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gaiuswrites · 4 years ago

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King of Cups || Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Fool

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | six

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: It all spills over.

Word count: 8.8k~

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SMUT (WE MADE IT FOLKS), thigh riding, fingering/hand job, very brief breathplay/choking, cum eating¿? Angst/emo shit (I'm so sorry i have no self control)

Notes: HI FRIENDS, wow it's been a minute. Sorry for the massive delay. For anyone wishing to start KOC, now would be the perfectly spicy chapter to do so! This chapter was Herculean. idk why. Love you guys, enjoy! x (gif credit : @djarinsgf)

“Maker,” you bemoan, shielding your face from the heavy beat of the suns.

You’ve known warmth—you were raised in warmth. This is beyond it.

It’s not just warm, it’s sweltering. The heat is oppressive, congealing the air to mist; you can barely see through it what with the sweat running into your eyes. Tall, craggy dunes line the valley of desert, trapping the planet’s hot pulse within their walls. Your steps crunch along the dry, pebbled earth as you swat at the gnats buzzing in ribbons around your head.

A muffled gurgle sounds from behind you and you slow to a halt, boots gritting into the cracked top soil.

“You doing alright back there, Munch?” you ask, craning your head to the child nestled into the carrier fashioned onto your back. A green ear pokes free from the top, and you can see the jewel of his black eyes peering at you through the gauzy cloth you draped over it. He grunts, and you give a small shrug—shifting the pack by the straps, eliciting a giggle out of him. “We can always turn back, okay? I’m not going to be mad.” Another noise, a happy coo this time, and you shimmy your shoulders again, jostling the bag playfully.

“Well, you just let me know.”

Your conversations usually unfold this way. They leave much to be desired, but you’d like to think you understand one another—in fact, you probably understand the kid more than you understand his dad.

You’ve grown close with him, you’ll be the first to admit it. You’re attached to each other. The little one has been your constant companion for these months and in some ways, you suppose he takes care of you just the same as you take care of him. The chamber of space can be lonely; it’s cold and unkindly reflective, stranding you to the echoed chain of your thoughts—but when he tugs at your hair or slobbers spittle down the front of him or crawls up into your lap to nestle into your tunic, it feels like you belong there—there on the Crest, streaming through the galaxy.

And maybe, simply, it feels good to do right by a child—as if you could make up for it somehow, within yourself. To do better than you were given.

Squinting, you raise your wrist to check the coordinates on your comm and shade a hand over the screen, blocking the glare cast onto the display. “Almost there,” you mumble, resuming your stride as you begin the last leg of the trek to the settlement you and Mando discussed that morning.

“What?” he asked, planted some paces away from you.

You hummed a curious note, glancing to him.

“What is it?”

You were trying to be small all morning—shrunken and shy, avoiding the thought and avoiding him all together. You quieted yourself, as if to not take up space, but the attempt was fruitless; of course he picked up on it – you get good at reading people on the job, he’d said – and of course he called you out on your behavior. You took a big gulp of your caf, gaze flickering down—increasingly more and more invested in the scuffs marked into the table you sat at.

“Dala,” he said pointedly, arms folding over the breadth of his chest.

Shit. Who did you think you were fooling? Playing possum with a Mandalorian?

Worrying your lip, you stood. You couldn’t bear to look up at him, just looming there across the table from you, so you paced around the deck as you rambled. “Okay, so you know how I’m still connected to the RRM channels? Well, I’ve been checking the message boards and I—there’s a settlement here out in the Wastes. It’s small and new and they’re looking for volunteers and—”

You whistled in a breath. Fuck it.

“And I want to help.”

Like the toggle of a switch, you went from having a career—having a purpose—to having nothing. And all your gratitude for the transport he’s offering couldn’t fill that empty lull that’s settled inside you.

“Would you be comfortable with letting me take the kid? I know I’m probably asking a lot—and I will fully respect whatever you decide—but I can keep him by me the whole time, I swear, I just—” You shook your head, pinching your eyes shut before sighing, “I need to be doing something. Anything.”

There was a long pause. You scratched at the torn skin around your cuticle, nervously searching the pitch of his wordless visor. He didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t even twitch.

“That’s fine,” he finally remarked, graveled.

You blinked, taken aback at his agreement, and all at once your fidgeting ceased and a bright grin broke out over your features in its place.

It nearly brought him to his knees.

“Wait, seriously?” you asked, bouncing on the balls of your feet and he nodded, a subtle tilt to his helm. “Maker, thank you,” you exclaimed, and without thinking you flew towards him, flinging your arms around his neck and sealing yourself to his armored frame. His arms escaped out from his chest in surprise, suspended and stiff, before falling measuredly to his sides. You could’ve been imagining it, but you swore you heard the distinct grit of his teeth grinding together under his helmet.

“Really Mando,” you beamed, pulling back to lay your eyes on him, to let him see the earnest there: you have no idea how much this means to me. “Thank you.”

You gave his shoulders a squeeze, thumbs brushing along the scratchy fabric of his cape before tearing yourself away. Swiping up your mug of caf, you wound down the corridor - airy, buoyant - back to your makeshift quarters to prepare for your outing. It took him another minute just to get his damn feet to move from the spot on the durasteel you welded him to.

Din told you to be safe.

You smiled, and promised you would.

You left the Crest before him and it was strange, surreal. For the first time, you stood in each other’s shoes, leaving Din there on his own while you set off into the world. He watched you go—you and his boy—watched you walk away into some great unknown without him.

And he didn’t like it.

He soured, somewhere in the deep of him—within that pit he called a gut, he twisted sick.

Your feet hit the ramp, dull and tinny, and it sounded like goodbye—it sounded like you leaving. It’s what it will look like when time and fate touch, and inevitability catches up with him. It’s what it will look like when he takes you home. You’ll walk out of his life, down that same ramp, and your steps will echo those same beats. You won’t look back.

And Din, with all his strength, all his unshakeable resolve—Din will let you go.

///

The encampment is settled into the shadow of a cliffside, seeking respite there from the blazing suns, the taupe of the canvas shanties camouflaging into the arid landscape. Some crawl their gaze up as you enter the village, and you offer them smiles they do not return. Others do not acknowledge your presence at all— unstirred as your footsteps sound past, their heads bound heavy towards the earth. It’s not long before a decisive voice cuts through the hush that’s claimed the settlement.

“Are you with the RRM?”

You turn and are greeted by a woman ducking out of a tent—the grey of her woven tunic browned with sand, heat collecting in her black, coiled hair.

“Yes, I’m with the Movement.” It’s not a total lie. Sure, you’re on leave, but that doesn’t discount you completely. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

With a sharp exhale like a prayer of relief, she makes her way towards you. “Where’s the rest of your division?” Her eyes narrow discerningly, flitting behind you as if expecting to spot the rear of your party trickling in.

“It’s, uh—it’s just me,” you confess, pressing your lips together in a thin smile.

She rakes a hand over her hair, over her face. The skin around her knuckles is split, the beds of her nails chalked with days of unwashed grime. “Alright,” she concedes begrudgingly, without any better option presented. “And who is this?” She nods to the child, emerging from the pack and staring curiously at her.

“This is—” You take a moment to consider it—consider the secrecy around the child, the bounties, the life on the lam. Less is more, you decide. Again, it’s not a total lie. “I’m babysitting.”

The kid grunts an emphatic patu.

You both share a look—a quirk of her dark brow, an apologetic heft of your shoulder—and she sighs. “Well, I’ll take all the help I can get,” she quips dryly with a wave of her hand, leading you into the settlement.

///

She’s coarse, this woman—Arlaani, she told you—matronly and effective. She has a calculating gaze and powerful shoulders that she holds steady as she shows you through the camp. There are lines around her eyes, carved into the curves of her mouth. She knows what you know—what all women learn: sometimes you must be hard in order to keep others soft.

You walk shoulder to shoulder, matching her long strides with your own.

“The Black Sun has taken the southern hemisphere; their numbers have only grown since the Battle of Yavin. Pirates, mercenaries, spice runners—they’ve ransacked one half of the planet and have the officials of the other half in their pocket,” she scowls. “They have stolen our land, our homes—we’re moisture farmers, mechanics, mothers and fathers. We are simple people and we have been forgotten by our government—by those who vowed to represent us, protect us.” Arlaani draws in a long breath. “We’re on our own out here in the Wastes.”

You survey the area; the lifeless ocean of rock and sand, the few scattered trees that have died on their feet—roots withering bone dry in the suns. “Why settle here if it’s so uninhabitable?”

She huffs a humorless laugh. “Because, it’s uninhabitable,” Arlaani explains. “No one robs a beggar. There is nothing in the Wastes the Black Sun wants.”

There are no buildings, no structures; the whole area is undeveloped and raw. Tents are dotted sporadically in clusters, crates of supplies and water canteens stationed every other one. Children dawdle idly, tired and overheated, leaning against boxes and posts—their bellies distended and skin parched taut. Flies land on their shins, on their cheeks. They do not go to shoo them away.

“The Movement supplied those for us when we landed,” she comments, nodding to the crates. “That was two months ago.”

“No one has come back to check on you since?” you ask, brows notching together.

She shakes her head solemnly, jaw set rigid. “Our little ones go hungry, our elders are sick with red fever. We will run out of water before the week is through,” Arlaani says before she turns to you, holding your gaze—the seriousness evident in the stone of her eyes. “I thank the gods you are here.” She presses a palm to your shoulder. You feel the weight of it, the weight of her—of the lives she carries on her back.

“I thank the gods.”

///

You stop by each tent delivering what little food and medicine you brought with you from the Crest, and after each encounter—the people so grateful, so weary—your mind strays further and further to Mando.

Din, you scold yourself. Not Mando, Din. Din Djarin.

You still can’t bring yourself to say it.

He spent that whole fateful day nearly two weeks ago bristling at the very sight of you, going out of his way to limp to the other side of the ship just to ignore you better, only to do you in for one final head spin and give you his name.

Two weeks, and you still haven’t said it. There’s no other excuse: plainly - pitifully - you’re scared. You’re scared he regrets it.

Because how horrible of a truth would it be? To be offered something out of carelessness or guilt; to be the product of pity, or even worse, a mistake that cannot be unmade, cannot be rectified. He can’t take his name back, can’t unspeak it any more than you can unhear it, and this fear, picking at you like an old scab—it’s so painfully human, so terribly universal:

what if I’m not worth it?

And isn’t it easier to neglect the answer, then it is to ask the question.

So you’ve buried his name for both of your sakes, keeping it somewhere secret and private, there to garner dust in the quiet of your mind.

You’re brushing through the draped entrance of a tent when you spot him: a small boy hiding behind a supply crate, the top of his dusted head poking out over the ledge. You catch him peering at you, and he ducks down shyly. A honeyed grin blooms across your face.

“I think we’re being watched Munch,” you coo. The little ball of robes blinks up at you from your arms, earning his nickname tenfold as he crams his mouth with a flakey cracker. “You want to say hi?” He hums in response and you crouch, letting him wiggle free from you to toddle over to the other child. With small steps, he eventually makes it over to the other and immediately, without hesitation or provocation, extends one of his crackers to him.

Your heart swells until it bursts, proud and beautiful in your chest.

Munch leads him out from behind the box, the two boys shuffling slowly through the dirt back to you. He can’t quite meet your eyes—his gaze lands somewhere around your chin, your collarbone, and you fold forward, bent at the knees to meet his height.

“Do you have a name, sweetheart?” you ask kindly.

He nods, nibbling quietly on the cracker, and you breathe out a chuckle. “Not much of a talker, huh? I can respect that,” you say, eyes crinkling fondly with a smile. “Well if you want to tell me, you can—or not. That’s okay, too.”

He nods again, and you fish out more salty treats from the sleeve in your pack, gently handing them to the other—a gesture he nervously accepts, dirty fingers trembling as he plucks them from your open palm. This boy is precious—sweet faced and cherubic, he must not be a cycle over the age of seven.

And the realization comes so suddenly that it blindsides you—struck by it, there between your lungs: Din was his age when it happened—when life happened to him. When this could have happened to him.

You can’t help but think of it—think of him and everything he told you that night he came bleeding through the Razor Crest. You can’t stop imagining him; Din as a little boy tucked away, his people—his parents—decimated overhead. He is a Mandalorian by proxy. Displaced from his home, from his past, saved by a sect with an affinity for orphans—to protect those who cannot protect themselves. The irony of it all is not lost on you:

Din is a refugee too.

You see him in this boy, and in all the faces here—in every set of eyes, young and old alike. Each are individual - idiosyncratic - but they each wear the same qualifiers. The same exhaustion. They each fight the same tired battle, leaving them with identical sets of marks.

Does Din? If you were to see him, truly see him, would you find them there? You’ve seen the scars he’s earned from being a Mandalorian.

You wonder if he has any from simply being a man.

Pushing yourself to stand upright, you cradle Munch back into your chest, his teensy claws riddling your shirt, and offer the boy your hand—outstretched in front of you.

He’s cautious. Too cautious for a boy so young, for a child who should know nothing but abundant love and fearless imagination. He shouldn’t have had to learn this lesson: that some hands should not be taken, that some people should not be trusted. He studies you, hesitant but hopeful, and you smile softly—cycles of hard-won patience and empathy curving the corners of your lips.

He lays his small hand in your own. You walk on together.

///

The day blows by like hot desert wind, chafing at your skin. Minutes have ripened to hours—morning has crawled to midday.

The three of you finish your rounds— distributing rations throughout the camp, pitching tents, taking stock of the dwindling supplies for you to relay to the Movement once you return to the Crest and have access to your holopad.

It’s then that you notice Arlaani again. She’s speaking in hushed tones with another man, the both of them hunched over a large carton. You see the concern ticked clearly along the man’s jaw, the dread grooved into her brow, her crossed arms. With a frown, you plop the child down onto a nearby petrified log and the other boy joins, hopping up next to him, all too happy to get off his feet. You tell them not to wander off— a kiss to Munch’s forehead, a ruffle of the boy’s hair— before making your way to the couple.

“Hey,” you call, jogging over. “Is everything alright?”

Arlaani wheels around as you approach. It hasn’t been long since you’ve seen her, but somehow she looks older. Hollowed, drained— like there’s less and less in her. “It’s the water,” she grits out, “sand mites have gotten to the crates, to the canteens.” She tosses you one of the flasks. It’s littered with holes, porous and leaking— the remnants of water splashing out of the orifices bitten into the sides.

Arlaani dives through the crate, rifling through the supplies. She’s tense, upset, her voice is rife with it. “They’re all like this. Ruined, fucking—” She heaves out a hissed exhale and props herself up on the edge of the box, neck bowed between her shoulder blades. “This was the last of it, and now—now…”

The man tries his best - how do you comfort marble? - as he places an arm around her, his thumb drawing patterns there, reassuring and calm but she wants nothing of it; she gruffly shrugs it off as if stung, weaseling out of his hold. “I can’t— I need to think,” Arlaani bristles, as she paces away from the settlement, receding deeper into the Wastes.

“I’m sorry,” he stutters, “I have- I have to—” His eyes follow her shrinking form, worry apparent in the shape of them. It’s so obvious. He’s terrified of that woman—probably loves her, too.

“Go,” you say, and with a knowing expression, he turns and trots after her.

Heavy footed, heavy hearted, you trudge back to find the children exactly where you left them. Once there, you collapse to the hard ground, dust and dirt puffing up as you recline onto the log. Your palms run over the earth—scooping up sand and rock and letting it slip through the cracks of your fingers, gaze trained out onto the encampment—the people milling about, the miasma of helplessness stifling the air.

This isn’t enough. You’re not doing enough— these impermanent little nothings, your measly good deeds. It’s not going to matter. They’ll be bones by the time the next wave of volunteers rolls through. They’ll be grain.

You need to do something that lasts, that outlives you when you leave.

You glance over to the kid and his new friend, their little legs swinging off the edge of the trunk, heels thumping against the old wood. They look to you, two pairs of big eyes—crackers in their tiny fists.

“You boys ever dig a well?”

///|||///

The suns roast into his beskar, blistering him from the inside out.

The day has been long and it’s only half over. It took him longer than it should have to gather himself— his fob, his rifle, his fucking head—and depart the Crest. Longer than it should have to hunt the bounty here—some marauder scum who’s number is up and luck has run out. Longer than it should have to set up his sniper’s nest, sculpted into the mountainside.

Din is distracted, has been all day— has been since you left.

He can’t stop feeling you. Your warmth pushing against his chest, your arms looping around his neck, the heat of your palms searing through his flight suit. Din can smell you on him still— like citrus and moss, you cling to his cowl from where you buried your head.

It’s intolerable. It feels like an infection with how it’s been building, how this has spread— slowly but surely rearing to an unignorable head. Serpentine and insidious as it crept through him, this growing affliction— this morbid curiosity that spoiled like rotting stonefruit into infatuation— slipping along his bones and organs, blemishing Din in faint little licks— imperceptible to the naked eye but there all the same.

How did this happen? How did he become this?

You’ve been more relaxed now, bolder in some ways. Transparent. Sometimes, you’ll touch his arm as you walk by him or sweep your hair from your neck when you sit by his side in the cockpit, star shine on your jaw. You’re quick with a laugh, lips pulling back into a pretty grin. He’s even caught you staring at him, there out of the corner of his eye—from where he steals those same glances under the safety of his helm.

He spied you once, just a glimpse of your backside, padding quietly away from the shower with only your underwear on, drops of water tracking down your spine. It was brief, you were fast—you must have forgotten your shirt in your bunk—but he had to lock himself in his quarters and fuck his hand before he could even think about piloting the Crest into the stratosphere.

Din is a lot of things, but he isn’t daft. A part of him knows. A part of him is aware that you are two very human people with very human needs—and that you’ve been ignoring these primal aches with premeditated dereliction for months now.

And you can only dance around each other so long before one of you snaps.

And Maker, he’s so desperate to be rid of you—to get you out of his fucking system; to let him sleep without dreaming of you, to let him wake without plunging into his briefs and jerking himself off. You are everywhere. In his ship, in his galley, in his thoughts. He has no privacy, he has no sanctity— he has no idea how you have managed to worm yourself so deep into every living part of him. Others have tried and they have failed, and you— you did it in your sleep. From that very first fucking night, curled up in his chair, gore and ash stained tunic rising with your slumbered breathing. You snored.

You fucking snored.

And now you’re killing him— just as the suns above, you are blistering him from the inside out.

His level-headedness has all but evaporated. He’s peeved. Not only is Din distracted, but he's angry— has been since he plodded up this damn hill, waiting for his quarry to pass through the ravine between the valley of mountains—because instead of performing his job, he’s consumed with you. All of you.

He kneels, flattening himself against the rocky sand— your hands, so small and soft against him— and unclips the rifle from the strap on his back—how good you’d feel on his skin—he aligns his sights— the weight of your breasts in his palms—

His helmeted head clunks to the ground and he loses his aim, a frustrated growl emanating out from him. Focus, Mando. Fucking focus.

Din reorients his crosshair, training it on the gang of pirates in the gorge below. They lean haphazardly over their speeders, their cargo nets packed full with different wares and spices, jeering loudly and chugging from the jugs of spotchka they undoubtedly looted earlier that afternoon. He inspects the rabble, searching for his target and—those pretty lips that smile so easy for him, stretched around his length.

Fuck. He pinches his eyes shut.

You whispering husky into his ear as you ride him, you bent over the pilot’s chair begging for his cock, you sprawled out over the deck while he laps at your sweet cunt.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck— he can’t do this. He can’t fucking do this. You’re everywhere everywhere everywhere— you buffer his vision, his senses, his sight. He’s blinded with you. You’re blinding him.

With an infuriated heave he shoves himself off the ridge of the dune, bounty-less, and reverses his course back to the Crest—heart beating furious and bloody against his ribs.

