#fully expecting never-ending nightmare scenarios and danger forever

[knightwhoisni]

*drifter seeing the protoframe they'll romance for the first time voice* i think i hauve the infestation

[imaginedcreaderinsert]

The one — Jason Todd + Reader (x Nightwing?)

ANGST PROMPT: " Forever and ever. That's how long I said I loved you. But you never said it back." 

Summary: And with alcohol, memories inevitably come. There’s silence, there’s stares that promise much more than what’s actually shown; but nothing can be said when everything else is said and done. It’s been three years after all, and everyone is pretty much over that old story, right? // AKA Reader confessed to J. Todd three years ago. Things didn’t turn out okay.

WORD COUNT: 5584. IT’S A LONG READ, GUYS. And the summary part actually comes towards the ending, but I felt like the slow start and context was needed to understand the characters a bit better.

AO3 LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22422967/chapters/53574076

TW: implied depression, self-harming and Jason’s canon death. I don’t actually follow the comics so I’ve tried as best as I could. I hope it makes sense.

Bruce Wayne couldn’t trust anyone, but the (L/N)’s were pretty damn okay; or so Jason thought when he was a kid. They were one of those old money families, but they were never rude nor disrespectful. Some of their views were pretty conservative, but Dick said once that they could have turn out for the worse had it not been for the adoption of the jewel of the family, (Y/N). No one never really questioned the biological apparent differences, as evident as they were; but neither Dick nor Jason ever really commented on it. “Blood is thicker than water” they used to say, but just as it didn’t seem to matter much to (Y/N), it never really made any sense to the Robins. She was two years older than him when they met, and as expected of any girl of her age, her eyes always searched for Dick’s, who kindly and just for the amusement usually looked back.

Jason never really quite understood the purpose of galas until he saw her giving her first actual speech, a few months after her first debutante ball. It had been a pretty big deal around Gotham, seeing as she was very soon interested in politics and in social reforms in Gotham, specially on educational and “bad” districts, those of dubious reputation. Her eyes were transfixed in something much more far away the public, and her hands had been shaking uncontrollably before getting up the stage. She had been looking over her small flashcards, and even if it had been “old big brother” Dick the one massaging her shoulders, in an attempt to calm her down, her last shy smile had been directed at him, not Grayson. That had made him feel special, and well, it’s not like you two didn’t get on well; the relationship carried on was merely filial, annoying each other. Dick had been too old to keep up with those antics, and he didn’t have really the time except for a few flirty and innocent exchanges. It had been left then for both of them to keep up like that, and it had been amusing, funny: she was witty, quick, sharp… It was entertaining to say the least, but the first time he saw her terrified like that, just seconds before getting up that big stage all by herself, something in his heart ached. But their relationship had never been like that, and he was a bit awkward like that by that age.

Once she had been done and she had been so well-received, she had taken enough photos, praised, acclaimed, her legs almost gave out once in the shadows. He had been the one to catch her, and she had shyly smiled, stumbling on her words and excited, happy, euphoric. Many emotions, some of which he never had the opportunity to experience as a Robin and Jason Todd, which he unconsciously treasured. He laughed at her while she got embarrassed and tried to lightly smack him. Maybe it had been nothing more than a mutual crush, or maybe they had in origin been truly destined to end up together: they way they bickered, could keep up with each other antics could have been considered an early sign. But those things don’t really matter anymore, do they? Not once he’s dead and done for.

 * * *

They were hard years. The Wayne family had been close to yours and losing your father in a shooting months after Jason’s death had been too much for your young and fragile heart. Father was never really expressive; instead he compensated it with expensive jewelry, dresses and gifts that could make any girl cry. You tried to understand him, you really did: but you never fully got closure. And Jason devasted you: your childhood friend, the first actual person whom you shared some of your first memories, experiences like a sleepover, a pillow fight, alcohol tasting and a shy and awkward drunken kiss... He had been your first crush and maybe – maybe eventually it could have been much more, but now it doesn’t matter. That’s what you tell your therapist sometimes, with tears in your eyes, even when both of you are fully aware that you will never get over it, any of them. You don’t acknowledge the trauma, and for some time, half a year, you don’t really know how to continue: but you slowly get up. It takes some tries, some stupid mistakes (a razor, blood, crying) but someone hears you. It’s not someone you would expect to, but he with his own shine extends his hand and you slowly, with some relapses, eventually take it. And it slowly gets better, the pain subdues.

It never really dies, but there are no nightmares, and when it does get bad, he comes or invites you in. Bruce is not the same, and Alfred understands. There’s nothing wrong in entering his sheets and sleeping in his bed – and sometimes, when you think he doesn’t notice, you even escape to His room, the one that belongs to that presence that always looms over you like a protector and a constant reminder, and search for something of his to take with you, anything.

Anything to not forget him.

***

It’s difficult to explain. You don’t really understand it the first time they tell you, and you can’t believe it until you see it with your own eyes, but things do change around you, and you have no alternative but to accept it, even when you don’t see him the first time with your own eyes. Dick is affected, and Bruce is in shock, but Jason Todd is back alive and with a new identity: they open up their secret to you, being as close as you are to the family already, and-well. It’s a shock at first, but nothing you have to digest over for hours, since your mind seems to only concentrated on that figure which has hunt you for years in dreams, in impossible scenarios you’ve sometimes created where you grew old – and suddenly he’s in the same room as you are and you start to cry, to sob. You can’t stop, but he doesn’t try to: actually he doesn’t do anything but look at you, almost indifferently, and it hurts, but it’s a comfort to finally have him home.

