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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 4 years ago

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no grave can hold my body down – 2/2

Character: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Summary: It took time to get Jason Todd away from the darkness. Sometimes it felt like he was always standing at a tipping point, at risk of completely losing himself. But not when he was with her. She made him better and she would continue to make him better.

Word Count: 9,000

A/N: I know there are a lot of contradicting opinions on Jason Todd’s height. But for my own wish fulfillment, he is 6′3/6′4ish in this fic.

Part 1

Y/N had fallen asleep after getting home from work. She had a long day and was so exhausted that she passed out as soon as she sat down on the couch. Jason had to take off her heels and drape a blanket over her.

Now he was dressed in his armored undershirt, cargo pants, leather jacket, and tactical boots. His red helmet was tucked under his arm, but he was already wearing a domino mask. If Bruce had taught him anything, it was to be prepared to a point of paranoia.

He crouched down to his knees.

Ever so gently, he brushed Y/N’s cheek.

“Y/N,” he whispered.

She stirred and winced a bit when she opened her eyes, the glare of the quiet television was suddenly harsh.

“What’s going on?” She asked, still half asleep.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep. I just wanted to tell you I’m leaving to go on patrol.”

“Mhmm. OK.” She hummed. “Be careful, J.”

If Y/N ever found out how un-careful the Red Hood was, she would never sleep and she’d probably beg Jason to quit his vigilantism.

“I love you,” he told her before kissing her on the forehead.

“Love you, too,” she said back so dreamily that it sounded like she was talking in her sleep.

Jason slipped out of the window. He purposely chose this apartment due to the direction the windows faced, the distance from approximate apartments, and the darkness that would prevent any wandering eyes from the neighbors.

He’d been patrolling for a few hours. It was oddly a quiet night. He assumed it had to do with how cold it was outside. Sometimes criminals were weak in the most obvious ways.

Jason was standing on a rooftop, taking a breather when he felt someone drop behind him. He knew his family all too well and could differentiate all of their footsteps. Which was why he didn’t immediately shoot Dick when he thought he’d try and surprise him.

“So, Y/N was quite the hit…” Dick said without giving Jason a proper greeting first.

“What are you still doing in town?” Jason answered.

Dick sighed. “B still needs a little help on the case.”

Jason nodded, not actually caring why Dick was still in Gotham.

Then an awkward silence washed over them. Well, Dick thought it was awkward. Jason couldn’t care less.

“Why won’t you talk about her with us?” Dick’s teasing was gone and his tone serious now.

Jason turned his head away from the city view and finally acknowledged his brother. “You don’t need to know anything about her,” his helmet distorted his words to make them sound even harsher than they already were.

“Doesn’t seem like she completely shares that view.”

Jason didn’t respond. He didn’t appreciate Dick speaking on Y/N’s behalf.

“Bruce seems to like her,” Dick added.

Jason’s head snapped to him. “As if I give a fuck,” he snapped.

Dick had the audacity to laugh. “How did the two of you meet anyway? She was living in New York City when the two of you first met, right?”

“Jesus,” Jason growled. “Did all of you run a background check on her?”

Dick shrugged. “What did you expect?”

————

Y/N didn’t have any idea where she was going. With the sun having already set, she couldn’t even figure out what direction she was headed.

But she had typed the address to her hotel into the Uber app and trusted it from there. She was also too preoccupied still answering the dozens of work emails on her phone.

“Hey lady, we’re here,” the driver said rudely after she didn’t realize they had stopped.

“Oh, sorry!” She said, writing the last few words of a sentence before pressing send.

She jumped out of the car and yelled a thanks before slamming the door shut.

To her surprise, the car raced off without a second’s hesitation.

But when Y/N turned around, she realized she was definitely not in the right place. And for the first time throughout the drive, she realized she was definitely in a bad area.

Y/N heard all of the terrible things about Gotham. Sometimes she wondered if the things about all of the crime were exaggerated by the news or if the city was really rotting from the inside like everyone said. What she definitely didn’t believe in was all the vigilantes that seemed to be protecting the city. No one could ever offer up any proof, even with every single human having a video camera in their hands at all times.

But now she wishing she’d taken people’s warnings a little bit more seriously.

This was definitely not Gotham Heights, where her nice hotel was located.

“Fuck,” she muttered as she whipped out her phone and instantly tried to call another Uber. But the app was being finicky and she was getting a loading screen for far too long.

Then she heard a group of men whistle at her. The streets were filled with literal dumpster fires. There were countless inoperable cars with broken windshields and without wheels. The only women she spotted looked like they were working the streets.

‘Walk, Y/N. Just walk. Act like you know where you’re going.’ Her brain was screaming at her.

So she did while remaining on high alert.

No matter how much she pretended to blend in, she was obviously out of place and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Her heart was racing and she tried to walk as fast as she could without fully running. She just hoped to get to a main street soon and try to catch a yellow cab, since apparently all her car-service apps decided not to work.

But suddenly, a man stepped onto the sidewalk, blocking Y/N’s path forward.

“You lost, sweetheart?” He cooed.

Y/N stopped and started backing away. But when she turned around, she saw that two men were waiting behind her.

“No need to be scared,” the same men said behind her, closer this time. “We just want to talk.”

‘Fuck this,’ Y/N thought before she decided to make a run for it.

But one of them grabbed her and shoved her to the side, pushing her into the alleyway she hadn’t realized they were right next to.

It was so dark that she could hardly make out the silhouettes of her attackers. But that wasn’t going to stop her from fighting. She immediately tried to shove past anyone in her vicinity and hit whoever was grabbing her.

“Get the fuck away from me!” She screamed, hoping that there was someone in this poisoned city that would try and help her.

Except she was outnumbered by three men, which ended in her getting shoved up the brick wall that lined the alley.

“I don’t have any money,” she gasped as a last ditch effort to save herself.

“Who said we wanted your money?” One of them chuckled darkly.

Before their words could hearten Y/N to try another defensive attack and escape, there was a strange zipping sound that echoed down into the alley.

Next thing Y/N knew, the man that was pressed up against her and pinning her to wall was flung off.

Y/N gasped and tried to get her eyes to adjust to the darkness enough so she could actually see what the hell was happening.

“It’s the hood!” One of the men yelled to his friends before making a run for it.

Then a gun was fired off – two shots.

Y/N yelped at the noise and covered her ears.

But when she looked back up, the man who had tried to escape was now on the ground, screaming in pain as he looked down at both of his knee caps that had been shot.

When Y/N turned her attention to the other two men, she finally saw who had interrupted their assault.

It was a man – if that was even what he was – dressed in military gear of some sort. But what really caught her attention was the red helmet that was reflecting the night light and allowing her to actually follow what was happening.

Y/N watched as he punched the daylights out of one of her attackers. She saw the man’s face get more and more covered with blood with each punch.

If Y/N was scared before, she was now terrified.

Without hesitating any longer, she too made a run for it, hoping she wouldn’t be shot like the other runaway.

She sprinted around the corner. But she only got a few yards before the same behemoth landed in front of her.

He was tall, and had to be at least 6’3. Men were confusingly short in New York, so Y/N was still trying to wrap her mind around having to tilt her head slightly up. But then she realized it wasn’t even his height that was jarring; it was how utterly hulking he was. His shoulders were so wide and his chest was massive. His thighs seemed to be the same width has her entire torso.

Everything about him was intimidating and imposing.

“I gotta give you credit for being that fast while wearing heels,” he said to her as he glanced down at her shoes.

It wasn’t exactly comforting that his voice seemed to also be distorted by the helmet.

Y/N was frozen in fear, truly not knowing what he was capable of or even what he wanted.

“You can relax. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he told her with his hands raised. His guns were no longer in his grip, but in their holsters at his thighs.

“You just killed three men,” Y/N told him with a shaky voice as she took a step back.

“I didn’t kill them. But if you want me to, I’d be happy to go back there and finish the job.”

“What? No!” Y/N cried out.

He had the audacity to chuckle at her reaction.

“Where exactly did you think you were going?” He asked her.

“This whole damsel-in-distress thing is new for me. But I thought it made sense to run away from the guy who was shooting people,” she told him quickly.

Jason was grateful that his mask hid all his emotions and facial expressions, because he was smiling at her sass.

He looked her up and down, taking in her outfit and just her overall look. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“What gave me away?”

He shrugged, ignoring the question. “What the hell are you doing in The Bowery? This is the most dangerous neighborhood in Gotham.”

“My Uber dropped me off here. I thought I was at my hotel and by the time I figured out I wasn’t, my driver had already sped away and left me for dead.”

He took a step toward her. “What’s a gal like you doing in Gotham?”

“I work for an art gallery in New York. But there was an event that I had to attend. I’ve been here all weekend.”

Why was she telling him any of this?

Jason nodded in understanding. “Come on,” he told her.

“W-What?” She asked nervously.

“You’re not gonna get a car in this area. You should report the driver who brought you here in the first place. He knew better.”

He walked past her.

Y/N looked around her, trying to figure out if she even had any other option. She knew he was right about a car, which was probably why she’d gotten a loading screen for all of them when it realized her location.

Yes, he was technically a masked criminal. But he did just save her life, no matter how terrifying it was to watch.

Y/N decided she didn’t have much of a choice.

Before she could move, a motorcycle was being pulled up alongside her.

Y/N eyed it for a moment.

“What’s your name?” She asked him, as if it would make the situation any safer.

“Red Hood,” he told her.

Y/N nodded, not surprised that it didn’t make her feel any better. She realized she was in no position to ask for his real identity. She knew enough about vigilantes to understand that they only survived from hiding their true selves from the criminals they fought and the law enforcement who thought what they were doing was wrong.

“Where are you staying?” He asked her.

“Crest Hill Hotel,” she told him.

“Fancy,” he teased. “Hop on.”

Y/N hesitated before following his instructions. She sat awkwardly on the back of the motorcycle, unsure of what to do.

“You’re gonna want to hold on, beautiful.” He told her over his shoulder as he revved the engine.

Y/N tried to ignore the heat that rushed to her face as he called her ‘beautiful,’ and then she tried to ignore how wide and strong his torso felt as she reached to hold on.

It took 20 minutes to get to her hotel, proving that the Uber driver really hadn’t given a crap about how incorrect her original address had been.

Jason had decided to drop her off in the back entrance to avoid a scene of the infamous Red Hood dropping off an average citizen. He didn’t need that type of attention and Y/N shouldn’t be tied to him in any way.

Y/N got off the motorcycle with a surprising grace and turned to him.

“Thank you for…saving me,” she told him gently.

“It was nothing,” he told her.

Y/N just watched him for a moment, wondering what he looked like under that red helmet and without all the armor.

“What’s your name?” He surprised her by asking.

“Y/N. Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

She didn’t know why she felt comfortable giving her surname. But it just came out.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Though, I wish it had been under better circumstances.”

Y/N suddenly dug into her purse, making sure she still had her phone and even just the key to her hotel room.

“Fuck,” she muttered without realizing it.

“What is it?” Jason asked.

“Nothing. I just…it sounds stupid, but I have a little notebook to write down ideas for – well, for my artwork. But it must’ve fallen out back in that alleyway when those guys shoved me against the wall.”

When she looked up at him, it was impossible to know what he was thinking.

“Anyways, thank you again.” She turned to finally walk away.

“Y/N?”

She shouldn’t love how much she loved the sound of him saying her name.

Y/N turned around.

“Stay close to the hotel. Gotham is different than New York City.”

She nodded.

————————

“So, when did you see her again?” Dick questioned after he listened to Jason’s retelling.

“I was helping out a friend with a job in NYC. Things got ugly. I may or may not have been shot when I showed up at her window. Her apartment was in the area and I needed a place to lay low.”

Dick laughed. “Uh huh. Sure you did.”

Jason ignored him. “Anyways, I’d gone back to the alley that night and found that notebook she was talking about, and gave it to her to make up for bleeding all over her couch.”

“Always the romantic,” Dick teased.

Their conversation came to a halt. Instead of talking, they both listened to the city noises that Gotham brought.

“Listen, Jason, I know I did a poor job of being there for you and actually acting like a brother. And I also know you haven’t always been my biggest fan.”

Jason stayed quiet.

“But you deserve to be happy. And we both know Y/N does that.” Dick sighed. “But you don’t talk about her with us and you kept her from even just meeting us after years of you two dating. If we weren’t all noisy and paranoid, we wouldn’t know a thing about her.”

“What’s your point, Dick?” Jason asked roughly.

“No one ever wants to acknowledge this, especially you…but you’re more like Bruce than any of us. And you’ve seen how he pushes people away, keeping them at a distance. Y/N wants to be a part of your life, your whole life. And that includes all of us – whether you like it or not. So, what I’m saying is you don’t have to hide her from us.”

Dick knew not to expect a response from Jason. So he left him where he found him and gave him his space once again.

Jason didn’t have anything to say anyway.

Dick’s words made him angry more than anything. Because he knew they were true. Yes, he saw how Bruce behaved with women. It was promiscuous and casual, because anything else was too close for comfort. Bruce’s priority would always be Batman. And Bruce knew that no significant other deserved his lack of commitment – no matter how much they might love each other.

—————

Y/N was doing her nightly routine and applying moisturizer to her face when she heard it. She could be acting paranoid, but her instincts were telling her something was off.

No, someone was here.

Jason made a point of being loud and immediately announcing when he got home as to not scare her. So, it couldn’t be him.

As quietly as possible, Y/N tiptoed out of the bathroom and to her side of the bed where she kept a titanium baseball bat. Jason had offered her multiple times to teach her how to shoot a gun. But Y/N wanted nothing to do with them.

With the bat in hand, Y/N snuck her way to the living room where she heard the sound.

She had turned off all the lights, making it hard for her to see clearly.

But she did see a large mass standing in the middle of her living room. With just a bit of hesitation, Y/N swung the bat. But the intruder caught the bat, stopping her attack.

They stepped into the moonlight, finally allowing Y/N to see that it was Batman in his full uniform, cowl still on.

“What the fuck. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Y/N snapped at him.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Bruce defended.

But Y/N was still irritated. “Jason isn’t here.”

“I know. I came to talk to you.”

She froze. “Me?”

“I need a favor.”

Y/N narrowed her gaze. “I highly doubt I could do anything to help you.”

“You’re wrong. This has to do with your job. You work at The Drago House.”

Y/N tilted her head and crossed her arms. “Yes.”

“It’s owned by the Ibanescu family. They use it as a front for human trafficking.”

Y/N shook her head. “That can’t be possible…”

“Don’t underestimate the crime families of Gotham, Y/N.”

“So, why do you need me?”

“There are files and codecs that would decipher who their buyers are and where they hold auctions around the world. Nothings digital. They’re old school. With that information, we could shut done their operation forever.”

Y/N’s face was serious now. “What do you need me to do?”

“You have always had access to all the information. You just never knew it. All I need is for you to scan the files.”

She now looked at him suspiciously. “Don’t they say you're the world’s greatest detective? I find it hard to believe that you’d have problems breaking into the gallery after hours to get them for yourself…”

“It’s only completely lockdown as soon as it closes every night. Their security system is high-end and resets every 24 hours. Could we get into it eventually? Yes. But we’ve already been at it for weeks. And we’ve received word that there’s a big…” He hesitated. “…shipment happening any day. We don’t have time to waste.”

Y/N thought about what he was telling her.

“Why didn’t you go to Jason?” She finally asked.

“You said Jason doesn’t tell you what to do.”

Y/N glared at him for using her own words against her.

The apartment went quiet again.

Then Y/N nodded slowly. “There’s an opening tomorrow night. I can get them then.”

—————

Dick’s words haunted Jason for the rest of the night. He wanted to cut patrolling early and just get back to Y/N.

Now he swiftly moved into his apartment from the fire escape and immediately took off his helmet and domino mask underneath.

But Jason froze when he saw Y/N’s bat in the middle of the living room.

His heart raced at the immediate assumption that something happened to her. The furniture was untouched and there were no other signs of trouble, but he still rushed towards the bedroom anyway.

“Y/N?” He called out, despite it being nearly 4AM.

He let out a sigh of relief when he found Y/N slowly waking up from their bed.

“J?” She murmured, half asleep.

“Y/N, why is the bat in the living room?” Jason asked as he rubbed his face and then sat on the edge of the bed near her. Without even thinking, he cupped her cheek.

She rubbed her eyes, trying to wake up more. “I thought I heard something and freaked myself out. But it was nothing.”

“Y/N, how many times do I have to tell you? Call me when shit like that happens.”

“But it was nothing,” she repeated. “What?” She added with a sigh when he was giving her that disapproving look.

“I don’t care if it ends up being nothing. If you’re scared, then I’m going to be here. OK?” Then he finalized his point with a quick kiss to her lips.

She nodded. “OK.”

Then she looked him up and down, realizing that he was still completely in his Red Hood gear, only without his helmet.

“You OK?” She asked in a whisper. Her eyes already scanning his body for any obvious injuries.

“I’m fine,” Jason sighed. “I was just worried about you when I saw the bat. I thought something…”

Y/N quickly sat up in bed. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m fine. I’m OK. I was just being paranoid. I should’ve put the bat back. I’m sorry.”

A comfortable and reassuring silence settled between them.

“Why don’t you take a shower and come to bed?” Y/N offered softly.

Jason nodded and kissed her again.

As soon as he was out of the room, Y/N ran a hand over her face.

She hated lying to Jason. He didn’t deserve it. But she also knew he wouldn’t let her anywhere near an operation that Bruce was trying to pull off. This had to be the same thing that Tim had pulled Jason aside for at the gala.

But Bruce made one thing clear: he needed her help. And he wouldn’t do so if he wasn’t desperate.

———————-

The next night, Y/N couldn’t stop sweating and her heart rate was out of control. She tried to act like this was just another day of work, greeting customers, explaining the pieces, and answering questions.

But the need to get into the back offices when everyone else was gone would not stop nagging her.

With shaky hands, she tapped her ID on the scanner. Usually at this point in an event, all of her colleagues were either on the floor or had called it the end of their work day and headed home.

By some miracle, that was exactly the case.

Y/N locked the door behind her, never having seen a purpose for doing so any other day of working at the gallery.

“OK. OK. OK. Breathe,” she muttered to herself as her eyes scanned the room.

She knew where all the files were in the room. And Bruce had given her the keys to knowing what to look for. Now it was just a matter of putting the two together.

Y/N instantly went to work and started shuffling through papers, finding what was needed.

Bruce had given her a special pen that would scan every file within a second no matter what angle it was pointed at, so Y/N wouldn’t have any suspicious photos on her cellphone.

Y/N was almost done, covered in sweat and with shaking hands, when the door started jiggling.

She swore her heart was about to burst out of her chest.

With pure adrenaline, Y/N quickly put back the files that were in her hand.

But the person on the other side of the door was clearly getting impatient quickly and continued to mess with the doorknob.

Y/N jumped when it was finally kicked open. She whipped around to stare at a man who was nearly the size of Jason, but looked far deadlier. She’d never seen him at the gallery before, which meant he was definitely part of Ibanescu’s gang.

“Can I help you?” She snapped rudely, trying to use her authority to hide her fear.

“What are you doing in here?” He accused.

“I work here. Who the hell are you?”

He ignored her question. “Why was the door locked?”

“You still haven’t told me who you are,” Y/N shot back.

And with that, she straightened her posture and started walking past him. But this man wasn’t as stupid as he looked. Just as she thought she’d slipped away, the man grabbed her by the arm.

“Excuse me,” Y/N hissed.

But he ignored her and started dragging her into the back storage area of the gallery and further away from the crowd.

Y/N tried to rip her arm from his grasp but his grip was vice-like and didn’t even seem fazed by her efforts to escape.

This was not good.

While Y/N was still hopeful that she could possibly talk her way out, she was also realistic.

Which is why she hit a button on her watch.

Jason had gifted it to her very early on in their relationship. It was a classic chronograph watch. But he had installed a panic button onto it.

“If something ever happens – even if you think you’re being overly cautious – you push this and it will send out a signal that I can track. I’ll be there before you know it.” That’s what he had told her when he gifted it, and she’d worn it every day since.

A few seconds later, Y/N was being shoved through the door that led to the back alley.

There was a group of men, just as large and intimidating as the one who still had a grip on her arm.

It was pouring rain and freezing outside. But the slight overhand of the building into the alley protected them slightly.

“What the fuck is this?” One of them asked.

“I found her snooping around in the offices,” he announced.

“I’m one of the directors of this gallery!” Y/N bit back. “I was checking the price points on pieces for a potential customer.”

“The door was locked,” the man added.

They all seemed to be looking at each other.

Y/N was frozen, trying to wait for the perfect moment to make a run for it.

But then she saw one of the men, who appeared to be in charge, eye the pen that was clipped to the pocket of her pants. She prayed that he was too stupid to think it was anything more than just a writing utensil.

But then he slowly walked up to her. He grabbed the pen from her pocket and inspected it.

Y/N swore time froze. She couldn’t hear anything. She couldn’t feel the tight grip on her arm that was surely going to bruise her.

Then the man’s gaze shifted from the pen to her eyes.

“Get her in the car,” he told the group.

Y/N’s heart dropped.

Without hesitating, she immediately started to fight the man holding her. With a swift motion, she kneed him hard in the groin, making him let out a growl and keel over. But he dropped his grip on her arm.

Despite wearing heels, she made a run for it. She didn’t get far, but she got far enough into the rain that she was already drenched.

Another man grabbed her, shoving her against the building and clenching her throat to a point of suffocation.

“You stupid bitch,” her original captor spat as he backhanded her across the face.

Y/N blinked as a ringing started in her ears and her face stung with pain.

“Get her in the car before you make a fuckin’ scene,” the leader warned.

But before they could respond to the command, the street lights went out, causing a surge of darkness to blind all of them.

Y/N tried to step away from her attackers as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. But she couldn’t see a damn thing. The pouring rain was only making it more impossible.

It wasn’t until one of the men cried out in pain and guns started firing that she could see anything. Except it was too fast for her to make out a clear picture. Every so often, a lightning strike or a muzzle flash would give her a short glimpse.

Lo and behold, Batman was taking out the men one by one. But every time Y/N’s eyes focused on his tall silhouette, he’d disappear. She couldn’t keep track of his movements. And apparently neither could any of Ibanescu’s men.

“Shoot the girl!” One of the men yelled.

Y/N’s eyes widened when two of the men turned their guns on her.

But just before they fired off their rounds, a small force tackled her to the side and behind the safety of a giant dumpster.

Y/N looked up to see a young boy shielding her with his own body.

Damian.

Things were so chaotic that she hadn’t even registered he was there, too.

Before she could say anything to him, there was another presence that dropped down beside her. The next second, she was being grabbed and pulled into the sky.

From the feel of his arms alone, Y/N immediately recognized it as Jason.

His grappling gun had brought them to the roof of the building.

Once their feet were grounded onto the roof, Jason barely stepped away and grabbed her shoulders.

Y/N couldn’t read his face from his helmet. But the subtle movements of his head made it clear that he was scanning her body to see if she’d been hit. It only took a few seconds to be convinced that she was clear.

Then he was grasping her face. “Stay here,” he told her before he used his grappling gun to vault back down into the alleyway.

Y/N ran to the edge of the room to look down.

When Jason returned to the fight below, he was ruthless.

Damian had seen the Red Hood with a vengeance many a time. But this… this was something different.

No bone was left unbroken.

Jason wasn’t just neutralizing these men…he was out for blood and pain.

The leader of the little gang was on his knees, covered in his own blood, when he looked up at Jason, who had a gun pointed just centimeters from his head.

“Red Hood, no!” Bruce growled as he threw a batarang, knocking Jason’s gun away from its almost-victim.

Jason whipped his head around. “They were going to kill her!”

“I wasn’t going to let that happen,” Bruce countered.

While they talked, Damian knocked out the man Jason almost murdered. By now, all of them were knocked unconscious or so injured that they couldn’t even open their eyes.

Jason’s entire body froze, realizing what had really happened. Bruce and Damian didn’t just happen to be there to save his girlfriend. This was their doing. They were the ones who had put her in this dangerous situation to begin with.

“What the fuck did you do?” Jason thundered.

Just as a flash of lightening struck, he turned to face Bruce, finding his new prey.

“She had an in and I asked her to use it,” Bruce explained evenly. “She agreed.”

“Of course she fucking agreed!” Jason yelled over the rain. “She’d never say no to helping! And you knew that, and you took advantage of it!”

Then he raised his gun, pointing it at Bruce.

“Put the gun down, Red Hood.”

“Fuck you,” Jason hissed.

The next thing Y/N knew, Jason shot a bullet towards Bruce, causing her to let out a yell from above. In her heart she knew he hadn’t aimed to kill, but Bruce dodged the shot anyway.

Now the two men were fully fighting each other. Bruce seemed to be pulling his punches and just trying to remain on the defense. But Jason wanted revenge. Yes, Bruce and him had a dark history. But putting Y/N in danger erupted something inside Jason that made him see red in a way he never had before.

Just as Y/N was going to call out for Jason to stop, she heard someone drop beside her on the roof.

Dick stood a few feet away, standing tall in his Nightwing uniform.

“Dick, do something!” She begged.

“I can stop Bats, but I can’t stop him,” he told her.

“Then get me the fuck down there! Use your zip-line thingy!”

“Zip-line thingy?” Dick repeated, clearly offended. “This is a grappling–”

“Dick!” Y/N cut him off.

“Right, sorry.” He grabbed her, held her body tight to him, and lowered them down back to the alley.

When Y/N looked up, Bruce was on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

But Jason wasn’t done with him.

“You made it clear that you don’t give a shit about me. But putting the one person I love in danger just for you to solve a case? You’ve reached a new low,” Jason yelled as he slowly started to walk towards Bruce.

But before Jason could reach him, Y/N blocked his path.

She was soaking wet and shivering from both the cold rain and the shock.

Jason could already see the bruises covering her neck and face. He also didn’t miss the small line of blood that had trickled down her nose.

“Jason,” she whimpered. “That’s enough.”

He froze.

Y/N walked to him. “Please, just take me home,” she whispered.

Just seeing her made Jason’s entire body relax. But he was also reminded that she was the priority, not Bruce.

Noticing her shivering, he took off his leather jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Bruce, Dick, and Damian were barely able to see the short, loving moment before Jason flung a smoke capsule onto the ground, covering him and Y/N as he brought her into his arms.

By the time the smoke disappeared, Jason and Y/N were gone.

—————-

When Jason and Y/N got back to their apartment, Jason when into autopilot mode of nursing Y/N. He pulled her into their bathroom and immediately started helping her out of her wet clothes. Y/N couldn’t stop shaking, and he noticed.

Jason only left her side for the split moment when he turned to start the shower, making sure to make it extra hot.

Then he was right back at her side, taking off his uniform and matching her nudity.

When he gently tugged her into their abnormally large shower, there was nothing sexual about it.

Now that Y/N’s skin was bare to him, he looked at all the injuries she had.

There were a few scrapes that would heal in a week or so. But Jason’s gaze went dark every time they lingered on the bruises across her throat, face, and bicep. He should’ve killed all of those bastards.

Y/N leaned into Jason’s chest. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Because she knew that’s what this was. Jason wasn’t mad at her – at least, not yet. That could very much come later. But no, right now, he was scared. He put so much energy into keeping Y/N away from his other life, only for her to be thrown right into the center of it. And it wasn’t even his doing; it was Bruce’s.

“I know,” he bent down to whisper in her ear as he wrapped his arms around her.

Y/N didn’t know how long they stayed in the shower. But eventually Jason turned off the water and wrapped Y/N around in a fluffy white towel. She looked so young and innocent.

He moved her to their bedroom and sat her down on the edge of the bed.

Y/N watched him as he moved about the room, getting each of them clothes – all from his own closet.

“Are you hungry?” He asked her carefully as he handed her a pair of his sweatpants and one of his hoodies.

She shook her head.

Jason wasn’t surprised. One of the side effects of trauma and shock was a loss of appetite. But he made her drink a huge glass of water before he let her get in bed. And he made a mental note to make a big breakfast tomorrow when her body recovered and realized how starving it was.

When they were both finally under the covers, Jason didn’t hesitate to pull Y/N completely in his arms, smothering her with his giant frame. She welcomed his touch and warmth, burying her face into his chest.

Neither of them knew who needed this closeness more.

Tonight had been scary. Y/N knew Jason’s anger was bound to show up at some point. But right now, both of them were just grateful they were okay.

————————-

To Y/N’s surprise, she woke up in bed alone.

But her concern didn’t last long as she heard Jason moving around in the kitchen and she could hear soft music was playing if she listened hard enough.

When Y/N moved to get out of bed, she felt all the soreness that came from being grabbed and thrown around like she was last night. She winced, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. But she made a mental note to hide any signs that she was in pain from Jason.

Over their time together, Y/N and Jason got disturbingly good at reading one another. So, when Y/N walked into the kitchen to find Jason making breakfast, she immediately sensed things were not good. It wasn’t the cooking that tipped her off. His naked back was to her and she could somehow see the tension in his shoulders – in his whole body.

Y/N knows he heard her as soon as she walked into the kitchen.

“There’s coffee,” he says without turning around from the stove. He’s making pancakes. Chocolate chip pancakes, to be precise.

Y/N pours herself some coffee and sits at the table, watching him.

A few minutes pass before she’s had enough of the tension.

“If you’re gonna yell at me, then yell at me,” she told him.

Jason froze for a moment, but then quickly looked at her over his shoulder. “When have I ever yelled at you?”

He had a point.

Yes, Jason was once filled with only rage. There was a reason some feared Red Hood more than the Batman. He was ruthless. Fueled by vengeance, his temper, and his disappointment in the evil that plagued the world. He fought his enemies, but he also fought with his friends and family.

But Jason Todd was none of those things with Y/N. He never lost his temper with her. He never projected his rage and hardships from what he saw as Red Hood onto her. He’d never even raised his voice with her.

“I know,” Y/N admitted. “But I also know you’re still angry.”

Jason sighed, turning off the stove and bringing a giant plate of pancakes to the table.

But Y/N couldn’t eat while having this discussion.

Jason leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You wouldn’t have let me do it,” Y/N countered.

“Yeah, and for good reason.”

“He used you, Y/N.” Jason tried to explain. “You’re untrained… with no exposure to this world. He knew not to involve you and he went behind my back to do it anyway.”

Y/N lowered her head in shame. There was a part of her that felt useless. She couldn’t jump around rooftops and save those who needed it. She was just…normal.

“I just wanted to help,” she mumbled.

Jason leaned forward from seeing her upset. “Y/N, come here.” He reached for her hand and baited her towards him.

She took his offer and moved from her chair to straddle his lap.

Jason held her waist tightly as he pressed his forehead to her’s. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered.

“You’re not going to,” she reassured him.

“Please, I’m begging you, don’t ever do something like that again.”

Y/N’s heart hurt at how desperate he sounded. She had realized far too quickly that Jason wasn’t scared of death. He was only scared of her death.

“I promise,” she told him.

