#i head canon that they go out for drinks like every few weeks and catch up with eachother

[mood-owl]

They are drinking partners your honor,,, --

(do not repost or use w/o permission)

[pedrostylez]

How The Crow Flies - pt. 2

Javier Peña x fem!reader x Frankie Morales crossover

Word count: 3k

Chapter Summary: Javi P clearly is infatuated with you and can’t move past it, we meet Santiago, and a little sprinkle of Frankie

Chapter Warnings and Disclaimers: 18+ only. I am not responsible for what you read on the internet. You have been warned! Locations and descriptions of places may be inaccurate in comparison to each story (Narcos and Triple Frontier). Timelines are obviously different between the two stories, so we are going to meet in the middle and say we are in the early 2000s. These are not necessarily canon characters in regard to how they act, how they treat people, and their current relationships. mean!Javier, alcohol, drinking, mentions of drinking, mentions of sex work, SMUT!!!! car sex, dirty talk, riding, the smallest sweet moment but idk you could miss it, derogatory use of whore, mention of addiction issue

A/N: A little bit of a shorter chapter, but introducing lots of important characters. I hope you like it! Please support by commenting, sending me respectful thoughts, and reblogging. I appreciate every single one of you!

Taglist: @thevoiceinyourheadx @suzdin @survivingandenduring @bariskaplans @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi @paleidiot @darkheartgatita @missladym1981

The next few weeks kept Javier on his toes. 

He hated the feeling of stakeouts, and even more of undercover. This time around, however, he was not the one doing either. 

Watching you take on those tasks with ease, settling into the role as if you were going around to the corner store to buy a soda, made his skin twitch with anxiety. 

Not even a day after you had agreed to begin staking out for clues to where Lorea’s homebase was, you found Yovanna. You hadn’t given him all the details, claiming it was better that you kept things to yourself until you found out more, and it upset him.

 No, it worried him. 

How was he supposed to keep his promise to keep you safe if you didn’t tell him what was going on?

You forced Javier to rent a small home on the edge of town as a base, living out of it as if you weren’t working with the Embassy. You stopped coming into the office, only calling on a secure line and giving updates when he visited once a week with bags of groceries and a hope to see you naked. 

You were in full undercover mode. 

“I’ll tell you when I have something.” You huffed out, pulling at the strap of the dress as you gazed at yourself in the mirror. “You can’t keep coming here if you want me to be a working girl trying to find clients.”

“I’m one of you clients.” He shrugged, watching your fingers skate down your side. He subconsciously licked his lips. “You need groceries anyways, and I need to have more updates on you to ensure your safety.”

He catches your eye roll as you take a deep breath and nod. “Got it, boss. Do you want me to take notes so that there is a paper trail too? Or would you rather I let each person know that I encounter that I am an undercover agent?”

“Quit sassing me.” He growled, wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck and pulling you close. Your chest pressed to his, stumbling on heels you hadn’t worn in years. “I said I would protect you. Let me.”

“Then let me do my job, Javi.” You bite out, pushing away from him.

Javier sighs at the memory of you so forceful, so annoyed with him as the sun sets, oranges and reds surrounding your figure as you walk down the sidewalk. You’re holding clumsily on to your new found friend, giggling and making lustful eyes at any man walking past. 

You had done exactly what you had been asked, but something made Javier feel queasy watching you lean into this woman like you were too drunk to stand. 

He had to remind himself you were faking it.

Javier closed his eyes and leaned his head back, sweat dripping down his back from the long day of watching you. He thought that he was going to have to assign David to do this, or even Jason. Javier winces at the thought, wanting to avoid asking Jason to keep you safe. He has this nagging  worry that his assumptions about Jason’s infatuation with you are correct, and he doesn’t want to give Jason an opportunity to lay in your bed like he does. 

But if you continued on like this, tempting him at every corner and pushing him away when he asked questions, he wasn’t sure he could keep it up.  

His eyes caught your figure again, standing in line at a bar on the edge of town. You hadn’t looked at him once since he had started trailing you, keeping tabs on you, but he knew that you saw him. 

He hoped you were thankful for it. 

The music inside of the bar was weirdly quiet, stepping in with Yovanna. She smiled over at you, pulling you along with a stumble and a laugh. “Would you like a shot before he comes?”

You nod happily, sitting on one of the bar stools and adjusting the end of your dress. “What is his name again?” 

“Santiago.” She nods, blood rushing to her cheeks. “He’s been helping the local police some, as a consultant. But don’t worry, he’s not weird about it.” She laughs, sliding the shot glass to you. “He’s a good guy.”

You nod, giving her a wink. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he is.”

She looks relieved as she laughs, wrapping her arm around your shoulder. She gives you a squeeze before turning when she hears the door. 

You look to see as she greets someone, pouring your shot out on the floor behind the bar before she can clock it. You’re uncomfortable, tight clothing and tall heels making you feel like a child trying to walk for the first time and acutely aware that you have a certain someone up your ass. 

This itching of annoyance starts to creep out of you the more you think about it, and the more you notice him parked in his vehicle with his eyes trained on you, but you tamp it down as Santiago looks over at you. “Hi there!”

“Hi,” You say lowly, shaking his outstretched hand limply and with a giggle. Yovanna laughs with you, bumping his shoulder and introducing you. 

“She’s just moved here and I’m helping her find work. She’s well versed in…certain aspects.” She coughs, giving Santiago a pointed look that he immediately nods to. 

“Ah, I understand. Well, you’re in the right place. Yovanna has helped me learn all about how things work around here. She’s the best person to ask.” He says calmly, his fingers pressing into Yovanna’s hips as she giggles. 

You already know that Yovanna used to be a working girl. She was your only contact that seemed like she wanted to help you get what you needed-a way in. 

She had this infatuation with Santiago, as far as you could tell. Even with what she did for work, helping keep the books straight for Lorea and moving drugs in and out of his house, she wanted to stay attached to him. Your only conclusion was that she thought it to be a way out, a way of protection, and you had to give her credit for covering her bases. 

As far as Yovanna was concerned, you were looking for a quick way to make money. And what better way to do that than to be introduced to the richest security guards in Colombia by the girl that used to be the one receiving it?

The talk with Santiago is relatively short, his cell phone ringing soon after and him announcing that he had to run to meet with some friends that were coming into town. A quick press of a kiss to Yovanna’s cheek as a goodbye, a nod of acknowledgement toward you and he is out the door.

“He’s handsome.” You say quietly, shoving her shoulder before motioning towards the door to exit. 

Yovanna had been motioning at patrons for you to attempt to speak to, but you had shook your head at all of them. “He’s very good in bed.” She announces, causing you both to laugh full heartedly before heading out into the night. 

You eye Peña in the same spot as before, plastering on a lazy smile before turning your head to Yovanna. Her eyes are elsewhere, watching Santiago clap someone on the back before climbing into a Jeep. He sends a small wave in her direction, but your eyes are locked on the driver. 

His hat is secured on his head, dark waves curling at the edges as he gives you nothing more than a glance. Arm loose, hanging out of the driver’s side window as he speeds away. You could see the beginnings of a beard, but nothing well kept or easily discernible about him. 

“Must be his friends.” Yovanna sighs wistfully, turning to you and looking over your shoulder. You almost miss what she says, still watching the Jeep curiously. “Looks like you have an admirer.”

“Huh?” You whip your head around, eyes back on Peña. You swallow back the snarl, placing a small smile on your lips instead. “Think I should take him for a spin?”

Yovanna laughs, pushing you slightly in the general direction. “Let’s talk tomorrow?” She asks, raising her eyebrows. “If you’re not too busy with new clients.”

You giggle, taking calculated dizzy steps toward his car. “I won’t be. Call me!”

Javier sucks in a breath watching you trip on your way over to his car. You’re smiling, lazily leaning against his open window and tilting your head. “Would you stop following me?” You bite, remaining neutral in stance. 

He looks over your shoulder to see Yovanna watching you, smiling himself. “I told you, I would keep you safe.”

“You’re making it so she won’t set me up with the people I need to get your stupid intel.” You say slowly, pushing your ass out to lean into the car further. Running your hand up the path of buttons to his chest. 

His breath stutters, shutting his eyes to recenter. “Get in the car.”

“Fine.” You smile, stepping around the front headlights and dragging your finger over the paint. You slide into the passenger seat, facing him fully and pushing out your chest in his direction. “You have to take me out of city limits so that she doesn’t see that you’re a cop.”

Javier grunts, not giving Yovanna another glance before putting the car in gear and speeding away, heading in a direction he is less familiar with. “What have you got so far?”

“Not enough to share.” You slouch when he’s driven fully out of sight, crossing your arms over your chest. “If you would stop interfering, I would have something already.”

“Who’s that guy that you were watching?” He asks, annoyed with you suddenly. He didn’t appreciate being badgered by the person he was protecting-who he promised to protect.  

You shake your head, scoffing. “How many times do I have to say–”

“Does she know him?” He asks again, turning to face you for a moment before back on the road. He plans to pull off soon, toward a hideout he’s seen teenagers use. 

You roll your eyes. “Yes, she likes him.” You grumble, pushing your hair out of your face and exposing your neck. 

Javier swallows roughly, eyes back on the road. “What does he do?”

“He’s a cop.” You say matter of factly. “I figured you would know him, and it would blow my cover.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen him before.”

You both sit silently, thinking to yourselves on what that could mean when he pulls into the dark dirt road. “I’ll look into it.”

When you don’t respond he glances over, the dark cab and no street lights making only your eyes light up from the buttons on the dash, already watching him. 

Javier finds a spot in the empty gravel lot, looking out into the city with benches and rocks situated for the view. He cuts the engine, leaning back into his seat and closing his eyes briefly. “I’m not trying to blow your cover.”

Your arms loosen, shifting in your seat to better face him. You take a deep breath, resting your head against the glass of the passenger window. Javier’s eyes trail down what is illuminated of your body, stopping at your chest as you say, “Do you not trust me?”

He reels back, eyes flicking up to your face and seeing a knowing smirk. You had caught him, but weren’t mentioning it. “I trust you, I don’t trust them.”

You scoff, throwing your hands up in the air. “It’s part of the gig, Javi.”

“Don’t call me that.” He grinds out, hands clenched into fists. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, glancing at his hands before up to his face. “Why not?”

He sighs, loosening his hands and shaking them out. “This is supposed to be a serious conversation and you are making it difficult.”

You chuckle, reaching a hand out to his knee and giving a quick squeeze before gliding your thumb back and forth. “Oh, Javi.”

He looks down at your hand, soothing his nerves while also riling him up and confusion floods his system. He doesn’t understand how he can both want you, and be pissed at you. He doesn’t understand how he can want to keep you safe–his, and want to push you away from him. 

“You want me to fuck you?” He says lowly, watching as your face flushes red, a small smile being held back. 

“Huh?” He grabs your arm and yanks you over the center console, straight into his lap. “You don’t want to be a whore for others but you want to be a whore for me? Is that it?”

Your surprised look changes to serious, a teasing lit leaking from your mouth. “Isn’t that why you keep following me around, agent? For me to be your whore?”

He winces as he closes his eyes. Instead of answering, his hands dig further into the skin of your thighs, pulling you against him to feel his stiffened member concealed by his jeans. “Lift your skirt.”

Your smile shines, almost breaking him of his annoyance until his eyes trail down to see you lift the hem of your dress, no underwear in sight. 

He gawks for a moment, stunned that you wore nothing at all until he feels your fingers swiftly unbuttoning his pants. Javier bats you away, skin hot under his jeans being exposed to the night air before he looks back up to your center. 

Somehow you are more desperate than ever before, and Javier feels his control slipping; wanting to lose himself in you again and again. Your hips wiggle above him, adjusting to sit properly on him as he holds you up and away from him. 

His eyes can’t look away from you, glistening and ready for him. “Look at that.” He says quietly, almost to himself, gripping at your hips roughly and sliding you against the underside of his shaft.

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders and throwing your head back toward the felted ceiling of his car. Your teeth sink into the meat of your lip, trying to not show how desperately you want this. 

He tilts his hips so the head of his cock catches at your entrance, a sigh of relief leaving you both in unison. Reaching one hand up to the roof of the car, you try to balance yourself and bounce at the same time. 

You’re unsuccessful, groaning in frustration and tilting your head down to watch him enter you over and over, your slick covering his exposed skin. You bite at your cheek, trying to concentrate long enough to get a rhythm back. 

But Javier isn’t having it; he reaches a hand up from your hip, pressing into your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. “Don’t fight it. I want to hear you, hermosa.” He growls out, hips snapping up into yours with a speed he hadn’t yet reached before. 

Your jaw goes slack in his hand, trying to keep your eyes open to watch him as he pounds into you. Tears are pricking at the back of your eyes, his thumb running shockingly sweet circles across your chin while his other hand shifts from your hip to your clit. 

“J-Javi–”

“Shhh, your sweet pussy can handle it.” He murmurs, cooing at you with his thumb swiping fast circles around your clit. 

He forces himself to hold off, watching you fall apart in his hands, around his cock, in the heat of his car. You’ve melted into a puddle, leaning into his hand around your face and fluttering your eyes shut.

The strength of your walls squeezing around him has him groaning, pulsing into you without another thought. 

You puff out a breath against his palm, lightly pressing your lips to his thumb. “I trust you.” You say quietly, eyeing him almost cautiously. 

He sighs, nodding as he pulls you forward, a kiss to your sweaty forehead. “I trust you, too.”

The patio of the restaurant was cooler than inside, but Frankie could feel his skin melting off of him from the humidity. He had hoped the night air would have helped with his inability to cool down, but he thinks maybe only the beer that he’s sworn to not drink would do the trick. 

Frankie’s fist closes around nothing, the nails digging into his palm to try and ground himself. He did not need a drink, he did not need a drink–

“We can use her, Fly. If I have Yovanna under my thumb like I think I do–”

“She has you under her thumb, Pope.” Redfly snarls, taking a big sip of his beer before slamming it on the table. Frankie flinches slightly, looking out toward the busy street to distract himself. “You’re going to fuck all of this up.”

“Just give it time.” Will mediates, leaning back and cracking his neck. “This new girl will distract them without even knowing that is the point, Pope’s girl will get us in, and then we can get the money and get the fuck out of here.”

The conversation continues, back and forth between Redfly and Pope about whether they should just infiltrate the place and kill everyone, or if they should play it safe. Frankie closes his eyes to try and drown out the noise, reliving the moment he drove away from the bar. 

Your lips parted, shining with gloss. 

Your chest falling out of your dress, smooth skin enticing him. 

Your legs shining in the street lights, calling for him to come closer. 

You were tempting beyond belief, and he knew you would ruin his ability to focus. You would be just as bad as a sip of beer.

He opened his eyes and hoped he wouldn’t see you again.

[buggyboba]

Surrender Your Mind

Part One: The Meeting Part two [x] A/N: HI HI! This is set somewhere before Dark Water/Death In Heaven. Canon? What canon? Don’t worry about it, it’s all a ball of time whimy wibbly wobbly stuff anyway. No beta reader we die like men. Sloppy edit will come back to edit properly. This is part one of a new series! I also will be posting this to AO3, baby's first doctor who fanfic. Surrender your mind (Ao3 link)

TW For this chapter: Thought reading/hypnosis, kidnapping,  Missy is a psychopath (but she is our psychopath.) Cursing. Not much else, that I can think of. She calls you poppet (derogatory) once, pet a few times, dear once I think, and is very rude, you know Missy things. 

 Words: 2159

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Today had been a shit day. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. The universe had given you a proverbial ‘fuck you’, and now you were one more catching yourself on the door or the wall away from fist-fighting God. You just needed a break, to get home, to calm down. 

You popped into the corner store, and grabbed a drink and some crisps, needing the sweet comfort of junk in this trying time. Armed with your little bag you headed towards your flat, the air pod in your ear blasting music from your favorite band, blaring out the sounds of busy London around you. 

It would be fine, you would be fine, you always were. So what if you had a setback today, tomorrow was a brand new day, and as cliché as that was, that's what your mind told itself to get through the bad day that you just had. Though deep down you worried about if the mistakes you made today at work were ultimately going to cost you. Once again you told yourself you hated that job so fuck them if they let you go, you could find another one just as easy. At least you hoped.

As you turned down the familiar street you came face to face with construction, and the sidewalk had been blocked. You stood there trying to decide your next action. Taking a few breaths You decided this was fine, everything was fine, you just had to take two streets over, it was fine. You started your walk the long way, and the heavy scent of flowers and tea hit your senses, you had almost forgotten there had been a nice little tea shop around here, it was a comforting scent, you had thought about checking it out sometime, but you just never got a chance. Maybe you would sometime this week. 

There was a nice little outside seating area, as you walked past there was a couple at the corner table and a woman sitting alone at the gate. Your eyes were drawn to her, it was unexplainable, well no it could be explained by how beautiful she was, her dark reddish brunette hair was pulled up into a perfect updo, her makeup stunning, the black liner cat eye was just sharp enough to kill a man. Her lips looked soft and were painted a beautiful crimson. She smirked and you immediately looked away, your heart racing as you walked past trying not to walk too fast, but trying not to be awkward. There was one odd thing, she looked like a Victorian governess, but it fit her, the deep plum jacket clung to her perfectly, and once again you had to force yourself to walk calmly past where she sat. Her striking blue eyes followed your every move like a cat watching a mouse. The more you tried to look away the stronger your body wanted to look at her, to meet her eyes, it was like you needed to. No that was weird, right? Just be cool.

Your heart did an odd little thing, it fluttered but also pounded like you were in danger, it was akin to the time you drank four energy drinks in a row. Your stomach was in knots, just from this woman looking at you? You managed to keep your cool as you passed the tea shop, trying your hardest not to sneak a look at the woman, whose eyes you could feel on your body still as you turned the corner. You felt your cheeks heat up as you took a moment to compose yourself. Who was she? You had never felt anything like that before, part of you yearned to poke back around the corner to talk to her, and the other part of you told you it was a bad idea. 

You forced yourself to continue walking, and a soft little smile took your lips as you thought about Her. You wondered if she frequented the tea shop, maybe you should start going to the tea shop. No that was weird, stop being weird. This wasn’t like you? Was it? Well yes and no, you had had crushes before, but they had been people you had gotten to know, or knew a little, not some random, beautiful woman at a tea shop. You wondered what she sounded like? You should go back and talk to her. 

‘No, it would be weird now.’ You told yourself. You kept yourself walking home, today had just been so bad and weird, but the good news was you saw a beautiful woman. You got to the end of the street to your home, before you felt something was off, the air changed and you got that odd feeling again, like you were in danger. There was a sudden warmth spreading and everything felt like it was happening so fast. 

The explosion from the building in front of you, flames licked from your building, something had flown from the explosion, you couldn’t focus on it because you felt arms around your waist pulling you back against a petite body, the distinct smell of some perfume that was more expensive than your flat, something sweet, and something you couldn’t explain. 

“Run.” The voice was a deep purr in your ear and long fingers were wrapped around your wrist as she was pulling you with her. You barely got your footing as she pulled you with surprising strength. 

Your mind was flooded, did your building just explode, why the fuck would it do that? What the fuck was that silver thing that flew from the explosion?

“You’re so loud.” The woman said simply, “Shut up.” she said quickly, pulling you with her faster, as she looked around like she was searching for something. 

“I didn’t say–” you tried but the look she gave you caused you to close your mouth, you hadn’t said anything. What was this woman going on about, being so loud?

“Your thoughts poppet.” she said, “I am trying to focus, so if you could just, I don’t know do as your species does and just stop thinking for a few moments,” she said sharply. 

You are left looking at her like she is insane. Thoughts? What did she mean, thoughts? It was your luck the beautiful woman you saw was absolutely bonkers. Before you could react she had moved down an alley, your body being thrown against the wall roughly, her body being pressed against yours tightly, as she hid her face against yours a bit, there was a ‘swoosh’ sound that darted past the alley. 

Your eyes widened a bit, and your breath picked up a bit as her hands held your hips against the wall, keeping you pinned for a few minutes before she pulled away like nothing had happened, she walked to the mouth of the alley looking out of it for a moment. 

“Good, come along.” She said calmly, as she motioned for you to follow her. 

“W-what?” you spoke softly, in disbelief that this woman wanted you to follow her. Your mind was still reeling from the feeling of her body against yours even if it had been so brief, she had been cold, and you could have sworn you had felt two heartbeats when her chest was pressed against yours. 

“Come,” she said, her voice had a sort of hypnotic quality, and your eyes sort of glazed for a moment, as you could hear her voice in your head, telling you to listen. You tried to pull back from it, your mind felt hazy, but her voice repeated the command. ‘Come’ and you nodded softly following after her. 

You were silent as you followed her, her hand wrapping around your wrist again as if you would wander away if she didn’t. “Where are we going?” You asked after a few moments. 

“Shh.” She hushed you quickly as she walked faster, leading you for what felt like forever. 

“No but…” You tried.

“Don’t make me shut you up.” She said, her tone held an edge of annoyance and danger. 

There was a moment where you smirked a bit, usually, you would say ‘Make me’ and usually that would lead to heavy sexual tension and playful banter, but the way she tugged your arm and glared at you told you to be silent. 

“You won’t like it if I make you shut up,” she warned. 

“Stop reading my mind…what do you even mean my thoughts are loud?” You blurted out trying to finally pull your arm away from her, but her nails dug into your wrist keeping it held. 

“How does he do this?” You heard her grumble, before she dragged you up the stairs of a Cathedral, St Paul’s. You tried to protest once more, but she yanked your arm hard and pushed you in before her. “We should be safe here….” she said allowing you a moment to gather yourself. 

You looked around the dark gloomy area, this was NOT St. Paul’s cathedral, there were giant tanks, with skeletons in them, and your body felt colder than before. 

“Oh just ignore them, they aren’t your concern….Yet.” She said walking past you with a sort of self-satisfied chuckle at what appeared to be a joke, “come.” she ordered again and your body followed, she led you through the vast halls, there were so many tanks, you tried to count them as she walked you towards a large door. 

“Ninty one….but don’t worry about that pet, you need to worry about a few other things first..that comes later…and is not for you….mostly,” she said calmly. “You may be collateral damage, but that is a risk I am willing to take.” She grinned with a short nod. 

“The fuck do you mean?” You muttered out.

“That was your flat right, the one that exploded?” she asked leading you through a door and into a large room that held some sort of control panel in the middle. 

“Yes…wh-where are we I’m sorry?” You asked looking around at the interior of where you were, it was sleek, gold, and black. There was a low humming sound that you hadn’t heard outside, and this was certainly too big to be a room. 

“We don’t have time for you to freak out…now listen dear.” she started. “They targeted you but were after me, I wonder why,” she said tapping her finger against her lower lip as she looked at you. 

“Who?” you couldn’t help but ask. 

“The assassins,” she said like it was the simplest thing, and she couldn’t believe you hadn’t figured it out. 

“Assassins blew up my flat? But they were after you? Why the fuck?” You sounded exhausted already. 

“Dunno, I suppose we will find out though….I should use you as bait…catch one, ask some questions.” she mused as she walked around the console, you were reeling still, and she really didn’t explain anything. That would become a constant, but you didn’t know that yet. 

“Why…now listen….no,” you said trying to sound firm, but took a small breath when she looked at you over the console with those eyes, you stammered and tried to regain your thoughts. “Wouldn’t they just kill me from a distance, if they were assassins I am sure they wouldn’t get close enough for you to catch…” You paused. “Who are you… wait,” you said looking at her. 

“Oh, right I suppose…The Mistress,” she said calmly watching your reaction.

“Oh…no…no thanks.” You said shaking your head. “I’m not…into…” you said lightly, trying to step back towards the door you came in.

The woman tilted her head. “You will refer to me as The Mistress.” She said firmly. “Stay,” she ordered, and your body tensed a bit. 

You shifted a bit, what exactly had you gotten yourself into? “Sure.” you voiced and looked down away from her. “Okay, yeah The Mistress…yeah…cool…” You nodded unsure. 

“And as of now, you are my companion.” She smirked a bit, you had a feeling that companion was not as nice as it sounded. 

“Your companion?” You asked softly, but she cut you off.

“I don’t care what your name is, I doubt you will be alive long enough for it to matter. I am just going to keep you until I understand why they attacked you, if their target was me, what is your place in all of this I wonder.” 

Today had been a shit day. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. The universe had given you a proverbial ‘fuck you’, your flat was blown up, assassins were after you, the pretty woman from the tea shop was insane, and now you were pretty sure you were kidnapped, by someone calling themselves ‘The Mistress’. The shitty situation you had thought was bad earlier, had just turned into a different kind of situation, and all you could do was hold on for the ride. 

[ugh-yoongi]

heart got teeth | knj

(or, the one where namjoon meets his match and isn’t quite sure how to handle you.)

→ pairing: namjoon x f. reader → genre: pwp; smut, angst, enemies to fwb to lovers (kinda) → rating: explicit. minors dni. → warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, reader is kind of a dickhead for a while but namjoon is a very into it and generally a horny disaster so it cancels out, side jihope because i can, hobi can’t hold his alcohol and namjoon says baby a lot so this is basically canon compliant, this is just porn with a crumb of plot so i will do my best with the explicit tags: kissing, joon has a wet dream, oral sex (m/f receiving), masturbation (namjoon does it a lot, reader once), fingering, i think there’s a handjob, dirty talk, dom undertones but nothing full-on, thigh riding, facesitting, referenced semi-public sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling, one ass slap, very light choking, namjoon is just down really bad idk what else to say. → wordcount: 12k → playlist: 5 seconds of summer - teeth • monsta x - nobody else • waterparks - stupid for you • poppy - all the things she said • namasenda - 24/7 • bastille - goosebumps • monsta x - wildfire → a/n: this is a fic i wrote for an old fandom and reworked/rewrote to work in this context, so if it looks familiar, it is. don’t report me, i promise it's mine. :’) as always, thank you to lauren, jess, and bee for looking this over and catching all my fuckups. you all are the best and i would be a whole clown without the three of you.

To your credit, you truly have no ulterior, unsavory motives as you step inside.

It’s meant to be a simple night out with a few of your friends. A club, of course, because they never pass up an opportunity to go all-out: impeccable hair and makeup, outfits that are more like a second skin, fuck-me eyes with the glossed lips to match, ones that leave very little to the imagination of how low that mouth will go and how it’ll feel once it gets there.

Tonight’s about mourning. No more Seokjin in your entourage, seeing as he’s too busy fucking some boring accountant now. A “one-man man” he’d called himself, and you can’t possibly think of anything worse. There isn’t an accountant on earth hot enough to inspire monogamy.

So, you came to the club. The high-end one your friends like in the city with the hot bartender. Taehyung had wanted to blow off some steam before heading back to Daegu for a few weeks, anyway. Not that he has to wait long—someone catches his eye a few minutes in, leaving you and Jimin on your own.

Just as well. Neither of you have much trouble pulling.

Twelve minutes. Not your personal best, but it’ll do.

You have them pegged from a mile away. The taller one will have money and some sob story about growing up wealthy, fake humility dripping from every word as he waxes poetic about never taking anything for granted, while his friend—shorter by a few inches, hair looking neon red under the club lights, and certainly in his element—will play his good-cop partner in crime. He’s probably very charming, the type who will use his disarming, megawatt smile to secure a seat at the table and learn the drink order and pave the way for the dark-haired one to work his magic.

Because the dark-haired one will definitely work his magic. That smolder alone has probably been the cause of hundreds of weak knees, the kind of look that gets him whatever he wants with few questions asked besides, “yours or mine?”

You don’t bother to hide the disinterested look on your face, which suits you just fine. You know it’s flattering, your honeypot look. All to do with the slightly parted lips, the steeled, blasé stare that men fell over themselves to have focused on them. And, sure, you’ve taken a keen interest in vapid, meaningless sex with attractive strangers, but you aren’t sure you’ll be able to stomach the small talk these two will inevitably require to get to that point.

“Heads up,” Jimin says, nodding to his right.

You snort, hiding the downward tug of your mouth behind your whiskey glass. “I know.”

“Are you not interest—”

Jimin’s question is cut off by the smiley one finally reaching their table, immediately sliding into the booth beside him, both unprompted and unwelcome. Lithe limbs knock unceremoniously against the underside of the glossy table, and you can already see the gears turning in Jimin’s head. He never was able to resist a dancer’s body, which means the other one will be your problem for the evening.

“Would it be okay if I joined you?”

You cock an eyebrow at that. The dimly-lit, grimy club hardly seems like an appropriate setting for that level of refinement. “If you must.”

His bravado falters just for a second. Blink and you’ll miss it. Just as you expected, he isn’t used to being denied anything. “Oh,” he stammers, his eyes darting to his friend on his left who is too busy whispering god-knows-what in Jimin’s ear to notice. “It’s just… my friend,” he tries to explain.

Still gazing up at him, your lips stretch into a challenging smirk. “Mm, I noticed.”

He’s fidgeting. Weight shifts from one leg to the other, fingers flexed around the glass he’s holding before relaxing. “So, can I—”

“I don’t know,” you muse, “can you?”

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters, his features immediately resetting to appear calm and collected. “May I?”

With a smug grin, you nod, gesturing to the empty space beside you. Your night was bound to be interrupted one way or another, and it’s always better to have it done so by someone so easily affected. There’s something deeply gratifying about making this stranger lose just that bit of control, of seeing his composed mask slip for only a second.

His enormous presence is immediately felt beside you, heat emanating from his flushed skin and calling to you like a siren song. And, god, is he attractive up close, the type of bone structure that plausibly could have been carved from stone, worshiped centuries ago. It takes a lot of self-restraint to not reach out and touch him, to keep your hands wrapped around your glass instead of skimming them along the outside of the thigh pressed against you.

If he’s going to be your only option for the evening, there’s nothing wrong with having a bit of fun, even if you aren’t particularly charmed by him.

Liking him isn’t a necessary prerequisite for taking him home—or to the bathroom, if the situation requires it—and having him fuck you senseless.

This is a game you’ve played—and won—countless times before. Because you can feel his dark gaze on you, each sideways glance lasting longer than the one before. Can see how jittery he still is, as if he feels the electricity between you, too, but is too paralyzed to act on it.

So, really, it shouldn’t be a surprise that you toy with him. He sneaks a glance, you make a show of crossing your legs, the garish club lights reflecting off smooth, soft skin. Another glance and you run your tongue slowly over your bottom lip, pretending to listen intently to whatever Jimin’s saying. You bare your neck to him as you throw back the last of your drink, head lolling to the side just enough to have him wondering how it’d feel to press his lips against the skin there.

A small, private grin to yourself when he sputters and tries awkwardly to cover it by clearing his throat. “Can—can I buy you another drink?”

God, he almost makes it too easy. “I don’t know. Can you?”

There’s a sharp sound as he bangs his fist on the table, jaw clenched in frustration. “I’m not going to ask twice.” Meant as a threat, but you know exactly what it is: just another attempt to regain control. You almost take pity on him. The poor guy really isn’t used to not easily getting whatever he wants.

You lean over, lips close enough to the shell of his ear to make the hair stand on his arms. “You’re lucky I let you ask once.”

He looks positively flustered now, a furious, rapid blush creeping up his neck, and you take his reaction and tuck it away for later. Want to save it, want to memorize the look on his face—the small parting of his lips, the barely-audible groan, the subtle roll of his shoulders. Want to think about it all later, preferably when you’re alone. Maybe in bed.

