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hermionewrites · 7 months

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Invaluable

THIS IS UNIMPORTANT PART 2!!!!!!!

summary: your boss finally realises what you mean, and how he feels. warnings: smoking, drinking, sexual situations (not smut!) a/n: this is based on that time aaron SNATCHES that cigarette out of the unsubs mouth and it’s hot. If you want a smut part please comment or leave a thing in my inbox. love ya <3

wordcount: 4687

The next few weeks nothing had changed between you and your boss since his confession of you being important to the team. But at the same time, everything had. He had become less dismissive once you handed him the usual bitter black coffee he gets. Instead of the usual “Thank You,” just thrown your way without a sparing glance.

Now, you were still thanked. However, he turned his head towards you, making eye contact for a slightly lingering moment before continuing on with the case and turning back to the drawing board. It was pity, you assumed. Pity for the fact that you had almost been shot and killed in a police precinct bathroom.

Another small change was the way he asked for things. He had went from harshly barking orders at you to have papers ready, collect that box of files, prep the interrogation room. To coming up to you directly, asking you quietly and politely.

On the other hand, something completely different, never happened before, your boss, Aaron Hotchner had brought you a coffee on the jet. Albeit, the rest of the team were passed out in a deep sleep. Em had her head rested on JJ’s shoulder as they slept together. Spencer had a book over his face and Morgan had his music playing in his ears.

“You’re not sleeping?” He asked as he bent down to place the coffee on the small table in-front of you. Lifting it up you take a scalding sip from the mug. Boiling hot, burning your tongue but exactly how you liked it.

“How do you know which way I like my coffee?” You ask, the shock evident in your tone and get given pointed look because the answer to that was obvious. “I can’t sleep when something is moving, car, train, private jet.” Your mouth quirks up at the last one. You see him nod in understanding and he makes his way back to his seat and to bury his nose back into the files. “Thank you.” You whisper out loud enough for him to hear but not enough to wake the team.

The rest of the flight back to Quantico was peaceful. Silence after a long and hard case was always welcome, the calm after the storm.

Silky sheets caress your legs as the loud blaring of your alarm rings in your ears. The orange beginnings of daylight peek through a small gap through the curtains. Rolling over, the blue light from your phone glares in your eyes. New email. Meeting at 8:30. Urgent.

One thing you hated about your boss was his inability to elaborate when things were important. Rushing to get ready and throwing your work clothes on as fast as possible, your mind races. Skimming over every mistake you had made in the past few months that could lead to you getting fired. Or anything the rest of the team could have done to prompt an urgent meeting.

Arriving at the office the rest of the team stand in the bullpen, equally confused.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Emily asks you as you join the huddle at her desk.

“No idea.” You reply with a shrug and the six of you turn to look up into Hotch’s office. He has the landline up to his ear and seems to be talking intensely to the person on the other end. “What do you think that’s about?”

“No idea.” Spencer echoes your words from earlier. “He doesn’t look happy though.”

Then without a word Hotch opens his office door and with no more than a nod, orders you to the conference room. It wasn’t unusual for him to look that way. Stoic, serious and unmoving.

“We’re all fired.” Pen squeaked out with a determined nod. She then marched up to the conference room, the rest of you following in her stead.

The conference room was not a stranger to long intense silence. It usually happened when one of the team had made a mistake that Strauss wouldn’t let go. Usually a mistake that your unit chief’s job was put on the line for. Hotch is sitting when you enter.

“Have we got a case?” Derek asks with a nod to the remote in Hotch’s hand. The screen behind him lit up and he stood up.

“Not exactly.” A look of disgust was commonly shared around the circular table at hearing about the heinous crimes that the team solved regularly. However, a look of panic, was rare and was prominent at what Hotch said next. “We have been invited to the FBI christmas gala.” Groans and eye rolls were shared around the table.

“We are on orders from Strauss to not take any new cases until after the event,” He continued, “As we are most likely going to revive an award.”

“When is it?” JJ asks, her chin in her hands and her hair falls over her face.

“Next Friday. We all get a plus one.” Hotch finishes and gets up, striding out of the conference room and back to his office to stare at more files until late in the evening.

“You know what this means ladies.” Penelope starts, her body pretty much vibrating with excitement. “Dress shopping!” The huge smile on her face made everything more bearable. At least one of you was excited.

A few days later the girls and you were standing in some high-end boutique, browsing the multiple colours of dresses. Racks upon racks of different cuts, shapes and lengths are everywhere. Penelope was rushing through them at a speed you'd never seen, picking out what she thought would look best on the three of you.

"Em, you just have to wear red!" She gushes and hands Emily a stack of different shades of red. "Go try them on." Pen gives her a shove toward the fitting rooms. "Same for you." She says to JJ, her pile filled with a variety of blues, pinks and purples.

They both come out one at a time, showing you and Pen all of the dresses she had specifically picked out. Naturally, Pen loved every single one they came out in, smiling every time. Until they both came out at the same time and she let out a dramatic gasp.

Emily was wearing a deep red velvet dress that came down to her ankles and was tight-fitted down her body. JJ's was light pink with light lace flowers all over in lace. It flared out from her hips and draped over her legs. "Those. Are. Perfect." She squealed at the pair as they both did a spin. They both blushed at your and Pen's extensive compliments about how well the dresses fit them.

"You guys look amazing!" You say from your seat and Emily's look turns from appreciative to mischievous.

"Now it's your turn," Emily smirks and she and JJ take their place on the plush bench that you and Pen were just perched on. JJ hands you the pile of perfectly curated dresses Penelope had picked out for you, in many different colours. You pick out all of the colourful ones and leave them on the bench. You catch the girls confused looks.

"While a gala is a break for you, I'm still on the clock." You explain and shake the black dresses in your hands. "I have a dress code, black only." You watch Penelope's face drop.

"But, that green one would look so good." She says, obviously disappointed you wouldn't get to wear the one she had envisioned you in. "Try it on for me?" She asks and gives you a look you couldn't resist.

"After, I find my one for the night." You put emphasis on after as your friend was not one for patience.

A few dresses later, varying reactions from the girls as you came out. Some 'oohs' and 'ehhs' gave you a clear opinion of what they thought. Penelope had found her dress almost instantly, it was a silky champagne with black lace over the bust. Finally, you had thought you had found the one. It was black, of course, and didn't come down too low at the bust, stopping just before inappropriate. The fabric stopped at the floor and didn't restrict your walking movement.

"Oh, that's lovely," JJ says as you pull the curtain back to reveal yourself to them.

"That is the one!" Penelope jumps up and gives you a hug.

"I think I'm all dressed out." Emily slumps against the wall as you make your way to get changed back into your normal clothes and bag up your dress of choice.

Making your way to the till, you all pay for your dresses and head your separate ways home.

The fateful day had finally come. Hours upon hours of explaining that you are not a profiler to a part of the BAU team but their PA. Then having to listen for hours upon hours on why the BAU was favoured by the director as they had a private jet and a PA. Looking good was crucial if you were a benefit, you had better be a good-looking one.

If the dress had to be black and plain with a simple shape and a boring unappealing neckline. You'd dress it up with dainty jewellery and amazingly high heels in a matching black. You had turned a simple dress that was gathering dust in the back of the racks into a sublime sleek look. The ding from your phone catch’s your attention as you grab your clutch.

It read ‘We’re outside’ and quickly you smooth down your hair one last time and make your way out of the apartment building, seeing the girls waiting in one of the SUV’s for you. Emily at the wheel with Jj in the passenger seat and Penelope in the back.

“You look stunning!” Penelope shouts from the window as you walk towards the car and you can’t help but produce a huge smile on your face.

“So do all of you.” You say as you shut the car door behind you. The drive to the venue wasn’t long, small talk being the main focus of the conversation.

“Are any of you looking for a man tonight?” Jj asks, a smirk on her face. She had brought Will as her plus one and he was currently residing in the men’s car who were trailing not too far behind them. “Or woman.” She adds, casting a small glance at Em.

“If something happens, it happens.” Emily says with a shrug, knowing that she would be approached many a time during the night.

“I’m fine with my chocolate thunder.” Pen says, her face lighting up. “But you never know.” A few hums of agreement echo around the car. “And what about you, beautiful creature of the night?” Penelope asks.

“I’m working.” It was a short answer but you didn’t miss the simultaneous eye rolls of the three others. “What was that?” You ask with a scoff, looking between the three of them.

“Oh yes. ‘Working’” Pen says, “Until you go out for a smoke.” She smirks as she says this.

“You’re just jealous it works.” You snark back, as you pull up the the grand hotel that the gala was being held in. “I am now officially on the clock.” You say, getting out of the car and opening the doors for all of the girls. At the same moment the men’s car pulls up behind you. You do the same for each of them. Each of them thank you as you open their car doors.

“I hate treating you like this, you’re our friend not our employee.” Spencer complains as you walk in on his arm. “It feels strange.”

“It’s one night. And technically I am, your employee.” You smile up at him. “Your assistant.” The room you were in was huge, the carpet was a deep red plush, the cushions on the chairs matching. The ceilings held up by marble stone pillars that towered over everyone.

You and the BAU find their way to their large circular table in the middle of the room. Not a single corner of solitude where they could not be observed by the rest of the FBI. They place their, clutches and Jackets on the table and you turn to them.

“Drinks?” You ask looking around the table.

“You don’t have to.” Derek starts but you cut him off with a hand wave.

“I am being paid.” You say sternly, “Drinks?” You ask with a stubborn tone. “The usual?” You continue and receive nods from around the table. Making your way to the bar you rattle off the teams orders. “A whisky on the rocks, a neat whisky, two glasses of house red, a glass of house white, two jack and cokes and a lemonade. Please.” You receive a nod and wait for the poor bartender the make all of those drinks. “Oh and a tray please!”

You weren’t a stranger to the looks of envy from other departments as you carried the tray of drinks to the table. Or from the patrons stood at the bar fetching their own drinks.

“I come bearing gifts.” You say and hand out their drinks accordingly around the table. Whiskey on the rocks for Rossi. Near whiskey for Hotch. House red for Jj and Emily. House white for Pen. Jack and coke for Derek and Will and a lemonade for Spencer. “Now go socialise, you important people.” You say and they disperse around the room in pairs to go and talk to the other agents. That was your queue was to go and stand in the corner of the room as all of the people who thought better of themselves, boasted about their achievements in the field and out of it.

It took thirty minutes until it was announced it was time for dinner and all of the patrons made their way to the assigned seats. Wait staff flew out of every door, brining everyone the meal they had chosen a week prior. And that was your cue to go for a smoke.

It was dark outside when you push the door open. The pebbled ground crunches under your heels as you make your way to the back of the building and there is your solace. A bench. It was wooden and was sat in the middle of a small green patch of grass.

These FBI things had been few and far between with your with the BAU. The team rather spending their time on cases and saving people’s lives rather than spending time being paraded around by the director. However, that had meant that in the couple times you had been at these things, you had a tradition.

Men loved being saviours. So when they see a poor woman, sat in the cold, waiting for her cigarette to be lit. But in reality, you had a lighter placed in your bra. Dinner had just started so you pull out said lighter and light your first cigarette and take a drag. The smoke flaying out in-front of you in the light as you sit on the table of the bench, your feet on the seat.

The team sat around their round table, slowly eating and sipping on their drinks, longing out the process to avoid the socialising that was to come again next.

“It’s just not fair how she doesn’t even get a seat at our table,” Spencer huffs as he puts another forkful into his mouth. “The team would barely work without her. She’s a part of the team.” Everyone around the table nods in agreement.

“If it was up to me, she would.” Hotch says, also continuing to eat his food and sip his drink.

“Well you could push harder for it.” Spencer says, his mood sour and he fiddles his fork around his plate as he mumbles.

“Don’t worry Spence.” Emily said from next to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “She’s just fine.” She says smirking at Jj and Penelope from across the table.

“Pump your brakes, what does that mean?” Derek says with raised eyebrows looking between the three of them. “Is she with someone here?” His eyes flit between them and waits impatiently for one of them to answer.

“Not yet.” Jj barley whispers into her wine.

“And what does that mean?” Derek pushes again and looks towards Penelope. “Babygirl, what do you know?” He asks leaning towards her and she hides behind her hands. “Penelope.” Everyone around the table was interested in what the ladies of the BAU knew about your love life.

One thing about the team was they were nosy. Specially about the love lives of the other members of the team. Behavioural analysis made it easy for them to tell when a night was spent out of bed.

“I’m not supposed to tell.” Pen squeaks, her voice an octave higher than usual, feeling the pressure of all of the curious eyes on her. But her reddening face and the pitch in her voice getting higher and higher indicates that she was going to spill and soon. Even Hotch was engaged and listening. And spill she did. “Hot rich men carry lighters.”

“And what does that have to do with sleeping with other agents?” Rossi chimes in, his hand resting around his glass and his finger tapping against the side.

“When time comes to dinner and she doesn’t get a seat at the table, she makes her way outside with two cigarettes,” Emily starts to explain. “She lights and smokes the first one while dinner is happening.”

“Then after dinner, she waits for someone to come and offer to light her second cigarette.” Jj picks up from Emily. “It’s actually quite smart.” She smiles as she finishes.

“Then they get to talking then she’s got somewhere to sleep for the night.” Penelope finishes. “The FBI is so cheap, they don’t even book her a room.” She rolls her eyes and takes another sip, clearly getting tipsy. “She never tells us who she’s been with, i’m dying to know.”

“Who would have thought she had it in her huh?” Derek says with an impressed smile.

“Literally all of us.” Emily laughs at him and wait staff begin to collect in empty plates and people begin to stand and shuffle and talk about boring corporate nonsense.

They watch Hotch get up abruptly from his chair and stride toward the bar, he doesn’t order anything he just stands there and waits for the team to disperse around the room.

“He’s not as subtle as he thinks.” Will laughs out towards Rossi who gives a small shrug before turning around and shaking the hands of agents from all over the US.

The shine of your shoes caught your attention, the patent dark material reflecting in the light. Circular rings dance across them and reflect in your eyes. Your first cigarette had long been smoked and shoved into the stones beneath your feet. You’d began to wonder if you just hadn’t gotten lucky this time round. Maybe you hadn’t grabbed the attention enough for anyone to follow you outside. Your eyes hadn’t left the ground yet, and were now tracing the irregular pattern of the stones. Just about to give in to the temptation and time, reaching into your bra to pull out your lighter.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Your head shoots up and your hand goes heck to its original position by your side. It was him, your boss. Aaron Hotchner,one of the richest and hottest men you knew. You hadn’t heard the stones rustle on the way over, he always walked quietly. His voice didn’t travel far in the large empty space.

“I thought you were meant to be a profiler, sir.” You say smiling up at him and scooting over, making room for him next to you. “Get tired of all the questions?” He sits down, mirroring the way you were perched.

“I’ve already told you.” He says, the lights that were wrapped around the leaf filled arch lit up his face in such a perfect way, you couldn’t describe it. “It’s Aaron.” He repeats from weeks ago and you see him turn towards you out of the corner of your eye. Now, it was time to test if your theory was correct.

“Ok. Aaron.” You put specific emphasis on his name with a laugh and you look over to him. “Do you have a lighter?” His eyes meet yours.

“You shouldn’t smoke, they’re bad for your health.” He says avoiding the question, maybe you were wrong. “But I do. There.” He pulls it out of the inside pocket. It was fancy, silver with an engraved pattern with his name next to it.

“This is a fancy lighter.” You comment as the orange flame shines on your face. Pulling the cigarette to your mouth you take a drag. “Lots of things are bad for your health.” Your hand passes the imaginary line between you and you hold the cigarette in front of him and you raise your eyebrow in question.

“Thanks.” He takes it from your hand and pulls it up to his face but pauses. He stares at the deep red circle around the paper. “It was a gift from Rossi, he just likes to spend his money.”

“That he does,” You smile at him and notice his hesitation. “It’s just lipstick.” Resting your elbows on your legs you tilt your head to the side, hair falling over your shoulders. “It’s safer than shaking hands or whatever Spencer says when he meets someone new.” You joke. He laughs deeply at that and finally takes a puff of the cigarette.

His face contorts in slight disgust. “Those don’t taste like I remember.” But he keeps it in his hand.

“That’s because they were incredibly cheap.” Giggling, you realise you are still holding his lighter in your hands and it shining in the light.

“So you won’t mind then?” He asks and you look towards him confused.

“Mind what?” You reply, the line between your eyebrows prominent.

“This.” He smirks and throws the cigarette on the ground and stamps it out. You make a noise of protest as you watch the small orange glow disappear.

“I’m in a right mind to keep this lighter now.” Looking down into your lap shyly where your hands lay. Fiddling and flipping open the lighter. He made you nervous, usually you were able to take charge of these men and lure them to bed without a word. However, this man, your boss, was terrifying to you as he sat there breathing steadily, while your heart raced erratically.

“You’re welcome to.” He says with a shrug and brings his hand up to adjust his tie.

“It’s beautiful out here, it looks like a wedding venue.” You were deflecting and refuse to even look in the man’s direction.

“It is.” His answers were getting shorter and shorter and your heart was getting faster and faster.

Adrenaline ran through your veins as the next words flew out of your mouth before you could spare a second to think about it. “Do you know the FBI don’t even pay for my room at these things?”

“Really? I’ll look into it.” He says and taps the side of his head and keeping it in there for later.

“Thank you.” The two of you sit in silence for a while, breathing in the fresh air and looking around the grand garden and taking note of the potted plants dotted around the place. The night was clear and the stars were out, looking close to the small fairy lights that surrounded the pair of you.

“You’re part of the team, just as much as me or anyone. They should get you a room.” He says, his pinky finger inching across to yours, laying millimetres away.

“You’re the Unit chief and they’re agents.” You laugh. “I’m just an assistant.” You continue. “I’m not-.” You realise you go to say important and your mind flies back to your conversation in the parking lot.

“Important?” He sighs and you turn towards him and he says your name in the same airy voice. His tone suddenly changes back to his normal firm one. “You know what?” He asks and you raise your eyebrows at him. “You’re not important.” He states.

Your face morphs into confusion. “What?” You scoff at him and you lean back, also pulling your hand away from the closeness of before. You stand up abruptly and start to quickly walk away from the bench, grabbing the bottom of your dress up and keeping it away from your heels.

He says your name again but this time it’s a shout. “Wait!” He shouts again and you spin around and shake your head at him.

“What! Sir!” You shout at him harshly and take a step towards him in anger.

“You’re not important because.” He starts and you roll your eyes and he takes a step towards you and the gap gets smaller and smaller. Your breath getting shorter and shorter.

“Because what?!” You shout again and wave your arms around in emphasis.

“Because.” He says your name softer this time. “You’re invaluable.” Your mouth hangs open and all of your air leaves your lungs and you stand there for a moment. Your boss had rendered you speechless once again. Staring at him with his perfectly tailored suit and that sexy fucking red tie and just his sexy fucking face. “You’re invaluable to me.”

Dropping your clutch on the floor you quickly walk at him, trying not to trip in your heels on the uneven ground. “You stupid, stupid man.” You say and the two of you hover close to one another. “Aaron Hotchner, you massive idiot!” You gasp at him and grab his tie and pull him down to you and kiss him.

It was quick and rough and you pull away after a few seconds. “Shit, you’re my boss! Fuck!” You exclaim and look up panicked, running your hands through your hair and take a large step back. Your chest heaves, as you look him in the eyes. “I’m invaluable to you.” You say dumbly and blink quickly in more confusion than before.

“Yes, you are.” He says and takes a large step forwards, putting you toe to toe. His hands run up the tops of your thighs and over your hips and land in the small of your waist. “Say my name again.” His nose runs up your neck towards your ear.

The realisation hits you then. “I’m invaluable to you, Aaron.” You say smugly and he leans into kiss you this time and he hums in agreement inside your mouth. You’re pressed up against him as his large hands on your waist have you pulled against him.

You’re own hands start to wander as his tongue enters your mouth, they slide their way up the back of this suit and into the nape of this neck and the top of his hair. “I’ve waited so long to do that.” He sighs as the two of you separated for breath.

“Me too.” You smile as the two of you hold each other. “Your room?” You ask and intertwine your hand with his.

“Definitely.” He says and you begin to walk to the back door of the hotel, you leading the way.

“I’m your invaluable assistant.” You smirk at him as you open the back fire exit door. You felt smug being invaluable to the man. The man you’d had a crush on since you’d joined the BAU.

“Yes, you are.” He repeats and reaches down to give your arse a squeeze, in your tight dress.

“Oi!” You reach down and smack his hand away with a laugh. “Just for that, you’re going up the stairs first.” You say and push him towards the staircase.

“I’ll have you know my eyes are always front.” He says and starts to walk up the steps to his room, key card already in hand.

“Mine aren’t.” Your eyes and centred directly on his arse as he walks up the stairs to his room.

#criminal minds #fanfic #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #ficlet #fluff #oneshot #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner is dumb about feelings #i’m so sorry this took so long to post i really hope you enjoy love you sillies

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auteurdelabre · 5 months

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Something to Fight For (SERIES) Part 20

Something to Fight For Chapter 20 Word Count: 11.6k Pairing: Dad!Joel Miller x f!reader (no use of y/n, no physical descriptions) Tommy x Maria, Bill x Frank Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT. Loves of cheese. Extra cheese with a side of cheese. Love and more love. Happy ending. All the happy shit.

masterlist here

a/n: Ya'll this feels so strange. Even though the epilogue is on its way sometime soon, writing this chapter felt very final. Its a bittersweet feeling. After this story I won't have all of us together again. It's been a journey for us all, hasn't it? You've felt like real friends, caring for this story I invented. Sorta surreal, huh? And I TOLD YA'LL THE ANGST LED TO A HAPPY ENDING. I really hope that if you've never left a review, you decide to do so on this chapter. I also hope if you have left reviews before, you do so now. Detailed ones, ones where you tell me your favorite part cuz It was so beautiful to write, but it was also hard. I feel like I'm sayin' goodbye to a part of me. Also, SMUT WARNING. Sorry, I am not a smut writing professional. It's just sorta the icing there on Bill's cupcake. It doesn't come naturally to me, but these two deserved i t don't you think? I love ya'll. See you in the epilogue.

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Joel is finishing up watering the front lawn when he hears a car coasting down his street. He doesn't pay it any mind, turning off the spigot and heading towards his front door.

He's thinking about you. How warm you felt curled against him this morning. How your puffy eyes and gentle smile makes his heart sing even now. He wipes his damp hands on the back of his jeans.

You must be breaking things off with Paul, right? Joel saw the ring box. He saw your bare finger.

And your eyes, your eyes said so much. Even as he was leaving he saw the dueling emotions there. The quiet anxiety from your mom's incoming call mingling with the open desire to have Joel stay. He felt it coming off of you in waves.

He would have. He would do anything you wanted.

He'd help you build that sanctuary with his own bare hands. He'd move you box by box into his home tomorrow if you gave the word. He'd hold you every night and make love to you every morning if that's what you said you needed.

He'd even figure out how to travel back and forth from home to Chicago and Austin for the next six months without it disrupting Sarah's life too much, if it's not a permanent move on your end. A combination of odd weekend visits and daily phone calls seems manageable. He'd even learn how to text properly. He doesn't want you back in Chicago, but he'd do it. He will continue to fight for you.

He needs to tell you this, he decides. He needs to spell it out. The word love was sputtered last night, without thought. But he needs to say it with clear eyes and your body against his. He needs you to know exactly what he's offering. He'll call to see if you’re free before the wedding to talk.

This can't wait.

He pulls the front door open, his hand reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. He hopes you answer.

"Joel!"

He spins in the door frame, his eyes widening. It's you. You're here, pulling yourself from the driver’s side of a car he doesn't recognize.

You're wearing some green dress that has far too many bows but Joel doesn't give a shit, all he can think is it's you it’s you and your here for him. You have a blazing look in your eyes, sharp and focused all on him as you march to his front door.

He feels a pull at his abdomen, a delicious sensation because there's no indecision in you anymore. It's there written in your face: you want Joel. You're here for him, to claim him.

Because he's wanted.

Joel feels a smile break over his face, his teeth a slab of white against the tan of his face that has you laughing and sobbing in equal measure. He steps away from the door because you're running to him the rest of the way, your face breaking into a smile as you launch yourself into Joel's arms.

"Honey-"

He doesn't get another word out because you've launched yourself into his chest, circling your arms around his neck. He grunts as your body collides with his and grips you in surprise. He holds fast to you against him, staring down at your tear-streaked face.

And then you're gripping his face, pulling it to meet yours. Kissing him with a ferocity that he's not expecting but is oh so responsive to. There on his doorstep you kiss him, your mouth hot and needy as Joel kisses you back, pulling you against him before panting as brings you inside the house, almost carrying you over the threshold.

You're frantic, needing to touch and kiss and make up for lost time. To show him through your passion just how much you've missed him, how much he means to you. He's still got you in his strong arms, his hands skating down your back. Your hands are coming to his collar, desperate for him to press you against the wall as he did not so long ago at your place.

Whoa slow down.

You need to talk. To get things right. You break apart from Joel slowly, your mouth reddened. Joel smiles so widely you're concerned he might pull a face muscle.

"Too much?"

You shake your head as he begins lowering your feet to the floor.

"Not enough."

Then the silence descends as he stares at you. Joel has this uncanny ability to remain so still he almost looks static. His fingers drag the strand of hair caught on your damp lips, but his finger stays at your cheek, frozen. The moment feels heavy, thick with tension and you second guess everything.

Maybe now is a bad time. This seems like one of those things a person does when they look and feel perfect. And you don't. You're sweaty and dressed ridiculously and you're pretty sure your hair still has grass in it.

Joel seems to sense your indecision and responds by reaching out his broad hand and taking yours. You immediately relax, the warmth of his grip guiding you to the kitchen.

You look up his arm, your eyes sliding to his strong profile and his full mouth as he leads you. He feels your eyes on him and he turns, smiling sweetly.

I love this man.

His hand presses you gently into the seat at the kitchen table, urging you to relax into it. You look up at him and hold in a sigh when he traces a forefinger along your cheek again.

"I'll be back in a sec."

He leaves the room and for a moment you sit there in the kitchen of so many memories you feel so incandescently happy that it brings tears to your lash line. Coloring with Sarah. Decorating cupcakes. Joel's dinner, the dropped salad. Laughter, tears, so much is just in this single room of the house.

Joel reappears seconds after you wipe the tears away. He sits across from you, his broad shoulders flexing as he places something on the table.

He clears his throat, finally dragging his eyes to meet yours and now suddenly he looks nervous. This makes your anxiety flood your senses, starting to creep up your spine.

Then you realize the time. How Joel is dressed. How you’re dressed for fucks sake. The wedding is only a few hours away and Sarah is probably still getting ready. Why did you think now was the best time? This is something you should have done when you could take your time, not rush. You’d just been so excited to see him, to tell him.

"Shit I'm sorry. You're probably still getting Sarah ready," you say wincing and preparing to stand. "We can talk about this later, tomorrow or -"

Joel raises his hand in your direction, just his palm between you, stilling your ascent. His eyes are troubled by your reaction.

"Stop. Honey, just sit there a moment, please."

Honey.

How is it that words or nicknames that sound so trite coming from other people sound so perfect coming from Joel? You nod, planting yourself back into the chair and taking a deep breath.

"Tommy took Sarah about an hour ago. Maria wanted her to get her hair done with the bridesmaids, a little something special for being the flower girl."

You smile. That sounds like Maria.

"I was just getting ready here, but I got time." Joel's eyes tell you he's sincere, that he always has time for you. And then suddenly he's so earnest. "I'm real glad you're here."

"Me too."

"Be lyin' if I said I haven't been thinking about you since I left."

"Same here."

"Yeah?"

You nod and Joel's face is like the sun breaking through clouds. But in life rain always does fall, and as if just remembering this, Joel's face tenses. That familiar tic in his jaw is back at he gazes at you.

"Paul?"

"Gone. Done. Over."

You spare him the details. You have a feeling if Joel knew even a hint of what went on today he would personally drive over to Paul's house and finish what Bill started. And you don't want that. Right now you just want this happy, hopeful joyful warmth.

Joel swallows and you can see he needs the clarity. To know that he's not imagining this. "This a permanent thing or-"

“I called off the engagement," you explain plainly. "I couldn't marry him. I couldn't be with him. Ever. Not when I feel how I do about you."

Joel tries to hide the smile, but it blooms all over his face all the same. His mouth curls, his eyes squint and you have to physically restrain yourself from leaping across the table and kissing him senseless.

You think he's going to ask you to explain in more detail. To tell him exactly what you mean about how you feel about him. But his eyes are on the pink paper at his elbow. Joel taps it with a forefinger before sliding it towards you, his eyes on your face. As it approaches you see it's an envelope.

"Open it up," Joel tells you softly, even though you can see that this envelope has been opened and closed a multitude of times, creased and folded.

You open it with shaking hands, unsure of what to expect inside. He wrote you a letter? When? Large crooked letters greet you.

"Joel I wunt u to bee my Vallentane. I love Sarah. I love you. I wint to be yr wife. LOVE - "

You read your name aloud, your eyes flicking to his. "What is this?"

"You don't recognize it?" Joel taps the card with a forefinger. A familiar Snoopy sticker greets you and suddenly your face breaks into a confused smile.

The Valentine that Sarah had made all those months ago, the one she'd insisted you personally give to her father.

“Sarah…”

"When I asked her about it the next morning she said that you had written it."

You laugh out loud in disbelief at the shrewdness of Sarah. Joel chuckles along with you.

"She loves you. She thinks you hang the moon," Joel drawls.

"The feeling is mutual," you say with a soft smile.

"You're wanted in this house, in this family," Joel says motioning to the letter. "You make us better."

You weren't expecting this. You actually can't speak.

Joel is thinking, clearly displayed in the lines between his brows, the way his dark eyes scan in front of him as if he's trying to recall something very specific. After a moment you sober, closing the card because you need to say it before you lose your nerve. You need to tell him everything.

"Joel -"

"I'm in love with you," Joel tells you bluntly, beating you to it. "Have been for a while. Thought it was kinda obvious but I'm realizing you're a woman that may need things said out loud a couple times before she believes them. So just to be sure there's no misunderstanding, I'm tellin' you plainly as I can: I love you. I don't want anyone else. I just want you."

The sound of Joel telling you he loves you may just be the most beautiful thing you've ever heard. Better than any song. Even the one he sang to you. He reaches across the table to take your hands in his.

It makes your eyes water and a smile to break out over your features. It also creates a knot in your throat, making it impossible to speak. But that might be for the best because Joel is still going.

"And I don't just love you because of how you love my daughter, though I'd be lying if I said that didn't have some part in it," Joel admits. "I just don't remember the last time I wanted someone to share my day with or wake up next to as much as I do with you. I go to sleep thinkin' about you. I drive by a shitty Italian restaurant and I think about you. I see a fucking dog at job site I'm working and I think about you. Something happens to me and it's you I wanna talk to about it."

You want to believe these words, you want to believe them so badly but then just as your heart starts to glow, something holds you back. Something that always seems to grip those threads of joy only to slice through them. An ugly, twisting thing that makes you wince and curl into yourself when you remember what Paul said. When you think about your phone call with your father earlier. How can you be so happy when you’ve just been so cruel?

Selfish.

Joel's eyes scan your face, immediately picking up on your agitation. He drops your hands and your eyes slide closed because suddenly you feel so weak. Your head drops forward and all the good feeling, the sweet burst of joy is gone, leaving you drained.

"Honey."

His voice is so tender, so gentle. He's there at your side within seconds, kneeling beside your chair. He's gripping you loosely by the waist, the other hand cupping your face.

"I can tell right now that you're having trouble hearing this because somewhere along the way you were taught you didn't deserve to be loved," Joel says, his eyes searching your face. "And you're wantin’ to tell me you're a horrible, selfish person. And that I should just forget about you."

He knows. He knows my worst self. He knows everything.

You feel so vulnerable but his eyes are blazing so brightly right now you can't look away.

"But I'm never gonna do that," Joel says, his thumb grazing along your cheekbone. "'Cuz I think you're the best thing to happen to me since Sarah was born. And if I have to spend my whole life convincing you of that, I will. I will fight every fucking day because what we have is worth fighting for. You are worth fighting for."

If falling in love had a specific moment it would be this one. Joel Miller, all muscles and wet eyes staring up at you as he kneels at your side promising you a love and life you could only dream of.

"So that's all I wanted to say," Joel finishes with eyes so luminous you could cry. "I love you. Be with me. Just... just let me fucking love you."

His last sentence makes your heart seize. You're so overcome you can't speak right away. Instead you slide off the chair to join him on the floor, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and embracing him, head balanced on his shoulder.

Joel reciprocates immediately, pulling you against him tightly. There you sit with arms around each other as Joel rocks you. This moment, this deep serenity works its way through your tight muscles and increment by increment you go boneless against him.

I love him.

With a tremble you pull back. It's still too overwhelming to look at him directly so you just balance your forehead against his, the two of you breathing deeply. You breathe slowly, you matching Joel’s steady tempo.

I love him so much.

And then finally you tilt back from him, needing to see the warmth of his dark brown eyes. He's there, present, his eyes fixed on yours.

"I want a cat."

Joel nods without thinking before his face contorts into surprise and then confusion.

"Wait, what?"

"A kitten, actually," you decide. "An orange one. Sarah was saying she wants a kitten anyway. "

A grin has broken over Joel's face. It makes him look younger, his entire disposition vibrant. It matches yours. His hands are coming to cup each of your cheeks.

"Anything you want," Joel breathes. "Anything."

You smile, no, you beam up at him. You can tell him. You can. You can trust Joel to hold your secrets and not hate you. You can trust Joel with your love because it doesn’t come with receipts or price tags or debts to be owed. Your love for him will be cherished, not a ransom so you can be plucked apart piece by piece.

"I came here because I needed to tell you in person that I'm not going to Chicago," you say with a tensing inhale. "I spoke to my dad today."

