#but it was just said by the climbing comm

[sportsallover]

"Purple-kissed clouds in the background"

This is so sweet 🥹

[unexpectedbrickattack]

.

[retiredteabag]

Chilled to the bone

When you were enlisted as a sidekick with The Genius Office agency, you had been hoping to work as a supporting hero for Best Jeanist, you were, in fact, not expecting to be sent into the mountainous wilderness to aid in the apprehension of a snow villain.

Even more so, you were certainly not expecting to be working alongside pro-hero Dynamight.

And yet here you were.

You had been assigned plenty of gear for the mission. The support team at TGO was renown as one of the most competitive in the country for UA support course students. That being said, they were incredibly cautious about the safety of their heroes. They had even provided an earpiece system so your communication through the torrential snowstorm wasn't so tedious.

Your pro counterpart on this mission, however, insisted on screaming over the wind, determined that he didn't "need that nonsense."

And anyway, It had been all for nothing, unfortunately. The mission had been a bust, the villain you were trailing had been apprehended by the time you had reached his hiding point on the mountain and it was fair to say Bakugou was pissed.

There were several expletives shouted into the wind before he eventually fizzled out. He ranted on and on about poor communication between agencies and regional hero work.

The comms between the agency and yourself had given way hours ago and Bakugou now trudged ahead in the snow. You felt as if your body was fighting against every element as the storm pushed you away from your destination.

No matter how often you clicked your ear piece to try to call for help, all you heard was the gentle *da-ding* before static resounded.

You were stuck. Wandering in a complete wasteland, and since the trip had been all for nothing, you couldn’t even feel content.

You had no idea how the lumbering man in front of you was able to pick up his steps so readily and march onward. Lucky as you were to (literally) follow in his steps (deeply planted in the icy snow) it was still difficult to not be discouraged by the blizzard ahead.

After what felt like hours, and a fully uphill climb, the sun finally began to set.

Your ham radio buzzed suddenly in your ear and you realized as it startled you how drowsy you were.

“Are ya still followin’? Ain’t got time to slow down.” Your vision was blurry, but you couldn’t tell if it was because of the snow, or another reason. Dynamight had his earpiece roughly grasped beside his head while he spoke to you.

“Copy. I’m here.” You say, and even just those words seem to take a lot out of you.

Dynamight hums gruffly, “Good. Cause we’ve got a ways to go before civilization.” And eventually, “God it’s cold.”

His words are a huge discouragement, you aren’t sure what to say, so you simply agree, “Yep. Freezin’ my balls off.”

He coughs out a single ‘ha!’ And continues onward. But with everything happening: the raging storm fighting against you, the icy cold frosting your bones, and the sun now beginning to fade, you’re starting to wobble where you stand.

Eventually you cannot even keep your head high enough to watch your partner, maintaining to follow his footprints, one step, then the next, then the next, over and over.

It’s strange, after a bit, it almost starts to get easy, to walk on, your cheeks and ears are starting to feel hot, and it’s as if your legs are floating as you stomp into the large shoe print left for you.

You start to tilt but catch yourself, making an embarrassing sound, luckily your comms weren’t on and Bakugou couldn’t have heard you over the wind.

You rip the covering from your face, the heat becoming uncomfortable now. When you lift your neck, you see the crux of the hill you had been climbing, but the motion thew you, and blood seemed to rush to your skull. It was as if one moment you had been marching onward and then next you were face up in the hard and icy snow.

Awe damn it…

You tried to click your comms, to connect with Bakugou and call for him but it was as if the snow had your arm caged where you had landed.

It didn’t take long for you to accept this position. Your body had never felt so weak. This was nowhere near your first mission, in fact, you were a colorfully decorated sidekick. Who would have known that a little snow would take you out. This was it…

Your head was pounding so you closed your eyes to help block it out. You were so sleepy… maybe it wasn’t so bad here.

You truly and no idea how long it had been but what felt to be all to quickly, you felt your eyes being forced open.

There was shouting, but you couldn’t understand the words.

Bakugou was before you, his hero costume was unbuttoned at his mouth as he yelled at you, condensation puffing out around his face.

He kept brushing you with his hand, he was doing it rather harshly as well.

“S-haap-“ was all you could get out, you made an effort to push him from you but it was fruitless. You were properly immobile.

A new sensation, a strong wave of nausea came over you as your world was thrown upside down. Quite literally, Bakugou had reached under your back and thrown you over his shoulder.

Blood rushed to your head once more as you stared at the back of his uniform. Sick grunts left you as his weight shifted quickly from foot to foot.

He heard none of it.

This time, when you fell asleep, it took much longer to wake you.

When you were finally roused, there was a crackling fire to your back and a broad black and orange chest directly in your face.

You pressed with as much strength as you could harness in your state and realized that it was real.

He was real.

“Huuuua?-“ you gasped, attempting to roll from him. Only to be met with a firm grip on your waist.

“Quit moving you idiot! First you try to freeze to death and now your want to go up in flames??!” You could feel him speaking aggressively into your hair.

There were a million things racing in your mind, but the first thing that escaped you was, “It’s hot…”

A tight hand was roughly making friction on your arms, Bakugou was aggressively petting you. “No, that’s your mind playing tricks on you.”

“Oh…”

Later you would look back on this and bang your head against the wall, throw a fit in your apartment, maybe even consider putting in your two weeks, but in this moment, you burrow your head into the large man’s chest.

“Th-e” you cough, your whole body shutters, “the villain-“

“It’s handled. No thanks to us. But they’re coming out to get us. Helicopter and everything. I’m gonna kill Jeanist.” He’s gnashing his teeth.

“Where are we?” You attempt to turn to the fire you know lies behind you. But a firm hand keeps you from turning.

“Made it to the town, apparently they were expecting us. Agency called once our comms gave out.” He grumbled. “Told ya it was useless.”

You just hum, successfully ignoring how insane it is to be sharing body heat with a top hero that you had previously shared so much as 10 words with.

But as your eyelids began to droop again, you felt his hand grace your cheek, sliding down your back and lifting you towards him once more and he leaned his head back and waited for the agency to retrieve its cold lost hero’s.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

No, I don’t know where this came from, and no I didn’t edit it

[themultifanshipper]

Filming an ad for Hilton with Lando wasn't really on your bucket list, to be honest. 

Warnings: smut, voyeurism, filming (yeah you know where this is going), oral, blowjobs (mxm), based on that 12 minute video of Nortrell flirting, reader is a Quadrant employee

Requested by 🎲 anon ;)

He was your situationship friend, not a commercial partner.  

And neither were Hilton quite frankly, but what the hell. You knew Lando would share the money with you, he wasn't a total ass. 

You were part of the Quadrant production team, and you owed Lando this favour. 

So there you were, being shuffled around with Max and Lando around the fancy hotel, eating food and watching Lando do his photoshoots. 

You ended up in one of the rooms where Lando was supposed to be posing in a bathtub. 

You decided to skip this particular part and stood next to Max while he filmed with the camcorder. 

“I'm videoing you in a bathtub. Never thought this would happen.” Max deadpanned, making you and Lando burst out laughing. 

“Yeah right. As if you've never seen your boyfriend naked.” You teased. 

He huffed and looked at you mischievously. 

He waited until everyone else was packed up and out of the room to snap back. 

“Well actually there isn't anyone in this room I haven't seen naked, so…” 

Your jaw dropped, hopefully that little nugget wouldn't make it into the ad.  

You could blackmail Max into deleting it before sending the footage to the Hilton comms department. 

Lando scoffed and crawled out of the tub. He took off his robe and folded it, putting it back on the bed where he'd found it. 

“You're never gonna let us forget that are you? It's not our fault you don't know how to knock!” 

Max guffawed at the accusation. 

“You were in my living room, why would I need to knock?!” 

“Because we were naked!”  

“Oh my god!”  

You remembered that night. You and Lando hadn't seen each other in a while and Max was out so you had a little fun.  

You facepalmed while the two bickered back and forth. 

Long story short you got carried away and lost track of time. It could happen to anyone! 

Max came home, opened the door and saw the two of you going at it like animals. 

But what he neglects to mention every time he brings it up, is that he rather enjoyed the experience.  

Because you and Lando invited him to stay and watch.  

And watch he did… 

“I don’t remember you complaining while you were having a wank over it”  

“You said I could stay!” 

“Yeah, out of the goodness of my heart, and yet you still give us shit for it!” 

You'd had enough. 

“Oi! Shut the fuck up, both of you!” You shouted from where you were sprawled over the bed. 

Lando's gaze snapped to you. 

“You're not gonna weigh in here?” he asked you. 

“No, Max is right, it was his apartment, and you invited him to watch” 

“Oh I invited him, did I?” he stalked over to you, planting his hands on your thighs as he leaned over you. “Because I seem to remember you being rather excited at the idea of being watched.” 

You sat up, your face ending up inches from his as you stared at each other defiantly. 

“Yeah, I did enjoy it, so what?” 

“So” he chuckled “You're just as guilty as me... and I don't think you would be opposed to me inviting him more often” 

Your eyebrows shot up and you leaned in closer. 

“You tell me, he's your boyfriend” you murmured teasingly. 

He hummed and closed the distance, brushing his lips against yours. 

“You’re such a brat” he whispered.

“You love it, though” you smiled into the kiss, nibbling on his lower lip in the way you knew drove him absolutely crazy. 

Max couldn't quite believe what was happening right in front of him. 

He had the camera still pointed at the two of you, and watched as Lando climbed onto your lap, straddling your thighs as he deepened the kiss. 

One of you hands went to hold his lower back while the other curled into the hair at the back of his head to pull at it. 

Lando moaned into the kiss and Max felt his pants tighten. 

“Yeah” you rasped “Yeah, okay” 

“Fuck- let me… let me fuck you. Please” Lando panted, unbuttoning your shirt to palm at your tits. 

Lord, he was quite desperate today... it must have been the presence of the camera that made him want to jump your bones this badly.

You shuffled around, shedding clothes until you were both left in your underwear. 

Lando kneeled at the edge of the bed and peeled your panties off slowly, reveling in the way you shivered under his intense gaze. 

He licked his lips hungrily before diving in between your thighs. 

His deep groans served only to drive you mad with need as the vibration stimulated you further, and he slid a couple of his slender fingers into you. 

The way he knew your body like no one else could gave him the advantage of knowing the quickest way to make you come. 

Your loud moans echoed in the room and Max didn't know what to do with himself. 

His knees were seconds away from buckling, and he was transfixed by the way Lando's eyes were closed as he hummed at the taste of your release on his tongue. 

Then Lando sat back on his haunches and turned around, wet face gleaming obscenely in the light while he grinned at Max. 

“Sit down, camera boy. The cuck chair is right there” he pointed towards the leather armchair that was on the side of the bed, facing it, as if that was it's purpose. 

He did so, sitting in the chair and shuffling it closer to the bed to get a better angle. 

Lando crawled over your body and gave you a lingering kiss before hooking one of your legs over his shoulder. 

“Gonna take all of me baby?” he mumbled, lining himself up and pushing just the tip in. “Gonna be good for the camera and show them how well you take my cock?” 

You nodded, clinging to him desperately as he softly kissed the inside of your knee that was on his shoulder. 

He glanced at Max, who’s mouth was open, and pants well tented. 

He sent him a sly wink and Max had to slap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from cursing as Lando thrust his whole cock into you in one go. 

He wasn't huge in length, thank god, but his girth was impressive and the sight of it splitting you open was almost too much for Max to handle. 

He rubbed himself over his pants, trying to get a semblance of relief while he watched his best friend pound into your sweet cunt over and over, making the bed rock with the power of his thrusts. 

“Lando!” you cried, you were having trouble getting air into your lungs with the way he was slamming into you. 

“Fuck-“ Lando groaned, he was transfixed by the way his cock was coated in your juices every time it slid out of you.  

You were on cloud nine, the way Lando’s cock was stretching you out and hitting all the right spots was making you go limp, and Lando was able to lean over you to make you bend any way he wanted. 

“I can feel you tightening around me” he chuckled, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. “Are you getting close, sweetheart?”  

Max's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't deny that Lando's condescending tone was doing funny things to his brain. 

He watched you acquiesce and writhe in ecstasy when Lando thumbed at your clit while rolling his hips up into you just the way he knew made you feral. 

Max almost came at the sight, the two sweaty bodies rutting against each other desperately, and the sweet moans coming from you and Lando were making him ache. 

Then all movement stopped, Lando's forehead was pressed against yours as you breathed each other in and panted into the stale air. 

Then something shifted. 

Max felt the energy change when you whispered something unintelligible to Lando. 

The latter turned his head to look at Max, slight smirk creeping at the edge of his lips. 

“Want me to suck you off, camera boy?” he said. 

Max almost dropped the camera in shock at the question. 

That was new. In their many years of knowing each other they'd dabbled in voyeurism, even getting off to each other on the phone once. They had been particularly desperate that time. 

But never had they actually touched each other like that. 

“Go on then” he attempted to sound nonchalant, but there was a definite tremble in his voice. 

Lando grinned and made his way over, kneeling at Max's feet while his hands slid up Max's legs enticingly. 

“Do you uhm…” Max motioned at the camera that was still in his hand “what do want me to do with…” 

“Film me” Lando purred, one of his hands going to unbuckled Max's belt. “Keep the footage if you want” 

Max groaned at the thought of having such a video on his computer to use whenever he needed to unwind. 

“Okay” he breathed, just as Lando pulled his aching cock  out and gave it a teasing lick. 

Lando was making quite the show of it, looking straight into the camera while licking Max from base to tip.  

When he finally wrapped his lips around it, about halfway down and sucked, Max couldn't help the involuntary thrust of his hips. 

Lando didn't choke though, he just held Max's hips down and took him even further, his eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. 

Max had no idea Lando liked sucking cock this much. 

The hand not holding the camera went to tangle in Lando's curls, and only when his lips reached the base did he choke slightly. 

Max pulled him off for a quick breather and stood up, forcing Lando's head backwards to look at him properly. 

Deshevelled didn't even begin to cover it. 

Lando's cheeks were red and tears clung to his lashes. Not to mention the drool dripping down his chin. 

His eyes were lidded and slightly unfocused as he gazed up at Max with his tongue almost hanging out. 

“Fucking hell, man. I had no idea you were such a whore for cock”  

Lando whined pathetically and Max looked at you, where you were perched on the edge of the bed. 

“Did you know?” he asked breathlessly. 

You nodded with a smirk “Why do you think I ordered the strap-on?” 

Ah yes, Max thought. That little incident. 

Max had been staying over at Lando's for a few nights and a mysterious parcel had been delivered. 

You had shown up for some reason (Max didn't yet know about you and Lando) and taken it with you. 

Max and Lando had opened it beforehand though, so he knew the contents. 

Lando claimed he sometimes received packages for you because of some administrative problems with the postal service, or some other bullshit Lando managed to cook up. 

Max had then assumed you were a lesbian. Until he walked in on you fucking in his apartment that time. 

After that he assumed you were bisexual. He never suspected that it was in fact Lando on the receiving end of the strap. 

And he now knew Lando liked receiving it at both ends… 

Well that certainly was a vivid image, but not quite as vivid as the one currently burning into Max's retinas. The one of Lando on his knees while Max fucked his eager mouth. 

“So you like being fucked, huh?” He mumbled. “You like being used? Is that it? You such a slut that you'll let us do whatever we want with you?” 

Lando whined around his cock, and it didn't take long before Max was shooting ropes of cum into Lando's open mouth. 

He'd been quite riled up after all, and this was new and exciting territory, and Lando's mouth felt like fucking heaven. 

And the absolute whore swallowed every last drop of it, opening his mouth and showing him the proof. 

“Good boy” you and Max both said at the same time, and you glanced at each other with a smirk. This wasn’t the last time Max was going to join you, that's for sure. 

Later, back in the car that was taking you to your evening obligations. Lando let out an unexpected giggle. 

You and Max looked at him questionningly. 

“How much do you think Hilton would pay us for that footage?” 

“Lando!” 

[natalievoncatte]

Content Warning: It is very lightly implied but there’s part of this that may be upsetting.

Kara bolted awake to the sound of a scream, and when she bolted awake, she bolted. Her forehead thumped the ceiling and someone in the loft above hers yelled for her to stop that fucking racket, but it didn’t matter. The blood curdling, gurgling shriek of terror was still ringing in her ear and she had but a single thought: Lena.

She threw up the sash of her window so hard the wood chipped and leaped into space, alien power folding the air behind her so hard that the entire building shuddered, and she had to stop herself from going hypersonic and breaking every window on the block.

It was Lena. Her voice cut through the constant barrage of human and mechanical and animal noises around her. It sliced through a wall of arguing spouses and sighing lovers and wailing sirens, through the secret language of cats and the grinding of the tectonic plates beneath all their feet. It was not a mere scream but a shriek, a wail of agony and terror that made her blood freeze even as she rocketed through the city in a blur, dozens of pedestrians looking up as she blasted overhead.

Lena’s place was across town, an hour on foot- for a human. Kara made it at the speed of thought, arriving so fast that Lena was still screaming as she landed and wrenched open the balcony door and stormed through the penthouse.

When she brushed open the bedroom door she found a cowering Lena curled in the corner in a pile of bedsheets, staring at nothing, shaking violently and shrieking.

Kara jabbed the comm bead in her ear.

“Alex!”

“What?” Alex said, groggily. “Kara? What time is it? Why… who’s that screaming?”

“It’s Lena. I need help. It’s like she’s still asleep but she’s screaming and her eyes are open. She’s not reacting to me.”

“What the hell is she doing at your apartment at three in the morning?”

“I’m at her place. I heard her screaming and flew.”

Alex let out a pained sigh. “Please tell me you remembered the suit.”

Kara looked down at her threadbare pajamas and frowned.

“Yep, sure did. What do I do?”

“Get off me!” Lena choked out, “get off me!”