Like you’ve always been waiting for him and suddenly you have him wrapped tight around comfortable sheets to never let him go. Finally, you can sleep.

 * * *

—So did he-?

—No, he didn’t until at least five. Bruce didn’t wait for him this time, but he was worried. We all are, actually.

Your phone uncomfortably rests between your shoulder and your ear, and you know it’s dangerous, but you had to ask for him. Yes, you could have asked for Drumble to give you a ride to classes, as it is expected of you, but you don’t really want to conform yet. It gives you some independence and sense of empowerment – and no, you are not saying your mum isn’t, but she’s never really been the same since your father passed away.

—Again? But what does he do?—There’s hurt in your voice, a sigh of exasperation. You can’t really fall asleep until Dick, Nightwing, tells you that he’s arrived safely into the manor. He’s still getting used to it, specially his old room which has never been touched – save from cleaning and dusting—. Just-just tell him to give me a call whenever he can. We were supposed to meet tonight, but I don’t know if we are still on for it. I’ve been trying to call him and-

—His phone might be dead. Don’t worry about it, I’ll ask him about it. Have you yet-?

—No, it’s too early—. You quickly answer. Life is great, you love your life at this moment and time: but you are too conscious of death, of sudden changes and it scares you to death what it might mean if you do that. Things haven’t been the same, and well, he’s now nineteen, you are barely twenty-one and Dick is twenty-six.

—It’s been more than half a year, and you two have been hanging out at his safe house -wherever the hell it might be in Gotham, not that I care- for the last four months. Do you truly think-?

—Dick, I have to go, but yes, I just-don’t see him looking at me like that. Like when we were kids.

—Precisely, (Y/N), you were kids! You can’t expect-

You hang up the call, and sigh. You already know that, but you too know, you at least think, that he doesn’t look at you the way he’s supposed to. And you understand, you know-you know how hard he has it. You wouldn’t expect him to be any other way and you are not going to demand it. And well, it isn’t like he’s dating other girls or taking them home, in that sense you think. His late run-ins are just his ways of coping with his actual situation, and he’s just managing as well as he can.

Your knuckles are white while you drive, and you don’t notice until you release the steering wheel that you know, are aware of, the excuses you are giving him. But no, that’s not it: you are not really hoping for anything. You just want him to be happy.

But wouldn’t it be great to be happy together?

 * * *

You have blurted it out and-shit, he’s not saying anything. You didn’t expect him to anyways but-but you kind of did. And it hurts how he stops with the pizza midway to his mouth, his perfect and gorgeous mouth, slightly bruised from some nights before – it’s like he can’t eat anymore, he has lost his appetite.

In your head it was romantic, it was much better: the lights were dim and there was probably and orangey undertone making it more intimate, cozy; he was probably cuddling you and both of your eyes met. The moment demanded it, and you would slowly said it out, with hopes that he would too: you would know it as soon as his cold eyes would soften, just as they use to every time he comes in from the window, covered in sweat and-

—What do you mean “you love me”?—. You hate his cold tone, the way he says it like it’s foreign to him, he is detached from it. He is not confused; but he doesn’t understand it. Like it’s not something possible—. Wh-how? Since when?

His questioning gives out two things: one, he truly doesn’t expect it. You haven’t made it obvious so that he wouldn’t feel pressured, but this is the worst. And well, two, he doesn’t love you. You know it the moment his blue eyes crush yours, and it’s nothing like when you were twelve and he caught you in his arms. He was a bit breathless, a bit timid; and even when he wasn’t particularly talkative, you always knew he had your back, he was looking out for you. Now he’s only looking for himself – and so much, he didn’t even notice you looking out for him.

—I don’t know. Probably since forever, but I didn’t-I couldn’t know. I didn’t have the time to properly tell you, acknowledge it when I was a kid until you-

—But you wanted Dick. You’ve always wanted Dick.

TV is in the back, but it’s more of a white noise now that he’s said that. Has he always thought that, has he come back with that idea in mind? Were you so blind that you have let him think that, confirmed it unknowingly seemingly as you ran to him every time you had a problem? It wasn’t done on purpose, but these years-no. It can’t have been.

—I found him interesting when were kids, but he’s-God. He’s twenty-six, Jay. And-

—Well, it doesn’t-I mean. Ugh—. He rubs his neck before slumping into the sofa. The one where you’ve been until very late these last months watching stupid shows and movies, black and white movies that he missed and loves. You have shared a blanket, he has fallen asleep in your shoulder plenty of times, and he has always made sure you slept through all the night whenever you slept. Suddenly it’s uncomfortable, new to both of you: neither knows how to behave, move, or sit—. I mean, I just don’t see you that way. I may have at some point but not-not now.

He’s troubled. He feels very small in the sofa, you can tell; he’s looking for the corner to retract himself into and unconsciously hide. You stand up and make an attempt to search for your things and go, because you have fucked things up but-but you lost him almost four years ago. You can’t lose him again. Won’t without a fight at least.