“You scared the fucking shit out of me, Y/N.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Jason accepted her apology with a kiss. But it didn’t end quickly. In fact, it got more heated and hungrier. His grip got firmer on her waist.

Y/N knew where this was going, especially as he thumbed the hem of her hoodie and sweatpants. But they both needed this.

“The pancakes, Jason.” She warned him.

Jason smiled as he pulled away from her lips. “Fuck the pancakes,” he told her in between kisses. “I’m takin’ you back to bed.”

—————————

A few weeks had passed since the incident. Y/N tried to get her relationship with Jason back to normal. He still insisted on keeping his vigilante life away from her. But there was more of an understanding for why now.

However, tension had risen again a couple days after the attack, when they received an interesting gift in the mail. They had opened a rather large envelope addressed to the both of them.

Inside were two first-class plane tickets to Paris with their names on them and an open reservation at Hotel Le Royal Monceau.

Y/N had stared at them with more of an understanding than Jason.

She’d looked up at Jason. “I…I told him I’ve always wanted to go to Paris when I first met him at the gala.”

He’d glared at the gift. “Typical Bruce. If he can’t punch his way out of an issue, he’ll try and buy it.”

Neither of them had said anything about actually using tickets and reservation. It just collected dust on one of their end tables.

Now Y/N sat in their apartment alone, reading another one of Jason’s books, when her cell started ringing.

It was a number she didn’t know, but she decided to answer it anyway.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Y/L/N, it’s Alfred Pennyworth,” a charming voice answered back.

Y/N couldn’t help, but smile. As if she knew more than one Alfred in the world. “Hi, Alfred.”

“I thought it would be a good time to give you that lesson you asked for. Are you free today?”

Y/N looked around her apartment. All of her plans for today had consisted of laying around, drinking coffee, doing a bit of reading.

“Yes, today would be great.”

—————

Y/N wouldn’t make the same mistake twice and had given Jason the heads up on her change of plans.

Seeing as Jason had no issue with Alfred, he didn’t seem too bothered bit it all. But he did still tell her to be careful and ended the call with a sincere, “I love you.”

It was strange going back to Wayne Manor when there wasn’t a gala being held there.

Y/N thought it would seem more like a home this time around, but it still felt like a museum to her. And yet, she still had imposter syndrome as she walked through the threshold.

Alfred gave her a warm smile as he opened the door. “It is lovely to see you again, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Alfred, please, it’s just Y/N.”

He nodded. Then he gestured for her to follow him. “Come. I have a station set up in the cave.”

Y/N stuttered to a stop. “Cave? As in the Bat Cave?”

Alfred seemed amused with her hesitation and concern. “Of course.”

“Should I be – Is that even OK?” Y/N fumbled through her question.

“Well, I don’t see the point of hiding it from you. It’s not like you don’t know all the family secrets already, dear.”

Y/N blinked at that and finally continued following him.

Alfred led her through the secret passage way as if he was taking her to the dining room. She tried to control her reactions and not come off too interested in the details of it all. But it was rather hard.

Just like Alfred told her, there was a little medical station set up in a brighter lit area of the dark and dingy cave.

Y/N half expected him to bring up the recent drama that she’d caused. But ever the gentleman, Alfred didn’t so much as mention it.

He also did as he promised, going through everything she could ever need to know while tending to Jason. He even had little models to practice sewing stitches on. He was a good teacher and Y/N was soaking it all up like a sponge.

She couldn’t imagine her going to med school at any point. But knowing these skills were going to be used to help Jason made it easier to retain.

After hours of teaching, the cave awoke as a carport opened and the batmobile sped in.

Y/N internally swore. She’d hoped not to run into Bruce with this visit. He never seemed to be home, so the odds had seemed low. But clearly she’d messed that up.

Bruce stepped out of the car, taking in the two of them.

“Any injuries, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked politely.

Bruce was about to lie, but he glanced down at his abdomen where it was quite obvious he was bleeding.

“Perfect. My pupil can practice on you,” Alfred announced.

Y/N’s eyes widened in panic. “Oh! That’s definitely a bad idea…”

“Nonsense. Best way to learn is under pressure,” he winked. “I shall go off and start dinner. Let me know if you’re near death, Master Wayne.”

Y/N watched him leave, regretting ever having come here.

When she turned back around, Bruce was removing his cowl.

“He’s right,” Bruce admitted. “Best way to learn is under pressure.” Then he moved to sit in the medical chair.

Y/N swallowed, realizing how dry her mouth was. “Right.”

Her hands shook as she tried to remember everything Alfred had been through. But she knew in the back of her mind that Bruce was fully capable of stitching himself up. So, as much as this was a set up from Alfred, Bruce wasn’t running away from it like she had tried to.

Y/N hadn’t said a word as she cleaned his wound, only apologizing when she thought was necessary – even though he never made a sound of pain or even so much as winced.

Bruce seemed to be following her lead, not wanting to force her to talk if she didn’t want to.

But after 20 minutes or so of silence, Y/N couldn’t take it any longer.

“You know, you can’t buy his forgiveness,” she said as she focused on her stitches.

“I wasn’t only looking for his forgiveness…”

Her eyes flickered to meet his awaiting gaze. “You can’t buy mine either.”

“I owe you an apology,” Bruce began to her surprise. “I should have never involved you. It was dangerous, despite how in control of situation I thought I was.”

“I agreed to it,” Y/N offered. Then she looked at him again. “But I accept your apology.”

A moment passed before Y/N asked, “Are you going to say that to him, too?”

“I would if he would even consider talking to me.”

With that comment, Y/N put down her tools for a second and straightened her posture. “I may not know you very well, Bruce. But I do know that you and Jason are more alike than either of you care to admit.”

She hesitated on continuing. Did Bruce even deserve advice from her?

“He was hurt. And he showed all of you that hurt by being angry, because he didn’t know how else to tell you. He doesn’t feel heard and he doesn’t feel seen. He was lost. And it’s hard for him to just forget how you all handled it.” She took in a deep breath. “But I know he still sees all of you as his family. And you’re the closest thing he’s ever had to a real father.”

Then she quickly grabbed her tools again and cleared her throat. “So, get over yourself, and just talk to him. And I mean actually talk to him – not as Batman and Red Hood, but as Jason and Bruce.”

The cave went quiet.

Y/N couldn’t help herself and looked up at Bruce. Either she was losing her mind or he was giving her a very shy smirk.

“What?” She blurted out.

But before he could answer, a motorcycle sped into the cave.

Y/N would recognize Jason’s bike anywhere. But he wasn’t in uniform. Instead, opting for his black leather jacket and a normal tinted motorcycle helmet.

After he took it off, he eyed the two of them, trying to read the room.

“Hey,” Y/N said shyly.

“Figured I’d come and pick you up,” Jason answered her unasked question, ignoring Bruce.

Y/N looked down at Bruce’s injury. “Actually, I’m all done here.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said sincerely as Y/N covered the wound with a bandage. “You’ll be a better nurse than Alfred in no time.”

Y/N grinned and took off her gloves.

But then she met Jason’s unsure gaze. They had a silent conversation.

“I’m gonna go say goodbye to Alfred,” she quickly told Jason, but really she was telling both of them. “Meet me out front when you’re ready?”

Jason hesitated, but nodded.

Y/N walked to him and gave him a quick kiss for comfort and encouragement.

And then she was off, leaving the two men alone.

Jason shifted his weight, not knowing where to start.

“You’re lucky to have her,” Bruce finally spoke.

Jason winced even though it was a compliment. “I don’t deserve her.”

Bruce stood up. “That’s not true.”

“You of all people know I’m not a good man, Bruce.”

He shook his head. “We may have different views on how to save this city. But we both want the same thing. That doesn’t mean you’re not a good man, Jason.”

Jason blinked at his statement.

“I owe you an apology for... a lot,” Bruce began. “The first is putting that girl in danger.” He paused. “The second was not protecting you – before and after everything that happened.”

“You mean before and after I died?” Jason wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

Bruce’s jaw clenched at that.

“Anything else you want to apologize for?” Jason challenged.

“Yes,” Bruce confirmed. “But I get the feeling that you don’t want to hear it all right now.”

There was a pause.

“You’ll always be my son, Jason. Even if you no longer see me as your father.”

Jason’s eyes filled with tears at Bruce’s words. But he held them back. He couldn’t break down. He couldn’t be weak. Not here. Not now. Not like this.

He couldn’t take any more of this discussion. But he knew this was what he’d been wanting to hear from Bruce for so long.

“I’ll see you around, Bruce.” He told him before putting his helmet back on.

But Bruce had one last thing to say. “Keep her close. Don’t be like me, Jason.”

‘Don’t push people who love you away and make this darkness be your only life,’ was what Bruce would never actually have the courage to say.

Jason now had the cover of his helmet to hide his expressions. But he gave Bruce one last glance before tearing out of the cave.

—————

As Jason pulled his motorcycle up to the front of the manor to pick of Y/N, Damian was playing out front with Titus on the gravel drive.

“Hey, Demon Spawn,” Jason greeted after taking off his helmet.

“Todd,” the boy replied coldly.

To his surprise, Jason got off his bike and walked to him with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

Damian eyed him.

“I saw what you did that night. You saved her life,” Jason said.

Damian waited.

Jason held out his hand. “I just wanted to thank you.”

The boy hesitated before finally shaking it.

Jason didn’t expect Damian to say anything. But he did know talking to him like an adult, instead of a kid, was the only way to get through to him.

Then Y/N was walking out to them with Alfred lingering in the doorway.

“Hi, Damian,” she greeted sweetly before greeting his dog as well.

“Hi, Y/N.”

Jason was surprised he even remembered her name.

“Ready to go?” He asked Y/N.

She nodded. But then reached up to touch the white in his hair. She seemed to have a fondness for it. And Jason didn’t seem to mind.

“You OK?” She asked.

He nodded. “Better.”

She gave him a shy but encouraging look. “I’m glad.”

“I love you, you know,” Jason breathed.

“I know,” she smiled.

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

Oh lordy. That took way longer than I was expecting. But kept my mind off of this dumpster fire of a country. And I hope reading it did the same for you ❤️

#jason todd #jason todd fic #jason todd x reader #jason todd reader insert #jason todd angst #jason todd fluff #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood fic #red hood reader insert #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #batman #batfam #batman universe

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beskarhearts · 4 years ago

Text

Sigil (Din Djarin x reader)

Connection series Pt. 5

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings: cursing, super small mention of family members passing away, small mention of sex

Word count: a little over 3.8K

Summary: Din runs off in the middle of the night, leaving you very annoyed until he reveals why he left.

Notes: I hope you all enjoy this next part! Let me know what you think. I am also going to start a Tag List for this series so let me know if you would like to be a part of it!

Tag List: @ilikethoseodds @dindaddy @poguesvixen

Previous Part ____ Next Part

___________________________________

You are going to kill Din Djarin.

Okay. Maybe not kill him. That is a wee bit of an exaggeration. But you were definitely going to grill him once he got back from wherever he was.

First, Din had landed you on Navarro, avoiding all questions about why he was there and simply stating that he had “Mandalorian stuff” to do. You would like to think you knew Din pretty well at this point and while he was quiet and still getting used to having a person who cared about where he was going, “Mandalorian stuff” was vague, even for him.

You had tried pestering him about it with questions (”What is Mandalorian stuff?” “Are you part of a cult and that’s why I can’t know?” “Can the kid and I come?”) You hoped that would just annoy him and make him tell you what he was doing. But nope.

So you guys had landed on Navarro that afternoon and you had expected Din to leave and do whatever secretive “Mandalorian stuff” he had to do. But he didn’t. He just sat around with you and the kid, and when you asked him why he wasn’t doing his stuff, he said it wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow.

Ready until tomorrow. What did that mean? Was this some new weapon? Or maybe new Mandalorian armor? You had no clue and you spent all day wondering about it. You weren’t a very patient person and the curiosity was killing you.

So instead of Din doing whatever he had to do, he had stayed inside the Crest with you and the kid. And that part was kind of nice. At one point, the both of you were sitting on the floor of the hull of the Crest, watching the child as he waddled around with a toy, babbling nonsense. You both were sat so close to each other and you just knew that if Din wasn’t wearing all the body armor, you’d feel his body heat and your skin would be touching his. You two had talked for hours about this or that. Not anything of much importance. Just silly little conversations.

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Does it ever stink in that armor of yours?”

“Are you going to admit yet that I am your best friend?” (He had grumbled to that one and you couldn’t quite make out the words, but you took it as a yes.)

It had been like that for hours and it was so nice, so normal. Like you two weren’t always running away from something. Like you three were just a family.

But that thought, the thought of you three as a family, led you down a bit of a rabbit hole. You could safely say at this point that you and Din were friends. Very close friends in your opinion. You could easily say the closest friend you had ever had. And while you knew you were his friend, you still weren’t sure where you fit with him and the child sometimes. You knew him and the child shared a special bond and even though the man never referred to himself as the kids’ father, you knew deep down that he look at him as his son and would do anything to protect him. And that warmed your heart because you were sure love was a hard emotion for a man like him to feel or express, especially a man sworn to a creed that strips him of individuality and expression. But you knew without any doubts that he loved that little green creature with all his heart. And while the kid couldn’t speak, you could see how much he loved his father: the way he reached out for him, cooed when he entered the room, and how his big eyes looked up at him. The two of them were a clan. They were a family.

And in his clan of two, his family of two, you didn’t know where you fit exactly. You knew the child was fond of you. And you cared for the little guy deeply, knowing you’d do anything to protect him. You loved to talk to him when Din was busy, sharing little smiles and giggles that neither of you necessarily understood. You don’t know if the kid understood the concept of family, though you wouldn’t be surprised with how smart he was, but you would like to think he saw you as family. And you wouldn’t dare try to overstep your boundaries and refer to yourself at the kid’s mother or anything, but you felt this maternal bond with him. When you held him in your arms, you felt more connected to him than anybody else. Except Din.

Din was harder to read. You knew he cared for you. He had proven that time and time again. And some times the respect and compassion he showed you was overwhelming. You couldn’t think of anyone besides your family who had made you feel so seen, so safe, so... loved? But you had been wracking your brain over one thought lately, especially ever since yesterday evening when his fingers had danced along your skin.

Was this just a friendship? Because if it were up to you, you’d consider the Mandalorian family. But you didn’t know where Din stood. What did he see you as? Because you hoped so badly he saw you the same. And maybe there was even a smaller part of you that you had stuffed away, that hoped maybe there a little more. That he had grown as fond of you as you had for him.

But right now you were not feeling very fond of the man of beskar and you were only thinking (and worrying) about where he was.

He had said his “Mandalorian stuff” wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow, so he couldn’t be there. He hadn’t mentioned meeting anyone else or stopping somewhere, and even if he had, why would he do it in the middle of the night? You had checked outside all around the ship and where you had landed. You checked the cockpit, thinking maybe he had decided to leave Navarro. You even checked the refresher, hoping he was taking a weird midnight shower. But you just felt yourself get more and more annoyed when he didn’t turn up anywhere.

The two of you didn’t live the type of lives where one of you could just disappear. He was a bounty hunter, one who probably had a few people who wouldn’t mind killing him. You also had a whole Empire who weren’t particularly fond of him after he took the child. And the Mandalorian and you had mostly confined yourselves to the ship since you joined, but you couldn’t imagine he would leave without telling you.

You paced around the tiny ship, wondering where to go from there. You could go into the city with the kid, but that was risky, and you were a way out from it, meaning if he came back while you were gone, you’d be putting him in the same position you were in. Serves you right, you thought. But he didn’t take the kid and you knew if he came back to ship and the kid wasn’t there, he’d probably kill anyone he saw until he got him back. Taking him into a city you didn’t know also wasn’t the greatest idea.

But you were lost. You didn’t know where you were really, where he was, how long he had even been gone for. Your mind was racing. Maybe he was meeting someone he knew here, like a friend. But why would he meet a friend in the middle of the night and not tell you? Unless it wasn’t a friend but a woman or companion of some sort. Oh Maker. Were Mandalorians even allowed to be in relationships? Or have... sex?

Now that was not the right thing to think about because now you felt sick at the idea of Din’s hands, the hands that had touched your skin, touching someone else.

Nope. Nope. Nope. You couldn’t think about that right now. So instead your mind moved on to something even worse. What if he was dead or had been attacked or something? You would of thought that you would hear something like that but you also thought the sound of the door opening would wake you up, but it didn’t. The only reason you had woken up was because the child started screaming. Usually Din slept with the kid close to him so he would deal with it, but when the kids screaming continued on and on, you knew something was wrong.

But then all your worries vanished and were replaced by annoyance and anger.

Nevermind, you decided, you were going to kill him.

The door to the Razor Crest lowered and you watched as the Mandalorian walked inside, his helmet looking directly at you. You stood completely still in the middle of the hull, feeling the anger radiate off your skin. And you hoped Din could feel it too. “You son of a bitch.” you hissed.

Din walked in, closing the hatch again, and then had the audacity to stare back at you and say nothing, with his cocky little hip jutted out like always. His visor stared straight back at you, like he hadn’t disappeared for who knows how long without telling you. “You are supposed to be asleep.” he said clearly through his mask, his voice deep and distorted.

You scoffed. “Din Djarin, you are unbelievable. So, it’s okay for you to run off in the middle of the night because I am supposed to be asleep?!” Your words echoed in the ship and you felt your heart racing. You were furious but you also felt relief at the sight of your Mandalorian back in the ship, back to the place you now called home.

“Calm down-”

“Ohhhh, buddy, do not tell me to calm down. For all I know, you could have been dead in a ditch somewhere. Somebody could have been looking for the kid.” You watched as Din didn’t move an inch, his hip still cocked out and it wasn’t until then that you noticed a small pouch in his right hand. You waved your hand at it wildly. “Oh, sir, you better hope to the Maker that whatever is in the bag was so unbelievably worth it because I’m not even close to being done yelling at you. Is that the ‘Mandalorian stuff’ that wasn’t ready yet? Let me guess, it was magically ready in the middle of the night?”

“If I had told you I was leaving, you would have insisted on coming.” He said with a sigh escaping his lips. You imagined underneath the helmet, he was probably rolling his eyes at your dramatics.

“Yes! If you had told me you had to leave the ship in the middle of the night, I would have come because I’m here for you! You wouldn’t let me leave on my own and I won’t let you either! ” You felt your heart clench at the idea of him by himself. You know he lived a whole life on his own before you came along. You know he was an incredibly skilled bounty hunter - the best as far as you were concerned. But if something had happened and your presence could have helped in anyway and you weren’t there… You don’t know how you would have lived with that plaguing you.

“Listen, I had to go get something and you couldn’t come with me, sweet one.” You got even more annoyed at the use of the nickname because it almost, almost made you melt.

“Oh, don’t use that cute little nickname now.” You shook your head and pointed a finger at him. “What was it? Some super-secret Mando thing that I couldn’t possibly see because of your precious damn creed? Cause I am just a mere normal human and I couldn’t be exposed to something so-”

“Can you stop talking for a minute?” He interrupted roughly, annoyance dripping off his modulated words. You finally stopped talking, stiffening up as he walked towards you. “It was for you. I was going to give it to you in the morning, but since you are so eager to know, here.”

He tossed the pouch in your directions and you caught it in both hands. It was small but there was a little weight to it, more than you expected. You look down at the pouch, the strings of it drawn together so you couldn’t see the inside. You looked back up at Din as he stepped towards you a little more, his helmet angled down to look at your expression of shock you saw reflected in his visor. You felt the anger you had for him mere minutes ago dissipate and gaped up at him. “What is it?” you felt yourself stupidly mutter, even though the item was in your hand.

“It is a…” you heard Din pause as if searching for a word, until he finally settled on one, “gift.”

“You… you got me a gift?” Your chest filled with warmth at the idea that this man left in the middle of the night to go get you a gift to wake up to in the morning. You suddenly felt stupid for yelling at him (although he should have warned you). You hadn’t been given a gift in so long. You weren’t a material person and you assumed Din wasn’t either, so if he had gone out of his way for a gift, it must of been for a reason.

“If I knew a gift would make you stop talking, I would have gotten you way more by now.” A husky breath was let out, one you could tell was a laugh passing through the modulator.

The corner of your lips quirked in a lopsided small smile, but you playfully narrowed your eyes at Din, staring into his visor like they were a pair of eyes. “For your information, you would be so dreadfully bored if I stopped talking.” You heard a small hum through his helmet, not necessarily agreeing with your words but not arguing against them either. It was moments like these where you felt little connections form between you and Din. They were small but you know he didn’t experience moments like these with other people often, nor did you for that matter. “Is this the ‘Mandalorian stuff’ that wasn’t ready?”

“I couldn’t tell you that it was for you. Then you really wouldn’t have stopped asking me questions. You are very persistent.”

You let out a chuckle. “I know. It’s part of my charm.” You flashed a smile at him as he shook his head. You looked back down at the bag that was still clasped in your hands. You were happy about the gift, but it was also awkward. You haven’t been given a gift in so long. You didn’t really know what to do.

You looked back up at your Mando and noticed he hadn’t moved, still looking down at you. He’s waiting for you to open it, idiot. You suddenly realized you had been standing with the bag in your hand for a while when you began to fumble your fingers to the strings, drawing the pouch open. You reached a couple fingers into the small opening and felt a rope of sorts. You latched onto it and pulled it out.

Your breath caught in your throat immediately as your fingers held the object up for you to see. It was a rope tied off in a loop, with a charm of shorts attached to the bottom. But it wasn’t just a charm, it was a sigil, identical to the one worn around the child’s neck. It was a horned creature, a kyrbe is what you recalled it being if you were right. It was a beautiful silver grey color that look eerily similar...

“It’s... is it beskar?” You gasped out, looking back up at the visor and seeing your own stupid, gawking expression looking back down on you.

“Um, yeah. I took a bit from my old armour and went to the armorer. She was able to make it for me...” his voice trailed off but he still looked down at you, standing in the same position. If he didn’t have the helmet on, his face would be so close. You’d probably feel his breath fan down on your face, you’d be able to reach up and touch his cheek...

“But, beskar is valuable. You could’ve used it for something important.” You were almost whispering at this point, looking back down at the necklace in your hand. You weren’t one for dresses or jewelry but the item had become one of your most prized possessions in a matter of seconds.

“I did.” was all the Mandalorian responded with.

And with that, your heart melted. You looked up at your Mandalorian with pure adoration in your eyes. “Din, I...I don’t know what to say...”

“I just...umm...” If the moment weren’t so special, you’d want to chuckle at the mighty Mandalorian stumbling over his own words. You don’t think you’ve ever heard his do so. He was always so clear and direct. You heard a loud sigh escape his mouth and he dropped his hands from his hips to his side. “Listen, I don’t know much about family. I lost my parents when I was young and after that all I knew was the creed. But, you and the child... I think you are the closest thing to a family I’ve had. You mean a lot to me. ”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat at his confession. You knew Din didn’t do this often. You don’t even know if he had done something like this for someone ever before, besides the child. You couldn’t see his face but you saw Din. You saw the human being he was behind the armor and the man he was. And he was such a good man. A kind, smart, caring man who did so much to make sure the child and you felt like you belonged.

“I gave the child a necklace like this because we were a clan of two. But, now we are a clan of three.” He didn’t need to explain the importance of that sentence to you. You knew immediately what it meant and that his clan, your clan, was a family. It was small but it was full of respect and... love.

“Din...I...” you looked at him standing before you and did the only thing you could think to do in the moment when any words you could think to say felt so dismal. You wrapped your arms around his waist, and yes you were met with cool beskar metal against your skin and clothes. You pressed your face against the beskar plate on his chest and closed your eyes, trying to commit the moment to memory so you could look back on it during dark times.

You almost worried for a second that you had stepped too far and ruined the moment, until you felt two arms wrap around your body. They were strong and wrapped around your back, pressing your body against him and you swear you could hear a small hitch in his breath through the modulator. In that moment, you stood in the middle of the small ship that had become your home, with your arms wrapped around the only person in the world who you’d learn to trust and open yourself to since your family passed away.

You held on tightly to the man and he did the same. You had wondered what it was like to be held by him and now you knew. It was one of the best feelings you could think of. He was so strong and he felt like it. He felt like someone who could console you and who you could lean on.

“I absolutely love it.” You whispered it under your breath, not even sure if he heard it until you heard a small “good” whispered out by Din.

You eventually pulled away from Din, wishing you could stay hugging him but not wanting to make him uncomfortable. You looked back down to the necklace, rolling it in your hands when you noticed an etching on the back. “Cyar’ika?”

You looked back up at the helmet that still faced you. “Oh, I had her etch that. It means friend in Mando’a.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling confusion fill your mind. “I thought friend was burc’ya.”

“Since when do you know Mando’a?” You couldn’t tell if the words were said with sarcasm or with an air of discomfort.

“Sometimes I hear you talk to the kid in it. I like to listen to it...” you suddenly clam up, feeling your confession bring heat to your cheeks. “It just... sounds nice. I-I like the sound of it.”

You both fall silent, standing inches apart from each other and not saying a word. Nobody moves until you pull the necklace around your neck, not sure what else to do. You feel the cool metal against your chest, and it reminds you of the man standing before it. It makes you feel warm and fills you with a sense of belonging. Having it against your skin, close to your heart... it makes all the sense in the world to you.

Dins finger reached out slowly, grabbing the necklace real quick and you felt his fingers brush your chest. He held it in his hand, looking down at it, and let out a little hum. “It looks good.”

He let it drop back down and you smiled up at him. “Who knew you had great taste in jewelry?”

Another laugh escaped the man’s lips. “We should probably go to sleep now.” You see the man of beskar turn, walking towards the refresher when your words suddenly stop him.

“Wait, you never answered my question. What does burc’ya mean then if cyar’ika is friend?” You feel so much confusion. You swear you heard Din say burc’ya once and when you asked him what it meant, he said friend. You don’t think you’ve ever heard cyar’ika before, the word seems foreign.

“We’ll talk about it later. Good night.” He turns again.

“But-”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Fine but you are telling me later. And it better not mean something like pain in my ass or ‘one who never shuts up’.” You quirk your eyebrows, letting out a small laugh at your joke.

Din let out another sigh. “Goodnight, sweet one.”

“Thank you, Din. I love it.” You say before he slips away, clutching the sigil in your palm.

You see the Mandalorian pause but he doesn’t turn back to look at you again. He just says “I’m glad” before disappearing into the refresher.

You looked back down at the sigil on your neck with a soft smile. It was so nice to feel a part of something. A part of a family. But it wasn’t just a family. It was Din. Your Din.

This was man who made you feel things you hadn’t felt since you were a girl. A man who made your stomach flutter and your hands shake. A man who showed you gentleness and compassion. A man who gave you a warm feeling in your chest when you saw him.

And you realized something.

This must be what falling in love feels like.

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian imagine #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader

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iphoenixrising · 3 years ago

Text

More on the Robinpile Soulmate au

You know, babes, people and their wonderful, encouraging comments on that work in progress are fucking beautiful, so.

I’m going to put a little snippet down that’s probably going to rip at your heart strings and spoil the story a bit for you if you decide to read this small bit. So, just FYI Spoiler.

But, if you’d like a little more on how that story is going to go, welp. here you are *bows*

Note: not formatted or beta read.

After so much careful planning and preparation, Plan C is a go.

Robin is running over rooftops, scanning every shadow for a hint of Red Robin in Gotham. Nightwing and the Red Hood, Black Bat, Batgirl, and Signal are all in crucial parts of the city, on the lookout as well.

He, Jason, and Dick have spent weeks preparing for this, hoping their last-ditch effort would be enough to convince Tim his time as Robin hadn’t been in vain, that he was still, would always be a Bat.

That is the goal tonight, not to try convincing him to give them a chance as soulmates because that is likely impossible, but they could start a much more important mission, to try in their own ways to give him back something they’d all taken. To try to show they knew what they’d done to him, and perhaps could start them on the road to make it right.

(He hopes there’s still a chance.)

Fabrication didn’t take long, but the coupe de gras certainly did.

Word Red Robin would be in Gotham on the down-low gave them a chance to finally act, and Oracle promised them she would do her best to stall their soulmate until Robin could get to him.

And it’s a pang of pain, a lightning strike, when he catches up with Red on the roof of the Wallstone Apartments. The memory of the cut grapple line in the foreground of Robin’s thoughts.

“Please help,” Robin makes himself fall off his grapple to his knees, bent over, panting. “Red Robin, please.”

(Not all of it is an act, not with how hard he was running to get to Red before he vanished into the city.)

The older vigilante kneels by him, out of immediate reach.

“Where?” Is Tim’s Red Robin voice, a hand almost reaches out, clenches tight at the last second to draw back, and Robin sees the aborted move, has a flare of hope.

“Cannery Row–” and Robin rocks to the side, looks up at that closed expression, dares to let the fluttering in his chest give him strength.

Hands and arms around him, steady him, pull him up on his knees. He thinks about the grip Red Robin has on his shoulders to hold him up, how tightly Tim is able to hold on. A finger taps his mask so the whiteouts slide up, taking away some of his nightvision. He’s not concussed, is perfectly fine, but through his research, an injured (seemingly) teammate in need is one of Tim’s weaknesses.

“Robin–”

“We need you, there is too much happening in the city tonight. We are all stretched too thin,” and there is nothing but the truth in his eyes, his demeanor, the way his gloved hand tightens in the cape over Red’s shoulder.

“All right, stay here, call Hood or N to pick you up–”

But Robin staggers to his feet, “I can’t. I must get you to the safehouse. Everything we need is there.”

He keeps himself from a triumphant bellow when Red Robin paces him to the edge of the roof, grapple already in hand.

Luckily, Cannery Row is close enough they don’t have to go far, just their past hanging between them, the connection that’s agonizingly cold and silent even when they’re side-by-side.

Robin lands it this time on the roof of the familiar warehouse. He taps the comm unit on as he touches down, hopes Red won’t notice.

They climb through a service elevator shaft, the two of them prying open the doors once they hit the underground floor.

“Give me the details,” Red’s whole body tense as they lower themselves down into the darkness.

“Black Bat is in the Central Business District, Hood is by the Iceburg Lounge, Nightwing is in the Diamond District. Father is tracking down leads for a case, Batgirl is on her way to the Steel Mill. We still have no coverage for the situation in the City Hall District, but you cannot go alone.”

When they get the doors pried open, when Red Robin was close enough for his cape to brush against his, the underground is revealed in shadows, just as he, Jason, and Richard left it a few hours earlier.

(This is a newer Batman Incorporated holding. Robin is banking on the fact Tim might not know this, his heart starting to beat harder, faster when they get closer to the first stage of Plan C.)

The lights kick on as planned, and in the large expansive floor, a drop-cloth-covered something waits.

That’s all.

Red Robin is looking around for anything, searching for traps, evidence, something to give him an idea of what he’s walking into, back pressed against the elevator before he starts to step out.

