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Anya is LIVE right now
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jason's too stressed, and too exhausted. luckily, you have a few ways of getting him to relax. rated 18+, mdni
contains: jason todd x reader; grinding, handjob, blowjob, reader's hair is long enough 4 a ponytail
He hasn't looked up from his file in two hours.
Jason did this sometimes, got so engrossed in a case that everyone and everything else took a backseat. You learned early on that he doesn't like to be bothered when he gets in this headspace, getting used to tuning him out and going about your own tasks (aside from the occasional kiss atop his head or brush of your palm across his back, something he could never complain about), but you think if he stares at his papers any harder, he'll go cross-eyed.
He sat down to work two hours ago, around the same time you started making dinner. Not wanting to disturb him, the two of you worked around each other in a comfortable silence, him typing away at his laptop while sifting through papers, and you cutting vegetables and boiling noodles. In the one hour it took to prepare the meal and bring two steaming bowls of pasta to the table, he hadn't looked up once. You set his bowl in front of him, but you're not sure he even noticed.
In the hour following, you finished your meal, cleaned up the kitchen, took a shower, changed into pajamas, and packed up his untouched bowl of pasta for later, all before settling in on the couch to put on headphones and queue up your show on your computer.
Now, you watch him from your spot on the couch as he sits at the dining table, body tense and still as a statue, save for the occasional flick through the pages of his file, or a scribble of notes on his notepad. Seeing him ultra-focused was nothing new, but there's something about this night that has you concerned. The bags under his eyes are heavier than usual, his lips are chapped and raw from being chewed on, his reading glasses are askew on his face, and his hair is messy, odd ends sticking out from how often he drags his hand through it.
It's when his neck turns slightly to look at the notepad at his side and you hear the minute clicking noise followed by a quiet wince that you know you have to intervene.
From experience, you know this is something you have to go about subtly. At your harping, he's been getting better about prioritizing himself and his wellbeing over work, but he still shows some defensiveness when someone suggests he take a break. He won't admit it, but you know he feels guilty about taking time to relax when there are people who need his help.
You approach him slowly from behind, dragging your feet on the hardwood floor, a gentle alert to your nearing. Your fingers softly brush over his back, sliding up across his shoulder blades until your hands rest on his shoulders. He doesn't react.
You squeeze your hands lightly, feeling the tight knots in his muscles, and his shoulders relax a few centimeters. You repeat this motion, slowly massaging from his shoulders to his neck. He releases a heavy exhale when your thumbs press against the sides of his neck, making circular motions to ease the tension. You lean lower to brush light kisses over the spots you press into, and finally, his head lifts. He leans back, head falling over the neck of his chair to look up at you as his hands reach back to rest over your forearms. He wears a tired smile, and you drop your head to close the remaining space between you, brushing your lips over his. They feel rough from the consistent dragging against his teeth while he was deep in concentration, but nonetheless remain warm and inviting for you to press kisses to.
"Hi," Jason whispers against your lips, his voice scratchy from its hours unused.
"Hey," you breathe. Your lips travel up his face, kissing up his nose and to his forehead, each spot relaxing a little more as you kiss it.
Your fingers continue their pressure around his neck and he groans softly when you press into that perfect spot, finding the largest knot. You want to bottle the sound, save it to listen to on a loop for hours.
"Can you finish up for the night?" You whisper the words behind his ear, following up with another kiss brushed across the skin.
"I'm so close to the end, baby," he speaks softly, his breath warm on the side of your face. "I can feel it. I just need a little more time."
Your hands trail back down to his shoulders, pressing harder. "You've been stuck for forever. You need a break."
"Baby..." He sighs when your kisses move down his neck.
"Please?"
He leans forward, pushing away from your touch to look back at the work in front of him, but you persist, moving around to climb in his lap. Your legs straddle over his hips, arms circling around his neck. On instinct, his hands settle on your thighs, and squeeze.
"Please, Jay?" You whine, prodding your nose against his. "You're working so hard, honey." You drag your lips underneath his jaw. "You're so tense. Let me help you relax."
He sighs again, his hands sliding up to grip your waist, hips shifting forward to nudge against yours, and you know you've got him.
"I can't say no to you, can I?" Jason concedes, and you grin.
"No, you can't."
You kiss him eagerly, humming against his lips when he reciprocates. It starts off innocent, as slow and sweet kisses, before quickly devolving into something more harried, your heated breaths mingling through exchanged keens and moans. When Jason pulls back to remove his glasses and toss them on the table behind you, you mouth along his neck, sucking and biting and licking at the skin. At the same time, your hips rock against his, and his hold on your waist tightens. You muffle his moan when your mouth finds his again, hands sliding into his ruffled hair to grab ahold of the strands and pull. His mouth falls open slightly, and you take the opportunity to slip your tongue past his lips.
He's so lost in the feeling of your movement against him and your hands in his hair, Jason doesn't register the hand that slides down to his belt buckle until his jeans are unzipped and your hand has slipped inside to grip his half-hard cock through his boxers.
"Fuck," he groans, his head falling back as you palm him. With his throat on display, you latch onto the spot just below his Adam's apple. After a few moments, he pulls himself together enough to say, "Was this your plan?" He pushes his hips out to grind against your hand, his erection growing harder. "Seduce me into taking a break?"
Satisfied with the mark you've left on the column of his throat, you pull back to look at him. You tug at the band of his boxers, pulling them down marginally to slip your hand inside and pull his dick out. Your knuckles brush against his balls and his hips jump, releasing a small gasp from him. You tease him with slow, light strokes up and down his length. Your thumb brushes over the beads of precum on his tip, and a high-pitched moan falls from his open mouth. His gaze on you is something out of a renaissance painting, all rosy cheeks and devoted eyes.
"I don't know what you mean," you say, though the tail-end of your statement is cut off by Jason taking your face in his hand and bringing your lips back to his.
His other hand tries to creep under the waistband of your sleep shorts, but you stop him with a grab on his wrist. It elicits a needy whine from the back of his throat, both at your depriving him of touching you, and the loss of your touch on him.
"Sorry, baby." You push yourself off him, your heart skipping a beat at the broken noises he makes in protest. "But I said I'd help you relax."
You can see the change in his eyes when you drop to your knees in front of him, his enlarged pupils encroaching further on the teal of his irises until they're just thin rings of blue and green around black.
"Can I?" Your voice is hushed and timid, almost self-conscious at the submission you're offering.
He whispers your name, quiet and hungry as he looks down on you. You run your hands over his thighs and he moves to sit on the edge of his seat, spreading his legs further apart so you can fit comfortably between them. His hands, which grip the sides of his chair, are taken in yours and guided to your hair. One holds your hair back, and the other cups your jaw, his thumb brushing soothing strokes on your cheek as you take his cock in your hand once more. You stroke at the base while dipping your head down to wrap your mouth around his tip.
Jason is big, and no matter how many times you take him, there's always a moment needed to adjust. Slowly, your mouth works past the tip, each bob of your head taking a little more of him while your hand jerks him off where your mouth can't reach. His breathing grows heavier the deeper you take him, the muscles of his abdomen tensing and contracting with the effort it takes to not immediately cum at the sight of you sucking him off.
"Fuck, that's— baby, oh my— fuck!" His low, baritone moaning mixes with the sloppy sounds your mouth makes. His whole body squirms as he fights the urge to just stand up and roughly fuck your throat until he comes. "You're so fucking good to me," he groans.
The hand on your jaw brushes away the tears that form as you gag from taking him as deep as you can. The hand holding your hair tightens its grip, softly yanking the strands and you moan; Jason feels the vibration in his cock and whimpers, his own tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.
"Baby, I'm so—" He cuts himself off with a loud, animalistic moan when you swirl your tongue around the head of his dick, followed by a flick of your tongue against the tip before taking him in deep once again. Your tongue drags against the vein under his head and he comes in your mouth, the hot spurts gushing onto your tongue as he shallowly thrusts himself through his orgasm.
When he's done, hands fallen to his sides, slumped back in his seat and panting heavily, you slide your mouth off him and hold it open for him to see what he left.
"Swallow it." His voice is low and gravelly.
You listen.
"That's my girl," he breathes.
He helps you to your feet and wipes your wet cheeks with the back of his hand before pulling you in for a kiss.
