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rrazor · 4 years ago

Text

positions | m. issei

tags: fluff, mildly suggestive content

issei never knew how much he loved touching you until he was granted unconditional permission to do so. he thought he was relatively independent and someone who didn’t need as much reassurance or physical affection compared to other guys around him, like oikawa and hanamaki or even iwaizumi.

he thought he’d be fine, satisfied, content with just having you sit next to him or holding your hand or just being near you.

he thought wrong.

but he’s okay with that—you always indulged him after all, more than happy to have him close. your face lights up in a way that’s so adorable it pains him and has his fingers itching for contact.

he toys with the edge of your hoodie, watching your in-game character dash about. turning his head, he dips it into the crook of your neck, closing his eyes. his arms automatically tighten around you as he noses into the skin there.

“‘sei, you bored?”

he mumbles his “no” into your skin, smelling clean and cottony from your shower. his legs tangle with yours underneath the blankets. the side of his right foot comes up to brush against your bare calf and he begins to wish he wore shorts instead.

you hum, fingers tapping away at the screen while his slide up under your hoodie. you glance down at them before looking back to your screen again. issei grins happily behind you, gently roaming his hands across your stomach and up to cup your boobs. your skin is soft, recently moisturized. you talked about how you bought a new one, how it was “natural” and made your skin feel like velvet. he agrees, roaming his hands around and taking in all your dips and curves.

“hey!” you squeal. “i’m fighting!”

he chuckles, kissing your cheek. “and you’re gonna lose if you don’t focus.”

you huff, but to his delight, don’t tell him to stop so he lets you grumble, snickering like the cat who got the cream.

｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ

he wakes up to a delirious fog, overheated and chilled to the bone. bringing his hand up to rub at his eyes, he blinks through the darkness of his room, slowly extending an arm to his phone on his nightstand.

5:37pm.

“nii-chan… room… dinner.”

he hears footsteps get closer to his door. a short series of knocks.

“issei?” your voice is soft. “are you awake?”

“yes,” he tries to say, but it comes out a rasp, too quiet. he wonders why you’re here anyways, on a school night when there’s a math exam tomorrow. an exam he hopes he’ll pass given the state he’s in.

the door opens gently, allowing the soft yellow light from the hallway into his room. you walk in, hands carrying a tray. he hears the china knock into each other.

“oh, you’re awake.”

he nods, watching you set down everything on his nightstand before putting a hand over his forehead. the steam of the mug rises and already, he can feel how dry his mouth is.

“how’re you feeling?”

he clears his throat, wincing at the amount of phlegm he’s forced to clear out. you frown, if your down turned eyebrows are anything to go by. he can’t see the rest of your pretty face behind your mask.

“been better,” he croaks.

you huff out a laugh. “got enough energy for your meds?”

he nods, sitting up just enough to make it easy to wash the pills down with water before he slumps back into bed.

“are you hungry?” you ask, sitting down at the edge of his bed.

he shakes his head, letting you touch his forehead again.

“tired? wanna go back to sleep?”

he hums noncommittally, bringing his hand up to hold onto your wrist. you run your fingers through his soft curls, making him shiver.

“go to sleep,” you whisper.

he shakes his head, pulling you hard enough that you fall over him in surprise. he wraps his arms around your torso, burying his face in your chest.

“hey,” you chide, resting on your elbows above him. “you need to rest.”

he nuzzles into your shirt, relishing in having you close. the smooth, cool cotton of your shirt a welcome feeling on his overheated skin.

“missed you.”

straight through the heart.

“i missed you, too,” you whisper.

“stay a bit?” he pleas. he knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t really help himself.

you bring the blankets up over yourself and his heart soars. he tucks himself on top of your chest, heart pounding in his chest as you pull your mask down to kiss his forehead. it’s tender, so comforting.

he falls asleep to the smell of cotton and camomile.

｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ

“babe.”

you hum, lips resting against his forehead. the clock on the bedside table reads 9:48pm in muted led.

he can’t see you in the dark, tucked in so close to you. issei’s resting beside you again. because he can’t ever get enough. because that’s where he belongs, hands on your skin, head tucked into your neck. he’s tall, might as well be two metres, two whole hundred centimetres but issei adores it when he gets to be the small spoon.

“d’y’ever think about the people who got infinity symbols tattooed or those moustaches—wonder how they’re doing?”

he can hear you, feel you laugh.

“no, i would’ve never if you didn’t bring it up,” you snort. “forgot about those dumb trends.”

he chuckles softly into your pajamas, slotting himself closer to you. he can’t explain it but an overwhelming surge of love blooms in his chest when you bring the blankets up to cover his shoulders.

you’ll probably end up on opposite sides of the bed in the morning, maybe even turned away from one another. s’fine, he usually ends up scooching over to you anyways. the rise and fall of your chest slows. it’s a bit too early for him to doze off—.

“g’night, ‘sei,” you mumble, kissing his hairline. “love you.”

he nods imperceptibly, kissing where your heart is. “night,” he whispers. “love you more.”

you mumble something into his hair. he draws infinity signs on your back.

｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ

today, he’s the big spoon—sorta. you’re on the train to the mitsui outlet park. it’s crowded, likely because of the kamen rider event going on. the rest of his family got there early to participate from start to finish.

it’s 11:58am and he’s caged you in between the train walls, a nice barricade from other passengers.

he’s zoning out when he hears your stomach growl.

“did you eat breakfast?”

you look up at him sheepishly. “no?”

he leans down to knock his forehead against yours, lips curling upward when you make a funny noise.

“i think i have candy in my pockets.”

his mom was giving them out in the morning after finding them in her purse. she handed him a few saying she got them from work.

“really?” your eyes glimmer as your hands reach into his pockets. your rummaging digs up two pieces of caramel. you unwrap them and feed one to him before pocketing the plastic.

“y’know i think i love you a little bit.” you grin, tongue swirling caramel goodness.

“yeah?” he snickers. “can’t blame you. i’m the ultimate catch—tall, funny, handsome.”

you roll your eyes, watching as he leans against the glass perpendicular to the doors. he stands closer when the doors on the opposite open. you raise your fists up in front of you. “i’ll have you catch these hands.”

“you could have just told me you wanted to hold hands, babe,” he chuckles, grabbing your right one and leaving a quick kiss on your forehead.

“don’t twist my words,” you grumble. your words are half spoken into his chest when he presses closer as a businessman squeezes by.

“oh, don’t worry.” he winks. “i know you and i have other plans for these hands later.”

you snort. “yeah, prayer.”

｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ

issei leans back against the couch, tilting over onto the arm to rest his head as he settles into his food coma.

“issei, come back and have some marinated duck!”

he groans a little, telling his grandmother that he’d be over soon. though he could eat a lot, the walls of his stomach could never defeat nor contain the power of his grandmother.

he decides it’s a great time to take a picture of his extended stomach and send it to you.

>> (05:47) babe >> (05:47) [img.png] >> (05:48) i’m expecting

>> (05:51) what the Hell >> (05:52) tw: mpreg

>> (05:53) did you just trigger warning me?

