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scorpionyx9621 · 3 years

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Do you think Jason Todd fandom is kinda toxic? Because it seems like NO MATTER what DC do, there'll always be complains. Forget the bad adaptation like Titans. Even Judd Winick cannot escape the criticism with how he potrayed Robin!Jason. They just never satisfied.

SORRY, IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO RESPOND TO THIS. I just moved from Washington D.C. to Seattle, which, for my non-American friends, that's 4442km away. And I DROVE THERE ALL BY MYSELF. And now I'm trying to find new work in a new city and trying to stay mentally healthy and positive. Life is exciting but hard and scary.

*sighs*

As someone who was a fandom elder with V*ltr*n. I've seen some of the worst when it comes to fandom behavior. I'm talking people baking food with shaving razors and trying to give them to the showrunners. I'm talking leaking major plot details and refusing to take it down unless they make their ship canon (I am looking at you, Kl*nce stans) For the most part, DC Comics has had a decades-long reputation of treating their fans like trash and not caring what they think so from what I've seen, we all just grumble and complain in our corners of the internet about how we don't like how X comic portrays Jason Todd.

The challenge with Jason Todd is that he's your clinical anti-hero, the batfamily's Draco in Leather Pants, he's a jerkass woobie, and on top of all of that, he's a Tumblr sexyman. It's a perfect storm for a very fun but frustrating character to be a fan of. It doesn't help that every writer decides to re-invent the wheel every time Jason comes up so his canon lore is confusing at best and inconsistent as a standard.

I guess starting with a general brief on who Jason is and what is uniform about him with every instance he's appeared in comics/media.

Grew up in a poor family in Gotham with a dad who was a petty-mid-level criminal, and a mother who dies of a drug overdose.

Survives on the street on his own by committing petty crimes and potentially even engaging in sexual acts to keep himself alive.

Is cornered by Batman and taken in after Dick Grayson quits/is fired

Becomes the second Robin, but is known for being the harsher, more brutal Robin.

Is killed by Joker after being tortured, but somehow comes back to life and regains senses through the Lazarus Pit

Resolves himself to be better than Batman by basically being Batman but kills people.

Where there has been a lot of conflict in the fandom is the fact that Jason Todd is not a character that is written consistently. DC Comics loves to go with the narrative that Jason was "bad from the start" and was the "bad robin" when, yes, he has trouble controlling his anger, but he also still is just as invested in seeing the best of Gotham City and trying to be a positive change for the world as any other DC Comics hero.

Where I get frustrated with the fandom is its ability to knit-pick every detail of a comic they don't like while completely disregarding everything that makes the comics great and worth it to read. My example being Urban Legends. To which most people had pretty mixed reactions to. I was critical of the comic at first but as it went along I ended up really liking it. I have a feeling DC Comics went to Chip Zdarsky and told him he had 6 issues to bring Jason back into the Bat Family, and honestly he didn't do a bad job. Did it feel rushed? Absolutely. I wish there was more development of Jason and Bruce's characters and their dynamic as a whole. However, where I see a lot of people being angry and upset with Urban Legends is that they feel Zdarsky needlessly wrote Jason as an incompetent fool who needs Bruce to save him.

Whether or not that was the intention of Zdarsky is up to debate. However, and this may be controversial, but I don't think he wrote Jason Todd out of character at all. For as fearsome, intimidating, and awesome as Red Hood is. Jason is a character who is absolutely driven by his emotions. Why do you think he donned the role of Red Hood? As a response to his anger towards The Joker for killing him, and towards Bruce for not taking action against The Joker and for seemingly replacing him so quickly after he died. Jason didn't care about being the murderous Robin Hood or for being the bloody hammer of justice against N*zi's and P*d*ph*les. He only cared originally about making The Joker and Bruce pay. It wasn't until he trained under the best assassins in the world and realized most of them were horrific criminals who trafficked children and were p*dos that Talia began to realize that the teachers that she sent Jason to train under started dying horrific and painful deaths.

The entire story of the Cheer story in Batman Urban Legends was started because it finally forced some consequences upon Jason. Tyler, aka Blue Hood's father was a drug dealer who gave his supply to his wife and kids. And when Tyler's father admitted he gave the drugs to Tyler, it immediately made him fall within the self-imposed philosophical kill-list of Jason Todd. And Jason, well, he proceeds to kill Tyler's father. When this happens, Jason is in shock. Tyler's dad fit the bill to easily and justifiably be killed by Jason. We've never seen Jason having to deal with the consequences of being a murderous vigilante on a micro-level. When Jason realizes what he's done in that he's murdered Tyler's dad, he's shocked. He tells Babs the truth. He does a rational thing because he's in shock. He doesn't know what to do, he never has had to face the consequences of his actions as Red Hood and now the gravity of befriending a child as a vigilante hero who kills people just set in when he killed the father of the same child he was just introduced to.

(Oh here's a little aside because it had to be said, Jason would not have been a good father or a good mentor to Tyler and absolutely should not have been his new Robin. Jason is a man who is in his early 20's (not saying men in their early 20's can't be good fathers at all) who is a brutal serial killer using the guise of a vigilante anti-hero to let him escape most of the law. the complications of having the man who murdered your father adopt you and make you his sidekick are way too numerous for me to explain in a long-winded already heavy Tumblr essay post. There's a reason why we don't advocate for a story where Joe Chill adopted Bruce Wayne or one where Tony Zucco took in Dick Grayson.)

The next biggest argument is that they feel that Jason is giving up his guns as a means to just be invited back into the Bat-Family. To which I will tell anyone who has that argument to go actually read Urban Legends. Already have and still have that argument? Please re-read it. Don't want to? That's okay, I will paste the images from the comic where Jason specifically says that he doesn't want to give up his weapons for Bruce and his real reasoning down below since the comic isn't exactly readily accessible.

Jason gave up the guns because he felt the gravity of what he had done and knows how it'll effect Tyler. Thankfully his mom is alive and in recovery. But Tyler doesn't have a father anymore. And Jason killed Tyler's father. It may have been in accordance to Jason's philosophy, but it was a case where it blurred the lines. Jason Todd isn't a black and white character, just very dark gray. He doesn't kill aimlessly like the Joker. If you are on Jason's list you probably have done something pretty horrific, and also just in general, being in his way or being a threat to him. Mind you, in early days of Red Hood and the Outlaws (Image below) Jason almost killed 10 innocent civilians in a town in Colorado all because they saw him kill a monster. That being said, Jason isn't aimless in his kills.

(Also can we just take a moment to appreciate Kenneth Rocafort's art? DC Comics said we need to rehabilitate Jason Todd's image and Kenneth Rocafort said hold my beer: It's so SO GOOD)

That being said, the key emphasis in the story of Cheer asides from trying to introduce Jason Todd back into the Bat Family and give an actual purpose for him being there, other than him just kind of being there ala Bowser every time he shows up for Go Kart racing, Tennis, Golf, Soccer, and the Olympic games when Mario invites him, is that Jason and Bruce ultimately both want the same thing. Jason wants to be welcomed back into the family and to be loved and appreciated. Bruce want's Jason back as his son and wants to love and protect Jason. Both of these visions are shown in the last chapter of Cheer while under the effect of the Cheer Gas. It's ultimately this love and appreciation they both have for each other that helps them overcome their challenge and win.

Jason Todd is a character who, just like Bruce, has been through so much pain and so much hate in his life. The two are meant to parallel each other. While Bruce chose to see the best in everyone, giving every rogue in his gallery the option to be helped and give them a second chance, hence why he never kills, Jason has a similar view on wanting to protect the public, but he understands that some crimes are so heinous they cannot be forgiven, or that some habitual criminals are due to stay habitual criminals, and need to be put down. But at the end of the day, the two of them both try to protect people in their own ways.

I am aware that through the writings of various DC Comics authors such as Scott Lobdell and Judd Winick, the two have had a very tumultuous relationship. And rightfully so, I am by no means saying that Scott Lobdell writing an arc where Bruce literally beats Jason to within an inch of his life in Red Hood and the Outlaws, nor Judd Winick's interpretation of Under the Red Hood where Bruce throws the Batarang at Jason's neck, slicing his throat and leaving him ambiguously for dead at the end of the comic is appropriate considering DC Comics seems to be trying everything they can to integrate Jason back into the family. That being said, a lot of these writings have shaped the narrative of Jason and Bruce's relationship and have an integral effect on the way the fandom views the two. It doesn't help that Zdarsky acknowledged Lobdell's life-beating of Jason by Bruce at the very end of Cheer by having Bruce give Jason his old outfit back as a means of mending the fence between the two of them. That does complicate a lot of things in terms of how they are viewed by the fandom and helps to cause an even greater divide between the two.

Regardless, I want to emphasize the fact that Jason Todd is a part of the family of his own accord. Yes, he's quite snarky and deadpan in almost every encounter. However, Jason is absolutely a part of the family and has been for a while of his own will. There's a great moment in Detective Comics that emphasizes this. Jason cares about his family because it is his found family. Yes, they may be warry about him and use him as a punching back and/or heckle him. At the end of the day, we're debating the family dynamics of a fictional playboy billionaire vigilante whose kleptomania took the form of adopting troubled children and turning them into vigilante heroes. Jason Todd wants a family that will love and support him. This is a key definition of his character at its most basic. This was proven during the events of Cheer and is being reenforced by DC Comics every time they get the opportunity to do so.

Now, none of this is to say that I hate Judd Winick. I do not, I don't like the fact that in all of his writings of Jason, he just writes him as a dangerous psychopath, and Winick himself admits to seeing Jason as nothing much more than a psychopath. Yet Winick is the one who the majority of the fandom clings to as the one true good writer of Jason Todd because 'Jason was competent, dangerous, smart' Listen, friends, Jason is all of that and I will never deny it. However, what I love about Jason isn't that he's dangerously smart of that writers either write him as angsty angry Tumblr sexyman bait or that they write him as an infantile man child with a gun. There's a large contention of this fandom that has an obsession with Jason Todd being this vigilante gunman who is hot and sexy and while I definitely get the appeal. It is very creepy and downright disturbing that all of you hyperfixate on his use of guns and ability to be a murderer. It is creepy and I'm not necessarily here for it.

What I love about Jason Todd is that despite all of the pain, all of the heartache, all of the betrayal, and bullying, and death, and anguish. Jason Todd is one of the most loving and supportive characters in all of DC Comics. Jason has been through so much in his life, but he still chooses to love. He still chooses to see the bright side in people. Yes, he takes a utilitarian approach and chooses to kill certain villains, but at the end of the day he wants to see a better world, and he wants to be loved. It takes so much courage and so much heart to learn to love again after one has been abused or traumatized. I would not blame Jason at all if he said fuck it and just went full solo and vigilante evil. He has every right to, but he still chooses to be with the Bat Family of his own accord. That's something that I see a lot of in myself. I have been through a lot of trauma and yet I try to be a better person myself in any way that I can. It is extremely admirable of Jason to allow love back into his heart when he really doesn't need to. He kills and he protects because he has this love of society. It may have been shaped by anger and hatred, but Jason has found his place amongst people who love him and value him. I think Ducra, from Red Hood and the Outlaws put it best in the image given below.

To end this tangent, I love Jason Todd and all of his sexy dangerousness, but it's far more than that. As much as Jason may be dangerous and snarky, he loves his family without a shadow of a doubt. I look up to Jason Todd because despite all of his pain and all of his trauma, he still choses to love. Jason Todd is a character who is someone I love because despite all of his flaws and having a very toxic fandom, he still serves as a character filled with so much heart and so much passion. I wish more writers would understand that. But for now I will live with what I have. Even though the fandom may be vocal about it's hatred for his characterization, I choose to love Jason regardless because he is a character who chooses love and acceptance regardless of his pain. Jason Todd is by no means a good person in any sense of the word. He has easily killed upwards of 100 people by now. He is a character who is flawed and complex but ultimately is one who powers forwards and finds love and heart in a place from so much pain and anguish. That is what I love about Jason Todd. After all, to quote a famous undead robot superhero, "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Jason Todd chooses to love despite all of the trauma and pain and grief. Yes, he is hardened in his exterior, but inside there is a man with a lot of love to give and someone who deserves the world in my eyes.

#Long post GOD #Jason Todd #Red Hood #Bat Family #Batman #red hood and the outlaws #RHATO #RH:O #Batman Urban Legends #Red Hood Lost Days #TW Voltron #TW Death #tw murder #TW Klance #Gotta love how i am pouring my heart out onto jason AND calling out the Voltron fandom #Regardless love Jason Todd people

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awanderingdeal · 3 years

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Hello there! Would you please consider writing a fic where maybe Leo or a fan wears a dress or paints his nails or something else feminine and gets bullied online so the entire team then starts wearing dresses out in retaliation? I think Leo is the perfect example of flipping the V to normative gender ideals

Hi! Thank you for this ask. I hope you don't mind, but I kind of took this as inspiration and ran with it. I used Finn just because it fits my own personal headcanons that he would be the one that would be a bit more adventurous fashion wise, although I definitely agree Leo is the nail painter in that relationship! I hope you like it!

Apologies for the excessive use of italics in this fic!

CW: food mentions, some swearing, implied Instagram bullying and a child with very mild illness (hay fever).

Rating: T

Let me know if you think I missed anything or need to change the rating.

All characters in this fic are from Sweater Weather universe and belong to @lumosinlove

“Are you going to take that dress off?” June asked, blowing on the undercoat she’d just applied to her nails. Finn’s eyes dropped from the TV screen to the black fabric draping over his body. He brushed his fingers over the material, enjoying the texture of the sheer polka dots that decorated the dress. From afar, they were difficult to see, but at this distance they shined. His own little secret.

“No,” Finn replied, the word slipping from his mouth felt foreign, as if he hadn’t chosen to say it. “ Is that okay?”

“It’s generally considered polite to ask before you borrow people’s clothing, but sure, why not?” A loud cheer erupted from the TV notifying Finn the score on the basketball game he had been watching had changed. He desperately wanted to check it, but he continued to hold June’s gaze. “The Knicks,” June offered and Finn breathed a sigh of relief. “Are you going to wear it out later?” She didn’t wait for his reply, proffering two bottles of polish for Finn’s perusal, a redcurrant and a mauve.

“The red,” Finn decided after a beat. “No, I think I’ll get changed before we go to the theatre.”

“Alright then,” June hummed, glancing at her cell. “Logan is trying to call you, by the way.”

“Yes, my cell, I know exactly where that is,” Finn muttered to himself, stabbing at the remote to pause the TV. It took a few minutes of searching, the device hidden between the folds of the bean bag he was lounging on, but eventually Logan’s face was filling all 6.1 inches of the screen. “Lo!”

“Hey.”

Finn loved the greeting on Logan’s tongue, one of those that he never seemed to be able to stop his accent dripping through. Finn thought perhaps the sentiment was painted on his face, Logan peering at him curiously through the lens. “Isn’t that June’s dress?”

The dress. Finn had forgotten all about it. “Yes.”

He hadn’t meant for the reply to be said with such abruptness, but it felt good, all the tension coiling in his chest being released in the word.

Logan’s expression was challenging, similar to that June had given him earlier. “I was just going to say you look better in it.”

“Oh.”

June unfurled her legs from beneath her, throwing herself into view of the screen, her left hand held awkwardly in front of her. “I’m right here, Tremblay!”

***

“Love, you need to get out of the kitchen. You’re being very distracting.”

Finn frowned at Leo’s statement. “I’m not doing anything?” And for once, he wasn’t. He wasn’t trying to guess the weight of irrelevant objects. He wasn’t playing with the stray bits of dough Leo had left aside for decoration. He wasn’t even relaying facts about his current favourite interest. Finn was just watching.

Sometimes he liked to do that. He liked seeing Leo’s long fingers curled around the handle of the knife, his movements fluid and confident, his expression soft with quiet concentration. Occasionally, he’d cock his head, humming contemplatively and Finn could take the opportunity to offer his taste buds.

“It’s not a you problem, it’s a me problem,” Leo chuckled, setting the knife down on the chopping board. “I keep looking up and you’re just -” Finn followed Leo’s gaze as it wandered down to the exposed skin between Finn’s t-shirt and his skirt. “- I’m trying to meal prep and it’s going to take all week at this rate.”

The t-shirt had belonged to Logan, an old Harvard hockey throwback that had managed to make it through several wardrobe purges, so, whilst it was wide enough for Finn, the length was awkward. He hadn’t really considered his boyfriend’s reactions as he’d cut the item to fall several inches above his belly button, the crop looking far more purposeful than it previously had.

“Oh this old thing, I just threw it on,” Finn smirked, as he pushed off the counter he'd been leaning on. He rounded the island, stealing a carrot as he passed, until he planted himself in front of Leo. "Do you want help? It'd be quicker?"

"Now we both know neither of those things are true." Leo raised a critical eyebrow, his laughter smooth and sweet. He turned to face Finn more fully, his hand reaching to pass the forest green material of Finn's skirt through his fingers. "I like this colour on you."

"It has pockets! I totally get why Lily's always shouting about them. They're very convenient." Finn shoved his hands in the well-concealed pocket, pulling his cell from its depths. "See."

"Nice," Leo said, his smile making the edges of his face crinkle. "How about you let me finish up here and then we can find Lo and get his opinion on this outfit?"

"Fine," Finn groaned, resisting the temptation to draw Leo in a hug, and perhaps something more. "I'm gonna go and look over that report the accountant sent over. Do you want me to check yours over too?"

"Please," Leo nodded, his smile growing wider. "You're the best."

"You feed me, I make sure you don't get arrested, that's what relationships are all about, right?"

"Right," Leo ran his fingers over the skirt one last time and stepped back to put some space between them. Finn turned to leave, barely getting a few paces in before Leo called him. "Wait!"

"Yeah?"

"Just one kiss now would be okay."

Finn shook his head, letting Leo draw him back in with a chuckle. Leo's hands, always warm, settled on Finn's waist and he leaned down to press their lips together.

***

Finn winced as Aveline sneezed again, the forceful burst of air covering his sweater in droplets. He felt sorry for her; she was struggling with a bout of hay fever that was making her red-nosed and irritable, but the sweater was one of Finn’s favourites. A vintage, hand knitted blue thing he’d found in a thrift store in Cambridge for an absolute steal. Back then, it had been the scene of Bambi and his friends on it that had grasped Finn’s attention, however, he’d come to love it for its perfect fit and the fact it never failed to spark a conversation.

