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brokenmenswhore · 6 months ago

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potions | regulus black

pairing: regulus black x fem!reader

summary: regulus invites his potions partner over to his family home to “help her practice”

warnings: DUBCON (MDNI 18+), choking, smut, rough sex

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When Regulus invited you into his home to use his in-house potions lab, you were suspicious. Regulus always had a darkness to him, and as your potions partner, he was never cruel to you, but he wasn’t the type to make such a kind gesture.

You accepted, knowing you could really use the extra practice. Regulus was talented at potions, and you felt bad that you were barely any help in class. As strange as it may be, you figured some extra time would benefit you, and Regulus could teach you and thing or two, if he felt kind enough to do so.

“Come on in,” he said, gesturing you through the door.

You smiled as you followed him through the house, the lighting almost as dark as his all-black outfit.

“I keep my potions stuff in here,” he said, pushing open the door to his bedroom.

“In your bedroom?”

“Mhm,” he responded, completely nonchalant about the fact you were in his personal space, while you felt it was a little strange. You didn’t know him too well, though you were attracted to him, and now you were only a few feet away from his bed.

He walked over to the table. “You coming?”

You swallowed and approached him, looking at the large collection of jars and ingredients spread out on the table.

“Should we maybe let your parents know I’m here? That there’s someone else in the house?”

Regulus chuckled. “The only other person here is my brother.”

“Sirius is here?”

Regulus shot you a look. You and Sirius had a weird past- you hooked up a few times at parties, you caught feelings and he didn’t, and you never spoke again. It was all ancient history, but you still tried to avoid being around him at all costs.

“Why does it matter?” Regulus asked.

“It doesn’t,” you spoke in a small voice, drifting your attention to the table, “so? What first?”

“Figured we could maybe just make sure you’re set on ingredients,” Regulus said. Everything he said was so dry, low, and monotone, and it sometimes made conversation hard.

“I think I’m comfortable with the ingredients side of things,” you told him.

“You’re not.”

You furrowed your brow and looked at him. “Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am!” you fought, “I know my own skill levels, Regulus.”

“I don’t think you do.”

He was so nonchalant about everything, reorganizing ingredients and setting up potion recipes as he spoke, as if anything he said didn’t matter.

You sighed and gave up fighting it, letting him take control and decide where to go from here. There was no point in going back and forth on the same thing over and over again.

“How about we just start with Shrinking Solution?” Regulus asked.

“Fine by me,” you answered.

Regulus backed away from the table, watching you do nothing. You looked back at him. Did he expect you to just do it?

“Well?” he said, “make the potion.”

You sighed. Sometimes he was so annoying and condescending. You looked at the unlabeled recipe and removed 7 red rose petals from a case of singular petals.

You began to drop them one-by-one in the boiling water. You looked at Regulus, who nodded at you to keep going. “How difficult,” you said sarcastically.

Remus folded his arms in front of his chest, watching you carefully.

You added five drops of essence of violet, stirring counterclockwise exactly twelve times.

“I don’t remember shrinking solution having essence of violet,” you told Regulus.

“Are you claiming my recipes are wrong?”

“No, I’m just saying.” You sighed and continued with the recipe, counting out 4 cloves and prepping canary flight feathers.

He didn’t say a word, just watching you make the potion, until you had completed the instructions.

“I also don’t remember it being pink,” you pouted, looking confused at the pot.

“I could have sworn this potion had daisy roots somewhere-“

“Would you relax?” Regulus questioned.

“Something just feels off about it,” you said, inspecting the liquid.

“Does it smell right?” he asked.

You leaned in and sniffed. The potion smelt like lavender, vanilla, freshly cut grass, and all your favorite smells.

The smell maintained throughout the smoke that you breathed in, overtaking your senses and filling your lungs. “Fuck that smells good,” you giggled.

Regulus crept behind you as silently as he could. When you stood up, he was directly behind you, your back almost banging into his torso.

You spun around to meet his gaze. “Can I help you with something?” you asked.

“I don’t know, can you?”

Your eyes locked for a moment, and you were suddenly overtaken with adoration.

“I think I probably can,” you said, all logic going out the window as the potion took over your emotions, your focus completely on Regulus.

“Atta girl,” he tsked, gripping your waist as he looked down at you. “How you feelin’, pretty girl?”

You were overcome with intense emotion, but you fought to remain grounded in reality. “You motherfucker,” you said, letting Regulus know that you were aware he had you make the wrong potion. This was not Shrinking Solution, this was Amortentia.

“No idea what you’re referring to,” he said.

“You know,” you started, twirling his already wavy hair in your fingers, “you could have just asked if you wanted me.”

“Now could I?” he asked, intrigued and eager to hear you continue talking.

“Mhm.”

“I thought I wasn’t your type.”

“Why?”

“You slept with my brother, did you not?”

Your eyes widened a bit. “And you know that how?”

“He’s my brother,” he said, holding you closer to him, his tone finally lifting to a bit lighter of a place, “and I’ve been keeping tabs on you.”

You giggled. “Have not.”

“I have been,” he admitted, “had to make sure you weren’t fucking anyone who didn’t deserve you.”

“I haven’t been fucking anyone,” you told him honestly.

“I know.”

“You wanna know why?”

His gaze darkened.

You sighed, “the only person I’ve wanted to fuck is standing right in front of me.”

Regulus growled, gripping your waist even harder and pulling you even closer. “Then what did I do all this work for? Getting you over here, the Amortentia, you’re telling me I worked for it for nothing?”

“Maybe,” you giggled, amused at how much thought and planning went into getting you here. You weren’t obvious about your attraction to him, but it couldn’t be that hard to notice.

“I feel drunk on you,” you admitted.

Regulus smiled. You had never ever seen him smile before. You didn’t even know he was capable.

“You’re so pretty when you smile,” you said genuinely, a hand moving upward so you could run a thumb over his cheek.

He couldn’t help himself anymore, he crashed his lips onto yours. Your hand found it’s way to the back of his head, holding him closer. You whimpered into the kiss, desperation overtaking your body. You couldn’t help it, the scent of the potion was still filling the room, and you were consumed in Regulus.

“I want you,” you said in between kisses, eager to finally get what you wanted.

Regulus didn’t break the kiss or loosen his grip on your waist, but instead inched you closer and closer to the bed. You felt the back of your knees hit the mattress, and you jumped up, attempting to land on the mattress, but Regulus caught you, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

He leaned over you, your back touching the mattress as you kept your legs around Regulus. He remained standing, the small of your back at the edge of the side of the bed.

Regulus finally broke the kiss, running his hands all over your body and inspecting every single inch of you. “I’m gonna make you scream so loud that Sirius will realize what he’s missing.”

You couldn’t help it, you started laughing. Your heightened emotions won, and the more you tried to stay quiet, the more hysterical your laugh became.

Regulus slapped your thigh. “What the fuck is so funny?”

“You.”

“Shut up,” Regulus demanded, kissing you to distract you from the hysterics in your brain. You melted back into him, forgetting why you were even laughing in the first place.

You were still having too much fun to let him win so easy, and you liked watching him work for it. “Make me.”

Regulus cocked his head to the side. “What did you just say?”

A giggle threatened to leave your lips. “I said make me.”

A hand suddenly squeezed around your throat, not completely cutting off your breath, but stopping your giggling.

Regulus flashed you a wicked smile. “That seemed to work, didn’t it?”

“Y-yes,” you squeaked out.

Regulus moved a hand in between your bodies, cupping your heat from on top of your underwear. You inhaled sharply, desperate for any sort of friction.

Regulus tucked his fingers into the band of your underwear, collecting your wetness with his middle finger as he traced it in between your folds. A sigh of pleasure escapes your lips, and Regulus watched your face intently.

You thought he was going to continue on like this, slowly working you up until you were ready for him, but Regulus had other ideas. Without warning, he shoved two long fingers inside of you, his palm resting on your clit and circling, as his fingers pumped in and out of you.

Your body responded, back arching off the bed, a hand still around your throat. You squirmed a bit, unable to stay still from the sensation.

Regulus watched your chest rise and fall as your back arched and fell, his cock hardening as he watched what he did to you.

He curled his fingers, hitting that gummy sweet spot within you, causing your walls to convulse around his fingers. “That’s it, pretty girl,” he cooed, “come for me.”

His words undid you, the coil of tension within you breaking as you came on his fingers, whines and whimpers constantly filling the room as you calmed down from your high. He pulled his fingers out of you, never breaking eye contact as he sucked your juices off of them.

Once his fingers were licked clean, he unwrapped your legs from his waist, removing his hand from your throat.

“Stay,” he commanded as he untied his pants, pushing them, along with his underwear, down enough to free his hard and swollen cock.

You let out an audible gasp at the size.

“What? Too much for you?”

“How-“ you didn’t even know what to say, “how is that gonna fit in me?”

“I think you’ll be fine, pretty girl.”

Regulus held his palm in front of your mouth. “Spit.”

You did as he said, and he used your spit to wet his cock, lining up his tip with your entrance.

“You want this?” he asked.

“Yes, Reg,” you replied.

Regulus almost showed you mercy when he heard the nickname, it just sounded so pretty coming from you, but he still didn’t. “Beg for it.”

You nodded your head no in protest.

A hand grabbed your face, pushing your lips out and positioning your head so that you had no choice but to look him in the eye. “Beg. For. It.”

“P-please, Regulus I n-“

Regulus slapped your cheek, hard. You gasped at the pain, almost stunned that he did such a thing.

“Use that pretty little nickname you called me.”

“Please, Reg, I need it, p-please-“

Regulus shoved his length into you, a moan of his name leaving your lips.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Regulus growled, setting a steady pace as he pumped in and out of you. He tugged at the bottom of your dress. “Off.”

You did your best to pull your dress off without interrupting his pace, struggling for a minute but eventually succeeding. Regulus leaned in and bit at your bra strap, snapping it back onto your body. He kisses the top of your breasts, shoving your nipples out of the cups, his tongue immediately sucking on one of them.

“Fuck!” you cried out, the pleasure of his mouth on your breasts and his cock splitting you open, and the scent of the potion still filled your nose, almost feeling like too much.

“Louder,” he demanded, serious when he said he would make you scream so loud that Sirius could hear you.

“Fuck, Reg!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, his pace quickening as you did so.

“Good girl,” he praised.

He sucked a sweet spot on your neck, your head rolling to the side to give him even more access.

He was slamming into you, the bed squeaking as your body rocked back and forth. Your legs were weak as they fell off the side of the bed, but Regulus didn’t want the position to change. He grabbed both of your legs, positioning them over his shoulders and fucking into you even deeper.

You squeaked and whined, not even capable of any genuine moans anymore.

“You gonna come again, huh? All over my cock?” Regulus gasped out.

“Mhm.”

“Words, pretty girl.”

“Y- yes!” you squealed, your high hitting you again as you squeezed his cock, a groan leaving Regulus’s mouth as he fucked you while you came, pace never faltering as you attempted to come down from your high.

Regulus was still chasing his own, his lips enveloping yours in a heated kiss as he snapped his hips as fast as he could until he came inside of you, erratic breaths and sighs spilling into the kiss.

“Fuck,” he said, running his fingers through his hair that was sweat slicked and falling in front of his face.

“God, I needed that,” you said, attempting to catch your breath as Regulus laid down next to you.

Regulus didn’t respond, he just stared at the ceiling, calming himself down.

“Reg?” you asked.

“Mhm?”

“You didn’t bring me here just to fuck me and piss your brother off, right?” you asked.

Regulus turned to you. “Do you think that low of me?”

“No. I’m just curious,” you explained.

“No, I didn’t bring you here to piss my brother off,” he answered, “it’s just a massive, massive plus.” He rolled over the placed a kiss on your lips.

#regulus black #regulus x y/n #regulus black x y/n #regulus black x reader #regulus x reader #regulus black imagines #regulus black fanfic #regulus black smut #marauders #marauders era #marauders era smut #marauders era fanfic #marauders era imagines

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gretavanlace · 1 year ago

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Sugar II (part 6)

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, illusions to cheating, illusions to oral sex (f rec), language, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, phone sex, etc

Your phone is lying on your chest when it begins to vibrate. Pretend you weren’t waiting for it all you want, your self-deception is laughable even to you. But isn’t that what you’ve become? A miserable joke who spurns the truth with a smile on her face and untruths in her heart.

Lying to ourselves is more deeply ingrained than lying to others, Dostoevsky once said. Wise and brilliant, he was. He also loved someone he shouldn’t have too deeply to let them go.

He is beside you, arm draped across your middle, forehead tucked against your shoulder…so placid and secure in his place next to your wandering mind. So blissfully unaware and peaceful as he dreams of things you don’t care enough to wonder about. But hasn’t he always been? Unaware, that is? He has lived in the dark, oblivious to the fact that he has never truly cradled your heart in his hands.

You are a wicked, black-souled creature, and no one knows that better than yourself. He doesn’t deserve this, and he never did.

Maybe you shouldn’t answer. Maybe. But you will, and you do.

Slipping out of bed like a phantom, you move through the house on silent toes, creeping along until you’re folded into the chair in the far corner of the living room.

“What took you so long?’ His voice drifts out, lazy and quiet, “Hiding from Mr. Wonderful again, are we?”

“You have to stop calling me like this.” You’re quiet, but not like him. Your quiet stems from deceit, and some inexplicable fear of what? Getting caught on the phone? And that’s all this is, right? Just a conversation with an old friend? There’s that self-deception again.

“Stop answering, then.” He counters coolly. Unbothered and wholly aware that that won’t be happening.

“How was the show?” You ask, rather than comment on the ridiculous confidence laced through his tone like sex on his tongue.

“Good.” He sighs, and you can picture his flippant, nearly shy shrug so clearly it grips your heart tightly for a breath. “I may have had a whiskey or three too many. May have tripped. May have fallen. May not have been very rock and roll.”

Your soft giggle tightens his heart just the same, but he doesn’t tell you that. “Did you play through?”

“Of course I played through,” He scoffs with feigned offense. “Who’re you talkin’ to?”

“Then I think that’s very rock and roll, Jake.” The smile won’t leave your voice. “Besides, you misjudged those stairs, don’t blame the whiskey. You should wear your fucking glasses.”

“Oh!” Now he sounds incredibly pleased with himself, dragging the word out like the cat who ate the canary, “Sounds like my sugar caught the show…”

“I may have popped in to peek at a livestream.” You concede, curling down into the chair to get comfy.

“Groupie.”

Pulling the throw off the back, you sling it over your bare legs and shake your head at his nonsense “Miss my Sammy, that’s all.”

“Fuck you.” He laughs.

“Fuck you, too.” You toss right back, but you both hear the love hidden behind those terrible words.

“You miss my stupid kid brother so much, why don’t you come and see him? I could have you on a plane tonight. How long would it take you to get to the airport?” There’s a sincerity in his offer that makes you long to pack a bag and go.

“Jake…”

“Should I send a car, or do you think Mr. Wonderful would mind driving my girl?”

Little shit.

“Stop calling him that.” You scold with little conviction.

“What should I call him then, baby? Since you won’t tell me his name…”

Fighting to sound steadfast, you square your shoulders and issue a warning you don’t feel a drop of in your bones “I’m gonna hang up.”

“Liar.” There’s that gentle laugh of his that echoes through your mind all hours of your lonely days. “What did you do today, sugar? Tell me.”

“Um,” you pick at the blanket absently and search back through the monotony. “I had a work thing. Then I went to the supermarket. Saw a movie. I smuggled a bottle of water inside in my purse like a criminal.”

“I should alert the authorities, but they’ve probably already got your wires tapped.” He’s teasing, but he suddenly sounds so sad. “Did you go to the movies with him?”

You hesitate, which tells him everything without a word.

“Damn,” he’s so quiet now. “I hate that, sweetheart. I hate that so fucking much.”

It makes no sense, he knows you’ve just crawled out of the bed you share with him, he knows that a ring rests on your finger right now - he knows. So why does he sound so broken-hearted? Why this?

“You just go around doing stuff with him, you know?” He clarifies as though he’s heard your unasked question. “Simple little things. The movies. The market. Dinner with your friends. Bookstores. We never really got to do those things together.”

It surprises you, though you aren’t sure why…he’s always been this way, soft and romantic about the strangest things. “You’d want to go to the grocery store with me?”

He laughs as you verbally poke at him to lighten the mood. “I’d go anywhere with you.”

“That’s good. Because I loathe going to the gynecologists alone. Care to attend my Pap smear, Jakey?”

He laughs again, but this time, it’s halting and loud… your favorite of all his laughs, “Absolutely, I do. I’ll steal the stirrups and take them home to use later. The doctor will see you now, sugar.”

You’re laughing now too, likely a bit too loudly “You’re so fucking weird. I feel like I’m talking to Josh.”

“Spending too damn much time with him lately.” He offers by way of excuse, “his shit is rubbing off on me. The other day I briefly considered a perm.”

Your laughter trails off with matching sighs, “I should go.” You say it, but you don’t want it.

“No, you shouldn’t.” He argues quietly, and with a strange tone…he’s fighting something.

“What is it?” You press delicately.

“I just,” he pauses, collecting his thoughts before pouring them out to you. “I just thought you’d be back by now…but you’re still there, with him. And I’m still here.”

“Jake,”

He doesn’t allow for you to finish whatever it was you were about to say that he doesn’t care to hear. “Hush, baby…I know. Do you miss me?”

“Yeah,” you secret into the phone, stealing a glance down the hall. “I miss you very much.”

“Good.” He has quieted to match your whisper. “How much do you miss me? More than Sam?”

“Yeah, I miss you more than Sam,” you see? This is why you’re a bad fucking person. “But like I said, I should go.”

“Why?” There’s that terrible, beautiful rasp again, the one that fails to belie how hard for you he likely already is. “Because you’re afraid you’re going to slide your hands into your pretty panties for me just like you did last night, and the night before, and the night before that?”

It’s a knee jerk reaction that you can’t explain when your finger jabs at your phone to end the call.

He calls back right away, and right away, you answer.

“That wasn’t very nice.” He taunts into the phone with a grin dripping from his accusation. “Don’t you dare hang up on me. Have you forgotten your manners, little girl?”

“Can’t we ever just talk?” You’re struggling to remain on solid ground, but for what? You want nothing more than to sink into him. “Do you ever think about anything else?”

“Other than what?” He counters. “Other than fucking you? Yes, as a matter of fact I do. I think about loving you, and lying beside you like that fuck gets to do. Taking care of you, making you laugh, cooking for you, and drawing you baths, and going to the goddamn movies to watch you smuggle in bottles of water, but you won’t let me have any of that, will you, sugar?”

“I—“ you’re shocked into silence.

“Right.” He agrees, as if you’ve said something poignant. “So forgive me if I indulge where you see fit to allow.”

“Jake, this isn’t right…” oh, don’t you sound righteous? “It has to stop.”

“Isn’t right for who?” He is rife with condescension, “For him? Ask me if I give a fuck about him. Not to ruin the surprise, pretty girl, but I don’t. And maybe you do a little, maybe you do even more than that. Maybe you care more than I’d ever want to know, but you’ll never care enough for it to matter more than you and I.”

No one has ever seen you like Jake sees you…and it is both intoxicating and frightening.

“You want to hang up? Hang up. I won’t call you back tonight.” There’s an edge to his promise, but you know better than to believe it, and you’re thankful it's a lie.

“I don’t want to hang up.” You should want to…but you can’t imagine giving him up right now.

“I love you, sugar.” He breathes, and it’s the loveliest song you’ve ever heard. You want to close your eyes and drift away into it like a symphony. There are cellos and violins in those words, magic and pain more beautiful than anything else you’ve ever known.

“I love you, Jake.” You want him to feel those same things living and breathing inside your own words, but they feel so lacking.

“Do you know what I did this morning?” He questions. You can picture his face so perfectly, and you long to touch it, to simply run the back of your hand down his cheek.

“Hmm?” You hum, still lost in the daydream of being near enough to touch him, to soak in the warmth of his skin.

“I tuned the piano in our front room.”

You know right away that he means the house he visits in the corners of his mind, the place he keeps just for you.

Your gaze has drifted out the window. If you look hard enough, you can almost see the house in the distance, windows glowing golden with light and love “You did?”

“I did. You’re teaching the girls now. I wanted it to be perfect for the four of you.”

“I don’t know how to play the piano, Jakey.” You tease, staring harder still at the mirage of your make believe home.

“Yes, you do. I taught you. You took to it right away, and now you’re better than Sammy, even. You play like an angel. And sometimes, when the girls are asleep, we make love on it and scatter notes around the room in the night.”

Your hand finds its way into your panties all on its own, but it’s innocent somehow, gentle. “We make love on the piano?”

“We make love everywhere, sugar.” He hushes, “I’ve slipped inside of you against the maple tree in the backyard in the Autumn while it drops its leaves at our feet. I’ve nestled my face between your thighs on the porch because you like to watch in the moonlight. Bent you over the kitchen sink so you’ll forget about the dishes, in a closet or two when the girls were too busy to notice, in the dirt in the garden, everywhere.”

A soft moan you attempt to swallow escapes you as your fingers sweep, wet and warm, across your clit.

“What was that, sweetheart?” The smugness in his query is so loving you forget to be annoyed with it, “Are you touching yourself imagining all the places I’ve made you mine? All the places I’ve taken you and made you shake, over and over and over?”

“Tell me,” you beg, slipping your leg over the arm of the chair, opening yourself up for him, offering something he isn’t here to take. “Talk to me. Tell me.”

“That’s my girl,” are you imagining the sound of his zipper through his praise? “What do you want to hear? I’ll talk to you all night, sugar…talk to you forever. Until my voice gives out.”

“The porch,” Another brush against your aching clit, another airy moan you fail to quiet, “Tell me about on the porch.”

“Yeah? You want to hear all about how I lick your pretty pussy on the front porch until you’re dripping down my chin? Want me to tell you about how good you taste, and how sweet you sound when you whine and rock against my mouth?” His voice is like sandpaper smoothing out the frayed edges of your heart. And you most definitely heard his zipper.

“Jake, please…” you would give nearly anything for him to materialize in the room. To listen to his boots clip across the hardwood as he moves, closing in on you until you’re trembling with anticipation.

“Shh, sugar…” he clicks his tongue in mock sympathy, “We wouldn’t want to wake Mr. Wonderful. He doesn’t belong on this porch with us, does he?”

“Tell me.” Your demand falls short through another shaky sigh.

“It’s late, baby,” you can hear it now, the rhythmic, slick slide of his fist along his cock, “and we really should go inside and go to bed, but I can’t take my eyes off of you, you look so fucking stunning in the starlight. You’re curled up next to me in the thinnest, whitest nightie, and I can see the tops of your thighs. So soft and smooth. And I only want to kiss them, but the second I’m on my knees you’re spread open for me like you’ve been waiting for my mouth.”

You’re so wet you can almost pretend your fingers are his tongue drawing tight circles exactly where you need it “And then?”

“Then I slip your panties off, and you give me a little shit about it just for show, but you shut up quick when I start licking along the insides of your thighs. You smell so fucking good, and you taste like heaven, and my cock is so fucking hard for you, but I don’t care about that, all I care about is getting my mouth on you.”

“Do I really taste that good, Jakey?” You pant, arching away from the back of the chair as you slip inside your warmth and fish for compliments.

“You do, baby.” His breath drags in and out of his lungs hard and fast. “You taste so sweet…prettiest, pinkest pussy I’ve ever kissed, you taste like home, you taste like my sugar.”

“Fuck, I’m—“

“Slow down.” He interrupts, sounding gentle in a way he seldom does when he’s hard and throbbing for you. “You just go real slow for me and listen.”

