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godadorgohome · 8 months

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~*Spicy*~ Alphabet with Father Gabriele Amorth (as played by Russel Crowe)!

this character is consuming my life and I needed to get this out of my system ok

Also I'm so sorry I forgot who came up with the idea for a nuhsufwuh alphabet so if anyone remembers please tell me so I can credit them!!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex) There's always a little bit of guilt... everything he does with you has to be in secret, or he risks his livelihood. Despite the guilt, perhaps because of it, he is tender after you're done, especially if he used you roughly during. Which happens whenever he's been without you for a while, or he's had a particularly irritating meeting with the cardinals. He will kiss you all over: lips, jaw, neck, collarbone, chest, lower, lower, even while he's still panting like a bull and his cock hasn't even slipped out of you yet. His hands are big, rough (for a priest) and hot, but they glide over your skin like seabirds skimming the ocean surface, resting lightly on places he's gripped too tightly or bore down too hard, as if to apologize... or heal with a holy touch.

The rest under a cut for length!

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Being a Catholic priest, his own body isn't much on his mind. When it is, it's usually about how it has aged, how it isn't as spry as it used to be, and how it was damaged long ago in the war. Or not so long ago, by a particulary energetic wrestling match with a demon. If anyone but you asked him, he'd say his favorite 'body part' is his brain. If you asked him, you who have seen him naked more often than his mother has, he'd say his hands. Oh, the absolutely sinful sounds he can draw from you with those hands. It took him a while to learn, because the last time he laid hands on someone else's body, he was a much younger man, but he learned quickly enough.

His favorite body part of yours depends on what you have showing... and what you don't. He's partial to the little cup-shaped hollow where your collarbone meets the tendons of your neck, and he loves it when you wear shirts with the collar just open enough for him to see it. All the better when you wear the cross he gave you as a gift, because it rests in that hollow. He doesn't know whether to kiss that spot, and the cross that rests there, for hours, or rip your shirt away from it with his teeth, force you against the nearest wall, and mount you right there.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically) It's quite a thing for a Catholic priest to have a breeding kink, but he does. He would never get you or anyone else pregnant for real, of course, but the allure of fucking your hole raw, pumping you full of his cum, filling you up with as much as you can handle and more, until it's leaking out around his pulsing cock and stretching your belly taut, is the one fantasy that can get him off in seconds, it seems. He loves watching himself come, especially if it's on you: on your stomach, your ass, your legs... as close as he can get it to where it matters. Of course he loves watching his cum ooze down your chin after he fucks your face, but a lot of times it doesn't even have a chance because he just shoots his load straight down your throat. Especially when it's a restrained, silent fuck in one corner of the church or another.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) You're the dirty secret he's actually proud of. There are more priests with far more active sex lives than the Church would ever know, let alone admit to (and they assume some priests do anyway). But you... you're not some waylaid nun, poor abused choirboy, or hapless parishioner. You're very much your own person, and he had to work for you. You didn't make it easy, and he enjoyed the getting of you almost as much as he enjoyed the gotcha.

Other than you, a dirty little secret he hasn't even spoken to the heaven-scented darkness of the confession booth is the flip side of his breeding kink: that he craves to know what it's like to be mounted by someone, to be bent over a pew, have his cassock flung over his back, his trousers ripped down, and to be fucked like a bitch in heat, to be bred until he's so full of someone else's come that he can barely stand, and when he does it runs in rivers down his legs and soaks his trousers. And then whoever fucked him raw makes him stand, pulls his cassock back down to hide the evidence, and shoves him out in front of a full congregation, to deliver a Mass right then and there. Oh, and a couple of Cardinals are in the front row.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) Father Amorth is a curious mix of experienced and inexperienced; he didn't enter the priesthood right away, but the last sexual partner he had was more than 30 years ago. He made it almost all the way through his entire career as a priest without slipping, but then you came along. After an initial, ah, training period, he got good at pleasing you. Very good. After all, he's an intelligent man, and he learns quickly.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying) Any position in which he can watch your face as you come. He'd never tell you this, but he thinks you look positively enraptured when you do, and to know he's responsible for bringing you such heights of (earthly) pleasure always sets him off too.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.) He can't seem to stop cracking jokes, even in the middle of sex, until some switch inside him flips the breeding kink on. Then rills of grunted, rumbly Italian run out of his mouth like drool, and even if you know what he's saying, it's half-coherent anyway. But once his balls are empty, he's back to gently teasing you and making you groan-laugh with some absolute category-5 dad jokes. It's like he hides joke books in his Bibles or something.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) His office is in the Vatican, so he has to be well-groomed. Though his beard is almost completely grey by now, he keeps it because he likes it... and because you like it. Under his cassock and clothes, he's a big, hairy man, which has caused him a little shame in the past. But you love the way he looks, and tell him so every chance you get, so you're slowly but surely curing him of any shame he feels when the armor of his office comes off. He's even coming to appreciate the little curls of grey hair that are coming through on his chest and belly.. and below the belt.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) An alternate title for every Catholic priest may as well be Touch-Starved. He's got a job that is his life, and it often takes him away from you. Even when you're both in the same place, it's often a public place, and he can't even hold your hand without risking, at least, a rumor mill that turns so vigorously, within an institution hypervigilant against the sins of its own clergy, that might get him kicked out for nothing more than a whispered word in the right ear.

So when you're in public together, when he can look but mustn't touch, you feel the heavy itch of his gaze on you, those hooded blue eyes seeming to burn your clothes away and the expression on his face too subtle to be readable to anyone but you: oh when I get you alone...

And when he does get you alone, he makes good on his threat. Even if it doesn't immediately lead to sex, he is all over you; he can't decide whether he wants to clutch you close and suck in deep breaths of your smell, or run his hands over every inch of you. His lips and tongue wander as widely as his hands do; often the electricity of his kisses on your skin draws little hurt-animal noises out of you that he must silence with a quick, heavy hand over your mouth. He craves you even after you've gone four times in one night and you both are almost too exhausted to move; he always has energy enough to draw you close, to squeeze you to him.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon) Every sexual act that's not sex with the intent of procreation is considered, at best, a morally disordered act according to the Church. But that hasn't stopped generations and generations of Catholics, and it doesn't stop Father Amorth. When he's apart from you, he's holding back days of missing you on top of over thirty years of celibacy, so most nights he wakes up either hard or with his pajamas covered in come. And that's after he jacks off once, maybe twice, before he goes to sleep.

If he wants to get off quick and nasty, his go-to fantasy is getting fucked (see Dirty Secret). But if he has an hour or two to himself, he'll want to take it slower (but not much because, well, thirty years of celibacy). His favorite fantasy for that is you with your cute ass in the air, panting and begging him, almost in tears from how badly you want him, to fuck you until you're bursting at the seams with his come.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks) See Dirty Secret. Also: body worship! See Motivation.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do) He's actually not fond of fucking in church, because there's too many opportunities to get caught and he is actually a devout man. Fucking in front of the Savior on the cross, under the Holy Mother's gaze, rubs him a little too wrong. He'd rather be with you as far away from the Vatican as possible, but occasionally it does turn him on a little to think of sneaking you into his office. Mostly, though, if given his pick of places, it'd be a nice big bed. I guess you could say he's a traditionalist. Or maybe he's just an old man and his back hurts.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going) You, first and foremost. He's forgotten how delicious the pleasures of the flesh can be, and he never knew those pleasures could feel so sinless, so sublime, as they do on your skin. Amorth's sexual preferences are a curious mix of things that blur the line between religion and secularity and things that carve that line into stone. Body worship is one of the things that blurs the line. He kneels at your feet like you're both altar and the loving god it's built for; he repeats your name like a verse from the Song of Songs. His hands traverse your curves with soft reverence, but behind their gentleness you sense the trembling need to grip and cling and hold. He could spend-- and has spent-- hours letting his lips and hands learn you, and it never seems to be enough, because he always wants more.

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) Plenty of people, both possessed and simply ill, have stripped naked in front of him and have taunted him with their flesh. A few nuns have gotten indecent with him, and even a couple of villagers have offered their teenage children to him on the sly, as payment for exorcising a loved one. But taking favors like this is something he will, under no circumstances, do. It not only degrades him and them before God, but it makes a mockery of the simple sanctity of human connection.

You once floated the idea of him choking you with a rosary during sex, and he looked at you like you'd grown a second head (hey, you tried). Basically, he prefers to keep business and pleasure, separate. His career depends on it.

Don't expect him to be into super-heavy BDSM either. Catholics flagellate themselves enough without ballgags and gimpsuits anyway.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) He will eat whatever you put in front of him, with deep, rumbling relish. You were his first after a very long time, so he was a little rusty until you could train him up right. I feel like there's a taking-Communion joke in there somewhere.

He loves receiving as well, especially when you grab his balls and hold, not tight enough to cause real pain but juuust to the left of pleasurable. Especially especially if he can watch his cock disappear down your throat.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual, etc.) That depends on how long he's been without you. Although sometimes, even though he's pushing 60, you really do think he's trying to cram years' worth of missed fucks into a single night, and he goes and goes--implacabile--until you're both raw and shaking with spent effort. At other times, especially when he's worshipping your body, the transition from loving touch to sex is as subconscious as taking the next breath. Those gentle, slow hours really are hours; sometimes he stops just to look at you; to wonder that you're there with him at all.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) Sometimes a quickie is all he can get; he's a busy man, so unless he deliberately takes time off (which he does more and more with you around), he can only see you in between trips to and from the Vatican and wherever the next exorcism is. It's almost like he's a marathoner and you're the fuel station at which he stops, breathless and harried, thirsty and needful, along the way. He's grateful for the longer breaks with you though, for the days when you only put on clothes long enough to walk down the street for coffee and lunch. He doesn't have the greatest stamina in the world, but he makes up for it by filling the time between fucks with, well, anything you ask of him.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) He's more open to experimentation than you'd guess a Catholic priest would be, but then again over 30 years of celibacy Does Things to a man. He'll maybe work around to asking you to peg him... eventually. Maybe. When he's drunk. Really, really drunk. But there's a lot of ground between here and there, and he enjoys learning about and indulging your kinks, as long as they don't cross his lines (see 'No'). It's going to take you a while to get him to crack on fucking in a confession booth, but he'll probably get there before he gets around to pegging. The only times he's fucked you in a church (few and far between), it's been one where nobody knows either of you, and you've been teasing him for hours. He can't help it. It's quick, mostly clothed, and as silent as he can make it with his hand clamped over your mouth. Which isn't really the issue; he grunts and pants and breathes like a bull.

Though he's very risk-averse in terms of his reputation and his job, he does harbor a secret desire to fuck where you could be found out, to 'forget' to lock the door to his office or pull you into a passionate kiss in the middle of St Peter's Plaza. Maybe he will one day; he doesn't like that he has to keep you a secret. And he's gotta retire someday, right?

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) The first time he sees you after a long trip or a busy stint is, well... let's say he doesn't have time to work up a sweat. But usually he can spring back to life in a half hour or so, and his stamina for the second, third, and potentially fourth rounds has less to do with how long he can keep his dick up and more to do with how physically exhausted he gets. Exorcism, when it's actually an exorcism, can be physically demanding, and frequent travel is hard on anybody. But the sweet spot is the second round, when he's got most of his energy and has gotten the first oh-my-god-i-missed-you-so-much fuck out of his system. Especially if he takes breaks to give you oral, he can stretch it out to more than an hour.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) Before you, he never owned any toys. He only owns a few, and they're all for you, all your favorites.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He can't physically tease you out in public, but he makes up for it with as much body language as he dares: long, loaded looks which make it exquisitely clear just how much fun he's having undressing and fucking you with his eyes. He'll lean in just a little too close, his nose inches from your neck, as he reads the coffee menu over your shoulder. He'll leave a hand on the small of your back just a little too long on a walk through town. He'll catch your eye and wink, the smile making crows feet spread to his temples small and only for you. His jokes, as bad as they are, are somehow a turn-on too. He's good at sideswiping you with compliments and casual innuendos that others don't pick up on the way you do. The one he hit you with when you first met was a damn tactical strike. He'd said you'd look cute dressed for the Vatican, but you'd blown him off. Stuffy clothes, too many rules for you. Didn't look like fun, you'd said, furiously trying to hide how badly you'd been blushing. He, missing nothing, had shrugged in a very Italian oh-well gesture, “Well, the people who spend time with me seem to have fun.”

Weeks later, in the sex-scented dimness of your bedroom, you'd asked him about it, and he admitted that was a huge bluff. “But it worked.” He deserved the flung pillow at his head.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make) At his quietest, he's still not silent by any stretch of the imagination (see Risk), especially when it's the first time he's got you naked after a while. The sounds he makes are deep and rough and growly, but even in the privacy of a secret place, you can tell he's holding back some. He doesn't talk much during sex at first, but once you unlock his breeding kink (and some of your preferences and kinks), he'll say anything you want him to say. In the thick of it, his voice is strained and raspy, as if he's fraying at the edges and nearly overwhelmed by it all. If he speaks your language around you, he'll slip into rumbling Italian that sounds like an earthquake in his chest. It's still not loud, though, but one day you'll get him to really cut loose and roar like the bear he is.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) He can sing quite well. While he was in seminary, he volunteered for the men's choir and became lead baritone (and soloist) in a year. He loves Dire Straits, Bob Dylan, Sam Cooke, and, unfortunately, Steppenwolf. Pobody's nerfect.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) He's a grower, not a shower. Nothing out of the ordinary when it's soft, but beneath that belly is a nice thick cock when it's hard. It's not long enough to hurt when he fucks you deep, but it is thick enough to make you feel oh so deliciously full. His balls are heavy and hang low, which is its own kind of delicious feeling when he's fucking you from behind and they slap against you.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) Thirty years of celibacy has made him good at containing himself, but it has done his libido no favors. You'd think, even with thirty years of pent-up drive, at nearly sixty he'd be wanting to slow down a little. But on some nights that feel dizzily eternal, with the whole world spun down to a cocoon around you both, the only thing that stops him is your whimpered, gasping "please..."

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) That depends on how many times you've gone and how tired he is before you start. But even at the very end of his energy, he'll stay awake long enough to make sure you're properly asleep (cuddled up next to him, no other way to make it Proper) or, ah, satisfied. He always wants to be the last thing you see when you close your eyes.

#father gabriele amorth #gabriele amorth #russell crowe #the pope's exorcist #my writes #headcanons #imagines #OH MY GOD THAT'S OUT OF MY SYSTEM now to finish plotting the 2 longer fics and 2 oneshots i have for this man please kill me

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larathia · 2 years

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Dazai’s origins?

Okay.

I may never find out if I’m right or wrong, but I am so putting chips on this.

Dazai’s father was the ‘old boss’, the man Mori killed to assume leadership. It just explains too much about the ongoing weirdly special relationship the mafia seems to have with Dazai, when they really ought to be hating his guts.

* Dazai remembers when Koyo tried to leave the Mafia with her lover, ‘when she was Kyoka’s age’ - that is, when Koyo was 14. Koyo’s 26 now. So Dazai would’ve been all of ten when that happened.

* Dazai calls her ‘big sis’ and frankly, I don’t know any teenage boys that’d call an older girl that. (I mean, it’s only four years.) But...I could see a kid doing that. (Mind you, it’s still kind of a weird stretch to think of Dazai ever doing such a thing, except he did, so...maybe he was younger than ten when he met Koyo.)

* Fifteen says that Mori knew Dazai was “neither an orphan nor Mori’s illegitimate child” and stops there. The only other thing it states fully is that Dazai was in Mori’s care for a failed suicide attempt. But Mori’s a mob doctor. Normal people do not wind up in the hands of a mob doctor if they’re rescued from death, they get sent to a hospital. So...someone whose family knows Mori brought Dazai in, and given how generally unfeeling the City of Demons is toward little kids, they had some reason to save him.

* Mori uses Dazai as witness that the old boss died of ‘natural causes’. The word of some random suicidal fourteen year old ...I do not see that counting for much in the mafia. But if Dazai were the old boss’s kid...I think that’s a different story.

* The way that Mori keeps Dazai’s executive seat open - and some of the old guard of the mafia (the ones we know about) treat Dazai deferentially, and help him anytime he asks and it doesn’t conflict with their orders...again, if he’s the old boss’s son, that makes both these things make sense, when as a straight up traitor who’s not only left the Mafia, but knows their secrets and methods and has worked against them as part of the ADA, they should ALL be trying to murder him. Like. All the time.

* The mafiosi frequently say they think Dazai was ‘born to be in the Mafia’. Which. I mean. Okay, yes, Dazai’s definitely got the mind for it, but maybe he really was ‘born for it’, too. That Mori seems to have legitimately feared that Dazai would cut his throat and take over eventually is also kind of indicative, because really...there’s nothing about teenage Dazai that suggests he had any such ambitions.

* Just the fact that he was around the Mafia enough, from ten to fourteen, to be aware of all/most of what was going on, and just hanging around the new boss while not being part of the Mafia himself is also kind of a big “seriously?” flag. I mean. Teenage boys are kind of a security risk in general, I’d think. Especially suicidal ones who genuinely don’t seem to give a rat’s whether other people live or die.

* Can I harp for a second about the ‘letter’ business Dazai pulled back at the beginning, when he wanted to know why the Mafia had such a big bounty on Atsushi? I really want to just say “that HAD to be one of Dazai’s lies”, but just the fact that Chuuya, who knows him best of the currently living mafiosi, had to take him seriously, suggests that whether true or not it was well within Dazai’s power, and that Chuuya was willing to believe Dazai wouldn’t just get a death mark for being a mad crazy security risk, which has to be the usual mafia approach.

* Thinking of Chuuya for a second - granting that Chuuya is ‘new guard’ in that he only joins after Mori is the boss - but Mori finds a great deal of amusement in partnering Chuuya with Dazai. It just occurred to me that part of that may be that really, that would mean he’s putting two princes together - Dazai, the ‘prince’ of the Mafia, and Chuuya, the prince of the Sheep. (Yeah, I know Chuuya is actually called a king, but the novels are pretty clear that he was still learning his role - so, again, you’ve got the very experienced prince with the inexperienced king, and that’s definitely poetic enough to amuse Mori.)

* This is circumstantial, but...when Atsushi’s old headmaster gets killed, the conversation he has with Dazai about it is just...really strange. Like...the sheer vehemence - which is quite unusual for Dazai - that Atsushi did not have to forgive, that what the headmaster did was unforgivable...but that it was still okay to cry. I’m just saying...even if I’m wrong and his father wasn’t the straight up murderous batshit guy that Mori killed, I’m betting Dazai’s relationship with his family meant he knew very well what Atsushi needed to hear.

Anyway. Y’all don’t need to believe me. It’s probably not going to be important. I just had to put it all down because it felt like a bunch of puzzle pieces clicked together in my head and I kind of wanted to shout for a bit.

#bsd analysis #bungou stray dogs #bsd dazai

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

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What Is A Mother, But The Woman Who Loves Us Most?

A Batmom x Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 3.3K Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: I know there is a story like this already (by a different author) but I should preface that this is a story that I posted a year or so before but deleted my previous blog last year, so it's not going to seem like it. I haven't copied any ideas, this is my own that I posted a year or so ago, and re-posting again now. -Thorne

You are not my mother!

The loathing words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he watched the cave go deathly quiet around him. Everyone's eyes were wide, even hers, but a millisecond later, they set in a hard stare as she stood straight, her jaw tightening.

She nodded, staring at him. "You're right Damian. I'm not Talia al Ghul. I'm not your mother. But I will tell you what I am." She raised her left hand, flashing the silver wedding ring on her finger. "I'm your father's wife. And what I tell you to do in this manor is what I expect from you."

He shook his head in anger, glaring at her. "This is my father's manor!"

"No Damian, this is the Wayne Manor. And I've been, to use a rather weathered term, the lady of the house for almost fifteen years. Long before you were even a thought in Talia's mind." He stopped and she crossed her arms. "I may not be your mother, but you are a child and your father and I are the adults. When you turn eighteen, you can make all the decisions you want. Until then, what we say goes."

His lips drew in a taut line and she added, "I've already talked about it to Bruce. You're not allowed on patrol after what happened at the gala. If you want to complain to him about it, he's going to tell you the same thing." Her eyes shifted to the others, then she looked back at him one last time before turning around and walking up the stairs.

When she was gone, he let out a shout in anger and threw silver coffee pot against the cave wall. It hit the wall with a clang and dropped, rolling on the ground a few times as it spilled its contents, much like his mood.

He felt their eyes on them and he whipped his head up, glaring at them. "What?!"

Tim and Jason simply narrowed their eyes at him, but Dick walked forward and knelt in front of him. "Kiddo, that wasn't a nice thing to say to mom."

Damian scoffed at him before shoving past, climbing up the stairs. “Like the three of you haven't said that to her before." There was no return to his statement, giving him all the answer, he needed.

***

He stepped out of the study stretching his arms and listening to the sound of his bones popping before he shifted, moving towards the door. The boys had left a few minutes earlier to catch a rerun of an episode of Vikings, leaving him alone in the cave.

Alfred walked up to him, handing him a sweater before motioning to the door. "Mrs. Wayne has taken a seat out on the patio. I suspect you'll wish to see her."

Bruce nodded, taking the sweater from him before thanking him and moving out of the study and towards the patio. He crossed into the living room as he did, stopping to stare at his four sons passed out on the couch. The TV was still going, so he leaned down, gently taking the remote from Dick's hand and shutting it off.

He set the remote down and started his path again, but stopped when he heard, "You going to check on mom?" He turned around, looking at a his oldest.

Bruce nodded, taking in the sight of Dick’s arms wrapped around all of his brothers. “After you boys told me what happened, I thought I should talk to her about it."

Dick nodded, reaching up and rubbing his eyes, careful not to wake the others beside him. "He didn't mean it...he'll see that when he gets over being angry."

Bruce nodded and leaned over, ruffling his hair. “Tell Jason that you two should stay at the manor tonight...it's too late for you to head home anyway."

Dick started to argue, but a look from his father and quick, “Your mother would have a fit if you two tried to drive home now or later…you know that.”

His son nodded and Bruce turned around once more, this time making his way to the dimly lit patio. His hand curled around the cool metal handle of the sliding glass door, and he quietly opened it, stepping out onto the deck. She lay on the porch swing, covered by a heavy hound’s tooth blanket, with a barely full wine glass in her hand.

He walked towards her and bent over, picking up the wine bottle; he shook it lightly before quipping, "I can't believe you've drank an entire bottle in one sitting."

As if finally noticing his presence, she tipped her head lazily to him and mumbled, "It's empty?"

He snorted and tipped the bottle upside down. "As it was the day before it was bottled."

Bruce paused and grinned as she huffed a laugh and brought the glass she had in her hand up to her mouth. He watched her down the rest of her red wine before she set the glass on the table; he set the bottle beside it and shifted her forward, easing his way behind her until they were both comfortable. She rested her back against his chest, her head dropping against his shoulder. His arms came up around her as he pulled the blanket up to her neck, keeping her warm.

He was quiet for a second then he murmured, "...The boys told me what happened earlier."

There was a moment of silence, then she whispered, "I know I should be used to it after hearing it come from each of them..." She stopped, then continued with, "But it still stings to hear it."

A sad smile crossed his lips as he pressed his lips to her temple. "Of course it stings (Y/N)...you're their mother and you love them." After he didn't receive a response from her, he tipped his head and looked down. "(Y/N)? Love?" She turned her head, and he took in the sight of the tears in her eyes; his face fell at the sight and he brought a hand up, cupping her cheek. "Oh…sweetheart."

(Y/N) choked out a sob and pressed her face into the crook of his neck as she clenched a hand in his sweater. Bruce rested his chin on the top of her head as he rubbed her back, comforting her with quiet words.

***

Damian watched them from the screen door, feeling his heart clench in his chest at the sight of (Y/N) sobbing. He swallowed thickly and stepped back, only to come into contact with someone—something. He let out a quiet gasp and spun around, seeing Dick staring sadly out at his parents, Tim and Jason behind him doing the same.

Damian looked at them and whispered, "What are you three doing?"

Dick glanced at him briefly before motioning to them. "We heard the sliding door open, and we went to listen."

"I didn't know you were eavesdroppers."

A hand came up and cuffed him upside the head; he held his head, glaring at Jason who bit out, "Shut up, two-bit. You were eavesdropping too."

Damian opened his mouth to retort, but shut it and turned back around, looking at her. A moment passed, then he mumbled, "You said the same thing I did." He looked up at his brothers, who wore clouded expressions; each of them nodded after a few seconds, and he asked, "What happened?"

Dick was the first to speak, remembering a time from when he was a mere ten years old.

***

He stomped angrily through the house, not even caring about her following him; she called after him repeatedly. "Dick. Dick, honey, stop for a second."

He didn't listen, still moving. "No! You grounded me!"

"And I grounded you for a reason. You deliberately disobeyed me." He grunted at her and she called out, her voice ringing with authority, "Richard John Grayson. Not another step young man." He stopped at it and she continued, "You left the cave tonight and went on patrol without asking. As your mom-"

He spun around, his eyes angered as he spit, "You're not my mom! Stop acting like it!" Her mouth shut, and her eyes went wide from the declarations.

She blinked, obviously stunned at his words, and she stared down at her hands murmuring, "I may not be your real mother...but I...I am...I..." She drew off, bringing a hand up to wipe at her cheek. Dick's widened when she looked up at him, and he saw the tears beginning to spill, running down her cheeks.

He raised his hands out to her. "Wait! I—I didn't mean it!"

(Y/N) looked down and she brought a hand up to her mouth, moving past him, letting out a broken, 'excuse me'. He watched her go past him, then a few moments later, Bruce walked into the room and he turned to him.

"Bruce!" Bruce looked down at him, taking in the sight of Dick, who was almost in tears.

The lecture he had ready for him went out the window as he squatted in front of Dick. "Dick?"

The boy looked up at him, tears filling those big blue eyes. "I—I messed up B-Bruce."

He reached out a hand, wiping his tears away. "What happened Dick?"