Joel's thumb is stroking your cheek and for the first time since you've entered into his home, he looks scared. His dark eyes are suddenly pensive and you can see the way the wheels are turning. You’re confused by this reaction.

"Don't do this for me," he murmurs. "I can't be the reason. Even if I want it more than anything. You'd resent me if you did."

"I didn't," you promise him. "I did it for me. I did it because I want to be happy. I don’t want that life back in Chicago. And I did it because I can't go another day without you, Joel."

Hope blooms there in the dark brown earth of his eyes. It grows beautiful and brilliant but under glass. It's too good to be true; he's so eager, so desperate but past experience has humbled him.

"Waking up in your arms this morning was one of the best feelings in the entire world," you explain with open honesty. "I want that every morning. I want to have coffee with you and go to the park with Sarah. I want to read her to bed every night and then crawl in next to you. I wanna make pancakes on Sundays and go to trivia nights with you and Maria and Tommy. I want a life with you."

Joel's heart is rapid and staccato the more you spill forth because what you're saying sounds dangerously close to what Joel desires. Is it possible?

"I'm absolutely crazy about you, Miller," you confess without hesitation now, wanting to take the tentative insecurity from his gaze. "I'm done pretending I don't want you. I'm tired of not holding you. I'm tired of being away from you and Sarah. I want a family with you, I want a future. I want it all but I only want it with you. I-I love you Joel."

The smile is broad on his handsome face, bringing out the dimple that makes your heart hiccup.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

He's got a forefinger tilting your chin so you face up to him.

"No runnin'?"

"Only to you."

That does something to Joel. Like a snap to his spine. Only to him. Because he's yours and when your lips press against his it's like every wall that exists comes tumbling down, shattering spectacularly.

You’re his.

It's here, its happening. He's so grateful, so overcome he can't hold it in.

It's only when you feel damp warmth against your cheek that your eyes fly open. You see another tear slip down Joel's cheek, his eyes still closed as he kisses you tenderly and you feel something within you burst.

You didn't expect to be crying but here you are, sniffling with hot tears slipping your face. Joel is all glassy eyed trying to wipe your tears from your cheeks as you do the same for him, both your thumbs gliding over each other's cheekbones.

"What a pair," Joel says with a sniffle.

You both give big watery laughs at this, giggling like you had only a day ago as you walked down the aisle. His thumb is lingering along your lower lip when the laughter slowly ebbs.

Then his face is tilting towards you and you don't have to turn away. Because there is no Paul, no Tess. Because Joel is taking something for himself and so are you.

Mine.

Your lips join once more, your eyes falling shut as he brings you back into his arms, sighing against you. He rocks you slowly in his arms, moving his mouth to your temple and murmuring sweet nothings, promises, loving verse.

Slowly you tilt your head back, your heavy lidded gaze on his. Your eyes trail over his mouth, then back to see him watching you intently. His dark eyes flicker in understanding. His mouth is on yours once more for a scorching kiss and then Joel is standing, holding a wide hand to you.

You take it without hesitation, rising to your feet and walking hand in hand to the bedroom. You smile softly at each other as he gently pushes the door open and as he does all you can think is that you're finally here with him in his bedroom properly.

He looks nervously around, as if he’s expecting everything to fall to pieces.

“What are you thinking about?”

“That I wish I’d cleaned the fucking room.”

You see the bedroom through his eyes now and hold in a chuckle. The scattered clothes on the ground, the belts slung over the treadmill in the far left of the room, the bed haphazardly made. The empty water glasses on the nightstand, the CD’s scattered atop the dresser.

“I can work with this,” you assure him, giggling nervously as he leads you to the bed. He assures you with relief that the sheets are clean before you both sit at the edge of his bed. His hand is on your knee, thumb tracing small circles on the soft inner, leading to your thigh.

You watch this hypnotized, breathing unsteadily when his hand begins to drift upwards, under your skirt. He says your name once, seeing the uncertainty in your features. When you don’t reply he says it again, and now you glance up at him. His brows raise, a silent question. What’s wrong?

"I'm scared," you whisper, your mind suddenly going over everything that could go wrong with this relationship.

What if you break up? What if Joel turns? What if you run again? It feels too good, too perfect already and time has taught you not to trust the calm times. Time has taught you that calm times come before tidal waves. That calm times are a harbinger of greater carnage.

"Me too." Joel kisses the corner of your mouth. “But I got you, baby.”

You nod, still pensive, even though the pull below your navel is debilitating at this point. Joel urges your gaze to his, seeing the lowering of your lids and the gentle shuddering of you. You can see him there, thick and waiting in his jeans.

“We could wait until tonight,” Joel offers, grazing your arm with his knuckles. “Or tomorrow. Hell, I’ll wait as long as you need. I just want you here is al-”

No. You don’t want to wait. You need Joel in a way you’ve never needed anyone.

“I can’t wait,” you inform him before the sentence leaves his mouth. You’re on your knees on the bed, your body pressed against his as your mouth tilts towards him.

“Well alright then,” Joel chuckles, his hands going to either side of your neck, his thumbs resting on the architecture of your jaw. You melt into his kiss, your hands gripping his shirt by the front.

Joel shifts back against the headboard, bringing you along with him to straddle his thighs. He kisses you languidly, slowing your frenetic motions. He can feel your movements, quick and sharp like a hummingbirds as you kiss him, tongue sliding between the seam of his soft lips. He pulls back gently, amused.

“We got time, baby,” he breaths against your trembling mouth. “Don’t have to rush anything.”

For some reason that hits you directly below the navel. The knowledge that Joel wants to take his time with you. No rushing, just the lazy pursuit of mutual pleasure. It’s so opposite to what you know of sex.

He's tender, his movements slow, his touches light. But that's not what you want right now. You want to feel it, more heavy tactile reality that this is happening, your body with his. You're straddling him, licking into his mouth as he holds your thighs, his mouth moving over yours as he groans.

I want to take care of him.

Joel has spent so much of your time together taking care of you – doctor’s appointments, kennels, that night of the Christmas party . . . Joel is always looking out for others and you want to take care of him for once. It’s not expected or forced upon you, it’s got you slick between the thighs just thinking about it.

“Take my dress off,” you whisper. Joel’s hands come to the hem of your dress with zero hesitation and he peels the unflattering dress from you, lifting it up over your arms stretched high over your head. It’s tossed gently to the other side of the room, making a soft flutter as it descends. You sit astride Joel’s lap in nothing but your lacy green underwear that you’d bought specifically for the wedding.

No bra, you’d decided. The dress fit better without it. Seeing Joel’s eyes darken you’re so fucking glad you decided on that.

“Jesus,” Joel breathes, mouth coming to circle your left nipple without pause. You moan into his mouth, feeling as his hands span your middle back, pushing you into his greedy mouth. You feel him grinding against your core, his jeans rasping against the gusset of your panties.

“Clothes off, Miller.”

He grins up at you, shimmying out of his jeans, kicking them down his legs as you bracket above him. You take your time pulling the shirt over his head, marvelling at how he looks as he disrobes. His skin is gold, his body a mixture of strength of softness. His hair tousled his mouth full and parted. He looks delicious.

You see his eyes snap back to your bare chest, getting ready to claim another straining nub between his teeth when you pull back, smiling. He tilts his head curiously as you begin backing up, sliding your body down his.

He’s breathing shallowly, quickly as your cheek brushes past his boxers, grazing his length there. He gives a sharp grunt, watching as you pull down his boxers, releasing his cock with a spring. You tug them off completely, tossing the boxers over your shoulder with a flourish before nestling yourself between his legs and admiring the rosy head of his cock.

Like you said. Joel Miller looks delicious.

You trail a finger along his length, fascinated by the rigid yet silken texture. It twitches at the contact. You smirk up at him from between his legs, your pupils blown wide at the view.

Joel is so fucking sexy. Laid back, legs tilted to give you space to lay between them, his cock is there waiting for your mouth and this time it’s happening. No distractions, no delays. You have been aching to get your mouth on him. You dip your head forward, eyes closed as your mouth brushes the head. You hear Joel give a low gasp, thighs twitching.

"You don't have to do this," Joel moans, even as you give kitten licks along the tip. You smile as his fingers brush your cheek, sweet and affectionate.

Your mouth moves over the head, flicking with your tongue and then taking it into the wet warmth of your mouth. You begin to suck, delicately at first, just enough to hear the first shuddering groan from Joel.

Joel Miller is a giver. Joel Miller doesn't know what it is to take from the people he loves, to have something for himself, a secret treasure of only his. But you'll show him and starting now because you have so much you want to give to him. If you could carve out your heart and carry on living you would do it, present it to him to safeguard.

"You don't have-"

You pull your mouth off of him slowly, watching him quiver. His eyes are open and he's looking down the length of his body to see you.

"Joel, I love you but please shut the fuck up and let me do this," you say fake crossly, wet lower lip grazing his tip. "Just let me make you feel as good as you've made me feel."

Joel's eyes are glossy. "Say it again,"

"Shut the fuck up?"

His head jerks so slightly you're not sure you caught it. "No. The other thing."

You smile slyly before your flattened tongue slides from base to tip, your eyes on him the entire time. "Let me make you feel good?"

"The- the other-"Joel makes a strangled groaning noise and you move over the head again, kissing gently as it twitches before taking in his thickness deep into your warm mouth once more.

As you lay there between his legs in the bed you're struck by the realization that you feel so relaxed. The bed is warm and Joel is warm and when you hear his groans you feel so impossibly good.

You shut your eyes and just feel and taste and enjoy Joel. You've never wanted to do this for a man so much. Never wanted to take your time and explore them like this. With Joel every piece of him feels sacred, every part of him worthy of your intimate attention and every time he lets out a little moan or grunt you feel yourself grow giddy. You love making him feel good.

Joel is squirming, his grunts hitting you right at your core. He can't think now, his entire body poised. Your mouth feels so fucking good, he needs more of it.

Joel never thought that a blowjob could feel loving, but this does. He lays there watching you; your eyes shut so softly, mouth moving achingly slow around him. It feels tender, it's you wanting to take care of him, sweet and soft and oh fuck ... Joel feels his breath come out in a shudder. You feel so fucking good around him. Too good.

Your hands are palm flat on his thighs, bracing there as you take more of him into your mouth, sighing happily and hollowing your cheeks. Before long you can hear the sound of him whimpering. Soft, gravely whimpers that make you feel heady because you're making Joel fucking Miller whimper.

"Don't wanna finish in your mouth, baby," he rumbles, pressing your cheek gently. "Not tonight."

You understand, pulling gently off of him. Without pausing you crawl the length of him, coming to rest in his arms beside him. He pulls you flush against his chest, your hips meeting. He’s breathing in soft pants and you can feel him hard against your thigh your own lower half aching with need for him.

He stares at you for a long time, a curiously long time considering what you'd just been in the middle of doing. His eyes are warm and open as he takes in how your face looks flushed and needy. Yet it's you who says it.

"You're beautiful."

Joel immediately feels himself flush at your compliment. A guy being beautiful? He's never been called beautiful, and it makes him feel shy. You notice the shy way he looks away, tips of his ears pinking.

"No," you insist, gripping his face in your hands. "Don't. I love looking at your face. Your beautiful, perfect face."

He smiles, all teeth and dimple which sets your heart racing. He props his head up with one hand, the other going to the back of your neck. He holds you there, one thumb stroking the side of your neck as he stares at you.

As you lay there, face tilted into Joel’s pillow you smile, inhaling gently. The scent of his shampoo and just him. It makes you feel calm, but it also makes you pull a face, cringing as you recall something from months ago. Joel can see it immediately in your face, his own features turning concerned.

"What?"

“Nothing.”

You feel Joel’s eyes on you even with yours closed. You give an embarrassed smile. "Promise not to laugh?"

"No."

You bark out a surprised laugh, drawing an amused chuckle from Joel. You love making him smile like that, in that unguarded, playful way.

"Never mind then," you say with a smug smirk, rolling away from him.

"C'mon," he needles you, nose brushing against your neck to tickle, drawing you back to face him again. "Don't be like that. No secrets."

He says it smiling, but you hear that underline in the last sentence. No secrets. No, you don't want any between you either.

“It’s just a bit embarrassing.”

“I don’t mind,” Joel insists. “I’ll trade you an embarrassing story for yours.”

“You go first.”

“Once when I was eight I got caught stealing baseball cards from one of my friends at school. My mom got called down to the school and I had to apologize in front of everyone.” Joel looks so sheepish recalling this memory you want to laugh.

“Joel that’s barely embarrassing,” you say rolling your eyes.

“Ah ah, deals a deal,” Joel insists, gently tilting your chin so you face him. You sigh.

"Fine. It’s stupid. It's just. . . Back before, when you and I weren't together. . ." You trail off, this story not feeling funny anymore. If anything it makes you sad.

"What?" Joel looks nervous. "Tell me."

"I snuck in here one time when I was babysitting,” you say in a rush, eyes closed. “And I uh, touched myself on your bed."

Joel looks like he's been electrocuted. He physically jerks. "What?"

You feel yourself going beet red all the way to your roots. Why did this seen like a good story too share? It's humiliating. You pull the sheets over your head, your voice coming out muffled.

"I told you it was embarrassing!"

"Jesus Christ," Joel growls. "You were touching yourself in my bed?"

You're silent under the sheets, your breathing unsteady. You'd expected him to laugh at you or even pity you. Neither is happening. His voice drops an octave.

"Did you come?"

Your toes curl at the husky tinge in his voice. You're powerless when you feel him dragging the sheets down your face, exposing your face to him. His eyes are like furnaces, desire licking the edges.

"Did you?"

"Mhmm," you manage.

"Show me," he rasps and it's like you're back in the kitchen, hands down your pants as Joel begs you to touch yourself for him. You feel him peeling off your panties under the sheets, rolling your hips so that he can remove them entirely.

"Please baby," Joel whispers, kissing your shoulder. Then he pauses to kiss you gently, so gently, reverently on the mouth, eyes searching yours.

"But only if you want."

Joel doesn't want what you won't give him freely. He has no desire to take and take like Paul and James. And because of this you want to give him everything.

And so you nod, flushing when Joel removes the blankets from your body leaving your naked body tingling and exposed to the cool air.

He makes a low sound in the back of his throat. He takes your hand gently in his, raising it to his mouth. You think he means to kiss you knuckles when his pillowy lips circle your fore and middle finger. Not breaking eye contact he sucks them into his wet, warm mouth, trailing his tongue over your digits, coating them in his spit.

Satisfied, Joel drags them from his mouth, urging the damp digits along the seam of your throbbing pussy and gently pushing inside. You whimper at the contact, your eyes stuck on his as you begin to work your fingers on either side of your clit. You don't look away from Joel as you do. You simply flush under his heated gaze, your toes curling as you moan at the sensation of not only touching yourself, but by being watched by Joel as you do. He's thick and aching as he watches you but he makes no attempt to touch himself.

He rests his palm over yours loosely. He's not guiding, not moving, he wants to feel you touching yourself, wants to learn what turns you on.

"I can't believe you're real," he whispers as you begin to rock against your hand. "So fucking perfect."

You're not perfect. Your body has flaws, many that you could point out to him. But when Joel looks at you, dark eyes melting along your curves you know he believes what he says.

He removes his hand from over top yours, wanting to just watch you. He memorizes the way your lower lip quivers, the way your brows saddle as you stroke yourself. He’s never been so turned on in his life.

"What were you thinking about when you did it?" Joel asks you huskily.

"You," you murmur, eyes lazily closed as your fingers work between your thighs. You can feel his eyes on you, raking over every part of your body.

"Yeah?" You can hear the smile in his voice. You both already knew the answer, but his ego likes hearing it out loud.

"Fucking you," you groan, fingers working hurriedly over the pearl of your clit. "Your mouth, fuck your mouth is so sexy Joel."

Joel's (very sexy) mouth moves over your nipple, kissing there. His eyes are on you as he does.

"And your tongue," you whisper, arching further into his mouth.

His tongue laves at your straining nub, his teeth coming to graze and then gently nibble. That sends electric currents running through your entire body, your legs jerking out without thought or control.

Then he pulls back, his eyes roaming your flushed and naked body. Your eyes crack open to see him; mouth parted and fixed on your face as you squirm. You whimper his name, the taste of it sweet. He drops his head forward to kiss you, a tender thing.

"C'mon baby," Joel urges against your temple. "Show me how you made yourself come on my sheets."

You cannot form words. When Joel talks like that, filthy and low and growled it hits directly between your legs. You can offer only a symphony of grunts and mewls and whimpers and you feel your entire body tighten and then blissfully release.

"Oh that's it," Joel murmurs lazily as he watches you come. "Oh fuck. ... Yeah baby... Just like that... All for me."

Always for you, you want to tell him. But you're too far gone, the bliss overwhelming you. And finally you come, coating your fingers as your head is thrown back into the pillow.

Before you can say anything, Joel is between your legs, gently prying them apart. You make a surprised noise as he throws your legs over his broad shoulders, opening you to him. You watch as his fingers part you.

"Fuck if I'd known," Joel murmurs, licking a stripe up your pussy. He doesn't finish the thought, simply begins to kiss your cunt with wild, open mouthed kisses that have you arching back into the bed.

"Joel I -"

"C'mon baby," he groans, sucking on your clit languidly. "My mouth and my tongue remember? Be good and come on 'em now."

Jesus Christ. You’re already there. Already so close when he sucks your clit into his mouth, humming in delight as your thighs tremble around his head. And its only seconds when you feel yourself cresting. He feels it too, making encouraging humming noises as his hands come to hold you in place, spanning over your lower abdomen.

And then you feel your entire body release against his tongue, punching out groans as he laps between your legs, murmuring how good you taste, how much he’s missed your pussy, how he can’t believe how lucky he is.

You murmur his name, arms outstretched in his direction. He crawls to you, up the length of your naked body pressing glossy o’s on your exposed flesh as he ascends. Then his face gets near and you can see his eyes are unfocused. You sigh softly as his mouth finds yours.

He kisses you long and slow, his tongue dancing with yours. It's not long before you feel his free hand sliding down from your neck, over your straining nipple, along your lower belly and then coming to cup your sex softly.

You let out a small choked noise when his fingers slide down the seam, parting you. Brushing against your aching core.

"Want you inside me," you urge, impatiently, his mouth still moving over yours. Joel chuckles, a warm, loving sound that feels like a cracking fireplace.

"You nice and wet for me?" he asks even though as his fingers slowly curl around your swollen bud, he can tell you're absolutely soaked. He sinks the first finger in, finding absolutely no resistance. You're so ready, so open and you take him to the knuckle without hesitation, moaning.

He watches the emotions flicker across your face as he adds a second finger, slowly working them in and then out. Sees the shuttering of your eyes as you lean into his hand whimpering. Your exquisite, your here, your his.

"All mine," he rumbles against your jaw.

It feels so good. His wide fingers hit those perfect spots that you're fingers can never seem to reach. You crack your eyes open to see Joel staring at you, his eyes so dominated by his pupil they look black. He moans softly when you're eyes meet his. He's taking his time, so fucking slowly.

"Please Joel," you whisper breathlessly. Your eyes are heavy with need, matching his. “Don’t make me wait anymore.”

He nods and the bed creaks as he rolls gently over top of you. Another deep kiss is pressed to your mouth as his hips find yours. He notches himself at your entrance and instinctively your thighs go to bracket his hips.

I love him. I love him. I love him.

Your entire body is trembling, and this is only soothed when you realize that Joel's is as well. His entire body has broken into small, shudders of aching need. Your eyes drift open and his heart swells as you grin up at him.

You need him. No more waiting. You lean forward, kissing him gently. He responds in kind, one hand against your lower back pulling you tighter to him. You think that you could spend your entire life kissing Joel and it wouldn't be nearly enough.

He's braced on his forearms above you, one wide hand coming to brush the hair from your face.

"Wanted this for so long," he tells you in a murmur and you know he doesn't just mean the sex. Your eyes are glassy as you nod up at him.

"Me too."

He moves slowly into you, your shifting hips leading him into your waiting core. You hiss slightly at the intrusion. He's bigger than Paul or James.

"Easy," Joel whispers against your temple. "Don't have to rush it."

You nod as his mouth comes to meet yours, his body moving languidly against yours. His left hand finds yours gripping the sheets. He slips his palm over yours, lacing your fingers in his and holding you there. You feel your entire body melt into his.

"Fuck, honey ... So good," Joel groans as he continues to sheaths himself in you, his head falling forward against your shoulder on the pillow. You whimper, needy and desperate for more. He feels so good. So right. "Those sounds."

He licks into your mouth, groaning as your hands come to rest under his arms, gripping his broad back as you urge him deeper and deeper.

“You’re so deep,” you groan, body jerking against his. The bed creaks gently, rhythmically as he fucks you. No, not fucking – he makes love to you. As if he thinks your body is as sacred as you think his is.

"Say the other thing," Joel whispers against your neck. "Please."

You feel his hips surge forward, filling both your body and heart. You smile, tilting your cheek so he looks at you. You won't say this next part until your gazes are locked.

"I love you," you say, rolling your hips up against him, your body in communion with his. You see his eyebrows saddle, his eyes watery.

"Again, please," he groans, his eyes never moving from your face. He didn't even need to ask because the words are already there, offered to him as they will always be offered to him.

"I love you, Joel."

His mouth is on yours, and his hips plunge deeper into you and now he's rambling between deep kisses, speaking against your mouth.

"I love you... so long... F-fuck, feel so… Wanna make you feel good, fucking l-love you so much."

His hips are snapping, his resolve unravelling as you cry out. He feels so good, so perfect between your thighs. You wonder if it is always supposed to feel this good, this easy. Desire licks at your belly, your hand coming to cup his cheek so he's looking at you. Something about his eyes, seeing them vacillate between dreamy and sharp makes you lose control.

"You gonna come again baby?" Joel murmurs to himself, his body coiled. Joel is, as he was not so long ago that time when you rode his thigh, amazed at how quickly you do. How perfectly in synch your bodies are.

His voice is tinged with lust obviously, but also a deep affection that borders on awe. It makes your pulse spike and your body begins to spasm because you’re so fucking close, the pleasure building to an almost uncomfortable level.

"J-joel-"

"S'okay," Joel tells you with a kiss. "I've got you. I've got you, baby, just let go."

These words, these gentle urging words are what send you cresting and you come with a sharp moan. Your body moves in time with his and you don't realize that you're crying until Joel's hips slow and he's peering into your face.

"Do you want to stop? Are you okay?"

"What?! Don't stop!" You gasp, urging his hips with a small tap of your hand. It feels so good, you’re already on the precipice again.

He seems to understand because his movements restart in earnest and his mouth is kissing your tears away. You’re hiccup-crying but only because it feels so perfect, the bliss so intense and you're just so thankful for him. For existing. For loving you in a way you'd never thought possible. And you’re crying because you get to be the one to love Joel.

And soon you do come again; your cries are loud, jagged and needy as he thrusts against you over and over. You chant his name, kissing his mouth, arms around his shoulder for purchase as he seeks to bury himself further inside you.

"I love you," you cry, your hips rolling against his, wanting to make him feel as good as you do. "Love you so fucking much, Joel."

He spills into you, his groans sharp in your ear as he groans out your name, long and low. It seems to go on forever, filling you so deeply. His body is still wrapped around you as his hips finally stutter to a stop.

You stay like that, tangled against one another until Joel presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth and gently eases himself from between your slick thighs. You both sigh as he rolls to your side, pulling you into his arms as if he’s terrified to let you go.

You want to go to sleep, snuggled like this in the warmth of his arms but you’re far too aware of the time.

"We should shower," you say with a pant.

"Together?" Joel murmurs, raising a brow over the eye peering in your direction from the pillow.

"Christ, Miller," you say with a breathy laugh. "If we do that we're never making it to the wedding."

And while there isn't time for a communal shower there is time for a soft "I love you". It’s whispered against one anothers' lips, like a flower pressed between the pages of a book, before you leave hand in hand for the wedding a short while later.

There will always be time for that.

///

Sarah has always been a grateful child. She's always been quick with her thank you's, never found it difficult to share her toys and loves seeing those she cares for happy.

So when her fifth birthday wish of a mama had come true so perfectly in the form of you, she thought it only fair to use her sixth birthday wish for something more philanthropic.

That day with her father at her side, whispering to make a wish she had done so with thought of Joel and he alone.

I wish my daddy had a wife.

And now as she stands looking up from her basket of real flower petals to see you and her daddy walking hand in hand towards her, gazing at each other and then her.

The two of you are trying so hard not to be too obvious and failing spectacularly. Daddy is smiling so widely Sarah actually smiles just looking at him. He's staring at you as the two of you walk, making your way to the ranch.

You're all blushing, laughing at something Daddy said. You both look so beautiful with you in your dress and him in his suit.

The two of you both look over and see Sarah at the same time and it's hard to say who looks more excited, you or daddy.

"Hey bug!" "Hi babygirl!"

The two of you laugh at your mingled pet names as you reach her. You're the first to drop to your knees and Sarah doesn't miss the way her father stares at the back of your head with a sweet little smile.

Sarah feels her tiny heart hammering as you look to her with arms outstretched and she runs into them, her tiny arms wrapping so tightly around your neck you give a grunt.

Sarah looks over your shoulder at her Daddy. She's confused when she sees his eyes are wet. But his smile is right, so she doesn't think much of it. She pulls back and is confused that your eyes are wet too.

But maybe it's just allergies? Sarah heard one of the other bridesmaids talking about how an outdoor wedding was hell on hers at the salon earlier today.

"Daddy can we have pancakes tomorrow morning?"

"'Course, babygirl."

"And you'll be there right?" Sarah says, looking to you imploring. You seem momentarily taken aback, glancing up at Joel suddenly anxious.

"Yeah, she'll be there," Joel assures you both with a smile. "She's actually gonna be over a lot more often."

Sarah looks at your face breaking into a smile again. Sarah grins, wanting to scatter all the flower petals in the world right now. But then you sober, taking both of her little hands in yours.

"If that's okay with you, Sarah," you say seriously, your eyes searching her face. "I don't want you feeling uncomfortable."

Sarah can tell there's no guile there. If Sarah told you no, you'd respect it. She can feel that.

"S'okay with me," Sarah says. "I like you there."

"Thanks bug," you say and press a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. Like a mom would. Sarah feels warmth blooming through her body.

"Maybe you could have a sleepover at our house." Sarah looks over at her Daddy. "Daddy can she sleep over?"

You give Daddy a funny look when he barks out a laugh.

"Yep," Daddy says trying not to grin too wide. "She can sleepover whenever she wants."

You stand, taking his hand again, smirking and Sarah wants to say more but then the mean wedding lady is there.

But Sarah doesn't care, because she's looking at Daddy kissing your head and all she can think is that she's so happy that her birthday wish came true.

///

"You're late," Abby snaps as she approaches the three of you. "And are those grass stains?"

She looks over your dress with distaste, holding your bouquet and Sarah's flower girl basket.

"Probably," you say giving her a level gaze. "Had to kick the shit out of someone before I got here."

You wince only when you realize Sarah might have heard that. But she looks distracted by the basket.

Joel gives you a surprised look that matches Abby's. Abby thrusts the bouquet into your arms and murmurs an order of going to the barn as she hands Sarah the basket.

You hold the bouquet at waist level, turning to Joel with an expectant look. He offers his arm and you take it. Sarah goes dashing excitedly ahead and you follow as Joel gives you a curious look.

"Do I wanna know?"

"I'll tell you about it sometime," you with a wink. "Maybe."

You never will though, because if Joel knew half of what Paul did there would be a fine dusting of Paul scattered all over his new apartment in Leander. Your eyes scan for Maria and Tommy.

"Did I tell you how gorgeous you look?" Joel murmurs, distracting you.

"Bullshit," you bite back with a smile. "I look like a sad piece of lettuce."

"Well, I always liked eatin' my vegetables," Joel whispers back.

"Joel!"

You clap a hand over your mouth, holding in the bubble of laughter. You refuse to walk down this aisle collapsing into laughter again. You turn your head into his shoulder as you walk, hiding your laughter as Joel chuckles.

He feels his heart swelling as he looks down at you tucked up against him, face pink.

"I love you so fucking much," Joel whispers against the crown of your head. You look up, smiling bright.

"Ditto, Miller."

///

When the two of you walk down the aisle, you try not to be too obvious. This is Maria and Tommy's day. You make sure you don't look at each other; you don't graze hips as you walk, you don’t smirk. You simply link arms, walking at the right pace for the band.

Tommy is at the end of the aisle with a new haircut looking at you and Joel with an inscrutable look.

You've done well, you think. But then Joel gives everything away when you drop linked arms. Because instead of just walking in separate directions you feel his wide hand skate down your back, hitting your lower back, fingers curling before pulling slowly away, as if he can't stand not touching you.

Just that contact is enough to have goosebumps rising all over your body. You duck your head, unable to meet Tommy's gaze as you walk past him.

You stand across from one another on either side of the aisle, forcing yourself not to stare at one another.

But you feel Joel's eyes on you, and you relent, dragging your gaze from the sea of faces and over to him. From here you can see just how good Joel looks. Dark navy suit, tailored, crisp white shirt underneath. He looks so sexy you actually have to force yourself to look away.

You feel eyes on you and you glance over to see Frank smiling up at you in the crowd. You feel your face pink as he shoots you a waggle of his eyebrows. Bill isn't watching you, his eyes are on Joel.

Maybe Frank isn't the only one to think your boyfriend is cute.

Your boyfriend. Joel is your boyfriend.

It seems like everything and yet not enough.

Then the sound of the band starts up again and you both quickly look up to see Sarah with a serious look on her face. With amusement you watch as she delicately takes one petal from the basket, crouches and places it on the aisle runner atop the grass. She does this with the next petal. . . And the next one. . . Moving an inch at a time.

You see Joel giving a smirk accompanied by a wince as the crowd titters. At this rate you're all going to be here for hours. Inspired you call out to her over the music.

"Make it colorful, bug."

She seems to understand, her face breaking into a wide smile. She nods, thrusting her hand into the basket and tossing handfuls of colorful petals into the air, moving quickly down the aisle.

The crowd cheers as you and Joel laugh, watching her dance down the aisle tossing the flower remnants in every direction. Finally she reaches the end of the aisle, looking up to you expectantly.

"Was I good?"

"The best.”

Maria enters on her father's arm. You can see Sheila crying in the front row, blowing her nose as you hold in a giggle at this.

Maria is ethereal. The dress made for her. Ethereal isn't even enough to describe how angelic she looks in the off-white dress that clings to her hips and dances down over her knees. The sun is setting, casting everyone in the golden hue of the day. It feels magical.

She double winks at you as she nears the end of the aisle and you return it. A code from your club days.

Two winks: you good?

Two winks back: I'm good.

She smiles and nods, handing you her large brides bouquet before turning to face Tommy who is staring at her in quite the same way Joel stares at you.

The Minister waits for the band to conclude the last strains of the song before he begins.

"Dearly beloved..."

///

You and Joel have done very well at keeping your hands to yourselves for the duration of the wedding. It was a bit difficult during wedding photos, but there were so many orders of where to stand and how to pose that you were both distracted.

It's easy during dinner because you're seated on either side of the couple at the head table. You're squished between Maria and an annoying cousin of hers that won't stop talking about her manicure.

Joel is next to Tommy with Sarah next to him, her tiny feet kicking the air as she eats her pasta.

The speeches are lovely with lots of laughter, lots of wine and lots of good food. The music is amazing as well, upbeat and fun and it gets the crowd dancing. When you look at the band you feel a little thrill go through you when you remember Joel singing to you.

You watch him now, Sarah's hands in his as they dance together. She's giggling and saying something that makes Joel laugh. In a motion as old as dance itself, Sarah's tiny feet are atop her father's and he shuffles them around the dance floor.

Bill and Frank are dancing, well, Bill is shuffling while Frank goes full out, arms in the air as he sings along with the vocalist.

Maria and Tommy are very good dancers, shockingly so. You love seeing the affection they have for one another, even when they're laughing and doing silly dances.

It's the slow dance that brings a halt to your plans of restraint. You sit at your table, falling more in love with Joel every second.

You watch him stride to your table, popping Sarah into her chair with the coloring book and crayons Maria made sure were there for the kids attending the wedding (she thinks of everything!) she happily goes back to the Disney princess she was coloring.

Then he's come to your chair and holds his large hand out to you.

"May I have this dance?"

As if you could refuse.

You beam up at him, taking his hand and letting him lead you to the dance floor. You admire the breath of his shoulders, the tapering of his waist. And he's all yours. Because you are never letting Joel Miller go.

Ever.

The song is slow and sweet. You glance over to see Maria and Tommy kissing gently before her head nestles in the crook of his neck.

You long to do the same with Joel, but you don't want to draw the extra attention.

Instead you try and remain stoic as Joel's hand spans your lower back. One of your hands goes to curl over Joel's shoulder, your free hands in clasped in one anothers.

You dance like this a while, trying so hard not to make it obvious that you're desperately in love with the man that holds you to him, swaying you gently to the music. You hear him gently humming the tune of the song under his breath.

Joel is trying his hardest not to stare at you, but it's impossible. He's wished for you so long that it still seems surreal that your here in his arms and your staying.* it makes his stomach twist pleasantly.

He looks down at you, mouth hitched in a boyish grin.

"So, you still like me?"

"Nah," you reply, your eyes dancing. "Pretty sure I'm in love with you."

"That's a relief," Joel murmurs, aching to kiss you. "Because I was thinking I'd like to marry you sometime pretty soon."

You feel your heart jump at this. Your entire body breaking out into a delicious shiver as Joel stares down at you.

"That's convenient," you reply just as smoothly. "Because I was thinking I'd really like to be your wife someday soon."

Joel grins widely, so handsome and so sexy that you feel overcome. The song ends and with reluctance you pull back. You can't go several more hours without feeling him against you. You tilt forward, dropping your voice.

"Outside. Five minutes."

