Please Do A Part 2 Of The Luna Hunt (Alpha Bakugou X Reader). I Loved The Story

hello! I read your reborn series and I'm in love with it, the plot and story is just immaculate. if it isn't too much, can you add me in your taglist? thank you!

Of course! Thank you so much, and I’m glad you’re liking it!🤗💜

Explosive Antics (Genos x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: After playing a cheating prank on your boyfriend with a rather loud, raunchy video, Genos decides to take his frustration out on the laptop that tricked him. 

A/N: Short little oneshot of Genos’ s/o pranking him with a porn vid. Another prank for the series, hope y’all like it! (PS: thanks so much for the support recently!)

Word count: 769

        Genos was always tightly wound. He rarely smiled, barely went outside without Saitama, and always kept things short and simple when it came to romantic gestures. Flowers here and there, forehead kisses occasionally, and maybe once he had actually made out with you. Maybe. You were growing impatient, and you wanted to fuck with him, just really grind his gears to see if you could get a reaction out of him. 

        Snickering to yourself, you search on the website for the longest, loudest video imaginable while your phone buzzes.

Cyborg babe <3: I’ll be over in two minutes. 

        He would let himself in. You had given him a key months ago. The timing was perfect too. You played the video, flinching at the pornographic moans that suddenly arose, and cranked up the volume as high and realistic as possible. 

        “Oh, this is gonna be good,” you snicker to yourself, rubbing your hands together maniacally with wide, mischievous eyes. Closing the door to your room, you tried to ignore how uncomfortable the screams and grunts erupting from your laptop made you feel, and you hole up in your bathroom across the hall.

        Just as you shut the door, the main one to your apartment opens. 

        “YN!” Genos announces loudly, entering your home and locking it behind him. “I brought you lunch....” He hears them. The moans. God, how you wish you could see his face! You’re shivering with excitement and pressing your ear against the door. 

        “Oh my God!” You whisper to yourself, biting your lip anxiously. “This is gonna be so good!” With your hand on the doorknob, you wait for Genos to move and scrunch up your face eagerly. 

        “YN?” He questions aloud once more, voice quieter this time.

        Heavy footfalls trail closer and closer to your door and you hold in a breath, waiting for your bedroom to open. 

        “YN, what are you doing?” he whispers outside your door. His tone has dropped, and for the first time since you’ve known him you think he falters. The creaking of the handle squeaks as he slowly enters and freezes at the sight before him. It’s at this time you can’t wait any longer and bust out of the bathroom, pushing into your bedroom and staring at Genos’ blank face. The video still plays while you observe his face, totally flabbergasted at his nonexistent reaction. 

        Oh, come on!

        Your laptop rattles on the bed with its volume while sounds of passion echo around the room. Your face grows red with embarrassment while you wait for him to speak up. You stand side by side while his dark eyes are still locked on the screen.

        “Well,” you pipe up from beside him, drawing closer to his tense form, “did I get you-” In an instant, a wave of heat smacks you in the face as your laptop explodes into a million sizzling pieces on your bed, Genos lowering his arm slowly after. 

        Your jaw drops at the sight while your boyfriend remains silent, listening to the crackles of the dying flames on your blankets. Plastic and glass chunks are splayed everywhere across your room. With hair blasted away from your face, your eyes grow to the size of dinner plates as you stare at the ruination.

        “What. The. Hell.” You seethe slowly, fingers twitching at your sides. One firm, metallic hand wraps around your shoulders as Genos twists to pull you into his embrace. He’s hard but warm, and even though he’s not the most comfortable hugger in the world, you cherish his holds every time he’s willing to give one to you. Except for now.

        “Dude! You just kablooeyed my homework!” You try to wiggle away to observe the wreckage once more but he grips you tighter, halting your movements. The smell of smoke once drifting through your nostrils exchanges with Genos’ personal scent, fresh laundry and clean metal, as your face is forced into his solid chest.

        Huffing out a sigh, you give in and wrap your arms around him, patting his back gently.

        “Your prank was ineffective,” he monotonously mumbles into your hair. You scoff and hold him closer, reluctantly reveling in the heat he gives off. 

       “Yeah, tell that to my incinerated laptop.”

