summary: bruce wayne is self-destructive and his partner knows it
pairings: bruce wayne x gn reader
warnings: light angst?
“Master Bruce, you’re up early.” Alfred remarks in a mostly neutral tone, if not for the twitch of his upper lip betraying his surprise.
Said man is lumbering into the kitchen, hair combed and suit half-way done up. Bruce grunts as he checks the time on his watch. He had just gotten back from a night patrol at around four in the morning. It was barely seven now.
“I have things to do…” He replies vaguely, nodding to Alfred as he moves past him, fingers skating across his shirt like muscle-memory, which it probably was.
“Meeting someone for breakfast I presume?” The butler gets it in one, watching the slightly frustrated pause Bruce does on his way out. “I’d surely hope that is the case, otherwise I’d be quite offended you aren’t eating before you go.”
Alfred’s tone is smug. Knowing. Bruce exhales slowly. Alfred Pennyworth knows everything and what he doesn’t know, doesn’t exist.
“...Yes. They have to work early, so I…” Bruce stops himself. What was he about to say, that he was purposely waking up three hours after a grueling patrol just to see someone? Bruce Wayne wasn’t so soft. Not so obviously.
Alfred tuts at his silence and as Bruce turns to leave—without finishing his sentence— the butler calls out,
“It’s good there is someone else out there to make you care for yourself, Master Bruce.”
His voice was fond. Like his little Bruce had grown into a fine young man, finally, after 30 something odd years.
When Bruce arrives at your place, he’s practically jittering with nerves. Like a teenager. You’ve been seeing each other for almost a year now and he still couldn’t shake that feeling that everything was on the line. That one split second and you’d see how impossibly boring he is, unavailable. Then you’d leave and save yourself the trouble of trying to fix him.
You open the door before he knocks, his hand hasn’t even left his hair when the door opens. You always do it, like you have a second sense for him. At least, his hesitance. You smile at him with such warmth, it’s the smile that haunts his nightmares and his dreams.
“You look awful.” The words are blunt and falling out of your mouth, but you don’t look ashamed when you say it.
Bruce lets a soft huff leave him. A laugh.
“Thank you.” He murmurs, his eyes drinking in the way your face is still slightly swollen from waking. “I, for one, think you look gorgeous.” As he always does.
You scoff at him, but the way you tilt your head away tells him just how much his words meant.
“Get in. There's a draft this morning.” You say, moving from the door.
He follows you like a light in the pitch black. You didn’t have to tell him anything twice. He even checks the lock on the door as he shuts it, his own precautionary measure.
Inside your shoebox apartment, Bruce takes note of the changes made since the last time he was over. The couch had been moved several inches to the right, a new lamp in the space left.
“You didn't call me to help you move that?” He inquires as you pick up something you clearly discarded on the floor in a hurry before bed.
Bruce sounds strained. Trying to sound like he didn't care at all.
He didn't have to specify what he was talking about, you glance at the couch when he asks.
“Oh, it was just a little pushing. I may not have whatever soul-crushing workout routine you have, but I can move a couch, Mr. Wayne.” You roll your eyes.
“I was not trying to call you weak.” He says, stepping closer to you.
His hands find yours, turning them over in his own.
“I would have helped. I simply am disappointed I missed the chance to spend more time with you. I've been too busy.” He mutters, falling into the same self-inflicted guilt he tends to put on himself when around you.
He glances at you again, realizing you were still in pajamas.
“Do you need some time getting ready for breakfast?” He asks, voice soft. He'd wait for hours if needed. Hell, Bruce would help you get ready if you asked.
Bruce smirks a little at the look on your face. You had the same expression you always do when you've lost interest in the plans you made. He can see you're regretting making any plans.
“I can…cook.” You say quietly.
His smirk softens and he takes your face in his hands.
“We'll stay in. I will make us something to eat.”
He leans in and kisses you, lips pressed firmly against yours like you're not real. He still believes this is all a part of his dream.
Bruce is torn after leaving you to work for the rest of the day. He tries to distract himself with his own duties, paperwork, even attends the rare meeting for Wayne Enterprises. It happens every time he returns from spending time with you, no matter the specifics.
The same thought always appears in the back of his mind, no matter what. He doesn’t deserve this. Not you. He’s too broken, too many pieces to put together. Bruce can’t do that to you. You’re warm, caring, everything he yearns for, but thinks he can’t have.
It’s too dangerous, he tells himself. He has too many enemies. His kids can take care of themselves, they’ve had the proper training at least. They know what to expect now. You are just…you. And he’s utterly attracted to that.
Bruce goes on these self-sabotaging sprees sometimes. He throws himself into his vigilante work, not coming up for air for months on end. No contact, you never truly know what happens because he never says too much.
Then, he misses you. Despite his self-loathing, he seeks you out, and you’re always right there. It’s not like you welcome him with open arms either, sometimes you yell, you cry, there’s times where you’ve broken his heart then hugged him tightly. You had a bitter tongue sometimes, cutting through the sweetness Bruce tasted right after when making it up to you. He wouldn’t admit it, but he liked this routine. It catered to some of his more masochistic tendencies.
Bruce is self-sabotaging now. The morning visit brought up his doubts again. It was so serene, domestic. Something he should never be able to have. He has duties, obligations that would put you second, maybe third on his list of priorities, and that isn’t right. Bruce believes you should be number one, and he can’t do that.
He locks himself in the batcave, forces himself to ignore the buzzing of his phone when he knows you’ve just gotten off work. His heart bleeds but he fights against it with his twisted logic. It’s better this way, you’ll have more freedom. He wants the best for you, even if the thought of you being with someone the same way makes his blood hot.
This time he’ll stick to his guns. He will let you go. He has to.
Bruce lasts for almost half the day.
He was standing strong, he hadn’t thought about you for a few hours, even got some work done. It was enough that he threw himself into another case, tracking some criminals down and before he knew it, the sun had set. He can’t even remember how it ended, he just remembers getting back in the Batmobile and something making him pick up his phone. When he does, he sees your name, all fifteen of your unread messages and two missed calls.
Bruce forgets to knock. The man—too large to fit through your window—actually squeezes himself through anyways, having climbed up the fire escape with his lip bruised, bleeding from somewhere he can’t pinpoint if the red splotches underneath him on your carpet are anything to go by. Which is so unlike him, considering he is usually aware of all his injuries on most nights out.
For once he pauses, even though his thoughts are blurred, and his only clear goal is to see you. Bruce needs to feel normal, even just briefly, so he assesses his own wounds just to be on top of something. To feel control.
The brooding vigilante becomes so into his task that he misses the light turning on in your bedroom. He only looks up when he hears your voice in the dark.
“Bruce…? What the hell…” You mumble, rubbing your face tiredly.
His heart almost melts and he nearly gives up at the way you look. The light flickers on and suddenly you’re both standing there. Looking at each other.
For a moment—one brief moment—he forgets his words. His line he uses every time he returns after ignoring you.
You look half-asleep and real. The first thing you do is widen your eyes at the state of him.
“Are you bleeding? Jesus, Bruce…”
“It’s fine.” He says instantly. “I’m fine.”
You scowl at him, already pointing a stern finger to the couch.
“Sit.” Your voice leaves no room for arguing, not that he would try.
Bruce obeys like it’s all just breathing to him. Grunting as he sets himself down onto the couch, hands resting on his knees. A grimace twitching his face just subtly at the minor pinch of pain he was in right now.
He has to fight to ignore the way his breath hitches when you kneel in front of him, having returned with medical supplies in your arms.
He watches your face instead.
A mistake.
His eyes track each shift of expression. The way your pupils shrink and dilate, your brows moving inward at each wound you come across. Defusing a bomb would be easier than dragging his eyes away.
You don’t speak. Bruce knows from the way your mouth purses that you’re mad at him. Good. He thinks you should be.
Bruce doesn’t speak either, not until you're pressing the gauze against his wound. He grabs your wrist, gentle. His face looks too serious. Even for him.
“You know…” He starts, low and tense. “I have responsibilities that don’t leave room for this…for you.” He says the last part in a whisper, as if can’t even convince himself.
Bruce continues.
“And I can’t continue pretending I am able to give you everything you need. What you deserve…which is more than I already have given.”
He’s not even taken that breath after speaking when you respond with a firm,
“No.”
He stops.
“...Pardon?”
You haven’t pulled away from his grip, even though it’s so gentle you could slip away easily. If anything, you seem more focused. Eyes glaring up at him.
“You’re ridiculous.” You scoff.
You let him sit with it before laughing bitterly.
“You always do this, Bruce. You walk in here bleeding from who knows where, get me worried after you’ve been M.I.A for months on end,” You continue, voice rising steadily. Not to the point you’re yelling. “And now you’re trying to make decisions for me? Assuming what I feel, what I want?”
He’s speechless. His pride spurs him to speak, to defend himself, but he can’t. Not when the look on your face is so determined to drill your words into him.
“I see it all, Bruce. You think I don’t? I mean, I knew you were a self-destructive man in need of therapy the second you said you really ate all that protein sludge every week for breakfast.”
Bruce manages to laugh at that, quick and breathy.
“...It’s not sludge—” He tries, not really, to argue.
“It is.” You mutter.
You shift closer to him, setting a hand under his chin, keeping him looking at you. Your knee bumps into his and he automatically drops his hands to your waist.
“I want this,” you say, steady. “I want you. Not some version of you that doesn’t exist. Not one that has more time, or less baggage.”
Bruce exhales shakily, something in him cracking open despite how hard he’s trying to hold it shut.
“I can’t be what you need,” he murmurs, weaker now. Less certain.
You groan, staring at him incredulously.
“Then don’t. Let me be the dummy who falls in love with the man that thinks he can’t give me what I want. I’m happy where I am.”
That does it. That breaks Bruce Wayne’s entire years worth of self-built logic and his own personal principles for relationships.
It’s no longer the fate of Gotham resting on his shoulders, the safety of his loved ones, the ones that can’t protect themselves.
It’s about him. And what he wants.
Bruce stares at you for a long moment, like he’s waiting for you to hesitate, a sign you’re pulling this all out your ass.
He doesn’t find one.
“…I don’t want to leave,” he admits finally, voice barely above a whisper.
Your expression softens, just slightly.
“Then don’t.”
Bruce lets out a breath, like he ran a marathon, which with you, he may as well have.
“You are so annoyingly persistent,” he mutters.
You smile, sweet. “I know.”
And when he leans in it’s not because he thinks you’ll disappear. It’s because you’re there for good.
summary: dating hcs for robert with a reader who has ice/snow powers
pairings: robert x gn! reader
warnings: none!
notes: i hope this is okay! i struggled a bit ha :)
: ̗̀➛I always imagine robert to run pretty warm/hot so he probably would appreciate an s/o with ice powers
: ̗̀➛first impressions are a little awkward assuming your abilities are tied or enhanced by your emotions, you come off as cold and even cocky but robert is very forgiving(I think) and he would come around to you pretty fast
: ̗̀➛he notices you wear gloves to suppress your powers sometimes while in the office and it instantly clicks that whatever he first thought of you, was slightly skewed
: ̗̀➛would never admit it but he thinks it’s cute when you’re getting pissed—most likely at flambae—and he sees the frost forming on your skin. He doesn’t know why, he just likes looking at you.
: ̗̀➛always keeps an eye on your gloves too when you aren’t wearing them, has them tucked somewhere at his desk or in his bag
: ̗̀➛reluctantly mediates between you and flambae
: ̗̀➛he trusts you to fight obviously but your powers are just not good against fire so he’ll gladly dump some liquid on him as a distraction as he guides you away
“Alright, Frostbite. Enough of that, or I’ll have to write you up.” Robert murmurs against your head, walking away from Flambae—who is shouting obscenities, soaked in soup.(It was the nearest liquid Robert had.) You grumble an excuse and he chuckles.
“They already know you’re my favourite. I’m on thin ice.” He kisses your temple before pausing. “Shit, that was bad, did I say that? That wasn’t on purpose, I swear I’m better than this.”
: ̗̀➛the other dispatchers complain at how cold it is whenever you’re on the clock, it’s nothing to do with you, but robert lowers the room temps because he knows you prefer it
: ̗̀➛overall robert isn’t the most openly affectionate(in private is a different thing) but he’s soooo considerate
: ̗̀➛always makes sure you’re not overexerting yourself, that you’re not freezing yourself or anything
: ̗̀➛if your body temperature gets too low, he’s at your side in a flash, jacket over your shoulders, anything he can find, and he just holds you.
: ̗̀➛likes to stick his hands under your top, the heat of his hands running soothingly over your skin
: ̗̀➛likewise, surprisingly enjoys when you sneak your hands under his shirt and the way your cold fingers trace over his skin, against the scars along his front. It’s just comfortingly intimate.
: ̗̀➛gloves, sweaters, scarves, his warm arms? he’s got it all ready.
: ̗̀➛he’s forever amused by your unique complaints
“It’s unfair, I can’t even break a sweat.” You say, totally serious as you open the door to his apartment. He doesn’t lock it, he blames his lack of self-preservation.
Robert actually scoffs out loud from his spot on the floor, he had been sweating profusely. It was the hottest day of the summer in Torrance and his AC, he finally bought yesterday, had been busted.
“I can’t believe you’re complaining. You wanna be warm that bad?” He tosses his head back to you, eyebrow raised.
You nod and he crooks a finger to beckon you. You grin, knowing exactly what he wanted. You sit behind him and press your cold palms to his neck, to which he sighs dramatically, leaning back against you.
“You’re running hot today.” You point out obviously with a look and his face softens, completely focused on your hands.
“I always am…we should do this more often.” He groans.
: ̗̀➛you always bring him coffee and he says you don’t have to but he loves it because one, it’s an excuse to see and talk to you at work, and two, by the time you reach him, your hands have made his coffee not scalding hot
: ̗̀➛he already has an arm around you when you sleep in the same bed, but on nights he gets so sweaty and unable to fall back asleep he wraps his whole body around you to cool off, and he sleeps way better with you there
: ̗̀➛I like to think Robert was never a fan of snow days, or snow in general, until he met you.
: ̗̀➛wakes up one morning in December, confused and alert because you’re not in the apartment.
Looks outside his balcony and sees you down below, making snow angels and can’t help himself from smiling.