>> (05:53) yes

>> (05:54) damn >> (05:55) well I don’t need this negativity in my life >> (05:55) relationships r built on mutual respect >> (05:56) I’ve told u I love you what more do u want

>> (05:57) nudes

>> (05:57) 😔😢😢

>> (05:58) here’s one of mine >> (05:58) [img.png] >> (05:59) 🥰❤️❤️❤️

he’s never sat up so fast in his life.

“issei, are you coming?”

he bites his tongue. “yes, grandma.”

｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ

he comes back home to you two days later. he drops his bags on his bedroom floor and is about to run out the house to yours when his mom yells at him from the kitchen, “issei, sort through your things before you go!”

his shoulders slump and his head hangs but he gets it done and then he’s off.

>> (02:12) I’m home 😎😎💩 >> (02:12) wait ididnt mean the poo emoji

>> (02:13) welcome home 🌸

>> (02:13) Open the door

you do, though it takes you a millisecond too long but he’s not going to gripe too much about it. he engulfs you in a hug the moment he sees you and nearly knocks your cell phone onto the pavement. your arms automatically go behind him. swaying, you stay there, sun shining and leaving an orange tint behind when you close your eyes.

“welcome back, ‘sei.” you nuzzle your head into his. “how was your grandma’s?”

he mumbles something but doesn’t make any effort to move. not wanting to attract stares, you slowly waddle backwards to get him through the front door. on your third step back, he just picks you up and does it himself before closing the door behind him and returning to his original position.

“‘sei,” you drawl out. “my back huurts.”

he pulls back the slightest, eager to see you up close yet wanting to keep you close. “i just wanted to hug you, is that so bad?”

“bedroom” is all you say. he frowns but lets you take him there anyways.

you sit on the bed and pat the space next to you. he instead opts to kneel down on the floor and rest his head on your thighs.

“‘sei?”

“grandma’s was good,” he murmurs, eyes closing when you run a hand through his curls. “thank you for the nude.”

you laugh and he takes the chance to get up and pull you into bed with him. he rolls you on top of him, brushing your hair away and cupping your face to pull you in for a kiss. his tongue is warm, soft, lax and you melt into him, onto him.

“wait,” he mutters.

“hm? something wrong?” you lean up a bit.

“i left your food at my place. my grandma made you some.”

you hum, leaving kisses on his jaw and swinging your legs. “we can go over later. kiss me more, please?”

he grins. “thought you’d never ask, babe.”

#matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa issei #matsukawa x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years ago

Text

Just a Friend

Hope you enjoy the next chapter of this story. Thanks to you all for reading this. You comments are lovely to read.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

AO3

Chapter 5: From Facebook to Friends

When I was a little girl, Uncle Lamb would sometimes take me into university with him. I would creep into the lecture theatre and sit at the back watching him as he enthused about Phoenician trade routes, or long gone military strategies. I didn’t really understand what he was talking about, but I loved it anyway. The passion he had for his subject matter thrilled me.

And once the lecture was over, I would join him in his office and we would squeeze together in an old armchair, drinking hot, sweet tea while he tried to explain the principles of a three thousand year old civilisation in words a seven year old would understand.

The armchair is now in my office at the hospital. It looks more than a bit incongruous amongst the standard NHS furniture. The rich green velvet fabric has faded to a shabby eau de nil colour and years of shuffling bottoms have left a large depression in the seat cushion. But I won’t have it reupholstered. I love it as it is. It’s a great reminder of my wonderful uncle. I sit in it and somehow it comforts me, like a soothing hug.

**********************

I glance at the clock as I walk into my office, paper cup of hot, sweet tea in hand, and head straight for Lamb’s chair. Gratefully, I sink into its depths and take a tentative sip of the steaming liquid before closing my eyes for a moment. The surgery was long; much longer than anticipated—having taken all morning and most of the afternoon, in fact. It had also been far more complicated—my original plans for keyhole surgery had to be changed, but, eventually, we completed the operation successfully. I’m always proud of my theatre team, but never more so than in situations like this.

And now, after hours of concentration, I feel in need of some light relief. I can go home, have a wonderfully reviving shower and then what? I know that Dougal is taking Geillis out for a meal tonight, so she’s not available. Mary and Anna are both working nights this week, so no joy there. Other friends live too far away for an impromptu midweek activity. I could go to the gym. I should go to the gym. Or… more likely, I’ll go home, have cheese on toast, a glass of wine and watch ‘The Devil Wears Prada’ for the fifteenth time instead.

I reach for my phone to check for messages. A notification for a Facebook friend request appears on my screen. I very rarely get new friend requests—other than the odd random gentleman hoping, I presume, to make some sort of connection. I always delete immediately.

And, yes, the request is from a gentleman—one Jamie Fraser. The profile picture is definitely Samsonite Jamie, even wearing the Scotland rugby shirt I fingered whilst foraging through his suitcase. I click accept. Why not? I don’t think I have anything too embarrassing on my posts. In fact, I don’t use it very often at all.

Neither, it seems, does Mr. Fraser. His cover photo shows a very youthful bunch of Scottish rugby supporters and his recent timeline seems to comprise mostly of being tagged in photos by Laoghaire Mackenzie. Is it my imagination, or does he have a resigned look on his face on each of their ‘selfies’?

My tea is cool enough to drink now without scalding my tongue. I put my phone down and take a large gulp whilst considering tomorrow’s workload. My job is a series of highs and lows. Today, for example, started as routine, slumped to a worrying low, before peaking at a very relieved high. Tomorrow appears to be an easier day, certainly—a review of patients’ case notes in the morning followed by an outpatient clinic in the afternoon. All follow up patients, and all doing well as far as I know, so tomorrow is shaping up to be a very good day.

I open up my phone again. Facebook messenger is encouraging me to ‘say hi to your new Facebook friend.’ Without thinking, I send a little waving hand emoji to Samsonite Jamie.

I have no sooner put the phone down than it pings. Waving hand returned. I smile. What are we… thirteen years old? Next I’ll be asking him out for an Irn Bru and a bag of chips.

Ping again.

You owe me…

Shit! The stain on his t-shirt, no doubt. I watch the dots on the screen. Perhaps he’s calculating the cost of a dry cleaner, or a new t-shirt.

You promised me an ice cream.

You up for buying one for me tonight?

I hesitate for a moment. I hope Jamie doesn’t think I’m after him or anything like that. I mean, he’s not really my type. As I’ve said before, I’ve always been attracted to academic, cerebral kind of men like Uncle Lamb, rather than Viking marauders.

And I’ve never subscribed to the idea that men and women can’t be friends. One of my closest friends at university was a man—Joe Abernathy. If it wasn't for the fact that he is currently three thousand miles away, working in Boston, I would be arranging platonic ice cream outings with him.

So, deciding I have nothing to lose, I type my response.

If you can get to the kiosk by 6:30, it should still be open

A brief pause, then the response.

Great. See you there?

****************

Even at a distance, I recognise him sitting at a table next to the kiosk. No white t-shirt today, it looks like some sort of check lumberjack shirt. I breathe a sigh of relief. Not what I would call ‘first date’ clothing. Which is handy, seeing as I’m wearing ripped jeans and an oversized Aran jumper. I’m clean, presentable and fresh-smelling but definitely not dressed to impress.

He stands up when he sees me and greets me formally with a handshake. His hands are warm and dry—no nervous, sweaty palms here, which is another good sign. His shirt is blue, red and cream flannel and actually quite hideous.

