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jasntodds · 6 months

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Petrichor [12]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader (little bit of fwb)

Words: 12,719

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, angst, blood, violence, canon violence, manipulation, gunshot wounds, mentions of drug use, drug use, reader is fed the fuck up, description of withdrawal (kind of??)

Summary: ❝Pylades: I’ll take care of you. Orestes: It’s rotten work. Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.❞

Gotham is home, not just for Jason but for you, too. And now that you’re both finally back home, together, you’re ready to see where this next chapter brings the two of you. He’s your best friend and you’re his. And you both might want a little something more with being back home, the place you both feel most comfortable. Surely, nothing could possibly go wrong now.

A/N: I really do just love angst so much lmao You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

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The next day Jason is with Crane. Jason is still reeling from last night. Dick knows pretty much everything now and that wasn’t a part of the plan. Jason thinks it’s only a matter of time before Dick shows back up and destroys the entire thing. It’s only a matter of time before Dick ruins everything all over again. And he thinks about you and how mad and worried you were. It’s all growing a bit too heavy for him, even with the drug. But, he pushes Crane anyway.

The sooner they get this plan in action, the better. The sooner Jason can take care of Dick, the better. But, Crane isn’t having any of it. Crane wants to go through with his plan but he’s also not telling Jason a single thing about it. It’s like Jason is just a piece in his game, a pawn. Doing all of the bidding and only knowing what’s going on when he actually needs to in order to do Crane's bidding. But, Jason shakes that thought off because Crane cares about him. Crane wouldn’t be just using him. Right?

“I met that girl of yours.” Crane states, getting tired of Jason’s pestering about going after Dick.

“I heard.” Jason quips, his voice snippy and harsh.

“She is a handful, isn’t she?”

Jason knows what he’s doing and he won’t. He can be as high as Crane wants him to be but he still has a line. And that line is you. It is always you. Anyone but you.

“I can handle her.” Jason states.

“Can you? You can fight better than her. You've had the training. But, like Dick Grayson, she walked away from last night.” Crane lets out a wistful sigh. “And she threatened to kill me.” Crane looks to be hurt as the words leave his lips. Jason knows better than to think someone threatening Crane's life would hurt his feelings. “Doesn’t it bother you that her and Bruce didn’t kill the Joker for you?” Crane asks and Jason’s eyes land on the floor. “I mean,” Crane lets out another sigh. “That maniac killed you and they couldn’t be bothered to kill him for you. Sam is at least a killer now but not for you. I, though, I brought you back.” Crane gives Jason a sinister smile as he places a hand on his shoulder.

Jason hates it because Crane makes a point. Bruce couldn’t even bend his morals for him. Bruce said he was his son and he took him in, he let him be Robin. Bruce was supposed to protect him and everyone else. But, then he couldn’t even kill the Joker. He’s not asking him to kill Two-face or The Riddler or even Crane, but he should have killed the Joker for him. That’s the part that hurts. And you turn around and starts taking out lowlives but you didn’t even hit the Joker first. Not even for him and you've been wanting his blood on your hands since your mom died. But, somehow, that wasn’t enough for even you. Jason, though, does know someone killed him. And he knows what you said about what him dying did to you. He thinks that person just beat you to it. Bruce though, even Dick. Dick could have killed him, too and he didn’t. No one that claims to care about him at all killed the Joker for him and none of you brought him back. Jonathan Crane brought him back from the dead. Not the people who care bout him.

“This isn’t about her. It’s about Dick.” Jason shakes his head because you're still the line. Despite it all, you're the line he won’t cross.

Jason knows, under the haze of the drug, you would have brought him back from the dead if you knew how. And if it were something you knew he'd want. You would have fought and chewed into fate and the Reaper with nothing but your bare hands just to bring him back. You would have killed the Joker if someone didn't beat you to it. After everything going on, you're still the one person who hasn't given up on him.

You're the line.

“See, that’s your problem. It’s not just about Dick Grayson. It’s about all of Gotham and your girlfriend is a part of that.”

“Okay.” Jason states, unsure where else he could possibly be going with this.

“She’s going to be a problem, just like that older brother of yours.” Crane warns as he turns back around as he walks into the little office building. “She’ll come after me eventually and then I bet she’ll come after you, with Dick Grayson at her side.”

“She’s not a problem.” Jason defends.

You could have killed him last night. If the first knife would have missed, you would have had a second one already in the air on its way to his jugular. If you want someone dead with a knife, you're more than capable but instead, you didn’t. You've had opportunities to kill him and fight him at full force but you don’t. You aren’t the problem, no matter what Crane says.

“Isn’t she? She still wants you to join their side and turn me in, the person who has helped you the most. Haven’t you thought about her using you? Her fear drove her to you and now she’s lost. She doesn’t know who is without you because she got to try to fix you and distract herself from it. You got her to live in that fancy mansion.” Crane says and Jason, right about now, is pretty glad he left out more about you.

Crane pushes sometimes for more information but Jason deflects and pulls information about anyone else he can. Jason won’t let Crane target you. That’s not how this partnership is going to work. It doesn’t matter. Jason Todd doesn’t make very many promises, but he made a promise to you and he’s not breaking it. You don’t break your promises to him.

“She’s not using me. I can get her to join our side.” Jason states, his voice growing more annoyed.

“Then why haven’t you?”

“That wasn’t part of the plan.” Jason lies.

“If I told you to give her the drug and help us, would you?” Crane asks, his brows slightly furrowing with the question because he’s already pretty sure he knows the answer.

Crane doesn’t know you already took the drug. Crane also doesn’t know the real reason Jason burned down his lab. Jason told Crane he was just covering his tracks after Hank. He knew Dick would be digging deeper and he might find it. That isn’t actually a complete lie, that’s probably what would have happened if Dick didn’t already find it. But, the real reason was that he didn’t want you going back and making more of it and taking it. He feels the comedown and sure, while he’s high or when he’s desperate not to feel that way again, it feels worth it. In those moments it always feels worth it but you were always better with dealing with your shit than he was. He doesn’t want you involved with Crane and he doesn’t want you addicted to the drug. You deserve better.

He’d never give you the drug. He’d never ask you to work alongside Crane.

“Yeah, she would do it. She’s just as fucked up as I was.” Jason lies through his teeth, shifting his weight to his right foot.

Crane nods his head but he met you. You're not scared, not in the way Jason was. He can tell you have her own issues but you're not like Jason when Jason showed up at Arkham. “Maybe she’s not who you thought she was.” Crane sighs. “You should really be focused on taking care of her with Dick, if that’s your goal that is.”

“No.” Jason states firmly. “Not happening.” Jason scoffs. “She’s not a fucking problem. She fights with Dick all the damn time and she fought him last night with me. Nothing to worry about.” Jason shakes his head, still a little confused what that was even about.

“Oh, I’m not worried.” Crane states. “You are. If you don’t take care of her, you’ll always be stuck here. You’ll never be able to get to your full potential because you’re too worried about what she’ll do. Maybe what she’ll think of you. Though, I have to say, she is not pleased with you over that Hawk fellow.”

“And she still fought Dick for me.” Jason urges. “Clearly, she doesn’t have that big of a problem with it.”

“I’m just giving you my advice. You want to be fearless but you’re still scared of what she’ll do and what she thinks of you.” Crane tsks.

“I’m not taking care of her. I want to go after Dick. Look, we know the drug works. I’m exhibit one.” Jason states, trying to deflect from you. It can’t be you.

“You’ll see, my boy.” Crane states.

The night before rings through your head like a migraine you can't quit. You and Dick got back pretty later, or rather early in the morning. Dick was instant he could take care of the gunshot wound on his own. He'd done it before, apparently. So, that left you to your room alone and sleeping didn't come too easy.

You could have had both of them but Dick just wouldn't listen and Jason doesn't listen and you're too damn loyal to him. If it were anyone else, you could have thrown a knife to injure them and you would have had him and then could have gotten Crane. But, it's Jason and you don't want to hurt him even if hurting him could bring him back and end up being for his own good. You just won't take the risk. And it sucks. And then you almost got shot because Jason and Dick can't work out their problems like normal people with an actual conversation. You're stuck in the middle of the two of them and you don't even know how the hell that happened.

And then there's the way Jason looked at you when you asked him to come home.

The drug must have been wearing off because he looked scared and for the life of you, you don't know why he would be so scared to come home. Yes, he killed Hank and that's bad but everyone attacked Gar while possessed and moved on from that. Gar killed people when he was being controlled. Jason is killing people while he's manipulated and drugged. None of them have attempted to do anything about any of the people you've killed. Dick just let Bruce walk right out after killing the Joker. Jason shouldn't be scared to come home and you feel horrible he clearly does. Getting him back just got a lot more difficult it seems and you're starting to second guess where you should stand in all of it.

You walk into the Batcave where you find Gar and Kory, looking to be researching something on the Batcomputer. You're best guess is they're trying to track down Jason. That's the only thing anyone is doing these days anyway.

"There you are!" Gar yells with excitement and relief as he rushes to you.

Gar's been worried. You and Dick went off without an explanation and didn't come back last night. Neither of you could even be bothered to answer a phone or keep the phones on for that matter. Kory hadn't heard anything and neither did Connor. He's relieved to see you're okay, even if you're looking a little out of it.

"Oh, yeah, hey." You let out a sigh as Gar brings you in for a hug.

"Where were you last night?" Kory questions. "And where is Dick?"

"And what happened?" Gar asks as he pulls away.

You furrow your brows, looking between them as your heart misses a beat. "W-what do you mean?"

Have they really not seen Dick? You might not have slept long or well but Dick is still, somehow, usually always awake. At least here like maybe the manor is haunting him in its own way. But, Kory and Gar are watching you expectantly and you worry maybe something went wrong with the whole gunshot thing.

"I don't think it's some coincidence you and Dick disappeared yesterday and stopped answering your phones." Kory crosses her arms.

Your jaw opens and closes a few times. "Uh..I mean...yeah..." You offer a yikes expression, squinting your eye slightly.

"Explain, now." Kory states sternly.

"Well, uh, you see...you haven't seen Dick or...heard from him?" You ask slowly.

"No." Kory grows more annoyed by the second.

"Not since he dropped Dawn off." Gar offers, hoping you get to the point soon.

You suck in a breath as you tug your sleeves over your hands. "Uh, yeah...so Dick got, uh shot. But, he was fine."

"So, you just went to bed?!" Gar asks.

"And you didn't think to come get me? Or any of us?" Kory demands.

"He said he had it and he's been shot before. I wasn't gonna argue with him."

"Since when? You argue with him all the time." Gar shakes his head in disbelief. Of all times you aren't going to argue with Dick, it's when he's shot. He could be bleeding out somewhere.

"Yes, I was not in the mood last night." You defend your stance as regret starts to chew at your stomach.

Kory lets out a groan. "And where did you last see him?"

"In the living room? Before I went to bed." You state but before you start giving up more answers, the one and only finally makes his way into the Batcave. "Oh, thank fuck." You let out a breath of relief.

"What happened!?" Kory asks quickly, immediately rushing over to Dick who's a little unsteady on his feet.

You and Gar watch the two of them and you can't help the grin that comes to your lips. Rachel made jokes about the two of them and said she thought it was weird but they'd be cute together. You get it now. Kory ran to him in the same you would have if it were Jason. Dick is clearly the idiot between the two of them.

You eye Gar. "Bet you ten bucks it'll be Kory to close the deal when she gets tired of waiting for him to get his shit together."

"I'm not gonna bet on that." Gar whispers with a soft grimace.

"Because you'll lose?" You raise, offering him a smirk.

"Yes." Gar chuckles. "I don't know if Dick is capable of having that conversation unprovoked."

You nod, rolling your eyes. "Batboys." You let out a sigh. "Okay, I give Kory a month."

"Four, tops." Gar sticks out his hand and you shake it with a soft laugh before you and Gar follow Kory and Dick to the medbay.

Dick takes off his shirt and reveals a gunshot wound on the upper left side of his chest. You furrow your brows. It looks nasty and his entire chest is covered in blood, most of it dry but some of it still looks fresh. Kory shakes her head, grabbing the supplies to stitch up the wound. Gar and you watch for a few minutes, mostly grimacing at the sight of it.

"Dude, that looks horrible." Gar scrunches his nose.

"Five inches over and we'd be burying another body." Kory says as she starts addressing the wound.

"Dude, seriously?" You huff. "You said you'd take care of that." You roll your eyes. You wonder how he could be so dumb. And reckless. It's not like it's a cut or a scrape. It's a literal gunshot wound close to his heart.

Kory stops what she's doing to look at you, Gar nearly snapping his head at you. Dick just glares at you, looking more annoyed than usual.

"What?" You ask, looking between all of them with wide eyes. "What'd I do now?"

"Let him go to bed with a gunshot wound and not tell anyone." Gar mutters under his breath, making you snap your entire attention on him. That's uncharacteristic.

"I'm not gonna force someone to let me help clean up their wounds." You mutter right back, earning a glare of disbelief from Gar. "Okay, unless it's Jaon or you." You snip back. "Sorry." Your eyes widen, looking between the three of them.

Gar keeps his stare on you. You're supposed to be friends and you're not looping him to anything anymore. You and Dick go off to fuck knows where and Dick almost gets killed. They're trying to find Jason since he went dark and you two can't be bothered to work as a team with the team. It's ridiculous. You're supposed to be a family.

"Explain." Kory warms, looking between you and Dick.

"It's nothing." Dick states, watching Kory stitch the wound.

"Nothing?!" Kory yells. "You two went off last night without a word! We deserve an explanation."

Dick pauses and you're not about to be on Kory's bad side. If Dick wants to piss Kory off, that's all on him. You do not want to do that. Kory is usually very nice but you have a feeling being on her bad side could get ugly. Plus, it's Kory.

"Jason's working with Jonathan Crane so we kidnapped him and took him to the cabin to lure Jason there. Then Jason and Dick started fighting and I helped. And then a helicopter came and Dick got shot." You explain simply.

The room falls silent for a few seconds as everyone looks between you and Dick. Kory wants to know why everyone who manages to get involved with Bruce Wayne ends up being some of the most reckless people she's ever encountered. Gar is piecing together everything you've told him and now he's even more frustrated. You and Dick went after Scarecrow and decided you could take him on and Jason on your own without any issues. You both didn't even have a backup plan. And Gar is realizing you not only took Jason's drug, but if it's Scarecrow, it was probably something he designed. You took a drug Scarecrow designed and knew that. Then neglected to tell everyone that piece of information.

You both could have died last night and everyone is supposed to just be normal about that. After everything.

"Wow, thanks." Dick quips.

"I'm not gonna disobey Kory. That's all you." You shake your head as you cross your arms over your chest but you can feel Gar's eyes still boring into you.

"And whose side were you even on last night, by the way?" Dick questions.

"You two morons almost fucking shot me!" You yell. "I was on your side. Hello? Do you not remember that and then you got the first swing on him. I was with you guys until you two almost shot me."

"That was Jason." Dick argues. "He pulled the trigger, not me."

"Because you grabbed his arm! It was aimed at you originally, not me." You let out a scoff.

"Enough." Kory warns, growing tired of the back and forth. The specifics of the fight last night don't matter right now when she's trying to fix a bullet wound that could have been fatal. She is so sick of losing people. "Barbara's responsible for this?" Kory asks.

"One of her snipers is, yeah." Dick answers.

"On her orders, I'm sure." Kory states. "Maybe I should go and have a word with her."

"I think there's been enough bloodshed for today." Gar adds in. "That was way too close, man." Gar's voice is soft but drenched in worry.

"I almost had him." Dick defends.

"No, I had him." You protest. "I had a knife ready to go. He never would have done it. I could have gotten him just fine but then you had to take the damn gun and I almost got shot." You pause for a second and if Dick would have just trusted you, maybe you really could have gotten him back. "We almost had him."

"Neither of you are listening!" Kory yells, looking between the two of you. "You scared us. Going out on your own, getting shot. It's not okay."

"I didn't want to put you guys at risk." Dick says. "She was here when I got the call. She's the only one that ever got through to Jason before. That's the only reason she went." Dick states calmly while Gar looks back at you as if waiting for you to explain why you didn't at least tell him.

"I'm not dragging you into it." You look to Gar as you shrug your shoulders.

"Oh, bullshit, guys." Gar spits and he's sick of this.

"Excuse me?" Dick questions.

"Dude, Hank blew up!" Gar yells. "Dawn left us forever, and Jason went dark. You're killing people!" Gar looks at you. "This family is dying and you two go out alone and Dick gets shot?" Gar yells before he starts growling lowly, his entire face turning green while his teeth turn into fangs. "Do you even hear the words coming out of your mouths!?"

"Gar?" You question slowly as your eyes grow wide. You've never seen him this upset before.

"Gar!" Kory yells, trying to snap him out of it.

"Hey." You stand in front of him, putting your hands on his cheeks. "Hello?"

His eyes land on yours, refocusing his attention and the fire in his bones starts to calm. The green fades from his face as his fangs start to retract. He's so upset and hurt and terrified for the lives of the people he cares about most, he didn't even realize he was starting to transform and Gar doesn't lose control.

"What?" Gar asks, his eyes scanning your face.

"Take ten." Kory states and she also feels like they're starting to lose everyone.

"Come on." You offer your hand to him as you turn around to walk away. Gar joins his hand with yours. "Don't do anything fucking insane without looping me in." You look over your shoulder at Dick, sending him a glare before you turn back around. "You were turning green." You whisper to Gar as you walk hand-in-hand across the Batcave.

"Because you guys could have died last night! I'm sick of losing this family!" His voice is panicked this time.

Gar might wear his emotions on his sleeve, but he is also very good at controlling his emotions. He never just loses control but he is today and it has you feeling even more guilty than you already were. Dick has Kory and Babs. You have Gar and Molly. Conner didn't really know Hank and he doesn't really know Jason. Gar, though, he knew Hank and was friends with Hank. Jason is his best friend and yet everyone has someone besides him. Everything has been a mess and Gar is the one left trying to fix everyone and help everyone but who helps him?

"Come on." You tug him along with you until you reach the living room. You let go of his hand and take a seat on the couch. "Yell at me for it. Go for it. You're scared and mad at us, fine. I get it. So, yell about it. I'm not gonna tell you to take ten. Turn green, turn into a tiger, go for it." You say with ease while Gar just stands in front of you, growing confused.

"What...? But I...I don't know..."

"Look, if you need to yell, do it. I deserve it and Dick does, too. You let me bitch to you for months. So, yell about how you're scared. I'm not gonna be hurt or mad. If it'll make you feel even a little bit better, do it. You take care of all of us, all the time. Take care of you." You offer and it's true. If he needs to yell about it, he should. You're not worried about him turning into a tiger. Gar deserves to let everything off of his chest. He always lets everyone else vent to him.

Gar's eyes narrow slightly. "This feels like a trick."

"It's not. I'd yell at Jason sometimes. He just kind of let me and then he'd yell at me. It was never that we were really yelling at each other, but just yelling. Because we were scared or mad. It usually helped. So, go for it." You shrug softly. "I do deserve it though so ya know."

Gar lets out a breath and decides he'll take the opportunity. He is just scared for all of you. Losing Donna was really hard. And losing Jason was worse. He was close with Json and that sucks. And now he's back and he's dark, working with a maniac. Hank is gone, there's no getting him back. Gar just can't lose more people and he's pissed that you and Dick don't seem to care how any of them feel about it. You're supposed to look out for each other to make sure you don't get blown up or beaten to death but Dick and you just go off on your own without a word.

"I'm just mad at you guys and I'm scared you're gonna go out there and get yourselves killed." Gar groans. "We had no idea where you guys went. You guys left and didn't loop us in. We're supposed to be a team and I know you're between teams but we're at least supposed to be friends! Jason is my friend, too! I want to be on his side. But you guys aren't telling us anything! I don't want to lose any more people."

You're tired of everything and you're tired of keeping secrets especially when Gar is looking at you desperate for answers. He says you're between teams right now but what if you don't want to be anymore? Jason is going to do whatever Crane is putting him up to and Dick is going to off and do his own thing anyway. Nothing you're doing has been working anyway. Maybe you're tired of being the one in the middle.

"The call about Crane came in and we left. I was with Dick and I don't think he would have looped me in if I wasn't already there. You're my friend. You're right. And that's why I didn't tell you." You state. "It's just...I wanted to protect you, I guess. I, uh, I've been dodging Molly's calls and texts, too because of it. I'm with you, I'm sick of losing people. So, I didn't tell you."

"Okay and I get that but this is what we do." Gar urges. "We help each other and we help other people even when it's dangerous. It's dangerous but you and Dick still go out there alone. At least if we're all working as a team, we have a better shot of making it home."

You chew the inside of your cheek and you think your heart might stop beating soon. "I fought him, ya know? And I know what that was like because even though I was high, I'm sober now and I remember every detail. And it fucking sucks that happened. I didn't want that to happen to you. I don't want him to have a bigger reason to target you." You shake your head and you shrug slowly and weakly. "He's not your fight, Gar."

"Yeah, he is." Gar urges. "Why wouldn't he be? He's my best friend."

"Because I owe it to him." You nearly yell. "I owe it to him to fucking save him because he saved me more than once and I never fucking told him. I missed it. I will never forgive myself for it. I have to save him this time."

"You don't have to do it alone." Gar's voice nearly breaks and he desperately wishes that's something you would understand. You never have to do this stuff alone. That's part of being a team and a family. "He's our friend. He's our family. We weren't here and that sucks! But he's not just yours to save. What if you can't do it alone?" Gar asks. "You're up against a freaky drug, Jason who I don't think you could really fight if you had to, and Scarecrow!"

"I know." You nod your head. "I don't know, okay? I know I can't do it alone. I'm sorry. I really am." You suck in a breath. And you're realizing you do a lot of things alone. It's as if it's easier to do them alone and only disappoint yourself, risk your own life than drag other people in the middle of it. "Really, I'm sorry. I was...scared if I tell you then you have to tell Dick and what if that got Jason killed, ya know? I don't know. I'm sorry though."

"You can tell me." Gar says. "I know you're worried about him but you can tell me and I won't tell Dick." Gar stresses. "Not if there's a risk it'll get Jason killed again."

"I know." You nod. "I'll try harder. I'm really sorry, Gar." You let out a breath. "I'm, uh, I'm gonna stay out of it today and take a breather. Might head to Excellent Gotham later, just so you know." You offer a soft smile.

"It's okay." Gar nods his head and offers a soft smile back. "You're going to be able to do that?"

"Yeah, I think better when I take a step back and I need to find a way to not be in the middle." You let out a soft chuckle. "While not doing it alone. But, if something happens..."

"I'll let you know." Gar's eyes widen. "Thank you." Gar clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "That did help a little actually."

"Told you." You laugh softly as you get to your feet. "Want some food now? Yelling really works up an appetite."

"Yeah okay." Gar chuckles as you get up. "Oh! I can tell you about Blackfire."

"Blackfire?" You quirk a brow.

"Kory's sister. She was kind of tapping into Kory's head and she attacked me yesterday so we went to find Blackfire. Some scientist was holding her captive." Gar states excitedly.

"Um..." You stutter. "Well, we already have so much in common." You laugh softly. "But yeah, no, please explain literally all of that." You say eagerly as the two of you make your way to the kitchen.