“Are you a child? We still have jobs to go to later you know? We don’t get snow days.” He calls out with a teasing smirk.
His heart swells when you look up at him from his spot, eyes sparkling. His words roll right off you.
“I was going to wake you! Wanna make a snowman with me?”
He shakes his head, smiling wider. He doesn’t answer but he heads back inside to grab his jacket and gloves, knowing he was never going to say no to you.
pairings: jason todd x gn reader
summary: jason todd says he loves spending the holidays in solitude, you decide to break that tradition.
warnings: none
notes: i knowww it's past christmas but i really wanted to make a christmas post so here
Jason Todd is not expecting any company for Christmas.
His helmet abandoned on the coffee table, recently removed, and his armour still clasped together under his jacket.
He just finished a very festive patrol around Gotham, punching criminals and getting punched back. His ribs are definitely going to bruise by Christmas day and he has blood on his knuckles that’s beginning to dry.
He should clean that up.
Instead, Jason drops down onto the couch with a grunt. Christmas eve, and he’s alone in a shady apartment where his only neighbours are probably rats. Just how he likes it.
It’s not like no one invites him, he has about twelve invitations mailed by Dick directly to his door because “it’s more personable that way”. Jason just lets them sit by his door. He likes being alone. Christmas was pointless anyway.
He was never good enough to get gifts from Santa, his mom never gave him more than some dinner on Christmas day. That was his gift, she’d always tell him.
Yeah, nothing like Christmas alone.
Jason leans his head back, eyes fixed to the ceiling. He exhales slowly, feeling the tender spots of skin over his ribs as he does so.
Then, he hears a knock at the door. A persistent knock, maybe three.
Jason sits up quickly, grimacing at his side. His hand flies to the weapon belt he hadn’t bothered to detach yet.
Bruce doesn’t knock, neither does anyone else he knows. Most would just open the door or climb through the window. It was the kind of problem solving that made Jason feel less bad about locking everything before anyone got too comfortable.
Jason nears the door with practiced caution. “Yeah?” He calls out roughly. “Building’s condemned.”
Maybe it’s just some stupid kids that haven’t learned the Christmas miracle that is Gotham and its neverending stream of unsavoury inhabitants.
“...You live in a condemned building?” Your voice comes through the cracks and his shoulders visibly drop.
Of course it’s you.
The rookie he’d meant to scare off weeks ago, who instead learned his routes, his habits, and when to ignore his orders. You were a thorn in his side and yet he couldn’t refute that it was helpful to have someone watching his back—even if he was stuck watching yours too.
He was both relieved it was just you and annoyed you had somehow found his place.
Jason sighs, drops his hand from his holster and walks to the door. He hesitates with his hand on the doorknob.
“Wrong address.” He tries one more time.
There’s a beat of silence until he hears you scoff from the other side.
“I’ve literally followed you so many times. You can’t trick me!” You sound almost offended he’d even try.
Jason shuts his eyes tightly, exhaling loudly before he twists the door open.
Well. It’s you.
Snow clings to your clothes and eyelashes and he can guess how long you’ve been outside when you sniffle loudly.
Jason scowls at you to no effect.
“You’re insane…” He mutters, trailing off in slight horror as he scans your face again. Your face. In clear view, no mask or hood covering it up.
It’s almost comical how uncomfortable he suddenly is, seeing your features altogether rather than their own separate entities framed by dark cloth.
Somehow this feels worse than anything he’s been through with you.
You’ve fought beside each other for weeks, he’s bled next to you. He’s trusted you with watching his back, but right now, staring at your bare face with no hint of the vigilante alias you wear at night?
Yeah. This is worse.
Jason clears his throat, actively pretending he wasn’t staring a second too long.
“I thought I told you we weren’t sharing identities.” He mutters.
You click your tongue and wave a hand limply between you.
“Ah, no biggie. I mean, I trust you.” You say, fidgeting with your hands—which Jason now sees are occupied with far too many bags to not be suspicious. “It wasn’t the plan, but I couldn’t come here without revealing myself. I was not going to wrestle all that crap back on just to knock on your door. I just changed!”
Jason stares at you in disbelief. I trust you. It’s so stupid how much those three words had stuck with him. He already knows he’ll be thinking about it for days to come. Not for any reason other than he can’t believe how stupid you are. No other reason.
Jason huffs. “You…are so bad at keeping secrets,” he mutters, eyes flicking to the bags. “Has anyone taught you the art of self-preservation or were you born under a rainbow?”
You follow his eyes and shift awkwardly.
“Look,” you say as you move back to him. “I wasn’t trying to be weird—for once. I just…figured you didn’t have plans for the holidays and well…” You raise the bags in your hands.
“I got nowhere to go either this year. So.”
Jason stares at you for a long moment. The bags. The snow. Your bare face.
He clicks his tongue, irritated.
“You’re freezing,” he mutters, stepping aside and pulling the door open wider. “Get in before you catch something.”
“I’m not picking up your patrols if you get sick.” He adds over his shoulder as he turns away, leaving you there.
You step inside, relieved it worked.
The door closes behind you with a soft click, cutting out the cold. Inside Jason’s place isn’t that much warmer as you spot a busted heater by the back corner of the living room, but he seems to have mountains of blankets and hoodies around.
Jason drops back onto the couch, the cushions worn out and creaking under his weight. He thinks about just leaving his jacket and armour on, but one look at your cozy attire has him softly huffing as he unlatches his chest plate, letting clatter on the floor. He sits there, elbows braced against his knees, watching you out of the corner of his eye as you move in and set your bags on the kitchen counters.
His eyes narrow at the heavy thud of one of the bags as it hits the counter.
“What’s in the bags.”
You look over your shoulder, looking guilty. “...Bag stuff.”
He glares at the poorly hidden foil peaking out from one of them.
You sigh dramatically, then open one of the bags his way.
“Food. I wanted to do something like a holiday dinner…but like—affordable.” You explain. “The guy gave this whole thing to me for like…ten dollars. There’s half a turkey in here.”
He grunts, throwing his head back and tugging at his hair.
“You should have just got a pizza.”
You scoff, “That’s not festive, ” you then turn to pull out a pizza box from the bottom of the bag. “I also got one because I figured you’d say that.”
He snorts, sliding a hand over his mouth to hide the little amused grin he had. Shit. You were more involved in his life than he ever would admit.
After a moment of dreadful reflecting, Jason turns back to actually look at you in the kitchen. You’re still hovering by the bags, watching him carefully. He sighs.
“...That better be all.” He mutters, beckoning you with a hand. “Bring that pizza over.”
You eat together on the couch, balancing containers between you, knees occasionally bumping. Jason complains under his breath, but he eats more than he means to. You don’t comment.
The TV stays on low, some holiday feelgood movie neither of you are watching. At some point, Jason grabs a blanket and tosses it over your lap without thinking.
You glance at him.
“Shut up.” He shuts down any teasing.
Time blurs. Jason’s body still aches and his limbs grow heavy. He shifts, slouching further into the couch, exhaustion finally catching up with him.
Your voice melts in his head, barely coherent to him.
He sits up, alert when your head tips back, eyes fluttering closed.
He tells himself he’ll wake you in a minute.
Instead, your head rolls gently to the side, coming to rest against his shoulder.
Jason freezes.
He doesn’t move you. Doesn’t breathe too deep. Just stares straight ahead, jaw tight, heart doing something annoying in his chest.
After a moment, he adjusts the blanket so it covers both of you.
“…I’m so fucked,” he murmurs.
But he stays right where he is. Reluctantly resting his against yours and letting his eyes shut.
He’ll have to figure out a better way to convince you to do this again without letting you know he enjoyed it.
Right now all he can think about is what he’ll do in the morning, which is nothing sensible.
dickhead: hey. hey jay.
dickhead: you weren't at the manor for dinner so i am the best and brought some leftovers
dickhead: who is that
dickhead: jason
dickhead: jayyyy?
dickhead: did you kiss them
[blocked]: omg
Hello!! If you’re comfortable with this request, can I request dating hcs with Robert where reader is apart of Z team and is a dark magic user/witch? Maybe reader has a cat familiar!!
dispatch robert robertson III dating dark magic!reader hcs🖤
: ̗̀➛He absolutely does not trust you at first
He’s already wary of anyone in the Z-Team with their general attitude in their first meeting, but you’re also capable of dark magic? Robert does not fuck with that
: ̗̀➛That said, he is also unstable and generally unbothered in situations he should be bothered
So he does warm up to fairly quick in correlation to how you treat him, he notices you don’t antagonize him like the others
: ̗̀➛You disturb him. Like Coupe, you have a fascination and knack for the macabre.
: ̗̀➛You have an eerie vibe yet you and Robert are opposites of the meme “someone will die” “of fun!”
: ̗̀➛Your cat is like Salem from Sabrina sorry, it cannot be any other way
Will only talk to you and before you begin dating, will absolutely speak when Robert is around and not looking just to freak him out. Denies it when confronted
: ̗̀➛Your first meeting stayed in Robert’s mind for a while after.
The first thing he decides is that he does not trust you.
After all the animosity and general stubbornness of the rest of the Z-Team, this is what Robert is left thinking after Blazer mentions that SDN hired a new recruit for the team not long after he was recruited to lead them.
Dark magic. As if the rest of the team wasn’t weird enough. Blazer mentions you were sitting in a room alone like it was completely normal and not weird.
It was weird.
He knocks to be polite, but impatiently pushes the door open after a few seconds of no response.
You’re sitting on the floor, almost like a child at carpet time with your hands smudged with chalk. The rest of the chalk has been used to draw a half circle, filled with symbols. Symbols he doesn’t recognize.
He doesn’t even have to clear his throat, your cat looks over at him from its perch on your shoulder with a glare that Robert isn’t sure cats should be able to muster. You follow soon after with a blank look.
“Oh,” you say as you dust off your legs. “You must be Third Robert.”
His eyes are still on the circle, running with the most wild assumptions he can form. ‘Does SDN give a shit about possible sacrificial sigils being on the property? Or is this supposed to be a dumpsite for corpses?’ Robert catalogues the way you observe him.
There was no defensive posture, nor a hostile look in your eyes. You weren’t sizing him up like a potential target like Coupe. You were looking at him like he was a stray animal and you didn’t want to spook him. ‘Huh.’ Robert could laugh at the thought.
He points at the chalk on the floor. “I don’t think the Phoenix Program authorizes human sacrifice.” He says dryly.
You smile at that, and he actually tilts his head to get a better look. He didn’t think you could do that and it looks nicer than expected.
“It’s a protection ward, Third Robert. Nothing nefarious, I promise.” Your voice is humorous, but sincere.
Robert relaxes a little at that. “Noted.” He rolls his shoulders, trying to stay on topic. “Uh, just Robert by the way. No need to add that little “Third”.”
“He does not like it.” A voice replies instead of yours and Robert’s eyes shift to the cat sitting on your shoulder, horrified.
“What.”
“What?” Your brows furrow, but he sees the look in your eyes. It’s nothing good.
He sighs, but he can feel himself softening, his mouth even lifts into a reluctantly amused smirk.
“So we’re just acting like your cat doesn’t talk?” He quirks a brow.
You shrug your shoulders.
“I certainly didn’t hear anything.”
Robert stares at you for a long time and then pinches the bridge of his nose. Somehow this wasn’t the most frustrating conversation he’s had with the Z-Team, but it wasn’t any easier.
“...Right.”
He straightens suddenly, professionalism snapping back like a switch. “I just came to introduce myself as your new dispatcher. I expect you to…at least be cooperative with me on missions regardless of outside them.”
“Okay.”
Robert nearly stumbles at your easy compliance, but he’s not about to ruin it. He nods in kind and awkwardly leaves the room, glancing back at your sigils before the door closes.
: ̗̀➛His discomfort was eased a little upon meeting you, but his trust wasn’t there yet.
It wasn’t until he witnessed you really stick your neck out for another member that he was fully impressed and respected your commitment to the team
: ̗̀➛Dark magic is often consequential so you most likely have to give a lot in order to do some great damage to villains.
Robert notices you’re exhausted after what seemed like a simple shift, one of the members explains how much energy you had sapped from yourself to make sure everything went right
: ̗̀➛It’s a professional amount of concern he has for you, he tells himself
: ̗̀➛Robert sees your fascination with things that might be grim or disturbing like cursed objects or ancient artefacts you definitely shouldn’t have. He doesn’t shy away from it, and asks you questions. He finds himself endeared by how impassioned you get talking about them.
: ̗̀➛If you have some more unlikely interests like cute things he’s even more endeared.
: ̗̀➛His attraction for you grows when your quiet protectiveness reaches him and not just your teammates. Royd points out some chalk on the mech suit and Robert from all his observations recognizes the protective symbols right away. He’s almost proud of himself.
: ̗̀➛Dark magic can be really strong, so it’s not too far off to imagine you’re more like a glass cannon. Before and while you’re dating, Robert is always in front of you as cover.
: ̗̀➛Starts flirting with you as a way to signal his feelings and see if you feel the same way
“You know…not many people can make death and destruction cute. I’m amazed.”
“Huh?”
You’re oblivious.
: ̗̀➛He finally makes his feelings more obvious when you return from a shift late.
It’s well past the end of the work day, everyone’s gone home.
: ̗̀➛You got stuck in a difficult fight, and by the time you’re leaning against the doors to the lobby, it’s dark out.
Your familiar uses its paws to open the door for you and trots ahead inside, leaving you to drag your feet after it.
: ̗̀➛Robert was already in the lobby, waiting.
Your cat meows, looks at him pointedly, then hops down and pads toward you, leaving him staring after it with a slightly bemused expression.
He steps closer to you, just enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him without touching. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. And I don’t like it.”
You tilt your head, expression calm, unimpressed. “I manage,” you reply evenly.
Robert exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “…Yeah, I know. But you can’t just go off without—” He sighs.
“Look, I’ve been careful not to make this about anything more. But seeing you like this, exhausted, spent, makes me realize I can’t stay quiet anymore. I like you. Not just… interest. I mean it.” He runs a hand through his hair looking nervous. “I know it’s breaching a lot of protocol as your dispatcher but I need to say it. I need to know—”
: ̗̀➛You kiss him and Robert feels his heart drop out of his ass. In a good way. His fingers instantly touch your face and he’s leaning in.