“I hope this ice cream lives up tae ma expectations,” he says with the merest hint of challenge.

I crane my neck and look him straight in the eye. “No doubt at all. Cherry bakewell, is it? Double cone?”

“Aye. With a flake too. Compensation, ye ken.”

He stands aside to allow me to make the purchases. Before accepting the cone, he picks up half a dozen or so paper napkins and stuffs them in the pocket of his jeans.

“I’m prepared fer ye now. Do yer worst, Ms Beauchamp.”

I ignore his clear inference and follow him to a nearby bench.

“I can manage to eat and walk at the same time, you know,” I say in mock indignation.

“Hm,” he replies. “All the evidence sae far suggests the contrary. I need proof afore I believe it.”

There’s a moment of silence as we both focus on our ice creams. I lick neatly all the way around, trying to prevent any rogue drips trickling down the cone. Jamie pulls the flake from his cone and consumes it in two mouthfuls. He looks at me and laughs.

“Caught me. I’m a bit of a bugger fer chocolate,” he mumbles before swallowing.

“Right,” he continues, much more clearly now. “I suggest we get all the boring stuff out of the way. Ye ken, name, age, family, job, blah, blah blah. I’ll go first, if ye like.”

I nod my agreement.

“Sae, I’m James or Jamie Fraser. I’m thirty years old. Since our last conversation I am most definitely single. I live in Glasgow, obviously, but grew up on a farm near Inverness. My parents still run the farm. I have one sister, Jenny, who’s married tae Ian, my childhood friend. I have one nephew—a grand little lad known as Wee Jamie and a wee baby niece, Maggie . And I dinna think it’ll be long afore they’re joined by others. They all live here in Glasgow. My job, weel, I have a business—FraserFood—recipe boxes delivered tae yer door.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard of that. ‘From farm to fork.” That’s you, is it?”

He smiles proudly. “Aye, it’s me and ma family. Looks like ma marketing manager is doing a fine job, then.”

“Oh, forgot tae say, after the blah blah, ye have tae tell one confession. Only a wee one, mind.” He takes a large mouthful of his ice cream.

I purse my lips. “Really, and what if I’ve nothing to confess?”

Jamie snorts with laughter and does a funny sort of blink, screwing up his face and closing both eyes. Is he trying to wink? If so, he’s failing miserably. I try to look angelic and sin free. Judging by the look of scepticism on his face, It doesn’t seem to be working.

“Sae, my confession is, dah-dah-daaaah,” he does a fake fanfare, trying to build suspense. “I wanted tae be yer friend on Facebook because I wanted tae see if there were any photos of ye in Barcelona, with all yer...er… accessories.”

I feel myself redden. I’ve just remembered catching Geillis on Facebook the other day at work and I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming next.

“Verra interesting… in particular, the one with ye and six penis shot glasses. How d’ye manage tae get two of them in yer mouth at the same time?”

I inwardly curse Geillis and her desire to live her life through social media.

“Excuse me,” I reply somewhat primly. “I don’t think we’re at the Q and A stage yet.”

“So,” I continue in a lighter tone. “Me. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. I’m thirty two and I’m a paediatric orthopaedic surgeon, here at the children’s hospital. I love my job so much, I can’t begin to tell you. As of two weeks ago, I am thankfully single. I was born in Oxford and moved up here when I was twelve, when my Uncle Lamb became a professor at the university. He brought me up, you know. Raised me when my parents died in a car accident... I… er...I was four at the time.”

I can feel Jamie looking at me, but I can’t raise my eyes. Telling people about my parents never gets any easier, no matter how many times I say those words. I concentrate on picking bits of wafer off my cone and throwing them to the ducks loitering nearby, waiting for some sort of treat.

“So it always was just my uncle and me.” I carry on talking. “Then he died… seven...seven years ago…” I can hear my voice start to crack as I fight back tears. A hand creeps into my vision and I gratefully accept the proffered paper napkin and wipe my face.

“Och, lass.” He says softly.

I clear my throat. “I'm sorry. We were having a nice conversation and then there I go, getting all teary. It’s just, well, we were a team, Uncle Lamb and I… the two musketeers. He was my hero.”

Blowing my nose in a most unladylike way, I toss the napkin into the neighbouring bin.

“And that’s pretty much me. As for a confession, well… I suppose it’s kind of one.”

He raises one eyebrow quizzically, making a better job of that than the whole winking lark, I think.

"Ok, well, when I had your case, I tried to ring before I emailed you. I called the number in your case… twice. A woman answered and told me I had the wrong number—"

"Laoghaire."

"I know that now. But she obviously knew how to get onto your phone."

"Why did ye no' tell me?" He smiles as he says this. It's not a reprimand.

"I would have but you seemed to be coming to a conclusion anyway. No need to add more fuel to the fire."

"Happen ye're right."

He notices me shivering and gets to his feet. “Aye, there’s a bit of a chill. Fancy a wee walk tae warm up and we can carry on wi’ round two. It’s a quick fire round.”

I stand up and we move away from the pond. The ducks have already lost interest in us since they realise that we’ve nothing more to offer them. It’s pretty quiet in the park now, the cooler evening air seems to have kept people at home. The gravel crunching loudly under the soles of our shoes, I glance down and notice Jamie’s doing a sort of awkward stuttering movement with his feet. He’s clearly trying to match his stride pattern to mine. Which isn’t easy when his must be a good few inches longer than mine. Nice, considerate gesture, though.

“Sae, quick fire questions and answers. Ye can go first,” he says generously.

It only takes me a moment to think of a question that I have been wondering about ever since I explored the contents of his suitcase.

“What were you doing in Barcelona? I mean the contents of your case weren’t really fun-weekend-away stuff.”

“Nah, ye’re right. It wasna a holiday—flying visit only. I was there on business—talking tae a food wholesale company. Serrano ham, chorizo, saffron, that kind of thing,” he explains, a look of excitement on his face. “We’re expanding our range, starting with Spanish influenced recipes. A full three courses ready tae prepare, plus wine delivered straight tae yer door. Dinner party FraserFood style.”

He can’t stop smiling as he talks about these plans. And his hands move animatedly as he continues to elaborate on his new venture. His business is obviously his passion. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t got the desire for a relationship with a girlfriend—FraserFood seems to be his one love. No girl could compete.

He stops talking for a moment. “And here I am, boring ye.”

I shake my head. “Not at all, it’s really interesting.” I don’t have to lie. It’s the truth. My mouth is watering at his description of albondigas and flavoursome chicken and chorizo with cannellini beans. I’m ready to sign up for this delivery service any time.

“Sae, ma turn tae ask a question. Tell me, d’ye like this shirt?”

I try to stifle a laugh. The question is so unexpected and the shirt so awful. Trying to be diplomatic, I search for the right words, evading the actual question. “I’ve only seen you in white tops before, no colours.”

He sighs. “Ye’ve only seen me twice afore... anyway I dinna think ye need tae say any more. I ken ye’re being polite, but ye’re a terrible liar. I can tell by yer face ye dinna like this shirt. Laoghaire hated it, always made me change it. I did wonder if that was jes’ her being difficult. But apparently no’.”