Joel nods, pretending to part from you. You walk back from the dance floor on your way to grab a drink when you spot Bill making his way back from the drink station. You call him over.

"Thank you for earlier," you tell him, heart swelling. "Both you and Frank. I don't know what I would have done."

"Was nothing," Bill says shyly.

"It was everything," you correct gently. "But I think you know that."

Bill's shrugging. "Saw you arrived with the contractor."

Now it's your turn to give a shy shrug. "Yeah."

"You told him," Bill observes. There's no emotion in his voice, good or bad. You suppose because then he'd feel responsible one way or the other. But his eyes give everything away.

"Yeah."

"And?"

"I'm really glad I did."

The corner of Bill's mouth curls ever so slightly under his beard.

"Good."

You feel so much affection for Bill in this moment. Watching him stride over your lawn to protect you this morning. The advice he's given you. Baking cupcakes for Sarah. The way he's just there when you need him. Glowering or sullen yes, but he's there.

"Bill.... I just... My dad was never... I just wanna," you're stumbling over the words, trying to find them. To thank him for being the father you always wanted without even realizing. To thank him for his steady, calming presence even when it didn't come naturally to him.

And in a move you'll swear was a dream, Bill pulls you with one arm into his barrel chest. He holds you there tightly only a moment and releases you.

"You know we're always here if you need."

And then he's gone before you can say more, striding away from you and back to Frank who is deep in conversation with Sarah.

You're in a daze when you feel a hand glide over the small of your back. You watch as Joel moves past you and out into the warm night.

He glances back just before ducking around the corner, just long enough to give you a sultry wink that hits you so hard you actually stumble walking. Jesus, your entire body is thrumming. You need to get Joel back into bed as soon as possible. Maybe you won't ever leave it. There are worst fates.

You wait a few moments, trying to be discreet before you slip out from the loud party and outside. The cicadas reach you, the warm breeze dancing along your face as you step out the barn doors.

"Hey pretty lady," a deep voice sounds from your left. "You single by any chance?"

You turn, giggling when you see Joel leaning against the outer wall of the barn. His jacket is off, his white button down sleeves rolled to the elbows. He looks delicious.

"Nah I've got this big, strong boyfriend," you tease as you slink towards him. "And you better be careful ‘cuz he's got a real bad temper. He punched a guy in a McDonald's once."

Joel holds in a sharp laugh, reaching for you. "Yeah but he had it coming."

"Couldn't agree more," you nod, allowing Joel to pull you into his arms.

You go boneless against him as he kisses you, his hands on either side of your face. He pauses only when he feels you tense up, his large eyes scanning your face.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm scared at how good this feels," you confess to him without hesitation. "I've lived a whole life of waiting for the other shoe to drop. This feels too good. I'm too happy."

"You don't have anything to worry about," Joel promises you. "No shoe droppin' with the Millers. We take care of each other."

"I'm not a Miller."

"Just a formality," Joel assures you between kisses.

You grin through a watercolor blur and wrap your arms around his neck.

"I love you," you say against his jaw, just because you can say it. You get to say this to Joel anytime you want.

"Ditto."

Joel wedges a finger under your chin and tilts your face to him. He presses his mouth over yours once more. You sigh, arms wrapping around his neck. He's so wonderful.

His mouth finds yours again and again and your hips find his and before long he has you pressed against the barn with one of your thighs wrapped around his waist. His tongue is slipping slowly against yours as you whimper.

You can't help it; kissing Joel is like a drug and you always want more. Your hands are at his collar, his hands at your lower back pressing you into him.

"You gonna sleepover tonight?" Joel laughs, kissing you down your neck. The sleepover comment from earlier still amusing him.

"If you'll have me."

"Anytime," Joel promises, his body flush with yours against the side of the barn. "Need you in my bed as much as possible. Wanna take you there right now."

If Joel has it his way you'll never leave his bed again.

His kisses grow more insistent and he feels your body shuddering against his. Could you make it to his truck? Just for fifteen minutes?

"Save it for after the cake cutting, would ya?"

The two of you break apart sheepishly at the sound of Tommy's voice. You glance behind you to see Tommy and Maria smirking at you as they come through the back of the barn.

Joel feels Tommy's eyes on him, twinkling and merry. Joel's mouth twists into an embarrassed smirk.

"Shut the fuck up."

Tommy moves over to his brother, somehow seeming to know that you and Maria need a quick chat.

Maria's eyes are wet, and she's trying so hard not to grin too wide, for fear of creasing her very heavy wedding makeup.

You think back to all the times she tried to warn you off Paul, all the times she tried to push you to Joel and you feel your face crumple. You wrap your oldest friend in your arms.

"Maria, I'm so-"

"Don't you dare apologize," Maria tells you firmly, pulling you back so she can peer into your face, wiping the tears that have escaped down your cheek. "Not for this. Never."

"Okay," you nod, knowing that this is what your friendship is. No recriminations, no long-standing grudges. Just two friends who want to see the best for one another.

"I just wanted you to be happy," she says, eyes welling. "That's all I ever want for you."

"I am," you whisper, voice breaking. "I'm so fucking happy."

Sarah dashes over to you, wanting to show you and her aunt all the flowers from the tables she's collected into her flower girl basket. You hoist her onto your hip so you can all marvel at the colorful arrangements inside.

"Next time listen to me when I tell you something," Maria says with faux irritation over the basket. "I'm never wrong."

"Except when you tried to tell me I looked good in leather pants," you reason.

"I'll give you that one," Maria relents and you both dissolve into laughter. Despite having no idea what's so funny, Sarah joins in, one arm around your neck as she giggles.

At the sound the Miller men glance over at you with stars in their eyes. Tommy places a hand on his older brother's shoulder, shaking his head as if you're the silliest bunch he's ever laid eyes on.

"Well, that's our future, Joel."

"Yeah," Joel says, grinning at you as you catch his eye beaming.

"Yeah it is."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #dad joel miller #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #happily ever after #happy ending #slice of life #joel miller fic #happy Joel Miller #wedding #Sarah Miller #joel the last of us

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stevenssacrab · 4 months

Text

In Secret

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

Summary: For six months, you and Steve have hidden your relationship from everyone, but what happens when you come face to face with death?

Rating: 17+

Warnings: Sneaking around, hostage situation, kissing, reader has a near death experience

Word Count: 1.6k

a/n: love a good ol’ Steve fic, never misses, I hope everyone enjoys this one, have a happy new year!!

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

Being Captain America’s significant other comes with an absurd amount of pressure; you have to be flawless, never make a single mistake, be a good role model for kids, and be just as if not more heroic, which is precisely why you’ve chosen to hide your relationship from everyone, fellow Avengers included. It wasn’t an easy decision, but you and Steve both decided that it would be for the best; you were new to the Avenger team and didn't want the added pressure of being with Steve; you and Steve somehow managed to have kept it hidden for six months, it didn’t come without its hardships though, Steve needed to keep up the appearance of a fearless leader, so he couldn’t be sweet on you when it came to training and performance evaluations; and you couldn't defend Steve when others complained about his methods, less they suspect anything between you two, much to your dismay Steve seemed to always have women after him, leading to a few disagreements about how Steve should handle the situation, you wanted Steve to be harsher when he turned them down, but Steve has a reputation to uphold, and being rude and dismissive was not a part of it.

"Okay, you leave first, and I'll join 5 minutes later," Steve said reassuringly, rubbing your arm gently and giving your hand a light squeeze.

"Okay, see you out there, Cap," you say playfully with a wink; you walk out of your room and down the hall into the conference room filled with fellow Avengers; your eyes scan for an empty seat.

"Y/N! Over here!" Wanda calls, waving her hand and patting the open spot between her and Natasha; you smile and briskly walk over.

"Did we start yet?" you asked, knowing the meeting can't start without Steve.

"No, just waiting for Steve," Natasha says matter of factly, doodling absentmindedly on a piece of paper.

"So, Natasha and I want to see that new movie that just came out. Do you wanna come?" Wanda asked, but you've already seen that movie with Steve earlier this week.

"I've already seen it," you said disheartened.

"HOW!? It's been out for two days?!" Wanda astonished. "It's honestly impressive how fast you watch these movies as they come out; who are you even seeing them with?" Wanda asked, peering at you suspiciously.

"Uh, my mom?" you voice with a rising inflection.

"Okay, this week's mission!" Steve calls out loudly, walking into the room before Wanda can question you further, "Our sources tell us Hydra is working on a new super soldier serum for a division of soldiers. Our mission is to stop them in their tracks." Steve says firmly, eyes landing on yours fleetingly.

"We'll go in groups of 3: Wanda, Clint, and Y/N in group one, group two is Me, Peter, and Scott, and the third and final group is Bucky, Sam, and Natasha.”

"We gotta hightail it; this is of great significance, so we move tonight, meet at the quin in an hour, we’ll discuss our plans of attack on the way," he says with a nod, marching out the room.

“Everyone’s here?” Steve asks, scanning the quin, ensuring everyone is accounted for, “Okay, as we fly over, group one will land on the south side of the building, my group will land east, group three lands west, and the quin will land in the north, the goal is to push toward the center where intel tells us the serums are located and try to catch anyone who may be running off with the serum, once secured everyone evacuate immediately and meet at the jet. Everyone clear?” He asks strictly, looking toward the teams, and they nod affirmatively.

“Okay, move out!” he shouts, rushing for his shield and jumping out of the plane; you land quietly outside the building, shed the parachute off, and get into position.

“Okay, on my mark, go!” Clint whispers harshly; the three of you move as a unit, sweeping every corner, taking quiet steps, instincts on high alert; as you move through the building, you can’t help this nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach; something doesn’t feel right, you’re halfway through the building, and not a single enemy has been spotted.

“Guys, I don’t like this,” you say lowly over comms, hairs on the back of your neck standing straight.

“Let’s just keep moving so we can get out of here,” Clint says, readjusting his grip on his pistol while Wanda grows increasingly worried, palms becoming sweaty, the tension hanging in the air.

“Cap, you guys got anything on your end?” Clint asked over comms, his eyes scanning the suspiciously empty room.

“Nothing over here; keep your eyes peeled; everything about this feels wrong,” Captain uttered, uneasy hanging off every word; you signal you are going to have a look around at the team and break right; you creep into a dark room littered with papers, it looks like everyone just got up at left, you spot a computer playing footage on a loop, you walk up and watch, it’s your team landing outside.

“It's a trap! They know we're here!” You screamed over comms; you reached for your gun but felt something hard press against your back.

“Don't even think about it,” a deep voice said coldly as they pulled you against them roughly; you kept your hands in the air, your heart beating out of your chest; they ran their hands over your body, removing any possible weapon.

“What’s the plan now?” You ask coyly, looking over your shoulder slightly.

“Turn around!” He boomed, patience wearing thin; he pushed the gun against your head, “Walk,” he said, shoving you with the weapon, and you walked carefully toward the exit.

“Y/N, where are you?” Steve asks, trying not to sound as concerned as he is; you trudge toward the exit and swing it open

“Hiya, Captain,” you call, looking at him with pleading eyes. Steve’s face breaks your heart; it’s as if you told him the worst news of his life. The assailant grips you by your neck and pulls you close, holding the gun to your temple.

“What’s wrong, Captain? Cat got your tongue?” He said smugly. Steve said nothing, his eyes remaining planted on you as panic started to work its way across your chest, your hands clawing at the arm tightening around your neck, the assailant laughing at the way you struggle to breathe.

“I'll keep it brief and tell you what I want: a trade, the soldier for your newest recruit," he said arrogantly, walking you both closer to Steve

"Don't do it!" you say anxiously, looking at the team with all their weapons drawn and pointed in your direction; you shift your weight uncomfortably, trying to think of any possibility that doesn't end with you injured or dead, Steve looks back at the rest of the team and then back at you, time moves slow, your skin stings with the bite of the cold winter air, and you hear your blood rushing through your ears like crashing waves, when the assailant jerks suddenly, he fires a shot in the air.

"It's now or never, Captain!" He yells, shoving the gun aggressively into your temple; you close your eyes, accepting your demise, and you open your mouth to say something, but the sound of a gunshot cuts you off; your body tenses, and you wait for the pain, but it never comes, you finally open your eyes when you feel Steve's arms wrap around you, Steve's face is filled with concern, you see his mouth moving, but you don't hear anything, Steve grabs your arms and shakes you lightly, your hearing fades in.

"Y/N! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Oh my god," he blubbers, tears welling in his eyes; he pulls you in for a fiery kiss, holding you as you'd slip through his fingers; he pulls back slowly and looks deeply into your eyes.

"Are you alright?" He asks, panic having left his body; he glides his hands down your arms and holds your hands, interlacing your fingers.

"Yeah, I'm okay, just shaken up," you say reassuringly, pulling him into a hug. You close your eyes, inhaling his scent, losing yourself in the comforting aura that is Steve, and then you hear someone clear their throat; your eyes shoot open, landing on the whole team just staring at you and Steve; you jump back and hit Steve playfully on the chest.

"Steve, they saw us!" You whisper harshly and turn him around, hiding behind his big frame; he clears his throat and speaks

"Uh..." he mutters; he suddenly reaches behind himself and grabs your hand, pulling you next to him and wrapping his arm around your waist.

"We are dating." He said confidently, chin high; there was a long pause as the team looked around at each other, and then you heard a squeal; it was Wanda squealing with happiness, running towards you with a broad smile and open arms, she practically tackled you to the ground, squeezing the life out of you.

"Oh, Wanda, I can't breathe," you choke out, gently smacking her arms.

"Since when?" Sam asks, walking up to Steve and patting him proudly on the back.

"6 months ago," Steve says brightly with a smile, pulling you against him.

"I've known for four months," Natasha says cooly

"How?!" You and Steve say in unison, looking at each other. Natasha smirked and walked closer to you both, placing one hand on each of your shoulders.

"You guys should probably not fall asleep in each other's arms if you don't want anyone to find out." She says matter-of-factly, walking away and leaving you both stunned. "Congrats," she shouted back as she walked into the quinjet.

"Let's move out, team!" He shouts, grabbing your hand gently and walking you both onto the quinjet.

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cameronspecial · 4 months

Text

Assisting In Deception (Part 2)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Sex and Assassinations.

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.8K

Summary: Rafe makes an unusual offer that Y/N takes just to prove a point to her cousin.

Masterlist

Y/N enters Rafe’s office to see him scrolling on his phone at his desk. His coffee is left cold in its mug while his focus is on his phone. He looks in her direction at the sudden feeling of another presence in the room. She walks over to the chair in front of his desk and waits for him to put down his phone. “Yes, Ms. Y/L/N. What do you need?” he offers, giving her his full attention. She readjusts her posture with the sudden new gaze on her, “I know it’s a little early, but I was wondering if I could have March 18th off.” His eyebrows knit together in confusion. She isn’t one to request time off unless she is sick and he highly doubts she can predict being sick six months in advance. He knows she is a planner, but no one could schedule a sickness.

“Okay, may I ask why you need the day off?”

“For my cousin’s wedding. I mean it would be great if I could have the whole six months just to look for a date, but I could do with just the day.”

“You need a date for the wedding?”

“It’s not necessarily a need. It just would make my life a little easier to go to the wedding without being questioned by my relatives about why my romantic life is non-existent. It also doesn’t help that there are like a million parties before the actual wedding that I will be going to solo.”

Rafe shifts his body weight forward, placing his elbow on his desk and his chin on his hand to show his interest. He feels as though fate plopped this opportunity in front of him. What are the chances that Y/N needs a boyfriend at the same time that he needs a girlfriend? “I have a proposition for you,” he states, calmy like what he is about to say is an everyday offer. Y/N’s head tilts, “What would that be?” He looks into her eyes and it feels as though he is about to reveal a deep dark secret. “I want you to be my girlfriend.” She sits there in shock for a solid minute; her mouth hangs open, saying nothing. Rafe worries, waving his hand in front of her face, “Ms. Y/L/N?” “I’m not sure what to say about that,” she admits with bewilderment all over her face. Rafe nods, “I should clarify. I would like for you to be my fake girlfriend. I would go to all of your family events and in exchange, you would let me use you to show the media that I’m not everything they say I am.”

“I see. So you want to use me.”

“Well, yes. But I shouldn’t have used that word. We would just make media appearances together and that’s it.”

“Theoretically, if I were to say yes, I need more details on what you would require me to do.”

“Exactly what I said. You could flaunt me in front of your family. I’d go to the engagement party, bridal party, the wedding and any other thing related to the wedding. For me, you would just need to make one or two event appearances, be seen with me in public a few times and maybe one interview. That’s it. If you agree, we could write this all down in a contract.”

“What about the fact that you are my boss? Don’t you think people will say things about that?”

“They probably will, but everyone will have criticism of who I say I’m dating anyway. I have full confidence that you can charm the public.”

Y/N takes a second to ponder what he is saying. She weighs the pros and cons of his statement and in her mind, the cons come out on top. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cameron. But I don’t think I’m comfortable with the idea of being in the spotlight. Thank you for offering though.” She gets up from the chair and makes her way back outside.

——

It’s been a few hours since Y/N has been in his office and she can’t stop thinking about what he said. She turned down the offer because she wasn’t sure it was a smart idea with her crush on him. The relationship would be fake, but the possibility of her catching true feelings for him could be a risk. It would be too painful if that happened and then they had to stop dating. She would rather take the annoyance of being single than the pain of heartbreak. She still can’t believe how calm and collected he was throughout the whole conversation. He acted like he was asking her what she wanted for dinner, not like he was asking her to lie to the world about their relationship. The ringing of her phone snaps her out of her thoughts.

She takes it out of her pocket to answer it. “Hey Y/N, how are you? Did you get Francine’s wedding invite?” Natalie asks through the phone. Y/N shakes her head at her cousin’s inability to hide what she really wants to know. Natalie has only ever had one interest in life and that is one-upping her cousin. “I did, Nat. Are you going?” she plays into her cousin’s game.

“Of course, I’m going. I love Francine, so I would totally want to go to her wedding. Plus, Richard can take the day off. I’m thinking of getting us matching hats for the wedding. Well, a fascinator for me and a top hat for him.”

“That sounds like a great idea. I’m glad that you are happy with Richard.”

“So… Are you going to be going to the wedding solo again?”

The hint of pity and patronizing in her tone irritates Y/N to no end. Y/N responds without another thought, “Actually, I do have a date. Not that it is your business really. Anyway, I have to go. My boss is calling me.” She hangs up the phone and sighs at what she has to do. She gets up from her desk, knocking on Rafe’s door. She enters at his approval and sits herself in the same chair again. “I accept,” she informs. “But I want a say as to what goes into the contract.”

“I can work with that.”

Rafe holds his hand out for her to shake. As she shakes it, worry floods through her. She realizes that this isn’t just going to be something her family is going to see, but the whole world is going to know about their relationship. What will they say when they learn she isn’t the heiress of some big company? What will they think if they learn she is his assistant? She buries her stress deep inside and promises to not let it out until this whole thing is over.

——

The staff lounge is empty except for Topper sipping his tea whilst on his phone. He may be the head of legal at Cameron Development, but he always makes sure to get to know everyone in the company, no matter the rank of their job title. “Ahh, well if it isn’t the new Mrs. Cameron,” he jokes when he notices her at the door. She smiles at him and walks to the Nespresso machine, “That is not a new nickname that you are calling me. So I see you got the contract.” Topper laughs at the seriousness of her voice at what he called her. “That I did. I have to say I was not expecting to see a contract about your relationship with Rafe when I woke up this morning.”

“Me either. All I wanted was someone to go to my cousin’s wedding with me. And now, I am going to be paraded around his world.”

“Well, you could’ve just asked me. I’m always available to take you out.”

“Thanks but the only taking out I’m considering right now is the one where you would need a gun. All jokes aside, I think it’s going to be fine. Rafe is a good boss.”

“He is and if he ever gets on your nerves too much, you can always come to me.”

“I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”

——

Rafe looks around the subway station horrified about the state of the place. His expensive dark blue polo shirt and tan dress pants are a stark contrast to the hot and rat-infested platform. Y/N giggles at the look on his face, “It’s like you’ve never been on the subway before.” “I haven’t,” he admits, looking at her with raised eyebrows. Her head moves from side to side and she hesitantly takes his hand to guide him onto the arriving subway.

One of the stipulations of the contract is that Y/N gets to take them on their first “outing” as a couple. She wanted to go out with him outside of work to get to know him more than the very little he’s allowed anyone he works with to get to know him; the exception being Topper and Kelce, who grew up with him and were given jobs when he took over the company. The other rule she stipulated is that she wants a soft launch of the relationship until it is necessary for her to be revealed as the mystery girl. At least, this way she can keep her privacy as long as she can. She had told Rafe to dress casually, but she really shouldn’t have been surprised that he still arrived looking like a million dollars.

He keeps his sunglasses on as he pauses to sit down beside her on the subway seat. He takes a chance to glance at the costumed cookie monster and looks back at her. “Do you have to keep your sunglasses on? We are on the subway,” she questions, leaning in to talk to him. His eyes dart to the muppet beside him, “Yes, because me wearing sunglasses indoors is the strangest thing here. Why couldn’t we have taken my car?” She shoots him a playful glare. “Your fancy dancy car would bring too much attention to us and that is the last thing I want right now,” she explains, checking the subway screen to see how many stops until they get off. “Where are we going anyways?” he inquires, following her gaze.

“It’s a surprise.”

——

The pair exit the station and the sight before him is one he is familiar with. He isn’t sure what “regular” people restaurant is around Central Park, but he lets her steer them in the right direction. He looks down at their joint hand and he can’t help but notice how they interlace together perfectly. He shakes himself out of his observation and looks up to see the reason why she stopped. In front of him is a street cart that appears to be selling hot dogs. He looks over at her with a questioning look, “You want me to eat food that has come from a cart?”

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad. And this place has a permit. It’s fine.”

“You can eat that stuff, but I’m not risking it.”

“Stop being so snooty. Eating is part of a date. So you are going to go sit on that bench and eat whatever I get you. If you are a good boy, then maybe I’ll get you a Spider-Man or Spongebob ice cream. Dealers choice.”

He stares at her in surprise that she talked to him in such an ordering manner. She always speaks her mind, but she normally does it in a less commanding way. He listens to what she says and goes to sit on a bench looking over the lake. After a few minutes, she comes back with two hot dogs and water bottles. She hands him one of each, “I have ketchup and mustard packets if you want. I didn’t get you a New York hot dog because I thought I would ease you into street food culture.” He takes the packets with thanks and adds the condiments to his meal. They eat in silence until she breaks the silence. “So you grew up in the Outer Banks. What’s that like?” He looks over at her, finishing chewing before answering, “Yeah. It was quiet.”

“Wow, this has been a great conversation. Thank you for participating in it!”

“I don’t know what you expect, Ms. Y/L/N. I’ve never been much of a talker.”

“First, when we are outside of the office, you can call me Y/N. Second, what I expect from you is to stop being Mr. Cameron, my boss, and to be Rafe, my boyfriend. If people are going to actually believe we are dating, then you have to separate those two.”

“Okay, fine. I see your point. Ask me another question.”

She grins at his offer and takes a second to think about it, “You are never playful or smile, so why do you tease me sometimes? It’s the least serious I’ve ever seen you.”

“You’re the only one who isn’t afraid of me. Plus, it amuses me how flustered you get.”

Y/N is rendered speechless and she uses one hand to put her hair that is framing her face on both sides of her face behind her ear. The conversation flows in small talk while they finish their hot dogs. She takes their garbage and stands up, “You’ve been good. I guess I can get you an ice cream. Do you want Spider-Man or Spongebob?”

“Are those the only two options? What about the other flavours?”

“Yes. Now, choose.”

“Spongebob.”

She nods and heads back over to the stand. He watches as she pays for the sweet treats and returns to him. Rafe didn’t want her to pay for everything on the date, but she had put it as a requirement in the contract. He takes the package from her, opening it as soon as it makes contact with his hand. The disappointment on his face is evident on his face and she laughs. “This does not look like the picture,” his lips turn in a microscopic pout. Her head moves from side to side, “Things rarely do, Boss.”

——

Y/N returns home from the date a little after five to find Juni sitting on the couch, watching TV. “Where have you been? You didn’t tell me you were going out, Sweetie,” Juni interrogates, getting up from the couch to be closer to Y/N. She chuckles at her best friend worrying like her mother. She gives her a hug, “Did you forget that I told you about my fake date with Rafe today?” “Oh, yeah. I did. Sorry, I’ve been so busy with work that I forgot. How was your date with the Big C?” she apologizes, sitting herself down at the kitchen island.

“One. That cannot be your new nickname for him. Two. It was good. He opened up to me a little bit, so we are making progress. It was adorable, he was so disgruntled that the Spongebob ice cream wasn’t like the picture. Also, apparently, he teases me because he likes to see me flustered.”

The loving look in Y/N’s eyes causes Juni to frown, “Just be careful with him. I don’t want you getting hurt in this whole fake dating thing, Sweetie. I’ve never seen these things end well.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t fall for him. He’s my boss and nothing more.”

Alexander enters the apartment with no knock and an annoyed look on his face. “Why must people be so crude? Why does no one want a serious relationship anymore?” he complains, settling himself on the couch. The girls turn with concerned looks on their faces. “Another bad date?” Y/N poses, getting up from her stool to sit beside him. “Yes, this guy literally told me all he wants is a fuck buddy. And when I asked him why he still tried to match with me even though my profile said I wanted a relationship, he said that he just thought I was lying and would agree to just fucking when I saw his face,” he answers and lets himself be embraced by Y/N. Juni gets up to rub his back in reassurance, “Ugh, I hate men that are so cocky like that. I’m sorry the date went bad. He doesn’t realize what a great guy he is missing out on.”

Heat rushes to his cheeks and he scratches the back of his neck. They look into each other's eyes. Anyone but them can see the obvious attraction between the two. Y/N looks between the pair with a slight bit of jealousy. She wishes that she could have chemistry like that with someone, but that would require believing in love first.

Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @aprilrudgate @loving-and-dreaming @thepatriarchykeychain @maybankslover @abbybarnesstuff @wh0reforbucknasty @spencereidbasis

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 1 year

Text

Here, Kitty Kitty (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Aizawa x Black!Catgirl!Reader

Synopsis: In which you find yourself in the weirdest predicament after you’re scooped up and taken to a cat cafe after you decide to take the streets to fight some crime, and you’re adopted by your very anti-social and hot coworker Aizawa aka Eraserhead.

Story Warnings: Smutty smut, 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY), Swearing, Adult!Reader, Ear and Tail Stroking, Light Degradation, Spanking, Exhibitionism, Multiple Positions, Creampie, Unprotected PIV Sex, Facial, Scent Play, Collaring, Deepthroat, Cunnlingus, Begging, Edgeplay, Power Play, Rope Play/Shibari, Master Kink, Some Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Some Action

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: I done had this idea for YEARS & finally decided to write it. Idk how long this will be BUT I hope y’all live for some coworkers to friends to lovers type shit. Enjoy! -Jazz

Read on AO3 here!

Other Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Twenty-Five.

*************

ONE.

Briiii-iiing!

After what feels like an eternity, the bell signaling your third period and your lunch break has finally rung its joyous sound throughout the halls. You don’t even mind the way it sounds shrill to your overly-sensitive ears. But that’s the way of a cat: everything is sensitive to you. Even as a cat hybrid.

You turn to the student who has become a regular in your office, smiling kindly at him. “That’s for you, too,” you say with a wink. “I don’t think you’d wanna eat lunch with the school counselor, Katsuki.”

Katsuki Bakugou, with his intense stare and a permanent scowl that reminds you of a bulldog, grumbles as he stands and slugs his backpack over his shoulder. He turns to head out of your office without another word.

“Hey,” you say, stopping him. He looks over his shoulder expectantly. “Remember what I said: if someone says something to piss you off, just breathe. Think about what you’d be giving up if you resort to violence. You’re a very intelligent and good kid, Katsuki.”

Bakugou doesn’t reply, but you see something shift on his face. He looks taken aback at your words. But just as quickly as it came, it’s gone and he’s back to his usual cool stare. With a suck of his teeth, he’s leaving your office, slamming the door as he does.

You sit back in your seat and turn towards the window, exhaling slowly. Your view from your office showcases the gorgeous cherry blossoms that are about to bloom–they’re just pink buds right now. You sigh dreamily, so glad spring is here. Finally, you’ll be able to crack open your window to breathe in the sweet scents of blooming flowers and sun.

You remind yourself once again to thank Nezu for such a wonderful spot for your office. Not only do you have the best seat in the house for the view, but you also have your own couch for naps in between breaks and a mini fridge under your desk where you store your lunch and snacks for the kids who come in here to chat about their problems or incidents with other kids (mostly Bakugou).

“As the UA school counselor, it’s important that you’re just as comfortable as our students here!” Nezu brightly proclaimed after giving you the tour of UA on your first day at work. That was at the beginning of September. Now that it’s March, you’ve been here for six months now. You couldn’t have asked for a better job! You get paid what you weigh with your degrees, you live in an apartment on campus you don’t have to constantly dish out money for public transportation, and everyone you work alongside is so, so nice…

Well, almost everyone.

Not wanting to waste any more time before another kid comes crying into your office about their issues, you take your lunch out of your mini fridge and hurry to head off to the UA teacher breakroom, locking the office door as you do.

When you enter the cozy-looking breakroom with its mini sofas, expensive coffee machine, and sterling steel microwave, you find Nemuri and Mic already sitting at a table. Nemuri glances at the door and grins at you. “Ah, there she is!” she coos. “My favorite cat girl!” Her eyes trail over your form, humming suggestively. “And looking quite fine.”

“Absolutely,” Mic agrees as he pops some rice into his mouth. “Pink is definitely your color, Y/N.”

You flush at the sweet compliments, glad you went for a pink blouse and a nice skirt today. “Why, thank you,” you giggle as you sit next to Nemuri–your usual spot. Your trail curls around your legs, relaxed and content. “So, what’s on for the conversation today?”

“Tonight,” Nemuri replies, wiggling her brows mischievously at you. “We’re still on for tonight, right?” She grips your arm dramatically. “Please tell me we are! I’ve been needing to get my ass in my clubbing dress for months!”

“Yes, drama queen,” you laugh as you unzip your lunch bag. A bento box, a yogurt cup, and a bottle of Kombucha tea sit inside. “We’re still on. I’ve been needing to shake my ass for the one time, too.”

“And get yourself someone to take back home tonight you watch you shake your ass,” Nemuri adds. You roll your eyes while Mic laughs. “Aw, come ooon, Y/N!” she whines. “You’ll never know the thrill of bringing someone back for a hot night at your place until you try it.”

Nemuri has been trying to get you to try casual sex for the longest time after her plans for being a matchmaker fell through. When you told her you didn’t have a boyfriend during a night out after becoming fast friends, she just about fell out of her chair. “No,” she gasped into her cocktail. “A woman as gorgeous as you? There’s no way! This is a tragedy!”

And because of this “tragedy”, she took it upon herself to try and match you up with other pros she knew. So far, it’s been All Might, who was very nice but you found you liked as a friend, and Snipe, who was fine as hell behind his mask and amazing in bed, you felt like you were leading him on because of your feelings for another person. Snipe told you he understood but if things never worked out with “the other guy”, he was always there.

What Nemuri didn’t realize is that dating never seemed to work for you. It always ended in casual sex due to you being a cat girl. Most men you’d dated or slept with always seemed to want you for the cat girl they thought you to be…which was usually out of a hentai. So you steered clear from dating, feeling more than happy being single if it meant not putting up with the BS. Cat girls had a bad rep because of the shit Hollywood thought of for pornos, which meant you had to work ten times harder to get what you wanted. Including being taken seriously in a relationship.

“First of all, that’s against the rules, ‘Muri,” you sigh despite your friend’s pouting. “Nezu is against bringing any outsiders onto campus, especially in our dorms.” Nemuri and Mic glance at each other, knowing damn well they’ve broken that rule many, many times. “And two, you know I’m too busy with work to date.”

“It’s not dating though,” she protests. “It’s sex! Tell her, Mic.” The blonde pro looks between the two of you, bunching on a rice ball.

“I’m not in this,” he mumbles, making you laugh. “And the last time I bought someone to my apartment, I shattered some windows in the entire complex because I was so loud.” Your eyes widen at his confession and he flushes. “He was good, okay?”

Hysterical giggles rise to the surface in your chest, Nemuri laughing with you. “That’s hilarious,” you sigh, wiping at a tear, “and exactly why your idea is a bad one.” You poke Nemuri’s side with a fork. “Besides, you know I don’t want just anyone in my bed.”

As soon as the words are out, you realize your mistake. Your friends stare at you expectantly, leaning in as if desperate to know your deep, dark secrets. “Then who do you want, Y/N?” Nemuri purrs, raising a brow at you. Mic nods. “Yes, do tell!”

You flush, popping a piece of chicken kara-age from your bento box into your mouth to keep your mouth occupied. They both knew who you were referring to; they just wanted you to say it aloud. The truth was, you could never date just anyone because you already had feelings for another. It was stupid, really. A pathetic, schoolgirl crush because you knew he could never return them.

As if on cue, the man of the hour and your dreams walks into the room, as quiet as a church mouse. He’s so quiet that you jump, your tail fuzzing up, when you see him round the corner wearing his signature jumpsuit and scarves, hands in his pockets. He truly is an attractive man despite his tired eyes–about six foot something, a nice build, black locks of shoulder-length hair that frame his handsome face, and a five o’clock shadow.

When he glances at you as he walks in, it’s so hard to breathe suddenly. No matter how many times he looks at you, it always has the same effect on you. His stares are intense and bothersome; haunting almost. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that your skirt rises just above your knees, giving a tiny slip of thigh behind your nylon stockings.

“Aizawa!” Mic exclaims, grinning at his friend as he slinks into the room. “To what do we owe the pleasure of seeing your gorgeous face?”

