partly because you were too dangerous to be left unsupervised even for a second, partly because you looked beautiful like that. It had never been more obvious to him that you were an unearthly creature, you didn't belong to this world. There, surrounded by greenery, barefoot, swaying softly under the twilight light, he wondered how could anybody ever mistake you for a human.

"Of course" your apathetic voice took him out of his revery, "being reapers, watching them go wild is rather boring. I swear they are the most uninteresting beings of all creation" 

That made him see red.

"Boring? Boring?!" He knew his voice was rising with every word but he just couldn't help it, "They're waiting for my little brother to die!!"

"Which could happen any minute now," You reminded him, all playfulness gone from your demeanor, "so if you wanna strike a deal, I suggest you start making me an offer worth my time"  

He was taken aback by that.

"I- My soul in exchange of a wish, and you collect it in ten years" He tried and failed not to think about what that implied: vicious, invisible hounds of hell tearing apart his body and dragging his soul to hell, "Isn't that the usual deal?"

You scoffed,

"After all the things you did in your life, what makes you think your soul doesn't belong in hell already? And if your brother dies, that is one less Holland on earth to worry about. You and your brothers have managed to become a big pain in the ass for us…"

He pulled out a knife, a strange one, with runes in the blade. You arched a brow in recognition

"The Winchesters' knife. Are you threatening me, little hunter?" 

Your lack of reaction was another blow. He had hoped you'd be more impressed than that. Nonetheless he turned it in his hands, offering you the handle.

"I'm throwing it into the deal" 

To his surprise, you didn't immediately take it from his hands, choosing instead to pace the clearing, deep in thought. 

The truth was you couldn't care less about the knife, it wasn't more dangerous to you than a toothpick. And while it was true it could certainly damage your queen, she had a far better weapon to protect herself: You.

But it did confirm your suspicions about the Hollands having access to the old Winchester arsenal, which meant they had access to something way more dangerous than that rustic weapon made of steel and bone. A book, made of ancient dark magic and human skin, written in blood. A book that was precious to queen Rowena and by extension to you: the Book of the Damned. 

The Hollands were a family of extremely talented, yes, but old fashioned hunters. The stab first, ask questions later kind. They probably had no idea what they had in their hands… but you did. 

"Very well then," you finally declared, "this is my offer: Your soul and that knife in exchange for sweet Harry's life and one year for you to get all your businesses in order" 

Tom felt all the blood drain from his face. One year. Just 365 more days to live, before an eternity of torture in hell. 

"O-one year?" He breathed.

"One year" You confirmed, "More than enough time to go see the Grand Canyon, eat the world's spiciest burger or whatever you have on your bucket list" 

The disdain in your words only made him hate you harder.

"Not nearly enough to live" He replied through clenched teeth. You rolled your eyes, 

"You're a hunter. You lead short, violent existences, charging head first towards what most humans run away from. Things faster, stronger, more powerful than you, surviving each encounter out of sheer luck. Killing one monster after another, until that luck runs out. Because the monsters? Unlike you who rely on it everyday, they just need. One. Single. Lucky. Strike." You punctuated every word with one step in his direction, until you were face to face again. Until, for the first time ever, you could see the fear, the desperating hopelessness he kept hidden inside, reflected on the warm coffee of his eyes. You knew a lesser man would be already crying and begging for Mercy.

Tom wasn't like other men though, that was the whole point. 

"Or…" You soften your tone and your stance, letting your fingers ghost over the back of his hand, his whole skin erupting in goosebumps. That was the very first time you touched him. Ever. 

And it was as if nobody had ever touched him before, the light caress enough to set every nerve ending, every single one of his cells, alight.

He was so distracted by the sensation and his body's response to it, he almost didn't hear your next words over the sound of his own pounding heart. 

"Or you could keep your little pocket knife, and even have your ten years if…"

"If?" He struggled to focus.

"You let me borrow a book"

His brows furrowed in confusion,

"A book? What book?"

"Any book of my liking, for as long as I want" You shrugged it off, "Do we have a deal?"

There was a catch there, it was obvious. He knew he was going to regret it but, what choice did he have? 

"Deal"

Your smile was blinding, luminous. If he didn't know any better, he would have called it angelical. Now, that was one ridiculous thought.

"What now? We seal it with a kiss?" His eyes fell to your lips, so soft looking and inviting. He wasn't eager to put his mouth on a filthy demon and doom himself. He wasn't. 

You chuckled, but there was no humor behind it.

"Oh no, darling. This is big. This is special" You're special, "A simple kiss just won't cut it…"

No. You couldn't mean… could you? Was there no limits to your hatred for him? Did you really want him so defeated, so humiliated? 

"What do you want?" He spat through gritted teeth.

"The same thing you want" You put your hands on his chest, rising to your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "The same thing you have wanted ever since we first met . The thing that's obsessing you..."

"I don't know what you're talking about"

You smirked,

"You can lie to your family, you can even lie to yourself, little hunter... But you can't lie to me." 

He couldn't hide, you could see every fantasy, hear every single one of his thoughts of you on repeat, like a prayer in your direction. Just like he couldn't hide the way his skin was burning now for you, the way his blood rushed south, the way all logical thought left his brain, his iron grip on his emotions finally breaking as he snapped. 

Lightning fast, in just a blink, he twirled you around, your back hitting the rough bark of a tree, as he towered over you, demon blade to your throat, every inch of his body pressed against yours. His eyes were ablazed with rage, and passion, as he surged forward, striking you with his best hit.

He kissed you. 

Lips vicious against yours, teeth biting and scraping only to soothe the offense seconds later with his tongue, until he was dizzy, light headed with the lack of oxygen and the taste of you. The hand not holding the knife to your neck fell to your breast, squeezing the pliant flesh with enough force to cause pain on a human woman, merely making you moan. He swallowed the sound, letting his fingers trace your waist, your hips, clawing at your dress until he finally, finally, felt skin under his fingertips. 

It was better than anything his mind had conjured in his feverish fantasies in the dead of the night. The skin of your inner thighs velvety soft, as they parted under his touch, the sweetest sounds leaving your lips as his fingers found your naked core. You weren't wearing any underwear, probably never had. The realization that, in all your past encounters and fights you had been standing there, just feet away from him with nothing under that damn dress hit him like a truck, making his head swim. 

He searched between your folds, and suddenly his fingers were inside you. He was inside you, a part of him was buried deep within you, within your silky heat, claiming you as his, if only for the night. 

And you were so wet for him, and only getting wetter as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, scissoring them, opening you up until he was able to slip a third one in, fucking you with his hand in earnest. You were sobbing, clutching at his biceps, head thrown back in pleasure. He took advantage of that to suck bruises on your neck, only to see them fade before his eyes. Your skin tasted clean, smelled like wild flowers and rain. Ozone. Lightning. Like those coursing through his veins with every cry, every delicious gasp you made. 

He found the perfect spot inside you, the one that sent sparks through your nerves with every stroke of his calloused fingers. 

"This what you wanted?" To make him lose it? Lose his mind, himself, in you? "For me to make you come on just my fingers, like the little slut you are?"

The floor disappeared from under his feet as you sent him flying away from you, a searing pain exploding at the back of his head as he landed, sprawled at the feet of an old, dying oak. With blurry eyes, he saw you stalk towards him, all power and cold, controlled fury. 

"Let's get one thing straight, Holland. I'm not one of your sluts" You sneered, "and I'm definitely not your basic bitch of a girlfriend. So you better start showing me a little respect, are we clear?"

He gulped, sitting up. He had to be seriously fucked up in the head, for his cock to be twitching inside his pants at your threatening tone.

"Crystal" 

"Good" You declared, coming to a stop right in front of him, standing between his parted legs, "Now, let's put that mouth of yours to a better use"

He knew that image was going to be forever tattooed on his brain: You standing in front of him, holding the skirt of your dress up, waiting for him to put his mouth on you. Tom took a moment to admire you, before delving in, flattening his tongue over your slit, before drawing tight, precise circles on your clit with the tip. God, you tasted so divine it was messing with his head; something as dark and corrupted and twisted as you, feeling so exquisite, so perfect, so heavenly to his every sense. 

He helped you hook your knee over his shoulder, his other arm snaking around your leg, pulling you even closer. You could feel his smirk against your cunt the moment he realized your legs were shaking, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care, not with his wicked talented mouth devouring you like a last meal, rocking your whole world, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids.

You always knew that man would make the stars fall. 

Tom kept on, penetrating you with his tongue as far as it would go, his whole face moving against you. The slight burn of his scruff felt delicious against your delicate labia, as he used his fingers to open you up like a flower, separating your petals to get to the delectable nectar inside. You were close, he could feel it, the obscene sounds you were making, the waves of sweetness falling on his lips feeding his ego, filling him up with pride. By the time the night was over, you'd be unable to forget him. He would make sure of that. He would make you come, over and over, until the only thoughts left in your brain were of him, the only word your lips knew how to speak was his name. He would mark you, like a bloodstain, like you had done to him. 

Almost there, he almost had you. Your muscles were locking, your walls starting to tremble, when a loud crack resonated over his head, and you stepped away on unstable legs, breathing hard. You didn't even need to breathe, it was just his effect on you. He made you feel human. And it was both exhilarating, and terrifying. 

You took another step back, but he took hold of your ankle, tugging hard enough to make you fall on his lap, white skirt covering the place where his hands were fumbling with his zip, with his boxers, aligning himself with your entrance.

"Fuck!" He cursed, as you sank on his rock hard cock, not giving him any time to get used to the feeling of you around him, before starting to move. 

"How does it feel" You taunted, "fucking a monster? Is it as good as you dreamed of?"

Better. You felt even better. Tom hadn't thought it was possible, but he loathed you even more for it. 

"Shut up" He growled. 

You leaned forwards, breath hot against his ear,

"Cause you feel amazing, Tom. Your cock feels like heaven" 

His hand tangled in your hair, keeping you in place as he crashed his mouth to yours again, the other fumbling for the buttons at the back of your dress, tugging and pulling, tearing at the fabric, in his haste to feel more. More of your skin against his, more of the body that had been his hyper fixation for far too long. 

You sat up, still grinding on his cock, letting the tattered dress fall to your waist, watching in satisfaction as his eyes went wide, zeroing on the way your breasts bounced in sync with your hips. 

Reaching up, for a glorious second Tom could feel one perfect pebbled nipple against his palm, the roundness, the weight of your soft flesh on his fingers; before an invisible force pinned his hands to his sides. 

You tsked.

"Still don't get it, do you little hunter? This?" You let yourself fall all the way down his thick cock, hard, tearing twin moans from his mouth and yours, "This isn't about you. This is about me." 

Leaning back, you braced yourself on his strong thighs, changing the angle, changing your movements to a slower rocking against his pelvis. The friction against your clit was perfect, the feeling of his big, throbbing dick so deep inside you, stretching you like no one before, sending electrical pulses through your spine. It was decadent. It was ecstasy.

It was torture. Underneath you, Tom was sobbing, eyes bright with unshed tears, fighting in vain against his bonds. He needed it faster, harder, anything to help tilt him over the edge you were keeping him on, your sweet cunt too tight, too good around him to allow his cock to soften, your rhythm too leisured to let the tensed, strained coil inside him to snap. You were uncaring, using him remorselessly to get yourself off, your little moans getting higher in pitch the closer you came to your climax. Tom felt himself getting higher just by looking at your beautiful pleasure ridden face. You cried out, and suddenly it was happening, you were coming, pulsating around his cock, falling apart on top of him.

And the ground beneath him quaked. The sky above his head bled, the blue twilight torn open by lightning, and thunder, despite the fact that there wasn't a single cloud marring its diaphaneity. You fell forwards, hand braced on the tree, next to his face, ridding the aftershocks of your orgasm until the end. 

"No!" Tom cried when, after a few seconds of catching your breath, you dismounted him, letting his dick slip out of you. 

You arched a brow,

"Something you want, Tommy?" 

He locked his mouth shut, gritting his teeth. You smiled, amused, knuckles stroking his still iron hard cock.

"Do you need more, little hunter?" You enveloped him in your hand, moving it up and down his member, watching the head disappear under his foreskin, "Do you need to come?"

He banged the back of his head against the bark.

"Yes!" He finally admitted, "So badly…"

"Then beg" You commanded, stilling your hand. He snapped open the eyes he hadn't realized he had closed. Oh, if looks could kill…

"Never" He hissed, livid.

"Very well, then" You picked up your pace, pumping him fast, your grip almost too rough. He gasped for air, feeling the telltale tightening of his balls, the coil inside just about to break under the tension. But you must have felt it too, cause your hand let go of him altogether. Too late, he understood what you were doing.

One beat. And then another, and he was coming all over his t-shirt, orgasm completely ruined. 

He cursed, tears escaping through the corner of his eyes, fingers digging into the moist ground under his hands. You chuckled, cruelly, standing up and stepping out of your shredded dress. He could have ganked you with the demon blade in that moment, he really could have, except his hands were still pinned by an invisible force at his sides. 

"Let me go, you bitch," Tom growled, tossing, fighting against his restraints to no avail, "aren't you done?!"

"Not quite." You smiled, mockingly sweet, "Just one more thing before I leave. Don't worry, it will only hurt for a minute…"

He renewed his efforts to escape, as you bended over, reaching for his chest, white hot pain burning through his ribs. He almost cried out, but what he saw stole the voice from his throat, turned his blood into ice inside his veins, leaving him shaking, jaw slack and mouth open in a soundless scream: 

You, naked and gorgeous and terrible. Transfixed, eyes glowing with a supernatural indigo light, the shadow of two massive, bended, broken wings projected on the trees behind you.

Not a demon, he thought. You're not a demon.

You smiled, and it was terrifying.

"No. I'm the thing demons have nightmares about" You replied out loud to the words he had only said in his mind, "And now, little hunter, you belong to me. Mind, body and soul"

[catxsnow]

NO MORE J.T.

Summary: You and Jason had been in the hero game a long for a long time, but maybe there was still time for something different

Warning: I don’t really think anything FLUFFFFFF

A/N: soft Jason > everything else

Word count: 2k

GIF not mine

You had known Jason for a long time.

Long enough that he trusted you with his secrets. Long enough to know the truth about his past. Long enough to know what he was going to do before he put his thoughts into action. You knew Jason Todd better than you knew yourself and that was something you had always been proud of.

He was the kind of guy that didn't like to share what he was thinking or feelings and yet you had broken his walls down enough to know everything there was about him. He trusted you with his life, his feelings, he trusted you. And you never proved him wrong to break that trust, never.

You knew him from being a hero, just like him. The two of you met on an accidental team up and figured out that maybe you worked well enough together that you should keep the partnership. It started off without knowing each others identities, meeting up far enough from your homes so that the other wouldn't find out who you really were.

You didn't mind it that way. You could tell him whatever the hell you wanted and have no repercussions in your every day life. He became your own personal therapist without even knowing it. Hard day at work? He knew about it. Family driving you nuts? He helped you through it, god knows he had enough family issues of his own to know a thing or two.

Your real name slipped out the one day, you hadn't meant to be honest with him. It was during one of your rants about your coworker in your regular, civilian life. You were mocking her, but in the process, said aloud your name. You didn't know if Red Hood caught onto it, but he had, and stood in shock about how someone as lethal as you could have such a beautiful name.

It took him several months of knowing your name to finally reveal his. Jason Todd, you thought it suited him quite well. With that introduction, the two of you had shown each other what you looked like under the mask as well. Jason of course, already knew what you looked like. The moment he found out your name he researched everything he could find.

Pictures didn't do justice for how beautiful he found you.

After knowing each other's names, the two of you moved away from being work friends, to best friends. Jason introduced you to a few of his other friends, as well as his family. It didn't take you long to piece together that Bruce Wayne was Batman, in fact it kind made sense.

The two of you became inseparable. You were roommates, friends, and partners against crime. There was barely a moment that the two of you were ever apart and you couldn't understand how you didn't go crazy after spending so much time together with one person.

Maybe it was because Roy Harper was over all the time and he was able to diversify your little partnership. You always liked Roy, more so when you found out that he was Arsenal. He always knew how to bring humor into the room and break apart any tension that might have been there.

Roy was the reason that you and Jason started dating.

After a long nights work, the three of you were at bar, drinking and dancing the rest of the night away. You and Roy always had a bit of an on and off fling - the occasional hookup and nothing serious. In fact, it was so casual, that not even Jason knew about it. You kept it from him, not that it was on purpose.

So, when Jason saw you grinding against Roy in the middle of the club with his hands dragging all over your body, he got maybe too jealous. Jason was never one to cause a scene, not over something like this at least. However, that night, the three of you got kicked out by the bouncers and never to return.

Jason was fuming at Roy and he had no idea where it was coming from. You had hooked up with lots of guys over the years that you knew each other but there was something about his best friend wanting to sleep with you that drove him nuts. He couldn't bare the thought of you two together - so you and Roy promised to never tell him the truth.

By the time that you got back home to your shared apartment, you were fuming. Jason had completely embarrassed you in front of so many people and you had no idea why. He never showed jealously with you and you couldn't figure out why he suddenly felt this protective.

It wasn't until you sat him down and forced him to talk. If he could trust you with everything else going on in his life why couldn't he trust you with this? Jason told you the truth. He told you everything that he was feeling in his heart like he had planned this speech out a million times. That wasn't the case at all.

Jason had no idea where his words were coming from or that he was able to tell you so easily that he had fallen in love with you over the years that you had known him. You weren't sure if it was the alcohol that was helping him along or if he was secretly this great with words all the time.

Either way, by the time that Jason had finished speaking, you were already falling into his arms and pressing your lips against his.

Crime fighting had been taken to a whole new level. The protectiveness you felt for each other pressured you into making riskier decision to save one another. You would come home with cuts and bruises that the other would have to stitch up. You had been doing it for years, fixing each other up the best that you could.

Accidents started to get worse and you realized how often that either one of you ended up so broken that it would take weeks before you were able to go back out on the streets. You were starting to wonder how long this life was meant to last - and how much farther you could with it.

Jason never noticed your attitude change. He never noticed that you were feeling less inclined to go protect the city you lived in or the sleepless nights of wondering if the next night was going to be your last.

It wasn't until he was stitching you up the one night did you finally tell him how you felt.

"I can't do this anymore," your voice was tight and you closed your eyes to hopefully stop the tears. The two of you were getting older, just because Bruce still went out on the streets, didn't mean that you needed to at this age. You weren't twenty anymore, you couldn't heal like you used to.

"What?" Jason paused mid stitch to look up at you.

"We're in our thirties now, Jay," You sighed. "I can't keep going out on the streets in this costume fighting an endless battle. I can't keep staying up at night wondering if we're going to be alive the next day."