“Sorry, I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Ye dinna need tae apologise, Claire. Being honest is a good thing, is it no’? And friends should always tell each other the truth. And that’s what I think we’re going tae be, Claire— friends. D’ye no’ agree?”

I crane my neck and look Jamie straight in the eye. “Yes, I do… friends.”

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #Just a Friend #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Chapter 5

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softeddiek · 5 years ago

Text

so @aryaofoldstones answered this ask awhile ago about gendrya’s favorite fast food place and, as a Sonic fan, i loved their answer (tags included) and ended up writing about some of it??

so modern gendrya first date au

read on ao3

i’ve got a hunger, twisting my stomach into knots

Arya is standing in front of her full-length mirror tugging at the bottom of her shirt when, out of the corner of her eye, she sees Bran wheeling himself into her doorway.

“Sansa’s going to call and order us some pizza. Want your usual?” he grins, thinking she’ll request her own box of sausage and mushroom that nobody else will eat. But not tonight.

“No, I’m going out for dinner actually, but thanks,” she answers, turning her head back toward her reflection.

She can still feel his eyes on her and hears the confusion in his voice when he asks, “Out? Like, with someone else?”

“Just with Gendry.”

She’s turning toward her bedside table, reaching for her phone to see if he’s texted her to let her know he’s here, when she realizes she hasn’t heard the telltale sound of Bran’s wheelchair rolling away on the hardwood floors of the hallway.

“So, like on a date?”

She whips her head around to see a shit-eating grin on Bran’s face. “You and Gendry are going on a date,” he states this time, pleased to have figured it out. Or to think he’s figured it out, because even if Bran would likely be cool about this sort of thing, no way in hell is she going to let him blabber on about her and Gendry and dates to their siblings.

And yeah so, maybe the past few weeks all she’s really had to go off of was the way things between her and Gendry had started to feel…different, but when she’d agreed to grab dinner with him tonight—something they did frequently—he had actually looked her in the eyes and said “Great, it’s a date then.” So really, it was a date. But again, Bran couldn’t know that.

“A date?” she scoffs, “Very funny Bran, I don’t know how you came up with that. Gendry and I go out for food all of the time.”

“Yeah but this is different. I can just tell.”

“Oh please,” she says, rolling her eyes, “don’t even start with that intuition shit again. We’re just going out for food. Like we always do.” If the raised eyebrow he gives her says anything, it’s that he sees right through her. “Sonic,” she blurts out. “We’re going to get Sonic. Now tell me that’s somewhere you go on a date.” That should do it.

“Arya,” he starts, a quizzical look forming on his face, “you guys love Sonic.”

She can feel the heat creeping up her cheeks and is preparing to defend herself by trashing her favorite drive-in when she hears the front door opening, accompanied by voices carrying up to her bedroom.

Deciding to use this as her out, she turns back around quickly to pocket her phone and slips into a pair of shoes lying at the foot of her bed.

“Bye Bran enjoy the pizza,” she says, edging around where he still sits in her doorway. She takes the stairs down two at a time, coming to an abrupt stop at the foot of them when she sees Gendry in her living room. Gendry in her living room having a conversation with Rickon.

Despite having been friends with Gendry for years, she can count the number of times he’d been inside of her house on one hand. At first, there hadn’t been a reason for them to hang out at her house. She’d met him and their other friends, Lommy and Hot Pie, in the park downtown a few blocks from her school. She’d asked to join them on the basketball court where they were messing around with a ball. Lommy and Hot Pie hadn’t been too thrilled to let a girl join them, but after some terse words from both herself and Gendry, they relented. After that, it had just become sort of a routine to meet up with them at the park after school each day.

Eventually though, Lommy moved away and Hot Pie had had to start helping out in his parents’ bakery after school, so it was usually just Gendry she’d meet up with when he wasn’t trying to pick up shifts at his new job. When she finally started attending the high school he went to along with Sansa and Jon, he’d been surprised to find out she was a Stark. (How it took that long to find out her last name, she didn’t know.)

He continued acting strange around her for a few weeks until one day when Jon was away visiting his sick uncle Aemon and Arya had no way of getting home after school. Sansa usually got a ride from her friend Margaery, but she wasn’t in the mood to ride with them, so she went to Gendry. He’d reluctantly agreed to drive her home in his beat-up old pickup. With plenty to tell him about her first few weeks of high school, things between them seemed to have gone back to normal as they talked on the ride there. Until they reached her house.

She’d invited him inside to play some video games, not picking up on the wary looks he was shooting her as she all but dragged him through the door. As he stood in their front living room, taking in the ostentatious furniture her mother had it decorated with at the time, his brow had begun to furrow, and a frown formed on his face.

“I gotta get going, actually. My mom’s expecting me home.” He turned quickly to rush out the door, ignoring Arya’s shouts behind him until she’d caught up just as he was reaching for the driver’s side door, grabbing onto his arm to turn him around.

“What’s going on, why are you leaving?” she’d asked.

“I already told you,” he’d said, eyes looking at everything but her, “I’m expected home soon.”

“No, you aren’t,” she chanced. “So why are you being a dick Gendry?”

He looked up at her with a scowl. “I’m not—”

“Yeah, you are, so just tell me why so we can move past it because you’ve been weird for weeks now.”

He looked at her for a minute, face betraying nothing, until finally, seeing she wouldn’t leave it alone, his resolve broke. Sighing, he’d said, “You’re rich, Arya. Like, really rich.”

“Technically, my parents are rich--.” She stopped at the look on Gendry’s face that seemed to say, ‘Are you serious?’ “Okay, my family is rich. So what?”

“So, you’re rich and practically live in a mansion. My mom and I live in a run-down, one-bedroom apartment. I just don’t get why we’d be friends is all.”

She’d tried not to let the hurt show on her face, but at his guilty look she’d known she hadn’t succeeded. “We’re friends because we like hanging out together,” she’d supplied. “I don’t care about that kind of thing; I never have, and you should know that seeing as we’ve been best friends for years.”

After a bit more cajoling on Arya’s part, he’d relented and gone back inside with her, but she noticed his discomfort the rest of the afternoon. She had thrown out the occasional casual invitation to come over the last few years, but she could only be shrugged off so many times before she stopped asking.

And it’s not like he has a phobia of her house or anything. Once Jon had graduated with his AA and transferred down to King’s Landing to finish his Bachelors, Gendry had taken to picking her up after school. They’d usually grab some food to take back to the shop while he worked the last couple hours of his shift, and then he’d drive her home. He rarely ever came inside though.

But now, here he was, perched on the edge of the couch having a conversation with Rickon. Or, listening to Rickon.

“And the Direwolves drafted Margaery’s brother, Loras, from Storm’s End two years ago because he led them to the Final Four, but he tore his ACL in his second game with us and sat out basically his whole rookie season and just hasn’t been the same since he came back. Arya thinks we should put him in some kind of trade package and send him to the Riverlands, but I think that’s just because she didn’t like him when Margaery introduced them.”

Gendry’s head is nodding as Rickon speaks, but she knows he has no clue what Rickon’s talking about. They may have met on a basketball court, but Gendry was too big and clumsy to seriously play, and he never had the time to watch professional games with her.