“Harzy, thank you. You’re a lifesaver.” Finn tried not to let his relief show too much seeing Kris’ approach, his arms outstretched to gather his daughter. “I can’t even put her down to go to the bathroom at the moment without her screaming.”

Finn chuckled, holding a wriggling Aveline tighter to stop her launching herself before her father was close enough. “Papa!” she cried, the exclamation melded neatly into a large yawn.

“Come, mon chou,” Kris soothed, letting Aveline bury her face into the crook of his neck and playing a gentle pattern with his fingers over her back. “Let’s go and see if Vroom-vroom has any magic up his sleeve, ey? He always knows what to do.”

“Vroom-vroom?” Finn whispered the question.

“Sergei,” Kris explained with a gleeful smile despite the tiredness etched into his face. He shifted Aveline into a more comfortable position. “Thanks again for holding her.”

“Anytime.”

Finn had barely been alone in the Dumais’ second living room for a minute when Katie came crashing in. He wondered briefly if he should redirect her back to the other room where everybody was gathered, the thought quickly interrupted by Katie tugging on the hem of his skirt. “Can you spin again? Please?”

Unable to resist her large doe eyes, Finn twirled for her, his skirt swirling and billowing around him until he began to go dizzy.

“Encore! Encore!”

Finn didn’t need Logan around to translate that for him, he’d seen enough Broadway shows to understand the request.

“No more, Katie Belle. I’m going to puke,” Finn laughed, lifting Katie into his arms. “You’re growing too quickly! I swear you were only this big the last time I saw you,” he teased, spreading the thumb and index finger of his free hand a few inches apart.

“I’ll be as tall as you soon!” Katie giggled, patting Finn on his head.

“Then you can carry me,” Finn teased. He was just reaching to bop Katie on the nose when the unmistakable sound of a camera shutter closing grabbed his attention.

“Logan!” Katie gasped, struggling in Finn’s arms for a second like little Aveline had done. “Put me down.”

Finn obliged, watching Katie run toward Logan with a fond smile.

“Did you fix it?” she asked, her voice hopeful.

“Ouais,” Logan nodded, “I gave it back to Maja.”

“Merci, merci, merci!” Katie wrapped her arms around Logan’s hips in a hug before running off, presumably to find Maja.

Finn crossed the room, opening his arms for Logan to walk into. He rested his chin on Logan’s head, breathing in the familiar smell of his shampoo. “What were you up to?”

“Just taking a photo of two of my favourite people,” Logan mumbled into Finn’s chest.

“Can I see?”

“Oui, it’s very cute. ” Logan stepped back, pulling the photo up onto the screen. It was a nice one, both Finn and Katie’s head tipped back slightly with bright laughter. Finn tracked down the photo, Katie’s legs clinging to his waist where the faux leather skirt started. He breathed in, filling his lungs with air and then expelling it quickly.

“Post it.”

Logan looked at him, eyes wide. “Are you sure?”

“Not really, but I’m fed up with changing my clothes all the time and I’m surprised I haven’t been papped anyway. I’d rather do this on my own terms. It’s a fucking skirt, it shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Tell me to do it again,” Logan reached out a hand, squeezing gently as Finn took it.

“Post it.”

***

“Stop reading,” Leo sighed, plucking Finn’s cell from his hand.

Finn matched his sigh, burying his head into his hands. He didn’t need to look at the screen anyway, the words burned into his eyes. How anybody had looked at a photo of two people, one of whom was a child, laughing and had churned out hatred was mystifying to him. Finn had been expecting that though, he’d been around long enough to know there were some assholes out there. When he’d replied to one of the nicer ones he hadn’t really considered how he would feel about that going viral. About becoming the face of something he hadn’t really asked for.

Roaringlion17: Harzy! This fit is spectacular, I love the skirt <3 I just wanted to ask if you are trans and what pronouns you would like us to use?

OfficialFOHara: @roaringlion17 Thank you! He/him pronouns are great! I’m not trans. I just think it’s dumb that boys can’t wear skirts. Or dresses for that matter. I like clothes, not boxes.

The reply had now been featured on every gossip column possible and was beginning to filter into more esteemed news too. One of them had even called him, the face of a revolution, which had made Finn cringe. He supposed it was better than the hateful slurs his PR team were battling to keep off the photo.

“Hey,” Logan took the seat next to Finn where he’d slumped himself at the dining table. “Look at me.” Finn lifted his head, meeting Logan’s eyes, the deep green something he wanted to get lost in right now. He thought Logan was going to ask for the thousandth time if Finn wanted him to delete it, but all he got was the fierce, determined gaze Logan sported on the ice. “This is going to pass. Tomorrow, somebody will cheat on somebody and you will be old news. Do you want to see something?”

Finn nodded. He didn’t know what he was consenting to, but he trusted Logan to make it something that would make him smile. Leo dragged another of the chairs around to sit on Finn’s left hand side, setting his confiscated cell in front of him, the Instagram app open to Thomas’ profile. Logan leaned forward, tapping on the latest photo.

Thomas’ smile was wide as he sat on a window sill, kicking out the long zebra print skirt cloaking his legs. The caption underneath read ‘You’re just jealous that I wear it better than you! #boyswearskirtstoo’

“That’s -”

“Wait a second,” Logan reached for the phone again, setting it down with a picture of James’ visible. He was wearing an ochre coloured corduroy skirt that clearly belonged to Lily, the fabric straining on thighs. I’m feeling myself in this, tbh. Please hold whilst I order one in my size #boys wearskirtstoo.

Finn snorted, the sound wet with the tears he was struggling to hold back.

The hashtags kept coming.

Cap and Loops in their respective jersey’s tucked into pleated skirts. These Lions know fashion is not gendered #boyswearskirtstoo

Ollie in a shimmering gold knee length piece. Shine bright! #boyswearskirtstoo

Nado, Kuny, Smitty and Kane, arms slung around one another's shoulders, all wearing varying shades of pink. On Wednesdays, we wear pink #boyswearskirtstoo. Finn would bet good money that Kuny was behind that caption.

Dumo, Sergei and their wives, alongside their troupe of children, each one of them wearing a different coloured tutu. Dumo had opted to just include the hashtag, or rather his social media team had, because the man himself most definitely did not know how to upload the photo.

Kasey and Natalie looked effortlessly cool dressed in white tennis skirts and floral bomber jackets. I’m not sure what all the fuss is about? #boyswearskirtstoo

Alex was wearing a very similar black skirt to Finn's in his photo. Who wore it better? #boyswearskirtstoo #thatsmylittlebrother

“He’s an idiot, but I love him,” Finn laughed wetly.

“There’s more,” Logan smirked as he tapped at the screen again, almost brimming with an excited energy. He placed the cell back down, leaving his hand to block the next photo a little longer. Finn grabbed the device as soon as Logan revealed the image.

It was perfect.

Leo and Logan lounged on the sofa, a little further apart than they would normally sit. Leo clutching his favourite mug and Logan with sketchpad in hand. They both looked easy in their outfits, as if the skirts were a part of them. Leo’s was long, hitting just above his ankle, a navy lining coated in a tulle that was embellished with celestial bodies. Logan was looking at the camera, his eyes just visible under the brim of his cap. His skirt was shorter, the denim flaring over his thick thighs. In this house we respect people’s right to wear whatever the fuck they want #boyswearskirtstoo

Finn stopped trying to fight the tears, letting the moisture well in his eyes. “Thank you,” he choked out, pushing himself from his chair. Leo and Logan had their arms around him before he could ask. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.” He couldn’t seem to make the words stop, his body shaking with sobs, his boyfriend’s arms remaining sure around him until Finn wiped at his face and muttered an apology. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for.” Leo swept his thumb over Finn’s cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “What can we do? What do you need?”

Finn let out a heavy breath, leaning into Logan’s hold. “I think I want to send a thank you to the group chat and then snacks and cuddles? I can deal with the world tomorrow.”

“Okay then, snacks and cuddles. We deal with the world tomorrow.”

#finn o'hara #leo knut #logan tremblay #rating: t #cw: food #cw: implied bullying #cw: swearing #cw: minor illness #sweater weather #lumosinlove

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petra-realsnk · 3 years

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Petra and Levi raising Falco and Gabi after the war prompt/headcanons? ❤️

Hello there!! 🌸 Thank you for the ask. I’ve been busier lately, so it’s taking a little longer than expected. I promise I will be answering all eventually. <3

Sweeter Place - Rivetra Prompt

Word count: 758

Falco opened the kitchen door, a basket full of fresh eggs hanging from his elbow. "I'm back!" Said the boy with a smile on his face, having to crouch slightly to not bump into the clay figurines hanging over the door frame. He had grown quite a bit during those three years.

"Oh, welcome back! Thanks for bringing them," Petra wiped her hands on a cloth and took the basket the blonde boy handed her.

The two had become almost inseparable. Falco and Petra shared a generous and sweet nature that had made them fit together since day one. The red-haired woman had been his greatest emotional anchor during the last days of the war, and now she was still his greatest confidant.

Every Sunday, Petra would make an orange cake, and they would sit together to chat. She talked to him about her father and her friends, while Falco used to tell stories about his brother. Without a doubt, she had been a critical factor in his healing. Gabi had also found support in Petra, although she didn't seem to need a space of vulnerability in the same way Falco did.

"Are you baking this week too, Petra?" The brunette girl appeared through the door soon after. Two years ago, she was delighted to ask Petra for all of her dresses, although they soon became too small for her.

"I am!! Would you call Levi for me?"

"Sure!"

"Hey Gabi, couldn't you find another place for your figures? I always end up hitting them..." Falco asked.

Gabi wasn't very adept at domestic activities, although Petra had found a way to entertain her through art.

It was a challenge for them to adapt those kids to a quiet life. Both Petra and Levi had had to stifle a lot of suffering to help them with their traumas. Levi dealt with Gabi's guilt while Petra chatted with Falco. At least they had agreed that way in their early morning talks.

The adults had to wait for nightfall to chat alone, sometimes wondering why they couldn't be as honest as the young couple. They had agreed to live together moments after the war was over. In fact, they didn't even talk about it. They both knew it would be like this, which didn't mean that they had confronted their feelings at first.

It had been Petra who had taken the first step, kissing him after they had fought over the way he refused her aid to help him walk. That gesture was enough to unearth a sea of emotions that had been hidden for years. Levi didn't know to what extent he would be able to make her happy, but at the end of the day, he needed her more than she did.

Soon after, they began to share a bed.

Of course, the children didn't miss the opportunity to tease them. Falco had suspected their feelings for a long time. One evening, he found himself talking with Levi about his feelings for Gabi. Without any meanness, he asked him if he had ever felt something like that. Levi's face darkened with a type of blue that gave the boy all the necessary answers.

It was nice to see Levi finally find the confidence to let someone in. After all, the adults weren't good at hiding their sadness either.

It seemed that life had already given its all when Gabi noticed the swelling in Petra's belly. Since then, Levi began to progressively replace his wheelchair for crutches, as if an unexpected bolt of vitality had made him want to move again. Eventually, they ended up looking like a typical family, and with a little more time, they managed to be one.

"Petra was the one who suggested putting them there," Gabi continued, "shortie things."

"My bad..." Petra laughed, putting her hand on her belly. It was starting to get heavier.

"Please sit! We'll do it," Falco told her sweetly as he approached the counter.

Petra sat down as she happily watched him prepare the tea while the cake was in the oven. Soon after, Gabi returned to the kitchen with Levi.

"Are they serving us today?" He asked after seeing that Petra sat as the kids worked.

"It seems like it," she smiled back at him while he sat next to her.

"Tell me, please, Falco made the tea..." Levi whispered to his wife as she placed a hand on his arm.

"What's wrong with mine!?" Gabi turned to ask.

"I wouldn't even know how to tell you," Falco teased her as they all laughed.

#rivetra #petra ral #levi ackerman #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #rivapeto #levitra #asks #writing tag #rivetra prompt #levi x petra #aot

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jolynej · 3 years

Note

may i ask some hc's for a bisexual artist reader dating bruno, giorno and doppio? 🥺 👉👈 (bonus: reader gets to flip off/ smack diabolo for interrupting dates lol) - 🎨

yes! sorry it took so long, honey! this was really fun to write!! hope you enjoy, bby!!

all characters are 20+ in this piece!

CW: implied nsfw, a curse word in Doppio’s part

• Immensely impressed with your artistic and creative capabilities, no matter your preferred medium. Each time that you present him with a finished copy of your work, his cerulean eyes light up, and his amber lips tug up to reveal a proud, dazzling smile. He gets worried that some of his compliments may sound repetitive, so he has developed a habit of commenting on and praising the most random aspects of your work. From anyone else it’d be odd to hear about that ‘handsome shade of green’ or the ‘fascinatingly sexy technique’ you used, but it’s Bruno, and you wouldn’t expect anything less

•If you’ll indulge him, he’s a big fan of sitting back and watching you work. Full warning though — those odd comments of his are in full abundance! The man truly hangs on to everything that you do and is very anticipatory of how your piece will turn out. But he is far from overbearing. He knows how bothersome it can be to have someone hovering over your shoulder, and he makes sure to allow you to have more than enough breathing room and space to work

•On special occasions such as anniversaries or your birthday — or even just on a random Tuesday, the man just loves surprising you, let’s be real — he’ll gift you art supplies. From brushes to paints, to art programs and aprons, Bruno has given you an array of art-related items. The moment you say that you’re eyeing something in particular or are running low on a particular supply, he mentally catalogues that information away for later

•100% into paint and sips! He signed you up for one as a date idea, and he found out that he really enjoyed himself. It’s a fun way for him to loosen up, relax, try something new, and to, of course, spend time with the person he loves most. He’s a bit of a giggly drunk, and he has definitely made you, and some other angry patrons, mess up due to his loud gasps and snorts and wheezes that he makes because he made such a silly little dolphin, wheeee!!

•Bruno offers to model for you — nude, if you don’t mind certain things popping up. He acts all suave and nonchalant when he proposes the idea, but when it comes down to the actual event of him posing on an ivory-colored sheet draped over a chaise lounge with one hand propping up his head and the other sat upon his thigh, he’s trying everything he can to keep himself from getting turned on. But there is something about the distinct way in which your eyes are narrowed in pure concentration, because of him, that gets him going

•He’s a good critic — he’s fair and offers constructive criticism but is never harsh nor rude, plus, he’s quick to remind you that he knows next to nothing about art and what exactly goes into the creation of your pieces, so he tells you to take his suggestions with a grain of salt, it’s just his way of trying to get you to challenge yourself and achieve even great heights! Still, Giorno always finds something in your latest piece that he admires, and his compliments are always very genuine

•Definitely hangs your work up in his office and whenever someone comments on the work or asks who the artist is, he just smirks and says in a knowing, smug tone that he’s intimately familiar with their other work and that he’s grateful for the exclusive access that his position as don has given him. Whether or not the innuendo is lost or not on the other party is solely dependent on their own inference

•Giorno will absolutely surprise you with your own art studio and/or gallery to display your pieces. While the actual work and planning that went into this took months of proper organizing and hours of him touring different venues to search for the perfect place, the don makes it seem so nonchalant and casual when he calls you out of the blue to tell you to meet him at ‘x address’ at 6:00 PM sharp for your birthday present

•If you have any plants in your works, then he may surprise you with a fresh cut flower or fern or even a potted sapling, depending on the specific species of flora that was featured in your piece. Don’t be shocked to find a vase of roses or hydrangeas or forget-me-nots, or any flower for that matter, on your kitchen counter when you come home from work. He leaves a handwritten note in gorgeous cursive that says something sappy along the lines of ‘I hope this bouquet blooms new inspiration, amore’

•Much like Bruno, he’ll be happy to model for you, and he’ll have no qualms about doing so nude, if you ask, but he probably won’t bring it up otherwise. He’s very patient and does a great job staying still for you, and he will also create a few spontaneous vines and blossoms to better accentuate his chiseled features, stringing the delicate petals through his golden hair and dotting a few at his feet

•Since the boss has him traveling all over, he’ll commission a small self-portrait of you to keep with him when he’s away. He’ll ask for a new picture every few months, which he explains is because he wants to keep up with your change in appearance, be it a new hairstyle/color, new glasses, a new piece of jewelry that he adores on you, etc... but honestly, he just wants to have as many pictures of you as he can — you’re just too lovely!

•Doppio brings up making one of those giant canvas pieces where you both cover yourselves in paint and make love on the canvas together. He had overheard Squalo and Tiziano discussing it one day, and he immediately found himself torn between whether you’d look cuter in pink or blue paint — or both. Doppio would love to sit and have his portrait painted; but alas, that wouldn’t go over well at all with the boss, so this, to him, is the next best thing! Plus! It’s a testament to the love that you both share, and no one has to know how it was made!

•During his travels, he’ll visit little gift shops and will mail back postcards that feature the work of local artists or photos of the scenery or native wildlife. He writes you a cute ‘I miss you’ letter and signs it with a tiny doodle, a heart, and in cursive he ends the note with a simple but intimate ‘your Doppio’ You should plan on making a scrapbook one of these days due to the amount of postcards that you’ve received over the years!

•You have a date night where you both paint along with an episode of Bob Ross, and to put it kindly, Doppio’s painting ends up on the fridge and not on your living room wall, but he’s still proud of himself, considering it’s his first time painting. A few days later, Diavolo walks by the refrigerator one day and asks you why ‘that tasteless shit’ is on display, causing you to scowl and smack him clean across his disgusted face

“Ah, tesoro...” Doppio winces, rubbing his cheek, red and hot from the impact of your harsh slap. “Why does my face hurt?”

#bruno bucciarati x reader #bruno bucciarati #giorno giovanna x reader #giorno giovanna #doppio x reader #vinegar doppio #🎨 anon

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Secrets ~ 4

Warnings: noncon sexual acts later in series; spanking

This is dark!Bucky and dark!Steve and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A buried family secret comes to light thrusting you to the forefront of an old alliance.

Note: Okey dokey, in for a long day but enjoy this while I’m away.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

After hours of Barnes’ relentless criticism and the ridiculous strutting, you were allowed a break. The stress, the jet lag, the anger. It all mounted and left you exhausted. You were shown to your room; grand despite your own treatment. It certainly fit the title of Duchess but had you wondering why your bearing didn’t allot you an ounce of authority. By his own logic, you should be ordering Barnes around.