Jimin’s still engaged in conversation with the one who can’t stop laughing, his eyes lighting up every time he leans in to say something with that heart-shaped mouth only meant for Jimin to hear. When he pulls away from Jimin and turns his attention to you, you’re finally able to take in the lines of his face. Softer than the one you’re currently sitting next to, a bit more feminine, but you know there’s bite to him. Definitely attractive, has that familiar brand of confident swagger, and one-hundred percent Jimin’s type.

You think Jimin calls your name.

You turn your attention back to your friend, who’s looking at you expectantly. “Hm? Sorry, Chim, I couldn’t hear you.”

“Hoseokie-hyung says the next round is on him. D’you want another drink?”

“A few shots of tequila would be lovely,” you smile. “Thanks so much.”

You can feel the man beside you tense as he says, “I’ll join you, hyung.”

He stands, staring at you with a look that says he knows exactly what game you’re playing, giving everyone else all of your sweet and reserving the sour only for him. Seems like he isn’t all that impressed, either, if the tight set of his jaw is any indication. All you bother to offer him in return is a slow, deliberate smirk. Game on.

Jimin leans across the table conspiratorially. “So…? What do you think of Namjoon?”

“Who’s Namjoon?” you answer, nails clacking away as you reply to a text from Taehyung.

“Are you serious?” Jimin frowns. “He’s been sitting next to you all night.”

You chuckle at that. “Why do I need to know his name if you’re just going to fuck his friend?”

“I’m not—” Jimin pauses, pushes his bubblegum pink hair out of his face, chews the thought over. “Okay, I am, but—”

“It’s fine, Minnie. Do your thing. That’s the whole reason we came out, anyway.”

Jimin clicks his tongue. “You don’t like him at all? Not even a little bit?”

“You know he’s not my type.”

“Excuse me?” Jimin nearly shrieks. “Tall, extremely handsome, and rich isn’t your type?”

You roll your eyes. “Stuck-up dickhead isn’t my type. I’m extremely good-looking and rich on my own.”

“I don’t think he’s a dick,” Jimin defends. “Plus, he seems super into you. He was making googly eyes every time I looked over.”

“Guys always look at us like that on a night out.”

It takes a few minutes and a disregarded pleading stare, but Jimin eventually throws his hands up in surrender. “Fine! Just… be nice, at least.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Why? You planning on keeping that guy around awhile?”

Jimin frowns, moves to protest, but his words are cut off by Hoseok again stumbling back to their table, a massive grin spreading across his face as he sidles up next to Jimin. With none of the same enthusiasm, Namjoon stands awkwardly next to the table, refusing to meet your eye as he hands out shots, two for everyone. Amused, you wonder if there’s a reason he might need to take the edge off. You huff a knowing, soft laugh.

As he reluctantly slides in next to you—distance kept, of course; no contact—you and Jimin move to clink your shot glasses together. You’ve rehearsed this scene a million times before: lean across the table, nearly touching; then, you’ll use a bit too much force, sending the drink spilling over the rim of the glass, sloshing onto the exposed skin of Jimin’s chest, which you lick off with an, “Oops, sorry, babe!” and an innocent smile.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Works every time.

Namjoon shifts beside you, clearly trying to appear unbothered. Some mumbled sentence about the club getting too warm and he rolls his sleeves to his elbows, the slight sheen of sweat covering an expanse of golden skin—the sight of which sends an unwelcome pang of heat straight to your core.

And he doesn’t miss it, either. “See something you like, baby?” he asks, confidence returning with a smugness that doesn’t sit right with you.

“All I see are two sweaty arms, so… no, not really.”

Namjoon studies you, nostrils flared as he tries to seem unfazed again. “You are truly insufferable, you know that?”

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion of me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Consider the first one free.”

“Well, I don’t plan on paying for a second, so I guess you’ll have to sit there like a good little boy and keep your thoughts to yourself.”

He chokes on his drink, sputtering and coughing in a way that has Hoseok leaning across the table to slap him on the back. “Namjoon-ah, are you—”

“I’m fine,” Namjoon snaps, not meeting his friend’s eye.

Jimin, with a knowing look on his face—yet still pointed, since his request for you to be nice has clearly fallen on deaf ears—offers Namjoon a sweet smile. “So, Namjoon-ssi, what do you do?”

“I’m—”

“He’s a psycho,” Hoseok slurs, cheeks flushed from all the alcohol and enough confidence in his answer to wipe the smile from Jimin’s face. “No, wait—”

You try really hard to mask the snort of laughter that manages to escape, but it only worsens when Namjoon says, “I’m a psychotherapist,” at the same time Hoseok clarifies again that, “He’s a psycho?”

“A therapist, huh? That seems important.” You know what Jimin’s doing, still hell-bent on his mission to get you to give Namjoon a chance. “What else are you into?”

“Bicycles,” Hoseok slurs again.

Namjoon groans, tossing back a shot before answering, “Motorcycles.”

“Mm, no, it’s definitely bicycles and you’re lying to seem cool since you don’t even have a license. But whatever.” Then he turns to Jimin, a 24 karat smile on his face as he asks, “Do you wanna come back to my apartment and have sex? I live alone.” Despite yourself and the horrified looks on both Namjoon’s and Jimin’s faces, you have to respect the boldness.

“You’re really drunk, hyung,” Jimin replies hesitantly.

Hoseok just shrugs. “You can stay over. I’ll sleep on the couch and then I’ll make you breakfast in the morning and we can have sex after.”

“So respectful,” you laugh. “I’ll fuck your brains out in the morning, but I won’t defile your honor by sharing a bed with you.”

Jimin seems gobsmacked. “I…” He looks at you, who just shrugs. Not the first time Jimin will leave with someone from the bar and, despite your friend’s initial hesitation, it probably won’t be the last, either. “Okay. But I want a full spread in the morning! All the banchan, too! Nothing weird.”

Hoseok doesn’t press his luck, just tosses some money in Namjoon’s direction, grabs Jimin’s hand, and does his best to stumble out the door while he calls for a taxi.

Namjoon’s presence feels almost overwhelming once the two of you are alone, still sitting too close together on the same side of the table. You know he’s stealing glances at you again, can feel his eyes on you, your skin, as you busy yourself with your phone. Send quick ‘text me when you get to their place and again in the morning’ messages to both Jimin and Taehyung even though they always do and don’t have to be told, but Namjoon’s gaze is heavy and there are implications and questions behind it that, frankly, you’re looking to avoid.

Maybe he’s affected more than he’s letting on. Surely a guy like him—so used to being in control, so used to being chased—isn’t the type to sit around and wait for orders, especially concerning something he wants. And he does want you. That much is clear.

You’ve dragged him so far off course it’s all he can do to tread water. Namjoon is fine with disinterest; not every person in the world is going to want him, despite the ego that tries very hard to convince him otherwise. Sometimes they want the charming, outgoing one instead of the reserved one who doesn’t do anything without a purpose, and such is the reality of being Hoseok’s wingman. That’s fine—really, he doesn’t mind. Always better to go home alone than with someone who isn’t all-in on him.

But he hasn’t been able to figure you out at all.

Worse, you know it.

So, if you accidentally-on-purpose rub your foot along his calf as you cross your legs and smirk at the strangled groan that escapes him, who can blame you?

“Guess that’s my cue to leave as well.” No room for misinterpretation, there. It’s as closed-off and uninviting as it can be, yet Namjoon stays frozen in place, unable to move aside to let you out of the booth. “Well?”

He comes to, coughing a bit as he shuffles into the aisle to his left. “Right, yeah. How are—will—do you need a ride home?”

You roll your lips. “Are you offering? With no license?”

“Yes,” he says, the word breathier than he’d like.

You smile sweetly, a slender finger moving to trace along his jawline. His eyes flutter closed at your touch, thick eyelashes ink-black and out of place against his cheek. Your lips move back to the shell of his ear. “Then no.”

Undeterred, Namjoon gently wraps his fingers around your wrist, keeping you close. “The alternative is giving me your number and letting me know you get home safe.”

“That sounds an awful lot like an order,” you muse. “So, what would happen if I took your number, promised I’ll text, and you never heard from me again? Would I get punished?”

Something dark flashes in his eyes—perhaps your first glimpse of who he typically is, confident and dominant and very comfortable playing this game. “Something tells me you wouldn’t do that to me.”

You smirk, reaching out with your free arm to graze your nails down his side. His muscles flex under your touch, defined and solid, as he hisses. “I think that’s called your ego.” Your eyes trail lower. “Unless it’s… something else?”

“Something else?” he questions. “Didn’t take you for the shy type.”

Entranced, Namjoon watches as white teeth bite down on your bottom lip, your tongue darting out briefly to ease the sting. One brief, fleeting thought about how it’d feel to have that tongue someplace else and his cock twitches in his jeans. Barely an hour together and he’s certain you’ll be the death of him. A million little deaths he’ll willingly endure.

“Like your girls with a dirty mouth, do you?”

All he can muster is a crooked grin. “And if I say yes?”

You laugh softly. “Then I’ll ask you, kindly, to remove your fingers from my wrist and go splash some cold water on that pretty face of yours. You’re about two seconds away from coming in your jeans and not even I dislike you enough to let you embarrass yourself like that.”

His grip on you loosens. “You don’t like me? Don’t you think that’s a bit strong? You barely know me.”

“Oh, were you under the assumption this was something more?” When he doesn’t answer, you extract yourself from him and wink. “Maybe you can think about me later when you’re jerking off.”

And if he spends the rest of his evening doing exactly that? Well, that’s his business.

Namjoon spends the next two weeks doing that, actually.

Your touch is seared into his mind—the feel of your fingers tracing along his jaw, his sides, the way his body reacted to you, an obvious desperation even before he’d let it get this bad, fester this long. The urge was slowly growing out of control, and he told himself each morning that today would be the day, he’d send that stupid fucking Instagram message asking you out—

Because that’d been your play the night you’d met. As promised, you took his number and never texted, just posted a goddamn thirst trap to your Instagram story that was clearly meant for him. Because you knew he’d chase you, figure out some way to find you. Fresh out of the shower, hair wet and droplets teasing down your chest, silk camisole barely hanging on as you snapped a photo over your shoulder in your bedroom mirror. A small winking emoji in the corner as if to say yes, I made it home—alone. And since you’re alone, too, have fun touching yourself.

He’d barely been in bed ten minutes before his pants were pushed halfway down his thighs and he was spilling into his hand.

It became routine somewhere around day six. Instead of sending the message, he’d lose his resolve, fall into bed at the end of the day, and let you consume his thoughts as he got himself off. God, he’d started to get greedy—always wanted more, imagined more, and it never took long. A vague memory of the perfume you wore, a stray thought of the way it’d smell imprinted into his sheets, his skin; the hawkish look on your face as you’d studied him, trying to decide if you wanted to worship him or ruin him.

Bit late for that, Namjoon thinks as he comes into his fist. He’s already ruined.

Part of him wants you to know, wants you to see how undone he becomes just at the thought of you, almost wants you to humiliate him for what he’s just done—and his hips stutter one last time at the thought, shocking him into contemplative silence. That’s new.

Instead, he stands on shaky legs and moves to his bathroom, running a washcloth under cool water to clean off his hands. God, he’s utterly wrecked. He begs his brain to figure it out, get it together long enough to just compose a simple text asking you on a date. The inevitable rejection will quell the wildfire and he’ll finally be able to go more than a second without thinking about you, about how you’ve reduced him to a writhing, nervous mess.

His heart hammers in his chest as he fetches his phone and stares down at an empty Instagram message. Words suddenly don’t seem to make sense as he wracks his brain for a way to phrase his question that won’t make him sound like a complete fool.

I’d like to take you out tomorrow, he types, only to delete it once he realizes the only response he receives will be some variation of “I bet you would.”

Can I… he begins to type again. Quickly deletes that, too, and types May I take you out tomorrow? instead. It still doesn’t feel like enough, he’s sure you’re going to tell him no and tell him to fuck off, but that just means he won’t be disappointed when that’s exactly what happens.

Before he can overthink it, he presses ‘send’ and resists the urge to turn his phone off completely. He can’t remember the last time he was this nervous asking someone out—then again, he was usually able to skirt by on his good looks and a well-executed smolder. Not now, though. Somehow, he’s managed to become ensnared by the one person in the entire country who finds his charm repulsive and off-putting. And it’s not like he can suffer in silence, either. Hoseok had caught on quickly, sometime during the first week, because Namjoon didn’t have much time or desire to go out. He’d been able to fumble an excuse, something about working late, because he couldn’t tell him he couldn’t stop jerking off over a woman who wanted nothing to do with him and still be able to look his friend in the eye afterwards.

Their friendship doesn’t have many limits, but that’s certainly one of them.

He’s halfway to Googling “how to unsend an Instagram message” when his phone vibrates in his sinful hand, his stomach dropping to the floor when he sees it’s from you.

And clearly not meant for him.

It’s a screenshot of a selfie he’d posted weeks ago on his parents’ boat, a picturesque sunset in the background that bathed his silhouette in golden light. Namjoon knows he’s photogenic, looks damn good from all angles and has never taken a bad picture in his life, even candidly, but that one had been especially striking, so he’s not really surprised. He has, however, gone dry in the mouth at the text below it.

Tae, you don’t understand. He’s so fucking hot it pisses me off a little. He’s kind of a dickhead but I’d still fuck the shit out of him.

Oh.

Well, fuck. He certainly hadn’t been expecting that.

His fingers twitch, both to reply to the message and wrap around his cock for the umpteenth time since that night at the club. And he knows the right thing to do is pretend he hasn’t seen it, not mention it, don’t rub your face in it, because if the situation was reversed, he doesn’t figure he’d like someone ribbing him, either. But he’d be a fucking fool to pass this up, so he replies with “Oh?” and throws the winking emoji back at you.

Another ten minutes pass and he’s certain he’s blown it. And then—

He nearly blacks out at what’s on his screen. Desire needles at his skin like a wildfire destined to burn out of control as he drinks in the sight of you, all that naked, smooth skin contrasting against the crisp, white sheets you’re wrapped in. There’s just a hint of indecency, a promise of a whole lot more, and Namjoon suddenly can’t remember having seen anything so perfect, can’t focus on anything except the sound of his blood in his ears and the picture in front of him. Wonders how it’d feel to run his hands over all that bare skin; how it’d taste. What you’d sound like as he took his time unraveling you—if you would even let him.

A whimper escapes him as another message comes through.

You can’t take me out, but I might let you invite me over if you behave and keep your hands to yourself until tomorrow.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, already feeling his boxers begin to tent.

You break your kiss and plant your hands on his chest, pushing him backwards into the wall. You’re a vision in crimson red before him, the lingerie leaving nothing to the imagination besides a plethora of unholy thoughts. Fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach out and grab you.

You take a step back, just out of his reach. “You’re a very dirty boy, aren’t you?” you tease, your head cocking to the side as you take him in. “Can’t ever keep your hands to yourself.”

Lighting himself on fire would feel the same, Namjoon thinks. His blood burns in his veins, thick with such a heavy desire that it consumes him. He’s still fully dressed yet completely unraveled, so hard it’s painful, and he needs you to keep talking, needs you to touch him, needs you—

“Baby,” he whines, his hips betraying him as they thrust against nothing. “Please.”

A slow, sultry smile. “Didn’t take you for the begging type.” He groans again at his words being parroted back to him.

“I’m not.”

“And now?” you ask. “Would you beg for it?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “Whatever you want.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to give someone that kind of power? You never know what they may do with it.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can reconsider. “Baby, no one has complete power over me.”

He knows immediately he’s fucked, knows it even more when a mischievous smile stretches across your face. You’re so composed, just standing there in front of him as if he wouldn’t drop to his knees and do whatever you asked of him, like you have all the time in the world and this is just a minor inconvenience. As if you aren’t taking him apart at the seams, popping each stitch one by one and letting him hang in freefall. Making him sweat it out.

Beating him at his own game.

“Is that so?” You take a step closer, study him. See the way his eyes flutter closed in anticipation, the intake of breath, almost a plea. “Should we put those words to the test?”

You drop to your knees languidly, still too far away, and look up at him through dark lashes, your tongue rolling across your lips just enough to moisten them and state your intent. “What do you want, Namjoon?”

His name sounds obscene in your mouth. “I—” His brain and his body are at war, too much information to process that he can’t find the words, can’t formulate a single coherent thought. “I don’t, I—”

“Surely someone so in control could use their words?” He’s fucking ruined. “I’m on my knees in front of you and you can’t think of a single thing you’d like me to do?”

“I want your mouth,” he breathes.

“That’s not very specific. There’s lots of things my mouth can do.”

“Like talk a lot of shit,” he responds tartly.

“Yes, but that’s nowhere near as fun as the others.” You huff a laugh as you move close enough to rake your fingernails down his thighs. “Take these off.”

You’re still staring up at him from your place on the floor, your rapt attention doing fuck-all to help the way his hands are trembling. It’s not the first time he’s had a woman on her knees in front of him, but it’s the first time he can’t stop shaking long enough to pop the button on his jeans and drag them down his legs. Usually skilled, deft fingers rendered completely useless.

“You could make yourself useful and help me, you know,” he quips. Another failed attempt at the button before he finally gets it; something between a relieved groan and a hiss as he drags the zipper over his strained erection.

“Would you rather I undo your pants or make you come down my throat?” Namjoon is too dazed to answer. “You need to think before you speak, babe. That smart mouth will get you into trouble.”

“I’m already in a world of it, baby,” he responds, moving to palm himself.

You catch his wrist and move it back to his side. “No touching, yourself or me. You touch me and I stop.”

He barely resists the urge to ask what in the hell is wrong with you, can’t you see how desperate he is, how he’s already at the edge and you’ve barely touched him, that you’ve already won, might as well give in and stop fucking around.

Instead, he barely manages a nod. Plants his hands against the cold plaster of the wall at his back.

And waits.

You’re still kneeling on the floor in front of him, but the smug grin is new. He cocks an eyebrow, whether in question or challenge he isn’t sure, but you ignore it all the same. “How in control are you?” you ask.

“What?”

“No one has complete control over you, right?” You move so you’re laying back, propped up slightly on your elbows. “Would you be in control if I took this off?” you ask, tracing a finger along the lace trim of your thong.

His breath feels thick in his throat. “Yes.”

Hips jut into the air as you shimmy the garment down the expanse of your legs. If he was having trouble breathing before, he’s damn near suffocating now as he takes you in again, laying bare before him. Your nails graze along your skin—slowly, teasingly—and he watches, hypnotized, as they near your core. A hitched breath, wondering if you’re going to touch yourself as he watches. A silent prayer the answer is yes.

And it is. Fuck, it is.

You repeat your question—“Are you in control now?”—and he doesn’t know the answer. He is and isn’t, knows the reality doesn’t quite match up with what he wants to say. It’s a struggle just to tread water, let alone think up some smart response to hide how untethered he really is, to maintain that façade.

“Baby, I—”

“You want to touch yourself, don’t you?”

He groans, his fingers grasping at nothing as they try to dig into the wall. It’s all too much. Sensory overload. The sight of you, the lilt in your voice as you tease him. He’s always prided himself on his control, his dominance, and now that the trap door has given way beneath him and he’s left suspended, he’s simultaneously never felt more terrified and more alive.

“Yes,” he finally chokes out.

Your eyes lock on his as you say, “Go ahead.”

The first stroke brings such relief he’s certain he’s going to black out. A loud, unabashed moan comes with the second. The third—god, the third has his toes curling against the wood floor, that familiar heat pooling in his belly, ready to engulf everything in its path. His thighs begin to tremble as he keeps working himself over, and it’s not a second later that—

It’s nearly the afternoon when Namjoon jolts awake, his heart feeling ready to burst right through his chest. He doesn’t bother peeking under the covers, already knows, without having to look, what a mess he’s made of himself. Again. It hadn’t even been this bad when he was a teenager, and it’s this thought that has him stumbling to the shower to wash away his indiscretions. Sets the temperature all the way to cold as he steps inside, standing right under the spray.

Pathetic, really, how he can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop replaying in his mind how you’d felt, how you’d made him feel. The feel of your skin on the pads of his fingers, against his own; the smell of you, the taste of your mouth. The sight of you open and wanting and coming undone in front of him. If you’d managed to overwhelm every one of his senses in a dream, what was the real thing going to be like?

You’d told him to keep his hands to himself, but not even the sting of the freezing water is enough to cool him down, so he thinks about it once, twice, nearly three times before he slips his hand around his cock. What you don’t know won’t kill you, and he’s certainly not planning on coming clean.

Just needs to take the edge off. It’d assuredly be worse to walk around his place all day with an erection, he reasons.

 The wait is torturous. Time itself seems to betray him, the clock barely moving every time he sneaks a glance at his phone. If he goes to hell when he dies, it’ll just be this, he thinks—the maddeningly slow wait for a booty call he can’t stop thinking about.

Because that’s all it is. He has to remind himself of this when it starts to feel too real, too comfortable, like he’s waiting for a date or something more serious than whatever this is. You don’t like him, don't like the way he carries himself or any aspect of his personality at all, really. Usually he’d be fine with a quick fling, a casual hook up or two to blow off some steam. But he’s a relationship, commitment kind of guy at heart, so despite his best efforts, the thought of this becoming something more still creeps in every now and then. A daydream.

Send me your address.

Nerves engulf him as the message comes through, and he must type and retype his response a dozen times before he finally gets it right.

Half hour.

The waiting game again. He moves around his place frantically, tidying and straightening, lights a candle, changes into something more presentable than joggers.

There’s a knock at the door and he swallows hard, tries to muster up some of his old confidence again. This isn’t him. Namjoon has never been reduced to a pining, uncertain mess, and he’s so off-kilter he barely manages to make it to the door before the third series of knocks.

As he pulls it open, his face drops unceremoniously. You aren’t standing on the other side, ready to greet him with a sultry grin. Instead, there’s a gangly-looking teenager in a uniform, his hat askew as he holds a pizza box.

“Uh, hi. Can I help you?” Namjoon asks, peering around the kid to look out into the hallway.

“I have a small sausage for you,” comes the response. Nasally and bored.

Namjoon chokes, the choice of words catching him off-guard. “I didn’t order a pizza.”

“Are you Kim Namjoon-ssi?” He nods. “Then this is for you.” The kid tries shoving the box into Namjoon’s hands, but he takes a step back.

“I promise you, I did not order a pizza.”

“Look,” the kid sighs, all politeness tossed aside immediately, “it’s already been paid for. Just take the damn box and throw it away if you don’t want it. I really don’t give a shit what you do with it, but I’ve got other deliveries to make.”

Eyes narrowed, Namjoon grabs the box and slams the door, opting to ignore the muffled you could’ve at least tipped me, you cheap asshole from the other side. Tosses the pizza onto his kitchen counter and stalks towards his bedroom where he’d left his phone.

Did you send me a fucking pizza? he types.

Told you not to touch yourself, comes your response.

It’s another week before he can convince you to see him.

A week of borderline begging—because he refuses to actually do so—and teasing and whispered confessions he doesn’t think twice about. He wants you. He wants you so badly he’s dizzy with it, and he’s done playing games. His desire is out there already and it’s obvious. No point in acting coy now.

You agree under the condition the two of you meet at the club. Have a few drinks with Jimin and Hoseok. No doubt to prolong his suffering, Namjoon figures, but he agrees all the same, willing to play along. He just wants to see you; hopes maybe being face-to-face will extinguish some of the heat.

But it doesn’t.

Of course it doesn’t.

You’re barely in each other’s company twenty minutes before he lets you drag him down a quiet corridor and into an empty bathroom. You let him press you against the sink, dress hiked up around your thighs; let him press a desperate, searing kiss to your mouth, all tongue and teeth and sighs of relief.

The first time scratches the itch. It’s quick—almost embarrassingly so—and rough, right there in the club, and all Namjoon can think about is the taste of you, how all those daydreams hadn’t done you a lick of justice. Swears stars pop behind his eyelids and he can hear a choir. You had been stunning in all his fantasies, but up close, in person, you’re so much better. As if your body is meant only to bring him to his knees, to make him surrender.

Namjoon very quickly realizes he’s got a problem on his hands.

There’s no way he’ll be able to let you go—already can’t stomach the thought of you being with anyone else. He doesn’t want to be with anyone else, and he curses at himself for letting it get this far, for letting someone ruin him this way. He knows without having to hear you say it that you aren’t the type to be tied down. Probably goes running at the first sign of attachment. But he can’t help himself, torn between touching himself to the memory of the way you felt around him and the thought of what it might be like to have something more.

The second time you come to him. Press him against the wall in the entryway and drop to your knees, your mouth working him into a frenzy before he can barely mutter a greeting. Fingers itch to tangle into your hair when he remembers his dream, wonders if he’s allowed to touch you like that, hopes that maybe he isn’t.

He wants you to destroy him.

“Baby,” he says, a fractured moan punctuating the sound of your name that follows. A hand joins your mouth in moving along his length and he swears. “Baby.”

There’s an obscene noise as you release him from your mouth, a trail of spit barely connecting the two of you as you look up at him with a gaze that’s been seared into his memory for weeks. “What?”

“I—fuck.” Your hand’s still working him, still doing that thing where it twists on the upstroke that has him feeling like all the air’s been punched from his lungs. “I want you,” he breathes. “I want—wanna make you come.”

A smile betrays you, the corners of your mouth turning up just enough for him to catch. “Do you want it?” Your free hand moves to his thigh, kneading at the cords of muscle there. Fingers dig into the crease at his hip, the ditch of his knee. “Or do you need it?”

“Yes,” is all he manages to say.

You sit back on your haunches, looking straight out of his wet dream as you stare up at him, bottom lip tugged between your teeth. “Go sit on the couch,” you instruct.

If he’s ever moved faster, he can’t recall when. You follow slowly, items of clothing dropping behind you as you go, only your matching lingerie left by the time you reach him. His breath catches again, both in awe and in anticipation. Yes, you’re stunning, but Namjoon can’t remember anyone else having ever invoked such a strong response from him. Every part of him needs you.

You straddle him, legs anchored at his sides as he grabs the back of your neck to pull you into a kiss. You’ve kissed dozens of times before, desperate, more teeth than anything else. This one he’s determined to take slow, take his time, savor you.

And as soon as he feels you tense, as soon as you pull away and move your lips to a spot just below his ear, he knows he has the answer to a question he never bothered to ask.

Teeth graze his earlobe. “I’ve been thinking about these,” you say, your palms dragging up and down his thighs. “Wanna get myself off on you.” And just like that, all those thoughts of something else are pushed to the back of his mind.

A loud whine escapes him, hips rocking forward to press his erection against your clothed center. Decides to take a risk and dig his fingers into your hips, a stray hope he might leave a mark, have just that bit of claim to you. Uses his leverage to situate you onto one thigh.

“By all means,” he says, lips moving against your collarbone. Hooks the fabric of your thong to the side, hands still on your hips to begin moving you. “But I want to feel it. All of it. Want to watch you make a mess on my leg.”

You move slowly at first, trying to find a balance between what you need and the tempo Namjoon is setting. A relieved moan when you find the right combination, and Namjoon matches it when he feels how wet you are. You move unabashedly, plant your hands on his chest as your hips grind faster, more frantic. Namjoon covers your hands with his own, fingers moving over yours as he digs your nails into his chest, drags them down far enough he knows they’ll leave marks. Thrusts at the thought of being marked by you, of having a reminder to come back to in the morning when you’ll inevitably be gone.

“Fuck, Joon,” you moan. “Feels so good.”

Hands still covering yours, Namjoon moves one to his neck, praising you as you tighten your grip around his throat. “That’s it. Just like that, baby. You look so beautiful using me like this.”

Namjoon can tell how close you are long before you ever bother to tell him. Sees the slight falter of your motions, feels you press yourself harder against him, desperate for more friction, the light sheen of sweat forming at your brow. He wonders, briefly, if you’ll actually let go, if you trust him enough to let him bear witness to you coming undone.

His question is answered as you break into a shaking, gasping mess, collapsing into his arms as he wraps them around you, tangling a hand in your hair and pressing kisses to your temple. Rains praise down upon you, tells you how thankful he is to be able to witness it. Wants to commit all of it to memory—your heaving chest, trembling thighs, the sounds you make as you come down from your high, the dazed look in your eyes as you open them and meet his own.

Knows he’s going to say something stupid, so he crashes his lips to yours, hungry for you in a way that honestly terrifies him. A way he’s never wanted anyone else. And he knows that’s the catch with you, knows this has an expiration date, and so he pushes this thought to the furthest corner of his mind. Knows he has to stay in the moment lest it all comes spiraling down around him.

He grabs the back of your thighs and stands from the couch, waits for you to wrap your legs around his waist before he moves toward his bedroom. Isn’t sure he’ll be able to make it, thinks about just fucking you into the wall in the hallway, but judging from the state of his leg, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to afford the dry cleaning bill if the two of you stay on the couch.

Obscene words spill from your mouth with each step he takes and he spares a moment to marvel at his self-restraint. Wonders when he’d acquired it, because he seems to have lost all of his old sensibilities when it comes to you. “Want you so bad,” you say, words nearly a purr as you speak them into the crook of his neck. “Just fuck me right here.” You use his grip on you to roll your hips, slick center gliding along the length of his cock.

He groans at the contact, lets your words wash over him and bathe him in your indecency. You roll your hips again, a lewd temptation and always a challenge. You want to tempt him straight to the edge and watch as he goes over, want him to regain control and lose it over and over again, want to ruin him for anyone who comes after you. And Namjoon knows you’re going to, knows this has already gone too far despite only having just begun, and he feels the anger seep in alongside the lust, though he can’t tell who it’s directed at. Probably himself, but that doesn’t reign him in.

He presses you against the wall of his bedroom, presses a searing kiss to your mouth—that dirty, unrelenting mouth of yours that never seems to stop—and he wants to kiss you breathless. Wants to shut you up, wants you to surrender, to beg, wants a million things he will never get.

And, all along, you were right. He always wants. Wants you, wants more, wants impossible things. Despite having you exactly where he wants you right now, you’re going to leave. You’re going to leave and he’s going to be left behind, wanting and destroyed and longing, and he’s none too impressed to be on this side for once.

Because, as he moves you to the bed and drapes his body atop yours, your words echo in his mind:

Want you so bad.

Want.

Not need. Never will be need.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he says, hands everywhere at once, the feel of you beneath him nothing more than an answered prayer. His fingers move lower to your clit, teasing, circling slowly. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want,” you drawl, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging, and he gasps at the sting, “to watch you. I want to see exactly how good I make you feel.” His hips move of their own accord, pressing you further into the mattress. He’s so fucking hard, can barely believe he’s still conscious, and he’s absolutely drunk on the reality of you. “Do you want that? Want me to ride you until you come?”

“Fuck,” he moans. “Yes.”

You pull at his hair again, forcing him to look at you. “Then say it. Tell me you want it.”

“Fuck, baby, yes.” Slips a finger inside your cunt, desperate to make you as needy as he is. Pumps once, twice, before he adds a second. “Want you to make me come. Want all of it. Everything.”

A wordless demand for him to roll over as you nudge his shoulder, but not before your hips jerk upwards to meet his fingers, seeking him even though you’d never dare admit it. He smirks down at you, cheeks dimpling, moves his thumb back to your clit just to watch you writhe. Traces slow circles again just to listen to the way your breath hitches, to hear the small, gasping pants against his neck. Applies a hint more pressure just to feel your muscles clench tighter around him, the grind of you against his hand, hungry for more even when he’s ready to give you everything you want.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he asks, delighting in the whines spilling from your mouth. “First my leg, now my fingers. I think you’re getting greedy, baby.”