“I don’t like Loras because he thinks he’s the next Arthur Dayne,” she pipes up, moving from her spot at the bottom of the stairs to stand behind the couch they’re sitting on, “but he has none of the defensive skill and his handles are trash.” Gendry is grinning up at her now. “You’re right though, he did piss me off the first time we met,” she adds.

“Hey Arya. You ready to go?” Gendry asks, still smiling.

“Go? Where are you guys going, Sansa’s ordering pizza and Bran and I were going to play Smash,” Rickon interjects, a small frown on his lips.

“They’re going to get Sonic instead,” Bran’s voice calls out across the room from the bottom of his wheelchair ramp.

Gendry glances over at Arya confused, while she and Bran hold each other’s stares.

“Oh, can you guys pick me up that new Red Bull slushie they have? I’ve been wanting to try it, but Mom won’t let me,” Rickon pleads.

Arya glances at Gendry out of the corner of her eye before fumbling for a response. “Umm, actually Rickon, I don’t think—”

“Hey Rick, I forgot to tell Sansa you want cheese bread, and she’s placing the order right now,” Bran interrupts, saving her from the mess he made.

“Oh shit,” her brother exclaims, jumping up off the couch and darting into the kitchen.

Bran starts following him, only looking back at Arya’s icy glare once to call out, “Have fun guys!”

Gendry, now off the couch and standing at her side, is rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, keys in the other. “I’m guessing Bran knows about our…us?”

He hadn’t used the word date and not quite wanting to ask for clarification—especially when her siblings are still in the other room and she knows, just knows, that if Sansa were to come and see them, she’d know exactly what was going on—she just nods her affirmation.

“Let’s get going,” she says, heading for the door.

His truck is sitting in their circular driveway, parked in the spot it usually is when he drops her off. She’s reaching for the door handle, but he beats her to it, his arm reaching out in front of her, chest lightly brushing her back. She lets him open it for her and slides into the cab of the truck. When she looks over as he’s shutting the door, she sees a blush spreading across his cheeks.

Okay, this is definitely a date. One hundred percent a date. As much as she had made fun of Sansa for combing over magazines for relationship advice over the years, she’d still listened to some of the things she went on about. And in this moment, she can hear her sister’s voice saying, “A gentlemen always opens doors for a lady, Arya. It’s just proper date etiquette.” She always thought that was dumb—because yeah, it’s nice and polite, but she doesn’t want anyone to open a door for her just because she’s a girl—and Gendry doesn’t just regularly open doors for her.

“Thanks,” she mumbles out.

He’s slid into his side of the cab and taken a deep breath when he looks over at her and says, “So. Sonic?” She can hear the confusion in his voice. They hadn’t really discussed it before, only agreed to get dinner, but if that’s how Bran’s going to spin it to her family, they might as well. And besides, Bran was right, they do frequently pick it up to take it back to the shop with them, they’ve just never actually pulled in to eat because that would be so, well, date-like.

“Yeah, I mean. That works. I could really go for a slushie right now.”

He cracks a smile at that. “Can’t you always?” She grins back at him as he starts his truck, slowly pulling out of the driveway.

Sonic is only about a fifteen-minute ride from her house, closer to Gendry’s side of town, but now, only a few minutes in, the silence is beginning to become oppressive. His fingers are tapping on the steering wheel, whether to an imaginary beat or out of nerves, she isn’t sure. She reaches forward to turn on the radio, messing with the dial until it lands on a station she enjoys, and he tolerates. She hums along to the radio under her breath for a little while and, from the corner of her eye, can see the tension slowly start to seep out of his shoulders.

Gendry’s never been much of a talker. His surly looks and generally shy personality tend to put people off, and that’s just how he likes it. Arya on the other hand loves talking to people, always has. Her parents’ friends had taken to calling her Arya Underfoot as a child because at their big fancy holiday parties she could always be found darting around the room, catching snippets of conversations, before taking off to see whatever else caught her fancy.

But just because Gendry didn’t love holding long, drawn-out conversations, that didn’t mean he’d been exempt from holding them with Arya. And, seemingly quickly, he became comfortable with that. So, this was just weird. Just because this could now be classified as a date and not just the two of them hanging out, didn’t mean there was a reason for either one of them to be this nervous, right? One of them needed to speak.

“How was Tobho’s today?” Good, that’s a safe question. Gendry loves talking about the auto shop he works at and she knows he had a heavy workload today, even going so far as to seeing if she could get Sansa, who was home from school for the weekend, to pick her up after classes.

He looks over at her then—for the first time since they pulled away from her house—and the relief she sees on his face is practically palpable.

“Great actually. You know how I said that old rich guy, Lannister, was being an ass about me working on his car, had all these stupid ‘rules’ and stuff?” She nods her head with a scowl, thinking about the family her Uncle Robert had married into. “Well apparently he actually thought I did a good job on his car and gave me a decent tip. I mean,” he scoffs, “not like it’s much to him. With a car like that, the man probably shits gold.”

He continues talking about his day and all of the technical aspects of what he worked on, with Arya only slightly struggling to keep up—she has spent most afternoons after school at the shop for a few years now, after all—and the rest of the ride flies by.

As they pull into Sonic, they’re busy laughing about that time Arya was sitting inside a car at the shop and accidentally blew on the horn, not knowing that his coworker, Lem, was working on it. She surprised him so badly that he jumped up and nearly broke his nose on the hood.

When her laughter dies down, she notices only a handful of the drive-in spots are taken and a few people are sitting at the tables outside. He pulls into an open space near the middle.

“Do you know what you want,” he asks, looking over at her.

“Umm…a large watermelon slushie with Nerds and some fries.”

Face scrunched up and laughing, Gendry says, “A slushie with Nerds? That’s so gross Arry.” She sticks her tongue out as him as he leans forward out of his window to press the button to order.

A vaguely familiar voice crackles out of the speaker, asking to take their order. “Yeah, can I get a large watermelon slushie, with Nerds,” he pauses, looking over at her for dramatic effect, “a large order of fries, a bacon double cheeseburger, a corndog, a large Coke, and umm, some onion rings, and an order of chili cheese tots?”

He’s fumbling for his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans and listening to the voice rattle the order off back to him, not noticing the incredulous look she’s shooting him.

“What?” he questions, when he finally looks over.

“I’m sorry, is Hot Pie in the bed of the tuck and you just forgot to tell me?”

“I missed lunch,” he grumbles out. “And besides, I told you I got a big tip today. Might as well spend it on something, right?”

“Gendry, I can pay for my half, you don’t have to—”

“Arya,” he cuts her off, giving her a familiar look, one that says, ‘Don’t argue’. They usually alternate paying for food that they pick up and she knows for a fact that he paid for their McDonald’s the other day. But she knows how self-conscious he gets about money. As much as she doesn’t want him to have to spend his hard-earned tip on their food, she knows that talking about it anymore will only make him crabby. Besides, this is a date, right? Dates are allowed to want to pay for each other’s food.

“Fine, but I’ll get it next time.”

“Sure,” he says around a smile, knowing she doesn’t just mean the next time they hang out at the shop. “Next time.”

They grin at each other for a minute, the air around them silent but for the sound of the radio outside playing some song that she can vaguely identify as being sung by Bruce Springsteen and the occasional sound of roller skates on the asphalt. As goofy as she knows her smile is and as much as she would normally call this moment a cliché, she can’t find it in herself to care, what with the feeling of Gendry’s blue eyes on her and knowing that she’s the reason for his wide grin.