Loving Tradition (Tsukishima x Reader) *Request*

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Tsukishima has accidentally started a growing tradition with you: he will attend your home volleyball games, and you will attend his. But why does it hurt so much when you finally miss one of his own games? Surely he doesn’t like you that much… right?

A/N: Lol yeah you actually did already send the request in, but honestly I appreciated that you expanded on your idea! With every request, I always wonder if I’m writing the right stuff, so I appreciated the elaboration in your second ask. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Word count: 3436

        Tsukishima knew you. Of course he knew you. You were the innocent girl who sat behind him in class, always fumbling with your glasses and scribbling with your pencil oh-so loudly. 

        By the time spring came around, he dubbed you Mouth-Breathing Mary. Evidently you had allergies, and rather than sniffling, you resorted to the second loudest option to obtain enough oxygen in your lungs to function properly. Everything you did, even though you sat a few roomy inches behind him, peeved him off so much. 

        Oh how he wished he could ignore it, your every little noise and sound effect. But something about you just stuck with him, interested him in some way. Like there was a part of you that hadn’t shown its face to him, or anybody, yet.

        And, of course, he had “heard” of you too. Apparently some girl attending Karasuno High was a powerhouse on the court. With pictures in the news and games on TV, she was practically a worldwide legend for Women’s 18 and under volleyball. Tsukishima first learned about her while preparing for practice, watching the two resident perverts of the VBC leering over a new magazine with heart eyes. 

        “She goes to our school, doesn’t she? What a hottie!” Pint-Size had exclaimed. 

        “She looks so innocent too, just like our beloved Kiyoko!” Mr. No-Shirt responded.

        So yeah. He did know both sides of you, but it only took one stroll past the open doors of the first gym during lunch for him to discover this. Yamaguchi had finally caught up with his strides when they both heard it. 

        WHAM!

        Flinching at the sudden boom, they peered through the doorway like meerkats to spot the perpetrator. 

        You. 

        You, standing under the bright lights of the gym, forehead dripping sweat and face scrunched up in distaste at whatever had caused the bang that shook the room. Your eyes squinted behind the glass frames that blessed you with vision, allowing you to glare at whatever had displeased you. 

        It was a single water bottle standing in the corner of the court, closest to the open doors. Others just like it were laying askew along the wall, gathered up with spare volleyballs as well. There were about six bottles in total, and you, huffing and cursing under your breath, lined them all up along the back of the court. After this, you returned to your spot on the other end. Then-

        WHAM!

        The first bottle farthest from your spectators slammed against the back wall before you retrieved another volleyball from the basket at your side. Toss, step, step, jump…

        WHAM!         WHAM!

        WHAM!

        Finally, you knocked over all the bottles in a patterned succession. You had done so with a hawk-like precision, almost looking like you could do it in your sleep. The only things that ruined the picture of you being this blank-faced pro were the small fist pump you allowed yourself and the wide grin that grew on your face. Then you started anew, lining them up along the edge of the court and refilling your volleyball supply once more. 

        “Wow,” Yamaguchi whispered breathlessly, shocking Tsukishima out of his stupor. “She’s good!”

        First, his lips twitched. Then his jaw clenched. And finally, with a small readjustment of his glasses performed by a single index finger, Tsukishima spoke. 

        “Let’s go back. Lunch is almost over.”

                                ~~~

        The aloof blond almost couldn’t believe it. Mouth-Breathing Mary was a devastating beast on the volleyball court. How? How does someone who looks like they couldn’t even walk past an animal shelter without bursting into tears do that?

        “Hey,” your voice, along with an incessant jab to his back via the butt end of your pencil grabs his attention instantly. “I saw you watchin’ me at lunch today, creeper.” 

        Observer of those who were potentially more skilled at volleyball than he was? Yes. Creeper? No. 

        “I was simply inspecting what was making such a racket in the gym. Don’t flatter yourself.” 

        The comment makes you scoff. “Psh, all right. I’ll buy that B.S. for now, stalker.” 

        His teeth were going to be grinded to dust before the day was over. However, Tsukishima chooses to stay silent, glueing his eyes to his textbook in order to ignore the feeling of your gaze on his back. 