You nod, and though he can’t see you, he seems to feel it all the same.

“I’m on my knees against the porch you helped me strip and sand, and you’re spread open for me on the swing. It creaks every time you move. Your hands are in my hair, but you’re being such a gentle girl, fucking your lovely cunt up into my mouth, begging me softly to suck your spoiled little clit, begging me to make you cum.”

With your fingers fluttering light as air, you can almost imagine it all to be real, and you’re close…so close.

With a choked gasp of your name he pauses, but recovers in a blink, “You’re whining for my fingers, but I want to get you there just like this. I don’t want anything in the way when you finally let go on my tongue. I want to drink you down, baby…every drop. It’s all mine, and I want it. And you let me have you that way, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you nod frantically, writhing in the chair until the blanket falls away, forgotten.

“And you’re going to be such a good girl for me, huh?” That, leading, teasing tone has joined the party, and your stomach is twisting and turning, wringing the lust out of your very soul, “You’re going to be the sweetest little sweetheart and cum right in my mouth because I’m just so fucking thirsty, aren’t you?”

“Oh fuck, Jake…” you’ve hardly made a sound, your constricted throat won’t allow for much more, “Say it again.”

He knows what you want, and like always, he gives it to you without question or thought. “Want you to cum in my mouth right here on the porch, you beautiful fucking filthy girl. I want you, sugar…c’mon and make a mess on my tongue.”

“I’m gonna cum,” you’re spread wide and thrusting into your own touch, but it’s Jake you feel…he’s everywhere, all around you, you’re drenched in him.

“Of course you are, sweetheart,” he soothes, sounding near the end himself, “Because you know how badly I want it, and you’re my girl.”

“I’m your girl,” you whimper, desperate for more more more… “I’m your fucking girl, Jakey. I love you…”

“Love you too, sugar,” a growl rumbles out of him low and menacing. “Love you so fucking much. Come on, baby, c’mon…”

With a fist drawn to your mouth and your teeth dug in deeply, you let it happen. Welcoming that sparking, searing, electric bliss only he seems to be capable of gracing you with, no matter how near or far he happens to be.

You’re quiet somehow, but he doesn’t seem to need anything more than your muted gasps to get there with you. Though on his end, he sounds feral and violent…like the beautiful, seedy underbelly of something you shouldn’t want. Pornographic and obscene. Improper. Dirty. Wrong. Perfect.

With the calm of the afterglow, comes the shame. The guilt. The self-hatred. He knows it all too well already, and rather than drawing attention to what has just happened, he shifts focus to help you through.

“I might order room service. If you were here right now, what would you want? That’s what I’ll get.”

“Hmm,” you think it over, kicking the blanket up from the floor to recover a bit of modesty, “Soup sounds good. Broccoli cheddar if they have it.”

“Soup?” There’s that wide open laugh of his again.

“Yes.” You pretend-pout. “And don’t laugh at me. It sounds divine.”

“Soup it is, sugar.” He sounds soft and a little unlike himself. “We’ve got a small break coming up. It’s only a couple of days, but what if I came to see you?”

“Jake,” you’re preparing to wage a loving war, though you want to see him more than you want the air you breathe to quench your lungs.

“I just want to take you to the movies, that’s all,” he holds up his metaphorical hands innocently. “Will you go see a flick with me? No illegal bottles of water necessary.”

“You want to go to the movies?” You laugh at the idea of it all. So PG in a manner so… not Jake.

“Yep.” He sounds positively delighted at the mirth in your response. “Bring Mr. Wonderful, we’ll have a great time.”

You roll your eyes, stretching out your limbs, which have been tense and contorted for far too long, “Oh, don’t be silly, Jacob, like I would ever share you with Mr. Wonderful.”

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honestsycrets · 1 year ago

Note

hi sy! first things first, you’re a fantastic writer. i am in LOVE with your western series! second, may i request an idea? it’s the 1920s, and miguel is one of the top mobsters in nueva york, while the reader is his mob wife. after an attempted hit from one of miguel’s rivals that nearly kills her and gabriella, the reader decides it’s time to her and little girl to skip town, but miguel will be damned if his family tries to leave him. cueeeee angst, drama, the whole shabang!

canary I: a threat | [miguel o'hara x reader x gabriel o'hara]

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x reader, gabriel o'hara x reader

❛ type | double shot; 5k

❛ tags | non-monogamy, some angst, 1920s inspired piece, irish clan inspired piece, bootlegging and mention of hits, explicit, a depiction of killings, some jealousy, some trad-roles elements, f!reader, 1920s slang and Spanish not translated, time period birth control (cervical cap).

❛ sy’s notes | i have spent weeks staring at this piece. it's a bit longer than my usual works and for that reason i decided to split it up into two chapters. this piece takes on a little bit more of a generalized irish mob approach rather than italian. this chapter is more domestic than the subsequent one will be.

Miguel O’Hara hated it when his kills ran. No matter how many alleyways they ducked into, shoddily constructed fences they tumbled over, or crappy cars they tried to hitch a ride in, he always found them.

His fingers were blisteringly tight around his kill’s throat, sure to leave certain bruising if the man made it out alive. He wouldn’t. Not based on the blood that seeped over Miguel’s tanned hand. He gurgled underneath Miguel’s hand, the kill messier than he imagined. Any number of his hitmen could have carried out this contract but instead, his crisp white top was slathered in the contract kill of the week. He recalled the sudden memory of his hand on your slight waist, the kiss on the top of your head with the promise of his night. He snarled the memory away.

Should’ve just shot him, Miguel thought. Mierda.

With the fading of the man’s life, his choked grunts drifted into silence. Miguel allowed the man to slump over. Silence fractured, his world bursting with sound. The salt-laden wind whistled past his hair as ships sailed into the pier, carrying cargo, and his latest shipments. Bootlegged booze had its own benefits-- poor training and numbers among agents, for example. A crackle of an engine sped down the road was followed by the bright beams of an electric headlamp.

“¡Oye, Miguel!”

Of course. Under the bright moon that shone arrogantly in the dark sky, the figure came into focus. His polished suit was just a tad too big for his toned, but hardly muscular frame. Even in the darkness, he had the kind of smile that made people feel like they were the special ones. It matched the gentleness in his eyes behind that swoop of chestnut brown hair. If the feds published men of their color on army recruitment posters, he’d certainly make the cut. Handsome, but not too handsome. Strong, but not too strong.

“Gabe,” he breathed. “The lights.”

“Lights? The lights!” Gabriel looked back at his shiny black car. He bounced back toward the car, bellowing. “This a Spot boy? You did a number on him.”

“You sap. Could you be any louder?” Miguel threw aside. “Why are you here?”

“Thought you could use me tonight, big shot,” Gabriel said in that sugar-dipped tongue of his. It works less on Miguel than it had on you. It was oddly discomforting. As the days wore on, he loathed his brother’s silver tongue.

“I could use someone watching my girls.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I was. They're sleeping." Gabriel booted the man, more than minced meat when Miguel was done with him. “You had some beef with him, huh?”

“No.” Miguel mumbled, looking at the man’s body rather than his own, something sharp hovering there. There was nothing he wanted less than to stand in the biting cold listening to his baby brother prattle on a moment longer. He wiped his blade on his once-was-crisp slacks and slid it back into its sheathe. “Let’s hit it.”

“Jake,” Gabriel said, an annoying rendition of an okay. Gabriel was full of shitty terms from his stint in the big house. Almost as many as he picked up at Miguel’s speakeasy.

“Say. Miguel?”

Gabriel’s voice was soft, almost strained. Miguel caught his eyes, knowing subconsciously what his brother would say. He sucked in a breath to calm himself from a reaction to thin, sharp words. They balanced on the point of a knife as Gabriel spoke them into existence.

“They're our girls.”

This setup wasn't going to last. One day, you'd probably settle with Gabe. Miguel jerked up to the sensation of your fingers ghosting his chest, twiddling around his inky black chest hair, gliding across scars. He senses the source of his disquiet, your small frame draped over his side, watching him with a foreign curiosity.

“Muñeca?” he murmured sleepfully, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. “What's it? Did Gabriel sleep in?”

He finds it hard to believe that his chirpy brother would do such a thing. Mornings were notoriously his favourite part of the day. Unlike Miguel, who shunned the light that streamed in from your thin curtains.

“Coppers took him in for questioning,” you murmured, leaning in to lay a small peckish kiss on his lips. That was quick. His eyes swept down to your lips, lingering there as you spoke. “Gabi said you’d come with me to iglesia.”

“Chingado. He passed the buck onto me.” Miguel groaned, dropping his head back onto the pillow, weighed down by such a stupid request. You thumbed the golden necklace he’d forgotten to take off, gliding one of your legs up his hirsute thighs. He finds himself hiking your leg higher up his thigh. “That’s what you woke me up for?”

“‘Course not,” you muttered. “I missed you last night. Where’d you go off to?”

“To finish intake.”

You didn’t believe that.

“Promise it didn’t have nothing to do with what Gabi got carted off for?” He holds you in a working gaze, something that tells you he isn’t about to answer something like that. You are his woman. Yet, some secrets aren’t ones that he’s willing to disclose. It could put you in a compromised position. Most men, namely the Italian boys, had enough sense not to drag a man’s family into problems between the mob and the clan but in this world, not everyone had sense.

“Miguelito, you’re scaring me.” Your breath quickened, palpable with your chest against his. His large hand encompassed the middle of your back, guiding small, consolatory circles.

“Some things you’re better off not knowing,” Miguel worked at an explanation. Some things like the amount of hits he was getting for Spot boys. The booze going missing from the speakeasy. Some of his girls licked off the street. Just-- some things. “Got it?”

“Long as it’s not another dame,” you mumbled, fisting his necklace around your fist, dragging him forward for emphasis. A smile tugged at his lips, somehow pleased with your response. “What? You been out the house more times than not.”

“I share you with my brother,” Miguel worked the back of his neck. “Better that I skip town than hear you moaning for him. Might hem him up one of these days.”

You laugh-- but Miguel doesn’t find a lick of it funny.

“You got me now,” your hands drifted up to Miguel’s massive shoulders. “How ‘bout this. You fill me all up for church, wear that spiffy dark blue suit. Then we take Lyla out to get her some cherry coke at the apothecary’s. Maybe I’ll even sing you a whole song today if you’re lucky.”

Church, again. Miguel rattled a groan. Of course, he couldn’t have one day off from frateurinizing with people who hated the fuck outta him. Church folk. He didn’t know why you insisted on going with people who openly called you loose.

“Can do without one of those things.”

“If you want me, you go to iglesia, Miguelito.”

West-Side Violence at All-Time High! Italian Enforcer found dead! The West clan’s Gabriel O’Hara facing added charges on suspicion of--

Tch. You interrupted the scowl on his face with a well-placed kiss to his cheekbone, sliding a piping hot mug of Joe before him. Wafts of steam warmed his cheeks. You set down his morning’s breakfast, a plate loaded with fats. No tamales today, but baked beans from a few well-established Irish wives in the area. You wiped your greasy fingers off on a dirtied apron. Miguel stabbed a hunk of sausage as you spoke.

“Gabi’d never do that. They’re trying to hem him up like that capo last month,” your voice quaked, strutting back toward the cabinets. “It’s too personal. He’d… fill ‘em up with lead sure, but a stabbing? It just don’t make sense.”

Sure didn't. Miguel dropped the paper to the side of the oak table, tracing lines of worry that grew into spiderwebs of panic across your forehead. You spoke so feverishly in defense of Gabriel, whose absence was palpable. He often talked about the latest hired singer, sneaking behind your waist for kisses on your nape when Miguel could barely drag himself out of bed in the morning after pulling all-nighters.

“I have someone on it.”

“I bet Papa did it.” His daughter-- or Gabriel’s-- they were never quite sure. He glanced to his foot where Lyla sat. A full seven-year-old, Lyla was a spitfire of a thing, her hair in a bouncy bob topped by a silky ribbon. She glanced up from the dreidel she was spinning around and around. His lips pulled into a minced smile. “What? He’s a liar.”

“Miguel.”

Couldn’t even eat in peace.

“Lyla,” Miguel gestured toward the door. “Go wake up Maeve. Go on kid, get.”

That kid had a smart mouth. He watches her roll her eyes, only budging when you supply her with a hunk of pan dulce. She takes a mean bite, eyes locked on Miguel as she hopped out, somehow less bothered than she was a few seconds ago. You closed the metal door behind your daughter, a hand balled up on the bend in your waist as you watched her skip down the stairs and out of view.

“Most girls don’t talk like that about their papas,” you mumbled. Your arms crossed one over the other for support. “Does she hate him that much?”

“Most girls don’t grow up in the life.”

“Mi culpa.”

With his breakfast all but spoiled, Miguel pushed the plate away. His hand was soft on your waist, nose burrowed into your hair, tracing the notes of jasmine and rose, vanilla and sandalwood. The scent was unmarred by the stench of speakeasy smoke so early in the morning. Your hand came over his, steadying yourself from the rushing thoughts by leaning into his touch.

“I need a girl at the speakeasy tonight.”

Unlike his brother, Miguel’s requests rarely offer a tone of choice. It rolls off his tongue dry and hits your ear like a spike. Nothing about your relationship with Miguel was easy-- it was marred by the rivalry among the brothers-- and as you suspected-- interloping from your grandfather.

“Y Lyla?”

“Maeve is her nanny.”

“How can I step in there without Gabi?”

“He’d want you to. And I want to see you out of this dumb apron.”

“It isn’t dumb,” you pursed your lips, somehow more convinced despite your reservations. Most days, you spend the day in the house-- isolated from any life you came to Nueva York for. Any half-formed excuse that was on your tongue flopped. He nearly has you. “It is right dumb, isn’t it?”

“Sure is. What happened to my canary?”

“She met a pair of terrible brothers who don’t care for pulling out.”

“Don’t blame me.”

He pushed himself against your back, twiddling your fingers against the pantyhose that clothed your thighs. A smile tugged on your lips as Miguel leaned over to kick the front door shut, dipping onto his knees. It wasn’t often that he allowed you to ruin his perfect face before work. Today is a special treat.

But… if you thought back, you really should have.

Took a long time to get any mail from the island. Almost impossible.

In your hands is a sloppily penned letter-- You should be married to one of those boys-- your grandfather. He isn’t stupid enough to think that you’re opening this for the first time tonight, here and now, right in front of him. If you’re ‘reading’ it, you must be wanting him to take a hint. Miguel bent down, placed a kiss on your temple, gliding his hands over your own to place the letter onto the vanity.

He used those very same hands that were meant for maiming against the clasp of a set of pearls around your neck with gentle precision. His fingers coursed along the curls at your nape as he clasped them together.

“How long before your set?”

“Half an hour… maybe.” You stood to face him, pursing ruby-red lips, whispering in his mother’s tongue. He never liked it when his mother barked at him in Spanish, but when it's off your tongue, he knows how sweet it could be. Your hand inched its way over his chest, tracing the fat knot against his throat.

“What’s the issue?”

“I don’t-- feel very perfect. You have all these shebas out there--” women who not only knew how to sing but weren’t terribly mottled by stretchmarks or burdened by the eviscerating effect of motherhood. They’re beautiful, free canaries when they sing in his speakeasy. As much as you loved singing-- you felt shy on that ruby-red stage lately, before a dozen ruby tables and the hopping band.

“They’re to bring in the sugar.”

“Uh-huh, bring in the sugar until they take you away.”

“I’m satisfied.” Miguel took a step up, communicating the way he knew how, by settling his large hand over your jaw. His strong hand glided to your chin, urging you to look him in the eye. “I’m not going anywhere. Tied me down with Lyla as it is.”

“Words are just words. Why buy the…”

“Cow if you can get the milk for free, sí, I know what your grandfather says.” He slips into your chair. “Què quieres?”

“I don’t know, Miguelito. A promise. A marriage. Algo.”

“You want me to wife you up? Don’t remember ever talking about this.” He gestured you to come closer. You stepped up, knocking between his legs. Miguel’s gaze falters, chasing the glint of your tassels as they come to a stop.

“What’s the issue?”

“Nothing. I thought you’d ask Gabe.”

“Gabe gets around.”

“You believe those rumors.” You slap his large hands groping up your thighs, climbing over his lap like it was your throne. His massive frame eclipses the chair, suppressing your comparatively smaller frame. “And don’t think I do?”

“Do you?”

“No,” he laughs. Or, not recently. It’s hard being a father-- harder when he has a whole ass business to keep on top of. Most women wanted those things: jewels, a new pair of silk knickers, and a home. “If that’s what you want, you got it.”

“Oh Miguelito,” he suckled your neck, drawing horrendous marks to the surface. Marks of his ownership in the absence of a ring. He hears the pleased hum of your voice, low and sweet, and knows that’s exactly what you wanted to hear.

“I haven’t put in my cap,” his fingers danced across the outside of your thighs, slipping past your stockings to your silken shorts. He slotted his fingers underneath the fabric, grazing his fingers through your neatly kept curls. Your breath came in deeper bursts as he melded his hand over your vulva, expecting you to grind back on him. You did, ever so eager for him.

“Don’t bother me with that,” he said in a low, husked voice. “You know how I feel about your birth control.”

It was your idea, primarily. Gabe was ever too content to simply be with you-- he didn’t need a large family like the rest of Miguel’s Irish clan. Four, six, sometimes more. Unlike Gabe, Miguel wanted the exact opposite. You shifted over his thigh, obeying his desire to have you ride him. Miguel urged your hips down, working his thumb over the precious button as you did. Miguel’s leg trembled up against your slit, bursts of warm friction warming your hungry body. With his slacks freshly cleaned, you worry about soaking them, soaked in lubricant as you were.

“Come here,” you surrendered a soft moan to him, leaning forward now, less to ride his thigh than the bulge in his slacks. He does not quite care for the idea of ruining himself inside the confines of his pants, but if you want to feel him, he has no reason to deny you. You’re wonderfully spoiled, juddering your hips over him like any whore walking the streets in exchange for a coin or two. What he’d give to have this to himself.

It donned on him-- he could have it to himself. This time, he’d be certain of who the child belonged to. He adored his Lyla, though his irritation with her quips was ever palpable, this-- right here, the ability to fill you and be certain filled him with fat hunger and possessive need to burst into his slacks.

“Stop-- Muñeca-- stop,” Miguel tipped his head back, gathering his focus by digging his hand into your hair, stopping you immediately. His harsh grip loosened, followed up by loosening the button of his slacks and shoving them below the curve of his ass. His cock slapped your silken shorts, beads of his desire dripping from his cockhead. “Take those off. I’m finishing inside.”

“Miguelito,” you slipped onto shaky feet, enough that Miguel could force the shorts underneath your dress to the floor. “We agreed that babies would be--”

“You asked to be my wife. Ain’t this what wives do?”

“I know bu-- not there, deja, let me,” you stopped. His cockhead clumsily poked here and there, until finally, your hand guided him properly. Your mouth fell into a hazy moan when Miguel’s cock shoved forward, breaching your cunt with a snap of his hips. You seated yourself back onto his fat cock, reminded of the absence of your cervical cap in your cunt.

For all your talk, you ached for him, dipping your intertwined hands down to your mound. The rhythm was as sloppy as whatever singer was on stage right now, her voice giving way into a distinct crack. Whatever-- if it bought him more time to properly seed you, he didn’t mind.

He buckled forward as you clenched down upon him, holding him prisoner deep in your body. Liquid soaked his slacks-- and Miguel huffed, puffs of hot air warming your back. That was going to be fun to walk out in. His wife’s cum soaking his crotch.

“Hold still. It’s almost showtime,” Miguel’s voice was thin, his hand splayed on your waist as he used you less like his woman and more like a toy for his pleasure. It didn’t take long for Miguel to find a proper rhythm, his muscles flexing against your back. You were preoccupied as it were with the pain of Miguel’s teeth sinking on your shoulder, spiking hot as his pleasure crested. Soon enough, you felt his warmth fill your core, your head lulling back against him only after his thrusts ebbed.

“Don’t clean up, go on stage leaking.” Miguel held out his hand for you to take, allowing you to pull your shorts back up your ass, nestling his leaking cum in the fabric. It helped ease the anxiety of having you on stage, somehow, to see you in such a state.

“When you knock me up, you’re telling Gabi. I... can't.” You told Miguel, smoothing your dress over your shorts. There was a nervous flush in your eyes-- shame, he placed the emotion. He scrubbed the smile from his face. He had at least a few weeks.

“Sure thing.”

There was a certain delight in seeing you dressed up in that little black dress, all bright red lips, and sultry song. Not that you didn’t look tasty in that stupid apron you wore not to dirty any one of the pretty dresses you wore to church-- like you weren’t a heathen for warming the bed of two O’Hara boys. The people knew it. The church knew it. Damn well, the town knew it.

“Pal, that’s her on stage,” went an Italian boy. An allied family through nothing but contract killing and coin, he was safe here for the time being. One little lapse in a contract could shake it all. “That’s their kitten.”

“She married?”

Miguel turned his gaze back to you for a long moment. Your warm, sweetly lidded words slipping off your tongue, making his mind sluggish and relaxed after a long day. He captured your eyes, minding how your hands fell to the tasseled ends of an already short skirt, daring to expose your skin obscured by pantyhose to the crowd. You knew the game, how far you could lift your skirt without your would-be husband jumping his cage.

“Don’t be goofy. Miguel’d get sore if Gabe tried. She has ‘em both around her finger. Has a kid by one of them. No one knows whose. I got my money on--”

Stupid kids.

“Kid, I’m gunning for another.” Miguel cut the boy off, eyes crinkling at the edges. Something in the way you moved on stage reminded him of Lyla’s pregnancy, perhaps the glitter in your eyes when you met him at his table, instead of backstage, holding his large hands in your own. Some sparkle in your eye, a ginger announcement in his ear. Half elation, half… something else. Something, not quite fear, swirled in the boy’s eyes. Miguel watched with a keen interest as the boy flushed.

“Right on, big shot.”

Miguel brought his cigarette to his lips, letting his eyes flutter closed and his mind wander to the past. He should have known you were hands-off from the moment Gabriel wouldn’t beat it with the idea of adding another girl to their speakeasy.

The best time to tell Miguel about his new girl in the speakeasy was when he was in a good mood: catching any bootleg thief put him in a good mood. Not that he was particularly partial to grey matter and blood spraying him like a fresh pinata, but… he was more partial to money in his pocket and a good reputation. His boys cared for much of the violence in the West of this shitty little town.

“You hired a new girl?” Miguel repeated, drawing a long hit of his cigarette with blood-smattered fingers.

“Spanish girl. Like us. We don’t have a Spanish girl in this joint.”

“Gabe. Most of our clients are Irish. They don’t speak Spanish.”

“You should see her Miggy. She’s got this angelic little face,” Gabe whacked his elder brother, his grin growing ear to ear. There it was, his baby brother got blinded by his dick again. “When she sings you-- well, you get all twisted up.”

“Angelic face,” Miguel mumbled under his breath, tapping excess off of his cigarette. For the price he paid his girls, she had better have the face of Mary herself. The last few Gabe had pulled were mistakes. Some drug-addicted. Others whose husbands always caused a mean stir. He drags his hand down his face, weighing the costs. “She another dumb--”

“She’s Daniel’s littlin’. You remember Daniel? Taught you how to use a kn--”

The sigh that sat in his chest dissipated like vapor, perfusing into his tissue. Miguel looked at the paper Gabriel set in his blood-tinged fingers. He rotated it, gave it a look with his tired eyes. Talk to Gabriel. That old man knew just what Miguel would have said: get your ass back on a boat and go home to whatever rinky-dink island you foolishly sailed off of for this shitty city.

