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literary-dolly · 1 day ago

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pride & prejudice

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 11.3k warnings: ANGST, pining, enemies to lovers, violence, violence against reader, arguments/fighting, alcohol, murder

When you first meet Jason Todd he seems to be nothing more than an entitled asshole, but as the seasons change, you begin to realise maybe you were wrong about him. (Loosely inspired by the book/film Pride & Prejudice)

Winter

“Honestly, I can’t wait for you to meet him, I can’t believe you haven’t already.”

More often than not, it was endearing to hear Babs talk about her boyfriend. You would think that Dick Grayson had hung the stars in the sky the way she sang his praises. It almost made you sick, the way her eyes would get moony as she practically recited poetry about his charms, his kindness, and occasionally, his body.

She was right though; you and Babs had been friends for as long as you could remember, it was absurd that you were yet to meet her long-term boyfriend. Phone calls and photos hadn’t really been enough to capture a true image of him, who he was and what he stood for. Babs meant the world to you, however, and you were determined to meet the man who had crashed into it so suddenly.

‘Suddenly’, you’d believed, until she’d informed you that he did in fact used to be the Robin to her Batgirl. You’d barked out a laugh at the time, there was nothing sudden about the relationship in that case – Babs had been pining over him for as far back as your mind would stretch.

It had been a rocky few years for your relationship, your time at Gotham University had separated the pair of you, forcing you to become little more than a library recluse, drowning in books on any given day. Babs had been equally as busy, rebranding herself as Oracle and working so diligently with the Bats most days until the sun came up. It was never anything less than an honour that Babs had trusted you with her identity, the identities of most of them – she’d claimed it couldn’t hurt to have someone like you, a journalist, on the inside if needs be. Deep down, you knew she just wanted to have someone to talk to about it who didn’t dance around every evening in a spandex suit.

Degree finished and countless more hours on your hands, Babs had welcomed you back with open arms, your relationship immediately rekindling to a mirror image of what it had been in your youth. Even Jim had been ecstatic to see you, pulling you into a bear hug when you’d appeared on the doorstep.

This is how you ended up where you are now – nursing a drink in some shitty Gotham dive bar as Babs practically vibrates beside you, anticipating the arrival of her beloved. As hard as it is to resist the urge to wallow in the dingy, depressing lighting, it’s difficult to remain glum with your best friend so excited at the mere prospect of her two favourite people finally meeting. You’d resolved to try and make a good impression, working your utmost to disregard of any animosity you held for excruciating small talk.

“Oh, there he is! Dick!” Babs calls, waving a hand out enthusiastically. Dick saunters over to the table with a million-dollar smile plastered across his cheeks. The images hadn’t done him justice and you can’t help but feel proud of her as he materialises in front of you. He was, admittedly, hot. Jet black hair swooped almost too perfectly against a seamless California tan, defined muscle decorating any visible parts of his physique. Peppy, is the word that comes to mind, and instantly you can see how a man like Dick Grayson would have enraptured your friend so.

“Nightwing,” you whisper, all tongue in cheek as he settles at the table, “Nice to finally see the face behind the mask.”

So much for a good first impression.

You don’t miss the way Dick’s smile falters for just a second or how his body seems to go rigid – or the soft slap Babs throws against your shoulder. It’s amusing to watch, as Dick and Babs eyes flicker in silent communication, Babs offering him a delicate smile to let him know that you were trustworthy.

Clearly, otherwise you wouldn’t know in the first place.

Babs, out of nothing other than good manners, repeats your name to Dick as soon as it becomes apparent you aren’t going to offer it up out of goodwill any time soon. She throws a teasing smile in your direction before adding, “She’s always like this, it’s been a blessing and a curse over the years.”

In spite of your brashness, Dick extends his hand politely, flashing you a stark white grin and a bemused look, “It’s nice to finally meet you. You may as well of been hiding behind a mask too up until this point, ya’ know?”

Begrudgingly, you shake it. It’s frustrating, how difficult it is to remain prickly against all of his oozing charisma. Disarming is what it is, with how quickly his demeanour seems to be crumbling your defences – you can imagine Dick Grayson is a man used to being adored.

Ice broken, the conversation begins to flow smoothly, allowing you to slowly loosen up with every passing phrase. Dick politely asks about your time as a student, making it clear he’s listened diligently to the scraps of information Babs had no doubt given him, and you give him the same courtesy of asking about his day job as opposed to his night one. As your eyes travel between the couple in front of you, you can’t smother the flicker of warmth that makes its home in the pit of your stomach; they look good together, and anyone with a working pair of eyes could see they were absolutely smitten.

“Oh, Babs, I hope you don’t mind, I invited Jason. He’s been a bit down in the dumps recently. Thought a bit of socialisation might do him some good.”

Instantly, you throw Babs a scrutinizing glare, trying to assess if this has all been some ruse to set you up with some random her boyfriend has decided would be a good fit for you. Instead, all you see on her face is genuine surprise, if not a smidge of happiness.

“Of course, Dick, Jason is always welcome – I’ve tried to tell him the same.”

As if on cue, the bar door slams open, ricochetting against the wall behind it. A man who could only be Jason, based on the way Dick and Babs’ faces light up, seems to practically storm in, stopping sharply on his heel to survey the room before his eyes finally land on you.

Naturally, the first thing there is to notice about him is his sheer size, towering over you, your companions and likely everyone else in the bar as well. But its more than that, the way he seems to fill the space, not just with the throes of muscle that seem to be a constant cycle of tensing and relaxing down his neck, arms, jaw – but through an aura, glowering, almost dark. The hair on his head is such a shadowy black it’s striking even in the dim light of the bar, but what’s even more noticeable is the tendril of white that curls its way forward to rest on his brow. His features, you think, wouldn’t be amiss on some kind of Greek statue, distinct and severe. What catches your attention the most, however, is the deep frown etched into his brow, matching seamlessly with a similar snarl of disgust on his lip – you’d think he’d stepped into a sewer with the repulsion that seems to emanate off him.

Without even an acknowledgement, Jason simply marches over to the booth and plants himself in the only empty space directly beside you.

“Jason! I’m happy to see you, in person anyway. How you feeling?” There’s an impossible degree of kindness in Babs’ voice, you think, for a man seemingly so vehement at even being here in the first place. Your impression isn’t helped by the curtness of his response.

“Fine.”

“Jay, you want a drink from the bar? I was just going to –”

“No, I’m not planning on staying long.”

You have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from admonishing the man for his sheer rudeness, his nerve to come blazing into your evening and sap every smidgeon of happiness out of the room without a care in the world. Concern is written plainly across Dick and Babs’ faces, but you can’t pretend to share the same sympathies. To you, Jason seemed to be nothing more than a dickhead with an attitude problem.

“Jason, this is an old friend of mine,” Babs offers him a smile, “I think the two of you would get along pretty well.”

“Oh great, a friend,” Jason’s words are practically lethal, “How on Earth should we celebrate such a momentous occasion?”

“I’m guessing it’s not one you get to celebrate much,” the words spill out of your lips before you can stop them, nothing more than a quiet mumble, but Jason’s head snaps to the side in an instant. There’s a fire that rims his greenish eyes, and there’s not much more that you can see in them other than downright murder. His fingers begin to lighten from his chokehold grip on the table in front of you.

“Who are you and why are you talking?” Jason bites, eyes quickly returning to the chip in the wood you wouldn’t be half surprised if he created with the intensity of his stare.

“Oh, you know, nobody you should care about. By all means, take centre stage. You’ve practically done it anyway.”

Dick’s voice comes out nervously, a hand scratching the back of his head, “Easy, guys.”

“I’ve sat down and said fuck-all,” Jason spits, “I’m not the one making bitchy comments about guys I don’t even know.”

“Bitchy? What is this 1813?” You turn your body to face him directly, edging on shouting. You try to ignore the flutter of regret in your stomach when he does the same, his figure casting a shadow across the entirety of, well, you.

“Well, I like to think of myself as a pretty modern guy but if the shoe fits.”

“That’s enough,” Babs’ voice is swift and severe when it rises, and Jason must be familiar enough with her to know to snap his mouth shut as you do, the pair of you shuffling back to how you’d been seated before. “We’re trying to have a nice evening, not start a war. Jason, why don’t you go get a drink at the bar?”

“I said I don’t want a fucking –”

Babs sends him a particularly pointed look, at which Jason seems to huff and hoist himself out of the booth. Dick is quick to follow, sliding out and trailing in the footsteps of his counterpart.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, you practically lurch forward to Babs, “Who the fuck is he and why –”

“You need to calm down,” Babs’ voice is as stern as it had been only seconds before, and you’re fairly certain you can feel your jaw drop.

“I need to calm down? I need to calm down? Babs he –”

“He’s my friend. Whether you like him or not,” her voice softens ever so slightly, and she reaches across the table to grasp your hands, “I understand he can be difficult, but so can you. He wasn’t being any worse than you were.”

You can’t muster the words to form an answer, instead opting to slump down into your seat with a few breathless grumblings. You cast your eyes over to the boys at the bar, and based on the way Jason’s shoulders are hunched forward, you can imagine he’s getting a similar tirade from Dick. That thought comforts you at least.

When they return, Dick slots himself next to you with a bubbly smile, Jason collapsing opposite him next to Barbara. There’s an awkward silence that seems to engulf the table, until Dick’s eyes begin to shine as he starts on the story of some thug he’d arrested the other day and the chaos that followed. It’s almost manageable like that, Dick happily chittering away as Babs listens intently, leaving you and Jason to glower in silence.

It’s brief, but for just a second, your eyes meet Jason’s. It’s only as you look up from the table that you realise, he’s staring, and you can’t help but feel a little burned by his gaze. If anything, you would say its apologetic, and ever so slightly longing. You watch as his lips part, almost as though he’s about to say something, but instead he just reclines back in the seat, crossing his arms over his chest and ripping his eyes away to stare at the poker table across the room.

The rest of the evening continues in that stead, and as time ticks over you find it easier to edge yourself back into the conversation, offering up small stories or observations of your own. To your surprise, even Jason pipes up every half an hour or so, mostly to offer some snide remark that sends Dick and Babs into a fit of giggles.

The four of you stay until the bar closes, a worker coming to awkwardly rush you out onto the street into the smoggy Gotham night. Babs and Dick turn to chatter to each other hurriedly, no doubt trying to orchestrate where they would be staying this evening, leaving you and Jason to stand awkwardly to the side swinging on your heels like petulant children.

Eventually, Babs sighs and turns to the pair of you, a stern look in her eye, “I need to go home with Dick to check out a case he’s been working on, I promised him I would a few days ago.” She pauses before turning sharply to Jason, “Can I trust you to walk her back home without starting a fight?”

“I don’t want him to know where I live!” You throw your arms up in exasperation, “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Wow,” Jason’s chuckle is bone-chillingly dark, “Charming. I’m charmed. Truly.”

“You’re not walking on your own,” Babs snips, before tempering, “I’m sorry. I forgot about this, but it’s important. Please can you do me a favour and just go with him.”

“Do I get any say in this?” Jason quips, back half turned to the conversation.

“No, you don’t,” Babs replies firmly.

It’s not long after that Dick and Babs depart, Babs offering you what seems to be a look of both sympathy and warning as the car pulls away from the sidewalk, leaving you and Jason alone in the silent early morning air, refusing to even cast a glance in each other’s direction.

The only word to describe the walk back is painful.

It’s completely silent, bar for your mingled breathing, and the occasional call of directions on your part. Not a glance is shared, the pair of you pacing side by side without any acknowledgement of the other. You have to pretty much jog to keep up with Jason, who if he notices, does not seem to care.

Time seems to drag impossibly slowly until you reach the door of your apartment building, and you swallow your pride as you turn to face him. He seems to recoil slightly as you meet his eye, clearly not expecting such a direct confrontation.

“Uhm, thank you,” you sigh, almost defeatedly, “I wouldn’t really have wanted to walk back on my own. And,” you pause, scrubbing a hand over your face, “I’m sorry, for how I acted in the bar.”

Just as before, you watch as his lips part ever so slightly, like there are words bubbling on his tongue attempting to fight their way forward. His eyes almost seem frantic as they flitter up and down over you with a confused kind of scrutiny.

Then he turns and walks away.

You don’t stop watching him until he disappears around the corner at the end of the street, not once turning to check if you’re still stood gaping like a fish behind him. The rage that burns through your veins is hot and fast, and you nearly slam the door off its hinges as you make your way into the building.

Never before have you met such an arrogant, entitled, rude caricature of a man. Not one who would so shamelessly put on the performance Jason had this evening. It was foolish of you, you think, to believe that the two of you could have come to some kind of level-footing.

As you climb into bed, attempting to quieten the anger that seems to course through every limb, there is only one desire that twists in your stomach.

To never see Jason again.

Spring

It was only so long, really, until you got invited to a Wayne gala.

Babs had requested you come as her plus one, seeing as Dick was (naturally) invited regardless. It had taken no shortage of begging on her part, pleading and harassing you with various different threats and promises until eventually you’d lapsed and agreed. To most, you can imagine, it would be a great honour – but you can only seem to focus on the way your toes seem to be splintering against the heels that had been dashed away into the back of your closet until exactly three hours ago.

The beauty of Wayne Manor cannot be understated, with its grand archways, decadent furniture and collection of gargoyles crooning mercilessly overhead. It reeks of an almost sterile air of perfection, not a single decoration out of place, every member of staff working diligently and only answering with a set of perfectly rehearsed responses that you were certain had been tailored to every possible whim. It’s a battle with your more inquisitive nature to venture beyond the contained room in which the party takes place, longing to explore the vast halls and the secrets that must be embedded within them.

Bruce Wayne does moonlight as a bat, after all.

Babs had been by your side for the first hour or so, pleasantly making your introductions to the wealthy of Gotham, many of whom you’re sure could skyrocket your career forward with nothing more than a click of their fingers. You try your best to be pleasant and accommodating, laughing at their jokes and basking their minor achievements in glowing praise. It’s deceptively easy, at this point, to slip into your professional persona, the voice echoing from your throat one that you can barely recognise as your own.

You can see Babs becoming impatient at your side, longing to go and mingle with a few others across the room who you could hazard a guess were some of her more super friends based on the way they lingered around Dick Grayson. You’d been assured that Dick was typically the life of an event of this calibre, enrapturing guests with his charms, but instead he had been left fairly stationary by a leg break in two places, wincing from his spot in the corner as his cast pokes out the bottom of his suit trousers.

“Go,” you’d huffed with a giggle, “Go see them. I’m going to get a drink anyway.”

“I won’t be long,” she assured before barrelling away. It was sweet, the way Dick’s eyes seemed to light up when he saw her approach.

Without Babs at your side, however, it seems impossible to mix with the elites. To them, you are nobody, and without an ‘in’ into their conversations, you may as well be dressed as one of the wait staff. You opt instead to haunt the walls, trapsing round the shadows of the hall with a flute of champagne in hand that seems to empty itself far too quickly.

“I can show you where they keep the bottle, if you like,” a gruff voice calls out from beside you, and your stomach twists when you realise that it’s Jason, slotting himself between you and the wall. He looks, well, good. His suit is clearly tailored, as you would imagine it would have to be for a man of his stature, and there’s a loose red tie knotted somewhat haphazardly around his neck. In any other context, it would scream of laziness, but somehow, he seems to make the whole affair work for him.

“That’s oddly generous of you, you feelin’ okay?” You keep it curt, barely sparing him a glance and instead keeping your eye fixed on the couples swaying about the dance floor.

“That’s oddly presumptuous for someone who doesn’t actually know me at all,” Jason’s words lack the bitterness they had the evening at the bar, instead dripping out like smooth velvet, and seemingly somewhat amused.

“I think I know enough to make a judgement on your character,” you quip, downing the last of your champagne and placing it politely on the tray of the closest waiter with a quiet ‘thank you’.

“Is that so?”

“It is, I’m afraid.”

“Dance with me.” It throws you for a loop when he says it, offering a hand out at your side. He looks somewhat amused as you must stare at him like he’s grown a second head, but still waves his fingers insistently.

Speechless, and albeit a tad shaken, you take his hand as he guides you to the dance floor. It’s swift as he spins you to face him, a hand settling loosely on your waist. You swallow a gulp before bringing your own to settle on his shoulders, and as the music starts up again the pair of you begin to sway in tandem. You’re certain he must be able to feel how tense you are beneath his palms, but if he does, he doesn’t mention it.

“I’m…” he starts, clicking his head to the side in frustration, “I’m sorry. For my behaviour that night. It was… rude.”

“It was,” you agree, not faltering at the sharp look he sends your way.

It takes him a few seconds to find the words, and you almost feel pity for the way he seems to struggle. Eventually he lands on, “I’m not known for my first impressions.”

You bark out a laugh at that, startling some of the other guests beside you. Jason’s eyes seem to widen in shock, but when they settle there’s no contempt in them.

“You can say that again,” you pause before adding, “But I appreciate your apology.”

He does little more than grunt in response, as the pair of you continue to rock back and forth. You would have expected it to be awkward, given your previous encounter, but you can feel yourself beginning to relax into his hold. He still appears tense, and you can feel his fingertips biting ever so slightly into your side, but there’s nothing about him that would suggest any kind of animosity.

“No offense,” you hum, just quiet enough for only him to hear, “What are you doing here? This doesn’t exactly scream of your scene.”

He chuckles lowly, spinning you in sync with the rest of the crowd, “No, it’s not. I usually avoid these things like the plague. I’m doing it to keep the old man off my back.”

“The old man?” You question, throwing Jason a quizzical glance. He too, looks confused at your admission.

“My old man. Bruce Wayne.”

You pretty much stutter to a stop on the dance floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. You’re not sure how it hadn’t clicked into place until this very moment, what with Nightwing being the one to introduce the pair of you – but you had never for a second considered that this Jason could be that Jason.