Dick lowered his head and he whispered, "I a—accidently told (Y/N) that she wasn't my m-mom."

Bruce sighed at him and murmured, “Oh, Dick." The boy began to sob, and Bruce reached out, pulling him into a hug. "It's okay, bud."

***

Dick looked at her and murmured, "I've never forgotten the look she gave me after I said it to her..." He looked down at Damian, and said, "And neither has she."

Jason nodded at that. "I'm sure she's never forgotten how I left the cave telling her I had to go find my real mom.

***

"What are you looking at baby?"

He jerked forward, clicking the screen to minimize the images. "Nothing!" He spun around to see her walking towards him, an amused smile on her face.

"And I'm assuming that nothing is not important?" She questioned.

He nodded. "Not at all."

She stared at him until he sighed and turned around, clicking the screen to reveal the images of the three women; she walked up to him. "Who are these women?"

He pointed to each one. "Sharmin Rosen, Lady Shiva, and Sheila Haywood."

(Y/N) nodded, looking at them. "They're very pretty women." She paused and looked at him. "But why are you looking at them." He dropped his gaze and picked at his fingers. "Jason? Hon?"

He looked back up at her. "One of them is my mom."

Her eyes widened as she said, "Like...your biological mom?"

He nodded. "I found out after I went back to my old apartment." He looked between the screen and (Y/N). "I'm gonna track them down." She was silent, her eyes moving to the screen, and he turned to her, rising from the chair. "I have to go find them...I have to go find my real mom."

***

"And those were the last words I ever said to Ma." They stared at Jason as he leaned against a table by the door. "And it got a lot worse when I came back...I said horrible things to Ma...about her not caring...about her not being a mother." He went silent and shook his head. "I fucked up a lot of things between us for a good couple years."

Tim watched him, then nodded. "I hadn't even realized I'd actually said it to mom...it was such an offhanded comment that I didn't even know what I said until she was gone."

***

He barely registered the sound of his bedroom door opening, let alone the sound of her footsteps as she walked up to him. He did, however, hear the disappointment in her tone as she said, "Timmy...you need to go to bed."

He shook his head, typing on the keyboard. "I'm fine."

"Honey, you've been awake for almost forty-eight hours." She rested a hand on his shoulder. "It's not good for your body if you stay up like this."

"I'm fine. Really, I'm good."

She squeezed his shoulder, the other hand reaching out to close the laptop. "You'll be good when you're asleep in bed." Skimming the top of this laptop, she stopped when his curled around her wrist.

He turned to her and said, "Will you stop mothering me? I'm fine. I don't need your help."

He let go of her and turned back to the screen, barely registering the way she quietly whispered, “Alright Timmy...goodnight”, and walked out of his room.

***

"The only reason I actually realized what I said was after a few minutes, I realized that she hadn't told me she loved me after saying good night." He paused, digging a groove into the carpet with his toes. "Mom didn't say anything about it the next day, but I could tell that something had shifted. She was more reserved when it came to me." He looked at Damian. "Look, I know you and I don't get along, but I'm going to tell you something brother to brother. Go apologize to mom and tell her that you didn't mean it."

It was all he said before he looked at the others and waved. "I'm going to bed.

Jason soon followed saying, "I'm with Timbers. I'm gonna go crash."

The two of them began making their way to their rooms when the sound of the screen door opening and closing brought their attention back. They looked towards it, seeing Bruce carrying (Y/N), her head pressed against his chest.

He stopped when he saw them, his surprised look giving way to a hard expression. "Were you four watching?" They all started making excuses, but he shushed them, nodding at their sleeping mother; they shut their mouths and he brought his foot back, sliding the door closed.

"Is mom alright?"

Bruce looked at Dick and nodded. "She's fine. Wine drunk...but fine." He looked down at Damian. "(Y/N) does a lot for all of us. You owe her an apology when she wakes up." Damian nodded, watching as he walked past them, carrying her up the stairs to their bedroom.

***

The dull throb in her head told her the migraine was something she was going to need some aspirin, water, and a heavy blanket to block out the light to fix. She groaned lightly as she burrowed her face in her pillow, then she opened her eyes and looked around the room.

Immediately, she took in the sight of the four of her boys curled up like cats in the bed with her. A smile graced her lips and she reached down beside her hip, running a hand over Tim's head; he shifted in his sleep, burying his face in her side and she struggled to bite back the laugh that wanted to come out. She reached over again and ran her hands through Dick and Jason's hair, watching them do the same.

She smiled at them, then a voice sounded from beside her. "Are you awake, Umi?" (Y/N) looked to her side, seeing Damian curled up beside her. Bruce's broad shoulders made him look so tiny from where he was laying and she nodded, raising a hand and caressing his head.

"I'm awake, sweetheart." He nodded, then moved under her arm, resting his head on her shoulder. Her arm settled comfortably around him, and she brought up her hand, gently running her fingers through his short hair.

After a few moments he whispered, "...I'm sorry, Umi."

Her response was to press her lips to his forehead, and murmur, "I know, baby."

He swallowed thickly, feeling the beginnings of tears gathering in his eyes. "I didn't mean to say it."

She nodded; her lips still pressed to his forehead. "I know you didn't, sweetheart. It was something said in anger."

He moved to sit up, looking up at her as he whispered harshly, "But I have hurt you! I made you cry! I...did this." He dropped his gaze, closing his eyes, and (Y/N) watched the tears begin to fall down his cheeks. He looked back up at her a few seconds later and said, "You are my mother, Umi...you are the only mother I've known."

(Y/N) shifted, careful not to wake her sons, then she cupped Damian's cheeks in her hands. "Baby...it's okay...I'm not angry at you."

He shook his head in her grip. "But you're sad because I said you weren't my mother."

(Y/N) brushed her thumbs under his eyes, wiping away the tears. "We all say things that we don't mean." He looked up at her and she searched his eyes. "What matters is that when they are said, we try our best to fix what we've done wrong."

Damian nodded his head and whispered, "I'm sorry, Umi."

A sad smile crossed her lips and she leaned forward, kissing his forehead. "I am too, baby." She pulled away and brushed his cheeks again. "I still love you though...with all my heart."

"You do? Even after what I said?"

(Y/N) nodded, pulling him to her; he rested his head under her chin, and she wrapped her arms around him as she murmured, "The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness." She brought up a hand, caressing the side of his head as she whispered, "Each of you has told me as some point that I am not what I am. But I know deep down that none of you meant it. And each time I heard it, it hurt...but forgiveness is a good thing when used."

"To err is human...to forgive...divine."

She smiled at his quote and squeezed him gently. "I love you, Damian...my beautiful baby boy."

The feeling of tears gathered in his eyes, but he blinked them away, his hand clenching in her shirt as he replied, "I love you too, Umi."

There was a moment of silence between them until, "How come the demon-spawn gets all the love? We were here first."

Damian raised his head, glaring at Tim. "I am Umi's favorite, Drake."

"The hell you are, Tater-tot. If anyone's the favorite, it's me."

"I think you're wrong, Little-wing. Iwas the first. I'm the favorite."

"No one asked you, dickhead."

"Mom! Jason called me a mean name!"

"Stop mocking me!"

"Mom!"

(Y/N) rolled her eyes at her two oldest as they began to shove at each other, and eventually, Tim and Damian got into the mess, and she watched their fists and feet fly at each other.

A grunt sounded from beside her and she looked down to see her husband glaring at her. "You just had to get them going this early, didn't you, Mrs. Wayne?"

(Y/N) let out a 'pfft' and leaned down, pressing her lips to his before laying her head on his arm, their foreheads touching. "Yeah...but I know that when they're fighting like this, they're giving each other love."

"Tough love."

She snorted and tickled his side, feeling him jerk away. "But love nonetheless."

He opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of someone grunting cut him off. "Mom! Jason won't let me out of this headlock!"

"Mom! Jason won't let me-"

"STOP MOCKING ME, JASON!"

"You're unbearable, Drake! I am Umi's favorite!"

"Keep telling yourself that, oompa-loompa."

"I am not an oompa-loompa!"

(Y/N) sighed and looked at her husband. "Never a dull morning, is it Mr. Wayne?"

He grinned at her but grunted when one of them hit his side. "No, it's not Mrs. Wayne. No, it is not."

4K notes · View notes

luckyasfuck · 3 years

Text

back seat of his car [k. bakugou]

pairing // katsuki x fem!reader

warnings/themes // NSFW, mafia leader!katsuki, illegal racer!katsuki, mentions of stalker!reader, gun violence, katsuki point his gun at your neck, katsuki checks under your skirt without conset, slight knife play, breeding kink, creampie,

synopsis // finally gathering your courage to confess to the guy you’ve been admiring, the night takes a dark turn when he assumes you’re working for his enemy, and all the secrets unfold.

word count // 2.5k

a/n // i am aware that race cars don’t have passenger seats nor back seats, just shut up and read already.

tonight was exciting. the skirt you wore hung beautifully around your hips, giving your thighs the attention they very much deserve. the nights were always cold, but you’d do anything to get bakugou katsuki to glance at your way. tonight was the night you’d finally make a move after practically stalking the male car racer for weeks now. it was obvious he knew about your ministrations, he’d look back here and there and become more cautious as the nights dragged out.

a black face mask covers your face, the competition was illegal and it would be a bitch to be caught by those bastards that call themselves cops. boots clicking on the pavement, you speed-walked to the street. the muffled screams and sounds of cars grew louder as you turn the corner, already seeing people cheering the racers on. pushing through the crowd, you manage to slip through the dudes that called themselves ‘guards’ and onto the road. a quick span around the area and you see him.

katsuki is wearing a black leather jacket, his infamous skull shirt underneath and black pants to match the aesthetic of his black racer car. his blonde hair is messy as he takes off his helmet, leaning on the car. you gulp, could you really do this? the satisfying click of your boots makes the respected racer glance at you, eyeing you up and down. with a quick and confident, you eye his car. “that’s a really fucking pretty car.”

he scoffs, “you competing here, woman? don’t even try.” he clicks his tongue. “why? cause i’m a woman?” a death glare is sent his way before you chuckle, leaning on his car too. “no, cause it’s really risky. police are gonna raid this area any second now, that’s why i parked here near this alleyway just incase.”

huh? “and how would you know that?” the crowd screams louder and your voice is barely heard, new racers coming in from all areas. the sound of their car engines fill the silent night and you watch katsuki pull his phone out, texting someone. this fumes you, does he have a girlfriend or something? i’ll fucking kill her-

“so,” the phone is shoved back inside his pocket, now his attention is all on you. half-lidded vermillion eyes stare into yours as he smirked, putting his hand inside his pocket. “where’s your car?” his eyes span the area, looking for a car that you might own and use. “oh, i’m not racing.” this response shocks him, looking at you with knotted eyebrows and his head tilted slightly to the side.

“how’d you get past those guys?” the ‘guards’ push the crowd away harshly, preventing them from entering the road. they push, throw, do anything to keep the crowd at bay. they’re pretty big guys so they don’t get beat up that easily. “i’m a woman.” you reply with a giggle.

“and i may have told them i know you.”

the blonde’s phone dings with a notification, “do you really know me now?” he reads through the text with a smirk. muffled police sirens are heard and the crowd silences for a minute before everybody’s frantically exiting the street, the car racers getting in their car and driving off full speed.

fuck, where you gonna go no-

the sound of a car door opening breaks you from your trance as you see flashes of red and blue lights rounding the corner. “get in.” katsuki rushes to his side of the car and without a thought, you enter his car. with a quick and professional manuever, the both of you are rushing through the empty and dark alleyway in seconds. the darkness seems endless until the blonde turns the corner and stops. looking back, he squints his glowing red eyes to check for any police cars.

a relieved sigh leaves his lips and he gets out the vehicle, leaving you confused. a hand opens your side of the car and you’re yanked outside harshly, “what the fuck?!” a loud thud fills the silent alleyway as your back hits the hard concrete. a sound of metal is heard and the next thing you knew, katsuki has you pinned on the wall with a gun held straight to your throat. “don’t fucking think i haven’t seen you lurking around.”

how were you supposed to know that your harmless stalking sessions meant so much to him? you gulped, forcing yourself back on the wall trying to detatch your sweating neck from his cold gun. “you working for deku or something, hm?” the weapon is shoved into your skin more and your eyes close in fear. “i... i don’t know who that is.”

katsuki tears the weapon away from you and the sound of a loud bang makes you whimper, eyes tearing up. “oh really, now?” opening your eyes, a tear trickles down your cheek as you looked up at his hand pointing the gun he just shot to the sky. noticing this, katsuki puts it back in it’s place against your neck. “i- i really don’t! i just stalked you... cause- cause i liked you and you’re- you’re hot.” you admitted, fearing for your life.

ignoring the confession, katsuki kneels down and using his unoccupied hand, he uses the flashlight on his phone. his hand hoists your skirt up without warning, attaching the hem to your waistband as he shined the flashlight on your thigh. expecting to see the symbol for deku’s little clan on your thigh, his hand is already on the trigger, ready to pull it and end your life.

but he saw nothing, just your bare, quivering thighs. and maybe your lace panties too, but he looked away before he could stare at it for too look. with a harsh movement, he fixes your skirt and pulls the weapon away from your neck before grabbing your collar and staring right into your eyes.

“listen here, you fucker. you like me don’t you?” a relieved sigh leaves your lips and you nod, staring back into his lust-filled eyes. “i’ve been fucking stressed lately, and you fucking added to that. so let me fuck you into oblivion as a punishment.” the straight forward statement made your pussy wet.

it was the fact that he still asked that made you agree, even after you life was fucking threatened 30 seconds ago. katsuki bakugou may be bad, but he’ll never stoop to that level. plus, it could be a form of sorry for pointing a gun to your neck and almost pulling the trigger. in the back of his head, he made sure he would make you feel like a fucking princess.

it was an ‘in the moment’ kind of thing, the car was heated and condensation pooled at the windows as you and katsuki made out with each other, his thigh making its way in between your legs to rub your clit on the rough material of his jeans. the shirt you wore was cut open by the knife he kept in his pocket and in an instant, he attacks your collarbones and a hand creeps up to cup your boob under your matching lace bra, your nipple being twisted around by his fingers. “you fucking slut. you absolute whore. getting off to someone who almost ended your life? yeah, you want this cock in your slutty fucking pussy, don’t you?”

without you noticing, he had ripped off his leather jacket and shirt. you drooled over his toned torso, admiring his abs and the slight hint of a blonde happy trail leading straight down into his pants. unconsciously, your hand goes to graze your fingers down his bare upper-half, trailing down the blonde hair leading you to where you wanted to touch before you cupped the large tent in his pants “yes, i want it.” you whimpered out, squeezing his bulge slightly, making him grunt.

katsuki massages your inner thigh as his unoccupied hand goes to unzip his fly and rid himself of any remaining clothes. as soon as his underwear is out of the way, his cock slaps right against his lower stomach and you stare in awe, gulping. the size and girth intimidated you, but this is exactly what you wanted. he strokes himself a few times before teasing your sensitive clit with his tip, moaning at the feeling of your lace panties against his slit. your panties are soon yanked off, katsuki leaving them dangling off your ankle as he propped himself between you, hands pinning your wrists above your head and your legs hoisted up on his shoulders.

he angles his cock to tease at your entrance, smirking at you. “come on, beg for it.” the tip goes in and out of you and you whimper out in a frantic state, “please! just- just put it in already, i want it, i want it, i want it- fuck!” your toes curl in both pleasure and pain when katsuki slams inside your without warning. the stretch burned, he was probably the biggest thing you’ve put inside you in a while. his hips still and he looks down, admiring the way your cunt swallowed him up, feeling you clench around him. “good girl.” an unoccupied hand grips your hips as he started to thrust into you slowly before gradually picking up the pace until he was pounding into you.

the car shook back and forth as the racer railed you in the backseat, skin slapping and moans prominent even outside the car. “fuck! t-too deep, bakugou, too-” a pair of lips slam into yours, cutting your sentence off. katsuki ignores your complaints and lets out a dark chuckle. “am i hitting your womb, slut? that’s what you wanted, right? you want me to fuck my babies into you so you’ll be swollen for nine months.”

“ye-”

“no. we can’t have my little fuck toy be too sensitive for sex, right? you’re my fuck toy, my cumslut. mafia boys like me are always stressed and need obedient girls like you with tight fucking cunts to keep sane.” there’s no time to think about the term he used for himself as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mind going blank as you neared your orgasm. cumming all over his cock with a loud moan, your legs quiver as katsuki goes faster and sloppier, chasing his own orgasm. his hips stutter when he cums, painting your insides his shade of white. a few more thrusts and he pulls out of you, panting. he stares straight at your glistening pussy, watching his semen slowly seep out of you.

the sight makes whimper, feeling himself getting hard all over again. “i hope you can take more, princess.” the grip on both your wrists becomes tighter and you let out a loud moan, tears spilling from your eyes down your cheeks as katsuki bottoms out inside you for the second time that night. “’cause i’m not stopping for anything.” he doesn’t wait for anything and starts pounding into you again, abusing that sweet little hole of yours. “bakugou! fuck! too much!” your legs quiver, but his speed doesn’t falter. instead, he goes faster.

lips attach to suck on the supple skin of your neck, “call me katsuki.” he whispers, biting your neck softly. “k-katsuki, gonna cum again.” you cried out, fingernails digging into the hand that kept your hands at place. “then cum, cum all over this cock again. no one, and i repeat, no one is ever gonna make you feel this good. got it?” the question is left unanswered when a loud moan erupts from your throat as you came. katsuki follows a few thrusts after, moaning uncontrollably.

the both of you pant, a heavy layer of sweat covering both your bodies. katsuki pulls out of you, instantly replacing his cock with two of his fingers, making you jump as he scissors them inside you. “katsuki, n-no more... please...” you begged, whining.

“shh...” he calms you down, pulling his fingers out and prodding them at your lips. “suck.” the command instantly has your lips encaging around his fingers covered in both of your love juices. a moan escapes your lips at the taste, pulling away once you’ve lapped all of it up. the car becomes silent, katsuki taking a roll of tissue from the corner of his car, starting to clean you up. large arms gently keep you from jumping up from the overstim. “just a little more, it would be uncomfortable if you had cum dripping all over your thighs.” a choked ‘okay’ leaves your lips as he cleaned up the remnants of his orgasm.

“there,” the window opens and katsuki throws the used tissues outside. “are you hurt anywhere?” he helps you sit yourself up on his lap gently, his red eyes looking all over your body for any bruises he might have left. “i’m fine, thanks.” you panted out, smiling at him. the blonde looks away, gently setting you down and handing you his shirt. “sorry for tearing yours.” he picks up his clothes and the weapons on the ground, starting to dress himself. you did the same, heart jumping in joy at his scent on the shirt.

the both of you climb to the drivers and passenger seat, katsuki still half-naked. the black jacket is thrown to your exposed thighs and you look at him in confusion. “you’ll get cold-” a hand keeps the jacket on your thighs as the car starts. “i can handle it.” he started to drive through the rest of the alleyway. “whatever you say.” you stay put in your seat.

“i’m... part of a mafia group.” katsuki starts. “deku, the guy i assumed you work for, he wants my head. i don’t know why, but i am sure not losing to a broccoli looking headass. and since you couldn’t mind your fucking business, you’re involved now.”

“how so?”

“i need to keep you at arms length. not to protect you or anything! it’s so you can’t go around telling everybody, and i still don’t know if you really work for that bastard or not.” the car rounds into an abandoned street. god, you were gonna get killed, weren’t you? you thought as he stopped at a worn out house, stepping out the car. “come on.”

his footsteps are loud, and you do follow him. he left his weapon inside the car, as if to make you trust him. “we were pretty sure that you worked for deku, but i think you’re too dumb for that. don’t be surprised.” the blonde warns as you both near the door. nothing was heard inside. katsuki opens the door and in an instant, metal clads with metal and 6 guns are pointed straight at you. but with a raise of katsuki’s hand, all the guns are put down. you shook uncontrollably in your spot, maybe the fact that you could barely walk from what you guys did earlier. “she doesn’t work for dek-”

“she’s pretty.” another blonde smiles at you, waving and winking. as you’re about to wave back awkwardly, katsuki pulls you beside him by your waist. “don’t even fucking try, denki.”

“she’s mine.”

1K notes · View notes

arrowflier · 3 years

Note

Arrow write the mickey spotting ian and kev fic challenge!

Had to do this while it was still topical lol, so here goes.

The first time was an accident. Well, sort of.

"Ian can help with that," Mickey offered, watching Kev struggle to shift kegs and pour drinks at the same time.

"Thanks man," Kev grunted, hoisting another keg. He waddled with it along the length of the bar, body hidden behind the counter, and set it down with a heavy thunk.

"Not easy though," he added as he straightened. "Don't wanna make him strain somethin' before your wedding."

He waggled his eyebrows at Mickey, tongue stuck out, and Mickey rolled his eyes.

He knew exactly what would come next.

"You think I can't lift a keg?" Ian asked from the stool next him. His voice almost broke on the last word with sheer disbelief. "I'm not some skinny kid anymore, Kev, I just got out of prison for fuck's sake!"

"Cause there were plenty of kegs there to lift," Mickey muttered into his beer, and almost sent it splashing over the old stained countertop when Ian shoved his shoulder too hard.

"Just point me where you need me," Ian told Kev, puffing out his chest.

Kev eyed Ian, then Mickey, then Ian again. But ultimately, he shrugged, and tapped the top of the keg he had just put down.

"Uh, this guy here needs to go out back," he said. "Brought in the wrong one."

"On it," Ian said, and made his way to it. He bent over at the waist, his hands reaching for the handles, ass stuck out in his too-tight jeans.

Mickey tilted his head, and sipped his drink, admiring the view.

"Whoa, whoa, not like that!" Kev said from behind the bar, arms out. "You're gonna hurt yourself, man."

"Then how," Ian forced out between gritted teeth, still leaning over, "would you suggest I do this?"

Kev came around, whacked Ian in the back until he let go and straightened with a huff. Then he took up position at another keg alongside the first.

"Lift with your legs, kid," he said, and dropped into a half squat right in front of Mickey's face.

Oh.

"Like this?" Ian relented, assuming position next to Kev, broad back stretched and straight over bent legs and strong thighs.

Oh.

Kev and Ian each hoisted their kegs, beginning their awkward walk away toward the back, and Mickey leaned so far back on his stool he almost fell off.

Well, he thought as he downed the last of his drink, eyes following two ridiculously built sets of shoulders strain their way across the room.

He could get used to seeing that.

---

The second time, it was definitely on purpose. He had talked Ian into trying out KevFit after his own misadventure--he was not eager to keep working out on his own, but Ian kept wanting to do new shit together.

They were only one round in at the keg lift station, Ian already grunting and heaving and sweaty next to him, when Kev came by.

"Good form, Ian," he congratulated, clapping a hand on his shoulder hard enough to make him drop the half-filled keg with a clatter. "Way better than last time."

"Gee, thanks," Ian answered dryly, wiping his forehead with the hem of his thin workout tank, and Mickey had an epiphany.

"Hey, Kev," he said slowly, like the idea was just occurring to him, "You got all this equipment rigged up, but how are you on basics?"

Kev's brow furrowed, his muscled arms going slack at his sides.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean like, pushups and jogging and shit," Mickey answered. "You know, the kind of stuff they do in the military."

He let his eyes widen, and turned them on Ian.

"Oh wait," he said, "that's kinda your thing, ain't it?"

Ian shrugged, looking confused.

"Uh, I guess?"

"Why don't you show Kev one of your old workouts?" Mickey suggested innocently. "He could add some things to the whole KevFit routine, maybe bring in more clients."

Kev perked up at that.

"Yeah, why not?" he said. "C'mon Ian, show me what you've got."

Five minutes later, Mickey was leaning against the "spring water" station, sipping from the flask he had snuck in from next door, watching two ridiculously tall, ridiculously strong fuckers take up half the open floor space doing increasingly impressive pushups. Right then, Ian had one arm behind his sweat-slicked back, Kev mirroring his form, and Mickey's eyes followed the rise and fall of their bodies with total focus.

"Excuse me," a wimpy, hipster-sounding dude said hesitantly from behind him, " but do you know when they're bringing out more waters?"

Mickey didn't even bother to look.

"Get lost," he answered, waving a hand in the guy's general direction. "Go drink outa the bathroom sink like a normal fucking person and let me watch my show."

---

The third time, he was pretty sure Ian was catching on.

Not that he cared, honestly--the view was fucking worth it.

"You call that a bench press?" He goaded his husband from behind the bench. "Kev's kickin' your ass, man, that's just embarassing."

Ian glowered, breath hissing out between his teeth as he pushed up again.

"I'm pretty much pressing you right now," he gritted out, "so I'm feeling pretty good about it, actually."

Mickey hid his grin behind a hand, feigning disinterest even as his eyes followed Ian's bulging arms up and down, lingering on the tight plane of his chest.

"Well he's pressing like two of me," Mickey countered, letting his eyes wander, "so you might wanna step it up, tough guy."

Sure enough, Kev's current weights were at least half again what Ian had, and he was doing an admirable job of lifting them considering that his gigantic self was too big for the bench. Mickey hadn't considered that when he invited Kev to check out the gym at their new place; it was designed for recreational exercise, not fucking seven foot tall body builders. The man's legs stretched out awkwardly off the bottom of the bench, knees bent but stuck up far too high for proper form. His broad shoulders dwarfed the other end, making it look like his upper body was just suspended there.

Mickey licked his lips, watching the shift of muscles under Kev's tanned skin--thank the lord the man shared his aversion to sleeves--and almost got chinned when he leaned too far over Ian's station.

The bar slotted into place without his help, Ian sitting up and wiping his face with a hand.

"Why don't you spot him for a while, then," Ian said. "While I go hit the shower."

He stood, making his way to the door, and Mickey paused, torn.

"Or I could give you a practical demonstration of my ability to lift you," Ian added over his shoulder, and Mickey was making his excuses to their guest and chasing after him before Kev could even finish another rep.

