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britany1997 · 8 months ago

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Hey bestie

If the slot is still open can I have any form of Dwayne fluff. I’m back on my bullshit again and that bullshit is just the lost boys once more 🧡

Each Night Before You Go To Bed

(I really don’t do song based fics, this song just gives the vibes of what I’ve written, enjoy)

Of course I can write you some Dwayne Fluff! Hope you love this!

Dwayne x GN Reader

Warnings: some mentions of future child raising (but intentionally “raising” instead of “having” so reader could be whatever sex)

Dwayne’s arm hung around your shoulder, his finger laced loosely with yours. His thumb rubbed gently over your skin, a gesture so natural he barely realized he was even doing it anymore.

You spent every night together nowadays. Neither of you could stand being apart for very long. Dawn was agony, but you were thankful for every dusk that came with the promise of your lover gracing your doorstep. You’d never understood the “madly in love” cliche before Dwayne, but you got it now. Truly, madly, deeply.

As you walked along the boardwalk, intertwined, a thrift store caught your eye. You nudged your shoulder gently, prompting Dwayne to gaze down at you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Can we go in there?” You pointed with your free hand and Dwayne followed the path of your finger before nodding. “Sure baby.”

You smiled softly, tugging him along with you as you entered the store.

You’d been meaning to check out Artifact for ages on Marko’s recommendation, he’d always had great luck with the pieces here.

You squeezed Dwayne’s hand gently as you disentangled from his embrace, leaving him to browse as you flipped through the racks.

A couple minutes later, when you’d found some things to try out, you glanced around to check on your boyfriend.

Your eyes scanned the store, and once they settled on Dwayne, your face twisted in confusion. He was starring intently at something, you couldn’t quite see, on the shelves.

Curious, you crept around quietly to catch a glance of what he was so fixated on. When you peeked over his shoulder, your heart melted.

Dwayne had been starring at a pair of baby tennis shoes. He didn’t even notice you come to his side he was so lost in thought as he stared.

“Whatcha thinking about?” You asked, resting your head on his shoulder and whispering in his ear.

He tensed for a second, then blushed. Actually blushed. You’d never seen him do that before.

“Nothing baby, just uh…got a little distracted,” he smiled sheepishly before taking the clothes from your hands. “Did you want to try these on?” He’d brushed off the subject but you weren’t quite ready to move on.

You gave him a knowing look before reaching around to pick up the shoes. “Let’s get these too,” you suggested.

His eyes widened as his cheeks flushed again, “what would we do with them?”

You grinned, “I don’t know, I just thought we might need ‘em someday.”

The corners of Dwayne’s lips turned up into a bright smile, causing you to smile as well. How had you never noticed he had dimples before? For a tall, dark and handsome creature of the night, he was adorable. You stood on your tiptoes to kiss his nose, causing his cheeks to flush for the third time that night.

He grabbed the shoes almost reverently, smiling to himself and wrapping his arm around you.

“C‘ mon baby, I wanna see how these look on you,” he gestured to the pieces you’d picked, still held in his other hand, as he led you towards the fitting rooms.

After leaving the thrift store the two of you wandered to your favorite spot on the beach.

It was completely deserted, save the two of you. Just the way you liked it.

You leaned against his bare chest, his right arm snaked around your waist in a comforting embrace.

When he’d told you he was a vampire, back before you’d started dating, you’d thought he’d be freezing. No blood circulation and all that.

But every time he held you, you never felt more warm. You leaned your head back to rest on his shoulder, looking up at him fondly.

He smiled softly, leaning down to press his soft lips to yours.

“I love you you know?” he whispered.

You smiled brightly, “don’t get all soft on me because I’m gonna raise a kid with you one day.”

He frowned slightly, his brow furrowing as he shook his head.

“I don’t love you because of that,” he started, “I’d love you no matter what you wanted.”

He moved his head to rest against yours, “I don’t love what you can do for me baby, I love you.” He sighed, his eyes closing blissfully, “I love you more than anything.”

Your eyes watered and you turned your head to kiss his cheek. “I love you just as much,” you assured him. “I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“I wish I couldn’t,” he mused, his brow furrowing “had to wait a long time for you to come around.” He nudged you, “good thing you were worth it.”

You giggled, “no more lonely nights for either of us hmm?”

He nuzzles your nose with his, “never again,” he kissed your cheek, “what a privilege it is to be yours.”

You could feel your entire face flush bright red. “What’s with you tonight Mr. Romantic?” you teased.

He laughed softly, your favorite sound. “Just happy,” he told you.

You moved to loop your arms around him, “me too.”

Dawn was quick approaching as Dwayne dropped you off at your apartment. Your least favorite part of the night.

When the two of you reached the front door, his hands slid to your waist. He pulled your hips in gently as your hands snaked around his shoulders.

He leaned down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. You mewed into his mouth, one of your hands moving to tangle in his gorgeous hair.

You felt him smile against your lips as you stroked his hair. His hand moved up from your hip to your back, pulling you impossibly closer as his tongue slid into your mouth.

After awhile, you pulled away reluctantly. You wished you could keep going, but you’d hate to find yourself making out with a pile of ash.

You reached up to caress his cheek softly. He turned his head, his eyes closing as he kissed your hand.

“See you as soon as the sun goes down?” he asked.

You pressed one last chaste kiss to his lips, “and not a moment later.”

Taglist❤️ (comment to be added):

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livelaughlovesubs · 2 months ago

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Sigma and Fyodor with the prompts: fitting them with a collar and dressing them up in degrading outfits plsss. I need my subby Sigma. :3

Your thirsts shall be satisfied! Two subby men right away :]

Dom!gn!reader x sub!Sigma/ Fyodor (separate)

Warning: collaring, teasing, feminisation, hierophilia, cross dressing, established relationship(s)

Anniversary event

Sigma

He doesn’t even know why he agreed, he must have been out of his mind. He knew it was bad news when you came up to him, smiling all giddily, unable to hide your intentions while asking him so sweetly, “you’d do it for me, right? Plea~ase?”

And his intuition wasn’t wrong. Poor boy could barely contain himself when he saw what you had in store for him, and it took ages to actually convince him. Deep down, he cursed himself for being a push over when it came to you, but what was he supposed to do?

That’s how you got him to wear a super cute and revealing bunny boy costume, a typical one, except that it had some purple elements. Some of the ribbons were in a cute lavender colour. With it came a pair of bunny ears and plug tail, as well as some basic stockings. He didn’t dare to wear the tail by himself, since he was too embarrassed, and frankly, he didn’t manage to do it himself.

When he walked out of the room, to showcase just how amazing these clothes complimented his body, his face was already a bright red hue. Arms crossed in front of his chest, gaze lowered to the ground and knees threatening to give up underneath him. You gulped, astonished by how beautiful and sexy he looked, then you clapped as you complimented him, “it looks great! Really, really good!”

“Shut up..” Sigma replied all feisty, clenching his eyes shut as he shuddered. He wasn’t cold, it was because his heart was pounding really fast, pumping blood to his cheeks and lower part. It was too much for him to handle. “Aww, how mean of you~ I thought you wanted to be a good bunny?” You cooed at him, standing up and walking towards him with your hands behind your back, probably holding something, hiding it from his field of vision.

The male leaned back when he felt you were too close, eyes staring holes at the thing you were hiding, putting his hands up in front of his face, “h-hey, don’t tell me you have something lewd in mind.” You faked a surprised expression, gasping all dramatic, “something lewd? I’d never, what do you think of me?” But the smirk you had on your face told him otherwise, you really had to work on your mimics.

“It’s nothing bad, don’t worry.” You explained, then quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, whispering a small, “promise ♡” He stared right into your eyes, sweating a little, body heating up at the closeness and intimate nature of the moment. That’s when he felt something being wrapped around his neck, and it tightened, choking him for a split second.

That fraction of a second was enough to make him jump and gag, yelping and whining, “argHH..! What- what are you doing?!” The suffocating feeling was soon gone, though now replaced with a slight itch of something wrapping around his neck. “Ahhh, sorry for not alarming you. It looks so pretty though!” You apologised halfhearted, pressing your hands together as you did.

He frowned, still blushing. To be honest he had an index what it was, though just to be sure, he reached for the item with his hand and brushed over it. As expected, it was a collar. “…why are you being so sneaky with putting it on me, you gave me a heart attack.” Sigma complained, looking away in shame. He was getting really flustered and aroused due to all the set up he wore, the blush even crept up to his ears now.

“I wanted to see your surprised expression.” You answered in a heart beat, now wrapping your arms around his waist. “It was so worth it.” The boy glared at you, pouting slightly. Then he felt you grope his butt, and he shrieked, squirming in your grasp, shoulders jerked upwards and he mumbled, “w-what now?!”

“Where’s your tail, little bun’?” You asked, not stopping yourself. He grasped your shoulder and pushed you away weakly, his voice was meek as he replied, “obviously not there..” Suddenly you chuckled, that caught him off guard. Which is why he stopped avoiding your gaze and glanced at you, immediately regretting that action because god he could feel his legs going weak because of that look on your face. It was as if you wanted to devour him.

With a low voice, you teased your little pet bunny, asking all provocative, “let me help you grow a tail then?” And gone was his last ounce of dignity or resistance. He didn’t even put up a fight as he fell into your arms, twitching all over while whispering his answer, “p-please do..”

Fyodor

“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. 1, Peter 4:8.” His beautiful voice, as graceful as ever, whispered softly while he scanned over multiple pages from the bible. He wanted to read you some of his favourite verses, lifting the corners of his lips slightly, eyes focused and sparkling. This was one of his hobbies, he liked how calming it was.

Most of the time, you weren’t even listening properly, instead you liked seeing that eager glim in his pupils. Sometimes he’d catch you staring, well, he knows you are, but he doesn’t mind. Still, you’d occasionally ask some questions, to keep him entertained, “what does that mean?” Fyodor closed his eyes, still smiling at you, then replied, “there is no definite answer, though if you ask me… I’d say sins committed in the name of deep love can be justified.”

You stayed quiet, thinking about his statement. Somehow that clicked in your head, and you asked to make sure, “Is that why you don’t hesitate when doing stuff with me?” He didn’t responded, only continuing to grin like nothing happened before leaning closer to you and giving you a peck on the lips. A sense of warmth and comfort swallowed your pounding heart, and you chuckled, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

When you glanced at him again, you couldn’t help but think of how beautiful he was. That thought kept plaguing you, making you want to see him in a prettier outfit. “Hey, I think that’s enough for today,” you eventually declared, playing with his hair as you waiting for him to finish the page. “Hm? Alright then. I take it you have something else in mind?” Fyodor closed his bible, placing it onto the table next to him, looking at you expectantly.

“Yea, I actually do.” You told him while you grabbed his hand, guiding him to the closet and picking out some clothes for him to wear. “Ah…” he made a small sound of acknowledgment when he saw what you choose for him, then nodded and said, “i see what you want to do, well, I guess I don’t mind trying.” Despite how calm and collected he sounded, the small blush that crept up his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by you. Hence, you teased, “by the looks of it you are pretty excited as well.”

There goes his carefully crafted facade, he let a sharp sneer slip pass, then rushed you to get out. You had no choice but to wait until he was done. On your way out of the bedroom, you quickly opened one of the drawers, taking something with you. You hummed to yourself the entire time, anticipation building inside you. After about 10 minutes of leaning against the wall outside of the room, you heard the much awaited click of the door. Without wasting a single best, you barged back in.

“And? Does it fit? Lemme see-” annnd the waiting was worth it. You felt a tingle in your stomach when you laid your eyes on him, on his almost completely nude body. He was only wearing a set of black nun lingerie, with an equally dark cloth thrown over his head. The way he stood there was awkward, as if he wasn’t completely comfortable wearing these clothes. His eyes soon found yours, and his gentle smile returned.

“What do you think?” Fyodor teased, bending over slightly to make himself smaller, looking up at you, doing his signature expression. The bra and panties fit him perfectly, it emphasised his figure very well. Though it also reminded you of how awfully skinny and sickly he actually was, and you couldn’t hold yourself back from pulling him into a tight embrace. Wrapping both arms around his waist, pushing your body against his while mumbling sweet nothings into his ear.

One praise after another fell from your lips, grazing and tickling his skin like a tender breeze. “You look like an angel.” You said, even though his outfit was probably way too suggestive to be anything close to an angel. Nevertheless it didn’t change the fact that you thought he was heavenly. “Really, so gorgeous.” His blush darkened by a few shades, then he pushed you away playfully, whispering, “that’s enough. Can I change back now?” In contrary to what he expected, you shook your head, telling him, “there’s still one more thing.”

Before he got the chance to guess what you meant, you pulled out a collar that matched his eye colour. “This, I want to see you wear it.” You told him, so very straightforward, already getting to work and wrapping it around his neck. “Can I?” After you were almost done, you finally decided to ask him. He reacted pretty slow, eyes widened while he let you do what you wanted. And when you asked for his opinion, he hesitated for a bit, though in the end, he nodded meekly.

With a swift move, you adorned his neck with a personal collar, adding the final touch to his outfit. “It’s perfect.” You gasped astonished, reaching out to the collar and sticking one finger in, pulling slightly, “does it hurt?” The boy shook his head even if he gaged a little. Because of the pull he was now dangerously close to you, basically as close as earlier.

Without missing the chance, you spun him around and pushed him onto the bed, smiling as you chirped, “now, let’s see how deep our love is.”

There he was, all hot and bothered, almost laid bare, on his back, waiting for you like a five course meal you couldn’t resist. He smirked widely, giving you a cheeky answer, “I’m sure it’s deep enough to excuse whatever you’re going to do to me.”

Bonus!

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the-s1lly-corner · 7 months ago

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Hey can I request a Jason voorhees x reader oneshot? Jason's jacket is obviously a mess so what if when he is gone the reader suprises him by sewing it up for him and even stitches on "Jason Voorhees ♡"on the breast pocket?

Reader fixing Jason's jacket

I don't currently take one shots currently but I adore this prompt so I'll still hit it with the headcanon treatment :3

Notes: Reader is GN

CWs: Mentions of canon typical violence

It's no secret that the mans wardrobe is a little.. hmm.. well not in the best condition, not to mention that finding clothing that fits him is hard when you guys live in the woods..

But out of all the articles of clothing he owns, his jacket is in the worst condition

Slashes, holes, and a few blood stains that couldnt quite get washed out- not that the man cares all that much.. hes rather desensitized to blood

Unless it's your blood but that's a whole other thing!

Getting back on track, his jacket is ruined beyond repair... or at least that was the notion Jason has subscribed to. He was about to head out and tend to his responsibilities around the camp to prepare for the inevitable rush of kids swarming the place for their summer vacation, when he realized he couldn't find it

Not that he *needed* it... so he heads out to do his thing, letting you know when you expect him to come home

This gives you some alone time to work on your little project that you've been working on for the past day or two, sneaking around your boyfriend so the surprise wouldn't be ruined

It was... a monumental task... you originally thought you'd just have to stitch the tears but you quickly realized that you'd have to get creative when fixing the large holes, so it could still.. fit as it should without stressing the thread..

But it ended up being worth it!

Jason looooves receiving gifts from you, but he has a habit of.. not using them- not because he doesnt appreciate them, but because he doesnt want to ruin or lose the gift in question

When he unfolds the jacket he remains still and quiet for a moment

Though is the quietness anything new?

He tries it on when you ask him to, and it fits like a glove!

He loves it, he makes sure to sign his appreciation to you.. except theres one problem

You know how I mentioned he tends to let gifts sit unused? He... doesnt want your hard work to go to waste...