"Baby, where is this coming from?" Jason asked. He went back to finishing your stitches. He only had two left and then tied the knot to secure it. If you wanted to have a serious conversation, then he didn’t want you bleeding out on the bathroom counter. "You always loved being out there."

"I want to have a family with you, Jay," you finally opened your eyes again to look at his reaction. Neither of you had ever talked about wanting to have kids. For the longest time, kids were never an option in your line of work. Getting older, seeing some of your normal friends having kids, it made you want that life.

"I wanna have kids with you, and see you be an amazing father because I know god damn well that there is no one better out there to be the father of my kids. I want to get married, and go dress shopping. I want to have some normalcy to remind me that you and I are just human."

Jason stayed silent. You wish you knew what was going through his head right now. Completely out of no where and you spew this crazy dream on him. These dreams that you kept to yourself were something that you wanted as a kid. You didn't think you would get that chance after becoming a vigilante.

You tried to read his face, his eyes, but he was giving you nothing.

Jason loved you, you knew he did. He woke up in the nights, out of a nightmare and drenched in sweat. Too many nights did he dream the Joker got to you too. He never wanted to see you hurt.

Yet every night the two of you still went out there, getting hurt anyways. There were too many close calls.

You didn't realize that Jason's silence led to his tears. You worried that he was upset that you wanted to quit. After years of saving so many lives, it was your greatest success. Leaving it meant you'd have to start over.

Your hands shakily went up to his cheeks, wiping away he tears that slipped down. He leaned into your hands, welcoming your touch just as he had so many times.

"You want to have kids with me?" Jason shakily asked. You nodded your head. The most heart warming, loved filled, smile rose on his face. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his bruised face into your neck.

Jason, when he was younger, never wanted kids. He didn't want any child of his to end up suffering like he had when he was young. He didn't want to see some innocent soul get trapped into the same story that his life was. Children was never in his play book.

Until he met you. Jason never realized he could love someone as much as he loved you. You were the kind of person that would uphold the tough act when facing down an evil, and melt at the toxin of someone you loved. You were the kind of stability that Jason needed.

"Jay, Baby," you still weren't sure what was going through his head. Your hands ran through his flattened hair, trying to bring comfort to him. There were several times that you wanted to bring up the idea of starting a family, but it never seemed like the right time. Now, you decided that there would never be a right time, you would just have to do it.

"You would trust a fuck up like me to take care of your child?" Jason questioned. He knew that you trusted him to always have your back out on the field, but to take care of a fragile life? After everything that he's done, the aggression that he had, and yet you still thought that he would be able to take care of a baby?

"There's no one I would rather have," you assured. Since dating him, not a single other man crossed your mind - and many men (and women) have tried. "I know you had a shitty father growing up, even Bruce was off and on. If there's one thing I know, is that you would make sure our kid had the best damn life they can."

Jason placed both his hands on your cheeks. He pulled you in for a kiss, one that wasn't rushed like they usually were. This one was filled with love, passion, and even longing. This kind of kiss was not the kind of kiss that Jason usually gave you.

He wasn't sure if he was ready to give up being the Red Hood, or if he could leave his life as an anti-hero. What he knew for sure, was that you were the love of his life and getting the chance to see a little you running around the house? That was something he never thought he would ever get the chance to have.

"Let's start a family."

[mist-sly]

Sing of the moon

Chapter One: Coffee talks

This is a Wolfstar MMA AU that's on AO3 that I have been writing. However I'm gonna start posting it on here too because its easier for me to kept track of what I wrote. Any ways Hope you enjoy!

It was the biggest fight of the year. The middle-weight title on the line. Millions of people watching around the world. The champ, Sirius Black facing one of his biggest rivals, Severus Snape. It was a long overdue fight, the two constantly targeting each other on social media and making comments to the press.

The hype had been real. Every press conference was another layer of added tension and anticipation to the fight. No one wanted to miss it. Sirius was athletic and had every technique known to fighting in his arsenal. A predictable fight many had said. Others argued that Snape’s slippery, submission style could be enough to beat the champ.

Either way, it had drawn the attention of everyone. Even those who shied away from the bright lights of UFC. It lured those who lived in the shadows of the fighting scene.

A large flat screen TV had been set up in the old underground stadium. A crowd of fighters all gathered round to watch, each one sitting on some old create or broken chair. “Its not looking good for him wolfy,” said a teenager with dyed grey hair. He was sitting cross legged on the floor. The TV screen reflecting of his blue eyes. “Ill say. Every punch Black is receiving is drawing blood,” a big, bulky red-haired man said. He scratched at his beard and looked over to his left staring at the young man who was sitting back on the old, patchy red couch. The young man’s eyes darted around the screen, zoning in to one thing specifically as Snape aimed a body shot. “You see something, don’t you wolfy.” The other fighters dragged their eyes away from the screen to look at the young man.

Remus Lupin sat forwards, his elbows resting on his thighs, his hands covering his mouth and nose as he stared at the TV. Remus’s golden amber eyes narrowed right as Snape connect a light jab to Sirius face. He watched as a small cut formed on the champ’s cheek, drawing blood. He drew his hands away from his face showing his frown.

“There’s always something with an opponent like Snape,” he said in a low voice. The camera angle changed on the screen. A close up of Sirius’s face, enlarged for everyone to see. One eye was swollen shut, the other turning a mix of blue and purple. You could not see where cuts began, and trails of blood ended.

This should not have been the outcome. A total of three rounds the fight went on for. Thirteen minutes and a gory scene that would make any viewer feel sick. Three minutes into the third round and it was over. The champ got hit and did not get back up. The group of fighters where quiet. This should not have been the outcome.

However, everything happens for reason.

~

It had been exactly thirty-seven days since he lost. Thirty-seven days of thinking how? How did he lose that fight? Sirius had gone through it a thousand and one times in his head. He was quicker than Snape. Had a harder punch than Snape and was far more intelligent when it came to thinking on his feet?

Sirius shook his head to rid him off the thoughts. He was on his daily run to clear his head, not bring back more memory’s and questions. He stopped, his breaths heavy, panting as he ran a hand through his incredibly dark locks of hair. “Shit,” he muttered as he looked around. The area was unfamiliar to him. Small shops and old building surrounding the street he had just came down. Clearly it was in the more run-down part of Gryffindor. Sirius didn’t even know there was a run-down part of Gryffindor.

He spotted a small coffee shop further on down the street. A few people where sitting outside it but other than that, the street was relatively quiet.

A bell rang over head as he entered. The smell of coffee and baked goods immediately hitting him like a bus. It was warm inside, a delightful change from the nippy autumn air outside. The walls were painted a vibrant orange, the furniture looking old giving the whole coffee shop a warm and vintage feel.

“Hi, what can I get you?” asked a girl behind the counter. She had long, flowing red hair and beautiful green eyes. A sweet and pleasant smile on her face. “Sorry, I’m a bit lost. Could you tell me how to get to the upper side oh and a coffee, black?” he asked the girl.

The girl snorted turning away from him. “An up sider? How did you end up down here?” the girl asked as she started to brew a fresh pot of coffee. “Went for a run, got lost in my head.” Sirius give the girl a smirk as she looked over at him. Her eyes travelled up and down his body, taking in his appearance.

“Guess that explains why your sweaty. What about the bruises?” she asked staring at the faint mix of yellow and brown that covered half his face. Sirius smirk dropped. The girl knew she struct a nerve but before she could apologise, the bell above the door went again.

“Hey Lils. Can I get the regular for the trio and a peppermint tea for me?” Said a young man who walked towards Sirius. Tall, Sirius first thought upon seeing him. Skinny too. He watched as the young man walked towards him. His hair was curly, a caramel brown colour that Sirius doesn’t think he has ever seen before. He wore an old orange jumper that had seen better days and a pair of grey sweats that were rolled up at his ankles. Sirius looked at the bottom on his sweats surprised, surly no one that tall would need to roll up their cloths.

The young man nodded at Sirius before standing beside him at the counter. “Three sugars wolfy?” the girl, ‘Lils’, asked. The young man nodded.

It was quiet after that. The sound of coffee machines running and ‘Lils’ humming echoing around the small coffee shop.

“Here you go Up sider. One Back coffee to go.” The girl slid the coffee over to Sirius before scribbling something down on a piece of paper. “Up sider?” The man asked suddenly. Sirius looked over at him. His amber eyes sparling with curiously as he looked at Sirius.

It was now that Sirius got a good look at the young man. He had handsome features, that was for sure. He had a nice jawline, not to strong and not to soft. Freckles littered his face likes stars in the night sky. He has long eyelashes that seemed to make his amber eyes brighter.

He would have looked soft, too soft, if it weren’t for the scars on his face. He had one across the bridge of his nose and another one on his left cheek going down to his jawline. The young man had a fresh cut above his right eye that was bruised.

However, as Sirius looked at the man, the man also looked at Sirius. That was not good in Sirius’s head. The last thing he needed, was for the media to know where he is.

“You shouldn’t have lost your fight,” the young man said bluntly as Lils set the piece of paper down with directions in front of Sirius. The statement had taken Sirius by surprise. So, the guy knew him, that was great but to say something like that irritated Sirius. He didn’t see Mr tall and skinny facing a world class fighter like Snape.

“Excuse me. I’d like to see yo-“Sirius started only to be cut off by the young man saying, “Snape’s gloves were loaded.” Sirius blinked at the man, “tampered with,” he added in case Sirius didn’t understand.

Sirius couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Who the hell was this guy? Some losers who clearly knows nothing. Sirius took a deep breath and looked at the man. “Look. I’m not sure how much you know after fighting but official gloves have to be worn, not to mention that the gloves got checked and nothing was off with either one.”

The man however kept looking at Sirius with those amber eyes. “That wouldn’t necessarily matter. There’s always ways around the system.” He shrugged. Sirius could feel the laughter starting to bubble in him stomach again. “Ok then. Enlighten me, how were the gloves tampered with?” The man narrowed his eyes, a darker look falling over his once soft face. “A layer of padding was taken out of the gloves. That would have been obvious if they had not replaced it with something else. That other layer would have had to been roughly the same weight as the padding. My guess is that they used soft cast.” Sirius snorted.

Sirius knew what soft cast was. What fighter didn’t? It was an old scandal back in the day with a boxer. It had long since been forgotten though. The man continued, however. “It would make the hits harder on your face not to mention as the soft cast scratched the leather of the glove it would wear the material down.” He raised an eyebrow at Sirius to see if he was keeping up.

Sirius nodded and gestured for the man to continue, taking a sip of his coffee. Sighing the man rubbed his eyes, as if he were trying to teach a child how to read a simple word that they couldn’t quite grasp. “The soft cast would scratch against your skin and the impact of each punch would increase as the match went on because the cast would harden over time. Didn’t you notice when you were fighting, how the first hit was not hard but still drew blood? How as the fight went on Snape put less effort into each hit but was still able to increase the impact every time?” Sirius stopped drinking. His coffee cup frozen at his smooth lips. He blinked at the man as he thought back to the fight. When Snape landed his first punch, he was off balance. The punch shouldn’t have had enough force to bruise his cheek so badly, the way it did.

The more Sirius thought about it, the more he realized how much of what the tall, skinny man was saying, was true.

He shook his head and narrowed his eyes on the man just as ‘Lils’ brought over four take away drinks in coffee cups. “Here you go wolfy! One hot chocolate with cream for Seb, a black coffee with two sugars for Harley, warmed milk with coco powder on top for Cain and your peppermint tea, three sugars,” ‘Lils’ said happily with a bright smile. The man, ‘wolfy’, nodded his thanks and took the four drinks.

“Wait! How did you know about the gloves?” Sirius asked before ‘wolfy’ could leave. “I watched your fight. Noticed what was happening and put it together with an old street fighting trick.” He shrugged and opened the door with his back.

“A little too good to be true, don’t you think?” Sirius said with a laugh, but the young man didn’t laugh back. He shrugged and turned his back to Sirius. “If you don’t believe me then check for yourself.”

Sirius watched as the door closed behind the man. He stayed in the coffee shop, not taking his silver eyes away from the door. The conversation replaying in his head like a broken record. He turned back around to ‘Lils’ who was wiping the countertop. “Do you have a phone I could borrow,” he said in a rush. Like somehow, he would forget everything the man just told him.

The girl smiled at him and nodded. She took out her iPhone from the pocket of her green apron and handed it to Sirius. He wasted no time in dialing a number. Listening as it rang in his ear.

“Hello. Yeah, James it’s me. I need you and your dad to check something out for me……”

P.s this is my first proper time writing so I'm not the best. 

[gamergirl929]

The Aussie And The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (USWNT x Reader)

A series of unfortunate events results in you, a talented Australian pro soccer player, being incredibly late to a meet and greet with the USWNT days before camp. Despite each and everything going wrong, there’s one good thing that comes out of the day...

Slight Tobin Heath x Reader

"This is the worst fucking day, ever.” You growl as you race through the streets, in the pouring rain, darting towards the restaurant where you’d be meeting a number of USWNT players, along with the coaches and such.

You’re about to dart across the street, the light still red when someone zips through it, not only nearly clipping you but throwing dirty water all over you and the only clothes you had since the airline lost your luggage.  

“FUCKING HELL.” You yell tugging on your muscle tee that’s now sticking to you more than it had been before, at least it isn’t see through like it was before considering it’s now covered in muddy water.  

You let out a groan before continuing your run, now only a block away from the restaurant.

You hadn’t been able to get a hold of anyone considering someone had decided to swipe your cellphone in the airport, luckily, there was no way they could unlock it, unluckily, you were out a cellphone.  

Finally, you make it to the restaurant, slipping inside you kneel down, panting heavily, your hands on your knees.  

“Excuse me Ms? we have a specific dress code-

The guttural snarl you send the man has him recoiling, his eyes wide.  

“Well, considering the airport lost my clothes, I can’t really dress up too much can I? Also I have others I’m meeting here.” You snarl, the man frowning.  

“I’m sorry for that ma’am but-

You shake your head.  

“Move you damn wanker.”  

You slip passed him, the man basically chasing after you as you move through the ritzy restaurant, shirt covered in mud and soaked through.  

“Ma’am if you don’t leave, I’m going to have to call security.”  

Thankfully, you catch sight of your possible, future teammates, every one of them of course, dressed exquisitely.  

“Ma’am this is a private ven-

“LOOK.” You yell, making the man jump back a few feet, whereas everyone turns to you, all of them immediately recognizing you.  

“I have had a SHITTY day you little tight ass, and damn it, this IS MY VENUE.” You growl, the man shrinking away from you in horror.  

“And if you want me to be dressed up so bad, maybe I’ll go to the dollar store and buy a fucking clip on tie like you did!” You growl, jerking his tie off and throwing it on the floor before you turn around and march away.  

From the group of women comes the sound of a loud snort one of the women mumbling to a number of the other players.

“Well I like her.”  

You run your hands down your face, frowning as you move towards the room full of incredibly talented, powerful and attractive women, all donned in dresses and suits where as you are in a pair of muddy Nikes, dirty black jeans and a completely soaked, muscle tee, that used to be white but is now stained brown thanks to the car that nearly ran you over.  

Vlatko Andonovski approaches you with a smile, glancing down at your disheveled appearance.  

“You look like you’ve been through a lot.” He simply states and you chuckle, nodding.  

“You have, NO idea.”  

Nonetheless, you give the man’s hand a shake.  

“It is nice to finally meet you.”  

"You too sir. I’m so sorry I’m late.” You shake your head. “The airline had issues with the plane so it was delayed, someone stole my phone at the airport, the airport ALSO lost my luggage so I have no clothes.” You motion to your muddy, dirty shirt and jeans.  

“Well that sounds like a real cluster.”  

You turn chuckling when you see most of the USWNT Veterans looking your way.  

“I also nearly got ran over trying to get here.” You run your hands down your face, glaring when you see the man from earlier making his way towards you, two people at his sides.  

“And now I’m probably going to get arrested.”

“Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” One of them says and you cover your face with your hands, letting out a sob-laugh as you shake your head.  

“Is this because I made fun of your tie?” You fake cry, shaking your head.

“Can you at least throw me out the back door so I can keep some of my dignity?”  

“Actually, she’s with us.” Megan steps forward with a smile.  

“Which that little dickhead-

Someone elbows you, that someone being Alex Morgan and you clear your throat.  

“Something you didn’t actually ask.” You say, jaw clenched.  

Vlatko eventually talks the man into taking his two coworkers and leaving but not before you send him a deadly glare that some Australian's would compare to that of a Black Mamba.  

“Get stuffed.” You growl, the man shuffling away quickly.  

“What position do you usually play?” Mallory asks curiously and you sigh, leaning forward, your head hitting the table, shaking the plates and utensils.  

“I usually play the role of the Angry Aussie, but sometimes, I’m a defender.” You smile the young girl giggling.  

You freeze, smiling when you see a little boy waving your way and you smile, moving to your feet and making your way towards him, the little boy grinning.  

“Can I get an autograph?” He asks with a toothy grin and you smile, taking the napkin he hands you with a massive smile.  

“Of course you can little man.”  

You scribble your name and the boy smiles waving the napkin at his parents.  

“There you go buddy.” You ruffle his hair, turning to head back towards the group of USWNT.  

“I had to get an autograph from Australia's worst player.” He sneers and you quickly turn around, eyes narrowed.  

“You little wanker.” You mumble, lunging at the kid who quickly runs away, laughing.  

“What the fuck is wrong with every-

You’re cut off when you turn around, a waitress full of trays of water running right into you, considering she isn’t looking where she’s going.  

You stand still, nodding, your lips in a hard, tight line as cold water seeps through your clothes, droplets running down your face.  

You turn back to the USWNT players who are all watching you, eyes wide.  

“I don’t want to be on the team anymore, I’m going home.”  

You turn around to leave, again nearly running into someone, but that someone gives you a kind smile, that someone being Tobin Heath.  

You open and close your mouth a couple of time, wide Y/E/C orbs darting around the woman’s face.  

“H-Hey.” You mumble nervously, swallowing hard.  

“Hey.” She grins and your cheeks flush, Tobin Heath’s smile was much better and brighter in person, and of course, when it was directed at you.  

“You look like you’ve had a good day...” She smirks and you snort, rolling your eyes, catching sight at the little boy who’d asked you for your autograph out of the corner of your eye, the little boy giving you the finger.  

“Little demon.” You snarl, Tobin following your gaze to the little boy who stops giving you the finger and waves at her sweetly.  

“What the fuck?” You mumble, shaking your head. “Aye! Why don’t you like me?” You yell and the little boy sticks his tongue out.  

“You SUCK!”  

The little boy waves as he and his parents walk away, just now seeing the Arsenal colors poking out from the collar of the boy’s shirt.  