"My girl," he whispers again. His eyes sweep over you with reverence, and it's your turn to cradle his cheeks in your palms and brush away the hints of moisture.
"Are you done working?" You ask quietly. Hopefully.
He leans his forehead against yours. "I still have to—"
You give him a long sigh, to which he playfully rolls his eyes.
"I guess I'll just go to bed! All alone!" You exclaim dramatically, stalking away from him with exaggerated steps.
"I'll be there in a minute," Jason laughs, calling after you.
"You better," you tease. When you know he's looking, you lift the hem of your shirt and pull it off, throwing it aside and turning away. It has barely left your hand when you hear his chair scraping against the floor and you break into a run towards your bedroom.
You don't get very far, however, before he catches you. You squeal when he grabs you by the waist and throws you over his shoulder, both of you full of giggles as he carries you to your room.
cause i'm a singer....
so this is my first time writing smut why am i highkey nervous abt it this was supposed to be under a thousand words but girl....i'm still classifying it a mini fic tho not a regular fic bc i FEEL LIKE IT & let it be known i am a jason crying during sex TRUTHER
and um why was i fighting for my life trying to describe their positions in the beginning when he was sitting in the chair and reader was standing behind him. i still fear it's not clear so i drew it. hope this helps
synopsis. it’s harder to keep your relationship with jason a secret from the world's greatest detectives than you thought. (3 times each wayne family member tries to prove that you and jason are together and 1 time they actually do.)
notes. ooc. tooth. rotting. fluff. like 3k words of it and im sick. my first time writing for jason ever yay!
“You know, if you stare any harder, you might actually burn a hole through her head.”
Dick’s teasing voice slices through the comfortable silence between the two brothers, save for the distant sirens and the low hum of Gotham’s never-ending nightlife below them. They’re perched on a rooftop across from an upscale bar, the neon sign casting a soft glow on their suits. Through the massive glass windows, you sit at the bar, leaning in with an easy, disarming laugh as the suspect, some sleazy drug trafficker falls right into your trap.
Jason, crouched beside Dick with his elbows on his knees, grumbles beneath his mask. “I’m not staring.”
Dick lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Right. Then I must be hallucinating.”
“I thought we got you checked out for that already,” Jason shoots back, his voice sharp.
Dick winces, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Low blow.”
“It was pretty funny.”
Dick doesn’t argue, just settles into a knowing silence, watching as Jason’s hand unconsciously flexes against the holster at his hip.
Jason exhales through his nose, his jaw ticking. “I don’t understand why she has to flirt to get intel. We could just beat the answers out of these guys. Hell, we’d probably get it faster.”
The older vigilante shakes his head. “Yeah, because nothing says ‘covert op’ like bashing heads through walls.” His voice is light, but his eyes flicker to the way Jason’s fingers tighten around the grip of his gun. “Relax. Your sweetheart can handle herself.”
Jason freezes, but only for a fraction of a second. His heart, though, does that annoying thing where it skips a beat, both traitorous and stupid.
Your sweetheart.
Not that anyone knew. Not that anyone could know. As much as he wanted to grab you by the waist and kiss you breathless after missions, he wasn’t about to hand his family more ammunition for their relentless teasing.
Dick, for one, was proving exactly why this relationship stayed a secret.
The silence should have been Jason’s first warning. The way Dick just sits there, absently swinging a batarang between his fingers, watching the bar with an all-too-pleased expression.
“You know,” Dick hums, as if lost in thought, “it’s important to let that special someone know how you feel. Your twin flame. That one person you’ve been pining over since– oh, I don’t know, your youth.”
Jason doesn’t move.
Dick pauses for dramatic effect, then casually props his chin in his hand, his gaze flicking to Jason. A slow grin tugs at his lips.
“Hm. You’re blushing.”
Jason’s breath stills. His eyes snap to Dick, but his head remains stubbornly forward.
“I am not blushing.” His voice is gritted steel. “And I haven’t been pining over her for that long.”
Dick tilts his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Huh. Funny.” He leans back with an exaggerated stretch. “I never said who.”
Jason’s fists clench.
Damn it.
His mask covered his whole damn face. There was no way Dick could have seen a blush, no way he could have known.
Jason grits his teeth as realization dawns.
He walked right into that.
Like a lovesick fool.
The next time Jason’s nearly caught is at one of Bruce’s galas.
Jason had grumbled and rolled his eyes when you insisted on attending—something about not wanting to spend the night in a “stuffy ass ballroom pretending to care about Gotham’s elite.” You had countered that it was for a good cause, something you actually cared about, and that Bruce would appreciate the support. Begrudgingly, he agreed.
But, of course, he couldn’t just let you go without making things complicated.
“Matching colors,” Tim observes, arms crossed, his sharp blue gaze flickering between you and Jason.
You school your expression into something neutral. Jason, standing entirely too close to you, does no such thing.
“What a coincidence,” Tim drawls, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“It really was,” you force out a laugh, silently screaming at Jason for his careless mistake.
He had seen your dress before the gala, made a gruff noise of disapproval, and then—without a single word—had left only to return an hour later with a tie in the exact same deep shade of red.
You had almost thrown a shoe at him.
As endearing as the gesture should have been, it was infuriating. He was the one insisting that your relationship remain under wraps, but he was awful at hiding it.
Right now, you can practically feel his warmth radiating onto you, his fingers twitching at his side, itching to settle on your waist. His entire presence screams possessive, yet he’s standing there trying to play it cool.
“Right, Jay?” you prompt, hoping begging he plays along.
“Total accident,” he deadpans.
You mentally facepalm. He is not selling it.
Tim’s smirk deepens, thriving off Jason’s obvious discomfort.
“Well then,” Tim shrugs, barely suppressing his amusement. “If she’s not your date, do you mind if I steal a dance?”
Jason’s shoulders tense. His jaw clenches so tight you’re surprised his teeth don’t crack.
“Go ahead.”
His tone is flat, but you know better. His hands may be in his pockets, but you can see them clenched into fists. His entire body is rigid, like he’s forcing himself to not grab your wrist and pull you back to his side.
You want to laugh. It’s so obvious.
Tim takes your hand and whisks you away onto the dance floor before Jason can change his mind.
He’s is a smooth dancer, you’ll give him that. He moves with confidence, leading you effortlessly through the slow, sweeping steps of the waltz. The ballroom around you is a blur of glittering gowns and dark suits, the music swelling in a soft, romantic rhythm.
You try to focus on the dance, but you can feel Jason’s stare.
It’s burning into you from across the room, a weight against your spine that makes your pulse spike.
Tim notices. Of course, he does.
“I know I have a grand total of one song before your guard dog comes back,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly as he spins you. His fingers press lightly against your back, his mouth close to your ear. “So, between you and me… you can just tell me if you’re dating.”
You groan. “Why is everyone so obsessed with this?”
Tim pulls back just enough to give you a pointed look. “Because the two of you have been dancing around each other for years. I’m in pain just watching.”
“You’re so dramatic.” You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh. “Buzz off and focus on your own romantic life, Drake.”
Tim just grins. “Yours is so much more interesting.” He spins you gracefully, his smirk growing as he catches sight of Jason still watching. Still fuming.
He tugs you back in, dropping his voice to a whisper. “So tell me… are the two of you together? Because I’ve been sensing–”
“You’ve been sensing jack shit, Drake.”
The voice is low, sharp, and pissed.
You barely have time to process Jason’s arrival before you feel a hand—his hand—on your waist, warm and grounding and claiming.
Tim barely gets a breath out before Jason smoothly steps in, seamlessly taking his place as if he had planned this from the start. His movements are precise, natural, possessive. The transition is so smooth it’s like the dance was meant to end like this—with you in his arms.
Tim watches, looking utterly delighted.
“Wow,” he muses. “Not even a full song? Possessive much?”
Jason doesn’t acknowledge him. His grip on you tightens, and you feel his breath against your temple as he leans in just enough to send a shiver down your spine.
You should step back. You should do something to break the illusion.
But you don’t.
Because his hand is on your waist, his other hand holding yours just right. His body is solid and warm against you, moving with you effortlessly like he was made for this. The scent of leather lingers on him, comforting and intoxicating.
He is looking at you like you are the only person in the room.
And you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until he speaks.
“I don’t like how low his hands were.”
The words are gritted out, low and quiet, meant just for you.
