#it’s going to be difficult enough if I don’t start fucking crying every fifteen seconds
Text
turns out repressing every single emotion I feel was a load bearing kind of thing. who knew.
#me.txt#I have cried. so fucking much these past two days. i spent so much of today just crying all the time#love this therapy shit. sooooo helpful#I’m genuinely unsure what the fuck is going to happen this week#it’s going to be difficult enough if I don’t start fucking crying every fifteen seconds#I’ve also not been able to shake thinking of dying At All today <3#is this karma for lying about having suicidal thoughts. that’s kind of funny actually#but there was no way in hell I was telling that woman about those. i have no idea what the consequences would have been#maybe there wouldn’t have been anything. but if there had been. ooooh boy#plus it’s not like I’m actually at risk I would never have the guts but like#the thoughts Do exist lol#and are in fact very difficult to ignore today#which makes me feel like the worst fucking excuse of a human being on this planet god bless#god I need a fucking nap. maybe a new brain. to get over myself already probably Jesus fucking Christ girl#I’m so fucking tired. I’m so goddamn tired of it all#there’s no way out of this because no matter what I do I’m still there#it’s still /me/ and that’s the goddamn problem isn’t it? me. that’s the problem
0 notes
Text
Dinner Is Ready II Dean Winchester x Reader Smut (18+)
Summary: You bring dinner for the two hunters but all Dean can imagine is fucking you senseless on that table. (18+)
A/N: My hand slipped.
Words: 1.8k
Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader
Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (pls don’t try that home lol), dirty talk (a little)
Divider by @firefly-graphics
Dean doesn’t know what happened.
You joined the Winchesters on a specifically difficult hunt three weeks ago and even though Dean has obviously noticed how drop dead gorgeous you are, his body has never reacted quite like … this.
You walk into the Motel after getting some burgers for all of you, and shoot him a smile and it knocks the breath out of Dean’s lungs.
He can’t focus on his dinner, doesn’t follow the conversation between you and Sammy. He can only try his best not to stare too much at you.
He has had dinner with you countless times before. Yet, now the sight of you across from him, in your dark shirt that reveals a tad too much every time you lean forward, forces him to suppress a groan. When you take a sip of your drink, his eyes travel to the bare skin on your neck and he wonders how it would feel to suck on it, as you writhe underneath him. When you lick over your fingers at the end of your meal, Dean’s cock twitches.
“Not hungry tonight?”, your voice catapults him back into reality. You look at him, one eyebrow raised, and nod towards his burger which remains nearly untouched on his plate.
“That’d be a first,” Sam chuckles and leans back in his chair.
Dean clears his throat. You’re still looking at him and in his mind, he sees your eyes rolling back as you moan his name. He shifts in his seat. He was hungry. Very hungry.
Sam watches him with a confused expression before he shakes his head and gets up. “Anyways, if I go now, I might still get to the library in time before it closes.” He stands up. “Thank you for dinner, Y/N.”
You break eye-contact with Dean and smile at his brother. Dean can breathe again. “See you later then,” you say goodbye to him. The door closes behind Sam and the two of you are alone.
Dean doesn’t know if he likes that.
“Did I buy the wrong one?”, you ask then.
He shakes his head. “No, that’s not it.”
You tilt your head and lean back against the chair. Dean tries his hardest not to let his eyes wander down to your chest. “Then what is it?”
No reply. He can’t reply. Everything he’d say right now would be highly inappropriate and ruin whatever kind of friendship you have.
You watch him. His gaze is intense and you shift ever so slightly. You let out a quick laugh. “Are you gonna kiss me?”
His eyes widen for a second at your question until he realizes you were joking. Yet, he desires just that. If you only knew ...
“Dean …” The smile on your face grows more and more nervous. You reach for the bottle.
“I want nothing more right now.”
You almost choke on your drink.
Dean’s eyes darken with lust and he licks over his lips. “I want nothing more than to come over to you, bend you over the table, and fuck you until everyone in this whole damn building hears you screaming my name.”
Just as he thought. Highly inappropriate.
You stare at him, eyes wide. Dean sees how your breathing has sped up, your breasts heaving against the tight shirt. He wants to tore it off right now yet he needs to know you want this too and he didn’t just overstep every existing boundary on this earth.
“What are you waiting for then?”
It’s all he needs to hear.
He jumps up from his chair and closes the distance between the two of you with two long strides. Grabbing your chin roughly, he forces you to look at him before his lips crush against yours. He hears you gasp but is already drowning in the feeling of your soft body against his. When you moan, his tongue slips into your mouth, and he feels your arms around his neck.
He pulls you up from the chair and raises you up to sit on the table. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him close.
“Fuck, you’re so hard already,” you whisper as he presses himself against your body, and he groans.
“All your fault …” He pulls you into another kiss, rough and desperate, and exactly what both of you need. His lips travel down your neck, sucking on it just like he imagined a few minutes earlier, and each whimper that leaves your mouth causes him to grow even harder. By now, his jeans are uncomfortably tight around him.
As if you read his mind, he feels your fingers fumbling with his belt. When you finally open it, pull down his boxers, and he springs free - you gasp. It’s impressive. You carefully reach for his cock, your fingers enclosing it, and Dean moans softly. Your mouth waters as you feel him in your hand; heavy and hard, and you the thought of him inside of you, filling you up completely, dampens your panties even more now. Your fingers flick over the reddened tip, smearing the pre-cum down his shaft before you start to stroke him. Slowly at first, the sounds of Dean’s moans making your hips buckle forward ever so slightly. After a while you speed up - long, hard strokes accompanied by your occasional hum and whimper - and Dean buries his fingers into your hips, until he suddenly grabs your wrist, forcing you to stop.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he hisses.
You chuckle lowly and the sound resonates with him. He needs you. Now.
In a matter of seconds, your clothes come off. You barely have time to process it when simultaneously he lowers his mouth over your breast and slips his finger inside of you. You cry out.
“Damn, you’re so wet,” he mumbles and then his tongue flicks over your nipple. You grab onto his arm, scared you might pass out from the overwhelming pleasure. His hand moves quickly, pumping in and out of you, circling over your clit, pushing you closer to the edge with each damn moment.
Moans followed by incoherent curses and words leave you. Your head is thrown back, eyes closed, mouth slightly opened - in Dean’s eyes you look like the epitome of lust. A goddess in her purest form.
Your legs start to tremble and with a smirk he realizes that you are close. Each pump and thrust pushes you closer to the edge. Your breathing speeds up, chest heaving up and down, and your moans become more and more high-pitched until …
Until Dean stops.
Your eyes fly open, and whatever sentence you start to protest - it gets cut short and turns into a groan when you feel Dean’s cock at your entrance. He enters you in one swift movement and you cry out.
Both of you could have come right then and there.
He’s big, almost too big for you, and stretches you in the most delicious way possible. A mixture of pain and pleasure rushes through your body and you try desperately to hold on to his shoulders as he completely fills you up. Dean bites his lower lip. You are so fucking wet for him.
Dean fucks you hard. He can’t stop himself from doing so. He grabs onto your legs so tightly as he pounds into you that you are convinced, it will leave bruises later on. His lips search for yours and you drown in another hungry kiss. You hiss as he sucks on your lower lips, your fingers scratching over his back.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans and shifts slightly. Spots appear in front of your eyes as he starts hitting your g-spot. “So fucking tight for me …”
“Dean,” you whimper, not capable of saying anything else but his name over and over again. The small motel room is filled with heavy breathing and the sound of naked bodies slapping against each other - Dean is convinced that it can probably be heard outside even but he couldn’t care less.
All he craves right now is that sweet release only you can offer him.
His movements soon begin to turn sloppy, he is close, so damn close. One of his hands slips from your leg to your wet pussy, and you arch your back when you feel his fingers on your clit. The moans he draws from you are torture for him - all he wants is to spill himself inside of you, but he can’t. Not yet.
“Do you like that?”, he purrs into your ear and the way you twitch is answer enough. “Do you like getting fucked on this table?” His finger flicks over your nub. Your legs start to tremble again. “Oh, baby, you should see yourself … all wet and desperate … writhing underneath my touch like a dirty little-”
You come so suddenly, it takes both of you by surprise. Like a coil that snaps inside your stomach, he pushes you over the edge. You let out a loud curse and your eyes roll back. Your fingers bury themselves in his back and Dean knows it will leave marks later on.
Dean feels your muscles clench around his dick and he can’t hold back any longer. He thrusts into you ruthlessly until he follows shortly behind. He reaches around your back, trying to support the both of you, and not to crush you under his weight. His head falls forward against your shoulder as he comes with a shuddering breath, and releases himself inside of you.
You need a while to collect yourself. Stars dance in front of your eyes and you lazily stroke over Dean’s back. Both of you are still panting heavily as you rest against one another.
“Fuck,” you finally mumble and chuckle again. Dean smirks against your skin. “You should’ve told me that you were hungry for something else before I went out and paid for those damn burgers.”
A soft laugh escapes him and he lifts his head. Dark green, satisfied eyes look at you. “Fucking hell, Y/N …”
“Have I stilled your hunger?”, you ask him and give him a short kiss on the lips.
“Mhh,” he makes and slowly pulls out of you. The emptiness feels overwhelming. “Give me a few minutes,” Dean says, “and then I’m ready for dessert.”
He means to add something but just in that moment the door to the room opens.
Sammy.
“The library was already …”, he stops dead in his tracks and stares at the two of you, shock and confusion written all over his face, “ … closed.”
You shriek and turn your face away. Dean grabs your shirt and throws it on you, to cover at least something.
“I was gone for fifteen minutes, what the fuck!”, Sam exclaims. “And on the table?! You guys are disgusting!”
SPN Masterlist
If you want to be added to my taglist, use the form in my bio or send me a message! <3
SPN Tag List: @writerdee1701 @musicalmuffindog1410 @becs-bunker @akshi8278 @tvdspngirl314 @awaken-the-sirens @angelofthetrenchcoats @coloring-bud
#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester x you#supernatural imagines#dean winchester smut#dean winchester x reader smut#supernatural smut#supernatural#dean winchester#spn imagines#astrids fics
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
hello! may i request headcanons for chuuya having a crush on someone who's dense? like he could ask them out in the most straightforward way possible and it would still go over their head?
yes, yes of course you may!
sorry this took so long! my computer was out of commission for abt a week (or two..??)
but this is also my birthday writing piece for chuuya!! (4/29/21) i even added a small drabble thingy in addition to the hcs for the occasion hehe
from where i am, it is about fifteen minutes past midnight so it’s officially chuuya day here!!
happy birthday chuuya i love you! you deserve the whole world and everyone is willing to fight tooth and nail to ensure your happiness! we love you! 💗💗
anyways, i hope you all enjoy this! i kinda had some writer’s block but it was still a lot of fun to write! there might be some mistakes, but i’ll scan over it again later. reader is gender neutral! have fun!
chuuya having a crush on a dense! reader
nakahara chuuya x gn! reader
im cackling somebody help him
he’s frustrated bc you can’t take a hint or a thousand but he can’t even be mad bc he’s whipped
“look at you all dressed up today, wanna go out later? my treat?”
“oh really? thanks chuuya-san! you’re such a nice friend. i’ll go invite the others right now, i’ll see you later!”
“...”
fast forward to later in the evening and he finds himself at a little restaurant with the black lizard + higuchi and akutagawa
sigh
in unison all of them go, “thank you for the meal chuuya-san!” (except aku and hirotsu are quieter & and gin just a nods hehe)
“no problem” (ꐦ ´͈ ᗨ `͈ )
gin only pats him on the back in sympathy
he spends a lot of time trying to think of ways to make it absolutely and undeniably clear that he has feelings for you
he always fails
“(y/n) i like you”
“i like you too chuuya-san”
“really?”
“mhm”
“t-then will you—”
“you’re a really great friend! and superior too”
“...nevermind”
“oh were you saying something?”
“nah, just forget about it”
tachihara is laughing in the corner of the corridor
dont worry, chuuya made sure to get back at him
chuuya’s been pinning after you for years and frankly, his failed attempts to woo you has lead everyone to the breaking point
and i mean everyone
yes, even aku
hell even dazai
but dazai also thinks it’s funny, so he doesn’t mind all that much
okay bye bye dazai-san this headcanon set isn’t abt you rn
PLEASE EVERYONE FEELS SO BAD FOR HIM
they knew even if he kissed you, you still might not get it
so they decided to help him
super secret mission get chuuya and (y/n) together is a go!
they’re still working on a proper mission name, don’t mind them
they had a super secret strategy meeting!
you can bet your ass that they nearly got nothing done
akutagawa & kaiji weren’t much help, neither was higuchi, mori, or elise
tachihara nearly got killed for a thoughtless comment
“just tell them chuuya-san!”
“i already fucking did you ass!”
gin, hirotsu, and kouyou were the most helpful !!
hirotsu and kouyou both agreed on the idea that chuuya should try courting with bouquets of flowers instead of flat out asking you bc they knew you found them pretty
(even if you don’t identify as a female, flowers are for everyone no matter gender or sexuality! so let’s normalize giving flowers to everyone <33 )
gin didn’t speak but she used cards to communicate
everyone knew that you weren’t stupid (you wouldn’t have survived in the mafia if you were) but they did know that you were only stupid when it came to all this lovey dovey stuff
i mean, if chuuya gave you flowers every so often, there’s no way that you wouldn’t piece it together at some point
right...??
but kouyou assured him that even though you wouldn’t get it right away, you’d appreciate the gestures and that he’ll stand out more
she even said that if someone gave her flowers, she would appreciate it, whether or not she reciprocated their feelings
it takes guts to be so up front with your feelings after all
gin and hirotsu only nodded with her explanation
once again, this only provoked a reaction out of tachihara
“what do you know gin? i get the old man and kouyou-san, they’re grown, but you? what do you know abt courting? or flowers? what are you a girl?”
akutagawa choked on his cough, higuchi on air, and on the other side of yokohoma at the ada, dazai is cackling
yes, dazai somehow placed a listening device onto chuuya’s hat and was listening in
don’t ask how, it’s dazai
“DAZAI GET YOUR BANDAGED ASS OFF THE COUCH AND STOP LAUGHING”
anyways
the next day, chuuya did what was barely discussed and for once, things actually started to look up
until they started look to down again
at first, it actually looked like you understood his intentions after he gave you a bouquet of flowers
literally everyone was leaning against the opposite hallway you two were in and then they got excited !!
especially chuuya !
but then your expression sort of changed...??
and then in their heads they simultaneously went, “oh no”
they knew that expression
it was very familiar when you tended to friend zone chuuya
but boy let me tell you what you said next made them facepalm and or make their jaws drop
“ah, so you really are friend zoning me huh chuuya-san; what a shame, i really did like you”
LEMME TELL YOU WHEN I SAY THAT CHUUYA WAS DISTRESSED I MEAN HE WAS DISTRESSED
you liked him??
him of all people??
he wasn’t complaining, no of course not, but he still couldn’t believe it
but that wasn’t what he was really focusing on right now
what in any form or language did it say he was friend zoning you?!
flower language apparently
chuuya chose to buy the bouquet of yellow roses, pink carnations, and yellow carnations bc he thought you would appreciate the brighter colors, and so that you’d remember them better (because remembering them, meant remembering him)
but ooh boy
altogether, they meant the exact opposite message he wanted to send
someone help him pls
“you see chuuya-san, yellow roses mean friendship, pink carnations mean gratitude, and yellow carnations mean rejection; sooo in a nutshell, these pretty much say ‘thank you for being my friend, but im rejecting you”
no one can tell if tachihara is crying or wheezing
and dazai is having the time of his life
yes, he started listening in on him again
and chuuya is just stunned
like speechless and unmoving stunned
is he just bad at this whole courting/dating thing?? it’s only been one day and of it and somehow he was the one doing the rejecting??
“thank you for the flowers chuuya-san, i’ll be going now; i’ll make sure to let this affect our friendship. i’ll see you tomorrow!”
you passed by the not so subtle group of people
“tachihara-kun..?? are you alright?”
just for context, he was leaning his forehead against the wall using his forearm
again, it was hard to tell whether he was crying or wheezing
“i-im okay (y/n)-san...i think c-chuuya-san has it worse than me”
“...okay..?”
BACK TO CHUUYA
he’s still frozen poor baby
but it’s okay bc after like 5 more seconds he’s chasing you down the hallway you were walking in
kouyou, with a knowing smile on her face, ushers everyone away towards the opposite direction
she received some whines (ahem, tachihara and mori) but silenced them by summoning golden demon
but it’s okay
if they run fast enough, they can see what happens through the security cameras
chuuya caught up with you and tried to explain everything but he was exhausted
emotionally, physically (bc since when did you walk that fast??), and generally just tired with the whole situation
he just wanted to call you his; was that too much to ask??
as explosive as he can be, he can be calm and collected too
and he really did try to be that way as he talked with you but it was very difficult at the moment
the dumbfounded and confused look on your face his face twitch with annoyance and his heart started beating faster bc god you were cute
BUT THATS BESIDES THE POINT RIGHT NOW
thank goodness after what seemed like years, you finally somewhat understood what happened
you didn’t understand completely but it was something
The two of you stood in the middle of the unusually empty hallway facing each other, you with the bouquet still in hand. It was quiet as you and Chuuya assessed the situation.
You looked at him skeptically and he stared right back you with his gorgeous blue eyes.
“...So you do like me Chuuya-san??”
“Yes”
“And you were trying to court me just now, not friend zone me??”
“Yes”
You got most of your questions out of the way, but there was something that you’ve been wondering about for quite a while.
“...So you’re not gay for Dazai-san??”
“Yes, im not wait—GAY FOR DAZAI?? THAT MACKEREL??”
Chuuya did a double take. What in heavens name made it seem like he liked that suicidal maniac?? Why would he choose him if he had you?
Like he would choose him anyways; or ever consider him as a possible romantic partner.
“Oh, so you are?”
“NO! I SAID I LIKED YOU DIDN’T I?”
“Well yeah, but I thought you liked Dazai-san too. As annoying as he is, he can be quite charming—”
He was out of patience at this point (nope definitely not because you were talking about Dazai who told you that?) and just decided to kiss you.
You immediately melted into the kiss and kissed him back with the same amount of love and feeling.
Letting the bouquet fall to the ground, you wrapped you arms around his neck and his put his on your lower back and brought you closer to him. After a few more moments, the two of you broke apart for air.
The two of you, slightly out of breath, leaned your foreheads against each other and just basked in each others presence.
Chuuya looked into your (e/c) eyes and asked you just a little bit above a whisper, “Now do you get my intentions and feeling?”
You blinked at him before breaking out into a grin, “Hmm I’m not sure; do you wanna do that again Chuuya?”
The red head only blinked back at you before rolling his eyes, a smile present on his handsome features, his heart fluttering at you using his name with the honorific.
“Dumbass”
Smiling cheekily at him, you pressed a kiss on his cheek and started dragging him towards the lobby to take a walk around the building perimeter, knowing that the two of you can’t be too far from work.
The way down to the lobby was mostly in comfortable silence until you said something that made Chuuya want to bash his head against the wall.
“You know, you could’ve just told me you liked me Chuuya. It’s not like I would’ve said no.”
Once again, as the rest of the more power mafia members watch from security cameras, it is hard to tell whether Tachihara is crying or wheezing of laughter.
omake !!
The two of you just started making your way around the building when suddenly a very familiar voice came from Chuuya’s prized hat.
“Chuuyaaaa!! It was about time you stopped being a chicken, Chibi!”
Removing his hat from his head, he started yelling at it not knowing exactly where the listening device was planted.
“TEME! HOW DID YOU—”
“And (y/n)! I would congratulate you, but I think I would rather offer you my condolences. Why him?! He’s just a slimy slug. OOH OOH how would you like to join me in a double suicide?! A shame it won’t be a lover’s suicide but it’ll annoy Chuuya so I think it’ll be worth it! ”
“YOU—”
“And please don’t kiss while I’m listening in. You made me lose my appetite! And it was such a shame! I was eating crab using Kunikida-kun’s money! Do you know what you’ve cost me?!”
“DAZAI YOU PIECE OF—”
“Ah! Kunikida-kun is here! I have to go!”
You can hear something is the background that vaguely sounds like, “DAZAI YOU WASTE OF BANDAGES STOP USING MY MONEY”
“DAZAI DON’T YOU DARE LEAVE IM NOT DONE WITH—”
*Click!*
The click sound from the hat revealed that Dazai disconnected.
Chuuya twitched and glared furiously at his signature hat hating that the voice he hated the most came out of it.
“Aww, I didn’t get to talk to Dazai-san”
Chuuya whipped his head towards you, a look of mock (or real) betrayal showing on his features.
You laughed at him before taking the hat out of his hands and placing it on his head.
He shyly looked away before muttering a thanks making you smile wider. Just as the two of you were about to start walking, a small explosion erupted from his hat; it was likely that Dazai made the listening device self destruct.
“DAZAI YOU BASTARDD”
At the Armed Detective Agency, a certain suicidal maniac hid from the wrath of his current partner as he thought about the wrath his old one.
“Hmmm I wonder if Chuuya would finally stop wearing his ugly hats if I blow all of them up...”
as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3
writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize! the reblog button is there for a reason
#bungou stray dogs x reader#bsd x reader#bungou stray dogs#bsd#nakahara chuuya x reader#chuuya x reader#chuuya x you#nakahara chuuya#chuuya nakahara#x reader#x gender neutral reader#gender neutral reader#port mafia#pm#port mafia x reader#pm x reader#fluff#drabble#head canons#anime#bsd manga#bungou stray dogs imagine#bsd imagine#bungou stray dogs drabble#bsd drabble#star writes!#fanfiction#star's head canons#star's drabbles#happy birthday chuuya!
480 notes
·
View notes
Text
day two ❅ cause i’m mrs. snow, til death we’ll be freezing
don’t cry snowman, don’t leave me this way, a puddle of water can’t hold me close, baby
day one ❅ day two ❅ day three | series masterlist
character: todoroki touya | dabi
genre: smut + angst
notes: weeee yay day two!! touya + co go ice skating :) this, again, was not supposed to be as long as it is, but eh here we are!! | title credit: snowman by sia
warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), drug use, very rough sex, public sex, generally toxic relationships, size difference, tense family dynamics, reader’s probably a lil too obsessed with touya’s cum, slight dacryphilia, slight degradation
words: 8.3k
synopsis:
I’m only worried about you, you want to say. It isn’t your intention to put more stress on him, especially when being forced to spend nearly every waking minute around his blood siblings is evidently very difficult for him, but you don’t want him dead because of it, either.
“I love you,” you tell him instead, unsaid words sown into the fabric of the sentence.
But he doesn’t need to hear you say it, he can feel it—in the air around you, radiating off your frame in thick waves that crash into him in the most pleasant way; in the way your soft fingertips stroke his cheeks, tracing his features with the utmost gentleness; in the way you gaze so tenderly at him, eyes sweeping across his face akin to the most compassionate caress.
It all makes him feel like he can do this, like he might actually survive this, so long as you’re by his side.
❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅
The wind howls gently, picking up swirls of snow and dusting it against the window, the snowflakes soft taptaptap’s echoing among the tiny bedroom. It’s grey but bright outside, the morning of December 22nd. Strands of hair stick to your cheeks and neck, chills erupting across your skin as you wiggle around beneath Touya’s heavy arm, laying across your waist in a loose grasp, your movements causing the blanket to slip from your clammy skin, a soft hiss spit through your teeth as the cool air of the room hits your heated skin. Touya’s got his head buried in the pillow, his torso laying half on top of yours, legs intertwined.
“Touya-nii,” you whimper, eyebrows furrowing a little in frustration as you struggle under him. “Niichan,”
“Mmph,” he emits an unintelligible noise in response, muffled by the pillow.
“Niichaaaaan,” the honorific leaves your lips in a whine, giving another weak shove at his arm. “Niichan, you’re so hot, I’m gonna melt,”
“Too bad. We’re not getting up yet,”
You whine again, your squirming becoming more vigorous. “But Touya-nii, I’m so thirsty! Please, my mouth is drier than the desert, I swear to God,”
“If you don’t stop acting like a brat, I’m gonna fuck you like a brat,”
“Is that supposed to be a threat?”
That gets his attention, fluffy head shooting up, white tufts tousled and standing on end, sleepy eyes squinting against the sudden light as he tries to glare at you. “Excuse me?”
The deep, rough lilt to his voice, heavy with sleep, makes your stomach flutter, blood rushing to your cheeks as you gaze at him.
Even in the morning, he’s stupidly beautiful.
“G-Got you up,” you giggle a little, reaching forward to run your fingers through his messy hair, smoothing it down in the process.
He deadpans, glaring at you for a moment, though there’s no heat in his eyes. You stare back, blinking twice, little fingers trailing down the side of his face and then tracing his jaw, murmuring about how pretty he is.
“Pretty, huh?” he finally sighs, a small grin spreading across his cheeks, head tilting to the side as your fingers travel down his neck, tracing the intricate black ink.
“Mm, very pretty,” you whisper to yourself, eyes zeroing in on his adams apple as it bobs with his chuckle. “But I’m still thirsty,”
He laughs again, rolling his eyes and pushing himself up completely, sheets pooling at his waist. “Fucking brat,”
It’s just past 9am, but the kitchen is empty. Touya carries you there, and even though you’re more than capable of walking by yourself, you snuggle into his neck, scattering gentle kisses across the scarred skin, head resting against his broad shoulder.
He exhales a sigh as you do so, and you can physically feel the tension leaving his body, a tiny bit more with each kiss you press against him.
A soft yelp hitches in your throat as he places you on the counter, cold marble stinging the bare skin of your thighs, Touya smirking at the sound as he wanders over to the fridge, rooting through it for a moment before turning back towards you.
“Water?” you make a face. Touya deadpans for the second time in fifteen minutes.
“You said you were thirsty, did you not?”
“Yeah, but…” you trail off shyly, hooking your ankles together and swinging your legs a little. “I wanted chocolate milk,”
“No,” he says instantly, slamming the fridge shut with more force than necessary, jars jiggling and clinking together with the motion. “Water first,” he uncaps the bottle and holds it out to you. “Don’t you dare start pouting,” he adds, when your eyebrows are beginning to knit together, voice stern. “You did not drag me out of bed at nine in the fucking morning because your mouth was drier than the desert just to pout when I give you water. You know you aren’t allowed sugar first thing in the morning, baby,”
You suppose he has a point, working hard to smooth your face as you take the bottle from him.
“M’sorry, niichan,” you murmur before taking a sip, gazing at him through your lashes.
He glares at you for another moment before a tiny grin breaks his face, shaking his head with a soft chuckle.
“You’re really testing me this morning,” he mumbles as large hands pry your knees apart, wedging his hips between your thighs while hands curl around your hips and drag you towards the edge of the counter. Your legs wrap around his waist—an automatic reaction—ankles hooking again and holding him close, bodies pressed flush together.
Something’s still off, you can tell, evident in the way his head drops the moment you’re close enough, forehead resting against the crown of your head, exhaling.
“It’s not very nice, babygirl,” he speaks again after a beat of silence, calloused hands slipping under your—his, your mind reminds you—t-shirt, palming your hips. “Think you should make it up to me, hmm?”
And you want to, God, do you ever want to, want to kiss all of his sorrow away, want to pull those gorgeous broken whines and throaty moans from him, want to help him forget about whatever it is that’s bothering him so deeply, to lock it out of his head, shoving it from his mind as his brain is filled with thoughts of you. But…
“B-But niichan, we’re in the kitchen,” you have to force the trembling words from your mouth, biting down hard on your lip to keep from moaning as his teeth skim along your neck, evoking a full body shiver.
“So?” his lips brush against your skin, nimble fingers dipping into your cute pink panties.
“Anyone could—could come in any second and—”
“What? Catch us?” he pulls back a little, smirking. “And?” sapphire searches your face as heat rushes to your cheeks, rushes shamefully between your legs. He snorts a moment later, pressing two fingers against your clothed cunt. “Exactly,” the word is just a huff of breath as he nudges his nose against yours. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
“I—”
“Don’t try lying,” he sounds bored as he cuts you off, fingers rubbing at your little hole through the damp cotton of your panties. “Your pussy’s very honest,”
And the broken whine that hitches in your chest is nothing short of absolutely pathetic, back arching and eyes fluttering as he begins flicking his thumb over your clit, keeping his touches light and fast.
“Yeah,” he breathes, the word bordering on a growl. “Of course you would. Bet you could cum from just this if Natsuo were watching, huh? Want everyone to know how easy you are for niichan? How much of a good little slut you are for niichan?”
“You planning on testing that theory out?”
Natsuo’s unexpected voice makes you jump, eyes snapping open and flying to his face as you choke on a gasp, Touya’s thumb choosing then to press hard against your swollen little clit, forcing an embarrassingly loud cry from your lips and paying no mind to his younger brother, who’s leaning casually against the doorframe with a smirk decorating his face. In fact, Touya doesn’t react to Natsuo at all—
Because he already knew.
“N-Niichan,” you nearly wail, burying your scalding face in his shoulder, nails digging into the smooth muscles of his back.
“Aww,” Natsuo coos, and he sounds genuine. “C’mon, don’t hide from me, sweetheart,”
“What, now you’re shy? When you were about to get off on the very thought just moments ago?” Touya’s patronizing chuckle vibrates against you, though his hands are on your back, petting you in smooth, soothing motions.
“Niisan, don’t tease,” Natsuo laughs, and you smush your face harder against Touya’s shoulder, whimpering a little as Natsuo’s voice gets closer. “I just figured if you two were gonna have a cheeky lil fuck in the kitchen, the least you could do is let me watch,”
Touya begins laughing again, starts to say something, voice abruptly cutting off. You stiffen, clinging to him, breath bated as you listen.
“Surprised you two were the first ones up,” Fuyumi’s voice floats through the space, tone clipped.
You peak out from over Touya’s shoulder, watching as Fuyumi fiddles around with their extremely expensive coffeemaker, a deep scowl etched into her face.
“Oh? And why’s that?” Touya asks lightly, sounding genuinely surprised, innocently curious.
“You know why,” she snaps, slamming her coffee mug down on the granite countertop and whipping her head around to glare at her older brother.
Touya chuckles and shakes his head, maintaining that he doesn’t, he swears, and if you didn’t know any better, if you couldn’t see the smug smirk on his face, the mocking amusement swirling in his eyes, you’d believe him to be telling the truth.
But Fuyumi knows him better than that, rolling her eyes and grumbling unintelligibly under her breath. Shouto chooses then to enter the kitchen, hair slightly mussed, looking a little like a white and red haystack atop his head, and Touya’s body goes rigid.
He yawns out his morning greeting, glancing around the room, mismatched eyes lingering on your bare thighs for just a second too long.
Touya notices, because Touya notices everything—especially when it comes to Shouto, cobalt eyes sharp and trained on his every movement—moving to shield you with his body as best he can.
“C’mon princess,” he’s mumbling as his hands force their way under your ass, hefting you up again. “Let’s go,”
And no one misses the way Shouto watches the two of you leave, the way his sleepy eyes focus on your ass—just barely concealed by the cotton panties, Touya’s hands providing more coverage than the garment does—then move down to his brother’s shameless erection, partially obscured by your body, inhaling a sharp gasp that everyone hears, that everyone knows what it’s in reaction to, that everyone ignores.
❅ ❅ ❅
Today’s activity is ice skating, Rei tells you as your exiting the cabin.
She looks excited, a smile on her soft lips, eyes bright as she pats your shoulder, and it makes warmth flutter in your chest, glad to see the events of yesterday haven’t completely dampened her mood.
“Do you know how to skate?” Natsuo asks you, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.
“I do,” you say proudly, looking over at Rei as you reach Touya’s car, sharing a grin. “Rei taught me not long after she and my father started dating,”
“Aw, mom,” Natsuo coos, looking over at his mother for reassurance. “That’s sweet,”
Rei hums, nodding as her eyes drift back to yours.
“Hold on a second,” she says as her smile slowly begins to dissipate, glancing from Touya’s hand on the handle of his car’s passenger door, to your face, to Natsuo standing by his own car a few feet away, brows knitting.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting in the car?” his response comes out as a question, spoken slowly as he’s worried it’s the wrong answer, tilting his head a little like a puppy.
“There’s no need for you to take more than one car,” Rei says pointedly, her gaze darting to Touya, holding his eyes even though she was speaking to Natsuo. His mouth falls open to protest, but she continues. “The five of you will fit in one. We’ll see you there,”
Her tone is final as she turns away and gets into her own car, the five of you watching in silence as it reverses onto the road, snow and ice cracking and popping under the thick tires. Natsuo turns back to the group, a large, boyish smile on his face.
“It’s fine! We’ll take my car,” Natsuo’s eyes soften a little as he looks over at his silver Porsche, patting the roof affectionately.
“No,” Fuyumi responds immediately. “Absolutely not.”
Stone eyes fly back to her face, alarmed. “What! Why?”
“Because you drive like a lunatic—I refuse to ride in any car when you’re behind the wheel,”
Natsuo frowns as he rounds his car, coming to stand with the group. “Well your car isn’t here, since you came up with mom, so—”
“We can take Touya’s car,”
“No,” Touya nearly growls, the unexpected rumbling deep in his chest causing everyone to flinch.
“Why not?” Fuyumi’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, eyes narrowing slightly as she glances at her older brother. “I can’t think of any reason—”
“He is not stepping foot in my fucking car,”
Fuyumi’s eyes widen slightly, staring at him in disbelief, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Do I look like I’m fucking kidding, or are you really that stupid?”
“Touya-nii,” you gasp softly, tugging on his arm a little and then hugging it to your chest. His voice drips with venom, sharper than a tungsten needle, and it makes both you and Natsuo wince, despite not being the object of his fury.
“Fine, Christ, I just won’t come then,” Shouto finally chimes in with a roll of his eyes. “Will that make you happy?”
Touya whirls around to face him, rips his arm from your grasp so aggressively, so suddenly, that it sends you stumbling backwards. Natsuo catches you quickly, righting you with an arm wrapped around your shoulders.
“You wanna know what would make me happy? You fucking de—”
“That’s enough,” Fuyumi cuts him off with a glare so fierce it sends chills skittering across your skin, regardless of the thick sweaterdress and heavy jacket you’re currently wrapped up in. Natsuo must feel it course through your body, because he pulls you tighter against him, fingers digging into your shoulder.
Touya’s eyes snap to his sister, raising an eyebrow as a terrifying smile spreads across his face. It’s a smile you’ve only seen a few times before, gleaming white teeth on display, angular jaw clenched tightly. It’s a smile that makes icy dread pool in your stomach, thick and heavy, and you try to press yourself closer to Natsuo, body flush against his side, partially hiding your face in his chest.
Still, Fuyumi does not waver. “You are an adult, Touya. For God’s sake, act like one! Shouto is not a disease—”
“Could’ve fooled me,”
“—that will infect your car! He’s your baby brother!”
Touya’s eye twitches at the term, painful smile stretching even wider. In the pale afternoon sunlight, those glinting white teeth look pointier than normal, and you whimper into Natsuo’s chest.
“My car, my rules,”
“Oh my God! Are you being ser—”
“Alright, this is getting a little ridiculous,” Natsuo jumps in quickly, trying to keep his voice light. “You’re scaring our little princess, niisan,” he says, voice softer, a large hand rubbing your shoulder in comfort.