You collapsed into the plush bed. You didn’t have the energy to admire the canopy, or the fancy furniture, or sheer luxury of the room alone. You fell into a heavy sleep but it did not relieve the turmoil of your mind. Your dreams swirled with Barnes’ unyielding voice, your mother’s home, the roaring plane, the looming portraits of queens glaring down at you. There was no escape.

You woke with a start, the heavy, feather duvet torn from around you. You sat up and let out a pathetic squeak as your vision was still blurry from your heavy sleep. You shook your head and drew your legs up as you stared at the man who let the blanket slump across the bottom of your bed. He tilted his head as he looked back at you, as disapproving as always.

“Time to get up,” Barnes announced.

You hugged your legs and huffed. “Holy shit, dude. You could’ve just set an alarm.”

“Hmpf,” He hung his head as his hands went to his hips and he pursed his lips.

He stood straight, determined, and marched around the bed to you. He grabbed your arm and tugged you to the edge of the bed, your legs slipped down as you were turned to look at him. He framed your chin with his hand and forced you to look up at him.

“First, that language. If I hear another word today and I will fulfill yesterday’s promise.” He warned. “Second, we do not address anyone as ‘dude’. It’s not proper. Third, this is what you wear to bed?”

You felt along the loose grey tee blindly, the front half tucked into your granny panties, and blanched. You shrugged to cover your discomfort.

“What is proper? Walking like I have a stick up my ass and preening over pompous jerks like some desperate debutante.”

“Again, Duchess, you tempt me to wash out that filthy mouth,” He squeezed and drew you up to your feet. “I will allow that you are tired; still waking up. I will have patience for…” He raised his other arm and checked his watch. “The next twenty minutes as you ready. After, the rules stand. No swearing, no slouching…” He released you and stepped back. “And smile, your highness. You’re much more endearing then.”

He smirked and gave a bow. Almost sarcastic. You weren’t entirely sure how a bow could be sarcastic but he’d figured it out. You narrowed your eyes at him as he left and when the door closed, you sat on the bed heavily and swore under your breath. Better to get it out now and not tempt the drill sergeant hounding your every move.

👑

Barnes awaited you. You wouldn’t say eagerly, more impatiently. He guided you along the polished, shining hallways of the palace. You could feel his side eye, the silent measure of your step. You tried to walk as he had bid you. Tried to stand as straight as you could, feet close together, head high. You felt stupid.

He stopped before a pair of double doors and turned back to you.

“This is the queen’s toilette. Queen Alaine furnished the room back in 1742 and since it has been left mostly the same aside from a few necessary updates.” He explained. “It is where the prospective brides are to refine themselves before their weddings. Remember, duchess, you’re foremost concern is pleasing the king.”

“Is it?” You asked dryly.

He took a sharp breath and his brows drew together. He blinked slowly and reached to the handle of the right door.

“You should be concerned,” He said as he turned to open the door. “If you make him unhappy, there is nothing I can do beyond your wedding day to help.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Helping me?” You asked.

“Whether you realise it or not.” He replied and held the door for you.

You entered and were met by a round room of mirrors. Every angle of you was reflected back at you and you turned, each glance at the glass gifting a new insecurity. Barnes entered behind you and pulled shut the door, another mirror on its rear. He came up behind you and hooked his arm around you, drawing you to the centre of the room.

“I have made appointments for stylists to come and deal with…” He waved a hand towards your face. “All of this. For now, we will outfit your royal wardrobe. Fortunately, several designers have sent over racks as a favour to the throne.” You didn’t miss his eyes as they focused on your reflection. “So…’ He turned you and led you to one of the mirrors, he reached to press on it and it clicked outward. He drew it open and nudged your forward. “Go on and start.”

“What?” You stopped in the doorway to the attached room hidden behind the mirror. Racks of clothing hung in varying shades from pastel to jewel to the darkest hues hung from the hangers.

“We must go through each item to make certain they are suitable and set aside any that require proper fitting,” He advise. “I will await your first selection in the next room,” He gestured behind him. “So that we can get a good look at it.”

You frowned. The idea of wearing clothing you didn’t choose in front of a dozen mirrors and a man you could hardly stand was assuredly a living hell. He grinned and closed the door behind him as he disappeared through it. You stomped your foot. He treated you so much like a child, you were starting to act like one. Or maybe he was giving you a complex.

You went to the first rack. A powder blue dress with long sleeves was the first. It was very Jackie O. You took the hanger and sat on the cushioned bench. You didn’t change right away. You felt as if it was another strip of your independence being ripped away from you. Well, given the situation, how much did you really have left?

You stood and laid the dress out as you undressed. You pulled on the dress and found it fit quite snugly. It wasn’t as matronly as it looked on the hanger. The back was an open vee with a thin strap across the top, while the front allowed a sense of modesty while hugging your figure. You hated it already.

You hesitated as you neared the door. You took a moment to let out a stream of curses under your breath and made yourself open it. You stepped through, Barnes sat on a stool and looked up at you, his eyes discerning as they took in every inch of you. He reached to trace the line of his jaw as he thought. He glanced at the mirrors and dropped his hand.

“The cut is great, the colour, not so much,” He remarked. “Red would be nice. If we were to go with blue, it would have to be darker. Something akin to the king’s colours.”

You crossed your arms. “Is that a no? Because I don’t like it.”

He chuckled. “I’m not concerned if you like it, duchess, my worry is the king’s satisfaction. If I cannot get you to behave as a lady, you must at least look like one.”

You pouted and dropped your arms. Fuck the king, you thought. You wanted to say it so badly. He seemed amused by your internal struggle as he laughed again.

“Put it on the empty rack with the pink tag and try the next,” He shifted on the stool. “We don’t have all day.”

You stomped back through to the room and threw the door closed. You shed the dress and hung it as he told you. You took the next, a canary yellow you were very wary off. Shorter sleeves, flouncy skirt. It would be cute if it wasn’t so cockatiel.

You changed and re-entered the cell of mirrors. Barnes tilted his head one way then the other. He smiled.

“I like it. Turn.” He spun his finger and you stayed as you were. “Go on, duchess, show off.”

You glared at him.

He stood and neared you. His expression turned stern as he came close and grasped your shoulders. He turned you and you faced your reflection all around you. His eyes roved down the back of the dress before he drew close and was nearly flush against you as he gazed at the mirror ahead of you.

“This is much more you, wouldn’t you agree? Younger, carefree?” His hands ran down your arms. “And I think the king would like something a bit more… innocent.”

You blinked in disgust and wriggled away from him.

“He looking for some pure maiden?” You spun to face him. “I’m afraid there’s not many of those anymore.”

“Our king isn’t stupid,” Barnes countered. “He is aware of feminine wiles but you will not mention any of your past… indiscretions to him. It would be an insult to your union.”

“And what about his?” You challenged. “I’m not stupid either. I’ve seen the articles, the photos.”

“A prince is allowed his mistakes,” Barnes said. “There are kings who’ve done worse. I am certain that you could name a few yourself given your extensive knowledge on the matter.”

“So a queen must be an abstinent cyborg?” You hissed.

“A queen must be what he king wants her to be,” Barnes came closer. “We’ve yet to see what he wants of you but we’ll do our best to guess,” He leaned in so that you felt his breath. “That dress goes on the rack with the white tag.”

He backed away and returned to his perch on the bench. He sat and stared at you, he fluttered his fingers impatiently.

“Well, go on,” He bid. “Or did you require help?”

You sneered and turned on your heel. You swept back into the side room and slammed the door. You wriggled free of the yellow mess and hung it. You went to the racks and grimaced at the array of tulle, silk, and satin. You took the next, a mint dress with sharp shoulders. The colour didn’t exactly match the silhouette.

You sat and held the dress in your lap. You felt the fabric between your fingers and sighed. You didn’t want to spend the rest of your life like some doll to be dressed and played with. You didn’t want to wear these stupid overpriced dresses and you didn’t want to marry a stranger who to this point had a penchant for frat boy antics. You doubted that age had changed him that much.

You were shaken from your resentful and self-pitying trance by a knock at the door. You sat up as Barnes voice sounded from the other side. “I’m waiting.”

“Fuck off.” You snarled back as you tossed aside the dress and stood.

You grabbed your jeans from the other end of the bench and began to pull them on. The door opened before you had them past your knees and you were bowled over by a sudden force. Barnes shoved you so that you tripped, tangled in the denim, and caught yourself on the bench.

Before you could stand, his hand was on the small of your back. He held you down. His strength was frightening as he easily pinned you against the bench. You were stuck, prone in only your bra and panties as your jeans bunched at your ankles. You pushed on the edge of the seat and tried to force yourself up but couldn’t get the leverage.

“I told you about that language.” His other hand struck your ass and you cried out in surprise and rage.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You struggled against his grasp.

“What needs to be done.” He growled as he spanked you again. “You insist on being a brat so let me treat you like one.”

“Stop!” You hollered. “What the--”

He slapped your ass again and it stung so much you whimpered. You kicked you, your feet still trapped in your jeans and you reached to the floor.

“Ah! Get off! Get off!” You shouted.

“Watch,” Smack. “Your,” Smack, “Mouth.” Smack.

“I am telling you,” You grunted as you wriggled helplessly. “As your duchess-- to let me go!”

You expected another smack but it never came. His hand left your back and he stood straight. Your nerves fizzled as you slowly pushed yourself up and turned to sit on the bench. Your ass still buzzed from the unceremonious spanking. You folded your arms over your chest as you tried to cover yourself. He had no shame as he looked you up and down.

“That’s what you need, your highness,” He purred. “You need to start acting like a duchess.”

“Get out,” You snarled. “Now.”

His lips curved and his eyes drifted from your face. You squirmed and reached to the dress you’d left on the other end of the bench and pulled it over to cover yourself. You stood and clumsily stepped out of your jeans. You neared him as your humiliation boiled to anger.

“I said get out,” You hissed. “I am a duchess and I’ve given you an order.” You poked his chest, he didn’t flinch. “And I doubt your king would appreciate you leering at his future queen.”

He snickered, quietly. He raised his hands and turned his palms out defensively. He backed away from you and paused at the door. He bowed his head.

“Your highness,” He said. “Let us not repeat this. You can skip that one,” He nodded to the dress. “The rack with the red tag.”

He turned and strode through the door, a subtle click in his stead as you were left to stand hugging the horrible mint green monstrosity. You closed your eyes and waited for your heart to slow from its frantic beating.

You lowered the dress from your front and reached to touch your tender ass. The brush of your fingertips sent a shiver through you. How loyal was Barnes truly? To the king? To himself? You weren’t sure you wanted to find out.

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earliebirb · 4 years

Text

sparkle

steve/tony, birthday fluff, established relationship, 934 words

“Still working your way through those?” Tony asks, voice gravelly with sleep.

Steve is sitting up in bed, the sheets pooling at his waist and a stack of colorful cards on his lap.

Every year on his birthday, Steve likes to go through the selection of fan mail his publicist diligently picks out for him. It turns out that Steve hasn’t finished looking through this year’s pile. Tony doesn’t blame him. After all, Steve was quite… preoccupied last night.

Tony had felt Steve’s eyes on him the entire night and every time Tony turned to look at him, he would find Steve already unabashedly staring at him with what Tony could only describe as bedroom eyes.

They continued to steal glances at each other throughout the party like lovesick teenagers, eyes finding one another in between light mingling with guests and countless drinks.

Once the festivities had ended and he finally had Tony all to himself, Steve set about the apparently very urgent task of stripping Tony naked. Something about seeing Tony in formal wear always gets Steve especially hot and bothered.

And when Tony found himself with an armful of Steve mouthing eagerly at his neck, who was he to deny the birthday boy his wishes?

Tony grimaces at the ray of sunlight falling directly on his face. He shuffles sideways on the bed with his eyes shut until he finds the warm weight that is his husband and plants his face into said husband’s bare side.

Steve’s arm curls around Tony’s back, drawing him even closer. He feels Steve’s fingers in his hair, scratching his scalp lightly in greeting.

“Morning, my darling. Did you sleep well?”

“‘Course I did,” Tony mumbles sleepily into the smooth skin of Steve’s flank. “How could I not after the way you destroyed me? I am ruined for any other man, Steven. Completely and utterly ruined.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. It was my birthday?” Steve offers as an excuse, sounding entirely unapologetic. Even without looking, Tony can practically hear the smug smile in his voice. “And what do you mean by ‘ruined for any other man’? You better not be planning to leave me for another man.”

Tony chuckles, turning his head to look up at Steve. He finds Steve staring down at him, eyebrow raised in challenge.

“And if I am?”

Steve’s eyes begin to narrow dangerously. Laughter bubbles up out of Tony as he sits up on the bed, settling in snugly against Steve’s side before pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“Rest assured, Captain. I am only yours to ruin.” Tony wiggles his eyebrows.

Steve continues to stare at him, eyes still narrowed, lips tugged down into a frown. Tony blinks.

“What?”

“You call that a morning kiss?”

Tony rolls his eyes even as he reaches up to cup Steve’s jaw, bringing their mouths together in an indulgent, unhurried, and proper kiss. When they break apart, the beaming smile on Steve’s face rivals the morning sun.

“Satisfied?”

Steve leans in to steal another kiss.

“Very. Thank you, sweetheart.”

“So, whose card do we have here?” Tony rests his head in the crook of Steve’s neck, looking down at the pile of cards and envelopes.

“Here we have six-year-old Derek, who wants to wish me a very, very, very happy birthday.” Steve tilts the card so Tony can see a card that says exactly that in wonky letters, complete with an artistic rendition of a red, white, and blue blob wearing a smiley face.

“Hm, I’d say he’s done very well in his attempt at capturing your likeness,” Tony comments with the air of a professional art critic.

“Better than any self portrait I will ever make,” Steve concurs with a nod.

Together, they make their way through the rest of the pile, putting the ones they have read on the nightstand.

Steve sets the last card aside with finality and sighs contentedly as he leans back against the headboard. Briefly, Tony notes the sparkle of the specks of glitter on the white sheets of their bed, colorful remnants of Steve’s birthday cards.

Tony occupies himself with the absent-minded task of intertwining his fingers with Steve’s, extricating his hand from Steve’s, and doing it all over again. On his fifth time doing it, Steve refuses to let go no matter how hard Tony tries to pry his hand away.

When Tony looks up at Steve, his husband’s eyes are brimming with fondness, lip curled in amusement.

“You have glitter on you,” Steve mumbles distractedly, thumb coming up to brush away the glitter caught in Tony’s goatee.

“So do you,” Tony points out with glee as he spots some blue specks just under Steve’s right eye. He reaches up to scratch at it gently with the nail of his pinky finger.

For a few moments, they just gaze at each other quietly, basking in the tranquility of each other’s company under the pretense of looking for more glitter.

The only glittering thing left on Steve’s face is the bright flecks of light in his blue eyes as they meet Tony’s.

Tony lifts his hand to run his fingers lightly through Steve’s hair and down the side of his face, cupping his cheek. His thumb ends up resting right under Steve’s eye.

“Good birthday, sweetheart?”

Steve blinks, the ends of his impossibly long lashes brushing against the tip of Tony’s thumb. His smile turns soft and private as he looks into Tony’s eyes like he has found an invaluable treasure in them.

Like he is the lucky one, instead of Tony.

“With you? Always.”

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve x tony #mine #earl wrote something #happy birthday steve

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fearfulkittenwrites · 3 years

Text

With one last breath in me (I’d die before I’d let you leave)

Word Count: 8053

Notes: Hey @river-bottom-nightmare! I hope you enjoy this! I tried my best to make it angsty but I always go overboard with the fluff on these two. I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you’ll have fun reading it too!

“Superboy, to your left!” Robin says.

Jon uses his laser eyes to destroy the robots, before moving back to Robin’s side, running with him for the exit.

“You have the data?” He asks.

“Who am I, Red Robin?” He shoots back, smirking as he shakes the flashdrive in front of him “Of course I have the data.”

“That was fast.”

“I am fast.” Robin says, using his batarangs to make a hole on the wall ahead of them.

“Careful,” Superboy smiles, picking him up by the armpits and flying them out of the twentieth floor “You almost sound like Flash now.”

“That’s preposterous.” Robin rolls his eyes as his feet carefully reach the ground, patting the dust out of his costume.

“Are you alright?” Jon asks, scanning his friend like his father had recently taught him to.

“I’m fine. Are you?” Damian grunts, rearranging his cape.

“Yeah, I’m okay. But I think we should go before that becomes a problem.” Jon points at the building they just left, with a reasonably sized burning hole on it’s side.

“Great point.” Robin raises an eyebrow at the mess they’ve made.

Jon picks him up by his armpits again, over Damian’s protests.

“Put me down, you wild beast!” He flails around “You’re going to dislocate my shoulders!”

“What do you suggest then? We need to get home!” Jon says. Damian thinks for a second, before sighing.

“Fine. Put me on your back.” He says, resigning to his fate.

Jon doesn’t need to land to throw him over his shoulders, going faster now that Damian was more secure. Robin blushed with the ease that he had been placed on his friends back, wrapping his arms and legs around Superboy’s torso. They still had fifteen minutes to go, so he rests his head against Jon’s back, examining the flashdrive. Jon blushes when he feels Damian’s hair ticking the back of his neck. They reach their HQ after twenty minutes of a comfortable flight. Robin doesn’t complain about the added travel time.

Damian walks to the computer, analyzing the data they had just stolen, downloading whatever seemed interesting and relevant before he could take it back to the cave for further research under his father’s critical eyes.

“Hey, Dami,” Jon calls. Damian freezes at the nickname, and tries his best to disguise it as he feels Jon’s hand on his shoulder “Do you think you have it covered? I kinda really need a shower right now.”

“Go ahead.” Damian’s voice comes out a bit higher than normal. He clears his throat “You wouldn’t be of much use for me right now anyways.”

Jon takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes.

“Whatever.” He pulls his hand back “If you need me, you know where I’ll be.”