His vigilante instincts aren’t going crazy, but he stays close to the shadows as he sneaks out, leaving Robin behind in the elevator shaft to stay or follow.

(Where Damian has the next step in the plan waiting, a duffle bag he’d hidden in the panel of the elevator shaft. He’s fast and silent, throwing off his gloves, gauntlets, cape, and utility belt–)

His instincts still aren’t blaring dangerdangerdanger and his wrist computer isn’t picking up any foreign tech when Red Robin finally gets to the drop-cloth with a frown, wondering if they’ve come across a piece of shady tech or something.

Which is really the only explanation for why Robin would come to him at all, everyone else busy in Gotham notwithstanding.

He grips the cloth and pulls hard, muscles tense for whatever fuckey waits for him underneath.

When he gets an eyeful, his knees go terribly weak for a long painful moment as he stares at–

The Red Bird.

“Oh...fuck,” because his eyes are instantly hot and full, making him blink rapidly behind the whiteouts.

And it gleams in the overhead lights, red and black and shiny, looks like it did the day Bruce showed it to him in the Cave, ready to tear into the night.

His chest hitches and the possibility this could be a cruel joke hits him hard enough to choke.

(It’s because he rejected them. This sick shit is because he refused to let bygones be bygones.)

“Open the door, Tim. Everything you will need tonight is ready for you.”

It’s Dami’s voice echoing behind him, not Robin’s, and Red can’t bring himself to look away, too many things churning in his brain pan around the shock and anger and regret and grief. It might be stupid for him to reach out, to make his wobbly knees work, to open the door with a bigger hand than the last time he did this.

The inside is immaculate, even after years of disuse that Red Robin has to wonder how and why and what the absolute fuck is happening here?

But on the seat, folded neatly with all the bells and whistles, the shuriken R on the red tunic gleams bright in the halogen glow. His throat gets tight when he realizes it’s his original red, gold, and green–the colors of joy.

The colors from the best years, before it all started to go horribly wrong.

A noise comes out of him, something low and pained before he can rein it in, before he can remind himself he’s already moved past the point this should still mean something.

(But it does, it always has, it’s always meant so much, especially back when he was just a kid in a silent, empty house. It meant he had a place, a purpose, a presence at his back when things got to be too much, too overwhelming.)

And it’s stupid how helpless he is, how some part of him –small and weak as it is– can’t stop himself from reaching out to touch, to grab, to try to hold the fuck on.

(Not because of the name itself, never that, but everything he’d lost the second it had all been taken away. A final nail in the coffin, back to being that boy in an empty house.)

When he reaches for the suit, he holds it in both hands like he’s seeing things, chest stuttering on a breath when the scent of new leather and Kevlar proves he hasn’t been drugged or the sleep dep severely fucking with him.

Stepping from the shadows, no longer in Robin but a black suit of some nameless ninja, Damian Wayne is holding the hood and face covering he’s going to wear for the night, waits until he sees how his soulmate will react to this possibly disastrous plan.

He takes careful, tentative steps closer, taking in the hunched shoulders, bowed head, reaching into the Bond when it is ice cold in his chest.

“Wh-what the fuck is this?” Hoarse and painful from his, their Tim. And Dami’s hands automatically reach out in desperation to comfort before he remembers himself and hesitates.

Even if the Bond on his side is closed, cold, silent, Damian breathes in and attempts to send calming, soothing feelings, tries to let his own emotions, his hope, his affection, his protectiveness, his respect, his reverence for this man be available should the Bond at any moment open even slightly.

His soulmate’s rigid control to close himself off from them comes from years of training, of trying to protect himself is such a point of pain that some part of him thinks the three of them together could crash through if they tried, could break down those walls by force.

But he’s here tonight, had worked so hard with N and Hood and Father and Batgirl and Black Bat and Oracle to plan it all, set it all up, because he’s different now, has learned what his actions had cost him, has realized he can’t go back to the old ways.

Instead, he hopes they will have this last chance, will give Tim enough reasons to open up without fear, without pain.

(“It started with taking the cape,” Dick thinks aloud once the three of them are together after a long night, finding comfort, “he thinks he was kicked out of the family, so...this shouldn’t have been about soulmates in the first place.”

“I do not understand, Beloved,” Dami yawns, buried himself deeper against Jason’s chest.

“It’s not about gettin’ him like that, Sweets,” Jay replies, stroken a hand through his hair. “Might never happen…”

“But, we could give him back some of what we took. He could finally come home again–”

Dami’s eyes open, “we...could give him back his place in the family. Or at least try to do so. Is that what you are saying?”

“Hm,” Jay grunts out, arms stealthy when he wraps them both up, rolls to put himself in the middle, “sounds like we godda last resort, now don’t it?”

“We’ll call it Plan C since it’s our last chance.”)

Plan C, indeed.

“Tim,” and he gives them only a few feet of space, no domino, no hood, no face coverings, no masks, holds up both hands in what he hopes is a peaceful gesture.

Red Robin spins with a growl, muscles tense in fight or flight, ready to throw the fuck down because why fix up the Red Bird and bring it here of all places? What game is this? Haven’t they broken him enough?

But Damian isn’t in the tunic he was wearing less than ten minutes ago, and Red Robin stops cold at the obviously planned costume change. He takes a careful step away from the very familiar suit Damian is wearing now, one that looks crazily like B’s when he was Tengu, trying to get himself back enough to take the cowl from Jean-Paul back when shit was crazy but even then he still had Nightwing at his back and–and…

What is wrong with him? He hasn’t thought about any of this in years.

But still. But still, his eyes go to the gleaming Red Bird, and those better times well up from within, a place so deep, he’d convinced himself he’d left all of it behind.

(Nightwing and Spoiler, school and the Cave, new baddies in Gotham to throw more crazy into the Rogue Gallery mix, teenage angst and sidekick wins, people at his back and front even in the worst of times. Being Red for the Titans was good, so good, but not ever the same. Not like it was when he was that Robin.)

He’s still holding the tunic in both hands, fists clenching it tight like something would have to pry his hands open to take it away (again) when what he really needs to do is throw it back in the Bird and get the absolute fuck out of here. Because this isn’t his anymore, apparently never should have been if the last few years were any kind of indication on the Tim Drake policy.

“This is cruel, even for you,” is snarly and low, is simmering anger trying to cover up old pain, pissing him off even more because he’d finally gotten to the place where he could forget for a while.

(And he’ll get there again. Even after all this.)

He makes his fingers unclench, throws the tunic back on the driver’s seat, but none of that covers up how hoarse his voice is, how tight his chest feels.

Dami just moves one hand, slowly pulls out his phone, thumbs the pass code to unlock the screen, and turns the device around to show Red what’s doing on the main screen.

His brain doesn’t process the image that’s him, one of the few existing pictures from years ago when he was still with Young Justice, the one of the core four making stupid faces, torn up from whatever space battle they’d just come back from, half-insane with sleep deprivation and injuries, only back to the planet for moments to celebrate not dying with pizza and Zestis, arms thrown around each other with rips and bruises and blood still staining the uniforms.

Why the fuck it meant something to Damian is the real question.

“I was wrong, when I came to the Tower,” Damian takes a tentative step toward him, still holding the phone out like a distraction that was really a message. “I told you I wanted to know this man you are now. The man that is one of my soulmates. However...however, I was wrong, Tim. You were my soulmate even back then. You were mine, and even if you weren’t, you were already part of the family when I came to Father, and I did not even give you a chance. I did not see how important you were, what lengths you went to make that symbol your own. I was terrified, young, foolish, but that is no excuse. What I should have been doing all this time is learning who you were back then before I attempted to approach you. Only by knowing that boy could I hope to understand this man.”

Wait, what now? How is this happening right now? All the awful things he’d secretly wanted to hear from the blood son, another chosen one. Another crux of his tangled emotions.

“I already told you I don’t need fucking soulmates. I rejected you.” He bites out, trying to breathe, trying to shove those emotions back down where they belong, trying to pretend the sight of the car, the tunic, the things he used to call his own, can’t touch him anymore.

(But it still has power, so much fucking power to break him down to this, that scared kid in an empty house.)

After all these years, he’s moved on...right?

“I know, Beloved,” Dami puts his phone away, green eyes never leaving Red Robin’s tense form. “But this? Tonight? This has nothing to do with soulmates.”

Which is absolutely not what he expects to hear.

“Tonight is about my predecessor, Beloved, not my soulmate. This is for the Robin that stood in Gotham before me,” and it’s gentle in ways Red Robin never imagined Damian could be, not with him. “This,” and Damian sweeps a hand over the car, the suit, “is for the brother we never should have driven away. The one who gave this name his own brand of honor and power, the one who carved a place for himself in the family. Not as the third Robin in line, but as the first Tim Drake.”

Red Robin’s hands fall enough to be less of a threat. Other than that, he isn’t moving, is listening even if it’s grudgingly, even if it’s with disbelief, even if it’s with skepticism, and Damian smiles softly, so softly, at this beautiful, broken man before him.

“My place?” Is hoarse, a warmer edge that isn’t blank coldness, isn’t so much control. “In case you missed it, my place hasn’t mattered in the last few fucking years–”

“Hasn’t it?” And Dami’s eyes are so green, dark jade that catches in the light, easy to pick out. “Hasn’t it mattered?”

The obvious drawback is an opening, a misstep in the detective’s assumptions that Dami takes the opportunity for what it is.

“I know how it must seem,” and he makes himself stop stepping forward when every instinct in his body screams to approach, to reach out, to take this man in his arms, to whisper endearments, to apologize until the tears dry, until Tim’s arms can unlock, until he can start with the smallest measure of belief with splashes of powerful violet.

“I know the years we’ve let you draw further away. I know there’s been disdain and cruelty until that’s all there was between us. And I did not choose to acknowledge it, my wrongdoings. It was easier to hide, Tim, just as it was for Jason and Richard and Father. We were cowards, but not once in all these years have you ever been simply forgotten.”

And here is where preparation for their detective is perfectly done when Damian whips out his utility belt computer and quietly holds it out, his hand trembling ever so slightly.

The evidence is there in clips of Todd sneaking into a familiar penthouse apartment with a bag of coffee in hand or taking a First Aid kit from under the kitchen counter to restock it, it’s there when video shows Richard in the Batsuit, in Nightwing, in Officer Grayson, in workout clothes, in jeans and t-shirt with both hands always pressed to the glass case with Tim’s first Robin suit, it’s there when Father sits on the bed in Tim’s old room over the years with a familiar shining, shuriken R flipping over the fingers of one hand. It’s there in the attempted hacks of Titan’s Tower when the Batcomputer pings with alerts of a bad fight for the Titans. It’s there in all the protocols when Ra’s starts movement against Red Robin, when their worst enemies are cataloged to the nines and contingencies from each member of the Batfamily are so obviously ready.

(With some pride in himself, Dami is the one that came up with the plan to take down Brother Blood, while Jason’s shoot-now-ask-questions-later is crucial to dealing with The Light. Grayson’s experience with the Fearsome Five, Father’s methodical touch to deal with The Insiders.)

It’s there in the smallest details they’d silently done over the years (these things happening without the need to point out how necessary and does Damian ache with the knowledge how easy it could have been to reach out so many, many times), could be enough at a glance to start the seedlings of doubt in Red Robin’s firm belief his place has simply been forgotten.

And Damian hears it in the catch of breath, a soft inward draw. He can’t see behind the whiteouts of Red Robin’s mask, but he hopes, hopes there might be a spark of indecision.

“You were never forgotten.” Gently, Damian reaches out slowly, just enough to close gloved fingers over the screen. “But, you don’t need to hear it from me, Beloved, you need real proof and that we shall provide tonight. Get changed. You’re needed.”

Conflicted as fuck, Red Robin processes as much as he can in that few minutes, muscles in his shoulders unbearably tight. “I’m not going to just patrol with the Bats, especially under your name.”

“It is not as simple as patrol, I’m afraid. We have several Arkham escapees, a possible gang war, and several other take downs lined up,” which is the absolute truth. “I did not lie when I said we needed your help with the overwhelming criminal activity in the last twelve hours.”

Carefully planned twelve hours for one night they’ve been putting into motion for months.

With the computer in hand, feeling more vulnerable than he’s felt behind the mask in years, Red Robin grits his teeth because only the Bats can do this to him. “I can still help the hell out without the bullshit emotional manipulation. Let me guess, this is Dick’s idea.”

“All of us had a hand in it, actually. The Red Bird itself was my idea. Jason and Father helped to restore it to its former glory. Dick, however, had the idea to make it authentic with the suit.”

“Do you even know how messed up this is for me?” Tumbles right out when he wants cold fury, when he wants to snarl at the obvious manipulation at play–

(while being stupidly impressed they actually seemed to know him to put all the pieces in place, make him play right into their hands with a well thought-out plan. Fuck.)

“The point of all of this, Tim, is to give you one last Robin Ride.”

Cue being at a total loss here because what multiverse did he fall into? Seriously, this can’t be his world, not when those words popped out of Damian’s mouth, and along with it, so many possibilities looming right in front of him.

At the same time, dread crawls up his throat, spills bitter into his mouth.

“Even if you never want us, we will, as you said, learn to live with it.” Damian fights to keep it neutral as just the thought of continuing on in this way as they have for weeks, always aware of the empty spot where their fourth should be, makes him cold all over. Still, this cannot be for them, not if they are serious about setting things right in the only way they can. “Even if that is the case, Tim, I...we. We still want to give you this,” his hand sweeps over the Red Bird again.

Because it’s all so much in one go, things he never thought he’d hear, never could have thought would be offered. Unconsciously, his eyes go to the gleaming fender behind the whiteouts. “None of this is– I brought the Bird back years ago so B could remake it for you.”

And Dami chances one more step closer, “but it is yours, Tim. Father made it for you, to keep you safe, and it will always be yours, Robin or not. It should have been given back to you long before tonight, and for that, I apologize.” He tries smiling just a little, “but, better late than never as they say.”

Red’s got nothing for that, for any of this, stares helplessly while Damian pulls on the hood and face covering, only his green eyes visible.

Red’s jaw is tight, clenching down because he finally gets it. He isn’t going to wake up in the Tower, asleep at his workstation, thinking this is a terribly embarrassing message from his subconscious.

“You will need this,” and Damian holds out a hand again. This time, a Batcomm rests in his palm. “The others are waiting for you, Robin.”

“I-I can’t–” because this is fucking real, this is really happening. As much as he’s sure Damian is bullshitting him about this not being a soulmate thing, his eyes are still getting hot, his chest aching, his throat tight. “I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Damian counters gently. “We...I owe you this. Dick will argue he does also. Jason as well. We cannot give you the things we have taken, not completely. As much as I wish we could change things, overcome our own insecurities to remind you that you will always have a place…” Dami sighs, “we cannot go back, either. Not really, but in order to go forward, we can give you the proof you need to see you have always had a place. So, just for tonight, Tim, be our Robin again.”

Damian doesn’t give him time to formulate a reply while he feels like he just got fucking stabbed hearing that out of the current Robin’s mouth.

“This is wrong, this isn’t–”

Damian lays the Batcomm on the top of the car and slowly backs away, melting into the shadows.

“On the contrary,” echoes around him and the lights go out in the underground, only a section of them lighting up the Red Bird. “This may be the one thing we’ve gotten right.”

The flutter of paper he hadn’t noticed is on the ground from where he’d tossed the old/new suit.

The chime on his wrist computer is a surprising upload of locations in Gotham pinging his algorithm, indicating a little vigilante action wouldn’t be amiss. Damian apparently wasn’t lying about too many fires and too few Bats. But, there’s too much happening in hot spots, and he won’t make the most crucial if he’s swinging. He needs a Ducati or–

His eyes go back to it, another symbol of his best days. Back when he could call himself a Bat, and it wouldn’t have been a lie.

Under the mask, Tim Drake breathes out, shuttering through the old pain that lights up his brain pan.

He could turn right the fuck around and walk out of this warehouse with his heart still in check, with his emotions back under control. He could reject this attempt as sure as he’s been rejected for years.

But the tiny part of him that’s always mourned the loss of his tunic is a stronger voice this time, and his hands twitch in his gloves before moving to pick up the discarded suit again, to look at those short sleeves, the green gloves, the shuriken R that was his design – not Damian’s or Jay’s or Dick’s but his.

The suit blurs and Red Robin realizes it’s because his eyes are spilling over behind the whiteouts.

#winter writes #robinpile soulmate au #just a bit more #ANGST #be aware #this is how my life is going #chippon is really patient with me #please give chip your love

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retrievablememories · 4 years ago

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why don’t you love me | taeyong

title: why don’t you love me pairing: taeyong x black!reader genre: angst, some fluff request: “Taeyong is dating a black girl who SM doesn’t know about and they get into an argument because they’ve been dating for 2 years and he hasn’t told any of the members of NCT . She wants to break up but he doesn’t want to let her go. She accidentally meets Jaehyun and they become friends(Taeyong doesn’t know) and he wants to introduce her to the members so she decides to use this as an opportunity to meet them so Taeyong can crack and tell them about her which he still won’t do out of fear. ❤️” word count: 3.3k warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamic, one tiny mention of sex a/n: i’m not sure if reader meeting jaehyun is realistic, but i wasn’t sure how else to do it since no one at SM knows she exists...don’t clown the music choices plz, i had to look thru my own playlists for this 💀 the ending of this fic has me so shook tbh, i’d have to fight

When you open the door, Taeyong stands before you looking sheepish. “Hi, Y/N. I’m sorry I’m late. I was with the guys today.” You immediately roll your eyes at that and walk away from the entrance, throwing your hands up. Taeyong closes the door behind him and trails in behind you to the kitchen.

“On one of your very few days off? You’re with them everyday. You couldn’t tell them you had other plans? Or even that you have a girlfriend to see?” You turn to look at Taeyong again, crossing your arms. Your body language is already telling him you don’t want to hear more of his excuses. He tries to reach out to you, though you step away from his touch.

He sighs, his shoulders slumping with the knowledge that you’re not going to let this go easily. “They don’t know about us, I can’t exactly—”

“Yes, because you’ve never told them. Or anyone. I’m getting tired of this.” You lean back against the kitchen island, giving him an unimpressed look. “Do you think I enjoy living like some shameful secret?”

“I’m not ashamed of you, and you know it.” You’re not sure about that, actually. “If SM finds out, they’re not going to be happy, and going public is out of the question.” You suck your teeth at that.

“I’ve never asked you about going public; I don’t need or want that. However, I don’t think it’s too much to ask to meet the other men you spend 95% of your time with. God forbid I want to meet the people you refer to as your family.”

Taeyong chews his lips, mulling over your words but feeling too powerless and afraid to do anything about them. Then he sighs and shakes his head, running his hands through his hair. “I just...if gets out, somehow...my career…you know there’s already been so much. A dating scandal would be…”

“I think it’s clearly about more than that,” you argue, your eyebrows drawing together. “You just don’t want anyone to know about me because I’m black.”

“Stop saying that! If I cared about that, I wouldn’t be with you in the first place.”

“Because that’s such a reassurance? Instead, I get to sit up here like the woman in the attic and be hidden away from your friends and family. What a life! Maybe we shouldn’t be together.”

At this, Taeyong’s anxiety becomes almost palpable. “I—what are you saying? You can’t—”

“I can do whatever I want, Taeyong.”

“I don’t want us to break up,” Taeyong argues, his tone becoming more desperate. “I—I can find a way to tell the guys, just...please don’t leave me.”

You give him a long stare. “Quit with the last-ditch attempts to get me to stay. I don’t want you to say that just because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

“What else can I say? I want you in my life. I need you here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Taeyong’s eyes become shiny with tears, which you wish you could ignore, but there is still a part of you that loves him and doesn’t want to see him hurt. Even if it’s hurting you too.

Taeyong gets closer to you, and you allow him to pull you into something of a hug. His head slumps to your shoulder, leaning heavily on you, and you can smell the scent of his shampoo in his hair.

“Do you really still love me?” you ask him softly, next to his ear. “Really love me. Don’t tell me you want me next to you just because you’re afraid to be alone.”

He squeezes you more tightly around the waist and lifts his head back up to look you in the eyes. “I love you,” he says quietly. “You have to trust me…”

“Then show me,” you respond. Your patience has been steadily wearing thin, and you are past the point where nice words can get you to be complacent. You wonder if Taeyong has even noticed that—how close you are to the breaking point.

He nods slightly to your words, his lips drawing into a thin line and his eyes heavy with stress. He tries his luck with a kiss, but you turn your head and his lips land on your cheek. “Maybe you should just leave,” you say quietly. The words make you feel cold and alone, but you’re sure you’d still feel that way even if Taeyong stayed. He sags a little but doesn’t fight you on it, instead letting you go and stepping backwards.

He seems unsure what to say for a few moments, and then he nods to himself. “I’ll leave. But please don’t give up on me.” He leaves you with those words lingering in the air—words you’d like to put your belief in.

It’s been a week since you and Taeyong last met up in person. You’ve texted sporadically in the time between then, but you haven’t wanted to say much to him, and he already knows he can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to.

You decide to head out for a day all to yourself as a way to de-stress, though it doesn’t really help. Everywhere you go there are couples, out and about and holding hands without a care in the world. You only wish you could do the same. You haven’t known what that’s like since your last relationship before Taeyong, and the thought of going without that kind of open and unafraid affection for 2 whole years makes you more angry and sad.

You end up in a nearby clothing store, looking through the racks of outfits and subconsciously wondering which ones Taeyong would like. You roll your eyes at this, still unable to get him completely off your mind even though you don’t want to be thinking about him right now.

You end up leaving that store and going to another one nearby—which is a tiny record shop that sells vinyls all the way up from the 1940s to now. You’ve been here a handful of times before, though it’s been a while since your last visit. To your surprise, the clerk still remembers you, waving happily when you enter.

Besides the cashier, you don’t pay much attention to anyone else in the store, only concerned about getting what you want so you can get out and go back home. Your mind is endlessly stressed about Taeyong and his lack of action. Even though you still love him, you don’t know how much more of this you can take. Your resentment only grows, which propels you to want to call things off before they get worse for the both of you.

Worse, indeed. You’re not sure how it can get much worse than your boyfriend acting like you don’t exist, though you’re not willing to try and find out.

You leave the store after making your purchase, ready to go back home and wallow some more, but before you’re fully out the door, someone hurriedly taps you on the shoulder.

“Sorry to bother you, but you dropped this.” You turn around to see a guy holding your sunglasses out to you, which surprises you because you hadn’t even heard them fall off your bag. But more importantly, you’re shocked to see that the guy is Jaehyun, Taeyong’s groupmate. Though he’s wearing the classic kpop idol disguise, you can still tell it’s him.

“Oh—thank you…” You take the glasses from his grasp, still looking at him with a bit of incredulity. You weren’t expecting to see him in this place. You didn’t even notice him in the store.

Jaehyun sees your recognition of him and gives an embarrassed smile, which makes his eyes crinkle above the mask. “Let’s keep this between us, yeah? Better not to draw attention here…”

“Oh, no, I was just surprised you would even be into...” you glance at the store’s sign, which is just above you, “...vinyls?” You say this somewhat sarcastically, not wanting him to think you’re some starstruck fan.

“Do I not seem like that kind of person?” Jaehyun smiles politely and glances to the bag in your hands, the cover of the vinyl album showing through the translucent material. “I just recently heard that one; it’s really good.”

“Really?” You look at the album, which is the record Through Water from Låpsley. “This one’s kind of obscure…”

“Obscure is good too. You find lots of hidden gems in places you didn’t expect.” You nod at that, but the way he’s looking at you makes you think he isn’t entirely talking about the music, and that makes the back of your neck sweat.

“Uh...no, of course. I get it. I was going to get something from The Internet but this caught my eye so…”

“Seems we have similar taste...I wouldn’t mind if you showed me some more of your favorites. I’m always looking for new music. Maybe next time?”

“Next time…?”

Jaehyun nods. “Whenever I swing back around here...who knows. Tuesday? Wednesday? Maybe I’ll come by on a Saturday afternoon and see you here.” It’s an invitation. Maybe not a direct one—he says it like a suggestion—but he is making it known he’d like to meet up again.

Still a bit confused by this sudden encounter, you simply nod. “I’ll keep that in mind, then?” He flashes you a thumbs up before heading off in the other direction, shooting you another quick look over his shoulder before going off on his way.

You walk back to your own place feeling bewildered at the coincidence of it all, and wondering if you should mention it to Taeyong. But what for? You’re still mad with him, and you don’t even know what would come of it. Maybe more of the same—nothing at all.

To your surprise, Jaehyun is actually at the record shop when he said he would be—that Saturday around 2 p.m., flipping through the different albums. You’d managed to talk yourself into thinking he was just playing around, but here he is.

“So you were serious,” you say, walking up behind him. He turns around to meet your eyes, smiling beneath his mask at the sound of your voice.

“Nice to see you again, stranger.” That reminds you; he still doesn’t know your name.

“It’s Y/N.” You stand beside him, looking at the section of records he’s browsing through. All of them are more modern picks, released within the last 5 years. “What are you looking for today?”

He hums throughtfully. “Not sure. I didn’t have anything specific in mind, but if you know anything…”

“Maybe.” You look through the records for something interesting before pulling out one from Toni Braxton, Spell My Name. “Have you heard this one?” Jaehyun looks up to see what you’ve picked, then shakes his head no. You pass it to him and he looks over the cover, then turns it over to read the tracklist. “I like it. Might wanna save it for when you wanna get in your feelings, though.”

He laughs at that. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Also, if you like more indie rock stuff, this is pretty good too.” You hold up a vinyl of The Driver Era’s album, X.

Jaehyun’s eyes light up at that suggestion. “Ah, I’ve wanted to get into this group but it keeps slipping my mind.” He takes that record too.

“What about you? Show me something you like.” Jaehyun nods and walks further into the aisles, and you follow. You notice he’s heading for the section of older albums. “Oh, the oldies, I see. A man of refined taste,” you say, laughing to yourself.

“This one’s the best.” Jaehyun points to one album that’s displayed on the shop wall along with a collection of other records—Chet Baker Sings. Below each album is a rack stacked with copies of the vinyls, and you pull one out to look at it more closely.

“Jazz, huh? I’m not too familiar with this artist, but I’ll trust your judgement; you’re the singer here, after all.”

You and Jaehyun go around the store looking at a few more things before buying your chosen albums. You end up getting more than you expected, but Jaehyun offers to pay—which you’re flustered and surprised by. The cashier giggles at your reluctance to accept, but you end up allowing him to pay for half.

“Well...that was fun!” You let out a breath after you’ve both left the store, lingering around the front of it.

Jaehyun nods his agreement, then hesitates before saying, “Would you like to stay in touch?”

You raise your eyebrows at that, the corner of your mouth lifting in something of a smirk. “I have a boyfriend, so if you’re looking for a romantic prospect…”

Jaehyun shakes his head, his cheeks coloring pink. “No, not like that! I just thought it’d be nice to get to know each other, you know, since we like the same music and all…”

“If you insist!” You tell him your number so he can put it into his phone. He texts you to make sure he’s got the right number, and so you can add his number to your own phone. “So, I guess I’ll talk to you later?”

He grins, and you can imagine how his dimples must appear under the mask. “Of course.”

You and Jaehyun get closer over the next few weeks, though he still doesn’t know you’re Taeyong’s girlfriend, and Taeyong remains equally clueless about your developing friendship with his groupmate. You’ve scarcely seen Taeyong’s face within that same timeframe, other than a few video calls—and one night when he showed up at your place tipsy and managed to talk his way into your bed.

You haven’t directly lied about anything, but you also haven’t felt the need to tell Jaehyun who you really are—not if Taeyong seems to think it doesn’t matter. Besides, you still want Taeyong to say it for himself.

You don’t consider yourself as cheating on him and have no intentions of doing so, but you like being around someone who doesn’t seem to be embarrassed or hesitant about going places with you.

One day when you’re hanging out with Jaehyun, he brings up an idea that makes your eyebrows rise. “Wouldn’t it be cool if you met the rest of the guys? What would you think of that?” he proposes.

This suggestion gets the gears in your head turning. Taeyong would inevitably be there, which would be an easy gateway for him to introduce you as his girlfriend. He’d have no other choice—not with you right in front of his face. Plus, you are curious about getting to know the other members, not knowing much about them other than Taeyong’s anecdotes and the few tidbits Jaehyun has mentioned in passing.

“Really? I don’t know, you're all pretty busy, so it’ll be hard to gather in one place…” You’re hoping your reverse psychology works so he’ll take the bait and come up with a solution to this apparent “dilemma.” Thankfully, he does.

“Well, you don’t have to meet all of them at once,” he suggests. “But if you want, you could come visit after practice or something…”

“I’d like that. Yes, I could do that. If that’s okay with you guys.”

Jaehyun grins, taking a sip of his drink. “Yeah, I think that would be fun.”

The day of your visit with NCT 127 comes up on you before you know it, and you’re more nervous than you can remember being in a while. You have no clue how Taeyong will react, but you can only hope things don’t go completely left. In your mind, this is the only option left for the both of you, since he refuses to take the initiative himself.

What you do know, though, is that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. You can’t go wrong with bringing food to a bunch of hungry men who’ve just finished dance practice.

In the practice room, the boys hang out huddled together in little groups, taking a break from practicing for their upcoming comeback. They usually would’ve called out for food at this point, but Jaehyun has already let them know he has a friend coming who’s bringing something to eat. The other 8 boys wait somewhat impatiently for your arrival, as Jaehyun left earlier to let you into the SM building.

“I wonder who’s this friend Jaehyun’s bringing,” Doyoung says. “He’s really excited about it. She must be quite special.”

“For real! Whenever he mentions her he gets the same smile he always does whenever he meets another girl he thinks is gonna be The One,” Haechan says sarcastically. “Let’s see how long it takes before he fucks it up this time.”

“Aw, that’s messed up,” Mark says, though he has to stifle a snort of laughter.

The boys cheer when Jaehyun finally comes back to the room with you and the food in tow. You try to calm your racing heart as you face the room full of men, including your boyfriend—who’s just caught sight of you.

Taeyong’s eyes are confused, panicked, and pitiful as he looks at you. He tries to keep his demeanor indifferent so the other members won’t notice anything suspicious, but he doesn’t believe he’s doing a very good job of hiding the cracks. His chest tightens with anxiety as he observes you and Jaehyun standing next to each other.

How do you even know each other? Why did you never mention it? Does Jaehyun know? Perhaps most importantly of all, what should Taeyong do? He loves you—at least he believes he does, though you haven’t seemed very convinced of it lately. He doesn’t know how to admit it out loud to anyone else, though, and now it seems even more complicated than before.

Taeyong hangs back a bit as the others introduce themselves to you individually. Johnny and Jaehyun give him slightly odd looks, wondering about the reason behind his tense expression.

There’s nowhere left to hide when Taeyong is the only one left who hasn’t introduced himself.