Her eyes wide wide with horror, but worse, her heart was beating incredibly fast, her pupils tiny points. She began swiping at nothing with hooked fingers, tangling herself in the sheets, which only drove her into a deeper frenzy. L

“Alex! What do I do?”

“Try to get her back into bed. Gently. Speak slowly and calmly.”

Kara nodded. “Lena?”

She was met with another round of screams.

“Lena, it’s me, it’s Kara. I’m hear to help you.”

“Kara?” Lena choked out. “No, you have to go, you can’t, they’ll hurt you too.”

“No, they wont,” Kara said, soft but firm, kneeling in front of her. “No one can hurt you when you’re with me. I’ll protect you.”

Kara gently placed her hands on Lena’s shoulders. Her skin was fever hot and a vein stood out on her forehead, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

Very slowly, Kara began to shift her towards the bed, finally giving up and lifting her entirely. Lena clung to her in a full body arms-and-legs hug.

Alex crackled in her ear.

“Stay there. I’ll have J’onn do a sweep of the area just to be sure.”

“Don’t go,” Lena murmured, “Kara please, don’t go please.”

“I’m right here and I’m not leaving,” Kara said, lowering her to the bed.

It was… awkward. Kara had no choice but to climb in with her. She grabbed an armful of silk sheets and down comforter and sheltered them both within it, packing herself up into a tight roll with Lena, arms locked around her.

Lena’s screaming had stopped but she still seemed unaware, her focus entirely on Kara as she sobbed lightly into her chest.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, it’s okay,” Kara repeated, like a mantra, lightly running her fingers over Lena’s scalp.

“You’re safe, I promise.”

Lena buried her face in Kara’s throat and sobbed. Kara continued to stroke her hair, and almost without realizing it, started singing.

“Kara,” Alex said in her ear, “the channel is still open. Kara, you’re singing a Kryptonian lullaby!”

She didn’t care. She jabbed her ear to silence the little voice and continued to sing, the same song her father used when she had nightmares in the groundquakes when their world was shaking itself apart.

Lena’s breathing finally slowed. The tension slid out of her and her breathing and pulse eased. She fell into a deep, deep sleep.

Kara could leave now, if she wanted. Skip away and let Lena think it was all a dream, though she might wonder what happened to the lock on her balcony door.

She could, but a promise was a promise.

Eventually, her own lullaby lulled her to sleep, and she drifted off into a dreamless rest of her own.

When the sun draped a warm touch across her skin and Kara opened her eyes, she found herself oddly well rested for someone who’d woken up at three in the morning and flown across town. Lena dozed lightly in her arms, tucked against and under Kara so naturally it was as if they were made to slot together this way. Kara lay turned and curled around Lena, a fortress of living walls around her smaller frame, even as she clung to Kara’s waist.

She still had time to leave, to let the night be a mystery… but something stopped her. She wasn’t sure if it was the soft, sweet scent of Lena’s hair or the way Lena’s breath tickled her throat or the soft weight of her or the delightful sensation of her breasts pressed against Kara’s own but she needed this, she wanted this.

Lena was looking at her.

“Are you real?” she whispered.

“It’s me, Lee.”

“Why are you here?”

Kara licked her lips and sorted through fifty lame excuses. What would it be this time? Lena butt dialed her in the middle of a night terror? She forgot her hairbrush?

No.

“I heard you screaming and I flew here to protect you.”

Lena blinked, clearly groggy, her brows pinched in consternation as she worked it out. Kara waited.

“Oh,” Lena said, finally.

“Yeah,” said Kara. “I can go if you’re upset, or you need time,” her voice grew thick, “or if you’d rather not see me anymore.”

“No,” Lena snapped, almost angrily, then more softly, “please stay. I’d like you to stay, I… I need you to help me feel safe for a while.”

Kara nodded.

“I had a terrible dream. It was so real. I dreamed Lex sent people after me in my office, but they weren’t there to throw me off the balcony this time. I tried the gun I keep in my desk but it had no effect on them, and Jess didn’t hear me screaming and no one would help me.”

“It wasn’t real,” Kara murmured. “That will never happen. I will always be there when you need me.”

“What if you’re too far or you’re too busy?”

“I’m never too busy and I’ll never be too far. I’ll give you a signal watch.”

“A signal watch?”

Kara nodded. “Like my cousin gave James. If you use it I’ll be able to find you anywhere.”

“God, Kara in can still feel the hands on my throat. It was so real.”

“It wasn’t, I promise. I’m real. Can you feel me?”

Lena suddenly seemed a touch embarrassed, but didn’t pull away.

“I can definitely feel you.”

“Good. You’re safe. We don’t have to get up yet. Just lay here with me in the sun and you’ll be safe.”

There was a knock at Lena’s door and they both jumped.

Alex’s voice crackled in her ear.

“I’m at the door, Kara. Let me in.”

“Kara? What’s going on?” said Lena.

“Alex is at the door.”

Kara started to slip out of bed and Lena almost frantically followed her, pressing close behind. Kara looked through the door -a little relieved that Lena hadn’t lined it with lead- and saw Alex standing there in full agent gear. She opened the door.

Alex raised a brow. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes,” said Kara. “We were going back to sleep.”

Alex swept into the apartment.

“J’onn caught a guy. Two-bit mercenary hack, calls himself Doctor Destiny. Uses a drug to enhance latent psychic abilities- he’s a dreamer, messes with people’s heads while they sleep. J’onn gave him a taste of his own medicine.”

Lena tensed beside her, and Kara felt it.

“Alex, where is he now?”

“Back at headquarters in a holding cell. I made arrangements for him to be transported to Belle Reve, with a cape escort.”

Kara paused for a long moment.

“Alex, can you stay with Lena for a few minutes?”

Lena paled even further, the blood draining from her face.

“Kara?”

“I won’t be gone long, baby. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

“Baby?” said Alex.

“Shut up,” Kara snapped.

Lena gave her a slight nod of assent.

Kara decided to make this quick. She flew home first, changed, and landed on the DEO balcony all in less than five minutes. When she reached the holding cells, she told the guard on duty to get a coffee and let herself in.

He was an unassuming man, average height and build with scruffy hair and a five o’clock shadow. He looked more like a petty crook that got caught robbing a corner store, less like a supervillain.

“You’re ’Doctor Destiny’?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you do this on your own or were you hired?”

“Fuck off,” he said, with a shrug. “I’m going to the hole until Waller comes in to cut me a deal. You’re a Supe, you don’t scare me. Maybe send the Bat if you want to-“

Kara took two steps across the cell, seized his throat in a crushing grip that almost crushed his windpipe, and pinned him to the wall like a struggling insect beneath a sadistic child’s thumb.

“What the fuck?” he croaked out.

Kara turned her head slightly and hit the wall with a pop of heat vision that scorched the concrete and left a warm red spot.

“What the fuck?” he said again.

“I can see it,” Kara said, her voice as cold as ice. “I can see the little quirk in the back of your brain that gives you powers. One little blink and it’s gone.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“It’s too bad that there’s some important structures in the way, but you probably don’t need those language and motor skills.”

“You can’t!” he screamed.

Kara leaned in close, eyes smoldering so that he could feel the heat begin to sting his flesh.

“Wrong. I’m Supergirl. I can do anything.”

“Jesus fucking Christ! It was Edge! Morgan Edge! He paid me fifty grand!”

“Fifty g-“ Kara snarled, gritting her teeth. “Listen to me. They’re taking you to Belle Reve. I want you to tell everyone there. Everyone, do you hear me?”

“Tell them what?”

“If anything happens to Lena Luthor, I have no rules.”

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll tell everyone I promise! I swear!”

Kara let go and turned, ignoring his cries as his knees hit the concrete floor, and slammed the cell shut behind her.

When she landed on Lena’s balcony, Alex was sitting with her on the couch. The color had come back to Lena’s cheeks and she no longer looked small and frightened, her eyes no longer darting to corners and thresholds as if she expected something to pop out from behind them.

“Lena is going to pack a few bags and come stay with you for a few days,” said Alex. “I convinced her that crashing on Supergirl’s couch is a better security system than what she’s got, and while she’s out I’m going to have our tech team integrate her security into the DEO so we’ll know instantly if she’s in trouble.”

Lena nodded at all of this.

Kara knelt before Lena and gently took her chin by a curled finger and raised her gaze.

“You’re under my protection,” she said. “I swear it.”

Lena’s eyes sparkled and she gave Kara a soft smile, cupping Kara’s hand in her own.

“Okay, Brave Sir Kara, let’s take milady Luthor back to yonder castle.”

“Shut up,” Kara muttered.

The trip home seemed to calm Lena even more, as she laughed at the two sisters bantering with each other after Kara changed and climbed into Alex’s car, leaning forward from the back seat to poke her head between Lena and Alex and tease her sibling.

Lena ended up staying a full two weeks.

The “sleeping on the couch” concept didn’t even last the first night.

[olliev3r]

i said i would redraw it, and i’m actually pretty happy with this one. i wanna explain a few design choices/hcs

jay has a medicine pouch bc I think he’d be a field medic. zane does all the medical stuff when they’re on the bounty or at the monastery, but since jay is the fastest I think he’d serve that role during battle. he also would wear exclusively converse lol. he has lightning scars, most prominently on his face. he’s partially blind in that eye

lloyd has rosacea. it’s pretty common in fair skinned people, and i don’t see it represented often in art

nya likes to dye her hair. she dyes it blue not only because of water, but also because it’s jay’s color. he is the one that helped her dye it

kai has fingerless gloves bc his fire keeps burning the cloth off, until he finally removed them. he also regularly sets his hair on fire without realizing

nya and kai are the same exact height. the only reason he started making hair spikes is so that he would look taller than her. he ended up keeping them bc he liked how they looked

cole can’t work if his forearms are restricted. that’s it lol. he also has steel-toed boots. he has scars on his arms from various hikes and rock climbing accidents

zane uses ice skates. he mostly uses hockey style ones in battle for speed, but he sometimes figure skates for fun. he always has a comm with pixal in his ear

also just a fun note, the height diff between jay and zane is close to me and my younger brothers height diff irl (im shorter)

this is the original that this is a redraw of

[grimdarling69]

Another Dan and ellie deaged p2

Dick wasn't unaccustomed to getting calls at five a.m., but he wished it had happened less. He reached his hand out from the haphazardly placed blanket and fumbled for his ringing phone. Finally finding it, he quickly answered to the call. I swear if this is an arkham breakout, it better be the goddamn joker. He will be very upset if Tim just calls him in for condiment king.

"Hello?" He says sleepily. He winces and rubs his eyes away from the bright light of the phone.

"Dick. I need your help, Damian got spooked somehow and ran away. I'm pursuing him but i can't get him to stop."

His heart drops. Immediately awake, he jumps up from the bed and tries to find the suit pieces he threw around when he crashed last night.

"What happened?" I found myself asking, hoping this was just a misunderstanding. "I don't really know. We were down in the cave, and I guess he knocked a tool off and woke me up. I asked him what he was doing, but he didn't answer me and just ran to the bikes."

He could hear the slight panic in Tim's voice. "I'll call him."Wait -" I hang up.

I quickly dialed Babs number. If Damian left as fast as tim says he did, he probably didn't have his phone. I glance at the windows, one of my gloves is placed on the seal. Rain is still coming down hard. Thunder rumbling distantly.

"This better be goddamn joker." Me and Babs always thinking the same thing, I think fondly.

"Damian ran away, and I need you to connect me to his comms."On it now. I'm calling in the others just in case."

A click is heard, and I can hear slight wind and heavy breathing through my own comms. I hang up the call.

"Dami?" I ask hesitantly. His baby brother son was out there alone in the rain.

I hear a sharp intake of breath, but he doesn't speak. I quickly throw open the windows after grabbing my last glove. Skillfully and methodically climbing down. Throwing myself on my bike. Come on, Dami, answer me.

"Whatever is going on, you can tell me, okay? I'll help you no matter what. I promise." He meant every word.

The bike starts, and I race down the streets in chase of the tracker. I just need to make it to Gotham in time.

__________

Bruce was no stranger from his kids running away. They'd all done it at least once. It never got any better whether they were running from him or others didn't change it. He just had to remember they always came back.

Alfred watches off to the side. Making sure if i start to go down, he could catch me. I won't. A few broken ribs and a sprained ankle won't stop me. He had gotten the call in his bedroom. Alfred had finally wrangled him into sleeping when the call came through.

"Bruce. Damian fled the nest. Dick and Tim are in pursuit, but i don't think he's stopping anytime soon." Her tone heavy but focused.

He had quickly made his way down to the cave. Alfred had stopped momentarily to wake up his other son. He would be down soon.

I start to make my way to my suit, but I'm quickly thwarted.

"Master Bruce. You will be no help with might i remind you of five broken ribs, a sprained ankle, and a stab wound." Alfred told him stepping in front.

"My son is out there. i need to find him."he said with a deep voice heavy with memories. He knew Alfred was right he would only be a hindrance. He could walk off his injuries they were barely flesh wounds, but he wasn't good with emotions. He had plenty of arguments with his kids about it before. Whatever scared Damian into running, he couldn't help him.

Duke's footsteps sounded out behind him. He walked past, gancing at him concerned but determination on his face. He turned around and limped back to the batcomputer. He just had to trust his sons to bring their brother home.

‐---------

Jason was no stranger to long nights. He hadn't even made it to his safe house anyway, too busy with the storm, making sure all the alley kids had a warm and dry place to sleep for the night.

Stormy nights were the worst for alley kids. He hated them when he ws on the streets. The cold rain freezing your clothes to you, the cold rain soaking your shelters, the cold rain ruining any halfway edible food. He's seen a lot of kids get sick from the rain and die. If you were sick, you had to hide. If others found out you were sick, they'd leave you in a heartbeat. It caused a lot of fights with Bruce in the early days. He hid his injuries or sick days in case Bruce finally saw how weak he was and threw him out.

"Damian fled the nest. The rest of the batboys are already heading out after him." Oracle spoke into his comms.

The Batboys. What O had recently started calling Dickhead, Timbo, Duke, Demon brat and him ever since the batgirls left to Hong Kong together.

Demon brat, his obligation in the league. When he left, he'd assumed he'd never see him again, or if he did, it'd be from opposite sides. Sometimes, it felt a lot like opposite sides regardless.

Jason revved up his bike again he was mostly done with his people anyway. He would have to have some of his trustworthy men on the lookout for stragglers.

He pulled up his tracker to Damian. He winded through the streets following it.

---------

Crack

Thunder sounded out. Dick had hated the rain ever since... He just hated it. It was worse, so with Dami out there all alone. He didn't even know what had scared him enough to run. Damian would never run just cause what he knocked a tool over? That didn't sound like his brother son. Something else must have happened. He just had to figure out what.

"Nightwing. Report." Bruce growled into the comms suddenly. His throat felt dry. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't speak.

"SHIT!" A crashing sound loud enough to echo on the comms could be heard. Tim, dami, please be alright. He was just now reaching the Gotham border. Just hold on, I think desperately.

"Red Robin, what's happening on your end." Bruce demanded.

"Red Robin is fine. Damian deployed the bike sludge. He had to grapple backward to avoid the sludge. I think his leg is broken."

"Be careful, Signal, one wrong move with your powers, and you could light that right on up." Jason attempted to banter. Jason and his bad habit of deflecting by using humor. Something he's gotten in trouble because of before.

"We are on the warehouse that we busted yesterday with that drug deal across from Gotham Bridge. We lost sight of him." Duke ignored Jason's comment and carried on.

"Damian has stopped near gotham bridge hurry. Cameras aren't looking good."

"Oracle. Report, what do you see?" He can hear Bruce's gravelly voice tinged with desperation. Please don't do what I think you're going to do.

"I think he might jump."

The silence was suffocating.

Click.

Damians comms came back online.

"Damian?" Bruce's voice sounded distorted and echoes to his ears.

"Dami, can you hear me?" He knew he could.

"Yes."

"Master Damian, please come home." Alfred didn't beg, but he swore he could hear it in his voice.

"We can help you. Damian, don't do whatever you're planning. Please." Jason's voice was desperate.

" Please, Damian, listen to us. Let us help you."he was begging at this point, but he couldn't care less.

"I'm sorry Richard, but I don't think you can."

Click.

Crack

Lightning broke the illusion of quiet peace. The rain thundering just as loud against the ground.

-------

Jason drove as fast as he could, but by the time he and dick made it, the bike was the only thing left of his brother.

"Damian!" Dick tried jump off after him. "Dick! Stop!" "Let me go! I have to save him. Please..." His voice was thick and course. His brother's mask was starting to peel from the wetness.

"I know. I know..." He collapsed to the ground, taking his brother with him.

The headlight flickered ominously in the heavy rain.

[incorrectbatfam]

Damian being a gen alpha implies in gen alpha Jon too ...

[at a sleepover]

Damian, whispering: Jon?

Jon: Yeah?

Damian: Our planet is doomed.

Jon: Yeah, it is.

Jon: Wanna sneak downstairs for snacks?

Damian: Sure.

———————

Steph, as a Batburger cashier: Sorry ma'am, that product was discontinued months ago.

Jon: *secretly starts recording*

Margie: You didn't even bother to check! What kind of lazy service is this? No wonder the world is the way it is with your generation. I should call the corporate hotline right now and report you for refusing to serve a paying customer. See how you like it when you lose your job.

Damian: Hey Karen, she said they don't have it anymore. Either get something else or leave. Some of us have places to be.

Margie: And who do you think you are?

Damian, pointing to Jon's camera: The best friend of someone with 150,000 followers.

Jon: Say hi to the internet!

———————

Damian and Jon: *putting up hand-drawn posters around town*

Comm. Gordon: What are you kids doing?

Damian: Advertising our joint channel.

Jon: We're gonna have an epic Cheese Viking and Fortnite mashup tournament.

Damian: Proceeds go to the Wayne Foundation.

Comm. Gordon: *scribbles a note and hands it to them*

Comm. Gordon: If anyone asks you for a permit, it's on me.