“You’re Jason Todd?” It comes out as an exhale, and Jason casts an obvious glance in your direction.

“Aren’t you meant to be a journalist? I thought you’d figured that out already.”

“No, I’d heard the news that you were…” you falter, watching as he seems to brace for the words that follow, “back from your, ah, imprisonment. That was what they said in the papers, correct?”

The look he throws in your direction is a grateful one, despite the shared knowledge that you both know what really happened to him. Babs had told you the bare bones of the story. It was enough to know that the man in front of you had travelled all the way from the grave to be here tonight.

“Me and Bruce have our differences,” Jason offers, and it’s the bluntest you’ve heard him all evening. A warning, not to press any further. You decide that it wouldn’t be the smartest idea to divulge your knowledge that this revelation would also make the man in front of you Gotham’s infamous Red Hood.

The two of you continue to dance for the next few songs, making casual but polite conversation amongst the crowds. Scarily, you begin to feel that his company might not be so deplorable after all when he dares to crack the odd joke or two, developing a sneaking suspicion he may be genuinely sorry about what had happened at the bar.

“Okay,” you huff out, sinking forward into him ever so slightly, “I think I might have to call it quits on the dancing for this evening. My feet feel like they’re about to tear in half.”

He doesn’t reply but instead guides you towards the edge of the room on his arm with more poise than you’d have thought him capable of, allowing you to perch down on a chez-lounge and give your tired body a brief reprieve. You sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes until Jason lets out an awkward cough.

“Look, I have to go and talk to some people,” he almost cringes as he says it, and it’s near enough a look of abject horror on his face, “But… thank you, for the dance.”

“Thank you,” you reply earnestly, meeting his eyes with as tender a look you can muster. Under your glance, he seems to mellow, the corner of his lip even quirking up ever so slightly.

“I’ll… I’ll catch you around,” He bumbles, “Maybe even see you later.”

“I would like that.”

And with that he’s gone.

You feel the loss of his presence almost instantly, and the emptiness that accompanies it is what surprises you most of all. You decide to stay put for the time being, most of the socialites so drunk at this point that they couldn’t object to your own lack of decorum without blatantly highlighting their own.

You remain perched for at least half an hour, grateful for yet another glass of champagne that gets thrust in your direction. You’re fairly certain you can make out Babs across the room, Dick draped dramatically across her wheelchair with an exuberant smile. The time passes fairly quickly as you glance over the hall, people-watching with the ever so slight buzz of alcohol muddying your thoughts.

“You might have just taken the best spot in the room,” a deep timbre echoes out from beside you, and of every person in the world it could have belonged to, you weren’t anticipating it being Bruce Wayne.

“Mr. Wayne,” you shoot up instantly, cringing at the way your ankle rolls in your heel. He only lets out a deep chuckle before motioning for you to sit again, occupying the spot next to you with his looming presence.

“I must admit,” he begins, all smile, “I was unfamiliar with your work before you appeared on my guest list, but you are indeed, incredibly impressive.”

You can’t do much to fight the blush that rises on your cheeks, “Thank you, uh, sir. That’s very kind. I’m only just starting out really, but it’s an honour to know my work has been recognised.”

“You will come to me,” he places a warm hand on your shoulder, “that is, if you need anything. Any friend of Commissioner Gordon and his family is a friend of mine.”

“That’s very kind of you, thank you,” you confess, wishing you had been slightly more sparing with your alcohol consumption in the past few hours. That being said, there was no part of your evening plans that had involved chatting with Bruce Wayne himself.

You dare not mention his other career path, not to his face. Not when you couldn’t be sure if Babs had divulged such information or not. Not that she needed to, he probably knew anyway.

“I must confess,” Bruce sighs, a tired smile drawing on his features, “I do have other motivations for coming to speak to you.”

“Oh?”

“I couldn’t help but notice you were dancing with my son earlier,” Bruce begins with a tut, “I get so little from him. I figured I would inquire about his, ah, connection with you instead.”

“Oh, oh, no,” you burst out almost too eagerly, “Me and Jason? This is only the second time we’ve ever met.”

“Is that so?” Bruce questions, a curious quirk on his brow. It only makes it all the more sudden when a stormy disposition seems to cross over his features, “In that case, I suggest you keep it that way.”

There’s little you can do to mask the confusion on your face at his remark. Sure, Jason had been more than a little rude on your first encounter, but he’d been nothing other than pleasant to you this evening. You weren’t unfamiliar with the Red Hood and his methods, under no illusions regarding what Jason was or wasn’t capable of.

“May I ask why you say that Mr. Wayne?”

“Ever the journalist,” Bruce hums, “My son has turned himself into a man not to be trifled with, and in that effort has made himself an outcast to both me and my family. I am aware you know of my family’s activities, Miss, and as a result you no doubt know of his. However, it is not Jason’s choices that bother me most, it is the pain that he inflicts upon those around him.”

The question stutters out of your mouth before you can stop it, not even sure you wanted the answer, “What is it that he’s done? To your family, I mean.”

Bruce doesn’t open his mouth to answer but instead nods to Dick now tucked away in the corner of the hall, struggling to steady himself on his broken leg. To most, Dick’s smile would be enough to ensure them that he was okay, but your multiple encounters with him at this point are enough to let you glimpse the pain in his expression.

“Jason tends to be destructive, and as much as I try to guide him, I’m beginning to fear there isn’t much else he knows anymore. It isn’t the first time he’s done such damage, and it won’t be the last.”

It’s sickening, the way that the universe chooses that moment for you to lock eyes with Jason, leaned against the bar. Swiftly as a growing forest fire, his eyes are a quiet smoulder when they lock with yours, only to grow into a blaze at the image of Bruce sat next to you. You feel at an impasse, two sides of you being tugged in opposite directions.

You look away from Jason quickly. If what Bruce was telling you was true, you had no reason to spare him a glance. Hurting Dick meant hurting Babs. Hell, Dick was a friend, and you couldn’t stand for the idea of someone hurting him either. A spin on a dance floor and a few uptight compliments wouldn’t change that.

“My advice, if you would take it,” Bruce sighs, beginning to stand, “you seem like an intelligent young woman, and you have a bright future ahead of you. I would make an expressed effort to stay out of Jason’s sights in your shoes, I fear it is not a particularly safe place to be.”

Your conversation ends fairly abruptly after that, Bruce shaking your hand and slipping you a business card with a reminder that he would be keen to help with your career given the opportunity. It’s difficult not to trust him, with his warm smile and kind words – you find it almost impossible to believe that his speech couldn’t have been without some kind of merit.

“So, you finally met him?” Babs wheels next to you when Bruce is out of sight, pressing a teasing elbow into your side. Her face seems to drop when she scans across your own, your turmoil clear as day, “Hey, you okay? What did he say to you?”

“Oh, nothing too crazy,” you snap yourself out of it, “Just work, really.”

The look that Babs gives you is enough for you to know that she doesn’t quite believe what you’re telling her, but your saviour appears in the form of Dick Grayson, hobbling over to join you with sweat practically dripping from his brow.

“Congrats,” he slaps an arm around your shoulders, positively beaming, “You just survived your first Bat interrogation.”

The two of them continue to chatter for a few minutes, and you can’t help but scan the room for Jason himself. It’s an odd sensation, and you can’t pinpoint why exactly you care where he is, but you can’t seem to settle without setting your sights on him.

You rejoin the conversation just as Dick turns to face you, “…Anyway, we were thinking of heading back to mine to chill, we’ve done our bit. Bruce can’t complain. Obviously, you’re more than welcome, we just need to find Ja – ”

“Actually,” you plaster on the brightest smile you can concoct, “I’m really not feeling too good. Definitely had a bit too much champagne. I might call it a night, I have work tomorrow, you know.”

“That’s fine, I get it, I get it. We can drop you back home –”

“Honestly, it’s fine, I think I’m just going to call a cab. Thank you though, it’s been a wonderful evening.”

You can only hope that Dick and Babs will chalk your eagerness to escape up to the alcohol as you make your departure, rushing to collect your bag and coat as quickly as you can in stupid fucking heels. As soon as you’re out of the hall, you peel them off your feet and set off at a brisk pace to try and get out of Wayne Manor as quickly as possible.

Until you collide headfirst with what may as well have been a wall, with how stiff and unyielding it seemed to be.

Jason stares down at you with an emotion you can’t quite name, and you’re reminded of just how big he really is. How imposing it would be to see him, clad in a red mask, glaring down towards whoever might be his latest victim. You think about what Dick must’ve felt, as his own brother battered him so.

“One final dance for the road?” He questions with a quirk of his lips, but you can see the nervousness in his eyes. It transforms swiftly into something else when you respond.

“No, I don’t think I will, actually,” you snap, pulling yourself out his way and continuing your mission towards the end of the driveway.

You’re thankful for the silence, that he doesn’t attempt to chase you or catch you in some kind of confrontation. You make it halfway down the drive before he finally calls out.

“What did Bruce say to you?” It’s quiet, and you can barely hear it behind you from the ruckus of the party inside. There’s something about it that pangs in your chest, but you steel yourself and continue walking, without even a glance behind you.

It’s only when you hail the cab that you turn around to face him, and unlike last time, he’s still there. Alone. Stood outside the manor with nothing other than hurt radiating off him. It’s surprisingly easy to turn away, ripping the car door open and slipping inside.

You climb over to the other seat so you don’t have to watch him as you pull away.

Summer

If someone had told you 6 months ago that you would be sat on the roof of Nightwing’s apartment building, surrounded by all sorts of metahumans and vigilantes, having a barbeque – well, you probably would’ve laughed in their face.

It’s hard to believe, as you’re reclined on a sunbed, cocktail in hand, best friend at your side while her boyfriend flips burgers in his, quite frankly, egregious Kiss the Cook apron, that things could be going so well. Bludhaven hadn’t ever been on your list of top holiday destinations, but basking in the hazy summer sun is more than enough to make up for it. It’s raucous, as you would expect many young superheroes crammed into a small space trying to cook a banquet of food would be, but the grouch within you can’t even seem to care about the chaos.

It’s jarring how well life seems to be going. Babs and Dick had pushed you to contact Bruce about working with Wayne Industries on some insider reporting, and the man himself had accepted your proposal with open arms. He’d even doubled the amount you got paid for the pieces as a ‘tip’, a token of thanks for your time dedicated to the cause. As a result, your writing had been the talk of the town since, and you had every major paper scrambling to offer you an exclusive contract.

You and Babs are closer than ever, and to your surprise, you’d integrated fairly seamlessly into their wider friend group as a regular staple of their gatherings. Sure, you were much quieter in comparison to the Titans and other various young heroes, but they seemed to enjoy your presence, nonetheless. You’d even spent some time at Wayne Manor with Dick and Babs, finally meeting the other members of the family after hearing about them in excess.

You’d run into Jason a few times.

It never failed to be an awkward encounter, often comprised of curt greetings and nothing more. Jason showed no signs that your rebuff had scorned him but, as expected, any trace of the warmth he’d shown you that night at the gala seemed to have disappeared promptly. You were just as cold, often refusing to look him in the eye on the rare occasion he would enter a room that also contained you. It was baffling, that he still had a place beside Dick and Babs and the rest of them, given the only increasing rumours you’d heard once being integrated into the super-community about his mistreatment of those closest to him. You’d never brought the topic up to either of your friends, primarily out of fear that they would attempt to see beneath your distain for something deeper – you didn’t have to mention it, they were ever lenient on Jason’s behaviour and seemed to welcome him with open arms at every opportunity.

Which is why you’re unsurprised, later in the evening when most of the heroes have gone home or out on their various patrols, that Jason appears on the roof next to Dick overlooking the city, a quiet conversation muttering between the pair. Your eyes catch him, Jason, for just a second as he turns ever so briefly to watch you sprawled out with a book in hand. Your eyes meeting is enough to drive him away again, jaw grinding as he turns to look forward.

Good, you’re glad your presence is enough to piss him off.

You continue that way for the next hour or so, tearing through your book until the words begin to blur into a splodge of ink on the page. The steady cooling of the dusky air is a welcome reprieve from the blazing sun, and it doesn’t take you long to drift off, your last waking feeling being that of your book dropping onto your chest.

It’s significantly later when you blink yourself awake again, the moon settled comfortably against the Bludhaven skyline. You instantly take note of the blanket that’s been draped over your body, curled between your fingers, and take a second to scan around the rooftop in search for any other waking body.

To your chagrin, the only figure that comes into view is Jason, sat with his legs dangling over the side of the building and a cigarette clutched tightly within his fingers. It’s almost picturesque, watching him inhale and exhale with a stream of smoke, the plains of his face framed by the moonlight. It strikes you that he’s likely in his element, perched on a rooftop shrouded in the darkness of the night, and it pains you to admit just how beautiful he looks.

Without even a glance in your direction, he simply chuckles mockingly, holding the cigarette up plainly for you to see, “Been trying to quit for months now.”

“Maybe you should try harder,” it’s snide and a bit pathetic and you know it, but you can’t seem to mellow the bite in your words. He simply laughs and returns to taking slow drags, barely even acknowledging that you had said anything.

Quickly, you begin to gather your things together, pulling the blanket tightly around your body as you make your way to the door back inside, wishing to be out of this awkward situation and less than stellar company as fast as you can.

It’s Jason’s voice that stops you, “You never told me.”

“What?”

“You never told me what Bruce said to you.” There’s an odd resignation in his words, and his voice remains remarkably even, not giving away any hint of whatever emotion was hidden beneath his words.

“I’m sure you can guess,” you huff out, drawing your hand away from the door to turn and face him.

Wordlessly, Jason hoists himself up from the side of the building and starts to make his way towards you. He stops a comfortable distance away, not enough to be an imposing presence, but so close that you can see his fingers fidgeting in front of him.

“I just want to know if what he said to you is what changed your mind about me,” Jason bites, “or if it’s always just been how you felt.”

“Why do you care about how I feel, Jason?” It comes out far harsher than you intended. He only scrubs a hand over his face in response, and you’re not sure if it’s a laugh or a whimper that crawls its way out of his throat.

“Do you really not see what’s going on here?”

“No, Jason, if I knew what was going on –”

“I like you, okay? I’ve tried my best to make it obvious, I really have. And trust me, I don’t want to, but I do. You’re beautiful, you’re talented, and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks because you know who you are. I like how opinionated you are, everyone else in my life fucking dances around me like I’m about to explode – but you don’t. I was rude at the bar because I wasn’t… I wasn’t expecting you, and I tried to make it up to you at the gala and then Bruce –”

“Bruce told me the truth, Jason.” The fumbling words are all that you can manage, your brain spinning at the revelation that Jason had just laid bare in front of you. Everything feels jilted, and surprisingly the only feeling whirring around your chest that you can articulate is anger.

“I don’t know what Bruce told you,” Jason’s practically pleading, “But I just wish you would judge me on me rather than what everyone else has to say.”

“Jason. You don’t know me,” your words are slow, but it does little to soften the viciousness tainting them, “you think you can – what? Just waltz in after months of being rude and judgy and – and after hurting my friends and act like all of it was okay because you like me? I haven’t been able to judge you on what you have to say because you never talk to me!”

The warm summer sun is long gone now, replaced with a chilling breeze and an ever so slight smattering of rain. The only word to describe Jason is speechless, but you don’t miss the way his fists curl at his sides. You practically leap sideways as he spins round with a number of cusses, pacing back and forth with what at a glance seems to be pure anguish.

“Hurt?” He spits out, all venom, “Who exactly have I hurt?”

“Well, Dick, for starters –”

“Dick? Oh, of course,” Jason lets out a bitter chuckle, “Of course, I hurt the golden boy.”

“He had a broken leg!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, and in an instant Jason is on you, so close you can smell his smoky cologne and the lingering touch of burnt leather.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” It’s nothing more than a ghost of a whisper, and he’s so close you can almost taste the words on his tongue.

“Real romantic by the way,” you refuse to back down, instead only edging closer and angling your chin to lock onto his eyes blazing down into your own, “I like you but I don’t want to. I didn’t realise I was just so deplorable.”

The rain is blinding now, hammering down around the pair of you, eliminating anything in your eyeline other than him. You’re both soaked to the bone, locked in a standoff neither one of you is willing to back down from. His hair is flattened to his forehead, and his shirt has plastered itself across his shoulders – you don’t dare to consider what you look like, clad in nothing other than a blanket and casual swimwear. It’s only then that you register the jittering of your entire body, and you can’t pinpoint whether it’s the cold or the sheer rage coursing through your veins as the source.

Both of your heads tear to the side at the soft call of your name, the silhouette of Babs highlighted from the doorway back into the apartment. Squinting through the rain, you can make out the shock and concern marring her features, and you instantly jump back from your stalemate. Jason takes a similar course of action, turning on his heel to march inside without a second thought.

He makes it halfway before he stops and turns to stare at you.

“You shouldn’t just listen to everything people tell you. I thought you were smarter than that. There are two sides to every story.”

And then he disappears inside.

Autumn

All the glee of summertime had been quick to disperse. Life seemed to pass by in a blur: work had slowed considerably as Gotham herself seemed to ready for hibernation, you had moved to a different apartment, nicer but nestled significantly further away from everything you’d become accustomed to. Babs had taken on a lot more work with Batman which seemed to consume the majority of her waking life, and with the loss of her constant company went Dick Grayson too. You still texted daily, but in person visits had become disappointingly scarce.

You’d be a downright liar if you said in every spare moment that your thoughts didn’t trapse back to your encounter with Jason. It reeled like film in the back of your mind whenever your eyelids fluttered shut, a constant rerun of every minute detail – the way his hands seemed to ring, the flexing and rolling of his shoulders as he paced, the hurt in his eyes as you’d unleashed a tirade onto him on what was supposed to be a relaxing summer evening.

It was nothing more than professional curiosity, you’d told yourself, your desire to know more. To glean some kind of insight into the other side of the story that Jason had preached. It was in your nature, journalism and the like. However, it was much easier to pretend that the world had alienated you from the answer, forcing you away from your work and friends, than it was to admit that you had run away because you were scared.