Yes, he did. In the shower. And Damian was trying really hard not to picture him there. And he was trying really hard not to think of how nice Jon’s hair must feel when it’s wet and being shampooed. And he tries even harder not to think of how even nicer it must be to have Jon’s hands massaging his scalp for him. And he tries really hard not to think of how much he wants Jon to tangle his fingers into his hair and play with it as he drifts off to sleep. And he doesn’t even know why it is that he needs to try so hard not to think about it.

“I won’t be needing you, Kent.” Damian says “Have a nice shower. You stink.”

“Whatever.” Jon says again, rolling his eyes one more time.

...

“What’s with the face, D?” Jon asks, sitting across his friend at the lunch table.

Damian takes another bite out of the sandwich Alfred had carefully crafted in the morning and frowns harder as he watches a girl sit down next to Jon, followed by her friend. He was almost sure one of them was Delilah, but it might as well be Janet. Jon is – as always – smiling, but the two girls aren’t. Understandably so. Damian didn’t exactly make an effort to be liked.

“So, which class do you have next?” Jon insists.

“Chemistry.” Damian answers.

“Oh, I hate chemistry.” Jon says, overreacting, trying to keep the conversation alive.

“I used to find it rather fascinating. Of course, that was back when I was with mother and being taught something actually useful and challenging, and not now, when I’m forced to go through this with a bunch of functional idiots that can’t even remember the formula for the air that they breathe.” Damian says.

“Huh.” Jon says, tapping the table and bouncing his leg. Damian rolls his eyes.

“Yeah.” The girl – maybe her name was Jessica – says, turning to Jon “Hey, have you seen the soccer game last night? Man, I could barely stay still!”

“Me neither!” Jon says, enthusiastically chattering on about a game Damian had neither seen or been interested in with the girls.

He tunes out the conversation until he finishes his sandwich and leaves without a word, but enough noise to catch a few eyes. Not that he cared.

“Excuse me for a second.” Jon says to the girls, before sprinting after Damian “Hey, D, wait up!” He says, placing his hand on Damian’s shoulder again, forcing him to turn. He wills himself not to blush when he faces his blue-eyed friend “What’s going on? Did something happen? You seem a little down today.”

“Nothing happened, Kent.” Damian spits out “I have a class to attend. Go back to talking about football with your friends.”

“It’s actually soccer, but-”

“Doesn’t matter.” Damian turns around “Americans” He rolls his eyes as he makes his way through the halls, leaving Jon very confused, a little worried, and a little angry.

Damian keeps rubbing and scratching his right shoulder through the day, remembering Jon’s hand forcefully spinning him on his heels. He can’t understand why he wishes it was still there.

The rest of Damian’s classes go by at an agonizingly slow pace, and when he’s finally free to go home, he once again feels a hand grabbing him on the hallways. Jon holds him by his left forearm, and Damian stares down at his friends grip in surprise. His arm is covered by his clothing, but it still feels like it’s on fire under the other’s fingers. Surprisingly, Damian finds that he doesn’t really want to pull away. He drags his eyes up, meeting his friend’s.

“Dami, did I do something? You haven’t talked to me all day.”

Damian frowns.

“You didn’t do anything, Kent.” He pulls his arm back, harsher than he needs to be “Leave me alone at once, I need to go home.”

“Oh, c’mon Damian.” Jon walks beside him. Damian wants to punch him in the face “Don’t be like that. We’ve been friends for such a long time, you can tell me anything.”

“Great. I’m telling you to leave.” Damian shoves his hands in his pockets.

“You’re so rude, Damian.” Jon says.

“Oh look, there’s Pennyworth.” Damian says, monotone and sarcastic “I would hate to keep him waiting. Goodbye.”

Damian walks faster, getting away from a huffing, frustrated Jon, while waving at Alfred. He replies with a polite nod and a small smile. When Damian gets in the car, ready to cuss up a storm on his way home, a friendly face greets him.

“Hey Dami.” Dick says, smiling, sunglasses on “So, I take it school sucked today.”

“Very much so.” Damian dares to open a small smile as he settles in next to Dick “What are you doing here?”

“Hello, missed you too, happy to see you’re safe.” Dick teases.

“Yes, sure, I’m glad you’re back from your mission, alive and in one piece.” Damian rolls his eyes “Not like I had any doubts you’d come home safe.”

“I’m here because I missed you.” Dick says, reaching out to ruffle Damian’s hair “But Bruce wouldn’t let me come alone, says there are too many bruises to be questioned, so I had to stay in the car.” Dick removed his shades to expose a nasty black eye, so swollen Damian could barely see the blue in them. He was taken aback by that, finally noticing all of the other injuries Dick hid so well; there was a healing cut close to his hairline, a splint in his left hand and a deep purple bruise poked out of his collar, probably hinting at a much bigger nightmare underneath.

“I can see why.” Damian says as Dick puts his shades back on. The boy stops for a second, thinking “Can I still hug you?”

Dick has the biggest smile on his face at that.

“Of course you can, little D.” He says, opening his arms “Just mind the hip, I think I might’ve fractured it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Damian replies, already burying his face in his brother’s neck. He hadn’t realised how much he missed Dick when he was away.

“Now,” Dick starts as they separate “Wanna tell me what’s gotten you so down?”

“I’m not-” Damian gasps, outraged for a split second, putting up all of the walls he always did before he remembered this was his brother. He sighs, shoulders falling as he does so “I... Jonathan is getting on my nerves.” Damian rubs his left forearm, curling protectively over it.

“Did he hurt you?” Dick asks, reaching out for his arm.

“No, it’s not that.” Damian answers, sighing, letting his brother check under his sleeve for bruises “It’s his friends, that Denise, or Jennifer or whatever. Following him around talking about ‘soccer’.” He makes a face “And of course, since he insists on following me, I am forced to listen to that... annoying little voice, blabbering on about meaningless subjects.”

“Hm.” Dick listens with a smirk “Y’know, it sounds to me like you’re jealous.”

Damian huffs.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it though?” Dick squints a bit.

“Yes.”

“You hesitated.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I did not!”

“Yes you did.”

“Kids, please, no more yelling.” Alfred says.

Damian huffs.

“Alright, I’m sorry, I was only teasing you.” Dick says “But, um, just in case I was right, then... you do know it’s okay, right?”

“You were not right, so it doesn’t matter. Now leave me alone already.” Damian looks out the window, frowning.

“Okay, okay, I’ll back off.” Dick says, putting his hands up.

“Good.” He shoots back. There are a few minutes of silence before the kid speaks up “When will you be able to go on patrol with us again?”

Dick frowns.

“Tonight?”

And there it is, the string of curses Damian had been holding back on, bullying Dick hard enough to get him to stay at home for at least a week.

...

“So... the school dance is coming.” Jon says over Damian’s shoulder.

“And you are bringing this up because?” Damian grunts, searching the room for any other crooks that could be hiding.

“Because this is boring.” Jon replies, grabbing a hidden guy by the back of his neck “And I was wondering if you’re going.” He shoves the guy to Damian, who hits him with a perfect nerve strike to keep him down for a while.

“-tt-.” Damian rolls his eyes, walking to the next room “As if I would be willingly joining those stupid peasants for an evening.” He takes down two men while Jon leans against a door frame.

“Wow, okay.” He says “Forget I asked anything.”

“Why? Are you going?” Damian scoffs.

“Yes.”

Damian looks at him in disbelief and disgust.

“Why?”

“Because it’s fun.” Jon rolls his eyes “And there are three more guys coming from the hall, I can hear their heartbeats.” Damian attacks before they reach the door “And Elise invited me. I think I might say yes.”

“What?” Damian scowls “You can’t-” He dodges a punch “A little help?” He growls at Jon, who sends a laser beam into the man’s foot “As I was saying, you can’t go.”

“Why not?”

“Because! It’s preposterous!” Damian yells, knocking down the last guy.

“Well, I don’t think so. I think it will be fun.” Jon says, making his way out of the place “And the police are near. We should be on our way.”

“I’m not allowing you.”

“You’re not the boss of me, Damian.” Jon rolls his eyes.

“You have patrol.” Damian shoots back.

“I can miss a day of patrol.” He crosses his arms “Just stay with your family for the night. Besides, hasn’t Nightwing just gotten back from a long mission overseas? Just spend more time with him, I’m sure you two miss each other a lot.”

“That’s besides the point!” Damian stomped his foot “You’re gonna leave me all alone for that... weird football girl.”

“Once again, soccer.”

“Ugh! Whatever!” Damian exclaims “I’m going home. Since you can’t take this seriously enough, I believe we should call it a night.”

“Robin, c’mon, don’t be such an ass.”

Damian clenched his jaw.

“Go back to Metropolis, Superboy. Gotham clearly doesn’t have a good enough soccer league for you.”

Damian shoots his grapple gun, letting it pull him to the top of a random building.

“Agh! You’re so frustrating sometimes!” Jon yells, shoving his hands in his hair.

After Damian sees the boy leaving, he sits on the edge of the building, feet dangling down. He picks up his comm, switching it to a private line.

“Nightwing,” He calls “Are you awake?”

It takes a while, but after a small static noise, Dick picks up. Damian sighs in relief.

“Hey.” He answers “I’m up. Is everything okay?”

“It’s... fine.” He sighs “I think...” He blushes “I think that you were right.” He looks down at his dangling feet “I think I did hesitate.”

There’s silence for a short while. Dick knows this is as close as Robin gets to crying.

“Where are you?” Dick asks “I’m picking you up.”

...

Back home and under weighted blankets, Damian held on to a cup of hot cocoa Alfred had made for him while Dick ruffled his hair.

“Feeling better little D?” He asks, sitting down next to him. Damian sniffles a little.

“Not really.” He admits, staring at the steaming liquid in his green mug “I don’t understand. Why does it feel like I’m... like I’m dying?” He looks up at his older brother with watered eyes.

“I don’t know, Dames.” Dick replied gently “Maybe if you talk to me about what happened, I could help.”

Damian sighs, putting the mug down and hugging his knees.

“Her name is Elise.” Damian starts “The annoying girl I was talking about. And... he’s taking her to the school dance.” He closes his eyes for a second “I don’t understand. He’s... above her. Why would he subject himself to such a humiliating situation?”

“Why do you think he’s above her?” Dick frowns a little.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“I think you might be forgetting that his mom is human too.” Dick replies “I don’t think he-”

“No. God no. You misunderstand me.” Damian interrupts “It’s not the human part that’s the problem. It’s the way she is. Such an annoying waste of space and matter.”

Dick tries his best to conceal his smile.

“Little D... you feel like you’re dying because you’re jealous.” Dick says. This time, Damian doesn’t protest “And it’s fine. It’s part of life.”

“But I don’t want to feel like that.” He says, hiding his face in himself.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s a possibility.” Dick smiles.

“How do I make it stop?” Damian asks.

“You could try asking Jon to go with you instead.”

“Never!” He hisses back “I’m not taking part in such dreadful events.”

“Oh, c’mon, what could be the worst that could happen?” Dick responds “Some harmless fun?” He teases “Oh no! The mighty Robin is afraid of music and watered down poncho!”

“Quit it Richard.” He growls “I’m not going and that’s final.”

...

“I don’t understand.” Jon says, burying his face in his hands “He’s just so... difficult.”

Clark watched attentively as his son stared at his slice of pie, waiting for him to continue speaking.

“It’s like he doesn’t want me to be happy.” He frowns “I had no clue he hated me this much.”

“He doesn’t hate you Jon.” Clark says, gentle eyes scanning his son “We both know that Damian’s family life is... complicated. He cares about you very much, but has a hard time expressing it. He never really learned how to express it.”

“Yeah, well, remind me again of why I put up with it.” He complains, shoving a bite of pie into his mouth “It’s not like it’s my responsibility to teach him how to be a decent human being.” Clark waits patiently as his son finishes chewing “I mean... it’s so unfair. Why do I have to keep on... getting hurt by his mean words and he gets to just... walk away and have fun with his siblings? He was the one being rude and now I’m the one that’s upset.”

“Uh, I’m sure Kon would love to patrol with you, if that’s the issue.” Clark tries, unsure on what to say. God, he wished Lois was home. She was the one that knew what to do in situations like these.

“Ugh, dad, no.” He presses his temples with the palm of his hands “I mean that like... I have to carry around this weight that he puts on my shoulders! And it’s not fair.” He sighed “Why did I have to fall for someone who treats me so badly?”

Clark blushes at the words, unsure on what to say. These topics always made him a bit uneasy. But there was his boy, his little miracle, teary eyed and hurt, and for once in his life, there was nothing he could do about it. He reaches out a hand to his son.

“I don’t know, son.” He starts, holding Jon’s small hand in his “We can’t really control the desires of our hearts. Especially not at your age.” He smiles.

“I wish I could.” He mumbles, letting tears fall out of his eyes.

“I know.” Clark replies “We all do.”

“It feels like the world is ending right now.” Jon sobs “Like nothing matters anymore.”

“I know.” Clark moves to sit next to his son, hugging the boy “But I promise you it’s not ending.” He gently rubbed his arms as silent tears fell from his boy’s eyes “Everything seems so much bigger when we’re young. But this bad feeling will fade away, I promise you. Just give it time.”

Jon nods, wiping his eyes with his sleeves.

“Do you think I should talk to him?” Jon asks “I could... tell him how I feel?”

“I think that could be good.” Clark swallows “But... remember who he is. Damian might not be as kind as you would if he doesn’t feel the same.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jon sighs “But it’d be nice to put something of mine on his shoulders for once.”

...

The next day, Damian doesn’t go to school. Jon spends the entire day anxious, wondering why his friend was allowed to skip class. Was he sick? Was he upset? Was he sent on a mission away from home? Was he dead? Oh no. If he was dead, then how was Jon supposed to confess his love? Wait. No, this wouldn’t be the worst part of him being dead. Jesus, Jon, come on.

At night, he can’t contain himself anymore. They weren’t supposed to patrol together, but Jon suits up and flies to Gotham regardless, heart beating desperately in his chest as he lands close by the cave’s secret entrance. He walks in, hoping he’d need to ask for Robin’s whereabouts, but instead he finds him as soon as he walks in, analyzing fresh samples in the batcomputer.

“Damian?” He calls “Are you okay?”

“What are you doing here, Superboy?” Damian growls in response.

“I was worried.” Jon says “You weren’t at school today.”

“Very perceptive of you.” Damian rolls his eyes.

“I thought you were sick.” Jon crosses his arms, walking towards his friend “But clearly that isn’t the problem.”

“Stop scanning me.” Damian scowls.

“Stop being such an ass!” Jon shouts back “I’m here because I care about you, and you still say rude and mean things!”

“I didn’t ask you to come!”

“Well, but I’m here! And you could at least try to be polite!” Jon stomps his foot down.

“Did you come here to yell at me? Are you done already?” Damian asks, finally turning his entire body to face the boy, walking towards him as well.

“No! I came here to see if you needed help.” Jon replies “But you can’t help yourself, can you? You need to push away people that care about you.”

“Great. I don’t need help.” Damian replies, walking back to the computer “You’re done around here. Have a safe fly home.”

“What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this, Damian?” Jon asks, frowning.

“Because I still feel your touch on me!” Damian shouts, turning around to face the other, ripping away his mask. There are tears gathered in his jade eyes. They break Jon’s resolve and they break Jon’s heart “Because even after you leave, your scent is burned into my nostrils and I can still feel you, everywhere!” Damian shoves his gloved hands into his hair “And for the first time in ages, I don’t know what to do, and I don’t know what this means, and I don’t know why I keep on feeling like my entire body is on fire when I’m next to you, why it feels so cold when you’re away, and why every bone in my body feels like they are breaking simultaneously when I see you next to someone that isn’t me!”

And then, the unthinkable finally happens.

Damian sobs.

He covers his mouth just in time, but the pained, loud sound still reaches Jon’s ears, and he feels it; the pain Damian just talked about, shattering every unbreakable bone in his half-kryptonian body. He watches as Robin falls to his knees in front of him, crying, crying so much it scares him. Because to this very day, Jon was certain that Robins didn't cry. Superboy had been warned of that several times.

No, Robins don’t cry.

But Damian does.

“D, I...” He reaches out a hand, crouching in front of him.

“No!” Damian yells, slapping his friends hand away “Don’t. Stay away from me! I don’t want to keep on getting hurt.”

“Dami, I don’t-”

“Don’t call me that!” Damian pushes Jon back, forcing him to stand up “Don’t call me that when you don’t mean it!”

“Please, just listen to me!”

“Leave me alone! Get away from me! Get out of here before I make you!” Damian keeps shouting out over Jon’s words.

“Damian, please-”

“Leave!” Damian reaches into his boot, pulling out a shard of kryptonite “I will not stand in your way any more, Kent.”

Jon puts his hands in front of his body, staring at him and at the green stone and he feels sick. He’s not sure if that’s on the kryptonite or if that’s on... everything else. Finally, he flies away, whispering his goodbyes and his apologies. If he cried on the way home, no one had to know. If he cried on his father’s shoulder when he got home, no one had to know. If his mom had to help him out of his costume and into bed after he calmed down, no one had to know.

And if Damian broke down and cried until his voice was hoarse and he ran out of tears, no one had to know. And if Dick rushed downstairs and held Damian’s small body against his own, no one had to know. And if his father had found them and caressed his hair and cupped his cheek with concerned eyes, no one had to know.

Because life would go on, no matter what. It had to, no matter how much pain there would be. It had to keep moving, no matter how heartbroken Jon was when he didn’t see Damian at school for the following week, only to find out he had been transferred to Gotham High. It had to, no matter how Damian’s body seemed to refuse to move on his first day in his new school. It had to. It simply had to. There were things to learn, people to protect, dances to attend, a world to save, and none of those were willing to wait on Robin or Superboy.

...

“I can’t go.” Jon says “I’m sorry, but I really can’t go to the dance with you Elise.”

“What?” Elise says “The dance is tomorrow Jon! Who am I supposed to go with?”

“I’m sorry.” He says again “I know that I should’ve said something sooner, but... something came up.” He scratches the back of his head “Something that I can’t miss.”

“And what exactly is that?” She crosses her arms, upset.

“Well...” He shoves his hands in his pockets “A chance to make some things right.”

...

Robin sits on the highest tower in Gotham. Nightwing sits by his side. He looks down at his own dangling feet. The dance in metropolis high was happening as they sat there. Damian couldn’t understand why he still felt a knot in his guts. He hadn’t been able to eat properly before patrol, but he also wasn’t hungry at all. He hasn’t been hungry since the night of the screaming match in the cave.