You can offer to fix it if anything happens, and while he is grateful for the sentiment the guilt would still eat at him

The jacket becomes more of an around the house piece of clothing, something he wears casually when hes not expecting someone needing to be removed

Hes going to make something for you in return, or perhaps search for something. You take such good care of him and he wants you to be cared for as well

#jason vorhees x reader #jason vorhees imagine #jason voorhees x reader #jason x reader #jason voorhees imagine #slasher imagine #slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #slashers x you #slashers x reader

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spacedace · 1 year ago

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Oh hey here’s the lil prolog thing I wrote for my DP x DC Leverage AU. I’m gonna actually write more of one day I swear but for now have this opening bit and feel free to use it as a prompt if you want :D

The station went utterly quiet as they brought her in.

Room after room going as silent as the grave when the young woman in handcuffs stepped through the door. Chatter stopped. Bodies stilled. Heads turned. Eyes widened. It almost felt like everyone was too afraid to even breath as she walked by. Cops and crooks alike watching with fear and awe in equal measures as Jim Gordon led her past them to the interrogation room.

She didn’t give the gaping crowd any mind. Head tilted up at an angle, shoulders back, steps sure. The solid heals of her boots clicked upon the scuffed linoleum, echoing loud in the stifling quiet. Like a royal herald announcing her presence. She held herself like a queen, which was fitting Jim supposed. Until tonight, the only name anyone had to call her by was Queen.

The blood, unnervingly, only made her seem more regal.

Batman was already in the interrogation room when they arrived. Jim didn’t even have it in him to sigh at the broody bat looming in the corner. He knew he’d be there. There was no way he would miss the interrogation of someone they’d been chasing for so long. Especially not now considering…well.

Considering.

Jim largely ignored the vigilante in the corner as he moved through the familiar process of getting the young woman handcuffed in place to the table, starting the recording and rattling off the relevant details: date, time, the - many - charges the young woman had been arrested for. If he faltered over the victim’s name of the young woman’s most recent crime no one commented on it. In the corner, Batman watched and lurked. Nearly lost in the shadowy corner of the room while still being impossible to ignore.

They’d done this before. Good cop, bad vigilante. It was usually effective in getting the truth out of stubborn criminals.

Jim rather doubted it would work in this case.

“Please state your name for the record.” He said, only to be met with the same cool silence Queen had given everyone since her arrest. She shifted in her seat, not a nervous fidget but an easy, languid movement. Even the uncomfortable metal chair seemed like a throne when she was involved. Jim bit back a sigh. “We have your information. I’m asking as a courtesy.”

Queen tilted her head faintly, looking at him with something almost like amusement, one brow twitching slightly upward. “You’ll have to forgive my disbelief, Commissioner Gordon.” She said, polite as ever. “But I’m rather sure that you won’t find me in any system you run my fingerprints or face through.”

She was right about that. They’d tried a hundred times over the past few years she and her team had been operating in Gotham. Her face never appeared in any pictures or recordings - not even in her mugshot during processing, all that was visible was her red hair and a mess of corrupted visual data where her face should be. The most her fingerprints had ever led to where the other crimes they already knew she’d taken part in. Batman had done everything to try and circumvent whatever meta ability kept her from being recorded on film, had done even more to try and find her and her people in every system he and the Justice League had access to. Nothing. Jim had grumbled a few times about how Queen and her crew might as well be ghosts for all the proof that they existed officially.

Turned out, ghosts was exactly right.

“The Ghost Investigation Ward reached out to us two hours ago.” He said, leaning back in his own seat, watching her carefully. “I’ll repeat, Ms. Fenton, my asking is a courtesy.”

For the first time in the years he’d known her, Queen - real name Jasmine “Jazz” Fenton - looked scared. Beyond scared, even. Completely, and utterly terrified.

Her body went rigid, eyes growing wide, breath picking up as she sat up sharply. Any semblance of that calm, collected presence she always held even when she was at her most cornered and vulnerable vanished in an instant. He’d seen her breath in a cloud of Scarecrow’s Fear Toxin and laugh. Watched as Bane wrapped large hands around her throat and tilt her chin up to stare down at her attacker imperiously. A mobster pressed the barrel of a gun to her head and she’d smiled, coy and confidant and untouchable. Queen always, always was calm. Aggravatingly so, even. Utterly unshakable as she waltzed into every wild and insane situation carrying the undeniable air of one who was complete control of everything happening.

She hadn’t even looked scared when the Joker had held her hostage.

And now? Now all it had taken was those three words. Ghost Investigation Ward. A nonsense name for a government agency with a ridiculous purpose. And yet there the unshakable Queen sat, looking terrified out of her mind at the mere mention of them.

Not for the first time since he received that call, Jim Gordon felt uneasy.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dp x dc fanfic #dp x dc writing prompt #jazz fenton #jim gordon #bruce wayne #leverage au #Jazz is the mastermind in this one #and has been having a great time up til this moment #everyone on the team has code names #Danny is Spaceman because of course it is lol #Sam is Nightshade #Tucker is Pharaoh #Ellie is Nomad #they're not actually shown here but I just wanted to share the codenames I came up for them lol

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chiyuuchu · 4 months ago

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A twisted heart <3 (30th July 2024)

Shoto Todoroki x Reader

Prompt! The mutuel pining between an aloof boy and a slightly psychotic girl.

The first week at U.A. was a whirlwind of introductions, training exercises, and getting to know new classmates. As Class 1-A settled into their new routine, one student in particular quickly captured everyone’s attention: Y/N. Her unsettling presence and uneasy vibe was not unknown to everyone.

Y/N, on the other hand, had a quirk that often made people wary of her: Crimson Bind. This quirk allowed her to create blood-red chains that could bind her target’s emotions and willpower, inducing feelings of love and devotion towards her. The chains could also cause pain if the target tried to resist. It was a power that could easily be abused, but Y/N had always been careful, using it only when absolutely necessary.

Due to the sort of quirk she had, Y/N had a strange, psycho-yandere personality. She was fiercely protective of those she cared about.

The morning sun filtered through the windows of Class 1-A as Y/N stood at the front of the room, preparing to introduce herself. Her smile was bright and welcoming, but the red chains that coiled around her fingers as she demonstrated her quirk left a few students feeling uneasy.

“Hi, everyone! I’m Y/N. My quirk is Crimson Bind,” she said cheerfully. “It lets me create these red chains to control emotions and even give commands.” And there plastered her signature creepy smile.

It wasn’t until after the first day of showcasing quirks in class, a few students exchanged glances. Kirishima leaned towards Bakugou, whispering loudly enough for others to hear, “Dude, did you see those chains? That’s some intense power.”

Bakugou scoffed, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, whatever. As long as she doesn’t use it on me.”

Mina, ever the enthusiast, clapped her hands together. “Wow, that’s so cool! So, you can literally control how people feel?”

Y/N nodded, still smiling. “Yep! But don’t worry, I only use it for training and practice. I promise I won’t go around binding anyone's emotions without permission.”

During lunch, Y/N oddly sat at an empty table, her cheerful demeanor in contrast with the slightly anxious looks from her classmates.

She was eating and sitting alone.. with a creepy smile on her face.

Across the lunch room, a few of her fellow classmates sat afar.

“So, did anyone else think that was kinda… creepy?” Jirou asked, taking a bite of her sandwich.

Uraraka shrugged, looking thoughtful. “I mean, it’s definitely powerful, but she seems like a nice person. Maybe she’s just trying to get used to being around us.”

Deku, who had been unusually quiet, looked up from his meal. “I think she’s really nice. I mean, she was so friendly and open about her quirk.”

Mina, still excited, said, “Yeah, and did you see how she was trying to explain everything? She’s got a really great attitude.”

Kirishima grinned. “True! I’m sure she’ll fit in just fine. And who knows, her quirk might actually come in handy during our training.”

As the day went on, Y/N’s quirk became a hot topic of discussion among her new classmates. They gathered around, trying to make sense of the unusual abilities and the energetic personality of their peer.

“So, did you see her using those chains to move the book? It was like she was playing a game with it,” Midoriya said, his eyes wide with curiosity.

“Yeah, I saw that!” Uraraka replied. “She’s really good at making it seem playful. I guess that’s her way of making everyone feel more comfortable.”

“I think it’s impressive how she can control such a powerful quirk with such ease. And her attitude makes her seem less intimidating.” Iida claimed.

Kaminari leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “Well, she seems pretty cool to me. I think she’ll add a lot of fun to our class. And hey, at least she doesn’t seem like she’ll use her quirk on us just for fun.”

Mina grinned. “Yeah, as long as she’s friendly and doesn’t start binding us all up, I think we’ll get along just fine.”

As Y/N wandered around the school grounds, she felt the weight of her new classmates’ eyes on her, but she maintained her playful attitude. She continued to interact with her peers, trying to bridge the gap between her unusual personality and her genuine desire to connect with them.

When Y/N finally stopped to chat with Todoroki, she noticed the calm way he looked at her, which was different from the more nervous reactions she had received earlier. Todoroki’s presence was soothing, and she found herself gravitating towards him despite his quiet demeanor.

It was during a group training exercise that Y/N’s feelings for Todoroki began to surface. They were paired together, and Y/N couldn’t help but be drawn to his composed and determined nature. She admired how he handled each challenge with such grace and precision.

Throughout the exercise, Y/N found herself trying to get closer to Todoroki, offering him encouragement and making efforts to interact with him. Her playful remarks and genuine compliments seemed to have a subtle effect on him, and though Todoroki remained largely unruffled, he appeared to appreciate her attention.

As the months passed, Y/N’s attempts to engage with Todoroki became more frequent. Her affection was expressed through her actions, like finding reasons to work alongside him or cheer him on. Her classmates began to notice the growing dynamic between them, and though Todoroki remained unaware of the full extent of her feelings, the subtle signs of affection were becoming increasingly evident.

Class 1-A was bustling with its usual energy. Todoroki Shoto sat quietly at his desk, his eyes occasionally flickering towards Y/N, who was engaged in an animated conversation with Mina and Ochaco. Todoroki had always been intrigued by Y/N. There was something captivating about her, something that drew him in despite his attempts to remain distant.

Their interactions grew more frequent and peculiar. Y/N's obsessive behavior was hard to miss, but Todoroki seemed to remain oblivious to the more unsettling aspects of it. Instead, he appeared to appreciate the attention, finding her quirks oddly endearing.

In the cafeteria, Y/N would often bring Todoroki his favorite snacks, always managing to know exactly what he craved.

"I swear, she has some sixth sense when it comes to Shoto's preferences," Kirishima remarked one day, watching Y/N place a perfectly crafted bento box in front of Todoroki.

Mina giggled. "It's kind of cute, though, isn't it? Like some weird, twisted romance."

"Yeah, if you ignore the whole psycho personality thing," Kaminari added with a shiver. "But Todoroki doesn't seem to mind."

"Maybe he likes it," Kirishima suggested. "Everyone has their preferences."

“Yeah! We don’t judge other people’s ideal types!” Mina cheered.

The following afternoon during training, Y/N's protectiveness became glaringly obvious. A sparring match between Todoroki and Bakugou was getting intense. Bakugou’s aggressive style was starting to wear Todoroki down, and Y/N, watching from the sidelines, grew visibly anxious.

"Oi, Icy-Hot! You better step up, or I'm gonna blow you to pieces!" Bakugou yelled.

Just as Bakugou launched a massive explosion towards Todoroki, Y/N’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. “Stop.”

The red chains of Crimson Bind shot from her hand, wrapping around Bakugou and halting his movement instantly. He stood frozen, a mix of shock and fury in his eyes.

“Damn, crazy women! You could’ve just let us finish,” Bakugou growled, but he couldn't move.

Y/N's eyes softened as she looked at Todoroki. "You okay, Shoto?" she asked, her voice reverting to its usual softness.

Todoroki nodded. "I'm fine. Thank you, Y/N." He said calmly and out of breath as it was obvious he was about to give out.

As she released Bakugou, allowing him to move again, the rest of the class exchanged looks, clearly seeing the depth of her feelings for Todoroki.

Despite Y/N's intense behavior, Todoroki seemed to be growing fond of her in his own way. He started noticing small things, like how she always knew what he needed or how she was always there to support him during training. He found himself looking forward to their interactions, even if he didn’t fully understand her feelings.

One day in the common room, the class was gathered around, talking about their day. Y/N was sitting next to Todoroki, her usual place, when Mina brought up the subject.

“So, Y/N, you always seem to know what Todoroki likes. How do you do it?” Mina asked with a playful grin.

Y/N just smiled widely, with her usual unsettling expression. “I have my ways.” Everyone had already grew used to their eerie peer.

Kirishima laughed. “You guys are like an old married couple. It’s kinda sweet.”

Todoroki felt his cheeks heat up at the comment. “We’re not—” he started, but was cut off by Y/N’s hand on his arm.

“It’s okay, Shoto. They’re just teasing,” she said softly, her touch sending a strange thrill through him.

The peculiar dynamic between Y/N and Todoroki became a favorite topic of discussion among the class. They found it both fascinating and entertaining, especially when Y/N's more obsessive tendencies came to light.

During a strategy meeting for an upcoming mission, Midoriya couldn’t help but bring it up. “Has anyone else noticed how... protective Y/N is of Todoroki?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Mina chimed in. “It’s like she’s his personal bodyguard. But it’s kinda adorable in a weird way.”

“Yeah, but she’s also kinda scary,” Kaminari added. “I mean, did you see how she stopped Bakugou that one day? She didn’t even hesitate.”

“But Todoroki doesn’t seem to mind,” Uraraka pointed out. “Maybe he likes having someone who cares that much about him.”

“Maybe he’s just oblivious,” Jirou said with a shrug. “He’s not exactly the most emotionally aware person.”

Todoroki, who had been quietly listening to the conversation, felt a strange mix of emotions. He appreciated Y/N's attention and care, but he also felt a bit overwhelmed by her intensity. Yet, he couldn’t deny the warmth he felt whenever she was near.

The real test of Y/N's feelings came during a high-stakes mission. The class was sent to apprehend a group of villains causing havoc in a nearby city. As they split into teams, Todoroki found himself paired with Y/N.

“Stay close,” Y/N instructed, her eyes scanning the area for any threats.

Todoroki nodded, feeling a sense of security with her by his side. As the battle ensued, Y/N’s chains came into play, binding enemies and protecting her classmates. But it was her unwavering focus on Todoroki’s safety that stood out the most.

At one point, a villain managed to land a blow on Todoroki, sending him crashing into a wall. Y/N’s eyes blazed with fury as she unleashed her quirk, her chains wrapping around the villain and immobilizing them.

“Don’t you dare hurt him,” she hissed, her voice filled with venom.

After the battle, as they regrouped, the class couldn’t help but comment on Y/N's actions.

“You were amazing out there, Y/N,” Kirishima said. “You really had Shoto’s back.”

“Yeah, you were like a force of nature,” Midoriya added.

Y/N just smiled, her eyes softening as she looked at Todoroki. “I’d do anything to protect him.”

Todoroki felt a warmth spread through his chest at her words. He realized that, despite her intense and sometimes unsettling behavior, he appreciated her dedication and care

Todoroki Shoto found himself more introspective than usual. The warmth that Y/N's presence brought him was undeniable. Her intensity, while strange, was strangely comforting. He couldn't quite place it, but every interaction with her seemed to leave an imprint on his heart.

One quiet evening in the dorms, Todoroki sat by the window, watching the sun dip below the horizon. He couldn’t help but think about Y/N’s actions over the past few days—the way she always seemed to know what he needed before he even realized it himself. He recalled her protective stance during their mission, how fiercely she had defended him against the villains.

He smiled slightly, running a hand through his hair. Despite her quirks and the unsettling nature of her quirk, he found himself drawn to her. There was something endearing about her dedication and the way she seemed to see only the best in him. It was a stark contrast to the emotional distance he had kept for so long.

As he reflected, he realized that her obsessive nature, while intense, was something he had started to appreciate. It made him feel valued in a way he wasn’t used to, and he couldn't deny the sense of comfort it provided him.