        “By the way,” you nudge his shoulder blade once more, making him glance toward the ceiling. 

        “Yes?”

        “I have a game tomorrow night, just in case you wanna ‘inspect more racket’ in the gym.” 

        No. Of course he wouldn’t go, are you kidding?

                                ~~~

        “Tsukki, why are we here again?”

        “Shush.” Crowds whooped and hollered after the sound of a large wham, no different from that of a poor volleyball smacking against freshly polished wood. Shoes squeaked down on the court, along with the occasional “cover me” and “it’s up!”

        The audience for tonight’s game was a lot more than Tsukishima expected as he shouldered his way through the bumbling bodies. He was finally able to catch a breath of fresh air when he surfaced at a metal railing, Yamaguchi huffing just as heavily not far behind. 

        Down on the court, from what Tsukishima could tell, the game wasn’t exactly fair. 

        It wasn’t really Karasuno Girls’ Volleyball Club versus Aoba Johsai. 

        No. It was actually you versus six untainted souls, so pure and ready to be petrified. You were in the middle of serving a serious reality check to the girls on the other side of the net when their coach called a time. 

        Apparently, one of the wing spikers had sustained a nice bruise to the forearms while trying to field your classic server’s ace. It was her fault really, but her replacement was shaking just as much in her court shoes. 

        Halfway through the game, Tsukishima finally understood why so many people were here. Watching you was almost like a drug. Not that he was addicted or anything. 

        It was like throwing a lion in the gazelle exhibit at the zoo. Ducks on a pond. Fish in a barrel. Whatever other analogies there were out in the world that could explain how much you were opening a can of whoop ass right now. 

        At a certain point, the Aoba Johsai girls weren’t even trying. Tsukishima almost swore he heard a whimper from one of them after your spike had flown past her face. 

        Yep. He finally got it. You were like a highlight reel of the best volleyball players to exist. There was even a journalist from the local news taking pictures and writing notes in the corner of the stands right now! 

        And yet, the next day at school, you were that same little lamb that sat behind him in class. The glasses hiding your eyes also disguised the gaze’s capacity for ferocity. Last night, and every game he assumed before that, you were a force to be reckoned with. 

        And, yeah, he totally didn’t like you or anything. 

                                ~~~

        Karasuno didn’t always host home games for their boys’ volleyball club, but when they did, there was always one person in the audience Tsukishima looked for. 

        You.

        At one point, you had stopped teasing him for attending your games, and instead you began to return the favor. Now, sure, there were less people in the audience when the boys played because, really, who did they have that was a world champion like you? 

        Anyways, Tsukishima and you had made a silent agreement after however many games you had cheered for each other. No words needed to really be spoken about it, and Tsukishima almost preferred it that way. In all honesty, the tall middle blocker felt like he played better under your watchful eyes. You were really the only person who he could depend on that believed in him, and him alone. 

        You weren’t intrusive or loud like his brother, but whenever he instinctively glanced up at you after a particularly well-executed block, you always blushed and glanced away in this cute little way of yours. Tsukishima just knew it. He liked you. 

        Not that he would ever admit it to your face, though. 

        And he liked to think that you found comfort in his presence during your games as well. Though he didn’t nearly catch your eye as much up in the stands (you were always too in the zone), you would always give him a little thumbs up and a grin after a game. 

        It was the most frustrating thing, as Tsukishima always had to glance away to fend off his own flush. He hated how easily you could break down his stoic walls in your own little shy ways. The only thing he hated more than that was the giggle he would hear after avoiding your gaze. 

        Now, tonight was yet another game, and another opportunity to see you. 

        Of course, he saw you during school hours, but he usually refrained from talking to you during that time. You were always too sly or too quiet, depending on the day, but also, deep down Tsukishima liked the distance that came between the two of you during games. It prevented that stupid little flutter of his heart whenever you would accidentally brush his hand in the hallway or draw weird patterns on the back of his uniform during class. 

        Yeah, he liked the distance. Most of the time. 

                                ~~~

        It was five o’clock. The match was about to begin, and yet a certain middle blocker couldn’t stop his attention from straying to the stands. 