“Lemme see her sing.”

He doesn’t pay attention when Gabriel introduces you onstage for the first time, focusing on the paper ledgers Peter arranged for a review. Unlike his Italian connections, he don’t mind mixing it up with the Jewish boys. They’re twice as smart on the books and twice less likely to be hauling in trouble. Bootleg booze was one thing— the opium, the heroin, the cocaine, and morphine another. It packed too much heat from the coppers.

He hadn’t meant to look up.

It didn’t occur to him that you could have a sickly sweet voice, tempered by the rich Spanish on your tongue, only rivaled by those beautiful looks. His abandoned ciggy threw smoke into the air. He slumped back into the chair with a heavy thud, unclenched his tense jaw, and listened to a siren’s song that felt both familiar and distant all the same.

You had the sort of eyes he swore he’d met before, despite knowing he’d never seen a face like yours around. He’d remember sinking his teeth in that delicate neck that sat under pearls that he supplied most of his singers for their performances. His eyes hungrily cantering down your tassel dress. Not one he provided, no, he knew most to all the pieces in the back. There was a simple beauty in the gown.

You were trouble. He caught your eyes with an intent expression and expected you to blush and look away. You smiled. He wasn’t sure if it was for him or Gabriel, who flicked a grade-A smile, and a twiddling wave of your little fingers. He wants to feel them scratching down his back.

“--anyone home? Miggy? Miguel. Don’t tell me you’re already stuck on her.” Gabriel teased, elbowing Miguel in the arm. “You are! Told you she could sing.”

“Pipe down.” He jammed his ciggy in the dish.

“Sorry.”

He watches you a moment more, the slide of your legs to the tune of the band. The way your laugh resonated through the speakeasy when a patron stumbled onto the stage for his take on some stiff-legged swing. Most women would push them off, look to him for help in the swing, but you ran with the twirl the drunk led you into. He hated to admit that Gabriel was right. Among all the girls in his speakeasy, you brought a lightness to the life of a drunkard he’d not seen in a while.

“Gabe,” he mumbled, standing up and whirling his suit jacket over his broad shoulders.

“Yeah?”

I told’ja so, Gabriel’s voice sounded in his head. He could already feel the stiff annoyance that would be Gabriel’s fist connecting with his shoulder. Why did Gabriel have to know him so well? Miguel spoke with an undercurrent of annoyance.

“Let’s keep her.”

“You don’t gotta tell me twice.”

A hail of loud pops ruptured his sweet, distant memories. He reaches out to snatch his gun from the table, settled between the fresh flowers he plucked for your show. For an instant, his world wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t sounded out by the deafening assuredness of a kill, but very real panic under the singled out by the shrill of your scream.

They're going to push up on us, Miguel told Gabe. He never did take anything outside the speakeasy seriously.

Except tonight, there was no Gabriel. Miguel clasped his hand around his gun, whirling for the source of the flame. The barrage of gunfire is put down as quickly as it began. With a host of Irishmen in the bar, he should be so unsurprised. One of the Italian kids slumped over on his table.

There’s blood-- a lot of blood. Hysterics bound all around, some soothed by their partners or friends. The other Italian boy just stares-- lips slightly apart-- jarred by whatever horror was before him. Miguel finds it hard to believe that he hasn’t seen worse. Others burning his ears like the morning sun in his eyeballs every day you forgot to pull the curtains closed.

“God damn it, Peter.” Standing there is the scrawny little devil of a bookmaker himself, smiling cheesily.

“Hope that’s a good god damn it.”

He shoved his way from the tables, numbing out the complaint of the Italian boy. You were long since gone, probably a good thing that you weren’t here, that’s for fucking sure. It’d been the first time since Gabe’s incarceration he managed to drag you out of there and now… you were somewhere, undoubtedly frightened. Maybe even hurt.

“Boy, wonder who this kid crossed. Say, about Gabe, I got good news--”

He seized a chair, flicking it past Peter, a sure hiss for him to shut the fuck up about his baby brother in the can. Peter put his hands up reflexively, tracing Miguel’s rising shoulders.

“She ran to the back.”

The slender hallway down to his office is cold, only illuminated by the occasional pull-pin light bulb swinging overhead. He came here most days that he wasn’t on shift, taking a hit, or caring for his boys. Keeping track of everything was the best way to stay ahead. And even still-- he missed something from one of Spot’s boys.

You didn’t bother to close the door, balled up in a corner of his small office. He has a glorified cot for a bed in a corner, a heavy desk that nearly killed Gabe trying to hike it down the stairs years ago, and a rack stuffed with any number of books.

“It’s me,” his voice filled the room. You peered up from behind your arms, wrapped around your knees. What a stupid oversight, he thought, whoever was in charge of the damn door let someone in that was… going to be a problem. He was good with Lucky’s crew. Now he was gonna have to pick up that wired phone and tell him some kid was dead.

Your heels scratched across the ground, scooting back to the cool wall. You weren’t hurt-- just, sort of shocked. Maybe being conned into church with you panned out somehow.

“Muñeca.”

“That ain’t… ever happened with Gabe before.”

Gabe. Dy by day that he heard his brother’s voice, it became more of an annoyance. It wasn’t fair to make the comparison-- Gabe caring for most things that went on in the speakeasy, Miguel caring for interpersonal deals and security. With Gabe away, he’d not… it didn’t matter.

“It won’t happen again.”

“If Lyla were here--” You’re a shark-- going after the one thing you knew would hurt. The little girl back at home who he went to great lengths to make sure was safe. She was… his, even if he felt was his brother’s, putting more salt into an ever widening sinkhole that was his irritation.

“She wasn’t.”

“But what if she was?”

“Cállate,” he barked.

“Fine, I’ll beat it. You can holed up all alone down here like you like to be, you-- you-- big lug.” You recoiled for an instant, before forcing yourself up, rubbing at heavily fallen tears in your pursuit of the door. Your cheeks were kissed by raw agitation, all pink and in any other situation, beautiful. Miguel swayed to catch your elbow.

“Discúlpame,” he murmured, a rare apology if you could even call it one to begin with. There was a long pause, and he wondered if you would be upset with him for the rest of the day. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

He knew he made it damn hard not to.

That was the thing about Miguel. He made it hard to get close, but even harder to leave. No matter what he did, you wanted to stay there right by him-- because he was the complicated brother. The one who… well, hell, you wanted to be about. Gabe was good and easy, your Miguelito was…

“Dios mio, Miguelito. This hinky stuff ain’t happening again. Or-- Or I’ll leave you both. Take Lyla right back to the island I came from and marry a man who isn’t in wrong with the police.”

You should have known the day that you gave birth to his daughter that something like that wasn’t going to happen.

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #atsv imagines #atsv imagine #miguel o'hara/reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara imagine #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara x reader

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solar-wing · 1 year ago

Text

⚣ YJ BatBro Incorrect Quotes: Scooby Doo ⍘

⚣ ⍘ A/N → ah memories. My first ever BatBro and Conner Kent post. Time sure does fly. Anyway, what I said still stands. There needs to be more Conner Kent x Male Reader and just male reader content in general. Batfam included :) WARNINGS: typical chaos, fluff, sibling arguments, random humor

⚣ ⍘ Summary → You join the Young Justice Team against the wishes of your father, Bruce Wayne aka Batman, who doesn't want his youngest son to join the superhero world. You've also got a mad crush on Conner Kent aka Superboy. Ever since you've joined though, you've got this weird habit of having moments in life feel like incorrect quotes. Oh well...

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 💛

Superboy: Gee, Dad. Does this mean you finally accept what I want to do with my life me as your son?

Superman: *laughs* Hah-hah-ooh Superboy.

Superman: No.

Superboy: *sad*

You: *calm murderous*

*Batman, Red Tornado, Black Canary, and the Team in the mission room with you & Kid Flash dressed up like waitressing girls*

You: Um, like this isn't exactly what I had in mind. Why are KF & I dressed up like girls when Artemis & M'Gann are girls?

Wally: Yeah *pulling on dress* my skirt's too tight.

Artemis: Because M'Gann & I refused.

*You & Wally grumbling*

You: *dialing Conner* Sphere? It's Y/N. Put Conner on.

You: *Pause* ...because you're almost impossible to understand on a phone.

*Kid Flash leading everyone through a door and shutting it*

*Demon Vampire that looks like Batman locks the door trapping everyone inside and throws away the key*

DV: FOOLS!

*runs away*

You: *mocking Kid Flash* 'Everybody! In Here!' Nice.

Kid Flash: How was I supposed to know we'd get locked in by your dad?

You: It's a cage KF! You always want to stay on the outside of a cage. And that's NOT MY DAD!

DV: *brooding*

You: I don't think...

Robin: *facepalms*

*everyone looking down an ominous tunnel*

You: I wonder where it leads?

Superboy: Only one way to find out. *drops down chute*

Superboy: All clear! Come on down!

You: Catch me Superboy! *drops down and lands on your butt*

Superboy: Did you say something Y/S/N?

You: *sigh* never mind.

*Wally receives message from Kent Nelson*

You: What does it say?

Message from Kent: HEEP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You: Heep? What the hecks that mean?

*finding Kent*

Kent: I meant to type 'Help!" I'm no good with these new fangled gadgets.

*talking about Bruce to the team*

You: Every day for two weeks now, he runs screaming down the hall and ends up sleeping in the yard. Is that normal?

Wally: For your dad? Probably.

Speedy: What's up with Superboy?

*Superboy screaming and ripping his shirt off*

You: Oh, he's just in the zone. It'll pass.

You: If not, we'll spray him with a hose.

*you and the team show up at the hospital*

You: Can we help you with anything?

Bruce: No. Go away.

M'Gann: Who's the patient?

Bruce: An employee at Wayne Tech. Go away.

Wally: What happened to him?

Bruce: it's classified...go away.

*You and Artemis watching Wally and Conner spar*

Artemis: Hey Y/N, let me ask you something. If you liked a boy...?

You: *gasps* WHO TOLD YOU?! Was it one of my brothers?? Dick! Hmm, he thinks he's so perfect. WELL, what no one knows is he has a SIXTH TOE on his...

Artemis: UH! What are you talking about?

You: I- Clearly, not what you were talking about…

BONUS:

DV: LET ME GO! I'LL DRAIN YOU ALLLL!!!

You: Dad, you're vampiring is tearing this family apart! I'm sorry but you've left me no choice. I'm going to have to stake you! *randomly pulls out a wooden stake and mallet*

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

☀️ | DC Masterlist | ☀️

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6rookie-writer0110 · 4 months ago

Note

Black Canary (Laurel Lance) x Arkham Knight Male Reader Smut

Y/n is The Arkham Knight and is long lost Brother of Roy Harper and was adopted and trained by League Of Assassins who turned him to a warrior, He left for Star City after his training was completed.

he started to be a vigilante who would kill if necessary, still would use Guns. During one of his patrols he ran into Black Canary who helps took down Veritgo without killing him, even known MR still left Bullet hole in him, she gave him a shot. After words he and Laurel hangs out, he help Laurel moved on from her trauma that she suffered from, as she help him thru his. She gave a shot and became his girlfriend. Then of course they got freaking as one night after their patrol, Laurel asks Y/N to meet her in the bedroom when she surprises him with her wearing black lingerie with fishnets, as she know that turned him on, she then proceeds to come claim his Canary which y/n did in spades as they fucks all night with Y/n was top and dominant alpha who dominating Laurel, fucking her holes hard that night, making her suck his cock, to have her riding him hard, taking her ass hard from behind... she barely sleep that night...

In following morning, Laurel wakes up to find Y/N only for Y/N to walked into bedroom with a cup of coffee. She told him that he was best fuck that she ever had, better than Oliver. Y/N chuckled but he told her, he called the Team that they would be taking the two nights off as they need the rest. But in reality, they have quality time as Laurel finishes her cup to proceeds to take Y/N back to bed and have him fuck her brains out as she wants his cream again.

Ok cool. I will write it

#requested

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dino-fart · 2 years ago

Text

The Hawk and The Canary | Chapter 1: The Tipsy Bison

Summary + Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Genre: Action, Adventure, Romance

Setting: The Last of Us Part II

Reader Information: You are from North Virginia and have a southern accent. You are in your late 30s. You have a scar on your left cheek from a recent fight where you were captured by raiders but made your escape.

Summary: You make a stop in the settlement in Jackson, Wyoming. You find yourself at the bar admiring how peaceful the community is. Your keen eye spots a handsome and gruff patron and his brother. Now it’s the fun game of who makes the first move...

March 1st 2038

You were on your way to the Baldwin Mansion to meet a few...Acquaintances. But you were tired and needed to make a stop somewhere safe. Luckily enough, you came upon a settlement in Jackson, Wyoming. You were wearing an olive green v-neck button blouse with the sleeves rolled up to your elbows, a white tank top underneath, blue pants, black combat boots, and a brown cowboy hat. You wore a golden necklace with a canary-shaped pendant.

“State your business, ma’am.” One of the guards asked you while you sat on your horse.

“Just wantin’ somewhere safe to stay the night, then in the mornin’, I’ll be on my way.” You tipped your cowboy hat.

The guards asked you to dismount to check if you had bites. Once you were cleared, they let you in. “You can drop your horse off at the stables, you should head over to the Tipsy Bison for something to eat.” The guard advised and you thanked them.

You did ask they advised and made your way to the mentioned bar. “Cute name.” You said to yourself as you read the sign and entered the bar.

You made your way to the bar counter.

“Well, well, a new face, pretty one too! What can I get ya?” The young bartender asked.

“Whiskey on the rocks.” You smirked.

The bartender made your drink and set it down, “Say, pretty lady, can I ask how you got that big scar on your cheek?”

“Ain’t your mama ever taught you not to ask a lady too many questions?” You smirked as you took a sip of your drink. You were about to divulge into the scar when you heard shouting. You turned around to see two men fighting each other and a woman holding back two teenage girls.

“Aw, god dammit Seth...” The bartender sighed.

“Nice to know that even in the apocalypse, bars will always be bars.” You smirked and finished your drink. You set your glass down and thanked the bartender. You took a step back when a man stumbled back toward you. You watched him hit his back against the bar counter.

“Seth stop it!” You saw the blonde woman shout.

“You better listen to her, partner, she sounds mad.” You smirked at the drunk and angry Seth.

But of course, he didn’t listen and stood up tall, he began to charge toward the other man who was standing in front of the blonde woman and the two teenage girls when you stuck your foot out and tripped him. Seth landed on his face and everyone rushed to him. “Oops~” You grinned and tipped your hat at the man who lowered his fists and gave you a silent nod.

“Much appreciated, ma’am, I think you put him to sleep.” Another man with blonde hair approached you while helping everyone get Seth up.

“I’ll send you my bill.” You smirked and made your way to the doors of the bar.

“Who the hell was that, Tommy?” The man asked stepping away from the woman and the girls.

“She’s a visitor, Joel, a visitor that saved your ass.” Tommy watched two men take Seth away.

Joel didn’t answer, his eyes watching your figure leave the bar.

“Get off me!!” Joel’s thoughts snapped when he heard Ellie shout.

He turned to see her storm off. “Goddammit...” He sighed.

He followed her out of the bar trying to talk to her but Ellie made it clear, she had no interest. Joel stopped and watched her get to her house. He sighed in exhaustion and shook his head.

“That’s quite the punch you had there.” He turned to his right to see you leaning against the porch frame with a cigarette in your hand.

“Thanks...And thanks for...” Joel began to say.

“De-escalating the situation?” You smirked.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you can get me a drink sometime, Tex?” You winked.

“Maybe.”

You told him your name in between puffs of your cigarette. You watched as he nodded his head and then told you his name. “Joel...Yeah, you look like a Joel.” You teased.

“Whatever that’s supposed to mean.” He gruffed.

“Have a good night Joel.” You put out your cigarette and headed into the guest house.

Joel watched you leave then made his way to Ellie.

You sat down on the bed and took off your cowboy hat. “Well, Abby...You have no idea how close you are.” You murmured looking at the handwritten note that says ‘Target: Joel Miller’.

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel x reader #joel x you

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jadelynlace · 2 years ago

Text

Ink Drinker⎮Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader], Chapter 14

series master post is here.

synopsis: Ivar was only meant to be a friend with benefits, but he caught feelings for his older brother’s best friend, and co-worker: you.

pairing: Modern Ivar x F!Reader

***author’s note: I am...just so very sorry (not sorry) for this chapter. But let me remind you, if we can survive chapter five, we can get through this, too! Maybe. The divider is by @firefly-graphics (Damn, it feels good to write again.)

word count: 1600+ words

You made a promise. You took an oath. No man is left behind. And every day, every time the tones sing, those words ring in your mind. Teasing you, poking you, solely to remind you that if today is not the day you need to practice them. Tomorrow might be.

But today is.

Hues of orange, canary yellow, dance through your vision and your mind. Deafening under the gear, the smoldering and constant check of your oxygen supply. Now it’s all black—a total eclipse and you’d likely see more with your eyes closed. It’s a mental silence like no other, moving the motions through the burning structure as you scan and rescan every room and every last movement, trying to decipher if the ash is from the wood, or the burnt skin of a human. If what you grab is a bedpost, or a limb.

Adrenaline pumps through your ears and you’re crawling through soot as you grow warm from the fueled rush. Beads of sweat under the mask and you’re imagining the cold pool at Floki’s house, where you’ll dive into once your shift is over. Once the fire is out and you’re safely back at the station. But despite the pleasantry in your mind you’re still clearing the rooms, mumbling behind the gear and trying to sing a steady beat of the first song that comes to your head for strength. Structure fires were never the highlight of your career.

Moving again you hear more nonsense on your radio, too many jurisdictions on the same scene all screaming where there is no incident command yet established—even though you and your team were the first crews on scene, the area should be yours to orchestrate, but it's not. Even through all of the protocols, endlessly memorized in your head, they mean nothing in the chaos. You remind yourself: knee, knee, one hand to support, one hand to swing your halligan bar.

Cracklings start beneath the heaviness of the boots and there’s a loud bang that echoes through your head, but the thought of if it's external or internal causes even more pain before you’re through a rush of air and falling. And everything becomes darker.

You roll; out of pure instinct, you roll to your left and under the smoke you're met by an obstacle. Before you can swing your axe towards it, your hand finds another hand and the pounding in your head increases. Slowly, you reach, finding the size of the palm to rival yours and its familiar—it’s large like Ivar’s. Despite the heat, the flames, the adrenaline, you go cold. It’s not Ivar’s palm that’s attached to the unconscious body next to you. Logically, you know that. It’s Hvitserk’s.

“Y/L/N to fire control, we have a mayday—repeat, firefighter down. Firefighter down,” You all but scream. That oath sings to you suddenly.

There’s no time, you try to tell yourself. There’s no time and you hear a call of sirens start outside. Blowing through the city as everyone’s blood runs cold from your signal. On all fours you bend, you pull Hvitserk towards you, with you, and curse his size.

“Why are you so fucking tall?” You hiss to yourself as you’re pulling his arm—pulling as you crawl and tears start in your eyes. This isn’t how you imagined it.

Hvitserk is meant to grow old with Thora, after taking a culinary tour of the world in his retirement. He’s meant to be chasing the children he would have; the grandchildren he would have. He’s meant to pass his knowledge on to the next group of recruits. He’s meant to be there with Ivar, with you, through thick and thin. He’s meant to fight Aiden for the best man spot at the wedding. He’s not meant to perish in the job that keeps him whole. He still owes you for last week’s lunch. He’d be furious if you let him go to the grave with a debt.

When you’re clear of the smoke, clear of the flames, you stand. You stand so quickly you could break concrete with the force of your helmet. Hvitserk is over your back and you start—putting all your weight on to your thighs as the pledge sings in your head.

Daylight comes back and the entire crew sees you carry the man out, twice—three times your size but he’s there splayed over your back. Time slows as you walk from the smoldering structure; as one boot stomps after the other. Your arm’s twisted, pulling on whatever part of Hvitserk you can as you steady him. As you carry him to safety. As you prove to every single last person who doubted you in this career.

Then, suddenly you drop. Your knees buckle and you meet the concrete before you roll, leaving him. You scramble, pulling layers off, his mask off and tossing it away with yours. Gear, covers, shields, battle armor and you scream:

“He’s not breathing!”

Tearing through his gear you pull at shirt’s buttons, a rush of adrenaline seizing your insides and you should be waiting for the proper tools. Take off your damn gloves. But there’s no time now. You’re racing against the clock—against the science of the human body because you know how precious each second is. The only thing you hear, the only sound that registers is the metal of his badge clattering against the hot assault. The others gather, pulling equipment from the first in bag: oxygen tubing, AED pads, and the sun catches the metal of the laryngoscope.

Out of instinct your hands push, fingers curling and you start compressions even as you’re directed to wait, as your chief tries to pull you away because you’re hurt too. You just can’t feel it yet. Blood leaks from a gash somewhere on your head but your hands don’t stop. They don’t stop as you beg, as you pull your arms away from your boss’s grip again while pleading with the Gods—any one who will listen. Not to take Hvitserk. Not here, not now. Not like this. How would you even tell Ivar?

You look at his lifeless body as you continue the steady beat, counting through tears as you perform CPR on the one person you never, ever wanted to perform it on. But you do.

Because you took an oath. And today is the day you practice it.

Ivar bursts through the emergency room doors, strength nearly flinging them off of the wall and in his worry, his face has morphed to the scowl he perfected for a past life. Instead of mumbling to the front desk, he sees you over on the far wall, sitting on the ground, four by four gauze pad tapped to your forehead. You’re staring blankly at your boots.

“What happened?” Ivar asks quickly, words strung out in one breath and you don’t even look up. Only then does he notice Hvitserk’s badge in your hands. “Baby, what happened?” Ivar tries again and he sinks to your level. His legs tell him to move differently, to move much more slowly to meet the tile. Not this quick rush that’ll leave bruises in a few hour’s time.

“Y/N,” Ivar says sternly. “Where’s my brother?”

Those words pull you back, they suck you out of the smoke, out of the soot and the ash, the flames that danced around where you crawled. They take the sweat from your brow, they stop you agonizing over every move. Every motion. If you had just been faster.

No matter how hard you would try, you always went over every call. Every detail. You remember the first person who passed in your care; you remember when you had to call your first cardiac arrest. When medical control gave you the go, and you had to look an old woman in the eyes to tell her. You caught her as she sobbed over her husband of nearly fifty years. You remember the first infant. You can’t save them all. Everyone says that; those words have become meaningless. They crush with nothingness; they don’t soothe like they should. Because even if you can’t save them all, damn it, you think you should. You think you can.

Maybe those words are never meant to soothe? Maybe they’re meant to remind you—the true weight of this job. ‘Your life is worth my time.’ That’s what the company shirts used to say. Maybe they’re there to stop you from being eaten alive by guilt.

You shake your head to Ivar.

“I carried him out,” You finally say. That’s when you break; that’s when the weight of the situation finally comes down on top of you. Not a warm weight, like Ivar offers in the dim morning sun. A weight like none other; raw realization. “I carried him out,” You repeat, “I performed CPR on him. I brought him back,” You peep.

Those words strike Ivar. Without a second thought he’s around you, holding you on the floor as the emergency room bustles around the two of you. But to him, you’re alone. Locked in a tower, just the two of you. He remembers doubting you, once. Almost asking you over the game of vodka-fueled Truth or Dare if you’d slept with his brother. Now he understands just how deep the bond goes between the two of you. Strangers become brothers in a fox hole. Today was no different.