Kirishima approached Todoroki in the common area, a curious expression on his face. “Hey, Todoroki,” he began casually, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Todoroki looked up from his book, meeting Kirishima’s inquisitive gaze.

Kirishima leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “So, what do you think about Y/N’s... unique personality? I mean, she’s pretty intense about you. How does that make you feel?”

Todoroki paused, considering the question. It was a topic he had been mulling over for a while now. “It’s... different,” he admitted slowly. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone show such a level of dedication and care before. It’s strange, but it’s also something I’ve come to appreciate.”

Kirishima raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile forming. “Strange how, exactly?”

Todoroki shrugged, his gaze softening as he thought about Y/N. “It’s a mix of intensity and protectiveness. She’s always looking out for me, even when I don’t need it. It’s not something I’m used to, but... it feels kind of nice.”

Kirishima chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds like you’re starting to enjoy her attention. Even if it’s a bit intense, it’s clear she really cares about you.”

Todoroki nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I guess you could say that. It’s not what I expected, but it’s... comforting.”

As Kirishima left, Todoroki returned to his thoughts, a small smile playing on his lips. Despite the unconventional nature of Y/N's affection, he couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of warmth and acceptance from her. The bond they shared, though peculiar, was becoming an important part of his life.

Later that day, after a particularly grueling training session, Todoroki found himself alone in the locker room, lost in thought. He was thinking about Y/N again, about her bright smile and the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice Y/N right outside the locker room until she was standing right in front of him.

“Hey, Shoto,” she said, her voice soft but carrying a hint of that unsettling intensity she was known for.

Todoroki looked up, surprised. “Y/N, hi. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” she replied, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made his heart skip a beat. “I’ve noticed you’ve been distracted lately. Is everything okay?”

Yep.. totally not weird and creepy..

Todoroki hesitated for a moment before deciding to be honest. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know why, but I can’t seem to get you out of my mind.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, her usual confidence wavered. “You... you’ve been thinking about me?”

“Yes,” Todoroki replied, taking a step closer to her. “I know it sounds strange, but there’s something about you that I can’t ignore. I feel drawn to you, and I don’t know why.”

Y/N’s heart raced as she listened to his words. She had always hoped that Todoroki might feel the same way about her, but she had never dared to believe it could be true. “Shoto, I need to tell you something,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “My quirk... it can make people feel things they wouldn’t normally feel. I’ve been so afraid of using it on you by accident.”

Todoroki reached out and gently took her hand in his. “Y/N, you don’t have to worry about that. Whatever I’m feeling, it’s real. It’s not because of your quirk.”

Todoroki smiled softly, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles. “Y/N, you don’t have to worry about that. Whatever I’m feeling, it’s real. It’s not because of your quirk.”

#shoto fluff #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto x y/n #shoto x reader #todoroki fluff #todoroki x reader #todoroki x y/n #bnha fluff #bnha x reader #bnha #mha shoto #mha #todoroki mha #shoto headcanons #shoto todoroki #shoto x you

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katyawriteswhump · 9 months ago

Text

Livin’ the dream (steddielovemonth day 3)

After High School, Eddie and Steve’s lives don’t exactly go as planned… For @steddielovemonth day 3 prompt: Love is being terrified but not letting that stop you from taking a leap (@unclewaynemunson) Thank you <3

Rating: M. CW: Unhealthy/abusive relationship (NOT steddie!) Tags: No Upside Down AU, angst. WC: 2,225

…

“I’d never have dreamed,” said Eddie one morning, during his daily stop at Dave’s Diner, “that Steve Harrington pouring my coffee would become the highlight of my day.”

Steve smirked. “Wasn’t exactly how I saw my future either, Munson.”

While Steve poured, Eddie left his hand on his coffee cup. He always did—even if the cup got too hot. Even if it scalded him. He’d not miss a chance to have Steve that close. Nor to enjoy staring at those lickable arms, today exposed to the shoulders by a snug-fitting vest top.

“I guess you really dig lousy weak coffee, man,” said Steve.

“Sets me up for a busy day fulfilling my childhood ambition of hauling bricks, darlin’.” He’d gotten away with ‘darlin’’ last week. Steve didn’t chew his head off today, either, so… “Living the dream, huh?”

Steve sighed hard, started wiping the counter near Eddie, over and over, as he always did. “How’s your pay?” asked Steve quietly.

“It’s a day rate. Not stellar, not the pits. Why? You looking for other work?” Panic rocked through Eddie. “You’re not leaving this place?” Though it would be awesome if we worked together. Eddie was already fantasising about those hot summer days on the construction site, when Steve might strip his shirt off.

“Nah, not really,” said Steve, “I’m kinda tied to this job.” He ran his free hand distractedly across his eyes. Tied to this job—what the heck did that mean? Steve often seemed world-weary and withdrawn. Incongruously so, given the confident guy he used to be. But that was adult life, so it seemed. It sucked.

All the same, Eddie experienced an uneasy urge to probe deeper. Steve got in first: “Hey, how’s the band?”

Eddie beamed. Yeah, there was one other thing, other than coffee with Steve, that he lived for: “We got a gig Saturday night.”

“Let me guess—the super bowl came begging?”

“Haha, just you wait, big guy. It’s at that new bar in town. You wanna come?”

Steve paused his scrubbing. Something sparked in the depths of those big, beguiling eyes that made Eddie’s throat tighten, and his pulse beat faster. “I’m working,” said Steve. I’ll try and get away aft—”

“Hey, kid! You gone blind or you really this lazy?” That was Steve’s boss, Dave, who’d gotten the biggest arms Eddie had ever seen. “There’s more than one punter in this place. If you can count that high?”

“Jesus, he can be such an a-hole,” mumbled Steve. He shot off, even as Eddie bleated:

“See you tomorrow?”

…

Only seven people turn up for Corroded Coffin’s gig. It was a total dud, and Eddie didn’t give a shit.

Among the seven, was Steve.

The crappy too-bright venue lighting revealed Steve undressing Eddie with his eyes, as surely as Eddie undressed Steve. Eddie was so blown away, he almost messed up the finger work on his most bodacious solo.

After the final number, Eddie placed down his guitar and made a beeline for Steve: “Hey, you made it.”

“Figured I might as well. Jon Bon Jovi wasn’t returning my calls.” Steve snickered, and Eddie literally drooled. Metal thrummed through his every vein, and his blood rushed madly—most of it heading south. Steve Harrington CAME TO MY GIG AND STAYED FOR THE NON-EXISTENT AFTER-PARTY. Steve’s vest top was sadly missed, but his tight t-shirt still afforded Eddie a glimpse of that tasty chest hair, and the skin-tight jeans were… Gnnng! And as for the touch of eyeliner?

Slayed Eddie dead.

“You wanna come backstage?” Eddie’s voice came out embarrassingly high-pitched.

“I’d like a drink. Preferably something stronger than coffee, and that I don’t have to pour.”

After his sixth shot, Eddie went in for the kill: “You are literally the hottest fucking thing I have ever goddamn seen.”

“Not exactly slick.” Steve leaned close, and Eddie inhaled his fast, bourbon-spiced breaths. “But I guess it’s a step up on ‘do you come here often.’”

Eddie silenced him with a blockbuster kiss, which Steve returned instantly. Within moments, Eddie was up off his barstool, hands roving wildly over Steve’s delicious torso. Okay, also wandering around to pry under his tight t-shirt, and to grope that mega-hot denim-clad ass. Steve pawed Eddie with equal enthusiasm, setting his barstool rocking till it toppled back.

He jumped off, straight into Eddie’s arms. Wow! There was nothing better than kissing somebody roughly your own height. Back at school, he’d figured Steve was a lot taller than him—like most jocks, he’d had that early spurt of growth, Eddie guessed. Then Eddie had more of less caught up, and now..? Yeah, everything had changed, all his preconceptions thrown to the winds. Best of all, Steve had turned out to be a good dude.

Also, the best kisser ever.

They made out like their lives depended on it, tongues sliding together, slickly and keenly. Meanwhile, despite the hotness, all those sweet moments over coffee crammed together in Eddie’s head.

You are the highlight of my life… The light of my goddamn life! How come this took so long?

Then, as abruptly as it started, Steve broke the kiss. He staggered back into his stool, setting it rocking again. “Shit!”

“Oooookay.” Eddie felt like he’d been punched. “Used to that in gig write-ups, but—”

“Oh God, no… It’s not you. It’s so not about you. This was a terrible idea.” He knocked Eddie’s fingers from where they lingered on his hip, and sidestepped, placing the barstool between them.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s about me, Munson, so you can quit the goddamn kicked-puppy-dog eyes.” Erm, back at ya, Harrington. “I’m with another guy, okay?” He laughed, and somehow, it was one of the most miserable sounds Eddie had ever heard. “I didn’t think we’d… Look, I really shouldn’t have come.”

With that, he bolted.

…

Eddie got to the diner super-early on Monday morning. He’d barely thought of anything other than Steve, who was no longer simply his secret crush. Or even the light of his life.

Without exactly knowing why, Eddie was pretty much dying with worry for him.

Steve didn’t pour Eddie’s coffee. He dumped the pot on the counter, emoted unwelcomingly with hard-set features, and hurried off to take a table order. Which he then headed out back to prepare.

Eddie waited. He was gonna be late for work, and his boss would give him an earful, and he really couldn’t give a crap.

The diner emptied out, and eventually, Steve emerged from the back, mouthing:

“What the Hell?”

“I needed to see you, Steve.” Steve glared at him, and Eddie did a double take. Steve looked more exhausted than ever, shadows stark as bruises around his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Saturday was a big mistake. Huge. Had an argument with my boyfriend about it, that’s all. Scram, will you?”

Steve’s boss came out from the back. Steve emoted wildly again, shooed Eddie, and the truth dawned. And was slammed home when Dave slapped Steve’s butt—scowling at Eddie, as he did so—then grabbed Steve’s shoulders, spiralled him about, and shoved him off in the direction of another table awaiting service.

“Either you place another order, or get lost,” said Dave to Eddie.

Eddie ordered pancakes and waited.

“Dave? Seriously?” hissed Eddie, when he finally got Steve’s attention again. He begrudgingly admitted Dave was okay looking. All the same: “He’s a dick! And he’s gotta be old enough to be your dad.”

Steve edged close, talking so fast and hushed Eddie strained to follow. “My parents threw me out. I was on the streets! Dave was… good to me, took me in, and now… I’m kinda stuck. He takes my rent out of my wages, and there’s never anything left, and—”

“You need to get away from him, man.” Eddie felt sick. Somehow, he burbled it out: “Leave the son-of-a-bitch. Right now. You can crash with me.”

“You live in your uncle’s trailer! He’d be beyond thrilled, I’m sure, and Dave would…” Steve’s mouth hung open a moment. He’d what? Come after you? “Look, I’m okay. Dave’s all right, really. Gets grouchy sometimes, that’s all.”

Eddie spouts the next question before he can stop himself. “Do you love him?”

Steve tossed his arms up in despair: “What kinda dumbass question is that?” Yeah, Eddie wants to facepalm. In retrospect, it was truly dumb! “Look, he doesn’t know who I saw on Saturday, but he’s already bitching about you hanging around too much. Just fucking go already!”

Eddie didn’t drive on to the construction site. Instead, as his brain screamed, You’re batshit crazy, he pawned all his meagre possessions, even his beloved Warlock. His plan only faltered when Wayne caught wind of him going to a loan shark. His uncle literally dragged him from their office and insisted on lending Eddie all his scant savings.

Eddie refused. Wayne refused harder. They headed to the second-hand dealership and purchased the cheapest RV in the yard.

Next morning, Eddie trundled his rusty 1960s Volkswagen into the forecourt of Dave’s Diner. He gritted his teeth, squared his shoulders, and moseyed through the door like a gunslinger and about to unleash hell. One that was also trembling like jello, packing zero heat, and practically pissing himself.

“Got my own place now,” he said to Steve.

Steve looked mad, refused him even a coffee cup, though Dave didn’t seem to be around. Yet. “This isn’t happening, Eddie.”

“My place has got wheels, darlin’.” Eddie motioned to the RV outside, dropped his voice to an undertone. “It’s a big country. We can go anywhere. I’ll park up half-a-mile along the road. Wait all day. All night, if you need.”

Steve eked tight words from between gritted teeth: “Look, I don’t wanna sound ungrateful. It’s still a ‘no,’ man. You must have gone cuckoo. I mean, what about your band?”

Yeah, that brought a pang to Eddie’s chest: “Honestly? The rest of the guys are losing interest fast. I can fly solo. As long as you’ll fly with me?”

Dave strode out from the back. The flash of fear in Steve’s eyes cut Eddie to the quick, because it also hollered, You’re making things worse!

Oh God, what’ve I done?

“You’re barred,” yelled Dave at Eddie. “I see your long-haired loony mug one more time, you can kiss my fist.”

“Subtle you ain’t, asshat.” Eddie retreated, literally a mangy, kicked dog. He drove the RV that half-a-mile along the road and waited. And waited. By midnight, he felt like his heart had been wrung dry, and eventually, he fell asleep.

A loud thudding roused him. He sat up, blinked at his unfamiliar surroundings and then… Shiiiit! He dashed to the door.

Steve perched on the step, his wide eyes glowing with something… unfamiliar. Some sparkle that might just be hope. He’d gotten a very small bundle slung over his shoulder.

“I hope you were serious?” asked Steve.

“Deadly serious, darlin’.”

Steve took Eddie’s face in his hands, and kissed him, briefly, almost chastely. Totally mind blowing. “So good to do that without feeling guilty,” he murmured, smoothing kiss-wetted lips together.

Eddie grinned; he wasn’t even quite sure if this was real: “Let’s get the Hell out of Dodge,” he said.

They hit the road, and they never looked back.

…

Three months later

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” cooed Eddie, as the Hawkins pawn shop owner handed his Warlock back across the counter. “I missed you soooo much.”

“Ugh, seriously?” bitched Steve, as soon as they exited the store. He blocked Eddie’s path along the sidewalk, planted his hands on his hips: “Should I be jealous?”

“Nah. We’re a proper family now.” With his guitar safely stowed in its case, he slung an arm around Steve, and they walked on toward where they’d parked the RV. “Tho’ when we get to Wayne’s, I might have a moment with my long-lost beloved. While you two watch the game.”

“No funny business, Sweetcheeks, or I’m absconding with a second-hand Yamaha keyboard.”

Eddie beamed broadly. It felt so weird, being back in Hawkins, and with hope, at least, for a better future. Not even having to worry about… “You know, I kinda want to thank Chief Hopper in person for arresting your douchebag ex.”

“Yeah, well, he put a guy in the hospital.” Steve shuddered. “They’ve charged him with attempted homicide.”

God, I’m so relieved it wasn’t you, thinks Eddie.

Steve rattled out a joyless laugh that Eddie hadn’t heard for some time, and said, “Jesus, I’m so happy it wasn’t you.”

Suddenly, Eddie’s eyes brimmed with tears. It’s too much. He can’t bear to think of what might have been. “Love you so much,” he blurted, fumbling for the keys for the RV. He couldn’t get up the steps and inside with Steve fast enough

“Love you too,” whispered Steve, once the door was closed, and sounding slightly choked, also. Which isn’t like him.

They clasped each other tighter than ever, and did their darndest to kiss the bad memories away.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddielovemonth #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington whump #eddie x steve #eddie munson #steddie fanfiction

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lookismfanfics · 1 year ago

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Hii! Hope you're doing okay. May I request some of the characters accidentally hitting their calm maleReader instead of the enemy and now he's getting a huge bruise on where they hit him? thx u

Idk how many characters I'm allowed to choose so I'm just gonna name a few and you can pick..? 😅

Jake / Vasco / Zack / Jace / Vin Jin / Warren / Megumi / Goo

“𝐌𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐝!”

Warnings: Mentions of violence, fluff, not really fluff though, cursing, mentions of balls.