        Where…

        “Tsukishima, get your ass out there!” 

        The blond cursed under his breath, adjusting his glasses on his face before jogging out onto the bright court. Kageyama threw his teammate a few strange glances, but kept his jaw wired shut. Good.

        “Damn, Tsukki, what’s wrong with you today? Is your girlfriend not here to cheer you on?” a certain wing spiker teased, flashing his signature toothy smirk. 

        The middle blocker doesn’t respond, only flaring his nostrils at the fact that Tanaka was right. Well, half right. 

        “Tanaka’s right, you need to get your head in the game,” the blue-haired setter sneers.

        This lights a fire under the middle blocker’s ass. “Nobody tells me how to play,” Tsukishima hisses, hands covering the back of his head as he waits for Hinata to serve. “Especially not a power-tripping king like you.” 

        “Calm it down, you two. We’ve got a game to play.” As always, Captain Daichi has to save the day, but that doesn’t distract Tsukishima from Buzzcut’s words. 

        Where were you?

                                ~~~

        Of course, Karasuno’s VBC won the game last night, but at the bottom of his heart, Tsukishima feels like it was unearned. Not seeing you in the crowd last night made his mouth taste bitter and his head pained. It’s not like he wanted to like you so much, but part of him still feels betrayed you had broken tradition. 

        Now, he could be realistic in this instant. Maybe you just had too much homework. Maybe your family had an emergency. Maybe you got into a car crash on your way to the game and died. 

        Really, the possibilities were endless. 

        Anyways, as Tsukishima sat in class, headphones plugged in as he waited for the first bell to ring, his final theory was proved false. 

        Tap tap. A familiar touch poked his shoulder from behind. That wasn’t the only reason for why he knew it was you; you were also the only person in the school who had the guts to actually touch the blank-faced genius of the volleyball club. 

        Playing off his indignation as reluctance, Tsukishima snaps his music off his ears and lays it on his desk, signalling for you to speak with a quick “Did you need something?”

        Even he could tell his tone was icier than normal, and he almost cringed at the sound of you flinching back like he had burned you. “U-umm, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for missing your game last night.” 

        “You don’t have to come to my games.” The words tasted like poison in his own mouth even after he spat them, and Tsukishima knew he was only digging his own grave deeper. Evidently, though, you weren’t one to scare easily. 

        “You know,” you paused, taking a deep breath, “I would have felt terrible too if you missed one of my games.”

        “Really?” is what the boy wanted to ask, but instead he stayed silent in effort to keep himself composed. 

        After waiting for him to respond and deducing that he wouldn’t, you continue. “I’m really sorry I wasn’t there to support you.” He hears you gulp. “B-but, uh, how did you guys do?” Your tone lifts at the end, trying to stay positive considering the wall Tsukishima was currently putting up. 

        “We did fine,” he says after a while. “We won. And you don’t need to be sorry.” 

        “But I am,” he hears you shuffling nervously in your seat, “and I want you to know that I was only gone because I was making something. Something kinda special actually.” 

        From the way you said it, whatever you had made was actually quite personal. Tsukishima’s heart fills with guilt at forcing such a confession out of you, but he still feels burned himself.

        So he replies with a nod and a hum, and that’s the most you guys communicate for the rest of the day. 

                                ~~~

        Same day, new game. As Tsukishima slips on his jersey in the locker room, his mind wanders to thoughts of you. More specifically to if you’ll be at his game tonight. 

        He highly doubted it, especially after the way he treated you this morning. Though cold and remote were his signature styles, he hated that it might have closed you off for good this time. 

        “...Tsukki? You okay?” Yamaguchi only stops waving his hand in front of his friend’s face when the blond bats it away with a scowl. 

        “What?”

        “You’ve been staring at the wall for like ten minutes,” the shorter boy shrugs, “everyone else has gone to the gym now. I was just waiting for you to snap out of it so we could go.” 

        Yikes. If Tsukishima’s head was already out of it now, who knows what would happen with him during the game. As much as he hates the thought, his playing abilities seemed to be tethered to you. The closer you were, the better they became. 

        God, how had he fallen so far?