You look at him expectantly, waiting for him to introduce you as his girlfriend, though to the rest of the men it only looks like you’re waiting for him to acknowledge your presence with a greeting. There’s an undeniable tension in the room as you and Taeyong practically stare each other down, though no one is quite bold enough to directly address it.

His stomach is nothing but a collection of knots now. He thinks about just saying it, but a vice-like sense of fear has him pinned. He thinks he can feel a headache building behind his temples.

Finally, Taeyong cracks a strained smile and holds his hand out to you. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Taeyong, leader of NCT 127.”

Your heart and stomach drop to your feet, and your hands tremble a little. Your face falters, though you try to disguise it, your mouth drawing into a tight, closed grin. In that moment, you make your decision. You take Taeyong’s hand, squeezing it tighter than necessary. He winces, the back of his neck burning. “It’s nice to meet you, Taeyong.”

When your hand leaves his, Taeyong feels as if a huge dark cloud has just crossed over him. His stomach twists with dread as he watches you turn to Jaehyun without a second glance, talking to the younger man casually about the food you’ve brought. Something about the gesture feels undeniably final, and he knows you’ve just slipped out of his life.

#nct 127 #taeyong fic #taeyong imagines #taeyong scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 fic #ambw fic #ambw scenarios #ambw imagines #kpop ambw #ambw #lee taeyong #superm scenarios #superm imagines #nct scenarios #nct imagines #superm fic #nct fic

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earthfluuke · 4 years ago

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summary: individual ohmfong moments i couldn’t get out of my head.

everyone has been writing yearning fics (and i adore them so much), but i wanted to get some fluff out there. i hope you enjoy!

it’s second nature for ohm to slide into any open seat at their group’s table. full plate in hand, he’s just about to dig in when he catches phuak’s questioning eye, and his fork freezes a breath from his food. the silent questioning raise of his eyebrow has phuak shaking his head and motioning a hand to the opposite side of the table.

“sit next to your boyfriend, dumb ass,” he says, followed by the mumble of, “no wonder none of your girlfriends stayed with you.”

eyes widening, he turns to fong who can only send him a forgiving smile. scrambling to move his things, he falls onto the bench beside him with a sigh. head hung, shoulder slumped, he works out quickly, “i’m sorry. it completely slipped my mind, and i–”

“it’s okay,” fong assures, understanding as ever. “it’s…different. but we’ll get there.” he slides a plastic cup across the table to him and knocks their shoulders together. “now stop sulking, and drink that.”

ohm rises a bit, reinflates. he’s only ever remembered fong coming to the table with a signature blue hawaii in hand. there is none in sight, only this. taking a sip, he can’t help but feel it tastes a bit sweeter than any other time he’s had it.

they’re not there yet; but they’re on their way.

ii.

“oh!” he hears ohm exclaim as they’re walking out of their classroom towards the football field. just as he turns to ask what’s wrong, he feels a hand grab onto his.

eyes shooting down to the space between them, fong takes notice of how ohm’s fingers fit between his and curl over more than half of his knuckles. he soaks in the warmth ohm’s palm presses into his own and the feel of his thumb stroking up to his nail and back down again. he’s never held someone’s hand before, save for his parents a long, much younger time ago, so he doesn’t have much to compare to. even so, he doesn’t think any other hand would feel as nice. this is the hand he wants to hold forever.

allowing his fingers to close and rest between the ridges of ohm’s knuckles, he tightens his hold when ohm gives their arms an experimental swing.

“we’re boyfriends now,” he explains. “that means we get to hold hands.”

it’s so innocent, so simple, but knowing that doesn’t help in slowing fong’s heart.

iii.

fong knows he has a very handsome boyfriend. it’s difficult to ignore when they’re meant to be studying in the library. ohm has a hand in his hair, head rested against his palm as a finger taps in concentration. his lips move with each word he reads, tongue sticking between his teeth when he gets to an exceptionally difficult section.

it’s too much sometimes, to just sit there and stare. actions have never been his strong suit; observations are more his style, but it’s not enough. leaning past the edge of his chair, he smooths a hand under ohm’s chin and up the cheek farthest from him. he pulls him the small distance he needs to in order to press a gentle kiss to the cheek facing him.

he hides the laugh that’s building in his throat when he moves back to find ohm wide eyed and stunned. the hand in his hair has slid down to where fong’s lips just grazed, and fong has to turn away from him to hide his pink cheeks and silly smile.

“i’m going to get some snacks. do you want anything?” ohm is too dazed to respond, so fong pushes back his chair and scurries off to the vending machines. it’ll give him the chance to calm down.

(and if he comes back with a few choice snacks he knows to be ohm’s favorites, then that’s just a bonus).

iv.

when fong is fast asleep, ohm can’t help but prop himself up on his arm and admire him. his bangs curl over his brow, and his cheek buries further into the pillow when there’s an especially cool breeze from the air conditioner. dark lashes fan over tan skin, full peach lips puffing out calm, even breaths. one hand clutches the blanket closer to him while the other lays on the sheets as though it’s looking for something.

he’s as gorgeous as he always is, but there’s something more special about a beauty that only ohm gets to see. there is a constant pull of wanting to grab onto that hand, remind him that what he’s reaching for is right beside him. but he cannot will himself to disturb him and instead resigns himself to only stare. he’s done enough to last him a lifetime, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it; not if he’s staring at fong.

“beautiful. sweetheart. babe. love!”

“um,” tine clears his throat, looking from ohm’s wide, hopeful grin to the top of fong’s head, the only part of him visible from behind the pages of the book he’s using to hide. “what are you doing?”

“trying to figure out which name i like the most,” fong mumbles from behind his book, clutching the binding a bit tighter when ohm throws an arm around his shoulders.

“the secret is that he likes all of them,” he says, continuing over fong’s protests, “i just need to find out which one he likes the best.”

it picks up again from there, in front of their friends no less. all fong can do is let him go on and on, each name more blush inducing than the last, and hope his novel does a good enough job masking how much he’s enjoying this.

vi.

“i’ll see you for dinner after my group meeting. okay, tilak?”

“yeah, sure – wait, what? hey! fong!”

vii.

fong is always a vision, but this. this. this is something completely different and so very far from even his wildest of dreams.

his sweater – a light beige with a v-neck that dips lower without the collar of the shirt he normally wears underneath it poking out – hangs loose around fong’s smaller frame. the shoulders pool upwards, the sleeves drape over his fingers, the hem hits far past the bottom of his torso. it doesn’t fit at all, and yet it does. there is something so right about coming out of the shower and finding fong lying on his bed, homework papers strewn out across the sheets and ohm’s sweater pooling up around his hips.

“i’m sorry,” fong is quick to say, fingers scrambling to tug it over his head. “it got cold, and it was the first thing i saw. i can give it back.”

“no.” he holds his hands out to steady fong more than himself. when the neck of the sweater stretches back down and he can see him, ohm sends him a smile. “it’s…it’s good. nice. it looks nice.”

“nice,” fong repeats. the very tips of his fingers, the only parts that peek out from beneath the sleeves, smooth over the fabric. his eyes soften, the tips of his mouth curving up. ohm can’t the tingling feeling that spreads through him.

viii.

that single strand of hair. it’s as lovely as it is distracting, for fong at the very least. he supposes ohm must have gotten used to it, takes notice of it the same way he does to the air around him. but it’s so out place and somehow so perfectly put that fong cannot help but admire it.

it’s a flame, stark black and contrast to his skin, that draws his hand towards it like a moth. ever so carefully, with just a graze of his fingers, he pushes it back into place. brushing over his ear, his hand buries beneath the hair parted against his scalp, dark locks blanketing over it.

only then does ohm look to him, realize that there had been something out of place he hadn’t seen. what he does see – feel, sense, know – is fong. and what a wonder that is, to be more noticeable, more important, more vital than the air. to be what ohm needs to breathe.

ix.

ever changing lights flicker across the concert venue. sarawat’s band is on stage, but they’re impossible to pay attention to when fong has all of his focus. he’s beautiful in every color he bathes in, but ohm can’t help but be partial to the mixture of yellow and orange.

fong has always been a bright light, a beacon, an ever-present warmth. the colors paint him as the sun he’s always been, the very center of ohm’s universe. head back, ears turned up to the music, his eyes reflect gold when he turns to ohm to tug him close and sway them along to the bass beneath their feet.

purple and blue remind him of late nights where they’d forgotten to close the blinds. green brings memories of lying in the grassy field in the back of their high school, when all ohm could rely on was stolen glances and accidental hand brushes he’d hold nearer and dearer to his heart than he should have. pink and red mix together, and all he can see is love coating over full cheeks and a fuller smile that he is lucky enough to have directed at him. and then it’s back to yellow, back to orange, back to warmth so hot ohm could burn.

it’s a heat like no other. all he can do to cool is curls a single arm around the small of fong’s back and pull him close enough for their foreheads to touch. his heart still roars with flames, engulfs him in a love hot enough to melt.

wrapping himself around him, fong comments, “you really like this song.”

and all ohm can do is hum, hold him tighter, and soak in his warmth. “i think it might be my favorite.”

“how did you know?” fong asks. the two of them are staring up at the ceiling, peeling paint their replacement for stars. “that it was me, i mean.”

by all intents and purposes, it should be an easy enough question to answer. but it becomes difficult when it hits him that…it’s always been fong. there isn’t a moment where anyone else has taken refuge in his heart and made it their home.

“i don’t remember when it started. but i remember when i realized it couldn’t be anyone else.” the memory flashes behind his eyes in vivid detail, kept clean and clear from how many times he’s brought it back to the forefront of his mind. “new years eve of second year. after tine and phuak ditched us to find pretty girls to kiss at midnight.”

mouth agape when he looks to him, fong says in startled disbelief, “in your backyard when i almost burned my hand on that sparkler? that wasn’t as special as i was expecting. more embarrassing.”

“it wasn’t. and that’s why i knew. there didn’t need to be some big sign. i just knew that even in those simple moments, i wanted it to be you there with me. and,” ohm catches his eye, looks at him so he knows how much he means what he says, “it was the first time i got to see you smile. it wasn’t because of something stupid phuak did or something sweet tine said to you. it was just… because you were happy. i hadn’t seen anything that beautiful before.”

fong says nothing, only reaches down to grab his hand. but when he smiles – that smile – he tells ohm all he needs to know. it’s another one of those not so special moments; the two of them lying flat against the sheets, their hands twisted together between them. but that in and of itself makes it special.

#2gether #2gether the series #still2gether #still2gether the series #ohmfong #ohm x fong #my writing #i love these two so much #it's only been a few days #but they have my heart #also i'm so sorry that gif is SO shitty

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five-rivers · 4 years ago

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Long Night in the Valley Chapter 11

“Where are you going?” demanded Shigaraki, scratching his neck in agitation.

Touya Dabi looked lazily over his shoulder. “I’ve got something to do in town. Might as well avoid a second trip, right? You all go on back.”

“Aw, Dabi, you’re ditching us?” asked Toga.

“Yup. See you back at base. Let me know if you manage to wear down the giant, ‘kay?”

“Wait, wait, does that mean—Does that mean he has a way to get out past all these guys unnoticed? Pfft that guy doesn’t know anything! What are you talking about? You’re gonna get caught, Dabi!”

Dabi ignored Twice, just giving the League of Villains a lazy wave over his shoulder before making his way down off the roof via the fire escape.

Yeah. He had a way out. More importantly, he had some curiosity to satisfy and chaos to sow.

Time to bother a certain little birdy…

Hawks was in the middle of directing the clean-up team when he got a text. From a contact labeled ‘boyfriend.’

The person in question was not, in fact his boyfriend. Why, then, did he have him labeled thusly?

Because the person calling him was, in fact, the villain he was milking for information, and that did not fit well into a contact list. On top of being suspicious.

(Oh, and he lived in anticipation of the moment someone noticed the name of the contact and reported it to the press, causing his expensive commission-funded PR team to drown in delusional fangirls. It was the little things in life that made it worth living…)

(In his opinion, they deserved it for making him go through with that frankly traumatic series of photoshoots right after he turned eighteen.)

Hawks… Considered ignoring the call. Today, to be honest, had sucked. He’d been informed the former #1 hero had been kidnapped, ordered to hunt down a (questionably innocent) teenager, and lost a fight with said teenager. Adding pretend terrorism to that might just be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Except… People’s lives depended on the intelligence he was collecting. He retreated to the shadows of a nearby alley and answered the phone.

“I’m sort of busy right now,” he said.

“Yeah? Busy getting your teeth kicked in by All Might Junior?” Dabi cackled.

“If you called just to make fun of me, I’m hanging up.”

“Do you really think I’m that petty?”

“Yes,” said Hawks.

“Aww, that burns, chicken wing. What if I told you I had a tip?”

“Oh, yeah?” asked Hawks. “About what?”

“C’mon, you know you have to pay for it.”

Hawks covered the phone receiver while he sighed. “What do you want?” he asked, more composed.

“Just a ride out of town. Didn’t think you guys would be this antsy today. Did the kid kick your hill over, too?”

If Hawks had been religious, he’d be praying for patience.

“Just you, or are your friends here, too?” asked Hawks as he tapped in a Heronet request for everyone to be on the lookout for the league of villains on his other phone. “I can give everyone a ride.”

“Nah, just l’il ol’ me,” said Dabi.

Yeah. Hawks hadn’t expected Dabi to own up to his crew being in town. Even if they were.

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Hawks, texting the hero commission. Maybe they’d see fit to cut their losses as far as the spy gig went and—Nope, they were approving his request regarding Dabi. “What about that tip?”

“Here’s half of it,” said Dabi. “Get your guys to scrape some of the runt’s blood off the sidewalk and run a DNA test on it. I hear he’s related to someone interesting.”

Hawks closed his eyes. If Midoriya was related to All for One, it would be the metaphorical nail in the coffin for him. Having your life and future ruined because of who your parents were… Hawks hadn’t exactly experienced something like that, but he’d felt the fear of it for quite some time.

(Despite everything, he still wanted to be a hero.)

“Thanks, for the heads up, dude. Where should I pick you up?”

“You really need to check in on your safehouses more often,” said Izuku as Toshinori reapplied the bandages around his ankle.

“I know. I was busy. I’m sorry. I haven’t exactly been helpful in all of this, have I?”

“I would have been caught within the hour, if you didn’t pick me up,” said Izuku. “I wasn’t in my right mind. But what now?”

“We can still go to Deika, I suppose,” said Toshinori. “We just, ah…” He looked up at Gigantomachia and Izuku followed his gaze with a wince.

Yeah. That wasn’t going to fly in any reasonably populous area.

As he watched, Machia pulled a small box out from beneath his shirt. Izuku blinked. That was a two-way radio.

Wait.

Gigantomachia pressed a button, and the radio crackled to life. “DOCTOR!” shouted Gigantomachia. “I HAVE FOUND THE LITTLE LORD AND HIS FRIEND. WHAT SHOULD I DO?”

Izuku tensed. He and Toshinori should have realized Machia would have some way of communicating with the doctor. After all, he’d said something along the lines of ‘call the doctor’ earlier.

Sure, both Izuku and Toshinori were injured, exhausted, and distracted by events playing out inside their heads, but just because a mistake was understandable didn’t mean it was forgivable. Or survivable.

The radio crackled with static. No response.

Izuku let out a sigh of relief as Machia repeatedly tried to raise the doctor on the other end of the line before breaking down in tears.

“Are- Are you sure we shouldn’t pull over, Dr. Tsubasa? Your phone is going off an awful lot.”

“I’ve been getting a lot of prank calls lately,” said Garaki, knuckles white around the steering wheel. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

He was, in fact, quite sure it wasn’t nothing. But he couldn’t take a call from the League of Villains, or even Machia, with Midoriya Inko in the car.

He checked his GPS. Yes, Machia was staying still, which probably meant that he had Midoriya Izuku. Hopefully, he had already disposed of All Might, and could, therefore, devote his energy to keeping the Midoriyas from escaping and Midoriya Inko from attempting to kill Garaki once they arrived. And—

No, he was moving again. Curse the creature. How hard could it be to keep one teenager in place?

True, the teenager was the son of All for One and starting to grow into his terrifying legacy, but really.

“And you’re sure your friend will help us keep Izuku from being arrested?” asked Inko. She had been asking him some version of this question every few minutes since they got in the car.

“Quite sure,” said Garaki. He had been giving some version of this answer every few minutes since they got in the car.

“Is he… a lawyer of some kind?”

The picture of Gigantomachia as a lawyer was so incongruous that Garaki flinched and nearly drove off the road.

“No,” he said, perfectly calmly, not at all freaking out over what All for One would do to him if he involved Inko in a car accident. He laughed nervously. Oh, he’d better hope the accident killed him. Goodness.

“You have your driver’s license, right?” asked Inko.

“Yes,” said Garaki. His phone started buzzing again. He ignored it in favor of checking the GPS again.

Oh, dear. He knew where Machia was going.

This could be… interesting. He glanced at Inko. Very interesting.

At least he knew how to get there.

“I’m just saying,” said Izuku, who had been relieved far too early in the game. “I really, really don’t get along with Shigaraki Tomura. I think we should probably not go anywhere near him. It’s a really bad idea.”

“But he can call the doctor for you!” said Machia, excitedly as he bounded through the forest. “Then you can be better, Little Lord! All fixed up!”

Again, that did not make Izuku feel better. He squirmed against Machia’s arms.

None of the League of Villains were bad at sneaking. In fact, they were all quite good at it.

However, they’d come into the city with the expectation that they would have a quick getaway courtesy of the doctor if anything went wrong. Which they no longer had. Because he was ‘not in his lab’ and ‘busy.’ Self-important NPC… until the noumu got up and running, his whole point was to provide fast travel.

Anyway. Between being unexpectedly stranded and the stupidly huge numbers of heroes out looking for the cauliflower brat aka player two (Tomura didn’t have any proof he was actually Sensei’s kid, and until then…), they were going into this stealth mission with serious handicaps.

(With Dabi gone something like ninety-nine percent of that handicap was Twice and his inability to walk around like a normal person. Tomura had left his hands at home and Compress just had to take off his mask. Toga would have the easiest time of it, Tomura could admit, because she just had to shank someone.)

“I hate to say it,” said Mr. Compress, “but I think our burnt friend might have the right idea. Splitting up will give us better chances.”

“No way,” whined Toga. “We’ve got to stick together. Right, boss man?” She hugged Tomura’s arm until he pushed her off with his knuckles.

“There’s a car down there with the keys still in the ignition,” said Twice, pointing down into an alley.

They all leaned over the side of the roof to look at the car. It was old-fashioned. Antique, even. Someone clearly put a lot of care into keeping it clean and running.

The keys were, indeed, still in the ignition.

“A sting?” suggested Mr. Compress, uncertainly.

“Nah, they don’t use cars like that for stings in this city,” said Tomura, revising his opinion on whether or not Twice was a handicap. “They use, like, sports cars. Who here can drive?”

“I don’t have a license,” said Toga. “I was too young when I ran away from home.”

“I didn’t ask who had a license. I asked who can drive.”

“I can drive—Badly!—I drive fine. Hardly ever crashed—depends what you mean by ‘crash.’”

Tomura scratched his neck. He wasn’t touching that with a ten-foot pole. “Compress, tell me you can drive.”

“I never learned how to use a stick shift.”

He pulled his bloody fingernails away from his neck. “Okay. Here’s the deal. Twice, if you crash us, I’ll kill you.”

“Sure thing, boss!” said Twice, saluting. “Not if I kill you first, jerkface!”

This was going to be a long drive.

“We’ve got a new message from the HSPC,” said the producer, sliding a piece of paper onto the presenter’s desk. “Read that as soon as we come off the commercials, okay?”

“Got it,” said the presenter, putting her headphones back on. She read the notice.

Members of the league of villains have been sighted in Musutafu and are believed to be present in connection with the kidnapping of Yagi Toshinori, also known as All Might. Please exercise caution…

The commission investigators had been waiting for at least half an hour before any of the UA staff even deigned to greet them.

“It’s about time,” said Abe.

“Sorry,” said the teacher waving. “You can’t come in.”

“Excuse me?”

“The campus is on lockdown because of what happened at the testing center,” explained the teacher. “We can’t open the gates without Nezu’s authorization, and he was called away to deal with an emergency.”

“What,” said Ito, dropping his cigarette and grind it under his heel. “Seriously? This is the emergency. One of your own teachers got kidnapped. All Might got kidnapped. Don’t you care?”

The teacher snorted. Abe and Ito stared at him through the bars of the fence, taken aback.

“I’m sorry, it’s just—” The man snickered again. “Midoriya kidnapping Yagi. That’s certainly an image.”

“Midoriya is a trained in combat and has three dangerous quirks. All Might can’t even use his one anymore.”

“Yes, yes, I’m not saying it’s physically impossible. But—” He started laughing. “Possible and likely are two different things. Excuse me. I never introduced myself. I’m Lunch Rush, and if you ever saw those two at lunch time together, you’d have a very clear picture of why this whole situation is absurd.”

“Maybe you can show us the tapes, then,” said Abe. “After you let us in.”

“No, sir, I’m afraid I can’t. Even if I had access to them, there are students in those videos!”

“So?”

“Minors, you see. Without written parental permission or a court order we can’t show them to anyone not affiliated with the school. Now, I must be going. I have a culinary arts class to teach!”

He was still chuckling as he walked away. “Midoriya kidnapping Yagi, oh ho, I knew I’d get a kick out of actually hearing someone say that seriously…”

“Wow,” said Twice, “this car gets terrible gas mileage.”

“Are we going to run out?” asked Toga. “That’ll be exciting! I’ll have to flag down some generous motorist to give us a lift~”

“Yes! Not soon!”

Compress leaned forward from the back seat and started fiddling with the radio, barely staying on each channel long enough to tell if they were playing music or news.

Tomura groaned and covered his face with his hand. He contemplated whether it was worth letting his pinky drop just to escape this.

“… League of Villains?”

Compress stopped changing channels.

“They’ve been saying it all along. I know it��s hard to believe that UA could miss something like this, something like a traitor, but it’s just facts. The League’s presence in Musutafu confirms it. He kidnapped All Might for them”

“It all seems awfully coincidental, though, and the commission isn’t showing us any pictures—How do we know for sure the League is in the city? For that matter, if the League is really involved, how do we know Midoriya Izuku isn’t just another victim? We never got a full tally of their members. They could have someone with a, I don’t know, a brainwashing quirk.”

“Yumi, you really need to lay off the late-night conspiracy theories. We can trust the hero commissioookkkhhh—”

The radio died horribly as Tomura decayed it out of console.

“I am going to commit murder,” said Tomura. How did this always happen? How was it always this attention-grabbing, kill-stealing little—

“I guess we have time for a pit stop. No, we don’t!”

“Don’t you dare stop this car until we’re back at base,” growled Tomura. He took a deep breath that really wasn’t calming at all.

“I kind of have, to, I mean, road signs and all… Uh.”

“We’re villains, dude,” said Spinner. “You can break a few traffic laws.”

“Hell ye—Not if we want to live.”

“You can follow the traffic signs,” allowed Tomura. He leaned back his seat, ignoring Mr. Compress’s complaint about squished legs.

Player two. Finishing the tutorial and then blazing through a quest like that. Crazy OP character build.

He still wanted player two in his party. He also wanted to knock the brat so far off the leaderboard that he’d never play the game again.

These were, Tomura acknowledged, somewhat conflicting desires. He was, at the moment, leaning toward the second, but the first would give him ongoing dominance which would be incredibly satisfying.

If player two really was Sensei’s kid…

Then Tomura… He’d be like… a big brother. An older sibling.

That felt… weird. But also weirdly like something he wanted. Ugh, it sounded like a pain. Stupid story-mode side quest with garbage rewards, except the garbage rewards were the best rewards.

He hadn’t built his character for social interactions. He was combat class, high DPS.

Why couldn’t things just be simple? Why couldn’t he just destroy what he wanted?

“Heyyyy!” squealed Toga. “It’s a McDonalds! We could get murder and fries.”

“Do. Not. Stop. The car.”

Machia thundered into the abandoned quarry with all the enthusiasm of a deranged puppy.

“This is Shigaraki Tomura’s secret hide out!” proclaimed the giant, setting a windswept Izuku and Toshinori down in front of a crumbling, half-collapsed building. He beamed proudly. “SHIGARAKI TOMURA!” he screamed at the building, frightening away the few brave birds in the quarry that had yet to leave.

No one came out. Machia sniffed the air.

“Oh,” he said. “They aren’t home.”

“That’s fine,” said Izuku, patting Machia. He didn’t elaborate. Most of his brainpower was currently tied up in preventing his legs from folding underneath him.

“Why don’t we,” began Toshinori before hacking up a large quantity of blood. “Why don’t we just show ourselves in? I’m sure it will be more comfortable for young—For the little lord to wait inside. And perhaps one of them left a phone we can use.”

“The last time you went into a building by yourselves, you were attacked,” rumbled Machia.

“That is true,” said Toshinori, “but there’s no one in this building. You’d be able to smell them.”

“Not if they were invisible.”

Izuku blinked slowly. “That,” he said, “doesn’t sound right.”

He continued to blink as Toshinori convinced Machia that he would, in fact, be able to smell invisible people. He must have missed something, though, because next thing he knew, Toshinori was steering him into what passed as the building’s door.

“Alright,” said Toshinori, voice low. “We’re going to get you cleaned up as best we can, then we’re going to take everything that looks useful and sneak out.”

“Like… food and stuff?”

“Yes. And we’re also going to see if we can break enough things that they’ll have to take care of that instead of following us.”

“We could just set some things on fire,” said Izuku, who had never considered himself a pyromaniac of any kind, but who had also grown up alongside Kacchan.

“Good idea,” said Toshinori, who had been the type of fifth grader who made jokes about setting things on fire but had only ever burned his workbook at the end of the school year. “Let’s see if these guys have running water.”

“You know,” said Izuku, carefully avoiding a bunch of old food wrappers. “I sort of expected a more impressive evil lair, all things considered.”

“This is average for high-level fugitives, actually,” said Toshinori. “Especially if they don’t have a lot of connections or cash.”

“Huh,” said Izuku, cautiously opening a door. “Here’s the bathroom. Huh.”

There were a lot of hair products in the bathroom. A lot a lot.

It’s like the candles budget chart, snickered Six in the back of Izuku’s head. Help, I’m trying to balance my evil lair budget. This is what I’ve got so far: Electricity, 100 yen, building, 1100 yen, furniture, 200 yen, hair styling products, 9,000,000 yen.

Izuku wheezed.

But, seriously. Why did they need this much hair stuff? Shigaraki obviously hadn’t ever even heard of personal grooming. Toga had her natural hair color. Compress didn’t show his face or his hair. Spinner had a lizard mutation. Dabi—

It was totally Dabi.

Oh gosh, based on how most of the hair dye boxes were labeled for temporary use and quick removal… Haha, was Dabi just… just waiting… just waiting for an opportune moment to dramatically reveal himself?

Izuku started wheezing again.

“Are you alright, my boy?” asked Toshinori confused.

“This is Dabi’s hair dye,” said Izuku.

“Hm. I hadn’t realized he dyed it.”

“I want this hair dye,” said Izuku.

“I suppose we can try to find the brand once we get to a supermarket,” said Toshinori, confused.

“No, no,” said Izuku, still gazing down at the box sitting next to the sink. “I don’t want to use this brand of hair dye. I want to use this hair dye.”

“Oh. Oh,” said Toshinori. “This hair dye. Dabi’s hair dye.”

“Yes,” said Izuku.

“To be petty.”

“Yes,” confirmed Izuku again.

“It has been a long time since I was… petty,” said Toshinori.

“Vlad-sensei’s car?”

“That was convenience, not pettiness.”

“Well,” said Izuku, picking up the box. “We are sort of… you know… villains, now. Since we fought Hawks. I am anyway.”

“You’re not a villain,” protested Toshinori.

“I mean, from a legal standpoint,” said Izuku. “Not a moral one. And, well. Villains are petty, right?”

“I do not believe pettiness is an exclusively villainous trait, my boy. In any case, I wasn’t condemning you.” He put his hands on his hips and looked up at the cracked and crumbling ceiling. “If we had more time here, we could set up some things that would really annoy them.”

“More than stealing their food, their money, their clothes, and their hair dye before setting their house on fire?” asked Izuku.

Toshinori scratched his head. “You know, now that I think about it, probably not. But does this really qualify as a house?”

“Hey,” said Hawks. “So, about the other half of that tip.”

“Huh? There isn’t a second half. That was just to keep you from ditching me.”

Hawks had met villains who were civilized professionals. Why couldn’t he be trying to infiltrate a society made up of those types, and not one that included the racoon currently filling his car (technically the commission’s car) with the scent of smoke and charred flesh?

“Well, what about that ‘interesting parentage’ you were alluding to?”

“Oh. Shigaraki thinks Midoriya is his sensei’s kid.” Dabi shrugged. “Honestly… yeah. I kind of see it. But you’d think he’d get his kid to work with us instead of whatever is going on between him and Shigaraki, on the other hand…” Dabi trailed off.

Hawks momentarily glanced away from the road to see Dabi with an uncharacteristically pensive expression.

“I mean,” continued Dabi, leaning on his hand as he stared out the window, “the whole hero thing could be sticking it to his old man. I can respect that.”

“You sound like you’re talking from experience,” observed Hawks.

“You still talk to your parents?” asked Dabi.

“Nope.”

“Heh, you wouldn’t tell me even if you did, would you?”

“Hey, you are a villain. I’ve got to keep my soft spots covered, right?”

“Right,” drawled Dabi. “Kid held up pretty well against you, didn’t he?”

“He did okay,” said Hawks. “He got away, after all.”

“Wonder how he’d do against Endeavor. One-on-one. What d’you think?”

Hawks couldn’t help but swallow. If it were one-on-one, and Midoriya could still use Erasure… He hated to think it, but Endeavor might lose. A man with no quirk against a strong enhancer and that black tentacle emitter…

He wondered how long it would be before Midoriya got put on the S-rank villain list. The paperwork had to be in progress.

(After all, he’d defeated the number two hero – or near enough – while holding off three others.)

(On the other hand… that building…)

“It’d certainly be a fight,” said Hawks, neutrally. “Is Midoriya really not working with you?”

“Nope,” said Dabi, not quite managing to pop the ‘p’ with his burnt lips. “Not saying he isn’t a villain or whatever. That’s up to you guys after all.”

“Not me,” said Hawks. “I’m on your side, remember?”

“I remember,” said Dabi. “Anyway, I only was face-to-face with him that one time in the forest, last summer. He had a great expression. Not as great as – Well. That part doesn’t matter.”

Ugh… Hawks hadn’t taken Dabi for the kind of killer who’d reminisce about his kills. Maybe he could – No. Lose Dabi and he’d lose his lead on the League, and who knew how many more people would end up dead.

He just wished the commission would give him backup on this. Someone who actually worked with infiltration. Someone who could help him minimize the damage the League was doing.

“Pull over,” said Dabi. “This is my stop.”