Touya spins around again, wild sapphire eyes finding yours, his face falling the moment your gazes meet.
Little fingers have tangled themselves in Natsuo’s jacket, clinging to him so hard the skin over your knuckles is stretched taut. Your entire body trembles as you blink hard, trying in vain to clear the tears rushing to your eyes. The pounding of your heart echoes in your ears, so loud you can’t hear what Touya says as he swoops towards you, eyes wide and worried.
“We’ll take my car, and Fuyumi will drive.”
Natsuo’s voice holds the same note of finality that his mother’s does, large hand still curled around your shoulder as firm stone eyes scan the three faces in front of him.
❅ ❅ ❅
Touya refuses to have you and Shouto in the back seat alone, and Natsuo insists that he sits in the passenger seat, to make sure Fuyumi doesn’t hurt his baby, he explains, which is how you end up smack in the middle of the oldest and youngest Todoroki children.
It’s cramped—they’re both too big to be in the backseat of such a small car—resulting in the three of you being squished together, your body packed in tightly—practically wedged—between theirs.
It’s nearly impossible to keep your thigh from brushing against Shouto’s, but you try anyway, leaning into Touya as much as you can. A strong, possessive arm is wrapped tightly around your waist, fingers fisted in the material of your little sweaterdress, sapphire eyes hyper-focused on the way Shouto’s corduroy clad thigh keeps knocking against your bare knee with every gentle jolt of the car.
But when Shouto idly drops his large hands heavily to his lap with a sigh, long fingers splayed casually, just the very tip of his pinky resting against your thigh—well.
Touya sees fucking red, yanking your body away from his little brother immediately with a vicious growl caught in his throat, the movement so sudden and unexpected it has both you and Shouto gasping, heterochromatic eyes wide and alert as they snap to his eldest brother’s face,
He hadn’t even noticed. Truthfully, you probably wouldn’t have either if it hadn’t been Touya’s suffocating, overbearing presence beside you—engulfing you, causing you to be excessively aware of every miniscule movement, every jostle and touch and bump.
“Don’t fucking touch her,”
It takes Shouto another half a second before the realization hits him, eyes darting down to his thighs, finally taking note of the placement of his fingers. Then he’s scoffing, rolling his eyes as he huffs to himself, quiet and under his breath, something about Touya being absolutely ridiculous and childish and insecure.
Yet Shouto’s legs spread a little more every time Touya pulls you a few centimeters closer to him, ensuring that your thighs can never quite escape his, his strong muscles constantly nudging against yours.
It isn’t until you push your knee back against his, hard and purposeful, giving Shouto a sharp look, that this behaviour finally halts.
“Who’s being childish now?” you hiss, eyes holding his sternly, widening a moment later as if to say, Stop aggravating him.
Shouto’s face falls, lips tugging down into a frown as his gaze searches your face, head shaking a little. He opens his mouth—to apologize, you think—but is cut off by Touya’s immature snickering, his chest vibrating against your back.
“Fuck you,” he seethes instead, eyes narrowing and mouth snapping into a firm, unimpressed line.
“Watch it—”
“Play nice, you two,” Natsuo warns from the front seat. “I won’t hesitate to pull this car over and beat both your asses on the side of the road for everyone to see,”
“Okay, dad,” Shouto snorts as Touya simultaneously responds with, “I’d like to see you try,”
Nevertheless, Natsuo’s little warning does manage to shut them up for the remainder of the ride, Shouto crossing his legs, knees pressed up painfully against the door in an attempt to stop touching you. You’re practically in Touya’s lap by the time you arrive at the Ena Skating Rink at Crystal Park, seatbelt uncomfortably biting into your flesh through your clothing.
“I don’t understand why we had to drive an hour just to go skating,” Shouto grumbles just as Fuyumi turns into the parking lot, face set in a deep frown, eyebrows furrowed as he glares out the window. “There was a perfectly fine lake like, ten minutes from the cabin,”
“Shou, you sound like a petulant teenager,”
“Technically, he is a petulant teenager,”
“Not for much longer,”
“That’s right, your birthday’s coming up,” you say automatically without thinking, words slipping from your mouth as Fuyumi circles the lot in search of a parking spot. In the past, Shouto would’ve ignored such a slip-up, figuring the politeness of providing you an answer not worth Touya’s wrath, but now he turns to face you with a small smile, heterochromatic eyes almost twinkling, mask of irritability burning off his face in an instant.
“Yeah, in a few weeks,” he shrugs a shoulder. “I’ll be twenty,”
Do you have any plans?
The question lingers on the tip of your tongue, words frozen at the back of your throat as Touya’s hand curls protectively around you, strong fingers digging into your plush waist hard enough to make you wince.
But Shouto has become pretty good at reading you over these past few years, no longer needs you to voice your thoughts—the two of you have become accustomed to communicating through looks and expressions alone, to keep from sending Touya into an absolute rampage, to keep the both of you safe.
“Not sure what I’m doing yet,” he answers, keeping his voice light, though those mismatched eyes are sharply trained on your face, ready to analyze and decode whatever expression your features morph into.
This is the first time he’s ever verbally answered, though, and it hits you like a bag of bricks swung at your chest, the realization that this is something the two of you have built up together, something the two of you have spent years doing, working together silently, quietly, subtly, to keep Touya placid, something the two of you have been subconsciously doing to protect each other.
The thought inspires an odd feeling in your stomach, chest tightening with something akin to anxiety, something bitter and heavy rooting in the pit of your belly.
Touya saves you from having to answer, hastily unbuckling your seatbelt for you the moment Fuyumi’s finished reversing the car and nearly hauling you out before she’s even cut the engine.
❅ ❅ ❅
“You’re not coming?” you ask Touya as he slips your foot into a skate, beginning to lace it up.
Touya shakes his head. “No,”
“Touya never learned how to skate—refused to, actually,” Natsuo informs you, sitting down next to you on the bench and playfully bumping his shoulder against yours.
Tilting you head, you stare at him, a soft little oh slipping from your lips. Touya avoids your gaze, jaw clenching rhythmically.
“It’s for the best. He really shouldn’t be near any sort of blade for an extended period of time, not while Shouto’s in reach,” Natsuo jokes, though no one laughs, because it’s true.
Touya spends most of his time leaning against the boards, bright sapphire eyes trained on you, glued to you, cataloging all of your movements, each of your cute little giggles and soft little smiles, every hand on your shoulder or waist as it steadies you.
It’s hard for him to watch.
It’s hard for him to watch the way your eyes twinkle as Fuyumi speaks to you, the two of you gliding around the ice nonchalantly, hard for him to watch the way Natsuo pulls endless laughter from your throat as his gloved hands hold yours, pulling you along with him, hard for him to watch when Shouto appears beside you, slowing his stride to talk animatedly to you, the two of you absorbed in whatever discussion you’re having.
And yet, he can tell something isn’t right. Your eyes are twinkling, but they don’t gleam the way they do when you gaze at him. You’re laughing, but it isn’t as bubbly and pure as it is when evoked by him. You’re talking, but you aren’t wholly and completely captivated by whatever it is Shouto’s saying to you, gaze constantly drifting just over his shoulder, connecting with Touya’s.
Those ten little words from the night before echo through his mind again, and his molars grind together, but the look in your eyes, the way your face positively lights up when you skate towards him, past him, blowing kisses and giggling behind mitten covered hands, stomps them to little pieces, to dust, your fleeting presence blowing them away. He feels like he can fucking breathe again, each time you glide by him, resolve hardening a little more with every lap past him.
No, he knows he’s the best for you, absolutely is without a doubt the very best for you— and you confirm it with that loving, adoring, doting look every single time.
Despite this, he keeps disappearing intermittently, your heart sinking just a little bit more every time you look over to see him nowhere to be found, a sour taste settling on the back of your tongue. This is only the second day into the trip and you’re already terrified, knowing that he’s filling his nostrils with that fine white powder the moment he begins to feel his high fading, the moment he feels himself beginning to come down.
And by the third time he vanishes within a single hour, you decide you can no longer stand by and do nothing, say nothing—he’s gone for more than usual this time, an uneasy sense of dread flooding your body, making your limbs tingle as your heart begins to race, plopping down on the wooden bench and bending down to quickly unlace your skates. Your voice shakes as you tell the others that you’d like to take a short break from skating, claiming that your feet are sore, and that you’d like to rest for a while.
In actuality, you’re sure they all know what you’re doing, itching to go search for Touya, heart pounding painfully as several scenarios flash through your mind, but they say nothing, nodding with those polite smiles they all plaster on their faces any time something like this occurs.
The muscles in your thighs ache as you jog across the snow-dusted field, eyes frantically darting around the large open space in search for a man with ivory hair and azure eyes. Your feet take off the moment you spot him, an instinctual reaction, breath ragged and burning in your chest as you barrel into him, winding your arms around his waist tightly and burying your face in his strong chest.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he’s murmuring softly, arms encircling you and squeezing you against him, dropping a kiss to the crown of your head. “What’s going on, princess?”
Pulling back, your eyes study his face, stomach plummeting when you see it.
“Out playing in the snow again?”
Cobalt eyes narrow, Touya tilting his head in question as he stares at you. A frown mars your face, deep sigh leaving your nostrils without your permission, and Touya bristles. A tender thumb swipes across his nose, showing him the pure white powder it gathers.
“Slow down,” you say softly, gently, cautious eyes watching him carefully. “I don’t want a trip to the ER for Christmas,”
He holds your gaze for a moment, and you can see it, the blue fire simmering deep within them, but because it’s Christmas—and only because it’s Christmas—he blinks twice, extinguishing the flame to dull embers.
Chest heaving once, deep and heavy, he sighs out of parted lips, holding your hand to his cheek. Sapphire eyes close briefly as he nuzzles his face into your touch, and for a moment—just for a second—you think he’s about to apologize.
But that would be a Christmas miracle.
“Keep me in line,” he says quietly, shoulders slumping a little in defeat, a tiny sardonic grin on his lips as his eyes open again, searching your face. “Okay? Can’t let my best girl down on Christmas, now, can I?”
And although his shoulders are straining under the weight of this new responsibility—to try and restrain himself a little more, to not solely rely on the drugs to numb him to everything, to give up autonomy, power, to you—a weight feels like it’s been lifted off of yours, regardless of the fact that he’s asking you to control him, and you inhale deeply, able to breathe again.
I’m only worried about you, you want to say. It isn’t your intention to put more stress on him, especially when being forced to spend nearly every waking minute around his blood siblings is evidently very difficult for him, but you don’t want him dead because of it, either.
“I love you,” you tell him instead, unsaid words sown into the fabric of the sentence.
But he doesn’t need to hear you say it, he can feel it—in the air around you, radiating off your frame in thick waves that crash into him in the most pleasant way; in the way your soft fingertips stroke his cheeks, tracing his features with the utmost gentleness; in the way you gaze so tenderly at him, eyes sweeping across his face akin to the most compassionate caress.
It all makes him feel like he can do this, like he might actually survive this, so long as you’re by his side. The thought produces an inexplicable lump in his throat and he blinks hard, glittering eyes sweeping across your face before he seizes it, large hands cupping your jaw almost painfully as he pulls your face towards his, lips capturing yours in a crushing kiss.
Niichan! You try to squeal, muffled by his lips, Touya using the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth, down your throat.
Traitorous as ever, your body melts into his only a second later, fingers latching behind his neck, trying to pull yourself closer.
“I need more,” he mumbles against your lips before pecking them again, eyes still closed. “I need more, baby, I need more right now,”
“Then take it,” you whine breathlessly into his mouth, echoing your words from the night before. “Take it, it’s yours,”
❅ ❅ ❅
It smells like damp rubber and stale snow, with a hint of year-old hard candy crushed beneath snow boots, releasing faint scents of artificial strawberry and orange.
The restroom is filthy, but neither of you care, too wrapped up in each other to pay much mind to the grime on the walls, or the flaky rust on the faucet—which is quietly dripping intermittently, covered in little droplets of condensation that gleam under the harsh florescent light humming above, tubes exposed.
The cement wall is cold against your bare skin as Touya rucks your dress up around your waist, hands under your ass supporting your weight as your legs wrap around him obediently, praising you for listening to him and never wearing pants, even in weather like this, because god, it makes everything so much easier, baby.
In the past, you would’ve been in a rush, positive you didn’t have much time before someone noticed your absence.
But your family is used to this now, completely unphased by the two of you disappearing for twenty, sometimes thirty minutes and returning with swollen lips and freshly fucked hair.
It’s not like they can say anything, anyway—it’s not like anything is going to stop the two of you now; it’s not like anything would’ve stopped the two of you before, either.
Despite this, Touya still doesn’t exactly take his time with you, large hands pawing at your breasts, your waist, your hips, fingers dipping into the elastic waistband of your panties just to let it snap back against your skin, reveling in the little yelp it conjures from you.
“Already soaked,” he sneers in your ear as two fingers skim over your lace-clad cunt. “Of course you are. I don’t know why I expected any less,” he huffs out a chuckle; a mean, harsh sound that ghosts over the shell of your ear before he captures it with his teeth, biting down hard and forcing a high-pitched squeal from your throat. “Because my baby’s such a Goddamn slut, isn’t she,” his lips are against your ear as he murmurs in that low, sultry voice, hot breath contrasting the cool air of the restroom, and you shiver violently.
“Only for you,” you whine out, already breathless.
And you’ll never get over how easily he knocks the air out of your lungs with just a few dirty words and prodding fingers, stroking your slit through drenched lace in a way that’s almost gentle, careful, purposeful, sure to keep his touches as teasing and not nearly enough.
Still, those three words have more of an effect on him than you would’ve thought, a possessive growl ripping from his chest as he grinds his hard cock against your inner thigh, the denim rough against your soft skin.
That growl in particular is your favourite, and you tell him so.
“Yeah?” he laughs a little, pulling back as sapphire searches your face rapidly, wide and bright and alert with the cocaine rushing through his body.
“Makes me—” sharp teeth sink into the flesh of your neck, just above your shoulder, a loud gasp cutting you off and bouncing against the walls of the small room. “Makes me wet, niichan,”
He groans into your skin, tongue wet and warm and caressing the skin in little licks back and forth, back and forth, back and forth as he sucks, branding you with brilliant violet.
“What’s this? My princess talking so dirty without being prompted?” he pulls back to look at you, and you can see the amusement dancing in his deep, deep eyes, endless pits of cerulean smothering everything their gaze touches, almost voracious as they soak it all up, feeling like they’re sucking the very life from you in the most delicious way.
A pitiful squeak escapes your lips in the form of an answer, heat seeping into your cheeks. He’s mocking you—you can tell. Those three words uttered from your lips aren’t even that dirty, are nothing compared to some of the things that have come out of your mouth while you’re delirious on his cock, begging for his cum.
Still, you’re unable to find your voice, staring at him in an almost helpless manner, a little kitten in the clutches of a jaguar, claws beginning to close in on you, trapping you between heavy, sharp paws.
“Ah,” he smirks, eyes darkening dangerously. “Not so bold when niichan’s actually looking at you, are you?”
Front teeth dig into your bottom lip, chewing on it a little as you hold his gaze, feeling heat gush between your thighs, the symphony of your combined slightly ragged breathing ringing in your ears.
“Say it again,”
And you try—really, you do, lips separating as you try to force the words out, a nasty combination of frustration and shame eroding your chest, burning and acidic, then shaking your head a moment later.
“Just,” you whimper as you try to pathetically rock against him. “Please?”
“Nah, nah, nah,” he’s shaking his head, that stupid grin etched across his face, pulling back even more but keeping you up against the wall, hands still cupping your ass, hips pinning yours. “Niichan isn’t gonna fuck you now unless you ask for it,”
Your forehead creases with a deep frown. You usually ask him to fuck you, don’t you? “I alwa—”
“No, no, you don’t,” he says simply with a tilt of his head. “Niichan wants you to really ask for it this time,”
You blink rapidly in confusion. “I-I don’t understand,”
Little breaths are beginning to leave your mouth, speeding up with the racing of your heart, terrified to upset him. Yet he looks amused, looks like he’s having so much fun as he torments you.
“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos with a false pout, mimicking your own. “You’re not that stupid, are you?”
A little whimper leaves your lips, chin twitching, threatening to begin trembling as you shake your head at him, unable to find words. Heat floods your face again, little pinpricks under the skin of your cheeks, a physical manifestation of your humiliation as he tuts his tongue.
“I don’t know how else to explain it to you,” he shrugs nonchalantly, though you can feel his cock throbbing through the thick denim of his jeans. “Just ask for my cock, babygirl,”
Although oozing with patronization, his voice is soft, blown pupils gazing at you with so much love it’s nearly overflowing from his eyes, slender fingers kneading the flesh of your ass almost tenderly as he waits.
And that’s all the encouragement you need, really.
“I-I want your cock, nii—” you begin, voice fading as your eyes meet his unimpressed gaze, raising an eyebrow at you as if to say Really? That’s the best you got?
A fierce need to prove yourself, to make him moan again, to make his stomach tense from just your words alone, blazes in your chest, burning through your veins and giving you another surge of confidence.
Gazing at him through your lashes, you pout a little more. “Niichan,” you whine out the honorific, back arching a little as you do. “Please, niichan, give it to me, I’m begging, my pussy is aching for your cock, T-Touya-nii—I need it filling me up, need it right now, f-feels so empty without you stretching me wide open,” the sentence fades off into a little whimper, but his lidded, glazed eyes, and the way his tongue runs along his bottom lip as he stares at you spurs you on, more dirty words spilling from your lips. “Feels—Feels wrong without your f-fat cock inside of me,” you nearly weep. “Please, niichan, make it right again,”
The gentle tremble in your voice only adds to it, somehow manages to make you seem so fucking innocent as you whine out such filthy words, and Touya can barely handle it, rubbing against your thigh, the repetitive motion of the denim dragging across your soft skin causing it to chafe.
“Fucking Christ,” he breathes, pressing his forehead against yours as his eyes slip shut. “I wish I had recorded that,”
A cute, shy little giggle bubbles up your throat, face still burning. “I-I can say it again, if you want, niichan,”
He laughs—a genuine laugh deep in his throat, paired with a smile that meets his eyes—and presses a chaste kiss to your nose.
“One day, I’ll film us,” he vows, and the thought alone makes your stomach swoop. “But now, niichan’s gonna make you feel right again, okay, princess?”
“Oh, please, please,” you’re whimpering, body quivering against him.
“Shh, niichan’s got you,” he murmurs as he fiddles with his belt using a singular hand, your tiny fingers wandering down between your bodies to aid him.
Shoving your panties to the side, the head of his cock presses against you, and you wince in anticipation of the stretch—the stretch you so lovingly begged him for, he reminds you, sapphire eyes soaking up every single one of your expressions as he pushes in; reveling in the way your shut lids tighten, face screwing up in pain as the softest little yelp hitches in your throat.
It burns unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, abused cunt still sore and raw from the night before, from being fucked so ruthlessly less than twenty-four hours ago.
But you’re so wet, he breathes, rolling his hips slowly, stretching you little hole out just a bit more with each unhurried rock of his hips against yours. The wetness does nothing to stop the sting that accompanies his motions, though, reopening the tiny superficial fissures in your sensitive skin, quite literally tearing you apart, again, as your cunt yields to his girth.
“Niichan, hurts,”
“Yeah, baby?”
Little fingers curl in his thick sweater, and you whimper out an affirmative, head nodding lethargically against his shoulder.
“I thought you wanted niichan to fill you up?” he speaks as though he’s confused, a hint of condescension sown into the question, never halting his thrusts.
“I-I do!” you say quickly, head shooting up to gaze at him with glassy eyes, thick shield of unshed tears causing them to gleam in the harsh light. “I do,”
“Well then,” he smirks at you, hips pulling back, slow and controlled, before thrusting back in, sharp and fast, so hard it shoves your body up the wall, head whacking against the concrete with such force it sends agonizing pain shooting through your skull like lightning strikes. “Stop being a fucking brat, and take what niichan’s giving you,” he scolds over the piercing cry that falls from your lips, voice rough, deep, rumbling the way thunder does, buried in thick clouds on a humid summer’s day.
“Ungrateful little slut,” he snarls out, panting a little as his hips set a punishing pace, rapidly slamming into you, his jutting hipbones digging into the fresh bruises from the night before.
And you’re powerless to stop the noises you’re emitting, catching in your throat in time with his harsh thrusts, little mewls of niichan! and broken whines bouncing off the solid, cold walls, each one reverberating in his skull, forcing his hips to drive faster, harder, deeper.
But it’s fucking intoxicating, the way he’s pulling those needy little sounds from you as tears slip down your cheeks, pompously spitting demeaning words at you, sugarcoated in a thin, gleaming layer of praise. He’s a goddamn drug, words invading your mind and casting a thick haze over it, and during that moment all you can see is him, hear is him, taste is him—you swear you can feel him rushing through your veins, his heady scent of expensive cologne mixed with hickory campfire and a hint of Marlboros filling your lungs, the organs swelling painfully as you hold him inside your chest, trying to keep a piece of him close to your heart.
He stops to readjust your position, grunting as hooks an arm under your knee and yanks, ripping it from around his waist and forcing it toward your torso, your ankle nearly resting on his shoulder, his hand splayed flat against the dirty wall, using it as leverage. Your other leg clings to him, wrapped so tightly around his body that the muscles are beginning to quiver. Still, this brief pause affords you a much needed moment to catch your breath before his hips piston into you again, harsh, strong, fast, cockhead slamming against your cervix with each snap of his hips.
Each thrust forces another yelp to tear from your throat, your voice hoarse and raw, as he bruises your abused cervix, sharp spikes of pain shooting up your lower back and down your trembling thighs. He’s a watery blur at this point, eyes overflowing with tears, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders as you clutch him, arms beginning to ache from holding yourself up.
Tufts of white hair stick to his neck and forehead, clumped together with sweat. He’s almost whining out curses, slipping from between clenched teeth as his thrusts continue to pick up speed, although you can barely hear him over the sound of your own ragged breathing, peppered with pitiful little sobs that leave your chest heaving.
“Look at you,” he gasps out, wild sapphire eyes searching your face. “So fucking beautiful, taking my cock so well,”
And even in such a position, inebriated from the potent combination of pain and pleasure and him, his praise still makes your heart soar. A little pink tongue darts out to wet your chapped lips, bitten raw by him and salty with your own tears. Strand of hair stick to your puffy cheeks, though you’re unsure if they’re coated in sweat or tears.
“C’mon, baby,” he nearly keens. “Want you to be a good girl and cum for me,”
And those two tiny, four letter words are the magic words, like they always are, your head nodding vigorously, incoherent babbling bubbling past your lips; yes niichan, of course, wanna be a good girl for you, touya-nii, the best girl, your best girl.
He gives you permission to touch your clit, swollen and aching from neglect, your fingers sneaking between your bodies to rub at it, pussy clenching almost immediately.
“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. “Yeah baby, just like that, milk niichan for all the cum he’s got,”
The praise, mixed with a direct command, has your fingers speeding up, moving in rapid circular motions, that cord of heat in your stomach coiling tighter, and tighter, and tighter, until it finally snaps, your little cunt throbbing as you gush around his cock.
He follows immediately after with a dark growl of your name, hips stilling as he finally cums, pinning you against the wall, cockhead pressed tightly against your sore cervix.
It’s thick, scalding, and copious, wrecked little noises getting caught in your throat as his cock pulses, filling you with endless spurts of cum; so much, too much, and you’re sure your womb isn’t nearly big enough to take it all, positive that it’s leaking out of you, running down your ass and down his balls.
You still haven’t caught your breath by the time Touya’s releasing you, hands firm on your hips as he places you gently on your feet, keeping you steady as your legs shake. You can still feel his cum leaking out of you, and you wish you had something better than your thin panties to keep it inside of you. With a pout, you tell him so, voice absolutely ruined as you wheeze out, “I-I wish I had a-a plug, niichan, to hold all of your cum inside me,”
“Christ,” he breathes, eyes twinkling as he gazes down at you, brushing his slender fingers through your sweaty hair. “You’re gonna be the death of me, y’know that?”
❅ ❅ ❅
You don’t remember much of the drive home, struggling to keep your heavy eyelids from falling shut. Touya’s half dried cum is sticky—now practically gelatinous—in your panties and the mere thought of it makes you whimper, wiggling your hips a little, trying to shuffle closer to him.
It makes you feel needy. It makes him feel wanted.
“Niichan’s here, baby,” he’s murmuring into your hair as he readjusts his arm around your waist, pulling both your legs over his lap, your side still pressed firmly against his. “Niichan’s here,”
A pitiful whine slips from your lips, little fingers curling in his hoodie as warm hands travel up your dress, kneading the supple flesh of your thighs. Fingers press into the bruises he knows are there without even having to look, smirking at the way you hiss, contrasted by the way your thighs spread just a bit more, giving him more room to work, to play. The pads of his fingers graze the tiny raised cuts that the rough denim of his jeans left behind, tracing the raised little scabs.
“Sleep,” he tells you softly. “You did so good today, such a good little girl for me, my best girl,”
And his voice is the most soothing lullaby, smooth like melted platinum and quiet enough that only you can hear it, undoubtedly drowned out to the others by the staticky car radio.
❅ ❅ ❅
The dark bedroom is bleary, as if you were gazing at it though a thick slab of glass, eyes scanning the room slowly, mumbling out something that’s unintelligible even to yourself.
You’re not exactly sure how you got here, sitting on one of the twin beds in yours and Touya’s shared bedroom, propped up against the tiny headboard like a doll.
Touya’s murmuring to you softly as tender hands find the hem of your dress, tugging it up slowly, slowly, slowly, a low whine getting caught in your throat as your soft skin is exposed to the cool air, until he’s removed it from you completely. The clasp at the back of your bra snaps, and you want to tell him to be more gentle, this is your favourite bra, but you can’t seem to make your tongue move, the muscle sitting slimy and heavy in your mouth. Your vision disappears entirely for a second as something soft is slipped over your head, your body engulfed in the scent of hickory wood and Marlboro smoke.
Then large hands are all over you, maneuvering you onto your side then rolling you onto your back, gently prying your thighs open a moment later as he kneels between them, the springy mattress dipping with his weight.
“Touya-nii,” his name escapes your lips in a jumbled whine of protest.
“Shh, baby,” he hushes you, pulling your soiled panties down your legs.
Every muscle in your body aches, weighted down with fatigue from the long day, a few weak kicks—more of a fluttering of your legs, really—being all you’re able to manage in resistance.
“Hurts, niichan,” you whimper, through your eyelids are already falling shut again, exhaustion tugging at your consciousness gently.
“I know, princess,” he responds, and you’re just awake enough for the words to register, brow furrowing. His body heat disappears for a moment from between your thighs as he leans over to grab something, then returns, waves of comforting warmth rolling off of him.
Your body flinches ever so slightly as you feel something cold and smooth being spread across your swollen folds and puffy little hole. Cream, your mind supplies feebly.
“Niichan—”
“Quiet now,” he says, voice firmer than before. An order, this time. “Go to sleep, baby, and let niichan take care of this,”
Hot, tingling sparks blossom deep in the pit of your stomach, making your entire body buzz, like you’re high off him again, the sensation causing your chest to swell. This is what love feels like—Touya rubbing cool, soothing cream into your raw skin as he murmurs soft praises to you—you’re absolutely positive about it.
“I love you,”
The words leave your lips as a dreamy sigh, body finally relaxing against the mattress again.
He presses a tender kiss to your inner thigh, the soft skin a mosaic of crimson and violet from his previous ministrations. “I love you more,”
And that’s the last thing you feel, the last thing you hear as your mind slowly drifts into unconsciousness, filled with hazy images of a pretty boy with glowing sapphires for eyes and ivory for hair, of slim veiny hands decorated with the most magnificent black ink, the pads of their fingertips dancing along your skin, of a deep, sultry voice smoother than satin murmuring how much it loves you as lips crawl up your body—up your thighs, over your stomach and ribs, along the curve of you neck, until finally, they reach yours.
#dabi x reader#dabi smut#todoroki touya x reader#todoroki touya smut#dabi#AAAAH this was supposed to be posted last night but i fell asleep editing it after getting distracted by SOMEONE#anyway enjoy!!#i hope u all like it!!#whew two down three to go#technically two to go because part four is nearly finished ehehe#tw pseudo-incest#OH THERES ALSO SOME FORESHADOWING IN HERE EUEUEUEUEUEEUEUE#MARI KNOWS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT
708 notes
·
View notes
Text
Into The Unknown, Part 8
First
Previous
Marinette had never thought that living in another world would be this hard.
Sure, she had known that she would have issues when it came to the whole ‘she wasn’t technically supposed to be here and therefore needed a new identity’ thing. That was kind of obvious. The story they’d come up with had been simple enough -- she had grown up in Gotham with her parents, was highschool sweethearts with Tim, they had gotten married, he’d moved in with her, and her parents had died so she’d gotten custody of Damian. She was pretty sure Tim had a tragic backstory, but she didn’t really have that memorized yet. She wasn’t all that worried about it, though, she spent quite a lot of time dodging answering questions about her private life as Ladybug. Marinette probably wouldn’t even need to memorize his backstory (she would, of course, because she was nothing if not an overachiever, but she was well aware of the fact that it wasn’t quite necessary).
But, no, it was the small things that made it difficult.
Like affection.
Marinette was Parisian, she was used to greeting people with kisses on both cheeks. Hugs were something reserved for people you were close to.
But, no, Americans just insisted on being backward in everything that they do. And, supposedly, Marinette was American. She could get away with her accent because Gotham had a bunch of different people and it was easy to claim she came from the French part of town, but when it came to customs? No, she had to at least try and act like someone who had lived in America for her entire life.
So, when she was greeted with a hug from the most affectionate of her fellow interns, Marinette suppressed a cringe and patted her on the back awkwardly.
“Hi, Paige,” she said.
Paige beamed. “Ready for work?”
Marinette squinted up at the building. The WE in this universe was even taller than in her usual one.
… or maybe it just looked like that because she dreaded going inside. Ugh. Being an intern was going to suck.
“No.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”
“Thanks…”
But, despite Paige’s assurances, it did not go fine.
And it wasn’t even the job thing that wasn’t going well. That, at least, she could handle. No, it was this world’s meme culture that sent her spiraling.
She’d been holding exactly nine cups of coffee, seven mugs of tea, and one energy drink can. Marinette didn’t know if it was her time working in a bakery or some sort of latent Ladybug skills or what but it wasn’t even all that difficult to hold them all.
Paige raised her eyebrows at her, looking vaguely concerned. “Do you need help?” She asked, hands already out as if expecting her to say yes.
Marinette cracked a grin. “No. I’m fine. It’s not even that hard. I could probably carry another two drinks, even.”
“Freaky flexing, but fine.”
“... the fuck did you just say to me?”
~
Tim hummed lightly as he bounced on the balls of his feet, baby sleeping soundly on his shoulder. Marinette fumbled the keys to their new apartment, mumbling curses.
She’d outright told him that she didn’t really care, that she’d lived above a bakery for most of her life so it wasn’t like she would mind as long as the place had counter space…
So why was he nervous?
He felt the tiny hand in his shirt grip him tighter and he looked down. Damian was still fast asleep, sucking on his pacifier peacefully. Tim wondered, idly, how that worked. Was it a reflex that humans lose as they age like the grasping reflex or was it a learned behavior that went away when it wasn’t reinforced anymore?
Marinette managed to open the door, her cheeks tinged red at how difficult it had been, and she swung it open.
He stopped bobbing up and down to watch her face.
But she just shrugged to herself and bent down to grab the box she’d brought up.
He tried not to look too relieved as he followed her inside and watched her set the box down on the kitchen island.
She glanced back at him. “I call cleaning and setting up the apartment!” She said brightly.
“Okay…?” He said, confused as to why she was so excited to clean up…
But then Damian started to stir.
Oh. If she had cleanup duty… then he had…
Baby duty.
Oh.
Oh no.
“Shit, Mari, wait --!”
“Too late! You already said okay!” She said, already heading to the door.
Damian spat out his pacifier and took that one long, deep breath he always took before he was about to scream.
“Mari!”
She stuck her tongue out at him and disappeared around the doorframe just as the baby started to cry.
Tim heaved a sigh and pressed a kiss to the top of the kid’s head. The wailing quieted a little, but didn’t stop. Tim would take it, he hadn’t even been expecting Damian to quiet himself. This was an absolute win in his book.
He glanced at the box that had been brought up but, unfortunately, they hadn’t had enough foresight to bring the baby supplies.
He poked his head out the door and yelled for Marinette to bring up the box with the baby stuff first. She yelled ‘fuck you’ in response but when she came back she handed him the box regardless.
He smiled -- or, at least, he smiled as much as it was possible to smile when a baby was screaming at you -- and went to work figuring out what was wrong.
~
There was good news and bad news.
Good news was that Damian was starting to learn that crying was okay.
Bad news was that Damian was starting to learn that crying was okay.
And, listen, Marinette obviously preferred that. She wanted to know when the kid was hurt or hungry or even just craving affection… but ugh.
She twisted around in the bed to squint at the clock.
Three o’clock. Great.
She groaned softly and buried her face in Damian’s hair again. “Dami, please, I have work tomorrow. Shhhhhhhhh,” she pleaded. As if she didn’t have to go to work every day.
Damian, of course, didn’t stop crying.
Marinette thought she was going to cry.
Tim pulled his arm from around them so he could cover his ears with his pillow.
She reluctantly sat up. Damian banged his little fists against her shoulder in an attempt to tell her… something. Probably that he wasn’t happy. As if the entire apartment complex couldn’t hear just how unhappy he was.
She changed his diaper and then got him Cow. Hopefully that would sate him for the rest of the night.
She clambered back into bed and sent Tim a weak smile when he wrapped an arm around them.
She scooted toward him, because Damian was reaching for him and his eyes were closed, and tucked her head under his chin. He tensed just slightly before relaxing and tangling his legs with hers.
Damian seemed to like being cocooned between them, because he made a vague happy sound and settled down to sleep without much (more) fussing.
Tim hummed lightly. His voice was terrible, but it seemed to calm Damian so Marinette wasn’t about to complain.
It took a while for Damian to go back to sleep but, eventually, he did. Unfortunately, he fell asleep while biting the crinkly ears of his plush and it was hard to sleep with the steady crkcrkcrkcrk sound right next to her.
From the way Tim’s breathing had yet to slow, he wasn’t asleep either.
Well, at least that was something to do.
“I’m beginning to think the reason babies are so cute is that otherwise we would kill them,” she joked, her voice soft so as not to wake the kid again.
Not that it would matter all that much. She could, unfortunately, not see herself going back to sleep before her alarm went off.
He chuckled and nodded as much as he could with her head beneath his. “Right? I just want one night of good sleep --.”
He stopped suddenly.
She drew back a little to check that he was fine, only to see him looking mildly horrified.
“We need to go back home soon. I’m going to get used to sleeping like a normal person. I can’t do that,” he said.
She grinned. “Oh no. The horror.”
“No, you don’t get it. If I do that then I’ll be giving into my family’s wishes. I can’t let them think they’re right about something!”
She giggled, shaking her head. “Here, I’ll make it easier for you: I don’t want you to sleep. As Dami and I are your only family -- legally -- for the next fifteen years, you must not do what we want. Therefore, you have to sleep.”