///

The settlers surround the trench, peering down at you as you work. Hours ago, when you originally proposed this idea to Arlaani, they insisted on helping— to which of course, you insisted they didn’t. And so they watch— the refugees, Din’s foundling, the nameless boy— mangling their hands restlessly, animated with an inkling of that all too lethal substance long sought after by those of all species and creeds: hope.

You sink the shovel into the dry earth and your muscles burn with the effort—the skin on your palms stings from the rough grate of the wooden dowel and the yawn of your back strains as you pitch forward.

You’ve missed this.

You’ve been so distracted. You’ve grown comfortable in your routines, you’ve let yourself go listless—living in blissful ignorance—all because of a metal man in his metal ship with the most impossible and darling child you’ve ever known. All because your body reacts at the very sight of him, all because your belly flips when he speaks, that modulated purr rumbling loose from his beskar, all because, because—

You like him.

You wish you didn’t—you hardly know why you do—but you’ve soaked your fingers enough times in your rack to realize that this thing residing within you burns.

You can’t even see his face, and you don’t have to. His presence alone— that raw, vacuous energy that surges from him—it’s addicting. It's engulfing. It makes you whimper into the night, massaging your pearled clit as your other hand muffles your moans and you come over and over and over again, chasing after the fantasy you so dangerously harbor for this man. The man who’s piloting you back to Coruscant—the man who sleeps just down the hall.

But that isn’t real. That’s not real life— that’s not your life. This is real—the fuchsia of the setting suns blazing through the horizon, the sweat on your brow. You’ve missed this— Maker, you need this. Working with your hands, making an impact. You’re wanted here and kriff, does that not feel so unabashedly right. To be wanted. To be important.

Your back groans, the sinew woven over your spine aching in protest and you know, without a doubt, you’ll feel this for the next week. Half of you dreads it—being cooped up and sore, lactic acid compacting your joints— while the other excites at the prospect; the memory of a good deed lasting long after it’s finished. That reminder always there, always present: see, there’s still hope in the galaxy. We can still do good. There’s goodness where you look for it.

You fling dirt over your shoulder as you burrow lower and lower. With each shove, the soil changes hue, changes density—the striations darker, more definitive. It’s less dry now, thicker too—turning from sand to clay the deeper you dig. Again, you drive the spade into the sod with a taxed grunt, when you hear a distinct, wet squish.

You pause, stilling your shovel in the dirt. Everything - everyone - freezes.

Adrenaline thrums through you as you drop to your knees, using your hands to brush away loose silt piled atop the loamy floor, excavating what lies beneath.

Prayers and hollers erupt above you and you lurch your focus up to the sound, a feverish grin plastered to your face. The little boy jostles the child excitedly, and his green talons rumple the other’s tattered tunic. Your head falls back, cushioned by the dirt wall and you laugh - gargled, relieved - as water begins to seep through the tired ground.

Bubbling up, bubbling up—unearthing.

///

The promise of ridding yourself of your soiled clothes was the singular thought that fueled your trek back to the Crest. Every inch of you was filthy, caked in dried mud and gritty sand and you wanted nothing more than to strip from those dirty layers and melt into your bedroll. The kid, that lucky little bugger, had passed right out; sun drunk from his long day, he’d slept the entirety of the return trip—stirring only once when you placed him in the hover pram and sealed it shut.

Your bones are worn. Your tissue, your tendons— every little scrap that keeps you stitched together craves sleep. You reckon you should feel miserable, what with the tell-tale stiffness already burdening your spine and the fresh callus from the shovel’s handle reddening your palm.

But you’re not miserable, not even close. No, you’re happy—you’re glowing; fulfilled and serene, humming as you wash your pants in the basin, kneading at the sopping fabric. You wring out the article, shaking free the excess droplets before draping it on a metal rung overhead. You peel off your shirt and bra band next, leaving you only in your underwear as you plop them into the bowl and begin to scrub at the stains, concentrating on a particularly dirty patch at the sleeve.

The grating mechanics of the Crest’s great jaw unhinging sends your stomach bounding frantic to your lungs.

Kriff—shit shit shit, he’s back early.

Clutching onto your modesty, you cover your breasts and scramble to your quarters, quickly shimming a loose tunic over your head. Its hem barely covers the curve of your ass and you tug long at the cloth before peeking cautiously from the doorway and tiptoeing out of your room.

“Hey,” you warble, rounding a corner as solid feet pound up the ramp—you can feel their reverberations in the floor under your own. You pad into the galley, pulling at your shirt as you go, to tidy up the washing you left unattended. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you so—”

You falter.

He’s there at the mouth of the ship, the ramp drawing slowly up behind him and he’s fuming; you can practically see the steam lifting from his armor and his breathing is labored—chest rising, plummeting violently. You both stand immobilized on opposite sides of the hull—you, bare-legged and exposed and Din, all but anonymous under the steeled fury of his armor. Finally, the sound dampens, ship shuddering as she seals shut—sealing you in—and the leather of his fist creaks in the silence hanging dense like smoke around you.

“Mando...?”

He doesn’t grace you with a response. Instead he begins to stalk forward, stripping weapon after weapon from himself with every thundering step—rifle, blaster, vibroblade—he sloughs it all, metal clanging against metal as they clatter to the deck.

“Hey, what’s wrong-”

He’s not stopping. Fuck, he’s getting closer and closer and instinctually you back up—staggering until you’re pressed against the bulkhead—his broad frame crowding you until all you see is the silver polish of his beskar. You jolt when his hands fly up and slam into the wall behind you, framing either side of your head, fencing you between his forearms. Your lips part, wide-eyed and confused, and you gulp around the nervous lump threatening your voice.

“Do you have any idea,” he seethes, “what you do to me?”

“W-What-” Your stammering is cut short as he slots his thigh between your legs and you have to tilt your chin to meet his visor, a gasp finding itself on your tongue.

“Strutting around my ship, putting your hands on me, that kriffing smile…” Din ruts his knee into your heat, and you’re practically hoisted onto your toes. Your core pulses against the blunt pressure, blood racing to the throb at your center.

Maker, you could fucking faint.

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this—about you?” His voice is tar black—smooth like obsidian—and you succumb to it. You can’t speak; any and all language evaporating from the forefront of your mind, because he’s everywhere. He’s inescapable and smothering and his scent floods over you, intoxicatingly wild—like iron and sand and something dangerous. Something heady, carnal.

“Is this what you want?” he hisses.

You’ve gone dumb. You’ve imagined this, you’ve dreamt of this, but now it’s actually happening—here, in the flesh, it’s finally happening and you’re trembling with the reality of it. All you can muster is a shaky nod, tongue darting out over your lip.

“Tell me,” he orders, scanning your face behind the guise of his helm. You feel his gaze rove over your eyes, your cheek—fanning across your lips.

Your breath hitches.

“Yes,” you whisper, “yes I want this.“

It’s all it takes.

Din is rougher than he means to be. He wears this as he wears his armor, plating the soft parts of himself he doesn’t want anyone touching. He doesn’t know anything else. He doesn’t know how to be anyone else but this.

He grabs a handful of your waist, rooting you still as he rolls his thigh against you. You inhale an airy noise, grappling onto his other arm stationed by your head and you bite your lip, sucking it into your mouth. Your cunt spasms for him as he presses up into your mound, fightless against the groan that seeps through you.

“You like that?” he pants. ”You like fucking my thigh?”

Din manhandles your hips, his hold on you vicious as he rocks you back and forth on his plated leg, your clit catching on the cold edge of his thigh guard with each motion. It sends hot sparks down your spine and you trap a moan behind your teeth, letting the sound rumble there before you swallow it. His hand weaves up from your waist, the drag of his glove setting fire to your skin as he passes over the swell of your clothed breast, and you arch into his palm as he swipes a thumb over a nipple. “You want more?”

He splays his large hand, groping at your plump flesh, and pinches your nipple hard until it pebbles through your shirt. With each sharp twist, his intention becomes clearer: it won’t be enough to skate by on moans alone.

“I asked you a question.”

Din slides his other hand to the small of your back, drawing you flush to his front, and you can feel him— the outline of his firm length twitching under his flight suit against your hip. He cranes over you, intimidating and menacing and achingly devious. The panel of his visor has never looked darker.

“Use your words, dala,” he husks.

You should be embarrassed by this—by your need made evident through the soaked lining of your underwear—but you aren’t. The heat that stipples your cheeks isn’t born from shame, it’s sprung from lust—pure and primal—and you can’t afford to give it any further consideration because all there is is this man wrenching sounds from you like an animal— and he’s scarcely even touched you yet.

“Your fingers,” you whimper, “I want your hands."

He learned this lesson within those first weeks—relearns it every fucking day. You could ask him for anything - everything - and he would oblige.

He can’t say no to you.

He shifts out from between you, hooking into the elastic of your panties and tears them down your thighs to rest just above your knees, the spread of your legs keeping them from dropping to your ankles.

Patiently - tortuously - he scrapes up your legs, leaving embers in his wake as he trails higher higher higher to where you need him most. You’re shivering—nerve endings fried and frayed—and every atom inside you hums with anticipation, with unbridled impulse.

The orange tips of his gloves dimple your inner thighs - squeezing, massaging - before he tilts his helmet, angling himself to see you better, and paws your swollen lips apart.

Your pussy is drooling for him.

He moans something indecipherable— a curse in Mando’a—at the sight of you glistening for him under the dimmed lights like this, and immediately you buck your pelvis to him, hungry for his touch—and the pathetic noises babbling out of you prove too much for him to bear.

“Fuck this,” he snarls, ripping a glove off and tossing it aside, “I need to feel you.”

Your eyes have dilated with want, blackened as you watch Din retrace his bare hand—that gorgeous thing you’ve never seen, only ever fantasized about—back to your heat and slowly - so fucking slowly - pass a finger through your slit.

You throw your head back, knocking against the durasteel. The mewl that escapes you is inhuman.

He’s so warm. His tan skin is molten—it’s like he brought the sun in with him, as if he’s burning that star straight into your sex. You’re slippery with arousal; you can feel how glossed you are, you don’t have to look. You can hear it—hear the obscene squelches he’s stroking from your seam.

“Maker, you’re - shit - you’re wet,” he groans loudly, reveling in the way you pitch your hips—seeking his warmth, his friction. He’s been toying with you, drawing patterns along your pussy and playing with your puffy folds, but he hasn’t even come close to your clit. You know it’s no accident. Din is methodical in all things, he doesn’t make mistakes. This is a decision—it’s intentional. You think, perhaps, he’s looking to break you—some sort of retribution for these months you’ve spent swimming in circles around each other—and you think, perhaps, you’d let him.

That you’d like it.

When Din grants you mercy, finally gliding his index along your neglected bundle of nerves, reflexively you fist into his cowl, knuckles going pale.

“Stars-” you exclaim—just like that.

He handles your body like he does one of his pistols - practiced, unparalleled - encircling your clit with precision, his finger on your trigger—blinding, perfect agony swiveled into your sweet cleft.

When he pushes himself inside you, all the oxygen gets punched out of your lungs.

“Fuck, and so tight,” Din growls, bending at the knuckle to curl over that spongy spot of your walls that makes you gape, makes your brain go slack. Your arms scamper around his pauldrons, nails scraping sharp over beskar. The heel of his hand presses into your clit and you grind against him, each roll of your hips pleading a filthy please please please as you chase after the orgasm he’s baiting you with.

He responds to that, bourboned praise dripping smug from his smirk. “Fuck, look at you, so desperate—gonna cum for me already?”

You don’t have the wherewithal to formulate a response. He’s fit another finger into you, fucking up into you hard—fucking you exactly how you need him to. It feels like you are about to shatter right there on your feet. It’s almost unbearable, this mounting tension that’s climbing within you. You’ve been so starved for this, so deprived of a kind touch and a good fuck, and within no time at all he’s coaxing you to the ledge of your release.

“Mando,” you sob, entwining your fingers into his cape, grinding grinding grinding into his palm when suddenly, without warning, his ministrations cease—that burning coil abating to a simmer. You let out a rasped pant, collapsing forward onto his shoulder— your climax ripped away from you at the last, pivotal second.

Your eyes are screwed shut, you don’t see the movement—you can only feel it once it’s already there: the bounty hunter’s glove grating over your neck. You sputter out a gasp as he forces your jaw up to align with the chill of his visor, trapped in the unrelenting strength of his grasp. Your eyes clamber around the chrome boxing you in, gulping back the fear coalescing in your mouth.

“You say my name,” he gravels. “You say my name when I’m inside you.”

Your cunt spasms around the fingers still seated within you—aching for movement, aching to cum—and your lower lip quivers as he leers. “I gave it to you—say it,” he commands.

For a fleeting moment, in the remaining rational corner of your brain, it occurs to you that you’re terrified—that there may be no going back once you speak it. There’s no unmaking this choice. Like a door—a door that swings both ways—once it is cracked ajar, it cannot be closed again. Because you know yourself, you loathe to admit it, but you know his name will crumble you; that you will bend—that you will want to give and give and give to him— and still, despite, you lay onto the handle and fling that door wide open.

“Din.”

“Fuck,” he seethes. His reaction is visceral—the whole of him stiffens, leathered pads of his fingertips searing into your throat. “Again.”

“Din,” you whine as he rocks his fingers into your walls.

He moans, wanton and guttural, at the way his name tumbles from you like velvet. “Good girl—fuck, that’s good.”

He vanishes from your neck, bringing his hand down to cup his cock bulging painfully against the fabric there and your gaze snaps to it, saliva pooling in the well of your mouth. You slither your hand down his breast plate, over the paneling of his flight suit, trailing south until it lands on the hide of his glove. You stop, waiting there - breathless - until he nods curtly.

His hand falls away. You mold your palm to his length.

“Din,” you give freely, high-pitched and girly, and his cock brays under your hand. Fuck, he’s big—you can feel his mass through his pants and your pussy flutters around his fingers moving deliciously lazy inside you. Your eyes latch onto his, the brown of them hidden somewhere under the helm, and you can feel his own bore into you, weighing leaden there—

before you both simultaneously rupture.

Din’s fingers slip out of you to fiddle with the hem of his pants, unbuttoning in a clumsy flourish until he springs free with a groan of relief.

Maker.

He’s fucking divine—long and veined, with a patch of dark curls padding around the base of him. Din weeps for you already, frustrated and pent up from the confines of his restraints, beads of arousal dappling his head. He hisses as you swipe a digit over his cock, smearing his precum down the silken slope of him. You’re transfixed—the both of you staring as you wrap your hand around his shaft and he shudders, keening in to your touch.

“Mm, fuck you’re soft- kriff-”

Din dwarfs you—you barely fit around his girth—and he can’t help but buck into your palm as you begin to move in tandem. Din flicks at your clit, mirroring your pace as you get each other off. It’s awkward and lewd and perfect—both of you, a tapestry of woven limbs and sweat and you pump him harder and harder, choking his cock with your fist. You fuck him raw, the dry drag of your satin hand ripping curses from his mouth.

“Fuck, dala,” he pants, “I-I’m not—” I’m not gonna last. His words are snuffed out as you circle your wrist and brush a thumb over his leaking tip, forcing him to shiver. He doesn’t have to finish his thought, you understand plenty well. You’re dancing along that same precipice, flirting with the fall.

“Stars, yes,” you plead. Fuck, you want him to cum— you need him to. You need to make him feel good, to let him know that you’re here - you’re right here - and that he means more to you than you care to admit; that you want him—have since you first laid eyes on him, since he rescued you, since he took you back to the Crest and gave you the last of his bacta to heal all your splintered bits. That he deserves this—with all that he’s done for you, all that he’s doing for you—

with all that he his.

“Din—please.” Fuck, you don’t even know what you’re asking for—more of him, all of him—and a groan tears through his modulator at the sound of you begging his name—like he’s wounded, like it pains him to hear you say it.

It’s a race now—the two of you hurdling headlong towards this terrible, messy collision. You’re both sloppy—wet sounds and slaps of skin—as you stumble closer to the brink of release. He’s been rendered incoherent, chiseled down to the basest of grunts and broken words you don’t recognize. His thumb finds a devastating pressure on your swollen nub and your legs begin to vibrate, nearly unable to stand on your own two feet with how fucking perfectly he’s working your pussy.

This thing inside you feels giant - monstrous - and that slow wave that’s been building and building and cresting is here, upon you. You’re trapped in the barrel of it, and it’s going to crash at any moment and sweep you out to sea. Drown you—happily, gladly. “I’m - oh fuck—"

“That’s it, good girl,” he praises, tightening his circles on your clit. “Cum for me, cum on my hand-”

A crack of lightening streaks up your middle, the whole of you shaking as your orgasm rushes through, a sputtering cry let loose into the ship. You feel yourself gush, dripping past his thickness stuffing you full, dripping down your inner thighs. Din pulls out from you and you whimper at the loss—his absence leaving you gaping, leaving you bereft. You’re siphoning down air, dizzy from your release, when he raises his hand, glistening with your fluids, and traces your bottom lip—asking for entrance.

Fuck.

You part for him, eager and pliant, and he snakes two fingers inside—tasting your own tang and the leather residue left there, stamped into the whirls of his fingerprints. Your tongue swirls around them, laving him clean, and you drag over the ridges of his shaft— still hard and throbbing and waiting in your grasp. He bobs his fingers in your mouth, matching you thrust for thrust, and you let out a depraved little moan, humming around him, and all Din can do is watch.

Watch as he disappears between your lips—his skin pulling and catching on your plush flesh— watch as you suck on them, watch as he practically fucks your throat. And Maker, you take him so fucking well, letting him do what he pleases with your all too supple body.

He can’t even begin to imagine what his cock would look like—what it would feel like nestled in the hot cavern of your mouth, hollowing your cheeks to suck him like hard candy. Din doesn’t let himself—can’t. If he did, fuck, that’d be it. He’d be done for. He knows he’d cum in a flash and he wants to make this last—to hold on to this - onto you - for as long as he can, allow himself this singular concession. The only time, he convinces himself, the last time.

He won’t think about you again.

You quicken your rhythm and Din bucks wildly into your palm, his seizing and twitching alerting you to how close he is. He slides from your mouth, a string of saliva trailing along after as he clasps onto the back of your neck.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m—” Din knots into your hair, gripping you rough, panting frantic. “Fuck. Fuck, dala— cyare-”

With a hoarse shout, he slams his gloved fist into the durasteel and spills over himself in hot, thick pumps, spurts shooting out to splatter on your tunic, on his flight suit, on your knuckles. You ease him through it, his cum glazing down his cock before you slow to a languid stroke, his seed sticky under your palm. You’re panting, the both of you, spent noises reverberating ugly and loud against the metal sidings.

Din sinks his helmet to your forehead while you catch your breath, his cold beskar kissing your flushed skin—the density of it comforting, grounding. Your eyes teeter shut and you let yourself lean into him, a dazed grin tugging at your wet lips. This is— nice; so much gentler than the pace he drove not minutes before. Head to head, his hand buried in your hair, your arm slung over his hulking shoulders; your fingers thread into the askew fabric behind his neck to discover a sliver of skin treasured away underneath. You trace there - lightly, whispered - earning a fizzle of static sent whirring through his vocoder.

“Fuck,” Din mumbles, before unweaving himself and separating from you. Your legs have gone useless and rubbery—you almost face plant forward without him there— and by the time you blink open, he’s already tucked himself into his pants and picked up his glove, slotting it over those skilled fingers that had just filled you to the brim. He turns back round to find you staring at him through the haze of your afterglow, eyes glassy and fucked out; your fluids dribbling down towards your underwear still bunched above your knees, hair tangled with sweat and saliva and cum—his and yours.

You look wrecked—disheveled. You’re so fucking pretty it makes Din want to scream.

He picks up a stray rag from a crate and offers it to you, before silently sliding your panties back up to your hips in one dexterous swipe. He lingers there but for a moment, savoring the touch of you—grazing a digit into the crease of your hip. You’re rendered mute— your brain can hardly string a sentence together— but finally you manage, your voice weak when you find it again.