Which is why it took months for you to finally ask Babs to meet up for a coffee, rather than her asking you. The air had begun to bite as you lingered in the street, longing for a familiar face, even the nip of the cold bringing back persistent traces of that night. A sigh of relief materialises in a faint cloud of vapour as Babs appears round the corner, throwing her arms out for a hug as soon as she’s close enough. It’s uncharacteristically awkward as you settle down at a table, Babs doing little to hide her expectant stare as the barista places your drinks down in front of you.

“What did you want to –”

“Jason.” The slight curl of her lip at your mention of his name is enough to throw you, her knowing look pressing forward into what feels like every inch of your body.

“What do you want to know about Jason?” Babs offers, tracing her finger around the rim of her mug casually. If the display is supposed to make you feel less under pressure, it does nothing to alleviate the hammering of your pulse.

Your brain goes blank. “Uhm – how is he?”

Babs seems unable to stifle the laugh that barks out, bringing her coffee up to her lips, “You invited me out for coffee to ask how Jason is?”

You take a deep breath and muster all you can to steel yourself, allowing a smidgeon of your work persona to bleed in. “That night on the roof. He said some things and – and I never got any clarification. I just have some things I need to know.”

“How come you’re asking me and not him?”

“I don’t think Jason and I are in a place to be asking each other deep and thought-provoking personal questions,” you wince as the words tangle themselves on your tongue, and you can’t subdue the simmering feeling of disappointment that seems to accompany them.

Babs’ pauses for a second, as if weighing in her options, before eventually letting out a soft sigh and offering you a tender look, “Go on, what is it you want to know.”

“At the gala,” you begin far too quickly, grimacing at your own eagerness, “Bruce told me that Jason was dangerous. I’d already figured out that he was, you know, but the way Bruce painted this picture. It was like Jason was a monster, like he chose to hurt everyone close to him. He told me that he broke Dick’s leg.”

“Jason did break Dick’s leg,” Babs states plainly, and you can feel yourself deflate, “Jason broke Dick’s leg to save him. Dick was trapped in rubble, and he was losing oxygen fast. He was, he would’ve, died if Jason hadn’t gotten there before any of the rest of us could. The only options were to break Dick’s leg – who was unconscious by the way – to get him out or leave him to suffocate.”

You’re practically speechless. Never before has your mind stuttered so suddenly to a halt. All you can seem to do is gape at Babs as her jaw seems to clench; anger wasn’t a familiar emotion in your relationship, but you had seen it enough to recognise it.

“Bruce and Jason have a fractious relationship at the best of times, and they were certainly not going steady back then. Bruce showed up and saw Jason manhandling Dick out of a collapsed building with a broken limb and assumed the worst. God, it was awful, only Tim could stop them fighting and eventually Jason just disappeared. The first time any of us saw Jason after that was the Gala, and that was only because he promised Alfred.”

“Did Bruce ever find out the truth?” You’re practically reeling as all of the puzzle pieces begin to fall into place, Jason’s distance from his family at the Gala, his hurt at your insinuations about him. You’d treated him atrociously and this whole time he was the one that had been hurt.

“We told him straight away. We told him as it happened. But Jason and Bruce have this blindness when it comes to each other, they can only see what they want to see. Bruce refused to hear anything other than that Jason had brought the building down and Dick with it.” There’s a rawness in Babs’ voice, and a pearly ring of wetness dampening her eyes.

“But I’ve heard so much about…” you pause, contemplating the weight of your words, “It’s not just Bruce. I’ve heard everyone talk about him and the things he does, like he’s some kind of sadist. Like he kills people for fun and –”

“Jason does kill, there’s no doubt about that,” Babs’ tone hitches slightly, shifting to something more resolute, “but it’s not just for fun or how he gets his kicks. He has an ethos, a system, the same way Bruce or Dick or any of us do. Agree with it or not, he’s trying to make things better in his own way.”

It’s a harrowing feeling, every synapse being excavated and laid bare, the devastating realisation that all was not as it had seemed. Jason had been right, you should’ve known better than to presume. “I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I?”

Babs wastes no time reaching over to take your hands in hers, some of the warmth returning to her gaze, “No, you haven’t. You acted on all the information that you had and that’s all we can do. But you can –”

“No,” your reply is instant, and Babs draws back in surprise, “I can’t. Not after all this. I’ve hurt him, I can’t imagine he wants me in his life. And I still don’t know him. I just –”

Babs calls your name softly as you begin to gather your belongings, hastily sipping down the last of your drink and scanning desperately for the nearest exit. She doesn’t attempt to say anything, just offers you an almost infuriatingly tender look. You quickly mutter your goodbyes, a small smile and a promise to text later, before rushing out into the Gotham traffic.

It had been easy to be so righteous, so comfortable in your position, but now every noise and sensation felt like a slap. A kick while you were down. It had been so simple to deny anything you had felt towards him, any kind of attraction, from your high horse; to look down and tell yourself that you had been wronged and anything you felt was out of nothing more than a lingering feeling of pity.

It’s overwhelming, the sensation of missing out on an opportunity, a friend, and maybe something more that made itself so scarce in your life to begin with. It’s shame, you think.

You can’t help but think that if you were Jason Todd, you would never want to see you again.

Winter

Gotham in the winter is a sight to behold: flickering lights casting a yellow haze over the murky skyline, the cold lick of the coast sneaking its way into the alleyways and street corners, an entire civilisation cloaked in a dreary blanket. It was much kinder from inside the warm glow of your apartment, staring out at the figures on the street below fighting against the elements.

Life had continued, as it always does. It had taken you some time to process what had happened with Jason, mourn the prospect of what could’ve been. Bruce had offered you a full-time position at Wayne Industries. You’d turned it down. Told him you wanted to ‘explore different avenues’ this early in your career, and in spite of the suspicious look he’d given you, he’d assured that there would always be a position for you if you desired.

Instead, you had taken a role at a local up-and-coming paper focussed on exposing corruption within Gotham’s elite. It was perfect, the hands-on kind of work you had favoured during your studies, and the success was already beginning to blossom. Babs and Dick had been nothing but supportive: you weren’t as involved with their ‘super-gatherings’ anymore, finding the whole group to be a tad overwhelming, but they still made time for you each and every week in the same dingy bar in which Babs had first introduced you to everyone.

Everything didn’t feel right yet, but it was getting there.

Being nestled in your apartment in the evenings alone didn’t feel so glum anymore, instead lighting a warm flicker in the bottom of your belly. You were working on a big piece, the biggest you’d written so far, scouring into the Falcone family and some of their more illegitimate dealings – papers sprawled across every available surface, a few stripes of ink now decorated your dining room table. You were certain you looked a wreck; sleep hadn’t come easy the past nights – you were in limbo. Until the article was published and in the public eye, there was little to protect you from anyone who had questions about what you were looking into. You’d even gone out and brought a gun. As a result, there was little that could drag you away from your laptop, a desperation to finish your work that felt somewhat like your life depended on it.

Which is why when there’s a hammering at your front door at 1am, it becomes difficult to breathe all of a sudden.

“Miss?” A gruff voice calls out, “Heard you had some interest in a friend of mine. I have some information that might be of use to you.”

As quietly as you can, you scramble for your keys. Dick had given you a small device, some kind of button, when you’d told him and Babs about your new job and its dealings – he’d assured you that as soon as you pressed it there would always be help on the way. It’s impossible to stifle the gasp of relief as you finally feel the tiny device roll between your fingers, pressing it down hard and watching as it illuminates your apartment in a soft blue.

“Miss? We know you’re in there,” the hammering gets much louder all of a sudden, and you dip down behind the couch, drawing yourself into a ball, “This can be much easier for you if you just let us in.”

From across the room, you can see your phone light up, and you thank the lord that you’d put it on silent – it’s Babs, you can see from the cheesy lockscreen of you draped across her lap after some raucous night out. The men, multiple of them now, continue to scuffle outside your front door as they no doubt contemplate the best method to enter and beat the shit out of you. You could make a run for the gun now, but if they came in you would be cornered in your bedroom, nowhere to escape to.

“Right, lady, you’re starting to piss me off,” A new voice calls out, “I’m giving you ten seconds to come out before we come in.”

Ten seconds is a long time for a vigilante, right? Normally, you’d pride yourself on your ability to think on your feet, but unfortunately the only course of action seems to be waiting out the storm. The idea of leaping out the window dances across your mind briefly, but with no fire escape and a 40ft drop it wasn’t the most thrilling concept. Quickly, you reach out and snatch your pen off the table – it was sturdy, metal, a gift from Jim Gordon when you’d graduated – it wasn’t sharp by any means, but with enough force it could definitely do some damage.

You grimace at the thought.

All at once, a barrage of sound erupts in your ears; the door swings open and groans as the hinges splinter bit by bit, the thundering of footsteps is instant, you can count one, two, three sets of steps against the creaking floorboards. It all happens far too quickly, one of them calling out a signal to the others that they’ve found you, and you’re hoisted to your feet, both arms held tightly by a brute on either one. You swing from side to side with as much force as you can muster, kicking out and screaming, relishing as you hear a deep groan from your right.

Nothing prepares you for the swing of a fist, though.

You’ve never been punched before, surprisingly, and it strikes you that maybe its one of the only things movies do justice. It’s less the impact itself, but more the way that your head wrenches to the side that sends you reeling. Before you can even recollect yourself there’s a hand clamped around your jaw, tugging your face back upwards. Most of the man’s face is covered, donned in all black, but there’s a cruelty in his eyes that collapses your chest. It’s disgusting, the way one of his fingers hooks around your teeth, keeping you trapped like a fish on a line. You contemplate spitting in his face, but as if out of instinct, you snap your teeth shut.

It makes you retch as he pulls back, the thick, hot metallic sheet that coats every surface of your mouth. Abject horror is the only phrase to describe the look of the man opposite you, clasping his mangled finger gingerly to his chest. Before you can revel in your small victory, another slap sends you clattering across the floor, wood splintering beneath your fingertips.

If a punch was a bee-sting, a kick to the ribs is a bomb going off.

“You fucking bitch!” The man hollers, drawing his foot back for another swift kick. His boots must be metal capped, you think.

“Haven’t you heard? Bitch is so 1800s.”

It’s a rough modulated voice that draws you from your stupor – it’s difficult to make out shapes through the tears that have spilled over, but if the shrill whimpers of the men around you are enough to go by, you’d say help has arrived. The pause gives you enough time to shuffle back against the wall, gradually shifting to something akin to a sitting position.

“Hood,” One of the goons whispers, and you’re not sure if its double vision or the man is actually trembling, “What – this isn’t your turf –”

“Don’t care. Goodbye.” The echo of a gunshot is so much louder up close, and you can’t help but slam a hand over your mouth as the giant of a man seems to crumple to the ground, brains splattered all over your bookshelf. One of the other goons attempts to make a run for it but is stopped by a gloved hand that shoots out and catches him by the throat. It’s a horrible wheezing sound that sneaks its way out of his windpipe, all while the Red Hood takes his time strapping his gun to his thigh, before bringing his other hand around languidly to snap the goons’ neck.

It’s all so quick, you think, not like the long-winded tit-for-tat action movie sequences where they trade blows, it’s just sheer overwhelming force. A black hole that’s come to consume anything that dare move in its presence.

It’s Jason.

Out of your peripheral you can make out the man, your main attacker, breaking from his stupor. You recognise the way his hands begin to curl in his pocket, a hand wrapping around an all too familiar shape that he begins to draw outwards painstakingly slowly. Before you can clamber to your feet, the gun is aimed straight for him, a clear shot, and Jason seems to realise just as you do that the man’s finger is contracting on the trigger.

You can’t even process your own movements, let alone pain, yet you feel your feet underneath you, pushing you forward. The cool feeling of the pen between your fingers feels so familiar yet so absurd, and with all the force you can muster you slam it round into the side of the man’s throat. It’s so much worse, watching death this way; Jason had the decency to make the others quick, but here you were watching a man bleed onto your rug as he stares at you with surprise and your engraved pen in his jugular.

It’s only seconds before he flops to the ground too.

Jason’s there before your knees can buckle, wrapping a solid arm around your waist and holding you up like a puppet on a string. As much as you try and move your tongue, it’s like lead in your mouth, and you can’t do much more than stand there gaping as Jason checks your injuries.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” You didn’t know a modulated voice could sound so tender, “I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time.”

“Jason, I –” It sounds so wet and broken, barely recognisable as your own voice.

“I know,” he coos, bringing a hand round to cradle your less injured cheek, “But you did so good, so good. You saved me.”

The tears begin to flow promptly after that, and you wonder if the Red Hood often has people sob into his chest, and if he ever lets them. Slowly, he lowers the pair of you to the ground, and as soon as you hit the floor it feels as though every drop of energy has been drained from your body.

“I’m so sorry,” you hiccup, “I’m sorry about what I said and –”

If you’re not mistaken, he laughs, and even through the robotic filter you can hear the hint of amusement, “You’re an idiot.”

“What?”

“You’ve just killed a man and you’re worried about apologising to me over an argument we had months ago.”

You let out a wet laugh, “Can’t help it. I don’t want to like you, but I think I do.”

“Maybe we should start again,” Jason hums, pulling off his helmet. You know deep down that he’s just trying to distract you from the weight of your evening, and you’re sure that it will hit you when the brain fog begins to wear off – but right now, you can’t seem to care. Clearly, a near death experience has changed your perspective.

You mumble your name quietly, offering your hand out to him, “I’m a journalist, I’m allergic to cats and I have a kill count of one.”

Jason only barks out a laugh, those mesmerising green eyes finally rimmed with mirth rather than rage, “I knew there was something I liked about you.”

Spring

You’d never thought that such a dingy, depressing bar tucked away in the veins of Gotham could feel so much like home – but the regulars at the poker table wave each time you step through the front door, the bartender smiles while she pours your regular and asks how your latest article is coming along. But your favourite part, without a doubt, is slumping in after a long day at work and seeing your closest companions huddled together at your booth in the corner looking up at you with beaming smiles.

You slide into the booth next to Jason without a word, and his arm drapes itself across your shoulders automatically. It’s still new, the pair of you sharing bashful smiles at every intimate moment, but there’s a love that burns in your chest brighter than any feeling you thought yourself capable of.

“You guys are disgusting, I hope you know,” Dick whinges, letting out a chuckle as Babs punches him hard in the arm.

“Be quiet, you,” Babs chuckles, “Our plan finally came to fruition.”

You narrow your eyes at her across the table, quirking your head to the side, “I knew it. You did want to set us up.”

“Well that was obvious from the get go, Princess,” Jason chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I like to think we gave them a challenge though.”

“I certainly didn’t think you would develop a body count on the way,” Babs brows go up and she sends a grin in your direction.

“That’s my girl,” Jason whispers, throwing a grin in your direction, “What a fearsome thing to behold.”

“God, I love it when you quote Pride & Prejudice to me.”

“I know you do, baby, I know.”

This has been a WIP for sooooo long, like since before I even started this account. I don’t know if it’s obvious but I really struggled to finish it, I had absolutely no idea how to leave it. But oh well 🤷‍♀️

also im SORRY for making Bruce the BAD GUY it was the only way i could make it work in my head 💔

If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If you don’t like it, leave me alone.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd fic #red hood fic #angst #dcu #dc robin #dc fanfic

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new-author3 · 3 days ago

Text

You're My Priority

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner × Reader (S/N)

Summary: During an important case, Aaron realizes the reader is hiding that she's sick and steps in, putting her well-being above everything else.

Warnings: Emotional content, affectionate language, scenes of care and tenderness, established relationship, mild case-related tension. No explicit content.

Word Count: Approximately 1,100 words

*The gif is not mine*

---

The city was on high alert. A meticulous serial killer was leaving clues in the form of cryptic anagrams, and the victims seemed to be carefully chosen. Hotch was tense. And although the case was everyone’s top priority, his mind wasn’t fully in it — not the way it should’ve been.

What truly distracted him was you.

Not that it was a surprise. Everyone knew how closely Aaron paid attention to you. Maybe it was because you were his girlfriend, or maybe it was just that protective instinct of his — but honestly, that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was that, across the room, he couldn’t stop watching you, noticing every little movement.

It was as if he knew you were hiding something. And in a way... you were.

From the beginning of the investigation, you kept insisting you were fine — “It’s just a cold,” “It’s nothing,” “I can handle it.” But Aaron saw right through it. Your eyes looked tired, you kept pressing your side now and then, and the fever you tried to mask with makeup and a forced smile... He knew you too well to fall for any of it. It was only a matter of time before he stepped in.

And that time came.

In the early afternoon, while the team was discussing the latest pattern of the murders in front of the BAU board, a wave of dizziness hit you hard. You stumbled discreetly, leaning on the table for support, trying to hide it. The fever had been relentless since the moment you stepped into the building. You looked around, silently praying no one had noticed.

But then your eyes met his — and you knew.

He had seen everything.

Within seconds, Aaron was at your side, his warm hand settling firmly on your waist.

— Come with me, — he said, low but firm.

— Hotch, I’m fine. Just tired...

— Now. — The tone left no room for argument.

You tried to resist, but his serious, worried eyes made the lump in your throat tighten. He led you to his office, gently helped you sit down in one of the chairs, and locked the door. Then he knelt in front of you — a gesture so intimate, almost vulnerable coming from him.

— You have a fever. You're short of breath. And I know you're in pain. — He gently took your wrist. — You can't lie to me, sweetheart. I know you.

— I just... didn’t want to let the team down. Especially not with a serial killer on the loose. This case is important, Aaron. I didn’t want to be a burden...

— Hey. — He reached up and softly cupped your cheek. — You will never be a burden to me. Never. I’d rather handle this case with you resting in a warm bed, taking care of yourself, than see you pass out in front of a whiteboard.