“Ah. Reverse psychology.”
“Well, I am a psych major.” Some of the amusement faded. “Was a psych major.”
“... really?”
“Yeah. I dunno. I’d figured it was the closest I could get to being Ladybug again.”
“You’re still Ladybug.”
She shrugged just slightly. “Yeah. I dunno,” she said again. She tried for a grin. “Doesn’t feel the same when there’s no emotional terrorism involved.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to do the same thing over and over again for a million years.”
“There’s some comfort in things staying the same.”
“Oh? Maybe we should trade.”
“That’s an amazing plan that I see no problems with. You get to go around beating up the Meta Of The Week and I’ll stay in Gotham dealing with all the idiots in spandex.”
“Are we switching outfits, too?”
“Oh yeah. Obviously. Gotta commit to the whole ‘switching’ thing. I bet I’ll look cuter in your outfit, too.”
“Ah, yes, because cuteness is the most important part of vigilante costumes.”
“We end up in papers all the time, being cute is totally important.”
He chuckled lightly and she felt the arm around her give her a tiny squeeze. She buried her face in his chest.
“You should try and sleep.”
“Hypocrite,” she teased, but she could already feel her eyelids drooping.
He hummed. She thought that, maybe, it didn’t sound so bad as to make him stop.
~
Tim had been in the middle of bathing Damian as he always did before bed when he’d accidentally splashed water on his face.
Perfectly fine and normal.
What wasn’t perfectly fine and normal was that the baby responded by saying: “Oh shit!”
Tim’s eyes narrowed.
“MARINETTE,” he yelled.
Marinette was there in seconds. There was some kind of green paste on her face. She’d been in the middle of her usual skincare routine. He thought it was kind of weird that near-immortals needed skincare routines but that wasn’t the point here.
She looked around frantically. “What?! What’s wrong?!”
“Damian just said sh --... he said the s-word.”
Marinette relaxed at that and sent Tim a glare. “Don’t blame this one on me. You’re the one that says that.”
Tim frowned. Because, now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure she was right.
“Now, if he’d said ‘fuck’, that would have been on me, but he didn’t, so --.”
“FUCK,” Damian said brightly.
Tim glared at Marinette again, this time rightfully so.
She looked a little sheepish. “... okay, yeah, that one’s on me.”
~~~~~
Next
@nathleigh @peachmuses @unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff
#my baby cousins are starting to rub off on me#yesterday i said 'im sleepies' in a normal conversation#girl help#into the unknown#maribat#timinette#timari#timmari#shutterbug#ladybug#marinette dupain cheng#red robin#tim drake
95 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Couple Next Door IX (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)
Find Part Eight Here
A/N: Surprise! I’m briefly back from a year-long Hiatus and I have one chapter for TCND, one for ATU AND a George Harrison one-shot I’m just gonna drop and then probably disappear again for another few months. I’m also finding it even more difficult to write for Roger seeing as I’ve kinda been listening to nothing but The Beatles for the last fifteen months and I really only hear Queen at work, so that’s gotta change. But I am very sorry about the LONG wait. I really do appreciate you guys, and I think you’ve all waited quite long enough to find out what happens next...
Summary: Roger and Y/N spend the morning taking care of Bobby; they talk a little more about the future and come to the conclusion they both want the same thing.
(Let your imagination run free, bc this can be either Canon or Borhap!Roger)
WARNINGS: Swearing is probably a given at this point, self-doubt, mentions/ suggestions of sex (advise you to avoid if you’re under 18), and I usually revise when I’m stoned so there’s probably some typos in here too, sorry.
Rated T for Teen-- (I feel like a video game rating smh)
Bobby was crying again.
Granted, it was about seven in the morning, and he did sleep for the rest of the night.
Roger was the last of the both of you to wake up; not because of the crying-- he didn't even hear the crying-- but he was wrapped up in the blankets with you, and you were trying to remove yourself from his grasp.
"Don't leave," Roger grumbled as he pulled you tightly against his chest, eyes remaining closed as you whispered back to him.
"But I have to go. Baby's cryin'."
Roger loosened his grip on you, much to his dismay, and you slipped from his embrace, leaving him cold, and alone.
"Come back, Baby..." He really hoped his gravelly plea would entice you to return from the nursery after tending to Bobby, and although you were probably against having sex in your friends' bed, he figured there was no harm in testing the waters.
"That's not how that works when you have a baby, Rog. The day starts now."
Roger groaned in protest, but as he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, he revealed to himself that you were no longer in the room, and the baby's cries settled when he heard your voice float down the hall from the nursery room.
Roger, as much as he didn't want to, tossed the comforter off of his body, and after rising to his feet and combing his fingers through his hair, he shuffled out of the bedroom and made a beeline to the stairs.
He was glad he was familiar with John's kitchen; because he was certain you had no idea where anything was, meaning he would be the one preparing breakfast that morning, and the one following it, most likely.
Fuck it, he would (try to) cook you up seven different meals a day if you asked him.
Anything for you.
He put the kettle on, and moved to the pantry in search for John's teabags, yawning lightly as he pulled the door open.
Nothing in the pantry really stuck out to him as being a good breakfast that morning, so Roger ended up migrating to the fridge after retrieving the tea, where his eyes fell on the carton of eggs on the bottom shelf.
He settled on making French Toast for breakfast seeing as he, according to you, made the best French Toast in England.
So he got to work whipping up some eggs and pulling four slices of bread from the bread box on the counter-- but not before he got one of Bobby's bottles out for you, warmed it, and placed it on the kitchen table.
Roger was frying the French Toast in no time, and he hummed gently as he busied himself with focusing on the now whistling kettle, and when the right time to flip the toast would be.
"... I thought you were still in bed," your words were sudden, and it made Roger jump a little. But when he realized it was only you, Bobby in your arms, his mouth contorted into a dopey smile.
"Nah," Roger turned the pan's burner down a little, and after he flipped the French Toast, he set his spatula on the counter, turning to face you.
"I was gonna let you sleep in, since you were so reluctant on waking up," you explained with a yawn. "But here you are awake, and making breakfast before me."
"Well it wouldn't be fair then, would it? Me sleeping in while you've all this work to do?"
"I don't know, would it?"
"I really don't think so, Dove."
He felt pride swell in his chest when pink dusted your cheeks at the sound of your new nickname, and he took this chance to swoon you further by pulling you in gently by the elbows, and he enveloped both you and Bobby in his embrace.
"Beautiful..." Roger's voice was barely a whisper as he touched his lips to your jawline, and you responded with a soft exhale.
"Even when you've just woken up," Roger mumbled against the skin of your neck, lips curling into a smile, "you are the prettiest goddamned thing I've ever laid eyes on."
"Mmm, down, boy," you purred back jokingly, taking a small step back. "Baby still needs to eat."
"Well yours is coming right up," he teased, "and Bobby's is already at the table." Roger pointed to the bottle on the other side of the room before tapping your rear. "Take a seat, and I'll bring your food over."
You didn't have to be told twice. You took a seat at the table, and although Bobby was growing a little agitated, it was short lived when you put the bottle of milk in his possession.
Roger, not five minutes after you sat down, joined you at the table with your French Toast and your mug of tea, made just the way you liked it, of course.
"'S the right tea, yeah?"
You took a quick look at the label hanging from the mug.
"Yep." Your eyes squinted after letting the label fall where the string tied to it would let it. "Y'know, you've been making my tea right for months, you don't have to check to make sure you're right."
"You know I'm always gonna make sure it's to your liking."
"And I love you for it."
"Hopefully for other things too. I'm not just good at being your barista."
"Oh, don't you worry. I'm not overlooking your other good traits," you smiled as you brought your mug to your lips and having the first sip of tea of the day.
As Roger sat down next to you with his own plate of food and mug of tea, he decided to wait on Bobby to finish so he could eat with you.
So, naturally, he took the time to evaluate again what kind of situation he was in.
There was nothing like watching you care for Bobby. Roger had known you for years, and not once in his life did he ever think he would be sitting next to you at breakfast while feeding a baby, whether or not the child was his own, or yours.
The whole scene looked too good to be true, though like the previous night, Roger just drank in the sight of you putting all your love and care into a child at breakfast with him.
How did you think you weren't cut out for being a mother?
This was in your nature.
The domesticity of the situation made Roger a little emotional. This was the closest he'd ever gotten to experiencing a breakfast with a family he'd built, and he spent every passing second filling his mind and heart with the beautiful sight before him.
"Y/n, you would make a wonderful mother." Roger's words left his mouth faster than his brain could register what he'd said.
You looked to Roger from Bobby, cheeks and tips of your ears darkening, and Roger was talking again before he could realize it and catch himself.
"Any man would be so damn lucky to have you. I honestly can't believe you stick around me still."
Your face was feeling real hot, now. Roger's head was still lagging behind his words, and clearly, he wasn't done talking.
"You could be out building a beautiful family right now, but instead you're babysitting with your best friend who you also occasionally sleep with. I just... I don't understand."
It took you a second to respond, but Roger didn't blame you. Honestly, he didn't even know what he would have said if he were asked the same question.
"... Well, I love you, Roger."
Your words were simple, and Roger knew your statement was nothing but platonic, but that didn't stop his heart from pounding against his ribcage.
You'd said those exact three words to him minutes earlier, but the context of the conversations contrasted their meanings.
"But we promised each other at the beginning of all of this that we'd be fine giving up pursuing family life if that means living with one another..."
"... You sound unsure, now."
The atmosphere felt heavy, and it was almost as if Bobby had known making noise wasn't in his best interest. He decided to finish eating at the right time.
"... It's not that I'm unsure. It's just..."
Roger waited patiently for you to answer, but you had noticed Bobby finished his milk, and you took the bottle from him.
You burped him, and placed a pacifier you pulled from your pocket in Bobby's mouth. You must have gotten it from upstairs before you came down.
"Let me," Roger offered his arms out for the baby, and you let him take Bobby. You'd stood up and moved to the sink to wash the bottle.
Meanwhile, Roger, who'd also gotten to his feet, was slowly walking around the kitchen. He was praising Bobby for finishing all his breakfast, insisting he was so proud of him, his smile wide and gaze adoring as he evaluated the child in his arms.
"It's just that. There. The way you're behaving with him," you turn to face Roger, finger pointed at him. "The way you're treating him as your own."
Roger's mouth opened and closed a few times, but after shutting his jaw for the third time, he decided the best thing to do in this situation would be to keep quiet.
"You'd make the most wonderful father, Roger. The way you behave with Bobby, god, the way you behaved with Raymond the other day," you sounded frustrated, and all Roger could do was watch you pace the kitchen, his sheepish face now a deep red.
"It's just that I would want the father of my kids to be just like you. I wouldn't settle for anything less."
Roger opened his mouth again to speak. He felt like his chest was on fire. Your thoughts were becoming painstakingly parallel to his, Roger had noticed. He couldn't get any words out before you started speaking again.
"Like you said last night, this job is giving us a chance to experience what it'd be like to have a family... and maybe I'm upset I did throw the chance to have all of that away."
You looked like you were on the verge of tears, and all Roger could do was watch you and listen to what you had to say.
"Roger, I hope you know you will always have a special place in my heart. You're my family, you have been for the last five years of my life, and there's no doubt about it. But being able to have a child..."
Your hands ghosted over the robe's fabric covering your definitely unpregnant belly. "... I think I want to have children."
"... Y/n I hope you know I feel exactly the same way."
And then everything was clear.
Roger understood where his band was coming from.
Getting married to you would solve all your problems.
He knew what the both of you were thinking in this new moment of silence, but there was absolutely no way Roger was going to fall to one knee and propose to you right now when he wasn't even romantically involved with you.
And he just felt it would be very inappropriate if he took this moment to spontaneously ask you on a romantic date with the intentions of courting you.
"Listen, Y/n," Roger finally built up enough courage to break the silence. Bobby cut him off with a short cry, and Roger immediately started swaying the baby in his arms. Sure enough, Bobby's agitation ceased, and Roger could continue, keeping the movement going.
"Just because we're living together without families now doesn't mean we won't be able to have families, say, five to ten years down the road."
At this point, although it was necessary, Roger didn't really want to mention the discomfort he felt when imagining you falling for someone who wasn't him.
Your eyes were big and sad, lip pouted as you considered Roger's words. "... are you sure?"
The idea of you and him having to move out of the condo Roger risked the both of your love lives for didn't sit well with him.
You'd be gone making sweet love to some lucky asshole who probably didn't deserve to be in your presence, while Roger goes on a bender, gets ahold of some weed and coke, and sleeps with enough girls to distract him from realizing he'd thrown the best thing in his life away-- you.
He didn't want you to think he thought you were selfish. The last thing he needed right now was to feel guilty for making you feel guilty.
So he just nodded. "No house isn't forever anyways." When you didn't respond to his little joke, he sighed.
"Y/n, we're still so young. You don't have to commit yourself to anything like that just yet. Enjoy being able to go out drinking with me every weekend, and sleeping in on our days off. Your chance to start a family will come when the time is right."
You let out a shaky breath. Roger was actually a little surprised with how well you were keeping yourself together.
But his actions put the both of you here, and to see that this conversation nearly reduced you to tears had Roger drowning in guilt, even without the help of mentioning any of his inner conflict to you.
"I just hope you're right." Your voice was broken and your fingers were tangled stressfully in your hair.
"Hey," Roger's voice had gone soft again, his rocking slowing to a halt, and you looked up to find him with an open arm, awaiting your touch.
You slowly unravelled your fingers from your hair, and you gave into the hug not moments later. Roger pulled you to his chest tightly, his free arm occupied by the baby.
"Y'know... I made you French Toast to start the day off good." When you didn't say anything in response, Roger pulled away from you just enough to look you in the face.
He was giving you that same look he did at the Garrison's again; that unreadable gaze he'd achieved with those big blue eyes that seemingly bored holes into your very soul.
His free hand slipped up from your back to your neck, and he leaned in to just touch his lips to the corner of your mouth.
So close, yet so far away.
It wasn't before long that he pulled away from you, but Roger just couldn't keep his eyes off you.
"You come sit down and enjoy your French Toast, Dove. I've got Bobby."
"But--"
"Please?"
Roger knew he'd convinced you as soon as he said that magic word. Though you took a moment to look from the bundle in his arms to the breakfast you really were dying to dig into, you eventually sighed out a gentle "thank you," before taking your seat again at the table.
He came around and kissed the top of your head. "Enjoy, Honey." Roger took a seat next to you, Bobby still in his one arm, and the both of you ate your French Toast in relative silence for the first few seconds.
"... God, you really do make good French Toast, Blondie." Roger was smiling now. At least you were talking again.
"I only improved my cooking skills for you, y'know," he admitted with a mouthful of his food, though he didn't sound ashamed of it.
"And thank God for that. Cooking every other night sure beats cooking every night."
"You can say that again," Roger mumbled before shoving the last of his breakfast into his mouth. You still slowly ate away at your meal, and Roger was making funny faces at Bobby in between taking sips of his tea.
The telephone in the living room started ringing, and you stood up to go get it, but Roger immediately dropped his fork and grabbed your wrist.
"Nuh-uh. I just finished eating. You still have a little bit to go. Take Bobby and I'll get it." You scooped the baby up without another word, smiling when he opened his eyes.
"Can you at least bring back his rattle from his play pen?"
"Can do, Princess," he called over his shoulder as he approached the phone.
"H'lo?"
"Roger?"
"Oh, hey, John!" Roger tucked the phone's handset under his chin, carrying the telephone in his left hand so he could get Bobby's rattle.
"Isn't it a little early to be up?" Roger glanced at the clock, which read that it was quarter after seven.
"Biological clocks. Just wanting to checking in. Is Bobby okay? Has he been any trouble?"
"No, of course not! He's doing fine, John." Roger tucked the rattle in his back pocket when he found it, and returned to the writing desk where the phone was meant to stay.
That was something he loved about you. You always bought him pyjamas with pockets. The concept was cool, and being able to use them was even cooler.
"Y/n's got him in the kitchen right now," he explained, taking the handset again with his now free hand. "We're all just finishing up breakfast, actually."
"Oh good. How is she?" John paused for a second, his voice dropping a little lower. "... How are you guys?"
Roger made sure his voice was a little quiet, as well. "John, this may have been your guys' best idea ever. I don't know why I was against this in the beginning."
"Really?! What's happened already?!" John, everyone would have guessed to be one to avoid certain kinds of gossip, though when it came to Roger's business with you, he liked checking up on that.
"I told her about all that family stuff."
"And?"
"And, well..." Roger set the phone back onto the desk and scratched the back of his neck. "... She may or may not be having the same problem," he mumbled.
"So... so you both want a family?" John tried clarifying.
"Yes."
"Then why are you two not together?!" Roger slipped away around the corner into the main hall with just the receiver so he was a little further away from the kitchen. He didn't want you hearing their conversation, or John through the receiver.
"Well I'm not asking her here!"
"Then where? And when?"
Roger knew John was just getting excited, and his questions honestly had Roger brainstorming every possibility when it came to asking you.
"... I don't know, yet," Roger said after a while of thinking. "But soon. God, it needs to be soon." He didn't quite know why he was pressuring himself to ask you sooner than later.
Maybe it was because he was scared someone much better and more deserving of you (or alternatively, a selfish prick) was going to waltz in and steal you from him just before he had you for sure.
"Do you need any help with that part? I can get Fred and Bri--"
"No no no, it's okay, John." Roger leaned up against the wall of the hallway, fingers tapping the handset absentmindedly with his eyes squeezed shut for a moment.
"You guys have already done enough, really. I... I think I'm good on my own from here."
"Well, I'm glad," John expressed to Roger. "It's not every day you need to help Roger Taylor get with a girl, y'know."
"This is different, and you know it."
"I just like to tease," John defended, and Roger could even hear a smile evident in his words.
"Anyways, Veronica and I will be home tomorrow around noon. Y/n's got our number. You two take care."
"Of course, you too," Roger was making his way back to the writing desk.
"Thanks. Oh, and Roger?" John added quickly.
"Hm?"
"If you two end up doing anything, for God's sake, please wash the sheets."
As John was speaking, you'd walked into the living room with Bobby in your arms. "We're gonna go and have some play time, now! Yes we are!"
Roger was too panicked by your presence to even realize you weren't paying any attention to the phone call, and he hoped to God you didn't hear a single thing John had said. "Yeah-yes! Laundry. Will do."
He nodded his head once, though John couldn't see him, and after saying their good byes, Roger hung up the phone.
He turned to where you were in the living room. You were looking in the play pen for something, and Roger suddenly remembered the rattle in his back pocket.
He pulled it out hurriedly and held it out to you. "Shit! I'm so sorry about that--"
"Don't swear, Roger," you took the rattle, a smile on your lips you both knew you were trying to frown away. "There's a baby here."
"What? He doesn't know what that word means."
"Well, the more you keep saying it, the more of a chance he has at that being his first word, and I do not need the Deacon Family hunting us down for teaching their kid swears." You looked from Roger down to Bobby, shaking the rattle gently and grinning when Bobby squealed happily and reached out for the toy.
You took a seat on the couch, and played around with Bobby while Roger went back to the kitchen to do the dishes.
From 7:30 AM to about 2:30, all that really happened was play-time and lunch, something Roger prepared. You offered to do the dishes, but Roger wouldn't allow it. He just suggested you put Bobby up for his nap. He'd fallen asleep in your arms during play-time, like he did with Roger the night before.
The both of you thought it was crazy Bobby would just fall asleep rather than cry, but honestly, neither of you were complaining. Quiet baby for the win!
Roger just finished putting the last plate on the drying rack on the counter as he listened above for your footsteps leaving Bobby's room. He dried his hands off with the dishtowel hanging over his shoulder after turning off the faucet.
From behind, Roger felt a pair of arms slowly circle his body, and he smiled warmly at the feeling of you pressed against his back.
"He asleep?"
"Mhm."
Roger's smile only widened as you inched your palms up his chest. He turned in your arms and pressed his hands against your hips, inching you closer as he leaned back against the kitchen sink.
"Well, what do we do, now?" Roger asked. He sounded like he was up to no good. With the sultry look in his eyes and the way the smile on his lips looked like he was repressing a naughty suggestion, he knew you knew he already had something on his mind.
"Well, I mean," your hands slipped up into Roger's long hair, fingers tangling themselves between the strands. "Anything, really."
You knew what game Roger was playing, and you loved how cute he was, thinking he was going to have you on your knees for him.
His eyes shamelessly raked over the top half of your body, and he squeezed his hands, still at your hips.
"What'll you be doing with your free time, Roger?" You took one more step closer to him, and he pulled you the rest of the way to him so your groin was flush with his.
"I'm looking right at her."
He was already strained against his jeans, and you just offered a smile, fingers tightening their grip in Roger's hair.
"Mmm... I kinda like the sound of that," you admitted lowly, half of a smile on your lips. You shifted your hips from side to side, and Roger tried to pull you even closer.
You rolled your hips against Roger again, and the cheekiness in his face fell with a look of long-awaited relief, and his head dropped to your shoulder.
One of his hands moved up to grab you by the back of your neck, and when he lifted his head to look at you again, his second hand dragged upwards from your hip to squeeze your waist.
Roger lifted the hand by your neck, and combed your hair back with his fingers. His eyes fell onto yours for a brief moment, and you could have sworn there was something he tried to tell you there.
You just couldn't read him.
But he didn't care. He pulled you in close again, and his lips were on yours.
You'd kissed Roger before. Not in public, but definitely in the bedroom. And they weren't very scarce. Honestly, if Roger's lips weren't somewhere else on your body, they'd be on yours.
But why was this feeling different from all the other times he'd kissed you?
He was being a lot less forceful and needy than he usually was.
His grip wasn't tight on you, and it wasn't like he was crushing you against him as if indicating he needed more of you, now.
He was holding you rather, and the hand at your waist circled around to press against your lower back. The hand on your neck shifted a little forward so Roger could gently slide the pad of his thumb down the column of your throat.
The both of you were holding your breath, and Roger was the first to pull away. The both of you sucked in some air, and before you could even draw in a full breath, Roger's lips were on yours again.
He pushed towards you, guiding you backwards until your back was flat against the refrigerator. His warm hands grabbed for yours and he pinned them above your head by your wrists.
Okay. This, was something you were used to. But there was nothing that could have prepared you for when Roger's hands loosened their grip on your wrists, and he was lacing his fingers between your own.
Your hands felt very small in Roger's. How had he never noticed that before? What else had he neglected to realize about you?
In that moment, he felt you pull away to breathe, and he looked down at you worriedly, fingers frozen, yet still laced with yours.
"I- uh... I-I'm sorry--"
"No no, don't be. It's okay," your response was very rushed, but you didn't skip a word.
There was about a minute of silence, your hot breaths mingling in the space between your lips, though your gazes were locked with one another, and you couldn't look away.
"Did-uh... did you want me to... to stop?" His question was gentle, almost sincere-sounding, but he still made no effort to move from his place.
"No. God, no." And as soon as you'd answered, Roger closed the space between the both of you again, his fingers unwound from yours to grab you by the jaw, and you just held his waist, pushing your body as close to him as he would let you.
He shifted around a little, and moved his leg between yours. You could feel his mouth bend into a smirk against yours, and he began to apply pressure to the apex of your legs with his knee.
Before long, as much as you wanted to resist it, you fell to Roger's submission, and as you waited for him to grab your waist and put you wherever, he hesitated for a second, and dropped his hands from yours.
You opened your eyes again to find Roger, face red, and staring at your chest. Not in an ogling way, but more of a method to avoid looking you in the eye.
He could tell you were looking at him, and he shifted his gaze to you. He itched at his hands awkwardly, mouth opening and closing as he tried to explain himself.
You just waited. You gave him time to think, and he had an answer for you sooner than either of you would have thought.
"I just... I wanna try something else. I don’t want to control you like I do every night."
It wasn't much of an explanation, but a good beginning to a demonstration.
"Will you come to bed with me, Y/n?" His offer was gentle, yet confident, despite offering a hand out hesitantly.
When you dropped your hand into his, all of the tension in Roger's being relaxed, and he quietly led you up the stairs, past the nursery, and into John and Veronica's room.
Before you could say anything he gently explained that he'd do laundry later, and then he pulled you in for another kiss he'd been waiting to give you since the last one.
Roger pulled you closer to him, hands cupping your face as his lips began to desperately chase after yours. You kissed Roger back with just as much vigor, but then he slowed the movements of his mouth, and guided you backwards until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed.
Roger helped lower you down onto the bed, and he leaned over you, dipping down to kiss your lips again. He knelt between your legs, and pulled them up around his waist so he could lean in even closer.
You felt his hands squeeze your hips, and he pulled at your bottom lip with his teeth. You hummed lowly, your eyelashes kissing your cheeks as Roger pulled away ever so slightly-- just enough to pull his shirt off of him, and close the distance between your bodies again.
You tangled your hands into his hair, and he hummed in approval before pulling back just once more.
"I'm sure that's hardly fair..."
"What?"
"This," Roger tugged gently at the hem of your shirt.
"Why's yours still on?"
"... I never said it had to be."
Roger exhaled, and slowly pulled your shirt up over your head after you raised your arms to help him out a little.
He placed the palm of his hand over the smooth skin of your belly as he stared at your bare torso. And before long, he dipping down to kiss you again.
You reciprocated his actions, wrapping your arms around his neck and tightening your legs around his hips, to which he rocked himself against your core, and then---
Bam!
The headboard hit the wall, and Bobby woke up.
"Nooo..." you squeezed your eyes shut as the baby's cries began to reverberate down the hallway.
"Fuck!" Roger groaned, eyebrows knitted together helplessly as he climbed off of you. You both knew it was Roger who technically woke the baby up, and it was just silently agreed on that he went to put him back down.
"Dammit to hell, those separated headboards."
Roger opened the nursery door, and made his way to the crib in the corner of the room. Bobby's cheeks were wet with tears, and Roger's heart sank. "'M sorry, little guy. C'mere. Come see uncle Roger."
He picked the baby up and rocked him back and forth, though it wasn't exactly doing much, so Roger took a seat in the rocking chair on the opposite side of the room, swaying the both of them with a push of his feet.
Bobby's cries settled, and Roger felt proud of himself. Sure, he wanted to get back to what he was doing before, but instead he took his time in making sure Bobby was comfortable and not in need of anything before he drifted off to sleep again.
Bobby played around with Roger's fingers a few moments after his agitation ceased, and he couldn't believe how large his hands were in comparison to Bobby's. He was once that size.
A little while later Roger set Bobby down in his crib, and the infant was out. The drummer smiled at his accomplishment. He didn't even need your help.
With that, he left the room without a sound.
He stepped into John and Veronica's room, and closed the door quietly behind him. He was in the middle of turning on his heel when he stopped dead in his tracks.
You'd taken some of the pillows off the bed and wedged them between the wall and the headboard to keep the bed from making noise.
You were also splayed out on the bed in a lot less clothing than he remembered you in when he left.
With a teasing beckon from your finger, Roger knew three things were for certain.
1. You were the smartest woman he knew.
2. You were the most gorgeous woman he'd ever laid eyes on.
3. He, the Roger Taylor, had fallen madly, and helplessly in love with you.
-------------------------------------
A/A/N: Again, you’ve all been waiting long enough for the next chapter, so here you are. i hope you all enjoy, and if my response is great with this one, I’ll see if I can spit out another one soon <3
PERMENANT TAG LIST
@culturefiendtrashqueen
@rogermeddow
FIC TAGLIST
@luvborhap
@amy-brooklyn99
@scarsout
@kimmietea
@ohtheseboysilove
@demo-wise
@suavishowell
@bohemianahoy
@pippin248
@maisielou
@hardyshoe
@queenlover05
@imjustboredso
@juliarvra
(Leave me a message if you wanna be added to either of my taglists)
#queen#queen fanfiction#rami malek#rami malek x reader#joe mazello#joe mazzelo x reader#gwilym lee#gwilym lee x reader#ben hardy#ben hardy x reader#freddie mercury#John Deacon#john deacon x reader#Brian May#brian may x reader#roger taylor#roger taylor x reader
167 notes
·
View notes
Text
3 birds 1 stone - chapter 12
‘Dick, Jason, and Tim. Supposed brothers 'till the end, until all three fall in love with you. Who wins your heart?
The man who earned it, the man who stole it, or the man who always had it?’
A/N: We continue the three perspectives!!! AND we got special appearances from a few characters today eeeeee we’re so close to the finale. Hope you guys enjoy this one!
WORDS: 12,068
WARNINGS: violence, arm dislocation, muscle injuries, alcoholism, mentions of coffee addiction and insomnia
MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST
-----
Dick:
That day, this all ends.
Telling himself he got into this mess because he hadn’t a choice, that he hadn’t already stopped because it was all just too riveting and captivating and not at all within his control, was nothing short of a lie.
He had every say in it.
But not even his fucking conscience could convince him to stop. He wanted this mess. Dove right into the lava. He knew every bit of the heartbreak he’d have to endure and he willingly brought it to himself. To get lost into the deep dark woods, with nothing more than an oil lamp, to be pricked by the many thorns and suffocated by the leaves and trees that crowd about much like a bush. To get lost in her, and never want to climb out of any of it. He knew how slippery the road ahead of him was and still he kept going, kept driving, sped up a little even when he thought he’d actually get to where the stars pointed him to.
But so profoundly was his loss of himself, without much effort at all to escape from those grasps even when he told himself he did; going to another woman, wanting the same arrest of his heart to hopefully take him away, but without halting those thoughts of Y/N and how her smile that he’d seen earlier that day would last until dark, maybe even beyond that. Those flares of her face and her voice and how he let them speak to her every night, change them into burning whispers against his ear when he’s memorized her voice too much to make her say anything he wanted her to, even when they only last in his head.
Dick never tried to stop her from taking her heart like that, even when he had to watch her be with another.
Tonight, it all ends. Every bit of this torture that he brought only to himself, it all comes to this sorry halt.
Dick, standing atop a roof of an office building in Dresher, knew that at that moment, he had to sit this one down. He had to be alone and in the darkness to make this as painful as it possibly could, hoping that if all that pain were to be felt now, compress them into this little tub of static blackness, then perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad the next day, and the day after that. Even when he knew this would backfire, he had to.
No one, especially not Y/N, would want him to end up with her. Tim deserved her. Hell, even Jason’s done a lot more for her sake than he had. He can't hope anymore. He can't let this go on.
All this would have gone better if he’d known this sooner.
So with him on that rooftop, sitting on the ledge fifty stories above as if not at all was he a push away from death, Dick let his finger scroll across his phone’s screen moist from his sweat. The battery was going to run out soon. He’d been there for hours, staring at that same picture of her from the day in the nursery, when the sun had been kind to her, touching the surface of her skin so perfectly, it showed more of the little details that he’d already memorized. Those exact images would be thrown out by the end of tonight. Pack their bags. Scram them out the door.
It had, as expected, proven to be difficult.
The thirty-seven pictures he took that day, he’d already heartly remembered by the end of it. Countless of times, he pulled them out of his pocket just to take a second to look, even at the worst. Another month had passed and nothing had happened much since, nothing out the ordinary, which meant their friendship was back to how it used to be. They were friends.
And that was why it ends tonight. Because if he doesn’t fight these thoughts, if he doesn’t fight her, he loses her. He loses this friendship.
Are you sure you want to delete this photo?
Confirm.
Confirm.
Confirm.
Thirty-six times, he let his finger do the talking. Not his heart. Not even his brain.
At the last one, the screen was too distorted by a fallen tear that had seeped out of his domino mask for him to go on. It was the only hindrance he needed to give up and stop. At least for a second.
But he couldn’t even dwell on it too much, or let himself cry, let it burn his skin off enough so it wouldn’t hurt any more afterwards. He couldn’t even let himself have that luxury when he heard the thudding noise of his brother’s boot-cladded feet, a Bo staff that hit the ground, and a black cape that enforced a gust of wind to blow against the back of his head.
Dick just closed his eyes, and just after that, Tim walked over to stand right behind him.
Greatest Detective in the World. But even an idiot would know what he was up to, sitting in the darkness crying while his feet dangle off a rooftop’s ledge, eyes to his phone like he was reading the saddest sob story in the whole world or that he’d just received a text that one of his loved ones’ lives had been taken away from cancer.
The way Tim was silent, he knew.
And Dick just let him believe it, without even a word to explain himself, he did. He let Tim’s mind do the figuring out and the explaining because not even his own words would be half that truth.
Tim’s voice that night wasn’t the kind he heard often.
“You think this is the right time for that, Dick?”
A crack on his knuckles, his throat sounding rough and beaten, Dick didn’t know what to even say.
“We called you fifteen times over at the bridge. We needed you-“
“Sorry-“
“And it turns out you’ve been at your phone the whole time-“
“You handled it without me.”
“That isn’t the fucking point.”
A month of silence, since that deathly night after they took Y/N home. Several minutes, together in one car, had proven to be one of the most insufferable moments of his life. And not surprisingly, it went on for even more days after that.
Dick turned off his phone, but Tim snatched it away from his hands and walked away so Dick couldn’t grab it.
He stood from the ledge. “Come on, Tim. Not cool.”
“Hmm. Cute,” Tim faked a smile and swiped around the screen, at the last picture of Y/N he had. “Could have sent it to me. And Jason.”
“Tim-“
“But it’s cool,” Tim said. He threw the phone back at Dick and he caught it just before it hit the ground. “All good. Finally, you have something of her all to yourself, right?”
Tim was Tim. Not this. Not someone so angry and grievous and someone who was looking at him that way with so much disgust when he used to be that young boy of fourteen who looked at his older brother like a god. How long, he thought, must he have kept all this frustration bundled up inside, where not even he could reach into. Someone who’s so calm, so in control of what he says, had finally given in and let his annoyance flourish about. He wondered, as anyone would, at what point Tim had finally had enough of all of this.
“Tim, please-“
“You,” Tim pointed his gloved finger right at Dick’s face.
“You were supposed to be my brother.”
.
Tim:
Of course, he’s had enough.
He’s had enough of all this a lot longer than anyone else, even he, would have thought.
It might have been since that day Y/N was crying over an argument they once had, over something he can't even remember, that almost pried them apart, only for Dick to come along and console her without telling Tim where he was, and he only knew because Y/N told him what happened. If she hadn’t, Tim wouldn’t have known.
He wouldn’t have known Dick had long been pining over the love of his life, never mind how she was in his arms and kissing his lips and calling for his name.
Dick, who could have literally anyone he could possibly wish for, just had to want her.
“What do you want me to say?” The asshole started after a moment’s silence, of nothing but a helicopter’s whirl from far above, the lack of light from everywhere around them, and their footsteps against the empty cement.
He couldn’t even look at his brother in the eye with his mask on, but he knew enough to know what he felt. It didn’t matter if he was sincere. It didn’t even matter that he cried.
“Nothing,” Tim said. “You’ve done your damage.”
“Damage?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Enlighten me.”
Tim scoffed and faked yet another laugh. It annoyed himself at that point.
“You are unbelievable-“
“I’m not trying to do anything with her anymo-“
“Don’t even start with that, asshole.”
Tim’s hands were shaking, and subconsciously he tried to repress those tremors, hoping they’d go away if he clenched them enough, but they only got worse.