---

Ian never brought it up, after that, but Mickey still decided to cool it, just a little. Ian had seemed a little jealous, at the gym, although you'd never have known it by the things he said later--bet you like it when people look like they can throw you around, Mick--and Mickey did not need to throw a wrench into their marriage just for a little extra eye candy.

But then they were all at the pool together, the Gallaghers plus Mickey, plus Tami, plus Kev and Vee, and he really couldn't help it.

"Damn our men are hot," Tami had commented, sitting in a white plastic chair next to Mickey.

Mickey leaned back with a grin, taking a swig of lukewarm beer, and said, "You think that's hot?" nodding to where Ian and Lip were splashing each other over Franny's head in the shallow end.

"Watch this," he finished, and cupped a hand over his mouth to help his voice carry.

"Hey Ian," he shouted. "Bet Kev could beat you in a race."

"Hell yeah!" Kev called back from where he was manning the grill. "Name the time, man!"

Mickey could see Ian roll his eyes, and worried for the briefest of moments that his husband was done humoring him. But after a brief, hushed word with his brother, Ian was swimming to the side of the pool nearest Kev, saying "right now, backstroke, three laps," and Mickey was falling in love all over again.

"You do this a lot?" Tami asked, amused, as Kev stripped off his shirt and jumped in to take his place at the wall of the pool.

Mickey waited until they were off, arms wheeling wildly through the water and sending the sparkling spray onto sculpted, heaving chests, to answer.

"Define a lot," he said, not looking away from the spectacle as Ian and Kev hit the wall and turned, their swimsuits flashing through the water.

Tami snickered.

"Got it," she said, then, "thanks for sharing the wealth."

The race finished, Ian and Kev lifting themselves out of the pool, water running down their bodies as they clasped hands and went in for a shoulder-slapping bro hug. Ian looked back to where Mickey sat, and smirked.

"No problem," Mickey murmured, watching closely.

Ian leaned up to say something into Kev's ear, and Mickey squinted, like that would somehow help him hear it.

"Ogling the competition, Milkovich?" Lip's voice came from behind, and Mickey nearly fell out of his chair.

"The fuck are you talkin about?" he demanded, twisting around in his chair to look at Lip's knowing smirk.

"Nothing," Lip answered innocently. "Just noticed you've been watching Kev a lot lately."

Mickey scowled.

"And what's it to you?" he challenged. "Nothing at all," Lip said. "Just an observation." His grin widened. "And a distraction."

Mickey's eyes narrowed.

"A distraction from wha--argh!"

He cut off as he was lifted by two pairs of string arms, familiar ones wrapped under his own and different, strong hands holding his feet. He flailed, barely registering the flash of green eyes and a mostly bald head, before he hit the water with a splash.

By the time he surfaced, snorting chlorinated pool water out of his nose, it was to see two grinning faces looking down at him.

"Thought you might need to cool off after watching us," Ian said with a grin, laughing when Mickey tried to splash water into his face.

"Next time you want a show," Kev added, "just ask, man." He waggled his eyebrows. "I learned a few things when I worked that gay club."

Ian laughed again at Mickey's shocked expression.

"You need to work on your poker face, Mick," he said. "But it's okay, we don't mind."

He winked, then turned to walk away, leaving Mickey floating in the pool. Kev left with him, hips swaying slightly, and Mickey bit his lip and watched them go.

"Really?" Lip asked from the side of the pool, sounding disgusted, and Mickey just shrugged without looking back.

After all, if they didn't mind...

#daily speedwrite #gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #fanfic #kev ball #silly and random

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 years

Text

Odd Hours//Getting Even

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader Rating: T Warnings: Cursing; Fluff; slow burn but not nearly as slow as my usual slow burns. Notes: This is uh... I don’t know, I’ve had the idea kicking around in my head for a while. Also please excuse the film trivia. I will take any excuse to talk about The Man Who Came to Dinner. I couldn’t decide on which title would suit better so I named it both. Not beta-read. Summary: You’d never spoken to the your new neighbor before, just traded friendly waves… At the oddest times.

Your new neighbor looked very put together all of the time. Well… The couple of times that you’d seen him in passing. He was always in a suit, his tie was always straight, and his hair was always coiffed so neatly. You just assumed that he looked that good all the time. You’d seen him with a beard once, and then the next time you’d seen him, he was clean-shaven. He was gorgeous both ways, but that beard… Fuck, it had looked good. You’d never spoken to the guy before, just traded friendly waves… At the oddest times.

-- The first time you spoke to him was evidence of that. It was almost three in the morning. You’d just gotten off of work at one of your jobs at a bar. You stifled a yawn as you stepped off of the elevator and fished into your pocket for your keys. You managed to dislodge something on your way, but you didn’t notice. At least, not until you heard: “You dropped this.” You turned to see your neighbor holding out the foldable reusable bag you tended to keep in your pocket. “Oh!” You reached out, smiling, “Thank you-- I didn’t even notice.” “Sure,” He nodded, “We haven’t met, I’m in 5B.” “5A,” You jerked your thumb over your shoulder to your door. “Marcus Pike,” He held his hand out to you, and you shook it, giving him your name. “Long night?” You asked, and he chuckled, nodding. “Very.” The two of you linger for a moment longer before you nod over your shoulder, “I’ve got a couple of hungry cats to get to, so.” “Right,” Marcus nodded. “Nice to meet you.” “You, too.” You ducked into your apartment, shutting and locking the door behind yourself. You flicked the living room light on and tossed your keys into the bowl beside the door. You stepped further inside, smiling at the sight of your two Siamese cats, Princess and Pyewacket. They lifted their heads from where they were both lounging on the couch. “I met our neighbor,” You told them. Pyewacket got up, stretching before jumping off of the couch and following you into the kitchen. “Yes, he seemed very nice,” You answered the cat’s unasked question as you reached down, scratching his chin above the black moon and star patterned collar he had on. Princess slinked into the kitchen behind him, a matching pink collar around her neck. “And hello to you, too,” You murmured, “Let’s get you fed.” -- The next run-in was almost two weeks later. It was nearly noon, and you were coming off of your other job at a bookstore nearby. You ran into Marcus as he was leaving his apartment, and your brows rose. “Hi there,” he greeted, smiling. “Hey,” You shift your bag on your shoulder as you twirl your keys around your finger. “How are the cats?” You laughed a little, nodding, “They’re good. I won’t say they were happy to see me, but I fed them, so they tolerated my existence for another day.” You eyed his pristine-as-usual-suit. “Heading to work?” “Yeah, just came off of a late night. I actually just kinda...Came back to shower and change,” He absently swept his hand over his tie. “Oh, yikes,” Your brow furrowed, “What do you do?” “I work for the FBI, International Art Theft.” Your brows rose. “Wow.” “Surprised?”

“A little,” You admitted as you walked to your door, “I had my money on your being a lawyer.”

“Really?”

You lean back against your door, waving at him, “It was the suits.”

He chuckled, “I should get going-- as long as you don’t have any stolen art in there.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you, now would I?” You teased, shooting him a wink, “Have a good day, Agent, and uh-- try to get some sleep at some point.”

It wasn’t every day that you got a knock on your door at two in the morning. Your hackles were immediately up, and you were quiet and careful as you crept toward your door. You peered through the peephole, frowning at the sight of Agent Pike-- And one of your cats. You hurriedly flicked your light on and opened the door. “Is, uh, this one of yours?”

“Pye,” You groaned, reaching out to take Pyewacket out of Marcus’ arms, “I’m sorry-- sometimes he slips out when I come in, and-- He’s such a weirdo, he always waits right out here.” You cuddled him close to your chest, smiling a little as Pyewacket pushed his head up against your chin. “Thank you,” You added, scratching Pye under the chin, “I hope he didn’t bug you.” “No, he was pretty friendly.” Your brows rose. That was rather unlike Pyewacket. “I’ll be honest, I was a little surprised to see you holding him-- Though that was more because, you know.” “It’s like two in the morning?” Marcus asked. You laughed, nodding. “Another late night for you, Agent?” “Slightly,” Marcus admitted before reaching out and scratching Pyewacket under the chin, “But I appreciated the welcoming committee.” You smiled, glancing down at the cat as Marcus’ fingers brushed yours. “Well, I’m glad Pye could be of assistance.” “‘Pye’?” Marcus repeated, leaning in your doorway, “Like the food?” “Oh, no. It’s short for Pyewacket,” You explained, shifting the cat in your arms. “Like in Bell, Book and Candle with uh-- Kim Novak and Jimmy Stewart?” He asked. You blinked up at Marcus in surprise. “Uh… Yeah,” You nodded, and laughed, “Sorry, just-- Most people don’t know that.” “I’m a fan of classic movies. --Who’s this?” Marcus looked down.

You followed his gaze, laughing, “Someone that was feeling left out. That’s Princess,” You smiled. You took a little bit of a step back as Marcus crouched down to pet her. You were suddenly acutely aware that you were in your pajamas and Marcus was still very...very suited. You couldn’t help but grin as he cooed over Princess, though. “I’m not gonna lie, you strike me as a dog guy,” You admitted. “Oh,” Marcus scooped Princess up, cradling her against his chest, “I do like dogs, don’t get me wrong, but my grandmother had a cat-- big fluffy Persian named Chester.” You were quiet for a moment, watching Marcus and Princess before you glanced into your apartment. “Do um--” You hesitated, “Do you wanna come in for a drink or something?” Frankly, standing across from a cute guy as you each held one of your cats had to be the weirdest way you had ever asked a man into your place. But it wound up with you and Marcus on your couch with a beer each having a shockingly nice conversation. You didn’t keep him long - you could tell it had been a long night for him and you didn’t want to keep him late - not to mention you had come off of a shift at the bar and you were pretty tired yourself.

Pike was out of there by 2:45 (though you’d gotten his number in your phone and yours in his by 2:42). Pyewacket trotted after him to the door. Marcus gave him one last scratch under his chin, one last look at you before he murmured, “Goodnight.”

Smitten was not the word you would use. It was what you were, but you wouldn’t admit it. Hell, you barely knew the guy, had only met him a couple of times. But he seemed sweet-- and your cats liked him, that was a good sign.

You tried not to reflect on the fact that that thought made you sound like your Great-Aunt Cecily.

You held off on using Pike’s phone number for about two weeks. Then one night, around 10:30, in the middle of a William Powell marathon on TCM, Pyewacket jumped off of your couch and trotted over to the front door. You frowned, watching him and muttering, “What the fuck, dude?” before you heard the jingling of keys. You smiled when you realized why he’d gotten up - and went out on a limb as you pulled your phone out and texted Pike:

-Either you just got home or the ghosts in the hallway are bothering my cat again

You raised your phone, snapping a quick picture of Pyewacket at the door before sending it off. You glanced down at the lone messages in the chat before you closed it, tossing your phone onto the couch cushion beside you. It didn’t stay there long, though-- it buzzed a moment later.

5B: You’ve got a great alarm cat

5B: Just how often do the ghosts in the hallway bother Pyewacket?

5B: And how many ghosts are we talking?

-Like once a week, they’re very mean to him.

-And at least two ghosts, I’m convinced

You put your phone down, figuring that that would be the end of it. You were wrong. 5B: They bug Princess, too?

-Nope, they don’t dare. No one fucks with Princess

-How’s work?

5B: Busy. -Long day?

5B: Excruciatingly

-Sorry 😞

You winced, resting your head on your hand and considering. Why did you use an emoji? You raised your phone and snapped a picture of Princess where she was curled up on your lap.

-You could take Princess with you next time if it’ll help?

5B: Might take you up on that. I’d prefer not to be fucked with tomorrow

You smiled. -I’ll see what I can do about a leash

5B: Very kind of you

-Anytime

5B: Okay, I don’t wanna be weird, but I feel like almost every time I come in around dinner time, whatever you get or are making smells delicious

You looked down at your phone as it buzzed and chuckled, picking it up from where you’d left it on the counter.

-Not weird. Not to brag but I’m kinda the slow-cooker queen

You glanced at the slow-cooker, and the timer reading fifteen minutes left on the food you were making. It was a large batch - you’d wanted to have enough so that you could bring lunch to work at the bookstore. But there was enough to spare. You hesitated before texting,

-Hungry?

Marcus brought wine, and stayed for three hours. The two of you ate dinner, did the washing up, and wound up on your couch watching It Happened One Night. Conversation flowed over most of it - you’d both seen it several times. The movie gave the two of you the chance to watch and weave in and out of conversation and film trivia without pressure. Pye and Princess curled up on the couch between you like sleepy little chaperones.

By the time he left, the bottle of wine that he’d brought was empty, and he had cat hair all over his pant legs.

“Thanks for dinner,” He turned around to face you as he stopped in the hall.

“Sure,” You leaned in your doorway, tucking your hands into the pockets of your sweatpants.

“I’ll have to have you over sometime, make us even.”

Your stomach flipped at the offer and you nodded, “I’d like that.”

“What’s got you out so late?”

“Work.”

“I’m guessing it’s the bar and not the bookshop?” Marcus asked as he watched you slouch against the wall of the elevator. You smiled a little tiredly. “I see those sharp skills aren’t just reserved for art thieves, Agent Pike.” He chuckled as the two of you stepped off at your floor. “What about you?” You asked. “Grabbed drinks with the team after work. We closed a case.” “Congratulations,” You smiled, “What happened?”

“It’s a slightly long story,” Marcus shrugged, “...Would you like to come in and hear about it?” “Gimme half an hour to shower and feed the babies and I’ll be right over.” -- “...Shit.” “What?” You lifted your head from his shoulder. Considering the last two times Marcus had been to yours, you hadn’t had any reservations about going over to Marcus’ in your comfy clothes. You’d shuffled over in your slippers, and when Marcus had opened the door, you’d held up a bottle of white wine. He’d grinned and told you it would pair well with the grilled cheese he was planning on making for the two of you. Without the cats between you, you and Marcus had settled close together on the couch. As the late night wore into early morning, you’d wound up tucked into his side as you talked. “It’s almost four,” He chuckled, looking away from his watch. “Oh,” You yawned widely, “I should let you get to bed.” “I’m the boss, I can get in a little late.” You smiled, tipping your head up and finding him watching you. “You don’t seem the type to abuse that power,” You teased. “Long as it doesn’t become a habit.” “Mm-mm,” You shook your head a little bit and sat up, “I don’t wanna be a bad influence. I save that for Pye and Princess.” “Can I walk you home?” You laughed and nodded as you and Marcus got up from the couch. You missed the warmth of him as soon as you were up, and you were so tempted to turn back toward him and cuddle into his chest-- if only to warm back up. You chatted a little more on your way to the door, and you tried not to overthink the way Marcus put his hand on your lower back as he opened the door for you. -- “Can you recommend a good book?” You didn’t look away from what you’re shelving, but you couldn’t help the slight flurry of butterflies in your stomach at the question. “That depends on what you’re looking for.” “Oh...Maybe something on classic film.” “That’s gonna be two aisles that way,” You nodded over your shoulder, “Back wall.” “Could you show me?” “You really don’t have anything better to do today, Agent Pike?” You teased. There was a pause before you heard him drifting closer to you. He peered over your shoulder, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmured, “Well, I was hoping I could take you to lunch, if you’ve got time.” “You trying to even out our meal score?”

You glanced up as he leaned against the shelf beside you and met your eyes. “I’m trying to spend more time with you,” He admitted, “If you’re interested.” You lowered your eyes to the books you were shelving, unable to help the smile that grew on your lips at his bluntness. “I’m interested.”

Lunch ended with plans for Marcus to come over after your shift at the bar the following night. He dropped you back off at the bookstore and left you with a kiss on the corner of your mouth that you thought about for the rest of your shift. --

TCM was airing a Bette Davis marathon. By the time you got home, it was nearly 10:30. You showered, neatened up the apartment, cleaned as much cat hair off of the couch as you possibly could, and told Princess and Pyewacket to behave themselves. Princess blinked at you; Pyewacket flicked his tail. You texted Marcus that he could come over whenever he was ready, and there was a knock on the door ten minutes later. Marcus looked cozy in a way you hadn’t seen before - sweatpants and a t-shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and strong arms. You stepped back and nodded him in, and grinned as he crouched down, immediately scooping up Pyewacket as he came over. --

“You know, Bette Davis wanted John Barrymore to play Whiteside,” You were cuddled against Marcus’ chest; his arm was curled around your shoulders, fingers skimming along the strap of your tank top, “But he was drinking so heavily he couldn’t remember his lines. They wound up going with Monty Wooley-- he played Whiteside on Broadway, too.” “Really?” Marcus’ question was mumbled against your temple. You nodded a little. “Mhm. Cary Grant was set to play the role at one point, but Davis was so against it that he withdrew.” “Something tells me you like this movie.” You laughed, reaching out and absently picking off a piece of cat hair off of his sweatpants. When you’d disposed of it, you rested your hand on his knee lightly, giving him a chance to shake it off. Marcus just gave your shoulder a squeeze, and you gave his knee one in turn.

The two of you watched The Man Who Came to Dinner and All About Eve. “I’m worried that I’m setting a dangerous precedent for your sleep pattern,” You sighed as the credits rolled. It was almost half past three. “Mm, don’t worry about me,” He murmured, nuzzling into your neck. You closed your eyes, shivering a little bit. “...Do you wanna stay over?” You offered, raising your hand and lightly running your fingers along Marcus’ arm. “I’d like that.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “C’mon,” You urged, patting his thigh and standing. “Should we clean up?” Marcus stood with you, looking at the empty popcorn bowl and discarded cans of beer on the coffee table. “Nah, we can deal with it in the morning,” You took hold of his hand, leading him back to your room. Marcus glanced back toward your cats, to where Princess and Pyewacket were still settled on the couch. “Do the cats sleep with you?” He asked. “Sometimes.” “They gonna be mad if I shut your door?” “They’ll get over it.”

-- It was your alarm that woke you up. You leaned across Marcus, mumbling your ‘sorry’s and shutting it off. Once you did, you leaned back down, resting your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes again. You smiled as his arm curled around your waist. “You need to go?” He mumbled. “No, just-- Forgot I had it set.” “Good.” You smiled, turning your head and nuzzling against his shoulder. “You sleep okay?” “Mhm,” He hummed, sliding his thumb along the hem of your shirt, “You should stay over at mine next time.” “So we’re even?” You blinked up at him as his fingers curled under your jaw, tipping your head up to look at him. “Things aren’t always about getting even,” He smiled sleepily down at you. “What’s it about then?” “...Why’d you ask me to stay over?” You hesitated before you pushed yourself up to lean over him, “I thought you’d look good in my bed. And whaddaya know? I was right.” Marcus laughed, using the arm wrapped around you to draw you against his chest. “You know what I’ve been thinking about?” He asked. “Mm?” “Kissing you.” Heat curls in your stomach, tingling and pleasant. “Something stopping you?” You asked. The hand on your jaw slipped down to rest on the back of your neck. His eyes darted between your eyes and your lips for a few moments before he leaned up, brushing his lips against yours. You felt that spark grow in your stomach, and you dipped your head a little closer, chasing the chaste touch. You shifted, leaning more heavily against him and resting your hand on his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, hooking in his collar. When he pulled you closer and turned, settling you down on your back, you went easily, letting your thighs splay so that he could lay between them. You moaned quietly as your kisses became warmer, more insistent. You wrapped an arm around Marcus’ shoulders, sighing as he slipped a hand under your shirt. And then you heard a yowl at your door. You groaned quietly, dropping your head back as Marcus laughed, resting his forehead against your neck. “I told them to behave,” You whined. “Don't blame them, this is on me. I should’ve kissed you last night,” Marcus murmured against your throat. You shivered, chuckling a little. “I should feed them before they do something rude like continue to yell... or throw up in your shoes.” “Would they do that?” “Oh, god yeah. I love Princess, but she’s an asshole.” --

You reached down, setting Pye’s food dish down for him and scratching him behind the ears as he began to eat. Princess was already halfway through her food. You glanced over at your phone as it buzzed on the counter and grinned when you saw who it was.

❤️5B: How’s unpacking?

-Nearly finished. A couple of boxes left. Pye was sleeping on a stack, so I couldn’t touch it.

❤️5B: No worries, baby. On my way home. Need anything?

-Cat food and popcorn. Humphrey Boggart marathon starts at 8

❤️5B: Takeout?

-Nope, got dinner covered. ❤️5B: You’re my favorite. -Don’t let Pyewacket hear you saying that. ❤️5B: Favorite human.

-Better. Btw some couple moved in across the hall. I think they have a dog?

❤️5B: I’ll make sure Pye doesn’t get out when I come in

Tag list: @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo; @fantasticcopeaglepasta; @paintballkid711

#Marcus Pike x Reader #Marcus Pike x You #Marcus Pike/You #Marcus Pike/Reader #Marcus Pike Imagine #Odd Hours//Getting Even #Tumblr was doing WEIRD formatting things so i'm sorry if anything looks wonky??#Marcus Pike

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lovecinnatwist · 3 years

Note

roommates jaydick with sex toys leading to discovering someone has a size kink *wink wink*

Mannnnnnnnnn- Here we go

Tags: Dildos, Ovipositors, Breeding kink, Size Kink, Daddy Kink- Jason get's awakened:tm:

‘Egging’ me on

Dick looks good- too good.

Jason can feel his palms start to sweat. The sight of his roommate face down on his bed is hotter than it has any right to be. They were way crossed the line at this point. So far he doesn’t even know if they’ll ever be able to get back.

The breathy whine Dick lets out goes straight to his cock. His hands are covered with lube and sticky gelatin. A mess from prepping Dick’s hole and the neon blue, near alien tentacle dildo.

“ Fuck- Jay give me another. “

There are only two eggs left. He didn’t think that they would make it this far. Two or three sounded generous. But here Dick was begging for more. Even though his ass was already stretched with four melting eggs.

He dips his fingers back into the bowl and pulls out one of the cool eggs. In his hand, it quickly goes to room temperature. He almost wants to ask him if he’s sure he can take it but after coming this far he knows the answer already. He wonders if this egg will make Dick cum like the second one did.

It takes him a few tries to get the lubed up egg into the base of the toy. All while Dick shivers and tries to keep still. He finally catches the right angle and he pushes. It draws a greedy moan from his room mate.

The egg isn’t inside, not yet but he wants to hear Dick beg for it before he squeezes the end of the toy and shoots it against his prostate.

“ God Dickie, how are you not full already?”

He can’t help the hint of a growl to his voice. Without asking he reaches for the final egg. The amount of sticky gelatin on Dick’s thighs makes him think one is almost already completely melted.

“ Come on Jay- squeeze it in. I want it- want your eggs- Fertilize me. Breed me!“

Oh-

If that wasn’t the most pleasing thing his cock has ever heard. Jason wraps a slick hand around himself to try to regain some semblance of control. His grip on the second egg slips and it falls back into the bowl. He can’t be bothered with it though. Not when Dick is begging so prettily to be stuffed. Quickly, he wipes his hand off on Dick’s plush ass to get off most of the lube. Then grips the slippery base best he can to work the thick, rigid dildo back and forth.

The noise that Dick lets out is loud enough to echo in his ears. He picks up pace, dragging out the silicon the little he can before pushing it back against the eggs with care. He was going to make Dick cum just like this. Cum without a hand on his dick. Then while he’s spurting all over the sheets he’ll shoot the last egg in his greedy ass.

“ Yes- yes fuck Jay fuck me. Fuck me harder make me your incubator. “

Jason is so hard it’s almost funny.

This shouldn’t be turning him on but God it is. He licks his lips imagining really knocking Dick up with his kids. They weren’t anything, the two of them, not yet and maybe not ever but still he was caught in the fantasy.

His fingers slip on the lube and the base the dildo presses up and hard. It’s all Dick needs and soon he’s letting out the filthiest, most debauched moan and cumming with a full-body spasm. It’s beautiful, it’s mesmerizing. It almost makes Jason cum.

Dick’s hole flutters around the tentacle, twitching and tensing as he rides out orgasm. Jason doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so hot before. The extreme contour his roommate can put himself in shames even porn stars. His mouth goes dry and desire lights him from the inside out.

A shaky hand presses over his, with a trembling touch Jason finally inches out the dildo out of Dick’s wrecked hole. God he hopes Dick will at least give him a handy or something, he doesn’t think he can last much longer. The gape of that sensual little rim winks at him and Jason just wants to get his tongue inside.

He puts the dildo aside to clean up. At least that was the goal before Dick’s foot pressed against his obvious bulge. His eyes snap up at playful blue so quickly that he finds himself lost.

“ C’mon Jay fertilize them. “

Fuuuuuuckkkkkkk- Jason snaps.

“ yea- just yea let me just- “

His hands are a mess. He knocks over the bowl and it's gonna be a bitch to clean up later. It doesn’t matter though. Not when he’s hard enough to cut glass, his cock suffocating in his joggers. He tugs the draw string, eager and hungry for that wet sticky hole.

They had some condoms earlier but now that Dick is on his back legs spread, stomach and chest a mess of cum, ass dribbling melting gelatin? Well Jason feels like Dick’ll have no right to bitch about the creampie when he’s already going to have to clean out the eggs anyway.

“ Shit Dickie, You're gonna be my pretty little incubator? Gonna let me fertilize your eggs and make you fat with my cum? “

He can’t believe this is how they’re finally going to fuck. The sex toy thing had been casual nothing more. Now that he’s getting his chance though he wastes no time in pushing the front of his pants down.

Wide blue eyes blink pretty, pink lips slightly agape. Dick’s eyes fall to his cock.

Jason flushes embarrassed. He’s hung. He knows that. But he isn’t too much bigger than the dildo. He thought that Dick would be able to handle it since he’s already stretched but maybe he should not have assumed. He uses his thumb to slide that sexy rim open. It’s so flush from the stretch. Nice and wet too. God if Dick doesn’t want him to fuck him hopefully he can at least get his tongue in there. He’s never eaten ass before but he’s sure Dick tastes good inside.