You tried to smile, but your eyes welled up. Hearing that from him broke down all your defenses.

He stood up and pulled you into a tight hug, pressing a long kiss to the top of your head.

— Now you're going to rest. And I'm going to take care of you. No arguments.

You still tried to protest, but he was already taking off his suit jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

— Only if... I can use you as a pillow, — you said with a faint smirk.

— Whatever you want, sweetheart, — Aaron replied with a soft smile. He leaned in to kiss you, but you turned your face away just in time.

— Aaron, you can’t kiss me. I could get you sick… and you might pass it on to Jack.

You said it before he could overthink it. He paused for a second, taking it in. Then he placed his hand gently on your cheek again, pulling you into a kiss. It started soft and slow… and deepened naturally. He pulled away first, leaving you breathless — and a little more dizzy.

— I couldn’t resist. Especially after hearing you think of Jack... — he sighed, caressing your face. — But now, you don’t have to think about us. Just focus on getting better. I love you.

You were speechless for a moment but finally whispered back:

— I love you too, Aaron.

He smiled at your words and pressed a soft kiss to your lips before getting up. A few minutes later, he returned with a glass of water, a blanket, and that look on his face — the one that blended love, worry, and his usual stubbornness.

— My sweet, stubborn girl... — he murmured, sitting beside you as you surrendered to the warmth of the blanket and his presence.

You rested your head against his chest and draped your legs over his lap. He wrapped one arm around your back and let the other hand settle on your thigh, holding you gently.

As you started to drift off, he stayed there, watching every breath you took with quiet tenderness. Because the world could be falling apart outside, but in that moment, the only thing that mattered… was you.

You were his world.

And he would always take care of you.

---

Author's Note:

I hope you enjoyed the story! I wrote this one inspired by my current situation — I haven’t been feeling very well lately, and honestly, I’d love to have an Aaron Hotchner to take care of me right now.

Thank you so much for reading! 💛

And just a reminder: English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

Masterlist

#aaron hotcher #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds

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jellymochii · 1 day ago

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Stray Kids as the Seven Deadly Sins (kinky edition)

⛓️pairings: ot8 skz x fem!reader

⛓️genre: pure smut

⛓️cw: smut, bdsm, degradation, cunnulingus, p in v, unprotected s3x (please don’t), and lots of other things hehe

⛓️wc: 3k

⛓️authors note: hi im alive! pls read my previous post as to explain why I wasn’t active for such a long time. if you have a request currently pending I WILL GET TO IT before the end of my summer, im just doing this as a little hobby to keep myself busy hehe. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

**THIS IS PURELY A WORK OF FICTION AS DOES NOT REFLECT THE TRUE NATURE OF THE INDIVIDUALS MENTIONED.**

Bang Chan - Wrath

He swore the day he met you that he’d never let his rage control him and hurt you, and he still keeps his promise to this day—with its exceptions.

Once you told him that you actually loved rough sex on some occasions—biting, spanking, hair pulling and all—he still hesitated to even stoop to that level, since you were so delicate and fragile to him, but you insisted that you didn’t mind if he initiated any sort of dominance over you sexually.

His breaking point was the night he came home after work where all hell had broken loose. He had gotten into an argument with his boss over deadlines after spending hours slaving away at his laptop trying to recover his lost files, resulting in him working overtime which wasn’t too abnormal.

However, you felt a certain chill up your spine watching his car pull up—like something was wrong, and your worries seemed to come true the moment he walked into the house already fuming, only to stub his toe against the door. He let out the most frustrated and enraged scream of his life before throwing his backpack full force at the wall and storming into the bedroom, causing both you and the dog to flinch.

You crept into the bedroom and observed Chan with his hands in his hands as his fingers desperately combed through his hair to try and self regulate—until his eyes laid upon you, like a bull staring right at a red flag.

In what felt like a split second, he had you cornered against the wall as his lips crashed into yours as his grip on your hair grew tighter with each growing second. After letting out a frustrated growl, he shoved you into your knees and trembled as he undid his belt—unsheathing his veiny cock with dribbles of precum already seeping out. You’d be lying if you said that this wasn’t a heavenly sight you’d dreamed of for so many nights.

“Open. Now.” He commanded, and you obeyed as you gently wrapped your lips around his red and swollen tip—only for Chan to grab a fistful of your hair and fuck your throat as tears poured from your eyes for what felt like an eternity. When he felt as though he was close, he pulled out and watched the string of saliva connecting his dick to your mouth slowly disconnect.

“Color?”

“G-green.” You mumbled out, prompting Chan to scoop you up and carry you over to the bed and slam you down, clawing your panties away and wasting no time slamming his cock straight into your cervix. Your cries of a mixture of pleasure and pain seemed to only fueled him more as his pace quickened, his face contorting in pleasure as ungodly moans left his lips.

Maybe his wrath wasn’t so bad after all.

Lee Minho - Pride

Minho’s always had that damn stupid smirk since childhood, you swore you’d find a way to somehow wipe it off his face—but you never have.

Since the day he first took you to bed he used his fingers with such unmatched skill that you swore he must have been doing this all his life (he hasn’t, but he did a LOT of research.) You swear you’ve never cum so hard in your life, and amidst your post-climax daze you can still make out a cocky smirk on his face.

The truth is that he knows how badly you hate his attitude and lives for the feeling of pushing you straight into submission after each nasty remark you shoot his way. He gets such a kick out of you trying to hold in your moans and whimpers out of protest—only to be screaming his name in ecstasy five minutes later, begging him to let you cum.

It’s days like these where Minho is pistoning his cock into you after a bicker that you really wish he would stop laughing in your ear and mocking you for melting under his touch. Unfortunately, he prides himself too much on his ability to make you cum no matter how much you choke on your own words and sobs—so your resistance was only met with Minho abusing your sweet spot into overstimulation.

“Say it. Tell me how I’m the only one who can make you whine and slobber like a bitch, and no other man will ever fuck you as good as I do.” He whispered, his grip around your throat tightening. You protested, biting your tongue and trying your hardest to not make a sound and give him the satisfaction.

Your body though, had other plans—as you felt your gummy walls spasm on his cock as your body began to tremble.

I guess it seems in the end, he’s earned the right to be prideful.

Seo Changbin - Pride

Changbin developed incredible discipline over the years of working out ritually, and it paid off with his newly incredible physique.

It was so easy for him to boast about all his achievements in the gym to his juniors now that he was no longer the wimpy kid he thought himself to be—and now that he had you, the most gorgeous girl in the eyes of many, he was unstoppable.

Truthfully, you’d often find yourself drooling over his big strong arms and dreaming of all the ways he could suffocate you to death, and he could see it all in your eyes. Your lust towards him only boosted his ego even more, and he was more than willing to show you just how great he was for you.

Here you were, tits smashed against the window pane as Changbin pinned you like prey—gazing down at the busy traffic of your urban city. Anyone could look up and see you so vulnerable like this.

“Binnieeee….what if someone sees us?” You choked, your throat still ensnared by the deadly grip Changbin had on it.

“Awww, let them baby. Let them see how well I fuck you.” He giggled, swiftly picking your legs up and positioning his cock juuuust right.

Oh, and how the angle was indeed just right. His display of sheer strength as he pistoned his thick cock into you, making you feel so full and yet so empty and hungry for more at the same time.

“Binnie, please! I’m gonna cum if you keep this up~!” You moaned, breath fogging up the glass.

“Hehe, of course you will jagi~. No one else can fuck you like I can, right? Say it.”

You’ll be saying it all night, I promise. No amount of praise will ever be too much for his pride.

Hwang Hyunjin - Lust

Every little detail about you seems to send Hyunjin into a daze.

He can’t describe the pure lust that boils in him from just the little things about you—the way your thighs look so soft and supple from just sitting on the couch, or how your back arches ever so slightly when reaching for things. His obsession and desire for you seems to grow stronger every day.

Making love to you is his favorite form of art—an addiction he can’t bear to be without. The little squeals of pleasure you make when his fingers are buried in your cunt are music to his ears, only fueling him to make you cum over and over again.

When you came home exhausted from work just wanting to escape from it all, you were greeted by the loving arms of your boyfriend while placing gentle kisses on your temple. You can smell the warm scent of vanilla candles scattered across the room, it feels like heaven. You truly feel so safe and loved in his presence, but you always know what comes next once your hormones kick in. Seriously, it’s like he knows when you’re ovulating.

Ten minutes later you’re in a drunken state of absolute euphoria, surrounded by the smell of sex and the sounds of your lips smacking against each other. Hyunjin takes his time with you at first, but as his primal need for more takes over he quickly transitions into a rapid and feral pace of pounding in your cunt. He swears he has no idea what comes over him—he’s possessed. The only thing he needs right now is to be holding you close while buried deep in your sopping wet pussy.

“Ghh-too fast!” You cry out.

“Shhhh I know baby, but you can take it. You’ll take it all in f-for me, promise”

You’ve always put your trust in each other and you know he would never harm you, but sometimes the look in his eyes is that of a possessed man looking over you and soaking all of you in like a monster hunting its prey.

And when his orgasm finally hits him, it’s like all the lust that was building inside of him finally surrounds him in a single perfect moment—with the harmony of your combined moans making him the happiest man alive.

Truthfully, he doesn’t care that he lusts after you all the time—it’s what he thrives on.

Han Jisung - Gluttony

His friends like to tease Jisung about how obsessed he seems to be over you—how the time spent away from you seems to deflate him into a shell of his former self. Like he’s starving for something more than the hot pot wasting away on his plate.

Almost like he needs to be buried in your pussy 24/7.

The first time the two of you ever agreed to try anything sexual, he seemed somehow tempted to try eating you out. He watched countless videos on how to perfectly pleasure you to the fullest with both his cock and his mouth—so when the time finally came, he would be well prepared.

What he didn’t prepare for though, was how badly he’d crave you more after just tasting the first drop of you.

What once was a challenge to be a better man to you turned into a spiraling obsession of devouring you like a starved man every chance he could get, sometimes cumming without even the slightest touch from you because of how intoxicating the smell is. Every part of his life when he’s not slaving away at work is devoted to your pussy—and how well your greedy hole sucks him in so much that his dick becomes a prisoner inside of you. It drives him to the edge so so fast.

Just like today, when he’s barely even thrusting into you and doesn’t seem to be pulling out at all, he's just humping you desperately with his cock sitting inside while he whines.

“God, this pussy’s gone be the f-fucking end of me, babe.” He groaned, pounding your cervix rougher with each thrust. “I’m gonna cum so fucki—SHIT~!” He cries out as you begin to push back against him, creating a whole new rhythm of pure ecstasy—only amplified by the unholy and sloppy sounds of your juices squelching against him.

And when the waves of pleasure finally crash against your shaking body, who else but Han to clean up the creamy mess you two created.

It’s filthy, raw, and pure gluttony at its finest.

Lee Felix - Envy

You’d think with all the lights flashing just for Felix and all of his glory and fame, there’d be nothing for him to be jealous about, but there’s a teeensy little problem he has that he just can’t shake.

Well you, duh.

He thought you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen—soft and delicate hands, a smile that could light up the room, and God, your perfect body. He wishes he could have all of it—and yet, it all goes to that stupid son of a bitch of a boyfriend you have.

Tall, muscular, perfect posture, and a jawline so sharp that could slice through anything. Although Felix had the muscles, he wasn’t nearly as tall as he would’ve liked to be and his posture was like that of a shrimp with all the back pain he’d been suffering. His natural feminine beauty was enough to have millions of fan girls desperate for him, but why not you? Why couldn’t you see through that dumb hunk of meat and look at him instead?

He spent months playing the part perfectly of an innocent male friend, even faking having a girlfriend who mysteriously also dumped him when your boyfriend had dumped you. He stayed by your side and pretended to be heartbroken with you while engulfing unholy amounts of ice cream straight from the bucket—and yet—he overheard you on the phone begging your ex to come back.

He’d had enough.

Slithering up from behind your disheveled figure and wrapping you up in a warm hug and whispering in your ear. “Don’t you think it’s about time to forget about him, baby?”

You froze, not knowing how to respond to that pet name.

“W-Well how? All I think about is him, y’know.” You muttered, feeling less like you were being hugged by a teddy bear and more like being suffocated by a snake.

“I can help you. I’ll make you forgot alllll about that stupid piece of shit—if you’ll let me.” He groaned, hands wandering down to rub circles on your clothes clit earning a whimper from you.

You’d never expected your best friend to be the living embodiment of the green eyed monster himself.

Kim Seungmin - Sloth

Truthfully Seungmin isn’t lazy in the slightest, the way he’s manipulated you to please him in every way and give you an orgasm almost on command takes effort. And yet, now it seems after all that training he can’t seem to be bothered to help you out at all when you just look so cute and desperate when you’re begging for it.

He seems to always tell when you’re ovulating because of how increasingly horny and clingy you become to him—begging him for just his fingers to help you out—but it’s more fun for him to watch you try and get yourself off without his help (and failing.)

Today may just have been the worst of it. You’d been itching for a release all week to destress from work, but your fingers weren’t cutting it. It seemed like every time you asked Seungmin to touch you—even offering to be his fuckdoll for the night—he still just looked down at you with that stupid smirk on his face and replied “Hmmmm….nah. Maybe after dinner, but you’ll be fine.”

Fine? Are you kidding me? He’s been taunting and denying you all week and insists somehow you’ll just be able to tolerate it? You couldn’t decide at this point if you wanted to rip his face off or ride it into oblivion.

You tried to settle yourself down in the bed and get into a zone while he jumped in the shower, hoping that maybe the memories of being pounded into like a dumb doll would be enough to get you off until he came back.

It wasn’t, and when Seungmin stepped out to see your frustrated scrunched up face and your fingers pumping brutally into your cunt—he’d felt like the king of the earth.

“Awww, look how disgustingly desperate my little slut is.” He sneered.

“Minnie…please, I’ll do anything—just please let me cum!” You whimpered out, feeling utterly defeated at this point.

He heaved a sigh in response to taunt you. “Ffffine, I guess since I’m the only one who can make you cum, I’ll help you out a little.”

You seemed relieved at his response, but little did you know you were in for an entire night of orgasm denial to turn you further into his perfect obedient dolly.

It’s not as lazy as you’d think.

Yang Jeongin - Greed

Jeongin was used to not being someone’s first pick. Whether it was being called a monster for the way he looked, being shoved aside by his friends—or being rejected for giving his heart to someone.

And yet, you saw right through all of that and gave him the love he never had.

He’s obsessed with you, truly. The way your hair sways when you walk, your toothy grin, and your caring heart—it’s enough to make any man kneel. And that’s the problem.

You’re used to being catcalled and it seems to not bother you as much anymore, but it’s hard to distinguish whether someone is truly being friendly or trying to get into your pants. It doesn’t matter to Jeongin either way though, he’ll see red every time. Anger consumes him whenever he sees another man compliment your outfit or ask you where you’re from—after all, he’s a man too, therefore he knows what those perverts are thinking.

And thus his rage turned into greed, he was going to make it a point to both you and everyone else that you were his and only his. He didn’t care how inconsiderate or embarrassing he was in public, no one was allowed to have what was his.

Like today, the two of you were just grocery shopping when the clerk at the checkout was just too nice to you in Jeongins opinion. Who the hell did he think he was calling you pretty? Why is he smiling so much? Why won’t he just shut up and put the tomatoes in the bag?

The more the thoughts swirled in him the more he realized he had to claim you as his possession, what was rightfully his.

And so that’s how you ended up pinned against the wall, being pounded into at a torturously slow yet sharp pace while your oh so loving boyfriend whispered filth into your ear.

“Do you really think that stupid pervert could ever fuck you like this, huh? Could he hit your pretty little sweet spot—just. like. this?” He sneered, thrusting harshly into you with each word he spoke.

The hardest lesson you had to learn today was to always watch carefully what greed and sin can do to a man, and how it can fuck you oh so deliciously.

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delilahsturniolo · 4 hours ago

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— 𝜗ৎ the greatest . . . m.s

in which . . . you want something more with fwb!matt, but he shuts you down, turning it into an argument, so he decides to “make it up to you” and you can’t help but give in

warnings . . . fwb!matt, smut, arguing, crying, unprotected sex, unresolved angst, use of pet names, fingering, multiple orgasms.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

HIT ME HARD AND SOFT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #6

there's something about matt that just drives you wild. maybe it's the way he looks at you with those piercing blue eyes or the way his hair falls perfectly into place. whatever it is, you can't get enough of him. but the problem is, all he wants from you is to fuck, and nothing more. a real relationship is where he draws the line. you've been friends with benefits for a while now, but lately, you've been wanting something more. you want to be able to call him yours, to have him hold you close and tell you that he loves you. but every time you bring it up, he shuts you down.

"matt, we need to talk," you say, tangled in the sheets. "about what?" he asks, pulling on his shirt and avoiding your gaze. "about us. about what we're doing here."

"we're having fun, aren't we? i mean, the sex is amazing. what more do you want?" you take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "i want more than just sex, matt. i want a relationship. i want to be with you." he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "i can't give you that. i'm not the relationship type."

"why not? why can't you just give us a chance?" you plead, matt snaps back. "because i don't want to hurt you. i care about you, i do. but i'm not capable of being what you need." you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "how do you know what i need? you've never even tried."

"look, let's just drop it, okay? we're good together, let's not ruin it by trying to make it into something it's not." you shake your head, wiping away a stray tear. "i can't keep doing this, matt.." he looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment you think he might actually be considering it. but then he leans in close, his breath hot on your neck, and whispers, "let me make it up to you."

and just like that, you're putty in his hands. he knows exactly how to touch you, how to make you moan and writhe beneath him. he trails kisses down your neck, his hands roaming over your curves, and you know you should stop him, should tell him no, but you can't. you need him, need this. you can’t resist going back to him. you love the way he makes you feel and you will never escape that.

he pushes you back onto the bed, his body covering yours, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. he thrusts into you, filling you completely, and you cry out, your nails digging into his back. “you feel so good," he groans, his hips slamming against yours. "so tight and wet for me."