“She was mine,” he cried. “And you just couldn’t handle that-“
“I never tried anything with her when you were together.” Dick tried to step closer to him but he just backed away.
“So you weren’t just waiting for us to break up so you’d swoop in and be the hero?” he scoffed. “I asked you to make sure she was okay, not take advantage of her hurting just so you’d have your chance.”
“And why did you break up, Tim?” He had the audacity to ask. “You didn’t love her anymore-“
“You knew I still did-“
“Then why hurt her?!”
“Because I was hurting her anyway!”
Never. He’s never been this angry. Not that he could recall.
“I was 17. Everything about me changed. Wayne Enterprises. Red Robin. Fucking Bruce dying and coming back to life. She was there but I was about to lose my fucking mind. I thought she didn’t have a place in all that mess anymore so I broke it off.”
Finally, he stepped close enough to Dick, almost to leveling with his height. His brother had his lips hidden, hands falling to his sides.
He looked terrified.
“Two seconds after that, I never regret anything more my whole fucking life. I thought talking to you would make her feel better, but you just couldn’t help but bat your pretty little eyes at her when she was vulnerable. I wanted to go back but I couldn’t ‘cuz you were already there!”
He was snarling, and a growl escaped his throat by the time he backed away. Tim didn’t even get to hear himself until he saw his own reflection in the white of Dick’s mask.
But Dick. He didn’t even take it as a hint to just shut up and take his rambling.
“I never meant to keep her away from you-“
“I went to you, Dick.” Tim wiped his lips with the back of his gloves, watched over to the next building to avoid his brother’s face. “I always went to you for help. With her. You know how long I’ve wanted her. And I went to you because I thought you were my brother and you’d help me.”
“I did help you!”
“You were helping yourself!”
His hands slammed against Dick’s chest, and it was a good thing he didn’t fight back. He would have just taken that as an excuse to keep hitting.
“Tim,” Dick held his hands up. Tim backed away. “Just go to her-“
“THIS ISNT ABOUT HER ANYMORE, ASSHOLE!”
Hands shoving his chest once again. This time, Dick had caught them, held them by his wrists enough so Tim couldn’t pull them away.
“THIS IS ABOUT YOU AND ME, GRAYSON!” Tim screamed. “WHAT HAPPENED TO HAVING EACH OTHER’S BACKS!”
“YOU THINK IT WAS MY CHOICE TO GET IN BETWEEN YOU!?”
It was from a whip of strength not even he had known prior, but it hurt when he finally could take his hands off of Dick’s grip, and with that, he backed further away, though his eyes couldn’t stray from looking straight into his brother’s.
“IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER IF IT WAS-“
“THEN I’M SORRY!’ Dick swallowed. “IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED TO HEAR?!”
“No,” Tim’s knees hit the railing and so close did he fall, but he kept himself up, rubbed the bottom of his chin with his gloved hand. “You're not sorry…”
Dick’s silence. Even more so did he want to just lunge at him and strangle his vocal chords. No matter how far-fetched, Dick was supposed to tell him all the things he wanted him to say. So far, he’s said none of that.
Dick just watched when Tim turned around to rest his weight onto his palms, looking out into the open seeking for just about any kind of help there was that he could call out from the wind, but there was nothing.
“You're right,” Dick said, and Tim felt the cement crack from beneath his palms. “I’m not sorry.”
“Fucking bold of you-”
“What would have happened to her if I hadn’t stepped in?” He heard Dick’s voice louder and clearer, which meant he was walking closer towards him.
“I would have come back. I always wanted to come back, but by then she was all over you. I couldn’t-“
Tim looked at his own hands. “I had it coming. I can't blame her.”
Another whiff of air, and it blew the strands of his black locks right onto his eyelids. They stung, but he didn’t push them away. He just kept his eyes locked onto the blankness of the gray, the dark that went all the way into his spirit.
“But I do blame you-“
“Tim, you hurt her-”
“AND YOU HAVENT?!”
Dick caught his Bo staff, which Tim had thrown right at him as swiftly as he turned around. His mouth was as dry as his palms were sweating. His teeth were close to breaking. And his eyes dangerously drifting off into some unknown nowhere just so he wouldn’t have to look at such betrayal.
“Tim-“
Tim was shaking, or at least his hands were, when he gave into his impulses and moved so fast, grabbing Dick by the collar and standing him down.
“You stand there blaming me for all that hurt when here you are-“
“What the hell do you want me to say to you?!”
He was strong, stronger than any one of them would have thought. Dick couldn’t even move, much less out of shock than it was out of his hold on him too overwhelming to counter.
“Tim, this isn’t like you-“
“You have no idea what I’ll do,” Tim growled. “Why do you think I became Red Robin?”
To separate himself from the likes of what it used to be. To not be Robin anymore. To stray away from his ideals, ideals and morals no longer his.
Because he was, in his truest capacity, capable of much darker things than people seem to know. Even his own brother.
“I hate you-“
Dick, who took that second to take advantage of weakness, grabbed him by the wrists and pushed him off with the soles of his feet, not enough to send him to the ground but enough to almost topple him. And when he looked up, immediately, Tim’s fist headed for his brother’s head, but again it was caught by Dick’s palm.
“HEY, HEY, HEY, ENOUGH! BOTH OF YOU!”
A much deeper, louder voice, the third one to be heard that night. It was that, and two strong arms that grabbed Tim by the shoulder and Dick by his suit’s back. Even when it wasn’t even to much effect, they stopped.
At least, for a second they did, before Tim started for Dick’s neck and he had to be held back with a strong hand right against his chest. “Let me go!”
“What the hell is going on with you two!?”
“Stay out of this Jason!”
It was easier for Jason to stand right in between, just to stop either of them from going after their skin. Dick had stopped. Tim, on the other hand, had to be held back by the shoulders. “Tim, calm down!”
“I said stay out of this!”
.
Jason:
“One of you pinheads tell me what’s going on!”
“Are you really gonna let Jason fight your battles, Dick?!”
Tim tried to push Jason out of the way. He was lucky, in fact, that none of them could see the irate look on his face hidden behind the safety of a red helmet. Otherwise they might have started for him too, just at how disgusted he looked at them both. And he had every right to be. He knew exactly why they were fighting. It was the devil in him who felt like asking.
Jason held him back with his cape. “Hey, KNOCK IT OFF-“
“Let go of me!”
“You don’t think I wanna bash this asshole’s brains out everyday, Tim?!” Jason hauled him to the floor. “Trust me. You can hold back.”
“Oh, fuck you, Todd.”
“You shut up.” Jason pointed at Dick. “If this is about Y/N I know exactly why Tim wants you dead.”
“And why am I the one you two’re ganging up on?!”
“If I was, Dick, I’d just let this one have at it with you. Thank me later.” Jason said, nodding over at Tim. Tim shrugged off his brother’s hold on him and frowned.
“You were never the one to trust, Dick,” Tim gulped. And Jason knew Dick would have thought the same. His flaring eyes, the burn that was almost never there from someone so usually calm. It was unnerving seeing Tim this way. “Look at everyone you’ve hurt. Y/N. Kori. When are you going to stop?”
“Don’t you fucking start with me, you little-“
“Hey! Knock it off!” Jason pushed Dick again with a shove of his hand. Dick stepped back.
“Jason, just get out of here -“
“I don’t know, man; Feels like I have to be the responsible one. For once.”
Tim grabbed Jason’s hand and hauled him to the side so he could step closer to where Dick was standing. “You don’t want to be a part of this.”
Jason, if not at all wanting that to be true in the slightest sense, didn’t fight back and took Tim’s shoving. But, as he’d thought, Dick was the one who looked at him so slyly he wanted to grab his lips and use them to haul him over the building.
Suddenly, every part of his skin wanted to burst, blood beating through every inch of vessel and flesh so much it burned him. His mouth sewed shut, ears hurting at the redness. Again, if not for the helmet, it would have been a dead giveaway.
But Dick wasn’t having it.
“Trust me, Tim. He already is.”
“What the hell do you mean-“
“I said, enough. You two settle this at home.”
Jason tried for Dick’s shoulder just to push him to back away, but he threw his hand off.
“Don’t fucking act like the good guy between the three of us,” Dick said. “What are you gonna say next? That this isn’t what Y/N would want?”
“You think it is?!”
Dick chortled and he turned away. Tim still wouldn’t let his glare away from his brother and if Jason would let him, he’d have mauled him to death.
“You always did think you knew what was best for her, didn’t you?”
“Jason, what the hell is he talking about?”
He never told him. The bastard never told Tim when he was so sure he would, when he basically told him that night outside Y/N’s doorstep that by the end of the hour, Tim would know what he’d done and he’d have found Jason by the next, even when he tries too hard to disappear, which he had tried to do for four months, hiding from his brother, and not long after he’ll never be welcomed into the manor as so much as a guest. It did surprise him, after many months, that Tim hadn’t so much as acknowledged it. Part of him wanted to believe Tim didn’t care, or had already forgiven Y/N and in turn forgiven him.
But, of course, Dick hadn’t told him. The asshole wanted this to drag out as painfully long as he possibly could. Make him carry that burden himself just because he thought it was right, as Tim’s brother, even when he wanted no part of those niceties.
“You wanna tell him?” The blue leotard wearing ass said. “Or should I?”
“Don’t fucking bring me into this shitshow-“
“Brother, you walked right into it yourself.”
“I will kill you,” Jason growled. “One of these days.”
“Tell me what?”
Tim’s voice, the softest it had been since the start of that night.
He shouldn’t.
His little brother, one whose relationship had proven far too difficult to build, if there was ever a chance at a good relationship at all. His brother. An established brotherhood he once despised so much, took too many years just for it to be something tolerable. His little brother.
He never had a little brother like Tim. Perhaps even now, he wouldn’t. Not once he knows.
“Tim, I-“
“Jason, tell me what’s going on.”
Dick no longer even had that smirk on him. He just looked sad for the both of them, as he should be. As anyone should be.
“Just tell him.”
So much did his fist want to just fly and land straight at Grayson’s perfectly chiseled cheekbones, break his face so much he wouldn’t live to stand a day.
But Jason had grown too silent, too guilty.
He couldn’t even take off his helmet and look at either of them in the eye.
Tim stepped right in front of him and on his face kind of worry that often lingered prior to it being the worst rage to ever engulf into.
Was there a way out of this? To counter the impact? Make it so it didn’t hurt so much?
If Grayson had just told him, it wouldn’t have to be this way.
“Jason-“
He looked up, and through the slits of his visor, he knew Tim wanted to look at him in the eye, to find something out of this truth.
“I…”
His throat, it hurt to even breath. And when this happened, he usually takes the helmet off. This time, however, he couldn’t do that. Not when he had so much to say despite him not wanting to.
“I slept with her…”
It was a shame Dick didn’t look too much like an ass right then. If he did, he’d have a reason for himself to just jump at him with a knife. But all he could even see, all he could bring himself to watch, was his feet.
Nothing else. Not when Tim was looking at him that way.
“What?”
“I slept with her-“
Tim.
Was it even Tim anymore? The boy in front of him? Who never looked at him with so much betrayal?
“When?”
“A few months ago…” he said. “Lasted about a month.”
Then, it wouldn’t even have mattered if it were him who broke the news, the asshole that Dick was, or the Gotham Times.
Tim.
No longer his little brother. Never will be again.
Right for the neck. That’s where Tim pounced a second less than he was smart enough to move away.
.
Dick:
That asshole deserved it.
But if anyone deserved it more than Jason did, it was Dick.
Was it to divert Tim’s attention from himself? Give him a breather and a while for Tim’s anger to mellow down taking it out on Jason so he doesn’t take it out on him so much? Possibly.
But the moment Tim’s hands squeezed the living daylights out of Jason’s neck, he knew he shouldn’t have brought it up. It was wrong. This was all wrong.
He started for Tim’s arms, grabbing them both just to at least give Jason enough time to breath, but this newfound strength certainly wasn’t one he’d expected. When he did manage to pull them off, Tim swung his fist right at Dick’s face.
Then, he went back for Jason, who then took that short time to grab both his fists and stop them for hurling him over the roof.
This was his fault. This was his doing.
And all the more did he want this to end when Jason held Tim strong enough to make him scream, and with that, he threw another punch right for his helmet, shattering the visor beneath his bruised knuckles. Jason tried to kick him away with his knee, but Tim was pushing him.
Jason, who should have been a lot stronger, was not doing much to fight Tim. And instead, he tried talking him out of it.
“Tim!” he coughed. Tim still holding both fists went on to push him. “Tim, stop!”
Head slam against his helmet, and it broke, enough for a part of it to be chipped off and expose his forehead.
Jason finally hurled Tim over to the ground just so he could wipe the blood stain off from seeping down his eyes, but that wasn’t much of a good idea. Not when Tim took that as a chance to jump for his brother, grabbing him by the shoulders, and with the forces of their own bodies flying across the wind, the railing wasn’t enough to stop their fall.
Tim and Jason fell over the building, down fifty stories with one’s hands wrapped around the others throat, and Tim went on to strangle him even as they fell.
Dick, without even thinking much, dove into that same abyss. Did he have a plan? No. Was this going to work anyway? Probably not. But he had to try.
At least, it was all he had to do. When Dick leapt, head soaring straight down for a car so miniscule that wouldn’t be so small the more he wastes time, his brothers thrashing bodies that broke the speed of their fall worked to his sorry advantage and Dick managed to catch up.
He grabbed Tim off, thankfully with the fall lessening his grip but not at all did it change the murderous look on his face. This wasn’t his brother. This can't be him. This was someone who had all his frustrations bottled up in the form of coffee addiction, insomnia, and workaholic tendencies, someone who hadn’t vented out his hurt and anger at him, who he apparently had been hating for a while.
When he had him in his grasps, Dick grappled up to the next building. “Jason, hold on!”
It was, in actuality, the worst idea he’s ever come up with. Other than the fact that Tim weighed a good 170 pounds, Jason was no lighter. Not even in the slightest. And carrying both of them? He might as well be hauling up a whole tank.
That one single grappling hook showed them no appreciation despite it holding on the best it could. And it was to no help that the hook landed on a building too far.
They were just yards up the ground when the rope tightened, and the impact on Dick’s arm he was sure had the bone dislocated. A scream was all he could muster at the shooting pains that went all the way up his neck, but still, he held on, and even when it lasted no more than a few seconds, it was all too agonizing not to feel like it lasted hours.
All it took was to at least break the fall, but that was all he could handle. Dick let go of the grapple gun and they were falling across the whole block, across the street over to an abandoned lot with junkyard cars and probably some broken glass scattered across the ground.
Tim landed on top of one of the cars, breaking the windshield under his weight. Jason wasn’t so lucky, rolling across the cold cement with it hitting his helmet, enough to expose his face.
And Dick, with it not helping his arm at all, landed right against the fenced border and fell to the ground. Some wire sticking out might have impaled his skin.
He was breathing. Was he still breathing? There was throbbing. Redness. Blood that went to his eyes, most probably. He could hear his heart and basically the rest of his senses going haywire.
When he looked up, already Tim could stand, right on top of the cars.
Now lacking his Bo staff, Tim smashed the broken metal beneath his feet and pulled out a slab hard enough to break bones.
.
Tim:
If Dick were smart, he should have let him die.
This was always how he was, how this was all going to boil down to. His so many ways of dealing with loss, heartbreak, and stress, it was never going to hold him back enough if he hadn’t an outlet. And this, tonight, this was all part of the inevitable. He did what he promised Y/N. He kept off the coffee and had eight hours of sleep every day. But did it mean it warded off his thoughts on her? On his brothers? On their betrayal and how much he’d been holding that all off for months? Not even close. In fact, they grew worse.
Who does he start with?
Dick was all the way over at the fence. Wounded. Dislocated arm. He pulled himself up and went for a wall he could smash his shoulder against just to pull back the bone.
And Jason.
Shit.
Should have went for him first.
Two glocks in his hands. This man wasn’t afraid in the slightest.
“Jason, don’t!” Dick cried. Too late. He already shot one of the cars.
Tim spun about just to dodge at least the shattered glass. He was aiming for his legs, at all the parts of his body that wouldn’t be so lethal. How kind of him.
Which meant, that if it were the vital parts of him exposed, Jason wouldn’t shoot.
So he didn’t even try to hide himself, his chest especially, when he hurled himself over the many car hoods and roofs. Jason kept going, and this time he went to shooting the glass on purpose. Probably to hit him with the shards.
Tim reached the wall and pushed his feet so he’d roll on the ground. Cape up, he looked through the many places to hide, but he didn’t want to hide. What he wanted was to grab one of them, any of them, by the shoulders, pin them to the ground, and have his fist have at it with their stupid faces.
He ran up to Jason, cape protecting his legs and arms, and just as he did Dick had crept up behind him, grabbing Jason by a headlock. Elbow to Dick’s chest, he took that as a chance to grab his guns and throw them over to the side. So close did he miss one of the bullets, if grazing his shoulder was ever a miss. But he ignored that hiss and landed a hit on Jason’s stomach.
But not even that could last long, with Jason practically subdued. Dick set Jason aside to block Tim’s fist from landing anywhere near either of them. He kept hitting, swinging, it was all a blur after the third time he felt his shoulders hurt. And Grayson’s was no better. So he aimed for it.
What was he doing?
Foot landing on Dick’s pelvis. It was enough for his body to skid across the ground. He looked up at his brother, teeth gritting so much that it hurt, Tim didn’t move fast enough before he could move away from Dick’s fist, which landed a good one right to his teeth.
.
Jason:
This was the most ridiculous fight he’s ever been on. No different from a fucking pellet gun war over at the gardens that one time they were drunk and stupid. This was a game, one he really didn’t want to play. He should have known, and what he thought that time was that somehow, she was worth going through all this chaos for. That moment of bliss, that month of beauty and serenity and peace, was it worth this? With his own brothers?
It wouldn’t have been if it was just a month of beauty and serenity and peace. But it wasn’t just about that anymore, was it?
So this had to be worth it. In every way. With Dick and Tim over a few yards away, Dick holding his shoulder and trying so hard to avoid being hit there and Tim so unruly and angry and being so taken over with his rage, not at all was he anything like this before tonight.
He had the choice. To grab the gun that had skidded over to his side, shoot them both in the shoulder to put everything to a stop, or join in on their rumble to drag this out as long as inhumanely possible. Three different men who knew exactly what the others’ moves will be, this wasn’t going to last very long if it were to be a good way.
But, if this were to be dealt with bullets, he can say goodbye to either of them of ever being his brother again, to never be a part of this family so hard to love but love nevertheless.
He stopped his hand from reaching for the gun, and with that, he started for the two.
Jason grabbed Tim’s ankle just before it would have landed on Dick’s chin, threw him to the side so he’d land on the floor.
Dick’s fist, which would have hit Tim, instead hit Jason right at the nape of his neck. He almost toppled over to the ground, and with that flash of rage, he struck back at Dick right at his bad shoulder. Might have been too far. But he didn’t care.
Tim hit his back, right up against his sharp knee. He cried out at the unnerving bellows that went straight to his head, picked himself up just before he hit the ground.
Another hit for his head, but Dick had stopped it with his own hand, twisted Tim’s ankle so he’d once again lose his balance and fall.
Three different men.
Three different fights.
Three men who knew each other far too well to be beaten so easily.
They jostled and rolled about, around the junkyard over so many of the cars and the broken glass and even the fence that had long blown over. This wasn’t at all supposed to be what they’d spend the night on, but with the slabs of metal being thrown, the cars almost hurled up with their peak human strength, their limbs flailing, some barely missing a nerve on their head and some wrecking a whole tooth out of their mouth, it was not, to even some capacity, ever going to end as well as any of them hoped.
And with them at the middle of the barren empty grounds, Jason dodging Dick’s fist only to meet Tim’s knee, Dick being absolutely smothered by Tim’s head smashing against his, and Tim being pinned to the ground by either of his brothers larger than him that he hated so much.
It all would have ended in death, after the kind of blur that clouded so much of their moral thought and any kind of sense at all to remind them of what they were doing, if not for something far too strong for them to easily swerve from.
Or, better yet, three things too strong for them to swerve from.
At a whiff so quick for any of them to have possibly even sensed, a flash of purple was the first to wave off that blur from their eyes. And it went for Tim.
Stephanie was first to subdue him, holding Tim down with her knee landing right at the small of his back. He cried out both at the shock he hadn’t expected and the pulsing pain that probably went all the way up his spine, but he was done. Steph had grabbed Tim’s head and pinned him down right against the floor.
The next one was Dick, and before any of them could even turn, something so brightly blinding, a figure of yellow, fell from one of the cars’ hood and grabbed Dick by the neck. Duke was smaller, but not at all was that some disadvantage. His huge armored arms, locking Dick enough for him to just flail his hands about, it was enough to make him stop.
And, just as he expected, the next thing he saw after that flash of a second he was spared, was a blur of black so silently creeping up on him, Jason couldn’t move even when he knew it was coming. No one could have seen it. Not even him. By the next second, he was bent over one of the cars, hands to his back, and Cassandra had a taser stuck to his hip.
“NO, NO, NO, CASS DON’T-“
Barely enough to fry him unconscious, but enough to fucking electrocute his skin off so his muscles could barely move.
.
Dick:
This should all have ended sooner than it even happened.
And the shame crept in, not even when he stopped struggling against Duke’s hold on him, but when Barbara, the last to come into the scene, flew in from the window right across.
She looked like she wanted to murder all three of them by a rope around their necks. One single rope. Having three just wouldn’t be worth it.
She took off her cowl and let her red hair fall to her back, so they’d easily see just how disgusted she looked at them all, at the look on her eyes, at the look on all their eyes.
“Duke, let me go-“
“I’m sorry, Dick.”
“Please.”
“If we could, Nightwing,” Babs swallowed. “I’ll have you tied to that streetlamp for the rest of the night.”
Jason tried to reach for something in the car just to kick Cass away, but she tased him again. Some smoke flew up from his flesh.
“Cass, that’s enough,” Babs said.
Cass glared at them all, then settled to just holding Jason down with his arms.
“Is anyone going to tell me what the hell is going on with you three?”
“Maybe if you get your foot out of my head, Steph, I’d actually get my brain back and answer her question,” Tim said.
“You lost your brain when you fell down that building.”
“You saw that?”
Steph snorted. “You’re lucky I didn’t jump in until I had all of us on call.”
“Lucky?!”
Steph twisted Tim’s arm and his cries could be heard over to the next block.
Jason tried, again, to break free from Cass’s hold, but her fist wasn’t one to welcome when it landed much like a bat would’ve right up against Jason’s head.
And Tim, who almost pried Steph’s knee from against his back, was just pinned down again not even a second after breaking free.
They were too tired to go up against any of them.
So Dick, knowing there was no other, prettier way out of this, let go of his hands from gripping too hard on Duke’s arm. He didn’t let go, but it had loosened, enough for him to properly talk. Babs went over to him. That dagger-infested glower stuck through, but at least there was some appreciation for his lack of resistance.
“It was a misunderstanding-“
“Was it?!”
Babs clenched her jaw.
“This is about her, isn’t it-“
Tim’s voice echoed. “No!”
.
Tim:
He growled and shoved Steph’s hand away, but they kept on his arms, pushing them down against his spine. She was strong enough to subdue him, stronger now that he was exhausted and his muscles were all strained, but that didn’t mean he was, in any way, going to back down from this fight. This wasn’t over.
He could crane his head up enough to look at Babs.
“This is about these two traitors who lied to my face for months!”
Steph was having too much trouble keeping him down. “Tim!”
“Are you really going to take their side?!”
“No one is taking anyone’s side here.”
Babs eyed Cass at least to make her loosen her grip on Jason’s twisted arms. Cass rolled her eyes, sighed, and still without a word, she grabbed Jason by the back of his collar to make him stand. But it wasn’t without her taser stuck up to his side.
“Cass, I’m not gonna fucking fight you-“
“Just shut up, Jay,” Dick said, and with that, Duke tightened his arm.
“They wanna know,” Tim panted. “Tell them all why we’re in this mess.”
His voice, all broken and rageful and so unlike what anyone would have thought. It turned the heads of everyone around. Steph loosened her hand around Tim’s neck much out of her own disbelief.
“Stabbing me in the back the way you did…”
“Tim, you don’t have to-“ Babs went on, but Tim’s screams were too much.
“Tell them! Say why you’re all a bunch of ass-“
“You’re the one who wanted this to be some shitshow!” Jason’s teeth shouldn’t last long with how much he was gritting them when he hissed and snarled at Cass, who poked the taser just beneath his hip.
“Cass, enough with the taser.”
“Yeah, Cass,” Jason said. “Where the hell did you even get that?”
“Some douchey police officer over at Chinatown,” Duke said to him while still keeping his hands on Dick.
Something so foreign, so unruly and aggressive, it was taking too much control over him. Tim’s eyes were burning, and there weren’t even any tears. His blood pulsed through every vein, strong enough for it to hurt, and loud enough for him to hear it through his bloodied ears.
Tim pushed Steph away and for a moment, he was free. He wasn’t even thinking anymore. He just wanted his hands squeezing the voice out of Jason’s neck.
Babs grabbed him by the cape just as Steph caught up, and again he was on the floor. Still, he screamed, thrashed about because everything within him just yelled for him to finally let it out. He was done being the nice guy, done being the brother they both pushed around, took advantage of, lied to, and picked on because they knew he’d never fight back.
“Tim…” Babs helped Steph holding him down. She looked up at Dick. “What the hell did you do to him?”
“Nothing we can't sort out!”
“Jesus, Dick,” Jason snorted. “You haven’t said one smart thing all day.”
“Like you're any better, you asswipe.”
“Enough!”
Babs stood right between them, otherwise they’d have lunged for each other even if they had a missile launcher aimed for their heads.
“Let me go. Duke,” Dick said. “I’m not gonna fight any of you-“
“Yeah, three seconds ago you were close to running Jason’s head through a windshield.”
“Just let me go and we’ll all calmly-“
“Calmly?” Duke laughed. “I saw you fall down that building from where I stood. None of you know what calm is.”
Duke’s voice was stern and not at all did he sound like he’d trust him enough for that, no different than Steph’s or even just the look in Cass’s eyes. Because, if anything, other than the utter disgust, disdain, and disappointment, everything before them was something not to easily believe.
Not long after, before anything even happened, before Tim heard that first trace of a large black cape and the heavy soles that would have broken the cement floor underneath if he hadn’t purposely landed so swiftly, with the shadow that wasn’t in fact a shadow, but a suit so terrifying, dark, and so close to invisible, it was the night in a physicality no two people could similarly describe.
Tim knew he’d get here first, before anyone else even turned their heads. Because he stopped with his cries and faced his untimely doom. Face to the ground, quiet and unmoving. Everyone else followed but that was after he’d already appeared.
Not even anyone from the likes of the worst villains had seen the look on Bruce’s face as close to the one he had right then.
.
Jason:
If he were alone, he’d just have snorted. The look on Grayson and Drake’s face. Couldn’t be drawn.
He’s seen that same frown on Bruce every time he shoots a damn gun, which was every night. He could paint it by memory and he wouldn’t miss a detail. The squinted white of his eyeholes, his lips forlorn and flat. His hands, clenched enough for it to hurt, hidden beneath his cape. Oh, Dad. Did I do that?
These guys just needed some getting used to.
And he shouldn’t be amused at the fact that at least, for once, he wasn’t the only one in trouble this time. Tim looked ashamed. Dick looked like he’d seen a ghost. Dick should have known this, at least. He’s steered up a few times of trouble himself. Nothing like what he’s done, that’s for sure. But he shouldn’t be so stricken. Still, he was, which made it all the more inappropriate if he were to smirk right then.
Damian was right beside him. He wasn’t entertained, or intrigued, what he usually was watching his father tell off his brothers. In fact, he looked bothered. Like they’d just taken so much of his time away from what he’d rather be doing, which apparently was more interesting than this.
Ah. Of course. An out-of-town mission. Just Batman and Robin. They left Babs in charge. Probably why she looked just as horrified as Dick, hands to her side and keeping the slight shake of her palms hidden. It seems she prepared for anything to happen on patrol that night, anything Bruce prepared her for being the boss. What they hadn’t prepared for, apparently, was them.
“Batman, I-“ Babs swallowed. “We have this under control. You can go back to-“
“Let them go.”
Chills down everyone’s wobbly spines at his growling voice proved more terrifying under the filter near his neck. Everyone except Jason, of course. But he can't be so relaxed. Cass was getting suspicious. He just felt her hands tighten even more around his wrists.
But perhaps, he should be afraid. He’s gotten into mounds of trouble, but it was never anything like this.
He snorted again. They hadn’t hurt anybody. It was just them three and their lack of brain. They’ll be fine.
He hoped.
“Bruce, they’re trying to kill each other-“
“They can try.”
Babs, right then, might be the one to kill them right after. Maybe with her bare hands. Maybe with a truck. With a deathly, silent scowl at all of them, she nodded.
Duke was first to let go of Dick, and with that a pat on the back. Dick rubbed the back of his neck, stayed put and didn’t even step away. He was relaxed. Ashamed, but relaxed. He just stretched out his limbs and already everyone was satisfied.
Next, it was Jason. With a reluctant Cass finally letting him go, and the taser, Jason tumbled over to the nearest car hood just to keep himself up. That fucking taser robbed him of his knees. How many volts was that thing?
Finally, Steph swung her legs over from holding down Tim’s body and helped him up. She dusted off his back, apologized under her breath. He probably had a lot to say if it weren’t for the seven other pairs of eyes on him, watching him from letting out so much as a twitch.
Tim didn’t shove her away so he could go back to poking Jason’s eyeballs out. He just stood there and stared at him like Jason and Dick were lucky everyone else was around. Which, he probably was. He wasn’t going to deny that.
The last people to be so afraid of Bruce were the three of them, the perpetrators, the reason for this little reunion. So instead of letting out something so cocky and unapologetic, something so at the borders of causing Bruce to have an aneurysm, not one mouth resisted from being kept shut. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t often expected from such an unusual family.
And Bruce looked at the three of them not with anger, or dismay, or even annoyance.
He looked disappointed.
Which, arguably, makes it a whole lot worse. Hell, even for him. He’s been yelled at since the day he came back and all of a sudden a little fight with his brothers is what brings him to shame.
Bruce was unmoving, so his voice startled and shook.
“All this…” he said. “For her…”
No one spoke. Not even a cricket. Even with the horns and sirens from afar, the bustle they couldn’t care less the only noise there was, it was deafening.
“Don’t you think you’ve disappointed her enough?”
Jason ignored the shattered edges of his helmet that poked on his cheek, ignored the blood it drew or the strain on his arms. Everyone did, perhaps.
“Go back to patrol.”
Batman left, as quickly as he’d come. Robin followed right behind him.
Batgirl turned around, nodded at her team, which was all there was out of her, out of anybody. They could see her fists clench, her eyes down and avoiding the others. The Signal flew out of the scene, Spoiler grappled up to the next rooftop, and Orphan disappeared out of thin air, without a word or even a grunt.
Nightwing, Red Robin, and Red Hood left that junkyard lot, and as the brothers they were, and dreadfully still are, they kept out of each other’s ways for the rest of that quiet night.
-----
What was so different about that night, and the many more nights that followed, was how they no longer had each other to turn to, even more now that it seemed they needed their brothers the most. Jason was, in the worst sense, used to the kind of isolation he was forced into after the matter. Dick had to learn to be alone, but it always had been better to have another’s shoulder to lean on and talk to. Tim, not so much. Not when he almost always turned to Y/N. And if not her, Dick. His older brother. One he once looked up to like a being unreachable, now a traitor he’d scoff at if he dared to show up.
So what they did, and what they were forced to do for several nights, was to deal with the cosmos and the whirlwind of thoughts all by their sorry selves. Dick usually could be found in training, spinning about in the uneven bars set up for him at the manor, have the sweat and the strain in his muscles force out whatever it was that bothered him into some physical outlet, how it often had been for many years as he appreciated himself for the care it brought. For the others, however, it wasn’t so much the same. Tim would spend all hours in the office and wouldn’t so much as nap even when his whole body tortured him to at least stop his back from being crouched so much. And Jason, well, had already drowned himself in booze, even more now that the reasons had faded clearer.
Alone in his apartment, over at the nook by the window where he usually spent the day with a book, now his mess of a hair would be plastered against the cold glass and the many bottles that surround him would block the surfaces of the cushion. It never actually got out of hand. He only ever drank to get rid of that noise blaring into his ear the way it was now, the way it was for all three of them.
And Tim couldn’t turn to that same comfort, or whatever it was that caffeine, stinging eyelids, and an unhealthy staring into a computer screen with an all nighter at the office would bring him. That night after the fight, he couldn’t sleep, even when he tried to. Which led to no one’s knowing, a cup of coffee when the day had risen and he was forced to go on with that said day like nothing happened. That cup would turn to two. Three. Eventually it dawned on him that he’d slept what he should have in a single day in a span of three.
Dick’s training, as it turned out, wasn’t so healthy at all. The strain in his wrists began a little over two hours ago. He’d been at the grounds for quadruple that time. For that day alone. Would it kill him if he didn’t stop? Probably not. Would it almost kill him? Probably. But he went on. Kept his hands busy. Forced himself to feel that exhaustion that should be taking his mind out of everything and not amplify it.
But this was only the beginning of what eventually would be that highway to descent, to some slope with no ladder to climb back up to, no guide for them to reverse and no light at the end that would eventually bring some alternative to the truth. They only had the truth to hold on.
Their brotherhood. One so strained. So complicated. One that took far too much time to build and rebuild. They couldn’t, not even if they wanted to, be apart from this family, deny that they were a part of it. They couldn’t escape each other’s presence no matter how many times they’d change their numbers or block out their trackers or find another city to live in. They couldn’t lose something that had grown too strong for them to fight against. That night, they tried. Or rather, the forces tried. The forces run by their bitter rivalry or the want for the same woman.
It was the fifth night after that fight, when Dick let go of the bars, finally giving his hands that rest too many hours overdue. He wiped his sweat, drank from his bottle, and pulled out his phone. That night, he thought it was enough, that this silence and bitterness and sheer negligence over their bond would eventually break for permanence. He knew that this coping was only just the beginning, and that it will, for everything he was certain about, would it become so much more, something so dark, that it would pull the whole family apart. He didn’t want that. For any of them. So that night, he sent a text to Tim and Jason.
Tim’s first account wasn’t on his brothers, though it had crossed his mind many more times than he would have hoped. His first thought, if anything, was how Y/N would have thought if he let himself fall. It’d be in his rule this time, that he wouldn’t let the caffeine get to him or reach to such extremes he’d never otherwise control. But Y/N wasn’t going to believe that, as nobody should. Hell, he probably shouldn’t place that much faith onto himself at all. Even if he does so much as lose an hour of sleep, one for every night until there wasn’t any hours left, if he allows himself one more cup when he had one just half an hour before, he knew it’d be just the beginning.
So, when he got that text from Dick, he realized it wasn’t worth much the risk.
He hated them both like he’s hated no one else, wanted them to realize just how much of a wreck their doings have imprinted on him and Y/N, how the consequences that followed weren’t nearly what they deserved at all. But if he doesn’t fight that hate, if he doesn’t find peace, it’ll be that darkness for him, that same life he hadn’t learned to control, one where he once lost himself to. and in turn, made him lose Y/N. And he’ll lose her again if he won't listen to that conscience. He texted Dick back and told him to meet him at Pauli’s.