—Look, Jay-Jason—. You correct yourself when you see the coldness in his eyes, how he doesn’t seem to really see you. It hurts. He doesn’t want you there. But you won’t give up. You sigh, coming up to him, until you are down on your knees on the carpet, your hand on the sofa and the space where his body is not. It takes you a bit to start talking, but he waits—. I love you. Not for what you were, or any idealization I have of you in my mind. I truly do feel that way about you, and genuinely care… Okay? Please, Jay, look at me.

He’s… Scared. And uncomfortable. Of course he is. Some feelings are still too overwhelming and being alive again – three years erased from his own mind, having passed him over like it’s nothing, a mere blink of the eye – it’s still something he cannot get used to. His own body is sometimes unknown to him, and he feels a strange dissociation of the self from time to time. It’s hard. It’s not him that’s in control, but a complete stranger that he vaguely knows, that sometimes moves like him, acts like him and speaks like him... But it’s not him. Or at least that’s how he has described it, when he’s tired enough and he needs to talk to someone, you being of course always close and available one call away. But now it’s like all of that is over.

—I love you. And that is going to be-it’s going to go on forever. I adore you, every part of your soul: and no, before you even dare, it’s not damaged—. He barely smiles, but it gives you strength to continue—. You are not damaged. Bad things have happened to you, that’s all, and that’s not your fault. You can take as much time as you need, I’m never going to pressure you. I just want to take care of you and make sure you are okay.

Pizza night is still on and thus you eat it all away, everything sealed with a peck on his cheek which he has conceded. And you like that. You smile and sit close to him, but he never attempts to touch you or move. It’s like he’s paralyzed by fear.

 * * *

Life moves on, but he doesn’t come any closer. It hurts you, because he actually starts to avoid you at times. It’s a severe accusation, but you catch him red-handed when one night he excuses himself away with the pretext of a stakeout which will probably take him a week, disappearing for a few days… And when Tim invites you over, he’s there, going down the stairs like it’s nothing, like he doesn’t even try to hide it. You cry in the bathroom for fifteen minutes before excusing yourself for the night – and things don’t get better after that.

You feel like you’ve lost him for a second time, and everything this time is your fault.

 * * *

He comes to your birthday and you assume that’s a good thing. After two months out of your life, two months where you cry and isolate yourself totally from the rest, he seems to finally come around, apologizing. He doesn’t give you any answer, and as you’ve promised, you don’t pressure him into that. He is relieved, and you are so scared of losing him one more time that you try to be good and stay a good friend. Your heart aches, most often than not now that you start going out into bars: yes, you have a really good time when you play darts or some pool, but whenever a girl tries to enter into the conversation, flirt, you feel like vomiting. It’s not jealousy since this would meant you had a chance from the start at it, but it really is the way his eyes move around their bodies, interested: he’s never looked at you that way. You are just the friend, and he will probably never move past that; but still you try, truly, to be a good friend.

Dick pities you, comforts you often; Jason doesn’t know, but you think he wouldn’t care anyways.  Nightwing is settled down anyways; he has been for some time, and you give him advice, but it’s mostly him that tries to make you laugh, feel better about the situation. Trying to love him hurts you, but you love him too much to give up. Still, you don’t want him to be that troubled again, and worse than that, be the source of all his problems. So instead you make him laugh, you go to the movies from time to time, and play some arcade, eat some pizza; and everything is still the same.

 * * *

—It’s a stupid gala anyways. Who the hell in Gotham cares that it’s Tim’s nineteenth birthday?

—Dumbass, he’s your-oh, forget it, you are too drunk. You wouldn’t understand.

—You wouldn’t understand!

You both laugh, but don’t really know why or what about. It’s been two years and you are close, terribly so; Jason is at a better place and that makes you incredibly happy. He doesn’t wake up in cold sweat anymore and he can sleep five hours straight. Sometimes he even stays in until late in bed on Sundays: you two talk all morning and can hear his bed creaking, for your stupid reassurance. Those are the best days.

—Why is the world so unstable? Everything is jumbling and-

—Don’t shout! They are going to catch us!—. You shout, unknowingly, catching his arm while you stumble forward with the carpet of the hall. It’s quite empty, but still you shouldn’t be sneaking. It’s a family event.

—You know what I got for my birthday? A fuckin’ family dinner, (Y/N)! Just like it sounds, no alcohol or cussing allowed. And definitively no heavy tipping like tonight!

—What!? No, no way!—. Your voice is loud again. And you were present in that family dinner, you sang him a happy birthday with the others and the ridicule hats that Dick made everyone wear—. Oh, wait, you did have a terrible birthday!

—I know!

You’ve both have raided Bruce’s private alcohol collection when no one was looking. You started at the bar, as usual, heavily drinking: and when Dick didn’t let you, you both moved outside, with the pretext of getting some air before going to the Bat’s own bar. And now the ground, the world moves and you don’t really know how to stand up straight.

Both of you grasping onto the other somehow make it to one of the multiple rooms, a private living room apparently; it’s smaller, and the fire is crackling. The place is spacious, and there’s some sofas that look terribly comfortable. You help yourself until there and just slump like you are dead, slightly jumping when he imitates you on the other side of the furniture.