"matt, please," you whimper, not even sure what you're asking for. "i've got you, baby. i'll take care of you." and he does. he fucks you hard and deep, hitting all the right spots, until you're a writhing, moaning mess beneath him. and when you finally cum, screaming his name, he follows right behind you, spilling himself inside you.

but you’re not done yet. matt leans in, his hot breath tickling your ear, and whispers, "you want this, don't you?" you can only nod, your heart pounding in your chest. his fingers brush against your panties, already damp with your arousal. he chuckles softly, a sound that sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

his fingers deftly push your panties aside, revealing your slick folds. he runs a finger along your slit, gathering your wetness on his fingertip. he brings it to his lips, tasting you. "mmm," he hums, "you taste so sweet, can’t get enough of this pretty pussy..” then, without warning, he plunges a finger inside you. you gasp, your back arching off the sheets. he pumps his finger in and out of you, adding another when he feels you're ready. his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing circles around it.

your hips buck wildly, meeting his thrusts. you can feel your orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter. "that's it," matt encourages, "cum for me again.” and you do. your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your walls clamping down on matt's fingers. he continues to pump them in and out of you, prolonging your pleasure until you're left a quivering mess on the couch. he withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips once again. he sucks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

afterwards, he holds you close, stroking your hair and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. and even though you know it's not real, that he's not really yours, you can't help but bask in the afterglow. you know you shouldn't keep doing this, shouldn't keep falling back into bed with him, all he wanted was to see you naked. but the truth is, you're addicted to him, to the way he makes you feel. and as much as you want more, you're not sure you're ready to give this up just yet.

💌: MAN AM I THE GREATESTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

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indecisive-capricorn · 14 hours ago

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Tranquility in Marriage — Gojo Satoru x Reader

WARNINGS: MDNI, heavy implications and talks of sexism, gender inequality because its in a more traditional setting, fluff, arranged marriage, quiet love, slowburn, distrust at first, elders acting like shit

SUMMARY: Getting into an arranged marriage with you was the only order Gojo Satoru had ever obeyed from the Elders and it was certainly not one he regretted.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic is heavily inspired on a slow love song I found and it's like a part one of the background of a mini-series for the arranged marriage au.

MASTERLIST & REQUESTS: Before you go, have a glass of wine or better yet, recommend a good bottle. any kind of message is always a delight.

You looked in front of the mirror with cold, empty eyes that practically screamed for you to get out of there. The beautiful white gown fit your body perfectly, the painted lips left not a single smudge around it, the curled hair flowed down elegantly—every detail in place, every inch seen and carefully given attention to, an evident of your family's perfectionism. But it felt nothing like you, almost as if you were in someone else's skin or more precisely, a nightmare that could been ended with a single pinch.

However, no matter how many times you tried to dig your sharp nails into the flesh of your elbow, desperately attempting to wake yourself, you were instead met with a sting from the pinch and the bitter realization that this was indeed real. All of it was your reality now and you didn't have a say in it anymore.

Growing up in a traditional and strict clan meant that you had been taught lessons that you would never have learnt if you had been born in a normal family, your childhood no longer becoming your own as the adults around you took control.

While other little girls learnt how to tie their shoelaces and sing the alphabets during their childhood, your mother and the ladies of the clan homeschooled you and taught you the ways of how marriage works early on in your childhood. They tried to drill the idea of being a perfect wife in your head, becoming obsessed over time to turn you into a bargaining doll- a perfect bride to be sold of to another clan for power and fame.

In your childhood, you became lonely and isolated, cut off from the rest of the world the high walls your clan built around you. The women of your clan would frequently tell you horror stories, meant to keep you afraid, obedient and most importantly, loyal. They told you all about the cruel men who would sell you for money, how shame and ruin will only follow you beyond the clan's protection, and how staying within tradition is important to preserve your dignity.

"None of us would become anything without tradition," Your father lamented during supper, while your mother poured more tea into his cup, "Each of us have duties to be fulfilled with the roles given to us. You must do the same."

"But I do not know him, Father," you spoke up, voice steady as ever, causing several figures around you to stiffen, including your mother whose hand froze around the teapot handle. "How can I marry someone I do not know? I don't even know what he looks like. I've only heard from the whispers of others. "

Even with the suffocating pressure of tradition, you had always clung to your freedom. Long before you ever learned about the outside world, before you secretly discovered what life was like beyond the clan walls, you had already felt the longing of freedom in your heart. You wanted to live without fear and discover the world for yourself. You wanted to become more than what you were destined for.

And once you did learn and saw how different things could be for women outside of the clan's high walls, you couldn't erase it from your thoughts.

You began to question it. At first, your rebellion came in sharp bursts during your teenage years, which consisted of loud arguments, slammed doors, sleepless nights. But over time, you learned to wield your defiance more carefully. Quietly. Strategically.

You learned how to maintain your peace while still discovering pieces of yourself that they will never reach. You found freedom in stolen books, brief conversations with outsiders, and long moments spent in your gardens where no one could hear you think.

But no amount of rebellion could stop the letter that arrived from the Gojo clan.

And now, sitting at the table during supper, you could feel that old, familiar burn in your chest. The ache of a future chosen for you, wrapped in duty and a name far more powerful than your own.

Your mother's face slowly turned red with fury, lips tightening, ready to yell at you, "You ungrateful brat—"

"You will know him soon enough, flower," your father interjected gently but firmly, shooting a warning glare to your mother. She fell silent with a click of her tongue.

Your father turned back to you, eyes softening with understanding and sorrow. "And you will do your duty," he said, not as a command but rather as a reminder. "As I have. As your mother has. As every soul at this table has for generations, and many more to come."

There was no malice in your father's words. There never had been.

You were his only child. His only daughter.

Out of everyone in the clan, he had dreaded this day the most. He had postponed your marriage as long as he could, always making excuses to the elders that there wasn't a suitable match for you yet, allowing you to have more time with your freedom. He had ensured you had everything your heart desired growing up, whether it'd be bookshelves filled with books to private gardens for you to wander alone, away from the suffocating clan members.

He had given you everything he could and he was the one to raise you as you are now, but even he was bound. "I would keep you forever here if I could," your father had said quietly to you in private when the announcement was first made. "However, I am unable to postpone this. The Gojo clan had been asking for your hand for quite some time now."

And just like that, your heart broke into pieces.

The Gojo clan, the most powerful and ancient family within the Jujutsu Society, had proposed a marriage between you and their only heir, Gojo Satoru. A name that's known in every household as he was known to hold the most powerful gift ever known, appearing only once in a hundred of years.

The Strongest, the Chosen One and now, your soon-to-be husband.

That was why your clan paid no mind to expenses. The wedding preparations was meant to become a spectacle to guests to dazzle. They wanted the whole world to know that their bloodline would be bound to the most exclusive and the most powerful clan in all the Jujutsu Society. And one day, their bloodline would be the one to have heirs of the Six Eyes and Limitless.

They paraded you around like a crowned jewel. A daughter. A symbol. A transaction for power.

Your father tried his best to comfort you throughout the whole process and even told you of how kind and polite the young Gojo was, but you still felt dread crawling up your chest every time you were reminded of the wedding.

Eventually, your father arranged a formal supper, hosting an official meeting between the two clans. A chance for you and your betrothed to meet face to face.

The Gojo clan would be arriving that evening.

You had never seen him before. Not even a glimpse. But the rumors painted him vividly. The piercing, otherworldly blue eyes that marked him as the wielder of the Six Eyes. Eyes said to see through everything and everyone. Eyes that couldn’t be lied to. Eyes that made people tremble at the mere sight of them.

You didn't know him. Not really. And that made him unpredictable.

And in your perspective, unpredictability was dangerous.

It didn't help that during the rare times you were allowed to leave the estate—escorted by maids who watches you closely—you still managed to hear the whispers and gossips from others. And when you snuck out on your own, hidden beneath a dark cloak as you always are, the whispers grew louder.

Some said he was mad. That he laughed too easily, smiled too widely. That he was far too powerful to be stable. Others whispered that he was dangerous—that behind that charming mask was a storm waiting to unravel. Some pitied you.

"Poor girl," they said. "She’ll be the one to face his gift when he loses control."

You couldn’t help but wonder who was right or perhaps, if all of them were and it depends on who he was with.

And still, you would have to sit beside him. Smile. Bow. Be the bride everyone expected you to be. Even if your hands trembled beneath the silk sleeves of your gown from fear and anxiety.

In the middle of the dining room, the air was thick with tension as servants rushed back and forth, arms full of trays and porcelain. Your aunts barked orders, your uncles corrected the seating arrangements for the fifth time, and your mother hovered over the flower arrangements like the wrong color petal might ruin the whole evening. You breath caught in your throat again. It had been happening all day. It was like a ticking time bomb and the explosion was getting closer with each breath you took.

And yet, no matter how many times they spoke of your betrothed, he remained nothing more than a blur in your mind. Unpredictable. Possibly destructive.

So, you did what you always did when the walls began to close in. You ran.

You slipped past your family members, past the servants busy with arrangements, past the elder who tried to stop you with a half-hearted call of your name. Your slippers barely made a sound on the wooden floors. You knew every corner, spending your whole life memorizing it to escape from everyone without getting noticed. You pushed a hidden door open to your garden.

The only place that ever felt like yours.

The only place you could freely be yourself with no eyes around.

No one was allowed here. Not the elders. Not the servants. Not even your mother dared to enter without invitation, which she can never get. Your father had made sure of that. It was your sanctuary and on days like this, it was the only thing that kept you breathing.

"It's just a stupid man," you tried to assure yourself, breathing deeply. You should consider yourself fortunate for not having Naoya Zenin as your betrothed. He was close to becoming your betrothed but your father refused to after sensing something terrible within the Zenin, which caused your mother to frequently complain to her sisters about since besides the Gojo clan, the Zenin clan is quite powerful as well. However, you heard that he was terrible behind doors towards his own staff and that your father had indeed saved you from a cruel destiny with him.

Perhaps Gojo Satoru isn't as bad as they say? You heard that he was a teacher as well to a school in Tokyo and becoming a teacher certainly teaches one patience and understanding.

Your whole body became alert when you felt someone open the door.

"Didn't think you'd be the type to bolt," came a voice from the doorway.

You froze.

The voice was low and teasing but calm as if he'd been waiting.

Your head snapped toward the sound, eyes locking onto a tall figure. His white hair caught the silver of the moonlight, and a pair of dark-tinted glasses covered his eyes. He didn’t look dressed for a formal dinner, though he wore the same colors as your clan's celebration garb, only looser, more relaxed, as if tradition didn't sit tightly on his skin the way it did on yours.

Gojo Satoru.

You didn’t need to ask.

You just knew.

"I had a feeling you might be here. Your garden looks lovely," he remarked with a smile, stepping casually onto the stone path but he made sure to keep a distance between you to keep you comfortable. "Though I have to admit, I expected you to climb the back wall and disappear completely. Not take a detour through your rose bushes."

You stared at him in disbelief, both at how relaxed he was and how annoying he was. "How do you know this is my garden?"

He tapped his ear. "I listen. Your maids gossip a lot."

You narrowed your eyes. "And how did you get here if you only listened? Did you follow me here?"

"I wandered," he said with an exaggerated shrug. "And stumbled into your sanctuary entirely by accident."

He looked at you. "Lucky me. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have seen such beauty."

You weren't sure if he meant the garden or you.

Silence stretched between the two of you.

He didn’t look dangerous. He didn’t look insane. If anything, he looked as if he was trying to figure out what to do or even say to you in the situation you are in. You two are meant to be married soon after all. His posture was relaxed, his voice soft and unassuming. The famous Gojo Satoru, who wielded the Six Eyes and Limitless, who could obliterate entire clans with a flick of his hand, stood there looking more like a polite yet awkward houseguest than the strongest sorcerer alive.

And then, just as your heart started to calm, he reached into his sleeve and pulled something out. Your eyes widened in surprise at the sugar bun he brought out, neatly wrapped in a pale paper.

He held it out to you, completely deadpan. "Peace offering."

Your brows furrowed. "…For what?"

He shrugged one shoulder, a lazy motion that somehow still managed to carry elegance. "For crashing your very exclusive garden party. And, you know, the whole arranged marriage thing."

You blinked, taken aback by the casualness in his tone.

He tilted his head and added, "I’m aware I don't exactly have a peaceful reputation, but I heard you liked sweets and I thought you would find flowers boring."

You stared at the sugar bun. Then back at him. Then back at the sugar bun. You did like sugar buns and you did favor snacks over flowers any day, but how could he have known that?

"…You’ve been spying on me?"

"Research," he said, one hand dramatically placed on his chest. "Basic recon. You’d be amazed what I can find out from your maids in just a few minutes."

"But even so, how did you manage to get the sugar bun on time? Your family couldn't have been here for that long," you pointed out, suspicion creeping into your voice.

Gojo grinned, the kind of grin that belonged to someone far too pleased with himself.

"Teleportation," he said simply, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked. "Teleportation," you repeated in disbelief.

"Yep. Technically, it’s a manipulation of space, but that’s boring talk." He gave the sugar bun a slight wave in front of your face. "What matters is that one moment I’m sweet-talking your maids, next moment I’m popping into my favorite bakery with the most delicious sugar bun that I know of in Tokyo, and then boom, I’m back here with the gift in hand."

"I didn’t want to show up empty-handed," he said with a casual shrug. "First impressions matter, and I didn’t think you'd be impressed by the usual fancy clan offerings. The elders suggested gold, pearls, cursed weapons-- they're all quite a bore."

You almost smiled.

The absurdity of it. The sincerity behind that sugar bun.

"And besides," he added, stepping a little closer and holding out the sugar bun again, "I wanted to give you something you would actually like and enjoy."

That made you pause.

It was true that you expected gifts from him not because you wanted it but rather that it was obligatory for the bride and groom to gift something in their first meeting. It had always been mandatory.

But this? A sugar bun from Tokyo, delivered through a manipulation of time and space, because he thought you would like it?

You took it from his hand, your fingers brushing his for the briefest second.

"Thank you," you murmured with a sincere smile.

He smiled so gently that it made you wondered for a moment--just for a moment--why you had been so guarded before.

"Anytime," he said.

—

"Where have you been?" Your mother whispered harshly the moment you stepped into the living room where the two families waited. Her eyes scanned you from head to toe with thinly hidden irritation.

You had told Gojo not to follow you, knowing very well that his presence beside you would raise several eyebrows, especially with the more traditional members like the elders at present. He understood though. He always seemed to understand, even when you didn't mind his company. It was something that needed to be done.

Before you could explain yourself, her eyes dropped to the sugar bun still in your hand. Her face turned furious and without missing a beat, she snatched the bun from your hand and shoved it to a nearby servant who got startled by the sudden presence of the snack in her hand.

"You are already spoiled enough," she hissed under her breath, as though your existence was a stain on a fine porcelain, disgust evident in her eyes. "But hiding away from your own engagement to eat sweets? Have you no shame?"

She aggressively smoothed out the front of your attire.

"Look at the mess you’ve made of yourself," she muttered, deeply annoyed. "If anyone knows better, they would have thought you passed through a storm to get here."

Aunts materialized around you like a daily routine, fixing your hair and adjusting stray threads from your attire with careful fingers and disapproving silence. They were less vocal about it, thinking that your mother's constant criticism would be enough for you to learn a lesson. You barely had the time to breathe through your mother's little makeover before you were presented—more like, pushed—to the heads of the Gojo clan.

Gojo Naoyuki and Gojo Sayaka.

Your future-in-laws.

Maintaining a steady posture, you bowed to them with grace as a formal greeting that was ingrained since childhood and one that. You had wondered what they might be like because unlike Satoru, there were barely any conversations surrounding them. One might even thought Satoru didn't any at all, given how rarely they were mentioned. Gojo Naoyuki held a great resemblance to his son—sharp jawline, striking white hair, the same proud nose—but he had none of Satoru's charms or even the twinkle in Satoru's eyes. Instead, his gaze was heavy and rather restricted, a large contrast with Satoru's own personality.

In some ways, he reminded you of your father—bounded by tradition, but he seemed to have experienced it far greater than your father had, tradition carved deeper into the lines of his every expression.

Gojo Sayaka, by contrast, was as beautiful as the whispers did claim, ever so graceful and composed, features refined like porcelain. There was an effortless elegance to her, the kind not taught but inherited. And yet, she had said very little since the moment you entered. Her silence was not absent though, it was calculation. Her poised eyes had followed your every movement the moment you stepped into the room, unlike her husband, whose focus had remained locked in conversation with your father.

Her gaze wasn't cruel, nor was it warm. It was observant. Formal. Dutiful. The way a queen might pay attention to her court; nothing personal and only done with a purpose.

While Satoru’s presence made you feel seen, Sayaka’s made you feel studied, like a judge almost.

However, you were used to judging eyes as well. You had been your whole life with the way the women in your clan, especially your mother, have berated you all these years and insulted you as well for every little thing you do. Yet, here you are, having to marry a family that's far better than the one your mother had married into. If it wasn't an arranged marriage, you would have been prideful of it sooner but after knowing your future husband, you were more at peace and only made your formalities. At the very least you will make sure to not tarnish the Gojo name.

Your father stepped forward first, bowing with practiced grace. “Gojo-dono. It is our honor to welcome you into our home.”

Naoyuki inclined his head. “The honor is mutual.” His voice was deep and calm, but carried the weight of a man who measured every word. “We have long observed your clan’s reputation for discipline. We are pleased to see it was not exaggerated.”

Your father offered a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We strive to uphold what was passed down.”