: ̗̀➛He doesn’t move even when you begin to pull away. He kisses you for a second longer just to be sure and then looks at you, dazed.
: ̗̀➛Robert does spoil you but to be completely honest, you pamper him more in the relationship. Come on, the man doesn’t even have a bed.
: ̗̀➛He tries not to be too obvious about your relationship at work but it’s all pointless when literally everyone sees the way he looks at you when you’re in the same room.
: ̗̀➛Puppy dog eyes Robert alert
: ̗̀➛Trusts you and your magic implicitly. Only worries about you exerting yourself.
: ̗̀➛Lets you use his hair for nefarious curses and spells and finds it funny.
: ̗̀➛Also lets you mark his hands with sigils, often protection wards.
: ̗̀➛Your familiar loves him. Has beef with Beef. They come to a reluctant alliance when it comes to the two of you.
: ̗̀➛Takes you on dates at night, will not let go of your hand the entire time.
: ̗̀➛Each other’s scary dog?
: ̗̀➛You will up the creepy act around other Z-Team members when they get a little too comfortable harping on Robert, genuine threats and they know it too.
: ̗̀➛Robert has punched a hero from another team for talking bad about you behind your back.
: ̗̀➛The pay suspension was so worth it.(And Blazer slid him some cash anyways.)
: ̗̀➛Has you sit on his lap while you’re reading your tomes or grimoire, will look over your shoulder and promptly give up on reading when he sees it’s a dead language.
: ̗̀➛Chase initially does not fuck with you. He’s still on edge after months of dating, but he warms eventually, seeing how you take care of his boy :)
: ̗̀➛Robert loves his scary s/o
: ̗̀➛Punch-Up tries to form a polycule with you two and him and Coupe. It doesn’t work. They’re exes anyways.
: ̗̀➛Sometimes the magic can be dangerous to you, like possession dangerous. Robert will hold you through it, whispering to ground you, doesn’t flinch at the way your nails dig into him.
: ̗̀➛Sleeps slumped across you just in case.
summary: zayne returns from his research unexpectedly, having some choice words to say after missing you
pairing: lads zayne x reader
Your second outing with the doctor isn’t planned. In fact, it was mere happenstance that you two had been in the same city, on the same street, at the same time. A month had gone by since your walk in that park, Zayne had escorted you home where your father answered the door looking absolutely mortified that his dearest child had left him without a chaperone. Zayne of course, the proper gentleman he was, had apologized to your father and the older man was all too familiar with the look in your eyes as Zayne mentioned the butterfly gardens. He couldn’t help but sigh, his expression softening. His baby was growing up, and his intuition told him that you would be just fine without his meddling.
Zayne made his departure soon after, with a promise to write to you soon, and that he did. His letters were not flowery, not filled with the romantic and sometimes frivolous poetry penned by the leads of your cherished romance novels. A few days later you received his letter with unfortunate news, he was leaving for another expedition in the Arctic. As troubling as it seemed to be since your feelings were only blossoming and you couldn’t help but think about all the possibilities in which he lost interest while apart from you, Zayne’s effort in even writing left you feeling hopeful. He continued to write while he was gone, many letters that you tucked away in a box for safekeeping. They were careful, simple. He wrote of the snow and how silent it was in his shelter with the other academics. Though they were devoid of affectionate prose, the fact he wrote at all meant the world to you. He deemed it important enough to write to you in his time between researching.
It is a month later, you were visiting a relative in the city and heard the bookshop there was impressive, so you took a trip out to browse. You stand outside the small shop, tucked between much grander brick buildings. The windows are fogged from the cold, making you squint as you look through, mesmerized by the tall shelves that line the walls inside.
A bell hanging over the door chimes as you enter the shop. It’s a bookworm’s haven, the smell of ink lingers in the air and shelves are piled high, chock-full of books both new and well-loved. You make your way slowly between shelves, indulging yourself by taking in each book that catches your eye and tracing the spines with a gloved finger. You’re excited by seeing titles you don’t yet recognize, the possibility of expanding your personal library.
The rest of the world, of the ton, disappears. Your ears focus on the crack of each book, the sound of parchment brushing together, you’re so immersed that you do not hear the bell chime, signalling more customers. The older shopkeeper is missing from the counter, most likely lost amongst the place, sorting the books.
You crouch slightly, reaching for a slim novel only to be surprised by a pair of eyes looking at you through the space. Your heart jumps, and again even stronger when you settle back on the familiar hue of hazel.
“I didn’t take you for such bleak tales.” Zayne says in a soft tone, his mouth almost threatening to quirk into a smile.
You can’t stop the way you gasp and he slowly strolls around the corner to stand in front of you.
Zayne stands a few feet away, a thicker coat than most men would wear in the area, buttoned high to fight the chill and his dark hair still looking damp from the heavy snowfall. He looks…wonderfully real. His eyes roam your form, clinically, then you make eye contact. Neither of you speak for a moment as if savouring the sight.
“You’re back.” You say stupidly, breaking the silence.
He lets out an amused huff. “I am.” His eyes flick back to the book nearly slipping from your grip. “I hadn’t imagined I’d find you here.”
“The feeling is shared.” You hesitate, “Your letter said the research was extending your stay. I believed you to be a little bit longer on your trip.”
Zayne’s mouth tilts, as if he knew something you didn’t—which he most likely did.
“It did. I was not lying…” He looks back at your face, as if he had to memorize each part to make sure nothing changed. “Circumstances changed, however, I came back to my own surprise.”
You nod, unsure of what to say next. You had so much you wanted to tell him about, but in the moment nothing came to. Nothing seems right to say, not when it means disrupting the air between you. Your hands twitch, also not knowing what to do and the book slips from your fingers. Zayne is quick, stepping closer and reaching his hand underneath to catch it before it hits the ground. He pauses with it in his hand, and then steps closer to you, careful to not seem forward.
“I hope I did not startle you, that was not my intention. I merely…noticed you from the windows and had to see if you were faring well. I see you are alone. Did your parents—”
“I do not have a chaperone.” You reply quickly, too eager. “My parents do not accompany me today as I am staying with an aunt who lives close to this city. She is…less proactive in ensuring I have someone at all times. Independence, she calls it.”
Something eases in his expression.
“Then…I shall accompany you. At least in this shop…?” He murmurs almost unconfident which sounds nothing like him.
He continues before you can respond with a definite yes, gesturing to the shelves.
“You’ve come to browse I take it?”
You nod, looking at the book in his hand that you had seconds before.
“Yes. I was told this shop had a magnificent selection. I was wanting to bring something back with me.”
He hums, considering the shop with a critical eye. “It does. Though I might suggest something else.”
Zayne sets the book you touched back on the shelf and tucks a hand beneath his coat. From where you stand, you can see his hand running along his breast pocket and dipping lower on his side as he pulls something square out. A book. He turns it in his hand and you catch the cover. Anna Karenina.
“I seem to have thought of you when I visited this shop not that long ago the other day.” Zayne explains, looking completely casual. Like his words were not devastatingly meaningful to you. “It may not be like your usual romances that you love, I apologise.”
You take the book from him with great care, marvelling at the spine.
“No, no. It’s beautiful. I’ve actually read some of this author before…” You open the book, fingers curling under the first page. Your eyes scan the first paragraph, pausing. “It’s…another language?”
You bite your lip in thought. His intention was so sweet, but how could you say you couldn’t read it? Zayne eyes your expression and exhales, sounding annoyed.
“Turn the page.” He mutters softly, already reaching over your hand to do it for you.
On the back was suddenly a language you could understand, written in some personal handwriting. You blink in confusion.
“It’s…”
“I thought…what would I get someone who knows their literature so well? I admit I only have time to read my textbooks, so I was at a loss.” He begins to explain, helping you turn through pages to see more written script. “I then had the idea to get you something special. That very few here would have anything like it. An original copy of a novel. Unfortunately those copies were only in its original language…so I took the liberty to translate it all myself. Do not worry—I am well studied in it, I speak with another doctor often through letters discussing our studies. His language. I wanted…to include a part of myself in the gift, selfishly.” His eyes land on yours with an intense focus. “So you could remember me even when you are away.”
Your fingers tighten around the book, shaky gaze examining each line and loop of his writing. He had even added small annotations between margins.
“Doctor…you read it too?”
He shrugs, hiding a pleased smile at your amazed tone.
“I wanted to see what engages you so about these novels…I find it quite interesting.” His hands still on the book drift to yours, gently brushing over your gloves. “...Perhaps we can read together sometime.”
The words linger in your head, taking up space instead of forming a response. You look up from the book, from his careful handwriting and the margins filled with thoughts that feel far too intimate to belong to anyone but you. Zayne’s hands give you a welcoming chill, somehow warmer than the cold outside.
“You translated all this…” You utter in disbelief. “For me?”
“For you.” He confirms softly. His thumb strokes the edge of your glove, tempted to curl beneath the material in a way that seemed too scandalous. “It seemed an appropriate gift. I found this to be an intriguing mixture of romantic tragedy and the study of the human condition. Something that meant more to the two of us—than anyone else.”
You let out a choked breath, almost laughing in pure shock. “No one has ever done something like this for me.”
“I am honoured to be the first.” He replies quietly. His gaze turns into something vulnerable as he watches you process your own thoughts.
For a moment, nobody moves. The shop feels quieter, smaller if not in a restrictive way. You close the book gently and his hands never leave yours.
“I…” You stumble with your words, “I do not know how to even thank you.”
He tilts his head slightly. “Then don’t. I did not do this for thanks.”
You sigh.
“Still,” you insist, “It means so much more than you realize.”
Zayne looks at you with something restrained. His stare is almost unnerving, like he’s coldly inspecting every inch. Then, he touches your chin with a careful focus, lifting your eyes to his.
“I am not a man who indulges himself often. I am not accustomed to it.” He begins, fingers settling over the bottom of your face as if afraid to lose your gaze. “But, I found that in that cold, desolate landscape…I thought of you. To an alarming regularity. Your letters, my response, how you would be reading mine, every single aspect of your life, I am driven mad by wanting to be a part of it all.”
He pauses as if waiting for your reply, his thumb brushing beneath your bottom lip.
“I do not wish to see if this is fleeting. It was strong before, and it has only grown more solid now.”
The butterflies have returned to your stomach, ever so pleasantly attempting to escape their cage with fervor. Your skin feels hot and you worry he can somehow feel how clammy your hands have gotten inside your gloves.
“...It is not fleeting for me either.” You murmur.
Zayne’s posture shifts. Like an invisible wall has broken, his shoulders drop into something more relaxed. His hand slides from your chin to cup your cheek.
“Will you allow me…?” He whispers and he doesn’t have to finish because you’re already nodding.
Zayne leans in slowly, giving you time, always time. His forehead brushes yours first, breath warm and steady. Then his lips meet yours. The kiss is soft. A promise. When he pulls back, his eyes remain closed for a heartbeat longer, as if committing the feeling to memory.
When he opens his eyes there’s something new, brighter about his face.
“...I should like to continue courting you.” He says, voice still quiet with adoration.
You smile wider.
“I shall enjoy that very much.”
All Zayne can think about is kissing you again and again, now that everything is more clear, he cannot think of anything else, propriety be damned. The two of you are fully entranced by each other, reluctant to leave this moment as the bell chimes once more.
“Doctor! You left in such a hurry, we were just having lunch…did my theory disturb you that much?”
⋆˚࿔ Day 1: Anniversary w/ Nanami Kento JJK
⋆˚࿔ Day 2:Petsitting w/ Arthur Morgan RDR2
⋆˚࿔ Day 3:In Vino Veritas w/ Kaeya Alberich Genshin Impact
⋆˚࿔ Day 4:Set in Another Time w/ Zayne LaDS(Part One) (Part Two)
⋆˚࿔ Day 5:Early Morning Walks w/ Jason Todd DC
⋆˚࿔ Day 6:Late Night Talks w/ Arthur Morgan RDR2
⋆˚࿔ Day 7:Moving Day w/ Dick Grayson DC
⋆˚࿔ Day 8:Cursed w/ Fuegoleon Vermillion Black Clover
⋆˚࿔ Day 9:Coming Home w/ Giyuu Tomioka KNY
⋆˚࿔ Day 10:Set up by Friends w/ Kuroo Tetsurou HQ
⋆˚࿔ Day 11:Double or Nothing w/ Sylus LaDS
⋆˚࿔ Day 12: Blizzard w/ Gepard HSR
⋆˚࿔ Day 13:Hosting a Holiday Event w/ Jason Todd DC
⋆˚࿔ Day 14:Lost Together w/ John Marston RDR/2
𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝗋𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗍 fic and it's got a hold on me if you're requests are open I hope you could do one where reader is injured please and thank you ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
DISPATCH ROBERT ROBERTSON WHEN YOU'RE HURT HCS
hi! i don't do requests really but i don't mind doing one once and a while. thank you for liking my robert fic i hope this one matches what you had in mind! <3
: ̗̀➛Robert has swung for less so he’s really unpredictable (in my opinion). We’ve seen him in those fight scenes, he bit someone’s thumb off. He’s liable to go absolutely batshit in the right or wrong moment
: ̗̀➛how you get hurt and the severity/cause of it would sway how he acts but he’d be vibrating at his desk after getting the alert.
: ̗̀➛lets say you get hurt whilst you were dispatched, robert’s probably the one on call since you’re on the z-team and he’s on edge the moment your voice comes in through the comms
: ̗̀➛his patience is already at zero but he’s a professional guy—he knows he can’t do much until he’s cleared for it
: ̗̀➛he sits there grinding his teeth, only relaxing when he speaks to you directly and is trying to keep you calm while he waits for backup
“Hey, hey. I’m here. Lay low for me, okay? Don’t be a hero right now. You’re off the clock.”
“Get out of there if you can. Please.”
: ̗̀➛he’s snapping at everyone around him
: ̗̀➛he’s holding together until he hears Blonde Blazer announce the departure of backup
: ̗̀➛he hears your breath hitch over his earpiece and he stands up so quickly his chair rolls back and crashes into the wall
: ̗̀➛he’s not listening to anyone as they try to get him to sit back down, telling him he’s still got about three other heroes out on other job sites. He’s just focused on you.