“You live around here?”

Dabi snorted. “Not a chance. You get to see our base once we’re sure you won’t tattle.”

“Come on, you can’t blame a guy for curiosity,” said Hawks.

“Sure can,” said Dabi opening the door and jumping out onto the gravel margin. “I’ll call you.” He walked off the side of the road into the scruffy tree cover and disappeared.

“Well,” mumbled Hawks, deliberately ignoring all the elocution lessons the commission had stuffed him with. “That was useless.”

Except for the tiny feathers he’d snuck into the lining of Dabi’s coat. But those had limited range and Hawks wasn’t good enough at stealth to follow Dabi without making an idiot (a potentially dead one on top of that) out of himself.

His phone began to ring, the bugs in the car having shown the commission that Dabi was gone. Hawks sighed and answered. Time for new marching orders.

The landscape was much more intact, now. It was still a battlefield. Four was dodging bullets and catching grenades to sling them back at his attackers. He dove to the ground right before a cheerily painted building exploded into splinters.

Danger Sense, Aizawa concluded. Some kind of limited precognition?

“Shigaraki?” said Iida. “He’s a Shigaraki? He’s related to—to him? To Shigaraki?”

“Sensei,” said Uraraka, tugging on his sleeve, “that other man, you don’t think that was, you know, the man from Kamino? All for One?”

“Midoriya thinks that All Might is related to All for One?” muttered Todoroki, just load enough to hear. “That – no, that does make sense. Their quirks are wrong, though, but if there are enough generations, you can’t really predict… Does that make Midoriya and Shigaraki cousins?”

Todoroki paused. Aizawa braced himself, both for the violence he was sure he was about to see, and the torture Todoroki was about to inflict on him.

“Midoriya is related to All for One,” whispered Todoroki.

Shouto didn’t blame Midoriya for trying to hide it. If at all possibly, he would have hidden the fact that he was related to Endeavor. Sure, he might have lost some privileges, but he also would have gotten rid of the constant comparisons between himself and his father.

Much like Shimura Souma had to face.

It must have been terrible for a young Midoriya to learn that he was related to a man who had so injured his father.

To learn that he was related to this man.

(No wonder he based this shade on Shouto, although Shouto didn’t think that Endeavor was quite as bad as All for One.)

There was a sound like cymbals being brought together, then—

Light.

And—

Sound.

A group of soldiers who had been sneaking up on Four were obliterated by a lightning strike that left behind fire and glassed soil.

Four got up and did a sort of awkward bunny hop away from the strike zone, blinking dazedly and covering his ears. Shouto knew he’d be behaving similarly if his dream body behaved at all realistically. Especially given the risk of being electrocuted due to the charge in the ground… Or was that just for downed power lines and Kaminari? He didn’t remember, and apparently neither did Four.

There was another crash of the cymbals, like thunder before the lightning and the lightning struck again, farther off.

And then a woman, a few years older than Four ran out from between two of the buildings, cymbals in her hands. Her graying hair was worn in tiny braids and her skin was dark. Mixed race – That would have been rarer back then. She had other musical instruments (drumsticks, some kind of flute, what looked like maracas) attached to her belt, but was otherwise dressed in generic military surplus gear. There was a massive surgical scar stretching across her throat.

“Haruna,” said Four. “What, what are you doing here?”

‘Haruna’ tucked one of the cymbals under her arm and began signing aggressively at Four.

“Ye-yes. But – Your children, they need you.”

More signing. “I’m not being hypocritical.” He gestured to the mark over his eye. “I’m dying anyway. You aren’t.”

Her face twists, then twists again as she notices more armed men approaching. She claps her hands, metal sewn into the palms flashing before a slender bolt of lightning cracks across the sky.

This is when Shouto realizes who she is. He’d learned about her in art class, of all things. Thunderclap. One half of one of the first villain duo to be marked as S-rank, active during the dawn of heroics. Her birth name was widely believed to be Harmony Trey, and she’d used the alias Miura, but records from back then, even for something that important, were sketchy, and criminals were never good at keeping paperwork up to date in the first place.

Her quirk was sound-based weather manipulation. No one knew what had happened to her throat, but the public of the past had been grateful for it. She could cause lightning strikes with a clap. What could she do with her own voice?

Something like twenty percent of the early propaganda pieces for the Hero Practices and Standards Commission had her and her partner on them, being defeated or held off by various newly licensed heroes.

Neither of them had ever been caught.

Was she ‘Three?’ If so, Shouto could understand why Six didn’t want to say anything, although All for One was much more jarring and—

Hold up. Thunderclap had been active over a hundred years ago. If All for One was here, too, then that meant that either:

Midoriya’s subconscious was terrible at timelines (and so was Shouto’s because he’d just accepted all this without question until a split second ago). Or—

All for One had an immortality quirk on top of all the other terrifying things he could do.

The fact that the second one was more plausible was unfair of reality.

(Shouto liked ‘conspiracy’ theories, but his theories were, for the most part, well, not things that would keep him up at night for fear of nightmares.)

Except she didn’t seem to see them at all, so maybe not. The rules in the dreamscape had, appropriately, a dreamlike consistency. That is to say, hardly any.

“Please,” said Four. “We don’t both need to die.”

Thunderclap looked like she was about to cry. But she nodded. Four turned to face the rest of the small army bearing down on him.

The house looked cozy, thought Tenya. Sort of like that cabin his family had rented in the countryside a few years back. The lights were dim but warm. The smell of food and spices permeated the air. Children and teens of various ages were draped over furniture.

In the kitchen, four adults sat around a table. Four, Thunderclap, a man who was entirely green, and woman with hair so golden it literally glowed.

As a middle schooler, Tenya had done a lot of research into discrimination against people with mutation quirks and vestigial or tangential mutations. It had branched off into research into quirk-based discrimination in general. If this scene was truly set near the dawn of heroics, the green man and the golden-haired woman would have risked being attacked just walking on the street in most cities.

He looked back through the doorway at the children in the other room.

Both the yellow hair and the green curls were painfully familiar.

Did Midoriya really think he was related to Thunderclap of all people? The idea was preposterous.

Except—

Oh, he was getting just as bad as Todoroki. Not to mention, even if Midoriya did have a terrorist in his family tree a hundred years ago, it didn’t change anything about Midoriya. Goodness, Tenya most likely had some less than savory characters in his own family tree, even if he didn’t know about them.

Four doubled over clutching his head, interrupting the apparently light-hearted story the green man was telling.

“They’re coming,” gasped Four. “They’re coming. Go bags – phone tree – we have to.”

“I’ll get the kids,” said the golden-haired woman.

“Your body is shutting down,” said a man in a doctor’s coat. “These cracks, they aren’t just on your skin, they’re on your organs, too. I can’t find any reason for it. Maybe if we had access to genetic testing…” he shook his head. “Maybe you can still get it. Your quirk is concealable. Not like most of us here.” He took a moment to tug on one of his long, sheeplike ears.

Four shook his head. “Too big a risk.”

“Mhm, it’s up to you,” said the doctor, dubiously. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more, Yagi-san.”

“It’s still Shimura. Yagi is my wife.”

“That’s still confusing.”

“The name change thing is western,” said Four, “and I picked Shimura for a reason.”

Aizawa steadied himself against a wall. The last two shifts had been disorienting.

“Is there anything else I can do?” asked the doctor.

“Can you help me tell my wife?”

Four was screaming and holding his face. In front of him was a huge boulder, split in half.

“Hoshino,” said Four, leaning down so that his head rested on top of the golden-haired woman’s. “I gave it away. I gave it away.”

“Lariat worked out, then?” asked Hoshino. Yagi Hoshino, Aizawa had to presume.

“He’s a good person,” said Four, hoarsely. “I like working with him.”

“You don’t have to stop.”

Four closed his eyes. “I think… without it… I might be able to live here. At least, visit more often.”

“I’d like that. I think the kids would, too.”

Four, hunched over, clutching his head.

Four, in an alley, fighting men with knives, standing in front of a young woman with clawed hands. He’d been stabbed in the side.

They were back in the house, watching a news program. A trainline had been hit by a villain attack. A ticker on the bottom read ‘mutant metahuman train under attack by Evolutionary gang.’ The reporter’s voiceover was saying something along the lines of this is why mutants shouldn’t be allowed on public transport, they bring their gang wars with them.

Lariat was on the scene. A man recognizable only by his green skin at this distance fell out of one of the train cars. Lariat grabbed him with one of his black energy whips and put him back.

Thunderclap relaxed her death grip on Four’s arm by just an iota.

“He saved him,” said Four.

A much younger Four leaned against a wooden wall. He was splattered with blood, his clothing torn.

“I couldn’t save her,” he whispered. His hands were shaking. “Shimura-san—” His breath caught.

A woman with her hair gathered into a curly gray ponytail sat at a desk, blankly staring at the content. She wore a grey cardigan and could have been Thunderclap’s sister. Her eyes were obscured.

Which meant she probably was, all things considered.

Which meant that she was the other half of that S-rank villain pair.

Tempest.

“You don’t have to do this,” said Four.

“I do. You don’t understand how many people he’s killed. You don’t understand what he’s done. He has Haruna. I can’t—”

The scene sheered away as Tempest turned to face Four.

Do you remember when I first met you?

“Oh, this isn’t a pleasant one,” said Four, voice deceptively mild.

They were in an underground facility. The walls were concrete and metal, covered in pipes. The sounds of footsteps echoed down the hallway, starting and stopping.

“Although,” said Four, “there were certainly some good points as well.”

A teenage version of Four ran down the hall, frequently looking over his shoulder. His hands clutched a ring of keys by their blades and a pair of ID cards. His long, shaggy hair hung in his face, and he kept having to push it out of the way.

He reached a door at the end of the hall, and started fumbling with the keys, muttering under his breath. He slid one of the cards through a scanner near the door. It clicked open.

First contact.

There were definitely fewer voices involved in the proclamation, now. Two men, one woman. The woman had an American accent.

Beyond the door, a woman was strapped to the bed, unconscious. No, not a woman, the same woman who had been at the desk.

Tempest. Storm-caller. A villain who had been responsible for bringing so many storms to bear against Japan that they had permanently changed the coastline.

“Got to get you out of here before Dad comes back,” muttered the younger Four, untying the straps. “You need to wake up. Ah, Narcan.” He started rifling through a cabinet. “Narcan, Narcan… Narcan. Found you.”

“Don’t look for Three,” said Four. “She doesn’t want to talk to you. Or anyone. Do you know where Jinoshi Lake Camp is?”

“My class went there on a history field trip, once,” said Uraraka.

“Yeah,” said Aizawa, not liking where this was going at all. “I know the place.”

‘The place’ being what amounted to a concentration camp for quirked people in the early days of the quirk boom. How bad it was tended to be glossed over in history lessons, but Aizawa had long been able to read between the lines.

In the earliest days, the government had tried surgically removing quirks. Typically by removing the relevant body parts.

“That’s her contact point. Don’t look too closely.”

Aizawa supposed he knew how Thunderclap got her scars.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #fanfic #my fic #long night in the valley

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nanagoswife · 4 years ago

Text

Bending The Law - Part 1

Summary: You’re a lawyer in Gotham. You are supposed to uphold the law, but you defend the unlawful to help out the underworld. It felt like your duty as your father was apart of it. After a huge case, it leads you to a new place.

A/N: This is the first time I’m keeping a story to a specific character. If there’s any tips or pointers you have, I’d be more than glad to hear them. Enjoy!

“We find the defendant,” your heart was pounding. So much of your time was taken while trying to keep your client out of jail. The juror continued, “not guilty of first degree murder.”

The breath that you were holding in escaped you. All the tension and stress from these months was released at the words. Overwhelming joy filled you while looking at the happiness in your client’s eyes.

“Thank you so much, Y/N. You’ve done so much for me.”

“It was my pleasure,” you leaned in closer. “Try to be more careful next time.” A smile spread across his face and he gave a small nod before joining the small crowd that supported him through the trial. There were a few new faces in the group, you noticed.

You turned away and packed everything up. The notepads, documents, they all went into the case you carried with you since your first trial. This case, though, had been the toughest one yet. Yes, you represent many people from the underworld of Gotham, but it didn’t really bother you. You grew up with it.

Your father was the head of some criminal group that you never knew the name of. All you had known was, when you were still a teenager, he had allied with another criminal empire so that he could spend more time with you and your family.

“Excuse me,” a voice sounded from behind you. Turning to the voice, you saw a man with short white hair and a few scars on his face. He seemed familiar for some reason. “On behalf of our boss, we thank you. We really needed him.”

A small grin appeared on your face, “I owed him this.”

Confusion slightly showed on his face at your words. You told him about how he once covered for you in the past. He was a childhood friend and gave you a few alibis to keep you out of trouble from your father.

“Ah. Well, thank you again.” The man nodded and joined the rest of the group who waited at the door for him.

Before they walked out, your client gave you a wave. Smiling, you waved back before turning to your case and packing the last few pens and whiteout. There was someone you were meeting and you’d be damned if you were late.

Running up the doorsteps, you rung the doorbell. Looking at your watch, you were relieved to see you were a few minutes early.

The door swung open to reveal your sister. “For once, you’re not late, kiddo.”

“You know my job eats up my time, sis.” A laugh chimed from her as she tugged you into her house. You almost completely fell to the floor from the force.

Your sister, Kristy, strode towards her kitchen with a skip in her step. There was no doubt that she was grabbing a drink for the two of you. One thing you had noticed was that your sister was dressed up.

“Did you have a plan for the night that I didn’t know about?” The question was one you needed an answer to. Usually you’d leave it be and just go with the flow, but you were expecting that you were just going to a regular restaurant.

Kristy turned around and held eye contact with you before speaking, “We are going somewhere to not only get food, but also party, kiddo.”

“I thought all the bars around here had crappy food. We already tested this out long ago,” you said. Not only were you confused, but you dreaded having to eat the terrible food they all had.

“Hell no. There is one place that I’m sure you’ve heard of.”

“What did we miss?”

“The Black Mask Club,” she said with excitement. “A friend of mine told me about it.”

“And by friend, do you mean Zach?” She gave a sly smirk as she started towards you. Reaching you, she took your hands in hers.

For a moment she stayed like that. You saw she was trying to choose the right words, “Yes. He’s also meeting us there.”

Kristy seemed to shrink as if she was waiting for a negative response. Honestly, you didn’t care. It meant that you could get out of having to actually talk all night. Your sister seemed to only ever talk. So, you were more than happy to know you wouldn’t be the only one on the receiving end.

The only answer you gave was a shrug. Slowly, a smile grew on Kristy’s face.

“Is that what you’re going to wear?” she gestured to the blue dress you wore.

“Why? Is something wrong with it?”

The smile reappeared on her face, “No. It’s amazingly stunning!”

“Hey, boss!” Roman turned around to the voice. He was greeted by Zsasz who was still closing the distance between them.

Seeing that he was lighter in his steps made him optimistic, “I hope there’s good news.” He was glad that the club hadn’t opened just yet. It assured that they would be able to have this conversation without any prying eyes.

“The greatest actually. Michael was found not guilty!” A large smile spread across Zsaz’s face, “That lawyer fucking pulled it off!”

A great sense of joy filled Roman. Michael was valuable and he couldn’t afford to lose him. He wanted to know who the lawyer was. When he offered, Michael had turned down using one of Roman’s. He said that he already had one.

“That’s spectacular news! Just for that, we’ll let him celebrate. Anyone who he brings that was supposed to be stationed tonight, get it filled.” With that, Victor nodded and started arranging anything and everything Roman told him.

Watching Victor disappear, he decided he’d wait to ask about the lawyer. He wanted to thank them in person. Hearing about it all from the news and Victor, he knew how much work was put in to get this result. It only costed months of non-stop work to find any little thing that would show innocence.

Sitting down to think, a martini was brought over. Not only did the lawyer amaze him, but he admired the dedication. Instead of paying off witnesses or judges or finding a way to tamper with something, this lawyer went deep.

They didn’t play dirty, they did it the hard way and searched for any loophole that would apply. Yes, he wanted to meet them. For now, he’d celebrate.

“Are you sure they’re actually going to have good food?” Honestly, that was the only thing you really cared about. The trial you had only let you have cheap takeout and delivery. After it all, you really just wanted a decent meal.

Kristy was about to reply, but got distracted when she saw Zach walking towards them. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes once they met each other.

Zach waved hello before taking your sister into his arms. Uncomfortable, you looked away to where you saw the line for the club. How had you never heard of this place?

“Come on,” you heard Zach suddenly say. Being the third wheel, you walked behind them. A small chuckle came from you as you thought about the relationship those two had. They weren’t exclusive, but more like friends that got some fun when they wanted. It didn’t really make sense to you.

Walking to the front of the line, the guard at the front let you all in and gave a nod to Zach. Loud music filled your ears as you walked into the club. The sight of everyone dancing, drinking and talking all around made you smile.

Your arm was suddenly pulled, “Follow us, kiddo. Zach got a table reserved for us!” Resisting the urge to roll your eyes again, you obeyed.

Almost instantly, a waitress came over to take your drink order. Thankfully, there was a great assortment of real food. Joy filled you.

After some time, Zach and Kristy left you to go and dance after enjoying their own meal. Not feeling up to it, you just stayed and sat at your table. It gave you time to admire the red setting.

Red, that was a great choice for what you usually saw going on at clubs. Passion, heat, joy, activity and love. What type of love? It didn’t matter. All you knew was that it represented what clubs really were in many ways. Even in the darker aspects.

“Y/N!” you suddenly heard a voice yell your name. Looking over, you saw your client, Michael. A smile spread across your face as you watched him make his way over to you from his group.

Giving a small laugh, you stood up and hugged him. “Let me guess, celebrating today’s victory?” you said while pulling away from your long time friend. His own smile spread across his face.

“You know it. Now let me guess. You’re here with your sister who ditched you for or with a guy.”

“Well, you know Kristy. Always having fun,” you replied sarcastically.

Laughing, he placed a hand on your shoulder. “Why don’t you come with me. I’m sure my friends won’t mind. You are basically my sister after all.” Lightly he pushed your shoulder with a playful tint in his eyes.

Shrugging, you accept. Michael’s smile grew bigger as he gestured for you to follow him to the table he was at.

Roman arrived to a very lively Friday night crowd. Usually he would’ve been pleased, but annoyance was the only thing tugging on him. Not because of visitors, but because of the situation he just had to deal with. How he wished he could just kill the clown.

Going to the bar, his drink was immediately placed on the counter. His eyes searched around to spot any issues at all.

A smile played on his lips when he saw Michael and his group. One person caught his eye. There was a girl laughing along to the conversation they were all having. She looked very comfortable with the group.

For a moment, he studied you. You were amazingly beautiful. His mind started to wander as he continued to study your features.

Roman wanted to know more about who this girl was. He was glad that he had a reason to go over there anyways. Ever since Zsasz told him the news, he had been caught up with phone calls. Michael deserved a personal congratulations for his victory.

“So, Y/N, how the hell did you pull that victory off?” one of the men asked after settling his laughter.

“A shit ton of Chinese food,” you replied, still laughing. The entire group burst out in their own laughter.

It died down as soon as someone said, “Here comes the boss.” Following Michael’s gaze, you saw a man in a white suit with some sort of floral button-up shirt walking towards you. One of his gloved hands raised his martini glass as a greeting.

“My, my. Look who it is,” Michael stood up as the man started talking once he was close enough. They shared a firm handshake.

“Roman Sionis, I would like you to meet Y/N Y/L/N.” You stood up and exchanged your own handshake, nervousness slightly filling you. He was someone you only knew through reputation. “She’s not only like my little sister, but she’s the one who worked tirelessly these few months to keep my ass out of jail,” he exclaimed.

A surprised but pleased expression wiped Roman’s face. Your cheeks went red at the compliment, “I was just doing my job. I also owed you for all you did for me as kids.” Playfully, you pushed at Michael’s shoulder.

“Well, I greatly appreciate your dedication, Y/N. Would you like a drink?” Roman asked. There was something in his tone that made you feel like you couldn’t refuse.

Smiling up at Michael, you gave him another nudge before looking back at Roman. “Sure. See you in a bit Mikey,” you said as you walked towards Roman. He gestured to a path that led to the bar.

@stardancerluv @jaydenwoo

#roman sionis pov #roman sionis #roman x reader #black mask x reader #bop #Ewan McGregor #fanfic #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis x y/n

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desert-dyke · 4 years ago

Text

Pollen

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: Fallout New Vegas Relationships:

Craig Boone/Arcade Gannon

Craig Boone & Female Courier

Characters:

Arcade Gannon

Craig Boone

Female Courier

Additional Tags:

Sex Pollen

Anal Sex

Frotting

Blow Jobs

an assortment of fun sexual favors

Strangers to Lovers

bottom boone

Smut

lil fluff at the end

Arcade and Boone are sent to survey Vault 22 only to discover some plant life there has some interesting side effects...

Arcade’s eyes wandered across various equipment in the lab. Not as nice as what he had to work with while with the Followers, but a lot better than other factions could brag. Sloan was talking to one of the scientists. He sort of zoned out by now. She was far from the brightest crayon in the pack and sometimes it was better not to hear her “brilliant” takes. He could tell a deal was being made. An exchange of caps promised. Yeah that always caught Sloan’s attention. “How do you feel about going to Vault 22?” Sloan asked, giving him that smile that suggested she wasn’t really asking. Arcade blinked. He promised to follow her and give her support, but he did not like where this was going. He could have sworn he heard something about someone disappearing, and research needing to be reacquired. It was the former part that unsettled him. “It’s got plants! You like that sort of thing,” Sloan appealed.

“Why can’t you go?” Arcade asked. Sloan’s sunburnt shoulders rose and fell again.

“I’ve got other business here.”

Arcade rolled his eyes. He had noticed the way her eyes seemingly glazed over when Corporal Betsy was talking to her. It was so characteristic of Sloan to ditch him to flirt with whatever pretty lady they encountered. He remembered losing her for nearly two days in Westside, only to find her holed up in the Thorn. Apparently her and Red Lucy got pretty close during that time.

“I’m not going alone,” he asserted. He could protect himself just fine, but if already someone had disappeared, Arcade did not want to add himself to the body count.

“Take Boone with you,” Sloan suggested. He couldn’t believe his initial reaction then but he actually preferred Sloan to Boone. It wasn’t that he was unfriendly towards the rest of Sloan’s friends. She definitely had interesting tastes when it came to making friends. Cass was a bit rough and rowdy. Raul was a sarcastic pushover. Lily was sweet and doting on Sloan, but he was certain she could and would snap him in half. But Boone? He was just quiet. In all honesty, Arcade didn’t know what to think of Boone. Not knowing his deal made Arcade cautious of him.

“Why Boone?” He questioned. Sloan shrugged again, but she was a terrible bluff. He could tell by the twitching corners of her mouth. She had her reasons, but she wasn’t going to tell him them.

“I’m tired of him moping around the 38,” she made the excuse. “Take him out. Show him a good time.” Her arm wrapped around Arcade’s shoulder. She was much shorter and had to pull him down to her height in order to do so. Arcade didn’t fight against it. “There’s a nuka cola quantum in it for you…”

“I could buy myself my own,” Arcade said. He rolled his eyes and shrugged his way out of Sloan’s hold. It hurt to bend like that. “Fine.”

Getting Boone to talk was like pulling teeth. On one hand, there was some peace to that. Boone was just about the only one at the Lucky 38 who didn’t try to probe Arcade for some history. He had the inkling that Boone genuinely did not care, whereas every one else only further inspired them to pry.

The silence began to wear on him after an hour of walking in it. Boone’s sun-shaded eyes darted along the desert expanding before them, on the lookout for any sign of trouble. He accepted that silence in this case meant stealth and cover from any wasteland creature who might do them harm. Yet the sound of wind whistling across an empty desert kept making Arcade look over his shoulder, thinking he heard the sound of voices.

Boone raised a clenched fist, his arm forming a right angle. Arcade crawled to a stop, unholstering his pistol. Boone had his rifle trained on an enemy hidden from Arcade’s view. He tried to squint his eyes, shading them from the scorching sun, but all he saw were dancing waves of heat.

Arcade jumped as Boone’s rifle fired. A hand accidentally touched the sniper’s back and was quickly brushed off with a grunt.

“What was it?” Arcade asked. Silence. Was he annoyed at his touch? Arcade sucked a breath in, but before he could speak, his ears rung with the sound of the rifle discharging. Boone fired twice more before standing. Arcade remained crouched for a moment longer, trying to process what happened. Boone began walking, indifferent to whether Arcade was following or not. He hustled to catch up with Boone. Finally, he saw something in the distance, coming from between the mountains. It looked overwhelmingly green.

Something crunched beneath Arcade’s tread. He looked down with disgust at the oversized insect he stepped on, it’s insides now covering his shoes. This must have been what Boone had seen and taken out long before it would even know they were there. His finger searched for the trigger of his plasma pistol, resting just in case there were any more nearby.

“Area’s clear,” Boone said. Whether that was meant to be reassuring was lost on Arcade. He checked the crudely drawn map he had been given, aligned it with surrounding landmarks. A red x marked the spot, in a small alcove of the mountain range, confirming what Arcade already knew. The green was where they needed to go.

It was even more overwhelming the closer they got. Vegetation was sparse in the mojave and what did was hardy and prickly. Not soft with fanlike waxy leaves, something he’d expect to see in the jungle, not here in the desert.

“I’m no botanist, but that doesn’t seem entirely natural,” Arcade remarked. He looked towards Boone, still silent. He lead the way, rifle in his hands. The vegetation grew denser the further they wandered into the alcove. It’s source was covered in it, so that Arcade almost didn’t recognize the entrance to vault 22. He was afraid to brush against the plants, unsure of what effects they might have. He had an antivenom on him, which could possibly work if something was poisonous, but wasn’t definite. However, if it triggered an allergic reaction, they would be plum out of luck.

Boone sauntered ahead without the same caution. Arcade hissed in a breath watching the skin of his arm touch a plant, expecting blistering welts to rise moments later. When nothing happened and Boone continued on ahead without him, Arcade relaxed only slightly and followed him into the vault.

Despite the lack of soil, the plants had no problem growing on the metal of the vault floors, walls, ceiling, literally anywhere he looked there was growth. Arcade jumped at the sudden metallic boom. Boone was no longer in the entrance with him. He heard another gunshot and deciphered Boone must’ve headed further inside. Arcade hustled, following the sound. Gunshots meant trouble. His feet flew down the stairwell, chasing noise, any sign of life. He halted, almost rushing into a figure rising from a cluster of flora. It was human shaped, but definitely not human. Arcade discharged his pistol into the back of the creature. It shrieked and burned as it crumpled to the ground. Boone turned around, realizing the creature had gotten dangerously close to him before Arcade shot it down. Arcade expected some hint of gratitude but Boone showed none.

“We’re not alone,” He said, instead. As if that much were not already obvious. The stairwell split into two opposing sides. “I’ll take that way,” Boone said, before heading down the stairs before Arcade could oppose them splitting up.

He held tight to his pistol as he ventured the other route. Boone’s gunshots echoed the metal walls. He was relieved to see they rejoined on the same floor. Boone took the liberty of surveying one of the rooms. Arcade took to the opposite, which looked to be a lab. Promising, Arcade thought.

He took out another plant-person as it rose from another cluster of flora. He wondered, with some morbidity, if these creatures were indeed once human. Maybe even the scientists working in this vault.

A light shone on a large blossom, catching Arcade’s attention. He approached with caution, pistol pointed forward in case another creature spawned from it. The blossom opened, releasing a visible cloud of spores. Instinctively, Arcade gasped. It smelled, he was embarrassed to admit, like sex. He pressed the sleeve of his lab coat to his face, trying to avoid breathing any more of it in and promptly left the room in search of Boone.

“We need to leave,” He told the sniper, when he encountered him loitering in one of the labs. “There’s spores in the air, and who knows what harm they could be if we breath them.” He thought of the corpse they found that looked like a human body entirely encased in flora. No doubt they would soon share a similar fate. Boone did not seem particularly riveted by Arcade’s words. Arcade felt his blood warm. Frustration. He knew he wasn’t exactly the type to give orders, but he wished Boone would at least listen to him. “We need gas masks and then we can try again. I’m sure Sloan would understand,” Arcade added, considering maybe Boone was afraid of disappointing Sloan.

“There’s spores in here too,” Boone stated, pointing towards a similar looking blossom.

“Yeah, exactly why we need to get out of here,” Arcade reiterated. He never realized how dull Boone was. Abandoning all caution, he reached for Boone’s hand, giving it a tug. Surprisingly, the contact earned no response from the other man.

“Are you feeling feverish?” Boone asked. Arcade paused. He had been feeling a little warmer and

his heart was pounding in his chest. He assumed it was out of ire towards the sniper. He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. It was warm. “You look flushed,” Boone commented.

“Yeah, well something really fucked up is going on in this vault, so excuse me for being a little worked up,” Arcade replied. His heart was really pounding, as if he had just ran a lap around Freeside. Sure he was upset at Boone, but even he acknowledged that it was a bit of an exaggerated response to the situation. Unless it was the pollen he inhaled causing him to have an accelerated heart rate.

“Worked up is right,” Boone commented. He scratched his buzzed head under his beret. Arcade noticed how low Boone was looking. He followed his line of vision, noticed a small tent had formed in his pants. He could add this to the list of awkward moments he had gotten a boner.

“I’m not going to let you die down here just because you want to be difficult,” Arcade redirected the conversation back to what was most urgent. He grabbed the collar of Boone’s shirt and pulled. Boone swatted his hand away, but it got him to start moving.

Arcade kept his plasma pistol close in case they encountered any more of those spore creatures on the way back out. Every cluster of flora that broke through the metal floor of the vault put Arcade a little bit more at unease. He jumped upon seeing a corpse of one Boone had sniped earlier, laying among all of the plants.

The further up they went, the warmer Arcade felt. He was coated in a fierce sweat, as if he were fighting a fever, his glasses fogged a bit from the heat radiating from his body. Arcade paused to catch his breath. Boone took note.

“Hey,” The concern in his voice was forreign to Arcade. “What’s up?” That was probably the closest Boone was going to come to saying ‘are you okay?’

“I’m not going to lie, I’m not feeling great,” Arcade confessed. He was having a difficult time placing what was wrong. He did not feel ill. Despite the high body temperature, he knew he didn’t have a fever. He just felt exceptionally wound up, like he had just did a warm up lap and was ready to do more.

“Something’s not right,” Boone said, in agreement. Arcade looked towards him. Boone was looking flushed as well. He didn’t mean to look, but it was hard to ignore the swell tugging against cargo pants.

Boone stepped closer, causing Arcade to take a step back. He couldn’t see behind Boone’s sniper shades, but he thought he was pissed, that he was going to hurt him. Instead, Boone clutched Arcade’s sleeve, pinching it tight inside his fist. “I need help, Doc.”