Jason and Crane are standing in the washing area of an operating room, watching as the surgeon and the nurses prep a kid for something. Jason isn't sure why Crane made him come here. He said he wanted to show Jason something. It's important he understands what's going on and Jason's part in all of this. If Jason were being honest, he thinks Crane is full of shit this time and he just wants to get out of here. This feels wrong.

Then it gets worse.

A woman comes in holding a sword and starts slicing up the surgeon and nurses. Jason's eyes grow wide as his breathing stops. Blood sprays over the walls and window right in front of Jason. A nurse backs against the window with her hands up and begs for her life only for the woman to slice her, too. This isn't right. Why would Crane do this? They're doctors. They're helping some kid live and Crane has this woman come in....and kill them. She takes something with her before looking at the window and offering Crane a nod. Jason questions if all of that bloodshed was for that one thing. She didn't have to kill them. But, she did.

"You are expendable. If you're not happy here, you are replaceable. Remember what I said." Crane says as he faces Jason and that's when Jason realizes this whole thing might be to help Crane, but the show was a threat.

Crane is withholding the drug from him today. Jason finished the inhaler and then Crane refused to give him more until they came here. He's withholding it on purpose, let Jason's fear kick in just enough to keep him in line and make him desperate. And it's working.

He's scared again.

He's scared he'll end up like the surgeons and nurses. He's scared Crane is the one who's going to turn on him. Red Hood is supposed to be the face of the whole plan. That was the point of creating that alter ego. Crane wants Jason to get rid of you and just do whatever he says, when he says it. He wants him to divert from the original plan while telling him nothing about what's actually going on. He can't do that. That is his line.

Crane can try all he wants but no amount of drugs or manipulation will get him to cross that line. He might believe Crane sometimes about you, maybe he has a point sometimes. But, he won't kill you. You could have killed him at any point but you don't. You could have pushed him off a roof but you didn't. When Jason gets desperate he thinks of that because you're the one that stood on that ledge with him despite your fear of heights. You're the one that talked him down that day no one else and he owes you something for that alone. He won't go after you. He doesn't fucking care what Crane has to say about it, he won't do it.

The more he thinks about it, the more mad he gets. Crane thinks he's expendable, just like Bruce. But he's not. Why does everyone think he's so fucking expendable and replaceable? Why is nothing he does enough? He turned on all of his friends for Crane. He killed Hank for Crane. That's not enough to prove he's not replaceable and expensable? It's infuriating. He'll prove Crane wrong. If Crane wants to get to you, he'll have to go through him first. If Crane wants to wait to distribute the drug, that's a Crane problem, not a Jsaon problem. And he knows exactly what he can do to prove Crane he's not expendable and he can be trusted.

Later that night, you find your way to Excellent Gotham. The other Titans have been busy trying to locate Crane and Jason. You kept yourself busy with a scrapbook page while they did their own thing. It's not really all that nice distancing yourself alone. You figure Excellent Gotham at least provides dinner and you can talk to Tim, someone who doesn't know everything that's going on and doesn't come with the feeling of guilt. If Tim wants to talk about who the Titans are and Batman and Robin, that's fine, too because it's what you always did. Before everything. It'll feel normal anyway. At least Excellent Gotham is a good distraction and lets you take the breather you need. If you're going to be any help, you need the step back. You're too close to it all.

So, you stand at the counter with Tim on the other side as a large smile consumes your face, a take-out counter resting open in front of you.

"Okay, okay, why Bruce Wayne? Like, okay if Dick were Robin, how does that make Bruce Batman?" You question as Tim leans against the counter.

There's a genuine smile splitting your face as you point at him with your fork before going in for another bite. You've been here a few hours, checking in with Gar every so often, a way to try and keep your word to him. And this is helping. You might be in a heated discussion about who everyone is but it feels normal. It doesn't feel heavy anymore. It's just a normal conversation with a friend and it doesn't feel fucking sad. It just feels warm.

You don't remember the last time you felt warm.

"He's rich." Tim scoffs, a grin plastered across his face. "And why else would he let Dick go out there?"

"Unless he doesn't know. Bruce is a busy man. Dick being Robin doesn't mean Bruce is Batman and that's if Dick is Robin." You argue with a laugh. "And that means you'd also be wrong about Jason."

"No, no, I know I'm right about Dick and Jason." Tim pauses, the smiling falling. "Is...is that okay to talk about? Jason?"

"Yeah." You nod with a soft smile. "I, uh, I like talking about him."

"Okay well," Tim picks right back with enthusiasm. You find it amusing how into this he is. Especially since he's right. "He has to be Robin. He has the same fighting style. He walks the same way, how do you explain that?" Tim raises. "And Robin 1.0 and Robin 2.0 share the same height difference as Jason and Dick." Tim states. "If they're the Robins, Bruce has to be Batman."

"Unless!" You yell with a laugh, flinging your fork around. "Dick recruited Jason because they're brothers! Like I said, Bruce is busy. What if Batman is just some guy? Like Kick-Ass. Doesn't have to be some rich guy and maybe he's recruiting kids." You argue and truly, you're only defending Bruce because you think it's funny. And Dick would kill you if you outed fucking Batman.

"Batman can be Batman because he's rich." Tim laughs. "Uh, where has Bruce Wayne been? Where has Batman been? They disappeared the same time!" Tim laughs.

"Bruce is on business! Maybe there's a Justice League thing!" Your laugh reverberates through the restaurant. This feels like home. "How the fuck would I know where Batman is?" You put your fork back in your food. "And that's still assuming Dick is Robin! He's not. Explain Dick having a stick up his ass. Robin is more free-spirited!"

"Sorry to interrupt this very important conversation." Mr. Drake states, walking back to the counter. "But Tim, where is Stephen? Get him on the damn phone and find out where he is. Or you're stuck here all night."

"Shit." Tim mutters, checking his phone to see Stephen's shift started an hour ago. "Okay, hold on." Tim says. "And we'll continue this." Tim laughs as he calls Stephen on FaceTime. "Where are you, man? Your shift started over an hour ago."

"Priorities. My girl's parents are out of town. I'll be there in a second." Stephen says through a grin.

"Seriously? I could have plans." Tim protests.

"What plans?" You snort. "You're here with me arguing about Batman."

"Whatever. Just hurry up." Tim says as he hangs up and three men walk into the restaurant.

Tim is about to start talking all over again with even more enthusiasm and proof but he gets a look at your face, eying the men as they walk further into the restaurant. Maybe you’re just paranoid but they look like they’re up to something. It’s that their walk is steady, determined, but careless. Their eyes don’t land on the menu or Tim or Mr. Drake. They’re pointed at the register. And that’s when you see the reflection of metal sticking out of the last guy’s waistband. He looks to you and then it starts.

The throbbing kicks in like a freight train. It’s an armed robbery and they plan to go out swinging. You’re quick, rushing to Tim as they pull out their guns. Gunfire surrounds and encompasses the restaurant as you tackle Tim to the floor behind one of the counters.

Tim leans against the counter, ducking his head with every echo of a gunshot. His eyes are on you as you take a breath, as if to be debating what you’re going to do. And Tim knows you knew this would happen. You were running to him before they had their guns pulled. And his thoughts are confirmed when you look back to him with fury in your eyes.

It’s been less than five seconds but it gives you enough time to gather yourself. It’s all you need. These people are not going to walk in here and murder the people you care about. They picked the wrong restaurant on the wrong night during one of the worst months of your life.

You lift your hoodie, pulling a knife from the belt around your waist before you pop up from behind the counter.

“Ya fucking missed, assholes!” You yell over at them as the knife leaves your fingers, connecting with one of the guys’ eyes, embedding itself deep into his skull as he drops to the ground.

The throbbing starts again from the side and you duck down just before a shot comes your way. You take another deep breath before grabbing another two knives and throwing one, hitting one of their jugulars. The last one still standing locks eyes with you, his gun pointed right at you. He has this…grin, one you almost swear you’ve seen before but you’ve never seen him before this. His breathing is steady and he actually looks relaxed while you have your arm ready and aimed with a knife, right at him.

His pupils are blown.

And then your heart sinks because Crane is free on the streets and these guys came in here completely fearless. This one finds the whole damn thing amusing. Maybe he’s just high on something else, or maybe you’re right and Jason and Crane have moved to disruption. Excellent Gotham wouldn’t just be a coincidence.

“Give me the money and it’ll be over.” He says so easily you nearly roll your eyes.

“Kiss my ass.” You throw the knife, hitting this one in the arm with the gun.

Then you throw another one, hitting him just below the eye. He drops to the ground in a hard thump, leaving the restaurant a glass and gun-shelled mess. The smell of gun metal seeps into the air while an eery and dense silence consumes the place.

Tim calls your name not ten seconds after the last man drops. There’s panic in his voice, a sense of dread. You rush right over to him where he’s against the food counter now, his dad leaning against the side of it. Blood seeps through Tim’s hands are he tries to hold pressure on the wound. You kneel down, seeing Mr. Drake breathing heavily. Your eyes scan over him, quickly running over the crash course Jason gave you in gunshot wounds once.

“He’s been shot!” Tim yells, desperation in his eyes as he looks to you, silently pleading for help. He knows you're Bluejay. He can only assume you've had some sort of training in this. More than he's had.

You can feel the lump in your throat grow and the spinning of your head. Blood never really bothered you and it didn't with Dick. But, it was mostly dry with him earlier and this, right now, is fresh and active. Your bones feel like they're going to vibrate through your skin and your teeth grind together, trying to push every thought out of your mind that isn't first aid.

You have to help.

“Okay, move.” You urge as Tim pulls his hands away. Your hands are shakey as you lift Mr. Drake’s shirt, seeing the wound oozing and you think you might prefer knife wounds instead of gaping holes. “It’s gonna take the ambulance ten to fifteen to get here,” You rush out. “So, we–”

“Is that…?” Tim asks, cutting you off as his eyes are on the window. He only even looked up to see if he saw someone for help or Stephen but instead of help, he just saw one person.

Jason Todd.

You look up just in time to catch a glimpse of him before he turns around. This cannot really be happening right now. Jason Todd is supposed to be dead. It was all over Gotham City News. Bruce's newest adoptive son was killed in a freak accident. This is going to be a lot harder to explain to Tim and you want to explode. If he's here, you're right.

Why the fuck would he be here and why the fuck would he target the place you frequent?

“Okay, keep pressure.” You look to the door, seeing Stephen rush in. “Stephen, call an ambulance and grab some towels!” You yell as you get to your feet. “Stay here, hold pressure with the towels. I’ll be right back.” Your words nearly slur together as they come out as fast as your mouth will let them.

You rush outside where you see Jason, his back facing the open windows of the restaurant. You can’t believe this. Of all the things he could do, of all the damn people in Gotham he could target, he really came for you. For your friend and his family. You can’t fucking do it anymore. This is insane. If he wants to go after Dick, fine. Sibling rivalry bullshit taken to an extreme. But this? This is targeting innocent fucking people.

“Jason!” You seethe as you approach him. “What. The. Fuck!?” You scream, nearly vibrating from the anger coursing through your veins.

But then Jason faces you.

The anger washes away as your mouth opens, looking for words. There are dark circles under his eyes, a hollowed expression of the charism that used to radiate off of him. Maybe it’s the dark lighting but you swear the green in his eyes is pale, his skin is pale. He looks like a shell of who he used to be. He’s been acting like it but now…he really looks the part and you’re getting the idea that something really bad is happening.

Jason’s eyes are wide, tired, and exhausted but wide as he sees you come to a dead stop a few feet away from him. Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be here. You should be with Dick and the other Titans. He didn’t see you inside of the restaurant. Not before the gunfire or after. How did he miss you? It can’t be you. He just wanted to show Crane he was right. He wanted to prove he could do this. He chose Excellent Gotham on purpose, a way to show Crane it’s a threat at you without being a real threat. He knows you went to Tim for help. You weren’t supposed to be here.

Jason questions your name, closing the rest of the distance between the two of you.

His hands immediately come to your face for just a second and they send a chill down your spine. His fingers are like icicles and they're clammy, completely different than how they usually are and it breaks your heart. He keeps his right hand on your cheek, while the other hand goes to your waist. His eyes scan you over quickly, desperate to make sure you weren’t hurt in the gunfire. He didn’t take the drug again yet, he was saving it for after. He’s scared. Panicked. Desperate and guilty. You have blood on your hands and on your clothes. Can’t be yours. Not you.

Please not you.

“Are you hurt?” Jason rushes but his voice is weak and fragile, echoed in pain.

You eye him and you’re stuck between wanting to punch him and wanting to kiss him in hopes to make it all better again. He’s slipping so far away from you and you’re scared how far he’s willing to fall. Crane is doing something to him. He has to because he didn’t look like this last night. He didn’t even seem like he cared this much last night. Right at this exact moment, he feels like the old Jason. And you nearly get sucked right back into his gravitational pull.

“What…” The venom is gone from your voice. “What is he doing to you?” You ask, your hand comes to to his face. Not him. Not again.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jason’s voice breaks.

“You know I’m always here. I was hanging out with Tim. Jason…what the hell is he giving you?” You look him over and you notice him favoring his leg. You haven’t seen him much since he’s been back from the dead but this is the first time since that first day you’re noticing it. You always notice it.

“Are you hurt?” Jason asks again and he can feel his heartbeat in his throat. He wants to spit his own heart right onto the ground in hopes it’ll stop the pain in his chest.

“No. I’m fine. It’s not mine.” You urge, catching him glancing at your free hand. “Jason, what is Crane giving you?”

Jason shakes his head, dropping his other hand to your waist. He misses you. He’s been so damn high all the time, he’s been able to ignore the longing in his chest. The one who always swore was his heart searching for yours. He could ignore it with ease but Crane has been keeping the drug close to his chest and this batch isn’t very good. He can feel it more tonight. It’s wearing off quicker. He can feel the worry for you and the care and the fact he fucking misses you. And the guilt for everything that’s led you both here.

“Same shit.” Jason grits his teeth. “You took it, you know.” He hates the words leaving his lips because they sound bitter and angry but it’s not at you. He just wants you to be okay and he wants to get the fuck out of here.

“No.” You shake your head, your voice soft. “Are you sure it’s the same drug? Jason, you look…is he withholding it from you?” His skin is cold and clammy under your fingers and his hair is flatter than usual.

You’ve seen it, what withdrawal looks like. You saw it on the streets and that’s what Jason looks like. Why would Crane do that? He’s insane and he doesn’t actually give a shit about Jason but Jason has been doing all of his bidding. You figure Jason is here with the drug. That’s why he just stood here while Excellent Gotham was attacked, he probably gave it to them. Surely, that has to be part of the plan. But, if that’s the case, then why does Jason look like he’s been thrown headfirst into withdrawal? And why would Crane be doing this?

“Stay the fuck out of it. I have it. It’s the same shit. It’s fine.” Jason grits his teeth. He wants to break. He wants to lose it for the first time since that first day on the roof with you. It feels like it’s been months since and it’s only been a week. And you look at him with worry and fear and you have always had a way with getting Jason to breathe. But, he can’t afford that right now. Not you. “Please.”

"It's fine?" You spit. "You look terrible, Jason. It's not fucking fine."

"Yeah, it is." Jason removes his hand from your waist and digs in his coat pocket, pulling out a full inhaler. "Fine." He wiggles the inhaler for you to see, the liquid sloshing around in the clear canister.

After all of that, he's going to wave the drug around as if it's fucking easy. He's going to stand here and pretend like it's all fine and well when he almost got you and Tim shot? He's actually lost his damn mind now. If he's going to stick with Crane despite everything, fine. You've stuck by his side since day one all those months ago. Fine. If it's going to be like that, fine because you can't take it anymore. You love him more than anything on this planet but this is not fucking fine. He's not fine and he has got to realize that.

"Fine!?" You shake your head, eyes bugging out of your head in disbelief. "Get off me." You shove his hand off of you as you take a step back. It's not fine. None of this is fucking fine. He's not fine. That drug isn't fine. Working with Crane isn't fine. Doing what he just did isn't fucking fine. It doesn't matter what his reason is. "You...you just got Tim's dad shot. Do you know that? What have the Drakes ever done to you?" You look at him with disgust. "You could have gotten Tim shot, my friend. You could have gotten me shot!" Your voice cracks as you yell at him, your arm flying out to the side. You might be worried about him but you're not going to let him almost kill your friends because you're worried about him.

"That wasn't the plan!" Jason screams in desperation, his words clawing at the hope for you to believe him. "You went to Tim, didn't you!? I know you suck at figuring out codes! Tim is a genius. I just wanted to scare him!" Jason defends his stance, leaving out Crane wanting Jason to target you. If you knew this was a fake threat, maybe that'd be worse.

"Bullshit! Bull-fucking-shit! You gave them the drug! That's why you're here! You did this! You knew what would happen and you did it anyway!" You bark back. "You just wanted to scare him!? Then do it your damn fucking self, Jason! You just didn't want the blood on your damn hands so I couldn't blame you! But you did this!" You point a finger at him and Jason isn't sure he's seen you so mad and...disappointed.

"You weren't supposed to be here! I didn't think they'd shoot anyone!"

That's not a lie. He didn't think. He just did it. He knew they'd go in there and rob them. Maybe they'd have to close down for a little bit. For safety. He didn't think about anything else. Thanks to the drug Jason claims is helping him and curing him.

You don't fucking get it. It doesn't matter that you weren't supposed to be here. That's a load of shit anyway. You're always here. Tim and his family are innocent, regardless on if Tim helped you or not. He doesn't know anything, not for sure. Jason's reasoning is flawed and it's cruel. It fucking hurts.

"Tim is my fucking friend! I don't care I wasn't supposed to be here! You....fuck." You let out a desperate groan, tilting your head back. At some point, enough is enough and he isn't even taking responsibility for this. You just can't do this anymore. You look back to him, eyes turning glassy. "I was fucking fine with you being a crime lord or whatever, taking out those fucks hurting people. But this?" You point at the restaurant. "These are innocent people! Hank was innocent! Dick is innocent! I can't fucking stand here and watch you kill innocent fucking people! And innocent fucking people that I care about and that care about me!" You say it all so quickly, you barely register what it would mean.

No no no no no. He fucked it all up. Like he always does. He just ruined it all. Everything is gone. Everything is going to shit. It's all messed up. He did all of this. How did he even get here? You can't walk away from him. You always swore you wouldn't. Please, not you, too.

You're all he has left.

"What's that supposed to mean, huh?" Jason asks, jerking his up quickly as he tries to give the question some bite.

You let out a heartbroken laugh that's mixed with a cry as you look to the sky and hope a blackhole will open up just to swallow you whole. You have no choice.

You have thrown him life preserver after life preserver, and all he ever had to do was hold on and you'd reel him back to safety. But, all Jason has done is chew right through them and wonder why he's still drowning. You can't keep trying to save someone who doesn't want to be saved. He was always your lifeline but you were clearly, never his.

"You win, Jason." Your voice is defeated as Jason's brows furrow. The lump in your throat grows so large you can barely get the words out. "You win. I can't do it anymore. I'm done. I can't." You shake your head as a tear falls down your cheek. The words taste like blood-covered glass, killing you with every cut and slice.

If you're always on his side, then what he's doing can't be that bad. If you're always on his side, defending him, why would he ever stop? You've tried everything else to get him home and none of it is enough. And it is killing you, knowing this is it. There is one last option because something's gotta give. Maybe if he hits rock bottom, having no one, maybe it'll turn him around. It's the only thing left to do because begging him doesn't work, loving him doesn't work, fighting him doesn't work, arguing doesn't work. Nothing else works and you hate it because you don't mean it, not even a little bit but you have no other options and you're devasted by what he is right now.

So, you say the one thing you can't take back.

A last-ditch effort, knowing he may never forgive you.

"I'm giving up on you. You get what you always wanted. I can't do it. I have tried and tried, but I can't do it anymore." You give him a tired shrug as you dodge his eyes.

If you see the heartbreak in his eyes, you'll take it back and you can't do that. If Jason always has you on his side, why would he turn things around when he hasn't yet? You could have died two nights in a row. He is actively targeting the Titans. You can't meet his eyes because he is targeting innocent people. It might be under Crane's control but, until he gets clear of him and gets clean, this has to be on Jason. Jason has to be the one to deal with the consequences and you will never forgive yourself for it.

Jason's world stops. Not you. Not another person. Why does he always do this? How did he even get here? You were never supposed to be involved. He should have included you from the start. He almost rips the inhaler from his pocket and hits it, right in front of you, anything to get rid of this pain in his chest. It's as if his heart just exploded through his cage, shattering every bone on its way out. How are you doing this?

You're all he has left.

Jason shakes his head, fighting back tears of agony and anger. "You're just like everyone else." Jason's voice cracks.

You knew it was coming but something about it makes you want to burst into tears.

"No." You shrug because he should know how badly this hurts you, too. This is the last thing you want to say to him, ever. "I'm not. I am not like everyone else. Don't ever say that shit again. You have done this. You came after my friend. My innocent friend, Jay." Your voice cracks as you try desperately to hold back your sobs. "All you have done since coming back from the dead, is hurt me." You pause, taking a ragged breath and Jason's face falls. Is that true? "And I have done everything to protect you. To be by your side. And you have done nothing but hurt me. So, no. I am not like everyone else. You just gave me no choice, Jay." You're quick to wipe a few tears away as your voice is weak and soft, lacking all fire and bite it had just seconds earlier.

He can't do it. He could try to make up for this. He could try to explain. He could just quit. That would do the job just fine. But, he doesn't. The heartbreak kicks in with anger and he just wants to be spiteful just like he always is as if fighting the person is going to change their mind. He knows it won't change yours but he does it anyway because he's hurt and the hurt has nowhere to go besides the open and cold air of this soulless city.

"You swore you never would but look at you now!" A lump grows in Jason's throat. "You said you don't break promises. Crane was right about you." Jason sneers as he closes the distance between you, looking down at you but he's not threatening or intimidating. You see the heartbreak in his eyes. You will feel guilty about this in every life you live.

Jason Todd has always deserved better.

"Okay." You shake your head slowly. "Sure, Crane doesn't know me. But you do. You know me. And you know I'd never be giving up if you left me another option. But, sure, believe Crane. Fuck it, right?" You scoff and all you want to do is cry. Or break every bone in your body because maybe that would be less painful. "I'm sick of losing my family." Your voice is quiet, barely a whisper. "All I ever wanted was you. And you died." You shrug your shoulders, keeping your eyes on him. "And all I wanted was you." You say quietly and Jason wants to shatter, his breath catching in his throat as his vision starts to go blurry. "And still, all I want is you but...I don't know what else to do."

You can see your breaths mixing together in the winter air between you. Everything led you both here and all you both want to do is take it back. The winter air chisels at your face and hands, hacking away at every hope you could have had. Jason's eyes are locked on yours, dissolving into heartbreak and you think this is what hypothermia must feel like.

But, Jason is too scared of what will happen if he does take it all back. He's still under Crane's manipulation. He's too stubborn. And you're terrified what will happen if you back down. If you back out of it, who will he target next?

"So, that's just it? I didn't mean to hurt anyone in there. It's not my fault." Jason huffs and the anger starts to evaporate as the heartbreak comes in the form of agony and devastation.