You cry into Ivar’s shirt, cry from the trauma, cry from the overwhelming realization that not only did you drag Hvitserk from the fire. You saved his life. You brought him back so that he can grow old with Thora, so that he can have the culinary travels in retirement. So that he can pay you back for last week’s lunch.

All because you took that oath.

Tags:

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full masterlist can be found here.

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bumblesimagines · 5 years ago

Text

Imagine:

Kid Flash/Wally having a crush on you, Black Canary's younger brother.

Request: Yes or No

"Woah, who's the new guy?" Wally asked, looking at Dick and Aqualad.

"(Y/N). He is Black Canary's brother." Aqualad replied. Wally ran a hand through his hair.

"Is he cuter than me?" Wally quietly asked Dick. Dick snorted, nodding.

"Duh." He laughed when Wally lightly shoved him. Black Canary looked over at them, dragging her brother to the boys. Connor eyed him, unsure.

"Boys, this is your new teammate, (Y/N)." She introduced. (Y/N) flashed a smile. Yep, definitely related to Canary.

"Hey, I'm Wally." The ginger stuck out his hand. (Y/N) shook it.

"Kid Flash, right? I'm a fan." (Y/N) said. Wally almost melted. A pretty boy got his superhero name right and was a fan. Dick quietly snickered to himself, earning odd looks. Wally elbowed him before smiling at (Y/N).

"I can show you around!" Wally offered. (Y/N) nodded, glancing at his sister.

"Sure." Wally grinned, grabbing his wrist and starting his tour.

"If he tries anything.." Canary trailed off, cocking a brow. Dick nodded.

"I'll keep an eye on him." Aqualad chuckled quietly, finally understanding. Connor looked as confused as ever.

Gifs aren't mine.

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your-regular-toast-enjoyer · 2 years ago

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The only one: Yandere Damian Wayne x reader

Damian Wayne x reader or Damian Wayne/reader

Yandere!Damian Wayne x reader or Yandere Damian Wayne x Reader

Word count: 11 368 words

TW: GN reader, Yandere, kidnapping, adult Damian Wayne (inspired and mostly based off of Damian in Batman beyond & Injustice 2: Gods among us), toxic family relations, obsession. Other than that, there's no s*x or anything of the like.

This was requested by @simligul

“How lovely…” Damian sneered.

You were all standing together in the Titan tower lobby, ready to go out to eat dinner, and Jaime had just explained to the green-eyed Robin how he had booked a table at a steakhouse, which didn’t serve any vegetarian dishes other than salads.

“I mean, you could just get a salad and instead focus on hanging out with us”, Jaime attempted to argue, it was clear that he didn’t want Damian to agree though. Damian was already annoyed and blew his team members off with a rough, “It doesn’t matter, I’ll just stay back.” You felt bad for him. It was unlike the others to be so non-accommodating, but they seemingly always had it out for the team’s leader, and you had yet to be let in on the reason why. Sure, he could be rude! But was that really rationale enough to treat him like the plague?

You were new to the team, Black Canary’s long-time protégé.

Dinah had been apprehensive when it came to letting you be on the Teen Titans. She had always acted like a protective mother-hen, and as your mother’s best friend, she felt obligated to keep you safe, despite your work as a vigilante. Both your mother and Dinah had been worried about you becoming a vigilante sidekick all those years ago, but with your growing meta-abilities, giving you the ability to control and create ice, it had seemed like the best way to help your then-ten-year-old self. You had been shipped far away from your mother and over to Dinah. The blonde hero had pretty much taken care of you ever since. You would never admit it, but Dinah was the first person you thought of when asked about your mother, not the woman who gave birth to you and whom you only ever saw for the holidays. It was a sad reality, but you realised why your mother, who knew nothing of how to handle superpowers, couldn’t deal with a child running around and freezing all her furniture to the ground, all her food into icicles and risking one day freezing a person to death. Oliver had handled the legality of it all, ultimately, money does speed up the process of a partial adoption, just a smidge. Eight years later, though, you were certainly a force to be reckoned with.

Still, being next to a seasoned superhero and being in a team led by a boy no more than a year older than you were two very different things. Your mother had argued this point up and down, pushing it through your ears and hoping it’d stick in your mind. You didn’t care though, you wanted to be part of the team.

You had always seen how all the other sidekicks had such close bonds and yet the only other sidekick... Well, ex-sidekick… You ever managed to befriend was Roy Harper. He often came by Dinah’s place, which was your home too, when his mentor wasn’t there. However, Roy was more than ten years older than you, he acted like your older brother, not your friend. On top of that, he had a kid and was technically his own hero now. You couldn’t relate to him. Your classmates in high school were of no solace either. None of them knew anything of your secret double life. On top of that, it was hard to keep any friends among them, since you were constantly absent, (off on a mission with Dinah). Academically you did great, Dinah taught you herself whenever you were away, but socially? You were failing miserably. As an eighteen-year-old, your youngest friend isn’t supposed to be a decade older and fathering a kid.

You had become desperate to find company amongst the other sidekicks. You had practically begged Oliver one evening to help you convince Dinah to let you join the Teen Titans, (which didn’t actually contain a lot of teenagers anymore, but they were still within a relatively close age range to you).

The blonde-bearded hero had relented after a while, (having known you since you were a kid, he had never been very good at denying you anything). However, he only did so on the condition that you’d deal with some of the more mindless paperwork related to Queen industries. He had been sure that your dedication to being part of a new team wasn’t as big as your disdain for the asinine task of sorting, filling in and shipping off hundreds of reports. Yet, you had, and he had been obligated to hold up his end of the deal. Oliver spent hours buttering up Dinah to finally make her relent, but she was still on high alert and had even offered to buy you anything you’d want if you just stayed with her. However, you were determined to form new bonds with fellow young vigilantes, it was time to break out of your shell after all these years.

When you entered the large T-shaped tower along with your mentor, you felt a strange mix of total horror and unbridled excitement bubble in your lower abdomen, like the first time you fought alongside Black Canary. On the outside, however, you appeared unimpressed, perhaps even disgruntled. The other Titans had assumed that you were being forced to join, a comically ironic departure from the truth. Still, as you packed out your stuff in your new room, a secret smile betrayed your true feelings about the situation.

You met the team as it currently stood, it had gone through many iterations, but this was your team, the one that you would fight alongside.

You first met Jaime Reyes, he was a few years older than you but was ultimately a sweetheart. You had caught both him and another young man, Garfield Logan, playing a video game which you recognised from Roy’s apartment. Garfield was friendly as well, perhaps a little too friendly… He had jumped to hug you upon first meeting you, completely forgetting about his game with Jaime and crossing any personal space you might’ve wished to uphold. You let him though, it was nice feeling welcomed.

As Dinah walked you further through the tower, she introduced you to Rachel, who had simply given you a court nod, before returning to one of her leather-bound spell-books.

Koriand’r, Victor Stone and Dick Grayson had been next up on your list of members to greet, all being found together conversing. Technically, Dick wasn’t part of the team, however, since Kori was and she spent most of her time at the Titans tower, so did Dick, at every chance he got. He was like a puppy who couldn’t stray too far away from her side, lest he be lost forever. They all gave you warm smiles and firm pats on the back, they were all in the middle of their twenties, far older than any of the others, but still, they remained on the team. Koriand’r mostly being there as a mentor and a much-needed adult presence, whereas Vic simply couldn’t remove himself from the team, which had picked him up from his lowest points more times than he could count.

It gave you a sense of security that actual adults were part of the team, not just a handful of seventeen to nineteen-year-olds. It felt like a much-welcomed safety net, just like Dinah had always been for you.

The last on the list had been the team’s official leader, Damian Wayne. He had been in the position since he turned thirteen and had kept it well for over six years, it gave prestige to his name and it made you look forward to meeting him. However, as Dinah let you into Damian’s office, (a small room at the end of the hallway containing the bedrooms), you quickly realised that he would be the most unpleasant aspect of working with the Titans. He had simply given you an annoyed glance before referring to your teacher, “I suppose you want me to take your little sidekick under the team’s wings?”

Dinah had scoffed, uncaring whether Damian heard it or not, “Me? No, I’d prefer to keep my sidekick by my side, but Olli thinks it’d be good for them to interact more with people their own age”. Damian had raised one thick dark eyebrow. He looked like he wanted to let out a sarcastic insult, but decided against it. Dinah was, after all, a member of the Justice League, Bruce would have his tongue if he offended the blonde hero. “Fine, but I’ll send them back to you if they don’t have the skills required for our team”. Dinah had agreed to his conditions with a frown, she knew that they’d keep you, no matter how much she was going to miss having you by her side, she had to let you go and let you go on your own adventures.

Damian hadn’t ended up being very pleasant to you for most of your stay at the Teen Titans. He wasn’t a bully, but he never let his opinions pass through a filter. As a confidante, he would be horrible. Still, you respected his fighting and leadership abilities, and just because he wasn’t easy to get along with, didn’t mean that he was a bad person. The other young titans didn’t seem to grasp this concept, however.

“If you’re going to be so dramatic about a restaurant choice, then it’s probably better anyways”, Jaime spat at Damian. His aggression towards your leader shocked you, never had Jaime even come close to raising his voice at you, much less sounding so spiteful.

“Whatever” Damian shrugged, turning around and starting to walk out, gently whispering under his breath, “كل قهرا (Kol Khara)...” No one except you heard it, and his tone of voice made a pit form in your lower abdomen, tucking on you to do something, anything, to stand up for the young man. Right before Damian left the room, you exclaimed “I’ll stay back too”. Garfield tried to argue, “No, y/n! Come on! I’m sure Damian will be fine on his own!” His coercion didn’t work on you, and you stood your ground, shaking your head firmly. “No one should be left alone in the tower. Besides, I’m not too into steakhouses, anyways.” Garfield seemed deflated at the thought of you not joining them, looking pleadingly at the others for backup.

Victor or Jaime would’ve usually helped Garfield convince you. However, when your eyes briefly met Jaime’s, your scowl made your disappointment in him clear, and he backed down with an apologetic look. Victor tried to push out some statement that might change your mind. However, by the time he had found the words, you were already waving them off and walking over to Damian’s side.

As the rest of the Titans slowly filtered out of the tower, you turned to Damian. The shy smile that you had previously worn around the others slowly melted into a deadpan. You knew Damian would find your smile mocking, so you didn’t force yourself to hold up any pretences. “Pizza?” You asked as you dug your hands into the pocket of your hoodie. The young man’s green eyes studied you briefly, searching for any hidden meanings behind your act of kindness. “Why did you do that? I can be on my own, no problem. You don’t have to babysit me.” He spoke through his teeth, making him resemble a robot as his lips barely moved. “I don’t like steak-”, you shrugged nonchalantly, “-Did you want pizza or not?”

Giving you a suspicious look, Damian shook his head, “Sure. I’ll pay”.

You knew that Damian had a hard time letting others pay for him, he despised the feeling of being indebted. That was the most profound thing you knew about him, which you honestly found concerning, you practically knew nothing of your team captain. Calling up the nearest pizza place, you had them deliver the pizza to a corner close to the tower. Neither Damian nor you could risk anyone knowing your secret identities, and you didn’t feel like getting into your costumes just for a pizza delivery.

Slowly trudging down to the agreed-upon corner, you forgot to keep an eye on the traffic as you passed the road to the corner. Suddenly, you felt a harsh yank on your arm and a rush of air beside you. As per instinct, you fired a fist towards the direction of your assailant, only to have your hand caught by Damian. He had been the one to pull you back, and as you gave him a confused look, he flicked his index finger into your forehead. “Ow! What’s wrong with you?!” You exclaimed, massaging the affected area with the fingers of your left hand. Damian seemed agitated as his grip on your arm tightened, “What’s wrong with me?! What’s wrong with you?! You almost got run over by a car, you idiot!”

You slowly blinked at him, letting out a quiet, “Oh…Thanks”.

Damian scoffed, tugging you across the road, still holding your arm in an iron grip, “Don’t worry about it”.

Damian was still holding your forearm tight when the pizza delivery guy arrived. The teenager in the blue pizza-place uniform gave the two of you a wary glance. It looked as if Damian was holding you against your will as you both held agitated facial expressions and the green-eyed man simply pushed the money you owed into the delivery guy’s hands, taking the pizzas and pulling you away. In reality, Damian had claimed that he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t get yourself into danger again if he let go of you. You supposed that it was a kind gesture, but your arm was starting to ache and Damian’s sour countenance made it look like you had just killed his new puppy.

When you and Damian re-entered the Titans Tower, he finally let go of your arm, setting the two steaming pizzas on the kitchen counter, before he started to rummage through multiple cupboards, looking for a pizza slicer. You discreetly rubbed the area that your team leader had squeezed so firmly. You didn’t want to complain to him, afraid he might make fun of your weakness. Still, he seemed aware, despite having his back turned to you. “Did my grip hurt you?” His voice was precise yet a certain calmness rounded his otherwise harsh tone. “Don’t worry about it”, you tried to reassure him, but he refused to let the topic go. “I didn’t ask you whether I should worry or not, I asked if your arm hurts?”

You stared at the dark tufts of hair at the back of the man’s head, a sense of bitter annoyance filling your throat. Why did he need to know if it hurt or not when you had already told him that it wasn’t a big deal? “A little, but it’s nothing compared to any of the injuries I get on the daily from sparring with Kori”, you giggled softly at the thought of how Koriand’r often left anything from tiny burn marks to black and blue bruises of varying yet considerable sizes. You had often wanted to spar with someone more on your level, like Garfield or Jaime, but you and Koriand’r were natural sparring partners. Her ability to shoot rays of fire perfectly contrasted your snow-themed meta-abilities.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you”, Damian muttered as he finally found the pizza cutter, turning around and meeting your eyes. For a second you were rendered gelid, his eyes were the deepest shade of forest green you had ever seen, with specks of a minty blue and rich gold spread throughout. You almost breathed out a woah, but managed to catch it mid-air by taking a deep breath. You had never realised that eyes could be so stunning, they almost seemed artificial. Forcing your gaze away from Damian, who himself had stood still, staring into your eyes, you turned to the food. Walking to the counter and unpacking the pizzas, you tried your best to ignore how Damian’s searing gaze was burning holes into your backside. It almost felt like he had aimed a laser at you while you were trying to avoid embarrassing yourself in front of him. “Can I have the pizza cutter?” You requested airily, it felt as if your team leader’s wonderfully green eyes were sucking out the oxygen from your lungs with their intensity. Making his way to your side, Damian pushed you away from the pizzas, “I’ll do it. You’ll just end up cutting yourself”. Finally, his fierce gaze dragged off you and onto the food in front of him. A chill went down your back and you realised that you had accidentally cooled down the entire room with your powers. You could’ve facepalmed at yourself, thinking, ‘that’s probably why he looked at me like that. I was literally turning the entire kitchen into a freezer!’

Calming yourself down and letting up on the use of your powers, the room slowly heated up once again. Damian didn’t comment on the sudden temperature changes, instead platting three slices of both your pizzas and taking them to the dinner table. Standing still for a while, seemingly pondering something, Damian finally put down both of your plates next to each other. “Come over here”, he commanded softly, dragging a hand through his thick hair, the muscles under his golden skin flexing in turn. With hesitant steps, you made it to the chair where your pizza had been put in front. Before you could drag out your chair, Damian did it for you, gesturing for you to sit down. Giving him a suspicious glance, you acquiesced. It wasn’t like Damian to be such a gentleman, or at least you didn’t think it was. Truth be told, you didn’t actually know much about how he usually acted. Damian always kept to himself or hung out with Dick when he was there, he hadn’t given you much of a chance to get to know him on any more than a surface level. When your thighs hit the pillow of the seat, Damian gently pushed the chair in place, before taking his place beside you. You ate in silence for a while, until Damian suddenly spoke up, “Thank you, by the way”. You were confused, why was he thanking you? Because you stayed silent? That wasn’t much to thank you for, your lack of social experience usually kept you relatively quiet. Deciding to be bold and ask him, you almost faltered as you turned to see Damian staring at you again. “What are you thanking me for?”

Raising a single mocking eyebrow, Damian tried not to sound harsh as he explained, “For staying behind to keep me company. I know that you didn’t just do it because you dislike steakhouses or whatever. It was nice of you, thank you.” His use of short and concise sentences almost made every word he spoke sound like an important disclosure, like something you’d expect to come out of the mouth of a scientist explaining the danger of a chemical substance.

“Oh, no worries. They were being arseholes anyways, they usually aren’t that way, I don’t know what happened with them today-”, Damian interrupted you with a loud scoff. “Perhaps they’re nice to you, but to me? They’re always like that, I’m not even surprised anymore”, his tone seemed like a mix of scorn and lament.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know”, you had no idea what else to say, what could anyone say in that situation? It was a lie, obviously, you were quite aware that your other teammates didn’t treat your leader particularly well. What you didn’t know, however, was that it actually affected Damian. He had always seemed like this indestructible wall, no emotions, all logic. You had never resented him for that, you had honestly respected it, but what you had never done was consider him human like the rest of you… well, except Koriand’r.

“Don’t apologise for others. You’re being kind to me… As the only one”, the last part barely came out as a whisper, it was clear he didn’t want you to hear it, but had to let it out, or else he’d burst.

Taking the last bite of your third pizza slice, you took the plate to the sink. You had no idea how to deal with Damian at that moment, you had practically grown up with Dinah, a licensed therapist, and yet you had no idea how to tackle the Wayne boy’s display of emotions. It was such a rare occasion, you knew, and with his hardened composure, it was obvious that he hated being vulnerable. You wagered that he’d probably have preferred to have this minor breakdown with anyone else except the newest member of his team. However, since you were the only one there, you supposed you’d have to do. Roy did always tell you that you were a great person to rant to, lending your ears to anyone willing to speak their woes.

Going over to Damian, you offered him your hand. He looked almost offended at the gesture, with his eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched all the way up. Still, he gently placed his rough palm in yours, forgetting his last pizza slice. Hoisting him up, you lead him to your room in complete silence, except for the thumps of your feet hitting the floor. Closing the door behind you, you led him to your bed, and plopped on top of your duvet, dragging him down with you. “Speak”, you gently suggested, hand still intertwined with his. “What?” Damian questioned, looking at you like you were mad. “Talk about how you feel about the others, please. It usually helps to get it out. I promise, whatever you say in this room, stays in this room”, you requested with a sweet smile, urging him to open up, if only a bit.

“No.” Damian refused immediately, he wasn’t the type to share his worries and woes, so why was it any of your concern that he felt unfairly treated by his teammates? That he already preferred you, the newest member, over the others, because the others always assumed the worst about him and simply treated him like a robot sent to make their lives difficult, despite him just trying to keep them all safe?!

“I can see why that’d make you feel alienated by them”, you muttered peacefully, your thumb rubbing calming circles into the skin of his hand, just like you had always done with Roy.

“Shit-”, Damian breathed out, he had said all of that out loud. ‘Way to go Damian!’ His mind screamed at him. He felt exposed and vulnerable like he had just ripped his skin off and presented you with all of his bleeding organs. It was disgusting and he felt the need to backtrack. Yet, the rhythm of your finger tracing lazy shapes on top of his skin made him enjoy the moment just a bit too much to let it go.

“Why are you doing this?” Damian asked with no small amount of scepticism.

“Everyone deserves someone to listen to them, that’s what Dinah always says. Besides, my best friend is literally Roy Harper”, you answered casually. Your last sentence made Damian laugh, despite himself. It was no thunderously bellowing laughter, as you knew his brother had from the few times you and Jason Todd had visited Roy at the same time, but rather a contained yet harmonious chuckle. Still, your argument was valid, Roy’s mental instability and former partiality towards drugs were infamous within vigilante circles.

Damian considered you for a moment, before leaning in closer as if what he told you was a rumour to be whispered. Starting off slowly and carefully, Damian admitted feeling as if had no one at the Titans to speak with, as if they all compared him to his older brothers and were disappointed. He felt as if he was oftentimes the only one who saw matters logically. As evidence of this claim, he cited incidents such as Terra’s traitorous nature slipping through Kori’s fingers because the woman refused to do background checks, or how just last week Jaime had almost gotten all of you killed because he refused to attack a crying henchman soliloquizing about his family, who turned out to simply be acting to divert the team’s attention from the bomb planted close by. He was frustrated by their idiocy and the way he spoke so passionately on the issue, you were able to deduce that what really frustrated him was the fear that the team would get themselves hurt.

You let Damian vent out all of his frustrations until the sound of the front door opening harshly followed by Jaime and Garfield’s yelling filled the entire tower. Damian shut his mouth like a clamp immediately, yet he sent you a grateful smile, which revealed the deep dimples on the side of his cheeks. “Thank you for listening to me, صديقة/صديق, (Sadeek/Sadeekah)”, Damian squeezed your hand one last time before sneaking out of your room, unseen. A weight lifted off his shoulders and a curious pit formed in his stomach.

You and Damian started talking sporadically after that, it was never in front of the other teammates, but Damian seemingly always managed to catch you alone for a few minutes every few days. You’d exchange a few hushed jokes or comment on the latest mission. It almost felt as if your newfound friendship was illegal. As if the others couldn’t know that you found Damian’s company pleasant and almost refreshing compared to the hyperactivity of Garfield, Jaime’s constant laments about his previous friends, Brenda and Paco, or Kori’s disturbing lack of filter. Damian was a delightful contrast to the constant tumult that the others provided and you felt as if he already knew you better than yourself. His music recommendations were always bangers, his favourites in everything from food to movies always seemed to match up perfectly with yours, and if a particular teammate had been an irritation that day, he always commented on it, which felt nice as it confirmed your own feelings on the matter. It almost felt as if the two of you were made to be friends.

The truth was, Damian did in fact know you pretty well. It was hard not to after having hacked into your computer and phone, looking through your google searches and favourite music, and sneaking into your room while you were on patrol, going through all of your things, as well as discreetly observing you whenever you were in the same room as him, (had he not been a trained assassin, he was sure that he would have been caught staring by at least one of your team members).

After your earnest kindness during that evening when the others had left for the steakhouse, an unfamiliar feeling had started to spread through his body. At first, he had thought he got sick, but after having gone to the doctor and been cleared for any physical ailments, he had started to panic. What was going on with him?! The image of your face never left his mind, a strange pain went through his chest every time he was far away from you and whenever either Jaime, Garfield or Victor touched you, he experienced a rage unlike any other.

He had gone directly to Dick the moment his brother visited. The older man had chuckled at first, explaining that it was probably just a crush, but Damian disagreed vehemently. The green-eyed man had experienced crushes before, he once had one on Rachel and even some of his fellow assassin trainees as a kid, but this was entirely different.

Dick had shrugged and waved it off as Damian’s first time falling properly in love, comparing it to how he had been with many women throughout his life because he was attracted to them, but he had only ever been in love with Barbara and Koriand’r. Damian hadn’t really understood the explanation, but he did gather that he could perhaps have with you what his brother had with the two red-heads, just… more exclusive.

Maybe Dick would have been more careful with his explanation had he known his brother’s obsessive tendencies. In later years Grayson would defend himself with the phrase, “Who assumes that about their brother?” But at that point it would be much too late, after his talk with Dick, Damian had gained a new insight into himself. He was definitely in love with you.

Still, Damian had felt the need to do as many background checks on you as possible, hence his first visit to your room without your permission. He refused to let his feelings turn him into danger, ever the sceptic. Yet, when all came back green, he let his heart guide him for the first time in his entire nineteen years of life. It felt freeing and he became deathly afraid of losing the feeling.