—Oh my God, come closer, that was just one time!

—What are you talking about?—. He genuinely asks, like he doesn’t remember. Of course he doesn’t! You roll your eyes back, exasperated.

—The one time I tried to kiss you. Don’t worry, message received; I won’t try!

Just mentioning it makes you want to cry a bit. It had hurt like hell, specially when you had spent such a special holiday away from Gotham, near France. After a particularly fun night of partying and drinking, you had tried to kiss him at dawn. First he moved his face, rejected you, but later he conceded; and only when things were getting heated, he had stop you: once you had started to remove you dress, more ready than ever. For that night only you hadn’t exactly demanded his heart and were happy enough with his body and whatever lust he stored and wanted to liberate on your body. But that hadn’t happened. You had humiliated yourself in front of him, and in your black bra you had slowly started to dress yourself up, him trying to look at some other place like he had never seen a naked woman before. Worse than that, like if you were his sister, something that he could not dare to look at.

—It’s not that, (Y/N), I hadn’t even-

—Oh, absinthe!—. You purposefully exclaim, getting up to get it, not very far from the center of the room where they lay. You use your mouth to open it, and it does get open: you both celebrate, drunk as you are, cheering fully for it.

Talking get easier, specially the more you move towards the fire, until you are both laying in the carpet almost practically in front of it. He looks at you under a different light, and he seems to actually take the time into observing your curves and soft features, like he has never observed you before. This is a first, and thus you do not comment on it. In fact, you try to avoid it.

—You have a very pretty beauty mark here.

—Where?

—Here.

He signals it with his index near one of the sides of your chin. His finger almost obliges you into levelling up your head, showing it to him: your neck is exposed and vulnerable to him, and he looks at it briefly before letting your head down. His touch had been soft, delicate; not like other times where it had been casual whenever he took an eyelash off your face or some dust from your shoulders. This time he had been tracing a trail, a way from your neck to the mark and after, his contact had lingered.

—What?—. You ask, confused; he seems silent and slightly pensive. Is it something about your makeup? The mark itself? For the very time you are slightly nervous to be alone with him. You had been in the past, but after so many months of obviously not getting anywhere, everything had toned down and it had become casual. There were never special hidden intentions behind.

—Nothing, I just remembered something. It was a couple of years ago, when you told me how you felt about me—. It’s something casual, like it doesn’t bother him. And well, you suppose it didn’t matter to him. He never tried to bring up that night back and you didn’t want to humiliate yourself again like that, not receiving any answer back. It had really hurt back then. The worst thing is that you can still feel the pain like a thorn that never really left your heart—. You said you would love me forever. Is that still true?

It might be alcohol. It must be the alcohol; you rationalize when he brings up that horrible topic you’ve been running from for at least a year. You get rid off your high heels, dumping them near the fire like you want them burnt. He shrugs, really, like he wants to make it clear that you are not forced to answer but you kind of are. You sigh.

—Yes. Forever and ever. That’s how long I said I loved you. But you never said it back.

You are drunk, or you at least protect yourself with that lie in between. You have been too good with him anyways; Dick always so at least, and he’s usually right. You did forgive him that night he stood you up to take a girl home (Did they fuck? Did he kiss her? Would they go out? That night your mind was restless when he had left you at a bar alone, waiting for him for three hours. “It’s nothing”, you had said that night holding back your tears in the back of his bike, clutching onto his leather jacket, trying to make him a bit yours); you stayed when he shouted terrible things at you in an attempt to push out everyone in his life, when he truly feels like he’s going to get stabbed in the back by everyone – physically and emotionally – but you didn’t care (“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… You know you are not-?”, he had asked, voice trembling, small like a child against the corner of his living room. You were stroking his hair, hugging him. “I know”, you had mumbled against his head, tears threatening to dirty him); and even that time he had shouted at you in the middle of a family dinner you had said nothing, you forgave him first hour in the morning (“You are just always after my fucking ass, (Y/N)! Don’t you have a life or something?!” he had abruptly stood up, scaring you and making everyone else open their eyes in surprise. Jason had always had a soft spot for you; he had never made anything violent like that, and Tim had positioned himself in front of you as if fearing he would jump out on you. It had hurt him, but you had been borderline crying when you threw your napkin at him. You had quickly moved for your coat and had left home. He called you all night.  You didn’t pick it up until morning came and had softly accepted his apology. Your eyes hurt from crying). This is probably why you feel entitled to say something so cruel, just like a dagger to his hurt.

—Well, you kind of said you wouldn’t pressure me so… —. And you are sure you will regret this the morning after, but it just rubs you the wrong way how he smiles. Like he doesn’t take it seriously, it’s another of your jokes.

—Are you stupid? What is your fucking problem?—. Your voice is truly hurt. You don’t cry; maybe there are no tears left and Jason has desensitized you these years. His rejections, harsh actions and words have strengthened your heart—. I was serious, Jason. I know you never-you don’t see me that way, but I wanted to try and love you. I really did and-fuck, I can’t really believe you—. Oh, there are the tears; you quickly cover your face, and he moves, sits on the carpet. He makes an attempt to touch you, but you move—. Stop that. I’m okay. It’s just that-well, I always kind of knew you would never be interested in me that way, but I still tried. For three years straight. And maybe I thought at some point that you would consider it seriously at some point, would see that I have always been and will always be at your side. I just didn’t fully know you saw me as a joke.