"Sure." You nod and you don't want him to feel like he's trapped with Crane. You have to give up because that's your option. But, you can offer him someone else and maybe that'll be enough. This all boils to Dick anyway. "The same way your drug isn't Crane's fault. Look, I'm done. I can't do it. Dick though, he believes in you still. So, if you want to come home, call him. Don't contact me. If you get clean, then you can. Until then, don't call me. Don't text me. Nothing. And stay the fuck away from the Drakes, Molly, and Gar." You try to hide the quiver in your voice but Jason catches it.

"Please, don't walk away." Jason says softly and you nearly collapse into the ground. His words are like knives aiming right for your heart. How does he do that?

You rest a hand on his cheek. "I can't leave it like that so, I'll always love you, Jay but...I want the old you back." You nod as your hand falls from his cheek. You turn around, going to leave him but you hear Jason take a few slow steps after you before they stop.

Jason's voice cracks as he says your name, his version becoming so blurry he can't see. "I...I'm sorry." Jason says quietly, looking to the ground as a tear falls from his eyes. "Don't...please," He looks back up to you. "Don't give up on me. I have a plan and it's all gonna work out. This was just an accident."

You swear he's never going to forgive you for this. This is the hardest thing you've ever done. Even if he understands one day, he'll never forgive you and it's the hardest pill to swallow.

"Yeah, I'm sure it was." You nod softly. "I can't save you. You don't want to be saved, not yet. You have to save yourself, now, Jay. And for what it's worth, I..." You pause watching tears come to Jason's eyes. "I love you, Jay." You nod your head as you sniffle. "And I am so fucking sorry I couldn't save you. From Deathstroke, from the Titans, from the Joker...from Bruce. And from Crane. I'm sorry I was another person that let you down and I'm really fucking sorry I'm walking away." You shake your head as you lick your lips. "But I don't think you'll get it through your head if I'm in your corner. I've tried everything to stay." You suck in a breath as a few tears fall from your eyes. "I tried to stay for once because being with you was worth it to me. But I don't think it's helping you so...get clean and we can talk. The second you get clean, I'll be here." You nod once as the ambulance finally starts to arrive. "Those are for us. You should leave." You turn back around and head back inside of the building, leaving Jason in the cold.

How could he fuck up this bad? He just wanted to show Crane he was right. He just wanted to prove himself and instead, he's the one standing out here all alone. Guilt and shame gnawing at the last good parts of him. And he just can't do it anymore. The pain and the fear and guilt and everything about it. It's too much and too heavy and maybe he's a little spiteful. So, he puts the inhaler to his lips and takes a hit.

They said it was a skinny batch but he didn't realize it would feel like this. It's numbing a lot of everything but not enough and it all still feels too heavy. When things get heavy, he always went to you but he just fucked that up. It's his fault it's heavy. This is all his fault and you're supposed to be on his side but you're not. He's all alone again and all he has is Crane. It's not supposed to be like this. How the fuck did he even get here?

All he wanted was to be somebody to someone. To be enough.

Back in the restaurant, the paramedics are getting Mr. Drake into the ambulance, rushing him off to Gotham General. Tim watches with sad and hollowed eyes, his hands are covered in blood and his shirt is soaked. You squeeze your eyes shut, looking away before you shake it off. You can't lose it over Tim's dad. That's not fair.

"Do...do you need a ride?" You clear your throat as the ambulance drives away. "I have my bike. I can take you." You offer with a steady and firm nod.

"Uh...yeah," Tim looks at his hands, something lost in his voice. "That...that would be great. Thanks."

"Of course." You nod, reaching down for this hand. Your hands have been covered in blood enough times to almost seem normal. "Come on."

The two of you head outside to your bike and you wonder how you're supposed to explain this. Dick talked to you months ago, when you first came to the tower. It was all about vigilante life and what it entailed. It would be making hard decisions but knowing those hard decisions would be for the greater good. It's not killing people because enough people hurt and kill innocent people enough. Vigilantes, heroes, don't do that. It was about keeping the identities of everyone a secret to protect yourself and them. You've never had much of an issue keeping secrets.

You hold your own close to your chest, lock them away where even you forget they exist sometimes. But, those secrets aren't these. Those secrets only ever hurt you, only ever made you feel alone. These secrets that you're forced to keep hurt everyone you care about. They hurt Molly because you couldn't tell her about Bluejay or Robin or Jason or Red Hood. You and Jason would bail on her and you'd both would show up riddled with bruises and aches and pains. It hurt her because it worried her. It hurt her because Jason died and she never got to know him as Robin, the part of him that meant the world to him. She only got to know a portion of him.

But telling Molly meant telling her about Dick and Bruce and the other Titans. It wasn't your secret to tell because it would out all of them. And she still doesn't know he's alive because telling her means leaking something Jason wanted to keep a secret and that's going to hurt her even more.

This hurts Tim because his dad was just shot and he just saw Jason Todd who's supposed to be dead. Now, he's going to think his friend is lying to him about your boyfriend being dead. Lying about an alter ego is one thing, lying about someone dying is cruel. Even if you weren't close.

And it hurts Gar because Gar ends up in the crossfire of everything. He's the one up worrying when you and Dick don't come home. He's the one scared for what Jason is going to do because you couldn't tell him about the drug in order to protect Jason and keep his secrets for him. And then there's Jason.

You can't tell Jason what's going on with the Titans because of Crane. You can't tell him everything you want to desperately scream from the rooftops. That you're sorry and you don't mean it and it hurts you, too. You can't tell him you're scared Crane is going to snap and kill him. It'll drive the wedge further between you. All of these secrets are piling on top of each other, slowly building to the tallest building in Gotham and it's only a matter of time before the whole thing collapses. All it does is hurt everyone you care about. That doesn't seem very heroic.

"Here, take my helmet." You offer the helmet to him once you reach your bike.

"Uh, no it's okay." Tim shakes his head. You're driving.

"Put the helmet on." You say sternly as you mount your bike, sending a glare to Tim.

Something about the look you give him makes Tim grab the helmet. "Right, okay." Tim nods and puts the helmet on before he gets on the back.

"Hold on." You state before Tim holds onto your waist.

You drive to Gotham General, pulling up to one of the entrances without blocking the ambulance entrance. Tim gets off and takes off the helmet, handing it back to you. He knows you know something. And if he's being honest, he's annoyed you didn't tell him. You aren't that close but...his dad just got shot and Jason fucking Todd knew about it. It was a hit. He stood outside and did nothing. Why wouldn't his own girlfriend know he's alive and planning a hit? You have acid generation and combat clairvoyance while also being an excellent marksman. Tim swears it can't be some coincidence you were there tonight.

"I'm really sorry about your dad." You state softly, holding the helmet on your thigh.

"Thanks." Tim looks back at the hospital. "That was Jason Todd outside, wasn't it?"

You nod softly and you know you can't deny that. Tim saw him "Yeah."

"I thought he was dead." Tim questions as his voice holds hints of venom, something you haven't heard before.

"Yeah." You nod again and you hate yourself for tonight. For everything. "Don't, uh, don't tell anyone. It's a long story." You hang your head, dodging the look Tim is surely giving you.

"You knew?" Tim scoffs, looking at you with annoyance and disappointment. Why the hell would you let everyone believe he were dead? "He faked his death or?"

You look back to him and all this sucks. You're sick of lying and hiding secrets. It's tiring and lonely. It's so fucking lonely.

"No." You shake your head. "He, uh...he really, uh...he really died." You suck in a shakey breath before you shake your head quickly. "I-I can't tell you anything else." You let out a bitter scoff. "That's shit and I know that. I'm sorry."

"Did he target us because of you? Because of the Titans?" All Tim wants is some clarity. There had to be reason. Tim helped you with a code. That's what it was.

"Not a Titan." You sigh with exhaustion, lacking any and all fight you'd normally have with the statement. "I don't know why." You lie but you're sick of this. Keeping these secrets is making you out to be the bad guy with everyone and you're not. You're just trying to protect everyone you care about so, you're not going to tell him in so many words but you're not going to cover it up either. "Um...yeah...maybe it was because of me but uh...I, uh, I never...I never thought he'd figure it out or....or come after you. I should have left you out of it."

Tim nods bitterly and he wants to understand but his dad could have been killed. "That code, it wasn't a murder mystery thing, was it?" Tim asks and you just suck in a breath, not offering him anything else. Technically, you aren't lying and technically you aren't telling him anything. He already knows. You don't need to so he nods. "I saw what you did. You knew they were going to start shooting. I was right."

You shake your head, looking to the sky and it's gloomy as always but it looks like it might snow. You scoff looking back to Tim. "I saw the guns."

"Bullshit, you know," Tim gestures a hand to you. "You're supposed to be a hero, like Batman and Robin but..." Tim shakes his head.

"Fuck Batman." You mutter as your jaw clenches.

"You're supposed to help people." Tim says sternly.

The lump in your throat grows and you bite your cheek so hard the taste of iron floods your mouth. It's not supposed to be this hard. And why does helping people have to be so black and white? Good and bad? It's not. Whether anyone likes it or not, the guys you want to target and take out permanently and the guys Jason was going after, that was helping. Making sure they can't hurt anyone else ever again. That's helping. Dick thinks he can help all of the Titans and he fucks up sometimes which gets people hurt, but he still helps. Sometimes people get hurt and that sucks but does that really make everyone else irrelevant? Does that really make everything else wrong? Or the motive and reasoning?

Helping people shouldn't be black and white, good and bad, morally good and morally evil. There needs to be a grey area because you have people like the Joker who needed to be killed for the greater good of everyone in Gotham. And you have people like Jason who isn't in his right mind and is being manipulated but should still be helped. It sucks Tim's dad got shot and you will regret going to Tim for help forever, but you're helping him by not telling him anything, even if you want to and even if he doesn't see it that way.

"I am literally begging you to please go inside and leave this alone, Tim." You force the words through gritted teeth. "I can't fucking tell you anything else, okay? I want to. If it were up to me, I'd fucking tell you what's going on but I can't. It's not my shit to say." You look to the ground and then back up to Tim, rolling your shoulders softly. "So, I'm sorry." You shake your head, giving up and cluing him enough. Technically, you're not admitting to anything, just admitting that you know what's going on.

"You just confirmed it." Tim says softly. "I'm gonna figure out what's going on and--"

"Tim! Please, go be with your dad. Trust me." You practically beg him because if he digs into this, what's going to stop Jason from actually going after him? Tonight might have been a threat or whatever, but at this point, you don't know if he would actually go after someone like Tim. You need him to just take what you're saying and understand it.

"That's my dad."

"I know and I know it sucks. I get it which is why I'm telling you to go be with him." You say softly as your voice cracks.

Tim nods softly, understanding why you're saying it. "Thanks for the ride."

"Just...text me about your dad, okay?" You ask. "I'm really fucking sorry."

"I will." Tim nods because he's beginning to think maybe this isn't on you. He might know who you are but you aren't as cut and dry as Batman and Robin always were. You're more morally grey and maybe it is more complicated because it involves Jason. You look terrified. "Thanks for saving me."

You nod quickly. "Of course." You say softly. "Good luck." You suck in a breath, popping the helmet on and taking off.

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series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

A/n: I still promise reader and Jason get a happy ending lmao This just had to happen lol but I do make up for it a little bit next chapter (pretty sure it's next chapter)

Tag list: @fairyofshampoo // @italiana-20 // @jasontoddsmentaldisorders // @purplerose291 // @lovelessamai // @makaelaseresin // @lenidaslenchen // @mayfieldss // @ghostkingblake // @im-done-with-this-im-out // @velvetskies // @lilylovelyxo // @cryinghotmess // @yesimwriting // @vivian-555 // @stainedstardom // @baebeepeach // @legend-o-zelda // @harleycao // @somehow-lovable-trash // @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx // @deyja-the-duck // @jasontoddslover // @captainmarvels-blog // @totallynotkaibiased // @scarlovesyou // @whydoyoucare866 // @littlemeowmeow1000 // @ginger24880 // @septixtrash // @kplatzman // @urmomsgayforme5

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fanfic #red hood fanfiction #titans fanfic #titans fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #petrichor

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tired-biscuit · 1 year

Note

How would the Naruto idiot friend group survive or how long they’d last during no nut november I wonder 🤔💭

—🐻

i actually have a moot that did a similar kind of post, here's the link. it was a really fun read, so check it out if you feel like it!!

i know it's not a group of idiots necessarily, but i chose kiba and naruto simply because i think they have the most potential to share custody of a single brain cell (and because they're my faves, lol.) it's all under the cut, because it's obv nsfw.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: just two horny morons suffering because of NNN 🧡 fem!reader, 18+ mdni

𝘄𝗰: 900+ words

𝗞𝗜𝗕𝗔

Fails.

Don’t get me wrong, the man is determined to last – and is loud about it, too – but as soon as it comes to actually committing to NNN, Kiba is all bark and no bite. He lasts not even two full days before his hand winds up in his pants, which, if you take his sky-high libido into consideration, is pretty good actually.

His ego makes him act all smug and proud the first night; he’s messing around in the group chat, talking about how good that first nut on the 1st of December is going to feel, and yet by the second night he’s already growing agitated and snippy because he’s used to jerking one out before bed or early in the morning when he wakes up with a literal coke can in his sweatpants.

He’s so pent-up that he even dreams some whacky-ass scenario with you between his legs, his best friend; drooling and sucking the literal life out of him with that cutesy mouth that always likes to talk shit whenever he teases you, and for some odd reason: it’s enough to make him admit defeat.

He wakes up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat like he’s just had a nightmare despite that it was the literal opposite, and with the image of your cute face covered in his cum still somewhere in the back of his mind. He can still feel your hands on his thighs, the weight of your slick tongue on his dick. So he says ‘Fuck it.’ and opens up Pornhub on his phone. He taps the first video that catches his eye and finishes at the initial blowjob part not even five minutes in whilst his mind insists on replaying that goddamn scenario with you instead.

The amount of cum he’s managed to produce just because he hasn’t touched himself in two days is unholy. Or it might be because you’re someone who he’s just now realized that he wants so, so badly. Who knows.

He sleeps like a baby afterwards, despite that the post-nut clarity chews on his pride a little. The confused feelings he harbours for you don’t help either. And when he wakes up in the morning, still grumpy but now at least without the persistent ache in his balls from being so horny all the time, all he does is jack off again because it’s literally pointless now and he might as well try to feel good about being a lovestruck loser.

The others know he’s failed the moment he’s actually quiet in the group chat. He doesn’t tell them about the reason as to why, though. Just slaps that ‘seen’ like the sensitive cancer sign that he is, and texts you instead.

𝗡𝗔𝗥𝗨𝗧𝗢

Fails.

Naruto lasts surprisingly longer than he initially thought he would, despite that he took the entire thing as a joke at first. Still, he’s determination incarnate and competitive – as most young men his age are – and he’s going strong for about a week or two just to prove a point that consequently doesn’t even hold any meaning in the end.

And it shows. Not being able to spill his load makes him impatient. He’s always jittery; bouncing his knee whilst sitting on the couch in your living room while you watch movies and a suggestive scene pops up, staring at you from the corner of his eye for just a little bit too long all the time. After all, Naruto is already touchy and needy on the norm, especially around you, so not being able to stuff his dick inside your warm cunt and bully it to his heart’s content is simply annoying.

What do I even get out of this? Is it worth it? What’s the fuckin’ point, really? – These questions are the only thing he thinks about lately.

However, despite the lack of intimacy during November, his evident struggle is awfully amusing to you. So you egg him on, acting all sweet and coy whilst executing your plans that would lead to his demise like some evil mastermind in the making.

You wear those pretty dresses that show off the tops of your thighs whenever you step onto your tippy-toes and wrap your arms around your tortured boyfriend’s neck. Press your chest to his own real tight, so that he can surely feel your soft tits squish against him, especially late in the evening when you’re both just chilling at home and you’re not wearing a bra underneath the tiny shirts you all of a sudden like putting on around him.

It’s all fun and games – for you, of course. Still, Naruto doesn’t yield all that easily. He just refuses to give.

However, two weeks are certainly a lot for a man with a sex drive so high that it reaches past the clouds. Every little thing, may it be intentional or not, is like a trigger inside that horny pea-brain of his. And because of it, it takes you literally nothing more than bending over in your tight gym shorts for his willpower to finally crack.

You’re in the kitchen, searching for a freaking pot to cook dinner in and not attempting to appear enticing at all for once, and yet the moment his warm hand traces the curve of your ass over the smooth spandex, it’s game over.

Soldier down, his dick ends up buried deep inside your pussy before you can even lay eyes on the stupid pot.

#naruto smut #naruto uzumaki #kiba inuzuka #naruto x reader #kiba x reader #naruto uzumaki smut #kiba smut #naruto #kiba #🐻 anon #biscuit drabbles

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canayams-art · 7 months

Note

yesyes i do think after lqq gets that shock out of his system first, he would want to confront mq about him and hear his side and an explanation. i don't believe lqq knowing that would put an irreparable dent into their relationship because at the end of the day, that suggestion never went through and mq never pursued to destroy yong'an after the war.

and OH MY GOD the way you put mq's side of the story here is soo true because i don't think he would focus too much on the one suggestion to end the war that never went through until it was brought up and threatened to ruin a relationship with someone he genuinely began to care for. because at the end, it was more of a desperate way to end the war that is being dragged on than any real malice towards yong'an. and i do think after both thinking about it himself and hearing what mq has to say on the matter, lqq would understand that as well.

the two of them healing together and learning to let go of the past pains regarding their kingdoms history 🥹 they make me so soft

this is tickling the very specific side of my brain as well and oh my god i genuinely hope i will have time to maybe turn this into a fic at some point because i absolutely ADOREE getting new rarepairs into my collection and this one is ticking almost all of the boxes at this point jsjsjsjdjdjd if i do end up writing something for them i will make sure to let you know dwdw

and mq getting the friendship he never believed he could have from xl in lqq is making me bawl, especially because there is less of an obvious power imbalance between them, since they would obviously start off as more or less of equals when they meet. which would make mq both more open with lqq in a way he never could be with xl

im curious tho, how do you think the rest of the heavens would see their relationship? because im sure there would be side comments about mq probably wanting to "serve another prince" and such thrown around :"))

Shaking your hands shaking your hands !!!

It really is making me think about the perspective immortality gives to a person when they’re able to be so far away from events of their own life because those events were maybe one or two (or more) lifetimes ago. Would a god be more forgiving than a man? It’s a fun space to play in.

AND YEAH SO MUCH POTENTIAL FOR AN EARNEST FRIENDSHIP ! Something mq lacks and lqq can so easily offer! I always think about the fact that lqq answers any private communication he receives regardless of the person’s status— he’s easy to talk to and I feel like he’s generally well liked among the other gods, even if they also think he’s naive. And maybe mq also thinks that way about him. Maybe that changes the more he gets to know lqq— similar to how he felt with xl. But like you said— less power imbalance!

I feel like the other gods would be confused to see mq making a genuine attempt at friendship with lqq— Tai Hua doesn’t seem like the type of person he would want to associate with. And he’s not even making snippy quips at him! His scoldings about how lqq is too lenient with his duties and too carefree don’t have the same cutting bite that the gods are used to seeing when mq engages with fx, for example, or even when he decides to lurk in the group communication arrays. I could see it raising eyebrows for sure.

And that’s not to say mq wouldn’t make remarks at lqq but I think lqq would probably brush them off unless they called into question his own moral standings. They feel like they would be able to tease and banter comfortably, even if mq is the main source of teasing and lqq is the main source of banter.

Anyway, circling back to the gods seeing this happen,,,, I do think the ones most likely to tease mq about finding another prince to serve would be the same gods Hua Cheng dueled and destroyed— mq seems pretty well-respected by most of the gods, even if he’s not liked by them. The gods he helped during xl’s first banishment seem like the types who would easily judge and comment. But once they’re gone I feel like maybe mq would feel a pressure come off of him. They got what they had coming in mq’s mind— they were vane fools for accepting hc’s terms. Their opinions of mq don’t affect him anymore.

On the other hand it feels like the aggressions would all be pointed at mq more than lqq cos lqq’s reaction— I assume— would be a straightforward confrontation that kicks up a stink among the gods. We’ve all seen how he acted in court when xl’s identity was revealed to him, and while this doesn’t feel as weighty as that situation, I don’t think lqq would stand to hear the way the gods talk about mq— whether he’s mad about mq’s war strategies or not. He WILL make it into something if he ever catches wind of the gossip. Mq wouldn’t roll over and take any of it either, but his way of fighting back isn’t as loud as lqq’s would be. Mq works behind the scenes while lqq takes to the stage lol

If you ever decide to write something for any of this please know you would have my life in the palm of your hands. I will never be the same. Lives will be changed !

#yams uncans #shitty gods be like ‘damn mq if you like him so much why dont you become the god of the southeast instead?’#i know this is all hypothetical but GOD it’s very special to me #the qianqing cinematic universe #tgcf #lang qianqiu #mu qing #qianqing #mxtx if you can hear us pls write more extras about the gods hanging out

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rosiewritesstuff · 2 years

Text

No Name

Part 4/4

Gladiolus X Fem!Kingsglaive!Reader

DESCRIPTION: You are a tired Glaive with a thin patience for dating, noise, and crowded spaces-- After just getting your heart broken once again, you decide to sail alone in the sea of singleness. However, when being caught filtering in and out of a high security area where you do not belong, you find yourself in a pickle that is too hard to explain… and the problem itself has pretty amber eyes and rippling pectorals.

Warning: story does contain swearing. Read at your own risk.

Story based on Anon Request! See Part 1 for full details!

Thank you so much everyone for your continued patience with me and the continued love I get on this page! Life has been using me as a punching bag, and unfortunately it's only the beginning!

I am overjoyed and beyond thankful for the support. Seeing comments and likes towards my work throughout the day breathes life into my very heavy lungs. I appreciate all of you! I am still writing some pretty fun stories, so stay tuned! I am accepting requests, so if there is something you want to see, hit me up!

Anywho— here is the last and final piece of this story. It was a pleasure to write. I personally love the idea that Gladio's love interest is just as snippy as he can be on occasion. The testing of power. I totally think that Gladio would be smitten for a woman who tries his patience and isn't afraid to speak her mind. I think he'd gain something from not being treated like a celebrity!

I hope I did Gladio and Anon's request justice! Enjoy! -Rosie

Missed Something? Here are Parts 2 & 3

"Ignis, I need your help. Do you have a second?" Gladio stated, leaning against the Advisor's open office door. Ignis glanced up from the heap of paper work littered against his desk and open computer to throw a look of question at the Royal Shield.

It had been about two weeks since your last run in with Gladio, and the man had been waiting on you ever since. He found himself showing up at the training room during ungodly hours of the day, just to see you. And since you suddenly, without any warning signs, disappeared— he had begun to worry. Did you stumble across the wrong person while in the Royal Training Room? Did you end up getting hurt even despite your incredible fighting skills? He didn't show it on the exterior, but he felt anxiety spike whenever your face wasn't spitefully looking up at him.

The Royal Advisor flickered his gaze back to the covered desk, before shifting it to the shield once more. "I suppose I have a moment," Ignis' lilt heightened as he slouched back into his office chair. The shield huffed a breath of relief. "What is it that you need assistance with?"

"I need help finding someone," Gladio slid into the room, closing the door behind himself.