Aizawa doesn’t spare his friend as much as a glance as he looms over the coffee machine. He grabs one of the Plus Ultra mugs above the sink and takes a pod of the dark roast. “Lunch break,” he blandly replies. “Needed coffee.”

You can’t help but watch his hands as he works to whip himself up a cup. His hands are just so big! And his fingers are so long. You wonder if he plays piano by any chance.

And if one day, he could play you by any chance. Would his hands be calloused and rough from years of hero work? Would they be gentle and careful with you? Would he know how to touch you? Would he be willing to know how, practically begging you to show him how to make you feel good?

You can picture him now, his eyes drilling a hole into you as he kneels between your thighs, his fingers plunged deep into your sobbing wet–

“Oh, Shouta!” Nemuri calls, scaring you half to death out of your nasty thoughts. She’s smirking at you while Mic silently laughs beside her. “Will you be attending our nighttime activity after school ends? We’re going to Hot Spot. You know, that one club all the pros go to?”

You flush, knowing what she’s doing. She knows damn well Aizawa isn’t going. He never goes anywhere except he’s forced to. “Of course, you are,” he mutters, tapping one finger on the counter as he waits for his coffee to finish brewing. “And no, I’m not. Don’t know why this is even a question.”

“Oh, sorry,” Nemuri sarcastically replies. “I forgot you’re anti-social and you hate anything related to socializing or people.”

Aizawa gives her an irritated glance. “Not the reason,” he growls. “It’s because I have better things to do than be in a room with a bunch of drunk people I don’t know. Like grading papers.” Once his coffee is done, he takes the mug along with one packet of sugar. No cream or anything else.

He walks to the door but glances back at his friends before he makes his grand exit. “And I’m not anti-social.”

“Sure, you’re not!” Mic yells to him once he’s gone. He then turns to you and Nemuri with a smirk. “He totally is.” You smile along with Nemuri’s laugh, but you can’t help the way your body feels from Aizawa’s presence: hot and very, very bothered.

***************

You could burn a hole into someone as you watch Nemuri giggle and charm the man trying to sweet-talk her next to you at your booth.

The man is so obviously eyeing your friend’s cleavage that she flaunts in her dress with the sweetheart neckline. This is the fourth man that’s talked to her tonight since she, you, and Mic arrived at Hot Spot an hour before.

‘Horny bastards,’ you think to yourself, though you can’t help but be jealous.

Why can’t you be more like Nemuri and just be free with your inhibitions like her? She flaunts, flirts, and fucks without care. But then again, everyone wants to fuck Ms. Midnight. Nobody even knows who you are. And you’d like to keep it that way. Plus, being a cat girl gains you unwanted attention anyway. It’s bad enough you get the occasional weirdo asking you about your tail and if you poop in a litterbox.

Mic, in his Hawaiian shirt, wraps an arm around you. “What are you doing later?” he asks you playfully. You giggle, poking at his chest. “Not you,” you reply wittingly.

“Oh, that’s right!” he recalls, giving you a smirk. His eyes look slightly hooded from the several shots he, you, and Nemuri did. “Because you’d like to be doing my friend right now. And don’t deny it either!”

You say nothing. Instead, you stare down at your hands clamped firmly in the lap of your skinny jeans. You went for a nice sequin top and heels tonight to pair with the jeans that made your ass and thighs look fantastic. You swear, Mic and Nemuri told you that at least five times tonight.

Nemuri finally turns around to face you, placing a folded napkin in her bra. “Got a number,” she sings. “Might just give it to you.” She goes to take the napkin out and give it to you, but you push her hand away. “No,” you protest. “I already told you, Nemuri; not interested in fuckin’ someone I barely know.”

Nemuri puckers her lips at you, giving you a scowl. “Leave her be, ‘Muri,” Mic chuckles, wrapping his arms around the both of you. “You know her heart is set on another.” He and Nemuri begin to pucker their lips at you, moving to kiss your cheeks.

“Cut it out!” you laugh, slapping them away. “I don’t want your drunk ass kisses either!”

“I don’t know why you don’t just talk to the guy, babe,” Mic chuckles, already on his fifth shot of the night. “He’s really not that bad! He’s just extremely shy and doesn’t have that much experience with talkin’ to women. If he happens to meet one, it’s usually just a hookup.”

You wither at his words, silently drinking your cocktail. You don’t want to be just a hookup to Aizawa if you ever managed to get that far with him. But those changes are slim to none since he barely speaks to you. The most you ever get out of him is a “good morning” or a “see you tomorrow”.

You’ve been working at UA for six months now and you barely know anything about him except for the fact that he’s pro-hero Eraserhead, he’s fine as fuck, and all his students love him like a dad, even calling him “Dadzawa” which you think is utterly adorable. You’d love to know what’s underneath that stoic expression and intense eyes, but Aizawa purposely keeps to himself and barely speaks to anyone.

Despite this knowledge, your body still quivers at the memory of those damn eyes setting dead on you. Then you just feel stupid. You know that you and Aizawa could never date. It’s just not in the cards for you right now, with your job as a counselor and your “nightly activity”.

So when is this stupid crush going to end?

“Oh, wow,” Mic suddenly says. He’s on his phone, scrolling through Apple News. “Look at this!” he excitedly says, practically shoving his phone in your face. “Can you believe this shit? Street crime has been down more than 50% in the past few months. More than it's been in the last five years!"

Nemuri glances at you, a knowing smirk on her face. You flush with pride and do your best to bite back a smile as you match Mic’s astonishment. “Wow, them underground pros must be workin’ hard, plus the night patrols.”

As if not wanting you to be blue over this weird ass man the entire night, one of your favorite songs comes on too. You take Nemuri and Mic’s hands in yours. “C’mon’ let’s go dance.” Nemuri squeals and practically drags you to the dance floor, Mic following close behind you. The music is good tonight, the DJ playing mostly hip hop, transitioning between 90s tunes and modern stuff.

The alcohol you consumed gives you the confidence to dance the night away, your hips swaying and ass bouncing in time with the different beats. You’re well aware you’re catching eyes from many different people out on the floor, pros or not, and it fills you with the sense of confidence and sexiness Nemuri must feel every time she walks out of the house. As you dance under the strobe lights, sweating out your makeup and braids, you feel like you could take someone home if you wanted to. Who needed Aizawa? He had no idea what he was missing.

That intoxicating feeling doesn’t let up for a moment, even as the night comes to an end hours later. It is about 11 PM when you, Nemuri, and Mic finally depart outside the club. “Thanks for inviting me,” you say, hugging Nemuri. “You sure he’s gonna be okay?”

You nod at a very drunk and sleepy Mic who has his arm slung over Nemuri’s shoulders, his head lulling. “He’ll be fine,” she giggles, wrapping an arm around his waist. “He thinks he’s a steel bull when it comes to shots, this one.” She laughs at Mic’s light mumbling as he sings the lyrics of a Beyoncé song. “Where are you about to go now?” She asks, shifting her weight in her heels to accommodate Mic’s.

“Where do you think?” You playfully ask, giving her a wink before you begin to strut away from her at the club down the street. “Just be careful!” You hear Nemuri call after you.

You turn to her, seeing her concerned gaze, and you give her a reassuring smile. “Don’t I always?” You laugh, blowing her a kiss before turning around and strutting away back to UA just as Nemuri and Mic get into the Lyft she called beforehand. But you know you can be faster.

You don’t stop moving until you’re finally behind a nearby building to a jewelry shop. You turn to look in the glass window at the woman staring back at you standing in her leather jacket, skinny jeans, and sequin top. With a slow exhale leaving your nostrils, the reflection of the woman vanishes, now replaced with a teeny, tiny, black cat.

To anyone who was to walk through this alley, all they would see is a stray walking the streets. But only you know the truth.

Though the streets are empty and quiet at this time of night, you can’t be too careful, so you decide to take the rooftops, jumping from one building without a care in the world to the next with your heightened agility and senses. All sounds of Musutafu at night–the chirping of birds; the drilling machinery of constructing workers in the streets; the honking of traffic; the occasional bark of dogs–drift to your ears, making them twitch. Everything in your sight is ten times as close, even the farthest tree where you can clearly see a couple going at it in the park.

It only takes you ten minutes you get back to UA, faster than Nemuri and Mic. You hurry across campus to the faculty dorms and jump onto the trunk of a nearby cherry blossom tree. Your claws immediately shoot out and stick into the bark, allowing you to climb up the tree with no problem.

You then creep along the long branch that stretches right to the window of your dorm that you keep cracked specifically for you–just enough for you to slide through. When you’re finally inside the clean, dark apartment, you quickly shift back into your human form (clothes still intact) and proceed to hurry to your closet.

You open it, your eyes falling on the black box pushed to the back behind your shoes. Trembling with excitement, you pull the box out and look inside where your hero’s outfit, complete with fingerless gloves, knee-high boots, and a mask, sits inside. “Hey, baby,” you coo, taking out the mask. It’s simple and black with two cat ears popping out of the top to protect your ears. You slip the mask over your head before putting on the rest of your gear.

The black leather bodysuit stretches across your skin and accentuates the curve of your ass, the fullness of your breasts, and the best parts of your body. Decorated along your front, back, and thighs are silver, glitter-coated slashes to appear like claw tears. You thought that was a cute touch. The back isn’t tight enough on your backside to hurt your tail, but you don’t like it out when you’re fighting. It’s too risky since you know your opponents could pull on it.

The mask covers the top half of your face, making you feel like a stranger as you stand in your mirror, admiring yourself. The knee-high boots are high enough to make you feel sexy, but low enough for you to kick ass or run if need be. But half the time, you’ve got the running thing covered with your cat form.

With a smile on your glossy lips, you admire the sexy woman standing in the mirror in front of you. The Night Claw. Musutafu’s newest and cutest nighttime vigilante. And your alter ego–one that you’ve secretly had for months now after starting UA.

“Time for some trouble,” you purr. With another inhale, you transform back into your cat form. You stretch, arching your back and yawning, before jumping up on the window and then leaping from the ledge.

You praise yourself when you hit the ground on all fours. Then, with a happy meow and a blink of your yellow eyes, you race out into the night, yowling happily as you do, for another night of excitement.

#aizawa x black!reader #bnha smut #black coded reader #black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #here kitty kitty #my fic shit #black writers #shouta aizawa #shoutaaa #shouta aizawa x black!reader

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marleysfinest · 1 year

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reiner x reader, post-war smut drabble. cw injury, bleeding

big up wife @pisspope for the inspo for this one u the mvp

there was something about the winter months. something about the way the frost clung to the frozen leaves, how the morning air was so deadly silent, the sounds of nature blanketed and muffled by thick mist clouding the way. the way that life seemed to all but stop, as the insects and birds fell silent as they hid from the chill of the air, hoping to survive until the thaw of spring.

you stand against the frozen pillar of the porch, cloak wrapped tightly around your shoulders as you cradle your piping mug of tea to your chest. the steam that billows out is thick and milky white as it hits the freezing air, but you welcome the way it's warming you until it cools enough to drink. you stare out at the sprawling meadow, coated in frost and leaving just the slightest hint of minty-green of the grass beneath. the sun is rising slowly above the horizon, and soon the frost will melt.

it's been six months since the history-altering march of the titans and, while life is beginning to resume slowly, you can still make out the slightest outlines of footprints across the meadow, the tracks having moulded the earth forever. you come out here in the mornings to breathe in new life, but as much as you welcome living another day, this reminder will always be here to greet you. as you lose yourself yet again in a daydream of the past six months, you almost don't hear the door behind you open. before you can turn to take a look at him, reiner wraps you in his arms and another cloak for good measure.

"morning," he mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep. his arms wrap around your waist and he rests his chin on your shoulder, his sudden presence bathing you in heat. you mutter a 'good morning' in return, and rest your head against his.

"I don't like waking up to an empty bed. it's freezing, why don't you come inside?" he asks. you realise that you perhaps should, although that would mean moving from this embrace.

"I'm warm," you reply, "as long as you stay here I'll be just fine."

he huffs a laugh, sending warm air across your collarbone.

"well, I don't have a shirt on, and you are going to catch your death in that nightdress. c'mon."

he loosens his grip and moves to grab a fistful of your nightdress, gently tugging you back inside. despite knowing you should get out of the cold, something about the vista in front of you is begging you to stay and finish your drink, and so you resist his pleas at first.

"let me drink my tea, rei," you insist, knowing your refusal will be driving him mad. he channels so much of himself into making sure you're alright; he'd hate the thought of you being in the cold without him. you already know he's pouting before you turn to look at him. his eyes flicker to the steaming drink, meaning that if not for the risk of scalding you, he'd have scooped you off your feet by now. he looks defeatedly at the tea in your hands and sighs before moving in close to you. you look up to him, wide-eyed, and drink in his appearance. his eyes are still a little hooded, weighed down by sleep, and his golden hair is in disarray after another restless night. despite his dishevelled appearance, he has never looked better. with all the care in the world, he brings himself close to you, and it's then you feel him pressed up against your hip.

"the bed was empty when I woke up," he utters, "you know what kind of torture that is? to roll over and not have you right there?"

you smile, and blow on your drink.

"sorry," you say sweetly, "I guess I just wanted to see what lengths you'd go to to find me."

he sighs again, this time throwing in the gentlest hint of a growl with it, before leaning down to plant a kiss on your lips. it's firm and intense, and although the tea is warm and sweet, who are you to deny him?

"leave that out here, it'll cool down soon enough," he whispers, knowing you can't resist him when he asks, "I won't keep you long."

you sigh, trying to appear inconvenienced, but you follow him in a heartbeat. he leads you across the threshold and immediately the air is warmer; the fire hasn’t been going for long, but it’s already enveloped the room like a warm hug. he doesn’t give you long to appreciate the more comfortable temperature; before you have much of a chance to shrug off your shawl, reiner is on you, gently sliding the woollen knit from your shoulders and slipping his hands beneath your nightdress. his hands are delightfully warm, and already you can feel the heat beating from his chest. as he pulls you close to him, waist to waist and chest to chest, he swoops down to plant another kiss on your lips, but this one is far more passionate, far more meaningful. he lets one hand remain on the small of your back while the other repositions itself to the back of your head, holding you firmly against him.

he wastes no time in removing your nightdress completely, and in almost the same swift movement, his pyjama trousers have been recklessly discarded, almost landing in the fireplace. his breath is heavy, almost frantic, matching his movements which are bordering on hasty.

“rei - ” you breathe as he lays you on the couch in front of the fire, hoping that he’d pick up on the suggestion to slow down. while his enthusiasm was most welcome, it wasn’t exactly the norm for him, and you’d rather be assured that he’s alright rather than let him maintain this pace in any discomfort. he positions himself on top of you, firmly between your legs, and for a second you swear you can feel his heart beating against your chest.

“what?” he asks between kisses. he pushes himself hard against your heat, desperate to get right down to it, you can tell.

“slow down,” you whisper with a smile, “you don’t have to hurry.”

“yes, I do,” he replies instantly, hooking your leg over his shoulder, “I need you now.”

there was no need to question it. it was clear in his voice; if you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought he was a man possessed. but there was something about his tone that, while urgent and ragged, showcased his ecstasy and his joy, two emotions decidedly not often attributed to reiner braun, and it’s because of this that you decide not to push the matter any further, and let him do things the way he wanted.

he takes a second to adjust himself before entering you roughly, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips that seems to spur him on. he’s so hard and so worked up that it’s almost concerning, but you’re in no position to care. he ruts into you with fervour and force, hitting that sweet spot again and again, mercilessly with no room for relief. he buries himself into your neck, kissing and sucking away, and in an attempt to both ground yourself and feel him deeper, you dig your nails into his shoulders, not realising the force with which you’re doing it. he lifts his head to look at you, really look at you as your foreheads rest together and you both feel your releases brewing. he grips you by the jaw as you come together, pulsing in ecstasy on the couch and, despite the freezing temperatures outside, feeling your sweat mix with his. he brushes a bead of sweat from your brow as time seems to stand still, this moment of contentment and pleasure on pause for as long as you wanted. until, that is, you see the red claw marks on his shoulders.

“rei!” you exclaim quietly, feeling embarrassed and guilty, “rei, you’re bleeding.”

the spell that he’s under is broken, and he’s craning his head to look for the source of your concern. he sees the claw marks and tiny beads of blood, but isn’t concerned or angry. in fact, there’s something else, something beyond, as he sits up to examine it closer. you start to feel worried that you’ve overstepped a boundary, especially when you see his eyes begin to well up. your eyes widen in horror.

“no, baby, don’t cry!” you squeal, “I’m so sorry!”

it stuns you when he smiles as the tears tumble across his cheek. he taps at the scratches so that his fingertips are tinted red, and swallows heavily.

“I haven’t bled in years,” he says, his voice breaking. despite your disbelief and horror, you realise that he looks happy. he looks euphoric. “I can feel it. I can still see it.”

you feel tears of your own begin to well as you realise the cause of his emotion; finally being able to have something to show for his injuries, something decidedly more human than he was used to. he looks at you with a warm grin.

“do it again.”

#this is very not proofread #but it was fun!!!!#i fell in love with the idea of him enjoying not steaming up or healing right away as soon as Beloved said it #and so #this was born #reiner braun #reiner x reader #reiner x yn #reiner smut #attack on titan #aot #aot smut #shingeki no kyojin

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bl0omss · 7 months

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It feels like in another life, we were allowed to love each other. Idk how, or when. But it feels like my soul keeps being drawn to you. Through distance and dreams, you haunt me. Like a trace of fog in fields at night you can’t quite see. That you yearn to touch but you know better than to try. Like a see you soon said for the very last time.

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yellowocaballero · 1 year

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New Wave: Jason Todd vs. Annoyingly Perfect Cheerleader Barbie Stephanie Brown

Tim stared at him for another long second, face blank, and a few seconds of hot panic hit Jason before he finally spoke again. “You really aren’t anything like Steph.”

Yeah. Jason fucking got that.

It was always a bad thing. They pretended it wasn’t a bad thing. Oh, nobody ever said it was bad Jason wasn’t Stephanie fucking Brown. But they didn’t need to say it. Jason was a master of tactics and strategy, and he knew he was without resources.

Resources, in this context, being a goddamn fucking perfect blue eyed blonde haired hot white girl. Being peppy and happy and nice. Apparently being some kind of dumb genius who knew everything and everyone. Jason didn’t have any of that. Without any resources or allies, his idiot new life knocked him flat on his back every time. Jason wasn’t Stephanie Brown, and boy did they let him know it.

In which the next generation of inferiority complexes rise.

Now that my magnum opus Stephanie Brown superiority manifesto is done, I can FINALLY post its follow-up! This one was very strange to write, but that just made it all the funner. There's a lot I could say here that I couldn't explicitly say in the main story - and, most importantly, four years later I can finally work in MY childhood nostalgia. FINALLY!

If you aren't familiar with the AU, the premise is just that Stephanie becomes the first Robin in 1997. Not much more complex than that.

Story under the cut.

Christmas brought the inevitable.

Jason always approached the winter like an enemy combatant. He had a military biography phase six months ago, and it left him with a permanent sense he was General Custer in real life. December always left him feeling more like Napoleon embarking on a fool’s crusade against Russia in winter, but Jason knew how to learn from other people’s mistakes. He knew how to make the shelter rotations, whose couch to sleep on, which camps were a no-go and which were alright, and which abandoned buildings the fuzz hadn’t discovered yet. Jason knew how to live his own damn life. He always made it through into March’s other side, and that had always been good enough for him.

But not for Bruce Wayne. Because Stephanie Brown and Tim Drake were coming home, and Tim was losing ground to the colonizers. His worst enemies. The infractors.

(Objectively, Jason was the one moving into somebody else’s home. But he definitely wasn’t the colonizer here. He was gaining no resources but Legos and Nerf guns. The territory was up for grabs and he was going to defend it).

Tim Drake wasn’t so bad, if only because he was a known quantity. Known super obnoxious and ultra pretentious quantity. He had come home from MIT a few times (actual MIT!) to conduct mysterious business that seemed to involve a lot of disappearing into the Batcave and getting snippy with Bruce, and although he wasn’t particularly nice to Jason he wasn’t particularly mean either. Jason had bounced through enough group homes that he appreciated that.

The second time Tim visited - the first time Jason worked up the guts to actually talk with him - was the time to make his move. The opening gambit would be a scouting mission. He decided to push his luck and slither down into the Batcave, even though Bruce discouraged going down there without him. Guy didn’t make a rule about it. If Jason got caught he could pretend he was looking for Bruce in pursuit of following the rules. It was a gamble but Jason knew the odds.

The Batcave had been empty of Batman. There was only Tim Drake, sitting at a work table, bent over the deflated suit and holding a soldering iron. A chunky laptop balanced on the limp knees, and when combined with Tim’s giant goggles it gave him a creepy Young Frankenstein air. Bent over the Batsuit like that, he looked like a mad scientist dissecting Batman’s corpse.

Jason had carefully sidled up to Tim, keeping a healthy distance from the torch. Tim had split the cowl’s casing open like snapping open a skull to fish out the brains with an oyster fork, and he was doing something mysterious to the wiring inside. Jason couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

Tim didn’t say anything until he finished. He pushed up the welding mask, shucking his gloves and shaking out his hair. “Can I help you?”

It wasn’t telling him to go away. Jason would press his luck until he was chased off. He sidled a little bit closer, gawking at the dissected Batsuit. “What’re you doing?”

“Installing some hardware to run a program I coded. Batsuit has facial recognition now. You’re welcome.” Tim took off the welding mask, carelessly dropping it on the floor. “You don’t need anything.”

Jason was baffled for a second before he realized Tim had meant the question literally - that he hadn’t been prompting Jason to talk, but asking if Tim needed to do anything for him. Practical guy who welded Star Trek tech into a superhero costume. But maybe he was right - Jason did need something from him. A measure of the situation.

Jason didn’t slide any closer, but he did tug a little at the hem of his fancy shirt. It was just red, but a fancy red. “Are we chill?”

Tim stared at him blankly. “Chill?”

“Uh. Cool.”

More stares. “Why wouldn’t we be cool?”

Was that a rhetorical question? Jason hadn’t met a normal person in months. “I’m kinda in your house,” Jason pointed out. “Eating your food. Being up in your space.” Being adopted by your legal guardian, but like in the weirdest way possible.

“I don’t really live here anymore,” Tim said slowly, “so…”

Great. Pure confusion. This guy didn’t have normal people emotions. Jason’s shoulders fell in relief. “Dope. I’ll just stay outta your hair. Won’t even know I’m here. Good talk.”

Tim stared at him for another long second, face blank, and a few seconds of hot panic hit Jason before he finally spoke again. “You really aren’t anything like Steph.”

Yeah. Jason fucking got that.

To be fair, Jason was pretty sure Bruce wasn’t doing it on purpose. His emotional intelligence was somewhere between rock bottom and zero. It was tragic, inconvenient, and not his fault, like he was a three legged dog. Jason got that he missed Queen of the Universe, but he didn’t bring up Tim in the same way. Granted, Jason already got the vibes that Bruce knew Tim was not normal whatsoever. Stephanie Brown was the paragon of normality to Bruce. Which was too bad for Jason.

Oh? You live in the East End? What do you mean you don’t know everybody in the East End? Stephanie Brown knows everybody.

Here’s a map, memorize it in fifteen minutes. What do you mean you can’t do that? Stephanie Brown can do that.

Why are you upset over your crook dad and druggie mom? Stephanie has a crook dad and druggie mom, and it doesn’t bother her -

Whatever. So sue him. Jason sucked. He wasn’t a genius mad scientist or perfection incarnate. It didn’t matter. So long as he stayed over the ‘return Jason like a lost puppy’ bar everything was chill.

They could throw him out if they wanted. Jason didn’t even care. He had blackmail material, he could squeeze them. He was pretty sure Selina would help him out, even if it was only to spite Bruce. That woman played cute and everything, but Jason had her number. Spite was the gas in her engine and she was moving a hundred and twelve miles per hour.

Jason was a soldier of life, who approached the world with a strategist’s grim mindset. Goal: stay in the semi-heated mansion featuring hot food and a security system at least until March. Impediment: Stephanie Brown and Tim Drake were coming home, highlighting Jason’s innumerable faults and subpar everything. Potential casualties: Stephanie and Tim’s presence could…end up with Jason kicked out for some reason, that part was fuzzy, but it was definitely a danger. Plan of action: be super polite, hope, and pray.

Tim came home first, blown inside with the blustery wind and spears of delicate ice. Jason had been working on homework in the library when he walked through the door, and pretended he couldn’t hear the clumps and noises of suitcases and warm-ish greetings and thumps of feet on hardwood. He waited several hours until he was comfortably pushing the perceptible threshold of purposeful avoidance before emerging from the library. Make an appearance - not avoiding you, look at my chubby cheeks! - and beat it. Plan of action, commence.

Tim and Bruce were sitting in the fancier family living room - not the one for guests or the more relaxed den, the one for family but in a slightly more formal way and Jason felt like a fucking idiot stringing these words together in this order - on the fancy couches, talking quietly with each other. Jason absently noted that Tim was sitting in an armchair perpendicular from Bruce on the couch. Sitting closer to each other, but not on the same piece of furniture.

They both looked up when Jason stopped at the doorway, absently clutching the doorjamb and wriggling a little. Bruce’s expression lightened, but Tim just blinked sleepily. Guy always looked half-asleep and a million miles away.

“Jason. You finish your homework?”

“He has you doing the Bat-homework?” Tim asked, blinking slowly. He was like a sloth at the zoo. “That’s a throwback. Stephanie did nothing but read those textbooks for months. They’re pretty tough. Frustrated the hell out of her.”

Bruce just smiled faintly - a big grin on anybody else. “I think the first textbook she read since sixth grade was a college textbook on forensic profiling. Finished it in a week and asked for the next one.”

Thirty seconds. It took thirty seconds. That had to be a new record.

“It’s just normal homework. And yeah, I finished for the week.” Jason swung from the doorjamb, gawking at Tim. He hoped it was subtle. Maybe not. It was still weird to see anybody else in here. Tim didn’t exactly come back a lot, and he always acted like they were work trips. Maybe they were? “Hi, Tim.”

“Yo. Settling in alright?” Jason nodded fastidiously. “Good. Tell Bruce if you need anything.” Tim turned back to Bruce, brushing Jason off. “It’s just too research focused. Everybody’s hung up on theoreticals and theorems. It’s not useful, Bruce. I could be five times as productive in industry right now.” Bruce ticked an eyebrow at him. “It’s not the classroom.”

“It’s just a change, Tim. It’s the change that’s bothering you, not the school. You picked MIT specifically for its resources and access. Those are worth suffering your peers.”

“Its resources aren’t being used properly. All they’re doing is diagnosing brain tumors and providing clean drinking water to Bialyans. Dr. Hagelstein just invented a clean superconductor without a turbine. Like, who cares.”

Jason perked up. “Clean drinking water? How are they doing it? Like, in a fancy new way?”

“Dunno. I skipped the grant acceptance speech. The Queen of Bialya was attending, so I used the window to install remote access software in her assistant’s laptop.”

“Uh,” Jason said.

Bruce didn’t even have the decency to be surprised. “Why would you do that?”

Tim gave Bruce an incredulous look, as if he had no idea Bruce could reach such depths of stupidity. “Nobody’s been able to make the human trafficking charges against Queen B stick. This is how I’m finally going to siphon her incriminating signed orders.”

“Do I need to give you the destabilizing foreign governments talk again, Tim -”

“What do I look like, the CIA? I mostly just wanted the link into the Light’s movements.” Bruce opened his mouth. “I swear to god they exist and I know for a fact Ra’s is a founding member. I need the conspiracy dirt so I can finally have some blackmail on that man. I don’t have anything and it’s pissing me off.”

“Don’t destroy the League of Assassins without clearance,” Bruce said absently. He scratched his chin, for all appearances deep in thought. “The signed orders could give the Justice League probable cause to legally assault her underground bunker system.”

“The one obviously filled with illegal Kryptonite? You just want the League to confiscate it before the US government does.”

“That was implied, yes.”

“I’m gonna go help Alfred in the kitchen,” Jason said.

The kitchen: where nobody committed international espionage. Anymore.

Tim was cool. He didn’t look, talk, act, or behave like a superhero, but he totally was one. Jason wasn’t certain Tim knew what and wasn’t legal, but everything he did was really important in saving Gotham. And becoming a world power. He was larger than life, strong like steel and just as impenetrable. Jason did not feel obligated to understand or bond with him. It felt stupid to even try, like an intern trying to talk about their girl troubles with the CEO. Tim obviously felt the same way, so Jason was really glad they were on the same page. He was a little worried about what happened to people who were not on the same page as Tim. Were they ever seen again?

Despite the questionable supervillain stuff, Tim was navigable. Cassandra Kane was also navigable. Very navigable - apparently she wouldn’t be home this break at all. Jason had never even met the woman, despite her legal status as Bruce’s long lost orphaned cousin.

She went in and out of the manor as she pleased, going wherever she wanted and doing God knows what. Jason was only pretty sure that Cass was a Batman thing and not an actual, legitimate jet-setting foreign cousin. He couldn’t say for sure. He didn’t exactly want to walk up to Kate Kane at a party and ask if Cass was actually her half-sister or if she was a mysterious Bat-byproduct that Kate was in on. Too awkward if he was wrong.

Apparently she used to stay home a little more often, but since Stephanie and Tim left for college she had left to go do…whatever it was that Cassandra Kane did…by herself. In…Hong Kong? Thailand? Indonesia? It was really unclear. Jason was fine with this. The woman was obviously no threat, even if absolutely nobody had ever explained what her deal was. Bruce and Alfred sounded really fond when they talked about her, and even Tim obviously cared about her. How this translated to ‘Cass is somewhere, doing wherever, she’ll be back who knows when, hope she’s having a blast’, Jason had no idea. Convenient for him, though. It meant he only had to worry about Stephanie Brown.

Apparently Stephanie Brown was coming back to Gotham tomorrow, but she was spending a day with her friends and family in the Bowery before moving into the manor. Jason heard about this at length - from Tim’s long-ass cell phone calls with her to Bruce excitedly talking with the equally excited Tim about their holiday plans together. Excitedly for the both of them looked a little like having a facial expression, but still - excitedly.

Jason’s name was coming up a lot during their plans. This worried him. It might put a crimp into his plans to avoid everybody.

He could already tell it would be pretty easy to avoid Tim. It wasn’t even that hard to play it cool around him. Cassandra would obviously be a breeze - he wasn’t entirely sure she knew he existed. Cass was another randomly appearing Asian cousin, she’d get it. But he could make no promises around Stephanie. He would stay stone against the chaotic tides of blonde women. He would not be moved. Jason was going to be as polite as Alfred and as saltine cracker as everybody in the house.

Jason and Bruce had a little ritual. They would hang out in the Batcave for a little while pre-patrol - just Jason spinning around in the chair in front of the Batcomputer as Bruce stretched and got ready for patrol. Then Batman would hop into the car, the revving of engines would scream into the air, and Jason would wave as Batman zoomed off into the night. Alfred would walk Jason back up afterwards - partly because it was his bedtime and partly because Jason still wasn’t allowed in the Batcave by himself. Alfred would get him settled into bed, making sure Jason brushed his teeth. He always forgot.

And when Jason woke up the next morning and brushed his teeth and walked downstairs, Bruce would be there. Every time. Always.

But Tim sat at the computer that night, doing something extremely scary on five monitors and talking intermittently with Bruce as he prepped for patrol. Jason walked down into the Batcave, saw them, and turned on his heel to walk straight back up again.

“Jason!” Bruce called. Jason froze on the steps. “Why don’t you come down? This is a good time to pick up some of Tim’s programming.”

“Bruce, it’s not going to make any sense to him.”

“He’s a very bright kid,” Bruce told Tim, making Jason flush. “You could teach him a thing or two.”

“I’m terrible at explaining things,” Tim said plainly. “I tried explaining my work to Steph a hundred times and she always checked out two sentences in.”

“Steph has a great attention span.” Bruce paused a beat. “But only for things she cares about. I don’t believe Jason is nearly as ADHD as she is.”

“Jason’s twelve.”

“Can’t stay!” Jason cried. “Making soup with Alfred upstairs! Good night, Bruce!”

He thumped upstairs at lightning speed, taking them three at a time, and narrowly escaped into the dim lights of the study before any more questions could be asked.

Jason had touched a computer, like, twice. Come on, Bruce. Why was he always acting like Jason was capable of doing anything so long as he put his mind to it? What, ‘cause Stephanie Brown could do it?

Jason put himself to bed that night, attacking his teeth with a toothbrush and angrily tucking himself under the covers. By the time Alfred came by to check in on him, Jason was glaring at The Magician’s Nephew and flexing how great he was at going to bed.

“I remember when that book was released. Created quite a stir among my cousins.”

“Narnia’s for kids, but sometimes you have to go back to the basics,” Jason said grimly. “Night, Alfred.”

But Alfred didn’t wander away, butler duties satisfied. He just ducked inside instead, walking in to stand by Jason’s bed. Jason curled up tighter with the book.

“Master Bruce has instructed me to subtly discover what you want for Christmas. Truthfully, I understand you would prefer that I propose the question more straightforwardly.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t y’all Jewish?”

“Yes, but far as we understand, you are not. Master Bruce wishes to make you feel welcome.” Jason couldn’t repress the quiet little scoff, immediately embarrassing himself, but Alfred just looked lightly amused. He gestured to the bed. “May I sit?”

Jason nodded and mumbled an apology. “We don’t have to do a whole thing ‘cause of me. That’s totally awkward.”

“It will be exactly as big of a thing as you want,” Alfred assured him. “Master Bruce is feeling celebratory regardless. This is Master Tim and Miss Stephanie’s first time coming home from college for winter break, and with our new family member I believe Master Bruce will want to make a to-do regardless.” Somewhat cannily, he added, “I also foresee Miss Stephanie forcing a celebratory event in the name of family bonding.”

There it was. “Does that woman control everything that happens in this house?”