“Now I understand why he’s a wanker.” You mumble, eyes doubling in size when you realize Tobin is still standing next to you.  

You open your mouth to speak, immediately snapping it shut when somehow, another drink is splashed on you, courtesy of the same clumsy waitress from moments before, the woman literally running away from you.  

Tobin’s brown orbs widen as she stares at you, spotting the muscle in your jaw jumping.  

“Again, I don’t want to be on the team.” You glance around. “I’m going home.”  

You go to make your way passed Tobin, but before you can the woman slips her jacket off and places it on your shoulders.  

“You look like you could use this.” She smiles and you nod, glancing down at the jacket now hanging off of you.  

You blush, slipping your arms into the sleeves with a toothy grin.  

“Th-Thanks. Only good thing to happen today.” You chuckle, Tobin patting your shoulder before she turns to move towards the others, immediately heading towards Vlatko.  

Your eyes remain glued to her, that is until you spot the veteran’s of the team out of the corner of your eye, smirking as their eyes dart from you, to Tobin and back.  

You quickly turn around, nearly running into the same waitress from earlier.  

“Honey, you need a new job, you’re too clumsy for this one.” You say softly, your hands on her waists to keep her steady.  

The woman suddenly pulls her hand back, slapping you across the face before rushing away.  

You turn back around, towards the team, a number of them trying to bite back their laughter while others look on in disbelief.  

Tobin is giving you a small, apologetic smile and you groan, caressing your stinging cheek.  

“The United States hates me.”  

                                                          ***

You cover your face with your hands, whining.  

“Please, tell me you’re kidding, you’re not kidding, are you?” You groan, Vlatko unfortunately shaking his head.  

“Looks like there was an error with the room assignments, and you’re not on the list... At all.” He sighs and you shake your head.  

An elderly woman approaches you, tapping your shoulder before motioning to your sleeve.

“You know, tattoos are a sin and-

“STUFF IT YOU OLD HAG.” You yell, the elderly woman’s eyes wide as she shuffles away.  

Kelley snorts, loudly, tears running down her cheeks as she cackles.  

You turn back to Vlatko, wincing.  

“Can we please pretend like that didn’t happen?” You beg, the man smirking.  

“For now.”  

You clap your hands together, looking up at the sky.  

“Thank fuck.”  

“Now we just have to figure out where you’re staying.” He sighs and you slowly nod.  

“She can stay with us, right Tobe?” Christen, grins, her best friend’s cheeks flushed pink.  

“If not I’m sure that lovely woman wouldn’t mind if I roomed with her.” You point to the old woman who’s standing nearby.  

“Aye! You care if we room together? We’ll be together in hell soon anyway.” You shrug the elderly woman glaring at you before leaving the lobby.  

“Well there goes my backup plan.” You shake your head, snickering.  

Kelley shakes her head, clapping her hands.  

“You better make it on the roster, because I love you.”  

“Here’s hoping.” You grin, glancing at Vlatko who shakes his head, laughing.  

“We still have to see you play.” He smirks and you nod, holding your hands up.  

“I know, I know.”  

“Ms. Y/L/N?” You hear someone say and you turn around, ready for someone else to take a shot at you in some way.  

“What?” You ask warily, grinning when you see a man in front of you holding...

“My suitcase!” You grin, taking it from his hands.  

“It was just delivered.” He nods and you surprise him by giving him a hug.  

“Thank you.” You give him a squeeze and the man grins.  

“N-No problem.”  

The man scurries off and you grin, hugging your suitcase to your chest before pulling it open, THANKFULLY everything inside is untouched.  

“So?” Christen says and you turn around, humming.  

Christen points at you, then herself, then Tobin.  

“Roommates?” She asks and you nod, glancing at Tobin who’s smiling softly.  

“Sure.”  

                                                          ***

You sigh loudly, stretching as you make your exit from the shower, the filth of your day melting away with a blisteringly hot shower.  

“Feel better?” Tobin asks and you nod.  

“Absolutely better. I have to say my first day in America was certainly memorable.” You shrug, you glance at the opposite bed, realizing that Christen is already fast asleep.  

“Well someone was knackered.” You smirk, Tobin’s brows furrowing.  

“Tired.” You chuckle and Tobin nods.  

You wordlessly move to the hotel room’s couch, being stopped by a hand on your wrist.  

“I have enough room.” She nods to the bed and your cheeks flush.  

“You don’t have to.” You shake your head and Tobin smiles, giving your wrist a squeeze.  

“If you’re sure... I’ll try not to steal the Mache-.” You point to the bed and Tobin’s brows furrow.  

“Shit, sorry the, the sheets.”  

Tobin nods, grinning.  

“Going to take a bit for me to break the Aussie mindset.” You laugh nervously, pulling the covers back, standing beside the bed, Tobin doing the same.  

The woman smiles, slipping into bed, you slowly, bashfully following suit.  

You stay on the edge of the bed, nearly falling off so you can keep some space between you and Tobin.  

“I showered too you know; you don’t have to sleep on the floor.” She teases and you chuckle, finally scooting closer to the woman.  

“Sorry, I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable...” You mumble and Tobin smirks.  

“You know, I saw your bra the first time we met, I don’t think you could make me uncomfortable.” She shrugs and you groan, loudly.  

“Please, don’t remind me.”  

The two of you talk well into the night, so much so you worry about how tired you’ll be the following morning, but that doesn’t matter, because getting to know Tobin Heath had made you terrible day turn into a pretty great one.  

Meanwhile, in the opposite bed, Christen is grinning, her plan to get the two of you to share a bed had worked perfectly.  

But how far that plan would go had yet to be seen.

[sadsappylee]

Inexplicable

Spencer Reid x Reader

This is a ticket fic, if you don't wanna read that scroll my dude.

Every now and then, you would get into these warm, sunny moods for no apparent reason, and Spencer couldn't figure it out.

Derek would always joke that you must've gotten laid, but as a profiler he knew how to read you well enough to know it wasn't that. He couldn't tell what it was, and that was what annoyed him.

Today was a day like that, your unusually bright disposition had been going strong for a day or two before and today was no exception. He was quite frustrated actually, angry at himself for not being able to figure out what caused these periods of peculiar behavior.

He definitely wasn't complaining, he thought that you were rather adorable when you got like that, you would smile and laugh more, joke around with Morgan, and make nerdy references with Penelope and himself. You were often times the ray of sunshine that kept the team going during hard cases, and that was especially true when you had those periods of unexplainable potential energy. You had an arsenal of unbelievably warm oversized sweaters that you seemed to reserve for specifically times like this, which he thought suited you quite well.

There were downsides, of course. You seemed so tired, what he thought was a product if not being able to sleep due to heightened energy levels. You also seemed more distant, and (though the logical side of him knew this couldn't be caused by a simple mood) he couldn't shake the feeling that even your physical body was practically freezing cold. On top of that, you seemed to recede into your head more often.

He knew from experience that that was never a good thing.

This was what you had learned was called a 'lee mood'.

You had a pretty embarrassing secret- you really liked being tickled. Maybe it was because you liked the feeling of being able to trust someone enough to be completely vulnerable and helpless with them, or because you liked having an excuse to be carefree and laugh. It gave you a chance to just let go and be happy. You liked laughing, and you guessed that that just carried into the rest of your life that way.

You had these periods of time since as long as you could remember, but you had only just stumbled across the term a few weeks past after falling down a tumblr rabbit hole late at night. See, you and Spencer were alike in many ways, but one especially stood out- your pension for research in the face of confusion.

So, being the research prone person you were, that was what you did. The amount of firewalls and incognito tabs you put up to make sure no one ever saw said research was almost ridiculous, but you needed to find out why you were the way you were, or if other people were like this too. (Basically, what the literal hell was wrong with you)

That was the answer that you got, and apparently the answer was yes, other people were like you. That was how you found out that not only were these phases normal (for some people), but they had a name. It was still embarrassing, but at least you knew you weren't alone.

There were downsides to this too, of course. It wasn't all sunshine and giggly happy rainbow dreams or whatever.

It was being even further touch starved than you were usually, to the point that you thought you might genuinely cry if someone hugged you for too long. It was being almost constantly tired but unable to sleep, and it was having reason whatsoever for feeling that way. It was yearning to feel close to anyone, emotional or physical.

Still, you didn't exactly have an outlet for these moods, so they basically just came and went as they pleased, and for now, the mood seemed impossible to shake.

It had been going pretty strong for the duration of your case, and the case was finally over. It was hour (2? 3?) Of the flight back home, and everyone in the plane was asleep, bar you and Reid, whose nose was in a book while you listened to music.

You couldn't help but watch him while you listened, he was a fascinating person to look at, (and you had a bit of a crush on him) but he was especially fascinating while he was reading. He was a speed reader, but he always looked so concentrated and entertained. He was almost as enamored with reading as you were with him, and you couldn't help but watch him. It seemed almost....intimate.

He glanced up at you for a moment. Just a moment, and you knew he had caught you staring, knew he saw you. But you couldn't drag your eyes from his, so instead, you just kept looking.

The moment ended, and he looked up, not at you, not at his book, just vaguely forwards as if he was considering something. Whatever it was, it seemed he decided on it rather quickly, looking back down and dog-earing the page of his book before folding it gently closed and setting it down.

He stood up from his seat and walked swiftly towards you, he didn't speak , just looked your way with a slight smile, before dropping down into the seat right next to you. Once situated, he began to speak.

"You know, I've been trying to figure you out for the longest time," he started, observing you as he spoke. "Half the time you're a cold, calculating realist, leaning on the cynic side, and yet the other half, you're like this," he gestured vaguely with his hand.

"Well, I'm sorry I've been troubling you," you joked, a brow raised in his direction.

He rolled his eyes, falling silent for a bit. The tentativeness he usually held resurfaced when he looked around, scratching the back of his neck.

"You don't- I know I've known you for a while, and you seem alright with physical contact, but you don't, uhm, you don't have any problems with contact, right?"

You almost had to laugh. If only he knew, with how touch-starved you were? It might be impossible for you to have a problem with physical contact.

Then again, your mind wandered.

Mainly, to why Spencer was asking you that. Heat rushed through your cheeks as you considered all the possibilities of what he could've meant by that.

"I- well no, Spence, I don't," you cleared your throat. "I don't have problems with that, why?"

"Oh good," he spoke, ignoring your question as his confidence quickly returned.

Without any more warning, he reached out and tazed you in the side with his fingers, smiling slightly as you squealed, edging away from his hand.

"Spencer! What was that for?" You chastised, more than a little flustered, sure that your could feel the blush rise in your cheeks.

"I'm just...." He trailed off as if looking for the right words, a confused look (that you would never admit to thinking was adorable) for a mere moment before his head seemed to clear. "Let's call it testing a theory."

With that his hands latched to your sides, digging into the skin there and smiling as it pulled sweet laughter from you.

"See, I think that this is what you've wanted all along. Your moods, I haven't been able to figure them out, so I kept searching. I was worried about you. I thought maybe they were manic states, but you don't have any of the other traits of bipolar disorder. Then I thought maybe something good just happened to put you in a good mood, but nothing new had happened during those times either."

"ihihihi- ihihi hahahahave noho ihidehehehea whahat youhohohoure tahahalking ahabout!" You denied, attempting to stifle your laughter and batting his hands weakly away (though you didn't really want him to stop).

"So," he continued, rolling his eyes at your denial, "I started searching symptoms; often tired but rarely sleeping, brighter moods, hightened levels of elation, loosely bounded sense of humor. Now, I didn't find anything official, per sé, but I did find a quite interesting little section of the internet that offered up a pretty simple explanation," he smiled gently, continuing that sweet form of torture, and all you could do was laugh, clutching against his shirt. You chose to bury your head in his chest and save yourself from the embarassment of your reactions to his words.

"Did you know, it actually makes sense- laughter and physical contact are the biggest suppliers of the chemical dopamine," he explained, as if he wasnt currently tickling you to pieces. "When someone is touch-starved, they lack most of the dopamine that comes from physical contact, so the brain decides that the best way to replace that missing dopamine has to be some sort of human contact that results in laughter. Ergo- tickling." You just tucked your head further into his chest, attempting to muffle your laughter in his shirt and hide your steadily reddening face.

"Spehe-spehehehenceheher!" You giggled, unsure what to say and settling on his name. You knew there wasnt much of a point trying to hide that you obviously enjoyed this from Spencer so you just sat there and took it, hiding in his shirt, though you knew that by your red ears he could tell your face was flushed.

"Yeah (y/n)?" He asked far too casually, always attentive to what you had to say, while still continuing to tickle you senseless, scratching your sides, hands worming their way under the fabric of your sweater.

"Ihihi dohohohont- ihit tihihihihicklehehes!" You whined, aware that you weren't technically complaining or asking him to stop, also aware that Spencer knew that perfectly well too.

"I know," he tsked, feigning sympathy but continuing his actions, with a smirk that you could almost SENSE on his face. Admittedly, this interaction wasn't just for your sake, he was certain that hearing your laughter and seeing you lose your typically well-maintained composure like that was bringing him quite a bit of dopamine as well.

So, instead of trying to think of something else to say, you just clutched at his shirt to stop yourself from pushing him away, trying to keep your laughter in check so as to not wake up the rest of the team as you just let yourself feel the tickly sensations flooding through your nervous system. You practically melted when he moved one of his hands to spider up and down your back, falling into snorting giggles. The other moved to flutter behind your ears, and you sighed through your giggles. Your back and ears had always been some of your worst spots, but at the same time it was incredibly soothing, the kind of thing that could put you to sleep, and the conflicting feelings absolutely maddening.

"Oh, did I find good spots?" He cooed, noticing how you went limp in his arms, aside from the occasional squirm when he brushed against a bad spot.

Your skin tinged a further red, (if that was possible) at the teasing. "...Maha*hic*haybehehehe.." you squeaked, again realizing that there wasn't a point to trying to lie to Spencer.

"I'll keep that in mind."

He stopped for a moment to give you a break and you sat up to try and catch your breath. 

"For now, i think that if we really wanna fix this mood of yours we should pull out the big guns," he teased pausing to make sure you were still doing alright before moving his one of his hands to flutter at your neck, while the other dropped to your knee and began squeezing, laughing along with you when you squealed and shot your hands up to cover your mouth and try to muffle your laughter, which had gone up significantly in volume.

He moved his hands so quickly, between squeezing at your knees, drilling his thumbs into your hips, clawing at your stomach, running his hands up and down your sides, and fluttering at your neck and ears, it felt like his fingers were everywhere at once, and you were barely holding it together. You moved to bite down on your sweater sleeve to muddle your desperate laughter, losing all coordination and thrashing as his hands continued their onslaught against your senses.

He grinned at your (franky rather adorable) reaction, laughing along quietly with you, finding it precious how you tried to hide what was clearly hysterical laughter. In reality, behind the muffling of your laughter, you felt that you were losing your mind at the sensations coursing through your veins. Still, you wouldn't have it any other way, pure glee shining through your eyes.

Just that look was worth doing the a million times over, and it was then that Spencer realized he needed/enjoyed this just as much if not more than you.

When your laughter started growing hoarse he slowly backed off, bursting into quiet laughter at the adorable, almost dissapointed puppy-dog look on your face when he stopped.

You sucked in air like you had never tasted it before, a few stray giggles slipping out to disrupt the silence. Spencer had stopped, but you could swear you still feel the ghosts of his hands against your skin, the tingling feeling still refusing to leave your body, leaving you flustered and giggly.

But you were happy.

Elated, actually. What he said about the endorphins produced from what had just transpired must've been true, because you felt almost lightheaded, warm and pleasantly tired and unable to stop smiling.

You were still on his shoulder, practically laying on him, though he had long since stopped.

Neither of you minded

You hadn't really been able to be this kind of tired in a long, long time. You felt like you could fall asleep right there and then. You'd forgotten how nice it was.

"...thank you."

The words came out of your mouth before you could stop yourself, and you shifted your eyes down, flushing bright red in embarassment after realizing what you had just said.

For a moment, Spencer studied you. Leaning against him, head against his shoulder, cuddling into his side.

You looked tiny.

It was the first time he'd ever really realized how strikingly small you were. In the field you were tough. You seemed so much more formidable than the fragile looking person curled into his side.

Your sweater sleeves were down way past your hands with one sleeve slipping off your shoulder and your undershirt untucked and rumpled. Your flushed complection, eyes closed, the hair sweat-stuck to your forehead, out of breath and panting slightly. You looked like you had just walked through a hurricane, the only indication of what REALLY happened being the soft smile plastered to your face, and the occasional quiet giggle slipping in between your breathing.

You looked absolutely breathtaking.

"Any time," he spoke softly.

He looked down at you, and he could swear his heart melted. You had fallen asleep on his shoulder, and you'd never looked more peaceful.

He could get used to life being like this.

[flying-nightwing]

Pink and Totalitarianism Always Go Hand in Hand

Here’s the promised crack fic. Disclaimer, this is terrible in every and any form, because it is meant to be that way. If you want quality, structure, a story that makes sense, this ain’t it chief. This is certified Crack. If you finish this and all you can say is something along the lines of “what the fuck”, my work here is done. (Besides, this isn’t edited to add to the overall crack vibe)

Enjoy and good luck, because it get worse and worse as it goes

Masterlist in bio // pinned post

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word count: 4626

Warnings: Mention of drugs, light non-graphic violence, language

Summary: You’re stuck in a world that does not make sense, alone and surrounded by secret police and spies that will report you to the government. One early morning, Jason appears in your living room. His arrival gives you an opportunity to get the hell out of there for good. 

You had taken a habit of sleeping lightly.

You, who had once cherished your sleep like it was the rarest gem in the world. Yet, you found out you had still severely underappreciated its importance in your life, something you realized only when it was gone. You missed it like an old friend who was gone to war and died on the front, leaving words forever unsaid. What would you do for just one more night in your bed, with your own pillows and that drool stain that just wouldn’t leave anymore, sleeping like a log until the late morning. Or just a nap, that even would be enough. But you were far from home now, and you didn’t have a lot of hope you’d ever come back. 

When you heard a loud thump in the living room, your eyes flew open and your muscles tensed. Pushing off the pink comforter and pulling on the equally pink robe that was draped over the wooden chair, you carefully made your way down the corridor and toward the sound. A man dressed in black and red, with a red helmet complementing his strange outfit was standing there, looking around like he was trying to understand what was going on. You plastered a smile on your face. 

“Hiya there” The corner of your mouth hurt from the strain of smiling so wide. “Can I help you?”

“Uh?” He looked up, and even through his helmet you could assume his eyes were wide with confusion. They wouldn’t get you this time, you’d make sure of it. He didn’t fool anyone. “Where am I?”