"You need my assistance with a mundane task such as that? Use the government website—"

"I would, but I forgot my password. Again," Gladio tried to mask the slight embarrassment he felt by crossing his thick biceps against his chest. "I attempted too many times and I am locked out. I have to go to the IT department to get everything reset. Look— that is beside the point. I need to find someone and you are the guy that I find most reliable."

Ignis tilted his head, fingers now intertwining within each other— he held them in front of his face. "Did they cause a problem? Does this need the attention of the authorities?" He sat up, eyeing the situation closer.

"No, I have been training with this individual and they have neglected to show up the past few times. She is a glaive. I wanted to see if she had been deployed and never told me." Gladio approached the desk Ignis sat behind— He leaned forward, palms resting flat on the desk on either side of the Advisor's laptop.

"She?" Ignis questioned, slouching back into the chair again, faint smirk painted onto his lips. "Is this one of your paramours?"

Gladio rolled his eyes, before focusing them back to Ignis. "Careful with your tone, Iggy. Your jealousy is showing."

"Hardly the case. Just shocked is all." Ignis sighed before reaching to type on the computer. He pulled up the website and went to the plug in that displayed the entire employee database. "What is her name?" Ignis asked, eyes not looking up from the glowing screen. Gladio swallowed thickly, big hand finding the back of his neck to scratch the base of his scalp.

"I don't know."

"You don't know her name?" Ignis' tone took on a slight mocking one, his sharp manicured eyebrows knotting with confusion. "Did you not ask her?"

"I have tried. She just… won't give it to me." It was true, he has asked. And if Ignis knew just how many times he had asked— He would have been floored. At least Gladio felt that way. In some sense, he supposed it made sense. You were skeptical of his intentions, figuring he was there to get you in trouble rather than let you slip by fully unscathed. It had been months of this however, and he figured you would pick up his jig at one point or another… He didn't expect you to just— stop showing up.

"Gladio, I figure I shouldn't have to break the news to you. Merely because it is you who has luck with the women.. But if she isn't giving you her name then she isn't interested in your advances." The smirk seemed to grow larger on Ignis' usual stoic face, green eyes firing with a playful and mocking glint.

"Sounds like you heard that a lot." Gladio quirked a challenging eyebrow back— spiteful gaze matching to the caliber of Ignis'. "Plus, it isn't like that. It is a complicated story. I just need to see if she's on the deployed list. That's all."

Ignis bowed his head at the slide as if to accept it and he looked back up. "I don't have access to that documentation."

"You don't? I thought we had access to those lists—"

"No, unless it directly effects the Prince and his whereabouts, we do not have access." Ignis relented while slouching back into his seat. "We would need a higher access to view all of that. If anything, you would need to discuss this with Noctis. He has the capabilities to see everything."

"So, I have to ask Noct."

"Essentially, yes." Ignis was ready to close the window on the computer before Gladio pressed forward. This was a problem.

He sighed with defeat, head falling limp. "I can't go to Noctis. You know that." He pushed himself off of Ignis' desk and rested his hands on his hips; Amber gaze now searching the room for any hidden answers. Gladio knew that Noctis would never let the big guy live it down for being "stood up" or "rejected" Even though that wasn't the case. "Don't you have all of Noctis' login information?" Gladiolus was no stranger to Noctis and his habits. It was known and a constant pressure point between the small knitted group, that Ignis did most of Noctis' work for him. Ignis occasionally played the role of Prince when the actual Prince struggled to do so. Of course when the time called for it. Having Noctis' login information only made sense… For two reasons.

So Ignis can check up on Noctis to make sure he is completing tasks that require his attention.

Noctis has more of a tendency to forget passwords and all of that information. One of them had to brandish responsibility and it might as well be the highly trained, dutiful Advisor.

Ignis once again cocked his head in confusion, now sitting up again in his chair. "Are you asking me to infiltrate the Prince's government profile so you can locate a woman who shows little to no interest in you— all in leu of protecting your pride?" Damn Ignis never did pull any punches.

"Yes. That is exactly what I am asking." The confidence was unyielding, and Gladio stood taller now.

"Very well." Ignis sat up and typed at the computer for a small length of time before slowly turning it to face the Shield. "Here is the list," Ignis deadpanned, elbows digging into the desktop. "Says they are touring the western most Cleigne border. In search for any notions of any enemy military upheaval. Appears they will be returning soon."

The Shield hunched over the laptop and scrolled downward using the mouse pad. He skimmed the pictures, searching for your most prominent features. He skimmed until he neared the bottom and saw your face. He could recognize that smile from anywhere, even though you only gave him such a look a couple of times. He swore he wouldn't forget it. His stomach tensed, eyes slowly moved from your face, to the name in boldface, starting with your last, comma, your first name. He grinned, "Gotcha," His voice fell hushed onto the desk in front of him while studying your name closely.

He felt like he won some sort of unsung battle— like you were a boss that had shown no weakness, but with ample research and many helpful individuals he unlocked your secret. He had finally, at long last, knew your name. Countless battles lead him here and he was satisfied.

"Let me see her," Ignis pried, eyes stretching to the computer. Gladio flipped it around again as if he were showing you off. "Pretty thing she is," He hummed, with a nod of approval.

"She is, and is quite a spit fire to go along with all that hot stuff. Do you have a piece of paper and a pen I can borrow?"

Ignis dug around for a moment, shuffling of papers and clanking of writing utensils seemed to fall on deaf ears— Gladio's intense amber eyes only focused onto you and your name. He mouthed it, repeating it with a whisper as if it were a secret that only he could know. Ignis slid a sticky note and a pen towards Gladio's palm that was pressed onto the desk once more.

"May I ask what you are writing down?"

"Just the information I need, don't you worry about it." It took no time at all for Gladio to scrawl your name and a few other bits of information about you, down on a bright yellow sticky note. He looked at his penmanship, your name written in a sloppy, all capital, print. He knew that only his eyes could read such a mess of words and lines. He smiled at the information, your name falling from his lips once more before standing straight. He peeled the note off of the pad and smiled at it. "Thanks Specs. I owe ya." The sticky end of the note stuck to his fingertips and he fluttered it as he turned to leave.

"I wish you luck, Gladiolus," Ignis slid the pad and pen back into their proper locations, catching the Shield's confident grin as he turned to shut the door.

"Thanks, Iggy."

You were exhausted. In fact, you felt that the word did little justice for the way you felt. Your eyes were heavy, their lids trying to droop shut— if it weren't for the sweltering van you were crammed into, you would have easily drifted into slumber.

You were on a routine surveillance mission that happened every so often. A group of glaives, selected by the Marshal and the General, were sent to scout different areas of Lucis— all in search for any suspicious movement of the Niflheim military. This was always randomized, and you almost figured it would be you. It had been a few months since you were sent out, and it was only a matter of time before you were called again to do your time. Many people called these trips, deployments— that was the more official term. You were deployed. And damn was it the worst.

There was nothing more damning then riding across the country, crammed into a small, poorly ventilated van; stuffed like sardines with 10 other glaives. Nothing drove you more crazy then crashing into your seat neighbors every time the driver hit a bump or pot hole. You swore at one point, the driver was doing it on purpose. That or the glaive next to you sensed your frustration and craved to piss you off further.

You were almost home, now trailing through the outskirts of Hammerhead; The last outpost until you reached the limits of Insomnia. From the gate, you calculated, you would be home in 40 minutes. You checked the clock on your phone and sighed heavily. 4:15. Your head hit the back of the seat, causing the glaive next to you glance down at you. You paid his strange stare no mind as you began to mentally wallow in your own misfortune.

It would take you two hours at the earliest to get back to the Citadel. You didn't even bother to factor in rush hour traffic. Your exhaustion seemed to overtake your frustration and you swore you would cry if it wasn't for the several witnesses crammed around you, trying to ignore each other.

Around a quarter after 8, you were finally shuffling out of the Citadel with your personal effects tugged over your shoulder. You decided, halfway home while crossing a busy street— Cooking was absolutely not an option for the evening. Your limbs wanted rest, your body wishing to finally crash onto your couch and watch the TV show you had been neglecting. Nothing can sedate your exhaustion and hunger like a bite of fast food. You took a long way home and stopped of at a fast food joint that you frequented.

With your bag of food in one hand, your personal effects slung over the other arm— you shuffled for your keys that seemed to find the deepest depths of your pants pocket. You turned the corner abruptly, finally pulling the keys from your pocket. It almost felt like they grew hands and were tugging on the hem in a fight to stay warm and secure. Your exhausted mind seemed to find that image hilarious, and you stifled your amusement with a sigh and a gentle shake of your head. You gazed down the hall towards your final destination, at long last— wait… what was that?

There on the doorstep was a vase, jutting out was a small assortment of flowers. "Huh?" You shook your head trying to clean your mind. You were looking at the wrong doorstep, you almost laughed. Who the hell would leave you flowers. You smiled at yourself as you moved to the door your apartment stood behind. You stopped at the welcome mat, your jaw going slack when you found that glass vase and flowers sitting at your feet.

Blinking, you checked the worn numbers on your apartment door. Yeah, that was your apartment. Eyebrows knotting together, you dumped your duffle bag onto the floor to your side and knelt in front of the vase. There was a note tied with a ribbon around the dip within the wall of the vase. With a gentle hand you pried the folded note open with your thumb. The note was written in a neat print, the author wrote in all capital letters which was a unique feature. You hadn't seen many people write like that.

Like a forensic scientist, you began to narrow out your options— who owned penmanship like that? Flittering through the Rolex within your mind, you began to make comparisons to everyone you knew. They had to meet three points of criteria:

They needed to know your address.

Legible handwriting.

Had a reason to buy you flowers.

Well, it couldn't have been anyone in the glaive, none of them had your address on hand. And it couldn't have been the date who stood you up almost a month ago— he didn't have that information either. Prompto? No— He had some half cursive half print handwriting that could hardly be understood. You have harped on him for writing in what you deemed to be the Prompto Language. He was never amused by your slide.

If it wasn't any of them… then who the hell..? You opted to forego the guessing game and decided to read what it said. Second way to know who made this mistake. You blinked a few times before starting at the left hand side of the folded note. It read:

"Glad to see your name wasn't in the paper. The Royal Training Room misses their delinquent. Hope to see you soon,—"

Your eyes stopped suddenly on the gentle way your name was written at the end of the final sentence. "Gladio?" You whispered, eyes intently reading the note for any missing clues. You looked at the vase of flowers, and began to shuffle them around for a listening device or something off the wall. "Flowers?" They were just… flowers? Heat struck your cheeks and carefully you unlocked your door and hoisted the vase up to your chest— duffle bag long forgotten in the hallway.

You turned on all the lights leading to the kitchen and rested your food on the table— it too, long forgotten. The bouquet of flowers looked lovely on your kitchen counter. He had picked a variety, but selected ones that seemed to compliment each other— in color as well as shape. Your eyes flickered back to the note clenched tightly in between your fingers.

You read it again, and again, and again; until your eyes began to spin. You tried to swallow, but your throat was entirely too dry. When the sudden shock seemed to subside, a warm smile graced your face. It sparked warmth that climbed your chest and began to ease your limbs and turn them to jelly. The urge to laugh cascaded over you, and with a bright smile, and completely smitten, you nearly floated to the hallway to get your long forgotten belongings.

Gladiolus Amicitia sent you flowers. That sentence didn't make a lick of sense, but everything else did. Your mind was swirling, and the only bit of information you could keep down was the echoing voice of Prompto: He has his reasons. My guess is… he probably enjoys your company.

The next morning, you found yourself nearly rushing to the kitchen hoping that the random gift wasn't a figment of your imagination— or some cruel dream that the gods had teased you with. But the arrangement stood proudly on your counter, note still dangling gently from the ribbon it was fastened to. Your smile widened further and quickly you gathered yourself together for another risky trip to the forbidden training room, despite it being your day off.

You stood taller, at least that's how you felt. At long last, you were smiled upon— your ugly streak of horrible relationships seemed to be behind you now; disappearing in the rearview mirror. You were confident, and flattered; floating on cloud nine as you rounded the corner to the familiar doors of the Royal Training room. With a practiced, swift maneuver, you tapped the key onto the metal receiver. You were rewarded with a satisfying click, signifying your allowance into the locked room. The metal handle of the door snapped as you shoved it open.

You were greeted with Gladio, perched on the bench with his red covered book in his hands. He looked up, amber eyes softening on your smile. "Let me guess," your smile widened as you spoke, watching as his full attention was now on you; Book long forgotten within his lap. "You tapped the flowers?"

He smiled at you while sliding the book into the side pocket in his bag. "Should I have?" He questioned, his eyebrow finding its way up his forehead in the usual way it would.

You couldn't fight the smile on your face. You felt like a love sick goofball. You shook your head, "Unless you want to hear about all of the other Training rooms I plan on infiltrating, then sure." He stood to his full height, grabbing his bag off of the floor.

"I knew I should have asked for some listening devices." He playfully jabbed. "What are you doing after training today?" He questioned, slinging his bag over his shoulder. A smirk lifted to your face as you looked out at the nearly vacant room.

Your eyes moved back to meet his. They held your gaze gently, softly, you felt the magma begin its high pressured course through your veins. Heat collected to your cheeks and spread quickly to your ears. Swallowing thickly you blinked and looked at the floor. "As far as I know, all I have planned is kicking the Royal Shield's ass."

His grin grew and he laughed, "Well after you kick the Royal Shield's ass, care to join him for dinner?"

You swore the world stopped for a moment— for longer then a moment. And there you sat in an empty room with no meaning, forgetting who you are, forgetting who he is— Your heart nearly hammering out of your chest.

"I would love to," You nearly whispered, the words getting lost in the thickness of your throat.

He tilted his head, eyes still holding yours. "Then it's a date," He spoke just as confidently as ever, his signature smile holding to his soft lips.

"Better not be a set up Mr. Amicitia. I will be livid," you hummed, trying to fight the giddy urge to dance around the room. You spent the energy walking to the locker room to change.

"I would never--" His sentence trailed off, but you caught the faint sound of your name slipping from his lips. the way the timbre of his voice seemed to extenuate the syllables of your name caused your legs to go weak; Heat like never before flooded your face, your body, your mind. You were clouded fully with giddy anticipation. And as you lost your casual clothes, and slipped into your work out outfit; you wondered why the hell you kept your name away from him.

You came to the conclusion that it was all part of the fun.

#ffxv #final fantasy 15 #final fantasy xv #gladiolus amiticia #gladio ffxv #gladiolus x reader #gladio x reader #reader insert #sassy reader #giddy reader #rosie writes

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fierceawakening · 11 months

Text

Yeah. I’m not at all trying to stop anyone ELSE from doing it (and keep looking at that kinda weird snippy reply post where someone acted like I’m trying to tell them not to keep kosher or whatever because I stopped going to church (Which is especially ironic because I started going again!) and trying to find where in the world I demanded anything.

Like a thought process I’d see as similar to mine would be: “I got to be a teen and started thinking keeping kosher seemed like an odd thing to do. So I stopped doing it, reasoning that it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Then I got a little older and felt an intense desire to connect with my culture. Now, I keep kosher.”

Like, when I’m asking “do you havea reason beyond tradition” I’m not asking for some grand justification. I’m just asking do these things have personal meaning… and the reason I think they’re probably right that we have different worldviews is that they seem to take this question as inherently insulting to even ask.

Like. I lived most of my life as a girl and woman. I decided it didn’t fit, and the label that felt best to me was non-binary.

Did I do this because I realized being a woman sucks? No, I did it because while I understand and practice some traditions that go with gender roles, only a handful of them fit me, so I decided I don’t have to try to match that any more.

Am I telling other people to stop being women? No, why the fuck would I do that?

Am I saying womanhood is bad? No.

I AM saying something a little more nuanced though, something like “I looked at what a woman is and I do think there are some norms that get pretty stifling. I hope people who are proud to be women never lose their pride, but I hope they can look at those stifling bits and acknowledge they’re there without taking that as somehow claiming WOMAN BAAAAAD.”

Which is how those posts feel to read. “You’re not allowed to question us, because if you do, it’s inherently calling us bad somehow. When you point out that this is something you do all the time, and have done yourself with a lot of traditions you were raised with so you’re not singling us out, we think you’re crazy, warped, or lying.”

That’s why they don’t sit well with me, and I suspect with some others too.

But unfortunately if you say they don’t sit well with you, people immediately jump to “you want to hate us so bad.”

Like no? I want to understand why you see it differently?

I THINK the reason why is that because the traditions are threatened by outsiders, people understandably go “Every jot and tittle of this is super great!” as a defense mechanism. But I want someone to confirm it, because I’m guessing.

To me things like, “no gays are allowed in here” are ALSO longstanding religious traditions. That doesn’t by itself make them good, it just means they’re the done thing in those communities, at least by people who value tradition for its own sake.

Ask these people why the tradition came to be as it seems kind of mean, and most who are being honest will eventually just go “because I think God doesn’t like having queers around, and I want Him to be pleased,” and that this is the case even if (even though) they acknowledge that God has no clear reason to think we’re gross and have cooties.

Those are the sorts of things I think do qualify as religious traditions, but don’t qualify as good ones, so they should be changed.

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stinkyme · 1 year

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do you think a person can be sweet and „badass“ at the same time?

i often feel like my shy, empathic nature makes me weak and inferior and i’d really like to be more tough and confident without losing my „sweetness“, but i kinda feel like that’s impossible :( i am often very snippy and sarcastic, i’m also pretty hot headed, and i sometimes don’t know which side of me is the „real me“.

hmm, there is this quote I vividly remember that goes something like "don't think because I am kind that I can't be cruel" and of course, I don't mean it to that extent however the point is one of your traits doesn't have to exclude the other one, no matter how contradictory they may be

I think a lot of us try to fit into certain frame and fit in certain personality type just to satisfy people around us and to make ourselves feel less uncomfortable with existing because often times we feel like it's unfair for us to exist and contradict ourselves which is really ironic in a sense because how do you pack up a humanity in one person in only one box and few traits? I think most important thing we can do for ourselves is let ourselves be and exist the way we are, obviously if you have toxic traits and struggle with certain things - work on them as much as you can, however accept that also you won't be able to change everything about yourself but as long as you make choices that would do something good for you (and/or others in a sense where you don't hurt someone on purpose) that's all it matters because it means you are trying

Sylvia Plath said how it pains her deeply that she can't live and experience all the lives she wants to live and be all the people she wants to be however Albert Camus said that you won't be able to live or experience all lives you want to so simply do yourself a favor and experience yourself which to me basically represents that one human being is wide and flexible enough to be able to be so many things regardless are they similar or not

On the other hand, really important thing is to know that your behavior is also influenced by a situation you are in - you wont act the same at injustice, watching your favorite movie and idk dumb example but being face to face with a hungry lion simply because those are different situations that provoke different emotions that provoke different reactions and different part of you and remember that personality traits can coexist in one person and they coexist for a reason and it's okay that they coexist

To add to that, "real me" could be so many things, I think people often times misjudge and criticize themselves but let me ask you something, were you ever hot headed, sarcastic or kind just to manipulate people and actively chose that behavior just for someone to get that image of you? Sometimes we fake something because we feel shitty or have to handle situation and I am not talking about that, but actual manipulation and trying to make people believe you are something and you know that you are completely different? No? Then that's all real you my love :)

Also, I definitely think person can be badass, confident and kind at the same time but once again - it depends on a situation you are in :) You can be kind but set boundaries and you can be kind and confident in who you are and your kindess, however self confidence stems from self trust which we often times forget, we need to learn to trust ourselves too, we are the only ones who will live in this body forever and we are the only ones who know what we exactly feel and experience and deal with it every single day so don't you think you deserve a bit of pat on the back for yourself? :)

It's really silly how we often characterize sweetnes, empathy and kindess as something weak or something to be ashamed of, I completely disagree with that. Being kind, sweet and empathetic is like opening your chest to the world even after you suffered huge damage from it which makes you nothing but courageous, brave and strong in my eyes. It takes a very strong person to be that because world often times mistreats people who are kind and often times shove them aside as people who are "inferior", there is nothing inferior about having a huge heart, soul and emotional intelligence to be in tune with the world around you, it takes very wise and strong person to be able to do so and to choose kindess as many times as possible just shows how amazing you are :)

I was considered kind by people in my past and when I would stand up for myself I would be considered fake because it doesn't fit their criteria and idea of who should I be as a person, but guess what? It's not your job to fit their criteria, it's not your obligation to shrink yourself and let yourself be hurt just because people expect you to be always kind, you don't have to be

The more you grow the more you realize not everyone deserve your kindess and that's okay too, you are allowed to stand up for yourself and you are allowed to share your kindess where you think it's deserved because it's your kindess and your soul and you need to take care of yourself too :) So be kind, be wonderful just like you are but take pride in that, let your kindess bring your confidence and remember thaz it doesn't limit you in any sense, you are allowed to stand up for yourself too and you are allowed to be confident without losing your sweetness, they don't exclude each other by any means :) <3

#stinkyanswers #I HOPE THIS HELPED MY SWEET ANON #it's all about self work and just letting yourself exist without bounding yourself to fit certain image #in my eyes you are strong and wonderful and by no means inferior :)#kindess comes in so many shapes and forms my love :) <3 #so does everything else and so does all of us #i met so many kind people yet they are all different but regardless of that they are still kind to the bone :)

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factorialsfandoms · 2 years

Text

Autistically Flavoured Link Headcanons

(Disclaimer: these are all based on my personal experience of autism. I also have other brain weird, so while I’m /pretty/ sure its all autism, some might not be. Not representative, etc etc etc. Also I just wanted to write all these down before reading other people’s, because its interesting to compare, but I need the reference point for my own.)

(Some Links have more points than others. This isn’t always dependent on how much I like or have thought about them, its just which ones I had more ideas and firm vibes are)

(Also general that even if I don’t stick to these headcanons, I always write all characters as autistic as I’m literally incapable of not being so myself, and have to run the dialogue. Its just easier if I accept they have my neurotype and have fun.)

Cut because very long

Legend - is in constant sensory hell from everything. made it a little better by ditching pants, gnawing on necklaces, fiddling with his rings, and similar. the constant sensory hell makes him snippy, as the world is constantly too much. - As a kid he was constantly told off for being rude/pretentious, but never managed to work out why. So, he has decided to just pretend to be rude so it hurts less when people think he’s mean. It’s easier, no? to be hated for something you're pretending to be, than for something you can't control. And anyway, he can't read intent, so has decided to believe the worst in everyone and everything. A very few people can convince him they’re not awful, but it takes a lot of work. Everyone takes the worst interpretation of him, so why not return the favour?

Hyrule - what's autism and what's a feature of his Hyrule is very hard to tell sometimes. He's aware that he can't read emotion, tone, or body language, but just assumes it’s because he's spent so little time around people. - He has made a conscious choice to believe the best of everyone, and has been taught very quickly that if he isn't sweet and kind then he will be murdered. It reads as naïve to most people, but its as much a survival mechanism as Legend's constant snark. He doesn’t know what people are doing, so he has made a conscious choice to be kind, and to assume other people are too. Until they prove otherwise. Proving otherwise usually involves actually hurting them - His special interests have long involved magic. His sensory issues are rarely obvious, but certain colours are physically painful - there's a reason he sticks to his brown and greens. - All of his stims are forcibly suppressed to the point he doesn’t know any of them. Even the gentle flapping of his hands at his sides is a danger when you’re being hunted.