Your heart stumbles. You should not find that as attractive as you do.
“Jason–”
He exhales sharply through his nose. “He knows. He’s just trying to het under my skin.”
You blink up at him, heat rising to your cheeks. “Jay, it was just a dance.”
His fingers flex against your waist.
Your breath catches in your throat. The words send something electric through you, something dangerous. You don’t have time to respond.
Because Tim, damn Tim, is still standing there, watching the whole exchange with way too much satisfaction.
“Well,” he muses, rocking back on his heels. “That was interesting.”
Jason finally acknowledges him by glowering in his direction.
“Get lost, Drake.”
Tim grins. Because while he may not have gotten a confession, he definitely got confirmation.
After your encounter with Tim, you and Jason had agreed to lay extra low. No unnecessary risks, no slip-ups. No feeding into their suspicions. That plan, of course, went up in flames, quite literally when you almost lost a damn arm.
Jason had nearly lost his mind.
Now, standing in the training room with Cassandra, you tug absentmindedly at the hem of your sleeve, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your arm.
Cass, however, does not.
“That’s one nasty burn,” she winces, crouching slightly to get a better look at the angry, blistering wound.
You shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny. “It’s nothing, really,” you say, waving a dismissive hand. “I was just reaching into the oven to grab some muffins, and my arm accidentally hit the hot rack.”
Jason, standing beside you with his arms crossed, snorts.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Told you to be careful this morning.”
The second the words leave his mouth, his body goes rigid. His eyes widen slightly, realizing his mistake.
Shit.
Cass doesn’t even blink before zeroing in.
“What was that?”
Jason schools his expression into mock confusion. “What was what?”
“Don’t play coy, Todd.” Cass’s voice is sharp, her dark eyes locked onto him with an intensity that could crack glass.
Jason ever so stubborn and entirely unwilling to admit defeat, doesn’t back down.
“I don’t know what you mean.” He doesn’t flinch.
Cass tilts her head, unconvinced. “I heard the two of you were on patrol pretty late last night.” Her gaze flickers between you and Jason, noting every shift in body language, every subtle tell. “So tell me, Todd… what were you doing with [Name] this morning too? Did you, perhaps, sleep together?”
Silence.
The tension in the room thickens, settling over you like an impending storm. Your pulse spikes. Jason’s jaw locks. Cass’s eyes remain unmoving, sharp as a blade.
The stalemate stretches too long.
Before Cass can press further, you jump in.
“What Jason meant,” you say quickly, forcing an easy laugh, “is that our patrol ended at around six in the morning. I invited him over for a snack, is all.”
You will her to believe it.
Jason exhales subtly beside you, relaxing ever so slightly at your quick save.
Cass, however, is not satisfied.
“You never invite me over for snacks,” she states, arms crossing over her chest.
You frown. “I’m sorry, Cass. How about next time?”
She considers for a moment, expression unreadable, before nodding.
“I’ll be there at sunrise.”
You smile, nudging her shoulder. “It’s a deal.”
Cass eyes the two of you for another long second before finally, finally, grabbing her bag and exiting the room.
The moment the door clicks shut, Jason lets out a heavy breath.
Without warning, his large frame topples over yours, his solid weight pressing against your back as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.
“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he mutters, lips brushing the sensitive skin near your ear. His voice is low, gravelly, full of something raw and unguarded.
His arms encircle you, pulling you flush against him.
You bite back a smile, leaning into his warmth.
“Have I told you how much I love you?” His lips graze the nape of your neck, lingering.
“Not nearly enough,” you murmur.
It’s a lie.
Because Jason tells you every single day.
If not with his words, then with the way he looks at you. With the way he touches you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. With the way he freaks out over every little injury, over every near miss, like the thought of losing you would be enough to unmake him.
And God, if he wasn’t so damn obvious about it.
Your charade finally comes to an end on a rare night. The entire family gathered around the Wayne Manor dining table. It had taken weeks of convincing, countless rescheduled plans, and Alfred’s unshakable will to make it happen. You silently applaud him, watching as he moves seamlessly around the table, topping off glasses and making sure everyone eats.
The conversation is lively but controlled, an unspoken agreement hanging in the air: no fights. Bruce was actually eating rather than brooding, Damian had only thrown out two insults so far, and Tim was at least half-awake. For a Wayne family dinner, this was practically peaceful.
No one notices that you and Jason are sitting a little too close, they’re all too engrossed with the hearty meal and a rare opportunity of having a civil conversation with each other.
Jason, ever the attentive boyfriend, wordlessly reaches for the serving platter and places another thick slice of roast onto your plate. Then, he carefully spoons asparagus onto your dish, making sure it’s coated just enough with hollandaise sauce just the way you like it.
“Eat up, sweetheart.” His voice is low and smooth, meant just for you.
Your heart does a little flutter at the name, and your lips tug into a smile as you pick up your fork.
But then a familiar voice turns the entire night around.
“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” Damian’s voice cuts through the table, as sharp as one of his throwing knives, “but doesn’t ‘sweetheart’ have romantic implications?”
Silence.
A few forks hover mid-air. Bruce pauses as he cuts into his steak. Dick, who had been talking to Cass, freezes mid-sentence. Tim, who had been half-heartedly scrolling through his phone under the table, suddenly looks very awake.
“No, you’re absolutely right,” Dick leans back in his chair, grinning like he just hit the jackpot. His eyes flicker with amusement as he clasps his hands together.
Jason’s chewing slows. Your eyes flicker to his face, trying to gauge his reaction. This was it. The moment he always dreaded.
“Todd just called [Last Name] ‘sweetheart,’” Damian supplies, ever helpful, pointing at the two of you with his fork.
Cass and Tim share a knowing glance, both nodding in quiet confirmation.
Dick gapes. “In front of my salad?”
Jason, rather than looking panicked, looks entirely unbothered. Too unbothered. His jaw moves as he stuffs another carrot into his mouth, chews deliberately, and then–
“It’s our one-year anniversary next month.”
Chaos erupts.
“WHAT?”
“I KNEW IT!”
“Called it.”
“Took you guys long enough!”
Tim smacks the table, rattling the silverware. Dick throws his hands in the air. Cass laughs silently, shaking her head as if she’s just been vindicated after months of waiting.
Stephanie, meanwhile, grabs Tim’s arm and shakes him. “You owe me fifty-bucks, Drake.”
Bruce, to his credit, looks unfazed, save for the slight twitch of his eyebrow. He sets his knife down and looks at Jason with a measured expression.
“Well done, son.”
Jason stares at him for a moment before giving him a single nod, as if they’re discussing business strategy rather than his romantic relationship.
You’re still flustered under the sheer weight of all the attention, but then Jason’s fingers interlace with yours under the table. Warm. Steady. Protective. He gives your hand a light squeeze, and just like that, your nerves settle.
The chatter continues, voices overlapping.
“I suppose that means I won the bet?”
The room stills.
Jason’s head snaps up. “Wait. What?”
Tim, not even looking ashamed, shrugs. “Technically, nobody won. We all knew already.”
Damian scowls. “The condition was that someone had to prove it. I did that tonight. Therefore, I win.”
Jason straightens in his chair, voice dangerously low. “Hold on. You had a bet?!”
You grimace, bracing yourself as the night takes a turn.
Tim leans back in his chair, smirking. “Oh, yeah. This has been going for months.”
“How much?” Jason demands, his eyes narrowing.
Dick, grinning, raises his glass. “A hundred bucks.”
Jason turns to you, betrayed. “Did you know about this?”
You shake your head furiously. “I would’ve rigged it to win if I had.”
“Unbelievable,” Jason mutters, rubbing his temples.
But then he feels your thumb brush gently over his knuckles, and suddenly, the noise fades into the background. He turns to you, the frustration melting from his features as he takes in the warmth of your smile, the way your eyes are only on him.
You squeeze his hand. “Well,” you say softly, just for him. “At least we don’t have to sneak around anymore.”
Jason exhales a low chuckle, shaking his head before turning to you fully. There’s adoration in his eyes, open and raw and entirely unguarded. His lips form the silent words, ‘I love you,’ and though no sound escapes, you hear it in the way his eyes soften, in the way his fingers tighten just slightly around yours. Your breath catches, warmth blooming in your chest, and without thinking, you smile radiantly, mirroring the love on his face.
thank you for reading! comments n reblogs are appreciated 💋
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Synopsis: When something… intimate happens between you and the explosive boy, you seek out the comfort and advice from your fangirl best friend.