“ ut… in “

Jason misses what Dick says. Too lost in the heat of Dick’s ass. He looks up and Dick looks absolutely wrecked. Jason blinks sitting up. Which doesn’t seem to be the right thing. One long leg slides over his hips fast enough to stop him from moving. It makes Jason’s breath hitch, cock bobbing from the show of strength.

“ Put it in. Put it in- fuck need it. Need that monster cock Jay. Fucking huge put it in c’mon c’mon c’mon- “

Slamming into Dick is like sliding into a hot bath after a good workout. It makes him loose and relaxed in all the right ways. The head of his cock slides right against an egg. Sticky gelatin melting from the heat of his cock. Dick fucking screams from the feeling.

“ Fuck- Fuck Jason can’t breathe so big- “

He’s pretty sure his roommate is exaggerating but it's hard to tell with how red in the face he is. Jason struggles to right himself. Balls painfully tight against his body as desire and arousal rip through him.

“ So tight- how are you still so tight- “

Dick is sucking him in. His ass is loose enough to move but still tight enough to be pleasurable. He drags those thick hips toward him, bringing Dick up onto his lap. There’s a slight bulge in his stomach where the eggs rest inside. When his hand comes down on it Dick moans like a whore.

“ Fucking- slut- “

He doesn’t mean it but the words just come out. Gone is the sweet and friendly boy that makes himself available to listen to his problem. That tutors younger kids in math- that likes cooking while they sing show tunes.

All that’s left is a whore crazy and desperate for dick and Jason’s gonna give it to him.

He doesn't recognize the blissed-out expression. Dick’s mouth stuck in a silent scream. The crunch of those thick black eyebrows is adorable as he gets fucked out. Almost as if all he wants is to stay a good little cock sleeve for Jason to use.

It’s fucking with his head, turning him into a deviant. He shudders as hot gelatin melts around his cock. It’s so sticky and sloppy Jason is glad he put down a towel.

“ Fu...ck me. “

Dick’s voice is blown out. Jason isn’t surprised at all. Not with how loud he was screaming earlier. He presses his hip forward, cock twitching in that warm wet heat. Dick whines clearly over-stimulated. It’s so sexy that he can’t help groaning, low and deep.

He fucks Dick hard and fast. Every single inch of his thick cock spreads out the man’s ass. It’s so lewd and filthy. Every bump of Jason’s cock against the eggs sends Dick higher and higher to another orgasm. He’s never seen someone cum three times in a row before. Though the last time there had been barely a dribble.

The clench of Dick’s ass is going to make him cum. Which the man must notice because he starts begging and pleading with these little fucked out noises that make Jason stupid.

“ Fucking monster cock- Gonna get bred. “

Jason tries to kiss Dick but his mouth is too slack for anything more than them to rub their tongues together. Jason wipes his mouth, legs, thighs and back burning from exertion. The legs around his waist tighten, keeping him trapped in that warm wet clutch.

“ You like that baby? Like getting fucked out by this monster cock? Want me to fertilize your eggs. “

Dick straight up keens like a girl. So loud and wanting Jason’s see’s white. He fucks harder. The entire bed shakes with the action. The twin's frame bangs against the wall. The headboard is only half as loud as Jason’s hips smacking against Dick’s ass. Fuck his roommate is going to be sore tomorrow. Well, guess they won’t be making their English oral.

“ Fuck- Yes want it daddy want you to fertilize me- “

No shit fuck no god damn it-

Jason comes like a bottle rocket. His thrust lose pace. His body shudders as he breeds his roommate's ass like a stallion. Like a stud paid to fill up bitches like his own little cum dump. It feels like Dick comes too. His ass clenches as gelatin and cum squirts out around his dick.

There’s barely a drop from his cock. The gorgeous boy on his dick cumming dry.

Jason collapses. His vision is spotting, going from white, black and full-colour as he creams Dick. He’s pretty sure he sees God at some point. Dick holds him deep inside to make a mess of his ass.

The two of them gasp and gulp down air. Their bodies shut down from the intense session.

“rr..y me -”

Jason groans as Dick murmurs against his sweaty hair. The body underneath him was boneless. Shit, all kinds of shit are awakened in him now. How the hell is he going to ever have a relationship?

Dick tries talking again but breaks off into a dry chuckle.

Jason curses reaching for a water bottle off to the side. He’s too heavy to move but luckily he doesn’t have to go far. He brings the water to Dick’s lips and helps him drink slowly. Once Dick has gotten his share. Jason drains the rest of it.

Shit, he must have burned all of today's calories. Coach was going to kill him.

His eyes slid back to his roommate. He can’t believe the utter disaster the guy is in. He did that. He’s the one who made Dick such a mess.

“ What were you saying before Dickie? “

The boy groans, still against the sheets as he collects himself. Jason doesn’t even know how he’s still conscious after four orgasms.

“ -aid marry me. “

Jason's heart skips a beat like he’s five years old and not in college. He blinks down at the prettiest man he’s ever seen and suddenly feels restless, his cock twitches in interest but after that round, he’s sure he won’t be back up anytime soon.

He bites his lips, suddenly timid.

“ Yea? “

Dick smiles, eyes still closed. He was such an enigma. So beautiful, smart and lovely but somehow friends with Jason. If someone told him on his first day at Gotham university he’d be balls deep in the hottest guy in the school he would have punched them right in the face.

Now he’s just in awe.

“ Yea. “

Shit, he’s- fuck he doesn’t know what to say now. His face is in flames. Every part of him fidgets with nervous energy as his roommate rests. The quiet is more comfortable than awkward and Jason is thankful because otherwise, he’d say something stupid like- I love you.

Dick groans as he struggles to sit up. Ass wet and lush on Jason’s softening cock. He slides out of that delicious heat and finds himself missing it immediately. Dick looks like he’s been mauled. He was absolutely covered in cum, gelatin, lube and drool and Jason doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful in his life.

Mischievous blue eyes glitter at him.

“ C’mon help me up so I can lay these eggs on you. “

Jason’s heart lurches out of his chest.

Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.

#just 2k of filth #don't mind me #jaydick #request #fiction #bottom!dick #top!Jason #ficlet

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babbushka · 3 years

Note

3E or F6 from the smut prompt list with Supreme Leader Kylo for Sinday? ❤️

Anonymous said: Hi Zannah! For Sinday, can I request Supreme leader Kylo with his Empress and some Knights of Ren NSFW? Have a lovely weekend!! <333

(2.1k, NSFW: Exhibitionism, possessive behavior, big mean dom!Kylo Ren, manhandling, naked woman + clothed male, PIV, throne sex, come as lube, voyeurism [Kylo making the Knights sit back and watch him fuck you])

The mission was, by all accounts a failure. This didn’t happen often, certainly not since Kylo had cut the bastardly Snoke into two and assumed his rightful position on the throne. Failure was not an option, Kylo knew this. The Knights of Ren knew this. Now more than ever, the might of the First Order could not afford to fail…and yet.

Yet when the Knights return empty-handed after nearly six weeks being away, it would seem that Kylo was faced with having to punish them for their inadequacies, and so when the recount the struggles of their mission, Kylo is only paying half attention. Because the other half of his mind is reaching out, calling out, to you.

It doesn’t take long for you to join them in the throne room. Kylo atop his grand seat, in all his finery. You have eyes only for him as you enter, a great pleased smile on your face as your robes swish behind you. They’re nearly see-through, the robes. Sheer fabrics layered over one another to create a billowing draped effect formed to your shape perfectly – just sheer enough for anyone to see that you aren’t wearing anything underneath.

“You wanted to see me, darling?” Your voice is gentle, a soothing balm on Kylo’s bad temper. He hasn’t lashed out yet, still hasn’t decided if he will or not.

For this moment, Kylo pats his thigh, wanting you to be on top of him, wanting you to be as close as humanly possible. You go eagerly, climbing up the steps which elevate him off the floor of the room, your body molding to his as Kylo’s jaw clenches.

“The Knights are back.” He says, and you look over your shoulder, seemingly having missed them in your desire to be near your husband.

“Oh!” The happiness in your voice only makes Kylo’s bad mood darken, because he knows how much you like it when they have you as a reward for a job well done.

“They’ve failed us.” He tells you, and he can feel it in the moment when you realize, when disappointment washes through you. Kylo’s jaw clenches again – not only have the Knights failed him, but they have failed you too, and that is simply something he cannot abide by.

“Oh.” You tsk your tongue on the roof of your mouth, returning your attention to swiping slow heated licks of your tongue across Kylo’s cheek, hands fisting in his tunic as you whisper, “What will we do with them?”

Kylo can feel how horny you are, he could feel it from across the star destroyer. He knows the Knights can feel it too, standing in the straight line before you both. Kylo can feel the anxiety in their bones, the way they want to reach out and touch you. As you squirm and whine softly in Kylo’s ear, clutching at him and kissing at his warm skin, he cradles the back of your head and holds you tight.

“I think a better question is, what will we do without them?” Kylo murmurs, before guiding your mouth to his, opening it with his tongue and sloppily swallowing down the moan that you sigh out.

You kiss for a long while, until Kylo can feel the pulse of your cunt across his lap. Unable to resist you any longer, he begins pulling at the ties and buttons that hold your robes together, watching hungrily as the silks and sheer fabrics slip off your body, pooling onto the floor.

“If you touch yourself I’ll cut the limb off, understood?” Kylo speaks, addressing the Knights for the first time since they dared to return empty-handed, and one of them, Vicrul, dares to be bold again.

“Master this – ” He starts, but Kylo throws the Force his way, a harsh warning around Vicrul’s throat that has him silenced at once.

“Understood?” Kylo asks again, this time the flicker flare of redorangeyellow in his eyes, and the Knights straighten their backs in the wake of his power.

“Yes master.” They reply in unison, statuesque and obedient.

They don’t fool him, not Kylo, who can read their minds, who can hear the litany of thoughts linking between them all -- the overwhelming desire to indulge in pleasure. Kylo can’t help but think of something you once said to him a long long time ago, when he was not more than a Commander himself: only good Knights get to come.

“How do you want me, Supreme Leader?” You whisper, knowing they can hear.

Kylo debates that for a moment, eventually settling on turning your naked body around so that your back is no longer facing them. He’s still fully dressed of course, but in the shifting of it all, he manages to pull his cock out of his trousers. Understanding straight away, you grasp it and ease it right at your folds so that when you sink back down, his cock spears into you, the hard curve of it pushing at your cunt.

“Just like this, let them see what they’re missing, what they haven’t earned.” He tries to keep some level of composure, even if his hands are sweating inside his gloves.

You begin to move at once, a slow steady swivel of your hips, back and forth back and forth, lifting yourself up just enough to thrust back down onto him. Your knees rest on either side of his thick thighs, but Kylo isn’t so sure he wants you doing any of the work today. So instead, he gently guides you to recline against his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder as your eyes flutter closed, your body stretched out and on display for them to see.

“Stars you’re soaking wet.” Kylo wraps his large gloved hands around your thighs and keeps them in place as he fucks up into you, sending the sticky sweet squelch of your cunt echoing around the room, “Been playing with this pretty pussy all day? Is that it?”

“Mmhmm – oh! I wanted to get fucked, wanted to be ready for you.” You moan, your nipples stiff as your breasts bounce with the growing force of his thrusts.

Where you had moved slowly, Kylo is not so patient, and he digs his fingers into your flesh to thrust up up up, hard and rough, punching out gasps and moans from you as his teeth sink into that shoulder of yours, a pleasurable pain.

“Your cock’s so big, yesyesyes! I want more, I want it harder.” You order, and he is happy to oblige, happy to give you what you want. He will always give you what you want, especially when the Knights can’t.

Kylo speeds himself up, holds you tighter, his cock pounding into you. It takes considerable effort from this position, but it’s worth it, he can do it and you want him to and so he will. From this spot on your shoulder, he can look down between your tits and see the beads of sweat that drip, the drool that’s spilling over your open mouth.

“I love your tits, squeezing them.” Kylo announces as he does just that, as he pinches your nipples hard between his fingers, tugs on them. The stimulation makes you whine, makes your knees try to pinch together even though they can’t. Kylo sucks marks onto your neck and shoulder, worries your earlobe between his teeth, “Be a good girl and spread your legs, let them see how wet you are for me.”

You hiccup out a moan as you force your legs wider, your pussy spread open, Kylo’s cock rammed deep inside of it. The Knights watch as he fucks you, they shift in their places, hands clenching and unclenching at their sides. Good, he thinks, let them grow jealous, be jealous of him that he has you, especially when you start crying out his name.

“Kylo! Kylo it’s – ohhhh yes! Right there!” Your eyes roll back into your head, and your toes begin to curl, your body shuddering and shaking.

“Are you going to come?” Kylo asks loudly as he finds your gspot, nudges the head of his cock against it over and over and over again, making your body wrestle in his grip, limbs jolting with electric pleasure.

“Yes, yes please Kylo let me? I want to come on your hard cock, please?” You beg, your lashes wet with tears as your chest heaves, all eyes on you. Knowing that they’re watching only makes you moan again, basking in their attention, in the attention coming from all around you.

Kylo smiles and presses a chaste kiss to the edge of your jaw, taking one of his hands away from your breast and instead letting the hot leather rub against your swollen, desperate clit, giving you what you want.

“I’m not going to stop, understand that? Even if you come I’m going to keep touching you like this.” He warns lowly, wanting to drag this out for as long as he possibly can. His fingers roll lazy circles around it, pressing down and rubbing up and down, petting your pussy, stroking your folds.

“Okay!! I want it, I want that, please let me come?” Your voice is breathy and high and Kylo nods, fucking against your gspot at the same time as he tweaks your clit, a sharp shout tearing out of your throat as you gush and gush on his cock.

“Mmmm, I love the way you squeeze my dick, precious.” Kylo smirks, feeling the way your cunt flutters and clenches in its orgasm, your hips and thighs moving moving moving like a wiggle worm, chasing after the feeling, fucking yourself through your own pleasure. Kylo kisses your tear-stained cheek and smiles, “Be loud, it’s okay, I want you to be loud for me.”

“Kylo!” You moan, as he holds up to his promise and continues to rub rub rub at your clit, even as the waves of heat and pleasure ripple spark snap up your spine, “Kylo please – please I – oh it’s good – fuck!”

“I know, you can take it, be good and take it.” Kylo’s voice is dark and dangerous, and there’s that flicker of something unspeakable in his eye again, one that is feeding off of the passion and lust and desire and love that you have for him.

“Ah, ah Ky-Kylo…!” You scream as your back arches, as your head thuds against the throne with the force of your body convulsing, his cock still fucking you, fingers still touching you, overwhelming you to the most delicious point.

“I’ve got you, I’m not done with you yet.” Kylo hums, a little shake of his head as he takes advantage of the limpness of your body as you revel in your orgasm.

Sitting up straight, Kylo uses the leverage of the throne to fuck up up up into you harder, fast and rough again, your come slicking him up and driving him faster, harder. Your body shakes and you can barely hang on, your head thrown back and eyes rolled into your skull, mouth dropped open just enough for Kylo to pull his fingers away from your clit and stuff them against your tongue instead.

He takes you like this for a long while, dragging orgasm after orgasm out of you, the entire throne room a cacophony of your moans and his loud grunts. His thighs burn, he’s sweating inside his clothing, heat building up in the pit of his stomach.

Kylo doesn’t warn you when he comes, he only bites down on your shoulder hard enough to leave indents in the shape of his crooked crescent, and blows his load inside of you. Gulping down air, the both of you breathe in sync as come floods your cunt, overflowing, oozing out around his cock when he thrusts in a slower pace, trying to milk it for all he can. You’re blissed out of your fucking mind, a bad case of the giggles as you come down from your high, slumping against his chest.

“You did so well; look how full you are, so beautiful.” Kylo smiles, happy that you’re happy, his anger at the Knights all but evaporated as he kisses your cheek and whispers, “Love you.”

“Mmmhmm.” Is all you can manage back, but he knows that means you love him too.

With a final regard to his Knights, as he licks the sweat off of your throat, he can tell that they’ve learned their lesson. Each and every one of them is pent up, hard as a rock or dripping wet inside their own clothing, and so having decided he’s tormented them long enough, he turns his attention fully to being close with you, after a wave of his hand and a tired,

“Dismissed.”

----------------------------

Tagging some friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @mousemakingjam @materialisthicc @slut-for-harri @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa @hswritingrecs @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren/you #knights of ren #kor #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren smut #supreme leader kylo ren #my writing #adcu #adam driver fanfic

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spacedikut · 4 years

Text

lockdown lovers ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: lockdown!au. spencer goes from expecting his days to be filled with books, books and more books to books, an asshole cat, and a cute anonymous neighbour. 4857 words

a/n: i was so excited about this and stayed up writing it so i hope you like it too :)

masterlist

It’s three days into lockdown when Spencer notices the cat.

It’s a Maine Coon, he recognises instantly, but there’s this distinctive… dead look in it’s eyes. The body is huge – so fluffy it looks like the cat has a mane, ears invariably up straight and large enough that the eyes look beady in comparison. A mixture of white and grey throughout, the cat spends its days lounging across the windowsill of the apartment in the building next to Spencer’s.

He’s fascinated. How can a cat be so big, so ugly, yet so lovely?

He has to know more.

If he was anyone else, he’d argue the obsession is the fruit of going stir-crazy in his apartment. A lack of seeing his friends combined with having to work cases from home would be the perfect justification for Spencer to move his work station to the window facing the cat.

But this is Spencer. He’s happy being stuck home. He just likes the look of the cat.

He spends a good twenty minutes rifling through his stationary to find a piece of paper and the appropriate pen to jot a note for the cat owner. He thinks the owner must be stuck home, too, so if he sticks the note to his window and waits a day, he could know the cat’s name within twenty four hours.

They’ve had plenty of staring contests. Spencer should know his rival’s name.

So he does. He takes his time writing out the words “I like your cat. Do they have a name?” clearly on the paper, then spends a good five minutes deciding where on the window to stick the message.

He decides on the upper left corner. You won’t miss it.

The cat blinks sleepily at him as they watch Spencer tape the question up.

There’s an answer within three hours.

Spencer is too excited to be embarrassed at how enthused he was when he noticed the response.

Or when he saw the name.

Hi there! His name is Mr Darcy :) He’s a dick x

Spencer can’t help but profile the writing, the syntax, the grammar.

The first thing he notices is there’s a feminine lilt to the way you write – you’re a woman, most likely. The writing is slightly messy, indicating high intelligence, and the use of a smiley face and a kiss makes him think you’re younger in age. If you live alone, which you must because you live in a one bedroom apartment, he can safely guess you’re around his age.

And Mr Darcy… you’re a bookworm. At least for romance and the classics.

Spencer likes Mr Darcy. He has so many questions, suddenly, like how is Mr Darcy a dick and how old is he and why does he never seem to move from his position by the window and what is your name and who are you and do you happen to read a lot of books? Like Ray Bradbury? Please say yes.

He shocks himself. Maybe this quarantine is getting to him more than he realises. He hasn’t felt this excited since Maeve.

He hasn’t been this intrigued since Maeve. And the circumstances are similar, he realises.

No. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Spence.

He worries himself into a spiral when he begins thinking about how to reply. As if she can hear his whining, Penelope calls him.

They’ve made it a habit to call one another a lot. She recently taught him how to use his webcam and has been encouraging him to write more on his computer, rather than by hand.

“Good afternoon, my favourite Doctor.” She sings. He hears some shuffling in the background and can tell she’s baking.

“I need your help with something.” He cuts straight to the chase.

Her interest is piqued, “Oh? I am all ears.”

“Remember the cat I mentioned?”

“The ugly-but-beautiful majestic beast that, if you believed in reincarnation, would’ve been a high class gentleman in his past life? Yes. I think about him every day.”

“His name’s Mr Darcy.”

She lets out a screech, a mixture of a groan and moan that is filled with pure glee. “Of course he’s called Mr Darcy! Tell me everything. How do you know?”

He’s clearly impressed with himself when he says, “I asked.”

“Whoa.” Penelope freezes in her kitchen. “Are you, Doctor Germaphobe, breaking the lockdown rules?”

Spencer feels insulted. “No! Never! I stuck a note to my window, like in that viral tweet you sent me.”

She chuckles, “Well, I already told you I could’ve told you everything about Mr Darcy and the owner if you wanted me to. I am incredible.”

“I appreciate the gesture, Garcia-“

“But it’s morally wrong. Yeah, yeah, heard it all before. What have you said back?”

“That’s what I need your help with.”

Garcia is only a little surprised he’s asking her and not Derek. But, then, as much as she loves Derek, he’s a bit too.. much for someone like Spencer when it comes to love. Spencer approaches people gently, hesitantly, often giving the impression he doesn’t even want to be there.

Derek can have anyone on their knees within minutes.

Different tactics, that’s all.

“Alright, pretty boy. How long have you been talking? Purely through window messages? What else has been said?”

“Well,” He begins, clearing his throat, making eye contact with Mr Darcy, “We’ve only spoken once. When I asked for Mr Darcy’s name. You know, studies have shown that animals can form lifelong friendships with other animals, even if they’re not from the same species.”

“Spencer.”

“Most research has focused on chimpanzees, baboons, horses, hyenas, elephants, bats, and dolphins - but there’s no reason to think that friendship is exclusive to these species.”

“Spencer!”

“What?”

“You’ve spoken to them once?”

“Her. Spoken to her once. And it wasn’t speaking, it was writing.”

There’s a long sigh down the phone. “First of all, how do you know the owner’s a girl?”

There’s movement in Mr Darcy’s apartment. Spencer stares. “The way she writes.”

“Uhuh,” Spencer can hear her stirring something through the phone, “And what was the last thing said?”

Spencer’s eyes narrow – is that a person? Is that the owner? Is that her? Oh my god.

“Spencer? You still there?” Garcia looks to her laptop, checking the call is still connected.

“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry. The last thing she said was his name is Mr Darcy and he’s a dick.”

“Oh,” Garcia smirks, “It’s sexy hearing you say dick.”

In normal circumstances, Spencer would register her comment and give a very distinct huh, but he’s distracted.

He sees Mr Darcy meow. A hand appears, petite, with fingernails painted yellow that have smiley faces on them. She brushes Mr Darcy’s fur back, pulling so the skin around his eyes tugs up high and he looks stupid. He seems to like it, though.

She must like smileys, he thinks.

Mr Darcy stands and stretches. He’s alarmingly long.

It’s silent on Garcia’s end, where she looks confused at the sudden silence. She checks again that the call is still connected.

“Spence?”

“Still here. Sorry. I thought I saw her.”

“Oooo,” She’s all giddy, “What does she look like? Is she pretty?”

“I couldn’t see her properly. I can tell she’s too cool for me already. This was stupid.” He sighs, “Forget I said anything. I’ll take knowing Mr Darcy’s name and move on with my life.”

Spencer moves to hang up, but is interrupted by a loud “No!” being shouted at him by Garcia.

“No, Spencer! No! You write something back to her right now and you form a friendship with someone that isn’t one of your colleagues. I love you with my whole heart, and you know that, but it would be good for you to expand your social circle!” She grins and bites her tongue between her teeth, “Aaaand.. this could be the start of a quarantine romance. God, I miss dating.”

At the mention of romance, Spencer visibly flinches. “I’ll see what I can do. I gotta go, Garcia, thanks for calling.”

“Love you. Please marry her so Mr Darcy can be the ring bearer.”

And she hangs up. He’s left contemplating whether he should respond, and what he should respond, as he watches the empty space where Mr Darcy is absent.

It must be dinner time for him.

+++

I’m curious as to how someone named Mr Darcy can be a dick.

That’s a good response, right?

Right?

It lets you know he gets the reference, he knows who Mr Darcy is named after, and leads you to continue the conversation. It’s perfect.

It’s taken him nearly two hours to come up with it. He feels exhausted.

He sticks it on the window, where Mr Darcy has returned to, and huffs out a breath.

He reminds himself to be calm and cool. This is simply a way to pass the time during quarantine, there’s no need to put too much pressure on himself to think it’s anything more or to put more effort than is necessary (he says, after spending two hours formulating a response).

Calm and cool. Cool and calm. Neither are words Spencer would ever use to describe himself.

Spencer stays up until nearly 1am reading. Just before he sleeps, he walks to the kitchen to get some water, and can’t resist checking to see if you’ve responded.

You have. He ignores the way his heart speeds up.

He used to share the windowsill with my other cat and a bunch of plants. Now he bites anything that attempts to move near him. He also likes to vomit on my pillow. My single pillow.

Spencer chuckles as he reads it. He remembers when the window was full of plants, and how one day they all just… disappeared. He assumed the person moved out, but now it’s funny to think that you had to move them all because Mr Darcy demanded he own that space.

He doesn’t recall ever seeing another cat.

Well, now he has to respond. He needs to know about the other cat!

He imagines Derek coming to him in an apparition, like some sort of angel, and saying, calm and cool, kid. Calm and cool.

Spencer decides he’ll reply in the morning. Cause he’s calm and cool, and totally doesn’t want to know anything and everything about you and the two cats you live with.

+++

The messages continue for days. Spencer learns a lot, despite his “attempts” to not profile you (“attempts” as in there was really no attempt).

He learns you were given Mr Darcy by a friend, he’s two years old, and your other cat is the recently adopted, affectionately named Stupid Sally. She’s a ginger cat, estimated to be at least four years old, and you refuse to believe there’s anything going on in that tiny head of hers.

Spencer catches a glimpse of Sally a couple of days after he learns her name. She jumps up beside Mr Darcy, bonks her head on the window, then is whacked by Mr Darcy and falls from the windowsill. Sally doesn’t make another attempt.

He still hasn’t seen you, though. The longer he talks to you, the more he wants Garcia to send him everything she can find on you.

But he has restraint. And fear.

He wants to know more, wants to learn more about the anonymous girl in the opposite building. He doesn’t even know your name, and he assumes you don’t know his, and he’s not entirely sure what number apartment you live in.

He considers asking to convert your conversation from post-it notes on windows to hand-written letters, but that reminds Spencer too much of Maeve and he can’t handle that.