Still, this overwhelming sensation came with its drawbacks. Never had Damian felt so jealous of anyone or anything, not even Tim. Most of his jealousy was aimed at his green teammate, the man going by the moniker Beast-Boy, Garfield Logan. His newest enemy, in a long line of them. The man was clearly your best friend on the team, always plastered right by your side. It was cruel how you were so open with your friendship with Garfield, but hid away your affiliation with Damian. On top of that, it was so obvious that the little green freak had a crush on you, it was almost too much for Damian to bear. Garfield didn’t deserve you, Damian did. The green-eyed Robin was simply looking for a reason to do away with the beastly man. No matter the severity.

It was a warm and sunny Saturday afternoon, you were relaxing on your bed, reading a book that you had recently lent to Victor, but never gotten around to finishing yourself. It was on these days that your ice powers were the weakest, you had barely been able to shoot a single beam of ice at Koriand’r during training earlier and had needed to resort to hand-to-hand combat within the first ten minutes. It had you exhausted and your powers totally drained. So tired were you, in fact, that you hadn’t even bothered to pack away most of your melee weapons. Knives laid on your desk and bedside table, out in the open, it was against almost every rule in the protocol. However, you were just so exhausted that you would rather deal with the consequences of getting caught leaving your weapons out than stand up and do any work for a single second more.

A loud knock ripped you out of your reading. A shame really, you had just reached the good part.

“Come in!” You urged with a deep sigh, and the door opened to reveal Damian.

“Did I interrupt something?” he asked, displaying a smug smile, knowing you wouldn’t mind his light teasing.

“Just my book reading. What’s up?” You replied as you sat up properly. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d slid so far down with your back, your neck practically leaning against your bed’s headrest.

“Just wanted to hang out with you, and thought you probably wouldn’t mind”, Damian made his way into the room, quietly closing the door behind him, making sure that none of the others saw him enter.

You hummed in confirmation as Damian lifted your legs, plopping down on your bed, before laying them over his lap, not changing your previous position.

Relaxing your body again, your eyes drifted to the page you had gotten to, continuing to read the story, but Damian had a different idea, plucking the hardcover from your hands and turning the pages towards himself. You dragged your legs back towards yourself and leaned closer to Damian, trying to grab your book back. However, once you had gotten relatively close, the green-eyed man leant back as well, a clear smirk bending his plump lips. You continued to pursue your book until Damian was on his back, book covering his face, and you leaning over him, an arm on each side. From behind the cover of the book, you heard his muffled voice, proud and taunting, “My, my, Y/n. I didn’t know you felt that way-” Your face started to burn like a fire, unaccustomed to the flirtatious tone in Damian’s voice. Using your powers, you attempted to cool your skin down before your friend saw, but it was too late, as Damian had already moved the book away from his face. “Wow, Y/n. Is it that bad? You’re getting all worked up”, his smug expression worsened, which told you that he had planned for something like this to happen. Yet, as you were examining his face up close, you were momentarily caught off guard. You had never realised how beautiful Damian actually was. You knew that Bruce was considered attractive by pretty much anyone who was into men, heck, even you could admit that he was good-looking. And from the few pictures of Talia that you had seen on the Justice League supercomputer, you could confirm that she was gorgeous. So, it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Damian was absolutely stunning, but still, it somehow surprised you how everything on him just seemed visually appealing. His eyes, which were so green that you’d think he wore contact lenses. His thick dark hair, currently spread out on the foot of your bed like a mini halo. His skin, which held such a beautiful golden colour, even if it was dimmed significantly from being inside writing up reports for the Justice League most of the time. Reaching forward slowly, you let a single finger trace along his nose, roman in shape, which gave his face character along with his sharp jaw. He was like a Greek statue. Damian’s gaze was focused on you, eyes blown wide. Yet, as you continued to trace your finger down his face, as if in a trance, his long eyelashes started to flutter, gradually closing his eyelids and enjoying the sensation of his face being caressed. He wasn’t used to physical affection and had been sure that he wouldn’t like it, even if he got it. However, when it came from you, it just seemed so gentle, so… correct? Like you were supposed to touch his face like this. Like if you didn’t, the world would go down in violent flames. But as soon as the moment began, it ended. When you realised what you were doing, your hand sprang away from his skin like a frightened spider. You almost pulled away, but Damian’s strong hand grasped your wrist, eyes still closed. “Don’t stop, please”. If your face hadn’t been warm before, it surely was now. How could he be so casual about asking for that? Was this not too much for a pair of friends? Well, you actually weren’t too sure... You hadn’t really had an actual friend since you were ten, maybe this was entirely normal friend behaviour. Who were you to say?

Letting Damian guide your hand back to his face, you gently allowed your palm to brush his right cheek. Leaning into your touch, Damian made a content sound from the back of his throat. Both of you were surprised that he was capable of such a thing. Putting his free hand between your shoulder blades, Damian coaxed you closer, getting you to put your weight on your elbows instead of your hand and wrist. You were so near each other, all one of you had to do to meet each other’s skin was to lean a little up or down, depending on which of you took the initiative. After you had continued your tender ministrations on the right side of your friend’s face for a while, Damian carefully moved your hand to his jaw, turning his face and leaning up to meet your lips. His attempt at a kiss was broken when your bedroom door swung open to reveal Garfield standing in the opening. A beat of silence occurred and if anyone had dropped a pin, it would have made a resonating clatter.

The green boy stood still, shocked at the scene and with a look of outrage on his wide-set features. “What the heck are you doing to them?!”

Looking at your position, you understood how this could be perceived as Damian forcing you upon him, especially with his hands placed controllingly on your hand and back. Couple that with Garfield’s total lack of knowledge of your friendship. It wasn’t a pretty look for the man under you.

You quickly tried to explain Damian’s innocence, but the man himself jumped in to defend himself, or so you thought. Instead of explaining the situation to Garfield, who stood in the doorframe, ready to turn into a tiger and maul the green-eyed Robin on the spot, Damian simply spat out an annoyed, “Get out!”

Garfield didn’t move, however. He instead entered the room, slamming the door behind him. “No! Let them go and get away from them!”

Again you tried to explain, but before the words even reached your lips, Damian tugged you closer, burrowing your head in his shoulder and sending his green comrade a challenging look. “Or what?”

Garfield was taken aback, he didn’t expect things to escalate this far, but he adored you, thought of you as a dear friend, and there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for his friends, which he decidedly didn’t consider Damian to be. “I’ll make sure you’ll never be able to touch anything again”.

Realising how bad things were getting, you attempted to push Damian off you to diffuse the tensions, but he kept you in place and you began beating on his chest to let you go. “You’re just acting like this because you want them for yourself! You’re trying to take them away from me!” Damian sneered at Garfield as he sat both of you up, still keeping you close to him. Both you and your fellow team member were shocked at Damian’s words. They came out of the blue. “What?! No- That’s not- You know- I don’t-”, Garfield was too stunned to speak, but Damian wasn’t as he again commanded the green man, “Get out”. The man in question growled, “No way! Let them go, you psycho! I’ll tell Grayson how creepy you are!” The mention of his brother made something within Damian snap, he carefully let you go, making sure that he didn’t hurt you, the last moment of silence. Before you even had time to react, Damian grabbed a pencil from your desk, currently ignoring the knives abandoned next to it, and swung at Garfield. The attacked was able to jump away in time for the lead-cored writing utensil to just narrowly miss his head. It still bore deep into his shoulder, though, and he let out a howl in pain. You attempted to run to your friend’s aid, but both men told you to stay out of it. You wanted to race out of the door and get some of the others to help you, but the two men were blocking your path. You attempted to freeze both of the men’s feet, anything to keep them from each others’ throats, but your powers gave out on you and barely made a pfft sound as two puny clouds of snow emerged from your palms. You were panicking as Garfield turned into a verdant lion, right before your very eyes. You screamed for the two of them to stop, for one of them to just leave, anything other than fighting. You knew that a showdown would only result in someone getting seriously hurt and you wanted that for neither of your friends. You practically begged them to end the fight, but they both ignored you, with Damian grabbing two of the knives on your desk, and entering a fighting stance.

You tried to run into the fight but were pushed down to the floor as Garfield jumped at Damian, who expertly sliced open the side of the green animal. A roar of pain filled the room and you wondered how none of the others had shown up yet, wishing with everything in you that Kori would come or even Victor. Any grown adult that was older than twenty. The thought of calling them briefly crossed your mind, but your phone was on the desk, which was being obstructed by the two men fighting. As a last-ditch effort to get help, you screamed your lungs out, “Kori! Victor! Anyone! Please!” Your throat became sore, the skin inside it felt ripped and inflamed, and yet you continued your screaming, like a mantra. But none came.

What you didn’t know was the reason Garfield had gone to your room was to tell you that the others had gone to see a movie, one that both you and the green man had expressed disdain for. Garfield had planned a movie marathon for just the two of you, but now? Those plans seemed like a far-off dream.

Garfield was wounded, severely. Damian hadn’t even gotten a scratch. The dark-haired man considered his opponent as they circled each other. He scoffed, Garfield should’ve known he’d never stand a chance in a fight, but it was nothing if not a net positive for Damian. He got to get rid of the green boy who always clung to your side, so obviously having a crush the size of the moon. Disgusting, Damian thought. Did Garfield not know how beneath you he was? What made him ever believe he’d deserve you? He probably didn’t even love you, you were just someone he’d play around with until he got tired and then he’d throw you away. So far from Damian’s more respectable intentions, from his true and deep love which ran through his blood, getting pumped in through his heart and out through his veins. His love for you was his entire being. So, Damian was happy to get rid of the little green obstacle.

When Garfield jumped at Damian again, he felt a sudden shock as a knife was stuck in his chest. He shook and had to focus his entire being on not turning back into a human, if he did that, the wound would leave a much bigger impact. He didn’t get to ponder on it too long as Damian pushed him to the ground, sitting firmly on his lower abdomen, threatening to stick the second knife into Garfield’s throat. The bleeding man looked for you. If he had to die like this, he’d want to see you one last time. But he couldn’t find you in his sights. Suddenly, the weight on top of him was pushed off. Trying to see who his saviour was, he caught a flash of your shirt. “What is wrong with you two?!” Your voice, you were practically hissing, hoarse beyond measure.

Garfield gasped, and you quickly found your phone, calling your emergency number. You had a special one for the vigilantes, a measure to protect all of your identities.

After ending the call though, you felt something hard collide with your head, and you fell to the ground, blacking out at your back made contact with the floor, an incoherent scream in the background.

Damian had knocked you out with the book you had been reading previously, it had laid abandoned on the bed. He realised what he had just done would mean. He hadn’t considered the ramifications while in the heat of the battle, but now, all he could think about was how he’d lose you if he…when he was kicked off the team. There was no way that they’d let him stay after almost killing a teammate. So, he’d leave on his own accord. His mother would probably be mighty happy to see him again, she wouldn’t mind him bringing along his beloved.

Leaving behind a screaming and bleeding Garfield, Damian picked you up and took out his phone from his pocket. He was surprised that it had stayed in there during the brief fight. Calling up his mother, she picked up immediately, it had been years and yet she was more than a little desperate to hear him utter the words she had waited so long for. “I’m coming home and I’m bringing a friend”.

Dinah was inconsolable. Bruce had already tried to get her to calm down, but any time he opened his mouth, the blonde hero would cry about how this was his fault for raising a lunatic. Oliver also blamed Bruce, even going as far as to suggest making Damian their number one wanted enemy, a decision thoroughly backed by all except Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman.

“He’s a confused boy!” Clark had tried to defend, but Dinah would have none of it.

“He kidnapped my kid, my Y/n! He’s a psychopath and he’s dangerous! Look what he did to Beast-Boy!” The blonde had gestured to the photos of Garfield’s extensive injuries. He had survived, but barely. There was heavy doubt about whether or not he’d ever be able to get back to his vigilante duties. The damage was the worst around his stomach area, where Damian had practically gutted him like a fish.

It had been Garfield that explained what happened. How he had walked in on Damian forcing you upon him, the ensuing fight and your kidnapping. While his story wasn’t entirely true, it got the point across well enough. It had left Dinah and Oliver furious and out for blood.

No matter how much Bruce attempted to convince the other Justice League members that he could convince Damian to give you back, it was hard to take him seriously when they, firstly, had no idea where the two of you were and, secondly, when looking at how he had almost snuffed out the life of a teammate.

The Doom Patrol demanded retribution as well, or at the very least reassurance that Damian would never return as a hero after what he had done to their former mentee. Rita Farr had almost been as devastated as Dinah when she had seen her adoptive son, racing to her green man’s side as soon as she had gotten the news, she still had yet to leave him for any substantial amount of time, barely letting herself get any food.

“I want my sidekick back! Your boy took them from me! That makes it your responsibility too!” Dinah had hissed, letting her mouth hang open for a second, a clear warning that she would have no scruples about blowing up both Wayne men’s heads with her canary cry if she didn’t get the young hero, whom she saw more as her own child, back.

The Justice League had voted on whether or not Damian and Y/n should be hunted down, and it had been an overwhelming five to three in favour.

After the vote, Oliver guided the fishnet-wearing heroine out of the tower to cool off. Slowly, most of the members followed, leaving only Bruce and Clark. Superman placed a hand on his friend’s back and gently rubbed circles into Bruce’s latex-clad back. “We’ll get them to see sense, don’t worry. It’s probably all just a misunderstanding”. Bruce knew that it wasn’t. He always had a feeling that something was off about his youngest son, he had simply ignored the signs in favour of training up yet another young vigilante, fit to take over his legacy.

“It’s not,” Bruce stated bitterly, letting his guilt take over his heart.

Months later, on the other side of the world, in the palace barracks of Eth Alth'eban, you sat next to Damian at a vast breakfast table. It had been so long since he took you with him, you presumed that no one had any idea where you were or that they simply weren’t looking.

Damian hadn’t bothered taking any of your possessions along as he fled with you, so, when the clothes you had been wearing that damned Saturday had gotten sufficiently dirty, you let him outfit you in the deep green robes associated with the Al Ghuls, of which he wore a similar one himself.

It had been long enough for you to give up hope of ever getting rescued. You had tried to escape, multiple times in fact. With your powers, (weak as they were in the beating sun), it was relatively easy to get away from the regular guards, meant to keep you within the palace’s walls. Damian was a completely different story, however. The moment he got news of your escape, he’d instantly know where you’d be heading, he knew you better than anyone else, after all. And as much as you tried to fight back against Damian, it was no use. He was too good of a fighter. So, you resigned yourself to your fate.

“What would you like to eat, beloved? I won’t let you skip a meal”, Damian questioned gently, while holding your hand tightly under the table, tracing figures of eight into your palm. You shrugged, you didn’t like the idea of taking food from your kidnappers, it felt like an admission of consent in the entire matter. Damian’s face hardened, “You have to eat something. I’m not repeating myself again, beloved.” His tone left no room for discussion. He had taken up the unfortunate habit of talking to you like one would a child, entirely incapable of taking care of itself.

“Maybe some fruit? I don’t know”, you stuttered out, which seemed to please Damian immensely.

“Of course”, he smiled as he reached his muscular arm over the table, fishing up a small assortment of colourful fruits, some of which you had never even seen before, and putting them on your plate. You observed his arm carefully, watching the muscles flex under his skin, which had gotten a much healthier golden glow since you arrived at the League of Assassins’ lair.

Talia sat opposite the two of you, her eyes inspecting you with scrutiny. Her gaze made you want to shrivel up and hide behind Damian. She truly was as beautiful as she had seemed on the Justice League computer, if not even more. The computer hadn’t been able to capture just how sharp her green eyes were, nor how said eyes could make you feel like the smallest person in the entire world.

You sent Talia an apologetic smile as if to say, ‘I don’t want me to be here either, we’re in the same boat’. You had no idea if she got the hidden meaning, you doubted she would care, even if she did.

“I’ve taken time off from my duties today, Y/n. Perhaps we could walk through the gardens, or would you rather do something else?” Damian’s voice cut through your thoughts, he was observing you bite into the fruits he had picked out for you, so fresh that their juices dribbled down the corners of your mouth. Looking up at the youngest Al Ghul you opened your mouth to speak, only for him to put a napkin over your lips, wiping away the stickiness left behind on your chin from your breakfast.

“All better”, he muttered as he leaned over and pecked your cheek. Your face heated up. You couldn’t deny that you were attracted to him, but his treatment of Garfield, whom you presumed dead, kept flashing in your head every time you felt ready to forgive him, or at least try to. It made ever moving on with this new life of yours near impossible. “What about the library?” You suggested nervously, Talia’s presence usually did that to you. Leaning close and capturing your tepid lips with his, Damian hummed in agreement. Your eyes went to his mother, who was looking at the two of you with an emotion which was hard for you to decipher.

As you strolled around the library, hand in hand with Damian, you picked out books which caught your interest. The League’s library truly held everything, there was at least one copy of every fiction and non-fiction book you’d ever heard of. “It’s important to have access to all information”, Damian chuckled every time you were surprised that the library held the book you’d ever asked for, no matter how new. You almost suspected that they held the unfinished versions of books, just to be sure that they didn’t miss out on the writer’s process. Despite the gigantic library holding so many books, very few were actually present except you and Damian. “Most assassins are too busy to read often”, a shame you thought, what was the point of having all these books if they never got read?

Deciding on a book to read, you attempted to walk towards a closed-off area with deep green couches, but Damian stopped you, pulling you back, and making you collide with his hard chest. The green-eyed man laughed loudly at your confused expression, his voice carrying across the many bookcases and returning back to you as an echo. Effortlessly plucking the book out of your hand, Damian kissed the crown of your head, whispering into your hair, “let me read to you, beloved”, it wasn’t a question nor was it a command, you couldn’t quite place it as anything other than a statement of fact.

When you reached the sofas, the green-eyed heir pulled you towards him, urging you to sit between his outspread legs, an invitation which you were nervous to refuse. Settling down, you leaned back against his chest, letting the warmth of his body fill you up as he wrapped his free arm around your midsection, before starting to read out loud.

The book itself was disappointing, with one-dimensional characters and a boring setting, however, Damian’s raspy yet clear voice rang out perfectly without vibrato or mistakes in his pronunciation. Like melted chocolate and soft butter, his weirdly mixed accent was smooth and enchanting. You would have listened to him read any book, even a dictionary, for all of eternity. You never realised how musical Damian’s voice indeed was, his chest rumbling along with the words as you slowly started to relax in his grip. At one point the sound of his reading stopped. You opened your eyes, which you hadn’t even realised had closed during his reading, coming face to face with Damian’s eyes gazing down at you, you returned the gesture. He honestly looked like he had been carved by a renaissance sculptor. You wondered if he knew how breathtaking he really was. “You’re gorgeous”, the words tumbled from your lips like rocks over a cliff. Damian’s eyes softened, never had you seen him so vulnerable yet relieved, “Nothing compared to you”, he whispered reverently, moving his hand up your body and caressing your jaw softly. It hurt, not physically, but rather your mind. People usually said that emotions were centred in the heart, but you’d disagree, it was all in your brain, pulsing with the thoughts of Damian’s sweet touches, his attack on Garfield, the forced relationship and how you’d been infatuated with him ever since the evening that you two had gotten pizza. You had never been one to cry, you had grown up as a vigilante, and as a meta, you had been forced to put up a hundred proverbial walls, guarding your emotions and opinions with an iron fence. Still, as the pounding in your head got worse and Damian’s touches gentler, you couldn’t hold it in anymore, tears sprang from the corners of your eyes, and despite you biting down on the inside of your lips hard, almost drawing blood, you couldn’t keep in the body-wracking sob that pushed its way from the deep depths of your stomach and out through your mouth.

Damian took less than a second to react, lifting you up and turning you around, holding you close and letting you burrow your head deep into the deep green fabric covering his shoulder, soaking up the silky material with your salty tears.

Damian hugged you tightly to his body, trying to comfort you, whispering endearing reassurances into your ear. When it did nothing, you came to realise that your outburst wasn’t even caused by what Damian did, that was simply the spark that lit the fuse. It was everything else as well. Your mother practically gave you up to Dinah because she couldn’t handle that you weren’t just a normal kid, being thrown into the throngs of vigilantism at the age of ten, (even younger than any of the Robins which Bruce had taken on), and you had just been expected to be cool with it, to enjoy it even! You felt as if your childhood and teenage years had been robbed from you by Dinah’s never-ending ‘adventures’... yeah, that had been what she’d called it, “adventures”, it made it seem more fun than “missions”, less demanding than “potentially world-ending crisis needing immediate attention from two meta-powered humans, one of which being a child”. You were eighteen and you had never even gone to a school dance, never been to a party, never had a boyfriend… Well, now you did. You supposed it was only fitting that the only romantic relationship you had ever experienced was so intense and anything but childlike, it seemed to fit your life perfectly. You were filled with a burning hot rage, not aimed at Damian, but rather aimed at your mother, at Dinah, at Oliver and at anyone else who had supported the pillaging of your entire youth, all in the name of justice… What justice?! Certainly not any justice for you. Of all the people who had mistreated you, Damian was the better of two evils. At least he loved you, adored you even, he didn’t make you shoot ice beams at dummies for hours until your arms burned with the fury of a hundred suns and then demand that you run for hours afterwards. He treated you well, he made sure you ate, he read for you and now, in your darkest hour, he comforted you.

Tightening your grip on the green-eyed man, you whispered softly into his neck, “Marry me, please”. If Damian was the best you could get, then you would make the best of a bad situation and love him back.

Damian was shocked, just this morning you had apathetically evaded his kisses and now you wanted to marry him. He was ecstatic, of course, but sceptical at the same time. Regardless, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity. If you were planning something nefarious, he’d deal with it swiftly. “It would be my greatest honour”, he exhaled, kissing the top of your head.

You sat there for what seemed like ages, his steady breathing calming yours, as well.

Your moment was broken when one of the assassins dropped from the roof of the library, giving you a shock, yet not even surprising Damian. “Speak.” The Al Ghul heir commanded.

“The Justice League have located us, they’re here to take back the royal consort Y/n”, the assassin had spoken loud and clear, in that peculiar way that they were trained to do.

“Prepare for a large-scale defence”. Those were the last words you heard before being hauled into your room by Damian, left with a searing kiss on your lips, the first one you ever reciprocated. How tragic.

It had been hours since the invasion by the Justice League, and you had no idea how either side was doing, the only window of your room was facing away from the palace barracks, which you supposed were where the fight was currently being held. Your thoughts went to Damian, you felt nauseous at the idea of him getting hurt. The image of his beautiful feature caved into a broken skull made you cringe and the very idea of losing him made you dizzy. You had situated yourself in the corner of the room, legs pulled to your chest and forehead resting on your knees, waiting for something you weren’t quite sure what was.

When you heard the sound of a cape blowing in the wind and the click of heels hitting the tiled flooring of the room, you glanced up. Outside your window floated Superman and in front of you stood Black Canary, tears streaming out of her eyes, the colour of forget-me-nots. “Oh, Y/n!” the blonde cried out as she wrapped you in her arms, the leather of her jacket was cool against your exposed neck.

“Why are you here?” You uttered in distaste, not returning the hug of your former mentor.

“We’re here to save you, Y/n! Oh, I’m so glad to have you back next to me! You have no idea how much I worried for you!” Dinah could barely keep her emotions in, something which was entirely different from her usual laid back personality. As the leather-clad heroine tried to drag you towards Superman’s waiting arms, you pulled back. You didn’t want them here. Everything had just fallen into place. You had technically just gotten engaged with a man who you were pretty sure that you loved, at least a little bit.

You were slowly forming your own adulthood, you didn’t want Dinah to take this away as well, locking you up by her side forever until you would inevitably take her place. That wasn’t the life you wanted, you just desired a ‘normal’ existence with a husband and a home, why were the Justice League even here when you didn’t need to be saved anymore?