“Thank you,” you croak, wiping away the traces of him off your knuckles, and you smile coquettish, delirious. “That was… that was, uhm—I really enjoyed that.”

A quiet beat slogs by.

And then, everything shifts.

Din’s hand descends from your waist, holstering it to his side, and he moves away. He moves away from you.

You can feel it immediately—like a gust of chilled wind, the change in the air nips at you. Din’s armor is anything but warm—his presence, his aura, anything but inviting—but now, he seems farther from you than ever before, his visor tempered and steely.

You know him. You know this man. You’ve travelled with him, you’ve mended his ills, you’ve taken care of his son, you’ve spoken his name, you’ve laid prints on his skin and deeper still—

And here, before you, Din is white noise. Indiscernible. Unreadable.

Nervously, you twiddle with the frayed edge of the stained cloth, worrying your cheek. You swear, just for a second, that you see him inch towards you— you think you sense him, some part of him, breaching the chasm that’s formed between you. But it’s only a trick of the lowlight—a trick of your cruel heart, winged and errant beneath your ribs, misconstruing your thoughts to fancy.

Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t come to you like you want. He doesn’t touch you again, he doesn’t hold you like you need.

It feels like you’re withering—your legs too bare, your tunic too short, hair too mussed, eyes too bleary—everything feels wrong now, misplaced. “Din,” you start, you try—you try to keep attached to this tether, to this thin strand you’ve sewn between your bodies, but he shrinks back. He severs it. He is as you first met him. Rigid. Distant. A Mandalorian bounty hunter— the best in the parsec. He is as he was months ago, when you were strangers.

When you were nothing.

“I—” He silences himself, teeth clenching shut around the unspoken sentiment you so long to hear, and instead takes another step backwards. Farther away. Farther from you.

He stands straighter, impossibly taller, and you feel

small.

“Goodnight,” Din gives, his voice shrouded and cloaked by his modulator. He pivots on his heel, retreating into the depths of the Crest and leaves you there, the ghost of his hands on your neck, on your breasts, in your heat— still tingling from where they haunt you. Exhausted, you thud back into the bulkhead, unfocused and unseeing.

“Goodnight Din,” you murmur, but it falls upon deaf ears. He’s gone, and the empty hull swallows your words—burying them.

taggies:

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @djarinsbeskar @sammysdaisy @whataperfectwasteoftime @mandobloggin @silver-streaked-wings

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x fem!reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x fem!reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #star wars fanfic #the mandalorian fanfic #king of cups #mandalorian smut

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drakenology · 4 years ago

Text

My Other Half. - Bokuto Kōtarō

warnings: smut, soft, passionate love making, fluff, angst?, best friends to lovers, maaaybe overstim?, praise, fem!reader, cunnilingus (a fancy word for pussy eating). just bokuto going all out to make you feel good.

Summary: Two childhood friends reunite after years of being separated to find old memories and new feelings of love.

Author’s Note: this is my first ever like fluffy piece. all my other work I feel has just been raunchy and I wanted to show yall my soft side. enjoy! <3

Bokuto Kotoro. A name you knew well. A name you knew since you were both kids playing in dirt together, running around and screaming without a care in the world. Two peas in a pod; like Peter Pan and Tinker Bell. It was a sad day when he moved away. Your only friend packed up and left for Tokyo, tears in his eyes as he sat in the backseat of his parents’ car. He waved goodbye through the glass window as the car drove away, a trail of his tears seeming to follow the car as it went. That was the last time you saw him.

When you turned twenty one, your birthday present was a small house in Japan. Some place rural and quiet to do your writing, a small creek flowing in your back yard. You packed up and left home, kissing your mother and father goodbye as you walked out the door. Maybe you’ll run into Bokuto? Hell, he probably won’t even recognize you. It’s been years after all.

You still hoped some how some way fate would bring you together again. You missed him like crazy. His laugh, his stupid jokes. That sparkle in his eyes when he saw you at school. The bear hugs he used to give when you scraped your knee playing with him at the park. It was crazy to assume he’d be waiting for you in Tokyo as if you were the only girl he’d ever meet or care to talk to.

He’s grown now, just about a year older than you. He could have a significant other by now. Your heart ached at the thought. Even though it was selfish to call dibs on a childhood crush who hasn’t seen you in over 10 years, you still hoped; prayed that he was waiting for you or at least remembered you.

When you arrive in your new home and settle in you decide to take the town. Surely you can make some friends, maybe even meet a guy while you’re out? You don’t bother to get all gussied up, walking outside your front door and walking to the nearest bar you can drink your inhibitions away in. The bar you found was small and smelled a bit like sweaty athletes and sake.

The atmosphere was lively despite the off putting smell, everyone was laughing and chatting aloud. The sounds of glasses clinking in celebration and jovial cheering filled the space. You smile softly at the sight of everyone having a great time and find a spot in a nice booth by the window.

The guys behind you must be where the sweaty smell was coming from, their clammering laughter pounding at your head. You try ignoring it until you hear a different yet familiar voice; boisterous and proud like a boy you once knew.

“Yo, Akaashi! Pass the ketchup man, I’m hungry!” He whined childishly, same as always. You turn around swiftly to see if the face matched the voice. Surely enough there he was sitting there, tall as a tree even when sitting in his seat.

God he got so handsome, his face definitely grew into his looks. Bokuto wasn’t a little boy anymore for sure. You stammer, looking between Bokuto and his messy haired friend sitting next to him and a few others. You go to say something only for your own anxiety to stop you, your heart fluttering in your chest in a new way you haven’t felt before.

Finally Bokuto’s eyes meet yours and you both sit there for a while just staring, as if each of you couldn’t believe you were seeing each other again after all this time in forever. Bokuto’s face crept into a smile; a familiar smile that melted your heart.

“Y/n-chan? Tell me you’re joking! I can’t believe it’s you!” Bokuto shouts over everyone’s conversation, leaping from his seat and running towards your booth. You’re still stuck there turned around looking like an owl gawking at the table behind you to realize what’s going on.

Bokuto practically lifts you from your seat and wraps you in one of his famous bear hugs, the ones that made you cry into his chest. As tradition called, you start sobbing into his shirt. Your arms wrap around his neck and pull him in tight almost to tell him not to let you go ever again.

“Hey hey hey.. why are you crying? Shit you’re gonna make me cry. Stop it.” Bokuto says into your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into your back with his big hand.

“I-I’m sorry I just.. it’s been so long.” You admit, sniffling as he pulled away to wipe your face. You can’t help but get emotional at the sight of him.

“Geez, Y/N if you missed me just say that.” Bokuto teased, erupting into furious laughter at your flustered face.

“Oh shut up Bokuto!” You squeak, punching him in his side like the old days. Your usual banter made you two look at each other and laugh as if you two were the only ones in the bar, his friends staring at the the two of you as if you were insane.

“Uh Bokuto.. who is this woman?” The messy haired friend asked, looking about the most confused out of everyone.

“Huh? Oh! Sorry guys. This is Y/N Y/L/N. Other than Akaashi, she’s one my closest friends. Our moms were close so we were raised kinda like siblings.” Bokuto explained, nudging you to say hello.

You wave and introduce yourself, the everyone ooing and ahhing at you. Not to toot your horn but you were gorgeous. Even Bokuto couldn’t take his eyes off you.

He was thinking of how well you grew up, so stunning and so you. Bokuto remembers the little scar you had just above your eyebrow from tripping over and rock and smiles when he sees it, almost wanting to reach out and poke it like when he did when he was 10. He wonders if you remember that day.

You were playing pretend by the trees in the park, you were good and he was evil. You were chasing him and you tripped and fell, causing the evil doer act to shed away to make sure you were alright. You both made up a crazy story about your scar to your mother; which she never believed. Good times.

The rest of the night was spent catching up and talking like he wasn’t even with others originally. Everyone else eventually had gone home, Akaashi the last to go. He waved goodbye to you and Bokuto and drove home, you and Bokuto still sitting at the bar basking in each other’s company.

“Wow! So your parents got you a place here so you can work? Nice. And you live nearby too. So I can come and visit you and- sorry I’m rambling.” Bokuto says sheepishly, running his hands along the nape of his neck. You giggle, taking a sip of your drink.

“No no, you’re fine Bokuto. Of course you can visit. My house is your house.” You smile, Bokuto’s cheeks heating up as he blushed. You check the time and notice it was far too late and stand from your seat.

“It’s late, Kō, we should call it a night.” You say, grabbing your things. Bokuto smiles and stands up with a stretch of his limbs; relishing in his old nickname.

“Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

You two talk and talk all the way home, years of catching up to do feeling long over due. When you get to your home you almost feel sad that you’re about to depart from each other. It felt like you weren’t going to see him again. Bokuto pulls you into a hug, spinning you around a little. He laughs when you squeal and yell at him to put you down.

“Hey. I’ll come by tomorrow night so we can watch movies.” He declares, standing you on your feet.

“Hah. How do you know I won’t have plans, hm?” You teased, poking Bokuto’s forehead. It was a lot easier when you were younger since he was shorter than you back then. Boy sprouted like a palm tree.

“You just moved here. Besides. You know I’m your favorite.” Bokuto smirks, taking your hand and spinning you. You giggle and punch his shoulder lightly.

“As if, Kō. See ya tomorrow.”

A month goes by swiftly. Bokuto had been over to your house more often than you thought he’d be. You loved the time you spent together just goofing off and being big kids.

Your schedules worked perfectly together, his volleyball is usually done by the evening and your work is over just after him. Bokuto would pick you up from work with fast food waiting in the car for you both to eat together. Today was no different, the smell of fries greeting your hungry nose as you climb inside his car.

“Yo! How was your day, nerd?” Bokuto asks, fisting his fries into his mouth as you dig for yours.

“It was okay. I’m starving though.” You say, stuffing your face with your food.

You both sit in the car and eat for a while, Bokuto’s phone breaking your shared silence. You look down at where it rested in the cup holder and read the caller id. It was a girl. Bokuto answers the phone, sounding as if he didn’t want her to call him right at this moment.

“I’ll call you back. Bye.” He said, hanging up his phone and sitting it back in the cup holder. You couldn’t help but feel a little jealous, your heart sinking as your head makes up several sceanarios about who she was, what she meant to him.

You eat in silence, answering Bokuto’s yammering with no ambition. Bokuto’s so dumb he doesn’t even notice the difference in attitude as the call wasn’t as scandalous as you seemed. It was just some girl who was trying to get with Akaashi but was too afraid to say anything herself so she had asked Bokuto to set them up.

“My place or yours today?” He asked, sing songy and happy.

“Mine.” You say monotonously. Bokuto looks over at you and sees you’re not even facing him, your face stuck to the window as he drove off.

“Hey, what’s wrong? I smell?” Bokuto said, playfully smelling his armpits. You shake your head and insist it’s nothing and that you’ll get over it. But it wasn’t nothing, and you were pretty certain you weren’t going to get over it. Was that his girlfriend? Some random hook up looking for another round? It made you sick to your stomach thinking about it. You got out of the car when Bokuto parked, walking to your front door to unlock it as Bokuto followed behind you.

“I pick the movie out this time. I’ll be damned if you pick another chick flick out.” Bokuto says plopping on your couch and turning on the tv, making himself at home.

You sigh and walk into your room to change into something more comfortable, rolling your eyes as you hear Kōtarō yell about the movie starting. You walk out in shorts and a tank top since it was pretty hot inside and sit next to him, folding your arms.

Bokuto’s eating his snacks and talking through the whole movie since he’s seen it before. He always picks a movie he’s seen before so he can tell you the whole plot, forgetting that you could just watch the movie for that. You half laugh and sigh at all his mannerisms, your guard completely blocking him out from getting any closer to you.

“Is something wrong, Y/N? Seriously you’re being a little stand offish.” Bokuto says, a serious tone taking place. You scoffed, rolling your eyes to hide that you’re obviously upset by something.

“Nothing.” You snide.

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me. Somethin’s wrong. Don’t make me start guessing.” Bokuto says. You sigh.

“It’s so stupid.” You admit.

“How you feel isn’t stupid. Tell me what’s up.” He persisted, pausing the movie.

“I just- well.. I-How do I say this? I’m.. jealous?” You finally admit. Bokuto raises an eyebrow.

“Jealous? About what?”

“Well. I saw a girl call you and I-I just assumed it was your girlfriend so..”

“Wait what? I don’t have a girlfriend. And besides why would you care?” Bokuto further questions, his face nearing yours with a perplexed look on his face. You flush, turning your face away from his.

“I-I don’t know I just-“

“You’re in love with me, aren’t you Y/N?” Bokuto smirks, turning your head to face him with your chin. You blink up at him, embarrassed and flustered.

“I-um-I...” You stutter. You loved the idiot sitting next to you with all your heart. But to say it was a different story.

“Because I love you too. So say it back.” Bokuto declares. You freeze for a moment, almost unsure you heard what you just heard.

“R-Really?”

“I love you, Y/N. The moment I saw you again felt like...fate. It was like everything made sense again. I never realized how much tou meant to me until I left that day. You’re my other half.” He says to you so sweetly, his words stirring up emotions inside you that were aching to be let out. Your eyes sting as you choke back tears, clutching onto Bokuto’s hands.

“Kōtarō... I-I love you too. All those years felt so empty without you. And God I just wanted to kiss you that day at the bar and I-“

Bokuto stops you midsentence to pull his face into yours and kiss you hard, your heads bumping into each other a bit from the sudden movement. Passion flowed through the kiss, your mouths exploring each others for the very first time. You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck as you go to straddle him.

Bokuto welcomes you onto his lap with ready hands, palms feeling every curve and divot of your body. Your need for each other grew with each kiss, mindlessly grinding against each other to feel closer. Every touch of his big hands made you feel alive, setting your body on fire. Bokuto starts to whine softly, his pants growing a tad bit tight at all the raw kissing. He pulled away, lips swollen and breathing uneven.

“I want you so badly. Can I-“ Bokuto goes to ask for consent, his nervousness making him struggle to find the words he’s looking for.

You shut him up with another kiss, already knowing what he wants to say as he lifts you up and carries you away. Starting in the kitchen he sits you on the counter as he takes off your top, your bare breasts popping out when the garment flies over your head and onto the floor. He’s never seen such gorgeous breasts before, he swore. Seeing you this way only made him long for you more, standing there dumb founded at the sight of your chest.

“W-Wow.” Bokuto gasps, taking both your breasts into his hands and oogling at them with love in his eyes. “So perfect.”

He takes one into his warm mouth, your body arching at the feeling and letting out a small whine. Music to his ears.

“Kō..” you sigh, closing your eyes as he suckled on your nipples.

His tongue slid over each hardened bud and looked up at you, studying your body language to learn it well. Without a word he slides off your shorts and pick you up again, hoisting you away to your bedroom after asking where it is.

Frantic kisses and breathless moans trail down the hall with a reach of the doorknob. You’re laid carefully onto the bed, Bokuto crawling on top of you without daring to pull his lips from yours just yet.

He could kiss you for hours. He could die right now and be completely content all because of this moment. Bokuto takes his hands and slides them down to the waist band of your panties, tugging them down to reveal your dripping core.

Bokuto teased his fingers along your slick folds, savoring the feeling of your wetness on his skin.

You let out the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard, urging him to draw more music from your lips. He crawls downwards towards your pussy, laying on his stomach and pulling your hips forward.

You gasp at the sudden feeling of his tongue parting your folds, mewling as you arch your back. His tongue worked its magic on you, sliding up to your clit to pay special attention to it. Breathless calls of his name fill the air, your hands grabbing fist fulls of the sheets as he fucked you with his tongue.

Your eyes roll back with every swipe of his tongue, relishing in the toe curling pleasure he gave you. That familiar knot started forming in the pit of your stomach, your moans increasing in volume as you near your orgasm. Bokuto must have sensed this and wrapped his plush lips around your throbbing clit, prodding his fingers at your weeping hole to fill you.

“Kō! I-I’m gonna cum!” You whine, your hands finding home in his hair and tugging lightly. Bokuto responded with a groan against your clit and a hook in his fingers, causing you to boil over without hesitation. Your thighs shake around his head, one hand covering your mouth to spare your neighbors the noise. Bokuto comes back up to kiss you, your slick coating his lips and chin. You taste your sweetness and kiss him with tongue, both of you sighing into each other.

“Wanna... be inside you.” Bokuto says breathlessly into the kiss, his dick aching to be let out of his pants.

You pull away and unbutton his jeans, Bokuto kicking them off onto the floor and pulling down his boxers. Your pussy throbbed at the sight of his dick, its sheer size enough to make you salivate. The way it swung a little when he took off his boxers, the prominent veins running along the shaft, its head blushing and leaking with precum. Bokuto had a gorgeous dick. You almost wanted to put it in your mouth but the heat of the moment called for a different hole to be filled.

Bokuto prods himself at your entrance and slowly slides inside you, inhaling sharply at the contact. You gasp at the dull stretch, feeling so full as you mewl uncontrollably. His hips roll slowly, thrusting deep inside your gummy walls as he rested his forehead onto yours. Your legs wrap around his waist, nails digging into the skin of his back as he picked up the pace.

“You feel so good, baby.” He spoke, kissing you gently to soothe you. You can feel him so deeply it almost brought a tear to your eye, his plunging movements sending your mind into a stupor.

He mummbled sweet praise against your neck, kissing the soft skin as he took you. A part of him wanted to go harder; really ruin that sweet face of yours and turn you into a lewd mess, but you mean more than that to him. This moment is nothing but pure love between two people who have known each other all their lives. You shriek as his hips start slamming into yours, back arching off the bed as your nipples pebbled against his chest.

“I-I love you, Bokuto.” You whine. Your eyes flash white, your vision becoming foggy as the mind boggling pleasure ripples through your body. You chant his name like a mantra, Bokuto mumbling how much he loves you as his hips do more of the talking. You feel him throb inside you, it becoming obvious he’s holding back so you can cum first. He’s rubbing circles into your clit as he pins your legs above your head. It all became so much so fast, your mewls spewing from your lips no longer caring who hears what.

“Let go for me, baby. C’mon..” He hums, nibbling on your neck. You scream, your tight cunny clenching down on his length as you cum for a second time that night. Bokuto rides out your orgasm, watching your body shake and shiver at the feeling of him sliding in and out of your weeping hole.

Bokuto doesn’t have time to think of where to cum, your walks sucking him in so well he loses all sense of control. He cums hot inside you, your pussy milking him for everything he had as he pants into your neck. You both stay in position for a while, looking at each other with love sick eyes. Bokuto rests himself on top of you, still nuzzled inside you as his cum leaks onto the sheets. You’re both out of breath, sitting in the high you both came to as you rub lazy circles into his back.

Nothing but pure love circulated the air as you rest together in bed, naked and vulnerable. You don’t say anything but soft I love yous to each other, gentle kisses on each others lips as you fell asleep in each other’s arms.