Naoyuki gave a single approving nod before his eyes shifted toward you. They swept over you—not in scrutiny, not even judgment—but in the way one might inspect a weapon, a seal, an heirloom. “You carry yourself well," he remarked smoothly but lacked in warmth. "As expected of your clan. Daughters are often the reflection of a clan's discipline."

You bowed again. “Thank you, Gojo-dono.”

“It is not praise," he said evenly, “It is the standard.”

Silence hung for a moment too long and your aunts braced themselves for the bite that you usually do, but instead you just smiled politely. "Of course, I was raised well by my family and I will continue to honour the Gojo family with everything I was taught."

The room remained still for a heartbeat longer. Your mother’s eyes twitched ever so slightly, unsure whether to feel pride or suspicion. Your aunts exchanged brief glances, perhaps uncertain if your response was a surrender or a warning wrapped around in silk.

Naoyuki studied you, and while his expression didn’t change, there was a shift in the air, the slightest pause before he nodded once. Accepting. For now.

"Very well." He said. "You'll come to understand that more intimately once you take your place in the Gojo clan."

Murmurs of agreement followed afterwards, mostly from your aunts and other members of the Gojo clan. As for Sayaka, she only blinked slowly. A small tilt of her head. Nothing more, but you could see that it was a sign of approval from her.

You dipped your head politely, not submitting, but choosing not to engage with the provocation. You’d been raised to survive this kind of game. But from the corner of your eye, you saw Satoru relax slightly at your composure, his shoulders loosening as if to say, You did well.

Naoyuki gave a small nod of approval. Not of warmth—that was never his style—but of recognition. You had not faltered.

But you knew this wouldn’t be the last time you'd be expected to endure someone else’s standards. You watched as your father continued to converse with Naoyuki, but you could still feel a gentle gaze on you.

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citrustan · 2 days ago

Note

Hey, Citrus!! I miss seeing your stories and posts on the tl! Do you have a "love-daze" update for us? 🤤

hi!!! thank youuu wee i thought you'd never ask wink wink. this is a follow up to love-daze (myg) so please read that first!!

love-daze (myg) #2

title: only when no one's looking

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: unrequited love (but is it....?) n friends to lovers but yoongi's a tad uneasy because well yk

warnings: you and yoongi run into a little problem. a little heavier on the angst this time! non linear storytelling, lmk if you find it confusing because this was written in a haste.

"I have a problem," you say, mostly to yourself.

Nini just happens to be in the room. She looks at you intently, waiting for an explanation.

You debate whether or not this problem is even worth discussing. On one hand, you already have the solution but won't exercise it, but on the other, whining about it will certainly make you feel a lot better. But do you deserve that relief?

“It’s kind of complicated,” you murmur, more to buy time than anything.

You're now dating dating Yoongi. Technically. Emotionally. Exclusively. But only in private. Because Yoongi refuses to be open about it as to lessen his ex's pain. (But, in turn, he's risking yours.)

It's not like you're dying to be out and about, paraded around as his girlfriend, but when he goes out of his way to protect his ex's feelings, it stings.

"Yoongi won't date me openly," you blurt, "-because his ex is in the same friend circle, and I'm kind of over it." It comes out more blunt than you intended.

You don't know how she'll handle this. You could have worded that better though.

She sinks into the couch, next to you, giving you her undivided attention. She squints for second, trying to remember where she saw Yoongi.

Jennie (or Nini) moved in only two weeks ago, so she has limited knowledge of your life.

Yeah, yeah, point and laugh. You're a grown woman with a roommate. It's a tough economy. Teaching doesn't pay your bills anymore. You had to find a side gig, and this is it. Renting.

Pride took a back seat somewhere around your third bounced paycheck.

"Yoongi's your boyfriend?" She looked surprised, finally connecting the name to the face.

"I mean, kind of. We've never really discussed it in that many words." You pause. "We're only dating each other right now, isn't that all that counts?"

"Yeah, more or less, yes." Nini nods along before adding, "But I still don't see the issue. If you're secure, why does it matter whether or not you're openly secure? I mean, if I were in your shoes, I'd be lowkey too."

TLDR: I'd keep my head down if I were you.

That irritates you more than you'd like to admit.

"No, but you don't know..." You trail off, sighing. You hope this doesn't turn into an argument. "I know it sounds bad right now, but this has been a long time coming." You sounded like you were convincing yourself.

"Yoongi and I were friends first. I've always liked him. She knew it too. Everyone did."

Nini's eyes widen, "Oh! Sure, that makes sense. I mean making the moves on your friend's ex is a little..." She smiles awkwardly, "I mean, I'm not judging."

You felt the need to defend your choices, "I didn't make moves on him. Yoongi came to me. And Sera isn't really a friend, she never was. We were friendly but that's it. We've never been anything more than convenient company to each other."

You feel crazy trying to explain yourself to an almost-stranger.

Jennie shook her head in reassurance, "I get it! I'm not attacking you, I'm just... You know, sharing my perspective."

You throw a beady-eyed glance at her, trying to figure out if she hates you yet. Because that was the reaction you had gotten from most of your friends. Her friends.

They couldn't stop talking about it when they saw you kissing Yoongi at some deli.

Once, someone spotted you at a dinner date and actually went as far as to take pictures of you.

Obviously, they circulated back to the two of you.

Yoongi wasn't pleased.

Another time, you and Yoongi ran into Sera and her best friend at a Claire's.

That was the last place you expected Sera to be at.

You had only wanted to find a cheap belly button ring.

How was that the first time you came into contact after the break-up? At a Claire's?

You should've accepted Yoongi's offer to buy you a custom made ring. But he wanted to take you to Swarovski. And you thought they were a scam. You could get the same quality of stuff for way lesser at other places.

You tried to pretend to not have seen them but then she greeted you while her friend glared at you.

Which obviously made you look insanely rude.

But hello? Wasn't it an unwritten rule for the ex to not acknowledge the new girl? Or were you just childish?

You awkwardly force a smile.

The four of you just stood there. In the middle of a Claire's. All staring at each other waiting for someone to make a move.

Was Sera actually that nice and unbothered? You don't know. But, her sidekick sure wasn't.

And exactly at that moment, Sera decided it was too difficult for her to deal coming face-to-face with her ex and his new flame and excuses herself, dramatically (intentionally or not, it was dramatic) turning away and storming off.

But the cherry on top was Yoongi's reaction.

Instead of calming you down, he went after Sera! And she didn't even look half as frazzled as you did!

Yoongi's legs automatically moved to chase after her.

And, you get it. Fair enough.

Because love doesn't just go poof and disappear. And with Yoongi and Sera--- whatever anyone thinks about them now--- had once been in love. For a long while at that.

It must've been insanely difficult and hellish for them to have to move on from something like this.

So, you really don't blame him for running after her.

Connections don't always break cleanly.

It's just... You wish you didn't feel like collateral damage here.

Like do you think you'd do the same if she was your ex? Yes, probably.

Was it embarrassing for you? Also, yes.

Still, you wished Yoongi had asked your permission or at least glanced at you, just once, to make sure YOU were okay.

But you were left alone with Sera's friend.

She shot you the nastiest stink-eye the entire time Yoongi and Sera chatted on the side.

It was nearly barbaric. It was as if she was trying to overpower you in some way.

Shivers.

That look made you want to hide behind your hands or something. It sucked.

Everyone gave you the look. The 'oh, she swooped in like a vulture' look, that 'there goes the homewrecker' look.

You awkward shifted your weight from one foot to another.

These heels were killing your soles. Yoongi told you to wear walking shoes but you were confident you wouldn't need them.

You looked everywhere but at her. And you still felt her eyes burning holes into your head. Like she was trying to decipher your thoughts.

When Yoongi and Sera rejoined you, they were closer in proximity.

You don't think too much of it. You're just glad your boyfriend's back.

Yoongi instantly wraps his large hand around yours, gently stroking it with his thumb. You look up at him with a small smile.

"Um... _____, I'll see you around more I hope?" Sera's voice broke your little moment.

What the hell had they talked about?

Pleasantly surprised, you just nod slightly. You'd like that actually.

"That would be... Good." You agree. A bit more genuinely this time.

Sera's friend also toned it down after getting a little elbow from Sera.

The two women then bid goodbye, leaving you and Yoongi alone again.

You look at Yoongi who's already gazing down at you, "Still wanna look through the Claire's catalogue?"

No, you think. You're actually done with Claire's now.

As if he read your mind, he pulled you in closer and you let him guide you whenever. Preferably to the nearest Swarovski.

Whatever the hell happened there with Sera, you're grateful for.

He took really good care of you later that evening.

But from that day onwards, you noticed he had pulled back from you significantly, all under the guise of being overworked.

You're a teacher. You get it. Overworking, that too without pay, is, like, part of your job description. Yet, you make time for Yoongi.

But all he ever wanted lately was to hang out at his place. He'd come over only when Jennie wasn't home.

He made you feel like you had to hide your relationship. As if you were doing something shameful.

Nini shifts next to you on the couch. She's still quiet, probably turning it all over in her head.

You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve.

"Do you still want to be with him?" She finally asks, soft but cautiously.

The question catches you off guard. It’s not an accusation. It’s not even advice. It’s just… a question.

Wasn't it already apparent that you did?

Of course, you want to be with Yoongi. It's all you've wanted for months. Nothing has changed about that.

With a voice barely above a whisper, you frown, "I really do."

Jennie doesn’t say anything at first. She just nods like she's trying to convince herself.

"You don’t have to figure it all out right now," she says, "But you shouldn’t have to shrink to be with someone."

You raise your chin a little. Hm. True.

Feeling satisfied by your reaction, Jennie grins and pats your head, "I'm gonna go now. Won't be back until tomorrow... After breakfast?" She looks to you for an answer.

"Um... No, yeah ok." You don't know if Yoongi would stay over after the conversation you were gonna have with him. "Actually, whenever is fine. I dunno."

Jennie raises an eyebrow at your waffling, but doesn’t press. She just stands, stretches, and gathers her things into her canvas tote. You hadn't even noticed her stuff around.

"Okay then. I’ll assume brunch. Or post-brunch," she says with a wink, already halfway to the door. "Text me if you need anything. Or if you want me to fake an emergency call and drag you out mid-convo."

You nod with a little smirk.

She lingers a second longer at the threshold, like she’s debating whether to say more.

"Just… don’t let him confuse you into thinking this is what love’s supposed to look like, okay?"

She looks at you pointedly, waiting for a response.

"I won’t."

She smiles. Then she’s gone.

You check your phone. Five unread messages from Yoongi, all within the last thirty minutes.

[5] unread messages.

yoonie bby: Thinking about you. Can't focus.

yoonie bby: Wanna be inside you already. Miss your mouth.

yoonie bby: Also your pretty laugh.

yoonie bby: Should I cook or bring food?

yoonie bby: Your favourite cheesecake secured BTW. Can't wait to hold my sweet girl tonight.

You stare at the screen for a moment. Your stomach flips, as always. He’s so filthy and considerate in the same breath. He's so Yoongi.

You lock your phone and let your head fall back against the couch cushion, reminding yourself that you were still upset at this situation.

note: okayyy sooo i decided to drop this as an apology for my lack of posting in the recent months soooo do tell me what you think of this :) thanks for reading!

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hancorys · 1 day ago

Text

k.wh — small girl fantasy, pt.2

genre: FLUFF, pookie bear lovers, pairing: crush!woonhak x afab!reader wc: 690 warning: might be too sweet!! lmk if i forgot any !! you asked for it and i delivered (jk) listen: so let's go see the stars — boynextdoor

the summer heat settled over the small convenience store, the air thick with the familiar scent of instant ramen and cold soda. the hum of the refrigerator filled the silence, broken only by the occasional rustling of snack bags as you carefully restocked the shelves—by color, just the way woonhak used to.

it had become a habit now, one of the small ways you kept him close despite the miles stretching between you.

your phone, propped up on the counter, lit up with a message.

woonhak: just got out of class. my professor hates me i swear

you smiled, wiping your hands on your apron before typing back.

you: it’s because you talk too much

almost immediately, your phone buzzed again.

woonhak: wow. so mean. do you want me to suffer??woonhak: actually, don’t answer that.

you laughed, shaking your head. this was your routine now—him texting you the second he was free, sending you blurry selfies of him looking exhausted, random pictures of his university, or even just ranting about how unfair life was. and in return, you’d do the same—long messages about customers who annoyed you, the exact number of items you restocked that day, or how the store’s cat had finally let you pet it.

no one had ever said the words out loud, but it was there. in the way he made sure to call you before bed, even when he was exhausted. in the way you caught yourself waiting for his messages. in the way you both existed in each other’s worlds despite the distance.

today was the first day of summer.

you sighed, stretching your arms before grabbing a rag to wipe down the tables. just as you reached the last one, the glass door chimed—a sound you’d heard a thousand times before.

“welcome in,” you called out automatically, too focused on scrubbing away a stubborn stain to look up.

then, a familiar voice.

“you missed a spot.”

you froze.

your heart stuttered in your chest, your grip tightening around the rag. for a moment, you thought you had imagined it. that maybe, just maybe, the distance was finally making you hear things.

but then you turned.

and there he was.

woonhak. standing in the doorway, grinning like an idiot, his arms spread wide like he was waiting for you to launch yourself at him.

and you did.

the rag dropped to the floor as you ran straight into him, arms wrapping around his waist, burying your face into his shoulder. he smelled familiar—like laundry detergent and the faintest trace of his cologne, like home.

woonhak laughed, the sound vibrating against your cheek as he hugged you even tighter, lifting you slightly off the ground.

“missed me?” he teased, voice warm.

you hit his shoulder lightly, but didn’t let go. “obviously, you idiot.”

he chuckled, rocking you slightly. “good. because i was starting to think you replaced me with the store cat.”

“the cat hates me.”

“fair. but you still like me, right?”

you pulled back just enough to look at him, and the way he was smiling at you made your heart ache in the best way.

you rolled your eyes. “unfortunately.”

woonhak laughed again, his forehead bumping against yours. “guess i’ll have to make it up to you then.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” he grinned, eyes twinkling. “so, let’s go see the stars.”

you blinked. “what?”

“come on.” he grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward the door. “close up early. let’s go somewhere.”

“woonhak, i can’t just leave—”

“sure you can.” he shot you a look, mischievous and familiar. “you’ve been working too much. i’m back, it’s summer, and i’m kidnapping you for the night. no arguments.”

you stared at him, the warmth of his hand wrapped around yours, the way he looked at you like he had been waiting for this moment just as much as you had.

and then you smiled.

the laughter between you faded into something quieter, something softer. the weight of the moment settled in the air between you—unspoken, but undeniably there.

woonhak was still holding your wrist, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin. a touch so light, so fleeting, yet it sent warmth curling through your chest.

“let’s go,” he said again, gentler this time.

you hesitated, glancing toward the counter, the shelves, the quiet hum of the store that had become your second home. “but—”

“no buts.” he took a step closer, tilting his head slightly. “when was the last time you did something just because it made you happy?”

the question caught you off guard.

because the truth was, you couldn’t remember.

you sighed, half-exasperated, half-amused. “you’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

woonhak smirked. “nope.”

you rolled your eyes, but there was no real fight left in you. because the truth was, you wanted to go. you wanted to steal this night, to press pause on reality just for a little while.

“fine,” you mumbled, reaching behind the counter to grab your bag. “but if i get fired—”

“i’ll hire you at my dad’s store.”

you gave him a deadpan look. “woonhak, i already work at your dad’s store.”

he laughed, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the door. “then i’ll pay you in snacks.”

the two of you stepped out into the warm night air, the world stretching wide before you. woonhak’s car was parked just outside, and he opened the passenger door for you with a teasing bow. “your chariot awaits.”

you snorted, shoving him lightly before sliding in. he ran around to the driver’s side, and as soon as he started the car, the soft hum of music filled the space.

the city lights blurred past as he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly against his thigh. you watched him out of the corner of your eye—the way his hair fell slightly over his forehead, the way his lips curled at the edges whenever he focused.

“where are we even going?” you asked eventually.

woonhak grinned, eyes still on the road. “you’ll see.”

the drive stretched on, the city giving way to quieter roads, open fields, the sky stretching endlessly above. the stars were beginning to appear, scattered like freckles against the darkening blue.

after what felt like forever, woonhak pulled over onto a small hill, the kind of place you only knew about if you spent your childhood sneaking out at night. he turned off the engine, the sudden quiet wrapping around you like a blanket.

“come on,” he said, already climbing out.

you followed, stepping onto the cool grass, the scent of summer thick in the air.

woonhak flopped onto the ground, patting the space beside him. “best seats in the house.”

you huffed but sat down anyway, stretching your legs out in front of you.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. the sky above was endless, the stars flickering like tiny promises.

“i used to come here all the time,” woonhak said suddenly. “whenever things felt too big. too much.”

you turned to look at him. his gaze was fixed on the sky, something wistful in his expression.

“and now?” you asked.

he finally met your eyes, something unreadable flickering in his own. “now i think i’d rather be here with you.”

your breath caught.

the words were simple, unembellished, but they settled deep in your chest.

you swallowed, trying to ignore the way your heart was practically throwing itself against your ribs. “you’re so dramatic.”

woonhak laughed, nudging your shoulder. “maybe. but i mean it.”

silence stretched between you again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. it was warm, comforting.

then, he reached over, pinky brushing against yours. not quite holding your hand, but close enough to set your skin on fire.

you could have moved. could have pulled away, could have closed the space completely.

but you didn’t.

instead, you let your fingers curl just slightly, just enough for them to hook together.

and woonhak smiled.

and under the stars, with the summer air wrapping around you, you realized something—

this wasn’t just a fleeting moment.

this was something real. something yours. something you had been waiting for all along.

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jackdaw-sprite · 22 hours ago

Text

Thank you for your perspective! And yeah, that's one of the things I'm not sure anyone's mentioned yet -- tags are for personal organization as well as for discoverability.