You want to cry, but not in front of him. Your eyes are fixated on the flames, the way they move and can’t seem to be trapped in any type of pattern; you try to find it, since it generally calms yourself down. It’s a coping mechanism, and you realize that Jason is a bit like that too: someone that can’t be resolved or trapped into a simple formula. But you innocently thought you might be the one after all these years; you had stayed by his side, had comforted him, had loved him all those nights where he woke up in crying and in absolute terror… You had hugged him until he fell profoundly asleep, murmuring into his hair sweet nothings, comforting words, soft praises (“No, it’s okay, you are not underground. You are in your safe house, in Gotham. I’m (Y/N) and I love you. Everything is okay, you can go back to sleep, you are good. I love you, your family loves you. Just sleep, Jaybird. The sun will be up soon. Just rest.”); and hoped that it might have been as easy as him waking up and realizing he loves you. It had been a bit like that to you, and it had only grown stronger. But you are now sure that not once he has considered you like that.

—Hey. Hey, shit, I didn’t-no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come off that way, I really did give it some thought and-no, don’t cry. Please, (Y/N), look at me. Don’t cry, hm? Please?

Tears make him uncomfortable, but you can’t stop. You won’t stop. You are tired of accommodating yourself to him. And now he’s happy and in a good place, so you did what you promised, what you wanted to help with.

—Hey, look at me. Come on, please.

He grabs you by your chin, softly, like you are porcelain for the very first time in your life. It shocks you so much you stop crying; he sorts of smiles, but you can’t say. Your vision is blurred out by tears but the soft brush in your lips is unmistakable. You try to make your body react, give it back, but something feels terribly long even when he’s so careful and asks for permission into your mouth. You frown but concede slowly: enough so that his tongue can enter your mouth, can find your tongue to play with. It’s a slow dance, not a battle like you had once seen in the bar, when he thought you were gone and had brought that girl to the bathroom. It had shattered your heart, but you had convinced yourself he was merely letting it out of his system. His grip had meant to bruise her hips, and the need in his kiss like that of one that tries to put off a fire, you had told yourself on your way back, silent and feeling like shit. It didn’t mean nothing.

Did this then mean anything? You push him as you realize that it won’t, that it will only get more and more uncomfortable. And besides, thing have changed.

—Jay, stop—. You murmur, and for a moment think he might have not hear you: but when you are opening your mouth again and pushing him aside, it stops—. What are you doing? A stupid mistake that you will regret tomorrow and that will make me cry for another two months? Please, Jason, I thought we were over this. I thought you were over this.

“Over me clinging onto you desperately, lovingly”. His eyes try to search for yours, but you don’t concede, won’t reward him with the secret desire you had had for over three years. Maybe it will never stop, you will always love him like that.

—I just thought that I-

—Well you thought wrong. Stop playing with me. As unconceivable as it might sound, I have someone else.

You didn’t plan on telling him like that. Probably not ever, if you could avoid it. It wouldn’t probably last anyways; but you wanted it to work. You really did. He made you feel loved and secure; he made you feel like you were worthy, true and caring. Not overbearingly anxious, fake and never enough, which is what Jason made you feel most of the time. You hug your knees, tightly, and open your mouth; but Jason comes first.

—Is it-?

—Jason? (Y/N)? Are you there?

The door opens, and in comes Dick. Your eyes soften as you look at him, and quickly grab your heels. You don’t look at him in your way out, but he understands. Jason doesn’t move from his place in the fire, maybe too drunk or too overwhelmed – maybe it really is his mind playing tricks as he catches his brother’s eyes following the feminine figure that exits the room. But it might just be too that Dick cares way more for you than he does, even when you two are closer.

—Jason, just-—. He doesn’t know how to start, and he understands. It’s what Tim has been trying to say too—. Just don’ t mess with her. The last five years have been rough on everyone, especially you, I’m sure, but she has other problems in her life too. She hasn’t had it easy, and you just-you have been just taking advantage. And don’t you dare say you aren’t because I have been looking at the way she looks at you. And you are very aware of that too. So, don’t do it again, because I would hate to make the family choose between you and her. You already know who would win and you need us as much as we need you. Point is, stop.

The door closes as he leaves him alone, and Jason truly thoughts he has lost something precious that he didn’t know it was his in the first place. He really did take you for granted, and maybe it’s time to stop. Maybe you really are no good for each other.

[laws-hat-headcanons]

Oh my God I'm sooo happy to see your ask is open! I enjoy your works and I really love your story prompt about Law (Nightmare)! I like the relationship development between him and s/o, slowly but sure. Anyway, can I request an angst with happy ending HC/scenario of Law meeting his ex-s/o and getting back together? I'm imagining they meet again in Wano. S/o is Law's the first person he's ever dated and they had to split up cause of Dressrosa arc maybe? Thanks a bunch! xoxo

Hi Anon. By this point I think you all know I'm a little bitch for anything Law related so I really enjoyed this and to be honest I could have carried on for another 72 chapters but I had to force myself to stop. Hope you like it m'dear!