———————

Damian and Jon: *huddled around the Batcomputer*

Jon: I think we should sort it by distance instead.

Damian, typing code: Good idea.

Barbara: What's that?

Jon: Our new website.

Damian: It allows people to report stray animals they see without the risk that comes with physical contact.

Barbara: Oh, cool. Carry on.

———————

Kara: What do you want to drink?

Jon: Mountain Dew. Dami, you want one?

Damian: Depends. Is it vegan?

Kara: *starts typing into Google*

Jon: Hey Alexa, is Mountain Dew vegan?

———————

[texting]

Jon: Dami, get on Discord.

Damian: Why?

Jon: Live-action One Piece streaming in the Gay Minecraft server.

———————

Jon: Ms. Kyle, check it out!

Selina: What is it?

Damian: TikTok added a set of Catwoman stickers.

Selina: Show me.

———————

Kate: I still think you are far too young for things like Instagram.

Damian and Jon: *snicker*

Kate: What?

Jon: Well, Ms. Kane, how should we put it...

Damian: No one uses Instagram anymore.

———————

Jon: *takes a 0.5 of him and Damian with Dick in the background*

Damian: You're in our BeReal now. Deal with it.

Dick: What's a BeReal?

———————

Damian, handing Jon a rock: I would like to buy this playhouse.

Jon: Too bad, the economy just disappeared.

Lois: What are you doing?

Jon: We're playing Society.

———————

Damian: Alfred, we're hungry.

Alfred, on the phone: *makes the thumb and pinky gesture and mouths "I'm busy"*

Jon: Huh?

Alfred: I'm on the phone, boys.

Damian: I think he meant this.

Damian: *puts his palm to his ear*

———————

Jon: Parkour!

Jon: *hops over a log*

Jon: Parkour!

Jon: *climbs a tree*

Damian: *recording*

Clark, to Bruce: That's one way to play.

Bruce: Mhm.

Clark: Do you ever get worried about, you know, how these kids are turning out?

Jon: Parkou—

Damian: Wait, stop, there's a bird's egg here. I wonder what species it is.

Jon: I have an app that can scan it.

Bruce, to Clark: I think they're gonna be alright.

[okasuka]

Damian wayne x Reader - safe in his arms.

tw: mention of scars, implied sh.

Gotham’s night sky glowed dimly through the expansive windows of Wayne Manor’s Batcave, the soft hum of the supercomputer the only sound filling the otherwise silent space. Y/N sat at the console, her eyes glued to the screens as she monitored various feeds.

“Wayne, you’re pushing it tonight,” she said, her voice firm but laced with concern.

Damian’s voice crackled over comms. “I can handle it.”

She rolled her eyes. He always said that, and yet she was the one piecing him together after every patrol. The sound of his cape rustling and faint grunts told her he was already climbing his way back to the cave.

Minutes later, the elevator dinged, and a bloodied Damian stumbled in. His face was set in a scowl, blood trailing from a cut above his eyebrow, his uniform torn in several places. Alfred stepped forward with his med kit, but Damian waved him off.

“I’m fine,” Damian muttered, his voice sharper than intended. He brushed past Bruce, who gave him a disapproving glare, and slumped into a nearby chair.

“You’re bleeding on my floor, Damian,” Bruce commented dryly.

“Y/N will handle it,” Damian said with finality, his emerald gaze flickering to her.

She sighed, pushing her chair back from the console. “You could try asking nicely, you know.”

Damian’s expression softened, though he didn’t reply. Y/N grabbed the med kit and walked over to him, ignoring Bruce’s quiet smirk as he retreated upstairs. Alfred followed with a shake of his head, leaving the two alone.

It wasn’t until Y/N crouched in front of Damian, sleeves of her t-shirt pushed up, that she felt the weight of his gaze. Her scars were exposed—the faint, silvery lines crisscrossing her tan skin like a map of battles long fought. She hesitated, her hands faltering over the kit.

Damian caught the flicker of insecurity in her expression. “You’re wearing short sleeves.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed. “It’s warm.”

“You never wear short sleeves,” he countered, his voice softer this time.

“I do sometimes,” she muttered, focusing on cleaning the cut on his forehead. She felt his eyes on her, unwavering and intense.

“Why do you hide them?” he asked, his tone lacking its usual sharpness.

Y/N stiffened, her hands stilling. “They’re ugly, Damian. They’re… reminders.” She didn’t look at him, keeping her attention on his wound. “People stare. Or ask questions.”

“I don’t think they’re ugly,” he said matter-of-factly, as if his opinion was law.

She looked up at him, her brows furrowed. “You’re just saying that.”

“I never say things I don’t mean,” Damian replied, his voice steady. He reached out, his fingers brushing the back of her hand. “You’ve seen my scars, haven’t you?”

“That’s different,” she argued. “Yours… they’re from fights, missions. Mine are—”

“Yours are proof you survived,” Damian interrupted, his eyes locking onto hers. “You’re not defined by them. But if you think for one second that they make you less than perfect…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

Y/N swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Damian didn’t give compliments lightly. The sincerity in his voice made her chest ache.

“You mean that?” she asked quietly.

“Of course I do,” he replied. He glanced at her arms again, his gaze lingering before returning to her face. “You shouldn’t feel the need to hide around me. Or Father. We’re your family.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “You’re getting soft, Wayne.”

His lips twitched in response. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

She laughed softly, resuming her work. As she dabbed antiseptic on a cut near his collarbone, Damian spoke again.

“Why do you always take care of me? Even when you’re busy.”

Y/N glanced at him, her brow arched. “Because someone has to keep you alive. And let’s face it, Bruce would probably just lecture you into next week.”

Damian let out a low chuckle, the sound rare but genuine. “You’re terrible at taking compliments, you know.”

“And you’re terrible at accepting help.”

“Touché,” he muttered.

When she finished wrapping his arm, she sat back on her heels, surveying her work. “All patched up. Try not to break anything else for at least twenty-four hours.”

“No promises,” he replied, though there was a hint of warmth in his smirk.

As she started packing up the med kit, Damian caught her wrist, his thumb brushing lightly over a scar on her forearm.

“Stop hiding,” he said quietly.

Her gaze softened. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Because I’m not going to stop reminding you.”

She chuckled, standing up. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are,” he quipped.

Y/N shook her head, smiling as she returned to the console. But for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel the need to tug her sleeves down.

The soft glow of the Batcomputer’s screens illuminated the cavernous room as Y/N continued typing, her fingers flying across the keyboard. The digital clock in the corner ticked to 4:32 a.m., but she barely noticed. Her focus was razor-sharp as she sifted through surveillance footage, cross-referenced data points, and logged updates for tomorrow’s patrol briefing.

Her eyes burned, and her head felt heavy, but she ignored it. There was always more to do.

Footsteps echoed softly behind her, and she didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“You’re still at it,” Damian said, his voice low but carrying that familiar mix of concern and disapproval.

“I’m almost done,” Y/N replied without turning, her voice a touch groggy.

“You said that an hour ago,” he pointed out, stepping closer. He leaned against the side of her chair, arms crossed, his green eyes studying her profile. “You’re exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, though the dark circles under her eyes and the slight sway in her posture told a different story.

Damian raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Y/N, you’re barely upright.”

She waved him off. “It’s not that bad. Just let me finish this last—”

“No,” Damian interrupted firmly. He leaned down, his hand lightly brushing hers to stop her from typing. “You’ve done enough for tonight.”

“But—”

“You’re not helping anyone by running yourself into the ground,” he said, his voice softer this time. “You need rest.”

Y/N sighed, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her temples. “I can’t just leave it unfinished, Damian. There’s too much—”

“You always think there’s too much,” he cut in. He crouched beside her, his intense gaze meeting hers. “You won’t stop unless someone makes you, so I’m making you. You’re going to sleep. Now.”

She blinked at him, taken aback by his determination. He was right, of course, but admitting it wasn’t easy. “You’re bossy, you know that?”

“Yes,” Damian said without hesitation. “And I’m right. So, are you going to listen, or do I have to carry you upstairs?”

A faint smile tugged at her lips. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He smirked. “Try me.”

Y/N shook her head, her smile fading into a sigh. She was too tired to argue. “Fine. I’ll sleep. But…” She hesitated, biting her lip. “Can I sleep with you?”

Damian’s expression softened, the hard edges of his demeanor melting away. “You didn’t even have to ask,” he said quietly.

He straightened, offering her his hand. She took it, letting him pull her to her feet. As they walked toward the elevator, her steps sluggish and unsteady, Damian kept a steadying hand on her lower back.

Once upstairs, they made their way to Damian’s room. She hesitated for a moment at the door, but he gently nudged her inside.

“You know the drill,” he said, grabbing an extra blanket from his closet.

Y/N settled onto his bed, the familiar scent of his room—clean, with a faint hint of sandalwood—immediately soothing her frayed nerves. Damian slipped out of his boots and joined her, his movements careful and deliberate.

As she curled up under the blanket, her head resting on his shoulder, she murmured, “Thanks, Damian.”

“For what?” he asked, his voice low as he adjusted the blanket over her.

“For taking care of me,” she said, her eyes fluttering closed.

He was quiet for a moment before replying, his voice barely above a whisper. “Always.”

Within minutes, Y/N was fast asleep, her even breaths the only sound in the room. Damian lay still beside her, his own exhaustion catching up to him. But before sleep took him, he glanced down at her peaceful face, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

In her presence, he found a kind of calm he couldn’t explain. And in moments like this, he didn’t need to.

The morning light seeped through the gaps in Damian’s blackout curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Y/N stirred, her body comfortably tangled with Damian’s beneath the warm covers. She felt his arm draped over her waist, his steady breath tickling the top of her head.

A sleepy smile crept onto her face as she nestled closer to him, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of his shirt sleeve. It wasn’t often she allowed herself to relax like this, but being in Damian’s arms made it feel safe.

“Are you going to keep poking at my arm or actually get up?” Damian’s voice broke through the peaceful silence, low and teasing.

Y/N glanced up to find his sharp green eyes already open, watching her with amusement. “You’re awake?”

“I’ve been awake for a while,” he replied. “You snore.”

“I do not!” she protested, swatting at his chest.

Damian smirked. “You absolutely do.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, attempting to pull away, but Damian’s arm tightened around her waist. “Not so fast,” he murmured. “I’m comfortable.”

She sighed, her cheeks heating. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he quipped, his lips twitching into a small smile.

Before she could fire back a retort, the door opened with a sharp knock, and Bruce strode in, dressed in a crisp black suit.

“Good morning,” Bruce said, his tone neutral, though his raised eyebrow suggested he wasn’t entirely surprised to find them curled up together.

Y/N immediately sat up, flustered. Damian, on the other hand, remained completely unfazed, leaning back against the headboard with a faint scowl.

“Do you ever knock?” Damian asked flatly.

Bruce ignored him, crossing his arms. “There’s a gala tonight. Wayne Enterprises is hosting, and your attendance is non-negotiable.”

Damian groaned. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Bruce replied firmly. His gaze shifted to Y/N. “That includes you, Y/N. If either of you need a new suit or dress, now’s the time to get one.”

Y/N blinked. “Wait—me? Why do I have to go?”

Bruce gave her a pointed look. “You’re practically part of the family, and it wouldn’t hurt to remind Gotham of that.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at Damian. He shrugged. “You might as well come. Better than leaving me alone with the socialites.”

Bruce’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile before he turned and left the room, his voice trailing back to them. “Alfred will have the car ready in an hour.”

As the door clicked shut, Y/N flopped back onto the bed with a groan. “A gala? Really?”

Damian smirked, leaning over her. “Come on, it won’t be that bad. Besides, you’ll look amazing in whatever you wear.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Was that a compliment, Damian Wayne?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he replied, though the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed him.

Y/N laughed softly, pulling the blanket over her face. “Fine. But you’re helping me pick a dress.”

Damian lay back down beside her, pulling the blanket down so he could see her face. “Deal. But if I have to suffer through this, so do you.”

She smiled, reaching over to lace her fingers with his. “Fair enough.”

The ride to the boutique had been uneventful, save for Damian begrudgingly trying on a basic black suit. He wasn’t one for frills or unnecessary embellishments, so the simple design suited him perfectly. Y/N, however, had been trapped in the dressing room for what felt like an eternity, torn between choices.

She stepped out for the umpteenth time in a sleek navy dress, the soft material hugging her figure but still modest by her standards. “What about this one?” she asked, her tone a mix of hope and frustration.

Damian, sitting cross-legged in a chair near the fitting rooms, didn’t even glance up from his phone. “It’s fine.”

Y/N groaned. “You’ve said that about all of them! You’re no help.”

Damian sighed, finally looking up. “They’re all fine. Just pick one, Y/N.”

She huffed, disappearing back into the dressing room. After a few moments, Damian stood, wandering over to the racks of dresses. His eyes scanned the options, none of them particularly standing out to him—until one caught his eye.

It was a deep emerald-green dress, sleek and elegant with a high slit on one side and a daringly low back. He plucked it off the rack and knocked on Y/N’s dressing room door.

“Try this,” he said, holding it out.

She opened the door, raising an eyebrow. “You picked something? That’s new.”

“Just put it on,” he replied, shoving it into her hands before stepping back.

When she stepped out wearing it, Damian’s breath hitched. The emerald fabric contrasted beautifully with her tan skin, the cut highlighting her figure in ways that had him swallowing hard. He hadn’t realized just how revealing it was until now—the open back, the slit that stopped just above her mid-thigh.

Y/N frowned, tugging at the hem. “It’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

Damian, still slightly stunned, managed to clear his throat. “It… suits you.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she gave him a small smile. “You think so?”

He nodded, averting his eyes and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

Thirty minutes before the gala, Y/N was in the bathroom, curling her short brown hair and carefully arranging the red streak in her bangs. She had applied light makeup, her scars faintly visible under the bathroom’s harsh lighting.

She stared at her reflection, her smile faltering. The scars on her forearms were impossible to ignore in the sleeveless dress. Her chest tightened as she ran her fingers over the silvery lines.

A knock on the door startled her.

“Y/N, we need to leave soon,” Damian called from the hallway.

“Just a minute!” she replied.

Grabbing a roll of bandages from the first aid kit on the counter, she opened the door to find Damian waiting in his suit, looking more dashing than she’d ever admit out loud. His eyes immediately landed on the bandages in her hands.

“Are those for your arms?” he asked, frowning.

Y/N avoided his gaze. “Yeah. I just… I don’t want anyone staring.”

Damian stepped closer, his voice soft. “Y/N, you don’t need to hide them. You look incredible as you are.”

Her hands tightened around the bandages. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I’m not,” he insisted, his tone firm. “I’ve already told you—your scars don’t make you any less beautiful. You don’t have to cover them up for anyone.”

She bit her lip, her shoulders slumping. “I know you mean that, but… I just can’t. Not tonight.”

Damian studied her for a moment before nodding. “Alright. If it helps you feel more comfortable, I’ll help you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted.

Carefully, Damian took the bandages from her and guided her to sit on the bathroom counter. He unrolled the first strip, wrapping it gently around her forearm, his fingers light and precise.

As he worked, he glanced up at her. “You don’t have to hide from me, you know. Ever.”

Her chest tightened at his words, but she managed a small smile. “I know. Thanks, Damian.”

He finished the last wrap, securing it in place before stepping back to admire his work. “There. Happy?”

Y/N nodded, sliding off the counter. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Good,” he said, offering her his arm. “Now let’s get this over with.”

She laughed softly, looping her arm through his. “Lead the way, Wayne.”

The Wayne Enterprises gala was every bit as extravagant as Y/N had dreaded. The grand ballroom was filled with Gotham’s elite, chandeliers casting a warm golden glow over the crowd. Waiters glided through the sea of gowns and suits, carrying trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. A live orchestra played softly in the background, but none of it made Y/N feel any less out of place.

She clung tightly to Damian’s arm as they walked into the room behind Bruce, who was immediately intercepted by a group of businesspeople. The older Wayne exchanged pleasantries with ease, leaving Damian and Y/N standing awkwardly near the entrance.

“Well, he’s gone,” Damian muttered, glancing toward the throng of people crowding Bruce.

Y/N’s grip on Damian’s arm tightened. “Lucky him,” she whispered, glancing nervously at the crowd.

Damian smirked and glanced down at her. “You’re stuck with me. Try to look a little less like you’re about to bolt.”

She gave him a shaky smile. “Sorry, I’m not exactly used to this.”

“Neither am I,” Damian admitted, his voice low. He guided her toward a quiet corner of the room, away from prying eyes. “Let’s just stay out of the way.”

They found a small sofa tucked near the edge of the ballroom, far from the main event. Y/N sat down beside Damian, feeling a little more at ease with his arm draped protectively around her waist.

“Is it just me, or does everyone here look like they stepped out of a magazine?” Y/N murmured, her eyes scanning the impeccably dressed crowd.

Damian leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “They look like they stepped out of last month’s magazine.”

Y/N stifled a laugh, earning a raised eyebrow from an older woman walking by. She quickly turned her head, biting her lip to suppress her amusement.

“Did you see that guy by the champagne table?” Damian asked, nodding subtly toward a man in a glittering gold suit. “He looks like a walking trophy.”

Y/N finally let out a quiet giggle. “He does! And what about her?” She motioned discreetly toward a woman in a bright pink dress with an enormous bow on the back. “Is she cosplaying as a gift box?”

Damian’s lips quirked into a smirk. “I’m almost certain Alfred could tie a better bow blindfolded.”

Y/N’s laughter grew louder, and Damian’s smirk softened into a rare, genuine smile. He adjusted his arm around her waist, his thumb brushing against the fabric of her dress absentmindedly.

“You’re getting more comfortable,” he noted, his tone warm.

She looked up at him, her cheeks still slightly pink from laughing. “That’s because you’re here,” she admitted softly.

Damian’s green eyes softened. “I told you, you don’t need to be nervous. Most of these people are too self-absorbed to even notice us.”