“Silly!” You laughed, waving your hand in a small dismissive gesture. “We’re in Happy Town, obviously!”

“Uh?” He repeated, already visibly exhausted. That one agent lasted longer than the last, you had to give him that. His confusion was credible and well played down to the last detail. “Listen, lady, I’m sorry I crashed your house but I need you to point me toward Metropolis”

“Metropolis? I haven’t heard of a city of that name” You didn’t drop the smile. The goddamn smile. “Although, you are quite illegal sir, black and red are prohibited colors”

“... What?” 

“I’m afraid you’ll need to change” You explained. “Luckily for you, I have spares in the bedroom. Come along”

“Wait, prohibited?” He repeated, and you nodded eagerly. A test, it’s always a test. “What colors aren’t prohibited then?”

“Well, pink, you silly goose!”

He stared at you for the longest time. “What the fuck”

You froze. Actual agents were not allowed to swear, under any circumstances. They were physically not able to, even. “What did you say?”

“I said what the fuck”

You let your smile drop and sighed in relief. “Oh thank fuck”

“Hey, stay with me” He waved a hand in your face. “What the fuck is going on? Where am I?”

“Okay, we don’t have a lot of time, but basically” You paused, looking around to make sure all of your curtains were closed. You found a way to disable your microphones, but you had only to sunrise before they turned back on again. It was less suspicious that way, when you could attribute the lack of sound to you sleeping. Besides, you couldn’t risk you saying incriminating things in your sleep. “We are in a side dimension called Happy Town, but things are sketchy here. I don’t know what they are hiding, but if you don’t stick to their gimmick to the letter, you’re going to reeducation camps and stuff. This is some serious brainwashing, and I’m talking worse than Scientology”

“Fuck” He swore, taking off his helmet. “How did I get here?”

“Some portal, I dropped in the same place you did” You spoke quickly, in a hushed tone. “I haven’t found a way out, obviously, but if you came from Earth too, I’m betting there’s something I missed”

“This is insane” 

“You tell me” You scoffed. “And you haven’t even seen how bonkers this place really is yet”

“Do I really have to wear pink?” He flinched, and your eyes widened.

“Yes, you do!” You replied. “They will have you under scrutinization as soon as you step out of this house. If you want to survive, you must follow the rules to the letter. They don’t fuck around, I tell ya. When I first appeared, all the neighbors moved away and were immediately replaced by other creepier neighbors. I swear they’re spies. They’re all spies!”

“Wait, how long have you been there?”

“I don’t know, years?” You guessed. Could have been any measure of time really, you couldn’t know for sure. “I have no idea how I got through their brainwashing sessions. Either I outsmarted them, or they have no idea what they’re doing. It’s better not to take any chance, though”

“This is fucked up” He sighed and sat on the couch. “Besides wearing pink, what do I have to do?”

“Oh boy, sit tight” You began pacing in front of him. You didn’t know him, but he was your best chance at getting the hell out of here. Your bed now seemed a little bit closer now, even though you knew you’d never sleep the same. “It’s not just the clothing that’s pink, it’s any fabric, by the way, because happy people like pink”

It was like he was now aware that every couch, chair, carpet, curtain in your house was actually pink. 

“You gotta smile, always. You gotta look like chuck-e-cheese on crack” You continued, pacing in front of him. “Talking of which, never, EVER eat pie. I don’t know what’s in it, but it messes with your brain. Always find an excuse or distraction to avoid eating it”

“I’m not--”

“Never allude to the microphones you might find, act like you’ve never seen them and have no idea they’re there” You added. “Also, tomorrow we’ll have to get you registered if we don’t want the secret police to storm the house. You’ll have to follow my lead or we’re both dead, got it?”

“Yeah but--”

“Don’t say anything incriminating during the day” You interrupted him again. “I tweaked the microphones so they’re scrambled from midnight to sunrise. But that’s it. Also, always assume anyone you talk to is a spy or a snitch. It’s the Stasi all over again here, you can’t trust anyone who you don’t hear swear, which is nobody”

“Wai wait” He stopped you as you opened your mouth to continue on. “Why?”

“Because the people from here cannot swear, happy people don’t swear, they smile and giggle” You felt your eye twitch as you recited the lines you were fed over and over again. “The people engineered here are not able to, only those they kidnapped from Earth. Bad news is, beside that, they are virtually non-differentiable from each other. And they all wear those stupid pink clothes, only the regular police wears a darked shade of magenta. Other than that, all the same”

Confusion and horror was evident on his face. He sat there, processing it all as your eyes fell on the clock. You had about ten minutes until the first rays of sun showed up and reactivated the mics. “There’s no way back?” He finally asked.

“Not that I know of yet” You wrapped your hands around yourself. “You know, I have been begging for help out of this hell hole. You might be the key. Anyway, we gotta change you into something non offensive before they find out you’re here”

You dragged him in the bedroom, leaving him at the threshold while you rummaged through the dresser. All those clothes had been there too when you popped in the house, as if they had known exactly what they were doing by bringing you here. However, it wasn’t clear whether or not they had planned for their new citizen to be you. Ad judging by the arsenal of weapons on the new guy, ir reinforced your theory that the actual selection was still experimental. You weren’t exactly the shut up and obey type, and you doubted he was either.

“What’s your name?” You asked as you pulled a pink cardigan out of a drawer. It occured to you that you might have to know what to call him. Polite people knew the name of their housemate. You grabbed a yet again pink pair of slacks and pushed the clothes in his hands.

“Uh, Jason” He replied, surprised at the sudden income of pink fabric. You threw him the socks, suspenders, bow tie, belt and dress shirt that was, you guessed it, the exact same color as the rest. He was covered in pink clothes like a coat hanger.

“(Y/N)”

“Hey, I’m not wearing that” He objected as he took a better look at the clothes. His face turned to disdain as he shook his head like he had drank bad milk. “Nope, no way”

“If you don’t wear pink, they’ll kill you” You said through your teeth.

“No, I’m not talking about the pink” He said, his expression unchanging. He pulled the cardigan and held it up. “This. This won’t do at all. I’m not wearing a fucking cardigan”

You stared at him, wide eyed. You didn’t have the time to deal with that, sunrise was a few minutes away!

“You will wear that cardigan or so help me” You said in a low, yet threatening voice. He recoiled. “Suck. It. Up.”

Wordlessly, he headed for the bathroom on the other side of the bedroom. He changed in two minutes, coming back awkwardly with his pile of dark clothes. You picked them from him and walked to that spot just beside your bed, and kneeled. You unscrewed the floor board, which was already loose, and you deposited the bundle, weapons and all, next to a very, very dusty blue jeans and burgundy coat. You hurried to replace everything like it hadn’t been touched and stood up again to face an all pink, visibly uncomfortable Jason. He was tying his bow, a displeased frown on his face. It made you wonder what was his life before. He changed rather quickly, and didn’t seem confused by the way bow ties worked.

“What now?”

“We gel your hair”

“No” His eyes widened. The wake up siren sounded outside, and like a reflex learned through violent lessons, your face pulled into a pained smile. You still made a zipping motion over your mouth, pointing to the bathroom. With a silent sigh, he complied.

---

His smile looked unnatural.

But again, so did yours probably. So did everyone’s. Smiling that much wasn’t natural for anyone or anything but perhaps a hyena. Or a clown. You walked arms in arms with him, waving at people sending you curious glances, their smiles unwavering. The government was already aware of this presence, either because they zapped him there or because they heard your made up meeting conversation through the microphones. 

“Okay, I see what you meant by everyone is a spy” He muttered through his teeth, making sure his lips weren’t moving. He was holding to his grin like it was a lifeline. And it was. 

“Right?” You replied in the same manner. “So don’t slip”

“I won’t”

“Well hello there!”

You jumped in surprise at the Mayor appearing in front of you, seemingly out of nowhere. You put your free hand on your heart and laughed. “Hi there, you startled me good!”

He laughed. Jason laughed. It all seemed forced. 

“I see we have an addition in Happy Town!” The mayor pointed to Jason, nodding in approval at his attire. “Where did you come from?”

His first test.

“I… Came from Earth!” He replied with enthusiasm. “Although I have to say, I looooove this place. It’s so… Happy!”

Well played, Jason. Well played.

“I am so glad to hear you say that” He placed a “friendly” pat on his shoulder, but he seemed satisfied. “What is your name, lad?”

“Dick Grayson, sir” 

You swallowed back your confusion at his words, but also at the hint of genuine smile that crossed his expression. Keep smiling.

“Well Mr. Grayson, welcome to Happy Town!” They shook hands. “I see Miss (Y/N) is already taking care of you, integrating you nicely in our community”

His gaze shifted to you as a silent warning behind those cold, smiling eyes. You had your fair history of problems with them, but they had every reason to think it was over now. Still, the warning lingered. But those pink assholes wouldn’t catch you this time.

“I’ll make sure he becomes one of us in no time!” You assured, giving a light nod to Jason.

“No doubt you’ll make an amazing couple” He tipped his pink hat and you noticed Jason held back a cough of surprise. “The daily play of the anthem is about to start, I must return to city hall. I’ll see you around!”

He waved. You waved. Jason waved. He walked away with a skip in his step like the happy jerk he was.

“Couple?” He said, coming back to your public mode of communicating. 

“Sorry, I should have warned you” You sighed internally.

“Sorry?”

“Yeah!” You wanted to burst out so bad. “What about it, Dick Grayson?”

“I wasn’t about to give them my real name” He defended, watching around for people noticing your hushed conversation. But everybody was preparing for the anthem, their attention directed to the morning messages man on the giant screens.

“So you gave that poor guy’s instead?”

“Poor? Nah. Relax, he can take care of himself” What you were sure was a chuckle escaped his lips. “Besides, he’s not even--”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please rise for our national anthem”

You elbowed Jason and stood up straight, the sun hitting the side of your face. He mimicked your posture. The music started, and you could see faltering in the corner of your eye.

“Is this--”

“Yes”

“What the fuck”

“I know”

“Whyyyyyyy”

“Stay with me” You urged silently. You really didn’t know how or why Happy Town’s anthem came to be ‘Yeah!’ by Usher feat Lil Jon and Ludacris, but even if you did, now was not the ideal time or place to get into that kind of discussion. You suspected it had something to do with the exclamation mark after the ‘yeah’. But you could be wrong. You still didn’t understand the bigger picture however, since the lyrics clearly contained the word ‘not’ followed directly by ‘happy’ in the first verse, which made ‘not happy’. It was against the party line. 

“Okay, we stage a coup tonight” He decided as the song ended. “I don’t think I can do this another day”

----

Midnight came slowly.

After a day of mingling and presenting Jason as Dick Grayson and your future husband like the Mayor had most probably hinted at during your morning encounter, of slyly getting out of eating pie and avoiding the police, you were glad to finally breathe. 

“UUUUGH” Jason whined, plopping on the couch. “I can never look at the color pink the same way ever again. I’m sick of it, sick of it!”

“Get it together!” You snapped. “We need to plan our coup. We’ve got one shot for it, and if it fails we’re toast. I need my bed, Jason. MY BED”

“Alright, what do you have in mind?” He asked, taking a deep breath. “You know this place more than I do”

“I say tomorrow night, we quietly follow the police after their curfew patrol round” You began, biting the skin around your nails. “How good is your stealth?”

He looked at you blankly for a good ten seconds before he let out a small, ironic snort. “Above average, I’d say”

It was like he wanted you to ask why he’d think that, but you were too busy thinking about your plan. “Good, good” You nodded. “There must be some headquarters somewhere. All we have to do is get there, threaten them at gunpoint--Your guns are functional yes?”

“Obviously”

“--So they’ll zap us back to Earth. And if not, we shoot the mayor and take control of this hell”

“That escalated quickly,” He stated. “But what the hell, sure, I’m on board. Let’s go”

“Tomorrow the sun sets at 8:07. We’ll need to be changed and ready to go by then”

“Wait, tomorrow?” He sprung up in his seat, eyes wide. “No, no. I can’t take one more day of pink cardigans and pleasant conversations with spies!”

“DEAL WITH IT” You gestured wildly before calming down almost instantly. You didn’t need the neighbors to hear and report a fight. “Patrol is already over for today. Be smart about this”

“Fine” He sighed aggressively. “But if this flops, I’m taking everyone down with me. There won’t be an after tomorrow, I can fucking tell you”

“Yeah I won’t stop you”

“Good”

“Good.”

You stayed there in silence, unmoving for a moment. This was it. The moment you’ve been waiting for. Your liberation. Your bed was less than 24 hours a day if things went as planned, which you hoped it would. 

“I’ll… Sleep on the couch” He mumbled after a while, moving to lay down. YOur eyes widened.

“You can’t” You objected, knowing the government would find a way to find out the scam you were running through that detail. 

“Why not?”

“If the secret police comes for a surprise inspection and your side of the bed is cold, we’re kaputt” You explained. “We’re supposed to be at the very least fiancés, remember?”

“God fucking dammit” He swore, looking up at the sky like it would help him. Ha, you already tried that and it didn’t work.

---

The next day, as you prepared the decaf pot of coffee because happy people didn’t need caffeine to be happy, a knock sounded on your door. Jason was taking a shower in the bathroom, so you went and opened the door. Like you had predicted, two men in dark magenta stood at your doorstep with dangerous looking smiles. 

“Good morning ma’am” One greeted with a tip of his hat. “This is a surprise inspection, warranted by the new arrivant in your household, name Dick Grayson and title husband to be. May we come in?”

Your smile widened as you stepped aside, like you actually had a choice in the matter.

“Of course!” You exclaimed. “Coffee, officers?”

“We’ll have to politely decline, thank you” The other smiled as they came in and observed the clean state of the house. All houses were required to be neat and clean at all times. They looked around for something out of place, slowly but surely directing themselves to the bedroom at the end of the hall. You followed them a few paces away, ready to answer their question if they had some. It wasn’t your first surprise check. 

They finally reached the room, from where they could hear the shower running. Their gazes caught the neatly folded pink pile on the bed, then they surrounded it. They started to feel under the comforter and drapes, on the pillows, everywhere they could spot the presence or absence of another person. You called it, oh you so called it.

The shower stopped, and both officers shared a look. “Alright, everything is in order ma’am. Have a good breakfast and a good day!”

You escorted them to the door, threw them a thank you on the way and silently sighed once the door closed behind them. You returned to your coffee, and not long after, Jason emerged from the hallway all dressed in pink.

“Ooh, who were the gentlemen here?” He inquired cheerily, but you knew what it meant. 

“Some nice officers came to see if we were doing fine here!” You replied with equal cheer.

“Shucks, I missed them” He snapped his fingers, chuckling. “Next time perhaps”

“Of course!” The pep in your voice did not match your eye roll. Thank god there were no cameras. 

You finished breakfast and went to town once again, like you did everyday. You felt like everyone was staring at you even more than usual. Like they all knew what you planned for that night. You might have been slightly paranoid, but Jason’s calm demeanor was helping. He was good at that, like he had practiced for all of his life to deceive people.

The mayor bothered you again after the daily play of the anthem, a song you were sure would elicit a violent reaction from you once you would be back in the real world. Then, you repeated the same daily routine you had had forever. Smile, avoid the pie, smile, talk with the neighbors-spies, smile, think about how life is amazing, smile.

Smile smile smile smile smile smile. 

Eurgh.

That night, the pleasant conversations contained codes to trump the microphones. Jason pretended to dance while you unscrewed the loose floorboard and carefully placed his clothes and weapons on the bed. You picked your old clothes, quietly dusting them off. They smelled weird but you were excited to wear something other than pepto bismol dyed fabric. Making sure the curtains were drawn, you proceeded to change. Jason looked ecstatic to finally be rid of his cardigan, while you took a moment to appreciate your black t-shirt and burgundy coat. While he had his red helmet, he handed you a domino mask from his pocket. You had no idea why he had that, but you took it anyway. It looked cool and rebel. You sneaked through the back door, avoiding the spots of light by either lamps outside your house and street posts. You watched the patrol casually making sure everyone was inside, keeping a good distance in between you and them at every time. They weren’t talking, but whistling some creepy tunes. You had to make a small hike through a hill when they entered a gated tunnel, but you ended up in front of a giant factory where workers dressed in grey buzzed around with crates. YOu gasped.

“Illegal” You muttered.

“What?”

You shook your head. They had gotten to you too much, it was time you left that god forsaken place. “Nevermind. How do we go through that barbed wire?”

He pulled out a medium sized pair of cutters from… You had no idea where, but he had them. You shrugged, gesturing to him to go ahead. In a blink, you were in. You sneaked inside without being seen, navigating the building with guesses and feelings. You finally ended up in the main production room, where crates of products were opened and emptied in a giant bassin. The stirred liquid was purple and smelled strange, but you knew it was to do no good. And right beside, there was the pie filling packaging. 

“I knew it!” You hissed under your breath. “They’re putting drugs in the pie! Can you see what it is? Cocaine? Heroin?

“Doesn’t seem like…” He leaned in. “Wait…”

“Al-- Allegra?” You managed to read the crate.”Never heard of it, but it must be terrible and dangerous”

Jason turned his head and stared at you. HIs helmet bore no expression, but you were sure he looked at you like you were dumb. Did he know what it was? “Are you kidding me?”

“No, why?”

“Allegra is--” He sighed. “It’s allergy medication. It’s… Not drugs per say”

“Uh?”

“God dammit--” He paused as something caught his eyes. It was sparkly, and unfit for this environment. From it emerged five armed guys dressed in earth clothes. They had a bag of white substance, which was tasted by the man who welcomed them. “Of fuck, THAT’s cocaine” 

You waited as they put some of it in a vial, which already had purple liquid. 

“Fuck, they mix it with allegra?” He cursed, mostly to himself. “What kind of fucking insane dimension did I step in?” 

“I told you”

“Okay, so those guys will have to leave eventually” Jason pointed at the visibly Earth humans. “We’ll make sure we catch it as well”

“But they have machine guns” You pointed out, not sure how his mind worked. 

“Wait for my signal” You knew he was grinning under that helmet. Before you could ask him how the fuck he would manage five armed guys, he jumped over the rail and started running toward them. You shut your eyes shut as gunshots went off, then opened them again when it was silent. There were bodies around, but Jason was still standing, wrestling with two guys. You watched for a few seconds when you noticed a pink figure sneakily approaching from behind, a frying pan in his hand.

The mayor!

You jumped over the rail too, but your landing was way less graceful than Jason’s. Actually, you were pretty sure you sprained your ankle. But still, you ran-limped to the man and jumped on his back before he could bonk Jason’s head with his weapon.