Trafalgar Law X Reader: Reunion

"N-name-ya?" You hear, and turn to see none other than you old captain and lover Trafalgar Law.

He's looking at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. 

"Law," you say as nonchalantly as you can, not giving away the sudden pain in your chest at seeing him again. "Its been a while."

He takes a step towards you, one hand reaching to pull you to him before he remember you aren't his anymore, and his hand falls to his side. His face carefully blank.

"What are you doing here, Name-ya?" He demands. He is close enough that you can see the wrinkles around his eyes as he frowns. "Wano is dangerous."

'Its the New World Law, everywhere is dangerous." You say, watching as the crew stands nervously some way behind him, watching your exchange.

None of them were particularly happy when you left the crew. You can see on their faces that they want to greet you, to tell you everything that has happened since you've been gone. To ask when you're coming back.

But they dont, because no matter how much you've missed them and how much they've missed you -they are loyal to their Captain.

"Why are you here?" Law asks drawing your attention back, still not giving up. "How did you even get in - Wano is a closed country." 

"And yet you managed to get in too? You can never really close a country." You say, shrugging. And then, just to remind him you add, "And you're not my captain anymore, I don't have to explain myself to you." 

Law opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again, trying to make his face unreadable - but you know him well, better than most, so you see the subtle clenching of his jaw, the small crease between his brows as he tries not to frown.

"You can't stay here." He tells you.

You scoff, "You can't stop me." 

"Name-ya, listen to me," He says, taking another step towards you, lowering his voice so that the others can't hear. "You don't know what you're getting yourself in to. I can't tell you what's going to happen, but Wano is not going to be safe." 

"Well you not telling me what's going on is nothing new Law," You say to him, folding your arms over your chest and trying not to sound too bitter. "I hear you and Mugiwara took down Doflamingo at Dressrosa - did you tell anyone that was your plan or was it just me you kept in the dark?" 

Law takes a deep breath, like he is struggling to keep his cool. Like you are the unreasonable one here. Just like old times. He shakes his head and looks you in the eye.

"What I did was to keep you safe. To keep everyone safe," He says through gritted teeth. "How can you not see that?" 

"Because that wasn't your decision to make. I didn't become a pirate to be kept safe," You snap out, and see Bepo flinch over Law's shoulder. You drop your voice to a low growl "And I didn't become your partner so you could run off and almost get killed without anyone to watch your back!"

"I didn't r-" He starts but you cut him off, jabbing a finger into this chest. 

"Yes Law, you did," You snarl. "Please don't try and tell me you didn't fully expect not to come back. How do you think I felt when I saw that in the paper? You could have died Law, you could have fucking died!" 

You shake your head, turning away so that he can't see the tears in your eyes, the pain at the thought of him being gone forever. 

Seconds pass, a minute. You try to steady your breathing, you dont want him to see you like this. Two minutes and then a hand rests gently on your shoulder.

You think about shrugging him off but you know you wont. You haven't had contact with him in month and even this small touch makes you ache.

"Name-ya, please I..." he says, grief etched in his voice. You remember he once told you he never wanted to be the reason you cried. "I'm sorry I... what I did was for the best. I thought that, even if it meant we couldn't be together..."

He pauses and you keep silent, not wanting to interrupt. You let him muddle through his feelings - you know he's never been good at expressing himself.

"I thought that at least you would be safe," Law says, his grip on your shoulder tightening slightly. "Losing you would....If you knew how I feel about you. How much you mean to me..."

And now you do turn back to face him, shaking your head, no longer caring if the tears fall.

"And what about me Law? What about how I feel about you? What you mean to me?" You ask, watching his stricken face. "I loved you, Law... I... I still.."

You dont get to finish your confession.

Law steps towards you, his hands cupping your tear stained face. His eyes lock with yours and you see everything he has held back. His fear, his love, his pain and desperation at the thought of losing you.

"I love you." He says, and then his lips meet yours.

[protectivemuses-archived]

At the reassurance of her protecting him, he wants to shake his head. That isn't how it's supposed to be. She isn't supposed to protect him, he's supposed to protect her. It isn't right for her to protect him. Puts her in too much danger. It isn't fair. He can't ask that from her. He won't. Though he doesn't know how to rest his mind. How do you rest what doesn't let itself rest, what never seems to shut up unless it was too clouded with every toxic substance he could get at the time?

Her hands against his cheeks feel odd to him. They're comforting, and they feel as if he's coming home from work and she simply missed him and just wanted to greet him home, but he knows that isn't the case. He can't really find it in himself to ever picture that type of scenario with himself. Doesn't think he deserves it. Regardless of if he gets better, doesn't think he'll ever deserve it.

His thoughts run even more when before he fully processes it, he feels her lips against the scars. Even more odd, but.. he doesn't hate it like he's always expected to. It almost makes him feel like he doesn't despite the markings forever etched in his skin at the corners of his mouth. Even if just for a moment. And then it happens.

He feels her lips to his. And he doesn't know how to react at first.

Before he knows it, his hands are moving to quickly but gently grab her hands into his as if worried she'd up and leave. His lips are pressing against hers as apologies fall onto deaf ears for the moment, eyes closed as if trying to tell her everything he wants to but can't bring himself to through the kiss. Everything he wants to tell her, knows she deserves to hear, but is too scared to let himself admit it outloud.