“Robin,” Nightwing speaks up “Since there’s no way he’ll ever be able to sneak up on you, I think I should tell you that Superboy is on his way here.”

“What?” He exclaims. Dick pulls him away from the edge “How do you know that? Did you invite him?”

“Yes.” He says.

“You-”

“Before you insult me, let me speak.” Nightwing interrupts him. Damian grunts, but crosses his arms and waits for an explanation “After that night, Clark came to me.” He sighs “He was worried about what happened, because it seems that Jon had been crying so much he wasn’t able to explain what happened and for a second he worried about your safety.” He joins his hands, intertwining his own fingers as he speaks “I explained the situation giving as little detail as possible. Clark told me that... he said you two needed to talk. And that he could convince Jon to come, but he’d need my help getting you to be there.”

“So you tricked me into it.”

“Would you have come if I had asked you to?”

“...No.” He grunts.

“There we have it.”

“I don’t have anything else to say to him.”

“Apparently, he has a lot he wants to say to you.” Dick massages his own gloved hand “Just hear him out, okay? I think it might at least alleviate your suffering.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Damian asks.

“Look, if I didn’t have some sort of certainty that this would help and not hurt you, I wouldn’t have agreed to this in the first place.” He sighs “Last time you two spoke, it wasn’t good. Leaving it at that is killing you inside, baby brother.” He smiles at him “Just try, okay?”

Jon lands on the rooftop as Dick finishes speaking.

“So, you didn’t go to the dance afterall.” Robin says, walking away from Nightwing and closer to Jon, arms crossed.

“Alright, there’s no easy way to say this, so here it goes.” Jon says, taking a deep breath.

Damian braces himself for the worse.

How could Dick possibly think that this would be good for him? Had he really been brought here just to be painfully rejected?

“I love you.” Jon says. Damian’s eyes widen “I have always loved you, I think. But now, I love you more than I ever have. More than as a friend.”

Damian doesn’t know how to respond.

“I...” He tries “Me too.”

“Yeah. I kinda figured that out in the bones breaking part.” Jon smiles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“So now what?” Damian asks, looking at the ground.

“I don’t know.” Jon says “What do you want to do?”

Damian's stomach growls.

“Well, we’re in Gotham.” Jon grinned at him “I think a vegetarian Bat-burger would be nice.”

“Yes.” Damian smiles shyly “I believe so too.”

...

Jon lands next to Damian, on top of a Metropolis building.

“How was school today?” He asks.

“Awful.” Robin answers, removing his gaze from the street to look at his partner “I shouldn’t have asked father to change schools. Now not only do I have to put up with annoying commoners, I also have to spend the day missing you.”

Jon blushes and giggles, looking down. Damian smiles at him.

“It’s a quiet night.” Damian says “But then again, I suppose Metropolis is a lot quieter than what I’m used to.” He examines Jon’s face “You could... do the thing again.”

“The... thing?” Jon asks, frowning.

“Yes.” Damian stares at him “Like... the sky thing.”

“Oh! Oh, that thing.”

“What else did you think of?” Damian crosses his arms, smirking.

Jon blushes violently.

“Nothing! I was just confused!”

Damian laughs.

“Yeah, alright, Superboy.” He walks forward, wrapping his arms around the other’s neck “Now do it.”

“Bossy.”

“You like it.”

“And cocky.” Jon says, wrapping his arms tightly around Damian’s waist before taking off, pulling them both up to the air.

Damian smiles, looking down at the now small city under them.

“Aren’t you ever afraid of falling?” Jon asks as he stops on the highest spot possible before the air got too thin for Damian “My mom said she was always scared to death when my dad would do this.”

Damian stares into his eyes, bright blue sapphires that seemed even more alive from up close.

“I know you won’t let me fall, beloved.” Jon swallows, reactionless for a moment. Damian allowed himself the smallest of smiles “God, I love you so much.” He cups the other’s cheeks “But I’m getting cold, so I think it’s time we go down.”

Jon chuckles.

“Can I kiss you first?”

“You can kiss me whenever.” Damian smiles, pressing their lips together “Just not in front of my team. Or my family. Or yours. Or-”

“Okay , I get it!” Jon stops him, giggling, stealing another kiss “Just when we’re alone.”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re gonna have to patrol with me more often then. Since we don’t go to school together anymore.” Jon argues.

“I thought that was a given.” Damian replies “As long as you keep doing the sky thing.”

“I’ll do it as many times as you want.” Jon nuzzles into Damian’s neck.

“Jon?”

“Yes?”

“I’m still cold.”

...

Jon is cuddled up to Damian on the couch while the fireplace crackles and Alfred the cat is curled up at his feet. He is reading a book about Gotham’s economic history while Jon scrolls through his instagram feed, eventually laughing softly at some joke that pops up on the screen. Damian mindlessly plays with his hair.

“Dames?” Jon calls.

“Hm?” Damian responds, not taking his face out of his book.

“What are we?”

“What do you mean, beloved?” Damian puts his book down, gently brushing Jon’s hair back.

“What are we?” Jon sits up “We’re not friends. But we...” His words die inside his throat.

“Boyfriends?” Damian asks, raising an eyebrow. Jon’s eyes widen.

“We are?”

“I... isn’t it obvious?” Damian looks at him with concern “We go out together, we hold hands, we kiss, we cuddle... I told you I love you multiple times. Why the question? Don’t you... want to be my boyfriend?”

“No I do, it’s just...” Jon scratches the back of his neck “We never... said anything, I guess. I was afraid you didn’t want to be my boyfriend.”

Damian shoots him an exasperated look.

“I swear Jonathan, you are so confusing sometimes.” Jon rolls his eyes, looking down “But fine. I don’t have a ring on me so I hope a kiss will be a good enough substitute.”

“What are you...”

Damian gets down from the couch, kneeling in front of Jon.

“Jonathan Lane Kent,” Damian says, holding the other’s hand “Will be my boyfriend?” He gave his ring finger a feather light kiss.

Jon blushes intensely.

“Yes.”

Damian smiles, sitting back up on the couch and picking up his book again.

“No, put the book down.” Jon pouts climbing on Damians lap “I need kisses from my boyfriend.”

Damian rolls his eyes.

“You are so childish sometimes, beloved.” He sets his hands on Jon’s waist, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles. He kisses Jon regardless of his complaining, and when he pulls back, he gazes into the other’s blue eyes “How could you think that I didn’t want to be your boyfriend, you idiot?”

“I don’t know I guess... it’s just that... it’s a big deal. Right?”

Damian makes a face.

“I never thought it was.”

“I guess we just have very different views of love.” Jon whispers. Damian nods, biting his lips.

“I’ll...” He sighs “I’m sorry. I’ll try to... see things your way too.” Damian grabs Jon’s hand, staring at their intertwined fingers for a second “But you have to understand that I might let you down at times. I wasn’t raised to be a romantic. I don’t know what is normal and what isn’t in a relationship. I don’t understand the rites of passage properly. I didn’t know that the title boyfriend required a formal request. I might not know many other obvious things. I’ll try, I swear. I’ll try to learn and I’ll try to... be a good boyfriend.”

“You already are a good boyfriend, D.” Jon says softly “I’m not upset at you, I promise. I just really needed the clearance, that’s all.” He cups Damian’s cheek gently, giving his hand a light squeeze “And I’ll try to be patient. I won’t take silly things to heart and I promise to tell you when something bothers me.” He kisses the tip of Damian’s nose “And you promise to do the same?”

“Of course.” Damian smiles.

“Good. Now, I’m not done with kissing my boyfriend.” He sings out the last word, pulling giggles from Damian.

“So childish.” Damian mumbles against the other’s lips.

...

Damian throws the ball as far as he can again.

“Go fetch!” He exclaims, watching as Titus clumsily runs after it, giggling as he jumps up to catch it mid-air “Good boy.” He scratches his chin when the dog brings the ball back to him.

Jon openly stares at them, grinning like a fool at the fact that he could call that boy his, forgetting that they were surrounded by their combined families for a barbecue at the Waynes’ huge garden.

“You really are as lovestruck as they come, huh?” Dick smiles, settling next to him.

“Oh, um...” Jon blushes, embarrassed.

“Don’t be embarrassed, it’s adorable.” He places a hand on the teen’s shoulder, shaking him slightly “I’m not really the overprotective type. That’s Bruce.”

“Yeah, I figured that out pretty quickly.” Jon scratches the back of his head, remembering the expression on the billionaire’s face when he heard the news of their relationship.

Dick laughs at the boy’s shy reaction.

“Don’t worry too much about him. He’s more talk than action when it comes to that.” Dick reassures him.

“Still...” Jon looks over at Bruce, who’s standing next to Clark as he handles the grill, shuddering, before redirecting his gaze to Damian, biting his lips nervously “Y’know, sometimes I struggle a lot to understand him.” He admits, and feels Dick straightening his posture by his side “Don’t get me wrong, I love him, I really do, but... he somehow over explains everything and still leaves doubts in my mind. I feel like I’m always looking at an out of focus picture, and no matter how much I try, I can’t get the image clear in my eyes.” He chews on his fingernail for a second “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, a little.” Dick crosses his arms “I gotta say, sometimes I felt like that with him too. He’s too... reserved. Dangerously so. I had to constantly push him for little bits of information that may be crucial to my understanding of who he is as a person.” He tilts his head from side to side, considering “But in time, it got easier. Dami is... he’s not much of a talker, I guess. It’s easier to perceive him if you look at him, instead of just listening. After all, we are talking about a picture, right?” He smiles, charming and understanding.

“I guess so.” He ponders “Wait...” Jon frowns at Dick “He lets you call him that?”

“Call him what?”

“Dami.”

“Yes?” Dick raises an eyebrow “Why?”

“That one night... the fight...” Jon shakes his head lightly “He told me not to call him that when I don’t mean it.”

“Oh.” Dick smiles “Of course.” He chuckles a little.

“I... was it a bad thing?”

“No, no,” Dick smiles softly at him “It’s just that... when you pronounce it like I do, more like ‘duh-mee’ than actually ‘dami’, you’re kinda saying my blood in arabic.” Jon seems confused and scared “I heard once that in arabic, people say things like, ‘my heart’, ‘my lungs’ and stuff to their loved ones. I tried it with Damian once and...” He shrugs “So that’s probably what he meant for you not meaning it. I’m sure that he’ll be over the moon if you call him that now.”

Jon blinks at him.

“So that’s why he gets so mad at being called that?”

“I mean, if someone you’re not close with called you sweetheart, wouldn’t it feel super invasive too?” Dick shrugs.

“Yeah.” Jon chews on his bottom lip again, looking back at Damian “Dami.” He whispers under his breath, trying to say it like Dick did “Dami. Dami.”

“Yeah, like that, but maybe say that to him instead of me.” Dick taps his back as he leaves, and Jon is suddenly startled by the man, having completely forgotten that he was standing next to him.

“Dami.” He says, louder this time, running for the other teen “Dami. Dami!”

“Jon?” Damian frows, startled as his boyfriend nearly tackles him to the ground with a hug and a kiss.

“Dami. I mean it. I’ve always meant it, you dumb bird. Even when I didn’t know what it meant.”

“You’re an idiot Jonathan.” Damian smiles, cupping his cheeks “Such a huge fucking idiot.”

“Your idiot.” Jon corrects him.

“Yeah, whatever.” Damian blinks some tears away, laughing as he presses their foreheads together “God, I missed hearing you say that. I was wondering when you’d say it again.”

“I would’ve said it sooner if you had explained what it meant and why you said what you said back in the cave.” Jon says.

“Whatever.” Damian rolls his eyes “Say it again.”

“Dami.” Jon presses their lips together.

“Again.”

“Dami.” He kisses him again “Dami. Dami, Dami, Dami.”

“I love you, Jon.” He lets a tear slide down his cheek.

“I love you too, Dami.”

...

“Hello!” Bruce greets the salesman with a wide smile, best dumb, kind, billionaire like grin that he can muster.

“Good afternoon, mister Wayne.” He replies politely “How may I help you?”

“We’re here to look at some promise rings?” He joins his hands “They’re for my son.” He looks over to Damian, who is sporting his typical frown paired with over-analytic eyes. Dick walks right behind him, smiling enough for both of them.

“Oh, surely. If you’d follow me, please.” He walks them to a table they can sit down at, and pulls out a bunch of rings “These are the most popular ones at the store. What do you think your girlfriend would like?”

“Boyfriend, actually.” Damian shoots back, examining the rings with a frown “And none of these will do. I don’t believe either of us would enjoy wearing a...” He twirls one of the rings between his fingers “Silver butterfly or a...” He frowns at a second one “Is that supposed to be a rose?”

“I think it’s a carnation.” Dick says.

“I-It’s a rose.” The man interrupts, smiling awkwardly “We should have more discreet options, if you give me a second.”

Damian crosses his arms and leans back on his chair.

“Little D, you should try to lighten up a little.” Dick ruffles his hair.

Damian glares at him. It would make a weaker man nervous, but Dick simply chuckles.

“It has to be perfect, Richard.” Damian answers, looking forward “I already messed up once by not doing this sooner. This time I can’t let him down. Besides,” He turns around, coming closer to his brother and whispering “He’s enough of a lovable idiot that he might wear it out on patrols so... it can’t be recognizable.”

Dick laughs at his concern.

“And what makes you think that the world will be deeply interested in Jon Lane Kent from Metropolis, to the point of checking his rings?”

“Other than the fact that his mom has a Pulitzer?” Damian grins wickedly “What do you think?”

“You’re going...?” Dick’s eyes widen “Oh my God, you’re going public with your relationship?” He smiles “Dami, that’s great!”

“Shhh. Keep your voice down. And yes, that’s great, if he agrees to it.” Damian settles back “We haven’t discussed it yet. I was hoping that the ring would help him with that decision. So it has to be perfect.”

“It will be, son.” Bruce says, smiling “We’ll find something perfect either here or somewhere else. You know that money is not a problem.”

“Yes, which just makes this even more stressful.” He shoves his face in his hands “If we were on a budget, it would already make whatever I found special. But no, you had to be a billionaire. That’s just my luck.”

“Well I’m so sorry that I have enough money to buy you a luxury car to give Jon if you want me to.” Bruce replies, amused.

“Can we do that?”

“No.”

“Can I have a luxury car?” Dick asks.

“I thought you didn’t want my money.” Bruce smirks.

Dick shrugs.

“I don’t want your money, but I think that I’m ready to start accepting gifts again.” He smiles, and the trio can’t help but laugh.

“I brought you some more discreet options.” The salesman smiles.

Damian twists his nose and scowls at every single one of the rings.

“I might as well give him the ring Timothy found in a cereal box.” He frowns, crossing his arms. The man is sweating, staining his dress shirt.

“Damian, don’t be rude.” Dick sighs, rubbing his forehead.

“I-I... I could bring you the engagement rings we have.” He swallows “But they are a bit more expensive.”

“Money is not a problem.” Bruce says, finding it difficult to keep up his happy and silly facade already.

The man comes back with boxes full of rings, having trouble to properly balance all that he’s brought down. Damian set his eyes on a pair of white gold rings.

“Let me see those, please.” He stretches out his hand in the direction of the rings.

Damian analyzes them for a second.

“If I need them in different sizes?”

“That can be arranged.”

“Can you engrave our initials inside?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I want this one.” He says.

Dick breathes out in relief.

“Oh, thank God. Fucking finally.”

...

“Beloved,” Damian says, sitting up on the couch “I need to talk to you about something.”

“What is it Dami?” Jon puts down his book, looking at him with worry.

“You know how... you always talk about going to a restaurant or something, for a change, but father’s concern for the cruel public eye of Gotham stopped us?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I... I’ve been thinking.” He puts a hand in his pocket “I would quite like to go out with you. Take you out of the manor for once, when you come over to Gotham.” He swallows “But if we’re doing that, then it means our relationship will most likely be on every Gotham’s newspaper, and every single gossip site that bothers with the romantic endeavours of d-listers.” He looks up at Jon expectantly “Would you be okay with that?”

“Yes.” Jon says, immediately “Yes, yes a million times yes.” Jon hugs Damian.

“Alright, alright.” Damian smiles, pulling himself free “That’s good. Because our six months aniversary is coming up and I have a place where I’d love to take you, if you let me.” Jon is already nodding “But before anything else, I need you to close your eyes.”

“What?” Jon frowns “Why?”

“Close your eyes.” Damian says.

“If this is going to be like, a prank, Damian, I-”

“It’s not a prank. Just close your goddamn eyes, Jonathan.” Damian sighs.

“Okay.” Jon does as he’s told.

“Now give me your hand.”

“It’s sounding a little too much like a prank.”

“Give me your fucking hand.” Damian presses the bridge of his nose.

“Alright, alright!” Jon smiles, placing his hand on Damian’s palm.

Damian gently slides a ring into his finger.

“Oh my God.” Jon whispers, eyes still closed “Is that-”

“Yeah. You can look at it now.” Damian says, blushing “It’s white gold. If you don’t like it, I can always buy you a new one.”

“Damian this is perfect.” Jon covers his mouth with a hand while he admires his new promise ring.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“Give me yours. Let me put it on you.” Jon demands, stretching out his hands. Damian hands him out his ring and lets him slide it into his finger, smiling “Perfect.” He whispers, bringing his hands to his lips and kissing it delicately.

Jon giggles, pulling Damian closer to his chest, getting them both to lay down as he admired their hands.

“Dami...” Jon starts, pulling him closer with one of his arms “You make me so happy.”

“You make me happy too.” He whispers back, tracing little patterns on the exposed skin on his lover’s arm “I can’t even fathom how painful and dull my life would be if I had to live without you.”

“You have to stop outdoing me with your declarations.” Jon smiles, wrapping both of his arms around Damian’s body now, nuzzling into his hair “It makes me sound stupid.”

Damian giggles.

“Well, you are a little bit stupid.”

“And you are a little bit rude.” Jon laughs too.

“Oh yeah?” Damian laughs, turning around to face him.

“Yes, very rude.” Jon pouts “So rude to me.”

“Let me make it up then.” Damian whispers, admiring the other’s face as he pushed his raven black hair out of the way.

“How are you going to do that?” Jon asks.