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu smut #haikyuu bokuto #haikyuu headcanons #queue made me do it 🥴

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angel-riki · 4 years ago

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Dazed & Dreaming {Ch. 1}

summary: Y/N's life was always quite normal, some may even consider it boring. However, Y/N enjoyed her simple life and the little pleasures it brought. Unfortunately, that all changed the day she found out her best friend's biggest secret. Her discovery leads her down a rabbit hole of a new and confusing world she never knew existed. She must now navigate this new life filled with love, fear, and the supernatural. What awaits her down this path?

pairing: enhypen x reader (vampire au)

warnings: light swearing

word count: 1,435

chapters: [Ch.2] [Ch.3] [Ch.4]

~~~~~~~~~~

The brisk autumn air pricked at your cheeks, making you shiver as you clutched your coat tighter around your body. You picked up your pace as your shoes tapped lightly against the pavement. Walking to school was nice this time of year, you loved the autumn scenery which was full of rich colors and leaves dancing in the wind. Winter on the other hand, was another story. It was also quite pretty, yet much more inconvenient and impractical. However, right now it was a pleasant walk.

Before you know it, you're at the entrance of your school, trudging up the stairs. Oh how you longed to be back in your warm, soft bed, asleep. You begrudgingly continued on your way when you heard a familiar voice ring out,

"Y/N! Wait up!"

You recognize the voice without even needing to turn around, it was Jake. Jake had been your best friend since he had moved here from Australia way back in middle school. He meant the world to you. You've grown so close over the years, he practically knows everything about you at this point. And you know all about him as well. You smiled and waved at the cheerful boy as he jogged to catch up with you. Slightly out of breath and with flushed cheeks, he greeted you,

"Good morninggg!" He drew out the last syllable with a dorky grin on his face. You giggled, he was always so cute without even trying.

"Good morning," you replied, happily.

"Kind of chilly this morning, huh? Did you walk to school again?" He asked.

"Yeah, I did. I always walk to school, you know that," you chuckled at his silly question.

"You knowww," he began,

Oh boy here we go, you thought.

"Heeseung would totally give you a ride to school if you'd like," he stated. Jake had made this offer to you a few times, however, you always declined. Heeseung was a close friend of Jake's yet he was merely an acquaintance to you at best, you would feel bad having him drive you around. Especially since he already gave Jake rides every morning.

Also not to mention, you found Heeseung incredibly attractive and you don't think your heart could handle that...

"No that's okay, I wouldn't want to impose," you politely declined like always. Jake sighed. You were always so considerate, almost to a fault.

"Y/N, Heeseung totally wouldn't mind, he isn't like that, you know." He smiled, trying to convince you to accept the offer. Especially, knowing that winter was just around the corner.

"I know...I just would rather not," you said trying to escape the topic as your cheeks began to heat up. Jake sighed defeatedly and decided to let it go as you both continued your way into the building.

*****

The end of the day couldn't come soon enough as you headed towards your final class; physics. Yay. You've always hated physics and although you were a straight A student, your grades suffered in that class. Thankfully, Jake was quite good at physics and was always happy to help. Over time, he basically became your tutor. You scanned the front board to see what the topic of the lesson was today. Like usual, you couldn't make sense of any of it. God, I wish I had Jake's brain, you thought to yourself.

As much as you tried not to, you ended up tuning out the teacher and his lecture as your mind wandered to anything but physics. Before you knew it, class was over and students began gathering their books and shuffling out of the classroom. Shit. I didn't pay attention to any of that. You mentally kicked yourself for slacking off. Well, at least the school day is over. You headed back to your locker where you saw Jake waiting for you.

"Hey Y/N, how was physics? I know it's your favorite class," he said sarcastically.

"Shut up," you slapped him playfully on the arm, "I actually totally zoned out the whole period. Therefore, I'm lost and you really have your work cut out for you as my tutor," you retorted.

He laughed and shook his head, "Y/N, you're killing me!" He said while jokingly clutching his chest in imaginary pain.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry I should honestly be paying you at this point," you laughed.

"Nah don't worry about it, I'm happy to help," he said. Gosh he's so sweet, you thought. Sometimes you felt like you didn't deserve him. But if you ever dared to say that out loud, you know you would receive an immediate rebuttal from him. Because that's just how Jake is.

*****

*BZZZ* *BZZZ* * BZZZ*

You rolled over and groaned. Ughhh, it's already time to get up? You had stayed up later than usual the night before. You had been facetiming with Jake as he tried to explain your physics homework to you. Unfortunately, it took you quite a while to understand it since you hadn't paid attention in class earlier that day.

Just 5 more minutes...you thought as you lazily snoozed your alarm.

*****

Your eyes fluttered open as you awoke for the second time. Hm, that's weird. Why didn't my alarm go off yet? You grabbed your phone to check the time. You squinted as your eyes adjusted to the bright screen. Oh shit. You had overslept for 45 minutes. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. You mentally cursed at yourself as you scrambled to get ready in half the time you usually do. You frantically threw on your school uniform and hurried to the bathroom to brush you teeth. You gasped as you saw your reflection. You had the worst bed head you had EVER seen. Just my luck. You quickly threw your hair up into a half updo. Guess I'm going for the messy look today. You hurried downstairs and grabbed a granola bar on your way out. You headed down your driveway only to see a car parked on the side of the road right in front of your house. You were a bit confused but as you got closer you were met with two familiar faces. Oh no. This is Heeseung's car. Your stomach did a backflip. Heeseung smiled and gave a small wave as Jake greeted you from the passenger seat,

"Hey, Y/N! Sorry for the surprise, I knew you would never accept the ride but the weather's getting colder and I don't want you to get sick," Jake rambled.

"Jake told me that you walk to school every morning, but I don't mind giving you a ride, it's no problem at all," Heeseung added with a kind smile.

You appreciated the kind gesture, however, you were mortified. Here you were, looking like the hottest mess of the century in front of the hottest boy of the century. This can't be happening. Of all days, why today?!

You smiled meekly, "Wow, uh, thank you that's very kind of you! I guess I'll take you up on that offer since you already went out of your way to come here," you said apologetically. The two boys smiled at you as you opened the car door and climbed into the back seat.

*****

So far, the ride had been fairly quiet until Jake suddenly broke the silence,

"Y/N, did you do something different with your hair?" Jake asked as he turned around to face you.

God, why did he have to bring that up??

"Uh, yeah, I actually woke up late and my hair was a mess so I just tried to make the best of it," you laughed nervously.

"Ohh, well it looks nice!" he complimented.

"Yeah, you look cute." Heeseung added with his eyes still on the road.

You froze. Your brain began malfunctioning as you tried to compute what Heeseung just said. He called me cute. You chuckled anxiously as you felt your cheeks burning up.

"Thank you," you said shyly.

Jake had noticed your abrupt change in body language, which confused him. But then, it all clicked. Oh...She has a crush on Heeseung. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed it sooner. He grinned to himself, amused by his realization. Suddenly, it made sense why you never accepted a ride.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hi, guys! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! I know it was a bit slow, but once the introductory part is out of the way, hopefully things will pick up the pace. Regardless, thank you for reading! I am also uploading this series on wattpad, so if you’d like to support it over there, that would mean a lot! I'm hoping to publish new chapters a couple times a week so keep your eyes peeled hehehe

~Elle <3

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psychovigilantewrites · 4 years ago

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Chapter 14 - A Different Point of View

Summary: Things that happened that you weren't aware of.

Word count: 9,163 words

A/N: Thank you for being so patient with me. I struggled with this chapter due to its nature. I had to further dive into Bruce and Dick's character that I wasn't too familiar with.2020 was a very tough year for me. I lost lots, learned lots. And I thought that the quarantine would mean I would write more. But I was wrong. Life hit me hard, and I stopped doing a lot of things I used to enjoy.Despite being virtually absent last year, you guys stuck by me anyway. Thank you. I love you all for that.Special thanks to my two beta readers. You know who you are. Here it goes.

(i recommend you guys read previous chapters to refresh coz I had to lol)

Ao3

Masterlist

The roles that people played were false- a mere necessity for their career or survival. Everyone was playing a role, whether it was of their own accord or not.

Bruce Wayne was a role- superficial, fake, yet vital to Gotham. Batman, on the other hand, was a completely different role, born out of exigence and a sense of justice.

Dick Grayson, however, genuinely enjoyed playing his role.

Nightwing felt right to him. Being a police officer felt right to him. And especially, if not ultimately, being an older brother.

He listened to the dial tone of his phone, which rung for a few seconds before you finally picked up.

“Hey,” Dick heard your voice, the usual chirp absent that day.

Dick frowned to himself. Bruce was right about you being troubled after all.

“Hey, sis!” he forced the concern out of his voice. “You busy?”

“Nah, I’m just going over some old case files. What’s up?”

Dick leaned back into his sofa. Aside from the traffic blaring outside, the silence in his apartment made it easier for him to concentrate on analysing your speech patterns.

“Can’t I call just to ask how you’re doing?” he teased, easing into the conversation.

Everyone had always told him how he was natural at talking.

“You already called last week…”

Dick smiled to himself. He could already picture your narrowed eyes regarding him with suspicion.

It was good that you were always on your feet, but it was becoming borderline unhealthy. It reminded him of Jason and how he was always so guarded .

He pushed the memory away.

“I can’t call you again?” he rolled his eyes at no one.

“Bruce put you up to this,” you accused.

That’s because he’s worried about you, kid.

If only you knew how much Bruce had changed for you. Dick was glad that you were being loved by Bruce, yet he still couldn't help but feel slightly bitter that he never got that kind of treatment from his father- not the same treatment he gave you.

But he would rather die than admit his selfish thoughts to anyone.

“Yeah,” he conceded, “He was worried about you after last night.”

“I’m fine, Dick,” you insisted.

How many times has he heard those very same words from Jason?

“Well, if you’re not, then you can talk to me,” he offered.

A short pause.

Your response would be what differentiated you from his late brother.

“Actually, yeah,” you admitted.

There it was. No matter how stupid he knew it was for even comparing the two of you, he found that he always had to remind himself not to.

“How did you deal with it? Did it affect you?”

Dick told you his own experience with gore and dead bodies, how he overcame it, how he coped. There was silence after, and he just somehow knew what you were going to ask next.

“How did, uh, he deal with it?”

Your voice came in a whisper, hesitation evidently clear.

Dick was expecting it, but his heart still sank. He knew how everyone acted when Jason was brought up in conversation- he was guilty of reacting as well. He also knew how you were smart enough to avoid that topic.

It had been years. They should all have moved on, because Dick knew that they were also hurting you.

“He came to me as well.” Dick recalled Jason’s hesitant voice over the phone, never directly saying what was wrong, just rambling about things other than what was really going on in his head.

“Then he gradually called less and less when he learned how to deal with it himself.”

The day Dick noticed it, he was happy for Jason, but a small part of him was saddened that his little brother no longer needed him.

“I’ll have to look for that cognitive therapy, then. Thank you for calling, Dick. Talking to you helped.”

Did it really? He noticed your voice had changed again. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone on about Jason like that.

“No problem, kid. Call me if you need to talk, okay?”

The familiar beep left him isolated with his thoughts, wondering if you would trail in Jason's footsteps.

When will the day come when you eventually stop calling altogether?

***

He felt indebted to his city- the city he loved. The city he hated. The city that robbed him of his childhood.

He felt indebted to his family- the family he would give up everything for, the family he couldn’t stop hurting.

And he was sorry. God, he was sorry.

Sorry for everything he’s said and done- or didn’t do. But he still couldn’t stop. Because he didn’t know how.

Yet, no matter how much he claimed to love his family, the problem with Bruce Wayne was that he always expected them to be the people he wanted them to be.

Never like himself, though. No, he would never want them to turn out like him.

“That’s an order. Stay-”

The silence that followed the click in his ear represented the first time you had ever disobeyed a direct order.

It was a little late on your side. Dick and Jason had begun to disobey him within their first six months in uniform. But you had always been obedient- which made it easier for Bruce to trust you in the field.

This first time came as an unexpected and unwelcome surprise. And Bruce was…

Disappointed.

He grit his teeth when he saw you on the ground with the warehouse burning behind you. If he had just been a few seconds late, would you be in the fire, too?

“I almost had him.”

Bruce didn’t miss the wince of pain as you got up to your feet.

He had heard those exact words before countless times from J- no.

Bruce shoved that thought away.

“He would have gotten away, and we wouldn’t have known who it was that did this,” you argued, brows drawn together in a frown, mouth downturned. Your respiratory rate was high, and you were having trouble breathing.

When did you grow so tall? So confident?

Bruce silently pointed to the active security camera he noticed the minute he arrived and saw your expression fall- only for a second.

“I still think I made the right decision,” you insisted.

“You disobeyed a direct order.” He hated his own voice. The way he spoke sounded too militant.

“I acted how I saw fit,” you continued, “You always say to follow my instincts-”

“Not if your instincts contradict my orders.” He regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. He thought he had changed. But no, Bruce was still a dictator.

“Wow. Just- wow.”

He could see the little twitches of annoyance within the disbelief on your face. He understood it completely.

You were walking away, clutching onto your side and weakly limping to your bike, adamant on not seeking his help.

He hated seeing you injured, in pain. It was his fault. If only he was faster, he could have stopped Red Hood from beating you up. If only he predicted it sooner, if only-

“I’ll be heading back now.”

He missed what you had said before that.

“Robin,” Bruce forced out, “Have Alfred check your injuries.”

He should have been there.

When you drove away, he lingered at the crime scene.

Bruce flipped a switch in his helmet, and his lense changed. Non-organic material lighted up bright white. He noticed a fractured piece of shrapnel lying on the ground, less than a centimeter long.

He picked it up and placed it into a test tube from his belt. Switching his view to normal, he saw that it was red, maybe made from fiberglass. He could only deduce that it was a piece of Red Hood’s helmet.

Despite Bruce’s frustrations at you for disobeying him, he felt a swell of pride. You probably landed a hit hard enough to crack the helmet just a little bit that you yourself probably didn’t even realise it.

He shone a UV light on it. A small portion of it glowed.

Bruce had always been numb when he played investigator so that he would remain impartial and objective. That was true justice.

But when he pocketed the evidence and sped to the Batmobile, he felt something he had never felt before.

Against all logic and rationality, he found himself dreading to uncover who the blood belonged to.

***

Bruce never drank his sorrows away. It was dangerous, too easy to develop an addiction to. He could have easily drowned in alcohol at any given chance, like when he thought of his parents, or when he thought-no, knew- he wasn’t enough.

But no, he only restricted his drinking for leisurely activities. He was disciplined. It was the reason why he was who he was.

However, in that moment, staring at the results of the DNA analysis after hours of anxious waiting, he wished he allowed himself a drink.

Not because he was distraught, not because he was in grief- but because he just didn’t know what to feel.

It wasn’t numbness. It was just plain confusion, an internal tornado of emotions whirling inside him all at once.

Footsteps.

He tapped on a button once, immediately closing the window of the test results displayed on the screen.

Composing himself, he clicked on another pending case to pretend he wasn’t on the verge of a breakdown. It’s just another role.

“Master Bruce.”

Why was he still up at this hour?

“Yes, Alfred,” he turned to meet the butler’s tired eyes- just as tired as his own.

Tired because of him.

Alfred was always up because of him. Because Bruce was a disease, constantly burdening others, dragging them down, keeping them up at night.

“I made some sandwiches. They’re light. Please do eat them,” he set the tray on the cluttered desk, simply pushing aside the numerous stacks of papers.

“Go to bed, Alfred,” he told him. Alfred was too old to be up at this hour. And whose fault is that?

“In due time,” he responded calmly, “What of the blood results, if I may ask?”

“Inconclusive,” Bruce lied.

“I see.”

Suspicion shrouded Alfred’s voice.

“How are her injuries?” Bruce asked, the pain finally creeping in, seeping into his bones.

“I commend you for asking about your daughter’s injuries after only four whole hours of staring at the screen, Master Bruce. You would definitely win father of the year.”

“I was occupied,” he sighed, “Please.”

“Her injuries are only superficial,” Alfred said, “Surface contusions at most.”

He still hurt her.

“Thank you, Alfred. Now go to bed.”

“It was only a little more than two decades ago when I was telling you the same,” he grumbled away.

Bruce made sure Alfred was gone before pulling up the results on the screen again, the glaring ‘MATCH’ sign staring angrily back at him as if it were shouting at Bruce, yelling in rage.

And Bruce understood completely. He had failed Jason Todd. He had betrayed him. And now he was back, vengeful, and full of resentment.

But that didn’t matter to Bruce.

Because despite it all, his son was alive.

In the end, that was all that mattered.

***

What did my son do to my daughter?

Bruce watched in horror as you lay unconscious on the hospital bed, hooked to the IV bag. He couldn’t stop staring at the bruises littering your neck.

Bruises that were far too small and evenly shaped to be the effect of a mere throttling.

He knew how the people close to him viewed him. He knew they thought he was strong, unforgiving, cold, emotionless. Especially when they put him side by side with Clark.

But he forced himself to be those things, because if he didn’t, he would have broken down years ago.

He was used to it. The pain. The darkness.

But this time, he felt like he was being crushed.

He felt like he was hanging on by a thread- no. A delicate strand of thin, brittle hair.

“It’s okay, doctor,” you had said, “I know what you’re going to ask me. No, my genitalia does not hurt. He didn’t do anything to me.”

He felt a wave of relief crash over him.

Jason wasn’t that far gone, then.

But as Bruce looked at your neck again, he still couldn’t help but feel nausea crawling into his core.

He still touched her.

Jim left after his questioning, and you drifted to sleep. He went over to you and looked down at your face, taking everything in.

Since when did you look so mature? When did you get so beautiful?

He couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. Even in sleep you had your eyebrows tugged down, as if you were angry that you had to go to bed. He didn’t know why he never saw that small part of you that shouted rebellion despite you almost always following his orders.

He realised that when he watched you sleep, you looked a bit like- no. Don’t ever compare the two.

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to your forehead, trying to convey all of his feelings to you.

He was sorry. So god damned sorry for dragging you into this, for hurting you, for pulling you down to the depths with him.

Hoping you didn’t feel the teardrop that fell to your forehead, he quickly wiped it away before leaving for his press statement.

***

“Master Bruce, please!”

Another crash.

Alfred’s plea snapped him out of his blinding fury, his crushing pain.

He was standing at the hallway near the Manor entrance, glass and broken wood shattered at his feet, feeling the walls closing in and narrowing as Alfred looked at him in alarm.

“I-I’m sorry, Alfred. I-” he stammered, feeling like the small, helpless boy who watched his parents die before him.

He remembered the time when he was little, only a couple of months after the tragedy. He had done the exact same thing, taking out his anger and anguish by destroying things, triggered by something he had long forgotten about.

At that time, Alfred had held him closely in his arms as he stained the butler’s suit with his snot and tears. Again, a burden to the man who raised him.

This time, he refused the old man’s offer of comfort, walking past to descend to the cold darkness of the cave he was so familiar with.

Bruce didn’t usually drink his sorrows away, but this time, he did.

***

Dick wasn’t a good person. He was far from it.

Case in example, it was the first time he saw you after your kidnapping.

He meant to come sooner, he really did. But he was just so busy in Bludhaven, he couldn’t spare any time to rush over the moment he heard his sister was hurt. He tried to justify it in his head by thinking that you were probably handling it fine.

But he was just trying to make himself feel better.

What a great brother he was.

“So, why are you obsessing over violent crimes?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from breaking.

Desensitization was one thing when you worked in that field, but obsession was a whole other problem. And he didn’t want to see his sister walk down that path.

“A lunatic just kidnapped me a couple weeks ago, Dick, maybe this is my coping mechanism,” you huffed, giving him your signature eye roll.

A lot of things start with just a coping mechanism, kid.

Dick knew it about it all too well. The people he brought in on an almost daily basis, high as kites. The accident last week on the highway at three in the morning, two innocent lives taken because of a drunk man who had started drinking three years ago to cope with his mother’s loss.

The man downstairs in the cold cave, who was just a little boy when his parents died, now living with the trauma while going out night after night to beat up criminals, sleeping only three hours a day at most.

“I don’t want your pity, Dick,” you huffed, “I’m fine.”

Yeah, you were. And that was what worried Dick the most.

“I know you are,” he tried to smile, “Which is why I don’t think this is your coping mechanism.”

You talked to Dick about Red Hood, sharing your concerns about him. This is what made you, you. Opening up to him, offering your thoughts and feelings. It was something he never had with Bruce or Jason. The both of them were similar in that sense.

“He won’t tell me either,” Dick huffed, “It’s always been like that with him. No matter how hard I try to get closer to him, sometimes it feels like he’s getting further away.”

It was the same with Jason as well. Did everyone he cared about just end up running away from him?

“I can relate to that,” you sighed.

“But I have a feeling that he will tell you eventually,” Dick tried to comfort you, “It seems too important not to.”

Dick knew better. Bruce had always excluded information from him, whether it was important or not.

“And,” Dick hurriedly tried to change the subject, “I heard from Alfred that you’re not talking to Bruce. May I ask why?”

“So that’s why you’re here,” you eyed him suspiciously. . “I came to check up on you,” he stated, “I’m sorry I couldn’t come here right after, but my little sister did just get kidnapped.”

When are you going to stop putting your guard up around me, kid?

“I told you, I’m fine,” you insisted.

“Then you’re fine enough to tell me why you haven’t been talking to Bruce,” Dick pushed, “I won’t judge. I’ve had my fair share of cold shoulders and fights with him too. I know first hand how frustrating he can be. So come on, tell.”

He saw you hesitate for just a moment, before conceding.

“We fought,” you began, “It was when I got back from the hospital. He wouldn’t tell me who Red Hood was. And he- he called me ‘Jason’.”

Ah, fucking hell, Bruce.

“Jesus,” he whispered, “What did he say exactly?”

“‘Back down, Jason’,” your voice cracked.

Dick saw the way Bruce spiraled after Jason’s death, and he would never tell you this, but deep down he was against Bruce adopting you so soon after. He thought that Bruce was using you to fill up the hole he too felt with Jason’s absence.

You were so like him, yet so different. Still, Bruce must have been really distracted if he could slip as badly as he did.