        “I’m ready. Let’s go.” Tsukishima leads the way, Yamaguchi trailing not even a stride behind him down the steps and into the school’s main gym. 

        It’s bright and buzzing with volleyball life inside.Yellow- and blue-striped balls fill rolling baskets to the brim, meanwhile others fly through the air at compromising speeds. The other team has arrived and is practicing harmoniously, not a single player out of step. 

        This team was good, and Karasuno would have to be better.

        “Glasses, get your ass over here!” Coach Ukai shouts with no shame, waving Tsukishima over to the rest of the spikers who were already running and jumping above the net. 

        The middle blocker joins the group with ease, practicing in their normal rhythm. Of course that would be easy; it was the spontaneity of a game that would be able to catch him off his guard later.

        No. Tsukishima could play without you. It was hard to break out of a habit, but he wasn’t as weak-minded as some other people he knew (his eyes locked on Hinata as he thought this). 

        And so the game commenced. Refs arrived, crowds filed in, and in a single, bare area up in the stands sat you. 

        Tsukishima blanched at the sight. Thankfully, he was starting the game in the player box, but that didn’t mean your presence hadn’t rattled him. 

        Well, maybe it wasn’t your presence, per se, it was more so the homemade sign you waved through the air after winking cheekily at him. 

        “#11, I’ll give you a kiss if you win!” it said.

        The sign was twice your size across, and every word sparkled black with an orange outline. There was a heart in the corner, and a small volleyball sat atop the i in “kiss.” 

        “Ooh, look whose girlfriend showed up today?!” Tanaka catcalls, whistling as Tsukishima goes ghost white. 

        Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush.

        It was a nice attempt, but unsuccessful overall. In the end, the blond can only shake his head as a hint of a smile creeps onto his face. It’s the best you’ve ever gotten, though, so you better take it and run. 

        For the rest of the game, Tsukishima is forced to play with pink cheeks, ignoring every eyebrow waggle from Nishinoya and every suggestive elbow to the side from Tanaka. And of course you tease him too. 

        Each time he glances up at you like he normally does, you throw him a beaming smile and shake the sign you still hold, leaning on the railing it hangs over. Though he would hate to admit it, it still pumps him up like normal. Every block is just a tad better, and every serve just a tad stronger. 

        And by the end of that game, you best believe he was waiting for that kiss. 

        The ref blows the whistle, the last set won by Karasuno with seven points hanging over the other team’s head. The tall middle blocker’s eyes dart to yours and that’s all the signal you need to clamber your way down onto the court, sign still intact. 

        You hand it to him as soon as you're close enough and for some unexplainable reason, Tsukishima accepts the responsibility of holding the sign willingly. 

        Your eyes glow with excitement but the rest of your body language tells that you’re shy, including the smallest little nibble on your lower lip that you would soon discover drives him up the walls. 

        “Well?” Tsukishima finally asks, glancing you up and down before locking his gaze on your face. 

        “Hmm?” you hum, playing innocent because of course you would do that during a time like this. Tsukishima had figured out early on that you were just as terrible with emotions as he was. Maybe you could work on it together, but that would have to be saved for later. Right now, you owed him. 

        Tsukishima doesn’t bother to respond to your teasing. Instead, he sighs and tosses aside the sign, ignoring as it flutters to the ground for all to see before tugging you closer by your hand. Your eyes widen with nervousness, but the blond doesn’t bother to let it grow into an all-out halt on the situation. 

        No. He wouldn’t give up this chance. No matter how many others were watching. 

        Though you were only seven inches shorter than him, he still tips your head up before leaning down and capturing your lips against his. 

        It’s short and sweet, because Tsukishima is never one to reveal all his cards on the first go. He presses his lips to your softer ones and makes note of just how much pressure might drive you crazy at a later date, then he pulls away, immediately wanting to absorb your blissed expression. 

        It doesn’t disappoint, as in the short few seconds your first kiss had lasted, your pupils had blown wide and your cheeks had transitioned from a gentle pink to a burning red. Your hands had barely had enough time to reach up and tangle in his hair, so you follow through with the act then, intertwining your fingers right at his nape. 