You glare at him through lidded eyes. “Maybe I should hold it in. Think twice about stroking that massive ego of yours.”

He finds your wrist and grasps it loosely, moving it down his body to his cock. “You can stroke something else, if you’d prefer.”

You take him in your hand, pumping slowly. Gather the beads of precome at the head and move down the shaft and back up again. “Notice you didn’t mention anything about it being massive. Is that what the ego’s for? To compensate?”

Anyone else and he might be offended. But, coming from you, it’s just a challenge. Another jab. The game you love to play and have become very, very good at. A lesser man might not be able to handle it, but Namjoon… Well, it’d been his game first, after all, and he knows better than anyone that the only way to win is to not play.

So, he withdraws his fingers right as you’re at the edge. Makes a show of putting them in his mouth and sucking them clean, does his best to ignore the obscene jolt of arousal as you mutter a “Jesus fucking Christ” under your breath. “That’s not a very nice thing to say, baby.”

You roll your eyes, releasing his cock from your grasp. “So what? I’m being punished?”

“Only nice girls get to come.”

He’s on his back before he realizes he’s moved. Your fingers are wrapped tight around his wrists, pinning them above his head. A truly wicked grin forms on your face and he wonders, briefly, how anyone survives you. How no one has combusted under the sheer force of you and that look and everything that comes after it. Namjoon wants to burn beneath you for centuries, or however long you’ll allow.

Your body moves languidly up his own until your core is positioned over his face. “Maybe so, but nice girls don’t take what they want, either,” is all you manage to say before he wrangles his wrists out of your grasp and grabs onto your hips roughly, pulling you down against his mouth.

The first kiss he presses against you is soft, teasing. You groan, curse at him for being a tease, and press harder against his face. He flattens his tongue as he laps at you, desperate and hungry for your taste, pausing every so often to slap your ass, tell you to take exactly what you need from him. As you move above him, hips rolling against his mouth, his own body writhes at the heat between them, the brazen frenzy that’s taken over you.

He’s not sure how long he spends between your legs, but he knows it’s not long enough. He’d spend forever there if he could, drunk on it. You taste divine, and he tells you as much over and over, words spilling from his mouth when you aren’t putting it to use.

Thighs, still anchored on the sides of his head, begin to tremble, energy still pent up from the orgasm he’d denied you. He considers doing it again, payback for all your teasing and that smart mouth, but his body betrays him before he can even make up his mind, tongue flat and anchored against your clit as you grind and roll your hips across it. God, he never thought he’d get off on being used like this, always thought he needed to be in control to enjoy sex, but nothing about you has ever really made sense to him except that he can’t get enough.

As you come a second time, all he can do is gaze up at you in admiration. He wants you to take the piss out of him, loves watching the twinkle in your eyes as you scheme up some tart response. He wants the denial, the what-ifs, the second-guessing that always ends with you a blissed-out, moaning mess on top of him. Even now, when you’re exactly where he wants you most, it’s not enough. He still wants more.

He maneuvers so you’re eye-to-eye. Allows himself only a second of pride at how disheveled you are before he wraps his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you into a rough kiss. Receives a whimper as you taste yourself on his lips, his tongue, his face. Blindly, you reach behind you for his cock, hand wrapping tightly around the base as you pump him. Whispers something about returning the favor, about making him feel good, but Namjoon’s focus went to shit hours ago. Nothing exists in this moment—in this room, perhaps in his entire world—except you.

“Come on, baby,” he urges, situating himself against the headboard. Even though you’re inches apart, he can feel the heat emanating from your cunt and his cock twitches, seeking your warmth. “We’ve gotten a bit sidetracked. I believe you promised to ride me until I came.”

You grip him again, aligning his length with your center. The head of his cock teases against wet folds and he moans, earning him another knowing smirk. “Beg me,” you say.

“What?”

Another roll of your hips, another fractured gasp. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

His brows furrow in annoyance. Says your name in a way that sounds like a slur. “This isn’t funny.”

You lean down, hair draping your face. “Who’s laughing?” you ask before you lick a long stripe up his neck that causes goosebumps to erupt all over his body. “Beg me.”

“Please,” he breathes, the word sounding more familiar than he ever thought it could. “Baby, please, I—I fucking need you so much.”

“Do you?” you tease, fingertips tracing the ridges of his muscles.

Namjoon grabs your chin, forces you to look at him. “Stop teasing me and ride my fucking cock.”

Eyes go wide, pupils dilated at his dominance, the flaring of your nostrils giving away exactly what you think of it. But you smile all the same and sink down on him agonizingly slowly, take the first inch when you say, “As you order, sir,” sardonically.

You feel like heaven.

He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it—not sure he’d even want to. Being able to experience you over and over, every time feeling like it’s the first… Namjoon isn’t a religious man, but having the privilege of having you so intimately is the closest he’ll ever get to seeing god.

“Fuck,” he moans.

Blinding, wet heat surrounds him as you take all of his cock. Don’t bother taking any time to adjust, just start moving immediately. His eyes roll back in time with the roll of your hips, back and forth the way you rode his thigh. One hand on your hip to brace you, the other palms at your breast, rolls your nipple between his fingers. The moan that escapes you is borderline pornographic. Lust overtakes him, primal and raw, and he moves his hand to join his other at your hips, holding you in place as he thrusts into you roughly.

“A masterpiece,” he praises. “You look so fucking beautiful bouncing on my cock. I’ll never get tired of watching you.”

He’s determined to make this as good for you as it is for him, determined to redeem his first performance. Tries to focus on anything he can besides the sharp slap of your skin meeting, the way your body clamps around him like a vice. But you love to torture him, don’t you, because you’re just as determined to put on a show. You toss your hair back, preen under his watch. You’re an absolute goddess, the most beautiful thing Namjoon has ever seen in his entire life. Perhaps stronger than his determination to make this good for you is his determination to keep you.

He’s a jealous man. He knows this about himself, has had plenty of time to make peace with it. And he knew from the second he laid eyes on you that he didn’t want to share with anyone else, knew he didn’t have the right, but now he thinks the thought alone might kill him.

So, he rolls you over, pins you beneath him so he can fuck you exactly the way he wants. “What are you doing?” you ask, eyebrows raised as you study him.

Proving something to you, he wants to say. Wants to be the best you’ll ever have, ruin every other partner for you. Wants so many things his head is swimming, and as he pushes into your tight, wet heat again, he wonders if he’ll be okay if this is the only one he ever gets.

His pace is slow, sensuous. “Fucking you,” he finally replies. “That alright?”

A loud moan as he adjusts the angle. “More than alright.”

He keeps on like this until he feels himself start to unravel. Starts in his toes, moves to his stomach where it branches out, warm and enveloping. Still, he stays even-keeled despite everything in his body screaming for more. Yours, too—the curling of your toes, your nails digging into his back, pulling at his hair. Your coarse, ragged breaths as you ask for more, more, always more.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growls into your neck. “Incredible, baby. Touch yourself for me. Make yourself come on my cock.”

You moan again. “Why? Can’t get me off yourself?” you tease, but it’s short-lived as he finally increases his pace, slamming into you hard before you can utter another word.

“You were saying?”

He expects another snappy reply, your smile catching him off-guard as he looks down at you. You’re touching yourself just like he’d said to, fingers working at your clit in slow, lazy circles. Another growl as he drinks in the sight of you.

“You like watching me, don’t you?” Namjoon nods. “Then tell me: how do I look?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, knows he’s not going to be able to hold off the longer he stares. “Like perfection.” You seem to whimper at his words. Just another sound he commits to memory.

A few more thrusts before his movements become erratic. He can feel how close you are, wills himself the strength to hold on just a minute longer—plans that are immediately forgotten as he feels your orgasm hit you, your walls clamping around him so tight his vision goes black.

“Fuck, fuck, oh fuck,” you cry out. Namjoon nuzzles into your neck as he follows you over the edge, coming so hard he can’t remember his own name.

Minutes—maybe hours, maybe even days—pass between the two of you, not a sound to be heard except jagged, labored breathing. Once he regains some semblance of consciousness, Namjoon pulls back enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

“You’re going to be my undoing, baby.”

His memory’s not so great, but Namjoon thinks he properly falls for you the tenth time you meet up.

It’d been nearing eleven-o’clock on a Tuesday night, thunder rumbling off in the distance, when you texted to ask if you could come by, which had been out of the ordinary. The two of you never met during the work week—a rule you had never clearly stated but one Namjoon had quickly picked up on nonetheless—so he hadn’t known what to expect when you knocked on his door.

“Bad day,” was all you’d said as you shrugged off your coat and pressed a hungry kiss to his mouth.

He’d wanted to ask why. Wanted to know what’d happened, but it wasn’t his business, your relationship not like that. You’d come over for sex, not for him to play therapist. Namjoon knew this, but as he pushed the fabric of your underwear to the side and pressed his mouth to you, he also knew your heart wasn’t completely in it, so he’d told you to make yourself comfortable in his bed while he made some tea. (He hadn’t bothered to mention he’d picked up your favorite brand while out shopping the weekend before, of course, because that would’ve been weird. It would’ve implied things. So, he’d simply fixed your tea and ignored your questioning stare when you took a cautious sip and hoped you knew he cared about you beyond the little arrangement the two of you had found yourselves in.)

(He hadn’t bothered to tell you that, either, of course.)

But the mind is a traitorous thing. As much as he’d wanted to stay logical, his brain and heart teamed up to conspire against him, to wonder and hope for things that couldn’t possibly have been true. Because, as he fell asleep wrapped around you, he’d found comfort in knowing you’d had a bad day and came to him.

Somewhere along the line, things had shifted. The two of you started laughing together, forming little inside jokes. Started texting about things beyond “your place or mine?” You became softer. Not any more available, at least emotionally, but you’d seemed to relax in his presence. Let down a wall or two.

And it’s been downhill ever since, really.

Your meetings have grown more difficult. Feelings had become involved months ago, and Namjoon comes close to admitting them out loud nearly every time you’re together. Sometimes, on Fridays, he lies and says he has to work late; on Saturdays, he has to “take an emergency weekend appointment” or “make a trip back home” to visit his parents for pretend birthdays and anniversary parties. He knows the two of you have an expiration date and he does what he can to prolong it, even when it’s dishonest.

Until, eventually, he can’t anymore.

Until he’s finally out of lies and agrees to meet you at the club, where he has one too many drinks to hide how stupidly smitten with you he is; too many drinks to forget that you don’t feel the same.

Until he’s so drunk he can barely stand and you offer to split a cab with him back to his place to make sure he doesn’t pass out and choke on his own vomit and he declines.

Until you tell him to stop being so goddamn stubborn because you’re just trying to help, you’ve seen him this fucked up before and it’s nothing to be embarrassed of, he’s too drunk for you to feel okay sending him home alone.

Until he tells you no, he isn’t embarrassed, he just can’t be around you any longer because he’s fallen for you and you don’t feel the same and he can’t keep hurting himself by trying to keep you.

Until everything comes tumbling out of his mouth and he thinks he feels the world tilt.

Then, you don’t say anything and just stare at him with a slack jaw and a mildly displeased expression as he calls Hoseok and slurs all his words when he asks him to come pick him up.

Then, he convinces himself you only looked that way because someone like you isn’t used to being rejected, that’s it, nothing more.

Then, Hoseok shows up and Namjoon doesn’t bother to look back as he leaves, missing the tears well up in your eyes.

When he wakes up on Sunday afternoon with a mind-splitting hangover, he remembers just enough of the night before to marinate in his self-loathing. He’d fucked up a good thing. Sure, you and him hadn’t put a label on whatever the two of you were, never bothered to define it, but you didn’t really have to. The no feelings part of the contract had been implicitly stated from the beginning, highlighted in neon yellow and underlined for added emphasis.

But there’s relief, too. He’d told the truth, was hurting himself to keep you, and now it’s over. He doesn’t have to worry about the unknowns anymore—what (or who) you’re doing and how you feel about him.

Because weeks of radio silence go by, so that tells him everything he needs to know. He knew you wouldn’t chase him so he’s not disappointed, but he’d allowed himself a strand or two of hope nonetheless that still feel crushing at times. Mostly on Friday evenings after he showers off his day and climbs into an empty bed, just wanting to hear his phone chime with a text from you asking to get together. Those strands of hope feel worse when he falls asleep alone, no unread texts except some stupid memes from Jungkook he doesn’t understand.

It doesn’t help that Hoseok’s properly seeing Jimin now, so he can’t fully escape you. Still hears bits and bobs about you and what you’re up to, still sees you in the background of Hoseok’s Instagram posts from parties Namjoon declines to attend.

He doesn’t know how long it’s supposed to take to get over a fling, but he can’t help but feel it’s taking an awfully long time.

Another month goes by. Nearly five since the first time you two had met. Namjoon starts to feel normal again; stops waiting for texts that never come and stops avoiding Hoseok because there’s only one thing he wants to talk about, and Namjoon hasn’t quite been in the right place to hear it. But he figures another four weeks have done him some good so he agrees to meet him at their favorite restaurant and they drink until they’re tipsy.

He doesn’t ask about you and Hoseok doesn’t mention a word, just says things are going well with Jimin and he’s planning on making it official soon. Namjoon doesn’t have to fake his enthusiasm and it feels nice. Normal. He doesn’t even make a thinly-veiled threat when the check comes and he sees Hoseok’s back to his old tricks, ordering all the most expensive items on the menu when it’s Namjoon’s turn to pay, just hands his credit card to the server.

It’s another four days when someone knocks on his door at nearly ten-thirty at night. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach that tells him exactly who’s on the other side before he can pull the door open.

“Oh,” he breathes, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice even though seeing you is anything but.

It bothers him how affected by you he still is, how you’re still able to take his breath away despite not seeing you for months. And you’re still stunning, of course, so it makes sense he’d still go dizzy at the sight of you. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

Cautious eyes stare up at him as you swallow. “Can I come in?”

He fidgets, weight shifting from side to side. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Braces himself for a quip that doesn’t come. Instead, you shrug and avert your eyes, staring blankly at the wall outside his door. “No, probably not,” you admit. Your tone is quiet, almost soft. That signature smug look is nowhere to be found, and months ago Namjoon would’ve loved this, would’ve delighted at seeing you so vulnerable, but now it just feels all wrong.

He coughs to clear his throat. “Did you, uh—is there something I can do for you?”

“I came to apologize,” you say, though it almost comes out more like a question. “I should’ve called sooner.”

Namjoon blinks. Of all the things he anticipated coming out of your mouth, an apology wasn’t one of them. “Oh. Well, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who—” Ended things, his brain finishes, but he can’t bring himself to say the words. The two of you were only fucking, and ‘ending things’ makes it sound like more than what it was.

“Right,” you agree, though he can tell you don’t want to. “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll just…”

Unsure of what else to do, Namjoon simply nods. His fingers are digging into the door frame so hard they’ve started to turn white, and it’s all he can do to hide how badly they’re shaking. He’s anxious. Why is he so anxious? It only gets worse as he watches you exhale a steadying breath and turn on your heel, not bothering to look back at him.

His brain is screaming at him to go after you. After all, hadn’t he just spent months wishing for this exact thing to happen? But that kind of thing is only meant to happen in movies to people who are in love, and after all this time, he still hasn’t got a clue of where he stands with you. Showing up at his place unannounced should mean something, but you hadn’t pushed when he declined to invite you in, so he figures it was simply for a belated goodbye fuck. But…

“Hey!” he yells down the hallway. There’s relief when you pause and turn around, even though you stay where you are, don’t come closer, but that’s okay—you don’t need to. “Why did you really come here?”

A slow, neutral smile graces your lips. Not sad, but not happy, either. “Guess I figured things out a little late.”

Namjoon’s brows knit together, feels the crease between them. “What, that you miss fucking me?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound so brash and crude, but he supposes it needs to be said regardless. If any of his neighbors happen to overhear him say it, well, he also supposes they would’ve heard everything that came before, too.

“Of course I miss fucking you,” you reply, not bothering to lower your voice at all, “but I think I miss everything else a little more.”

“Everything else?”

“You bought my favorite tea,” you shrug. “And let me in when I had a bad day.”

He still doesn’t understand. “You told me you didn’t like me,” he says. “I wasn’t aware that’d changed.”

“Because I hadn’t told you.”

“And that’s why you’re here now? To tell me… what, exactly? That you don’t dislike me anymore?”

You seem unable to help yourself as you snort. Take a few steps closer until the two of you are nearly touching. “I came to ask if you’d like to go to dinner with me.”

“Right now?” he asks, clearly confused. “It’s nearly eleven-o’clock. I don’t think anywhere worth going is still open.”

“Well, if all else fails,” you quip, that smug grin brilliant as it returns, “we can always order in a pizza.”

Consequences be damned, Namjoon grabs the back of your neck and pulls your lips to his own, desperate to feel his mouth against yours again. Feels nostalgic at the taste of you, the feel—smiles against your lips when it’s all the same as he remembers. Familiar, like coming home. Revels in the way his heart nearly bursts out of his chest when you smile back.

You kiss for what feels like hours. Until you’re both weak in the knees and breathless, breaking apart only to gaze at one another stupidly and punch-drunk.

Namjoon presses a final kiss to the top of your head as he lifts you, not bothering to hide the megawatt smile on his face when you wrap your legs around his waist. “Pizza sounds good.”

“Let’s get a large sausage this time,” you offer, giggling into his neck.

It sounds like the best idea Namjoon has ever heard.

Thank you for reading! My inbox is always open if you’d like to leave feedback. I’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤

[inkformyblood]

it's alright it's okay [alerudy]

Mutual pining, vaguely canon era. Ao3 series here

Alejandro groans as he unsticks himself from the too-small plastic chair he had folded himself into, ignoring the pale flash of paperwork in front of him in favour of pressing his hands into the small of his back and trying to rearrange his spine through sheer will alone. He’d never pictured himself as someone who would grow old, his sort of life didn’t lend itself easily to grey hair and creaking knees but apparently his body hadn’t received that memo. He’s not that much older than the men he leads but he feels it. At least, Rodolfo wore his age gracefully. 

Glancing over at his second-in-command, Alejandro drinks in the sight of him like communion wine, a single dose that should hopefully linger over his tongue for a time, a blessing he isn’t sure that he deserves. Rudy’s head is bowed over the remnants of his paperwork, his pen never ceasing in it’s graceful dance over his work, and there are the beginnings of faint lines around his eyes, a few starting streaks of silver in his hair. He’s dressed casually enough, as Alejandro is, his shirt still tucked into his fatigues and his jacket long since discarded. As if sensing Alejandro’s gaze, Rudy looks up, his habitual smile only a moment behind and his eyes crease along the same folds that Alejandro has just noticed. 

“Any plans for tonight, hermano?”

Rudy’s mouth twists as he thinks and Alejandro knows the look only too well, some pretty platitude intended to cover for the fact that Rudy is going to be staying on the base, and continues before Rudy needs to lie. “I’ll cover for you with the men. There was mention of going to a few places and I am already exhausted by it.”

Rudy laughs, ducking his head to press his hand to his mouth, the same hand that he’s still clutching the pen in, so Alejandro can still make out the sharp curve of his amusement. “You sound like your Mama, Ale, already complaining about your busy social life.”

“She has been nothing but right so far,” Alejandro tries, knowing he’s already lost this argument and any other where his mother is concerned. Her single hold-out prediction, made with the same solemnity that she approaches her prayers in church and the delicate waver of a candleflame in a window, is about Rudy and his future braided with Alejandro’s in one way or another. She hadn’t elaborated beyond that, shooing Alejandro away the last time he had tried to broach the topic with her, but the knowledge is a heavy one, something he can set his teeth to until they chip and are blunted into passable platonic friendship. He loves Rudy with every broken piece of his being, and Rudy deserves everything that Alejandro can give him and more. He can do this small kindness for him, and Alejandro can keep his feelings quiet, gentle, unspoken. It’s best for them both this way. 

Rudy twirls the pen around his fingers, the motion practiced and fluid. Alejandro is used to seeing him flip a butterfly knife around his fingers, the flash of metal captivating and hallowing all at once, just another way that his Rudy is perfectly made in every way. “I will have to call her later this week to say hi. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to her.”

“She asks after you more than she does me.” Alejandro carefully pushes himself upright, breathing out the groan that he catches behind his teeth. He presses his hands against the small of his back, leaning backwards against his hold with a sigh. He’d known about the violence and the politics but no-one had warned him about the endless piles of paperwork and reports that need to be filed out in triplicate for absolutely no reason other than to make busy work for people. Rudy’s gaze on him is heady, far more effective than any drink Alejandro will knock back tonight in hopes of diluting the memory of Rudy’s hand layered over his thigh from their last mission, the careful line of heat against his side as they huddled together behind a makeshift barrier while they waited for an evac. Rudy’s other arm had been thrown across Alejandro’s shoulders, his hand cradling the side of his head to try and keep some of the dust from covering him completely. When they’d returned, Alejandro could make out Rudy’s outline on his skin. 

Rudy nods, the pen held suspended over the backs of his fingers. “Have a good time out, Ale. Enjoy your bars.”

Alejandro snaps his fingers and Rudy starts, the pen clattering onto the desk. He grabs for it before Rudy can, twisting it around his fingers before tapping the still warm plastic against his cheek as he gazes down at Rudy. There’s a splash of colour across his cheeks, something that Alejandro would describe a pout over Rudy’s mouth while Rudy would inform him that it’s a scowl and that he needs his eyes checking. “We will go out next week. Just the two of us. Si ?”

“Give me my pen back, Ale.”

The pen is nothing special, black ink, a slightly chewed lid, and the barrel still holds the sticky warmth of Rodolfo’s touch. Alejandro holds it up to the light, making a show of considering it. “Just one little word from you, Rudy. Just one.”

“Alejandro.”

“Close, Rodolfo. So very close.” Alejandro makes to tuck the pen into his pocket and Rudy’s eyes follow the gesture. It reminds him of one of the cats that roams around the base, a solid striped tabby that seems to be mostly shadow where it sprawls in the best patches of sunlight or prowls across the grass, its tail twitching like a question, ears pricked forwards. He wonders if Rodolfo would pounce the same way, peeling back his professionalism that he shrugs on like a jacket and buttons up to his neck. It had been too long since they’d sparred together, an unconscious choice on Alejandro’s part, a gentle drift that he hadn’t realised was happening until he looked back at Rudy and noticed the space between them. 

He opens his mouth to ask, the question half-formed the moment he had thought it, when Rudy strikes. His hand darts out, Alejandro having an instant flash of danger begin to spark through his chest, the same jerk in the pit of his stomach, the same spark of knowledge he was never meant to hold that dying would feel something like this, and Rudy flips his pen over his fingers, gathering his papers back into order.

“I won’t be picking anyone up tonight, Ale, I mean it. You’ll have to make your own way back.”

Alejandro grins down at Rudy and is met with a raised eyebrow and a steady gaze.

“Ale, I’m being serious.”

“I understand.” Alejandro reaches over and slides one of the sheets back out of alignment, studying the neat block capitals of Rudy’s handwriting, the shape more familiar than his own. He keeps his gaze lowered, trying to coax his heart back into a steady rhythm through sheer force of will. The moment is already a memory, and it’s fading just like one, the edges turning grey and curling in, the feelings flattening into words rather than the sensation, the burst of forbidden fruit on his tongue. He glances over at Rudy and is met with a steady gaze and a raised eyebrow, eternally patient and more than Alejandro deserved with his bad temper and his snap judgement. 

Although, befriending Rudy had been catalysed by every one of his poorer qualities that had sent him scowling towards the shade of an alleyway instead of home and flopping down next to Rodolfo, all bruised knees and scuffed elbows, with paint smears on his hands and secrets woven into his laugh. 

“It will be fine. We will all be fine.” Alejandro presses his hand to his heart, feeling it skip a beat when Rudy smiles up at him. He’s doomed, doomed, doomed, and it isn’t an ending he would have thought possible, but he can’t imagine anything else. He wouldn’t drag Rudy down with him. “I promise.”

⁂

This is not how Alejandro thought that his night would be going. He leans further onto the bar next to him, ignoring the growing ring of condensation flooding the sticky surface around the bottom of his glass, and peers down the line of faces lined up further down. At the far end of the bar, he can make out one of the newer recruits, the blush that had stained his face when he had mentioned, speaking strictly to the table top at the last bar they had crowded into, about a new gay bar that had opened up a few streets over. There’d been a moment when he glanced up at Alejandro, a twitching rabbit caught in a set of headlights, and Alejandro had thought about Rudy. They hadn’t spoken about things like that, both stepping around the subject like it’s a minefield and a wrong move would take them both out in a single blistering argument, but times are changing and Alejandro would drag any protestors along by their ears if he has to and shoot them if he cannot. These men are his men, their men, and if this helps one them, then it would help them all in the end. It’s only fair. 

Alejandro isn’t looking for one face in particular. He isn’t. 

Rodolfo isn’t even here, he’s back on base, he’s on the dancefloor. 

Alejandro blinks, turning back to the bar. There’s a mirror behind it, fragmented amongst the industrial shelves lined with bottles, and the surface is already pitted with age but Alejandro has scouted out conditions with worse. At least no-one was actively trying to shoot him here. 

Rodolfo is beautiful.

He’s changed since Alejandro last saw him, his usual dark shirt and fatigues exchanged for a tight pair of leather trousers — Alejandro mouths a prayer, unsure if he’s asking for forgiveness for his multitude of sins or as thanks for the blessing in front of him — and a mesh shirt. The rash of bruises over Rodolfo’s shoulder have healed to mottled purple, near enough healing, and it only adds to the allure with the pitted scars over his shoulders. He’s swaying in time to the music, a bottle held in one hand with his thumb pressed over the mouth of it. As Alejandro watches, a man steps forward. He cannot make out the man’s expression, a dark patch on the mirror obscuring him as well as a hiss of static on a security camera, but he knows the way the man’s fingers flex, near clawlike before they forcibly relax into something closer to reverent. He could relate.

He’s not jealous. 

He’s not.

Alejandro drains the last of his drink and rises to his feet. He’ll make his own way back to base after letting the men know where he’s going. He doesn’t want to make Rodolfo unhappy by being here. Rudy deserves every sweet and pleasurable thing he can get, and more than Alejandro could ever give him. He can cradle his breaking heart in private.

He doesn’t look back.

[mandrakebrew]

JanAUary 5: Monster/human

Words: 1,423 Rating: Teen Content Warning: oc x canon, talk of blood, alcohol

From this prompt list, I will be exploring this au more later on, it's too much fun not to

Transylvania has a bit of a vampire problem. If not for that fact, Skull Face might have perished with the rest of his family when his village was attacked during WWII. He was a child, and in far too much pain to truly understand what he'd been offered at that hospital days later. Now he's stuck somewhere between here and hell. A parasite feeding off others to survive.

However, there are a few things that make him feel alive again. His favorite human, for example.

Who's now currently sipping on a glass of wine, waiting for their commander to arrive. They'd offered him a key, and told him he's welcome anytime. He explained that it wouldn't work like that. Skull Face had to be invited in every time.

One of the annoying drawbacks to being a vampire.

When Palmer finally hears a knock on the door, they go and open it. The crisp winter air blowing inside as they do. The XO is standing on their doorstep. His pale face illuminated by the apartment's light a stark contrast against the night and his dark clothes.

“Evening.“

”Evening,“ Palmer smiles at him. They start to lean their body outside, as if going in for a kiss.

As Palmer predicted, Skull Face attempts to wrap his arms around them and drag them outside. However, they jerk back inside, leaving him empty handed.

They laugh at him, his face quickly turning from surprise to annoyance.

“Something the matter?”

He sighs, “You know what it is.”

”Alright come in then, you're letting in the cold anyway.“

”And here I thought you liked the cold,“ He enters, shutting the door before removing his hat and jacket. Skull Face, lacking body heat, was nice to hold during the summer months. Something Palmer took advantage of often. Apparently he had made a note of that.

”I do, but not that much. My electric bill doesn’t like it either.“

”So, how was work?“ Palmer asked as they walked over to collect their glass of wine they left on their coffee table.

”It was fine,“ He answered following behind them. He sat down on their couch, expecting them to join him.

Instead, they sat in their armchair, outside his reach. They know why he's here. It's been exactly eight weeks since the last time he fed on them. He's a very punctual man, especially when it comes to this.

”What are you doing?“ He is not a patient man, however.

”We have plenty of time, you know. The sun doesn't rise for a few more hours.“ Palmer responds, taking another sip from their glass. Even if that wasn't the case, it wouldn't be the first time he'd slept through the day in their bedroom.

Also the doctor would be lying if they said they weren't testing their own patience right now. Though unlike the commander, they enjoy the building anticipation.

”You don't think it's been long enough?“ It's not their blood that he's after, not entirely. Palmer alone would not be enough to keep him going. Between his position at the CIA and Palmer being a surgeon, getting blood bags wasn't difficult. He also catches the occasional enemy soldier while out on long missions in foreign countries.

No, he's after something a bit more... Tactile.

”Let me finish my wine at least,“ It was the last glass of the bottle.

They had learned if Palmer drinks beforehand, it gets in his system when he feeds on them. The only way he can actually get drunk.

They'd asked him the day before, and he had no qualms about it. Though it had been less his desire to get drunk and more him not wanting to stop Palmer from doing so.

Skull Face huffs, and resigns to waiting.

A small laugh escapes through their nose. They then down the rest of the glass in one go. Their commander's been patient enough, they decide.

Palmer sets the glass down, before going over and straddling their commander's legs. Their shirt comes off before they pull his head forward to kiss him.

Their tongues meet, and Palmer pushes theirs inside his mouth in order to nick it on one of his fangs.

An action that causes him let out a small moan, before gripping their hips and pulling them closer.

After a few moments of this, Skull Face lifts them up and maneuvers them so he's on top of them, supported by his elbows and knees across the couch. His mouth trails down from their mouth to their neck. The faded smell of antiseptic still clinging to them. Underneath it, and more importantly to him, he could smell his reward.

He pulled back a bit, looking at the collection of faded scars from previous feedings. That was another thing about this he craved. Evidence that this had happened. Evidence the doctor was all his.

Palmer felt the same. They were a nice reminder of him on nights they had to be apart. Though it was a slight pain in the ass to cover them in foundation. A small price in their eyes.

Skull Face runs his still gloved hand over their hair before pulling gently to get them to tilt their head. His other hand resting on Palmer's bicep.

Palmer gasps when he begins to kiss their neck again, left arm wrapping around his torso. Their neck was always sensitive, something their commander took advantage of.

The only warning they get is a swipe of his tongue along their neck before they feel two points of white hot pain. But that quickly fades and is replaced with spreading warmth. It's something in the saliva, the commander had once explained to them. The glycoprotein Draculin, or some variant of it that vampires had. Palmer can't really recall at the moment. Not with his body slowly relaxing onto them more, or the small sounds of pleasure he's letting out right next to their ear. His thumb absentmindedly rubbing their arm and his other hand slowly running through their hair.

Idly letting the blood run out of their neck before swallowing, he's in no rush now. Palmer's long since shut their eyes, hand moved to the back his head. A mix of affection and his position as their commander quells what fears they should have. The first time Palmer saw him feed, he was very much not taking his time. In some jungle, Palmer walked in on Skull Face with a soldier's limp body pinned to the wall. It had been days since he last ran out of blood bags and he was desperate. That's how Palmer even learned what he is, his status as a vampire being on a very need-to-know basis.