Arcade’s heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. He felt as rough as Boone looked, as if their bodies were going to give out from stress if relief didn’t come soon. “I don’t…” Arcade stuttered. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

“Bullshit,” Boone growled through clenched teeth.

Sweat loosened the pomade in Arcade’s hair, so that strands dangled in his face. He brushed them back, all the while leaning on a computer mainframe for support. He did have an idea of how to treat this condition. While it wasn’t an unpleasant idea, it also wasn’t something Arcade impulsively rushed into, like Sloan might. He had secrets to keep, secrets that didn’t belong with such intimate acts.

But he was also certain not doing so would kill them. Already the stress was taking a toll on Arcade’s body. He knew they wouldn’t make it far from the vault before one or both of them would suffer a stroke or cardiac arrest.

“Yes. Fine,” Arcade conceded. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Neither of them had any other choice, but Arcade needed consent before performing this sort of procedure.

Next thing Arcade knew, Boone’s hand was on the collar of his button down, pulling him down to his shorter height and mashing his lips against Arcade’s. His glasses clacked with Boone’s, knocking them askew on his face. Arcade removed his and rested it on the mainframe before returning his lips to Boone’s.

Boone’s breath was hot on his face. He kissed ravenously, like Boone had been wandering the Mojave for days and Arcade was the first drink of water. His hands grasped at Arcade with the same urgency, while constantly shifting place, as if Boone was still trying to figure out what felt right.

Arcade stifled the question in his mind of whether Boone had ever been with a man before. He was confident Boone hadn’t engaged in sexual activities since the loss of his wife. Being close to someone now must have been weird to him, regardless of anatomy.

He decided to offer Boone some assistance, and pulled his lab coat off before beginning to unbutton his shirt. It clung to his body, damp with sweat. Boone eyed him for a moment before doing the same with his t-shirt.

His stocky torso shined with sweat. His skin was battered with scars all at different stages of healing, but his shape was soft and inviting. Round pectoral muscles and a slight pudge of stomach cushioning ropes of muscles beneath. Arcade would be lying if he said he never found Boone attractive previously, he just didn’t think Boone would be interested. Even now, Boone hesitated. He realized Boone was waiting for his direction.

Arcade took his hands in his own and guided them towards his chest. Boone traced along his torso before eagerly coming in for another kiss. Their chests pressed together, he could feel the heat radiating off of Boone. Arcade was painfully erect and the slightest brush of cloth against his groin made him ache.

He reached between their bodies to free himself from his pants. Boone mirrored him before turning around and leaning against the mainframe. Arcade was taken aback, watching as Boone waited for him. Two pale mounds that were his now exposed ass facing in his direction. Now it was Arcade’s turn to be cautious.

Boone looked over his shoulder towards Arcade. “Please.” His voice was low, so that he almost missed it.

Arcade held his hips between his hands. He lined himself up and then pressed in. He couldn’t help the moan that escaped from him. Boone bit down on his own hand. At first he was worried it was bad for him, then he realized Boone was trying to stifle his own noise.

“Harder.”

Arcade obliged. Each thrust came easier than the one before and scratched at his itch. Finally the tension building inside of him felt right instead of something that wanted to kill him. Shamefully, Arcade did not last long, nor did Boone, as the latter climaxed shortly after him. Much to Arcade’s surprise, he was still hard as he pulled out.

“That’s...new,” He remarked. Boone turned around, his erection mirroring his own.

Before Arcade could question if these effects were going to be permanent, Boone was on him again. His bare cock brushed against Arcade’s. Even the slightest touch made small fires light inside of him. He watched as Boone lined them up. Boone’s hands were rough with callouses, but warm as he surrounded them both. Arcade placed his slender fingers over Boone’s, squeezing their hold tighter as together they pumped. Boone leaned his head on Arcade’s shoulder. He could hear every raspy breath that shook through Boone, mixed in with a small, whispered ‘fuck.’ Arcade gasped as Boone bit his neck. It must have done something for him, because next thing he knew, he was releasing again, this time onto Boone’s stomach. Boone’s hot fluid dripped onto his fingers.

Arcade was out of breath. Carefully, he lowered himself onto a patch of the vault’s floor that didn’t look as dirty as the rest. His chest heaves, deprived of air. His heart still thunders, but not with the same urgency as before. His member, though still firm, was beginning to wilt ever so slightly.

Boone knelt beside him. Arcade now noticed that his beret had fallen off at some point, leaving his buzzed haircut exposed. It sparkled with flecks of sweat that dripped onto his temples.

“I think...it’s working,” Arcade commented. He leaned his head against the mainframe, feeling like he was going to collapse from exhaustion.

“We’re not done yet,” Boone said. He crawled closer before he laid on his belly before Arcade, his head in the researcher’s lap. Arcade gasped as he felt Boone’s hot breath against his cock, moments before he took Arcade inside of his mouth.

At first, Arcade watched as Boone’s head bobbed, afraid to touch him, which was probably silly considering everything that had happened between them recently. He gave in and gently raked his fingers through the bristles of Boone’s cropped hair. Boone’s moan vibrated against his cock, causing Arcade’s breath to catch. This part lasted longer. Or maybe Arcade’s head was clear enough that he could finally concentrate on what was happening, rather than all his previous actions passing by in blurred emotions. Before was so desperate, like relieving pain. This...this was kind of...nice, he had to admit.

When Arcade inevitably released, he half expected Boone to pull away in disgust. Instead, he accepted the load without complaint. Arcade reached for his canteen and downed half of it, attempting to replenish all the water his body had sweated out. He wiped excess moisture from his lips as he offered the canteen to Boone. Boone accepted.

“What about you?” Arcade asked. His eyes drifted to the semi-erection that bounced between Boone’s legs as he shifted. Boone finished off the canteen before answering.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

He sealed the empty canteen and handed it back to Arcade, before shirking his cargo pants back up his thighs. “Yeah.”

Arcade watched him straighten out his clothes, pushing his shades back up his nose and readjusting his beret atop his head. He didn’t seem to be changing his mind anytime soon.

“We should leave,” he said. Arcade had to agree, before they encountered more spores. He wasn’t sure how many times his body could go through something like that before it finally quit.

His vision cleared once his glasses returned to rest before his eyes. Arcade covered himself again while Boone stood watch, holding his rifle. If they had been attacked while lost in their frenzy of desire, they would have been goners. Arcade could count himself lucky that hadn’t been a problem.

“Hey,” Arcade sought his attention, touching his arm lightly. He half expected Boone to flinch away from his touch, but he didn’t. His shaded eyes turned towards Arcade. Arcade brushed his lips against Boone’s. They tasted salty of sweat and his own cum. Boone’s lips moved gently in response, feeling for the briefest of moments the wetness of a tongue before it ended as abruptly as it began.

“We can’t tell Sloan,” Boone said, after an elongated moment of silence.

“Absolutely not,” Arcade said, in agreement, before the two headed back towards the surface.

#my fics #fallout #fallout new vegas #arcade gannon #craig boone #arcade/boone #boonecade

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yamithediaperdork · 3 years ago

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Cutest widdle champion (original characters)

As it always was in Midnight Eden, land of dreams and realm of Lulnyq, Goddess of Night, Shadows, and Darkness, the light was low, mostly from from street lamps as a trio of misshapen shadow blobs with bright red eyes that whenever possible avoided any of the dim light.

They were creatures known as nightmares, who used Midnight Eden for easy access into mortals dreams where they could gain power. Once they were rare and hardly seen in this blessed land atlas, hard times had befallen the once grand realm as the once Intermediate level Goddess had been reduced to a lesser god, and with her lost of power her army of angels who had once served her proudly had been reduced to a handful, and couldn't be everywhere at once.

Thankfully for the mortal's who's dreams would of been infested by this wicked trio, one of the remaining angels, nay, the greatest of them still loyally served his goddess and while he was angry at the lack of faith the mortal's put in his beloved Lulnyq, he would still protect them in her name.

Allimir had been tracking the three nightmares for half a hour now, blending into the shadows with ease as it was only of his gifts from her and had only refrained from assaulting them till now to make sure they weren't meeting up with more of their kind. Seeing them find what they were looking for, a crack in the realm that would make they're journey easier he flew up and came down in front of the trio.

His dark blue and black armor shone in the dim light while his blue on the outside and black on the inside cloak billowed out behind him as he drew his trusted Lance, dubbed Nightblade and pointed it at them.

"I don't suppose you three have obtained permission to visit the mortal realm have you? there ARE strict laws about that sort of thing." Allimir asked dryly.

The nightmares snarled and began to change shape, taking on hulking bipedal forms with sharp claws forming at the end of their arms, and large mouths filled with razor teeth.

"I'll take that as a no. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave then gentlemen." Allimir said politely, trying to give the monster the chance to save themselves.

"Kill the angel, then go to mortal realm?" the nightmare closet to him asked the other two.

"EAT the angel, then go." Said second closet.

"Kill!" the third snarled and tried to shove past his companions.

"-Sigh- Alright, but just remember I DID give you a chance." Allimir said, shaking his head.

Dashing forward he swung Nightblade, willing it NOT to kill, not yet at least, as he caught it across the chests of all three and sent them stumbling back into the full force of the street light,

they're monster forms weakened in the light and they howled, lashing out blindly as Allimir flew up out of they're called down to them.

"this is your LAST warning. Willing leave this place and never come back, nor attempt to enter the mortal realm and I will let you live. Refuse and I'll have no choice but to destroy you!" He warned.

"KILL THE ANGEL!" was the roar from all three and Allimir signed and nodded.

"Very well." he said.

Coming down fast and hard, Allimir willed his lance to kill, as the weapon responded to his will when it came to how lethal it was.

he came down hard point first, going though the middle of one of the nightmares, dispelling it and it faded away with a shriek.

Not leaving anything to chance even before he fully landed on his feet the angel lashed out with a sweeping motion and cut the second nightmare in half right where it's chest would be and it too was gone, leaving one.

"Wait! Mercy!" the creature whimpered, trying to back away.

Twirling Nightblade and pointing it at the remaining beast, Allimir shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but you were offered mercy before." he said then ended the battle with a final thrust.

Lulnyq sat on her throne, watching the events unfold and while she was pleased with the actions of her top angel, she was still somewhat unnerved that nightmares would be as bold as to come right into her city. If only she hadn't of gambled so much of her power and influence in the last tournament of champions things wouldn't be so bleak.

But in her defense she had been so SURE that her champion, would of swept though the other champions with ease instead of losing in his first match, within 20 seconds.

Having been boosting proudly of how powerful her champion was and how he'd make history to her sister the sun goddess, she'd proven right since it WAS the quickest defeat in the history of the tournament.

in the aftermath she'd been bumped down to not just a lesser goddess, but the bottom of the lesser god's and now was at risk of being made into a small goddess which would mean she wouldn't be trusted to run her own realm and a Intermediate god or goddess would have to over see her, and knowing her recent run of luck it would be her brat of a sister.

She had a nagging feeling that the quick defeat had been a set up, enforced by the fact her champion had ditched her after the tournament to become a worshiper of her sister.

"My Goddess, I'm back!" Came the voice of Allimir, and instantly she felt her gloomy thoughts leave.

Yes, the last years tournament of champions hadn't gone her way, but THIS time she had a ace up her sleeve.

Allimir could tell as he walked in and knelt that his beloved Goddess had been brooding again. He wished she wouldn't focus so much on the past but short of telling her to snap out of it (Something he would never in a million years do) the best he could do was act silly at times to try and cheer her up.

"I witnessed your battle, you've proven yourself worthy as always, and in fact, you've done more then that. You've proven yourself worthy of a honor that I know you've been wanting for awhile, but never asked for it because you didn't think it was you place." she said, winking and smiling warmly.

Allimir blushed a little at the teasing tone in her voice. Sometimes despite her height and build, and her long regal black hair and star and moon filled eyes he could almost forget that she was a goddess with how warm and teasing she could be.

"I would never presume to-" Allimir started to say but then his goddess was right in front of him, amazing him as it always did that with her er.. ample backside she could move so quick.

"Ah ah ah, stop being so stuffy and formal. I'm about to give you the great honor of being my champion!" She coo'ed and tapped a finger on his nose and despite himself, Allimir giggled.

regaining his composure, Allimir bowed and then looked up smiling.

"It'll be my honor to serve as your champion my Goddess, and I swear to fight and win for your glory!" He vowed.

"Well duh, I wouldn't be picking you if I thought you were gonna fight and lose for my glory." the semi Chaotic goddess giggled and blew a raspberry. "Now this might sting a little.." She said, taking a few steps back.

"It'll be worth it."

making a finger gun with her left arm and putting her right hand on her forearm to steady it, she closed one of her eyes and stuck her tongue out then a blast of black energy with stars mixed into fired out and stuck Allimir, overwhelming him with new found power even as the world seemed to spin all around him.

"No Longer shall you be called Allimir, strongest of my angel. rise up my new champion and serve your goddess well..Umbraby!" Lulnyq intoned, and walked over to her new champion.

the being once known as Allimir was woozy at first, but looked up with pride to his goddess who suddenly.. seemed like a semi giant to him.

"My goddess, why did..you..What's wrong with my voice?!" Umbraby squeaked.

he'd never had the deepest of voice before but now he sounded like a little boy! Looking down down at his hands he could see they were covered in purple gloves and he was wearing a grayish long sleeve tight shirt, that was fair enough, but it was the SIZE of his arm and hands that had his eyes going wide.

that and as he looked down, he could make out a blueish purple loose shirt over the grayish one and stocking that came up to his mid upper thigh's, colored again grayish.

he seemed to be wearing a hooded black clock and he could feel material on his face which would of indicted he was wearing a mask of some sort.

All this he took in within second but what had his stopped dead in his tracks and eyes going wide even as Lulnyq smiled warmly and giggled, was the massive puffy white DIAPER around his hips at the moment.

"M-M-My goddess, I..what.. " he stammered.

"Shhh it's ok~" She coo'ed, picking him up and cradling him in her arms.

the realization that she hadn't gone, rather he'd been shrunk.. no not even that, but turned into a toddler hit him hard like a ton of bricks.

"I..You..Why am I a toddler!?" he cried out, bottom lip trembling and huffing and blushing.

Normally he would of NEVER raised his voice to his beloved Goddess but his new form while he could feel the additional power, clearly lacked the emotional maturity he'd always had.

"What, you don't like the form I chose?" Lulnyq asked, frowning and pouting a little.

guilt washed over him instantly, and he tried to back track when as she rocked him and despite himself his eyelids were starting to get heavy.

"I..No I just..I was shocked..Um.. I'm sure you had a very good reason for this form mo- I mean my goddess!" He said, almost calling Lulnyq mommy.

"heh, you almost called me mommy!" Lulnyq giggled, taping a finger on his little nose and making him blush and squirm. "Actually, I think I like that.. from now on your to address me as Mom or mommy, Understand Umbraby?"

Umbraby mentally whined and squirmed, so much was happening so fast for the little ex angel now champion. Still, it was a order from his beloved Goddess and he knew he couldn't disobey.

"As you wish." he said, and she looked down at him, waiting. "...Mommy."

Lulnyq squealed with glee and cuddled him close, which while embarrassing and unexpected wasn't half bad.

the only thing that kept him from truly enjoying the cuddles with his go- His mommy, was the thick diaper crinkling around his hips.

"Who's the cutest widdle super duper champion of all time? you are! yes you are!" She was coo'ed and tickling his chin which forced giggles out of him.

"Hehehehe me! I am!" he replied instinctively then blinked and swallowed. "M-Mommy I have a question!" He said, getting her to stop for the moment at least.

"Oh? Ask away, you'll find me a well of information both great and silly." Lulnyq said, smiling all silly.

"..Why am I in a diaper?" Umbraby asked, a whining tone to his voice. "I mean, not to question you, but I've never needed one before, so why now?"

"oh, that's easy!" Mommy said and giggled. "in your old form much like most angels and gods of any level, while you ate and drank you body used what you took in so well you never made waste or needed to tinkle. And that's all fine and good if you're just going to serve in the godly realms. " she paused and sat down in her throne, sitting him up on her lap before going on. "however, the contest is held in the mortal realm and ergo you needed a body that could go there and handled it. Since you've never had to worry about potty training before, I'm just playing it safe and keeping you diapered."

Umbraby hmmmed and nodded, and was about to tell mommy that that made lots of sense when she went on.

"Plus I thought you'd look totally adorable and cute, I've always wanted to diaper you!" She added and pinched his cheek.

'And there it is..' Umbraby thought dryly though he endured the cheek pinching.

With everything explained out to her widdle champion, Lulnyq decided it was time to feed the little champ in the making, his tummy was growling and she wasn't about to let him go night night all hungry!

Poofing a large bottle of rich creamy milk that had been warmed just right out of thin air, she started cradling Umbraby in one arm and moved the ba-ba towards his mouth.

"M-Mommy I promise you I can feed myself!" he whined, cheeks flaring with a adorable blush.

"Oh But I insist! you're going to restore my glory, the least I can do is give you your ba-ba and burp you." She coo'ed.

She could see he wanted to fuss and argue but like the good widdle champion he was, he just nodded his head and opened him mouth.

he seemed to struggle a bit at first trying to adjust to drink from the rubber nipple and so she used a bit more of her skill and power to give him a infant urge to nurse, a trait she had left out at first.

with his new 'power up' so to speak Umbraby was chugging down his ba-ba like a champ, though Lulnyq could see she was gonna have to burp him with all the air bubbles he was making.

"Easy there little guy, it's not going anywhere, you don't have to force it all down at once.." She teased giggling.

Umbraby mumbled something with the bottles nipple in his mouth making milk run down the sides of his milk.

"I can see somebodies gonna be a sloppy eater. don't worry, I'll have lots and lots of bibs for you." She coo'ed, making a napkin appear and dabbing at the little guys chin and making sure none of the milk went onto his little uniform.

even as she did that she had a 'duh' moment and nodded her head slightly, his uniform was gone leaving just his diapers now.

"I don't know why I didn't think of that to begin with! Mommies a silly butt huh?" She giggled and tickled the blushing champ's tummy tum.

Umbraby tried to protest he wanted his gosh darn clothes back, but the ba-ba was just too good to give up. As mommy kept feeding him and made the comment about being a silly butt he found himself giggling and nodding as much as he could.

The rich creamy milk was just so good though it was filling him up in a different way then he'd ever felt before, something he suspected had to do with the fact he'd be -ugh- expelling it back out of his body.

he wasn't sure what to expect when that happened and he wasn't looking forward to it though as the bottle drained to it's last little bit he furrowed his eyebrows getting a confused look on his face as his crotch was getting all warm and damp.

"Hmm?What's wrong little one?" Mommy asked, pulling the basically finished ba-ba out of his mouth with a popping sound as his lips didn't wanna let go.

"I.. My diapie feels weird." Umbraby said and then squirmed more, his chest starting to feel owie. "My chest hurts too."

His Mommy goddess just smiled and poked a finger in the leg hole of the diaper before shifting him around, a towel over one shoulder now and resting his head on it.

"It's ok, you just had your first piddle accident. and the chest thing is you need to be burped because of all the air bubbles you took in." She explained, patting his back softly.

Umbraby blushed bright red at that.

"I..I piddled myself already!? But I didn't even feel it! and Mommy, I don't think it's a burp, I know how to bu-" Umbraby whined, squirming and about to say he could burp himself when a LARGE belch escaped from his mouth, echoing in the royal chamber.

"You were saying?" Mommy asked, amused.

"...Never mind." Umbraby said, burying his face in her shoulder. he had wet himself and belched like a total pig in front of his goddess.

'There was no WAY this could possibly get any worse.' Umbraby thought, tempting fate and as he would soon learn, little boys in diapers shouldn't do that.

Lulnyq was patting her little champion's back, coo'ing and reassuring him everything was going to be alright when a loud brassy fart erupted from his backside, again echoing in the chamber.

"oh my, someones gas powered tonight~" she teased lightly.

before Umbraby could go to defend his gas attack however several more poots escaped and the back of his diaper started to puff out and sag as she held him.

"Ah! Mommy! something's coming out of my butt! My insides are leaking out!" Umbraby cried out, sounding scared and she had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing.

"Shhh, it's ok silly. it's called pooping. you're having your first" and she mentally added 'of many' "Stinky diaper. It's ok." she coo'ed.

"THIS is what p-pooping feels like!?" Umbraby cried and whined, squirming in her arms. "And mortals do it all the time!?"

"well not ALL the time, depends on their diet.." Lulnyq said.

"I hate it! make it stoppp!" Umbraby cried, blubbering now like the little boy he looked like.

"Awww, it's ok. don't worry. Mommies here." She coo'ed and kissed her stinky little champion.

NOT the end.

AN: these characters do NOT belong to me, but are Lancetheyoung's. ^^

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antihero-writings · 4 years ago

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In the Temple of Dust

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda (Breath of the Wild)

Character Focus: Link

Summary: After Link completes all the shrines, even though he's stronger than he's ever been...he still isn't sure he can be the hero everyone expects him to be. So some old friends try to cheer him up. Or...maybe they're more than just friends.

Notes: I've been playing Breath of the Wild for the first time lately, so when Tale Foundry's prompt this week ended up being "In the City of Dust" that's immediately where my mind went to, haha! I had to get the BotW fic idea out of my system first. I've also wanted to write a BotW fic since starting, and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity!

This was also a bit inspired by a couple youtube videos: Zeltik's video on the Forgotten Temple potentially being Skyloft, and the Deathly Loneliness Attacks amv.

Please note that I have a very limited knowledge of the Zelda series as a whole (and I have actually not reached this point in my game yet)...so please forgive me if there were any inaccuracies! I tried my best, and I hope it was cool!

I hope you enjoy it! If you do, please consider reblogging, and/or leaving a comment!!

In the Temple of Dust

The hero took a look behind him at the crumbling columns and moss covered stones, the tree breaking out of the wall, and the now destroyed guardians lying among the ruins like the rest, a great sigh of this place, the last things alive silenced.

This whole place felt like a memory, long buried. What once must have been a grand temple now home to skeletons and monsters…and sometimes creatures that were both

He wished he remembered.

He turned forward and made his way to the foot of the goddess, where three chests sat waiting.

As his steps sounded, he heard the faint notes of music. Something like an ocarina. He looked around for the lone player, but there was nothing, no ghosts nor memory. Just, imagination or hallucination.

Did he know this place somewhere, sometime? Now it was nothing more than forgotten; forgotten by more than him alone, enough that that was a part of its name.

The goddess smiled down upon him from her place on high, the statue here taller than any of the others he’d seen, like the people who once lived here were closer to her than anyone else.

He bowed his head to say an extra thanks for good measure.

As he knelt down before the chests, and reached out to open one, his throat held his heart.

This was it. This was the reward of more than a hundred shrines worth of work. The worth of the weight of the world. Surely this would be far more than an ordinary weapon or arrow. This would be the treasure of ages.

It clicked, and he raised the lid. Sitting in the belly of the treasure chest was a green tunic.

He paused a moment to look at it quizzically, before gently reaching in and pulling it out, observing the craftsmanship, the design…trying not to feel disappointed. He wouldn’t have thought the armor of ages would be so plain. But he shouldn’t judge it for looks alone. Surely it was very valuable.

He lay it across his leg and moved on to the next chest. This was a pair of pants to go with the tunic, and the final, a hat, something like a nightcap.

Before he let disappointment overtake him, he decided to put them on. Surely he’d feel something when he did—stronger maybe? They had to be special, important, powerful. They couldn’t be anything less.

But when he put them on, he didn’t feel any stronger, any braver, any better equipped for life’s trials.

He looked at his reflection in a rusty shield in a last ditch attempt to unearth some sort of memory from his subconscious, but only more memoryless mind remained.

The echo of a hero. That’s what he always saw. Echo of a voice laid to rest a hundred years ago. A simple green tunic, without any special abilities, wouldn’t change that.

His face twisted as he groaned, pulling his sword from his back, and swinging it angrily at the air before shoving it into the ground, the sword that seals the darkness merely a stake in the mud, a monument to a lost cause.

He thought this sword would prove his worth, to others as well as himself. When that didn’t work, he thought completing all the shrines would give him answers, make him feel like the hero they all said he was. And though he was stronger than ever, it seemed the emptiness was deeper than that.

He sat on the edge of the staircase.

“Aren’t heroes supposed to have some special powers or something?” he scoffed to the empty air, leaning back against the staircase. “Or at least a sidekick? A memory to their name?” a pause. “I’m sorry I just...” A whisper: “I don’t know if I can save Hyrule after all.”

“What are you talking about?” He started at the sound of a child’s laugh…though the voice sounded oddly distant.

As he reached for the sword he found the speaker was resting his arms casually on the sword. He was indeed a child, but one that looked…oddly similar to himself. Not to mention, well…half transparent.

“You’ve had many powers over the centuries. ” He almost jumped as he saw another version of himself.

“I could control the wind! ” Another raised his hand, this one a child too, even younger than the first.

“I could walk on walls, and between worlds.” If he wasn’t mistaken, it was the painting on the far wall that spoke—he was sure it hadn’t been there before.

“I could become whatever I wanted to be, through the power of putting on a mask, ” said one leaning against the shrine, hiding his face.

“I could control time, ” said the original speaker.

“But that doesn’t make you a hero.” A wolf with strange markings walked in silently, and spoke seemingly with his thoughts.

“Can’t…Can’t you take me back to her then?” the hero asked the ghost of the first speaker. “Before all this started?”

He’d seen more than one ghost before—they even gave power to him. He knew there were enough strange things about this world to be all too fazed by this sight. Besides, perhaps it was just a dream after all. Best enjoy it while it lasts, rather than waste time being freaked out.

The child smiled. “Time was my game. This... ” he backed up, lifting his hands to gesture around him. “This is yours. ”

“What is?”

“Why this world, of course! ”

“It’s so wide, ” the shadowed one spoke.

“You’re freer than you’ve ever been,” said the wolf

“I guess…”

“What’s wrong? ”

“I mean, sure I’ve defeated monsters, and helped some people, and succeeded at the trials but—! What’s that matter if I don’t remember anything? I just…I don’t feel like the hero they all want me to be.”

“Do you think any of us felt like a hero? All we did was go around defeating monsters. ”

“And go on adventures! ” The wind one said, and they chuckled in reply.

“Did you ever consider that maybe being a hero was about more than that?” the time one spoke. “About something in here?" He touched his heart, (though the hero couldn’t feel his fingers).

“And he doesn’t mean the spirit orbs!” the wind one called, and the others laughed.

“You already have it in you.” He held out the sword to him. “I promise.”

“...Does…” He took the sword, observing his reflection in the metal. “Does it have to be this lonely?

“What are you talking about?”

Another version walked out, one who perhaps looked more like himself than the rest, and for a brief moment this place was a city in the clouds. This one’s eyes flicked briefly to the sword before saying,

“You’ve never been alone.”

Link looked around at all the ghosts, seemingly of his past selves, who all smiled in turn, and finally noticed they were all wearing the green tunic. The same one he got from the chests, now placed on his own.

“Now go kick Ganon’s butt!” The wind one put a fist in the air.

More laughter, even a few cheers, and Link smiled, rubbing the back of his neck as he replied.

“Well…I suppose I can at least try.”

The world breathed, and he shut his eyes against the wind. When he opened them again, they were gone.

The scene was a strange one to be sure, and he’d never profess to understand it. He still wasn’t quite sure he’d ever feel like the hero they all expected him to be. But as Link picked up the Master Sword, and walked back out in the world, the words of ghosts and lost memory ringing real in his head, he felt, at the very least, more like a hero than he did yesterday.

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rawiswhore · 4 years ago

Text

Various WCW, WWF, and ECW Wrestlers x Fem Reader- “I Touch Myself”

I actually originally planned on typing and posting this fanfic on Sunday, but Wrestlemania was on that day, and I wondered if I should type a fanfic set at Wrestlemania or what I originally planned on typing, so I typed and posted a fanfic set at Wrestlemania instead.

Also, I typed this fanfic yesterday and wanted to post it yesterday, but didn't have time to finish it, so I'm posting it today.

________________________________________________________________

In 1996 and 1997, a wrestling company known as WCW had higher ratings than the WWF, and the WWF was once the most popular wrestling company in the world, and even still is today now known as the WWE.

You had signed with the WWF in 1996, and one of the rules you had under their contract is that you weren't allowed to work for other wrestling companies, which was so lame.

You've seen some of WCW, and some of the wrestlers over in WCW are hot and sexy.

You wish you could hook up with some of the hotties over in WCW, but sadly, you can't.

Lousy contract.

So what can you do?

Simple, and I'll explain it later.

When the summer of 1997 was almost over, you were lying in bed one night in a hotel room, with all of the lights in the room turned off.

You thought about how hot some of those men in WCW were and what you wish you could do with them if you were with them.

You had shut your eyes, though you're trying to not fall asleep, and one of your hands had slipped down your thong panties and the pads of your fingers had touched your vulva.

You started picturing and fantasizing about a wrestler in WCW that many people probably have never even heard of, and the reason why is because he was never pushed that much and was booked as a "jobber": someone who makes another wrestler look good, and that wrestler is Jim Powers.

What a cookie cutter sounding wrestling name.

Despite that corny wrestling moniker, Jim Powers is really hot and sexy, so hot, there was even a WCW moment involving him, an Ultimate Warrior knockoff named the Renegade who had ditched his face paint and fried, crunchy hair, a wrestler named Joe Gomez and a skinny twinkish wrestler called Alex Wright walking on the beach together and taking their shirts off.

This moment was obvious fan service for some of the women watching WCW.

When you fantasized about Jim Powers that night, you fantasized of him wrapping his huge, muscular arms embracing you and pulling you close to his chest, and you had lifted your hands and wrapped your fingers atop of his biceps and gently squeezed them.

His biceps were rock hard, and that wasn't the only thing that was rock hard on him (winkwinknudgenudge).

Jim isn't the only hot one in WCW.

One of the more popular wrestlers that was in the biggest, most notorious wrestling faction in WCW; the wrestling faction that would increase WCW's ratings, was Scott Hall, who used to play Razor Ramon in the WWF.

Scott was even hotter in WCW than in the WWF as Razor Ramon, and he'd get even sexier as the 90's were coming to a close.

Scott Hall/Razor Ramon is known for having a very hairy chest, and your brain switched to now thinking about yourself in front of Scott Hall with your face buried in his chest hair, while Jim Powers was standing behind you and had his massive, strong arms wrapped around your waist.

As you were fantasizing about this, the tips and pads of your fingers started gently caressing and stroking vertically up and down your clitoris.

The tip of your finger scratched your clit underneath your clitoral hood, trying to make sure you feel something, and you felt a slight little tickle under that hood.

Rubbing your clitoris isn't the only thing you can rub on your body to make you feel good.

Your other hand slipped underneath your oversized T-shirt you slept in tonight and let the pads and tips of your fingers touch your stomach, where you began to vertically slide and elevate those fingers up your torso.