Dick would ask later.

“Now that’s something I haven’t heard in years,” Dick chuckled humorlessly.

Jason arguing with Bruce about using excessive force. Jason sneaking out to go for patrols whenever he was grounded. Hell, even Jason stealing whiskey from the cabinet at the age of fifteen.

He could still remember it so clearly. Jason with his dark hair poking into his eyes that were full of fury, cheeks puffed up and red as he pouted angrily at Bruce for making him stay at the Manor on nights Bruce insisted on going alone.

Dick tried to shove the past away. He knew he was making you even sadder.

“Has Bruce made any attempts to reconcile?” Dick remembered the conversation he was having with you.

“Yeah, but I’m still mad at him,” you pouted.

“And you have every right to be,” Dick nodded, “But Bruce, well, you know Bruce. He keeps these things to himself, but obviously he’s still hurting.”

You have know idea how much he’s hurting, Little Wing.

You avoided Dick’s eyes, looking down at your fumbling thumbs as the room became silent.

“I’m seeing someone,” you changed the subject.

“You are?”

Interesting.

“Yeah,” you blushed, “It’s still very new, and we’re not official yet or anything. But we’re definitely testing the waters.”

“That’s great,” Dick grinned, “Who is he? Tell me the deets. Spill the tea.”

He sort of loved gossip. It wasn’t a secret.

“I met him in the library a while back,” you excitedly said, “We exchanged numbers. Started texting, meeting up from time to time. He’s really cute.”

Ah, young love. What Dick would give to be at that age again.

“I bet he is,” Dick teased.

“What’s with that face?” you laughed, “He is! He’s slightly older, and he’s got this sexy bad boy look, you know?”

“I thought you liked the nerdy types?” Dick responded. He saw a picture of you and your classmates on your Instagram. Typical prep school kids.

“I never had a type, you ass!” . “You’re right. I thought you were completely uninterested in boys,” he wondered out loud, “Is he nice, at least?”

“Yeah he is,” you smiled to yourself, “He didn’t know I was Wayne until 2 weeks ago. Before that, we were mainly texting. Now we’re meeting up more. I feel like I can be myself with him. I don’t know, there’s just something about him that makes me trust him.”

So you still have some of your walls up with me, but you trust a stranger? Who is this guy?

“I’m not going to tell him anything!” you quickly added, “I’m not stupid. I know I shouldn’t trust someone I just met. It’s not about the confidential stuff. It’s the little things like how I feel, and my problems, and just- stuff, you know?”

The thought didn’t even cross his mind. Dick trusted you enough with their secret, just as how Bruce did.

“I get it,” Dick tried to rationalise, “You don’t know what it is about the person, but you feel like the two of you just click, am I right?”

It had been like that with Barbara. It had been like that with Kory.

Now Dick was alone, and deep down he knew that they saw him as how he truly was. Selfish.

“Exactly,” you smiled, “Been with anyone like that before?”

“One or two,” he brushed it off, “People like that- whom you just click with- they’re hard to come by. You should see where this leads. Who knows, maybe he’s one of those that would stick around, huh?”

What he would give to have at least one person who would stick with him.

After he met with Gordon, Dick went to the cave to see Bruce who was, of course, facing the computers.

“I know what you’re going to say,” his father’s voice echoed without even turning to look at him.

“Then you know how much you’ve hurt her?” he crossed his arms.

Bruce did turn around to face him, and Dick suddenly felt a tightness in his chest.

He knew that Bruce hardly ever slept, but this was different. He looked disheveled, his complexion pale, his eyes more bloodshot and the dark circles even more prominent.

Alfred did say how badly Bruce took the kidnapping, finding him passed out on the cave floor with an empty bottle of scotch in his hand, but he thought that Bruce would have gotten himself together by now. It was surprising to see him that way, and Dick felt… Uncomfortable.

Something was wrong, and it wasn’t just the kidnapping, nor his fight with you.

“You found out something,” Dick narrowed his eyes, “Something important. What is it?”

He caught a flash of guilt in Bruce’s eyes. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Bruce,” Dick groaned, “This is why you keep on hurting her.”

Hurting us.

“I’m protecting everyone.”

“You can’t use that excuse with me anymore,” he sighed, “I don’t need your protection. So tell me.”

“No.”

That was his final word, and he knew that Bruce would never budge.

“Fine,” he let out a breath, “Did you know that she’s seeing someone?”

Bruce frowned.

Which made Dick frown. Since when did Bruce miss things? What the fuck was going on with him?

“Name?”

“Dunno. Didn’t ask. And no, don’t you dare,” Dick pointed an accusatory finger at him, “Do not do a background check on him. She deserves privacy. Hell, don’t even bring it up. You have no right to go poking into her relationships.”

Dick was being defensive, but that was because he was trying to convince himself as well, which was why he didn’t ask you for a name. He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

“I wasn’t going to,” Bruce reassured, “She… She deserves a life. A normal life. Not this- not-”

Dick knew then he had to leave, because Bruce’s voice breaking meant he was far from okay, and he knew that Bruce hated to show his vulnerability to anyone.

“Bruce,” Dick said, this time softly, “You’re not alone, you know. I’ve been with you since the beginning, and I’m still with you now.”

And with that, Bruce turned his back towards him again, silently going back to his goddamned computers.

“He’s been that way ever since the kidnapping,” Alfred informed him when he walked up to the manor.

“I don’t think it’s just the kidnapping, Alf,” he frowned at the butler, “There’s something more to it. Did he figure out who Red Hood is?”

“Perhaps,” Alfred pursed his lips, “But he refuses to tell me.”

“That means we know him personally,” Dick theorised, “Who the hell could it be that he’s so adamant on keeping it a secret?”

“I do not know Master Dick, but it can’t be anyone good if he’s got Master Bruce drinking during the day.”

***

Bruce knew that he was wrong to call you by his dead son’s name.

But his dead son was supposed to stay dead instead of haunting him with that glaring red bat across his chest, and having that thought in his head all the time, he slipped up.

He prided himself with his contingency plans and detective skills and preparations, but no amount of time could ever prepare him for when he found out his dead son had sexually assaulted his daughter.

You seemed to have dealt with it surprisingly well, exceeding his expectations. In fact, Bruce thought it was a bit odd that you weren’t as affected by it.

And then he saw it.

He saw what he thought was the internalized anger you felt finally bursting through the seams of your tightly lidded emotions.

And he wasn’t prepared for it.

Bruce didn’t think you had it in you, or else he would never have made you Robin.

But there you were on the ground, beating a man beyond recognition.

He couldn’t dread this moment because he never saw it coming. Not from you. Never from you.

He hurriedly ripped you off the man, flinging you away with force.

Pulse was present, but weak. Flail chest. It took him only a few seconds to observe the damage you did to the man’s face. It didn’t look good.

“Stay back,” he growled at you when you came close.

He couldn’t look at you. He didn’t want to.

“I-I didn’t mean to,” he heard you whisper.

“Call an ambulance,” he ordered.

There was no other choice. He had to take the fall for you.

“NOW!” he snarled at you again. In the background, you were on the phone, but Bruce’s thoughts were elsewhere, calculating what needs to be done.

You moved-

“Leave. I’ll deal with this.” You needed to go. You couldn’t be here when the ambulance and police arrived.

“Batman-”

“I said leave,” he snapped. He couldn’t even hear your voice.

He waited for the ambulance to come before leaving, making sure they saw him escape. Making sure he would be the one the media would attack.

And while he drove back to the Cave, he decided to give his son a call.

“Bruce?”

“Dick,” he sighed. He knew he had always been unfair to his eldest, giving him so much pressure to perform, pushing him to be his best- and ultimately away. He knew that he never showed it, but he was proud of Dick. He always had been from the very beginning.

“What’s wrong?”

It wasn’t a surprise that Dick picked up immediately that something was wrong. If it wasn’t for the fact that calling him out of the blue was what gave it away, Bruce himself trained Dick.

“She- she crossed the line tonight,” he tried to explain, “Jerome Miller. She attacked him. The damage she’s done to him is irreversible. I suspect he will be in a vegetative state for the rest of his life.”

“Jesus,” Dick breathed from over the line, “Why didn’t you stop her?”

“I wasn’t there,” he grit. He thought he could trust you.

But deep down Bruce knew that it was all his fault after all. Who was he to act so righteous when he was the reason your parents died?

“I don’t know if she’ll talk to me, Bruce,” Dick sighed, “Not about something like this. She’s probably beating herself up over this already.”

“As she should.”

“Bruce.”

“Please,” Bruce asked, “I’m worried. She isn’t herself and I can’t blame her for it, but the chances of her talking to you are much higher than if I were to try.”

“I’ll try,” Dick agreed.

“Report to me after.”

“Bruce, we’ve talked about this,” Dick grumbled, “I am under no obligation to report to you. I’m doing this for her. Not you.”

He was trying not to go back to the man he was before, but sometimes he couldn’t help it.

They’re your children, not your soldiers.

He had to remind himself time and time again. It was easier to be just a father to you as compared to Dick and Jason, yet even then he made slips.

“I know,” he apologised. “Thank you.”

Click.

And then Bruce was alone again.

***

Bruce watched you from the corner of his eye when you came back. He noticed that you had put more effort into dressing up when you left the house that day.

There was a slight bounce to your step and a small smile that played on your lips.

Dick was right after all. There was someone you were seeing.

But no, he couldn’t look into it. In fact, it would be hypocritical of him if he did. Dick had many girlfriends and flings, and Bruce didn’t want to know about any of them. Mainly because Dick was his first, and the thought of a boy he raised maturing and having relationships made him feel confused about parenthood.

Not that many of them lasted too long anyway.

Jason was a little different. While Dick had girls lining up after him all the time, Jason was much more subtle about the girls he liked, and that made Bruce more curious- but not enough to investigate.

He thought about when Barbara had caught Jason looking at her, making him turn red. He wondered if Jason would like you.

A tight squeeze in his chest.

He didn’t let his mind linger there.

Bruce felt obligated to protect you, which tempted him to investigate the boy you were seeing. It could be a trap, it could be someone using you for fame and money, or something even more sinister. Hell, it could be Jason himself after that stunt he pulled off.

But there was no evidence, and Bruce wanted to be a father to you this time instead of Batman the mentor. So Bruce would have to trust you on this one.

***

There was something holding Bruce back from telling everyone the truth about Jason.

And because he is who he is, Bruce knew what it was.

Guilt. He blamed himself for what had happened, and telling others about it meant owning up to his mistakes. Bruce never ran away from his fears and feelings despite what others might think. On the contrary, he held to them very strongly, using them as a motivation to fight head on.

This time, though, he felt more self destructive- the worst he had ever felt since he carried Jason’s corpse from the rubble- and so he tried to delay the inevitable.

But time was running out. He had enough time to wallow in self pity. It was time to pull himself together, and the first step began with Alfred.

The Cave was colder than usual that night, air thin and darker despite the illumination he had provided. Bruce was slumped in his usual wheeled chair, cowl resting on the desk after patrol, the weight of his suit almost crushing him in his weakened mental state.

“Alfred,” Bruce sighed, “Please, take a seat. I have something to tell you.”

“I assume this is about the identity of one criminal who has been terrorizing your daughter?” Alfred retorted, sitting down anyway.

“Yes,” Bruce nodded, “This… This won’t be easy, Alfred. I suggest you prepare for the worst.”

“And the worst being..?”

Bruce wheeled himself closer to the butler, leaning forward. “It’s Jason.”

Alfred merely blinked. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid my ears have caught up to my age. I must have misheard you, because for a moment, I thought you said that Red Hood is Jason.”

“You didn’t mishear me, Alfred. It’s him.”

Bruce saw the confusion in Alfred’s eyes, the frantic search for reason. “Our Jason? Jason Todd?”

“Yes, Alfred.”

And then, Bruce felt it. The pain he had been suffering with for weeks spreading to the man who raised him. Alfred clutched his chest with one hand, the other clenching tightly over the armrest of his chair, his breathing quickened.

“Impossible,” he whispered, “Jason died. How?”

“There was an event regarding The League and Superboy punching reality. I won’t get into details, but I suspect that was what caused the initial resurrection. The restoration, however. We know of someone who has been continuously restored time and time again.”

“Ra’s Al Ghul,” Alfred concluded, “But why? Why on Earth would he restore Jason?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce frowned, “But it is an almost perfect revenge plan. I would like to entertain the idea that he has brainwashed Jason into thinking we are the enemy, but I can’t put it past him to develop a hatred for me. I… betrayed him.”

“Master Bruce, this is not your fault,” Alfred rose to his feet, “If it is indeed Jason, we can still help. I have faith in the boy.”

“Me too, Alfred. Me too.”

Bruce didn’t miss the sob that echoed faintly through the cave when Alfred ascended back up.

***

As if in slow motion, he saw every change of emotion on Dick’s face. The way he blinked once in confusion, the surprise approaching as he widened his eyes, and then his eyebrows stitching together in a deep frown, his lips downturning and nose flaring in anger.

Bruce saw the punch coming, but he did not do anything to counter it. Gladly, he took the right hook Dick gave him, appreciating the sting that radiated from his cheekbone to his jaw.

“How long have you known?” his son shook in anger.

“Dick-”

“HOW LONG, BRUCE?!” Dick roared, fists clenched, voice echoing in the cave.

“Since the night he blew up the warehouse,” Bruce replied.

“Jesus, fuck,” Dick ran his fingers through his hair, “Jesus, Bruce. That was over a month ago.”

“I know.”

“We-” he choked on his words, “We deserved to know.”

“I know.”

“So why the fuck didn’t you say anything?!” he slammed his fists on the desk. Bruce caught a few drops of tears that fell to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce apologised, and meant it. But he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything more.

“You’re sorry?” Dick looked at him with eyes far too cold than he knew, “He was my brother, Bruce. He told me things he never told anyone else. We shared secrets and jokes. We went to the same diner once a week to catch up. He asked for my help and I asked for his. And then he died. Just like that, because you couldn’t keep him on a leash. And now he’s back, and you knew it was him, and you’re just sorry?”

Dick’s eyes were wet and red, and filled with contempt. Bruce couldn’t blame him. He hated himself, too.

“Does she know?” he whispered, “Does she know that the man who attacked her is your son, and is my brother?”

Like always, he pushed the pain away efficiently, logically, objectively.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “I told her this afternoon.”

“And she’s not angry?”

“If she was, she did not show it,” Bruce described, “In fact, she looked… Worried.”

“Of fucking course she would be worried,” he snarled, “She’s worried that she’s going to be irrelevant to you now the dead Robin is back.”

“She’s not,” Bruce growled at that, “She’s not his replacement. She never was.”

“Does she know that, Bruce?” Dick snickered, “Did you finally get over yourself and tell her that? Because the last fucking time I spoke to her, you called her Jason.”

Bruce didn’t know how to respond to that. He was good at smiling at the cameras and making speeches and charming an audience, but he was never good with words, real words that described his true feelings to the ones he cared for the most.

“I’m sorry,” he simply said, now numb to everything throughout years and years of practice. “I promise, I will bring him back. Will you help me?”

“What can I do that you can’t?” Dick scoffed.

“You knew him, Dick,” Bruce said, “You knew him in ways I never did. I can predict his movements, but to accurately guess what his motivations are- you knew him better than I did.”

“Fine,” Dick conceded, “But I’m not forgiving you for this, Bruce. I swear, you’re going to pay for all the secrets you’ve kept from us, be it by my hand or someone else’s.”

***

“Did you know that your daughter went out last night to see a boy while we were patrolling?” Dick brought up.

He was looking at Bruce’s back, as he always was.

Bruce was on the computers, going through hours upon hours of security footage and traffic cams for Red Hood- for Jason.

It was difficult for him to put the two together. Jason had always been his little brother. Young, naive, inexperienced. And now that same person was the leader of the underground.

It was definitely difficult.

“Alfred mentioned she went out, but I didn’t know it was to meet a boy,” Bruce replied without glancing his way.

“Well, she lied to me about it at first,” Dick sank in a chair, looking at his nails. “Got pretty defensive when I brought it up. Even tried to deflect by using Jason against me.”

Dick knew you meant to hurt him with your words, and it worked.

He was definitely surprised that you would stoop that low because he always saw you as a sweet, kind girl.

People change. That’s what happens when you stick with Batman.

But Dick didn’t expect you to change so fast.

“She… used Jason against you?”

Bruce finally turned towards him, the ever constant frown a little bit deeper that moment.

“Yeah,” Dick straightened, “It was the first time she’s ever spoken to me that way.”

“What did she say exactly?”

“That I was distracting myself by using humor as a coping mechanism, and that I should come to terms with the fact that it was my brother who kidnapped and sexually assaulted her,” he repeated bitterly.

“What did you say to her that she responded that way?” Bruce asked.

“I was just making fun of her boyfriend,” Dick shrugged, “Why? Do you think she’s hiding something?”

At first, Dick thought that you were genuinely angry at the both of them because you were right- Jason did kidnap you. Jason did do those things to you. And Jason was supposed to be under both Bruce and Dick’s responsibility.

Dick didn’t blame you for it, because he would have probably been angry if the situation was reversed.

It was one of the mistakes he always made as Robin when Bruce was teaching him how to accurately deduce by reading people. Never assume that someone’s motivations would be the same as your own.

“She hid that she has… someone from me. There must be a reason why.”

“Or she knows how you are and would rather not have your nose in her business, Bruce. She did find out about that tracker you put in her necklace. How did she even react to it?”

Bruce had done the same with both Dick and Jason while they were Robin, though it didn’t come disguised as a pretty, shiny piece of metal.

On the contrary, during Dick’s Robin days, Bruce had hid it behind his third molar while he was unconscious. He only found out after a year, when he was held hostage by a mercenary who wanted to use him to lure Batman. Said mercenary had detected the tracking device and pulled it out along with the tooth.

It made him increasingly more hostile towards Batman and his never ending need for control, but at least it saved him a trip to the dentist.

From what Dick knew, Jason died with his tracker on him.

Bruce had said that it was all done in the name of safety.

But would you tell Jason the same thing now?

“I apologised and never replaced the one Red Hood damaged. I thought that would have been sufficient for her to trust me again.”

Dick let out a bark of laughter at that, but it was void of any humor. “Only you would think that not replacing her damn tracker would make her trust you. No wonder she hasn’t told you anything.”

It was probably best not to mention that you were now also sexually active.

“Do you think she’s hiding something important?” Bruce asked.

“Are you actually asking for my opinion?” Dick smirked, “No, but it’s too soon to tell, anyway. Relax, Bruce. It’s like you forgot what it was like to be young and in love.”

That was obviously a joke. Bruce grew out of his childhood the moment he saw his parents getting killed in that alley.

As for being in love, did Bruce ever allow himself that?

***

“What did you say she called herself?” Nightwing asked softly.

The poor girl was scared out of her mind to the point where Dick found it difficult to extract important information from her ramblings.

Well, that’s what happens when someone makes you kill a person.

It was difficult, so difficult, to face the fact that it was Jason behind all of that.

“I t-think, V,” the witness- Elena- stuttered. “She with him. But try to stop him.”

Behind him, he felt Batman pause. He was walking around the club and analysing evidence while listening to the conversation.

“She tried to stop him? Him as in Red Hood?” Dick frowned.

“Yes,” Elena looked down and rubbed her arms.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but,” Dick tried, “You told me they were partners.”

“Yes, but she try to stop him,” she repeated, “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Dick offered a smile, “Thank you very much. You’ve been a huge help.”

“Am I going to prison?” she looked at him with big, wet eyes.

“We’ll make sure you won’t,” Dick assured, “You’ll get the best defense team in Gotham.”

“You can do that?” she asked, hope in her voice.

“It’s the least we could do,” Dick answered, a sad smile playing on his lips.

He’s our responsibility.

“Thank you,” she gave a watery laugh, “Even prison better than with him, I want to be free.”

Dick heard footsteps approaching. As he turned around, Gordon entered the crime scene, followed by his team.

“Of course you’re here first,” he sighed at Batman.

“Gordon.”

“You might have to speak to the police again, okay?” Dick told Elena who was suddenly nervous again by the presence of so many people. “I’ll make sure they know you’re innocent. Gordon is the only one you can trust, okay?”

She nodded, her gaze turning downwards.

“Gordon,” he approached the aging man. He was used to talking with Gordon in Batman’s stead, even when he was Robin, and remembered feeling proud of himself whenever he finished speaking to Gordon regarding cases without Batman having to add anything.

“Nightwing,” he blinked, “It’s been a while.”

“Desperate times calls for desperate backups,” he grinned, “Anyway, the girl. She’s a victim of Victor Ibenescu’s human trafficking trade. Romanian, only thirteen when she was kidnapped. She was forced to shoot Victor by Red Hood.”

“This Red Hood likes his poetic justice,” Gordon snickered.

“It’s still first degree murder, or at least, that’s how the law would make it seem,” Dick reminded him, “But I assure you she’s innocent. Red Hood threatened to kill and rape her if she didn’t shoot.”

That was a lie, on both his part and Elena’s. Judging by the way she averted her eyes and touched her own arm, Dick could tell that she wasn’t telling the whole truth about being threatened by Red Hood- but he also knew that he couldn’t expose her and get into more trouble.

He wanted to let out a tired sigh, but that would give him away in front of Gordon and the other officers. He still needed to maintain his air of hopefulness, and he couldn’t seem like he was troubled by his thoughts.

Time to meet Bruce back at the cave and watch the surveillance footage.

***

“He’s got a partner now,” Dick voiced out his findings, “Since when did Red Hood partner up?”

Bruce’s frown was deep as he stared at the screen.

Dick pursed his lips. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Whether this is Red Hood or Jason?” Bruce hummed, “This definitely does not seem like anything Red Hood would do. He’s always tried to separate himself from others because it furthers his authoritarian agenda. He does not get friendly with people because people are disposable to him.”

“So you think this is Jason, then?” Dick concluded, “Well, Jason never had much of a problem working with others in the past, and he made some friends. He wasn’t the type to be hostile to people.”

“He did have trust issues,” Bruce pointed out, “At the very beginning.”

“Yes, and he kept a lot of things to himself,” Dick agreed, “But he did have friends.”

“Special friends,” Bruce added, “Friends who gained his respect and trust. So the question is- who is this girl and how did she manage to gain his trust?”

“Hey, play it back again,” Dick said, “Those moves.”

Bruce played the security tape, showing the mysterious girl and Red Hood taking down Victor’s men.

“Arnis,” Bruce pointed out.

“It’s a little different.”

“She has incorporated silat in as well. Low stance,” Bruce observed. “She’s skilled, but not polished. It could be anyone.”

There was something familiar about the girl that Dick couldn’t pinpoint. Dick usually had strong intuition- a gut feeling that enabled him to know which facts to focus on during an investigation, or a strong ability to see through people.

But the problem was that it wasn’t solid proof or evidence, something Batman heavily focused on. It was a gut feeling that told him he knew who the girl was.

“Do you think it’s-” he broke off without completing his sentence. There was nothing to back his claims.

“She has no reason or motive to work with Jason,” Bruce shot the idea down, “He’s hurt her. And… She wouldn’t betray me like that.”