“Go home”, you commanded, copying the tone of your fiancé when he talked to his subordinates.

Dinah didn’t get what you were asking, instead happily grabbing your face and wiping non-existing tears from your cheeks. “Yes, darling! We’re going home! No more of any of this! We’ll be back in Star City, safe and sound! Oh, Roy even prepared a large brunch for tomorrow to celebrate your return, just you, Oliver, Roy, Lian and me”. You cringed at the idea, she was treating you like a child, as if you were still the ten-year-old kid who had stood on her doorstep, confused and in need of a mother’s guiding hand. Did she ever stop seeing you like that? You couldn’t help but wonder.

“No, I want to stay here” You tried to reason in an even voice. Dinah’s face fell.

“What?! Why?! No! You can’t! You’re just experiencing Stockholm Syndrome! It’ll all be better tomorrow!” The blonde tried to tug at you again, but you stood your ground. “No, I like it here, I want to stay. Damian treats me well, a-and I’ve been in love with him for longer than I’ve been here”, you argued, only to be met with a scoff.

“You don’t know what love is, Y/N! You’re so young, Damian just took advantage of your crush! That’s why he tried to force you upon him! Garfield told us, no need to explain! I understand!” Dinah was frantic at this point. You were her little kid, she couldn’t lose you!

“Damian didn’t force me upon him! I wanted to kiss him! Garfield came in and interrupted us! I-I don’t know how to make it clearer to you! I don’t want to leave Damian!” You were screaming at this point, and Dinah shook her head, blonde locks hitting both of your faces. She couldn’t accept that her sidekick would want to engage romantically with someone, you were too young! Too immature! Damian had to have taken advantage, right? He was only a year older than you, it suddenly occurred to her… but still, he had never occurred to her as a kid, always so adult. You two, together? It just seemed so… wrong.

“No, y-you’re too young, it’s… You’re… Please, Y/n! He’s a psychopath, he kidnapped you, and he hurt Garfield!” Dinah was struggling to find the words, her hands sliding from your face to your shoulders, needing something to steady her. She was clearly feeling unwell. It stabbed your heart, no matter how angry you were at her, she was still the person who had raised you for half of your life. You loved her as a mother, of course. But you couldn’t let her inability to let go ruin your life any longer.

You could feel your own tears dropping off your chin as well now. You were sobbing softly, much less visible than the woman in front of you, but still, it made your words shaky as you spoke again, quiet as if you were afraid to disturb a sleeping bear.

“I’m not a kid anymore! When will you realise that I grew up! You’ve kept me in the role of a child for my entire life! But I’m an adult now and I’m engaged! I beg you, please let me stay, mom-”, you stopped and Dinah’s eyes widened and surged to find yours. Something within her stirred. It was somehow the first time either of you had verbalised the unspoken bond between the two of you. Yet, while it had always been a clear subtext in your relationship, to have it out in the open made Dinah feel so incredibly moved. It was true, though. The blonde heroine had always been a better and more true mother to you than your own. A revelation that made you pull her closer. “-I’m sorry.”

The leather-clad woman shook her head, “No, don’t apologise. I’m the one who is sorry. I never realised.”

A beat of silence fell upon you two as you rested your head on each other’s shoulders. Breathing in shakily you recognised the perfume Dinah was wearing, it was the same one she had been wearing for the past five years and something about it made you feel nostalgic. You imagined this was how others would feel when they returned to their old childhood bedroom.

Looking towards the window again, you realised that Clark had left momentarily, probably not wanting to be caught in this familial dispute.

Dinah was the one who broke the silence with a witty comment, “So, am I invited to the wedding or not?”

“I’m not sure Damian will want you here after you attacked his organisation.” You chuckled.

“Well, he’ll have a hard time refusing if I throw the Justice League on him again.”

“Maybe. Does that mean you’ll let me stay?”, you muttered with a smile, slowly pulling away from your former mentor.

“Yes, although it will mean that you can never rejoin vigilante circles. Damian has been totally blacklisted, are you prepared for the same to happen to you?”

You thought about her question. It took you a moment, but every time Damian’s green eyes and teasing smile emerged in your mind your heart would beat like a morning alarm. You had no clue if it was the right choice…No, you were entirely sure that it was the wrong one, as a matter of fact. Especially as Garfield’s mangled body interrupted your rosy imaginations of your fiancé, but you felt bound to Damian and you weren’t sure if you would survive leaving him, you felt too dependent on his love. “Yes”, you pushed out shakily, your final answer.

Dinah had left with Superman, taking the rest of the Justice League with them. They had done minimal damage to the League of assassins, it had mostly been a fight for distraction, after all.

You felt entirely unsure of your decision as you stood by Damian’s side looking at the heroes retreating. But with Talia’s sharp gaze forcing you into submission and Damian’s warm hand rubbing calming circles on your shoulder, you realised that there really hadn’t been a choice. Even if you had left with your blonde mentor, your green-eyed fiancé would never have let you stay with her. So, perhaps, this was all for the better. At least you had a friend and lover around your age now, which was an improvement… right?

A/N: Yes, you can just ignore this, it's mostly for the user who sent in the request. Thank you for this great idea! I know you had to wait a while for it... but it was also a lot to write, which made it take way longer than I had originally planed...hehe... Anyways! I hope you enjoy it and that I didn't disappoint with the long wait, I tried my best to honour your request!

#yandere damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #yandere x reader #yandere damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne #batboys x reader #dc x reader

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parkersbliss · 3 years ago

Note

Hi I request a five x reader were the reader has a mix of black canary’s powers and Wanda maximoff powers love you

i love this character with all my heart now and I love you for requesting this <3333

Good Use | F. Hargreeves

pairing: five hargreeves x reader

wc; 1K

warnings: violence? hate love relationship lmao, sexual innuendo

synopsis: five is just so incredibly insufferable all. the. damn. time.

a/n: I refuse to believe any relationship with five isn’t like this; five is “aged up” in like 16ish cause 13 is weird 👍

requests: CLOSED

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt list

—

“The kid wants coffee, black,” Five said with a smug smirk.

You roll your eyes as Five soaks in his pride.

“And you?” The lady asks.

You wave her off. “I’m okay, thanks.”

She just nods, turning to the man beside Five. “Cute kids.”

Five smiles, and you elbow his side when her eyes widen and she backs off. “Cut it out with the smiling. It’s creepy.”

“You think me smiling is creepy?” Five deadpans.

“Terrifying.”

It’s Five’s turn to roll his eyes before he stares down at the counter. “I don’t remember this place being such a shithole. I used to come here as a kid. Used to sneak out with my brothers and sister and eat donuts till we puked. Simpler times, huh?”

You want to smack him upside the head. He looks sixteen for god sake.

The man hesitates with an answer. “I suppose.”

The lady comes back, her name tag reading Agnes, and hands the coffee to Five and the pastry to the man.

“I got his,” The man offers, paying Agnes.

Five blinked in surprise. “Thanks.” His eyes drift towards the man's shirt, “You must know your way around the city.”

The man chuckles. “Hope so. I’ve been driving this for twenty years.”

“Good. I need an address.”

You raise your eyebrows in suspicion before grabbing Five’s coffee and drinking some of it for yourself. The hot liquid runs down your throat, bitter. You can feel Five’s glare at you, but you only shrug before setting the cup down.

The man gives Five the address he was looking for before walking out.

Five takes back his coffee, staring into it and taking another sip.

“Did you want more?” He offers.

“What?” You asked. “Did you poison it in the five seconds you’ve had it?”

Five just scoffs. “You probably poisoned it first.”

“Oh, please,” You sigh. “If I wanted to kill you — and I do — that’s hardly how I’d do it.”

“Let me guess,” Five hums. “You’d slam me up against the wall without even moving a hand.”

You grin. “One of many different ways.”

“I’m starting to see how this whole smile thing is creepy.”

You open your mouth to reply when the door to the shop opens. You and Five remain still as he looks to the bell for the reflection.

“Get ready,” He whispers under his breath.

Four gunmen approach the two of you, the barrels all pointed at your heads.

“Hmm, that was fast. Thought I had more time before they found us,” Five said, facing you.

“Okay, so let’s all be professional about this, yeah?” One of them speaks up. The one on Five’s side. “Both of you, on your feet and come with us. They want to talk.”

“I’ve got nothing to say," Five said as you asked.

“Why don’t you deliver a message for us?”

“It doesn’t have to go this way. Think I want to shoot two kids? Go home with that on my conscience?” He replies.

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about that,” You said absentmindedly, finishing off Five’s coffee, earning a kick from under the table that has you biting your lip.

“You won’t be going home,” Five finishes for you. He grabs a butter knife, disappears into thin air, and reappears by the gunman closest to him, stabbing him in the neck.

The gunman next to you is about to pull his trigger, and you just tilt your head. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

You blink, sending him flying across the room.

“Hey, assholes!” Five calls out, following with a whoosh.

You take that as your cue and crack your neck as gunfire explodes. A ball of energy forms in your hands, and you send it directly at the person to your right before propelling yourself up and grabbing their head, dropping to the ground, and hearing a sickening crack. More bullets fire your way, and you easily block them and send them elsewhere. Out of the corner of your eye, Five salutes behind a glass window and vanishes.

He reappears inside, grabbing the leg of a broken chair and piercing a man as your eyes glow red and you throw another man over the counter and into the donuts. One of the gunmen grabs Five, and you easily deflect a ball of energy his way, and he falls on the table. Five, undoes his tie and wraps it around their neck, yanking hard.

Two more guys come in, and Five shouts at you over the chaos.

“Hey, (Y/N), wanna make some noise?”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, kneeing the guy in front of you and slamming him down on the table.

“Preferably now!” Five shouts, ducking.

“Cover your ears,” You said.

You open your mouth just as Five vanishes. You scream, watching in slow motion as the last of the men fall to the ground. Blood pools from their ears and noses, all the glass in the room shattering.

Five reappears next to you with a smirk. “Putting that mouth to use, huh?”

In one quick motion, you thrust out your hand, and he’s pinned to the wall. He coughs, clawing at nothing as you cross your arms in front of him.

“You are absolutely insufferable,” You seethe.

Five kicks his legs out, choking out a few words. “Same goes for you.”

You wait a few more seconds before releasing your hold, and he falls to the ground, gasping in breaths.

“Next time, I’ll blow your mind,” You whisper down next to him. “I’ll show you putting my mouth to good use.”

Someone groans next to you, and in a few seconds, your boot finds home on their neck after crushing it.

You grab the tie left after Five’s attack, returning in front of him.

Five, now on his feet, raises a questioning eyebrow, and you don’t say anything, just fix it back around him.

He smirks as you step back. “Putting those hands to good use, huh?”

“Shut up.”

#five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #five hargreaves x reader #umbrella academy five #tua five x reader #tua x reader #tua #tua fic #tua five #five x you #five x y/n #the unbrella academy #the umbrella academy season 2 #aidan gallagher #five headcanons

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nighterwriter · 2 years ago

Text

Movie Night

Dick Grayson x reader

Word Count: 950

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Dick! Could you come to the living room for a sec?"

He frowned. You had stopped calling him by his name after seeing him preen when you used a pet name for the first time. He had decided to come home from work early and take the night off to catch up with you. Work had been stressful for both of you and he just wanted to lay his head on your stomach and watch a movie. You had seemingly been looking forward to this, but you only called him 'Dick' when you were mad. With trepidation, he followed your voice.

You stood in the doorway that connected the kitchen to the living room, one hand behind the wall and the other toying with the hem of his Black Canary t-shirt you stole. You didn't look mad, but shocked and he didn't understand why until he followed your eyes to the person who has halfway through the window.

"On my night off? Really Hood?"

Red Hood shimmied into the living room, helmet tucked under his arm. He didn't look remorseful in the slightest, smug - which was his standard look - and slightly annoyed which fueled Dick further.

"I had to find out from the brat that you had a new partner. How do you think that makes me feel?"

"I don't care."

Hood made a buzzer noise. "The answer's hurt."

You continued to watch the brothers bicker, trying to digest the situation in front of you. Dick had told you about Nightwing when your relationship grew more serious as the two of you considered living together. You had sworn to keep his and his family's secret as well as allow Dick to control your exposure to his family, seeing as being the oldest in a family that continued to grow in size rarely left him anything under his purview. But that was shattered when you had come home to Dick bickering with a child - later identified as his youngest sibling - in your living room. Turns out Damian had been following Dick after seeing his older brother pack more than the usual amount of dessert back to Bludhaven. After researching credit card transactions and monitoring his phone, he had enough of a concern to come to Dick's apartment and confront the mystery - you. Once you walked in and were noticed by the duo, the younger looked you up and down, tutted, and left, leaving you extremely confused and Dick extremely annoyed. But he made peace with the interaction after having a talk with Damian and making him swear to secrecy about your existence. Seemed to be a shitty promise because sibling #2 plopped himself onto the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table.

"I just cleaned that." Your voice was dazed as you tried to digest that the Red Hood was leaving scuff marks on your table.

"Oops. Sorry." Hood swiped his hand over the scuff until it was gone.

"Don't you have a patrol to be on?" Dick had crossed the room and stood in front of his brother, partially covering you.

"Red lost a bet, so I used my win to come to see you. Be grateful."

"Can I put the pan down then?" Your question broke the brothers' stares, their eyes moving towards the cast iron frying pan you had hidden behind the wall when you had heard the window being eased open.

Hood guffawed, standing to approach you, but stopped when seeing his brother's heated glare.

"Y/N, this is Jason." Jason saluted her with two fingers, eyes looking amused behind the domino mask. All you could do was return a slight nod. “Okay, now Jason, say goodbye to Y/N, or your ass gets zapped.”

“Woah woah woah,” Jason held his hands up, “keep your zappy stick in your pants. I just wanted to meet your ‘snookums.’”

“Jason.” Dick warned.

You placed a hand on your boyfriend’s shoulder. “How about we all calm down? Jason, it’s nice to finally meet you-”

“A person with manners? Dating you?” Jason dramatically gasped. “Already out of your league, Dickiebird.”

“But,” You continued, “I’d really appreciate it if you’d let us get back to movie night.”

“Okay, okay, sorry for barging in,” Jason held one of his hands up and retrieved his helmet with the other, “I’ll call ahead next time. It was nice to meet ya, Y/N.”

The younger sibling slipped the helmet on and stuck a leg out the window.

“Oh and Dick, Al knows.” And with that, he grappled off into the dark Bludhaven night.

Your boyfriend groaned, running a hand over his face as you hugged his waist, kissing between his shoulder blades. “It could’ve been worse.”

He gave you a look that only made you laugh as he squirmed around to face you. He pouted and dropped his head onto your shoulder. “One thing. I wanted one thing for myself.”

“You still have it.” You stated, running your hands through his hair. “It’s not like they’ve whisked me away.”

“Not yet.” He insisted, pushing himself further into your shoulder.

“Dick, I’m not a child. Yes, what happened was annoying, but it’s not like I’m not gonna consider how you feel. I’m grown up, I can make decisions for myself. Unless you want me to tell them that I need my boyfriend’s permission like a 17th-century wench.”

He groaned. “You’re so annoying.”

You patted him on the back. “C’mon ya big baby, let’s get this baking session started.”

“Baking? I have the movie set up.”

“Yeah, well, if the same pattern continues, I’m expecting a special someone to show up at our doorstep at any time and I need to be prepared.”

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson drabble

312 notes · View notes

jeanbie · 2 years ago

Text

WORDLESS #1 ★ masterlist.

pairing: levi x reader

genre: sugar daddy & contract killer au | warnings: mentions of blood and violence, unconventional relationship, angsty themes, smoking mention, mature rating, potentially ooc levi | wc: 4.2k

note: there will be overall 5 parts to this series. see end for more notes ^^ could be a little bit ooc but it's all fiction anyway so lets use our imaginations :P btw i dont speak french so sorry to my french readers

★ ch1. ch2. ch3. ch4. ch5

⏤ Sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send Levi over the edge if he hears them again.

Now, it definitely was not a stretch to assume that everything in Levi’s life was indeed unconventional. People didn’t need to understand that what Levi did for work was something that, by the law, was considered unprofessional and inhumane, and so when asked, Levi sufficed for “clean-up work”, and questions weren’t asked. If they were, Levi came up with a slightly more conventional lie, to make up for the reality that was Levi working on the clock, killing nobodies for a bit of cash.

Erwin, his right-hand man, had expressed how unconventional Levi seemed to be over a dinner in Venice, a little restaurant tucked away unconventionally in a street that did not belong to America. Levi spoke four languages comfortably, and had parents retiring in the Canary Islands. Levi donated money to women’s charities and mental health services, and helped bribe his cousins into Ivy Leagues. Levi was a Joe-Exotic in the making and owned a rescue black panther named Elio, and had houses across the globe for use when working.

And, Levi was dipping his toes into playing house with a sugar baby who was only five years younger than him, of whom he had met in a stakeout which involved the hit being on your brother’s head.

Unconventionally, you led him to his target, and afterwards, dined with him in a Thai restaurant.

Things in Levi’s life were far from ordinary, but perhaps it was the denial of mundane comforts that kept Levi going. If he went back to normality, to working a shitty customer service job like when he was seventeen, dumping trash into overflowing piles behind the off-license he worked at, things wouldn’t be the same. Levi would feel alien, like he didn’t belong.

At least here, amongst the pain and the bullets and the years worth of trauma packed in his wrinkles (which, yes, if he looks hard enough, he can see some cursing his twenty eight year old skin), Levi felt like he sort of belonged. In an unconventional way.

Having met Levi during his line of work, there were difficulties in being Levi’s sugar baby. For one, he always felt guilty for having murdered your brother, even though you heavily supported the hit. Your brother was a jerk, a bully with money, someone who had wronged your entire family, turned off your younger sister’s life support when there was a chance of her survival.

Asshole, he deserved it.

Secondly, Levi was impractical and irrational and often acted selfishly, meaning he was often out of the country on work, only available in whispers for a few hours and then he was gone, compensating with a few sums of cash.

He tried his best. Levi, despite technicalities including his work and his past and his occasional mean streak, genuinely cared about other people. When he could, he made the effort, otherwise not attempting to make promises to you that he could not keep.

Levi knows that he got really lucky when he found you. You didn’t ask questions. Nobody was better for him.

However, Levi was selfish, and broken, and in refusal of fixing what was wrong with him. When it was of convenience, Levi drew comparisons to the last girlfriend he tried to entertain. One who wronged him, and died when he tried to repair everything she had destroyed.

Levi carries that with him like the tattoos on his skin, a permanent memory, and something that often disturbs what could be and should be between the both of you.

Levi is worthy of love, and capable of loving. On days where Levi is free to lounge without the guilt of not working, you find it is so easy to love him. But, it can’t be that way. You couldn’t just tell him that.

Telling him that you loved him would be inappropriately unconventional.

Sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send Levi over the edge if he hears it again.

(1) Holding their hands when they are shaking.

Levi is in his living room, his right leg bouncing like a spring as he cradles an infant glass of whiskey. His eyes are glazed, yet wide, staring at the Seoul city draped in darkness and neon, and without even looking inside, you know that his brain is spinning, thoughts chaotic and loud.

“Hey,” you call out to him, and his eyes stutter to the left to catch you in the doorway, “I heard you get up. What’s wrong?”

Levi shakes his head gently. “Nothing, baby, go back to bed. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Levi often makes comments without expectancies. You stand in the doorway that connects the living room to the long hall that stems into bedrooms and bathrooms, and watch him for a moment. His whole body vibrates like a speaker, his hands trembling as the glass drains and he reaches for a second, or a third, or maybe a tenth.

You want to sigh, without being patronising, but you know that any sign of sympathy is mistaken for that whenever Levi is around to make the judgement.

He looks back to the skyline and frowns, his attention panning from the window to his phone that buzzes blue, but he ignores. Stepping across the cool wooden floorboards, you approach him sleepily and take a seat next to him on the sofa.

Neither of you move, but he recognises you’ve moved. He bristles slightly, like it was unexpected.

“You can take your time,” you suggest to him, and his hands ache in his lap as he sets the glass down on the coffee table with a careless thud. He scoffs, devoid of emotion, and dips his head so his chin is near his collarbones. In his lap, those hands shake. “Maybe don’t drink so much tonight.”

“I’m clearing my head,” he insists weakly. Those hands still shake.

Brows creased with a pinch, you swallow the unease and reach for his hands. Levi doesn’t say anything as you do so, enveloping his hands in yours, and so suddenly the shaking ceases. Like trying to block the shakes from reaching his wrists, your hands keep his safe.

“I know,” you understand honestly, because you do know what he’s going through. “How about tea, or something? To calm down, calm down the mess that’s up in there.”

Your chin is on his shoulder, and he smiles softly. “Are you calling me messy?”

“Nah, I’m calling your brain messy,” you reply. “It’s a cruel fucking brain.”

“Hate my brain.”

“Today, we hate it.”

Levi’s head turns slightly so that he can see you, and in his lap, his thumbs brush across your skin.

“Thank you,” Levi says quietly, attempting a smile that doesn’t quite convince. It doesn’t necessarily have to, not tonight anyway. His phone continues to flash like a light show, Erwin’s name in bold. “Fuck. I’ll take the call, and then I’ll come back to bed, okay?”

You nod, “Mm, okay. Want me to make a drink?”

“I don’t need it,” Levi concludes. “Not today.”

(2) Tucking the sheets around them when they stir during the night.

Sometimes Levi wakes up in the night due to nightmares, but tonight, it’s different.

Beside him, you stir uncomfortably and kick his leg for the fourth time. He huffs and looks over, trying to figure out if you’re awake and indignant, or lost in the dream. He settles on the latter when you strain out the name of your brother and his heart swoops with a dull ache.

“You’re just dreaming, baby, come on,” Levi mutters quietly into your ear, holding you in place to calm the thrashing. “He’s not here anymore, I’m here. Y/N.”

It subsides after a few minutes, making it the longest you’ve gone on record. He looks into your sleepy, upset eyes as you break awake and brushes the hair out of your face. He tries to smile for you, and maybe you can’t see in the dark.

“I’ll get you some water,” Levi suggests gently. “Hm? Sweet thing. It’s just a dream.” He says this into your hair in a hug, leaving a kiss on your temple as he breaks. “You’re fine.”

“I’m fine,” you breathe uneasily, and he separates to get a glass of water and returns to find you sleeping again. What relief Levi might have is exhaled as he sets the glass on the bedside table, stroking your hair until he moves away with the sudden realisation that this is not a normal exchange.

Before Levi decides to leave again, he makes sure the bed is made and that you are safe; he tucks the duvet in tightly and presses a kiss to your forehead before grabbing his coat by the front door and leaving your apartment, one tucked in the city so far that Levi finds it a hassle to visit.

(3) Travelling long distances just to see them.

For three days now, you have been in Colmar, and Levi is beginning to feel lonely. It had been his idea to send you away, when the heat on his long, long feud with a rival colleague threatened your safety. In return, you got a new apartment that Erwin had found closer to Levi’s own when your address got leaked, and Colmar could be considered a vacation if you pretended for long enough.

With tensions cool and the coast somewhat clear, Levi picks the skin around his fingernails as a distraction before deciding that enough was enough. He missed you, and missed how you were always around for him when he needed you most. This is what drives him to jumping on a plane in his company’s name, and flying to France.

A small boat passes underneath the bridge you are standing on, and your hands dig into the barrier as you arch to smile at the tourists beneath. One catches a glimpse of your denim skirt and cherry print blouse in the sunshine and extends his hat with a wave, and you wave back.