WC: 6832
Category: Fluff, Slight Spice/Lime, Mixed Signals
Might be ooc (I blame Chase Atlantic for this one), but I wanted to post something… interesting since it’s OFFICIALLY my birthday 🗣️🗣️
『••✎••』
Here you were, pacing back and forth in your best friend's dorm room. You hadn't said a word, only muttering incoherent thoughts to yourself while your eyes flitted around the room as if you could find the words written on the walls.
Mina watched you from her bed, leaning forward on her hands, which were planted on her mattress. She had her legs crossed beneath her, and she was rocking herself slightly. Her mouth was agape with excitement and confusion, and her eyes were wide as she watched you.
You felt bad for disturbing her sleep, but you were too overwhelmed to wait until morning to talk to her about what had happened. When it happens, you can't even wait an hour to tell someone about it, much less eight hours. So, with your impatient nature, you hunted her down after five minutes of attempting to calm yourself down and failing.
Mina, who had been sleeping soundly at the time, was jolted awake when you burst into her room and slammed the door shut. It wasn't until she heard the lock click that she realized the situation.
You were freaking out, and it had something to do with a boy.
When you first started at UA, the two of you had promised each other that you would never keep a crush a secret from the other so you could gush and squeal over the boys together. Of course, it had always been Mina with a crush, and you were giving advice. She had had her eyes on several guys throughout the year, but you had remained unfazed.
Until...
"Okay," Mina began. "I'm not even going to ask why you were walking around the dorms at one in the morning. But, seriously, tell me what happened!"
Your hands, which had been tangled in your hair, fell to your sides as you turned to look at her. Your cheeks were flushed, and your heart was racing. You didn't know how to begin. You wanted to just blurt it all out, but at the same time, you were afraid.
"I... uhm... well..." you stuttered, wringing your hands nervously.
"C'mon, I'm dying here!" Mina whined, bouncing in place. She reached her hands out and grabbed yours, tugging you forward until you were sitting next to her on the bed. "You're acting as if you had your first kiss or something."
You stared at her, blinking slowly as you processed her words. Then, without warning, she froze. You were afraid she had short-circuited. Her mouth hung open, and her eyes were as big as saucers. Her grip on your hands tightened as she gasped loudly.
"No," she whispered. "No way."
"Mina..."
"You did!" she exclaimed, her voice rising to a volume that could probably be heard throughout the dorms.
"Keep your voice down!" you hissed, grabbing a pillow from behind her and smacking her across the face. She didn't react, her mouth still open.
"Tell me everything," she demanded, her voice lowered. "How did it happen? When did it happen? Who did it happen with? I want to know all the details, so spill."
"Mina..."
It was rough to have her pressuring you. She was always good at doing that. It was part of the reason why you ran straight to her. You knew that she would force you to talk about it, and you needed to talk about it. You didn't want to stop talking about it. You didn't want the night to end, and you didn't want to forget about it.
"I'm listening," Mina told you, squeezing your hands once more. "Don't be afraid to get all the gushy details. You know I love that stuff."
You couldn't stop your eyes from rolling as you took a deep breath. You decided to spill her favorite part first.
"I can't get it out of my head, Mina," you whispered. "I didn't even realize he could do that. I didn't know he was capable of it. I was so dazed by his actions that I didn't know what was going on. It felt like I was dreaming. I don't even know how it escalated so quickly. I just found myself against the wall, and he was looking at me, and his eyes... oh, his eyes, Mina, his eyes."
"Who the hell are you talking about?!" Mina interrupted. She looked like she was going to burst from anticipation, and you were slightly enjoying keeping her in the dark. Especially since she had no idea it was the guy who she least expected it to be.
"Do not yell," you warned her, pointing your finger at her face. "You won't believe me, but I swear it's the truth."
"What?" she asked. "Who was it?"
"Promise me you won't freak out."
"Okay, now I'm nervous," Mina said. She moved backward on the bed so her back was pressed against the wall. You watched as her fingers dug into her blanket, her knuckles turning white. "Now you have to tell me. I'm terrified, so you have to. Who was it?"
You took another deep breath, your heart beating loudly.
Now or never.
"Bakugo."
You were ready for your ears to bleed. You were expecting her to scream bloody murder, and you were ready to clamp your hand over her mouth to shut her up. But, instead, she broke out into laughter. And it wasn't her usual laugh, either. It was loud and obnoxious, and she threw her head back and cackled.
"Yeah, right," she breathed out, wiping a tear from her eye. "Oh, that was a good one. I almost believed you. Now, really. Who was it?"
Your jaw dropped, and you could feel anger boiling inside of you. She didn't believe you? I mean, yeah, it was completely unbelievable with how he acts with everyone, but you didn't joke around like this. And you were honestly offended that she thought you were.
Mina laughed again and again and again. Every time, it became harder for her to breathe, and her laughs turned into snorts. Her face was bright red, and her shoulders shook violently as she giggled. It wasn't until she finally opened her eyes to see the glare on your face that the laughs eased up.
"I mean, it's a good joke," she chuckled. "But, seriously, tell me who it really was."
You didn't say a word. Instead, you just gave her the most deadpan stare you could muster, which still took her a moment to register. Once she did, however, that smile of hers fell off her face faster than you could blink.
"Wait... you're not joking?"
"Do you really think I'd come here in the middle of the night if I was?"
She stared at you with a shocked expression on her face. She was speechless, and you were waiting for the reaction you expected. You were sure her brain had exploded.
"You mean to tell me," she said, her voice shaking. "That Bakugo... the hot-tempered, vulgar, rude, foul-mouthed, explosive asshole just kissed you? He kissed you?! Are you serious?"
"Mina, please, not so loud!"
"Are you serious?!" she screamed, leaping off her bed. "You have got to be joking. There's no way that happened. No way! It had to be a dream or something. I can't even see him doing something like that. Of all people, it's him? I even see Mineta before him! He's like... not capable of showing any emotion that isn't anger."
"Mina!"
"What the hell happened?! I want to know all the dirty little details!" she yelled, rushing forward and grabbing your arms. "How did you get that maniac to do something so... un-Bakugo-like? What did he do? How did he kiss you? Was it nice? I can't believe he kissed you! He's never kissed anyone before!"
"Mina, shut up!" you hissed, covering her mouth with your hand. She kept mumbling against your skin, and you felt her tongue swipe across your palm. You grimaced, pulling your hand away from her and wiping it on your pants.
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!" she squealed, jumping up and down. "How did you do it? Oh, I'm so happy for you! Why didn't you wake me up sooner?!"
"Mina, please. It's late," you told her. "Be quiet; he can probably hear you."
"Wait... how long ago was this?"
"Uhm... maybe twenty minutes or so."
She stopped bouncing, and her jaw dropped.
"You kissed Bakugo twenty minutes ago," she said. "And you just came to my room?! Why the hell are you even here? You should be with him! Get your ass back to him and make sure he kisses you again!"
You were taken aback by her sudden outburst, and your cheeks flushed. The thought of going to him now sent a wave of anxiety through you, and you were beginning to regret waking Mina up.
"I can't go back there," you told her. "Not yet. I can't... I can't look him in the eye."
"Why the hell not?" Mina questioned, furrowing her brows. "This is a huge! He still hasn't even called me by my actual name. But, he kissed you? That's insane. He's gotta be a secret softy or something. I need details."
"Mina, you don't understand," you said, sighing. "I- I never felt like this before. I'm... I'm stuck. My mind is blank. I can't get him off my mind. It's driving me crazy. I didn't realize someone could affect me like this."
Mina stared at you for a moment before a smirk appeared on her face. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at you with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "How did he do it?" she asked.
"Mina," you said. "I just told you that—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know, but did he just walk up and kiss you or what? Like, how did it happen? You have to start from the beginning."
You rolled your eyes but obeyed her orders.
And the truth was, you honestly still didn’t know how it happened. You were yelling at each other over something dumb, as usual, but then the conversation took a strange turn. You had no idea where it had come from, and the memory was hazy, but you remembered what he had said.
"You wanna know what I fucking think?" He was seething, his fists clenched at his sides. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were burning holes into your head.