“She’s been keeping secrets, Bruce,” Dick reminded, hating the fact that this time it was him who was suspicious.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Because he never would have thought that Jason was capable of torture and murder, either.

Why didn’t he come to me?

“As you clearly pointed out prior to this,” Bruce grit, “She has her reasons as to why she’s keeping secrets. And it is most probably because of me. All of you kept secrets. But this time, I’d like to let her keep hers.”

It was sweet, seeing Bruce that way.

“Is it guilt?” Dick asked.

“It’s repentance.”

Dick hated playing the bad guy.

Because he wasn’t supposed to be. He was the one people looked up to for inspiration, he was the light to Batman’s darkness, he was the smiles and charms and laughter.

He wasn’t the one who would accuse his little sister of fraternizing with the- was Jason the enemy?

Shit. Jason had messed with his senses. Dick’s head was chaotic, his emotions causing him to tense up.

Was he wrong? Was he just like Bruce? Was he jumping to conclusions just because Alfred told him you were out? Should he investigate this Carter you said you were with?

No. I’m not Bruce.

And now, you were looking at him with angry eyes, betrayed and appalled by his accusation.

*** Large.

That was the first thing that came to Dick’s mind when he saw his little brother.

The last time Dick saw him, he was much shorter, and definitely not as bulky.

And the last time Dick saw Jason, he was giving him a hug goodbye, complaining that Dick had messed up his hair.

And now, Jason was aiming a gun at him.

The gunshot didn’t hurt nearly as much as the thought that Jason had indeed shot him. Did Jason hate him that much?

You’re almost as guilty as he is, Jason’s voice echoed in his head.

“Bruce,” he gasped in the comms, “I’m down. They got away.”

“I heard a gunshot,” the deep voice in his ear spoke.

“Yeah, Jason shot my leg,” Dick winced, “Didn’t hit bone but I think it nicked my artery.”

“There are children here,” Batman said, “I was right. He’s sabotaging the Powers’. Gordon should be here soon. You control your bleeding.”

Dick nodded to himself and took a deep breath before plunging his finger into the gunshot wound to keep himself from bleeding out.

***

“...suspects that the crime lord only known as Red Hood and an unidentified female were behind the home invasion. Maria and Joseph Powers were left in a gruesome state according to reports, but their only child Carrie Powers was unharmed. The authorities are not sure what Red Hood’s motive was, but more will be elaborated during Commissioner Gordon’s public address later this afternoon...”

Dick heard you close the door.

“You didn’t come home last night,” he lowered the volume of the television.

“Uh, yeah,” you answered.

Dick looked over at you. You seemed tired, eyes swollen and red from crying, wearing an oversized t-shirt that he didn’t recognize.

“I was at-”

“Carter’s?” he finished your sentence for you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, sitting down next to him on the sofa.

Dick frowned to himself. Your arms were crossed, you were avoiding eye contact, your body was angled away from him.

“You heard about the Powers’?” he turned his gaze towards the television.

“I saw the news on the way here,” you monotoned.

You smelled like a different shampoo. It was familiar, but Dick couldn’t remember where he had smelled it before.

“So you know that-”

“Yes, Jason did it,” you said rigidly.

“Along with-”

“His partner.”

Ah, now he remembered the smell. Jason’s favorite shampoo. He used to make fun of him for choosing one that was called what it was called. He didn’t really care about it, Dick kept his hair soft and fluffy with multiple women’s hair products. He just liked to rile Jason up because he was so defensive about it.

And with that, Dick let out a long, disappointed sigh.

“Bruce is in the cave. I suggest that you think long and hard about what to tell him,” Dick offered you a soft smile, “But no matter what you choose to say, you’ll always be my sister, and I’ll always love you no matter what, okay?”

You gave him a look of shock, and then realised that he had figured it out.

“I’m sorry, Dick,” you lips trembled, your eyes started brimming with tears.

“No, kid. I’m sorry,” he replied, “Go.”

You nodded and left.

Despite being right all along, he didn’t feel any sense of achievement. Dick couldn’t help but partly blame himself. For being so absent, for being neglectful, for being a bad brother.

Dick wasn’t perfect, but like hell would he stop trying to be.

***

For years Bruce had tried to stop feeling guilty for being relieved whenever someone else takes care of a problem he couldn’t solve- especially when it involved murder.

Bruce had tried to take down the Powers for almost a decade, and everytime he got close, there was always another obstacle in the way. It was difficult to expose the rich and powerful without resorting to violence, without resorting to breaking his principles.

So Bruce was ready to stop himself from internally celebrating their deaths. This time, however, he wasn’t as pleased. Because this time, it was Jason who brutally murdered two people. Jason, who was supposed to be under his care and responsibility.

“Bruce?” he heard your timid, small voice from behind him. “I have to tell you something.”

And there it was.

Bruce turned around and looked straight at you, piercing your eyes with his own as he waited on your confession.

A minute passed.

“I’m V,” you struggled to speak, “I’ve been meeting up with Jason for a few months now. I didn’t know he was Red Hood until you told me. But when you did tell me, I chose to confront him and team up with him anyway.”

Bruce didn’t say anything.

“He- he’s not a bad person, Bruce,” you justified, “He’s just really hurt. He needs help.”

You were telling Bruce things he already knew.

“I- I fell in love with him,” you continued, “And I let my feelings cloud my judgement and betrayed your trust. At first I thought that he was onto something, that his… methods were better than yours. And I was angry that you kept secrets from me. But after last night- after what I saw- I couldn’t- I couldn’t stay.”

Bruce clenched his jaw.

He suspected it. Dick suspected it. But for your sake, the both of them chose to put their trust in you. He had tried so hard to change from his old ways. He learned his lesson with both Dick and Jason.

He didn’t want you to go through the same thing they did.

So, he chose to blindly trust you anyway, hoping that he wasn’t right.

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” you were sobbing now, “I’m so sorry. Please, say something.”

After another minute of watching you break down in front of him, Bruce finally spoke up.

“Hang up your colors. You’re no longer my Robin.”

#Red Who #Red Hood x Reader #jason todd x reader

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romiantic · 4 years ago

Note

hi hi!! may i request tanaka x fem!reader fluff where the reader is a new student at karasuno and he’s immediately interested!! thank you!!! (black reader obviously LOL)

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐭. 𝐫𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐚

reading: black!fem!reader

genre: fluff

request: hi hi!! may i request tanaka x fem!reader fluff where the reader is a new student at karasuno and he’s immediately interested!! thank you!!! (black reader obviously LOL)

a/n: I’m so sorry anon for the wait 😭 I really do hope you enjoy

At first it started with Kiyoko giving you a tour of the gym

She invited you to watch the boys play a bit and you agree of course. She introduced you to Yachi as well

Nishinoya was the first one to point you to Tanaka

When Tanaka saw you, WHEW, his heart almost stopped

How did a gorgeous girl with such gorgeous features end up in Karasuno? Of all the schools you could’ve joined, Karasuno.

And what were you doing here? How did he end up blessed to see someone like you just sitting there, just there, chatting with the other two managers?

The way your long faux locs wrapped perfect into a mini bun while the rest laid flat on your back, your soft skin glistening well under the gym, and how your pearly whites and brown cheeks popped out when Kiyoko mentioned something funny to you and Yachi.

Stop, leave, he can’t take it anymore. His brain wasn’t used to this much beauty since he first saw Kiyoko.

Your beauty alone was making the boy short-circuit

Thankfully enough Nishinoya brought him back to reality

You took a small notice of him and softly smiled and waved at him

Damn it y/n you broke Tanaka 🤦🏾‍♀️ the only thing that helped him out was Daichi announcing their usual five-on-five practice match

Which he took the opportunity to show his skills off

Hopefully it goes well...for him

“Oi Tanaka!” Nishinoya jogged over to his skinhead friend, who was currently getting a drink of water. Nishinoya pulled him over to a secluded area, not too far away from the team. “You see that girl over there? Our lovely Kiyoko has struck again and brought us more beauty.” The short black/blonde was so heartstrung over you, you would’ve seen hearts show up on his pupils.

Tanaka took a deep breath and puffed out his chest, “You’re right Noya, let’s do this.”

The two jogged back over to the court and joined the rest of their team. Their vice captain clapped loudly to get everyone’s attention. Everyone turned their heads to see what the two captains needed.

Their captain called out, “Alright everyone form out, we’re starting out our usual five-on five game. Sugawara will be captain of one team and I will do the other. For my team, I’ll have Kageyama, Tsukishima, Ennoshita, and Nishinoya. Sugawara will have Hinata, Tanaka, Yamaguchi, and Asahi.”

“Yes, I’m with Tanaka!” Hinata shouted and clapped his hands with Tanaka. Nishinoya nudged him and gave him a wink, “You got this bro.” The two boys split ways and joined in with their team.

At first it was going well for Tanaka, you were intrigued by his mass amount of energy and how sharp he hits the ball. You also found how cool that he would ALWAYS motivate his teammate, no matter how tired or worn out they look right now.

Actually, it seems like him, Hinata, and Nishinoya were the ones with the most energy out of it. Even Kageyama looked out of it, from trying to cooperate with Tsukishima, and his rude remarks, to trying to make the perfect sets for his teammates. The three mentioned look like they were on fire, especially on the last set.

It was Tanaka’s turn to serve, he took a deep breath and took a glance at you. You sat with your ankles crossed and phone flat on your lap, he winked at you and threw the ball up. This serve he made extra special by putting all force into the serve.

The ball was spiked straight across the net, passing the blockers, and giving his team the final point to win.

Kiyoko nudged you and smiled, “I think you’re the reason why Tanaka won and acted like that.”

You were genuinely confused and tucked some of your locs behind your ear, “What you mean? Wait, is the Tanaka the skinhead that winked at me?”

Kiyoko shook her head and pointed over to Tanaka, who was currently celebrating with his teammates and getting yelled at by his captain that he’s loud.

Yachi pitched, “Kiyoko isn’t wrong, Tanaka isn’t usually this loud.”

“See y/n, you’re the reason why.”

You waved them off, “Yeah yeah. Not gonna lie, he got some skills and he’s kind of cute.”

Kiyoko nudged you again and smiled, “First day here and y/n is already taking a liking to someone. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the team.”

You nodded your head and headed over to the team, who were currently chatting amongst themselves and discussing game strategies and improvements.

Suga was the first to notice you three coming, “Oh Shimizu, who’s your new friend?”

“This is l/n y/n. She’s new at Karasuno and I decided to give her a tour.”

Hinata leaned over a bit to show his interest in you, “Ouuu she’s pretty Kiyoko.”

She introduced and pointed out the rest of the team to you. You waved and at the team and they did the same.

You took a small glance at Tanaka from the corner of your eye and boy was his face red, redder than a grilled tomato.

“Woah Tanaka are you good?” Hinata asked.

Yamaguchi and Tsukishima snickered and pointed out, “I think he has a crush on the new girl.”

“No I don’t!”

“Yes you do.” Both Daichi and Suga said.

Kageyama added, “If you can countlessly admit your love to Kiyoko, I think you can admit your feelings to y/n.”

Tsukishima muttered, “At least this one would be realistic.”

“I’m flattered actually, he’s a fine lil thing and I like how he plays.”

Sugawara fake gasped, “Someone as bold as Tanaka? To think we’ve never seen the day.”

Hinata violently shook Tanaka, “Dude dude dude, you should like totally shoot your shot.”

Nishinoya agreed, “Yeah dude, she’s standing right there, what’s the worst that could happen?”

The team kept encouraging Tanaka until he mustered the courage to walk up to you.

He stood in front of you, nervously chuckling and rubbing his hand behind his neck while you had a smile plastered on his face, “Uh huh- hi- I’m- I’m.”

Nishinoya called, “Stop being a pussy!”

Daichi called out, “Nishinoya! Ten extra laps around the court.”

“Twenty and I get to show y/n rolling thunder.”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes, “Please anything but that annoyingly stupid receive.”

Nishinoya side-eyed him, “Tsukishima you wanna join me?��

You giggled at the encounter and gave your attention back to Tanaka. Still beet red and nervous, trying to spew out words, you meshed your hand into his free hand. “Take me to the finest ramen place this Saturday.” You winked at him as well.

Everyone’s eyes widened and were in awe at your actions.

Kiyoko crossed her arms and let out a ‘hmph’, “Did she just- wow, y/n. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I used to be somewhat of a player back in America.”

Hinata excitedly asked, “Ouu wait y/n, can you please tell us about America? How is it? What do you guys eat there? Is it fun? Do they have volleyball over there? Are they like really good at volleyball too? What about-”

Kageyama cut his questions by covering his mouth, “Do us all a favor and please shut up.”

You let out a small laugh, “I don’t mind getting questions, I mean I am pretty new here.”

“Good then…” Nishinoya did the same as Hinata and started rambling off question after question.

You spent the rest of the afternoon chatting with team and telling a lot about yourself. All while your hands were still connected with Tanaka’s. You looked over to him and winked while he talked into the conversation as well.

You’d say it was a pretty nice first day at a new country, and at a new school.

FINALLY, I finished this Tanaka request. Sorry anon that it took so long 😭

Also sorry if you wanted just a straight oneshot instead of headcannons 😭

hope you enjoyed 💕

bye babes, drink your water, stay hydrated, and remember that you are the baddest bitch on the planet 🥰 no matter what ANYONE says

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐬 𝟐:𝟑 💗

#haikyuu x black!reader #x black reader #haikyuu tanaka #ryunosuke tanaka #tanaka x y/n #tanaka x black reader

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cunningambitousdetermined · 4 years ago

Text

The Plan (Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader)

title: the plan

pairing: natasha romanoff x f!reader

warnings: mild swearing, mentions of homophobia, FLUFF with a dash of angst

summary: Y/N has been in love with Natasha Romanoff for a VERY long time and honestly, Tony is getting sick of watching it. Natasha has been in love with Y/N since the very first day and Steve can’t take the assassins obliviousness anymore. Steve and Tony, reluctantly of course, team up to make the pair notice how perfect they are for each other. (OH SHOOT IM SORRY I SUCK AT SUMMARIES WOW)

requested by @iamninaanna:

Hey Sunshine, I love your writing, so I'm here to request something :)

Can I please request a Natasha Romanoff × reader, where the Avengers are playing truth or dare, and somebody challenges Natasha to kiss the reader, or something like that, and then they confess their feelings to one another. I was having something in mind, I hope it's not to specific, that like Natasha rambles about the reader to Steve A LOT, and he's so sick of it, he has to do something about it, while it's the same situation with reader, just that she's talking to hers best friend, which can be any of the Avengers, you decide, and then Steve and the reader's best friend make a plan together, and well, you know the rest <3

Okay, that was a lot, but I'm really excited😊 Thank you if you write it!!

a/n (i think that's what i put when i’m responding, if i screwed it up please let me know, it would be much appreciated) :

hi taja! thank you so much, this is the first time someone has requested something and im really excited. but also terrified. more terrified. reader is a girl but if someone wants me to rewrite this as gender neutral, i can. hope i do it justice and if your reading this, thank you for reading. if anyone has any feedback, it’s always welcome. okay here i go!!

the story:

Y/N Y/L/N flopped backward on to Tony Stark’s bed, grabbed the nearest pillow and let out a angry scream into the unsuspecting piece of cloth and feathers.

“Woah kid, what’d the pillow do to you?” Tony joked, his eyes still trained on whatever new gizmo he was working on, chuckling at his best friends antics.

“It’s fucking Natasha” Y/N mumbled quietly into the pillow, her voice muddled by the soft white sheets that she buried her head farther in. Tony was silent, the only sounds was the clinking of the Tony’s robots and tools working, so she assumed he hadn’t heard her. Not that she wanted him too anyway.

Y/N was in love with Natasha Romanoff. Head over heels, fully in love with the assassin that she’d worked closely with for the past years. To describe how Y/N felt about Natasha in words would never to how she really felt in justice. Natasha was a tall glass of Coke: Orange Vanilla. Rare, unsuspectingly sweet, and utterly addicting. Her red hair, the black bodysuit, the way she fought, she could take down 10 men on her own, with her bare hands. She was sweet- always sharing her secret candy stashes with Y/N- smart -helping Y/N out when she was still taking classes.

Sometimes Y/N really thought Natasha felt the same way, then she flirted with a guy here and hot girl there and the idea fled from her brain. Y/N had never seen Natasha have an inclination toward women, she flirted with every living thing. Y/N liked to think it was a coping with feelings for someone and that's why she was so flirty but in reality, Y/N knew there was no way she felt near the same way. She was an extra to the Avengers. And besides, no one even knew she liked girls.

“It’s what, darling?” Tony had moved and was now sitting in front of Y/N, spinning around in his chair like a little kid in their dad’s office.

Y/N wanted to tell him how in love she was with Natasha, she wanted to tell him all the little things she noticed, all the little things she loved. But she couldn’t. How would Tony take it? Tony might take it okay, but the team? Steve? Bucky? They were from the 40′s, women didn’t love other women openly back then, did they still think it was... unnatural? She didn’t think she could deal with being any more of an outcast. Did Natasha like girls? The thoughts were drowning her slowly, cutting off her air supply, the last bit of air building up into a scream that she would never let out.

Tony coughed and Y/N realized she’d been silent for too long. “Tony....” she took a deep breath in, “I- uh-...,” Tony raised an eyebrow, waiting for to go on. Y/N coughed clearing nothing from her throat, elongating the silence before she just spit the words out like hot fire. “I’minlovewithNatashaandIdontknowwhattodo?”

“You’re what?” Tony asked, having caught nothing of that sentence, something about Natasha but honestly he was still lost.

Y/N felt a little better and slowed herself down. She trained her eyes on a seam in the comforter and whispered, “I’m in love with Natasha and I don’t know what to do”

There was a silence and Y/N could feel it smothering her, pulling her into the water, dunking her head under, she was drowning and, and and- Tony erupted in laughter. Y/N’s head shot up and she stared at him, color drained from her face. Tony rocked back and forth but when he came up again, he caught the absolute terror on her face and his smile dropped.

“Y/N?” he asked softy, he stood up, plopping on the bed next to her, “Babe?” Tony tried to catch her eye, ducking his head but she turned away. He grabbed her chin in his large hands, “Babe, I wasn’t laughing at you. God, I’m such an idiot.” he blew out a harsh breath, “I was laughing because I already knew, not because you are in love with her.” Tony felt her face relax and he turned her chin to meet his eye.

“You knew?” Y/N asked softly, tears still gathered in her eyes. Tony’s eyes softened as he saw the tears and he used the pads of his thumb to wipe them away.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I don’t care if you like women. I’ve known you had some sort of feelings for Natasha for a while, you can see it when you look at her. I was just waiting for you to tell me.” Y/N laughed at this now and threw her arms around Tony, who wrapped her up in a hug. “Now, tell me more about Natasha and this ‘love’” he said, his voice muffled by her hair.

“STEVEEEE” Natasha groans, letting down her normal assassins façade.

“Mmm” Steve hummed in reply, motioning for her to come in to his room. She smiled and darted to the spinning chair in the corner, propping her feet up on the desk. It was silent for a little bit, the pair just enjoying each others company when Natasha spun her chair around and broke the silence.

“Do you think Y/N likes women?” Steve already knew the Natasha liked women and he was totally cool with it. Nat has been surprised when he had been super supportive but was very grateful for all the love and reassurance he’d given her.

“Nat,” Steve sighed dramatically, “She can’t NOT know your in love with her, unless she’s totally oblivious which she may be...” He turned to face her, jumping on his bed to be closer to her, “You should just tell her”

“But...” Nat frowned, “what if she doesn’t like women? And I creep her out? And..” She stopped as she felt Steve lay a hand on her shoulder.

“How could she not like you?” he questioned, “And trust me, it’s quite obvious how she feels.”

“HOW SHE FEELS?!” Nat practically screamed, so unlike her that Steve leaned back. She cleared her throat, “Sorry- she feels...?”

“She’s in love with you, obviously”

Nat grabbed a pillow from the bed and screamed into it, then looked at Steve, wary, “Really? Y/N with her...” Steve tuned out the rest of what Nat said, he’d heard it all before. Too many times. Nat sighed, in a happy way that Steve had never heard from her before, “Y/N...”

Steve knew that this had to end, Natasha and Y/N pretending they weren’t head over heels for each other. He’d heard enough of Nat’s wistful rants, it was so unlike her, it was starting to worry him. If he was correct in his guess, Tony was feeling the same way. So, despite Tony being, well, Tony, Steve sought him out to solve the mess.

“Truth or dare, old man?” Clint smirked at Tony, all the avengers had settled for a night in and decided to play truth or dare. Y/N had rolled her eyes at this, they were too old for it, but settled in next to Tony anyway.

“Dare, obviously” Tony rolled his eyes at Clint, eagerly awaiting his fate.

“I dare you to stand on top of the tower and sing at least 30 seconds of ‘Rich Girl’ by Gwen Stefani and livestream it.” Tony laughed at this and stood up. 10 minutes and one livestream later, all of them were laughing harder then they had in a long time.

“Okay, okay, my turn to ask,” Tony smiled, “Natasha, truth or dare?” Steve couldn’t help the smile that overtook his face, the plan was in motion.

“Dare...” Natasha didn’t let her voice waver, her signature smirk on her face.

“I dare you to kiss Y/N”

The whole room fell silent. Y/N’s face flamed and her eyes filled with tears. Was this a joke? Tony knew how she felt. How could he? The eyes in the room were on Nat and her but she ignored them as she got up and ran out of the room. Tony’s eyes widened as Y/N darted through the door.

“Nice going, Tony. You upset her.” Natasha’s glared at Tony, angry. But inside she couldn’t help but wonder if she ran because she didn’t want to kiss her. Maybe she hated the idea. Maybe she didn’t like women after all. Nat got up, she had to face this. “I’ll go get her” She dragged her hand over her face and got up. Tony and Steve exchanged a glance as she left, hopefully this wouldn’t blow up in their faces

“Y/N!” Nat yelled down the hall, “It’s me, I’m sorry Tony was a jerk. Can we talk?”

Y/N heard Natasha’s voice and faltered, she had to face this at some point. She took a deep breath, letting the cool confidence she had on missions fill her.

“Yeah, I’m here Nat” She called back and within seconds Nat ran around the corner. Nat’s eyes softened as they looked into Y/N’s beautiful eyes, still just as mesmerizing, puffy and red. Nat took an unconscious step forward, her thumbs caressing the hidden tear streaks. Y/N’s breath caught, her heart flipping at Nat’s touch. Before she could think about it, Y/N leaned up and let her lips meet Nat’s. Nat responded immediately, pulling Y/N to her, wrapping her arms around her, teeth tugging at her bottom lip. Y/N groaned into the kiss, letting her fingers card through Nat’s hair. They pulled away after a minute, smiling like idiots. Y/N looked down slowly before glancing back up shyly at Nat.

“Um... I really like you Nat” She whispered, with a smile

“I really like you too Y/N” Nat chuckled, pulling her in again for a sweet, soft kiss. It said everything they hadn’t said. All the nights of longing, the confusion and the love.

Tony, Steve and the rest of the team watched from the security room, smiling and high fiving at the happy couple.

AHHH I HOPE YOU LIKED IT!! feedback is always appreciated!!

tagging: @iamninaanna (to be tagged when i write something just drop me an ask)

#natasha romanoff x reader #wlw fanfic #marvel #avengers x reader #tony x platonic!reader #steve x platonic!natasha #pining #fluff #hint of angst #marvel fanfic #my writing

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shortprince-cos · 4 years ago

Text

More Truths Than Dares

Summary: After "The Double Closet Incident" as Patton so calls it, Patton and Janus have a talk at their friends' sleepover.

Ship: Moceit (Patton x Janus)

Warnings: Smoking, claustrophobia mention, truth or dare. Tell me if I need to add anything else!

Note: This is a direct sequel to "In A Closet"! You can read this without reading that, but it'll probably be confusing!

{Previous}

{Masterlist} (I KNOW I NEED TO FIX IT BUT IM A PROCRASTINATOR FIGHT ME)