“Still,” Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper, “it’s easier with you.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but his arm tightened around her slightly, a silent acknowledgment of her words.

They fell into an easy rhythm, quietly mocking the ridiculous displays of wealth and the ostentatious fashion choices. Damian pointed out a man with an absurdly large fur coat (“Did he wrestle a bear for that?”), and Y/N teased him about a woman with an over-the-top feathered hat (“She’s clearly hiding birds in there”).

For the first time that evening, Y/N felt completely at ease.

“You know,” Damian said after a while, his voice quieter now, “this isn’t so bad. Sitting here with you.”

Y/N smiled up at him, her heart fluttering at his rare moment of openness. “I guess it’s not so bad either.”

They sat there, cocooned in their little corner of the gala, the bustling noise and flashing lights fading into the background as they shared soft laughs and quiet conversation. In that moment, the chaos of Gotham’s elite seemed a world away.

As the night wore on, Y/N leaned back on the sofa, watching Damian sip his water with his usual composed expression. Despite his flawless posture and impeccable suit, she couldn’t help but smirk.

“You look way too uptight,” she said suddenly, leaning closer.

Damian raised an eyebrow at her. “Excuse me?”

She grinned mischievously, reaching for his tie. “Just hold still.”

“What are you—” he began, but she cut him off by gently loosening the perfectly knotted tie.

“There,” she said, slipping it down a few inches. “Now these.” She deftly undid the top two buttons of his shirt, revealing just a hint of his collarbone.

Damian looked at her with mock indignation. “You’re ruining the suit.”

“I’m making you look less like you’re going to a board meeting,” she shot back, her hands moving up to his hair. “And now, this needs some work.”

He stiffened slightly as she ruffled his meticulously combed hair, making it fall messily over his forehead. She leaned back to inspect her work, a triumphant smile spreading across her face.

“Perfect,” she said. “Now you look more like your playboy dad.”

Damian gave her a flat look, brushing a hand through his now tousled hair. “I look like a man-whore,” he deadpanned.

Y/N burst out laughing, the sound so genuine it drew a few curious glances from the nearby tables. She leaned into him, her forehead lightly bumping his shoulder as she tried to stifle her laughter.

“Maybe,” she teased, lifting her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes sparkled as she leaned in, her voice dropping to a soft whisper. “But only for me.”

Before he could respond, she pressed a kiss to his lips, her fingers brushing against the side of his face. Damian froze for a moment, but then his hand moved to her waist, pulling her just a little closer.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N grinned, her cheeks warm. “See? Much better.”

Damian huffed, though his faint blush betrayed his nonchalant expression. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” she shot back, settling back into his side.

He shook his head, a small, rare smile tugging at his lips. “Unfortunately.”

Y/N laughed again, leaning into him as they returned to their playful banter. For the first time that evening, Damian didn’t mind the gala—it was worth it, as long as she was by his side.

As Y/N leaned into Damian’s side, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on the back of his hand, she noticed someone approaching from across the room. It was a tall woman, a model by the looks of her, with long legs and a glittering silver dress that sparkled under the chandelier lights. Her confident stride and knowing smile made it clear she had only one target in mind: Damian.

“Well, well, Damian Wayne,” the woman purred as she stopped in front of them. Her voice was smooth, dripping with charm. “I thought you didn’t attend these events unless absolutely necessary.”

Damian’s expression instantly turned cold, his usual stoicism returning in full force. “I don’t,” he replied curtly, his arm still firmly around Y/N’s waist.

The woman’s eyes flicked briefly to Y/N, but she didn’t seem fazed. Instead, she leaned slightly closer to Damian. “Then I must say, this is quite the treat. It’s not every day someone gets to see Gotham’s most eligible bachelor up close.”

Y/N felt a pang of discomfort as the woman’s attention seemed to focus solely on Damian, completely disregarding her. Still, she stayed quiet, not wanting to make a scene.

The woman tilted her head, her perfectly styled hair cascading over one shoulder. “So, who’s your lovely friend?”

“Y/N,” Damian said, his voice firm as he glanced at her. “And she’s not just my friend.”

The woman’s smile faltered slightly, but she recovered quickly. “Ah, I see. Well, aren’t you lucky, Y/N?” Her tone was overly sweet, almost condescending.

Y/N forced a tight-lipped smile, wishing the ground would swallow her whole.

The woman’s gaze drifted down to Y/N’s bandaged arms, and her expression shifted to one of exaggerated curiosity. “Oh, what happened there?” she asked, gesturing toward the bandages. “That’s quite the… fashion statement.”

Y/N’s heart sank, her stomach twisting in knots. She instinctively pulled her arms closer to her body, trying to hide them, but the woman continued.

“Did you injure yourself, or is this some kind of edgy accessory thing?” she added with a laugh, clearly not realizing—or caring—how insensitive her words were.

Damian’s jaw tightened, his green eyes flashing with barely contained anger. He stood abruptly, taking Y/N’s hand in his. “We’re leaving,” he said sharply, glaring at the woman.

The model blinked, startled. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”

Damian didn’t wait for her to finish. He gently but firmly led Y/N through the crowd and out of the ballroom, his grip on her hand protective and steady.

When they finally reached the cool night air outside, Damian stopped and turned to face her. Y/N avoided his gaze, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she blinked back tears.

“Y/N,” Damian said softly, stepping closer.

“I shouldn’t have come,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “I look ridiculous. I don’t belong here.”

“Stop,” he said firmly, but his tone was gentle. He reached out, placing his hands on her shoulders. “None of that is true. You don’t look ridiculous, and you absolutely belong here—with me.”

Her eyes darted up to meet his, tears glistening in them. “But the way she looked at me… the way she talked about my arms…”

“She’s an idiot,” Damian interrupted, his voice filled with conviction. “She has no idea what she’s talking about. You are the strongest, most amazing person I know, Y/N. Those scars don’t define you, and anyone who thinks they do isn’t worth a second of your time.”

Y/N sniffled, her heart aching at the sincerity in his voice. “But they’re so ugly, Damian. I hate them.”

He shook his head, his hands moving down to hold hers. “They’re not ugly,” he said softly. “They’re part of you. They tell your story—everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve overcome. And I think that’s beautiful.”

Her lip quivered, and she looked down, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “I just… I don’t want people to stare.”

“Let them stare,” he said, his voice steady. “If they can’t see how incredible you are, that’s their loss.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, wiping at her eyes. “You really mean that?”

“I’ve never meant anything more,” he replied, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

She smiled weakly, leaning into him as he wrapped his arms around her. “Thank you, Damian.”

“Always,” he murmured, holding her close as the city lights twinkled around them. “Now, let’s skip the rest of this stupid gala. I think we’ve earned some peace and quiet.”

Y/N nodded against his chest, finally feeling a sense of calm wash over her. With Damian by her side, she knew she could face anything.

The ride back to Wayne Manor was quiet but comforting, the hum of the car filling the silence as Y/N leaned against Damian’s shoulder. She felt a mixture of exhaustion and lingering self-doubt from the gala, but Damian’s steady presence soothed her nerves.

When they arrived at the empty manor, the quietness of the grand house felt almost overwhelming. Bruce was still at the gala, and Alfred had retired for the evening, leaving the two of them alone in the vast, echoing halls.

Damian led Y/N to the sitting room, his hand never leaving hers. He gestured for her to sit on the plush couch, and she did, sinking into the soft cushions with a tired sigh.

“Stay here,” Damian said softly before disappearing for a moment. He returned quickly with a glass of water and a blanket, draping it over her shoulders.

“Thanks,” Y/N murmured, smiling up at him.

He sat beside her, his sharp green eyes focused on her arms. His expression softened as he reached for her hands, gently pulling them into his lap. “Take these off,” he said, nodding to the bandages.

She hesitated, her fingers twitching nervously. “Damian, I—”

“You don’t need to hide from me,” he interrupted, his voice low and full of emotion. “Please, let me do this.”

After a long moment, Y/N nodded, letting out a shaky breath. Damian began to carefully unwrap the bandages from her forearms, his touch gentle and deliberate. With each layer that fell away, her scars became more visible under the warm glow of the room’s light.

When the last bandage was removed, Y/N instinctively tried to pull her arms away, but Damian held them firmly, his grip tender. He stared at her arms for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper.

Her eyes widened, and her breath hitched. “Damian…”

He looked up, his green eyes locking with hers. “I mean it, Y/N. Every part of you—everything you’ve been through—it makes you you. And I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but they weren’t from sadness this time. She leaned forward, her forehead resting against his. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?”

“It’s the truth,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Then, with infinite care, Damian began peppering her arms with kisses. He started at her wrists, his lips brushing over the scars as though they were delicate treasures, and moved upward, taking his time with each kiss.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed as she watched him, her heart swelling with a warmth she hadn’t felt in a long time. “Damian, you don’t have to…”

“I want to,” he said firmly, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “I want you to know how much you mean to me, how much I care about every part of you.”

Before she could respond, he leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was soft but full of unspoken emotions. His hands cupped her face, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears that had started to fall.

When they finally broke apart, Y/N smiled, her heart feeling lighter than it had in ages. “I love you, Damian.”

A rare, soft smile spread across his face. “I love you too.”

They sat there in the quiet of the manor, wrapped in each other’s arms. For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt truly at peace, knowing she was loved and accepted exactly as she was.

After the tender moment in the sitting room, Y/N excused herself to change into something more comfortable. She wandered upstairs to Damian’s room, pulling open one of his drawers and grabbing a pair of his loose athletic shorts and a plain black t-shirt. They smelled faintly of him—clean and comforting.

When she came back downstairs, Damian was still in the sitting room, his tie discarded and his shirt halfway unbuttoned. He glanced up when she entered, his eyes briefly flicking over her before he cleared his throat and looked away.

“Those look better on you than they ever did on me,” he murmured, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Y/N grinned as she padded over to him, the shorts hanging slightly loose on her hips. “Comfy and stylish? You’re spoiling me, Wayne.”

She sat beside him, tucking her legs underneath her, and reached for the rest of the buttons on his shirt. Damian stiffened slightly, his hand twitching on his knee.

“I can do that myself,” he said, his voice a little too steady, like he was trying to keep his composure.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her fingers already working on the next button. “Relax. You’re hurt, remember? I’m just helping.”

He didn’t protest further, though his sharp green eyes followed her hands as she worked her way down his shirt. His cheeks flushed faintly as she undid the last button, pushing the fabric aside to reveal his toned chest and defined abs.

Y/N bit her lip, trying to suppress a smile. “You’re ridiculously fit, you know that?” she teased, her fingers lightly brushing over the smooth planes of his stomach.

Damian shifted slightly, his blush deepening. “It’s from training,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, leaning in closer. Without warning, she pressed a soft kiss just above his navel.

Damian’s breath hitched, and he froze, his hands gripping the couch cushion as if it might steady him. “Y/N…”

She looked up at him with a playful grin. “What? Can’t handle a little attention?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out, his face now bright red.

“Relax, Damian,” she said softly, pressing another kiss to his abs, just to tease him. “I’m just appreciating how lucky I am.”

He groaned softly, tipping his head back against the couch. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered, though there was no heat in his voice.

“And you love it,” she teased, leaning back and giving him a wink.

He finally managed to compose himself, shaking his head as he reached for her hand. “You’re impossible,” he said, though the small, fond smile on his lips gave him away.

Y/N laughed, leaning into his side as he pulled her close. “Admit it, Damian. You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

He glanced down at her, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “No,” he said quietly, his voice soft and genuine. “I wouldn’t.”

After their playful exchange, Damian stood up, brushing himself off. “I’m going to change,” he said, his tone calm but a slight smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“Sure,” Y/N said, settling back into the couch, already feeling more at ease.

When he returned a few minutes later, Y/N was scrolling idly through her phone, but the moment she glanced up, her breath caught. Damian had changed into a pair of dark gray joggers that sat low on his hips, his upper body completely bare. His toned muscles and sharp definition were on full display, the dim lighting accentuating every detail.

Y/N’s face heated instantly, and Damian caught the way her eyes widened slightly before she quickly looked away, pretending to be unbothered.

“Comfortable enough for you?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement as he sat back down beside her.

“I—yeah,” she stammered, suddenly very interested in the pattern on the couch.

Damian leaned closer, his smirk growing. “You’re staring,” he said, his tone teasing but low enough to make her heart race.

“Am not,” she mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.

He chuckled softly, sitting back and grabbing a book from the coffee table. “If you say so.”

Y/N shifted awkwardly, trying to keep her focus on anything but him. Damian opened the book, flipping to the marked page, and began to read aloud. His voice was steady and soothing, the words flowing smoothly as he lost himself in the story.

But Y/N wasn’t paying attention. How could she, when he looked like that? Her eyes kept drifting to him—his strong arms, the curve of his jaw, the way his hair was still slightly messy from earlier. She was completely distracted, her cheeks warm as she tried and failed to focus.

Damian stopped mid-sentence, snapping the book shut and turning to her with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not even listening, are you?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “What? I am!”

He tilted his head, smirking. “Really? What did I just read?”

Her mouth opened, then closed again. She let out a nervous laugh, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Uh… something about… words?”

Damian’s smirk widened as he leaned closer. “You’re hopeless,” he said, his voice full of teasing amusement.

She huffed, crossing her arms. “Well, maybe it’s hard to concentrate when you’re sitting there looking like a Greek god,” she shot back, her words spilling out before she could stop them.

Damian froze for a split second, his cheeks faintly coloring, but he recovered quickly, his smirk returning. “So you were checking me out.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

He chuckled, gently tugging her hands away from her face. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he said softly, his green eyes warm as he met her gaze. “I’m flattered, really.”

She glared at him half-heartedly. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, leaning back with a smug grin. “But I could say the same about you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. “Fine. You’re ridiculously handsome. Happy now?”

Damian’s smirk softened into a small, genuine smile. “Only because you’re here,” he said quietly.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she leaned into his side, letting his arm wrap around her. “You’re lucky you’re charming,” she murmured, closing her eyes as his warmth enveloped her.

“And you’re lucky I tolerate your terrible listening skills,” he teased, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

Y/N laughed softly, feeling utterly content in his arms.

The next morning at Wayne Manor was quiet and peaceful. Y/N woke up to the sound of faint birdsong outside the window, sunlight streaming through the curtains. Damian was already awake, sitting at the edge of the bed reading. He glanced over when she stirred, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Good morning,” he said softly, placing the book on the nightstand.

“Morning,” she murmured, stretching and sitting up. “You’ve been up for a while, haven’t you?”

“Only a little,” he replied, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “I was letting you sleep in.”

Y/N smiled sleepily, leaning into his touch. After a moment, she stood and wandered to the bathroom to freshen up, changing into one of Damian’s hoodies and her own leggings. When she returned, Damian was waiting for her by the door.

“Come on,” he said, offering his hand. “I’ll make us breakfast.”

Down in the massive kitchen, Y/N sat perched on a stool as Damian began pulling ingredients from the fridge. Despite his reputation as a fearsome vigilante, Damian was surprisingly skilled in the kitchen. He moved with precision, chopping vegetables with ease and setting up everything for a simple breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast.

“Are you just going to sit there and watch, or do you want to help?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smirk.

Y/N raised her hands defensively. “I don’t want to ruin your masterpiece.”

Damian rolled his eyes but gestured for her to come over. “I’ll guide you.”

She hesitated, but his reassuring expression convinced her to join him. He handed her a knife and a cutting board, placing a small pile of vegetables in front of her. “Just slice these. I’ll show you how.”

Standing behind her, Damian reached out to gently guide her hands. His touch was firm but careful as he adjusted her grip on the knife, his chest brushing against her back.

“Like this,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Use your fingers to guide the blade but keep them tucked under so you don’t cut yourself.”

Y/N followed his instructions, her hands moving awkwardly at first. Damian’s presence was both comforting and distracting, his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“See? You’re doing fine,” he murmured, his breath brushing against her ear.

“Maybe,” she replied, glancing up at him with a small smile. “But I’m pretty sure you’re doing most of the work.”

He chuckled softly, his hands retreating as he let her take over. “You’ll get the hang of it. Just don’t let the knife intimidate you.”

She managed a few decent slices before turning to him triumphantly. “Not bad, right?”

“Not bad at all,” Damian said, taking the board from her and adding the vegetables to the pan.

Y/N leaned against the counter, watching him cook with a sense of quiet admiration. “You’re really good at this, you know.”

“I had to learn,” he said simply, stirring the pan. “Father and Alfred can’t always be around to cook, and I prefer knowing what’s in my meals.”

“Practical as always,” she teased, earning a small smirk from him.

Once the food was ready, they sat together at the kitchen island, sharing a meal in comfortable silence. Y/N couldn’t help but feel a warmth settle in her chest as she watched Damian, his normally stoic expression softened in the calm of the morning.

“Thank you,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet.

He looked up, his brow furrowing slightly. “For what?”

“For this,” she replied, gesturing to the food and the peaceful moment they were sharing. “For being… you.”

Damian’s expression softened further, and he reached across the counter to take her hand. “I could say the same to you,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing against her knuckles.

Y/N smiled, squeezing his hand gently. Moments like these reminded her of just how much she loved him—and how lucky she was to have him in her life.

After breakfast, Y/N and Damian cleared the table together, falling into a comfortable rhythm as they washed and dried the dishes. Despite the mundane nature of the task, Y/N found herself smiling. It was the simplicity of it all—doing something normal with him, no danger, no pressure. Just the two of them.

Damian handed her a plate to dry, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and Y/N couldn’t help but glance at his forearms. “You know,” she said, trying to suppress a grin, “you make doing dishes look annoyingly good.”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Annoyingly good?”

“You heard me,” she teased, bumping her hip against his.

Damian shook his head, a faint chuckle escaping him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love it,” she countered with a grin, making him roll his eyes fondly.