You didn't remember what you had said, but you remembered what he replied and the way he walked towards you.
"I think," he growled, and you were backing away from him. "You're so fucking desperate for attention that you're willing to do anything. Just admit it. You're so lonely that you'll try to make friends with anyone."
The scoff you had given him was followed by a few insults that you didn't remember. In all honesty, the things that were said weren't worth remembering. It was always the same old fight. But, for some reason, it was the actions in between that had caught you off guard this time.
You didn't realize how much you were trying to create space between the two of you, but every time you took a step back, he took one forward. You were trying to keep your voice steady and strong, but your hands were shaking, and your legs were weak.
It was only a matter of time before you were backed against the wall, and you could feel his breath hitting your face. Your eyes were wide, and your breathing was heavy. You couldn't focus on his words because his body was too close.
He noticed, too, because his insults were slowing down, and you could feel his eyes studying your face as it was turned away from him. When your gaze met him, the room became still. You were frozen in place, unable to move. He just... stared at you.
Neither of you said a word, but there was something in his eyes that changed the atmosphere of the room. It was like a flip had been switched. He was no longer angry or irritated. His eyes were gentle, and his gaze was intense. You had seen his gaze before, but you couldn't figure out why it felt so different.
Until you saw the flicker of his eyes. A millisecond change that anyone could've missed, but you didn't. You caught it as you caught the next one. You felt him move forward, and your mind went blank. Your senses were overrun by him. You could feel the heat from his skin.
He could probably hear your heartbeat; it wasn't very subtle. Your mind was racing, and your vision was hazy. All you could see was... him. And maybe you were just imagining it, but there was something in his eyes that showed you he wasn't mad anymore.
He looked different now, and it scared you. It scared you how you started counting his eyelashes. It scared you how much you wanted to reach up and run your hand through his hair. It scared you how badly you wanted to know how soft his lips were.
And he could tell because he leaned closer. Closer than you didn't think possible. Your breaths mingled together, and your noses brushed. He wasn't there yet, though. His mouth was just barely touching yours, and the feeling sent tingles down your spine.
His gaze was intense, and he looked like he was holding back. You could feel his chest pressing against yours, and he was taking shaky breaths. It was so strange, seeing him like this. Your eyes locked onto his, and you were sure he saw the curiosity behind them.
And then... his gaze fell into a look you've never seen before. Something was swimming behind those crimson eyes, and you found yourself drowning in the intensity. He was staring into your soul, and somehow, you could see the meaning in his eyes.
He was giving you a choice. He was asking a silent question. His eyes were pleading. They were begging. His face was so close to yours, and you were frozen. The way he was looking at you, you could see it. You could see what he was thinking.
He was waiting for you to do something. To push him away, to smack him, or to speak out. He was waiting for the rejection, the denial, the refusal. But you did none of those things because, for some reason, you didn't want to. You were enjoying the closeness, the intimacy, the... vulnerability.
Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe you were just insane, but the way he was looking at you made your stomach flip, and a strange warmth filled your chest. It was the way he was holding himself back, the way you could see his fingers trembling, the way his breath was unsteady.
For some reason, seeing him so weak, so open, so defenseless made you feel... something.
He was waiting for a response. It was up to you. You were the one in control, and if you had said the word, he would have walked away. But that's not what you wanted.
You didn't want him to go.
And, so, you had tried to speak out, but the words were caught in your throat. They wouldn't form, and the air was thick. Your tongue was tied, and your fingers were shaking. You were afraid. Afraid of the unknown.
He was patient. His gaze never faltered. His eyes were still looking at you with the same intensity, and you were getting lost in it. He didn't move closer, but his breath fanned across your lips. Your mind was blank, and you had no idea how long the two of you stood like that.
All you knew was that you needed him to do something. You needed him to know he was allowed to, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak. You were terrified, and the anticipation was driving you insane.
So, you used another way to answer.
You grabbed him, jerked his body forward, and pulled him as close as you could. He wasn't prepared for your sudden movement, and the air was forced out of his lungs. His hands found the wall, and his arms caged you in. You could feel his muscles flexing against you, and his eyes widened as they looked at you.
He didn't expect it. He wasn't prepared. It was a shock, but he wasn't about to deny himself the opportunity. Not when you were offering it to him. So, his eyes fell back into that look, and his head moved closer. He hesitated, and his lips grazed yours. You could feel the way his heart was beating.
The first kiss was chaste and barely there. You could've missed it, and you might've imagined it. But then he did it again, this time with enough pressure to make you aware. To make your eyes fall shut and a small sigh escapes your lips.
The next one was a little deeper, and he lingered a bit longer. His movements were slow, and he was giving you plenty of time to push him away, but you didn't. You couldn't. Because the moment his lips met yours, you lost all self-control.
Your body melted against his, and you found yourself falling into the kiss. You were sure you'd end up a pile of mush on the ground if his hands hadn't shifted to your hips, holding you up. The grip he had on your sides was gentle but firm, and the tips of his fingers were digging into the flesh of your hip bones.
Your hands had found their way into his hair, and your fingers tangled themselves in the blonde locks. You were always curious about his hair in that regard, and you were pleased to find it softer than you'd expected. With its jagged spikes, you'd expected it to be sharp and stiff, but it was just as smooth as silk. You really needed to get a hold of his hair products.
But you didn't have time to dwell on the subject because his mouth was moving against yours, and your entire being was focused on the feeling of his lips. Damn, he knew exactly how to use them.
You were already lightheaded, and he barely did anything. It was only a matter of time before you couldn't even think anymore. All you knew was his scent, his taste, his touch, and his breath. He was overwhelming all of your senses, and you could feel your mind shutting down.
But, before you could, you gathered enough sense to do something that caught him completely off guard. When he pulled you even deeper, your teeth grazed his bottom lip, and your hands tightened in his hair. He froze for a second, his movements stopping completely, and you were terrified that you'd crossed a line.
However, that fear was quickly erased because he let out the most guttural sound you'd ever heard. It was low and deep and... fuck. It sounded like a growl, but it was filled with need. It was hungry and rough and sent a jolt straight down to your core.
A moment later, he was kissing you harder than before. He was practically attacking you, and you were glad he still had ahold of your hips because those legs of yours would have given out long ago. His mouth was moving so fast that it was hard for you to keep up, and your lungs were burning.
It felt like a dam had been broken.
He devoured you like a starved man. There was no hesitation, no fear, no nervousness. It was pure desperation, and you weren't doing much better. His kisses were hard and bruising, and his grip on your waist was tight.
When he went to your neck, that was it.
Your head fell back against the wall, painful, but you couldn't care. You couldn't focus on anything except the way his mouth was working its magic on your throat. Your nails were digging into his scalp, and you could hear his sharp breaths.
If all kisses were like this, then you have no idea how people survived without them. It was addicting. The feeling of his lips and tongue and teeth against your skin was euphoric. Your mind was swimming, and your heart was pounding.
Mina was squealing in front of you, but you were too lost to care. You were back in the moment, and the memory was flooding through your body. The feeling of his fingers gripping your hips. The warmth of his mouth. The heat of his body. His hair was so soft. The sound of his breath. His lips. His tongue.
"I... don't remember much after that," you told Mina, your eyes unfocused. "The next thing I remember is me leaving the room and going straight to yours."
She was grinning at you. It was a wide, Cheshire-like smile, and her eyes were gleaming. She looked like she was about to explode, and she was holding herself back.
"This is insane," she said, her voice cracking. "Actually, I take back what I said earlier. This is better than the best day of my life. The fact that it was him—I mean, I'd expect this from someone else, but the thought of him being that good is... wow."
You sighed. "Mina, please. What am I going to do? I'm... I'm..."
"Lost in the clouds?" she offered. "A mess? Unable to function like a normal person?"
"All of the above," you said, running your hands over your face. "I just... I don't understand how someone could make me feel like this. He's a dick, Mina. He was literally insulting me just a few minutes ago, and then... this."
She hummed, tilting her head and looking at the ceiling. Her smile never left her face. "So, what now? Are you guys dating, or...?"
"I didn't ask," you told her. "I just ran out."
"Wait, I thought you meant running away, as in after talking it out and stuff?"
"I mean, running away, as in pushing him and sprinting down the hall to your room."