Alfred smiled. “Between her and myself, I daresay so. But Miss Stephanie can often lose sight of other’s feelings in light of her enthusiasm, so I wanted to ask you directly what you wanted. All four of us will do our best to make it happen.”

What Jason wanted?

Jason wanted a lot of things. Jason wanted the whole damn world, frankly. Jason had never lost sight of what he wanted, not once - losing sight meant forgetting to work towards what you wanted. Even if Jason wanted a lot of things he’d never have - well, fire and dreams were the only thing that kept a kid warm in a Gotham winter.

But he couldn’t vocalize any of that. He’d never put any of those desires on his tongue, and he knew they’d stay nestled in his ribcage as long as he lived. What he wanted was no good to anybody but himself, and he wouldn’t devalue them by breathing a word.

Jason had only ever told one person what he really wanted. That had turned out alright. But it had been really scary too. Jason didn’t want to do it again. He didn’t know what he’d do if he heard ‘no’.

Still, everybody in this house was a dog with a bone, and Jason resolved to give a little just to get the man off his back. “A big dinner on the 25th would be nice,” Jason hesitantly volunteered. And he just knew he’d never shake Bruce from the presents thing, so… “If you want to do presents or whatever, we can do them then.”

Alfred beamed, and Jason gave himself a congratulatory handshake. Successful campaign, total victory, no casualties. Some ground lost, but that was a necessary sacrifice. “It is always nice to have an excuse for a large meal. A suitable celebration of our first year together. Splendid idea, Jason.”

A rousing success! “Oh, no hassle at all.”

But Alfred’s expression just softened, and he carefully smoothed the bedspread near Jason. Jason prepared himself for evasive tactics. “Is there anything you’d like to do with Master Tim and Miss Stephanie?” Jason’s poker face must have said it all, because Alfred gave him another steady look. “Would you be interested in spending any quality time with them while they are home?”

“Uh,” Jason said, internally sweating. “If they…want…?”

“Miss Stephanie will likely insist on it. But you should say no to anything that makes you uncomfortable, Master Jason. She’ll back off if you ask.” Alfred gave Jason a steady eye, making him sweat. “If space and quiet is what you need, Master Jason, you need only ask.”

The prospect was appealing, but Jason was far from lowering the fortifications. Those questions were traps. The last thing Jason wanted to be was trouble. “I’m chill, Alfred! It’s no big deal. Just kinda awkward, ya know? Not used to hearing people in the house.”

“That, I can understand. Adopting Master Tim changed a great deal in this manor. Hearing the sound of young footsteps running down the halls. Music blasting from the den. Messes everywhere. It had been a long time. A very welcome change, I believe.”

“Let me guess,” Jason said flatly. “Tim was super quiet and Stephanie was super loud.”

“Naturally.” Alfred stood up, fixing his slacks a little. “I am excited to see what sort of child you will be, Master Jason. I anticipate meeting the true you. When he is ready to meet me. Have a very good night, Master Jason.”

Alfred turned out the lights and closed the door securely behind him. Jason only rose to lock the door with his personal key that he kept under his mattress, like he did every night, and buried himself under the comforters.

The enemy hadn’t penetrated his territory. They’d fired a few potshots, but Jason’s fortifications had held strong. Jason was big, tough, impenetrable. Jason couldn’t be seen or touched. You couldn’t even tell if Jason was there or not - he never emerged from his stronghold, and he planned his strategies and tactics from the safety of his base camp. He was not the sort of general who fought on the front lines.

Jason had thought their goal was to break down his fortifications and overpower his territory. He had assumed them colonizers, trying to take over every inch of Jason’s new life and old heart. He hadn’t known their goal was the general himself. Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Today was the day. Huzzah!

Alfred was out picking up Stephanie - apparently her car was still in Jump, so the chauffeur it was - and Jason was left to gawk at Tim thumping away at a laptop in the dining room. He desperately wanted to know if Tim was doing super secret superhero spy stuff, but he couldn’t just ask. Tim never ignored him, but he never paid much attention to him either. The way they both liked it.

Tim routinely spent most of his time in his study (which Jason had never been inside and would never go inside if he could help it - there were probably lasers). The guy never just sat out in the dining room like this and worked his arcane cybermagic. Jason, sitting at the breakfast bar and steadily decimating an apple, felt trapped. How many times could he flee any room Tim walked into before the guy noticed? It was a toss-up - guy either had Bat-eyes and saw everything, or he only gave a shit about his mysterious computer stuff and didn’t notice anything. Jason was willing to put his non-existent money on Tim pretending the latter when it was really the former. He wouldn’t fall for the tricks.

But maybe he did, because when Tim spoke he was so startled that he almost fell off the chair.

“I should warn you about Steph.” Tim didn’t look away from his computer, and his typing didn’t slow. “She’s really a lot. Super pushy. Feel free to tell her to fuck off if you want.” Tim paused a beat, undercut by the keyboard rattling. “Am I supposed to curse in front of middle schoolers?”

“I won’t tell Bruce you cursed in front of a twelve year old,” Jason said, faux-loyally. Truthfully, he had the feeling Bruce would ask the same question, but it was good to cultivate a sense of camaraderie. “And yeah, sure. No problem. Super…excited to…meet. Her.”

“I’m glad it took you two so long to meet. She gave Bruce a really hard time about adopting you. ‘Specially since it was only three months after she left and two months after I did. She said he jumped the gun.” Tim’s fingers froze. “Wait. Did she say it was a good idea or bad idea…?”

That was an important difference, Timothy!

But Jason had no time to interrogate further. The sound of the front doors bursting open resounded through the lobby into the dining room, and Tim bolted to his feet.

“I’m home!” The voice was impressively loud, and Jason was momentarily taken aback by the thick-ass Bowery accent. That was not a Little Miss Perfect accent. “Wow, Alfie, you put the Ming back out!”

“It was finally safe from you,” Alfred said. “Let me take your bags, Miss -”

“Dope, thanks a million -”

“Steph!” Tim called, moving around the table, and Jason saw to his shock that he was smiling. Actually smiling. Like a normal person. “In here!”

And just like that, Stephanie Brown appeared at the doorway. She grinned brightly, and Tim grinned back, and she wasted no time in tackling Tim in a giant bear hug. Jason - regardless of what he wanted, despite how he felt - was struck dumb.

It was Robin. Robin, in the flesh. He hadn’t really put that together before. He knew obviously but it hadn’t really clicked until he saw her. Jason had seen the pictures and videos of her just like everybody else - seen the graffiti and street art and paintings - listened to every story and heard every tale - but apparently he hadn’t processed that Robin meant Stephanie Brown.

Seeing her in person hit differently then seeing Bruce in person. Bruce was an idea given a face - Stephanie Brown was a face larger than life, and the idea of Robin in the body of a woman felt like capturing lightning in a bottle. She was wearing low-rise jeans and a purple crop top stamped with a sparkly butterfly that showed off how insanely muscular she was, hair teased into her iconic Robin mane, and she was really super pretty. How could Robin just look like an undergrad? Why did Robin talk like a valley girl?!

Jason had lost before he accepted the challenge. He had lost from day one. He had lost the day Stephanie Brown became a super-smart, super-tough, blue eyed blonde haired hot white girl. And Jason had lost the day he was born. A homeless, go-nowhere kid who would only leave the Narrows when he inevitably went to jail. A brown kid with curly and thick black hair, skinny with an unpleasant and mean face, fucked up forever.

Why did Jason ever think Bruce might let him…

Stephanie Brown hugged Tim so tightly she picked him off the ground, making him wheeze and slap her shoulder. She only dumped him when footsteps came from another hallway on the other side of the dining room, revealing a smiling Bruce. Smiling. Like a guy.

“Stephanie,” Bruce greeted, somehow stiff as ever. “You look…tanned.”

“Six months and that’s what I get?” Stephanie asked loudly. Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. Bruce abruptly looked panicked. “Tanned? I live in California, Bruce, of course I’m tanned! Like, hello! What, no ‘happy to see you’? No ‘welcome home?’”

“Ah,” Bruce said.

“I bulked up! You don’t even care that I totally bulked up!”

Bruce’s panic deepened. “You said it was rude to comment on a woman’s muscles.”

“Muscles are totally in right now, B, keep up.” But Stephanie grinned, smile big and bright. “I can’t believe I missed you so much.”

Jason could only stare in horror as she hugged Bruce, tight and full, and he gently hugged her back. Defcon 5 event. Bruce didn’t hug. Bruce didn’t hug Jason. Well - Jason had told Bruce that he wasn’t allowed to touch him, ever, or he’d cut his hands off with a butter knife. Bruce had stuck to that rule religiously. Jason didn’t really know how to loosen the rule. He had no idea how to ask.

“He missed you a lot,” Tim snitched, because obviously Bruce wouldn’t. “He missed you so much. It was so embarrassing. I was embarrassed just witnessing it.”

“Say a little less, Timothy.”

Stephanie separated, unabashedly laughing at the embarrassed Batman, when she finally stopped to see Jason. Jason halted, halfway through eating the core of the apple. They locked eye contact, light blue eyes meeting dark ones, and Jason slowly readied the canons.

His throat was dry. His heart was hammering. The apple core was going down all wrong. Jason…

“Stephanie, I can finally introduce Jason.” Suddenly Bruce was there at his side, smiling encouragingly down at the frozen Jason. “Jason, this is Stephanie Brown. She’s a highly valued partner of mine. Stephanie, don’t overwhelm him.”

“Overwhelming? Me? Never heard of her.” Steph smiled at Tim, warm and happy. This woman did not stop smiling. She had a deadass California valley girl accent and she did not stop smiling. She extended a hand to Jason, who silently thanked God that she didn’t go in for a hug. Did they hug people in California? Californians probably did nothing but hug. “Jason Todd, right? I’ve, like, heard so much about you! I’m super sorry it took so long for us to meet.”

Jason quickly wiped his sticky hand on his jeans before shaking her hand, feeling the rough calluses. “It’s Jason Wayne.” They changed his name with his adoption, on Bruce’s hesitant offer and Jason’s instant acceptance. It was a strategic ploy on Jason’s part - a shared last name would subliminally influence Bruce into thinking of their arrangement as a more long-term, legal one. “Uh - nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“A Wayne with manners! I never thought I’d see the day.” Steph propped her hands on her hips, smile never fading. “Bruce and Tim could stand to learn a thing or two from you. But don’t get formal on me, okay? We’re, like, totes family.”

“Cool,” Jason said. “Thanks.”

Casualties: none. Damage to fortress: negligible. Outcome of first skirmish: rousing success. Jason gave himself a fervent pack on the back. Now he’d stay for five more minutes exactly before running back to the library to work on his workbooks. This family was awesome at forgetting Jason was in the room, if he could just flex that invisibility a bit more -

Steph clapped her hands, drawing the attention of the room. As if it wasn’t already entirely on her. Ugh. “You promised pesto sandwiches for lunch, Alfred! I haven’t had your cooking in six whole months and I’m going insane. Let��s eat as Jason tells me all about himself! Oh, and he’ll totally have to tell us what he wants to do over the break. We have so much family bonding in order. Tim, Bruce, are youse still trying to bite each other’s heads off?”

“Uh,” Bruce said.

“We’re over it?” Tim asked, as if Stephanie needed to tell him.

“Good enough. Holiday planning - go! Oh, but I have the craziest Titans story to tell you guys!”

Wow. They weren’t kidding about the forced bonding.

Alfred really went all out with lunch, and from Stephanie’s delighted squeals Jason could see that it was all her favorites. They had done Tim’s favorites when he came home too. Jason wondered when they’d do his favorites. Maybe when he went to college?

College. Hold out for college, Jason. You can make it ‘til college. Maybe Bruce would like him more than Tim by then - Jason wouldn’t try to drop out of Yale.

Jason received the annotated, fast-paced edition of Steph’s life over the next whirlwind twenty minutes. She had something to share about everything - from Jump City weather to how big of a pain it was to do her UC Jump premed college work and lead a superhero team at the same time. She had a mysterious autoimmune illness that let her miss as many classes as she wanted. Very convenient. She and Tim had absolutely no shame in disclosing their rampant lies. Superheroes had no morals.

Apparently Cyborg was super funky - a jock that could work a computer like magic. Beast Boy was a crazy time and a ton of fun to hang out with, even if he was totally immature. Raven was no fun to hang out with but she was, like, so wild. And Starfire - ha ha, she was super cool, anyway! Her college friends were totally nice too, but the Titans just took up so much of her time. Listen to me recount this entire fight with Mad Mod. Who’s Mad Mod, you ask? I am going to tell you all about it!

The whole table was enthralled. Despite himself, Jason was a little enthralled too. He tried imagining living in a big retooled ex-high rise complex that Tim bought on the cheap with Apple money - whatever that meant - with your four friends as you all fought the weirdest crime with no adult supervision. When your friends were half-demons and half-computers and sometimes-animals and always-aliens. He just couldn’t imagine it - it was a lifestyle too alien from his own. Complete with aliens! No wonder she’d been too busy to visit.

“But the Titans can do without me for one month. Vic needs the practice as a leader. I told them that I haven’t seen my boyfriend in six months and not to comm me for anything short of Raven’s dad picking her up for custody weekend. This month is one hundred percent for my friends, the week my old man is gonna make me spend in Louisiana, and you guys.” Stephanie clapped her hands, smiling broadly. “So! Jason, what do you wanna do? Bruce doesn’t know what money is, we can totally do whatever you want. The world is so your oyster. What are you thinking?”

Jason delicately nibbled at his turkey and cheese sandwich. It had no crusts. His life had gotten so dumb. “I dunno. Whatever youse are down for.”

“Come on, there has to be something. When I was your age I would have sold my left foot to go to Disney World. Bruce would be down for anything anywhere in the world. Or we could go shopping!”

“I have clothes?”

“Do you have clothes from the Disney store? Damn, maybe I was just really into Disney when I was your age. What do you like, Jason, what are you into?”

Jason slowly shredded the sandwich with his teeth. “Um…not much.”

“Jason likes to read,” Bruce volunteered, the traitor. “His reading level is amazing. He’s working on 100 Years of Solitude in Spanish.” Jason had finished that a week ago. He was on a Pablo Neruda collection right now. “But I’m not sure how that translates into an activity.”

“What about sports?” Stephanie asked encouragingly. “You play soccer, Jason?”

Jason mumbled a negative into a tea biscuit. The barrage of cannonballs did not stop.

“What about watching any sports? Bruce could get you tickets to anything.”

“I hate sports,” Tim said.

“This isn’t about you, Timmy.”

‘ “Jason obviously doesn’t care about sports either.”

“Jason cares about something. He’s a twelve year old boy, they’re all brainwashed by commercials and jingles.”

“Not Jason. I’ve never seen him express an opinion on anything.”

“Really?” Bruce asked, surprised. A cannon punctured the outer walls. A watchman pulled the alarm bell. All hands on deck. “Jason’s as opinionated as you, Stephanie.”

Jason’s teeth clenched. Man down. His arm had been blown off by a cannonball. He was bleeding everywhere and screaming bloody murder. The poor man had a daughter. Only five years old. Tragic.

“ ‘Course he is, he’s an East Ender! We’re all grit. I couldn’t believe it when you said you made friends with another kid from my neighborhood. After all that complaining about my accent, too! I’m even going kinda Cali in my civvie ID, it’s super fun. ”

“The Mad Hatter asks you to repeat yourself ‘cause he has no idea what you’re saying,” Tim said, bored.

“The Mad Hatter’s a punk bitch. The accent’s part of the Robin brand, it’s my whole hometown hero thing. I’m repping me and Jason’s hoods.”

The outer defenses fell, and the enemy streamed in. Screaming, crying, blood. Alarm bells pounded through Jason’s head. His soldiers were dropping like flies, cannonballs blowing their jaws off, and Jason felt the blood build up inside of him.

That was all Jason had inside of him. Just blood and war. Jason was a brave general who never gave up against the enemy forces, but Jason’s army had been eroded by a long and hard winter that froze most of his men away. The cold had worn parts of Jason down for years, and even when springtime thawed the frost he never saw those parts again. He just couldn’t find them. He was trying so hard to protect himself and Bruce from the blood, but he couldn’t help losing every battle.

“We aren’t from the same hood,” Jason said lowly. A war drum beat in his ears.

Stephanie looked back at him, all wide eyed and innocent and blonde. “Aren’t you an East Ender? I ain’t splitting streets here.”

“You’re from the Bowery,” Jason bit out. “Do I look like I’m from the Bowery? I’m from the Narrows. If I stepped foot in your hood I’d get hate crimed.”

“Ah. Yeah.” Stephanie sombered, putting her sandwich down. “Sorry, kid, I know it’s not the same. Like to think we’re not as bad as we used to be, though.”

“Cool. Awesome. I’ll give your racist-ass Ukranians the ‘not as hate crimey as you could have been’ award.” Jason pushed his chair away from the table and stood up, probably skidding the nice hardwood. “Maybe it’ll finally make up for me not being Doctor fucking Barbie over there.”

Jason ran away from the carved oak dining table sagging with teas and cakes and ices at top speed. Catastrophic defeat. Blame the general’s tactical mistakes. It was all his fault.

He preemptively grounded himself, locking the door to his room and burying himself underneath the covers with a defensive Narnia. When he started hyperventilating he ignored it, and when he cried a little he ignored that too. Jason was super good at ignoring things. He ignored just about everything.

Jason noticed everything. He just ignored it. He’d go crazy if he didn’t. All the shit in the world, all the evils he saw again and again and again. Every woman ever hit and every Mami sliding a needle into her arm. All the bad guys hurting the guys who ain’t never hurt nobody, just ‘cause they were there…

Jason did want something. He wanted something so damn bad, and he knew he would never ask for it. He wasn’t in the same galaxy as good enough, and there was no point in asking for something you’d never get. Bruce would probably laugh at him if he ever did ask. It didn’t matter that Jason couldn’t ignore bad things happening for one more second, for one more time - it didn’t matter that Jason wanted to do something about it more than anybody in the Narrows had ever wanted it in their whole lives. Jason was the whole damn problem.

He was so embarrassed. His war of attrition hadn’t lasted five seconds. His good streak had been ruined and Bruce was gonna get so pissed at him for being awful. And Bruce and Tim would get mad at him for being rude to Stephanie, and Stephanie probably didn’t feel anger ‘cause she was a saint but Alfred would look so disappointed in him and…

Maybe he should just dip. No, that was stupid. It was literally December. Bruce would give him a hard time but he’d deal with that. Guy wasn’t about to hit him. He was Batman. Batman didn’t do that. End sentence, end of story.

Batman didn’t hurt kids and Robin always made kids feel safe. Everybody knew that. Even though Stephanie Brown wasn’t making Jason feel too safe right now. But he knew that was his fault - a fault inherent in his own character, in his own heart - and not hers. Jason couldn’t remember what feeling safe felt like. He probably wasn’t sure how anymore.

Nobody came to fetch him or try to talk to him. Jason didn’t know if he was disappointed or not. He just aggressively read and read and read, until the first hints of winter dusk began to fall and he fell asleep much earlier than usual.

Bruce liked to tell the story.

He didn’t get a ton of opportunities, since he had to limit himself to people who knew his secret identity. In practicality, this meant that Bruce liked telling the story to his six friends in the Justice League and nobody else. Barry Allen said that Bruce had smiled while telling the story, which had given him a split second heart attack.

It wasn’t the full story. Jason couldn’t imagine that being the full story - plucky street rat tries to steal the Batman’s tires, the Batman takes pity on him and takes him home forever to live in his house and eat his organic cucumbers, happy ending for everybody. What kind of story was that? Jason would have yelled pedophile in two seconds. Stephanie would have berated Bruce for three hours instead of one.

Bruce didn’t mention this part of the story, but the minute Jason’s retaliatory attack with the lead pipe utterly failed he had dropped his weapon and booked it. Jason hadn’t exactly been terrified, but he knew getting caught would mean serious juvie. Worst case scenario, besides all the others. But he had worried his hair out for nothing - Jason ran ten blocks before realizing that Batman wasn’t chasing him at all. A clean escape.

Batman showed up at Jason’s squat the next night. Go fig.

That was the first time they really talked. Batman wasn’t exactly a talkative guy, but Jason had a unique skill for riling Bruce up into an actual argument, and they spent ten pointless minutes going around at each other about how Jason totally had people he was staying with - they’re on vacations, that’s why I’m not staying with them - fine, their pimp had come back and kicked him out - but I stayed with Mrs. Jiminez for three weeks! - well, her son got whooping cough, and I sure as hell couldn’t stick around to catch it - I’ll go back once he’s better, that’s all - yes, obviously I hit up the Church food banks, but you’re more likely to get mugged for food than actually walk away with food, and they prioritize the moms anyway - I don’t need goddamn foster care -

“You can’t keep couch surfing forever,” Batman had said. “You’re spending weeks on the street in-between shelters and friends. It’s not stable.”

“But it’s fine,” Jason had said. He knew it wasn’t great, but things didn’t need to be great when they could be fine. “The Narrows looks out for each other. I’ll just keep like this ‘til I’m old enough for a decent job, that’s all.”

Completely neutrally, Batman had said, “You could drug run.”

“This is entrapment.”

“You could have. You’re the right age for it. Why aren’t you doing that for money?”

“Because I’m not an idiot! That shit shortens your lifespan and lands you in juvie. And I don’t wanna help assholes sell meth to my friends, anyway. Bad enough they’re doing it. I don’t wanna be responsible for that, even a little. Life’s too bad for me to make it worse just for some extra cash.”

Batman had stared at him for a long time. Jason had decided he had won the argument, and thereby had obtained bragging rights forever that he had won an argument with Batman.

Then Batman put him in a foster home. Go fig.

Everybody knew social services was insanely evil and terrible, but Batman had spun half a dozen promises about how he’d personally assure that Jason found a good placement. Apparently he even put in a word with his contact at social services and everything. It landed Jason in a super awesome combo group home/boarding school (See, Jason, an education! Yipee!) under the benevolent hand of a sweet old lady called Ma Gunn. Look, Jason, if you’re so worried, the Batman will take time out of his busy schedule Being Batman to check up on you. Alright? Eat some cookies.

The first day had been fine. Nice, even. That was what he told Batman. He really had come to check up on him, knocking on his window in the middle of the night and helping hoist Jason to the roof so they could sit and talk. He had kept his promise.

“This doesn’t make you right,” Jason had grumbled.

Batman’s lip had twitched upwards. “I have it on good authority that I’m not right nearly as often as I think I am.”

“Atticus Finch you are not,” Jason agreed. “More like Odysseus.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because you know how to beat up mooks, but you obviously like winning your fights through tricking people instead. You’re both, like, theatrical.” Jason had thought about this. Extensively. He’d also gotten into arguments about it, but they were really arguments nobody else wanted to have. “And taking on crime in Gotham’s like taking on the gods. Equal amounts of impossible.”

Batman’s lip twitched up again, a little higher. “Would you call pride my fatal flaw, then?”

“Probably,” Jason said promptly. “You need a lot of pride to take on the gods. But that’s probably the only reason you started doing this at all, so I guess it’s a pretty good thing you have that fatal flaw in the first place. The best fatal flaws are the character’s greatest strengths. That’s when a story is really good.”

Batman slowly sat down next to Jason. It was pretty weird seeing him like that - sitting down like a guy, cape carefully tucked to his side like any theater performer would do it. Jason could see his jawline. He needed a shave. Batman, shaving! Jason wished he could shave. Maybe he’d be more like Batman if he could.

“What’s your fatal flaw, Jason?”

“Mami always told me I was too angry.” It was one of his clearest memories of her - the disappointment on her face. The way she looked at him. Jason never wanted Mami to look at him like that again. “Too much like my dad. She said I’m gonna lose my temper at the wrong person and get myself hurt one day.” Jason scuffed a battered shoe on the wobbly shingle, making it creak. “But I dunno. The only times in my life I’ve ever really helped people was when I got too angry to see straight. I’m always throwing logic out the door and deciding to do what’s right even if it’s a bad idea. If the trouble I’m always getting into helps other people out, then that’s trouble I’m okay with. Do you know what I mean?”

“I do.”

Jason had the feeling he would.

They talked for hours, long after Jason’s bedtime and probably long into Batman’s own work schedule beating up mooks. They only stopped when Jason couldn’t repress the yawns anymore, and Batman ended up carrying Jason back to bed. Jason had insisted he wasn’t tired, mostly because he wanted to keep talking about Emma and how Jason’s life dream was to be rich and set up all his friends with boyfriends who deserved them, but he fell asleep the minute his head hit the pillow anyway

When he woke up the next morning he thought it might have been a dream. What a weird dream that would be. What a weird and magical dream - one where Batman listened to everything Jason had to say and more, and one where Batman only left him because they couldn’t stay up talking any more. Jason hated himself a little for falling asleep at all. He wanted that night to go on forever. Now that he was in a nice little boarding school he would never see Batman again. For such an obvious sentence it was a little disappointing.

Two weeks later Jason stood in front of a burning brick building, flanked by a mob of rabid children, tying up an evil old lady and cracking open crate after crate of evil child brainwashing drug and dumping it on the cement sidewalk.

The police found him very quickly. They didn’t listen to a word he said, no matter how much proof Jason waved in their faces. He had been super careful to dig up a ton of proof, even taking pictures of the secret basement and the kid’s bruises and an audio recorded confession. Nobody wanted to hear it. Jason had to bite his way through a police station and dump his evidence on the Commissioner's desk just to get anything done around here.

The Commissioner had pinched the bridge of his nose. The bridge of his nose had thumbnail creases. “Kid, you just committed five different felonies.”

“She was brainwashing children!”

“I believe you, kid, I believe you.” Commissioner Gordon grabbed the first sheaf of pictures, flipping through them quickly and squinting at each one. Under his breath, he muttered, “Never thought I’d miss Robin. She’d know what the hell to do with you.”

“Is Robin dead?” Jason asked, freaked. He loved Robin. She was literally Robin!

“What? No, she’s off doing…Batman never said. Either ninja training or college, it’s a toss-up. I think she cried when she hugged me goodbye, I couldn’t believe -”

The landline on the desk rang, and the Commissioner obviously intended to ignore it until he saw the flashing ‘Priority’ button. He picked up the headset, bushy mustache wagging. “Andrea, what - Jesus Christ! How the hell did you - dumb question, never mind.”

Jason perked up. Something told him… “Is that Batman? Is Batman calling you on your phone?”

“Do you see a Gordon signal?” The Commissioner asked him. Jason shrugged, and the Commissioner turned his attention back to the phone. His eyebrows furrowed closer and closer at Batman talked. “Already? What do you - I can drop the charges, but that black mark on his file isn’t going away.” He grimaced apologetically at Jason. Jason, who had no intention of returning to Social Services ever again, shrugged. “He’ll probably have to spend the night in the cells until we drop the charges and find him an emergency placement, but - you can’t be serious.” He was silent for a long moment before exclaiming, “What kind of favor does he owe you - how big is that favor? You can’t be - it’s three in the morning, I - Batman! Batman! Dammit!”

The Commissioner dropped the headset back on the cradle and groaned, falling back into his seat. Jason cautiously sidled backwards from the desk. He was prepared to do a runner. He’d bitten his way into this office and he’d bite his way out.

“Kid, you sit right down in that chair. You are not moving until your emergency foster placement comes to get you.” The Commissioner kneaded his forehead, groaning. “Out of all the favors for all the Gothamites, why did it have to be this one…”

“Eh?” Jason said.

“You’re a very lucky kid, Jason Todd. And I’m praying for you.”

“Eh?”

It was the only appropriate response. Jason found out an hour later that the emergency placement was Bruce fucking Wayne. Bruce Wayne, who practically crashed into Gordon’s (he had been downgraded - Jason and Gordon were homies in Christ now) office, tie half-done and suit jacket limp over his shoulders. Jason wondered who the hell put on a suit at three am. He also wondered who the hell looked that panicked to be dealing with Jason, of all people. Had he heard about the biting?

“I’m so sorry I’m late, I’ve been having a heart attack for the past hour - you ever get woken up by Batman, Jim? That ever happen to you? How’d he even get my number?” Gordon opened his mouth. “Stupid question, sorry. Is that the kid? Hey, kid!”

Then Bruce Wayne grinned, big and anxious, and held out his hand. Jason shook it. Bruce sat down in the chair next to him, slouching and tucking himself into the chair a bit. It was pretty slick - Jason almost hadn’t noticed how freaking huge the guy was.

“Uh,” Jason said. “It’s Jason Todd.”

“Well, Batman could have stood to mention that!” Bruce Wayne exclaimed, offended beyond belief. “You know what he told me? He called me up and was all like - you remember the Rose Bowl? Yes, I remember the Rose Bowl, hard to forget - and then he’s like, I’m calling that in. He’s all like, you’re still registered as a foster parent, right? And of course I am, after that whole thing with Tim - Tim’s doing great, Jim, by the way, I would say that he says hello but we kinda aren’t talking right now, but he would say hello if we were talking - which Batman knows about, because he was the one who called me up about Tim in the first place - why me, Jim! Why is it always me!”

“I cannot possibly say,” Gordon said.

Bruce barrelled through, ignoring him. “So he tells me to get here pronto, there’s a kid who needs a roof over their head and apparently I’m the only one he trusts to provide that roof right now. Me! Can you believe it! He said the same thing about Tim! The kid could have had the mob after him - actually, it’s kind of common knowledge I don’t touch the mob, that’s probably why - none of that’s important right now. Oh, and then he hung up on me. Go figure, right? Have you eaten, Jason? I brought you lunch. And some hygiene stuff and a change of clothes. The butler fusses.”

Jason stared at Bruce. Bruce smiled anxiously at Jason.

“No hablo inglés,” Jason decided.

Without changing his facial expression at all, Bruce repeated the last few sentences in Spanish.

“Hindi ako nagsasalita ng ingles,” Jason rapidly made up.

Bruce repeated the last few sentences in Tagalog, poker faced.

“What the fuck,” Jason said.

“Rúguǒ nǐ yuànyì dehuà, wǒ yě huì shuō zhōngwén,” Bruce said, still smiling. “Dàn wǒ hěn quèdìng nǐ de yīngyǔ hěn hǎo, suǒyǐ rúguǒ nǐ yuànyì, wǒmen kěyǐ jìxù shuō yīngyǔ.”

Jason felt his psychological control over the situation slipping away. He had to maintain the upper hand. Establish dominance over rich people. “I’m a gutter child, my English is terrible,” Jason lied in Spanish, completely unapologetic. “If you make me speak English I’m gonna rack up more arson charges.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable, Jason!” Bruce said in Spanish. He turned to Gordon, switching to English. “There’s a lot of papers to sign, right? Just give them to me right now. Actually, can I duck out and grab Jason’s food first? Faking monolingualism takes a lot out of a kid.”

The food was good. It was super fancy rich people sandwiches. Bruce said that one of them had pesto before explaining what pesto was before Jason had to ask. Thoughtful of him?

That was roughly how Jason ended up in the passenger seat of a Porsche, nibbling his third sandwich and staring at the man in the driver’s seat. Gordon had muttered something about how Bruce was “as neurotic and awkward as ever” before giving Jason his business card and telling him to call before set another building on fire. Jason could definitely see the neuroticism: he went over the emergency foster placement papers once, twice, three times. He had detailed to Jason in completely fluent Spanish what exactly was going to happen the next few days and what he could expect, that he was going to get a key for his room and nobody would go inside if he didn’t want them inside, do you have any rules for me and Alfred (the butler - what was this, the Prohibition?) that you’d like us to follow? We can talk about my own later. Understood about touching you, thanks for telling me.

Jason watched Bruce drop the papers in his lap and slowly thunk his forehead on the steering wheel. His index finger was tapping the leather cover repeatedly in a steady staccato, a silent nervous tic.

Eventually Jason felt too bad for him to bear the silence any longer. In Spanish, he said, “Chill, man. It’s just for a few days, right?”

Bruce raised his head, glaring intently at the steering wheel. He still seemed a little half-manic. “Right. Just a few days. Then we’ll find you a good placement. I know people. It’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I am totally booking it,” Jason said sympathetically. “Nice try, though.”

“Jason, please stop trying to sleep on the sidewalk.”

“Why not?” Jason demanded. “It’s better than foster care. How am I supposed to believe that you’d find decent people, huh? Batman said he’d find decent people and he dumped me in an evil crime boarding school!”

Weirdly enough, that made Bruce outright wince. “Batman fu - Batman messed up. He really, really messed up. There is no excuse for how badly he messed up. Alright? But that’s not happening again. We’ll -”

“Who the hell would take me?” Jason asked, and Bruce quieted. “Who would want me, dude? Nobody in this goddamn city wants me around. I had to do something about that crazy old lady before she started baking kids into pies or something, and now I’m legally an arsonist. And if I meet any more evil people messing with kids then I’d do an arson on them too. I’d do a thousand arsons if I had to! Why the hell would anybody want me in their house?”

“Who wouldn’t!” Bruce cried, and Jason fell silent in bizarre shock. “You - you’re smart and passionate and kind. You took down an entire drug smuggling ring by yourself, Jason, that’s incredible. You’re a good kid. You’re a really good kid. Any parent would be lucky to have you.”

Jason’s eyes were burning, and his stomach was churning in thick knots. He was tired and confused and far away from home - far away from everything he had once considered home, and from everything he knew. He was in unprecedented territory. In a Porsche. As some rich guy told him he was a good kid.

“How would you know, huh?” Jason asked, voice thick. “I’ve never met you before in my life. How would you know something like that?”

“It’s obvious, Jason,” Bruce said quietly. “It’s obvious just looking at you.”

Jason stuffed the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and refused to say anything more.

An emergency placement. Bruce Wayne said the phrase frequently, almost as a shield - against a very unimpressed butler, during a very heated phone call which left him wincing repeatedly. It’s an emergency placement, I’m not - this has nothing to do with - not everything is about you, you know - it’s not about Tim either! - it’s an emergency placement -

When he hung up he looked haunted. Jason gave him a sympathy banana.