Jake • Vasco • Zack • Jace • Vin • Warren • Megumi • Goo

Hey anon! I’m doing good, thanks for asking! ♡︎ I decided to do everyone you requested because yes 😩 I also changed it up a little with the “enemy” part. Some of them are petty interactions, and others are full-fledged brawls lol.

𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞

𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ✧ He was focusing a little too hard.

✧ The same mantra kept echoing in Jake’s mind, urging him on: “keep fighting.”

✧ He was just a little caught up in everything, that’s all—

✧ He was absorbed in hearing the definitive crack of his opponents nose, feeling the warm spew of blood that followed a hit to the ribs, seeing the trail of bodies that followed his path

✧ These suckers were really something. There were so many of them, and they had been harassing this area for long enough

✧ Jake had called out to Jerry to ask “Where is he?” But hadn’t gotten a response

✧ Then there’s a rustle behind him

✧ A sneak attack.

✧ Instincts go: 📈

✧ He whips around, just barely seeing the glint of purpose in his opponents eyes

✧ “Jake!”

✧ He feels the warm contact of hitting a cheek. But Jake isn’t stupid and realizes his fatal error

✧ I mean… who would’ve guessed that the opponent would duck?

✧ “Sorry (Y/N)! Where’ve you been-?” He pants

✧ Honestly Jake has never been more ashamed. He did hit him, didn’t he?

✧ (Y/N) doesn’t seem fazed, he just keeps up whatever he was doing. “It’s fine… I’ve just been around.”

✧ The man is hardly panting… damn you (Y/N). You’re attractive even when you aren’t trying…

✧ (That’s what Jake thinks anyways)

𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ✧ As soon as the fight is over, Jake runs.

✧ His dress shoes slam against what bare concrete is left, avoiding the piles of unconscious and semi-conscious bodies.

✧ He tries not to panic. He has to play it cool, and not throw a fit.

✧ Eventually, he finds you talking to Brad, nursing your busted fists with your back to him. Jake let’s out a sigh, “Pretty nasty hit you took there.”

✧ A playful smile toys at his lips as he observes you. You turn to him, seemingly unscathed, nodding with a small smile, “Uh, yeah. Nice punch Boss.”

✧ He tries not to let the use of formalities affect him too much. (Inwardly wounded)

✧ “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, this time with a note of concern.

✧ “He thinks he has a concussion, boss,” Brad interrupts, just the hint of a smile intermingled with his serious tone.

✧ You ignore Jake’s slacked jaw and bewildered look, eyeing Brad tiredly, “So much for keeping a secret.”

✧ “You shouldn’t keep secrets from the boss- or your boyfr—”

✧ “(Y/N),” Jake drags his finger beneath your chin, prompting you to turn to him. “Is that tr…ue?”

✧ It’s not the thought of a concussion that made Jake stop.

✧ It’s…

✧ 😰

✧ “Your cheek… is this the one I hit?”

✧ You nod.

✧ “Well uh~ not to worry you but… it’s bruising just a little~” “It’s fine Jake-”

✧ Apparently he didn’t think it was “fine”.

✧ Jakes brows furrow together as he examines you. With the way his eyes darken and his smiles fades, He looks beyond apologetic; it’s as if guilt seeps into his every movement.

✧ “You don’t have to worry about it,” you smile. There’s not even the slightest hint of anxiety in your voice, but it does nothing to reassure Number One of Big Deal.

✧ “Yeah but you know I will,” he smirks half-heartedly, quickly reverting back to his worried face.

✧ He’s never letting it go. Every time he sees the splotch of that massive dark bruise, he feels the urge to apologize.

✧ It’s beyond an inside joke too.

✧ Anyone brings it up jokingly, and his head sags and a shadow runs across his face.

✧ “Sorry about that (Y/N).”

✧ “Jake, it healed months ago.”

𝐕𝐚𝐬𝐜𝐨

𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ✧ Fights like these were becoming more often.

✧ Vasco was adjusting to the oncoming rush of bad guys. He was confident in his abilities. Sure of himself; he was bound to crush them all.

✧ But…

✧ “(Y/N)? Are you alright?”

✧ His dark eyes scan the battlefield of boys swinging at each other, searching for one man in particular.

✧ He catches him in his sight. (Y/N).

✧ “Are you almost done—” “Euntae, focus.”

✧ The tone of his voice sends a chill down Vasco’s spine.

✧ The cogs in his brain stop working for a second as he continues fighting on autopilot. He wants to keep an eye on (Y/N). He doesn’t want to loose sight of him.

✧ Vasco feels a harsh smack to his ribs, knocking the wind out of him. What was that? His instincts heighten as his body reacts frantically.

✧ He turns to the guy fighting him, readying one of numerous forbidden moves just for him.

✧ Once he sends the guy flying it’s back to looking for (Y/N)-

✧ “Euntae-!”

✧ Smack.

𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐎𝐕

✧ “(Y/N)?! (Y/N) are you okay!? Please wake up!”

✧ Vasco was reduced to a sobbing mess.

✧ You open your eyes, staring at his red face damp with tears. It’s an odd sight- especially since you only fell down a couple of seconds ago.

✧ “Yeah Vasco… I’m fine,” you offer a small smile. Even if it does hurt, you know making a big deal out of nothing would be problematic.

✧ You act calm. Chill. Even a little nonchalant.

✧ Vasco remains crouched on the ground while you dust off your pants, glancing around the parking lot littered with bloodied “bad guys.”

✧ “You’re positive that you’re alright?” He asks slowly, staring at you with concern.

✧ “Yeah. It’ll probably form a bruise at the most,” you reply. You touch your chest, seemingly unfazed.

✧ You feel awful for lying to him. Your chest feels like it’s on fire. It’s sore and laborious to breathe… but you won’t tell him that.

✧ “Sorry.” Vasco says simply.

✧ No one brings it up until you’re undressing at the Burn Knuckles base.

✧ Everyone is slipping out of their jumpsuits and into more comfortable, casual clothes. It smells sweaty and feels humid… but somehow Leon always manages to steal the bathroom before anyone else. (Thankfully)

✧ You listen quietly, offering smiles as Vasco retells a story about him and Jace, obviously awaiting your reaction.

✧ He doesn’t intentionally flaunt his muscles in front of you… but sometimes it seems that way. That’s partially why you like to keep most of your clothes on around him- so he doesn’t start comparing. 😳

✧ “That’s funny~” you reply to one of his stares that begged for your approval. You lift your shirt off over your shoulders, slinging it around your neck as you grab a fresh one.

✧ The room: … You: … You: 🫥

✧ “…What?”

✧ Vasco’s eyes start to gloss over as he frantically grabs your shoulders, examining your bare chest.

✧ “(Y/N)… who hit you?” “I’m sure lots of people did…”

✧ Vasco shakes his head, rubbing his hand across the massive dark splotch that stains your skin. The discolored purple and red resembles a fist… but it doesn’t seem to click to him.

✧ If he means right there… then…. “Probably you.”

✧ You smirk, shaking your head as Vasco stares at you in horror. The bruise doesn’t really bother you- you’re covered in them after today anyway.

✧ Of course you handle his outbursts calmly… reassuring him that you’re not angry.

✧ But he continues, eyes scanning over you for any more bruises that he might’ve given you. “I’m sorry (Y/N)… I didn’t mean for that to happen…”

✧ Vasco: 🥺😰

✧ He apologizes a million times, often quietly and at random. ✧ No- he will not forgive himself.

✧ Yes… he forgets about it for a few weeks before remembering and apologizing all over again.

✧ Jace and the rest of the Burn Knuckles make sure to not ever bring it up again. You also are forced to wear some form of padding under your shirt whenever you get into a fight.

𝐙𝐚𝐜𝐤

✧ Zack isn’t gonna deny it. That guy is getting on his nerves.

✧ This was supposed to be a hang out with him and (Y/N). They were gonna chill and head to the movies. Maybe do some karaoke later.

✧ Just the two of them. Not even Mira was tagging along today.

✧ But then this guy showed up.

✧ Zack feels himself growing more agitated by the minute. He grits his teeth and looks in the opposite direction, willing himself to calm down.

✧ (Y/N) and him are on a park bench… and this idiot decides to stand behind them and catcall.

✧ “You work out bro~?”

✧ Zack is literally seething. (Y/N) has to put his hand on Zack’s leg to keep him from springing up.

✧ “Do you mind reading between the lines?” (Y/N) asks, flashing his three middle fingers before turning to Zack.

✧ “Wanna go to the theatre early? We could walk around-” he whispers, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

✧ Zack is still irked. His brows are knitted together tightly, but he simply shrugs and nods: “Whatever. Let’s just get away from this dunce.”

✧ The dunce, however, seems to really like being annoying. “Can I tag along with you two-?”

✧ “F*ck off,” Zack glares. He starts walking ahead, curling his hands into fists but keeping them shoved firmly in the corners of his pockets.

✧ He keeps his gaze trailed on the ground, trying to cool off. He’d hate to ruin this hang out with (Y/N) even more. So he’ll play it cool and be the bigger man- like Mira tells him to be. It’s hotter that way. ((Y/N) will think so too, right?)

✧ The smirk that spread across his lips disappears in a matter of moments.

✧ “Nice ass-!” The creep calls.

✧ And that’s it. The final straw.

✧ Zack is going for a straight jab. He’d be caught dead before he let someone get away catcalling (Y/N) of all people-

✧ He turns and slams his fist, making direct contact. He can hear the definitive clack of teeth, he watches as he stumbles backwards.

✧ But Zack realizes what he’s done…

✧ “S-Sh*t (Y/N)! What were you doing there-?” (Y/N) nurses his jaw tenderly, glaring. He sighs and turns to the guy, telling him to ‘beat it.’

✧ Zack moves to cup (Y/N)’s cheek, looking frantic. He mumbles ‘idiot’ over and over… but more to himself than anyone.

✧ He knows he’s screwed up big time. He’s insistent on helping (Y/N) walk… even though he isn’t dizzy and he claims his cheek isn’t sore.

✧ He tries to forget about it as they watch the movie… but he can’t. As soon as the lights in the cinema flicker on he scans (Y/N) for any bruising.

✧ “I can’t believe it’s so big…” “I already told you it’s fine.” “But- argh I should beat that guy to a pulp- you sure you’re okay?” “Yeah I’m sure, Zack.”

✧ He’s apologetic- but still an angry boy at heart.

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐞

✧ In his defense- Jace is usually pretty good about “self control” and everything.

✧ He’s also pretty good about it reading the atmosphere. He can tell when the mood has turned sour or hostile.

✧ He’s able to “let it go” when there’s a petty misunderstanding. Most of the time.

✧ But today this one guy (Duri…?) is killing him.

✧ He’s been a nuisance for a few weeks now… but The Burn Knuckles never had the heart to tell him off. Even (Y/N) was pretty chill about the guy- and he was usually more fiery than Jace.

✧ But as of right now, Jace stands idly with Woong and (Y/N), listening to whatever BS that guy, Duri Lee, is spewing out.

✧ Woong and (Y/N) are listening boredly as the one-sided conversation turns from childish comparisons to full-fledged insults.

✧ Duri wraps his arm around (Y/N)’s shoulder, despite (Y/N) having shrugged him off twice already.

✧ Jace feels awful. He reminds himself of how jealous Johan was back during the One Night scandal. It’s embarrassing knowing that he’s feeling jealousy about… this.

✧ He’s not a jealous person… but Duri really gets on his nerves. If he keeps up his stupid act, his stupidity might spread to Jace… and then he’ll do something stupid.

✧ Even as Duri begins to degrade Jace himself, rambling a bunch of nonsense about how he “isn’t as smart as he looks”, Jace manages to keep it together. He feels a twinge of annoyance and glares, but he doesn’t say anything.

✧ The rest of the Burn Knuckles aren’t buying the bs anyway. So it’s fine.

✧ “Know you place, Duri.”

✧ Jace’s gaze snaps over to (Y/N). Did he hear him correctly? Did (Y/N) finally say something? He feels a small smile winding onto his face-

✧ “I know exactly where my place is!” Duri sputters indignantly. His look of shock is short lived and is soon replaced by a smirk. It’s highly probable that he’ll take a pathetic jab at redemption.

✧ Jace hates the way Duri’s eyes roam over (Y/N). He braces himself for what comes next.

✧ “It should be sweating over you, if you know what I mean.”

✧ Great. Gross.

✧ Jace turns to Duri now, scowling at him, “You wanna say that again? The Burn Knuckles don’t hit on each other, so don’t even think-” “Whatever Jace. Me and him were just gonna do some catching up~”

✧ Duri makes a crude gesture with his hands. He keeps his arm wrapped around (Y/N), who rolls his eyes and glares.

✧ (Y/N) sighs, “Or so you think. You do know that me and Jace are-”

✧ One kick- one harsh smack. Jace doesn’t know what he’s doing- but whatever it is lands Duri facedown on the floor.

✧ He’s startled by his own rashness. Stupidity really is contagious. He frowns down at Duri but doesn’t move anymore. “Like I said. Burn Knuckle members like you aren’t allowed to hit on their superiors.”

✧ He turns to embrace the startled and disappointed stares from Woong and (Y/N) (respectively)

✧ But naturally, Duri needs to have the last word. Like all PTJ small fries, he wants to sign his death certificate a little early.

✧ “That stupid hierarchy is never gonna get you laid,” he grumbles.

✧ Jace turns and throws all his weight into the kick-

✧ Blocked.

✧ (Y/N)…?

✧ (Y/N) has his arms outstretched in a block, giving Jace an unreadable stare. He sighs, releasing the second-in-command’s foot.

✧ “(Y/N)-” “That’s gonna leave a bruise.”

———

✧ Jace is sitting with (Y/N) a little latter. He still feels a pang of frustration when he remembers the little situation… as well as guilt for hitting (Y/N).

✧ (Y/N) rolls up his sleeves, looking over his arms quietly. Based on his eerie calmness, Jace can assume that there’s a pretty large bruise forming.

✧ Despite the knowing of guilt, Jace is a tad bit grateful for the intervention. He knows (Y/N) only stopped him for the sake of his dignity.

✧ “You’re not normally so passive-aggressive,” (Y/N) comments nonchalantly.

✧ “I know… I’m sorry.” Jace rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, feeling a touch of color flare in his cheeks.

✧ He promises to help ice it, and assures (Y/N) that he won’t do anything like that again. He just smiles dryly and waves it off.

✧ “You probably won’t have the need to,” he says.

✧ Jace looks up at him, his fingers still gingerly rubbing around the bruise. “Won’t have to… attack Duri?”

✧ (Y/N) nods, “He p*ssed himself, apparently.”

✧ Jace knows it’s wrong… honest to god he feels bad… but he couldn’t help but smirk at the thought.

(I swear I’m sorry this entire thing is a mess. I can’t decide which POV to stick to-)

𝐕𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐢𝐧

✧ In his defense, Vin had recently gotten his glasses re-tinted… and so he was having some trouble adjusting.

✧ But it would’ve been nice if he didn’t walk by you in some grubby alleyway. What a nuisance. He just wanted to go home, listen to some rap, and eat his onion rings.

✧ But you… of course… found yourself in a predicament. 😔

✧ “You’re just gonna stand there?” You call, back pressed against the wall as you stare lazily past the punks you apparently offended.

✧ They seem ticked that your attention is suddenly elsewhere.

✧ Vin just stares at you, silent for a moment, before shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s not my problem.”

✧ “They called me a d*ck-” you call. Although the familiarity of the term has nulled any offended emotions, you’re certain Vin has reserved insulting-you-rights for himself.

✧ “Not my problem,” Vin insists, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

✧ The punks continue to close in on you, throwing insults at the two of you- despite Vin being across the alley. You both ignore them.

✧ “Ah- they also called Mary fat.”

✧ “Still not my problem.”

✧ “They said Duke’s music is better than yours-”

✧ “Did not!”