Do you know how difficult it is for Spencer Reid, with all his knowledge and facts and ramblings, to limit himself and how much he says?

It’s torture.

The sun is blinding when Spencer pulls his curtain back, eyes navigating to see if there’s a new message waiting.

I haven’t asked, do you have any cats? Any pets? Mr Darcy would be a terrible boyfriend but Sally could use a lover :)

Before he can stop himself, his mind is whirring with the possible implications of your message. Does this mean you want to meet? You want to know about him as much as he wants to know about you? You’re interested?

He needs to call Penelope. He wants to talk to you so badly, learn everything there is to know, but he can’t bring himself to do it. The situation reminds him of Maeve and, although it’s been so long, he’s still mourning. He’s not sure he’s ready.

Turns out he doesn’t need to worry. You’ve got your own plan.

+++

“So,” Your friend sighs, flopping onto the couch, “You got his number? His name? Anything?”

“No,” You pout, “Not even sure he’s a guy.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

You playfully gasp. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I am insulted.”

She chuckles. She knows all about your curious neighbour - she’s the one that encouraged you to reply and keep replying. And now she’s the one trying to convince you to form an actual friendship.

“Just put your number on your window.”

“Do you know how dangerous that is?!” You scold, “Anyone could see it!”

“Yeah, but neighbour guy could see it. And text you. And be really cute.”

You can’t help but glance behind you, into your bedroom window, where the infamous window is. Mr Darcy lounges, completely zonked out with the sunshine keeping him warm.

“What’s the worst that can happen? Some random people text you and you, what, block them? That’s it. Easy.”

Life is so easy for extroverts, you think.

You grab your notebook, rip a piece out and jot down your number before you have a change of heart. You’re essentially double messaging through the medium of your window messaging. But who cares?

What have you got to lose?

+++

Spencer stares at your phone number for way too long. Mr Darcy, as if sensing Spencer’s battle, lazily lifts a paw and rests it against the paper, pushing it into the window.

Spencer dials Penelope’s number straight from memory.

“I was beginning to think you’d died, Spencer-“

“Is it a terrible idea to start texting with Mr Darcy’s owner?”

“What?!” She exclaims, “No! No no no no no! That is an incredible idea! Spencer, please tell me you’re texting her!”

Penelope’s excitement gives him a rush of confidence. She’s always so supportive, so encouraging. Penelope is the best.

“I’m staring at her phone number. I just- we know what happened last time..” He trails off, voice meek. He wants to pretend he isn’t constantly thinking about the worst outcome, but he is. He’s scared.

Penelope’s voice is soft down the phone, “Spence. You have nothing to be afraid of, okay? I’m so proud of you for even considering texting her. But if you truly think you’re not ready, maybe you’re not. But remember, this doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to. You can keep the conversation to cats and cats only.”

Spencer smiles even though she can’t see him. She’s right. It doesn’t have to be anything and, honestly, it’s likely it won’t be anything – after all, Spencer isn’t exactly confident when it comes to women.

She might also have a boyfriend. A husband. A wife. He doesn’t know.

He realises he’s started thinking way too deep about someone he doesn’t even know the name of.

“Does that silence mean you’re gonna text her?” Penelope questions, suspense and hope clear in her voice.

“Yeah,” He replies, glancing at Mr Darcy, “I am.”

+++

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: Hello. I’m Spencer.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner] hello??????? do i know a spencer?

Embarrassment flushes through him. What a weird way to introduce yourself, he chastises himself, Great first impression.

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s owner]: Sorry. I’m the one that’s been asking about your cats through the window.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: really? prove it

He wants to feel insulted that you’re so suspicious, but is simultaneously impressed that you’re so cautious. It makes sense to worry after posting your number for anyone to see.

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: Of course. I’ll put a note on my window with my number now.

He does just that, shuffling quickly and frantically like he does when his mind is moving a thousand miles a minute during a case. He slaps the note against the window, unable to resist hovering on the off chance he spots you.

His phone buzzes.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: oh hi spencer! im Y/N, owner of Mr Darcy and sally :)

He can’t help but chuckle at the sudden change of tone. You take stranger danger seriously, it seems.

Why does he find that so endearing?

He’s getting ahead of himself, again. Calm and cool.

They pick up the conversation from where the last note left off, where you asked Spencer if he has any pets of his own. He finds it much easier to talk to you like this, rambling and all, which you don’t seem to mind. Your texting style is distinctively different to his, making his phone vibrate multiple times as you send each sentence of your message separately. He prefers writing chunks full of information, all with perfect grammar and punctuation.

You teach him what ‘wtf’ means and when he sends a meme to Penelope with that caption she loses her damn mind.

She decides she loves you there and then.

A friendship blossoms. It’s odd, he doesn’t know what you look like and you admit to catching a glimpse of him when he showed you his number through the window, but other than that you have no idea what the other looks like.

You know so much about eachother’s lives, though, and so much about eachother. You know which apartment you both live in, he’s got a whole list of reasons why Mr Darcy is a dick and he kind of agrees, you even know that he’s an FBI agent.

Then it happens.

He discovers what you look like.

He wants to play it off as an accident, he really does, but that would be a complete and utter lie.

The area under the window opposite yours has become his new sanctuary. He spends way too much time there, reading and whatnot, and he tries to pretend that it’s so he can watch Mr Darcy all day every day, but there’s always been a part of him that wants you to walk by. Maybe stop right in the centre of the window, pause, let him get a good look.

That’s exactly what happens.

He’s doing some “light” reading before he moves to his bed, where he will continue to read, and he sees the main light in your bedroom switch on. You always have a light on – you’re scared of the dark, just like him, but the main light catches his attention because Mr Darcy looks back and meows.

Someone’s in the room.

For some reason, he can’t tear his eyes away. It’s not the first time he’s noticed someone flutter around the room, never managing to really show themselves. It could the best friend you told Spencer about, the one that you’ve been stuck living with the past month or so.

But it’s not.

A girl appears, wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts with still-wet hair. She dangles a cat toy before Mr Darcy, which he swipes at twice, then looks away, uninterested.

She rolls her eyes at that, then starts dancing and mouthing along to a song Spencer doesn’t recognise. Now he can’t stop staring – she’s captivating, whoever she is, as she prances around her room, arms flailing around and serenading a very unimpressed Mr Darcy.

This has to be you, he thinks. He doesn’t know why, but this has to be you.

Your passionate singing dies out. It’s the end of the song. Before the next one can begin, you happen to look up and through the window, straight at Spencer.

And you disappear.

You collapse. You definitely scream a little, dramatically falling to the floor and hiding under the window with your back to the wall.

Holy shit. You think. He’s cute and he saw me singing to my asshole cat.

He must think I’m crazy.

Spencer keeps staring at the now empty space of your window, Mr Darcy having been spooked by your exit.

He thinks he might be in love.

+++

Neither of you know what to say to one another after what transpired.

You’re too embarrassed, Spencer feels a little star-struck, and you’re both speechless.

Neither of you expected the other to be so.. attractive.

Your phone is thrown in your lap. “Do it. Do it now.”

In a daze, you blink up at your friend, “I can’t.”

“Don’t make me threaten you.”

You blink.

“I know where he lives. I will obliterate the lockdown rules to go talk to him and drag him here, then you can deal with this face-to-face.”

Your mouth falls open. “Are you insane?”

She unlocks your phone, opens your conversation with Spencer, and places it in your hand.

“Yes.”

+++

[From: Y/N :)]: did you at least enjoy the performance…..

Spencer’s whole body prickles when he sees you’ve texted him.

Maybe Penelope’s manifesting did work.

[To: Y/N :)]: I did. I didn’t expect our face reveals to be so…

I honestly don’t know what to say.

[From: Y/N :)]: s doctor reid speechless? am i that talented?

Spencer lies back on his couch, beaming at his phone like a teenager in a cheesy chick flick.

[To: Y/N :)]: You’re very talented. Mr Darcy clearly disagrees, but don’t listen to him.

And just like that, you’re back in the flow of things.

+++

When July rolls around, you and Spencer have been talking every day since March. Despite the monotonous, repetitive days, Spencer wakes up giddy when he sees you’ve texted him. He usually wakes up earlier than you, you have a habit of playing games or watching television until the early hours of the morning, and he loves to send you a fact to wake up to.

Your favourite are the animal facts. He got Amazon Prime just so he could buy a plethora of animal books and watch animal documentaries. All for you.

At one point, you evolved to phone calls. They don’t happen often and the first one was while you were drunk, but they’re fun for the both of you.

It had been a Saturday, you and your friend were having a movie marathon with wine and of course she brought up Spencer. She choked on her drink when you told her you haven’t heard his voice or seen him since the incident.

“You should call him,” She slurred, “Tonight.”

“He’s working on his jigsaw. I’m not going to interrupt.”

She gave you this incredulous look, asking Really?

“What?! I have respect for him and his jigsaws!”

“Have respect for yourself and how cute he is!”

“That doesn’t make sense!”

She sighed, placing her glass on the coffee table with a clunk, “Picture this: you’re helping him with the jigsaw.”

You couldn’t hide the slight upturn of your lips at the thought. You both love jigsaws, doing one with him would be stupidly romantic to you.

“Yeah.” She nodded ridiculously, “That ain’t gonna happen if you don’t call him!”

In your drunken state, you realised she’s right. You called him that night for a total of ten minutes before you passed out after calling him super handsome.

You both went to sleep feeling warm inside. Spencer called you again the next day, where the call lasted nearly two hours, and it went from there.

But now the lockdown rules are being eased. People are going back to work, meaning establishments like restaurants and hairdressers are opening up with limited capacity, all breathing beings expected to wear a mask.

Neither of you have mentioned actually meeting one another. You’re too nervous. What if he doesn’t like you? What if the image he’s created of you in his head is way better than you are in real life and he’s disappointed? What if he doesn’t want to meet you?

Spencer worries about the exact same things.

So neither of you say anything.

+++

It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes Spencer’s mail gets sent to the wrong address. Perhaps to his neighbour, the person living across the hall, or someone on a completely different floor.

Twice, Spencer’s mail has been delivered to the apartment building next door. The building he now exclusively calls “Y/N’s building”.

Now it’s three times.

Unphased by the mask on his face, Spencer glances around the lobby of your apartment building and wonders what your routine is when you get home. Do you immediately check for packages? Look at the noticeboard? Or do you go straight up to your apartment?

Spencer walks to the reception desk, smiling politely even though the person can’t see it.

“Hi, I’m from the building next door. I think my mail was accidentally sent here?”

He clicks a few buttons, types a few things, then flippantly asks, “Apartment number?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Let me go get it.”

He takes his time leaving his chair and wandering through a door. Spencer glances around. There’s a few people, all wearing masks (Thank God), doing their own thing.

There’s two girls next to him. He eavesdrops, because he’s bored.

“I’m too used to living with you now,” The girl facing him pouts, “I don’t want to go.”

The girl with her back to him laughs, light and sweet, “You live a block away.”

“You know Sally is gonna miss me.”

Sally? As in…

“She’s gonna miss you only because you feed her too much and now she’s fat.”

Wait.

“C’mon, Y/N-“

Spencer blocks out the rest cause holy hell. You’re right there. You’re standing right next to Spencer, in all your glory, and you have no idea that he’s right there, too.

Should he say something? Should he introduce himself? Should he..

“Here, sir. My apologies for the mix-up.” The receptionist re-appears, handing Spencer his mail.

“Thank you.”

And Spencer leaves.

Except he doesn’t.

He stops outside the reception entrance, takes out his phone, and texts you.

[To: Y/N :)] This is weird but I’m right outside your building. I think you’re in the foyer and I’m too scared to approach you.

Two minutes pass before the building doors fly open.

Your head swivels back and forth. When you find Spencer, adorable and awkward Spencer, he can tell you’re grinning from the way your eyes bunch up under your mask. God, he knows you have the most beautiful smile. Everything about you is beautiful.

“Hi,” You breathe.

Spencer mouths a silent hi. You’ve taken his breath away.

“I-um. It’s good to see you in person.” Your voice is soft. It’s soft, and smooth, and so much prettier in real life. It’s already pretty through the phone, but the real version shoots straight to his heart.

He gulps, “Yeah, it’s.. Unexpected, but nice.” The corners of his mouth quirk up and he can’t tear his eyes away from you, “You’re even more gorgeous in real life.”

The compliment rolls off his tongue naturally because it’s true and from the second he spotted you he’s lost all logical thinking.

“I am?” You ask, gentle and hesitant, almost asking are you sure you mean me?

Spencer blushes, somewhat embarrassed by his confession. But he meant it, Spencer’s not the type to say things he doesn’t mean, and you don’t give him time to regret it-

“Would you like to get some coffee? If you’re free now?”

Would it be too much if he screams Yes?

“Yes. I’m free,” He ignores the mail in his hands, stuffing it in his satchel, “But let’s avoid Café Nero, I assume you still haven’t recovered from the nightmare latte you had there.”

You grin, which makes Spencer feel fuzzy, flattered that he remembers anecdotes from your texts.

Of course he remembers. You remember he has an eidetic memory.

You shyly brush your hair behind your ears, both sides, and Spencer spots the bright red of them. You’re flushed, just like him, and it fills him with confidence to know you’re the same mixture of excited and anxious about meeting him in person.

“W-what about your friend?” Spencer gestures vaguely to where he assumes she’d be, “Would she mind?”

“She’s the reason I ran out here, so… I think she’d be mad if we didn’t leave her behind.”

You smile at one another, a few feet apart. Spencer’s bumped into by the opening door of your apartment complex and stumbles, apologising profusely to the unimpressed woman that just stares at him.

Through the entire ordeal you watch Spencer, only him, and can’t stop the radiant, love-filled look on your face.

Maybe Mr Darcy isn’t such a dick when he’s the reason Spencer came into your life.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #mine #oh to be spencer reid's neighbour that he falls completely in love with during the lockdown

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batarella · 3 years

Text

3 birds 1 stone - chapter 7

‘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: school’s a bitch, but nothing’s stopping me from having a fuck ton of fun with this series. and with this chapter, I had loads of it.

WORDS: 11,289 (I’m not even sorry) WARNINGS: batarella’s funeral

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

First, it was the light.

You always slept with your curtains drawn, so the light almost never reached your room when you wake up in the early or late hours in the morning. So when you awoke with your eyelids red and bright, like the sun was a foot away from your nose, you knew something was wrong.

Second, the sheets. They were clean, but obviously different from the cottony light comforter you liked to wrap yourself with in the winter. The ones you had around your body right then, on the other hand, was just a thin, white sheet, warm yet not nearly as warm as your quilt.

Then the bed felt off as well. Stiff. Firm. Not at all wrecked like the mess you often left behind even after making your bed, or in your case just draping the blanket over the whole mattress before you went off for the day.

And when you were awake enough to have the rest of your senses snap out of your dreary, groggy vision of a dream that faded as soon as the sting in your temple kicked in, you realized that it was bacon being cooked somewhere within a few meters from where you lied down, warm smoke and all.

Forcing your throbbing eyelids apart, you confirmed that you were, in fact, not in your studio loft.

And you almost had a heart attack when the next thing that graced your line of sight was a large, shirtless man with roughed up dark hair and a pair of gray sweatpants, facing the stove from whence the sweet smell of bacon came.

You didn’t have the sober senses to linger on such eye candy for long, not when you went straight to clutching your clothes, your jeans, your leg, everywhere else. No, they hadn’t been taken off. Not for the whole night, it seems. And you didn’t feel anything funny down there.

Almost jumping off the edge of the bed, Jason spoke. “’Morning, pretty bird.”

Okay. It’s just Jason. At least you did not end up having drunken sex with a stranger and overslept.

And now that that was out of the question, the thoughts, the panic, eventually into this blissful yet brief momentous relief, the horrific migraine came along.

You grabbed a fistful of your hair and leaned over to cover your face with your bent knees.

“I’m assuming that hangover isn’t a good one.”

“I can't believe I stayed the night-“

“Relax. It’s no big deal.”

Seeing with the room so bright definitely didn’t help when you looked up at Jason. “Did I-“

“No, you didn’t do anything regretful, or memorable, and I was the one who insisted you stay over.”

“I remember…” Your palms stuck to your face. “Talking and burritos and Dick and Tim and-ugh…”

“Yeah that’s… basically it.”

“I didn’t tell you anything embarrassing, did I?”

Jason poured his pan of bacon onto a plate. “Define embarrassing.”

“Something you wouldn’t have wanted to hear.”

“If anything, pretty bird, you told me everything I needed to hear. My brothers sure have it bad for you.”

“Fuck,” you murmured. “What did I say?”

“A lot. Dick talking to you right before the wedding. Tim telling you he loved you right after. I told you some stuff, too. Remember those?”

“It’ll probably come back to me. Soon enough.” You swung your legs over the bed and saw that you, unfortunately, only had one.

You exposed yourself to Jason.

So hurriedly you reached for your prosthetic and latched it on at a record five seconds. Fuck, you showed yourself to him. That was the drunken move of the night. You could have said shit all, and it wouldn’t have mattered, yet you just had to take off that stupid robot leg.

You coughed, and it only made that stupid headache throb worse.

“Bottoms up.”

Jason placed a plate of his cooking with a fork for you to take onto the coffee table, then he made his way to you, stretching out his hand. You looked at him and you were sure you looked like some sorry excuse of a human being with your hair up in all directions and your eyes as dead as a rotting corpse’s. But Jason just shrugged, pulled on your shoulder when you didn’t take his hand, and led you to the couch.

You probably would have had something else to say other than a wordless mumble if he’d just made himself look a bit more presentable and not to overly distracting with his brick wall of a chiseled body. You picked at his bacon and forced it down your throat.

“I’m sorry…” you swallowed. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?”

The bacon tasted great.

“I feel pathetic.”

“It sure seemed like you needed a talk.”

“I know -“

“Who else would you have talked to?” He took a bite for himself. “Steph? Cass? Bruce? They don’t know half the shit I do about Dick and Tim. And trust me, you deserved to know the truth.”

Yeah. Dick wanting to chicken out of his wedding to profess his love for you was something you definitely needed to hear.

“Yeah,” you snarled. “But then I got drunk and slept here… and you know I hate being an inconvenience.”

“It’s alright, pretty bird. If anything I had a good time last night.”

Then, so unexpectedly, he placed his arm around you and never have you felt a naked body press so tenderly against yourself that you froze at the contact. Then you looked up at his face, eyes so wide, then he looked back at you and smiled.

You smiled back, slowly easing in.

Your smile. That same smile.

It made Jason lose his, then you saw his throat hitch.

Your lips were flat and practically gone when you looked away, picked up your fork and stuffed your mouth with more bacon so he’d pull his arm off you.

“What did I say before I passed out?”

“About Dick and Tim?” Jason inched himself away and everything felt too cold. “A lot.”

“Was I pathetic?”

“No. I don’t blame you for being so confused.”

Okay. You were many things. Stupid was one of them. But confused wouldn’t exactly be the right thing to define that horrific typhoon devastation that was left of all logical thought. You weren’t confused per se, not when you understood everything with the timing with Dick and the break up with Tim. You knew exactly what went on with either of them, it’s just that you didn’t know how to make all these directions weeded out into this one, straight line so you’d know how to go through the rest of your days as smooth as you possibly could.

“I’m not confused.”

Jason sighed. “When you said you didn’t know if you should even choose, I just assumed.”

Maybe, in a way, you were confused.

But indecisive felt more like it.

“I just don’t want to-“

“Yeah, I know. You don’t want to upset either of them anymore.”

Jason stood up, and slowly, he went over to the fridge for a glass of water. He poured it into a glass, then he gave it to you.

“You called yourself selfish, too. But I don’t think you are. You don’t want to choose between them ‘cuz you want to do what’s best for both of them. Not for you.”

You’ve never seen him look at you like that. And even if he didn’t already look enough like his brothers, he had that same wide-eyed softness that often got to you. That look that made them all look the most beautiful.

He sat next to you again, elbows on his knees.

“My brothers were fucking assholes with what they did, but they’re good people. And they’re lucky, that you’re even considering them to be the one who gets to be with you. They deserve forgiveness. They’ll bend the world for you. I’m sure of it.”

If he wasn’t sitting so close, or watching your face like he wanted to note every detail you had on, you would have taken much longer just to shut your dangling mouth, because all there was right then was silence. Not just with your words, which you didn’t have even one, but that typhoon that raged, that indecisiveness, it was all quiet.

“Thank you…” you swallowed your food. “I showed you my… leg, too… didn’t I?”

“Yeah…” Jason hunched over and grabbed his hair, running his own fingers through his locks. “You don’t have to worry about that, though. But if it means anything, I’m sorry.”

“Why apologize?”

He shrugged. “Maybe you weren’t ready to show me, yet.”

You shouldn’t have been biting your lips so much before you’d eventually be tasting your own blood. But that, with that comfort you once had with him last night now this tension that you could pick apart with a needle, you were surprised your palms weren’t bleeding with the way you were digging your nails into them.

“I was ready…”

“Really?”

He was trying to bite back a smile. It was cute.

“Yeah…”

You finished the food, which you probably shouldn’t have done. You should have left before you even took a bite or said anything more than just a sentence.

His eyes were slightly squinted when he looked up at you, head craned down. This bashfulness you don’t often see. Then his brow was up and he was chuckling.

It made you smile back.

Jason stood up and went over to his closet to get a shirt. Finally.

Your bag was already on the couch, and even when you looked like aa troll had thrown up on you, you didn’t look absolutely horrific that people would stop and stare. So after a few brushes down your hair with your own fingers, you went for the door.

“I’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Really. It’s all good, pretty bird.”

Jason walked up to you, held out the door, then you stood just outside to pull on your coat.

“Thank you so much, Jay.”

“I swear. Don’t sweat it. Hit me up when you need anything.”

Jason was beautiful.

And he had the kindest heart tucked behind this façade of street and trauma. You swallowed, laughed, then you opened your arms to invite him for a hug. Jason rolled his eyes and let you.

Nose to his shoulder, you ran your hand down his clothed back, and with just one hand he wrapped it around you.

Then you left. Back home. Back to that inevitable loneliness and the thinking you could foresee that was as good in occupying the spaces in your mind as music in the background, which you should probably be resorting to just to have some kind of attempt at peace. When you got to your apartment, the unfinished canvas was staring daggers at you, screaming and demanding your attention away from boys.

You rolled up your sleeves. A shower can wait, after you go through this whole painting that was big enough to be a wall. This will distract you, hopefully. At least your hands will be busy.

A fashion magazine’s editor wanted a piece for her office. You ran frantically about in your studio and picked up your basket full of paint and brushes to use for the piece, which already stained your hands just holding it up. And you set it on the floor. You’ll work on the floor for now. An easel can suck it.

The canvas was right up against the wall and the blank strokes of yellow and blue for the background were practically growling at you to just finish it off, demanding apologies in the form of touch ups and polishes over its now dried up surface.

You started with the biggest brush and violently dried it off, slapped it onto your palette for the mustard yellow you’d concocted, then you swiped that brush over for the background swirling it around the roughed-up edges of the left side to creating this wind-like surface. There were whites, so it looked a lot like wind, and even with it so dark on your palette, it had lightened up the moment it hit the canvas. So light, and soft, like the bickering remnants of sunlight when barely would it pierce through roughened glass.

That, and with your brush smaller and more precise, you drew on with a tone a bit darker the curving lines to signify direction. Then you lightly tapped it on.

You placed more paint onto your own jeans and mixed it with white, over and over with your brush. Sitting cross legged on the floor, you could tell from the sun that it had only just passed noon. Hair up in a mess, you went on with sketching out the sky with an even lighter color, letting the mix play around and form these strips of clouds.

Yellow was safe. Warmth. Something you could rely on and a color so close to your heart, comfort when you hadn’t an idea where to start. The color that was still, calm, light. It was the sun. It was the wind. Often the horizon. The leaves when it was autumn.

You always managed to find a place for yellow in every painting you did, because it calmed you, like a blanket over your shoulders when you were curled up in your couch.

Done. Now onto the right side.

Your brush sinking into a cup of water, you started with a new shade. Cobalt.

Not your usual choice when you painted the sky, but this wasn’t so much of a sky as it was just an abstract excuse of a wall that went with the yellows and all. But it should look good. At least, in your head it did. You swept your brush onto your jeans and didn’t even curse when you got paint onto your shirt, so you rolled your sleeves some more, scratched your chin despite your hand covered in paint and went to town.

The cobalt did look good, but the blending with the yellow was going to take more work. You just went with it, let the pressure control the shades for different parts of the right side and let it splatter a bit, messily enough to look casual and unintentional.

It was yellow that calmed you and blue that brightened up your days when you felt the most… well… blue. When you often felt like anything you destroyed everything you laid your hands on when all you were supposed to do was create, on those days, those days, that you just couldn’t hold back from taking control of the best of you, it was often blue, and all the different shades of it, that gave you the foundation of a brightly lit sky, and you’d go on from there.

When nothing comes to mind, that color was what pushed you to move forward, inspired you, gave your creative juices that needed startup so you’d know where to go on from there and take you on until it all ends. You loved landscapes especially, and what other color was there more than blue. It was the sky. It was the water. It was shared, and most other people loved it as well. But so often did it brighten your work, it was what your eyes would turn to at first glance.

You were done with the background, and only had it been hours since you started. Your arm to your forehead, you backed away and eyed what you’d finished.

A dress. Of course. That, and the woman wearing it. You’d start with the woman for now.

Beautifully tanned skin, almost a dark orange even. You painted her hair and her head was slightly turned to the side. A sharp, small nose. Eyes were shut but soft, watching the ground beside her. Then you went on to outline her slender body, her leg in front of the other, then you placed her hands on her front. They won't be seen with the dress and all, anyway. So that’s what you went. She looked shy, like she was covering herself. And sad.

You wanted her hair flowing over her shoulders and her back, but you needed the dress first. A flowy, fiery statement dress.

A can of red paint was staring at you from all the way across the room, and with it definitely going to contrast against the yellow and blue, you decided for it and stood up, wiping your hands all over your jeans, then you picked up your paint. Barely anything left, but it should be enough for the dress.