Jason, on the other hand, acted as was expected of him. When he saw that text the first thing his lack of conscience told him was to get another phone and forget it all happened, disappear for another few months, show up when it was convenient, and hope that this all blows over before his escapism backfires.
But he never did get to bring himself to throw out his phone and get a new one, much less delete the text before he’s even seen it. A few days after, he let that daft little voice in him to open the text, allow himself a few seconds just to witness its premise. But he’d read through everything in that split second he allowed himself to. Dick didn’t really have much to say. And what else was to come next other than the few days of tussling and fighting and the many more bottles of booze that were not at all helping with those same voices that just wouldn’t shut up.
Was this all worth it? Was anything worth this at all?
Because those few years it took just to have any sort of a conversation with Dick, much more with Tim, certainly wasn’t a few years of a bond rebuilt that he wanted to go through again.
He loved them. In his own, twisted little way. He loved his brothers and actually would go out his way to save them from whatever horrors he’d been forced to face. That love didn’t have to be from occasionally hanging out in the holidays or spent an hour or two in a bar.
At least, in his conscience, if he were to die one day like he’d realize would happen again, knowing life wasn’t exactly his alone to spend and control, he’d know he did whatever was best for the people he loved.
So, despite Dick and Tim not at all expecting so much as a text back, they still had it in them to wait a few hours. In that dimly lit corner of Pauli’s, the aroma of freshly backed pancakes distracting them from their otherwise bland pickup from the rest of their senses. They waited, not hoping for the best.
Jason went into the diner and saw them, ordered a cup, then took a seat across Tim, with Dick in between.
That silence, the same for everyday for the past five, it was haunting and eerie, disturbing, uncomforting, one they knew they’d all have to settle if they wanted to move on and actually bring some light into whatever it was they’ve caused.
Jason didn’t take off his hoodie. Tim warmed his hands with his cup of hot chocolate. And Dick, knowing he’d have to start, cleared his throat and looked up.
.
Dick:
Seeing Tim walk through that door was a surprise enough, much more Jason coming along and not even was he three hours late. Fuck. Fuck. What does he even say? Where does he ever start? Should he even start?
Giving in to his impulses certainly was bad an idea. This was, in every way, what he should have expected when he picked up his phone and thought to call his brothers hoping it was the right thing to do. And, perhaps, it was the right thing.
But was he the right person to start it? Lead this conversation to the direction he wanted so they’d get to a better place? The one that pushed his impulses in the first place?
They were all too awfully silent. Tim’s had his second round of hot chocolate. He doesn’t even like hot chocolate that much. And Jason looks like he’s hiding himself from the cops with his hood down and neck craned to the table’s surface. He’s never been in anything more awkward and uncomfortable in his years. This was just humiliating.
But, he was sure, humiliation should be the first thing they’d have to go through. Setting their prides aside, talk with the other’s stories in mind and hope that by the end of this, it’ll at least be a bit better.
So he started, in the most bland, uneventful way, he tells them both.
“Thanks for coming,” Dick said.
Tim momentarily bit onto his lip, and Jason stayed motionless without so much as a nod. At least Tim glanced over at him, even when it was just a second.
“How are you, Tim?”
Tim’s finger traced over the brim of his cup. He’s finished it. Didn’t seem like he wanted to order another one.
“Alright. I guess.”
“Good. Jason?”
God, this was awful. He doesn’t even ask how their broken bones are healing after a life-threatening encounter in patrol. Hopefully this greyness wasn’t too weird, not when it should be the start of something even more difficult to overcome.
Jason’s order of coffee came into the table and it made Tim shift in his seat, leaning to the back to stay further away from its aroma. Jason took a sip. “Fine.”
As quiet as they possibly could. Dick wished he had something to order, even when it was just a piece of pie they’d displayed over at the counter. But he didn’t want to get up or even call a waitress.
He was, in the most obvious sense, ashamed. Ashamed that he wasn’t either of them, which he wished nothing more to be. He wished he was them so he wouldn’t have to be the man who’d hurt Y/N the most, when he was supposed to be who she’d turn for comfort, because they weren’t the man who’d been in love with her for so long, never thinking he’d have a chance. And when he did finally have her, even for a just a moment, when he finally got to kiss her that one time he’d been waiting for so many years, it all broke down and nearly diminished what he took years to build. Their friendship. Something so great yet so fragile, when their love never could be so easily set aside to make way for a friendly bond.
“I’m sorry,” Tim said, and his voice had gone softer. “I’m sorry I started a fight. And for being so angry. That was uncalled for.”
He did want all this to be right with them. Both of them. Two of his brothers he’s learned to love. And with that love comes many sacrifices.
“You don’t have to be sorry for being angry.”
“Would you like more hot cocoa?” The waitress came in with a pitcher. Tim declined, and she left.
He stared at the empty cup and rolled his lips.
“Yeah, I… I kinda do.”
Further into the day, the less people there were in the diner. And with that came more silence. There were half the people in there than when they’d first arrived. Soon enough, they’ll be the only ones left.
“I’m sorry, too.”
Then, without even a word, Dick and Tim turned over to Jason.
They didn’t expect him to apologize, or even say anything for that matter, possibly for the rest of the night.
But Jason shrugged, looked up at both of them in the eye, and he nodded. It was enough for them both to know what he meant.
.
Jason:
Get this over with. As quick as they possibly could. But he should know by now that this was going to take time. With how difficult it was. This wasn’t going to end any better than when they’d started if they rush through.
Jason took a sip out of his coffee and leaned his arms over on the table. Still, he didn’t take off his hoodie, as if he was going to take off not long from then.
“I don’t exactly know where to start,” Dick said. “But I think we should put this out there now.”
Neither of them looked him in the eye. He and Tim both stared at their cups as if it were any interesting.
“I’m sorry if I’m doing this wrong. I’m just saying what I think is best.”
“It’s okay,” Tim said. “Just go on.”
This was harder than when they had to help out the League face Brainiac. And that certainly was something.
“I love Y/N.”
Okay. Wasn’t what he thought Dick would say. But okay.
“Tim loves her, too.”
Shit. Alright. So that’s what this motherfucker thinks he’s doing.
“And I for sure as hell know, that you love her as well, Jason-“
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jason’s voice was deep, controlled, and as monotonous as he forced it to be. Without a flick of a lie or a speck of truth, as they both would have easily picked up if they listened to him hard enough. That is, if it worked. Which it probably hadn’t.
“We don’t know who she wants…” Dick said. “And frankly, I don’t think she does, too. At least for now.”
“It could be any of us.” Tim didn’t take his sight away from the blankness of the white table’s surface.
He can't take this. No. He never should have opened that text. This was a bad idea.
Y/N will choose one of them. Not him. Not when he was the one who fell in love with her far too late, realized just how perfectly imperfect and how she managed to be this little bundle of happiness for him that he never could find in another. Someone whose presence he yearned for on the days when he thought nothing could be okay. He realized all that when too late, when his brothers already cemented their places and have already gone out of their way to win her love. And, on top of all that, he was the one he didn’t have a close friendship as a ground for something to lean onto. They weren’t close. Not like she was with Tim. Not even with Dick.
“This is ridiculous,” Jason stood up from his seat with his cup half finished. “I’m leaving.”
“Jason-“
“Dick, I want no part of this-“
“You can deny it all you want, but what if she chooses you?”
“She won't choose me. That’s the point-“
“Everyone knows that’s just as much of a possibility than everything else. It didn’t even take much time, and already you’ve wooed her. You think we didn’t notice that?”
Jason stopped and faced the counter, away from his brothers.
“Just sit down.”
“Dick-“
“I know this hurts but what if she actually does choose you-“
“I don’t love her.”
“You do. And she might love you back.”
No. Don’t bring his hopes up like this. This fucking-
“And if she does, are you really going to turn her down?”
Jason closed his eyes. He had nothing to say.
“No matter what Tim and I do, if it’s you she wants, then it’s you who’ll make her happy. Do you honestly think I believe you won't at least take that chance?”
Nothing. No voices whispering into his conscience to fuck everything and leave. Nothing that told him what to do, much less what to say.
He just knew that whatever he was, it wasn’t nearly as strong as that one pull that forced him back on his seat.
This shitshow already hurts as it is. What’s a little more?
.
Tim:
There’s a chance for all of them.
That’s what has always been so hard for him to understand. Never would he have thought it to be true, but it was.
They were both good men, good people, and if he were honest, he’d admit to Y/N being lucky if she were ever to choose one of his brothers in the end. He never, ever wanted to admit that. Not even now.
But for so long, he’s ignored the fact that those choices might be for her happiness, for what she deserves, and that might not always be about Tim. That whatever it was he wouldn’t admit to himself didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Y/N smiles like no other with Dick and no one else understood her like Jason. Even if Tim were her best friend, even if they had together from the very beginning, even if he probably loved her the most. It won't be about that.
So he has to accept all this.
And if it meant her happiness, then that hurt will be a lot easier to deal with.
“He’s right,” he said, and his two older brothers looked up at him.
“I’ve always thought you two… Well, I wish I was in your place. Not always. But, right now I do.”
They were confused to say the least. They didn’t look like they understood. Tim was the one who got to be with her, had years of calling her his love, had her love in return and have her actually show it the same way he did.
But that was just that. He had her. And now he didn’t. Because of him. Because he had her and was stupid enough to let her go, something neither of his brothers would have done if they were him.
And he wanted to laugh at the looks of both their faces. They didn’t have to say anything at all, but he understood. They envied each other in so many other ways, too complicated to map out. Because they’ve all done their own grievances, done so much that they regret.
Which is why this had to happen. Because no one knew what was going to happen next.
“I know it’s hard for all of us…” Dick said. Tim stared out at the window to see the start of the cold evening. “But we’re brothers. I don’t know about you both, but I don’t want this to tear us all apart.”
It already did, he wanted to say.
But it might not be true. It might not be too late. This brotherhood could still be salvaged. And in a way, it might be worth all that hurt.
“The last few weeks have been hard… for all of us… taken its toll on the rest of the family. And we’ve worked too hard on each other. I don’t…” Dick swallowed. “I don’t want to lose Y/N, but I don’t want to lose both of you either.”
It was easier for him to shut his eyes closed.
Neither do I, Tim thought.
“But… Y/N deserves to be happy… We’ve put her through too much.
“And if it means being with the one she loves, one of us, then so be it. We’re done making her decisions. We don’t decide between the three of us. If she wants to choose, then she gets to choose. And we won't have a say in any of it. She decides if it’s one or none of us at all. She deserves this.”
Jason finished his coffee. He no longer sat so stiff.
Tim sat back on his chair and stared out the window.
“And whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. As brothers. We’ll have each other. It’ll be okay. We’ll make it okay.”
That cold night of late November had the first snowdrop of the year. It was light, subtle, and one would have missed it if they weren’t looking out for too long. But they saw it, and never had something so gentle calm what used to be this rageful storm, not since Y/N.
They hadn’t spoken another word in that diner. But for many hours, they stayed.
They continued to wait for many months. They were patient.
October. November. December. January passed.
And on that day of the second week of February, a day Y/N once loved and hated at different times, they put an end to that waiting.
-----
MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST
-----
A/N: I honestly can’t wait for the finale. AHHHH
MAIN TAGLIST:
@idkmanicantenglish, @wunderstell, @birdy-bat-writes, @multifandomgirl-us, @icequeen208, @offendedfishnoises, @arkhamtoddler, @elsenthal, @lucy-roo, @loxbbg, @reclusive-chicken-nugget, @l-inkage, @http-cherries, @river9noble, @zphilophobiaz, @annoylinglyaries, @knightfall05x, @hyp-oh-critical, @satan-s-ass, @1-800-starmora, @flowersgirl02, @nahcho, @thatonecroc, @trixie-bb, @daddyissuesmademe, jasonsbitch, @shadowsndaisies @jaybirdbooty @writing2sirvive
SERIES TAGLIST:
@spaceservicestation, @thedeadlythoughts, @vanessafabricius, @pinkforest05
#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#dick grayson x reader#jason todd x reader#tim drake x reader#bruce wayne#damian wayne#barbara gordon#batman#batfam#batfamily#dc comics#reader insert#nightwing#red hood#red robin#robin#3 birds 1 stone#3 birds 1 stone series#batarella#batarella series
224 notes
·
View notes
Text
mean jungkook + library sex
alternatively titled: skirt chasers — drabble ii
this technically takes place before drabble i so the chronology is all fucked up but bear with me girlies... as most things on this blog do, it started w/ a gif v.v somehow it ended up being 4k and none of its proofread but are we surprised at this point cue the ted talk ending sequence
-
He was so mean.
Jungkook was horribly, terribly mean to you sometimes, and you wondered why you still allowed him to call himself your boyfriend when time and again he’d shown how mean he could be.
“Don’t do this,” you begged, voice but a hoarse whisper in the library, so desolate and void of the usual bustle of student life it had during the day time. It was nearing 10pm now, and you know the grad students who worked behind the front desk would change shifts soon. Their brief moment of inattention was what Jungkook had planned his little stunt around tonight.
He smirked, eyes facing forward at the empty seats on the other side of the table. Empty, because unlike your usual study dates, where he’d sprawl himself across from you and spend about half of his time just admiring at you, Jungkook had decided tonight that he’d sit beside you.
You hadn’t minded at first, not really seeing what the difference between sitting in front of you or beside you made, so you’d let him dump his books onto the table. Yeah it made things a little more crowded as you tried to squeeze both your laptops and an endless amount of books onto the surface, but it wasn’t anything to cry about.
No, the real issue had presented itself fifteen minutes ago when Jungkook abruptly shut his laptop. Usually, this was Jungkook speak for ‘I’ve reached maximum productivity and would like to go home now’ to which you had instinctively shut down your own computer as well. But unlike other study dates, where your boyfriend would haphazardly shove all his books into his bag and then patiently wait for you to organize your stuff, pretty, doe eyes gazing at you like you were his entire universe, Jungkook had had different plans for tonight.
“Quiet in the library,” he scolded, no real bite behind his words, the tip of his pointer finger brushing barely—and you mean barely—against your slit again. A clock ticked somewhere. Another minute dragged by.
A particular prod further down your folds made you squeal, and Jungkook shushed you quickly. “So loud,” he sighs, finally turning in his seat to face you. His movement granted you a moment of relief, his teasing hand moving away from you. His usual adoring gaze was nowhere to be seen, dark brown eyes half-lidded as he placed an elbow on the back of his chair, leaning his head into his open palm.
The library was dead silent, save for the occasional stutter of your breaths as you became aware of the way his eyes swallowed every inch of your presence before him. “Kook,” you started, and stopped because your throat was a garbled mess from stifling your whines for the past five minutes. After you’d cleared it, you began again, hoping the sweet tone of your voice would be enough to persuade him. “Let’s go back to your dorm, yeah?” You coaxed, brushing your hands down your skirt from where he’d thoroughly ruffled it. “We can relax there, okay?”
Jungkook said nothing, eyes continuing to rake over your figure. When you’d fixed your skirt, something in his jaw twitched, as if he didn’t like you trying to hide the evidence of his doings. Suddenly, his free hand, the one that had lingered on the table top, surged forward to grasp one of your thighs, tugging it towards him until your legs were pleasantly spread, your skirt dipping between the valley of your thighs.
“J-Jungkook—!” You gasped as his fingers trailed upwards to the apex between your thighs, a sudden caress to your folds making your legs clamp up again. Jungkook paid it no mind, after all your movements had left his hand snug between your thighs. Your hands flailed as they searched for something to anchor you back to reality, eventually settling on grabbing the sides of the seat.
“But what if I wanna relax here?” He sighs, leaning in closer to you, hot breath fanning across your neck as he ducked down, licking a broad stripe up the vein on your neck. His hand continued to massage the inside of your thigh, every single movement punctuated by a brush of his knuckle against your folds. Surely you were wet, Jungkook’s low murmur and wandering hands enough to light the fire beneath your skin.
But the rational part of your brain argued that the librarians would certainly pass through here during this shift change, the open study area consisting of only tables and chairs. It was a miracle no one was here tonight, but you guess it’s because it’s early into the semester, and no one has truly hit that point where they’re rushing to type essays before the midnight deadline.
Jungkook squeezes your flesh, jolting you away from your thoughts. “Come on…” he crooned, and you melt impossibly into the wooden chair. “I thought you liked the library, baby,” he teased, and his soft voice guides you into a false sense of security, one that is brutality ripped away from you when he yanks your thigh toward him again, the brute strength he rarely exhibited making you whirl in your chair, until you were facing him.
“Jungkook, someone could catch us,” you nervously warn him, chest tight with every soft caress he gives your throbbing core. You wrap a hand around his wrists, as if to stop him, but your body betrays you and a particular nudge of his fingers against your clit has you pushing his hand onto you.
Finally, he removes his other arm from where he’d been resting it on the back of the chair, shuffling around until he too is facing you. His knee knocks against yours, but you don’t have time to complain before he’s clapping both palms down into your bare thighs, smoothing them up and down as he gazes at your flushed features. “Then you better be quiet, pretty baby,” he says, leaning forward until his nose brushed against yours, and your lower lip trembled as you anticipated his kiss.
It’s soft and sweet, like Jungkook’s kisses usually were, but it’s tainted by the ravenous hunger of his that has him shoving his tongue past your lips, licking and biting you like a man starved. It’s wet, so undeniably wet, but that’s how Jungkook liked it best.
When he pulls away, his lips are slick with saliva and you wonder if it’s his or yours. You don’t have long to ponder it, before he’s knocking your thighs further apart, hand creeping under your skirt again.
You gasp, a stuttering mess as he takes two fingers and runs them up the length of your slit, pressing down in all the right places. Your stupid panties limit him from doing much else, and you whine against his mouth when the purple panties stop him from shoving his fingers into your core for the second time.
“K-Kook,” you whine, hips unconsciously grinding in circles as you chase after his touch, desperate to feel more and more of him. Jungkook delivers a stinging bite to your jawline, and you squeal in surprise.
“Shut up,” he hisses, and then, as if punishment for your volume, he tugs your underwear to the side. He provides no warning before he’s plunging two fingers into your aching pussy. He succeeds in the complete opposite of his warning, and even though you bite down on your lip, the moan that tears its way out of your throat is still loud as hell in the library. “___,” he warns, curling his fingers inside of you until you’re seeing stars.
You pay no mind to his warning, so caught up in your pleasure that you begin melting into your seat. You forget the back of the chair is beside you, not behind you like it should be, and your body weakens with every curl of his digits. It’s Jungkook’s strong hand that catches you, gripping the small of your back in alarm. “God, you’re making this so fucking difficult,” he grunts, his arm around your waist pulling your bodies even closer until his arm is uncomfortably angled between your bodies in order to keep fingering you.
“I’m sorry,” you wail, the loudness of your voice literally the last thing on your mind right now. “It feels so good, Jungkook—s-s good!” You mewl, fingers gripping tightly at the sleeves of his t-shirt. He scissors his fingers, and you swear you see heaven. “J-Jungkook!” You cry out, hands reaching to cradle the back of his head, silky strands caught between your fingers.
“Sh shh,” he shushes, and you can barely see the vein protruding from his temple. You can’t tell if it’s from being turned on or from being annoyed, and you don’t really care anyway. “Shut up, ___,” he seethes after another particularly loud whine. You decide it’s from annoyance.
“I can’t!” You cry out miserably, hips rutting into his touch the longer he thrusts his fingers in and out. His thumb stretches up, pressing down hard on your clit. You nearly release a scream of bloody murder, but Jungkook predicts this and swallows every sound you make with his lips. Your moans are muffled against his mouth, your back arching impossibly further into his chest as he curls his fingers over and over.
When he pulls away, the pop of your lips is loud, and your breathing is loud, but Jungkook just wants you to be quiet. “So fucking loud,” he huffs, each word punctuated by a rough thrust of his fingers into your pussy. “Can’t shut up for five fucking minutes.”
You tremble in his arms, the muscles in your thigh twitching every so often from how good his fingers feel nestled deep in your core. “Kook,” you babble, desperately chasing the pucker of his lips as you feel your orgasm begin to rear it’s beautiful head.
“What?” He barks, pulls you so close that his fingers push impossibly deeper. His knuckles are right against your folds, desperate to join in on the fun. But Jungkook’s hands were so, so big, and even though you could squeeze four fingers into yourself on a good day, just two of Jungkook’s fingers were enough to tear you apart. “Still got more to say?” He huffs, bites down on your lip meanly, like he doesn’t know how badly you wanted a kiss.
You whine anyway, and it registers in the back of your head the way he’d thrown one of your thighs over his to pull you closer, your entire body nearly balancing itself on your tailbone as he manhandled you around to best fuck his fingers into you. “Please,” your hoarse voice gasps.
Jungkook presses another kiss onto you, obnoxiously using his tongue until you could feel the saliva drip from the corner of your lips, his mouth greedy and inconsiderate. His fingers are curled as they thrust into you, each shove inside of you rougher than the last. You can almost taste the arousal begging to wash over you, and it’s when the thin ring on his pinky nudges against your folds that it comes to fruition.
“J-Jungkook!” You shriek, but the second half gets swallowed by his lips. Your body spasms, a cloud of white enveloping your figure as Jungkook continues fucking his fingers into you, milking every last spurt of cum out of you. Your cum gushes on his fingers, staining the parts of your underwear he hadn’t pushed away far enough.
Even when you’re coming back down, his fingers curl and scissor inside of you. You twitch, your body sensitive from your orgasm, but Jungkook doesn’t show any signs of stopping.
“That’s enough, Kook,” you choke out, hand fluttering down to catch his wrist before he really does break you. Jungkook’s hand pauses, but he doesn’t try to move away.
“That’s enough?” He repeats after a beat of silence, dark eyes staring hard. “That’s enough?” He repeats, and you hate how your hips unconsciously shift into him at the coldness of his voice. But before you can get another good caress or two out of him, he’s tugging his hand away from you like he’s disgusted. Not at you—never at you—but at your presumed selfishness.
Without warning, he’s tugging the two of you up out of your seats, shoving you chest down onto the table. The chairs scrape terribly loudly against the floor, but you don’t have time to worry about that when Jungkook’s flipping your skirt up, exposing your ass to the entire study area.
“Jungkook!” You exclaim, and at this point neither of the two of you have any regard for your volume. If someone was gonna catch you, they would have done so by now.
“Shut up,” he snarls, tugging your panties down. “So fucking tired of you, ___” he spits once he’s pulled the garment down to the middle of your thighs. He roughly nudges a knee between your legs, knocking your legs further apart. “Can’t fucking follow directions,” he huffs, and your ears register the clanking of his belt buckle, followed by a quiet zip of his jeans. “Too fucking weak to hold yourself up.” The soft sounds of fabric. “And won’t even give me a fucking thank you for making you feel good?” He snorts, and his raging cock slaps against your ass.
“Jungkook, someone will see,” you say, only to have that thought cut off as he reaches down and tangles his fist in your hair, tugging you up abruptly.
“What did I say?” He huffs, and his cock finds itself deliciously pushed between your thighs.
Your lips tremble, body arched back into him. Jungkook gives another pull, and you sputter into action. “To sh-shut up,” you whisper.
Jungkook lets up, and his sudden release of your hair has your upper body flopping back down onto the table. You go to push yourself up onto your elbows, but Jungkook presses a hand between your shoulder blades and shoves you back down.
“Are you gonna be good now?” He murmurs, hands stroking your hip. The arm on your back leaves you, but you don’t move to get up. You nod against the table, your lower abdomen folding in on itself at the raspy tone of his voice.
Your folds are still soaked from the orgasm you’d had just five minutes ago, and even if you hadn’t, Jungkook’s unusually mean demeanor had your folds drenched with every rough shove and every bark he threw your way. “Gonna be good,” you promise, though you don’t even know what that entails anymore.
You don’t really care anyway, especially not when you finally feel the head of his cock brush up and down your folds, collecting a sheen of cum that he rubs over the rest of his cock. It catches on your clit, and you slap a palm over your mouth to muffle the whine that escapes you.
Jungkook chuckles at your antics, and his voice is breathier than its been all night when he says, “good girl.”
His cock pushes against your wet hole, and when the head pops through that initial ring of muscle you find yourself squirming on the table top. Jungkook’s gasps become noticeably louder the deeper and deeper his cock reaches.
He’s so fucking big, and the sheer size of his dick has you salivating like a dog. “Okay?” He murmurs, and you nod like a bobble-head, hips shifting back into him. He releases a low string of groans, each one different from the last, as he finally bottoms out. He fills you up so nicely, and you subconsciously squeeze around him.
“Fuck,” he groans, finger nails digging into your hips, and he suddenly bucks into your tight heat. Unprepared, you moan, the hand that had muffled you before resting flat against the table top. Another thrust and you’re sobbing. “Be quiet,” Jungkook seethes, and you’re surprised he’s still even trying to keep the two to you quiet.
“Please,” you beg, wiggling your hips back into him. You know he likes this best, absolutely adores it when you entice him like this. But at the same time, Jungkook’s never been this rough with you before, this careless with his words, and you wonder if the same applies now at all. “Need you bad, Kook.”
He thrusts into you once more, and this thrust kicks off the rest as he slowly and shallowly begins pumping into you. “Told you to—to shut up,” he grunts, slowly picking up the pace.
“Nooo—,” you cry when he pulls out, only to slam back into you.
“God, you’re so fucking bad at this,” he chuckles, but there’s no hint of amusement in his voice. He does it again, pulls all the way out before shoving back in. “Pisses me off so much when you don’t do what you’re told.” He’s huffing between every other syllable he says, roughly pulling your hips onto him. “Supposed to be my good girl, or do you not want that anymore?”
“No, no!” You cry, fingers digging into the table, but it’s flat so you just scratch your nails against the surface. It’s disgusting to have your face pressed into a dirty, public table like this, but everything you and Jungkook had done tonight was by far more so. “I want that, I-I—“
Your words get cut off by a moan, one Jungkook pulls out of you after he begins pistoning his hips into you. His balls slap against your skin so loudly, it almost sounds like someone’s clapping. “Then fucking act like it,” he spits, and it hurts where he’s holding your hips, but it feels so good.
Suddenly, his cock pulls away from your warmth again. Expecting him to just thrust back in like he’d done before, you yelp when he whirls your body around, and it’s the first time you’ve seen his face since he’d made you cum nearly 15 minutes ago.
He’s hot, so unbelievably hot, as he glares at you with that cold gaze of his. You almost can’t believe this is your sweetie pie Jungkook, who just two hours ago had peppered you in butterfly kisses behind the vending machine in the student center. He looks rough and uncaring as he pushes you back into the table. One hand snakes its way behind your thigh, pushing you up until you’re sitting on the edge, and only then does he rudely push you onto your back.
“Come on,” he sighs in annoyance, like he wants this to be over with. But his hard cock curving against his stomach says otherwise. With your new position on your back, Jungkook slides two hands up the backs of your thighs, until they reach the part behind your knees and he shoves your legs up, nearly has them touching your shoulders, as he finds his spot between your lips again.
You gasp, because as much as Jungkook liked having you on your chest, thrusting into you from behind, there was nothing more that you loved than seeing his features twist and turn as he fucked you so thoroughly.
“Fuck, Jungkook!” You cry, heart fluttering in your chest at the sight of his furrowed brows, the sweat that coated his neck and his temples, the way his teeth ground together with each thrust. He was gorgeous, a wet dream, except he was tangible and very much here and very much yours. Before you can stop yourself, you’re babbling like a fool. “I love you, I love yo—“
Your second confession is cut short by the sudden uncontrollable series of thrusts Jungkook rains down on you. His hips ram into you so hard, he’d have sent you flying off the table if he hadn’t been holding onto you so tightly. “Jungkook,” you gasp again, “I love you—“
“Yeah, I heard,” he snarls, eyes zeroed in on the way your pussy clenched around his cock.
You huff, and then reach an arm forward to cradle the side of his face. If he’s surprised by your sudden affection, he doesn’t let it show. “I love you,” you choke, eyes watering from the overstimulation, the pleasure, the way he’d been so mean to you all night. “Say it back,” you blurt, and Jungkook pauses to regard you with wary eyes. “Say it back, Jungkook,” you beg, eyes pooling over until tears trickle down your cheeks, “say you love me, Jungkook, please, please.”
He swallows your heartbreaking sobs with a kiss, gentle and sweet, nothing like the mean ones he’d been giving you all night. “Love you,” he murmurs when he pulls away, lips still brushing against yours. “Love you so much,” he admits, and rolls his hips against yours.
You cry even more, but Jungkook pays you no mind, readjusting his hold on you to continue his thrusts. “I-I love you,” you sob, and then wrestle his hand away from your leg only to tangle your fingers together. “I love you!”
“Love you,” he parrots back, jaw tight as he reaches the final stretch before his orgasm. You’re trembling in his arms, from the pleasure and from the crying, and all you want is for him to love you. “Gonna come,” he announces, and ducks down to press another kiss to the corner of your lips as he rams his cock into your heat, so deep you feel him brush against your cervix.
You gasp, body writhing beneath him, stiff and aching from the hard table beneath you, but all of that fades into nothing when you reach your second orgasm of the night. You flutter, limbs boneless as your body quivers beneath his touch, coating his hard cock in another layer of cum. Adding to the first orgasm’s cum and the pre-cum on his own dick, Jungkook’s last few thrusts sound so disgustingly wet, squelching loudly in the silent library.
His hips lose control when he finally comes, stuttering uneven strokes as he bursts inside of you. Rope after rope of his hot cum coats your walls, and he’s huffing after he’s given it all to you. When it’s all said and done, it’s like a switch flicks off in Jungkook’s mind, and he’s pulling out of you hastily, reaching for your bag and where he knows you keep that tiny pack of tissues to clean you up.
“Baby,” he hurriedly murmurs, cleaning you up as best as he can with a cheap tissue, one that he also uses to wipe himself down. He’s tugging your panties back up your legs when you finally slid back into action, wiggling the rest of the way into your undergarments. Your cheeks are still wet from the sobbing you did tonight, and Jungkook is like a deer in headlights the way he’s looking at you. “I don’t know what came over me,” he hurries to explain, then shrugs a sleeve further down his arm, wrapping the material around his thumb as he dries your tears off. “I-I’m sorry...“
“You were so mean,” you pout, and your cheeks feel warm, your nose slightly stuffed, the same way they always feel after any type of crying. Jungkook startles, stumbles over his apologies as his cheeks warm up, eyes wide and panicky.
“I’m sorry,” he stutters for about the tenth time, and helps you off the table, hands wrapping around your waist the second you begin swaying, your legs so numb. “I’ll never do that again, I promise, i-it was just a heat of the moment thing, baby, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I prom—“
“Shut up,” you huff, repeating those same words back to him, and Jungkook does so immediately. A smile curls around your lips, and Jungkook slowly relaxes at the sight. “Just tell me you love me,” you sigh, pushing yourself up onto your tip toes, lips puckered and ready.
Jungkook sighs, a choked laugh of a sound, before ducking down to peck your lips. “Love you,” he sighs, “but please, stop me if I ever do that again.”
You blink owlishly. “Do what?” You ask as you shrug your cardigan on.
“Make you cry like that,” he says, taking your bag before you can even reach for it. “Hate seeing my baby like that, especially when it’s my fault.”
You roll your eyes, brushing through the empty study area and the empty library stacks. When you wave goodbye to the grad student at the desk, it’s a different person than the woman who’d been there when you and Jungkook had arrived two hours ago. His face is red as he spares the two of you a curt nod.
“Hm,” you trail off, taking his hand in yours the second you’re outside. It’s a little breezy outside, the moon shining bright over the dark campus. You think about how empty the bus will be on your way home, and how much Chaeyoung will scold you for being out late again. “Yeah, that was weird,” you laugh, brushing off any concerns Jungkook might’ve had about your little sobbing session tonight.
You’re nearing the bus stop, and before you can motion for him to hand over your bag, he’s tugging you down the sidewalk. “Come to my place tonight,” he pleads, eyes soft and round when he briefly glances at your undoubtedly unkept appearance. “Don’t want you going home by yourself, and I have to make it up to you.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, you goof,” You roll your eyes, but follow him nonetheless. The campus still has its occasional stragglers milling about, but when Jungkook turns to face you, moon high in the sky behind him, it’s like you’re the only two in the world.
Your breath catches in your throat, and you stumble when he yanks your hand to bring you closer. “Really?” Jungkook murmurs, and all you hear is his heartbeat against your ear and his breaths puffing softly against your skin. “Then please come over and let me do it again.”
#jungkook smut#jeon jungkook smut#goldenclosetnet#ksmutclub#jjk smut#jeon jeongguk smut#bts smut#mine#sc universe#skirtverse#skirtfic
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
hiii this is a bit of a random request. i’m sorry if it’s bothersome! u can literally ignore it if you want. it’s just,,, i’ve had worst two weeks and my friends are all busy and i just,,, am constantly overworked and stressed bcs of uni (final year of uni fucking sucks) which idk i usually can handle but this whole week has been a disaster. i had 5 meetings. and i missed 2 of them, 2 assignments, 3 presentations and lectures. and on top of that i had to write an article for a magazine. there was just,,, so much due in a week and i got overwhelmed and kinda just,,, shut down. and to top it off, this morning i slipped in the shower (literally full on split on the floor) and my thighs hurt and i can’t walk or even sit without being in pain. and i can’t remember the last time i slept. i think it was two days ago. idk. i still have SO MUCH to do so i can’t sleep yet and i’m super stressed. oh gosh i’m sorry i’m rambling.
to get the point, i was hoping u could write a fluff piece with chan where the reader is stressed af like i am?? i usually read these to escape my head for a bit cause i’m a sucker for cute romance stories :’) it’d help a lottttt. but it’s okay if you can’t! 🥺 i’m sorry for bothering~
of course!! this might seem rushed so i’m sorry if it comes off like that- but i really hope it helps you!! i basically wrote chan into my interpretation of your situation, i hope that’s ok!! stay safe and take care bby! i’m always here if you (or anyone) needs to rant.
comforting surprises - bang chan
member: chan
genre: comfort/angst
warnings: anxiety and an overwhelming time, crying, not proofread
note: requests are still open, but it will take me a bit to get to them. i’m doing my best i promise but it’s kinda hard to write happy things for me right now.
-
ring... ring... ring...
chan hoped you would answer his call. he texted you earlier in the week and didn’t get a response, so he knew something must have been up. he anxiously rocked back and forth in the office chair he was sitting in, staring at the wall of his office while he waited for an answer.
a couple more rings in, he was about to hang up, but thankfully, you answered.
he heard you try and calm your breathing through the phone “hey.” you managed to say.
“prince(ss)? what’s wrong?” he immediately sat up, alert.
“it’s nothing,” you cry “i just-i just fell this morning and i’m a little busy.”
“ok, ok, can you tell me what’s going on? i’m on my way right now i’m not sure how long i’ll be.” he stood up and saved his work on the computer, hurrying to pack what was necessary in his black backpack to rush out the door.
“i-i,” you broke down in tears again “i have so much to do and i haven’t slept in days. i’m so behind on work it’s making me sick to my stomach...”