: ̗̀➛scares the backup heroes as he is quite literally on their heels to get to you.
: ̗̀➛robert is on his knees the minute he finds you, supporting your neck and back as he slowly lifts you into his arms
: ̗̀➛he doesn’t say it but you can see the recognition in his eyes, remembering all that he’s lost before this—he won’t do it again
: ̗̀➛now if he was with you when it happened? Someone’s leaving in a bodybag
: ̗̀➛robert has eyes on you always in a fight. even when it’s chaotic and he’s fighting someone or something else—he somehow keeps darting back to where you are
: ̗̀➛the minute you go down he’s slamming the other guy’s head into the ground and rushing to you
: ̗̀➛he swings violently at your attacker—no mercy, blood and all
: ̗̀➛he quite literally doesn’t stop until someone drags him off
: ̗̀➛afterwards his focus is immediately back on you and everyone involved watches as he carefully picks you up and takes off
: ̗̀➛actually really good at caring for someone—just not himself
: ̗̀➛mother hen mode when you get back to a safer place, likely your shared apartment if you’ve already moved in
: ̗̀➛doesn’t sleep while you’re still healing and you often wake up to him sitting in a chair in the corner of your room. watching
“Christ—Robert!”
“Sup, you okay? Need anything? Water?”
“Go to sleep.”
: ̗̀➛is always there for you even if he’s at work
: ̗̀➛he will leave without clocking out if you need his help with reaching for something because of your bruised ribs
: ̗̀➛unfortunately i am unsure if robert can cook so he may just get soup delivered while you’re on bedrest
: ̗̀➛sits next to you on the bed and just wraps an arm around you as gently as possible
: ̗̀➛kisses your temple when he notices you dozing off, his thumb moving up and down across your arm
: ̗̀➛basically wraps you in bubble wrap and totally pretends he’s not using your injuries as an excuse to spend more time with you—he’s a busy man after all with being mechaman and the dispatch for a team of former bad kids trying(loosely) to be good
The first thing you notice when you wake up is how quiet it is. You passed out pretty quickly after falling in that fight, the last thing being Robert’s furrowed brow and angry expression melting into worry as he hovered over you.
Your head hurts. Your ribs ache every time you inhale and there’s a hand in yours by the side of the bed.
Wait.
You turn your head stiffly, feeling the fresh bruise around your neck you almost missed.
“Robert?” You whisper, taking in your boyfriend’s appearance.
Robert was sitting in a plastic chair next to the bed. The same plastic chair you were pretty sure he dug out of the dumpster before you moved in. He’s leaned forward, elbows on his knees and one hand now tightening around yours as if everything was a bit more dire than it looked. His eyes are lined with dark shadows and there’s blood on his shirt that you just know isn’t his.
“Hey…” He mutters, his voice rough.
He sees you there, breathing. Okay. Alive. He sighs heavily and leans his head back, shutting his eyes tight for a split second.
“Shit—I mean jesus…I wasn’t good when I saw you, you know?” He says, jaw tensing after.
You feel your heart squeeze.
“I’m so sorry—”
Robert leans forward and drops your hand to cup the side of your face that was safe from bruises.
“ —No. Don’t. You’re fine. More than fine. I am not mad…at you.” He stares you down until you nod and he relaxes. “I’ve already lost a lot in life…I am not letting you go anytime soon.”
You chuckle softly at that. It hurts your chest but you don’t care.
“So, you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future?”
He smirks and it’s slanted.
“All I could ever want.”
Robert sits with you while you’re awake for a while longer, eventually standing up to “fix the door”. You don’t ask, but you ask him to come back, and stay with you for the night. He’s offended you even thought he wouldn’t, like he wasn’t already going to glue your hands together.
: ̗̀➛you meet him on his first day as dispatch for the z-team
: ̗̀➛you're a former villain, though unlike most of the other members you were tired of being a villain and ready to drop that life when SDN approached you
: ̗̀➛robert takes notice right away, even if he doesn't realize in the moment
: ̗̀➛he does this because out of the whole team you were nicest and the only one that didn't bully him
: ̗̀➛it becomes a habit for you to thank him when you finish a call or to tell him good morning and good night every day
: ̗̀➛ he's weirded out the first time before he quickly returns the favour each time. he's just so relieved someone is normal in this team
: ̗̀➛becomes the highlight of his day and he actively seeks you out in the office if you haven't said anything to him yet
: ̗̀➛ chase bullies the fuck out of him for it
: ̗̀➛ have you seen how easily he falls in love/goes along with someone without really thinking? yeah he does it all the time with you before he realizes his own feelings
: ̗̀➛any affection he just tanks regardless of how far he is in his own feelings
: ̗̀➛ he is well aware of how it looks, he does not care
: ̗̀➛and if you aren't really affectionate, he is
: ̗̀➛ friendly arm squeezes to pressing your shoulders together in places like the break room or the bar
: ̗̀➛firmly believe he would not make a move unless it was heavily implied you liked him back
: ̗̀➛ so when you say something vague and suggestive about him, like his voice being hot or anything just said too casual
: ̗̀➛he fumbles
: ̗̀➛ he's sooo tired all the time so it's only a matter of when he slips up and confesses
You’re sitting next to Robert in a booth at the hero bar. The rest of the Z-Team is at the bar, rowdy and all the more oblivious to the two of you right now. He waits for you before sliding in next to you, his shoulder nudging into yours. He’s done it so often now you don’t even blink. He stays close, side-eying the others before his lip quirks in some lazy smirk.
“Nice job on that last call today.” He murmurs. “Flambae was pretty pissed you beat him there. Smelled like gasoline when he came back to the office.”
You laugh and he leans closer without either of you noticing.
“Well one of us was going to hear the hot dispatcher say “Good job” and it wasn’t going to be him.” You say, leaning back.
Robert pauses—no, freezes.
“Hot dispatcher?” He coughs, ears looking red.
You roll your eyes.
“Yeah? Come on Robert. You got the sexy voice—nonchalant and shit. I’m pretty sure everyone has hit on you at some point around here. Hell, the things I thought against my will at first—”
He wheezes suddenly, turning his head away from you to compose himself. He clears his throat again, and slides further down the booth with a deep look of concentration, then he groans out loud and runs a hand through his hair.
“You can’t just…” He sighs. “I already think about—” He worldlessly flings a hand between you two. “ —this way too much for it to be normal.”
He realizes his words too late, his eyes widening ever so slightly.
“No. Shit.” He tries to backtrack. “I didn’t mean to—Fuck!”
You whistle.
“So…you aren’t going to ask me out?”
He actually flinches. Then he looks at you, for a long time. His jaw sets as he realizes it’s now or never and he asks you out. Short and sweet.
: ̗̀➛ you are both insufferable after
: ̗̀➛chase actively curses the two of you out if he sees even a second of contact, pinkies touching or whatever
: ̗̀➛he finally gets furniture because he is deeply ashamed whenever you come to his apartment even if you say nothing about it
: ̗̀➛not overly enthused with pda but will dip kiss you out of spite if someone says something
: ̗̀➛ enjoys falling asleep on you when he can. he prefers it to an actual bed
: ̗̀➛ he still operates as your dispatcher most of the time—but there are times where chase or another operator has to cover for him
: ̗̀➛he is blatant with his favouritism
: ̗̀➛ he sent flambae to deal with burglary that you were definitely more equipped to handle—and the latter returned with bruises all over
: ̗̀➛he threatened robert for months
: ̗̀➛robert didn’t care. He sent you to get a cat from a tree instead—the sound of you losing your shit over how cute it was over the comms was worth the torched keyboard he had to pay for out of pocket.
: ̗̀➛before or after shroud he is so thankful for you
: ̗̀➛he finally has someone that not only believes in him, but that makes him want to be more each day
: ̗̀➛kisses your fingertips at night before bed teehee
pairings: rdr john marston x gn! reader
summary: john gets you both lost on a walk in the forest and doesn't want to admit it
warnings: none
“We're lost, John.” You point out simply, hand on your hip as he stares hard at the same tree you've passed three times.
“Dammit! No we aren't. I know this forest.” He growls defensively, before pausing like he suddenly knows better and he leans over to you giving your hip a quick squeeze. His own way of apologizing without having to completely throw his pride.
You roll your eyes. “I'm sure. You must be real close to this tree—because we've passed it three times.”
John huffs and looks away from you. Totally not hiding the small embarrassed expression he has.
“Ain't my fault these trees are all the same…” He mutters.
“That's not how trees work. Unless you're an arborist.” You snort at the line that forms in his forehead.
“A-what now?”
“A tree expert, John.” You correct your language and he has the gall to grin his smarmy little grin.
“I like it when you use big words. It's sexy.” He leans into you, making you stumble with his weight, keeping you steady with his hand that was on your hip.
You shove at him, looping a hand around the strap of his satchel and tugging it.
“Focus, Casanova. You got us into this mess. You need to get us out.”
John stumbles a step when you tug his satchel, grumbling under his breath as he yanks it out of your grip.
“Alright, alright. You don’t gotta bully me for it.”
You laugh out loud.
“You call that bullying? I woulda thought Arthur and the gang would have taught you real bullying.” You scoff. “You a big softie, aren’t you, Marston?”
He ignores your teasing with a grunt, swatting your hands when they get anywhere near him.
“Ain’t lost.” He insists. “We just uh…we’re takin’ the scenic route. I wanted to be romantic and shit.” He jabs his finger in a direction you certainly don’t recognize.
“Don’t lie to me, John Marston.” You scowl. “You ain’t got a romantic bone in your body—least not the patience to take the scenic route.”
He scowls back before his mask breaks and he smirks a little. Snickering at you.
His hand is nudging you forward by your back before you can chastise him.
“C’mon, I think I see the right trail ahead.” He murmurs.
You squint.
“You think?”
He hums, continuing to push you with him.
“Better than nothin’.” He shrugs, turning to see your doubtful look. “And hey, even if I did get us turned around a little—-”
“A lot.”
“Maybe,” John continues, “I won’t complain about gettin’ more time with you.”
You roll your eyes and he chuckles.
“What? Ain’t believe me, darling?”
“You can’t charm your way out of this.” You mutter, finding it hard to keep the glare trained on him.
He smirks, looking a little soft around the corners.
“I’m being honest and truthful here, you know.” He contends.
John lifts his roughed up hands, covered in callouses from lord knows what over the years. He cups your cheeks and leans his forehead against yours.
“I will get us back to camp, safe and sound. Don’t you worry your pretty head. I got you.” He promises in a low tone, one with rare sincerity.
Your shoulders sink a bit, relaxing despite your worries.
“...I know you will.” You whisper back softly.
He grunts, reluctantly dropping his hands, but he catches one of yours with his, interlocking your fingers.
“You better.”
He looks at you again, tugging you into step with him as he leads you down the new path.
“...You ain’t letting me hear the end of this are you?” He chuckles, badly hiding his own amusement.
pairings: dc jason todd/red hood x gn!reader
summary: jason regrets agreeing to hosting the batfamilys next holiday dinner. at least you're there to help him out
warnings: fluff!
“I didn't even want to host this stupid thing.” Jason complains, watching you fix the decorations around the apartment.
He had made minimal effort setting the streamers up and just shoving the more “frivolous” decor onto one surface. He'd never say it out loud but he liked watching you fuss over his place, determined to make it look nice for his sake. It made him appreciate past him and his abrupt decision to ask you to move in.
Commitment frightened Jason, or it was frightened of Jason as he preferred to put it. He was coming off a bad hangover one morning, only half sober when he made the comment. You were stunned and almost cried before remembering he wasn't all there. You reminded him later when he was completely sober and unwilling to go back on his words—especially not when you were looking so happy—he asked again, this time conscious of his paranoia, feeding him ways he could be rejected. But you said yes, and have burrowed your way into his heart and hearth every day since.
He was unsettled when your shoes weren't by the door as they always were since you moved in. One neat and upright while the other was tossed angrily down the small hallway. It was because you were always able to slip one off your foot without touching it, but the other was always somehow suctioned to your foot and by the time you got it off you were so frustrated you would just toss it. It became a ridiculous ritual that Jason started searching for before it even happened.This place was always just a temporary bed;somewhere to lay low when he wasn’t working as Red Hood. He never imagined since all he’s been through, that he’d find another place to call home.
“You’re the one who offered.” You remind him with a snort, legs shaking as you strain to reach impossible heights and tack the seventh row of fairy lights around the house for “ambience”.
“I was drunk.” He grumbles defensively, arms crossed as he slowly walks up behind you to hold your waist to steady you.
“Tipsy.” You correct, and Jason thinks it’s no different. “Also–-You always complain about Dick tricking you into people things. You should know by now not to talk to him when you’re inebriated. You did say ‘maybe we should be normal for once.’ Remember?”
“Yeah, well. I was clearly not in my right mind.” He grimaces.
You laugh and he brings you closer as soon as you finish what you were doing. Jason’s face settles between your neck and shoulder where you can feel him quietly inhale. On a normal day you’d tease him, maybe accuse him of being creepy just for fun, but you let it slide today. Jason had been nothing but anxious all morning. And it was all because of the small gathering he was hosting at home.
He would never admit it to anyone, not even you, but he loved his family. He just wasn’t confident in where he stood with them. There was a divide, even when he was on good terms with everyone. He was haunted by his actions from the past and Bruce…Bruce haunted him even more. The paternal head of the Wayne family was hard to read sometimes. The fact that he’d even made time to attend this stupid party had Jason’s head spinning. When were they not at odds as of late? He couldn’t remember.
“It’s too late. Everyone’s already said they were coming—do you know how many of them I had to convince not to come early? I’m pretty sure they’re bringing food too.” You place your hands over the ones on your waist.
Your voice brings Jason back down to Earth.
“Everyone.” He echoes, sounding disgusted. “Dick’s convinced he’s a chef. He’s probably going to make some weird ass rich people food like caviar on brioche.” He makes an exaggerated gagging noise as he lifts his head. “Tim’s annoying on his own and—God, Damian!” He groans.
“He’s going to complain about everything—the decor, the food. Ungrateful—”
“Sounds like you.” You grin, turning to see his face of utter betrayal.
“There’s no way you just said that. My own—Damian?”
“He’s like twelve Jason.”
“Exactly. Worst kind of kid.” He mutters, so earnestly you shake your head.