You sat back down, mixed it on your palette for the shade you wanted, then you dabbed it lightly over the woman’s breast.

Then you backed up, eyed the whole painting from some distance away.

You weren’t often the one for red, especially not really bright tones that just wouldn’t look natural with your scenery paintings of either the country or the city. You don’t use it often, though it did look exquisitely beautiful when it was fiery and loud and would pop up over anything else painted onto the same plane, and it was beautiful. Mesmerizing. It called for attention and it was romantic and lustful and so awfully did it want your touch.

Not long after, your round tip brush was all over the woman, covering her with a skirt that flowed from one end of the canvas to the other so much like fire, the same ones from your dreams and nightmares. You hated fire, despised it, but it was beautiful. It didn’t spark a trigger or made you flinch. So seldom were you so mesmerized with your own work as you were in the middle of doing it. It was beautiful. Warm like yellow, bright like blue, but red had this sense of danger, darkness that just called out to you. And you just wanted to jump into it.

It was exciting. And its intensity called out to your darkest sides and somehow that intensity was what pulled the whole painting together.

You even gasped when you finished that last stroke, and with that, and the sun so close to setting, you put your brush down.

Your clothes looked like they’d just gone through a washing machine filled with red, blue, and yellow paint instead of detergent, and the rest of you looked no better than if you’d just climbed out of a drainage pipe. You wiped your sweat off your forehead, pulled the canvas off the wall, and set it on an easel.

She looked beautiful. The woman. Sad, but beautiful. You used that last bit of sunlight to look at how it set into the fabric, how it was practically its own world apart from the real one.

And after you decided you were content with it, and with it, ridding you from an otherwise horrible start with a hangover and all, you took a shower, cleaned up, and went to bed.

The next morning, you sent it over to your client, who told you that somehow, the painting told her a story.

A story, it could be.

Though even with the painting telling it, it was clear it was far from ending.

-----

You prayed to the deity above that it was Sunday, the only day you allowed yourself to sleep in now with you having three ongoing clients at that moment. And with the room so freezing, since you left the window open the night before, you’d rather wallow into the depths of your sheets than to pull yourself up from the bed and actually function like a normal human being. You forced just one eye open and openly cursed at how bright it was that day. You pulled on the blankets, right over your head, and forced your eyes shut to let your brain believe it was still well into the night.

But then your phone rang, and now you really wanted to beat yourself up for forgetting to put it on silent and leave it all the way over to the kitchen. You muffled the noise with your pillow but even after long minutes, the ringing just wouldn’t stop.

Throwing the blankets violently off of you, you reached for your phone, eyes adjusting to the light. You rubbed your eyelids open.

‘Dick’ it read on the screen.

Deciding that call wasn’t such a bad start for your day, you set yourself on the little table in front of your fridge and accepted it.

“Hey…” you yawned.

“Mornin’, night owl.” Dick sounded enthusiastic. “Did I wake you up?”

You yawned some more and it made Dick laugh.

“Obviously, you’d know when you call at this hour.”

“Y/N, it’s one in the afternoon.”

“Oh,” you said. “Explains why I’m starving.”

“How are you?”

You stood up from your chair and went over to make yourself a cup of coffee, anything to make that morning, or afternoon, just a bit more bearable. “I’m alright. I sent a new piece over to a client that other day. One of my biggest sales yet.”

“Oh? What of?”

“This one’s funny. And borderline illegal. This guy enrolled in some course over at Arts College needed a boost for his finals and he paid me to do his work for him.”

“Good thing they don’t run plagiarism checks on paintings.”

“Even if that was possible, I made sure to do it the way this guy usually does from a few pictures he’d sent me. He’s not bad. Not too good. But he must have needed that A or else he wouldn’t have paid me almost a thousand dollars for a small piece.”

“A thousand dollars?”

“I know. The guy’s rich.”

“No kidding.”

Dick laughed, and you missed hearing it in person so terribly. You could imagine the dimples that must have been on his cheeks right at that moment, knowing how beautiful they must have looked and you couldn’t even see them.

“I’m really proud of what you’ve done for yourself,” he said. “Just look at you.”

You felt your face all weird and you wanted to look away even when there wasn’t a ghost around you at all. You felt like a straight up moron.

“Thanks,” you coughed. “What about you? How are you?”

“God, you don’t wanna ask,” he grunted. “It’s a mess. Not everyone got along back when I was Robin, but it wasn’t anything as messed up as this. I don’t know what happened while I was out, but they can't keep off of each others’ throats for a second.”

“And you said you’d be home by the time you were done dealing with Deathstroke.”

“As long as that man’s alive, we’re never actually done with dealing with him. And even if he wasn’t almost immortal, we can't do much outside sending him over to Blackgate.”

“Is he in Blackgate?”

“For now.”

You swallowed. “Then what’s keeping you back there?”

Dick shuffled with the phone, and you heard voices. Gar’s, most probably. Dick was making his way out of the room, to a balcony of some sort away from other people, because then it was quiet.

“Everything else.”

Even with just a few sips from you mug, already you were wide awake. Your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt, you sighed.

“You really are quite the leader…” you said. “I don’t think there’s anyone else out there who can do it like you do.”

Dick snorted. “I doubt it.”

“Look what happened with you being out even for just a few months. It’s amazing, really, how people just listen to you.”

“Yeah… Except when it’s my siblings. It’s like tying bears down with dog leashes.”

“It’s not your fault. No one, not even Darkseid, can make Damian Wayne submit.”

“Almost as if he’s Bruce Wayne’s son.”

You laughed and sat back against your chair.

“Anything interesting happen lately?”

“Nothing that wouldn’t bore you to death.”

“Try me,” you said. “Just let me hear your voice.”

You heard him sigh. You heard him smile. From cheek to cheek. You wanted to see him, but you just calmed.

Then Dick started talking about this incident with Gar and Raven, how one catty little comment turned into this jungle fest between an overpowered demon and a green tiger wrestling it out in the living room. Dick was in the middle of it, of course, but his pleas weren’t nearly enough to calm either of them down.

And even when you were laughing and giving all these fun little remarks that often made him chuckle, it was all too difficult how you had to hold yourself back from spilling the mounds stuck at the back of your throat, everything you wanted to talk to him about, and you couldn’t, can't, say a thing. The things that had to be said, that had been waiting in this old shed stuck at the farthest corner of the earth for days too long. One that you were both too afraid to surface, because you were a coward yourself. What do you even say to him? How do you even begin?

And as Dick went on, the more you just wanted everything lash out of you, even when talking about it through the phone wouldn’t be the best idea.

You needed to look at him in the face, see how he’ll react to all the things you had to pour out of your heart and scream whatever you wanted to scream at him for. Your anger, the frustrations for his cowardice and how he just let Tim have you without so much as a fight or even try to find out who really had your heart, even when you yourself couldn’t even say. And even more did you want to tell him all that despite it not being his fault how the worst enemy there was to your story with Dick was timing.

But you didn’t do any of that and instead, you kept your silence. You pretended that this little conversation of yours was enough to get you through the day to keep all that sinking pit in your stomach at bay and not let anything bother you anymore. Even though, more than anything else at that moment, you desperately just wanted to get back to work without having so much to think about.

Dick finished the story, and by the end, you hadn’t even an idea what he’d said, when all those years you never even missed just one word out of his mouth when he spoke to you.

“What about you?” Dick asked. “Anything interesting happen other than work?”

The only thing interesting that happened lately that wasn’t work was Jason, and the last thing you wanted was to get away from that even when you hadn’t placed a thought on that night since, well, that night. You didn’t want to.

“Not much, really. I’m usually just at home painting.”

“Have you been outside to paint?”

“Just once. I wanted a view of the skyline. I went to the rooftop of the Gotham City Plaza just to paint for a few hours and finished it at home.”

“For a client?”

“No…” you said. “Just for me.”

“That’s so great. I’d take you to this place just an hour away from Jersey. It’s this farmland, but it has this really pretty view of a valley at the far end.”

“Dick, how do you know all these places?” You stuck your phone between your cheek and your shoulder as you cleaned up and went over to the sink.

“What places?”

“The ones out of the city. It’s not like you go out on vacation much.”

“Well, I-“ Dick mumbled, and you heard him shuffle his phone over to the other ear and his breath hitched. “I guess… I don’t know. I know you like painting the countryside. I look them up on the internet. Sometimes I ask around. Sometimes, most of the time, really, when I drive from Bludhaven to Gotham, I go through the route near the ocean. That’s where I found that cliff I took you last time.”

His voice was so soft at the end that you could barely even make out his words.

And, once again, you didn’t even have a breath you could take in to calm your throbbing chest.

“Oh…”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“That’s-“ you placed your other hand on the kitchen counter. “That’s really sweet of you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Your cheeks were hurting, again, and you wanted to wash yourself with a bucket of cold water.

“Dick,” you croaked. “When are you coming back?”

You knew something was wrong the minute you didn’t hear a word out of him even several seconds after. You heard him walk around. You heard him cough. You could even hear him breathe a lot louder than he usually does, but when all that was from his silence, you knew it won't be for a long time.

“I don’t know…”

Then you heard him breathe faster, like he was running, like he was nervous.

“B-but, if you ask me to come home right now, I will. I’ll be there by tonight. If you need me at all…”

Something was picking at your neck like the knife you had laying around in your kitchen, and you wanted to drive it all the way up so you’d actually have an excuse not to have a response at all. Because you didn’t have one, not when your face felt like exploding from how much you’ve had to hold in.

“Or even if you just say you miss me, I’ll come back. Wait, no, that sounds… wrong. I’m sorry. But you know what I mean.”

You shut your eyes.

You want him home because you wanted to talk about how he’d just changed the course of your whole life in just one single letter and made you doubt all the waterfalls and rivers of feelings you’ve had for him all these years.

“Of course, I miss you. But…” You dipped your head down and faced the bottom of your sink.

“Stay there, Dick. The Titans need you…”

Silence. And you wanted to choke the air out of you when you couldn’t even hear him breathe anymore.

Something echoed from behind Dick, and you heard his muffled voice from his hand blocking the phone’s receiver. You swallowed, looked up at the window just to let the melting snow on the ground outside fill that frightening blank in your head.

You heard Dick clear his throat. “I’m really sorry. I have to go.”

“It’s alright,” you softly sighed. “You going out tonight?”

“No. I’m trying to let the Titans do the work by themselves. I’ll be sitting it out the next few days.”

“Alright, then. Be safe.”

“I will.”

You hung up first, and with that, you turned on the faucet and let the water flow out from the rim of your coffee cup, watching the brown dilute with the water so painfully slow.

Maybe Jason was right, you were confused.

You had to talk to Tim.

Maybe he can change all that.

-----

It probably was a mistake to come all the way to the manor, to talk to someone about things you didn’t even know in the hopes of clearing up a picture you weren’t sure you wanted to see.

But you’ve been holding out on talking to Tim, really talking to him without it turning into some pity fest for the both of you and it was obviously one you both really needed. And, without a doubt, you missed him. The days without even getting to text him was taking its sweet toll on you. You couldn’t be apart from him even if you tried.

Alfred welcomed you in, telling you that Tim was about to wake up anytime soon since he got home from the office at fucking twelve in the afternoon that day because he spent the whole night, and morning, working when even Bruce was telling him to come home. You started to take off your coat, but with it being so empty in the parlor, the fireplace dark and gritty and the walls so silent, it was eerie, you wanted to stay outside.

You went over to the back, through the kitchen where there was a backdoor, then you went outside in the light orange pasture where the snow had melted and the trees and bushes sticking up with just their trunks of wood. There were leaves around, drenched and muddy with the soil, and the grounds were unkept. But it was wonderful to see, nonetheless. You stayed outside at the gardens, grass under your boots, and waited despite the breezing chill.

Not long after, you heard him come up from behind you.

“Y/N.” Tim sounded relieved. “Christ, I was just about to call.”

And it wasn’t even awkward, hesitant, or at all unusual when he rushed to you and pulled you to his chest. You hugged him back immediately, eyes closed, ignored how the last time you saw him you were so close to just breaking down and focused instead that you hadn’t seen your best friend in weeks and none of you had the courage to even call. And already, that void within you felt infinitely better. And you didn’t pull away even after so long. And for such a moment, you pleaded that it wouldn’t end, that you wouldn’t have to pull away and face the realities don’t even want to go into. And after all you’ve been through, being here, being in his arms, it was too good to even be a part of your fantasies, the resort, or a distraction perhaps, of what was really going on.

But it wasn’t like you were revealing some long-forgotten truth that would crush him out of unexpectedness, because he already knew. You just didn’t know what it’s going to be right after.

Eventually, unfortunately, you both pulled away, but not without Tim brushing his thumb across your cheek which made you want to just melt in his arms. His hair was swept back and he looked like he’d just gone out of bed, but his eyes looked absolutely striking against the white of the snow left over on the ground, and the way he looked at you made you want to regret ever looking away from him after the last time, which, frankly, you couldn’t even remember.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t reach out-“

He hushed you down. “It’s alright. How are you?”

Still in his hold around your waist, your faint arms enjoyed themselves resting against his chest.

“I could be better.”

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

You were so close to just blurting out ‘yes’, but that could possibly make him want to pull away, which you didn’t want to happen at all. At least, not for a bit longer. You needed to be held.

But Tim must have known, because he slowly pulled away, and you were in no place to just ask to be held one more when you were about to, possibly, rip his heart out.

You didn’t even have a clue on how he’s going to react.

“Tell me about you first,” you said. “Anything happen lately?”

“No. Nothing at all. I’m at the office when I’m not asleep at home and god, I really need you to make me stop drinking ten cups of coffee everyday because it’s driving me nuts.”

“You did not-“

“Oh, I am. And it’s so boring as well. I swear I’ve been wanting to just call you and have a car sent over so you could hang out with me in the office.”

You smiled and watched how the dark circles under his otherwise bright blue eyes were even more eminent now than even before, which you hadn’t thought to be possible. You straightened his shirt. “You should have called me.”

“Yeah. I know. I should have.” He roughed up his hair and placed his other hand on his hip. He looked tired. “I just thought you needed some time alone.”

Hands in your coat, you pretended that it was the cold that made you want to curl up into a ball and roll away on the ground, but your eyes were on your boots and you breathed out a bit of smoke past your lips because you really did not want to keep staring into his eyes, out of guilt or in awe. “I… I guess I did. But I would have gone to you if you wanted me to.”

“I wanted to.”

“Then call me next time.”

Tim’s adorable smile. It was amazing how quickly it got to you.

“I will.”

You couldn’t possibly hold this for long. You got your hands out of your coat, which didn’t actually need to be housed like that when you had gloves on to protect them, then you licked your lips.

“So… Did you come to talk to me about something?”

“Yeah…”

“We can head inside.”

“No, Tim.”

It won't be long. It shouldn’t have to be long. You’ll stay here, outside, so this agony wouldn’t have to last and you’d have an excuse to cut to the chase. He didn’t deserve to stand out here while you waltz around in circles because of your cowardice.

“It’s about Dick.”

The way his face fell.

And as much as you wanted to look away before it got to you, you had to face him now.

“What about him?”

“About two weeks ago,” you said. “That day I left the manor.”

The day you last spoke to each other.

Tim listened intently, stepped closer to you, almost as if he already knew where this was going.

“Dick and I… kissed.” Fuck, you wanted to cut open your mouth saying all this to Tim. “Then when I got home, he left me a letter telling me everything.”

“Everything?”

You saw his neck tighten, even with his collar covering most of it. “What do you mean?”

“I think you know what I mean.”

His face, what you thought to have been anger slowly building up when you first mentioned Dick’s name, all dropped into this soft, unmoving silence. Tim looked away from you, watching the empty branches stay still as if they were so much more interesting than having to look at you in the eye.

“That’s, uhm,” he whispered, voice harsh and forced. “That’s great.”

It didn’t sound so great when he said it that way.

“Are you… together now?”

“No. We haven’t exactly talked about it since then.”

He nodded, pulling on his hair a bit too hard when he ran it across his scalp.

“Tim, you knew about him, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “He wasn’t exactly doing much to hide it.”

Now, he looked mad. He turned away from you, walking down to the gardens further away from the manor, where the others might hear. You walked with him, stayed by his side. He spoke so softly, yet you knew it came straight from his darkest thoughts too painful to bring up.

“I always knew. Back when we were together. He didn’t try to get too close to you back then, but I just… had a hunch, you know? I think every boyfriend can tell when other guys try to get too close with their girl.”

“Tim, I swear, I didn’t feel anything for him at all back then-“

“I know, I know.” His sad smile broke you. “A part of me was always afraid he’d just steal you away from me, but I knew he cared about you a lot. When I…” he bit his lip. “When we broke up, I wanted to make sure you were okay. Dick didn’t know if I was fine with him going to you so soon, but I knew you’d feel better if he was there for you, and I knew he wanted to be there for you, too, so I sent him.”

Just when you thought none of this could possibly get worse.

“You sent Dick?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“No…” you said. “Don’t be sorry.”

You stepped on a melted puddle and almost slipped on the mud. Tim held your shoulder, pulled you up, then kept his hand on the small of your back. You let him.

“It was the right thing to do. You were okay. It was my fa-“ He was choking on his own words by then. “I had it coming, after how I left you…”

“Dick had Kori then,” you said, and that only made Tim snort.

“I was honestly surprised he didn’t leave Kori the moment he saw you needed him. Idiot even made it through a wedding.”

“He thought I was still in love with you.”

That’s when he stopped walking right in front of you so you’d stop, too. You looked up at him, wide eyed, and somehow you couldn’t tell if it was hope or horror staring back at you from his eyes.

“Are you?”

You closed your eyes, and wished he’d instead asked if you loved him and not if you were in love with him. Because if there was anything this experience taught you, it was that it made a hell lot of a difference.

“I’m sorry, I just…” he shook his head. “Y/N, why are you even here?”

You wanted to cry. He wanted to cry even more. His voice broke and with how his uneasy shoulders were shrugging, you didn’t know if pulling him close would be the right thing to do.

“I thought I’d talk to you about this-“

“And I told you we were over…”

If he were someone else you would have slammed your fist up in his gut.

“Are you-“

“Be with Dick,” he said. “Please. Go to him now and be with him. I’ll be okay. Is that what you came here for? To make sure I’ll be okay with it?”

“I-“ you swallowed. “No, it’s not just that.”

Mouth parted, watching your face, possibly to see how your eyes were moving and your lips were shaking for any signs of lying or whatever it was detectives do to read faces. And Tim was smart. You didn’t have to tell him any more.

And when it came to him, he backed away. He looked like he’d just seen his own murder.

“Y/N, I can't believe you're-“

“You said you knew I loved you.”

“Listen,” he growled. He was angry now. Tim barely gets angry. “I can barely even live with myself after what I’d done to you. Why should you?”

Tim held your shoulders and squeezed them so tight, you couldn’t do much else but stare up at him so breathlessly. “I hurt you and you should have gotten rid of me the moment I walked out your door. You’re supposed to hate me, Y/N.”

“Is that what you really think?” you breathed.

He laughed, raised his arms up in disbelief. “I love you. For Christ’s sake, I love you so much and it’s going to kill me when I see you with someone else. Believe me. But this is what I get. I left you, and I hurt you.”

You tried holding his face, but he wouldn’t let you.

“You’re not even supposed to let me be your friend anymore. And here you are. You keep coming back. You’re not supposed to keep coming back. Are you actually choosing between me and Dick?”

Not a tear down your face, even when you thought you’d be breaking down by now. You were without breath and still not even your own body was processing all this the way it should already be and not be stuck in utter disbelief when clearly this was all happening.

“You are…” Tim whispered. He was shaking his head, and you just felt ashamed of yourself. “I can't believe this… You should be with Dick right now…”

“I can't.”

“That night we kissed.” He stepped back closer to you. “Christmas Eve. You told me you couldn’t handle being with me anymore because of what happened.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m over you,” You didn’t realize you sounded angry. “You don’t think I hate myself for that?”

“Y/N, just be with him. You can't keep torturing yourself like this.”

“It’s so easy for you to say, isn’t it?”

None of you were screaming. None of you could scream. Not at each other. Not even when you were supposed to.

“I can't forget what I did…”

“You’re not just talking about our breakup, are you?”

Tim’s mouth stopped trembling. His voice didn’t crack. He took a step back, never breaking away from your stare. Then you saw how he flattened his lips, biting them behind his mouth.

“Tim…” you swallowed. “It wasn’t your fault-“

“Stop it.”

His jaw clenched, hands crushing each other with his fingers locked. His eyes were on the ground.

“It’s true-“

“Y/N,” he croaked. “It was my fault.”

“It’s-“

No longer did he look so vulnerable. His forehead was creased up the way it did when he was firm. He stared at you so soullessly and so exhausted.

“If it weren’t for what I did that night, you wouldn’t have to worry about going out in the summer wearing shorts or getting to join the rest of the family in a pool party or anything at all. All this is because of me. We both know it’s true.”

You should have said something.

Anything.

But he wasn’t letting you.

His eyes darted to your hidden prosthetic and immediately he looked away. But you caught that glance. You always caught glances.

“I love you, Y/N. But choose Dick. Please. I saw how happy he makes you, and I’ll be damned if I held you back from even that. Just forget about us, Y/N. Please.”

From behind him, you could see Alfred waiting for you both by the library windows. Tim turned around, nodded, then couldn’t even look at you in the eye.

His plea was what broke you. It didn’t sound like a plea you could reason with.

Tim didn’t walk away this time. Instead, he waited for you to leave first. And when you did, with him trailing behind, you fought all the demons left within to not look back. You went straight to the foyer, to the door. Not even a minute after, you were out of the manor.

-----

A call wasn’t what you needed. Not even close.

But it had been days, and wallowing in your own sadness wasn’t exactly doing you any good.

And now, after what happened with Tim, it shouldn’t have to mean you’ll run to Dick just because you were freed from the confines of a choice.

You still had to decide whether you wanted to be with Dick or not. To stay alone or be with the man who’d done nothing but love you from afar, never failing to make sure you were smiling.

And with that, after you’d spent the past few days dwelling on what’d happened, you picked up your phone, sat on the little nook by the window in your studio, then called Dick.

He didn’t answer.

It was still well into the evening. You’ll wait it out.

An hour later, still no answer.

Three, four more hours. At twelve am, having to wake yourself up from dozing off, your own fault after days of having absolutely no sleep, was exhausting. You kept staring out the window and hoped to whoever was watching you from above, ancestors or a god or whatever there was, that Dick was at least still alive. It should be a crime for vigilantes to not answer their phone in the middle of the night.

Then, at one am that night, Dick finally called you back.

“Hey…” you forced yourself to sound awake.

“Hey.”

You heard him walking. He didn’t sound injured, or even tired at all. “I’m so sorry I missed your calls.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Why are you still awake?”

You laid back against the wall. “I was waiting for you.”

He snickered. You heard a door open and close behind him, and he must have crashed into bed right then because you heard bed springs from his weight.

“Where were you tonight?”

“With the Titans. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Your head was against the window’s glass and you watched the snow almost completely melt on the roads in front of you. “You poor thing. You sound exhausted.”

“I’m alone now…” You rolled your eyes at his tone. “How are you?��

“I’m alright,” you lied.

“What did you wanna talk to me about?”

That made you smile. His voice. His tone. Already it made things a lot more bearable.

“I just… thought you should know. I talked to Tim the other day…”

He didn’t sound like you had to say anything more for him to understand. You heard him breathe louder, heavier.

“What did he say?”

“Well… He said I should be with you…”

“He did?”

“Yeah…”

Then there was even more silence. You should have thought about this a lot more.

“I was going to ask when you’re coming home but it sounds like the Titans need you a lot more than I do.”

He chuckled. “Trust me, I want to go home more than anything.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“You know what…” he breathed.

The glass was freezing being pressed up against your skin, but you just let it. It didn’t even bother you.

“Dick…” Your finger traced the glass. “We haven’t exactly talked about… what happened.”

“I just… I thought talking about it over the phone makes it even more… I don’t know… cowardly.”

“It’s been weeks.”

“I know...”

You threw your head back, up against the wall, then you closed your eyes. You let the cold seep in all the way down your toes. You let it calm you.

“I’m sorry if it was too much…”

“It wasn’t.”

“I was-“ He was a nervous wreck. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable, or that I forced my feelings down your throat. I hope I didn’t upset you…”

You couldn’t say it didn’t upset you. “It’s fine…”

“Y/N… You don’t have to do anything about it. I swear. We can just go on like nothing happened.”

Dick let out an agonizingly long sigh, then you heard his head fall to a pillow.

“That’s going to be hard…”

“I know… I don’t even know what to say to you when I come back…”

“You can say it to me now… if it makes things easier.”

Then there was silence.

Nothing at all. Not even the sheets moving. You could have sworn he was cut out for a minute. But then, when you heard him take a breath, then clear his throat, you just closed your eyes and hoped nothing he’d say would break you any further.

“I love you, Y/N…”

And despite the hurt, with everything else that went on, you let those three words be the only thing in your own little bubble of a universe. You smiled. You were never going to forget the way he said it so softly.

Then he was laughing. “I love you…” he said again. “God, it feels good to say that…”

You smiled so much; your face started to hurt.

“I read your letter like… fifty times…” you snorted.

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It’s a good thing.”

He giggled. You’ve never heard him giggle before. It was the most adorable thing you’ve ever heard.

“I love you. I meant everything I wrote. Everything.”

Your head met your palm, and you had to stop yourself before this was going to get the better of you.

“If it means I have to wait longer for you to sort things out, I will. Take as long as you need, and we… I can take this as slow as you want. Whatever you're comfortable with. I just don’t want to rush you into anything…”

Maybe, in a way, this was the right choice. He could be the right choice. And it’ll take a while to prove that, but it was a start.

“Dick, I-“

From his end of the phone, you heard a door swing open, then there was his phone shuffling in his hand, then all the other noises were incoherent and muffled. Voices. There was more than one.