Four - I don’t have a whole grasp on Four, but blacksmithing? Blacksmithing is his special interest. He’s very blunt a lot of the time, but he’s generally just taken for distracted rather than rude. Everyone where he lives knows he’d rather be in his forge, and its useful enough they let him. - He usually seems to have most of it under control, but when things get too much it looks like a very sudden shift. - The colours things gets tricky with all this. Yes they would all be autistic. They’re kinda all also different ways of dealing with it. As a whole Four can shift between them as situation necessitates, but split each colour only has one way of handling the social weirdness.

Time - didn't have his whole childhood being told off for being rude, and so for a long time was completely unaware that he can come off that way - or worse, insensitive. Forest children notice these things much less, but it means in adulthood he doesn’t always realise he’s coming off as mean. He is trying to learn to do better, but being the eldest of the group few of them call him out on it. - As a kid relied a lot on his masks to work out the rules of different engagements, taking on different personas and so forth. He hasn't quite realised he put one of them on and never took it off again (figurative). Neither has he realised what it is costing him.

Wild - near constant state of not enough sensory, except for occasional moments of too much. he doesn't have a line of just enough. sensory seeking until he implodes. licks things, touches things, looks at shiny things - all of that. This has only gotten worse since his death and rebirth; the nerve damage with his burns has left huge expanses of his body in constant sensory deprivation, which he can only try to counter via elsewhere. - His social skills are a work in progress, but what's autism and what's trauma and what's amnesia is anyone's guess. - Cooking is great but fire noise distressing. So, he does the little hum. He likes the hum. It is a stim, but a stim that only works in specific situations. Sky - fakes it until he makes it, but it drains all his stamina and spoons, and neurotypicals still read something off about him anyway. He used to have a special interest in flying, its still sensory very pleasing to him, but his adventures have burnt all of his special interests away. Unlike Time he's uncomfortably aware of his masking, and that its hurting him, but has no idea how to turn it off. He is suffering badly from autistic burnout. Combined, of course, with actual burnout. Still, he's doing his very best to be kind. - Pressure is very good for him. Many blankets, also hugs. If he ever learns about Wild needing to be squished sometimes he'd love a cuddle buddy. For now its clinging to blankets and pillows and covering himself in everything. - Conversely, if he eats food with actual flavour, he might die. He wouldn't die, but the slightest bit of taste is too much for his brain to handle. Wild doesn't get it, but makes him very plain food anyway. Twilight - spends time with animals over people, as they actually make sense. Has always known he's weird and not quite... normal, but assumes its a result of his messy ancestry. Everyone else also knows he's a bit strange, but he's good with the horses and the kids, so what does it matter? Swaps between wolf and Hylian form to try control his sensory brain - if light is too much or smell too little, go wolf. Vice versa, go Hylian. It doesn't always work, but its one of a handful of pros. Wind - special interest in boats. Has far fewer problems than the other heroes, in part because young, in a small community, and his grandma wasn't going to stand for any nonsense. Now the chain protects him from nonsense as he explores himself. - Has, with Wild, recently discovered he's not actually easily overwhelmed by taste - he's actually underwhelmed by it, but bland food is easier for his brain to manage than slightly flavoured but not flavoured enough to deal with the sensory underwhelming he has. Grandma's soup had been the only flavoured thing he could stomach before. She knew the trick of actually flavouring things. Warriors - Can get through any social situation just fine, having absolutely delighted in the complexities of the rules and the drama of it all. Unfortunately, while he looks incredibly socially competent, he's still running largely from a script. So much attention is on how he himself is presenting and his own words and how people read him that he's completely unable to process what they're doing. Someone else really needs to take notes on the conversation for him, because he will remember precisely none of it later.

#linked universe #headcanon #both percieve and do not percieve me #its complicated #I repeat again that most of these are personal experience in different situations #etc etc etc

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publicdomainbooks · 2 years

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IX. THE FIGHTING BEGINS.

Saturday lives in my memory as a day of suspense. It was a day of lassitude too, hot and close, with, I am told, a rapidly fluctuating barometer. I had slept but little, though my wife had succeeded in sleeping, and I rose early. I went into my garden before breakfast and stood listening, but towards the common there was nothing stirring but a lark.

The milkman came as usual. I heard the rattle of his chariot and I went round to the side gate to ask the latest news. He told me that during the night the Martians had been surrounded by troops, and that guns were expected. Then—a familiar, reassuring note—I heard a train running towards Woking.

“They aren’t to be killed,” said the milkman, “if that can possibly be avoided.”

I saw my neighbour gardening, chatted with him for a time, and then strolled in to breakfast. It was a most unexceptional morning. My neighbour was of opinion that the troops would be able to capture or to destroy the Martians during the day.

“It’s a pity they make themselves so unapproachable,” he said. “It would be curious to know how they live on another planet; we might learn a thing or two.”

He came up to the fence and extended a handful of strawberries, for his gardening was as generous as it was enthusiastic. At the same time he told me of the burning of the pine woods about the Byfleet Golf Links.

“They say,” said he, “that there’s another of those blessed things fallen there—number two. But one’s enough, surely. This lot’ll cost the insurance people a pretty penny before everything’s settled.” He laughed with an air of the greatest good humour as he said this. The woods, he said, were still burning, and pointed out a haze of smoke to me. “They will be hot under foot for days, on account of the thick soil of pine needles and turf,” he said, and then grew serious over “poor Ogilvy.”

After breakfast, instead of working, I decided to walk down towards the common. Under the railway bridge I found a group of soldiers—sappers, I think, men in small round caps, dirty red jackets unbuttoned, and showing their blue shirts, dark trousers, and boots coming to the calf. They told me no one was allowed over the canal, and, looking along the road towards the bridge, I saw one of the Cardigan men standing sentinel there. I talked with these soldiers for a time; I told them of my sight of the Martians on the previous evening. None of them had seen the Martians, and they had but the vaguest ideas of them, so that they plied me with questions. They said that they did not know who had authorised the movements of the troops; their idea was that a dispute had arisen at the Horse Guards. The ordinary sapper is a great deal better educated than the common soldier, and they discussed the peculiar conditions of the possible fight with some acuteness. I described the Heat-Ray to them, and they began to argue among themselves.

“Crawl up under cover and rush ’em, say I,” said one.

“Get aht!” said another. “What’s cover against this ’ere ’eat? Sticks to cook yer! What we got to do is to go as near as the ground’ll let us, and then drive a trench.”

“Blow yer trenches! You always want trenches; you ought to ha’ been born a rabbit Snippy.”

“Ain’t they got any necks, then?” said a third, abruptly—a little, contemplative, dark man, smoking a pipe.

I repeated my description.

“Octopuses,” said he, “that’s what I calls ’em. Talk about fishers of men—fighters of fish it is this time!”

“It ain’t no murder killing beasts like that,” said the first speaker.

“Why not shell the darned things strite off and finish ’em?” said the little dark man. “You carn tell what they might do.”

“Where’s your shells?” said the first speaker. “There ain’t no time. Do it in a rush, that’s my tip, and do it at once.”

So they discussed it. After a while I left them, and went on to the railway station to get as many morning papers as I could.

But I will not weary the reader with a description of that long morning and of the longer afternoon. I did not succeed in getting a glimpse of the common, for even Horsell and Chobham church towers were in the hands of the military authorities. The soldiers I addressed didn’t know anything; the officers were mysterious as well as busy. I found people in the town quite secure again in the presence of the military, and I heard for the first time from Marshall, the tobacconist, that his son was among the dead on the common. The soldiers had made the people on the outskirts of Horsell lock up and leave their houses.

I got back to lunch about two, very tired for, as I have said, the day was extremely hot and dull; and in order to refresh myself I took a cold bath in the afternoon. About half past four I went up to the railway station to get an evening paper, for the morning papers had contained only a very inaccurate description of the killing of Stent, Henderson, Ogilvy, and the others. But there was little I didn’t know. The Martians did not show an inch of themselves. They seemed busy in their pit, and there was a sound of hammering and an almost continuous streamer of smoke. Apparently they were busy getting ready for a struggle. “Fresh attempts have been made to signal, but without success,” was the stereotyped formula of the papers. A sapper told me it was done by a man in a ditch with a flag on a long pole. The Martians took as much notice of such advances as we should of the lowing of a cow.

I must confess the sight of all this armament, all this preparation, greatly excited me. My imagination became belligerent, and defeated the invaders in a dozen striking ways; something of my schoolboy dreams of battle and heroism came back. It hardly seemed a fair fight to me at that time. They seemed very helpless in that pit of theirs.

About three o’clock there began the thud of a gun at measured intervals from Chertsey or Addlestone. I learned that the smouldering pine wood into which the second cylinder had fallen was being shelled, in the hope of destroying that object before it opened. It was only about five, however, that a field gun reached Chobham for use against the first body of Martians.

About six in the evening, as I sat at tea with my wife in the summerhouse talking vigorously about the battle that was lowering upon us, I heard a muffled detonation from the common, and immediately after a gust of firing. Close on the heels of that came a violent rattling crash, quite close to us, that shook the ground; and, starting out upon the lawn, I saw the tops of the trees about the Oriental College burst into smoky red flame, and the tower of the little church beside it slide down into ruin. The pinnacle of the mosque had vanished, and the roof line of the college itself looked as if a hundred-ton gun had been at work upon it. One of our chimneys cracked as if a shot had hit it, flew, and a piece of it came clattering down the tiles and made a heap of broken red fragments upon the flower bed by my study window.

I and my wife stood amazed. Then I realised that the crest of Maybury Hill must be within range of the Martians’ Heat-Ray now that the college was cleared out of the way.

At that I gripped my wife’s arm, and without ceremony ran her out into the road. Then I fetched out the servant, telling her I would go upstairs myself for the box she was clamouring for.

“We can’t possibly stay here,” I said; and as I spoke the firing reopened for a moment upon the common.

“But where are we to go?” said my wife in terror.

I thought perplexed. Then I remembered her cousins at Leatherhead.

“Leatherhead!” I shouted above the sudden noise.

She looked away from me downhill. The people were coming out of their houses, astonished.

“How are we to get to Leatherhead?” she said.

Down the hill I saw a bevy of hussars ride under the railway bridge; three galloped through the open gates of the Oriental College; two others dismounted, and began running from house to house. The sun, shining through the smoke that drove up from the tops of the trees, seemed blood red, and threw an unfamiliar lurid light upon everything.

“Stop here,” said I; “you are safe here”; and I started off at once for the Spotted Dog, for I knew the landlord had a horse and dog cart. I ran, for I perceived that in a moment everyone upon this side of the hill would be moving. I found him in his bar, quite unaware of what was going on behind his house. A man stood with his back to me, talking to him.

“I must have a pound,” said the landlord, “and I’ve no one to drive it.”

“I’ll give you two,” said I, over the stranger’s shoulder.

“What for?”

“And I’ll bring it back by midnight,” I said.

“Lord!” said the landlord; “what’s the hurry? I’m selling my bit of a pig. Two pounds, and you bring it back? What’s going on now?”

I explained hastily that I had to leave my home, and so secured the dog cart. At the time it did not seem to me nearly so urgent that the landlord should leave his. I took care to have the cart there and then, drove it off down the road, and, leaving it in charge of my wife and servant, rushed into my house and packed a few valuables, such plate as we had, and so forth. The beech trees below the house were burning while I did this, and the palings up the road glowed red. While I was occupied in this way, one of the dismounted hussars came running up. He was going from house to house, warning people to leave. He was going on as I came out of my front door, lugging my treasures, done up in a tablecloth. I shouted after him:

“What news?”

He turned, stared, bawled something about “crawling out in a thing like a dish cover,” and ran on to the gate of the house at the crest. A sudden whirl of black smoke driving across the road hid him for a moment. I ran to my neighbour’s door and rapped to satisfy myself of what I already knew, that his wife had gone to London with him and had locked up their house. I went in again, according to my promise, to get my servant’s box, lugged it out, clapped it beside her on the tail of the dog cart, and then caught the reins and jumped up into the driver’s seat beside my wife. In another moment we were clear of the smoke and noise, and spanking down the opposite slope of Maybury Hill towards Old Woking.

In front was a quiet sunny landscape, a wheat field ahead on either side of the road, and the Maybury Inn with its swinging sign. I saw the doctor’s cart ahead of me. At the bottom of the hill I turned my head to look at the hillside I was leaving. Thick streamers of black smoke shot with threads of red fire were driving up into the still air, and throwing dark shadows upon the green treetops eastward. The smoke already extended far away to the east and west—to the Byfleet pine woods eastward, and to Woking on the west. The road was dotted with people running towards us. And very faint now, but very distinct through the hot, quiet air, one heard the whirr of a machine-gun that was presently stilled, and an intermittent cracking of rifles. Apparently the Martians were setting fire to everything within range of their Heat-Ray.

I am not an expert driver, and I had immediately to turn my attention to the horse. When I looked back again the second hill had hidden the black smoke. I slashed the horse with the whip, and gave him a loose rein until Woking and Send lay between us and that quivering tumult. I overtook and passed the doctor between Woking and Send.

#war of the worlds #WWChapter

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titanicfreija · 10 months

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Formal dancing together took some work. The first waltz felt good, but Sunny just relaxed, she didn't dance.

Which was why she wanted to now.

But Freija's lack of creativity often stifled her informal dancing. Rise taught her several but it gave the Titan a series of motions to recite, it didn't teach her how to dance. For all her animation, Freija locked up without guidance. Thus, she held love for waltzes, tangos, and certain maps and games in the crucible.

Unfortunately for Sunny, waltzes and tangos all but necessitated a humanoid shape. So she needed to adapt.

"You've been quiet."

If Freija would give her the time.... "I'm trying to figure out a puzzle," she sort-of-didn't-lie.

Silence hung heavy in the cockpit for several long moments, until Freija slowly tried, "Yeah?"

"I'll tell you when I think I can explain it."

"Ah. Okay. On a scale of one to ten, how imperative is it that I leave you alone?"

Sunny almost got to ask before Freija interrupted. "One being I can point out a pretty flower, and ten being injured in the middle of combat and you already said 'hang on' once."

"Was there a particular thing?" Sunny giggled nervously upon having that trait pointed out. The ghost got irrationally annoyed when Freija called her unnecessarily. (The annoyance had rational roots, being that she wanted to help and knew what was wrong and couldn't get at it, and therefore Freija's call could only be dispair and fear, and it hurt Sunny to hear. The irrationality stood in her being snippy and angry and stormy after the instances.)

"Kinda. Wanted to talk to you about the music and dancing thing again. I know I said I'd drop it..."

Apparently, Freija had expected to be interrupted, because she didn't pick it back up. She was prepared to have an argument just by bringing it up.

Blasted Titan.

"Were you waiting for me to explode at you so I could give you something to argue with?"

"Kinda? I'm still kinda hoping the ranting will help me figure out how to help."

Sunny dropped out of the air and she planned to catch herself over the instrument panel but Freija gasped and cried out, lunging to catch with both hands. "You okay?!"

"I'm exasperated, but I'm fine," Sunny groaned, floating to Freija's ear height. "Didn't mean to scare you, I was just trying to be dramatic."

"It's fine," she muttered, turning back to the controls and checking the autopilot and the gauges artificially.

"I'm... It's sweet, the way you want to help me, it really is, but you do need to face the fact that, occasionally, we do lose."

Freija hardly glanced at Sunny and shrugged lightly. "I know. We lost every step of the way in Neomuna. And the crucible still eats me alive."

Sunny nudged her shoulder. "Sometimes there's nothing left for a thing but to let it lie."

The perpetually hardened brow softened and Freija pouted like a puppy at her ghost, then looked back to her visual. "Sorry."

"It's okay. This time, that's not the case."

The puppy face came back, but happier. "Yeah?"

"The puzzle is finding balance for your structured dances and my non -limbed shape. I can't stretch my petals to reach hands or sub in for legs in ways that'll translate to the dances. So I'm trying to think of what to do."

"There's all kinds of parallel parts dancing," Freija cheered. "Groups in the Tower do it all the time. It takes a second to learn how to do them right, but we can totally dance together!"

Sunny giggled. "I have too many pieces in the wrong places to imitate you guys. My bottom panels are front and back, and I can spread them out and go back and forth, but I can't do it enough to copy footwork."

"Oh? I'll need to see. So you've got... Eight? On your discs?"

"The ones I could use to dance, yes. Top, bottom, left, right. I used the angular ones for a long time, but the pieces move similarly. There's only a few exceptions, most of which are fewer."

"Yay! I can imitate your bouncing motions, spins, kinda things. We'll have to work together for hands and feet for you, or reinterpret, maybe keep feet together?"

"Well... I'll have to remember how, first, I don't want you to think I've got a routine planned or anything."

"Don't let me get excited and scare you," Freija laughed. "But really, when you get your petals worked out, remember how you like to use them, show me so I can see if I can copy with my arms somehow? And if you do anything with the other two sets. I don't know what I can do with my head, but we can work it out!"

Sunny nudged Freija's head gently. "I will," she promised. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Being my guardian. What's a five on that scale?"

"Ummm.... Something odd and not readily identifiable from a hundred meters somewhere like the gulch in the EDZ?"

"That'll suffice."

"Okay. I promise not to whine about any music."

#destiny 2 #d2 #ocs #writing #freija #scribble #sunny

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mauannacreates · 1 year

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My progress update: February 2023

Hi, welcome to the first day of March! I can't believe it's already March...

Well, I wanted to write some sort of extended progress update on what is currently happening so far.

Writing

So, what I’ve completed for writing this month, is I did majority of my character profiles that I’m writing for this book at least. I’ll admit, the character profile list I’m using is from Abbie Emmon’s NaNoWriMo. And honestly, I find it largely helpful and goes deeper into the character, their goals and the relationships between other characters (Which, I’ll be honest, is probably one of the many reasons that it’s taking quite some time to complete.) In addition to trying to complete twelve different character profiles with some of them halved as some of the characters aren’t going to show that big of an appearance as some of the others and also going a bit extensively into it.

And in addition to it, I think I also promised that I wanted to do a scene list. And my definition of it is essentially, how the place looks like, what it feels like, how does the scene change throughout the story and perhaps some history of sorts. I’ll be honest, I haven’t worked on it much, if at all. The most I did is create a file with some outline of the places I wanted to talk about and that’s it. So, I still need to go into detail about those places. And I was really looking forward to starting back up with the story, being like, “Hey! I’m back! Let’s get those thoughts rolling and start over again!” But, at the same time, this is one of the things that I want to get right. I am not too sure if some of the places was consistent throughout the whole story and I want to at least have some outline for it.

So, if I were to say an approximate date, even if something is going to sway in front of my doorstep, I want to start editing the draft at the 15th of March at the latest.

Reading

Last month I didn’t do as much reading as I would like. I borrowed and reserved a bunch of books to the point of now having some books that I have to hand in very soon, which I think there is two in my library list at the moment that has other people reserving that book, so I’d have to return two of those books soon and one that has been extended at least once. I now have seven books left. So I guess it’s not that bad, as long as I can read it whenever I can.

The current book I’ve just finished reading is Twisted Hate by Ana Huang. I was so hooked into the book to the point of squealing. There may have been some people that were looking like why I was squealing, but I swear. The rivals to lovers romance looks pretty good from what I’m reading. They say they don’t like each other, but come on! Why are you noticing details on him and then saying it looks bad! Or from a distance, saying that girl looks beautiful, only if you didn’t know her. 😂 I’m not going to reveal all the spoilers, but I swear… it’s adorable.

But yeah, I’ve been reading books, learning from them, some great like this one. Others, weren’t as good. Some of them, felt like they were spoon feeding me information when it didn’t need to be told. Others used redundant dialogue tags or did other things that may have not been appropriate to the situation. Unless, that is the character's way of expressing themselves, sure. But it seemed weird to me. And even though I haven’t read as much as I did last month, it was cool to learn from every book that I’ve picked up. Even if some of them weren’t as I was anticipating.

What I'm looking forward to

Well, I’m really looking forward to be creating more stories like for flufftober and perhaps other stories or plans that I’d create in the spur of the moment. Or perhaps memes or dialogue prompts that I could create for my characters. Or even drawing some of my characters a bit more, even the ones that I’ve mentioned but never even shown a drawing of (Zev, Snippy and Snappi comes to my mind.)

Yeah, and I’d like to thank those who has went and liked and reblogged the stories and drawings I’ve created. I am really grateful for the attention its gotten within the past month. 😁

#writing progress #reading progress #mauannarambles

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nightowlwriting · 3 years

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summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

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prof-peach · 3 years

Note

if fans wanted to include peach in stuff they write, would that be okay? and how would they write peach's personality? aside from "FIGHT ME" anyway, i think that much is a given lol. i only really write the anime characters 'cause that's what i know, but it sounds like it'd be kinda fun to try making a version of ash that fits into this blog's universe! nerf'd Obviously, but i think she'd probably appreciate how hands-on he gets when training his pokemon!

Ok, I get a lot of these messages, and I often hear folks wanting to throw peach into their stories and comics and writings, and I will always simply ask that if it’s published online publicly, to be linked to it so I can snoop and enjoy the content too. If someone asks about her in your work, let them know about the blog I guess? But literally I love that people take this stuff, these characters and stories, and make new stuff with it. No ones making money off my work here? So where’s the issue? Go for it buddy, knock yourself out, I’m all for it.

For you, and all the others out there who want to add peach, and other characters to your world building, I will give you a detailed rundown of the main lot, and how they behave, what they do, how they function. You can use that, use bits, or use none of it, I do not mind at all. If you’re creating something, you’re in control, not me.

So, peach doesn’t actually fight people as much as you’d think. She’s very aware most cannot and do not want to do that, and so she likes to keep to herself with regards to that aspect of her life, she doesn’t ask to spar with people, or even bring it up at all, but people ask her all the time, even if they clearly would lose or become hurt should she miscalculate during the fight. She looks at people like they usually create problems, and often has a somewhat reserved nature to other humans. You have to work quite hard to get anything more than formalities out of her. She will dead-pan handle people with blunt and very to-the-point statements, aid whenever possible, but very quickly get back to handling the Pokemon she so carefully tends. Her focus is clear, she’s all about hard work, her very small select family, and the Pokemon.

Her brutal, loud and brash personality only comes out with friends, family, difficult humans, OR any Pokemon. She will joke and laugh and play with Pokemon, but clam up around humans, maintaining tight body language and generally will be a little cold by regular standards. She does however have some weaknesses in this emotionless shield she puts up. When peach was young she was always angry, which swung so fast to sadness, back and forth. Her teenage years it just got worse and worse, it was crippling at points. She is to this day, full of fire and rage, even sadness, but now she has learnt to control it, to use it. When she sees that in others, it’s familiar, and she is pushed to drop the front, and be very real with the person. Underdogs I suppose, people who get bad reps, but deserve the same as everyone else. She can’t ignore it.

Once you start to pry open her personality, you’ll find she’s a lot more laid back and fun than originally appeared, you just have to work hard to find that side of her. She will meme reference, can’t dance to save her life, loves her coffee, and can be caught in quiet contemplation while gardening. This hobby is her calmest, and often is why she can stay so level headed when her quiet rage boils up again. Without time outside she will become grouchy, a little snippy, and lethargic. Will not go in the ocean for any reason other than life or death, is fine with ponds and rivers, or water at wading height. Likes the rain.