“So hopeless.” You say with a soft laugh, pecking his cheek before he can pull away.
You leave him to continue decorating, putting the finishing touches on the small, balding Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. Jason insisted on it, something about “feeling a kinship” with such an ugly duckling. He scowls and stands back, watching you with folded arms once more.
Truthfully, the sight of you fixing up the place was tooth-achingly domestic. Jason still feels like an outsider in his own home sometimes, especially when you’re around. He’s not used to having things just for the sake of it. Or waking up to a cute—stupid, but cute—plush animal staring at him from his bed. He felt like a stray dog that wandered too far into an open home, where the person living inside just gave him a bed and food without question, and he forgot how to leave. He didn’t want to leave.
A knock on the door interrupts his thoughts. He quickly glances at the time.
“Ten minutes early.” He mutters darkly.
“I told you. I tried. Never said they listened to me.” You shrug. He gives you a look and mercifully, you go to open the door for him. Nevermind it was his party. You were practically an extension of him by now. The much better Jason.
You open the door and in comes Dick Grayson almost running you over as he enters with several tupperware stacked on top of each other. He rushes in to set them down in your kitchen, unwittingly knocking you back into Jason’s chest. Your boyfriend catches you with a grunt, touching a hand against your hip to keep you steady.
“Watch it, Grayson! You almost mowed them over!” He barks, growing protective for a split second.
Dick reappears from the kitchen looking guilty. He chuckles while slowly walking closer to you.
“Jay, buddy…let’s not be too—” He yelps, pulling back the hand he was slowly inching toward your shoulder—to attempt a consoling pat nonetheless.
Jason glares at him, and Dick has the decency to be a little afraid and back off. Jason’s clearly still tensed and watching his brother when you step in to de-escalate.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. Let’s not cause a blood feud over an accident, Jason.” You say, eyeing him with a ‘Please relax for once in your life and have a good time with your weird family?’ look.
“He should know better, he’s a freakin’ vigilante for god's sake. How difficult it is to watch—” He stops at your grunt, turning to look at you and then Dick when you point.
The eldest Robin is staring at his adoptive little brother with the widest eyes only he could muster, eyes sparkling with guilt and pleading for mercy. Jason wouldn’t say it out loud but his scoff and a quick,
“Whatever, man…” muttered under his breath tells you he’s not mad anymore.
Dick calms down a bit, now knowing he wasn’t at risk of getting punched anymore and throws you a super apologetic glance. He reaches for your shoulder only to flinch when Jason coughs loudly and settles for a quick pat.
“I’ll uh…keep my distance.” He mumbles.
“Can you help me set up all the food for when everyone else gets here?” You offer and he smiles and nods.
“Yeah!. Yeah. I’ll do that. Stay away from Jason’s…apparently very fragile partner.” He grins, unable to resist teasing Jason as he runs off into the kitchen before said man can lunge at him.
Jason growls, Grayson knows how to press his buttons so easily, even though he’s supposed to be the favourite brother. He runs a stressed hand through his hair.
“No way more people are going to show—” He begins to mutter, interrupted by knocking. He looks about to collapse with both anger and anxiety. His shoulders roll back stiffly.
“Seriously? Does no one in this family know what being on time means? Isn’t it rude to show up so early?” He grumbles.
You stroke his arm, watching his muscles slowly relax under your touch. He doesn’t say it—and he doesn’t have to. The soft look he gives you is enough. He doesn’t think he’d be here right now, doing this, if you weren’t with him.
“Please…?” He mumbles and the request is clear. ‘Open the door?’.
You smile softly, squeezing his arm before pulling away to answer the door. Behind it is Tim looking exhausted as usual, tapping away at his phone. He jolts at the sound of the door and hastily shoves the phone in his pocket. He thrusts a box of cupcakes, bought from a bakery in a haste it would seem. The container is bent out of shape, and some icing is stuck to the lid.
“I’m late. Sorry, I was busy. I had all this work to do—” He glances behind you. “No…one else is here yet?”
You smile sweetly, taking the box from him.
“You’re early, actually. Just Dick is here right now.”
He glances at his hands with pure confusion. Some one tuts from behind him and Jason lets out an audible curse when Damian pushes past Tim inside.
“You were tricked by a fool. Brown set all your clocks back so you wouldn’t be so embarrassingly late.” He says before setting his naturally accusatory glance on you.Tim yells incoherently behind you as he’s gently shushed by Dick and shoved into the kitchen.
Damian’s critiquing eyes scan the room around him, his lip curling at the sight of your depressing tree with disgust.
“Taste cannot be helped I suppose.” He mutters. “Todd, your home is about as I imagined.”
Jason looks about two more words away from kicking Damian out the window.
“Yeah? What’s that supposed to mean?” He says, almost waiting for Damian to keep going so he could do something.
“Small.” Damian replies, he turns to you with a curt nod. “Greetings.”
You smile politely, tilting your head to spot a gift bag behind him. Quickly stifling your surprise, you look back to the young Wayne.
“Hi. Thanks for coming, Damian. We–” You glance at Jason. “I’m happy you came.”
He huffs, but Jason knew Damian for long enough to see his usual manner slightly drop. He was satisfied with your words. Damian shoves the bag into your hands, deliberately ignoring Jason’s look.
“I brought a gift. For the household—not Todd.” He mutters.
Jason balks, an undignified look at the way his youngest brother not only brought a gift—but managed to somehow express affection for you and diss him at the same time.
You beam.
“How thoughtful! Thank you so much.”
Jason narrows his eyes at him, stepping closer to you.
“S’Probably something rigged to kill all of us.” He mutters. “Or just me.”
Damian glares up at him. “I am not some idiot scoundrel like you—”
“Thanks again! Let’s go make sure Dick and Tim aren’t breaking anything okay?” You cut in and miraculously Damian listens, swivelling around on his heel to march into the kitchen.
“I made tabouleh with Alfred. He’s bringing it with him.” The young Robin throws over his shoulder, “ —That’s a salad, Todd. Healthy.”
Jason grumbles and takes a heavy step after him but you pull him back. He looks ruffled still, but he stays with you, breathing in and out slowly.
“This is good!” You try to jostle him, with cheer. “He’s trying. This is the nicest I’ve ever seen him—I know you don’t like all this, but it’s going really well.”
He’s quiet for a moment.
“He’s pissing me off.” He says to you, low enough for just your ears. His shoulders do lower however, and his expression softens the longer his eyes stay on you. “...alright. Not bad. Yet.” He whispers.
He leans down to kiss your forehead, staying there after his lips have retreated. He’s soft, as he is only for you nowadays. He needs you like a balm to his heated heart, you cool him off when his face feels hot with rage, when his hands itch with blood. It’s always you.
“You’re the only reason I’m doing this.” He mutters.
“You keep telling yourself that. You love them.” You grin cheekily.
He scoffs but you see his lips quirk.
“Tim no—” Dick hurries to save something but you both hear a crash from in the kitchen.
“This is why I’m the only one that can cook!” Dick continues to yell, exasperated.
Jason sighs, closing his eyes like it’s a bad dream.
“...I need a minute before Bruce comes.” He mumbles.
You let him have that minute, and he’d have stolen many more if the yelling hadn’t led to where you both were and you had to separate before they could see their dear brother be so loved. Jason wouldn’t dream of hosting his family again–but this would be a memory he’d hold close. All because of you.
flufftober 2025 day 12: blizzard or heatwave
pairings:hsr gepard x gn reader
summary: you get stuck in a blizzard and gepard takes responsibility of warming you up
warnings:fluff and sampo(not together sorry)
Sampo was a dead man. That is if you survived this blizzard outside Belobog. Sampo “Conman” Koski had sent you a message not asking—but begging for help in delivering his newest invention, something he found in the trash in Rivet Town. Out of the kindness of your heart you agreed and came over only to find that outside Belobog was a massive blizzard. The snow is aggressive, the falling snowflakes burn into your skin and the wind feels as if it's biting at every contact it makes.
Serval finds you once you reach inside the walls of the city, your teeth chattering and skin absolutely frozen to the touch. The heating systems weren't working well inside the walls, so the inner city was only a fraction warmer.
“You're lucky I was out here fixing these things when you came by.” Serval says in disbelief, nudging the heat lamp by her shop.
She frowns at you in concern.
“What're you doing here? There's been a blizzard warning for a couple days.”
“Sampo.” You mutter with numb lips.
She draws back with an “Right. I see.”
Serval sighs and wraps an arm around your shoulders, leading you with her.
“Well come on. You can stick out with me and Geppie. The Landau siblings will take care of ya!” She laughs, lightening the mood before she looks at you with a smirk.
“One of them might even do more than that.” She teases and you push her off of you, despite knowing you'd lose her merciful body heat.
“Shut up.” Your teeth chatter as you speak.
You and Gepard had a weird dynamic. You were friendly. Friends even, but at some point along being friends, Gepard had grown a bit awkward with you. He would avoid your eyes if he felt you were staring too long, his hand would fall naturally at your shoulder or the small of your back when you walked alongside him, but then he'd pull away quickly like you burned him.
He was still friendly, a tad protective. He'd check in on you via text, call or in person if he could, inquiring about your health, and he used his position as captain to fix some of your more menial problems such as the street in front of your hotel not being being lit up at night and he always insisted on accompanying you outside of Belobog on Jarilo-VI.
Yet, you did not live here. You were much more nomadic, like the Nameless, travelling between planets. If you had a home it would be the space station, but Belobog was a close second. Serval would mess with you, texting you about how sad and lost her brother looked when you weren't around.
Serval brings you inside Gepard's place, which was also hers since he spent most of his nights in the barracks anyways. They made the agreement since Gepard didn't want his sister to worry about having a place if she didn't need to. She tosses a blanket at you and disappears, mentioning something about checking the power downstairs before the storm gets crazier.
She's gone for a while, leaving you to shiver on the couch, tightly clutching the blanket around you.
The door opens and slams shut. You turn to see Gepard covered in snow. You keep quiet and watch him as he shuffles in, tugging his uniform off to reveal his plain white long sleeve underneath. He turns and stops in his tracks when he sees you.
He's at your side in a second, worriedly touching your forehead, your wrists and the side of your neck to check your temperature and pulse.
“Where did you come from?” He exclaims, sounding mortified. “You didn't just come from outside did you? There's a serious snowstorm and you could have gotten hurt–” He begins to lecture you, not noticing how close he is, his hands having found their way to your face, cupping your cheeks.
He coughs, face turning red as he pulls away.
“Are you alright?” He asks, softer.
You nod, still shivering. He frowns scanning the blanket you have around you. He lets out a low scoff.
“That's not nearly sufficient enough to keep you warm. Wait here.” He sighs to himself, walking down the hall with a mission.
You still can't feel your legs so wandering off wasn't a concern as you sit back in wait.
When Gepard returns your jaw drops. He has what looks like ten blankets folded in his arms–they nearly topple over him, that's how many he grabbed.
“Gepard, I really don’t need that many–”
“Nonsense. You aren't from here so you are not as attuned to the cold weather, much less these extreme conditions we get on occasion.” He interrupts without budging.
You sigh begrudgingly and he wraps as many of his blankets around you before you risk losing breath under the weight. To which he then removes a couple.
You still can barely move under the mountain of blankets. Gepard hovers over you like he’s considering adding more even though he just removed some.
“I think I’m so warm, I’ll start melting into your couch.” You mumble, voice even more incoherent as it gets muffled by the thick quilt in the first layer of your new skin.
He stops and takes a step back, nodding with a satisfied noise.
“Good. Then maybe you’ll learn not to be so reckless.” He furrows his brows. “I mean—a blizzard! What were you thinking?” He exclaims, exasperated.
You wrestle your head out from the blankets to blink up at him. “To be fair, I didn’t walk into a blizzard knowing it was a blizzard. Sampo wasn’t exactly clear on the perilous weather when he asked me to play deliveryman. No note of the copious amounts of sharp ice and snow particles that stab your face.”
You thought you were getting worked up, but Gepard straight up freezes.
“Sampo?” He says eerily calm. “Sampo is the reason for this? I should have—”
“He said it was urgent!” You sputter, assuming you were about to get scolded big time. “A ‘brilliant business opportunity’ and ‘help a buddy out’. He didn’t say anything else.”
He exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes…I should have known. That man has his filthy hands in every problem around here…”
“I mean, I’m okay now.” You mumble, trying to give Sampo some grace. Gepard looked like he was only another minute away from finding the goofball and maybe tossing him in cuffs for a bit.
“You could have gotten seriously hurt.” Gepard snaps—not at you. His face softens as he takes in your face still recovering from the cold and the watery lines under your eyes from the stinging winds and snow outside. “I…” He stiffens, glancing away for a moment.
“I’m really fine now. A lot better with the fifty blankets I’m swaddled in.” You reassure with a slight teasing look.
He huffs but you see a small smile appear on his face. “I’m glad.”
“But you shouldn’t have been out there. Especially not on the whim of some idiot like Koski.”
You laugh.
“Understood, Captain. Should I get your approval for future similar events? Or refer to you when Sampo makes contact?”
The tips of his ears turn red. “I mean—” He stutters, “Just come to me okay? For help.”
“Even if it’s Sampo related?” You tease, leaning off the couch toward him.
“Especially if it’s Sampo.” He mutters.
You laugh again, short but full of that warm joy Gepard always seems to inspire when he’s around. You lean back against the couch. Gepard follows and sits next to you, stiffly. You can see his hand twitching near you like he wants something but can’t quite do it himself.
“You were out there a while too I’m sure.” You murmur. “Being all heroic, saving stranded citizens…”
He scoffs lightheartedly at your praise, but he freezes when you extend one of the blankets his way.
“Want to share? Can’t have the Captain cold either. What would the Silvermane do without you?” You grin softly.
He chuckles, and hesitantly takes the offered blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders. The blanket’s not too large so he has to shuffle closer to you on the couch, something neither of you complain about.
You can practically hear him manually breathe as you two sit there together, shoulders pressed against each other’s. It’s loud even against the wind howling outside.
After a moment, you speak just above a whisper.
“You’re really warm, you know that?”
His shoulder goes rigid against yours and you can see his face flush a deep red,
“Well—I do run hot. A-And the people of Belobog have naturally adapted to such low temperatures over the years.”