As you slid your fingers up your flesh, you fantasized about that scenario with your face buried in Scott Hall's chest while Jim Powers was behind you with his arms wrapped around you.

Blood is already rushing to your clitoris fantasizing about this, swelling your clit up and making you even hornier.

Room for one more, honey.

There's another wrestler in WCW who had gotten even sexier when he ditched the face paint, messy hair and even the Ultimate Warrior knockoff gimmick, and that wrestler is the aforementioned Renegade.

The hottest the Renegade ever looked was probably in 1996, before he grew facial hair, so you imagined the way the Renegade looked that year, where, while you have Scott Hall in front of you and Jim Powers behind you, the Renegade is on one of your sides, wrapping his massive, huge muscles around your waist, but not squeezing and hugging onto you too tight.

It's like you're trapped and can't be released from these hot men all over you, but you want this.

It's also almost like these men are shielding and protecting you.

It feels good when you take your clothes off and the air is all over your skin, maybe you can undress tonight and masturbate naked.

These little fantasies are tame and mild, so you decided to make your fantasies get a little bit naughtier.

Lex Luger has crossed over to WCW during the late 90's, and for those who don't know, Lex Luger was promoted by the WWF in 1993/1994 to be the next Hulk Hogan and the next face of the company since Hogan left, and they turned Lex's character into a patriotic, all American hero, except Lex didn't have any of Hogan's charisma and audiences didn't really click with Lex.

Lex eventually joined WCW by the end of 1995, and he actually was kind of sexy.

Lex's body, even during his days in the WWF, was always glazed and slathered in baby oil, and your mind had abandoned the thought of Scott, Jim and the Renegade all around you and switched over to just Lex.

You imagined being with Lex the way he looked in 1996/1997 with his hair hanging down and not wearing a shirt, and you imagined one of your hands caressing baby oil vertically up and down his torso, your palm and fingers feeling the ripples of his muscles on his torso.

You didn't just imagine caressing baby oil on his torso, but also sliding it up and down across his arms as well.

He, meanwhile, is just staring at your hand caressing that baby oil on his body, the baby oil making his body shinier.

Baby oil isn't the only thing that can make someone's skin shinier, and so your mind thought of something else.

This time, your mind began to think of him the way he looked in 1996 and 1997, his hair hanging down and not tied back in a ponytail, his body is stark naked with not a single stitch of clothes on him.

You pictured that Lex in a locker room's shower, where the floor is white little tiles, and you were fantasizing that you were naked in that shower with him, where your hand was caressing and stroking his body with body wash while he stood under a showerhead, the water pouring and washing away the foamy wash off of his washboard abdomen.

When the body wash had evaporated and disappeared off of his abs and trickled down his legs, his abdomen looked shinier, like you had smeared baby oil on his abs.

You didn't just rub his abs with that body wash, but his pecs as well, where, of course, the water had rinsed the foam off of them, his pectoral muscles looking shiny under the buzzing lights on the ceiling.

Lex doesn't really look all that hot with wet hair though, and to be honest, Lex isn't really that sexy or hot of a wrestler.

As you fantasized about Lex, your fingers, especially the pads and tips of them, were crawling up your skin to your breasts, you felt these cold little tingles while your fingers brushed up your skin.

If you had any body hair on your legs and even arms, you're pretty sure the hair on your body would stand up over the sharp feel of your fingers caressing your skin.

Rushes are transmitting to your areolas whilst your fingers elevate up your flesh.

Honestly, these fantasies involving Lex Luger are a bit too tame for your taste, now to go all out wild, what you really want.

Your brain switched to thinking about something else.

This time, you fantasized about a sauna or steam room, and inside that steam room was WCW alumni Scott Hall, the Renegade circa 1996 with his hair hanging down, Jim Powers, Lex Luger circa 1996/1997, Scotty Riggs without facial hair (looking how he did during the last months of '97), Eric Bischoff in January of '97, Joe Gomez, Raven (who just joined the roster and left ECW), Stevie Richards without facial hair, the blond one in this WCW duo called High Voltage, Chris Benoit (yes, THAT Chris Benoit, before he, well y'know...), and maybe even Chris Jericho.

They're not the only ones in this steam room, so is some of the WWF roster: Shawn Michaels, Hunter Hearst Helmsley with his hair hanging down, Billy Gunn/RockaBilly with blond hair, Jeff Hardy, Leif Cassidy without facial hair, Marty Jannetty, Brian Pillman in late 1996, Bret Hart, Davey Boy Smith, Scott Putski without facial hair, Scott Taylor, Brian Christopher, and these Hispanic wrestlers named Heavy Metal, Hector Garza, Latin Lover and Pierroth without his mask and hair tied back in a ponytail.

You could probably even invite Thurman "Sparky" Plugg in late 1996 and Jeff Jarrett in early 1996 in this fantasy too, though you feel embarrassed to put them in there.

Finally, one wrestling icon you're putting in this fantasy is Rowdy Roddy Piper in during the late 80's and early 90's, when he had long hair and didn't have bangs.

He is kinda cute with long hair.

All of these aforementioned men were sitting in this sauna stark naked with nothing but a towel wrapped around their waists, hiding their genitals, and you entered the sauna, where you were the only girl in that sauna.

You had shed your towel off of your body, revealing you weren't wearing anything under that towel, showing your nude body off in front of them.

After they made some silly wolf whistles at you and had ear-to-ear smiles spreading across their faces, you walked up to these wrestlers and approached them, where they all disrobed themselves and it lead to you getting gangbanged, and you don't mean gangbanged as in being shot with guns, at least not the literal definition of a gun.

Though, how is that even possible?

What can you do if you're gangbanged by 30 men?

Well, you could ride these men's dicks one by one, but that's not really a gangbang, more like running a train.

You could ride one of their dicks while you're sucking on another dick and masturbating 2 other cocks in front of your face while 2 other wrestlers are rubbing the tips and heads of their penises in circles on your areolas and jerking their cocks off, while several other wrestlers are jerking off in front of your face and your hands sometimes take turns to crank up and down their shafts, masturbating them, as well as taking turns to suck on their cocks as well, and each wrestler in that sauna all gets a turn to do that or have that happen to them.

You've had a gangbang like that in the summer of '97, where wrestlers from the WWF and WCW had exercised at the same gym, and you invited the sexiest wrestlers in the WWF to the locker room of a gym, where you had this gangbang with them, and after they had all jizzed, you let who you thought were the sexiest men in WCW to do the same gangbang these WWF men did, and after they jizzed, the last ones you let do the same aforementioned gangbang to you were some other hot men from the WWF.

In fact, those hot men from WCW you had a gangbang with are some of the same men you're fantasizing about tonight.

That was one of the happiest and best days of your life, and probably their lives as well.

That was probably the only time, for now, anyway, where these men from WCW had sex with you.

Either way, you were trying to fantasize about getting gangbanged by the hottest men from the WWF, WCW and even a few hotties from ECW as well in a sauna.

While you tried to fantasize about this, your fingers had reached one of your nipples, which had become erect, and you love the feel of your nipples being rubbed and tweaked, you love that feeling even more than having your clit rubbed.

Thank God you're fantasizing about this at the right time, and the pads of your fingers at your nipple began to rub horizontally left and right, back and forth on your areola.

You actually have pressed your fingers on your clitoris before, and it feels really good, you can feel a little something under your vagina, so as you rubbed your areola, the pads of your fingers this time pressed down on your clitoral hood, pressing until you feel a hard surface under your vagina where you can feel something.

You bit your bottom lip and slightly arched your head back, your toes curled and bunched up, your lips trying to block a moan from being released.

Thank God that you didn't have anyone in bed with you to hear you moan.

Your moans sound more like a gasp than an orgasmic moan, and chills were running down your spine while you masturbated yourself.

You tried to make your fingers vertically rub up and down your clitoris while they were also pressing down on it as well, did it work?

Somewhat, yeah.

Rubbing faster might do the trick in making you cum as well, so you increased the pace when you rubbed your clit, rubbing faster than usual.

You didn't just rub your clit vertically, but also rubbed your clitoris around in circles with the pads of your fingers.

Getting gangbanged by several WWF, WCW and a few ECW wrestlers isn't the only thing that's sexy.

You've been gangbanged in locker rooms several times, and so your mind began to imagine being in a locker room instead, where you're getting gangbanged by these sexy aforementioned WWF, WCW and a few ECW wrestlers that you imagined being gangbanged in a sauna with.

You imagined being stark naked with these aforementioned wrestlers swarming all around you, masturbating several of these wrestlers' cocks in front of your face and tits and taking turns to suck their dicks and lick their shafts, getting their precum and jizz all over your face and breasts and in your mouth, where you swallow their cum.

Plus, you could maybe even ride one or 2 of these wrestler's cocks; one is in your pussy and the other in your asshole.

As you fantasized of this, your fingers on your areola began to switch this time; putting your nipple in between the pad of your thumb and index finger, where you began to tweak and pinch that nipple, turning it a bit.

You tried rubbing your clit even faster than usual fantasizing about this, and you really want something like this.

High pitched little moans are coming out of your mouth, and you hope that the neighbors next door won't hear them.

It's gonna probably take some time until you really do cum.

Your pussy feels like it's getting wetter and wetter and releasing something through the pores of your vagina while you're masturbating, and you're breathing short little gasps as you masturbate yourself.

You haven't been faking your orgasm tonight, you really do feel this way when you're touching yourself, and you keep elevating yourself up more and more.

You've also been trying to stay awake and not fall asleep despite your eyes being closed and eyelids feeling heavy.

Like your nipple, your fingers then began to place your clitoris in between the pads of your index finger and thumb, where you squeezed and pressed your clit together.

You've tried this before, and it feels really good too.

You can feel a little something down there when you're squeezing your clit together.

Goddamn it, you really want some of these hot men from WCW and the WWF right now, but at least when you can have these hot men from the WWF and you've had them many times.

You removed your thumb off of your nipple, and this time, you began to run the tip of your index finger on your areola in circles over and over again.

While these sexual fantasies are pretty hot, are these the perfect gangbangs?

Now some of these men are undeniably hot, like Shawn Michaels, Hunter Hearst Helmsley, Jeff Hardy, Rob Van Dam, Scott Hall, and Jim Powers, but then there's Brian Pillman, who's the least sexiest out of all of these men.

You're also unsure if you should have Jeff Jarrett and Sparky Plugg in these fantasies, hell, even the name Sparky Plugg is corny (so is his gimmick).

Speaking of fantasies, you've heard of something known as a glory hole, which can sometimes be when someone is in a stall and there's one or more holes drilled in the stalls, and men poke and stick their penises in those holes where someone sucks and jerks those cocks off.

You even tried to recreate a glory hole not once, but twice in the summer of '97.

You imagined yourself in a narrow little stall, like the stall to a changing room, with several holes drilled in the sides, and those holes were filled with the penises of these sexy wrestlers you've been fantasizing about tonight.

In your fantasy, your fingers are wrapped around their shafts and masturbating their dicks, one cock is aiming at your face while another is pointing at one of your breasts, and while you're jerking them off you're sucking and licking on one wrestler's penis and swallowing his precum.

Each of these penises get a chance to get sucked, licked and masturbated in this fantasy, all of their precum gets in your face, in your mouth, down your throat and on your tits, and your hands are scrambling to another penis to pump their cocks quickly.

One thing that you've noticed that feels really good is when you rub your fingers over your clothed clitoris and areola, so your hand vertically elevated up your vagina and exited out of your panties, and lifted your hand out of under your shirt.

The tips of your fingers were a little gooey and wet from rubbing your moist pussy, despite your fingers rubbing your clit, not being up your twat, though you can always clean your fingers off with your mouth.

You placed the tips of your fingers over your clothed breast as well as your fingers over your clitoris shielded by your panties, where you began to vertically rub your fingers up and down your clit whereas your other fingers rubbed horizontally back and forth across your areola covered by your t-shirt this time.

This feels really, really good. If you've never done anything like this, I reccomend it.

The fabric of your panties nudged and attached to your areola and vagina, and you can feel your nipple poking and pointing through your T-shirt.

As you rubbed and masturbated yourself, you continued imagining that glory hole fantasy, imagining you're sucking and licking the hottest wrestler's cock like Shawn Michaels or Jeff Hardy, swallowing his precum, while you're masturbating Scott Hall's dick pointing at your face and jacking off Jim Powers' dick pointing at your tits.

Eventually, your mind drifts to fantasizing of sucking Hunter Hearst Helmsley, Rob Van Dam, Scott Hall or Jim Powers while jerking off Shawn Michaels, Jeff Hardy, the Renegade or even Scott Putski, and then the aforementioned ones getting their dicks jacked off get their cocks sucked as well.

Don't worry, even the likes of Brian Pillman, Bret Hart, Davey Boy Smith, and others get their dicks sucked and jerked off as well.

You're definitely not fantasizing of sucking and jacking off the really ugly wrestlers like most of the Dudley brothers from ECW, eeeech.

You actually wish you were a man, a gay man even, so that way, you can masturbate and jack off to these sexual fantasies you're having tonight.

One thing you haven't done tonight is try to put your fingers up your twat, maybe you can do that.

You wanna save the best for last; fantasizing about sucking and jacking off the hottest male wrestlers ever.

Maybe they'll make you cum, that's why you're saving the hottest and sexiest ones for last.

You're trying to rub your fingers over your clothed clitoris not just vertically, but horizontally, as well as rubbing your clit around in circles.

You're also rubbing the tips of your fingers over your fabric covered areola around in circles, you can feel your nipple sticking out in the middle.

You rubbed your clit fast and quick, running the pads of your fingers in circles over your clit.

You moaned and gasped while you rubbed your clit, your head arching back and your face and head looking like it's in an orgasmic state.

As you masturbated yourself, you fantasizing of sucking Shawn Michaels' cock, licking up his shaft and swallowing his precum, while you jerked off Rob Van Dam and Scott Hall, your fingers quickly moving to another shaft to masturbate Jeff Hardy, Jim Powers and Hunter Hearst Helmsley.

And in your fantasy, you grabbed another cock and moved it to your mouth, leaving Shawn's dick out of your mouth and sucking on Jeff Hardy or Rob Van Dam or Scott Hall while you jack off Shawn Michaels.

You mumbled and bit your lip, holding your moans back, and then, suddenly, your pussy had creamed, your twat becoming wetter than ever before, gushing your salty, slippery cum.

Your clitoris pounded and throbbed after you had came, and y'know how when you cum and you're a female, sometimes it feels like you've only came a little bit?

That wasn't the case with you.

While you didn't burst like a fire hydrant when you came, you were definitely wet in the panties, and you didn't pee your panties.

Despite that you've finally came, since you didn't get the chance to insert your fingers inside your twat, you lifted one of your hands off of your underwear and slid them down your panties, until your fingers touched your wet, slippery vulva.

Even though you're wearing panties, with your index and middle fingers attached to each other, to tried to insert those 2 fingers up your pussy hole, not your urethra where pee comes out, but the hole many cocks have entered; the hole babies are born from and menstrual blood flows out.

The tips of your fingers slowly were entering and penetrating into your wet twat hole, stretching your walls apart, and when your fingers were inside enough your cunt hole, you began to make those fingers fuck you like it's a penis, your fingers moving back and forth inside your pussy hole.

You didn't just fingerbang yourself, but you also pressed your thumb on your clit, moving your clit around in circles with your thumb, as well as still continued rubbing your fingers on your areola covered by fabric.

As you finger fucked yourself, you fantasized of these WWF, WCW and some ECW wrestlers you thought were sexy "running a train" on you, where they're all waiting in line to fuck you and each of them get a turn one by one.

You eventually got tired of finger fucking yourself, so you slid your fingers out of your twat, your fingers now gooey and sticky, but you moved your thumb off of your clit and started rubbing your clitoris with your fingers.

You rubbed your clit vertically, horizontally, and in circles with the tips and pads of your fingers.

You may as well call it a night right now, and you waited to drift off to sleep while still masturbating yourself.

When you were waiting and trying to fall asleep, you thought of these wrestlers you've fantasized about tonight all rubbing and caressing your naked body with body wash in a locker room shower, lathering your body up with foam, and they all get chances and have their hands traveling all over your body, while your hands are trying to touch on each of their chests and arms as well, rub the foamy body wash on their skin, trying to put your hands on their body parts and vertically caress them.

You have so many hot sexual fantasies with wrestlers that could be porn, and you even acted out some of your sexual fantasies with these professional wrestlers you've fantasized about.

When you woke up in the morning, your hand was still down your panties, though you still didn't continue masturbating when you fell asleep.

Y'know, Cyndi Lauper was one of the reasons the WWF blew up in popularity in the 1980's, she even guest starred in the WWF and had professional wrestlers and wrestling managers in her music videos.

And one of her most notorious songs is a song called "She Bop", about her masturbating.

________________________________________________________________

I actually tried fantasizing of getting gangbanged by so many hot men from the WWF, WCW and some from ECW (maybe even a few from modern WWE, NXT and AEW too) while I masturbated last night.

#wcw #wwf #ecw #1997 #90s #fanfiction

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autumnslance · 4 years ago

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FFXIVWrite2020 #16: Lucubration

A rapping at his window startled Thancred, sending his pen scratching across the parchment and ruining the line. He growled in annoyance and looked to see just who the bloody hells was interrupting his work.

It was Yda, shifting nervously from one foot to the other on the balcony. She must have hopped up the same way he often did, with help from the grand old tree in the Leveilleur yard.

“Can I help you?” He asked as he opened the window. When last he had looked out, the sun was still just above the western hills; now night had fallen on Sharlayan, the moons and stars wheeling overhead.

“Have you seen Lyse?” She asked, trying--and failing--to keep panic from her tone.

“I haven’t seen anyone since—” he glanced at the chronometer finally and rubbed his eyes. “Since dinner at least. Bells ago.” He gestured at his desk (and the page he was going to have to rewrite, godsdammit). “I’ve an essay due to Master Fraeskoef in the morning.”

“What you get for taking advanced literary analysis as an elective.”

“It’s actually part of my main curriculum now,” he replied with a yawn.

She looked skeptical. “Still not sure what stories and songs have to do with your particular skill studies.”

“That’s why they’re mine, while yours are rather more straightforward. Anyroad, why are you looking for Lyse this time of night? Shouldn’t the little rapscallion be tucked in her bed?”

“If she was, I wouldn’t be here,” Yda replied, exasperated. “I know she’s been bothering you lately, so I’d hoped she came here to show off what she swiped.”

“Swiped? Since when is Lyse a thief?” Thancred asked.

“I assumed you’ve been feeding her stories again,” Yda said darkly, then shook her head. “Also, Mister Perception, haven’t you noticed something missing?”

He blinked, then realized just what did seem so wrong.

“Your mask,” he answered. He could count on one hand the times he’d seen Yda without her turban and the mask worn either on its front or down over her eyes. A couple times had been summer days of swimming and silliness in the Thaliak, the others rare festival days where she instead wore her traditional Ala Mhigan dress.

“If she’s taken it in a fit I—” Yda shook her head. “I need to find her. But now I don’t know where to look, if she isn’t pestering you.”

Thancred thought for a moment. Sharlayan was a large city, sprawling on either side of the river. There were plenty of places a nine year old girl might hide.

Assuming, of course, the girl stayed in the city.

“I have an idea,” Thancred said, turning to grab his shoes. “She mentioned something, the last time she was…” he paused.

Lyse had come running up to him earlier that day as he had been on his way home from a particularly strenuous cat-and-mouse session with Master Enfel Hopfel. Thancred recalled being short with the child, wanting to get home to clean up, eat, and get to work on his other assignments before crashing to sleep and doing it all again tomorrow. The road to becoming an Archon--particularly if one was attempting to speed down it, having had to already play catch up at basic academia with his peers--was a busy one, not leaving much time for playing with energetic little girls.

“Last time she what?” Yda asked.

He really looked at Yda. Like him, she had dark circles under her eyes, and more than a few bruises and scrapes from her own rigorous training. Yda had long since determined that she would become an Archon to best take care of her little sister in their adopted homeland, and to repay Papalymo and the others for their aid. Hells, her immigrant status and more physically based studies had been a large chunk of Thancred’s inspiration for his own scholastic pursuits.

But it didn’t leave Yda much spare time, either.

“I may have blown Lyse off this afternoon,” Thancred said, pulling on his shoes as he hopped out the window to join Yda. “She was mentioning something about the hills beyond the Arboretum. Between the two of us we should be able to track her down.”

Yda looked a little pale at the thought. “You’re better at that than me. Gods, I hope she didn’t go out there; there’s bears in those hills.”

“Then let’s hurry,” he said, using the balcony’s railing to swing down to the ground. Waiting the brief moment it took Yda to join him, he noted Master Louisoix’s study window also still had a light on; not unusual for the old man.

The pair padded through the streets. Others wandered by, visions passing between the glow of streetlamps and shadows, moving to and from libraries, laboratories, and homes. A few still-open cafes glowed warm and inviting, hosting late night study groups and silent social readers, sipping their beverages while taking in the ambience with their books.

As they crossed the courtyard of the Arboretum, Thancred glanced at Yda. “You know, I’ve never asked just why you always wear that old mask.”

“I guess I’ve never said,” she replied, frowning slightly. “I...well, I don’t know how to say it without...sounding callous.”

“Callous?” As if that word could ever describe a Hext.

“Father gave it to me.”

Ah. Family things. No wonder Yda hadn’t mentioned it.

“He wanted to keep me safe,” Yda continued. “So it was to hide my identity while in the Rebellion. We were fighting our own people at first--the Corpse Brigade could be damned nasty, and they didn’t care much that I was just a kid.”

She wasn’t that much older, honestly, but a few years at their respective ages could make drastic differences--more so when one fought in war.

“Then there were the Garleans...And they were worse.” Yda’s eyes scanned the brush line as they passed the edge of town and the ground began to slope up. “Our father was a leader, and he had made a lot of enemies.”

“I can imagine.” It seemed polite to say something, at least. Thancred began to look for signs of a little girl’s passage, while still listening to Yda.

“When he was gone...I don’t know. We weren’t able to take much with us, you know. I worried more about getting Lyse somewhere safe than any of our possessions, even Mother’s heirlooms...So the mask is what I have.”

“And she knows how important it is to you.”

“Sort of,” Yda said. “I...I’m really not sure how well she remembers him. Or any of what happened before we came here; she was so little. I know she doesn’t remember Mother.”

I can’t remember anyone, he thought. Out loud, he said, “Well, you do all right. We just have to find her.” He pointed to a narrow little trail. “This way.”

“You’re sure?”

Thancred nodded. “Stay quiet.”

Yda nodded, and they continued on. It was only a few more yalms and around a bend in the hill before they found the child, sitting on a log that had fallen across a deep ditch, forming a natural bridge. Her legs swung as she sang a little song to herself, the mask on her face.

“Lyse!” Yda called, running forward.

Lyse jumped, nearly rolling off the log in surprise. “Yda! Thancred!”

“I was so worried about you!” Yda exclaimed, stopping just at the edge of the ditch. “You could have been hurt and we wouldn’t have known!”

“You found me anyway.” She sounded petulant.

“I found you,” Thancred said, walking up to the tree trunk, pulling himself up, and then flipping into a handstand, hoping to amuse her. “You were trying to tell me about this earlier, weren’t you?”

Lyse glowered, her expression visible behind the too-big mask. “Yeah, but you were a jerk and now I don’t want you here.”

Ouch. He flipped back down to land on the trunk a good fulm from her. He didn’t bother to hide his hurt; Lyse had never spoken to him that way before.

“Lyse!” Yda admonished. “Don’t be rude! Thancred’s—”

“Busy!” Lyse shouted, the words echoing off the nearby hills. “Just like you! Always busy, all the time, studying and taking tests and doing homework and I hate it and I hate this place and I ha—” she hiccuped into tears before she could get out the rest.

Thancred looked helplessly at Yda, remembering to shut his jaw after a moment. Younger sibling tantrums were well outside his wheelhouse.

Yda closed her eyes, counting silently, before making her own way onto the fallen tree. Lyse was now between them, arms crossed tight against her chest as she tried to remain angry, though silent tears slid from under the mask and glimmered on her cheeks in the starlight.

“I’m sorry,” Yda said. “I have been really busy lately. We all have.” She glanced over at Thancred.

He cleared his throat. “I suppose I did snap earlier,” he said finally. “I wasn’t actually mad at you, though; just tired.”

Lyse tried to speak, but it came out as a whine and she clamped her jaw tight again.

“We’re always tired,” Yda said, voice cracking. “And always busy, and always doing something...except spending time with you. That’s my fault. I can do better. Will you let me?”

Lyse breathed heavily for a short time, thinking. It didn’t take long; she turned and flung herself into her sister’s waiting arms, almost sending them both tumbling backwards off the log. Thancred let out a sigh of relief as Yda’s strong legs remained hooked under the wood, holding them both as she cradled Lyse, stroking the girl’s back.

Thancred looked up at the night sky, not wanting to intrude more than he already was. It was hard to know what to say or do in such a situation.

So he sang.

Quietly, at first, starting with the song Lyse had been singing when they had found her. He figured out a way to transition it into an Ala Mhigan folk tale he had stumbled across in his studies. Lyse leaned on Yda, her ragged breath slowly evening out, both of them listening. By the time the last note faded into the clear night air, Lyse had quietly pulled the mask off and offered it back to Yda.

“I just...wanted to have something of you with me,” she said quietly.

Yda chuckled. “Whenever you like--just maybe ask next time.” She kissed Lyse’s forehead.

There was a strange, lonely ache in Thancred’s chest as he watched them, but he couldn’t help a smile, either. “It’s a bit chilly, and rather late for both students and little girls,” he said. Then he held up a finger. “But! A night this nice shouldn’t be wasted, don’t you think?”

Yda raised a brow as she affixed her mask to her turban again. “Don’t you have an essay due in the morning?”

He shrugged, propping a foot on the tree trunk. “Honestly I was writing myself in circles; a break will do me good. I can come up with something to tell Master Fraeskoef, not to worry,” he waved a hand dismissively.

Yda shook her head, smirking. Lyse looked down thoughtfully, then at Thancred. “I don’t actually hate you, you know. I’m sorry for what I said.”

He reached over to give her blond ponytail a tug, presenting a little white flower for her before she could scold. “I know,” he said with a wink, tucking the bloom behind her ear. “But thank you. I’m sorry too, for what it’s worth.”

He hadn’t known for sure, actually, and it was nice to hear. He could keep that to himself, though.

The trio watched the moons and stars wheel over Dravania for another bell, worries of studies put off until the morrow.

#FFXIVWrite2020 #Final Fantasy XIV #Thancred Waters #Yda Hext #Lyse Hext #Sharlayan #Dravania #Lyn Writing #Friendship #pre-canon

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jackyjango · 4 years ago

Text

AU- gust Firefighters AU

This fic can be-- kind of- sort of-- considered as a prequel to

A Cat Named Erik- https://archiveofourown.org/works/15110558

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

‘Sir,’ Erik says, ‘You need to come with me right away!’

‘I can’t,’ says blue eyes in a posh British accent— really, nobody’s eyes should be that blue or that piercing even through thick glasses— not pausing in his frantic search.

Erik curses people’s stupidity. To think that whatever they hold on to so dearly-- money, pearls, documents, grandmother’s china, whatever they hold on to all their lives-- is worth more than their goddam lives.

(Once, a woman had refused to be rescued out of a burning building without her lunch box. A lunch box! Thankfully, the said lunch box had been metal and Erik had been able to fish it out from below the pile of her smoking furniture before rescuing her out of the house. People and their antics. And they call him the dramatic one!)

Any other time, Erik would have gawked at blue-eyes’s swell ass that is put on display as he bends to look under a table, or the way the hem of his overly large sweater slips from his shoulder exposing his freckled skin, or the way it reaches his mid thigh displaying his pale thighs, covering his boxer briefs and giving off the impression that the sweater is the only thing he’s wearing. He doesn’t do any of that now, because, one- Erik’s on duty, and two- they don’t have the fucking time. The only way into the small apartment had been the narrow corridor, and even that is filled with smoke now, leaving the only window on the opposite wall as their point of exit.

‘Sir,’ Erik calls out again, injecting urgency into his voice, hoping that his voice will be carried through the barrier of his gas mask, ‘We really have to get going.’

‘I can’t!’ blue eyes says again turning on his heel to look at Erik. There’s a frantic look in his eyes and Erik wonders how much of it is because of smoke inhalation and how much of it is because of genuine despair over whatever blue eyes isn’t finding. ‘I can’t leave without Matilda!’

Matilda? But Erik doesn’t remember the landlord of the building mentioning a second person in the apartment when he’d given the list of the residents of the building who’d needed to be pulled out. Regardless of the number of people, it’s Erik’s duty to save every one of them.

‘Okay,’ Erik says, moving closer to blue eyes. ‘Where was she when the alarm went off?’

‘She was right here,’ blue eyes points at the couch and bends to look around it. ‘Matilda!’ He shouts into the small apartment, cupping his hands around his mouth. ‘Where are you, darling?’

Any other time Erik would have wondered who Matilda is and how she’s related to blue eyes— is she a relative? A sister? A girlfriend, perhaps?—or marvelled at how stupid blue eyes is for looking for Matilda under tables and couches as if a fully grown human would even fit in there (But hey, in blue eyes’ defense, people do stupid shit when they’re under stress.) But now, Erik does none of that, because, one- Erik’s on duty, and two- they don’t have the fucking time. The metal rods holding up the ceiling are slowly losing their structure strength and the smoke rolling in from the open kitchen is reducing the visibility and making breathing difficult.

‘Matilda!’ blue eyes shouts again, and this time his voice wobbles around a hitch.

Spurred into action, Erik scans the small apartment for all traces of metal. Coins, buttons, hooks, clips, any form of metal that one would carry on their person but comes up with nothing.

‘I’ll check there,’ Erik says, moving towards the closed door of the bathroom.

‘She isn’t there! I checked,’ blue eyes says, distraught, stopping Erik in his tracks. ‘Besides, she hates water.’

That still doesn’t explain why a person wouldn’t think of hiding in the bathroom in case of a fire, but Erik drops the issue as this isn’t the right time to curse at blue eye’s idiocy. Instead, Erik asks, ‘Do you know any other place she could be, a room or a store room or an alcove?’

Blue eyes looks at Erik for a moment and shakes his head vehemently.

Sighing, Erik starches out his hand and feels around the room with his senses once more. Though he doesn’t find anything to hint at the existence of a person, he realises with an ugly feeling in his gut that the iron rods holding up the ceiling have lost their structural integrity altogether. They have to move now- the ceiling can crash on their heads any minute. Erik can keep the ceiling from falling on them till they move out, but not for long.

‘Matilda,’ blue eyes call out again, ‘Please come out darling. I love you very much!’ Blue eyes looks like he’s on the verge of crying now, and Erik’s heart shrinks in his chest, because if it comes to it, Erik has to pull blue eyes out of the building with or without Matilda.

So in a last ditch effort, Erik calls out, ‘Matilda.’