        “Well-deserved,” you breathe out with a grin, tugging his sweaty forehead down before pressing your own against it. Tsukishima just barely copies your expression, allowing a slight curl at each end of his mouth as he cranes his neck to meet your face. He raises a questions brow when your smile twists into a smirk. 

        “I’d still kick your ass in volleyball though.” Tsukishima rolls his eyes as you playfully nudge his glasses with your own. 

        “That’s debatable.”

Don't mind me, I'll just be reading everything your masterlist, thank you. Your writing is *chefs kiss" 🥰

Oop, thank youuu🥺💜💜 have fun my friend✨

heyy i’ve been reading ur fic for a good while now and i have to say i just constantly find myself coming back to it. you write with clarity (seems simple but it’s hard to find writing as well done as urs) and emote really well and your fics are always soooo entertaining to boot! idk if that last one is the right word but bdjdjdjf i just love ur fics. thank u sm for sharing them :’)

Awww thank you so much! It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a message as kind as yours, and I really appreciate it!! I’m glad you like my stories🥰🥰

Yandere bokuto the boy that will pull out the emo face every time he feels like he’s not getting enough cuddles

Agsjdjsk another one about his cuddles, and y’all are both right. One day, I imagine he’ll come home just whining and whining about not getting to hold you, even though you’re busy with work or smth.

“YNNN.” Add on a lip pout, but you still shake your head no. He huffs and whimpers and rubs his face against yours, but you don’t budge.

“Bokuto, I can’t. This is really important.”

That’s what sets him off. One second, you’re peacefully typing at your desk, the next you’re being shoved into the mattress, Bokuto’s muscular form trapping you against the sheets. His eyes are furious, any innocence abandoned at your words.

“I’m more important, YN. I am.”

I just binged your account and I’m sorry for the amount of notifications you got- please forgive me:( <3

Akcndknfks you say that like that doesnt make me extremely happy :)💜 the notifs are never a bother, I just hope you enjoyed what you read😬😬

Telling Him He’s Hot (Haikyuu!! Fake Texts)

(Setter Version)

A/N: Not much again. Gets a lil saucy at times, just a warning. Enjoy, and thank you for 1.4k followers!

April Showers (Benny Watts x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: All dolled up and ready to confess, you await a certain chess champion’s visit as a thunderstorm rages outside. But the longer your phone call stretches on, the closer you realize he may be to feeling the same about you.

A/N: long time no see y’all. So as it turns out, life is a disaster. funny how that works. anyways, here’s some benny watts bc he’s hot. hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2075

Outside, the rain poured enough to drown the city life. People fled indoors, hair and clothing drenched, umbrellas shivering with droplets. Few taxis were roaming the streets, save for those catching the poor, wandering souls whose homes were nowhere near the concrete jungle in which they trudged.

You curled your finger tighter around the cord of your telephone. A small grin began to tease at your lips, pestering at the corners and daring to smudge upon your front teeth the pale pink lipstick you wore. 

Had you gone anywhere today? You couldn’t quite remember. And yet, there you were, sitting in your third-floor apartment, draped in your nicest day dress, a little black number that flashed your décolleté, and nothing more. 

You hated the dress—despised it, in fact. The broadcloth fabric tickled at every seam, the skirt, even on a day with a light breeze, always wanted to leave little to the imagination, and you didn’t own a single pair of flats that complemented well, despite its impartial color. 

But he liked it. 

You’d been wearing it when you both first met.

Your eyes gleam as you murmur into the telephone, still watching the road in front of your apartment. Your window has grown fogged, streaks of raindrops smearing here and there, and you lean further against the sill. The bruised clouds show no signs of stopping.

Like it was yesterday, you remembered every second of it; the scent of musk, of leather and aftershave and—was that cinnamon?—flooding your senses after colliding with a solid figure. Two hands had grasped your shoulders in effort to steady you, and—God—how you couldn’t forget the feeling of his fingertips against your bare skin.

Soft. That’s what you admired most about him. Despite his rough exterior and deliberate personality, he was unpredictably, endearingly soft. You curled your head closer to the phone, cupping it against your face as though his words were a caress upon your cheek. A breathless laugh escaped you. “Is that right?”