“Guess you’re more effective than these blankets.” You suggest lightly, glancing up at him with a small smile.
He almost shortcircuits again but then he just laughs, a breathy and warm laugh that has your ears heating up this time. He doesn’t reply further, but his arm slowly winds around you, grasping your side and pulling you closer. He doesn’t address it—and you don’t quite care to either.
“Let’s keep each other warm then…for a while longer.” He murmurs, avoiding your eyes.
Later, Serval is distracted with some mechanical parts in her hands, coming up the stairs and spots you and her brother half asleep together on the couch. She covers her mouth and instantly fumbles for her phone. The flash goes off and she curses, running off before she gets caught.
Gepard rouses, eyes still half shut. He’s still alert, scanning the area but when he finds nothing he sighs softly and sinks back into the couch, tightening his arms around you. Sampo Koski lives another day—for his unintended act of kindness.
pairings: LaDS Sylus x gn reader
summary: spy au/ you are sent on a mission only to find that sylus is on the same mission with the same goal-your long time rival and sometimes more than enemy
warnings: fluff
“This is your mission should you choose to accept—”
You hit the green button, causing the voicemail to cut off. The machine powers off and you lean back, grunting softly as you collide with the seat. Looking out the window of the plane your agency sent you on, you can see rolling green fields. Below is the countryside, where you worked on your last mission. You enjoyed it there, the soft quiet of the rural village you stayed in was comforting and the mission was a slow one, letting you relax for once. You lived there for a few months, not wanting to leave. Alas, you were a spy for the secret government. An organization called LADS. LADS was above the federal governments in power, yet they somehow remained a secret from the regular civilian.
Your career was a dangerous one, never letting you stay in one place too long, and forming any lasting relationships with others was difficult as it put a target on them. LADS may have been a secret to the regular person, but there were hundreds of organizations like it, waiting to get the drop on any agent. LADS itself was a threat to them of course, but it was also a threat to itself. There are a few different sectors within LADS most of which oppose one another, so agents often sabotage each other on missions to lethal extent.
So, your job wasn’t relaxing.
This mission was more complex than your last one, but it was nothing to sneeze at. A high ranking military member was to be in attendance at a ball in a week in a foreign country. He had a translator with him. The military member is a Brigadier General. He’s suspected to have important documents in his possession. Documents that LADS normally wouldn’t care about, but even more important was the Brigadier General’s translator. A light search gave nothing, but deeper searching with the right technology revealed the translator’s connection to another spy organization, and if the translator gets these documents–-in short, LADS wants to make sure the documents are out of any enemy’s grasp.
Within hours you’re stepping into the ballroom. Costumed appropriately of course, weapons hidden in plain sight. You schmooze your way past the door and immediately focus on the sight before you. Hundreds, thousands of people are here. Pompous elites, shady high ranking members of society, people who are in control of whole countries…all in one room.
The Brigadier General is to your right. His hair is combed so far back, you can see the irritated skin in the corners of his hairline, how harsh must he have been pulling his comb you wonder. His translator is next to him. Her hair is voluptuous and her eyes are narrowed on the man talking to the General. Like she’s calculating his entire being. You step into the crowd, getting a good angle to keep him in your sights, but avoiding her line of sight. She seems to be on edge. You bump into a man, his mustache is neatly waxed, and his face is quite…moist. He seems to be very warm under the lights—and perhaps pressure of the event.
“Apologies.” You say in a low tone, charming smile already on your face when he looks over.
He makes a startled noise, clutching his tie.
“My…apologies indeed.” He gasps. “I am Kellan St. Germaine.” He bows, and you fight the deadpan expression back. What is this, the regency era?
You hum, smiling sweetly. A little bit of flirting never hurt anyone…it saved your ass more than once. You follow his actions, murmuring your name. A fake name.
“Darcy. A pleasure.” Your eyes never leave him, but sneakily so, you’ve circled him so he backs up and you can see the General from behind.
Kellan stammers, heavily affected by your charms. He wipes a sweaty hand on his vest before extending it to you.
“Shall we dance? I have some time—” He freezes, choking on his next words.
“Ahem, I am not busy yet. It will pass the time.” He nods.
You lift a brow. His behaviour was troubling, but from all you studied, he wasn’t even a footnote in your concerns. All the better, you’d keep him in your sights when you could. Like now. Your eyelashes flutter down at him.
“That sounds wonderful.” You purr, and he straightens his posture before taking your hand and bringing you into the fray.
The dance is slow, of course with all these posh imposters around, there couldn’t be too much excitement. Kellan leads you into a waltz, all the while you keep tabs on the General and his translator. Kellan is played like a fiddle, taking your subtle nudging and leading you closer to your target. Closer, you can overhear snippets of their conversation.
“Do you have it, General?” The man asks.
“...He…does…the piano room…I…” The translator speaks, beginning to talk to the man herself.
Then, Kellan stumbles, tripping. He bumps into someone and stutters for forgiveness. You’re distracted for a moment and the three are gone. You look around and quickly spot them exiting to the gardens. This is your chance. You leave Kellan to the wolves, slinking away through the crowd and down a hallway. LADS sent you a blueprint of the building on the plane and you had time to take in everything so you know where the piano room is.
Inside the room is empty. Besides the piano there was nothing to be seen, no occupants, nothing. You enter slowly, shutting the door behind you. You check the walls around for any weak points, a secret tunnel, anything. But it’s pointless. Before you give up, you lift the hood of the piano, leaning down to look deep into all the shadowy corners. Something shines beneath and you grab it, only to see the empty shell of a USB drive. Any important part was missing, leaving you with a piece of junk. You curse under your breath, tossing the garbage back inside.
“Missing something, kitten?” A voice drawls from behind you, making your blood run cold. You whip around, unhitching your gun from its secret holster and aiming it at the mystery figure.
“You again? I should have known this mission was fishy.” You mutter, staring down at Sylus.
Sylus, leader of an opposing organization not within the rules and boundaries of LADS. Onychinus, a menace operation whose only goal is to make money and have control over most territories. They operate everywhere, but they want LADS turf like everyone else. He smirks, fanning his hand out for you to lower your weapon, he chuckles when you don’t.
“Now…is that anyway to treat a friend? I see we’re after the same thing.”
“Are we?” You retort, hand firm in your aim. Despite the gun to his face, he doesn’t flinch.
“We are.” He confirms. “But I see, we can’t both take the documents.” He continues, slowly taking out his own gun. He points at you as well, though his grip is much lazier, his finger is nowhere near the trigger.
“Want to make a bet?” He proposes smugly.
You scoff.
“Never–”
“Ah…such a sore loser. After Turkey I thought—” He interrupts with a mischievous look in his eyes. He’s baiting you, and it works.
“Turkey doesn’t count!” You shout, glancing back at the door quickly. You grumble and put your gun down. He follows.
Without the guns, Sylus glides forward, closer to you.
“If it pleases you.” He says in a jesting tone. “So. A bet. Are you in?”
You sigh. What have you got to lose? Your pride?
“Fine. What’s the bet?”
Sylus laughs, running a hand through his hair.
“Double or nothing. Whoever gets the document first: wins.”
You stare at him sceptically. It seemed simple. Like he was confident he’d win. It made you think about just what he could possibly have on him.
“Is that stupid bird of yours currently sitting on it or something?” You inquire, making him huff with amusement.
“Mephisto is a good sportsman.” He denies.
“Alright you’re on. Is the reward just…winning the documents?” You tilt your head, at a loss for his game here. Sylus never made any sense to you.
He smiles, it’s as ominous as his evil smirks.
“If I win…you go out to dinner. With me.” He says it so simply.
You grimace.
“You?” You sputter, looking disgusted. “The enemy–-the evil spy who is currently trying to dismantle my whole organization—you want…that?”
He nods, crossing his arms under his chest. The movement distracts you, seeing the stretch of his button up against…what could only be muscle. His eyes track yours quickly, a snicker at the back of his throat.
“My eyes are up here, sweetheart.” He leans his head down, eyes following yours as they snap back, teasingly lowering to your lips. “You can look wherever you like after our dinner.”
It makes you scoff, aggressively. You shove him back to which he moves, mostly to entertain you.
“Yeah okay. Bet taken. Because I’m not going to lose.” You declare.
The door behind you two begins to shake. Someone’s coming. Covering, you retrace your actions, pulling Sylus closer. You can almost laugh at his grunt, dismayed at being moved around, but his hands settle on your waist quickly, shutting all your thoughts down.
“Don’t push it.” You hiss through your teeth. “We need to play it safe—”
“I know.” He interrupts brusquely. He lowers his head to yours, angling just close enough to make you blank.
The door opens and someone gasps, slamming it shut. As soon as the coast is clear you shove him back again and rush out before he could open his mouth again. You hear him snickering.
Back in the ballroom you spot the General without his translator.
“Shit.” You whisper to yourself, merging into the crowd as you try to catch sight of her anywhere.
She was too important, too…unaccounted for. If she somehow escaped your sight and Sylus got ahead of you…you’re screwed. You’re looking over your shoulders, scanning champagne flutes, dresses and of course, Sylus was already at your shoulder.
“Trouble?” He teases.
“Shut up. If I find out you had something to do with this,” You whisper angrily without losing focus on your mission, “I will tie you to a train just like Belize.”
“Mm. I enjoyed our time together.” He muses almost fondly. It’s aggravating how he treats this. How he treats your “rivalry”.
“I’m working. If you want to be helpful for once–don’t talk.” You mutter.
“I love when you make demands.” He grins. “And you love it when I talk.”
You’re thinking of a scathing remark when there’s movement that catches your eye–-the balcony. It catches Sylus’s too, as he falls quiet, form hovering behind you at a protective distance or lack of. You grab his arm without thinking and drag him behind you.
“Sweetheart, you could just tell me you want my company.” Sylus says, his rich tone hitting your ears in a way too intimate way to acknowledge right now.
“I want to win. And I want you to be there so I can rub it in your face.” You hiss, marching ahead.
He barks out a laugh.
“Then we are more compatible than I thought.”
Outside, it’s growing dark and the cold air hits you. There ahead is the translator, descending marble stairs, her head lowered as her hands fumble inside her bag. You lunge forward but Sylus stops you with a hand on your shoulder.
“Wait.” He whispers, drawing his hand further around you to tug you back into a wall. “She isn’t alone.”
You follow his gaze, and your breath catches at the shimmering gleam coming from the scope of a rifle. A sniper is on top of the building adjacent to the ballroom. The translator runs across the gardens, hastily and the sniper doesn’t move.
That red dot moves across the grass, almost invisible to the naked eye. It nears your location and you move this time, pushing Sylus back and making him duck with you. His hands catch your waist, changing position to cover you.
“Careful.” He murmurs, and it’s almost gentle.
A shot rings out, he squeezes you closer to him as you both watch the bullet land a few feet from you, the dirt flying. In tense silence you both listen for the sniper reloading, and after a while you both creep back, out of view. You groan standing up. The translator is completely gone. At least, she hasn’t doubled back around.
“If I end up losing, I’ll order every expensive item on the menu—and you’re paying.” You mutter.
“You deserve it all.” He replies smoothly, without an ounce of doubt or mocking in his voice.
Your face feels warm and you shove him. There’s no time however for chatting as you finally hear the sound of the sniper reloading his gun, and guards from the other side of the building are beginning to catch on to something going on. Whether it’s your side of theirs, who knows. Not smart to stay long enough to tell.
“We got suspicious figures around the corner. On your left.” You hear someone buzzing into their comms.
Quickly, Sylus pulls you with him, sneaking down the side of the property. You make it to a dark vehicle with tinted windows.
“Wait–I need the documents!” You fight, trying to return but Sylus keeps his grip.
“Don’t be stupid.” He rumbles. “Neither of them have the documents anymore. We need to take cover tonight.”
It’s annoying how you can’t argue with him, how if you were less proud might admit he was a good spy. Better than you maybe. But the thought makes you ill. So, instead you follow him into the car watching him kick it into drive and take you both away into the night.
“You brought a getaway car?” You can’t help but ask out of envy. LADS didn’t give you one, you had to travel with a rental car.
He smirks, stepping on the gas.
“No.”
“You stole it!?”
Sylus ignores your sputtering about morality and doing the right thing, he keeps speeding down the road getting the two of you miles away from the danger.
You reach the safehouse late. He parks the car under the cover of some low hanging trees and exits, coming around to open your door. You blink at him. He lifts a brow and holds his hand out.
“Well?” He instigates. “Chivalry isn’t dead, you know.”
You roll your eyes, pushing his hand away as you get out yourself. The door to the safehouse is locked, and you turn to see him waving some high tech key in his hands. You snort, taking a pin off your person and jamming it into the lock on the door. A few turns and the door unlocks, you look at him with a Amateur look in your eyes as you enter without him.
He wasn’t even mad, if anything he was impressed. The safehouse only had one bed, of course it did. It was Sylus’s afterall, and he never planned to have guests, ever.
“There’s a couch.” He shrugs.
“It looks like future tetanus shots.” You retort.
“Well, I couldn’t splurge. It would have looked suspicious.” He argues back.
“I’m not sleeping on that thing!”
“I won’t leave my bed.”
You continue to bicker, all the way into the bedroom. Both of you are too lazy to change into better clothes for sleeping. Well, he was lazy. All your things were still in a suitcase at your safehouse. Reluctantly, you agree to share the bed.
You shove a pillow in the middle, creating a wall.
“There. Don’t trespass on this side.” You huff, dropping down onto the left side of the bed, arms folded.
“What, are you? Eight?” He chuckles lowly.
“I’m highly suspicious you orchestrated this whole mess of a mission.” You grumble.
He smirks, picking up the pillow between you and tossing it.
“You give me too much credit.”
“I’ll smother you.” You respond hotly.
You both lay down in the bed. The lights are dimmed, but not quite off. The air is thick, with tension. Tension that involves unnamed and unwarranted emotions. You can hear Sylus breathing next to you. Steady and controlled—much like the rest of him. He was steady but not asleep. The scent of gunpowder wafted over you. He always smelled like that. Even in Turkey, in Belize. You shift away, but the mattress dips, rendering you closer.
Minutes pass, then his voice breaks the silence, quiet and knowing.