With regards to her training others, they usually have to tolerate her somewhat strict nature. She is a little....unforgiving, holds a grudge if you make a lot of mistakes, and has no tolerance for ignorance in the age of information that we all live in. In previous posts I’ve mentioned she’s only recently selected two students, after many years of testing kids who want to learn from her. Hundred tried out, only two have ever been approved. How she teaches is very fast paced, be prepared to get some scrapes and bruises, she will test your physical and emotional tolerances with intense tasks, carefully watching students like a hawk. Bad posture in your stance? She’ll be the first to tell you to sort it out. Not hearing your Pokemon partner? Right, now you spend the day without using words trying to communicate, let’s see how you like not being listened to.

This is a woman who has spent her life saying very little, and watching everything, she watches Pokemon and can see an issue from a mile off, and in battles, her observations are why she can react fast, and chose effective strategy to avoid damage and achieve results. Don’t let her body fool you, her strongest asset is analysing, watching, planning. Those skills have over the years transferred to people too. As a student, mistakes don’t go unnoticed with this professor.

Her methods are harsh but fair, and should you prove yourself, she will protect you with her life.

Because of her disinterest in kids and lots of noise, she does pass the training of students on to the other staff members whenever possible. Grey takes on the lions share of battle lessons, he is far calmer, more open and friendly, with patience for people, and an empathy that peach sometimes struggles to have. When you go through a lot of harsh training, and difficult events, it’s hard to change how you feel or think, with peach, well, she’s been through it. Most do not come out the other end in one piece, but she did, and it made her strong. You may think I mean strong like buff and big, and yeah sure she is, but I mean it mentally more than anything. Peach will not quit. She has learnt to destroy the boundaries that stop people getting hurt, gone is the fear that freezes you in your tracks, that feeling that you’ll pass out if you go one more step. She’s learnt to ignore it.

This means she’s a little forgetful at how it is to be normal, to be vulnerable and soft and squishy like students so usually are.

She has her issues, but for the most part, visitors get a laugh, a smile, a calm assertive confidence, and facts. She will indulge those who have genuine interest, or show a connection with nature, an understanding of the balance that needs to be struck for everyone to live well together.

Despite her many flaws, she’s fiercely protective, and will go above and beyond to defend the island, it’s staff, the Pokemon and the visitors. Injustice is her biggest gripe, along with littering, and she doesn’t stand by quietly if something happens that seems unfair.

You will not see her without Valka, her vulpix, close by. That Pokemon doesn’t like to be touched by strangers, at all, and will run the second someone comes at her with that intent. Peach will scold you for pushing yourself onto her, should you persistently try to get close to pet Val. They are in sync, if peach is sad, Val is sad, if Val is stressed, peach is stressed, and so on. They are inherently connected, it’s just been that long, the psychic bridge between them has been built, and reinforced over the years.

The only other Pokemon who follows her so endlessly is Booker, a teddiursa who’s pretty rough looking. He quietly trots behind, grouchy and stoic, they fight closely together a lot. He lost his mom a long time ago to poachers, and peach took him in, and changed her whole life for him. Not many people know, but Booker was the reason she left the rangers, changed career, and got so strong. Will tolerate people petting him but isn’t keen at all, grumbles a lot and tries to move away.

You may also need to know about the others, for the sake of writing, she here a few more bits that may be important to you, or others wanting to do this.

Grey is very tall, very burly, composed, tells bad dad jokes, is a bit of a goof if allowed to be. If he sees a pun, he’ll say it. Can’t help himself. Very nice guy to work with, good at keeping people calm and grounded. Pokemon are drawn to him like a moth to a flame, he gives off warm energy, and has inhuman amounts of patience. If you wrong his family however, he will snap back.

He grew up in the city, loves to swim and hike and cycle, can snowboard, is really sporty. A total brain box with held items, and boosting stats. He will explore many paths, to make sure visitors and students get the information they need, in a way that can be remembered and retained for later. Is a huge guy, but will get on the floor to play with a tiny Pokemon. Treats big “meaner” looking species like babies, very good with all pokemon.

His free time is spent either tinkering, swimming, or trimming his bonsai trees. This guy stares at screens a lot, so appreciates time away from them. Peach built him his own little greenhouse for his trees and tools, which he keeps clean and loves dearly.

His methods as a teacher are built around fun and games, he makes hard work easier to do by distracting trainers from the difficult bits, and focusing in on something more interesting or compelling.

His most commonly seen Pokemon would be a houndoom, Saxon, old battle veteran, retired now to herding and being a good boy. Very gentle, loves a pet.

Pari, now a fully fledged nurse, often oversees the labs front desk and pokecentre features, such as healing pokemon, and informing trainers who come to visit. Her skills with eggs and hatchlings is high, she’s great with younger Pokemon, and hands out good advice to trainers a lot. She’s not a fighter, never was, but can find any file, any study, any book, and any refrence you may need. A true bookworm, loves her romance novels, chat shows and upbeat celebrity gossip mags. Will cry at a lot of stuff, be it sad or happy.

She’s got a seriously upbeat personality, but if caught off guard or shocked, she gets a little flustered. Too much chaos will overwhelm her, but usually she’s on top of things. The years spent on the island have made her better at maintaining composure in emergencies. With lots of siblings, she’s very competent with others, and has a good ability to disarm cagey people with her jolly nature. Because of this, she can sometimes gain information from trainers that some of the more harsh professors may not have access to. Charming is a word for it.

Her partners are an eevee, and a happiny. They are quite sweet and well adjusted, the eevee gets a bit bouncy if you get it too excited.

#if you dont want to use the refs #im really cool with it #just enjoy yourself buddy #pokemon #prof.peach #peach talks #prof.grey #pari #dotaku island #dotaku staff #PLEASE #just ask me if you dont know something #or feel i missed something in what i wrote

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miekasa · 3 years

Text

fluff alphabet: levi ackerman

↯ pairing: levi ackerman x (fem) reader

↯ genres and warnings: modern au, fluff…. obviously, no real warnings i don’t think, oh spoilers for his ova?

↯ word count: 3k lol don’t ask me how

↯ notes: i was going to take requests for this for valentine’s day, but i figured i’d just do them all in one post lolol. i feel like i haven’t posted for levi in a while, so here we go

Activities — What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

If you ask Levi to do something, there’s a good chance he’ll try it at least once for you. Unless it’s something he’s said he explicitly dislikes or doesn’t want to partake in, he’d gladly try it out with you.

He strikes me as the kind of person to like trying new restaurants. Not necessarily the trendy or popular or exclusive ones; but local places with good recommendations or reviews.

Down for late night drives, but you have to be the one driving. He’ll drive if you become too tired, but he prefers to sit in the passenger seat and just let you take him wherever. He doesn’t mind, and it’s a sign he trusts you.

I also think museum dates would be some thing he enjoys. Not history museums—I feel like the concept of stolen artifacts on display would piss him off more than anything lol—but art museums. That’s not to say he’s extremely into art, but I think something about a museum environment is somewhat calming to him. He doesn’t mind.

One more activity I would say suits him is watching movies or shows together. Levi’s the kind of guy that catches you watching a series and expresses how it looks stupid or boring at first, but still hovers around and backseat watches it anyway. After a while, he just gives up and starts actively watching it with you and becomes invested. He just won’t admit it.

Beauty — What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

In the least cheesy way possible, everything. Levi sees people, and his s/o in particular, as a whole person, rather than the sum of their parts. He understands that everything about you—physical, emotional, or otherwise—contributes to the person he loves. There’s something to appreciate about all of it at different times.

He’d probably admire and/or find little habits you have beautiful in some way or another. Probably things you might not even notice about yourself unless he pointed them out to you.

Personality wise, he’d admire it if his s/o were blunt and/or the kind of person to stick up for themselves or their friends. A little bit assertive; not going out of your way to make other people feel small or be rude, but simply refusing to shrink to make room for others.

Physically, again, I don’t think he has a preference for most anything, but if I had to pick, I’d say he’s a thigh/ass guy.

Comfort — How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack, etc.?

Levi is observant, so he would be able to tell when you’re struggling perhaps before you’re ready to realize it yourself, and long before you’re about to burst.

However, he would ask you how he can help. For as observant as he is, he’s also not a mind reader, and if there’s something specific he can get you, he would want to know, even if it’s seemingly small or superficial.

He would be pretty proactive about it, too. The second he figures out how he can help, he’s on it. You need a new desk to work from home? He’ll have it built by that weekend. You’re feeling overwhelmed and behind on your tasks? He’s already doing the ones he can do without your help.

He does his best to try and help you relax if the issue is a stressor, and if he could, he would eradicate the root of the stress from your life completely. Unfortunately, in the real world, that’s not always possible, but it’s nice to know that he’s willing.

The other obvious answer is tea, but allow me to expand it more generally to food. Going along with the theme of acts of service being his love language, Levi would try to provide the basic necessities for you in order to allow to focus on solving your problems and/or feeling better. If not worrying about dinner is one thing that can help you, Levi’s happy to cook for you.

Dreams — How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Simple, but fulfilled. Levi just wants to be happy—to have someone to care for, and to have someone who will care for him.

Truthfully, I don’t think he’d mind children later down the road, and I think he would be a good parent. It might not be something he talks about outright at first, but as time progresses, and perhaps the timing becomes right, it’d be something he would want to consider.

Equal — Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

It’s equal. Levi doesn’t want to have more power, nor does he want to be passive. However, there are things he doesn’t mind handing over to you, and conversely, responsibilities he doesn’t mind taking on himself.

Compromise would be a big part in the relationship—not for the sake of compromising on your dreams or ambitions, but rather, to reach a middle ground if there’s any kind of argument.

I think it’s a give and take with him. And I don’t think he would want it to be any other way. He doesn’t strike me as someone who’s on either polar end.

Fight — Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

When you do fight, it’s a lot of pointed frustration. He doesn’t raise his voice, but he can get snippy, and a little closed off—speaking in clipped sentences, using underhanded phrases, focusing on past points. What drives him crazy is the aftermath of the fight, and if you give him the silent treatment, he’s bound to crack much sooner than later.

He’s quite easy to forgive. Canonically, he doesn’t like to fight with his friends or the people he cares about, and he would rather reach a solution as quickly as possible.

We saw that with Isabel and Farlan, despite the way he was firm on his decision for them to stay behind, they were able to break his resolve pretty quickly. He cares a lot about the people in his life, and I don’t think he’d like to go long with a riff between him and you. Especially if he thinks he might regret not talking to you about it sooner.

He’s one to keep a promise, but not to hold a grudge. That is to say, he understands that forgiveness goes both ways, and to work in a healthy relationship, both parties have to forgive themselves and each other at some point.

Gratitude — How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Yes and no. It might take a minute for Levi to understand the depth of your actions—especially the ones that appear more mundane or are not as explicitly romantic.

Once he does, he is very aware of them, and as such, if very grateful. He didn’t every really think he’d be able to create and be apart of the kind of loving relationship the two of you have. He really cherishes it.

Honesty — Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

He has secrets by way of omission. He doesn’t lie to keep things hidden from you, but sometimes he doesn’t tell everything about himself, especially towards the start of your relationship.

It’s not always with malicious or even self-protective intent. He just doesn’t share because he doesn’t think it’s important, or that you might care. If you pry long enough or insist that you want to know just to know and because you care, then he’s happy to share.

As previously mentioned, it might take him a while to realize just how much you care about him, and his past and interests by extension.

Inspiration — Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

As your relationship progresses Levi comes to learn that you genuinely find him attractive not just physically, but emotionally and psychologically. That you actually want to know him and that he’s worth knowing.

So, his biggest change is in the way he approaches his thoughts about himself and his self worth. But he also begins to pick up on your habits, your interests, and tries to understand your general approach to life, too.

He would probably change you in some ways, too. Most notably in the way you organize and clean your space, probably. He’s not sorry about it.

Jealousy — Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

No, he doesn’t. To him, jealously would imply that someone has something he wants. Firstly, you’re not an object to him, and secondly, he has you. There’s nothing more to it.

He’s not childish, nor is he out of check with his emotions, so he wouldn’t lash out on you, especially if it’s not your fault. In his small momentary slips, you wouldn’t even have noticed he was jealous at all.

He wouldn’t like it if someone was repeatedly making advances on you, especially if you’ve explicitly told them off/they were making you uncomfortable. In situations like that, he would simply try to get the both of you out of there/away from the person as quickly as possible.

There’s also an element of trust to this with Levi. He wouldn’t expect you to try and make him jealous out of spite; and he would trust that you wouldn’t play on the advances of other people if you notice them.

Kiss — Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

He is a good kisser. Mainly because he’s very perceptive to what you want and how to give it you.

The first kiss was sweet. Knowing Levi, there was probably quite the build up to it, so even if it was sweet and innocent, there was a layer of tension and a crash of emotions coming forward in the moment. It was memorable, to say the least.

Love Confession — How would they confess to their s/o?

I have imagined this time and time again… and I think it really depends on the foundation of your relationship/friendship with him before.

In the most generic scenario, it would probably be a little backwards—you would have, intentionally or not, gone on some dates before he realized what his feelings really were, and then take it from there.

If you were friends for a while before hand, it can probably go the implicit dating route—that is you’re both exclusively emotionally invested in each other, and basically involved in most relationship aspects without having realized it or put a label on it. You kind of naturally morph into a relationship, and it probably takes a verbal confession or kiss or two to solidify it.

It can also go the sexual tension route, and one day one of you finally snaps and makes a move. The verbal confession would come in the aftermath, but your actions will have solidified and expressed your feelings long before that.

Marriage — Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Again, yes and no. Without taking into account the legal aspects, the actual concept of marriage is that juxtaposition of sweet and powerful that Levi likes; the idea of devoting yourself to someone and receiving a special kind of love for the rest of your life.

And while all of that is beautiful to him, there are the unfortunate cultural norms or marriage, especially in a modern au. The legality of it all, especially the financial defaults, would be a headache. Not to mention all the fluff and grandeur and gender expectations about it. He thinks all of that fucking sucks.

Above all, he doesn’t get why people expect him to pay for what’s basically an expensive document that tells the federal government he lives with you and loves you. He could do that without them in his business.

If you want to get married, then the proposal is sweet. Intimate, and probably a call back to something in your relationship, or a significant date/event for the both of you. He wouldn’t dare do it in public or even involve anybody else, other than maybe asking a friend or two.

Marriage with Levi is much like being in a long-term relationship with him. The way he acts in marriage isn’t exponentially different than the way he had been acting as your boyfriend. It’s all still very quiet, very sweet, very domestic.

Nicknames — What do they call their s/o?

He calls you by your name, unless you ask him to call you by something else. He might call you by an actual nickname, that is a shortened version of your name, if that’s the name you usually go by.

He’s not big on pet names and they slip out from time to time, but not in place of your actual name on an every day basis. If anything, he calls your name with a very unique tone to his voice. He rarely calls for anybody else with the same tone and/or emotion.

On Cloud Nine — What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

It’s not… not obvious to his friends, but he doesn’t look like he’s been shot by cupids arrow or anything. If you know Levi, you might pick up on the fact that he seems a bit happier, less stressed, has taken up new hobbies/habits, etc. But there’s not he’s not shitting rainbows and sunshine all of a sudden.

Love is very personal and intimate for him. He would do his best to express to you that he loves you and loves the love he receives from you, but he doesn’t feel that everyone else needs to know.

So, it’s somehow simultaneously noticeable and unnoticeable when you’re together in the presence of other people.

PDA — Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss when others are watching?

Levi isn’t big on PDA. He’s not hiding your relationship, but he doesn’t care to boast it to every person he meets, either. If somebody asks him, he’ll happily say that he’s in a relationship, but he doesn’t bring it forward himself.

He’s not hiding it or shy, but he doesn’t feel the need to be all over you in public. He doesn’t anything to prove to anybody. Besides, nobody wants to see that shit. He knows he wouldn’t.

There are some displays of affection, though. Hand holding isn’t abnormal, though likely not in a casual space with your friends or family. He’ll brush is hand along your arm when he’s walking past you, might ruffle your hair if the occasion calls for it, squeeze your thigh under the table.

Quirk — Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

He’s canonically good at math. This comes in handy when you’re at restaurants and trying to calculate a tip quickly. Somehow, he knows how to figure out 18% of your bill in 3 seconds flat.

It also comes in handy when you’re trying to organize things. Along with math comes a pretty good understanding of spatial reasoning. Somehow Levi is always able to put away your left overs using the smallest and least amount of tupperware possible. It’s kind of ridiculous, he might be a wizard.

Romance — How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

In the traditional sense, he might not appear romantic, but he��s the kind of person to say or do or gift little things that would take a much deeper romantic understanding of his partner than some grand, generic act like buying a thousand roses.

His romance is tailored to you and your relationship, not general expectations of what it means to be “romantic.”

Support — Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Levi is very devoted to you, so if you ask for his help, or he can help without stepping on your toes, he will. He wants you to not only succeed, but feel fulfilled through your achievements, and he’s happy to help you get there.

He believes in you wholeheartedly. If it’s something you really want, Levi wouldn’t dare doubt that you could achieve it.

Thrill — Do they need to try out new things to spice up your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

He doesn’t feel the need to try out new things based on expectations, but if you want to try something, or if he wants to try something, you can have a conversation about it, and eventually try it out.

There’s a sort of established routine in a domestic sense; a sharing of a mutual space and the behaviors associated with that. But there’s not, like, established date nights or “week-a-versaries.”

In that sense, he can be pretty spontaneous; bringing up new places to go or activities to try when the idea strikes him. But I suppose it’s never something… too adventurous? Not dangerous, at least lololol, he’s not going to randomly suggest you go skydiving as a bonding exercise.

Understanding — How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Very well. Levi kind of makes you his business—in the most non-intrusive way possible. He’s perceptive and picks up on things about you with relative ease, and genuine interest.

He can predict how you might respond in a situation with pretty good accuracy, can guess what you might pick off the menu at a new restaurant, if given a choice has a good sense of which option you’ll choose. Very much a “I knew you would say that/do that, I don’t know why I even asked,” kind of person once he gets to know you.

He can be pretty empathetic, and I think he would be in a relationship.

Value — How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Your relationship is pretty damn important to Levi, and he devotes a significant amount of time and attention to it. Not in the place of giving time for himself, his friends, family or interests; but he is very much devoted to you.

However, he’s not the type to give up solid opportunities (ex: financial, for his family/mom, career-wise) for the sake of a relationship, especially if he’s not in the position to do so; and he wouldn’t want you to give up exceptional opportunities that align with your goals for him either.

Everything is relative in that sense, I suppose. He cares for you, deeply, and knows that you do, too. That, contrary to popular belief, is what enables you both to be strong enough to bend and not break.

Wild Card — A random fluff head canon.

I’ll give you a few :)

If you want him to, Levi will do your hair for you, and he’s pretty fucking good at it, too; hair type or texture be damned, he’ll take his time with it, and do it well for you.

When he’s alone, Levi hums himself to sleep. Usually singing/humming his mother’s favorite songs and/or songs he remembers hearing as a child.

He always gives you the lighter bags when you take your groceries upstairs/into your house. He doesn’t tell you, but he knows you don’t like to ‘make’ him do all the work.

He always makes dinner if he gets home before you.

He’s a pretty good artist, and has even drawn you once. He’s never told you or shown you, but he keeps the picture folded up in his wallet. Or behind his phone case.

XOXO — Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Affectionate in private, yes. He doesn’t mind it if you’re all over him, and truthfully, has his moments where he’s shamelessly all over you, too. Especially in the morning, he’s a cuddle bug.

Kisses are always good, he would never oppose them. He’s quite easy to persuade with kisses, actually. And most physical touches; he doesn’t get them often, so he kind of melts when he does.

Cuddles, too. Again, all of this is private and in the comfort of your own home. His favorite way to cuddle is to either have you completely on top of him, or to lay his head in your lap. Because he loves the feeling of you playing with his hair.

Yearning — How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Levi will take part in things you like or things you’ve claimed in your shared space.

For example, he might find himself eating your favorite foods more often, sitting on the spot on the couch your sit in most often, rolling over to your side of the bed in his sleep.

He also likes to look back on pictures of the two of you. He doesn’t particularly like to be photographed, but he likes having these physical memories of your relationship, so he’ll indulge you when you want to take a picture together. And they come in real handy during times like this.

Zeal — Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

Levi will definitely put up a fight for you, so long as it’s mutual. He wouldn’t pour his effort into someone or a relationship in which he feels like he’s not receiving the same.

I’m not sure what great lengths there would be to go to in a modern au, but he definitely believes that relationships are hard work, and as such, is prepared to put in the work when things get hard. He’s not a quitter, and he knows that love is foundation and requires time and energy.

He cares about you too much to let you go without reason.

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #aot imagines #snk imagines #levi fluff #levi smut #eren x reader

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pan-fangirl-345 · 3 years

Text

Hidden Panthers

Summary: Soulmarks aren't rare, and neither are soulmates, but what is rare, is a person who doesn't want to meet their soulmate, but Toho Academy has two.

Or: Five times Aomine was curious about your tattoo, and one time he saw it.

TW: a small amount of angst, I suppose one part might be comparable to a panic attack, and some swearing, but I promise it's mostly fluff.

A/N: I had an idea! Since I have no requests currently in my inbox, I thought I would jot it down before I forgot about it.

"You guys do realize that you should be practicing, right?" you asked when you walked into the gym and the boys were all shirtless, showing off their soulmarks.

"They're trying to prove who's is the biggest," Momoi informed you, making you snort.

You were almost one hundred percent certain that you had them all beat, except for maybe Aomine.

Your soulmark was a special image somewhere on your body, and animal, a place, something like that. They were colorful, and looked like tattoos.

The mark on your body corresponded with the one on your soulmate's body.

You knew that Aomine had your matching tattoo, not that he knew that, and that was okay.

The black ink of his tattoo was stark against his tan skin, but you knew that he wasn't showing it off with pride, it was him just proving a point.

Top dog on the team, biggest soulmark, he was unbeatable.

Aomine had made it clear that he didn't appreciate the thought of soulmates, that he was fine with not knowing who they were, not knowing who you were, in your case.

"What's yours (Y/L/N)-kun?" one of the boys asked and you snorted, a hand flying to cover your mouth, sometimes you hated hanging around teenage boys all the time, it made your mind go to weird places sometimes.

"Sorry boys, you don't want to see my mark, trust me," you muttered, touching your shoulder softly.

Aomine's eyes were on you, burning a hole through your body, but you ignored him.

"What is it?"

"None ah," you said.

"None ah?"

"None ah ya business," you replied, dropping your bag by the bench.

The boys peeled off into laughter, and Momoi gave a small giggle.

You smiled softly, tugging your sweatshirt off.

The boys were getting to practice, though Aomine was still watching you, watching you with those startling blue eyes.

"Are you going to practice or are you going to just stare at me like a creep?" you asked, crossing your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Nah," he muttered, moving to head out the door, but you moved in front of him.

"Nope, you're here," you told him, throwing your arms out. "If you're here, you're practicing, even if that means you have to practice with me."

Aomine squinted at you, and you were 99% certain that he was going to try and shove you out of the way, but he sighed, heading back to work in drills with the other boys.

Momoi was watching you, eyes glinting in the way they did when she watching a game and her data was proved correct.