But he feels like he has to. Not has to, but wants to and knows if he doesn't make himself admit it, he maybe never will. And if anything happens to him.. he wants one less regret on his shoulders. "I.. I love you.." The words are barely spoken, expression giving that he means them but he's conflicted on the right to say them. He wasn't the right person for her, so he tells himself. She deserves better, someone she probably wouldn't end up having to risk staying up late at night with to 'babysit' or wake up in the middle of the night if the nightmares got way too real for comfort and he found himself screaming.

Starter for @tojiya Requested: Romantic Thread in Bonten timeline with Sanzu and his assistant Ryomin

Fuck. Where was it? He knew it was right there, it was right there when he left earlier. Sanzu ran a hand through the pink locks with a huff of irritation, clearly not happy about the situation he had returned to the headquarters in. Mikey had called some meeting earlier for a last minute assignment that had come up which stuck Sanzu with the two Haitani brothers who both thought they were hot shit but that wasn't Sanzu's problem. He had gotten blood on his suit which was already a pain to get out but luckily he didn't have to do that. His katana would also have to be cleaned later, but for now, he was coming down from his previous hits earlier and he couldn't stand the idea of being sober much. Being sober let too many things happen at once- The memories of his childhood, the way his sister looked at him when those words came out of his mouth, the look in Mikey's eyes back then, the way his mouth stung and burned and he couldn't stop it, the way the blood covered his hands that wouldn't come off no matter how hard he scrubbed apparently- Fuck. Focusing back, he grew more irritated and let out a noise of frustration as papers were simply pushed to the floor as he searched the desk. Over and over, and over again. "Ryomin! Did you move the fuckin bag that was on my desk?!" He called out, assuming that the assistant he had hired was still there. They kept getting encouraged to get assistants to handle the small things like keeping files organized and making sure they didn't lose assignments, and also maybe to help keep Sanzu from maxing out his credit card every day.

[chocobostrinket]

hmm... not sure if you've done this before but how about the bros with s/o they've known since childhood who realize they're in love with them only after they rescue them from kidnapping and gets hurt in the process?

Noctis:

He's waiting for them to wake up, to tell them how much they mean to him.

It had been late in the day when he gets a phone call from their phone, right before the sun dips below the horizon. 

He answers and expects their cheerful voice to be the one on the line. 

Instead, he's met with the voice of someone who holds a grudge against his father for letting the empire take so much.

Their act of revenge? Taking away someone they know he values. 

The phone call ends when he hears their voice shouting for him to stay away.

Instead, he goes to Ignis and lets him know that his friend is in danger. 

No one argues, each of them eager to save them. They drive all through the night to the place he last knew they had been, and start from there.

It takes them three days. Three days of the absoute worse scenarios running through his head of what's befalling them. 

So when they finally track down their captors, he unleashes hell. Even though it's nighttime, the air is lit up with each of their attacks.

But he doesn't notice the sharp shooter stationed above them on a nearby ridge. 

But his dear friend knows. Even though they're weaponless and in pain, they make the choice to protect the prince.

The shot rings out as the last kidnapper falls to them, and they all freeze. Each of them are eyeing each other with panic. 

Who was that meant for?

But then he sees them standing behind him, facing out into the night air with an expression of concentration. 

Prompto is the first to see the glint of a gun, and shouts, "Sniper!" 

He fires before the other moves, knowing he's the only one to make the shot.

And when they're all sure the danger has passed, they all smile at one another.

The happiness doesn't last.

His friend suddenly crumples, and none are near enough to catch them before they hit the ground. 

Their eyes are fluttering closed as they press their hands to their stomach. 

It's a close call. They almost lose them in the time it takes them to dig out a potion. 

They hadn't awoke though. 

They had set up camp and were just waiting for them. 

What had given Noctis time to think.

He thought about how terrified and upset he'd been during the days they had been searching for them.

The elation he felt when they had reached them before anything truely horrendus had happened.

The utter terror he felt when they had fallen to the ground and nearly vanished from his life forever.

He needed to tell them everything.

Maybe then they'd understand that his feelings had progressed to something beyond friendship.

So much so, that he'd told the others that they would be traveling with them from now on. Clearly, someone had let it slip that they were important to him. Too important to be out of sight. 

~

They do wake up, and he does tell them after helping them sit up. 

They don't respond at first, and Noctis can slowly feel his heart sinking.

But then they lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek. 

"It's about damn time."

(They're super pissed about having no choice in staying, but can't find it in their heart to stay angry at the prince.)

Prompto:

It was supposed to be a nice day outside. One of the few times they were all together again. 

They were one of his friends from before...Well, Noctis. One he had lost contact with when the city fell.

It was the first time they'd all gotten to see each other after bumping into each other in Galdin Quay of all places. 

So when the MT's attacked, it was wholly unwelcome. 

Even more so when they realized that their target was THEM.

They didn't even think to question why they were after them, choosing to focus only on defending.

But they were over whelmed, and beaten. Prompto tried his best to hold onto them, as they had found their way into each others arms as they fell into unconsciousness.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, aware he was grasping them tightly one moment, feeling them jerked away from him the next, and watching them fight as best they could from their place over a MT's shoulders in the last. 