Something I've been confronted by again and again over the years, in fandom and out, is that people will use a system they're presented with in the way that's easiest and least annoying for them.

You can explain how a system should be used until you're blue in the face, but unless they themselves find the system easier and more intuitive to use in the way you want, you're never going to get them to stick with it:

People are people, first and foremost.

Everyone here reading this has a life, worries, things they want to do off of tumblr. They don't want to think about what tags to include or not when they're just trying to share what they made, and go about their day. Talk with friends, have dinner. Trying to get people to remember a specific rule about not using a tag when it makes intuitive sense to them that they should? When they just want to move on with their day, because tags are the least exciting part of posting things on Tumblr Dot Com?

I don't think we can expect people to take that time, especially when the people still doing it don't see any downside.

The reason I'm suggesting adding -- that's right, adding this tag, not replacing the old tag, is because it's intuitive, and it's simple. It works with human nature instead of against it.

The people who benefit most from it are also the people who will need to go to the effort -- typing dponly into the tags after danny phantom -- and in return, we'll get a space with no crossovers.

I can't argue anyone out of being angry. After years of this argument, I think most of us are. But I think this will give everyone breathing room.

This would be used in addition to the danny phantom tag, turning it into a true umbrella tag for everything related to Danny Phantom, while having a few major sub-tags for people to find exactly what they want.

---

After some more discussion with members of the fandom in the notes of my poll asking about a community and elsewhere, it seems like the better option for everyone might actually be a new tag, so I'm making a new poll here!

Some answers to questions I think people might have are below the readmore:

Q: Why are all of these only one word?

A: For the same reason the dpxdc tag is only one word! Tumblr's tagging implementation is Not Good. Tags with spaces don't play well with it, and especially don't play well with blocked tags. If someone wants to block non-crossover Danny Phantom content, we want to make it as painless as possible for them.

Q: What issues were raised around communities?

A: A few! To name some of them:

Limited interactions with posts: Communities only let you react with emoji and leave comments on posts reblogged into them. Not great, if we want to have long reblog chains riffing on one another

Original Posters aren't notified if someone else reblogs their post into a community, even if it's public. So if someone reblogged your post into the community for you, you wouldn't know about it -- or know to look for people interacting with it.

Communities have mods, and therefore would need trustworthy, engaged mods to make it work. Over a short time frame, we could probably manage it! But over a longer one, a community for an entire fandom would probably have moderator drama. That could lead to fracturing, or people leaving specifically because they don't like the mods, etc. A tag is a lot less active maintenance.

A few people also expressed a general dislike for the feature, even if they were willing to move to one. This seems like a much smaller change that will let those people stay away from a feature they don't like, while interacting with the content they do.

Q: What about less-common crossovers? Won't those get excluded from this tag?

A: They will. I'm asking about this poll first because I figured getting the community to make a decision about the other crossovers would be easier if we'd already decided on the non-crossovers.

The current idea is to move those to their own tag as well, so they can get dedicated attention from the crossover enthusiasts who love them. One of the people I talked to about this runs the niche-dp-crossovers blog, so it's on the radar. If you have concerns or suggestions about that, the notes on this post is as good a place as any to suggest them!

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kuidore · 18 hours ago

Text

MiRomAbby HCs 3 ✧ KPOP Demon Hunters ✧ Mira x Romance x Abby

✧ Mira doesn’t use real pet names, she calls them ‘Rom’ and ‘Abs’, because she thinks their ‘names’ are actually kinda cute. She also calls them dude. and a lot of swear words and colourful insults

✧ Romance uses pet names when they’re in public, and only calls them by their names when all together or he’s alone with one of them.

✧ His favourite one for Abby is ‘darling’, occasionally said in a really bad accent t that is supposed to be southern USA but does not sound like it

✧ He constantly switches the name he uses for Mira because he likes to see her roll her eyes as he progressively introduces more ridiculous ones

✧ he does pay attention to if she blushed or smiled though, and his deductions told him Mira’s favourite one to be called was ‘My love’

✧ He decides that is gonna go in the same category as names when he says it in public and immediately feels his toes being crushed

✧ Mira’s first reaction to embarrassment is often just mild violence

✧ Romance and Abby have gotten really good at dodging medium-sized projectiles

✧ Abby always uses their first names, sometimes he’ll use the basic ones pet names like baby or sweetie, but more often than not it’s just names

✧ when they first move in together, Mira gets stuck doing almost all the chores. She makes it two days before she starts just asking them if they can do the dishes or take out the trash

✧ by the end of the week Abby and Romance are still not doing it on their own and she’s getting to the end of her rope

✧ She tries to just stop doing them. But between them being men and demons, the mess doesn’t even bother them

✧ It absolutely was bothering her though

✧ When she literally watches Abby finish a drink and then just toss the cup in the sink without even rinsing it, she snaps at him. She yells for Romance to get his ass in the kitchen too so she can bitch them out at the same time

✧ It’s like a pair of dogs getting scolded, hunching down and looking up at her so as not to make direct eye contact and further provoke her aggression

✧ She crosses her arms and demands to know why she was being forced to essentially work as a maid in her own house. She even rhetorically asks if it’s just because she’s the chick, half expecting one of them to be stupid enough to answer with a yeah

✧ neither of them do. Neither of them answer at all, they only have to think about it for a second to realize she’s right; they don’t even really have an excuse for themselves, but they feel really bad about it (rightfully so)

✧ for once they don’t argue with her, they don’t try to push her buttons. they apologize and they spend the rest of the night cleaning the apartment on their own while Mira shuts herself in their room and goes to bed

✧ Abby and Romance take an extra long time cleaning, ralking about how they were gonna do things from now on

✧ they were gonna make sure Mira knew they weren’t pigs expecting her to tidy up after them like a mother, but partners wholly capable of doing all the responsible, adult human things they needed to

✧ They debate sleeping on the couches but decide against it. If Mira hadn’t wanted them to come to bed with her she probably would’ve made it clear as she was storming off.

✧ They were also kinda worried she was going to legitimately hate them about it

✧ She’s still got the lamp on, as if she had been at least trying to stay up waiting. She had been, but she wasn’t gonna admit it

✧ ‘it’ being that even after an argument, she slept better if she saw their faces before she did. Not a chance in hell she was telling them that, especially not tonight

✧ She was halfway asleep in the middle of the bed, just barely raising herself up when she heard the door open.

✧ She doesn’t even say anything, just waves them over and flops back against the pillows

✧ They climb right in on either side of her, Romance facing her and Abby with his chest pressed against her back

✧ Romance loses face privileges when he leans in and mumbles something about her waiting for them, earning a flick to the forehead and then Mira rolling over

✧ He pouts about it, resting his chin on her shoulder preparing to say something a little bit whiney, but Mira is already out like a light. He and Abby share a look and snickered.

✧ Romance likes facing Mira when he sleeps so he can hide himself in her neck and fall asleep engulfed by the scent of her hair.

✧ Abby prefers big spoon because he likes clinging to Mira’s back despite being easily double her size.

✧ His limbs were long enough that he could wrap them around the both of them, an arm settled across their waists and his leg hooked around theirs

✧ the next morning Abby wakes up early to make Mira breakfast and apologizes again

✧ Romance is still knocked out but basically the moment he was up, he adds his two cents into the ‘i’m sorry’ bank

✧ With a night of sleep, a full belly, and warm bodies on either side of her, Mira was a bit less angry. Only a bit.

✧ she was willing give them the *tiny* leeway that the demon realm didn’t exactly have chores

✧ She makes it clear if it ever happens again, she’s smashing all of their dishes and dumping them for real

✧ Mira is actually kind of impressed when she sees the apartment. They did in fact clean it, and they did a good job too.

✧ She has to literally bite her tongue to stop herself from making a smartass remark about how easy it must’ve been, but she does stop herself

✧ It never happens again because they never let her touch a dish or a cleaning instrument again. It’s their own little form of penance, a way to remind Mira that she wasn’t some housewife or maid or pretty trophy waiting at home with no life of her own, who always had time to be responsible for them.

✧ Every time she tried to clean something, one of them was behind her snatching the supplies out of her hand, kissing her on the cheek, and telling her to go sit down and relax

✧ She has to fight off the urge to be smug every time. She hates chores too, so it’s a double win. Mira has absolutely no issue with it, but it’s fun to pretend she does.

✧ At this point, she has no intention of even doing the cleaning when she picks up the supplies. But sometimes if she was bored, or they were off and busy doing their own thing somewhere in the house and she didn’t wanna go looking for attention, she’ll open the cupboard just to time how long it took for one of them to come speedwalking towards her

✧ Romance knows exactly what she’s doing, and usually puts the cleaning supplies away and drags her to cuddle with him.

✧ Mira grumbles and complains, pretending as if that wasn’t the entire thing she wanted

✧ Abby hasn’t figured it out yet, he still actually goes and cleans whatever Mira had pulled out the supplies for

✧ She’s not gonna be the one to tell him. She thinks it’s cute, and she definitely likes watching him do what she tells him even if it’s something as timy and stupid as washing the floor by the front door

✧ It’s a little bit of awakening, the type she’d been periodically catching sight of and purposefully ignoring because. hello, that’s so much energy.

✧ But from then on Mira starts asking they do more things for her. From going to pick up takeout to grabbing the remote that was literally five feet across the room from where she sat on the couch

✧ They did it all happily. they have a bit of a moment where they get giddy about how she never used to ask them to do anything for her and now they got to

✧ Behind her smug satisfaction, her heart races when she really thinks about how fast they jump up to answer even her smallest requests.

✧ They’d always done it when she really thought back, but Mira had just never really asked them often enough to notice the pattern

✧ Mira very quickly gets comfortable with asking for help, specifically from them.

✧ She’d still bite the curb before asking a stranger, though.

✧ She has one other nickname, for them as a duo, that she refused to use in front of them; ‘My boys’. she doesn’t wanna inflate their egos or deal with the teasing, so she exclusively uses it with Rumi and Zoey.

✧ Abby and Romance aren’t thrown off in the least by her tsundere shit, they know full well how much she likes them, and they really like finding ways to make her admit it to their faces.

✧ Mira still wasn’t sure if she loved or hated it

✧ One day they come back home from an errand run while she’s on the phone with Rumi and she doesn’t even notice them

✧ as soon as they hear her refer to them by that stupid name, the bastards started grinning at each other like they’d won the lottery

✧ She almost jumps out of her skin when they shut the door. She’s slowly turning around and really hoping they’d *just* stepped through the door.

✧ Mira sees their smug faces and she knows she’s done for

✧ She barely gets the chance to hang up on Rumi and take one step in her attempts to run away, before a pair of muscular arms are wrapping around her waist and halting her escape

✧ Mira can’t even stop herself from letting out a noise of surprise, half-assedly kicking her feet as she’s suddenly off solid ground and lifted over Abby’s right shoulder.

✧ She’s trying really hard not to laugh or smile, but she can feel her lips betraying her as she reached a long arm down and smacked Abby’s ass

✧ She was technically trying to get him to let her down, but if she was gonna be pointlessly hitting him anywhere… Two birds one stone!

✧ Romance laughs, and Abby does it right back to her.

✧ She could feel her face going bright red, stifling a laugh with her hand as she elbowed Abby in the general back area, she was’t aiming for much besides the ribcage. Mira hadn’t really thought the ass slap through enough either.

✧ She still thinks it was worth it though.

✧ Right before she’s tossed into the messy pile of bedding on their shared bed, Romance makes a comment about how she wasn’t getting away from her boys until morning. at the earliest.

#kpop demon hunters spoilers #kpop demon hunters #miromabby #mira kpdh #abby kpdh #romance kpdh #kpdh headcanons #headcanons

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luckycharmedpuff · 2 days ago

Text

Rebels {Theodore Ed.}

Mattheo Ed. | Theodore Ed.

Pairing: Bro's bsf!Theodore Nott x Reader Summary: Uni! AU where Reader finds herself the designated 'nurse' for her brother's best friend, a botched job doesn't stop her from being called back. Word Count: 5k Warnings: shitty writing because I got busy and lazy lol. Unprotected piv, semi-possessive Theo, hair pulling, slapping, use of the word cock since that's apparently an ick for some of you guys. It's a quickie so don't expect 5k words of pure smut.

The first time Theo was dragged next door by Enzo and Blaise, was the day after the dean of the school warned him against any more infractions.

Theo, of course, still got into a fight within an hour after his football win. It wasn't his fault that the losing team was filled with a bunch of whiny bastards. Those bastards could, however, throw a mean punch.

The problem sat in, the infirmary would tip off the dean, and Theodore would get at least a suspension and kicked off the team. Which would most likely result in the team losing this season.

That's how he ended up being cooed over by a bunch of sorority girls while he headed towards Enzo's new stepsister's room. Something he wasn't quite sure he was ready for.

The first time he had met Y/n was over the summer, right before her transfer to his school. She had been sweet and funny up until drinks and a game of truth or dare sent them both into sour moods and bickering everytime they saw each other. Theo still wasn't clear about what happened. He hadn't even wanted to play.

So, watching Enzo raise his hand to knock on her door wasn't exactly settling for him. Especially when it was to ask her to help Theo.

It opened before his friend's knuckles could rap against the wood, and any sign of hesitance had disappeared when Dean Thomas opened the door. No, instead, Theo had the sudden urge to throw up. He was sick, now. Maybe even a little angry.

"Uh, sorry. I was just leaving," Dean muttered, jacket on his arm and clothes wrinkled. Theo could have even sworn he saw some lip gloss on the corner of his mouth too.

Uh, sorry. Like they'd personally taken offense to the girl's choice in men. Enzo and Blaise beat up one person earlier in the year for being a dickhead to her and suddenly everyone thinks she's untouchable.

Enzo had expressed relief about the notion until it brought out the dickbags that only saw it as a challenge. Theo honestly didn't give a shit. She'd hate him either way.

"What do you guys want?" Y/n sourly greeted the trio. "I'm studying."

"Studying what? Human anatomy?" Enzo grumbled, dragging Theo into the room

"Chemistry, actually." She reapplied some lip gloss before turning to Theo. "What happened to you?"

"Some loser on the opposing team doesn't seem to realize it's not cool to tag team a fight," Theo said, climbing onto the bed and stretching out.

"It's not cool to fight. Period." Y/n scrunched up her nose. He might have found it cute if he allowed himself to. "You're all sweaty."

"He's also in need of that fancy little first aid kit of yours." Enzo smiled. It was the smile that seemed to charm everybody but the guys. And apparently Y/n.

"There's an infirmary for that, no?" She lifted Theo's feet from her bed and dropped them over the edge callously. He'd only let her because he was too exhausted. At least, that's what he told himself. It definitely wasn't that he'd take whatever touch he could get from her if it didn't end in an argument. Even if it did...

"They'll kick him off the team if he goes there. C'mon please?" Enzo took her arm in his hands shaking it. When pleading didn't help, he went to bribery. "I'll pay for your laundry for the next month."

"You mean Mom will." Theo watched Enzo huff and attempt to think of a new bribe. Defeat only just crossed his face before Y/n laughed. "Whatever. Just get out. This room is barely enough room for two, let alone four."

Theo's pulse skyrocketed at the thought of being alone with her. It was bad enough being together in a group.

Once Enzo and Blaise left, I shut the door. "Ten bucks they leave with dates."

"Twenty they leave with a bunch of numbers and dates." Theodore grunted back, moving to her side to watch out the window. He groaned as he sidled up next to her, holding his side. The guys had left in no time, hands free of anything except a girl each. He huffed before struggling for his wallet and fishing out some cash.

"First come, first serve in this house," I giggled, taking the cash.

It always started like this. We joked. Everything was calm... Then eventually, one of us said something stupid. It would seem now he was opting out for silence. Theodore must've been really hurt, then.

With a sigh, I found the kit, washed my hands, and sat next to him on my bed, really taking a look at him for the first time since he had entered. I had to hold in a gasp. There were multiple wounds from his eyebrows to where his skin disappeared below his jersey. I could only imagine what lie beneath it if he had been battered by cleats.

I started with the biggest problem, a nasty gash that sat in the middle of his brow bone, clearly cleaned up prior to his arrival. There was still a small piece of paper towel stuck to it.

I silently shook my head before peeling off the paper towel. Theodore hissed, flinching back before sending me a displeased look. Big baby.

I cleaned the gash, hand on his jaw to keep him from squirming. Another sigh left my body.

"What, Doc? Can't fix me?" Theodore's tone was light, but I could sense something... else there. Tension.

"Not unless you want to be the first person to be stitched up by me." I rooted through the kit, pulling out surgical thread and a needle, watching with barely contained amusement as he leaned away.

"Absolutely not. Don't you have some of that fancy tape? That should work." Then, Theodore started going through the kit, leaving a disorganized mess in his wake. He found the "fancy tape" and held it up proudly.

"That's for after stitches, Theodore," I huffed, grabbing it anyway. I knew he would argue if I didn't. "It won't heal well."

"Better than if you shove that needle through my face, I reckon." He was probably right. I wasn't a nurse or even a woman training to be. My major wasn't even in the medical field. So, silently, I used the tape to close the wound as best as I could before moving on.

Half an hour went by before I awkwardly pointed at his torso. "Are you bruised?"

He laughed, before removing his jersey. "If you wanted to see me shirtless, you could've just asked, Sweetheart."

"If I wanted to see you shirtless, I would have just asked," I scoffed, avoiding his eyes as much as I could. I was curious, and truth be told, his mouth had been extremely tempting while I was inches away from his face.

When I first met Theodore Nott, I knew he was trouble. Thing was, I hadn't cared because in his case, trouble came with a pretty face and charming words.

Then that stupid, childish game happened and now we were here in my bed, doing one of the most unromantic things you could do when a hot guy was in your room shirtless.

His torso was more purple than his normal skin tone, some spots even a little swollen. "God, Theodore. The hell did you say to them?"

"Why do you assume I started it?"