"Momoi-san," you said, "why are you looking at me like that?"

"It's just a hunch," she murmured, wandering off to watch Aomine play.

You frowned after her, wondering what the hell she was talking about, but you shook it off.

Those two were weirdos.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So, (Y/L/N), what's your soulmark?" one of your friends asked, and you sighed.

"It's nothing all that impressive," you lied, flipping the page of the textbook you were skimming through.

"But what is it?" she persisted.

"A pain in my ass," you muttered, touching your shoulder lightly again.

"(Y/L/N)-kun," one of your classmates said, "one of the basketball boys is waiting for you outside."

"Thanks," you replied, gathering your stuff up.

You were a back-up manager for when Momoi was away watching other teams play.

You were surprised to find Aomine leaning up against the doorframe, practice clothes on.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey yourself. Are you actually going to practice again?" you asked, hauling your bag over your shoulder, wincing at the weight.

He made a small noise, which made you think that that was his version of a yes.

"Why don't you show off your mark?" Aomine asked.

"Why don't you?" you replied, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Soulmates are bullshit," he muttered. "I don't like being told what to do. I hate being told who to love even more."

"My soulmate doesn't want me," you admitted after a moment of walking, readjusting your bag on your shoulders. "No point in showing off something that symbolizes someone who hates that I even exist."

Aomine paused, running his eyes over you again, and you glanced back at him.

"What?"

He didn't answer, he just stood there watching you. He had been doing that a lot, and you were a little worried about it.

"Are you coming or what?" you asked, heading for the gym.

He followed behind you, eyes boring into your back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What's your soulmark?" Aomine asked.

You had gone to the roof to tell him to get his ass to practice. He had been coming more and more often, but he had been staring at you for most of it, despite urging from both you and Momoi to actually practice.

"Nothing important, not like you practicing," you deflected, standing in front of him with your arms crossed.

"Snippy," he quipped. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"Perv," you muttered. "And I've already seen your mark."

"Yours is on your shoulders, right?" he asked. "You keep touching them whenever someone brings them up."

"Yeah, it's a pretty big one," you admitted, reaching to touch your shoulder absentmindedly before you registered that you were doing it. You dropped your hands to your sides again, frowning.

Despite the fact that you already knew your soulmate, and how he felt about the whole thing, the mark was still comforting to a degree.

Aomine was still watching you, he had been doing it a lot, though you weren't entirely sure why. Every time he did, it jump started your heart, making you wonder if he knew.

He made a small noise, then dragged himself to his feet.

"Gotta go to practice," he mumbled, bumping shoulders with you as he headed down to the gym.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aomine started appearing more and more after that. He wasn't following you exactly, but it was almost like your schedules had overlapped.

Then you had gotten assigned to do a group project together.

"Nice place," he muttered when he walked through the door into your home.

"Thanks," you said, shutting the door. "I'm telling you this right now, Aomine, I am not doing this entire project by myself, and if I do end up doing it by myself, you are not getting your name put on this. Do you understand me?"

"Yes ma'am," he muttered. "Do you have any bread?"

"What?" you asked, then you remembered his weird carb obsession. "Uh, yeah, just . . . give me a minute," you said, setting your things down on the couch before you headed into the kitchen.

Snacks were something you could do.

You got him a drink too, and when you set a plate and a drink down in front of him, he glanced up at you appreciatively.

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem," you told him, sitting beside him on the couch.

"What are we doing the project on?" he asked.

"I have no idea," you muttered. "It would be easy to do a keynote or something, but there are going to be so many people doing that."

You pulled the project requirements out of your bag, your eyes flitting over it.

"What if we did like a . . . a soulmark examination?" you asked. "We were reading a book about how people think soulmarks mean something to the pair that share it instead of simply being an indicator, right? All we would have to do it take a picture of one of our soulmarks and make up some sort of metaphorical bullshit and make it look pretty when we present it."

"We should do yours," Aomine immediately suggested.

"Why mine?" you asked, panic starting to float into your veins.

"Because I want to know what it is," he replied, grinning at you.

"How about we do yours? You have your own fan club and I'm sure they'd be ecstatic to know what it is. Besides, yours is easier to do than mine," you told him.

"How so?"

"Mine is across my back," you informed him. "That means that I would have to take off my shirt and my bra for us to get a picture, and there are so many things that could go wrong with that. Besides, it's not like anyone in the class hasn't seen your back already, it's not new information."

"Fair enough," Aomine said. "But, when I get fakers pretending to be my soulmate, you have to be the one to fight them off."

"Deal," you said, holding your hand out to him.

He took it, shaking it firmly once, before he tugged his shirt over his head.

"Let's get this over with," he muttered, curling his shoulders forward so that you could get a clear picture of the black panther lounging across his shoulders like it was a tree branch.

You snapped a couple photos from different angles, and resisted the urge to touch it.

It was the same as yours, and you wondered vaguely if you had ever found your tattoo as beautiful as you found Aomine's.

"We good?" Aomine asked.

"Yeah, we're good," you croaked, then cleared your throat as he pulled his shirt over his head again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your project had gotten a great grade, and you were both proud of it, but now Aomine seemed to be hellbent on figuring out what your mark was.

"Just show me!" he'd whined.

He'd been up on the roof again, and you had been charged with getting him off the roof and down to practice.

"No, Aomine. Now get off your ass and get down to practice," you told him, arms crossed.

You had been in this position for the past couple of weeks, and it was almost routine now.

"I won't even be a dick about it," he had promised you, his eyes looking almost sincere as he pleaded with you. Almost.

Aomine, you had learned, had adopted you as a friend, in the last few weeks of being stuck around him.

You and Momoi had started walking to class together, and Aomine had started trailing behind like a lazy guard dog, much to the chagrin of Momoi's many suitors.

"He really likes you," Momoi said one morning.

"Oh yeah?" you asked, chuckling.

"He hasn't liked someone like this in a while," Momoi told you. "He's a long time basketball junkie, so seeing him take an interest in someone that doesn't have much of a connection to the game is a relief to me."

"Momoi, I thought we agreed that you wouldn't profile me," you told her, giving her a small smile.

"I can't help it," she whined, taking a hold of your arm. "You have to tell him (Y/F/N)!"

"Sorry Momoi-san, I can't do that," you replied. "He doesn't want that."

"How do you know if you won't tell him?" she asked, pouting.

"Momoi-san, he's made his stance on soulmates exceedingly clear, and he likes me now because he doesn't know. I want it to stay that way. I'd rather be a friend than anything else. Besides, he doesn't like me like that," you informed her.

"I've been friends with him since we were kids," she said, glancing at you with those eyes. "I think I know when he's interested in a girl."

You snorted, but your conversation tapered off when Aomine joined you again.

"Seriously, what the hell is your soulmark?" Aomine demanded. "I have asked literally everyone I can think of that might know. No one in this entire fucking school seems to know what it is."

"Sorry Aomine," you said, slipping into your classroom, throwing a grin over your shoulder at him. "A girl needs to keep her secrets, besides, you aren't the only one with a soulmark thing."

His growl resonated into the classroom and you chuckled lightly as you sat down at your desk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of course, the one time the teams tries to do some team bonding they chose to go to the fucking beach.

Of course, Aomine had also been the one to suggest the beach. The others thought it was because he wanted to see girls in bikini's, but he had glanced at you and winked.

He wanted to see what your mark was.

"I hate you," you snarled, cornering him, before he left for his house. "You scheming son of a bitch."

"Such vulgar words," he teased, giving you a dark look. "And I have no idea what I could've done to make you hate me, baby girl."

"You know exactly what you did," you growled, ignoring the pet name. "The whole beach thing was your idea."

He grinned, and you suddenly understood why your mark was a panther.

Something flashed through you, and your let your own grin show through.

"You want to play games Aomine-kun?" you teased, keeping eye contact with him. "Fine, then let's play."

"What do I get if I win?" he asked.

"You'll have to choose that for yourself, if you win," you told him, storming out of the doors.

When the day came to go to the beach, nothing was out of the ordinary, save that the boys had decided that one of them had to be with you and Momoi at all times.

"You guys don't need to babysit us," you chided when you climbed onto the bus. "We tend to stick together anyway, and pervs, unless they're in groups, tend to pick the girl that splits away from the pack. Momoi-san and I can stick together and reduce the risk. This is more for you guys than it is for us anyway."

"Yeah, we don't need a guard dog," Momoi agreed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'll stay with them," Aomine offered, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and Momoi's, and you rolled your eyes.

"You just want to know what my soulmark is," you told him, glancing up at him.

"Wait," Sakurai murmured, "even Aomine doesn't know what your soulmark is?"

"Nope," you said, popping the 'p'. "He's been trying to figure it out for weeks now. That's why he suggested going to the beach."

"You clever son of a bitch," the captain said, and you shrugged.

"He and I have a small little wager going," you admitted, shrugging his arm off your shoulders. "If I can keep my soulmark hidden from him for the whole day today, he drops it."

"And if he wins?"

"She's being cryptic about that," Aomine said, and his eye twitched lightly.

"If he sees it, he can decide what he gets for winning," you told them. "He'll understand if he sees it."

And so the game began.

"Are you going swimming, (Y/F/N)?" Momoi asked you.

"Are you?" you asked her.

"No, I want to work on my tan," she admitted, waving a small bottle of tanning lotion.

"Then I'll stay with you. I have some reading I need to catch up on anyway. Besides, I want the sunscreen to sink in, I burn easily," you admitted, having applied it as soon as you got to the beach.

You were wearing a one-piece bathing suit (since it was harder for something to happen with one on), but you had thrown a thin white crop top on over it to cover your shoulders.

After Momoi asked you to get her back, you settled onto your towel, pulling your assigned literature book out of your bag, finding your page.

"Seriously, why don't you just show us what the damn thing is?" Aomine asked, settling down next to you forcefully.

"Because it's a part of my body, meaning I can show it off when I want, or cover it up when I want. Besides, I told you earlier, my soulmate doesn't want me," you said, flipping your page leisurely. "Don't need them hating me more than they already do without knowing my identity."

Aomine was clearly displeased, but it wasn't like he could argue with you about it, soulmarks were a very personal thing to some people.

"You're at the beach," he began a few minutes later, tone incredulous, "and you're reading a book. What is wrong with you?"

"A lot, which issue are you referring to?" you asked nonchalantly before he scowled at you. "I don't feel like going into the water," you told him, glaring at him over your sunglasses. "I have work to do, and this is a good time to catch up on it. Besides, shouldn't you be with the rest of the team? This was for you guys."

Aomine scowled, but stood up, heading for where the team was playing a game of beach volleyball. Or, they were attempting, none of them seemed to be having much luck with it.

"You know, not very many people can keep Dai-chan at bay as much as you're able to," Momoi said, making you snort.

"You just have to know how to deal with it. You can do it."

"But not for long, and not once he makes up his mind about something. You've kept him at bay for months, I've never been able to do that. My top score is a week."

"Does it bother you?" you asked quietly.

"No, not at all," she said, a little too quickly. "Okay, well, it bothers me a little. I've known him since we were kids, and you can handle him better than I can just after a few months, but I know why."

"Honestly Momoi, I don't think it's because we're soulmates, because he doesn't know. I think it's just I refuse to let him win at all."

"You two are definitely two of the most stubborn people I have ever met," she agreed, rolling over onto her stomach.

"I'm not sure whether that's a compliment or not," you muttered.

Momoi giggled and you smiled. It was nice, hanging out with her. It was nice to have a female friend.

"I'm a little peckish, do you want a pretzel or something from the concessions thing?" you asked, gesturing to the snack shack type thing that they had set up a few meters away.

"No, I'm all set, thank you though," she said.

"Alright, just thought I'd ask," you told her, standing up, wiping sand off your legs as you headed over with your wallet.

You dodged a pair of kids that looked like twins, who were trying to splash each other with water, and you laughed as one of them tackled the other.

"Idiot, you can't just wander off," Aomine chided as he sidled up next to you.

"I didn't," you pointed out. "I told Momoi where I was going."

Aomine frowned, glaring at a guy that stepped too close for his comfort.

"The point of this trip was so that the team could bond," you told him, "so that means that you should be over there with the team."

"You're a part of the team too right?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at you.

"Technically, yes, but I'm talking about the part of the team that plays on the court. I just tend to make sure that your ass shows up."

You glanced at Aomine, who was frowning.

"Out with it," you demanded, glancing around as you walked to make sure neither of you bumped into anyone.

"Does your mark make you uncomfortable?" he asked, carefully choosing his words.

"No," you admitted. "It's comforting actually, but there's no point in showing it off. Besides, it makes my back really hot when I'm out in the sun. That makes me uncomfortable."

You placed your order, which consisted of a fruity drink on ice and a small snack that would hold you over until lunch.

"What have you eaten today?" he asked.

"Nothing. I had coffee this morning and then left the house. I don't normally eat breakfast," you told Aomine.

"How are you alive?"

"Have you taken health classes?"

"Not what I meant, asshole," he snapped. "You're gonna run yourself into the ground."

"Aomine, I'm fine," you assured him. "Besides, I'm drinking plenty of fluids."

He frowned, but he seemed to realize it was useless to argue with you about it.

"Go back to the team, Aomine, I'm fine," you told him, shoving him towards where the boys were sitting in the sand.

You tossed your snack wrapper in a garbage can that was placed strategically, glad for the little bit of food in your stomach.

But then the kids ran by again, and one of them got you instead of their brother.

"Sorry!" he called, darting away.

Normally you wouldn't have minded, the water felt nice against your skin, but you knew that your cover-up would start to be see through, and with the breeze blowing off the water, it was sticking to your back.

You sighed, slipping it over your head as you headed for your towel.

After drying your shoulders off, you set your shirt out to dry, then began rooting around in your bag for your backup, before remembering that you had forgotten to put it in your bag before you left.

"Fuck," you muttered, glancing at where Aomine and the other boys were chatting.

You supposed that it was fine for now, but you would have to be careful if they came back over.

"Momoi, please, for the sake of our friendship, you can't say anything to the boys about this," you said when she looked over and saw your back.

"Why are you so worried about him finding out?" she asked, carefully running a hand over your back, tracing the lines of the mark.

"Because, he might be a dick, but he's a friend, and I don't want to lose that friendship because of some dumb cosmic presence that decided we were meant for one another."

"Do you love him?" she inquired.

You licked your lips, then pursed them.

"Do you love him?" she repeated.

You waited for a few moments before you confessed, "I might. Whether it's love or a crush, I can't say for sure."

She sucked in a breath.

"What?" you asked.

"You know that he likes you back, right?" she asked quietly. "You know that it has nothing to do with the Mark. It's not like he's seen it and knows that you're the woman he's going to marry."

"He'll hate me if he finds out."

"No, he won't."

"I think he will."

"How long are you going to keep this from him?" she demanded. "He at least deserves to know that you're an option!"

"I'll wait until he's married if I have to," you snapped, making her rear back. "Satsuki, in the end, this is my choice to make, and I've made it. He can't know."

"It's his decision too," she reminded you. "This isn't a one way street!"

"Right now, it is," you snarled. Then you softened your tone. "If I'm ever put in a situation where he finds out, I will let him make his own decision, but right now, it's my decision, the ball is in my court so to speak, and this is the move I'm making."

"I think it's the wrong move," she whispered.

"Luckily, it's not your move to make," you replied. "I don't mean to be cruel, Satsuki. I want him to be happy. I just don't think that he'd be happy with . . . me."

"How are you so sure?" she demanded, looking close to tears. "How are you so sure that knowing you're his soulmate would make him miserable? Why can't you accept the possibility that maybe him knowing would make him love you even more?"

You remembered all the times he had raved to you about how soulmates were bullshit. You remembered every vehement denial that he wanted to know who his soulmate was. Every venomous word and the pure hatred in his eyes.

If he looked like that just because of the idea, how would he react to the real thing? Something physical he could take his anger out on?

You highly doubted that Aomine would ever physically hurt you, but the idea still sent a shiver up your spine, despite the warm weather.

"Call it a gut feeling," you murmured, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"I just want you both to be happy," she whispered.

"I can't speak for him," you told her, "but I'm content with the way things are right now."

"Content and happy aren't always the same thing," she argued.

Something in your eyes must've told her that you weren't in the mood, because she sighed, going back to her tanning.

You laid on your back, trying to think of ways to hide the mark, but it took up the entire expanse of your shoulder blades, there was no way to hide it unless it was completely covered with a shirt or you laid on it.

"Momoi-san, (Y/L/N)-san, do you wanna come play two truths and a lie with us?" Sakurai asked.

"Sure, I would love to," Momoi said.

"What about you?"

You paused, thinking it over, before you grabbed your shirt, throwing it over your head after beating most of the sand out of it, making sure that no one saw it.

It wouldn't do much, you didn't think, but it would make you feel better all the same.

"Okay," you murmured, wandering over to fit in the circle with the boys.

They had decided that the person to their right was going to have to guess which was the lie, and you despaired to find that Aomine was on your right.

"Since the girls have now decided to join, new score," the captain said and you winced.

"Ladies first," Aomine said, giving you one of those glances that made you want to kiss him and punch him at the same time.

You decided to find a good compromise and you pinched his arm, hard.

"Okay," you murmured, trying to think. "One: when I was six, I popped my elbow out of my socket throwing a tantrum. Two: I have more than five dresses in my closet. Three: my music selection has a disturbing amount of love songs."

The others started whispering amongst themselves, and Aomine squinted at you.

"Number two has to be the lie. I've seen your music selection, and you mentioned the arm injury when you first became the manager," Aomine declared confidently.

"Wrong," you told him, grinning. "I have six dresses in my closet. I wasn't throwing a tantrum when I popped my elbow out of my socket. I fell off the monkey bars at the park."

Aomine glowered at you, and you laughed.

"You're just shitty at paying attention."

The boys were surprisingly bad at this game, either that or you were just good at guessing when someone was lying.

"One: I hate cherry lip gloss. Two: I can play the guitar. Three: I've never had a celebrity crush."

"Every girl has a celebrity crush," Aomine muttered, but then glanced back at you, frowning. "I say one is the lie."

"Nope! I can't play the guitar. I was taking lessons until I was eleven but I can't remember any of it."

"Wow, despite how much time you guys spend together, you really don't know much about her, do you Aomine?"

"Shut up," he mumbled, cheeks flushing.

Momoi, who was situated on your left, seemed to be very concerned with how good you were at guessing hers.

"That's the sixth one in a row that you've guessed right!" Satsuki cried, and you laughed.

"Sorry Momoi-san, but you're just very transparent and I'm too competitive to lose."

Aomine hadn't managed to guess any of yours, and you could feel him simmering beside you.

"Alright, since Aomine sucks at this, and (Y/F/N) is simply too good, let's change it up a little."

Suddenly, they were all going against you.

"I take it back, we all suck at this," Imayoshi muttered a few rounds later when they had yet to get one right.

"Sorry guys, I'm just good at hiding things," you said. "Remember, I've been hiding my soulmark from you all since the beginning of the year."

"That's it!" Satsuki cried, pointing at you, making you jerk towards Aomine to get away from her. "If we can get one right, just one, then you have to show us your soulmark!"

You wanted to decline, you wanted to act your way out of it, you knew what would happen if you lost, but that glint in her eyes made you want to prove her wrong.

"Deal," you told her.

"Okay, think about your answers carefully," Aomine said.

"Shouldn't they be saying that to you?" you asked him as you thought of something to say.

After listening to the ocean for a moment, you said, "One: I sleep like a baby during thunderstorms. Two: snapping turtles scare me to death. Three: I have a college age reading level."

Everyone started deliberating, and you smiled, leaning back, soaking in the sun.

"We have an answer," Imayoshi said, and you cracked open an eye.

"Shoot," you told them, sitting up.

"It's number two," he said.

The blood drained from your face.

You knew that they had taken a wild guess, but you hadn't expected them to get it right.

You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and nodded, not trusting your voice.

You took another steadying breath as you stood up, brushing yourself off, trying to control the shaking in your hands that was slowly spreading up your arms.

You vaguely heard Imayoshi telling you that you didn't have to, that you had the right to say no.

You wanted to take the out he was giving you. You wanted to act your way out of it, you wanted to try and run, and you wanted to tell them that you backed out but . . . .

But you had been keeping this to yourself for a very long time. And you wanted to know sooner rather than later whether Satsuki was right or not. You wanted to know whether this was as terrible as your mind was making it out to be.

You got a firm grip on your shirt, and you were about to lift it off, but suddenly Aomine was in front of you, his hands covering yours as he stared you down.

His eyes were boring into yours, and his hands were firm, but gentle, in their grip.

He was telling you that you didn't have to, that as much as he pried, he wasn't going to let you feel pressured into doing this.

You stared at each other for what felt like an eternity before you shook your head, lips pressed together in a hard line.

"You deserve to know," you whispered, barely able to keep your voice from shaking.

Aomine nodded, slowly moving his hands, before he settled back down where he had been.

You took one last, steadying breath, turning your back to your team.

You tugged the shirt over your head, pulling the straps of your suit to the side so that they could see the expanse of the mark across your back.

Your entire team was silent as they realized what they were seeing.

"Holy shit," someone breathed, though you weren't sure who it was.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, though you weren't entirely sure who you were apologizing to.

Momoi was suddenly in front of you, pulling the straps of your bathing suit back up.

"(Y/F/N), you're shaking," she murmured.

"I know," you told her.

"He's gone," she informed you, and you collapsed into the sand, letting out a shaky breath you hadn't known you were holding.

"How pissed with me is he?" you asked her.

"I-I don't know," she confessed. "I've . . . I've never not been able to read him. He . . . he was completely blank. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," you murmured, staring at the sand in front of you. "I should have taken the out. I should have stayed home. I knew what he was trying to do. I knew that you wanted me to tell him. I knew how he would react. And a small, foolish part of me dared to hope that I was wrong. A small, naive, stupid, masochistic part of me believed that it wouldn't matter. I should know by now that I'm rarely wrong about this kind of thing."

"But I know him!" Satsuki said, looking close to tears. "I know how he looks at you! I see the little things! I don't why he . . . ."

"Don't worry about it Satsuki," you told her, standing up, turning to your team. "Sorry guys."

You headed for your spot, gathering up your things, making sure that you had everything that you had come with, just to give yourself something to focus on.

"Are you going to be okay?" Sakurai asked.

You saw that the whole team, save one member, was standing there in various states of shock, anger, and something akin to pity.

"I knew it would happen eventually," you murmured, then told them, "I'll survive. I'll be myself at practice on Monday, promise. Have a good rest of your weekend guys."

You dug your phone out of your pocket when you were far enough away from the team.

"Hello?"

"Taiga, hey, can you come pick me up?" you asked. "Something went down with Aomine."

"I'm on my way," he said. "Hold tight. Wait, where are you?"

You sent him your location, heading for the parking lot.

By the time Kagami actually found you, you were pretty sure you had cried yourself out.

You didn't remember crying, but Kagami had taken one look at you and wiped at your cheeks.

You had gone with Aomine when he had challenged Kagami at the street court, and you had stayed in touch with the red-head slowly becoming friends with each other.

He knew about your mark as well, though he had promised to keep it to himself. He hadn't told Kuroko either, which surprised you.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"He knows," you admitted, letting him wrap an arm around your shoulders. "He saw it."

As you explained what happened, Kagami got quieter and quieter, and when you glanced at his face, you were surprised to see a serious amount of anger on his face.