He passed out fully then, waking only hours later after a phoenix down was used on him. 

They set out to find their taken friend, even getting Aranea's help on locating where the ship was. 

Noctis warped over and gained the rest of them access. 

Ignis was the one sneaking around to find them while they caused as big of a distraction as they could on the ship. 

Upon finding them, Gladio gave the signal for them all to get off. He was going to crash this thing into the sea. (He does and barely makes it out, but it was kind of fun to him.)

They'd been in their hands for less than 24 hours, but clearly they had fought tooth and nail to escape.

They were out cold, and Ignis guessed that it was because they had been drugged after not settling down.

So they wait. And sure enough, they wake up.

Without thinking his arms are wrapped around them, and he's babbling about how scared he was and that they weren't allowed to do that ever again and that he's probably never going to let them out of his arms ever again so they should get comfy-

They'd rest their head on his shoulder and laugh, and it'd send chills up his back because he can feel their breath on his neck.

He doesn't really get around to telling them, but he does indeed realize that he really loves them.

(They guess though, since he literally doesn't let them out of his arms for very long while they're with him.)

Gladiolus:

It's in the form of a note left in Lestallum with Iris.

Apparently, they'd been on a hunt alone, and taken unawares by opportunists. Ones who were convinced that since they knew how to fight and spoke with the same refined accent as Ignis, they must have been someone important before the city fell.

And though they hadn't wanted to say anything, after the fourth day they had cracked, and mentioned Gladio's name as their friend, and mentioning he's from a noble house. 

The note also says that they refused to say which house he was from and mentioned that he wasn't going to come for them. So they were going to test that by asking Gladio to bring them enough Gil for their ransom.

If he doesn't bring it they're dead.

Like hell he's going to leave his friend with them. Considering they were Iris' friend too, she asks to come with.

(There's such a startling look in her eye that he allows it.)

But the time line. They had until the morning of the 8th day of them being held hostage. It was now the seventh day, and he curses himself.

They quickly gather what they need for an assault, because there's no way in hell he's giving them money and letting them get away with this.

(He also a little freaked out about what they meant by 'they broke on the fourth day'. Were they hurt?)

They all pile into the car and go to where they wanted to meet him, and he goes alone. Or so it seems. Truthfully, the others are somewhere sneaking in behind him.

The first sight he gets of them has him seeing red.

They're laying on the ground knocked out, black and blue. He can make out half healed cuts and a possible broken arm. (He can't bear to look at their hands.)

He states that he's hear for them, and then lashes out instead.

The other join in the fray and the kidnappers are overwhelmed. Most flee. But the leader?

He's on the ground at Iris' feet, an almost too sugary sweet smile on her face.

He scoops his friend off the ground and they leave to go back to Lestallum to allow them to recover after being healed.

When they awake, it's from a nightmare. They swing at Gladio and he has to restrain them without hurting them because they're fighting too violently and won’t listen to reason.

Iris steps in and her face snaps them out of their waking dream.

They don't go into too much detail, and apologize for the trouble, letting a mask slip back over their face.

He gets upset that they're just going to pretend it didn't happen.

He asks to speak to them alone, and the others leave.

It is then he confesses that while he didn't realize it before, seeing them on the ground had forced him to confront that he cared for them.

They sniffle, and say they didn't want to be a distraction and had forced their own feelings away.

He spends the rest of the day just cradling them. He'd figure out everything else later, but for now, he was content with them in his arms. 

Ignis:

He's a little shocked when he finds their phone abandoned on a haven. And then he grows concerned when the last thing in the memory is a video of them during the night, recording themself.

They look disheveled, more so than he'd ever seen them. And it seemed like they hadn't slept in days.

They speak quickly into the camera of someone following them. Of the paranoia they felt.

"If I go missing, please. Find who did this."

They then set their phone down, hidden but with a clear view and wait their attacker. And it turns out they weren't parinoid. Someone does come for them.

They fight tooth and nail, but whoever this was had an advantage. They were clearly well rested compared to them, and had been planning this.

So they, in an unexpected move, rip off their mask and start listing details. Committing them to memory the attacker must assume, but truthfully, it was for the camera recording to pick up. Ignis turns off the video, and gets to work.

It turns out, there's a string of missing people that match his friends description. But this is the first time one of them was smart enough to leave a clue behind.

He hurries to find them when they mention that when these missing people were found, none were alive.

He takes the others with him to comb through the woods where they had slain deadeye, because that's where most of the bodies had turned up. At first people had assumed it was the beast at work, but after a group of hunters had slain it (Cough cough) the real reason behind the bodies was revealed.

It is there they find them, one the ground and limp, pale as death and barely breathing.

They get them up and heal them as best they can, waiting for them to awaken, or for the person who took them to return.

Upon waking up, they grab onto Ignis' sleeve, like they had when they were younger, and says nothing.

When they calm own, they let go and say that the man left them for dead because the wouldn't shout in pain no matter what he did.

Ignis just gathers them into his arms and holds them, because they are shaking rather badly.

He loves them, he has know this for a while. This is just the first time he's forced to acknowledge it. He knows that they cannot be anything more than friends. But he allows himself this. Holding them until the fear disappears.

(He also swears, that he's going to hunt down the man who did this and ensure he never does it again.)