✧ “And they called your sunglasses ‘gaudy’.”

✧ Which is followed by silence as one of the punks lowers a cigarette bud towards your cheek. You don’t flinch, staring past his shoulder at Vin.

✧ You wait in anticipation for Vin to say something. Anything. You’re so intent on seeing his reaction you hardly notice the burning sensation of the cigarette nearing your skin.

✧ “No they didn’t…” Vin mumbles. He adjusts his stance- and now you’re sure he isn’t going to abandon you.

✧ “Would you freaks shut up?!” The punk rolls his eyes in exasperation, pulling the bud away from your face and turning to Vin.

✧ “Or do you have somethin’ you wanna say too?” The delinquent flicks the cigarette to the side, staring your knight-in-shining-armor up and down reproachfully.

✧ You inwardly moan. Vin has lots of things he wants to say. It’s best not to get him started.

✧ “You talk too much,” Vin answers, and begins strutting forward.

✧ You crack your knuckles, relieved you won’t have to take them all on your own.

✧ “Anyway this is a waste of my time- so let’s just go (Y/N).” He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, not at all prepared for the slap.

✧ Yes. A petty, weak, girlish, slap.

✧ A slap that knocks his sunglasses askew. You freeze.

✧ “Hey,” you call loudly, watching as their heads swivel towards you. “Don’t look at him. Say anything and I-”

✧ The loud noise of bones cracking interrupts you-

✧ Vin goes rampant, giggling and grinning like a school girl. Oh hell. You shrug and get into your own fighting stance. “Well I guess he’ll kick your asses anyways- so nevermind…” you mutter.

✧ Those stupid glasses. Distorting his vision all the time. Even…

✧ In fights.

✧ You feel numbness tingling through your arms as you avoid another swing of your opponents arm. Reaching up with a strike of your own, you manage to punch him in the ribs for a KO.

✧ You’re so focused. Vin is so distracted.

✧ You scan the two other guys already beaten to the ground, and look up to see Vin walking towards you victoriously—

✧ But instead he’s charging you with arms at the ready— “WAIT VIN-!”

✧ He stops mid-swing… but only after he’s felt his skin contact with yours.

✧ The force sends you backwards into the wall. Nausea and dizziness begin bubbling in your body.

✧ You feel your knees buckle and your eyes crossing, and the pounding of your heart is auditable in your ears as you nurse your numb jaw.

✧ Meanwhile Vin just stands there in shock, calling you names while asking insincerely if you’re okay.

✧ “You can’t blame me cuz you were in the way you little sh*t! Ugh… f*ck…” he mutters.

✧ You’re calm while he rambled, but your patience begins to thin as he continues insisting the blame was all on you.

✧ “Vin…” you say calmly. “Would you shut the hell up. If it weren’t for your stupid glasses…”

✧ -He gawks in surprise

✧ “Then I wouldn’t have a concussion. Or a nose bleed,” you snap.

✧ There’s silence. Your face is illuminated by the blue light of your phone as you search for the Urgent Care nearby.

✧ “…That does look pretty bad.” Finally. He has the decency to be a little sincere.

✧ Vin leans in closely, trying to catch your eye. While you avoid eye contact, you are perfectly in tune with his movements.

✧ “I’m taking you to my place,” Vin huffs with a smirk, seemingly trying to redeem himself as he shoves his hands into his pants.

✧ “I thought you didn’t care earlier,” you answer, still scrolling on your phone. Only half-listening.

✧ Then his bulky arm wraps around your torso, and he scoops you over his shoulder.

✧ ‼️

✧ Not good for the nausea or dizziness.

✧ But anyway…he did carry you to the Urgent Care…

✧ Where he blatantly denies bruising you up, and even laughs a little. (Okay- he does feel a little guilty…)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧

✧ “(Y/N)-” “I’m not closing my eyes.”

✧ There’s no way you’re letting Warren take them all by himself.

✧ It’s just not happening.

✧ He seems to know. He’s fine with you fighting, as long as he isn’t there to worry over you. He can’t get over the urge to intervene and protect you until the fight is over. That’s always been the case.

✧ “You let Eli fight,” you remind him, turning to face away from him and towards the crowd of delinquents. “You’re not (Eli. That’s) different.”

✧ You’re not different than Eli? Well then, you’ll take that as a yes… even if you do inwardly know what he was trying to say.

✧ Your shoes slap against the floor as you walk through puddles of water. The day is overcast, just like Warren’s mood.

✧ Soon enough the blood mixes with the water.

✧ The man spits out a tooth as you throw an elbow into his jaw. Your clenched fists shake like leaves as you deliver a kick into his back.

✧ It’s loud- but you can’t even hear the shouts of grunts of the fight…

✧ Just the ringing in your ears. The adrenaline pump doesn’t help… it just gives you endurance and an animalistic will to withstand the blows. It doesn’t help you make decisions, or strike properly.

✧ “Warren-!” You feel your heart beating in your ears.

✧ Warren is smart in his own way. But once his mind is shrouded with concern, he’ll do anything to plow a path straight to you.

✧ Oh? You were just trying to draw his attention to the guy making a lame attempt at a “sneak attack?”

✧ Nevermind then…

✧ But as it starts winding down and all that’s left are the decently-difficult fighters… Warren feels his heart lurching out of his chest.

✧ “Gotta help (Y/N)…” he thinks to himself. And the thought replays. Over and over. “The mighty Warren Chae won’t let him get hurt...”

✧ (Y/N)…. (Y/N)….

✧ You….

✧ “You-!?” Slam

✧ Warren didn’t mean to loose focus and body slam you into the wall— but he did—

✧ “You’re…(good?I didn’t see you) in the way! (Sorry!)” His words slur thickly and he skips a few while he’s at it.

✧ Your vision feels fuzzy. Your body feels hot as he presses his rough hands against your neck. But as your heartbeat slows back to normal, and the adrenaline boost wears off, you come to face reality.

✧ The fight isn’t over.

✧ “I’m fine Warren,” you assure him calmly. “But don’t get distracted-”

✧ “Then listen to me,” he says firmly. Ignoring the oncoming kick directed at him, he leans (down/up) towards you. “Close your eyes.”

✧ He forces your body into a sitting position on the ground. Your hands shake slightly as you hold your sore shoulder. Your eyes are squeezed shut.

✧ You keep quiet and try to block out the disturbing noises. Shouts of agony, the snapping of bones. It doesn’t bother you as much when you’re fighting together… but knowing Warren is going rampant makes you uneasy.

✧ “Okay… open your (eyes).”

✧ Warren is already kneeling beside you, brushing his calloused hands around your torso to (take off your jacket and) lift off your shirt.

✧ You feel the cold slap of breeze against your skin 💨 👋

✧ Warren’s droopy eyes look a mixture of sad-dog and irritated-cat. How could he mistake you for the enemy?

✧ Guilty… frustrated… concerned.

✧ He rubs his rough palm against your shoulder. His thumb pad traces circles around the large bruise that’s forming.

✧ The longer you sit there, the darker the bruise seems. And it’s making Warren a little paranoid.

✧ “It’s getting worse-” he mumbles.

✧ “I’ll be fine.”

✧ “I’ll treat it back home.”

✧ “Alright… take me to bed I guess.”

✧ “…”

✧ A pause.

✧ “Bed rest. I meant. Not really like that.”

✧ “…I was gonna say. I’m not sure if you’re up for that.”

✧ Yeah. It’s time to shut up.

✧ Is Warren sad? Yes. Guilty? Yup. Frustrated? Very. It’s never happening again. You’ll probably never be allowed throw a punch in his presence ever again.

𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐢

✧ Magami curls his toes into the sticky martial arts mats that line the floor. Even though it’s night outside, the training room is still illuminated by tube lights overhead.

✧ Practicing his karate, even when the room is empty and less stuffy, still feels constructing in the mask. It’s still not as bad as it is in the arena.

✧ He practices the fluid motion of his kick again.

✧ Then the movement of his strike.

✧ He hears the door creak open. Kenta swears that if Nomen tries to interrupt him with some annoying sh-

✧ A best of silence passes as he distances himself from the sandbag. Maybe it wasn’t Nomen after all.

✧ But then there’s a voice that sounds out-

✧ Magami feels the blood rushing to his face- and without thinking he swings his leg for an ushiro geri-

✧ Slam.

✧ He feels his foot connect with wood, snapping through the barriers and splitting the cypress in half. His pulse remains sickeningly fast as he straightens and turns to face the back.

✧ He was right. It wasn’t Nomen…

✧ Instead, Tanuki - you - stands rigidly behind him, cupping your face and the shattered splinters of wood.

✧ He broke your mask.

✧ “It’s just me, Daruma…” you say quietly, still standing stiff and in shock. You stare at him with half of your face naked and exposed while dragging your finger across your damp cheek. Blood. You’re bleeding…

✧ “Don’t get in my way again.” That’s his reply.

✧ His voice is deep and muffled. A better mask for his emotions that’s the actual mask that he wears. You can tell, out of perceptiveness, that he’s a bit flustered.

✧ His brows are drawn together tightly and his lips purse from behind his disguise. He feels his heart hammering in his chest. Why Tanuki…? Of all people.

✧ You tuck your free hand into your pocket, removing the remains of your mask with the other with calm precision, nodding understandingly.

✧ “I was coming to tell you how late it was,” you drawl.

✧ This is why Kenta thinks you can be an annoying prick. You stand there in such a relaxed pose, voice drawing reactions out of Kenta he has no control over.

✧ His eyes are wandering. Tanuki (you) was always more appealing to Kenta than the others, to an extent.

✧ “How late is it?” He asks.

✧Tanuki wasn’t as annoying as Nomen, and he carried a conversation better than Hyottoko. Hanyya was always accompanied by Nomen, so that was a no-go. And Tanuki was much less obnoxious than Shiba Inu.

✧ “The circus is starting in an hour. It’s that late.”

✧ His eyes wandered up from your dress shoes, your suit pants… and flickered over that iconic, unmistakable bulge that earned you the Tanuki alias; across his chest and up to your cheek.

✧ Kenta’s attention was fixated on your cheek. With the mask no longer covering your face, he could see your features for the - third time?

✧ And your cheek, he notices, is bleeding.

✧ “You’re gonna form a bad bruise if you don’t ice that,” he remarks all of a sudden.

✧ He moves to unbutton his suit and change into the convict clothes. Keeping his focus away from you.

✧ “Oh…” you murmur from behind him. Even without looking, Kenta knows you’ve begun touching your cheek gingerly again. “Well it doesn’t matter. It’s always covered up anyway.”

✧ Kenta doesn’t feel as guilty about it as he does embarrassed. And it’s not really- embarrassment… just- he just feels flustered. Actually, at this point he isn’t sure how he feels.

✧ “Ice it.” This time it’s not a warning, but a command.

✧ “I will… I will. Afterwards. You need help-?”

✧ At this point, Magami is convinced Tanuki could pull off any pose and turn him on. He feels riled up and agitated as you lean to help unfasten a particularly stubborn button.

✧ “…Don’t be a d*ck, Tanuki.”

✧ “‘No thanks’ would’ve sufficed.”

✧ You proceed to unfasten his shirt anyway. Kenta’s face remains impassive, but he won’t deny his gratitude for the mask policy right now 🫣.

✧ He stares at the bloody, darkening splotch on your cheek. Unmistakably the result of his kick. He also notes that you look good without the mask.

✧ Once he slides out of his shirt and into the bright orange one, he brings up his finger to tap harshly against your face.

✧ “Well, ice it soon.”

✧ He starts unfastening his pants. As he bends down, he can’t help but sneak glances at your limp bulge tucked away in your own slacks. He really disgusts himself sometimes. But you’re so damnably attractive, it’s almost annoying.

✧ Rephrase: it is annoying.

✧ You adjust your stance, shifting your weight from leg to leg and crossing your arms. Damn you. Kenta almost chokes.

✧ “Will do,” you chuckle.

✧ “Don’t make me kick you again.”

✧ “Daruma…”

Cough- cough… ☞︎ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

𝐆𝐨𝐨

✧ “Don’t wander off too far boo~”

✧ “Goo…”

✧ You feel a little exasperated. As Goo Kim’s secret friend, you’d think he’d treat you more like an equal. Or at least have confidence in your capabilities.

✧ And how did you end up being singled out as his ‘dearly beloved’ anyway?

✧ As you land another hit on some poor punk’s ribs, you feel your promise ring scrape his skin and draw blood.

✧ So… seeing as you’re wearing that ridiculous price of jewelry… you sort of already know how that story ended.

✧ But it doesn’t matter. You’re tying to stay level-headed as you fight, and your ‘future spouse’ being obnoxious isn’t soothing your nerves.

✧ In fact, you can’t recall a single time fighting with Goo was therapeutic. So I guess this isn’t anything different from the norm.

✧ “What’s for dinner?” You ask boredly. You sink into your toes and dodge a wild swing, kicking the kid in the gut.

✧ “Whatever you feel like babe!” Goo replies energetically as he finishes bashing in some heads.

✧ “I could go for some bird meat,” you muse quietly as a new onrush of guys heads your way. It’s a wonder than Goo hears you.

✧ “Ooh- okay! How about chicken?”

✧ “Pass. Turkey?”

✧ Goo swings a crowbar around expertly, a more focused expression on his features. He takes a moment to reply. “Nah… I hate the flavor.”

✧ “Okay, how about-”

✧ “Duck!”

✧ Whack.

✧ “…Or just… embrace it I guess. You look hot either way, babe.”

✧ “Kim… remember our conversation about clear communication?”

✧ “Uh huh? But I did warn ya!” “We were literally talking about birds.”

✧ You snap a guys wrist without even looking, glaring (up/down) at Goo.

✧ The rest of the fight you ignore him. Your expression remains neutral afterwards as he takes you to the urgent care.

✧ “At least it hit you in the shoulder!”

✧ “Yeah- I wonder where it would’ve hit me if I had ducked.”

✧ “Stop being all calm and angry at me boo! It’s creepy!”

✧ “…Alright. Whatever Goo.”

440 notes · View notes

thegnomelord · 11 months ago

Note

Ripping the sheets at the thought of prompt #25 with Draconic Price with Mage!reader who can't handle alcohol that well ❤️‍🩹

Sure thing anon, sorry it took so long getting to your prompt 😅 Play the game HERE

Prompt: Drunken confessions

CW: SFW, GN reader, Monster AU, Gn Reader, Dragon Price drinking, drunk confessions, fluff.

To say you're a lightweight is to say the sky's blue. It's an endless source of amusement to the lads; all they have to do is sit back after a stressful mission, give you booze, and watch the fireworks — literally, when your magic sparks across the bar, little sparks crackling along the ceiling, growing wilder with each shot you take down.

Price smirks behind the rim of his beer as he watches you and Soap knock back shots of liquor in a drinking game, not even trying to understand the slurred tangent you're on; mages are nerds at heart, and the booze has melted your tough guy act and leaving you rambling on about the intricacies of magic. It's one of the things he likes about you, how passionate you are; a good treasure to keep in his hoard.

But Price figures it's time for you to go when you nearly set a trashcan on fire in the corner, your vision long since doubling, the alcohol burning in your mind so strongly a bit of your original eye color peeks out beneath the unnatural glow of mana in your eyes.

"Come on you muppet," He signs, tugging you up by the back of your clothing like you're a wet kitten. You whine and attempt to struggle, but his draconic strength far surpasses yours. "It's far past your bed time." He adds, a little rumble in the back of his throat making liquid heat pool in your belly.

"But captain-" You grumble, the world spinning like a kaleidoscope as Price pulls you out of the bar, enough sense in your brain to throw a middle finger at the rest of your team when they wolf whistle and holler.

"Not a pipe out of you." Price sighs, wing stretching out like a shroud around your back, trying not to pay attention to the way his draconic blood sings when you lean in close; trying not to think how well you fit against him, like a treasure he can hoard. "C'mon, I'll drive you home."