“ARRRRRGH”

He did not see you coming, as he lost balance at your attack. You crashed on the ground, where you managed to get on top and start hitting him. But apparently neither of you knew how to punch, so it was a rather pathetic looking fight. You swapped and slapped, pulled hair and scratched, until you got a hold of his pan and made a pancake of his face. 

“Take that you pink fucking nightmare” You spat as you stood up. You turned to Jason, whose shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

“Wow uh” He covered it with a cough. “That sure was an interesting fight to watch”

“Keep mocking me, mister fucking assassin” You rolled your eyes. “I stopped him from bonking your head”

“Alright, alright, thank you”

“No problem” You replied. “Let’s get out of here”

You went and stood on the platform the dealers came through, then waited. But nothing happened.

“I think we need to activate it” He spoke up. That was logical.

You scanned the room for a panel control, and you believed you spotted it on the opposite wall. You grabbed your shoe to throw at it, before Jason held back your arm’s motion.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Activating the portal” You furrowed your brows, pointing at the panel. A big red button on which was written ‘ON’ was glaring at you from the distance. Practical target.

“Don’t throw your shoe, that’s dumb” He snorted. “Let me”

Before you could argue, he cocked his gun and fired a bullet right on the button. A death sound resonated, but nevertheless sparks began to fly and not just from the ruined panel. The portal opened and swallowed you, sending you through flashes and weird colors until you were spat out in a dull, dark place that smelled bad. Jason seemed to have landed just fine, but you were another story. You pulled yourself up, whining at the pain in your ankle. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here”

A creepy, unknown voice made you both turn around. It was a pale man with an unnaturally stretched smile and bad taste in clothes, and right away it made you think the worst. You had been thrown in Dark!Happy Town. Without thinking, you let out a war cry and hurled your frying pan to the more evil version of the Mayor, knocking him out instantly.

What you didn’t expect though, was the roaring laughter from beside you. 

“Oh--Oh my god” He could barely talk. “I wished I filmed that”

“What? What’s happening?” You asked. Had he gone crazy? “Who’s that? We’re not back home are we?”

“Relax, we’re back” He took a deep breath, his shoulders still shaking. “You’ve just knocked out the most wanted criminal in Gotham city”

“WHAT?”

“Welcome back, (Y/N), welcome back”

[rpd-rookie]

Hi! I saw that you're requests are open so i decided to write mine lol. How about the reader being jealous of Ada Wong because she thinks Leon still has feelings for her? And then Leon confesses to the reader and reassures her he only sees Ada as a friend(at best). Just some angst and fluff basically. Thank you!

There it is. I hope I won’t disappoint. ;-) It’s angst. It’s fluff. You’ve been warned. 

Blue Is His Favourite Colour - Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

Sitting there in your blue dress, you were staring at the woman in red in front of you, scrutinizing her with - what you hoped - was an expressionless look as she was calmly drinking a cup of coffee, her legs crossed like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct.   But the truth was, if looks could kill then the one you were giving right now would be the deadliest. You were not only looking daggers at her. No you were looking an entire arsenal right now (rocket launcher included), feeling an intense jealousy eating you up more and more with each second passing in her presence.     But that didn’t make Ada Wong drop her serene demeanour nor her over-confidence.

“That’s a good coffee.” You frowned at her sultry voice that was nothing else than her usual voice, you were sure of it. After all, that woman was oozing so much sexiness it was making you sick. “But I guess you didn’t pretend to be Leon to just chitchat with me around an espresso.”           “What’s going on between you and Leon?” She smiled and placed her cup on the coffee table before her, fixing her beautiful almond-shaped black eyes on you.     A scoff escaped her lips showing how amusing this situation was for her. But you wisely chose to ignore it. The woman in front of you was the kind that loved playing games. It didn’t take a genius to see it. It was part of her femme fatale persona. “You look way younger than I imagined. Guess that explains your insecurity.” You gritted your teeth at her commentary, probably because she was somewhat right. But the thing annoyed you the most was that she knew about you which meant Leon had talked to her about you. “And you look way older than what I imagined. Guess that explains the stripper dress.” You scornfully eyed at the short tight red dress she was wearing and that fitted her like a glove, not sure that this was appropriate for an afternoon coffee with a friend (which was the reason you had found to make her come here when you had texted her last week, pretending to be Leon). “That being said, you don’t answer my damn question.” “Ouch.” She grinned, not an ounce hurt by your words, before she eventually slouched a bit into the couch, knowing that you would not let her live your place without answers. You slightly glared. Even her lazy drooping posture was attractive. That was enraging. But despite your uncontrollable contempt for the woman, there was a part of you that couldn’t help but silently admit she was a very beautiful woman and that secretly wished you would look like that yourself. Even just a tiny bit. After all, you two couldn’t be more different.

Ada was the woman of all men’s dreams. Sexy, confident, mysterious. The type of girl that used to overshadow you in high school and definitely the type of woman that could outshine you even today. Who were you, wearing that baby blue dress, in front of that bombshell in a red dress? No wonder Leon had a thing for her. Cause he had, right?

“What do you want to know?” Ada asked. Finally, someone ready to talk and not treating you like a paranoid.             “The truth.” That was simple as that.       You were tired of Leon’s secrets. You were tired of him not telling you anything whatsoever about the mysterious Ada whose name was written on the silver compact powder you had accidently found in the drawer of his night stand one night when you were simply looking for a condom. But most of all, you were tired of fighting with him each time you were trying to put a conversation about her on the table.           “That might take a while. We have a lot of history. It goes back to Raccoon City.” You nodded, that sentence not coming as a surprise but tugging at your heartstrings nevertheless. Of course they had history. Had she been a one-night stand or just a simple ex-girlfriend, Leon would have never eluded all your questions about her. He would have talked about her as freely as he had talked about his previous girlfriends.     “But I strongly believe Leon would tell it better than I would. You should ask him.”

You were not stupid. You knew she wanted to hear you say it. You knew she wanted the ‘He doesn’t trust me and I don’t trust him’ speech, the crying and everything that went along with it and you were sure as hell not going to give her that satisfaction.           “Look, Y/N. You seem to be a sweet girl - a bit jealous and insecure sure, but sweet. I’m sure you’ll give Leon a flock of blue-eyed baby Kennedys playing in a garden with your golden retriever.”           “Seems like you played that scenario quite a few times in your head actually.” You spat. “I have yes. But I was never playing the role of the brood mare.” You fleered, not liking the comparison at all. But then again, Ada didn’t really exude mother material to you. “Let me guess. You were the homewrecker.”       Ada laughed, enjoying your sass a bit too much than she would have expected. “What I’m saying is that that scenario is what Leon secretly wishes. But that’s not what I wish. We’re different he and I and believe me when I say we both came to realise a long time ago that we would never work. I can’t give him what he wants. We can’t be endgame; despite the feelings we can have for each other … or had, since, judging by the feminine touch of this apartment, you must have definitely been living here for a while.”

Her long monologue barely comforted you. Actually your brain had stopped functioning at the ‘feelings we have for each other’ part. That bit had hurt like hell. Guess looking an entire arsenal at Ada Wong is useless when she has the right dagger to pierce your heart in her perfectly manicured hand.       “You’re wrong. He still has feelings for you. I can feel it in my bones.” You struggled to keep the nascent tears in your eyes, not wanting to look weak, or worse, childish.     “Y/N” Ada sighed and bent over to put a hand on your knee. Her voice was suddenly very compassionate. It surprised you. She was about to say something when the door of the apartment slammed open.

Leon barged in the living room, furious and - to your surprise - not even a bit astonished to see Ada sitting on the couch, meaning he knew that she would be here. “You can’t be serious!” He harrumphed, clearly mad at you and you couldn’t blame him. You had gone behind his back after all. “Alright. I believe it’s my cue. I’ll let you two discuss this among yourselves.” Ada stood up, took her coat and without saying another word headed towards the main door. “Thanks for calling, Ada.” Leon said as he glared at you. Of course she had told him. “Anytime.”

The door shut, leaving you and Leon in the heavy silence of your apartment. You didn’t dare to look at him, dreading to cross his eyes and most importantly fearing the inevitable argument. And right now, given the circumstances, you were certain that this one would make the walls tremble like never before. “Why would you do that, Y/N?” He sounded hurt. Was he trying to make you feel guilty? Because that was working but you didn’t need him to feel guilty right now. “Texting Ada, really? I thought you trusted me.” Those last words made you go through the roof.             “I thought you trusted me.” You repeated, probably louder than intended. “But at least you know how it feels now!”           “I know how what feels? My girlfriend spying on me?” He shouted, mimicking your tone. “That’s overstating things, don’t you think?” That was not the time for sass as Leon made it crystal just by the way he narrowed his eyes and slightly shook his head, showing how exasperated he was. “Then tell me what is it that you’ve done?”   “I went looking for the truth that you were refusing to give me. And guess what? That hurt like a bitch! Do you have any idea how I felt in front that woman?” He threw up his hands in annoyance. “You’re the one who invited her!”     “Yeah but it is your fault. I would have never asked her to come if you had been honest with me. At least, Ada told me what I wanted to know.”             “Oh, and what amazing thing did you learn?” He fixed his eyes on you with a ‘go on, give me your bullshit’ look that you found so irritable.         “Nothing very particular but the part about your ‘long history’ and your ‘feelings’ was more than enough to make me understand I was right all along and that YOU. WERE. LYING.” You pointed your finger at him to accentuate each word. But you weren’t done just yet. You needed to vent a little bit more. “She’s not ‘no one’ or ‘nothing that should concern me’! You have feelings for her.”         “ You got to be kidding me! How can you think that?”   “ Oh easy. A) we don’t keep a girl’s compact in a night stand if she means nothing.” Leon rolled his eyes, not believing you were mentioning that stupid compact again. “Here it goes again.”         “ And b) …” You weren’t even able to finish your sentence that Leon escaped the living room in the direction of your bedroom. He wasn’t leaving this fight? Right? Right?

“I’m not finished, Kennedy!” You yelled as you rushed to follow him. “Oh, but I am.” He growled as he opened the drawer of his nightstand. “I. am. fucking. done!” He said as he gritted his teeth, rummaging through the drawer. And suddenly he turned towards you and raised his hand. You covered your face by reflex and yelped when you saw Leon throw something with a brutality and a rage you had never thought he was capable of. Whatever is was, it smashed against the wall, far away from you with a loud clank. “There! Happy?” He asked with an angry voice before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him so violently that you jumped.  

You turned your head towards the object Leon had thrown against the wall to see what it was even if you had quite an idea. A tear rolled down your cheek when you saw the silver powder compact lying on the floor, completely shattered. You were not the kind of couple that would normally break things during quarrels.   You sat on the bed and took your face in your hands to cry your eyes out. This, all this Ada story had gone way too far. You had gone too far. You and your stupid jealousy. You and your insecurity.

You don’t know how long you sat there, thinking about all the things you had done and that had led your couple into this mess. But you knew that it was enough. You dried your tears and wiped the mascara that had run under your swollen reddened eyes before you eventually silently left the bedroom.     You found Leon sitting quietly in the living room, with a glass and a bottle of whisky in front of him that you stared at with guilt and sadness. Leon was only drinking when he was feeling terrible. And if he was drinking right now, then it was undeniably your fault. You went to sit by his side, putting your hand on the glass before Leon could take another mouthful of the amber-coloured liquor. “I’m sorry.” You said softly.         Leon put the drink back on the table and looked at you, his blue eyes mirroring the same sadness and pain that were in yours.     “ I just don’t get it, Y/N. Why this obsession with Ada?”           “ No, Leon. Please. I don’t wanna talk about her anymore.” You confessed, letting another tear run down your face. “Sweetheart, we have to. Cause this whole thing is killing us and I can’t bear that.” He cupped your face with his hand, wiping the tear with his calloused thumb, waiting for you to talk, to finally tell the truth.      

“I’m afraid I’m not enough for you.” You admitted, glancing away from him. “ And when I found that stupid compact, I thought … I thought…” You didn’t know what you really thought. So many things actually. That Leon was having an affair or at least that he had feelings for another woman and that you were just a pastime, someone he would leave for her sooner or later.         “… that Ada still meant something for me.” He finished your sentence when he realised you wouldn’t. You met his eyes. If this was truth time then you needed to ask. “Does she?”   Leon sighed. But he was not annoyed at you this time. No he was annoyed at himself. “No. Not anymore. Look.” He took your hands in his. “I don’t know why I kept that silly compact. Truth is I didn’t even know it was still in my nightstand until you found it.” He had told you the same thing weeks ago. He had repeated it on and on actually but this time, contrary to the previous ones, you actually believed him. “She gave me that compact years ago, at a time when yeah, I had feelings for her. I’m not gonna lie. But here me out.” He cleared his throat to find the strength to talk to you and sat up straight on the couch.       “Ada was a part of me I will never be able to forget.” That sentence was painful. It made you sob but Leon continued. You needed to hear what he had to say. “I met her in Raccoon City. She saved my life back there and she kept on saving me many times ever since. But the thing with Ada was that my feelings for her were leading me nowhere. And whatever relationship we had, it was just some cat and mouse game meaning I was running after her and she was running away. And apart from some very occasional sex, nothing ever truly happened.” You grimaced. You could have lived without knowing that. “But I was okay with that … until I met you. And I realised that whatever I was feeling for Ada was nothing in comparison to what I was feeling for you. A love that consumes me, that gives me a purpose, that makes me keep fighting everyday and want come back home every night, that make want to make this fucked up a better place. I love you, Y/N. And I should have told you all this since the very beginning.” You sniffed, looking at the sincerity and the love in his gorgeous blue eyes. “ Why didn’t you?” You asked, genuinely curious.         “ Cause I’m stupid. Cause I thought that burying my past would be better for our couple.” That was indeed stupid. Had you known all this, it would have caused the both of you less pain “But I look nothing like Ada. How can you love me?” You asked.   “ You just said it. You’re nothing like her. You’re my everything.” He grabbed your chin and laid a soft kiss on your lips that made shed a tear because of the intense love you could feel in it. “And, didn’t I tell you that blue was my favourite colour?” He joked with a wink. Good, cause as you were gazing at his eyes, you couldn’t help but think blue was also your favourite colour.

[suuung]

Interconeccted, chapter (1)  kylo ren x reader

a kylo ren x reader fanfiction.  warnings: this fanfiction will develop dark themes as it goes on.

chapter 2: here

through which two force-sensitives could influence each other or even feel each other's physical, emotional or mental pain. 

                                                 “The food we’ve managed to get will last us months.” Your cousin cheered.

You hum back reading one of the few books in the abandoned pile. All of them were quite dusty after finding them scattered on the ship you rested on. It was titled; The Forgotten History of Jedi

“Now we’ll just have to sneak it back.” She mumbled.

Shea grabbed the heaping bags and stepped out, putting them on the horse.

“Lets go!” She hollered, annoyed.

You reluctantly placed the book in your bag, leaving the rest behind. You sat up on the horse and felt sadness erupt through you again. The both of you live on your own in a small village, a very isolated one for sure. ‘Adventure’ like this didn’t happen often, only every few months. She thinks she knows well. She is the older cousin and the only one to take care of you after your family died of famine at your young age. It wasn’t common for families to survive on this planet, there was little to food and yet your family was not rich, and barley had made enough to get by so ultimately you and Shea are still struggling.

As you rode the horse back to town heat licked at your sunburned face and coiled around your limbs. Looking up at the bright sky and everything seemed to have a glaze. The headache that the heat brought felt unbearable. You suddenly felt your thoughts slip away, a blackness coming over you. Like a blanket, but not a blanket of warmth but a blanket of coldness making you recoil in fear. Suddenly, a sharp pain drove through you.  Collapsing and falling on the hard gravel beneath you both. Pain sizzled through your legs up your chest increasing in small waves across your face. Swiftly your body curls into a small ball while the pain burns and radiates.

 Everything became fuzzy; then nothing at all. 

You woke, everything feeling broken and detached. The familiar decaying ceiling in your eyesight. You had bandages wrapped tightly around your head, assuming that was from the fall you sat up slowly. The headache was unbearable. Looking around you were alone and Shea’s bed across from you was empty. 

You called for her but your response was silence. Glancing at the chipped and broken clock, noon just hit. She’s probably at the market selling junk. 

There was water beside your bed, hesitantly reaching for a sip the glass slipped. Pain coming over you in sparks. Reflecting something sharp, making it worse each time it touched. The glass broke and made a loud shatter. You didn't wanna bother cleaning it up. It ended as soon as it started, although the headache was worse, the pain had subsided.

Swinging your legs over the bed and walking into the crooked kitchen catching yourself from tripping on your own feet.   You lived in a small hut outside the village, fairly run down and little to no insulation. You were hungry, you hoped she would return soon as you looked at the empty containers. 

You remembered the book from yesterday, your memories did feel fuzzy. You walked over and grabbed the book, returning to your room and sat on your bed.

The Jedi are the opposite of the Sith, another group of force wielders, the Sith use their passion, and other strong emotions to fuel their power.

Turning the page brought you to the index. 

History Of the Jedi 

Force Chosen       

Movementuls 

Force Bond

It caught your eye, going to the page number. 

Common to occur between Jedi Masters and their apprentices, a Force bond, also known as Force chain or Jedi kinship, was a link through which two Force-sensitives could influence each other or even feel each other's physical, emotional or mental pain. 

Stronger force bonds need a balance of the light and dark sides. Weakers have light and light; dark and dark. 

Turning the page again you felt your fingertips burn. 

Another page flip.

Fighting or hardship together with the forcebond causes their powers to become amplified as the bond between them grows stronger with every passing moment.

It is known for the beginning of a force bond to include physical pain bursts and may cause the pain to double by the effect of altering two minds. 

This can’t be real, the tales were true about the force. Mother always told you and your sister it was a hoax, a scam. Something the galaxy could never accomplish.

Suddenly loud crashing and screams were heard from the village.  Fear choked you as the face of your cousin appeared in your head. This must be another attack from the first order. You’ve heard hellish tales about them, they must be looking for someone. 

You stumbled to the window looking out. Your heart sank. Everyone in this village has had a family member snatched. Giving a child freedom to roam was asking for the first order to take them.  

You ran outside, grabbing a knife from the kitchen. Clutching onto your shirt you held it up to cover your mouth, wind was blowing furiously from the ships landing on your planet. Blasters were shooting civilians and they were taking men and children. You snuck behind ships, running over loose rubble and tumbling down steep sand, feet slipping as your throat shocked and inhaled deeper, faster crying for Shea.  

You caught yourself off guard. A stormtrooper spotted you and yelled out. Your adrenaline demands you to run, you keep running but you know your time is up. Out of the corner of your eye you see something sharp and red shooting at you. You try to jump out of the way but it's too late. You scream and collapse to the ground as your wrists are bound and you are guided onto a ship along with other kidnapped citizens. 