“You’re still thinking about the documents.” He says. “Aren’t you?”
You exhale through your nose.
“I don’t want to lose.” You mutter. “Not to you. Not to anyone.”
You can practically hear him smiling.
“I don’t think I care about the documents anymore.” He whispers.
His admission has you speechless, so much so you even turn to look at him, only to have your sight blocked by his chest. Sylus shifts over you, his limbs trapping you, yet his position was vulnerable enough for you to kick him if need be.
“What the hell are you doing?” You question, eyes wide. He lowers himself onto his forearms, lips hovering over your cheek. He’s quiet at first, breathing against your skin, taking it all in.
“What happened in Turkey…I won’t ignore it. I’d burn those documents right now if it meant getting you to forget about your mission.” He whispers.
“You’re the leader of Onychinus. I’d be declared an enemy if LADS—”
He shushes you gently.
“Don’t think about any of that. It doesn’t matter. I’ll make sure they find out nothing–-if you so wish.” He murmurs.
“Go to dinner with me tomorrow.” He requests, though his tone begs no rejections.
You swallow thickly. His red eyes are honed in on yours, like they aren’t leaving your face anytime soon.
“After I get the documents.” You reply through a strained voice.
A rumble escapes his throat and he leans in to gently kiss the corner of your mouth, the action making you sigh softly.
summary: painfully single, your coworker takes it upon herself to set you up with your least favourite coworker, kuroo
warnings: none like not as fluffy but no angst still
“You’re still single right?” A coworker asks you casually as you work next to each other.
The question makes you pause, eyes shifting to where her hands are without turning your head. You’ve been single for sometime now, it’s starting to really bleed into the rest of your life with everyone you know asking about a boyfriend, your parents have even begun hoping you just hookup with someone.
It wasn’t that dating was hard—though it was. You were afraid. The thought of going out to see someone, someone you don’t really know and having to decide then and there whether you saw a future with them, and committing to a stranger was offputting.
“...Yes.” You answer, uncertain as to what box you just opened. Your coworker grins.
“Great! I know this guy, he works in a different department. He’s so single. I was thinking of setting you guys up if you were okay with it?”
You automatically grimace, then relax a bit.
“He works here? In this building?” You ask to which she nods.
“Yeah! Really good looking, he works in the finance…” She trails off seeing you look like she killed your pet. “...What?”
“A finance bro? Hell no–”
She coughs, interrupting you. Her eyes are serious, her hands coming to trap yours in place.
“No! No. He’s totally not like that at all. Promise.” She says quickly, and you almost believe her. Almost.
You continue to squint at her, scanning for lies. She stares back at you, just as intense. A supervisor knocks on the wall of your shared cubicle.
“We working over here?” He questions with a flat look between the two of you. You both startle and fumble to sit back, facing away from each other.
You roll your lips together, glancing back at her when you hear him leave.
“...I’ll think about it.” You whisper.
She squeals, making other employees give her dirty looks, to which she slumps down at her desk.
Later you’re in the copy room, sorting through a stack of papers, stuck with the tedious task of tossing out the misprinted copies and shredding them. The door opens while you lean against the copier looking bored as ever.
“Woah, hey.” Kuroo Tetsurou, your insufferable colleague--actually no. He was hardly a colleague when he worked in another department. He just appears randomly in your space to annoy you.
He smirks lazily, copying your lean but against the doorframe.
“You come here often?”
Your eyes roll so hard they might fall out if you do it again. He was so sleazy sometimes—if it wasn’t for the way he looked so obviously pleased when you got fed up with him, you'd have assumed he was a creep. But, no. Kuroo loved teasing people, spiking their blood pressure. He had a quick wit, one that made it exceedingly difficult to craft a response to match his infuriating talent. You ignore him instead, looking away from the door.
Kuroo makes a sound, like he’s offended, and walks closer. He leans just on the other side of the machine.
“Rough day?” He asks, and he almost sounds sincere, “ ’cause you look like you need a little bit of…ionic bonding.”
You blink. You didn't listen enough in chemistry to understand Kuroo's jokes half the time.
“What? Is that like…an insult or something?” You question, brows furrowed as you turn to look at him.
His mouth opens and closes, his eyes widening slightly, pushing himself up from the copier.
“No! No way. It's like…you know opposites…attraction. A positive charge and a negative charge…” Kuroo gestures with a finger between the two of you, back and forth until you push his hand down.
You click your tongue and shake your head, retrieving your papers and walking around him.
“I don't have time, Tetsurou. Go bother someone else.” You call over your shoulder as you walk out the door.
Kuroo recovers, quickly walking out the door after you, pausing to watch you go down the hall.
He was definitely grinning, you didn’t have to turn back to see him.
A few employees are around the hall, staring at him and you, muttering to each other.
“He’s so obsessed with them…it’s sick.”
You're still in the office late at night, doing overtime so you would have less to do over the weekend. Everyone's gone, even your supervisor. He dropped the keys at your desk before he left so you could lock up.
“Don’t be here too long. It’s dangerous.” He says casually on his way out.
You assume he means the way some doors get stuck since no one would be there to help until morning. However, you realize a different interpretation to his words when you finish up and find Kuroo idling in the lobby. One hand is in his pocket and the other is holding his phone, which he seems entranced by, scrolling mindlessly. His tie is loose than it is in the day—not that you would notice. He’s unbuttoned the first couple buttons on his shirt too, leaving a very distracting glimpse of his collarbones and the shining skin beneath.
You clear your throat after realizing where you’ve been lingering on and his eyes jump from his phone to you. His hand slips out of his pocket and he waves stupidly.
“I was beginning to think you were never getting out of there. Always workin’ hard, huh?” He teases, starting to walk over as he tucks his phone away.
You stare at him with suspicion.
“What are you doing here?” You ask, like he’s an intruder. He feels like one, with how strangely different he looks outside of work hours even when you’re still in the building.
He touches his chest, a light scoff leaving him.
“Why are you looking at me like I’m shady? One of your department members said you were staying late. I wanted to walk you home, like a gentleman.”
You groan. Like, in his face groan. His lazy smile turns into a straight up grin at your audacity.
“Why the hell would you want to do that? And why would I even let you…I’m a big kid. I can walk home by myself.” You resist, contemplating locking him in for the whole night. It would be a win for everyone. Except for Kuroo.
He follows you regardless, as you turn the last lights off and head out the front doors, practically flying out behind you, like he knows you would close the door on him if he was too slow.
“Because I don’t want you walking at night, alone? I mean come on,” He stops to watch you lock the door, noticing the tremble of your hand, weakened from exhaustion.
Kuroo places his hand over yours, carefully. He helps you turn the key and doesn’t blink when you pull it back out with a grumble, shoving him away.
“And, you look tired. Wouldn’t want you falling through a sewer grate on your way home.” He snickers.
You genuinely don’t have the energy left to continue arguing with him. Perhaps you would be lucky and he would be on his best behaviour—even shut up the entire time?
“Fine.” You sigh, beginning to walk away from him. He runs to catch up with you, stepping to walk in front for just a moment, enough to walk backwards and look at you. You point before he opens his mouth, “But don’t push it.”
To your surprise he is quiet. He doesn’t speak, in fact, he looks like he’s thinking hard about something, but can’t or won’t say it out loud just yet. He is careful with his hands too, not the usual teasing pokes that he does to irritate you. He only pulls you over by your sleeve when you don’t notice how close you’re getting to the road, firmly nudging you on the inside of the street.
You thoughtlessly leave your apartment door wide open when you arrive, disappearing into your place like he wasn’t there. Stunned he only leans in to check on you before quietly shutting your door and leaving. You dream of him that night, and wake up in a cold sweat. You swear to never let anyone know of it.
The coworker that wanted to set you up on a date texts you the next day. She spams the question over and over, reminding you you never gave her an answer yesterday. Overwhelmed, you just say yes and turn your phone off. She doesn’t give you any more detail than the date, time, and location for the date. Sunday evening at a tiny bar in the heart of the city.
You don’t begin to freak out until Sunday morning. It sinks in that you don’t know who this man is, and the repercussions from dating someone you technically work with, even if it doesn’t go well. Especially if it doesn’t go well. What if he’s some douchebag? He’s in finance…it’s practically genetic. Then, you take a deep breath, put your nicest not-work clothes on and primp yourself in the mirror. You run out before you begin thinking too much and stay home. The threat of your coworker hating you for standing up your date is enough motivation to get you in a taxi and by then it’s too late to turn back.
The bar is dimly lit and surprisingly empty for a weekend. It’s not the worst place to be and you could rejoice at the fact your coworker didn’t send you somewhere that was actually a front for credit card fraud or something. You take a seat at a small table, looking around. It should be easy, you just have to recognize anyone from work. Observing the other patrons brings you to the conclusion that he’s not here—he has yet to arrive or he’ll never show up and you’ll look stupid. A man, already looking drunk, stumbles over to your table, propping his elbow on the edge. He is definitely not anyone you know.
“Hey I saw you back there and I just had to ask…you alone?” The stranger speaks with a slight slur to their speech.
His breath is like hot garbage wafting into your face and you shove his arm off the table. You go to speak when someone else beats you to it.
“Not alone. Sorry, man.” A low but smug voice comes from behind him.
The man blinks slowly, turning around to reveal Kuroo.
“I got a date waiting for me if you could…” Kuroo gestures to the back of the bar nonchalantly and the guy is thankfully too drunk to get mad, simply mumbling out of confusion and walking off.
Kuroo turns to you, eyes scanning your outfit with a sly smile. He pulls the chair across from you out with one hand, swinging a leg over to sit down.
“You clean up nice.” He appraises, seemingly unable to remove his eyes from you. Your hair, face, clothes. Whatever it is, his eyes don’t even shift to the table or the flashing lights above you.
You on the other hand are mortified. Disturbed even. You lean forward, eyes glaring at him.
“What are you doing here?” You hiss. “I have a date–” You freeze.
“Oh no…don’t tell me my date is you?” You complain to which he smiles wider.
“Guilty.” He winks.
You groan, face falling into your hands as you lament the grand mistake your coworker made. One blind date with over eighty employees in the office, and it was him. Kuroo Tetsurou. The annoying flirt with a bed head. The flirt who seemingly could never get a date—with how often he never brought anyone to company parties. The guy who you thought was so hot during your first week, and never wanted to talk to again after you saw how painfully unexceptional you were, how he flirted with another employee by the coffee pot, just as he did with you.
This was the worst possible outcome.
You place your hands on the table, about to stand up to leave and he leans forward quickly, shocking you with the panic in his face. His hands press yours back down to keep you still.
“Wait! Just wait…am I really that bad? Just…just sit. One drink. Please?” He all but begs and you're pissed at how much it means to you. That he would look so pathetic. For you.
You don’t say anything but you sit back down with a dark look on your face. He slips his hands back to his side of the table with a relieved sigh. Then, he slumps back in his chair with a carefree grin like he’s never been stressed a day in his life.
He waves someone over to get you both drinks, patiently pausing for you to order before he goes. Infuriatingly, he doesn’t say another thing as you both wait. His hair is half-tamed for once. One side of his head looking somewhat combed—and clearly fighting against the barriers of hairspray. And…even more so upsetting, he looked good. He wore a black button up, even more unbuttoned than that night he walked you home. To the point you saw his chest. It made you feel like a pilgrim the way you felt so scandalized. Among other feelings.
It hits you at some point while waiting, that he seemed none too fussed about you as his date. With a lifted brow you address him.
“You knew I was the date didn’t you? Why didn’t you ever tell me?” You grumble accusingly.
He holds his hands up in defense.
“Hey now…I didn’t know then. Don’t assume.” He laughs. “I just…saw you here. No one else from work around right?”
He taps the table in a rhythm and breathes in, examining the other tables around you before he looks back with a look of bewilderment.
“Or were you thinking I’d be opposed to dating you?” He throws a question back, his gaze uncomfortably focused on you.
You scoff because it’s true. You assumed he disliked you all the same, had the same irritation for you in his own way. He sees it plain on your face and breaks out in a laugh. A loud laugh that has the few patrons eyeing you. A cackle, really.
“Stop laughing! It’s not funny—I mean, we don’t…like each other.” You say begrudgingly, folding your arms.
He wipes a tear from his eye and sits up, sobering suddenly. He looks concerned, cocking his head to meet your eyes again.
“I don’t like you? Really?” He lets out another laugh, more of a breath. He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, messing it all up again. You prefer it this way.
Kuroo mutters your name under his breath, almost exasperated. You sit straighter, both lost and offended by his reaction.
“What? Why are you saying my name like that?”
He opens his mouth but someone comes by and drops your drinks off. The moment is suspended and you both turn your attention to thank them, and awkwardly begin drinking. It’s slow, quiet. His eyes are still on you as he lifts his glass and you know because you’re staring back.
“...You really don’t know why I bug you all the time?” He murmurs after a pause, blinking to look away from you, looking down at his glass.
“Isn’t it because you like making me angry? I mean that time you kept eating my lunch, even when I labelled it twenty times in the fridge—”
He blows air from his cheeks, looking awkward. Guilty. He rubs his neck.
“Okay so I didn’t go about it great but…I annoy you all the time because I like you.” He admits in one breath, eyes shifting to and away so fast you barely catch it.
You’re stunned. Hands firmly around your drink, unsure if you could even drop it right now. Your fingers feel like rods of steel, beyond your lifting capabilities.
“...You like me?” You whisper, baffled.
He nods hesitantly and you’re taken aback by this side of your annoying coworker. This nervous and shaky looking Kuroo that lacks confidence.
“Yes. And—And I didn’t know how to show you. Or tell you, really.” He explains, hands gesturing shakily in front of him. He nearly knocks his glass over, pausing to steady it. “I really like you. I’ve never been good with…flirting.”
You balk at his claim and he sees your face, chuckling for a split moment before becoming nervous again.
“-I know. I know. I flirt…a lot. But I wasn’t like this in high school. I was a cocky guy, but I didn’t talk to my crushes often…didn’t really date. But…you, you make me suck in a different way. I can’t think normally around you—I panic, and because I didn’t want to look boring or not say anything at all—I just…did what I do best. Piss people off. It got you to look at me.” He flexes his hand, finally meeting your eyes for good.