“ok, ok, i’m going to help you... can you breathe for me, baby? here, breathe in on the count of one and out on five, ok? i’ll count to eight for you.”
he started counting through the phone for you, knowing he probably looked crazy as he loudly breathed and counted on a phone call while speed-walking through the jyp building, but he couldn’t care less.
you were doing your best, truly, and he could tell, but you still couldn’t manage to take deep enough breaths to calm down.
“it’s ok, you’re doing so well for me, y/n... i’m on my way, i’ll be twenty minutes?” he says, waiting for your “ok” before helping you breathe again.
chan managed to get you to calm down a bit by the time he walked out of the building. he suggested that you go get a glass of water and sit down somewhere and wait until he got home.
“i’m ok, i’m ok now.” you sniffle, taking another sip of water and breathing heavily into the cup while you drank. “you travel safely please.” you told him.
“don’t worry, i will. are you going to be ok if i hang up now? i’ll be home soon, prince(ss).”
“mhmm.”
“ok, i’ll be fifteen minutes now. go sit down and rest please.”
he said goodbye and hung up, feeling even more worried for you. chan couldn’t help it, you’re his baby and he feels a responsibility to make sure you’re ok. he didn’t care if he had work to do or if he was busy, you were always his first priority.
he picked up some things for you from the downtown, practically checking his phone every thirty seconds to double check you hadn’t texted him again. he left just as soon as he arrived to make sure he wouldn’t make you wait any longer.
chan nearly dropped his keys as he fumbled with the door. he just wanted to see you as soon as possible.
“y/n?”
“hm?” your teary voice answered from the living room. you chose to sit down on the plush couch, only issue is you didn’t know if you’d be able to get back up.
“hey, i’m here now.” he set his bags down next to him while he sat down next to you. “can i hold you?”
you just nodded, feeling sobs build in your throat again. but you didn’t cry, you didn’t have the energy to cry anymore.
chan pulled you into a hug, knowing that he couldn’t do anything to make your work easier. “i’ve got you. it’s going to be ok.”
he let you stay there for as long as you needed. once you looked up at him with a defeated expression, he knew that it really must have been a difficult time.
“i’m so stuck.”
“honey, i’m so sorry. i’m sorry that things have been difficult, i’ll help you as much as you need, ok? we will figure it out, together. i promise.” he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead “i have something for you, baby.”
he leaned down and pulled out a bouquet of flowers and your favorite restaurant’s takeout. chan handed you the bouquet, and you noticed how he bought the flowers in your favorite color and even had the florist wrap them it thin decorative paper with a bow wrapped around it, also in your favorite color. he always excelled at attention to detail.
you felt the tears build again. “i love you so much. thank you.” you looked down to hide your crying from him. you felt so touched that he went to the extent to rush out and get your favorite food and flowers on a whim when he was in the middle of working.
chan truly had a heart of gold.
“of course, i love you so much too, prince(ss).” he put a hand on your cheek, not forcing you to look him in the eye if you felt overwhelmed, but letting you know he was there. “now, how about we eat some good food and get some good rest, and i will help you with your projects in the morning. it’s the weekend after all, you deserve to rest tonight. i’ll help you get to sleep.” he gave you another kiss and stood up to get some plates and utensils.
when he came back and served up your food, he turned on the tv and put on a show in the background. chan also didn’t forget to prop up your legs and get you an ice pack for your injuries.
“you will not believe what jeongin did today... he lost a bet and had to make breakfast this morning, and you can imagine how that turned out. we even gave him thorough instructions but he still managed to forget some of the ingredients and had to have help from the manager.”
chan joked with you and cheered you up, like he always did. you were pretty sure he was some sort of guardian angel for you, because he always showed you unconditional love and support, even when he was busy.
he was forever grateful for you and you were forever grateful for him.
#chan imagines#chan#chan reactions#chan scenarios#chan blurbs#chan timestamps#chan headcanons#skz reactions#skz imagines#chan fanfic#skz scenarios#skz blurbs#skz timestamps#skz headcanons#skz writing#bang chan scenarios#bang chan reactions#bang chan imagines#stray kids reactions#stray kids scenarios#stray kids blurbs#stray kids headcanons#stray kids imagines#stray kids writing#stray kids fanfiction#stray kids fanfic#chan fanfiction#mine!
85 notes
·
View notes
Text
It took me fifteen years, but I have finally realized the tragedy that is the treatment of Jacob Black in the Twilight Series. Hallelujah, I have seen the light. So here's a one shot of Bella making the RIGHT choice after the newborn battle in Eclipse.
Run to You
"You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him, you know." (Haymitch, The Hunger Games)
-
I was exhausted. Worrying about my family and friends being hurt, or dying, trying to protect me was exhausting. Being a weak, defenseless human surrounded by supernatural creatures was exhausting. Constantly wondering when Edward would realize that I wasn't worth all of this trouble and leave (again) was exhausting. Not recognizing the person I had become; a person who was insecure and needy and selfish, was exhausting. And him. Trying to pretend that I wasn't in love with him was the most exhausting. And I didn't want to do it anymore.
-
I didn't get very far before driving became impossible. I just needed to make it a little bit farther, just get past the treaty line and then I could pull over to the side of the road. I could take a few minutes to pull myself together and everything would be fine. At least that's what I kept telling myself, but it was kind of hard to see how when the road was blurring in front of me. When I couldn't see anymore, I let my tires find the rough shoulder and roll slowly to a stop. My hands shook as I put my truck in park and then quickly, almost instinctively, wrapped around my stomach, as if trying to hold myself together. Well here we are again, a voice in the back of my brain said. How many times could a person's heart be ripped in half before it refused to heal? I slumped over on the seat and allowed the weakness I'd been fighting crush me. It was worse than I thought. Yes, I had been right to hide this. No one should ever see this. Also, I was pretty sure if he had, he never would have let me go.
-
I wasn't alone for very long - I didn't even jump when I heard the tapping on the window of the truck. I worked to see through the relentless stream of tears obscuring my vision. There was someone standing outside of the truck, peering in through the driver's side window, probably wondering what the problem was. A blurry glimpse of a bare chest and short black hair caused my heart to clench so hard I gasped before realizing that it was just Quil. He must have been on patrol with some of the other wolves and spotted my truck on the side of the road. I pulled myself up off of the seat and fought with the door handle for a second before I was able to get it open.
"Bella?" Quil asked "Are you okay?" He paused. "Right. Stupid question. Obviously you're not okay. Sorry. Um, shit. What can I do? Do you want me to take you to Jake... or some where else...?" he seemed to tack that last part on with some hesitation, but I appreciated the thought.
What did I need? There were so many ways that I could answer that question. Therapy probably. To stop hurting everyone that I cared about, absolutely. The ability to split myself into two different people, so that I could make both Edward and Jacob happy, would be helpful. But there was only one thing that truly mattered at that moment; the reason why I was here, crying on the side of the road.
"Jacob" the name coming out more like a plea than an answer to a question. And once I started I couldn't stop. The sound of "Jacob, Jacob, Jacob." joined the sounds of sobbing and shaky gasping breaths. I couldn't tell if Quil answered me or not, and after a minute of silence I wondered if he was still there. But then I felt an arm slide behind my back and a hand grip my hip before shifting me to the side so that I was sitting in the middle of the truck's seat. Quil slid behind the wheel and pulled me in to tuck against his side before pulling the truck back onto the road. Normally I would have felt at least a little embarrassed about essentially cuddling up to someone I hadn't really spent that much time with, but Quil was warm and I was so cold. I was so tired of being cold.
-
Jacob
-
I was laying in bed when I heard the knock at the front door. Well, knock probably wasn't the right word, it sounded more like someone kicking at the door in an attempt at knocking. The weird knocking wasn't the thing that I noticed the most though. Because what was really weird was that I hadn't heard a car pull up out front first, or even the sound of someone walking up the gravel drive to the front porch. Heightened hearing was one of the perks of the whole turning into a giant wolf thing, so I usually knew right away when someone came to the house. Dr. Fang must've really overdone it on the pain meds this time. He still wasn't sure about the dosage because of my higher than average metabolism and seemed to be going with the trial and error method. Although, if I had to pick, I guess a little stoned was better than being in pain. Or physical pain anyway. The drugs were doing absolutely nothing to stop the thoughts running through my head. Well, one thought, really, repeating over and over, like a broken record. Bella, Bella, Bella…
-
Billy must have let whoever it was in and by the time I had focused on trying to figure out who it was, my bedroom door was being pushed open. Quil stood in the doorway cradling Bella against his chest and for a second I had a flash of a memory. Bella being carried from the woods by Sam. The haunted look in her eyes. The broken sobs. This was entirely too much like that.
"Bella! What the hell happened?! Is she okay?"
"I don't know man. I was out on patrol and saw her truck on the side of the road. I asked her what was wrong but she just kept saying your name over and over, so I brought her here." Quil hesitated like he wasn't sure what he should do now. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to jump up from the bed and get her. But I was still on "bed rest" until the doc could be sure I wouldn't re injure myself. I ground my teeth together and took a deep breath, attempting to remain calm, "Well bring her here." Quil looked relieved to have some direction and he quickly laid her on the bed next to me before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.
As soon as she was on the bed Bella curled into my side, still sobbing. I started to wrap my arms around her before remembering that the entire right side of my body was basically useless. I threw my head back against the mattress, cursing quietly out of frustration. Then settled for bringing my left hand up to start rubbing Bella's shoulder and back. "Shh, its okay. I'm here. What happened?" I had hoped that she'd look up, but when did Bella ever make things easy.
"Bells?" I tried again. Still nothing. This time I kept the cursing confined to inside my head. Or I tried to anyway.
"I'm losing my mind here Bells. You've just gotta talk to me. I'm suck here in this damn bed and I can barely fucking move and you're scaring me and I need to at least know if you're hurt. Did he hurt you?" I worked on trying to slow the tremors moving through my body. The doc would be pissed if I phased now and ruined all of his hard work. Plus Bella was freaking out enough and I had to keep it together for her. I still needed her to at least answer my question though, "Dammit Bella, just tell me what he did to you." Still no answer. She was trying to kill me with stress. That was it. That newborn hadn't finished the job, so she was going to do it. "Bella, I swear to god-"
Finally, she answered me, "He didn't hurt me," except that she could only get about one word out at a time, she was crying so damn hard. I waited for her to continue, to explain it so that I could understand, but she was quiet. Well, besides the crying.
"Okay, good, cause all of the broken bones might have made it difficult for me to kick his ass." I joked, hoping to make her laugh, or get angry, anything really as long as she stopped crying. But the tears kept pouring out of her eyes, soaking my shirt while she pulled in great mouthfuls air.
I sighed, "Bells?"
Bella whispered something against my chest, so quietly that I almost didn't hear her. But I was focused now and it sounded like she said, "They're leaving." It took me a minute to process what she was saying, partially because the pain killers made all of my thoughts sort of fuzzy around the edges. "They're leaving?" I repeated it back to her like a question, "Not 'We're leaving.'?" She just shook her head without picking it up.
"So, the Cullens are leaving. Edward is leaving. And you're not going with them." I said the words slowly, not to cause her pain, even though I'm sure it did, but because I had to be sure that I understood. That I wasn't missing something. That the tiny ray of hope that I felt starting to crawl out of the deep, dark corner of my mind where I had buried it wasn't just me setting myself up to get my heart broken (again). Bella sobbed even harder, her gasping breaths broken up by hiccups, as she nodded her head.
So, I guess the bastard couldn't handle the competition after all. I was surprised, I hadn't expected him to give up that easily. And there was the hope again. But I shoved it back down and tried to focus. Because Bella was still crying and making those ugly, broken sounds and it was my job to make her feel better. "Hey, shhh. It'll be okay, honey." I murmured before pressing my lips to the top of her head. My hand continued to rub up and down her arm and across her back. "I'm sorry. Was he mean to you? I didn't mean for you to have to go through that alone. I was thinking I'd be there. And I'm sorry he left you." Bella had gone still, but when she didn't say anything, I continued. "I mean, I'm not sorry that he's gone, but I'm sorry he hurt you. He's an idiot." And then Bella was crying again and I was failing miserably at the whole, making her feel better is my job, thing. "Shit, sorry honey, I guess that's not what you want to hear right now. But IT IS going to be okay." I stressed, because I needed her to believe me. "It sucks right now, but you've gotten through this before. And you don't have to do it alone. I'm gonna be with you the whole time, whatever it takes. Maybe this time won't be as bad because you kinda know what to expect. And I'll be good, I promise. No pressure. I'll be whatever you need me to be. And it'll be okay."
"Wait, stop," Bella interrupted my rambling. She took a deep breath and looked up at me, "Edward isn't leaving because he's mad at me for loving you. He's leaving because I asked him to. Because I'm in love with you." Her voice was all watery from crying and the tears never really stopped, but those words were still the most wonderful thing I'd ever heard. I couldn't have pushed back the hope now even if I wanted to (not that I did want to). Bella picked me. I hadn't realized until just then how much I had been preparing myself to lose. But she had really picked me. I wanted to kiss her and spin her around my tiny bedroom in circles and just show her how happy she made me. Except this wasn't like those stupid fairytale stories that Rebecca had always tried to read to me when we were kids. You know the ones; boy falls for girl, girl says no, boy is persistent, girl finally says yes, and they live happily ever after. Unless I missed the one where the girl was also in love with another boy at the same time and everyone involved got the hearts broken. Oh and one of the boys was a bloodsucking leech and the other turned into a giant wolf. Actually, there probably was one of those Grimm's fairytales that had something like that. But those didn't usually have happy endings.
No, this definitely was not a fairytale, because his girl was crying over another guy, which didn't seem like a great way to start a "happily ever after" even if it was her decision.
He wanted to talk to Bella about all of this. To figure out what she was thinking and where they would go from here, but Bella had gone back to crying into his chest and she had to be exhausted, so he would wait. He had promised to be good, afterall.
-
Bella
-
I don't how long I had been lying there, curled into the crook of Jake's arm, but it must have been a while, because he stirred a little and asked, "Hey honey, sorry, but it's getting late and I didn't know if there was somewhere you needed to be... or someone who was going to be looking for you..." he prompted. I managed to convey, after several attempts, that Charlie thought I was spending the night with Alice and that no one else needed to know where I was. He seemed satisfied with that answer and shifted to make himself more comfortable, while still keeping me tucked firmly against his side. I felt him press a kiss to the top of my head and say, "Then you should get some sleep."
He didn't say anything else after that. Just held me on the bed and let me ruin his shirt, staining it with salt water. Eventually, the sobs quieted, but the tears continued to flow steadily. It took longer than I thought it would for that smaller, broken part of me to cry herself out. It happened, though, and I was eventually exhausted enough to sleep. Unconsciousness did not bring full relief from the pain, just a numbing, dulling ease. It made it more bearable, but it was still there. I was aware of it, even asleep, and that helped me to make the adjustments I needed to make.
-
The morning brought with it, if not a brighter outlook, at least a measure of control, some acceptance. Instinctively, I knew that the new tear in my heart would always ache. That was just going to be a part of me now. Time would make it easier - that's what everyone always said. But I didn't care if time healed me or not, so long as Edward could be happy again. That's what had been missing the last time; the acceptance. It's what had kept me from moving forward. But this time would be different.
When I woke up, there was no disorientation. I opened my eyes - finally dry - and met his anxious gaze.
"Hey," I said. My voice was hoarse. I cleared my throat. He didn't answer. He watched me, waiting for it to start.
"No, I'm fine," I promised. "That won't happen again." His eyes tightened in concern.
"That's great, Bells, but what exactly was that?" He asked.
I took a deep breath, just because I was prepared for this conversation, didn't mean it wasn't going to be painful.
"The Cullens are leaving." I repeated my answer from last night to make sure he had understood what I had tried to tell him while also breaking down. I could see the question in his eyes, so I answered it. "Yes, Edward is leaving too. And no, I'm not going with them." As I spoke I saw a hundred different emotions flicker in Jacob's eyes. The one that seemed to be winning was hope, but then it was like he caught himself and a neutral expression settled over his features. I hated it, he wasn't My Jacob, when he made that face. But I also knew that in this case, I had no one to blame but myself. My hindsight had become incredibly clear. I could see every mistake I'd made, every bit of harm I'd done, the small things and the big things. Each pain I'd caused Jacob, each wound I'd given Edward, stacked up into neat piles that I could not ignore or deny.
"I'm sorry." I pushed myself up, using my arm to lean on his chest so that I could meet his eyes. "I've made a real mess of things. I know I've caused you a lot of pain. But I finally realized I was wrong all along." At that, Jacob took a startled breath and looked like he was about to say something. I placed a finger against his lips, and he stopped. "Just let me get this out. I don't want there to be any confusion." His brow furrowed a little, but he waited for me to continue.
"I was wrong about the magnets," I explained. "I used to think about you and Edward as magnets; that you two were like opposite magnetic poles. I couldn't push you together no matter how hard I tried. But it was actually the two parts of myself, your Bella and Edward's Bella, that I was trying to force together. But they could not exist together, and I never should have tried." I could see the hope starting to win out in Jacob's eyes as he said quietly, "I knew you'd figure it out eventually." And the corner of his mouth twitched. "But still, you mind telling me how you figured it out?"
"It was the kiss, before the battle," I paused and made an effort to look stern, "which I'm still mad at you for, by the way. Threatening to kill yourself to make me kiss you?" I raised an eyebrow. At least he had the decency to look ashamed.
I didn't have to work to be serious this time, "You will never do that to me again, got it?" Jacob glanced up from beneath his lashes and nodded. That's how I was sure that he knew he had messed up; that and the fact that he didn't try to argue with me at all. I continued, "But that's not the point right now. The point is, that when you kissed me, I saw the whole thing - our whole life. And I want it bad, Jake, I want it all. I want to stay right here and never move. I want to love you and make you happy."
"So what's stopping you?" he whispered.
"I still love him, Jake, and I don't think that'll ever go away. That's not fair to you. There's probably someone out there much better for you." My heart broke a little as I spoke, especially when I considered how much it would hurt now, if he did decide that I wasn't worth all of this trouble.
"No." Jacob shook his head. "I'm exactly right for you, Bella. It would be effortless for us - comfortable, easy as breathing. I'm the natural path your life would have taken...." The corner of his lips twitched, forming a small smile. "If the world was the way it was supposed to be, if there were no monsters and no magic..."
I could see what he saw, and I knew he was right. But I needed to make sure he understood fully. "He's like a drug for me, Jake. When I was with him, he was the only thing that mattered. I was ready to give up my life for him. But it's different with you." The corner of my mouth turned up in a wistful half-smile. "Like having my own personal sun. Not a drug, but air. You're healthier for me. So I'm choosing to have the life I want. I'm choosing to stay with Charlie and my mom. I'm choosing to have the chance to change and grow. I'm choosing to stay human. There's still a lot that we need to talk about and I'm going to need time. But I think you were right before when you said that if we had enough time you could help me be happy again. So I'm going to try. I'm going to try to stay here with you. If you decide you still want me, all things considered."
I only had to wait a second for his answer, and then I only had another second to appreciate the breathtaking smile that split his features, before he pulled me to him and crushed his lips to mine.
78 notes
·
View notes
Note
Coffeeshop and Mob au for destiel? :)
(send me two numbers)
The Coffee Hut may just be a front for an illegal money laundering scheme but Dean still takes pride in his work there.
Okay, that’s not exactly true. Their coffee is pretty bad, their selection on baked goods extremely limited, and Dean couldn’t give less of a shit about the difference between a mocha and a macchiato. He really only works here because Dad thinks he needs to prove himself on a smaller project before he can trust him with the heavy stuff.
But for fifteen minutes a week, at around 10:30 am every Tuesday, Dean’s job suddenly becomes the most important task in the world. Because that’s when Cas comes in, ordering his small black coffee in a medium cup that he then drowns in cream and sugar.
Cas is a few years older, an office worker of some sort, and he’s got this dark, handsome and intense thing going for him in spades. He looks at Dean like he’s the only person in the room, like everything he says is important. Dean’s not used to being looked at like that.
It takes only a couple of visits before their usual pleasantries evolve into actual conversations. Before Dean starts looking forward to each Tuesday and taking particular care while getting ready on those mornings.
Dean is sure the only reason Cas hasn’t asked him out yet is because hitting on someone in the service industry while they’re on the clock is an extremely dick thing to do and Cas is not a dick.
Unfortunately, this means Dean is gonna have to make the first move. It also means actively making Cas a bigger part of his life, potentially dragging him into a world he would never wanna be a part of.
Then again, what’s the harm in a couple of dates?
If Dean were a better person, he would let Cas walk away, no matter how low the risk to him might be. But he’s not, so the next Tuesday morning, a few minutes before Cas shows up, he takes aside a medium cup and scrawls his name and phone number on it.
There’s no one else in the shop when Cas arrives. There usually isn’t; what morning rush they have has always dried up around ten and the lunch rush is still an hour away.
“Hello, Dean,” Cas greets him warmly, leaning against the counter.
Dean smiles. “Hey, Cas. Small black coffee in a medium cup, right?”
“Not this time.”
“Oh.”
Dean scratches the back of his neck. He’s gonna have to write down his number on another cup, then. A small hitch in his plan; he really didn’t want Cas to see him writing it down, just in case he wasn’t interested. But maybe it’s better this way, now Dean will know for sure that Cas has noticed the number.
“Then what’ll you have?”
“I’m sorry,” Cas says instead of answering.
Sorry about what, Dean doesn’t get a chance to ask, because then he’s reaching into his waistband, pulling out a gun and aiming it at Dean. He’s holding it close to his body, hiding it from anyone who might happen to pass by with practiced ease.
“Please show me to the back.”
Dean licks his lips, heart hammering. If Cas has been casing out the joint for this long, then chances are good he knows exactly what’s hiding back there. He also knows that Dean is alone in the shop this time of day, that the actual business doesn’t get going until in the afternoon.
“Come on, man, you don’t have to do this,” Dean still pleads, hoping Cas is just a regular robber who picked a really bad target.
“I’m afraid I do.”
Cas at least has the good grace to look genuinely sorry, though that isn’t worth much. Was all that flirting just a front, too? Has he been stringing Dean along, buttering him up with flattery just to make him an easier target?
Maybe John had it right. Maybe Dean’s not ready to be in this life.
“Fine,” Dean says stonily.
He waits until Cas has joined him behind the counter before moving, keeping him at his side rather than behind him as they enter the back room. He pretends to stub his toe on the threshold, stumbling across it and as Cas reaches out to steady him, elbowing him in the gut hard enough to loosen his grip on the gun.
It goes flying and Dean darts after it but Cas is quicker, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and sending him sprawling to the ground. The gun lands with a clatter somewhere further away, out of reach, and Cas is pinning Dean down to the ground, holding him by both wrists and straddling his thighs.
Dean lets himself go limp, considering his options but having a difficult time thinking. Cas is warm and heavy and he smells so fucking good, and Dean hates that he’s noticing that, because Cas just had a fucking gun pointed at him a few seconds ago. That should be enough to erase any interest he has for the man, and yet.
Cas shifts and it hits Dean then that he’s blushing. Looks like he might not be the only one affected by their current situation.
“You know, Cas, if you wanted to get on top of me that bad, you only had to ask.”
Cas turns even redder. “I don’t want to hurt you, Dean. Just give me what I want and I’ll be on my way.”
Dean flexes his fingers experimentally, heart skipping a beat when Cas tightens his grip around his wrists.
“Pretty sure my boss wouldn’t like that,” he drawls.
“I could give you protection,” Cas offers immediately. “I have connections to the higher-ups in my organization, we could hide you.”
Dean blinks. He’s grown up in this life, knows the kind of trouble Cas would be taking on to ensure his safety, but he looks completely sincere about his offer.
He also seems to have no clue about who Dean actually is.
“I can’t betray the family like that,” Dean says slowly, testing that theory.
“I admire your loyalty to your employer but the Winchesters aren’t your family.” Yep, no clue. “Is staying true to them worth risking your life?”
“Is going up against them to protect me worth risking yours?”
Cas hesitates. Then, seeming to have made his mind up about something, “It wouldn’t be as great of a risk for me. I don’t just have connections to the higher-ups, I’m Chuck Shurley’s son.”
Dean’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry. “Chuck, as in head of the Shurley family Chuck?”
Dean had figured Cas was working for them; the Shurleys are the only ones comparable in power to the Winchesters on the East Coast. The two families have been rivals for decades. The last few years have been marked by an uneasy peace but clearly, Chuck Shurley’s looking to change that.
“If you know who he is, then you know the kind of power he has.” Castiel gazes at him imploringly. It’s almost sweet, the way he’s so intent on protecting Dean. "The Winchesters could never lay a hand on you.”
Dean can use this. “You’d do that for me?”
For a moment, he’s worried he laid it on too thick, his voice too soft with feigned disbelief. Then Cas is nodding, painfully sincere.
“Of course.”
The relief that floods Dean is genuine and he lets it show. Then, to seal the deal, he cranes his neck upwards, closing the scant few inches between them. Cas kisses him back immediately, letting go of one wrist to cup his cheek, and Dean takes his chance.
He plants his feet on the floor, twisting his hips and rolling them around. Cas makes a surprised noise against his lips but isn’t quick enough on the uptake, and then Dean’s got him pinned, reaching out with his now free hand to grab the gun taped underneath the counter to his right.
He points it at Cas, brutally stomping down the guilt that flickers in his chest at the betrayed look on his face.
“Let go off me,” he commands calmly and after a beat Cas obeys, releasing his grip on Dean’s other wrist.
Dean gets to his feet, gesturing with his gun for Cas to do the same.
“You’re going to walk out of here,” he tells him, “and you’re going to tell your dad that whatever plan he’s got against the Winchesters, he can forget it.”
Cas says nothing. Dean raises his eyebrows, cocking his gun, and finally he nods.
“Good.” Dean tilts his head, giving Cas a teasing grin. “And just for the record, I never needed your protection. You’re not the only one with connections to the higher-ups.”
Dean can pin-point the exact moment it hits Cas.
“You’re-”
“Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you.”
Cas stares at him, his expression inscrutable.
“This isn’t over.”
Dean licks his lips. Cas’ eyes follow the movement and he smiles.
“Not by a long shot,” he agrees.
#deancas#destiel#spn fanfic#perlukafarinn writes#mob au#coffeeshop au#prompt fill#first kiss#tropes!#this got way longer than intended lmao#i know nothing about running a coffeeshop or being in the mob#so please excuse all the inaccuracies#may-darling
127 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bruce was a mere half mile from the warehouse when it exploded.
A half mile.
At ninety miles per hour, he was less than a minute from the warehouse.
A minute.
Never in his life had Bruce felt that panicked.
The warehouse itself was entirely inconsequential. Bruce didn’t care what happened to it. The fewer abandoned warehouses in the world, the better, probably.
His problem was Jason.
He didn’t see Jason.
Anywhere.
He’d told the boy. He’d specifically told him “Stay.”
Stay with Sheila outside and don’t go after Joker.
And Jason said he’d listen.
He’d promised.
So where the fuck was he??
Dread coiled deep in Bruce’s stomach as he stopped in front of the warehouse.
Jason had saved himself from situations like this dozens of times. Bruce, logically, knew that he shouldn’t be panicking like he was, because Jason was Jason. He was competent.
Strong. Resilient. Brilliant. Talented. Incredible.
So many words that boiled down to Bruce shouldn’t be worried.
But something felt off.
There was a voice in his ear. A little niggle.
And it sounded like laughing.
That’s how Bruce found himself digging through the rubble frantically, screaming Jason’s name.
Not even Robin.
But Jason.
At that moment, Bruce didn’t care about anything but finding his son.
He’d give anything to go back twenty minutes and argue with Jason longer. If it meant sparing himself this panic.
This horrible, visceral feeling that he was too late.
That his son was dead.
How could anyone survive that explosion?
“He saved me,” he heard a woman say, from about fifteen feet to his left. Her raspy voice only adding to the dread he felt. “He’s a hero... he...”
“Where is he,” Bruce shouted. He didn’t care if Jason saved the entire world. He just wanted to see him. To know he was okay.
Shelia pointed toward what was once the corner of the warehouse, where a significant amount of rubble had landed.
And the panic only intensified.
Looking back, Bruce couldn’t remember what happened between. One second he was pulling rubble off as fast as he could, the next he was kneeling next to his boy, tears streaming down his face.
Somehow, Clark had gotten there.
Well, obviously he’d flown there, but Bruce couldn’t for the life of him remember if he’d called for Clark or if he’d showed on his own.
It was very possible he’d started shouting his name upon realizing how bad off Jason was.
But now that Jason was uncovered, Bruce knew they were too late.
If it weren’t for the Robin uniform, Bruce wouldn’t have even recognized his son.
“He doesn’t have a pulse,” Bruce mumbled, ripping his glove off in hopes that he just couldn’t feel it, “There’s no- he doesn’t-“
CPR. He had to do CPR.
Less than a minute.
He’d been less than a minute away.
Why couldn’t he have been faster.
But these injuries...
Bruce placed his hands on Jason’s chest, ready to start compressions, when his hand hit something jagged. Something jagged and wet. He pulled back, like it had stung him.
Because, in a way, it had.
“His ribs,” Bruce choked out, trying his best to keep his vision clear and his emotions stable. Even though his best wasn’t good enough, “Clark his ribs.”
There wasn’t a single one intact. Every one was broken. Several in a couple places. Bruce couldn’t do CPR. He’d only be further damaging the heart. The ribs. If Jason weren’t already- if he weren’t-
He had been less than a minute away.
But even if he’d been a minute faster. Even if he’d been five minutes faster. With these injuries…
Jason wouldn’t have survived them anyway.
“Bruce,” Clark said, tugging at his arm, trying to get him to stand and move, “we have to get him to watchtower.”
Watchtower?
Why would they do that? It was too late.
They were too late.
Jason was still warm. Like he were just sleeping, but Bruce knew.
He knew.
Jason was never going to wake up.
They were too late.
It wasn’t until Clark said, “no we aren’t,” did Bruce realize he’d been mumbling, “but we will be if we don’t go now.”
“He’s gone,” Bruce whispered, pulling Jason closer. Clinging to the boy in a way Jason would have never allowed.
“I’m too big for this,” Jason would have mumbled, “stop it old man I’m not a baby.”
Why couldn’t he whine about it? Whine and moan and push Bruce away. Be angry and mad all he wanted. Bruce would give anything to listen to Jason yell at him again.
“Raven is going to meet us there,” Clark said, forcing Bruce to his feet.
Curse him and his super strength.
Bruce blinked, as Clark’s words caught up with him.
“Raven?” he asked, trying to make sense of it.
Why would Clark call Raven about this?
Had the girl even known Jason? There were probably half a dozen people who needed to be told, first.
Bruce didn’t want to do that. He just wanted to sit there and hold his child. And maybe just die with him.
Why had he left Jason alone at all?
“He’s not gone yet,” Clark said, as he pulled Bruce out of the still smoldering pile of rubble, “but we only have a couple more minutes.”
- - -
Bruce was losing it.
The next thing he was aware of was Clark prying Jason out of his arms.
One moment he was on the ground, clutching his dead child. The next he was standing in the watchtower, watching as Clark laid Jason down.
Jason.
Lying on a table in medbay, while Raven started running her hands over Jason’s many injuries.
That was not something Bruce had ever wanted to see.
Neither of his boys belonged in medbay. Neither of them deserved to be hurt.
What could Raven even do? She didn’t have the power to bring people back from the dead, last Bruce checked.
Parents weren’t supposed to outlive their children.
God. He’d only had a few years with Jason.
And his boy, his tiny little boy was lying on the table, unconscious.
No.
Worse than unconscious. He hadn’t had a heartbeat since Bruce found him.
Hadn’t been breathing.
He was too small. Had Jason always been that tiny?
Bruce should have never left him alone. He was too small. Too young. What had he been thinking?
“Let her work,” Clark was saying, from where he’d apparently grabbed onto Bruce, pinning his arms to his side and dragging him away from Jason again, “Bruce you have to let her work.”
“Clark,” he said, a horrible choked off sound. Why was Clark doing this? Why wouldn’t he just let him hold Jason? He just wanted to hold his boy.
Hold his boy and die.
His entire life he thought losing his parents was the worst thing he’d ever go through, but no.
He was wrong.
He was overwhelmingly, completely, and utterly wrong.
Jason was never going to grow up. Bruce would never see-
A blinding light appeared right at Raven’s hand, where she had it hovered directly over Jason’s heart. Raven’s face pinched as she clenched her jaw. After a moment, a low moan turned into a whine, then to a scream.
And Bruce couldn’t breathe.
How could Raven do that if Jason were…
He shook Clark off of him and stumbled forward, barely restraining himself from running his hand through Jason’s hair as he watched. Prayed. Hoped.
And then, once Raven’s pained shouts reached their peak, Jason took a long, sharp, ragged inhale.
Bruce burst like a balloon.
If he hadn’t been crying before, he was now. He couldn’t even find enough of himself to care. After ripping off his cowl, he moved to stand at Jason’s head and knelt over, touching his forehead and gently as he could to Jason’s, his hands on either side of Jason’s face.
His horribly swollen face.
God. Was his skull fractured, too? His nose and cheek clearly were.
Jason started crying, then. Still unconscious. Still completely out of it. But now there enough to cry.
Bruce never in his life thought he’d celebrate hearing his child cry.
“Jason,” he blubbered, running his thumbs in circles at Jason’s temples, hoping that at some level, Jason could feel it. Could hear him, and would know he was there. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
He was saying it more for himself than anything.
“Bruce,” J’onn said, and when had J’onn gotten there? When Bruce looked up, he saw Zatanna, too. Her and Raven both working diligently on Jason’s chest. J’onn looked like he was straining himself, too, with one hand on Jason.
Blocking his pain, probably.
“Come on,” Clark said, motioning for Bruce to step away from Jason, “Walk with me.”
Like hell-
“Bruce, they need access to his head,” Clark explained, tugging at his sleeve, “Once they have his chest cavity fixed, his head is their next priority.”
And that— that—
Bruce was going to be sick. Yep. He was almost completely certain.
Those were words he never wanted to hear.
“Come on,” Clark said, tugging on his arm again, this time succeeding in getting him to take a couple steps toward the door, “You need some air. And maybe some coffee.”
“I can’t leave-“ Bruce tried, but couldn’t get the sentence out. Because looking at Jason, all he could see was the broken. The horribly, terribly disfigured.
Jason… Jason might never recover from this. Even if Raven did get him breathing again. There again. He’d suffered so much damage.
They had to fix his head.
“You are distracting them, Bruce,” Clark said, pulling him toward the door again, “I need you to be Batman for a few minutes. Jason needs you to be Batman right now.”
That was what got him.
So Bruce squared his shoulders and took a breath. He had to get himself together. What the hell was wrong with him, letting it go like that? He had a level head. That was one of his strengths. Why had he lost that?
Bruce nodded once and stepped out of the room, only sparing one final look back at Jason before he let Clark lead him away from the medbay.
He needed to be Batman right now. Bruce could worry about his kid later.
At least, that’s what he wanted his head to do.
Push everything down and be strong.
But…
It was difficult. When his boy had been dead.
Bruce had held-
With a deep breath, Bruce shook his head again and tried to dislodge the thoughts. What was wrong with him. He’d never lost it like that.
He needed to stop thinking.
Stop thinking and get back in control.
The Watchtower was basically one large circle, spinning up in space. Every hall lead to every other hall, and it was possible to keep moving forward and eventually end back up where you started.