~~~~~

"Oh, I didn't know he was invited."

All Patton had done was walk in the door. He hadn't even said hi, or hugged Roman yet, he just walked in the door, and Janus was already on his back for just existing in his presence.

It was going to be a long night.

"Yes? He's my best friend, you know!" Roman defended as he brought Patton to sit on the couch with him and Logan.

"Wow, rude." Logan said.

Roman made a series of offended noises. "You're my boyfriend! So obviously Patton is my best friend!"

As the two quickly dissolved into playful banter, Patton stood to go put his overnight bag in Roman's room, hearing Janus whisper something to Remus and Virgil as he walked by.

Just ignore it, he thought, not really in the mood to argue today. Especially not after what Patton had dubbed ‘The Double Closet Incident’.

It was disastrous. Not only did Patton get locked in a closet with Janus, who has claustrophobia, he discovered that he may have a thing for men. Who knew?

Roman. Roman probably knew, especially after he had adopted Patton into their little friend group. And if being gay was a contest, Roman would be the judge.

But...it was normal to feel that way, right? It wasn't weird to feel embarrassed when someone got up in your personal space, was it? It wasn't abnormal to blush when someone said kind words to you, or odd to imagine yourself in different scenarios with someone you saw on a daily basis and they were-

Wait, what was he doing again?

Patton sighed as he set down his bag by Roman's bed. Those were thoughts for another day. He was supposed to be having fun at his best friend's sleepover, after all!

Patton put on a happy face and went back to the living room to join the others, finding that Roman and Remus were wrestling over something, Logan and Janus were debating, and Virgil was scrolling on his phone. Yep, it was going to be a long night.

---

After breaking up Roman and Remus' tussle, watching a couple of movies, and other various shenanigans, Remus decided to gather everyone up in his room to play truth or dare.

If Patton learned anything from watching the others' turns, it was to always choose truth when Remus picks you.

"Double D, Truth or Dare?" Remus asked excitedly, even though he already knew what Janus would say.

"Dare."

Remus grinned like a shark. "I dare you and Patton to stay in my closet for one hour together."

Both Janus and Patton went pale.

"I...lied. I meant truth." Janus quickly said, hoping that Remus would let up.

"Nope! Too late! Now, you and Patton have to get in there, have hate sex or something, and come out in an hour!"

"Uh- we can't!" Patton exclaimed suddenly, and then all eyes were on him.

"What, are you afraid of the dark or something?" Remus teased.

"Um- no- well, kinda- but no. I- uh- have claustrophobia."

Janus looked shocked, to say the least. Thankfully, everyone was still looking at Patton.

"Yeah, small spaces are absolute torture to be in, and I would prefer it if none of us did stuff that involves small spaces, because then I'll worry about them!" Patton rambled quickly, trying to get all attention on him.

Remus rolled his eyes. "Ugh, fine. But you guys still need to do something together."

Patton blushed a bit, and Janus sighed, looking relieved.

Eventually, Remus gave up, and just dared Janus to eat shaving cream.

The rest of the night went smoother, and Patton ended up telling a lot of weird secrets, but not very important ones.

Eventually, everyone was asleep in either Roman's room, or Remus' room. Everyone except Patton, who couldn't get his brain to turn off.

Patton reluctantly got out of his sleeping bag, and made his way to the front door, maybe some fresh air would clear his mind.

Turns out, he wasn't the only one who had that idea, because as he stepped outside, he found the one and only Janus on the porch, smoking a cigarette.

Before Patton could turn back around, Janus saw him, and nodded his head in acknowledgment. Well, no going back now.

Patton silently sat down in the wooden rocking chair next to where Janus was standing, staring off into space a little before speaking up.

"You-you know that smoking is bad for you, right?"

Janus' lips curled up in a small smile as he chuckled. "I'm aware. Don't worry your pretty head, I only do it when I'm stressed."

Patton decided to ignore the way being called pretty by Janus felt and focused on the other part of that statement. "What are you stressed about?"

Janus blew out a puff of smoke, and suddenly Patton was very distracted by his lips.

"You. You're...different than how I thought you'd be." Janus said solemnly, drawing in another breath.

"Is...is that a bad thing?" Patton asked quietly, looking down to the floor.

Janus glanced at Patton with an indecipherable look on his face. "To be honest? I don't know. On one hand, you're actually a decent person."

"Thank you?"

"And on the other," Janus continued. "I've treated you like s**t for no reason other than spite."

"...It's okay-"

"It's not." Janus interrupted.

They sat in silence for awhile, trying to figure out if the other still wanted them here or not.

"Why did you think I was a bad person?" Patton asked quietly.

Janus huffed. "It's complicated."

"I mean...we got all night."

"...true." Janus sighed. "I think it's because ‘nice’ people don't usually want anything to do with me, and when they do, it's usually for the wrong reasons." He explained. "So when you started talking to me...I don't know, you reminded me of all the wrong people."

Patton's heart broke. He reminded Janus of some probably terrible memories, and had probably been hurting him just by being around him! No wonder Janus frowned whenever Patton walked in a room!

"Janus, I'm so so sorry, I never knew-"

"What are you sorry for?"

"I- That I remind you of some terrible people in your life-"

"Patton," Janus rest a hand on Patton's shoulder, making him blush. "You don't have any control over who you remind me of. Please, don't apologize for that."

"Well- then you can't apologize for being reminded of those people either!" Patton argued.

"I didn't say that, I said I was sorry for treating you terribly!"

"Well, then, I guess you're forgiven!" Patton retorted.

Janus looked at him in shock, as if Patton had just said a bunch of profanities, before quickly looking back to stare off into the distance again. His cheeks were red, but Patton convinced himself that he was probably cold out here.

"You're...too forgiving." Janus mumbled softly, as if he was talking to himself.

"I think that's a good thing." Patton replied.

Janus huffed. "...Thank you." He said, looking at Patton with a small smile on his face. "For everything."

Patton blushed. "Y-Yeah. No problem."

Janus looked at him with a disagreeing look on his face, but let it go.

They settled into comfortable silence as Janus threw his cigarette away and Patton almost fell asleep.

The second time Patton had to force his head up, Janus huffed.

"You should probably get to sleep."

As if on cue, Patton yawned. "So should you." He said sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

Janus chuckled. "Fine. I'll go back to bed if you do."

"Okay, fine. You have a deal."

Janus had that stupid, self-satisfied smirk on his face that he usually wore that made Patton feel fuzzy inside.

"Good," He smirked. "See you in the morning."

"Yeah. See ya."

Janus ventured into the house, Patton following a few moments later.