“So,” he begins, “how was school today?”

“Pretty good actually,” she starts, thinking on it. “I found out I got an A on my Braavosi test. Mr. Terys said that when I go to college, I should take a Pentoshi class for my foreign language credit since they’re pretty similar. And then, in drama, Ms. Sand announced that we’re going to be doing Antigone for our spring show, which I personally think is way too much for us to handle but she loves her tragedies.”

“Is she the one that was dating the chemistry teacher a few years back?”

“Mr. Martell, yeah. I think they’re off-again right now,” she muses, “she’s been having us perform lots of sad monologues in class.”

“So, are you going to audition?”

“Oh yeah. There aren’t a lot of speaking roles or female roles, but Ms. Sand always gives preference to seniors for leads, so I think I have a pretty good shot.”

He’s opening his mouth to say something when they both spot someone on a pair of roller skates in the rearview mirror headed their way. When they pull to a stop by Gendry’s rolled down window, greeting them with their order and the total, Arya realizes why she recognized the voice on the speaker.

“…and one large Coke,” she finishes off, taking payment from Gendry. It’s when she looks up to begin handing them their order that she notices Arya in the passenger seat. “Arya, hi!” she says, complete with a friendly smile.

“Hey Brea. I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Yeah, the waters are too cold right now for me to stay busy working with Dad, so I applied here for some extra cash.” Arya nods at this, vaguely remembering Brea’s dad being involved in deep sea fishing or something like that. “Who’s this?” she asks, giving Gendry an appreciative look.

“Gendry,” he grunts out, more focused on the food they have yet to be given than the sly glance she’s sending Arya.

“Oh, so you’re Gendry?” She lets out a giggle that gets his attention. Arya narrows her eyes at Brea, confused. She’s mentioned Gendry to Brea in passing, he’s her best friend, how could she not? But she hadn’t said anything that would warrant the giggle and the knowing look Brea now wears.

“Yeah,” he draws out suspiciously, looking between the two girls. “Think we can get our food now?”

“Of course!” She begins handing Gendry the outrageous amount of food—a bemused expression forming as she realizes that all of this seems to be for them—while he sets it down in some pseudo-picnic style on the stretch of seat in between them.

“See you around Arya,” she says after collecting the money, skating away with ease.

Gendry thrusts her slushie into her outstretched hand. Arya expects him to ask about Brea, but when she’s done poking her straw into her drink and looks at him, he’s already shoveling onion rings and a few of her fries into his mouth while one-handedly trying to pull his burger out of the slip of foil.

“You know,” she starts, “the meat’s already dead Gendry. I don’t think your burger is going to be running away anytime soon.”

He gives a dry laugh and sends a deadpan look her way, where she’s smirking around her straw. “Don’t know how you drink those things.” He nods toward her. “They sound toxic, pure sugar,” he says loftily, nose pointing in the air.

“Oh please, don’t act like you didn’t only stop ordering them because you always get a major brain freeze.”

He pouts at that for a minute before biting enthusiastically into his burger. After swallowing his bite and taking a large gulp of his Coke he says, “Do you know what night your play will open? I wanna make sure I let Tobho know in advance I’ll be needing to leave work early that day.” Gendry’s boss often has him stay later in the spring, when daylight is easier to come by. Opening night is bound to be on a Friday, and while Gendry always come to see her performances at some point during their run, she doesn’t want him missing out on work opportunities because of it.

“Oh no,” she says quickly, “you can just go on the weekend or something, I don’t want you missing work because of me. Besides, I might not even get a part.”

He chews thoughtfully on his corndog for a moment. “But if you don’t, you’ll still be doing tech, right?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Then I’ll be there opening night. Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Okay,” she says, ducking her head to hide her small smile, under the pretense of trying to drink her slushie.

Their conversation moves onto other topics—Gendry’s coworker, Harmon, who’d just been fired; a new scone recipe that Hot Pie had been using them as taste-testing guinea pigs for; the new single from that terrible alt-rock band, The Brotherhood, that Gendry likes. Before she knows it, Arya’s reaching for her slushie again, only to be met with the sound of her straw sucking up air. Eyebrows furrowing, she looks at the stretch of seat between them only to see that Gendry’s managed to finish all of his food.

He has a hand rubbing the back of his neck and is looking at the clock on the dash that says they’ve been parked for at least an hour and a half. “Guess we’ve been here a little while, huh?” It’s really not all that late for a Friday night, but she knows her parents will be getting home from their night out soon and she’s not ready to have a conversation about her and Gendry with her mother just yet. Or her father.

“Yeah, I probably need to get back soon,” she reluctantly replies.

“Yeah of course.” He gathers up the wrappers and trash littering the seat (and really, it’s an awful lot) along with Arya’s empty slushie cup and hops out to toss it all in the trash can.

Buckling up, she starts thinking about how the night had gone. Things had definitely been flirty, but that had been happening more and more lately. Really it hadn’t been any different than any other time they’d hung out. But did that just mean that they were comfortable around each other or had this not actually ended up being a date? Going to Sonic wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for them, so what if, by suggesting they go there, he thought that she didn’t think this was a date? By the time he’s made the short walk back to the truck, Arya’s head is swimming.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she chokes out, a strained smile on her face. He gives her a quizzical look and, sensing his confusion, she attempts to make it more genuine. It seems to work because his eyes only linger on her for a second longer before he starts to back out.

Luckily for her, Gendry’s chosen the drive home to vent about his mom’s newest boyfriend, which requires little response on her part.

“And he’s just so boring, you know? He’s always trying to talk to me about golf, as if I’ve ever golfed in my life. Oh, and don’t even getting me started on how often I’ve caught them making out on the couch—my couch! The one I slept on the whole time I lived there—”

Oh shit. All of a sudden it’s no longer Gendry’s diatribe she’s hearing, but her sister’s high pitched, fourteen year old voice as she reads, “And at the end of the date, a gentleman will walk a lady to her door and, should the date have gone well and she seem receptive, give her a chaste kiss on the lips.” While Arya is sure she said something snarky at the time about the magazine being shit, even she knows that people usually kiss at the end of dates. And while she’s certainly been thinking about kissing Gendry (a lot), thinking about it and actually being in a situation where she can, are two totally different things.

Wanting to steer clear of this train of thought, she decides to jump into Gendry’s rant before he gives himself an ulcer. “But she really likes him, right?”

He stops his sentence short. “Well, yeah, but she’s liked all of the other guys too, and you know how those all turned out.” While Arya wouldn’t categorize Ms. Waters as a serial dater, Gendry is right in saying that the past few men she’s dated haven’t had the winningest personalities.

“Didn’t you say he had a steady job though? Something in an office with a salary?”

He hesitates. “Yeah. But he just seems…like he’s trying too hard.”

“Better to try too hard than to not try at all, right? Maybe you should give this one a chance. I’m not saying don’t be cautious, especially with how a lot of the last guys turned out. But she’s an adult and she’ll want you to trust her judgement. And it won’t do her any good if she thinks you already don’t like this guy right away.”