“That your girlfriend?”

Bruce took the banana, dead eyed. “It’s somebody who you do not want to get on the bad side of.”

“You on her bad side?”

“I might be in the dog house.”

“Ouch.” Jason started unwrapping his own banana, carefully peeling off the strings and dangling them into his mouth. “Hey, you ever read The Fellowship of the Ring? I heard they’re making a live action movie.”

“How on Earth are you supposed to capture the scale of Lord of the Rings in a live action movie?” Bruce asked, appalled. “It’ll be worse than that cartoon I saw as a kid.”

“There was a cartoon? Can we watch it?”

“Sure,” Bruce said. “I don’t have anything else to do right now.”

Even back then Jason knew it was a lie. He didn’t say anything about it. When Bruce took his big stack of scary CEO papers and sat next to Jason in the library, signing papers with a ballpoint pen silently as Jason read East of Eden, Jason didn’t say anything about that either. It always ended up with Bruce getting distracted and asking him about what was happening in the book, and then they would both get distracted as Jason explained the Biblical allegories, and the work would go forgotten.

He should do his work on time. Guy was always super tired every morning. Jason got in the habit of secretly making him extra-strength coffee and slipping him a big mug when Alfred turned his back. Bruce almost cried the first time he did it. Jason leveraged the gratitude to score free reign in the attic and upper floors.

That made for an incredible day of digging through heaps and heaps of boxes shoved away in dusty corners, digging his hands into antique World War II memorabilia and 19th century pocketwatches. Every box held the fragments of a dozen stories, and Jason eagerly took notes whenever a new object sparked a new idea.

This Vietnam soldier’s helmet obviously belonged to a brave soldier who died trying to save innocents during the My Lai massacre…some say that his ghost haunted the perpetrators until their dying breaths and cursed their family lines for a hundred generations. That cuckoo clock was obviously a gift from a baron to a baroness, aching for her love - but she had promised her hand to the baron’s brother, a humble watchmaker born out of wedlock. He made that antique gold pocketwatch stuffed in the bottom of the box, obviously.

He only got a little embarrassed about the whole thing when Bruce asked at dinner where he had gotten the inspiration pocketwatch stuffed in his jeans. He had no idea how to explain how important it was for literary purposes. But Bruce just listened seriously to the story of the baron, the baroness, and the peasant watchmaker. Then he asked if the enamel birds in the watchface had some sort of symbolic meaning between the watchmaker and the baroness, and of course they did, and Bruce listened to everything he had to say for hours on hours.

Jason meant to book it his second night there. But he got distracted staying up reading, and he slept past his escape window. The night after that he didn’t feel like it, and the night after that it was raining way too hard. The night after that Jason didn’t think about it at all.

On the seventh night in Bruce’s house, Jason heard a tapping on the window. His heart leapt, and he eagerly threw off the covers. There was a dark shadow shrouded over his window, and he eagerly unlatched it and worked the creaky wood open until he could shove it all the way to the top and see Batman hanging out on the windowsill, cool as you please.

“I thought you weren’t coming!” Jason cried, backing up a little in an attempt to give Batman space to swoop inside. He didn’t - he just stayed at the window, expression unreadable in the black night. “After everything that happened you aren’t bothering to check in on me again?”

“I trust Wayne. And I’ve been occupied.” Batman withdrew a file folder from his cape - what, did it have a kangaroo pouch or something? - and passed it to Jason. He flipped it open, squinting at the small text in the darkness. “Dossier of potential foster parents. Most of them are same-sex couples who are being stonewalled for regular adoption. Normal, middle class couples. One couple are both Mexican, and another couple is a Black woman and a South Asian woman. If you’d prefer…same race.” Batman paused, suddenly a bit awkward. “Are any of those the same race as you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Jason did not know. Mami spoke Spanish and that was all he knew. He didn’t look anything like her. Jason was a bit lighter than Dad and had different hair, and Dad had Indian reservation stories from his dad. Scary ones. That was all he knew about that too. The de la Cruces down the hall, who had half-raised him, were certain he was mostly Filipino. They were the first ones to blame for the rampant Taglish, and the Mendezes on the second floor who also half-raised him were to blame for the Spanglish. The foul mouth was all Todd.

Sometimes it left him kind of confused about himself - like he was a lot of things that he wasn’t and some things that he was. That there were a few things that he should be but was not. That there were some things he could never be even if he wanted to. He had a lot missing that everybody else he knew just took for granted - but you could say that about a lot of things in Jason’s life.

Every family in the dossier looked good. A lot of them were lesbian couples. That was really appealing. Not a single man but Jason in the house. No need to worry about anybody. Nobody to protect anybody from.

Somehow, Jason found himself saying, “Are these emergency placements too?”

“They’d be permanent. If you find no cause to burn down the house.”

“And what if I run away?”

“We’ll find something else,” Batman said. “We’ll keep trying.”

Middle class lesbians in the suburbs. People who’d speak Spanish or Tagalog with him. People who’d stay. It was a nice thought.

When Jason spoke his throat was dry. He didn’t really know why. Maybe he just didn’t want to know. “Bruce said he’d see Fellowship with me when it came out.”

“You can still do that,” Batman said instantly. “Wayne would keep up contact with you. If that’s what you want.” Batman halted hard before saying, “Is Wayne - satisfactory? As a guardian?”

“He’s not exactly an option,” Jason said, ticked off.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Why did you ask it?”

“Call it curiosity.”

“What good does curiosity do?” Jason asked. Man, Batman could be so frustrating. New sentences. “He’s an emergency placement. He’s said it, like, ten times. Nobody’s going to let me stay with the top bajillionaire of Gotham. He only adopted that other kid ‘cause they were neighbors and family friends already. Bruce and I aren’t in the same universe.”

“If you could.” Batman was still perched on his windowsill, a long streak of night in the already absolute darkness. Nothing like the city. Night descended in the suburbs. The city never slept, and Batman never seemed so far away. “If anything was possible. And if you could have anything you wanted. What would you choose, Jason?”

Jason was silent for a long second, but in the end it wasn’t so hard to say. Moments with Batman never felt quite real, and Jason always found himself letting his guard down. He could tell Batman his heart’s desire - something he could barely even admit to himself.

Finally, Jason had to say, “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever said in my life. But he’s kind of like me, you know? I’ve never met anybody else like me before. Especially not in a mansion in Bristol. Isn’t that weird?” Jason paused, weird and uncertain. He felt new. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. “I don’t care about the money. I don’t want any of it. I’ve just never met anybody who thought the same way I do. It’s kinda dumb that we’re so similar…I dunno if I’m ever gonna find that again. I don’t want to ditch it, you know…isn’t that dumb? It’s dumb of me, right?”

Batman was silent for a long second, just long enough to embarrass Jason. Way to go off about how you’re BFFs with a billionaire, Jase. He definitely sounded like he just wanted the money. Like, hello! The money was what made things weird! He would rather they all live in a normal house that still had a butler for some reason. Less walking and better heating. Definitely less ghosts. What would Jason do with a mansion, anyway?

Batman didn’t say anything. He just gestured for Jason to move back a little, and once Jason scrambled back a few steps he effortlessly slid through the window into Jason’s guest bedroom. Jason had never really stood in the same room as Batman - all of their rendezvous were always outside - and it gave him a subtly different air. Less like a byproduct of natural and mystical forces and more like a guy. It fit better.

“He doesn’t fit the profile of your ideal placement.”

Weird fucking sentences from Batman today. “People aren’t profiles,” Jason said, baffled. “What am I, Robocop?”

“He’s almost completely inexperienced with actual parenting. You’d probably need somebody better suited to helping you process your life so far.”

“I’m pretty inexperienced with being parented, so we’d be even.” Jason was growing more and more confused. But something else was rising in him too - the exact opposite of confusion, small and strange and persistent. He didn’t want to look too closely at it, but he couldn’t turn away. “And I dunno who’d be perfect at dealing with a fuck-up like me. You know ‘em?”

“There has to be somebody.”

“I don’t want to live with somebody,” Jason cried, “I want to live with Bruce! I’m not saying he’d be perfect, but I want to give him a shot. He’s a good guy!”

“You don’t know him well.”

“I can tell just by looking at him,” Jason said. “I dunno what he wants, Batman. Or if he wants me here or not. But I can tell he’s a good person. Can’t you?”

Batman was silent. He was hard to see in the dark, nothing but an outline and smear of black amidst the empty bookshelf and creaky window, and impossible to read. But Jason could feel something in the darkness, something clearer and clearer, and he didn’t need to see it to believe it.

“Can you turn on the light, Jason?”

Jason silently turned around and walked across the room to the door, flipping the lightswitch and blinking hard as bright white light chased away the shadows. He turned around slowly, heart thumping a hard rhythm in his chest, breath catching.

But there had been no reason to be scared. He saw exactly what he had expected.

Bruce Wayne stood in his bedroom, cowl pulled down. His eyes were rimmed with thick purple bags, and even though his face was implacable stone there was something tight and fragile about the way he stood, like a glass ornament spinning on a Christmas tree.

“If Bruce Wayne could have anything he wanted,” Bruce rasped, “he would want you to stay. He would like that very much.”

Hot tears pricked at Jason’s eyes, and he knew his heart was burning. He knew Bruce was searching for something in his own face - shock, betrayal, confusion - but he knew Bruce couldn’t find it. Jason mostly just felt kind of overwhelmed. His life had gotten super dumb.

“Bruce Wayne’s a rich asshole who always gets everything he wants. What the hell do I care about that!”

“I’ve never met anybody else like me either,” Bruce said, and for the first time he was calm and sure - as if he’d come to a resolution in the last few seconds, at some invisible tipping point, and there was no turning back now. “Kids like you are one in a million, Jason. I’d hate to let that go.”

Ugh. Ugh! This sucked! This was so embarrassing! Jason wasn’t going to cry! He rubbed hard at his nose, reiterating his point that he was not gonna cry. Teenage boys didn’t do stupid shit like that.

“I’ll burn down your house if I have to,” Jason warned.

“I would probably deserve it.”

“You’ll have to get your act together.”

“I’ve been meaning to get around to it,” Bruce said, straight faced.

“We aren’t that similar,” Jason insisted, feeling the need to save face for some reason. Batman saying that you were like a mini Batman should have put any kid over the moon. But Bruce Wayne was kind of embarrassing. Miss Jason with that rich boy shit. “Your teeth are too good and you’re super neurotic.”

“Just around children,” the Dark Knight said seriously. “It’s a weakness.”

“I am your second foster placement.”

“If your first exposure to children as an adult were Tim and Stephanie as middle schoolers you would also be frightened of children.”

“Are you calling the Narrows orphan the least scary child you’ve dragged in here?” Jason paused a beat. “Wait. Who’s Stephanie?”

The beginning of the end, mostly. But Jason had no way of knowing that at the time.

Jason did not take evasive action.

That would imply he was avoiding anybody. A retreat. But that was far from the situation. The terrain (Wayne manor, for those following along at home) was an ideal site to take cover from the enemy, and that was exactly what he was doing. If they found Jason in the library then obviously he wasn’t hiding from everybody else.

That would imply he was scared of anybody. Jason was not scared of anything. He didn’t even know the meaning of the word, despite all of the other words he knew the meanings of. An enemy thinking you were scared (erroneously!) was a weapon in their hands.

Man, Jason really couldn’t wait until Stephanie and Tim left. He missed Bruce. Jason-and-Bruce, specifically - when Bruce let him read old Batman case reports and they talked for ages about the mistakes made by the bad guy, the cops or the city, Bruce, and Stephanie, and how to avoid making them next time. It was kind of fascinating watching the sheer quantity of mistakes Stephanie made in her first and second years as Robin before they quickly began to taper off into the stupidly competent vigilante everybody knew she was. It was downright funny how many mistakes Batman made. Less than Stephanie by far but still super noticeable in hindsight. Jason knew that the Batman-and-Robin perfection had been a bluff.

Bruce hadn’t taken him to the Zen garden in the museum district for ages. Yeah, it was winter, but Jason wanted to feed the koi. He hadn’t exactly asked to go, but what if Bruce was too busy and said no? It’d be super embarrassing.

Max embarrassment would be Bruce thinking he was scared. He might think Jason was a coward. Imagine Batman thinking you’re a coward. Other kids didn’t have this problem. If their parents thought they were lame then they were probably lame parents. If Batman thought you were lame then that said something about your character.

Jason set up camp in the library, but he couldn’t really focus on his books. He even lowered himself to check out the shelf of comics and manga (did Bruce buy Stephanie Sailor Moon? All of Sailor Moon!?), but after four volumes of Sailor Moon he was too restless to keep reading.

A sticky note was used as a bookmark halfway through volume three. It read: GEOMETRY PROBLEMS 1-10; PIAGET BOOK; PARTY DRESS - LAVENDER; MAKE TIM GO OUTSIDE (DATE?)(BRUCE →?)

Ugh. He was reading her Sailor Moon. Whatever, it was Wayne Sailor Moon now. Jason didn’t know what Stephanie was doing with the foundations of child psychology, but he didn’t want to find out.

The only times Jason outright asked Bruce if they could go outside and have fun was when he noticed Bruce hadn’t really gone outside and had fun in a while. He did not like sharing this trait. But that was mostly because Jason got kind of shy about asking for things, and he could only really summon up the grit if it was for the other person’s own good. Who spent so much time and energy on other people’s Vitamin D? She was obviously busy enough. Had she done all the emotional labor? No wonder everybody acted like she was in charge - they couldn’t really be bothered to do her ‘job’ themselves.

Jason was not Stephanie Brown. He quietly resolved not to go above and beyond doing emotional labor for Bruce. It wasn’t the kid’s job to take care of the parent. Stephanie was his partner, she could do that all she wanted. Jason wondered if she was a partner before she was a kid.

The library had a computer, a stocky PC with a chunky mouse and keyboard attached. A big tower sat next to it, and there was a little binder leaning against the side. Jason had always avoided the computer out of obscure fear and confusion, but he found himself reassessing now. He used to hang out in internet cafes. He’d seen people use computers, even if he’d barely touched one himself. He could figure it out, right?

Turned out the hardest part was looking for the letters on the keyboard. It took a few minutes, but figuring out the mouse and the menus were pretty easy. He wiggled his mouse around the Windows XP, pressing on a little picture of a spiky ball and opening up a game called Minesweeper. He messed around with it for a while, but he couldn’t really figure out the rules, so he quickly closed it out.

He considered clicking on the ‘N’ picture and using the internet. The last time he’d used a computer was to check the internet - he had asked Bruce to search the news to see what people were saying about his adoption. He quickly regretted it. Jason didn’t really want to go on the internet again.

On impulse, Jason grabbed the binder leaning on the computer tower and opened it. He was surprised to see that it was full of CDs, tucked neatly inside sleeve after sleeve. He flipped through the binder, the sheer quantity of CDs shocking him. He had no idea rich people loved computer games so much!

Jason picked out the first CD he saw with people on it - The Sims - and fed it into the computer. He wiggled the mouse impatiently as the screen froze for a few seconds before it went dark. Just when he thought he’d broken it the screen lit up again, showing a menu and blasting a jazzy tune through the speakers.

You could make your own people? You could build them a house and make them get married? You could make them cheat on each other? This was like writing a story, but if the characters could move themselves around and start beating each other up. This was great. Jason wished he’d had a computer way earlier.

The weak winter sunlight shining through the windows dimmed, and eventually extinguished itself completely. Jason, wrapped up in discovering the easiest ways to murder your own Sims to facilitate a Hamlet-esque plotline (the key was a swimming pool and a deleted ladder), didn’t notice until he heard the echo of footsteps down the aisle. He frantically tried to close his book before remembering he was using a computer, and he wasted precious moments trying to figure out how to do the computer equivalent of closing your book before realizing it was too late.

“Alfred says it’s time to wash up for dinner.” Unsaid: you did not skip dinner. Jason ‘Malnourishment’ Wayne did not skip anything, under literal doctor orders.

Jason startled, looking around the library for the first time and realizing that hours had passed. He hadn’t even noticed. Tim walked forward, moving to stand a few feet behind Jason. Bruce had given him the personal space talk. Saved Jason the effort.

“Sorry,” Jason said, half-defensively. “Lost track of time.”

“Yeah, Bruce said you normally weren’t in here for so long.” Tim squinted at the computer monitor, watching Bella Goth cry at her abandoned wedding altar as her ex-fiance ran away with his mistress. “Is that my old copy of the Sims?”

“What, do you want it back?” Jason snapped.

“I only really played Sim City and Civ. Do you hate me?”

Jason choked on his spit, the sheer whiplash sending his head spinning. Tim just blinked at him, expression neutral and posture loose with his arms folded against his chest. He said it like he was asking if Jason preferred cheese or pepperoni. As if he didn’t give two shits about the answer.

“Of course I don’t hate you!” Jason cried, solely on reflex. Tim squinted dubiously, silently asking if he had said that solely on reflex. “I mean - look, man, we ain’t beefing! We’re cool!”

“You refuse to be in the same room as me.” Tim didn’t seem particularly offended by this. “It’s fine if you do. I just think Bruce wants to know.”

“I don’t! Jeez, who just asks that! Who’s gonna say ‘yeah, I hate you!’. Just take a hint or something!”

“Sorry,” Tim said, not sounding altogether that apologetic. “I don’t like beating around the bush on things. Steph says I’m straightforward. You aren’t. If there’s a miscommunication we ought to clear it up.”

God. He was worse than Bruce. Jason didn’t know that was possible. He rolled his eyes, going back to his game and refusing to look at Tim. It made the whole conversation a lot easier. He made Bella go flirt with the neighbor, just to help her feel something. “There’s no miscommunication. We talked about this ages ago. Remember? I asked if it was cool that I was playing your video games, you said you didn’t live here so it was whatever? There was an understanding, dude.”

Judging by Tim’s face he didn’t remember that at all, and he may in fact not actually understand, but that wasn’t Jason’s problem. Tim’s terrible memory was his own fault. “Sure. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

Bella Goth was rejected. Her snotty tears grossed out the other Sim. The realism in this game was off the chain.“I answered your question. I don’t hate you. Can you drop this? I know you’re only bugging me ‘cause Steph told you to.”

“She told me to leave you be, actually. I honestly have no idea where she is right now.” So he had gone rogue. Great. “She told me months ago that you were probably avoiding me because you were worried that I would make Bruce kick you out or something. I thought you wanted some space to figure out the reality of the situation on your own, but I guess you didn’t. Maybe I should have said something.”

Frankly, Jason couldn’t believe that Tim had strung five thoughts together regarding Jason at all. “And what would you have said, huh?” Jason asked. He couldn’t muster the energy to be polite or diffuse or distract anymore. He was just kind of tired. Life couldn’t be a war on all fronts. It wore you down too far. “You’re such a big fat genius. What would you have said to make me feel better and convince me that you aren’t a threat?”

“I used to blow up buildings.”

Jason stared at Tim. Tim stared at him.

“Uh,” Jason said.

“Can I sit down?”

Jason dumbly nodded. Tim shrugged and sat down next to him, keeping the careful foot of distance between them. Sitting closer like this, Jason could see the bags under his eyes and tired lines around his mouth clearly. A guy that young shouldn’t have frown lines.

“I won’t go into it,” Tim continued, even and easy. “It’s not really a time in my life I like to remember. It was only a few months after the mob gunned down my parents and I came to live with Bruce.” Jason’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help sucking in a breath. Tim looked distantly amused. “You don’t remember? It was big news five years ago.”

“I was, like, seven. I wasn’t really watching the news.” But it did sound pretty familiar. Tim had to have been Jason’s age. The thought made Jason’s stomach churn uncomfortably. “Sorry that happened. Must have sucked.”

“It happens to a lot of kids in this city. I’m probably the luckiest.” That was one way to look at it, but kind of a weird one. “I was angry. So angry I couldn’t see or think straight. I wanted to hurt them back. I started out doing smaller stuff, hacking into accounts and setting the IRS on people and everything. But it wasn’t violent enough. What had happened to me was violent, and I wanted to be violent too. Started blowing up warehouses. Fucking miracle I didn’t kill anybody. I almost killed a lot of people. Almost killed Steph.”

If Jason had been scared of this guy before, he was pants-shittingly terrified now. Holy shit. He didn’t know Tim could get scarier. Or more criminal.

He knew Tim was ashamed of it. It was obvious just from the look on his face. But it was really only when he mentioned hurting Stephanie that he actually seemed pained.

“All that to say, Jason,” Tim said, “Bruce still adopted me. The adoption hadn’t even gone through. He could still back out. But he barely even punished me. Steph was unconscious, I was sitting at her bedside - and he told me I’d already learned my lesson. I had.” He paused a beat. “He also said that Steph herself was punishment enough. Which was also true.”

Wow. Batman and Robin were family members with a domestic terrorist. And they just, like, kinda gave him a hard time about it. It was incredible. It’s like being superheroes made their standards lower somehow. It definitely explained why Bruce saw a homeless asshole like Jason and randomly decided he was the greatest thing since sliced bread. Tim Drake-Wayne had put the bar on the ground.

He could be the good kid.

“Bruce is the most stubborn person you’ll ever meet. He’s Steph with a rich white man’s confidence. He’s implacable and I’ve never seen him change his mind on anything. If he makes a decision, he does it. There is literally nothing you can do that would jeopardize your place in the house, up to and including domestic terrorism.” Tim paused a beat. “And he’s already way more attached to you than he was to me at that point. I can’t think of a reason to worry.”

Jason mumbled something vague and incoherent about how Steph could probably change Bruce’s mind.

“Why would she do that?”

Jason made garbled noises about how he had been a jerk at dinner, so…

“When you think of an actual reason why Steph or I would want you gone let me know so I can refute it.” Tim paused, pointedly waiting for Jason to summon up an actual halfway decent logical reason why Stephanie Brown or Tim Drake-Wayne would somehow want him dead, gone, and onto the street. He completely failed. Tim didn’t seem surprised. “Cool. Stop flipping over nothing. Bruce likes you ten times as much as he likes me. You’re fine.”

Tim didn’t sound resentful or upset about it, but he was hard to read. The words struck Jason oddly - that even as Jason sat there stressing over being the expendable one, Tim was already writing Jason off as the favorite. Were any of them on the same page? Did Stephanie secretly think that Tim was the golden kid? Did anybody in this family actually understand it, or were they all blindly stumbling around, desperately trying to find the right way to love each other?

It didn’t cohere with Jason’s militaristic viewpoint. There was an enemy. There had to be. Otherwise nobody knew what was going on. It felt like a worst case scenario.

Jason found himself shifting uncomfortably on the very comfortable chair. He stared hard at the screen, aimlessly clicking his Sims around and watching them set food on fire. He pretended hard that he wasn’t talking to Tim. He was just doing what he always did and speaking to himself, playing with the figures in his head and keeping them neatly tucked inside his own mind, where nobody had to see and nobody had to know.

“What’s you and Bruce’s relationship anyway?” Jason hoped to god the question sounded casual. He was aware it probably didn’t. “He never refers to you as his kid.”

“I’m not,” Tim said shortly. Jason wondered how often he’d had to say it. Maybe people were typically too polite to ask? “I had a father. When I came to live with him I wasn’t exactly in the market for a new one, and I never decided I needed one.”

“So what are you, then?”

Tim hesitated.

Jason knew more about how Bruce’s guardianship of Tim ended than how it began. Alfred had really only shared two things about it: that Tim and Bruce loved each other but didn’t always get along, and that they had a gigantic blow-out fight that ended up in Tim packing his bags and leaving for Boston two months early, the week he turned eighteen. The subject of the fight was uncertain. It was either about everything or nothing, or maybe a lot of little things blown up in everyone’s face. They never really stopped working together on Batman stuff, but Bruce and Tim stopped talking as much.

They had chilled out. They still argued a bit, but it had never really felt like father-son arguing. They always sounded exasperated with each other, as if they were mutually shocked that they were telling each other what to do. From the sounds of it they always thought the other person was trying to make them do the stupidest thing on Earth.

“I don’t know if I can describe it in a word,” Tim said finally. Jason didn’t fight the weird satisfaction that Tim had taken the question seriously enough to stop and think about it. “Definitely not a dad. More like a much older brother, I guess, but not really that either. Not a teacher and responsibility like he is for Steph. A friend on some level, maybe. Batman and Red Robin are teammates, so there’s that element. I don’t know. I guess we never put a name to it. Do we need to?”

“I guess not.”

Jason had a lot of people in his life who he couldn’t dredge up the right names for. ‘Neighbor’ or ‘babysitter’ or ‘friend’ rarely cut it when the neighbor fed you when Mom was too high to put together a meal or grocery shop, and friends didn’t let you couch surf when you were turned out on the street. Sometimes people are more important than words.

But Jason found himself hesitating anyway. Despite that - despite all of that, despite everything he knew and everything he had convinced himself he didn’t care about - he couldn’t help but ask. It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did, at least to Jason.

“What are you and me, then?” Jason asked. He hoped it sounded casual. He knew that it didn’t.

He couldn’t see Tim’s face, which was very much on purpose. He didn’t know what Tim was thinking, and he couldn’t tell the look on his face. Maybe he looked like Jason had dropped a dead rat on his table and asked him to love it. Not that Jason had asked him to love it. Jason wouldn’t do that. That would be a really weird thing to ask someone who destabilized foreign dictatorships. He just…he just…

Sometimes you asked a question you didn’t want to know the answer to. You had to ask the question anyway. You just couldn’t stand not knowing - you couldn’t stand living in a world where you hadn’t even asked, where you hadn’t even tried.

Jason was always scared. But he always waged the war anyway. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t.

“What do you want us to be?”

Why did Jason always choose to wage the war? Why did he always take up arms? Why did he always fight for it?

“Whatever you want, I guess,” Jason said. “But it’s kind of a pain in the ass stressing out about you all the time.”

Tim was silent again. Whatever. Jason played in silence next to him, heroically attempting to drown as many Sims as possible. It was a hard world out there. Sometimes you drowned in swimming pools. That was life.

“So,” Tim said, somewhat awkwardly and very much on purpose, “you made a house yet?”

Jason glanced over at Tim for the first time. He was leaning forward a little, arms folded on the table as he watched Jason play. Had he been watching the whole time? “Yeah, duh. I’m doing a practice house right now with five bathrooms and a room that’s just windows.” Jason halted, considering everything before tossing it out the window. “The library has a ton of architecture books. I'm going to borrow the ancient Rome one and make an exact replica of a Roman senator’s villa.”

“That’s…incredibly cool.” Tim looked a little surprised to say it, as if he hadn’t expected to say the words and mean them. “You’ll have problems finding Sims with enough money to live in it, though. Do you know about the cheat codes?”

“The what?!”

“Here, click over to the Goths. I’ll show you. Can I see your five bathroom house?”

“Yeah! Look, I made a statue garden!”

Jason scooted his chair to the right, beckoning Tim in to bring his own chair closer so they were sitting next to each other. It was necessary for a better view of the screen and mouse access.

“I like the way you placed the statues. Lots of feng shui.” Tim took the mouse as Jason nodded ardently. He had worked hard on it. “Here, let me show you how to access the debug menu. We can put your Sims in funny NPC costumes too.”

“Seriously?! How do you do that?”

“Look,” Tim said, “I’ll show you.”

Jason looked, and saw…

Jason saw…

They missed dinner, but somehow they got away with it. Tim was clearly kind of embarrassed about it, and kept on muttering to himself about bad influences, but Jason figured that Tim should probably focus on dealing with his more important character flaws that he shouldn’t pass onto children, e.g. domestic terrorism.

Domestic terrorism.

God, he was cool.

Alfred barely twitched an eyebrow when he saw them again, settling for telling them that dinner itself had been postponed. Tim looked shocked, so Jason guessed that this wasn’t a very common occurrence. Come to think of it, if Bruce refused to come up from the Cave for dinner Jason usually just made himself a plate and went downstairs to sit at the desk next to the Batcomputer and munch potatoes as Bruce worked. He tried to munch quietly, but other times he couldn’t stop himself from asking questions about the case. He liked to think it helped - sometimes asking Bruce to explain the case helped him take a step back and catch things he would have otherwise missed. Bruce always told him ‘good job’, as if Jason had really done anything. Bruce had done all the work. But Bruce always acted like he had single handedly cracked the case anyway. What a dork.

“Master Bruce is concerning himself with a case downstairs,” Alfred said, confirming one suspicion. “You two were otherwise occupied and we couldn’t find Miss Stephanie, so we agreed to postpone the meal for a few hours. Master Timothy, I believe Master Bruce would like your help tracking some financial statements for this case.”

“You couldn’t find Steph?” Tim said, surprised. “You tried calling her?”

“The call was declined.” Alfred raised an eyebrow and silently interrogated Tim and Jason in tandem. “Would you two know anything about that?”

Tim just shrugged. “Last I saw her, she was working out while I was installing the software updates for the Batcomputer. I went upstairs for lunch and didn’t come with me. And Jason’s been in the library all day. She seriously didn’t even come out for dinner?”

“It’s unlike her,” Alfred agreed. “Master Tim, would you -”

“I’ll go find her!” Jason piped up. He remembered too late that it was rude to interrupt Alfred, but he was forced to ignore the skyrocketing eyebrow and dazed blink anyway. “I’ll go grab her so we can eat dinner. Be right back!”

With that heroic proclamation, Paul Revere accepted his sacred duty and set his horse off at a sprint, galloping through dangerous territory mired in darkness so he could share his life saving rhetoric with the village. With words themselves - ‘The British are coming!’ - and a fast horse, the tides of war could be turned.

Or maybe he was more like Pheidippides? A simple messenger’s twenty five mile sprint carrying news of a vital victory towards Athens, a hero from Herodotus given recognition in -

Jason tripped over the stair runner.

“Master Jason, please do not run in the halls!”

Every Greek hero had his tragedy.

Stephanie wasn’t in her room, which Jason definitely had never peeked inside and which for sure wasn’t painted a garish shade of purple. That was no surprise - it was definitely the first place Alfred would have looked. Similarly, she wasn’t in any of the common areas. The door to Tim’s study was locked too. She wasn’t in the library, and Bruce was already in the Batcave. It was weird. Had she wanted to be alone or something?

For a brief red-hot irrational second, Jason wondered if he had hurt her feelings. Nope. No way. Stephanie Brown didn’t a) sulk, and b) get her feelings hurt by rude gutter children. Adults who let kids hurt their feelings were super embarrassing, and everybody knew Stephanie Brown wasn’t embarrassing.

Well, if she was sulking, she could get over it. The minute Jason got up from the computer he realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and his stomach was seriously rumbling. All these regular meals and big portions were turning his body seriously whiny, but Jason liked to view it as the opposite of storing fat for the winter. If Stephanie was actually a fellow gutter child then she knew the hustle.

Jason aimlessly poked his head inside rooms and wandered into random hallways for a few minutes, but it wasn’t until he stumbled inside an actual small dance studio that he realized he had to be methodical about this. The Manor could probably eat an unsuspecting gutter child who let his guard down. He was already working on a short story with that premise - it was a metaphor for capitalism - but he really didn’t feel like making it a reality. The world was weird enough already. He didn’t want to accidentally speak anything into existence.

Maybe he should check his own favorite hiding spots? Jason wasn’t dumb - he always saw little initials or doodles carved into the wooden frames in his hiding spots left by generations of delinquent children. Some D.W. really wanted you to know that A.W. was ugly. A.W. was four feet two inches tall - or so a post proudly proclaimed. R.W., U.W., and T.W. were, indeed, there.

Jason secretly loved it a little. He had started keeping a log of every little piece of switchblade graffiti he found, marking its contents and location. Maybe he could sit down and match them all up with the ridiculous genealogies he found.

He always wondered how Abraham to Uriah Wayne would feel about him sitting in their hidey holes, tracing his fingers over their initials. He knew they had not been writing to him. People like him only went inside Wayne Manor to clean. Whatever future generations of Waynes they had been writing to, Jason had never been in that picture.

So Jason wrote it large. He had grabbed an awl from the Batcave and found the most popular graffiti spots, the ones crowded with generations of names. He wrote his own, big and blocky and loud, right at the top.

J.W. ESTUVO AQUI. It was the first thing anybody would see when looking at it. He wrote it again and again, wherever he saw everybody else leaving their mark. J.W. ESTUVO AQUI. Jason Wayne was here.

Even if he left - even if he was kicked out - Jason had been there. For those strange few months, Jason had been there. You’d have to chop down the house to tear him away from it.

Bruce hadn’t kicked out Tim. Tim was a domestic terrorist who wanted to drop out of MIT. They hated each other half the time and Tim couldn’t even name their relationship.

Bruce had told Jason that he wanted him to stay. What had he meant? It had seemed so complicated at the time - that there was a secret message in those words that Jason had to divine, that it couldn’t possibly be that simple. And obviously the reality of the situation was hideously complex. But what Bruce said - Bruce’s feelings, somehow just the same as Jason's - Jason couldn’t figure out a way to complicate it.

No matter how hard Jason looked, he could only find one recent-ish B.W. - tucked high in the eaves of the popular hide-away attic, the initials gashed into the wood before the graffiti artist surrendered all pretense and started gouging the wood with a switchblade in long, straight lines. The marks were made over and over again, so methodical that parts of the post were almost carved out. Nothing to say. Just anger. Nothing to tell the world - just a desire to gouge it all out.

Jason didn’t know at what point Bruce decided to become a superhero, but the world probably dodged a bullet on a pretty insane supervillain when he did.

Jason thought about those marks as he climbed up his favorite hidden stairwell to the favorite hideaway attic, clutching his Power Ranges flashlight in one clammy hand as he crept into its heights. There were easily three different attics (maybe the house had eaten two smaller houses?), but the smallest one had the best spot - a view straight out of the round window at the front of the house, tucked under the highest eave, giving you an unmatched vantage point over the grounds. Somebody had set up a large armchair underneath that window a long time ago, complete with battery powered lantern, and the windowsill was covered in initials and graffiti. Even Jason had left his own. But Stephanie Brown was the only one sitting on the armchair, curled up with her chin on her knees as she stared at a Polaroid picture.