Patton felt like he was getting into dangerous territory with Janus, but instead of feeling concerned, he felt more excited than ever.

~~~~~

Hi guys!!!! Its been awhile! So, this is an au that ive fallen in love with, so i wanna keep writing for it! If you guys have any name ideas, send em my way please!

General Taglist: @resident-crow-goth @macademmia @theantisocialghost @foreverfangirlalways @emo--nightmaree @moxy--sanders101 @quinnthequeer @gattonero17 @trashno0dles @tranquil-space-ninja @chaotic-murder-muffin @lugooble @sander-crossing @princess-rosie @sleepyysoot @hi-its-tutty @lookingforaplacetosleep @sarcasmremovedsoul @corkeecoderyt @drarrymalecsolangelo @private-snippers @girl-who-reads @emy-loves-you @reptilian-with-scallions

Ask to be added or removed!

Reblogs are appreciated!💖

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #moceit #patton sanders #ts patton #janus sanders #ts janus #ts roman #ts logan #ts virgil #ts remus #kawaiikat54 fic #fanfiction

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moldisgoodforyou · 4 years ago

Text

you didn’t kiss her back

wordcount: 2.5k

warnings: mentions of nsfw content, brooklyn :/

_____

In hindsight, he should have known.

He should have known when Brooklyn texted him the group invite for dinner in a separate text thread, not the intern groupchat, but he was too busy with work that day to even question it. Just liked the message as his usual form of RSVP.

He should have known when Brooklyn was ultra-polite to him at work that day, not adding any of her usual flirty comments or going out of her way to stroll by his desk. Instead, he was too caught up in work assignments and trying to figure out how late he could FaceTime Sophie that night without waking her up.

After the workday, Rafe was walking out to his car when Brooklyn jogged after him to catch up. “Hey, Rafe, wait up!”

He grimaced but turned around - he’d learnt to just deal with her presence over time. “What?”

“Um, my car’s almost out of gas and I don’t think I’ll make it to the restaurant and be able to make it home. Would you be able to give me a ride?” She asked, almost shyly.

Rafe calculated the drive time in his head. Eight minutes. “Uh...yeah. That’s fine.” He nodded shortly, then nodded his head in the direction of his car.

Brooklyn gave him a grateful smile, matching his quick pace to the car. “How was work for you today?”

“Fine.” Once he got in the car he dropped the act, just turning up the radio so they didn’t have to make more small talk. Just being near her made him feel on edge - the same way he often felt around his father. She reached out to touch his arm and he flinched away, making her giggle. “Someone’s tense.”

“Can you not?”

She rolled her eyes. “Touchy.”

“I’m trying to be civil here.” He remarked.

“Hm.” She let him sit in silence for a solid half minute, then spoke up again. “I saw Sophia posted some picture of her wearing a Cartier ring on her Instagram. Did you pay for that?” Brooklyn pushed, sounding almost nervous.

Rafe shrugged. “So what if I did?”

“You never bought me designer.” She glanced at her nails, trying to appear nonchalant.

He snorted. “You can buy yourself designer things just fine. We both know that.”

“Not the same.” She mumbled, then opened her mouth only to let out a sigh. “It’s just - never mind.”

He looked over with an annoyed glance, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “What.”

“Surely your dad doesn’t approve?”

Rafe tensed and she resisted a smile, knowing she had struck a nerve. Exactly what she wanted. “Since when have I cared about my dad’s approval?”

He might have gotten away with that with someone else, but Brooklyn could read him well. Too well. She’d seen him deal with his dad’s disappointment only a few times, - Ward was always on his best behavior whenever she was around, the model of a perfect parent.

Brooklyn laughed at that, shaking her head. “You’ve always cared about his approval, I find it hard to believe that’s changed in just a few months with some girl.”

“Eight months.” He corrected, his jaw clenched tight. “And you know her name. Don’t be rude.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Sophia or something. I just don’t get it.”

“It’s Sophie. Still. And good thing there’s nothing you need to get about my relationship.” His knuckles were nearly white around the steering wheel as he pulled into the small parking lot, then glanced around with a frown. “Where’s the other interns? Shouldn’t they be here by now?”

“Oh.” She raised her eyebrows, surprised. “I just sent the invite to you. You didn’t notice?”

He hadn’t, of course, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. He parked the car and turned it off, looking over at her with a confused expression. “What?”

“I didn’t send it in the group message, Rafe, I thought we could go out, um, with just us.” She gave him a small, earnest smile. “Like old times.”

He grimaced, closing his eyes for a second and taking a breath. “Are you forgetting that you broke up with me?”

“I mean - Rafe, come on. We worked well together. We could at least be friends.” Her tone took on a pleading edge and she leaned in a little closer, her arm nearly touching his on the center console.

“You made me feel like shit, Brooklyn.” He told her flatly, frowning. The last thing he wanted to do that day was rehash a conversation with his ex that they’d already had at least three times since breaking up. (The first was more akin to a drunken screaming match that ended in tears for both of them, the second was just bitter insults hurled back and forth, and the third was as short as possible, on the campus quad in between classes.)

“I just wanted to help you.” She murmured, then suddenly leaned over and kissed him quickly. He was so taken aback that it took him a second to spring back, eyes wide. “Brooklyn! What the hell!”

She blushed, embarrassed as she started stammering. “I didn’t mean - I wasn’t thinking -”

“Fuck.” He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and shuddered, looking disgusted. “Get out.”

She sat there for a moment longer, not looking at him. Her voice grew impossibly small and she picked at her cuticles, radiating anxious energy. “I didn’t drive.”

“I don’t care. Get an Uber or something, get the fuck out.” Rafe was practically fuming as he glared out his window, not wanting to acknowledge her.

“I - Rafe, I want -”

“Out.” He insisted.

She nodded quickly and scrambled out of the car, casting a wayward glance back after walking away. Once he was sure she was around the corner, Rafe slammed his fist on the steering wheel. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do more - throw up or go scrub his body clean of any trace of her. Brooklyn’s floral perfume lingered in the car and he felt nauseous, unable to think of anything but Sophie and how she’d react once she found out.

After he took a few moments to center himself, absolutely livid, he punched the ignition and peeled out of the parking lot, repeatedly swiping his hand over his lips in an attempt to get Brooklyn’s signature cake batter-flavored lip gloss off. (The summer after the breakup, Wheezie had started wearing a vanilla sugar perfume that smelled all too similar - Rafe had a headache for weeks.) He drove to a nearby park and sat out by the water to get away from the overwhelming perfume scent in his car, and his hand was nearly shaking as he hit the app to FaceTime Sophie, nervous as hell.

She picked up right away, grinning once his face filled her screen. “Hi! It’s good to see you. I can’t talk long, I’m getting ready to go out, but what’s up?”

“Um...” Rafe briefly debated bringing it up, anxiously pulling at a loose thread on his shorts. “Just checking in. How’s your day been?”

“Oh my god, so...” She launched into a ramble about a cool new project she was working on, and how she got to be with some of her new friends, and how she aced her Spanish test. He listened, a little impatient, as guilt ate at him.

“Soph -” He tried interrupting, knowing if he put it off any longer he’d make himself sick.

She didn’t notice. “And it’s kind of tricky -”

“Baby, listen.”

“- But it’ll be really rewarding -”

“Brooklyn kissed me.” He blurted out quickly.

She froze immediately, eyes wide with her lipstick raised halfway to her mouth. “She did what?”

He bit his cheek hard before replying, his heart pounding. “I’m so sorry, Sophie, I didn’t - I should have known, her stupid dinner invite -”

“Rafe, shut the fuck up, why are you apologizing? You didn’t kiss her back.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement of trust, but he almost flinched from the hard edge to her voice.

He shook his head frantically. “No! No, of course I didn’t. Fuck. She barely even touched my lips before I pulled away.”

“Fucking hell.” She had to set her phone down as she was practically shaking with anger. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“I knew she was going to pull something, that - that -” She seethed, unable to get all her words out.

“That…?” He tried supplying.

“That bitch! Oh my god, what the hell? If I were there, I swear I’d - holy fuck. I’ve never wanted to punch someone until now.” She started pacing the room, flexing her fingers into fists.

Rafe couldn’t hide his tiny smile, raising his eyebrows. “You’re kind of hot when you’re mad.”

“Focus, Cameron.” She snapped. “Oh my god, she’s so fucking petty. First the Instagram messages, then this -”

“Wait, wait, hold on, what Instagram messages?” He interrupted, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh.” She scowled, crossing her arms. “She followed me a couple weeks ago and went through and liked the posts that you’re in, and keeps responding to my stories. Like that group photo I posted the other day at the bar, some of the guys were in it? She literally responded with ‘wow, glad you’re getting some in Spain.’ What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Sophie, you should have told me.” He rubbed his temples, upset but completely unsurprised - Brooklyn had done that same to a friend he had taken to a date party once when they were in one of their many short breakups. “I’ll talk to her, tell her to knock it off -”

“And have her try and kiss you again? No, I don’t think you need to give her any reason to be one on one with you.” She huffed, indignant. “How many days again?”

He paused to think. “Thirty? Twenty-nine?”

“Jesus Christ.” She sighed, running her hand over her face. “Any chance you want to come early?”

He looked apologetic, shaking his head. “Can’t, baby, I’m committed to this internship right up until I see you.”

“Damnit.” She flopped back onto her bed and rolled over onto her stomach to face the camera again. “Next time you’re at dinner, let me know and I’ll text you a picture of my tits or something.”

Rafe snorted. “I don’t know if that’s the best approach, but I wouldn’t be opposed to getting more nudes from you.”

“No, you’re right, she’d probably just tell you I’m slutty or something.” She rolled her eyes, only for him to frown. “You’re not slutty, baby -”

“I know, I know, whatever. What happened, seriously? Why’s she so hung up on you? I mean, I know why, look at you -” she gestured at the phone, making him laugh, “- but for real. Will you tell me?”

He nodded, taking a moment before he spoke. “She, um, cheated on me, but I didn’t find out ‘til after she broke it off. Not until the charity gala, actually. She’d say things like, ‘you’re so needy,’ then would get mad at me if I went to hang out with the boys.” Rafe paused, thinking. “She invited herself to the Bahamas, both times. My dad loved her, that should have told me enough.”

“Oh.” She murmured, frowning. “That’s fucked, Rafe, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, took me a while to snap out of it.” He half-joked, then his tone turned more sincere. “You should know, I was going to take you to the Bahamas house this spring, actually. But I didn’t want you to think I was showing off or something.”

“Rafe Cameron, showing off?” She teased, lifting her hand with the Cartier ring and raising her eyebrows. “Never.”

He immediately blushed, protesting. “That’s different!”

She grinned. “Is it?”

“It is. Totally different. I almost bought you the one with diamonds, that’d be showing off.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t.”

“Yes, I almost did.” He grinned, noticing that she wore the ring on her ring finger instead of her middle finger like he’d originally put it on her. “Sarah talked me out of it, so go complain to her if you wanted that one. She said you’d probably have my head.”

“Smart girl.” Sophie laughed.

“Do you always wear it on that finger?” He asked with raised eyebrows.

Her cheeks tinged pink and she shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but her tone took a defensive edge. “Maybe. It doesn’t matter. It’s just a finger. Why? Does it make you feel weird?”

“No. Does it make you feel weird?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Good.” She shot back, pressing her hands to her hot cheeks for a moment. “I have to go, I’m late for meeting my friends now.”

“Wait, Soph.” He smirked and she narrowed her eyes again, wary of what he was about to say. “What.”

“Love you.”

“That’s it?”

He laughed, grinning. “I’m still not opposed to you sending me pictures of your tits when I’m at dinner.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you know how difficult it is to take a good nude? I have to be alone, I have to contort myself in a weird position or use the self timer, then I have to edit the lighting because I have to take them at night -”

“Alright, alright, I get it. I’m just kidding.”

“You absolutely were not. I love you. Go appreciate the pictures I’ve already given you.”

“You gave me three for the entire summer.” He complained, and she rolled her eyes. “That’s a lie, I left you with three and I’ve sent you a couple since then. Goodbye, Cameron, love you, you ungrateful son of a bitch.”

He grinned. “Wait, Sophie, wait.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not mad? At me?”

Sophie paused, furrowing her brow. “Do I have a reason to be mad at you? You’re already forgiven for not telling me, is there something else?”

“No, no.” He shook his head quickly, voice going quiet. “I just, um. She would have had my head for what happened. I know you’re not her, but I’m just used to that, I guess.”

She softened, wishing she could hold him. “I trust you, Rafe. I mean it. I’m not mad at you. I’m pissed off at her, but you didn’t do anything.”

“And you’d tell me if you were?” He rubbed the back of his neck, a little anxious.

Sophie laughed softly, nodding. “You’d know if I was mad at you, baby, it’s hard to hide.”

“Right. Okay.” He didn’t seem fully convinced, but nodded anyways. “I’ll let you go, then.”

“Not mad at you. Good night, my favorite boy.”

He gave her a small, shy smile. “You promise?”

“I promise. You’re always my favorite.” She returned a bigger smile. “I’ll text you when I’m home if you need to talk more.”

“No, no, I’ll be fine.” He waved her off, not wanting to seem too dependent.

She nodded, blowing him a kiss with a grin. “Night, baby. Sweet dreams.”

taglist: @whoeveniskendall @kkmaybank @karsinner @outerbanksbro @outerbankspreferences @randomficsandshit @sunshineitsfine44 @jailcalledlife @tovvaa @moniamaybank @illbesafeforyou @dontjinx-it @freddymaybank @jjmaybankzz @g4bster @oopsiedoopsie23 @babygal-babygal @thecuthoney

#rafe x sophie #mine #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #outer banks #outer banks fanfic #college outer banks #college obx #obx fanfic #obx #college rafe #frat rafe

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anxious2dsimp · 4 years ago

Text

Everything He’s Not | Iwaizumi x GN! Reader | Short Fic

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡*✧･ﾟ:˚۰˚☽˚｡･:

Flavour: Angst (Reader x Cheater!Oikawa) to Fluff (Reader x Iwaizumi)💔→☁️

Reader: Gender Neutral!

Format: Short Fic (alternating between two sides of the story, y/n and Iwa’s)

Part: 2 out of 2 (read part 1 here)

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Y/N, has dated the very popular Oikawa Toru for a while, through him becoming friends with his group. However, little do they know about a certain stoic ace’s feelings for his best friend’s s/o. When Oikawa screws up big time, will Iwaizumi’s true feelings finally show? And what will Y/N do when everything goes down?

Warnings: Cheating, cursing, breakups, basically Oikawa x Reader angst turned into Iwaizumi x Reader fluff.

A/N: I am so late with this I'm so sorry, college has been whooping my butt!! But, it was nice to take a break and edit this. I love this story sm I hope you enjoy the finale! :D

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡*✧･ﾟ:˚۰˚☽˚｡･:

“I’d love that,” they replied, a genuine smile appearing on their lips as they played with the sleeve of their shirt. I nodded and immediately went to get everything from the kitchen, setting up the movie in the living room and calling (y/n) over, handing them a blanket as they sat down on the couch. I stood there without knowing what to do before they looked at me and patted the spot next to them, moving the blanket so I could sit. Without thinking about it twice I sat down beside them; I was crazy for them, more than I cared to admit, so it was enough to see their eyes sparkle happily at me to get me to do whatever they wanted. We watched the movie and ate our ice cream without mentioning Oikawa again, I turned off my phone knowing he would probably call me like he always did, and (y/n) blocked his number so halfway through the movie the bad had faded away and it was just us having fun. However, they must have gotten tired from the crying and running because they fell asleep midway, their head ending up resting on my shoulder.

I was glad they were asleep so they wouldn’t be able to see me smiling like an idiot, I was surprised enough to see they still liked hanging out with me despite what my best friend did and didn’t want to give them a reason to think we shouldn’t see each other anymore. I figured they could use the rest, so I lowered the volume of the tv and leaned my head on theirs, enjoying their company and relaxing to the point I nodded off as well. What felt like a second later I opened my eyes to the sound of (y/n)’s phone ringing and was greeted by an unfamiliar sensation. Somehow in our sleep we had ended up cuddling, their head resting on my chest and my arms around them. It was too late to get out of it now though, they had woken up and probably realized the same thing from the way they were blushing while picking up the phone. They apologized to their transfer mom and told them they’d go home right away, and once I looked at the tv screen for the first time since waking up I realized it must be quite late since the movie was over.

“Uh, I should get going,” they said while standing up and fixing their clothes, their face still shinning with a hint of red, “thank you for everything though, really. I would still be a mess if it weren’t for you.” It was my turn to feel flustered as I nervously rubbed my neck before replying, “no problem, I’m glad I could be of service.” They giggled and my heart fluttered as I stood up, grabbing my coat from the hanger by the door, earning a confused glance from (y/n). “What? Did you really think I was going to let you go home by yourself at this hour?” I explained as they smiled and picked up their backpack, walking over to the door and following me outside.

The trip back to their house was about twenty minutes, the first ten by bus and the second ten walking, so although it was easy for us to stay quiet on the bus without being awkward thanks to the noisy engine, that was no longer the case once it was just us walking through empty, moonlit suburban streets. I didn’t know what to say, and I could tell (y/n) was feeling the same way. “I hope that what happened with Oikawa doesn’t ruin our friendship,” (y/n) said, their eyes lost somewhere among the stars.

Your POV

You held your breath as you waited for the boy’s response; you meant it, you loved hanging out with them, but now that Oikawa and you were clearly over you were afraid things would change for the worst. You cared for all of them, especially for Iwaizumi, and didn’t want his friend screwing up to be the end of that as well. “Right, friendship,” he mumbled, his voice disappointed, causing you to look at him to try and figure out what that was about to which the boy shook his head slightly and quickly added louder, “why would it ruin it?”

“I don’t know, I care about you Iwaizumi, regardless of what happened with Oikawa, so I know I’d miss you if we stopped hanging out,” you confessed, blushing at the sight of his cheered up smile. ‘What was up with me? I just broke up with his best friend, and yes, I always found Iwaizumi to be attractive physically and personality-wise, but he was so different from Toru I never thought anything would happen between us, why would someone like him like me?’ you thought to yourself as you mentally kicked your racing thoughts. “Nah, don’t be stupid, I care about you, and I bet the others two do too, so there’s no way in hell you’re getting rid of us,” he joked, making you chuckle, he had always been great at making you feel better. “Except for Shittykawa, I already got rid of him,” you said crossing my arms and huffing comically, trying to lighten the mood, as he smiled and nodded in return.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he chuckled and looked down at his feet falling silent before quietly adding, “you know you deserve someone better than him, right?” It was a weird question, after all at first it seemed like Oikawa was the best there was, everyone was after him. You sighed and then replied unconvincingly, “do I? I mean, I know I don’t want someone who cheats on me and in hindsight isn’t as self-obsessed, but according to everyone, he’s all that so,” now you were the one who fell silent, looking to the side to see Iwa frowning. “Oh, trust me, there are better people than Oikawa. I’ll be honest, I’ve always thought of his fangirls as stupid for being blinded by the spotlight, but it kind of serves them right. With you though, you weren’t blinded by anything and instead chose to see the good in him, you’re special. So since you don’t really care about the sparkle, I just think you need someone who… who’s everything he’s not.” You stuffed my hands into your hoodie’s pocket and sighed, thinking about what he said you realized that he was right.

“Wow, that actually makes a lot of sense,” you smiled at the boy, making him do a double-take as his eyes went slightly wide. “It does?” he asked, rubbing his neck and looking away as he moved closer beside you to let a car pass by, now that you two were walking closer to each other you could definitely tell he was blushing. What was this all about? Maybe he liked you, but the question that was making your mind race was, did you like him? After all, he was everything Oikawa was not, careful, quiet, in the shadows instead of the spotlight, but with a huge heart once you got to know him. “Yup, but it kinda sounds like I should look for someone like you after what you described,” you said, biting your lip out of the nerves, were you really risking everything because of a hunch? Instead of replying immediately, Iwaizumi stopped in his tracks, looking at the floor and kicking the ground. You stopped and turned to face him, walking up to him and trying to meet his gaze with your eyes.

“I feel awful,” he said, his face as redder than you had ever seen it, your heart feeling more crushed than before; of course, you’re wrong, he’s Oikawa’s best friend, why would he jeopardize that or catch feelings for his best friend’s ex? “I- I’m sorry just forget what I said, I should hurry home,” you spun around, ready to start jogging again when you felt his hand grab my wrist gently but firmly before mumbling, “no, wait!” turning you around to face him. “It’s not that. I feel awful because, although Oikawa’s my best friend, ever since I saw you two together, I couldn’t shake the feeling that you should be with me instead. Yeah, I’m everything he’s not, so that’s why I thought I should just forget it, because I never thought you’d be into that, especially after being with Toru. So, before you go, I just… I had to say that, if you were with me, I promise I’d treat you like you deserve.”

“Do you… do you really mean all that?” you asked, your face pretty much burning off as you looked into the brunette’s eyes, only then realizing he was still holding onto you but was now holding your hand. “Yeah, I mean,” he looked away, not letting go, “you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You’re so smart, chill, funny, kind, and beyond beautiful, and I was dying inside whenever I saw Oikawa kiss you because I wanted to be him so bad but I-”

You squeezed Iwa’s hand, taking a step forward almost involuntarily as he did the same, his face still showing the concern that had appeared as he rambled but now only inches apart from yours. “I know this may be weird, but I like you too. I just never realized how much until all of this went down and suddenly, I wasn’t absorbed by keeping Oikawa happy and I finally saw you, still there,” you replied, smiling at the spiker whose worry melted away into a sweet smile, the kind that you had only seen momentarily before, in moments where it was just the two of you and you forgot about everything else. He took a deep breath, letting go of your hand and opting to rest his against your cheek instead before whispering; “I’m crazy for you, loser.” You both laughed softly, and at that moment it felt as though you were the only two people in the world, surrounded by nothing other than the night sky and silent streets.

“I figured as much,” you joked in return, Iwa rolling his eyes in response before dipping his head down and making his lips meet yours. For a second you were taken aback, but unlike what you expected, it didn’t feel wrong, on the contrary, it felt like it was the right thing all along. So, you let your arms snake around his neck as he placed his hands on your waist and pulled you in deeper. The trance was broken by your phone ringing, making you two break apart only to see the spiker smiling like crazy. “Wow,” you whispered, still in awe of everything that had happened and how it had all gone down. Staying in each other’s embrace, you picked up the phone and told your transfer mom you were only a street away and ended the call, looking up at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi’s POV

“I’ll call you later?” I asked, happier than I have ever been, as I held (y/n) in my arms, lost looking at the way their eyes sparkled as they looked at me. It felt even better than I had imagined all those times; seeing them look at me like I thought they never would. “Sounds good,” they said, standing on their tiptoes and kissing me again before we let go of each other and walked down the remaining street to their place hand in hand. “Bye,” they beamed at me after I stopped them for one last kiss before (y/n) walked up to their front door, me watching them walk away still smiling like an idiot. Once they were inside I started walking back to the bus station, checking my phone for the first time since (y/n) showed up to see 27 missed calls from Oikawa as I took it off of silent mode. Only a few minutes later my phone rang again, and despite how angry I was, I knew I had to pick up.

“I fucked up with (y/l/n),” the usually upbeat boy said the second I picked up, I could tell he had been crying, but I didn’t feel as bad as I should have for my best friend, he deserved it. “I know,” I replied, my voice unintentionally colder than I expected, “I talked to them.” The other side of the call fell silent, I wouldn’t let him guilt trip me after how he treated them. “How are they?” Oikawa asked genuinely. “Getting over it, but you should know what you did was fucking horrible, Shittykawa,” I said, making a mindful attempt to sound less harsh, we were friends after all. “I know, and I feel terrible, but I also know (y/n), so there’s no way to undo this,” he said seriously, it wasn’t often that I heard him like this, “and I don’t know if I want to either, the odds of me screwing up again are too high and I don’t want to hurt them.”

“So you’re saying they deserve better than you?” I guessed, knowing that’s probably what he meant without realizing. Toru just sighed, falling silent for a second before stating, “You know me too well. See ya at practice tomorrow Iwa-chan.” I said bye and hung up right as I got on the bus, taking a seat by the window and looking out towards the quiet streets, letting my mind wander. I was feeling too many things at once, there was too much going on and still so much to figure out, but it didn’t matter; I closed my eyes and remembered the kiss, the way (y/n) looked at me that made me feel like the luckiest person alive. Nothing else mattered, because I had them.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡*✧･ﾟ:˚۰˚☽˚｡･:

tags: @bakugouswh0r3

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