He lets out a heavy sigh. “I guess you’re right, I should at least try.” There’s a brief silence before he starts again. “And maybe,” he pauses, sending her a sly, sideways glance “you could teach me a little about golf?”

“Wait, what? I don’t know anything about golf.”

“Then Bran was lying when he said your mother sent you and him to some fancy golf summer camp when you were kids?” he asks.

Her face is heating up furiously. “How long have you known about that?”

He shrugs. “Awhile now. I’ve been waiting for the opportune time to bring it up.”

He’s laughing at the scowl on her face, managing to get her to crack a smile, when they pull into her driveway. When the truck is in park, they both sit in their seats, hesitating. She’s scrambling for something to say, but he saves her when he quickly jumps out and jogs around to her side of the truck, opening up the door.

Suddenly nervous again, all she can manage is a mumbled thanks as she trails alongside him to her front door. They stop on her stoop.

This is it. The moment of truth. Only he’s just standing there, staring at her, his face looking a bit washed out under the harsh porch light.

“Are you alright Gendry? You’re looking a bit queasy. Few too many onion rings?” She jokes. He lets out a small chuckle with her, tentative smile on his face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just wanted to say umm,” he clears his throat, “I had a good time tonight. With you. I mean, I always have a good time with you. Hanging out. But a date is a bit more than hanging out, isn’t it? I mean, it felt like hanging out though. Which is good. That is good, isn’t it? God, I’m shit at this.” He rushes this all out, shaking his head when he’s finished, and Arya honestly doesn’t think she’s ever heard him this tongue-tied and nervous before. She’s trying not to let a laugh slip out, what with how distressed he looks, when it hits her that he finally called this a date again. And that’s all she needed.

If anyone were to ask her later, she would definitely deny that she ever had any doubts that this was a date. And how could she have? She and Gendry just worked, of course they would end up dating. She would, however, agree that she had broken the cardinal rule in Sansa’s teen magazines and initiated their first kiss. And it was anything but chaste.

Gendry’s hands have managed to wander to her hips, holding her flush against him, her left hand has found itself tangled in his hair while her right is pressed against his chest. As he slips his tongue in between her lips, brushing it against hers, all she can think of is how she was completely right that kissing Gendry and thinking about kissing Gendry are two totally different things—actually doing it is way better.

They break apart for air, both smiling breathlessly at each other, when they hear footsteps approaching the other side of the door. She takes a step back from Gendry while his hands drop from her waist immediately.

When the door opens, Rickon is standing in front of them, eyes narrowed in suspicion. After staring at them for a moment, “Did you guys get my slushie?”

“They were all out of uh, Red Bull,” Gendry lies.

He stares at them a moment longer, eyes shifting between them both as if ready to call them out on the lie, before his face relaxes.

“Alright. Well we ordered a lot of extra pizza incase you guys were both still hungry.” The idea of Gendry still being hungry almost makes her laugh. “You coming in Gendry?”

He glances over at Arya, as if silently communicating with her that he agrees that they’d be grilled by Sansa and have to deal with Bran sneaking little jokes about them into conversation, and says, “Thanks Rickon, but I ate a lot actually.” Then, turning towards Arya, looking significantly less apprehensive than before they kissed, “I’ll see you Monday?”

“Of course. I’ll text you.” She’ll have to remember to bring up the door opening thing.

He moves forward, as if to give her one last kiss goodbye, before realizing their audience. Playing it off with a quick squeeze to her arm, he gives her and Rickon a nod and a goodnight before walking back to his truck.

She watches him start his truck and pull out, feeling Rickon’s gaze on her neck. She sighs heavily, already knowing he’s figured it out, and turns around.

“So, you and Gendry huh?” He looks curious, less smug than she’d expected.

“Yes,” she answers, no hesitation.

He nods thoughtfully for a second. “Tell you what. You get me my slushie next time you’re out, and I’ll tell Sansa and Mom that Gendry just dropped you off like usual if they ask. Deal?”

She cracks a smile. “Deal.”

#hope im not overstepping with this #most of this was done weeks ago i just lost motivation to finish it until now #also i know sonic calls them slushes but i think that's dumb #this also made me really hungry #my fic #gendrya fic #axg fic #arya x gendry fic #gendrya positivity #arya x gendry #gendrya

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kdenbibi · 7 years ago

Text

A little defensive

Bruce Wayne X Black!Reader

Summary: You’ve had your fair share of assholes to deal with so the snide and rude comments don’t bother you anymore, Bruce however? that’s a whole nother’ story

Warnings: Your favorite internet trolls, Bruce’s ability to be petty

Author note: This is my first request!!! I hope it’s what you wanted, this was my first time writing for the big bad bat himself so i’m sorry if its wack :’) Feedback is welcomed and encouraged and of course, requests are absolutely open so request away

tag list @mirajanestrauss1999

“Bruce Wayne can date who he want but at least make her pretty lol.”

“(Y/n) is such a strange choice for a fling, not to be racist but black is so not his usual type.”

“Interracial dating is low-key ugly lmao”

“She’d be prettier if she was lighter.” My eyes rolled hard at the keyboard warriors latest onslaught of bitter words directed directly at me, I knew I’d only work myself up but I couldn’t help myself, a sick curiosity possessed me to look through my mentions on Twitter.

I leaned into the warm sheets surrounding my body with a sigh, I weeded through the tweets for something actually relavent to me before tossing the device away from my reach, usually I wouldn’t be tempted to be on the device but Bruce wasn’t with me so I was left to my own devices. The rare moments Bruce and I did get together were spent just like that, together, away from the rest of the world and their problems. I smiled at the thought of the usually stoic man, today was supposed to be one of those sickly sweet days spent draped around one another like cling wrap, but he was pulled away to the office, some kind of emergency that required his presence. With some pushing fro me, he very reluctantly climbed out of the nest of blankets and pillows a few hours ago.

“Baby you gotta go.” “I think they’ll survive without me for a day.” He mumbled into my shoulder making no effort to get up, I felt him smile against my skin, his arm quickly latching around my midsection.“Nuh uh I see what you trynna do over there- no starting something till you handle your business.” He laughed as I pushed away from him. “Are you kicking me out of my own bed?” I pushed myself up on my elbows to look him in the eyes,

“Yes.”

He rolled over on his back with a sigh, I shamelessly watched his body stretch out, the muscles expanding as he moved.His body was more like a machine than anything, after so long of being the bat, scars were bound to litter his warm skin, sometimes I think he forgot he was human, that he wasn’t just a nameless figure of Justice who stuck fear in the hearts of his enemy’s, it took me almost two years to break the two identities apart, and now there was a fine line between the two, so fine even he could see the difference, the real Bruce Wayne had been buried under an endless quest to clean up Gotham, but now, he was beginning to shine through.

Like this moment for instance, as he begrudgingly got ready, pouting all the while. That was Bruce Wayne, despite being a grown man he had these rare moments where he acted like a teenager, almost like the lack of childhood peeked through from time to time. He fastened his tie in the mirror, meeting my eye in the reflection. “See something you like?” One of his thick brows arched, a playful smirk resting on his lips.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t, what are you gonna do about it?” I spoke walking over to try and wrap my arms around his large form, he laughed finishing his tie before turning so we faced each other. I leaned up to rest my hands against his chest. “Now look who’s trynna start something.” He spoke breaking our stare off. I pulled away with a laugh, making my way back to the bed. “Hurry up and come back so you can finish what you started.” He grabbed his suit jacket, sliding the expensive material over his arms before leaving with a smirk and a quick kiss to the forehead. That was a solid two hours ago and he still had yet to return, as tempting as it would be to just lull myself back to sleep until he arrived, the bad taste those comments left in my mouth forced me up for the day.