The battery powered lamp was turned on, casting a soft circle of light around Jason and Steph, and Jason cautiously flicked off his own flashlight and stuffed it in his pocket. Stephanie had undoubtedly noticed him approaching, but she didn’t really pay him any mind. She just stared at the picture, mane of blonde hair wild around her face, eyes far away.

Jason opened his mouth to tell her that dinner was ready.

“What are you looking at?”

Stephanie glanced at him for the first time, smiling faintly. She bent a finger inwards, and Jason trotted over to look. “Just a picture we took at our post-mission pizza place. See?”

The polaroid was small, but Stephanie tilted it slightly so he could get a better look. There was a blue blur at the corner of the frame, as if someone had leaned back very quickly so they would be out of the shot. Jason could see most of a tall Black guy, skin half-covered by glowing blue metal, holding up a piece of pizza threateningly and shaking a finger at the photographer. There was a big bite taken out of the pizza. Environmental storytelling.

But most of the picture was taken up by two figures talking to each other. Robin, sitting tall and happy, mouth open as she said something probably very funny to the giggling girl next to her. The girl was nuts - giant hair, half a foot taller than Robin sitting, with burnt orange skin and glowing green eyes creased in laughter. Their bodies were angled towards each other, a private moment between two women frozen onto film.

“Wow,” Jason said.

“I know, right? That’s everyone’s reaction to Kory. She thinks it’s funny. Apparently nobody on Tamaran really thought she was anything special. Crazy planet.” Steph smiled softly. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the photograph. “We were so excited to introduce her to pizza. First time she has it, she loves it - eats a whole pie. Then an hour later she’s in the bathroom yelling about how we poisoned her. Turns out she’s lactose intolerant. Now we’re practically the mascots of the weird yuppie California vegan pizza places. Gar’s, like, so smug about it.”

“Vegan food? Like for hippies?” Jason was appalled. “There’s restaurants that just sell vegan food? Who goes there?”

“Californians, I guess! Those people are insane. It’s like another world over there. It’s, like, sunny and shit. Vic says I’m a bigger baby about different cultures than the actual aliens and extradimensional witches.”

“Right.” Jason hesitated, stomach boiling awkwardly. “Um. I’m sorry for…”

“You’re fine. I deserved that one. It made me think, anyway. And I don’t do that nearly enough.” Stephanie didn’t look up from the picture. Jason was worried that she couldn’t. “Hey, squirt. You’re smart, right? What do you do when…when you aren’t the person you thought you were?”

Since when was Jason the smart one? Why was an adult asking him for advice? Jason didn’t know. But he thought about it anyway, hopping on the carved oak back leg of the armchair and hanging off the winged back. “Uh…I don’t know. You change your opinion about yourself, I guess.”

But Stephanie just shook her head. “Who you are is, like, a thing. It’s always been a thing to me. Steph or Robin or…whatever. But what if you - you do something, or you think things, and they aren’t something Steph or Robin would ever do or think? Are you something else now?”

Jason really didn’t understand this woman’s psychology. “You’re Steph. You’re thinking it. So it’s a thing Steph would think. I’m not following you.”

“Steph’s always been this. She can’t start being that.” Jason began experimentally climbing up the chair, digging his feet onto the arms and scrambling up to the top. “Robin’s always been Robin. She’s always been the girl I wanted to be. Robin can’t be…that isn’t really what I anticipated for her.” Quickly she added, “Not that there’s anything wrong with being…that. Some of my best friends are that. But Robin’s not that. She’s not an alien or a mute assassin or anything. Robin’s a normal person, not a - more interesting person. Her relationships aren’t really where she always thought they would be. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“I’m not really where I thought I’d be six months ago either,” Jason said philosophically. He hoisted himself up until he was gripping the back of the chair, elbows locked straight as he swung his feet. He could see straight down onto the top of Stephanie’s head from this vantage point. He could see from the very top of the window - from the very top of the world, with everything spread out underneath his feet in harmony. Undisturbed and eternal. Simple, if only when viewed from high above. “Things change. That’s not bad. Maybe who you wanted to be when you were my age isn’t who you want to be when you’re an adult. Shocker.”

Stephanie was quiet. Jason experimentally tilted himself forward, leaning over the back of the chair until his legs were high in the air too.

“You’re going to fall off.”

“I’m not gonna fall off,” Jason lied. “Look, I got balance.”

“I’m a gymnast. You’re going to fall off.”

“How can you tell? You ain’t even looking up.”

Stephanie sighed. She waited three seconds before getting off the armchair, almost at the precise moment that Jason over-balanced and fell ass over teakettle onto the overstuffed cushion. He bounced, blinking hard to clear his spinning vision, and when his eyes finally rightened themselves he saw Stephanie Brown standing in front of him, arms crossed and amused.

“Right,” Jason muttered, world spinning. “Big damn superhero.”

“I think the proper term is ‘Wonder Girl’, thank you very much.” Stephanie crouched in front of him, expression softening. “Jason. Is there something you want to tell me?” Her tone was kind and gentle, and it abruptly panicked Jason. He shook his head. “Are you sure? There’s nothing you want to talk to me about? It can be anything.”

“I’m fine!” Jason did not break under torture. “I just came up about dinner, honest!”

“Is that what Alfred said?” What did that mean? But Stephanie just sighed, looking at Jason intently. Her gaze could be surprisingly intense - as if she was really looking at you, ready to crack you open and read the future from your entrails. “The boys warned me about overwhelming you about five different times, you know. I think they were worried I’d try to force you into family togetherness before you were cool with that.”

Jason mumbled something about how Steph obviously, like, didn’t even want Bruce to adopt him, so…

“Seriously? Who told you that?”

“You yelled at him for, like, an hour,” Jason said, desperately uncomfortable. “Look, it’s fine. I don’t care. Water under the bridge. Everything’s cool. I don’t want to make it into a thing.”

“A thing? I don’t - oh, man.” Stephanie sighed again, putting her elbow on her knees and propping her hand on her chin. Jason squirmed uncomfortably. But she didn’t seem upset or frustrated - just a little exasperated, as if her day was long enough without dealing with this too. “Jason, Bruce is…I dunno if you’ve noticed, but he’s kinda fragile.”

“He’s actually Batman?!”

“I’ve been watching Batman’s back and taking care of Bruce for ages. I was so worried about leaving him. I needed to get out of Gotham, I knew the guys needed me out in Jump, but…I was so worried I was ditching the people that needed me here. And then he and Tim had that blow up a month after I moved out, which totally felt like my fault, and…” Stephanie sighed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “I was stressing out over him constantly. And then he’s calling me in a panic over emergency placements and I’m sitting here like - he needs me to help take care of him, what makes him think he can take care of a special needs kid! He’s already called me for parenting advice three times in the first week, again, before I told him he was on his own with this one and - ugh. It was seriously like - I turn my back for two seconds…I was just worried about him, Jason. That’s all.”

Jason couldn’t believe this. Well, he could - he had kinda gotten a picture of this just from listening around - but it was still ridiculous. “Bro. He’s, like, thirty. He’s on the Justice League. He has a company. And I’m the houseplant of adoptees. It’s chill.”

“It would have been fine if I had just been here,” Stephanie sighed. Jason couldn’t believe that this was the woman’s beef with him. Did this even count as beef? Was it more like tofu? Had Californian soy byproducts rotted her mind? “But I just had to run off to lead an undergrad superhero team. I hadn’t meant to start A League of Her Own or anything. They just needed me, that’s all. I wouldn’t have left if I thought Bruce would randomly start adopting children…I’m sorry, Jason. It really has nothing to do with you.”

With a slow and creeping horror, Jason realized that his new older sister was stupid.

He had to set this record straight. What the hell. He couldn’t let things continue like this. This was the most ridiculous thing Jason had seen in his entire life, and he once saw a homeless guy climb a gargoyle to try and eat a pigeon.

Jason took a deep breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Stephanie stared at him, somewhat incredulously. Finally, like a teacher delivering the lesson of their short life, Jason said, “You are not Queen of the Universe. You are an actual teenager. You can’t control everything that happens in Gotham, and it’s dumb to try and control everything that happens in Bruce’s life. Why don’t you trust him? Why do you think he’s not good enough?”

Steph looked away, somewhat awkwardly, and muttered something about how he had literally been calling for parenting advice again, so…

“And you stopped helping him, and he did just fine! You’re an adult. Adults are supposed to leave him and go to college and start superhero teams.” Or they did in his books and Fresh Prince, which Jason had to assume was what the world was ‘meant’ to be like. Jason firmly believed that his life wasn’t the way lives should be. He had to believe that really, really badly. “It’s stupid as hell to try and give that up so you could keep babysitting a guy who doesn’t need it. It’s not your job to take care of him.”

“It totally is, though,” Steph complained weakly. She was powerless in the face of Jason’s rhetoric and she knew it. “I’m Robin, of ‘Batman and’. We’re partners, we cover each other’s bases. Even if Steph doesn’t have to take care of Bruce, Batman needs Robin.”

“You live in California. You can’t exactly do that anymore. If Steph’s thinking things that Steph doesn’t think, then maybe Steph isn’t who she thought she was. And if Batman’s partner is doing her own thing with her own friends now, then maybe she’s gotta take Robin back to the drawing board. And, like, stop mothering Batman.” Jason shrugged, crossing his arms and scooting back into the armchair until he could fold his legs up. “But what do I know, right?”

Steph stared at him for a little while, just enough to make Jason feel awkward. And enough for him to start kicking himself. What was he on about? This wasn’t a parking lot fight with the other street kids over if Robin could beat up Green Lantern (“She hasn’t tried, but she took down Oliver in two minutes. I have footage. Why do you ask, Jason?”). He couldn’t exactly sit here and tell the actual Robin who and what Robin was. What did he know about it?

What did he know about Bruce? What did he know about this family? He knew where Steph was coming from. Jason had heard more than enough stories to grok that Steph had kept Bruce on the straight and narrow for a long time. She was the one who had taken Batman from a monster into a hero. Apparently she was the one who defused what probably would have been a super messy first meeting between Batman and Superman. Batman said that it was only because of Robin that he understood the importance of the Justice League in the first place.

And that was just Batman. Bruce himself could be kind of a disaster sometimes. Jason could already tell that she always mediated Tim and Bruce. And Bruce got sad sometimes, and other times he obviously couldn’t find it within himself to talk to people or to take off Batman and go back to being Bruce Wayne. Jason didn’t know how to handle all that. If he did know, if he could do something - then wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t he do whatever he can, to help the guy who helped him out the most?

But it still wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Bruce, who believe it or not hadn’t actually adopted Jason on impulse. And it wasn’t fair to Steph. Just because you were the only girl in the house didn’t mean you had to do your job and take care of all the guys too. She hadn’t been much older than Jason when she took up vigilantism. Other people should have been taking care of her. She hadn’t looked out for Steph first for a really long time - had she ever?

“Can I sit?”

Jason startled, and he quickly scooched to the side to make room for Steph. He was still pretty small and the armchair was obviously super big, so they fit together just fine. Her bare arm brushed against Jason’s chunky red sweater, but she didn’t act awkward about it. She just settled in with him, pulling her own legs underneath her. She smelled like strawberries. Jason tried extremely hard not to notice.

It was hard to read her. Her expression was blank and controlled. It made Jason sweat a bit. Was she mad at him? Was this when the prophesied Stephanie Brown hatred campaign against Jason began? Why was she sitting next to him? Should he make a run for it?

“If you could decide who Robin was,” Steph said quietly, and Jason stiffened. “If you were in complete control of that. Who would you want Robin to be?”

What a weird question. What a weird question for Robin herself to ask him. Maybe she was having a bit of an identity crisis. Jason probably wasn’t helping there. The least he could do was give her an answer. Maybe he should pretend to think about it first. He really didn’t have to think about it at all, obviously, but maybe he should pretend. But he ended up saying it immediately anyway.

“He’s like Robin now,” Jason confessed. “I mean - he or she or whatever. Gender doesn’t matter. Uh, they’re a kid, though. Not that there’s anything wrong with being an adult. I mean - I have a really good imagination, Bruce says so, so -”

“You can just go for it, squirt.”

“Oh. Okay.” Why was Jason on fire? Why did even thinking of this set something deep in Jason aflame? “He’s like Robin now, ‘cause when he saves people he always makes them feel safe. People trust him. But he’s really different too. Because he’s really strong and powerful, and everybody’s scared of how powerful he is. When people look at him, they see…they see that he’ll save them no matter what. That he’ll never stop until everybody in the Narrows is safe. If he dies, that wouldn’t stop him - he’d just get back up again, ready for round two. He’s the most stubborn son of a gun in all’a Gotham.”

Jason took a deep, shuddering breath. The oxygen stoked the fire in him, but he couldn’t stop for the life of him.

“He’s not really who you think of when you think of a hero. He doesn’t care about glory or fairy tale endings. But people - people who have nothing, they have him. People who have nothing in their pockets have Robin. Kids, the babies on the street - they’d have a big brother in Robin. He saves the unsaveable kids.” Jason’s breath hitched, hot tears pricking at his eyes. “Robin would have saved me. He wouldn’t have stopped until he saved me.”

The image was clear in his mind. He’d imagined it a thousand times. He had a good imagination, and Jason never had anything fun to do but read and think. He knew what Robin’s costume looked like - he couldn’t have the same costume as a girl, come on - and he knew the shape of his domino mask. He had the skin of anybody in the Narrows, so the people who needed him most knew that he was always on their side.

When people had nothing, they would have Robin. They would know that they hadn’t been abandoned by God. That they could be saved. That any of them, any one, could save themselves. They could save each other.

A warm weight fell around his shoulders, and he realized Steph had slung her arm around him. She was soft and warm, and for a crushing moment Jason could almost feel his own mother’s hugs.

She’d never hug him again. Not ever. Jason didn’t know how many more hugs he’d receive over the course of his life, but none of them would ever feel like Mami. There was no getting that back. There was no going backwards.

Where could he go from here?

“Jason,” Steph said softly, “what do you want?”

What did he want? He wanted Mami, obviously. He wanted to stay in Wayne Manor forever. He wanted to read every book and go to that fancy prep school and he wanted Tim to play the Sims with him again just like he promised.

Jason could admit all of that. He’d been pretty insistent about the Gotham Academy thing, despite Bruce’s reservations. The one thing he couldn’t admit -

How could he admit it? How could he begin? He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t tell her that the figure in his beautiful picture holding out his hand to Jason, the figure so tall and strong and smiling with bright teeth, who wore her own costume and wore it proudly, only ever looked like himself. That Jason never once daydreamed of Batman and Robin saving him - not once in all those long and lonely years. That he had only ever imagined himself, wearing a coat of many colors, holding a hand out to a boy with nothing. That he had saved himself. He couldn’t imagine anybody else doing it.

“I dunno,” Jason lied. “I dunno…”

“That’s fine.” Steph squeezed his shoulder a little, and despite himself Jason leaned against her side. It was nice. When Steph spoke again her voice was tight and hoarse, and Jason couldn’t figure out why for the life of him. “Jason…who you are is who you’re meant to be. Okay? There’s nobody else in the world like you. There’s nobody else as thoughtful and heroic and insightful as you are. Jason Todd or Jason Wayne - you’re amazing. You’re wonderful. Just as you are.”

“Shut up!” Jason said, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes hard. “You don’t even know me!”

“I’m a pretty good judge of people, you know. And I know there’s people in this world who need someone like you. Someone who keeps people safe.” Jason’s chest hitched a little, making him hate God and all of his creation. Crying. In front of Stephanie Brown. Dante never visited this circle of hell. “I want you to have whatever you want, Jason. Whatever that is. I want you to have what you want.”

Jason wanted to push her away. He wanted to stop crying. He meant to. But somehow he could only lean against Steph and cry, and could only let her hug him, and he thought maybe he didn’t really know what he wanted at all.

Bruce stayed with Jason that night, foregoing their usual goodbyes in the Batcave so he could see him to bed instead. Jason knew it had been his own idea - he thought Jason might have been avoiding him that day. Jason had solemnly told Bruce that it was a military maneuver, and that he didn’t understand the rules of engagement. Bruce had agreed, if only out of confusion.

He reminded Jason to brush his teeth and helped him clean up his scattered room. Jason carefully placed a tin Green Army Man he found at the bottom of a dusty box at his headboard right behind him, so he could read over Jason’s shoulder. He pulled up an armchair next to Jason’s bed, and Jason settled in at the corner with a copy of Edith Hamilton’s Mythology. He had spent ten minutes recapping his favorite chapters from the book, sprinkled with some creative zest. Bruce was very interested in the story of the Golden Fleece and Jason and the Argonauts, but Jason thought maybe he might be making fun of him.

Batman was a formidable foe, and Jason was forced to surrender eventually. Jason dropped the book, throwing his hands up. “Fine! I was named after the movie! Happy? You finished interrogating me, officer?”

“What interrogation? I never asked.” The man’s poker face was impressive, but Jason couldn’t be fooled. “I didn’t even imply it.”

“There were no ulterior motives,” Jason hissed, jabbing a finger at the faux-innocent Bruce. “She liked the zombie skeletons. She thought they were cool and creepy, and she liked the name Jason, and that was it. Don’t read into it!”

“So your namesake has nothing to do with why you have that book memorized?”

Jason threw his book at Bruce. He caught it effortlessly. Damn him.

Dinner had been nice. Everybody finally sat around a table and talked like real people, even if Jason was flip-flopping at lightspeed between feeling extremely awkward and silently threatening to kill Steph if she ever let on that she saw him crying. She had mimed zipping her lips shut, but Jason didn’t trust like that. It was no good for siblings to have blackmail on you so quickly.

At least they were chill now. They had shook on it and everything. Steph said that Jason had given her a lot to think about. Jason really didn’t know what that meant. He was a little worried he might find out.

She had promised to teach him how to backflip before she left. And Tim had promised to play the Sims with him tomorrow. Jason interpreted the promises as white flags. He wasn’t sure if he was victorious or not.

Jason quietly took the Green Army Man off his headboard. He rubbed his thumb over it, feeling the worn tin and letting the shard of rifle poke into his thumb, before carefully putting it back in his nightstand drawer. Bruce noticed, but he didn’t comment on it.

The clock chimed eventually, and Jason’s eyelids were growing heavy. Bruce stood up from the armchair, carefully pulling it back to the side, and told Jason goodnight. He turned off Jason’s nightstand lamp, and his hand half-raised before he let it fall.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Jason,” Bruce said. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight…”

Jason hadn’t really meant to say it. But he didn’t want to leave it on his tongue anymore - unspoken and unknown. He opened his mouth, trying to say it, but the words stuck in his throat. But Bruce turned his back to him and opened the door, light tumbling into the room, and the rise of a deep well of courage in Jason’s heart punctured the intangible barrier between them.

“Bruce?” Jason piped up quietly. Bruce stopped at the door, turning around. The dim yellow glow of the hallway cast light over Bruce and crept into Jason’s bedroom. Jason found himself wishing it would stay away just a little bit longer - that Bruce would remain in the darkness for just a little while. “...can you stay?”

Bruce halted, looking at him with a shadowed expression for only a second, before he closed the door again. “I have to prepare for patrol soon. And you do have a bedtime.”

“Steph’s home. Can Robin patrol by herself? Just for a little bit?”

Jason felt his courage dwindle. He felt like a spoiled, selfish idiot for asking. But he didn’t feel like an idiot for wanting Bruce to stay. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.

But Bruce just shrugged and turned around, as if the ask was nothing at all. “You’re right. She’s more than capable.” Bruce walked back to Jason’s bed, and Jason daringly patted the space next to him. Bruce stopped, surprised. “You’re sure?”

“Steph’s a hugger. The dam’s been broken.” It was different with a girl than with a man - much, much different - but it was easier to blame it on her. Bruce cautiously sat down next to him on the bed, motions careful and precise as only Batman could make them. Something in Jason loved that - that Batman helped Bruce care about him. “You know, in Percy Jackson I’d be a son of Nike.”

“For victory? Wouldn’t you rather be the child of an Olympian?” Bruce settled in next to him, and Jason was suddenly acutely aware of the heat of Bruce’s body. He was tall and strong, but he wasn’t so strange.

“Nah. I wouldn’t want anybody going around saying I only won fights ‘cause my parent’s a powerhouse. I’d win fights for my parent. And it would psych everybody out. Like - oh, we’ll lose against Jason, he’s victory himself! That kind of thing. I got it all planned out. So Nike would be my secret Mom, except she would have had me with Mami, because she’s a god and gods can do that.”

“Congratulations on your mother’s bisexuality.”

“Nike would have turned into a guy. Or something. She can be gay if she wants. Jeez, Bruce.” Jason shifted a little until he was pressed against Bruce, warm and strong. “There’d be this whole secret love affair thing. They met because the Louvre put the Nike statue on tour, and Mami went to go see it at the Gotham Museum of Fine Arts - they had a free museum day. And she saw the statue and she fell in love with it instantly.

“And Nike saw her looking, and fell in love with her too. So Nike uses her power and makes the statue move right in front of Mami. Mami sees its headless body turning to look at her, and she knows that it can see her clearly even with no eyes and no face. But it’s still beautiful to her. The statue steps off the pedestal, wings beating, and walks towards Mami. Nike’s thinking that Mami can’t love an old statue with no head, so she tries to turn the statue into something beautiful that Mami could love. A really attractive man or a cute woman if Mami’s bisexual or something. But Mami tells Nike that nothing’s as beautiful as the ancient statue. It’s the most beautiful statue in the world. She doesn’t need to see Nike’s face to love her. Then they fall in love together.”

“That’s a beautiful story,” Bruce said gravely. “How does it end?”

“With me, obviously,” Jason said. “Mom and Nike never met again. But Mami gave me magic, and that means I’ll always be okay. This is where I’m going to start my own memoir. I’m working on that, by the way. It’s more of a diary now, but it’s pretty good. You aren’t reading it.”

“Wouldn’t dare,” Bruce said. “But why start it here? Not during your life in the Narrows? I know it’s important to you.”

“That’s in flashbacks,” Jason said condescendingly. “It’s a literary device. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Clearly I do not.”

Obviously. Jason settled back in bed, leaning against Bruce just a little more. Little by little. “It starts here because here is where it starts. This is when it begins.”

“Here?” Bruce asked. He sounded a little surprised. Jason didn’t know why. It was obvious. “Right now?”

“Sure,” Jason said. “Right here.”

Jason fell asleep like that, warm and safe with somebody who loved him, and for a brief moment as he slid from consciousness to sleep he thought that he might have something he wanted.

He would get the one other thing he wanted soon. Stephanie was changing, and Jason was fulfilling his potential. Batman needed a Robin. They’d see.

Jason would show them.

#my writing #jason todd #bruce wayne #stephanie brown #tim drake #batman fanfic #batfam fanfic

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year

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You Are My Soulmate

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Status: In Progress

Last Updated: March 6th, 2024

Disclaimers: Female!Reader

A/N: This is a Soulmate!AU with a spin. Instead of having a single soulmark, a quarter of the population have multiple. Tinkerbell and Rooster are two of those people. I love Soulmate AUs, and well, the Top Gun Brain-Rot is still ever present, so here we go. This one is going to be a bit different for me, as I'm going to be trying out flipping perspectives within the chapters between Rooster and Tinkerbell (Reader's Nickname throughout the fic).

Themes: Angst, Smut, Soulmate!AU, Bradley is a bit of a dick, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Unrequited Love (Slight, One-Sided)

Summary: You're ecstatic when you find out you have five soul indicators at midnight on the day of your twenty-first birthday, right before you start Officer Candidate School for the Navy in Rhode Island. OCS is so complex you can’t devote time to searching for your soulmate. On graduating from Officer Candidate School, Naval Aviation Command School, and Aviation Maintenance School at the top of your class, you are given the primary selection of detachment and travel worldwide as an Aviation Maintenance Duty Officer. The excitement you felt on your twenty-first birthday has changed over the past seven years, and you’re impatient to see who your soul is. After years of constant movement, it’s a relief to learn you have been assigned to run maintenance on a squadron’s planes out of Naval Air Station North Island. San Diego is sunny and gorgeous, an absolute dream after being stuck on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the ocean for the past six months. The Dagger Squad is a newly-permanent squadron based out of NAS North Island. Each member welcomed you to Miramar as a part of their maintenance crew with warmth and friendliness. Except for one pilot, callsign: Rooster. He’s the most unpleasant pilot you’ve ever met. He’s full of himself, cocky, arrogant, rude, and condescending. If only he didn’t feel so familiar. If only you didn’t feel so drawn to him.

Bradley Bradshaw is sure he’s never going to find his soulmate. He’d been in mourning on his twenty-first birthday, still grieving the loss of his mother, followed by the loss of the only father he’d ever known, his Uncle Mav. It isn’t until Bradley is across the country at Officer Candidate School that he realizes he never received his soul indicators. Years later, and thousands of miles away, recovering from a plane crash, Bradley, now known as Rooster, jolts awake to the half-remembered scent of citrus and glistening hair in a thick braid. Without any other indicators, Rooster gives up. After all, who’d want a soul disfigured by something they loved? That’s when Bradley gives up. He sinks into the reputation of the piano-playing, mustachioed casanova and gives up on his dreams of finding a love like his parents had found in each other. And he’s content with his life until he runs into the feisty, loud AMDO officer newly assigned to NASNI. Something about her feels like everything Bradley’s been searching for, at least, if she weren’t completely committed to Bagman already. You can call him what you want, but Rooster doesn’t steal another man’s girl.

You Are My Soulmate on AO3

You Are My Soulmate on Wattpad

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 - Tinkerbell

Chapter 2 - Rooster

Chapter 3 - Rooster

Chapter 3 - Tinkerbell

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - Tinkerbell

Chapter 5 - Rooster

Chapter 6 - Tinkerbell

Chapter 6 - Rooster

Chapter 7 - Tinkerbell

Chapter 7 - Rooster

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tomorrcwz · 11 months

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down your throat, ødegaard

pairing: martin ødegaard x fem!reader

warnings: smut — blowjob, also fluff because its martin ødegaard !

rina's masterlist

Tiredly, you opened your eyes slowly, taking in the sight in front of you. There he laid, naked like God made him, his eyes focused solely on where his hand ran your left hip up and down gently. You closed your eyes once again, enjoying his touch which was far from the way he manhandled you just six hours before.

"Don't let yourself fall asleep again, min kjæreste", he whispered whilst nibbling playfully on your ear. The norwegian pet name pulled your heart strings and made you smile a little but you really had one thing on your mind and that was sleep.

Kissing your cheek as his hand roamed up your body to your throat where it stopped, squeezing it softly to get a reaction out of you.

"Come on y/n. Let's take a shower before work."

You got the point; everything pretty much smelled like sex and sweat, and it was better to take one than spray on some strong perfume right before going to work eight hours. However a voice in your head cried for an hour more sleep and the desire to do it was overwhelming.

Martin's hand wanderd to your temple, massaging it which in return made you purr like a cat. He knew how to get a reaction out of your body — you had been casual hooking up since January and it was already March. You had been single for a few months, looking for some fun and well.. he catched your eyes with his stern face as he had watched over his teammates on a night out. Normally your type was brunette, full lips and a bulky build because you craved a man who could be rough in the bedroom and be a protector but Martin didn't need to be the biggest in the room; he seemingly owned it. He was hot in a way you couldn't explain and he had more sides on him than the first glance let on. You did fall in love with him over time — you didn't only fuck for fun, no, you met up to grab some food or walk around for hours, talked every other day over phone and once in a while he asked you to be his date for an important award show.

It felt like you were already in a committed relationship.

"With you?", you sheepishly asked him, already knowing the answer. Martin grinned at you and kissed your lips to get a sweet moan from you.

"Only if you want me to."

"You bet I want you", you mumbled between wet kisses, grabbing a fistful of his golden hair. Letting him go, you rolled on your back, waiting patiently for his next step.

"Want me to carry you?"

"Please, you've fucked me good, I can't imagine walking at all." He rolled his eyes in mock irritation but nevertheless pulled you in his arms, securing you with his hands on your ass whilst you clasped your legs around his midsection, hands on his back, feeling his strong muscles work under your touch. Martin looked like one of those Greek gods without even trying.

Walking in the bathroom with you in his arms didnt seem to mind him a bit; he pinched you in the side to let you know that you arrived and dropped you to your feet. He wasn't even a head taller than you, however his aura spoke a different language, taking the full room. You starred each other down, enjoying the tension you built up. The man turned around, giving you a good view of his body as he stepped in the shower.

"Pretty girl, don't you want to lose that shirt of mine and join me?", questioned Martin who started to relax his muscles under the warm water.

Still you stood there, bitting your lips at the view which he quickly noticed and took the upper hand. He firmly gripped his hard dick, strocking up and down as he let out low moans. His head leaned against the cold tiles of his spacious shower, ignoring your presence which you didn't like. Hastily you ripped your shirt off ( one of his arsenal shirts but sharing is caring! ), opening the shower and stepping inside.

You sank to your knees, kissing the flesh of his hip bone, whilst one of your hands touched his abdomen, feeling his muscles clench under your fingertips. Despite your butterfly kisses all over his hips he didn't spare a glance at you, annoying the shit out of you so you stopped his hand from stroking and gently sucking on his tip.

Martin let out a loud groan. "Knew you wanted to put your lips on my cook, min tøs."

Motivated by his degrading wording, you began to move your mouth up, taking his dick halfway before going back to the tip, kissing and sucking it hard, elicting one of his pornographic moans. Gradually, you took it further, taking more of the length as you looked up at him and meeting his gaze. His eyes were clouded with Lust, hair wet from the water which made its way down his body.

Wanting to hear him getting louder, you opened your mouth wider to take it all in. His tip reached the back of your throat, causing you to moan on his dick. The vibration sent him extra pleasure and he couldn't stop himself to fuck himself into your mouth.

He wimmernd, chanting your name.

"Fuck y/n, I'm going to cum."

You hallowed your cheeks, pleasing him even more before he spilled down your throat, tights shaking under your fingers. You still bobbed your head along his cook, milking him off his last drop. Then you let his length out with a satisfying pop, kissing your way up to his lips, making him taste himself. Martin broke up the kiss first, his eyes holding an emotion you couldn't explain.

"I'm not letting you go, you know?", he said, pressing a chaste kiss against your forehead once he turned the water off and started to towel down your body.

Jokingly you replied, not realizing what he actuallymeant. "I have to work, sunny. Can't drop everything for you."

Turning your head to meet his eyes, he gave you a waning look. You searched for the answer in his eyes, wondering what he was trying to tell you.

"It's me and you, okay? I don't want to label this", he pointed between you both, "as a casual hookup."

Your breath caught in your throat and fear spread through you. He wouldn't dump you after you sucked his dick, right?

"What do you want then if not hooking up?"

"I want you to dress up for tonight so I can take you out on a real date, yeah? I want more than just your body and I want to be able to tell everyone that we're dating." Your heart fluttered at his words and you nodded in agreement. "Fantastic. I'd fuck you but time isn't in our favour", Martin smirked, hitting your ass.

#martin ødegaard imagine #martin ødegaard x reader #football x reader #football imagine #footballer x reader #footballer one shot #martin ødegaard smut #martin odegaard smut #football smut #— rina's football writing 🕊

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sixhours · 2 months

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Chapter 2 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

Boston QZ March 2024

You were one of the lucky ones.

After the initial outbreak and the chaos that followed, you were protected, ushered into a covered military caravan and housed in relative safety. You were only a resident, but your medical experience made you valuable. Most doctors had been infected in the early hours.

Most of them hadn’t run.

If you had been anyone else, you think you would have been shot. Instead, the military sent you to the quarantine zone in Boston, and you were drafted into FEDRA without ever having signed your name on the line.

Your cowardice in the face of danger was your saving grace, and you will never let yourself forget it.

You’re six years into the pandemic when you’re summoned to the colonel’s office for a special request. FEDRA wants you to travel to a sparsely populated territory outside the QZ and embed yourself there, do threat assessments, and send the intel back to your higher-ups. They frame it as an outreach program for recruitment and a means to get ahead of terrorist threats, but you understand the unspoken implications.

They want you to be a spy.

You protest, but it’s a half-hearted attempt. You know they aren’t offering you a choice.

You train for combat and survival. You learn how to shoot, how to run, how to fight, and how to hide. And then FEDRA packs you up and sends you off into the wilderness of what used to be Pennsylvania, joining a small outpost east of Pittsburgh. There are no terrorist threats to be found, only starving, freezing civilians, hordes of infected, and so much desperation.

You return, six months older and with only a few bruises, so they send you out again. And again. And again.

As it turns out, you make a good soldier. You don’t ask what FEDRA does with the information you find, and they don’t tell you.

On your fourth mission, you come back with more than bruises. The burgh of Everglade, forty miles north of a ruined Jacksonville, Florida, wasn’t as welcoming as you would have hoped. You’d been savagely beaten and sent back to Boston, less weapons and supplies, a walking warning.

Don’t fuck with us, FEDRA.

But there’s a hard seed of grit in you that felt fair was fair, that you deserved whatever punishment you got. You sutured your gashes, reset your broken nose, and took your next assignment.

~*~

By the time Joel Miller and Ellie Williams are staggering across the Jackson threshold for the second time, in the spring of 2024, you’re opening the door of your Boston QZ apartment to a man in weathered FEDRA fatigues.

“Hey,” he says, barely meeting your eyes. “Waller wants to see you.”

“When?”

“0800 hours.”

“Fine,” you say. He doesn’t respond, lingering in the doorway until you’re forced to ask, “Anything else?”

He ducks his head. “Got any plans tonight?”

“I do if you have the money.”

Unsurprisingly, FEDRA doesn’t pay well–doctor, spy, or shit-shoveler. But you’ve found other ways to get by.