Her eyes widened. "What?!" she exclaimed. "You're telling me that after he gave you the best kiss of your life, you ran away?!"
You nodded.
"Are you insane?!"
"Maybe a little," you said. "But I was so overwhelmed, and it was too much. I couldn't stay there, or I'd have done something embarrassing."
"You mean something more embarrassing than leaving? Girl, you need to get back there and find out what the hell is going on between you two. I can't believe this. I just..." She let out a frustrated groan. "He's probably pissed off. And confused. And, honestly, I can't blame him."
"What? You think he's regretting it?"
"Oh, honey," she said, her expression changing. "You've got it all wrong. How do I know more than you about this situation? That boy doesn't show anyone this kind of side, I mean... shit, and you're telling me he was the one to initiate it?"
You nodded. "Yeah, he was."
"Well, then... damn. You're special. If he didn't want it, he would have punched you or something, but the fact that he went and did that... then there's no way he would ever regret it. Hell, if I were in his position, I'd have taken you right there, too."
"Mina!" you shrieked, smacking her shoulder.
She laughed. "What? I'm your bestie. I gotta have your back. Now, listen, you've done messed up by running away. There's no way he wouldn't take it as an insult; his ego's too big. So, what you need to do is get back there and tell him what's going on. Be honest. Don't lie, and don't sugarcoat. Just tell him the truth."
"But--"
"No, no buts. No ifs, no ands, or anything. Bakugo is the type to appreciate honesty. You can't be wishy-washy with him. I've learned that after seeing him treat everyone. He doesn't hold back, and neither should you. The good thing is that you know he really likes you; otherwise, none of this would've happened."
You bit your lip.
"Even as sudden as it was, it was a choice," she told you. "He knew exactly what he was doing. That kiss wasn't some spur-of-the-moment thing. He knew what he was doing and what he was feeling, and there's no way he would have done it if he didn't want to."
You thought about her words. "You're right."
"Damn right I am," she said, leaning forward and grabbing your shoulders. "He doesn't regret it. At least, not in the way you're thinking. If he's regretting anything, it's letting you run away without saying anything. So, what you're going to do is march back there and kiss that boy senseless. Got it?"
"But it's almost two in the morning," you said.
"If you think you both are sleeping anytime soon, you're delusional," she stated. "The guy is probably pacing in his own room right now, trying to figure out why the hell you rejected him. He's a wreck, and I'll bet you anything that his thoughts are just as bad as yours."
You frowned. "I guess, but..."
"But what?"
"It's just... he's Bakugo, and I'm... well, me. There's no way this could ever work out. He's too focused on being the best to date anyone, and I'm not the kind of person he'd go for. We're complete opposites. We fight all the time, and he's always yelling at me over something. Even now, I'm still wondering what the hell he was thinking when he kissed me."
"You need to stop doing that," Mina said, her tone firm. "You can't think like that. I told you he wouldn't have done it if he didn't see anything. Sure, you guys don't get along all the time, but that doesn't mean it's a lost cause. The fact that he's showing interest in you is enough to prove that he's attracted to something."
"Okay, fine, but what is it? What does he see in me? Why did he choose me? Why did he—"
"Girl, shut up. I can't handle any more of your doubts. This is a waste of time, and it's just making your brain more and more confused. Stop. Thinking. Go get him and just talk. I swear, you're gonna give yourself an aneurysm if you keep this up."
"Fine," you relented, throwing your hands up. "I'll—"
Then, there was a knock on the door.
You paused, staring at Mina. She stared back, her eyebrows furrowing. The two of you were quiet, not moving, not breathing. Then, another knock came, this time a bit louder.
"Iida?" you asked, your voice quiet. "We were pretty loud, weren't we?"
"Probably," Mina replied. "I hate that guy sometimes. What the hell does he have against us having fun? It's not like we were causing trouble."
"He's just being a good student," you said. "We should probably—"
Another knock and this one was harder. And something in the back of your mind was telling you that it wasn't him. It was different.
You and Mina shared a look before she shrugged and got off the bed. She went to the door, and you stayed seated. You were nervous. The tension in your stomach was building up again.
The thought was already in your mind, but it wasn't until Mina's face fell that you knew for sure.
She turned to look at you, her expression unreadable, but the emotion was clear in her eyes. It was the same look you'd given her before when you talked about the kiss.
And, you knew.
He was here.
"Where is she?" His voice held annoyance, but you could detect the change in tone.
"Bakugo," Mina said, trying to cover for you. "Why are you here? Is everything okay?"
"Cut the crap," he said, his voice a growl. "I know she's in there, Raccoon Eyes. Just... I need to talk to her."
You were frozen.
You were afraid.
You didn't know what to say or do.
Your heart was pounding, and your palms were sweating. You couldn't breathe.
"Send her out here," he said. "...Please."
Mina looked back at you. The pure shock in her eyes told you she'd heard him use the word, and you couldn't help but think the same. Bakugo wasn't a person who asked nicely. Ever. But the way he said it made it sound like it pained him.
You both stood there for a few moments. It was a stalemate, and neither of you could speak. Now that he was here, all the confidence Mina had built up was gone, and you were back to square one. You felt helpless.
Then, there was a sigh, not from him, but from her. It was the sound of defeat and the sound of surrender. She turned back to the door, opening it up to reveal those damn eyes of his.
His expression was hard and unreadable. It was blank, and his eyes were cold. They were the same ones you were used to seeing, the ones that held no emotion, the ones that only held anger. But they weren't as harsh as usual. They were softer.
He looked past Mina and saw you on the bed. The moment his gaze locked on yours, you knew you were going out in that hall whether you wanted to or not. His stare was strong, and it was demanding. It was like the world would crumble if you didn't follow his order.
So, you did.
You got off the bed and made your way to him. Your feet were heavy, and your heart was racing. With every step, the pressure got worse. When you were close enough, Mina shoved you towards him and then closed the door.
It was just you and him now.
You didn't know what to say. He was quiet, and the silence was killing you. It was making your head spin. You felt nauseous, and your stomach was in knots. It was too much.
"You..." He spoke, his voice low. "You're the most annoying person I've ever met."
You didn't respond. You couldn't. Your throat was dry, and your tongue was like sandpaper.
"Do you have any idea how frustrating you are?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. "You're such a fucking mess."
Back to this.
"Yeah, I get it," you told him, finding your voice. "I'm a mess. It's been established. But you know what, Bakugo? So are you. You're an asshole."
"Me?" he laughed. "You think I'm the asshole? You're the one who ran away. I didn't do shit."
"You're the one who cornered me," you shot back. "What the hell was that, anyway? Insulting me into a corner, and then—"
The pause of your sentence spoke louder than any words you could have said. It was a statement, an unspoken accusation, and the meaning was clear. It was obvious.
His jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened. "You know, if I had a dollar for every time you pissed me off, I'd be richer than All Might."
"If I had a dollar for every time I had to hear your rants about being the future number-one hero, I'd be able to retire," you retorted. "You're so fucking arrogant."
"Well, at least I know what I'm good at. You made that much clear, didn't you?"
Offended, you stepped closer to him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
You knew exactly what he meant. It was obvious. He was calling you out, and the fact that he had the nerve to even use those words after the incident in the common room made you see red. So, you might've done something that would get you in house arrest, but it was worth it.
You slapped him. Hard.
He didn't seem fazed, though. In fact, the only thing you did was piss him off even more. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward, towering over you. "Are you that much of a dumbass? How the hell did you make it this far in UA with that stupid brain of yours? Do you have any idea how dumb you are?"
"I'm not an idiot," you said through gritted teeth. "I have my strengths, too. I'm not weak."
"Oh, really?" He was mocking you, his voice a challenge. "Then, why did you run away?"
"That's—"
"What? It's not because of weakness? Then, why did you leave?"
You didn't have an answer.
"Exactly," he said. "You're a fucking coward. You ran away from your problems, and that's all you do. That's all you're capable of. You don't know how to deal with situations, and you just run."
"I'm not—"
"You are," he said. "Every damn time. You ran from me. From arguments, from training, from everything. It's all you ever do. And you don't seem to care, do you? You don't care how much it pisses me off. You just do it anyway."
"Bakugo—"
"Tell me, damnit," he interrupted, his eyes flashing. "I... I let you in. I let you see something, and this is what I get? A slap and an escape? How the hell is that fair?"