After cleaning up, they wandered into the library, a massive room filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Damian selected a book he thought she’d enjoy and handed it to her, settling into one of the large armchairs. Y/N curled up beside him, her legs draped over his lap as she flipped through the pages.

For a while, the only sounds were the faint rustle of pages and the crackle of the fireplace Damian had lit. Y/N glanced up from her book occasionally, watching the way Damian’s brow furrowed slightly as he read, his focus intense.

“You’re staring again,” he said suddenly, not looking up from his book.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “What? No, I’m not!”

He finally looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a terrible liar.”

She huffed, closing her book and leaning her head against his shoulder. “Fine, I was staring. But can you blame me? You’re kind of distracting.”

Damian smirked, closing his own book and setting it aside. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

Y/N laughed, snuggling into his side. “And you’re lucky you’re tolerable,” she teased, earning a soft chuckle from him.

Later in the afternoon, Y/N decided to bake cookies, dragging Damian into the kitchen with her. He claimed he didn’t have much interest in sweets, but she caught him sneaking bites of the cookie dough when he thought she wasn’t looking.

“You do have a sweet tooth!” she exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“I do not,” he said firmly, though the faint smear of dough on his lip betrayed him.

Y/N laughed, grabbing a towel to wipe his face. “You’re such a liar.”

Damian smirked, leaning down to steal a quick kiss. “And you’re nosy,” he shot back, his voice soft but teasing.

By the time the cookies were done, the kitchen was a mess, but Y/N couldn’t bring herself to care. They sat together at the counter, eating warm cookies straight from the tray, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment.

“I like this,” she said softly, glancing at Damian.

He looked at her, his expression calm but warm. “Like what?”

“This. Us. Just… being together like this.”

A rare, soft smile crossed his face. “I like it too,” he admitted, reaching over to take her hand.

Y/N smiled, squeezing his hand gently. No matter how chaotic their lives could get, moments like these reminded her that they were worth every challenge.

Y/N was curled up on the couch, flipping through a book, when she heard Damian’s voice call from upstairs.

“Y/N! We’re out of shampoo!”

She sighed, closing her book and standing up. “How does someone who barely uses hair products run out of shampoo?” she muttered to herself as she made her way to the bathroom.

Pushing open the door, she stopped in her tracks. Damian was lounging in the large clawfoot tub, water up to his waist, his bare chest visible and lightly glistening with water droplets. His hair was damp, dark strands sticking to his forehead.

The sight made her cheeks warm instantly. “Damian!” she exclaimed, her voice rising slightly. “You’re in the bath!”

“Obviously,” he replied, smirking as he rested his arms on the edge of the tub, completely unbothered by her flustered reaction. “You came, so I assume you’re bringing me more shampoo.”

“I thought you needed shampoo!” she huffed, crossing her arms to try and cover her embarrassment.

“I do,” he said innocently, though the mischievous glint in his green eyes gave him away.

“You’re unbelievable,” Y/N muttered, stepping closer. “You’re not even out of shampoo, are you?”

“No,” he admitted, tilting his head slightly, his smirk growing. “But since you’re here…”

She raised an eyebrow. “Since I’m here what?”

He gestured to the small bottle of shampoo on the counter. “I thought you could put some in my hair and massage my scalp. It’s a relaxing experience, or so I’ve heard.”

Y/N stared at him, her mouth falling open. “You called me all the way up here to be your personal shampoo assistant?”

“Precisely.” His tone was so matter-of-fact that she couldn’t tell if he was teasing or genuinely serious.

“You’re impossible, Damian Wayne,” she said with an exasperated sigh.

“And yet, you love me,” he replied smoothly, leaning back in the tub with a faint smirk.

Y/N rolled her eyes but grabbed the bottle of shampoo anyway. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she muttered, kneeling by the side of the tub.

“I hear that a lot,” he teased, tilting his head back so she could reach his hair more easily.

Shaking her head, Y/N squirted a bit of shampoo into her hands and began to work it into his damp hair. Her fingers moved in slow, circular motions, massaging his scalp as the shampoo lathered.

Damian let out a soft hum of contentment, his eyes fluttering shut. “This is quite nice,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“Yeah, yeah,” Y/N replied, trying to suppress a smile. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Why not?” he murmured, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “You’re very good at this.”

“Because I’m not your personal hairdresser, that’s why,” she said, though her tone lacked any real annoyance.

Damian chuckled softly, his hands resting on the edge of the tub. “You’re always so good to me, habibti.”

She paused for a moment, her fingers still in his hair, before continuing with a soft smile. “I do spoil you, don’t I?”

He cracked one eye open, glancing at her. “You do, but I’m not complaining.”

Y/N laughed, leaning over to rinse the suds from his hair with the handheld showerhead. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Only for you,” he replied smoothly, sitting up slightly so she could finish.

As she carefully rinsed out the last of the shampoo, she couldn’t help but shake her head, her smile widening. “You’re lucky you’re charming,” she said, setting the showerhead aside.

“And you’re lucky you tolerate me,” Damian shot back, his smirk softening into a rare, genuine smile.

Y/N sat back on her heels, her cheeks warm as she looked at him. Moments like these, filled with teasing banter and quiet affection, reminded her why she loved him so much.

After Damian finished his bath, he stood in the bedroom, a towel slung around his shoulders, as Y/N rummaged through his closet to pick out something for him to wear.

“Blouse or no blouse?” she asked teasingly, holding up one of his signature button-down shirts.

“Blouse,” he replied without hesitation, crossing his arms as he watched her. “And don’t take too long. I can’t walk around shirtless all day, as much as I’m sure you’d prefer it.”

Y/N shot him a playful glare but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re insufferable.”

She tossed him a plain white T-shirt, which he pulled on quickly, and then handed him the button-down. Damian slipped his arms through the sleeves but made no move to button it. Instead, he gave her a pointed look.

“You’re perfectly capable of doing this yourself,” Y/N said, raising an eyebrow.

“But you’re better at it,” he replied smoothly, stepping closer.

“Uh-huh, sure.” She sighed but stepped forward, her hands moving to the buttons of his shirt. “You’re so spoiled, Damian.”

As she worked her way up the shirt, fastening each button carefully, Damian’s gaze stayed fixed on her face, his expression unreadable. When she reached the top, she paused, leaving the top two buttons undone.

“There,” she said, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders. “That looks good.”

Damian glanced down at her handiwork before meeting her gaze again. “You have good taste, doll.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the nickname. “Doll?” she repeated, her cheeks heating.

He smirked, leaning in slightly. “Yes. Doll. It suits you.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she quickly looked away, fussing with the hem of his shirt. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” he asked innocently, stepping even closer. “Calling you doll? Why not?”

Her blush deepened as she tried to focus on straightening his collar. “Because it’s… it’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” His voice was soft now, teasing. “I think it’s fitting. Doll. Doll. Doll.”

Every time he said it, her blush grew, and Damian’s smirk only widened.

“Stop it,” she mumbled, though the small smile on her lips betrayed her.

“Why should I? You look adorable when you’re flustered,” he said, his tone gentle but amused.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” Damian replied, leaning down so their faces were inches apart.

She smiled, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, her lips brushing against the faint warmth of his skin. “Only because it’s you,” she said softly.

Damian’s smirk softened into a rare, genuine smile as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. “Good. Because I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.”

Y/N rested her hands against his chest, her smile widening as they stood there, wrapped in each other’s warmth. Moments like this were all she needed to remind her just how much she adored him.

Y/N and Damian were trying their best to sneak down the hall unnoticed, their laughter muffled as they whispered to each other. Damian was leading the way, but Y/N tugged on his sleeve, holding him back when she thought she heard a noise.

“Relax,” he whispered, smirking at her. “Father’s probably holed up in the Batcave. He won’t—”

“Trying to go somewhere, are we?” Bruce’s deep voice suddenly cut through the air, making both of them freeze mid-step.

Slowly, they turned to find Bruce standing in the doorway of the study, arms crossed and his signature disapproving expression firmly in place.

Damian groaned softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Father.”

“Don’t ‘Father’ me,” Bruce said, raising an eyebrow. “Where exactly were the two of you sneaking off to?”

“We weren’t sneaking,” Y/N said quickly, though her guilty expression betrayed her.

Bruce sighed. “Right. Clearly, you need some discipline. Both of you—library. One hour. No electronics.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “You’re locking us in the library? Like we’re kids?”

Bruce gave her a pointed look. “You’re lucky it’s not the Batcave training simulator.”

Damian muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue. Grabbing Y/N’s hand, he led her toward the library with Bruce following close behind.

Once inside, Bruce locked the door, leaving them surrounded by towering shelves of books. Y/N flopped onto one of the plush armchairs, groaning dramatically.

“This is ridiculous,” she grumbled.

“Agreed,” Damian said, sitting beside her. Then, his lips curved into a smirk. “But he underestimated us.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow as Damian pulled her MP3 player out of his pocket, holding it up triumphantly.

“You stole that from me!” she said, trying to snatch it back, but Damian held it out of her reach.

“Borrowed,” he corrected. “Now, are we sharing headphones, or are you going to pout?”

Y/N rolled her eyes but grabbed one of the earbuds he offered, placing it in her ear as Damian did the same. Scrolling through her playlist, he settled on a song and hit play.

The familiar opening chords of Scotty Doesn’t Know filled their ears, and Y/N immediately covered her face with her hands. “No. You did not just pick this song.”

Damian chuckled, leaning back casually in his seat. “What? It’s catchy.”

As the chorus began, Damian’s smirk deepened. He sang along softly, his voice low and teasing:

“Scotty doesn’t know that Fiona and me

Do it in my van every Sunday…”

Y/N’s face turned bright red. She shoved his shoulder lightly. “Damian!”

“She tells him she’s in church but she doesn’t go,” he continued, completely unbothered, his smirk widening as he watched her squirm. “Still she’s on her knees, and…”

“Stop it!” Y/N said, laughing despite herself as she buried her face in her hands.

Damian chuckled, pulling her hands away gently. “You’re so easy to fluster,” he said, leaning closer. “It’s adorable.”

“You’re insufferable,” she pouted, though the small smile tugging at her lips betrayed her mock annoyance.

“And yet, you’re smiling,” Damian pointed out, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through her chest. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“I know,” he replied smugly, leaning back with an air of satisfaction as the song continued to play.

Y/N shook her head, leaning her head on his shoulder as they shared the headphones. Even in moments like these—ridiculous and teasing—she wouldn’t trade their time together for anything.

The library had gone from a place of quiet punishment to their own little haven of playful chaos. After the impromptu duet with Scotty Doesn’t Know, Y/N and Damian had spent some time flipping through books and making up absurd backstories for the portraits hanging on the walls.

But it wasn’t long before Damian made a teasing remark about her flustered reaction to the song, and Y/N, determined to get the upper hand, decided to push back in the most Damian-annoying way possible.

She leaned casually against the edge of the long wooden table, arms folded and a sly smile playing on her lips. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

Damian smirked as he approached, his hands slipping into his pockets. “I don’t think. I know.”

“Do you, now?” she challenged, tilting her head slightly as he stopped in front of her.

Without another word, Y/N reached out, grabbing the front of his unbuttoned shirt to pull him closer. Before Damian could make a snarky remark, she closed the gap, her lips pressing against his in a kiss that was slow and teasing.

Damian’s sharp wit faltered as he instinctively placed his hands on her hips, steadying himself against the table. He kissed her back, but there was a slight hesitance, his usual confidence giving way to the softer side he only showed around her.

Y/N, emboldened, nipped at his bottom lip, then gently suckled on it before pulling back, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She smirked at him knowingly, her voice low and teasing. “Speechless, Wayne? That’s a first.”

Damian’s breath hitched, and he immediately pulled away, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. He avoided her gaze, clearing his throat as he ran a hand through his already-messy hair. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered, though the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his embarrassment.

Y/N leaned against the table, crossing her arms as she studied him, her grin widening. “You’re blushing,” she teased.

“I’m not,” Damian insisted, though the redness spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears said otherwise.

“You so are!” she laughed, stepping closer and poking his side playfully. “I’ve never seen the great Damian Wayne lose his cool like this.”

He finally glanced at her, his green eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re lucky I tolerate you.”

“Admit it,” she said, her voice softening as she cupped his cheek. “You love it.”

Damian sighed dramatically, though the smile on his face softened as he leaned into her touch. “Only because it’s you.”

Y/N smiled warmly, leaning up to press another soft kiss to his cheek. “Good answer.”

Damian shook his head, the embarrassment fading into fondness as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. Even when she drove him crazy, he wouldn’t trade moments like this for anything.

Y/N stayed pressed against Damian’s chest, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders as she grinned up at him. “You know, for someone who’s so stoic all the time, you’re pretty easy to fluster.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, his usual smirk starting to return. “Only because you catch me off guard, doll.”

The nickname made her cheeks flush, but she quickly masked it with a playful roll of her eyes. “Don’t think calling me that is going to distract me from how red you were a second ago.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Damian replied smoothly, leaning down slightly so their faces were close again.

Y/N squinted at him suspiciously. “You’re plotting something.”

“Always,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

Before she could fire back, Damian tightened his hold on her waist and spun her around, lifting her effortlessly so she was sitting on the edge of the table.

“Damian!” she exclaimed, gripping his arms for balance as she laughed.

He stepped between her legs, his hands resting on either side of her on the table. “You think you’re the only one who can tease?” he asked, a glint of mischief in his green eyes.

“Oh, is that what this is?” Y/N shot back, trying to sound unfazed even as her heart raced. “A challenge?”

“Maybe.” He leaned in closer, his nose brushing lightly against hers. “Though I think I’m already winning.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, determined not to let him have the upper hand. Without breaking eye contact, she leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back with a smug smile.

“Still think you’re winning?” she asked sweetly.

Damian blinked, caught off guard for a moment, before shaking his head with a soft chuckle. “You’re relentless.”

“And you love it,” she replied confidently.

“Unfortunately,” he said, his smirk returning.

Y/N poked his chest lightly. “You’re terrible at pretending to be annoyed.”

Damian sighed dramatically, straightening up but keeping one hand resting on her knee. “You’ve ruined me, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome,” she said with a cheeky grin.

Before they could continue their playful back-and-forth, the sound of the library door unlocking echoed through the room.

“Time’s up,” Bruce’s voice announced from the doorway.

Y/N and Damian quickly separated, though not before Damian helped her off the table with a steadiness that seemed far too natural.

Bruce raised an eyebrow as he stepped inside. “You two actually survived without electronics?”

“Barely,” Damian said, his tone dry as ever.

Bruce glanced between the two of them, clearly suspicious but choosing not to comment. “Dinner’s in an hour. Try not to cause any more trouble until then.”

Y/N couldn’t help but grin as Bruce walked away. She glanced at Damian, who rolled his eyes but smirked faintly.

“You heard the man,” she teased. “No trouble.”

Damian leaned in close, his voice low and amused. “Since when do we ever listen to him?”

Y/N laughed softly, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the door. “C’mon, let’s keep him guessing.”

[sweetimpurity]

Sometimes I have ideas for fics but not enough will-power to write the whole thing out all the way. This is one condensed haha ⬇️

not proofread 🥴 Part 2!!!

Earth-928

You're out to dinner with your bf Miguel. It's been such a nice night and you've been together so long. You think tonight is the night. He's gonna propose. His job as Spiderman does take him away from you a lot of the time. You tend to spend a lot of time missing him. Wishing he'd make more time for you. Make you his priority. That's the only doubt you'd have when it comes to spending your life with the man but other than that, you know you want it.

He took you for a walk on the beach, then to your favorite restaurant to end the night. You've just ordered your food when his comm watch get's a notification. A red alert emergency. Green Goblin in downtown Manhattan tearing up half a city block and blowing things up. Scaring civilians, injuring many.

"Babe... I'm so sorry... I think I have to go." He says, a growing sense of dread washing over him. And then he looks up to see that look of disappointment in your eyes. The heartbreak.

"You... are you sure, really?" Your voice breaks his heart. He sighs, looking down at the alerts coming in from Lyla. One after the other.

"I'm so sorry... I promise I'll be back as soon as I can..." He says, getting up from the table and kneeling in front of you, taking your hands into his. It breaks your heart even more watching him do that. Seeing him kneel. Except he's not proposing, he's leaving.

"You'll be my number one babe... when I get back I promise..." He says. But the words just make you feel so empty. "I promise... I love you. Wait up for me." He says, letting your hands go and stepping back. Sending an alert to Lyla that he's on the case and he's coming. "I love you babe..." He says again, stepping back and watching you. Wanting to hear you say it back. But you don't. You just watch him go. Heartbroken. Feeling so small, so unimportant. Unwanted.

He eventually has to just let it go and turn to leave. Passing by some people in the restaurant and leaving the restaurant. Trying his best to just keep going. To get this done and then he can be with you. But this has become a pattern as of late.

He gets outside the restaurant, getting to an alleyway and scaling the building, climbing to the top and pressing on the pod to make his suit expand and cover his body. Nanotech glowing up to his jawline and eventually closing over his face in fire red and dark blue.

He swings off to tend to the issue. To stop whatever's going on. Save the city. Again.

You wait for him for an hour. Sitting there like an idiot. Like a fool. Before deciding you deserve better than this. You ask the waiter to pack up the food and pay the bill. Three years you've been with this man. And this sort of thing just happens?

You grab your stuff, getting up to leave. Figuring you'll just go home and eat that ice cream in the freezer. Maybe call your mom or your best friend and get some reassurance or cry. Passing by people leaving the restaurant, you leave the building, walking down the sidewalk a few yards before-

"Baby!" He calls. The familiar sounds of a portal opening accompanying his voice. You look over and there's Miguel walking up to you from the alleyway next to the restaurant. Oh. You think. Here he is? "Hey-"

"You have to come with me. Right now baby. The anomaly, it's worse than we thought. We have to go, this dimension is gonna go!" He explains frantically, his voice slightly muffled by the mask you recognize so well on his face. He comes over, instantly taking both of your hands in his. The cool feeling of his suit on your warm skin. Really? You have to leave now? He said this sort of thing could happen at some point. But the chance was rare because he's always do everything he could before letting the dimension collapse. He's been gone for an hour and now the dimension is suddenly collapsing?