And Dick’s hand was shaking because you managed to pick out a few of them.

“………… thank you……… Dick……”

“……………alright………”

“………. You………. sure?.........”

“………. Yeah……..”

“…….good….. talk……… understand……”

“thanks………….. rest up……..”

No. Not a few. Just one other voice. A sweet, melodic voice, much like singing.

You never thought you could feel losing a smile so quickly, your chest being pulled all the way down to the earth’s core.

The door closed, then it was Dick’s voice again.

“Hey… sorry-“

“Dick,” you croaked. “Where did you say you were tonight again?”

You heard how confused he was. “I was… the Titans…”

“You were with Kori, weren’t you?”

“I…”

“You said you were gonna sit it out the next few nights. You weren’t out on patrol with the Titans. You were in the tower with Kori. Alone. Weren’t you?”

“Y/N, I know that sounds bad, but it’s not what you think-“

“What were you talking about?”

“Y/N… We just talked…”

“About what?”

“I told you I had to come talk to her about what happened. The wedding. She deserves some closure-“

“It’s been weeks, Dick. And you spent what, five hours talking to her just tonight?”

“You know it’s not that easy.” His mouth sounded trembling. “But that doesn’t mean anything happened. Kori and I are friends.”

“I find it hard to believe that you could be friends with someone you almost married. Why didn’t you tell me you were with her tonight? After I told you I waited for you?”

“I didn’t- I don’t know… Y/N, it’s not like you don’t talk to Tim…”

“Then why did you tell me you were with the Titans?” You scoffed. “At least I don’t lie to you when I talk to Tim.”

“I wasn’t… We were at the control room alone to watch them from the cams. I didn’t think I was… I promise you, nothing happened.”

“It isn’t about that, Dick. It would have been fine if you’d just told me about it. Now I can't stop thinking about what you tried to hide from me. I know you. You're honest until you think the truth hurts a lot worse than a lie.”

It’s funny how quickly that high you went through just two minutes ago could blow over so quickly and leave you down at the bottom of an infernal pit you couldn’t climb out of, because that’s where you were right then. You were tired. You didn’t want to go through any of this. You weren’t even surprised, and that was what hurt the most. And even more so wouldn’t you be surprised if at any of those days he’d spent in that tower, they’d slept together.

“I don’t even know what I’m so upset about,” you sighed. “You don’t have to promise me anything, Dick. We’re not together. Stay there. Take as long as you like.”

You hung up on the phone.

You were done thinking.

You were done sulking.

You were done dwelling over those two boys and let them take so much control over you that barely could you even take control over yourself.

You fell asleep the moment your head hit the pillow.

You wouldn’t let the thoughts take over, at least, just for that night. There was no darkness, nor light.

There was just… nothing.

And for four whole weeks, it was just that.

Nothing.

-----

The world was kind enough to give you four weeks after that to prepare for what was possibly the worst fucking holiday there could possibly exist. And it wasn’t always so bad, not when at one point, you had a boyfriend who spoiled you with everything you could possibly wish for, and even after that, you woke up with a perfectly wrapped gift waiting for you at your doorstep full of art supplies. So not at all was Valentine’s day the absolute worse. Not always.

Just this year, you dreaded it. You woke up and already you wanted to sleep through the whole day if you could, which you did. If not for getting up to prepare yourself a lunch and eventually an early dinner, you managed to successfully sleep through the most horrific day of the year.

Eventually, it took its toll on you, because your head was throbbing by the time it was eight o’ clock that night.

When you heard the bell outside your door ring, you took it as an excuse to actually get up and at least be a human being for the day. You strapped on your leg and walked to the door. The bell rang again, and you screamed “Coming!”

Which you probably shouldn’t have done. You really were out of your own head that day, because there could only be two people outside waiting for you on Valentine’s day and neither of them you wanted to see possibly for the next few years.

Frozen, ever so slowly moving, you peeked through the eyehole.

Then that ice that froze you into the ground broke apart and you groaned when you saw it was just Jason with a shit-eating grin staring back at you at the peephole.

You opened the door.

“Happy Valentine’s day, pretty bird.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?”

You didn’t want to be mean or unwelcoming, but you couldn’t stop yourself from groaning and rolling your eyes all over the ceiling as you swung the door wide open. Jason, knowing exactly what went on, just snickered and took off his coat.

“You brought booze?”

“I brought booze.”

Two bottles. He held them up and that same shit-eating grin still hadn’t left his face. You shut the door behind you and went with him to the kitchen.

He opened one for you and you went through a quarter of the whole thing in one go.

“Woah, woah, slow down there.”

“You know what you got yourself into coming here on Valentine’s day. You come to mock me?”

He opened his own bottle and drank. “No. Maybe. But I thought it’d be better than being alone after four whole weeks of you practically disappearing from the face of the earth.”

“So I changed my number,” you shrugged. “You do it all the time.”

“Yeah, except Bruce doesn’t exactly want to pry on you like he does with me. And with Tim and Dick laying low, I thought I’d take one for the team.”

“Take one for the team?” You scoffed. “What are you, some goat they sacrificed?”

“Come on, don’t see it that way. We’re all worried about you.”

“If you wanted to know how I was, your whole family of vigilantes could just easily follow me around the whole of Gotham.”

“I know, but we wanted to know how you really were.”

You took a long, much needed swig, then something pulled you to the floor. You sat on the edge of your bed.

Then you slipped, your ass landing on the floor. You laid your back against the bed frame and sighed with the bottle of booze in your hand.

“Fine. I lied. No one sent me here. I just thought I’d come by today. I know how much this day probably took its toll on you.”

“Believe me, it did,” you drank some more. Jason walked over and sat right beside you on the floor. “I haven’t gotten out of bed until you came.”

Jason chortled. “I don’t blame you. I’m not exactly a fan of heart’s day, either.”

“Really?”

“Nah. Not one gift. Never sent anything to anyone.”

“Not even to Rose?”

Jason took a swig at that. “We spent Valentine’s massacring an entire ship’s worth of goons.”

“Romantic.”

“Better than some date serving this capitalist excuse to consume.”

“You’re too cynical for your own good.”

“And you’re not cynical when you probably should be.”

“I am,” you drank. “In a way.”

Your empty bottle was on the ground, and you looked up at the ceiling. You were there an hour, maybe more. Jason let himself get drunk as well and laid his elbows on the bed since he was tall enough.

“This probably isn’t what you want to talk about,” he burped. “But I’m assuming what happened with Tim and Dick wasn’t what you expected.”

“I hate them,” you growled. “God, I fucking hate them both.”

“Shit. How bad was it?”

“Those two assholes must have thought I was dead after how much I ignored their calls, texts, emails, everything.”

“It’s been four weeks. They probably found out by now that you’re… well… alive.”

“I can't believe their own kindness and selflessness brought this out. Tim wants nothing to do with me and Dick’s having the time of his life in California with his perfect would-have-been wife.”

“That bad, huh?”

Your bottle tipped over on the floor and you didn’t pick it up. “I hope you don’t hate me for wanting to murder both your brothers.”

“Don’t worry,” Jason laughed. “I’m not exactly far off from your loathing for those two nutjobs.”

You raised a brow. “Something happen?”

“They told on Bruce, and he practically disowned me that last time we went on patrol. I crossed the line, or whatever it is they like to call it. I haven’t seen them in weeks. Haven’t called them either. They say they want me on the family and they pull shit like that ‘cuz apparently the consequences will help.”

“Makes two of us.”

“Exactly why I’m here.”

He nudged your shoulder, and you were surprised you were still sober after all that when you didn’t exactly feel like throwing up just yet. You groaned, head against the mattress.

And with that, you turned over to face him, who had the same, exhausted look on his face. Eyes closed. Arms up on the bed. Really veiny looking arms that made his shirt pull up and tighten around his chest.

“You don’t have to choose, you know…”

“I know. But it doesn’t help how-“

“You want to choose.”

You wanted to drive that bottle down your throat at that question.

“I want to. I don’t want to. You know I can't answer that.”

“And they’re lucky you can’t.”

Your head against your sheets, you watched him face you in turn. He was so close to you right then. You could smell his breath. You could feel his breath. And it was there. That beauty. The one that understood so much about you that you hadn’t understood yourself.

“You don’t have to choose if you don’t want to…” he whispered. “Fuck them. You’ve been hurt too much. You don’t have to get hurt any more. Choose to not get hurt.”

Eyes on him, quietly lingering on every scar on his skin.

If there was one thing that separated Jason from his brothers, it was his scars. The ones that littered his face. They had the same hair. Same blue eyes.

But Jason had marks on his eyebrow, his cheek, his lips. And he was so beautiful because of those.

“You understand…” you breathed against his mouth.

Jason’s eyes were on yours, but you saw how they darted over to your lips.

“I understand hurting myself… for others…”

His arm, it found its way past your head. And you knew because you felt his fingers sneak onto your hair behind you. You bit your lip, turned your torso so you could face him better.

“I can't blame them…” He started playing with your hair. “If I was in love with you, I’d be as god-awfully stupid as they are, no doubt.”

That made you laugh. “Thank you, then. For not being in love with me.”

“You're welcome.”

Oh God, the way he said that. His low, breathy, husky voice. It made you fucking vibrate and your hair starting sticking out the back of your neck. And then, all you could see, all you could feel, was how close he was to you. He was the sexiest fucking thing you’ve ever seen. It might have been the booze, which you doubted. Because you felt so lightheaded and all the pain was just sitting there and all you wanted was just some kind of release.

Jason’s eyes, as obvious as they were, couldn’t keep darting down your shirt, as well. And you realized you weren’t even wearing a bra.

It made you stick your chest out even further, so you’d watch him watch you.

Booze breath against booze breath. Your lips met so sloppily and messily, and only for the shortest, briefest moment, because Jason was already making his way down your jaw, your neck, biting onto your skin.

There. The blur. That silent, ringing noise. Jason’s tongue lapped over the skin on your collar bone and everything that went on in your head for the past few months were just thrown out the window that very instant. His hands were on you. All over you.

And finally, the body you’ve lusted after for so many years¸ the body you’ve only gotten to see and drool over and fantasize on nights when you were lonely and all those days of wanting to touch every part, every ripple of his chest when you see him fresh from the gym. You practically ripped his shirt off and your hands couldn’t stop for a second ravishing every bit of his skin. And it was just as good as you’ve always longed and imagined.

Jason squeezed onto your hip, and with how he touched you, you thought maybe he’d felt the same. It hurt to pull away, but Jason was holding you, hoisting you up on the bed, then you were kneeling on the mattress, his hands on your waist just begging for you to be against him so close. You were there for so long, watching, touching, enjoying his body just as he did with yours. He held your face so gently and kissed you.

You held his arms, barely being able to hold them with how large they were compared to yours. And even with the light so dim, this orange, unintentionally beautiful dim, you took off your shirt. And for a second, just for a second, he watched how your breasts looked being held in his hands.

Everything was moving way too fast but you couldn’t have wanted it any other way. None of this needed a build-up, or a slow burning of a wick. Anything more, any longer and it would actually have to mean something, and with that, it brought hurt. It wasn’t a bomb that needed days just to explode. It just needed to happen, at least for just that moment.

You moaned, but he kissed you before you could cry out anything more. Lips first, then it didn’t take long for him to trail down to your nipples. Your arms were around his neck and you pulled him back up, kissing him because you just needed it. This sweet, all too sweet release.

“Wait…” Jason whispered. He held your wrists, but he didn’t pull them away. He looked at you and his forehead was all creased up.

“This your first time?”

You nodded, swallowed, then hoped it wouldn’t drive him away.

“Are you sure you want this?”

You kissed him in response.

Then he pushed you onto bed.

------

A/N: WHERE MY TEAM JAY BABIES AT

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

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livesincerely · 3 years

Text

inevitability

Part 5 of the Domestic AU (found here)

Also on Ao3

00000

“So, when are you gonna get married?” Tony asks apropos of nothing, looking between him and Davey with keen interest.

Jack barely manages to keep from choking on his cereal. Davey, who’d been in the middle of spreading a bit of lox on a bagel, slowly sets down his knife.

Charlie aims a kick at Tony under the table.

“You’re asking them now?” he hisses. “I thought we were gonna ease them into the idea!”

“There is no easing them into the idea when it comes to Jack and Davey,” Tony says, his expression tight with the exasperation of the long suffering. “You gotta give it to ‘em straight, right from the get go, ‘cause they’ll never figure it out on their own.”

“Hey,” Jack says weakly, but he doesn’t have a leg to stand on and they all know it.

“So, I’m asking,” Tony determinedly continues as if Jack hadn’t said anything. “When are you gettin’ married?”

There’s a long pause where he and Davey just stare at each other, neither of them quite sure how to respond.

He gets this from you, Davey’s expression says, clear as day.

I know he does, Jack says with a commiserating look, holding back a sigh.

“Well?” Tony demands when the silence stretches on for too long.

“It’s a little soon to be thinking about marriage,” Davey eventually says, far more delicately than Jack would’ve managed. “We haven’t talked about it at all yet⁠—”

“Because we only just got together yesterday, Tony,” Jack dryly interjects. “In case you forgot about that little detail.”

“—And we should probably start with the question of if we want to get married before we jump to the when,” Davey concludes.

Tony’s nose scrunches up, obviously dissatisfied with this answer.

“Of course you’re gonna get married,” he says, as if this is plainly obvious. “You’re basically married already, I just wanna know when the wedding’s gonna be.”

“Um.” Davey’s gone faintly pink. “Well, like I said, Jack and I haven’t talked about anything like that yet. We’re comfortable the way we are now, no need to rush into anything⁠—”

“And since we literally only just got together yesterday,” Jack says again, a little more emphatically, just to make sure the point lands, “getting married right off the bat would be all kinds of crazy.”

Tony levels him with the flattest look in all of existence. “You’re crazy if you think you haven’t already been married to Davey for years.”

Jack’s voice catches in his throat, a little blindsided by the frank truth of that statement. Davey’s mouth opens and closes, the rosy flush of his cheeks shading a touch deeper.

“We’re not thinking about gettin’ married just yet,” Jack says once he’s steadied himself, in a tone that brooks no further arguments. “Dave and I will talk about it when the time comes, if⁠,” he stresses clearly, “we decide that’s what we want.”

“But what, exactly, is holding you back?” Tony asks, stubbornly brooking further arguments anyway. “Like, do you have any actual reasons?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s none of your business,” Jack snipes back. “Given that that’ll be a conversation between me and Davey.”

“I just don’t understand what the big deal is,” Tony says, crossing his arms across his chest. “Pretty much nothing would change, except that the next time someone assumes that you two are married, they’d actually be right instead of simply noticing what was so obvious that even complete strangers clue in to it⁠—”

“Tony,” Jack groans.

“—coming to the perfectly reasonable conclusion that you’re together⁠—”

“Tony, that’s enough, we get it,” Jack says.

“—instead of the inexplicable reality of the situation which was that you were, in fact, not together, despite being in love with each other for eight entire years because you’re idiots⁠—”

Jack covers his face with his hands.

“—and given that, like, every aspect of your lives are already tangled together, it’s not really that big of a step for you to just go ahead and make it official.”

Jack sighs so hard he feels it in his bones. “If we promise to talk about this, will you please stop talking about it?”

“Eight years, Jack!” Tony cries, impassioned. “That’s half of my life! That’s more than half of Charlie’s life!”

“Do not bring me into this,” Charlie quickly interjects, “I am a passive witness and nothing more.”

“You’re such a fucking turncoat, Choo-Choo,” Tony mutters with no real heat. “You’re supposed to have my back on this.”

“Maybe if you could ever actually stick to a plan,” Charlie grumbles back.

“We will talk about it,” Jack says loudly, interrupting their bickering before it can gain any ground. “Okay?”

There’s a moment of blessed silence.

Then Tony says, “So, like, right now? Or…?”

“Sure!” Jack says, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Why not? Clearly, I’m not gonna get any fucking peace until this is sorted—

“Finally!” Tony exclaims. “God, was that so hard?”

“—So go away,” Jack finishes.

Tony’s mouth falls open.

“What do you mean, go away?” he protests, looking genuinely shocked. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why? I’m not gonna let you sit here and fucking… moderate our conversation, dumbass,” Jack sputters. “Get out!”

“But I really feel like this is the kind of conversation that needs moderating,” Tony disagrees. “It’s not like either of you have a great track record for effective communication⁠—”

“Anthony Ethan Higgins,” Jack warns, nearly at the end of his rope.

Tony rolls his eyes so hard his whole body moves with the motion. “I am literally just trying to help, you don’t gotta get all defensive about it⁠—”

“Jesus Christ, Tony,” Jack says, completely and utterly done. “Will you please just⁠— Just go somewhere that isn’t here.”

“But are you gonna talk about it?” Tony insists, really digging in his heels. “Because if you’re just gonna not talk about it the second I leave then I think I should⁠—”

“Tonio, juro por Dios—”

“Tony, honey,” Davey finally steps back into the fray, far calmer than he has any right to be, and somehow, miraculously, Tony’s mulish expression softens into something a little chagrined. Jack gapes, wrong-footed by the sudden change. “I think you’ve made your point and given Jack more than enough heart attacks for one morning, yeah? So why don’t you go ahead and give us a few minutes, and I promise we’ll talk about it.”

Tony deflates. “Yeah, okay.”

“Thank you, baby.”

Tony shuffles away, mollified for now. Davey pauses, then says, “Charlie, that means you too.”

“But I didn’t do anything!” Charlie protests. “I’m just sittin’ here, tryin’ to eat.”

He takes an exaggerated bite of his bagel as if to prove his point, eyes extra wide and innocent.

“Charlie.”

“But my food!”

“Take it with you,” Davey suggests, very patiently.

Charlie looks as though that thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“Okay,” he says, scooping up his plate and scurrying after his brother. He hesitates in the doorway, then adds, “My vote is for an autumn wedding, if that counts for anything.”

“Charlie.”

“Going!”

Once he’s sure they’re both gone, Jack heaves another massive sigh.

“They’re such a pair of little shits,” he says, to Davey and the world at large. “Fucking hell.”

Davey takes a drink of his coffee, holding out his other hand to Jack in offering. Jack reaches over and laces their fingers together, most of his irritation slipping away in an instant at the simple contact.

“But he is right, you know,” Davey comments.

“I know he’s right,” Jack grumbles, rubbing his thumb gently over Davey’s knuckles. “Don’t mean he ain’t a little shit.”

“Well, naturally,” Davey agrees. “He was raised by you.”

“Oh, please,” Jack says with a snort. “That little spiel of his was all you. ‘The inexplicable reality of the situation,’' he echoes, shaking his head. “It was like hearin’ your voice comin’ outta Tony’s mouth.”

“And it was a well thought-out argument,” Davey says pertly, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a wry little grin. “His timing could use some work, though.”

“Ain’t that the fucking truth,” Jack says, huffing out a breath. “Didn’t even let us finish eating before he pounced.”

“It has been eight years,” Davey says, and he’s definitely holding back a laugh. “Guess he’s afraid of a repeat performance.”

“Well....” Jack trails off with a shrug, because that part’s hard to argue with. More than half of Charlie’s life, Jesus. “Yeah, but he was talkin’ like he expected us to walk down the aisle this afternoon. I mean, we can’t just get married. You don’t just get married.”

“Most people don’t,” Davey says, tilting his head. “But then, we aren’t really most people, are we, darling?”

It takes a moment for this statement to really register for Jack⁠, and when it finally does, it lands with an earth shattering boom.

“Are you sayin’ you’d marry me?” Jack asks, utterly floored, heart pounding an unsteady rhythm in his chest.

“Are you asking me?” Davey asks, calmly sipping his coffee like he isn’t rocking Jack’s world, right here over breakfast, for the second time in not even two days.

“You want to marry me?”

This makes Davey pause.

“Why wouldn’t I want to marry you?” he asks, a confused little furrow forming between his brows.

“Stop answerin’ all of my questions with questions,” Jack demands, a wealth of feelings bubbling furiously in his chest. “Just— You’re serious? Like, you’d really just— Just like that?”

Davey looks at him, his eyes bright blue and utterly sincere.

“Just like that,” he softly agrees. “If you asked.”

“Well, I’m not askin’,” Jack snaps. His face colors immediately: “No, I didn’t mean it like— It’s just, I don’t want to seem, I don’t want’cha ta think—“

Davey reaches up and gently presses two fingers to Jack’s lips, and Jack’s sputtering slows to a halt.

“Breathe, darling,” Davey says, and the tightness in Jack’s throat eases in the face of Davey’s warm, steady gaze. “What’s got you so worked up about this? I get that it wasn’t what we were expecting to have to talk about this morning, but you seem… upset.”

“I’m not upset,” Jack says.

Davey keeps looking at him.

“...Maybe I’m freaking out a little bit,” Jack allows.

“Talk to me,” Davey prompts, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. “What’s wrong?”

Jack licks his lips, then blurts, “You know that I’m, like, wholly and unshakably in love with you, right?”

Davey blushes, a dash of red pooling high in his cheeks and cutting across the bridge of his nose, his fingers curling even tighter around Jack’s own.

“Perhaps not in those exact words,” Davey murmurs, smiling as he stares down at their joined hands. Even his ears have turned red⁠—it’s kind of wonderful. “But I had something of an inkling, yes.”

“And you know that if it was just about commitment, if it was just about wanting to, I’d marry you in a heartbeat,” Jack continues. “We could go down to the courthouse today, if it was just that. I’ve been ready for you⁠—for us⁠—for years, sweetheart. I love you. You get that, don’tcha?”

Now it’s Davey’s turn to go speechless.

“Oh,” he says. “I… that’s…”

“But it’s not just about wanting to,” Jack says. “It’s not about being ready.”

“Then what’s it about, Jackie?”

“It’s about makin’ sure we do this right,” Jack explains. “‘Bout makin’ sure I do this right.”

Davey’s eyes sweep over his face, searching, then his expression turns tender.

“Jack,” he says, his voice full of affection. “You don’t have anything you need to prove to me. Not a single thing.”

“But I do, cielito,” Jack disagrees. “I need you to know that I don’t take you for granted. That you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. That I’d do anything and everything for you. That I love you.”

He lifts Davey hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of it.

“When I propose to you, and I am gonna propose to you one day,” Jack says, intently, holding Davey’s gaze, “It’s gonna be special. It’s gonna be sappy. I’m gonna make sure you understand how absolutely, stupidly in love with you I am. I’m going to sweep you off your fucking feet, because you deserve that, Dave. You deserve all of that and more.”

“Jack,” Davey breathes. “Jackie.”

“So I’m not askin’,” Jack finishes. “Not yet. Not today.”

Davey’s smile is a beautiful thing.

“But one day,” he says, leaning in to press their foreheads together,

“One day,” Jack confirms, and he seals the promise with a gentle kiss. “One day.”

00000

Tag List: @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @corbinthecowboy @stroopwafeldetective @amillionandonefandoms

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #racetrack higgins #crutchie morris #the domestic au #*editor's note #*the writing desk #*final cut #thank you for your patience!#💕💕💕😊

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lsk3nn3dys · 3 years

Text

𝐏𝐎𝐕: 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐨’𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏𝟎) (𝐊𝐞𝐢 𝐓𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

Also on AO3

Summary: You’re a second-year and Karasuno’s female manager. Before Nationals, all the volleyball teams come together for a training camp at Aoba Johsai. Almost all the volleyball boys take a liking to you—even the boys on the Karasuno team.

Word Count: 2.9k

You have been trying to befriend Tsukishima all year. He never seemed to budge, though, and instead would give you sass anytime you tried to talk to him. Eventually, you’d had enough of all it. You did try, but you were very unsuccessful. However, a part of you still wanted to be close to him. He’s such a mysterious guy, and you wanted to know more about him, even if it’s just a little.

You’d befriended Yamaguchi to try to help with your mission to befriend Tsukishima. You would even say Yamaguchi is your best friend on the team. He loves telling you all about Tsukishima. So, whether Tsukishima likes it or not, you know a lot about him already.

“Did you know that his favorite food is strawberry shortcake?” Yamaguchi says while you walk with him to the gym. Everyone had just finished their lunches and were going to be playing in some matches.

“Is it? I don’t think I’ve ever had strawberry shortcake,” you say, thinking about the dessert. Yamaguchi gasps.

“Really? They’re super good. Tsukki’s the one who convinced me to eat some and after I ate some myself I knew it was true,” Yamaguchi says, pointing to the sky in his matter-of-fact way.

“I’ll have to try one sometime,” you say.

“Yeah, there’s a really good café that sells them near our school. I can take you there, and I’ll make sure to bring Tsukki too,” he says, giving you a big smile.

“You think he’ll want to come?” you ask.

“Yeah, he’d love to go,” Yamaguchi says.

“Oh, I’m guessing you won’t tell him I’d be going,” you say. Yamaguchi looks at you, confused.

“No, he’d know,” Yamaguchi says. At this point, you guys reach the gym and are taking off your outdoor shoes and putting on your gym shoes.

“He would?” you ask. Yamaguchi nods his head.

“Yeah, that would be like the whole reason he’d—” Yamaguchi gets cut off by someone shouting his name. Hinata runs over to the two of you, so you assume he was the one shouting.

“Yamaguchi, hurry, okay? We gotta go up against Shiratorizawa today,” Hinata says. Yamaguchi gives you a nervous look before turning to Hinata.

“Okay,” Yamaguchi says and shuffles into his gym shoes; you follow quickly after. You catch him right before the practice starts.

“Hey. Yamaguchi, what were you about to say before your name was called?” you ask, pulling on his shirt sleeve. Yamaguchi suddenly gets really pink in the face and looks at the floor.

“Uh, nothing. We’ll…uh…talk about it later,” he says before running off to the other players. You just stand there trying to figure out what just happened.

The boys do their stretches and their warm-up while you help Kiyoko and Yachi with the manager stuff.

“I heard from Hinata that Shiratorizawa is much tougher this time around,” Yachi says, helping you set up chairs for the coaches.

“Really?” you say.