France is nothing like Seoul, and is indeed warm and fruitful and unique. The sun is hot, the sky is clear, and the streets are filled with an atmospheric buzz of friendliness, the smell of coffee and some food you don’t know yet entrapping your senses.

“Madame, je peux vous prendre en photo?”

Hearing the voice, you turn your body left and prepare to face the tourist, but instead you are welcomed with the sight of Levi dressed in black, sunglasses sliding down his nose with a smile. He does hold a camera in his hands, although teasingly.

“Oui,” you quip, posing cutely and Levi takes a photograph anyway, to humour the moment, to print when he gets back to Seoul. You join his laughter as he peers at the photograph and he walks without looking up towards you.

“When did you get here?” you ask him, a round of laughter from the little boat making you turn to stare at them with a giggle.

“Bout an hour ago,” Levi replies, and he shuts off the camera and puts it in his coat pocket. It’s only a small camera, probably cost him a crumb to buy from a vintage store. He meets your eyes with a comfortable smile and rounds in, pressing your lower back against the bridge barrier and circling your arms around you.

Carefully, then, he kisses you, tasting the suncream on your skin as his lips wander from yours to the skin around your face.

“Miss me?”

“Terribly,” Levi responds. “I am so bored when you’re not around. You always have something to do, always have something to say.”

You hum in response. “I’m glad I’m of some entertainment for you.”

“Oh, for sure,” agrees Levi. “I don’t think I’ve used my brain so often when I’m away from work as much as I do when I’m with you. Did you know that you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met?”

“Wow,” you exclaim with a smile. “Hire me.”

“Ha!” he remarks, kissing you again and taking your hand in his. He moves, back in the way you came. “Over my dead body.”

(4) Making their favourite meal when they are having a hard day.

“You.”

“Not now, Y/N, I’m working,” Levi replies non committedly. He fists his hair.

“Not up for discussion right now,” you huff, and he has the nerve to glare at you which only makes you uncomfortably angry. “You haven’t eaten in fourty eight hours, and I’m not about to be held responsible for your death when you die of hunger, so get your ass in the kitchen before I dump this food over your stupid head.”

He challenges you. “You’re brave talking to somebody who could destroy your life like that.”

“Do it, I literally have nothing to lose,” you answer. “Please eat something. I made it with love and care.”

Levi relents, sighing at his paperwork but nonetheless moving away from his home office and following you like a child towards the direction of the kitchen. He feels bad, you know he feels bad, and he circles his arms around your body as you walk, stumbling into the space of the kitchen and smelling the familiar aroma of pork rice stew.

Alas, he sees the bowl steaming in his spot at the table and his eyes follow you as you hum and set start to washing the dishes.

“Y/N-”

“No words, just eating,” you instruct. “Bone apple teet.”

He takes a seat. “You know that’s not the phrase, right?”

“Tell that to the Internet,” you sigh.

(5) Giving them a kiss before going to work and they are still in bed.

Levi prefers to see you when he doesn’t have work the next day, because leaving when you’re asleep is an asshole move in any dictionary.

So, when one of his men phones him at four in the morning and relays the horror that someone’s died on his property, Levi has to fight the demons that almost convince him to hand the job over to somebody who gives a fuck about the intruder stuck on his barbed fence.

He gets up, anyway.

Next to him, in the bed that belongs to you because this is your new apartment, Levi stares down at you and feels a tug in his stomach. Guilt, it follows him everywhere like a ghost.

Before he leaves, he likes to give you a little kiss for the morning, so the tingling sensation reminds you that despite being an asshole and leaving without properly saying goodbye, he still gives several shits about you, and will be back when he can be.

(6) Tucking your head into their neck during a hug.

Levi wants to hang Erwin for making him remember the reasons why you had to move across the city to a new apartment.

It had, of course, been Levi’s fault, and when the notification came from an exhausted worker in his line of work that the alarm system in your apartment had been triggered for an intruder, Levi remembers all he saw was red.

The front door was forced open, a body indent in the wood and the front porch ransacked and littered with shards of glass and bullets. Inside was no prettier, with mess scattered everywhere and photos smashed on the floors. The carpets were stained with red that Levi prayed was just wine, the glass coffee table in two pieces and a knife covered in red on the floor.

Levi and his men, along with the few police officers Levi could actually trust in this god-forsaken hellhole, noticed that the blood belonged to one of the intruders who lay dead on the stairs.

Nobody knows how Levi got through the apartment so fast, and why, without any hesitation, he murdered the remaining intruders without suggesting questioning and torture. That was his go-to when it rarely concerned you.

He wanted those stupid enough to even try and go after you to really fucking regret it as he picked off fingernails and made them suffer for hours or days. This time he just killed, and moved onwards, calling your name like a mantra.

Levi could have cried when you emerged, petrified, from inside one of the closets. Upon seeing you, Levi collapsed his gun on the floor and stepped towards you protectively, pulling you in tightly for a hug.

Sobbing into his neck, you hugged him tighter, feeling finally safe when his hand held the back of your head, like you were a precious thing that was of value.

You were of the highest value to Levi.

“Fuck you,” Levi barks suddenly, and Erwin shrugs and exits the office.

All he had asked was if he loved you.

(7) Lightly kissing on top of a freshly formed bruise.

There might be the assumption that Levi comes home with more bruises than you do. Which is true, technically, and there’s no hesitation from your end in nursing them to a comfortable recovery.

On rare occasion, Levi comes home and finds you exhibiting a new purple blob on your skin. Like today.

Levi hasn’t seen you in two days, and when he lets himself into your apartment with the key he has glued to him at all times, he follows the silence and light to the bathroom. You sit on the edge of your bathtub, gently rubbing cream on your knee in little circles.

“What happened here?” he asks quickly, and you continue rubbing with your tongue poking out between your lips.

“You’ll laugh, don’t ask,” you mutter.

“Hey, I won’t laugh,” Levi says. He rests his weight against the doorframe, “You open the front door the wrong way again?”

Ha! You laugh humourlessly. “Worse!” You look up at him sadly, “I tripped in the parking lot carrying my groceries. It’s on camera and everything, I want to die.”

Levi pokes the inside of his mouth to resist laughing. “Well, fuck. That’s your leg ruined.”

“I know,” you pout. “Good thing you’re my sugar daddy- wanna pay for cosmetic leg surgery?”

“I like your bruised up legs,” says Levi.

“Me too, but not these ones.”

“Jesus, that’s enough cream on your skin,” Levi exclaims, moving forward to snatch the cream from your hands. “More is not better. Come on, you’re okay.”

“It hurts.”

“Boohoo,” he sighs. You don’t move. “Ugh, whatever. Come’re.”

Levi drops the cream tube onto the sink but it clatters into the bowl. He’ll move it later if he remembers to, and he pretends it’s hard to pick you up off the bathtub and carries you swiftly out of the bathroom and into the living room.

Things have barely moved since he last came to visit; the swarms of paper still invade your coffee table and your laptop is on sleep mode by a half-empty coffee cup filled with hot chocolate, because he knows your standing on coffee.

Everything is a lot messier now that you’ve decided you want to go back to school, but at least Levi knows it keeps you busy when he’s away.

“Oh,” he says suddenly, as you’re sat down with one leg up around him still. He pokes at a spot on your leg and you squirm, “there’s another one.”

You peer to look, “Oh, yeah, that one’s you.”

“Oh.” He pauses, “Pretty, though.”

You huff like a little baby and he dares you with raised eyebrows. That keeps you silent and Levi moves his body at an angle to the right, sweeping to kiss the bruise better, the bruise that he made a few nights ago with tender love and care.

“All better,” he assures.

“It feels better already.”

“Mm. Magic.”

(8) Buying them something unrequested because it made you think of them.

“So, I was at a school fayre today.”

“Really?” Levi sits with his laptop on his legs, and your legs are tangled around his body like some sort of jungle maze. He rarely works on his bed, not unless the work is sudden and he can’t help it. You’ve just come in, dived on the bed and claimed his waist as something to squeeze your legs around.

“Yep. Like, one of those little craft things where students sell their shit and make money from it. You know, supporting local artists! It’s really cute, if I was good at something I’d have participated.”

Levi thinks of things you’re good at, and there’s a lot. “Aw. There’s always next year.”

“Yeah,” you reason. “Anyway- point is, is that I got you something.”

Levi stills for a second, glancing over his right shoulder to see you, “Me?”

“Yep. You.”

“What did you get?” he asks, and then he’s back to checking blueprints.

You untangle your legs and slide off the bed, retreating to your bag slung across the room by the bedroom door. From here, you take out a small little pin-badge and when you’re sat next to Levi again, you fiddle with it until it catches his attention.

“What’s this?” asks Levi.

“It’s a badge of honour,” you claim, and you slip it into his palms. He fingers the front when he examines it, reading the little words of “Number One Dad” and he stares up at you. “Like it?”

“It’s for me?” he asks again.

“Yeah. You can wear it and like, I don’t know, think of me,” you shrug.

Levi thinks for a moment. Even though it’s stupid, and cliche and a little bit embarrassing, he still thinks it’s funny and thoughtful.

“Want me to wear it to work?” he asks you.

“Oh, absolutely,” you encourage. “I’ll get your friend Erwin an uncle badge if he wants one. He's a nice guy.”

“Hey, you’re mine and he’s not allowed a relationship to you, no matter what definition,” Levi mutters. “He wants a sugar niece, well…he’ll have to look somewhere else.”

You gape. “Wow. Who thought you had it in you to be so possessive.”

“Please, with a pussy like that of course I’m possessive,” he teases. He’s joking.

“My power,” you sigh anyway, and jump off the bed claiming that you’re hungry. Levi looks at the badge again and pops it in his breast pocket before he loses it and regrets it.

(9) Participating in their hobby even if it doesn’t personally interest you.

Levi’s bored out of his brain.

He has no idea how you can be so fascinated by this stupid game where you’re essentially in debt, but he still sits and watches you tour him around this weird island that is inhabited by ducks and an ugly gorilla villager dressed in pink. And to think that he had a part to play in all of this, because his bank account definitely helped pay for this Nintendo Switch and game.

“Do you like my beach?” you ask him. It’s literally just sand and one coconut tree, and a few shells by the water. Oh, there’s a beach chair on there too, but it makes little difference. “I’m poor, I can’t afford furniture yet.”

“Can’t you just make it?”

“I can, but I’m sick of making axes to collect wood,” you explain with a grudge against the fact that tools now break in this Animal Crossing game. Levi hums like he’s invested, and he tries to be, because he cares about you too much to unintentionally hurt your feelings by displaying his crippling disinterest.

“Oh. Makes sense.”

“Can I show you my hybrid flower garden?”

He sighs. “Yeah, you wanted to show me all of your island, right?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Once you’ve had a tour, I can make you a profile and you can play too. You can live next door to me!”

“Why can’t we share a house?” Levi presses.

“Because I don’t think it works like that, babe,” you confess. “Anyway. Here’s my garden.”

(10) Sitting in comfortable silence while eating a meal.

He’s tired. You’re tired.

The radio plays quietly updating Seoul on the fires that spread across the city today, and Levi smells like smoke and salt. He keeps his head down as he eats his meal, something he brought home with him to make up for the fact that he’s been absent for almost a week now.

You have so many things to say and he has so many things he needs to say to make up for everything, but nothing is said tonight.

You know he’s having a hard time, because Levi’s been smoking again. He smoked on the balcony earlier, and once again in the bedroom. There are now ashtrays around your own apartment, and you don’t even smoke. Levi takes a drink of bourbon and swallows it dry.

You look up at him from across the table, not wanting to press the issue when you know it’ll end in an argument, and then sex to make up for it. You’re both too tired to fuck today, too tired to speak. Just being in each other’s company is enough for tonight.

The only words he says are goodnight and something you don’t catch as you’re drifting off to sleep. Levi’s awake all night, the fires burn until early hours, and the smoke smell is still there in the morning even when he isn’t.

183 notes · View notes

theodorecanaryhood · 3 years ago

Text

The Outlaw wedding

Part 5 in the Outlaw series

Jason Todd, Roy Harper, Batfam, Green Arrow and Black Canary x male reader (Silver Canary)

There is a sex part so just to let you know!

Waking up alone in your bed was something you hadn’t done for a while, especially since you had no one next to you holding you down. Aka Jason’s arms.

You wanted it to be traditional, at least as traditional as can be. Two men getting married was something that was becoming a bit more acceptable.

You stared out of the window looking on at the view, Wayne Manor had a spectacular Garden. The sight of it first thing was almost breath taking.

‘Good morning master y/n’ Alfred said as he walked into the room with the coffee he’d prepared for you.

‘Morning Alf’ you smiled as you took the coffee from the butler, ‘thank you’ you said.

‘How are you feeling today?’ Alfred asked you, you just shrugged.

‘Nervous’ you winced from butterflies mixed with nervous flurries in your stomach.

‘Understandable’ the Butler relied, he left you a small box on your bed as he took his tray and left.

You studied it as you jumped from your phone vibrating violently on your bedside table.

‘Hello?’ You said as you picked it up, not looking at the caller ID, it was Dinah.

‘Oh hey, sorry was miles away, what’s up?’ You asked her as she spoke quietly down the other end.

‘Ok, I’ll see you when I’m there’ you smiled hanging up the call.

…

Jason was pacing in his room when Dick and Roy walked in. Finding him muttering stuff under his breath.

‘Buddy? You doing ok?’ Dick asked Jason cautiously as he sat in the seat opposite where he stood.

‘Hm? Oh yeah, great. Getting married today and thinking what the hell I’m going to do, this amazing guy agrees to marry me and I’m bound to fuck up everything eventually’ Jason rambled as Roy placed his hand gently on his best friends shoulder, Jason stopped and took a breath.

‘You’re not going to fuck anything up Jayman, you’re going to be an amazing Husband. Y/n, he wouldn’t have said yes if there was a doubt that you would screw up’ Roy reassured as he smiled gently to the raven headed man.

‘You sure?’ Jason asked with a puzzled look, Roy nodded as Dick stood up and wrapped an arm around his brothers shoulder.

‘Y/n will be the luckiest man alive Jason’ Dick whispered, Jason side smiled as he took a breath again.

‘Right, time to get married’ Jason coughed a little as he walked into the bathroom.

…

Jason had stopped smoking a while ago but was at the back of the venue having a cigarette with Roy to calm his nerves.

Every drag he took and every puff he blew out seemed to calm him but only last a few seconds before Jason’s heart pounded again. Jason was thinking of the worst case scenario. Of course, the worst case involved him messing up.

‘It’s time, you ready?’ Bruce popped his head out the doorway and asked Jason. Jason looked at his best friend and then again to his Father. Nodded and doubted his cigarette.

…

Standing at the alter Jason kept taking deep breaths, mostly to calm his nerves and stop him from thinking too much. Tim winked at Jason as he stood in front of him.

‘Hey’ your voice broke his concerning breaths as he looked at you, standing next to him.

‘Hi’ was all he could say as his bad thoughts disappeared and he lost himself looking at you.

You stood in your three piece suit, blue and black in colour. Your h/c hair stood in a simple style, brushed off your face to one side. Your e/c eyes took the calmness away from your face though as they were filled with tears. Of joy.

Jason grabbed your hand as the two of you stood, Tim, who was officiating your wedding spoke to everyone as you both lost your minds quietly with happiness.

(Gonna skip a bit)

‘Do you y/n Lance take Jason to be your Husband?’ Tim asked.

‘No, kidding of course I do’ you laughed to take the edge off as Jason gave you a death glare as a joke and the audience laughed.

‘Do you Jason Todd take y/n to be your husband?’

‘Yes’ he beamed at you.

‘I now pronounce you married’ Tim said as Jason grabbed you.

Jason takes no time as he dips you and kisses you sweetly. The audience applause as the music begins to play you out.

‘Your favourite song is on’ Jason smiles as he interlocks his fingers with yours on the way out of the venue.

Your favourite song was playing you out as a last surprise from Jason. He’d asked your Aunt if she could arrange for it to be played for you.

…

‘How’s it feel to be married?’ Roy asked Jason as they stood out in the fresh air. Jason looked down and played his his wedding band.

‘Different’ Jason smiled gratefully, grateful you’d said yes. Grateful it all went well. Grateful you stayed with him. Honestly, he was grateful you were in his life.

‘Y/n seems to be having a good time’ Roy chuckled as he looked through the window and saw you dancing playfully with Dick and Damian

‘Don’t know why I was so nervous’ Jason smiled as he saw you, the joy on your face as let out a belly laugh.

‘Me neither’ Roy winked as he went inside, Bruce saw Jason walk in and smiled at him. Giving him a hug as he let him go off to you.

Jason grabbed ahold of you as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

‘Hey’ he whispered, you turned your head to kiss him, smiling into it.

‘Hey’

Everyone standing around watching as the Grooms took their first dance as married men. Bruce having a little tear of happiness in his eyes. Dinah having no shame in letting the tears fall as she watched her Baby nephew dance the evening away with his Husband.

Dinah could still remember the day you came out to her, you chose her first to tell. The first thing she did was wrap her arms around you and kiss your head, telling you how much she loves you and will always protect you.

Bruce could still remember the day he found out a Jason was Gay. It was a little after he adopted him, he could hear him talking to Alfred about something. Bruce watched on as Jason rushed over to his Father and tell him that he liked a kid at school, Bruce looking intrigued at the 15 year old only for Jason to say that it was a boy. Bruce hugged his second son, giving him reassurance he will always be accepted and loved no matter what.

You ran over to hug Dinah who was willingly accepting of your affection, you were her family after all.

‘I love you’ you whispered in her ear, Dinah kissed your cheek.

‘Not nearly as much as I love you y/n’ she replied.

Jason hugged all of his brothers, Roy, Alfred and then Bruce, Bruce was rubbing Jason’s back as he gave Jason a kiss on the cheek. Much to everyone’s surprise.

‘I love you Son’ Bruce beamed as Jason choked up a little.

‘I love you too Dad’ he replied, holding onto his Fathers Arm. Gripping tight as Dinah walked over giving Jason a needed hug too.

…

The night you two arrived at the little cottage in the village. Your honeymoon destination.

A quiet village outside of Gotham, away from the madness and chaos. A few nights of normalcy for the two newlyweds to enjoy each other’s company.

‘Jason, I love you’ you said as you threw your bag on the couch and kissed your now Husband.

‘I love you more’ Jason said into the kiss, returning your affection.

‘Let’s skip the sight seeing, they’ll be there tomorrow’ you winked at him as he took his hand and pulled him to the bedroom.

‘Oh I see’ he laughed as took off his jacket and shoes. You taking yours off too.

You both kissed slowly, Jason’s tongue fighting with yours. His hands running up and down your arms.

You unbuttoned his shirt and undid his belt, discarding them to the side of the room. Then undoing his trousers letting them fall to the floor.

‘Y/n’ Jason panted as you kissed and nibbled at his neck. Jason began grinding against you a little. Feeling your hardness through your pants.

‘All right stud, take it slow’ Jason smiled as he pulled your top off over your head, unbuttoned your jeans and discarded them to the other side of the room.

You turned around so your back was facing Jason, Jason getting on his knees as he slowly pulled the back of your underwear down to reveal your juicy, bubble butt.

‘Your ass is mine’ Jason growled as he slapped it, then shoved his teeth on it, biting it. Licking it and kissing it.

‘All yours’ you moaned as Jason stuck his tongue in between each cheek.

His tongue worked its way around your hole, not discriminating against your cheeks too. There wasn’t a part of your backside that Jason hadn’t licked or bitten.

‘Right my fucking beautiful man, get on the bed’ Jason huffed as he slapped your ass again.

You obeyed as you lay on the bed, pulling the covers over Jason knelt over you in the mattress as you sat up and grabbed at his waistband. Pulling it down slowly as his throbbing dick slipped out.

‘Fuck’ You smiled at the sight of it, never believing your eyes each time it popped out to say hello.

‘You like what you see baby?’ Jason asked you as he grabbed the back of your head, grabbing onto a bunch of your hair.

‘Yes’ you said with pleading eyes, Jason met your glance as he smirked. Slowly shoving his dick in your mouth.

‘Oh God’ Jason let out a moan, you bobbed your head a little as Jason slowly moved his hips back and forth. Your mouth working it’s way with his hardness, a hardness that seemed to only come for you.

Jason relaxed a little as he threw his head back to look a the ceiling, thinking back to when he first met you. The time he saved you on patrol. Your holidays together. The Christmases together. The New Years. The time you took of Darkseid and saved the Batfamily.

He would be lost without you, Jason would be nothing more of what he is now if he didn’t have you. He felt he had to have you for the rest of his life. And he was determined to keep you. Not mess up and give you a reason to leave.

‘Baby?’ You said as you looked up, Jason looked down at you with love in his eyes.

‘Yeah y/n’ Jason whispered, you grabbed his hip and adjusted your seating.

‘I want you’ you whispered as if you were starving. And you were, for him.

Jason lay down and wrapped you up in his arms as he kissed you sweetly, you held onto his arms as you grinder him a little. Jason let out a chuckle into the kiss.

‘Babe, don’t rush yourself’ Jason looked in your eyes as he stroked your face.

‘Sorry, just can’t wait for you to be inside me’ you laughed, Jason kissed and bit at your neck and shoulder as you kissed his cheek.

‘Y/n, I’m going to pound you so fucking hard’ he growled in your ear as you held onto his manhood, throbbing in your hand.

Jason grabbed the lube from his bag as you pulled out your popper. Taking a sniff over the top of it and rolling over into your stomach.

‘This is never going to get old’ Jason said as he bit your butt, kissed your back and then came up to the top of you. Holding his hard cock over you.

‘Ready?’ He asked you patiently, you nodded as you spread your legs a little more.

Your buried your face into the pillow as Jason let himself fall into you. Breathing in pleasure as he found a slow and soft pace to keep up.

You put a hand on the pillow to which Jason interlocked his fingers with and and held you there. You let out a breath as Jason carried on, losing himself inside you.

‘You like this? You like when I fuck you?’ Jason asked demanding as you nodded eagerly.

‘Yes, oh my, Baby’ you said, louder than expected to which Jason followed with a smile and began to pick up the pace a little.

Jason pulled both of your arms behind your back and held them there, going on his knees as he began to go balls deep inside you. You throwing your head back, letting out a porn star moan as Jason thrusted fast and deep inside your ass.

‘You dirty boy, you love being fucked like this’ Jason growled loud at you as he slapped his balls against your cheeks.

‘Fuck yes, fucking….’ You screamed as Jason slammed so hard he could almost go blind from the pleasure.

Jason abruptly pulled out as he helped you turn around, leaning down and kissing you, spanking you a little.

‘Get in top’ Jason whispered as he lay on his back, you sat down onto his throbbing dick. Him entering you again.

You leant forward to kiss Jason’s neck and shoulder as he held onto the back of your neck. Moaning out.

‘Y/n, Doll’ he said as you sat straight, ‘go ahead, ride me’ Jason said as you began to lift your hips up and down off him.

Jason’s dick pounding into you from below, Jason grabbed onto your hard dick as he began to jerk you off.

‘Baby’ you called out as Jason flicked his wrist with each jerk, he was a pro at jerking you off. As much you were a pro at sucking him off.

Jason put his heels on the bed as he lifted his hips up and down fast to pound into you. Smacking his whole hand onto your ass cheek as he gave it a shake after, feeling it jiggle as he also slammed into you.

‘Let me know when you’re ready to come’ Jason said calmly as he rolled you over gently while still inside you.

Lifting your legs in the air as he thrusted his hips into you, you jerking off too along with Jason’s pace.

‘Fuck, y/n this feels so good’ Jason panted as his thrusts got more and more rapid and stronger. You losing it by this point and moaning the cottage down.