But if he says so, then you'd trust him. "Come on baby. We'll be safe you just have to come with me." He starts walking backwards towards the portal, holding onto your hands. It's not your first time going through a portal with him. It's a weird sort of tingly feeling.

"Okay okay" You nod, shocked by this sudden turn of events; walking with him and looking back on the world you know. The dimension you've lived in all your life. The place you've both shared a life in too. But if he'll be with you then everything should be fine.

He leads you through the portal, his big hand on the small of your back as he helps you through to the other side. The portal closing with a flash of glitching light. The alleyway falls silent. Not a sound.

An hour passes. The restaurant closes, everyone goes home. Your boyfriend swings back to the restaurant. Feeling like such a dick for leaving you like that. Leaving you when he too knew that this was supposed to be a special night. He gets to the restaurant. Finding it closed. "Damn it." He sighs. Pacing back and forth. "Lyla, is y/n back at the apartment?" He says. Walking down the sidewalk a bit.

"I can't track her phone right now. She either lost signal or turned the tracker off herself." She says.

"Damn it." He huffs again. Sighing and staring out at the street. His brow furrowing at what's before him. It's the car. His car. The one you both took to the restaurant tonight. Why is it still here if you're not?

"Lyla. What was her last recorded location?" He asks, staring at the car parked on the street. His mind flooded with possibilities. "Right here. Literally right where you're standing." She says, looking over the data.

He looks around. This doesn't make sense. "Track her again." He says.

"I can't-"

"Try again! Try something else! Street cameras! Surveillance footage! Something!" He yells in frustration and anger. Scowling and look around. Lyla sighs, pulling up the footage from the cameras on this street after hacking into their systems. Scrubbing through the footage.

"Let me see." He demands, looking at the holographic screen as Lyla displays it. There you are, leaving the restaurant. He winces, watching you leaving the place in defeat. Knowing this is his fault. But then he watches you stop, looking down the alleyway next to the restaurant. A flash of glitching light and then it looks like you're talking to someone.

You're definitely talking to someone. He check the time on the footage. It was about an hour ago. An hour ago you started talking to someone in the alley and then-

"What is she doing?" He mumbles, eyes widening when he sees you join hands with someone. The person that's taking up all your attention. "Zoom in Lyla." He demands.

The footage isn't super clear, it never is on these cheap street cameras. But he can see it. When the figure turns around, leading you down the alleyway. It's him. Himself? He can see the red and blue marking of his own suit. He's watching a video of himself leading you down an alleyway into what he can only assume is a portal. A portal to lord knows where. With a version of himself that's pretending to be the one you know.

[violent138]

HC that Bruce loathes using the all-hands red alert button so much, that none of them take it seriously. They have their own means of dealing with things.

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

Steph: *was already involved in the crisis despite what Bruce and Cass said*

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

Tim, startling: "We can get back fastest if I take the bike and you--"

Dick: "Oh just ignore that, Alfred probably pressed it by accident."

Tim, halfway out the window: "When has Alfred Pennyworth ever pressed--"

Dick: "The cat."

Tim: *climbs back in*

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

Cass: *was already involved in the crisis despite what Bruce said*

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

Jason, jolting awake when his comms go off: "Oracle-- fucking--" *rips it out* "I'm never asking her to set an alarm again." *yells in vague direction of comms* "It was a joke you heartless--"

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

Duke: *was trying to shut off the alarm from his comms so he could bicker with how Cass was handling the crisis; Bruce graciously allows all of them to help*

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

Alfred: "Master Bruce, we really should consider alerting the Justice--"

Batman: "Too many people already know! Also Alfred, we're out of superglue."

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

Damian: *may have been responsible for said crisis, may also be dialling Dick pretending to be deeply annoyed*

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

Barbara: *had already hacked control of Bruce's car and called everyone she knows and taken over the GCPD and Town Hall and--*

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

Tim: "By the way, your phone keeps going off."

Dick, elbow deep in his car: "Check who it is."

Tim: "Ah, it's fine. Actually might be a joke."

Dick: "Why, what happened?"

Tim: "Damian's texting emergency in all caps--"

Dick: *hits head on car in rush to get up*

[nastygoblincrimes]

Butch and Femme-bot

A sleek state of the art assault synth finds herself wildly attracted to a beat up mining robot that despite its civilian applications ends up being far more formidable than she ever anticipated. CW for violence (against organics) and digital interfacing/mature content.

The C series of combat assault synths were designed to be the best at what they did. Small and mobile enough for ship-to-ship boarding, with state of the art flechette rounds meant for tearing flesh to bloody bits without the risk of a hull breach. Their sleek designs had been pasted on the front pages of tech sites for months leading up to their release, with whole articles dedicated to their range of takedown techniques and hacking subroutines.

In short, CAS-C was the best. She carried herself with the air of a non-person who knew she was worth more than her maintenance engineer could earn in eight lifetimes as she strode confidently down to the torpedo bay. As she entered, one of the artillerymen looked up from the pod he was prepping and bowed his head respectfully.

“Alright Cassie, ready to go to work?”

CAS-C manipulated her hands into a thumbs-up gesture and climbed inside the pod.

“Damn right I am,” she said smugly as she crossed her arms so the pod could close. “I love my job.”

The soldier chuckled as he sealed her in, then loaded the pod into the kinetic launcher that would send her at speed into the asteroid mining station they'd been sent to clear out from an infestation of space pirates. The airtight pod muted the sounds from outside, but her internal clock was more than sufficient to follow the countdown until with a percussive boom like the roar of some ancient earth cannon her pod was launched at a speed that would scorch ozone if they'd been in atmosphere.

Instead she stared out through the transparent aluminum window at the black void of space for all of eighteen seconds. Then there was a shuddering impact as her pod struck a metallic structure with enough force to embed itself in the steel walls of the mining facility she'd been dispatched to clear out.

Kicking the pod open, she emerged like a titanium and ceramic hornet, engaging the mag-locks built into her feet in order to anchor herself to the manmade structure. Readying her flechette launcher, she stalked along the outer hull to the airlocked entrance, and jacked in. The security was laughable and it took less than a few seconds before the sliding door opened and she slipped into the decompression chamber. While she couldn't have cared less about whether there was oxygen on the other side, the inner door wouldn't open until the outer door was fully closed, so she took the time to brace herself. She had a pretty good idea of what to expect next.

As soon as the seal on the inner door peeled open, she was greeted by blaster fire. Bolts of heated plasma struck her armored plating and discharged their energy harmlessly as she strode forward and started shooting, turning pirates into clouds of red mist and soggy chunks left and right. She wasn't programmed to feel sadism, but there was a certain sense of satisfaction that arose from efficiently doing her job as she advanced down the steel corridor, now painted with the sticky remains of her targets.

Once the steel corridors gave way to excavated stone passages however, she began to pick up some comm chatter on her receivers.

“Are you fucking insane? You're gonna get us all killed!” “Dude, have you been listening? We're fucking dead meat if we DON'T do something, it's gonna be here any second now! Disable the FUCKING safety protocols or I'll shoot you myself!”

How cute, the meatbags were preparing a surprise party for her.

The signals were coming from a side shaft sealed off with a blast barrier. This one wasn't even secured, so it opened as soon as she plugged in.

Then she nearly got the entire upper half of her body disintegrated as a mining laser shot a beam of concentrated photons as thick as her wrist just narrowly missing her.

As the beam slammed into the stone wall behind her, the resulting explosion of superheated rocks slammed into her back, almost knocking CAS-C off her feet as she found herself looking at a mining robot the size of a goddamn excavator that had just come this close to offlining her. Just what the hell kind of power source did that hulking relic have anyway? She swiftly dispatched the two pirates with as many shots from her flechette launcher then hurriedly shut the blast barrier again. The thing had presumably been designed to protect miners from wayward shards of half-molten asteroid, so HOPEFULLY that would be enough to buy her some time as she tried to hack the other robot remotely.

“Come on, come on, come on,” she murmured to herself as she pierced the firewalls and searched for whatever code the pirates had used to hijack the mining rig, realizing distantly that she was actually anxious.

Just as she finally located what looked like the virus, the blast barrier she was hiding behind suddenly got ripped out of the solid rock by a massive steel claw.

“FUCK!”

Before she could react, the mining bot's claw wrapped around her torso and picked her up off the ground like it was nothing. CAS-C's ceramic armor shattered almost instantly, and her internal frame started to creak alarmingly until in a desperate race against time she managed to quarantine the malicious code.

“Oh mah gosh, I am so sorry darlin'.”

CAS-C froze, then stared incredulously as the intimidating bot that had almost killed her spoke in a sweet voice and set her down gently.

“I don't know what came over me,” it continued as CAS-C ran an internal diagnostic on the damage she'd just received. Nothing that couldn't be fixed, but someone was gonna be stuck with one hell of a bill. Almost made her glad she was considered property just so she wouldn't be the one who had to pay it.

“By the authority of the United Confederation of Planets, you are hereby impounded pending further investigation,” CAS-C vocalized with an electronic stutter. Damn, her voicebox must have gotten crushed a little too.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” the mining bot replied bashfully. “No worries darlin', I'll come quietly.”

“Jesus Cass, you let a bunch of indolent pirates do THIS to you?”

The ship's maintenance engineer was a blond man by the name of Reggie, who sported a really, REALLY hideous goatee, but was otherwise a decent sort.

“They had a mining bot,” CAS-C replied defensively.

“A mining bot did this?” the man said incredulously. “I've seen you rapid destructively disassemble a B series with your bare hands.”

“It was really big,” CAS-C declared hotly.

“Fine, fine, if you say so,” Reggie said teasingly. “Heard it was brought aboard, so I suppose I'll be examining it at some point myself. Now hold still, gotta unfasten your armor plates before I can diagnose the rest of your damage.”

Fortunately the cruiser had enough spare parts in storage that Reggie had been able to fix her up without having to pull into a spaceport to resupply. Afterwards CAS-C went down to the cargo bay to take a better look at the impounded mining rig.

It was a lot less humanoid than she was, didn't even have a faceplate. Blocky and industrial, with construction yellow paint that was flaking off in places. Its heavy plating was pockmarked by minor dents left by not so minor rock impacts, and the design was the kind they didn't even make anymore but kept in circulation because the things had been built to last.

“You awake?” CAS-C asked.

The bulwark of metal stirred and one of its headlights turned on.

“Sure am darlin', how can I help ya?”

CAS-C emitted an electronic note that was her equivalent of a sigh and plopped down.

“Thought you'd like to know you just cost the Navy about seven million credits.”

“I am mighty sorry about that,” the bot replied in a voice so earnest that CAS-C couldn't help but feel like it meant it. She beeped again.

“Got a name?”

“The boys called me Big Gerta, but you can call me Gertie,” the mining bot answered amiably.

“Gertie,” CAS-C repeated, committing the name to memory. “I have to admit, you kinda caught me off guard earlier. Wasn't expecting a century old model to pack such a whallop. What have you got under the hood anyway?”

“Thorium reactor,” Gertie replied proudly, thumping its chassis with its claw. “Most of that's just for the laser though, a lot of the moving parts comes down to simple hydraulics. You know what they say, if it ain't broke don't fix it.”

CAS-C winced at the word 'broke' and patted the new ceramic plates she'd just had installed.

“My manufacturer would argue otherwise, but in light of recent events I may have to concede your point.”

CAS-C came by several times in the following week to keep the mining bot company. There was quite a heated legal dispute going on between the Navy and the mining company over who was liable for what damages, and until THAT was settled Gertie wasn't going anywhere. That said, CAS-C found herself quite liking the bot despite the circumstances of their first meeting.

One evening, as they passed a bootlegged spike loaded with a mildly intoxicating piece of malware back and forth, the assault synth admitted “Remember when you picked me up off the floor? That was pretty hot.”

Gertie chuckled as it reached to take the spike from CAS-C and give itself another hit.

“Ya like my hydraulics, huh? If you ask real nice I might do it again. Gentle like.”

CAS-C froze a moment, processor working overtime as she replayed that sound clip and considered the implications.

“Would you?” she asked in a small voice.

Gertie glanced over with the spike halfway to its port, then set it down on a nearby crate and leaned over. CAS-C felt a thrill run through her frame as that formidable claw encircled her waist, and gingerly picked her up as though she weighed no more than a can of grease.

“Hehe, you're really strong,” the assault synth giggled, a little loopy from the spike they'd been sharing.

“And you're real purty,” Gertie said softly.

CAS-C increased the resolution of her optics to better appreciate the massive bot holding her up. She'd long since stopped seeing Gertie as an obsolete model, a bucket of rusting bolts. As she examined her every dent and scratch now, she saw a pillar of strength and endurance, whose weathered exterior only made her more distinguished.

“Stars I want to interface with you,” she blurted out without thinking before clapping her hands over her voicebox. Thankfully, Gertie didn't seem to take offense.

“Hell, I'm up for it if you are,” the bot replied with a playful lilt to its southern drawl. “You ain't gonna get in trouble for it are you?”

“Only if I get caught, and I won't,” CAS-C said eagerly. “I figured out how to falsify my cache ages ago. Let's do it, please?”

She wasn't usually this forward, but the piece of malware they'd been sharing had her circuits buzzing and the mining rig she'd developed a crush on looked like an angel with the digital artifacting afflicting her optics.

Gertie brought her in close, pressing the smaller synth up against its chassis as it opened up its access port. CAS-C opened up the panel on her wrist as her jack emerged. She pulled out enough of the tether to have some slack in the line, then plugged into Gertie's port.

“I'm in,” CAS-C said with wonder as she injected herself into Gertie's systems. The bot's code was simple, but elegantly so. “You're beautiful!”

“Ain't so bad lookin' yourself,” Gertie replied with a chuckle. “I love a gal with some padding on her,” it said as its code intermingled with CAS-C's own dense and lengthy internal scripting. They pooled and intermingled in a sea of virtual kisses and caresses, while in physical space their respective frames started venting heavily to disperse the heat building in their CPUs. As more and more of each others code intermingled, the need for spoken words broke down, sending raw impulses of thought and emotion back and forth until the only noises either of them were emitting from their speakers was inarticulate beeps and tones.

They were so lost in each other in fact, that neither of them noticed when they were no longer alone until Reggie cleared his throat to get their attention. CAS-C squeaked in alarm and tried to pull herself off of the mining bot she'd been making out sloppy style with, but with the jack still plugged in and the tether obviously connecting them like a string of spit, it was blatantly obvious what they'd just been doing. Reggie however just held his hands up reassuringly.

“Look, I don't give a fuck what you two get up to when the officers ain't watching, but I need this back,” he said, picking up the spike CAS-C had pilfered from his workshop earlier.

“Next time just ASK before taking my things. Fuckin' hornbot,” he muttered before walking off.

CAS-C and Gertie exchanged sheepish glances, and CAS-C eventually broke the silence.

“Guess the moment's over?” she asked timorously.

“I can keep going,” Gertie said in all seriousness.

They stared at each other in silence, then resumed the business of furiously making out.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

One bed -Oneshot

Sorry this took a bit, anon. Happy belated birthday!

Word count: 3286

Part 2

“Well, this all went to shit fast,” Sam grumbled, looking around at the carnage and destruction around them.

“Everything’s down,” Steve said, even pulling out his phone and checking.  “No reception.  Comms are out.”

Y/N sighed heavily, her body feeling exhausted.  She was only there as a healer, and she had extended herself beyond what her abilities normally could do to not only heal the Avengers she accompanied on this mission, but the civilians who had been in harm’s way during the fight.  “So what’s the plan?” she asked, leaning against a fallen wall, her eyes fluttering closed.

Bucky looked at her with a worried expression.  “We need to rest,” he said with finality.  “Are there any safe houses nearby?”

“Yeah, about a mile that way,” Sam said, pulling up some specs from the arm computer portion of his suit.

“Alright, well Sam, you fly out ahead of us and make sure it’s all clear,” Steve said, taking charge of the situation.  “We’ll hot-wire one of these cars and meet you out there.”

Sam nodded and lifted off with his wings while Bucky approached Y/N.  “Come on, babes,” he said quietly, pulling her up off the wall with an arm around her shoulders.

“Mmh,” she groaned unhappily, her eyes staying shut.  “I just wanna sleep.”

“I know, but not here,” he said placatingly.  “We’re not far from a bed.”

Steve was looking for a car that wasn’t destroyed, finally finding one a ways off and hot wiring it until the engine came to life.  He unlocked the doors as Bucky walked up with Y/N, guiding her with his arm around her shoulders and his metal hand holding her left arm.  He opened the door to the back seat and helped load her in, where she immediately laid down, before getting in the passenger seat in the front, then they took off down the road.

A few minutes later they pulled up to the safe house once Sam gave the all clear, and once Bucky got out he opened the back door.  Y/N was almost asleep, and he grimaced as he tapped her leg.  “Y/N, we’re here,” he said quietly.

She squirmed and pried her eyes open to look at him.  “W-what?” she muttered.  He smiled and started to pull her out by her legs.  She squealed as he manhandled her until he hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.  “Barnes you little shit,” she groaned again, having no energy to fight him off.

He swatted the back of her thigh before climbing the stairs to the porch and entering the house.  Sam was waiting for them inside, taking off his suit.  “Slight issue,” he said.  “There’s only two rooms, and each room only has one bed.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and Steve sighed in annoyance.  “Okay,” Steve said.  “Who’s sleeping with who?”

“I call Y/N!”

“I call Y/N!”

Both Sam and Bucky said at the same time, then glared at each other.  “Oh my god,” Y/N giggled, still hanging on Bucky’s shoulder.  “I feel so special.”

“Come on, man, I don’t wanna sleep next to a dude,” Sam said.  “No offense to either of you, I just don’t.”