The whole thing felt fuzzy, and soon enough the doors closed and the ship took off. You woke to the doors opening once again, but now being inside a landing bay for ships. You must be on the imperial navy ship. Only bad things have been heard to be done here. A stormtrooper barked orders for everyone to stand, they grabbed each person kidnapped and pulled them into different lines, Men and women. A stormtrooper tugged harshly at your shirt shoving you into the line of other girls, everyone was terrified. You were all barked at again to follow each leader of your group. Still handcuffed you walked down the hallways of the imperial ship. It was dark and tourture filled. 

You were halted, all of you given a number by a droid. 

“CLASS: FEMALE: TROOP” “ID: 2310984” 

 You watched those numbers inbrand into a storm trooper suit, then gave them to you. You wanted to die. Your new life you must act as you can cope with being caged, now fed on a schedule as farmyard pigs, and spoken to without the slightest trace of love.

It has been a month in this hell-hole. You still havent seen a trace of Shea. Your life feels so meaningless, perhaps it's because there is no love here, no hugs or kind smiles, no-one to tell you everything will be okay. And then there are the eyes of everyone here, alive and dead, as if they are so desperate for this nightmare to be over, to be able to leave this place.  

You started off your morning like all the other mornings. The female base dorms are cold and dark. You never manage to sleep so breakfast feels like an eternity to arrive. You are given cold scraps of food each morning, along with water. You are in stormtrooper training for the next 2 weeks. You still don’t know what to expect after this, perhaps things will lighten up and you will be brought more light into your new dark life. You are taught daily the mantra not to feel bad for the killings of villagers. Not to feel guilt anymore, not to feel human emotion. You’ve seen so many things this past month you want to forget, one thing still burns within you.

The image of General Hux and the Commander Kylo Ren. You were with your cohort of Stormtrooper Trainees going to retrieve practice guns. The mantra settling in your head once again, You are stormtroopers. You are the keenest weapon in the Emperor's arsenal. Do not fail him. Do not fail me. Your world felt in slow motion as you walked past the commander.

Your heart felt like it stopped beating and your whole body felt heavy, like it was pulling you. The shackles on your handcuffs strained and made noise. 

Panic. It drove through me fast and hard.

Breath. It felt so hard to capture.

Movement. Something I could conjure once again.

Force you've never felt before, a force that was screaming at you to run but as if your body were reborn in its most perfect form.

You coaxed yourself to sleep each night trying to re-feel that day. To grasp those feelings of warmth and pulling you felt for that short moment. You needed to be close to him again, your body screamed and ached for it each day but you were still met with the same cold mattress each morning. 

The helmet of Kylo Ren was all you saw each time you close your eyes. Suddenly you were brought out of thought by an announcement calling a meeting for all stormtroopers led today by General Hux and Commander Kylo Ren. 

You and all the other female soldiers in your dorm put on your uniforms quickly, your heart pounded as you put on your helmet. Your leader lined you all up and made your way to the docks outside where all thousands of them were perfectly lined up. One screw up and your life will be over. 

About a half hour later of stormtrooper groups getting led in to get ready for the announcement General Hux with Kylo Ren stood at the podium. Your heart started to pound rapidly as you kept your composite and stayed as still as you could. Anxiety crept up as you started to shake. Kylo spoke, his voice altered from the mask. 

“As commander of the first order, we will be initiating an attack on the desert planet of Jakku tomorrow morning. Trainees will not be sent out but will remain on the ships as extras if needed. We are in search of Lor San Tekka. We believe he has a piece of the map leading us to Luke Skywalker.”

You began to zone out as Kylo stepped down from the podium and General hux began to preach about the attack. Your mind felt fuzzy as you kept your gaze on Kylo through your helmet. His cape flew furiously in the wind, flapping and whipping. 

The more you stare the more dizzy you feel. A sharp pain woke you out of your trance. It was on the side of your head, like a headache of a million arrows shooting at you. Your arm fell down slightly but you picked it back up hoping no one had seen the slip up.

 You kept your eyes on Kylo, and you swear you felt your heart drop out of your chest at the sight of him clutching the side of his head staggerly. He stumbled and looked down at the ground still clutching his head. 

You gasped quietly as your heart pounded, the pain you had felt stopped completely the moment he felt it. Soon enough he stood and gathered his composter. 

You felt yourself not being able to breathe properly, not being able to conjure what just happened. Then, suddenly, he turned his head towards your direction and the cold eyes of the helmet stung into you. 

[lisarichardsonbylines]

How to Tell Your Husband You’re a Witch

Witches we need you. Now more than ever. In the time of COVID-19 we can find respite in place-based reverence, plant magic and the divine feminine. So writes Lisa Richardson, who came to witchiness with nothing but white hetero straight-lacedness and a crush on a yoga teacher.

Lisa Richardson | Longreads | April 2020 | 15 minutes (4,084 words)

On a Friday afternoon, pre-COVID-19, my husband dropped some ice-cubes into glasses, ready to make us screwdrivers and cheers to surviving another week of working/parenting/wondering where the hell the years were going, only, the vodka bottle was empty.

“Oh yeah,” I said, my eyes sliding sideways, trying to not cause a fuss, “I used it for medicine.” The previous week, the kitchen counter had been cluttered with a giant mason jar full of oily plant matter. “Balm of Gilead!” I explained, brightly, as he wiped away the breakfast crumbs around it.

“But what is it?”

“Cottonwood tips in oil.”

His eyes had flicked, then, over to the brand-new bottle of extra virgin olive oil that was now nearly empty, as I enumerated the medicinal benefits of this old herbal remedy (and all this from a tree in our backyard!). Twenty-four years together means I could hear the abacus in his brain clicking, as he wordlessly calculated the cost per milliliter of a gallon jar of plant matter masticating in top-shelf olive oil, against the cost per unit of a bottle of generic aspirin tables, overlaid with the probability of me losing interest in this project.

First the olive oil. Now the vodka for dozens of little jars of tinctures — garden herbs and weeds soaking in now-undrinkable booze. My midlife quest to attune more deeply to the rhythms of the natural world was starting to incur unexpected, but real, costs.

He was quiet, as he opened the fridge and pulled out a beer instead.

* * *

In my defense, I could have pointed my finger at Natalie Rousseau, a yoga teacher living in my 5,000 person village, who I’d first encountered leading a solstice yoga class billed as a way to survive the madness of the holidays (in slightly more gracious language). Thanks to her offerings of insight I did survive the commercial horror of the “festive” season, and a few months later, as the new moon entered Aries (whatever that actually means), I plonked down $200 to subscribe to her online 13 Moons course — my foray into “slowing down and being more present,” as I pitched it to my husband when he inquired about the strange entry on the credit card statement.

But I did not deflect the simmering tension between us by naming Natalie as the instigator of these “kitchen witch” experiments. Even though I am not a member of any kind of coven or cult, (I don’t think book club counts), I know deep in my bones to never throw another woman onto the fire for helping you. That has been done too many times.

But there it is. The word. Witch. The wound.

* * *

Every day, after COVID-19 entered our world, Natalie Rousseau has responded with an offering, a teaching — a meditation, an ancient mantra of protection, a yoga practice for managing anxiety, a how-to video on harvesting poplar medicine. It’s as if she’s been resourcing herself for this moment to develop the richest arsenal imaginable, to navigate, not the public health crisis, but the billion personal crises each of us is forced to confront as life as we know it slams into pandemic mode. It’s not what I thought a witch would do, if I ever thought about them at all.

Natalie doesn’t look like a witch either — not in the way I conceived it for last year’s Halloween costume, with my long black skirt, dollar-store pointy hat, and heavy black eyeliner, walking alongside my 6-year-old vampire-werewolf. Natalie is petite, just a few inches over five feet, her long blond hair still evoking the decade she spent living in a west coast surf town, her chest and lean muscled arms bright with full sleeve flowery tattoos and Mary Oliver quotes. She moves like a dancer, demonstrating yoga poses as if she’s transcending gravity. As a teacher, she speaks exactly, even in Sanskrit, and guides movement precisely, padding gently and soundlessly through the room, making an adjustment here, offering an instruction there.

So, I was surprised when she used the word “witch” to launch her new online offering, The Witches Wheel. The lure was irresistible. Natalie was claiming the word “witch” without flinching, without anger, without provocation, not as a way to reclaim feminine power and stick it to the men, warranted as that may be: It was essentially an invitation to observe the cycle of the seasons.

A threshold beckoned.

* * *

Natalie, a recent empty-nester, lives with her husband Paul and two dogs in a modest townhome, with a creek and a dozen rogue gardens installed by various residents running behind it. The garage is full of motorbikes. The porch is swept clean on the day I visit, six months into the 13 Moons program, wanting to talk with her about this radical word and why, in a world still unsure what to do with powerful women, she’s not afraid that she’s exposing herself to pitchforks and fires, haters, and trolls.

Even though I am not a member of any kind of coven or cult, (I don’t think book club counts), I know deep in my bones to never throw another woman onto the fire for helping you. That has been done too many times.

A tea blend of her own mixing — vanilla chaga chai — is brewing on the stove in an open saucepan. She tends to it, as I settle in, sneaking glimpses around the room, looking for evidence of witchcraft — pentagrams, cloaks, bottled frogs. Nothing. The space is uncluttered, a throw-rug on the armchair, a couple of stark white deer skulls are mounted, European-style, on a wall against a reclaimed barn board — definitely more Soho chic than occult-goth. Her husband returns from town, where he has picked up fresh croissants for us. He’s tall and strong, with a tightly cropped red beard — he looks like a guy you’d run into at the gym, at the surf break, at the hardware store.

“So, what’s it like living with a witch?” I ask him as Natalie attends to our tea, a light-hearted question sprouting out of the great compost of fears I am thinking. Is it impossibly hard to be with a woman who comfortably claims her own power, magic, cycles, voice? What kind of a man can love and honor a witch? And lurking deep beneath it all: Will my husband be one of them?

Paul rolls his eyes, overly-dramatically, pointing up to the light fixture in the kitchen — light bulbs housed in mason jars of all sizes, evoking summer cabins and fireflies and Kinfolk magazine dinner party lanterns. “I made this for her because everything ends up in jars. Have you seen inside these cupboards?” He walks around the house, in faux-exasperation, opening doors to reveal neat stacks of jars, full of dried petals, leaves, syrups, tonics, salves, salts. “And there’s more upstairs!” If it hadn’t been for the dinner party they’d hosted the previous night, most of their apartment’s horizontal surfaces would be covered in jars, he tells me, and the front porch would have housed a dead raven and a dead Cooper’s hawk.

“She’s always sending me out in search of dead things,” he jokes. He picks up roadkill in case she can salvage feathers or skulls.

“When he first met me, I was already a skull collector, and now he goes and finds them for me and brings them back,” says Natalie. “He’s gotten really good at living with witchy stuff.”

The two of them are remarkably self-sufficient — an animal lover (“he loves animals more than people”), Paul realized veganism left him tired and undernourished, so took up hunting to procure his own meat humanely; one of the deer skulls mounted on the wall was harvested this fall, its meat now fills their freezer. They grow a garden, wildcraft, eat well. There is an ease between them — a tidal push and pull as they navigate their modest shared space and the morning routine, without evidence of fake niceness, of power trips or struggles.

Witchcraft, in Natalie Rousseau’s mind, is too non-dogmatic and non-hierarchical to submit to a single all-encompassing definition. “As a practice, it’s so highly individual,” she says, “but across the board, it is very place-based, land-based and body-based. For me, it’s about cultivating a relationship with your own body, your own mind, your emotions, and subtle sensing faculties. It’s learning how to trust your intuition. It’s about reclaiming your own instincts, but also being able to feel: this is what stress feels like in my body, this is what relaxation feels like, this is what it feels like to say yes to something out of a sense of obligation or pressure, this is what it feels like to have a boundary. This is what it feels like when I’m safe. These cues come to us from our bodies. It has to be, for it to work well, otherwise, you’re always reaching outside yourself for another authority.”

This is what she wants to help women, particularly, to reclaim: their sense that they are the first authority on themselves, that they can trust their bodies’ wisdom.

“The biggest thing I want to share with people,” says Natalie of her teaching and online courses, “is how to trust themselves. Everyone can very easily make the medicines that their household would need for common household complaints — colds and flus and chest colds and menstrual cramps — so many basic things that anyone can make very simply, quite affordably. I’m not anti-pharmaceutical. There are many medications people have to take daily to live. And if I have a serious infection, I’m going to take antibiotics; if I am seriously ill, I am going to go to the doctor; if I have any kind of trauma, I’m going to be so grateful for that form of medicine. But I believe the role kitchen medicine has is in the maintenance and prevention of illness.”

One of her biggest laments, though, as she makes videos and handouts and shares them with her online community, is that even people who have paid to do her course don’t feel that they have the time to take it into their kitchens. “Making a tincture is literally pouring vodka over plant materials and leaving it on your counter for four weeks!” she says. But it is easier for most people to just buy one online and have it delivered to their doorstep. “I am saddened by how easily women give their power over. This is the biggest thing I’ve noticed as a teacher in the past couple of years — how quickly women will say, ‘but how do you do this? I don’t know how to do this! I’m afraid to try this because I might not be good at it, I might be doing it wrong. I’m an imposter.’ I really struggle with this. Where is it coming from?”

But she knows. We have relinquished our power, over a thousand years or more, of wounding, of witch-burnings, of patriarchy either convincing us we have none or forcibly stripping it away, (hello Harvey Weinstein), until all we feel empowered to do, now, in 2020, is consume. And we’ve been doing that with all our might.

We override the listening, we ignore the nudges, we push through, like good soldiers. “Most people are running so hard,” observes Natalie. “Our culture is so focussed on productivity. We are so overly heroic — it’s all or nothing. I can’t do something unless I’m an expert. I don’t want to try. But this is a craft. It’s a path of education.”

Natalie’s invitation is gentle, and she’s crafted her online course to serve that: Start with one plant and learn its taste, its smell. Spend five minutes a day on meditation or in conscious ritual and begin to notice what’s going on in your nervous system, in your mind, in your body.

“When he first met me, I was already a skull collector, and now he goes and finds them for me and brings them back,” says Natalie. “He’s gotten really good at living with witchy stuff.”

Don’t get so distracted by the word witch, that you fail to notice that it is connected to craft. Witchcraft, for Natalie, is a path of learning “how to trust and problem solve, from within, knowing that we are in a system of power that, for better, for worse, will strip us of any ability to trust ourselves and to always feel empty so we have to keep buying more stuff.”

When she says this, a deep thrill of recognition hums in me, accompanied by a shiver of fear. Those are revolutionary things to say out loud, to cast into the open air. I recognize it viscerally as the kind of talk that gets people in trouble.

* * *

Last summer, before I met Natalie, I had stepped from my backyard patio stones onto freshly cut grass and spied the sinuous form of a wandering garter snake. I leaned in quickly, excitedly, about to call my 6-year-old over to glimpse the garden visitor before it shimmied away. But it was eerily still. Ugly slash wounds marked its body. It was dead. Innocent victim to the ride-on lawnmower. Obliterated by our oblivion.

“Oh no,” I muttered. “I’m so sorry!”

I had already begun to wake up to the natural world, it’s rhythms, it’s offerings of medicine, it’s otherness, but it had come with a shadow side, a growing despair at what we were doing to the world. Even without a malicious intention, I was causing death and destruction — just mowing the lawn, drinking my coffee, wiping my ass: My actions, all our human activity, had compounding impacts that were destroying the snakes, the ocean, the atmosphere, the forests, the icecaps — beyond repair.

I wanted my garden to be a habitat. I wanted the bees to waggle-dance directions to my sunflowers to their hive-mates, I wanted the wandering garter snakes to nest in their hibernacula through the winter and bask in the long grass in the summer, I wanted to lie on my back and watch butterflies dance through the flowers and the hummingbirds zoom in and out, I wanted to inhabit innocence again.

I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. My penitence froze me in place, scared to make a move for fear of ruining something else. Then, regret overriding my squeamishness, I fetched the flat-bladed shovel and edged it under the dead snake. I carried her body over to the vegetable patch, and in a space between the beds, where the mower never goes, I laid her down. I picked marigolds and calendula from around the garden, where they’d been planted to keep the snails away, and lay the bright orange blossoms in a circle around her.

Grandmother snake, I whispered, hoping that some force that exists beyond the definitively dead snake at my feet, might spread the word among the entire species, “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean it. I will try to be more careful.”

It was a made-up ritual, the kind that a kid might perform deep in her dream world at the bottom of the garden, and it made my 44 year-old-self feel a little bit better. At least I’d made a gesture of repair, had expressed my desire to return into balance with the living world around me. If it had any effect, I’d never know. I went back inside, said nothing.

A few days later, out in the garden, my husband tripped over the skeleton of a decomposing snake, ringed by wilted flowers, half consumed by ants.

“That was spooky,” he confronted me. “What’s going on? Are you some kind of witch?”

* * *

* * *

Natalie has always been comfortable with the word. Now she’s having fun inviting people to consider the archetype, circle it, unpack it, stumble upon some kind of recognition: Wait a second! Maybe I am a witch!

“It’s cool how people in the western world can take a description that has been used mostly as a slur, and turn it around to use as something empowering,” she says.

For thousands of years, witch was a term used to incite violence against women. By the most conservative estimates, half a million people, mostly women, were executed in the European witch craze between 1300 and 1650. Accusations of witchcraft were used against women, says Rousseau, “in ways that were extremely dangerous and terrifying. It was really about getting power from them, and getting land back. So, to use a word like that in an empowered way, even today, you have to know you’re safe to do it. And it’s important to realize that in many places in the world, it’s still not safe for women to say that. But if we can, in safe places, take that word and turn it around, that, to me, is extremely powerful.”

I wanted the bees to waggle-dance directions to my sunflowers to their hive-mates, I wanted the wandering garter snakes to nest in their hibernacula through the winter and bask in the long grass in the summer, I wanted to lie on my back and watch butterflies dance through the flowers and the hummingbirds zoom in and out, I wanted to inhabit innocence again.

Natalie herself embodies empowerment. Not in the traditional way I have come to recognize power — as someone standing over, dominating someone else, her source of power comes from within.

She doesn’t need to take any from her partner.

“Do you find this relationship at all emasculating?” I joke to Natalie’s husband.

“I don’t. Not at all. No,” he replies.

“We’ve always given each other space to be ourselves.”

But that’s not always a guarantee of safety.

If it is dangerous to be an empowered woman in the world, then it’s dangerous, too, for the men who love them.