I levelled him a stare, grabbing some gauze. "I don't have half of the things or expertise you really need. I mean, if you're this badly hurt, could they really put you at fault?"

"Doesn't matter to them. An altercation is an altercation. And for the record, they approached me. Not my fault they couldn't handle the loss. Or the... pointers I gave them." Theodore sucked in a breath as I started wrapping his ribs, a soft thud coming from the wall as his head hit it.

"Okay, so you didn't start it but you instigated it? That's not much better," I whispered, for once hoping it would start an argument to distract from the fact of Theodore's bruised abs being right in my face. God, he was so fit.

"Let's talk about something else. I'm too tired to argue." I looked up, raising an eyebrow at him. That's the first. "Dean Thomas. Chemistry, really?"

I let my hands get less than gentle as I taped off the gauze. He swatted my hands away.

"None of your business. You're done, anyway. Unless there's something else you need fixed?" My eyes ran over his exposed skin, double checking for anymore injuries.

Theodore laughed a stupid little "gotcha" laugh before shaking his head and tossing a hoodie on. "Nah. Uh, thanks, by the way."

"Thank me by never bringing this," I gestured to his face ", to my house again."

Three weeks later, I was being accosted while walking in-between classes. It had been a peaceful day, with many wins, but it seemed I had gotten to the end of that rope when Theodore Nott came storming up to me.

It was the first time I had seen him since my step-brother had dragged him to my room. Of course, said brother was following sheepishly behind the man, along with Mattheo.

"Look at this!" Theodore half-shouted, pointing at his brow. "So much for your skills."

On his brow, was a pink scar slicing through the middle, where the gash had previously been. I bit my lip to contain the mixture of anger and laughter that began bubbling up to my throat. My face grew warm the longer I stared at him, accompanying the warmth growing in my belly.

"Honestly, I told you that you needed stitches." It was my turn in line and I ordered, turning toward my brother and Mattheo. "Coffee?"

Over their orders, which the barista hesitantly took, Theodore continued on. "I look ridiculous."

"Yes, Theodore, you do look ridiculous shouting at me about something I warned you about. And here I was thinking that you were avoiding altercations." I grabbed the four coffees, rolling my eyes at the barista. She didn't see it, since she was too busy ogling Theodore and his stupid eyebrow.

He, on the other hand, was too busy looking around to see how many people were staring. His tone became more composed.

"Right. Well, fix it."

"Fix it? You just got a free coffee because of it." I regretted saying it the moment the words fled my mouth. And the next ones.

Theodore, Mattheo, and Enzo all looked at me like I grew a head.

"What? Some girls like when guys look all roughed up and scarred. There's like a million romance novels that prove it. That barista seems to be one of them." I pointed toward the coffee stand, completely ignoring the fact that I was also one of them and that the attraction I had toward Theodore was getting harder to fight off.

"Damn, maybe I should get in a fight," Enzo muttered, checking out the girl.

"Your mom would kill you. Now, I have class. Leave me alone."

"Fuck you!" The guy standing in front of Enzo said, glancing between the group. "Maybe if your sister wasn't such a bitch, then-"

Theo couldn't help but knock the dude on his ass. He may not have gotten along with Y/n a lot, but no one got to speak of her that way. Hell, he'd probably lay Enzo out if he tried.

But also, something had changed that day in her room. For him, at least. Even if she had been a tad ill-tempered with him, Theo's mind had wandered so off course when she was up close and personal with him, fixing his face.

He thought about what her lip gloss might have tasted like and what else her hands could have done for him. It was like he had met her for the first time again, and he allowed himself to think about her just how she was. A beautiful, sexy, intelligent woman who had captured his interest with a single glance.

But, she was still Enzo's sister, annoyingly righteous and snippy. Certainly not a bitch, though.

Theo crouched, hovering over the guy's face, "Are you done yet?"

"Not even close, Nott," the man replied before tackling Theo to the ground, throwing and missing, most of, his punches. An insane urge to laugh flooded him then, before landing his own shot on the guy.

That was, until he was being pulled up to his feet. "Fuck, Theo. Why can't you listen?"

It was Enzo, grumbling as he pulled out his phone and put it to his ear. "Look at you mate, you're a bloody mess."

"Don't call her, I'm fine."

"Too late."

"When I said don't bring it to my house, I meant don't ask me to help you again. Not make a house call for my assistance," Y/n said in a way of greeting Theo.

"I tried to tell him not to. He's... stubborn."

"Well, have you tried not getting into fights? That seems like a great start." Y/n sat on the edge of his bed, facing Theo as she picked up his hand and scrutinized it, doing the same to his other hand. Gauging similarities and differences, no doubt. She changed the subject, then. "You think I'll leave with a new number in my phone?"

"From this house? Unlikely," Theo snorted, trying to keep the curiosity out of his voice. "Why, though? What happened to Dean?"

Y/n just sighed, a frequent sound that left her mouth, as she began cleaning his knuckles. He made sure to keep the discomfort from showing this time. It wasn't that bad anyway.

"Let's just say... he failed his chemistry test," she glanced up. "Seems I have you to thank, though."

"For what?"

"For defending me from Austin," she said, a small smile on her face. "He was... grumpy from my disinterest."

Theo scoffed. Grumpy. How she managed to make any part of this situation cute, was unnerving.

"Yeah, well. Only I can be mean to you."

She laughed, a genuine fucking laugh that infiltrated his heart hook, line, and sinker. "Sure, Theodore. We'll go with that."

Theo sighed, watching her apply some ointment before wrapping gauze around his hands. She was so gentle, as if he'd just completely break if she hurt him anymore than necessary.

A comfortable silence filled the air as I finished up with his hands. I left the wound on his face for last, putting off the inevitable. It was difficult having our faces so close together and not really being able to do anything about it. I mean... he didn't like me like that.

I sighed, bringing a wet cloth to his mouth. There wasn't much I could do for the cut, and I told him that.

"You could kiss it better," he said, quickly growing red in the neck. So much for not thinking about kissing him. I didn't think he'd meant to say it, so I hummed, diverting the conversation away from me.

"Actually, I was going to suggest you keep it clean and dry. Better not to go kissing anyone. And don't pick or bite at the scab. So, especially no biters." I dabbed some Vaseline on his lip. "And try to keep it moisturized. Lip balm or petroleum jelly."

Theo nodded, going quiet as I cleaned up a spot that had smudged Vaseline below his lip. I glanced at his blue eyes, focused on something below my face, and I glanced down, finding that my shirt had been pulled a bit, revealing thin, black lace hugging my breasts.

I cleared my throat, standing and fixing my shirt. "I'm, uh, done now. Next time isn't free. I have better things to do than fix you up every time someone pisses you off."

"Like what? Study for a chemistry exam?" Theo walked me to the door, more walking me into the wall, caging me in. "I'm more fun than that."

"You're more trouble than that," I corrected, body stiff so I didn't squirm. He was so close his shirt was brushing against my crossed arms, the soft material beckoning for my fingers to scrunch it up in my fists, pulling him-

"Yet, here you are not getting away." Theo smirked, bringing a hand to my face. I shivered as it trailed my cheek. "Why now? I was starting to think you hated me."

The reminder of why I had been so short with him in the past flooded through my brain, ridding me of any want to touch Theodore.

"I don't hate you. Strong dislike ,though." I pushed against his chest, opening the door.

Theo followed Y/n out, stopping in the living room area of the fraternity house. When she was gone, he slid his hand across the side of his head.

Frustrated, he turned to Enzo and Mattheo. "Okay, why doesn't she like me? I don't get it."

Mattheo snorted before going straight faced. "You serious mate? You made it very clear that you wanted nothing to do with her within six hours of meeting. Of course she hates you."

"What? No I didn't. Pansy said Y/n wasn't interested. I left it at that." Theo shook his head at Enzo who was laughing. "What?"

"Mate, I think you blacked out at one point. You were dared to spin a bottle and snog whoever it landed on and instead of taking a shot instead of kissing her, you took three." Enzo looked between him and Mattheo.

"And told her you wouldn't kiss her if she was the last woman on the planet. She called you a child, Enzo punched you, and the party ended. It wasn't until the next day that everyone realized you were shitfaced," Mattheo said, still laughing. "Guess she didn't get the memo."

"Well, I didn't mean it! I was just pissed she told Pansy I wasn't her type. I'm everyone's type!"

"Oh, you didn't mean it?" Enzo said cocking his head. Theo prepped himself for a fight before Enzo snorted. "Relax. If anyone could get your head on right, it's her. Might do her some good from being shut off in her room all of the time, too."

"Pansy was also lying. Most likely. I mean, it takes forever to learn something personal from Y/n apart from some vague, sarky answer." Theo looked at Enzo, who nodded. He wanted to crawl in a hole. Of fucking course. Pansy had been trying to add him to her roster that whole summer.

"Shit. Fuck. Shit." Theo mumbled, running out of the frat house and looking in every direction before realizing she was gone. Why did she walk so fucking fast?

Disappointed and frustrated, he walked back into the house like a puppy with its tail tucked and ears back, slouching on the couch.

Then he turned to Enzo. "I thought you said some Ilvermorny bloke gave me that shiner."

"Then he said that he wasn't looking for something serious." Pansy droned on about her ex-fling while looking for a new one. I was listening, but I couldn't care less in the moment.

I picked at my borrowed school spirit shirt, a cropped tank that showed so much cleavage that I wasn't sure it could be considered anything but lingerie.

I wasn't even sure why I let her convince me to come to this after-game party. This wasn't my scene, and watching girls fawn over my brother and Theo sounded about as much fun as walking on Legos. They hadn't arrived yet, but I'm sure it would happen.

"What about him?" Pansy asked, gesturing toward Austin.

"If you're into desperate assholes, sure," I mumbled, earning a famous interested look from Pansy. "Theo got into a fight with him because he was shit-talking me."

"Ah, never mind then."

I shifted on my feet, finally deciding to leave. "Pans, I think I'm gonna-"

"Here's some of our crew!" Someone said, throwing their arms around Pansy and me, effectively splashing their drink on me. Great.

"Enzo!" I screeched, brushing him off.

"Oh, relax. I'm sure we can find a replacement shirt. Perhaps one with more coverage." Enzo laughed, scrunching his nose at my top.

"Don't bother, I'm pretty sure she was just about to bail," Pansy said, rolling her eyes and huffing.

"What? No, the party just started. And I want to talk to you, as well," Theo said into my ear, sliding his hand up my arm before beginning to drag me away. I almost missed the pissed look he sent Pansy.

"What? Have I been upgraded to sports injuries?" I awkwardly chuckled, letting him lead me to his room.

"Huh? No. I just want to clear something up."

Theo gestured toward his closet, collapsing on his bed, mumbling something to himself as I sorted through his clothes.

How I went from dreading watching girls flirt with Theo, to being swarmed with his smell because I'd be wearing his clothes in some sort of masochistic cover, I wasn't sure. I didn't want a peace offering. Not like this. So, I didn't grab anything and sighed.

"Can we just talk? I'm just going to leave anyway. There's no point in-"

"Please don't leave," Theo said crossing over to the closet and picking out a jersey. "I want you here."

I sucked in a breath. "Why? I thought-"

"That my past drunk ramblings were true, not just spiteful? I know. But Pansy-"

"Gods, Theodore. I don't want to talk about this." I tried to push past him but he grabbed my shoulder, pushing the clothing into me.

"Well, too bad. We're going to talk about it. Change first." Theo's eyes bore into mine before I surrendered, grabbing a hold of the jersey.

I didn't bother with the bathroom, just turning my back as he walked away. This was just great. I was basically trapped into this and wouldn't put it past Enzo to spill his drink on me on purpose.

I lifted the tank over my head, trying to ignore the little gasp behind me and quickly put the jersey on.

"Well?" I asked, gesturing to the jersey as I stood in front of Theo, leaning against his desk.

His throat bobbed before his rough voice went through the room. "I didn't think this through very well."

"Damn, that bad?" I laughed, shoving down the panic in my chest. Sure, the jersey didn't exactly fit, but I didn't think anyone had expected it to. I jumped when his hands slid along my neck, pulling my hair from the shirt.

"Just the opposite. Too good." Theo's hands didn't move from their spot as he took a big breath.

"Talk, Theodore," I said, focusing on my breathing. His thumb was brushing along my neck, and I didn't feel like making a mistake based off of sudden, over friendliness.

"That night. Everything was going well. Between us, I mean. Then, I was talking to Pansy and she told me you said I wasn't your type. I felt... I don't know. Led on. So I got piss drunk, and said some things that I didn't mean then, nor do I mean now. It wasn't right. And I only realized what happened a few days ago. I'm sorry."

"Well... I mean, she kind of told you the truth. Not the whole of it, but still."

Theo's stomach dropped at her words. He took a step back. "What?"

"I told her that normally you're not my type but that I was willing to put that aside-"

Like a switch was flipped with her words, Theo's mouth smashed against Y/n's, his hands back to caressing her throat.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. "Sorry. You're in my jersey telling me this and that stupid fucking lip gloss was practically begging me to get rid of it."

Y/n chuckled. "That's okay, Theo."

"Fuck, say that again." Theo gruffed, pulling the girl closer. It took her a minute to figure out what he was asking. It wasn't every day that she used his nickname, and he needed to memorize the sound of it.

I decided to just throw caution to the wind a bit, bringing my lips to his ear, a breathy moan filling my voice. "Theo."

"Don't play with me, Y/n. That's mean," Theo whispered, bringing his mouth to hover over mine.

"Who said I was playing?" I asked, my voice just as quiet as I slowly dragged my fingers down his torso to toy with his waistband. "We've wasted enough time. Don't you agree?"

"I don't know... I mean I'm sure they'll be expecting us soon." Theo looked torn between me and leaving the room.

"Listen, I'll respect if you don't want to, Theo. But being close quarters those days together, and thinking I shouldn't do anything about it... It was frustrating."

"I know. It was for me too. I can't tell you how much time I spent with my fucking hand. Ridiculous, really." That was enough to send a fiery, rampage of hormones running through my body.

"Y-you touched yourself to the thought of me?" I asked, breathless as I drew him in impossibly close.

Theo only nodded before he muttered an expletive and captured my mouth back in his. My hands cradled his face as he drove me against the desk, shoving his knee between my legs. Moans slipped through my mouth as he rubbed his thigh roughly against my core.

"Sound just as I imagined. So fuckin pretty," he muttered, grabbing my breast from under the jersey. "So soft."

"Theo," I breathed out, tugging at his shirt to get it off. "Need you, now."

"Impatient little thing, aren't you?" he asked, shedding all of his clothes. My hands reached to do the same, but after my shorts and panties hit the floor, he snatched up my hand before I could get rid of the jersey.

"Keep that on, will you? Wanna fuck you while you sport my name. Then let everyone know who you belong to afterward," he said, turning me around, and tracing along the letters on my back.

I'd be lying if I said a new wave of arousal didn't make its way through me, finding the obvious possessiveness Theo was exerting to be a turn on.

"This okay?" Theo whispered, lining up with me. His tip lightly pressed against my entrance, teasingly testing the waters.

"Y-yes, Theo." My breath was coming out heavy and staggered and my nails were digging into the desk in anticipation, seconds feeling like minutes and I waited for him to fill me up. "Theo, Baby. Please-"

Her words turned into choked moans as he pushed half of his cock into her.

Fuck, she was so wet and tight. Theo grunted as she chased after him, silently begging for more. He brought his hand to her ass, rubbing before smacking the flesh. Y/n whined, and Theo grew impossibly harder inside of her.

"Baby, be patient." Still, Theo pushed the rest of the way, eating up the lewd noises from the girl he'd been silently harboring feelings for. He'd almost convinced himself his feelings weren't real until that night in her room. Now look at him. Filling her up. Grabbing a fistful of her hair to yank her head back.

"Fuck," Theo groaned against my neck. "Your greedy little cunt is squeezing me so good. You wanted me that bad, huh?"

"Says the one who's rock hard and buried inside of me," I somehow managed to mumble before he thrust hard into me.

Theo tutted, apparently not amused by my response, and pushed my chest into the desk surface. The surface was cold, seeping through the jersey with no problem. It was a nice contrast to the heat that radiated between Theo and me.

"Fuck, I could get used to this. Bent over my desk like a little fucking whore," Theo grunted. Every few words were backed up by a thrust, and each thrust was met with a moan.

I wasn't sure what I expected from Theo, but I certainly wasn't going to complain about my predicament. My body was a fire, and he was the fuel, each thrust inside of me building up the inferno that originated in my belly. I needed more.

"Theo..." I whined, digging my nails harder into the desk.

"What, Love? You wanna come?" Theo asked, already snaking his hand around my hip. "I got you."

His assurance was soft, contrasting with the forceful ministrations he was wreaking my body with, as was the finger that began circling my clit with a nearly featherlight touch.

I was nowhere and everywhere when I came hard around Theo, my moans and whines filling the air as my body filled with static, electricity seemingly running along my nerves and lighting them on fire.

I was in bliss, as I faintly heard Theo come on my ass, muttering a string of mostly incoherent curses.

As I came down from my sex induced high, More and more started filtering through to my conscious.

The staggered sounds of being out of breath from the two of us, the thundering music barely muffled by the bedroom door. A faint knocking.

Theo, somehow already put back together, smirked at me as he helped me back into my clothes, squeezing my ass through my shorts and giving me a chaste kiss.

He crossed the room and opened the door. Mattheo appeared as if he was about to knock again. He let his hand fall as he looked us over before shaking his head.

"You're lucky I managed to check on you, and not Enzo. Otherwise you'd be fixing him again," he said, gesturing towards Theo's face. "Nice chat, then?"

"The best," Theo smirked again, grabbing my hand and pulling me over to smooth down some of my hair. I felt my face flush from Theo's insinuation, and turned my face away.

"Yeah whatever, just hurry up, will you? I'm not saving your ass again."

#harry potter #slytherin boys #slytherin #theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #uni au

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