"I didn't—"
"Yes, you did," he growled. "And it fucking hurt, okay? You don't know how much I..."
The silence was back, and it was more deafening than before. The tension was thick, and the air was heavy. You could feel the heat rising, the pressure building.
You had no idea what to say.
He was right. Mina was right. You had messed up, and you knew it. You knew you had hurt him. The pain was evident in his voice. But it didn't excuse him for being an ass about it.
"Why'd you come here?" you asked. "What did you expect to get out of this? Was it just to yell at me and make me feel bad?"
"No, moron, I came to ask if I fucked up. If I had crossed a line. I know what it looked like, but with your stupid ass, I don't know."
You rolled your eyes, but he made sure to keep them locked on him.
"You pulled me in. You returned it," he said, his voice dropping. "You even deepened the damn thing. What was I supposed to think, huh? You're not telling me anything. You're not giving me anything. If anything, you're taking. So, I'm asking. Stop running away, damnit. Talk to me."
The sincerity of his words struck a chord in your chest. He was right. He was absolutely right. You were running away. You were avoiding him.
You were a coward.
"I'm sorry," you said, your voice soft. "I shouldn't have done that. I... I didn't know what to do, and I was scared."
"What the hell are you scared of?"
"This," you told him. "Of you. Of the kiss. Of... what it meant."
"You're acting like you're the only one involved here," he said, his voice holding an edge. "What about me? Do you have any idea what I'm feeling right now? I'm just as confused and scared as you are, but you know what I'm not doing? Running away."
"I didn't mean to, it's just—"
"You did," he said, interrupting you. "You did, and you knew it. You were running, and you didn't want to deal with the consequences. That's what it was, wasn't it? You didn't want to face the truth. You didn't want to face me. You wanted to run. Like always."
"It's not like that."
"Then, what is it?"
You paused.
"Exactly," he said. "Nothing. You don't have an excuse. You were just being a coward. That's all it is. So, tell me. Tell me why the hell you ran. Tell me what the kiss meant to you. Because if you don't, I'll—"
"It meant everything!" you cried out, only to remember the late hour and quiet down. "It... it meant everything, okay? And I didn't want to lose that. I couldn't. It was... It was everything. It was so much. Too much. I didn't want it to be ruined. I didn't want to ruin what fucked friendship we had."
His expression was unreadable, and it made your stomach sink.
"So, I ran. I didn't know what else to do," you confessed, your voice quiet. "And... I didn't want you to find out the truth. Because if you did, you'd... I'd... Everything would change, and I didn't want that."
"We changed the moment that damn kiss happened," he said, his tone firm. "I'm not blind. You're not subtle, and I can tell that you've had feelings for me. And I think... I've had them for a while now, too. But if you're gonna act like this, if you're just going to run from your problems, then there's no point in doing anything. I can't have a relationship with someone who's just gonna hide and run away. It's not fair to either of us."
"Bakugo..."
"Don't 'Bakugo' me," he growled, his eyes burning. "What are we gonna do about this, huh? Are we gonna keep dancing around each other and pretend it didn't happen? Are we gonna pretend it doesn't exist? Because if we do, I'm not wasting any more time. It's not worth it. I have better things to focus on."
"It's not like that."
"Really? Because it seems like it."
"But—"
"Tell me, damnit. What the hell are we gonna do? What's it gonna be? I can't wait around forever, and I won't waste my time. I don't have the patience for it. If you're not willing to do anything about it, then there's no point in trying. It's just a waste of time. So, decide. Now."
He didn't ease up, and his gaze didn't falter. He was staring straight at you, waiting just as he had said. But you didn't know what to say or do. He was putting the ball in your court, and he wasn't budging. He wasn't backing down.
"Well?" he asked, his voice harsh. "I'm waiting. Make your choice."
"I—"
"It's not that hard," he cut in, his eyes narrowing. "Either we try this, or we don't. So, make a damn choice. If not, I'm walking out, and I won't look back."
You knew the decision was easy. It was obvious. It was obvious, but your mind was spinning. It was hard to concentrate when his hands were on your arms, and his eyes were burning holes into your soul. It was impossible to think.
But, you knew. You knew the answer. You knew what you wanted.
"Do it."
The words left your lips without hesitation, and for a moment, he faltered. His expression changed, and his eyes widened. His grip on your arms loosened, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. He was silent, and his eyes were focused on yours.
"You don't want me to run?" You asked, your voice barely a whisper. "So, make me stay."
The words were simple. They were easy. But they were enough to see the twinkle in his eye. It was enough to see the shift in his demeanor and feel his grip tightening. His body was pressed against yours, and his hands were on your arms. He was leaning forward, his face inches from yours. His breath was hot, and his eyes were dark.
In an instant, you were flung back into the same position you had been in hours ago. His lips were on yours, and the intensity was there, stronger than ever. The kiss was rough and passionate. He was pushing against you, his grip firm. He was in control, and he was demanding.
You kissed him back, and the emotions were overwhelming. They were consuming. His hands met the small of your back, pulling you into him. He was firm, his touch strong and his kiss powerful. It was rough, but it was gentle. It was intense, but it was loving.
The kiss was everything.
The moment his lips left yours, you found yourself wanting more. You couldn't help but pull him back in, kissing him deeper and harder. He met your desire, his movements matching yours. You didn't know how long the kiss lasted, but the moment it broke, you knew.
You knew that this was right. You knew that this was what you wanted. You knew that he was the one.
"Katsuki," you whispered, his name leaving your lips in a breathy sigh. "Katsuki, I..."
"I know," he breathed, his voice husky. "Me, too."
Then, he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you. He held you tight, his warmth enveloping you.
You knew this feeling now; you understood it. This was the love that Mina had been talking about. This was the emotion she had been describing. This was what it was like.
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plot: When you turn 21, the name of your soulmate appears on your forearm. Not everyone is born with a soulmate, and Jason Todd never thought he would have one.
wc: 2k
authors note: I remember reading in a fic somewhere about the Wayne Scholarship, and I forgot who/where I read it exactly, so credit to them whoever they are. Also, some characters may seem a little ooc and tbh I don't really care. I had fun writing this which is all that matters, and I hope you have fun reading it!
The place Dick had dragged Jason to wasn’t all that bad, considering it was located in Blüdhaven. Unless it was near the University area, there was always something sinister and more corrupt happening under the alcohol, vomit, and blood-stained floors of Gotham bars. Normally no amount of bribery or guilting could make him voluntarily dress up and go out drinking with his older brother, but today was not normal.
It was his twenty-first birthday.
Meaning that by 11:59 tonight, if a name didn’t appear somewhere on one of his arms, he was destined to be alone. Not everyone is born with a soulmate, and realistically, after all the shit he’s been through, Jason Todd never thought he would have one. Despite that, there was some sort of dread slowly filling his body the more he thought about it. Maybe it was that small flame of the little boy he used to be—before Robin and the Bat and the Joker—igniting at the chance of finally having one. It was the same boy who would trace his parents’ names on their wrist, asking them to tell him once more how they met, what they felt seeing the names appear on their skin. Unfortunately, that little boy would be let down yet again by the end of the night.
His plans had originally been to stay in his main apartment (the one where he stored all his books and indulged in a comfy couch), buy a 6-pack of the cheapest beer and get drunk alone. That was ruined, however, when he received multiple annoying texts from Dick, begging to go out for drinks tonight, specifying multiple times that it would be on him. Jason told himself the only reason he agreed was for the free drinks and to keep himself from checking his forearm every five goddamn seconds (a night out with Richard Grayson was known to be entertaining and unpredictable).
If it was Dicks plan to get Jason blackout drunk, he was doing a pretty good job of it. After agreeing he would be the designated driver, Dick had laid back on the drinks and only taken 3 of the five rounds of shots they had already ordered. Jason was opening up bit by bit, reminiscing on their childhood together. By his fifth shot, smiling seemed to come easier to Jason.
Currently, they were both watching the flatscreen hung behind the bar showing a news channel covering Batman and Robin putting an end to another bank robbery.
Dick pointed at the screen. “Damian learned that move from me.”
“No, I taught him that.”
“I’m the one who taught you that move when you were younger, big dummy,” Dick teased.