The XO's head was beginning to buzz from the hot alcohol-laced blood, and the warmth of the doctor's body underneath him made an addicting combination. He feels his body relaxing even more on top of them.

Some time passes, Palmer isn't sure how much, and eventually their commander pulls away a bit before licking the wound with his tongue to clean it. He fully moves off of them to retrieve the first aid kit already sitting out on the coffee table.

Palmer sits up, and feels their blood trickling down their chest.

Before dressing the wound, he moves and cleans the spot again, before placing a square bandage over it. Before he can get to the blood on their chest, Palmer wipes it up with their fingers, before offering it to their commander.

Still high on his bloodlust, and possibly the alcohol too, he has no issues taking their fingers into his mouth. His tongue running over them to clean what little blood is left before he pulls his mouth away. There's a look of hunger in his eyes that makes Palmer shudder. He lunges forward to capture their lips again.

Palmer tastes their own blood on his lips, which only intensifies when their tongues meet. The doctor pulls at him until they're lying back down again, his body weight pleasantly on top of them.

Eventually they both come down from their respective euphorias, save for the alcohol, though that pales in comparison. Skull Face settles his head in the crook of their neck. Maybe it just started, or maybe Palmer missed it before but there's a deep rumbling in the commander's chest. If they dare bring it up, he'll stop.

Before drifting off, they make a mental note to suggest doing this in one of their beds next time, having no desire to move their vampire now.

[vigsilantes]

zombieland (adrian chase x reader)

Pairing: Adrian Chase / Vigilante x GN Reader Summary: It’s time for the 11th Street Kids’ movie night and Adrian gets to pick the movie that the team will be watching tonight. Word Count: 1.7k Tags: established relationship, reader-insert, gender-neutral pronouns, post-canon, idiots in love, comfort, fluff, movie night, drinking, domestic fluff Warnings: drinking and a shit ton of fluff and banter!

~masterlist~ | >>>(read on ao3)<<<

Fighting crime and working with a black ops team in your free time is fun, you can’t lie, but sometimes you need a break. Sometimes all of the 11th Street Kids desperately needs a break, which is why every so often you and the team have a movie night. Every few weeks movie night is held at someone’s house where you all get shitfaced, watch a movie together, and have some fun. The system you have in place to decide on movies is picking a name from a hat, whoever’s name is chosen gets to pick the movie, and the movies are strictly comedies – you all have seen enough traumatic shit from missions, so horror and movies that fuck with your mind are out of the picture, comedies are the way to go!

This week, movie night was being held at you and Adrian’s apartment, and after putting out an assortment of drinks, mostly beer, and making the place look somewhat presentable, slowly, everyone began to arrive.

Leota and Keeya arrived first with John, minutes later Emilia and Chris trailed in. Everyone dropped off the cases of beers they brought for the night in the kitchen and sat in their respective seats, leaving the recliner for you and Adrian to share. Emilia had the hat and pieces of papers of everyone’s names to decide who picks the movie tonight and while she was getting that out, you and Adrian were in the kitchen getting drinks and making popcorn for everyone.

“I swear to GOD it better not be Adrian again…” Leota sarcastically said because Adrian somehow gets chosen the most, you laughed from the kitchen and Adrian put down a beer and turned around to face her.

“Hey it’s not my fault the universe wants me to pick the movies! Sorry I just have better taste than all of you guys,” he replied, Emilia rolled her eyes and Chris huffed a laugh. "Not you though, babe, you have amazing taste," he whispered to you and nudged your shoulder, you beamed at his compliment. As the team chattered, you and Adrian gave everyone cold beers from the fridge and big bowls of popcorn, then you both made your way to your shared seat.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Emilia jokingly stated as she held out the hat for Keeya to pick. When movie night first started you all agreed that Keeya, the most sane one in the group, should pick the name from the hat, so tonight that’s what she did. She playfully rubbed her hands together readying herself to pick a name, stuck her hand in the hat, shuffled the papers around and promptly chose one. She unfolded it and immediately began giggling.

“Take a wild guess…” she started, looking up at everyone, groans filled the room. Chris began full on belly laughing while everyone shook their heads disapprovingly, a small grin grew on your face, and Adrian looked around at everyone’s faces skeptically.

“Who is it?” Adrian questioned not catching on, you patted his leg.

“You, babe,” you confirmed, his face lit up and he pumped his fist in excitement.

“Yes!” he said while swiftly standing up, “I know exactly what to watch!” he enthusiastically said as he walked over to your shared DVD collection.

Everyone sighed and you couldn’t stop smiling, you love the movies he chooses so you never have a problem with him being chosen all the time – you both have the same taste in movies so whatever he picks you know you’ll like it.

“This is so fuckin’ unfair, like how the fuck does he always get picked?” Chris wondered while taking a big gulp from his beer, John shrugged, “must be rigged!” he added, you chuckled at his annoyance. You looked to Adrian who was scanning through the movies to find the one that he had in mind.

“For the record I just think this is hilarious,” you state, teasing the team. Leota and Keeya both scoffed laughs and Chris flipped you off with a mischievous smile on his face.

“Well of course you do,” Leota replied, Emilia tipped her beer to her, “you two like all the same shit so it’s like you’re also picking what we watch,” your face flushed at what you took to be a compliment.

“Shit I don’t even think I’ve gotten to pick a movie yet!” John exclaimed, Leota snorted and Em chuckled.

“Your time will come,” you joked, he rolled his eyes.

“We need a new system…” Chris announced, Leota shook her head and hummed in agreement.

“I’m down for a new system too,” Emilia piped up, you shook your head playfully. Adrian finally decided on a movie and pulled it from the shelf, then showed everyone the DVD he chose.

“Zombieland!” he eagerly said, with hope filling his eyes. “It’s funny, a bit gory, nothing we haven’t seen before am I right,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “but it’s a good laugh!” he quickly looked around waiting for people’s reactions but landed on you and met your gaze, you grinned happily at him, he knows you like this movie, and you know he loves this movie.

“Solid choice, babe!” you told him, a smile grew on his face, “haven’t seen this for a while!”

“Okay, shockingly,” John paused and raised his brows, “I’m not mad at this choice,” he said, Adrian shook his head in triumph.

“Yeah, it’ll do,” Emilia added, you instantly peer over to her and Adrian furrowed his brows at her statement.

“Hold on…” you waved your hands to pause the conversation, “you’re not upset at this movie choice?” you queried at her.

“I actually like this movie, sue me,” she joked, you smiled to her and Adrian’s eyes grew big, he looked thrilled that he finally picked something Emilia liked, she’s kinda picky – no she’s really picky when it comes to movie night.

“Yeah… this movie funny. Vig you finally picked one we aren’t annoyed with, good job,” Chris teased as he sipped his beer, Adrian let out a big of relief and pretended to wipe sweat from his forehead.

“Fuck yeah it is,” Adrian cheered as he popped the DVD out of the case and put it into the DVD player. He grabbed the remote and threw himself on the recliner next to you, practically squishing you. You got into a comfy position and Adrian began clicking through the trailers at the beginning of the movie.

“I actually haven’t seen this movie before,” Keeya bashfully admitted, Adrian gasped loudly, there was a short period of time where he was obsessed with Zombieland, so to know this is her first time watching it excited him.

“Ditto,” Leota added, and Adrian dramatically gasped again, even louder this time.

“O.M.G. you guys are totally gonna love it!” Adrian declared.

“OH we need a drinking game!” you reminded everyone and looked around, everyone nodded in agreement. Chris then took out his phone and starting swiping, looking up a game for you guys to play during the movie.

“Easy, found one! And this one doesn’t have a shit ton of rules so that’s good,” he stated as he continued reading, Adrian nodded, the less rules the better when it comes to your movie nights. After one movie night of watching the movie ‘Superbad’ with a game that had a shit ton of rules, you all got too shitfaced and couldn't even finish the movie.

“What’re the rules?” Adrian asked while shaking in your shared seat with excitement, Chris cleared his throat.

“Drink whenever a rule shows up on the screen, when you hear a character named after a location, when you hear “twinkies,” and when you hear “Zombieland,” everyone got it?” Chris asked, everyone nodded, and Adrian asked him to repeat them again so he made sure he got all of them, you were happy he asked again because you needed to hear them again as well. After repeating the rules once again Adrian smiled.

“Got it! This is gonna be funnnnnn! Oh, maybe we could take a sip when there’s a cool kill, I mean there’s a lot of cool kills in this movie, like so many, but like we could also drink whenever Tallahassee breaks something, he gets frustrated very easily it's funny, OOH and-”

“Let’s just stick to what Chris said and drink whenever else we want?” John suggested, cutting Adrian off from his long-winded ramble.

"Play the damn movie," Emilia guestered, he sighed and shook his head in defeat as he pressed play to start the film, you took his hand.

“I’ll play that with you, Ade,” you whisper to him, trying to cheer him up a bit, his cheeks turned pink and he squeezed your hand.

“Awesome, babe, thanks!” he smiled and pecked your cheek. You let go of his hand to scooch into a more comfortable spot as the movie began, and he slung his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in closer to him. Adrian had to restrain himself from quoting the whole movie, he knew every word of it, fuck even you had to control yourself from quoting some of it, the team gets very annoyed at you both for talking while watching stuff, and you have learned to try to just talk when it’s only the two of you.

The movie played and after mere minutes of seeing a few of Columbus’s rules and hearing some states, you all finished your first beers. Chris generously brought in new ones for everyone and the game continued. You and Adrian both kept looking over at Leota and Keeya to see if they were liking the movie, and they were laughing a bunch, so they seemed to be enjoying it for their first watch which you both appreciated.

Drunken laughs filled the room and popcorn flew at you and Adrian when you couldn’t stop yourselves from discussing the movie with each other. The festivities continued on with more and more empty bottles crowding the table and multiple new rounds of popcorn being made. You and Adrian warmly cuddled with each other and enjoyed the presence of your friends, and you all enjoyed the night of fun until everyone eventually fell asleep from being absolutely plastered.

[ozimagines]

Ok so say Peter didn't die and by some miracle he got released from Oz early, do you have any post release head canons for Peter Schibetta?

Oooooooh interesting! I have no problem undoing anything from season 666 lol. Like I love parts of it, but the other part of the time I’m like… Tom, buddy, you ok?

Post Oz Peter Schibetta

When he gets out, the sun hurts his eyes. He finds he didn’t miss the sun at all.

He missed the moon though, and his first night out is staring at it, watching the light break through the darkness in the sky. 🌖

He waits a few days before going anywhere or doing anything.

His family (not that “family”) throws a party for his release but it’s bittersweet. His mom and dad aren’t there. Dino isn’t there. Lenny is there but only because he feels obligated. Several cousins twice removed. The only person he’s happy to see is Joey, who woke up from his coma and got released. Without someone he grew up with to talk to, I think he would have self destructed.

He doesn’t open up at first. It’s almost like he wants to pretend Oz was a bad dream. But it wasn’t. He has the scars to prove it.

He stays awake at night. He’s afraid of the dark now. Even though what happened happened in the light of day, he still fears what he can’t see. Nightmares and terrors.

He can never be who he was again. Ever. That man died in Oz. Peter pours one out for the old him every time he goes out. Think he uses drinking a little too much in the beginning.

“I’m fine, OK?” -he lied

When he does go out, he finds the world has changed too. He doesn’t know any popular songs or artists. He barely recognizes the architecture. Even the clothes are different.

He catches his face in a window. He looks so much more gaunt than he was, cheekbones more pronounced now, stomach thin, hair wild and five o’clock shadow showing. He does shave, but it makes him look like a person, and lord knows he doesn’t feel like a person right now.

He throws a pity party for himself for a week, intermittently crying and sometimes just disassociating and staring at a wall. The person who pulls him out of that pity party is Joey.

He finds Peter drinking in a bar they used to sneak into as kids. He comes up to Peter and lays down some harsh truths.

“You got out. Dino didn’t. You owe it to him.”

Peter figures he’s right. He’d live for all the guys in Oz who didn’t. ❤️‍🩹

Peter gets up the next day and actually dresses himself. He combs his hair and shaves his face. It makes him feel better to be clean.

It takes him a while to get a therapist, but he does. He remembers sister Pete and Dr. Nathan, remembering how gentle they were. His new shrink is Cheryl, a kind Bostonian Italian lady who understands his childhood.

She’s kind but firm with him, which is everything he needs.

One day she tells him the story of the cow and the buffalo.

The cow runs away when a storm is coming, and since they can’t outrun the storm, it takes twice as long for it to end. The buffalo, upon seeing a storm coming, runs directly at it, and it’s harder, but it ends quicker.

“Be the buffalo, Peter.”🥺

He gets a job. He’s an interior decorator. He knows it’s a “fag job”, but he likes rearranging spaces and making them aesthetically pleasing. It’s what he would have done if his father didn’t insist he become a “business man”.

He cuts ties with the “family”, which is okay because they didn’t want him anyway, but Peter starts cutting everyone from his life that makes it worse. The only person from the old life he keeps is Dino’s parents and Joey. He even writes to Zanghi in prison. Not Chucky though. Not after the scar on his eye.

He makes friends at work, people who all make small talk with him and don’t think he’s a disappointment.

He starts actually going out and doing everything. He’s a regular at a niche coffee shop/bookstore. The barista knows him by name, and knows his order before he asks.

“Espresso affogato and chocolate cornetto for Peter!”

He even coaches a little league soccer team. The kids love him. Look up to him. He’s a leader again.

“Coach Peter!”

He keeps his therapist and visits her every week. He even goes off his anti-depressants slowly. He accepts what happened to him; evil men hurt him, but that doesn’t define who he is. It says everything about them and nothing about him.

It doesn’t make him weak. He’s not a rape victim, he’s a rape survivor

He survived, now he has to live

He smiles now. He’s got a bright smile.

And he laughs, loudly

He gains a little weight back, which makes him extremely happy

He even goes out on a few dates, nothing special yet, but people who make him laugh and smile.

Joey and he still hand out. Joey is still in the “family”, but he never drags Peter into his shit. He’s just the only one who understands and sympathizes.

He even has sex for the first time in years. It’s an… experience. He unpacks it in therapy, but it felt nice to be touched again, and not violently. He realizes there’s a difference between sex and what happened to him. He feels safe in his own body again.

He feels more like himself now.

Peter Schibetta is okay. He’s finally okay.

Bonus: Peter digs charcuterie boards and is VERY good at making them. He makes boards that look absolutely delicious and knows how to pair everything together. It’s a talent he gets to explore now.

Author’s Note: I’ve always written Peter as a bisexual who doesn’t accept his partially gay identity. But the person I always see him doing well with is Diego from Umbrella Academy. I think Diego would protect him without judging him, and I just want my Petey baby to be happy.

[luvmxmh]

keep on going

ADRIAN CHASE APPRECIATION WEEK

Day 1: favorite scene / road trip

Pairing: Adrian Chase/ Reader

Disclaimers: gender-neutral BUT implied trans reader (unspecified in which way), trans guy adrian, canon-compliant swearing and injuries, unbeta'd

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: He talks, and you listen. Even when he thinks you don't.

Author's Note: i know this is super late (at least in my time zone) but i figured i should still post this anyway. a lot longer than i originally outlined so uhh you get two of my favorite scenes here ig. enjoy.

Cross-posted on AO3

“Accidents happen about everyday—”

Out of politeness, you bop your head to the rock music, letting Economos’ and Peacemaker’s off-key concert breeze through you. This certainly isn’t the type of post-mission shenanigans you were expecting when Waller put you in the team, but you’ll take it.

Emilia looks fonder than usual, and you’re glad to be here to see that side of her even with the fresh faces. You’re not usually the one to tease, but you’ll definitely be remembering that moment for the convenient opportunity to hold it against her. With affection. You avert your eyes before she could catch you staring.

Despite being a new recruit, Adebayo is someone who you could feel at ease with. Your work relationship together isn’t at par with yours and Emilia’s yet, but she’s definitely more comfortable to deal with than Peacemaker and Vigilante.

Christopher Smith can be conspicuous, to say the least. His whole get-up is so comical your lips get conflicted whether to smile or grimace. Every time you have to pair up in a public area within a 15-meter radius from people you can’t help but feel second-hand embarrassed just by being visually associated with each other.

Adrian Chase on the other hand is so… loud in a sense where he always has to say something. He’s not as bold as Peacemaker can be, but his brain-to-mouth filter remains non-existent in the few days you’ve known him. You suspect that in the following days (weeks, months, if Murn sees his potential as a recurring team member) it will definitely remain that way.

The way he speaks doesn’t always have to be verbal either. Adrian sways to the beat like he’s in his own bubble. You admit, it’s oddly charming, how he carries himself. It isn’t until you realize you’re sill bopping your head that you think he’s rubbing off on you— how uncaring he can be, if he wants.

You’ve never stared at his face this long before. Do people who wear Dahmer glasses aware of their choice to wear Dahmer glasses? He’s handsome when he’s having fun. And also when he’s not.

You’re finding Vigilante is attractive. Huh. Huh.

Emilia is attractive too, isn’t she? She has pretty blonde hair, pretty green eyes and a pretty smile. Hold on, no. She has blue eyes, right?

You turn to look at her. She’s looking down at her phone. So she does have a pretty smile, but her eyes—her eyes are blue. Oh.

Adrian. He has green eyes. They’re so pretty. He’s so pretty.

You’re going to get yourself in trouble, especially if—

It’s caught on camera.

So she does have a pretty smile—

Goddamnit Emilia.

You don’t have the hacking skills to erase that photo from the face of the earth. Economos currently doesn’t owe you any favors either.

But you have to admit—all of you look like you’re having fun. Especially considering you just got out of a fight with a butterfly-powered gorilla. It appears that the power of glam rock keeps everyone’s blood pumping for a jam session.

Emilia takes a sip of her drink. There’s a curl to her lip that’s only ever there when’s she’s smug or happy. You’re betting on the latter.

“You should ask for his number.”

“I don’t think he would appreciate that.” You hold your glass by the rim to swirl the ice, “He doesn’t seem privy about his personal life.”

She shrugs. “It’s worth a shot, when you look at him like that.”

“He’s very easy on the eyes.”

“So are you.”

“Emilia.” You set your drink down.

“Yes?”

“I’m not into him that way.”

“Suit yourself.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not like you get yourself involved with anyone either.”

“What can I say? Piece of shit’s growing on me.” She snorts.

“You? Getting attached already?”

“He’ll be a great asset to the team. He already is. We could pitch the idea to Waller.”

The gin isn’t as good as you expected it to be—too watered down, which you figure would be your own fault. No one approaches your table, partly because Emilia beat up the first creep to bother either of you on your first day at the bar.

Later when you get home, you find yourself staring at the photo. It’s nice seeing everyone’s faces without actually having to look at them. It’s admittedly comforting this way. You wonder what the merman emojis mean.

You text Emilia.

“can you give Adrian my number?”

A few minutes later, your phone pings.

“i knew it.”

Then there’s a notification for a new contact number.

“omg”

‘Likewise,’ you think.

“i can’t believe you let harcourt give me your number”

“well.” You text, “believe it.”

You set his contact number as ‘Vigilante’ with a merman emoji beside it.

Adrian texts you so much you forget he has an actual job until he brings it up, albeit in incredibly vague phrasing which you understand given his paranoia. The two of you try to keep ARGUS business to a minimum, even with protection Economos encrypted into your device. You don’t have a clue as to how Adrian got his hands on a burner but it’s none of your business.

You almost never do the talking anyways. Anything Adrian can find under the sun, he will talk about. It ranges from DnD, his coworkers, his gender-affirming surgeries, how blue (teal, you correct yourself) is the best color and how “you’re so badass!”

‘Italian’ is a banned word because he works in an Italian restaurant. So is ‘mama mia’ and ‘cunt’, for varying, unrelated reasons.

It’s… a bit of a struggle, if you have to be completely honest. You’ve never been overly verbal, and you guess it also applies to text. Luckily for you, emojis and emoticons exist, and your messages lean more into expressions rather than actual words. Adrian doesn’t seem to mind either. In fact, it seems that he’s enjoying this side of you outside work, responding with his own posse of random emojis. Mostly mermen, because apparently they’re perfectly holistic.

Emilia is going to kill you if she finds out you’re here—once she finds out you’re here..

And you are going to maim Peacemaker for lying about the butterfly leader’s status. It would be like a food pyramid and you would’ve started with your prey if it weren’t for the fact that he and Adrian are friends.

You’re seated at the chair pushed closer to Adrian’s right, while Chris is at his left. It feels like a cramped fit, with the three of you looming over the alien and everything.

“Ooh. Goff, what’s your favorite color?”

“Yes-or no-questions, Adrian.”

“Dude, it’s—it’s yes-or-no questions, I just said it.”

Your reminder gets drowned out by Chris’ own, which you’re already used to. It’s not as if you get to practice projecting your voice often, which is just an awfully pretentious way of saying speaking. With words. Through sound vibrations in the air.

“Right. Okay, yeah. Uh… Goff, is your favorite color teal?”

Oh my God.

“Bro, what the fuck?”

“What? I’m gonna go through all the colors, and then eventually, we’ll find out which one he likes best.”

“Yeah, and why would you give a fuck what his favorite color is—”

And then their whole conversation spirals further downwards. It’s making you feel like you’re out of tune as they raise their voices to each other. You’re used to being silent and uncomfortable and observing, but experiencing something like this this close is disconcerting to say the least.

“Oh! Okay, I see. I see how you are.” There’s… there’s something buzzing. “Your preferred conversation partners are Eagly and Goff! Neither of who are capable of speech! Try introspection on that, motherfucker!”

It stopped a few moments ago. Where was it coming from?

Beside you, the conversation tones down. They seem to be making up, to your relief. You aren’t exactly the best person to intervene if something escalates.

“Dude, fucking—I’m talking! Listen!” Both you and Adrian look at Chris. “Listen!”

Oh dear. Would this be the cue to cut this short and perhaps alert the others of Goff’s whereabouts?  Because that feels important.

“I’m getting this weird feeling that you’re angry.”

“Adrian, we should probably—”

Then Chris fucking screams and all you could think about is wishing you had the vocal capacity to do that. And maybe strangling him for being an overall asshole (especially to Adrian, but you will never admit that motive).

“Goff, are the Butterflies here to eat our flesh like the aliens from ‘Pitch Black’?”

Two taps.

“Goff, are you here to put babies in us like in ‘Alien’?”

Two taps.

“Dude, you’re upset about that?”

“Well, how else am I going to experience motherhood?”

It’s a peculiar statement. Then it clicks.

“Didn’t you already get your bottom surgery done?”

Chris looks confused for a moment—either because he doesn’t know what a bottom surgery is or he forgot you’re there with them—, but Adrian snaps his head towards you. He looks torn between disappointed and satisfied.

You remember that particular conversation with him over text. It kind of made you like him more, knowing you’re in a similar boat with the whole trans thing.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that.”

You purse your lips, “Dude, how?”

“What the fuck is a bottom surgery? Is it for your butt? Did you get plastic surgery done on your butt?”

You revel in Chris’ confusion, snorting before your eyes land on movement behind the nearest window. You stand up to peek between the curtains and what the fuck—

“Shit. Guys, we need to get moving.”

Adrian and Chris are still on their back-and-forth regarding Goff. Now is definitely not the time to be making noise or talking about goddamn movies.

“Guys, we need to—”

Then, Adrian’s ring tone goes off.

“If it’s someone from the team they’re probably calling to warn us.”

“Jesus, of what?”

“The goddamn police outside!” you hiss, “Adrian, give me the phone.”

He gives to you without any argument, set off from your alarmed demeanor.

“Vigilante, have you seen Peacemaker?”

“Murn, it’s me. The three of us are inside Smith’s trailer. The police have surrounded the perimeter.”

“They have an arrest warrant. You need to get the fuck out. Now.”

You have a complicated relationship with hospitals.

The fight against the hoard of butterflies (and essentially the cow) led both you and Emilia incapacitated.

Sometimes it’s quiet enough in your room for you to feel settled in the lull of machines and nurses’ faint footsteps pattering around. Sometimes it’s suffocating having to deal with your thoughts while stuck in a hospital bed with two broken limbs.

Your solitude doesn’t last long.

For some reason, Adrian gets discharged early—which is already dubious in itself—and comes over to visit you after sorting things out in his apartment’s lease.

His presence is a disturbance in a good way; like bed sheets when you wake up. If you tell hospital residents to add him to your emergency contact, would they let you? If you tell them he’s your boyfriend, would they believe you? You hope they would.

At the rate he’s coming to visit you, you’re certain you don’t have to say anything.

It’s late in the afternoon, and you find yourself blinking towards consciousness. You register Adrian holding your unbroken hand, half-asleep with his glasses presumably by the side drawer. His eyes shoot open when he realizes you’re awake.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” It strains a bit to speak, but it’s mostly your dry throat than any butterfly-related injury.

The whole morning he was talking about starting a brand new campaign with characters based off your black ops team. His character is a paladin, obviously, while you’re a rogue. You doubt the others are up to play DnD, but it you’re too caught up reveling over your understanding of Adrian’s interests to care.

“I hope you didn’t mind me talking. Don’t you ever get bored not really speaking?”

“I like listening,” you say in quiet admission, “To you, especially.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I hope that’s okay.” You attempt to squeeze the hand holding yours, but it’s more of a slight twitch than anything. “I learn a lot about you, and whatever’s happening in that brain of yours. You’re quite a character in my mind.”

“It’s more than okay.” he says softly.

The tiny patterns of the cloth of your bandage become uninteresting by the second, and you brave yourself to look at Adrian and—

You find him looking back at you this time. You smile at him and he squeezes your hand.

[tsukkishinata]

fic: doctorflower au

ship: tsukihina

type: fic

complete?: yup

word count: ~2800

notes: this asadai fic (here) had them as a sideship with a story and i just wanted to know what it was so i wrote it lol. the details aren’t directly the same, I just mostly took the premise and rolled with it

warning: uh, theres a fade to black sex scene lmao but its nothing at all, theyre adults and really flirty here

Based on the AsaDai fic where Tsuki was apparently a doctor who didn’t take care of himself and Hinata worked at a flower shop. It’s Future Fic/Canon Divergent.

Despite being a health practitioner, Tsukishima wasn’t the epitome of health. It was difficult when he had to work long hours and take short breaks. With no one to monitor him, he just went about his life like that for the past few years.

Hinata was making his weekly delivery to the hospital gift shop. He didn’t expect to see Tsukishima Kei there. They hadn’t really spoken much after high school and Tsuki doesn’t really keep in contact, so Hinata had no idea he had been working so close to home. (He at least knew he was in the medical field, if he remembered correctly which college Tsuki said he was attending before they graduated.)

They were in the hospital cafeteria, Tsukishima taking a small break, Hinata who just wanted to grab a quick drink before heading back. It ended up a short reunion but Hinata managed to convince Tsuki to exchange numbers.

The next time Hinata had deliveries, he contacted Tsuki to see if they could do lunch together. He sounded reluctant but Tsuki invites Hinata to his office, where he usually takes his lunch break. Tsukishima’s definition of lunch break meant to eat while working. As in, maybe a few onigiri and lots of coffee. Hinata was appalled to see this and went into full lecture mode, saying he needed to eat properly. Upon closer inspection, Tsuki probably doesn’t sleep too well either as evidence by the bags under his eyes. Hinata made up his mind to at least get Tsuki to eat more.

Hinata makes him lunch the next day. 

“What are you, my mom?”

Hinata sits with him during break and doesn’t leave until he eats it all. Tsukishima is reluctant, not knowing how well Hinata is as a cook but the bento is surprisingly edible. Hinata makes sure to distract Tsukishima so that he’s not working while eating. Hinata leaves with the empty lunchbox and Tsuki doesn’t thank him but he feels a little better physically. 

This becomes a thing. Hinata tries to make lunch daily but he has his own job and life to worry about. Tsuki says it’s annoying but he always eats the lunch Hinata brings him. 

Hinata catches him at the end of a shift one time and enters his car with him, forcing Tsuki to let him go home with him. Hinata had prepared a batch of food for the week so Tsuki had meals for several days. Tsuki doesn’t ask why he can’t come every few days like he always does. Hinata preps them dinner and they eat together. Just as Hinata thought, Tsukishima probably didn’t eat enough at home either. 

After they’re done with their meal, Hinata helps clean up. Tsukishima watches Hinata try to put some of his stuff away and snickers when he can’t reach the top cabinets. Hinata pouts and tells him to put it away himself before leaving. It’s been a while since Tsukishima had anyone over, so after Hinata leaves, his place feels quieter than before. But with his belly full from two actual meals, he sleeps surprisingly well that night.

Hinata does still come to see him so they can eat lunch together. Tsukishima looks a bit fuller from eating more and getting more rest. 

Some nights, tsuki would come back to his apartment to see that Hinata had left some food for him at his door. 

On one of his rare day offs, he finds Hinatas flower shop. Hinata is surprised to see him but tsukki buys some flowers and asks when he’s done with work. Confused, Hinata asks what for and Tsuki tells him that he wants to take him out for dinner, to thank him for all the meals Hinata has made.

Hinata is blushing and Tsukishima realizes what exactly his proposition sounded like, which was not his intention. He’s floundering around but Hinata agrees. He’ll be back to pick him up later. Tsuki leaves and Hinatas coworker pokes fun at him for having a hot date. 

Hinata knows that this is Tsukishima so he most definitely did not mean it like that. He feels a  sense of deja vu where he did a double take at Tsukis request to go somewhere with him…

Tsuki picks him up and they go somewhere, not super fancy, just yakiniku. Hinata eats his fill, and makes sure Tsukishima does as well. Tsuki eats what he can but of course could ever compete with Hinata's appetite. They banter over silly things and they have a good time. Tsukishima pays for the meal and Hinata is happy to see that Tsukishima could loosen up. 

They get in his car when tsuki remembers that he forgot to return hinata's containers. He asks if he’d like to swing by his place to pick them up? They agree and they’re head to Tsukishima’s place.

They don’t even realize what this feels like, a dinner and then bringing them home… Hinata is gathering his stuff, making sure that Tsukishima’s fridge is stocked and is about to leave when Tsukishima asks if he wants to stay the night. (Mostly because he wouldn’t have to make another trip.)

Hinata tries to poke fun, asking if this was Tsukis plan the entire time. Tsuki is flustered. It was definitely not his intention but he realizes what it sounds like after he says it out loud and he’s hiding his face.

Hinata laughs but declines staying. Tsuki escorts him home and Hinata waves him good night. 

They go about their days, Tsukishima definitely in a better mental place. Hinata is used to making his own meals to stay fit so he doesn’t have a problem making more for Tsukishima. He’s making his hospital visit when one of the receptionists recognizes him and tells him where Tsukishima is.

“Sensei is lucky to have someone like you in his life. I wish my partner came to see me every day with a fresh meal.”

Hinata flushes. He doesn’t correct them and just heads to Tsukishima’s office. He doesn’t know how he should feel about that. It’s definitely not the first time people mistaken their relationship. Hinata sometimes thinks that they’re not wrong? How often do you have a friend make and deliver you meals? They practically went on a date the other night. Tsukishima asked him to stay the night…

Hinata is red faced standing in front of Tsukishima’s office door. His heart beating rapidly as he’s still thinking about what their relationship is and could be. Tsukishima almost runs into him when he opens the door. Hinata, still flustered and can’t think properly, shoves the lunch at him and tells him that he’s in a hurry and apologizes so he’ll have to eat by himself. Tsukishima watches Hinata flee. 