That’s what he and Clark did, for the first fifteen minutes they stayed out of Jason’s room. They took a lap around the entire Watchtower.
Neither of them spoke, that entire time, either. They didn’t have to. Bruce knew Clark was the talking type, when things got rough. When he had a bad day. When he needed support.
But Bruce wasn’t like that, and Clark knew that.
It was enough for him, just to have his best friend standing next to him. Knowing he wasn’t alone. And knowing that, since Clark hadn’t rushed them back to Jason’s room, that everything was progressing smoothly back in medbay.
That was probably the only reason Bruce could stand to leave his room.
By the end of their loop, Bruce was feeling much more grounded. His heart rate had finally lowered, and he felt like he could think again.
Jason was going to be okay. He was certain of it.
With Raven and Zatanna there, both doing everything they could in terms of healing, Bruce was confident.
Never in his life did he think he’d be grateful to Clark Kent in the way he was.
“I don’t know what came over me,” Bruce started, stopping before one of the outer windows, just before they reached the entrance for the medbay. He needed to thank Clark. Make sure he knew how grateful Bruce was that he’d kept his head on straight. That’ he’d been thinking clearly enough to know to get Jason up here. To get Raven and Zatanna and Martian Manhunter there.
That he’d even showed up in that God forsaken warehouse in Ethiopia in the first place.
“You don’t have to apologize for that,” Clark said, joining Bruce next to the window to look out onto the Earth with him, “It was a natural reaction.”
“I shouldn’t have let my emotions cloud my judgement,” he said, matter of factly. It was true, after all. He shouldn’t have.
But he did.
If it weren’t for Superman, it would have cost Jason his life.
There was no way Bruce could ever forgive himself of that.
“Bruce,” Clark sighed, “There’s nothing wrong with how you reacted. You love that kid.”
He did, didn’t he? Of course he did. He loved Jason so much it hurt. There was no way he could possibly live his life without that kid.
Not now.
Not after he’d spent the past three years with him. Watching him grow and learn and excel in everything he tried. His smiles and grins and the curls on his head. The way he chewed on his thumbnail while reading.
All his little outbursts, too. His teenage rebellion and attitude. The sass he gave Bruce, sometimes. Even their arguments.
He loved Jason in his entirety.
Without him there, he would have missed everything about him.
Had he ever told Jason that?
“Thanks,” Bruce rasped, then paused to clear his throat before attempting to finish the thought, “For…”
Why were words so fucking hard? Jason would love to hear him say that word. He knew.
“Of course, Bruce,” Clark said anyway, despite Bruce’s inability to finish the thought. Clark wrapped an arm around Bruce’s shoulders, and Bruce was going to allow it… Only because he owed Clark his life. More than his life. Jason was worth so much more than everything Bruce had.
“It’s what friends are for. You would have done the same for me, if it were my boy.”
Yes. He would.
- - -
When Bruce re-entered the medbay, he found Raven working on Jason’s head.
His face looked remarkably better. Without all the swelling, that was. He looked like Jason again. He was recognizable.
Bruce could feel the hand around his heart relax, just a little more.
Zatanna was attempting to remove Jason’s mask, but winced and stopped when Jason whimpered.
The way Bruce’s chest clenched at that.
Perhaps that was why he, without hesitation, fished out the glue relaxer from his belt and handed it to Zatanna.
Ordinarily, he would have been raising hell about anyone daring to take Robin’s mask off him. Without asking, at least. But whatever they needed. Whatever Zatanna or Raven or… or J’onn— what was J’onn doing?— whatever they needed, Bruce would do.
If it was for Jason, he’d do anything.
And actually, he would have removed Jason’s mask himself, but his hands were shaking too badly. And he couldn’t quite trust himself, yet. Not to start crying again. Not to collapse down. Not to freeze up and just stare at his child.
His child. Who was still covered in dirt and blood. Bruises and torn fabric.
Just the sight of that made Bruce want to be sick.
And every time he blinked, he saw Jason’s swollen face. His still, too small, broken body. Feel him. In his arms. Warm, but not breathing. Light, but still limp.
How could this have happened?
J’onn moved to Jason’s head as soon as Raven stepped back. It was a little disconcerting, the way they moved, as if in sync. Raven shifted down to Jason’s arms, and started working on his left wrist, which was hopelessly mangled.
Bruce didn’t want to think about it.
What had even happened to Jason? What had Joker done?
J’onn placed his hands on either side of Jason’s head, then closed his eyes. After a second, his eyes started glowing, and Bruce gawked.
He’d seen Martian Manhunter do that. Many times.
Always while in deep concentration. And always while waging psychic warfare.
While out on missions.
“What is J’onn doing?” he asked, not really sure who he was asking. Not J’onn, obviously. Or Raven, probably. She was no longer reacting to the pain Bruce knew she had to be taking away from Jason, but she was just as lost to them as J’onn was.
Zatanna grimaced as she continued to gently work the mask off Jason’s face. Her stricken look only lasted a second, however, before she put on the a face of indifference Bruce was much more used to. Professional detachment.
If Bruce hadn’t already felt like throwing up, he would have started then, for sure.
“Raven fixed the physical injuries,” she explained, still gently pulling at the last edge of Jason’s mask. She was being overly gentle. Neither of his boys had ever taken a mask off that slowly. But he supposed causing Jason even an ounce more of pain was not something any of them wanted to do.
“But he suffered a great deal of brain damage,” she continued, after a breath, “J’onn is attempting to correct the mental damage.”
Bruce heard was she said.
Obviously.
But after the words “brain damage,” his own head stopped working.
He felt himself losing it again.
Brain damage.
Of course Bruce should have been expecting it.
He’d clearly been hit in the head with something hard.
Several times.
What the fuck had Joker done to him?
Of course that would cause damage.
Not the mention the fact he’d been without oxygen for who knew how long. He’d have to review the cowl footage to figure that out.
He’d have to review the cowl footage anyway… to make up for the gaps in his own memory. To figure out how the hell Clark had gotten there, and how long, exactly, it took to find Jason.
A strong hand caught him as he stumbled backward. The grip on his upper arm the only thing keeping him on his feet.
“Take a breath,” Clark said, once Bruce had regained his feet, “They’re doing everything they can.”
“Yeah,” he exhaled, running a hand over his face. His… uncowled face. How long had that been off?
He needed to keep it together. Jason was alive. There was… was no sense in worrying about… about brain damage.
They were doing everything they could.
What if it wasn’t enough?
Jason whimpered again, making Bruce inhale sharply. He sounded so scared.
Had he been scared? The entire beating?
The whole time Bruce had abandoned him to this entire ordeal?
Bruce… Bruce was never going to forgive himself for this.
And he was never going to let Jason out of his sight again.
Whimpering quickly shifted to outright crying, and Bruce hadn’t been aware it was possible for his heart to break further.
“Shh,” he whispered, only then noticing he’d made his way across the room, and was now standing at Jason’s side, one hand on Jason’s chest. Raven hadn’t fixed his hands yet. He knew touching the hopelessly mangled hands of his son would just hurt him further.
Never in his life had he wanted to hold his child’s hand more than in that moment.
And with J’onn still working on his head, he couldn’t even run his fingers through Jason’s dirty hair. All he could do was pat his chest, so that’s what he did, as he continued to shush him.
“B-br-br-“ Jason mumbled, interspersed between breathless sobs, “bru- b-”
“I’m right here,” he said, tears building in his eyes again as he rubbed circles over Jason’s heart. Right where the bones had been so broken, he couldn’t-
“Dad,” Jason begged, like he wasn’t even aware Bruce was there. He was right there.
“I’m here, Jay. I’m right here. It’s okay, you’re okay.”
“He’s starting to squirm,” Zatanna murmured, and Bruce nodded.
Fidgeting would do nothing but cause Jason more pain. Healing him would be much easier if he was still, too, Bruce was sure.
“Jason, buddy,” he said, pulling one of his gloves off so he could brush his knuckles against Jason’s cheek, “Sweetheart, you need to calm down. You’re okay.”
But, again, Jason didn’t seem to notice. Bruce wasn’t sure if he were even conscious.
He hoped he wasn’t conscious.
Bruce looked around the room to see Clark standing off to the side, arms crossed as he watched Raven work. Zatanna was working on removing one of Jason’s boots, so she could heal his feet, Bruce assumed. And Raven was still working on Jason’s left arm.
No one was really paying him any attention.
Which was good.
It would make it easier…
He closed his eyes as he leaned forward, closer to Jason’s ear, because it was for Jason that he started humming. Low and quiet, as he gently stroked Jason’s cheek.
Nothing in particular. Not at first. Just sounds, for Jason to hear.
But it worked. Jason’s crying quieted. He was still whimpering, but clearly he’d noticed Bruce’s humming.
Jason loved Bruce’s singing. He’d learned that one day, a couple years back, on a road trip. He’d been singing along to the radio, and must have been much louder than he thought he was. Instead of tell him to shut up, Jason had just sat there, listening. Calm and still. Almost content looking.
Considering Jason had been pissed he was being forced to sit in the back seat, rather up front where it was too dangerous for a child of his size, Bruce hadn’t wanted to stop, so he sang along to the next several songs that came up on the classics channel he had on, and by song five, Jason had drifted off to sleep.
It’d been years, now, since that discovery. Bruce had sang to Jason a couple times since, but only when they were alone. Late at night, when Jason was too terrified to sleep. In the cave, after a particularly bad injury. Once. When Jason had the flu and was outright miserable.
They never spoke about it after it happened. Both of them just pretending Bruce didn’t sing Jason to sleep sometimes. But, not for the first time, Bruce so so glad to have the ability.
He would do anything to make Jason more comfortable. To help him along.
To have him alive.
The random melodies shifted to some of his favorite songs, until he found himself actually singing. He tried to ignore all the eyes he could feel on himself and instead focused on how Jason had gone completely still, almost relaxed, as Bruce sang a song that had particularly spoken to him some years ago, when he first heard it.
At the time it’d reminded him of Dick, but every single word was no less applicable toward Jason. He kept his eyes closed as he sang You’ll be in my Heart, as quietly and soothingly as he could.
Jason sighed contentedly in his sleep, allowing everyone around him work.
- - -
Bruce could not honestly say how many hours it took Raven, Zatanna, and J’onn to heal Jason.
The entire ordeal was a gigantic blur to him. Someone had found him a chair, at some point, and that’s where he’d sat for what felt like an eternity, watching Raven and Zatanna take turns working on Jason’s many broken bones.
“…almost every bone in his body,” Zatanna had said.
“…with a crowbar,” J’onn had revealed.
Bruce could barely listen. Barely keep up. All he could think about was Jason’s face. Broken beyond recognition.
But they finally finished healing Jason. He looked perfect, when they were done. Like he were just sleeping, like any other Tuesday. Asleep in his bed, right where he belonged. Just as 15-year-old boys should be. Safe and sound.
Bruce barely had the chance to say “Thank you,” to them before Zatanna was helping Raven out of the room and to her own quarters to rest. Her efforts had drained her.
“Thank You” wouldn’t suffice, anyway.
There weren’t words in the English language to convey how grateful he was to them all. As he twirled one of Jason’s curls around his finger, all he could think about was how he’d almost never been able to look at those curls again.
Much less touch them.
He’d come so close to never hearing his child again. Never holding him. Never talking to him. Reading with him. Playing with him.
Working with him.
Jason had almost died that night.
He had died. For how long, Bruce had no idea.
His son had died.
And now, thanks to Raven and Zatanna and J’onn and Clark…
Thanks to them all. He was back.
Bruce-He had- he couldn’t-
There weren’t words.
Bruce freed his hand from Jason’s curls so he could press his fingers into his eyes. He’d already cried a lot, he was pretty sure. Right in front of everyone. But now that he was back in his right mind, there was really no excuse.
He needed to stop.
Besides, how helpful would it be for Jason, if he woke up and the first thing he saw was Batman crying?
“He’s going to be all right, you know,” Clark said, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.
“But he wasn’t,” Bruce said, and he was almost proud of himself for not sounding completely torn up inside.
Even though he was.
“Yeah, but he is now.”
But he wasn’t.
How much of that was Bruce’s fault?
All of it.
Had he just been faster. Had he not abandoned Jason there in the first place. He knew his son never listened. Why the hell did he trust him this time? This was what Jason did.
Why had he made Jason Robin to begin with…
Maybe that was the real problem here.
Why had he made Jason Robin to begin with.
What made him look a kid, barely 4 feet tall, and think “yes. He should be Robin.”
No. Dumb question.
Bruce knew why.
He’d wanted Jason. Not as Robin, necessarily. But just… Jason.
Jason Todd. The sassy, funny, strong, resourceful, arrogant, confident little kid he’d met. The brilliant street child with a heart of gold who desperately needed help.
All he had wanted to do was help Jason. Take him home and keep him.
And the only way he’d seen to do that was by making Jason Robin. By giving him a job and a purpose and a place.
Maybe he should have just told Jason straight up… Been honest with him and told him he just wanted to adopt him. Because he’d adored him from not even ten seconds into knowing him.
But that would have scared Jason off, he just knew it. Jason had been so skittish.
By making it about Robin, it had been far easier to integrate Jason into the family. To convince him to be adopted.
To make him his son.
That’s all Bruce wanted.
But look where that had gotten them…
Would Jason have faced death, had Bruce just never even met him? Had he just let Jason be? Report him to social services? Get him into a good boarding school?
Maybe. There was no telling.
He could have also just been murdered by the gangs. Starved to death. Kidnapped…
Bruce spent he had no idea how long just sitting there. Clark left after a while, with little more than a pat to his back and Jason’s knee.
How was he going to move past this?
Every time he looked at Jason, all he could see was his injuries.
If there was anything this entire ordeal had taught him, it was that firing Jason had been the right call.
Now he’d just have to find a way to enforce that.
Honestly. Bruce was going to have a hard time going back out, himself. The panic that still gripped at his mind would need to recede, a little, before he could even consider going out. Right now he didn’t want to even leave Jason’s side.
Some ten minutes passed, as Bruce just sat there, focusing on keeping his breathing steady and not thinking about anything. He kept his face buried in his heads, so he wasn’t looking at Jason and thinking. It was enough to just hear his son breathe. Deep and clear. Like nothing had happened. Like he were just asleep, after a long day.
It was comforting.
But that stopped abruptly, when Jason took a deep breath and shifted, a little, on the cot. Bruce looked up at him through his fingers, and saw Jason staring right back at him. With his beautiful blue eyes.
Alert and alive.
“Bruce?” he asked, furrowing his brow as he propped himself up on an elbow, “Are you crying?”
“No,” he said, smiling a little as he sat up and brushed Jason’s curls back, away from his beautiful eyes Bruce never wanted to look away from.
Jason didn’t buy it, even though he should have. Because Bruce wasn’t crying.
Although he kind of felt like doing so. Because so far, Jason seemed fine.
“Have you been crying?” he asked, leveling Bruce a quizzical look when Bruce stood and gently pushed Jason back into a lying position.
“Never mind that, Jay. How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” Jason said, frowning deeply now, “Really stiff, too. Where are we?”
Raven had mentioned something about stiffness. It would wear off, after a few days.
“Watchtower.”
“Why are we…” Jason started, then it seemed to register what Bruce actually said, because his eyes went side and he added, “Really? I’m in space right now?”
Bruce laughed. A little hysterically, maybe, as he set his hand at the top of Jason’s head so he could plant a kiss on his forehead.
He was just so…. Relieved.
Because he was still Jason.
J’onn hadn’t been sure he’d be able to fix the damage, but he was still Jason.
“Stay down,” Bruce said, gently, as he used his hand not combing through Jason’s hair to prevent him from sitting up when he tried, “I’ll let you explore later. Rest, now.”
“What happened, Bruce?” Jason asked, a little suspiciously, “Why are we on Watchtower? Why have you been crying?”
With a sigh, Bruce pulled his chair closer and sat down, then took one of Jason’s hands in his own.
Jason looked down at their hands, then backup at Bruce, with a spark of fear in his eyes. “Bruce?”
Bruce squeezed, then asked, “What do you remember?”
Not much, was Bruce’s hope. J’onn said he took Jason’s memories of the event, claiming Jason didn’t need the trauma associated with it. Not remember would be easier on him, he’d claimed. Bruce hoped he was right.
“I-“ Jason started, looking back down at his hand in Bruce’s, then back up in confusion as he continued, “I got on the plane. To Ethiopia.”
When all Bruce did was nod, Jason continued, ���I was going to meet my mother.”
Bruce waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. He just sat there, brow furrowed in concentration as he stared off at the wall behind Bruce.
“Anything else?”
“I don’t know,” Jason admitted, “I don’t even remember landing. Did the plane crash?”
J’onn took more than Bruce thought.
“No, it landed.”
“Why, then,” Jason asked, trailing off as he just stared at Bruce. Waiting for the answers he obviously knew Bruce had.
So Bruce sighed, and explained as plainly as possible, “Joker was there, Shelia wound up being involved with him. It had been a trap.” Perhaps it was a blessing he didn’t remember meeting his mother. He’d been trying to figure out how Joker knew where Jason was, and the only explanation he could come up with was Shelia sold him out. Even after Jason offered to help her, she sold him out.
She had to have. There was no other explanation.
“What?” Jason asked, clearly startled.
Before he could panic over any of that, Bruce quickly said, “But it’s okay. You’re okay.”
“What about my mom?” Jason demanded, trying to sit up again, which Bruce prevented, “Is she okay? What did that bastard do to her?”
Bruce… wasn’t entirely sure. He had no recollection of what happened to Shelia after she said Jason saved her. He barely remembered what happened to himself in those minutes. Clark… Clark was there. He wouldn’t have let a random civilian die.
“She’s alive. She told me you saved her.”
Jason eyed Bruce for a good long second, before he finally nodded, and asked a little shakily, “What- what happened to me?”
Shaking his head, Bruce went back to playing with Jason’s hair as he did, “All that matters is you’re okay, now.”
“Bruce.”
Yeah. He didn’t think he’d get away with that.
Sighing, Bruce sat back up and said, “It- I’m not entirely sure. There was an explosion. I found you- I-“
How was he supposed to tell his fifteen-year-old son he found him dead on arrival?
He wasn’t.
That was not something Jason needed to know. All that mattered was he was fine, now.
“You were pretty hurt, but Raven, Zatanna, and Martian Manhunter fixed you up. Superman is the one who got us up here once I found you.”
Jason nodded, as he absorbed that information. “How did you know I was there?”
Bruce could cry, from the relief that Jason accepted that as explanation enough. “I followed you, Jay. Did you really think I wouldn’t?”
“I-“ Jay started, but faltered. Averted his eyes and sighed. Like…
Like he honestly thought Bruce wouldn’t follow him.
“God, Jason,” he exhaled, squeezing Jason’s hand still in his while he rubbed at his own face with the other, “I love you, so much. You’re my son, I would do anything for you. Please- please don’t do this to me again. I can’t lose you. I can’t.”
“But-,” Jason started, a little tearfully as he did, “But you-“
When he didn’t elaborate, Bruce pressed with, “But what?”
“You fired me.”
“How does that contradict anything I just said,” Bruce asked lightly, shaking his head some. Because of course Bruce fired him. Any sane person would have tried to protect their child the way Bruce had.
Any sane person would have never let their child out there in the first place…
Jason sat up, then, swatting away Bruce’s hand before he could even attempt to keep Jason lying down. “You-you-,” he said, a little desperately, “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”
“No,” he almost growled, standing so he could pull Jason to his chest. Hug him tightly and squash that horrible, awful thought. “How could you think that? Jay there will never be a day I don’t want you anymore.”
“But-“ Jason started, but Bruce wasn’t going to hear it.
He pushed Jason back, grabbing onto his face with both hands. “I’m serious. I love you, Jason Peter. I fired you because I love you. You’ve been too reckless, lately. Getting hurt too much. I can’t lose you, son. And tonight, tonight-“
“Why didn’t you tell me that,” Jason asked, crying some as he pulled his face out of Bruce’s hands so he could bury it in Bruce’s chest.
Bruce wrapped his arms back around his son and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “Because I’m an idiot,” he said, which got Jason to laugh, a little. But he added, more seriously, “I thought you knew.”
“I can’t stop being Robin.”
“Jason. You almost died, tonight.” You did die, he thought bitterly.
“Can you stop being Batman?” he asked, his head still resting against Bruce’s chest as he did, “I’ll- I’ll do whatever you want. To make it safer. But I can’t quit.”
“Okay,” Bruce sighed. He still had no intention on allowing him back out any time soon.
If ever.
But he was done arguing about it. That was something they could do later. After Bruce had worked through everything. Looked through the footage and figured out what, exactly, happened.
In that moment, all he wanted to do was hold his son. The could worry about everything later.
“Just, get some rest, son,” he said, hugging Jason a little tighter before he reluctantly let go, so Jason could lay back down, “Raven said you need to rest for a while.”
Jason let go of Bruce and slowly lowered himself back onto the cot. After he rolled onto his side, he looked up at Bruce and said, “You’ll stay?”
“Of course,” he said, pulling his chair back so he could sit there again and caress Jason’s hair again, “Always.”
“Were you singing earlier?” Jason mumbled, already closing his eyes.
“Yeah.” He wasn’t sure if he was happy Jason remembered or not.
“Can you sing again?”
“Anything for you,” he whispered, before giving Jason one last kiss on his forehead before he sang his little boy to sleep.
“Anything for you.”
#Jason doesn't die AU#Jason Todd#Bruce Wayne#Batman#Robin#Batfamily#Superman#Clark Kent#fanfiction#hurt/comfort#near death experience#bruce is a panicky mess#6k words#cross posted to ao3#c writes
827 notes
·
View notes
Text
TUA DISNEY AUs: Big Hero 6 (Pt. XVIII)
(please understand that by AU, I mean they share an incredibly small amount of things in common with the original source material which I barely remember BUT the “story” takes place in the setting of the film) (not to be misleading or anything :p)
(BEWARE: abuse, murder, corruption, mental health issues, unhealthy coping mechanisms, suicidal ideation, death, grief, violence, basically i took the sad montage after Tadashi dies and just kept going with that except without the whole "getting better" thing, sorry, my bad, enjoy anyway i guess i don't know, bye, etc.)
(If you can handle watching Umbrella Academy, this will be fine for you.)
(Hiro) Vanya hasn’t much of a head for science - not since a gas explosion in her childhood apartment killed her parents and exposed her to radiation, leaving her brittle-boned and sickly. She spends most of her days holed up in her room, reading and writing about every little thing she sees and hears and feels. There’s this cat in the alleyway she feeds sometimes, and her friend Ben who comes by to see how she is every few days. The only time she goes out is for school, or bot fights down in the bad neighborhoods. At those she gets to see Ben, and his partner Klaus and his friend Diego. Oh, and Sissy - the beautiful, shy punk girl who spins the records in the corner store. Vanya lives what she considers a pretty average life - until Ben dies, she screams, and all the windows around her shatter from nothing.
(Tadashi) Ben has been a science nerd for years, spending hours in the libraries and labs researching every little thing that catches his fancy. His partner, Klaus, has no such interest, having more of a head for poetry, but Ben loves him more than life itself - especially since Klaus was the only person who stuck with him when one of his experiments went wrong a few years ago, resulting in tentacles that are prone to ripping out of his chest when he’s angry. And since he loves Klaus so much, he spares not a second thought to running back into a burning building to get him back, even when it means certain death. And Ben knows you can’t bring back the dead - he tried when Klaus’ beloved boyfriend Dave died in a gunfight a few years back. Once you’re gone, you’re gone - or so he thinks until he wakes up and Klaus starts crying and muttering, You’re here, you’re here, you’re here, I did it, I did it, I did it - and Ben reaches out and thinks, Oh, no, sweetheart. You didn’t.
(Honey Lemon) Allison was engaged to Ray before he disappeared, but even after that failed experiment lost her the love of her life, she continued to work for the forward movement of science and kept her vow of love to Ray. Using her research, she managed to create a pill that allowed her to bend reality, hoping to bring back Ray. Though she couldn’t raise the dead - no amount of I heard a rumor Ray was alive again worked - she won herself other advantages with her newfound powers, including sponsors, knowledge, opportunities, and protection. Klaus, Diego, Five, and Ben are her only true friends in this world - and she nearly loses all of them when Ben dies, drowning in their grief. When Luther, one of Five and Ben’s passion projects starts hanging around to monitor their mental health, Allison finds a new kind of love - deep, ever-lasting friendship that she’ll never give up. Even when they have to leave him behind on the moon after they save Ray, she doesn’t let him go - she finally knows how to speak up for what she wants, and speak up she does: I heard a rumor that Luther came back to me.
(Fred (actually a mash-up of Honey Lemon and Hiro though to be honest)) Klaus is a starving artist and poet, and he's covered in tattoos of his own words and drawings. Diego is too, because Diego loves him, and Klaus wants to love him back and probably does already, if he’s really honest with himself, but he’s not ready yet. Dave happened too soon ago. And then there was a fire, and Klaus was running around outside, looking for Ben, looking for the platonic love and light of his life, and he saw him run inside screaming Klaus’ name and never come back out. And he lives with that guilt every day, smoking and drinking all the bad shit again in an effort to just forget, forget, anything goddamn anything to forget, and he goes crazy. People forget, because he’s not a student at their nerd school and because he acts like a dumbass, that Klaus is actually just as much a genius as the rest of them, and whatever he wants, he can get without much trouble. So what if he can’t bring back the dead? He won’t live without Ben, he won’t, and he won’t leave Diego - which leaves only one option, really: find a way to make himself see ghosts.
(Wasabi) Diego lives a charmed life. Truly. He’s almost been assassinated fifteen fucking billion times, his two best friends are robots, and he’s in love with a person too sad to love him back. See, Diego’s skills brought him to the military’s special attention - he found a way to make weaponry that doesn’t obey the laws of physics. He keeps it as secret as he can, and will sell it to nobody, but millions of people are still after it. It’s not until one of the assassins almost nails Klaus with a bullet and Diego kills her with a store-bought kitchen knife without moving that he realizes the weaponry he created isn’t special, but Diego is. From then on it’s nothing but trouble - because Klaus likes to dumb himself down, but he can’t fool Diego, and so when he starts screaming at empty air and calling it Ben, Diego isn’t surprised in the least, though maybe he should be. Instead he just sighs, opens his arms, and lets a sobbing Klaus fall into him, loving him more than he did yesterday and less than he will tomorrow. Diego has his home, and he has his people, and he has his powers - and he will defend them to the fucking death.
(Gogo) Five is bitter and grumpy, living off coffee and perpetually crazy. He’s brilliant enough to have done surgery on himself, implanting an AI pacemaker in his heart named Dolores from an accident that nearly stripped him of everything, his life included. He was born with special powers, both of which fuelled his fascination with science, but he keeps that secret close to his chest - he’s seen what people do to Diego and Allison, and he has no interest in that. He’s close with the others, somewhat, though his impassable genius makes it difficult for people to understand him - Diego gives him piggy back rides and he often falls asleep curled into Klaus’ side, and Allison gives him rides home and Ben builds robots with him. But as hard as he finds it to connect with them, it’s even harder to lose them - so when he realizes he can use his time travel powers to save Ben, he doesn’t hesitate. And then he’s dying in Klaus’ arms, and he’s watching as his favorite person in the world chooses to lose the love of his life all over again to save Five, and something deep inside him changes.
(Baymax) Luther is a medical robot, built by Five and Ben in their spare time. There are some videos in him, mostly of Ben talking to Klaus because Luther was meant to be a gift for Klaus to help him with his depression, anxiety, PTSD, anorexia, and addiction, etc.. Five adds grief counseling to his programming and gives him to Klaus on his first birthday after Ben’s death, making Klaus dissolve into tears. While Luther clashes with Diego, who hates him for surviving where Lila didn’t, they get along well enough to appease Klaus, because Luther knows Klaus loves Diego and Diego knows Luther helps Klaus. When they travel to the moon to get Ray, Luther winds up stuck there, unable to get the others home if he doesn’t stay behind. Klaus and Allison both have trouble letting him go, but Klaus forces Allison to come home with him, crying as he leaves Ben for the third and final time. When Allison brings Luther back, his videos still intact, Klaus touches Ben’s face on his chest and cries, cries, cries.
Lila is a malfunctioning masterpiece, and Diego’s best friend. He made her as a help robot, but she’s a prototype, and was rejected for her proneness to violent outbursts and catatonic episodes. She’s easy to manipulate, as Diego never bothered to fix her security protocols, but it’s not like there’s anyone else who talks to her - except Five, and he’d never touch her programming without Diego’s explicit permission. She sleeps at Diego’s house, in her charging station next to Eudora’s. Lila knows robots can’t feel love, so that isn’t what she’s feeling - but her wires are tied to Eudora’s in some way, she just knows it. They’re two halves of the same code. But she never gets to explore that link - she burns away to nothing in the fire that destroys the Handler’s minions, using the last of her strength to save Five from the flames. She hopes, when Diego finds his baby brother curled in her charred corpse, that he’ll bury her in the rain, and keep on living without her well enough.
Eudora is a suicide-prevention robot. Seriously. That’s all she’s here for. Ben and Diego built her together for Klaus specifically, programming her with some of his favorite jokes and references so she’d have an easier time talking him down from the edge when one of them can’t be there. She’s programmed to instantly call Ben, Diego, Five, or Allison immediately if she finds him doing dangerous things, like playing with Diego’s knives naked. (It happened one time. Seriously. True story.) She’s calm and gentle, unruffled and kind, and Diego often spends hours talking to her, because she may be programmed for Klaus but she can still help anyone who needs it. He nearly looses her to Cha-Cha, but Klaus saves her just in time, beating Cha-Cha to a steaming hunk of scrap metal with a baseball bat for trying to hurt his best (robot) friend. She’s not saddened by Lila’s death, per say, she can’t be… but when she’s downloading databases on panic and anxiety attacks for Diego and Klaus, she makes sure to save some on insomnia for herself, too.
Sissy is a botfighter, one who dresses in a black and magenta punk aesthetic to fend off strangers, too shy for the world. She messes around with Vanya, the two of them often dancing in the rain and finding joy in the small moments, but happily ever after was never in the cards for them. Sissy lives with her abusive boyfriend Carl and has their son to take care of, an accident from too many beers - when Carl murders her in a drunken rage, it’s less of a surprise and more of a solemn inevitably. Her son, Harlan, is placed in Vanya’s care, and Vanya travels the world with him, telling him everything about his mother she knows. It’s a bittersweet ending, but a hopeful one too.
Ray was a student at the nerd school before he became a therapist, using his incredible mind-healing technology to help people all over the world. Allison fell in love with him quickly, easily, and the two were engaged before the year was up, planning for a spring wedding in which Klaus would, obviously, be the flower girl. But when he was offered the chance to go to space as a therapist for the other nine people on the mission, he jumped at the chance, bidding Allison goodbye and heading to the moon. But something went wrong and he was lost to the world, along with the other nine astronauts, all of whom died when the ship crash-landed. Ray has been in a coma for years there, having been knocked out in the explosion, and remains that way until Luther brings him home, Allison having come for him at last. (When he’s well enough to, he takes care of Five, Klaus, and Diego, whose mental states have been steadily declining for years. Their robots are brilliant, of course, but there are some things you just need a human for.)
Reginald is the dean of the nerd school and also an asshole. He has a habit of killing students when they get in his way, or to steal their inventions as his own - and he gets away with it too, because he’s at the forefront of memory technology and quite literally erases these people from existence so nobody comes asking questions. Plus he’s got connections in the government that destory any records he needs destroyed. He had a couple of kids he wanted to get rid of the night of the showcase, and started the fire to make it seem like an accident - well, Ben actually was an accident, he wasn’t on Reginald’s hitlist, not yet, but whatever. It is what it is. What Reginald doesn’t anticipate is Klaus - because nobody ever anticipates Klaus - and so he thinks nothing of it when he confesses to Ben’s murder in his monologue in front of all his former students. He can just erase their memories later. Or so he thinks, until Klaus lets out a savage war cry and lunges forward to strangle him, killing him in cold blood without a second thought, and so is the end of Reginald Hargreeves. (Five takes the fall for his murder - not that it matters. Diego and Klaus break him out and the three of them disappear, never to be seen again - at least, not until Allison’s done manipulating every single person in the world into forgetting it ever happened on live TV.)
The Handler is Reginald’s finest invention: a flawless AI in a perfect human body. Problem is, she became bored of being his servant years ago and took over his life, blackmailing him into doing whatever she wants. Most of the killings are still his idea, and Ben certainly wasn’t her fault, but it’s the Handler who wants Five dead, and it’s the Handler who sends her reject minions after him. She wants Eudora dead and she wants Klaus deader, but she gets neither - Five finds her and hacks her into little tiny pieces, putting all of them in a fire and then shoving those ashes into an Iron Maiden, dropping the Handler to an inescapable grave. Fuck her “life”.
Hazel is a teddy bear with a security camera in his stomach. He sits on Agnes’ counter in her donut shop, just watching the goings-on even though nobody ever steals anything there. Mostly he’s held in the lap of Five, who comes into Agnes’ whenever he doesn’t want his friends to see him cry - over a failed invention, Klaus’ most recent suicide attempt, Lila’s death - whatever, you name it. Agnes takes care of him, making him milkshakes when he asks for coffee, and eventually sends Hazel home with him, asking him to take care of Five for her. He doesn’t know it’ll be the last time he ever sees her - two weeks later Agnes is killed by Reginald and her donut shop is ransacked by looters. Her memory lives on in Hazel and Five, who rebuilds and reopens the shop with Klaus and Diego and Allison after a couple years, renaming it for Ben and living on despite his grief, and Hazel sits on the counter again, watching the sunset through the glowing windows.
Cha-Cha was supposed to be one of those “oh-hey-we’re-not-racist-anymore-we-make-black-dolls-too-see?” Barbies. She ended up with a rather experimental kid who enjoyed robotics and horror films, resulting in Cha-Cha: an AI in a Barbie with chainsaw arms. She kidnaps Klaus under the Handler’s orders, as he’s a connection to Five (who the Handler wants to kill) and Ben (who’s the only connection to Reginald and the Handler’s murders). This backfires spectacularly, of course, when Eudora and Diego come for him: Cha-Cha goes for Eudora’s throat and Klaus breaks himself free of his binds and beats her to smithereens with a baseball bat.
Leonard used to hang around Vanya, just generally assaulting her and being a creep, until suddenly he disappeared one rainy Monday never to be seen again. His body was found rotting in a lake a couple years later. It was revealed later on that he had decided to and succeeded in making real-life replicas of the Five Nights at Freddie’s characters, and they hadn’t been too fond of him trying to boss them around. The Handler recruited the replicas later on for her own schemes, and they followed Reginald rather well, their appetite for people satisfied well enough. But Leonard remains the school legend, and a striking reminder to be careful what monsters you let live.