“I’m sorry for being…a pest. I really am. I mean—I’m not going to lie and say I’m not a piece of shit sometimes, my old teammates will tell you.” He laughs softly. “I really like you…and if you’d let me; I want to continue this date.”
Kuroo looks at you intently. It’s the first time you look at him and really see the sincerity in his face. The slight flush to his cheeks and the dampness of his lashes. You feel the annoyance, the hatred, disdain, all the negative emotions you once associated with Kuroo Tetsurou are gone. Maybe they’d be back, but now? All you were left with was a warm knot in your chest.
“Sure.” You breathe.
Kuroo’s very focused on your date. He asks you thoughtful questions, shares his old high school stories, his incredibly bad but strong habit of trash talk that came from volleyball and remains to this day.
“I think you’d get along really well with Kenma, I mean I bother the both of you—he even shut the door on me one day and I had to nap outside of his apartment like a weirdo until he let me in.” He cackles.
“You don’t bother me.” You mumble, hands under your chin as you listen.
He stops to look at you, his smirk softening.
“Good…”
“Not now anyways.” You add slowly, looking down.
He hums.
“So…we have pretty good chemistry if you—”
“Shut up.”
“Does this affect my chance of getting a kiss by the door?”
You fix him with a glare and he smiles, knowing he’s getting under your skin.
Kuroo might tell you soon, but for now he keeps it to himself, how glad he is that your date didn’t show tonight.
pairings: giyuu tomioka x gn!reader
summary: giyuu tomioka is like the tides, always leaving and always returning back to you, sometimes he came back even closer than the last.
tags: sweet ol' fluff
For all Giyuu has learned, he never thought he’d be rethinking his beliefs. Being a Hashira comes with heavy burden. A responsibility he would welcome with reluctance but also with great devotion. His life had brought nothing but pain and suffering, everyone he’s ever loved torn from him. He was always certain that he was safest alone—and that others were safer without binding themselves to him. It’s why he kept so distant from the other Hashira, why he refused to idle with the younger ranks or even entertain anyone’s small talk.
Despite all his conviction, Giyuu Tomioka has a soft heart. It’s his soft heart that has made him falter so many times. When he listened to Tanjiro’s pleas, guided him and his sister to Urokodaki, continued to protect the siblings throughout their journey, and lastly, his soft heart is what made him give in to you.
You, a civilian he met through a particularly harrowing mission. After fighting off so many demons, he wasn’t fit to make his way back and you with your kind eyes, furrowed brows, and general sweet disposition had melted him even if only slightly. He let himself be taken care of, stayed in your home for the night, and by morning he was hesitant to leave. It’s all history now. No one else in the Demon Slayer Corps knew how you did it, but within weeks of him returning from that mission, you appeared. Suddenly it was all the more clearer why he’d been writing so fervently in those days.
Even more scandalous, he let you into his home, something he kept the others from doing in order to keep a touch of distance between him and everyone else. A safety precaution for his own mind, so that their losses didn’t feel so familiar. His frame of thought was clear to you from early on in living with Giyuu. You began as more of a caretaker or a roommate, it was not inherently romantic–-though Shinobu would contest that statement, having witnessed the way he looked for you when you weren’t home.
One might find him restricting, he gave you rules and lectured you whenever you walked around the headquarters without him. One of his conditions for letting you into his home was that you were to stay firmly out of danger, he even argued with Ubayashiki about keeping you from enlisting. He wouldn’t have you fight—he was firm on that. He was even reluctant to let you out of his sight to work in the butterfly mansion for Shinobu and her girls, citing the unpredictability of injured members being too much risk for you.
You didn’t mind however. You understood his caution—anyone could see the vacancy in his expression, and if staying home would relax his never-ending stream of thoughts, you would do it. It wasn’t like he was isolating you. The others were allowed to keep you company in his absence—and if he wasn’t there he at least was relaxed knowing who was with you when you did roam the headquarters. Shinobu enjoyed spiking his blood pressure from time to time though, inviting you to work with her some days without telling him. She would tell you that the slight wild look in his eye when he burst into the mansion after looking everywhere just to find you patching up Zenitsu for the seventh time that week—was worth it.
Everyone was aware how much he cared, the strange intimacy of your dynamic with Giyuu. Everyone but the two of you. The Water Hashira, famously averse to any friendly affection, was always found touching the small of your back, grasping your shoulder, anything that would be seen as just friendly guidance if it was anyone else.
“Watch your step…” He would say under his breath, watching your feet more than his own while traversing the stone paths throughout the headquarters.
To his dismay, he still had to leave for missions. In the event of his reluctant absence, he’d make sure you were cared for. Quietly stocking up on your favourite food and though you never asked for it, he’d leave something of his conveniently out in the open. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to, the way his eyes lingered when he came home to you wearing his stuff, anything really. Even socks had him secretly proud, feeling like he was a source of comfort to you as you are to him.
Giyuu’s missions could last hours to days to weeks. Sometimes you worried he’d never return. He always did however. Giyuu Tomioka was like the tides. He would always pull back, no matter how close, sometimes he was even completely gone from your life…but he would always return, sometimes closer than he was before.
It’s been a week since Giyuu left for his last mission. You knew he would return, he always does, but his absence has left you feeling lonely. The Hashira are pleasant company, but they are not Giyuu. Giyuu has a way of being a balm to your soul. His awkward jokes in the silence of night, whispered apologies when he thinks he’s said something wrong, the way his eyes brighten just a smidge when he hears you laughing finally. The house feels empty as you wander around, looking for something to do as you wait for it to be dark enough to go to sleep without feeling guilty.
The moon is beginning to rise when you hear him. His steps quiet along the old floor, announcing himself before he does appear in the archway. His blue eyes land on you, focused. He immediately roves over your face, body, checking for anything off. Once he’s satisfied he comes closer. He moves faster than you’re used to, and what he does next is even more out of character. He embraces you carefully, slow enough to let you decide, yet with the hold of a man who knew exactly what he wanted after weeks away from home. One hand creeps up to the back of your neck, fingers stretched across the expanse protectively. The other hand loops around your waist at your back.
“It’s warmer tonight.” He whispers. “We could sit by the water.”
He sounds tired, but hopeful. You hum thoughtfully, almost falling asleep in his warm hold.
“Sure…we could do that.” You say as you fight through a yawn. “Might fall asleep before we’re back home though.”
He doesn’t look perturbed.
“I can carry you.” He says like it’s the only answer.
You sit by the stream in the forest clearing, his jacket underneath you as a barrier between you and the dirt. Giyuu talks at a relaxed pace, detailing his journey to you. And when you fall asleep against his shoulder, he takes the time to think.
It was a marvel, how you two found each other, how you had even wormed your way into his thoughts, his home, and now his heart. Giyuu thinks he wouldn’t change it for the world, but right now, he felt more agreeable to changing it for something closer. Like the tides take over the sand, he wanted you to encompass him. He returned to you like the tide, but for you he wished to be the sand beneath, draped in your presence and impossible to remove.
pairings:fuegoleon vermillion x reader
summary: you get cursed and fuegoleon crumbles under the weight of your now unabashed feelings for your captain
tags:fluff
This was awful. Not ideal. Not in the slightest.
Of course the day Fuegoleon had taken time to rest, rehabilitate his injuries, is when disaster strikes. He left you in charge, trusting you to take care of the squad and oh how you wish his trust wasn’t misplaced. Your dear captain, trusting you with such an honour. Your dear captain whom you had the biggest crush on. You couldn’t say no when he made the ask.
After a mission without him leading charge, the youngest Vermillion kicks Fuegoleon’s door wide open, causing the eldest son to startle. Fuegoleon was sitting at his desk in his study, almost dozing off after hours of being pushed to do absolutely nothing. He struggled to not keep himself busy with reports or his other duties around the place.
“How many times-” Fuegoleon narrows his eyes, about to chastise Leopold when his eyes settle on the figure slumped in his arms. You.
His expression softens and his voice grows concerned as he leaves his desk to look over you at a closer distance.
“What happened? Are they hurt?” He murmurs, confused. He lays a hand against your forehead and is further baffled to feel a regular temperature.
Leopold shrugs.
“No one knows. The mage who did it was pretty easy to defeat so we figure it can’t be anything too dangerous.” The boy’s face scrunches after, in reluctance. “But…they were sayin’ some odd stuff. Making no sense.” He mutters.
Before Fuegoleon can interrogate him more, Leopold just throws you to him and leaves hurriedly, muttering more as he goes.
“Talking weird about my brother…his problem now.”
“Leopold! Get back here and—”
Fuegoleon sighs, cutting himself off. So much for resting. He couldn’t relax when you were laying there, possibly hurt. A part of him felt responsible, he did ask you to take over while he took the day off. You were one of his favourite members of the squad. Always so eager to help with whatever task. You made the cutest faces when the other squads were around—
“Stop that.” Fuegoleon scolds himself. He wasn’t sure when it had started, but he’s been thinking of you more lately. Perhaps absence does make the heart grow fonder.
Though he’s quite sure he was fond enough already.
You begin to stir and he reacts fast, setting you on the comfy chair across his desk. He watches you for a moment as your head begins to lift and your eyes start to open. He notices something off right away as you wake up. Your eyes settle on him quickly. Like they were magnetized. He stares back and notices a faint pink ring around your pupil. Where has he seen that?
“Captain!” You sing, sitting up clumsily on your knees in the chair. A goofy smile stretches your lips.
Naturally, he hovers closer just in case you fall. He can’t help the endeared chuckle that escapes him.
“Yes, it is me…” He greets softly. His fingers graze your cheeks as he observes you for a minute longer. “Do you think you can tell me what happened today? You gave me quite the scare, showing up knocked out in Leo’s arms. Do you know what the mage cast on you?”
You shake your head and give him an almost comical pout.
“No! I just remember something hitting me and thinking…wow, Captain, you’re handsome today. More handsome. I think you’re always handsome but—”
Your abrupt divergence in subject has Fuegoleon’s face flushing. He blames being inside all day for his lack of composure. You’re continuing to ramble on about his looks, either oblivious or disregarding his reaction.
He’s stunned speechless. He forgets his mind for what feels like hours, then his gaze shifts to your eyes again. That ring around your pupils. Reluctantly, he steps away from you and goes to his bookshelves. He traces a finger across one shelf, pausing at a book labelled ‘Charming Magic’ He opens it, and reads the pages slowly.
Eventually he comes across the same symptom.
“The opponent will have a pink ring around the pupil for the spell’s duration…” He begins reading aloud, gliding back to you on the chair. “A quick spell, meant to charm the opponent into…” He pauses. Then looks at you.
You’ve stopped speaking, gazing up at him dreamily.
“Revealing their biggest secret…and acting upon it.” He finishes, heart beating quicker than it was before Leopold had dropped you off.
This was most vexing. Fuegoleon was almost sure he had the wrong spell. But the symptoms were there, you had the eyes and you were acting more bold than he knew you to be. Normally your interactions were short, pleasant. You were shy when alone with him—he always assumed it was because he was your Captain. A respectable amount of fear or hesitation that he’d only think would shrink as time went on. Now, he was wondering if all this time it was because of something else.
There was only one way to be sure of his conclusion and Fuegoleon knew had to be absolutely certain in order to go about helping you the right way. And he was determined to help. He calls your name with soft command, finding flutters in his chest when your eyes flick back to him.
“Tell me…do you have any secret…feelings for anyone? Perhaps…among the Crimson Lions?” He asks slowly, feeling perverse for even being invested in the answer.
This was a violation of your privacy, of your consent. He had no way to ensure you were even fully cognitive. Still, his breath stalls in his chest when you open your mouth.
“Secret feelings…” You echo, smiling brightly at him. “Don’t be ridiculous, Captain.”
He exhales. He’s relieved, but there’s a sense of disappointment thudding in his veins.
“My huge crush on you isn’t a secret.” You scoff, laughing like he’s just asked if his hair was red.
Fuegoleon freezes once more. You were putting him through hell right now with his emotions.
“Huge—isn’t a secret!?” He sputters, eyes wider than normal. “What do you…you like me?” His voice cracks along with his composure.
“Of course I do.” You say simply, “You’re impossible not to like. You’re strong…kind, you motivate everyone in the squad—and your looks? You’re like a handsome prince but with wide shoulders! Only one wider is Yami—”
He nearly chokes.
“Alright! I understand. You can stop now.”
You laugh, tipping your head to the side. The filter you once had when interacting with him was for sure gone. Fuegoleon’s mind races. Half of him wants to turn away—leave and give you the dignity you deserve. The other half can’t ignore the pleasant warm feeling sinking in his chest, how fond he feels knowing you think all that of him.
“You…are unaware. You don’t mean that.” He clears his throat. “The influence of this spell will fade. I do not want you to feel embarrassed.”
Your brows knit, looking offended he even would think that.
“Oh, I mean it. Just because I don’t always compliment you or openly swoon doesn’t mean anything. Why else do you think I always help you with stuff? I always seem to be looking at you…it’s not because you’re the Captain.”
Maybe the cruelty of the curse lies within how honest you sound, Fuegoleon thinks. Your words and earnest expression are enough to knock his defenses down, at least a smidge. He sighs softly.
“You…If you really think all this then—” He rolls his lips together, needing a moment to calm himself. “Then please…refrain from saying anything more.”
He tuts when you open your mouth to protest.
“At least until you’ve returned to yourself.”
He knows he shouldn’t take any of this at face value, but a selfish part of him wishes he could, seeing the look in your eyes, the ease in your smile. All for him.
“When this enchantment wears off, we will not speak of this again. You deserve to maintain your dignity, I will not use this against you.” He turns slightly, avoiding your gaze. He’s trying to maintain a professional tone.
“What if I want to remember? Like I meant it.” Your smile fades a little and he almost jumps to go back on his words.
His heart stutters and when he finally looks back to you, his eyes are full of conflict.
“If you truly mean the things you say…then we will speak of it when you are no longer compelled. Only then.” He murmurs.
Fuegoleon’s never held on to a moment so tightly as he is this one. Even after his words—he finds himself so selfishly wanting more. Wanting to stay here in your bubble longer than he would allow himself.
But he wouldn’t. He’d brew you some tea, help you rest in his room—while he stayed nearby. And he childishly hoped your confession would remain true from under the thrall of this charming curse.
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