Hinata is in a daze the next few days. He’s been trying to sort out his thoughts and feelings for Tsukishima. Of course he cares about him, that’s why he butted into his life like that, making him meals and checking in with him to make sure he’s taking care of himself. He has fun when he’s eating with him, Tsukishima is pleasant to be around. But does that mean he likes him? He really doesn’t know and he doesn’t know how Tsukishima views their relationship.

He thinks about both sides. If Tsukishima was just being nice, yeah, sounds plausible. He never was the best at being nice lol. Or if Tsukishima was trying to woo him? Hinata goes full flush whenever he thinks about that. Why does that thought make him so flustered and anxious? If he thinks about the implications, imagining him and Tsuki in dating and couple scenarios, Hinata just full out explodes because he can’t contain how fast his heart pounds. What does that MEAN???

Hinata apologizes for not being able to make meals the next week (via text). Tsukishima tells him it’s no problem and to take care of himself first. Hinata laughs saying that’s ironic coming from him. Tsukishima doesn’t think too much of it but he’s worried that he scared Hinata off. He doesn’t mind not getting hinata's meals anymore but he still wants to see him. 

Tsukishima finds himself in front of hinata's apartment complex one night. He hesitates by the door staring at the ringer (he didn’t know which complex hinata lived in..) when a voice calls him from behind. Hinata had gone out for a night run after work and had just returned. Tsukishima, not having gathered his thoughts yet, quietly motions to some soup he brought over. 

Hinata invites him in and they eat the soup, which Tsuki apparently made himself, because he thought Hinata might have gotten sick. Which was not a bad theory and that could have been the case but Hinata looked healthy, healthy enough to go jogging. 

Hinata is full of nerves because he had been trying to avoid Tsukishima so he can piece together what his feelings are. Seeing him in person, his heart is just as happy and he’s resigned himself to realizing he enjoys Tsukishima’s company more than he lets off. 

They’re sipping the soup in silence, both expecting the other to start the convo. Hinata had showered after his run so he’s sitting with shorts and wet hair and a towel around his neck, to catch the water from soaking up his t-shirt. Tsukishima hates that he wants to dry hinatas hair. He says to himself it’s so that Hinata doesn’t get sick but the back of his mind says he just wants to take care of Hinata, the way he had done for him. Anything to get closer to him.

Hinata jokes that Tsukishima can cook and isn’t a total lost cause. Tsuki counters that he never said he couldn’t cook, he just didn’t have time and energy to make his own meals. (Or eat them apparently, Hinata adds.) Hinata looks at his bowl of soup and apologizes for the past week and he could make him lunch again. Tsukishima responds that he really doesn’t have to if he’s tired of making food for him, Hinata doesn’t have any obligation to keep feeding him. 

“Is it bad if I want to?”

“You usually do what you want to anyway, so it’s not like I can stop you.” 

Tsukishima is actually relieved. He knows Hinata doesn’t have to keep making him food, and he is totally selfish for wanting him to. He wants to eat hinatas food, he wants to see him during lunch and maybe after work. 

“If… it’s not causing you any trouble.”

“Hinata, you forced yourself into my car and home to make me dinner like a few months ago.”

Hinata laughs. He finishes his soup and collects the containers, ready to wash them up so Tsukishima could take them home. Tsukishima watches Hinata move around his kitchen and he likes the sight. It’s nothing special, but Tsuki had never seen Hinata in his own habitat before. He’d love to see all sorts of sights of Hinata. 

They make small talk while Hinata finishes cleaning up. He asks what Tsuki would want to eat the next few days and Tsuki shrugs. (Tsuki bites his own tongue from saying “you.”)

There’s a tension in the air when Hinata passes the containers back and Tsuki is at the door. Hinata is looking up at him with wide eyes and Tsukishima swallows the lump in his throat and hurriedly bids him good night. 

Even after Tsukishima left, Hinata's heart was still running in rapid mode. He knew Tsukishima was tall but standing at his door step, Hinata still couldn’t reach Tsukishima’s level. It was bad that he was calculating how much he would have to reach if he wanted to kiss him. Hinata scrunches into a ball and screams into himself.

Tsukishima is sitting in his car, head slamming his wheel. He had physically restrained himself from touching Hinata and he knows it’s dangerous if they keep this up. He doesn’t know if he’s reading the atmosphere wrong, he hopes not, but he doesn’t want to scare Hinata off. 

They take lunch outside sometimes. There’s a nice grassy terrace by the hospital that is vacant if they’re lucky. They’re eating sandwiches that Hinata made, Hinata babbling about a large order for a customers cat’s birthday. Hinata pauses to take a bite out of his egg salad sandwich and resumes his story. 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, that’s disgusting.”

Hinata makes a big motion of talking louder with food in his mouth and Tsukishima rolls his eyes. The bit of mayo clinging to the side of hinatas lip was way too distracting that Tsukishima thoughtlessly brought a napkin to wipe it off. 

That shut him up faster than anything. 

Tsukishima pulled back, not sure how he wanted to proceed. He coughs into his fist and apologizes. Hinata, suddenly shy, says it’s nothing and they munch on sandwiches awkwardly. Tsukishima finds that Hinata started to lick his lips a lot more afterwards.

The rest of their day, they’re both thinking about what excuse they could use to go over to the others place.

Tsukishima pulls up to Hinatas flower shop just as they’re closing up. He asks Hinata what he’s feeling for dinner tonight. Hinata smiles, and says “surprise me.”

Tsukishima takes him to his place and asks him to help him make dinner. They’re bouncing around Tsukishima’s kitchen, talking about other things. A few times they’d bump into each other and they’d smile nervously but continue working on their meal, tension thicker. 

Hinata is rummaging through the cabinets asking where the spices are. Tsuki reaches up behind him to grab it, which had been hidden from Hinata view due to his height. Hinatas breath catches at the warmth of Tsukishima’s body radiating off his back. If Tsukishima notices their proximity, he says nothing and continues cooking.

They eat their meal like they usually do, small talk mostly from Hinata and some curt responses from Tsukishima. It almost feels like a normal friend dinner, except there’s an underlying something behind every word, glance and movement.

After eating, they take roles of washing and drying the dishes. As Hinata passes the last item to Tsuki, their hands brush and they almost drop the bowl. Hinatas quickly reflexes saves it with his foot. They laugh and the tension is dispelled a bit. 

All things put away, Hinata makes to gather his stuff but Tsukishima stops him.

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong.”

Tsukishima has him up against his counter, trapped between his arms. Hinatas heart is slamming against his chest but he feels a little better seeing how red Tsukishima’s face is as well. Hinata licks his lips and that’s about it for Tsukishima as he dives in.

Pulling away, Tsukishima straightens out his back and makes a crack about how far down he has to reach to get to Hinata, earning him a slap on the arm and Hinatas indignant pout. 

“Fine, I’ll just come to you.”

Hinata jumps against him and Tsukishima barely catches him. His back hits the wall but he’s too focused on Hinata in his hands and mouth.

Tsukishima lets Hinata down eventually because he’s not young anymore and his back and knees are killing him. Hinata laughs about how Tsukishima’s endurance was sad and Tsuki take it as a challenge and he picks him up and drops him on the couch where he kisses the life out of Hinata. Both breathless, Hinata asks if his bed is comfier than the couch and with that, Tsuki pulls him up and drags him to the bedroom.

They bone.

Anyway come morning, they’re crusty and tired and Tsuki probably had to get up for work but he really doesn’t want to. He feels like a sap watching Hinata in his sleep but he doesn’t know how he’d go on living without the man in his arms.

Hinata eventually wakes up, sits up in a jolt and asks for the time. He groans because he missed his morning jog and Tsuki rolls his eyes, then makes a pass about doing something else for morning exercise. Hinata looks at him, then bursts out laughing. He kisses him, morning breath and everything. He agrees.

Anyway they bang again and Tsuki calls out sick and Hinata had the day off anyway. After cleaning up, they make and eat breakfast together. Tsuki is hesitant to bring it up because he doesn’t want this to be a one time thing. He believes that they’re established but they didn’t use a lot of words last night, mostly actions.

When Tsuki brings it up, Hinata reassures him that this is definitely not a one time thing and he’s been pining for him for a while and of course he likes him, snarky ass and all. Hinata rubs the back of his neck suddenly feeling self conscious. Tsuki moves next to him and kisses him, again and again saying he can’t believe he fell for someone like him, forcing himself into his life to improve it. Hinata is the best thing that had happened to him.

[rsmrymnt-tea]

「 🐳 」 if we take away the canonical facts that barbatos messed with the timeline under diavolo's supervision, as well as how he drugged mc & lucifer on lucifer's birthday (even if it was out of good intention), how would dolasach view him, then? would his presence still yell, “ danger! do not interact! ”, or would dolasach take the risk in-spite of that fear and attempt to know him further? considering how artistic they are, i wouldn't be surprised if barbatos complemented them on their work; vice-versa, would dolasach be interested in the demonic profile flavors of teas and pastries? they'd be safe for humans, of course. i dunno! i'm down for whatever information you send my way :3 hopefully what i said made sense... make what you will of it!

Gosh so like... pre-Lesson 16 events (which for Dola happen like... much later into the year than the speculated 2 months that it does in canon. Maybe 4-5 months in?) I actually think things were pretty amicable between those two. Sure there's definitely something that she didn't like about him from the get-go, but without any reason to be outright suspicious or hostile beyond a feeling that he knew more than he lets on, she just... Let things be? And it goes on long enough that she eventually lets herself relax more around him.

And yeah! I do think that Barbatos would send a few compliments in Dola's direction about her work (maybe even suggesting to Diavolo at some point to commission her for a painting since during then that would be her main medium?) and that Dola would be interested in what the Devildom's greatest baker and finest tea aficionado has to offer regarding teas and pastries, especially since she has quite a sweet tooth. I don't think their relationship ever reaches a point where he invites her over exclusively for a little tea party or invites her to join him and Luke while they bake though. More of her making the most of her regularly scheduled visits to the castle without overdoing it. (I hc that the exchange students all head on over to the castle to have little check-ins with Diavolo every two weeks or more. Though post-Incident she stops actually drinking or eating anything from the castle during those meetings.)

Dola would think rather highly of Barbatos before he absolutely proved her right on her gut instinct to be wary of him. She'd chalk those feelings of distrust up to just her being intimidated by how freakishly perfect and refined he seemed to be, how he seems to outdo even Lucifer and seems to be the caretaker to the Prince instead of just his butler. She'd be fascinated by him to some extent, and he'd catch on to how scrutinizing her gaze is on him and maybe tease her about it (but she wouldn't be flustered about it since there genuinely aren't any feelings behind it). I think he more than knows that he's quite the enigma to her, but isn't keen on letting her in on anything the same way she keeps her own thoughts to herself.

There's likely some feelings of envy from Dola because damn. That's a level of perfection that she could only wish she could attain.

Post-Incident, well, she hates him to the point of genuinely contemplating claiming mice as her familiars. And I think the feelings are mutual, actually, because he never actually understands what the hell she did that night that interfered with his abilities to the point of not being able to see that that was how everything was going to unfold—he genuinely saw and believed that everything would go according to plan. Is this OP? Yeah, but Dola herself never figures out just what her other self pulled off so it's definitely just a one time occurrence.

He's probably one of the only beings across realms that Dola's genuinely afraid of, and she hates that he scares her simply with his existence. But he's not what appears when faced with a bogeyman.

The two are never like... Explicit with how much they hate one another. But it's there, Satan feels it when they're in the same room. Everyone does. There's probably some rumors into the Devildom as to what happened between them because it's clear in balls and meetings that there's a lot of disdain despite the polite civility in their interactions tbh, and it's probably really baffling on the Purgatory Boy's end because it would seem so out of nowhere when just the week before, they were getting on quite well.

Yet there's still a quiet, reluctant respect for each other thanks to seeing proof of just what the other is capable of. Barbatos is probably the first to remind everyone not to underestimate Dolasach's abilities, but it's definitely not coming from a place of praise.

[4joonkookie]

24 Candles

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Words: 2.6K

Summary:

A smutty, 24-hour diary of Jungkook's 24th birthday.

Also, Jungkook has feelings.

You play with JK’s butt in this one. Find butt-free fics:

Here Here Here or Here

Tags/Warnings:

SMUT, BUTT STUFF, Happy Birthday to the LOML, 50 shades of JK, dom!JK, sub!JK, oral sex, quickie sex, desperate sex, unprotected sex, creampie, spitting, spit kink, conversational sex, butt plugs, toys, JK is deep and complex, JK has feelings, y/n is very in touch with JK’s emotions, strength kink, body worship, JK loves ARMY, JK loves you, fluff, angst, painstakingly canon compliant, not beta-read, trying to tame my shame but, WOW, also I am deviant trash.

*****

03:57 AM

You awaken to moonlight blinking through the living room curtains. The sound of a bag dropping and feet shuffling wake you where you lay on the couch.

He comes around to you right away. He kneels down to the floor beside you and pushes his forehead against yours. He leans up to kiss you as you take in his familiar scent.

“I told you not to wait up,” he scolds, gently. Seeing where you’d set up camp to wait for him to come home in the living room.

“I didn’t wait. I fell asleep,” you reply, coaxing yourself into awakeness. You look at the clock, almost 4 am.

“Happy Birthday,” you whisper and kiss his forehead.

He doesn’t say anything. He just leans into your neck for a greedy inhale.

“You smell good,” he says, hovering above you and squeezing your waist at his words.

You giggle at the tickling sensation on your neck. “Aren’t you tired?”

Still kneeling by the couch, his hands glide up under your loose sweater. He grips hard, pulling at your nipples with both hands. He latches his mouth to one of them and pulls his lips away until it pops.

“I was,” he says, dark and low. On his knees and pressing you to the couch, he sinks teeth to your neck, promising a mark.

You’re taken a bit aback at his rough nature but remember it’s been a few weeks, he’s probably pent up. His pace reminds you that you are too.

Soon, your gestures escalate from clumsy and quick to activated muscle memory, moving in fast forward.

You urge him to remove his shirt and toss it across the room. You can hardly see his face but the moonlight reflects off of him. You feel him angle your hips at the edge of the couch, pull off your panties and watch his silhouette lean down between your legs. The sensation of his warm spit spills down your folds, caught only by his fingers sloppily pushing into your opening.

You shudder at the intrusion. He spits again, this time audibly and more, your body not quite caught up to where his mind is.

“Missed you, baby,” he mewls.

He sucks and licks and laps at you, reacquainting himself with your pussy after a long time away. He uses 2 fingers to rub a path over your clit before they sink inside you. He repeats this, over and over, satisfied little groans fall from his lips before he removes his fingers and leans up to kiss you, desperately. Tongues and teeth bang together while hurriedly you tug at his belt and free his cock.

You use the lowered fabric to pull him to the couch, mounting him. He slides you onto his length and you both groan.

You grimace being stretched open by him after so long. Strong arms smash your laps together, Jungkook pushing up and grinding into you.

“Did you miss me?” he pants, between thrusts.

You keep your rhythm, circling hips around his cock.

“I missed you, Jungkook,” you say, tugging back at his hair with both hands.

He chuckles, enjoying the sound of his own name. Your bodies continue to move tantrically, shaking and panting, skin slippery with sweat. Feeling your orgasm coming, you start bouncing on his lap, trying to take in more of him.

He leans back to watch you, hands on your hips. He watches as you envelop his cock with every thrust.

When he feels you pulse around him, he grunts and groans and spills inside. When you catch your breath, you stand on wobbly legs.

He’s exhausted. You can see the sleep taking over his body. You urge him to follow you to the bedroom to clean up and sleep.

1:48 PM

It’s nearly 2 and Jungkook is still fast asleep.

They always do this to him. They work him to the bone until he’s so spent, they can’t get another day out of him. By the time he gets home, he sleeps for days.

You mindlessly scroll on your phone, occupying yourself next to him. You’re just happy to be with him. His side of the bed is so often empty.

He finally stirs.

“Hey you,” you say, dropping your phone to the bed.

He lets out a groggy groan and looks at his watch. “Ugh. I’m sorry,” he says, regretful about how long he’s been asleep.

“Don’t be,” you say before kissing his lips and brushing hair behind his ear.

He’s tired but it’s more than that. He looks rough and truly worn out, his typical brightness is dulled.

“What’s on your mind?” you ask. Although, you already know.

He says nothing.

He was devastated when they cancelled the tour. He told you over the phone and you could tell he was upset when it happened but the toll it’s taken on him now, is apparent.

“I’m sorry,” you offer.

“It’s just…,” he starts and sits up, wringing his hands, emotions bubbling. “I’ve always been tired.”

You sit up and face him, setting your undivided attention. “Yeah?” you encourage.

“I’ve always slaved away on choreo. We’ve always been busy.” He looks off, wrapping his arms around his knees that are still tucked under the bed sheet. That compromise is… for them. But, now, I can’t even see them. I don’t know when I'll see them again. I miss them.”

It’s heartbreaking. All you can do is continue to listen, allow him an outlet for these feelings. He continues.

“It's like I don’t know what it's all for when it’s like this. I knew before, when we were performing, it was very clear.”

He shakes the emotions from his head. “Sorry, I'm in such a sour mood.”

“Shhh... “ you kiss his forehead. just wishing there was something you could do.

“Thank you for telling me. I wish I could help.”

“I know.” He grabs your hand and laces his fingers with yours.

You change the subject. “What do you want to do today?”

He positions himself so you’re face-to-face, sitting on the bed. He takes a deep breath. “First, I think I'll go to the gym. Clear my head. I'll make it quick”.

You shrug. “Take all the time you need.” You know it helps him.

The both of you stand up by the same side of the bed.

“And then...I’d really like to lounge around here with you if that’s ok?”

“I like that idea,” you reply.

“Maybe we can order in and…”

He kisses your neck.

“mmm...What do you have in mind?”

He presses his open mouth to yours, pressing his tongue inside.

“Some of that,” he teases.

You stand to your tiptoes and wrap arms around his neck, not wanting to let him leave again.

“And what else, birthday boy?”

This question, he opts to simply hold you tight. He hugs your body tight against his, inhaling at your neck again, planting a kiss on your lips.

“Maybe some toys?” He aims his gaze at the bedside table.

Your stomach flutters. “If you’re up for it,” you reply with a raised eyebrow.

He kisses you once more and heads out the door.

When you hear the door close, you collapse, flat on the bed and stare at the ceiling. You always look forward to when he gets home. But then you have to catch up with weeks of emotion, wishing you could’ve been there for the duration.

You can really feel the awfulness now. He was devastated when they postponed it 2 years ago. Now, after 2 years of holding on to hope just to have it cancelled and all other performances postponed indefinitely? He’s heartbroken.

When it was canceled you silently celebrated, knowing you’d have more of him to yourself. It’s not worth it if he feels this way.

On the other hand… concerts haven’t been happening for 2 years but the boys stay busy with packed schedules.

He always says it’s not the same without them. Jungkook has always been a bit more attached to fans than any other member, leaving his family at such a young age. Without ARMY, he seems very lost.

4:00 PM

Jungkook returns home in better spirits, wiping sweat with a towel from his forehead. He pecks your lips, walking through the kitchen.

“I'll take a shower and be right back,” he says, sweaty hair, clinging to his forehead.

“Can I join you?” you offer, as he walks by.

“I'll be quick.” he says, continuing to the bedroom.

You try not to think too much of it and shower in the other bathroom.

By the time you get out, his shower has stopped running.

You dress for your introverts-night- in in one of his t-shirts and perfume, nothing else.

The delivery food comes, you set it up at the kitchen counter and pour drinks.

4:30 pm

When he hasn’t come out in over 20 minutes, you lean your ear to the bathroom door and knock, concerned.

“Are you ok?” No noise is coming from the bathroom except his voice.

“Yes,” he replies, calmly.

“Do you need help?” you ask.

“No!” he exclaims, immediately. “I’ll be out soon.”

You return to where you sit at the kitchen counter wondering what he's doing? Is he hurting himself?

He follows behind a few moments later, casually kissing your lips before he sits at a nearby barstool.

“This is a ton of food,” he comments.

You say nothing and he gestures to clink your drink glasses before he starts eating.

You watch as he silently ravages. It always went this way too. He’s starved when he comes home. Most of the time when he’s working, he avoids eating altogether or can’t find the time.

He relaxes. You eat, drink and have conversation. He’s in better spirits, having taken some time for himself and away from work.

He seems comfortable, but squirms slightly in his seat.

He’s TOO comfortable.

You have a sneaking suspicion, now. One that’s not tied to his tough feelings about a cancelled tour.

“What’s up with you?” You query.

“What do you mean?” he asks genuinely. “Like, what we talked about this morning?”

“No.” You scan him. “You look like you’re up to something. Like you’re hiding something.”

Your tone is more serious but you try no to be accusatory.

“It’s nothing,” he insists.

You nod. “Ok,” settling. You continue eating though, conversation is lulled.

Out of curiosity, you open the app on your phone. It shows the plug is powered on and the vibrations are off.

You turn the vibe on, Jungkook nearly stumbling on his barstool. You approach him and he grabs the phone from you.

“I knew it!” You kiss him, standing between his seated legs, then, pulling back with sudden realization.

“That’s what you were doing in the bathroom?”

“Yeah. What did you think I was doing?”

You shake the thought from your head. “You got yourself ready without me?” you whine, disappointed.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“That’s so hot,” you begin to kiss his neck, no longer thinking about food.

“Well, can we finish dinner?” he says, with a mouthful of food.

You’re embarrassed by your own haste. “Of course.” You sit down calmly, patiently, and allow him to finish.

“What?” He questions as you eyeball him.

“Nothing. Just letting you finish,” you reply, sincerely.

He laughs and drops his utensils. “What, you can’t wait? You’re such a horndog!”

You scoff. “And who’s wearing a butt plug at the dinner table?” you tease, approaching to get your hands on him again.

“It hasn’t even been in for_”

“_So I’ll finish getting you readyyyyyy,” you interrupt, nearly pouting.

You slide your hands up his thighs, standing between them.

He hides a smile, you know he’s already caved in. Then, he lifts you up and you wrap legs around his waist.

He carries you to the bedroom, dropping you to the mattress. He undresses.

“Let me see?” you whisper, sitting up.

He slides face down on the mattress, burying his face. Your gaze follows his body. You straddle his legs from behind, caressing his back and groping at his muscled ass cheeks.

You pull his shy legs apart to expose the toy. You let your fingers drag over it, tugging lightly.

“You did this for me?” you ask. Ideas of what he was doing to himself in the bathroom flood your horny mind.

He nods, still mostly into the mattress.

“So pretty, baby.” You tug at the plug, sitting tight inside. You use the manual switch to set the vibe on. The low setting, like he likes.

You move the toy slowly at first until it glides in with ease.

“Is this what you did?

“Yes,” he moans.

“When you had yourself bent over the bathroom counter?” you assume.

“Mm-hmm,” he verbalizes and You push faster. He bucks back against the toy and your hand, his hole finally sliding open.

You settle him to his back, pillow propped underneath his hips and continue sliding the toy in and out of him.

He’s sufficiently opened, looking perfect.

He lays with legs spread, knees bent, eyes fluttering closed with every pump of the toy.

He fumbles your hands and pushes it all the way in to hold it in place and shudders, taking exactly what he needs.

You work the toy a little harder now., twisting and turning it along his walls, pressing against his prostate. Sweat drips over his body. Cum drips down his shaft and onto his abs. You lap at the cum on his body, cock and balls bouncing with each pump of the toy.

You make attempts to stroke him with your free hand and use your mouth on him but he shudders away each time, too close.

You’re not even thinking about coming, entranced in how beautiful he is.

He rolls you to your side, bracing a hand on your hip and slides inside from behind. He sets a pace and squeezes his own cheeks together on every thrust, clenching around his toy.

He buries his face in your neck and whines, his arms wrapped around your torso, tight.

He rolls you over and fumbles on top of you to pull another toy from the side drawer, powers it on, and holds the bullet to your clit while he pumps into you.

Precious ‘ah’s’ fill the air when he comes, pushing into you deep, feeling vibrations through his prostate and lower body. You buck against him when you come, too, shoving the toy away when it’s too much, but letting the waves flow through you.

Your bodies slow and Jungkook pulls the overstimulating toy out of himself. You drape your legs over each other, bodies tangled, and doze again.

03:52 am

He’s already gazing at you when you wake up.

You yawn and stretch, taking a hand and running fingers through his hair.

“Were you happy when you found out?” he asks, plainly, about the MOTS tour.

“What?” you stutter, suddenly awake. Guilt surges through your body. You hadn’t properly considered how it would make him feel the first time you heard the news. It’s different now.

He must understand that. It’s different now.

“I don’t want you to feel this way,” you start. “ I would do anything if you didn’t feel this way.”

He nods. “I know.” He grabs your hands in his. “Were you happy?”

You hang your head. “Yes. At first.”

“Good.” he caresses your cheek, lifting your chin. “I’m glad you were happy.”

The both of you doze again.

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (5)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 4.3k warnings: really flippin sweet fluff, more book recs a/n: to avoid confusion - the manner in which Bucky lost his arm is different in this series than in canon  🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

For the first time since Bucky was discharged from active duty, he had a routine again.  

The curtains were open before he took a shower in the morning; sunlight streaming in through the windows and casting a gentle glow over the apartment. It touched over books piled high on the coffee table, pillows neatly lined on the sofa, and blankets folded over the arm rest. Steve had nearly done a double take the first time he made his usual beeline to whip open the curtains to expose a dusty and unkempt apartment, only to find Bucky making coffee in the kitchen, freshly showered, and the sun shining high in the sky.  

It had been almost a month since his first attendance at book club and he’d gone through nearly a book a week just to have the excuse to visit you at the library again for another. You’d given him your number after his first trip to the library with a binding promise to text you if he was held up in his apartment in pain again. You’d sworn to bring books straight to him and read them aloud if you had to.  

You had laughed as you said it, like it was only a joke. Bucky had nodded along, but if he were honest, he would have liked that very much.  

He’d arrange for times to meet you at the library at the end of your shift where you’d always have a book waiting for him. There’d be a few sitting on the shelf you’d set aside, but without fail, he always opted for the first one you presented to him. You hadn’t led him wrong so far.  

After, though neither of you directly proposed it, you’d often find yourselves back at Luciana’s. It was like your feet simply carried you there, a silent agreement to spend as much time together as you could, even if you were both too afraid to admit it out loud.  

He came to understand why Sunday was your favorite day of the week. Bucky started to take it upon himself to meet you at the library to walk you to the VA where he fulfilled his word to help move the couches before the usual members arrived. The look of surprise on your face when you bounced down the library steps and caught sight of him leaning on the pillar a few steps away from the busy sidewalk had been enough to convince him to never leave your side again. 

Your smile was one he’d learned to memorize. He conjured it when the strangers bumped into him on the sidewalk threatened to collapse his racing heart entirely and it pushed him further. It was enough to convince him to keep going beyond the safety of his apartment walls and it was worth it every time. Just to see you smile at him like that.  

***

“Have you started it yet?”

Bucky blinked a few times, reminding himself of his surroundings. You stood on his right side in line at Luciana’s behind a couple of tourists who were having a hard time discerning the difference between a cappuccino and an americano. He raised an eyebrow, confused, and you gestured to the book in his bag.  

“Oh, I just flipped through the pages so far,” Bucky said, pulling the book from his bag; thick black cover with a small white illustrated creature staring up at the stars. Everyone's a Aliebn When Ur a Aliebn Too written by an author that seemed to go by a name as misspelled as the title, Jomny Sun. “It looks like a children’s book?”

You grinned and your shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It’s somewhere in between. You have to trust me on this one. It may seem young on the surface but it’ll tug at your heart strings. Hold your judgement until you’ve actually read it, Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled, nodding. “Hey, I never said I didn’t trust you. Just curious where you’re leading me on this one.”

“Be blind, Bucky,” you sang, teasing him. “I won’t guide you into a creepy forest or the bottom of the ocean, I promise.”

“Oh good. I was starting to worry.”  

It was strange to feel so light again, but there was something about your presence that allowed him to let go of all the weight he carried. He could set down his baggage at his feet for just a minute to give his back a break, to stretch out his muscles and find relief in the solace. You would have offered to carry some of it yourself if he’d asked— of that he was certain. But it was a heavy load, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for you to see what was inside just yet.

The bell to the café rang behind him and a mother and her young son walked inside. The little boy held the woman’s hand as he scrunched his nose at the smell of the coffee, pouting up at her. A bright red backpack hung off his shoulders, Velcro ties over his tiny sneakers. The soles lit up as he walked.  

“Mommy, I want to go to the playground,” the kid whined and Bucky watched you laugh to yourself from the corner of his eye.  

“We will, sweetness,” the mother replied calmly. She bent down to brush the hair from the boy’s eyes. “Mommy just needs a bit of caffeine before we—”

“Whoa! What happened to that guy’s arm?” the kid gasped, a mixture of shock and amazement in his tiny little voice.  

Bucky tensed up immediately, every muscle in his body turning to stone. When strangers noticed his arm, he was usually met with unwanted stares and hushed whispered, but children were a whole different story. They had no filter, no sense of the unspoken rules garnered by society; they were driven by their own curiosity and something as trivial as politeness did not get in the way of that.  

“Oh, honey,” the mother gripped tight to the boy’s arm, lowing her voice in hopes Bucky hadn’t heard him, “you can’t ask things like that.”

“Why not?” the boy replied innocently. “Where’d it go?”

Bucky could feel your eyes on him, studying for his reaction, but he couldn’t offer one. He was stone, after all. A frown tugged at your lips to see the sudden distress wash over him and he felt an aching puncture of embarrassment deep into his stomach. It only took the mere mention of his arm to wipe him to a blank slate, to throw him back to the battlefield where it was torn from his body. Any unexpected reminder of it usually did.  

You nodded at him, offered a small smile, like you were trying to tell him it would be alright. Then slowly, you turned around and knelt in front of the boy.  

“Hi,” you said sweetly, catching the mother off guard.  

“Do you know what happened to his arm?” the boy asked, must to the dismay of his mother.

“Mason! Oh God, I am so very sorry,” the mother quickly apologized, flustered as she desperately tried to hush the boy. He pressed his face into his mother’s arm.  

Bucky stole a glance over his shoulder to find you kneeling on the floor beside the boy, smiling at him as he clutched a plush triceratops to his chest. You tilted your head at him, trying to get a better look at the boy.  

“You want to know what happened?” you asked softly. He nodded, arms wrapped tight around his stuffed toy. You glanced up at Bucky and his eyes narrowed on you, heart beating a little faster, stomach twisting, before you turned back to the boy. “He did something really brave.”

Fuck. 

Did you know? 

Did Sam tell you? 

Bucky’s legs started to feel weak.  

“You like superheroes, huh?” you continued, pointing at the image of a man in a red cape flying on the boy’s t-shirt. The boy nodded shyly. “They swoop in and save the day with their super strength or magic powers, right?”

The boy started laughing, he was smiling again, standing free from his mother’s hold. She was staring at you like you were akin to one of the characters on the boy’s shirt. Bucky felt the stones cracking around his body, freeing him from their grip.  