Grace is the queen of the Land of the Remembered, and you may be wondering what she’s doing in this story. Well, to put it simply - Reginald’s little games have been messing with her shit. There are perfectly kind and memorable people who have come down to her only to be erased in the Land of the Living within the week, leaving her no choice but to take them in as refugees, working out a deal with the Land of the Forgotten since they weren’t given a fair shot at their deserved afterlife. She takes care of Ben when he dies for the second and final time, appearing to assure Klaus he’ll be alright when he crosses over. This is when Diego finally learns the truth about his mom, who has always been home in time to make dinner and never missed a single milestone, and who is apparently also an all-powerful goddess. She gives him a hug and tells him his boyfriend is cute (He’s not my boyfriend.) (You’re holding hands, darling. You may be an oblivious idiot, but I’m not.) and then she heads off, though she’s always back with Ben for the holidays. (Not Lila, unfortunately. She has no jurisdiction over robots.)
And Hiro is ace-aro and he and Miguel are QPPs, and Honey Lemon and Wasabi are QPPs, and Fred and Wasabi are dating, and Gogo is an bisexual aro queen with a girl she likes to kiss in the back alleyways, and Hiro has two sisters named Violet and Boo and Tip is his ace-aro lab partner. You’re welcome.
#tua#the umbrella academy#big hero 6#disney#the hargreeves & friends#kliego#ralluther#eudorla#vanya x sissy#five &x dolores#klaus &x ben#hazel x agnes#hazel & cha cha#i don't know this is really sad and really dark#whatever#my bad#have a nice day y'all#bye
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
the stars were made for falling | Poe Dameron x Reader | Part Fifteen
A/N: You simply cannot imagine the emotion I have poured into this piece. I really hope you all like it.
Rating: M but only bc it’s slightly dark
Warning: Angst. Naughty words. Mentions of past torture. Slight sexual references.
Word count: 4,133, apparently!!
Summary: Poe sees Rey emerge from her room for the first time and they have a chat. His talk with you is not nearly as lighthearted as that one.
Masterlist
GIF credit: captain-flint
Tags: @marvelous-revengers @the-lady-of-stars @jxhn-mxrphy @ella-solei @chloe-skywalker @itsamedeemoney @shakespeareanwannabe @fxnxtical @peachdameron @ladyflyer20 @americasass-romanoff @thetoxicegg @spaghetti-666 @dogsandrocketsocks @katshrev @woakiees @yougottakeeponkeepinon @arsonistvoyager @pnkthunder @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @charlotteisabella @bisexual-space-slut
---------------------------------
Poe didn’t visit the medbay again. It was clear that his presence only made you angry and you’d been in a lot of pain when you were laying how you felt out for him.
He didn’t want to hurt you anymore than he already did.
A briefing with Leia told him you were cleared to leave, but you had to rest in your quarters since walking only aggravated your injury.
It was probably once or twice a day that he would find himself approaching your door, wanting to knock, and come in, and fall to his knees for you, and sob into your bed about how much he hated himself for everything he did to you — from letting you be tortured by them to letting his own stupidity treat you like you were nothing to him.
He would stand there for probably twenty minutes with his hand raised to knock.
Then he’d shake his head at himself and go wherever he’d intended to go, knowing you weren’t ready to hear what he had to say.
You emerged from your quarters about a week or so later, Poe’s heart seeming to skip a beat when he saw you slowly, carefully walk into the dining hall with Finn behind you.
He pretty much molded himself to the caf machine when you walked by, shrinking under the glare of Finn, not sure if it was from how he’d acted when you were hurt or maybe you told him everything he’d done.
Leia was the only person with enough grace to forgive his dumb ass and that was only because she had the love of a mother in her heart.
He saw you walking around the base a little more every day, whether you were having a meal or doing your best to get back into the swing of working on what little the General was allowing you to do, and anything he wanted to say to you seemed terrifying as soon as he’d lay eyes on you.
All his confidence and passion to tell you how sorry he was and to open up to you like you’d begged him to seemed like something undoable when he’d see you, think about you crying if he dared to open his mouth about everything.
He had never been the kind of guy who shied away from what he wanted to say, but he was scared of hurting you or angering you more.
Most nights involved nightmares of being tased or hurting you which meant he would sleep for a couple hours then try to find something to distract himself.
BB-8 had mostly forgiven him, but he was met with quite the reprimand when he woke him up from charging for a little company.
He was used to wandering around the base alone at night, whether he decided to work on one of the broken down ships that had been bartered for or try to spruce up the place a bit to make it more homey.
Imagine his surprise when a figure stepped out of the dining hall as he was passing by and Rey stood there with wide eyes, some snack hanging halfway out of her mouth.
With everything, he had almost forgotten; Rey’s seclusion the moment she came back from helping you escape the First Order, Hux’s mention of being the Supreme Leader.
“Long time no see.” His voice was soft as if he might spook her with how long it had been since she’d even left her room for more than a second, though it occurred to him that he’d been wrapped up in himself enough that perhaps he didn’t notice her healing.
“I heard you’ve been a difficult man,” she said around a bite of food, slowly taking the rest of it out of her mouth.
Great. Not even the woman who had mostly been hiding away was unaware of his stupidity.
He ducked his head in shame, but realized that you and him were not the only ones broken by what the First Order had done.
“Stupid question. How are you doing?”
“I’m...alright.”
“You’re a liar.”
“Really, Poe.”
He was leveled with a stare that was half-sad and half-hopeful, and he moved to sit with his back against the wall, gesturing for Rey to sit across from him.
They sat there with their legs stretched out, finding space between each other’s feet for their own to comfortably lay.
“I really thought I could convince Ben...Kylo to come to our side, but the power of winning went to his head. He wanted me to join him still and I said no and...all I could think of was Leia.” She ran her arm across her face to wipe away her tears and Poe could almost see the scavenger she once was in the movement.
“She never even mentioned feeling him...or maybe she did. I’ve been such a self-absorbed asshole lately…” He took the bit of food that Rey offered him.
“Lately?” She flashed him a little smile.
“You’re so funny.” He had to admit that it was nice to see someone smirk at him rather than glare or cry at him.
“She knew. She did come to me telling me she...understood that it needed to happen and that he was past the point of coming to the light. It took me a bit to believe her, but I’m...I’m alright now.”
“He was kind of a dick anyway.”
It was also nice to be able to have a little humor even if he was still broken down inside, something he didn’t realize was missing when he was the one being a dick.
Rey rolled her eyes at the way he waved his hand as if Kylo Ren was entirely unimportant despite the way her neck would tinge pink at the introduction of inappropriate words, then looked at him with soft sympathy. “How is she?”
He furrowed his brow. “Who? Leia?”
She gave him a meaningful stare. “Finn told me everything that happened and he popped in once or twice to tell me some things, but he’s been busy helping Y/N to give me any more updates.”
“She...she, um...you know, she’s fine, uh, I’ve seen her around a bit more now and she’s a little bit slow, but that’s what happens when someone stabs you in the back. When two people stab...I’m sorry.” The light humor was now replaced with his own guilt and pain as he put a hand over his eyes to shield his tears from her.
“A wise man once told me that it’s good to cry,” Rey hummed, leaning forward to gently tug his hand down.
That was him before he became like this, had let his own brokenness turn him into a shell of the man who used to try his hardest to be good; Finn and Rose had been taken and Rey tried to hide her tears from him when she ran off and he told her that.
He’d cried or gotten emotional about it every day until that night in the pilot’s seat when he found something that eased it all.
And how did he repay you?
He stabbed you in the back before Hux ever did, pulled himself away from you even though he was something you cared for and told you that night meant nothing.
“I fucked up, Rey. I thought pushing her away was the right thing to do, but I only hurt her more and now? I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me. I don’t blame her.” It was obvious to him now that you must have told Finn what happened and Finn must have told Rey during one of the times he went to her quarters to see her, and her silence now made him wonder if she kind of hated him, too.
“I’m not exactly well-versed in this, Poe, and you did some terrible things...but I remember when you were taken that she was crying. That means she cares for you, doesn’t it? She’s going to forgive you one day. Not that you truly deserve it.” What might have been seen as offensive yet correct was softened by the dimpled grin Poe saw.
“I hope you’re right about that. You know, it’s late. Shouldn’t you be in bed right now?”
“I was hungry!”
Rey waved her half-eaten snack in the air and Poe laughed softly as he stood, reaching to help her to her feet and tilting his head at the strange look that was now in her eye. “What?”
She smiled. “You’re a good man. I’m starting to learn that even good men are stupid sometimes and I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”
He was not as sure since you had told him that he wasn’t a good man, but you were angry in that moment. Maybe if he proved himself to you…maybe he’d done too much to you for you to ever forgive him. He needed to try proving himself, though, right? You’d never forgive him if he gave up on you as if it didn’t really matter to him.
You mattered too much for him to give up on winning your favor again.
“You should get some sleep, Rey.”
“You look as if you haven’t slept in months, Poe.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“You should try.”
He grunted, watching her walk down the hallway. He wasn’t sure if she meant try to get some shut eye or try talking to you as if she could read his mind about trying to show you he hated himself for what he’d done to you.
Could she do that with the Force or was she intuitive? He wasn’t really sure, but now he was thinking that if he didn’t try to talk to you again in fear that he would hurt you and it would lead nowhere, it was certain that you would never forgive him.
He would do this.
You’d begged him all that time to come back to you and opened up to you, and he’d been too afraid to hurt you with his own pain that he’d hurt you even more.
It was time he told you everything.
Time he let it all out.
Perhaps it would be good for him as well as a way to show you that he was serious about how much he cared for you, that he didn’t mean anything he’d said or done to you when he was trying to push you away.
You mattered too much for him to let his fears make you think you didn’t.
----------------------------
He was going to talk to you.
He was going to do everything you had pleaded with him to even though it would hurt, even though he was afraid his own pain would hurt you.
Maybe you didn’t want to hear it, but he owed it to you.
Maybe you would send him away or maybe you would realize how much he really did regret pushing you away.
It was your choice.
Baring his pain was the least he could do for you and you had every right to say it wasn’t enough, to tell him to fuck right off.
Then he supposed he could move on with the knowledge that he didn’t need your forgiveness because any hope of even a friendship with you would be squashed.
And he could deal with the woman he loved hating him and it being all his fault for acting the way he did.
Right?
That thought alone made him want to turn right around and speed walk away from your quarters, but the thought of your possible forgiveness and what he owed to you regardless of whether you forgave him or not made him knock on the door.
It was opened to show Finn standing there; Finn who pulled himself together for you and Finn who knew it was more important to take care of you than to push you away.
Poe ducked his head. “Can I talk to her alone?”
Finn stared, then looked over his shoulder at what was probably you somewhere further in the room. “It’s Poe, you want—?”
There seemed to be a silent conversation and then Finn — a man he considered to be his best friend in the galaxy, but, stars, it’d been a long time since they last really talked — looked at him begrudgingly, stepping into the hallway.
He grabbed onto Poe’s arm when he moved to walk into the room.
“What you did...was not cool. She’s still healing, from you and from being stabbed. Please, Poe, just…”
“I know.”
Finn relented somewhat, gazing into Poe’s earnest, sad eyes and patting him on the shoulder as he moved past him to go take a little break from helping you.
Now Poe was a little scared again as he stepped into your quarters, wondering if he was going to be greeted by you immediately pelting something at his head.
He would have let you throw an X-wing at his head if you had the strength to do such a thing.
But you looked calm, staring at him from where you were sitting on the foot of your bed, hair freshly wet from the sanisteam.
“Hey.” He offered you a tiny smile.
“What do you want?” Apparently you were in no mood for his awkward greeting, standing up with a speed that showed it had been so long since he talked to you that you had time to heal from a knife to the back.
“I thought maybe we could talk...or I could talk…”
“What about?”
He ran a hand through his hair because you had clearly had time to cool; you were perfectly civil to him rather than railing into him like you could have, but there was anger simmering there. “I know you wanted me to open up to you, baby—”
“Don’t call me that. Please, I...not now.” You crossed your arms over your chest, shielding yourself from him of all people because he hurt you.
“I know this is too little, too late, but I owe it to you. You wanted me to open up to you and I didn’t, I was too scared that my pain would only hurt you. But I was stupid. I hurt you. I’m going to try and make up for everything I did, but...but you don’t have to forgive me. I hope you will, but I understand if you want me out of your life. You were right that I can’t expect you to be okay again by just saying I’m sorry. Those words mean nothing.” He was hopeful when he could tell you were mulling it over in your head.
“I begged you to open up to me, Poe, and I had to be stabbed for you to treat me with some decency.” Your voice was quivering with emotion already.
“I know...it was stupid of me to push you away like that, to let my brokenness turn me into someone I’m not. Please let me do this for you...for myself...now? You can listen, then kick me out of your life if you want. That would be okay.” That would certainly not be okay, but Poe would have to deal with the pain to let you make your own decision that made you feel safe.
You looked down for a moment, then nodded.
This little permission of yours that allowed him to open up to you like you’d wanted made him ecstatic, but he was at a loss for words at first.
Where did one start when talking about the things that scarred them?
Especially when there was this much.
“Where should I start?” His voice was soft, eyes pleading with the detached look on your face.
“Where it started hurting.” No wonder his pain had turned him into a closed off shell of a man who pushed people away when the slightest ounce of kindness in your tone made him want to start crying already.
“It didn’t, at first. You know, I didn’t give a shit what they’d do to me since you and Rey were safe, and I said that right into Hux’s cocky, pasty face.” He was smiling, nearly grinning at the memory of the way Hux’s lips twitched in disdain at his audacity.
His smile still made your heart flutter somewhere beneath your anger; when was the last time you’d seen a genuine, big smile from him? Not the night you’d spent together, nor the morning when he told you that it all meant nothing to him.
A reminder to you of why it did not matter whether he smiled or not.
He hurt you.
How was it possible to still love the smile of someone who hurt you like he did?
“He did some big speech about winning and finally capturing a ‘delusional, irritating twit’ like me, told me that Kylo wanted to execute me in front of everyone but that he had something more fun planned for me. They took my jacket and made me change into, like, what you saw and when I had my shirt off, he told the stormtroopers to stop and…” He had the eyes of a ghost now, haunted and broken.
“They took...they...took...my mom’s ring,” The words seemed to force themselves out of his mouth, faltering around a sob as the painful memory resurfaced for him, and you slowly lifted your head to look at him with...sympathy. “He broke the chain and said he would have it destroyed. And I haven’t...I didn’t...I guess he did? And I tried to escape at first, I tried to fight back at them.
“So they started to...taze me and I still wouldn’t give up. It was probably, like, a week? In that Hux decided to replace my mom’s ring with that chain, to treat me like a fucking pet. I don’t...I don’t even know when I gave up, you know? One day I just...didn’t care anymore. Not when I could see Finn walking around completely oblivious to it all. Not when I knew there was no way out of this.” Tears were unashamedly streaming down his face and still, he tried to talk with that carefree air of his.
“Then they brought you. And I could’ve saved you, I could’ve protected you, but I wanted you to live and I made you live with them. I think about that every day, that I could have let them shoot you and you never would have had to go through that torture. But I didn’t. And having you there...it gave me something to fight for.”
Adoration poured from his haunted eyes and you had to cast your own gaze to the floor or you might have broken right then and there just to feel those eyes on you like a salve for the pain he caused. “And everything else didn’t matter anymore. The tazing...the chain...getting the shit beat out of me didn’t feel like a damn thing when you laid there with your head in my lap, peaceful for the first time in Maker knew how long.”
Your arms fell to your sides at some point during his regaling, relaxed and open.
“Hurting you killed me. I smacked you way too hard and I know that, but I didn’t want him to make me do something worse and I didn’t want him to make me do it again if it wasn’t good enough, and...seeing you fall to the floor because of me replays in my dreams, watching you get tazed, how you cried just because you had to help clean me...how...how...sweet and worried you were for me when I was the reason all this was done to you. All I wanted to do was get you out of there and then I saw you in that uniform and...I don’t remember anything until I saw Hux with his hand around your throat.” You hadn’t granted him permission to say anything beyond what was hurting him, but you glanced up and knew by the softening of his face that something had shifted inside of his head.
“I think about everything I did to you and—and sometimes it’s hard for me to get out of my own head when I think about them pressing that stave into me, but you know what I think about most of all? You did what I couldn’t do. So brave and...you were smart and you did everything you had to do to get us out of there even though it killed you. You were sweet, and you cared, and I ruined it. I was in pain and I was scared, and I pushed it all down, tried to hide by pushing you as far away as I possibly could, but you know what? I lied to you.
“That night? In the Falcon? It meant everything to me. Everything was...stressful and overwhelming, and with Finn and Rose being taken it all seemed so hopeless. And then you were there and you were so...so fucking beautiful. You were soft and you were lonely, and I was too. The memory of that night is one of the things that kept me going for you.” His voice was gentle and low, practically wrapping around you.
“And I told you that I didn’t say I loved you, because I couldn’t tell you that I didn’t love you. I do love you. I do, baby. I do.”
You didn’t tell him not to call you by that name again, but you did turn your face away with a whispered, halfhearted no when he tried to cup your face in his hands, your chin quivering.
He dropped his hands to his sides, staring at you with his brow furrowed in sympathy at your pain once more caused by him. “Having you in my arms again...being inside you again...it was like everything that happened to us was okay for a second. And I watched you sleep for probably hours that morning and you looked perfect, and I was sure everything that I kept pushing down would ruin you and that I would taint you with everything that was hurting me, and I couldn’t do it after everything I already did to you.”
Lifting his hand, tears falling down steadily, he ran his fingers over your hair, your cheek, your neck, pausing with his hand over your heart. “And look what I...what I...I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice broke with emotion as he dropped to his knees before you, his head pressing into your thighs as he wept.
You nearly toppled over, but his hands came up to grip at your shirt and your hips, keeping you pressed tight to him.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that I let them hurt you. I’m sorry that I ever made you think you meant so little to me when you mean more than everything in this fucking galaxy. I’m sorry I loved you this much when you deserve better. Please forgive me. I understand if you never want to talk to me again. I do. But I love you and I want to fix what I did. Please forgive me, I never want to hurt you again…” He was sobbing into you, pleading desperately with you, and tears were now streaming down your cheeks as you listened to the broken man at your feet.
“Fine,” you sobbed, the single word trembling.
Poe looked up at you with his brow pulled tight together, his eyes hopeful though still swimming with tears. “You forgive me?”
You shook your head. “No, but I’m willing to give you the chance to prove yourself to me and if you ever hurt me like that again…”
“Thank you. Thank you!” He didn’t even let you finish, gripping you tighter and pressing passionate kisses to your abdomen and thighs until he nestled his head into you again, shoulders shaking with sobs.
“I know.” That he was grateful, that he had been hurting all along even though you’d closed yourself off to it in your own hurt.
Much like he had done the night you had poured your soul out to him, your hand came down to awkwardly touch his head as if you’d never touched the man in your life; soon you found a slow rhythm of running your fingers gently through his curls.
And you were hopeful for what felt like the first time in forever.
Maybe you could forgive a man who let himself fall apart like this, maybe you could love him someday.
Maybe everything he’d done hurt so much because somewhere, deep down, you already did.
250 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 4
<- Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 ->
Summary: Chilton’s recovery is slow and painful, and he is a cranky traumatized bastard who might be determined to push you away.
1,878 words
Twelve days. Six surgeries. Fifteen blood transfusions.
“Did you bring me something to eat?” he whined. Considering he could barely lift his voice above a whisper, it was an impressive feat that he could whine. “Tell me you smuggled something edible that does not go into a tube through my nose.”
“I’m sorry, honey-bear,” you pouted. “But you know I can’t until the doctors OK it.”
“I am a doctor.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re still at a high risk of going septic—no outside foods covered with outside bacteria. Besides, they won’t let you eat solids yet, anyway.”
“Sanguinaccio dolce. Mango smoothie. Crème brûlée. Yamakake Soba...” he listed off non-solid things you ought to have snuck in for his enjoyment.
“And how would I get them in there?” You rapped your knuckles on the clear acrylic of the hyperbaric oxygen therapy chamber.
He scowled. “This is not a zoo. No tapping the glass.”
You grinned and pulled a chair alongside the chamber so you were sitting next to him.
“Did you bring the laptop?”
Slinging the messenger bag you were carrying off your shoulder, you pulled out a smooth rectangular object and held it up proudly. “That I did. I’m ready to write if you’re up for it,” you said, but added with some hesitation, “Are you sure you want to do this now? You should be resting, and… I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to relive what happened.”
“I am sure,” he snapped. “I may drop dead at any moment, so we will finish this now. While I still draw breath.”
You stiffened imperceptibly in your chair. The reminder that, despite making it this long, he was far from out of the woods was an unwelcome dagger in your chest, which you quickly plucked out and stuffed away in the box of things you weren’t going to think about.
“As for the wisdom of my reliving it—I feel his teeth every time I close my eyes. I may as well profit from the experience.”
Dr. Chilton was growing anxious that it had been nearly two weeks since his encounter with Francis “The Red Dragon” Dolarhyde, and he had not yet had the chance to publish on the subject. He had wasted far too much time being unconscious and dying—he needed to send a letter in to the American Journal of Psychiatry before some know-nothing crackpot took a swing.
He was the foremost authority on the Dragon—the only person to have communicated with him and lived who was not, himself, a fugitive for murder (or a blind girlfriend, but he doubted Reba was going to publish anything). This was his achievement. His way of staying relevant. The definitive analysis of the Red Dragon for the Journal, and then a spectacular ending for his book once he had his own hands to type with again. No one would take this opportunity from him.
After living with Frederick Chilton for over three years in relative domestic harmony, there were times you forgot what you ever used to dislike about him. Why you hated him so intensely when you first met.
This was not one of those times.
As you took dictation from your glass-encased fiance, you felt a crushing wave of empathy for the man’s poor secretary. He was demanding and fussy, making you read back every sentence to him line by line and mercilessly correcting any mistakes or omissions. He spoke slowly because of his weakened lungs and raw throat, and the thick glass and lack of lips made him difficult to understand, especially with nurses walking through and machinery beeping and whirring in the background—but when you tried explaining that to justify a transcription error, he took it as a personal affront.
You had to support him no matter what, you reminded yourself. This was much harder on him than you. You can always leave if you want you; he can’t. So when he was frustrated and cranky, you were patient and kind.
It took five hours and ten rewrites to get through two thousand words he was satisfied with submitting for publication, and you were nearly crying by the time you left.
***
Thirteen days.
High protein intake is critical to a speedy recovery in burn patients, but Frederick’s mangled digestive system could not tolerate protein very well. Keeping his kidney off the precipice of failure was a tightrope walk involving dietitians planning his every calorie intake, and daily blood work monitoring.
As a medical doctor, Frederick Chilton was aware of, and understood, these things. However he still rejected them as excuses when you once again did not bring him any outside food.
“Then what is the point of you coming?” he snapped, and immediately wished he had not. You stood frozen in the doorway of his recovery room unsure what you did wrong. You were right, of course—his throat felt like he had fellated broken glass. As much as he longed to chew something flavorful, with texture, he could not have swallowed solid food anyway. He closed his eyes. Softer, he asked, “Did you bring the March issue of the Journal of Psychiatry?”
You let out a held breath, unfreezing, and pulled the magazine out of your bag, presenting it with an upbeat flourish. “Delivered to your doorstep.”
“Would you read it to me?” He sighed, humiliated. It was not only that he could not hold the publication—even if you were to flip the pages for him, with only one working eye and no reading glasses, it was hopeless. He was completely dependent on you.
A cough shook his body as if to punctuate how completely he was broken. Useless. Weak.
The metal feet of the visitor’s chair scraped on the white floor like nails on a chalkboard as you dragged it close to his bedside, making him wince until you settled down and helped him browse for an article of interest.
He could barely make himself care about the content of the study. As you read, you rested one arm on the mattress right next to his, where it lay helplessly prone alongside his body, and he could feel the warm weight of you sinking into the cushion. The pressure was uncomfortable on his inflamed tissue, but soothing to something deeper. God, he wanted to be soothed. He wanted so badly to feel any kind of comfort. Anything to latch onto. He closed his eyes and got lost in your voice. For a moment, he could almost forget about the searing pain in each of his limbs and pretend he was at home, in his bed, with you.
The soothing, steady lull stopped, and he opened his eyes, horrified to find you looking intently at his ruined face. His nostrils flared painfully. “Do not stare,” he warned.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to,” you said. “I finished the article. I thought you fell asleep.” You searched for somewhere else to settle your eyes—the metal bar at the edge of the bed. Your lap. A flower arrangement.
You made such a show of not staring at him that he was even more certain that you had been. He was hideous. Perhaps that entertained you. You were probably already planning for Halloween. Red-hot thoughts swirled around his head like cinders.
Before you could get through a second article, a nurse came in with a tray of mushy hospital food. Humiliation stung deep for you to even see the damned tray, and it annoyed him that you did not immediately excuse yourself. There was no way in Hell he would allow you to watch such a disgusting, embarrassing process—being spoon fed like a toddler, the nurse wiping off his toothy chin of the spillage meant to be kept in check by lips.
“Go home,” he grumbled, leaving no room for argument.
You had barely been there for half an hour.
***
Fourteen days.
“Do you want to look at venues?” you offered, tucking him in with the extra blanket you had a nurse bring because he was cold.
“Venues?” he repeated with clear exasperation. He let out a weak cough.
“It’ll be fun! It’ll take your mind off things.” You grabbed your laptop off the plastic visitor chair where you’d left it, and excitedly held it up so he could see the screen from his prone position. There was already a search typed into google with preview images of scenic gardens glowing with string lights and towering ancient library ballrooms.
“I thought it went without saying our wedding date is… postponed.”
Your shoulders deflated. “I know, but… you’ll be out of the hospital by next year,” barring complications, “so we can use the time to plan. We were going to have to postpone anyway if you couldn’t pick anywhere that was good enough for your standards,” you teased.
“It is pointless.” He laughed bitterly, humorlessly, and your brief smile dropped.
“It isn’t… pointless.”
“I will not be able to visit any of the locations.”
“But we could make a list of places you want to visit when—”
“Stop!” he hissed.
“Oh,” you said quietly. “OK.” You sounded small. Too small.
“I… uh...” Frederick tried to say something. Something to make you sound less small and wounded. Fragments of thoughts and half-formed apologies stuck in his sore throat. Fuck, his skin hurt. Parts of it were starting to heal, but in the short-term that only made it worse, because now it itched, too. Pain. Itch. Guilt. Cold. You deserved so much more than him. “You should go,” he said at last, finally settling on the only way to make it better.
“Wh-what?”
“Just… go,” he croaked.
“I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again. What do you want to talk about? Or, I can shut up and we can listen to music, or...”
You were apologizing. Again. Because he was being an asshole. It disgusted him how weak he made you. You used to be so fierce. Stubborn and unstoppable. But being with him was slowly killing your fire.
“Get out of this place. I want to be alone.”
It was better this way, he thought. It was better for you to get away from him.
You stared at him silently across what now felt like a vast distance of white laminate flooring. His beautiful, pale, mismatched eyes were fixed on the ceiling, hard and uncompromising. He blinked rapidly.
You wished you knew what was going on in his head. You wished you could fix it for him. But right now, as much as it pained you, he wanted you to leave, and maybe that was the best you could do.
“OK,” you relented. “I’ll be back tomorrow, all right? I love you.”
The only sound as you packed your laptop away and slipped your coat over your shoulders was his ragged breathing, the beeps and tones of hospital machines, and the occasional cough. He waited until you were almost out the door before replying, “I love you, too.”
#Frederick Chilton x reader#frederick chilton#hannibal#Raúl Esparza#angst#recovery angst#hospitals#here have your daily serving of pain#my writing
68 notes
·
View notes
Text
CHAPTER 2:
warnings: Idk. But be warned. Y/n’s boss is an ass
It had been about a week since David met Vardan’s teacher and he couldn’t get her smile out of his head. He had actually thought about picking Vardan up from school just so he could see her again, but it would have been difficult to explain. So instead he just spent hours thinking about the way her hair fell on her shoulders, the little shadow her lashes cast on her cheeks, the way her lips moved when she talked. It was amazing how much time he could spend thinking about a fifteen minute meeting...
“David! Are you even listening?”Natalie was frowning at him.
“No, sorry, I drifted off”
“What is wrong with you lately? You are even more distracted than normal, and for you that is definitely impressive”
“Ha ha, so funny” He retorted sarcastically.
“Just turn left at the next intersection and try not to “drift off” while driving, I don’t know about you but I would like to live a couple more years.”
They were going to meet some of the guys at a burger place before going clubbing. It was Jonah’s idea, obviously, he said they had even better burgers than In-n-Out, and if Jonah said so that meant something.
After a few more turns they arrived at a 50’s diner. Zane, Heath, Mariah, Jeff and Jonah were already seated at one of the tables. The place looked awesome on the inside, the walls were pink and had old posters, photographs and neon signs on them. The floor had the classic black and white tiles and all the booths were red. It even had a jukebox that still worked and you could go and choose the song you wanted. David could tell he would be able to get great disposable pics in there.
They all looked at the menu and decided what they wanted to eat, then while everyone else waited to place the order, David went up to the jukebox. He wanted to play “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” by Queen.
By the time he went back to the table they had already ordered the food. The girls were not at the table and the guys were discussing how hot the waitress was.
“Did you see the way she looked at me? She is obviously into me, I am so getting her number” Jonah said
“Baby, are you delusional? She didn’t even look your way!” Zane replied
“Yeah, besides I am sitting right here so…” Jeff said, running his hand through his hair.
“Nah dude, I am telling you, she is totally into me” Jonah went on.
David was checking his instagram as the guys kept bantering and then he heard Heath tell Jonah to shut it since the girl was coming. David looked up and couldn’t believe his eyes, it was Vardan’s teacher. She was wearing a pink uniform with a little white apron and had her hair in a ponytail. She was carrying a tray full of drinks in one hand and was talking to another waitress as she approached their table.
David could see her cheeks blush when she met his eyes. He found it adorable. She started giving everyone their drinks as the girls returned from the ladies room. When she finally got to David she said hi in a soft voice, kind of like a whisper. He stood up to say hi to her
“Hey! How are you doing?”
“I’m great, and you?” she said blushing even more.
“Cool, just going out with the guys” At that point everyone in the table was very obviously staring at them. “These are Zane, Heath, Mariah, Jeff, Jonah and Natalie” he said even though she had admitted to watching the vlogs so she probably already knew. “She is Y/n, she is Vardan’s teacher.”
Everyone said hi to Y/n but Natalie who, after living with David for a couple years, could read him like a book and was giving him an inquisitive stare. David just ignored her. Y/n’s eyes were gleaming and David could see how excited she was to meet everyone. They had been talking for about two minutes when David noticed that from across the room a bald guy standing by the wall was giving Y/n an angry stare.
“Hey princess! Do you want a cup of coffee too? Move that ass! Your tables aren’t going to serve themselves!” He yelled and the entire table went completely silent.
Y/n’s face went completely red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.
“I should go.” she said softly before grabbing her tray and heading for the kitchen. David’s blood was boiling and from the looks of everyone else at the table he wasn’t the only one.
“Who the fuck is that?”David said whilst clenching his jaw as he saw the bald guy follow Y/n. “What is his fucking problem?”
“That is the owner of the restaurant” Jonah said “I’ve seen him here a couple times.”
“He’s disgusting.” Natalie said. She wasn’t wrong, David was ready to punch him in the face right then and there.
As they waited for their food David kept his eyes on the kitchen doors waiting to see Y/n come out. About fifteen minutes later she finally did and she was carrying two trays filled with food. He watched her wait on a few more tables before she came up to theirs.
“I am so sorry for the delay” Y/n said while giving everyone at the table their plate.
“It’s okay,” said Natalie “I just hope we didn’t get you in trouble.”
“Not at all” Y/n said looking down, she was a terrible liar and David could see right through that. “Will you be needing anything else?” she said as the bald guy exited the kitchen doors and stuck his eyes to her.
“No, that is it! Thank you!” David said locking eyes with her for a short second.
They ate their food and brainstormed bits to film the next day. David kept eyeing the manager every once in a while and kept checking on Y/n during the rest of the meal.
Y/n’s POV
It was Friday, most people look forward to Fridays: the end of the week, hanging out with friends, possibly going out for drinks. But for Y/n it was a really long day of teaching and then rushing to the dinner for the night shift, which ended really late, and then barely making it home with enough energy to get out of her uniform. She was exhausted and overworked, even though she would never complain about it.
However, that Friday turned out to be just a bit different because as she was serving tables at the dinner she saw some of the people from the vlog squad come in. Suddenly her heart skipped a beat when she considered the possibility of David being there too. Since she had met him at the school he was popping into her head a lot more frequently.
As she approached their table to greet them and take their orders she noticed David was nowhere to be found, a knot of disappointment formed in her stomach. As she went into the kitchen to serve the group’s drinks Bob, her boss and owner of the place came in. He had a reputation for going after employees and was extremely rude towards most of the girls working there, he was a chauvinistic ass.Y/n tried to avoid contact with him as much as possible.
“Hey princess! Looking good tonight!” Bob said, staring a little too intently at the hem of Y/n’s skirt. He smelled like alcohol and grease which made him even more unbearable than he already was.
“Hey Bob!” Y/n said looking down and quickly exiting the kitchen. “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” by Queen was playing and she couldn’t help by humming, she loved Queen. She went over to the table where the vs was sitting to serve them their drinks only to find David now sitting at the table. He introduced her to everyone, which Y/n loved. She wasn’t going to fangirl in front of everyone but she was extremely excited to be meeting them. She had been chatting with them for about a minute when Bob’s voice filled the air.
“Hey princess! Do you want a cup of coffee too? Move that ass! Your tables aren’t going to serve themselves!” He yelled and the entire table went completely silent.
No, please don’t
Her entire face went red and started heating up. That was so embarrassing she wanted the earth to swallow her whole. How could he yell at her like that in front of the customers? If it weren’t because of how badly she needed the money she would have quit a long time ago, but bills needed to be paid.
She told everyone at the table she’d better leave and headed straight for the kitchen, Bob’s heavy steps following close behind. As soon as they were out of sight he grabbed her arm tightly.
“Don’t forget why you are here princess, this isn’t Cinderella, you are here to work” he said before letting her go. Y/n could feel her eyes itching, tears starting to form, but she reminded herself that she couldn’t cry, crying would only make things worse.
Jazmine, her roommate, best friend and coworker rushed to her side as soon as Bob went into his office. She was the only close friend, one might even say family, that Y/n had in L.A. They had hit it off immediately after their first shift together when Y/n first moved to the city and had been inseparable ever since.
“Girl, calm down, it's going to be okay. You just need to get through this shift and tomorrow you can sleep till noon and watch movies on the couch. Okay?” She always knew how to calm Y/n down.
“Okay.” Y/n said. She took a moment to collect her thoughts and resumed her work.
She served all her other tables before she inevitably had to make her way back to the vs. She could feel both David’s and her boss’ eyes on her while she ran around the diner. When she started handing them their food her eyes crossed David’s just for a moment but it was enough to make her stomach feel funny.
God, he is so cute. Quit dreaming girl, you’ve got work to do. Besides it's just a childish fantasy, he is rich and famous and you are just delusional if you think he’d ever lay eyes on you.
Sometimes your mind can be your worst enemy, and for Y/n it was. All the reasons why it was impossible would keep popping in her mind through the night, even long after he had left.
73 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
chazuramendraws
soup soaked drawings
klarastjarnljus
klarastjarnljus
insane-cripplepunk
The Insane Cripple Your Mom Warned You About
titanicnightclub-blog
Titanic Night Club
mordimerchess
Mordimer Chess