You mumble a few curses under your breath as he helps you into the passenger seat of his car, your inhibitions so lowered so that when he leans over to buckle your seatbelt you tilt your head, burying your nose into his neck and taking in his scent, the smell of musk and cigar smoke filling your senses. Price does his best to reign in his draconic blood, a flash flood of desire burning in his head.

"Easy there mage," He huffs and shakes his head, pushes you back into a seat with an amused snort, settling into the car. The drive back to base is like a blur to you, spent rambling about something even you can't remember as Price just hums in acknowledgement, occasionally having to swat away your wandering hands trying to grope his thigh.

Price has to carry you to your room as you're so drunk you can't stand straight, head nodding as you slowly fall asleep in the car before you even reach the gates. Price tries not to think of how well you fit in his arms as he hoists you up, holding you close to his chest. You head ends up laying on his chest, face buried in his neck.

"Hey cap?" You mumble against his skin, squirming a bit as he carries you.

"Yes?" He asks, heart beating just a little faster as you clumsily wrap your arms around his neck. You mumble something into skin, so soft and low even his advanced hearing can't pick it up, making his ears strain to hear you as he enters your room. "You need to speak up there, mage."

"I love you cap." You slur, so honest and loving, and Price nearly topples over, feet catching on a random piece of junk you've got strewn around your room. But you choose that exact moment to squirm and he ends up tossing you onto your bed, your hangs clutching him tight and pulling him down too.

"Fuck-you bloody muppet!" Price grows, shifting to put the tension off his wing from how awkwardly he'd landed. He attempts to get up, but you're stronger than you look when you want to be, clinging to him like a little koala with your arms and legs wrapped around him.

"Nooo-" You whine, burying your head into his chest, squeezing your arms when you feel his skin is as warm as yours, your mana and dragon fire so similar it's like there's no barrier between your chests. "Mhm, love you John," You say again, making his head short circuit for a few moments, draconic instincts sparking up, wing and tail wrapping around you.

"You-" He sighs as he catches himself, embarrassment blooming in his chest at how he's acting like a young welp. By the time he's calmed down, you've already fallen asleep and using his pecs like a pillow, snoring lightly as you drool over his chest.

"You. . ." Price hums, a small smile tugging on his lips. He shuffles in an attempt to get comfortable, your bed isn't made to house two people but you're cuddled up to him so closely it's like you two are one person. "Bloody mage." He huffs under his breath, his clawed hands carding through your hair, sharp fingers scratching your scalp.

A happy little rumble leaves his chest when you nuzzle closer, your body so warm thanks to the mana in your system. It feels. . . nice, more than nice, his draconic ancestry purrs in his ears and he pulls you closer so your head rests buried in his neck, your and his scents mixing together.

Chances are you won't remember any of this. Chances are you'll deny your words, say it was just belligerent nonsense. But for now you love him, and he leans in to nuzzle his cheek against your hair, big burly arms wrapping around your middle, whispering lowly in your ear— a statement. "Love you too, you muppet."

#Gnome's Prompt Game #cod mw2 #x reader #gnome correspondence #trinkets from the hoard #captain john price #captain john price x reader #john price x gn!reader #gn reader #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod modern warfare

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keirawantstocry · 8 months ago

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Hi im Back, 💋anon ,once again to inhabit your inbox Forever. I would like to say Yes Thank You Your So so so so good at writing. AHHHHH. I fully believe tubbo needs to be covered in blood on at least a bi-weekly basis. Once again, All The Kisses, we can also throw in a lil stabbin as a treat since you seemed to enjoy the killing (im tired tho so not Too Much)

Soooooooo, as the prompt, tubbo just sleeps, Everywhere, since dying. Hes just tired All The Time. the choco/horse pit, the wither skelly farm, spawn, On Top of Fit (and or others) but just like, On His Shoulders. Fit is Unbothered and keeps going like nothings changed.

Hope you have a good day! (glad you enjoyed the "kill me" part :> , and also that you Do Not Care how long these get, thats gen comfortin, I have Issues <3)

Hehehe kisses and stabbing? You spoil me hehe. and thank you so much <3 (i get it darling dw i dont mind how long or short these are <3)

They weren’t quite sure what to expect at first after Tubbo’s revival. Fit wasn't surprised about the aggression. Not in the slightest. After his very first experience with the respawning mechanics he woke up quite angry as well. But after the anger came… exhaustion.

Fit found him multiple times at spawn, at farms, dead asleep. He shook him awake every time.

“You can't be here. Just dangerous for you to be sleeping everywhere.”

Tubbo squinted at him, eyes half opened. “I'm tireddd,” he whined, slumping back over.

Fit sighed, before wrapping his arms around the boy's body and lifting him up. Tubbo dropped his head against Fit's chest and relaxed into him. “Mmm,” he hummed. “This feels better than the floor.”

“No shit,” Fit snorted. “Sleep okay?” Without another word, Tubbo's eyes slipped shut. Within a few minutes, even with the shuffling of Fit's movements, Tubbo was snoring softly.

It became routine to see them together. Fit working away at whatever he had to do, while Tubbo lay slumped over on his shoulder sleeping peacefully. Pac loved it. He would smile so gently at the both of them while prattling on about ideas he had for the house.

“Fitch, it's smart! We can build him a room with us, yeah? That would solve the problem of him just sleeping wherever he pleases. You can still carry him around but if you're ever tired then you can just sleep in the bed with him.”

Fit paused. “That is pretty smart.”

Pac grinned. “I know, I know.” He sprung up. “Let's build it now! A surprise for him when he wakes up.”

They finished it long before he worked up. Man, could that dude sleep.

When he finally awoke it was tight arms in a bed he didn't recognize. Blinking a few times he looked around the room. There above the bed was Pac, who smiled at him. “Hey sleepy head.”

“Hey,” Tubbo said softly, voice hoarse. He shifted his head to look at who was holding him and wasn't surprised to see Fit, dead asleep. “Where am I?”

“Our house,” Pac explained, sitting down on the bed next to him. “We build you a room that we can take you to when you're close to falling asleep places.”

Tubbo blinked slowly at him as his exhaustion began to creep into his mind once again. “Okay,” he muttered before holding out his arms. “C'mere. Cold.”

Pac laughed before obliging and curling up next to him, letting Tubbo wrap around him like a monkey. Pac fell asleep soon after joining Fit in slumber while Tubbo just relaxed in between them. For once he felt safe and warm. Warm in a way that transcended the cloudy warmth of dreams. He didn't sleep but by the time they did he felt truly rested for the first time since his revival.

#qsmp #my writing #fanfiction #poly morning crew #q!tubbo #q!pac #q!fit #fitpacbo #my favorite little guys #💋 anon

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denaliwrites · 11 months ago

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The Future Ex Mrs. Malcolm

Ian Malcolm x Fem!Reader

Catch and Release Prompt: "Service"

Summary: (18+) You weren't quite sure how the chaotician became famous, but you were starting to see how he got his reputation.

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Excessive use of filler words. Oral (f receiving). Age gap (only mentioned).

You were pretty sure, from the moment you first saw him, that Ian Malcolm was famous. Did you know who he was or why he was famous? Of course not. He just had an air of superiority about him that only came from spending an extended period of time in the spotlight.

Well, a spotlight, at least.

You later found out that his claim to fame had something to do with math and chaos -- he'd been all too eager to explain it to you, but to be honest, anything to do with numbers slid right off your brain, and his pretty smile didn't really do your retention capabilities any favors.

You first met him when he brought his perfectly ordinary, if a bit "Hot Rod"-esque, car into your dad's shop to be serviced. While he waited for your dad to finish fixing up the car, the two of you talked.

Well, more accurately, you flirted shamelessly with no parent hovering menacingly over your shoulders.

You rather enjoyed the flirtatious attention of the older man, and you suspected he probably liked the equally flirtatious attention of a younger woman.

The next time you saw him, he had a different car. It was new, but only in the sense of whose hand it'd most recently fallen into. It was certainly older in every other way, maybe as old as Ian himself, though none of the previous owners had taken good care of it. The shell was rusted, parts were damaged or missing, and the seats almost certainly had blood in them.

Fixing it was going to be a multi-visit affair.

And that was how you found yourself being serviced by Ian behind your dad's car service shop.

It'd started like any of his other visits. This was his sixth, overall, and the two of you were emboldened by the idea that your father hadn't caught on yet --

Well, you were emboldened. You were pretty sure Ian didn't need a reason to be, he was just like that naturally.

He'd come to your counter, as he always did, to buy a Surge he never actually drank. He'd flirted, as he always did, and you flirted right back, as you always did.

You mentioned taking a break, and he mentioned needing some air.

His Surge was left forgotten on the counter as he made his way out the back door. You followed behind five minutes later and found him waiting for you in a shaded corner where no one would see the two of you.

His eyes feasted eagerly over your legs, bare but for your upper thighs, though they were shielded only by the loose skirt of your sundress.

"Those, uh, go on for days, don't they?" he asked as he stepped nearer. Before you could respond, he swept you into his arms, and you couldn't help but notice that you seemed to naturally fit together, like puzzle pieces.

"I, uh, always wondered... what your, uh. Legs. Looked like," he continued as you were pressed to the wall and his mouth landed hot and heavy on your bare shoulder. "Could never really, you know, see them. While you were, uh, behind the counter."

You whimpered as his lips trailed down your arm a few inches, his heated breath leaving goosebumps as it dissipated over your skin and left only a cool reminder that he'd been there. "I-Ian," you gasped, a hand reaching up to weave into his curls. You tugged down, and he easily let you pull him away from you.

The smirk he shot you had you all but melting, and the growl that accompanied it had you all but quaking.

"Hey, uh, you're the one in control here," he said, though the smirk he wore made you think maybe he was the one that was really in control, he just happened to not mind much what he ended up doing with you, so he could afford to let you have the illusion of control.

Not that you minded, much. Either way, you were getting yours.

"Do whatever you want," you told him.

His smirk grew just a touch wicked at that. "That's a, uh, dangerous invitation," he said carefully, though you could hear the arousal choking his voice even so, "be careful you don't let any, um... vampires... in."

"Are you a vampire?" you asked.

"Maybe," he answered simply, before his lips were back on you, trailing ever downward until he was on his knees before you. "Oh, this is much better."

His breath teased your inner thigh, eliciting another whimper from you. Hearing the effect he had on you only made him do it more, and soon all you could do was whine desperately.

"Pretty, uh, sensitive?" he asked. All you could do was nod in response and gasp as you felt, more than heard, the dark chuckle that emanated from his throat.

He moved on, his hands splaying over your thighs and fingers digging in as his mouth moved over the tender flesh, all but worshipping you as he delicately lifted your left leg up and over his shoulder to lay gracefully across his back.

He had nearly perfect access to you, now, though your panties obscured his view. He didn't seem bothered, though, as his face disappeared under your skirt.

A moment later, you felt a finger gently brushing the cloth aside. You whined as it inevitably made contact with your slit, hips rolling eagerly for more.

"Ah, ah," he tutted, breath dancing over your slit drawing forth a moan. His growling chuckle only made you moan again. "Good girl," he said in amusement, his hands returning to your thighs to rub them comfortingly.

He gave the thick meat of your thighs a squeeze, and then you felt his hot mouth on you -- you choked back a yelp as his tongue teased at your clit, circling it a few times and flicking against it once.

To keep yourself quiet, you bit down on a curled finger, and to keep yourself grounded, you buried your other hand in Ian's curls.

This only seemed to egg him on. His tongue swiped swiftly down your slit and plunged into your cunt. Your teeth sank into your finger and the squeal that would've otherwise sounded instead died in your throat.

A breezy chuckle rolled over your clit as Ian drew back to lave attention on it. Your hips rolled in response, which only made him chuckle more.

You could feel your insides starting to coil, could feel the desperation building. Ian seemed to sense it too, as his ministrations became quicker and more precise. Every breath, every flick of his tongue and touch of his lips, had shifted from teasing to drawing out your orgasm.

You wanted to scream as one last lap of his tongue from hole to clit finally brought you over the edge, but you bit it down, even as his tongue continued to circle your little nub to ease you through the high.

To compensate for your inability to scream your pleasure, you tightened your leg draped over Ian's back, drawing him in deeper to your core. He didn't seem to mind, even as he found his mouth fuller than he anticipated, if the grin you could feel was anything to go by.

Gradually, and with Ian's expert guidance,, you came down. You panted and sagged against the wall once the post-orgasm fog drifted in, and Ian carefully eased your leg down so that he could stand and offer you support.

You could see your slick shimmering on his lips and mindlessly pulled him into a kiss. He eagerly returned it, hands holding you tightly to keep you close.

"Would you, uh... marry me?" Ian asked in a low whisper, his eyes meeting yours.

"Bit quick, isn't it?" you replied, though you were grinning.

He returned the gesture. "I, uh. Never was one for... moderation."

You were about to answer, but then you heard your father calling for you. You shot Ian an amused glance. "Guess you'll have to come back to get my answer."

"I. I, uh. Look forward to it?"

"Maybe you should come back with a ring. Just in case."

#ian malcolm x reader #ian malcolm x you #jurassic park x reader #jurassic park fic #jurassic park fanfiction #catch and release prompt #i had to google popular 90s drinks for this #because i was too young during the 90s to actually remember them later #a 90s kid in name only #more accurate to call me a noughties kid tbh

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things-arent-what-they-seem66 · 7 months ago

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I remembered the song All Dolled Up by theOrionExperience and realised that it's SO Holydust besties coded!! A fun night out to forget their troubles for a few hours and just enjoy each other's company.

You can take this as a writing prompt if you feel like writing about it <33

Indigo (platonic holydust advocate)

As a fellow platonic holydust advocate I'm in! And somehow I made it about Adamsapple angst lol It's my superpower apparently.

Feel free to send more prompts/asks!

"Hey, you wanna go out and get fucked up tonight?" Angel asked Adam as he stood in the sinners doorway.

Oh boy did Adam need some fun. "Fuck yeah, ready when you are."

"Great, let's go." Adam followed Angel out and down to the lobby. He didn't miss the side eye that Angel gave Husk. "We're going out, later."

"Where are you going?" Lucifer asked from his spot on the couch.

Adam rolled his eyes. "Out. Later." He stomped out the front door. "Everything okay with you and whiskers?"

Angel snorted, "I could ask you the same thing about his majesty."

Adam looked away scowling. "Fair enough."

"I'm too sober for this shit, let's get plastered."

Adam and Angel went to a popular club in Hell, where they did shots and drank so much their blood was more alcohol than ichor by midnight.

"Can you believe he said that he wanted to slow shit down? Like shit baby if we go any slower we'll turn into fucking snails! We haven't even fucked yet." Angel drunkenly ranted as he downed another shot.

Adam hummed, taking his own. "At least you don't have everyone making fucking jabs at you about being the King's fucking boy toy. Saying that you're just a royal cock sleeve til his cunt wife comes home."

Angel frowned. "Okay you win. That sounds fucking awful. Who the fuck said that? I'll fuck them up for you!"

Adam laughed. "It's mostly that Bambi motherfucker but he doesn't know shit! What Luci and I have is real!...... I hope." He looked down sadly at the table they were drinking at. Adam felt his lip quiver.

"You really love him, don't you?"

"Of course I do! I always have, I don't really believe in all that soulmate bullshit but if I did, I'm pretty sure he'd be mine...... Why else would it hurt this bad? All I ever wanted was for him to love me." Get a few drinks into Adam and he becomes super honest. "I never forgot him. How could I? I tried so fucking hard to hate him Angel, but I can't, not really."

"Well, if he can't wake up and smell the fucking coffee and see how great you are then it's his loss bud. Someone will see it." Angel tried, it was hard to be comforting while half snapped. Sure, him and Husk had issues but they were any sized compared to Adam and Lucifer's drama. Dating a King comes with King sized drama, who knew. "I thought you guys were dating."