“Is he Super Man?” Mason whispered, glancing up at Bucky with such wonder, it took him by surprise. The boy was so small, no older than four years old. Bucky didn’t know the last time he’d even talked to a kid that young and yet here you were, at the boy’s level, making him laugh and smile and easing the concerns of his mother.  

“No, he’s not,” you laughed for a moment. Then, you softened, gathering the boy’s attention again. “My friend here doesn’t have super powers. So, when he saved someone, he got hurt. But I think that makes him very brave, don’t you?”

The boy nodded enthusiastically, grinning so wide Bucky wondered how it was possible your smile could be so infectious. The mother mouthed a soft ‘thank you’ in your direction as the boy quickly changed subjects to the sprinkled donut he was going to eat for snack. She caught Bucky’s eye for a minute and nodded at him, almost in appreciation. He pressed his lips to a thin line. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say anything back.  

You ordered his usual coffee and one of the freshly baked muffins, then a drink and a pastry for yourself. In Bucky’s distraction with the kid, he hadn’t noticed you pay before he had a chance. He felt like he was in a bit of a trance as you led him back to a table in the far corner of the shop, away from the windows and the customers.  

“You alright?” you asked as you slid into your chair opposite him.  

“Did Sam tell you?” Bucky blurted out before he had a chance to bite his tongue. It was the last thing he wanted you to know about and he had half a mind to storm up to the VA just to rip Sam a new one before he shut himself off in his apartment for a few weeks.  

It was the reason for the reoccurring nightmares that hadn’t let up in the last month, even when he’d started to have more good days than bad. They’d celebrated him for what he’d done, given him a medal, and thanked him for his service. The very thought of it made him want to vomit.  

“Hey, hey, Bucky look at me,” you called gently, your voice at the end of a dark tunnel. He blinked, adjusting to the light. “Sam didn’t say a word about what happened. I had a theory and I made a guess. You’re clearly a good man. It didn’t feel like much of a stretch. That’s all.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, staring down at the muffin as he picked at the paper cup. He heard you sigh, surprised that he couldn’t find a single sliver of impatience in your voice. When he looked up again, you smiled sweetly at him and asked him about Alien – Aliebn? – book; quickly lost in tangent of your favorite pages and moments you were excited for him to read.  

He was grateful for the change in subject, but more than that, it gave him a chance to just admire you. There was nothing strange about watching a woman, studying the intricacies on her face and the passion in her voice, when she was speaking right to him. He nodded along, doing his best to actually take in what you were saying, but he was so easily distracted by the brush of steam touching your nose, the press of your lips into your cheeks, the lines on your forehead, and the way your eyes seemed to light up the entire city block.  

The kid, his arm, and nearly six years of combat were quickly forgotten when he had the chance to watch you like that. You hardly let him get a word on, too caught up in your own excitement for the novels you placed in his hand, but he didn’t mind. He preferred to listen to you anyway. Your voice had a calming presence about it; soothing and gentle, loving and joyous. If it weren’t for the clock hanging on the wall above your head, he might have sat there all night with you.

“We should probably head over,” he pointed out reluctantly, gesturing to the clock as it approached six.  

You frowned, following his gaze to see the time had slipped by quicker than you realized. As you began to clear off the table, throwing the scraps in the garbage and setting the mugs on the counter for Luciana, Bucky began to wonder if maybe you would have sat there all night with him, too. If only he could find the courage to ask.

***

Bucky removed the clip from the book, closed the back binding, and slumped back into the cushions. The room was still pretty quiet, everyone’s noses still down in their books as the soft strum of Simon & Garfunkel played from the speaker by the coffee table. He glanced over at you as you sat beside him, a little closer than usual, though he didn’t mind. Your hip brushed his every so often when you adjusted position. It was a kind of closeness that left him wanting more.  

You were only halfway through your own book, but you could clearly sense him watching you because you slowly looked up in his direction, a pointed smile on your face.  

“You were right,” he admitted, his voice a hushed whisper in effort not to disturb the other members. “Surprisingly deep considering it’s a children’s book for adults.”  

“Hey maybe we need pictures on our pages, too,” you whispered back, teasing him with a nudged to his right shoulder. He laughed, leaning back comfortably against the couch as Tony’s eyes glared over in his direction from the top of his book. He pressed his lips together to keep quiet.

You snickered into Bucky’s shoulder, lips pressing against the sleeve of his jacket and he had never wanted to remove that layer more in his life; to actually feel the imprint of your mouth instead of just the press of your face, to feel the heat in your breath breathe through the thin layer of his t-shirt. He shivered.  

“Alright kids,” you said aloud, setting your book on the table. “Times up for today.”

“Oh, come on, Y/n! I’ve only got one chapter left!” Clint whined, stretching out dramatically along the table he was laying across.  

“Glad to hear it, Clint,” you smirked, hands planted firm on your hips. “Finish on your own time.”

A couple of ‘ooo’s rang out and it reminded Bucky of his days sitting behind a desk in class in grade school and a kid would get called up to the principal's office. Clint took it in stride though and seemed to bask in it, throwing up a pose in face of the chorus.  

The crowd quickly dispersed after that, though a few of the older members lingered behind to update you on how far they’d gotten in their books. Bucky watched you from a distance as he started to move the couches back into place, mesmerized by the glimmer in your eye as you spoke to them, a soft hand resting on the crook of their arm, nodding along with a smile on your face – always so genuine in every interaction, in every bone in your body.  

Bucky had practically finished arranging the entire room by the time you walked back inside. Your jaw dropped, wide eyes meeting his.  

“You didn’t have to do all that by yourself!”  

Bucky shrugged. “How long were you doing it on your own before I came along? Take the help when it’s offered, Y/n.”

You smiled at that. “Still. I appreciate it.”

“It’s really nothing,” Bucky said simply.

He hadn’t felt a drive like this is years. Not even before his final tour and the destruction that came with it. He hadn’t remembered what it felt like to want to lift even the smallest of burdens for someone else just to see the weight slip from their shoulders, just to see them smile. He found himself wanting to carry everything you had, even if it started with arranging the heavy furniture of the empty VA library.  

You chewed on the edge of your lip as you watched him approach the door, your jacket in his hand. He had wanted to hold it open for you, to let you turn your back and slip your arms through the sleeves, but it just wasn’t something he could do with one hand, and instead, he placed it to hang over your forearm. 

A longing for a world in which you met him before his body had been put through the shredder ached deep into his gut. It started to push a frown onto his lips, but then your voice broke through and he shook it away.  

“Ready?” you asked, gesturing to the door and he nodded, following closely behind.  

There was a sudden nervous energy in the air he didn’t expect, and for once, it wasn’t coming from him. He glanced over at you as you walked in line with him to find you fidgeting with the zipper of your jacket, hands wringing into the fabric, and hair falling out of place and down into your eyes. You exhaled a few tense breaths as Bucky opened the main door for you, following behind as you stepped out onto the side walk.  

The two of you stood there for a minute, neither one making a move to leave. You kept glancing back at the VA, then to your watch, barely able to look in Bucky’s direction and he started to feel that familiar twist of anxiety in his stomach.  

“Hey, are you oka—”

“Do you want to go for a walk?” you blurted out before he could finish, biting down quickly on your lip as if to stop yourself from saying more.  

Bucky froze, confused. He glanced down at his watch. It would be dark soon. “Now?”  

A flash of embarrassment quickly passed over your features and Bucky’s stomach dropped. 

Was it possible that you just wanted to spend more time with him? That maybe you could crave his presence the same way he did yours?  

“N-No, no, you’re right. It’s late. I’m sorry,” you muttered quickly, arms folding protectively over your chest. You kicked at a stone on the sidewalk, watching as it rolled over on its side. “I should, uh, I should head home then. I’ll see you later, Bucky.”

“There’s a park nearby,” Bucky offered before you could turn away. You lifted your head.  

“Yeah?” A cautious smile hung on your lips as you stepped closer to him.  

Bucky nodded, trying to push away the shaking in his hand. “Yeah, come on.”

A couple minutes passed by in silence as you walked along his side. Every so often, your knuckles would brush up against his hand, a nervous laughter between you as you pulled away. It happened so quickly each time, he never had a chance to respond. Even if he did, he wasn’t sure he would have had the courage to twist his fingers into yours, hold your hand tight to his own, feel the warmth of your palm and guide you along the cobblestones to the small space of greenery amongst brick and steel and concrete.  

“I hope you don’t mind me keeping you out late,” you said slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you waited at the intersection to cross the street.  

“Not at all,” Bucky replied sincerely, offering you a small smile in hopes to ease your nervousness. Part of him wished he said more, maybe told you that spending time with you was the best part of his day or that you were the reason he was getting out of bed most mornings, but it was too big of an admission. It could scare you away and that was the last thing he wanted. Before he had a chance to decide, the light turned and you stepped out onto the street. Bucky followed closely behind.  

The entrance to the park was bordered with a dark metal fence, an arch way carrying over the brick walkway decorated with flowers and vines. You crossed underneath, pausing to stare up the twisting of the leaved through the pattern in the arch, a delicate finger reaching out to touch the tip of a petal. You looked back at Bucky with a smile twice as wide on your face and he hung his head, a breath of a laugh in his chest.  

The park was mostly empty for a Sunday evening. The last remaining streams of sunlight lit up the greenery, touching over the flowers and the reflecting into the pond at the center where a family of ducks were waddling along the edge. You seemed to like that, watching how the babies followed the mama along the rim of the water. Bucky turned to his right to find you imitating their walk, chasing after them until they stepped into the water.  

Meanwhile, Bucky found a bench sitting under an old oak tree. Its branches hung draped over the bench enough to provide a shadow from the closing sun. It faced the west side of the park, where the sun was setting just over the tops of the buildings and illuminating the sky in brilliant shades of golden orange and vibrant reds.  

“You want to sit for a bit?” Bucky asked, gesturing to the bench. His feet were a little tired from walking through Brooklyn all day with the library, the VA, and now this. It was more than he usually did these days – not that he minded. He’d happily allow his legs to be a little sore if it meant more time with you. He’d walk through busy streets for miles if it was you he was walking towards.  

You plopped down on the bench on his right, sinking into the old wood. You glanced over at him, hiding behind a strand of hair that had fallen down into your face.  

“Thanks for amusing me.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, chuckling to himself. “You act like I don’t want to be here.”

“I know, I know,” you laughed, swinging your feet off the side of the bench. “It’s just... and I hope this isn’t a strange thing to say but... I just like spending time with you. Wanted a little more of it today, I suppose.”

Bucky swallowed, his throat feeling suddenly very dry. His heart stammered a bit inside his chest, butterflies causing chaos in his stomach, but it didn’t make him want to run. He felt no drive to escape, to push those sensations so far out of reach he turned back to the numbed and empty version of himself he’d been occupied by for months before he met you. They were frightening feelings, yes, but they were pleasant ones, ones he welcomed and invited inside.  

“You can have as much of my time as you want,” Bucky said as the words fell off his tongue. No filter, no second guessing. No chance to bite his tongue. You looked up at him with a kind of hope in your eyes that made his cheeks start to hurt from how much he was smiling.  

You settled back in on the bench, gazing up at the sunset as it lowered behind the buildings. Brush strokes of softer tones blended into the fading blues in the sky, giving way to the moon and stars as they emerged beyond the clouds.  

He glanced down at your hand as it rested on the bench by your thigh. There was hardly even a breath of air between his pinky to yours. You were so close; it would only take one instant of courage to bar the space between you.  

Be brave, Barnes.

Testing the waters, Bucky allowed the very edge of his fingers to brush over your knuckles. Your skin was softer than he’d remembered from that first handshake in the VA nearly a month earlier. He felt your breath hitch like a jolt of electricity had rushed though you, though you didn’t tear your eyes away from the sunset. Your thumb ran a tender line along his hand as you turned your palm up. Bucky swallowed.  

He slipped his hand into yours, curling his fingers to the space between your own, and for a moment he just let himself feel.

He felt for the slight give in your hand, the twitch in your movements as you settled in against him. He felt the gentle sway of your thumb as it painted a line along his, comforting sweeps like you were reminding him you were there. He felt the chill in your skin – cold hands, like he remembered from before – and the heat of his own.  

Then, your head on his shoulder. Your legs crossed towards him as you leaned in closer and he made no efforts to move. A gesture like that would have thrown him in a tailspin before he met you; to be this close to someone, to anyone, to sit in the vulnerability of allowing someone to know and feel him.  

He looked back up at the sunset. It had nearly dipped below the horizon now; only a few glimpses of color remaining in the sky and the shine of the lamppost just a few feet away.  

You sighed in a contented hum, circling your free hand to rest on the inside of his bicep, hooked around his arm. You held him against you like a teddy bear, just wanting to feel more of him. 

It was a strange sensation, he thought; this new urge to want to give you as much as his body could offer.  

[amimimi]

joe and cherry taking care of their drunk s/o

synopsis: in which joe and cherry take care of your drunk ass

pairings: joe x reader, cherry x reader

warnings: drinking, getting sick, suggestive themes, swearing, slight spoilers in joe’s part

notes: i separated the joe and cherry head canons from the langa and reki ones because I thought I was gonna make these a lot more suggestive,,,but i did not 🤥 i apologize in advance for any grammatical/spelling errors!

JOE

will laugh at you

in a good natured way, of course

he just thinks you’re so cute, he can’t get enough of you

joe and you go bar hopping for date night this week, which y’all have done in the past so it’s nothing too crazy

except this time around, you overdo it 😗

and joe thinks it’s the most endearing thing as you cling onto his biceps as you sway on your feet

he holds you by your elbows, grinning down at you as you blearily smile up at him

you both are standing near the dance floor, as you struggle to maintain your footing

“you good?” he calls over the music and you nod slowly, grinning even harder

“yea! you’re a great dancer!” you shout back at him and joe chuckles

“we aren’t dancing, baby cakes” he says, giving your elbows a squeeze

you frown

“oh...i knew that! i meant in general...” you murmur, eyes struggling to stay open.

joe purses his lip at you, before wrapping his arms around your waist. “i think you need some air, babe” he suggests and you nod sluggishly

guides you outside the bar and takes you across the street

the crisp night air doesn’t help you out all that much

you get sick and joe can’t even hold your hair back because he has to hold you to keep you from falling face forward

“okay, babe, let’s get you home” joe chuckles,

not even one bit worried

has a lot of experience with drinking/drunk people up his sleeve

honestly maybe the best person to care for you while you’re drunk

joe doesn’t panic or even if he IS concerned, he’s good at keeping a straight face (i’m thinking of the episode when ad*m hits cherry in the face and he’s the only one who doesn’t flinch)

he takes you in his swole arms (that man is built like an ox 😩) and carries you bridal style all the way home

entertains your babbling and carries a conversation with you no matter how nonsensical it is

if you think you see someone even looking at joe, you try cussing them out msnxjshwdghd

and joe’s like “haha, darling, my sweet dove, ☺️” and then turns to whoever you’re cussing out and says “they’re drunk, sorry about that!”

joe definitely takes you to his place

makes you take a shower! but he showers with you because he doesn’t want you to fall and break your nose or something

stands behind you, with his arms wrapped around you for support

rubs a loofah down your arms and torso

every now and then he’ll press a kiss against the side of your neck <3

joe wraps you in a towel and gently dries you with another towel

he makes you sit on his closed toilet seat and kneels before you to dry your legs with a smaller towel

he glances up at you to see you staring at him, slightly swaying and wrapped in a towel

“you like watching me work, don’t you?” he smirks

“i like watching your back” you reply, the alcohol numbing your shame and joe laughs at you

makes you brush your teeth

he places a hand over your forehead and holds you up by your arm as you brush

joe: “are you...are you swallowing the tooth paste??”

you: “...no...not on purpose”

okay, joe maybe slightly concerned

pulls one of his shirts over your head and laughs when your hair gets messed up

when you finally get in bed, you sleep in between joe’s legs with your head resting on his naked chest, arms wrapped around you

doesn’t mind if you drool on him <3 he just fondly smiles at you

CHERRY

HE IS NOT HERE FOR IT SKDUSKSJDJD

does not like being around drunk people—like he avoids it with a passion

someone he knows could be drunk as helll and he’d just be like “...and what the f*ck does that gotta do with me?”

obviously he won’t let anyone DIE, but prefers to take preventative action such as cutting someone off from having any more drinks than to deal with their drunk asses

and obviously, he’ll make an exception for you 😙

he’s not impressed tho 😗

like if your tipsy, he may find that endearing

but if you’re like—DRUNK DRUNK, like belligerently so...he’s gonna be like “*sigh*”

you probably don’t get drunk in public when you’re out with him to preserve his the respect of his business

so he’s probably having a night in, no S, no dinner with joe

he’s catching up on reading when his doorbell rings and he’s like “??”

cherry goes to peek out the peephole and — holy shit is that you? and who’s standing next to you??

he opens the door to see you, drunk off your ass, and barely standing on your own as you friend wraps their arm around you for support

when you see cherry, you perk up and smile “kaoru!”

“does this belong to you?” your friend grins at cherry, who’s just staring at you wobble on your feet like a newborn deer

“yes” he says slowly, a little surprised at how drunk you are

he reaches out for you and you all but collapse in his arm, cherry slightly straining under the weight

“okay, then! my taxi’s waiting, bye babe!” your friend calls to you and you sluggishly wave at them while hanging off of cherry’s waist

cherry makes sure you friend gets in the taxi safely before turning to you

“what have you gotten yourself into?” he sighs, hoisting you up and carrying you into his house

“just had a few drinks!” you chirp, wrapping your arms around cherry’s neck

“a few...” cherry echoes you flatly

“ maybe a couple!”

“...”

“ okay, maybe a lot”

doesn’t even wait for you tell him if you feel nauseous, he just carries you to the bathroom and sits you down in front of the toilet

ties your hair back as you babble nonsensically about how dangerous it is that he rides a skateboard

if you get sick, he gently rubs your back and murmurs soothingly to you

makes you wash your mouth out and brushes your teeth for you (he’s grumbling as he does it, BUT HE’S STILL DOIN IT)

he’s gonna save the lecturing for tomorrow so he just resorts to muttering under his breath, but he’s still very gentle with you

he bathes you! but then you tell him that he looks like your mother as he does it and he’s just like “😐 okay bath time over”

get’s you a silk robe and guides you into his bed

he runs to get you a class of water and when he comes back, he hears you sniffling as you lay with your back to him

“what’s the matter, love?” he asks gently, sitting down the bed next to you

he brushes your hair back to see you are, in fact, crying

you take a shaky breath as you struggle to sit up and look directly at him

“are you cheating on me with carla??” you ask wobbly, stealing yourself for his answer

cherry: “😐😑😐”

he just hands the glass of water to you and doesn’t say anything bc he’s TIRED

when you finish your glass, he places it on his bedside table as you sink into the sheets

“you didn’t answer” you murmur glumly, staring straight ahead

cherry looks down at you and tilts his head, brushing your hair back from your face, kinda smiling for that first time that night

“no. how would cheat on you with a skateboard?” cherry asks, slightly teasing.

“you literally make heart eyes with it...don’t laugh!” your lower lip begins to wobble as cherry slightly chuckles

“you’re so drunk” he smiles at you softly

you weakly nod in agreement as cherry continues brushing your hair back

“yea, ‘won’t do it again tho...thank you kaoru, i love you” you garble out, sleep overtaking you

cherry waits until you fall asleep to give you a kiss on the forehead,

he stays up a to watch you before he slides in next to you and sleeps facing you with your hand in his

notes: i’m gonna do langa, reki, joe, and cherry all in one post for the sequel (?) to this where reader takes care of them when they get drunk!

[seijorhi]

Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you

Me attempting a multi-part fic?? More likely than you think! I wrote this fic because this blog started with Hawks and Dabi and kinda got a bit of traction with soulmate au’s so to me it made sense to post it for my first anniversary. I hope you guys like it! 💕

Touya Todoroki (Dabi) x female reader, Keigo Takami (Hawks) x female reader

TW canonical character ‘death’, a little angst and maybe a slight hint of dub-con (if you squint your eyes a little)

Part I, II

You’re eleven years old when your parents take you by the hand, sit you down on the couch and tell you that your soulmate is dead.

It doesn’t make sense. There’s a hollow ache inside of your chest like something important is gone but you were with Touya only yesterday. You had the rest of your lives together, you were gonna leave with him, start something better…

You feel empty and you can’t understand it. He can’t be dead, that’s not how it works. You find your soulmate and you get to ride off into the sunset. You get to be happy, everyone knows that.

But it doesn’t sink in until you’re kicking and screaming by his grave and Endeavor won’t so much as meet your eye and your parents are pulling you back because there’s no body.

There’s nothing left of Touya Todoroki.

And there’s nothing left of you without him.

—

They call it the bloom. A simple touch, the first from your soulmate’s hand, and the mark appears on your skin like drops of ink spilled into water. You’ve always thought it beautiful, the delicate black pattern imprinted on your wrist.

You can still remember the heat you’d felt when it happened. Not the burning kind you knew him capable of, but like the warmth of a fire seeping through you. And you remember the way those bright, blue eyes had widened as you’d tripped and fell, taking him with you. His mark was over his heart; Touya always was stupidly smug about that.

You were just kids. Angry and scared and lost, but you had Touya and Touya had you.

(Not that that counted for anything in the end. He still died alone.)

They say it’s rare to find your soulmate before adulthood, but you’d been one of the lucky ones.

Lucky.

The word tastes bitter on your tongue now. It’s not that you disagree exactly – even now, years after his death you’re glad that you had time with him. You would’ve been grateful for a minute, for a mere glance at his face. Two and a half years with your soulmate was a gift, but having him, losing him so young only meant that you had more years of your life to struggle on without him.

And sometimes you catch yourself staring at your mark, lost in thought. Touya was the one with all the plans, you were always just the tag along, happy to go anywhere so long as he was the one leading you. You wonder what he’d think if he could see you now. Not the Hero you’d let yourselves imagine, though you suppose you both knew deep down that was nothing more than a pipe dream for someone like you.

Gazing around your cramped, messy apartment, debating exactly how badly you need this shitty, barely-enough-to-scrape-by job, you can’t imagine he’d be impressed.

God knows your parents are disappointed, but that’s nothing new. The Quirkless daughter of two mid rank heroes – well, the only thing you ever had going for you was being Enji Todoroki’s future daughter in law, and everybody knows how that one ended.

But part of you likes to think that maybe Touya wouldn’t judge you too harshly for it. You’re doing the best you can. You’re surviving, all on your own, that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

There’s a text message awaiting you when you roll over and grab your phone.

Happy Birthday x

Natsuo never forgets. The rest of the Todoroki’s – you ceased to matter to them the day they buried an empty casket for their son. Natsuo’s the only one who bothers to check in on you, make sure that you’re keeping your head above the water. It’s usually just a message here and there, and he calls you on Touya’s birthday. And on the anniversary of his death.

It’s painful for him, but you suppose you’re the only tangible connection he has left of his brother.

You stare at the message for a moment longer, a strange feeling tugging at your heart. Typing out a quick reply, you set your phone down and fall back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh.

Today of all days, you’d honestly rather just roll over and let the hours pass you by, but your boss isn’t that forgiving and as much as you hate to admit it, you need this job.

The hotel’s already abuzz by the time you clock in, your manager’s jaw tight, a frown pinching at his face. As much as you don’t like him, you can’t exactly blame him for the bad mood – in less than three hours, the ballroom will be filled with a media circus and a plethora of pro heroes. Some big promotional event before the hero rankings are announced; you honestly don’t care.

It just means that everybody’s on edge, you’re gonna spend all day stuck in heels, smiling blandly while you serve people who won’t so much as look twice at you.

And then there’s the real reason you’re dreading today. 6’4”, blue eyed, broad shouldered, currently burning holes into you from across the ballroom while you carry around a platter of canapés. The last time you’d seen Enji Todoroki in person was two weeks after the funeral, and he’d ignored you entirely.

That was years ago; you weren’t even in your teens. Half of you had hoped that in his infinite arrogance and the complete lack of care he’d shown since his son’s death he would’ve forgotten about you entirely.

From the way he’s spent the last twenty minutes staring at you while bulldozing past reporters, though, you’re not feeling all that confident.

And for the life of you, you can’t figure out why your presence seems to be disturbing him so much, considering you’re really only there to serve and then fade into the background. It’s not like you’re chasing after him, demanding an autograph much less any kind of acknowledgement – you’re not exactly thrilled to be here either. Things work just fine with the two of you pretending the other doesn’t exist.

Does he think you’ve planned this? Some big ‘fuck you’ to try and mess with what you’re sure will be an announcement of his retainership of the number one position? Even while Touya was still alive, his father didn’t have a place in your life – he was off training his youngest, you barely saw him and you were glad for it.

While he might have hated him, some part of Touya still idolised him, craved his approval, but Enji had never been anything to you but a selfish, unfeeling monster. A bully.

But now he’s staring at you, slack jawed and wide eyed like he’s seen a ghost and it’s harder than you thought it would be to keep that smile plastered across your face knowing he’s watching your every move.

Your cheeks feels hot, and it only gets worse when you realise that Endeavor’s less than subtle behaviour is slowly but surely drawing attention from others in the room. A few curious reporters have shot you odd looks, heads cocked for a moment before dismissing you as just another waitress, hardly headline worthy.

The other heroes are less quick to brush you off. Mirko, current number five, elegantly clasping her glass of champagne in a gloved hand keeps shooting furtive glances between you and Enji, Gang Orca’s beady eyes following you across the floor, a flicker of what you’re fairly sure is concern maring his face.

It’s mortifying. Your smile is stretched and painful, your throat tight and you feel utterly exposed, but there’s nothing you can do. The flame hero doesn’t seem to care about the attention he’s drawing, or that with every passing minute it gets harder and harder for you to maintain that professional, customer service demeanour you need for this job.

And you’re beyond caring if he’s embarrassed to find his firstborn’s soulmate has sunk so low in his absence, you just want him to stop staring so you can finish your shift in peace. But it seems like the flame hero has other plans, because you’re just beginning to seriously weigh up your chances of keeping this job if you just up and walk off right here and now when Enji’s limited patience finally reaches its threshold.

He doesn’t bother offering excuses towards the poor reporter trying to pry an interview out of him, he just abruptly sets his drink down and starts stalking towards you. Rationally, you realise that with all these people here, he can’t make too much of a scene.

It’s just that even the thought of having to talk with him, to look into those blue eyes that are so painfully familiar yet wrong–

You can’t do it.

Not today.

And so you spin on your heel, stomach lurching. The silver tray in your hands stacked high with champagne teeters and falls, crystal glass shattering on the marble floors drawing gasps from the crowd. Endeavor calls out your name but you block him out, desperately weaving your way through the stunned mass of people.

Most of them give you a wide berth, likely due to the oversized hero barrelling after you. He calls your name again, louder this time. It’s not a scream, or a yell – it almost sounds pleading, though you can’t possibly imagine why. Endeavor doesn’t do pleading.

Your cheeks are burning; there’s too many people staring and hot tears begin to prickle at your eyes. A flash of red blurs past your field of vision and you start, a sharp squeak slipping out as a figure lands before you, blocking your exit.

Handsome with bushy eyebrows, dirty blonde hair messily brushed back and golden eyes gleaming; the hero in front of you would be impossible to mistake, even if it weren’t for the sweeping blood red wings sprouting from his back. Hawks, the current number two pro-hero and the only man standing between you and your fumbling escape.

Your body’s slow to catch up with your mind though, and as you try to stop, backpedal and side-step him at once your foot catches on your ankle. It’s instinctive, the way your arms fly up, wildly trying to catch yourself before you fall on your ass.

Just like you suppose it’s instinctive for him to rush forward to do the same.

It happens in a split second, your fingers brushing the skin of his neck just above the collar of his shirt, his hand grasping at your waist to steady you. Beneath his gloved hand a familiar burst of heat warms your skin.

Time slows to a crawl. The ballroom, all the gathered heroes and the press, your co-workers, they all fade into the background as your eyes dart to your fingertips, resting gently on the side of Hawks’ throat. There, a soft, inky black mark begins to unfurl spreading up to his jaw, disappearing below the collar of his turtleneck.

Over the quiet hum of the classical music playing in the background, you hear his breath catch.

He has you dipped, the two of you frozen as if in a dance and for a moment you dare to meet those piercing golden eyes. There’s a clicking sound, a camera shutter you distantly register, but while it makes your heart jump, Hawks pays it no mind.

He stares at you with impossibly wide eyes; open, vulnerable and raw.

And then he blinks, and that glimpse is gone, his grip tightening as he slowly sets you right. He doesn’t let you go, however.

“Hawks,” Enji’s tone is low and gruff, a warning this time.

Tension, thick and crackling with electricity hangs in the air between the three of you, amplified by the crowd of onlookers. All those journalists, chomping at the bit with the realisation of a juicy story playing out right in front of their eyes. Your name’s called out again, not by Endeavor, but by the reporter he’d cut off before – eyeing you now with an eager leer that has you recoiling back into Hawks’ embrace.

It’s enough to jerk the winged hero into action. His mouth finds your ear, his thumb sweeping soothingly along your side as he speaks low enough for only you to hear.

“You wanna leave, baby bird?”

You don’t remember nodding, but you must have, because in the space of a single heartbeat Hawks has you hoisted up in his arms, those powerful wings spreading wide – and you’re flying.

—

“I don’t think I have a job anymore,” you laugh drily, staring down at the city lights twinkling on the horizon.

Beside you, Hawks snorts in agreement, “Hell of a way to make an exit, though.”

He’s not wrong. You can only imagine what the tabloid headlines will say tomorrow ‘Pro Hero sweeps hotel waitress soulmate off her feet’ ‘Hawks mates for life; Endeavor jealous?’ Even if by some miracle your boss wasn’t intent on firing you on the spot, you’re not sure you can even bear to show your face there again.

It’ll be a pain though, trying to find a new job while your face is plastered across every less than reputable news outlet.

Perched atop the rooftop of Hawks’ hotel, halfway across the city, the wind ruffling gently through your hair, everything feels… surreal almost. It’s your birthday, and instead of crashing through the door of your apartment, exhausted and aching before falling face first onto your bed and not moving for the next few hours, you’re here. With the number two pro hero. Who, incidentally, is your second soulmate.

Having more than one soulmate, it’s not unheard of, just… rare.

And your hand’s entwined with his, his gloves long since discarded, his fleece lined jacket draped over your shoulders. Touya’s mark, long since blossomed across your inner wrist lies starkly between the two of you, unignorable.

“It was his son, wasn’t it?” he asks eventually, breaking the fragile silence as he toys with your fingers. When you nervously risk a glance up, Hawks doesn’t look angry or upset or even that jealous. Those golden eyes study your face with an odd kind of curiosity, but there’s no trace of resentment there. “Touya, the one who died. He was your soulmate.”

It’s not a question, but you find yourself nodding anyway. A part of you’s almost surprised he put it together so quickly, but you guess being a pro hero of that calibre requires a little more than just having a strong quirk.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, because what else can you say?

You can’t possibly imagine how he’s feeling right now, what thoughts are running through his head. You’d accepted a long time ago that while you’d love Touya Todoroki until your dying breath, he was gone; that chance of a fairytale happily ever after going with him. Another soulmate wasn’t something you’d ever considered, much less wasted time longing for.

And yet here you are, another mark inked across your skin and it feels wrong somehow, yet also completely right. Imagining being on the other foot; putting yourself in Hawks’ shoes – a pro hero soulmated to some insignificant, quirkless waitress, and not only that, but finding out she has another soulmate, somebody she loved before you, a ghost of a memory you’ll always be competing against… you honestly don’t know how you’d feel.