‘Are you all right?’ That day, he’d dipped his head to meet your gaze after you stumbled from the impact, and shaded eyes scanned yours beneath the wide brim of a cowboy hat. Your breath hitched.

Brown, but not one of those plain browns that was easily forgettable; these were one of those browns that would haunt you for days, the ones you could imagine wandering all over you, making you feel that jittery, hot anxiousness that simultaneously makes you want to tighten your clothes around yourself or strip them off altogether. You had let yourself get lost in them for longer than what was socially acceptable, especially with a stranger. 

But for that time, all you could imagine was diving into them a little longer, getting a little closer to see if they were really that dark, deep umber they seemed to be, or if it was just the shadow of his hat. 

‘I’m fine,’ you’d reassured with a tight smile, though it was the growing flush to your cheeks that made you so tense rather than frustration with the collision. It was warm, too warm, and, even worse, it was embarrassing to become so flustered so easily. 

A corner of his mouth had lifted, and his hands retreated from your shoulders. ‘Sorry about that. I should’ve paid more attention.’

The more you pored over the interaction, and every interaction following that, the more you noticed it at every fleck of his words—the hint of a Southern accent. During the day, it slipped past the ears without notice, but when it came to later hours and earlier mornings, it was thick and heavy off his tongue. Often, his voice would lower an octave. A dangerous gruffness would hang on his every word, and a tightness in his jaw kept his words drawled. 

‘Ah, uh, me too.’ You’d shrugged casually, hoping that in some way it might disguise the terrible tremble of your hands. ‘Just been looking for the mirror.’ You gestured down at the black dress your friend had forced you to try on, silently cursing at the way it wrinkled in all the wrong places and hung loose in others. Of course, you remembered thinking to yourself that day, of all the times you were to run into an attractive boy—no, attractive man, it had to be this moment, donned in the most uncomfortable frock imaginable. 

Slowly, his gaze followed the gesture. A careful, brown scan trailed from the bare skin at your collar bone, following the buttoned path down to the fabric pinched at your waist, and finished at the rippling skirt at your knees. His lips twitched, and for one unbearable moment, he was utterly silent. 

All you could think about was how stupid it had been for you to draw more attention to yourself, as if he couldn’t already see the sweating beading at your forehead, or the heartbeat in your throat. This man was sucking the air from your lungs, leaving you breathless and fidgety and nervous and hyper and taut all at the same time. A terrible mixture. And the one thing you had left to do was damn every haphazard, insubstantial interaction you’d ever had with handsome males that had left you so inadequate for this situation. 

Then his gaze flicked up to you, somewhat darker as he tipped his hat towards you and smirked, a gentle curl of his lips, before clearing his throat. ‘I like it. It looks beautiful on you, Miss…?’

His question had hung in the air, marinating until you could bring yourself back down to reality with a harsh bite on your tongue. ‘YN. YLN,’ you mumbled. ‘A-and you are?’

‘Benny. Watts.’

“Benny Watts, don’t you dare tell me that you’re only in this city for a chess tournament.” You shook your head, an unabashed grin overwhelming your face when he chuckled from the other end. “I did my research, you know.”

“Oh yeah, princess? What’d you find?” There was shuffling from his end, and you heard what must have been jangling coins, but dismissed it.

“The only tournament here is for the state title.”

“Yeah?”

“So you’re telling me that the US Champion wants to play chess against forty-year-olds with nothing better to do, and university students?”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m strapped for cash.”

You curled further into the sofa, hugging the telephone base closer to your chest and fiddling with the rotary dial. “Bullshit.”

He’d told you he was a chess player that day, and a good one at that. Said he’d travel all over the country to play, sometimes the world. You almost didn’t believe it, until he’d led you over to the magazine rack and pulled the latest edition of Chess Review. 

‘Here,’ he probed the front pocket of his trench coat, revealing a wallet. ‘You should keep it.’ Wordlessly, he passed a few bills to the cashier near the door. ‘And the dress.’

‘No, you shouldn’t just-’

He flashed you a smile and tipped his hat, already halfway out the door. ‘I already did, princess.’ Then he winked. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll meet again.’

“Well, princess, I do so love to be the best in your eyes, but I have to say there are some strong up-and-comers nowadays.”