“Yeah, I guess ever since we beat them, they’ve been training pretty much non-stop,” Yachi says. You both look at each other nervously. Oh, dear, you think.

After the warm-up, the team finishes up and begins getting ready for the game. Shiratorizawa approaches the courts themselves, but they don’t warm up. According to Kiyoko, they warmed up in another gym of theirs. So, instead, everyone waits for the coaches, who are chatting about the game.

“So, Mr. Vanilla, I can’t wait to see your ‘blocks,’” Tendou says to Tsukishima and uses air quotes. Tsukishima looks at him dead in the eyes with his straight face.

“I can’t wait to see you screw up yours,” Tsukishima says and walks off, leaving Tendou buggy eyed with his jaw on the floor. Man, Tsukishima has a comeback for everything, you think. I wish I could be able to do that.

After a few minutes more, the practice match finally begins, with you on a bench with the coaches and other managers and Tsukishima waiting with the other players. He, Hinata, and Nishinoya all switch positions, but Hinata is always in the starting line-up. You look at Tsukishima, and he doesn’t seem to care one way or another.

When Tsukishima is subbed in, he ignores Tendou’s mocking words. Though at one point, you see Tsukishima give Tendou his signature condescending smirk. You and Tendou are surprised by it. That smirk meant something different for you than it did for Tendou.

You see the serve go up, and Nishinoya receives it, and it is sent to Kageyama. Kageyama sets it for Tanaka, who spikes, but it gets blocked by Tendou. So, Daichi saves the ball just in time, and it goes to Shirabu. He sets it for Ushijima and you, and the others are on edge when Ushijima hits the ball. However, there’s a pair of hands that block the spike and send the ball on the ground on Shiratorizawa’s side. It’s the blond bean pole, Tsukishima. When Ushijima and Tsukishima land on the floor again, they death stare at one another before Tsukishima is tackled by his teammates cheers.

“Wow, that was such a great block, Tsukishima,” Coach shouts in absolute glee while Takeda is giving his metaphorical words of encouragement. Tsukishima still acts unbothered by the cheers. He eventually catches your gaze, but you blush and look away from him. You turn back to Yachi and Kiyoko.

“That was such a good block,” you say to them. They both nod.

“That’s a kill block, right? Because he shut the spike out?” Yachi asks, consulting Kiyoko’s notes. You and Kiyoko giggle before nodding.

“You’re learning quickly, kiddo,” you say and pat Yachi’s shoulder. “Way faster than me, that’s for sure.”

“I remember back when you thought for four months that the libero is supposed to serve, but choose not to,” Kiyoko says while laughing.

“Hey, it’s an honest mistake,” you say, trying to defend yourself. They both laugh, and you can’t help but laugh too.

When you turn back to the game, Tsukishima switches positions with Nishinoya and is back on the bench. You see him talking to Yamaguchi, and they’re both looking your way. So, you wave at them on instinct. Tsukishima ignores you while Yamaguchi waves back. Unlike Tanaka, Nishinoya, and Yamamoto, you didn’t like being ignored.

The game goes on, and every time Tsukishima goes in for the game, he plays with more enthusiasm. His blocks and spikes are all on point. It surprises you. Every time the team cheers for him, he always manages to catch you staring at him. Every single time.

Something motivates him to actually try his best, but you have no idea what it could be. All you can really do is wonder.

After winning the game, everyone takes a short break before the next match. So, you grab two water bottles and walk over to the team.

“Wow, Tsukishima, your blocks were looking really good this time,” you say, handing him a water bottle and handing the other to Yamaguchi. He gives you a click of his tongue.

“Yeah! Tsukki, you were amazing,” Yamaguchi says, trying to hype him up. Tsukishima just drinks his water bottle while you guys still try to compliment him. Eventually, you stop trying to say anything to him.

“Yamaguchi, do you think you’ll do the jump float serve?” you turn to Yamaguchi instead. He shrugs.

“It really depends on how Coach feels,” he says. “But I want to.” He starts to get excited.

“I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you then,” you say. Yamaguchi gives you a big smile and thanks you.

“I can’t wait for the game to be over, honestly,” Tsukishima says. You and Yamaguchi look at him, but his face is still expressionless.

“What?!? How can you say that Tsukki? Aren’t you having fun? Your blocks are so good today,” Yamaguchi says. “You must be having a little fun, right? Or is it because—” Yamaguchi stops himself when he realizes what he’s going to say.

“Because what?” you ask, looking between the two.

“Nothing, Yamaguchi is just confused,” Tsukishima says to Yamaguchi. Yamaguchi’s teeth begin chattering, and you can see his sweat.

“Uh, yeah. I’m sorry, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says and gives you his water bottle. Yamaguchi can’t take the stress and goes off to talk to Hinata and Yachi. Why is no one telling me anything? You think to yourself. You look back to Tsukishima, who is actually staring at you. You notice and blush, but he just turns around and walks away from you.

“Everything alright?” Kiyoko asks while coming up next to you. You turn to see her concern.

“Y-yeah, everything’s fine,” you say. She pats your shoulder while giving you a small smile. You guys go back to the bench and wait for the next game. “Who’s our next opponent?”

“Inarizaki,” she says, consulting her notes.

“Oh, I heard from Mai that they’re tough,” you say. She nods.

“I heard that too,” Kiyoko says.

Just then, the boys from Inarizaki walk into the gym. They’re tall and scary. The game starts, and their setter, Atsumu, has the first killer serve. Daichi receives the serve and sends it back over. The ball is set to their ace, Ojiro, who gets past Asahi and Tsukishima. As soon as the ball hits the ground and Tsukishima’s feet hit the floor, for a split-second, Tsukishima’s face drops into a scowl. He seems really pissed off but only for that second.

The game continues on, and you notice that Inarizaki’s middle blocker is trying to bait Tsukishima. You can tell that it’s a battle of the deadpan boys. You find it a bit amusing, but their rivalry is much more intense for Tsukishima and Suna. Just to annoy Suna, Tsukishima feints his spike causing Suna to give Tsukishima a bit of a reaction. Even though there were probably far more exciting plays happening, you only watch Tsukishima. His typical not-care attitude is completely changed. He’s giving this his all.

The match ends with a win for Karasuno, but just barely. After the game, everyone gets ready for dinner and heads to the dining hall. You, Yachi, Kiyoko all walk together.

“So, how’s trying to befriend Tsukishima going?” Yachi asks. You start to slump.

“Not good. I’m starting to think he hates me or something,” you say.

“I’m sure it’s not like that,” Yachi says, patting your shoulder.

“Yeah, no, I think it is,” you say. You guys get your dinners and sit with the other managers discussing your day. You talk about the crazy matches with Shiratorizawa and Inarizaki. You even gush about Tsukishima’s skills.

“You sure talk your tall guy a lot,” Hana says.

“Yeah, it’s almost as if you like him,” Kaori says, and everyone gives you a suggestive look. Your face becomes as red as a tomato.

“N-no, he’s just a really good player, that’s all,” you say.

“Yeah, sure, we totally believe you,” Yukie says, and you give her a look.

After dinner, you wanted some quiet time to yourself, so you bundle up for the cold and grab your phone and earphones. You told everyone you were going out, and you figure you’ll walk around Seijoh’s big campus and then return. You turn on your playlist and put your earphones in. You start walking down the path, passing by the gyms. The whole path is lit by streetlights so you wouldn’t get lost. At the front of the library, there’s a bench, and someone’s sitting on it. You squint your eyes and see its blond hair with white headphones. It’s Tsukishima! Would it okay if I approach him? Should I just pass him and ignore him? He wouldn’t talk to me, anyway, you think. However, your thoughts distract you so much that you walk right in front of him. You look at him, and he seems super annoyed at you.

“Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” you say about to leave. He takes off his headphones.

“What did you say?” he asks. Crap, he didn’t even hear me, so I could’ve just walked past him, you think.

“I-I was saying sorry for disturbing you, but now I see that I just did by having you take off your headphones to hear me, so I obviously didn’t think it through enough. I’m really sorry for bothering you,” you ramble.

“You weren’t bothering me,” he says. You heavily sigh. Before you know it, you’re sitting next to him on the bench, trying to calm your nerves. “What’re you doing?”

“S-sorry, I just kinda sat down without thinking,” you say. You take off your own earphones.

“Right,” he says, unconvinced. He grabs one of your earphones. “What’re you listening to?”

“Oh, just my playlist,” you say, and grab your phone and show him your playlist. He puts one earphone in and laughs.

“This is the kinda music you like?” he asks, giving you his devilish smirk. You become red like Nekoma’s jerseys.

“Y-yeah, I-I like it,” you say.

“Okay, well, I guess you may have some decent music if I listen long enough,” he says. You narrow your eyes at him while still all red. He laughs again and then hands his headphones to you. This time he’s giving you his deadpan stare. “You can listen to mine if you want.” You stare at him for a minute before taking the headphones. You put them on and listen to his playlist. The playlist is soft and not like him at all. You lay your head on the back of the bench and close your eyes. You see nothing but the back of your eyelids and fall asleep.

You wake up sometime later and notice the path in front of you. You try to remember where you were and see a jacket draped over your body. The coat has a crescent moon on the hood. You didn’t own any kind of jacket like that. Then you hear soft music playing directly into your ears. It’s not your music, though, nor is it your earphones producing the noise. The music is only heard in your right ear and not your left, so you hear the sounds of the night in one ear. The headphones slipped off a bit because you are resting your head on something. You shift a bit and see Tsukishima’s hands resting on his lap. You know it’s him because he’s holding his dark glasses in his hands. You’re sitting on a bench with Tsukishima, listening to his music through his headphones while also resting your head on his shoulder.

“You know, it’s funny,” he suddenly says. You almost jump from the sound of his voice. “I would never tell you this, but…the reason I try so hard in volleyball is…because you’re there.” Your eyes are now super wide. Luckily, he doesn’t see that you’re awake. “Yamaguchi almost told you everything. He’s been telling me that I should talk to you about how I feel.” He chuckles after saying it. You couldn’t believe what you are hearing. Since when did Tsukishima feel this way, and why isn’t he being honest with you. Well, technically, he IS being honest with you, but you want to hear it when he knows you’re awake.

“Tsukki?” you say. You can feel him tense up as you sit up to look at him. He looks at you and takes out your earphones. You put his headphones on your neck. “Um, is that all true?” His eyes are wide, and his jaw is wide open. He awkwardly puts his glasses back on and returns to his Tsukishima self. You grab at his arm that’s closest to you. “Is it?” He looks away from you.

“What if it is?” he says.

“Why didn’t you just tell me from the beginning?” you ask, trying to understand. He sighs before turning back to you.

“I thought you were too good for me,” he says quietly. You say nothing for a second because of shock.

“Y-you think that you’re too good for me?” you say.

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” he says simply.

“Are you kidding? I always thought you were too cool for me,” you admit. “I’ve always admired you, and I wanted to be your friend because I thought you were so amazing.” He turns to face you now.

“I’m sorry I acted so coldly towards you,” he says and starts fidgeting with his fingers.

“Why did you?” you ask.

“I was jealous,” he says.

“Jealous?” you ask, confused.

“You and Yamaguchi are so close, so I was jealous,” he says. You couldn’t but giggle. “W-what’s so funny?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at you a bit.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I kinda became Yamaguchi’s friend to get close to you,” you admit. He looks super surprised again.

“You did it because of me?” he asks.

“Yeah, I did,” you say and feel your cheeks get warm. He gives you a handsome smile. It’s sincere and sweet.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for putting in so much effort for me.”

“Of course,” you say.

“I’m going to return the favor,” he says. You look at him, confused.

“Return the favor?” you ask. He gives you a deadpan look again.

“Yes, Y/N. I mean, I am gonna put in the effort to get to know you better,” he says. You gasp in delight and pull him into a hug. At first, he is surprised but hugs you back. He gives you the best hug you’ve ever received. You honestly didn’t think he had it in him. You pull away after a bit before talking.

“I’m free tomorrow if you wanna skip lunch or something,” you say.

“Sounds good to me, I guess,” he says.

ਏਓ

#haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #kei tsukishima #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x you #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x y/n

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roublardise · 3 years

Text

my "Crowley isn't attracted to women" take

for @spnprideweek - day 2 - mlm

cw: dicussion of homophobia & transphobia all in all I wanted to highlight how canon gay Crowley is bc I love him 💕 thank u spn for Crowley even tho he deserved better

in the last weeks I've realized there's a huuge consensus in the fandom for pansexual Crowley. if you're pan or not and wanna hc Crowley as pan, power to you! but what's bothering me is the non-discussion of it all. the way it seems obvious for everyone. whereas, to me, Crowley has been canonically gay all this time.....

disclaimer: I'm aware Mark Sheppard alledgely said he saw Crowley as pansexual, however I can't even take these words for canon without context. Especially not when a year later he'd say Crowley's sexuality didn't matter. The way Mark Sheppard talks about characters' sexuality is more a "why are people making a big deal let them be" than "the character doesn't care." Moreover, actors pov can't be taken as canon imo. Jensen Ackles thought Dean straight for so long when Dean's been bi all this time as well. Sometimes actors are biased by their own experiences & stereotypes!

disclaimer #2: on god I don't wanna start discourse lmao. I just wanna share my silly thoughts about a tv show & question the way Crowley's sexuality is written in this silly homophobic tv show. don't @ me about what's making you think Crowley is indisputably pansexual bc I assure you I already know your points

That being said, here's why I think Crowley is a bear, a gay man, a trans gay man actually, a homosexual, who isn't attracted to women & some food for thoughts about why the unquestioned consensus towards pan Crowley could have roots in both homophobia & panphobia.

I don't think we can think of Crowley as your usual demon. We know too much about Crowley's life as a human, and the numerous ways in which he acts un-demony, almost humanly after. Considering him simply like a demon with no concept of gender preference who would be pan “by default” wouldn’t be right with his character. But we also can't question his sexuality in the exact same way we would a human's.

It also can't be thought in the same way as angels': as once-humans demons do have a concept of gender. Crowley especially cares a lot about his gender presentation and the way he's addressed. Not only does he literally sell his soul for a bigger d*ck as a human ; as a demon he uses the same vessel where other demons are shown to move once they had to leave one ; and for the few hours Crowley's possessing a woman, he clearly states he should still be referred to as king.

This will all be used for homophobic & transphobic jokes in the show, but I'll get back to that later on. Gender does matter to Crowley's identity, and I think it could be extended to his sexuality.

I've seen numerous descriptions of it all saying Crowley's sexuality was "ambiguous" and I guess it is, as he never explicitly used any label. However "ambiguous" doesn't mean bi or pan. It doesn't mean anything besides the fact we can't draw a clear-cut conclusion of his sexuality.

Imo we can actually draw a clear-cut conclusion of Crowley's sexuality but yeh, I'm getting there.

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Let's take a look at canon events around Crowley & sexuality!

His character introduction is him enjoying making a homophobe man kiss him for a deal

It is rumoured that he was a demon's lover (Lilith's)

He heavily flirts with Bobby

He french kisses Bobby for a deal and takes a pic

He never kisses a woman on screen (tell me if I forgot anyone!)

He flirts with every single man he sees, and even more strongly when it's making the other uncomfortable

The other parent of Crowley's son is never mentioned nor even brought up

He has two orgies that we know of

He has sex with a demon who's possessing a woman (Lola) when he was addicted to human blood

He dates, has sex with, and asks Dean to rule Hell with him. He's in love with Dean

On late spn he drinks fruity drinks

He flirts with and implies he had sex with an angel (Naomi)

He flirts with Death (Billie)

He's into BDSM

I'm not gonna go into details with all the sexual stuff he says bc there's a lot.... But it's always about gay sex. (once again, if I'm forgetting smth pls tell me nicely)

Now, with all that I'd like to question specifically the elements people use to say Crowley is canonically attracted to women.

He has two orgies that we know of

There’s the one Crowley has while he’s himself possessing a woman ; iirc it’s a foursome with two other men and one woman. Crowley still counts as a King, as the show makes sure we know, admitedly this dialogue implies we should still think of him as a not-very-manly-man.

Honestly, if one is convinced Crowley is attracted to women based on this scene.. okay. Personally I don’t see it because the orgy is unplanned, it’s an opportunity Crowley takes. Is he even attracted to the two other men?? Who knows. We don’t even know if Crowley even touches the other woman, there’re so many ways to have group sex. Even if he did, having sex with one woman doesn’t make it impossible for him to be homosexual.

The second orgy is with Dean. Crowley describes it then: “We've done extraordinary things to triplets.” It’s interesting how before I went to check, I thought it was clear the triplets were women. But not at all! I’ve been tricked by heteronormativity myself. So this is up to interpretation. Even though the way the show doesn’t make sure we know the triplets were women is pretty telling (as I’ll talk about later).

It is rumoured that he was Lilith's lover

Well, this is a rumour. In this relationship Crowley would know Lilith as a demon possessing a woman, and Lilith would know Crowley as a demon possessing a man as well. Who's even to say they met in their vessels to sleep together. That's the kind of cases in which the ambiguity of Crowley human/demon situation makes it impossible to draw any kind of conclusion towards Crowley's attraction to women. Also if anything Lilith is clearly a lesbian lmao.

He has sex with Lola when he was addicted to human blood

Same thing here, the relationship is one of demon/demon. Though we do now they do meet in their vessels to sleep together. Besides that, the sex happens while Crowley is at a low point. She's the one bringing him human blood, which makes the sex more of a transaction than anything. It does fit a very grey area of consent which would be fair to question.

We can't know for sure whether the demon possessing the woman was a woman as well, but let's say she was: 1/ Crowley having sex once or twice with a woman doesn't prevent him from being homosexual. 2/ What is he seeing if not a demon's true form? 3/ Wasn't he in a self-destructive mental state?

It's a stretch, imo, to assume Crowley was attracted to her.

He flirts with and had sex with Naomi / flirts with Billie

This one is so ridiculous to me bc Naomi is an angel and as a demon, Crowley sees her true form. We don't even know who was her vessel when they had sex.

The flirt thing is interesting however, bc iirc Naomi and Billie are the only "women" we see Crowley actually flirt with. During the orgies or the demon sex there's no flirt involved. It's interesting bc, as Cas would say: "Naomi's vessel is a woman. Naomi is an angel."

Same case for Billie who's a reaper then Death. Spn is pretty unclear about how the whole thing works but we know reapers are kind of angels. In any case, I won't go as far as saying Billie has any connection to gender.

Moreover, the way Crowley flirts with them is pretty light next to everything else Crowley says to men. It's pretty personal, I'm aware, but I do relate a lot with the way Crowley flirts with them VS how I flirt with men just because (and I'm a lesbian).

Anyway! Both Naomi and Billie are supernatural creatures, which brings the count of women Crowley flirts with to... zero.

-> What I take from all that is that Crowley is attracted to men for sure ; to angels and demons ; and doesn't care about the genitalia involved in the sex he has. We have nothing about the kind of relationships he had as a human. His gender presentation matters a lot to him. The only long-term commitment he has is with Dean. I wouldn't even say he had a committed relationship with Gavin's other parent bc we don't know anything about them.

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But what's my deal with homosexual Crowley? One can wonder, if Crowley doesn't care about bodies, doesn't that mean he can still be written as pan?

No! First because sexual attraction isn't about genitalia (even if transphobes would argue the contrary but they're transphobic so...). And second, well....

I would refer to this point as "how do I know Crowley isn't attracted to women? bc Dean is"

I'm convinced that if the show wanted to write Crowley as anything other than a gay man, it would have been way more obvious.

This is a show who wrote Dean catcalling a faceless woman on the street, for no other reason than to remind the viewers Dean was attracted to women & to balance it with the following homoerotic scene.

One could say spn doesn't have lots of women characters to begin with, but that's my point exactly: when spn wants to show attraction towards women, they do find women for people to be attracted to. Hell, they even give Gavin some girlfriend but never ever bring up the topic of Gavin's other parent. Even though an entire episode is dedicated to learning about Crowley's past.

What's important to understand Crowley's sexuality isn't the people he slept with ; it's the people he doesn't show interest in.

The absence of something is the presence of the thing, blablabla. It's a way to look at homosexuality that heteronormativity makes hard to see because, unconciously, we don't tend to question attraction towards the expected gender. One would ask for a 10 pages essay on why a character is gay, but one would need only a 2 sec kiss to assure a character's heterosexuality or attraction towards the expected gender.

----------------

In Crowley's case, his attraction to men is a huge part of his character right from the beginning (thanks god, at least no one's questioning that). Spn as a show that hears what the fans are saying and twists writing accordingly, is perfectly aware of that. Yet rather than pushing women at him along the course of the show to remind everyone how Not Gay Crowley is - the opposite happens.

Yeh, Lola, Naomi, Billie, they all happen in the later seasons. But even then, the show somehow can't write Crowley as attracted to a human woman.

What happens then is: not only does Crowley fall for Dean ; he engages in some BDSM play with Lucifer : and he switches from drinking only the finest Scotch to fruity cocktails.

The BDSM thing as well as the drink thing are choices rooted in stereotypes, that's how spn is! But it does canonize Crowley's homosexuality. They're depriving him of his "masculinity" as the show goes on, because they purposely write him as homosexual. I don't think spn would have ever written a bi or pan character that way.

We learned a few days ago that Crowley died in a gutter. He died in a gutter for a bigger d*ck. I'm just gonna refer to Oscar Wilde & Mika on this : "some of us in the gutter are looking up at the stars."

The "referred to as king" scene isn't about Crowley being a demon and so not caring about gender - it's the opposite. Other demons are the ones poiting out Crowley's vessel. This is a transphobic joke. It's the demon edition of the "gay boy in a dress" transmisogynistic trope.

Viewers aren't supposed to be on Crowley's side ; we're supposed to be giggling with the other demons while Crowley is being emasculated. Crowley gets a woman vessel because he's a not-very-manly-man, because he's a trans man, because he's homosexual.

And I know that bc Dean is written as bi, and all they're doing is reaffirming the way he does like women while being extra subtle with his love for men.

Meanwhile Crowley is losing influence and power, loses his authority as he loses his throne in Hell, gets humiliated by Lucifer, until all his character revolves around is his love for Dean. The way Crowley is then protrayed as some lovesick ex who can't move on is, imo, a straight man fantasy. Crowley's love is both used as predatory and as a tool to validate Dean's Peak Masculinity.

Spn has been burying their gays all along, and Crowley was right there being punished for not only being in love with Dean but for not being attracted to women. For never being able to be a "normal" guy. For never being able to be seen as a "normal" guy. For checking every homophobic stereotypes in the books. Crowley as a human dies because he's a trans man. Crowley as a demon dies because he's homosexual.

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That's what leads me to be uncomfortable with the way the fandom seems to have a consensus towards pansexual Crowley. (Once again: idc about people's personal hc of Crowley as pan, I just want to think critically about the way no one thinks twice about it & accepts it as canon so easily. Hell, just bc I dared to ask what started the pan Crowley confirmation I got accused of erasing his pansexuality. All I did was ask a question.)

To me, it feels like erasing everything his character went through because he was gay. And it seems to be taken from a reasoning which is going to assume Crowley is attracted to women.

I mean: the reasoning would go "oh, Crowley clearly has a non-straight sexuality -> he's attracted to men -> he's pan" His attraction to women being accepted by default, without needing any backup. And when I look at the canon I see nothing implying he'd be attracted to women. Taking Crowley's attraction to women for granted is following an heteronormative thinking.

Being into people isn't all about who one sleeps with. It's about love. And when we look at what spn shows about Crowley's close relationships, the only meaningful one he got is with Dean. When Rowena wants payback for Crowley making her kill Oskar, she goes for his son.

And it's SO interesting to me because if angels can't be in love because they don't have a soul - can demons? as they're beings with a destroyed soul? And if so, how powerful of Crowley to still fall in love with Dean Winchester.... the power of gay love :) (Crowley 🤝 Cas)

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To conclude all this with some more stuff to think about if, like me, you love questioning everything:

While it's not wrong per se to hc Crowley as pan, it can be worth questioning what's making us so sure we collectively just vibe with it? To me there's a few things: - As I was saying: heteronormative bias - Crowley being a non-fully-human character - Crowley being masculine (despite the show's attempts to erase that) - Crowley being into BDSM - Crowley flirting and making sexual remarks in every context

These, unconsciously, gives a vibe of a character who's "outside" of the gender norm, not making big deal of their sexuality, not even questioning it. This creates this idea of "ambiguity" around Crowley's sexuality. The way Crowley particularly seems to be really chill about sex, is a demon (so what does he know about gender?), and heavily flirty, ... is what most people will link to pansexuality. That doesn't mean thinking of Crowley as pan is being problematic™ ; this means in western medias that's what fills the "pansexual character" imagery (like basically: the Jack Harkness type).

However, when we look at it like that, none of these elements are defining of pansexuality. None of them are excluding him from homosexuality. If not stereotypes.

That's where it gets personal ; but it does make me feel like the huge consensus towards a pansexual Crowley (when there is no clear-cut evidence of it) is erasing the complexity of homosexual experiences. As I said at the begining: I'm happy if pansexual people can relate to Crowley ; everone's free to headcanon. But saying Crowley is canonically pansexual is a stretch - and a take rooted in homophobic stereotypes.

Imo Crowley may have been created with all these traits pushing towards a pan reading of his character. However, as the show went, he was clearly written as a homosexual man. The changes in his portrayal took a turn to be specifically homophobic. He gets imagery that only strictly homosexual characters got (such as drinking fruity cocktails like Aaron. Meanwhile Dean, on the same scene, is allowed beer & whiskey.)

We're used to taking spn's homophobic rep and jokes to make it our own. Yet it seems, when it comes to Crowley, the fandom doesn't see it.

Sometimes people aren't attracted to the gender heteronormativity expects them to be attracted to.......... sometimes people are gay and it's not an umbrella term.

#crowley spn #spn crowley #crowley #trans crowley #spn meta #supernatural #spn #so..... i went off once again #homophobia #transphobia #i just kept adding stuff to it lmao and i would STILL have stuff to say but this is enough #long post #spnprideweek

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