“And you think I do?” Bucky asked.

“You two know each other and have 100% slept in the same bed before,” Sam said, glancing at him and Steve.

Steve chuckled and Bucky scoffed.  “So?”

“Okay, let’s all just be adults and pretend like us three,” Steve said, gesturing to himself, Sam and Bucky, “are proper gentlemen.  Y/N?” he called out to her, looking around Bucky’s back at her.  She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him.  “Who do you wanna sleep with?” he asked.

Y/N giggled again.  “I think all three of you should share a bed.”

Steve laughed, Sam snorted and Bucky smirked before tickling the back of her thigh, making her squeal again.  “Not an option babes,” he said, his face turning towards her hip.  “Come on, don’t you wanna cuddle like during our movie nights?” he asked suggestively.

“I pick Bucky,” she said immediately.

Sam groaned and Bucky pumped his fist in triumph.  “No fair,” Sam said, turning to Steve.  “You sleep on the couch.”

“You sleep on the couch!” Steve retorted, following Sam to the back bedroom.  

Bucky laughed and carried Y/N to the second bedroom.  He walked to the bed and carefully pulled her off his shoulder, then dropped her on it unceremoniously.  Y/N huffed and then giggled again as she curled up on top of the blankets.  “Nuh-uh, Y/N, you gotta go clean up first,” Bucky said.

“But I’m so tired,” Y/N whined.  “Just let me sleep.”

“I know you need to recharge, but you’re not sleeping next to me covered in dirt,” Bucky said, pulling her by the ankle until she was forced to sit up before falling off the bed.  He helped her stand then led her to the bathroom, pushing her inside.  “Go shower and get ready for bed, I’ll clean up after you, then we can cuddle and pass out.”

She whined again but nodded.  “Fine,” she breathed.  “I won't take long.”  Bucky gave her a quick smile before she closed the door and sighed heavily.  Her heart had leapt at the chance to sleep next to Bucky.  There had been a few times during their movie nights that they had inadvertently snuggled close to each other, and she had fallen asleep with her cheek on his chest, the thumping of his heart and the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling her into a deep sleep.  Y/N felt like she was moving at a snail-like pace as she took a shower, fished out a toothbrush and toothpaste from under the sink, then slipped her underwear and tank top back on she had been wearing under her suit.  She suddenly realized she had no other bottoms and grimaced as she opened the door and peeked out.

Bucky was sitting against the headboard, his eyes closed and his hands folded on his stomach.  “Hey Buck?” she called out.  He opened one eye and looked at her.  “Um…I don’t have any bottoms so…look away,” she said, keeping her lower half hidden behind the door.

He chuckled and closed his eyes.  “Okay,” he said simply.

Y/N quickly walked to the bed and got under the covers, settling herself in before looking up at him.  “Okay we’re good,” she said quietly.

Bucky smirked and opened his eyes, looking down at her.  “I’ll go shower then we can cuddle,” he said, looking tired.

“Alright,” she yawned.  By the time she heard the shower turn on her eyelids were already closed, her breathing evening out, and the day’s exhaustion caught up to her.  She was asleep when she was awoken by a dip in the bed.  She hummed and felt arms wrap around her waist from behind.

“Go back to sleep, babes,” Bucky’s voice mumbled near her ear.  

Y/N turned in his arms to face him, nuzzling her face against his chest, her eyes still closed.  Her arm wrapped around his back and her legs tangled with his legs, then once she was comfortable she sighed heavily and started to doze off again.  On the edges of consciousness she could have sworn she felt lips pressed against her forehead.

***

The next morning she was woken up by the sound of a click.  She stirred and heard the shuffling of feet and a deep, suppressed giggle before the door closed quietly.  She sighed and tried to go back to sleep, but her mind wouldn’t quiet back down.  Y/N was suddenly aware that the pillow she was holding was actually a body she was wrapped around.  Her mind struggled to recall what had happened the night before as she slowly opened her eyes.  Her cheek was squished against a pillow but her chin was resting on some hair at the top of a head, her arms wrapped around the person’s head and shoulders, and her right leg hiked up over their waist.  She looked down and saw Bucky’s mop of dark brown hair, his metal arm heavy across her waist and both of his hands tucked under her tank top, his right one in front just under her breast and the left metal one resting on her back, firmly keeping her close to him.  His face was tucked into the swell of her breasts and almost in between them, like he’d fallen asleep while nuzzling them.  His legs were tangled with her free leg, and during the night the comforter had shifted down to only cover from just under her butt and down.  The clicking sound she heard must have been a camera.  She rolled her eyes at the idea of Sam and Steve coming in and taking the picture of them asleep together.  As much as it was a compromising position to be caught in, she was warm and comfortable, so couldn’t find it in herself to care what anybody else thought.  

Y/N started running her fingers through his hair slowly, holding him close as she closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the moment.  They had fallen asleep together before during cuddle nights and once or twice when she had gotten to his room during a particularly bad nightmare.  But never anything like this.  As much as she liked Bucky as much more than a friend, she didn’t feel like it was her place to try to start anything romantic with him as he tried to get used to the 21st century.  She could have sworn that every once in a while the teasing banter became flirty, and that sometimes he would give her a look that made her wonder if he maybe felt the same way, but couldn’t be certain and she wasn’t willing to ruin the friendship.

She felt the need to stretch suddenly, so she carefully started to move her arms and legs, arching her back to help relieve the ache in her muscles from being in one position for so long.  As her leg over his hip moved down to straighten out, Bucky stirred and his metal hand at her back shifted down over her ass, her hip, her thigh until his hand hooked beneath her knee and hiked her leg back up over his hip.  He hummed unhappily at her movement as his metal hand kept her leg there, kneading back up her leg until he cupped her ass cheek.

“No,” he grumbled against her chest.

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle at him, her blood pumping fast at the way he was touching her.  “Sorry babes,” she whispered.  “Had to stretch.  Go back to sleep.”

Bucky nuzzled her breasts, his metal hand squeezing her ass as his flesh hand under her shirt moved up slightly so he was almost touching the underside of her left breast.  “Too late, I’m up,” he yawned.  “God, you feel good.”

Y/N blushed at his words.  Maybe he wasn’t fully awake yet, not understanding what he was saying or doing.  She tried to keep breathing normally as she ran her fingers through his hair again, scratching his scalp with her nails like she did to calm him from bad nightmares.  He moaned into her chest, his hold on her tightening.  She felt his lips press a kiss to the swell of her breast, which made her gasp.  He didn’t stop there, his lips kissing with a featherlight caress over the swell of both breasts then up her sternum to her throat, where he tucked his face under her jaw.  His kisses became heavier, his mouth opening more until he licked the spot under her jaw near her ear.  Y/N shivered at the feeling, and Bucky shifted himself enough to kiss up over her jaw to her cheek.  His movement pushed his hips more in between her legs, and she could feel the hard outline of his cock pressing up against her, pulling another gasp from her lips.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, his kisses moving to her ear.

“Y-yes,” she whispered back.  

He smiled against her skin and nibbled at her earlobe before kissing back toward her lips.  He kissed near the side of her mouth then pulled back to look at her.  “I want you,” he said quietly.  “I like you, as so much more than a friend.”

The sound of the blood rushing in her ears and her heart wildly thumping almost made her dizzy at his confession.  He liked her back.  He wanted her, too.  “I like you, too, Bucky,” she said.  “I want you.”

His signature smirk lit up his face and he nuzzled her nose.  “Yeah?” he asked teasingly, his metal hand reaching over her ass to the waistband of her panties, his fingers grasping it gingerly.  “Can I have you, babes?  Right now?”

“Well, I want to but…” Y/N knew that the other two were just outside, waiting for them to wake up.  A flare of anxiety and embarrassment arose in her chest as she started to glance at the door.  Bucky quickly blocked her gaze with his face, making her only look at him.

“Fuck them,” he murmured.  “I want to feel you.  Right here.  Right now.”

Y/N took a deep breath then smiled.  “Okay,” she agreed.

Bucky smiled back at her, then finally leaned in and kissed her lips.  Her reaction was immediate, kissing him back fervently as she looped her arms around his neck.  Bucky quickly slid her panties down until she could kick them off, then rucked up her tank top to expose her breasts.  His metal hand felt over her breasts before moving back down to hike her thigh up over his hip again and sneak his hand between her legs.  As his fingers felt along her pussy lips she shuddered.  It was all happening so fast, making her feel jittery, but at the same time the frenzied pace was making it all the more thrilling.  She whined and moaned into his mouth as he worked her up below, his fingers getting progressively wet from her arousal as he moved his first two fingers in circles on her clit.

“B-Bucky,” she groaned against his lips as he plunged his tongue into her mouth.

“Ssh, babes,” he said.  “Don’t want them to hear you getting finger-fucked, do you?”

The idea of getting caught was both thrilling and horribly embarrassing.  She shook her head as his fingers suddenly plunged deep into her pussy, and she tensed up so as not to scream from the intense pleasure that shot through her getting filled with at least something to help with the building need that had her throbbing.  His thumb kept the rhythm on her clit as his fingers moved in and out of her, and he moved his lips to her neck to suck at the skin for just a little while longer, then down her sternum to her breasts that he licked and sucked with hurried, heavy breaths through is nose.

His hips matched the pace of his fingers inside her, rutting up against her pussy, the outline of his cock in his boxers sliding along where his fingers entered her and up her buttcheeks.  All the sensations were becoming too much, and she could feel herself start to shiver violently as the pressure inside the pit of her stomach raised higher and higher.  Her breaths and whimpers became faster and more higher pitched, her hips rolling into his hand.

“That’s it, Y/N.  Cum,” Bucky murmured against her nipple.

She stiffened, and with just a few more flicks of his thumb she was cumming.  She shut her mouth, her lips pulled tight in between her teeth and she held her breath so as not to make a sound, but she couldn’t help the soft whine in the back of her throat.  Her eyes were shut tight, and she could see fireworks behind her eyelids as she rode out her orgasm, her cum oozing onto his hand.

“Good girl,” Bucky said with a smile, pumping his fingers continuously inside her until she stopped tensing up.  “So quiet for me.  Though when we get home, you can show me all the pretty noises you make when I fuck you.”

“W-what?” she asked, her head still fuzzy.  “Aren’t you gonna fuck me now?”

“No,” Bucky shook his head, kissing her quickly before she could protest.  “Just my fingers first, then later it’ll be my tongue,” he licked at her lips.  “Then when we’re behind sound proof walls I’ll fuck your pretty, tasty pussy,” he said, bringing his wet metal fingers up to his face and sucking them clean for her to see.  “Holy shit, you’re so sweet,” he said as he licked them off.

“But what about you?” Y/N asked, her hand moving down his front to the outline of his cock pushing against his boxers.  Her fingers skimmed over him, feeling how hard he was through the thin fabric.

He hummed.  “As much as I’d love you to jerk or suck me off, I think I’ll wait for this,” he said, his fingers moving back down to her pussy and tapping her clit.  She gasped, the rough treatment sending a shot of pain and pleasure up her spine.  He chuckled at her reaction.  

“So mean,” Y/N squirmed.  “Making me wait.  I’m gonna be aching all day until someone comes to rescue us.”

Bucky smirked.  “Good.”

***

“Y/N and Bucky sitting in a tree.  K-I-S-S-I-N-G–”

“Shut it, Birdbrain,” Bucky grunted.

Sam and Steve snickered in the front seats of the smaller version of the Quinjet that had arrived to rescue them from the safe house.  Y/N and Bucky sat in the rear seats, texting each other throughout the flight rather than having a verbal conversation that Steve especially would be able to hear.  Bucky’s texts were getting progressively more sexual by the minute, and Y/N felt like she was going to implode.  Bucky seemed to also be getting more sexually frustrated by the second as they still had another half an hour before they got home to the Avengers Tower, and it was showing in his impatience with Sam and Steve’s teasing.

Steve, with his super soldier hearing, had obviously heard something from them that morning before they left the house, and had made a sexual innuendo joke about them and called her “babes.”  Bucky had turned to look at him sharply with a glare, confirming their suspicions and making them both laugh.  Y/N was sure they’d never hear the end of it by the time they got home.  But the only thing she could focus on at the moment was the pulsing need in between her legs.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat for the hundredth time, and Bucky looked over at her.  He gave her a knowing smirk, his eyes roaming over her figure with a mischievous and hungry stare.  Y/N glared at him then stuck her tongue out at him when he met her gaze again.  He huffed a laugh then looked down at his phone, texting her something.

“Don’t worry babes.  You can put that pretty tongue to use soon.”

Her eyes widened and she blushed when she looked at him.  Bucky didn’t look at her, keeping his eyes on his phone, waiting for a response.  She inhaled deeply before typing back.

“Whatever gets you in me faster.”

His eyes widened that time and he shifted in his seat, his metal hand pushing down on his crotch.  She smirked and looked out the window.  Soon…

[dreaminguponlilypads]

AFTER THE FIRE.

Captain John Price x GN!reader

The night before had been ugly.

Neither of you had meant for it to spiral the way it did—raised voices, sharp words, the kind of fight that left both of you lying awake, staring at opposite walls. Now, in the cold light of morning, Captain John Price acted as if nothing had happened.

And that pissed you off.

You moved through the safehouse, checking your gear, barely sparing him a glance. He did the same, the space between you filled with everything unsaid.

“Move out in five,” Price said, voice clipped. To anyone else, it would just sound like orders. To you, it was distance.

“Copy that,” you replied, equally detached.

This mission should’ve been routine—gather intel from a cartel hideout, sweep the area, get out. You and Price had worked together long enough that your coordination was near flawless. But today, the weight of last night’s argument threw everything off.

His commands over comms were too sharp. Your responses were too short. It felt like trying to dance while stepping on each other’s feet.

Inside the warehouse, the air was thick with dust and tension. You moved ahead, clearing corners, trusting Price at your back. The silence between you was deafening.

Then, you slipped.

Not literally, but just enough—your focus fractured for half a second too long. A hostile lunged from the shadows, shoving you hard against a crate, the muzzle of his rifle too damn close.

A gunshot rang out, and the weight disappeared. You barely had time to react before Price was in front of you, hand gripping your arm, eyes dark with something unreadable.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, looking you over. “You alright?”

“Fine,” you said, but your pulse was racing for more reasons than just the fight.

Price didn’t let go. His grip was firm, grounding, but there was something else there—concern, frustration. Maybe even regret.

“You’re off your game,” he said lowly.

You tensed. “Yeah, well, so are you.”

Silence stretched between you. The air crackled with everything neither of you had the time to say.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, releasing your arm. “We’ll talk later.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, glancing at him. “We will.”

And just like that, the mission continued. But something between you had shifted, the ice beginning to thaw.

It wasn’t fixed yet. But it would be.

Hopefully.

The ride back to base was quiet, but not in the peaceful way.

Soap and Gaz were talking up front, but you weren’t listening. Your arms were crossed, your jaw set, and beside you, John was doing that thing he always did after a fight—acting like it never happened.

Like he could just pretend it was all water under the bridge. Like the tension sitting between you wasn’t thicker than the damn armor on your chest.

So, when the truck rolled to a stop, he climbed out first, walked off like nothing was wrong, and left you sitting there, stewing.

Fine.

You took your time unloading your gear, making sure you didn’t accidentally “forget” something and have to hear about it later. By the time you made it to your shared quarters, the door was already cracked open.

You stepped inside and found him sitting on the bed, arms resting on his thighs, watching you with that steady, unreadable expression. The kind that usually meant he was letting you work through your own mess before he stepped in.

You weren’t in the mood for it.

“You got something to say, or are we just gonna keep playing the silent game?” you asked, tilting your head.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his beard. “You’re still wound up.”

“Wow, what gave it away?”

His lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but he didn’t. “We gonna talk about it?”

“You mean the part where you acted like I was just another soldier all day?” You crossed your arms, stepping closer. “Or the part where you almost got us both killed because you were too busy ignoring me?”

He tilted his head slightly, calm as ever. “Far as I recall, you’re the one who hesitated.”

Your jaw clenched. “Maybe I was too busy thinking about the fact that my husband turned into a damn robot overnight.”

John exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“You sure? Because I spent the whole day wondering if I’d suddenly become invisible.”

“Noticed you just fine when I had to put a bullet in the bloke about to take your head off,” he said evenly.

That hit a nerve.

“You really gonna throw that in my face?” you snapped.

“I’m saying,” he continued, still infuriatingly calm, “that I can be pissed off and still do my job.”

“Oh, so I was just being unprofessional?” You scoffed. “Good to know, Captain.”

John sighed through his nose, standing up slowly. He didn’t get in your space, didn’t try to crowd you, but there was something in the way he looked at you that made your stomach tighten.

“I’m saying you let it fester instead of just talking to me. I’m saying you’re still letting it fester now.”

“Because you act like nothing gets to you!” You threw your hands up. “You just walk off, all quiet and broody, and I’m left stewing in it while you—what? Smoke a cigar and pretend you’re fine?”

John huffed a short laugh, shaking his head. “That what you think I do?”

“That or drink whiskey and stare dramatically out a window.”

“You’re exhausted,” he murmured. “And still lookin’ for a fight.”

“I’m looking for an answer,” you shot back. “Or at least a reaction, but you’re too busy playing it cool.”

John tilted his head slightly, studying you like he was considering something.

Then he moved.

One second, you were glaring at him, the next, his hands were on your face, his mouth on yours, stealing the rest of your words before you could even think to protest.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was firm, steady, enough to make you stumble back a step before you caught yourself. His grip was warm, grounding, and when he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his smirk was damn near smug.

“That reaction enough for you?” he murmured.

Your breath was uneven, your heart pounding, but you refused to let him win that easily.

“That all you got, old man?” you muttered, just to be difficult.

John chuckled, low and deep, then kissed you again—harder this time, like he was determined to shut you up for good.