Damian pushes forward and gently kisses his lover.

“Yeah, that works for me.” Jon smiles.

Damian blushes and hides his face into his chest. The blue eyed teen lets him, pulling him closer and resting his chin on his head.

“I love you.” He says “I love you so much, Damian.”

“I love you too, Jon.” Damian smiles “And I’m glad you liked the ring, because if I ever catch you without it, you’re done for.” He looks up at him “I’m sure Elise is still dying to put her hands on you, and I need to make sure my territory is marked.”

“I’m not a tree and you’re not a dog.” Jon teases.

“But you’re mine.” Damian jabs a finger into his chest “And now everyone will know. Especially her. Hear me?”

“I hear you.” Jon smiles. Damian settles back down.

“Good.” He mumbles “Because who does she think she is? Is she Robin? No. Does she smell as good as me? No. Did she buy you a white gold ring? No. Is she-”

“Babe. I got it.” Jon stops him “And you don’t have to worry about her. She’s not even my type.”

“And... what is your type?” Damian frowns at him.

“Hmm...” Jon pretends to think “Dark haired, green eyed boys who smell good, punch criminals and buy me white gold promise rings.”

Damian smiles.

“Good to know, Superboy.” He buries his face in his chest again “Good to know.”

Hey! I hope you liked this! Please consider rebblogging it if you did, it helps with spreading my works and makes me super happy! Also, I gotta thank @3ambird for telling me about Dami’s name thing, hahaha! Go check out their fics, they are an amazing writer.

#damijon secret santa #damijon #jondami #damian wayne #jon kent #robin #superboy #supersons

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maria-scribbles · 4 years

Text

stitched together

being the only one in an ugly sweater at your friend's christmas party sucks...until he walks through the door.

fandom: outer banks

ship: pope heyward x reader

word count: 1.2k+

featuring: pope being disgustingly adorable, scenes blatantly inspired by dash & lily, shitty friends, inaccurate info about nyc probably, references to high school musical and julie and the phantoms (in this house we stan kenny ortega)

a/n: day 6, late again 'cause work gave me overtime and i'm ✨tired✨ this is my first time writing for pope so i hope i did him justice! unbetaed as always

come join my holiday challenge!

December 2020

The moment you walked through the door of your best friend's apartment, you knew you'd made a mistake. Your fingers unconsciously twisted themselves into the hem of your long sweater -your green, sparkly, tinsel-y, twinkling sweater- as you waded further into the sea of classily-dressed college students gathered in Kayla's living room, for the first time feeling out of place in the familiar setting.

You didn't mean to show up more than fashionably late to the party but you'd had to make some last minute additions to your outfit, namely the star ornament that dangled from one of your wrists, and trying to hail a taxi in New York City after 8 was a challenge you regretted taking on so close to the holidays. You made it, though, ready to apologize to Kayla...if you could ever find her, that is; trying to ignore the feeling of multiple pairs of eyes on you that made your skin crawl, you made your way into the kitchen in search of your best friend.

"Nice outfit." A sarcastic drawl came from a giggling group huddled by the island as you poured yourself a cup of hot chocolate from the crock pot on the counter and topped it off with a generous pour of whipped cream vodka.

"At least mine doesn't make me look like a douchebag, Chad." You took a sip to hide your satisfied smirk as the boy -a typical upper class white kid you already couldn't stand- sputtered and flushed an impressive shade of red while his friends laughed hysterically.

"You- I- bitch."

You just rolled your eyes as you left the room in search of your friend once again. "Don't hurt yourself, Todd."

Cup cradled in your hands, you followed the sound of Kayla's giggles drifting down the hall from the dining room and she spotted you the second you turned the corner, her face lighting up like the skinny Christmas tree in the corner.

"Y/N, you're actually here!" She crossed the room in a flash and threw her arms around you, almost spilling the drinks in both your hand and hers with the force of her hug. "I was worried you were gonna bail, like usual."

Okay, so that stung, but you brushed it off and briefly returned her embrace before pulling away to take another long sip of cocoa. "Never, Kay. Why aren't you wearing your sweater, though?"

Kayla shrugged and glanced down at her slinky gold mini dress, then flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I don't know, this was just so much cuter than that ugly thing! Plus, Zach's here and there's no way I'd even have a chance to hook up with him if I had worn that."

'That ugly thing' being an exact copy of the very sweater you had on, of course; you'd made it for her as an early Christmas gift after she'd complimented the half-finished version she saw at your place a few weeks ago during a sleepover, both of you wine drunk on the bottle of Moscato she had stashed in her bag. You thought you'd agreed to wearing them at this very party, too, but apparently you were alone in thinking that.

She'd obviously already had one glass of it tonight, considering the complete lack of any type of filter on her big mouth, and you knew you shouldn't have taken those words to heart but you did. Still, you managed to hide your hurt and forced a grin onto your face as you said, "Go put that dress to work, then! And stay away from the wine!"

Kayla giggled again and squeezed your wrist before flouncing off to the living room, calling back over her shoulder, "You're the best, Y/N!"

You sighed and headed to the snack table pushed against the wall, fully intent on eating your weight in cookies and drinking until you were only just sober enough to remember how to call yourself a cab home; grabbing a plate, you were about to reach for the platter piled high with snickerdoodles when a voice came from your right and almost made you knock the whole stack over.

"I like your sweater."

You turned, steeling yourself to deal with another arrogant rich kid let loose with daddy's money, and came face to face with the last thing you ever expected to see: another ugly sweater, this one a pretty shade of deep blue and covered in twinkling stars and snowflakes, rivaling yours in its holiday cheer and the boy wearing it offered you a shy, adorably sweet smile that instantly put you at ease.

"I like yours, too. Wanna see something cool?"

He visibly brightened at your words and at his nod, you clapped your hands together and held them straight up, the ornament on your wrist hanging perfectly over your head. "I even have the star on top."

"I see your star and raise you this," He said, turning around to show you the hand-stitched sleigh flying across the full moon on the back of his sweater, complete with Santa and all nine reindeer.

"Shit, you can't really call it an ugly sweater with that on it, it's gorgeous!" You couldn't help reaching out to run your fingers over the carefully embroidered Rudolph, the stitches smooth and neat and obviously done with the utmost of care.

"Is it cheesy to say that my grandma made it for me?"

"Dude, you should be proud as hell! She's so talented," You said, drawing your hand back as he turned around to face you once again. "I can sew a bit -I mean, I made this but it definitely fits 'ugly' more than yours."

"Is there really such a thing as an 'ugly sweater?'" The boy asked as he surveyed the snack table and grabbed a few chocolate chip cookies. "They're kind of like hairless cats: most people think they're ugly, but to some, they're beautiful. It just depends on the person."

Would it be bad to say that you were already the tiniest bit in love with this guy already? Kayla would judge you for sure -that girl spent all her waking hours being critical of everyone and everything around her- but you really didn't give a shit about her opinion anymore, not after tonight left you wondering if she was ever actually your friend in the first place.

"I, for one, happen to love both hairless cats and ugly sweaters." You said around a mouthful of snickerdoodle, hoping you didn't spit crumbs all over yourself like a fool and from the way the boy smiled and offered you his hand, you mustn’t have looked as stupid as you felt.

"Then you're my kind of person. I'm Pope."

"I'm Y/N." His hand was warm and way softer than you expected and you both held on for a beat longer than necessary, unwilling to let go, like you both knew that this was the start of something new, something big and crazy and exciting, that you were standing on the edge of something great.

And after you got home, his number in your phone and the lingering, unforgettable taste of his lips on yours, you couldn't wait to see where the two of you would go.

#obxmermaidholiday #outer banks imagine #obx imagine #pope heyward x reader #pope heyward x y/n #pope x reader

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ichor-and-symbiosis · 4 years

Note

Reader having an ice quirk that when ever she use it her body heat gets very low, lower then it normally is and that being why the would cling on to dabi every time after a mission or when ever they used there quirk

ssssoooooooo here i am, answering this ask a million years later ;-;

Upon a wave of blue flames fanning out behind you to torch an unsuspecting assailant, you were suddenly struck with a nonsensical reminder of Dabi’s reluctance to bring you along for missions. It’s not that you were bad at what you do. You wield ice as easily as you breathe air, and the fact that Dabi quipped back-handed compliments at you from time to time solidified your self-confidence.

But you could tell that something about your presence bothered him. It became particularly apparent after challenging fights that left you on the verge of hypothermia from overusing your power. An unfortunate drawback of ice manipulation, and one that you tried to avoid at all costs, especially because of the looks you would get from Dabi whenever you huddled in on yourself as you shivered like a naked lamb.

“You’re making me feel cold,” he would mumble under his breath as he walked past you, and you were too grateful for the momentary burst of heat wafting from his body to bite back.

It was only after the fifth mission together that you noticed his strange behavior. The distant leers he threw your way when you buried yourself in your coat were apparent – perhaps he respected your abilities but loathed your weakness. You were used to it. What caught your attention were the blatant attempts to encroach on your personal space as you struggled to warm yourself.

Always passing by you, bumping his shoulder against you with a gruff ‘hurry up, rookie’, shoving you against a wall and pressing his body close to yours when he noticed a particularly powerful hero headed in your direction to examine the crime scene, strange little moments where you caught a glimpse of inner turmoil in his deadened eyes –

You never dared to bring it up. Not when you could reap the rewards tenfold and bask in the warmth spreading through your numb limbs.

And right now, you were willing to risk your very dignity to feel that heat again.

Your skin was at a critically low temperature. Even the flame that passed by you a moment ago set your nerves ablaze, but you blindly followed that scorching ashen heat, nearly falling over the charred corpse at your feet as you wrapped your arms around your quivering torso and barreled right into Dabi’s chest.

And there you stayed, burying your face into the rough skin and scalding stitches, murmuring a quiet apology as you stood there and leeched his body heat.

Dabi was stiff and silent, arms hanging limp at his sides. “What the hell are you doing?”

You shivered. “I’m s-sorry.” Your fingers unfurled from your forearms to dig into his dirty shirt. “P-please I – I’m so damn c-c-cold … “

He stared down at you with his usual unreadable expression. You couldn’t see it, but you could certainly feel it. The audacity of you to assume you could do this. “Still haven’t learned how to moderate yourself.” The tension in his frame loosened imperceptibility. “Useless idiot.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, and winced, because you knew by now how much he hated your endless apologies. “Your skin feels so hot.” You snuggled up closer to him and looked up, ignoring how close your face was to his. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Dabi deadpanned, his eyes roaming over you for a moment. You wondered what he was thinking, why he seemed to stare at your quivering lips for a heartbeat too long – “How long are you going to bother me? We need to keep moving.”

“I know – I – “ Another shiver raked up your spine, urging you to press your forehead to his clavicle. “J-just for a l-little bit longer.”

You rested your cheek over his heartbeat and kept your body pressed fully to his. Dabi sighed, unsure of what to do with you. Not that you expected anything from him to begin with. You were thankful that he hadn’t shoved you away entirely, or flat out torched you like his victims.

His arms started to move. You were ready to whine and beg for more time, but the shameless words died out in your throat when his arms wrapped around you instead of pushing you aside. Your eyes went wide with shock and trepidation, and you dared not move. Not when his hands smoothed down your back in rhythmic motions.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he grumbled, hot breath stirring errant strands of your hair as he spoke. “The faster we warm you up, the sooner we can continue.”

You simply nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. The petrifying cold that had frozen your limbs had receded, leaving behind an uncomfortable tingle in your fingers and toes.

An arm stayed wrapped around your waist as Dabi cupped the back of your head, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly behind your ear as he directed you to press your cheek to a particularly warm area on his chest, where the junction between smooth and gnarled skin seemed to sizzle from your cold skin. You thought it would hurt him, but the sigh he let out was entirely different from the one before. Softer, lighter, as though you gave him comfort.

“You owe me.” You peeked up at him, a dull red coloring your cheeks when you realized he had been looking at you. The palm of Dabi’s hand covered your blush as the corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Your freezing body helps me stop overheating,” he explained, and tilted his head. “Although, when you’re all over me like this … “ His voice lowered as the grip around your waist tightened. “Kinda makes me feel hot in other ways.”

All at once, your blood burned you from inside out.

You wormed out of his grasp with renewed zeal, coating your palms with a thin sheet of ice to pat your crimson face as you swiftly walked away from him. “Let’s go,” you shakily called out, refusing to look behind you to see if he had followed.

The chuckle that reverberated behind you was unmistakable. That bastard. You owe me now, you seethed. Damn pervert.

#dabi #dabi x reader #dabi/reader #bnha dabi #mha dabi #todoroki touya

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biznichwrites · 4 years

Text

A Dream Come True

Length: 5K Pairing: Giyuu x Reader

This is to go hand in hand with @dudeandduchess‘s accompanying post in which we had alternative endings with this fic. I wrote until the end of the smut, after which we created our own endings. Think of it as yin and yang.

If you would like to read Jen’s nightmare version check it out here.

She had filled her head with pretty lies, thoughts of soft, fluffy things that tickled her stomach like butterflies. The sight of one of the few other water breath users - the pillar, in fact - brought a smile to her face. He was perfect for the role - eyes as blue as the ocean, steady like the waves, strong like a deep current, carving his own path like a river, yet calm like the water's surface at night.

What started as infatuation became a crush, leaving her whole world centered around him. Inside she knew she wouldn't grab his attention, even if she was one of a handful of slayers at the water estate. Their rarity made them all busy on missions, there wasn't much time to see each other in passing, so she treasured every moment spent in Giyuu's presence.

Despite their schedules, she tried to do more for him. The maintenance he had performed almost single handedly was spread among the both of them. Mending his uniforms when they were damaged, even his beloved haori once. Salmon was always stocked once she figured out it was his favorite, even going as far as to cook it just as he liked. That was a mistake on her part - his glowing smile pulled her in deeper.

Still she felt her heart ache over the months. No matter what she did he never spoke a word to her, not that he really spoke to anyone else. Had she done something to make him hate her?

The day she had given up on his heart came shortly after. It wasn't often she needed help or saving, but a lower moon was a bit beyond her hope to slay. She had kept neck and neck with it for some time, praying that a pillar would arrive to slay it before it ate her. Like written from a bad romance novel, her Pillar came just as she felt weak after hours of battling, his blade cutting through the neck of the lower moon with ease.

Her knight in shining armor, so to speak. He came to save her, specifically him. Her heart fluttered in joy, tears gathering in her eyes. Maybe he would be impressed that she managed to last so long, to stay alive and keep the moon busy until someone stronger arrived. Her breath hitched as she heard him inhale, as if to speak.

"He wasn't much trouble, you should have been able to slay him. If you're weak you should know not to challenge a moon." He hadn't spared a glance her way, simply flicking his sword to clear it of blood before sheathing it. Her heart broke as he walked on, leaving her to watch the mismatched haori on his back as the distance between them grew.

***

"Giyuu, you should try to get close to others! I know it's scary but there's plenty of people out there that are nicer than the way Shinobu makes it seem." Tanjirou smiled at the elder water slayer, urging Giyuu to connect to others the way they had, at the very least.

"I'm not sure about that. People don't like me." Giyuu sat with his legs pulled up by the bank of the river they stopped at.

"All you can do is try! Didn't you want to become friends with Sanemi?" Tanjirou wasn't going to let Giyuu escape this time, even if it meant some friendly pestering.

"Yeah, I think he likes ohagi so I was going to give him some." Giyuu stared into the distance, trying to imagine the violent man attempting to receive a gift.

"What about (Y/N)? She's been nice!" Tanjirou was hoping to point out anyone who had been kind to the pillar, at least someone who wasn't filled with malice.

"Who?" Giyuu's face went blank at the name, unable to recall who the name was attached to. "I quit remembering names of most slayers since they die so fast."

Tanjirou deflated at that, finding it sad for Giyuu to view life in such a bleak manner. It felt him grasping at straws to find the correct words to express himself as he thought of what to say next.

"You remembered me before I was a slayer! She survived a solo fight with a lower moon, I don't think she's dying any time soon, you know." Tanjirou hoped the other would understand what he was saying, at the very least.

"Oh… She didn't beat the moon, though." Giyuu, like a child that was done with the conversation, drew idly in the sand below them with a stick.

"Well we can work on the ohagi for Sanemi, how about that?"

***

Giyuu thought of the girl Tanjirou had mentioned. He didn't know what to make of it all - she had survived, which is what he was looking for in a friend, but she wouldn't have without help. At the same time neither would have Tanjirou. Perhaps he was being too critical, she was still alive and kicking to this day.

However he hadn't seen her much since then. Maybe she was training more? That was enough of an explanation for him. It wasn't unusual for the entire water estate to be empty with as few of the water breath users completed the final selection, much less survived long enough to rank high enough to live in the estate.

The next time he saw her, presumably after a mission as she was returning at dawn, he recognized her more than just a name. He bit his tongue, unsure what to say as he stood on the engawa staring at her tired body limping closer. The moment her eyes caught his she glanced away, turning towards another part of the estate to rest in.

He would have questioned it more, but occurrences like this weren't uncommon. People avoided him, that was normal. Yet the way she kept herself at a distance made him want to find out why she did such a thing. Why did she hide away from him?

His breath caught in his throat one morning, watching as she sat on the far end of the engawa in a simple yukata. She must be getting ready to sleep, given most slayers were nocturnal, but he thought she looked nice in the morning sun. Pretty even.

Months drug along, her eyes never meeting his own. Yet he felt himself drawn to her. All the actions she had taken before - he hadn't forgotten them, but he hadn't fully appreciated them at the time either. She had done something for him without being asked with nothing in return. Someone that selfless couldn't be a bad person. He still felt a bit bitter with himself for being so critical with her, the same he felt with Tanjirou. Neither deserved that.

***

It wasn't until Murata and a few others had saved up a large sum of money to buy enough alcohol to drown all the demon slayers, that he had a chance to interact with her. The whole time he was tense, almost awkwardly staring at her the whole time.

"Earth to Giyuu, you there?" Really, Murata was the only one that talked to the pillar so freely, with the exception of Tanjirou. Having kept the pillar alive at one point gave him a bit of the right, so no one spoke of it.

"Hm?" Giyuu's head turned back to Murata, clearly not aware of anything he had just said.