Lyla June Johnston is an author and activist of Diné and European heritage. Her inquiry into her disowned European heritage led to a realization: The millions of women burned alive, drowned alive, dismembered alive, beaten, raped and otherwise tortured as so-called, “witches,” were not witches at all. They were the medicine people of old Europe. Her lens, as a contemporary indigenous woman, and as a survivor of sexual violence, helped her identify that those were the women who understood the herbal medicines, the ones who prayed with stones, the ones who passed on sacred chants. And the all-out warfare of the witch burnings didn’t just harm the women. It had a profound effect on the men who loved them, their husbands, sons, brothers. She recognizes the echo of this in the story of her own time, of her own people. “Nothing makes a man go mad like watching the women of his family get burned alive. If the men respond to this hatred with hatred, the hatred is passed on. And who can blame them? While peace and love are the correct response to hatred, it is not an easy response by any means.”

How many men have kept their women down, tried to keep them at home, have become the handcuffs that the women fought against because they were answering to their own unarticulated primal instinct to keep them safe?

Natalie Rousseau speculates, “I am sure historically you had lots of husbands telling their wives to tone it down, not because they didn’t respect their power, but because they were genuinely afraid. I’d apply that to any women described as uppity — getting involved politically, or getting involved in local stuff that’s happening, fighting for the environment: Stop getting noticed so much. This could be dangerous.”

Some dangers are too great to be able to protect each other from. And so we turn the fight on each other — little domestic power-trips that distract us from the fact that we’ve relinquished all our power any way to the Great Machine.

* * *

My tentative inquiries into witchcraft, becoming fluent in my own moods and emotions, and paying attention to the seasons, barely prepared me for the abrupt slow-the-fuck-down order that came when COVID-19 landed in British Columbia, in my village, as school broke for spring break. The emergency handbrake was pulled. Everything came to a squealing stop — all my plans, canceled; all the stores, closing; the whole damn world, under house arrest and in a panic. The whiplash from the stunning speed of that shift has left my whole being hypersensitive to any sudden movement, to being jerked around. But the first things I have staked my trust in, in that space of uncertainty, were Natalie’s teachings: First, trust your body. Pause. Listen.

In self-imposed isolation with my husband and just-turned-7-year-old, I dance with anxiety and curiosity and disconnection and too-much-information. The well-trodden pathways we have all been racing along, flexing our power and exercising our entitlements as consumers, are suddenly bordered up with emergency tape. This invitation that Natalie has been dripping out, month after month, takes root. There is far more potency available to us, than shopping, driving, holidaying, consuming, endlessly moving around the planet.

There is potency in all the feelings that have been showing up at my door. Oh, good morning frustration. Ah grief, yes, I suppose you’d like a cup of tea. Hello there, existential terror, I wondered when you’d pop by. There is potency in sitting with my back against a huge cedar tree and listening, in slowing down so much that I can give my 7-year-old my full attention. There is potency even in my words, when I soothe him down from a tantrum by saying, “you know, this is a really hard time for everyone in the whole world right now because no one knows what’s going to happen and no one can play with their friends. I’m really proud of you.” And I can feel his body relax into this space of being acknowledged in his struggles and his efforts.

I don’t know if there are any medicinal properties in the tincture of St John’s Wort and valerian that I drop into water and hand my husband, to gentle his nervous system. Or in the jar of immune-boosting oxymel, that I brewed up with grated ginger and turmeric and orange peel, and shake every day. But even if it’s a placebo, there’s a relief for me in feeling I can do something, can offer my people some kind of healing intention in a little glass, that I can acknowledge that this is hard for my husband too, and that acknowledgment isn’t a concession that takes away from my own sense of struggle.

For decades, we’ve bought into the illusion that our power is as consumers. Now that stores are closing and the shelves are emptying and we have to stay home and not immediately indulge every whim that arises, we all feel powerless. But that was never our truest source of power. There’s another source that we can all plug back into, our deep relationship and interbeing with the life force. Maybe, this is our threshold moment. Maybe, this is a chance to craft a few little spells, to speak the words of the world we long to inhabit — a place where the currency of kindness and wonder flow, where humans return to a deep memory of belonging among the plants and creatures, and to brew up a cup of tea, light a candle, and dream it into existence. Maybe it’s an invitation to say, “I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to, I will try and be more careful,” and to build a little altar, even if you feel kind of cray cray doing it. Let your nervous system settle as you invent some small ritual, (just ask your inner 5-year-old for guidance, she probably remembers exactly what to do), and make a gesture of repair.

“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have on my Apocalypse team,” I tell my husband, the night the global virus countertops 400,000. He’s been chopping wood, auditing the pantry, getting our kid across the finish line of the LEGO project that has absorbed him for four days. My husband was a farm kid. He’s always been practical, my polar opposite. Even when we have battled each other, (am I giving up too much of my power to him? If I acknowledge his pain and his needs, will that cancel mine out?) I’ve always known he would do anything to keep me safe. “Not that I can request an upgrade now,” I joke. “But I bet you’re glad to be stuck with me. One always wants a daydreamer at your side in a pinch.”

“Oh yeah,” he spoofs me: “’ The stock market is collapsing, let me just go check my Tarot cards.’”

We laugh. And hold each other. We can’t buy our way out of this. None of us. Our entire species, our global community, is being vividly reminded that we are all in this together, inextricably connected, epidemiologically entwined, in our vulnerability and our sweet potential. We didn’t need Amazon and airlines and online shopping to know what the witches have been telling us all this time. All the power we need is right here — between us, around us, within us. We just have to remember it.

* * *

Lisa Richarson

is a senior contributor to Coast Mountain Culture magazine and a columnist for Pique newsmagazine and edits the hyperlocal websites,

TheWellnessAlmanac.com

and

TracedElements.com.

She’s deep into a decade-long mission to slow the fuck down, but still optimize life for happiness and productivity. Born and raised in Australia, she has lived as a guest on the unceded territory of the Líl̓wat Nation since a ski vacation went rogue 20-odd years ago.

Editor: Carolyn Wells

Posted by

Lisa Richardson

on

April 8, 2020

https://longreads.com/2020/04/08/how-to-tell-your-husband-youre-a-witch/

[guessimjoiningthespidermanfandom]

Blessing in Disguise

Peter Parker x bisexual!reader

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Peter Parker x black!reader

Peter Parker x villain!reader

Warnings: Hospitals, Explosions, depictions of pain, allusions to mania and depression, self harm/unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of death and the dead, gambling, potential underage drinking, theft, guns, gun violence, depictions of bullet wounds, and drunk people. 

Word Count: 3.4k

Songs: All the kids are depressed- Jeremy Zucker, Everywhere- Chloe x Halle, Middle Child- J. Cole, She Knows- J. Cole, Breezeblocks- alt-J, Pussycat Doll-Flo Milli, It’s Been So Long- The Living Tombstone, Take me to Church- Hozier, Good Kid- Kendrick Lamar, Death of a Bachelor- Panic! At the Disco, Them Changes- Thundercat, Detention- Melanie Martinez, Recess- Melanie Martinez, Something for your M.I.N.D- Superorganism 

A/N: I actually hate this chapter because I feel like the writing doesn’t flow. I feel like it’s to jampacked with things that don’t do anything to push the story forward. Anyway I hope you still read it anyways. 

Series Masterlist   Previous Part   Next Part

I did the hand sign stating I’d stand. I knew I won for sure this time because I had a perfect hand of 21. The two other people playing against groaned as I was declared the winner yet again. 

Swiping the chips for the 3rd time since I’d been at the casino. I decided to take my wins and make my way to the bar that our “target” was residing. 

I had a hunch on where Carmen was but had no actual idea. I’d just text her. In the meantime I had this grown ass man to make a move on. 

I was like 97% sure I had the right guy anyway. I looked much older than usual tonight due to Carmen being a makeup goddess and I gotta say flirting can get you a long way. 

“Hey,” I spoke, sitting on the bar stool next to the man.

He looked up at me mumbling a quick hey.

“You expecting someone?” 

“Nope,” He popped the ‘p’ “What about you?”

“Same as you,”

“Now I don’t believe someone as beautiful as you is here alone,” He moved his arm that much closer to mine. I pushed out a smile and giggled. 

“I could say the same about you,” We made eye contact for a second “But no seriously, I’m just here with a girlfriend. It was my birthday yesterday but she wasn’t free so we came out today,” I lied. 

“How old did you turn?”

“Twenty Two,” He nodded seemingly content with the answer. 

“So you’re not around here are you?”

“Either you’re a genius or I’m just very bad at blending in, no I’m from New York,” 

“Ah, I have some friends in New York, which part?” 

“Harlem actually but I recently moved to Queens,” I lied again. 

“Oh I don’t many from those cities,”

“If we're being honest I don’t know many people from Queens either my life’s been more hectic ever since I moved,”

“I hear you,” He informed me, leaning on the small backing the stools had. 

We talked for about 15 more minutes, him explaining the switch between New York to Nevada. Then Carmen walked up to me and feigned drunkenness signaling she was done with her job. I made my way back. To the man who’s name I still hadn’t learned. 

“As much fun as I was having talking to you, my friend is way too drunk to be out in public so we should probably head back to the hotel.” I sat back on the barstool turning my legs towards the man batting my eyes 

“Could I possibly use your phone to call an Uber mine is dead?” 

“Yeah of course you can…” His sentence fizzed off at the end in place of where my name would be.

“Ciara,” I filled in “And you are?” 

“Jim” He started handing me the phone.

I used his phone for an entirely different reason than I’d claimed. The project Carmen had been working on was melting the wires together to fix the flash drive that works inside of phones. It hadn’t worked in years.

It took about a minute to duplicate the phone's data. I stuck the flash drive in my bra before going to give the phone back. 

Just as I started moving a loud argument broke out, by the drunk accents I could tell it would soon get violent. Seeing as I had many experiences with an aggressive drunk. I wasn’t going to take my chances and began turning towards the main exit.

 I heard the first shot echo followed by another. Soon everyone was shooting. Including Carmen who I think just wanted an excuse to shoot at people passing it off as “protecting her friends”. 

She was closer to the exit than I was so she slid me the gun and I was able to ward off anyone shooting in our general direction. Not for long though. A bullet lightly grazed my dominant arm’s shoulder; it still dug in enough to do some sweet damage. 

Fuck

What’s up with me? I haven’t been on my A game lately. 

We were also out of bullets. Mostly because we weren’t actually expecting to have to fucking shoot at people. I ducked back down behind the bar trying not to get caught on the broken glassware. 

“I think it would be a good time to do that thing?” I asked. 

She rolled her eyes 

“You know I hate doing it,”

“Well I’m literally bleeding out,” I dramatized pointing to my shoulder. “So if you want to get out of here not in body bags, do the thing,” 

“Alright, just this one time,” She begrudgingly made her way out from behind the bar and away from me. 

I covered my ears and closed my eyes as the glass around me rained down and the bar shook. I could slightly hear the cries from beneath my hands. Once she moved back over to me 

“See that wasn’t so bad, birdy,” I scrambled up to my feet ignoring the pull in my shoulder. 

I made my rounds grabbing Jim’s phone, cash, wallets, watches, and anything else that looked expensive from pockets and the ground. 

I stood awkwardly staring at my feet as I slid from side to side with my butt planted on my skateboard. 

“Hi,” I heard squinting my eyes looking up revealing a equally nervous looking Peter

“Hey,” I nodded at him. 

The conversation wasn’t as awkward as I thought it’d be he’d apparently asked Liz to prom and he said yes. Which I was definitely super happy about because why wouldn’t I be? 

Anyway who cares about that anyway. Props to Peter for not bringing up the whole ghosting everyone thing for like a week thing. Because if he didn’t bring it up I was going to act like it never happened. 

We talked about everything and anything. From favorite candies or colors to our beliefs about life after death. I’d found out his favorite candy were skittles, favorite color: red and that he was Jewish but not necessarily religious and didn’t believe in heaven or hell but he believed in the eternity of a soul. 

I’d told him that my favorite candy was F/C, my favorite color being pink and that I didn’t know what I believed in. I believed in a higher power but not that they were inherently good because of all the suffering on earth. I’d told him if they weren’t good and had abandoned us while alive. Why would they care or have any plan for us into the afterlife? I think that part is up to us, and what we believe. I’m trying not to think about death.

Then like clockwork he had to leave before 9 which is funny because it’s like he wasn’t even trying to hide his secret identity. He’d told me he lost the internship and normally his excuse to leave was the internship. 

I just guess that means he no longer has Stark’s backup. He only had it for a while anyway he’d be fine without it again. Actually when I think about it,  from his behavior he’d exhibited as Spiderman in the short few months I’d had the displeasure of knowing him as ‘Thorn’ he’d be weak. He was unconfident, relied on his tools far too much. Couldn’t see himself without the suit. So maybe he was really just going home. So he’d be fine. 

I’d also be fine. No matter how much it didn’t look like it at the moment. I’d be fine. I was always fine. I was fine without my mom, without Rose, without my dad, without Olivia and any one else I’d ever been stupid enough to get attached to. I’d bounce back. I always did. 

It’d taken Carmen much convincing to not sit around and babysit me 24/7 because of my shoulder. She was sure that I’d do something dumb and it would get infected. 

 I was sitting on MJ’s bed getting ready for homecoming. My neck jerked again as Bri attempted to detangle and braid my hair. 

If I hadn’t spiraled into the Vulture, Kingpin and SHIELD, rabbit hole I probably would have taken better care of myself and my hair. 

“Stop moving,” She tsked.

“Stop trying to rip my head off my neck,” I hissed back. 

Bri did my nails back when we were still at her house waiting for MJ to pick us up. She actually did pretty good. I think she would do great at a cosmetology school. She's pretty much into everything: hair, nails, makeup the whole nine yards. She did all of that for me. 

The make up was very simple, but I was still able to get my signature winged eyeliner. Winged eyeliner is something very dear to me mostly because Rose was the first to put me on it and I wore it everyday since. It kinda felt disrespectful to stop at this point.

The only thing left was the dress MJ had gifted me. Her mom bought her a dress but she still refused to wear dresses so she returned it for this one, she opted for a very nice pantsuit she already had. Then Bri's outfit of course matched her boyfriend’s. 

I’ve never really liked school dances they’re always so overhyped, but I go to them all anyways, because then I get in on all the drama. It helped me build up my arsenal of knowledge about everyone. 

I was sitting at one of the round tables near the entrance with MJ, Bri, and Olivia. We had a bottle of “Gatorade” open and out for anybody who wanted to drink it. I was about to drink from it when I saw Liz enter alone. 

I made my way over to her.

“Where’s Peter? I thought he asked you?” 

“I don’t even know he just ditched me,” She let out a deep breath. 

“Aw I’m sorry,” I wrapped my good arm around her shoulder.

 “Well don’t think about that asshole, you’re way out of his league anyway,” I assured her to which she let out a weak laugh. 

“Come sit with me and my friends,” 

 A girl with knockers dancing all along her head came up to before speaking 

“Why are you crying?” 

I sniffed pulling my head from my arms. 

“I miss my mom,” 

“I miss my mom sometimes but I like my grandma too,”

“Where’s your mom?” I asked.

“I don’t know my grandma says she’s sick,” She shrugged. “Where’s your mom?”

“Well my grandma says she’s in a better place now but I know that just means dead,” 

“Yeah my dad is dead too so I know what you mean, I’m Rose. What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” 

“Y/N, that's a pretty name,” She smiled. “You wanna come sit with me and my friends Y/N?”

“Y/N!”

I jumped a bit at the voice before matching it to MJ

“What?” I asked in a harsher tone then necessary.  

“Jeez sorry,” She reeled back “Someone is asking for you named Carmen. They said it’s important,” She waved her phone around. 

My face dropped and I hoped no one caught it. 

I grabbed the phone exiting the auditorium.

“Okay what’s up?” 

“You know Liz’s dad whatever her name is but yeah, He’s gonna rob that plane that’s moving everything from the Avengers tower,” She rushed

“What!?”

Holy shit 

That must be where Peter’s went. So he figured it out too. Kid’s smarter than I give him credit for.

“I’ll send you the location on your phone,”

“Why didn’t you just call me from there?”

“Because you never answer it,”

“True,” 

“Y/N?” She whispered.

“Yeah?” 

“Be careful,” 

“Always,” I smiled. 

I rushed out of the building not thinking about how I could get caught. Near the buses there was the new Shocker lying unconscious. 

I took the webshooter I found next to him. Then made a run for it. Stopping to hot wire the nearest car, I sped to one of the locations that I knew Vulture’s team kept their weapons at. I was throwing everything in the same pile. Getting ready to destroy them. 

Then the door creaked open.

I felt the bed dip as my brother sat next to me. 

“Are you coming?”

I pulled the cover off my face 

“Why should I?”

“Because you’ll regret it if you don’t,” 

“No I won’t leave me alone,” I pulled the cover back over my head. 

“You gotta eat something,” 

“No I don’t leave me alone,” 

“Y/N…”

I knew what he was going to say and I didn’t wanna hear it. 

“She would want you to eat something,”

“Fuck you! How would you ever know what she would've wanted? No one here knew her and now one will ever get the chance to again so just leave me alone,” 

“Y/N-“

“Don’t Y/N me, get the fuck out of my room,” He sat there for a second, stunned “NOW!” 

As soon as the door closed and I flipped back over

I was shaken back into the present only to find that I was pinned under the man who’d entered the room before I zoned out. He reached for the nearest weapon. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was. Which is rare. I have a whole weapons catalog in my brain. Unfortunately for him he couldn’t grab it without giving me leeway to get from underneath them. 

Unfortunately for me I put too much pressure on my arm in the seconds I took to grip my shoulder recuperating myself. The man had fired the weapon he had at the pile of weapons that I stumbled back towards. 

The weapons then emitted purple light before exploding leaving me caught under some wood and concrete as the ringing in my ears only got louder and louder.

The fire around me crackled loudly and I bit my lip.

The smoke was only getting more plentiful.

I started coughing which only got more and more painful.

When I came to myself, I wasn’t choking anymore and the fire around me had died down. I was able to push myself from underneath the rubble holding me down. Not without lots of pain though.

The dress I was wearing was torn completely, holes big enough to see what I was wearing underneath it already. 

So I just took it off.

It wasn’t like I was completely naked I was wearing boxers. Not like I haven’t left the house in a bra and shorts before. Also who gives a fuck I just almost died. 

It was like 35° but I wasn’t cold in the slightest. I was actually kind of hot.

If my phone was accurate the plane had already made it near the edge of Queens and Staten Island. Rushing there I was seconds late as I saw the plane crash after I saw two figures fighting along it. 

There was fire everywhere but I wasn’t thinking. I was just running because I couldn’t make out Peter’s shape and if he was dead- 

I swear to fucking God if he was dead. Not again. I couldn’t handle another death.