"Who fucking knows. Fucker sends so many mixed signals."

"Let's forget about all this shit for now and just have a good time, yeah? We need it." Angel said handing him another shot.

Adam downed it in one go. "Fuck yeah."

By the time they got home to the hotel, it was only Lucifer and Husk still waiting up in the lobby for their boyfriends. Adam and Angel burst through the door laughing and joking.

Adam plopped down on the couch next to Lucifer and Angel was taken to bed by Husk who wished he had breath mints for his baby.

Adam looked at the king. "Heyyyyy.~" He leaned over and poked Lucifer on the cheek. "How you doing?"

"You're fucking drunk as hell."

"Nah uh, you're drunk and short." Adam burst into a fit of laughter at his own joke and Lucifer rolled his eyes playfully.

"Yup, very drunk. Can you even walk?" Lucifer asked as he moved to stand in front of Adam.

Adam picked up his leg and looked down at his foot. He gasped loudly. "Oh my god! I have no toes!" Lucifer had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Apparently drunk Adam forgot he had hooves.

"Those have been there the whole time, Adam."

"And you weren't gonna fucking tell me? Rude." Adam pouted and crossed his arms. He whined when Lucifer picked him up bridal style and held him close. "Hey!"

"Shhh, let's get you to bed." Lucifer thought about placing Adam in his own room, but decided to take him to his instead. Really, he was there so much they might as well just share the damn room.

Adam had taken to playing with Lucifer's bow tie and looking intently at the king. He felt his heart flutter, he loved Luci so much. He wrapped his arms more securely around Lucifer's neck and placed a kiss on his cheek before nuzzling his face into the king's neck breathing in his smell. Brimstone and something more earthy Adam couldn't place.

This surprised Lucifer, Adam wasn't one for gushy feelings or showing of affection. But he'll take what he can get.

Lucifer sat Adam down on the bed and helped him under the covers. Once he was settled, Lucifer got in on the other side. He watched Adam lay there, looking all around until his eyes landed on Lucifer. "Why don't you love me?"

Lucifers eyes went wide. "What are you talking about? I do love you."

Adam sniffed and looked away sadly. "That's not what I hear..."

Lucifer would really rather have this conversation with a sober Adam. "Look, I don't know what people are saying but listen to me when I say this. I love you, Adam. You mean the fucking world to me." He placed his hand on Adams cheek.

"Yeah?" Adam gave him a teary smile.

"Yes." Lucifer kissed him sweetly, he tasted like tequila. "Get some sleep, dove." Adam held out his arms and Lucifer chuckled. Drunk Adam was also very clingy. "Come here, you."

Adam snuggled against Lucifer's chest and sighed happily, he was even happier when he felt a hand in his hair messaging it gently.

Lucifer would have to be sure to show Adam how much he means to him. When he was sober of course.

#adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #lucifer x adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #platonic holydust #ask

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da-shrimping-station · 7 months ago

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Intrusive Thoughts

tw: blood, mentions and thoughts of violence and gore

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Hyperfixating on wings isn't a bad thing, Aren thought.

Humans don't have them and one can only imagine how it feels like to have a pair. They know Lucifer knows that they have a certain interest in them. It's rude to stare, yes. But Aren thinks it's even more rude to just touch without permission. And it's not like they'd get permission to anyway.

So they stuck to staring and observing, eyes filled with curiosity. Just like right now. They sat on the sofa, fiddling with the keychain on their DDD.

Lucifer and Simeon were talking, discussing something that flew over Aren's head because Lucifer was in his demon form, wings out and moving minutely in tandem with his other habits. It ruffled when he sighed, twitched when he seemed annoyed, and it drew close to his body when he was in deep thought. The pitch black feathers had a glossy sheen to it, probably some sort of waterproofing like the birds in the human realm but Aren could never be sure. It reflected the light from the fire quite nicely.

There's been a nagging thought that had bothered them from the very start. Other ideas started piling up on it too. Today must've been the day Aren couldn't keep it to themself anymore.

"Hey, Lucifer?" They call out softly. The eldest brother paused his conversation. He and Simeon turned to them in question. "How sturdy are your wings?"

"What?" Both men looked at them in confusion but Aren wasn't deterred.

"How sturdy are your wings? They're like a bird's right? Bone structure and feathers and all. Bird wings break and tear so easily. I'm just wondering if they're just as fragile."

Aren's imagination had run amok by then. How would it look like to see those wings break? To see those feathers being ripped off one by one? Would those bones be as fragile, snapping in half with just the right force and so easily torn off from his back? How much blood would there be? How would those feathers look, stained red with blood?

How would Lucifer sound like were it to happen to him?

But he had torn his own wings off right? But then again, tearing your own wings off and having someone else do it is another thing entirely...

And then there's Simeon. They hadn't seen his wings yet. They doubt they will in their entire life but they could imagine how it looks. Pure white and silky, not a blemish in sight. Two pairs of glowing wings fitting for a virtuous angel like him. For him, however, Aren would like to take his wings off with as little damage possible. As exciting as it is to picture red stains on pristine wings, they think it's best to keep them clean.

"Aren?" There was apprehension in Lucifer's voice, face set in a frown as he felt malice and violence rolling off of Aren in waves. "What prompted the question?"

"Are you alright?" Simeon must be feeling the same, walking closer to them with concern written all over his face.

"Ah, don't worry! I'm just curious, is all," they reassured with a chuckle, smiling brightly.

Lucifer's wings twitched, the sound of feathers rustling filled the brief silence. "Well, if you're really curious, angel and demon wings are very sturdy. Enough to be used offensively should the situation calls for it."

Aren hummed as they stood up. "A shame, then. Thanks for answering though! Well, I'll be off now. I gotta meet up with Solomon and Satan. Be back after dinner!"

Lucifer and Simeon watched with wariness as the human left the room with a spring in their step.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

#shrimpy drabble #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me swd #obey me lucifer #obey me simeon #obey me original character #obey me main character #aren can be a bit unhinged sometimes #i cant blame them #🦐:drabble

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galaxymagitech · 7 months ago

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Bleed the Poison Out

Written for Dick Grayson Anniversary Week: Day 3 Prompt: Apologizing to Dick

@dickgraysonweek

Summary

When is an apology not an apology?

Bruce apologizes to Dick. The apology turns into an argument and the argument turns into another apology. Standing on the smoking dumpster-fire of the past, Dick tries to find a way on. Two steps forwards, one step back.

Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne

Warnings: Discussions of physical and emotional abuse, possibly depiction of emotional abuse.

Dick drives home in the rain. It’s a good thing that there aren’t very many cars on the highway at this time of night, because he’s doing a pretty poor job of keeping his eyes on the road.

The car skids through a puddle, throwing up a dirty, toxic spray of water onto his windows. Dick ignores it and tries to keep his hands from shaking on the wheel. Things had been going well, damn it! He’d been trying, Bruce had been trying. Batman and Nightwing. Batman and Batman. Surely, the two of them can get along if they just put their fucking minds to it.

But Damian had needled and Jason had raged and Tim had gotten that closed-off look of his and Duke had thrown up his hands in disgust and stormed out, and that had left Dick and Bruce standing on opposite sides of the cave, tempers high and rising higher.

It hadn’t gone well. The fight wasn’t even supposed to be about the two of them, but Dick couldn’t resist bringing up old arguments, could he? It didn’t matter that he was right, they had fucking moved on, and—

Dick swerves, ignoring his turn signal as he crosses over a lane and then onto an exit in an almost 90 degree angle. The momentum throws him against his seat, but he makes it out into Blüdhaven. He needs to focus and leave the self-reflection for when he’s not manning a several-ton souped-up vehicle.

---

Twenty minutes later, Dick enters his apartment, tossing his keys on the table by the entrance with a tired sigh. Immediately, he feels on edge. There’s someone else here with him. It could be one of his siblings, it could be Deathstroke, it could be anyone, but—but it’s probably Bruce. The World’s Greatest Detective can’t ever just leave things be, can he?

That’s not fair. Dick doesn’t leave things alone either. It’s just that he normally waits until the argument’s already started to bring shit up instead of seeking out fights.

He catches a glimpse of a suspiciously-Bruce-shaped shadow and forces himself to relax. If this fight is going to get nasty again, he deserves a cup of coffee first.

Unfortunately, Bruce clearly doesn’t have the same plan, shifting silently out of the darkness.

“Hey,” Dick says, unable to keep the bite out of his voice. He steps into the kitchen and considers the table. There are five chairs, which isn’t enough for all his siblings, but it’s all that could fit. When the Titans are over or there’s a large Batkid gathering, they normally hang out in the living room, sprawled all over the couch and the softest rug Dick could find. It’s now covered in stains, mostly pizza sauce (and some blood, not that the stains look much different), but is still just as soft as it was when he bought it.

“Dick,” Bruce says quietly. Bruce, because the man surprisingly isn’t wearing his Batman suit. Dick resists the urge to comment on it.

“Bruce,” Dick responds, because he likes being difficult.

“Sit down,” Bruce says. Dick bristles. He knows that’s just how Bruce talks a lot of the time, short and to the point, but this is Dick’s apartment and he’s certainly not going to let Bruce stand over him while he yells.

“You sit down,” Dick says tiredly. Surprisingly, Bruce…does. He takes a seat at the table, facing the wall, hands clasped together. Dick cautiously walks around the table and sits across from him. He can see all the exits in the room, but Bruce is between him and them. Was that purposeful? Everything is purposeful, with Bruce, but Dick should probably give him the benefit of the doubt. Bruce is paranoid as hell and would prefer to be sitting where Dick is, with a clear view of everything. Dick in-between him and the exit wouldn’t even be a consideration for Bruce. It shouldn’t be a consideration for Dick, not in his own fucking apartment, where he should be able to kick Bruce out if he feels trapped with him. But if Bruce wants to talk, he’ll talk, and now Dick can’t storm out without getting his path blocked.

For a moment, Dick considers voicing his thought process out loud. He’s well aware of how crazy it sounds, thinking about exits and danger and seating preferences like this. And he kind of wants to shove that in Bruce’s face, like, look, look what I’m thinking about, is that normal, Bruce?

But he doesn’t say a word, just watches Bruce until his mentor is ready to speak. Dick’s paranoia is more of a reflection on himself than a judgement on Bruce.

“Are we okay?” Bruce asks.

What a stupid question. An hour ago, they were wrapped up in a vicious screaming match. “What do you think, B?” Dick deflects.

“I want us to be okay,” Bruce tells him earnestly. “I…you brought up a lot, when we talked.” Talked. That’s one word for it. More like screamed at the top of their lungs. “I didn’t know all that was still weighing on you. Some of what you said, it’s been years.” That sounds like an accusation. “I’m concerned.”

“It’s not like we ever talk about things after the fact,” Dick says. “What, do you think I’m going to just get over things? Well, that’s not how it works, B—” He cuts himself off before he says more. If he continues speaking, he’ll get patronizing.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Dick snorts. Does he want to talk about it? Of course he does, but every time he brings up past disputes, it just makes the present ones worse. “You know,” Dick says, “I think we could’ve been fine if you just apologized. But you never did.” Thrown in there is the assumption that Bruce owes him an apology. It’s so out of nowhere that Dick can feel tiny electric spikes prickling across his sweaty palms. Bruce won’t take this lying down.

“I’m.” Bruce looks down at his hands. Up. Meets Dick’s eyes so intensely that it’s painful, and then says three words. “I’m sorry, Dick.”

And. And. And—

And something inside him sinks and something inside him floats and he feels like he’s been crushed even as he’s cleaved in two. This is all Dick has ever wanted to hear. The fact that Bruce is saying it is miraculous. Dick never would have expected this. He expected another argument at worst, and at best a simple handoff of a case with the implicit message that he’s still allowed in Gotham. Not an apology. So, it’s amazing, it really is. But it’s not enough.

Too little, too late, Dick wants to say, but that’s not really fair, is it? And he wants to say it, but he doesn’t want to mean it. Just say it because he could mean it, and then watch Bruce’s face fall, and then reconcile. That’s cruel of him. He shouldn’t be trying to cause pain. He should be trying to fix this. This is the best opportunity he’s gotten to fix things in years, maybe since Jason’s death. He does want to fix this, right?

“You have to say it’s not my fault.” The words slip out before Dick can even realize he’s about to say them. Immediately, he winces at how childish he sounds. He’s adding on requirements, moving the goalposts. And yet, he’s spent years trying to apportion the blame for their every fight, and this could settle that once and for all. Dick needs this.

There’s a long pause, and Dick thinks that maybe this is where Bruce draws the line. But then—“It wasn’t your fault that I…hurt you,” Bruce agrees.

“Get out,” Bruce had ordered.

“I’m not going until you get your head out of your ass.”

“Get out, now, before I get you out!”

And Dick, well, he could never do anything but pick at a scab until it bleeds. “Yeah, how’s that work? Going to hit me, Bruce? Wouldn’t be the first time!”

Wouldn’t be the first time Dick has brought that up in an argument, either. But it’s the first time Bruce hadn’t just shot right past it. Tonight is the first time Bruce is actually acknowledging it.

Dick closes his eyes. He should be watching Bruce, soaking in every second of this. After all, he’s only going to get this apology once. But Dick can’t bear to look at him.

“Do you even understand what you’re apologizing for?” Dick pushes. “Is this about me, about us, or is it you just being upset about your lack of self-discipline?” He doesn’t mean to, he swears. He never means to start a fight, to turn what should be a conversation into an argument, but he always does it anyway. It’s a twisted talent for incitation and escalation, his dramatic stage presence turned toward making his life hell. But no—he’s the one speaking. He can’t pin his constant confrontational attitude on something nebulous like “stage presence.” He has to take responsibility. Dick knows exactly what he’s doing, and he can’t—no, he doesn’tstop.

“I haven’t been fair to you,” Bruce says quietly. “You’ve made a valid point that I’ve ignored your boundaries. And when you confronted me after—after Jason’s death, I…shouldn’t have hurt you.”

A valid point. Like Bruce is the final arbiter of that, judge and jury and his executioner’s axe is hanging right over Dick’s neck. It grates on him and his hands twitch, begging to curl into fists. Instead, he smooths them out palm-down on the table and presses lightly, enough to soothe himself without becoming threatening. Bruce doesn’t mean anything by the phrasing, it’s basically like lawyer language, carefully worded so as not to offend. Like Dick is a bomb that can be set off at any moment. The pressure of his hands on the table is the only thing holding his anger in. A valid point. Boundaries. Hurt you. Dick snorts. “Call it what it is, B. You hit me.”

Bruce, to his credit, doesn’t deny it. “Yes.”

How dare he be so calm? Dick is fighting everything in him not to yell right now, not to scream and fight and shout. And maybe that’s a sign that he’s everything that’s wrong in their not-quite-father-son relationship, because Bruce is sitting there calmly and apologizing even as Dick gives him a hard time about everything. “You hit me more than that. You didn’t mention those. Just right after Jason.”

“Once more,” Bruce says. “I’ve hit you twice and I—I apologized for the second time.”

The second time—though Dick isn’t even entirely sure it’s the second time, too many alternate timelines and ambiguous mental influence situations warping everything, making it impossible to keep count (and there’s a subtle sort of horror there, that he has to keep count)—the second time, Dick hit first. Bruce was being an asshole, abandoning his civilian identity and the entire family along with it, but Dick hit him first, and he hasn’t exactly apologized for it either. “I don’t care about that one. I attacked you. You defended yourself. It’s fine. You didn’t even need to apologize. But when you—when you thought Gordon was dead…I tried to stop you from going too far, and you hit me. I was just trying to help.”

“I’m sorry if you feel hurt by that, but—”

“I do,” Dick interrupts. How is Bruce supposed to apologize if Dick keeps interrupting? “I do feel hurt, because I was hurt, because you hit me. It’s not if.”