“Oh, I forgot.” Jason's tone lost its joking edge, and Dick looked over at him. “You know,” he continued almost somberly. “Ever since coming back, I seem to forget a lot of things.”
His eyes were glued to the screen, watching as Batman jumped out a window in pursuit of the bad guy. Robin shouted after him.
“You’ve been through hell and back, Todd. Normal people wouldn’t have been able to handle it the way you did.”
“No, you see, that's the thing.” Jason's voice was frustrated, his previous smiles gone. His brows furrowed the longer he ranted. “I’m not normal. I cycle through apartments and bunkers like crazy to help me lay low. I sleep in until 3 pm and I put a helmet on to chase down crazy guys with guns for hours at night. The public knows me as some traumatized kid who somehow survived a terrorist attack.” He pauses to take a gulp of beer, slamming the glass onto the bar, lifting his arm to wipe his mouth. Dick watched his jacket slip down his arm.
“Jason–”
“I don’t have a home, I don’t have a stable routine, I don’t even have life insurance!” Dick had somehow managed to get the former deceased and outlaw brother of his drunk and ranting about life. And the worst part? Nobody was ever going to believe him.
“Jason,” Dick puts a hand on his younger brother's shoulder, gripping him like a vice. His eyes never left his arm. “Your soulmate.”
Both of them are silent for a moment. Jason sighs, shaking his head.
“Damn, you're good at this.Yeah, it's about the soulmate thing.”
“You fucking idiot,” Dick slaps him on the back of his head. “Look at your arm!”
Dick watched as Jason stared him in the eyes, his brain clearly trying to catch up with what his brother was insinuating. When he finally looked down, it was comedic the way his eyes bulged at the fresh ink on his left arm. Dick tried his best to keep his excitement at bay, biting back his proud smile. His grumpy, tough, and borderline psychotic little brother had a soulmate. After a couple more seconds of silence, Jason cursed under his breath.
“I’m too sober for this,” Jason mumbled, chugging down the rest of his beer.
Dick laughs, waving the bartender over and handing him a card to close their tab. Jason slams the empty cup down, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. “I have a soulmate.”
“Yeah man, congratulations!” Dick pats his brother on the back, but recoils at Jason turning abruptly and staring him dead in the eye.
“I have a soulmate.”
“I…yeah, you do bud.”
“...I have a soulmate.” He repeats, annunciating each word, as if he can’t believe it. “I need to find them,” Jason says, standing and walking towards the exit of the bar.
“Woah, Jason–” Dick hurriedly stands, apologetically yelling for the bartender and grabbing his card. Rushing outside, he sees Jason recklessly crossing the street to the parking lot. “Slow down!”
Jason stands awkwardly next to Richard Grayson's blue convertible, clambering over the door and into the passenger seat. Dick watches from across the street, shaking his head with a smile, making his way to the car. He couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed with Jasons drunken behavior.
Hopping in the driver's seat, Dick puts the keys into the ignition. “Alright loverboy, where are we going?”
“The mansion,” Jason struggles to get his seatbelt on (Dick intervenes). “The Batcave’s computer can find anyone.”
Dick laughs, hitting the gas pedal and doing as he was told.
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Bruce was home early, having quickly left the bank robbers tied up as Gordons responsibility. Currently, he was sitting in the library going over a case file. Damian had already gone to bed when he had gotten an alert of a vehicle coming up the manor's driveway. He checked the security cameras in the garage and was shocked to see his eldest rushing to the passenger side of the car to stop his sluggish brother from falling out. At first, Bruce had thought that he was poisoned or impaired in some way. He called for Alfred, asking him to prepare the medical rooms to tend to Jason. A few short minutes later, he heard faint voices approaching.
“I used to live here before I died, I know where I’m going.”
“Clearly not, we passed the entrance already.”
“The old man has a sensor on that door. We need to take the entrance in one of the bookshelves, they don’t notify him when someone enters.” No one but Alfred was supposed to know that.
“I doubt it’ll matter, he’s out fighting crime with—oh shit!” Bruce watched through his freakish peripheral vision as two figures hurriedly backed away from the doorway of the library. “Code Bat! Code Bat!” Dicks voice had dropped to a whisper, though not so quiet that Bruce couldn’t hear.
“B’s here?” A head with a white streak of hair popped through the doorway before quickly vanishing. “Oh no.”
“It’s only 11:45, what is he doing lounging around?”
Bruce chuckled quietly, now coming to the realization that they weren’t drugged or in danger; they were just drunk. Jason especially, which made sense. Quietly, he sent Alfred a message telling him to disregard the request. He feigned ignorance to their presence, going as far as flipping pages of the case file in his lap while they bickered, attempting to formulate a plan. Listening in to their not very secretive conversation, Bruce deduced that they had come to find Jason's soulmate on the Bat computer. It was his 21st afterall, and why else would he come drunkenly to the home he tried so hard to stay away from? Bruce found himself smiling for the boy. He had been through so much, and he deserved to have some good in his life. He only hoped that whoever they were, they took care of him in places where Bruce failed.
Sighing exaggeratedly, he stood, stretched and slowly made his way to the doorway, listening as the two brothers hushed. He allowed himself one last second of respite before wiping the smile off his face and walking out into the dark hallway. Dick stood alone, leaning against the wall and whistling. He turned his head, seeing Bruce standing, observing him.
“Oh, hey Bruce! I’ve been looking for you.” Dick pushed off the wall, going to stand next to his Father. “I thought I’d visit, wait for you to get home, but you’re here!”
“What do you need?”
“Oh nothing much,” taking Bruce's arm, he began to drag him in the opposite direction, past the library. “I just got nostalgic, and wanted to take a trip down memory lane with my Pops.”
“You smell like alcohol.”
“Like I said, I was feeling nostalgic!”
Dick rattled on, leading him down the dark halls, and Bruce noticed Jason slipping into the library. He smiled, turning his attention back to his eldest. He couldn’t find himself to be angry about his sons keeping secrets from him. If he felt anything about tonight's endeavor, it was disappointment. Bruce Wayne had taught his sons to be sneakier than they had been tonight.
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Jason, in his drunken haste, had almost tripped down the short flight of steps leading to the massive computer. He couldn't really blame the alcohol though—it was his fault for looking down at his arm every couple seconds, as though the black ink would fade away before he ever found out who you were. Even if it did, he had already committed the name to memory.
He knew how many letters were in your name, the number of syllables in the different parts of it. Despite this, he hadn’t yet spoken it out loud. For the last 30 minutes of his life, every breath he took held a certain weight to it, and the beating of his heart had persisted to be about 120 beats per minute.
He blamed it on the alcohol, but logically he knew the reason.
That little boy—the one he thought was dead and buried—was coming back to life, crawling his way out of the depths of Jason and settling into his gut.
His hand shook as he typed the name, every click of the keyboard ringing dully in his skull. Inhaling deeply, Jason hesitated for only a moment before clicking enter. Your name popped up surprisingly quickly, specifically registered under the “Wayne Scholarship” file.
His hand moved by its own volition and the link was clicked, a government ID popping up on the display.
Staring up at the photo of you in awe, his eyes flickered to the name and back to the photo, unbelieving that this was you. Your simple beauty was evident even through the low quality government ID.
He stared for a while, just taking in you. It was a little odd looking at the huge screen, knowing that you two were made for each other. The thought only made his heart speed up even more.
Digging into your file, he finds that you’re 20 and won’t be turning 21 for another seven months. The knowledge that he knows and you don’t makes him nauseous.
Clenching the edge of the table, he remembers that the reason he found you so quick was due to the Wayne Scholarship. You moved to Gotham for your third year of college to attend Gotham University, with most of the tuition paid for as long as you agree to stay away from any and all crime. Suddenly, he had found another reason to be thankful that Bruce was filthy rich. Your current residence was an old apartment complex in the University area, which was for the most part, free of crime. The more information he got from Bruce Wayne's files, the more his stomach fluttered.
That little boy was practically jumping up and down inside of him, chanting over and over again, “I knew it! I knew we would have a soulmate!”. As the information sunk in, he began to shake more violently, and he felt like his legs were barely holding his weight. In fear of throwing up or collapsing on the floor (or both), he fell backwards into Bruce's chair. A tear slid down Jason’s cheek, and then another, and another.
For the first time in a long time, Jason Todd sobbed.
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