Knowing Bruce, he’d give me that stupid glare he reserves for criminals if he knew what I did. See the thing is, he’s told me a million and one times to avoid all things social media, he knew how nasty the world could get, how lies spread faster than the truth and people would always believe what they wanted to, but I refused to run away from my life, I wasn’t about to let some close minded twats have that much of an impact on what I did, so I went through my morning routine of deleting all the negativity I could stomach to scan through on my timeline and slowly drinking some of Alfred’s famous tea to warm up my body.

When Bruce finally returned to me I was half way through a novel I borrowed from the manor’s library, it was an old annoyingly, spooky Stephen King novel so when the bedroom door slammed open I couldn’t fight the Yelp that left my mouth.“Christ Almighty you almost gave me a heart attack.” I laughed lightly putting a hand to my chest, my smile fell when I saw the expression on his face, his face was set in unmovable stone, almost as if he was still wearing the cowl, I shivered at the unspoken anger in his eyes. “Baby?” I asked hesitantly rising from my seat, I placed the book down on the nearby table and met his gaze. “What’s wrong?” Usually when something bad happened he would try to carry all the weight alone, not wanting to bother another with the responsibility of resolving whatever the problem was. One of the things we overcame with separating Bruce from the bat was this very issue, from the look on his face I couldn’t help but worry something happened between this morning and now so bad we’d end up fifty steps back. “Bruce?” He was silent as he pulled out his phone, he typed away before handing me the device.I scanned over the collective of negative headlines, all different but all surrounding me and him.Mostly me.I stared at him even more confused. “Baby that’s nothing, you told me yourself to ignore that kinda stuff.” He finally spoke. “The reason they pulled me in today was to talk about this- my PR representative showed me that and then some.” He scoffed leaning heavily on his knuckles against a dresser. “Did you know people were saying all horrible these things?"I sighed walking over to his tense form, I placed a hesitant palm on his shoulder,

"Well yeah-”

“How long?”

“Since we’ve been dating, but baby it’s nothing new, I don’t let it bother me.”

“Well it bothers me.” He hastily loosened his tie, tossing it somewhere off in the room, now beginning to pace the shiny marble floors. “I don’t care if they trash my name, or my company, but you?” He scoffed, anger shining through in his tense actions.“I won’t sit back- I can’t.” I watched him, my worry clear before I forced myself to calm down. I made him meet my eye, grabbing the sides of his face, stopping him in his tracks.“Hon I know- but you need to calm down, don’t act when you’re angry, you may do something you’ll regret.” His expression softened for a moment as he leaned into my touch subconsciously. “You’re one of - if not the most- incredible people I’ve ever encountered, you’re naively kind but all the same stubbornly intelligent, you’re what keeps me sane. So it’s hard to watch idiots who have no idea what kind of amazing human being you are judge you for something as ridiculous and trivial as the color of your skin.” He quickly worked himself back up so I wordlessly pulled him to his bed. He landed on his back with a huff, I pushed myself off of the soft mattress to get up and close the blinds, I took both our phones and silenced them, before putting them across the room. He stared at me with a face that asked what I was doing but I said nothing. I pulled his shoes off before kicking off my own. “What are you up too?” He spoke, the words were still serious as ever but slightly amused.I sighed with a sad smile. “Growing up- and sometimes to this day- it felt like a crime to be brown, anything and everything you did was wrong or not enough, so when the world got just a little too bleak for me to handle, I would shut it out for a little while and collect my bearings so I could face the challenges with a clear mind.” He stared at me as I climbed my way up his stupidly big bed until I made it to him. I hovered over his body, a small grin on my face as I stared at him. “We’re gonna shut the world out, because they don’t deserve our attention right now.” He said nothing but them smile growing on his face told me everything I needed to hear. His eyes turned soft, his body finally un-tensing and Bruce, had finally come back to me.

We laid there for hours, curled into each other’s bodies, hands never leaving the other persons as we talked about anything and everything, the conversation never had a direct direction but that’s what made it nostalgic, like we were both seventeen again, and our biggest worries were senior year.

The butterflies raving in my stomach never left when I looked at him, no matter how long we’d been together, I could always fall a little more in love with the man who laid before me. Thankfully, the drama from before was pretty much forgotten as we settled into the night, at least I thought it was. I woke up later in the evening searching for his warmth in my sleep but coming up empty, I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes as I aimlessly walked down the manor’s extensive hallways until I found the door I was looking for. I’d been down in the cave a handful of times but I never got used to opening the secret door in his study, I always felt like James Bond afterwards. I made my way down the steps, my bare feet almost stung with every step down, I forgot how cold it could get in here.I couldn’t help but overhear a conversation between one of the boys and Bruce. “Remind me again why I’m hacking into Twitter accounts on a school night?.” The loud sound of typing was heard before Bruce responded. “Recon.” The other voice laughed- I now realized who it was.

“Tim?” They both looked up, the younger man smiling at me.“Hey (y/n)! Fancy seeing you here, Couldn’t sleep?” I crossed my arms, trying my best to look intimidating in my robe and bonnet. “I was asleep, but my Bruce-is-about-to-do-something-stupid senses were tingling so I figured I’d come check it out.”

Tim barked out a laugh before covering it up with a cough at the Bat glare™ he received. He turned back to the computer with an awkward whistle. Bruce turned to me, removing his cowl so we were face to face.“You should go back to bed, I’ll be in later.”

“Oh I’ll go back to sleep, if you tell me what you’re doing over there.”

“That’s confidential.”

“He’s making me hack into some random Twitter accounts.” I could feel the glare he gave Tim all the way across the room. “Bruce!” “This is justice.” “This is petty is what it is.” He crossed his arms, smirk ever present on his smug face.“Cyber bullying is illegal, I’m just doing my job. "Tim peaked his head out from behind Bruce

"Wait who got bullied.”

“No one"

”(Y/n)”

Bruce and I spoke simultaneously, Tim made some sort of noise of acknowledgement before the typing noises intensified.“Yeah they got this coming."I sighed into my hands. "Tim not you too! You’re supposed to be the smart one.” He leaned back, satisfied with whatever it is that he did. “Exactly, that’s why these jerks won’t be bothering you or anyone anymore.” I sighed walking past Bruce’s smug figure to kiss Tim’s temple, “I don’t agree with either of y'all but- Thank you, I appreciate it.” I then leaned over to give a quick peck to Bruce and question him"Are you done being petty or do I have to worry all night?“ He grabbed my hands bringing them to his mouth for a sweet kiss."I’m done.” I squinted at him before shrugging and heading back to the warmth of his bed. “Tim, look up how much it would be to buy Twitter.”

“Dear god Bruce.”

#dc imagine #dc x reader #black reader #poc imagine #bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #batman #batman x reader #poc x reader #dc #imagine

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