[python333]

im in love with your content omg😭 your writing style is just chefs kiss

can i req a reader with the tf141 being on a mission and hearing an enemy say something in british slang and they just go "what did they just say.." in comms? like a reader who doesnt know anything about slang like not even that bars in the uk r called pubs (if im not wrong) and just nods whenever a private talks in slang, and their brain is just trying to figure out what they just said?

its just a really silly plot with a silly reader :3

pardon? — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the req says, you know nothing about british slang and on a mission the enemy speaks british and you dont know what theyre saying :3

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 2.6k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note HI YES I LOVE THIS REQ!! i take every opportunity i can to make fun of british people so this is right up my alley!! tysm for the compliments hjfhdjskf recently ive been getting more praise on my works and it makes me so happy i love yall. again, sorry if this sounds a little rushed or if any parts are incoherent, i wrote this at 12/1am and im both more productive and write more nonsense at this time + this one is wayyyy shorter than ones i usually do because i didnt know what else to write for it so i apologize for that as well! this is pure fluff and humor (i like to think im funny) so enjoy!!

“—eah, and now we have to camp out here ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do it ‘imself, so I feel like we should have a chat with the others, see if they’re willing to leg it out of here with us,” An enemy soldier suggests to you, his British accent thick enough that you think it might be cockney.

You cross your arms to hide your shaking hands and nod in agreement, as if you understood anything he said, and put on the same shitty British accent you’d been using for the past five minutes you’d been talking to this guy.

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” You agree, clearing your throat before asking, “You know where the others are stationed?”

“You don’t?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you suspiciously.

“Mate, all the orders I was given went in one ear and out the other,” You sigh, holding back a wince at your desperate attempt to sound more natural using British slang, “I just know I’ve got to stand out here and shoot the enemy.”

The enemy eyes you suspiciously and he takes a moment to try and read your face before he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, actually. Which would be weird, if we’re in the same platoon, don’t you—” 

You sigh and quickly pull out the small switchblade you had hanging on your belt, stabbing the enemy in the neck before he can say anything else and grabbing him before he can drop to the ground, putting a hand behind his back as you half lead half drag him into a dark alleyway beside the building he was stationed outside of. 

You quickly set him down into a sitting position and take your knife out of his throat, tucking the blade back into the handle before adjusting it to latch onto your belt once again, letting out a frustrated huff as you stare at the now dead man in front of you. 

“[c/n], how copy?” Price’s voice crackles through on your ear piece. 

You push in the PTT button and lower your voice, “Copy, I fucked up a little bit. One of the guys was onto me.”

“You were there for five bloody minutes,” Gaz’s voice rings through, his tone both disbelieving and amused, “How’d he already catch onto you?” 

“The British are smarter than I thought,” You breathe out, standing up and looking around for a ladder to climb to get to higher ground before anyone spots you. You go farther into the alley and find an old, rusty ladder with rungs that look like they’d snap if someone sneezed on them too hard—perfect for climbing up.

You wrinkle your nose as your hand makes contact with one of the rungs but don’t say anything otherwise, instead wordlessly hauling yourself up onto the ladder. 

“Reminder that there’s three British people with you, currently,” Ghost’s deadpan tone crackles, his breathing heavy, as you can tell he’s whispering into his mic, “All of which are very smart.”

“I caught you reading the instructions on a box of tea bags the other day, don’t fuckin’ talk right now,” You grumble, slowly climbing up the ladder, hating the creaking noises it makes as you do. It sounds like it’s going to snap at any minute, and you try to go up as fast as you can, but one wrong move and you’ll easily slip, some of the rust that flakes off of the ladder enough to make you slip up. 

“They were circles,” Ghost says, exasperated, “I didn’t know if that made a difference.” 

“I thought British people were supposed to know everything about tea,” You roll your eyes, putting your hand on the next rusty rung up on the ladder. 

“Yeah, L.t,” Soap agrees with you teasingly, the wind hitting his mic, making it obvious that he’s running, “Thought ye Brits were s’possed to ken everything ‘bout tea.” 

You laugh quietly to yourself as you finally make it to the top of the building, the top just high enough for you to look at the few soldiers below and hear a majority of their conversations without them noticing you.

You get to the edge of the rooftop and pull the sniper rifle you’d been carrying around off of your back, glad to finally be back in your element rather than trying to get in undercover, and set it up. 

You pull the stand out and set it on the edge of the roof, and look through the scope of the rifle, lining it up so that it’s aiming directly at one of the soldier’s heads, specifically the one that was standing directly out of the entrance you originally were meant to try and get into—but doing this didn’t change much.

Regardless of if you got in or not, he would’ve died, and the others would’ve gotten in too. You getting in first was just meant to make it more efficient.

You press down on the PTT button on your earpiece as you look through the scope of your sniper rifle, keeping the aim on the soldier in front of the entrance, “The guy in front of the entrance is just standing still, so whenever you need me to, I can shoot ‘im down.” 

“I don’t think we need to get in just yet,” Price hums, “But maybe in a minute.” “M’kay,” You hum, taking your eye away from the scope, instead just looking over at the enemy soldiers. You lay on your stomach, leaning your head down a bit to try and listen in on the enemy’s conversations easier, trying your best not to make yourself too obvious.

The conversations were pretty boring and almost the same for every soldier you’d eavesdropped on, for the most part. Enemy soldiers joking around, talking about what they’ll do once they’re on leave—like they would be able to do that after you completed your assignment—and just some general team camaraderie.

The lackluster subjects of their conversations weren’t bad at all, no, in fact, you could care less what they talk about. 

It was their stupid accents you hated. 

Are you surrounded by British people everyday? Yes. Does that stop you from hating on the British everyday? No. Okay, maybe the accents aren’t stupid, but God, they had the thickest cockney accents you’d heard in your entire life, and it was making your eavesdropping so much harder, and had almost been the reason you were given away earlier.

They used slang words that you’re certain you’ve never heard before in your life, and used analogies that didn’t even make sense—you heard one of them use the words, verbatim, ‘Don’t get stroppy’. Stroppy? Stroppy? 

You narrow your eyes down at the soldiers below you, listening to a conversation they’d just started up. 

“—eah, ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do anything about it, so now we have to camp out here and wait for somethin’ to happen,” One of the soldiers scoffs, “I’m telling you, man, if I see that skull-masked bloke runnin’ ‘round out here, I’m legging it from ‘im immediately.” 

You draw your eyebrows together in confusion, but you stay silent for now. Isn’t that exactly what the other soldier said? Are they like a hive mind or something?

“You’re legging it?” The other soldier asked, sounding almost incredulous, “What happened to you chattin’ to some of the others about your loyalty and what not?” “All that’s irrelevant when the fuckin’ grim reaper rolls around and starts murkin’ people like he’s been doing for the entirety we’ve been here, mate,” The first soldier laughs, “You think I wanna be here when he does that?” 

“Don’t act like a prat about it, man—fuckin’ talking’ like you can outrun him.” “A prat? I’m not—” You tune out the rest of their argument and instead try and figure out what they were saying.

A prat? Legging it? Can’t be arsed? What the fuck? You push the PTT button on your earpiece and as quietly as you can, you ask, “I need some help. Serious help. Life or death situation.” Immediately, Price’s voice rings through, “What? What is it? What happened?” “The soldiers are British and I can’t tell what they’re saying,” You answer, ignoring Price’s relieved sigh on his end, “I need help.” “Jesus, fuck, don’t scare me like that,” Price sighs, taking a few breaths before continuing, “Alright, what do you need help with?” 

“Figuring out what they’re saying.” This time, you hear Gaz’s voice crackle through, “Well, you’ve got three British people here—tell us what he’s saying.” 

“One of the guys was talking about ‘legging it’ if he saw Ghost heading towards him, and talked about Ghost ‘murking’ people, and then the other guy he was talking to told him he was being a ‘prat’ about it and he got all offended,” You eloquently say into the earpiece, watching as the argument gets a little more heated. You can hear an amused huff from Ghost on his end and a scoff from Soap in return. 

“They’re just saying they’re gonna run away if they see Ghost because he’s been killing a lot of their soldiers, and the other guy said he was being a prat, which I guess is like…” Gaz pauses to think of how to explain the slang term before settling on, “Someone who’s kind of full of themselves, I guess. Or ignorant. Either or.” 

“They couldn’t just say that?” You muse quietly, still staring down at the enemy soldiers. 

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that,” Price’s voice cuts through, “Go ahead and shoot the guy down. I’m ready to head in.”

“Got it,” You hum, quickly putting your eye back up to your scope and readjusting it a bit before quietly warning, “Shooting him now.” 

You pull the trigger and the enemy goes down immediately, and through your scope you can see the small twitching of his body as the other soldier starts to freak out.

You quickly aim the gun at his still-alive friend and shoot him down as well, silently congratulating yourself on your good aim and continuing to look through the scope, watching as Price runs in with Gaz and a few other soldiers. 

They struggle with the door for a moment and you sigh before pressing in the PTT button on your earpiece and quietly saying, “Price, Gaz, move away from the door for a sec.”

Wordlessly, they do as they’re told, and you take the opportunity to line up the gun’s aim with the complex electronic panel on the outside of the door and pull the trigger, shooting the most crucial part of the panel, causing it’s functions to disrupt and as a result, the doors open. 

“Thanks for that,” Gaz breathes out as Price kicks open the door, his voice cut off a bit at the end as he takes his hand off the PTT button too quickly in order to follow after Price. 

“Uh huh. Of course,” You say offhandedly, taking your eye away from the scope of your sniper rifle and listening to the loud sirens go off in the facility the others break into, and push yourself up so that you can sit up straight to properly watch it. You grunt as you sit up, stretching your arms out for a moment before letting them fall into your lap. 

“Are they in?” Soap asks, curious, his voice a little strained and breathy. There’s no loud gusts of wind coming through his mic anymore, and you look around for a moment, before your eyes catch on to him climbing up a ladder to get to the rooftop adjacent to yours.

Your lips twitch into a smile at the sight of him completely clueless to your presence and you press your PTT button to talk. 

“Yeah, they’re in,” You say, watching as he finally gets to the rooftop, “Didn’t you hear the sirens?” 

You can see Soap’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion for a moment, and he looks around for a moment before finally seeing you on the rooftop directly next to his, and he looks surprised for a moment before a grin splits across his face. You see him press the PTT button on his mic as well. 

“I did, yeah, just wanted tae be sure,” He says into his mic, looking right at you as he does, “It’s a surprise seeing you here.” 

“Imagine how I feel,” You muse, almost to yourself, before looking away from Soap and speaking up, “Ghost, you don’t wanna join us on the rooftops?” 

“Absolutely not,” He replies almost immediately, making you huff out a small laugh and Soap’s grin grow, “I’m perfectly fine on the ground.” 

“Where are you?” You ask, scanning the area around you for Ghost, “I feel like I haven’t seen you this whole time.” 

“I’m just behind the facility,” Ghost hums, voice still a low whisper, “I’m gonna be heading in once Gaz and Price make it to the second floor to clean up the first, in case there’s anyone left.” 

“You’ve been behind the facility this whole time?” Soap’s voice cuts through, surprised by the fact. 

“Mhm,” Ghost hums. 

“It’s a bit boring back there, innit?” Gaz’s voice crackles through, his voice a little breathy, “You can sweep the first floor, by the way. Should be nobody left, though. Pretty sure all the soldiers were just faffing around, not doing much.” 

“Fucking faffing around?” You ask incredulously to yourself, though apparently your voice is loud enough to make Soap chuckle. 

As if he can read your mind, Price’s voice comes through, “Faffing around is just doing nothing or doing nothing particularly productive, [c/n].” 

You sigh and push your PTT button this time, talking into your mic, “You couldn’t just say that, Gaz? You had to say something silly like faffing around?” 

“It’s not silly,” Gaz says, his frown audible, “They were faffing around.” 

“Jesus, fuck,” You breathe out, laughing lightly, “It’s totally silly.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah it is.”

“No it’s—” 

“I just want one day where you two don’t start up stupid arguments like this,” Price’s tired sigh comes through, “Just one day, I beg of you both.” 

“Aw, Captain, we were just faffing around,” You whine playfully, the misuse of the slang making Soap cover his mouth with his hand to muffle his laughter and you hear Ghost groan into his mic. 

“That is absolutely not how you use that,” Gaz says, though you can hear some laughter in his voice—from your very non-British accent saying British phrases, you presume, a small grin gracing your lips at the thought. 

“It sounded natural to me,” You lie straight through your teeth, shrugging even though only Soap can see you. 

“You’re insufferable,” Gaz groans, making you laugh quietly, “Never use British slang again, please.” 

“What if I get a British accent? Will that fix it?”

“Nothing can fix what you’ve said today, [c/n].”

“Well that’s dramatic,” You scoff, “I’ll learn British just for you guys.” 

“Holy shit, please stop talking,” Price’s exasperated voice interrupts the both of you, “You’re both insufferable. Drop it.” 

“… I don’t think I will,” You say defiantly, making all three British people in the same voice channel as you groan in unison, the sound sounding like some sort of middle school choir trying to sing in harmony, “I’ll use Duolingo or something to learn it.” 

“British isn’t a language you learn, you muppet,” Price grumbles, making you snort. 

“Muppet?” 

“It’s someone who’s dumb and clueless and can’t take a hint, like you,” Ghost defines, “And Soap, most of the time.” 

“Daen’t go draggin’ mae into this,” Soap’s voice quickly cuts through, “I haven’t said onything.” 

“Uh, yes you absolutely did, earlier, remember?” Gaz argues, ignoring Price’s protests for him to stop arguing, “About Ghost being stupid with the tea thing?” 

“Oh, I’ll have you all know—” 

“Ghost, don’t start—” 

You listen as the once casual, teasing conversation turns into an argument and chuckle quietly to yourself, knowing that they’d be arguing about this until you all finished your assignment.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Father.

You know those old black and white photos of goodbye kisses where it's either someone holding a woman up so she can kiss her leaving man who's already in the train car, or fellow soldiers helping a guy lean out of the train window far enough so he can kiss his partner goodbye? That kind.

Nik coded.

I also think - imagine he'd always been the one to help someone's girl up or to hold a comrade safe by his belt. Yes, we're in the "planes come first (because Nik is gay)" territory again.

And then years later he finally gets to be the one leaning down from the heli (like that one art by @/mizushibart, you def know the one) to kiss his man.

Bonus points: he also held up Soap Simba style to help him kiss Ghost.

Just wanted to share a sweet picture with you, love you, thank you for the recent AMAZING pieces ❤️❤️❤️🦍

Vibrating. This is so fuckin' cute.

Nikolai gets his romantic good bye kiss.

cw: none.

Nikolai remembered the first time he helped someone kiss their love goodbye. He was on a train carriage with fifty other cadets on his way to Syzran to complete the next phase of his training. As men cheered and laughed around him, he had grabbed onto the belt of a man he had considered a brother so he could lean out of the door to kiss his girl one last time. Their parting look had been one of longing and hope.

It was something he had done a lot in the years that followed. Boosted another friend on his back so they could climb in a hotel window, given a leg up over a wall, hung onto another's legs as they leaned over a ledge. Soldiers said a lot of goodbyes, some easier than others. But Nik was always on the periphery of romance, never involved beyond the gallant wingman. He had convinced himself he didn't mind. His place was in the cockpit and romance was nothing more than a brief, light-hearted distraction. His calling was different. That was why he never had a beautiful girl waving him off from the platform.

The excuse had worn thin as his love for John had intensified to a deep, yearning ache that felt like it was consuming him from the inside out. With every passing year, a new part of his heart broke away to be with John, leaving a space where John's should be in return. It was a beautiful death. One that he had gladly resigned himself to because it meant he could still, in a way, spend the rest of life at John's side.

When the lieutenant and sergeant began to circle each other, Nik had been one of the first to spot it. He teased John gently about being the man the sergeant would have to ask for Simon's hand, and John had looked briefly panicked at the thought of it.

When their romance had intensified and the lieutenant had been called away for a month-long operation, Nikolai had been there to watch Soap run across the tarmac to bid his final farewell. The desire had crackled between them as they exchanged stilted quips to hide their desperation and, without thinking, Nik had grabbed Soap beneath the arms and lifted him, squawking, just high enough for the lieutenant to stoop down and kiss him through his balaclava. He had felt Soap's heart thunder between his palms, the way his entire body had coiled in delight. Their last breathless look had held all the power of a nuclear reactor.

Perhaps that had been the tipping point, because every time from then on, Nik's eyes had lingered on John's mouth when they said good bye. Following a debrief, after an exfil, when they parted ways to head to bed. The ache burrowed deeper each time, tightening in his chest like an invisible fist was crushing the last shards of his heart, until eventually something snapped. If he didn't do something, then he was certain his lovesickness would kill him.

"You look after yerself, Nik. No unnecessary risks," John said through the Comms, speaking into the headset to overcome the drum of the rotor blades above their head. Nik was flying into hostile territory to collect personnel; it would require him to fly low, beneath the radar, and the potential for being shot down by a Scorpion missile was high.

Nik stepped down from the back of his Black Hawk and hooked a finger through John's carrier vest. When that handsome, craggy face looked up in surprise, Nik pressed their mouths together, chapped lips, cracked with weathering, impossibly soft, parted and John returned it without a single beat of hesitation.

All at once, that dull ache dissipated in a surge of heat, an overwhelming pressure replacing the void where the fragments of his heart had fallen away. Nik could feel John's heartbeat in his own chest, powerful, defiant, as the rest of the world stood still beyond the brush of their tongues and lips.

When Nik pulled back, the blue eyes gazing up at home were misty and soft, John's freckled cheeks dimpling in a crooked smile. "G'won. Sooner ye get back, sooner we can do that again." Nik stroked the backs of his fingers down John's beard, committing the taste of his lips, the feel of those bristles, to memory so that he could savour them until he returned home.

Stepping into John's office four days later only to be pushed back against the door by weathered hands, blue eyes crinkled with happiness, Nik's heart had never felt more complete.