‘Feels amazing’ you breathed as Jason let out a loud grunt.

‘Fuck, I’m gonna come, gonna…’ Jason let out as he slammed sloppily into you, you could feel his hot seed spreading inside you, letting out a moan.

‘Jason I’m nearly there’ you huffed out as Jason rolled onto his back, sitting up over Jason quickly you emptied yourself out as Jason rubbed your thigh.

Falling next to him, Jason pulled you into a loving hug.

‘We should get married more often’ Jason laughed as you wrapped your arms around his broad chest.

‘Definitely if that follows’

….

The next morning, you and Jason had gone on a hike through the wilderness. You hadn’t heard or seen so many birds before. At least not up close.

Jason held your hand the whole time, making you feel like you were the only two people in the world. The only thing that existed.

You eventually got back to the cottage where the two of you cooked dinner together, of course Jason kept distracting you with the occasional kiss and grope.

You kept telling him to wait till you’d finished eating dinner before he took his clothes off, but Jason being inpatient and eating to go again, decided to eat dinner in his underwear.

As you were cleaning up at the sink, you could feel Jason running his hands all over you. Then hugging you from behind.

‘I could get used to this’ Jason spoke softly as he kissed your cheek.

‘What, me doing the dishes?’ You replied sarcastically, Jason laughed.

‘No, me and you. In a peaceful and quiet village’ Jason said as he turned your head his hand.

He kissed you deeply, you turned your body as he lifted you up. Carrying you over to a wall, holding you there as your legs wrapped around his waist.

‘God’ you breathed out as Jason slammed his lips to your cheek and then bit politely at your ear.

Jason was growling against your skin as he grounded against you again, you feeling yourself go hard as Jason’s thickness could be felt already.

‘Wanna skip the rest of the cleaning up?’ Jason said seductively as you chuckled.

…

‘How was the honeymoon?’ Oliver asked you as you arrived back home and put your bags on the bed.

‘Great’ you smiled as your Uncle walked into the kitchen, Jason coming into the apartment.

‘Damn Dinah, you looked after the place for two weeks’ Jason laughed as Dinah straightened some portraits she had put up.

‘They’re of you and Y/n, this one is from your wedding’ Dinah said as she pulled Jason over to look at them.

Three simple sized canvas pictures stacked in a neat place in the wall, Jason and you smiled as you looked at them.

One was of the first time you got together at a barbecue, when Jason met all of your family. The second was of when the two of you went out with Hal and Barry after a mission and the third was your first dance at your wedding.

‘I love it’ you said as you hugged your Aunt, Jason smiled softly at her as he nodded.

‘Least I could do’ she said as she straightened one them, ‘come on, I’m making Italian’ she smiled walking off into the kitchen.

You and Jason took each other’s hands as you walked off with her, waiting to see what was the next chapter in your life.

#red hood #red hood fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #gotham #jason todd #jason todd x male reader #red hood x male reader #trevor signorino #Red Hood x Silver Canary

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lineismade · 3 years ago

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Twin Flames

Wilbur Soot x Reader

Bridgerton AU Ch 1/?

1.8k Words

Y/N Pov

At the break of day; the preparations began. Whether it be the cooks buzzing around in the kitchen or the decorations flying around the ballroom, it was certain that the hall was alive with the celebration of the spring social season.

Obviously, my mother was more worried than I was. It was a worry of hers that I would go another year without finding an appropriate match, but it was my silent hope that I would endure another year of independence. Some would call it the life of a spinster that I enjoyed, but I called it the life of a modern woman. I had just turned twenty-one the following January, so I wasn't exactly a rotting corpse yet.

I have an older brother, so the worry wasn't soiling my family's reputation, but ruining my viability as a young lady in society. My brother, George, is my mother's pride and joy. He married a wonderful lady of English court a couple seasons back, and has been engaged in a happy marriage ever since. He hasn't any children yet, but he appeased my mothers woes for a couple years by matrimony.

My aversions to marriage probably stem from years of watching my friends grow up and change the second they turned a young man's eye. Young girls turned into young women, and as did their priorities. I wanted to make sure that I didn't fall subject to the same woes, but there was the slight longing not to be the black sheep for once in my life.

In such fashion, there was a slight internal pressure to finally make this season my last as a single woman. To my own disdain, the anxiety was weighing on me as I sat in the windowsill of my childhood bedroom, wondering if I was betraying my own virtues by giving into everything I had sworn against.

My mother gave me the privilege of choosing my ball gown for my debut this season, so I decided to go with a more outward option.

A red dress was my scandalous choice for my entrance, but I figured it was fitting to let people know what they were getting into. It was always a dream of mine to put all my cards in one deck and come out with a surprise, but it was obviously a risky move. I had nothing else to lose, so it would be a shame if I didn't follow my own hopes.

Anxieties aside, I carried on preparing for tonight's gala. I powdered my face, tightened the corset, and adjusted my hair to my own liking's. My first debut was a bit more uptight, but now that my prospects seemed bleak, I finally had free will. Funny how that seems to work out.

My hopes for this evening consisted of my own optimism. Lamb to the slaughter, and red rose in my hair, the world was my oyster.

----

The carriage ride from my family's city home to the banquet hall was so silent you could hear a pin drop. My mother seemed dissatisfied with my fashion choices, but there wasn't a care in my mind. She knew what to expect with me, and thankfully she learned to just let me be a couple years back. My brother sat across from me alongside his own wife, Cornelia. She was a beautiful girl a year younger than I was, and their love story was a bit more traditional than my prospects seemed.

He was twenty-four when they first married, and she was nineteen. It might seem like she was young, but there was nothing about their marriage that was not genuine. They were set up by my mother, and when they first met the match was obviously a win. There was an immediate change in the climate of the calling room when they met for the first time.

Love at first sight as some would say.

I watched as all of this unfurled before my eyes in awe that love actually exists. I didn't believe in any shred of hope that there was any form of love out there for me, until I saw their love story unfold. It was a glimmer of hope, but it seemed far away nonetheless.

Both Cornelia and George wore modestly matching dress clothes to accompany me to my debut. Compared to them, I was very obviously a strange bird.

A canary.

As we arrived, the color of distaste that painted my mothers face faded away.

"Well, it's time to put on a show. The happy couple, the beautiful daughter, the timeless mother...... we've checked all the boxes! Smiles on your faces ladies and gentleman!" My mother chirped as we left the carriage.

A smile was on my face when I stepped down, and I had more confidence in one step than I had in my entire life. I felt like I was on fire......but it seemed like the focus was on anyone but me.

My shimmer was diminished by the bright and shiny girls who walked in on their brother's arm unbothered by the world.

Fresh meat. Oh dear lord, I really was a lamb to the slaugther.

I stood around for a minute or so until I looked at the state of the affair I was engaged in. For a while it felt like I was a ghost watching my own life go by. No gentleman callers to come and sweep me off my feet, and no opportunity for any kind of socially acceptable escape from this soiree. My fate was bleak as I watched the girls dance in a cycle of never-ending social pleasantries in the process I knew so well.

I carried on, and walked around the ornately decorated ballroom. Regretting my choice in attire was past me, but I was now worried that my attendance was a mistake. The room seemed like it was closing in around me as the hall became more overwhelmed with puffy dresses and men in dress suits.

A drink.... I needed a drink.......I thought as my lungs cried out for air. I stumbled around the room until I found a server willing to give me their final glass of champagne. It was most likely out of pity, but regardless it helped to ease my nerves. I hurriedly pushed my way across the hall to the back garden, to get some fresh air.

Instant relief is only the tip of the iceberg from what I felt. It was like the anxiety I carried on my shoulders melted like the extravagant ice carvings the queen insisted be at every event she threw.

The tears stung my cheeks and I realized the gravity of my situation, but in my lonesomeness it would be a pity if I allowed myself to wallow in my sorrow.

Dry your tears, gain some composure, because everything was going to be okay.

It was just me and the evening sky as the pinks and oranges of the sunset faded away into the darkness of night. The smell of the flowers and the feel of my heels on seemingly solid ground made me feel finally at rest within my worries.

A breath of fresh air.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.....

"It's only fitting that the Belle of the ball is nowhere to be found within the ball," I heard an ominous voice say from behind me. It was very obviously a man, with a slight anxious undertone dripping from every word. Like he knew the weight of every word he said down to a decimal.

"You are aware that if you approach me in the wrong way with no supervision, that both, mainly my reputation, could be soiled. I didn't come here to be mysterious." I seethed, not wanting to attract any more attention than necessary to my delicate situation.

"Oh, I didn't realize we were walking on a minefield, but the gentleman in me wishes to assure you that I don't come with ill intentions. I just simply couldn't allow a beautiful lady such as yourself to feel alone in a time like this. I know I wouldn't want to be alone." He said as he inched closer to me, as if he was actually attempting to clear a minefield.

"While I appreciate the courtesy, I'd prefer to be left alone..." I hesitated before I carefully calculated what I would say next. Turning from my view off the balcony, I was awestruck with the realization that the man who had been talking to me seemed to be in his own version of the same predicament.

He stood alone backed up against another edge of the balcony, and as I scanned him up and down it appeared he was feigning his confidence. His hands fiddled and he couldn't seem to find a way to plant his feet on solid ground. I found comfort in the fact that I wasn't alone in my trials, but I tensed at his reaction to my words.

"But, misery loves company, therefore I'm glad I won't be left alone." I started as I watched the corners of his mouth turn upwards in a devilish smile. He had something mysterious about his own image.

"You're right. I imagine this probably isn't a normal interaction one would have at a ball of this stature. People will start to wonder if we're gone for too long...... Oh! Where are my manners, my name is William." He said, walking in an anxious scuffle towards me. He didn't seem like most of the other suitors, most of which carried themselves like they owned the world we walk on.

Once his conquest to me was complete, he awkwardly bowed, which made me cringe internally at the formality. "Oh, I'm not the queen, there's no need to bow to me. It's very nice to make your acquaintance William. I'm Lady Davidson, but the formality makes me want to chuck myself off of this balcony, so just refer to me as Y/N if you feel like it."

He gazed into my eyes with a wonder that he seemingly just discovered, as he returned to his upright position. It seemed like he was attempting to make himself taller as he rose to his full stature, but it turns out he was just tall.

I wasn't exactly the tallest young woman ever, but I prided myself on being above average height for a woman. He squared himself up to me as he searched for what to say next.

"Wilbur. My friends call me Wilbur," He said as the smile on his face grew to an anxious grin, "Would you fancy a dance? I figure the best way to share the misery is to endure it together. Unless you have other obligations to attend to. I completely understand either way."

"Oh, of course, yes... Wilbur. It's quite nice to meet you." I said, following him as he turned on his heels to walk back into the ballroom. I couldn't understand exactly what was bothering him, but I knew that I wasn't opposed to following the mysterious man into the hall.

A beautiful stranger.

A/N

Hey! I hope you all have enjoyed this part! I've poured all of my free time into writing this the past couple days (majority of it after midnight when I get home from work), and hope that you guys get some gratification from my Bridgerton phase.

This first chapter is just an introduction, so it seems kinda slowburn for right now, but I promise the tension will pick up next chapter. Posting it soon!!!!

Have an amazing day lovelies!!

(P.S. Find me on Wattpad too! lineismade )

-Line (Ch 2)

#wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot imagine #mcyt imagine #mcyt fluff #mcyt x reader #mcyt #bridgerton au #georgenotfound #tommyinnit #technoblade #philza #mumza #bridgerton #wilbur soot au

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the-atlas-sister · 3 years ago

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The First Date (Damian Wayne X Reader)

So in this, you are the daughter of Green Arrow, Oliver Queen (NOT THE ARROW VERSION!! THE ANIMATED AND COMIC VERSION), and Black Canary, Dinah Lance. Also in this Dinah is dead and you have taken on the role of Black Canary

"Done!" Abby (moi!!!) exclaimed, tying the hair tie in my hair. "Aw, you look so good!" She backed up, admiring her work.

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, smiling slightly. "I mean, I usually look beautiful but now I look even more beautiful," I joked.

"I know," Abby said, making me chuckle.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. "What time is it?" I asked.

"Six on the dot," Abby said, looking impressed. "Wow."

"It is Damian," I shrugged before my eyes widened. "I'm going on a date with Damian Wayne."

"Chill," y/b/f said, noticing my panic. "You asked him out, remember?"

"But-"

"Hey Damian," y/b/f said from the living room.

I looked at Abby, a panicked expression on my face. "You're okay," she whispered before leading me out of the bathroom.

Damian looked at me before mumbling something in Arabic. I was rusty when it came to other languages but I thought I caught "Beautiful..." which was enough to make my entire face turn red.

"Hey," I said, putting on a confident face. "You look good." My eyes scanned him. He wore a pair of nice black jeans and a matching skin-tight turtle-neck.

"You look..." His eyes scanned me.

"Gorgeous? Beautiful? Sexy?" I guessed, smirking at Damian blushed.

"Yes," Damian said, making me blush.

"Okay... well," Abby said, pushing me forward. "You two have fun," she said as I slipped on my shoes. "But not too much fun." She eyeballed Damian in a very best friend way. "And have her back by 10."

"And be safe!" Myloh added.

"Bye guys," I said, quickly ushering Damian out the door before closing it. "Sorry."

"I had a similar conversation with my brothers before I left," Damian said before cringing slightly. "Although it was a bit more-"

"I don't want to know," I said, shaking my head. "So, what do you have planned, Mr. Wayne?" I asked, walking down the apartment hallway.

"That's a surprise," Damian said with a stoic face.

"Not a huge fan of surprises," I said as we reached the elevator.

"You'll like this one," Damian stated matter-of-factly, pressing the button to the last level.

"Is that a fact?" I challenged as the elevator lowered.

"Yes," Damian stated, making me tilt my head. "I did some research and I'm sure you'll enjoy this."

"I don't know if that was meant to be sweet but it came off as creepy," I chuckled, leaning on the elevator wall.

"I just meant- I asked Abby what you're interested in," Damian explained, slowly going pink.

"What'd she say?" I asked, both worried and curious.

"She explained your love of movies, books, the stars, and food," Damian stated as the doors slid open.

"So, which did you choose?" I questioned, walking backward out of the elevator.

"Still a surprise," Damian smirked, following me.

"Mhm, game on Mr. Wayne," I said, turning around and walking out the apartment building's front doors. My eyes widened a bit as I saw Damian's motorcycle parked in front of the building. "Seriously?" I asked, looking at him as he stood next to me.

"Complaining?" he asked, looking at me sideways.

"Not as long as I get to drive," I chuckled, approaching the motorcycle.

"No," Damian said, standing next to me. He grabbed one of the helmets before handing me the second one.

"I know how," I frowned.

"No," Damian repeated before blinking. "Strange, that felt familiar." He then shook his head before getting on the bike. "Come on," he said looking at me. I rolled my eyes but climbed on the bike behind him. "Hold on," he said before putting on his helmet.

"You sure you don't want to drive as a way to get me to hold on to you?" I teased, resting my head on Damian's shoulder. Damian tensed up, making me chuckle. "I was kidding," I reassured him, putting on the helmet and grabbing his shoulders.

Damian cleared his throat. "I-I respect you, but for your own safety, I suggest you put your arms around my waist."

I blushed, wrapping my arms around his waist. Damian started the bike and drove out of his parking spot. My grip tightened as Damian sped up and we reached the highway. I grinned under the helmet as the adrenaline rushed through me due to the speed.

***

"You have to take me on your motorcycle more often," I said, letting out a breathy laugh and taking off my helmet.

"It's not really mine," Damian corrected, taking off his helmet and getting off the bike.

"But with Promythous-" I furrowed my brows, placing the helmet on the bike's seat.

"That was Robin's bike," Damian explained, leading me to the secret destination. He had parked a block away from the surprise place, just to keep the secrecy. "Damian Wayne does not have a motorcycle."

"Who's-" I continued, getting into pace next to Damian.

"My brother's," he shrugged with a small smug smile.

"You stole your brother's motorcycle?" I asked, laughing slightly.

"He told me, women love men with motorcycles," Damian said. "So I took that as an invitation for me to 'borrow' his." He smirked to himself at the thought. "Also, my other brother said I should. I'm not one to listen to him but, I did enjoy the idea of stealing Jason's bike." I smiled at his mini-rant. He seemed to notice. "I'm sorry for oversharing," he said, his face returning to it's neutral state.

"No, it's fine," I reassured him as we turned a corner. "It's nice hearing you talk more."

Damian blinked, obviously surprised by my answer. "What... would you like to talk about?" he asked slowly.

"You," I said. "I don't know much about you."

"O-oh," Damian stuttered, which was a rare sound. "I grew up with the League of Assassins."

"The group your father trained with?" I asked, interested to learn more. "Lead by Ra AlGugl?"

"My grandfather," Damian confirmed. "When my father was training, he met my mother. She- she tricked him into having... intercourse with her. That's how I was created. My father left before I was born and I was raised by my grandfather and mother. I was trained from birth to be the master assassin. I was supposed to be the best. There was no room for error."

"That doesn't sound like a fun childhood," I said.

"I suppose not," Damian hummed. "I loved my grandfather very much, or more admired him. He told me we would destroy the world and rebuild it in our own image." He scanned our surroundings, almost as if he was imagining how he could make each detail superior.

"That's still partly your mindset isn't it?" I asked, making Damian's gaze turn to me. "You see the world and people and just imagine how you can make them better." Damian blinked. "You even yourself believe you're better than everyone. You think you'll be a better Batman, a better hero."

"I don't-"

"I'm not critiquing, just observing," I stated. I blushed under Damian's intense stare. "I-I interrupted, I'm sorry. What about your mother?"

"She's dead," Damian said.

"Oh," I said.

"She wasn't a mother anyway," Damian continued. "Last I saw her she tried to create an adult 'perfect' clone of me and killed him."

"And I thought my dad was hardcore," I mumbled. "How did she...?"

"Helicopter crashed after trying to kill me, my father, and Grayson," Damian said almost casually.

My eyes widened. "You didn't deserve it," I said as we turned yet another corner. Damian turned to me. "You deserved a loving childhood. Not one with a group of assassins and Batman."

Damian's eyes softened. "I did get, what you call, a loving childhood with my father," he said. "He would set up movie nights. And my brothers are... overly loving, at least Grayson."

"He's Nightwing, right?" I asked, grinning a bit. Damian nodded. "I've met him. He has a bit of an older brother feel. And I'm sure he understands how hard it is to grow up with someone like Bruce."

"He has made it very clear he does," Damian scoffed. "As had Todd." I gave him a questioning look. "Red Hood."

"Oh, never met him," I mumbled.

We walked in comfortable silence for a minute.

"Here," Damian said, stopping in front of a small and quaint ice cream shop.

"Ice cream?" I asked, giving him a lopsided grin. "On Friday."

"You said you and your mother used to always had ice cream on Fridays," Damian said shyly.

I let out a small laugh. "You- this is really sweet," I said, a bit surprised. I remembered when I told him that detail about my childhood.

***Flashback***

"Tell me more about your mother," Damian said after a while of silence. "I assume she's where you got your power?"

"Yeah," I said quietly, looking up at the ceiling. "She was- awesome. She was the first Black Canary. Trained in thousands of martial art styles."

"You're telling me things I already know," Damian stated, making me look at him.

"She was a pretty cool mom," I chuckled, crossing my legs on the bed. "She couldn't cook though. That was something she wasn't taught. She'd always make time for us to have an ice cream night. Every Friday." I smiled at the memory. "Sometimes she'd come back from patrol at midnight then wake me up, just so we could still eat ice cream."

"Do you still do it?" Damian questioned, turning to face me fully. "With your father?"

"Not usually," I stated, trying not to sound bitter. "He's usually busy with the Justice League and his company."

"How did she die?" Damian asked softly, making me go stiff.

"I was thirteen," I recited. "She and my dad went to face Prometheus. It was just in the early stages of my training-at least for the Canary cry, so I wasn't allowed to go. I- I remember my dad calling the house. He told me he'd be home soon, but something happened to Mom. Apparently, Prometheus slit her throat. She didn't want anyone to find out her identity so she insisted that only Martian Manhunter or Batman operated on her."

"But it was too late," Damian assumed. I nodded.

"Dad and I hardly even spoke after that," I sighed. "It hit us both- hard, but after a year, we got through it. He's still protective though."

"What about your powers?"

"I don't use them," I stated. "My mom died before we got far in training."

"Why don't you continue?" Damian asked. "I assume the league would be open to help or your friends."

"I can't," I sighed. "My vocal cords are too old."

"That sounds like an excuse," Damian stated. "I was unaware you were a quitter, Queen."

***End of flashback***

"I just figured you'd enjoy it," Damian shrugged, turning his head to the side to hide his smile.

"I do," I chuckled. "Although this is very cliche."

"I have seen as such in many of the movies Grayson forced me to watch," Damian admitted.

"Thank you, Damian," I smiled before rushing towards the outside counter, Damian following. "Hello!" I said to the person at the counter.

"Hello," the person said. She was a pretty girl, seemingly teen age with flawless makeup. She looked like she belonged at Dutch Brothers.

"I would like two scoops of y/f/i.c (your favirote ice cream) in a cup, please," I said before turning to Damian.

"Awesome," the girl said. "And you?"

Damian glanced at me. "None for me," he answered.

"You're not going to get anything?" I asked.

"I've never had ice cream," Damian admitted.

"Never?" I asked in shock.

"No," Damian said, his face showing me he didn't understand the problem. I scanned his face before turning to the girl.

"He'll have one scoop of almond in a cup," I stated.

"Alright," the girl smiled. "Be right with you."

"I said I didn't want any," Damian said, looking at me.

"You've never had it and you can't just sit there watching me eat," I protested. "Plus, I think you'll like it."

"Why is that?" Damian challenged.

"I'm an observer of people and you seem like an almond guy," I summarized.

"Explain your thinking Miss Queen," Damian said.

"Well, almond is more of a traditional Arabic ice cream flavor (please correct me if I'm wrong, I got this off the internet), and knowing you, you prefer salty and savory over sweet," I explained before leaning back and spreading my hands like I was presenting an amazing discovery.

"We shall see," Damian just said.

"Here," the girl chimed in, interrupting our discussion. She handed us our ice cream.

"Thank you," I said. I placed my ice cream on the counter before pulling out my wallet, but Damian had already paid. "I was going to pay," I said as he handed me my ice cream.

"It's proper etiquette for the man to pay," Damian said, leading me away from the ice cream shop.

"But it's not required," I chuckled. "Besides, we're both the children of billionaires." Damian didn't answer as he led me to a small park beside the shop. "I'll just pay next time."

"Next time?" Damian asked, stopping in front of a blanket with a projector on it.

"Yeah," I smirked. "If I haven't scared you away."

"Not at all," Damian said, sitting on the blanket. He motioned for me to sit down and I obliged.

"Try the ice cream," I said excitedly. Damian glanced at the tan-colored ice cream before taking a scoop and eating it. I stared at him, waiting for some type of reaction. His eyes widened before he took another scoop. "I told you!" I smirked.

"Coincidence," Damian scoffed but took more bites.

"Mhm," I hummed, leaning back on my free hand. I looked around, noticing a screen across from the projector. "You set this up?"

"Pennyworth did," Damian corrected. "Although I choose the film."

"Oh really?" I asked. "What'd you choose?"

"y/f/a/m (your favirote animated movie)," Damian stated. My face lit up. "Abby told me it was your favorite. Although I don't understand how or why a film made for children would be your favorite."

"You've never seen it have you?" I asked. Damian shook his head. "Then you'll figure out that it's not really a children's film. And you'll discover the superior soundtrack."

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