The man– a boy, really , you think–reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled stack of ration cards. You take your time counting them before pocketing the payment and stepping aside to let him enter.

His hands are on you before you can finish closing the door, greedy and wanting. You let him push you up against the wall, tipping your head to give him access to your neck, already tuning out his gasps and moans and clumsy thrusts.

~*~

Afterward, he’s panting on your mattress, and you’re fumbling on the nightstand for a lighter.

“You know those things’ll kill you,” he mumbles.

“Fascinating,” you respond dryly, finding the lighter and putting the cigarette to your lips. You allow yourself one long, slow inhale. You hold the smoky air in your lungs as long as you can, savoring that first and only hit, before tamping the cigarette out and rolling it up in a piece of foil for later. “You can go.”

You feel his hand slide over your ass and you flinch away, standing and gathering your clothes from the floor.

“C’mon, baby. I gave you extra.”

“Yeah, and you shorted me five last time. Go.”

He growls. “Fuckin’ bitch.”

You ignore this, slipping a clean-enough tank top over your head, pulling on your jeans, and heading for the kitchen. You’re putting a kettle of water on the hot plate when you hear the metallic snick of a blade behind you.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

You tense, listening, waiting, until you feel the hint of a blade at the side of your throat.

“How about you suck me off next time and we’ll call it even,” he whispers, breath hot in your ear.

You dive to one side, wrapping the man’s arm with your own, knocking the knife away. It skitters across the floor, lost under the radiator. Your left hand grips the man’s wrist and pulls it back as you slam your right hand into his shoulder, forcing him down against the counter. You twist his arm until you imagine you can hear the tendons creaking.

The man screams in pain and surprise. “Whoa no shit I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m fucking sorry don’t–”

You slam your full body weight against him and twist his arm back and up with a sharp snap , his wrist giving under your practiced hands. Another scream, this one feral, as you release the man’s arm.

“You broke my fucking wrist you fucking cunt!”

“Fuck off or I’ll break the other one,” you pant, shoving him toward the door.

“You’ll fucking hang for this!”

“Yeah?” you spit. “You say one word and I’ll make sure your dick never touches another girl in this QZ because it’ll be sitting in a jar on my fucking desk.”

He sneers, but there’s no threat in it. He slouches backward with an angry sob, cradling his broken hand and fumbling with the door, all the while trying to keep his eyes trained on you.

You lock the door behind him and slide the deadbolt home with unnecessary force.

Fuck.

~*~

Colonel Waller doesn’t look up at you when you enter his office, his greeting just a single word.

“Wyoming.”

You frown. You’ve never been west of Ohio.

“We lost an asset in Utah. Fireflies.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. ‘Shit’ is about the shape of it,” he sighs, finally looking up from his paperwork. “We had someone in KC but they’ve gone radio silent. We assume the worst.”

“So…I take it the target’s in Wyoming?”

He nods. “We suspect several Fireflies are holed up in a town called Jackson. It’s big,” he continues, sliding you a sheaf of folded maps across the desk. “Our scouts…haven’t made out so well.”

“How many came back?”

He looks at you blankly.

None.

“We need to know how many warm bodies, how much firepower, do they have patrols and when, are they collaborating with anyone else in the area. We need–”

“I got it,” you say, pocketing the map, an aching exhaustion deep in your gut. “When?”

“There’s a supply run headed west tomorrow. You’ll camp with them until KC, then make your way in on foot. We expect radio contact every six weeks; if we don’t hear anything by then–”

“You’ll assume I’m dead,” you finish.

He interlocks his fingers. “Any questions?”

You shake your head.

He nods and goes back to his work. “Dismissed.”

#the last of us hbo #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #ellie williams #fanfic

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ltbarnes · 9 months

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I Still Worship the Flame

[Stark U #5]

Summary: Everyone but you are at the cinema watching dumb movie marathons. You lay home in a sea of tissues, drowning in schoolwork with a pathetic fever. But what they don’t know can’t hurt them, right?

Pairing: college!Steve Rogers x reader, college!Bucky Barnes x reader, college!Sam Wilson x reader, college!Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: sickness? just a really bad cold really nothing graphic, Steve and Bucky being a little overbearing, schoolwork (the biggest warning), angry reader

A/N: haven’t posted any of my writing since March 🤠 forgive me please and enjoy!! I have another one-shot coming soon though so you’ll get a little more of me than usual

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

As the hundredth whine from your lips sounds out today, you are glad that no one else is home. You would be scolded for being more dramatic than Sam during that week after his concussion while simultaneously yelled at for doing too much when you should be resting.

The words have since long started to blur together and the pen is clutched tightly in your hand without even touching the paper for half an hour. You can't remember comprehending the change from afternoon sun to complete darkness outside of your window, but you do know that you have piled on three layers of clothes only to tear them off of your overheated body in the last hour.

Fucking fevers. It's incredible how you forget how absolutely horrible they are between each time, but battling this one seems especially miserable when you have a test in four days. Your roommates had begged you to come with them to this god awful long Lord of The Rings marathon at the local cinema, but you were stressed out about the test enough without losing a full day of studying.

You have gotten some things done. It's just that your room is drowning in tissues, and the pills you've taken haven't done shit and your back hurts from sitting for so long. What you really want to do is take your comforter out to the couch and open all the windows with the AC on full blast. No—what you actually want is to be rid of this fucking cold and sit lodged between Steve and Bucky at the cinema, warm hands on your thighs with an obscene amount of chocolate in your lap. You know that Bucky would whisper random facts about the movies in your ear during the entirety of it, and that Steve would give him angry glares for speaking in the theater.

God, if it weren't for your body's excessive temperature, you would kill for them to hold you. It would suck in reality, because both of them run hot and that is the last thing you need right now. But you miss them. You miss them all the time lately and it frustrates you, because six months ago things weren't like this. Steve and Bucky were two of your annoying, though very sweet, roommates who bickered like siblings constantly at ungodly hours in the morning and left dirty dishes out in the living room (thank fucking god Bucky has stopped doing that).

Now, you dream weird dreams about them at night and shiver everytime they touch you. Calling you by name has suddenly turned into 'sweetheart' and 'bug' (still can't quite figure that one out), while merely the sight of Steve unintentionally flexing his bicep and Bucky moving his metal fingers makes you want to escape into your room. It's hard, because they are pretty much doing that everyday.

Worst of all is your resentment towards Natasha—she caught on so quickly that you barely managed to slip out of Steve's room the night you slept over before she confronted you about your feelings. She very conveniently left out the bet she and Sam had set up, but Bucky found out about that two weeks later and pushed Sam into some bushes. The latter complained about how Bucky didn't cater to his 'bush-related trauma' for much too long after that.

But at the same time, she reinforces your delusions about them liking you back. They are very protective of you, sure, but so are Sam and Natasha. Actually, that might have something to do with your constant knack of getting into the trouble rather than harboring secret, unconditional love for you. Natasha says they look at you with puppy dog eyes, but you think they just always look like that. And the constant touching and pet names are just—it's just who they are. You think.

Another onslaught of heat crashes over your tired body, and you give up completely. There comes a point where even you can't force yourself to work anymore. It's too draining. Instead you gulp down another pill, turn off the lights and throw yourself onto your bed. You groan out of pleasure, but know that it will soon disappear only to be replaced by torturous discomfort.

Yeah, it's good that they aren't here. Gathering the energy to deal with a smug Sam and overbearing Natasha is not in your capacity.

Besides, facing them in this state feels embarrassing. You'll pull yourself together by the time they come home. Just a short nap, and you'll fix your hair. Just twenty minutes of sleep, and you'll put on something presentable. Just some rest, and you'll look good for them.

"Ah, shit—why's it fucking pitch black in here?" Sam seethes as he now limps on his newly stubbed toe, reaching for the hallway light.

The living room is empty and so is the kitchen, they notice that pretty quickly. Usually when you're home alone you cook something elaborate with music blasting in the background, or rewatch that show for the thousandth time. Bucky always gives you a hard time for it, but he usually ends up watching it with you anyways.

"Y/n?" Steve calls out, taking off his jacket before hanging it up on the rack placed by the door.

"Hey, bug—we're home!" Bucky says, walking further into the apartment while searching with his eyes.

The lack of answer gives them anxiety, even though it's probably nothing. Might've gone out. It's Saturday night after all. But you don't really have many close friends outside of them. Unless you're on a date, which quite frantically makes Bucky want to throw up. Yeah, he chooses not to believe that for his own sake.

Natasha bites off another section of her snickers, the one she made everyone stop at the gas station for, while toeing off her shoes. Shoe-free household since you moved in, but exceptions are allowed in emergencies. If you knew that both Bucky and Steve have on theirs right now, you would be mad. But Natasha isn't about to nag about that—she's more focused on getting a huge glass of water for herself. She knows those idiots will take care of whatever's going on.

Steve knocks on your door, waits for too many seconds before calling out for you again.

"Y/n? You okay?" he asks, leaning against the wall.

And because Steve is a considerate man, he doesn't open the door without an answer. But the same can't be said for Bucky—he shoulders past the former and pushes down the door handle without even so much as a sound. He is met with resistance as soon as he steps over the threshold, but all of it comes from the guy behind him.

"Buck—no," Steve seethes through a whisper, trying to pull him back by his shirt unsuccessfully.

Your room is as dark as the rest of the apartment was. Warm and stuffy, rid of any fresh air from outside of the four walls. You've been in here for a long time.

The small strip of light coming into your room reveals your figure splayed out over the unruly covers, a sign of tossing and turning in your sleep.

"Let her sleep, Buck," Steve sighs, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand while leaning against the doorway.

It would be near goddamn foolish to ever expect him to listen. Steve isn't surprised when Bucky steps towards your bed anyway. He lowers down into a crouch, reaching his right hand out for your face.

"Christ, she's burning up," Bucky sighs, pushing himself up to his feet again.

"Shit," Steve answers, passing the threshold into your room while forgetting the previous reservations he held. And as if Bucky's judgement isn't enough, he presses the back of his hand to your forehead. Steve's hand is normally warm, but your skin is a hot furnace against the lines and creases of his palm.

"Fuck, we just left her here all alone." Bucky shakes his head. "We watched fucking Lord of the Rings that we've seen a million fucking times and she laid here suffering with a fucking fever."

"Tone it down with the 'fucks', will you?" Steve tells him.

He turns on the small lamp standing on your bedside table, soft light revealing the dozen tissues spilling out of your trash can. There's not much doubt about your sickness now.

"What do we do? Oh god, what do we do?" The brunette starts pacing as if he has never been more stressed in his life.

"Calm down, Buck. It's a cold, not a heart attack." Steve raises his brows, turns around to glare at his friend. "You've taken care of me dozens of times when I was like this as a child. Go get a glass of water and a few Tylenols."

It seems like it takes a few seconds for Bucky to register Steve's words. Even then he looks anxious, as if he doesn't want to leave. This makes Steve nervous, because Bucky never acts like this, but then again he feels the same way. That's why he told his friend to get you medicine instead of himself.

But Steve could never deny Bucky anything, even if it costs him time watching over the girl he almost certainly cares for more than a friend should. He ignores that part though, and pushes himself up to a stand.

"I'll go," he sighs, gesturing for Bucky to replace him by your side.

The short trek towards the kitchen is filled with anxiety. Why does his heart beat so fast when it's probably just a cold? He just told Bucky to calm down despite feeling anything but calm himself. Just gotten very good at hiding it through the years, he supposes.

Steve has never been the caretaker. He so desperately wanted to be that person during his childhood—the fierce protector, the strong hero, the one bullies cowered away from instead of running towards. Maybe he has been overcompensating for his lack of heroism in his early years now with his friends. The guilt is always eating him up if even the slightest thing happens, because most of the time he can stop those things now. Steve is tall and muscular, fast too, and he's not afraid to speak up anymore.

But things like these—sicknesses—he cannot help except for pouring water down your throat and make sure you're comfortable. Because he wants you to be comfortable so badly, as the slightest sight of pain in any shape or form makes him as gloomy as Sam on days where his favorite football team loses. Steve has known for a while now that you—the girl living on the other end of the hallway who curls up at his side on movie nights and bakes him cookies after each test he's had—is much more than just a roommate. God, he waits by the door for you to come home like a puppy, for goodness's sake. Gets a hard on at least once a day no matter what you are wearing.

And Steve really likes this thing he and Bucky has going on with you. That caretaking thing that he never has gotten a chance to do is now so natural. He and Bucky has adapted this protector-role in your life that makes Steve feel so good. He likes making you happy, making sure you're safe. Like he has a purpose.

"She alright?" Sam speaks up as Steve passes by his room, changing out of his thick sweatshirt to a thinner t-shirt.

"Not really. She has a fever," Steve answers, both hands filled with water, pills and more tissues.

"Oh, shit. How bad? Dr. Wilson bad?"

"No." Steve rolls his eyes. One time Sam helped patch you up and now he has been calling himself Dr. Wilson ever since. "We're taking care of it. She hasn't woken up yet."

"Well, just call for me if she gets tired of your needy asses and wants some Sammy loving instead."

Steve raises his eyebrows, shakes his head like he always does, and moves on. He purposefully quiets his steps down while walking past the occupied bathroom—a fuzzing Natasha is not what you need right now. You already got two overbearing people in your room.

The door is shouldered open by Steve as he returns, realizing as soon as he steps inside that your eyes are open, tiredly nodding along to whatever recap Bucky is giving you of the movies. Steve stays silent, setting down his gifts beside you before crouching down. Soon enough you have him staring up at you, that ever present frown in between his brows.

"Now, will you tell us why in the goddamn hell you did not call or text any of us to say that you were sick?" Steve asks sternly, though his hand is gentle on your head. "Excuse the language."

You let a chuckle slip despite his lecture, because of course he needs to apologize for the very tame curse words inserted into his sentences. Of course Steve scolds you before even saying hello. Such a dad.

"You were at the cinema..." you croak out, glancing down at your intertwined fingers.

"So?" Bucky says with a look on his face that reveals he has no idea what you are talking about.

"I thought you wouldn't notice if I just—didn't think it would get this bad." You pout visibly. A bead of sweat has formed in your hairline, steadily making its trek down your forehead.

"Wait a minute, Y/n—you thought we just wouldn't notice you holing yourself up in your room for days until you were fine again?" Bucky raises his eyebrows, nearly rolling his eyes on you. It sounds dumb now that he says it out loud.

"Yes..."

"For god's sake, bug." He lets his palms scrub over his face while Steve sighs, balancing on the scale between amused and concerned.

"I didn't want to bother you! Besides I'm—this is not my finest moment. Kind of disgusting right now," you say.

"Now, c'mon," Steve tells you with a pointed gaze. "You know we don't care about that."

"You look fucking adorable right now. Just a little shiny, that's all." Bucky pokes you in the forehead, earning an offended gasp from your lips.

"Hey! I have a fever, asshole. I can't help it." The expression on your face is offended, but inside it's all warm and fuzzy because he called you adorable. Bucky fucking called you adorable.

But the playful grin on your lips soon turns into rumbling coughs, hiding your face into your elbow to avoid spreading saliva all over the two men beside you.

"Hey, hey. Take some water, Y/n. Here." Steve's hand flies to your back, rubbing gently, while reaching out the glass towards your lips.

Your throat is all scratchy and sore, and coughing up half of your lungs does not help in the least. But gulping down the cold liquid soothes the pain for the moment, even though most of the water drops down your chin.

"Should I...uh—"

Bucky reaches his hand out towards the box of tissues on your nightstand. Calloused fingers brush over your skin as he rids it of the stray drops, a metal hand tilting your chin up.

It's entirely too silent as you sit and let your face be dried like a toddler. Steve puffs up the pillow behind you, readjusts it until your face is getting enough support.

You don't say anything. Nobody says anything. The two of them work in tandem as they usually do, and have done since they were little boys, while making sure you're as comfortable as you possibly can be.

Soon enough there is a fan dragged in from someone else's room (you think there might be an angry Samuel barging in here any minute to demand it back), three boxes of napkins on your bedside table (you did not know there were that many napkins in your apartment) and four blankets on your bed in case you start shivering again (you do not own four blankets).

You get up to go to the bathroom and end up being carried instead. Being left alone is something you have to literally beg for, because you might, in their words, "pass out". The door remains unlocked as a compromise.

It's sometime around 12 am that you switch off the lights, still feverish and so tired of the sickness already. Mostly you're tired of the babying. But you don't say anything about the fact that both Steve and Bucky remain in your room, sitting on the goddamn floor even though you've told them several times that you have a desk chair and a bean bag. Actually, they have their own beds right on the other side of the hallway. Stupid boys.

They fall asleep pretty quickly, if judging by their snores. Both of them will deny their obnoxious sounds in the morning when you tell them. It makes you happy in one way, because Bucky usually has trouble not staying awake for hours on end grumbling over everything under the sun. Steve is sometimes found in the kitchen at 3 am when you go up for a glass of water, staring blankly out of the window as if he has the entire world resting on his shoulders. On the other hand, you're now the only one awake with your misery and overthinking.

Steve and Bucky definitely cares about you. For you. That much is clear from the past few hours. But to which extent? Is this what they would do for any of their friends? You would like to think so. It feels self-centered to not believe that. But they have been so adamant on making sure you're safe and alright and comfortable today—telling funny stories to distract you and getting caught up in those meaningless, petty fights they know you enjoy so much. Stroking your cheek, calling you sweet names and constantly making you drink water. College boys don't act that way towards their friends, or anyone at all really. You don't know why they are like this.

At the same time, the sweet things have become almost too much. You didn't think it was possible. But it frustrates you that this has become a whole savior-situation for them. Maybe you should want that now. Many girls do—not having to lift a finger while two men come at your every beck and call, and you usually do too. But the thing is that they are not listening to you. They are deciding things for themselves about you.

There comes a point where being helpful and taking care of someone transcends into being condescending. You absolutely can dry away water from your chin yourself. You can go to the fucking bathroom by yourself too, and would actually prefer it that way if you had a say in it.

Maybe you're just sick to the point of extreme irritability. You're probably overreacting to their sweetness because of everything happening in your life right now—this comes at the worst possible time with your final exam for the year in just three days. The final grades for most of your classes come anytime now as well, and you're not sure you did so well in all of them. You haven't even gotten a job for the summer either because no one wants to hire you. It's all pretty shit at the moment.

Barely anything is in your control right now. Not even your own health and how you choose to deal with it, because there are two men hovering over you every second since they came home. This is the first breather you've gotten in way too many hours. You're actually surprised they fell asleep before making sure that you did too, but happy that they did.

Another hour passes before you give up. It's too hot in here, despite cracking the window open half an hour ago, and the fan doesn't do you any wonders. The air is too thick from the small space being occupied by two giants and a sick girl for hours on end, and your bed is too soft.

You silence your coughs as you sneak out of your room out onto the living room couch. It's colder out here. Quiet.

You fall asleep within two minutes.

"Sweetheart, wake up."

"C'mon, Y/n."

"Let her sleep, you assholes."

"She's burning up, for fuck's sake! We gotta do something!"

"Throw cold water on her."

"What the fuck, Sam?"

You groan, stirring awake while your eyes reluctantly flutter open. It feels like they have been glued shut. The fever-aches hit you instantly, distracting you from the mumbled voices right beside you as they try to gain contact.

"She's alive, at least," Sam says right before leaving the room. You barely notice.

"Y/n, hey, can you hear us?" Bucky asks, on his knees in front of the couch.

"Yes," you croak out, rubbing your eye while squinting. It's still early judging by the dimmed morning light coming into the apartment. "Wha—“

"Why did you leave? You have a 103 degree fever, baby. We have to cool you down."

You simply shake your head, letting out a distant hum while sinking down into the pillow once more, letting your eyelids close.

"C'mon. Sit up," Steve tells you, sneaking his hands around your back to push you upwards before you even have a chance to react to his words.

There's too many sounds around you, too many voices and hands prying your body around. You want quiet, like how it was when you went out here a few hours ago. What you sought after from the beginning.

"I want to be alone."

"Well, we're not going to fucking leave you alone right now, Y/n," Bucky says, stress practically seeping out of his pores.

Steve returns from the kitchen. You didn't notice him leaving. He reaches a cold, wet rag out to Bucky who immediately presses it to your burning forehead.

"I can do that myself."

"Nonsense. Just rest," Steve tells you.

"I'm serious. Guys, it's fin—"

"Can you get me the pills on her nightstand?"

He turns his head over his shoulder, nodding for Natasha who disappears into your room without so much as a blink to confirm. Your frustration grows with each second—Steve just entirely ignored you to speak over your words. He doesn't usually do that.

Red hair comes into view again, at least as much as you can see of her from underneath the rag covering half of your eyesight. She tosses the bottle, and you're lucid enough to try and catch it. Bucky grabs it instead.

But when he pours out a pill and begins prodding at your lips you push him away. It's too much.

"Bucky, stop!"

This is the thing with the two of them—you love being cared for like they watch over you, but right now it just feels demeaning. As if they believe you can't do anything by yourself, as if you will fall and break your bones each time you stand or confront someone who has done you wrong without bodyguards crowding your space. Their intentions are good, so good, but right now it feels like unnecessary babying. You are a grown woman who just happens to have very bad luck, but that doesn't mean you can't handle yourself at all.

As your yelling echoes through the now quiet room, their expressions fall, even though they did not look too chipper to begin with. Bucky inches back just slightly. Your tone was harsh enough to know that something is wrong.

"I get that the two of you are trying to help me right now, but I can lift my own fucking fingers!" Your face is hidden beneath your hands, head tilted back with a groan.

You can almost feel how their faces change right in front of you, postures tense up. It's not what you wanted—that is their reaction when being confronted, and this is not a scolding. At least you didn't intend it to be from the beginning.

"I just want to sleep right now, okay? I'm not going to die." Your voice softens into a whisper, a large contrast from the previous yelling that has the room quiet as a mouse.

Another three seconds of silence pass after your statement. Now they won't say anything? Steve runs a hand over his mouth, looking away from your gaze. Nervous.

"Uh...okay." He nods, despite looking like he doesn't want to agree. "Just—just take the Tylenol. If it gets worse you'll tell us, right?"

You don't really answer in the way he wants you to, which is not at all. You can tell by the way he purses his lips. Bucky just looks scarily neutral, as if he's schooling his face with every ounce of willpower in his body.

"Alright, boys. Scatter," Natasha says, waving her hands towards their rooms like she's directing an airplane. You guess that's about the organization you need to coordinate the three of them.

Before you can catch Steve and Bucky's conflicted glances, and Sam's slightly shocked expression, you roll around to face the back of the couch. As peace falls over the room, so does sleep once again.

Steve and Bucky take turns tiptoeing into the living room to watch over you each hour.

Natasha sits in the living room chair reading from her iPad when you wake up. It's dark outside—you've been asleep the entire day. She has a cup of tea and half a cookie left on her plate sitting on the table, and does not even stir when you speak up from out of nowhere. Damn her spy skills.

"What time is it?" you croak out, so unbelievably hoarse that you can't even believe words are coming out of your mouth. You kind of regret speaking at all.

"7:32," she tells you while pushing a glass of water your way. The glass is devoured immediately.

While drying away the stray drops of water from your skin, you put the back of your hand against your forehead to realize your fever has gone down significantly. Not gone entirely, you think, but so much better. The only thing worse is the lack of anyone else in this room besides you and Nat.

"Where is everyone?" you ask her, pushing yourself up slightly until you sit up in the couch.

Natasha must instantly clock your hesitant tone, the slight trace of regret in your voice that manages to seep out through your cold-affected throat. She turns your way, leaning forward slightly.

"Hiding in their rooms."

Your face soon gets buried in your hands, leaning back with a groan from your lips.

"I was too harsh on them, wasn't I?" you say suddenly, letting her decipher your muffled words. "Fuck, I upset them. I was too mean."

"No, no. Hey, no," Natasha interjects, clasping her hand around your wrist to reveal your face again. "Babe, you are allowed to have boundaries, and they're not allowed to be bitchy about that."

"But I—they were just trying to help and I went off on them," you whine. "They haven't even talked to me since this morning. I feel like shit about that, Nat."

"They didn't talk to you 'cause you've been fucking asleep, that's why," she says. "And just because their intentions are good doesn't mean they have the right to be around you."

Natasha raises her perfect eyebrow, glancing over her shoulder towards the empty apartment behind her. Her words hit you like a fucking truck no matter how cliche that sounds, regardless of the fact that you have never taken any sort of advice of this sort to heart before. They never used to apply to you earlier.

"You decide that. And I'm sorry that their egos were bruised, but they need to learn how to respect people's wishes even when they believe they are doing the right thing by disregarding them," she tells you.

"Yeah," you breathe out. "Yeah, you're right."

"Sure as fuck I am," Natasha agrees. "Now go tell them that."

"I don't want to," you whine.

"But you have to. They're not gonna learn if you ignore them. And I know they're dying to check up on you."

"They haven't been in here?" you ask, trying to sound more curious than disappointed. Why are you disappointed? You were the one who wanted space.

"I banished them after they kept checking your temperature as you slept seven times within an hour."

Your eyebrows shoot to the roof. Actually, that makes you annoyed. It's cute, but you were sleeping! You had just yelled at them for invading your space and privacy! Goddamn men who worry too fucking much!

She smirks as you struggle your way up from the couch, angrily making your way towards the end of the hallway to your best ability in this state. The knocks on their doors are loud. Both doors open almost at the same time.

"Get in Rogers' goddamn room, Barnes," you mutter, before shouldering your way past the blonde wall of muscle looking entirely too confused for your liking. He's way too cute like that, and you're supposed to be angry.

The two men follow you like obedient puppies, sitting down on Steve's bed when you gesture towards it. You sway slightly after closing the door, resulting in someone shooting up from their position, but quickly falls back when you shoot the brown-haired guy a glare.

For what must be at least five seconds, you stare at the two young men now sitting on Steve's bed, staring up at you nervously as if you are the principal and they've been called into the office for disobedience. It's kind of fun, but you tire quickly of the staring contest, and instead run the back of your hand across your forehead with a sigh.

"I do just fine by myself," you say all of a sudden. No warning, no explanation. "And yes, it's really sweet that you two want to help, but you've completely ignored me and what I want since I got sick. That's not okay."

What started off strong and confident has now turned into looking anywhere but their eyes as you speak. Why are they making you nervous?

"I have boundaries when I'm sick too, you know? And it doesn't exactly feel like you actually care about me when you just push and prod at me like I'm some doll instead of a person who told you repeatedly that I didn't want your help."

You can't really see their reactions, since you're...not looking at them. Instead you have your arms engulfing themselves, fingers picking on your skin and the hem of your shirt nervously. You're not used to confrontation. Almost no training in scolding people at all. Especially not when it comes to people you care about so deeply. But it has to be done, according to Natasha. And maybe you know that she's right.

"And I'm mad at you. But I know that your intentions are good, and this doesn't have to be a big thing...but I just wanted you to know how I felt."

Too many seconds of silence passes after your little speech is done. The only sound in the room is your collective breathing. You're still looking down to the floor, watching your toes wiggle as a distraction.

"You can speak now, if you want to," you add timidly after what must have been half a minute.

The sound of Bucky letting out a long pent up breath almost makes you laugh, but you school your expression as you finally look him in the eyes. He almost burst watching you so fidgety, refusing to look at either of them.

"I'm sorry, babe," Bucky says, volume nearing on a whisper. He didn't mean to say that last word. "I just—I get kind of panicky when people get sick. You know, Steve—"

"I know about Steve's sickness, Buck," you tell him.

"Yeah, but...sometimes when he was like this it would be a life or death situation. Y/n, I've been the one to call 911 several times when I didn't think Steve would make it."

"I didn't know that," you say. "That it was that bad."

"He would start off exactly like you." Bucky pauses for too many seconds, scrunching his nose before shaking his head. "This fucking cough that would never disappear, and then the high fever. But I guess you have a better set of lungs and heart than he did back then."

"Oh, I—I don't know..."

"You're not about to go into heart failure because of a stupid cold," he says, but you think it's more of a reminder for himself. Steve looks at him funnily, as if he's almost sad by Bucky's words. Maybe he didn't know how much his friend saw during their childhood.

"We're sorry we ignored you, Y/n," Steve speaks up. "Now after, I...I can see that we were too overbearing. And you're right, that's not okay. But I don't want you to think we don't view you as a person. That's not true."

His blue eyes do that soft, concerned thing only Steve can pull off. It kind of pisses you off. You're supposed to be mad, but it's hard. Okay, you actually forgave them before you even entered the room, but they don't know that yet.

"Well, it kind of felt like you didn't," you mutter, looking away.

"I know. You don't deserve that," he answers. "I'm really sorry, sweetheart. I promise I'll do better."

You can't help but let the tiniest of smiles grace your lips. They barely notice it, you think.

"Okay. I guess I accept your apologies. But, this doesn't mean that I don't want to be helped at all—it just means that it will happen on my own terms. No more extreme coddling and babying."

Bucky gives you an amused smirk, rubbing his chin with his fingers. God, he would fit in perfectly in a douchy frat house. Idiot.

"You're kinda cute when you're yelling at us, you know?" he tells you. You think both you and Steve share the exact same reaction—Bucky gets a slap to the back of his head from the latter while you just scowl at him.

"You're such a jerk. That is not what you should take with you from this situation," you seethe, even though heat is traveling to your cheeks in an almost unhealthy pace. Goddamn him and his charm. You blame it on the fever.

"Punk," Steve mutters, shaking his head in disapproval while Bucky just ducks away from any further violence. There's still that smug grin on his face though.

"Bucky is a lot more likeable when he's shy and quiet, don't you think?" You turn to Steve, ignoring the brown-haired man now pouting at you. You've already forgotten why you're in this room in the first place. And damn it, you're starting to feel that you're not exactly top condition right now, and you know you have to sit down soon.

"Uh-huh. Is a lot easier to keep in line, at least."

"Hey! I'm right fucking here, you know? Don't talk shit about—"

Bucky doesn't get to finish his sentence before your seemingly healthier state turns critical in just a few seconds. The standing up for too long with a fever and no source of energy for two whole days finally takes it toll, and the clear focus you had on your boys turns into a big blur. A thud sounds through the room as your side crashes into Steve's drawer, balance lost completely before you could even notice you were dizzy in the first place. Within a second you're on the floor with a throbbing pain in the back of your head.

"Ow."

"Fuck," Bucky breathes out as he gets to his feet with Steve right on his heel, crossing the few feet's distance between you. "I know you just said we shouldn't coddle you...but—"

"It's fine. I'll give you a pass," you manage to get out while rubbing the back of your head, a small chuckle escaping your lips.

Strong hands pull you up to your feet, embracing your unsteady body so your head rests against Bucky's chiseled chest. Steve has his palm on your back, searching for any kind of contact.

"What happened? Are you okay?" he asks while Bucky leads you to the bed, forcing you to lie down.

"I don't think it was such a good idea to stand for that long," you say with a tired smile.

"Well, I tried to tell—" Bucky stops himself in the middle of the sentence, catching himself doing exactly what he promised he wouldn't. You grin at him, patting his thigh the best you can from your position.

"Good boy. Already learning."

The man blushes like a grown man has not done ever. You don't notice though, of course you don't, and his momentary weakness remains harmless. Steve doesn't point it out, because he's too engrossed by looking at the now sore spot at the back of your head. But you never notice, and Steve almost begins to think you're avoiding the signs on purpose. You should have noticed by now. Sam and Natasha certainly have—they can't give either of them a break when it comes to teasing about you.

"Fuck, this is the last thing I needed," you groan, putting your hands up to cover your face while leaning back into what now feels like Steve's thighs. When did he move you?

"Know it sucks, bad timing and all that, but maybe a sign to take it easier?" Bucky says, though he has to clear his throat first to rid it of the thickness he gained from your little comment earlier.

"What d'ya mean?" you mumble, eyes closed.

Maybe you were overreacting earlier. Now, with their hands in your hair and stroking your legs soothingly, you feel great. As if they really do care about you. But it's different now, you guess.

"Sweetheart, you've been stressing yourself to death this past month. You have this irrational fear, which is completely wrong, that you will fail all of your classes when you absolutely are not going to," Steve tells you.

"Maybe..." you mutter.

"Yeah, lay it down, will you? 'M only taking it easy on you with the scolding now 'cause you're sick, but it's actually worrying. Don't know why you think so low of yourself when it comes to school. You've done great the entire time."

"I can't help it," you whisper. "But I really don't want to study anymore. I'm tired."

Steve chuckles at you, shaking his head. "You don't have to. If you're good to do the test in two days—and I really mean if—you're already perfectly prepared. Been studying for a month. God knows I ain't ever studied that long for an exam."

"I know..."

"But even without me and Steve...helping, I, uh—are you gonna be fine 'till then?" Bucky asks, a new concerned frown in between his eyebrows appearing.

"You are allowed to help me, Buck. I never said that you couldn't," you tell him. Your eyes are closed, deep breaths being taken to rid yourself of the nausea. Despite this, you notice his restlessness over the thought.

"Yeah. I guess. Just don't want you...don't want you to be sick anymore," he mutters under his breath, as if though he wishes you could not really hear it.

This is the Bucky you usually see. The one who's a little shy and has trouble expressing his feelings, except if it's anger. Then he has all the willpower in the world to act on it. The guy who cares very deeply about his friends and becomes closed off when he can't help them.

"Not super excited about this either, Barnes," you whisper, arm thrown over your face to shield you from the rest of the world.

"We're on last name basis now, huh?" Steve says. You can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Uh-huh." You nod to your best ability. "You deserve that."

"She's just practicing her future last name, Stevie," Bucky speaks up, wearing a grin that falls just as quickly as it appeared. A dreaded, wide-eyed expression dawns upon his face as he stares at the two of you. The realization is painful.

"What? What did you just say?" You lift your head up from Steve's lap, staring at Bucky who's now beet red.

"Buck..."

"Oh, shit."

#Stark U #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #sam wilson x reader #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #college steve rogers au #college au #college!bucky

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