“Look at me,” he whispers, calloused fingers coaxing at your chin. Heart thrumming like a hummingbird's you comply, letting out another soft squeak as Hawks takes the hand still entwined with his and lifts it to his neck, right above his mark.

He smiles, nuzzling into the touch as your breath stutters. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” Again, you find yourself nodding without even really being conscious of it. It doesn’t seem to matter to Hawks though, whose smile widens at the sight of it. He leans in closer, his breath fanning across your face as molten pools of honey drink you in. You wonder if he can feel the way your pulse is racing under his touch, mixed emotions warring inside of you as he cups your cheek.

“And I’m yours. That’s all I care about, baby bird.”

He’s drawing you into a kiss before you can even comprehend the words, soft lips moving against yours. Gently at first, but that sweetness gives way to a burning urgency as he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.

Hawks kisses you like your lips hold salvation, and it’s frightening and thrilling and it feels like every nerve in your body is electrified when his teeth catch at your bottom lip and he moans your name.

There’s some part of you that realises that you’re moving too fast – soulmates or not he’s practically a stranger – but as you break for air, panting and breathless and Hawks looks at you with those burning, beautiful eyes; you’re helpless to resist.

“Keigo,” he tells you as he lays you down on his bed, crawling up between your thighs with a gleaming, hungry smirk that’s nothing less than predatory, “Call me Keigo.”

[ragingbookdragon]

I Won't Give Up On Us

Jason Todd x Reader Story!

Word Count: 12.5K Warnings: Explicit Language, Violence, Canonical Character Death, Angst

Author's Note: I wrote this a few years ago I believe, but hadn't posted it back. So I edited (mostly) and fixed it for y'all! Enjoy! -Thorne

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

She sat on the water-tower and watched as they moved across the rooftops; they stopped in the middle and began discussing something. The tall one looked down at the smaller one and nodded to the street. “Stay along the rooftops and check the streets while I look for Selina.”

“Selina’s not around here Batman,” she called coyly.

The two of them whirled around, their eyes moving up until they found her. “Kit.”

She stood up from the water-tower and spread her arms. “In the flesh, Batman.”

The young boy beside him took a step forward. “Where’s Catwoman, Kit?”

Her eyes flitted to the bright colored boy, and she grinned. “Careful Robin…foxes eat birds.”

Scoffing, he crossed his arms over his suited chest. “You wouldn’t do a damn thing to me.”

She raised an eyebrow and hopped down, landing in front of them. “You aren’t the only one with skills, Robin. And we both know who’s the better fighter.” She walked by them, stopping at the ledge before turning to Batman. “Selina had business elsewhere.”

“Where is she?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Dunno. She might be my mentor, but she doesn’t tell me everything.” Gesturing to him, she quipped, “You’d have better luck using those detective skills of yours to find her.”

As she started to walk away, she paused and turned as if remembering something and looked at Robin. “Do you always keep your wallet on you? Or is it just right now?”

“What are you talking about, Kit?” he questioned, brows furrowing in confusion.

She flashed a grin and waved a black leather wallet, enjoying the way his eyes widened at the sight, then patted at his pants; her tone was heavy with challenge as she provoked, “Catch me if you can, little bird.” That was all she said before taking off down the wall, running along the streets.

Robin jerked forward, seemingly forgetting that Batman was beside him as he hauled after her. “GET BACK HERE, KIT!”

Batman sighed as he watched the two teens chase each other, one continually shouting the other giggling, then a voice called from behind him. “They’re almost like a miniature version of us, aren’t they, Bat?”

He tipped his head to the woman standing on the other rooftop. “Selina.”

She smirked and turned, walking away. “Let’s play a game of tag, shall we?” He grunted as he began running after her.

***

She could hear Robin’s feet slam against the pavement with each step he took, and she huffed a laugh. “You’re not supposed to let people hear you, Robin! I thought Batman taught you how to be quiet!”

“I’m gonna be quiet when I get my wallet back from you!”

“Is that before or after I take the money inside?”

“DON’T TOUCH MY MONEY, KIT!”

“So touchy, Robin.” Her hands gripped the ledge as she pulled herself up and onto the rooftop; her feet carried her to the edge of the building, and she peered over it, mumbling to herself, “That’s a little too big of a jump for me to make.”

She turned around and was met by his chest as he slammed into her; her eyes widened as everything moved in slow-motion as they fell over the edge. The wind whipped by them as they fell, and she couldn’t stop the blood-curdling scream that tore through her throat.

An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, then the click of the grapple-gun sounded in her ears, followed by his low and confident voice. “I’ve got us Kit, don’t worry.”

Her hands clenched in his suit as the grapple hooked into a building, and they swung down to the roof below. When their feet touched the ground, she pulled away and slung her fist into his stomach. He bent over, holding his stomach and she exploded. “Are you insane, Robin! We could’ve died! How about next time, you watch where the fuck you’re running!”

She turned away and stalked off when a hand curled in hers. “Wait a second, Kit.” She paused, glancing down at him, then he rose and rubbed the spot she’d punched. “Damn, you’ve got one hell of an arm.” She felt the corner of her mouth raise and he matched her grin. “See…you’re not that mad at me.”

Scoffing, she retorted, “Considering the fact that we almost became a giant splatter on the pavement? I’m a little mad.”

“I had us.”

She leaned forward and poked his chest. “And what would’ve happened if you hadn’t?”

He paused for a minute, then laced his fingers with hers. “Then we wouldn’t have been able to go to prom in a few weeks.” He went quiet, then looked at her. “You are still gonna go to prom with me, right, (Y/N)?”

“Yeah, Jason…I am.”

Grinning, he nodded to the diner just across the street. “Wanna get some food?”

“Sure.”

They began walking towards the diner, sliding down the fire-escape and to the street; they crossed the street and stepped into the joint. When the food was ready, they took it back to the roof, sitting down on the ledge, eating, while cracking jokes back and forth.

(Y/N) was sipping on her milkshake when Jason went quiet, and she eyed him. “What’s wrong, Jay?”

He glanced at her then shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously something. You aren’t usually this quiet.”

Jason stayed silent for a moment. “…I’m going to Ethiopia soon.”

Her eyes widened, and she leaned close. “For what?”

His gaze seemed heavy when he looked at her. “I’m finding my mother.”

“I thought Catherine was your mom?”

Jason nodded. “She was…but she wasn’t my biological mother.”

“When are you leaving?”

“In a couple days.”

“You’re going to be back in time for prom, right?”

Jason snorted. “Yes, (Y/N). I won’t stand you up at prom.”

She grinned. “Good.” It was silent for a second, then she spoke softly. “Does Bruce know?” When he didn’t answer, she found her own, sighing, “Jason, it’s not a good idea to leave without letting Bruce know.”

He nodded. “I know…but Bruce isn’t who I need to tell right now.” He took her hand. “It’s you.” His other hand fumbled in his utility belt, and he pulled out a silver band that held a peridot in the middle; he held it out to her, and she took it, then stared at him.

“Jason…what’s this?”

“A ring.”

(Y/N) sighed and rolled her eyes. “No shit, Sherlock. Couldn’t figure that out myself.” She paused. “Why though?”

“It’s a promise ring.”

She felt the breath leave her lungs and her eyes went wide. “A promise ring?”

He nodded and squeezed her hand. “I know we’re too young to get married right now, (Y/N). But I love you, and at some point, in my life, I that to become ‘our life’.”

(Y/N) was speechless at his confession, and she pulled off her mask, questioning, “Are you being serious right now? Because if this is a joke, after I beat the shit out of you, I will break up with you, and never speak to you again.”

Jason snorted. “I’m being one-hundred percent serious, (Y/N). I want to marry you someday, and this ring serves as a testament to that.” He squeezed her hand again. “So, what do you say? Wanna make a promise?”

(Y/N) felt tears gather in her eyes, and she shifted, wrapping her arms around his neck; she nodded, and choked out, “Yes!” She pulled back, pressing her lips to his; she murmured against his mouth. “Yes, I do.”

Jason grinned, and pulled her close, and rested his forehead against hers. “I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you too, Jason.”

***A Few Weeks Later***

She walked into the apartment, closing the door behind her; she kicked off the black heels and began fumbling with the dress zipper. Selina tipped her head around the wall. “What are you doing home so early, hon?” She glanced down at her wristwatch. “Prom wasn’t supposed to be over until eleven. It’s nine.”

(Y/N) glanced at her as she pulled the zipper down. “Jason wasn’t there.”

“He stood you up?”

She shrugged. “If he did, he’d better have a damn good reason for it.”

Selina observed her for a few seconds. “Are you okay, hon?”

“I’m beginning to worry about Jason.” She sighed.

“Why’s that?”

“Because ever since Jason left for Ethiopia, he hasn’t sent me a single message.” (Y/N) paused and looked at her. “Jason isn’t one to keep me in the dark. He would’ve called by now.”

Selina moved forward and placed her hands on (Y/N)’s shoulders. “He’s probably spending time with his mom.”

(Y/N) stared at her before sighing, nodding, “You’re probably right.” She pulled away from Selina’s grip and moved to her bedroom, stopping as she closed the door. “I’ll go see Bruce tomorrow and ask.”

“You might not be able to find Bruce.”

She cocked an eyebrow at her comment. “And why not?”

Selina’s gaze turned solemn. “Something’s wrong with Bruce he’s becoming…ruthless and careless.”

(Y/N) took in her words and nodded. “I’ll see if I can find him. That or I’ll just ask Alfred. He’ll know.”

Selina nodded. “Goodnight hon.”

“Night Selina.”

***The Next Day***

She stood in apprehension at the view of the manor; no matter how many times she’d been there, she was still shocked at the sheer size of it. She stepped up to the door and rang the doorbell, then turned and stared out at the long driveway, listening as the doorbell chimed.

The door opened and (Y/N) spun back around, expecting Alfred to be there. “Hey Alfred, is—Dick?” She stopped and stared at him. “Holy crap! Dick! I haven’t seen you in forever!” Dick smiled at her and opened his arms. (Y/N) leaned in and gave him a hug before pulling away. “What are you doing back in Gotham?”

Dick’s face dropped, and he stared at her. “Bruce needed my help.”

“Selina told me he’s been on edge for a while. It’s good that you’re here to keep him grounded.”

Dick nodded and motioned inside. “Want to come in?”

(Y/N) nodded and stepped by him. “This place gets even cooler every time I come over.”

He chuckled. “It does, doesn’t it?” They stepped into the kitchen and Dick went to the refrigerator. “Want something to drink?”

“Did Alfred make any fruit tea?”

“I think he made mango and peach tea.”

“I’ll take some of that.” He pulled out a pitcher and poured each of them a glass; he handed hers to her and she sipped it. “Alfred makes the best tea, I swear.”

Dick smiled and sat beside her, giving her a once over. “You look good, (Y/N).”

She was surprised at his comment and pointed to herself. “Me?”

“Yes (Y/N). You.” He snorted.

“Thank you, Dick.” She smiled. “Don’t ask me for a loan though, cause I ain’t givin’ you money.”

Dick laughed at her and shook his head. “I’m not going to ask you for a loan, (Y/N).”

“Good…‘cause I don’t have a lot of money.”

The two of them let out laughs, and Dick’s eyes caught the ring on her finger; he nodded at it. “Are you wearing a ring?”

(Y/N) glanced down at it, then back to him and nodded. “Jason gave it to me a few weeks ago.” She twirled it between her fingers, and she felt a smile form. “It’s a promise ring.” (Y/N) paused, then looked up at Dick. “Which brings me to the reason why I’m here…is Jason still in Ethiopia with his mom? He hasn’t messaged me yet, and I’m beginning to worry about him.”

Dick’s expression gave way from surprise to pure shock, and he leaned forward, his tone laced with disbelief. “…Have—have you not been told, (Y/N)?”

She blinked at him. “Told what?” Dick went silent, and (Y/N) cocked her head at him. “What haven’t I been told, Dick?”

He stared at her with a face that made her heart thump ominously and his voice held a tone of solemnity. “…Jason was killed in Ethiopia a few weeks ago.”

(Y/N) thought her heart stopped as she breathed out the only word she could manage. “…What?”

***Part Two***

Noise. Everything that came out of his mouth was pure noise. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as she rose from the bar seat. Dick looked at her concerned and rose to follow her. “(Y/N)? Where are you going?” She didn’t respond, her feet carrying her towards the study; she entered the room and slid to the wall, moving the clock from its position. (Y/N) skipped the steps, moving as fast as she could into the cave.

She came upon him, standing in front of the Batcomputer talking to Alfred; he turned to her, and she let out a withering whisper. “Is it true?” His eyebrows furrowed and he opened his, but she cut him off, this time, her voice a screech. “IS IT TRUE?!”

He shut his mouth for a few seconds, then murmured, “…Yes he’s…gone.”

(Y/N) saw red and she flew forward, her fists pounding into his chest. “HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME! HOW COULD YOU KEEP THIS FROM ME!” Bruce didn’t respond, didn’t even react to her punches; he just took each blow. After a few seconds of continual punches, he reached out and grabbed her arms; (Y/N) struggled, thrashing against him. “Let go of me!”

He didn’t, instead he brought her forward and circled his arms around her; she struggled for a few moments, but then the realization set in, and she felt her knees weaken. They caved and she let him lower her down as she cried.

Her hands clenched in his suit, and she stared up at him, wailing, “What happened?”

Bruce’s eyes shut and he whispered, “Joker killed him in Ethiopia.” (Y/N)’s eyes momentarily widened, before shutting and she buried her face in his shoulder as she sobbed.

***

She cried for hours, and he sat with her on the floor of the cave the entire time; Alfred and Dick had gone upstairs earlier to give them privacy. (Y/N) didn’t feel like moving, didn’t feel like talking, but she forced herself to; she shifted her eyes to Bruce’s and whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me he di—why didn’t you tell me?”

He sighed and shook his head. “I didn’t know how to. I’ve been so occupied with Gotham that I didn’t have time.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” He looked down at her and she felt tears gather in her eyes again. “I deserved to know. I should’ve been the first person you told.”

Bruce looked away but nodded. “I know…I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

“How’d…how’d he die?”

There was a pause, then Bruce’s voice came out no higher than a broken whisper. “It was my fault…I wasn’t fast enough.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Bruce.”

“Yes, it was. I told him to wait but I should’ve known he would’ve gone to save her.”

(Y/N) glanced up at him at the mention of ‘her’. “Her? Who’s her?”

“Sheila Haywood. Jason’s mother.”

“So, he found her? Did he save her?”

Bruce let out a cold laugh that unsettled her. “He tried to…only to be betrayed by her and given to the Joker.” (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and he continued. “He beat Jason to a bloody pulp…then blew up the warehouse they were in.”

“He…killed them both?”

“Yes.”

She sucked in a breath, closing her eyes as the tears ran down her cheeks. “I thought he was still there…still spending time with her…I never imagined this would’ve happened.”

A comforting hand caressed the side of her head and Bruce apologized again. “I’m sorry, (Y/N)…I’m so sorry.” She said nothing and leaned her head onto his shoulder again and let the tears come.

***

The weeks after that were unimaginable, and (Y/N) couldn’t bear to bring herself to his grave. Too afraid that seeing it, would make it real. Make it true. But after wrestling with herself and telling herself that she owed it to him to go, she finally made her way over. Each step was heavy, and she found it increasingly hard to breathe as she walked; she stopped, a hand holding the cold iron. I can’t do this…I can’t…I’m not ready.

(Y/N) moved to turn when a hand rested on her shoulder; she looked up to see Dick smiling sadly down at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I knew at some point you’d go see him…I’ve been waiting to go with you.”

She reared back and glared. “How do you know I need someone to go with me?”

“Because you can’t even open the gate, (Y/N).”

She looked back to her hand, seeing it begin to turn a shade lighter from clenching so tightly; (Y/N) let out a shaky breath. “I need help, Dick. I’m…scared to go alone.”

“I’ll go with you.” He said, his hand shifting from her shoulder to her hand, and his fingers curled around it.

She glanced at him through the tears in her eyes. “You will?” He nodded and she stepped back, letting him open the gate.

Their steps were quiet as the moved through the cemetery, and eventually, her eyes landed on his headstone. (Y/N) pulled away from Dick and stumbled to the stone, dropping to her knees in front of it; her fingers rose shakily, and she placed a hand to it.

It was freezing, and it made her throat close as she traced the letters of his name. “I didn’t…I didn’t even get to say goodbye. The plane was boarding, and he could only wave as he ran to catch it.”

Dick knelt beside her and rested a hand on her back. “None of us did (Y/N).”

“I thought he was still in Ethiopia with his mom…” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him; (Y/N) wrapped an arm under his and around his back, resting her head against his chest. “I don’t know what to do, Dick.” (Y/N) gazed at her hand to the silver band resting on her finger and choked out a sob. “What do I do now?” She stared up at him, hoping he had the answers, but all he did was close his eyes and shake his head.

“I…I don’t know, (Y/N).” he whispered.

Her eyes moved back to the stone, and she felt the tears run down her face. “This can’t be real…he can’t be gone.” (Y/N) sobbed, and the words poured from her mouth. “We were supposed to go to prom. We were supposed to graduate and go to college. Move in together and get…and get…” She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘married’, and she felt Dick’s arms tighten around her and his head dropped to her shoulder.

Soon, she felt the material of her jacket go damp and he whispered, “I wasn’t the brother I should’ve been for him. God, I was so angry at Bruce that I stayed away from Gotham, and I never got to know him well enough as I should’ve.”

(Y/N) pulled back to look at Dick, and she took one of his hands; he met her eyes and she murmured, “You were enough, Dick. He knew you cared for him.” He nodded, and (Y/N) rested her head back against his chest. After a few moments, she whispered, “I don’t know what to do anymore, Dick. I can’t even bring myself to leave my room most days let alone putting on my suit on anymore.”

“Why not?”

(Y/N) let her eyes trace his name and she confessed brokenly, “Because I can’t be Kit without my Robin.” She shut her eyes and brought a hand to her face and cried into it. Dick said nothing, he just held her as she broke down, and he let himself break down too.

***Five Years Later***

She gripped the handle of her whip and followed after Selina as she stepped into the jewelry store. Her eyes moved around the room, then went back to Selina who was busy cutting a hole in the glass case. “Selina…what are we doing?”

Selina snorted. “I believe we’re stealing this six-million-dollar diamond and ruby necklace, (Y/N).”

“No. I mean what are we doing, Selina.”

She stopped cutting and rose, arching an elegant brow at (Y/N). “Alright. You’ve been acting like this for a few weeks now. In fact, it’s been like this since you’ve put the suit back on.” She motioned to (Y/N). “What’s up with you?”

Taking a few breaths of courage, she removed her mask and stared at her mentor. “I’m not doing this anymore.”

“And what does that mean?”

(Y/N) loosened the whip at her side. “It means that you’re breaking the law, Selina. And it’s wrong.”

Selina huffed a laugh and turned back to the case, beginning to cut again. “You’re a little old to be playing Cops and Robbers, Kit.” The crack of her whip sounded, and she watched it curl around Selina’s wrist; her eyes turned back to (Y/N), gaping at her. “(Y/N)?”

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes. “I’m not letting you take this Selina. It’s wrong.” Selina huffed a cold laugh and gripped the whip in her hand, tugging it roughly; (Y/N) flew forward and she landed at her feet. She looked up and saw Selina picking up the necklace, then glance down at her.

“All these years I’ve taken care of you. All these years that I’ve trained you and this is how you give it back to me? By turning sides?” Selina scoffed. “You can get the hell out of my place and find your own.” (Y/N) scrambled to her feet beginning to give chase; she ran past the alarm and threw an arm out, slamming her hand down on the switch. Selina glanced over her shoulder. “You little bitch!”

“I’m going to be a bigger bitch when I take that necklace back from you Selina!” The two of them slammed through the doors on the roof, hands and feet flying.

They both fought and (Y/N) felt Selina’s claws dig into her shoulder. She let out a cry and slammed her palm up into Selina’s chin. The older woman fell backwards, and (Y/N) watched the necklace fly from her pouch. Their eyes met and each of them scrambled, trying to reach it first. (Y/N) gripped the bolas at her side and slung them as hard as she could. They caught Selina’s ankles, and she dropped; she slid to her feet and scooped up the necklace, and she didn’t look back as she ran, hopping ledges and rooftops, listening to Selina cuss at her the entire way.

(Y/N) ran for what seemed like hours, and once she made sure she was safe, she sat down on a rooftop and caught her breath. Her hand shifted to her pocket, and she looked at the necklace. I could sell this if I wanted to. (Y/N) shook her head and shoved the necklace back in her pocket. No. I made my choice. No more stealing. She sighed and turned back to go to Selina’s apartment when she remembered that she couldn’t go back there. So where to now? (Y/N) looked around when a building caught her eye. I can go to him…he’ll help me. She began running again, moving in the direction of the manor.

***

Bruce stood in front of the Batcomputer, moving through the cases when Tim walked up. “Bruce? Can I help you with anything?”

“No. Go see if Dick or Alfred need anything though.”

Tim nodded and began moving when a figure came into view. “Holy crap! Kit?!”

Immediately, everyone was facing the entrance of the cave and they watched as (Y/N) stepped closer; Bruce rose from his seat and moved in front of her, noticing she was out of her suit. “What are you doing here, (Y/N)?”

Her eyes moved from his to the Batcomputer and she nodded at it. “Selina got arrested then.”

“You knew?”

(Y/N) looked at him and stepped forward, moving her hand towards him to reveal the necklace. “I came to give this to you…to return it.”

Bruce took it, looking at her curiously and the others stepped towards her. “Why’d you turn on Selina?”

She took a deep breath and held out her suit, declaring, “I don’t want to be a criminal anymore. I’m tired of breaking the law and seeing other people get away with it.”

To say that they were surprised at her confession was an understatement; Dick tipped his head. “But…stealing is kind of your thing? Why don’t you want to do it anymore, (Y/N)?”

“Because it’s not what Jason would want me to keep doing.” (Y/N) looked at Bruce. “I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m ready to change but I don’t want to be a criminal. I want to be like you guys…” She swallowed thickly. “I want to be someone that would make Jason proud.”

They were silent for a moment, then Bruce took her suit from her and passed it to Alfred. “If you’re going to join us, you’ll need a new training regimen. We start at dawn.”

That was all he said before turning around, and (Y/N) called out to him. “By the way…Selina kicked me out. So…can I maybe stay here?” He waved a hand and (Y/N) let a smile grace her face.

“Welcome to the Batfamily (Y/N).”

(Y/N) glanced at Dick’s hand held outwards and she smiled, taking it firmly; he shifted and pulled her into a hug, listening as she giggled. “Thanks Dick.”

They pulled away and Bruce walked back over. “You need a new suit Kit. Yours is ripped.”

“Vixen.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Everyone has to grow up sometime. I’m not Kit anymore…I’m Vixen.”

Bruce eyed her before walking past her. “You prove to me that you can be like us, and you can be Vixen…until then you’re Kit.”

“Looks like you have a long road ahead of you (Y/N).” Dick remarked.

She nodded at him. “Right on.” She glanced over at Tim who was still wearing his suit. “Hey…Robin.” He turned to her, and his eyes flashed with fear as she stepped in front of him; (Y/N) pointed to the symbol. “Make sure you honor that uniform. Are we clear?” Tim nodded fervently and she reached up, ruffling his hair. “Good.” (Y/N) walked away and stopped at the stairs, glancing over her shoulder at him. “He’d be proud someone like you filled his shoes.”

“Are you okay with this, (Y/N)?”

Her eyes moved to Dick’s, and she nodded, her voice solemn. “Jason’s gone, Dick. I can’t change that.” (Y/N)’s hand rose to close around the ring on the chain at her neck. “But I can honor him by knowing that Tim’s doing a damn good job as Robin.” She began moving up the stairs and murmured, “And I know he’d be proud that I’m fighting crime instead of making it.”

***Part Three***

She hit the floor, listening as the sound echoed through the cave, and grunted, grabbing her side, the throbbing telling her she was going to see a black bruise soon. He shifted over and knelt beside her. “Are you alright?”

She nodded and clamored to her feet, assuming another defensive position. “Let’s go again.”

“This is the fifth time we’ve done this, (Y/N). Aren’t you tired yet?”

“Again.” She reiterated.

Bruce complied and entered an offensive stance. “Remember (Y/N), it’s not just about blocking each hit, it’s knowing what’s coming next.”

“Got it. Go.”

They circled each other for a few seconds, each of them wondering who was going to move first; Bruce shifted fast, and she readied herself for the coming blows. They came swiftly, and she reminded herself to focus on what he was going to do next. Who am I kidding? The man is unpredictable. (Y/N) kept up, and she saw him grin ever-so-slightly.

“Good. You’re keeping up well.” She blocked the palm he threw at her, returning it with a kick to his side, then backing up; he followed her. “Let’s see if you can go faster.”

“Wait don’t go faster! I’m barely keeping myself on track right now!” Bruce chuckled, but went faster anyway and (Y/N) found herself panicking as each fist came.

“Don’t panic, (Y/N). Focus.” She took a deep breath as she blocked his foot and he said, “When it comes down to a life-or-death fight, you need to be able to keep calm. If you let your enemy get the better of your fear and panic, it’s all over.”

“Is that how you felt when you fought Bane?”

He nodded. “I will admit, that was one of the most fearful moments of my entire life.”

“I imagine having your back broken is.” Bruce shifted again, and (Y/N) saw his foot fly. “Fuck.”

She saw it too late, and it hit her square in the chest; she dropped to the ground, the wind knocked from her lungs. (Y/N) put her hands to her chest and tried to breathe, but the air wouldn’t come in; her eyes widened in panic, and she looked up at Bruce who immediately moved to her side.

“(Y/N).” She motioned to her chest, and he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Just relax. The more you panic, the harder it will be for you to breathe.” She closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm down, then she inhaled deeply, feeling the breath expand in her deprived lungs. She let out a shaky breath and he asked, “Are you alright now?”

(Y/N) opened her eyes, and she jerked, elbow meeting his chest; Bruce’s eyes widened, and she shifted again, taking advantage of the opening he’d given her. The arm she’d hit him with came back and gripped one of his arms and she swung herself around it, placing her legs over his chest, as she pulled it back. Bruce’s back bent on the mat as he tried to move, but she tightened her grip on his arm and her legs, keeping him locked in place.

“Tap out.” He grunted and tried to move but couldn’t and she said again, this time firmer, “Tap. Out.” After a few seconds, she heard his free hand tapping the mat and she let go, rolling off. (Y/N) rose to her feet and crossed her arms, smiling triumphantly. “I win.”

Bruce climbed to his feet and stood in front of her, a hard look in his eyes. At first, (Y/N) began to panic at the look, then the corner of his mouth turned up and he passed her murmuring, “Good job.”

She turned around and watched his back in disbelief as he walked to the shower room and then turned to Dick who was walking over, a towel in his hand. “Did…did that just happen? Did he just give me approval?”

Dick snorted as he passed her the towel. “Don’t get used to it, ‘cause it probably won’t happen again for a long time.”

Tim walked up beside her as she laughed. “Here (Y/N). I got your water.”

She smiled as she took it from him. “Thanks kiddo.” (Y/N) drank from the bottle then glanced at Dick. “I thought you were supposed to be in Blüdhaven. Why are you here?”

“Bruce said there’s some new player in Gotham and I figured he could use a hand.”

“Yeah, that Red Hood guy.” She replied.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “You know him?”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “Bruce hasn’t let Tim or me patrol since he’s come into town.”

“Is he that dangerous?” (Y/N) passed him and walked over to the Batcomputer, typing on it; a few seconds later, the image of eight decapitated heads appeared on the screen. “Holy shit.”

She nodded at his shock. “He’s effectively taken over the drug trade in Gotham City, and is waging a one-man-war on Black Mask.”

“Is he winning?”

“So far? It appears so.” She paused and clicked the mouse. “I can’t exactly condone his actions because he’s killing people, but he’s keeping the drugs away from children and schools, so I’m not overly angry with him.”

Dick hummed, glancing at Tim. “You doing good, Timmy?”

The young boy nodded with a smile. “(Y/N)’s been helping me a lot.”

“Shove off, Dick.” She muttered when she saw the look on his face.

He spluttered. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You were thinking it.” She moved towards the steps, climbing them towards the door.

Dick followed her. “Going to see Jason?”

(Y/N) nodded as they stepped into the study. “Didn’t get to see him last week because of exams.”

“How’d those go?”

She flashed a grin over her shoulder. “Passed with flying colors.”

Dick reached over and patted her head. “Good job, (Y/N).”

She swatted his hand but smiled nevertheless at his congratulations. “Thanks Dick.” He smiled as he watched her climb the stairs and move towards her room.

(Y/N) walked inside her room and closed the door, immediately stripping from the sweaty work-out clothes; she dropped them into her hamper and moved into the bathroom, stepping into the shower. Once she was finished, she pulled on her underclothes, then put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Her eyes drifted to the zip-up hoodie in her closet; she pulled it off the hanger and slipped it on. Even after so long, it still fit her; she could faintly smell the scent of his cologne in it and she sighed, closing the closet, and moving to the door. (Y/N) walked down the steps and to the garage, grabbing her keys as she walked by.

***

The drive to the cemetery didn’t take long, and she stepped across the grass, still covered with dew. She pulled out the bottle of water from her bag, along with the old rag she’d grabbed; she poured the water on the rag then ran it over the surface of the stone, cleaning away the dirt.

“Sorry I wasn’t here last week, Jay. I had exams that week and I was too busy cramming. Honestly, it feels like a shit excuse on my part, but I know you’d understand.” (Y/N) grinned. “I remember how well you did in school. Right next to me, you were the best there was.” She pulled the rag away and wrung it out, putting it away, then she placed the vase of flowers at it, shifting it into place.

“I should mention that I passed my exams with A’s. (Y/N) (L/N) is one step closer to graduating. To be honest, school sucks. My nights are much more fun.” She snorted and pulled a photo album from her bag. “Tim helped me put this together a few days ago. He likes photography a lot.” (Y/N) opened it and reclined against the headstone. “You’d like Tim, Jason. He’s a good kid…smart, God he’s smart. Probably smarter than all of us…even Bruce.” She flipped the pages. “This is an old picture…the first gala you ever dragged me to.”

(Y/N) snorted. “I kept stepping on your shoes when we danced, but you just smiled at me…here’s you and I at the fairgrounds. I remember you threw up on the teacups because you ate too much. Ugh, that was so gross. Hilarious, but gross. Here’s that photo of you, Dick, Roy, and I at the pool. The chicken fight was fun and watching you and Dick pout because Roy and I beat you both was even more so.” Her fingers moved the pages, and she came across one of them; they froze on it. “…This was the last photo you and I took together. The Christmas party Bruce threw the year before you died.” A sad smile crossed her face, and she flipped the page again. “For now, that’s all we have.”

She closed the book and turned to the stone. “But I’ll make sure to take more photos so I can show you. Something tells me that the family is going to get a lot bigger in the future.” (Y/N) rose from the ground and collected her things, then stood in front of the stone. All at once, she felt someone’s eyes on her and immediately, she turned and eyes darting around, but saw nothing. Confused and unnerved, she faced the stone again. “I’ll see you later, Jason. I love you.”