"I was seeing if you were going to drink with us. We're celebrating a year of not losing any water breath users. I figured of anyone you'd want to join." Murata handed him a bottle, not really waiting for a response. Was it responsible for a pillar to drink? Not at all. Had they organized this with Kagaya in mind? Of course, they had consulted with him to make sure they could celebrate freely.

Giyuu stared at the bottle then back to Murata, eyes flickering between the two. "I've never drank before…"

"Now is a good time to start!" Murata laughed with a pat to the pillar shoulder before disappearing into a small bunch of slayers.

***

Giyuu had drank nearly half the bottle in the course of a few hours, but he didn't find himself relaxed. Rather he found himself in a flurry of emotions - sad remembering everyone he's lost, angry with himself for allowing his life to be ruined by both demons and his own mismanagement of his emotions, but most surprising of all he found himself jealous.

The only female slayer of the bunch was flirted with endlessly. Most of the less than classy lines were met by laughter by the slayers. He knew they were treating it as a joke, even when she pretended to be the man hitting on Murata pretending to be a woman, but he didn't like it. He rested knowing that it was all in fun, though.

His drunken eyes met hers, making her already flushed cheeks even more red than previously before she glanced away. He was happy she was mindful to wear hakama, least the drunk young men around them get any ideas.

"Murataaaaa, when are you gonna get a wife? You keep talking about settling down but you're doing a shit job at it." Her laughter was kind enough, even if she was poking fun.

"(Y/N)! You know I-I-I---! I'm trying! It's just difficult!" Murata floundered under the playful scrutiny before returning a rebuttal, "So when are you getting married (Y/N)?"

"You know I'm dying alone, don't ask dumb questions." She laughed, but the laughter joining her was awkward, quiet and confused. Technically she could pick any slayer and they'd say yes - just for a lack of women around them, especially ones that understood the nature of their jobs. A moment passed but no further comments or banter had been added to the conversation after her bleak comment. Her face heated realizing she had made a fool of herself, not that Murata was much better as he fumbled moving the conversation forward.

Giyuu watched as she tilted up the porcelain of her heated sake, taking in how her throat contracted as she gulped. Was it proper for her to drink like that? No. But it technically wasn't traditional for women to wield swords and hunt demons, so it wasn't like social protocol meant much to her anyway.

Almost silently she slipped away, padding over to her room at the far end of the estate. His eyes followed her movements, taking in the dejected way she looked. Was she broken-hearted? He didn't understand why, she was pretty in her own way, stronger than most gave her credit for, smart enough to stay alive. Maybe he was more fond of her than he let on.

After some time the men grew rowdy, playing games and raising their voices. Murata seemed to stop drinking after a certain point, clearly aware of his limits.

"Murata?" Said slayer turned his attention to Giyuu, almost surprised that he spoke. "Is there something wrong with (Y/N)? She left a bit ago."

"Oh… I made a mistake and brought up something I shouldn't have, she's probably just having some time to herself." Murata prayed the Pillar didn't press for more info, being one of the few she admitted the situation to. He was far too drunk to stop himself from slipping up.

"Is she sad?" The lower ranked slayer blinked at the question, taken aback at how simple it was.

"Yeah, she just has her ways of dealing with it - wait! Where are you going?" Giyuu stood, moving toward the woman's room without another word. Murata prayed it didn't make things worse.

***

The pillar stood outside her door, listening as her crying was muffled into hitched breaths and harsh inhales to quiet herself. He wasn't sure what he was doing with the alcohol in his system, but he slowly pushed the shoji open and closed it quietly behind him.

"Is there something wrong?" He was trying to be nice but the jump of surprise from her was clearly not the reaction he was searching for. Her hand rested above her heart in surprise before gripping the cloth in anguish.

"I'm fine. You can go back to the others." Her head tilted away, not meeting his eyes.

"I'm sure Murata didn't mean to upset you. Did something happen? Did you lose your fiance?" It was the only explanation he could rationalize why she wouldn't take a spouse when she had her choice of men flirting with her earlier.

"I said I'm fine. Leave me alone." She flopped back down on her futon, facing away from him. He wished she didn't look so pretty or the light of the moon didn't accentuate the curves of her waist and hips. Despite her words he never left, she knew at the lack of sound her shoji made when open and shut.

Rather he shuffled closer, nowhere near as elegant as he usually moved. Still he slid his fingers into her hair, finding himself rationalizing the feel of her hair with the need to sooth her.

"I'm sure you could find a husband in the slayers if you're worried about that." He didn't like it, especially the thought of not being able to freely look at her and the risk of never being able to touch her again.

"I said my plan was to die alone, it's not that complicated."

"Why?"

"Men don't want a woman like me." Her words croaked from her throat and he could help but sink into the futon and pull her back to his chest. His nose was pressed to the back of her hair and he could bask in her scent.

"That's not true." The more of her he got, the greedier he became. He wanted to remind her that the other water breath users would marry her, but she clearly wasn't interested.

"You don't know that." He felt her back trembling as she held back her distress and he hugged her closer. "I'm covered scars, I can barely fight and I'm a pitiful slayer, I don't have anything to my name but what I wear, I'm not pretty and dainty like other girls-"

Her hands covered her mouth. She was complaining to the very person that filled her with insecurities. Deep inside she wanted to hate him, but she couldn't. It didn't mean she wasn't bitter. Her love for him had soured, painting her into a corner of self depreciation. She knew this wasn't him, this was some drunken version of the man likely looking to have a piece of her.

For what it was worth, she would let him. At least it would be the final chapter to the broken heart saga of her life.

"None of that is true."

"I don't need lies to make me feel better."

He was growing a bit frustrated. His hand gripped her waist, both keeping her still and holding her to him. He was painfully aware he could slide his hands lower to grip the curve of her hips or slide his hands upward to cup her breasts.

"You're pretty. A good slayer. You're good as you are." He couldn't think of anything more grand to say, not that he was eloquent with words anyway. He prayed she understood, but the pause in her response made fear eat at his chest. Had he said the wrong thing?

"...Did you want to sleep with me?" That was the only conclusion she could think of. He was drunk and needed a body that was willing. If he was into women she was the closest one, and considering she was the only one in the estate he had to act fast.

"Sleep with you?" His words were quiet, as if he was scared to say them loud enough.

"As in sex. Did you want to have sex with me?" She was only so bold because she was facing away from him. The alcohol and bitter feeling in her chest brought up the question, but she could never work up the nerve to ask if she was looking directly at him.

He buried his face against her neck weighing the options. She was drunk, but so was he. There was no way either should do this. At the same time he doubted the option would ever be available again, especially as his attraction to her grew.

"Yes…"

***

He hovered over her, pushing in deeply with a moan. Her eyes had shed so many tears through the night, even more when he undressed her, but he couldn't help but to find her more addicting than before.

"You're so warm, oh fuck…" His head rested against her shoulder as he found himself able to thrust into her depths. "You're so beautiful, so perfect."

He heard her crying harder, moans of pleasure breaking through her moans of agony. Long had passed the attempts to calm her tears, especially when she grew nervous when he saw her naked.

He never missed her whispers of self depreciation, how she fought all compliments that slipped from his lips as he undressed her layer by layer. Even if she found herself disgusting he couldn't agree with her. Every scar he uncovered, every little imperfection his eyes found cemented his infatuation.

It was her, something so unique to only her. No one else could replicate every little aspect of her.

Yet he couldn't make her stop crying. Soft whispers of praise didn't just fall on def ears but only pushed her into further despair. Every kind thing he said only brought more tears.

He didn't miss how her hips canted into his, how her eyes grew hazy as pleasure set in - the way her lips trembled after he kissed her, the second of hope in her eyes before she turned her head away.

The soft hiccups between whimpers were never lost on him. They came at his every kiss and praise, every moment he touched her in a way she enjoyed. As if some part of her wanted to receive his adoration before becoming buried in negativity.

She couldn't deny it, either. Simply knowing he didn't despise her, or at least a part of her, both healed and hurt her. For a moment she had some value to him. She was someone worthy of his sole attention.

Rough hands graced her body, pushing her hair from her face before guiding down her neck to cup her breast, gently squeezing her nipples before tracing her scars down her torso. When he reached her hips one hand held firm while the other graced the area above where they were joined. He remembered in a haze that men had talked about women feeling good there. A clit? All he knew is that her legs tightened around his hips the moment his thumb grazed the tip of the bud.

Abusing such a sensitive spot to see her reactions was a bit cruel on his part, but he wanted to see her relieved of her tears. It was time she felt good - both in terms of sex and about herself. He basked in the moment he hands left her face to cling to the bedding below her.

Dipping down he kissed her lips again, taking in how she seemed to squeeze tighter at the simple piece of affection. Despite the fact she felt inferior he adored having her like this - seeing her broken, in a way no one else has seen before, and the ability to see her put back together again. The vulnerability neither showed the world, only shared with the other.

He shifted his hips, thrusting deeper than before. She clenched around him in ways that made him regret never considering doing this sooner. At the same time he knew their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Their suffering was similar in a sense, they both could understand not having any value in themselves. Had he really been so blind to her all this time?

"You're so good." His head fell to her shoulder as his hips jerked into her warmth. The man felt elation when she gave in and clung to him. At first her hands were lightly touching, only loosely circling his back. Even if he wasn't sober he recognized enough of her reactions to make her react how he wanted.

Kisses were placed to her cheek and jaw as he tilted his head from her shoulder. Her breath shuttered, her nails timidly scratching his skin as her hold grew more firm.

He didn't expect her to orgasm from such simple affection but he couldn't explain why else her core felt as if it were milking his cock. Her arms and legs tightened around him, pulling him flush against her as her face buried into the curve of his neck.

It was welcoming to hear a cry of pleasure rather than anguish. The sound graced him, bringing him to climax shortly after her. Had he been sober he would have been more mindful of mindlessly cumming inside her without a second thought. For the moment he wanted to bask in the feeling. The after glow of sex was only highlighted by the feeling on her nuzzling into his neck.

For a moment she accepted him. Someone liked him, even if he could still hear her hiccup as warm tears covered her cheeks again. He considered wiping her tears away but decided that he would rather let her hide against his chest. It was somewhere safe, where the judgements of the world that had brought her so low couldn't touch her.

Her heart throbbed at the feeling of him holding her close, even as they shifted to lay chest to chest on the futon. His cum dripping out to dirty her thighs wouldn't deter her for enjoying the moment. Regret and shame could come later, for now she wanted to accept just a grain on the validation he gave. Even if he regretted in the morning she wanted to savor the moment.

***

The next morning, or rather afternoon, came too soon. Her eyes hurt, presumably from all the crying she had done, and her body was simply tired. While she wasn't sober, she remembered the previous night. Perhaps with less clear detail than she'd prefer, but the feeling hadn't changed. Tension gnawed at her stomach as she felt the water pillar's warmth against her skin even before she opened her eyes.

Giyuu woke silently, as always, but with a shadow of a smile on his face. Not that anyone could see it, not even his bedmate. Still waking up with her in his arms was a pleasant feeling. She hadn't run away from him, hadn't pushed him away again. She had accepted him, at least for the time being.

The futon wasn't made for two people so it was to be expected they were pressed flush together. Yet neither felt uncomfortable. His back blocked the light faulting through the shoji, sparing her eyes the brunt of the light.

She had assumed the night after a half tipsy hook up would be more awkward, but the moment his fingers traced her spine she found herself melting into him and the blankets. The bitter feeling inside hadn't disappeared, but the harsh things she believed to be fact that haunted her seemed to be farther away more than ever.

Timidly she nuzzled against him, testing the waters of his affectionate gestures. Warm hands pressed against her back, pulling her into him. Her arms circled him tentatively, only applying the lightest of pressure before returning his hold on her.

His heart throbbed, feeling as if it were in his throat. While he found actions easier than words things became more confusing the more awake he became. Holding her out of some sleepy instinct seemed right, but now he was awake and aware of what he was doing. However she seemed to like it, even reciprocating of her own free will. It was a much better turn of events than her crying about being unlovable or something of the sort.

"Good morning, Giyuu." He looked down to find her peeking up at him, seemingly just as unsure of herself as he felt. Yet he didn't miss the hopeful glimmer in her eyes, the way she subconsciously held on to him. She really didn't want him to leave, did she? "How are you feeling?"

"Morning. I'm fine." More than fine, but he didn't want to make a fool of himself. Unconsciously his hand rose to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. He struggled to hold a conversation, but he'd try for her. "You?"

"I'm great. Tired though, still." With a heaving breath she buried her face against his neck as he had done to her the night before.

"One thing." Her eyes blinked in surprise, unused to him sparking more conversation. Anxiety rolled in her stomach again worrying about all the possibilities he could bring up. Was he going to ask her to let go so he could leave? Not tell anyone? Was he ashamed of sleeping with her? Yet when he spoke he sounded as if his word was final, nothing to be debated.

"Don't talk about yourself like that anymore."

***

Months passed without incident, the pair of water breath users growing closer by the day until either were inseparable between missions. While Giyuu was never a fan of public displays of affection, the rest of the estate could see the change in him.

"Is something different?" Murata whispered to Tanjirou, who was sneaking a glance at the water pillar with him.

"Absolutely. I can't tell what, but I can smell the happiness on him." The younger slayer tapped his nose before the elder took a hold of the top of his head and twisted it back to focus his sights on the engawa.

The once sad slayer, one who had given up on her heart, sat next to Giyuu with a grin that could blind the room. Even the pillar himself couldn't help but return the sentiment with a shy smile of his own. As she took his hand his cheeks flushed a pink tone, as if that had been the most indecent thing they had done thus far.

"Good morning, Giyuu." Lips pressed to his blushing cheek, same as she had done every day since they agreed to be together shortly after their drunken, steamy night. His cheeks plumped with the happy smile before returning to a simple content expression.

"Good morning, dear." He couldn't deny it was odd at first, but receiving her affections had become the highlight of his day. Even if he was too shy to return them all in the public eye, he held her hand more firmly as a silent promise to grace her with the love she gave him later.

I'm the distance the lower ranking slayers looked on in surprise. Murata, who had a notion of what happened, soon wiped his face of shock to replace it with comical tears of joy.

"She did it! Tanjirou, she did it!" Murata shook Tanjirou's shoulders in excitement, not mindful about being caught in the moment. "She finally got him to break his shell. Look at them! Oh my-"

Murata's mindless blubbering went on and on, while Tanjirou sniffed the air. Something was different, a familiar scent but he couldn't quite place it. Wait, was she-?

"Giyuu, I actually needed to talk to you." Tension rose in him as his lover said that, but her demeanor was not the same style of tense. Rather she seemed a bit anxious but not angry or upset. His hands held both of hers, as if there were a silent plea to not leave. The shy upward curve of her lips soothed him.

"I don't really know how to say it more eloquently, but…" Her hand took his, pressing it to her stomach. "We're going to be parents."

Below his palm he could feel the fabric of her yukata and the skin below. It was firmer than he remembered, likely from their child growing within.

"You're really…? It's mine…?" His eyes were wide, jaw slack as he pressed both hands around her stomach, even if it hadn't grown much yet. Perhaps that's how he hadn't noticed before.

"Of course, I haven't been sleeping with anyone but you." She laughed to herself as he all but slid off the engawa to sit on the ground and become level with the child growing within her. Idly her hands traced through his hair as his eyes bore into her form.

"I'm going to be a father." The whisper was almost silent, meant for her ears only.

"You'll do wonderful, sweetheart." Her pet name for him made his cheeks turn bright red. Immediately he ducked to hide his face against her stomach. Her arms circled him and held him close, lightly scratching at the hairs along the nape of his neck.

After a moment he glanced up at her. His heart swelled, bubbling in his chest in a way he couldn't describe. Never before had he felt so strongly, so intensely. Rough hands reached for her own again, intertwining their fingers as they did so often before.

"I love you." The words poured from his mouth before realizing it. "Marry me."

Bonus:

"That scent, she's pregnant." If there was anyone that could recognize the scent of a pregnant woman, it was Tanjirou. After all he had spent most of his childhood with his mother pregnant.

"Tanjirou! We're going to be uncles!" Murata began to sob on Tanjirou, happy tears running down his face like a waterfall. "Oh my God, we're going to have a baby at the estate!"

Tanjirou laughed to himself as he watched the soon to be parents in the distance. Other than the scent of pregnancy he could smell their happiness. A couple of people, so defeated by the world, could find happiness together.

If that wasn't poetic, he didn't know what was.

#giyuu x reader #giyuu tomioka x reader #tomioka giyuu x reader #tomioka giyu x reader #giyu x reader #giyu tomioka x reader #giyuu #giyuu tomioka #tomioka giyuu #tomioka giyu #giyu tomioka #tomioka #kny imagine #kny x reader #biznichwrites #jen

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anonymous0writer · 4 years

Text

Cards II JJ Maybank

Author: @anonymous0writer

Warnings: Alcohol/Drug use

Request: Yes!

“I love your songfics so much, would you consider writing another one for JJ, this time with "Do I wanna know" (Arctic Monkeys)? Thanks. 💜”

A/N: This was so fun, and I know the vibes of the song are very different, but when I read “aces up your sleeve,... no idea that your in deep” sparked the beginning of this fic. I hope you liked it anon! This is longer than I expected oop.

Song lyrics look like this..

Have you got color in your cheeks? Do you ever get that fear that you can't shift the type That sticks around like summat in your teeth? Are there some aces up your sleeve? Have you no idea that you're in deep? I've dreamt about you nearly every night this week How many secrets can you keep?

You grinned at the boy across from you, your smirk laced with the dizziness of intoxication. Your eyes were slightly unfocused, but the idea- the plan- in your head was fully formed and ready to go. So leaning forward, dress dropping the tiniest bit to reveal some cleavage, you started the long awaited plan. His eyes flickered to your chest, tongue darting out as he eyed you.

Satisfaction coursed through your veins thicker than the cheap alcohol accompanying it. Your long fingers flicked the card out, the surface shining with the gleam only a new, fresh card could have. You pushed the card forward, eyes trained on the blonde before you. His cerulean eyes were entranced, lost in the aurora of your intoxicated allure. With a simple flick of your wrist, the card popped over, revealing the ace to the rest of the crowd around you.

A murmur rose in the cluster of tightly packed bodies as you straighten, hiding your real ace from the surfer seated across you. You watched as his cheeks turned pink in slight frustration and embarrassment that he let your assets distract him and allow the game to flip on him.