"Taiga?" you asked quietly.

"I'll murder him," Kagami growled. "He's such a fuckin'-!"

"You don't have to murder him," you told the red-head, who looked shocked at your response.

"But-!"

"No, I knew it was going to happen. I knew that I would lose him, I was just trying to hold on for a little longer. He hasn't done anything wrong," you said. "I guess that means that I don't have to hide it anymore."

"He's an idiot," Kagami declared.

"I already knew that though."

"Did he even explain himself to you?"

"No. But he doesn't need to. I already know that he doesn't want me. I knew when he started pawing around about my mark. I knew, but I didn't stop him. I led myself to this point."

"Stop taking responsibility for him being a dick!" Kagami snapped. "Do you realize how many people would kill to have you as a soulmate? Or to have one like you?"

"That's not the point!" you told him. "The point is that the one person I want to want me as a soulmate, doesn't. And there's nothing I can do to fix that! Because he seemed to like me just fine thinking I wasn't anything special to him, but the moment fate steps in, I'm fucked. So unless there's a way to pretend like this mark isn't a permanent reminder that the guy that's supposed to be perfect for me, hates my guts, then I guess this is my life now!"

"Kuroko is so much better at this than I am," Kagami muttered to himself. "Look, have you tried calling him?"

"He made it pretty clear that he wanted nothing to do with me."

"Try it anyway."

"I think I'm good. My heart's been broken enough today, thanks."

"Seriously, this is fucking insane," Kagami stressed, opening a door for you. "From what I've seen, your the one person he actually listens to and hears."

"Because he didn't know what I was! I took advantage of that, and now I'm paying the price for it. I should have just told him and dealt with the consequences when I didn't want him! Now it hurts that much more and I have to watch us go back to being strangers. Maybe I should just transfer."

"Um, (Y/F/N)," Kagami said, tapping your shoulder.

"No, I'm serious! Why torture the team with our angst when I can just move schools? There are plenty in the area. Maybe I could move to Seirin. My parents-"

"(Y/F/N)!" he hissed, turning your head to look at something.

"Fuck," you muttered, locking eyes with Aomine, who had his hands thrown up like he had been using them to make a point to Kuroko, who was glancing back and forth between the two of you.

Kagami dropped his hands from your face and you took the opportunity.

You turned and bolted from the Seirin gym.

You should have been paying attention. You should have made Kagami take you home, you should've asked where you were going before.

Multiple people shouted after you, but you ignored them.

You had to get away from him, you had to make sure that he didn't think you were trying to-

Do what?

You slowed down with a sudden realization. If your life had been a cartoon there would've been breaking sound effects and skid marks behind you.

Why should you care what he thought when you had walked into that gym? He didn't care anymore, not now that he knew what you were, why should you?

Fuck what he thought!

If he wanted to let you go, who gave a fuck what it seemed like? You were friends with Kagami, and by default, Kuroko.

How were you supposed to know that he would go to Kuroko after this sort of thing?

Was it really that weird, that wrong, for you to do what you had just done?

You took a deep breath, letting yourself relax. You were probably over thinking things yet again.

A street court caught your eye and you stared at it for a few moments before heading over.

Someone had left a ball there, whether from pure forgetfulness, or a trust in humanity that someone wouldn't take it.

You pushed on it, checking the air, before you dribbled it around.

You could have gotten on a team if you had wanted, but after middle school, you had had enough of the inter-team drama, and had decided to give it up. So you had managed the boys team to be close to the sport without having to deal with a lot of the drama.

You practiced with them sometimes, when Momoi was managing and you had nothing better to be doing.

You made a few lay-ups, a few foul shots, and moved onto half court shots, soaking in the sound of the ball falling through the net.

The heat of the day was soaking through your t-shirt, soaking into the mark, and you touched it lightly, wondering what you were going to do on Monday.

You had promised the team that you would be back to normal, but would you be able to fake being okay well enough to fool them? How much would it take to fool Aomine into thinking that you were okay?

"Why him?" you asked yourself, tilting your face up to the sun. "Why did it have to be him? It could have been literally anyone else, and you chose the one guy that would never be able to love me for what I am, for what we are."

A breeze rustled the trees around you and you breathed it in, moving to leave when you caught sight of him standing in the entrance of the court.

"Shit," you muttered, looking for another way out. There was no chance that he hadn't seen you, even Aomine wasn't that much of an idiot, but you were seriously considering climbing the fence to get away when he spoke.

"I'm sorry," he started.

"No, stop, I don't want your apology," you told him, wrapping your arms around yourself, not able to look at him. "You have nothing to apologize for. I knew when I made that damn deal that I was risking our friendship, I was just tired of having to hide the damn thing. You of all people realize how much of a pain in the ass it is to cover up. And now that I think about it, it's probably better that this happened now. I can't imagine how badly it would've been if I had gotten even closer to you.

"Besides, now you're free to make your own decision. Satsuki got what she wanted in the end. Go figure, I guess. Anyway, you don't have to worry about it. You won't have to worry about me doing anything now that you know. And I already told you that if you won you would get to decide what you got for winning. You won't have to deal with me after this, I promise. I'll disappear since that's what you want."

"So when you told me I got to choose, you were basically telling me that I could choose whether I wanted you or not?"

"Yeah, pretty much, and I shouldn't've. I already knew which one you were going to choose, I was just being naive."

"That's not how it works dumbass," Aomine said.

You screwed your eyes shut, turning your head away from him.

"I know," you whispered. "Why are you even here?"

"I was looking for you, obviously," he grumbled.

"Why? I already know that you don't want this, you made that abundantly clear with your stories and reactions to me at the beach. What are you trying to do here, Aomine?"

"Trying to tell you that I like you," he stated. "But you keep trying to push me away."

"Huh?" Your eyes flew open at the words, and you stared at him.

"Idiot," he murmured, walking over.

You backed up, trying to keep the distance but he backed you against the fence.

"Do you want me to be honest with you?" he asked softly.

You nodded, wondering what the hell he was doing.

"I might be in love with you, and not because you're my soulmate," he said, which made you cock your head in confusion.

"But . . . all that stuff you said about hating soulmates and not wanting to meet yours . . . ."

"I didn't think you were my soulmate moron," he murmured, reaching out to toy with your hair. "I'm okay with it being you. I'm grateful for it actually."

The look on your face must've said it all because he sighed.

"You should've told me sooner," he told you. "I want to go out with you. No secrets, no lies, no weird games where I'm trying to get you to take your clothes off."

"You had me until that last one," you muttered, taking the hand that was playing with your hair.

He laced your fingers together before you could take your hand away.

"Sorry, I couldn't help it," he told you, wrapping his other arm around your waist. "So what do you say? Go out with me?"

You watched his face as much as you could in the crappy lighting, waiting for any sign that he was joking, waiting for him to yell 'Psych!' and walk away.

But his arm stayed wrapped around your waist, and he seemed too busy watching you to question what was taking you so long.

"If I say yes, am I going to be the laughing stock of the school?" you asked.

"No, I may be a dick, but I'm not that mean," Aomine told you.

"Okay," you whispered. "Yeah, I'll go out with you."

The smile Aomine gave you could've lit the whole court.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I hope you realize that Kagami and Tetsu think we're both crazy now," Aomine said.

"They already knew," you told him, wrapping an arm around his neck. "You have to be crazy to put up with the both of them."

Aomine snorted, nudging your forehead with his.

"I'm sorry that I ran from you," he said. "I shouldn't have done that."

You waited, sensing that he had more to say, he was just gathering his thoughts.

"I don't know what I was thinking," he muttered. "I just had to get away from my own stupidity I guess. I should have guessed that I was your soulmate. You were so on edge whenever I brought it up, but when someone else brought it up it was more like you were sick of the questions. I know you enough to know that if you reacted differently to me that it was because of me. I just . . . I acted on instinct."

"You don't have to explain anything to me Aomine," you told him, burying a hand in his hair. It was softer than you had thought it would be.

"No, you deserve an explanation. I am the whole reason you're even at Seirin."

"I was at Seirin because I wanted to talk to Kagami and that was where we ended up. We could have just as easily gone to his place or to mine."

"Tetsu's been trying for years to get me into the whole 'soulmate' thing, so he was the first person I thought of that could me explain what the fuck was going on. I wasn't upset that it was you, I was upset because you hid it from me and that you thought I was going to flip out about it. I mean, I did, but just not the way you expected."

"I figured you would yell at me, maybe push me around a little bit," you confessed. "I didn't think you were going to run like your ass was on fire to go talk to Kuroko."

"I wouldn't hurt you, for multiple reasons, the main one being I like you."

"I know, but the mind is a strange thing, and mine has a tendency to think worst case scenario first."

He hummed, and you saw the tension melt from his shoulders.

"Come on, let's get out of here," you told him. "Maybe you could go practice with Taiga and Kuroko."

"I want bread, we should go to a coffee shop or something," he suggested.

"Actually, yeah, that's a better idea," you agreed. "I really don't feel like explaining to Seirin what this whole thing was about. I'll call Taiga and explain, how about you call Momoi-san and tell her that everything's okay, 'cause she was really worried when I left."

"Yeah, I got it," he murmured, digging his phone out of his pocket, but he didn't unwrap his arm from around your waist.

"Hey, Taiga," you said when he picked up his phone.

"Where the hell are you, idiot?" Kagami asked.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you even more. Everything's fine now. Aomine kinda cornered me in a street ball court."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, we worked things out. You don't have to worry about it, I promise. We're gonna go to a coffee shop somewhere nearby. I'll call you when I get home so that you know that I got back safely."

"Alright, but if he starts being a dick again, just give me a call."

"I will, thanks for everything Taiga," you told him, ending the call.

It wasn't really explaining things, but you could always tell him about it later, which you were probably going to have to do.

"-fine, Satsuki," Aomine was saying, looking exasperated. "She wants to talk to you."

"Hi Momoi-san," you said when he handed you his phone.

"(Y/F/N)! Are you okay? Where are you?"

"Momoi-san, breathe," you ordered, laughing. "I'm fine. Aomine and I worked things out, I promise."

"Are you dating? Because if you aren't then that's not working things out!" she cried.

"Momoi-san, we worked things out," you assured her.

"So you're dating then?"

You pursed your lips and glanced at Aomine.

"You'll find out soon enough I suppose," you told her, hanging up before she could say anything else to you.

"I think she likes you more than she likes me," he said, and you could hear the repressed pout.

"Nah, you'll always be Dai-chan to her," you told him. "You're her best friend, I just happen to be someone she needs to like because of my affiliation with you."

"You make it sound like this is some sort of business thing," Aomine whined, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"I'm not used to you liking me, Aomine, you're going to have to let me adjust to this. I have been deliberately avoiding the fact that I like you all year."

"Fair enough," he muttered. "But don't expect me to be all conservative about this."

"What's this?" you asked him.

"Us, the fact that you agreed to go out with me."

"I retain all rights to pretend like I don't know you if you get too dramatic," you warned him, which made him scoff, like he wasn't expecting you to go through with it.

"Bold of you to assume that I'm joking," you said, letting his arm slip off your shoulders and he paused.

"You can't be serious," he muttered.

You kept walking.

"(Y/F/N)? You aren't serious right?" he called after you, slight panic in his voice when you didn't turn around.

"Right?" he asked.

#aomine x reader #daiki x reader #aomine daiki x reader #daiki aomine x reader #knb #knb imagines #aomine daiki #knb aomine #knb x reader

272 notes · View notes

emeren · 3 years

Note

Mmm maybe eren walking in on the reader using a vibrator and offering to help her and over stimulating her..

you got it! here it comes :)

red handed - eren jaeger

pairing: eren jaeger x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

content warnings: smut, 18+, masturbation, overstimulation, crying

notes: this one was fun to write, it was my first time writing about a vibrator so idk if it’s that good but i hope you all enjoy nevertheless! <3

you sighed to yourself, anxiously glancing at the clock. your roommate had informed you he wouldn’t be back until around nine; the numbers 7:30 blinking back at you expectantly. there was no way he’d be home early; eren was late to nearly everything he did.

deciding to move into a small, crappy apartment with your childhood best friend had seemed like a good idea at the time. you and eren knew each other forwards and backwards; right side up and upside down.

what you didn’t know was just how needy eren could be. he hated being bored more than anything in the world. he was always lingering, always pestering you to go do something. he would sometimes just walk into your room and stand there, asking you what you were doing and if you wanted to hangout.

most of the time you didn’t mind. most of the time. but there were instances where the lack of a lock on both your bedroom and bathroom doors became an issue.

instances where the pent up hormones became too much to bear and you had to relieve yourself, quickly and quietly.

you thanked your lucky stars that eren had decided to go out with some friends tonight. you’d finally be able to enjoy a moment of bliss for the first time in well over two weeks.

after double checking that the front door was locked and peaking your head into eren’s room to make extra sure he was gone, you skipped to your own space with an air of giddiness. finally some alone time!

you softly closed the door behind you, turning to look at your beside table. pulling the small drawer open and rifling through various pieces of junk, your eyes landed on the small, inconspicuous piece of plastic.

you’d come to realize that your hand wasn’t quick enough to combat eren’s nosey nature, and after a few near misses, you invested in your very first vibrator.

it was a light pink color; just nearly longer than your middle finger. you picked it up carefully before plunking down on your hard mattress. you shifted so your back was pressed against the head board, knees slightly bent.

you could feel yourself aching in anticipation, cold hand slipping past the hem of your pajama pants to press the plastic device against your clit. your thumb moved to click the on button, halting as you heard a floorboard creak from out in the hall.

“ugh,” you muttered to yourself, trying to quell your paranoia. “eren’s not gonna be home for at least an hour.”

you paused for a minute longer, ears straining. when you were met with just the distant sound of sirens, you allowed yourself to continue, clicking the button. the soft vibration buzzed against your nerves, breath hitching involuntarily at the sudden pleasure.

it was a wonderful feeling; your chest heaving as your lower half embraced the foreign object. you leaned your head back against the wall, shifting to a more comfortable position as you bent your knees for better leverage.

your mind began to wander, an image of eren popping into your brain. a few years ago, you would’ve cringed and banished the thought away, but you’d come to acknowledge there was no denying just how attractive your best friend was, no matter how guilty it made you feel.

you pictured his muscular back, leaned over the sink as he washed dishes with a pair of black sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips. you could feel your face heat, closing your eyes as the pressure within the pit of your stomach began to build.

it was easy to reach your breaking point with the vibrator; breath growing shallow as the image of eren’s muscular arms and defined v-line started to fog your mind. you exhaled out through your nose, the gentle buzzing making your clit twitch with desired release.

you were so wrapped up, so distracted. it was the single moment of bliss right before your orgasm, face hot and hands clammy.

you’d never let your mind wander so far before, but you were beginning to imagine eren touching you; letting his hands wander down your skin and caressing your curves, squeezing and-

“what’re you doing?” a voice startled you from the moment of peace, replaced by an overwhelming embarrassment as your eyes snapped open, focusing on the tall figure leaning against the open doorframe.

eren’s arms were crossed, face shadowed as he observed you. you quickly sat up, pulling your vibrator from your pants and clicking it off. the pace of your heartbeat was through the roof, eyes wide and chest tight. how fucking embarrassing!

“i’m- i was-,” you were at a loss for words, standing from your bed. your heart pinged with annoyance, the embarrassment quickly dissipating into anger. “can’t you learn to fucking knock?”

eren didn’t say anything, quirking a brow at your snippy tone. it just aggravated you more, your brain trying to combat the dopamine that never truly reached its full potential. he stood in your doorway, staring you down as you seethed in your place.

“don’t be embarrassed,” he spoke softly. his face had some unknown expression on it, one you’d never seen before. his pupils were dilated, brows furrowed and gaze serious. “it’s a normal thing to do.”

you huffed, shifting your legs in an attempt to quell the burning between your thighs. “i know that. what’s not normal is you barging into my room without knocking when you weren’t even supposed to be home for another hour.”

“i got bored, so i decided to come home and hangout with you,” he explained. his lip was curved upwards, as if he were trying to suppress a smirk. “s’more fun here anyway.”

you frowned at his words, your mind flashing that image of his rough hands trailing down your body, squeezing. you swallowed at the thought, the anger quickly being overpowered by your unfinished arousal. “how long were you standing there?”

“long enough to know you didn’t finish,” he commented, holding eye contact as your eyebrows raised in surprise. you opened your mouth to respond, but eren beat you to it. “c’mon, i think i know you pretty well.”

“not like that,” you muttered demurely, the dull ache nearly too much to bear. you felt like you’d be antsy till you got off, shifting uncomfortably as your eyes fell to the floor. “could you- could you give me some privacy?”

eren didn’t respond for a moment, the sound of your bedroom door shutting sending a feeling of relief to your brain. you looked up, frown deepening.

eren was leaning against the closed door, eyes dark and serious. “let me help you.”

his words sent a confused throb to your cunt, face going slack. was this really happening?

“eren, you don’t mean…” you breathed out, the ache in your center multiplying tenfold at the sight of his tall and muscular figure staring down at you. shit, shit, shit!

“i do,” he responded seriously, taking a step towards you. he was normally tall and formidable, but in the darkness of your bedroom, he seemed infinite. you paused for a moment, your resolve already thin due to the incessant throbbing of your clit. eren seemed to take notice, eyeing you carefully. “who better than your best friend?”

you held your breath before responding. you’d been thinking of this, dreaming of this. now here he was, standing before you and looking at you as though you were his for the taking. and it excited you. it excited you to no end. “i- okay.”

eren was quick to smile, stepping up to you. you craned your neck to look at him, heartbeat erratic as his calloused hands ran down your bare arms. he slowly lowered himself to his knees before you, fingers hooking under the waistband of your pajamas.

his teal eyes glanced up to you, asking for permission. you were afraid your voice wouldn’t work, instead feverishly nodding your head in acceptance. he pulled your pants down tantalizingly slow; like he was unwrapping some sacred gift.

you bit your lip as your thighs became exposed, the feeling of eren’s hot breath fanning across the newly exposed skin. he leaned forward, eyes still locked with yours as he placed a kiss to the soft flesh, lips slicked with chapstick. it was sinful and he knew it.

your cotton pants dropped to the floor, standing in nothing but your underwear and a t-shirt. eren’s gaze grew heavy on your panties - the inevitable wet spot showing just how desperate you were for attention.

“trying to finish before i got home?” he cooed, curling his lip. you felt your face heat, glancing away.

“yeah,” you responded bashfully, eren motioning his head towards the bed.

he breathed out a laugh at your answer, giving your thigh that deeply desired squeeze. “that’s so cute. bet you’re so needy for me now, hm?”

you could feel yourself growing wetter at his words, choosing to sit on the end of the bed in front of him rather than respond. he kissed your leg again, eyes catching on something beside you.

“what’s this?” he smirked, reaching to grab your vibrator. you were too slow to react, reaching for it in vain as eren inspected it. “tsk, tsk. sit back down.”

you hadn’t even realized you’d lifted from the mattress, eren’s dark tone making you abide as though you had no free will.

he gave you a sadistic look, lunging forward to press his tongue flat against your clothed clit. you hissed at the feeling, hands fisting your bed sheets. eren chuckled against you, the vibration making your stomach burn.

“just that already has you squirming?” he mumbled, lips pressing a kiss. as if this couldn’t get anymore embarrassing. “’s’hot.”

you breathed out, the sight of eren between your legs in the lowly lit room entirely too attractive. you weren’t surprised he was so bossy and vocal, hand tapping your leg impatiently.

“off.” he deadpanned, leaning back to watch you as you stood, yanking your underwear down your legs. you tried to quell your excitement; eren’s pupils growing impossibly larger at the sight of your exposed cunt. you sat back down, breath shaky as eren situated himself in front of you. “so wet already.”

eren, just as he always had been, was impatient. you’d just sat down and he was prying your knees apart, tongue hungrily pressing itself against your center. he was sloppy; eating you out with an animalistic hunger that had you nearing your climax much faster than usual.

“eren,” you whimpered, the feeling of his tongue circling your entrance causing a moan to ripple from your mouth. the sound of his name only made him suck harder. he wasn’t letting up; absolutely determined to bring you to your high as fast as possible. “m’gonna cum, eren.”

he groaned at your words, arms hooking around your thighs to hold you in place as he focused intently on your clit. the warm, wet feeling was becoming too much; edges of your vision growing dark as you let your release come crashing down, legs twitching as eren released his suction on you.

he looked at you just long enough for you to notice the sheen on his chin, the sparkle in his eyes, and the grin on his lips. “been waiting so long for this, i’m gonna make the best of it.”

your chest was heaving, brows pulled down in confusion as eren brought his first two fingers to your entrance, circling it twice before stuffing you with his long digits.

you were burning, just having come down from your embarrassingly quick release only to have eren fucking you with his fingers. they easily slid in and out, wet with your sheen as he began to gently suck on your inner thigh. your vision was hazy, eren pushing his digits in to the last knuckle and curling slightly.

the feeling of another release was building in your core; churning and readying you to succumb to eren’s will once more. and you were ready; a breathy moan leaving your lips as he angled his fingers particularly deep. you laid down, hands subconsciously lifting to grope your own chest - searching for an anchor.

“shit,” eren swore at the sight of you palming your breasts, squirming in his hold as his fingers pumped in and out of you, quickening his pace. you whimpered in response, screwing your eyes shut.

you felt the cold object press against your clit before he turned it on; eyes widening in surprise as you shot up. eren was grinning at you, thumb clicking it on as an involuntary cry ripped from your chest.

the vibration was too much as his digits abused your cunt, stuffing into you as far as possible. your clit twitched aggressively, face and neck hot. your brain was growing fuzzy, thoughts clouded as you stared down at eren, mouth hanging open and eyes glossy. he was watching you seriously, pressing the vibrator harder against your clit in order to make you jolt.

you were burning, abdomen flexing as your eyes began to water. the sensations were too much, legs trying to close but you were blocked by eren’s broad shoulders.

you’d never been one to scream, but you couldn’t help the strangled sound that escaped your mouth as eren included his tongue in the overstimulating mix. hot, sticky tears slid down your cheeks, eren’s tongue lapping at the spot where his fingers disappeared inside of you.

his eye contact. oh, his eye contact. it was pervasive and inspective, analyzing every sound and movement you made.

he pulled his tongue back for just a moment, the vibrator buzzing intensely against you. “cum for me.”

and you did. it was too much; your legs jerking and stomach cramping, mind turned to mush at the overflow of dopamine. you collapsed back on the bed, eren leaving the vibrator pressed against your clit for a moment longer, the feeling now more uncomfortable than anything. you waved your hand, too exhausted to beg him to take it off. eren only chuckled, pulling his fingers from you but pressing the object against you harder.

“let me see those tears,” he said sweetly, tapping your thigh. it was a sinister sweetness, the tears pooling down your face as you began to grown numb below your waist. you forced yourself to sit up, eren smiling as he saw your wet face. “good girl.”

he removed the vibrator, tossing it on the bed as he stood. you laid back down, breathing heavy and legs weak. eren hovered above you, leaning down to wipe your cheeks.

“next time, just ask for my help,” he sneered, your eyes rolling weakly. he had a boyish grin on his face, something teasing about his nature. “i’m way better than some stupid vibrator, anyway.”

<3 <3 <3

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