“Same excuse you used last time.”

“Damn,” he whistled, letting out a sigh. “Can’t slip anything past you, can I?”

But he had, once. Just once.

‘Well,’ your friend had appeared beside you after he slipped out of the department store, causing you to flinch. ‘Now we know the dress works.’

You’d huffed, trying to summon the effort to throw her a glare, but the rapid thumping of your heart had been making any and all anger difficult. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’

‘Well damn,’ she smiled slyly and shook her head with disbelief, ‘you should look for me a lot more often.’

And as the pair of you watched him walk away, you’d spotted a small tuft of blond hair peeking out between the brim of his hat and the collar of his leather trench coat, and cursed at how well it all took your breath away. You had to agree with her. 

“Not anymore. You know I love to hear about your wins, Benny, but not like this.”

“Aw, you flatter me.” You could imagine the way he was fiddling with his hat at this point, dragging a finger across the brim or perhaps readjusting it altogether. “Here I thought you were getting tired of my chess talk.”

“I wouldn’t have stayed on the call if I was. Plus, you get all cute after you’ve won a game.”

On the other end of the line, Benny scoffed incredulously. “Cute? Did you just say cute?”

You leaned your head back, biting your lip. “Yeah, you know, it’s adorable the way you get all excited when they give up.”

“Adorable? Excited?”

“Yep.”

“...You’ve never seen me play a single game, have you?”

Finally, he was back in town. He’d called and told you ahead of time that he was headed over from New York; that he’d signed up for a tournament and had arranged to stay at a local hotel, and that he was wondering if you could meet up somewhere. 

Somewhere.

Meet up.

Hotel.

As if he hadn’t been planning on staying in your apartment anyway. As if the plan was to share a couple drinks and a couple laughs, the way you’d done it so many times before. As if the second before last phone call you’d had with him hadn’t ended with him almost telling you he loved you—just before he broke himself off with a stutter and mumbled something about having to hang up. 

And now he was coming here. 

The conversation had fallen into a natural lull, and it was then you took note of how painfully hot your cheeks were despite the cold weather exuding from your window. Your fingertips were frozen, you realized, as you gnawed on your thumbnail. 

“Benny, I…” You dug your nails into your arm, eyes clenched shut. “I really miss you.”

His breath hitched.

The silence grew suffocating. 

Your heart thumped painfully, and the dress began to itch. 

Then he exhaled. “I miss you too.” He shuffled on the other end. “So fucking much, princess. Look out your window.”

“What?”

Your gaze darted outside. The sun was just setting, and the sky had grown more black during your call. The lone street lamp shining into the phone booth was the only reason you could see him. 

He was supposed to be waiting for a cab at the university—that’s what he’d told you, at least. 

Instead, in the foggy glass box, he raised his hand, fingers flashing in a short wave. 

“Benny.”

“I couldn’t wait.”

When your form disappeared from the window, he hung up. When you raced down the stairs of your apartment complex, he abandoned the phone booth. 

And when you burst through the front doors, he opened his arms, grunting as you collided with his chest, chuckling as the motion flung the damp hat from his head. 

“Now who’s excited?” he mumbled into your hair.

He was completely soaked from what must have been a two-hour walk through a thunderstorm. The damp sleeves of his leather coat began seeping through the dress fabric at your waist. Droplets from his hair dripped onto your cheek. 

Then he pulled away, tilted up your head with a lone hand on your jaw, and crashed his frozen lips against yours, as though trying to absorb whatever warmth you would give him. God, even his ring chilled you to the bone.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to mind. Not as you drew him up the stairs, back into your apartment. Not as you both shed layers upon layers, peeling back whatever separated the two of you, until it was solely skin on skin and nothing more. 

And when the steam of the shower obscured your view of him, he sought you out on his own, searching for you and curling himself around you, planting his lips against your throat as his fingers secured the softness of your hips. 

“Princess?” he mumbled into your skin, sweet honey dripping off his accent and soaking into your skin. 

“Hmm?” Your fingers danced along his scalp as you dragged them through the blond tufts, suds floating down the drain. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

YN: DICK!

Dick Grayson: What do you want?!

YN: I JUST TOLD YOU!