You smirked, the satisfaction of ultimately winning the hand, and having this newfound power over the boy running down your spine. Your lips quirked, puffing out in their dark red gloss as the familiar cerulean eyes caught yours. You arched a brow as his gaze sat heavy on you. Dropping your lips to a slight ‘o’, you spoke.

“Your move,”

The words weren’t slurred, the action causing all of your focus and concentration on making them sultry and daring at the same time. It was successful because the boy shifted in his seat, trying to hide the growing bulge in his pants, a frown tugging at his face. You were both alluring and infuriating. Alluring with your words and lips and way of moving, the soft swish of your hips, the light bounce of your feet, the flick of your long hair. Infuriating with the way your words lingered in his head, your body dancing in his mind, your eyes shining behind his eyelids when he tried to catch a rest. You were stuck in his dreams, and it was both sexy and annoying. Annoying the way you used your powers over him to get what you wanted. Sexy in everything you did, even with the grace of beating him.

You bit your lip, watching the boy’s internal war, knowing the thoughts racing through his dirty mind. Thoughts of you, hopefully. Thoughts of your body, and thoughts of you winning the game with a simple flick of the wrist. Such power you had over the boy. Seemingly effortless too. Little did you know that JJ was keeping his infatuation secret and you were keeping your efforts of this little game close to your chest.

Your eyes tracked the flicker of the muscle in his jaw and how his pale eyes analyzed his cards and he finally came to the conclusion you won. His lips pulled together, tight and angry, but his eyes were still rapt on your figure. Finally, the game concluded, you being crowned the grand winner as he gave up the best card he could play.

But in the end, you still beat him.

If this feelin' flows both ways? (Sad to see you go) Was sorta hopin' that you'd stay (Baby, we both know) That the nights were mainly made For sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day

You lounged on the couch, beer sloshing in your stomach, making your mind fuzzy around the edges. You weren’t even paying attention to the eager boy beside you, mouth dropping and voice quieting as you tuned him out. In fact your attention wasn’t on anything, just the feeling of the beer working its way through your blood, warming you. Until he walked in.

He stuck out, like a drop of color in a black and white film, stark and alive compared to the boring buzz of everything around him. He eased through the crowd, masking his unease at standing out by pretending it was his plan all along. The boy didn’t belong, not because he wasn’t as intoxicated as the rest. No, his different aurora was because of the class divide. His money failing to compare with the bounds of wealth the teenagers around him had at their fingertips. His shirt wasn’t the crisp new ones of the ones around him. The shirt was worn and had gotten a good use out of it, unlike the others around him, whose shirt was worn twice, maybe a third time before getting swapped for a new, more on style on.

But that wasn’t the only thing that got your eyes locked on him. His azure colored eyes helped, pale and the mirror of image the crashing ocean around them. But your tether to the boy, your secret connection and game with the boy had you sense him like a storm at the edge of the sky.

His presence was like the tang in the air, giving you warning of the raging storm to come. And if he was a storm, you were a storm chaser, the allure of the storm too much to resist.

But none of that had you moving toward him, feet pulling you toward him, closing the distance between your bodies. You just stayed, dormant and curious on why the boy was here, dirty boots landing on the polished floor of the lavish Cameron house. But the tether joining you two tugged at your stomach, desire sparking in the pit of your stomach.

With a foolish, emotional thought, you perked up at the hope the blonde was here- for you. You. As if constantly occupying his mind would bring him into the heart of the enemy, just to get a glimpse of you, or bow in defeat in yet another card game. Hope burned dimmer at the attack of the logic to your thought. Of course he didn’t feel anything other than neutral attraction, if that. Maybe the alcohol in his system had given you the false sense of mutual attraction. Maybe the card games and the continuous losing had given him a bitter taste in his mouth as the mention of you.

Of course he wasn’t here, and the movement of JJ toward the infamous oldest Cameron solidified your thoughts. He just wanted drugs, and the package slipping from one hand to the other made you turn away in embarrassment. You were foolish, and if you continued down this path, your plan would fall apart.

But the hope simmering to a halt in your gut wasn’t in vain. The two boys, the one paying and the one supplying made their way to the couch where you lay. Gaining some sobriety, you let your eyes dance over the unlikely pair. Both with cerulean eyes, but only one able to make desire curl tighter in your stomach. Rafe sat at your feet, lips curving into a smile as his gaze ran over your barely clothed body. You were wearing a fitted black dress his sister offered, and your feet were out of your flats. You sat up as JJ came over, tucking your feet under you as you surveyed the boy.

“Come to lose again, Maybank?” You drawled, alcohol making your words slur into each other and your breath curled with a hint of cigarette smoke.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, making your breath catch the tiniest bit, and you arched a brow and smirked in an attempt to cover it up.

“I’m ready to win,” He shrugged a shoulder, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “If you’re ready to get beaten.”

“You can try.” You answered, words tripping over each other as your eyes continued to hold his. Maybe it was the alcohol or your two cigarettes, but you seemed to lose your grip on your carefully crafted plan. You blinked, trying to clear your head so you could think, but it didn’t work.

But you continued to lay out the cards always at your side on the table before you, prepping the game as the boy before you rolled a blunt with skilled fingers. You licked your lips at the thought of what those lips could do.

JJ raised the blunt and smoked, watching you build the complex game with fast hands. He looked on with a smug satisfaction. Tonight was a night for winning and JJ was banking on it. As you finished, you offered the boy the first critical move. Your blown pupils widened as you took in his first move. Smart. Calculated, set to win. You stole a quick look at his face. He was finally playing to win.

Talk and moves bled by, smirks and soft exhales of satisfaction at the card just played passed around like the blunt from JJ’s mouth. But as you continued playing, your tight reign on the game slipped. You were the winner of the game- the queen. But tonight, you were being challenged by the blue eyed boy laying yet another deadly card down. He was gunning for the crown, and you seemed to be falling behind. And more so each time you stole a look or shared a smirk. You played a weak card, and realized it as soon as it touched the glass table. But you couldn’t take it back, so you cursed, and eyed JJ. Maybe he was the one throwing the game for you. Not cheating, but making you lose your usual focus and precision with his grins and shining eyes.

And that was when the final, deciding card was laid. In JJ’s outstretched fingers was a Queen, and in your weak, previous draw was a King. In this game, Queen’s were the treasured item. Kings were useless, much like chess. Just a pawn to distract from the real thing. And you were always that card. The embodiment of the card. But tonight, JJ had stolen your title.

“Told you I was going to win,” He winked, feelings surging in his gut. He was proud. Proud he finally beat you at your own game, hopefully in more ways than more. He hoped this meant that you haunting his dreams every night would cease and you would fade into just another Kook. JJ prayed that beating you meant ending your card rule ended the mental war too.

You were breathless. How had JJ Maybank just beaten you at your game? Your game- which you played relentlessly to become the master at. But the boy had stolen a lot more than just your breath and your title. He’d stolen the upper hand in your mind game.

And with that, the boy sat up, gathering the rest of his blunt ingredients and bid goodbye, sauntering out of the house with a smirk and a newfound confidence. At your silence, the boy concluded that your teasing games would cease along with his wild imagination of your body under your dress.

You looked on, watching the figure of JJ fade into the background, lost in the sea of teenagers drunk off their face. Something tugged at your heart as a frown adorned your face. You hated seeing him leave, and more than that, anger boiled in your veins at the defeat, making a dangerous combination with the alcohol. But the anger didn’t make you scream or punch a wall. It sharpened your mind, making a realization come to light.

This was no longer a play for physical want. For you this was more than a physical desire. It was emotional.

Crawlin' back to you Ever thought of callin' when You've had a few? 'Cause I always do Maybe I'm too Busy bein' yours To fall for somebody new…

You still danced in JJ’s mind, waking him and haunting him with the tempting promise of pleasure. And you now occupied his mind as he emptied another beer, eyes staring blankly at the crashing sea. His friends surrounded him, drinking along with him, but they didn’t notice the way he zoned out and thought of you on an endless loop.

His fingers twitched toward his phone laying in his pocket. He ached to call you, hear your rougher voice when you had a couple drinks, and see your familiar smirk and gleaming eyes. He wanted to see you when your face twisted into concentration as you focused on the cards on the table, testing the possible moves in your mind. Mainly he just wanted to hear you and your alluring voice. Part of him shameless admitted he was infatuated with you, much more than physically. But the usual, normal JJ laughed at the thought of admitting the feelings in his guts to a Kook. He was sure you wanted nothing but sex, witht the way you flicked your hair and pouted your lips and put your curves on display in those dresses.

So JJ retracted his hand, mentally slapping himself for thinking of calling you. Your number had been plugged in his phone for a while. Ever since you arrived at the Boneyard, demanding a rematch, which led to much more than that. To say the least. JJ remembered the way you looked, naked and tangled in his sheets, breathing pulling in and out of your pink lips. Shaking his head, he tried to push the many memories like that first night out of his mind.

But the phone in his hand, and the text prompting another night spent together sent to you had snuck up on him. He barely even remembered typing it, much less sending the message, but his heart hammered in his chest as he waited for the chime of your reply.

When it came through, obeying, he jumped, stumbling shortly before he started off, heading to your usual meeting place. He mumbled a goodbye to his friends, trying to gain some self control before he couldn’t handle the wait and raced to find you.

As he strolled up to your car, and his eyes landed on your face, he ran a hand through his hair. Here he was, practically sprinting to meet you, like a little kid with the promise of candy. Here he was, a Pogue eager for pleasing a Kook, nevertheless craving to hear her voice. But here he was again, crawling back to you.

So have you got the guts? Been wonderin' if your heart's still open And if so, I wanna know what time it shuts Simmer down an' pucker up, I'm sorry to interrupt It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of tryin' to kiss you I don't know if you feel the same as I do But we could be together if you wanted to

The moans the boy solicited from you were enough to send you straight to hell. And the way his fingers curled and his grunts echoed in your ear made you all the more eager to send the text his way. And if the sex wasn’t enough, his laugh and his bright smiles were.

You lay together, and with a lick of bravery, you took his hand, lacing your fingers together and holding them up in the air, giggling. You shifted, moving your bare body closer to his, searching for warmth. Your back hit his stomach, and immediately, his other hand dropped across your stomach, making a small gasp fall from your lips.

You snuggled into him, not caring if he didn’t want it, because you did it, and you’d been missing his touch the whole week, his shining eyes and quick smile replaying in your mind constantly.

“Hey,” JJ whispered, and you turned your gaze from your hands to his face, turning your body with it. He leans forward, lips hovering just above yours. In your chest, your heart beats rapidly, slamming against the confines of your ribs. You stare at him, a silent question in your eyes. What would this kiss mean?

But the moment is stolen by the chirp of your phone with an incoming message. You're shocked out of the delicate moment by the realization that you're late. To your mother’s house party. Which you were supposed to attend half an hour ago. A curse falls from your lips as you pull on your clothes, muttering that you have to leave. With that, you grab your bag and exit the van. You flee the scene, not even sparing the boy a backwards glance.

JJ sits up, staring off at your running figure in the wake of your abrupt escape. His mouth was parted, and his mind was reeling. He was so close to kissing you, closing the distance that kept you two as fuck buddies. And just as he was taking a leap of faith, and tried to close the gap, you left. Fled and never looked back. The boy started to put his clothes on, jaw clenching. You had broken down his walls and left him vulnerable. Did you even want to be together?

(Do I wanna know?) Do you want me crawlin' back to you?

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marigoldsandbuttercups · 4 years

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The Guys As Tarot Cards

Sans : Judgement.

UPRIGHT: Judgement, rebirth, inner calling, absolution.

REVERSED: Self-doubt, inner critic, ignoring the call.

He represents the reversed version of this card, having kept all those secrets to himself and ignoring the call to step in until it was too late. He never really acts upon the position of the judge until it's too late, until he can never really avoid it. He stops himself from doing so much, being his worst critic, preventing him from reaching his full potential. In order for him to break it, he needs to be kinder to himself and acknowledge all that he's been avoiding.

Papyrus: The Fool.

UPRIGHT: Beginnings, innocence, spontaneity, a free spirit

REVERSED: Holding back, recklessness, risk-taking.

Papyrus represents upright version of this card. He may not know what comes next, but he's ready to face it head on and listen to his soul. He has an open and curious mind, ready to explore everything and anything. In the upright version of The Fool, it also represents inner growth, new experiences and developments. Upon reaching the surface, Papyrus would have grown more, becoming more mature while still maintaining his lightheartedness, improving on who he is and what he wants to do next.

Blue: The Magician.

UPRIGHT: Manifestation, resourcefulness, power, inspired action

REVERSED: Manipulation, poor planning, untapped talents.

Blue is someone who has many talents and is full of potential. He represents the upright version of The Magician. He knows what he wants and how he's going to get it, never going to stop it until he reaches it. It takes time but he's in tune with his soul and his needs, understanding himself better than most of the others. While he may be inclined to use his cute looks to get what he wants, he's more into using his skills and his abilities to stand out from the others.

Stretch: The Hermit.

UPRIGHT: Soul-searching, introspection, being alone, inner guidance.

REVERSED: Isolation, loneliness, withdrawal.

Stretch represents the reversed version of The Hermit. Despite being relaxed and clowning others, he does isolate from others more than one would think. He's scared of opening up to people, to have his trust broken. He's only used to what he's experienced before but eventually he will have to make it through without a guide, to dive into deep depths of the unknown no matter how long that would take.

Red: The Hanged Man.

UPRIGHT: Pause, surrender, letting go, new perspectives

REVERSED: Delays, resistance, stalling, indecision.

Red represents the reversed version of The Hanged Man. He needs to stop and surrender, allow new changes to come in and look from new perspectives. But the thing is, he's scared of new changes, things happening out of his control that he does literally everything but that until he inevitably is forced to face it whether he likes it or not. He isn't sure where he wants to go or what he wants to do, retreating back to his shell to ignore the calls of change and acceptance, afraid that he may fail.

Edge: Death.

UPRIGHT: Endings, change, transformation, transition

REVERSED: Resistance to change, personal transformation, inner purging.

For all that Edge had been through, he represents the upright version of Death. He realizes that upon reaching the surface, a major chapter of his life has come to an end, he doesn't need to be fighting for his life or be in the guard to keep monsterkind safe. It takes time for him to really come to terms with it but he does inevitably accept it. While he may still be a prickly skeleton, he is more open to changes compared to his brother.

Black: The Chariot.

UPRIGHT: Control, willpower, success, action, determination.

REVERSED: Self-discipline, opposition, lack of direction

Black represents the upright version of The Chariot. When he has a goal, nothing is stopping him, his willpower is something that others want, burning as brightly as a fire that can never be tamed. He is never passive in what he does, always making sure to have control over everything that he does and never strays away from his objective. He uses his self discipline to keep himself afloat whenever challenges come his way, it's what kept him alive this whole time.

Rus: Strength.

UPRIGHT: Strength, courage, persuasion, influence, compassion.

REVERSED: Inner strength, self-doubt, low energy, raw emotion.

Rus represents the upright version of Strength. He's loyal, never budging for even a moment when he chooses to support those that are close that are close to him. He's in tune with his feelings, only really letting his raw emotions explode in a fit of rage, that is, if you can even upset him to that degree. His strength is quiet, never having to yell or do anything drastic to have the attention on him. He works behind the scenes while his brother takes up the main spotlight, making sure the others listen to him.

Wine: The Emperor.

UPRIGHT: Authority, establishment, structure, a father figure

REVERSED: Domination, excessive control, lack of discipline, inflexibility.

Wine represents the upright version of The Emperor. He's always been more of a father figure to Coffee, especially to the others as well. No one is better at accepting the role of leader better than Wine himself, easily asserting himself in a situation with little to no trouble. If he has a plan, he's sticking to it, and no one else can tell him what to do when he's figured it out. He will always have the final say.

Coffee: Hierophant.

UPRIGHT: Spiritual wisdom, religious beliefs, conformity, tradition, institutions.

REVERSED: Personal beliefs, freedom, challenging the status quo.

Coffee represents the upright version of the Hierophant. He learns almost everything from his brother, becoming skilled and adhering to a more structured way of life. It's comfortable for him, having something to follow along with as it helps keep him calm. But eventually, he will have to learn to branch out on his own and make of his own principles, what does he stand for? What does he want for himself? He's learnt many things and has honed his own skills by practicing, making very flexible.

Thistle: The Moon.

UPRIGHT: Illusion, fear, anxiety, subconscious, intuition.

REVERSED: Release of fear, repressed emotion, inner confusion.

Thistle represents the upright version of The Moon. He's anxious about the future, unable to really forget all that has happened to him, it's why he doesn't do more than the bare minimum. He tries to avoid situations by not paying attention to it, ignoring his subconscious telling him other wise. Thistle is brave, but he's afraid of taking too big of a risk. He has yet to heal completely, but he is making slow strides despite wanting to hide at home.

Chestnut: The Star.

UPRIGHT: Hope, faith, purpose, renewal, spirituality.

REVERSED: Lack of faith, despair, self-trust, disconnection.

Chestnut represent the upright version of The Star. He has endured many challenges, and has grown so much from who he was before. Despite this though, he knows who he is down to his core, what he stands for and what he wants. He still is lighthearted, just a little more calmer now. After a long process of getting help, he doesn't view his changes as a bad thing. Yes, they are painful memories, but he has a stronger sense of self now. He is still Papyrus, he still holds that vigour, he just has more hope than ever that he can still live the life he wants without any fear.

#bruhh they keep getting longer #vshshsjs #low-key proud of this one tbhh #undertale imagines #sans #papyrus #Undertale #Underfell #Underswap #swapfell red #fellswap #horrortale #undertale headcanons

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dudeandduchess · 4 years

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Giyuu x F!S/O: A Nightmare Come to Life (Angst, NSFW Scenario)

Summary: A one-sided love that turns even more tragic after a night spent together. Note: @biznichwrites and I are trying out an alternate reality collab fic, and this is the result. We have the same first half (which she wrote), and we divert into different endings. In Biz’s words, think of it as Yin and Yang. You can read Biz’s fluff-filled piece here. Word Count: 9,324

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Warnings: Smut, Angst, Suicide, Depictions of Blood, Character Deaths, Love Triangles, Talks of the Afterlife