(Y/N) quickly walked to her car and climbed in, pulling away from the sidewalk; she picked up her phone and pushed a button, listening to it ring.

Hello?

“Hey Bruce.”

What’s wrong?

“I think someone was around Jason’s grave.”

There was silence on the line, then his voice came over low and quiet. Why do you say that?

“Because it felt like someone was watching me.”

You sure it wasn’t someone else visiting?

(Y/N) huffed a mirthless laugh. “Bruce, I was the only person in the cemetery.”

I’ll see about putting up a camera in the quadrant that Jason’s grave is in.

“Alright. Hey…about patrol tonight. Can—”

We’ll talk about it tonight.

“Okay.” (Y/N) hung up and continued her drive towards Gotham University.

***

She stood in front of the Batcomputer, watching Bruce type away. “Have you found anything else about him?”

“Not yet. Dick’s going with me tonight, so we’ll see what it brings.”

“About tonight…Bruce, I think you should let me patrol again.”

“No.”

She sighed and leaned against the panel. “C’mon, Bruce. You can’t beat this guy on your own, not even with Dick’s help.” (Y/N) reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let me help you, Bruce. It’s what you’ve been training me to do.”

“She’s got a point Bruce.” They turned to see Dick walking towards them, already suited up. “(Y/N)’s been working her ass off to get back into the field. And after what we saw this morning, she’s damn sure earned it.”

(Y/N) turned back to Bruce who took in Dick’s words, then he rose from the chair and began walking off; she sighed and scratched the back of her head. “I swear it’s one step forwards and two steps back.”

“Don’t take it too personal (Y/N). He’s just worried about the new guy.”

Her response was cut off by Bruce who stepped up to her. He held out a black suit with silver streaks on it; she eyed it. “What’s this?”

“That’s your new suit…Vixen.”

(Y/N)’s eyes went wide, and she gaped at him. “Are you…are you serious right now?”

Bruce nodded. “Dick’s right. You’ve earned the name and right to start patrolling again.” He took in the joy on her face and thumped her forehead. “Go suit up. We leave in ten.”

She scrambled to the changing room and stripped her clothes, pulling on the new suit. It fit like a glove, and she admired the suit in the mirror. She pulled on the domino mask and walked back out to them.

Bruce handed her a grapple gun and motioned to a sleek-black bike. “New bike’s yours too.”

“Holy crap this is awesome!” she yelled, pulling him in for a hug.

“Are you done yet?” Bruce sighed, patting her head.

“Don’t be an ass, Bruce. Enjoy the moment.”

He let out a chuckle as she pulled away, then his tone dropped into a serious one. “Listen to me very carefully, I don’t want you engaging the Red Hood, understood?”

She tipped her head. “I get it, but why not?”

“He’s too dangerous and unpredictable. Leave him to Dick and me. You stick to South Gotham.”

(Y/N) nodded and made her way to her bike. “I’ll stay in contact. Good hunting boys.” She pulled off and drove down the ramps.

***

She stood along the ledge of the building, watching the city below her; the night hadn’t been busy, but it certainly stretched along. Her eyes followed the cars and pedestrians when a flash of red caught them. Holy shit! It’s him! He paused on a roof top, then kept moving; (Y/N) grabbed her gun and aimed it for the building he’d just left when she paused. Maybe I should call Bruce…I’ll just tail him for now and get Bruce information.

She nodded her head and fired, slinging to the other building. Her feet hit the top and she was thankful that her shoes muffled noise as she began running after him. Tailing him wasn’t so hard as he didn’t turn around; he obviously wasn’t expecting someone to follow him. (Y/N) followed him, then, she lost sight of him.

Dropping down into the alley she’d seen him drop into, she let out a ‘huh’ and looked around, whispering, “I don’t understand…he was just here?”

“You’re good, but you aren’t the best.” She spun around to see him standing in front of her; (Y/N) reacted, throwing a fist. He caught it, and she brought her knee up to his stomach; he must’ve been expecting it too because he blocked it with his palm. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Too bad pal. I’m on the job right now.” (Y/N) jerked her fist from his grasp and threw her other one.

He dodged each punch and kick she sent, and he sighed. “I’m not going to fight you.”

That made her pause and she stopped with her hands raised defensively. “And why not?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you, Kit.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “Look you’re obviously new in town, so I’ll give you this one for free. My name isn’t Kit anymore. It’s Vixen.”

He leaned against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest; he tipped his head back and flirted, “Vixen, huh? That referring to you growing out of Kit…or becoming a rather alluring seductress?”

(Y/N) uncurled the whip from her side. “Depends on who’s asking.” Whatever response he had was cut off as she cracked it towards him.

Quick as flash, and obviously well trained, Red Hood grabbed the whip and curled his arm around it, jerking it roughly. (Y/N) flew forward and he shifted, grabbing her wrists; he turned them around and her back hit the wall as he shoved her arms above her head. She thrashed until he murmured, “Stop moving.”

She yanked at his grip, then looked at his helmet; she spit at it. “Let me go you fucker.”

He chuckled at her. “Man, you’ve certainly grown a mouth.” He observed her. “Those were nice flowers you left.”

(Y/N) stilled at that and she stared wide-eyed at him. “…What?”

“A nice mix you had going. Forget-Me-Nots, that’s self-explanatory. Primroses for eternal love, Red Tulips for undying love, Rainflowers for atonement, and Sword Lilies for an August birthday.” (Y/N) felt the breath leave her lungs, and all she could do was stare, too stunned to speak. “You’re still holding onto him, aren’t you?”

Her eyes narrowed and she felt tears swim in her vision as she tugged at her arms. “You sonovabitch. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve visited his grave every week for the past five years, always bringing the same blend of flowers, and the same rag to clean with.”

“So, you’ve been watching me?”

“For a while…I wanted to know if you cared.”

“…Why?” His hands shifted, taking both her wrists in one, and the other went behind his head and pushed the button. She watched the helmet unlock and he pulled it off, dropping it do their feet, then he pulled the domino mask from his eyes and gazed at her. (Y/N)’s jaw went slack, and she could barely breathe.

“Because I still care.”

She could barely get his name out. “…J-Jason?”

His free hand came up and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. “Hey (Y/N)…been a long time.”

Her heart slammed against her ribcage, and everything began to spin; the last thing she remembered was Jason calling out to her as she fell into darkness.

***Part Four***

Her eyelids peeled open, and she looked up at the ceiling blearily. Upon seeing that it wasn’t the ceiling in her room at Wayne Manor, shock registered in her brain, and she shifted to sit up.

A hand rested on her shoulder and gently pushed her back down as a low voice followed. “Don’t sit up too fast. You’ll make yourself sick.” She looked over to see him sitting there on the edge of the bed; his hand moved from her shoulder to the nightstand beside her. He passed her a warm cup, which she took lightly. “Here. You’re recovering from shock, something warm will help.”

She brought the cup to her lips, and the scent of freshly crushed peppermint leaves wafted up her nose. “Peppermint?”

“Peppermint reduces anxiety and makes you calm.” He nodded to it. “Drink.”

“Don’t be bossy…I’m doing it.” She took a few sips then handed it back to him; he took it from her and set it on the nightstand, then looked at his hands. There was silence around them, then she sat up, scooting closer to him. “It’s really you, isn’t it?” The silence he gave her made her heart wrench, and she reached out, curling her hand in his. “Jason?”

He finally looked at her, and she took in the sight of how clouded his teal eyes were. She rested a hand on his cheek, her thumb caressing under his eye. She stared at him, then whispered, “I don’t understand…how are you alive?”

Jason closed his eyes and shook his head murmuring, “I don’t know (Y/N). I remember everything coming back in the Lazarus Pit…but that’s about it.” She tightened her grip on his hand, feeling his thumb run across the back of hers. “I’ve been waiting for the chance to talk to you…but I didn’t know when to.”

“You could’ve talked to me at the cemetery.”

Jason snorted and glanced at her. “And send you into cardiac arrest where I was buried? No thanks.” (Y/N) felt the corners of her mouth rise and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his; they stared at each other for a few moments, then Jason reached forward and pulled her into his lap, burying his face in her shoulder. Her arms came up and wound around him, threading a hand in his hair.

“I’ve missed you, (Y/N).” he whispered, tightening his grip on her waist.

She nodded, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you too, Jason. Everyday you’ve been gone.”

They stayed that way for a while, simply holding each other, remembering what they had. (Y/N) pulled away after some time and took his face in her hands, observing him. She could tell how much he’d changed since they last saw each other those five years ago; he’d grown, and not just in his body and facial features. (Y/N) had seen the videos of him fighting; he’d become more skillful at fighting, deadlier too. Whoever trained him after Bruce had honed his senses to a razor-sharp edge. But what stunned her the most were his eyes. When they were younger, his eyes were always bright and full of mirth, always willing to spark some type of trouble…but now? His eyes were dark and cloudy, haunted by his past, a stark contrast from what she remembered.

(Y/N) reached up and twirled a finger in the tuft of white hair at his head. “That’s new.”

He smiled and nodded. “Was like that when I woke up.”

“Jason…what are you doing?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

(Y/N) shifted, pulling herself from his grip and rising to stand in front of him. “You know exactly what I mean.” She gestured to his suit. “This Red Hood business? Fighting Bruce? The war on drugs against Black Mask?” she shook her head like she couldn’t understand any of it—and for the most part, she didn’t. “What are you doing?”

Jason stood from the bed and wandered over to a table, his back to her. “I’m doing what Bruce won’t.”

“And that is?”

His hands shifted to the guns on the table, and he picked up a rag, beginning to clean one. “Controlling crime.”

“You’re not controlling crime, Jason. You’re acting like a mob boss.”

He snorted and glanced over his shoulder. “Maybe, but it’s getting the job done.”

(Y/N) thought her head was going to explode, and she crossed the room to him, grabbing his arm and spinning him around to face her; she glowered at him. “You’re not ‘doing the job’, Jason! You’re killing people!”

He jerked his arm from her grip and leaned in, his voice harsh. “Bad people! I’m putting down dogs that deserve it!”

“It doesn’t matter what they deserve, Jason! It’s murder! We aren’t executioners!”

Jason stood back up to his full height, and she watched his eyes turn to slits as he murmured, “I thought you of all people would understand why I’m doing this.”

(Y/N) thought he’d slapped her with how disappointed he sounded, and her voice turned incredulous. “Are you shitting me right now?” She reached out, her pointer finger jamming into his chest. “Don’t you dare turn this on me.” (Y/N) shook her head. “I left Selina and joined Bruce because I didn’t want to be a criminal anymore. I wanted to be a better person in your memory.” She stared into his eyes and spit, “You know damn well I’d never condone this…not even for you.”

“So, you’re choosing him over me?”

“Oh, don’t even go there, Jason. It’s not like that and you know it. Bruce helped me turn over a new leaf. He’s helped me become who I am.” (Y/N) reached out and took his arm. “Come home, Jason. Bruce and I can help you.”

This time, he gripped the hand that held his arm and he yanked her off. “I don’t need his help. Not when he did this to me.”

“Are you…are you blaming Bruce for this?”

“Of course I am! He left me to die!” The sound of a palm against skin echoed in the room and Jason reached up, holding his throbbing cheek.

(Y/N) glared as she whispered frostily, “He didn’t leave you to die, Jason! He told you to wait until he got back! I will admit that he wasn’t fast enough to save you, but he didn’t do this!” She tugged her hand away from his grip. “You’ve done this all on your own.”

His Adam’s apple bobbe4d as he swallowed, and he huffed a mirthless laugh. “You’ve changed, (Y/N).” He passed by her, muttering as he did. “You act so high and mighty, but you forget that you used to be a criminal too.”

She looked at him through the mirror beside her and she murmured, “I think it’s you who’s changed.” He turned and met her eyes and she added, “My Jason knew the difference between right and wrong.”

Jason flashed her a smile that made her stomach curl and he declared, “I don’t know if you know this, (Y/N)? But your Jason died.”

(Y/N) swallowed thickly and turned around, meeting his gaze. They stared at each other, and she affirmed, “Yes…he has.” Her hand reached up tugged at the silver chain around her neck; she walked past him to the door but stopped beside him. (Y/N) took his hand and placed the necklace in his palm; he looked down at it, then back at her, his eyes widening, and she hissed, “You can take this back. I’d rather die than marry what you’ve become.”

Jason’s hand curled around the ring, and he narrowed his eyes in amusement. “Don’t know if you know this, doll…but dying isn’t all that hard to do.”

(Y/N) glared as she passed him to the door, slamming it on her way out.

***

She wondered aimlessly through the streets, not caring where she was headed. After a few hours, a beeping sounded from her wrist; she raised her wrist and pushed a button on it. “Hello?”

Bruce’s worried voice came over the comm. (Y/N)? Where are you?

She looked around, taking in the view of the bay. “At the docks.”

Stay there. I’m coming to get you.

The call ended and she collapsed onto the bench, staring out at the water. Her hand reached up to hold the ring that hung at her neck but clenched around nothing. (Y/N) glanced down, then remembered where it went; tears filled her eyes and she reached up, covering her eyes as she sobbed.

A few moments later, the sound of the Batmobile pulling up came behind her, and then, a hand rested on her shoulder. She looked up, blinking through the tears to see Bruce frowning at her. “Let’s get back to the cave (Y/N).” She nodded and he helped her stand, walking her to the passenger side; she slid in and buckled the seat belt, staring out the windshield as he climbed in the driver’s seat.

The city passed them in a blur, and soon, they were back in the cave; Bruce turned off the Batmobile and they sat in silence until she whispered, “I know who he is.”

Bruce was quiet a few moments, then he murmured, “…I know as well.”

(Y/N) turned to him. “Ra’s brought him back.”

“It was actually Talia. Ra’s apparently called him a curse set upon the world.”

She huffed a laugh, but it was anything but humorous. “Right about now, I’m not sure whether I should agree with Ra’s or not…I’m inclined to agree with him.”

“How did you find out?”

“I saw him from the ledge I was on. I tailed him to an alley, and when he showed his face, I passed out from the shock.” (Y/N) looked at him. “Woke up and we got into it about what he’s doing…I left.” She paused. “How’d you find out?”

He sighed and reclined against the headrest. “We fought after I found Onyx, he revealed himself and...”

“And?”

“And after testing the coffin and the blood samples he left…it’s him.”

(Y/N) snorted and shook her head. “I could’ve told you that.”

They lapsed into silence, then Bruce murmured, “You aren’t wearing the necklace.” (Y/N) rested a hand along the base of her throat then shifted, climbing out of the Batmobile; Bruce followed her.

They walked a few feet, stopping in front of Jason’s old suit; (Y/N) stared at it, then turned to Bruce. “We made that promise when we were young and naïve…but now?” She turned around and began walking away. “I don’t think there’s a place for him and I in this world anymore. Not like this there isn’t.”

***Part Five***

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

His hands halted at her question but continued a second later. “You being there will only make a distraction.”

“Maybe, but it might also make him give in easier.”

He clicked the utility belt around his waist and looked up at her. “He had his chance to surrender when you two were together, (Y/N). Now I’m putting my foot down.”

She watched him move past her towards the Batmobile, and she reached out, griping his bicep; his eyes met hers and she said, “Call me if it gets bad.”

“It won’t.”

“It will.” (Y/N) squeezed his arm firmly. “And when it happens, you’ll need me to talk to him. We both know I’m the only one who can even begin to reason with him.” He said nothing, and she let go, watching him climb into the Batmobile and speed off.

After a few moments, she walked over to the Batcomputer and sat down, hitting a few keys until the monitor displayed Bruce’s cowl camera; she watched the scenes play in front of her, the mess with Black Mask, up until Bruce leaving to go find Jason.

Footsteps sounded beside her, and she glanced up to see Alfred looking at the screen. “So Master Bruce is going after Master Jason?”

(Y/N) looked back at the screen and nodded. “Yes.”

“Hmm. And you stayed behind?”

She bit her lip, eying the screen. “…It’s not my place to get between them.”

“It’s not?” he almost sounded shocked at her admission.

“No. This is Bruce and Jason’s fight now. It’s dragged on long enough.”

Alfred watched her for a few moments before humming again. “Hmm. And here I thought Master Jason still held privilege in your heart Miss (Y/N). I must admit it is hard to see that you have moved on so soon.” It was all he said as he turned on his heel and crossed the cave floor, leaving (Y/N) with her thoughts.

She stared at the screen for a few seconds, taking in Alfred’s words before mumbling, “Ah fuck it.” She rose from the chair and made her way to the case where her suit was, reaching out and pulling it from its holds; she slipped it on and tightened the straps and belts, moving to her bike.

Alfred stood beside her, holding out her whip. “I do believe this is yours, Miss (Y/N).”

“Make sure to keep in radio contact with us…we might need you Alfie.” He nodded and saw her off.

***

(Y/N) arrived in the nick of time, seeing Jason and Bruce moving into fighting stances. She pulled out her grapple and swung up to the fire-escape, standing between them; they were shocked to see her there. “(Y/N)?”

She eyed Jason and squared her shoulders, her back to Bruce. “Enough Jason.”

He stood up straight and glowered at her. “Move (Y/N).”

“No.” she retorted; she wasn’t afraid of him. This was still her Jason. A little worn and little darker, and a lot more damaged, but still him. Still good.

“This doesn’t concern you. This is between me and him.”

(Y/N) shook her head and pointed between them. “This concerns me just as much as it concerns you, Jason.”

His response was cut off by Bruce who gripped her arm firmly. “You need to leave (Y/N).”

“I’m not going anywhere Bruce.” She looked between them. “I’m stopping this before it goes too far. Let this end so we can talk.”

Bruce squeezed her arm, his voice hardening. “Your place isn’t here right now, (Y/N).”

She gazed at him for a few moments, before jerking her arm back, this time turning her back to Jason, as if protecting him. “This is my place, Bruce. Right here. Between you,” She paused and glanced over her shoulder, catching Jason’s eyes. “And Jason.” His eyes widened ever-so-slightly, and she turned back to Bruce. “Fighting isn’t going to solve our problems. We’re all suffering from what happened in the past and what’s happening now. Stop this so we can help each other.”

Bruce went silent at her mini-speech, and she thought he was going to agree until he shook his head. “Jason plans on killing Joker…I’m stopping him tonight.”

Jason barked a laugh. “You can try and stop me.” The two of them shifted but stopped when the sound of a devastating explosion rocked the city, and an angry green light covered them; they all turned to the sight and Jason murmured, “That’s Blüdhaven.”

(Y/N) and Bruce’s eyes widened, and they both breathed in disbelief. “Dick?”

Jason chuckled at them. “My God…is Nightwing there? Imagine that. One son returns from the grave as another one enters it…what a fitting ending this has become.” Neither Bruce nor (Y/N) could form words as they watched in horror as the sister-city disintegrated before their eyes. “Good God, the ironies around. Here we are and you have to run to the site of an explosion to dig through the wreckage and find the body of your ‘Boy Sidekick.’ If he’s there, Bruce…you’re too late. Again.” Bruce shifted, starting towards Blüdhaven when a blast knocked him sideways. “No! You’re not leaving! Not now! Not this time!”

Bruce looked back at Jason, his voice and gaze pleading. “Jason. Please. I—”

Jason cut him off, his voice angry. “What! You ‘have to be sure?!’ Getting out of that alive would be one neat trick. It’d take a hell of a lot more than batarangs and a few escrima sticks to survive.” He paused, a smile playing at his lips. “If Ol’ Dickie is there. He’s dead. And if you leave…someone else dies tonight.”

(Y/N) shook herself out of her stupor and put a finger to her ear. “Alfred! Can you read me?”

“Yes Miss (Y/N). What’s wrong?”

“A nuclear bomb was just set off in Blüdhaven.”

“My God…Master Dick—”

“Send the Batplane to my location.”

She felt an arm curl around her bicep, and she glanced up at Bruce. “(Y/N) the Batplane wasn’t made to withstand such high levels of radiation. You’ll die if you’re exposed too much.”

Pulling her arm from his grasp, she began walking towards the ledge. “Alfred send the Batplane. Now.” She heard Alfred give her confirmation that it was on its way, and she turned to Bruce. “I’ll go find Dick…you end this here. Tonight.” Her eyes passed over Jason who wore a dark expression and the sound of the Batplane echoed in the sky.

She climbed in and spared them one last look before turning the Batplane away and flying towards Blüdhaven. She pushed buttons on the screen and talked to Alfred. “Alfred, scan for the tracker in Dick’s suit.”

“At once Miss (Y/N).” There was silence for a few moments then he came back over the comm. “I’ve got a location Miss (Y/N). But it isn’t the exact. Too much radiation interfering with the radar.”

“I’ll find him Alfred. Just upload his suit vitals into the system.” The sound of tapping came over and then a blinking line shot across the screen. “Alfred, how insulated is my suit to radiation?”

“As best as it can, be Miss (Y/N). Though with the lower half of your face exposed, you’re risking high exposure to the radiation, you’d be overcome with radiation sickness within the hour.”

“Does Bruce have any type of mask I can wear?”

“Check the bin beside you. There might be one.”

(Y/N) pressed a button, halting the Batplane and reached over, searching the bin; she pulled out a mask and fit it around her face, pushing the button on the side that sealed it. “Alright. I’m good.”

“Master Dick is in the outskirts of the city. Hurry Miss (Y/N)…too much exposure will kill him.”

(Y/N) disengaged the lock and began scanning the perimeter of the city for him. It took her about thirty minutes to find him, and when she did, she saw the radiation already beginning to affect him; she lowered the Batplane to the ground and ran out, crossing the street laden with debris until she got to him.

“Dick!” He turned in the direction of her voice, but she could tell he was disoriented; he staggered towards her, falling to his knees just as she reached him. (Y/N) caught his upper body before he fell over and she wrapped an arm under his and across his back, heaving him to his feet. “It’s alright, Dick. I’ve got you.”

He moaned trying to find his feet, and she began pulling him towards the Batplane. “Need…to check…for survivors.”

(Y/N) shook her head at him, heaving him closer. “We can’t do anything right now, Dick. We need to get out of here.”

“But…the survivors—”

“Dick. We can’t save them. I have to get you out of here before the radiation makes you sicker.” He relented his fight and allowed her to carry him to the plane; (Y/N) got him into a seat and strapped in, handing him a bag. “You’ll probably be sick for a while, so try to throw up in the bag.” He nodded weakly and she sat in the seat, then the Batplane rose and made its way back to Gotham. “Alfred, I’ve got Dick. Get some KI ready for him to take when we get back to the cave.”

“Shall I update Master Bruce?”

“Just tell him I got Dick and that he’s okay.”

“I will. Hurry back.”

“Will do.” The comm went silent and she glanced over her shoulder at Dick. “Dickie? You good?”

He was moaning lowly, but moved a few fingers, telling her he was. “…Where’s…Bruce?”

She felt her heart tighten, but she pushed it aside. “Fighting Red Hood.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“You…should’ve….stayed.”

“Stop talking Dick.”

“…M’kay.”

***

The rest of the ride was silent, and when she returned to the cave, Alfred was waiting for her with a gurney. They got Dick on it and wheeled him to the med-room in the cave; they rolled him onto the bed and (Y/N) gripped the zipper at his neck, pulling it down. Alfred helped her pull his suit off, and soon, Dick was asleep in the bed, the two of them resting in the chairs beside him.

“How did you find Master Dick?”

(Y/N) watched Dick’s chest rise and fall with each breath and she murmured, “Dick’s always put the safety of others above himself.” She glanced at Alfred. “I knew he’d try to help survivors in the area.” She rose from the seat and rested a hand on Alfred’s shoulder. “I need to go find Bruce. You look after Dick.”

He nodded and she left the cave, climbing back into the Batplane and taking off.

***

She scoured the city until she caught Bruce’s signal; she tapped a few buttons, connecting into the comm. “Bruce?”

(Y/N). Is Dick—

“He’s fine, Bruce. I got him back to the cave.”

There was a pause, then Bruce’s voice came over relived. Good.

“Where are you?”

Delivering Joker to the Asylum.

“And Jason?”

Gone.

She paused, inhaling shakily before murmuring, “I’ll find him…you go back to the cave and see Dick.”

Are you sure?

“I need to do this Bruce. Let me.”

Be careful, (Y/N).

“Jason would never hurt me, Bruce. You don’t have to worry about me.”

…I always worry about you all.

The corners of her mouth rose, and she quipped, “Yeah, we know.” The comm went dead and she turned the Batplane in the direction of Jason’s apartment. She landed on the opposite roof and swung over, lifting a window, and slipping in.

(Y/N) crept across the floor, taking in the view of the small blood puddles on the ground. She followed them into the bedroom and saw him resting on the bed, a blood-soaked towel held to his neck; he was sweating and letting out low groans. (Y/N) walked towards him and reached out, her hand covering the one that held the towel.

His eyes snapped open at the touch and his other hand came up defensively; she caught it and his eyes widened at the sight of her. “…(Y/N)?”

She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over, pressing the towel harder to him. “Where’s your first-aid kit?”

He nodded towards the bathroom. “Under…the sink.”

(Y/N) nodded and rose, moving into the bathroom; she returned a few minutes later holding the kit and a bottle of alcohol. She took her seat back on the bed and moved his hand, pulling the towel from its position; she worked quickly, running the alcohol over it, and murmuring a soft “sorry” as he hissed in pain. (Y/N) dabbed the wound before pulling a needle and thread, suturing his wound.

After a few minutes, she pulled the knot and clipped the leftover string, running a pad of alcohol over it once more. She put everything away and found some washcloths, dampening one; then, she moved back to him and wiped away the sweat from his upper body before running the dry one over him, collecting the moisture.

(Y/N) could feel his gaze on her the entire time, but she refused to make eye-contact, instead murmuring, “Feel any better?”

He was silent a few moments, then he mumbled, “…Yeah.”

(Y/N) wiped her hands on the towel and rested them on the nightstand; she cleared her throat and moved to stand. “Then since you’re fine, I’ll leave.” She got to her feet when a hand curled around her fingers, and she looked down at him.

His eyes no longer held the fury they’d held earlier, instead, they begged for help. “Stay with me, (Y/N).”

She swallowed and shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to stay here, Jason.” She started to pull away, but the hand tightened.

“Please don’t leave me, (Y/N).” he plead, and she met his eyes, shocked to see tears forming in them. “Please don’t leave me alone again.”

“Jason, I—”

“I need you…please.”

She stared at him for a few moments before nodding. “…Okay…I’ll stay.” (Y/N) moved, climbing onto the bed beside him; she rested her head on his chest, feeling his arm curl around her waist. “…You know he loves you…don’t you?” Jason didn’t say anything, she knew he wasn’t going to immediately, so she did. “There isn’t a day that goes by that he doesn’t think about you…that he doesn’t think about how he failed you…that he was responsible for you.” She paused. “You claim he loved you like a son and left you…”

(Y/N) inhaled and lifted her head, locking eyes with him and she declared, “But you were—you are his son, Jason. And he loves you more than life itself.”

He swallowed thickly, and she watched him raise his hand to his eyes; his face morphed in agony and (Y/N) listened as he sobbed. She shifted, crawling up the bed and pulling him to her; his face buried in her chest and his arms wound around her waist, holding her. She raised a hand and gently ran her fingers through his hair, comforting him.

***

After an hour or so, they were still lying in the bed, Jason resting his weight on (Y/N) as she sat against the headboard. Her fingers still ran through his hair, sometimes lightly scratching his scalp, like she remembered he loved, and her other hand rested on his shoulder, gently massaging. They said nothing, just entranced in each other, until Jason broke it, whispering, “…I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “I am too, Jason.”

He tilted his head up, giving her a stunned look. “For what?”

“I turned my back on you…when I should’ve been there to help you.” She paused, looking at him. “I was wrong to damn you without trying to understand what you were doing, and why.”

He swallowed, nodding his head to her words; his gaze drifted to her eyes, and he mumbled, “I never meant to disappoint you.”

(Y/N) stared into his teal eyes, and raised a hand, gently brushing the hair away from the tips of his cheekbones, setting it behind his ear. “Neither did I.”

Jason swallowed and raised his weight on his forearms, crawling up her body. “I never wanted to be at odds with you...I wanted to explain everything to you…but I was scared of your reaction.” His face was in front of hers now.

She sighed, nodding, “I know.”

He went quiet for a moment, then reached out and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing along it. “I still love you…and I want you beside me.” (Y/N) met his eyes, watching as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “Will you come with me?”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere. Somewhere far away from Gotham.” He paused, a hopeful look in his eyes. “Come with me, (Y/N)…we can go anywhere we want.” Her hands came up and rested along his shoulders, gently pushing him away. His face twisted and he sat back, watching her rise too.

(Y/N) took his hands, brushing her thumbs along the backs of them; she met his gaze and she spoke firmly. “I’ll go with you.” His eyes widened and his face began to turn joyful until she said, “But you have to do something for me.”

“What?”

“A lot of the unnecessary killing has to stop.” His eyebrows furrowed and she squeezed his hands. “If you want me to come with you? To stay with you and to be with you? You’ve got to try.” (Y/N) pulled her hands back and sat up straight. “Jason, I know you do what you do because you think it’s right. And while I understand that there are some people who don’t deserve to breathe? They’re still human beings. Rapists and murderers, I can get behind your guns. But the petty drug dealers and small-time criminals? Jason, they aren’t worth the bullets you’d spend.”

He observed her for a few moments before reaching past her, opening the nightstand, and pulling something out; his hand was clenched and he spoke quietly, “When I first gave this to you, we were fifteen…we had our whole lives ahead of us. And when I was gone, you never stopped holding on.” He looked at her and said, “That kind of love isn’t something that just dies, (Y/N).”

His hand uncurled and the saw the familiar ring in his open palm. “When you gave this back to me…I was devastated. But…I think it started to open my eyes about us. And I think as long as you’re with me, I can get through anything.” He held out his palm again. “If I ask you again, will you accept?”

“Will try to honor my side of the arrangement?”

“I’ll…try to...I can’t make a promise to it though.”

(Y/N) nodded. “The fact that you’ll try is good enough for me.”

He took her hand and held the ring. “(Y/N) (L/N)…will you marry me?” Tears welled up in her eyes and she nodded silently, too choked up to make words; Jason slid the ring on her finger and held her hand, his thumb rubbing the back of it. (Y/N) leaned forward and Jason pulled her into his lap, holding her to him. “I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you too, Jason.” she whispered against his shoulder.

After a few minutes, she mumbled against his shoulder; Jason chuckled. “(Y/N), I can’t hear you clearly.”

She pulled back, giving him a smile. “I want to get married in Switzerland.”

“Why Switzerland?”

“So, I can shove you into the snow after you kiss me.” The two of them laughed and Jason shifted, wrapping an arm around her waist; her arms wound around his neck, and he gently lowered her back against the bed. They stared at each other until (Y/N)’s eyes darted to the side. “So…are you going to kiss me? Or are you gonna keep staring at me like a weirdo?”

He snorted at her question and shifted a hand, tracing her cheek. “Just thinking about how pretty you are, doll.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “When did you start calling people doll?”

“Kinda just caught on.” He shrugged.

“Mhm.”

The two of them laughed again, then Jason admitted, “I don’t know if I can be the man you deserve, (Y/N).”

She shook her head, threading her fingers in his hair as she said, “You are already more than enough for me, Jason…if anything, I’m not sure if I’m the one who’s deserving of you.”

“Will you stay with me?”

(Y/N) leaned up, pressing a kiss to his lips, and whispered, “Now and forever.”