There’s no response for a few seconds, and then, Meow.

Meow?

As if on cue, a ginger cat crawls out slowly from behind a stout bookcase and moves towards blue eyes.

Good grief, it’s a cat.

Matilda is a cat!

‘Matilda!’ blue eyes shrieks and falls to his knees, swooping to pick Matilda off the carpet and into his arms.

Erik sighs in relief-- relief because they’ve found the cat or because Matilda isn’t blue eyes’ girlfriend, Erik doesn’t know. Erik can’t think any of that now because Erik’s on duty, and they don’t have the time. The ceiling can fall on their heads any moment.

‘Sir, we have to move, now. We can’t go out of the main door because the corridor is filled with smoke, so we have to move out of the window and I’ll have to carry you. But don’t worry, I can levitate us-’ Erik stops, for blue eyes isn’t even listening to him. He’s clutching Matilda to his chest and murmuring sweet nothings to the cat.

It’s Erik’s duty to declare his purpose before using his powers in the course of a rescue, but they don’t have the time for protocol now dammit. Not with blue eyes lost in another world with his cat.

Any other time, Erik would have been jealous of the cat, but now.... well.

Erik walks to where blue eyes is crouching on the carpet and picks him up with one hand below his knee and the other supporting his back. Blue eyes yelps in surprise but thankfully comes to his senses and loops one arm around Erik’s neck while he grips Matilda tightly against his chest with the other.

Melting the window frame, Erik creates an opening for them and levitates them safely to the ground.

‘You’re a mutant’ blue eyes beams as soon as Erik puts him down. ‘Oh, you have a marvelous mutation, my friend. Doesn’t he, Matilda?’ he asks, scratching the cat on its belly. ‘I owe you my life,’ he says to Erik more sincerely, straightening the glasses that have gone askew, ‘Both our lives actually. Thank you very very much.’

God, blue eyes looks even more beautiful under the sun, lush hair tousled, bare-footed and clad in nothing but an oversized dark blue sweater which puts his pale skin in stark contrast. And as if possible, his eyes look even bluer and brighter.

‘Just doing my duty. You need not thank me.’ Erik shrugs nonchalantly, removing his gas mask and helmet. He’s not affected by blue eyes. Absolutely not.

‘Oh, my.’ blue eyes whispers looking at Erik’s face-- more to himself than to Erik, but Erik catches it anyways. His blue eyes widen some more, and in a thick voice he all but purrs, ‘If I can’t thank you, then can I cook you dinner? Out of gratitude, of course.’

Erik’s stomach flips, but Az chooses that very moment-- really dammit, Az--to waltz in with his report.

‘Everyone has been rescued and reported for, Lieutenant. Angel and the team are on clean up and damage control. We should be good to go in another hour.’

‘And what do we know about the source of the fire?’

‘According to Ororo, the source of the fire is a heavy-duty electric appliance-- likely an oven-- that short circuited in that apartment.’ Erik cranes his neck as Az points to the same window he just descended from.

‘Oh, dear,’ blue eyes pales visibly, and in a faint voice says, ‘I was just trying to bake cookies for Matilda.’

‘Then maybe you shouldn’t be cooking that dinner,’ Erik says and blue eyes turns a very fetching shade of red.

Erik shouldn’t find the chagrin of a man who almost burnt down an entire building baking-- no, trying to bake endearing. But he does. Dammit, he does.

‘We’re done here for today, then. The reports can wait till morning. Wrap up and go home,’ Erik says, turning to Az, who nods and disappears in a cloud of black smoke and sulphur.

Confused by the loud cackle of smoke, Matilda mewls and burrows further against blue eyes’ chest.

‘It’s fine,’ Erik says to blue eyes. ‘It was an accident, and besides, no one was hurt.’

‘Oh,’ blue eyes says, breathing in relief. ‘Thank you.’

‘We’ll try to salvage most of your belongings once the smoke goes down, but that won’t be until tomorrow. Do you have any place you could stay tonight? A relative’s place or a friend’s?’

Blue eyes ponders on the question for a moment before biting his lip and shaking his head.

Erik sighs. ‘I have a set of spare clothes in the van. You can have it. And you can stay at my place tonight.’

‘Oh, my. I wouldn’t want to trouble-’

‘It’s no trouble,’ Erik says firmly.

‘Oh, thank you so much, my friend.’ Blue eyes beams and holds out a hand to Erik.

I’m Charles! Says a voice into his head, warm and refreshing.

Erik scoffs. Blue eyes-- no, Charles is a telepath then. A mutant. All the better.

I’m Erik, Erik replies in kind, taking the proffered hand. ‘Come on, it’s time to go.’

Charles smiles as Erik turns and makes his way for the van. Behind him Charles is murmuring to the cat, ‘We’re going to be alright in the good Lieutenant’s home, won’t we, darling? Of course, we will…’

Erik tunes out Charles and the cat, too distracted by the thought of Charles in his clothes and the dinner he’ll be cooking for Charles that night. He shouldn’t be doing this. He really shouldn’t.

Goddammit!

But he’s off duty now and has all the time in the world to cook Charles a lovely dinner.

A Chicken Marsala sounds good, doesn’t it?

#cherik #cherik fic #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #au-gust #i won't be doing all the prompts #and one or two here and there because I don't think I have it in me to write anything within 500 words #lol #this is kind of a prequel to a cat named erik #I had always imagined this in my head as how charles and erik met in that universe #and it fir the firefighters au so weel #so decided to write it #jjcherik

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astralaffairs · 5 years ago

Note

can i get number 29 from valentine's day prompts with laurens?

prompt 29: Secret Admirer

it took hella mental effort not to make this ridiculously tacky, and i cannot explain how it became 3.5k words. but pls someone explain to me why RA john is such a cutie??

————-

It had to be a crime for anyone to be up that early on a Sunday morning.

You’d spent your Saturday night out with Hercules and his clan of fellow grad students; you were still an undergrad, but he and you had always been surprisingly close for siblings, so when you entered his university just two years behind him, he’d adopted you into his friend group, who accepted you with open arms.

This, however, was three years later. You were a junior, and you’d spent the fall thanking your lucky stars that your friends had decided to stick around for grad school there, as, not only would you have missed them dearly, but just by chance, a few of them had ended up as teacher’s assistants for your year’s courses.

Them staying around also meant they could drag you to law school parties off-campus, and it meant you had them to thank for your hangover. You were lucky John had been the designated driver; as the RA of your floor, you and he were headed to the same place at the end of the night, which meant you had him to force you to drink a bottle of water and actually go to sleep in a bed, as opposed to passing out sloppy and wasted on the floor.

Who you really owed your thanks to, though, was whatever genius decided it’d be a good idea to come knocking on your door at 6 AM.

You let out a long, dramatic groan as you pulled yourself up. This was one of few times you were relieved not to have a roommate.

Despite the shrunken proportions of your dorm room, walking those eight feet to the door felt like walking eight miles that morning. It didn’t help when you opened the door to an empty hallway, no one standing before you. You were about to slam the door in a fury, seething quietly at whoever thought it’d be a funny idea to ding-dong-ditch you at the crack of dawn – you’d have guessed it was Alex, but you’d also be shocked if he wasn’t still lying fully unconscious on the floor of Lafayette’s apartment. That was when you noticed a small box sitting at your feet.

You did a double take down the hall around you; it was still deserted. Hesitantly, you picked up the package, praying it wasn’t anthrax. (You didn’t have many enemies, but surely there was someone who wanted to murder you quietly.) You checked around you one last time before retreating into your room, throwing yourself back onto the bed. As much as you wanted to go immediately back to sleep, your curiosity had the better of you that Sunday.

You eyed the little, plain cardboard box that you’d deposited at the foot of your bed warily. Surely if it contained a bomb, there was nothing you could do about it now, anyway, so what was the harm?

You eased the flaps on the top apart, and the first thing you saw was a paper, folded up to the size of your thumb and, for whatever reason, taped onto a box even smaller than the original. You opened it and were surprised to see it’d been typed up.

Y/N–

Okay, so at least you knew you weren’t gonna find anyone fuming later on because they’d left their girlfriend’s Valentines gift by the wrong door.

I’ve never been good with words – though, I guess that’s why you’re the English major instead of me – so I’ll keep this short & sweet, much like you ;)

You rolled your eyes at that. You didn’t know who this letter-writer thought they were, but waking you up at six in the morning to call you short wasn’t what you’d call suave. (You weren’t short, anyway, and you’d stand by that until the day you died. Though, unfortunately, you may have had to stand slightly below that until the day you died – you weren’t sure you could reach.) You ignored how the last line made your pulse jump.

I think you’ll find the contents of the box fill the same role.

Yours.

That was it? Yours? Not, ‘yours, the cute stranger down the hall,’ not, ‘yours, the buff TA from Accounting Law,’ not even, ‘yours, the guy you pass in the elevator at the gym every Thursday who knows very well you’ve been eyeing him all semester.’

Just, yours.

You opened the box to find a slice of strawberry shortcake, and again, you rolled your eyes. How clever. You had to force yourself not to be endeared by who was apparently now ‘your’ mystery, but you couldn’t fight your smile at the sheer audacity.

——–———–

Predictably, you brought it up to everyone you knew within the next few days, and unfortunately, they seemed every bit as stumped as you were. At that point, you didn’t know what to do but ignore it.

So, you went on with your week, and the next Sunday, you were again awoken at first light.

Your groan this time wasn’t any less annoyed at the knock on the door; this time, the note made a jab at your dancing skills, said that ‘you still made being sloppy drunk look cute.’ You furrowed your brow. If this was someone’s way of trying to unlock your heart, this wasn’t exactly the key. However, if your being sloppy drunk was on their mind, it had to have been someone at the frat party you went to the night prior. Or, someone you passed in your building on the way back. Which narrowed it down to approximately half of campus.

Again, the letter was simply signed as 'yours.’ You didn’t know what to make of it all.

The contents of the box made you smile, though: a water bottle and a pack of Tylenol. It wasn’t exactly the height of romance, but something about the hangover care package made it feel more thoughtful yet.

You popped a Tylenol and went back to sleep. You’d be better at overanalyzing after you’d gotten at least six hours.

Those six hours turned out to be six more hours, though, and you emerged from your room just after noon. You stifled a yawn as you made your way out to the common area, still in your pajama shorts and the sweatshirt you’d pilfered from someone’s floor, to find Angelica on one of the couches eating boxed mac-and-cheese.

She was one of your oldest friends at your university; she’d been your roommate freshman and sophomore year before she ultimately elected to move in with her boyfriend. She raised an eyebrow as you entered, wearing a knowing smile that you couldn’t decipher the meaning behind.

“Hey, Ang,” you said wearily, making your way to the cupboard to pull out one of the instant ramen cups you’d kindly labeled 'Y/N ONLY.’

“Hey.” She eyed you, amusement dancing in her eyes, and when you continued to stare blankly at her, she spoke again. “Did you seriously manage to get another noise complaint today? That’s, like, the fifth this month. You’ve really been busy since I moved out, huh?”

While she looked smug, her words just had you confused. Unless it was from you snoring too loudly (which, in hindsight, was very plausible), there was no way you’d have ended up with a noise complaint that night. You furrowed your brow. “What?”

“What?” She shrugged as you put your noodles in the microwave. “Didn’t you? I mean, I saw Laurens walking away from your room this morning and just kind of assumed.”

You chuckled. “No, he was just my ride back from a party last night. Unfortunately, not one where I managed to get laid.”

“And you got back at 6 AM?” She looked surprised, and your confusion only mounted.

“No?” you said, your voice hesitant. “Wait, what are you talking about? 'Cause it’s obviously not the same thing I’m talking about.”

She shifted on the couch to face you where you stood near the microwave. “When I got back from my run this morning, I came back up to my and my John’s room–” John Church, her long-term boyfriend and inaugural junior-year roommate, “and I saw Laurens coming back from, like, right by your door. Not at three AM, or whenever it was that you got back from the frat house.”

It took you about that long to connect the dots. John at 6 AM, coming back from your room, the knock that’d woken you up bright and early – no way that could be a coincidence. Your eyes widened; you started down the hall toward the RA dorm without a second thought. “I’ll be right back,” you muttered. Angelica’s brows shot toward her hairline.

“Wait, Y/N, what about the microwave?” she called after you. You’d slipped too far into your tunnel vision to care. “Y/N, your noodles!”

You reached the end of the hallway and promptly banged on the door before you. John emerged in a matter of seconds, whether it was because he happened to be up or because of how aggressively you were trying to get in.

“Y/N?” He sounded surprised to see you. You didn’t humor him.

“Did you leave that box outside my door this morning?”

Slowly, his mask of confusion cracked, a grin adorning his lips as he leaned against the side of the doorway. “Busted.”

However, your brow knit at the immediate admission, trying to suppress a smile despite your shock. “Wait, so you left me those little… 'secret admirer’ notes?” You hesitated; he raised an eyebrow. “What… why did you–”

“Hold up, I don’t know anything about any notes,” he cut you off, holding up his hands as if to claim innocence. “Don’t shoot the messenger; I dropped those boxes off because someone asked for an assist.”

You paused, taken aback. You hoped he didn’t notice when your face visibly fell. “Wait, so if it wasn’t you…” you trailed off, pondering his words. You raised an expectant eyebrow. “Then you know who sent me those!”

His smile again graced his lips at that; he raked a hand through his hair as he chuckled. “Now you’ve really caught me,” he said, tone teasing. You could only roll your eyes.

“Who is it, then?”

“It wouldn’t be a secret admirer if I just told you!” He put a hand on his heart, his expression a caricature of scandalization, and when you glared, he chuckled. “I promise it’s not rocket science, Y/N; just figure it out.”

You scowled. “It’d be so much easier for everyone if you just told me,” you whined, and he gave you a mock pout.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he sighed, “Now that you put it like that, I guess I’ll have to tell you.”

Your eyes lit up. “Really?”

“No.”

You huffed, folding your arms and stomping your foot like a toddler, and he reached out to ruffle your hair with a laugh. You yelped as you ducked away from his hand, and his grin only grew. “You’re an absolute clown, you know that?”

He shrugged, looking as though he was entertaining the thought. “Maybe, but I’m your absolute clown.”

Something in the phrase struck you as being familiar.

——————-

Your noodles were ruined, and you spent the rest of the afternoon sulking about it. Perhaps Angelica was onto something when she said you needed to listen to her more often (though, you hadn’t quite heard the reasoning behind it). Moreover, you were growing increasingly frustrated with the secret admirer notes. After making yourself a fresh cup of noodles (and cleaning the microwave; your first cup had exploded), you spent your Sunday absentmindedly watching Netflix and overanalyzing everything you could take away from the secret admirer notes. You’d come to only a few conclusions.

1. If they were working through John, it had to be someone who lived on your floor, someone who knew you well, or someone who knew John well. That provided very little input.

2. If they’d managed to create and get the second box to you between 3 AM and 6 AM the previous night (morning, really), then it had to be someone who you went to the frat party with who also lived in your dorm – again, a fairly deep pool of prospects.

3. They felt comfortable enough with you to call you short, make fun of your dancing, and note that you couldn’t hold your alcohol. That was telling – it had to be someone you knew well who also lived in your dorm.

However, you didn’t get the chance to conduct a thorough examination of all your friends in the building; you still had three readings and a paper due the next day that you hadn’t done because you were, as your pursuer so elegantly put it, busy 'getting sloppy drunk.’ So you went through the motions – you did your work, you went to your classes the next day, and you arrived back at your dorm to the unexpected: another box.

There was a week between the first and second of them; a third already being on your figurative doorstep was unprecedented. You didn’t hesitate to open this one, and its contents immediately had you grinning: four cups of instant ramen and a note. This one wasn’t typed.

Heard I ruined your noods, so it seemed only fair to send you some of my own. I showed you mine, now you show me yours?

Yours ;)

The handwriting was immediately recognizable, and you couldn’t help but think that was the idea. You marched down to John’s room with the letter and knocked every bit as aggressively as you had before. Again, he opened it immediately.

“Y/N?” He raised an eyebrow. ��Finally figure out who’s been sending you those notes?”

You stuck the letter in his face. “This is your handwriting,” you accused him. He took it from you, looked at it mildly for only a moment, and shrugged.

“Sure seems to be.”

“So you wrote this!”

“Looks like it.” His nonchalant expression had your head spinning.

“Can you stop with the vague answers for one minute?” you huffed, and he raised his eyebrows, pushing himself off of the doorframe. It appeared he could tell that this was genuinely beginning to trouble you. “I cannot deal with whatever it is you’re playing at with these.” You snatched the note back, waved it at him. “Just explain.”

A small smile was beginning to form on his lips by that point. “Well,” he began, voice soft, “Seems pretty clear to me. Both the conclusions you came breaking down my door with were apt.”

“So you wrote these, then?” He nodded, and you pursed your lips. “Which means what, exactly? What am I supposed to take from that? That you’re an incredible accomplice for whoever dreamed this up?” His smile began to grow as you began to rant, seemingly becoming more amused with each word. “That it was you leaving the packages? Because, John, I need answers, and this is really just starting to mess with my head.”

When your voice softened, your shell of anger cracking around the edges to reveal the slightest bit of vulnerability, John was hit with a pang of guilt. He hadn’t meant to mess with you. “Y'know, I thought I was being painfully obvious from the first one.”

“You… ?”

“I figured you’d open it, bring it to me, and we’d have a good laugh. Just that.” He shrugged, eyeing your stunned expression before continuing, “Maybe I just didn’t realize quite how drunk you were.”

“What d'you mean?”

“The morning I left the first note, you’d spent thirty minutes on the ride home telling me how you’d absolutely die for strawberry shortcake right then, and then you tried to shove me outta my own car when I called you a shortcake in response.” He grinned, and you just looked dumbstruck. “The second one didn’t even require any knowledge of the night before. Gotta say, I’m a little disappointed.” He sighed, falsely wistful, but cut himself off when he caught wind of your wide eyes. You were still struggling to believe his words.

John, who had spent the past three years making fun of your eating habits, chewing you out for showing up late because you went to three different drugstores to find the right bottle of $6 wine; John, who groaned every time Hercules dragged you to him, letting him know you’d been throwing up in the bathroom, but who drove you home without a second thought, always came to check on you in the morning. John was your secret admirer? The whole thing felt backwards.

“When you came to confront me yesterday, I knew I had to fess up sometime soon.” He rolled his eyes, as though exasperated with your incompetence. You were still shocked beyond a shadow of a doubt.

John was a generally caring person. It was why they gave him RA status, it was why he brought bakery to the commons area every Thursday afternoon, knowing that the professors there were notorious for Friday morning tests, it was why he kept a first aid kit stocked with everything imaginable outside his door – bandaids, Tylenol, pads, tampons, even chocolate.

He’d always been caring. His behavior toward you just felt like part of the pattern.

“Why?” you breathed, unsure of yourself. “Why’d you start leaving them?”

He considered himself, tongue in cheek. “Well, the first wasn’t meant to be quite so elusive. I spent half an hour refusing to pull over at the nearest bakery; I thought it’d be nice to bring you what you asked for when you weren’t dangerously tipsy. Honestly, didn’t even mean for it to be such a puzzle. Just a little gift.”

“But apparently, someone can’t take a hint.” You scowled as he ruffled your hair, and he just chuckled. His gaze was soft, his smile wide. “When you showed up here with the second note, I didn’t mean to deny it. But then, you sounded mildly ticked.”

“I wasn’t annoyed,” you protested mildly, cheeks burning when he raised an eyebrow.

“Anyway, here I was thinking I had more game than that, so I lied. Just a little.” He shrugged. “But then you looked so disappointed, so maybe I did have game afterall, hm?”

“Why wouldn’t you just come talk to me about it?” you asked softly, and the amusement in his gaze didn’t subside as he raised an eyebrow. Part of you struggled to believe he’d missed the way you spent the past three years looking at him. That he’d missed how, no, you weren’t an affectionate drunk – he was just the one driving you home.

Finally, he spoke. “Now, why would I do that, when I could bring you here to come talk to me about it?”

You frowned, though there was no malice behind it. “Coward,” you accused playfully, jabbing at his chest.

“Maybe.” Again he shrugged, before a wide grin split his mask of nonchalance. “But your coward.”

You huffed out a laugh, surprised by the teasing words. “My oblivious coward, apparently.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“Half the campus has a thing for you, John,” you scoffed. His smile was soft, then.

“Maybe, but I don’t care about half of campus.” Tentatively, he took a step closer to you, tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “I care about you.”

You bit your lip, staring back up at him hesitantly. Your heart seemed to have stopped. John’s hand fell to your cheek, cradling your face. “John?” You finally said.

“Hm?”

“Can I kiss you?” The words were hardly a whisper, and before you could do anything else, he was reacting, taking a final step forward to snake his arm around your waist, pull you to him as he finally pressed his lips against yours. Your hands found their way to the back of his neck. Though the kiss was chaste, no more than lips against lips, it left you breathless, chest heaving against his when you finally pulled away.

You looked surprised, and he gave you a wry smile. “That’s a yes, for the record.”

You couldn’t help your grin. “Hey, so about that note…” He raised an eyebrow, and you reached up to tug at the collar of his shirt. “What was that, about, 'I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’?” Mischief seeped into your tone, and he looked stunned, his smile one of entertained disbelief.

He didn’t even bother to respond, moving quickly backward into his dorm room, tugging you with him, and you jerked forward with a squeak. He gave you a sly grin. “Lock the door.”

#John Laurens #john laurens x reader #laurens #laurens oneshot #john laurens oneshot #john laurens one shot #laurens x reader one shot #laurens x reader #john x reader #john laurens x reader oneshot #laurens x reader oneshot

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pandoraborn · 4 years ago

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NO PLACE FOR HEROES Chapter One. (prologue)

The dig site is a miserable location: cold, dark, and if Jackie didn’t know any better, he’d say it was more of an asteroid than some desolate planet. He’d say more it was a moon, even, with how little oxygen is available. The mask he’s forced to wear just to survive tells him this isn’t a habitable planet.

He knows why they’re there though. ‘They’, being the Dahl splinter group run by Marcel LaMont. If asked by Marcel himself, Jackie would put on a large smile and say there was no one he’d rather work for, but in private, Jackie would bitch about the man. Marcel is a tall, muscular man with a charming smile that shines brightly on the surface, but carries nothing but malice underneath his persona. It’s a face Jackie would very much love to punch one day, not just because the man’s an asshole, but because of his beliefs.

Come to think of it, Jackie can’t understand why he’s even still working for Dahl. Dahl official went out of business years ago, having disbanded for reasons unknown. Marcel had offered a job, promising to rebuild, and Jackie, like any desperate moron, had taken him up on his offer.

That’s how they ended up on this stupid pathetic chunk of rock to begin with.

With a shiver, Jackie sits in his tent, using an unopened crate as a chair as he uses a lantern to pour over documents. There are maps and locations Marcel wants Jackie to mark out with his ECHO, but Jackie can’t concentrate. There must be hundreds of pages of scrawled notes to sift through and put on the ECHO, and already Jackie can feel his eyes rolling back into his head. He hadn’t even made it past the first page.

A lot of the notes are how Marcel wants to hire prisoners to do the dirty work for him. That’s something Jackie will forever disagree with the man over; there’s a fully functional crew of at least twenty men here that can mine the planet for whatever ores they’re looking for. Jackie also knows well ahead of time that this planet probably doesn’t have anything valuable to its name, otherwise there would be more than one port city on the entire surface. They’re already a few hours away from port as is, Jackie can’t understand why Marcel got the genius idea to camp so far away from the meager civilization.

“Jackie, are you done yet?” Marcel’s sleepy voice is heard at the entrance of Jackie’s tent, causing the man to jump back, nearly toppling over. He presses his hand to the side of his face, checking to make sure his goggles haven’t fallen off in his surprise.

“No, sir, you just gave me these notes an hour ago. I’m still trying to make sense of them.”

Marcel steps into the tent, looking far more intimidating when half bathed in shadows. He seems taller, bigger. Jackie can feel himself shrinking back in sheer hatred as he stares at Marcel’s neck. “I expect you to do the work I assign you, Jackie. I hired you for a reason, and I’m starting to wonder if you’re pulling your weight.”

Jackie’s eyes narrow as he chews on his bottom lip. “Marcel, you gave me hundreds of notes an hour ago. I’m not exactly sure what it is you want from me. I’m tired, bro.”

“Then let me speed up the process for you: I want you to get on the ECHO and scan for nearby prison ships in need of labor. Also, do not call me bro.”

“I’m not hiring slaves for you, Mark.” Jackie’s tone is cold now. “We can dig ourselves. We have the equipment and the manpower, I don’t know why you want slaves, especially when we’re not guaranteed to find anything worth much here.”

“I smell minerals in the air, Jackie. This place is going to earn me plenty of riches, and twenty men isn’t enough to mine through to the center of the planet. Get on the ECHO and start asking around for prisoners who want to work. I’m going to need a full crew. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

He leaves before Jackie can disagree again. Jackie slumps back against the crate, crumbling up a few pages of notes and tossing them toward the entrance of the tent, before burying his face in his hands. Normally Jackie would grit his teeth and bear with Marcel’s eccentricities, but he can’t tolerate this. Jackie doesn’t want to work alongside criminals, he wouldn’t trust them, and it’s this bullshit that landed Dahl in hot water before. Hell, it’s how Pandora came to be infected with bandits.

He starts scanning the rest of the notes, trying to find anything he could use against Marcel. He picks up the whole pile, ready to chuck everything to the floor so he can stomp on it in a childish fit, but the second Jackie lifts the pile, a wrinkled, torn map slips free and back to the table.

It’s not often people find a hand drawn map, it’s not often they exist, but this one does. It’s labeled as official documentation; Jackie recognizes the Dahl emblem in the top right corner. This only tells Jackie that Marcel isn’t supposed to have this either, or he didn’t mean to pass it over to Jackie.

It doesn’t make much sense, but he can guess from the scrawled notes that this is a big discovery. The handwriting isn’t Marcel’s, it’s not anything Jackie recognizes, and it’s almost indecipherable. Still, Jackie holds his wrist over the map, hoping his ECHO picks up more than he can. A hologram of a planet opens up, with that same scrawled handwriting spinning around the center of the planet. Jackie blinks and leans closer, pulling his goggles over his eyes so he can see better.

“What is Kaladia?” Jackie’s keeping his voice low as he starts speaking to himself, shooting glances toward the entrance to make sure Marcel isn’t coming back. He reaches his other hand up to spin the hologram around, zooming in on the planet, then out. He can’t tell where it is, but he looks back down at the map, tilting his head to the side. He moves his echo over more, scanning all the notes and trying to pick up more information.

“A vault?” Jackie frowns when his ECHO beeps. It’s a map that leads to a planet, that’s for certain, but where this planet is, is still a mystery. According to his echo, it’s a planet that’s a giant vault, or so the notes say. There’s more, though, his ECHO is beeping again, more rapidly than before.

Jackie hunches over the map, as well as the hologram as he continues to study. According to the map, the planet is rumored to be a myth. Even his ECHO is saying the planet doesn’t exist. But if it’s a giant vault, that must mean it holds boundless treasure. Jackie’s eyes widen at the implications. If Marcel has this map, and he’s wanting slave labor, that must mean he already has some idea.

Not if Jackie takes this away from the asshole.

Getting to his feet, Jackie peeks out of his tent, listening for any voices. He can’t hear anything but distant snoring. It sounds like everyone is asleep, and he can only hope Marcel went back to bed after being his typical self righteous self. This gives Jackie the perfect opportunity to grab the map, fold it up, and shove it in his pocket. He shuts the hologram of the planet off as well, so the light emitting from the ECHO doesn’t alert anyone.

He’s going to have to walk a distance before using a vehicle. Jackie knows there are Catch-A-Rides periodically across the planet, which is fine with him, it’s not like walking well away from camp is going to hurt him. He just needs to get to the port city as soon as possible and catch the next ship leaving.

Quietly, Jackie rummages through his tent, gathering anything he might need on him. Most things can be stored digitally, like money and weapons he might need, but everything else, like food, needs to be carried in his backpack. He stuffs it full of canned goods and leftover pizza before flinging it over his shoulders. Jackie briefly contemplates raiding Marcel’s tent for goods, but decides against it. Marcel is a light sleeper, and Jackie doesn’t want to explain why he’s running away with something of high value.

He glances around his tent one last time before leaving, taking the lantern with him for light. Truthfully, Jackie doesn’t even need the lantern, but it’s his last ‘fuck you’ to Marcel. He checks his ECHO though, looking at the port city’s ship schedules. There’s a ship that’s bound to leave for Promethea in four hours, which is perfect for Jackie. Still, he radios the city.

“Yeah?” Comes the static-filled voice of the operator, Jackie’s assuming. “How can I help you?”

“What time does your next ship leave?” He’s walking briskly, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. He’s going to have to ditch this ECHO, or at least hack it so Marcel can’t easily radio in and track Jackie down. “Also, I’d like to buy a spare ECHO. I need a new one.”

“We have one leaving for Athenas in two hours, Promethea in four, and we have ECHOnet devices available, how far away are you and when can I expect you?”

Jackie breathes a sigh of relief. “I’ll be there just in time to board for Promethea. Can I place an ECHO device on hold? I’d like to transfer almost everything over immediately.”

“You’re not a bandit, are you?” The voice on the other end sounds suspicious. Jackie can practically see their brow furrowing with concern.

“No, I’m on the run from one.” Probably not the smartest way to describe Marcel, but Jackie’s well aware that this move is going to cost him greatly. “I need to be able to not be tracked. Can I transfer my funds and weapons over to a new one? You can take the payment out of my money, I’ll pick it up when I get there.”

“Sure, give me your information too. I’ll make sure you’re all set by the time you get here. Er, what did you say your name was?”

Jackie looks back one last time. The camp is now in the distance, with him having already put a decent distance between himself and Marcel. His heart is racing though, because there are lights on now, which means Jackie’s window of escaping is starting to close. He needs to leave, now. “Jackson Collins. I’ll transfer my information over, I just need to ditch this one. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Roger that, Jackson. We’ll set you up.”

The line goes dead after that. Maybe they hung up on each other at the same time, Jackie doesn’t know. Still, he’s walking forward, pushing as fast as he can without breaking into a run. While he walks, he transfers his ID, his money, weapons, and even the hologram over to the operator. Everything else: his contacts, his business information, is completely discarded. Jackie shuts the ECHO off and drops it to the ground, kicking dirt up around it in an attempt to hide it. Then, he runs.

The only thoughts on Jackie’s mind now are thoughts of this strange planet, and if it means sticking it to some greedy asshole, then Jackie will be happy to take on this role.

After all, he knows he’s a greedy asshole too.

#writersofmark #writersofjack #actor mark #jackieboy man #septic ego fanfiction #septic egos #iplier egos #no place for heroes #ch. 1 #long post #borderlands #septic ego au #borderlands au #spoilers #also found on ao3 #miishae writes

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