Peter was saying something. No, pleading as the Vulture stood tall with his wings still intact. He was talking about how it was a nice try and he doesn’t know what he’s messing with.

Peter might not but I knew what this was. I also knew I wasn’t letting him get away with it. 

The wings started producing visible waves of heat. Then it hit me, what Peter was trying to say. The wings were gonna blow.  I got a head start and lunged towards the man. The element of surprise was on my side. That was until he used the wings to lift himself off the ground. 

Now I was fine with parkour and other activities, but being lifted off the ground by someone else, someone who’d never interacted with me ever, is where I draw the line. Then Peter was shooting a web at the wings. To which Vulture dropped me to go after him.

Oh hell no.

“Give it up Peter,” He continued to get closer and closer as the webs were continuously cut through. 

You know how people say they see in red when they get angry? Well the opposite of that happens to me I just see black. Remembering very little to nothing.

Last thing I remembered was fire just fire. From my fingertips, arms, head. It destroyed the wings in seconds, before they had a chance to blow up on their own. 

Peter webbed up the man before moving out of my sight. 

How the fuck do you get fire coming from your body. 

 Literally what the actual fuck. 

I couldn’t breathe. 

That’s what it was, I was dying, I was probably in some coma and this was a weird hallucination my brain pushed out in its final moments.

Okay this is it. I was dying suffocating in some coma.

Or even worse this wasn’t a coma and I was going to die with my body lit on fire literally.

“Oh my God,” I gasped trying to get air into my lungs. 

I closed my eyes and when I opened them Peter was in front of me in a torn up ripoff suit. 

“Y/N,” He moved trying to catch my eye.

“Y/N, Y/N breathe…”

I couldn’t really process his words. My mind was clouded with fear, fear and anger. 

Before I knew it I was hitting my head so I wouldn’t hit anyone or anything else. It’d been a coping mechanism I used ever since I was 3. 

Peter reached for my arms reeling back after his hands came into contact with my boiling skin. 

“Y/N you have to calm down,” He moved in front of me.

I stopped moving my hands but it was still difficult to breathe.

The monitors beeped all around me and if I closed my eyes  and concentrated hard enough. I could convince myself they were birds. 

I could tell from the patter of the knock on the door that it was Rose. 

“Come in!” I called out.

She picked up the clipboard examining it. As she did every time she visited. Luckily for everyone there was no nurse she could bombard with questions and criticism. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked. 

“Itchy, like my guts are on fire,” 

To which she replied by singing the chorus to Girl on Fire. 

“Anyway,” she brought us back after our laughter. “I got you pizza today since I’m sure you’re tired of McDonald’s,”

“I don’t mind McDonald’s actually, anything is better than hospital food. Well actually, their chicken strips aren’t that bad,” 

She placed the box down on my lap. I lifted up the lid and was hit with the smell of the many herbs. I pat by my legs signaling she could sit down. She wiggled into the spot that the bar of the bed allowed. 

“What are we watching today?” 

“Uh…” I clicked on the TV “Vampire Diaries?,”

“That show is still going?

“Yeah, I don’t think it’ll ever end,” 

Somehow the show turned into us dancing around the cramped hospital room.

We spun like the ballerinas in the broken jewelry box I got from my mom. Arms flailing around. The air conditioner made a rattling noise and a half eaten pizza on the bed. The situation was probably extremely weird or unpleasant from any other perspective, but because it was her it was perfect. 

It was like the moment in rom coms where the camera zooms into the main characters dancing as the rest of the characters are put out of focus and they stare into each other’s eyes. I closed my eyes. 

When I opened them I saw Peter’s eyes above mine. 

His hands were immediately on my face making my look straight at him. 

“Are you okay?” He breathed out. 

I sat up feeling a pounding in my head and a pull in my lungs. I was met with the fact that I was definitely not on the ground. I was actually very far from the ground on some ride on the pier. My mouth was dry so it took me a minute to get the words out and when I did it hurt my throat.

“Yeah ’m okay jus’ tired,”

“Okay, well don’t go back to sleep because I think you have a concussion,” 

“You’re acting like I died or something, how long was I out dang,” I joked I always hated when things got too serious. 

“Uh probably...30 minutes? I don’t know I don’t have a watch,” He sniffed and that's when I realized he’d be crying. 

“Were you crying? I knew you cared about me,” I smiled “It was only a matter of time before you fell in love with me, I’m irresistible” 

He laughed weakly wiping his eyes “This isn’t funny,” 

I looked up at him and started uncontrollably giggling. Soon Peter was laughing too.

The moment was interrupted by a squad of police cars pulling up. I absolutely did not want to get down but my tired muscles betrayed me. I was extremely exhausted.  I literally could not move. I just had to go wherever Peter decided to take me. I honestly think I might have a few broken ribs. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before though. We stood off to the side watching as Vulture was stuffed into the back of one of the cars. 

“So Spiderman?” I smirked.

“Uh.. no?” He said as if he’s questioning himself. 

“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone I’ve known for a while now,” I twisted my body to face him hissing as a sharp sting shot through my body “You're not very good at hiding it,”

“Hey!” He cried out “But seriously you can’t tell anyone,”

“I already said I wouldn’t, but if it makes you feel better I’ll pinky promise you, and everyone knows you can’t break a pinky promise,”

“Alright,” He sighed.

I tried to move closer again and was stopped by the pain in my sides. 

“Okay well, the offer still stands, you’re just gonna have to come over here,”

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@tomdiddlyumptious

[nite-shay]

A Helping Hand - Todoroki Shoto x Reader

AN:

Idea: Character finding out their S/O has a prosthetic limb. (Think automail from full metal alchemist).

Sorry for any misspelling or grammar mistakes. 

Todoroki Shoto x Reader

You sighed as you dropped your duffle bag on the floor beside your bed before flopping on to the soft mattress. The dorms were usually busy this time of day. However, the week-long break just started, and most if not all of the students rushed out as soon as the last bell of the day rang.  You were one of the few who decided to stay behind.

That choice was coming back to bite you in the ass. Hard.

If you had gone home, you could meet up with Hatsume, and she could fix this issue you were having. 

With a heavy sigh, you sat up and started rummaging through your bag in search of the object you needed fixing. Your mechanical arm had gotten damaged during your spar with your classmate, Todoroki Shoto. 

Today's assignment was to work on hand to hand combat something you excelled but not your partner. The fight had been going well; however, the fighting was making the class run a bit longer than it should have. So to speed things up, Aizawa allowed quirk usage about halfway through the match. With one final powerful attack, he managed to trap your arm, along with most of your right side, in a mini glacier of ice, thus ending the match and class. 

You knew you were in trouble the moment you felt the cold bite of the metal parts against your fleshy shoulder. Even after he thawed your arm, you weren't able to move it. You rushed off to the support class, as soon as you got changed, praying your friend got caught up in working on a new baby and delaying her departure.

However, you were not that lucky. 

And now here you are with only one arm. 

 It was going to be a long week. 

Instead of lying in self-pity, you decided you might as well try to fix it. It already didn't work, not like you could do anything worse to it. Grabbing your duffle bag and other tools, you headed over to the dining area. The dining table would give you the room you needed, plus it had better lighting. It didn't take you too long to get everything transported, and your work area set up. 

With earbuds in and the volume at a comfortable drown out the world level, you got to work. 

While you weren't the brilliant support tech that built your arm, you could handle a few basic repairs. With no one else being here, it wasn't like you had much of a choice. You even asked Power Loader for help, but since it wasn't his expertise or handiwork, there wasn't much he could do. He did, however, offer full access to the shop and any tool you may need. 

Slowly but surely, you started to disassemble the outer layer of your arm. Between the music and the project in front of you, the world around you slowly vanished. 

An hour later….

Todoroki was making his way back to the dorms after visiting his mother. While his classmates and most of the students left earlier that day, excited to see their families, he decided to stay. He did not share the same excitement when it came to home visits. Though he would miss his sister's cooking. Even the best chefs at UA didn't hold a candle to her home-cooked meals.

As he made his way through the back doorway of the commons area, he was surprised to hear noises… He thought he was the only one left... 

Was that drilling?

Curious, he made his way to the dining area where he could see you hunched over something on the table. 

"(L/N)?" He called out. Thanks to Midoriya and the others, Todoroki was becoming more … vocal with the rest of the class. You were one of the ones he would talk to the most. Mainly because Aizawa assigned the two of you together for training and assignments fairly often. He never understood his reason, but the bi-color haired boy didn't care. He preferred working with you more so than some of his other classmates (*Cough Cough* Bakugo).

Today the two of you had a mock battle during last class. He enjoyed sparing with you; your skills made it a challenge for him. But it also allowed him to be near you without making him feel awkward. He didn't understand why but he enjoyed your company. The battle had been primarily one-sided, with you in favor of winning. That was until Aizawa allowed quirk usage. While you excelled in close range combat, your quirk suited to defend against his long rang ice attack. He quickly overwhelmed you, ending the match.

Soon after the match, he saw you quickly gather your things before running off towards the school. He figured you were in a hurry to leave for the break like everyone else, not to rush back here.

"(L/N) "He approached you slowly, trying to get your attention. You had changed into a pair of black pants and a red tank top. He could also see a folded white rag sitting on your right shoulder. The closer he got, the more he could see what you were working on, some machine parts and hand tools laid scattered on the table. Your seemed foot bouncing an unknown beat as you sat there cross-legged in the chair.  

His upper lip twitches in a slight smirk as he studied the determined look in your eyes. It was the same one you had when you were studying or working on something you didn't quite understand. 

It was cute.

Taking a steady breath, he finally reached out and gently touched your exposed left shoulder.  While he still wasn't one for touch, with you, he didn't seem to mind.  "(L/N)." 

"Shit!" You jolted from the chair you were in. Unfortunately, your legs got tangled upon themselves in your rush. Your habit of sitting cross-legged was going to be the death of you one day. Falling away from the hand that had seemingly came out of nowhere, you braced for the impact as your metal arm wasn't currently attached to help break your fall. After catching the wind that had been thoroughly knocked out of you, you look up to see heterochromia eyes. "Oh... hey, Todoroki... what's up?" You grimaced in embarrassment. Of all the people who could have seen your startled cat impression...

Guess it could have been worse... It could have been Bakugo... He’d never let you live it down...

"Sorry… I.. didn't mean to scare you…." He wasn't expecting you to be as startled as you were, so he was slow to respond. His eyes quickly checked over you for any injuries he might have caused.  "Are you…" His breath caught in his throat as he watched you maneuver yourself to face him. 

Your arm…. There weren't two… just one….

Where your right arm should have been… was nothing…

Something glimmered out of his peripheral vision. Glancing over from you, he saw what you were working on. It was an arm… A mechanical right arm… 

"It's uh... Ow… it's fine...:'' You quickly got up from the floor looking at the stunned boy who was glancing between you and the arm on the table. "So.. uhhh… I guess you aren't going home for break, or are you waiting till tomorrow…" This was awkward. You hadn't told any about your arm. 

The teachers knew, but that was beyond your control, and well, ok Midoriya and Bakugo know, but that's only because you grew up with them, so it's hard for them not to know. 

"No. I decided to stay here for the week." He regains his composure before turning his focus solely on you. 

"Oh.. well, uh… same here. I hope you don't mind the company." 

"Not at all." He shifts a bit before asking. "Are you having issues with your…." He trailed off. 

"Oh yeah. It umm.." You cleared your throat before smiling a bit at him. After working with him for so long, you were getting pretty good at reading him. He was uncomfortable and wasn't sure how to proceed. "My arm stopped working earlier today. So I was trying to fix it." 

How did it get damaged?

How did he not know about your arm? 

How did you lose your arm in the first place?

Was he making this awkward for you?

Should he leave? Should he stay?

So many questions ran through his mind. Uraraka and Yaoyorozu had been working him, so he didn't just blurt out his thoughts as much anymore. Well, he still did with Bakugo, but that was for fun. The girls called it 'reading the room.' He wanted to ask you every question that came to mind, but he didn't want to offend you. 

"Do you… need assistance?" He finally settled on. 

"Oh. Yeah!" You beamed at him, making him blush slightly. "As corny as this sounds, I could use a hand." If you hadn't been staring right at him, you would have missed that small twinge of his lip. It was a smile. 

You went back to work as Todoroki sat across from you, silently observing your work. 

While you were comfortable with his silence, you could tell he was not. He had questions, hell anyone would, but he didn't seem sure how to ask or how to start the conversation.

Looks like you would have to take the lead on this one. 

"Can you hold this for me?" You point to the forearm panel with your screwdriver. He followed your instructions flawlessly. You do this a few more times, and this seems to ease him some until he finally began to talk to you.

"Do you always do the repairs yourself?" He quietly asked. 

"No. Typically, Hatsume does, but she left already. It was her father that built my first arm, but this one is her handiwork pretty cool, huh?" You grinned. You were proud of your brilliant friend, as crazy as she was. You have to remind her every time she has a new idea for her baby, that you need an arm, not an arsenal. 

"It is… impressive." 

"Ah, ha!" You announced as you pull out the damaged piece of machinery that was the cause of all this trouble. "There you are, you little bugger!" 

Seeing you smile in victory as you held up the small component made Todoroki's heart skip a beat. The part you held looks almost industrial grade. It made him curious about what could have caused it to become damaged. 

"So how did it become damaged." He asked without hesitation. 

"Oh… well, you see the water spots here." Sitting the item down, you point to the parts you were describing. "It happens when water or moisture gets in it. That caused the gear to seize up, and the rest cracked when the temperature around it rapidly changed." Your description of the damage reminded him in the way of Midoriya. The way he would mumble through his thoughts. 

Water moisture….

Rapidly changing temperature….

He was the one that damaged her arm….

"I really am the hand crusher..." He sighed as he mumbled to himself.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"My last attack… caused your arm to break… didn't it?"

"Yeah... It did..." 

"My apologies… if I had known…"

"If you had known, you wouldn't have attacked me like you did."

He nodded, and that caused her to sigh before putting down her tools and looking directly at him. 

"Do you think of me as weak?" You kept your tone neutral, not wanting him to take your question the wrong way. 

"No, you are one of the strongest students in our class." His response was honest and quick. 

"And now that you know about my arm. What are your thoughts? Would you have gone at me like you did?" You inquired. 

"You… are still one of the strongest.. and no, I would have aimed somewhere else... "

"And that's why I keep my arm a secret. You would have held back."

"But, I damaged it." 

"So what, it can be fixed." You shrugged

"But…"

"Look, I don't need people to hold back on me. I need my friends to come at me with everything they have. Because I promise you this, a villain won't hold back. If they see my arm, that's where they will aim." This wasn't the first time you've had to explain this. 

Friends...

He was silent. He understands your reasoning… somewhat but didn't like it...

"My friends will make me a stronger hero…"

"Your friends?"

"Our friends make us stronger…. I don't think I would have learned or gotten as far as I have without them…"

"What do you mean?"

"Every day with a friend, whether it's in class, just hanging out or in a match, you learn something from each other. The stuff you learn helps you along the way... Take my arm, for example…" You smile. "See, I know these three guys. One is a loudmouth with a foul temper, the other one is observant and kind, and the last one is stoic and very thoughtful. Without them, I would be like my arm was when I first got it, just an arm, nothing special. But thanks to them, I'll become more." You began pointing to different parts on your arm "Sparring with Kat, made me improve its resistance to shockwaves and heat. Thanks to Zuki, I improved its strength and impact resistance." You then grab the small part that he had damaged "And thanks to you, my arm will be stronger against water and ice.  Like I said, my friends make me strong. And I'm not just talking about physically either. My arm is just a physical representation."

He thought long about what you said. Your thoughtful words reminded him of Midoriya, but they're straight forward… a Bakugo trait, no doubt. Suddenly Aizawa partnering you up together made sense. 

But there was one thing you got wrong. 

You were special...  

No matter what...

"So… are we friends?" He managed to ask before he could blurt out his actual thought.

"I'd like us to be… if you want..." You nervously fiddled with the part in your hand. You didn't mean to just blurt out everything you did, but it was too late now. Hopefully, he wouldn't read too much into this. You honestly wanted to be more than friends but, he would need time. You know that. This wasn't something you could rush. 

"I'm not an easy person to be around…"

"Come on, I made friends with the Katsuki Bakugo. I think I can handle you." You chuckled as you extended your arm and balled you hand into a fist hand balled. Todoroki had seen you do this with some of your other classmates. It was a fist bump. "So what do ya say?"

"I'd like that…" He gently touched his fist to yours...

From that day on you, two were inseparable and unstoppable. 

Bonus bit: 

"I'm telling you! Something is really strange about (L/N)." The electric quirk user emphasized to the rest of the group. 

A grumble shut up came from the explosive blonde as he and his redheaded lover walked in front of Sero and Kaminari. 

"Did you not see the tools in her room?" Kaminari continued 

"Yeah! How about the can of metal polish? Weird…" Sero noted.

"Maybe she just builds models? You know like cars, planes or something?" Kirishima chimed in, hoping they dropped the subject that was clearly angering the boy beside him. But to no avail, the two guys behind them continued their conversation.  

"What the hell kind of model do you build with those kinds of tools?" 

"Dude… What if she's a robot?"

"A robot?"

"Yeah! What if she's a robot, and she's here to replace us all with robots!!!"

"You guys really need to lay off the late-night SciFi movies…" Kirishima could see the vein on Bakugo's forehead start to throb… Though the redhead was tempted to let his hot tempered boyfriend go after his classmates, he liked (L/N) and didn't appreciate them talking about you like that, but dinner and a movie sounded better than trying to hide two bodies tonight.

The Bakusquaud composed of Bakugo, Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero were making their way through to the dining area. They just opened the door to see you fist bump with Todoroki. Kaminari, Sero, and Kirishima and shocked to see you two sitting there, but Kaminari and Sero are more shocked by what they see on the table.

"AHHHHHH SHE REALLY IS A ROBOT!!!!!" You turn just in time to see two streaks of blonde and black hair run down the hallway to the safety of their rooms.

"You make the strangest friends, Kat….." You teased.

"FUCK YOU!"

Later on…

Bakugo is upset that you are now friends with Todoroki… also slightly upset about your arm but doesn't show it.

Kirishima is shocked by your arm but brushes it off. He tells you later that it makes you look manly and wants to arm wrestle you once you get fixed.

Bakugo and Kirishima fill you in on what Kaminari and Sero were talking about. You laugh but then take this chance to terrorize Sero and Kaminari a bit. Mainly using a remote arm (One of Hatsume's prototype 'babies' she gave you a while back) that would walk around like thing from the Adams family) for a bit before tell and proving to them that no… you're not a robot…  

Thanks for the read! If you want see the other stuff I’ve done, click the link bellow!

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