Bruce exhales. “I’m sorry that you feel hurt by that incident, but I threw you off me, Dick. I didn’t hit you.”

The funny thing is, Dick thinks, as the static fills his ears, I don’t think he’s lying. Bruce has never been one for lies. He’ll say he doesn’t care about emotions or something, but it’s about the words, not getting people to believe them. He’s as transparent as glass on that. And he’ll trick villains, but he doesn’t…he doesn’t lie about stuff like this. Dick’s good at reading people—he has to be. So, as he looks at Bruce’s face, he can confidently say that Bruce isn’t lying.

But Dick isn’t lying either, because he remembers it.

Dick should drop this. He has an apology, he has Bruce saying it wasn’t Dick’s fault, he has Bruce admitting it, mostly. Dick got what he wanted, or close enough, and he should just end the conversation here.

But Dick can’t seem to stop pushing. “You definitely hit me, B!”

“Are we really going to do this?” Bruce asks.

Dick stands up, his chair loudly scraping against the floor. He’s escalating again. He knows that, but it—it isn’t enough to make him stop. His heart clenches. It feels like the blood in it has turned to oil, slick and sickening. Everything feels so wrong. “Yes, we’re going to do this! I’m not lying, I’m—”

“I’m not accusing you of lying.” Bruce is still so fucking calm.

Dick hates when he’s like this, because sometimes Bruce is a raging storm and then sometimes it’s like he’s the most reasonable person in the universe. Dick never knows which version of his father he’s going to get. And when he gets one of them, he never knows if he’s just imagining the other.

“I’m saying that it was a complicated situation, and—”

“No!” Dick is breathing heavily and his voice is far too loud. Because he can’t listen, he doesn’t want to listen, he can’t listen, if he listens then he’ll start to believe it and he knows he’s right. But avoiding evidence is a sign of fearing the truth, and that’s not something a detective should ever do. Is Dick wrong? Mistaken? Accidentally trying to trick Bruce into believing something that isn’t true?

No. Deep breaths. Form an argument. Context clues. Dick can prove it, to himself and to Bruce.

“I had blood on my face, because you hit me. And I’m certain I did because I remember smelling it, tasting it. And Babs asked me what happened and I remember thinking, I don’t want to lie to her, and then doing it anyway. Where do you think that came from? My face just decided to injure itself after you politely pushed me off?”

“You’re arguing against a strawman—of course your face didn’t just injure itself. But I know I didn’t hit you.” It’s clear Dick’s sarcasm has gotten a rise out of Bruce, because Dick can hear the tension simmering in Bruce’s voice, watch his shoulders move from his normal awkward stiffness into something ready for offense. “Hitting someone in the face isn’t an effective way to stop them from pulling you away. I wouldn’t have hit you, it would be illogical.”

“Bruce, you weren’t thinking reasonably. I know what happened!”

“And I know what happened too. I’m telling you the truth, Dick. Please believe me on this.”

“But I’m telling you the truth! And you’re telling me—what, my memories are wrong? Come on, Bruce.”

“I am Batman.” Yeah, I fucking know that, no way do you think my memory sucks that much, Dick thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Sarcasm makes Bruce bristle, and Dick really needs to stop pushing things. Not that he’s. You know. Actually stopping. “I’ve trained for years to perfectly remember combat situations.” But not when he’s emotionally compromised. Not when he doesn’t want to remember. “I’m sorry I threw you off of me, but I won’t apologize for something that you’re misremembering. And I won’t let you force me to doubt my own memories.”

Dick lets out a hollow laugh, more for show than anything else. They’re dancing around the word, Dick knows, refusing to call it what it is. And suddenly, Dick can’t stand that. “You’re seriously accusing me of gaslighting you?”

“And what, you think it’s the other way around? I’ve made mistakes, Dick, but that is not something that I do.”

Dick throws his hands into the air. “I don’t know what to think!” He needs to calm down. This was supposed to be Bruce apologizing, and he’s ruining it. “I don’t know what to think,” he repeats more quietly, forcing himself to sit down. It sets him on edge. Batman—Bruce—is still blocking the exits. But he sits. “Okay,” Dick says. He breathes and imagines all the anger leaving his lungs. “I remember what I remember and…you remember what you remember. And neither of us are going to change our minds. So it…it is what it is.” He pivots. “But what about the tooth?”

“The tooth?” Bruce asks, and he’s back to being so fucking calm that Dick wants to sock him in the jaw and, well. If he feels like that, maybe he should have some empathy for what Bruce has to deal with when Dick’s being difficult. And, as this conversation is showing, Dick sure puts in an effort to be difficult. But, difficult or not, he’s still going to say his piece.

“You punched me hard enough that I lost a tooth, Bruce, what do you think I’m talking about?”

“I had to prove—”

“There’s such a thing as an X-ray.”

“I couldn’t risk—”

“No.”

“I didn’t have time—”

“No.”

“You wouldn’t have—”

“No.”

Dick can feel his heart beating too fast, can feel the rush it gives him to listen to Bruce try to defend himself and cut him off at every turn. But that’s not good. That’s not right, Dick shouldn’t be enjoying this, shouldn’t be playing like this is some sort of game, shouldn’t—

“Three times,” Bruce agrees quietly. “Three times. Dick, I—”

“And Spyral?” Dick asks. “What about in the cave, Bruce? Because what you did then…”

“We sparred,” Bruce says, but his face is closed-off.

“Some spar.”

“You wrapped your hands.”

Dick hadn’t remembered that part. But thinking back…Bruce was right. He did wrap his hands. Why had he done that? Why had he given up the one thing that would defend him now, show Bruce that this was wrong? By wrapping his hands, he had made it a spar. He had agreed to participate. It’s not fair to Bruce to pretend otherwise. But… “I asked to stop fighting.” But that’s wrong, isn’t it? He said no, he asked Bruce what was going on, he made it clear he wanted to stop, but he didn’t say that exactly. He wrapped his hands and he fought back. Fuck, he just lied, didn’t he? Dick just lied, but he didn’t mean to.

“You asked not to go to Spyral. You never tapped out.”

And yet… “I didn’t hit back until you sent me flying off a platform into Jason’s memorial. That’s not a spar, Bruce. I wasn’t fighting. You were, but I wasn’t. It wasn’t fair.”

“Dick.”

Dick feels himself falter. Like a marionette with his strings cut, his head tips down to hang loosely over the table. Slowly, he brings a hand to cover his face. It’s humiliating, it’s weakness, but he just. He just needs a moment. “I didn’t want to fight you, Bruce,” he says eventually.

“You could have said that.”

“Would you have listened? You sure didn’t listen the other times I’ve tried to talk to you. I wrapped my hands, I’ll admit it, I’m not being unreasonable Bruce, but I agreed to a spar, not a beating. I wanted to tap out. But.” Dick’s losing the thread. He was saying something really important, but he can’t remember where he was going. “I wanted to tap out,” he repeats. “I wanted to tap out, but I didn’t think I could. And you just kept hitting.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Dick.”

“I want…” It’s not about what Bruce is saying. He apologized. He said it wasn’t Dick’s fault. But Dick kept pushing for more and more and more. Because it wasn’t enough. Because it was just words. “I want you to be sorry.”

Fuck, Dick sounds like the Red Hood right now. Except, Jason’s grievances are legitimate and Dick’s…well, it’s not that his aren’t, he really hopes he’s in the right here, but his are certainly less important.

“I want you to hit me again,” he admits. It comes out of nowhere, but it’s not a lie. Because if Bruce just…just hit him. Now. After Spyral. Not under mind control. No Court of Owls, or dead sons, or dead friends, or justification. If Bruce just hit him, Dick would be right. He would know. And he tries to be a good person, a good leader, a good son, but he can’t get rid of that insufferable need to be right. Then again, Dick’s been scorning every single one of Bruce’s attempts to make things right this conversation. He’s been provoking Bruce at every turn, like it’s some sort of game. If Bruce hit him now, it probably wouldn’t change anything. Dick would be upset, but he’d know that he was also being an asshole and, when it came down to it, it was mostly his fault.

Bruce agreed it wasn’t, something in him says. But Bruce didn’t mean that.

“Dick…” Bruce says quietly. He sounds. He sounds devastated. And all Dick can think is good, and yeah, Dick’s definitely being an asshole right now. What kind of kid—not that Dick is a kid, but he sure feels like one right now—what kind of kid wants his father to hit him? What kind of kid says that out loud?

“I want to forgive you,” Dick says, “but I can’t forgive you if I can’t figure out if there’s something to forgive.”

The two of them are quiet for a long time. Dick doesn’t have anything else to say. He didn’t start this. He’s not the one who broke into his apartment and forced a conversation. And Bruce…

Dick watches his father sit still as a statue, clearly searching for words he doesn’t have.

Eventually, Bruce swallows visibly. “There is,” he says quietly. “I never meant for things to end up like this.”

Like what? Dick sitting across from him in an apartment a city away? All things considered, this is a pretty alright way for it to have gone. Dick could be away with the Titans permanently. They could be completely estranged. Dick could be dead.

“I should have adopted you earlier,” Bruce says, out of nowhere. “I shouldn’t have told you that you weren’t welcome in the Manor. I should never have hit you. I—”

“Stop,” Dick hisses. It’s too much. It doesn’t feel real even. It feels like someone’s skinning him alive and he’s just out of it enough to realize that this has to be a dream, but it isn’t and— “Just stop. I get it, okay? You’re sorry. Fine.” He leans over, resting his forehead in his hand and propping his elbow up on the table. It doesn’t make his growing headache any better. “I know I’m still allowed in Gotham. We’re fine. Alright?” Dick should be savoring this, but he just wants it to be over. “Now go and focus your efforts on the kids who actually need them. Tim still isn’t convinced he’s part of the family. Jason thinks you wish he never came back. Damian has some of his drawings in an art show, you should—”

“I know,” Bruce interrupts.

“Huh?”

“I know about the art show,” Bruce says awkwardly. “It’s in my calendar. I plan to go.”

Dick feels the wind leave his sails. “Yeah, good. That’s good.” He looks up at Bruce. “Did you want anything else, or did you just feel the need to invade my home so you could offload your feelings and stop feeling guilty?” That was unfair. Really unfair. Dick had just said they were good, he didn’t mean to say that, and Bruce clearly is trying. More than he’s ever tried before. More than he needs to. Dick should be grateful.

Bruce freezes, like he never even thought breaking into Dick’s apartment after an argument could be a bad idea. “I…shouldn’t have come here,” he says eventually. “I really was trying to. To be better. I was trying to be calm. I think I did a good job of that. But I shouldn’t have come here.”

Yeah, Bruce did do a good job. Dick was provoking him at every turn, and Bruce didn’t shout once. Dick wishes Bruce shouted. When Bruce is reasonable, Dick feels like he’s crazy, but…that’s a Dick problem, not a Bruce problem. If people being reasonable make him feel crazy, then Dick has something wrong with him.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Bruce says suddenly, breaking Dick out of his thoughts.

There’s a lot Bruce shouldn’t have said. There’s even more that Dick shouldn’t have said. “What?”

“That I did a good job of being calm. I don’t know why I said that.” Dick doesn’t know why he said half the things he said in this conversation either. He feels like a yoyo, de-escalating only to escalate again. He can’t make up his mind. “It’s difficult not to fall into the same patterns. Not that that’s an excuse.”

“I understand,” Dick says. He does. It’s a familiar rhythm, arguing with Bruce. Fights and betrayal and rage and storming out, accompanied by the occasional physical altercation. It’s almost comforting, even as it tears him apart. And it’s very, very difficult to avoid. “And you weren’t wrong.”

“I was.” The frustration is evident in Bruce’s voice. “I did the bare minimum.”

Dick shrugs.

“What do you want from me?”

Dick shrugs again. He wants to pause this moment in time and save it away and then come back to it later, when he has an actual answer that will leave him satisfied but won’t start another fight. But he doesn’t have that. Right now, he wants to go to sleep. Maybe have some hot cocoa first.

He has a feeling that he’ll be lying awake for a while tonight, even without caffeine.

“We’re fine, Bruce. This is the most…you’ve apologized, okay? Maybe not for everything I wish you would, but you apologized. Just...go back to Gotham and I’ll come over next weekend or something.”

“What do you want me to apologize for?”

Dick shakes his head. “Bruce, you’re not even going to remember half the things I care about. They were big to me, but not to you. I mean, do you even remember our fight after you made Jason Robin?”

“Not very well,” Bruce admits. “I know you were…upset.”

“You broke a display case,” Dick says. It sounds ridiculous when he says it. Sure, breaking things is one the checklist questions he’d ask a civilian—why the fuck is he thinking about the checklist?—but in the grand scheme of things… “It’s not that big of a deal. But I was really freaked out. See? It’s mostly little things.”

Bruce, in an uncharacteristic break from stoicism, rests both elbows on the table and puts his head in his hands. A few moments later, he raises his head again and looks Dick in the eye. “I shouldn’t have done that. And. And I find it difficult to believe I hit you when I you tried to stop me from going after Gordon’s killer, but…I have done similar things enough times that…I probably should not find it so difficult. So, I’m.” He swallows. “I’m sorry, Dick.”

“Just stop,” Dick says. Something’s crawling underneath his skin. This isn’t right, it isn’t real, it’s all just so wrong. Bruce is telling him exactly what he asks to hear, and it’s so ridiculous that he’d be more inclined to believe he’s currently in a simulation controlled by a fifth grader than actually listening to Bruce speak. Wait. There’s an idea. “38D90234FJK16.”

Bruce’s eyes widen. “9021V4Q3.”

Well, he got the identification code correct.

“I should go,” Bruce says, and this time, he stands up.

“That’s not suspicious at all.”

Slowly, Bruce sits down again. “I. You think I’m an imposter?”

“No.” He got the identification response code correct. And despite the weird turn Bruce has taken, he still gets the base mannerisms, the speech, the Bruce-ness correct in a way that Dick has never seen an imposer manage. It’s pretty embarrassing that Dick had to check, but he thought that Mr. ‘It’s not paranoia if they’re actually out to get you’ would appreciate the diligence. “I just figured…”

“You figured I don’t sound like myself.”

Dick doesn’t deny it.

“I shouldn’t have come here. I said that, and then I kept talking, didn’t I?” Bruce sighs. “Do you want me to leave, Dick?”

Dick doesn’t particularly want to stand up from the table. He didn’t want Bruce here, but right now, well, he is here. They’re not fighting. It’s okay. This is okay. “I don’t know.”

“I…” Bruce exhales. “I won’t hit you again. That’s a promise. If I break it, I want you to deal with me.”

Dick sighs. “We fight plenty, Bruce. I don’t—I’ve hit first, before. That’s not a promise you want to make.”

“I promise,” Bruce repeats. “If you want to talk, in the future, you can come to Gotham. Or call me. But I should leave.”

“Okay.”

Bruce stands up again.

“Wait,” Dick says suddenly.

He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say. I forgive you? But Dick doesn’t, not really. He wants to, but he’s still so angry. Maybe irrationally so. Definitely irrationally so. I want you to stay? Dick doesn’t want the conversation to be over, but he’s too tired for it, and Bruce probably has things to do in Gotham. I don’t forgive you? Dick wants to see what happens. Wants to watch the illusion break the second Bruce can’t get his reconciliation. He needs to say it. Needs to prove that this is all fake. He steels himself for the anger, for the mask to break, for the hurricane to start again and drag him into its winds.

“I don’t forgive you,” Dick whispers.

“You shouldn’t.”

Bruce turns around and leaves. Dick sits alone at the kitchen table for a long, long time.

#fanfiction #dick grayson #bruce wayne #batman #tw: abuse #dc comics #dcu #dc #batfamily #batfam #dc fanfiction #batman fanfiction #dick grayson fanfiction #bad parent bruce wayne

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